Chapter 12 PRINCE EMERIEL

Emeriel was at a loss for words. His wide eyes stared at Livia in shock and disbelief, as if the older woman had suddenly grown a second head.

“I do not want this,” he blurted out, voice rising with panic. “I do not want any part of it.”

“We cannot choose to be a syren, Emeriel,” Madam Livia said firmly. “Many human females have tried to become one over the centuries, even doing extreme things, but it simply does not work that way.” She paused, her voice softening. “There are countless females who would give anything to be in your position right now.”

“But I do not want it!” Emeriel exclaimed, springing up from his seat, unable to sit still. He paced the length of the room anxiously. “Let them have it. I do not care. I do not want to be a syren, a bondmate, or anything else!”

Livia looked at him silently, her expression saying more than words ever could.

Running a shaky hand through his ponytail, Emeriel stopped and turned to face her, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. His voice trembled as he asked, “So, that horrible, painful experience I had last night… That was called a heat?”

“A mini–heat,” Madam Livia corrected, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

“A mini–what?” Emeriel’s jaw dropped, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “It gets worse than that??”

“I cannot say for sure, Emeriel,” Madam Livia released a deep breath. “I am not a syren, nor do I know any syrens. I do not know if the symptoms get worse during a full heat. But I can tell you how lucky you were to only experience a mini–heat last night.”

Emeriel stared at her as if she had completely lost her mind.

“Lucky?” he asked incredulously. “You think that was lucky?”

“If it had been a full heat, Emeriel,” she said slowly, “it would not have stopped on its own.”

Emeriel’s stomach churned, but he forced himself to listen, his fingers gripping the back of a nearby chair for support.

“In a full heat, you would have needed to be mounted by a Urekaj male. Not just once, but repeatedly. He would need to knot you, again and again, until your heat calmed,” Madam Livia told him. “And when your womb descended, he would need to release inside it while your body locked him in. That, my dear, is how heat sex works. You may need to look it up in the library for more details. But one thing is certain–a full heat cannot end without multiple rounds of heat sex, and self-pleasure does not help.”

A marathon of heat sex? Mounted? Knotted? Release into my womb?

Emeriel’s knees gave out, and he collapsed into the nearest chair, his face pale.

It all sounded like something out of the terrifying stories told to scare children under the moonlight.

For a moment, he thought he saw pity in Livia’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“Do you now understand why I said it would be nearly impossible to keep pretending to be male?” Madam Livia stood, gathering her herb bag. “While I feel for you, I do not play favorites. You will be treated like every other slave and expected to work just as hard.”

The older woman looked at him. “You may have hidden your gender, but your beauty cannot be concealed. These lustful masters will notice you sooner or later. What if one of them finds out your secret? Also, you will be required to bathe in the river like everyone else. What will you do then?”

Emeriel’s skin crawled with discomfort.

Of course, he had already known this; it was no different from all he knew about the lives of slaves and commoners. But hearing it so clearly now made his situation feel all the more real.

Tears welled in his eyes. He wanted Aekeira. He needed his sister.

A knock sounded at the door. “Mistress Livia? Your presence is requested in Blackstone,” a soldier announced loudly.

“I will come shortly. Thank you,” Madam Livia replied. The sound of footsteps faded.

“What is Blackstone?” Emeriel asked.

“It is the domain of Grand Lord Vladya. He rules the western wing of this estate, and his home is there,” Livia explained. Then, in a quieter tone, she added, “I wonder why he wants to see me.”

Emeriel wiped his eyes, swallowing tightly. “Do you think it’s about my sister?”

“You may go now. I have already told Slave Master Gaine that you will work in the cellar for now. The soldiers will come for you soon.”

A cellar slave? It was not ideal, but it could have been worse. “Thank you, Madam Livia, for everything,” Emeriel said softly, standing to leave.

“Emeriel?”

He turned back, looking at her. “Yes, Madam?”

Livia hesitated. “I would not hold out hope regarding Aekeira.”

When she said nothing more, tears once again sprang to Emeriel’s eyes, and he let out a quiet sob. He had dreaded the thought, refusing to entertain it. But deep down, he knew he had been fooling himself.

Emeriel walked unsteadily back to his chambers and locked the door. Falling to the floor, he wept bitterly.

PRINCE EMERIEL

Three days passed, and Emeriel was moved to the slave quarters in the southern wing.

The room he was given was small and bare, with only a tiny bed in one corner.

Thankfully, Madam Livia had managed to get him clothes that covered his whole body, sparing him from the revealing attire other slaves wore.

As the evening fell, marking his first day as a cellar slave, Emeriel tightened the chest-binds around his chest and put on his work clothes. He tied his hair into a ponytail.

He hadn’t heard anything about Aekeira. Hadn’t seen his sister.

Whenever he tried to ask Madam Livia, she would change the subject.

Emeriel refused to believe his sister was dead and her body discarded. At least during the day.

But at night, he would curl up on his cold bed and cry himself to sleep. Every single time.