Ashes of the bond

Chapter 5

The days no longer had names.

They blurred into one another, marked only by the rising and falling ache in Caelira’s body and the relentless pulse of the bond that refused to quiet. Morning came as a dull gray light through the narrow windows, and night followed as a heavier darkness that brought no rest—only the same unyielding awareness of him.

Malrec.

Always there. Even when unseen.

That morning, Caelira struggled to rise.

Her limbs felt heavier than they should have, as though something inside her had begun to fail quietly, without warning. Her fingers trembled when she pushed herself upright, and a sharp wave of dizziness forced her back against the wall.

She closed her eyes, steadying her breath.

The bond pulsed.

Not gently. Not warmly. It pressed against her ribs like something alive, something demanding, something that did not care whether her body could endure it or not.

A knock came at the door—soft, deliberate.

The tray slid in moments later.

Bread. Water. Fruit.

Unchanged.

Untouched by care.

She forced herself forward, each step careful, measured. Even crossing the small distance of the room felt like effort now. Her body resisted her in ways it hadn’t before, her strength thinning like thread pulled too tight.

She took a small bite, chewing slowly, though her stomach recoiled. Hunger had become distant—muted beneath the constant strain of simply existing.

Before she could finish, the door opened again.

Seren did not knock this time.

She entered as if the space belonged to her, her presence filling the room with something sharp and suffocating. Today she wore deep crimson, the fabric rich and heavy, clinging to her form in a way that drew attention effortlessly.

She paused just inside, her gaze sweeping over Caelira.

Taking everything in.

The pallor.

The trembling hands.

The way she stood just a little too carefully.

Seren smiled.

“Already fading?” she asked softly.

Caelira lowered her gaze, her grip tightening around the edge of the table. She said nothing.

Silence had become her shield.

Seren moved closer, her steps slow, deliberate. She reached out—not roughly, not violently—but with a calculated ease, lifting a strand of Caelira’s hair between her fingers.

“You were… pretty once,” she said, almost thoughtfully. “In a fragile way.”

Her fingers slipped away.

“But fragility doesn’t survive here.”

The words settled heavily in the air.

Caelira’s chest tightened, but she refused to react. Refused to give Seren what she wanted.

Seren watched her a moment longer, then tilted her head slightly.

“You’ve been summoned,” she added. “The Alpha is receiving guests again.”

A pause.

Her smile deepened, faintly.

“You’ll stand this time. Beside him.”

The Great Hall felt larger than before.

Or perhaps Caelira had simply grown smaller within it.

The chandeliers above cast long streams of light across the polished floors, but the warmth they once suggested felt hollow now. Every sound—every voice, every footstep—seemed sharper, louder, pressing into her skull as she was led to her place.

Beside Malrec.

The bond reacted instantly.

A violent pull.

Her breath hitched, her knees threatening to give beneath her as she fought to remain upright. The closeness was unbearable now in a way it hadn’t been before. Each second near him felt like standing too close to something burning—heat without comfort, intensity without relief.

Malrec did not look at her.

Not at first.

He stood tall, composed, acknowledging the arriving guests with measured nods and controlled gestures. Authority radiated from him effortlessly, and the hall bent around it.

Caelira remained at his side.

Still.

Silent.

Her hands folded in front of her to hide their trembling.

“Do not move unless required,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

The command settled into her bones.

“Yes, Alpha,” she whispered.

The bond pulsed in approval.

It made her stomach turn.

Guests approached one by one, offering greetings, alliances, veiled compliments. Caelira heard them distantly, her focus splintering under the strain of maintaining her posture.

Then Seren appeared.

Of course she did.

She moved through the crowd with ease, laughter trailing behind her like silk. When she reached Malrec’s side, she did not hesitate—she placed herself close to him, close enough that her presence pressed into the fragile space Caelira occupied.

A deliberate intrusion.

Seren glanced at Caelira briefly, her expression unreadable to anyone else.

But Caelira saw it.

The quiet triumph.

“Alpha,” Seren said smoothly, her voice carrying just enough warmth to draw attention. “The southern delegates have arrived.”

Malrec turned slightly toward her.

Not fully.

But enough.

Enough that the shift was visible.

Enough that the difference was undeniable.

Caelira felt it like a physical blow.

The bond twisted painfully, reacting to the subtle change in his attention. It made no sense—should not have mattered—but it did. It always did.

Seren noticed.

Her lips curved faintly.

“Shall I attend to them?” she asked.

A pause.

Then Malrec nodded once.

“You may.”

The permission was simple.

But the effect was not.

Seren inclined her head gracefully, then stepped away—but not before letting her fingers brush lightly against Malrec’s arm.

Casual.

Intentional.

Seen.

The room noticed.

Caelira felt it in the shift of glances, the quiet murmurs that followed.

She did not move.

Could not.

But something inside her tightened, fragile and sharp, as the bond pulsed again—this time with something that felt dangerously close to pain.

Not physical.

Not entirely.

But something deeper.

Something breaking.

Time stretched.

Her strength thinned.

The longer she stood, the harder it became to remain still. Her vision blurred at the edges, her breath growing shallow despite her efforts to control it.

No one intervened.

No one spoke.

And Malrec—

Malrec noticed.

She knew he did.

His gaze flicked toward her once, brief and assessing. Taking in the subtle sway of her stance, the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled too tightly together.

But he said nothing.

Did nothing.

The indifference was worse than cruelty.

At least cruelty acknowledged her existence.

This—

This erased it.

Another guest approached. Caelira forced herself to focus, to remain upright, to not draw attention. But the bond surged again, sudden and overwhelming, and her knees weakened.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

But it was enough.

Her balance faltered.

The movement was small—barely noticeable to most.

But not to him.

Malrec’s hand closed around her arm.

Firm.

Unyielding.

He steadied her before she could fall.

To anyone watching, it might have looked like support.

Like care.

It wasn’t.

His grip tightened briefly, a silent warning.

“Stand,” he said under his breath.

The word carried weight.

Command.

Expectation.

Caelira forced herself upright again, ignoring the way her body protested, the way her vision swam.

“Yes… Alpha.”

He released her immediately.

As if contact itself was something to be minimized.

She remained where she was.

Barely.

By the time the hall began to empty, Caelira could no longer feel her legs.

Each step as she followed behind him felt disconnected, distant, like her body no longer belonged to her. The bond still pulsed, still demanded, but her ability to respond to it was… fading.

Something was wrong.

Deeply wrong.

And she felt it in every breath.

Seren reappeared near the exit, her expression calm, satisfied.

Her gaze swept over Caelira once more, taking in the exhaustion, the barely-contained collapse.

“You’re learning,” she said quietly.

A pause.

Then softer—

“How long you last will be… interesting to see.”

Caelira did not respond.

She didn’t trust her voice.

Didn’t trust herself to remain standing if she tried.

That night, she did not make it to the bed.

She collapsed before reaching it, her body giving out as the last of her strength drained away. The floor was cold beneath her, grounding in a way nothing else was.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly.

The bond pulsed faintly now.

Not gone.

Never gone.

But heavier.

Duller.

Like something pressing down instead of pulling.

She curled inward slightly, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her gown as a dull ache spread through her ribs, her limbs, her very core.

This was new.

This weakness.

This… failing.

Her eyes drifted shut.

Not in rest.

But in surrender to the exhaustion she could no longer fight.

And in the quiet, with no one to see, no one to hear—

Caelira realized something she had not allowed herself to before.

She was not enduring.

Not surviving.

She was slowly, quietly… breaking.