Not comfort. Not denial. Truth.
The distinction mattered less than he perhaps intended.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, needing space though the room had not grown smaller. “I have never been trained in combat. I have never wielded magic deliberately. I was taught history and etiquette, and how to remain composed at the table. How could I possibly be what you seek?”
“Not all power is expressed through force,” Malric replied. “Some alters alignment simply by existing.”
There was no accusation in his voice—only measured calmness.
Thane’s gaze remained steady on me. “There is an old prophecy. Fragmented. Suppressed. It speaks of an omega hidden where roots bind stone. Of a living key who would undo old wards and expose corruption at the heart of the throne.”
The words moved through me slowly, touching pieces of memory I couldn't quite reach.
“I was never taught that. Anything that mentioned omegas was framed as cautionary. Dangerous. Destabilizing,” I said.
“The king ensured it would be,” Malric said. “Texts were destroyed. Scholars silenced. It became treason to speak of the old structures.”
The image that rose in my mind was not of books burning.
It was of my mother.
“She used to smell like crushed flowers,” I said before I intended to.
Both of them went still.
“Not arranged bouquets,” I continued, the memory sharpening as I spoke. “Wild blooms warmed by the sun. Thekind that release their scent when stepped on. When I was small, I would press my face into her skirts and breathe until I felt safe.”
My throat tightened around the next words.
“She laughed softly as though joy were something that needed to remain private. And she sang when she thought no one was listening. Songs older than the court. She used to tell me to listen, to pay attention, but tell no one.”
The chamber seemed quieter now, the air heavier with recollection.
“I don’t remember the day she died clearly,” I said. “I remember being told about it. I remember Father standing beside my bed, his voice controlled, explaining that there had been an accident.”
I paused, the memory fleeting and just out of reach.
“But I remember before that.”
I closed my eyes and relaxed, letting the memory slowly emerge, not forcing it.
“I was ill. Or frightened. My chest felt too tight to breathe properly. I was crying in a way that felt endless, as though something inside me was tearing open. She held me. She pressed her hands to my back and my ribs. I remember warmth spreading through me, and light.”
The light had not been soft.
“It grew brighter. Too bright, almost painful, like I was being torn apart. A shift occurred—not in me, but in her. As though the heat that had been building inside my body changed direction and went into her.”
My hands curled against the fabric of my skirts as realization dawned.
“She was trying to take it from me. I could feel it moving from me into her. The surge that had frightened me. She held metighter, as though she believed she could contain it by absorbing it herself.”
When I opened my eyes again, the chamber seemed to shrink.
“I woke later. Alone. The room had been cleaned. The air smelled different. Sharp. As though something had burned. Father said she had been too weak to survive what I had done.”
The words hung there, suspended between us.
Thane’s jaw tightened. Malric’s gaze sharpened.
