10. Obedience as Strategy
OBEDIENCE AS STRATEGY
The palace bells tolled noon as Malec and Luko strode through the gates.
Malec's mood was black, a storm gathering in his chest. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
Back with Allora, watching her, guarding her.
The tether pulled at him constantly, a restless ache that gnawed like a phantom blade.
He could feel her through it: the despair sinking into her bones, the calm resignation settling over her like a shroud.
That terrified him most. Not her rage or her fire, but this quiet acceptance.
It meant she was planning. Plotting, preparing to leave him.
The sensation made his skin crawl, his hands flex with the urge to return to her immediately.
But he forced himself forward. She would not run yet.
She needed time to gather herself, to scheme.
He had stationed guards outside her chamber and beneath her window with orders to use shock or sleep paralysis magic if necessary.
She was not to be harmed, but if she dared try to escape, punishment would follow.
Now, instead of standing sentinel by her door, he was forced into the snake pit of Surion's war room to choke down politics and keep the vultures circling Allora from sinking their claws into her.
He shoved his way into the black stone chamber where the long obsidian table gleamed under torchlight. Politicians lined either side, their gilded rings glinting as they shuffled parchments. At the head, Surion sat in his high-backed chair, smug as ever.
"Ahhh," Surion drawled, spreading his arms. "The Silver Fox graces us with his violent presence."
Malec strode forward without pause, stopping directly beside his cousin's chair. Surion's guards tensed, hands twitching toward their hilts. Surion, feigning ease, waved them off.
"Peace," he said lightly. "My cousin is here to complain, not to kill. Isn't that right?"
Malec's voice cut across the chamber, blunt as a blade. "Are you planning to take my Allora from me?"
A ripple went through the table. Surion tilted his head, lips curving. "There have been discussions. Meetings where her name arose. Interest expressed. Deeds, peace, alliances. It is all very nebulous."
Malec leaned down, planting his leather-gloved hand across Surion's parchments.
His voice was low, cold, each word a sharpened threat.
"I will only remind you once more of the promise I made.
The first time you interfered, I swore to carve from you any part capable of giving a female a child.
Strip you of your rights as a male. Do not test me. "
Surion coughed, then smiled with false innocence. "I remember. And I have done nothing to her, cousin. So what is the issue?"
Malec straightened to his full height, his shadow falling long over the table. "The issue, Surion, is that you have no sense of boundaries. One day, it will kill you. Pray it is my hand that ends you. At least then, your death will be quick. Almost painless."
His gaze flicked, rigid as steel, toward Surin seated among the nobles, as though the warning was meant for him too. Then Malec turned and stalked out, Luko on his heels.
Behind them, Surin rose abruptly. "Excuse me," he murmured, following his son into the corridor.
"Malec, hold," Surin called, his boots striking fast against the stone. "Stop. I must speak with you about Allora."
Malec halted, staring straight ahead, saying nothing — and that was its own kind of invitation.
Surin placed a hand on his son's shoulder. A wave of calm energy pressed lightly against Malec's nerves, an old trick, the father's gift, one he had used when Malec was a boy on the verge of breaking. Despite himself, Malec's shoulders eased.
"I know you believe I was part of this," Surin said evenly. "I was not. I heard of what Surion was doing, and though I did not stop him, I did not join him either. He was trying to sell my daughter-in-law to kings and politicians for favor. For peace. It is part of his duty as king..."
Malec stiffened, mouth opening with fury, but Surin pressed on.
"But I know how much she means to you. I would never harm you, Malec.
To take her from you would not only wound you, it would break you.
Drive you to madness. That is not my intent.
I am your father, and whether you see it or not, I still look after you. "
Malec turned at last, his light-drenched brown eyes locking with his father's, testing his truth.
Surin's gaze held steady. And Malec saw it: honesty.
Reluctant, flawed, but real. His body sagged with exhaustion.
He had fought his wife that morning, bled his heart dry, and the drain of it weighed heavy. He gave his father a single nod.
"I believe you," he said simply, placing his hand briefly over Surin's.
Surin blinked, startled. Shock softened his stern face. It was the first time his son had ever offered him reassurance freely.
