The Sleepless King and the Nightlark

Chapter 5: A Forest Bird in a Golden Cage

AVIONA'S POV

For a long moment, I could only stare at him in disbelief. His voice carried a quiet finality—like a door closing in my face, sealing me inside his world.

My hands moved before I could stop them. "You can't do this. You can't keep me here."

I held his gaze, forcing myself to look unafraid, even as my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped thing.

He smirked. “I can,” he said calmly. “And I will.”

Fury surged through me, hot and blinding. Before I realized it, I had lunged at him, pounding against his chest—forgetting, for that reckless moment, that he was a king, and I was merely a lesser fae.

All at once, a pulse of power burst from him like a tidal wave, knocking me backward. The air vanished from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. He held it there, that crushing force, as if to make a point. And in an instant, all the courage I’d gathered splintered, scattered like leaves in the wind.

When he finally released me, the air rushed back into my lungs in a ragged gasp.

My fingers trembled as I signed again, “This isn’t right. I am not your prisoner.”

He stepped closer and crouched, his eyes locking onto mine—calm, unyielding, and far more terrifying than anger.

“You will be,” he said softly, leaning in until his shadow fell over me. A strand of golden hair slipped forward as he added, almost gently, “if you refuse to cooperate.”

I raised my hands again, desperation spilling over. "Cooperate? How?" I asked, voiceless but urgent.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, and then—a brief, real smile. The first I’d seen from him, and it made my chest tighten.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said at last, stepping back. “For now… you need to bathe.”

He gestured toward the far side of the room, where the bathing chamber awaited. “It’s ready for you,” he added.

He turned, stepping toward the door, and then stopped. His head tilted slightly back toward me, eyes narrowing. “Don’t even think of sneaking out again,” he warned, voice low and dangerous. “Because I’m telling you… you wouldn’t even get past the door.”

Then the door closed behind him, and the familiar shimmer of his magic sealed the threshold.

For a heartbeat, I stood frozen. Then, against every instinct that screamed at me to obey, I stepped toward the door, curiosity and defiance warring within me.

The golden lasso—still coiled around my neck like cold, unyielding chains—throbbed against my skin. A sudden, sharp tug warned me to stop. My heart hammered as I froze, instinctively stepping back.

It loosened just enough for me to inhale a careful, shallow breath, but the subtle pressure against my skin whispered that it would reclaim me the moment I faltered.

I stayed rooted for a long moment, letting the silence of the sealed chamber press against me. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, I felt the tug of the cursed chains—light, insistent, as if urging me toward the bathing chamber.

I cursed silently. He could control me without even being here, without touching me.

And yet, I obeyed. I needed a bath anyway.

When I stepped inside, my breath caught. The room was vast, vaulted ceilings arching like the canopy of my forest. The water in the enormous tub shimmered, warming itself as though inviting me in.

In Heartwild, I bathed in rivers, rough stones beneath my feet, water cold and scented with earth and moss. But here… everything was a strange blend of enchantment and luxury. The soap was soft, fragrant, producing bubbles that floated like tiny clouds and spilled over the tub’s edge.

I sank into the water, letting the warmth seep into my muscles, letting my worries drain away—if only for a fleeting moment.

I lost track of time, captivated by the scent, the silkiness of the water, the simple luxury I had never imagined.

I reached for another bar of soap, letting my fingers graze its smooth surface—but it slipped, falling with a soft plunk to the floor.

Reflexively, I leaned over to retrieve it… and froze.

A tall figure stood by the door, watching silently. The shadows hid his face, his expression unreadable—but I knew it was King Faelan. A familiar surge of fear coiled in my stomach.

And with it, a flush of embarrassment I couldn’t quite tame.

Without thinking, I sank back into the water, letting the suds rise and cloak me. My heart pounded against my ribs, loud in the quiet room. Knees drawn to my chest, arms hugging them tightly, I tried to disappear beneath the frothy surface—hoping he couldn’t see too clearly.

I kept my eyes fixed on the ripples in the water, refusing to meet his gaze. Heat rose to my cheeks, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the bath.

