The Great Hall stretched before Elena like a vaulted shadow, lit by dozens of suspended lanterns that cast warm gold across polished stone floors. Long tables ran the length of the chamber, and nobles in dark, intricately embroidered clothing clustered in tight groups—birds of prey waiting for movement.
Their voices dipped the moment she entered.
Not curiosity.
Suspicion.
Elena's back tightened.
Soren walked beside her, each deliberate step announcing him more effectively than any herald. Conversations faltered into silence as he passed. Even nobles who looked defiant bowed their heads.
He didn't acknowledge a single one of them.
"Elena," he said quietly, "you will stay close."
She bristled at the command—because excuse me, she was a grown woman, not a misplaced toddler—but before she could respond, he leaned just slightly toward her, voice dropping to something softer and far more dangerous.
"In this hall," he murmured, "you will do as I command."
Her breath caught.Not in fear.In… something else.
A warm pulse shot low in her stomach and she wanted to kick herself.
No. Absolutely not.She did not find his authority hot.She was an independent, educated woman with a spine made of steel and caffeine.She did not react positively to being told what to do.
And yet her pulse said otherwise, traitorous and loud.
His gaze swept the room—nobles watching like wolves scenting blood.
"And when others address you," he continued, "you will call me Your Highness."
Her stomach flipped. Again. Seriously?
She stiffened. "Why?"
"Because weakness draws teeth," he said. "And if I allow even the appearance of it, they will use you to strike at me."
A beat. A warning.
"I will be more strict here than anywhere else," Soren added, voice low enough that only she could hear. "It is the only way to keep you safe in a room full of knives."
Her pulse fluttered in a way that made her furious with her own biology.
Stop it, she told herself. Stop. He is bossy, arrogant, and built like a medieval wall. This is not sexy. This is survival.
"And Elena," he murmured, "do not argue with me in front of them."
Her heartbeat stuttered—because she wanted to argue on principle but also wanted to live.She nodded once.
A tall woman in deep burgundy stepped forward, jewels heavy around her neck, each one glinting like a threat. Her gaze slid over Elena with cool, practiced disdain.
"Your Highness," she said to Soren, "we heard you returned with… something unusual."
Something. Not someone.
Elena's jaw tightened.
Soren's expression didn't shift. "I returned with someone under my protection."
Gasps fluttered through the hall like moths.
Lady Mirenya's lips curved. "Protection… or inconvenience?"
Soren smiled—not kindly. "Lady Mirenya, if she were an inconvenience, you would not be speaking."
A ripple of unease moved through the nobles.
Mirenya stiffened. "What is she, then?"
Soren didn't answer immediately. He looked at Elena first—assessing her reaction, her posture, her refusal to retreat despite the scrutiny.
"She is," he said at last, "a matter for me to determine."
The nobles erupted into whispers.
"Is she from the Eastern Tribes?""No—look at her clothing, foreign.""Magic-born?""She could be dangerous—"
Soren lifted a hand.
Silence fell instantly.
"What concerns me," he said, voice soft but razor-sharp, "concerns this realm. What concerns you is what I choose to tell you."
Reluctant bows followed.
Elena exhaled slowly, trying to steady her heartbeat. She hated the helplessness pressing against her ribs—hated being stared at like an omen or a weapon.
Soren sensed it.
Without looking at her, he said, "Lift your chin. Do not lower your gaze. They smell weakness."
The command jolted her—and the stupid, shameful part of her found the tone of it unfairly attractive.
Oh no.No no no.
Absolutely not.She did not have a thing for authoritarian forest princes.
Yet she obeyed.
She lifted her chin and met the nobles' eyes. She didn't flinch.
Something like approval flickered over Soren's face.
The hall doors slammed open.
A man strode inside—a lord by his attire, broad-shouldered, confident, wearing arrogance like armor.
"Your Highness," he called, "is it true? You brought a stranger into the citadel?"
His gaze snapped to Elena. Disdain followed immediately.
"This is her?"
Soren's shoulders tensed—not visibly to others, but Elena felt it like a shift in the air."She is not yours to question."
The lord scoffed. "Everything within these walls is ours to question."
Soren stepped forward, voice dropping into something cold and precise.
"Not her."
Silence snapped tight.
The lord held his ground for one heartbeat.Two.
Then he backed away.
Soren didn't spare him another look.His attention returned only to Elena.
"The hall has nothing more to offer you today."
His hand brushed her lower back—light, unyielding, claiming space with infuriating ease—and heat shot through her again.
Her body needed to get on medication.
She let him guide her out of the hall, nobles whispering behind them like leaves caught in a storm.
As the doors closed, one thought burned through her with embarrassing clarity:
If he was this controlled, this commanding, this intense in public… what would he be like in private?
She hated that she wanted to know.