The night would not let him rest. Adrian lay on the bed, his body stretched stiff upon the mattress, the heavy curtains enclosing him in suffocating velvet. He had closed his eyes countless times, but each attempt to surrender to sleep was repelled by visions that surged like waves. Every flicker of thought carried Selene's voice, her gaze, her touch. Every attempt at prayer broke into fragments, meaningless syllables that fell back upon him like ashes.
The silence was unbearable.
He rose, pacing the chamber, running a hand through his hair. The fire had almost died, and the room was a skeleton of itself—shadows broken only by thin embers that smoldered like accusing eyes. He thought of Cassia's kiss, of the trembling courage in her words, and though it warmed him, it also pierced him with fear. If Selene learned of that moment—if she had already guessed—then Cassia's defiance would be crushed without mercy.
Adrian clenched his fists. He should stay away from her, he told himself. He should let the memory fade. And yet, it was that kiss, not his own strength, that had allowed him to survive the feast. Without it, he might already be nothing more than Selene's hollow reflection.
The door creaked.
Adrian froze, his chest tight.
It was not a servant—he knew the sound of their cautious steps, their submissive movements. This was something else, heavier, deliberate. He turned as the door opened further, and in the dim light he saw her: Althea.
She did not enter quickly, nor did she ask permission. She drifted inside as though she were part of the smoke, part of the shadows that already ruled the chamber. Her dark hair hung loose, her eyes luminous with something unreadable.
"Adrian," she said quietly, closing the door behind her.
His voice broke into the silence, harsh: "Why are you here?"
She tilted her head, studying him. "Because you are unraveling. And I do not intend to watch you fall apart for her amusement."
He felt his heart lurch. Another warning, another promise, another net tightening around him. "You all speak the same words," he muttered bitterly. "Liora, Cassia, now you. Do you think me such a fool, that I cannot see each of you weaving your own design?"
Althea stepped closer, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the embers. Her expression was calm, but there was no softness in it—only a kind of grim determination. "Perhaps you are a fool," she said. "But fools have their use. Selene feeds on strength, not weakness. She breaks what resists her, and she consumes what obeys her. But fools—" her lips curved faintly "—fools sometimes survive, because no one believes in their endurance."
Adrian's throat went dry. "And you want me to endure?"
"I want you to endure long enough," she said slowly, "to see what she truly is."
Something in her tone made him shiver. It was not merely rebellion, not merely jealousy. There was knowledge in her voice, knowledge that reached deeper than whispers of rivalry.
"What is she?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Althea's gaze lingered on him, as though weighing whether to answer. At last she spoke, her voice hushed: "Not just a woman. Not just flesh and blood. She is hunger. She is the silence that devours prayer, the chain that strangles thought. She has worn a thousand faces and spoken a thousand names, but always the same hunger. That is what you are entangled with."
Adrian's breath caught. "You mean—"
"Do not speak it," Althea interrupted sharply. "Do not name it. To name is to invite."
The embers crackled, filling the silence between them.
Adrian's mind swam. Was this truth, or another manipulation? Was Althea warning him, or feeding his fear to tighten her hold? He had thought Selene merely cruel, powerful, manipulative—but something older, something almost supernatural? His reason fought against it, yet the shadows in the chamber, the endless echo of her voice, the way she seemed to be present even when absent—had he not already felt it himself?
He pressed a hand to his temple. "Why tell me this?"
"Because I tire of being her instrument," Althea said. The calm mask cracked for a moment, bitterness showing through. "I am chained as you are chained, Adrian. Do not imagine otherwise. But if she consumes you, if you yield completely, then the rest of us—Cassia, Liora, even I—will vanish in her shadow. You are her obsession. And obsessions are dangerous for all of us."
Her words struck him with the weight of inevitability. He had felt it: Selene's fixation, the way her eyes lingered too long, the way she pushed him harder than the others. He was not merely prey; he was chosen prey. And that meant anyone who dared reach for him risked annihilation.
Adrian sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his face pale. "I never wanted this."
Althea's lips curved again, but not with cruelty—only with the faintest sympathy. "No one does. Yet here you are."
She stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against his shoulder. He flinched, but she did not withdraw. "You are not alone, Adrian. Remember that, even when she makes you believe it. Do not surrender to silence."
For a moment, he allowed the touch. It was not like Selene's grip, nor Cassia's trembling kiss, nor Liora's cautious brush of his arm. It was steady, almost grounding.
But the thought of Selene pierced the moment like a blade. Her eyes, her voice, her power—they flooded him again, and he pulled away as if burned.
"You should go," he said hoarsely. "If she finds you here—"
Althea's expression hardened again, the mask returning. "Fear keeps her strong. Remember that."
Then she turned, moving toward the door. Before leaving, she looked back once. "When the silence becomes unbearable, Adrian—listen to the echoes. They will tell you what prayer cannot."
And then she was gone.
The chamber felt emptier than before, though Adrian could still feel the ghost of her touch on his shoulder.
He sat in the darkness, trembling, torn between gratitude and suspicion, desire and fear.
How many chains now bound him? Selene's, Cassia's, Liora's, Althea's—each pulling in different directions, each offering salvation while tightening their hold. He felt like a man dragged apart by horses, each limb claimed by a different master.
And beneath it all, the silence pressed heavier than ever, a silence that was not empty but filled with Selene's unseen presence.
Adrian whispered again, though his voice broke on the words: "Whose prisoner am I?"
This time, the silence seemed to answer—soft, mocking, inevitable.