He smiled faintly. "Your Canariae is a good influence. You chose well."
The weight of defeat pressed against Malec's chest. His hand slipped back to his side, voice cracking low. "She hates me. She wants to leave and I do not know how to fix it."
Surin's smile faded, replaced by understanding. He spoke softly. "Malec, you chose to cage a wild tiger, and you wonder why she bites you? You must not treat her as you would a domesticated Canariae. Learn who she is. Adjust. Or she will never trust you."
Flexing his hands, tension radiating through his body, Malec admitted hoarsely, "I do not know how. Every time I grant her freedom, she runs."
Without hesitation, Surin pulled him close, wrapping him in a rare embrace. Luko's gold eyes went wide with shock at the display.
Surin's voice gentled, his mouth near his son's ear. "It was Allora who told me once that I should treat you as a son, not a soldier. It may be too late. But it is better than never."
Malec stiffened at first, but at the sound of her name his body eased. He lifted one hand and gripped his father's arm, clinging to the anchor offered. For a moment, he felt like a boy again, raw and vulnerable in his father's arms.
Surin drew back, studying his face. "I cannot know what it feels like to be bound to another, especially one like her, fire and fury.
But I do know this: if you give her an inch and she comes back, that is trust. That is the foundation of a life worth building.
Do not be afraid and give in to your fear. Stop taking. Give."
His throat working, Malec gave a single nod.
Surin cupped the back of his head, pressing his forehead to his son's. In the Awyan tongue, he whispered, "Veyth shaeliri, amari'nor." You are my light, my son.
Then he released him, turning back toward the war room.
Malec stood motionless in the corridor, Luko grinning beside him at the sight of such unexpected affection. For once, Malec did not shake it off.
Allora sat at the small table, stabbing at the food the servant had left for her. She ate with rigid determination, her jaw tight. Every bite was fuel, each swallow ammunition for what was coming. And it was coming. She could feel it in her blood, simmering like heat against her skin.
If she was angry before, it was nothing compared to now.
Rage sat in her chest like fire, but it was smothered by the one bitter truth she'd learned: her temper never got her what she wanted.
Charging in, reacting out of sheer emotion, it always backfired.
That lesson had been branded into her these past weeks.
If she wanted to win, she had to stop being herself.
She had to be him.
That big, brooding, ugly toad, that knife-eared brute. Patience. Waiting. Strategy.
God, she hated him.
The thought ripped through her and she hurled the cup in her hand across the room. It shattered against the armoire, juice splattering down its carved panels.
The door burst open at once, the guard outside rushing in with a hand on his hilt. His gaze flicked from her to the broken cup on the floor, then back to her. He exhaled heavily, muttered under his breath, and turned away. The door stayed open as he resumed his post.
She sat there seething, fists balled on the table.
The worst part wasn't even her fury. It was knowing she had to bury it. To lower their guard, she had to act as though she'd surrendered. Be pliant and tamed. As though she had bent under the weight of Malec's control.
The thought that it might please him burned through her. Subtlety had never been her strength. She rushed in headfirst, reckless, pushing forward until things broke. That had always been her way, but it had failed her now. This time she needed a different strategy.
This time she would try his way.
He was disarmed when she was soft, unguarded when she cooed and touched him, when she kissed his mouth and whispered his name.
If she wanted an opening, she'd have to turn herself into what he wanted most. She could almost laugh.
Thanking Luko silently for teaching her how to read had turned out to be the best investment she'd ever made.
Allora sat back, chest heaving, the edges of her fury melting into resolve.
She closed her eyes for a moment and gave silent thanks to Kirelle. Conniving, manipulative Kirelle. Of all the allies she'd never expected to gain, she had become the closest and the one she most desperately needed.
When Allora opened her eyes, she was no longer in the manor's bedroom.
The stone walls and velvet cloak were gone.
Instead, she lay on a nest of moss and soft grasses, the earth cradling her as though she belonged to it.
The air smelled faintly of rain and wildflowers.
Above her, a pale face peered down, black eyes unblinking.
"You are here. Finally."
The child's voice came from that strange orifice she assumed was it’s mouth.