My nails dug into the edge of the oak table so deeply that the wood crunched beneath my fingertips. The veins in my neck turned into white-hot threads.
— Again... — The groan caught in my throat, twisting into a guttural sound.
The itch began at the mark. It crawled up my spine like hundreds of tiny insects with icy legs, even as lead began to boil in my blood. I tried to inhale, but the air in the room suddenly turned thick, like molasses. Too heavy.
I hear it.
I heard the maid's hem rustling against the floor behind the door, past three inches of oak and stone. I heard the cook drop a knife onto the stove three floors below. Clink. The thin, unbearable ring struck my eardrums.
Staggering, I dragged myself to the mirror.
— What is this... — The whisper vibrated. My own voice felt foreign—low, with a metallic aftertaste.
Something stared back from the reflection. A pale face, tangled hair. But the eyes... The pupils had dilated, nearly swallowing the iris, and where grey still remained, silver flared. Living, fluid silver. It pulsed in time with my heart.
I threw my hands up, covering my face.
— Go away. Disappear. This isn't mine.
Faint bluish bolts of lightning appeared on my wrists, right beneath the skin. They glowed. A low hum filled my skull—the sound of a disturbed hive. This wasn't just magic. This was his blood. That "ancient blood" Isabelle whispered about with such reverence. To me, it was poison.
A sharp knock at the door made me jump.
— Alina? I've brought the towels... — Ella's voice was muffled, but to my new hearing, it was the roar of a landslide.
I pressed myself into the corner by the bed, clutching my knees.
— Don't come in! Ella, go away!
The door creaked. The heavy wood gave way too easily. Ella froze on the threshold, clutching a stack of white linen to her chest.
— Why are you in the dark? — She took a step forward. — Feeling poorly again? You look exhausted, pale as a...
She cut herself off. The stack of towels slowly slid from her hands.
— Ella, — I forced out. The power inside pushed against my ribs, demanding release. — Just leave them.
— Your eyes... — She backed away, her shoulder catching the doorframe. — They're glowing. Like the Master's.
— Stay back.
— Alina, what did they do to you? — Her voice trembled; she couldn't take her eyes off my hands, where blue sparks continued to pulse under the skin. — You smell like... smoke. And the forest.
— Leave, — I nearly snarled. — Right now!
— I... I'll run for the healer. This isn't right. You look... lifeless.
— A healer won't help. — I looked up at her, and the silver in my eyes flared brighter. — It's the bond, Ella. It's eating me alive.
Ella screamed when one of the towels on the floor suddenly flew toward the wall, as if tossed by an unseen wave. She didn't stop to pick up the rest. She just bolted, her footsteps thundering down the corridor as if wolves were at her heels.
Emptiness. Once again, that icy silence, broken only by my ragged breathing.
— Not mine, — I repeated, staring at my glowing fingers. — Take it back.
I curled into a ball on the rug, trying to shrink, to disappear into the folds of my grey dress. But the power did not leave. It waited.
At least an hour passed before footsteps echoed in the hallway again. Different ones. Heavy, measured. The sound of iron-shod boots.
The door creaked open. Jake entered, balancing a tray in his hands. On it sat a steaming bowl of stew and a piece of coarse bread.
He set the tray on the edge of the table without looking at me.
— No appetite again? — He adjusted the strap on his shoulder. — Ella ran into the kitchen, stammering. Said you were... sick.
I raised my head. The silver in my eyes hadn't faded yet, only dimmed slightly, turning into dull steel.
— You scared her.
— I didn't mean to.
— I know. — Jake finally looked at me. Directly.
He didn't look away. He didn't recoil. My glow was reflected in his pupils, and for a moment, something like... reverence flitted across his face. Or was it grief?
— You need to eat. You'll need your strength.
— So it's easier for him to break me? — I wrapped my arms around myself. — This food makes me sick.
Jake stepped closer. Breaking all the rules, he crouched down a few feet away from me.
— It's the blood waking up, Alina. It demands its due. If you starve yourself, it will only get worse. It will start to devour you from the inside.
— How do you know?
Jake gave a wry smile, but his eyes remained serious.
— In the castle, walls have ears, and guards have eyes. We see what happens to those... marked by the Master.
— I don't want to be like them. I don't want to be a part of this.
— No one asked you. — He reached out as if to touch my shoulder but stopped himself in time. — Just... hold on. Do you hear me? No matter what happens, don't let him take everything. Keep a scrap for yourself.
— How? When I can't even control my own legs half the time?
Jake stood up, his armor clinking softly.
— Hold on, — he repeated, almost in a whisper. — Watch change is soon. I have to go.
He left, pulling the door shut carefully behind him. For a second, his words warmed me like a sip of hot tea in a blizzard. But the warmth was instantly replaced by a sharp, stabbing pain in my neck.
The mark.
It wasn't just itching anymore. It bit into my flesh like a red-hot brand.
— No... — I clawed at my throat, trying to tear off the invisible shackles. — Please, not now.
The Call. It wasn't a voice. It was a physical pull. As if a steel string had been pulled taut inside me, one end anchored to my spine, the other to him. To Cale.
My body jerked. My legs straightened of their own accord, forcing me to stand.
— I won't go!
I grabbed onto the heavy bedpost. The wood groaned. The pain in my neck intensified, becoming unbearable, blinding. Red spots swam before my eyes.
A step.
My right leg moved forward. Against my will.
— Stop!
A second step.
I tried to fall, to collapse to the floor, but my muscles had gone rigid, turning into steel cables. I was a puppet. My arms dropped limply to my sides. My fingers unclenched.
I saw my hand reach for the doorknob. I hated that hand.
— Please... Cale... stop...
In response, there was only a cold, commanding pulse in my head. Come to me.
The door opened. The corridor met me with coolness and shadows dancing on the walls from sparse torches. My steps were sharp and confident, even though I was screaming inside. Every movement caused pain—my muscles resisted the command, but the magic was stronger.
I saw my shadow on the stone floor. It seemed massive, disproportionately long, with sharp angles at the shoulders. It moved ahead of me, leading the way like an executioner leads the condemned.
Corridor, turn, stairs.
I didn't look around. My gaze was fixed on the doors at the end of the gallery. Those same massive doors, upholstered in black leather.
Resistance was burning away the remnants of my will. I felt something snapping inside. The quiet crunch of my identity.
My feet stopped before his chambers. My hand rose, touching the cool metal of the handle.
The pain in the mark suddenly subsided, replaced by a heavy, viscous anticipation.
The door slowly opened, letting me into a darkness that smelled of pine needles and danger. I crossed the threshold, and behind me, the lock clicked with the finality of a guillotine.