Chapter 4 Bound in Shadows
The air between them crackled with something unseen, something neither of them dared to name. Aria’s breath was shallow, trapped somewhere between defiance and trepidation, caught in the space where her instincts warred against her will. Kieran had not moved back, had not given her the space she so desperately craved. He loomed before her like a storm waiting to break, golden eyes watching her with an intensity that made her want to flee and fight all at once.
His words echoed in her mind, sinking their hooks deep into her, embedding themselves in the fragile, trembling pieces of her soul. You may not accept it yet, but you will. A declaration. A promise. A warning.
Her fingers curled at her sides, nails biting into the delicate fabric of her gown, an attempt to ground herself, to remind herself that she was still her, still untouched by whatever spell he wove around her like an unseen chain.
"You think you can force me to belong to you," she said, her voice softer than she intended but no less firm. "You think that by claiming me, you will make it so."
Kieran tilted his head slightly, the movement almost feline, almost indulgent. "I do not need to force anything," he said, his voice calm, as if he had already won. "You will come to understand that soon enough."
Aria’s chest tightened. He spoke as though her resistance was temporary, as though her will was something that could be shaped, bent, broken—something inevitable. It made her stomach churn, made something dark coil inside her, something dangerous that she had spent too long suppressing.
"You do not know me," she whispered, shaking her head. "You think you do, but you don’t. And I will never—"
Kieran’s hand moved then, not to harm, not to restrain, but to silence. His fingers brushed against the curve of her jaw again, a ghosting touch that sent a shiver down her spine, betraying her in ways she despised.
"You are frightened," he murmured, his thumb barely grazing her skin, his touch so light it was almost unbearable. "But not in the way you wish you were."
Aria sucked in a breath, but she did not move away.
Because he was right.
Damn him.
He was right.
She was not afraid of pain. She had lived in its grip for too long. She was not afraid of suffering, of cruelty, of cold, merciless hands that sought to use her and discard her like she was nothing. She had known that kind of fear all her life. It was familiar, almost comforting in its predictability.
But this?
This was different.
This was something more.
Something dangerous.
Something that threatened to consume her from the inside out.
And Kieran knew it.
His golden eyes gleamed, as if he could read every thought as it passed through her mind, as if he could taste the confusion that twisted within her, the war raging in her soul.
"Let me go," she said, barely more than a whisper.
Kieran’s gaze darkened.
His fingers tightened slightly before he released her, stepping back, granting her the space she had not even realized she had stopped fighting for.
Aria exhaled sharply, forcing herself to take a step back as well, forcing herself to remember who she was, what she was.
A servant. A human. A nobody.
And yet…
The way he looked at her said otherwise.
She could feel the weight of his gaze as she lowered her own, as she forced herself to keep her breathing steady, as she willed the heat that had settled beneath her skin to disappear.
She hated him.
She hated him for doing this to her, for making her question things she had no right to question, for making her feel things she had no business feeling.
Kieran watched her for a long moment before he finally spoke again. "You will join me for dinner tonight," he said, the command clear, absolute.
Aria’s stomach twisted.
"You cannot order me to dine with you," she said, though she knew how futile it was to challenge him.
Kieran’s lips curved ever so slightly. "I can order you to do anything."
Aria clenched her jaw.
She should have expected that answer.
"Why?" she asked instead, lifting her chin, determined to meet his gaze no matter how much it unnerved her. "Why are you doing this? Why me?"
Kieran studied her for a long moment before he answered.
"Because you intrigue me," he said simply, as if that alone was enough justification for uprooting her entire existence.
It made her blood boil.
"You think I should be grateful," she spat, her nails biting into her palms now, her entire body rigid with the frustration she could no longer suppress. "You think that because you are king, I should fall to my knees and thank you for taking an interest in me?"
Kieran did not move, did not so much as blink, but the air shifted, the weight of his presence pressing down on her like an unseen force.
"I think," he said slowly, deliberately, "that you should stop pretending you are something you are not."
Aria’s pulse thundered in her ears.
"What does that mean?" she whispered.
Kieran only smiled.
A slow, knowing curve of his lips that sent a chill down her spine.
"You will understand soon enough," he said.
And with that, he turned, stepping away, leaving her standing in the center of the vast throne room, her heart pounding in her chest, her thoughts a chaotic mess of confusion, anger, and something else—something she was not ready to name.
Something she feared she never would be.
—
She barely remembered leaving the throne room.
Her mind was too full, too heavy, weighed down by everything that had just transpired, by the words Kieran had spoken, by the way he had looked at her.
By the way she had felt.
The corridors blurred around her as she walked, each step feeling distant, disconnected from reality. It was only when she reached her chambers that she realized she was still shaking.
Aria pressed her back against the closed door, her breath unsteady, her fingers trembling as she curled them into the fabric of her gown.
She could still feel him.
The heat of his touch.
The weight of his gaze.
The whisper of his breath against her skin.
A shudder ran through her, unwanted, unwelcome.
She could not let him do this to her.
She would not let him do this to her.
Kieran Vale was a king. He was powerful. He was dangerous.
But he was still a man.
And no man—no matter how strong, no matter how ruthless—would ever own her.
She would make sure of it.
The room felt too large. The space around her, though filled with opulence and luxury beyond anything she had ever dared to dream of, suffocated her more than the tiny servant quarters she had been forced to sleep in for years. The walls, lined with intricate gold detailing, felt like the edges of a gilded cage, trapping her in a world she had no part in.
