Chapter 13: Waking Into Chains

The receptionist was still snoring behind her little desk, head lolled back like a drunken pigeon, mouth open in a way that told me if I dropped a grape in there she’d choke and call it divine punishment.

I didn’t even slow down as Felix and I dashed past, feet slapping faintly against the polished tile, leaving a trail that wasn’t quite water and definitely wasn’t safe for the janitorial staff.

I wasn’t even holding my tunic anymore — I’d dropped it somewhere between “oh gods yes” and “oh gods we need to leave now” — and Felix wasn’t faring any better. He was practically glowing from head to toe, looking dazed and soft-kneed, still dribbling little betraying marks of our bathhouse adventure like breadcrumbs for some very confused detective to follow.

It was glorious. It was filthy. It was freedom.

We hit the hallway corner at speed, my hand catching the wall to pivot us like we were in some high-stakes chase scene. The only thing pursuing us was guilt, and frankly, I could outpace that any day.

Felix was giggling breathlessly behind me, that new voice of his high and sweet and… good gods, dangerously distracting. I could feel my own smirk stretching too wide for decency. By the time Julius’s familiar ornate door loomed up ahead, I was two seconds away from just collapsing against it like a damsel in need of rescue — except I was the one dragging the dripping princess behind me.

We burst in without knocking.

Julius’s room was exactly as I’d left it: absurd, self-indulgent, and smelling faintly of whatever exotic incense rich idiots burn to make it seem like their life is effortless.

We stumbled to a halt in the center of the plush rug, both of us panting, and then, inevitably, we started laughing. That loud, ridiculous, uncontrollable kind of laughter that makes your knees weak. Felix was doubled over, his hair a wet halo, his little hands trying to cover his face. I leaned against the wardrobe, clutching my side, half convinced my lungs were about to leap out and file for divorce.

Julius appeared from somewhere to the left — probably an attached sitting room full of silks and secrets — and stopped dead in the doorway.

One hand went immediately to his hip in that “really?” posture of his, head tilting as if we’d just tracked mud over his favorite carpet. His eyes flicked over me once, unimpressed. Then they landed on Felix… and all at once, it was like watching someone’s soul spontaneously combust into confetti.

“Oh…my…stars!” Julius gasped, his entire body language flipping from weary aristocrat to deranged schoolgirl in under three seconds flat.

He didn’t walk so much as skip forward, legs kicking slightly higher than dignity allowed, hands fluttering in front of his chest like he might clap at any moment. He circled Felix twice, then broke into what could only be described as a controlled flail.

And then, without further warning, he lunged in and wrapped Felix up in a spinning hug that made the boy squeak like a startled mouse.

I, of course, presented Felix with the flourish of a magician revealing his final trick. “Ta-da!” I drawled. “Upgraded model. Sleek design. Fully waterproof. Limited edition.”

Julius turned to me mid-hug, eyes wet with joy or greed, or both, and declared, “I could kiss you. No — I should kiss you. In fact, I will kiss you.”

“You’ll need to catch me first,” I said, already side-stepping, because knowing Julius, he’d make good on that threat and I’d be smelling like him for a week.

He finally let Felix go, but only just, hands lingering on his shoulders as if worried the boy might vanish like a mirage.

“Oh, he’s just perfect,” Julius murmured. “The symmetry. The softness. The potential.” That last word glinted in his eyes like a dagger dipped in honey, and I recognized it instantly — the look of someone mentally calculating profit margins on something they hadn’t even stolen yet.

I sighed. It was a good sigh, the kind that comes from seeing exactly where the conversation will go and knowing you’ll have to babysit two egos at once.

I bounced on my heels, then drifted over to the wardrobe, flinging the doors open like a grand reveal. The inside was exactly as ridiculous as expected: silks in every shade, garments that looked like they were designed for a masquerade on another planet, a suspicious number of feathered accessories. I sifted through them quickly, brushing aside jewel-toned nonsense until my hands landed on it.

A dress.

