She meets my gaze.
Her sapphire eyes are wide, dark pupils swallowing the blue as she takes in the scene. She sees Malek’s looming aggression. She sees my stillness, which is rapidly crumbling into paralysis.
She does not look afraid for herself. She looks afraid forme.
No,I think, a snarl rising in my throat.Do not dare pity me now.
But she doesn't offer pity.
The air around me shifts. It is subtle at first, a ripple in the suffocating pressure of Malek's aura. Then, a sensation washes over me—not the cloying warmth of peace, but something harder. Something steel-spined and unyielding.
Certainty.
It floods my mind, a cold, crystalline clarity that sweeps away the panic. It feels like standing on a mountaintop, breathing in air so thin and pure it burns. It is a borrowed strength, a projection of absolute, unshakeable confidence that comes not from a god, but fromher.
She believes I am powerful. She believes I am the monster Malek fears. And in her belief, she creates a reality I can inhabit.
The weight on my chest vanishes. I sit up straighter, the phantom strength filling my limbs. It is not magic. It is something else—a psychological armor forged from her will and draped over my shoulders.
I look at Malek. Suddenly, he does not look like a terrifying rival. He looks like a loud, boorish child playing with a stick.
I pick up my wine goblet. My hand is perfectly steady.
"Fangs are for beasts who must tear their meat to swallow it," I say. My voice is smooth, devoid of the tremor that threatened to expose me seconds ago. It carries through the room, cutting through Malek's heavy aura like a razor through silk. "I prefer to swallow my enemies whole."
I take a slow sip of the wine, watching him over the rim. I let a small, bored smile touch my lips. "Your aura is leaking, Malek. It smells of desperation. Is your hold on your own territory so tenuous that you must come here and flex your muscles like a common tavern brawler to feel like a man?"
Malek blinks. The pressure of his magic falters. He expected me to cower. He expected me to struggle. Instead, he sees a man utterly unaffected by his power, sitting in relaxed repose.
Doubt flickers in his red eyes.
"You speak boldly for a man who hasn't cast a spell in weeks," he growls, but the weight of his presence recedes.
"I don’t really need to cast spells to know that you are overextended," I lie smoothly, the borrowed confidence making the words taste like truth. "How are yourNeptheriummines inthe north, Malek? I hear the production has stalled. Perhaps you should spend less time posturing at my table and more time managing your assets."
It is a guess, a calculated shot in the dark based on half-heard rumors. But it lands.
Malek stiffens. His jaw works. He pulls his magic back entirely, the crushing atmosphere in the room evaporating. He looks at me with a new, wary respect. He thinks I am playing a deeper game. He thinks my lack of magical display is a choice, a sign of arrogance so profound I don'tdeignto use power on him.
"You have always had a sharp tongue, Imas," he mutters, reaching for his own goblet to hide his unease. "Be careful you don't cut your own throat with it."
"I am always careful," I reply.
The dinner continues, but the dynamic has shifted. I dominate the conversation, dissecting his arguments, parrying his probes with icy precision. I do not use a single spark of Chaos. I use words. I use the terrifying clarity of mind that Leora grants me.
But beneath the triumph, a dark, cold fury is coiling in my gut.
I needed her.
I, a Lord of the Khuzuth, a master of the arcane, sat helpless before a brute until a human slave poured her strength into me. It is a humiliation that burns deeper than any defeat. I am not the master here. I am the parasite.
Malek stands abruptly, throwing his napkin onto the table. "I have lost my appetite. The air in this place is... stale."
"A pity," I say, not rising. "I was just beginning to enjoy myself."
Malek turns to leave, his heavy cloak swirling around him. Asema opens the doors, her face a mask of stone, though I catch the relief in her eyes that no blood was shed.
Malek pauses at the threshold. He does not look at me.
