The dragon's form flickers, destabilizes. For a moment, the shadows pulse with an energy I don't recognize—wild, chaotic, responding to something beyond my control. The temperature drops sharply, frost forming on the grass. Several children cry out.
I grit my teeth, forcing the shadows back under control through sheer will. The dragon solidifies again, swooping low with a harmless burst of dark flame that dissipates into sparkling embers. The children shriek with delight, unaware of how close my control came to slipping.
But I'm aware and sense Seraphina's concern.
My shadows are becoming unstable around her. The poison that's plagued me since Julia's death—the shadow poison I absorbed trying to save her—seems to be reacting to something.
Seraphina steps to my side, her hand finding mine. "They'll remember this day forever," she says softly. "The day the Shadow Lord showed them that darkness can create wonder, not just terror."
Her touch grounds me, helps me regain full control. But I'm unsettled by what just happened.
"Is that what I'm doing?" I ask.
"Yes," she says simply. "And you're rather good at it."
Our fingers intertwine, her touch anchoring me. I sense her contentment, her happiness, and beneath it all, something deeper that terrifies me with its intensity.
"Next month," she suggests, "you might join us again?"
Next month. A future that stretches beyond battle plans and power plays.
"Perhaps," I say noncommittally, though something in me already knows I'll be here.
As the children gather around Ivy, Seraphina looks up at me with an expression so open, so trusting, that it steals my breath. Before I can second-guess myself, I lean down, intent on claiming her mouth.
But she rises on her toes, meeting me halfway, pressing her lips to mine with a gentleness I don't deserve. The kiss is unlike any we've shared before—no power struggle, no dominance or submission. Just pure connection.
The moment her lips touch mine, a vision crashes through me?—
Seraphina, round with child. A son with her golden eyes and my dark hair, learning to control shadows that come as naturally to him as breathing. Neither fully light nor shadow—a twilight child, just as the prophecy foretold. His small hand in mine, trusting me to guide him. His laughter echoing through chambers that have known only silence and fear for centuries.
A family I never thought possible, never thought I deserved.
And with that vision comes the memory of Julia's blood on my hands, of control lost and damage irreparable.
My shadows explode outward without warning—violent, uncontrolled.
The blast radiates from me in a wave. Frost crystallizes across the grass. The temperature plummets. Children scream, scrambling backward. Emmett's hand flies to his sword. Even Ivy's wings falter.
And Seraphina?—
A shadow tendril lashes toward her, razor-sharp and deadly. I manage to divert it at the last second, but not before it slices across her arm, leaving a thin line of blood welling against her golden skin.
Horror crashes through me. I hurt her. Lost control for just a moment and I hurt her.
"Seraphina—" I start.
"It's fine," she says quickly, pressing her hand over the cut, but I can smell her blood, can see the flash of fear in her eyes before she masks it. "It's just a scratch."
But it's not fine. Nothing about this is fine.
I could lose control again. Could destroy everything.
"The reports, Emmett," I say, my voice harsher than intended, my shadows still writhing. "We should review them now."
"Of course, my lord," he replies gravely, taking in the frost-covered grass, the terrified children, the blood on Seraphina's arm.
I turn without meeting Seraphina's eyes again, afraid of what she might see there—the naked fear, the conflict, the desperate desire for something I know I should never have. The realization that crashes through me as I walk away is more terrifying than any nightmare.
