"Don't even try to breathe too loud. You're leaking guilt all over the floor."
Kael didn't just walk. He stalked. Boots clicking against stone. Predatory. Precise.
Before I could blink, his hand shot out. He didn't hit me—he grabbed my jaw. Hard. His fingers dug into my skin, a brutal reminder of how easy it would be to snap my neck. He forced my head up, tilting it back until I was staring straight into eyes like frozen steel.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
It wasn't a question. It was a vibration I felt in my chest.
"Because the Princess Sloane I knew was a shaking leaf," he continued. "She couldn't look a servant in the eye, let alone dismantle a professional killer with a smile and a few whispered words."
I swallowed. My throat felt like sandpaper. He smelled of leather, cold rain, and ozone—the scent of power that didn't need to scream to be heard.
"Maybe I just got tired of shaking," I rasped.
Kael’s grip tightened. He leaned in, face inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the dungeon.
"You're lying. Your pulse is jumping in your neck like a trapped bird." He narrowed his eyes. "You aren't just 'tired,' Sloane. You're different. Your mental frequency... it's not a mess. It's focused. Disciplined. Like a weapon."
I shifted my gaze, hunting for a crack in his armor. "Is it a crime to improve myself in exile?"
"In this empire, surprise is a crime."
He released my jaw with a sudden, jarring flick, as if he’d just touched something disgusting. He stepped back, circling me like a shark.
"The Regent wants you dead. The court wants you forgotten. And here you are, waking up with the eyes of a strategist. Who gave you this? A forbidden grimoire? A shadow teacher?"
I slid down the cold wall until I hit the floor. My legs were shaking, but I wouldn't let him see it. In my old life—skyscrapers and boardroom wars—the person with the most info didn't always win. The one who made the other side *believe* they were losing did.
"What if I told you I just remembered how to think?" I looked up through my lashes. "What if the 'waste' you all mocked was just a mask?"
Kael stopped. He actually looked at me. For a second, the dominance flickered. Not pity. Curiosity.
"A mask," he scoffed. He didn't move away. "A very convincing one. You played the fool for years. Why stop now?"
"Because the fool doesn't survive the night." I let a sharp smile touch my lips. "And you, Kael... you're not here because the Regent ordered you to clean up the trash. You're here because you're bored."
He stiffened.
"You're the High Guard. The golden boy. But you're staring at me right now because I'm the first thing in this palace that doesn't bore the hell out of you."
That hit. His eyes narrowed. The tension shifted, turning from a threat into something thicker—a wire being pulled tight.
Kael moved so fast I didn't have time to gasp.
*Slam.*
He pinned my wrists against the stone wall above my head. The impact knocked the wind out of me. I was trapped between freezing rock and his hard, muscular frame. I could feel every line of his body, the heavy thud of his heart against my chest.
"You think you can read me?" he hissed, breath hot against my ear. "You think a few psychological tricks make you my equal? I could crush your spirit before you finish your next sentence."
"Then do it," I challenged. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Crush it. Or admit you're curious why a dead princess is suddenly the most interesting person in the room."
He didn't move. We stayed like that, breath for breath. The air between us hummed. His eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second—just a flicker—before snapping back to mine. He held my life in his hands, yet I was the one pulling the strings.
He let go of my wrists abruptly. I slumped, the sudden freedom leaving me breathless.
"The Regent will have this place searched by dawn," he said, his voice returning to a cold, professional clip. "If he finds you alive and not in chains, he'll execute everyone in this wing. Including the guards who failed to kill you."
I rubbed my red wrists. "So what? You're playing the hero?"
"I don't do heroes." Kael reached into his cloak and pulled out a heavy, blackened iron band—a mental limiter. "I do results. Right now, you're a liability. But you're also a variable."
He stepped closer, the iron glinting.
"Here's the deal, Sloane. I don't report you. I hide you in my quarters. In exchange, you become my asset. You use that 'new' mind to tell me who's actually playing the game in the capital. Who's lying? Who's plotting?"
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I hand you back to the assassins. I might even help them this time."
I looked at the band. A leash. He wasn't saving me; he was claiming me. He wanted a bloodhound, and he was offering a cage in exchange for my life.
Better a cage with Kael than a grave in the dirt.
"Three days," I said. "Give me three days to prove I'm more useful than a snitch. If I give you a name that makes your world shake, I get the limiter off. And I get a seat at the table."
Kael paused. A slow, dangerous smirk crept across his face. It wasn't kind. It was the look of a man who'd just found a new toy to break.
"Three days," he agreed. "But until then, you belong to me."
*Clink.*
The iron limiter snapped shut around my wrist. A wave of cold numbness washed over my mind, like a curtain falling over my thoughts. I gasped, the sudden loss of clarity hitting me like a physical blow.
Kael leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
"Now," he whispered, "let's see what's left of you when you can't hide behind your tricks."
He started to pull me up when the heavy iron door at the end of the corridor groaned open. A voice like grinding gravel echoed through the hall.
"Kael! Is the royal waste finally dead, or are we waiting for the body to rot?"