Aria paced, her bare feet soundless against the polished marble floor. The long, flowing gown that had been given to her whispered with every movement, the rich fabric brushing against her skin in a way that reminded her with every step that she did not belong here. She had been brought into this palace not as a guest, not as a noblewoman, not as someone with power or influence. She had been brought here on a whim. A mere flicker of interest from a king who held the power to destroy lives with a single command.
She was a possession now.
A thing to be admired.
A plaything for a man who could crush her if she so much as breathed the wrong way.
Her fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms.
She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, the way his fingers had grazed her throat, the way his breath had fanned against her ear as he whispered those words. You will accept it soon enough.
Her heart still hadn’t stopped racing, not from fear, but from something far worse—something treacherous, something she refused to acknowledge.
The way Kieran had looked at her—like he was peeling away every layer, like he could see into the deepest parts of her that she had hidden from the world—unnerved her more than she wanted to admit.
She had spent her entire life surviving in silence, existing in the shadows, unnoticed and ignored. She had learned how to make herself invisible, how to become nothing more than a whisper in the background.
But Kieran saw her.
He watched her.
And that was dangerous.
A sharp knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. Her pulse leaped to her throat as she spun toward the massive double doors, her breath catching in anticipation, in fear. For a moment, she thought it might be him.
But the voice that followed was not Kieran’s.
"My lady, the king has requested your presence for dinner."
Her chest constricted.
So it had not been a mere warning. He truly expected her to join him.
Aria clenched her jaw, her fists tightening at her sides. She wanted to refuse. She wanted to shout through the door that she was not his to summon, that she was not some docile creature that would come crawling at his feet simply because he beckoned.
But she also knew better.
To refuse the king was to invite consequences.
And she had suffered enough at the hands of those with power.
Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, she forced her expression into something unreadable before stepping toward the door. It opened before she could touch it, revealing a guard dressed in polished armor, his expression carefully neutral.
Without a word, he turned, expecting her to follow.
And so she did.
Every step down the long, candlelit corridor felt heavier than the last, as though she was walking toward something inevitable, something inescapable.
The palace was vast, larger than she had realized, and yet the silence that filled its corridors made it feel hollow. The marble floors gleamed beneath the flickering torchlight, the ceilings arching high above her head, adorned with paintings of wolves and battles and moons full and bright. Everything about this place was meant to intimidate, to remind those who walked its halls of the power that ruled here.
And at the heart of it all, there was him.
The dining hall was just as grand as the throne room, its long table stretching across the center, adorned with silverware that gleamed in the candlelight. Golden goblets rested beside ornate plates, and in the very center of the table, draped in the kind of darkness that could not be touched, sat Kieran Vale.
The king.
The predator.
Her captor.
He did not look up as she entered, did not so much as glance in her direction, and yet the air in the room shifted with her arrival, as though he had been waiting, expecting.
"Sit."
The command was soft but absolute, the single word slicing through the silence like a blade.
Aria hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, her movements slow, controlled, betraying none of the war raging inside her. She lowered herself into the chair opposite him, her back straight, her hands resting lightly on the table’s edge, as if she were preparing herself for battle.
Kieran finally lifted his gaze.
Golden eyes locked onto hers, sharp and piercing, stripping her bare without ever touching her.
"You came," he murmured, the barest hint of amusement lacing his voice.
"As if I had a choice," Aria bit back before she could stop herself.
Kieran’s lips curved slightly, though it was not a smile. "You always have a choice, Aria."
Her name on his tongue sent a strange shiver through her, but she forced herself to ignore it.
"If that were true," she said, voice steady, "I would not be here at all."
Kieran exhaled slowly, as if her defiance was something he found entertaining rather than infuriating. "You would rather still be scrubbing floors, then?"
Aria’s fingers curled around the edge of her seat.
"I would rather be free."
A silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Kieran leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table, his eyes never leaving hers. "Freedom is an illusion," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Even those who believe they have it are bound by something. A duty. A law. A fate they cannot escape."
Aria’s chest tightened.
"Are you saying you are not free?" she asked, arching a brow.
Kieran’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze darkening just slightly.
"A king is the most caged man of all," he murmured.
She did not expect that answer.
She did not know what she expected, but it was not that.
The conversation was quickly interrupted as the servants entered, setting down platters of food between them, the scent of roasted meat and warm bread filling the space. Aria barely glanced at the feast before her, her appetite lost in the weight of the moment.
Kieran, however, lifted his goblet, swirling the dark wine within before taking a slow sip. "Eat."
Aria did not move.
She felt as if she were sitting across from something far more dangerous than a king.
She felt like she was sitting across from a beast waiting to pounce.
She was no fool. She knew what men of power did when they wanted something. They manipulated, they ensnared, they whispered promises coated in honey and venom until their prey was too entangled to escape.
But she was not prey.
She refused to be.
Slowly, she lifted her goblet, meeting his gaze as she took a small sip. The wine was rich, heavier than she expected, its sweetness masking something darker beneath.
She set it down carefully.
"You have brought me here," she said, voice soft but firm, "but you have yet to tell me why."
Kieran studied her, his golden eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
"Because you are mine," he said simply.
Aria’s breath hitched.
She expected many answers.
But not that.
Not in those words.
And as she sat there, beneath the full weight of his gaze, beneath the suffocating reality of what those words meant, she realized one thing with terrifying certainty.
She had just stepped into a game she did not understand.
And she was already losing.