Later, during the confused mingling that follows the ceremony, he manages to brush past me. His fingers touch mine briefly, and he whispers, "Your brother made it home safely," and then he adds quietly, "Despite this tragedy, the rose blooms at midnight"—our code for "mission unchanged."
Even now, with Asher's body barely cold, all he cares about is the assassination. The hatred I feel for Malakai is suddenly matched by my contempt for my father. Of course, he got his precious son to safety. There will be no rescue mission for me. The maid he promised must have been a lie. My safety clearly means nothing to him.
The wedding feast is an elaborate display of Shadow Court excess. Exotic foods, dark wines, entertainment that borders on disturbing—shadow puppeteers whose creations seem too alive, dancers whose movements hint at violence rather than beauty. Through it all, I sit beside Malakai at the high table, the chains still wrapped around me, suppressing my light magic.
"Are you enjoying the celebration, wife?" Malakai asks, his voice pitched for my ears alone.
I don't answer, maintaining my blank stare at the festivities.
A tendril of shadow curls up from beneath the table, sliding along my arm like a cold caress. I suppress a shudder.
"Your lover made the most fascinating sounds as he died," Malakai continues, sipping his wine. "Did you know that when shadow magic tears flesh, the victim experiences every individual strand of darkness as a separate pain? Thousands of simultaneous wounds, each sending its own signal to the brain." He sounds almost academic in his detachment. "Most minds shatter from the overload. I wonder if his did, before the end."
The room tilts. For a moment, I'm back in that forest clearing, watching Asher's body convulse, hearing his screams echo through the trees. My hands shake so badly I have to set down the goblet before I drop it.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of the table. I focus on the physical sensation—the hard wood against my palm, the cool metal of the discarded goblet—to keep from screaming or attacking him outright.
"Nothing to say, my sweet? No declarations of hatred? No promises of revenge?" He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. "I must admit, I'm disappointed. I expected more fire from an omega who so recently was writhing in passion with her lover."
Heat floods my face. He was there, watching from the shadows. Every touch, every kiss, every moment I thought was private—he saw it all.
"Would you prefer I create a scene?" I finally speak, my voice cold. "Make a spectacle for your court to enjoy?"
He laughs, the sound genuine but no less cruel for it. "Perhaps later. In private." His hand covers mine, squeezing until it's just shy of painful. "We'll have plenty of time for spectacular scenes, you and I."
The feast drags on for hours. I eat nothing, drink little. Every moment feels like balancing on a knife's edge—maintaining composure while grief and rage battle inside me. Finally, when the hour grows late, Malakai stands, addressing the assembled guests.
"My friends, the hour has come for my wife and me to retire." His announcement is met with knowing laughter and crude comments from his courtiers. "Continue the celebration in our honor."
He helps me to my feet with a gentleness that feels more threatening than any violence. As we leave the great hall, I realize this is the moment the traditional wedding party would form—courtiers escorting the newlyweds to their marital chamber with ribald jokes and songs.
Instead, Malakai dismisses everyone with a wave of his hand. "My omega and I prefer privacy tonight."
We walk in silence through the dark corridors, my chains clinking softly with each step. When we reach a set of imposing double doors carved with shadow motifs, he stops. His fingers trace the chain at my neck, following it down to where it connects to my wrists.
"You don't need these," he says, producing a key from somewhere within his robes. The locks click open, and the chains fall away, clattering on the stone floor. "Not when you know what happens to those who cross me."
The implicit threat hangs in the air between us. Without the chains, my magic should be accessible again, but I feel no surge of power. I glance down at my palm, where the blood binding cut has healed into a thin scar.
"The blood binding suppresses your light magic until consummation," Malakai explains, following my gaze. "Prevents you from using it against me. Another tradition of our union."
Malakai pushes open the doors, revealing a vast chamber dominated by a massive bed draped in black silk. Candles cast flickering shadows on walls decorated with tapestries depicting ancient Shadow Court legends. It's beautiful in a dark, oppressive way.
He gestures for me to enter first, his smile feral. "I hope you're not expecting gentleness. I find I've developed quite an appetite after today's... exertions."
I step across the threshold, my heart pounding so hard I'm certain he can hear it. The door closes behind us with a sound of finality, sealing me in with the alpha monster who killed the man I loved.
And yet, I am not helpless. I am Seraphina Thorne, trained assassin of the Light Court. I have killed before, and I will kill again. Malakai may have taken Asher, may have chained me and forced this marriage, but he hasn't taken my will or my purpose.
He will die by my hand. Not tonight, perhaps. But soon.
For now, I turn to face my husband, wondering what fresh hell this night will bring.
CHAPTER 7
THE MONSTER'S CLAIM
MALAKAI
