"Protection." Malus took a step closer to the border, and Briar felt Eliam tense, ready to move. "From what, exactly? From facing the consequences of theft? Of assault? Of poisoning a king?" Each word was measured, precise. "She drugged me. Attacked me in my own chambers. Freed my prisoners and fled with them into the night. These are not the actions of someone seeking protection. These are crimes."
The autumn marks at her throat tightened slightly, responding to his words, to his proximity. Not painful yet, but present. A reminder that he could reach her even from across the border, even through distance and stone and wishful thinking.
"Crimes," Arion repeated, and something shifted in his voice. Still formal, but with steel beneath it now that Briar hadn’t heard before. "Or self-preservation? I've heard interesting reports from the Forest Court. About changes in tradition. About a return to old ways that many thought best left forgotten."
Malus's smile widened. "Ah yes. The Star Court's famous moral superiority. How comfortable it must be, to judge from your pristine halls, never having faced real hardship, real hunger, real need." He took another step, close enough now that Briar could see the decay beginning to form on the ground at his feet. "Tell me, Prince Arion, have you ever gone without? Ever felt your power dimming, your essence depleting, your very self fading because you refused to take what you needed to survive?"
"We survive without feeding on humans," Arion said flatly. "As your brother has for centuries."
"My brother." Malus's attention shifted to Eliam, and the temperature dropped further. "My dear, principled brother. Who stands before me now with human blood staining his mouth. Who reeks of it. Who broke his most sacred rule because—what? Desperation? Or did you finally accept that your high-minded principles were nothing but performative nonsense?"
Briar felt Eliam's arms turn rigid around her. The shadows at their feet stirred, responding to his rage, but he said nothing. His jaw worked like he was physically holding words back.
"Nothing to say?" Malus pressed, his voice carrying across the distance with cruel amusement. "No defense of your choices? No explanation for why you, who spentcenturies lecturing me about the sanctity of human life, and then locked me away for it, would drain this particular human nearly to death?"
"She gave it willingly," Eliam said, his voice rough and low. "To save her own life and ours. That's the difference."
"Is it?" Malus tilted his head, considering. "Because from where I stood—or rather, from where I lay unconscious because she poisoned me—it looked quite similar. You took what you needed. You fed. You let her blood make you strong again." His smile turned vicious. "Welcome to reality, brother. We're not so different after all."
"Though I must say," Malus continued, his eyes still fixed on Eliam, "you're missing out on the full experience, brother. Her blood is exquisite, yes, but you really should try it when she's properly... receptive." His smile turned predatory. "When her body is warm and wanting, when she's arching beneath you—that's when it truly sings. The fear you tasted? That's bitter. But arousal?" He made a small sound of appreciation. "Like honey and sunlight and complete submission all at once."
The warmth in Briar's chest recoiled violently, pulling so deep inside her that she felt it like a physical withdrawal. She wanted to press her hands over her ears, to unhear his words, but her arms wouldn't cooperate. The blood loss had left her weak and shaking, barely able to hold herself upright even in Eliam's arms.
"I'll be dreaming of it," Malus added, his gaze sliding back to her. "Of the next time. Of all the ways I'll make that sweet blood flow for me again. And you'll be there in my dreams too, won't you, dear one? Feeling me call to you through those pretty marks on your throat."
Eliam's whole body trembled with the effort of not moving, not attacking. The shadows around their feet had grown thick and restless, reaching toward Malus like grasping hands before Eliam forced them still.
"You've made your position clear," Arion said, his voice cutting through the tension before Eliam could respond. "What exactly are you proposing?"
Malus's attention shifted back to Arion, and Briar saw the calculation in his eyes. The careful weighing of options, of risks and rewards. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before smoothing back to that pleasant mask.
"What I'm proposing," he said slowly, each word chosen with precision, "is that you return what is mine. Immediately. Before this becomes... complicated."
"Complicated," Arion repeated. "You mean before it becomes war."
"If you prefer that term." Malus spread his hands in a gesture that might have looked reasonable if not for the decay still spreading from his feet, creeping toward the border stones. "Though I find it strange that the Star Court would risk open conflict over one human woman. Surely she's not worth the lives that would be lost. The destruction. The years of bloodshed that would follow."
The corrupted pixies chittered in the trees behind him, a rustling chorus that sounded almost like laughter. Several of them crept closer to the border, testing, their red eyes reflecting the blue glow of the standing stones. The Star Court soldiers shifted, arrows tracking the movement, but the creatures didn't cross. Not yet.
"You speak of war," Arion said, his tone still carefully measured, "as if invading Star Court territory would not be an act of aggression itself."
"Invading?" Malus's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "I stand at the border, as is my right. I make no aggressive moves. I simply request the return of stolen property." His eyes found Briar again, and she felt the autumn marks pulse in response. "Though if you choose to keep what belongs to me, if you choose to harbor criminals and thieves, then yes. That would constitute an act of war. One that you would be starting, not I."
The words were carefully chosen, she realized through the fog of exhaustion and blood loss. He was framing it so that any conflict would be the Star Court's fault, to make Arion the aggressor, not him.
"The Forest Court just regained its rightful king," Malus continued, his voice carrying that reasonable tone that made her skin crawl. "After years of... mismanagement. My lords and ladies are still adjusting to proper rule. Still remembering what it means to have a king who doesn't let sentiment cloud judgment." His gaze flicked to Eliam.
There it was, the real reason behind his hesitation. He couldn't afford to look weak and risk his newly reclaimed throne by starting a war over her. Not when he'd criticized Eliam for caring too much about a human.
But she could see the rage in him, barely contained beneath that pleasant mask. The way his fingers flexed at his sides, the slight tension in his jaw. He wanted to cross that border. Wanted to tear through the Star Court soldiers and take her back. The only thing stopping him was politics.
"So you're giving us a choice," Arion said. "Return her willingly, or face war."
"I'm giving you an opportunity," Malus corrected. "To avoid unnecessary conflict. To be reasonable." His smile was sharp as broken glass. "After all, what is one lifeweighed against thousands? What is her comfort—her preference—compared to the safety of your people?"
Briar felt Eliam's arms tighten around her, felt Karse shift closer, his good hand radiating heat. But she also felt the weight of truth in Malus's words. How many would die if the courts went to war? How many families destroyed, how many lives ended, all because she didn't want to go back?
"Think carefully, Prince Arion," Malus said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. "You built the Star Court on principles of protection and sanctuary. Noble ideals. But are those ideals worth watching your people burn? Worth seeing your beautiful halls reduced to rubble?"
