The clearing pulsed with golden fire.
Victoria's aura burned so bright the soldiers dared not approach, shielding their eyes against the brilliance. Trees bent beneath the raw force of her magic, their branches bowing as though worshiping something divine.
But Damien didn't bow.
He advanced. Step by step, his boots crushed the scorched earth, his dark armor glowing hot where her power licked against it. His black sword shimmered with reflected light, and his eyes—those cold, merciless eyes—never left her.
"Stay back!" Victoria cried, her hands trembling as light surged and crackled across her skin.
Damien's lip curved—not into a smile, but something sharper, crueler. "You can't even control it."
He lunged.
Victoria thrust her hands forward. Light erupted in a violent wave, searing through the air. Soldiers screamed as the blast flung them backward like leaves in a storm. The ground split open, roots tearing free, stones shattering.
But Damien kept coming.
The glow illuminated him, wrapping him in radiance that should have scorched him to ash. Yet still, he pressed forward through the blaze, each step deliberate, unstoppable.
Her knees buckled. The power drained her strength faster than she could summon it. Her breath came ragged, her vision blurring with tears and light.
"Why?" she gasped, staggering backward. "Why are you doing this?"
His voice was a growl. "Because you left me."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Before she could recover, he was upon her. His hand shot forward, seizing her wrist in an iron grip. The contact sent her power spiraling out of control, light flaring wildly around them both.
She screamed, trying to wrench free. The glow burned so bright it lit the entire clearing like day. Soldiers squinted and cursed, shielding their faces.
But Damien didn't release her.
He yanked her forward, his strength overwhelming, his blade flashing. In one swift motion, he slashed through the vines that had risen to defend her, cutting them down as though they were nothing but grass.
Her power sputtered, faltering beneath his sheer will. The light guttered, flickering unsteadily.
"No!" she cried, tears streaking down her face. "I won't go back—I won't be a slave again!"
Damien's grip tightened, his voice low and brutal. "You were never a slave to anyone but me."
The words broke her.
Her knees gave way. The glow collapsed inward, dimming until only faint embers clung to her skin. She sagged in his grasp, her body trembling with exhaustion.
Damien's chest heaved, his cheek streaked with dirt and blood, his sword still dripping with the sap of severed roots. His eyes roved over her, cold and assessing, yet something dangerous smoldered there—something not quite hatred, not quite hunger.
"Bind her," he ordered.
The soldiers hesitated, glancing uneasily at the girl whose power had nearly killed them all.
Damien's gaze snapped to them, sharp as a whip. "Now."
They scrambled forward, iron chains clinking. Victoria tried to resist, tried to summon the light again—but nothing came. Her body was empty, wrung dry by her struggle.
Cold shackles snapped around her wrists. The sound echoed louder than thunder in her ears.
She shuddered, memories clawing back—dungeons, collars, the sting of the whip, the hollow hopelessness. And worst of all: the boy who had once freed her, now placing her in chains again.
Her voice cracked as she whispered, "Damien… please…"
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes.
But it vanished.
He turned away, his cape snapping behind him as he mounted his horse. "Bring her."
The soldiers hauled Victoria to her feet. Her knees scraped the dirt, her wrists chafed in the iron cuffs, but she didn't cry out. Her tears had dried. Her voice had gone hollow.
She had fought. She had failed.
And now, she was his prisoner.
The march back through the forest was endless.
Soldiers muttered among themselves, keeping their distance from her, afraid her light might flare again. But it didn't. She walked like a ghost, her head bowed, her steps unsteady.
Every so often, she lifted her eyes to the man riding just ahead of her. His back was straight, his posture commanding, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.
Damien.
The boy who had once wrapped her in his arms when she was scared. The boy who had said, I'll always protect you.
Now he had chained her.
Her chest tightened painfully. She wanted to scream at him, to curse him, to demand why. But when her mouth opened, no words came. Only silence.
Damien did not look back.
They camped before dawn. Soldiers set up tents in the clearing, torches burning low. Victoria was chained to a heavy stake driven into the ground. She sat in the dirt, her arms aching from the cuffs, her hair falling messily into her face.
Damien stood apart, speaking to his captains, issuing orders in a voice that brooked no disobedience. The soldiers bowed to him like hounds to their master.
When the camp settled, he finally turned.
His boots crunched against the soil as he approached her. He stopped just in front of her, looming over her like a shadow.
Victoria forced herself to look up, her eyes meeting his.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The night crackled with silence.
Then Damien crouched before her, his gaze sharp, his tone cold.
"You thought you could hide from me forever?"
Her lips trembled, but she managed to whisper, "I thought… you were my friend."
Something flickered in his eyes again—pain, regret, fury—then vanished beneath steel.
He leaned closer, his voice low and deadly. "Friends don't leave. And you'll never leave me again."
Victoria's breath shook, her heart pounding painfully.
She hated him. She feared him.
And yet, some part of her still longed for the boy he once was.
But that boy was gone.
All that remained was the Tyrant Prince—and she was his prisoner.