The lesson was over, but the tension wasn't.
Maryna stalked back toward her room, her fists clenched at her sides. Every step echoed against the endless stone corridors, each one harder than the last to take.
Survive, she reminded herself.
Play the game.
Win.
But even as she repeated it, a dark, reckless voice inside her whispered:
Push him.
The guards were gone now—dismissed once the lesson ended.
No one to see.
No one to stop her.
She turned a corner she wasn't supposed to.
The hallway narrowed, darker, colder.
This wasn't the way back to her quarters. She knew it the moment the air shifted—thicker, almost electric.
She had stumbled into forbidden territory.
It thrilled her, just a little, how easily the rules could be broken.
Large double doors stood at the end of the hall—blood-red wood, sealed with heavy black iron.
Maryna didn't hesitate.
She reached for the handle.
The door barely creaked open before a shadow detached itself from the gloom.
Vasilios.
He moved with terrifying speed—one moment distant, the next close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.
His hand slammed the door shut with a deafening thud.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Maryna stared up at him, her breath shallow, the rebellious heat inside her flaring higher.
"You were warned," he said softly, dangerously.
Maryna lifted her chin, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk she didn't feel. "I guess I'm not a very good listener."
Something dark lit in his crimson eyes. Not anger.
Desire.
But not the kind you begged for.
The kind that promised ruin.
In one sudden movement, Vasilios grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands behind her back.
His touch was firm, controlled—but not cruel.
She struggled instinctively, and he only smiled.
"Still so eager to fight," he murmured. "Even when you've already lost."
Maryna's pulse thundered in her ears.
His body was close enough now that she could feel the brush of his coat against her skin, the scent of him—spice and smoke and something darker—curling into her lungs.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew something thin and glinting under the torchlight.
A length of silk ribbon. Black as midnight.
Before she could react, he looped it around her wrists, binding them neatly behind her.
His hands were deft, almost reverent.
He stepped back, admiring his work as if she were some delicate creature he had caught.
Maryna yanked against the silk.
It didn't budge.
"You will learn," he said, voice low and rough, "that freedom isn't given freely. It is earned."
She glared at him, hatred burning in her throat—and something else, something hotter and more terrifying than rage.
"Untie me," she hissed.
Vasilios smiled slowly.
"No," he said.
He reached out and tilted her chin up again, forcing her to meet his gaze.
This close, she could see the faint flicker of restraint in his eyes—
a man balanced on the knife's edge of control.
"So dramatic," he murmured, his voice curling like smoke around her.
His next words were quieter, almost a caress.
"Mariposa."
The name slammed into her like a blow.
For a moment, Maryna couldn't breathe.
The word—her father's word, whispered in kitchens full of sunlight and fields full of laughter—sounded wrong in Vasilios's mouth. Twisted. Stolen.
A sharp, unwanted ache bloomed inside her chest.
She jerked her face away from his hand, disgust and grief warring inside her.
"Don't," she whispered, her voice cracking despite herself. "Don't call me that."
Vasilios studied her for a long, heavy moment.
Something shifted in his gaze—something that almost looked like understanding.
But then it was gone, replaced by that same infuriating smirk.
"So beautiful when you fight," he said, as if he hadn't heard her plea at all.
For a heartbeat, she thought—
He's going to kiss me.
She hated how badly she wanted him to.
But instead, he stepped back, leaving her trembling, wrists still bound.
Vasilios turned away, his coat sweeping behind him like wings.
"You may free yourself," he said lazily as he disappeared into the shadows. "If you are clever enough."
The door shut behind him with a final, echoing boom.
Maryna stood alone in the darkened hallway, her wrists tied, her heart hammering, her body burning with fury—and something far more dangerous.
Need.