The question catches me off guard. What is the reason? Why does the thought of Seraphina leaving—even temporarily—fill me with a rage so consuming it threatens to swallow the room?
"She is mine," I say finally, the words revealing more than I intend. "By fated bond, by ancient law, by conquest, by my mating mark on her throat. What's mine stays with me."
"Even at the risk of fulfilling a prophecy that could end the Shadow Court as we know it?" Elder Sarif challenges. "Even if she conceives this prophesied child?"
My smile is all teeth, all threat. "Perhaps the Shadow Court, as we know it, deserves to end. Perhaps it's time for something new."
The words surprise even me as they leave my mouth. A child of shadow and light could indeed change everything, fulfill the prophecy that haunted both our courts for centuries. But the memory of Julia's lifeless body, of the darkness that consumed me when I lost her and our unborn child, tightens around my heart like a vise. I can't bear to lose another mate. Can't risk that consuming rage again, that helplessness that drove me to embrace the monster I have become.
The shadow poison I absorbed during the decades I spent trying to save her still flows in my veins, a constant reminder of my failure. The corrupted light magic has become a part of me now—as much as the darkness I was born with. No child should have such a legacy. No child should bear the burden of a father with shadows where his soul should be. But perhaps that's exactly why the prophecy must never come to pass—too much depends on preventing what I might still become.
Shock ripples around the table. These are words no Shadow Lord has ever spoken—heresy of the highest order.
"This meeting is over," I declare. "Increase security around the palace. Monitor communications with the Light Court and neutral territories. And make it abundantly clear that my mate is under my personal protection. Anyone who approaches her without my explicit permission will serve as an example of why that's unwise."
Without waiting for a response, I stride from the chamber, my shadows billowing behind me. Emmett hurries to keep pace, his expression carefully neutral.
"That was..." he begins once we're a safe distance from the council chamber.
"Choose your next words very carefully," I warn.
"Unexpected," he finishes. "I've never seen you refuse a strategic retreat before. Particularly when it aligns with your usual preference for isolation. And certainly never for an Omega."
I've spent decades cultivating a reputation for cold calculation, for strategic brilliance unmarred by sentiment. Yet now I find myself making decisions based on a possessiveness I can barely understand, let alone control.
"She was nearly taken from me once," I reply, the memory of finding Seraphina in that cottage still raw. "It won't happen again."
The scar on my chest seems to burn at the memory—the jagged mark I carved into my own flesh during that final, desperate ritual to save Julia.
"And the prophecy? The council's concerns aren't entirely without merit. A child from a fated bond would be..."
I stopped walking to face him directly. "The prophecy cannot be allowed to fulfill itself. Child or no child, Seraphina remains where I can protect her, and where I can ensure that some powers are never awakened."
The words sound more honest now, carrying genuine concern rather than dismissal. Nothing is simple about a prophecy that has shaped our realms for centuries. Nothing is casual about the possibility of a child who might inherit both my shadows and Seraphina's light, especially when those shadows are corrupted beyond redemption.
Emmett studies me for a long moment. "And if she wanted to leave? If she asked to return to the Light Court?"
The question catches me off guard for the second time today. Would she ask that, now that Asher is gone? Now that she knows her father manipulated her into this mating? Would she still want to escape me, even after the way she surrenders in my bed, even after accepting my mark?
"She won't," I say with more confidence than I feel.
"If you say so, my lord." Emmett's tone suggests he's not convinced. "Lady Lysandra has requested an audience, by the way. She's waiting in the eastern solar."
I scowl. "Lysandra? What does that scheming viper want now?"
"She claims to have information about potential threats to Lady Seraphina."
"Fine. I'll see her now. Where is Seraphina?"
"In the shadow forest, last I heard. Testing the limits of her new freedom, now that you've allowed her to move about without constant guard."
The irony of giving her freedom while desperately wanting to cage her wasn't lost on me. I nod, already turning away. "Have extra guards patrol the garden perimeter."
The eastern solar is all pale stone and filtered light—one of the few chambers in the palace designed to make visitors feel comfortable rather than intimidated. Lysandra has positioned herself by the window, silhouetted against the gray afternoon, forcing me to approach her rather than the reverse.
Clever. Annoying.
"My lord." She turns with a smile that never reaches her eyes. She's beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful—elegant, precise, and designed entirely for cutting. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
