The transformation from noble daughter to slave was harsher than Fera had ever imagined. The mansion that once overflowed with luxury and comfort now felt like a prison, cold and empty. She was treated as if she were nothing more than air—ignored, unseen, and unvalued.
Her once elegant gowns were replaced with rough-spun, plain clothes that rubbed harshly against her skin. Her long, meticulously styled hair was left unkempt, tangled in a way that made her cheeks burn with shame. Servants who used to bow when she entered a room now averted their eyes, hurrying past her as if she carried some contagion. They spoke in hushed whispers and kept their distance, treating her as though she had become a ghost in the house.
The most painful punishment was the silence. Nobody commanded her to do any chores or tasks; it was as if she no longer existed. No one wanted to acknowledge the daughter of the 3rd Duke who had enslaved the 1st Duke’s sons and earned the King's wrath. The very air around her thickened with neglect.
Meals were meager and bland—stale bread and thin broth that could barely quell her hunger. Every bite was a reminder of what she had lost, and of the long road she had ahead as a slave. Despite the humiliation, Fera’s eyes burned with defiance. She refused to let despair claim her.
Days passed in quiet torment. She wandered the mansion’s vast corridors, her footsteps echoing like the hollow beats of her heart. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of fury and frustration, especially at the invisible chains that bound her magic to Nick. No matter how much she tried to resist, she could not escape the invisible leash that tied her soul to his will.
Then, one night, everything changed.
The mansion erupted in chaos as shadows burst through the gates—thieves, bold and violent, storming the estate under the cover of darkness. Shouts echoed through the halls, servants scrambled in panic, and the sharp ring of clashing steel filled the air.
Fera’s heart pounded with terror, but also with a flicker of hope. Amid the confusion, she saw a chance—an opportunity to break free from the invisible prison she was trapped in. She slipped through side passages and unguarded doors, her breath coming fast and her mind racing.
But the magic that enslaved her refused to loosen. No matter how far she ran, she could feel the pull of Nick’s power like an unbreakable chain wrapped around her soul.
Her hope turned to rage. If she could not flee, she would do the next best thing—she would end Nick and then escape.
She crept back into the mansion under the cover of the fighting. Her hand clutched a sword stolen during the thieves’ attack, the cold metal heavy and unfamiliar in her grasp. Every step forward was a battle against the fear twisting inside her.
Finally, she reached the room where Nick was locked in combat. There, in the flickering torchlight, she saw him—his sword flashing as he fought fiercely against a dark figure.
Fera’s heart seized. She raised the sword, determined to strike, to sever the chains that bound her forever.
But fate twisted cruelly.
In the chaos, her blade struck—not Nick—but the attacker. The man’s eyes widened in shock as he stumbled backward, clutching his chest where blood bloomed crimson against his dark tunic. He collapsed to the floor, lifeless.
Silence crashed over the room. Fera stood frozen, the weight of what she had done crushing her breath. Her mouth opened, but no words came.
Nick’s fighting stance faltered as he turned slowly toward her. His eyes widened, fixed on her with a complex mixture of surprise and something else—something softer, almost like relief.
“You saved my life,” he said quietly, a genuine smile breaking over his usually stoic face.
Fera’s body trembled, caught between shock and confusion. She had meant to kill him. Instead, she had saved him. The irony was bitter.
For days afterward, she was left in a limbo of uncertainty. The other slaves treated her differently now—some with cautious respect, others with barely hidden suspicion. She waited, heart hammering, wondering what Nick’s reaction would be.
Then, one morning, Nick summoned her.
She entered the room, head bowed, unsure of what to expect.
From across the chamber, Nick met her gaze with steady eyes. “From now on,” he said, “you will be my personal defender.”
The words stunned her.
A mixture of disbelief and something dangerously close to hope surged through her veins. Though she was still a slave, bound by magic and circumstance, this new role was an acknowledgment of her strength and potential. It was a paradox she struggled to understand—being needed, yet still chained.
As the days passed, Fera trained under Nick’s watchful eye. He was demanding but fair, pushing her limits and helping her hone her skills. The icy wall between them slowly thawed, replaced by a fragile trust that neither of them dared to name.
For the first time since her fall from grace, Fera felt a flicker of purpose. The blade in her hand was no longer just a tool of desperation—it was a key to reclaiming some measure of control over her shattered life.
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