I look down at the thin line of crimson spreading across the black fabric, then back at her face. Rather than triumph, I see calculation—a coldness that speaks of experience with inflicting pain. The diplomat's mask has slipped completely.
"You continue to surprise me, Omega," I say softly, my shadows darkening and multiplying until the temperature plummets. Frost spreads across the ground. "I wonder what other secrets you're hiding."
She adjusts her grip, preparing for my inevitable retaliation. To her credit, she doesn't back down.
"Unfortunately, I can't allow such disrespect to go unanswered. The court is watching, after all."
My shadows surge forward, wrapping around her sword arm with crushing force. I hear the small bones in her wrist grind together, see the flash of pain cross her features, though she doesn't make a sound. Her practice sword falls, clattering against the ground.
"The first lesson of combat," I tell her, approaching slowly, "is to never wound an opponent unless you're prepared to kill them. Otherwise, you've merely awakened the beast."
With a flick of my wrist, I release her arm and grasp her throat instead, lifting her slightly off her feet. The shadows coil around her neck, not tight enough to choke but enough to demonstrate complete control. My hand rests deliberately close to her scent gland, a silent reminder of what I could do—the permanent bond I could force on her at any moment. Through the muted bond, I feel a spike of genuine fear.
"The second lesson is to know your opponent's weaknesses. Yours, my dear wife, is your stubborn pride. Your belief that you can win against me."
I release her suddenly, watching as she crumples to her knees, gasping. The courtyard remains hushed. Lady Morgana's face is carefully neutral. Lord Byron looks entertained. The Omega courtiers have their hands pressed to their mouths. And Emmett's expression is unreadable, but I recognize the tension in his shoulders. He doesn't approve, but he won't interfere. Not yet.
Instead of continuing the punishment they expect, I crouch beside her, tilting her chin up so she's forced to look at me. Her skin burns hot against mine. Those golden eyes, defiant even now, make me want to claim that mouth until she surrenders completely.
"And the third lesson is that when you fight a shadow, you must become one. Light can never defeat darkness head-on—it can only transform it."
My thumb traces her lower lip, wiping away blood but lingering longer than necessary. Her breath catches, and I sense a flicker of confusion—and something else.
I straighten to my full height, offering my hand with mockingly exaggerated chivalry. She has no choice but to take it or risk further humiliation.
As I pull her to her feet, I sweep into an absurdly theatrical bow, addressing the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Shadow Court, you've witnessed something truly special today—my lovely Omega has managed to draw blood! Let's all savor this historic moment. The last person who did that now decorates my garden as a rather expressive statue. But since I'm a progressive Shadow Lord and an advocate for marital harmony, I'll merely ensure she can't sit comfortably for a week!"
Nervous laughter ripples through the audience. Some look scandalized, others cautiously amused, but all unsettled—exactly as I intended. This story will spread through both courts within hours.
"My Omega has demonstrated commendable skill today," I continue, my voice hardening. "Anyone who mistakes her Light Court heritage for weakness will answer to me personally."
Her fingers are ice-cold against mine, her hatred tangible. As she rises, I pull her closer than necessary, my lips brushing her ear.
"Tonight," I whisper, feeling her pulse jump, "we'll continue this lesson somewhere more private. You'll scream my name before I'm done with you. You'll be begging for my knot by the time I'm finished."
The shudder that runs through her makes my shadows pulse. I could swear her pupils dilate, her breathing quickening—her body betraying her even as hatred remains fixed in her expression.
"The demonstration is over. Return to your duties."
As the courtyard empties, I feel Seraphina's eyes burning into my back. The wound on my chest throbs, a reminder of her unexpected skill and the questions it raises. Where did my bride learn to fight like a warrior? What other talents is she hiding? And most intriguing—how is she blocking most of our emotional bond while still allowing fragments through?
That strange presence lingers near her like a protective shadow made of light. I can almost taste its magic—wild, ancient, and distinctly not of the Light Court's sterile traditions.
Emmett approaches as the last spectators disperse, his expression carefully neutral. "That was quite a show."
"She's full of surprises," I reply, touching the wound on my chest.
"She's exactly what I warned you about," Emmett mutters. "You should have let me restrain her before the match."
"Where's the fun in that?" I smirk, though the wound throbs. "Your intelligence was accurate, but incomplete. She's better than your reports suggested. Find out who trained her. I want names."
"Done." He pauses. "Anything else?"
"There's something interfering with the bond," I say, frowning as I probe the connection in my mind. "Some kind of magical block. I felt it during the fight—something protecting her, hiding parts of her from me. I want to know what it is and who put it there."
Emmett nods. "I'll look into it. Quietly."
He nods, then hesitates. "The court is talking. About the lack of a mating bite. About how she defies you publicly. Some are questioning whether?—"
