Chapter Three – Gold and Chains

Nyelle’s POV)

Morning light spilled through the tall windows, soft and golden, but it did nothing to warm me. My body ached with exhaustion from the storm of yesterday—the cold, the ride, the way Killian’s presence had pressed against me like a storm itself. I blinked against the brightness, my fingers curling around the edge of the silk sheets, trying to will my heart to slow.

This was a palace, a world I had never belonged in. Marble floors gleamed beneath my bare feet, walls trimmed in silver and gold, and sunlight caught on crystal chandeliers like fire caught in dew. Everything glittered, reflected, demanded admiration—but all I felt was small, fragile, and painfully out of place.

I rose slowly, each movement stiff, my limbs aching in ways that reminded me of the whipping pain from my father’s hands so many times before. I hated that memory, hated how easily it came back, even here.

A soft knock drew my attention. The door opened a sliver, and the kind-faced maid appeared, holding a silver tray. Steam curled from a simple breakfast: eggs, fresh bread, fruit, and tea scented with something calming—chamomile, I thought.

“The King requested you eat,” she murmured gently. “I’ll leave it here. If you need anything else, ring the bell.”

I stared at her, stunned. “He… sent this?”

She nodded once, her gaze warm. “Yes, my lady.” Then she slipped away quietly, leaving me alone with the tray.

It was the first time since I arrived that I didn’t feel entirely trapped. Killian hadn’t hit me. He hadn’t screamed or threatened me this morning. His cruelty was cold, deliberate—but here, in this room, there was… restraint. A quiet control that made my skin prickle and my heart race.

I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the food, unable to touch it. My wolf stirred faintly inside me, like a candle flickering in the dark. She had been silent for so long, and now… a whisper. Weak, uncertain, but there. Alive.

I let my fingers trace the silk sheets, feeling their softness, the warmth from the fire. My thoughts drifted back to Killian. His words from yesterday echoed: “You are mine. My bride. Not because I want you—but because it will destroy the man who despises you.”

I had hated them. Hated him. And yet… the sparks of something else had danced through me when he’d touched my chin. Something dangerous. Something I didn’t understand.

I ate a small bite of bread, forcing myself. Each chew was heavy, my stomach knotting with nerves. This palace, this gilded cage, had a strange power: it could provide comfort, yet amplify fear all at once.

I moved toward the window, brushing my damp hair from my face. Beyond the glass, the gardens sprawled, neatly trimmed, drenched in the morning sun. I imagined running through them, imagining freedom, my wolf finally fully awake. But then I shook my head. No. That was foolish. I was still her father’s pawn, still trapped in the schemes of men I could barely understand.

A shadow fell across the floor. I looked up. Killian.

He stepped into the room, quiet as a predator, eyes fixed on me. My heart stuttered. He hadn’t spoken since last night, yet every movement, every inch of his presence demanded attention. The sparks inside me—both of fear and something forbidden—flared.

“You will remain here until I decide otherwise,” he said, his voice low, calm, but edged with authority. My wolf twitched. Mine. The word whispered like a warning against my ribs.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. “Yes,” I whispered, though it felt like a lie even as I spoke.

His gaze swept over the room, then lingered on me. I felt his wolf pressing close beneath the surface, restrained but restless, growling faintly in the edges of my mind. Something protective. Possessive. Dangerous.

“Eat,” he commanded, then stepped back toward the door. “And do not leave this room.”

I nodded, trembling. He didn’t touch me, didn’t approach closer than the doorway, yet the air between us crackled, heavy and charged. Once he was gone, I sank to the bed again, curling into myself.

The fire crackled, and the warmth seeped into my skin, but I felt no comfort. My wolf stirred more insistently, trying to push through, but I pressed my palms to my face, forcing her down. I was weak. Not ready.

And yet… the stirring made me aware of something terrifying. Something thrilling. Killian was a cage, yes—but a cage that called to a part of me I had buried deep. A part I didn’t know was alive.

I didn’t know if I could survive here. I didn’t know if I wanted to. But I did know one thing: this palace, this golden prison, and Killian himself—they would change me, whether I liked it or not.

And as I lay awake, listening to the faint stirrings of my wolf beneath my ribs, I realized the truth: this was only the beginning.

The day wore on slowly, the hours measured by the soft light shifting across the marble floors. I ate sparingly, the maid’s gentle presence comforting, yet every bite reminded me that I was far from home. My body ached from yesterday’s fear, from the tension of being claimed, from the weight of all the eyes that had watched me in my father’s hall.

I sat by the window, tracing the intricate carvings in the wood of the sill, letting my mind wander—and it always returned to him. Killian. The Alpha King. The man who had claimed me, whose presence seemed to ripple through the air even when he wasn’t there.

I had never felt this powerless—and yet, somehow, his restraint made me ache more than his cruelty could have. He hadn’t struck me today, hadn’t shouted, hadn’t even raised his hand. And somehow, that was worse. I was not yet free, not yet broken entirely. But I was already aware of his pull, the way it tightened around me like invisible chains.

My wolf stirred beneath my ribs, faintly at first, a heartbeat of awareness I hadn’t felt in years. She had been dormant, silenced by years of abuse and neglect. And now, under Killian’s watchful gaze, she flickered to life again. Weak, uncertain, but present. I could feel her claws scraping at the inside of my chest, urging me to rise, to move, to survive.

I closed my eyes and let the quiet wash over me. I questioned myself, my worth. Could I survive here, in this gilded cage? Could I ever escape? My father had abandoned me, sold me like a pawn, and I had been powerless to stop him. Now I was at the mercy of a man whose desires I could not understand.

And yet, even as fear coiled in my chest, a spark of defiance glimmered. I would not be destroyed—not entirely. I would survive. Somehow.

The quiet was broken by the faint click of the door. My heart skipped.

Killian.

He stepped inside, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop. Even in the warmth of sunlight, the air pressed against me like a physical force. My wolf growled faintly beneath my skin, sensing his presence before I even fully registered it.

“You remain here,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “Until I decide otherwise.”

I nodded, though my hands trembled. “Yes,” I whispered.

He studied me, his amber eyes sharp, calculating, yet restrained. I felt the tension ripple from him, his wolf pressing close beneath the surface, protective and possessive. Sparks danced across my skin—the same dangerous, intoxicating pull from yesterday—and I knew that even if I wanted to, I could not pull away.

“You are mine,” he added, almost as an afterthought, and then stopped, as if noticing my pulse spike. “Do not mistake my intent. I do not want you.”

The words cut sharper than any blow. And yet the sparks in my blood whispered otherwise. I clenched the edge of the bed to steady myself, to keep my wolf from surging forward in answer to his silent command.

“I… I understand,” I whispered, voice trembling.

He lingered, letting his gaze sweep over the room, over me, before finally stepping back. “Eat. Rest. Obey. Nothing more is required of you.”

He turned, leaving the room with a quiet authority, the echo of his steps lingering like a storm cloud.

I sank back onto the bed, curling into myself. The fire’s warmth kissed my skin, but I felt no comfort. My wolf nudged at me, stirring with a pulse of energy I could barely control. Weak, uncertain, frightened—I was all of these things, yet beneath it, a small flame of awareness had ignited.

I let my fingers trace the sheets, the tray of untouched food beside me, the warmth of the fire. The palace, the lavish chamber, the security they offered—it was all a gilded prison. And yet, the same sparks that pulled me toward Killian whispered of danger, desire, and a power I had not yet learned to wield.

I closed my eyes, curling tighter. I was fragile, alone, and trapped—but I was beginning to feel the first stirring of my own strength.

And deep inside, I knew that this was only the beginning.