"My father would never order an attack like this, Fenric," I shot back. My hands still tingled from the aftershock of the magic, but I held my ground between Malek and the lord. "What did you do to him?"
Fenric stepped back, his surprise fading quickly into calculation. His gaze flicked from me to Leone, finally settling on Kael’s lifeless body.
"Your father is a coward," he sneered, venom dripping from every word. "A weak-willed lord who allowed these savagesto encroach upon our lands. I won't let him destroy Ceilte's reputation!"
"You have no authority to speak for Ceilte, Fenric," Leone intervened calmly. "My father is the Lord of Ceilte, and you are nothing more than a traitor."
Fenric laughed—a dry, brittle sound that never reached his crazed eyes.
"This doesn't end here, orc!" he snarled. "And you vermin will pay for this. I am the true strength of Ceilte, and you are nothing more than worms crawling in the dirt! The throne will be mine, and you will learn what happens to traitors!"
With a sharp motion, Fenric summoned a portal. The dark rift tore open behind him, exhaling the sharp scent of ozone. He stepped through it and vanished in a flash of light and shadow, abandoning his son’s body behind him.
Silence fell so suddenly that even breathing sounded too loud.
The ground of the village lay stained with blood. Bodies of High Fae and orcs were scattered across the place where children once ran and played, their innocence now touched by war. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, mingling with the lingering odor left behind by Fenric’s portal.
Malek moved first. He lowered his axe; the sound of metal striking the earth carried a dry finality. With his eyes fixed on me—searching, questioning—he stepped closer.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, my body relaxing at his proximity, the tension of battle finally draining away.
Leone, pale and visibly shaken, looked at Kael’s body, then at Malek, and finally at me.
"We need to go back to Ceilte."
His declaration forced me to focus on the urgency of the situation. We had no idea what Fenric’s next move would be; by now, he could already be preparing another attack, using Kael’s death to justify calling upon the Autumn Court to wipe out the Okshai clan.
"Yes," I agreed, turning to Malek. "I have to go with him."
His large, warm hand—still stained with Fae blood and his own—rose to cradle my cheek.
"I’m going with you."
"You can't, Malek," I said, shaking my head with regret. "If Alasdair is missing and Fenric staged this attack, you have to remain here. The people need their Ruk’hai."
He clenched his fists, frustration burning in his eyes.
"I’m not letting you go alone."
"She’ll be with me," Leone intervened, sounding more resolute than ever. "I’m going with her. And you, Ruk’hai, have responsibilities here."
Malek studied Leone carefully, weighing the change in the heir’s demeanor. For the first time, no contempt remained in his gaze—only reluctant respect.
"Go," Malek said at last, his voice low and rough. "But take Drak with you. He’ll make sure you arrive safely."
I nodded, understanding that time allowed no further argument. Malek pulled me into a desperate embrace, burying his face against my shoulder.
"Return to me, krash’uk," he whispered. "And if Fenric touches a single hair on your head, I’ll kill him."
"Protect Oksha."
It was the only thing I asked.
He pressed his forehead against mine, drawing in a deep breath, committing my scent to memory.
"Go," he murmured at last. "Before I change my mind."
