Chapter 25: Bound and Nagged
We walk into my private dorm, the Mythril cuffs keeping Octavia and I impossibly close. I can feel the warmth radiating from her body as our shoulders occasionally bump. The connection between us is intoxicating, electric. I love it.
As we step into the foyer, the familiar voice of Jarnathon, our ever, present butler, begins his usual greeting. "Welcome home, Your Highness. I hope your day has been…"
But his words fade into the background as my eyes lock onto an unexpected sight in the living room. There, perched on an overstuffed armchair as if it were her royal throne, sits my mother, Queen Morgana Warbringer. Her presence fills the room, regal and imposing even in this informal setting.
Her piercing green eyes find mine, a single elegant eyebrow arching in question. "You're skipping class," she states, her tone a perfect blend of curiosity and disapproval.
I open my mouth to respond, to offer some explanation or excuse, but before I can utter a word, my mother's gaze shifts. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly as they land on the Mythril handcuffs binding Octavia and me together.
For a moment, the room is utterly silent. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel Octavia's rapid breath against my arm. The tension is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.
My mother's eyes narrow, her gaze sharpening like the edge of a blade. With fluid grace, she rises from her seat, her movements reminiscent of a predator preparing to strike.
The soft rustle of fabric is replaced by the metallic hiss of adamantite against leather as she draws her sword. The legendary blade gleams in the soft light of the room, its edge promising swift and merciless judgment.
"You handcuffed yourself to my boy?" Mother's voice is low and dangerous, each word dripping with barely contained fury.
Her emerald eyes, usually so warm when looking at me, now burn with a cold fire as they lock onto Octavia. "I guess I'll just have to cut the chain myself then," she declares, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Before I can even open my mouth to explain that it was me who initiated this, that Octavia is innocent in all this, my mother is suddenly before us. Her movement is so swift, so fluid, that it's as if she's teleported across the room. The air displaces around her, whipping our hair and clothes in a sudden gust.
'Oh my, is this how I'll die?'
Time seems to slow as I watch her raise her sword, the blade arcing through the air with deadly precision.
Just as the blade is about to make contact with the chain of our handcuffs, something unexpected happens. Octavia, who has been silent and trembling beside me this entire time, suddenly springs into action.
With inhuman speed, Octavia's hand shoots out, catching the descending blade between her palms. The sharp edge bites into her flesh, blood welling up and trickling down her wrists. Her golden eyes flash with determination as she holds the sword at bay, her arms trembling with the effort.
"WAIT!" Octavia screams, her voice cracking with desperation. "HE SOUL BONDED HIMSELF TO THE HANDCUFFS!"
The words explode from her, shattering her usual shy demeanor. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths, sweat beading on her brow from the strain of holding back the blade.
Mother's eyes widen in shock, her grip on the sword loosening ever so slightly. It's clear she hadn't been using her full strength. If she had, Octavia's hands would have been cleaved clean through. Even so, the damage is severe.
With a sickening squelch, Octavia's fingers suddenly detach, falling to the polished floor like macabre raindrops. The severed digits twitch grotesquely on the ground, leaving smears of crimson in their wake.
But Octavia doesn't scream. She doesn't even flinch.
Suddenly, those eyes flash pure white, blindingly bright. The air in the room seems to compress for a split second before expanding with an audible pop. The pressure change makes my ears ring, and I stumble slightly, disoriented.
As Mom pulls her blade back she turns to me, her face a mask of confusion and disbelief.
"You soul bonded yourself to those handcuffs? Why?"
I meet her gaze steadily, my heart pounding in my chest. "To capture her," I reply simply, gesturing towards Octavia with our bound hands.
Mom's brow furrows, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words come out. She looks utterly lost, her usual regal composure shattered by the bizarre turn of events.
Suddenly, one of Mother's guards, a female mage with intricate tattoos swirling up her arms, steps forward. Her violet eyes are filled with awe and a hint of fear as she speaks up.
"Queen Morgana," the mage says, her voice trembling slightly, "that flash... That was cursed energy dispelling."
Mom's head whips around to face the mage, her emerald eyes narrowing. "What?" she demands.
The mage swallows hard. "The burst of white light," she explains, her words tumbling out in a rush. "It's a telltale sign of a powerful curse being shattered. Whatever was binding the girl... it's gone now."
Mom's gaze darts between the mage, Octavia, and me, her expression a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion and annoyance fills her eyes.
"What the fuck is happening right now?" Mom finally bursts out, her usual composure cracking under the weight of the situation.
Octavia turns her head to me, her golden eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. Slowly, like the unfolding of a deadly flower, her lips curve into a smile. But this is no ordinary expression of joy. No, this smile is something else entirely.
