Chapter 5 A Cage of Gold

Zita had barely slept.

The mattress beneath her was softer than anything she had ever laid on, but it might as well have been stone. The weight of everything that had happened-the auction, Ammar's cruel display of power, the vampires watching her like she was nothing more than a plaything-pressed heavily on her chest.

Morning, if it could even be called that in this cursed place, arrived with a sharp knock on her door.

She ignored it.

A second knock came, followed by the sound of the door creaking open.

Celeste stepped inside, her expression unreadable. "You don't have the luxury of laziness," she said coolly. "Get up."

Zita didn't move. "And if I don't?"

Celeste sighed, then moved faster than Zita could react. In an instant, she was at the bed, grabbing Zita's wrist and yanking her up.

Zita's body tensed. She tried to pull away, but Celeste's grip was like iron. "You don't want to test the prince's patience," she warned.

Zita clenched her jaw, wrenching her arm free. "Fine," she muttered.

Celeste gestured to a set of fresh clothes folded neatly on a chair. "Change. You'll be brought to him soon."

Zita hesitated. She had no doubt that defying this order would only bring more pain. With gritted teeth, she grabbed the garments and turned away, changing as quickly as she could.

The fabric was finer than anything she had ever worn, though simple-a dark dress that fit snugly, paired with a cloak lined with silver embroidery.

"A suitable look for someone in the prince's favor," Celeste remarked.

Zita stiffened. "I'm not in his favor."

Celeste gave her a knowing look but said nothing as she led her through the halls once more.

The castle was a labyrinth of shadowy corridors, its walls lined with ancient paintings and tall, arched windows that let in no sunlight-only the eerie glow of the blood-red moon that hung in the sky.

Zita barely had time to process her surroundings before she was led into a grand dining hall.

Ammar sat at the head of an ornate table, his piercing gaze lifting the moment she entered.

"Sit," he ordered.

Zita hesitated. Then, slowly, she approached the seat across from him and sat down.

The table was covered in delicacies-food so rich and extravagant it was almost dizzying. Fruits she had never seen before, roasted meats, golden goblets filled with thick red liquid that she prayed wasn't human blood.

Ammar poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter. "Eat," he said, his voice casual.

Zita folded her arms. "I'm not hungry."

He lifted a brow. "You will be soon."

She remained silent, her jaw tight.

Ammar leaned back, studying her. "Do you know why you're here, Zita?"

She held his gaze, refusing to look away. "Because you bought me."

"That's only part of it," he said smoothly. "I chose you, not just because I could, but because I saw something in you. Something... interesting."

Zita's hands curled into fists beneath the table. "I don't care what you think you saw. I won't be your pet."

Ammar smirked, swirling the liquid in his glass. "We'll see."

There was a dark amusement in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

He gestured toward the food. "You might as well eat. You'll need your strength."

"For what?"

Ammar took a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down. "Training."

Zita's pulse quickened. "Training for what?"

His smirk deepened. "To learn your place."

The chair scraped against the floor as she abruptly stood. "I know my place, and it's not beside a monster like you."

In a blink, Ammar was no longer seated.

Before she could react, he was behind her, his cool breath against her ear. "You assume you have a choice," he murmured.

A sharp pressure wrapped around her throat, not tight enough to choke her, but enough to make her gasp.

"Sit," he commanded.

Her body betrayed her-as if an unseen force pressed her back into the chair. She tried to fight it, but her limbs wouldn't obey.

Ammar returned to his seat, watching her struggle with mocking amusement. "You will learn, little one. The more you resist, the more difficult it will be."

Zita glared at him, hatred burning in her veins.

But she said nothing.

Lessons in Submission

After the disastrous meal, Celeste led Zita to an underground chamber beneath the castle.

It was vast, lined with towering bookshelves and elegant weapon racks. The space was eerily silent except for the faint crackle of torches along the walls.

Zita frowned. "What is this place?"

"Your training ground," Celeste said.

"For what?"

Before Celeste could answer, Ammar entered.

Dressed in dark, fitted attire, he looked every bit the untouchable ruler he was. His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable as he approached.

"You need to understand the rules of this world," he said. "And that begins now."

Zita stiffened. "And if I refuse?"

Ammar's lips curved slightly. "Then you will suffer."

Before she could react, he moved impossibly fast, closing the distance between them in an instant.

Zita barely had time to flinch before he gripped her wrist-not painfully, but firmly.

"You are human," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Fragile. Weak. Your kind exists at our mercy. And yet..." His fingers tightened slightly, sending a sharp jolt of energy through her.

"You are defiant."

Zita's breath hitched.

"You will either learn to obey," Ammar continued, "or you will be broken trying."

Her heart pounded, but she refused to show fear.

"I will never belong to you," she said, her voice steady.

Ammar smiled, as if her defiance only entertained him further.

Then let's see how long that lasts.