Stolen Identity, Forced Marriage

The next afternoon, I went to the Silvered Thread, a jeweler known for catering to the nocturnal aristocracy.

I needed a reciprocal gift for the Prince’s bracelet. A token.

I remembered the rumors: Kaelan Nocturne’s eyes were said to be the color of frost over a deep, poisoned well. A piercing, unsettling green.

I found a pair of cufflinks. They were shaped like coiled serpents, their eyes tiny, flawless emeralds.

A practical, respectful gift.

As I paid and turned to leave, a familiar, sugary voice pierced the quiet of the shop.

“Oh, Marcus! Look! Elara is such a stubborn one. She refused your generous offer just yesterday, and now she’s buying you such an expensive token. I could never be so… clever.”

Liana was draped on Marcus’s arm. He looked at the velvet box in my hand, and a smug, triumphant grin spread across his face.

“And here I thought you were above such games, Elara,” he drawled. “Trying to buy back my favor? So you don’t have to face the matching ledger?”

It was then I remembered. Today was his birthday.

They thought this was for him.

He glanced dismissively at the cufflinks as the jeweler packed them. “Hideous things. I prefer lion motifs. You should know that.”

“They’re not for you,” I said, my voice flat. “They are for my betrothed.”

Marcus barked a laugh. “Who would willingly bind themselves to a woman your age? Stop playing hard to get, or I might rescind my offer of servitude.”

Liana’s eyes darted to the establishment next door. Its sign showed a stylized droplet of blood falling onto a sigil. A thin, intermittent scream slipped out from inside, quickly swallowed by the heavy silence that followed.

“Look, Marcus!” she chirped, pointing. “The Registrar of Bindings is right there. We could have her marked now. I just can’t bear the thought of her worrying about her future another moment. Let’s… let’s help her.”

“Oh, my sweet, compassionate heart,” Marcus sighed, tapping her nose. He turned his haughty gaze back to me. “Well? You heard her. Let’s go.”

He raised his staff and swept it once. My body obeyed instantly, moving forward without my consent.

The Registrar’s office was stark, smelling of antiseptic and fear. In the center of the main room, a brazier glowed with white-hot coals. On a rack beside it hung various branding irons, their ends shaped into crude, degrading sigils—marks of permanent servitude.

A man, a burly mortal debtor, was being held down on a stone slab. The registrar heated an iron with a sigil for ‘thief’. The sizzle when it met the man’s shoulder was followed by a scream that tore through the room, animal and raw.

Marcus paled and looked away.

Liana didn’t. A strange, bright light was in her eyes.

She whispered to one of Marcus’s guards, who immediately stepped toward me, his hand closing around my upper arm.

“Let go of me!” I demanded.

“It’s alright, Elara!” Liana trilled, skipping over to the rack. “I’ll pick a nice one for you!”

Her finger hovered, then landed on an iron. The sigil was ancient, vulgar. It marked the bearer as carnal property.

“This one,” she giggled, pulling it from the rack. “This one suits you perfectly.”

She hopped toward me, the heavy iron in her small hand. The tip glowed a faint, dangerous orange.

In the crisis, I fought against the magic’s grip! As I twisted, my free hand came up, not to strike her, but to block the iron coming toward my face.

Liana stumbled backward with a theatrical cry, as if I’d pushed her with great force.

The branding iron clattered to the stone floor. A single, tiny ember popped from the coals and landed on the back of her hand.

It flickered and died instantly, leaving not even a pink mark.

But Liana clutched her hand, her eyes instantly swimming with tears. A wail erupted from her. “I was only trying to help you! You don’t want to be matched to some filthy drifter! And you… you burned me!”

I was still processing the speed of it when Marcus moved.

He didn’t come to me. He shoved me. Hard.

My balance vanished. I fell sideways, my outstretched palms landing directly on the edge of the stone slab holding the brazier.

Agony.

The scent of scorched skin filled my nose. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream.

A shadow loomed over me.

Smack!

Marcus waved his staff. My own palm connected with my cheek, whipping my head to the side. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

He glared down at me, his face a mask of pure disgust. “You damn bastard! After all her kindness! Apologize to Liana! Now!”