6. Nicholaus

I give her ten minutes. Ten. Ten minutes to breathe, to rest, to admit, even to herself, that she’s too weak to attempt anything reckless. But Echo does not rest. Echo does not breathe. Echo does not admit anything. Echo plots. The guards outside my wing look nervous when I return. They exchange glances that are stiff and uncomfortable, like they’re waiting to be blamed for a crime they haven’t yet committed.

“What did she do?” I ask.

One guard swallows hard. “Your Majesty… she, ah… escaped.”

I close my eyes and a slow exhale leaves my lungs. Of course she did.

“When?” My voice is too calm.

“Just now. She used air and water, barely any, but enough to slip past us... She’s fast.”

She shouldn’t be fast. She should barely be able to stand, but Echo is built on defiance and spite. She would crawl through fire before she obeyed me.

“And where is she now?” I ask.

“Somewhere in the lower halls. She’s… uh… trying to break into the armoury.”

I blink.

“Alone?” I ask.

They nod.

A laugh breaks from my chest, dark, sharp and utterly delighted. Of course, she went for a weapon. Of course, her first instinct is violence. She doesn’t want safety. She wants power. She wants to cut through anyone who cages her, even me. I leave the guards and head down the staircase. I don’t rush. Echo is strong-willed, but she is injured, drained, and half a heartbeat from collapsing. She can’t outrun me, and she certainly can’t outfight a vampire king. The armoury is two floors down, and I hear the struggle before I see it. The clatter of metal. A hiss of frustration. A soft, pained gasp as her magic rips at her from the inside.

I step into the hall. She’s barefoot, wearing one of my shirts, because I had the servants remove the blood-soaked rags she arrived in, and clinging to the wall like she’s determined to stay upright through sheer hatred alone. A dagger lies at her feet that she must have dropped when her magic faltered. She doesn’t even hear me approach. She’s breathing too hard, jaw clenched against the pain radiating from her chest. Sweat slicks her brow. Her knees shake. Her bandaged arms tremble.

“…open,” she mutters at the lock, voice raw. “Come on. Come on—”

I lean against the wall.

“Planning to arm yourself and then what?” I ask. “Stab me? Again?”

She whirls around and tries to summon fire—I see it—A spark flares on her fingertips—And then goes out, like a guttered, dying flame. Her face goes white.

Then she lifts her chin. “Don’t come closer.”

There's another spark, it's even weaker this time. I push off the wall and walk toward her anyway.

Her eyes widen. “I said—”

She takes a step back as her leg buckles. She slams into the wall, breath hitching, chest clutched as the witches’ runes punish her for trying to force power she doesn’t have. I catch her before she slides down the stone.

“You’re going to kill yourself at this rate,” I say.

She swings one weak fist at me, and I catch it effortlessly.

“Let me go,” she hisses.

“No.”

“You can’t keep me—”

I lift her off her feet. She gasps, hands gripping my shoulders in reflex rather than choice.

“Nicholaus!”

“You think escaping is strength?” I ask, carrying her down the hall. “You think pushing yourself until your bones crack makes you powerful?”

“Put me down!”

I don’t. I push through a set of heavy doors and enter a torchlit training hall. The guards inside immediately bow, startled by the sight of their king carrying a half-dead elemental like a disobedient pet.

“Leave us,” I command.

They scatter, and I set Echo on her feet, but only just. My hands stay at her waist until I know she won’t collapse.

She shoves at me again. “Stop touching me!”

“You ran,” I say, ignoring her struggle. “Again.”

“I’m not your prisoner.”

“No,” I murmur, “you’re not acting like one. Prisoners obey. You… challenge.”

She bares her teeth. “Good.”

“It isn’t good,” I snap, voice finally breaking past my restraint. “It’s infuriating.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.”

“You can’t—”

I grab her chin and force her gaze to mine.

“I can,” I say quietly. “And I will. Because if you keep using your magic in this state, you will tear your heart apart.”

She freezes. She clearly hadn’t considered that. Of course, she hadn’t. Echo acts first, bleeds second, thinks later.

“I don’t care,” she whispers.

But I do. My own pulse spikes violently from her confession.

“You’re not allowed to die,” I say. “Not from witches. Not from magic. Not from running.”

She trembles, but it's not from fear, no, I can feel her rage. I drag her toward the training circle in the centre of the room. She stumbles, nearly falling, but I steady her.

“You want out?” I say. “Then earn it.”

Her eyes narrow. “What?”

“You want freedom? Fight.”

She looks at me like I’m insane.

“You said I can’t use magic,” she snaps. “You said I’ll collapse.”

“You will,” I agree. “But not from fighting me. Not if you’re smart.”

She stares at my offered hand like it’s a trap. It is. But it’s also the truth.

“You can barely stand,” I say. “But you still tried to break into an armoury. You want weapons? Power? Autonomy?”

Her throat works.

“You want freedom? Then learn how to move with a body that isn’t at full strength.”

She hesitates for a moment before saying quietly, “I won’t fight you.”

“You already have,” I remind her. “Every minute since I found you.”

She lifts her hand to shove me again, but stops mid-motion, chest seizing with pain. Her knees buckle and I catch her, not missing how much she hates how easily I do it.

“Let me go,” she whispers again, softer this time.

“No,” I say. “But I’ll teach you how to walk again. How to run. How to fight. How to use your magic without killing yourself.”

“And in return?” she asks bitterly.

“In return,” I say, leaning close, “you stop trying to die in my hallways.”

Her breath shudders, and I pull back just enough to see her face. She's angry, but also exhausted and so goddamn stubborn it almost makes me smile.

“You’re not my master,” she spits.

“I know,” I say. “But I am the one keeping you alive.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“I don’t care.”

She glares at me so hard the air heats. Good.

Let her rage.

Let her fight.

Let her learn.

“Training starts tomorrow,” I say.

“I won’t show up.”

“Yes,” I murmur, “you will, because you want out and you know this is the only way.”

She looks ready to kill me.

I step back and release her completely. She sways on her feet, but she doesn’t fall.

“Echo,” I say softly.

She looks up.

“You’re mine to protect,” I say. “Not to bury.”

Her jaw clenches.

“I’m not yours.”

“Not yet.”

Her breath catches, and she storms past me. I let her, because tomorrow, she’ll come.