Chapter 49 Chapter 49
Once the doors of the Keltos mansion closed behind them, Patrina felt full of relief. The lamplight along the Keltos corridor flickered blue as Nyxios swept Patrina up, holding her as if she weighed nothing at all. She felt his heart hammering through his shirt, each beat matched by the soft, hungry kisses he pressed to her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice a thread on the edge of breaking. “You’re really back.”
Each step up the grand staircase was measured yet impatient, like he couldn’t decide whether to savor the moment or rush her home before the world changed its mind. Patrina let her head fall against his shoulder, breathing in incense on his skin. She wondered if this was what belonging felt like. It didn’t seem so bad.
He carried her straight to the master chamber, never releasing her. The chamber was awash in dim purple light, curtains drawn tight against the chaos outside. Here, the furniture was sturdy, dark, and arranged for comfort, but all she saw was the enormous bed—a thing of carved wood and plush linens, the posts adorned with silver chains that looked as delicate as jewelry.
Nyxios set her down as if she might break, hands trembling with effort. He cupped her face, searching her gaze. “I have to know you mean it. That you truly choose me. If you accept me, we are truly married.”
She smiled up at him, letting the last of her old doubts drift away. “I choose you, Nyxios. For all your shadows and your secrets and your stubborn need for control. You’re my only choice.”
His lips crashed against hers, not with the same violence of Maelis, but with heat and craving and relief. She tasted the salt of his tears on her lips. The world narrowed to his hands on her waist and the soft rasp of his breath as he guided her back toward the waiting bed.
There, she saw the full extent of his preparations. The chains of submission were polished to a mirror shine, yet padded at the cuffs where they would touch skin. He offered them to her, fingers wrapped around the soft velvet lining. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.
“You don’t have to,” Nyxios whispered, his composure suddenly shy around the edges. “Not unless you want to. Here, in this place, there’s only what we agree on.”
She reached for him, brushing her thumb across the ridges of his knuckles, more conscious of her own trembling than of his. She was shy about it, as if unsure whether she possessed any right to this second chance, to touch or be touched in the wake of the battle she had barely survived. The room was so silent she could hear her own heartbeat, thunderous and wild in her ears. Nyxios’s fingers twitched beneath hers but didn’t flinch away; he let her set the pace, let her decide if he was still the one she wanted.
Patrina brought his hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. It was an old human gesture, oddly formal and innocent to the night elf. She could barely meet his eyes when she said, “I want this. I want you.”
He squeezed her hand, then released it gently, only to lift her wrist and examine the faint red mark left by Mavros. She hissed when he ran his thumb over it, careful, reverent. He kissed it. “Please heal this first”. She nodded. Honestly, she’d forgotten about it with everything that happened.
“May I?” he asked. The question perched on a breath, on the edge of possibility.
Patrina nodded, her heart slamming against her ribs. “Yes. Please.”
He led her to the bed, never breaking contact, as if she might dissolve if left unanchored. The silver manacles lay atop the linens, glinting in the blue lamplight.
Nyxios picked them up and began fastening them around her wrists, softly, deliberately. She noticed the way his hands shook—the tiniest tremor, as if he feared hurting her. As if she was sacred to him. Each cuff closed snugly, the velvet and silk lining caressing her skin, making her shiver not with fear but with anticipation.
He watched her face the entire time, reading her every flinch and sigh, searching for any sign she wanted to stop. She offered him none; she only gazed up at him and waited. When both cuffs were secured, Nyxios paused, his hand hovering just above her cheek. “Last chance,” he whispered, voice rough. “You say the word and I’ll set you free.”
Patrina smiled a small, shy, defiant expression. “I don’t want to be free. Not from you.”
The next moments were a blur of sensation. Velvet and silk, the sweet bite of restraint, and the slow, deliberate conquest of mouth and mind. He bound her wrists, but every motion was careful, every question unspoken but always answered by her shiver, her steady gaze, her wordless yes. The chains heightened every kiss, every touch.
The next morning, Patrina lay tangled in Nyxios’s arms. The collar at her throat glowed lavender, warm and alive.
Nyxios took off her collar and led her to his bedside mirror. Under where the collar was, a delicate ring of light purple tattooed her skin. It was a magic circle. He pulled down his night shirt. A matching band was on Nyxios’s neck. His medium short hair touched the edges of the mark.
He drapped his arms over her shoulders. “It’s our house’s tradition,” he explained softly. “Once both parties accept, the bond is sealed by magic. This tattoo—if one of us strays, it darkens. If we betray each other, it bleeds. You will always know where you belong. So will I. There is no cheating, no secrets. You’re mine, and I am yours.”
She traced the line with a fingertip, letting it settle into memory. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Nyxios pulled her close, the chains no longer binding but cradling them both. In the hush before sleep, she laughed and found she could finally breathe.
This was what she had chosen, and for the first time, the future didn’t frighten her at all.