Chains of Shadow and Gold

Three days into his marriage, Kieran discovered that Seraphina collected more than just angels.

He found the first trophy room by accident while looking for his relocated library. Behind an innocuous door marked with a small plaque reading "Private Collection" lay a gallery of horrors that made his stomach turn. Preserved wings hung in glass cases like butterflies. Photographs of broken enemies lined the walls. And in the center, displayed on a pedestal like a crown jewel, sat a pair of magnificent white feathers that seemed to glow with their own inner light.

Angel wings. Auriel's wings.

"Admiring my handiwork?"

Kieran spun to find Seraphina in the doorway, her expression pleased and predatory. She glided into the room like she owned it—which, he supposed, she now did.

"I was looking for my books," he said carefully.

"Oh, those musty old things? I had them moved to the east tower. Much more appropriate for a gentleman's hobby." She moved to stand beside the display case, running her fingers along the glass with obvious satisfaction. "These were the most beautiful wings I'd ever seen. It seemed such a waste to let them rot."

Kieran forced himself to look at them—really look. They were massive, easily spanning eight feet when they'd been whole, and even severed they retained an otherworldly beauty that made the air around them shimmer. He thought of Auriel, who moved with such careful precision now, always calculating the balance he'd lost when these had been torn from his back.

"How did you manage it?" he asked, surprised by how steady his voice sounded.

"The capture? Oh, it was beautifully simple. We leaked information about a potential peace treaty, set up a meeting at the Borderlands, and when their pretty little prince arrived with minimal guard..." She shrugged elegantly. "Well, you can see how that ended."

"I meant the wings."

Seraphina's smile turned sharp and satisfied. "That was the entertaining part. It took three days to convince him to hold still long enough for a clean cut. But persistence pays off, don't you think?"

Three days. Kieran's hands clenched at his sides as he imagined Auriel chained and helpless while Seraphina slowly, methodically destroyed everything that made him what he was. The casual cruelty of it, the pleasure she took in the telling, made something violent unfurl in his chest.

"Fascinating," he managed.

"I thought you'd appreciate the artistry. Most demons are so crude in their tortures—all fire and brimstone, no finesse." She moved to another case containing what looked like a collection of halos, each one dim and cracked. "I prefer psychological destruction. Break the spirit, and the body follows so much more beautifully."

"And Auriel?"

"Gabriel," she corrected sharply. "I don't use his real name. Names have power, as you well know." Her eyes glittered with malice. "But yes, my little angel is my masterpiece. A year of careful work, and he's finally beginning to understand his place."

Kieran thought of the defiance that still burned in Auriel's eyes, the way he held himself like royalty even in chains, and wondered if Seraphina was as successful as she believed.

"Where is he now?"

"In your chambers, preparing your evening clothes. I thought it would be appropriate for him to attend to your personal needs." Her smile was all teeth. "Consider it practice for later entertainment."

The way she said 'entertainment' made Kieran's skin crawl. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I have so many ideas. Perhaps a dinner party where he serves the meal? The sight of a celestial prince reduced to waiting tables would be delicious. Or maybe we could host a hunt—see how well he runs with those lovely new scars where his wings used to be."

Each suggestion was worse than the last, and Seraphina's obvious delight in planning Auriel's humiliation made Kieran feel sick. But he forced himself to nod, to smile, to play the part of the interested husband.

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"A year's worth." She moved toward the door, pausing to glance back at him. "I do hope you're not getting soft about him, darling. Angels are very good at inspiring misplaced sympathy. It's one of their more irritating traits."

"Of course not," Kieran lied smoothly. "Though I am curious about something."

"Oh?"

"The ransom demands you mentioned. Who exactly was trying to buy him back?"

Seraphina's expression darkened. "His father, the Celestial King. Quite desperate, actually—offered half his treasury, then his entire treasury, then threw in several of his other children for good measure." Her laugh was like breaking glass. "I sent back pieces of Gabriel's wings with each refusal. The letters stopped coming after that."

Kieran felt something cold settle in his stomach. Auriel's own father had been buying time with his siblings' lives, and still it hadn't been enough. No wonder the angel prince carried himself like someone who had lost everything—he had.

"How delightfully ruthless of you."

"I do try." Seraphina checked her reflection in one of the display cases, adjusting a curl that had fallen out of place. "I should let you get back to settling in. Dinner is at eight—I've invited the Marquis and his wife to celebrate our union. Do try to look presentable."

She swept from the room, leaving Kieran alone with the remnants of her victims. He stood there for a long moment, staring at Auriel's wings and trying to process the magnitude of what he'd gotten himself into. This wasn't just about freeing a prisoner—it was about undoing a year of systematic torture, defying one of Hell's most powerful families, and probably starting a war in the process.

Any sane demon would walk away.

Instead, Kieran found himself climbing the stairs to his chambers, his mind already working on plans he had no business making.

He found Auriel exactly where Seraphina had said he would be—standing beside Kieran's wardrobe, a selection of formal clothes laid out on the bed. The angel looked up when Kieran entered, and something flickered in his expression before settling back into careful neutrality.

"My lord," Auriel said, inclining his head. "I've prepared several options for this evening's dinner."

"Seraphina told you about that?"

"She told me many things." Auriel's voice was carefully controlled, but Kieran caught the slight tremor that suggested the conversation hadn't been pleasant. "Including what my duties would entail."

Kieran closed the door behind him and turned the lock. Auriel's eyes widened slightly at the sound, but he didn't move.

"What did she say?"

