──────────────⋆˖☽ ​​​𝑨 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 ☾˖⋆──────────────

He opened the door to his study and gestured inward. “After you,” he said, his low, timbered voice vibrated in the air between us. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

What game was he playing now? I shot him a wary look but entered without hesitation. The atmosphere shifted instantly, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment, leather bindings, and something else… a faint, unsettling trace of dried lavender. My gaze swept the room, the memory of my last visit here rising like bile. Then, my wrists had been bound. I subconsciously rubbed the chafed skin, a grim reminder that this time, they were free. For now. I sank into a plush armchair, arranging my limbs in a study of casualness I did not feel.

The soft click of the door shutting behind us sealed the silence, amplifying the tension in the room. Mikaeus drew near, the space he occupied felt charged, like the air before a lightning strike. I found a suddenly fascinating veining in the marble floor to stare at—anything to avoid his gaze. When his footsteps finally receded, I tracked him from the corner of my eye as he glided to his desk, a dark silhouette against the rain-streaked windows.

“Why did you bring me here?” The words were sharper than I’d intended. I straightened my spine, refusing to show weakness.

He looked up from his desk, his expression an unreadable mask. “What did you think of the town?” he asked, his voice a calm counterpoint to the storm raging in my chest as he leaned forward on his hands.

I rubbed my arm, a nervous tic I couldn’t suppress. “It was… different.”

He pushed away from the desk and drifted to the chair adjacent to mine. The motion was so fluid it was unnerving. He sat, leaning toward me over the armrest, a predator closing in. “Different how?” An eyebrow lifted, a silent challenge.

“It’s not what I expected,” I mumbled, forcing my restless hands into my lap.

“Elaborate,” he pressed, his voice sinking lower, more intimate. It was a command wrapped in a question.

My mind reeled, assaulted by the memory of children laughing as they played tag around the scaled legs of a slumbering dragon. It felt fundamentally wrong. All of it. I shook my head, clearing the image. “The people,” I said, my voice tight with conviction. “They seem genuinely happy.” I gave a pathetic little shrug, then my eyes snapped to his, my resolve hardening. “Those scaled beasts are still monsters,” I whispered fiercely, “but the people… they’re not.”

A slow, satisfied smile touched his lips. “I am glad you are beginning to see the true nature of Luminethra.”

Not a chance, I screamed in my head. Out loud, I said, “I suppose you never know.”

His smile widened, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a game he believed he was winning. “Give me a moment.” He rose and returned to his desk. “It seems you’re beginning to relax. Your shoulders are no longer up by your ears. That’s progress.”

My jaw tightened. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Merely an observation.”

A cold fury settling in my gut. This calmness is a lie. If you knew what I was truly thinking, I wouldn’t be walking around without restraints.

“The real reason I brought you here…” he said, turning and pulling open a wide, flat drawer, “was to return something of yours.”

I heard the quiet clatter of items being pushed aside, the scrape of metal against wood. A moment later, he slid the drawer shut. He turned back to me, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I told you I want you to trust me.” He moved to sit beside me again, his proximity making every muscle in my body go rigid. His eyes, fixed on mine, held a warmth that had to be a fabrication. It felt too sincere to be anything but a lie. “And I want to trust you,” his voice rumbled, low and persuasive. “No, let me correct that. We need to trust each other if this is to work.”

He held out his hands. My breath hitched.

Resting on his open palms was my mother’s dagger.

My heart began to hammer in my ears. My own hands were shaking as I lifted them, my fingers hovering over the blade that felt like a piece of my soul. “You’re… you’re giving this back to me?” My voice was a shaky whisper.

“Yes.” He watched me, his gaze intense, analytical. “I don’t believe you have any reason to harm anyone here.”

Not the people, I thought, but the monsters are another story. I let my fingers finally make contact with the hilt, the cool, familiar weight of it settling into my palm. The worn leather grip was a ghost of my mother’s touch. My eyes shot back to his. “What’s the catch?”

He shook his head, a perfect picture of innocence. “There is no catch.”

I didn’t believe him for a second. My thumb stroked the worn carving of a coiled dragon on the hilt. “Are you sure?”

His gaze fell to the dagger in my hands, his tone remaining even. “Positive. However, I am curious about something.”

Here it comes, I thought, my grip tightening on the hilt. The price.

“Relax, Alanah,” he chided gently, his eyes flicking to my hand. “Your knuckles are white.”

I glanced down. He was right. With a conscious effort, I forced my fingers to uncurl. He gestured to the dagger. “I find it fascinating that someone who despises dragons with such passion would carry a blade bearing a dragon crest. May I ask why?”

I met his gaze, letting a wave of exhaustion wash over my features. It wasn’t entirely an act. “It’s a reminder,” I replied flatly.

He arched an eyebrow. “A reminder of what? It must hold some sentimental value for you to protect it so fiercely.”

He was digging, trying to get under my skin. But the dagger was back in my hand, and I knew he would confiscate it again at the first sign of defiance. It wasn’t worth the risk. “It was my mother’s,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “She gave it to me before she died.”

“Then your mother must have admired dragons,” he observed, his posture straightening with interest. “Why is it that you do not?”

“No. She hated them more than I do.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You and your mother are… a contradiction.”

My muscles coiled, and my stare turned venomous. “That isn’t a compliment.”

The laugh he’d been suppressing finally broke free—a short, deep bark of amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. “My apologies. You are simply… unexpected.” He leaned back in his chair. “There is nothing wrong with being unexpected. Aside from, perhaps, being blinded by rage and attempting to assassinate me.”

I tilted my head, my voice dripping with ice. “You’re hardly one to talk. You’re holding me prisoner.”

His expression shuttered, his voice turning stern. “I have my reasons.”

“And I had mine,” I retorted.

His features softened again, a frustratingly swift change. “I do not wish to fight with you, Alanah.”

Then you shouldn’t have brought me here, I thought bitterly.

“I admit,” he conceded, “we may have gotten off to a poor start. But I am trying to make amends.”

The weight of the dagger in my pocket was a reassuring pressure against my thigh. My hands were free. He could be telling the truth. But if he was, why guard his reasons so closely? A cynical thought surfaced: even if he told me, I wouldn’t believe him. No. The best course of action was to play his game. I needed him to let his guard down.

My expression softened, and I offered a small, hesitant smile. “I can see that,” I replied, my voice gentle for the first time. “Thank you… for the tour today. And for my dagger.”

He looked genuinely surprised, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before a slow, deeply pleased smile spread across his face. “You are most welcome, Alanah.”

A sharp knock echoed from the study door. “Are you in there, Mikaeus?” a deep voice called from the hall. “It is almost noon. We require your presence.”

Mikaeus didn’t look away, his eyes holding mine as if searching for something in their depths. “I will be right there!” he answered, his voice firm. He rose to his feet, his tone shifting back to one of authority as he addressed me. “I will walk you to your room.”

I stood and followed him into the hall, toward the prison he had assigned me. The silence between us was heavy, fraught with unspoken calculations. As we walked, I could see him glance at me from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering for a moment before snapping away. He did it again, and then a third time.

A small, knowing smile touched my lips, one I kept hidden from him. For all his talk about trust, he didn’t trust me at all.

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𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓭𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓼𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓼. 𝓐𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽!