Page 17 of Burned to Obey

A muscle near his jaw ticks. “You think the Senate will spare you once they see this as a threat to our alliance with certain trade partners?”

Anger flares in my chest. “We have no alliance with the dark elves. They remain at best a tenuous trade acquaintance. If thatvessel carried contraband, the Bastion must investigate. Unless you have reason to hide such facts?”

He bristles at my insinuation. “You’re overstepping, Warden. A creature who kills a noble heir is a threat to Milthar’s stability. I’ll not have you tamper with the Senate’s authority.”

I inhale, fighting to remain calm. “Then petition the High Senate. Let them decide. The brand stands. Until they overrule me by official decree, she remains under my household protection.”

His guards shift uneasily, but Thakur stands firm. “You’ll regret this. I guarantee it.” His gaze flicks to Captain Davor, then back to me. “When the Senate convenes, I’ll ensure they strip you of your post. You’ll be left as an outcast.”

I meet his threat with silence. Eventually, he exhales in disgust, turns on his heel, and strides out of the hall. His guards hurry after him, uncertain whether to glare at me or keep their heads down. When they vanish through the grand doors, a half-dozen onlookers release the breaths they’ve been holding.

Davor glances my way, tension etched into his features. “That was…heated.”

I nod, still staring at the space Thakur vacated. “He’ll do what he can to undermine me. We have to prepare for that.”

“So we keep the human alive no matter what?”

My voice drops. “Yes. And we do it carefully. The Senate might send spies or create new charges. We watch her every move, but we don’t harm her. Understood?”

He nods. “Understood.”

Once the room empties, I turn to gaze out the high windows. The sea below is churning, the waves smashing against jagged rocks. It reminds me of Naeva’s spirit—relentless, unafraid to crash against seemingly unbreakable walls. Now that I’ve branded her, she might hate me more than the Senate. But a part of me can’t help recalling the moment our eyes locked afterI seared her arm: a raw, trembling connection. She was furious, but also alive in every breath, refusing to show weakness.

I stand there for some time, thinking about how swiftly the day turned on its head. By claiming her, I bound her fate to my name. In minotaur culture, that’s almost as irreversible as a formal marriage vow. Even if we never stand at an altar, the brand is a public statement of intent. I know how the Bastion’s population will talk. They’ll say the Warden took a human mate, they’ll sneer, or they’ll pity me for losing my way.

Let them talk. The alternative was her death.

Eventually, I head down the corridor toward the infirmary wing. My footsteps echo on the stone floors. I want to ensure that her burn is treated properly. The brand is an ugly wound if not tended swiftly, and though I cannot undo the scarring, I can at least see that it doesn’t fester.

The infirmary stands off a narrower hallway. I push through the doors and find a couple of healers tending to various injuries. One is a seasoned minotaur named Rohka, who specializes in burn treatments. She acknowledges me with a curt bob of her head.

“She’s there,” Rohka says quietly, pointing to a curtained area. “Holding up as best she can.”

I approach the curtain, hearing hushed voices. A guard stands outside, arms folded. He steps aside at my nod, letting me through. Inside, Naeva sits on a stool, arm extended, her tunic sleeve rolled up to expose the raw brand. Another female minotaur is dabbing ointment over the seared skin. Naeva clenches her teeth at the sting but doesn’t pull away.

When she notices me, her entire body stiffens. “You don’t have to watch. Haven’t you done enough?”

I swallow, forcing myself to remain calm. “I came to ensure your arm is treated properly.”

Her lips press together. She doesn’t say anything, but the glare she levels at me is scorching. The healer finishes applying a foul-smelling poultice, then binds it with a loose bandage. It’s tinted with an herbal solution that helps prevent infection and reduce pain.

“That should do,” the healer says softly, stepping back.

Naeva lowers her arm, cradling it against her torso. The brand is still visible beneath the wrappings, an angry outline of horns and waves. She meets my gaze, and for a moment, the silence is so thick that the air tastes heavy. The memory of that sizzling iron brand reverberates between us.

“Feels like you ripped off my skin,” she mutters, voice raw.

I nod, struggling to find words. “This was the only choice I had.”

She stands, favoring her burned arm. “I’ve heard that before. Every slaver has the same excuse: We had no choice but to claim you, no choice but to collar you. Spare me.”

I grip the edge of the curtain. “I’m not a slaver.”

She snorts. “Could have fooled me.”

Her glare sears through me, stirring a mix of anger and regret. “Without that mark, you’d be dead right now. Thakur was minutes away from ordering your execution.”

She squares her stance. “Then I’d have died free.”

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