It's a smile that sends shivers down my spine, a smile that makes my heart race with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.Her eyes, usually so nervous and anxious, now burn with a hunger that seems to devour me whole. It's the smile of a predator who has finally cornered its prey, of a collector who has just acquired their most prized possession.
It's the look of someone who has been unshackled, who has broken free from invisible chains. There's a madness there, a wild, unrestrained desire that threatens to consume everything in its path. And at the center of that maelstrom of emotion, I see myself reflected.
'Yeah, this is it. This is peak.'
A soft, eerie laugh bubbles up from Octavia's throat. It starts low, almost inaudible, but quickly grows in volume and intensity. The sound echoes off the walls of the room, filling the space with its unsettling melody. It's the creepiest laugh I've ever heard.
"My dear Elwin," Octavia purrs, her voice dripping with a possessive hunger that makes my skin tingle. "I'm not afraid anymore."
The declaration hangs in the air, heavy with an implication I can't even remotely understand. Despite that, a warmth blooms in my chest. It's a feeling of being wanted, truly and deeply wanted, in a way I've never experienced before. Despite the creepiness of her smile, despite the madness dancing in her eyes, I can't help but feel a thrill of excitement.
I reach out, placing my hand on Octavia's shoulder. "Let's get those fingers reattached before we unpack whatever that means."
Octavia's golden eyes flash with a mixture of excitement and impatience. "No, that can wait," she says, her voice low and husky. "Let's go upstairs." Her hand, still dripping blood from the severed fingers, tugs insistently at the handcuffs binding us together.
I lean in close, my lips barely brushing her ear as I whisper, "In a minute."
For a moment, Octavia's face crumples, a look of utter betrayal flickering across her features. But then her gaze shifts, landing on my mother, who still stands before us, sword in hand and confusion etched into every line of her face. Octavia's eyes widen, realization dawning.
"Oh fuck, I forgot," she mutters under her breath.
In one fluid motion, Octavia drops to her knees, the sudden movement yanking my arm down with her through the handcuffs. I stumble, caught off guard by the abrupt change in position.
Octavia bows her head, her white hair cascading around her face like a silken curtain. When she speaks, her voice rings clear and strong through the room, a stark contrast to her usual shy demeanor.
"Hello, Queen Morgana. I am the hero, Octavia Darkmoon."
The room falls into a hushed silence, broken only by the soft plink of blood droplets hitting the polished floor.
Finally, she manages to speak, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and bewilderment. "Wait, So if I understand this correctly," she says slowly as if trying to piece together a particularly complex puzzle. "Are you the victim of my son's weird machinations?"
Octavia lifts her head, and I watch in fascination as that eerie, predatory smile spreads across her face once more. Her golden eyes gleam with an almost manic light as she meets my mother's gaze unflinchingly.
"No," Octavia says, her voice filled with a dark joy. "No, I'm not."
The mage steps forward. "My Queen," she says, her voice trembling slightly, "would it be okay if we started reattaching the fingers now?" She gestures towards Octavia's bloodied hands.
Mom looks utterly exhausted with how weird this situation is playing out. With a heavy sigh, she sheathes her sword, the metallic rasp echoing in the tense silence of the room. "This hero just saved my son's life," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. "Please do."
Her emerald eyes, usually so sharp and focused, now seem dull and unfocused as they drift between Octavia and me. The confusion etched into every line of her face is almost palpable.
"Take the handcuffs off her, Elwin," Mom says, her voice carrying a note of finality.
I shift uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of the Mythril cuffs binding Octavia and me together. "Do I have to?" I ask, my voice coming out smaller and more petulant than I intended.
Before Mom can respond, Octavia pipes up. "I actually think they're quite nice."
Mom's emerald eyes narrow, her gaze sharpening to a laser-like focus. The air in the room seems to grow heavier, charged with the weight of her displeasure.
"Take them off right this instant," she commands, her voice low and dangerous, "or so help me, gods, I will hold you both down and destroy the soul binding myself."
The threat hangs in the air, as tangible as the Mythril binding Octavia and me together.
"Alright, alright," I concede, knowing when I'm beaten.
With a mere thought, the Mythril handcuffs come undone, falling away from our wrists with a soft clink. The sudden absence of their weight feels strange, almost wrong. Octavia's eyes widen, a flicker of nervousness passing across her face as our physical connection is severed.
Before either of us can react further, guards swoop in, gently but firmly escorting Octavia to a nearby couch. The mage follows closely, her hands already glowing with healing magic as she begins the delicate process of reattaching Octavia's severed fingers.
Mom turns to me, her face a storm of emotions. The anger has faded, replaced by something far more unsettling, fear.
"Elwin, you cannot casually soul-bind yourself to objects. That would be suicide."
"Sorry, Mom."