For a moment, Kieran thought Auriel wouldn't answer. Then, quietly: "That I belong to you now. That I'm to serve your every need and desire. That if I displease you, the punishments will make what she's already done seem gentle."

The matter-of-fact way he said it made Kieran's hands clenched into fists. "And what do you think about that?"

Auriel was quiet for so long that Kieran wondered if he would answer at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I think that demons take pleasure in breaking things that were once beautiful. And I think that after a year of this, I'm not sure there's enough left of me to break."

The defeat in his voice was worse than rage would have been. Kieran crossed the room until he was standing close enough to see the faint scars at Auriel's shoulder blades where his wings had been attached, close enough to catch the way the angel's breath hitched when he realized how near Kieran had come.

"Look at me," Kieran said quietly.

Auriel raised his eyes, and Kieran saw exhaustion there, and pain, and the kind of bone-deep weariness that came from fighting a battle you knew you couldn't win.

"I found her trophy room," Kieran said.

Something sharp and hurt flashed across Auriel's features. "Ah."

"I saw your wings."

Auriel's composure cracked, just for a moment, and Kieran saw the raw grief underneath. "She likes to show them off. Proof of her victory."

"They were beautiful."

"They were mine." The words came out harsh and broken, and Auriel turned away as if he couldn't bear to be seen in his pain. "I was the fastest flier in all the celestial courts. I could touch the stars if I climbed high enough. Now I can barely manage the stairs without losing my balance."

Kieran reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement, and touched Auriel's shoulder. The angel didn't pull away, but he went very still.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Kieran said.

"You can't." Auriel's voice was flat, defeated. "The chains aren't just iron—they're bound with blood magic. My blood. As long as she has it, I can't leave this estate, can't use my power, can't even die if I wanted to."

"Then we break the binding."

"With what? You're one demon against the entire Blackthorne family, and half the Infernal Court besides. Even if you could manage it, what then? My father has already written me off as dead. I have nowhere to go, no way home, no—"

Kieran turned Auriel to face him, hands gentle but firm on his shoulders. "Then we make a new home."

Auriel stared at him, something vulnerable and desperate flickering in his blue eyes. "You don't understand what you're saying. If Seraphina finds out what you're planning—"

"She won't."

"She will. She always does. She has spies everywhere, magic that sees through lies, ways of making people talk that—"

"Auriel." Kieran's voice was soft but commanding, and the sound of his real name made the angel go still. "Trust me."

"I don't know how to do that anymore."

The admission was so quiet, so broken, that Kieran felt something shift in his chest. Without thinking, he reached up to cup Auriel's face, thumb brushing across the sharp line of his cheekbone.

"Then let me teach you."

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen like that—demon prince and angel prince, enemy and prisoner, two people who had every reason to distrust each other and no reason at all to feel the electricity that crackled between them. Auriel's eyes searched Kieran's face as if looking for the lie, the trap, the inevitable betrayal.

Instead, he seemed to find something that made his breath catch.

"Why?" he whispered.

Kieran could have given him a dozen practical reasons—political advantage, the satisfaction of thwarting Seraphina, the strategic value of an allied celestial prince. Instead, he found himself speaking a truth he hadn't fully acknowledged until this moment.

"Because when I look at you, I see someone worth saving."

Auriel's eyes filled with something that might have been tears. "I haven't been worth saving for a very long time."

"That's where you're wrong."

A soft knock at the door broke the moment. They sprang apart, Auriel immediately assuming his submissive posture while Kieran straightened his clothes and tried to look like he hadn't just been having a treasonous conversation.

"My lord?" Seraphina's voice carried through the wood. "Is everything all right? You've been up there for quite some time."

"Just getting dressed," Kieran called back, grabbing the first jacket from the bed. "Gabriel is being very thorough."

"How wonderful! Don't be too much longer—our guests will be arriving soon."

Her footsteps retreated down the hallway, but both men remained tense until the sound faded completely.

"She suspects," Auriel said quietly.

"She suspects I might be developing an attachment to her favorite toy. That's not the same thing as knowing I'm planning to steal it."

Despite everything, Auriel's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Is that what I am? Your favorite toy?"

"You're whatever you need to be to stay safe until I can figure this out."

Kieran finished buttoning his jacket and turned to study his reflection in the mirror. He looked like what he was—a demon prince preparing for a dinner party that would probably involve at least three political machinations and two attempted poisonings. Normal, in other words.

"Kieran," Auriel said softly.

"Yes?"

"If you're truly planning what I think you're planning... it won't just be your life at risk. If we're caught, Seraphina won't just kill us. She'll make it last. Days, maybe weeks. And she'll make sure the other watches every moment of it."

Kieran met Auriel's eyes in the mirror. "I know."

"And you're still willing to try?"

"I'm still willing to try."

Auriel was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly Kieran almost missed it: "Thank you."

It wasn't much—two words whispered in a room that might be watched, might have ears, might betray them both before they even began. But as Kieran headed downstairs to play the perfect husband at a dinner party that would probably bore him to tears, those two words felt like the most precious thing anyone had ever given him.

Upstairs, Auriel remained in the room, carefully folding away the clothes that hadn't been chosen, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had learned that the smallest mistake could have catastrophic consequences. But for the first time in a year, there was something new in his movements—a lightness that hadn't been there before, as if some burden he'd carried for so long had shifted just enough to let him breathe.

Hope, as it turned out, was the most dangerous thing either of them could have felt.

It was also the only thing that made any of this worth the risk.