There was no point denying what he'd already observed. "Yes."
"But it's not part of the bargain. The bargain binds you to me, yet this magic reaches for him." His eyes sharpened with interest. "Two different magics in one human body. How did he manage it?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps." But he sounded amused rather than angry. "I believe you know more than you're saying. But we have time. All the time in the world to unravel this puzzle."
He stood, moving to stand behind her chair. His hands settled on her shoulders, and she fought not to flinch.
"The feast tomorrow will be illuminating," he said, his thumbs pressing into the tense muscles of her neck. "The court needs to see that the new order has truly begun. That humans can serve... different purposes than mere entertainment."
"What purposes?" Her voice came out steady despite the revulsion of his touch.
"You'll feed me." His hands stilled. "It’s time for the court to remember the old ways, the true ways, when humans were sustenance as well as playthings."
The warmth recoiled so violently she gasped. For a moment, golden light flared beneath her skin, bright enough to cast shadows.
"There it is," Malus breathed, genuinely delighted. "It protects you. How wonderful." His hands moved to her throat, fingers spreading over the autumn marks. "I wonder what would happen if I truly threatened you? Not these small gestures, but real danger?"
"Please don't—"
"Oh, not tonight." He stepped back, moving toward the door. "You've had enough excitement for one evening. But tomorrow, after the feast, we'll explore what triggers this defense. What makes it manifest."
He paused at the door, looking back at her. "Your anything has limits, of course. I won't permanently damage you, you're too valuable. I won't kill your former lover, as promised. But everything else?" He smiled. "Everything else is mine to command."
"What about the others? Thaine? Karse?"
"The huntsman is Eliam's concern. The Drak..." he considered. "The Drak interests me. Fire magic that intense, trapped in such an unstable form. He might be useful. Or dangerous. I haven't decided yet."
He opened the door, then paused again. "The connecting door to my chambers won't lock from your side. Don't bother trying. Sleep well, Lady Briar. Tomorrow will be... educational."
The door closed, leaving her alone in a room that was already forgetting Eliam had ever existed, while the warmth in her chest pulled uselessly toward dungeons she could no longer reach.
She stood on shaking legs and moved to the window, pressing her palm against the cold glass. Somewhere below, Eliam was locked in the cell where he'd once kept his brother. The reversal was so complete it felt scripted, theatrical. But then, fae had always loved their dramatic ironies.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she wondered if the approaching storm was natural or if it was the forest itself responding to the change in power. The warmth in her chest pulsed with each thunderclap, as if answering something in the storm.
Rain began to fall, soft at first, then harder, obscuring the forest beyond. She watched it streak the glass, her reflection fragmenting in the water trails. The autumn marks at her throat caught the firelight, looking like real leaves for a moment, ready to crumble at a touch.
The connecting door Malus had mentioned drew her attention. Just a simple wooden door, unremarkable except for the knowledge that it led to his chambers. That it wouldn't lock from her side and he could enter whenever he pleased.
She turned away from it, exhaustion finally winning over fear. The bed was too large, too fine, but her body didn't care. She collapsed onto it fully clothed, curling into herself as the warmth in her chest maintained its steady pull southward.
The rain intensified, drumming against the windows with increasing violence. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about forgotten old ways, about experiments, about the way the court had looked at her like she was something between a curiosity and a meal.
Sleep, when it finally came, brought no peace.
Chapter fifteen
The knock came too early, while morning light still struggled through the windows. Briar had barely slept, the warmth in her chest pulling southward all night, making rest impossible.
"Come in," she called, expecting servants.
Instead, Arachne glided in, her spider-silk gown catching the weak sunlight. Behind her came Síocháin, those impossible fingers carrying a basket of silver combs and pins that chimed softly with each step.
"Lady Briar." Arachne's solid black eyes regarded her sympathetically, or perhaps it was merely pity. With the fae, it was almost impossible to tell. "His lordship has chosen your attire for tonight."
Síocháin moved to the bed, laying out the dress with ritualistic care. The autumn colored silk spread across the covers like a sunset bleeding into dusk—brilliant orange at the bodice deepening through burnt orange to burgundy at the hem.
