Muffled shouting. Slamming. Voices tangled in chaos.
That was all he could hear.
But it sounded far away, like sound pressed through water. Like memory being peeled from the edge of a dream. Malec couldn't move. Couldn't even feel where his body ended or began. He was weightless. Disconnected.
Where…?
Wake up, Pappa. Get up. Please—get up.
The voice was small. Young. Familiar. A boy's voice, whispering directly into his mind, tugging at the corners of his broken consciousness like little fingers pulling at fabric.
Malec tried to open his mouth, to respond, but nothing came. No breath. No words.
MALEC! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?! MAL—EC, GET UP!
A woman's voice this time. Panicked. Shaking.
He felt something in his chest lurch. A stab of emotion. Of recognition.
His eyelids fluttered.
Light. Too much of it. Then a shadow.
When he finally forced his eyes halfway open, he saw her.
Her.
The most beautiful female he had ever seen.
Dark, tear streaked eyes framed by thick lashes, lips parted with grief, wild dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her hands were on his face, trembling as she tried to lift his head, trying to reach him.
"Malec," she whispered. "Wake up. Please."
He didn't know who she was.
But gods—he wanted to.
There was something unbearable in her sadness. Her tears struck him deeper than blades. He tried to lift a hand, to brush them away, to pull her back—
But before he could move, she was lifted away.
Scooped up like a doll in the arms of a tall, golden-haired elf.
No.
WAIT!
His voice never left his throat, but his mind screamed.
Stop! She's leaving. They're taking her. Pappa—get up, get up!
The child's voice again. Urgent. Desperate. Inside him now, not beside him. His son.
His son.
The spell was breaking.
A crack. A spark. His limbs began to register again—dull tingling pain rushing in as if waking from a thousand years of sleep.
He heard a voice—another familiar one.
"Quickly—get her out of here! I haven't finished the spell. She could undo it!"
Surin.
Malec's body surged, legs twitching, fingers curling with fury as instinct returned.
He had to get up. He had to fight.
He didn't know why, but something was being stolen from him. Something vital.
Then his father appeared above him, eyes dark with regret.
"Sleep," he said. "Sleep, Malec. Please."
Malec tried to jerk away, but it was too late.
Surin's fingers pressed softly to his forehead once more.
"Sleep, sleep, sleep."
The power thrummed through his skull like a lullaby forged in betrayal.
And just like that—
The world vanished again.
Into black.
____________________________________________________________________________
The doors opened—and the storm inside hit him like a wall.
Shouting. Movement. Magic still humming in the air like the aftershock of lightning.
His gaze swept the chamber and found her instantly.
Allora.
She was standing now, disoriented, lips parted as if she'd just screamed. Her eyes locked on Malec—slumped in a chair, limp like a broken god. She bolted.
"Malec!" she cried out, her voice raw and ragged. "What did you do to him?!"
Kael froze mid-step as she stumbled forward.
She dropped to her knees beside Malec, both hands gripping his face. His head lolled under her touch. She shook him gently at first—then harder. "Malec, wake up. Wake up! Come on, don't you dare do this—look at me, god dammit!"
Her voice cracked, and Kael saw it—real panic. Real grief. Not for herself. For him.
And Malec?
Kael saw the twitch in his fingers. The flutter of his lashes. The ancient spell his father had used was fraying. Fast.
Behind him, Surion hissed, "Get her. Now. Before he wakes up."
Kael didn't move.
Not yet.
Instead, he stepped forward, calm and composed, the weight of his title sitting perfectly across his shoulders.
"Allora," he said gently, voice smooth but thick with his native accent.
She turned, eyes blazing, curls wild around her face. Tears streaked down her dark cheeks, and her chest heaved, trembling with rage.
"Don't f*ing touch me."**
Kael halted, hands loose at his sides, just out of her reach.
"I will not. Not unless you tell me… 'lei.'" His tone was calm, coaxing.
"Then you're not touching me."
He tilted his head, a soft smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"I did not come for fight, mira. I come for you. No harm in me."
"You came for a f*ing contract!"** she spat. "I'm not some prize being handed off like cattle!"
Kael's jaw tightened, but his voice remained low.
"You are no prize. You are not beast for bartering." His eyes gleamed.
"You are the flame between worlds. And I will give to you what he never could—peace. Safety. Your own will."
She surged to her feet, shaking. "You think I want you? I don't even know you!"
He nodded slowly.
"Not yet. But I have known of you. I saw you—summit, two winters past. You ran through halls like wind. Slipped past guards like shadow. I asked who you were. They said… not important."
