AELIA REVA
The mark on his wrist hasn't faded. A thin red welt, angry against pale skin, and yet he doesn't hide it. He wears it like proof.
Proof that I struck him. Proof that he let me. Proof that I can be pushed further.
The morning breeze stirs across the grass, carrying the scent of smoke and ash. My chest rises too fast, lungs burning with every breath, but I don't dare lower my guard. He hasn't dismissed me. He hasn't ended this. His smile is slow and deliberate still lingering, and that is worse than his usual stillness.
"You may yet be worth the trouble," he said.
Delroy stands rigid off to the side, his eyes wide, darting between me and his master. He's silent now. No jokes, no creepy ass smiles. He's seen enough.
The lord's gaze sharpens, pinning me again. "But power is tested not in fire and force alone. Strength means nothing if the heart beneath it falters."
My stomach knots. "You've made your point."
"Not yet."
