From Columbia to His Cage

I turned slowly. Sebastian stood at the corridor's end, backlit by candlelight. Half his face in shadow, but his ice-blue eyes found mine immediately.

Behind me, fabric rustled—the actresses curtsying, terrified.

The air felt dangerous.

Breathe. He can't know I heard. Play the role.

I let my expression shift from shock to practiced petulance. "Your Grace." My voice came out breathy, trembling. "I was simply taking the air. You upset me earlier."

He studied me. Those cold eyes scanning my face for cracks.

Seconds stretched. My heart pounded so hard I thought he'd hear it.

Then he moved closer, each step deliberate. "Still sulking?" His fingers grazed my cheek. "I've told you, my dear. These things take time."

Half an hour ago, I'd been on my knees in his chambers, begging. Playing desperate. The tears had been fake. The desperation? Real.

Now I touched his chest, fingers curling into velvet. "Time." Frustration colored my voice—measured, calculated. "You always say that. If you truly cared for me, you wouldn't leave me here."

Three years of this performance. The breathy voice. The downcast eyes. Everything designed to please without threatening. I used to find this disgusting. Now it's survival.

His expression shifted. Suspicion melting into satisfaction. He thought he'd won. Again.

"My sweet Morgana." That false gentleness. "How could you doubt my affection? The diamonds I've given you, the gowns from Paris. First courtesan of the capital. Don't I prove my love every day?"

Behind me, quiet footsteps retreated. The actresses slipping away. They thought I hadn't heard.

My stomach dropped.

If this whole world is fake—if Silvermere Kingdom is just a set—then the Velvet Rose isn't a cage within the world. It IS the cage. And Sebastian built it for me.

He'd never let me leave. Outside these walls was truth. And truth would destroy his fantasy.

"However..." He paused. Calculation in his eyes. "I find myself in a delicate position. Political complications. Prince Aldric has considerable influence. And he's expressed interest in you."

His hand stroked my hair. Almost gentle.

"If you were to entertain him—just once—it would secure my position immeasurably. Then I promise, I'll arrange your freedom. A proper marriage, even. To me."

There it was.

"You're asking me to sleep with someone else." Not a question. A statement.

"A temporary arrangement. Strategic." His thumb traced my jawline. "You wouldn't want to see me fail, would you? Not after all I've done for you."

I looked into those perfect, cold, blue eyes.

Fake. The kingdom. The nobles. These three years. All fake. And now he wants to watch me—his exclusive courtesan—degrade myself for another man. For his entertainment. He wants to break me completely.

Fury burned through me like acid.

But I lowered my eyes. Hid everything.

"Your Grace, I'm tired. This is much to consider." My voice stayed soft. Submissive. "May I have time to think?"

I curtsied. Perfect. Practiced.

"Of course, my dear." His voice followed me down the corridor. "But not too long."

I walked away steadily. Graceful glide of a courtesan.

Inside, I was calculating. Planning. Figuring out exactly how to burn his whole fucking world down.

Back in my room, I locked the door. Pressed my back against it.

Let myself remember.

Three years ago, I didn't believe any of it. Portal to a medieval fantasy kingdom? Bullshit. I thought it was a prank. Hazing gone wrong.

Then I met Madame Rose.

She grabbed my chin with bony fingers, turning my face like livestock. "This one's perfect," she said. British accent, cold. "Exquisite bone structure."

There were other women. Crying. Screaming. One girl shouting she'd been drugged, kidnapped.

Madame Rose slapped her. The crack echoed. "You belong to the Velvet Rose now. Behave, and you'll have a good life. Resist..." Her eyes found mine. "And I have ways of making you wish you hadn't."

That night, they locked us in a dormitory-style room. Narrow cots. Barred windows.

Around midnight, I sat up quietly. Tested the door—locked, obviously. Moved toward the window—

A hand grabbed my wrist.

I jerked back, heart pounding.

The girl who'd been screaming earlier.

But in the moonlight, I could see her face clearly.

My heart stopped.

Strawberry blonde hair. Blue-green eyes. Heart-shaped face.

She looked exactly like Emily. My sister. My dead sister.

Emily drowned when she was sixteen. Saving me, actually. I watched her go under. Couldn't reach her in time.

"You were checking the door, right?" Her voice was a whisper. "Looking for a way out?"

I nodded, still staring.

"Me too." She squeezed my wrist. "We should try together. Tomorrow night."