22. Uriel

22

URIEL

I notice the shift in Athena immediately. My little demon's fire has dimmed to embers, leaving behind a shell that drifts through my halls like morning mist. Her honey-blonde curls hang limp around her face, those striking golden-green eyes downcast as she traces the same path between her room and the kitchen day after day.

It feels sudden, and I can't place what must have happened. But she is so different now in a way that hits me hard. Like it is my fault.

The silence unnerves me more than her previous attempts at escape ever did. No more testing the boundary. No more clever verbal sparring over breakfast. No more threats to poison my morning tea - threats that had made me laugh despite myself.

I catch glimpses of her through doorways and around corners. Her soft figure moves without purpose now, shoulders curved inward as if bearing an invisible weight. The sight stirs something uncomfortable in my chest. This isn't the fierce little human who'd fought me, who snarled in my face like I wasn't a fearsome xaphan warrior a week ago.

My wings twitch with restless energy as I watch her from my study. She walks through the workshop, where she has been less and less over the last few days, a book clutched to her chest like a shield. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches her hair, turning it to spun gold for a brief moment. But there's no light in her eyes anymore.

"Going somewhere interesting?" I call out, keeping my tone light.

She pauses, not turning to face me. "Just the library."

No sharp retort. No biting comment about my supposedly lacking book collection or my nosy tendencies. Just three quiet words before she steps outside, the door closing behind her.

I drum my fingers against my desk, the perfect stillness of my features marred by a frown. I'd wanted her tamed, not broken. This ghost wearing Athena's face leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

The door opens again, and I catch Raven's scent - steel and leather - before I see her. She leans against the doorframe, her violet eyes narrowed as she watches me with an expression I can't read.

"Your little human's lost her spark." Raven's midnight hair falls across her face as she tilts her head. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." I spread my wings, the light gray feathers catching the morning sun. "I don't know why she's acting like that."

"That's zarryn shit." Raven limps into my study, dropping into the leather chair across from me. "You've got that look."

"What look?"

"Like you want to hunt down whatever's hurting her and tear it apart." She props her boots on my desk, ignoring my glare. "But you can't, because you don't know what it is. And that's eating you alive."

My fingers curl into fists. "I pushed her. Tested her limits. But I never-" The words stick in my throat. "She fought back before. Called me every creative curse she could think of. Now she won't even look at me."

"Maybe she finally realized she's trapped here with a possessive xaphan who treats her like a particularly interesting pet." Raven's voice cuts like a blade.

"She's mine to protect." Heat floods my veins. "To keep safe."

"To control?" Raven's violet eyes flash. "You're practically radiating jealousy right now. Whatever's got her attention isn't you, and it's driving you mad."

"I don't-"

"Save it." She stands, favoring her good leg. "Cool it with the territorial shit before you make things worse. She's not some weapon you can forge and shape to your will."

The truth in her words burns worse than poison. I've never cared what humans thought before. Never wanted one's attention, their fire, their fight. But watching Athena retreat into herself feels like watching the sun go dark.

I try to give her time, but when I walk in for dinner, I know it hasn't helped. Athena occupies the seat to my right - close enough to watch, far enough to maintain the illusion of proper distance. The table stretches empty beyond us, a wasteland of polished mahogany and untouched place settings.

Of course Raven would force me alone with her after our conversation earlier.

My own plate sits forgotten as I observe her delicate hands push a piece of roasted meat from one side to the other. The silverware scrapes against fine porcelain, the sound grating against my nerves. She hasn't taken a single bite.

"The cook will be insulted." I reach for my wine glass, the deep red liquid catching the light. "He spent hours preparing this feast."

Her fingers tighten around the fork. "I'm not hungry."

The words lack their usual fire. No cutting remarks about being force-fed like a prized pet. No clever observations about poison being an effective appetite suppressant. Just quiet defeat.

My wings shift against the high-backed chair, feathers rustling with irritation. I've never seen her yield, not once, yet here she sits, diminished. The golden-green eyes that once sparked with defiance stare listlessly at her plate, as if the answers to her freedom might be found in the arrangement of vegetables.

Something twists inside me, sharp and unexpected. It's the same sensation I get when I find a flaw in a newly forged blade - the knowledge that something perfect has been marred.

"Eat," I command, my voice harder than intended. The word echoes in the cavernous dining room.

