chapter 17
1467 Words
Chapter 17– The Weight of Fire
The flames had not died. They clung to the walls like living serpents, curling and hissing, casting the chamber in a molten glow. Smoke pressed against the ceiling, but it did not suffocate—it hung heavy, like breath waiting to break.
Isabella was still on her knees, her palms flat against the burning stone, the mark on her chest pulsing like a living wound. Damian’s hand rested in her hair, steady, triumphant, while Adrian stood in the doorway, his sword trembling in his grip, his eyes burning with horror.
“Get away from her,” Adrian rasped. His voice was broken, shredded by desperation.
Damian didn’t even look at him. His gaze was locked on Isabella, the weight of his victory gleaming in every golden flicker of his eyes. He tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his stare while her tears clung to her lashes.
“Tell him,” Damian murmured. His thumb brushed her jaw, hot as a brand. “Tell him who you belong to.”
Her lips parted, trembling. The words burned at her throat, strangled by shame. She wanted to scream Adrian’s name, to hurl the truth at Damian’s face. But then—the fire at her chest seared, ripping through her veins.
And with it came Ethan’s scream.
The sound split the air, echoing from the depths of the citadel. Isabella jerked, sobbing. Adrian flinched as though struck, his sword nearly slipping from his grasp.
Damian’s smile curved, cruel and quiet. “You see? Every rebellion of hers tears him apart. Every heartbeat of defiance scorches his fragile body. Do you want him to die, Adrian?”
Adrian staggered a step forward, his knuckles white on the hilt. “You’re a monster.”
“Perhaps.” Damian’s hand tightened in Isabella’s hair, not cruel, but claiming. “But even monsters keep their bargains. She kneels—he lives. She resists—he burns.”
“Isabella!” Adrian’s voice cracked. He took another step, desperate. “Don’t let him—don’t let him own you. Fight him!”
Her throat burned. She clawed at the stone, tried to rise, but the agony slammed her down again, her body convulsing with the fire of the bond. Ethan’s scream echoed louder, ragged and raw.
“Please,” she sobbed. Her voice was nothing but a broken whisper. “Don’t hurt him…”
Adrian’s eyes widened with despair. He saw it then—the choice had already been made. Not because she wanted it, but because the bond gave her no choice at all.
Damian finally turned his gaze on him, golden fire catching in the smoke. “You see now,” he said softly. “She is not shackled by iron. She is bound by her own vow. And vows… are stronger than any chain.”
Adrian roared, lifting his sword, charging. The flames rose at once, a wall of fire erupting between them. The heat threw him back, searing his skin, forcing him to shield his face.
“Adrian!” Isabella screamed, reaching toward him, but her body wouldn’t move beyond the invisible tether holding her in place.
Through the blaze, Adrian’s eyes found hers—wild, desperate, drowning in grief. His lips moved around a word she could not hear, but she saw it in the shape, in the agony carved across his face.
Fight.
The flames surged higher, swallowing him from her sight. The door slammed shut with a roar of fire. Adrian was gone.
Silence fell, thick and absolute. Isabella’s sobs broke it, her body trembling as Damian pulled her upright, lifting her with effortless strength. She shoved at his chest, weakly, uselessly, but his arms only tightened, cradling her against him like something precious.
“You see?” he whispered against her hair. “Even in the presence of your savior, you stayed. Not because I forced you. Because you chose him over Ethan. Because you are mine.”
“Stop,” she choked. “Please, stop—”
But he didn’t stop. He carried her from the chamber, down corridors lined with black stone glowing faintly with veins of ember. The citadel pulsed like a living heart, its fire syncing with the bond in her chest. Servants bowed as he passed, their faces pale, their eyes averted, as if none dared look at her—the woman marked by fire.
He brought her to a hall lined with mirrors. Each surface reflected flames, multiplying them until the air shimmered with heat. Damian set her down, guiding her forward with a hand at the small of her back.
“Look.”
Her gaze rose, unwilling, and the mirrors threw her image back at her—over and over, endless. Her hair tangled, her face streaked with tears. The mark at her chest glowed like molten gold. In every reflection, she saw chains of fire coiled around her wrists, her throat, her body.
“No…” She shook her head violently. “This isn’t real.”
“It is truth,” Damian murmured, his voice low and terrible in its gentleness. He moved behind her, his reflection looming in every mirror, golden eyes piercing from every angle. “You are bound. But not weak. You are chosen.”
“I never chose this,” she spat, tears burning her eyes.
“You did.” His hand closed over her shoulder, heat searing through the silk of her gown. “The moment you whispered I am yours, you became mine. And you feel it, don’t you? The hunger, the fire, the pull. Deny me all you like—but your body doesn’t lie.”
She twisted, shoving him away, desperate. Her hand darted to her pocket, clutching the scrap of parchment Adrian had given her. Her last tether. Her last strength.
Damian’s gaze dropped. He didn’t need to see it. He knew.
Slowly, almost tenderly, he caught her wrist. “What do you hide from me?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, clutching tighter.
His fingers pried at hers, unrelenting. The parchment slipped free. Adrian’s words glared up at her one last time: Fight him. Remember yourself.
Her breath broke.
Damian’s eyes softened in something like pity—and then the paper burst into flame in his palm.
“No!” she screamed, trying to grab it back. But the fire devoured it in seconds, falling as black ash between her fingers. The smoke curled upward, disappearing into the citadel’s breath.
The loss ripped through her chest like a blade. She collapsed to her knees, sobbing, her palm still stinging from the heat.
Damian crouched before her, his hand sliding up her arm, steadying her chin so she had to face him. “Do you see now? There is no one left between us. No one who can save you. Not Adrian. Not even Ethan. Only me.”
As if summoned by the words, a scream split the air again—Ethan’s voice, jagged, tearing from the depths below. Isabella jerked, clutching her chest as the bond seared anew.
“Stop it!” she cried. “Please, don’t hurt him!”
Damian’s hand pressed over her heart, directly over the burning mark. His touch was hot, unbearably so, but steady, controlled.
“I’m not hurting him,” he whispered. “You are. Every time you think of freedom, he suffers. Every time you dream of another man, he bleeds. His life is tied to your silence, Isabella. His peace to your obedience.”
Her tears ran hot and unending. Her nails dug into his wrist, but she didn’t push him away. She couldn’t. “Please… I’ll do anything. Just don’t let him die.”
Damian’s lips curved slowly. Victory softened into something darker—patience. “Then never defy me again.”
The bond pulsed once, sealing her vow in fire. The scream below faded, swallowed by silence.
Isabella collapsed forward, pressing her forehead to the stone, her sobs muffled against the heat. She hated him. She hated herself more. And yet—her heart beat in rhythm with his fire, a tether she could no longer deny.
Damian rose, his shadow stretching long across her broken form. “Rest, my queen. Tomorrow, you will learn what it means to reign.”
The doors closed behind him with a hiss of flame.
Isabella was left alone in the firelit chamber, clutching the ashes of Adrian’s words, her body trembling, her soul splintering.
And in the hollow silence, a thought crept through her agony, dangerous and cold. If she could not fight with strength… she would fight with shadows. Even if it meant becoming what Damian wanted her to be.
For only from within could she ever hope to break him.
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- Writer
