Being cradled by a villainess is like being hugged by a thunderstorm in an evening gown.
Warm. Beautiful. And extremely dangerous.
She held me like I was something precious—one moment.
A weapon—maybe the next.
Or possibly both.
I didn't trust it.
Unfortunately, I also didn't have legs. Or claws. Or any of the dignity I assumed I had in my previous life.
But I did have instincts. And those instincts were screaming:
> "Escape. Escape now. Escape through literally any nearby window."
I squirmed in her arms. One fuzzy wing slapped against her collarbone. A tiny paw kicked her lapel.
"Careful," Arwen murmured, adjusting her grip. "You're lucky I find you adorable."
I was lucky she hadn't thrown me into a bonfire.
---
We strode through the palace halls like royalty. Or, well—she did. I wobbled in her arms like a confused croissant with feathers.
Servants bowed as we passed.
Not to me. Obviously.
To her.
But still, their eyes flicked to me with a mix of horror and pity.
One maid made the sign of warding.
A guard crossed himself and whispered, "May the Heavens prepare us all."
What kind of beast did they think I was?
I mean—yes, I might've tried to bite a boot. Once.
But I was also round, fluff-bodied, and visibly struggling to keep my head up straight.
I chirped softly. Arwen didn't look down, but her hand brushed my back like she'd heard me anyway.
---
The throne hall loomed ahead, all obsidian pillars and silver-threaded banners. Everything smelled like incense, old magic, and political disappointment.
Arwen didn't slow.
She walked like someone used to being watched. Like she didn't care who judged her anymore.
I wanted to ask her something meaningful—like, What is my purpose? or Do I get dental coverage as your soul pet?
But I was still physically incapable of speech. The best I could manage was a mournful chirp that sounded like a dying teacup.
She stroked my head absently.
"Don't embarrass me in front of my mother," she said.
No promises.
---
The Empress of Avenhart sat on a throne sculpted from starlight-infused stone.
Everything about her looked like it could shatter a continent with a sigh.
She wore black glass armor beneath layers of spider-silk robes. Her hair was silver-black, her crown a circlet of twisted starmetal. Her eyes were amethyst and ancient, colder than Arwen's, her presence like a glacier judging your GPA.
She looked at me once.
Just once.
And said, "That is the spirit beast?"
Her voice could've cut marble.
Arwen nodded. "He's freshly hatched. Needs a name."
"Needs a leash," the Empress corrected, with imperial boredom. "And a muzzle."
> [Soulbond Reaction Detected]
Your body bristles in quiet protest.
New Trait: [Tiny Rage]
+1 to aggressive fluffing.
I puffed up automatically.
Which, given my size, made me look like a mildly offended dandelion.
"Mother," Arwen said, her tone edging toward dangerous calm, "I've made the bond. I will train him. Myself."
The Empress raised one pale eyebrow. "You intend to personally train a creature that bit your boot?"
Arwen smiled. "He has standards. Unlike most of the court."
I didn't mean to let out a smug peep. But I did.
Arwen smirked. The Empress glared.
I was already learning the ropes.
---
The Empress flicked her fingers. A steward stepped forward, holding a golden collar on a velvet pillow.
The collar glowed with faint runes—old ones, meant to suppress sentience, subdue wild magic, and enforce behavior.
> [Warning: Imperial Binding Collar Detected]
Side Effects: Autonomy loss, reduced sentience, possible pacification spells.
Countermeasure: Run.
RUN?! I'M IN HER ARMS! WHERE WOULD I EVEN—
I panicked.
And in a desperate act of defiance, I bit the pillow.
Not the steward. Not the Empress. Just the stupid, velvet, imperial-pomp-stuffed pillow.
Feathers in my mouth. Dignity in tatters.
A second later, the collar clattered to the marble floor.
Silence.
Arwen froze.
The steward paled.
The Empress... blinked.
And then—
She laughed.
Softly. Once.
Like a crack in a winter lake.
---
"Let it be known," the Empress said, voice flat, "that my daughter's familiar is as reckless and ridiculous as she is."
Arwen bowed slightly. "It runs in the family."
"I weep for the empire."
"I'll start a club."
The Empress sighed. "Fine. He's your responsibility. If he maims a duke, I'll have your head. And his."
Arwen smiled politely. "He only bites the deserving."
---
After what felt like ten years of silent glaring and imperial disappointment, Arwen finally turned and walked us out of the throne room.
The moment we passed through the golden doors, she sighed.
"I hate family reunions."
I chirped in agreement.
Arwen looked down at me. "You're lucky she didn't throw you in a ceremonial forge."
> [Achievement Unlocked – Narrowly Avoided State-Sanctioned Incineration]
+1 resilience
+2 sass
+1,000 to survival instincts
---
We returned to her private quarters—less palace, more lair. Dark velvet curtains. Weapon racks. Books on forbidden enchantments. One suspiciously large cushion pile shaped like a nest.
She set me down on it gently.
Then stared at me.
"You are either the worst mistake I've ever made..." she murmured.
I chirped in terror.
"—or the best decision I'll regret forever."
She knelt beside me.
"I don't know who you are. I don't know why you showed up in my lap. But you're bound to me now. Which means you will not die. You will not be lost. You will not be taken."
She paused. Her voice lowered.
"Not again."
There was something sharp in her tone. Not anger.
Memory.
Something had been taken from her once.
I didn't know what.
But I felt it in the bond. A ripple. A tension. A wound.
And something deeper, buried beneath the cold: hope. Or the ashes of it.
---
That night, I curled in my nest and stared at her as she read by candlelight, her silhouette soft against the dark.
She didn't seem monstrous.
She seemed... lonely.
And I, the weird spirit beast with no name, no pants, and a deeply questionable bite record, felt something bloom in my tiny feathered chest.
It wasn't loyalty.
Not yet.
But it might've been the beginning of something dangerous.
Something fate hadn't written for either of us.
---
> [Bond Progress Updated]
Status: Tentative Trust Formed
Next Threshold: Name Acquisition
Passive Perk Unlocked: [Warmth-Seeker]
You gain +5 snuggle proficiency when within 3 feet of Arwen Nightveil.
I sighed, curled deeper into the cushion pile, and drifted into my first real sleep in this ridiculous new life.
No fate.
No leash.
Just warmth.
And one extremely dangerous girl who might someday change the world.
Or burn it down.
And I'd be there either way.