Chapter 4 The First Command

The Council meeting stretched for hours, filled with arcane discussions of blood territories and ancient treaties that meant nothing to me. I sat in a smaller throne beside Darian's, feeling like a child playing at royalty. My legs had gone numb, and exhaustion tugged at my consciousness, but I fought to stay alert. Every time my attention wavered, I'd catch Ashryn watching me with that unsettling smile, or notice how the Council members studied my every reaction.

When Elder Thorne finally declared the session concluded, I nearly collapsed with relief. Darian rose from his throne, extending his hand to me with formal precision. I took it, grateful for the support as we navigated through the dispersing crowd.

"You conducted yourself well," he said quietly as we exited the Great Hall. "Many expected you to falter."

"Is that another almost-compliment?" I asked, too tired to filter my thoughts.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Perhaps. Though your standards seem remarkably low."

Before I could retort, Mira appeared at our side. "My prince, the eastern chambers have been prepared for you. And Lady Elira's quarters are ready for her return."

Darian nodded. "Thank you, Mira. Please escort Elira back. I have matters to discuss with Elder Thorne."

"Actually," I interrupted, "I'd like a word with you first. Privately."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or wariness. After a moment, he inclined his head. "Very well. Mira, wait for us in the corridor."

Once we were alone in a small antechamber off the main hall, I turned to face him directly. The formal dress Mira had provided was beautiful but constricting, and I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"What did Ashryn mean?" I asked. "About the last human who held your contract?"

Darian's expression hardened. "My brother has always had a talent for finding the most painful barbs."

"That's not an answer."

"No, it's not." He moved to a window carved into the stone, looking out at what appeared to be an underground garden illuminated by the same blue light that pervaded the palace. "The past is better left buried, Elira. Particularly that part of it."

I stepped closer, studying his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders. "I think I have a right to know, considering I'm apparently bound to you by some ancient magic I don't understand."

He turned to face me, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light. "And what would you do with such knowledge? Use it against me? Try to break the contract?"

"I just want to understand what I've gotten myself into!"

"What you've 'gotten yourself into,'" he echoed, a edge of bitterness in his voice, "is a binding that has existed for millennia. A contract written in blood and power that cannot be undone by mere wishing."

"There must be a way—"

"Death," he said flatly. "Your death would release me. Is that what you're proposing?"

I stepped back, startled by his bluntness. "Of course not."

"Then accept your role, as I have accepted mine." He moved toward the door, clearly considering the conversation finished.

Frustration and exhaustion overwhelmed my better judgment. "Stop!" I commanded, not expecting anything to happen.

The effect was immediate and shocking. Darian froze mid-step, his entire body going rigid. The markings on my skin flared to life, glowing through the fabric of my dress, and answering symbols appeared on his neck and hands.

"I—I didn't mean to," I stammered, horrified at what I'd done.

Slowly, with visible effort, Darian turned to face me. His expression was a complex mixture of rage, humiliation, and something deeper—a wound that had never properly healed.

"Is that how it will be?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "Commands given in anger, without thought or care?"

"No! I didn't realize—"

"You didn't realize the power you hold," he finished for me, taking a step closer. Despite the contract holding him in check, there was nothing submissive in his bearing. "You didn't realize that a single word from your lips can bend me to your will, regardless of my own desires."

Shame washed over me. "I'm sorry. I truly am."

He studied me for a long moment, then some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. "You are not the first to discover the intoxication of such power," he said quietly. "But be warned, Elira Hamilton—the contract binds me to obey your direct commands, but it does not control my heart or mind."

"I don't want to control you at all," I insisted.

A bitter smile curved his lips. "Yet here we are."

I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Look, this situation isn't ideal for either of us. But maybe we can find a way to... coexist? Set some boundaries?"

"Boundaries?" He looked genuinely surprised. "Between master and servant?"

"Between two people stuck in a bad situation," I corrected firmly. "I promise not to command you unless it's absolutely necessary."

Darian's laugh was short and without humor. "Your promises mean little. The temptation of the contract is too great—I've seen it corrupt the best intentions."

"Then let me prove it," I said, surprising myself with my determination. "Command me not to command you."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What?"

"You said I can't command you to harm myself, but I can order you not to obey my commands unless there's genuine danger. A... a safety measure."

For a moment, he simply stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "You continue to surprise me, human. But such a paradoxical command would create dangerous instabilities in the contract."

"Then what do you suggest?"

He considered for a moment. "Be specific. Command me never to harm you or threaten your safety, but leave the rest open."

The request caught me off guard. It seemed both reasonable and oddly vulnerable coming from him. I nodded slowly, focusing on my intent as Mira had advised earlier.

"Darian," I said formally, feeling the contract activate between us, "I command you never to physically harm me or threaten my safety."

