Elena lasted approximately four hours before she made a terrible decision.
In her defense, she did try to listen to Soren. For the first thirty minutes.
But then Claire was called away, the Sentinels vanished to wherever scary men in black leather vanish, and the citadel hallways felt like a giant "DO NOT TOUCH" sign she was absolutely going to touch.
The spy had been taken somewhere beneath the fortress. Somewhere dark. Somewhere Soren had expressly forbidden her to go.
So naturally, she went.
This is fine, she told herself as she moved quietly down a narrow staircase lit by torches.Nothing says self-preservation like visiting a dangerous prisoner alone.
Her footsteps echoed. Her pulse thudded.
At the bottom of the stairs, a heavy iron door sat cracked open.
Voices murmured inside — one low and rough, one weak and breathless.
She edged closer.
Just a little.
Just enough to peek—
"Elena."
Her soul left her body.
She didn't even need to turn. The entire temperature of the room changed.
Slow, heavy footsteps descended the stairs behind her — each one pulsing like a countdown.
She swallowed.
"Your Highness," she said quickly, because hiding her guilt behind formality had worked zero previous times but she was committed to the bit.
Soren stepped into the torchlight.
And he was furious.
Not shouting.Not wild.
Worse.
Quiet.
His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked along the sharp edge of it. His eyes were dark, storm-packed, and locked entirely on her.
"What," he said softly, "are you doing here?"
Elena opened her mouth.
A squeak came out.
She cleared her throat. "I was… exploring."
"Exploring," he repeated, voice low enough to vibrate in her bones. "You were sent to your chambers."
"Yes, well, technically—"
"Elena."
Her explanation died on impact.
He walked toward her — not fast, not loud, just a controlled, lethal glide that made the hallway shrink to the size of a closet.
She backed up. He kept coming. She backed up again. His hand hit the wall beside her head.
Not touching her.
But caging her.
She hated that her breath stuttered. She hated the heat rushing beneath her skin. She hated most that he noticed.
Her breath slipped out in a shaky exhale she absolutely did not authorize.
Soren leaned in slightly—not touching, but close enough that the heat rolling off him made her knees consider filing for resignation.
"You disobeyed me," he said quietly.
Not thunderous.Not dramatic.Just a statement of fact delivered in a voice that hit her lower spine like a slow-moving electrical storm.
"I—" Her throat tightened. "I didn't think it would be… a problem."
"A problem?" His voice dipped even lower. "A spy was taken near the rift where you appeared. A spy who may not be alone. And you decide to wander into the dungeons alone."
His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking again.
"Tell me, Elena. What is that, if not a problem?"
She bristled—heat and fear and stubbornness flaring all at once.
"It concerns me," she snapped back. "He might have answers. I'm allowed to know what's happening to me."
Soren blinked once, slow, dangerous.
"Oh?" he murmured. "You think you would simply walk in and the spy would say—"
He straightened slightly, his voice shifting into a mocking imitation of politeness:
"'Ah, yes, foreign woman I've never seen in my life, please come closer while I am being interrogated. Allow me to reveal all my secrets.'"
Her mouth dropped open.
"That's not what—"
He cut her off with a soft, lethal smile.
"Elena. He would slit your throat before you finished saying hello."
Her stomach flipped. Not just from fear.
From the way he said her name.From the way his body caged hers without touching.From the unmistakable tremor of anger in his voice—anger born of fear.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
"You don't get to keep every answer from me," she whispered. "This is my life now too."
Soren stared at her for a long, impossible second—long enough that she felt each beat of his breathing, long enough that the torchlight threw sharp gold along the angles of his face.
Then he leaned closer, voice dropping to something molten.
"This behavior," he said, "usually requires punishment."
Oh.
Oh no.
Her knees buckled.Not metaphorically. Physically.Her body sagged a fraction against the wall behind her as heat shot through her so fast she swore her bones warmed.
"I—what—punishment?" she wheezed.
His eyes—dark, hungry, knowing—dragged down her throat, her chest, back up to her lips.
"Something to remind you to obey," he said softly.
Her lungs malfunctioned.
She stared at him like he had just whispered a sin directly into her bloodstream.
He watched her reaction for a dangerously long heartbeat— the flush creeping up her neck, the way her thighs pressed together before she noticed and tried (too late) to disguise it.
A slow, devastating smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
"But," he murmured, "I suspect you would enjoy that far too much."
Her brain imploded. Her dignity fainted. Her entire reproductive system stood and applauded.
She slapped a palm over her face with a strangled sound.
"I—NO. Absolutely not. Stop implying—I do NOT—just because—"
"Elena."
He said her name like a gravity well.
She froze.
He leaned in—not quite touching her, but close enough that she felt the whisper of his breath at her jaw.
"Do not go near this prisoner again," he said, low and final. "Not alone. Not ever."
Her defiance flickered—weak, but present.
"And if I do?" she whispered.
His smirk sharpened.
"Then I will punish you."
Her soul left her body for the second time today.
He held her gaze a moment longer—then stepped back, slow and controlled, like tearing himself away from something he barely trusted himself with.
"Upstairs," he said, voice rougher than before. "Now."
Elena moved.
Not because he commanded her.
But because if he stayed that close for one more second, she was going to do something mortifying like ask for details.