Chapter 195

Chapter 195
Citlali's POV

I stayed exactly where I was, my body tense and ready despite the weakness in my limbs.

Prince Snow's mouth quirked in what might have been amusement or resignation. "As you wish," he said mildly, making no move to force the issue. "I won't insist."

He moved to the chair beside Kira's and sat down with the kind of casual grace that came from a lifetime of privilege, then reached out and took her hand in his.

The gesture was so natural, so intimate, that it made me blink in surprise.

This wasn't how a master touched a slave, wasn't the possessive grip of ownership or the casual cruelty of someone who saw another person as property.

This was... gentle. Affectionate, even, in the way he laced his fingers through hers and gave her hand a small squeeze.

Kira's expression softened slightly, some of the rigid tension leaving her shoulders, and I saw her squeeze back.

"What's your name?" Prince Snow asked, his attention returning to me.

I hesitated, weighing the risks of giving him even that small piece of information.

But what did it matter, really? He already had me in chains, already had me trapped in this place. My name was the least of what he could take.

"Citlali," I said finally, my voice rough from disuse and dehydration.

He repeated it slowly, as if testing the syllables on his tongue. "Citlali." A pause, then: "That's beautiful. Unusual. What does it mean?"

"Star," I said flatly, not bothering to elaborate, not willing to give him the satisfaction of a real conversation.

"Star," he echoed, and something in his expression shifted, became thoughtful. "It suits you. The white hair, the silver eyes... you look like you were touched by moonlight."

Prince Snow seemed to sense my discomfort, because he changed the subject, gesturing to a side table where a crystal decanter and three glasses sat waiting. "Would you like some wine? You must be thirsty."

"I'm fine," I said.

Prince Snow crossed to a side table where crystal decanters caught the firelight, their cut surfaces throwing rainbow patterns across the polished wood.

He poured wine into three glasses with practiced ease, the deep red liquid catching the light as it filled each crystal vessel.

"It's quite good." he said, bringing one glass toward me. "I From the southern vineyards."

I didn't move to take it, just stared at the offered glass with suspicion coiling in my gut.

Prince Snow seemed to read my hesitation, because his expression shifted to something that might have been understanding or resignation.

He didn't push, didn't try to force the glass into my hand or make some comment about my rudeness.

Instead, he simply set it down on the small table beside me, close enough to reach if I changed my mind, far enough away that it didn't feel like a threat.

"It's there if you want it," he said mildly, then returned to his seat beside Kira with the other two glasses.

He handed one to her, and I watched as she took it with steady hands, as she lifted it to her lips and drank without hesitation.

If it was poisoned, she clearly didn't know or didn't care.

Prince Snow settled back into his chair, cradling his own glass, and for a moment there was silence in the room broken only by the crackle of the fire.

But it wasn't a comfortable silence.

I could feel the tension thrumming in the air between Kira and me, could feel the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on us like a physical thing.

She wouldn't look at me, kept her eyes fixed on the wine in her glass or on Prince Snow's face, anywhere but at me standing there in my chains and filthy dress.

But every few seconds, I couldn't help it—my eyes would flick toward her, taking in the elaborate hairstyle and the expensive dress and the way she sat beside Prince Snow like she belonged there.

And each time, I'd catch her doing the same thing, her gaze darting toward me before skittering away.

Prince Snow noticed, of course.

I saw his eyes move between us.

"You know each other," he said, and it wasn't a question.

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, and I felt my body go rigid, felt Moira surge forward in my mind with a warning snarl.

Beside Prince Snow, Kira's shoulders tensed, her fingers tightening around her wine glass until I thought the crystal might shatter.

Finally, Kira cleared her throat, her voice carefully neutral when she spoke. "We're... from the same region," she said, the words coming out stilted and rehearsed. "The same general area, I mean."

I felt Prince Snow's gaze shift to me, felt the weight of his expectation, and knew I had to say something to support her flimsy explanation.

"We've crossed paths," I said, keeping my voice flat and emotionless. "A few times. That's all."

"I see," he said slowly, taking a sip of his wine. "Well, it seems there's quite a story there. But if you don't wish to share it, I won't force the issue."

"You're probably wondering why I asked to see you," he said after a moment.

"Not really," I shot back, my voice sharp with bitterness. "I know exactly why you wanted to see me. You have 'first claim,' don't you? That's what the guards said."

Something dark flickered across his face, and for a second I thought I'd finally cracked through that veneer of gentleness to the monster beneath.

But then he sighed, a sound so heavy with exhaustion that it almost—almost—made him seem human. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "That's the rule my father established. As the prince, I have the right to... to be the first with any new arrival."

The clinical way he said it, as if we were discussing property rights instead of rape, made my stomach turn.

Kira's hand tightened in his, and I saw her jaw clench, saw the way she stared determinedly at the fire rather than looking at either of us.

"But," Prince Snow continued, his voice softening, "I have no intention of exercising that right."

He turned to look at Kira, and the expression on his face was so tender, so genuine, that it made something in my chest twist painfully. "I already have the woman I love," he said simply. "I don't need anyone else. I don't want anyone else."

"Then why am I here?" I demanded, my voice harsher than I'd intended. "If you're not going to... if you don't want..."

I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't force the words past the lump in my throat.

Prince Snow gestured toward the empty chair across from him, his voice softening in a way that was clearly meant to be reassuring. "Please, truly, sit down. We're just going to talk. That's all."

I hesitated.

Then I moved toward it, lowering myself onto the cushioned seat with careful deliberation, keeping my spine straight and my muscles coiled, ready to spring up at the first sign of danger.