Chained Hearts: From Slavery to Sovereignty
Chapter 144: Hall of Grace

Chapter 144: Chapter 144: Hall of Grace

Cassian stood when the servant gestured, brushing a hand down the front of his tunic to smooth the fabric, even though it had already been perfectly arranged. There was no real choice here—not for someone like him.

He was deep in their territory now, a guest in name, but a captive in truth. Whatever freedom he had was only what they allowed him to keep.

His steps fell into rhythm behind the servant’s quiet stride. The man’s back remained straight, his posture elegant but unassuming, like someone trained to never cast a shadow larger than the one who owned him.

Cassian followed, uncertain and quiet, the silk of his trousers brushing against his ankles with each step. The hall they walked down was unfamiliar, its ceilings high and vaulted, casting long shadows on the marble floors.

They were heading somewhere new.

The silence of the wing he’d woken in was gone, replaced by signs of life. He heard the soft pad of slippers against stone, the distant echo of laughter muffled behind shut doors, the rustle of heavy robes or the flutter of wings passing out of sight. A quiet kind of chaos, choreographed and restrained.

Light streamed in through the tall windows, golden and pale, stretching across the corridor in wide beams. The brightness of it clashed with the unease tightening in his chest.

Eventually, they passed beneath a wide arch carved with symbols he couldn’t read. The air felt different on the other side—cooler, older, like it remembered things long forgotten. The space they stepped into was not just another hallway. It was a different part of the palace entirely.

Cassian stopped walking.

"This isn’t the same wing," he said quietly, his voice carrying only a hint of question, though his heart beat with more.

The servant turned and offered a respectful bow. "No, my grace. That state was bestowed on you by Supreme Lord himself. Each chosen guest is given a private residence for their comfort."

He blinked, trying to process the weight of that sentence. "You mean... each guest has their own estate?"

The servant nodded once, his expression unreadable. "It is custom here. You are under his protection now."

Under his protection.

The words coiled around Cassian’s spine like vines—soft, suffocating. The image of Dorian’s eyes, dark and unreadable, flashed in his mind. His voice—low, smooth, always hiding something. Cassian didn’t know if this was a kindness or a cage.

He said nothing after that. There didn’t seem to be a point. The servant turned again and led him forward, deeper into a part of the palace he had never seen before.

The people they passed wore wealth like a second skin. Some were servants in fine linen, their movements fluid and soundless. Others were clearly guests like him, although none of them looked remotely human.

One had skin that glimmered with pearlescent scales, another wore a cloak that shimmered with strands of silver and violet. Eyes glowed faintly, some horns curled behind pointed ears, and wings—feathered, leathery, glowing—folded at backs or trailed in elegant arches.

Cassian lowered his gaze, trying not to stare. Trying not to feel like he didn’t belong here.

At last, they arrived at a quiet courtyard tucked within a circular enclosure. The center building was small, with wide open doors and tall columns carved with spiral runes. It didn’t look like any part of the palace he’d seen—more ancient, less polished. As though time here moved slower.

"This is the Hall of Grace," the servant announced softly. "You are expected inside."

Cassian hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the threshold.

The room beyond was open and circular, a high dome above allowing sunlight to stream down in a gentle cascade. The walls were lined with ornate drapery in shades of crimson and gold, and the floor was polished stone etched with celestial patterns.

And he wasn’t alone.

Four others had already arrived, scattered around the room like mismatched pieces of the same puzzle.

The first to catch his eye was a woman lounging with the indifference of someone who had never feared a thing in her life.

Her hair fell like obsidian silk down her back, and her skin shimmered faintly, like moonlight on still water.

She wore a crimson gown that slid off one shoulder, revealing skin that seemed carved from twilight. In her hand, a jeweled cup caught the light as she sipped lazily, her gaze sliding over him with mild interest and nothing more.

Near her, perched with an amused expression, was a pale-skinned boy with sharp, angular features and a smirk that made Cassian’s stomach twist.

His eyes gleamed with knowing mischief, and the black fabric of his tight-fitting clothes was spiked at the sleeves. His nails were painted gold, fingers drumming rhythmically on his knee as he studied Cassian like a puzzle he’d already solved.

Then there was a boy who looked more animal than man. His hair was silver and unruly, sticking up in soft spikes. Fangs peeked through when he grinned, and his sharp ears twitched at the faintest sounds.

A long tail curled behind him in agitation or curiosity—it was impossible to tell which. He bounced lightly on the pad of his feet, unable to sit still for more than a breath.

And finally, at the front of the room, stood a woman who radiated authority like a sword drawn and waiting.

Older than the others, she wore robes of deep grey and muted gold. Her hair was streaked with silver, braided tightly and wound into a bun that looked heavy enough to hold her spine straight.

Her face was expressionless—eyes sharp, mouth thin. She held a long staff in her hand, capped with a ring of metal that glinted cold in the sunlight.

When her gaze met Cassian’s, it did not waver.

She looked at him like he was something under a lens. Something to be judged, weighed, and found wanting. _{f .r e\ewebnov(e)(l).c om}

"Another fledgling," she said at last. Her voice was low, clipped, and resolute. "Sit. You are late."

His feet moved before he could even form a response. He crossed the room with measured steps, feeling every pair of eyes tracking him like he was prey being led into a den of beasts. He found a cushion and sat, spine stiff, hands clasped in his lap.

No one greeted him.

No one offered a name or a smile.

The silver-haired boy tilted his head and grinned, but it wasn’t kindness. It was curiosity.

And just like that... whatever peace Cassian had felt this morning evaporated.

The food in his stomach turned heavy.

Because he had no idea what he’d been dragged into—but he knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t a class. It felt more like a battlefield.