"How convenient," I say, trying to inject my usual malice into the words, but they come out weaker than intended. "And here I thought you'd developed a soft spot for your monster husband."
A commotion outside the chamber door interrupts whatever retort she might have made. Raised voices—Emmett's distinctive baritone among them, along with what sounds like several of my Alphas and the palace healers.
"Shadow Lord Malakai needs proper medical attention!" Emmett's voice rings clear through the heavy door. "Let us through, Lady Seraphina!"
Seraphina rises with surprising grace, her body tensing like a warrior preparing for battle. "I handled them once. I'll handle them again."
"Handled them?" I manage to ask as she strides toward the door. "What exactly did you do to my most faithful servants, Omega?"
A smile flickers briefly across her face, sharp and dangerous. "I persuaded them that I was better equipped to manage your condition than they were."
She pulls the door open just enough to present her body as a barrier. "I told you before, General Emmett. No one enters. His shadow magic is volatile and attacking him from within. Any dark magic user who approaches risks triggering a reaction that could kill us all."
"We've brought light healers—" begins another voice.
"Who knows nothing of shadow curses," Seraphina cuts him off. "I've studied these specific maladies. I know what I'm doing."
"And we're supposed to trust the word of a Light Court Omega who has every reason to want him dead?" challenges a third voice—definitely Castor, always the most suspicious of my inner circle.
"If I wanted him dead," Seraphina replies with deadly calm, "I'd simply wait. The curse would do my work for me. Instead, I've been awake for three days fighting to keep your lord alive. Now, unless you want to explain to Malakai why your interference killed him, I suggest you leave us be."
The silence that follows speaks volumes. I'm almost impressed by the authority in her voice, the natural command that has nothing to do with her Omega designation and everything to do with something else entirely.
"Three days, if he worsens—" Emmett begins.
"You'll be the first to know," she interrupts, then closes the door with finality, turning the heavy key in the lock.
"My, my," I drawl despite the pain radiating through my chest. "Such fierce protection. One might almost think you care."
"One would be wrong," she replies, returning to my bedside with a steaming cup of something that smells truly vile. "I simply refuse to let a shadow curse be what kills you when I have so many more creative methods planned."
Another wave of pain hits me, this one so intense that I can't suppress a groan. The shadows around me respond to my distress, thrashing wildly before settling into agitated patterns across the walls.
"You need to control your magic," Seraphina says, her voice surprisingly gentle. "The more you use, the stronger it grows."
"Helpful advice," I hiss. "Next, perhaps you'll suggest I try not being in excruciating pain."
"I'd suggest you try not being an ass, but I doubt that's possible even when you're dying." She slides an arm behind my shoulders, helping me sit up enough to drink. Her touch is firm but not rough, her body warm against mine.
The liquid she holds to my lips is bitter enough to make me gag. "By all the shadows, what is this foul concoction? Are you poisoning me after all?"
"If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't waste good herbs doing it." She presses the cup more insistently against my mouth. "Drink. All of it."
I comply, if only because arguing requires more energy than I currently possess. The potion burns going down, settling in my stomach like molten lead before spreading outward in waves of uncomfortable heat.
"Delicious," I mutter once I've drained the cup. "Please tell me it's at least lethal."
"Unfortunately for both of us, no." She eases me back down, her movements gentler than strictly necessary. "It should help fight the curse, though. For a while."
Time passes strangely. I drift in and out of consciousness, the room alternating between freezing cold and unbearable heat. Sometimes I'm aware of Seraphina moving around the chamber, preparing more potions, changing the cloth on my forehead. Other times, I'm alone with the shadows that seem to have developed minds of their own, forming into faces I recognize—faces from the Light Court massacre, silent and accusing.
In one moment of clarity, I open my eyes to find Seraphina reading by candlelight beside my bed, her profile outlined in gold. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hasn't slept.
"You should rest," I tell her, surprised by the concern in my voice.
She looks up, startled. "You're awake."
"Apparently." I attempt to sit up, managing to prop myself against the pillows with considerable effort. "How long has it been?"
