Midnight Chains: a Dark Elf's Possessive Love のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

The morning was gray and damp, dew clinging to the railing outside the kitchen window. In the hush before sunrise, Ziska hurried through her assignments, eager to impress Nyxios with a flawless report.She stopped outside the human’s quarters, arms full of linens. First she knocked, then waited, expecting the sleepy mumble that usually greeted her. Only silence answered. She waited another few seconds and tapped again, a bit louder.Nothing.Unsettled, Ziska eased the door open. The room was empty, the sheets rumpled and cold. On the desk, a single book lay splayed open. No sign of the human herself, not in the wardrobe, not behind the screen that shielded her bath.Ziska’s anxiety sharpened. She moved quickly, her scales brushing against the doorframe as she peered into each adjoining chamber. No footprints, nothing knocked over. The brush sat untouched on the sideboard.She abandoned the bedsheets in her arms and made for the kitchens. The staff was there making scones and a pot of

When the door opened, Patrina expected violence or chaos. Instead, a pair of female servants entered with perfunctory efficiency. The silence between them was absolute. No whispered derision, no words at all, just the relentless click of polished boots over the marble floor. The taller servant beckoned, and Patrina stood as instructed, her feet unsteady on the unfamiliar surface.They brought her to a low divan in the adjoining chamber. The chill of the air stripped any warmth from her skin, making the new collar feel twice as heavy, twice as foreign. The servants began their work without hesitation: fingers skilled and impersonal, rearranging her hair, peeling away her borrowed nightshirt. When she’d tried to protest, the first simply tightened her grip, nails biting into Patrina’s upper arm. “You will be perfect when you see him,” the servant said. “He values beauty above all. Do not act ungrateful.”The garment they fitted to her body looked as if it could be worn by a night servan

The ballroom was not meant for comfort. It was a cage masquerading as celebration.Patrina hesitated on the threshold, the servants flanking her. The silence was layered: first the hush of dark velvet and polished obsidian, then the fevered whisper of stringed instruments on a raised dais. Night’s blue seeped in through cut glass windows, tinting everything, with House Maelis’s signature chill.At the room’s far end, Mavros waited. His long hair was tied high in an elaborate ponytail. The set of his jaw and the way he watched her told more than words. Four musicians played on, their faces blank.When she didn’t step forward right away, Mavros smiled twisted while he raised his hands.Fire bloomed from his palms, racing up the arms of the chandelier above. The fixture ignited, candles lighting in dramatic succession, casting a shimmer of gold and blue across the floor.“Come to me,” Mavros commanded.Patrina set her stance. “No.”Pain knifed out instantly. Her muscles trembled, her kne

The window rattled in its frame, hinges whining as a concussive boom split the silence. A howl of pain or maybe rage, rose from somewhere below in the Maelis mansion, sharp enough to prickle the hairs at the nape of Patrina’s neck. She pressed closer to the tiny window, but the thick ironwork let in little more than the shimmer of blue light from the inner courtyard.Above the din, Nyxios’s voice rang out. A snarl punctuated another crash. The walls shook under the barrage of spells. Fire magic and shadow were grinding up against each other, sparking below.It was chaos outside the room. Heavy, armored footsteps rushed past, then doubled back. The tremor of bodies striking wood, the whiplash crack of a whip, and underneath it all, someone screamed.She braced herself, one hand on the spindly desk for support, the other clutching the indigo collar still locked tight at her throat. Her mind cobbled together the possibilities: was this Nyxios, fighting through the guards for her? Would T

The greatroom at House Keltos glittered in anticipation. Rays of late morning filtered through the wide windows, casting jewel-tone patterns on dark wood and silvered trim. Every surface from the glass windows, to the polished floors, to the intricate tapestries, seemed burnished brighter in celebration of the day.At the head of the long table stood Nyxios, his arm draped naturally around Patrina’s waist. They looked every bit the honored pair: Nyxios poised, his collar and the tattoo at his throat making a visible promise; Patrina beside him, eyes bright, in place of the collar was the purple magic marking.Quasros raised his glass in silent toast. “To bonds truly chosen,” he said, voice low but clear enough that even the servants at the sideboard stilled to listen.Thalana lounged at Patrina’s other side, her bobbed hair slicked back and her midnight gown hiding the last of her healing bruises. She grinned, nudging Patrina with a conspiratorial elbow. “Didn’t think you had it in yo