Aurelia's violet eyes opened to the pale, dusty light of a room that was not her own.
It was morning, another new day in this place.
For a moment, there was only the hollow thud of her own heart. She hadn't even felt herself fall asleep; it had been a silent surrender, a black wave pulling her under the moment her body had stilled on the bed.
Slowly, she pushed herself up. The silken covers pooled around her waist.
"Morning, my love."
The voice, raw from disuse or from vigil, came from the corner. Calvus sat in a simple wooden chair, angled toward the bed. The deep shadows under his eyes and the absolute stillness of his posture spoke of a long, unmoving watch. He had been staring at her all night.
Her breath hitched, turning ragged in her throat as her gaze met his. A primal fear, cold and slick, coiled in her stomach. She instinctively shrank back, her shoulders pressing into the carved headboard of the bed.
A smile touched his lips—the ghost of a smile she knew. "I hope you had a beautiful night?" he asked. Then he raised his hand. "I made apple pie."
In his palm sat a small, perfectly formed pie. Its lattice crust was golden brown, and through the gaps, a deep, glossy amber filling gleamed.
Aurelia's world didn't tilt. It shattered.
It was the same type. The same specific, rustic design. The scent that now reached her—tart apple, rich butter, and something deeper, sweeter—was a key turning in the lock of a tomb.
The memory detonated.
Past coming back...
( Sunlight, real and warm, drenched a sprawling kitchen. The air was flour-dusted and sweet with cinnamon.
A girl of no more than six, her white hair tied in a messy knot, squealed with laughter as she raced on chubby legs around a heavy wooden table.
"Gaius!" she shrieked, her small hand swiping through a bowl of flour. She lunged, smearing the white powder across the cheek of her brown-haired brother. He spluttered, more out of duty than real anger, but a grin was fighting at the corners of his mouth.
"You should calm down before you hurt yourself," he said, his young voice trying for sternness and failing. He moved with a familiar, clumsy affection, his hands closing around her waist. He lifted her, her legs kicking in mid-air giggle, and placed her securely on the smooth, cold surface of the central kitchen slab. "Sit. Help."
Before her lay the round, unbaked shell of a pie, filled with spiced apples. Little Aurelia swung her legs, her concentration absolute. Gaius presented her with a bowl of leftover pastry dough.
"Choose the design for the top," he instructed, playing the role of the wise older brother. "Lattice? Stars?"
She shook her head, her violet eyes wide and certain. She pointed a sticky finger at a small copper pot where a thick, golden syrup bubbled.
"I don't need it to be decorated," she declared. "Only pour the caramel on it."
It was an odd, messy request. A pure, uncomplicated desire for sweetness. Gaius had laughed, a bright, boyish sound now deader than ashes.
"You'll ruin it. Lia" But he had taken the pot and, with a dramatic flourish, drizzled the hot, luxurious caramel in swirling ribbons over the raw apple filling.
She clapped her hands, a smile of perfect, radiant joy lighting her face—a smile meant only for him.)
"You remembered," Gaius breathed, his voice a fragile, trembling thing. The monster's armor cracked, revealing the raw, desperate boy beneath—the one who had once drizzled caramel for her. "You loved me before. You can love me again."
Aurelia flinched as if struck. The plea, wrapped in the memory of that love, was more obscene than any threat.
"You are sick!" she spat, her voice rising with a fury that burned away the last of her shock. "You need help. A healer. A prison!"
The fragile hope in his eyes hardened into something cold and sharp.
He leaned forward in the wooden chair, the legs creaking in the silence. "You should be careful with the words you use, little Lia." The childhood nickname was a poison on his tongue.
"I know of the witch-power stirring in your blood. The spark you tried to use against Amora."
He gestured vaguely at the walls of the small room. "I surrounded this place with silencing spells. Containment wards. You cannot reach your magic here. It is a vault." A slow, chilling smile touched his lips as his gaze drifted past her, landing on the empty wooden bowl discarded in the corner—the one that had held the broth Amora brought.
The admission hung in the air, colder than the dungeon's stone.
She had only been hungry. She had to eat. Her hands flew to her belly, a shield for the life within.
My baby! Her mind screamed, a silent, internal roar of pure terror.
"Don't worry," Gaius said, his voice shifting to a tone of chilling, conversational calm. "I didn't kill that bastard's child. I wouldn't. Not yet."
Her breath stopped. Her blood ran cold. How? How did he know?
My stomach is still flat.
The secret still hers—or so she had believed. The realization was a violation deeper than any touch. He had known all along. He had watched her, calculated her condition, and had the power to act upon it.
He rose from the chair, the simple movement suddenly predatory. He took a single step toward the bed, his shadow falling over her.
"But I could," he continued, the words dropping like stones into the silence. "If you don't obey. So, be very, very careful with the nonsense you say to me."
He let the threat settle, his eyes—those coffee coloured one holding hers, ensuring she felt the full, horrific weight of his control. It was no longer just her freedom or her sanity on the line.
He held the fate of her child in the palm of his hand, and he had just shown her he was not afraid to close his fist.
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To be continued...