The Gilded Cage

A sweet, thick, but ruthless scent of incense rushed straight into her nostrils, intentionally suppressing the dense, oppressive magic surrounding the entire space. The girl blinked, the flickering darkness dissipating like a stream of gray smoke. The first sensation that invaded her senses was not the bone-chilling cold of the border snow or the scorched smell of blood amidst the ashes, but an unexpectedly soft and gentle comfort.

She was lying on a feather bed so vast it felt endless, covered in smooth, glossy, deep wine-red silk sheets. The ceiling, over five meters high, was carved with solemn Ancient stone arch motifs, where thin statues of fallen angels reached out to embrace a chandelier made of mysterious black glass.

The girl moved her arm, intending to spring up, but a stabbing, bone-deep pain immediately pinned her down.

Crack! Crack!

The dry, harsh sound of clashing metal echoed through the silent room. Her two slender wrists were locked tight by a pair of jet-black magical shackles. This dark metal was heavy, and the tiny iron spikes on its inner surface dug deep into her flesh, oozing fresh drops of blood that ran along her veins.

Whenever a fragile thread of magic newly sprouted in her body attempted to rise to heal herself, the black magical shackles instantly flashed with dark purple sparks, continuously draining, burning away, and completely sealing her power.

She gritted her teeth tightly, her swollen lips bursting with blood as rage exploded in her chest. She struggled, frantically slamming the pair of iron shackles against the gold-plated mahogany bedpost:

"This filthy piece of scrap iron... Get off my hands!"

Just then, the heavy double doors carved with royal patterns slowly pushed open. A team of eight female attendants entered, led by Berylla—the Chief Attendant, with an expression as cold as marble, an immaculate black dress, and eyes full of contempt. Following her were maidservants carrying steaming silver water basins, jars of fragrant essential oils, and a rack hanging a series of splendid satin evening gowns sparkling with gold thread.

"Keep thrashing, you filthy Wench," Berylla crossed her arms, curling her lips in a sarcastic, razor-sharp tone.

"Those Dark Gold magical shackles were personally forged by His Majesty to tame unruly wild beasts. The harder you yank, the deeper they drive into your veins, draining your magic until you are completely exhausted."

The girl glared at Berylla, her voice raspy but burning with murderous intent:

"Who are you calling Wench? Who am I, and where is this? Tell that monster with the silver chain to come out here and face me!"

"Hmph, 'that monster'?" Berylla took a step forward, raising her voice in an arrogant and menacing tone.

"That is His Majesty Kieran—the Emperor who rules the entire Ice Kingdom and Dark Magic. That filthy name 'Wench' was personally bestowed by His Majesty upon a beggar girl who doesn't even have a name, like you. You are in His gold-plated palace, a place a piece of border trash couldn't touch even in a lifetime of dreams. His Majesty commanded us to wash away the foul stench of the ash pile from your body. Lie still and let us clean you, you filthy Wench!"

Berylla gestured with her hand, jerking her chin toward the servants:

"You useless lot, charge in! Strip off that rotting animal pelt, bathe her in essential oils, and put the gold-threaded dress on her! His Majesty does not wish to see a dirty pet in his palace."

"Try touching me, and I will break every single one of your necks!" the girl roared.

Two female attendants stepped closer, reaching out to grab her shoulders. The instant their fingers touched her skin, she lunged forward like a cornered wild animal.

Thump!

"Ah...!" The female attendant shrieked in pain as the girl put all her strength into swinging the heavy pair of iron shackles straight into her face, sending her tumbling backward onto the floor, blood gushing wildly from her nose.

"This crazy hag! Grab her!" Berylla screamed loudly, her face distorted with rage.

"Get out!" The girl grabbed the steaming silver water basin from the hands of the person next to her, splashing it straight into the faces of the servants.

"It's so hot! Help me! She's gone crazy!"

Shouts and agonizing screams erupted in chaos. The girl fought back savagely. She bit down hard on the arm of a maidservant trying to pin her shoulders, making the girl wail piteously: "She bit me! A man-eating monster!"

"I'll tear you vermin to pieces!" She grabbed a gold-plated Ancient porcelain vase off a wooden pedestal and slammed it hard against the bedframe.

Clatter! Crash!

