Bound to the Enemy’s Bed のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

Through the smoke, dawn sliced like a blade.The council's vast keep was still shaking from the previous night's mayhem. The banners that hung from the tall windows swirled in a breeze that smelt of iron and frost, and the sky beyond was the color of ash, flecked with faint red like blood veins.Elaria watched as wolves below started to congregate while she stood on the balcony above the council hall, her palms pushed against the chilly rail. Low-burning torches and murmuring voices in shifting currents of distrust were heard.This was the silence before a hunt, not the silence before a vote.He and she had not slept, and the tension between them was not fear but a razor-sharp focus, and Draven moved to stand next to her, his presence steady despite the fatigue lining his features.He whispered, "They're getting together earlier than expected."Elaria’s eyes followed the movement below. “Rhovan’s trying to set the stage before we arrive. He wants to dictate the rhythm of the day.”Dra

The long, thin night following the vote was marked by a humming of fatigue rather than serenity.Elaria had trouble sleeping. The crown, if it could be called that, was a circlet of silver thorns that had been hammered into shape and was resting on the table close to the bed. In the moonlight, it glowed dimly, a silent reminder that power was never kind.Beside her, half-awake, was Draven. The pale ridges of scorched flesh that traced the kiss of the Rite's flames down his back were still healing. She stroked the lines of one scar, feeling the trembling of his breath beneath her palm.He whispered without opening his eyes, "You're awake."“So are you,” she said.His mouth curled into a tiny smile. "It's difficult to fall asleep when I can sense your thoughts."With a sigh, she leaned into his shoulder curve. "The issue isn't with thinking. It’s what comes after.”The gray of his eyes caught the little light that came in through the shutters when he opened them.“The council?”“The coun

Hours had passed since the council room had been cleared out, yet the echo was still audible in the walls. Banners swayed softly in the night wind from the open archways, stones and scrolls were cleared, and the great tables were stripped naked. All that was left was the moonlight, which swept like water across the marble floor.Elaria sat where she had stood that morning, the High Seat’s chair turned slightly toward the window. The council flame was dying in its bronze bowl, guttering low.Although her traditional mantle was now slack and untied at the throat, she had not taken it off. With its surface still warm from the vote that had altered their universe, she ran her fingertips over the edge of the seal-stone that lay on the table.She heard Draven first, the familiar cadence of his stride, the gentle scrape of boots. Initially, he remained silent. He never did when she looked like this, carved in quiet thought.His shadow stretched across the stone as he stood behind her. "You'v

The garden still smelled of smoke.The guards had doused the sigils, but the air carried a metallic tang, sharp with the memory of nearly spilled blood. Charred petals clung to the marble paths. The sunlight that broke through the archways did nothing to soften the scene—it only gilded the ruin in gold.Elaria stood in the center of it all, arms folded, her expression a mask of cold control. Inside, her pulse still raced.“Confirm it again,” she said. Her tone left no room for hesitation.The captain of the guard—Liran—shifted uneasily, a scroll in hand. “The envoy, Maerin… she wasn’t on any of the official rosters.”Elaria’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”“She appeared three months ago, assigned under the House of Tareth’s insignia. The seal checks out on first inspection—but when I sent a messenger to verify the record…” He hesitated. “There’s no Maerin listed among their envoys. The seal’s a forgery.”A slow, dangerous silence fell.Draven, standing a step behind Elaria, crossed his arm

The fortress still breathed smoke. The walls that had once been black stone now wept red. Even though the storm had passed hours earlier, Elaria could still feel the thunder pounding in her veins.She was standing barefoot on the chilly floor, gazing through a lightning-cracked window. Ash, broken banners, and dead borne by the rain covered the battlefield outside, which stretched like a wound. The air still smelled strongly of burnt magic and iron. The only sound in the room behind her was Draven's erratic breathing.He was alive.That single truth had carried her through the night.Elaria turned, her robe brushing the floor. Draven sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders bare, his skin marred by streaks of blood and smoke. The mark that bound them still pulsed faintly at his throat — dim, but alive. She’d thought she’d lost him again in that storm, when Valric’s blade tore through his armor and the world itself seemed to break.Now, his head was bowed, strands of dark hair falling ove