The gates of the capital loomed at dawn.
They rose out of the mist like the jaws of some colossal beast—iron teeth set into walls of white stone, banners snapping high above, the sigil of the royal house painted crimson against the pale sky. Beyond, the city stretched in endless streets, a sea of rooftops and towers spilling toward the glittering spires of the palace at its heart.
Victoria's stomach turned to ice.
The palace was close enough now that she could feel its pull, like a cage waiting to slam shut. The thought of being dragged inside those walls, paraded like a jewel in chains, made bile rise in her throat.
The soldiers straightened as they approached, pride swelling in their posture despite the exhaustion of the long march. Their armor caught the morning light, their banners rippled, their boots struck the earth in perfect rhythm.
And at their head, astride a black stallion, rode Damien.
He was every inch the tyrant prince the people had come to fear—his cloak dark as midnight, his crown glinting like fire in the early sun, his gaze fixed straight ahead with unshakable authority.
Behind him, chained to a horse led by two guards, walked Victoria.
The iron cuffs bit her wrists raw, the heavy links dragging with each step. A collar encircled her throat, cruel and gleaming, fastened so tightly she could feel her pulse thudding beneath it. The goddesses light, restless inside her, recoiled at the humiliation of it.
But she lifted her head. She refused to bow.
If they would see her in chains, let them also see the fire in her eyes.
The gates swung wide.
And the city roared.
Crowds packed the streets, voices rising in thunderous cheers and fearful murmurs alike. Some shouted Damien's name, hailing their conquering prince. Others whispered as they caught sight of the girl in chains, their eyes wide, their fingers making warding signs against evil—or reverent gestures toward the goddesses.
"The woman of light," someone breathed near the front.
"She's real…"
"But why is she shackled?"
"Why does the prince keep her so?"
Victoria heard every word. Each murmur cut her deeper than the iron did.
Damien raised a hand, and the roar of the crowd stilled into expectant silence. His voice rang out, carrying over the masses with perfect clarity.
"Behold!" he declared. "Your prince returns victorious once more. The borders are secure. Our enemies lie crushed."
A cheer rose again, wild and fervent.
Damien's gaze swept over the crowd, and then he gestured toward Victoria. His voice lowered, but it carried still, sharp as a blade.
"And behold… the light of the goddesses themselves."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Thousands of eyes turned to her, wide with awe and terror.
"She is mine," Damien said, his tone dark, possessive, final. "Her powers3, her beauty, her light—claimed by me, bound to me, as all things in this kingdom are bound."
A heavy silence followed. Then cheers erupted again, though thinner this time, less certain, the edges fraying into murmurs that spread like cracks through stone.
Victoria's heart hammered. She felt the weight of every gaze, every whispered prayer, every silent judgment.
Her chains clinked as she lifted her head higher, her voice rising not in speech but in silence—in defiance.
Let them see. Let them know. She was no jewel. No pet. No prize.
She was light.
And light could not be caged forever.
The procession wound through the city, past markets and temples, past the sprawling courtyards where nobles had gathered in their finery to witness the prince's return.
Among them, Victoria caught the eyes of the priests of the goddess. Their faces were pale, their lips pressed tight as they beheld her glow, faint but undeniable even beneath the filth and bruises.
One priest, an elder with a staff of silver, clutched it so tightly his knuckles whitened. His lips moved in silent prayer, his eyes never leaving her.
Victoria's chest tightened. In his gaze, she saw recognition. And warning.
They know. They know what I am.
But the soldiers' spears kept the crowd back, and Damien's presence kept even the priests silent.
At last, the procession reached the palace gates. The towers soared above, their marble white against the sky, gilded edges glittering in the sun.
Victoria's knees weakened at the sight.
Here it was. The cage.
The place she would vanish, unless she acted.
Damien dismounted his horse as the gates swung open, his cloak sweeping the stone. He turned, his eyes finding her instantly.
The crowd was still watching. Thousands of them, nobles and commoners alike, silent now, straining to see what he would do.
Damien walked to her.
He took her chain from the guards' hands, dismissing them with a flick of his wrist. Then, with deliberate slowness, he wound the iron once around his wrist, binding her leash to him.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Damien lifted her chin with his free hand, forcing her to look at him. His voice dropped, intimate, though every ear strained to catch his words.
"They will all see," he murmured. "That you belong to me."
Her heart pounded, her throat dry. The goddess's light stirred, furious, desperate, but she forced herself still.
And she smiled.
A small, defiant, razor-sharp smile.
Damien's eyes narrowed, the mask of control cracking for the briefest instant.
The crowd saw it. The priests saw it. And though none dared speak, a murmur rippled outward like the first tremor of an earthquake.
Because they saw, too, that the woman in chains was not broken.
The gates of the palace closed behind them, swallowing the world in silence.
But inside, Victoria's vow burned brighter than ever.
She would endure.
She would resist.
And one day, when the chance came—
She would escape.