Yuto stared at the ceiling, her grandmother's words replaying over and over in her mind.
You are exactly where you are supposed to be.
The words clung to her consciousness like a curse she couldn't shake. No matter how she tried to dismiss them, they echoed—soft yet unrelenting—threading through her thoughts with unsettling precision.
She shifted slightly—
And froze.
Something was wrong.
No, too right.
She was… comfortable.
Far too comfortable.
Her breath caught as awareness seeped into her senses. The mattress beneath her was impossibly soft, warm without being stifling, as though molded perfectly to her form. The air smelled faintly of something rich and intoxicating—wine, spice, and something unmistakably *him*.
Slowly, carefully, she looked down.
Fury sparked in her chest.
The stiff, suffocating dress from the night before—the one designed to restrain her, to remind her of her place—was gone. In its place was a silk garment, pale and fluid, light enough that it barely brushed her skin. The fabric clung delicately to her body, not tight, not revealing, but intimate in a way that made her skin prickle.
It wasn't clothing meant for a prisoner.
It was something chosen.
Her jaw tightened.
She turned her head sharply, eyes landing on the figure beside her.
Kaelith lay sprawled against the pillows, utterly still, his breathing slow and steady. One powerful arm rested above his head, dark hair falling loose across his forehead. In sleep, the sharp cruelty she associated with him softened—his lashes resting against his cheekbones, his expression calm, almost deceptively peaceful.
Don't, she warned herself.
She knew better than to release her anger on him—not now, not while he slept. Whatever twisted game he was playing, he held all the power. Reacting recklessly would only tighten his grip.
With measured care, Yuto slid from the bed.
Her bare feet met the cold stone floor, grounding her immediately. She paused, listening, half-expecting guards to materialize from the shadows or invisible restraints to clamp around her wrists.
Nothing happened.
Heart pounding, she moved toward the towering doors of the chamber. Her fingers wrapped around the heavy handles, bracing herself for resistance.
She pulled.
The doors opened easily.
No guards.
No locks.
Her stomach growled loudly in the silence, the sound startling her. She winced, pressing a hand against it.
I need to relieve myself.
Keeping close to the wall, she slipped into the corridor, every step cautious. The palace was eerily quiet at this hour, the torches dimmed, shadows stretching long and watchful. She remembered passing guest bathrooms earlier and headed in that direction, praying she wouldn't cross paths with anyone.
Fate, it seemed, was not feeling merciful.
She rounded a corner—
And stopped short.
"Mara?"
The girl froze mid-step, a stack of folded linens clutched to her chest. Her eyes widened, surprise flickering across her features before recognition settled in.
"You're the woman His Majesty bought, but—"
"I'll talk to you later," Yuto interrupted quickly, her voice urgent. "I really need to relieve myself, okay?"
Mara blinked, confusion warring with obedience as Yuto hurried past her.
"But… there is a bathroom in His Majesty's chambers," Mara called after her, voice trailing off into the quiet corridor.
Yuto didn't slow.
She didn't stop until she reached the guest bathroom, slipping inside and shutting the door softly behind her. She leaned against it, breathing out slowly, her pulse finally beginning to settle.
The room was dim, illuminated by a small enchanted lantern near the mirror. Its gentle glow reflected off marble tiles and gold-trimmed fixtures, casting everything in warm shadows. The cool stone beneath her feet steadied her racing thoughts.
She relieved herself quickly, tension easing from her body—but not her mind.
When she finished, she washed her hands, lifting her gaze to the mirror.
The woman staring back at her looked… different.
The silk dress draped her figure like it belonged there, accentuating her shape without exposing her. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, unbound, framing her face softly. She looked less like a captive and more like—
She clenched her fists.
He changed me,she thought again. Or ordered someone to.
The realization twisted something uncomfortable in her stomach.
This wasn't kindness. It was intention.
She dried her hands and lingered for a moment, listening carefully. No footsteps. No voices. Just the distant hum of a palace that never truly slept.
Slowly, she opened the door and stepped back into the corridor.
She barely had time to inhale before something tugged her backward.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she was pulled into a firm chest, the door shutting silently behind her. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her, while another pressed flat against her chest—possessive, unyielding.
Her breath hitched.
She hadn't sensed anyone.
"I can't have my woman wandering the corridors like this, can I?"
His voice murmured against her ear, low and smooth, his cool breath laced with the scent of wine. The sound sent electric waves through her body, betraying her before her mind could catch up.
Kaelith.
Her thoughts scattered as his fingers traced a slow path from her cheek down her neck, leaving heat in their wake. She felt breathless, caught between anger and something far more dangerous.
She didn't respond.
Couldn't.
All she could feel was him—his warmth, his presence, the way her body instinctively leaned closer despite her resistance.
Kaelith tilted his head, lips hovering near her neck, close enough that she could feel the brush of his breath. Anticipation curled tight in her chest, a shiver racing down her spine—not from fear, but from the unbearable awareness of him.
His mouth grazed her skin lightly, a deliberate tease. Then his tongue brushed behind her ear.
A sound slipped from her lips—soft, broken, unfamiliar.
Her eyes widened in shock at herself.
Kaelith's scent surrounded her, intoxicating and overwhelming, clouding her senses. She hated how her body responded, how her knees weakened, how every rational thought slipped further away.
"You now have two impending punishments," he murmured, his voice gentle—almost amused. "You continuously defy me, little storm."
The words should have terrified her.
Instead, they sent a dangerous thrill through her veins.