Chapter 30 - Calliope

The dining hall is too large for one person. My footsteps echo as I approach the long table, its surface gleaming dully in the dim light. The emptiness feels deliberate, a reminder of my solitude in this place.

No servants hover nearby. They know better than to watch me eat. Only the guards remain posted at the doors, still as statues, their armor reflecting occasional glints of torchlight. Somewhere far below, Arvoren meets with his commanders and council in the underchamber. Soon, his brother’s armies will arrive. Any day now. I can almost feel the weight of their strategies pressing up through the stone beneath my feet. I wanted to be there, too—I was prevented from attending.

My plate is already set: roasted meat, fresh bread, winter vegetables arranged with careful precision. Steam rises from the food in delicate tendrils, carrying the rich scent of herbs and spices I never knew existed before coming here. Upon arriving in this place, the abundance of meat and bread at each meal disgusted me. Now, it feels normal somehow.

As I move to sit, something catches my eye: a slip of parchment, barely visible beneath the edge of my plate.

My heart stutters.

Careful to keep my movements casual, I lift my fork with one hand while the other slides the note into the folds of my skirt. The guards don't move. They don’t seem to even be looking at me, eyes fixed on the walls. Perhaps they feel as awkward as I do, being here without Arvoren.

I force myself to eat, though each bite tastes like ash. The note burns against my thigh like a coal. When I finally rise from the table, my legs feel unsteady, but I maintain my composure as I sweep from the hall, chains clinking softly with each step.

Only when I'm safely in my chambers—Arvoren's chambers, where I now sleep each night—do I withdraw the folded parchment with trembling fingers. The writing is familiar, though I know now it belongs to a different man than I believed:

Tomorrow night. The lower gates. They’ll ask tomorrow for the catacombs to be opened for the needy. Everything is ready. —L. Caddell

My breath catches. Just a scant few words, but their meaning is clear: Ulric's forces will breach the castle from below. They mean to kill him—to kill Arvoren while his attention is divided.

I should feel triumphant. This is what I wanted, isn't it? My chance at freedom, at escape from this gilded cage. And yet, all I feel is sick.

I cannot do this. I cannot bear to do this.

The door creaks behind me. I whirl, crumpling the note in my fist, but it's only a servant come to stoke the fire. She doesn't look at me as she works, adding logs with practiced efficiency before slipping away like a ghost.

Hours pass. I pace the length of Arvoren’s— my —room. The note feels heavy in my skirts, tucked away. Outside the window, stars appear one by one, then wink out, obscured by the snow clouds rolling in from the south.

When Arvoren finally returns, it's well past midnight, and I am in bed. He enters quietly, but I feel his presence like a change in the air. He's stripped off his formal attire, wearing only a loose shirt and dark trousers, but exhaustion drapes him like a second cloak.

He doesn't speak as he crosses to the bed, doesn't even look at me. Simply lies down, still fully clothed, and closes his eyes. Within moments, his breathing evens out—the deep, steady rhythm of true sleep.

I move closer, drawn despite myself. In sleep, his face loses some of its hardness. The furrow between his brows smooths out, the tight set of his jaw relaxes. He looks almost peaceful, almost gentle. Almost human.

The crumpled note weighs heavy in my palm. I could do it if only I had the strength, the resolve. I could let them come, let them end him while he sleeps.

It would be a mercy, wouldn't it? A quick death, painless. Better than he deserves, perhaps.

But as I stare down at him, something shifts in my chest. I remember his arms around me in the administrative chamber, the raw honesty in his voice as he spoke of his family. The warmth of his body against mine. The way he looked at me not as a possession but as something precious, something he feared losing.

Before I can stop myself, I'm leaning down, pressing my lips to his. Damn them. Damn them all.

He wakes instantly, tension coiling through his body, but then he recognizes me and softens. His hand comes up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer with a growl that vibrates through my bones.

"Calliope," he murmurs against my mouth, and my name sounds like a prayer.

I let him draw me down onto the bed, let him roll us until he's above me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His eyes glint in the darkness, bright and hungry. When he kisses me again, there's nothing gentle about it.

His hands are everywhere at once—tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding beneath my skirts. I arch into his touch, wanting more, wanting everything.

As he tears my skirts from my body, I am momentarily terrified he will see the note. But it flutters innocuously through the air to the ground beside us, and he does not see it, too busy ravishing me—and soon, I’m moaning, likewise distracted.

"Mine," he growls, teeth grazing my throat.

The possessiveness in his voice should anger me, but instead it sends heat flooding through my veins. I drag him closer, nails scoring his back through his shirt.

"Show me," I breathe, and his eyes flash with something wild and hungry.

Arvoren's eyes darken with desire as he tears his shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen. His skin is a map of scars, each one a story I long to trace with my fingertips, my tongue. He looms over me, powerful and predatory, and I feel small beneath him—not weak, but precious. Protected.

His hands ghost over my body. They leave trails of fire in their wake. When they reach my breasts, he cups them reverently, thumbs circling my nipples until they harden to aching points. I arch into his touch, desperate for more, but he holds me down with the weight of his body.

"Patience," he growls, voice rough with need. "I intend to savor every inch of you."

