Aveline’s eyes flicked to me, then away, as if she didn’t trust herself to look too long.
“You don’t understand,” she said, voice trembling but gaining strength as panic drove her. “You need to go before he comes back.”
“Who?” Malric demanded.
Her throat worked again. She hesitated, and in that hesitation the walls pressed in, the tower humming beneath us as if it were listening.
“My father,” she whispered.
Malric’s expression didn't change, but the bond between us tightened. His attention sharpened further, focus locking on the one detail that could matter most.
“Your father is the king?” he asked.
Aveline’s gaze snapped to his face, as if she hadn’t meant to reveal that much. Her lips parted, then pressed together again, and for a moment she looked like someone trying to decide whether silence would save her.
“It’s the only way,” she said, voice barely audible. “He put me here. He’ll kill you if he finds you.”
The king.
The word landed in my gut like a stone.
Malric’s posture shifted, his weight settling into a stance I recognized from battle: controlled readiness. His eyes swept the chamber again, not for exits now but for evidence, for proof that could be carried back to the rebellion. An omega hidden in a tower guarded by old magic. A cage built inside the Wyrdwood.
A weapon.
Or a secret.
Or both.
Aveline’s breath hitched as Malric took another step closer, and my instincts surged again, not only toward her but toward the danger of Malric pushing too hard, too fast.
“Malric,” I said again, firmer this time.
He didn’t look at me. “Stay out of this.”
“She’s going to bolt,” I replied, my voice still low but edged now. “Or she’s going to panic enough that the tower decides we’re the threat.”
Malric’s gaze flicked toward me then, sharp and warning. “You’re letting her scent cloud your head.”
The accusation landed cleanly because it wasn’t wrong.
The scent was everywhere. It clung to the back of my throat, to my skin, to the inside of my lungs. It made my magic restless, made my instincts surge and twist until I didn’t know where fear ended and want began.
But I could see Aveline shaking. I could see how her gaze kept darting to the doorway, how she braced as if expecting it to open any moment and spill death into the room.
And I could see Malric’s control slipping in a different way—his tension turning rigid, his focus narrowing too sharply. Not because he wanted her. Because he wanted the advantage she represented.
He’d always choose the war first.
I stepped another pace forward, careful not to crowd her. “Aveline,” I said, gentle enough that the word didn’t scrape. “How long have you been here?”
Her eyes flicked to Malric again, then back to me, as if deciding which of us was less likely to hurt her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, voice cracking. “Years. Time doesn’t…” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “He comes sometimes. He tells me it’s safer for me here.”
Malric’s jaw flexed. “Safer? Why?”
Aveline’s hands tightened in her gown. “Because I’m dangerous.”
