The words land like a strike to my ribs.
Because he’s wrong. And he’s right. Both. At once.
I square my shoulders, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. “If this is your idea of therapy, I want a refund.”
Malrik chuckles—a low, velvety sound laced with frost. “Therapy, my dear, teaches you how to process your pain. I’m going to show you how towieldit.”
The torch lights on the walls flicker violently, shadows dancing like restless spirits. The hum threading through the stone deepens, vibrating beneath my skin until it’s almost painful. And for the first time since I opened my eyes, I realize the magic in this room isn’t just reacting to him.
It’s me.
The buzzing deepens and throbs under my skin, pulsing with the same rhythm as my heartbeat. The flames in the sconces inch higher, shadows stretching across the walls like ink spilled in water.
Malrik watches, unbothered. Like everything that’s happened since we were attacked is exactly what he wanted, what he expected.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
My voice may be soft, yet I’m beginning to feel anything but.
He tilts his head. “Nothing yet. My castle simply responds to its occupants’ mood. At least when they’re not obeying its master.”
I blink, confused. “This place knows you as itsmaster?”
His smile is soft yet infuriating. “Well, yes, but in this room,youare who it responds to. At least within the confines of the rules I’ve set.”
The flames shudder again, then settle. The pressure eases from my chest, leaving behind the faint taste of metal on my tongue. I drag a shaky hand through my hair, forcing my breathing to even out. This isn’t the craziest thing I’ve heard over the last couple of weeks.
Yet…
“I want to leave,” I say finally, my voice firmer than I feel. “Whatever this is, you tricked me. I don’t belong here.”
“You’re welcome to try to leave. You might even succeed, but I promise you, Rowan, you’d regret it.”
He gestures toward the door with casual grace, like he’s inviting me to dinner instead of daring me to run.
My shoes are nowhere in sight, but I don’t care. I stride across the room, heart hammering, and reach for the doorway he’d walked through moments ago, only for it to slam shut. The seams vanish, swallowed by stone.
My palm meets the wall, cold as ice and unyielding. I press harder, focusing on escape, on freedom, onanythingthat might break this spell, but nothing happens. The surface remains solid, immovable.
I turn back to Malrik, glaring. “Do you think you’re funny?”
His brow arches. “Do I look like a man who jokes?”
The worst part is that he doesn’t.
My hands sweat as I scan for another exit. And then, impossibly so, a narrow window ripples into existence onthe far wall. A slit of pale light filters through, illuminating motes of dust that swirl like tiny ghosts. Beyond it, I glimpse snow—white and endless—and mountains jagged against a gray sky.
But when I step closer, the view shifts. One heartbeat, there’s a frozen landscape. The next, a wall of black fog that presses against the glass, swirling like it’s alive. Then it hardens back into stone.
My stomach lurches. “Whoareyou?”
Malrik’s posturelooksregal as he stands with his back straight and chin lifted, but there’s something in the way the shadows cling to him that swallows the illusion of elegance. His darkness feels cultivated. Worn like armor.
“You know who I am,” he says, voice smooth as ever. “You just haven’t found the answer in that mind of yours yet.”
Great. Another cryptic genius. He’s starting to sound like Iris.
The thought stabs through me, sharp and unexpected. Iris. Archie. Liz. Cade. Elias. My chest tightens with guilt so thick it’s hard to breathe. I abandoned them. Ran when they needed me most.