Shards of porcelain shattered everywhere. She snatched a razor-sharp porcelain shard, her shackled hands trembling violently from exhaustion and the gnawing magical poison, yet she still brandished the shard before her, pointing it directly at Berylla's face:

"If anyone takes another step, this porcelain shard will slice open their throat! Just try stepping forward!"

The splendid, gold-plated bedroom of the royal palace was turned into a miniature battlefield in the blink of an eye. Porcelain vases lay shattered, steaming scented water flooded the hand-embroidered carpet, silk evening gowns were torn to shreds and scattered everywhere alongside dripping trails of fresh blood from the wounds on her wrists.

Berylla was so enraged her entire body trembled. She pointed her finger at the girl's face, roaring at the guards standing outside the door:

"You useless fools! Grab this Wench for me! Break both her legs if she refuses to kneel! His Majesty only needs her alive, not intact!"

"Break my legs?" The girl sneered, her dark purple eyes flaring with a burning fire of ancient dragon runes, her pupils contracting into a deadly vertical slit. "Step in here! I will use this porcelain shard to gouge out every single one of your eyes before you can even touch my legs!"

The attendants and guards panicked, stepping on the broken porcelain shards as they backed away a few paces. The wild, death-defying gaze along with the dragon aura looming in the depths of her eyes plunged the entire room into a terrified silence. Not a single person dared to take another step closer.

Even though her neck bore a deep, burning red wound, her flesh torn and bleeding from the magical silver chain on the dragon's back, and her wrists bound by black iron shackles were still oozing long trails of fresh blood, the girl stood straight amidst the ruin. She held her head high, sweeping a look of ultimate contempt over Berylla and the servants:

"A pack of hunting dogs serving a monster, and you dare to act high and mighty? Look at yourselves—it's sickening!"

"You..." Berylla gritted her teeth, her face turning gray with humiliation. "Let's see if that arrogant mouth of yours can still say a word when His Majesty arrives!"

Click... Snap.

The sound of the heavy wooden door latch clicked softly. The room door swung open.

Kieran stood leaning against the large doorframe. He had shed his heavy silver-plated battle armor, wearing only an unbuttoned black silk shirt embroidered with silver thread, revealing his solid chest and the surrounding dark magic aura.

His deep, ash-gray eyes swept over the chaotic scene, coming to a stop at her slender shoulders heaving with rage, before he slowly spoke in a low, mocking tone:

"It seems this gold-plated room is still not comfortable enough to tame a wild border beast, is it?"

"Your Majesty!" Berylla immediately dropped to her knees, explaining tremulously. "This Wench is far too ferocious! She shattered the porcelain, injured the servants, and refuses to let us clean her..."

"All of you, step outside." Kieran waved his hand indifferently, his eyes never leaving the girl.

"But Your Majesty, she is holding a porcelain shard..."

"I said step outside." Kieran's voice dropped a tone, so cold it gave Berylla and the servants goosebumps, causing them to bow hastily and retreat from the room, shutting the door tight.

Now, only the two of them remained in the room. The girl tightened her grip on the blood-stained porcelain shard in her hand, raising it directly at Kieran, her dark purple eyes fixed dead upon him:

"You monster! Set me free, or I will stab your throat to pieces!"

Unfazed, Kieran stepped toward her with slow, deliberate strides. The smile on his lips grew all the more unhinged, ruthless, and filled with ultimate satisfaction:

"Stab my throat to pieces, Wench? Your hand, trembling from the magic poison, can't even hold onto that porcelain shard."

"Try taking one more step!" The girl gritted her teeth, thrusting the porcelain shard forward with all her strength.

Thud!

In the blink of an eye, Kieran clamped firmly onto her shackled wrist, squeezing hard enough to make the porcelain shard drop onto the floor. He yanked her frail body close, pressing her chest flush against his own. His cold breath, carrying the scent of dark magic, fanned straight onto her face:

"Look at this ruin... The more fiercely you resist, the more thrilled I feel. How remarkably beautiful this struggling pride of yours is."

"Let me go! You disgusting monster!" The girl opened her mouth to bite his neck as before, but Kieran quickly pinched her chin tight, forcing her face upward.

"Still those purple eyes burning with murderous intent," Kieran whispered into her ear, his voice thick with morbid, possessive obsession.

"Keep growling, little beast. In this gold-plated gilded cage, no matter how many things you smash, you will never escape my hands. From today on, all your resistance is merely entertainment for me, Wench."