Chapter 194
“So this was your room?”
While Kazhan raced across the skies without rest, Ysaris found herself living an oddly mundane existence for a kidnapping victim. Spending her days confined with Mikael, the only real difference from palace life was the locked door.
“The owner had… eclectic tastes.”
Ysaris ran her fingers along the bookshelf’s spines as Mikael napped. The haphazard collection spanned music theory to military strategy, economics to fairy tales—
“…And romance novels.”
Her nose wrinkled at one particularly lurid title: The Head Butler’s Nightly Lessons for Maids
“To leave this where a child might see it—”
She hastily relocated the offending volumes behind herbology texts. Mikael couldn’t read yet, but with his frighteningly sharp memory, who knew what he might recall years later?
A whimper interrupted her rearranging.
“Mmm… nn…”
“Mikael? Awake?”
“Nn… no…”
The boy burrowed deeper into blankets, his breathing steadying. That small face, so peaceful despite their circumstances, made her chest ache. She longed to stroke his hair, adjust his covers—
No. Let him sleep.
Instead, she returned to plotting escape routes—her only meaningful way to protect him.
Three days of captivity had yielded little progress. Their routine never varied: meals delivered by black-robed underlings, zero opportunities to explore. Even the door refused to budge despite its unlocked handle, revealing some hidden magical mechanism.
So this is why Trienne was so confident.
The realization brought fresh frustration. Why bother restraining her hands initially? Fear of resistance? Or simply convenience for blood draws?
Her sole breakthrough came through the young servant who delivered meals—a nervous boy in dark robes who’d gradually answered harmless questions under her persistent warmth. He’d bolt at anything sensitive, but compared to Trienne’s madness, he was practically refreshing.
Speaking of the devil—Trienne’s days-long absence had been suspicious. Researching her wedding ring? Or simply letting her recover from the first bloodletting?
Surely even he understands draining us dry defeats his purpose—
The door burst open.
“Blood regeneration tonic!”
Trienne announced, waving a vial.
“With this, we can harvest every two days!”
Ysaris’ teacup cracked in her grip.
“You expect gratitude?”
“I lost sleep brewing it!”
“For my suffering?”
“For your health!”
His grin didn’t reach his eyes.
“Now, enjoying my room? Meals adequate?”
“Tolerable.”
She bit back scathing remarks—until his last word registered.
‘My room.’
Her gaze snapped between Trienne and the eclectic bookshelf. The pieces clicked.
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