"My love, my dearest, my everything… would you loosen the chains on my feet?"
Jemina smiled sweetly at her husband.
The chains made a soft clink as she shifted. They were light, almost delicate, wrapped neatly around her ankles—just short enough to keep her from going anywhere inconvenient.
Honestly, she had seen worse.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, warm and golden, stirring the sheer curtains into a slow, lazy dance. Beyond them, spring stretched in soft blues and blooming color—a world alive and inviting.
Jemina didn't mind.
She had never been particularly fond of doing what the world expected of her anyway.
As the daughter of a baron, she had earned a reputation early on—too curious, too bold, too willing to say things that made other people uncomfortable. Noble society had never quite known what to do with her.
So when she was chosen to marry the newly appointed Duke, Noctellis Ellengarde, she hadn't expected anything pleasant.
And yet, when they first met—when he took her hand for their opening dance—something had settled in her mind with surprising clarity.
She would fall in love with him.
It hadn't felt like a question.
More like a decision her heart made without asking permission.
Three years later, that decision had led her here.
In a sunlit room.
With very pretty chains.
Jemina had, in her own way, worked for this.
A few well-placed smiles. A little harmless mischief. The occasional step just past what was considered appropriate.
Her husband was not an easy man to read.
But he did react.
And those small reactions—irritation, restraint, the faintest hint of possession—were far too interesting to ignore.
So she didn't.
And now—well.
Now she had proof.
There was only one small problem.
He wasn't here.
Weeks had passed.
No visits. No quiet presence in the doorway. No cool, unreadable stare directed at her.
Jemina, to her mild annoyance, found herself bored.
And perhaps a little impatient.
The chains, charming as they were, had lost some of their appeal.
They had to go.
Noctellis finally returned one night.
The chain gave a soft clink as Jemina lifted her ankle, then let it fall.
She watched him from the doorway.
He hadn't stepped further into the room. Still. Composed. As though the space belonged to him, not her.
Jemina smiled.
"My lord husband," she said lightly, "I have a small request."
"You have many," he replied. "None worth granting."
"How cruel." She pushed herself upright, letting the chain chime again. "These are lovely, truly. But I'd like to walk properly."
She tilted her head. "Would you take them off?"
"No."
"You didn't even think about it."
"I did."
"And still decided no?"
"You've given me no reason to decide otherwise."
Jemina hummed and slid closer to the edge of the bed.
"Then I'll give you one," she said.
His gaze sharpened.
"If you keep me like this, people might start talking."
"They already do."
A small pause stretched between them.
"You know," she added, softer, "if I could walk, I might behave better."
"I doubt that."
"You wound me." Her fingers traced the chain. "I might even stay exactly where you want me."
"You are exactly where I want you."
That stilled her—for just a moment.
"Then why the chains?"
"Because you don't stay."
Jemina met his gaze, something quieter flickering beneath her smile.
"Don't you trust me?"
"No."
She laughed softly. "Fair."
A beat.
"But I'll ask again later," she said. "You might change your mind."
"You'll get the same answer."
"Probably," she agreed.
Her smile returned, easy and bright.
"But I do enjoy asking."
He didn't stay long.
He rarely did.
And yet, the moment he left, the room felt just a little too quiet.
Jemina lay back against the bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint weight of the chain settling once more around her ankles.
Even now, she wasn't discouraged.
She had never been.
Not even in her dreams.
The woman appeared again that night.
A vision in a flowing, luminous gown threaded with gold, a crown resting lightly upon her head. She moved as though untouched by gravity, her presence calm—and faintly suffocating.
"Do you really think he loves you?" the woman asked.
"He doesn't. He's just a beast guarding what he thinks belongs to him."
Jemina blinked.
"I've heard that before," she said. "Alicia told me the same thing."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"It's rather obvious she likes him. Calling him a chimera is just her way of comforting herself. Convincing herself he's better off with me…" She smiled faintly. "When, in truth, half the court would gladly take my place."
The woman looked unimpressed.
"Then ask him," she said. "If you believe he loves you, ask him. And make sure the answer is sincere."
Jemina's expression lit up.
"Oh. That's actually a great idea," she said. "See? Dreams are useful."
She woke with that thought still in her mind.
Beside her, Noctellis lay in quiet stillness.
The chain shifted with a soft sound as she turned toward him. His eyes opened immediately.
Good. Perfect timing.
She smiled.
"Noctellis, my everything… do you love me?"
He looked at her.
She waited.
"No," he said. "I don't love you."
Jemina laughed lightly.
"I think you do," she said. "Come on, you can say it."
She leaned a little closer.
"That's why you locked me up here, isn't it? And I'm not even mad about it, so you might as well admit it."
Her tone stayed easy, almost playful.
"Come on. I know you love me. I just want to hear you say it. That's all."
The words came easily.
Too easily.
And something within them—something small, something fragile—gave way.
A thin crack.
Barely there.
But unmistakable.
Desperation.
Jemina stilled.
She heard it.
And for the first time, she felt it.
Something heavy.
Something unfamiliar.
A quiet, creeping sadness settling deep within her chest.
Noctellis held her gaze, his expression unreadable.
"I don't love you," he repeated.
No hesitation.
Only sincerity.
And then—
A familiar voice slipped into her mind.
The woman from her dreams.
See?What did I tell you?