Page 10 of Sereis
"The southern passages are inefficient!" Caelus's voice boomed suddenly as he launched into his proposal to Morgrith. "My servants—particularly this well-trained property here—"
His hand shot out and grabbed my arm, yanking me toward him to demonstrate some point about transportation efficiency. "—could move goods faster than—"
The pitcher was already tilted. My balance, carefully maintained through three years of service, shattered. Time slowed to honey-thick moments as I stumbled, the heavy pitcher pulling me forward, wine arcing through the air in a graceful, horrifying cascade.
Purple against white. Dark wine across pale robes. It splashed across Sereis's chest and lap in a pattern that looked like blood on snow, like violence made liquid.
The hall went silent. Not even breathing. Even Caelus's hand fell away from my arm as everyone stared at what I'd done.
I dropped to my knees immediately, the words tumbling out on instinct carved into me by three years of servitude. "My lord, forgive me, please, let me—"
My serving cloth was already in my hand, and I pressed it against his chest without thinking, trying to absorb the wine before it could stain further. The fabric was soaked through instantly, purple wine creating a barrier thin as breath between my palm and his chest.
Our skin touched through the wet cloth.
The world shattered.
Not metaphorically—literally. Ice and light erupted from both of us, violent as birth, inevitable as gravity. My shoulder blazed with cold that burned, frost-flower patterns spreading across my skin in fractals that sang. Matching marks raced across his neck and down his chest, silver-white against his pale skin, and where they spread, they claimed.
But the physical was nothing compared to what slammed through the bond.
I FELT him. Not just his presence but his existence, centuries of loneliness so vast it made me gasp. Iron control hiding desperate need. The weight of isolation he'd carried like armor. And underneath it all, sudden, overwhelming recognition of me—not the servant, not the girl with the collar, but ME. The one who gave away food when starving. Who chose kindness in hell. Whose inner flame he'd sensed even through servant clothes and submission.
Through the bond, I saw myself through his eyes—not small and worthless but burning with life that three years of servitude hadn't managed to extinguish. He saw the books hidden in my memory, my mother's stitches in Tam's sleeve, the way I'd fed the younger servant. Every small rebellion, every preservedpiece of who I'd been before the collar, blazed in his perception like stars.
The frost patterns spread faster, racing up my arms, across my collarbone. Where they touched, I felt him—not just his power but his need, his recognition, his claim. Three hundred years of waiting he hadn't known he was waiting for. Searching the wrong places, the wrong ways, while I'd been hidden in plain sight, invisible as furniture that poured wine.
His control, that perfect stillness he wore like armor, shattered completely. His eyes went wide, pupils blown black with shock that transformed into something else—determination that made the mountain itself tremble.
The bond didn't ask permission. It simply was, slamming into place with the force of natural law. Mine to his. His to mine. Written in frost and fire, sealed in magic older than the dragons themselves.
Through the connection, I felt his thoughts—not words but understanding. He'd been falsely accused, evidence planted, and none of that mattered anymore because I was here, I was his, and he would burn the world before he let anyone take me.
The ice marks reached my throat, and when they touched the collar—Caelus's collar, the thing that marked me as property—it shattered. Not cracked, not broken—shattered into dust finer than snow, dispersing into nothing like it had never existed at all.
I was on my knees in front of him, my hand still pressed to his chest through wine-soaked fabric, and I could feel his heartbeat through the bond—steady as winter, inexorable as glaciers, but underneath it something wild, something hungry, something that had been frozen for centuries suddenly, violently thawing.
The truth-wine pitcher fell from my other hand, shattering on the volcanic glass floor with a sound like breaking bells.
And Sereis moved.
Through the bond, I felt him shatter and reform into something else entirely.
"MINE."
The word didn't come from his throat—it came from somewhere deeper, carried on harmonics that predated language. The volcanic glass walls cracked. Every piece of metal in the hall sang. The other Dragon Lords stepped back, even Davoren, because this wasn't a claim—it was a fundamental rewriting of reality.
Caelus jerked forward, outrage overcoming his usual theatrical nature. "She's my property! Ancient law states that servants bound by collar and contract—"
"Mine." Softer but somehow worse, like the quiet before an avalanche. Sereis's eyes had gone pure white, not pale but white, as if winter itself looked through them. "She bears my mark. The bond has chosen. Your collar is dust, and your claim is void."
"You can't just—the trial isn't even—Davoren, tell him—"
But Davoren stood frozen, his fury suddenly redirected.
"The trial," Morgrith's shadow-voice observed with something like dark amusement, "has become significantly more complicated."
Sereis's hand covered mine where it still pressed against his chest. His skin burned cold, but through the bond I felt the careful control he maintained even as everything else shattered—gentle with me, so gentle despite the rage building like an avalanche.
