Heir of Ashes

Chapter 8 : Make me obey

The marble under my hands is slick and cold. Every breath is agony, every heartbeat a hammer against my ribs. My throat tightens, my stomach curls. I can’t breathe. Mom’s voice-soft, steady, trembling-cuts through the chaos. “Meira… It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

But I’m not okay. Safe doesn’t exist here. Not while he’s this close. Not while the knife gleams, sharp and deliberate in his hand. Cold metal against skin, a promise of pain. My body tenses. My fingers scrape against the floor, searching for grip, for any way to escape, but the marble won’t hold me. My legs refuse to cooperate.

“I… I’m not leaving,” she whispers to me, voice breaking, shaking, hoping some part of me is hearing her.

“Breathe… Meira. Just breathe. You’re okay. You’re safe.” Her voice is my lifeline, but I can’t seem to hold onto it. The fear grips my chest like iron, my lungs burning with each shallow breath. My vision flickers. I feel like the world is tipping, spinning, collapsing around me.

It feels like the knife he used on her is pressing against my throat. Cold, merciless. I taste iron. My hands flail, useless. My mind screams. Every second stretches into eternity. I collapse fully into my mom's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air. Her embrace is warm, safe, and grounding. It feels like that first panic attack—the one I thought would never end. I couldn’t stop crying, my breathing wouldn’t slow down, and it didn’t feel like it would ever end. Then my mom had gotten through to me; she had calmed me down.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” she whispers, stroking my hair, pressing me close. But even as her words cradle me, I know deep down, it will never truly be okay. Not with him. Not with the memory, the danger, the terror.

My body trembles long after he’s gone, shaking in the aftermath of adrenaline and fear. Even after it ends, it doesn’t leave. It never leaves. It clings to your mind and your body, trying to keep you in that dark place. My whole life feels like a panic attack in a constant loop.

I close my eyes, trying to remember I’m fourteen, not fully responsible, not fully powerless-but the weight of knowing, of seeing, of surviving, presses down like a mountain. My chest heaves. My tears won’t stop.

And then, snap, my eyes fly open. I’m in my bed.

The nightmare dissolves around me, but the memory of that night -four years ago- still clings to my skin like frost. Sweat drenches my hair, my sheets, my nightgown. My heart races as if I’m still in that room, still hearing his voice. The room is quiet. Still. Safe. But my chest pounds, my fingers twitch, my body refuses to calm.

I press my hands to my face, trying to banish it, trying to force the nightmare to fade. I remind myself that it was four years ago. But the echoes-the knife falling to the floor, the fear, my mother’s courage, my own terror-cling. It will stay. Forever.

I need out.

Out of the castle.

Out of my head.

Out of the memory that still crawls under my skin

The memory four years old but fresh as blood.

I know I should be over it.

The knife.

My mother’s scream.

But trauma doesn’t care about time.

And I sold my soul that night.

Signed it away to my father’s so easily. He didn’t give me any other choice.

A few hours later, the nightmare still clinging to my bones, I run.

The treadmill is my only escape. I needed to move. Trying to sweat out the fear that settled into my bones from that dream. My lungs burn, my legs ache, but pain is better than panic. Pain is mine; I can control my own pain. How much I feel or when I have had enough, but panic, panic only builds.

“You seriously got permission to come here?” Jana asks, almost whining, running beside me like this is any normal day, instead of it being my personal escape. She knows my dad hardly ever lets me leave the Castle - school being the exception.

“He didn’t have a reason to say no,” I say, breathing sharply. “I called your dad and told him I needed time with you. Then he called mine. And… here I am.” Calling my uncle on my dad has been my secret trump card since I was five. He had told me I could always call him if I needed him for anything. I was too young to understand back then. Through the years, I called him for small things. When there was something happening at school, and my father didn’t want to let me participate, but Jana was going to be there. When I was sick of all my lessons, I would rather visit Azuria.

Jana whistles. “That’s genius-level manipulation, even for you.” Her tone is teasing, but she doesn’t understand the necessity. If I don’t word things perfectly, my father snaps. If I challenge him, he punishes my mother. If I even breathe wrong, someone bleeds, never me.

My rebellions can never look like rebellions.

They have to look like obedience.

He wouldn’t have let me go out and do something fun. He would have regarded working out at the public gym as a sign that I was improving myself. Only things that improved me were allowed.

I push faster. Sweat runs down my back, but it’s good - it feels like I’m melting the panic off me.

“You really couldn’t think of anything more fun?” Jana asks. Working out has never been something she enjoyed, but for me, it is medicine for my mentality.

Fun. The word punches something hollow inside me.

“Fun isn’t allowed,” I mutter. “This is the only thing he’d approve.”

Jana is a princess like me, but she is afforded freedom. Her parents don’t guard every second of her life. She thinks my life is glamorous. It’s because my father ensures that every important and noteworthy event is held in Vermillia. He likes us to be the centre of attention. He sees Vermillia as better than the other kingdoms, but we are all the same. We all have the same amount of power.

She has a normal teenage life.

Mine is…

Something else.

In my family, children aren’t loved. They’re used. Jana doesn’t see that when she visits - she sees the grand halls and historic portraits. She doesn’t see the bruises that never show, the whispered threats, the tension that cracks every room in half.

She doesn’t see the knife.

Before my mind spirals, Jana murmurs, “We have a shadow again.”

I don’t look.

I don’t need to.

I feel him.

Caden.

My intended.

