Lisa's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in her eyes—pity, perhaps. Or understanding. "Nevertheless, you are the Shadow Lady now. The household awaits your instructions."
The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh. I'm expected to manage a household in the heart of enemy territory, to play the role of dutiful wife to the man who murdered my lover.
"There are duties expected of you," Lisa continues carefully. "Overseeing the household staff, managing the domestic concerns of the palace, attending court when required." She hesitates before adding, "And producing an heir, of course."
The thought makes my stomach turn. I will die before I bear Malakai's child.
"Finish quickly," I tell her, rising from the bath despite the lingering ache in my muscles. "I wish to walk the grounds. I need fresh air."
"Lord Malakai has left instructions that you're not to go unaccompanied?—"
"Then the guards can watch from a distance," I interrupt. "But I will not be caged in these rooms. That is final."
The servants exchange glances, clearly uncomfortable with the compromise between their master's orders and my demands. But I am their mistress now, a bizarre technicality that creates a delicate balance of authority.
They help me dress in a gown of midnight blue silk, the fabric light and flowing but higher-necked than expected, covering the worst of the bruises on my throat—a small mercy. As they arrange my hair in a simple style, Lisa watches me in the mirror.
"I'll inform the captain of the guard about the...compromise," she finally says.
"Good. Now, show me the way out."
Lisa leads me through a maze of corridors, pointing out the main hall, the library, and the dining room. I memorize each turn, each doorway, building a mental map I'll need if I'm ever to escape this place.
The eastern gardens are through a set of glass doors. The moment I step through them, I breathe easier. Plants I don't recognize grow in carefully tended beds, their leaves seeming to pulse with life.
I follow a winding path away from the palace, alert for any sign of pursuit. The guards keep their distance as promised, close enough to intervene if needed, but far enough away that I can't make out their individual features. Still, I feel their eyes on me, a constant weight of observation.
As I walk, I try to assess the fated mate bond Malakai spoke of. I can feel it now that I'm paying attention—a strange warmth in my chest that pulses stronger when my emotions run high. Is he sensing my emotions through it? Can he tell that beneath my calm exterior, I'm churning with hatred and fear and grief?
The garden path ends at a high stone wall—the boundary of the palace grounds. Beyond it lies the forest where Asher died. Where I lost everything.
I glance back toward the guards, their features still blurred before I approach the wall, analyzing its height, at least twelve feet high, with a mostly smooth surface. A normal person would find it impossible to scale.
But I am not normal. I am a trained assassin of the Light Court.
"Sera, don't!" A tiny voice cuts through the garden's silence before I can even gather my skirts. "Too much magical surveillance watching."
I freeze, recognizing the voice immediately. "Ivy?"
A faint shimmer appears near a flowering bush to my right, though I can barely make out her form.
"Not here," the voice hisses urgently. "The shadow magic here has eyes of its own, beyond just the guards. Go back to your chambers. I'll meet you there, the wards are different in personal spaces."
I hesitate, glancing longingly at the wall, my temporary escape so close. But then a flicker of joy rushes through me. My best friend is here! Even in this prison of shadows, I'm not completely alone.
"I'll be waiting," I whisper, my voice barely audible even to myself. I understand her caution, a fae creature from the Forgotten Grove discovered in the Shadow Lord's palace would face a fate worse than death.
The shimmer vanishes, and I make my way back through the gardens, past the guards who seem relieved at my return. When I reach my rooms, they are mercifully empty. I check every corner to ensure I'm truly alone, then I make sure the wooden doors are locked.
"Ivy?" I whisper. "Are you here?"
The air shimmers near the window, and a small glowing figure materializes.
"Well, look at you," she says, fluttering closer with an exaggerated inspection of my gown. "Already dressed as the Shadow Lady? Next thing I know, you'll be growing tentacles and hissing in the sunlight."
Despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips. Ivy's barely five feet tall, a fact that irritates her endlessly. Her wild silver-blonde hair changes color with her moods, now streaked with mournful blue despite her teasing tone. Her eyes, larger than human proportion would allow, are the pale lavender of twilight. A subtle shimmer surrounds her, not quite wings, but a faint aura of magical energy that distorts the air when she moves.
"You try refusing their clothes when yours are burned in a magical bonding ceremony," I retort, though my voice lacks its usual strength.
