Chapter 10: My Favorite Toy

Morning never quite dawned over Veilborne. The sky outside Cid's window remained the same mottled gray as it had for days, streaked with tendrils of something that didn't quite resemble clouds. The tower chambers they'd been assigned were warded now, humming faintly with containment sigils. The Academy was nervous.

Good. They should be.

Cid stood by the window, shirtless, the long marks from Hollow Vale still etched faintly into his skin like whispers of battle. Behind him, the bed was tangled in ruined sheets and half-forgotten moans. Rhiannon lay sprawled across the mattress, naked, one leg still twitching from the last hour of their play. Her back was marked with bite wounds and crimson script—the kind of sigils that left bruises on both body and soul.

Cid didn't look at her. She was already fading from interest. A passing indulgence.

He was thinking of the chapel. The grave of faces. The cultist's last words.

You haven't even seen your Cipher's true shape.

A knock echoed on the door.

Not a knock. A rhythm. Familiar.

He didn't answer. The door opened anyway.

Iris stepped in.

She was dressed in nothing but her Academy cloak—barely clinging to her shoulders, and nothing beneath. Her black hair spilled messily down her back, damp from the rain outside. Her pale skin gleamed in the dim light, and her blue eyes glowed just faintly—like ice lit from within.

Rhiannon stirred at the presence, but didn't speak. She knew better.

Iris didn't even look at her.

She looked at Cid.

And smiled.

"You didn't come back to our bed last night," she said softly.

Cid glanced at her through the reflection in the glass.

"No. I was occupied."

"I saw."

She walked forward, slow and deliberate, her bare feet silent on the stone.

"I watched through the keyhole," she whispered. "Watched you ruin her. Heard her scream your name like it was salvation."

"Jealous?" he asked flatly.

She laughed. Soft. Low. Too sweet.

"I'm not like them."

"No," Cid murmured, turning now. "You're worse."

She stopped just in front of him, looking up with that familiar mix of adoration and madness.

"I want to tell you something," she breathed.

His chains stirred beneath his skin.

"I've killed them," she whispered. "All of them."

He didn't move.

Iris smiled wider.

"Every girl you've ever touched. Before me. After me. Even the ones you barely noticed. The one with the blonde braid in Year One. The redhead who used to stare at you in spell theory class. The waitress at the tavern last month who handed you a drink and dared to touch your hand."

"I know," he said.

She blinked.

"I know," he repeated, stepping closer. "Do you think I didn't smell their blood on your skin? Do you think I care?"

Her lips parted. She looked confused.

And then he leaned in.

"You can kill every last one of them," he said. "It changes nothing. They were toys. All of them."

His breath kissed her ear.

"But you…"

He grabbed her chin, hard, forcing her to look up.

"You're my favorite toy."

A breath hitched in her throat.

"Cid…"

He shoved her back against the wall. Not violently—purposefully. Possessively.

She hit it with a gasp, and he was on her—mouth crashing to hers, one hand tearing the cloak from her shoulders. It fell like a shadow at her feet. She moaned against his lips, arching to press her body against him.

"I waited for this," she whispered between kisses. "I thought you'd be mad."

"I'm not."

"I wanted you to punish me."

"I still might."

His hand closed around her throat, and her eyes rolled back slightly—cheeks flushed, thighs trembling.

"Say it," he growled.

"I'm your toy," she gasped. "Yours to break. Yours to keep."

He smiled.

"You're learning."

He pulled her to the bed—right over Rhiannon, who hadn't dared move.

Iris didn't even see her.

Or maybe she did.

And didn't care.

Her gaze never left Cid's face. Her mouth was parted in bliss. Her body shook as he pushed her down, chains curling around her wrists like lovers.

When he entered her, she screamed.

And kept screaming.

Hours passed.

By the end of it, Iris lay in a tangle of ruined limbs and bloodstained sheets, grinning like a girl drunk on ecstasy and madness. Her body was marked with bites, bruises, rune-scars. Her mouth was open. Tongue out. Drooling.

She looked happy.

Cid dressed slowly, gaze unreadable.

She sat up on trembling arms.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Class is starting," he said coldly. "And unlike you, I don't waste time."

"But—"

He paused at the door.

"I don't care who you kill," he said. "Just don't touch my plans."

"Never," she whispered.

He left.

And behind him, Iris sank back into the blood-wet sheets, moaning softly.

"My favorite toy," she repeated, giggling to herself.

Down the corridor, Cid walked alone—calm, clean, terrifying. His chains coiled beneath his skin like serpents at rest.

And far below, in the sealed depths of the Academy, something began to shift.

A pulse in the dark.

A heartbeat.

The Hollow King stirred.