In Veyn

He put a ring on her finger and called it containment.
She put a smile on her face and called it war.
In Caldera, every touch is a transaction. Every debt is a chain. Every wrist glows with what you owe.
Except Zeda's.
She's been dead for six years. In the dark beneath the city, she's been killing chips and freeing the condemned answering to no one, belonging to no one.
Until Scythor Valen Sovran - the heir, the hunter, the man her kind fear most - tears the glove from her wrist and sees the impossible.
He can't kill her.
So he marries her.
A cage dressed in silk. His name. His bed. His world.
She says yes.
But not for him.