His toy.

When Nira came to, warmth surrounded her, yet she shivered.

The room was dark—darker than the ones in Koetryr. Was she still there?

She sat up, fingers gripping the flimsy comforter. It looked thin, but heat clung to her skin beneath it. She threw it off and planted her feet on the floor.

Cold. Marble.

Her stomach twisted. Where was she?

She pushed herself up and walked to the window. The sight beyond sent a tremor through her.

Not Koetryr.

Virun.

Then, she remembered—the man with the green eyes.

Had he brought her here? Was he Elrath?

Her gaze swept over the land. It looked almost like Koetryr at a glance. Almost. The sky stretched wide in the same shade of blue, but it did nothing for the land below. The earth was dull, sickly, like something had drained the life from it and left only a hollow imitation of what once was.

The fairies walked through the streets with elegance—practiced, deliberate. Every step measured. Every movement precise. They carried themselves with a quiet pride, as if the very act of existing was a performance.

They had no wings.

Fairies should have wings.

Maybe they were invisible.

She swallowed hard and turned away towards the door. Her fingers curled around the door handle, twisting. It didn't budge.

Locked.

She huffed. Of course, she was a prisoner.

Her hands shot up, pushing her hair back in frustration—

"Nira."

A voice. Low. Rough. Close.

Her heart lurched.

She spun, and there, in the shadows, green eyes watched her.

Her feet stumbled back of their own accord.

A scoff. "I'm not trying to scare you."

The man stepped forward, leaving the darkness behind.

Tall. Lean. No, not lean—powerful. His biceps strained against his shirt, muscles carved from battle, not vanity. Nira's breath caught in her throat.

Elrath.

She saw now why he was called a warrior. He didn't just look like one—he carried himself like one. Like a man who knew exactly what he was capable of.

He took another step.

She stepped back.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "But you are easy to scare."

His eyes raked over her, amused.

She had expected Elrath to be unappealing, or at most, plain. But the man before her was striking.

Dark hair, wilder than the night, falling in careless waves over his forehead. Eyes sharp, piercing—like they could see right through her.

What if they could?

He stopped inches from her face.

"I'm not sorry, though," he murmured. "Not if I get to see you looking this stunned."

Nira wrenched her gaze away, throat dry. She bowed stiffly. "I'm Nira."

"I know. I called you by your name a few seconds ago."

The corner of his mouth quirked up.

Heat rose to her cheeks.

"Um—"

"I'm Elrath. As you humans call me." His voice was unimpressed.

She hesitated. "Isn't Elrath your name?"

He rolled his eyes. "It is. Shortened, however."

"Oh—"

Elrath walked past her, leaning against the vanity. The movement was casual, but something in his posture shifted. His next words came sharp as a blade.

"I know you're not of royal blood."

The air thickened.

Nira stiffened.

"I am," she forced out, voice unsteady. If they knew… if they had figured it out… what would they do to her?

Would they kill her?

Elrath turned to her fully now, his stance humming with quiet rage.

Nira's eyes flicked to the door. Locked.

Ice slid through her veins.

A slow step forward.

A chuckle—low, mocking.

"I can smell you, you know?" His voice was almost amused. Almost. "Did they really think I wouldn't know the difference between a royal and a commoner?"

Her body refused to move.

Trapped.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Elrath." Her knees buckled. She fell before him.

"Humans are pathetic."

He crouched to her level, his green eyes darkening.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "I'm the only one who can tell the difference. No one else has to know."

His words should have been reassuring. They weren't.

His voice carried a promise—one laced with something dangerous.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, sniffling.

A mocking sound.

"Aww. Don't cry, human."

A hand brushed through her hair, gentle. Too gentle.

She barely had time to exhale before his fingers fisted in her hair and yanked her closer.

Her breath hitched.

"Just so you know," he murmured, "you're mine, Nira. Mine to use however I want."

His grip tightened—just for a second—before he let her go.

"And a little warning…"

He leaned in, voice dropping to something nearly inaudible.

"Don't trust anyone. Anyone. Not even the ones who smile at you. If they find out you're not royalty…"

His smirk sharpened.

"You're as good as dead."

He straightened and, with deliberate slowness, bit into his own finger.

Blood welled. Thick. Red. A drop hit the floor.

Elrath held the bleeding finger out to her.

"Suck it."

Nira recoiled. "What?"

Unimpressed, he tilted his head.

"If you want to live, Nira, you'll do everything I ask you to."