She flinches. Actually flinches. The reaction hits me like a physical blow, and that thing in me twists tighter.

Her fork moves mechanically to her lips, taking the smallest possible bite. She chews without tasting, swallows without enjoyment. It's a hollow victory that leaves an ashen taste in my mouth.

The flames flicker, casting strange shadows across her face. For a moment, she looks like a broken toy - beautiful, fragile, and utterly lifeless. I grip my wine glass tighter, the stem threatening to snap under the pressure of my fingers.

The rest of dinner is silent. And after, when she leaves, I sit staring at her still full plate for too long. That feeling I’ve been trying to ignore worsens and twists until I am up out of my seat and following her.

I won't keep letting this go on.

I catch her in the darkened hallway before she can retreat to her room. My wings spread, blocking her path, feathers brushing against the stone walls. The shadows cast by the magical torches dance across her face, highlighting the hollowness in her cheeks.

"Enough of this." I plant my hand against the wall beside her head. "What's wrong with you?"

Athena's gaze remains fixed on the floor, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. "Nothing's wrong."

"That's a fucking lie." The word comes out as a growl. I lean closer, inhaling the fading scent of citrus soap from her morning bath. My scent that I want on her. "Where's the girl who threatened to gut me in my sleep?"

"I apologize for my previous behavior." Her voice comes out flat, rehearsed. "It was inappropriate."

My free hand catches her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. The usual warmth in those golden-green depths has frozen over, leaving behind something distant and cold. Wrong. All wrong.

"Stop it." My fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to demand attention. "Stop acting like this."

"I'm merely trying to be what you want." She doesn't pull away, doesn't fight. Just stands there, pliant and empty. "A proper prisoner."

Panic claws up my throat, sharp and unfamiliar. I've faced down armies, forged weapons that could level cities, but this quiet submission sets my heart racing. My wings curl forward instinctively, creating a feathered cage around us both.

"I never wanted-" The words stick in my throat. What did I want? To possess her? To break her spirit? Looking at her now, seeing that light extinguished, feels like holding a blade with no edge. "Not this. Never this."

She blinks slowly, like a creature emerging from deep water. "What does it matter?"

Her words hit like a physical blow, making my wings twitch. The little demon who'd once thrown a book at my head now speaks with the emotion of a marble statue. The wrongness of it all makes my magic surge, causing the nearest torch to flare bright enough to cast harsh shadows across her face.

The realization hits me like a blade between the ribs - precise, painful, and impossible to ignore. My chest constricts at her lifeless expression, my magic crackling beneath my skin. The torches in the hall flare and dim with my racing pulse.

I'd kill for her. I'd hunt down anyone who looked at her wrong. Tear apart anyone who dared dim that fierce light in her eyes. But this… I think I've done this.

I'm not sure how to stomach that.

My wings snap tight against my back, feathers bristling. The movement draws her empty gaze, but there's none of the fascination she used to show when watching my wings. No spark of curiosity. No hint of the girl who I once let touch them when I've never let anyone near them before.

Fuck. I'd rather have her hatred than this hollow shell. At least hatred burns. This...this is like watching ice spread across a lake, freezing everything beneath.

So I steel myself. I can pull her anger back out, even if I don't want her to hate me anymore.

It will be worth it.

"You know what?" I lean closer, letting cruelty twist my features. "You're right. You are just a prisoner. A human pet I keep around for entertainment." The words taste like poison. "And right now? You're boring me."

Something flickers in those golden-green eyes - the barest ember of anger. My heart pounds harder. Yes. Fight back, little demon.

"I should have picked another human instead." I bare my teeth in a sharp smile, even as the lie makes me want to tear out my own tongue. "Once far more interesting. In need of less…coddling."

Her fingers curl into fists, knuckles white against her soft skin. The sight sends a thrill through my blood. Come on, Athena. Show me that spark.

"What's wrong?" I mock, though each word feels like swallowing glass. "Finally realizing your place? Realizing that there's no point in fighting me?" I lean closer. "Good. You were never particularly good at it anyway."

There - a tremor in her lower lip, a flash of hurt and rage in her eyes. It wounds me to cause her pain, but I'd rather see her burn with hatred than freeze in this lifeless state. Even if the thought of her truly hating me carves hollows in me I didn't know existed.