The immortal's queen

Chapter 13: The Beast Den

I should have known the day would end badly when a second-year stopped me after class with a look that was half pity, half entertainment.

“Theo wants you to report,” he said. “to his residence before evening bell.”

That was it. No explanation. No room for argument.

By the time I got back to the dorm, Noemi was already pacing.

“You’re not serious,” she said when I told her. “He summoned you there? Actual Beast Den?”

“Apparently I collect bad decisions like stamps.”

Noemi grabbed my shoulders. “Celine. People don’t just get called there. What did you do?”

I hesitated. “I may have borrowed a restricted practice room without permission.”

“May have?”

“I definitely did, the door was unlocked and my self-control is decorative.”

Noemi looked like she wanted to shake me. “You need to stop testing that man.”

“I wasn’t testing him. I was… exploring inefficiently.”

She didn’t laugh.

That almost made it worse.

---

The Beast Den did not look like a monster’s lair from the outside.

It looked worse in a quieter way.

A dark stone residence sat apart from the rest of campus, all sharp lines and tall windows, too polished to feel welcoming. The courtyard in front of it was perfectly kept, the kind of neat that made ordinary footprints feel like a crime. Even the air seemed thinner here, as if sound itself had been told not to linger.

So this is where the rumors live. Congratulations, Celine. You finally made it into a cautionary tale.

A staff member checked my name once, then pushed the door open without small talk. “Straight ahead. Last room. Don’t touch anything.”

I don't plan to

The entrance hall was long and dim. Polished floors stretched under soft light. There were almost no decorations, nothing warm, nothing unnecessary. Every surface looked expensive and uninterested in my survival. My steps felt too loud, so I shortened them like that would make me less out of place.

The hall opened into a sitting room that didn’t look used for actual sitting. Dark furniture. Clean lines. A low table with nothing on it. Wide glass panels faced the courtyard, but even the view felt controlled. The whole space had the atmosphere of a place meant to make visitors understand they were temporary.

I hated how effective it was.

Another door stood open at the far side.

That was the main room.

It was larger than I expected, with a high ceiling and wide windows already turning dark with evening. The air smelled faintly of oil paint and cold stone. One corner held a canvas and brushes, arranged with the same precision as everything else. A desk sat against the opposite wall, neat stacks of sealed records lined up like they were afraid to be out of order. The open floor in the center left too much empty space, the kind that made a person feel exposed just by standing in it.

Theo was there.

He sat near the canvas with his sleeves rolled slightly, brush moving in slow, controlled strokes. He did not look up when I entered.

I stopped a few steps inside and waited.

Seconds passed.

Then more.

The silence stretched until it started pressing on my nerves.

Say something. Don’t say something. Apologize. Don’t apologize. Why is he painting like this is a peaceful evening hobby and not a threat display?

“I was told to come,” I said finally.

Nothing.

“I know I broke a rule. Again. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble. I just—”

Still nothing.

The brush moved. Soft. Steady. Completely uninterested in my existence.

My throat tightened.

I reached for his mind out of pure desperation.

And hit nothing.

Not a wall.

Not noise.

Nothing.

It was like pressing my thoughts against smooth black glass. No heat. No movement. No human clutter. Whatever people said about him was true. My ability slid off him like it had never been real.

That scared me more than shouting would have.

“I’m sorry,” I said, quieter. “I don’t always think before I move. I know that. I’ll do better.”

The brush paused.

Theo still did not look at me.

“You have been here less than two weeks,” he said. His voice was calm, almost mild. “In that time you have disrupted a class, entered restricted grounds twice, and now used a sealed training room without authorization.”

I swallowed. “When you list it like that, it sounds intentional.”

“It sounds consistent.”

He set the brush down and finally turned his head. His eyes landed on me with the same emotional temperature as winter stone.

“You do not appear to understand consequences,” he said. “So I will simplify them.”

The air around my wrists and ankles tightened, invisible and precise. Not ropes. Pressure. Controlled and exact, pinning me in place without bruising. My breath caught.

I can't move, I can't move, what are you doing to me.

“What are you doing?” I asked

“Ensuring attention.”

The pressure increased making my shoulders burn, constant, focused discomfort that made every second feel longer.

Okay. Note made. He can do this. Never amuse myself again.

“You will remain there until I decide otherwise,” Theo said, already turning back to the canvas. “Then you will clean this room. Thoroughly.”

He walked to a side cabinet, returned with a small bucket of water and a toothbrush, and set both on the floor in front of me.

he can't be serious, right? is that a toothbrush?

I stared at them.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I do not repeat instructions.”

The pressure on my limbs pulsed once, sharper, and the protest died in my mouth. My eyes stung against my will. I hated that. I hated that he could stand there painting while my body shook from something so simple and exact.

After a long stretch of silence, the force eased.

“Clean,” he said.

I dropped to my knees because standing suddenly felt like a privilege I had lost. The toothbrush looked ridiculous in my hand. Humiliating. Effective.

I started scrubbing.

Theo returned to his painting as if I were furniture that had finally been arranged correctly. The only sounds were water, bristles against the floor, and my own uneven breathing.

Every time I slowed, he spoke without looking up.

“Continue.”

So I did.

My knees ached. My hands wrinkled and stung. Pride leaked out of me one ugly inch at a time. The girl who always had a remark had briefly misplaced her mouth.

By the time he told me to stop, the windows were black and the academy had gone quiet with midnight.

I sat back on my heels, arms trembling.

Theo glanced at the floor once, then at me.

“Get out.”

I stood on stiff legs, and hesitated near the door.

He was already facing the canvas again.

“Next time you decide rules are optional,” he said, “I will not waste time on discomfort and cleaning.”

I left.

The night air hit my face like a slap. I walked fast, then faster, until the Beast Den was behind me and my dorm building finally came into view.

Noemi yanked the door open before I could knock properly.

“Well?” she whispered, terrified. “What happened?”

I dropped onto my bed face-first and muttered into the blanket,

“I’m never getting in trouble again.”

A second later, more honestly:

“I’m going to try very hard not to get in trouble again.”

Noemi exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for an hour.

I stared at the wall with my cheek mashed into the pillow, body sore, pride in pieces, mind stuck on one cold fact:

He hadn’t needed to shout.

He hadn’t needed to chase me.

He just made sure I understood that in his space, my stubbornness had a price.

And I had paid it on my knees with a toothbrush.

I promise to think before I act next time.