Elena didn't remember walking back to her chambers.
She remembered Claire's fingers gripping hers. The echo of splintered wood. The choking silence after the chair shattered. And the look Soren had sent her afterward—unshielded, fierce, too much.
She remembered fear.
Real fear.
Her door closed behind her with a soft click. She leaned against it, breath trembling, palms pressed to the cool wood as though it were the only solid thing left in the world.
He lifted that man like he weighed nothing. He broke a chair on a wall like it was made of butter.And he did it because of me.
Her stomach twisted. The room was warm, lanternlight soft, but her skin felt cold.
She crossed her arms and paced, skirts whispering around her legs, heartbeat tripping unevenly.
She did not want to see him tonight. Not after that. Not after realizing—truly realizing—what Soren was capable of.
Stay away, her instincts whispered. Smart instincts. Finally.
When night settled over the citadel, the silence thickened. Heavy. Watching.
Elena sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, dress pooling like spilled ink. She fought the images clawing back into her mind:
Soren's hand around Eraven's throat. The crack of wood. The roar under his skin barely held back. And then—the way he had looked at her.
Not to frighten her. To check if she was frightened.
She pressed her palms to her eyes.
"I just need time," she whispered into the quiet.
A knock sounded at the door.
Elena froze.
Not a timid knock. Three slow, deliberate taps. Her pulse jumped painfully.
She stayed still. Silent.
"Elena."
Soren's voice. Low. Smooth. Too controlled.
"I… I'm resting," she called back.
Silence.Then another knock—one sharp tap.
"Elena," he said again. "Open the door."
Her fingers clenched.
"No."
A pause. Quiet. Heavy.
Then, softly—dangerously:
"Elena."
Her name sounded like a warning wrapped in something she couldn't name.
She rose anyway, legs trembling beneath her. "I don't want to—"
The handle turned.
It didn't open. He respected the closed door. But he was trying it.
Testing the distance between them.
"Elena," he said, quieter. "Let me in."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Another silence. Not empty—dense.
She felt him through the door. A presence. A pressure. A heat.
"You're afraid," he said softly.
She closed her eyes.
"Yes."
His breath shifted—as if he leaned closer.
"Of me?"
Her throat tightened.
"…Yes."
The word hung between them like smoke.
A long silence followed.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, rougher—as though it dragged through something inside him.
"Then let me speak before your fear becomes something it should not."
Her hand hovered over the latch.
"I don't know if—"
"Elena."
Her name again.Soft. Firm. Unyielding.
"You saw me act as I must. As I am expected to. As I was shaped to."
She said nothing.
"And you looked at me like I was a danger to you."
Her breath shook.
"I am not," he murmured.
"You don't get to decide that."
The silence sharpened.
Then she felt it—a soft sound. Not the door opening. But his palm pressing flat to the wood. Directly opposite where her hand rested.
A barrier between them. But their hands aligned.
"Elena," he said, quiet and raw, "open the door. I give you my word—I will not touch you unless you ask me to."
Heat shot through her. Inconvenient heat.
Fear. Attraction. Confusion.A tangle impossible to separate.
"You scared me," she whispered.
"I know."
"You enjoyed it."
The air shifted—sharpened.
"I enjoyed them being afraid," he said. "Not you."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"Please," he added. A soft plea, almost unheard. "Let me see you."
Her fingers trembled.
She lifted her hand—It hovered—Then slid toward the latch.
Her heart hammered.
She wasn't sure whether her hand moved first or the breath that escaped her lips. But the latch clicked.
And Soren stepped inside.
Not violently. Not gently.
Just… undeniably.
The door shut with a soft thud behind him.
Elena backed up until her shoulders touched the wall, breath catching in her throat.
Soren stood in the center of her room—shadow and heat and something untamed restrained only by will. His gaze locked on hers, intense enough to pin her in place.
He took one slow step closer.
"Elena."
One word.
For a suspended moment, neither moved.
The room tightened around them like a held breath.
Elena swallowed hard. "Claire said the council fears you. That you're… expected to be ruthless."
"They do," Soren said. "And I am."
"Why?" she pressed, voice fragile but fierce. "Why do they fear you so much?"
He held her gaze—unflinching.
"Because I am the blade this citadel was built on," he said quietly. "Because I was raised to be its weapon. Because while others inherit crowns, I inherited blood."
Her breath caught.
"And today?" she whispered. "What was that?"
His jaw flexed.
"Today," he said, "they threatened you. And the blade answered."
Her chest twisted.
"You can't react like that every time someone questions me."
He stepped closer—slow, deliberate, stopping a breath away.
"You are under my protection," he murmured. "That means something here."
"It almost got someone killed."
"He deserved worse."
"Soren—"
"I know," he said abruptly. Quietly. "I know."
A small crack in his armor.A fracture of guilt.Brief, but real.
He lifted a hand—paused—and lowered it again without touching her.
"I frightened you," he said, voice low. "That was not what I wanted."
"Then what did you want?" she whispered.
He didn't answer immediately.
His gaze dropped to her mouth—Not touching, not moving—just looking.
Then up again.
"I don't know," he said softly. "And that is the problem."
Her heart stuttered.
He stepped back—not far, but enough for her to breathe.
"Elena," he murmured, "something stirs in the North. Old forces. Old threats. You arrived the same night the markers lit in the forest."
She blinked. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," he said. "But it is not coincidence."
A beat.
"And I will not let them take you."
The words were soft. And terrifying. And strangely comforting.
All at once.
She exhaled shakily. "I don't need a prison guard."
"No," he said. "You need someone who will not fracture when danger comes."
His dark eyes held hers.
"Elena," he murmured, "I am trying not to fracture."
Something inside her pulled tight.
She took a breath.
"Soren," she whispered.
He stood very still.
Waiting.
Fear still coiled in her chest— but something else rose beside it.
Something warm. Something dangerous. Something she refused to name.
"Sit," she managed. "We need to talk."
Soren's eyes flickered—surprise, relief, something darker.
He crossed the room and sat. Not because commanded. Because she asked. Elena stayed standing—to keep space between them, to keep breathing. But the faultline between them had shifted. Something had cracked.
And something new was beginning to break through.