OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: OF CHAINS, WHISPERS, AND THE HOLLOWED HEART

Lucian Ortega.

"The Princess of the Ardent Court," he said. "Taken, not broken. Yet."

I smirked. "High Chamber Council's Vice Head of Internal Operations. Should I clap for your grand entrance?"

I wanted to spit in his face. Wanted to rip these cuffs off and carve his throat. Instead, the orichalcum cuffs pulsed with the rhythm of a second heart—slow, deliberate, leeching willpower like blood. My vision blurred at the edges.

Then the voices came, layering over each other—some familiar, some wrong.

Khaizer... screaming your name...

Mother... why didn't you save me...

Xythe... bleeding because of you...

My chest tightened, ribs straining as if trying to contain a storm. My wrists slick with blood, I yanked at the cuffs, but the metal hissed, a living thing pulling me back. "No!" I gasped, every word ragged. "You won't use them against me!"

A flicker of red light danced across the stone floor, anchoring me—KD's figure remained just a shadow at the edge of my vision, wrong but wrong enough to stir panic. I forced my eyes on the space in front of me. This was real. This was me.

Lucian's smile barely moved, cruel and patient. "Your body obeys the cuffs whether you want it to or not. They don't just drain muscle. They drain control. They drain sanity."

My lungs heaved. My body trembled. "I... won't... bend."

"You will," the masked one crooned, circling me like prey. "The fire in you only makes the break sweeter."

The red sigils above pulsed, crackling with sick energy, their veins feeding into the cuffs that gnawed deeper into my wrists. Each spark stabbed the base of my skull, invisible fingers prying at the rhythm of my thoughts, trying to unravel me thread by thread.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron. My knees shook, but I stayed upright, refusing to give them the satisfaction of collapse.

And then I saw him.

KD. Shackled. Eyes empty, mirrors of everything I feared. His voice carried the flatness of a life paused. "I was theirs, Riyee. I'll be theirs again."

My lungs stilled. His eyes—glass instead of light hazel. His tone—flat instead of steady. A hollow shell of him, and yet—still him. The thought clawed at me, a living thing tearing through my chest. And for a moment... I almost broke. Then fury ignited. "You're not real," I rasped, defiance trembling through the edges of my voice. "You'll never be real."

Lucian circled, his weight suffocating, mask catching the sick red glow of the sigils above. "Admirable," he murmured, slow and deliberate. "But strength alone won't save anyone. Not him. Not you." He tilted his head, eyes hidden, voice a predator's whisper. "Tell me, Princess... when he falls, will you follow?"

My teeth clenched; my wrists burned, blood mixing with sweat. I spat toward him, defiance tasting like iron and smoke. "Nothing. You'll get nothing from me."

The cuffs pulsed again, deeper, molten threads weaving through my veins. Pain wasn't enough—it was invasion. I focused on the faint glint of Artemis at the far wall, the pulse of my own stubborn heartbeat—mine. Not theirs.

I inhaled, forcing every ounce of resolve into my spine. They could try to unthread me, to break every nerve and thought—but they would not succeed. Not yet.

"Even if you drain me to the bone," I said, each word steady, deliberate, "I will survive. I will escape. And when I do..." My gaze locked on his, sharp enough to bleed. "Every one of you will regret touching me."

His breath—calm, measured, cruel—brushed against my ear like a ghost.

I swallowed, trembling, but my gaze never wavered. Fire or no, they would not break me—not yet.

Inside, though, the cuff burned. It wasn't pain in the skin—it was deeper. It was the quiet, slow unthreading of thought, the way every pulse of orichalcum felt like it was writing over me. Like every beat was a command to yield. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe evenly. Not mine. Not my mind. Not theirs to take.

And then, almost as if he could hear the words I refused to say, the figure chuckled low. "Your silence is louder than your threats, Arielle. It tells me you're already fighting yourself."

He was wrong. Or maybe he wasn't.

But either way—I'd die before I let him be right.

Not theirs.

Never theirs.