"You're right," he said softly, a slow smile creeping across his lips. "Who would believe her word over yours?"
Malachar's eyes widened in sudden understanding, but too late.
Vines erupted from the floor. Not the careful ones from court, but ancient things with thorns like daggers. They wrapped around Malachar's limbs, piercing clothes and skin alike.
"I won't need her word," Eliam continued as Malachar screamed. "Your blood will tell the story. How you entered where you weren't invited. Touched what wasn't offered."
The vines tightened, and Malachar's scream cut off in a gurgle.
"The Forest Court has old laws," Eliam said. "Older than your winter games. And the punishment for violating hospitality?" He leaned close to Malachar's face. "Well. Let's just say you'll serve as excellent fertilizer."
"You... can't..." Blood ran from where thorns pierced. "My people—"
"Will be told you wandered where you shouldn't. Tragic, really. Everyone knows the castle rearranges itself. Easy to end up somewhere... unfortunate."
He turned from the struggling Winter Lord, moving to where Briar still lay frosted and shaking. His expression shifted from murderous to something more complex as he took in the damage.
"Little thief." He knelt beside her, hands hovering over the frost still spreading slowly, claiming her skin. "This will hurt."
Before she could ask why, he pressed his palms against the ice.
The contact was agony. His forest magic met Malachar's winter in her skin, and she became the battlefield. Heat seared through the frost burns, not gentle warmth but burning summer, ancient green fire that consumed cold with prejudice. Every frozen nerve ending screamed back to life at once, sensation returning in waves of pain that made her vision white out.
She started to scream, but he caught her face between his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sound. This kiss was different from any before—not claiming, not punishing, but anchoring. His tongue swept into her mouth, bringing the taste of forest and earth and growing things, chasing away the lingering wrongness of Malachar's winter.
The magic war continued across her skin, ice retreating in crackling protests, leaving burning trails as it went. She felt it like being turned inside out, every defense Malachar's frost had numbed now exposed and raw. Her hands clutched at Eliam's shoulders, nails digging in, needing something solid while her body rebuilt itself from frozen to living.
He kissed her through each wave of pain, breathing his darkness into her when she forgot how to breathe, holding her still when she would have thrashed. The warmth in her chest reached desperately for his magic, pulling it deeper, using it to burn out every trace of foreign cold.
When he finally pulled back, the frost was gone, but she could still feel the ghost of it—phantom cold in the places where heat had scored it away. Her lips tingled from his kiss, her skin felt too new, too sensitive, as if she'd been remade.
"Can you stand?"
She tried and failed, her legs giving out beneath her before she’d even had a chance to rise and his arms came around her immediately. The torn nightgown provided no protection, no barrier between her skin and his.
"Please..." Malachar's voice was weaker now, the vines having done their work. "Mercy..."
"Mercy?" Eliam didn't even look at him. "Like the mercy you would have shown if I hadn't felt the ice through her mark?"
He lifted Briar easily, cradling her against his chest, the warmth inside her pulsed, grateful for his proximity after Malachar's terrible cold.
"You touched what's mine," Eliam said, finally turning to face the trapped Winter Lord. "Marked what bears my claim. The old laws are clear."
"You... can't... kill another great lord..."
"Kill? Who said anything about killing?" Eliam's smile was winter itself. "The old laws demand recompense. Blood for blood. Mark for mark."
The vines shifted, and Malachar's scream reached a new pitch. There was a wet sound, a splatter of something hitting stone.
"An eye for Briar," Eliam said conversationally. "Since you couldn't keep yours to yourself. And a blood debt to me, witnessed by the forest itself. You owe me, Malachar. Life for life. Until that debt is paid, any move against me or mine will see the forest itself turn against you."
Through her pain-hazed vision, Briar saw Malachar slumped in the thorns, blood streaming from the ruin of his left eye. But alive. Horribly, furiously alive.
"This... isn't... over..." he gasped.
"No," Eliam agreed, adjusting Briar in his arms. "I imagine it's just beginning. Do give your court my regards.” He started towards the door only to pause. He spoke without looking back. “And Malachar? Next time you enter where you're not invited..."
The vines tightened one more time, drawing fresh screams.
