A ripple of shocked whispers sweeps through the room. Weapons clatter against tables as hands go slack with surprise. Callum pales slightly, the scar along his jaw standing out stark against his skin. I watch the revelation land, feeling a twist of satisfaction at seeing Malrik finally acknowledged for who he is, even as I wonder why he’s kept his identity so carefully guarded from everyone else here.
My shadows surge toward Malrik with protective curiosity. Walter, ever the unpredictable one, drifts closer to Malrik’s shoulder, pulsing with an odd purplish light I’ve never seen before.
“That’s impossible,” Callum stammers, his arrogance cracking like thin ice. “The royal line vanished when Absentia fell.”
“Not vanished,” Kieran corrects, his ancient eyes fixed on Malrik with something that might be respect or calculation—with him, it’s impossible to tell. “Hidden. Protected. Waiting for the proper moment to reclaim what was taken.” His gaze shifts to me, weighted with meaning I can’t decipher. “Some connections run deeper than even the oldest records suggest.”
Callum sinks back into his seat, thoroughly silenced. The other Guardians watch with new interest, their expressions shifting from dismissal to careful assessment. Warriors throughout the hall exchange meaningful looks, reevaluating everything theythought they knew about the quiet shadow-wielder in their midst.
I slide onto the bench between Malrik and Finn, feeling the weight of too many secrets pressing against my chest. The strange ache intensifies, resonating like a plucked string. I press my hand against it again, wincing slightly.
“It’s the bond,” Torric says quietly, leaning across the table. His golden eyes carry an intensity that makes my breath catch. “That feeling in your chest. It’s been there since Absentia, hasn’t it?”
I stare at him, momentarily speechless. “What bond?”
Malrik’s silver gaze meets mine. “An ancient connection. Between all of us.” His voice drops lower. “That’s what you feel, what we all feel. It’s been growing stronger since we got here.”
Finn looks between us, confusion clear on his face. “Hold up. What exactly are we talking about here?”
“The reason we can’t stay away from each other,” Aspen says softly, finally meeting my eyes. “The reason we all feel it when one of us is in danger. It’s not just coincidence, Kaia. It’s something older.”
My shadows twist anxiously, matching the knot forming in my stomach. Another revelation about myself I didn’t choose. “And when exactly were you planning to tell me about this… bond?”
“We only recently understood it ourselves,” Malrik says, his tone carefully neutral. “And we needed to be certain.”
The implications crash over me in waves. The constant ache. The way I feel drawn to each of them differently but insistently. The way my shadows react to their presence. “So what does it mean?”
Malrik’s eyes flick to Kieran, who watches us from the high table with ancient patience. “It means we’re connected in ways even Kieran might not fully understand.”
“Great,” Finn mutters, but his usual humor sounds strained. “Magical mystery bonds on top of everything else. Just what we needed.”
My shadows curl around my ankles, uneasy and alert. Around us, warriors and Guardians observe every move I make, weighing me against expectations I don’t understand. And now this, a bond I never chose but apparently can’t escape.
I reach for the coffee, needing something, anything, to ground me in this moment. My fingers brush Malrik’s as we both reach for the same mug. The contact sends a jolt through my chest, his magic resonating with whatever this bond is in a way that makes my shadows flare.
“I think we need to talk,” I murmur, just loud enough for our table to hear. “About all of this. No more secrets.”
Four pairs of eyes meet mine—silver, green, ice blue, and molten gold—each carrying knowledge that tangles with my own growing confusion.
“Yes,” Malrik agrees quietly. “We do.”
Chapter 18
Kieran
Kieran
I feel their stares before they speak, the weight of centuries of Guardian politics pressing in as I follow them into the council chamber. The breakfast drama was inevitable. Callum has always been too eager to assert authority he doesn’t possess.
“You can’t be serious about the Duskbane heir,” Callum starts the moment the doors close. His voice carries that familiar blend of arrogance and fear that’s always made him dangerous. “He abandoned Absentia.”
“He was a child,” I say sharply, memories resurfacing with painful clarity. The mysterious disappearance of the royal family, a single heir spirited away in the chaos. My fingers press against the smooth stone table. “The only survivor of the royal line.”
“Exactly why he should have stayed,” Mira interjects, her silver hair catching the light as she paces between the ancient pillars. Her footsteps echo against the marble floor, each one precise and measured like her words. “Absentia needed its prince.”
“Absentia needed him alive,” Revna counters from her seat by the window. At least someone here has sense. The sunlight makes the scars on her hands almost luminous, badges of honor from battles these younger Guardians have only read about. “What good is a vanished prince to a fallen realm?”
Callum’s mouth twists, his disdain poorly concealed. “He seems quite… comfortable with our Valkyrie,” he says, the possessive term making something dark and ancient stir beneath my skin.