He stepped forward, voice softening.
"They were wrong."
Allora's lips parted, but she didn't speak. Her fists were tight at her sides.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," she whispered. "I don't care what Surion promised. I belong to no one."
Kael's gaze dropped, and when he looked up again, something steel-like settled in his tone.
"I had hope… we do this gently."
He lifted one hand in a quiet gesture.
Two guards stepped from the shadows.
Allora turned, bolting—back to Malec's still form. She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his tunic.
"Please," she breathed. "I can't do this alone. Please wake up. Please."
Malec stirred.
Barely.
Kael's lips tightened. His voice was grave.
"Take her."
The guards advanced. One seized her arm; the other gripped her wrists. She kicked, screamed, fought with every ounce of her Canariae fire.
"Let me go! Don't touch me—Malec! Let me go!"
Kael strode forward now, no longer soft, no longer the patient suitor. Now, he was a king with a contract. A male staking his claim.
He reached out. One gloved hand brushed a curl from her damp cheek.
"You are under my protection now, mina."
She spat on his boots.
He didn't blink.
"Move her," he said softly. "We leave now."
As she thrashed and screamed the name of a male who could not rise to defend her, Kael turned—cloak sweeping behind him—and walked from the chamber.
Her cries chased him like arrows.
His fingers curled at his sides, tingling where her skin had almost grazed them.
You'll see, he thought as he stepped into the light beyond the door.
In time, mira… you will see. I am the only one who can keep you whole now.
Outside the Guest Wing Corridor
The heavy door slammed behind them. Voices echoed up the stone corridor—orders barked, armor clinking, the scurry of nervous boots.
Kael followed, hands behind his back, regal as a winter storm, his eyes locked on Allora.
She was being led ahead, still under the haze of sedatives, her head lowered—but her walk? Unsteady, yes. But stubborn. Like she resented the floor for daring to support her.
And then she stopped.
Kael saw her body tense, spine straightening like a striking serpent.
Without warning, she moved.
A spinning high kick—crack—collided with the first guard's jaw, sending him crashing into the wall.
The second reached for her. She dropped low, pivoted, and threw him over her shoulder in a clean, brutal arc.
A move born of training. Rage. Precision.
But not wisdom.
Kael's eyes widened as she gasped, clutching her stomach, her knees buckling. Her hands wrapped around her lower belly, pain washing over her face.
She forgot her body just gave life.
The moment passed in a heartbeat, but it stunned even him.
Two full seconds. Maybe three.
Then—
"Stand down," Kael ordered, raising his hand to still the guards now crawling to their feet. "She is… healing."
He stepped toward her, studying the way her chest heaved, how she leaned against the corridor wall for balance, her dark skin glowing with sweat and defiance.
"You should not… move like that," he said softly, his accent thick, words curved in that slightly broken cadence. "You just… bring life, lei? Should be still."
She didn't answer. Just glared up at him—shoulders shaking, lips curled in silent fury.
Kael smiled faintly, and gods, she was just as he remembered. The wild curl of her hair against her cheeks, the unrelenting blaze in her eyes.
He had followed stories of her like a trail of sparks for years. Some were lies. Some weren't. But every one spoke of a flame—one too wild for any hearth.
And he had always wondered what it might be like to hold fire in his hands.
He took a step closer.
"Allora," he said, voice gentling further. "Little flame… you burn still, even when broken."
Her lip trembled.
Then she whispered, hoarse, almost inaudible:
"Are you going to kill me?"
The words gutted him.
"What?" he breathed.
Her gaze stayed fixed on some place far beyond him. Her voice cracked like old bone.
"Because if you are… please. Do it now."
Kael blinked. Something twisted inside his chest—shame, sorrow, fury at the world.
How could she think…?
"You are tired," he murmured, stepping forward again. "But not lost. I not kill you, shae."
He crouched—hands open, non-threatening—then scooped her into his arms.
She didn't fight.
Her head lolled against his shoulder, and her tears soaked into the collar of his royal cloak.
"I will make you feel… different," he whispered near her ear. "Or I die trying, little love."
Her lashes fluttered, her expression unreadable, but her tears didn't stop. And when her eyes met his—deep and dark and full of a sorrow she could no longer hold—he swore he saw stars inside them.
Kael stood.
Turned.
And began walking.
"My light," he whispered, his arms firm around her. "You come with me now."
He didn't look at the guards. Didn't wait for Surion's trembling nod.
His only focus was the weight in his arms—and the fire that hadn't gone out.
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