The markings on my skin glowed briefly, then settled. Darian's posture relaxed marginally, though wariness remained in his eyes.

"There," I said. "Now at least you can't claim you want to kill me anymore."

A flash of genuine amusement crossed his face. "I suppose that's one way to establish trust."

"It's a start," I agreed, offering a tired smile. "Now, can we please go somewhere I can sit down before I collapse? These shoes are medieval torture devices."

Darian actually chuckled—a brief, rusty sound as if he hadn't used those muscles in centuries. "They probably are. Mira has eclectic tastes in historical fashion."

He offered his arm again, and this time the gesture felt less formal, more natural. As we walked back to the corridor where Mira waited, I was acutely aware of the stares following us—some curious, many hostile.

"They don't like me very much," I observed quietly.

"They fear what your presence means," Darian replied. "A human contract holder shifts the balance of power. Some see opportunity in that; others see threat."

"And what do you see?" I asked, glancing up at him.

His red eyes met mine, searching. "I'm still deciding."

When we reached Mira, she gave us a knowing look that I chose to ignore. Darian instructed her to see me safely to my quarters, then hesitated, as if wanting to say something more.

"Rest well, Elira," he finally said. "Tomorrow will bring its own challenges."

As Mira led me back through the labyrinthine corridors, I noticed we were taking a different route than before.

"Where are we going?" I asked when we turned down an unfamiliar passage.

"A shortcut," Mira replied with a reassuring smile. "The palace can be confusing for newcomers."

We had just entered a dimly lit corridor when a figure stepped out from an alcove—Ashryn, his silver eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"Lady Elira," he greeted smoothly. "What a pleasant surprise."

Mira stiffened beside me. "Lord Ashryn. We're returning to Lady Elira's chambers."

"Of course you are." His smile widened as he moved closer. "But surely you can spare a moment for a friendly conversation? I'm most curious about our new... guest."

There was something predatory in the way he circled us, like a wolf sizing up its prey. Despite Darian's command protecting me from harm, unease crawled up my spine.

"Perhaps another time," I said firmly. "I'm quite tired."

"Just one small question," Ashryn persisted, moving to block our path. "How does it feel, little human, to hold the leash of the mighty Night King? Does it make you feel powerful? Special?" His voice dropped to a silky whisper. "Does it make you feel safe?"

"Lord Ashryn," Mira began, but he silenced her with a sharp gesture.

"I'm speaking to the contract holder," he said, never taking his eyes off me. "Tell me, Elira Hamilton—do you really believe you can control what you've awakened? My brother is not some tamed pet. He is centuries of rage and power bound in flesh."

I lifted my chin, refusing to be intimidated. "I don't want to control anyone. The contract was an accident."

Ashryn laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "There are no accidents in blood magic, my dear. Only fate and consequence." He reached out, his cold fingers brushing my cheek. "And speaking of consequences—has my brother told you what happened to the last human who held his contract? How spectacularly that ended?"

Before I could respond, a wave of frigid air swept through the corridor. Darian stood at the far end, his expression thunderous, frost literally crystallizing around him.

"Remove your hand from her, brother," he said, each word precise and deadly.

Ashryn complied with exaggerated slowness. "We were just getting acquainted. No harm in that, surely?"

Darian moved toward us with preternatural speed, suddenly standing between me and his brother. "Return to your chambers, Ashryn. Now."

"Always so commanding," Ashryn sighed dramatically. "One would almost forget who wears the binding marks here." He glanced at me over Darian's shoulder. "Remember my words, Elira Hamilton. Ask him about Geneva, 1742. Ask what became of Isabelle Rousseau."

With that cryptic statement, he melted back into the shadows, leaving a chill in his wake that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Darian turned to me, his expression carefully controlled. "Are you unharmed?"

"I'm fine," I assured him. "He was just... talking."

"My brother's words are weapons," Darian said grimly. "Do not underestimate him." He glanced at Mira. "Take her directly to her chambers. No more 'shortcuts.'"

Mira bowed her head, clearly ashamed. "Yes, my prince."

As she led me away, I glanced back to see Darian still standing in the corridor, his tall figure silhouetted against the dim blue light, watching us until we turned the corner.

"Who is Isabelle Rousseau?" I asked Mira once we were alone.

Her steps faltered momentarily. "A name from the past," she replied carefully. "One that brings great pain to our prince."

"Was she... like me? A contract holder?"

Mira's expression grew solemn. "Yes. And a warning of what can happen when the binding is misunderstood." She stopped outside my chamber doors. "But that is not my story to tell. Rest now, Lady Elira. Dawn approaches, and with it, the court will sleep."

As I entered my room, exhaustion finally claiming me, I couldn't help but wonder about the woman who had come before me—and why her name caused such tension between the brothers. What had happened in Geneva in 1742? And more importantly, was I destined for the same fate?