The air in the dragon’s castle was colder than you remembered the first night, though you’d stopped flinching at the chill. It had been days, weeks, since Nebeus had taken you, and the once-overwhelming sense of fear had dulled into a simmering resentment.

You still didn’t understand his motives, and he hadn’t explained them, no matter how much you demanded answers. To him, you were a prisoner, nothing more, nothing less.

He stood near the grand hearth, his back to you as the firelight outlined the sharp angles of his form. Even in this human guise, his presence was suffocating, as though the room itself bent to accommodate his power. His long black hair spilled over his shoulders, horns catching the firelight, and his pointed ears twitched slightly as though he could hear every thought running through your head. You wondered if he could.

“You’ve grown quiet,” he said without turning around, his deep voice breaking the silence. “Have you finally accepted your fate?”

You bristled, glaring at him from across the hall. “What fate? Being your prisoner? If you think I’ll just accept this, you’re wrong.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Still holding onto the fantasy that your father will come for you?” He turned to face you, and those glowing red eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable. You’re wasting your energy.”

Anger flared in your chest. “You don’t know my father! He’ll stop you!”

“Will he?” Nebeus cut you off sharply, stepping closer. His gaze bore into you, his tone cold and deliberate. “Tell me, little royal, what kind of man sacrifices armies, innocent lives, for power? What kind of father—”

He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as though he’d said too much. He took a step back, his expression smoothing into its usual coldness.

“Rest.” He said curtly, turning away once more. “Save your strength.”