Chapter Three
1372 Words
But one thing was certain: nothing would ever be the same again. I couldn't do anything as he pulled me deeper into the ruined castle.
Every step felt like I would never see the light of day again. I lifted my head to take a peek at him and the only thing I could see was the tall imposing back of Rhaziel Varyn.
.
The walk through the Tower felt endless. Rhaziel’s hand circled my wrist. Firm, unyielding, but not painful. His skin was warm, almost unbearably so, like heated stone pulled from a forge. Every instinct in my body told me to tear myself free, to run, to fight, to kill… yet I didn’t.
Because he should’ve killed me the moment he touched me but by some luck, I didn't die.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
The corridor swallowed us in darkness. Dust drifted lazily through beams of moonlight leaking from broken ceilings, and the ruined castle moaned with every gust of wind. My boots scraped weakly against the cracked stone as he tugged me forward. He said nothing. Not a sound left him, not even the faintest breath. He walked with the silence of a creature carved from the very stone beneath us.
“You don’t have to drag me,” I managed, my voice unsteady.
“Don’t I?” he said softly. Too softly. Every syllable slid like a blade wrapped in velvet.
I swallowed hard. ''I can walk on my own.''
His fingers tightened a fraction. Barely a shift, but, it sent a shiver up my spine. ''I learned long ago that humans lie most convincingly when they are afraid,'' he murmured. ''And you, little assassin… have lied since the moment you stepped into my kingdom.''
My jaw clenched. ''You don’t know anything about me.''
A faint, bitter exhale, almost a laugh left him. ''I know you survived my touch.''
He stopped walking so abruptly I nearly collided into him. He turned, his face illuminated by a pale slice of moonlight cutting through a shattered window. For the first time since leaving the corridor, he really looked at me.
His eyes were no longer curious. They were furious!
''Do you have any idea,'' he said, voice low and lethal, ''what the people who sent you here to kill me has done to me?''
I froze. His fingers released my wrist as if my skin burned him. He flexed his hand, staring at it like a man who had touched poison.
''No human has touched me without dying,'' he whispered, as if confessing something he’d buried for years. ''Every soldier who dared face me fell. Every maid who stumbled too close turned to stone. Every brother-in-arms… every friend…” His voice cracked, so briefly I almost doubted it happened. ''Years of silence. Years of empty rooms. A century without...''
He cut himself off, jaw locking so tightly I saw the muscle tick.
When he looked at me again, the fury was gone, replaced by something colder. Something carved into him by time.
Resentment.
“Centuries without touch,” he said. “And then you... What's your name?”
My throat tightened. I didn't want to say my name to him but my mouth opened. "Elara Thorne,"
His expression shifted again. Controlled. Now unreadable. He stepped closer, so close I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. ''You are not a prisoner because I enjoy caging fragile things,'' he said. ''You are a prisoner because you are the first anomaly in a cursed world. Until I... Understand you…'' His gaze hardened. ''You will remain where I put you.''
He turned and resumed walking. This time, he didn’t take my wrist; he simply moved forward with the expectation that I would follow.
And somehow… I did.
The corridor widened into a great spiral staircase that coiled upward like the spine of a beast. Every step groaned beneath our weight. As we climbed, the air warmed, and faint traces of incense, old, faded, but unmistakably royal drifted toward us.
When we reached the top, Rhaziel paused before a towering set of carved doors.
I expected a dungeon.
Iron bars. Chains. The cold inevitability of stone walls swallowing me whole.
Not this.
Not a door etched with roses, crescents, and constellations that shimmered faintly under his presence.
"This place..." I whispered.
''Do not speak,'' he snapped. Not angrily, but sharply, like a man cutting off a thought before it could form.
He pushed the doors open.
And my breath caught.
The room was enormous. larger than any chamber I’d ever seen. Sunlight would have poured through the arched windows once; now the moonlight bathed everything in silver. A grand canopy bed draped in pale fabrics sat at the center. Velvet chairs framed a marble hearth. An embroidered rug spread across the floor like a tapestry of a forgotten era.
It was beautiful.
Untouched.
Impossible.
''Why is this…'' I looked around slowly. ''Why is this room preserved when the rest of your castle is falling apart?''
His shoulders stiffened.
He said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
This room meant something.
Someone lived here once.
Someone he had not allowed the curse to touch or didn't want the curse to touch.
My heart beat faster. Fear? yes! but something else. Curiosity. Discovery. The sense that I’d stumbled into a secret I shouldn’t have seen.
He stepped inside before me, surveying the room as if checking for threats. Given the destruction he was capable of. His posture was rigid, defensive. Not for himself… but for the room.
“This is where you will stay,” he said after what felt like forever.
“This is not a prison,” I muttered.
He turned, and the look he gave me froze the words in my throat.
“It is,” he said. “A gilded room is still a cage. Even a castle...”
I exhaled shakily. “Why this room?”
The faintest shadow of something passed across his face. A memory? Or pain? I couldn't name it. Or it might be a story he would not share.
''It is the only place in this tower where the curse does not seep through the walls.'' His voice dropped. ''And I cannot risk killing you… not yet anyways.''
His restraint was frightening. His resentment simmered beneath every breath he took, I could feel it and yet, he made deliberate choices. Coices that protected me, choices that kept me... Alive.
Why?
“You survived my touch,” he repeated, softer now. ''That alone makes you more valuable than anyone I’ve encountered in over a century.''
He stepped closer and I stepped back instinctively.
''Do not fear me,'' he said.
“You’re a monster. A killer!'' I whispered.
His throat bobbed. A flicker of many things. hurt? Anger? Longing? It all flashed across his eyes.
''Monsters do not mourn what they destroy,'' he said. ''I have buried more than stone.''
Before I could respond, he lifted his hand, not to touch me, but to trace the air near my cheek, close enough that I felt the warmth.
Close enough that I knew the truth:
He wanted to touch me again.
And he hated himself for it.
His fingers trembled. Just once, before he curled them back into a fist.
“You will not leave this room, Elara Thorne'' he said, steadying himself. ''Not until I understand what you are. Not until I know why you live.''
His gaze locked onto mine.
''And not until I am certain,'' he said quietly, ''that touching you will not destroy us both.''
A chill raced down my spine.
He stepped back, retreating toward the door, his expression cold and unreadable once more. But as the last inch of light framed him, he hesitated.
“Elara,” he said without turning. ''Do not try to run. This tower will not be kind. This King... Will not be kind"
The doors closed behind him with a soft, echoing thud.
I stood alone in the Chamber, surrounded by beauty, swallowed by dread, and haunted by a single truth:
He didn’t just imprison me.
He protected me.
And I had no idea which was more dangerous.
His protection or his imprisonment.
- Writer
