6. Court of Appetites #6
Such an unguarded sight. Her small defiance, her quiet refusal to be polished into someone else's ornament made his heart stop for a single heartbeat.
He had no illusions that she'd worn them for him, that she understood what it meant in his culture. But Gods help him, he cherished it all the same. To see her wrapped in his scent, his belonging—it was an intimacy he had not dared to hope for.
Looking up from the notes he was scribbling, Luko tipped his head in greeting, his expression blandly amused. "Well," he drawled, "if it isn't the prince himself. Come to hover?"
Malec didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on Allora, drinking her in, helpless against the soft hunger rising in his chest.
Following his stare, Luko let out a snort. "Of course," he muttered, "you'd find that a kink."
Flicking his eyes over her—bare feet tucked against the cushions, the stubborn tilt of her chin as she looked up at him, still chewing her fruit. Malec spoke without taking his attention from her. "How is she? Have you found anything abnormal?"
Sighing, Luko looked down at his ledger. "Physically, she's healthy. No fever and no swelling. But the weakness is peculiar. Possibly from not eating properly, which, given her temperament, surprises no one."
Studying the shadows beneath her eyes, Malec addressed Luko in a quiet voice that still held that unshakable command. "She has gained a little bit of her weight back. She is not gaunt like before."
"Yes," Luko agreed, his tone thoughtful. "And she shows no sign of Canariae wasting sickness, thanks to your blood. I'd wager the transfusions have strengthened her system. I have never seen a case resolve so completely."
The moment drew itself out. Allora shifted, setting the half-eaten plum aside. She lifted her chin, her eyes clear and unflinching.
"Could it be," she asked slowly, "that you got me pregnant?"
Malec froze.
So abrupt, so unexpected, the question sliced the air clean through. For an instant, he was not the Silver Fox, not a commander or a prince. Just an Awyan who had once dared to imagine her round with his child.
The image rose in his mind before he could stop it.
Allora, belly round with life, her hand resting over the curve.
Her body changed by what they had made together.
Proof written in flesh and blood that she was his and he was hers.
A child carrying his name and her fire, binding them in a way even the soul-bond could not.
His bloodline continued not through duty or arrangement, but through her.
Through love, even if she refused to name it.
He pictured her irritable and glowing, snapping at him for fussing while secretly allowing it.
He imagined the weight of an infant in his arms, small and perfect, with her dark eyes and his pale hair.
A family. Not the cold, distant household he had grown up in, but a warm one, a life that proved they belonged to each other in every possible way.
The fantasy crashed over him with such force it nearly stole his breath. For one perfect, aching moment, he let himself want it, craving it with a ferocity that had nothing to do with lineage or legacy and everything to do with the desperate urge to create a life with her.
Then reality set in, cold and immovable.
He let out a slow breath, feeling the dream crumble even as he held her gaze. "No," he said, and though his voice was steady, a subtle rasp threaded the words. "No, flame. Canariae and Awyan have never been compatible. It has never happened."
Luko shifted in his chair, his expression sobering. "He's right. Biologically, it's impossible. Our species simply don't... mesh that way."
But Malec's gaze softened as he looked at her, the corner of his mouth curving despite the loss settling in his chest. "But if it did," he murmured, "I would be the happiest Awyan in the realm."
Scoffing, Allora rolled her eyes as though she could bat away the gravity of his confession. "I bet you would."
Stepping forward without thinking, he cupped the back of her head in one large hand and pressed a kiss to her hair.
“It is not what you think,” he said, keeping his tone even, forcing down the part of him that wanted it to be true.
"I would not love the child because it is mine.
I would love it because it would be ours. Because it would be a family."
A low breath left him, something sharper than a laugh.
“You think I want a moment?” he said quietly. “A passing indulgence?”
His thumb traced her jaw once more, slower this time. “You misunderstand me,” he said, his voice low, certain. “I have no interest in using you for something so shallow.”
His gaze held on her, unyielding.
“When I take something that belongs to me, I intend to keep it.”
Then he stepped back, the moment closing. “We are finished here. Go and get ready.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, a wary flicker passing through her eyes before she rose and left the room not uttering a single word in return.
When the door closed behind her and her footsteps faded down the corridor, Malec let the calm fall from his face. He turned to Luko, his expression settling into the cold discipline of the commander he had been far longer than he had ever been hers.
"I have intelligence," he began quietly, "that Surion has been a very busy little bee."
A faint smirk tugged at Luko's mouth, lifting a brow as if to say: And when is he ever not?
Malec ignored the look. "He is using my Allora, subtly, but not subtly enough. This entire banquet is a stage to parade her before them. To make her a bargaining piece in whatever trade he is plotting."
Setting his notes aside, Luko folded his arms over his chest. "You are certain?"
"Of course," Malec said, the words like iron.
"Surion is too brazen about it. He has no fear of consequence, so he must have some net waiting at the bottom of whatever pit he is about to drop himself into.
" His gaze went distant, as though he were already sifting through names and faces in his mind.
"I intend to find out who that net is before he springs it. "
Tilting his head, Luko studied him in that quietly assessing way that always made Malec feel as though he were being measured for weaknesses. "Do you truly think he would go that far?"
A humorless smile curved Malec's mouth. "Yes. If he believes he has a safety in place, he would dare anything. He always has." He paused, voice dropping lower. "And he knows precisely how to test the boundaries of my patience."
Exhaling, Luko rubbed at his temple. "Do you want me there tonight? Watching her?"
"Yes," Malec said without hesitation. "Watch her, and see that she does not faint again.
I can feel her, Luko." His hand lifted absently to the center of his chest. "She tries to mask it, but I feel the fear and the nausea as if they were my own.
She has been anxious for days. She may fool you with her bravado, but she cannot fool the bond. "
"It could be nerves," Luko offered gently.
"Perhaps," Malec allowed, though his eyes remained troubled. "But it feels more complicated than that."
Seeming to weigh whether to say more, Luko turned and reached for the folded linen on the corner of the table. "There is something else. The dragonfly she brought me."
He unwrapped it carefully, revealing the creature's huge iridescent body, the brittle wings dull in the lamplight.
Frowning, Malec leaned closer. "I have never seen its like."
"It may be a familiar," Luko said. "Strong mages, some psychics, have been known to use creatures to spy or to speak when they cannot. If this was near her constantly, it was not by chance."
Malec went very still, his mind leaping ahead, already sorting through every name and memory that could fit such a puzzle. A strong psychic that Allora knew. Who would watch her so persistently?
Before he could answer, a shrill voice split the hush.
"Put your feet down, you little plague! You are not in a barn!"
His head turned quickly, just as a chorus of muffled giggling drifted in from the foyer.
He and Luko stepped out into the corridor side by side. When they reached the top of the stairs, the sight below met them:
Surian stood at the foot of the grand staircase, her cloak half falling from one shoulder as she tried, in vain, to herd Allora toward the corridor.
Allora danced lightly backward, unbothered by the polished marble beneath her bare feet, laughing as she spun away from Surian's outstretched hands.
Her hair tumbled loose down her back, and Malec's black tunic billowed around her knees.
"Allora!" Surian snapped, voice rising. "Go to your chamber and dress like a civilized creature!"
"I am dressed," Allora called sweetly, twirling again. "This is perfectly respectable. Your Commander left them behind!"
Pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh, Luko watched.
Malec did not bother to hide the smile tugging at his lips, though it faded almost as quickly as it came.
Because farther down the hall, leaning against the arch with a soft chuckle, stood his father, watching the scene with clear amusement.
A strong psychic Allora knew.