7. The Song and the Snare #4
"Take your arm off my Canariae," it commanded, low and lethal. "I do not like it."
The crowd rippled in shock as Surion turned.
Malec stood there, pale hair tied back, eyes blazing with a cold fury that silenced the room. He looked every inch the predator the court whispered of, his shoulders broad, his posture daring anyone to test him.
Surion's lips curved, the only sign of nerves the twitch of his jaw. At least he had struck the chord he wanted: Malec was seething. And that was victory enough.
With mock surrender, Surion raised his hands, his wine sloshing slightly as though he were drunk. "Cousin," he said smoothly, "we are all family here. No need for threats."
Malec did not slow. He closed the distance until his chest pressed against Surion's, the air between them hot with the violence he held back. His voice was low, iron in every syllable. "No one touches my Allora. Not even a king."
Gasps shivered through the hall.
And then Malec's gaze shifted, up, over Surion's shoulder, to the golden-haired foreigner watching with amused serenity. Kael's electric eyes gleamed, and he smiled warmly, as if the clash entertained him.
The tension stretched, a bowstring ready to snap. Surion forced another laugh, his voice pitched high with false ease. "We were only jabbing at each other," he said quickly, trying to soften the moment for the watching nobles.
Malec ignored him. He turned to Allora instead, his hand sliding up into her hair with aching gentleness, searching her eyes. "Are you alright?"
Her chin lifted, stubborn, but she nodded once.
Without another word, Malec took her hand and guided her away, his body a shield as he led her toward one of the arched alcoves along the balcony, away from the court's prying eyes. Luko and Surian followed close behind, their faces tight with worry.
Surion stood alone in the sudden hush. Defeat weighed on his shoulders for only a moment before he smiled, a cruel twist of lips, and turned on his heel. Without a glance back, he strode toward one of the private chambers leading off the ballroom.
Kael's eyes tracked him. He saw the kindle in Surion's expression, the mask slipping. Scheming, plotting. The foreign King turned, his long hair spilling over his shoulders as he followed, silent as a shadow.
_____
The balcony air was crisp, carrying the scent of night-blooming roses and smoke from the torches below.
Allora's curls whipped across her face in the breeze as Malec guided her to a cushioned settee pressed against the stone balustrade.
He sat down beside her, his hand never leaving hers, his sand-colored eyes fixed on her with that intensity that always made her chest warm.
"Little Dove," he said at last, voice low, reverent, "you were brilliant."
Allora blinked, startled. She'd braced for the lecture, the scolding, the stern talk, but praise? That threw her off balance.
Luko and Surian settled on the seats across from them, both quiet, both watchful.
But then Malec's lips curved in that way she knew too well, pride and warning tangled in one. "But..."
Groaning dramatically, Allora tipped her head back against the stone wall. "Oh, great. There it is. Here comes the daddy talk."
He ignored her whining and continued, his tone steady, measured.
"You have just done a dangerous thing. Even though he cannot touch you outright, you hid your barbs well, in song and story.
Still..." His mouth twitched into a smirk at the memory, the sound of her voice cutting his cousin to shreds.
"... you gutted him in front of half the Capitol. He will not forget that."
His pride swelled even as he spoke. He could not help it.
His little Canariae had handed his arrogant cousin his ass in front of them all, and Malec wanted to roar his satisfaction to the skies.
But the pride was laced with fear. Surion was cunning and very patient.
And Allora, his love, his soul-bound flame, was fragile in their world.
Malec could strike his cousin without consequence, but Allora...
Allora was only protected so long as Malec stood at her side. Alone, she was prey.
The thought knifed through him: maybe he should break his promise. Perhaps he should drag her back to the North where no one could touch her.
His hand closed over hers, tightening. His voice cracked soft, raw.
"Allora, my love... I don't want anything to happen to you.
You are my world and if they harm you, I...
" He broke off, shaking his head, breath ragged.
"I could not bear it. That is why I need you to behave.
Not for me, but for your safety. If your life is endangered here, I will have no choice but to take you North. "
The words landed like ice water.
Allora shuddered. She had nearly forgotten that was still an option.
She had almost convinced herself he had yielded, that her will could hold him here.
But she knew better and she knew Malec. If he thought she was in danger, he would not hesitate.
He would drag her back to that frozen prison, and no amount of seduction or curling into his lap would sway him.
Her throat tightened. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling with frustration. "I'll keep myself in check."
Cupping her cheek with a gloved hand, Malec leaned his forehead against hers. His breath was warm on her lips as he exhaled, weary but unyielding. "We will see how this plays out. But if it becomes too dangerous..." His grip tightened. "I must."
A soft whimper escaped her as she closed her eyes, hating herself in that moment. Idiot, she thought. Such an idiot. I let my pride, my pettiness, get the better of me.
Was it worth it? Yes. Fuck, yes. To see Surion's smugness crumble had been worth every note. But it cost her…
But was it worth the cost if the price was the North and losing herself to that frozen desert forever?
The discomfort between them grew until Luko finally cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His long fingers drummed against his knee.
"You know," he said, voice low but laced with that nervous edge he always carried in these halls, "I actually thought it was brilliant too.
But..." He glanced around as if expecting some lurking noble to leap from the shadows.
"You've painted a target right on yourself, Allora.
They won't just laugh it off. The Capitol feeds on grudges. Surion's not the type to let this die."
Frowning, Allora hugged her arms around her waist. "So what, I'm supposed to just sit there like an idiot and smile?"
Meeting her eyes, Luko grew serious. "Sometimes survival looks like that, yes. I've played the fool more times than I can count because it was safer to let them think I was beneath their notice. You don't get to win here by standing out. You win by blending in."
Exhaling slowly, Surian shook her head. She leaned forward, her seafoam gown whispering against the stone floor, eyes honed on Allora.
"I don't agree. Blending in has never saved anyone who wasn't born Awyan.
The moment you stepped into this palace, you became a game piece whether you liked it or not.
Tonight you showed them you're not an easy pawn.
That was reckless." She held up a finger when Allora opened her mouth to protest. "But also necessary. "
Allora blinked at her.