Chapter 44 Chapter 44

Chapter 44 Chapter 44


When the door opened, Patrina expected violence or chaos. Instead, a pair of female servants entered with perfunctory efficiency. The silence between them was absolute. No whispered derision, no words at all, just the relentless click of polished boots over the marble floor. The taller servant beckoned, and Patrina stood as instructed, her feet unsteady on the unfamiliar surface.

They brought her to a low divan in the adjoining chamber. The chill of the air stripped any warmth from her skin, making the new collar feel twice as heavy, twice as foreign. The servants began their work without hesitation: fingers skilled and impersonal, rearranging her hair, peeling away her borrowed nightshirt. When she’d tried to protest, the first simply tightened her grip, nails biting into Patrina’s upper arm. “You will be perfect when you see him,” the servant said. “He values beauty above all. Do not act ungrateful.”

The garment they fitted to her body looked as if it could be worn by a night servant. Deep indigo silk, cut to hug her chest before plunging away in a lazy curve, leaving the upper swell of her breasts and the entirety of her shoulders bare. The skirt hung in two narrow strips, attached at her hips with silver clasps that barely concealed anything between. Even the shoes were a parody: heelless and soft, leaving the arch of her foot exposed with each step, a dancer’s slipper.

One pinned a choker of blue-black lace beneath the heavier metal collar. Next, they brushed her cheek with a powder that left her skin luminous and more like an elf’s, less like a human’s.

In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. A stranger stared back, lips too red, body shown off by another’s taste, neck encircled twice. Patrina’s mind recoiled. This is not me, she told herself, but even that thought felt weak when the servants clapped softly and drew open the door.

The hallways were wider here. Richer. The echo of her footfalls was muffled by thick blue carpets overlayed dark wooden corridors. She glanced behind her at the servants still following. They reached the antechamber to the private dining room. Here, the servants paused. One turned and, in impeccable dark elf dialect, addressed her directly for the first time.

“You will speak to him with respect. Call him master at all times, and do as you are told. If you disobey, the mistress of the house will be disappointed. She is less gentle than her son.”

Patrina felt her knees tremble and her gut tumbled. The double doors were pushed open.

The doors opened. A shock of cold air and candle wax scent flooded the threshold. Inside, a dining room long enough to host a council meeting lay empty except for the far table, set for two. A crystal chandelier dangled above. Silent servants lined the wall, their faces blank and their eyes never quite meeting Patrina’s. At the head of the table, Mavros stood waiting.

He watched her enter with a predator’s composure, every part of him purposeful. The pale lilac of his hair was tamed to sharp perfection, his midnight blue jacket was perfectly pressed.

He did not approach. Instead, he waited, measuring every detail of her appearance. Only when the servants nudged her forward did he shift, his stance widening as if to claim the space between them.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and cool.

The command cut through the air. Patrina took a single step and felt his collar’s weight shift.

He simply said, “Kneel.”

The word choked her, but it was not a question. When she hesitated, the nearest maid pressed hard against her spine, forcing her toward the floor. Patrina caught herself with her hands, dignity already in tatters, but she did not bow her head.

Mavros’s boots approached. “Look at me,” he said.

She raised her chin, unblinking, even as mortification burned in her bones.

Mavros smiled, that same cold, calculating smile. “Very good. Take your chair.” He gestured to the spot opposite him.

The instant she hesitated, a sudden, biting jolt shot from the collar, radiating through her nerves. Not harsh pain, exactly, but a jolt strong enough to make her muscles spasm. A breath stuttered in her throat.

She fumbled into the chair, gripping the arms for balance. The maids exchanged a brief look. Mavros’s smile did not shift.

“You will address me as ‘Master’ in this house,” he said. “Speak it.”

Patrina stared straight into his eyes. “No.”

Another shock, sharper than the last. Her vision swam and she bit her lip, refusing to cry out.

Mavros leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Speak it, or you will regret your stubbornness. It is only a word, and sooner or later you will say it without thinking. Eventually those same lips will worship me.”

She clenched her teeth.

Another jolt. She grunted.

“Master,” Patrina ground out.

The charge was replaced by a strange warmth. The sudden contrast made her skin prickle; it was almost a reward for obedience.

Mavros sat back, satisfied. “See how simple it is? Now you may eat.”

Food appeared before her: dark bread, sliced thin; a roast cut into delicate strips; vegetables simmered in a pungent spiced sauce. It looked and smelled better than anything she’d been given by the guards. Her stomach twisted, uncertain if it was hunger or dread.

Mavros watched her every bite.