Sleek white. Almost glowing in the dim light. Cut to drape like poured cream, delicate enough to make you want to handle it with gloves, yet scandalous in the way it dipped low enough to inspire fainting spells. I turned slowly, holding it aloft like it was a relic blessed by the gods of taste.

Felix’s blush hit instantly.

I crossed the room in long, purposeful strides, brandishing the dress like a weapon. “Put your arms up.”

“Loona—” He began to say, though just barely.

“Arms. Up.”

He obeyed with a little whimper, which of course just made me grin wider. The dress slid over him like it had been made for him, the fabric sighing into place.

He gasped softly when it settled, the hem brushing just above his knees, the neckline scandalously framing the delicate slope of his collarbones. I didn’t give him a moment to protest before nudging — okay, shoving — him toward the gilded mirror near the divan.

Felix froze when he saw himself. His reflection stared back like it was someone else entirely — someone he maybe wasn’t sure he was allowed to be. Then the wonder hit, soft and wide-eyed, his fingers brushing the fabric as if to confirm it was real.

His lips parted in a breathless little sound. And then, slowly, he giggled. He even struck a shy pose, one foot in front of the other, his head tilting just so. His cheeks flushed bright, and I swear I nearly kissed him right then and there.

Nearly.

I held myself back, instead, letting the moment hang, watching him glow.

Eventually, I tore my gaze away and strolled to the corner where Julius had previously left me my own “gift” — the lingerie, the velvet-black miniskirt, the scandalous blouse that could probably get me arrested in three different districts. I scooped them up with a satisfied hum, tossing them over my shoulder like a cat burglar holding crown jewels.

The night melted into something softer after that. We ended up curled together on the divan, Felix still in the white dress, me in my own set of clothing.

The fabrics were warm, the cushions deep, and despite the glittering excess of the room, it felt strangely safe

. I could feel his breath against my collarbone, slow and even. For a while, I let myself drift there, my arm wrapped lazily around his waist.

Morning came with the clink of porcelain. Julius, dressed in something offensively fabulous for this hour, was pouring tea into delicate cups. I sat up slowly, the melancholy already curling at the edges of my chest. This had been a stolen night. And stolen nights always come due.

Careful not to wake Felix, I slid off the divan. The white dress had rumpled slightly in his sleep, making him look more cherub than seductress, which somehow made it worse. I turned to Julius with a crooked smile.

“Well,” I said, stretching, “it’s been… obscene.”

He smirked, handing me a cup. “I do my best.”

I took a sip, then set it aside. “Try not to choke on your own ambitions, rich-snob-to-be. I’d hate to miss the show.”

He chuckled. “You wound me, darling.”

I was halfway to the door when I caught the quick, light patter of bare feet against the carpet—hurried, uneven, like someone had just leapt out of bed without thinking. Before I could turn, a sudden warmth slammed into my back. It was Felix, awake now, arms wrapping around me in a fierce, desperate hug. His cheek pressed between my shoulder blades, and for a moment I just stood there, letting it sink in.

“We’ll see each other again,” I promised, twisting to glance at him. “Keep an eye on Julius for me. He needs supervision.”

That earned me a shy smile.

Then came the knock. Two sharp raps, brisk and unfriendly. Julius answered with the kind of casual grace only a man used to controlling rooms could manage. Two guards stepped inside, eyes sweeping the space. I felt the shift in the air almost immediately.

Julius leaned close as they approached. His voice dropped to a whisper. “The arrangements have been made.”

I nodded once. When they gestured, I picked up the pouch of my winnings — heavy, promising — and followed without looking back. Not at first. Not until the door closed and the guards’ boots echoed down the hall.

Brilliant.

Now I had less-than-appropriate prison wear, a bag full of coins, and one extremely valuable noble connection.

Just as Julius promised, they brought me back to Brutus’s cell. This time, there was no grand announcement, no parade of mockery — just the quiet clink of keys and the slide of the gate. Brutus was sprawled in his corner, mouth open, snoring like a bear possessed.

The guards left without ceremony, the gate shutting with a soft finality.

I stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle, then smiled. The kind of smile that promises nothing good for whoever’s about to wake up.

And slowly, silently, I began to stroll toward him.

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