I stayed perfectly still—maybe if I didn’t move or breathe, he would leave.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his voice cut through the steam, smooth and faintly amused, curling around me like smoke. “For someone who doesn’t want to stay here,” he said, “you look remarkably comfortable in your prison.”

The slight taunt made my chest tighten. I sank lower into the water until the bubbles nearly reached my chin, hoping the message was clear: Go away.

He didn’t take the hint.

The sound of his footsteps approached—steady, unhurried. My pulse quickened with each one. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him crouch, long fingers closing around the fallen soap.

He held it out to me. “Here,” he said quietly.

I took it without looking up, careful not to brush his hand. My fingers trembled, the slick bar nearly slipping again. I clenched it tight, eyes fixed on the rippling surface of the water as if it could swallow me whole.

I wanted to vanish—to dissolve into the foam, to become nothing but bubbles bursting softly in the air.

Yet he still lingered. I could feel his gaze tracing over me, as if savoring my discomfort. Then, finally, he turned away.

“Don’t take too long,” he called over his shoulder. “Breakfast will get cold.”

The door closed behind him with a quiet click, and I let out the breath I’d been holding for what felt like an eternity.

I rinsed off as quickly as I could, my heart still pounding. When I stepped out, I reached for the tunic folded neatly on the counter. It was far too large for me, soft and faintly scented with cedar and steel. His scent.

As I slipped it on, the golden lasso around my neck loosened, then coiled down to cinch the fabric at my waist, fitting me as it pleased.

By the time I stepped back into the bedchamber, he was the first thing I saw.

King Faelan sat at a small table near the great window, the morning light spilling around him. His head lifted when he noticed me, and for an instant, amusement flickered at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll have clothes brought for you soon,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. Then, with a faint smile, he added, “Though I must admit, my tunic suits you.”

I ignored him. Or tried to. My cheeks betrayed me, warming despite my best efforts.

He gestured toward the empty seat across from him. “Sit.”

The table was already set. I hesitated only a moment before moving closer. I sat down quietly, every movement careful, aware of how his gaze followed me.

I picked at the food, taking only a few pieces of fruit and a small crust of bread before the taste turned heavy in my mouth. My stomach was still knotted with nerves, refusing to settle. After a moment, I set the fork down and nudged the plate away.

Across the table, Faelan arched a brow. “You eat like a bird,” he said dryly.

I couldn’t tell if it was an insult or a jest. Either way, the irony stung—but I let it pass.

He watched me for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between us. Then he leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. “Are you a shifter?”

I met his gaze and shook my head.

His expression didn’t change, but I could feel his scrutiny press more sharply against me.

“Then what are you?” he asked.

I hesitated, my fingers curling slightly in my lap. Then, slowly, I raised my hands and signed: "A forest nymph."

Faelan’s brow furrowed. “A nymph,” he echoed, almost to himself. His tone held both skepticism and intrigue. “I’ve known nymphs to be healers, charmers, tricksters—but never one who could become something else.”

Because I was cursed, I wanted to tell him. But I couldn’t. Instead, I signed: "Now you know one."

His mouth twitched, as though suppressing a smile. “Do you have a name, forest bird?”

My gaze drifted to the parchment and quill on his bedside table. Following my glance, he flicked his hand, and the writing materials slid across the table toward me. I hesitated a moment before picking up the quill and writing my name.

He took the parchment, eyes scanning the letters. “Aviona,” he murmured, tasting the word. “How fitting.”

His eyes lingered on the parchment a moment longer, then lifted to meet mine again. “And I am—”

I cut him off before he could finish, my hands moving before I thought better of it. "I know who you are."

The faintest flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it vanished almost instantly, smoothed away behind that unreadable calm.

"You said we’d talk," I signed again, pulse quickening. "So tell me, what must I do to go back home?"

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between us. Then he reached for the parchment again. And crushed it in his hand. The sound of paper crumpling was sharp, final.

When his gaze met mine again, the blue of his eyes had darkened. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his tone calm but edged with quiet menace. “From this moment on, this is your home.”