"There are whispers among the servants. They say she's been sick in the mornings. That her scent has changed."
The implications steal my breath. Pregnant? No. Impossible. Light and shadow cannot create life together—the magical polarities prevent it. Everyone knows this.
"Rumors," I dismiss, resuming our path, forcing my scent to remain neutral. "Nothing more."
"Of course," Emmett agrees too readily. "Though if it were true... a twilight child. The prophecy?—"
"It's not," I cut him off, my voice sharp with sudden fear. "Light and shadow can't make a child."
"That's what I'm counting on," I add, more to myself than to him.
The thought of Seraphina pregnant—vulnerable, carrying my child, irreversibly connected to me—sends a spike of terror through me so intense that my shadows violently darken the corridor. I think of Julia, of her joy when she told me, of my unforgivable reaction.
When darkness threatens to consume, remember that shadow cannot exist without light...
Her words echo through two centuries of regret. The darkness that consumed me then, that stole my control and left only devastation... I can't risk that again. Can't risk Seraphina the way I risked Julia.
A child. My child. The most dangerous vulnerability imaginable.
"My lord?" Emmett's voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. "Are you well?"
I force my expression into neutrality. "Perfectly. Let's get this Council meeting over with."
But as we continue, my mind races with possibilities I've forbidden myself to consider. A child with Seraphina's golden eyes and my shadow magic. A son, perhaps, with her courage. Or a daughter with her fierce intelligence. Neither fully light nor shadow, but something new.
A twilight child.
A future I've never allowed myself to imagine, never thought possible, never believed I deserved.
A future that terrifies me to my core.
The Council meeting passes in a blur. I contribute just enough to maintain appearances, but my thoughts remain fixated on Seraphina. On possibilities, both wonderful and terrible.
I find myself drawn toward the eastern gardens, telling myself it's to check security. But the truth is that I'm seeking her.
I hear her laughter before I see her—bright and uninhibited. The sound pulls me forward, through ancient yew hedges and past shadow roses that bloom only at twilight.
She's seated on the grass surrounded by children, radiant in a gown of deep blue that brings out the gold in her eyes. Around her, a dozen orphans listen as she tells them a story, her hands moving expressively. Her scent drifts to me on the breeze—sweeter than usual, richer, with that strange undertone I noticed this morning.
Something about her seems to glow from within.
"—and then the shadow knight realized that what he thought was his greatest weakness was actually his greatest strength," she's saying.
I remain in the shadows, watching. Something painful and sweet twists in my chest at the sight of her like this—happy, unguarded, surrounded by small faces alight with wonder rather than fear. Natural with children in a way that makes my breath catch.
I've spent centuries cultivating terror, using it as both weapon and shield. Yet here sits my bride, painting me as something other than a monster. Not lying—she acknowledges my darkness—but framing it as protection rather than mere cruelty.
A small girl with a worn doll clutched to her chest peers up at Seraphina. "Lord Malakai is scary. Matron says he collects the souls of naughty children."
"Lord Malakai is powerful," Seraphina corrects gently. "And yes, he can be scary. But he's also the one who makes sure you have food, shelter, and safety."
Her defense affects me more deeply than I care to admit. She sees me, not just the monster, not just the darkness, but whatever fragment of light might still exist beneath centuries of shadow.
I step into the clearing. The effect is immediate—the children freeze, several scrambling to their feet in alarm. Only Seraphina seems unsurprised, as if she knew I was watching all along.
"Lord Malakai," she greets me, her eyes dancing with delight. "We were just discussing you."
"So I heard," I reply, my gaze sweeping over the terrified children. "Something about eating naughty children, I believe?"
