Page 4 of Wicked Depths

“Do you watch all your prisoners sleep?” I reply, my voice laced with false sweetness. “Or should I be flattered?”

She steps closer, her boots clicking against the stone floor. “You’re quick with your tongue for someone in chains,” she says, her tone colder than the air between us. “Tell me,Vaela—why is the king so eager to keep you alive?”

Hearing my name on her lips makes my jaw tighten. It sounds too familiar, too invasive like she’s testing how easily I can be unraveled. I narrow my icy white-blue eyes and force a slow, deliberate smile.

“You tell me,” I say, leaning my head against the wall behind me. “You seem to have all the answers, Dragon Queen.”

Her claws twitch at her sides, so slight a motion I doubt she intended to reveal it. Interesting. She’s careful, but there’s a flicker of heat beneath her composure—a temper I file away for later use.

“I’ll ask again,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. “Why does the king want you?”

A soft laugh leaves my lips, echoing off the chamber walls. “Because he’s an ambitious fool. He thinks I can grant him the power he needs to crush everything in his path. He wants mefor my magic—to make him unstoppable. Humans,” I add with a scoff, “always overreaching.”

Her emerald eyes narrow. “So he believes you’ll simply hand that power over to him?”

I tilt my head, letting the chain rattle as I shift, the sound sharp in the heavy silence.

"He thinks he can own me." The words drip with disdain. "That he can force me to do his bidding, bend me to his will like some desperate fool begging for a favor."

I let my gaze drift to the pearls sewn into my bodice, their soft glow pulsing like tiny hearts. None belong to the king—not yet.

"But that’s not really what he wants," I continue, my voice smooth, edged with amusement. "The king isn’t after a single bargain. No, he wants something far greater. He wants to wield my power as if it’s his own. To strip it from me, to carve it out piece by piece until he can take what he needs without consequence."

My fingers ghost over the largest pearl near my collarbone, my nails tapping idly against its cool surface.

"He doesn’t just want my magic," I murmur, lifting my gaze to Nyxara’s. "He wants to consume it. To harness it. To make himself something more—something that can rival even you."

I smirk, slow, deliberate. "Kidnapping me was his first step, I suppose. But you ruined that little plan when you stole me from his men."

A pause.

I watch her carefully, waiting for the realization to settle, for her to understand the weight of what I’m saying.

The king doesn’t just want power.

He wants to use me to take hers.

"He’ll find another way," I say finally, my voice soft, almost thoughtful. "If he’s determined enough."

And he is.

Nyxara’s gaze hardens, her thoughts clearly aligning with her own vendetta against the humans. She is dangerous, that much is clear. But I’ve dealt with monsters and men before. One more threat doesn’t scare me.

“And what about you?” I ask, lifting my chin. “Why snatch me from the king’s soldiers if you don’t trust me? Surely you don’t think holding me here will keep him from trying to lay claim to your realm.”

She steps closer, towering over me, her presence an unspoken command. The air between us tightens, thick with something unnamed—something dark, something sharp.

“No, of course not. I took you because you’re precious leverage,” she says, her voice low, dangerous. “Keeping you here might not stop him, but it will force him to tread lightly. Aldric’s army may be vast, but without you and your power he does not stand a chance of claiming my lands.”

I tilt my head, a slow, amused smile curling my lips. “Your lands,” I echo, my tone dripping with mockery. “How territorial. Are you certain they’re yours, or do you merely borrow them from the magic that birthed them?”

Her claws twitch, curling as if she’s debating whether or not to remind me of exactlywhosedomain I now stand in. I half expect her to strike me. Part of me almost wants her to.

Instead, she reaches for the chains.

The sharp click of the lock unfastening sends a slow thrill down my spine. The heavy weight around my wrists vanishes, leaving raw, aching flesh in its wake. I don’t move, don’t rub at the bruises, don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing any weakness.

Her fingers brush my skin as she unhooks the last shackle. It’s the barest touch, fleeting and unintentional, but it lingers. A whisper of heat. A warning.

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