His mouth replaces his hands, hot and demanding. I gasp as he takes a nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as pleasure spirals through me.

Arvoren works his way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my stomach. He holds my hips in his huge hands, utterly dominant, controlling me wholly, and I let it happen. I crave it, I realize, his control, his brutality. How he holds me like he needs me to survive, and yet cannot bear to hurt me.

When he reaches the apex of my thighs, he pauses, looking up at me with eyes that burn like embers.

"Tell me you need this," he demands, his breath ghosting over my sensitive flesh.

"I want you," I breathe, and it's the truest thing I've ever said. "Please, Arvoren. My King."

He groans at the sound of his title on my lips, then buries his face between my legs. The first swipe of his tongue has me crying out, hips bucking against his grip. He holds me firmly in place as he explores me with lips and tongue, alternating between teasing licks and deep, penetrating strokes. My world narrows to the exquisite sensations he's creating, pleasure building higher and higher until I'm teetering on the edge of release.

Just as I'm about to fall, Arvoren pulls away.

I whimper at the loss, but he silences me with a searing kiss. I taste myself on his lips as he positions himself between my thighs, one hand brushing idly against my core, just light enough to hold me back from climaxing but insistent enough to keep me close to it.

Moaning his name, I register the hard length of him pressing insistently against me. I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.

"Look at me," he commands, and I force my eyes open to meet his intense gaze. "I want to see your face when I claim you."

I raise a shaking hand to touch his hair, the back of his neck. He kisses me once more, as if he cannot hold himself back from it, claiming my mouth with fierce brutality, uncompromising and volatile, driven almost to madness by me.

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside me. We both cry out at the sensation—the delicious stretch, the perfect fullness. For a moment, we're still, savoring this moment and one another. I run my hands through his hair, rake my nails down his back, legs wrapped tight around his middle as he begins to move slowly within me. It isn’t like last time; he is tantalizingly slow this time, taking his time with me, making me wait.

“Made for me,” he groans into my ear as he takes me. “You were made for me …”

I arch up from the sheets, keening, whole body shaking, mouth parted in a silent scream. Arvoren takes my waist between his huge hands, thumbs digging into my stomach, and maneuvers me, possessing me entirely, pistoning into me as if he needs it to survive. I see stars as I orgasm, thousands of them splattered over the dark ceiling above us, and through the fuzz of my vision, I see the want in his eyes, the unfettered need, his desire for me ruling him entirely.

Later—much later—we lie tangled in the sheets, my body aching sweetly, his arm heavy across my waist. The fire in the hearth has burned low, casting the room in shadows that dance across the dark ceiling. If I strain my ears in the quiet, I can hear the lapping of the lake’s dark waters below the tower.

I trace idle patterns on Arvoren’s chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my palm. This is the moment, I think. If ever there was a time to ask …

"Arvoren?" My voice sounds small in the darkness.

"Mm?" His fingers drift lazily up and down my spine.

"Remove my chains."

His hand stills. The silence that follows feels like glass about to shatter.

"No."

The word falls between us like a stone.

I push myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. His face is half in shadow, but I can see the hardness returning to his jaw, the walls rebuilding behind his eyes.

"Please," I whisper. "After everything—after tonight—"

"My answer will not change." His voice is cold now, all traces of tenderness gone. "The chains stay."

Something breaks inside me. "Do you truly think I would run? Now?"

He sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist. In the faint firelight, I can see the scars that map his chest—evidence of all the battles he's fought, all the pain he's endured.

“I don’t wish to argue with you, Calliope.”

I pull away from his touch. "So instead you'll keep me prisoner forever? Is that what love means to you?"

"Love?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "The chains stay."

He lies back down, turning away from me. Within minutes, his breathing evens out again, but I remain awake, staring up at the shadowed ceiling.

There is a singular moment when it happens. I know as soon as it does that I will never forget it.

The truth settles over me like frost, clear and cold and absolute: Nothing will ever change.

Not really. He will never trust me, never truly love me—not in any way that matters. The chains around my ankles seem to grow heavier with each passing moment, their weight suddenly unbearable.

I think of the note, lying somewhere on the floor beside the bed. Linus, whoever he truly is, doesn't matter now. It doesn’t matter what he wants, what he says, how he lies. None of them matter. Not this kingdom, not its king, not its lords. What matters is the chance they offer. The possibility of freedom. The world I can build for myself beyond this place.

Because I know now, with a clarity that steals my breath, that I must leave this castle.

If I stay, these chains will become more than physical bonds—they'll become who I am. I'll forget what it means to be free, to be truly myself. I'll become nothing more than an extension of his will, his power, his fear.

I cannot let that happen.

Beside me, Arvoren sleeps on, unaware of the resolution crystallizing in my heart. I study his face one last time, memorizing the strong line of his jaw, the sweep of his dark lashes against his cheeks. Part of me still loves him, I think. Part of me always will.

But love isn't enough. Not when it comes at the cost of everything I am.

A beast screams in the distance, its cry carrying on the wind like a promise. Or perhaps a warning. Tomorrow night, everything will change. Tomorrow night, I'll either find my freedom or die trying.

For now, I lie in the darkness beside my captor, my lover, my enemy, and wait for dawn.

I know now what I must do.