My father’s golden alliance.

My future prison.

He appears everywhere I’m allowed to exist, watching me like he’s already bought me. Which, technically… he has.

He’s gorgeous. Anyone would say so. He grew into a fine man. His blue eyes stood out from his sun-kissed skin and his dark red hair with its purple tint. His frame is so large that he overshadows me. It’s all just skin deep.

A product of his father.

And mine.

He walks toward us, and my chest tightens. My father has no trust in me. Instead of having to send a guard with me he sent Caden. He is in the same school as me, he is over at my house for dinner at least three times a weak and he trains with father - learning how to be Vermillia’d leader.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Jana whispers.

Too late.

Caden slams the treadmill stop button. My body lurches. I grab the bars to stay upright. I could have gotten hurt. He doesn’t care as long as my face stays beautiful. I have been told it so often. The rest of your body can always be hidden under clothes, but your face is how the world perceives you.

“What do you want?” I snap. My heart is still racing from the almost incident.

He smirks. “From you? So many things. Starting with owning that tight little body.” Disgust coils through me. My entire body shudders in repulsion. Being gorgeous is not enough to get me. His soul is black and eroding; he will never have my body.

“You’re revolting. Jana and I are leaving.” I step off, but he blocks me in too fast, too sure. His hand hooks under my chin, jerking my face up to his.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’ll move then.” My stomach flips in revulsion.

“I’d rather kiss a snake.” His jaw twitches. The pressure on my chin increases.

Possessive.

Threatening.

The same way my father grabs my mother when she ‘forgets her place’. He has learned more from my father than just managing a country.

“Try that again,” he says softly in warning, “and see what happens.”

“You can’t touch me like this,” I hiss. “We’re not even publicly engaged. If I sleep with someone else before marriage, would I be tainted to you? Would you still want me?” His eyes flash with something ugly. “If that is the case, I’d easily sleep with anyone here.” He leans in, voice a whisper against my ear.

“Your father told me to bring you home.” My stomach drops.

“Said we should…” He leans closer. “…bond.”

Ice floods my spine.

Alone with him is bad.

Alone with my father is worse.

“I’m leaving with Jana,” I lie. “We’re visiting her parents.”

He laughs quietly, leaning in to me. He didn’t want anyone else to hear what he had to say. “Go ahead. I’ll tell your father you disobeyed him. With your mother there alone…” He lets the implication hang, sharp as a blade.

My stomach drops.

He knows.

He knows exactly how to control me.

“Fine,” I mutter. “In that case, I’m not finished yet.” He steps back, victorious. I run again.

I punish myself with reps, weights, and machines.

Anything to avoid going home.

Anything to delay the inevitable.

Hours pass. Jana eventually leaves with her driver - apologising, worried - but she doesn’t understand. She knows that I dislike him, but she doesn’t see that I am afraid of being alone with him and afraid of what happens if I disobey him.

I’m not afraid of Caden himself; I am afraid of his behaviour. Just like the trend says. I would rather choose the bear.

He’s just a symptom.

I’m afraid of who controls him, who taught him.

I keep working out until my muscles tremble. Until the sweat dries sticky on my skin. Until I feel like collapsing. Good. That’s the point.

Caden crosses his arms. “You’re being ridiculous. Let’s go.”

I ignore him. He is not the boss of me.

He reaches over and turns the treadmill to full speed. I yank the safety clip, stopping it instantly. My legs wobble and ache, hardly able to keep me up.

“Good. You’re done.” Commanding. Already assuming authority. I drag myself toward the exit. Slow, deliberately slow. He hates that. When I reach for the car door, he grabs me and shoves me against it, cupping my cheek like we’re a couple. I regretted that I wore myself out so much, because now fighting back will be so difficult.

“Why make everything difficult?” he murmurs, thumb brushing my skin as he owns it.

“Not wanting you isn’t being difficult,” I say. “It’s a boundary you can’t accept.” His smile turns sharp. “Keep fighting, princess. It’ll make it sweeter when you finally break.” He lets me go. I slide into the passenger seat, muscles trembling.

Silence fills the car as we pull out of the parking lot.

Then his hand lands on my inner thigh.

Not gentle.

Claiming.

Gripping.

A wave of nausea rolls over me. At the feel of his warm hand on my skin. I wish I had worn leggings instead of the crop top and shorts. His hand was so high up, his fingers on my inner thigh. My whole body was stiff.

“Don’t touch me.” He squeezes harder. “Why not? Are you basically my girlfriend?” girlfriend? No, I am nothing of his. He likes to pretend like we are in some sort of relationship. Maybe pretending makes it easier for him. The truth is, for me, there is nothing there. No attraction, no arousal. Nothing. I feel nothing for him. I do not want to be his girlfriend, and I don’t want to marry him.

“I am NOT.” I grab his wrist, he quickly let go of my leg grabbing my hand, winding our fingers together. His grip hard. My hand turning white from the pressure.

“You can’t drive like this,” I snap. Lifting our combined hands up. It is so dangerous to be driving with just one hand. I do not want to die, that is one thing I know for sure. Through all of it, I’ve never wanted to live less.

“Watch me.” His grip tightens. Control disguised as affection. Manipulation disguised as intimacy.

Just like my father.

“Let go,” I warn, glaring at him.

“Or what?” he chuckles. “You’ll scream?”

Something inside me snaps.

Fine.

Then I’ll act like a child. I let out an ear-piercing scream, the car swerved, tyres screeching.