Burn Them All

Chapter 5

Elyse Pov

Pain woke me first.

A dull, throbbing ache low in my belly that spread through my entire body like poison. I opened my eyes slowly, each blink an effort, and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Stone. Gray. Cracks spiderwebbing across the surface.

Not the dungeon. Somewhere else.

I turned my head, taking in the room. Small. A single narrow window showed darkness outside at night, or maybe just before dawn. The bed beneath me had clean sheets but a rusty frame that creaked when I shifted. The air smelled musty, like the room hadn’t been opened in years.

Where was I?

The question had barely formed when memory slammed into me like a fist.

Papa. The dungeon. The spell.

The baby.

My hand flew to my stomach, pressing against the flatness there. Empty. Hollow.

Gone.

“No.” The word came out broken. “No, no, no…”

I curled into myself, both hands clutching my abdomen as if I could somehow find what had been taken. But there was nothing. Just the echo of cramping pain and the knowledge that I’d failed.

Failed to protect my child. Failed to stop Papa. Failed at everything.

“I’m sorry.” Tears poured down my face, hot and endless. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

My baby. Jason’s baby. The last piece of him I’d had.

All of it, gone.

I don’t know how long I cried. Long enough for my throat to burn raw. Long enough for the tears to stop coming because there was nothing left inside me.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged me back under.

Into darkness that was somehow worse than waking.

-----

A creaking sound jerked me awake.

The door. Someone was opening the door.

I scrambled upright, my body screaming in protest, and pressed myself against the wall. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my temples.

A man stepped inside.

Large. Broad-shouldered. His clothes were expensive rich fabric, fine tailoring, the kind of outfit that screamed wealth and power. His face was angular, handsome in a cold way, with sharp features and calculating eyes.

Those eyes swept over me like I was livestock he was inspecting.

My skin crawled.

“Well, well.” His voice was smooth. Cultured. “You’re awake.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat had closed up.

He moved closer, and I pressed harder against the wall, as if I could somehow melt into the stone. My whole body shook, betraying my fear.

This was the buyer. The one Papa sold me to.

Lord Casimir. It had to be.

He stopped in front of the bed, looking down at me with an expression that made my stomach turn. Not quite a smile. Something hungrier.

“It was quite a catch.” He bent down, bringing his face level with mine. “Your father drove a hard bargain, but I’d say my gold was well spent. You’re even more interesting than I was told.”

I pressed my lips together, refusing to speak. Refusing to give him anything.

He reached out toward my hair.

I slapped his hand away.

The crack of skin on skin echoed in the small room.

For a second, I thought he’d hit me back. Thought I’d made a terrible mistake. But instead, his smile widened.

“Feisty.” He stood, brushing off his sleeve like I’d dirtied it. “I like that. Spirit makes everything so much more… entertaining.”

He walked toward the door, pausing at the threshold.

“Rest up.” He glanced back over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes made my blood run cold. “Tomorrow, I’ll claim what I purchased.”

The door closed. The lock clicked.

I was alone again.

But somehow, that felt worse than when he’d been in the room.

-----

I didn’t sleep that night.

Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Papa’s face. Felt the paralysis spell holding me down. Remembered the burning, tearing pain of losing my baby.

And now I was here. Sold to a man who looked at me like I was a thing he owned.

I had to escape. Had to find a way out before tomorrow came.

But how?

The window was too narrow, the bars too thick. The door was locked from the outside. Even if I could break it down, where would I go? I didn’t know this place, didn’t know if there were guards.

And I was so weak. My body is still recovering from the abortion, from days without proper food, from three years in a dungeon before that.

What could I possibly do?

The binding spell. Mama’s protection.

Was it still intact? Or had Papa’s dark magic damaged it?

I held up my hands in the darkness, staring at my palms. Mama had bound my destruction magic so tightly I’d barely felt it my whole life. Just a whisper sometimes, a flicker of heat when emotions ran high.

But now?

Now I felt something different. Something raw and angry, coiled beneath my skin like a living thing.

Waiting.

I closed my eyes, reaching for it the way Mama had taught me when I was small. Before she’d decided it was too dangerous, before the binding.

There. A spark of heat in my chest. Growing warmer. Spreading.

The binding was cracked. Damaged. Maybe broken entirely.

Papa had done this. In his cruelty, trying to destroy my baby, he’d weakened the only thing protecting the world from what I could do.

Good.

Let it break. Let it burn. Let everything that had hurt me turn to ash.

I pulled back from the power, not ready to test it yet. Not ready to find out if I could control it or if it would consume me too.

But knowing it was there, waiting, made me feel less helpless.

