Chapter 46 Chapter 46
The ballroom was not meant for comfort. It was a cage masquerading as celebration.
Patrina hesitated on the threshold, the servants flanking her. The silence was layered: first the hush of dark velvet and polished obsidian, then the fevered whisper of stringed instruments on a raised dais. Night’s blue seeped in through cut glass windows, tinting everything, with House Maelis’s signature chill.
At the room’s far end, Mavros waited. His long hair was tied high in an elaborate ponytail. The set of his jaw and the way he watched her told more than words. Four musicians played on, their faces blank.
When she didn’t step forward right away, Mavros smiled twisted while he raised his hands.
Fire bloomed from his palms, racing up the arms of the chandelier above. The fixture ignited, candles lighting in dramatic succession, casting a shimmer of gold and blue across the floor.
“Come to me,” Mavros commanded.
Patrina set her stance. “No.”
Pain knifed out instantly. Her muscles trembled, her knees nearly buckled. The collar’s magic crashed through her, bright and vengeful, worse for being expected.
She caught herself on the door frame, hating the weakness in her voice. The maids behind her nudged her forward.
Mavros repeated, “Come to me. Now.”
She risked one step, then another.
She crossed the floor, every muscle at war: half of her wanted to run, half shriveled from the shame of reluctant obedience. At last, she stood within arm’s reach.
Mavros caught her by the chin and popped a sweet candy into her mouth. “See how easy that is? Every lesson has its reward. Remember that.”
He did not wait for a reply. His hand slid to her waist, anchoring her. In one motion, he spun her into the rhythm of the music.
Dancing with Mavros was not like dancing with Nyxios. The latter had led with confidence, yes, but also listened for her movements, adjusted, seduced. Mavros imposed his will, every step a push, every turn a claim. The sharp scent of his skin, the roughness of his grip, and the heat where his hands slipped lower combined to strip away any illusion of equality.
“Keep up,” he said, and she did, because failure meant pain.
The hands that started at her waist now pressed possessively against her hips. Once, in a turn, he let his palm skate along the bare skin below her spine, lingering a moment too long. The air between them pulsed with a current of dread.
They circled the ballroom, lanterns glinting on her exposed flesh and the new, darker collar. The musicians took their cue from Mavros’s mood, the melody growing more urgent, sharper.
He drew her closer, mouth by her ear. “You are learning.”
Patrina barely managed to speak. “I learn quickly.”
His laugh was soft, predatory. “What do you think of this House? Of this moment?”
She did not answer at once. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, as they reached the center of the floor and the music swelled, she faced up to him, chin lifted.
“You want the truth?” she whispered, close enough that only he could hear. “Nyxios is much prettier than you. I think he’ll always be prettier.”
The effect was immediate. Mavros’s hands snapped tight at her waist; his jaw worked, eyes flashing with something dangerous. His grip became painful. The music’s tempo strained to keep up.
He spun her so fast her feet left the parquet for a heartbeat. At the edge of the room, he pulled her flush against him, breath hot on her temple.
“Be careful,” he growled, voice barely under control. “I don’t intend to lose to Keltos on any front. Not tonight. Not ever. Especially not over a human.”
She met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Then you’d better keep training. Maybe one day, you’ll be almost as worthy he is.”
The pain struck again, brief but blinding. Still, she refused to make a sound.
Mavros let her go, letting her stumble back a half-step. His composure returned in a cold wave. For a moment, she thought he’d hit her. Instead, he only straightened his coat—overly formal again and signaled the musicians to stop.
“Tomorrow, we try again. And again, until you understand perfection,” he said. “Perhaps then you’ll recognize your owner and who is worthy.”
The maids arrived to claim her arms, returning her to her prison.
Patrina didn’t look back. Maelis could wound her body, could even twist her nerves to their liking, but they’d never win her mind so easily.
The image of Nyxios in her mind with his half-smile, his shadows, the way he always saw her as something fierce, became a shield.
And that was enough.