Chapter 11

• It had been a week since Freya found herself trapped within the cold, gilded walls of the palace. And truthfully, it might have been bearable—if not for Dorian. His presence alone was enough to set her on edge, but it was his calculated cruelty that truly made her skin crawl. He treated her like she was beneath him, a mere afterthought in his world, yet somehow still a piece he refused to discard. Every glance, every word dripped with cold indifference, a stark contrast to the way his hands had once trembled with restraint. Worse still, he made a spectacle of his attention toward other women, deliberately ensuring she saw every lingering touch, every whispered word meant for someone else. It was torture in its purest form, and Freya couldn’t understand—why hadn’t he rejected her? If he loathed the bond so much, why not sever it completely? She would have welcomed the relief, the freedom from this relentless pull that kept her tethered to him, despite how much she wished to break away. But he didn’t. And that, more than anything, left her trapped in an unbearable limbo, drowning in a bond she never asked for.
• ________________________________________________________________________
• The day stretched on with the weight of uncertainty pressing on her chest. Her assigned duties were the only thing keeping her from unraveling. The next task on her list: cleaning Dorian’s chambers.