CHAPTER TWO:The Night She Was Taken

The car moved smoothly, too smoothly, like it was gliding instead of driving.

Elara sat stiffly in the back seat, hands clenched together in her lap. No one touched her. No one threatened her. That somehow made it worse.

Two men sat in front. One drove. The other watched the side mirror more than the road.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

No answer.

She swallowed. “You said I’m not in danger.”

The man in the passenger seat finally spoke. “Not from us.”

“That’s not comforting.”

He didn’t argue.

The city blurred past. Streets she knew turned into roads she didn’t. The buildings grew taller, then fewer. Lights thinned. Silence thickened.

Elara thought of her mother again—how she always locked the door twice, how she never spoke about her past, how she flinched at certain names on the news.

Why hadn’t she asked more?

The car turned through a tall iron gate that opened without sound. Inside was a long driveway lined with dark trees. At the end stood a house so large it didn’t look real—stone walls, wide windows, no warmth in its shape.

The car stopped.

The door beside Elara opened.

The man from earlier offered his hand, not to pull her, just to steady her if she chose to take it.

She didn’t.

She stepped out on her own.

The air here felt heavier, like it carried secrets.

Inside, the house was quiet in a way that didn’t feel empty—it felt watched. Floors gleamed. Walls were bare except for old paintings of people who looked powerful and cold.

“Elara Vale,” the man said, “you will stay here.”

“Against my will?”

He paused. “Your will is… complicated.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it’s the truth.”

They walked through wide halls until they reached a door at the end of a corridor. He opened it.

The room was large but simple. A bed. A desk. A window that looked out over the city—but the glass was thick and didn’t open.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said.

“Safe is not the same as free.”

Again, he didn’t argue.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Not a slam. Not a lock she could hear.

But she felt it.

Elara walked to the window and pressed her palm against the glass. Far below, the city lights flickered like distant stars. Somewhere in that maze were her friends, her classes, her normal life.

She realized something slowly, painfully:

No one would know where she was.

No one would come looking.

She slid down to the floor and hugged her knees.

For the first time, she cried—not loudly, not dramatically, but silently, the way people cry when they’re trying not to break.

Across the house, Cassian Dray stood in his father’s office.

Silas Dray did not look at him when he spoke. He stood behind a large desk, hands resting on dark wood that had belonged to three generations of Drays.

“She’s here,” Silas said.

Cassian nodded.

“You will oversee her.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t a prisoner.”

“She isn’t. But she is ours.”

Cassian lifted his eyes. “She’s a person.”

Silas finally looked at him. “So is a king. So is a soldier. So is a sacrifice. People become what they are needed to be.”

Cassian felt something tighten in his chest. “And what is she needed to be?”

Silas’s voice lowered. “A lock.”

Cassian turned away.

He had known this moment would come. The Velvet Oath had always waited in the shadows of his life. Every lesson, every rule, every warning had been leading here.

But knowing something is coming doesn’t make it easier when it arrives.

Elara didn’t know how long she sat on the floor. Minutes? Hours?

A soft knock came.

She didn’t answer.

The door opened slowly.

A young woman stepped in, carrying a tray of food. She looked kind but careful.

“I’m Nyra,” she said gently. “I brought you dinner.”

Elara stared at her. “Am I allowed to leave this room?”

Nyra hesitated. “Not tonight.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t know.”

Elara laughed once, bitterly. “That makes two of us.”

Nyra set the tray on the desk. “You should eat.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Nyra met her eyes. “You shouldn’t. But you’re still hungry.”

After she left, Elara forced herself to eat. The food tasted too good, which made her uneasy.

Later, when the house grew even quieter, she heard footsteps outside her door.

Then a voice.

Low. Calm. Male.

“Open it.”

The door unlocked.

A man stepped in.

He wasn’t tall in an obvious way, but he filled the room just by standing there. Dark hair, sharp eyes, a face trained not to show much.

Elara stood quickly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Cassian Dray.”

She felt the name before she understood it. “You’re the one in charge.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I’m responsible for you.”

“That’s worse.”

He studied her like she was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve but had to.

“You’re not here to be hurt,” he said.

“I’m already hurt,” she answered. “You just don’t see it yet.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe.

“Your mother made an oath,” Cassian said. “She bound you to us.”

“My mother loved me.”

“So did mine,” he replied quietly. “That doesn’t mean she didn’t make cruel choices.”

Elara shook her head. “She wouldn’t sell me.”

“She didn’t sell you,” Cassian said. “She protected something through you.”

“Protected what?”

“That’s what we’re trying to make sure never escapes.”

Silence stretched between them.

Elara finally asked, “Am I dangerous?”

“No,” he said. “But what you carry is.”

“I don’t carry anything!”

Cassian stepped closer, not threatening, just serious. “You carry a promise made before you could speak. That promise keeps this city from burning.”

Elara laughed weakly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Most truths sound ridiculous at first.”

She looked at him. “And what are you to this promise?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’m its guardian,” he said at last. “And its prisoner.”

Their eyes met.

For the first time since she was taken, Elara saw something human in the people who had trapped her.

He wasn’t free either.

But that didn’t make her cage disappear.

That night, Elara dreamed of red velvet curtains closing around her, soft but heavy, beautiful but suffocating.

She woke before dawn, heart racing.

Somewhere in the house, a door opened.

Somewhere in the city, someone else was watching.

And somewhere between power and promise, the Velvet Oath tightened its grip—slowly, quietly, the way the most dangerous things always do.