Chapter 2

The silver star burned into the back of my hand.

A hairline fracture cracked through the chains binding my magic to Kaelen. Deep inside my core, the divine Elven magic I had buried for three years sparked. It stung. It felt raw, violent, and fiercely alive.

I pushed open the door to my quarters in the Priestess Tower. I dragged my battered leather trunk from under the bed and threw open the wardrobe.

Three plain linen robes. A standard wooden staff. A handful of basic healing amulets. That was everything I truly owned.

On the desk, the communication crystal chimed. A projected image hovered in the air, connecting to the estate's magical network. It showed Lyra’s wrist, glittering with the residual green dust of the Tear of the Elves. The floating text beneath read: Grateful for His Grace’s absolute protection. Minor injuries hurt, but his care heals everything.

The grief over Aven was a jagged, bleeding wound in my chest, but seeing this only sharpened my focus. My blood ran hot and fast. I tapped the crystal, saving the projection into a memory stone. Evidence. I dropped it into the trunk.

The crystal suddenly flared a harsh, urgent green. Kaelen’s voice echoed through the stone room. He always reacted with blinding speed when it involved Lyra.

"Elara." His tone held the familiar, commanding edge of a general addressing a subordinate. "Lyra’s saintess blood is extremely rare. As her guardian, her safety is my absolute priority. The spirit stone was a necessary precaution."

He paused, the command hardening into a threat. "Clear the logs of your supply dispute immediately. Send a public message to the network expressing your full understanding and support for her recovery. We need unity in the estate. Tomorrow is her magic awakening banquet, and I will not have you ruin it."

I grabbed the crystal. Anger tasted like copper in my mouth.

"Of course, Kaelen," I spoke into the stone. I let the venom drip from every syllable. "Lyra is incredibly thoughtful. Prioritizing a papercut over a boy bleeding out from a magic riot. A true future saintess."

I tightened my grip on the crystal. "Enjoy the banquet. Every precious resource you hoard for her right now will simply be calculated into my legal compensation when this bond breaks. Consider it an early celebration for both of you."

I slammed my magic into the crystal. The connection snapped. The green light died, then immediately began blinking frantically as Kaelen tried to force a reconnection. I turned my back on it.

I walked to the bookshelf and tossed my private herbalism journals into the trunk. I looked around the spacious stone room. The velvet armchairs, the carved oak bed, the silver tapestries—all stamped with the Duke's crest. Property of the estate.

My high-tier spellcasting gear? Locked in the vault downstairs. The advanced elixirs I brewed using my own blood to stabilize Kaelen's Abyssal taint? Locked. Everything required Kaelen’s dual magical signature to access.

Three years. I had bled for this territory. I had kept the Abyssal rot from consuming its master. Yet I stood in my own quarters like a temporary squatter.

A sharp laugh escaped my throat. The reality of it liberated me. The countdown ticked on my skin. I felt lighter than I had in years.

The heavy oak door crashed open. The wood splintered against the stone wall. Kaelen strode in, his armored boots ringing violently against the floor. Ten minutes. A new record for defending his precious ward.

He completely ignored the open trunk and the clothes scattered on the mattress.

"How dare you cut the connection?" he demanded. He crossed the room in three massive strides. "And what the hell was that message? Are you trying to spread malicious rumors to the nobles before the banquet? I protect everyone in this estate, Elara. Especially a pure, kind girl like Lyra. She doesn't deserve your venom."

I spun around to face him. "If the nobles have eyes and brains, why are you so terrified for her reputation?" I stepped toward him, closing the distance. "Truly pure people don't need you frantically sanitizing their image."

Kaelen’s face darkened with absolute fury. "You are malicious, Elara. Jealous, bitter, and entirely ungrateful. You are a parasite feeding on this estate." He towered over me, his voice dropping into a lethal threat. "Keep targeting Lyra with this toxic jealousy, and I will strip your priestess credentials. I will lock your magic access completely. Let’s see where you can go then."

The sheer audacity of his threat ignited a white-hot spark in my brain. I grabbed him by the forearm of his armor and jerked him violently toward the heavy iron door of the adjacent magic vault.

"Strip my access?" I shouted, slamming my palm against the iron door. The Duke’s red magical seal pulsed in response. "Look at me! I mend my own robes! I submit three-page petition forms to your adopted daughter just to get basic silver root! My monthly allowance is lower than a scullery maid's!"

I hit the vault door again. The metal rang loudly. "My own potions! My own research! All locked behind your seal. I need your approval to use the medicine I brewed with my own hands. I am not a priestess here, Kaelen. I am a temp worker surviving under the boot of a fake saintess!"

Kaelen stared at me. His brow furrowed. He looked genuinely baffled.

"All this screaming over trivial logistics?" he demanded. Disbelief coated his words. "Over clothes and herbs? So you maliciously target Lyra out of petty spite?"

I stopped. The raging fire in my chest hit a solid wall of ice.

He really didn't get it. He never would. Every word I said was just noise to him. He had already decided my guilt. He truly believed I was just a jealous, hysterical woman fighting over scraps.

The frantic, burning need to make him understand vanished entirely. It left behind a razor-sharp, lethal clarity.

I dropped my hand from the vault door. I straightened my spine.

"Think whatever you want, Kaelen," I said. My voice dropped to a dangerous, steady calm.

I lifted my left hand and shoved it directly into his line of sight. The silver seven-pointed star flared on my skin. The glowing numbers shifted right before his eyes.

Six days. Twenty-two hours.

"Six days," I told him. I watched the arrogant fury drain out of his face. "The Soul Bond dissolves."

Kaelen froze. His eyes locked onto the ancient Elven runes. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.