"Don't." Eliam stepped forward, but guards moved to block him, not aggressively, just present, making the situation clear.
"Don't?" Malus echoed with amusement. "She's fulfilling her bargain, brother. The one you made with her. Would you have her break fae law?"
When she reached the throne, he patted his thigh with casual expectation. “You look tired. Sit.”
"No." The word escaped before the bargain could strangle it.
His eyebrows rose with genuine delight. "No? How wonderful. Say it again."
"I won't—"
But her body was already moving, the bargain overriding her will with brutal efficiency. She found herself pulled onto his lap, positioned like a trophy, her back against his chest and facing the court. The humiliation burned worse than any physical pain—displayed, claimed, owned in front of everyone who had once seen her as their future queen. Malus's arm settled around her waist, holding her in place with a possessiveness that was entirely for show.
"There we are," Malus said against her ear, loud enough for others to hear. "Much better perspective from here, don't you think?"
The warmth in her chest was going wild, pushing against her skin from the inside. Golden light flickered beneath the surface, creating patterns like veins of sunlight.Where it touched, Malus's hand on her waist actually pulled back slightly, not burned but... curious.
"Your magic wants him," Malus observed, settling his hands more carefully, avoiding the spots where golden light gathered. "How romantic. And how very unfortunate for you both."
"Let her go." Eliam's voice had dropped to something dangerous. "Your quarrel is with me."
"My quarrel was with you. Past tense. I've won." Malus's fingers found Briar's chin, turning her face toward him while keeping her displayed for Eliam to see. "Now I'm simply enjoying the spoils. You understand spoils, don't you, brother? You enjoyed mine for quite some time."
"If you hurt her—"
"Hurt her? Why would I damage something so intriguing?" His fingers traced the bargain marks at her throat. "Though I suppose you've already done that, haven't you? These marks, this binding—all your handiwork."
Eliam took another step forward, and this time Thaine caught his arm, recognizing the trap being laid.
Golden flowers began blooming along the base of the throne—small, desperate things that withered almost immediately in the autumn-touched air. But where they touched the ancient wood, they left tiny scorch marks, as if their brief existence burned too bright for this new order.
"Oh, now that's interesting," Malus murmured, shifting her on his lap to see better. "They're fighting my influence. Dying, but fighting. What are you, little human?"
"Let them go," Briar managed, though speaking felt like pushing words through broken glass. "You have what you wanted. The throne. The court. Me."
"I have the throne," Malus agreed. "The court is mine by right. But you?" He looked over her head at Eliam, and his smile sharpened. "You're more puzzle than prize at the moment. Though we'll solve that together."
He addressed the guards without looking away from his brother. "Escort the former lord to his chambers. The ones I so recently vacated. They should be... familiar."
The dungeon. Where Eliam had kept him for over a century.
"As for his companions," Malus continued, "the Drak is a guest. Find him quarters. Unpleasant ones—I don't want him getting comfortable. The huntsman can choose his own fate. Serve me or share his master's accommodations."
"I'll take the cell," Thaine said flatly.
"Loyalty. How tedious." Malus waved dismissively. "Take them both then."
As the guards moved toward them, thorns erupted from the floor with all the violence of someone who knew this might be his last chance. Thick vines burst through cracks in the stone, wrapping around guards' ankles, yanking them down. One screamed as a large thorn pierced through his boot and into his calf.
"Oh good," Malus said to Briar, his tone conversational as if they were watching a performance. "He's going to fight. I was worried he'd gone soft."
Eliam moved through the guards, thorns growing from his palms like claws. He caught one guard across the chest, leaving deep gouges. Another found himself wrapped in vines that constricted until his sword arm snapped. Thaine moved with him, their coordination speaking of years fighting together.
"See how the vines are already browning at the edges?" Malus observed, his hand casual on Briar's waist. "The forest doesn't recognize him anymore, so he's forcing growth through will alone. Exhausting."
Three guards converged on Eliam at once. He spun, a wall of thorns erupting between them, but the effort cost him—she could see it in the way he staggered slightly, sweat already beading on his forehead.
"At this rate, maybe five more minutes before he collapses?" Malus continued his commentary. "Forest magic without the forest's cooperation is like trying to grow roses in salted earth."