“The meal was prepared especially for you,” he eventually said. “You will not starve here. You will live in the greatest comfort. All you have to do is accept and obey me.”

She did not reply. That cost her nothing. A careful neutrality seemed safest. She kept her eyes on the food, focusing on the simple act of lifting fork to lips. She could not remember the taste of the first course by the time she finished it.

Mavros continued, his tone smug. “Our future together will be remarkable. Do you understand, Patrina? When you submit to me, when you bear my House’s mark, I will be the envy of every scion in Limdrion. Even Keltos himself will have to acknowledge my power.”

“You seem very sure of yourself,” she managed, keeping her voice neutral, her gaze fixed on her plate.

“And why shouldn’t I be?” he replied. “I have everything that matters. Birth, talent, the patience to break any prize. You, dear Patrina, are the rarest prize of all.”

She set the fork down, appetite gone. “Is that all you want? To break me?”

He smiled. “You misunderstand. I mean to elevate you. To make you something more. To be admired as the greatest mother by the greatest house in Limdrion. Isn’t that what humans crave? Recognition, status, luxury?”

She said nothing, unwilling to cede so much as a syllable to his argument.

He studied her, gaze sharpening. “I know what you are,” he said quietly.

She tensed. Her every muscle, every thought locked down.

“Do you?” She kept her voice as bland.

He flicked his fingers; a servant appeared, refilling their wine and vanishing again. He laughed, “I do. Nyxios’ own guards betrayed him! The fool. You have healing magic—rare, among your own kind. You hid it. But here, it is cause for celebration. Your light magic will make the Maelis line legendary. Our children will be powerful.”

A chill poured through Patrina. Nyxios had promised no one would force her to be only a healer, but here, in this house, she saw a different future. A cage, made not of bars but of expectation and breeding.

She set her cup down with care. “What if I refuse to use it?” She’d meant to sound bold, but her voice barely cracked the air.

Mavros did not look away. “You will not refuse. Even now, you obey despite yourself. The collar tells me so and my rune makes certain.”

She lowered her gaze, trying to gather her frayed composure. She would weather this. She would outlast.

At last, the meal concluded. Mavros laid down his utensil and stood. “Now, we will try again. You will kneel for me. Here. And this time you will do so freely.” He gestured to the floor at his side.

She did not move.

The shock slammed into her, powerful enough that for a moment she saw nothing at all.

It felt like forever, but the truth was only seconds had passed. She found herself sliding from her chair, her knees landing on the velvet rug at his feet.

She shuddered, bracing herself with a hand to the carpet.

Mavros crouched to her level. He was very close then, a true predator eyeing a trembling human. He dangled something between his fingers: a rune stone, black as obsidian, carved with whorls that shimmered with bright blue.

“This is the future for you here,” he purred. “Every whim, every command. One word, and you will obey. Each time you resist, the collar and the rune will remind you.”

Patrina’s stomach roiled. She recoiled from him. So this was the method that House Maelis uses to train humans! It disgusted her. She looked around, hoping Nyxios would come to save her. Did he know she was gone? Of course he’d notice! Hopefully he’d figure this out soon.

She tried to scramble up, to run, but Mavros was fast. He seized her by the arm, yanking her so close she smelled the trace of smoke on his skin.

His mouth crashed onto hers. It was cold, demanding, unyielding. For a moment all she could do was fight for breath. She bit down, hard.

Iron tang flooded her tongue. Mavros jerked back, surprise twisting his features.

“Go to the underworld,” Patrina spat, tasting blood that was not her own.

For a split second, she wondered if he would strike her. But pleasure, genuine twisted pleasure, danced in his eyes instead.

He pressed a thumb over the smarting bite mark, lips curling into a grin. “Excellent. I prefer the challenge.” His voice dropped, intimate and cruel. “The more you resist, the more delicious your surrender will be. I intend to enjoy every step of your breaking.”

He straightened, brushing a casual hand through her hair, petting her. “Tomorrow, we begin again. And the next day. And the next. One way or another, you will beg for my touch.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper meant just for her. “You will accept me fully. And soon. We will consummate our union. You will thank me for owning you. Keltos never understood your true value, he is too stuck on sentiment.”

He released her so abruptly she nearly fell.

“Maids, return her to her room. If she resists, use the rune,” Mavros said.

The two servants hauled her up with impersonal efficiency, neither pitying nor cruel, simply detached.

As Patrina was escorted from the dining room, the last she heard was Mavros’s satisfied hum, the sound of a man who believed himself already victorious.

But inside her, a stubborn flare would not extinguish. If she survived House Maelis, she would do so unbroken.