Freya stood outside the door, her fist still raised after the timid knock. The thick oaken panels shuddered slightly under the sound, but Sebastian's voice was calm when it answered. "Come in," he called, a deceptively casual invitation.
Inside the chamber, warm lamplight threw shifting shadows across ornate tapestries and cast a golden glow on the mahogany desk. Sebastian leaned back against it, one hand resting casually on the polished wood. He wore a loose, midnight-blue robe tied low at the waist; the silk hung open, exposing the toned lines of his chest. Freya's gaze was immediately drawn upward to Sebastian's face: his eyes, a stormy dark gray, fixed upon her with deliberate intensity.
He studied her in the doorway, dark gaze roaming slowly over her figure in a deliberate, assessing manner. "Well," he murmured, his voice smooth and low, "you certainly have my attention." Freya's heart fluttered in her chest at his words. She adjusted the sleeve of her dress, trying to appear composed under the weight of that predatory stare.
Sebastian pushed off from the desk and closed the distance to her at an easy pace. He looked comfortable, casual — and unnervingly confident. Freya felt a tension coil tight in her stomach. The room seemed smaller with him so close. "Let me guess," he continued, his voice soft but teasing, "someone has been wandering outside the walls again?"
She swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. "I—I needed fresh air," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. Her throat was dry; a tremor ran through her as he took another slow step forward, his gaze dipping from her face to her feet and back again.
Sebastian's lips curved into a faint, indulgent smile. "Fresh air," he repeated thoughtfully. His eyes glinted in the lamplight like gray ice. With one hand, he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertip just briefly. Freya caught her breath, a curious warmth pooling at the center of her belly under his intense, intimate gaze and touch.
"I see," he said quietly, withdrawing his hand and giving her a lingering once-over. "You're trying to leave the castle without my leave, aren't you?" His tone was half-amused, half-challenging.
Freya's voice caught. She opened her mouth to protest but found herself suddenly speechless under the weight of his gaze. Sebastian moved gracefully and stood a few steps back, both hands sliding into the pockets of his robe. He gave her a slow, appraising look — as though she intrigued him: flustered but interesting.
"Such spirit in your eyes," he observed softly, stepping forward again so that the candlelight caught the pride there. "It's dangerous to tempt fate like this."
The atmosphere between them crackled; the air was thick with something neither fear nor desire alone. Freya's pulse kicked up a notch. Every nerve in her body tightened as she became keenly aware of how dangerously handsome he looked — casual, unthreatened, his robe slipping low to show enough of that smooth, muscular chest to remind her of the power he held. His dark gray eyes bore into her, fathomless and challenging.
She managed to step back and form a guarded distance. "I—I'm sorry," she said quietly, voice trembling despite herself. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."
A lazy grin curved Sebastian's lips. He cocked his head to one side. "Oh? I think a bit of trouble suits you." His gaze flicked slowly over her again — deliberately. "But rules are rules."
Sebastian folded his arms, the casual hold of his robe giving way to a rigid confidence. "Instead of punishment," he said, voice dropping low, "I have another proposition." Her brows knitted together in confusion and apprehension. Sebastian stepped even closer, so near that Freya could feel his warm breath. His fingers toyed with a quill on the desk, then he set it aside and turned his full attention back to her.
"A game," he declared, eyes locking onto hers with a hint of challenge glinting in their storm-gray depths. Freya's chest tightened. She suddenly felt as though every breath in the room might flinch at what he offered. Sebastian paused, the corners of his lips curling into a tense, dangerous smile.
"One condition," he whispered, each word deliberate, "if you win, you may leave this castle." He gave her a moment to let those words sink in.
"And if I lose?" she dared to ask, her voice small but steady.
His grin deepened, shadowing his eyes. "Then you will remain under my rule — here in the castle — for as long as I decree."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Freya's mind raced with the weight of his words, heart thumping painfully against her ribs. Sebastian watched her with cool certainty, casually confident as he offered her the hardest choice of her life.
"This is your chance," he said softly, the final words hanging in the air like a vow. "The game is on."
Chapter 25
Through Thorns and Pride
Freya wiped her dusty hands on her gown, her heart still hammering in frustration.
She had cheated. She had climbed.
She had gotten out of the damned maze — only to discover there was no real exit.
The moment she was outside, there were no cheers, no congratulatory words.
Only the cold, empty air of the castle grounds and a guard silently waiting at a distance.
Sebastian hadn't even spared her a glance.
Was this some kind of sick entertainment for him?
Freya's teeth gritted together.
She had wasted nearly an entire day. Hungry, battered, and bruised, she had walked off from the maze stubbornly without waiting for anyone's permission.
She might have looked like a defeated soldier... but in her chest, her pride burned hotter than ever.
As she neared the castle's back steps, she spotted Kael standing by, talking to a few soldiers.
When he caught sight of her — hair a mess, dress torn at the hem, her eyes blazing — he simply gave a small, almost approving nod.
"Lady Freya," he said dryly, "I hope you found the... experience enlightening."
Freya shot him a look so sharp it could have sliced through steel.
But she said nothing. Her silence screamed louder than any insult.
Kael chuckled under his breath and turned away, murmuring something to his men.
At the highest balcony, Sebastian watched everything quietly, arms crossed, his silver eyes unreadable.
A faint smirk ghosted his lips, unseen by anyone.
She was still proud. Still stubborn.
Exactly what he had wanted to see.
Without another word, Freya marched up the steps toward the room she had been given, her back straight, her spirit wounded but not broken.
Tonight, she would wash off the dirt, the frustration, and the anger.
But she would not forget.
King Sebastian owed her.
And one day, she intended to collect.