Tomorrow, when Lord Casimir came to “claim” what he’d bought, he’d learn that some things couldn’t be owned.

-----

Morning came with a knock at the door.

A maid entered, setting a tray of food on the small table by the window. She was young, maybe sixteen, with downcast eyes that never met mine.

“Eat,” she said quietly, then left before I could respond.

The food was simple but more than I’d had in days: bread, cheese, and some kind of stew. My stomach growled despite everything, and I forced myself to eat. If I were going to fight, I needed strength.

The maid returned at midday with more food. Same routine. No eye contact. No conversation.

A prisoner’s meal. Keeping me alive and fed, but nothing more.

When evening came, a different maid appeared.

This one was older, with a stern face and hands that moved with efficient purpose. Behind her stood a guard, massive and armed.

“The master requires you to bathe.” Her tone was flat. “There’s a special occasion tonight.”

Special occasion.

My stomach dropped.

Tonight. Not tomorrow. Tonight he intended to..

“I don’t…”

“Now.” The guard’s hand moved to his sword. “Or we’ll drag you.”

I stood on shaking legs. What choice did I have?

The maid led me down a corridor, the guard following. We passed other rooms, some with closed doors, others open to reveal lavish furnishings. Wherever I was, it was massive. A mansion. Maybe even a small palace.

Lord Casimir’s home.

The bathroom was larger than the entire house I’d shared with Jason. Marble floors. A massive tub already filled with steaming water. Oils and soaps are arranged on a golden tray.

All of it felt wrong. Like being dressed up for slaughter.

“Wash thoroughly.” The maid handed me a cloth. “I’ll be outside.”

They left me alone, but I could hear the guard stationed just beyond the door. No escape that way.

I sank into the water, and despite everything, the heat felt good against my aching body. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been properly clean. The dungeon. Jason’s funeral. Everything since had been blood and dirt and survival.

I scrubbed my skin until it was raw and red. Washed my hair until the water ran clear. When I finally stood, wrapping myself in the towel they’d left, I looked almost human again.

Almost like someone worth saving.

But that person was dead. Had died the moment Papa ripped my baby out of me.

What remained was something else. Something darker.

Something dangerous.

The maid returned with a dress. Blue silk that shimmered in the lamplight, cut to hug every curve. The color matched my eyes perfectly probably chosen specifically for that reason.

“Put it on.”

I wanted to refuse. Wanted to wrap myself in the towel and fight my way out right then.

But I needed to see Lord Casimir one more time. Needed to get close enough to test if my power had truly broken free.

If it had, he’d be the first to burn.

So I put on the dress. Let the maid arrange my damp hair. Stood still while she fastened delicate shoes to my feet.

When she finished, she stepped back and nodded. “The master will be pleased.”

I said nothing.

She led me through more corridors, the guard following, until we reached a door carved with intricate designs. Expensive. Ostentatious. The kind of door that belonged to a bedroom.

“Wait inside.” The maid opened it, gesturing for me to enter.

The room beyond was obscenely luxurious. A four-poster bed with silk curtains. Furniture that probably costs more than most people make in a lifetime. Candles everywhere, casting flickering shadows across walls hung with tapestries.

A bedroom. His bedroom.

I knew what this was. What he intended.

My hands clenched into fists, heat building beneath my skin. The power stirred, responding to my rage.

The maid and guard left, closing the door behind them.

I stood alone in Lord Casimir’s bedroom, wearing the dress he’d chosen, waiting for him to come and take what he thought he’d bought.

Let him try.

Let him come close enough to touch me.

I’d show him exactly what he’d purchased.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time felt strange, elastic, like I was outside my body watching this happen to someone else.

Then footsteps in the hall.

My heart kicked into overdrive.

The door handle turned.

Lord Casimir stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He’d changed clothes too. Something more casual. More comfortable.

His smile was predatory.

“There you are.” He moved toward me slowly, like I was something skittish he might frighten away. “Beautiful. Even better than I imagined.”

I backed up. One step. Two.

“Now, now.” He kept coming. “Don’t be afraid. I paid good gold for you. I’ll take excellent care of my investment.”

“I’m not an investment.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I’m not a thing you own.”

“Legally, you are.” He was close now. Too close. “Your father signed the documents. You belong to me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing my cheek.

The touch ignited something inside me. Not desire. Not fear.

Rage.

Pure, white-hot, burning rage that had been building since Mama died. Since Papa abandoned me. Since Jason left and never came back. Since my baby was ripped from my body.

All of it, erupting at once.

“Don’t touch me.” The words came out with heat behind them. Literally. I could feel my skin warming, the power rising.

Lord Casimir’s smile faltered. “What…”

His hand was still on my cheek.

I grabbed his wrist.