The corridor outside the Great Hall felt colder than before—as though the air itself had been holding its breath inside the chamber and now exhaled a chill.
Soren walked beside her in silence, his hand no longer on her back but his presence still coiling around her like a command. Guards bowed as he passed. Servants froze mid-step. The citadel responded to him the way a storm responds to wind—by rearranging itself.
Elena's pulse hadn't slowed since the hall.
She blamed the adrenaline.She blamed the crowd.She definitely did not blame the prince with the voice that could probably trigger ovulation in a statue.
When they reached a quieter wing of the keep—a long hallway lined with towering windows—Soren finally stopped.
"Look at me," he said.
She did. Too quickly. She hated that.
His expression was controlled. Too controlled. The kind of restraint that hinted at everything simmering beneath it.
"You did well in the hall," he said.
A compliment. From him. Her traitorous heart fluttered like an idiot.
"Thanks," she muttered, crossing her arms. "Didn't feel like it."
"It is not supposed to feel easy."
She scoffed. "Yeah, I got that impression. Especially when you told me to obey you in front of an entire room of aristocratic hyenas."
Soren's jaw tightened.
"Elena," he said quietly, "if you defy me publicly, I cannot protect you."
"Well maybe I don't want to be protected," she snapped.
She regretted the words the second they left her mouth—but it was too late.
Soren took one step toward her. Just one. It was enough.
The air thickened. Her pulse jumped. Heat pulsed behind her ribs, maddening and unwelcome.
He spoke softly, dangerously. "You want to survive."
"I want answers, Soren," she said. "Not commands. Not titles. Not—"She cut herself off before she said whatever that was in the hall that made me want to climb you like a tree.
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he heard the unsaid part anyway.
"You forget," he murmured, stepping closer still, "you are not simply a stranger. You arrived from nowhere, wearing markings no one here has ever seen."
"It's a conference badge, not a prophecy."
He didn't smile. "It marks you as different. And in this world, different is dangerous."
"I can handle myself."
"You cannot," he said calmly. Too calmly. "Not here. Not now."
The certainty in his tone irritated her more than it should have.
"You keep acting like I'm helpless."
"No." His voice dipped lower. "I act like you are untrained."
She blinked. "Wow. Thanks."
"Elena." He said her name like a warning, like a vow. "You think independence alone will keep you alive. It won't. Not here."
Something inside her bristled, both furious and—God help her—drawn to the force of him.
She took a step toward him this time.
His eyes darkened instantly.
"Stop talking like you own me," she said.
He inhaled sharply—the first crack in his composure she had ever seen. "I never said—"
"You imply it constantly."
His jaw worked. "I protect what is under my care."
"I'm not a thing," she shot back. "And I'm not yours."
Silence snapped between them.
Dangerous. Electric. Bare.
Soren's restraint wavered—barely, but unmistakably. A muscle feathered along his cheek. His fists curled and uncurled at his sides, as though he was fighting an instinct he did not intend to reveal.
When he spoke again, his voice was rougher. Less prince. More man.
"Elena," he said, stepping into her space until her back brushed the cold stone wall, "do not mistake protection for possession."
"You blur the line," she whispered before she could stop herself.
His breath hitched—one sharp, controlled intake.
And for a moment, she felt something shift between them. Something deep. Something he had been burying under discipline and armor and that maddening calm.
He leaned in—not touching her, but close enough that she felt the warmth of him, the quiet violence in how much he held back.
"I am strict because this world is not gentle," he said. "And because you arrived with no knowledge of how to survive its politics, its dangers, its forces."
"Then teach me," she said.
His eyes flickered—surprise, then something darker, something that slid through her blood too easily.
He leaned even closer, voice brushing her ear.
"Be careful what you ask for."
Her breath stuttered.
He pulled back slowly, regaining that infuriating control inch by inch.
"The nobles have seen enough for today," he said. "You will stay in your quarters until I summon you."
"Oh, will I?" she snapped, frustrated with him, with herself, with the heat crawling under her skin.
His mouth flickered into the faintest smirk."Your Highness," he corrected softly.
Her cheeks burned.
She wanted to punch him. Or kiss him. Or push him off a balcony. The order was negotiable.
He turned away, cloak shifting like shadow.
"Soren," she called before she could stop herself.
He paused but didn't turn.
Her voice came out softer than intended. "Why are you being like this?"
His answer was quiet.
"Because the hall saw you today."A beat."And others will want what they saw."
A chill ran down her spine.
"And I," he added, voice low and dangerous, "do not share."
Then he walked away.
Leaving her against the wall, breathless, furious, and horrified by the single truth she could no longer deny:
She was in trouble. Because Soren's dominance didn't just intimidate her—it ignited something she had absolutely no business feeling.