2. The Fox Learns to Love #3
He would give her this, regardless of his doubts or whether she'd ever return to him. The alternative meant standing on that same balcony one day, looking down at marble stained red, knowing he'd pushed her there.
The private dining chamber near the east wing of the palace was meant for quiet, formal gatherings: no courtly spectacle and absent of all politics.
Just warmth, intimacy, and the illusion of ease.
Soft candlelight glowed from wrought-iron sconces and a suspended glass chandelier above the table, throwing golden warmth across porcelain plates and crystal goblets.
Vines spilled from high planters, trailing across the rafters.
A full spread had been laid out: roasted meats glazed in honey and wine, delicately folded herbs tucked between steaming breads, mulled fruit compotes, and crystal pitchers sweating with chilled spice-drink and sweet liquors.
The scent of clove, citrus, and fire-roasted thyme lingered thick in the air.
For a brief moment, there had been laughter, low and private, the kind born of familial ease.
Until Malec entered.
He stepped into the chamber, sheer will the only thing holding him together.
The candlelight kissed the pale silver trim of his tunic, catching the faint shimmer of light armor beneath the sheer folds of his formal outer wrap.
His bearing remained composed, but his eyes burned with a weight and need barely contained beneath restraint.
Despite everything, his hand remained wrapped tightly around Allora's, anchoring her and anchoring himself.
The room stilled.
Surian looked up from her plate, wine poised halfway to her lips, her smile fading instantly.
Surion leaned back in his chair with a sigh, muttering beneath his breath as he reached for his goblet.
And of course, Surin was there, already seated beside Surian.
He was rarely far from her, and never more so than when he smelled blood in the air.
Malec said nothing at first. He stood just inside the doorway, framed in golden firelight and shadow, a study in controlled force.
He looked down at Allora, then up.
"I've made a decision," he said finally, his voice low and cold as frost. "Allora will stay with you."
The stillness that followed was taut.
"One week," he added. "No more."
Surian blinked, brows lifting slightly. She said nothing, just studied him. She saw it at once: the tension in his jaw, the restraint trembling at his fingertips. This was an Awyan learning the weight of surrender.
"There will be guards," he continued. "Posted at every entrance. She is not to leave the grounds, does not wander. And you," he fixed his gaze on Surian, then briefly to Surin and Surion, "are responsible for keeping her safe and well. If a single hair is disturbed..."
"I understand," Surian said quickly, her posture already shifting upright.
"I want daily reports," Malec added. "Written. If I don't receive them, I'll consider it a breach of trust."
He didn't elaborate. Nor did he need to.
Then he turned back to her. Allora was watching him with an expression he hadn’t expected: surprise, soft and cautious and unspoken, as though she didn’t quite believe he meant it.
Malec froze.
The flickering candlelight shimmered against her dark skin, her curls casting shadows across her cheeks.
Her eyes, wide and wet, caught his in the dim light, and in them he saw her composure fracture.
She was fully present in the moment, seeing him clearly, and a quiet shift moved through his chest.
Is this what it feels like? he wondered, breathless. To give her peace without demanding anything in return? To watch her breathe without fear?
A heat bloomed in his chest, aching and unfamiliar. It felt right in a way control never had. Then her hand moved. The faintest squeeze around his fingers. His pulse quickened.
She didn't say anything, but she rose slightly on her toes and pressed a quiet, tremulous kiss beneath his jaw, so quick and light, it barely touched him. But it was real. A thank you, a maybe, and the weight of it stole the strength from his legs.
He dipped his head toward her, holding the breath as though it might steady the way his heart was breaking open. His fingers loosened around hers, gentle now, no longer a chain.
Without another word, he guided her forward.
Her hand still in his, he drew her toward the empty seat beside him, one he had insisted be left open despite knowing she might never fill it.
When her feet hesitated, he glanced back with quiet insistence rather than command.
She was lighter than she should be, her frame hollowed out in a way that made his chest ache.
What remained of her strength needed nourishment, and he wanted her restored.
He pulled out her chair himself and waited.
When she sat, he felt the tension ease in his chest just slightly.
He wanted her whole again, nourished and restored. Yet beneath the concern for her safety and physical recovery ran a current he was less proud of — he craved the light in her eyes when she'd looked at him moments ago.
So Malec poured her a drink. He passed her the platter of roasted meat.
And when she hesitated, he offered no command, just a nod.
A beginning. Something real. And as she took a piece of bread and quietly reached for the smallest slice of fruit, he watched her with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
"This is honestly terrifying," Surion announced, reaching for a honey-drenched fig with exaggerated flair. "If you two become emotionally healthy, I won't have anything left to gossip about."
Allora barked out a laugh before she could stop herself. It slipped out too fast, surprise cutting through it, and undeniably real. She blinked, startled by her own voice, as if her body had remembered how to laugh before her heart gave permission.
Malec froze at the sound. So did she.
Across the table, Surian snorted and jabbed Surion in the ribs with a pointed elbow.
He yelped in mock pain and shot her an exaggerated glare, but the grin never left his face.
Surin, ever the composed one, simply shook his head with dry amusement and took a slow sip of tea, though a faint smile curved the corner of his mouth.
Relief shimmered behind his eyes. The storm, it seemed, had passed, at least for tonight.
Malec sat stiffly, his hands resting on either side of his untouched plate. His first instinct was to scowl, to level his usual withering glare at the table for daring to treat this moment so lightly.
But then he looked at her, and everything changed.
Allora was smiling. The expression wasn't broad or bold, but it was enough. Just enough for a glimpse of light to return to her eyes. Her lashes were wet, her shoulders drawn, but she was smiling, and gods, it was beautiful.
That was when it hit him. This sliver of warmth, this spark of levity, it was worth everything. The surrender, the restraint, the aching silence. It had all been worth it because she was here and reachable.
For once, Malec didn't feel trapped in his own skin, or balanced on the edge of a blade.
He felt surrounded by individuals who belonged to him.
Family. Laughter and teasing and shared food.
A glimmer of quiet that felt almost like peace.
He looked around the table and saw not a court, but the contours of what family could be.
Is this what real family is supposed to look like?
And when he looked back at Allora, her smile hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown softer, more genuine, as though the warmth of the candlelight had finally decided to stay. A quiet breath escaped his lungs. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it.
Thank you, he thought, glancing briefly at Surion, who was making an exaggerated show of avoiding Surian's second jab. For once, Malec was grateful for his cousin's mouth because it had made her laugh, and her laughter had lit a spark inside him that he hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
It felt good in a way that startled him.
And he wanted that. He wanted this. Always.