2. Nicholaus

The girl collapses before I can catch her. One moment, she’s glaring at me like she plans to rip out my spine with her bare hands, and the next, her eyes roll back, her body slumping sideways, chains clattering against the bars of her cage. Not dead, not yet. Her pulse trembles beneath her skin faintly, but it's there. She’s smaller up close than I expected and much too thin, too scarred. Too…wronged. An elemental should be impossible to restrain. Her kind burns through iron like it’s cloth, but the witches found a way. Dark sigils. Forbidden runes. Blood magic so old it reeks of decay. Rage sweeps through me once again at the state of her. I shift her weight in my arms and feel how just light she is, and that fury slices deeper.

They drained her.

They almost killed her.

They touched something that was never meant for their hands.

My Key.

I didn’t believe it at first. Keys were a myth, a prophecy whispered into the bones of my bloodline. A cure for a curse that had plagued my people for centuries, one that had led to no children, no siring, and no future. It has been a slow extinction disguised as immortality. I searched for two hundred years for a weapon. Instead, I found a girl who tried to kill me with her last breath. She stirs weakly when I lift her. Her fingers twitch like she wants to claw my face. Even unconscious, she resists me. Good. I want her to. Weak women bore me. Broken ones repulse me. But this one... shaking, half-dead, carved open by witches, still dared to threaten to burn my bones. It drags something primal out of me, something possessive and hungry.

The cavern reeks of witch blood, but theirs is not enough. I want to kill them again and again, in ways they would have begged the gods to stop.

“You should have stayed hidden,” I murmur to the girl in my arms. “Witches always smell power, especially power like yours.”

She doesn’t answer. Her head lolls against my shoulder, hair sticking to dried blood on her cheek. The curve of her jaw is smeared with soot, and her breathing rattles shallowly. The binders around her wrists glow faintly. It's old, cruel magic. Magic that doesn’t belong on living skin. I rip them off, not gently, and her body jerks in response, a strangled sound escaping her lips. It's not a scream, not a whimper, but something caught between the two.

“Easy,” I growl, though the word feels foreign in my mouth. I am not accustomed to comforting. It is not a skill I’ve ever needed, but something in me responds to the broken pieces of her. Not to heal them... but to claim them, protect them and destroy anything that damaged them.

The prophecy said the Key would be powerful. It didn’t say she’d be defiant, or beautiful, or furious enough to spit fire even while bleeding out. It also didn’t say I would want her like this. The girl’s head drops helplessly against my shoulder as I climb the stone steps out of the cavern. Every witch's body I pass reminds me of how close she came to joining them. The thought is unacceptable. Outside, night air cuts through the lingering stink of magic. My guard captain, Kaiden, stiffens when he sees me carrying her.

“Is that—?”

“Yes.”

His eyes widen. “She’s—Nicholaus, she’s the—”

“Say it, and I’ll cut your tongue out,” I snap, and I don't know why.

Kaiden swallows, nods once. “Orders?”

“Burn the den,” I say. “Every corner, every spell. I want nothing left that touched her.”

“And the bodies?”

“Burn those too.”

Kaiden bows sharply. “Yes, my King.”

I walk past him without another word. My horse snorts when I approach, and I mount with the girl in my arms, holding her against my chest, tucking her against me as though someone might try to steal her. The ride back to the castle is silent except for her soft, ragged breaths and the rustle of her hair in the wind. Every few minutes, her fingers twitch, as though fighting an invisible enemy even in unconsciousness. I almost admire it.

When we reach the gates, the guards scramble to bow. Their eyes flick to the girl, to the blood, to the burns. I glare at anyone who dares look too long. Inside, I carry her through the hall lined with dark marble and torches. Servants scatter like frightened mice as I pass. I head straight for the east wing, where no one is allowed unless I permit it. The bedchamber is dim and warm, fire crackling low. I lay her on the bed, and immediately the scent of singed fabric and dried blood fills the room. She looks even smaller against the black sheets. Her eyelids flutter the moment her head hits the pillow. She’s too stubborn to stay unconscious for long.

“Where…am I…” she murmurs, voice raw and ragged.

“My castle,” I answer.

That gets her attention. Her eyes rip open, pupils blown with pain and fury. She tries to sit up, but her arms give out, and she collapses again, trembling with effort.

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, even though I haven’t.

“You’re bleeding,” I say.

“Good.” She tries to push herself up again.

“How did you survive this long?” I mutter.

Her glare sharpens. “How have you survived this long? Do your people enjoy your charming personality?”

I blink and laugh once. She freezes, as if she didn’t expect it.

“You’re insolent,” I tell her.

She bares her teeth. “And you're a tyrant.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, letting my gaze slide over her like a blade.

“You threatened to kill me,” I remind her.

“I wasn’t bluffing.” Her voice shakes. But not her stare.

I give her a slow, dark smile, and her pulse jumps at the sight of it.

“You’re going to stay here,” I say.

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’ll burn this entire castle to the ground.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to rebuild it.”

Her breath catches, not with fear, but with outrage.

“You don’t get to keep me,” she whispers.

“I already have,” I answer softly. “And you’re not leaving.”

Her throat works, swallowing a tremor. “Why?”

Because you're mine, but I give her the truth that she will hate most. “Because you are the one thing I have spent two centuries searching for,” I say. “And I won’t lose you.”

She stares at me like she wants to set me on fire and drown me at the same time.

“Sleep,” I order.

“Go to hell.”

I stand, pulling the blankets over her shaking body. She tries to slap my hand away, but she’s too weak. Her eyelids flutter, and she slips back into unconsciousness. Her fingers brush my wrist accidentally, barely a touch, but the air itself trembles. Fire sparks at the hearth, water shivers in its basin and the stone hums beneath our feet. She affects the entire room with a single touch.

“Oh,” I whisper, staring at her sleeping form. “You are going to ruin me.”