Chapter 181 – The Mirror Room
Eli
The door closes behind me with a sound of finality. Not a slam, just a click soft enough to feel deliberate. The kind of sound a predator makes when it’s already sure of the kill.
The chamber is colder than the corridors, even though a fire burns in the grate. The walls shimmer with a thousand reflections, each one catching the light wrong. Mirrors. Floor to ceiling. Some warped with age, some new enough that I can see the pulse in my throat.
Everywhere I look, there’s me. A hundred versions. Taller, smaller, broken by glass lines. They move when I move, blink when I blink, flinch when I don’t. It’s a trick of the eyes, but I feel it in my gut. This room was built for humiliation.
Alaric waits at the far end. He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, hands clasped behind his back, studying me through all my scattered selves. I can’t tell which reflection holds the real him. Maybe that’s the point.
“You may sit,” he says at last.
I don’t. I bow my head slightly. Enough to look obedient, not enough to make my throat vulnerable. “You wished to speak to me, Alpha Alaric.”
His mouth curves. “So polite. I wasn’t sure whether you were educated in courtly manners.”
He steps forward. The mirrors catch him in fragments. Boots, hands, a slice of a smile. “Tell me,” he says. “Was it Ronan who taught you manners? Or did you learn those in the pens?”
The memory of Ashgrave hits like a fist to the ribs. I feel it trying to drag me under. The smell of bodily fluids, the clink of chains, the sound of Alphas arguing over whose turn it was. I lock my knees and force myself to breathe through it. When I answer, my voice is steady.
“Both.”
He laughs softly. “Such a good little actor.”
Another step closer. His reflection multiplies, surrounding me until there’s nowhere to look that doesn’t have him in it.
“I’ve heard so many stories about you. The healing. The way you threw yourself in front of your Alpha to save his life. About what they did to you in Ashgrave’s breeding rooms in an effort to break you. I can’t wait to hear all of it directly from your lips.”
The word breeding lands like a slap. I keep my head bowed. If he can’t see my eyes, he can’t see the fire behind them.
“I wonder sometimes,” he continues, circling me, “What it feels like to be treated as a tool. To be so weak and carry the ability to make strong men stronger.”
He stops beside me. Close enough that I can smell the spiced wine on his breath. “Does it humiliate you, or does it make you feel useful?”
I allow my hands to tremble slightly. Enough for him to notice, not enough to believe it’s real. He wants a reaction. The most I’ll give him is a performance.
“It doesn’t feel like anything,” I murmur.
“Nothing?” His voice lowers. “No shame? No pleasure?”
“It’s just who I am. I don’t know anything else,” I say quietly.
He chuckles. “Of course not. You must have thought being recruited to Blackthorn meant moving up in the world. Now look at you, courted by the Alpha of Silvercrest himself.”
He moves again, slower this time, the way men do when they want the air itself to know who owns it. I want to sweep his legs out from under him and beat him to a pulp.
Nobody gets to court me. I’m taken. Bonded. Mated. I’m Eli Vale of Blackthorn and I only have one Alpha.
My reflection ripples around him, bending and twisting. Every version of me watches his hands, making sure they don’t reach for me.
“You healed Ronan,” he says. “You bled for him willingly.”
“I did.”
“He must have taken quite a lot to recover from the injuries he sustained against Redmaw.”
I look at the floor, not the glass. The constant motion is making me feel dizzy. “He didn’t take. I gave.”
Alaric hums, pleased by the answer but not the implication. “He’s lucky, then. Most Alphas would kill for that kind of loyalty.”
“He has killed, but he’s not like most Alphas.”
“Maybe,” he agrees. “Or maybe he’s simply learned how to control you. Make you believe his noose is a garland of flowers.”
The fury rises sharp and metallic, but I force myself to swallow it. Let it sink into my gut where it can burn safely.
“You said you wanted to consider terms, not insult them,” I say, putting a tremor in my tone.
That earns a laugh, low and lazy. “Careful, boy. You might make me think you still have teeth.”
“I don’t,” I lie. “I’ve never had teeth. Omegas don’t like to fight. I am loyal to my Alpha though.”
He circles to face me again. For the first time, I see his eyes properly. “You hate me.”
“I don’t think about you,” I answer, and that’s the first truth I let him hear.
He studies me, head tilting. “You remind me of your Alpha when you speak like that. All control. All arrogance.” His voice softens. “It’s beautiful, in its way. Though not as glorious as stripping you of it will be.”
The word makes my skin crawl. Beautiful. The same tone men used in Ashgrave when they lined us up in the stalls, deciding who to bend over and who to send away. The same tone they used when they said you’ll do.
I meet his gaze in the glass this time, not in the flesh. My reflection looks calm enough. “I’ve heard worse.”
He smiles. “I don’t doubt it.”
The night drags on in this fashion. He asks pointed questions about my heats. How many times I was bred to no avail in Ashgrave. Pushing for more information on my healing powers. Sharp, barbed remarks meant to make me bleed.
I think I manage to maintain my facade. To make him believe I’m untouched by everything he dredges up. The truth is, I feel like a sieve on the inside. Emotions running unchecked.
Eventually he runs out of malignant words. The silence stretches. He wants me to fill it, and the waiting makes him restless. His hand drifts toward my shoulder before he remembers the bargain and lets it fall again.
“You’re smarter than he deserves,” he says finally. “You could have had safety here if you’d come to me willingly. Instead you chose an Alpha who bleeds you for power.”
“There was no choice,” I say. Let him interpret that as he likes.
The crack in his composure is so small it almost isn’t there. But I see the tightening of his jaw and for a heartbeat, it’s enough.
He steps back, all smooth grace again. “We’re done here.”
The door opens behind me. A servant stands there,waiting silently.
Alaric’s voice follows me as I turn. “I’ll give Ronan my answer tomorrow. At the feast.”
I bow my head, because that’s what he expects. “I’ll tell him, Alpha.”
Then I walk out before he can see how my hands shake. The corridor outside feels too bright, the air too thin. I move fast, half-blind with adrenaline. The mirrors in my mind keep flashing. My body multiplied, caged in reflection, the shape of what I used to be staring back at me.
The scent hits me before the turn in the hall. Smoke and pine and iron. Ronan. It hits so hard my knees almost give. I don’t slow down. I follow it like a map until I see him waiting in the corridor, sword in his hand, eyes dark from sleeplessness.
He looks up the instant my footsteps echo. The sound he makes isn’t a word, just a breath that could topple mountains.
I stop in front of him. “I’m fine,” I say. My voice shakes only a little.
He doesn’t speak. He just reaches out, pulling me to his chest and holding me there. I hear the thunder of his heartbeat and feel the absolute rightness of being back where I belong.
“He can’t break what’s already mended,” I whisper to him. Believing it now that he’s holding me together.
Ronan exhales roughly. The bond hums low and steady, pulling me back from the edge. I let the scent of him fill my lungs until the room of mirrors fades to glass and memory.
Only then do I realize my legs are still trembling. He doesn’t point it out. He just scoops me into his arms and carries me to our temporary chamber, his lips pressed firmly to my forehead.