The dress was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Elara stood before the full-length mirror in the guest chambers, arms half-raised, as two silent servant girls fastened the final hooks along her spine.
The gown clung to her like a second skin—deep crimson velvet laced with black, long-sleeved, high-necked, and tight enough to constrict her breath. The corset bodice cinched harder than necessary, boned with something colder than whalebone.
But it was the stitching that caught her attention.
Thin, silver-white threads glimmered through the embroidery like veins of frost.
And when one brushed the inside of her collarbone—
She hissed.
A sharp sting bloomed just beneath her skin.
"What is this?" she asked.
The maids said nothing.
Elara turned toward the mirror again.
Her reflection stared back—pale, composed, and absolutely not herself.
Too regal.
Too bound.
Too quiet.
She reached up to adjust the collar.
Her fingers brushed the silver thread again.
This time, the skin sizzled.
She ripped the collar down.
The maids gasped, backing away.
Under the fabric, her skin was already red and blistering.
"Who made this?" she demanded.
One maid whispered, "It was ordered by the Council. Standard for outer-clan guests."
"Silver-lined?" Elara snarled. "Are you insane?!"
She tore at the sleeves next, fingers burning as she yanked the threads free. They peeled away like skin, leaving faint red lines across her arms.
A knock echoed from the door.
"Elara."
Kael's voice.
Sharp. Dangerous.
She turned, hair wild, blood prickling down her back.
"Come in," she growled.
The door opened.
And Kael froze in the threshold.
She stood in the center of the room—half-undressed, arms bare, skin blistered where the silver thread had touched her.
His eyes darkened instantly.
"Who did this?"
"Your people."
"Elara—"
She hurled the silver-streaked sleeve at his feet.
"Is this how your court honors your guest?"
Kael stepped forward, fangs bared.
The maids vanished from the room before he reached them.
"Elara," he said again, gentler now.
But she backed away.
"Don't you dare touch me if you can't control the fire under your skin."
He stilled.
And then, slowly, carefully—he knelt.
In front of her.
Elara blinked.
He reached out.
Took her hand.
Turned it gently, exposing the fresh burn across her wrist.
And kissed it.
Soft.
Slow.
His lips brushed the burn like an apology.
Then again—this time his tongue flicked out.
She gasped.
The heat beneath his touch seared—but not from pain.
From something far more dangerous.
Desire.
"Kael—"
He stood.
Close now.
Too close.
He reached for her collar, where the last bit of silver thread clung to her neckline.
And ripped it down the middle.
The bodice split open.
The gown crumpled to the floor.
Elara stood in her slip, chest rising fast, arms trembling.
Kael's fingers lingered near her throat.
"This should never have touched you."
"Then why did it?"
"Because they think you're temporary."
"And you?"
Kael stepped behind her.
Looked at her in the mirror.
"I think you're a curse."
"Say that again."
"I think you're the reason I haven't burned down this entire fortress."
She turned slowly.
"You kissed a burn."
He nodded.
"You're obsessed."
"I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
He met her eyes.
And said, "Of forgetting what you looked like before they made you a cage."
Later, after the servants had returned to clear the ruined gown and Kael had disappeared back into the corridors of the keep, Elara stood before the mirror again.
Only this time—
The mirror didn't match her.
Her reflection was too still.
Too smiling.
Too sharp.
It wore the same shift.
Held the same pose.
But the eyes were wrong.
They glowed faintly.
Gold, not gray.
"Elara…"
The mirror whispered.
She didn't move.
The voice came again, from the glass.
"Elara Voss. Ransomer. Reclaimer."
She stepped forward, heart pounding.
The reflection stayed still.
Then moved.
But not with her.
It raised a hand.
She didn't.
It bared fangs.
She didn't.
And then—
It turned its head.
To look behind her.
Elara spun.
Nothing.
Just empty space.
She looked back at the mirror.
It was normal again.
Her own face.
Pale.
Shaking.
Unmarked.
Except…
Except there, just beneath her collarbone—
The mark was glowing.
Kael found her curled in the window alcove an hour later, arms wrapped around her knees.
He didn't ask what happened.
He just sat beside her, shoulder brushing hers.
"I saw something in the mirror," she whispered.
"I believe you."
"It wasn't me."
He was quiet a moment.
Then said, "Sometimes the mirror shows what we'll become. Sometimes what we've forgotten we already are."
She looked at him.
And asked, "What do you see when you look in one?"
He didn't answer.
But his hand found hers in the dark.
And didn't let go.