His Forsaken Luna-Chapter 124: Taken (5)

"Is that so?" I say, shuffling back a little to ease the pain in my arms. I’d slept but my body ached. It didn’t feel like I’d rested at all. "Is there a reason why you are here? Or is it to scare me?" My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn’t afford to show weakness. The more I let him see my fear, the more power he’d have over me. I glance at the sky beyond the still open door.

"I’m thirsty," he states, those ruby eyes roaming over me as he leans forward a little.

"Hmmm... I hear blood tastes differently depending on the state of the person... As you can see I almost have Ice sickness."

Ciro smirked and leaned back. "That’s right. Perhaps I should put you in better living quarters so I might feast on you."

I blinked, shocked by his bluntness. I didn’t want to be anyone’s feast, but the offer, if you could call it that, was tempting. The chill still ran through me like a slow poison, and the idea of being brought inside to a warmer place, even if it meant some kind of awful fate, seemed like a better alternative to freezing to death.

"That would be preferred," I huff, ignoring the shiver running through me under those cruel eyes. I didn’t want to be ’feasted on’ but if it meant not dying from ice sickness and gaining my strength, I could worry about that after. "But wouldn’t you just turn me into a mindless Blood Wraith?"

Ciro’s eyebrows shot up at my words, and for a moment, I caught a glint of something akin to surprise in his eyes. His smirk faltered for the briefest of moments before he leaned forward again, his ruby eyes narrowing, analysing me as if I were a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet. "And what do you know about Blood Wraiths, Princess?" he asked, his voice low, smooth, and curious.

"I’m no fool," I snapped, holding his gaze. "You left some for us in the palace... They were crazed... Yet you..." I look him over, wanting to find answers. "Seem almost completely fine. How come?"

I wanted answers, but more than that, I wanted to understand how this all worked. Was it some disease sprading among the Blood Wraiths? And how were they connected to the High Fae when it was obvious they disliked each other.

Ciro chuckled softly at my question, and something in his demeanour shifted. It was subtle, but it was there—like a predator regarding its prey. He leaned back in his chair, the air around him thick with a strange satisfaction, as if he enjoyed making me wait for the truth.

"The Blood Wraiths," he began, his tone almost reflective, "are not simply creatures made from Fae blood. They are born from the magic, from the essence of power itself. You see, Princess," he leaned forward again, his voice dropping lower, "they are Daemons, born of chaos, made to do our bidding. They are an extension of our will, and like all magic, they can be controlled. But too much blood—too much of the wrong blood—turns them into monsters."

He paused as if weighing something in his mind before continuing. "As for me... I’m different. You see, I was born into this. I am Fae and Daemon, both at once. I’ve learned to harness the magic inside me, to control it, to keep myself from becoming one of those mindless creatures."

I shuddered at the thought of becoming like them—crazed, empty-eyed, full of rage and hunger. No, I couldn’t imagine it. Not in a thousand years.

"But you are right," Ciro continued, watching me closely. "If I were to drink too much, I’d lose myself. I’d become no better than a wraith."

"And you’d control them, just like Cazimir and the others," I muttered, my mind racing with the implications. "So why are you taking orders from them? The Blood Wraiths have numbers—more than your kind. Why are you all playing this game for them?"

Ciro’s eyes flickered for just a moment, and in that fleeting glance, I saw something I hadn’t expected—doubt. His expression remained guarded, but for the briefest of moments, his mind seemed to spin with my words.

"I’m not a fool, Princess," he finally said, his voice soft but edged with something darker. "I do what I need to do to survive. We all do."

I could see his words slowly sinking in, his mind turning over the idea. He wasn’t a puppet, not like the others, but he was still playing a part in their game. I could feel the weight of that realisation settle in my gut.

"I don’t need to play games," I pressed, voice steady, though my heart hammered in my chest. "I don’t need to be used by them. I have power too. I have magic, and I’m not afraid to use it."

I leaned forward, my voice low but firm. "You’re a pawn, just like the rest of them. And they’ll use you until there’s nothing left of you to control."

Ciro’s eyes narrowed as he regarded me, a flicker of something darker crossing his features. "You think you know me, Princess?" His voice was quieter now, dangerous in a way I hadn’t expected.

I swallowed, suddenly realising that I might have pushed too far. But then I saw it—just the faintest hesitation in his eyes. I had planted the seed. It was there. Ciro was thinking, questioning. It was obvious there was no real loyalty to the High Fae just a deal between them. But a crack was starting to form.

"You’re not like them," I said, keeping my voice steady, my words calculated. "You’re not a slave to them. You have a choice, Ciro. You can fight back. You can make your own path. We can make our own path."

For a moment, Ciro didn’t speak. The room was silent except for the crackling fire and the wind outside. His gaze was focused on me, his ruby eyes unreadable. And then, just as quickly, the tension shifted, the moment passing. He leaned back in his chair, and his smirk returned, though there was something uncertain about it now.

"We’ll see," he said softly, his voice almost too calm. "We’ll see what happens, Princess."

And just like that, the moment was gone. But I knew—he was thinking. He was considering. And I had made my mark on him.