Chapter 5 The Game Begins
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, pressing against Aria’s chest like an unseen weight, making it harder to breathe with every second that passed. She should have been used to silence by now—her life had been built on it, sculpted by it, shaped into something small and unnoticeable, something meant to be discarded and forgotten. But this silence was different. This was not the silence of being ignored, of being invisible. No, this was the silence of a predator watching its prey, of a king waiting for his subject to accept the inevitable.
And she refused.
Aria forced her spine straight, her shoulders squared despite the crushing weight of the moment, despite the way Kieran’s golden eyes burned into her, stripping her bare with nothing more than his gaze. The candlelight flickered between them, casting shifting shadows along the grand dining hall, the opulence of the space almost mocking in its elegance. She had never sat at a table like this before, had never tasted food that wasn’t meant for the forgotten. And yet, here she was, being told she belonged to a man who could destroy her with a single breath.
"You are mine."
The words replayed in her mind, sinking deep, wrapping around her like chains she had not yet learned how to break.
She had expected him to lie, to weave some intricate tale about why he had taken an interest in her. She had expected sweet words, false kindness, manipulation veiled in a crown. She had not expected this—this blunt, absolute declaration, this statement that left no room for argument, no room for misunderstanding.
And she hated him for it.
Aria set her goblet down with careful precision, her fingers steady despite the war raging inside her. "You speak as though I am a possession," she said, her voice soft but sharp, each word edged with defiance. "As though I am something to be claimed rather than someone with a will of my own."
Kieran’s lips curled slightly, not quite a smile, not quite anything soft enough to be called amusement. "Do you not believe in fate, Aria?"
She stiffened, her heartbeat a dull roar in her ears.
"Fate," she echoed, tasting the word on her tongue, testing its weight. "I believe fate is an excuse men use when they wish to justify their cruelty."
Kieran’s gaze darkened, though there was no anger in it—only something deeper, something more dangerous. He reached forward, slow and deliberate, his fingers curling around the stem of his goblet. He swirled the wine lazily, watching the movement for a moment before lifting his gaze back to hers. "Cruelty?" he mused. "Is that what you believe I have shown you?"
Aria’s jaw clenched. "You took me from everything I knew," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. "You ripped me from the only life I had and placed me in a cage of your own making. You call that kindness?"
Kieran exhaled, a sound that was neither frustration nor amusement, but something in between. "I call it inevitability," he said. "Whether I had taken you or not, you would have never been free, Aria. You were never meant to be."
Her breath caught, anger flaring in her chest, burning beneath her skin like wildfire. "And you think you are any different?" she demanded. "That because you wear a crown, your chains do not exist?"
His golden eyes flashed with something unreadable, something sharp, something that almost—almost—felt like understanding. "I know my chains better than most," he murmured. "I have worn them my entire life."
A shiver traced its way down her spine, though she refused to let it show.
She was treading dangerous ground.
And yet, she could not stop herself.
"You believe your burdens make you entitled to control others," she said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. "That because you suffer, you have the right to decide the fate of those who suffer beneath you."
Kieran leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but commanding, his presence overwhelming even in the vastness of the room. "I believe," he said, his voice impossibly smooth, impossibly steady, "that power does not care for fairness. That the strong shape the world, and the weak are left to survive it. And I believe," he continued, his golden gaze piercing into her, "that you, Aria, are not as weak as you would like to believe."
Her breath hitched, her fingers curling into her lap, gripping the fabric of the gown she had not chosen.
He was wrong.
He had to be.
Because if he wasn’t—if there was even the smallest sliver of truth to his words—then she did not know who she was anymore.
And that was far more terrifying than anything else.
A servant entered then, breaking the moment, his presence a whisper against the tense silence. He bowed his head slightly before speaking. "Your Majesty, the council has requested an audience with you."
Kieran did not immediately respond. His gaze remained locked on Aria, unmoving, unyielding, as though he were debating whether to leave at all.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "I will be there shortly," he said, his tone betraying nothing.
The servant bowed once more before retreating, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Aria exhaled, though it did little to ease the weight in her chest.
Kieran studied her for a long moment before he finally spoke again. "You are not ready to accept what you are yet," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "But you will be soon enough."
She hated the certainty in his voice.
Hated the way it settled over her like a prophecy she could not escape.
But she refused to show it.
So instead, she lifted her chin, her expression unreadable, and met his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You are mistaken if you believe I will ever belong to you," she said, her voice a whisper of steel.
Kieran’s lips curved, though there was no mirth in it—only something darker, something ancient, something that made her pulse quicken despite herself.
"Then prove me wrong," he murmured.
And then, just like that, he rose from his chair, his movements fluid, effortless. He did not offer her a farewell, did not give her the courtesy of another glance. He merely turned, walking away as though he already knew the outcome of the battle she had only just begun to fight.
The doors shut behind him with a finality that sent a chill through her.
And Aria, left alone in the vastness of the golden dining hall, realized something with a sinking, unbearable certainty.
This was not a game she could afford to lose.
And yet, she had no idea how to win.