12. Checkmate #2
The Lord and master of the house entered with his usual stern expression.
He had woken to the soft glow of the evening sun and, for a rare moment, to the comfort of one of the best naps he'd had in years.
But when his arms reached across the sheets and found no Allora, panic had clutched his chest. His heart had pounded until a maid entered to inform him that his canariae was downstairs with Surian and Luko.
The relief that flooded through him was immediate and overwhelming.
He had bathed, dressed carefully, chosen every detail so that he might catch her attention. He wanted her to look at him tonight as she had last night, sweaty and undone and wild and his. He wanted another night full of heat and closeness.
But the moment he stepped into the atrium and saw her, his expression shifted. It was as though he were staring into the sun for the first time.
Allora looked up at him, and guilt pierced her chest. Sadness followed close behind.
Why did it have to be this way? She adored Surian, and she loved Luko—she wanted them to be part of her family.
But Malec complicated everything. His overbearing possessiveness poisoned what could have been theirs.
She could not see a future with him, no matter how much her body craved his touch.
Malec took his usual chair, angling his plate just so, turning his goblet until it faced him precisely, adjusting his silverware until it satisfied him. The others accepted it as his quirk, long accustomed to the way his order grounded him.
He leaned toward Allora, his lips brushing hers in a kiss, his smile full of the glow from earlier. "And how is my morning star this evening?"
Allora shrugged, her tone dry. "Haven't gotten sick yet, so that's a plus."
His smile deepened, a gleam in his pale earth-toned eyes. "Then perhaps earlier was medicinal for you."
Her jaw dropped. Luko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. His room was across from theirs, after all. Surian made a disgusted noise, a quick little "bleh." Malec only gleamed brighter, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Allora narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to spit in your food."
He didn't miss a beat. "I would welcome anything from you."
She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, her lips twisting into the faintest smirk. Let them laugh, let them tease. Every sip, every bite, every smile was one step deeper into her trap.
Then he reached for the carafe of juice, pouring some into his own glass. "You should drink something. You haven't had much these last few days."
Her stomach twisted, but her hand was steady as she accepted the cup. She did not drink, holding the glass between her palms while she watched.
Surian tried her best to keep the air light, chatting about the upcoming migration of the sky swans, a dazzling Awyan spectacle that drew nobles from across the realm.
Her tone was elegant, poised, but her words dragged a little too long, her voice carrying the faint edge of weariness.
Luko nodded politely, ever eager to contribute trivia about how the swans flew in constellations, how their feathers were said to guide lost travelers.
Malec ignored them. His eyes were only on Allora.
He laughed too loudly at the smallest twitch of her lips.
He offered her pastries she didn't want, nudged plates closer to her, brushed her hand whenever he could.
His gaze burned, pleading for warmth, for even the smallest softness.
She gave him none. The lack only spurred him harder.
She could see it in the twitch in his jaw, the taut energy under his skin.
He was an elf high on illusion, drunk on the thought that he was finally winning her, that she had accepted him as her husband, at least a little.
Allora sipped her juice slowly, carefully, her lashes lowered.
Surian finished half her juice, returning to her tea with languid grace.
Luko nursed both wine and juice, alternating absently.
Malec drained his cup of wine and poured more.
His stamina was legendary. If anyone would resist the powder, it would be him.
Time blurred in the golden light of the atrium. The food cooled on the plates.
Then a yawn. Soft, from Luko. He rubbed his eyes behind his spectacles, blinking too slowly. His shoulders sagged, his spine curving with sudden heaviness.
The powder was working.
Allora's pulse quickened, but she kept her face serene. Her gaze slid to Surian, who was trying to maintain her dignified composure, sipping her tea with impeccable grace. But her hand trembled as she set the cup down, and her smile froze like porcelain, her eyes half-lidded.
Everything was falling into place.
It had to look natural. Harmless. If she bolted too soon, if they felt it happening while their minds were aware, suspicion would ignite. She needed them drifting, caught in the haze of sleep.
But the signs were already showing, and her anxiety spiked with each passing moment.
A maid drifted past the archway with slow, dragging steps, her tray tilting slightly in her grip.
One of the guards in the hallway rubbed at his eyes, yawning so wide his jaw cracked.
The butler appeared briefly at the doorway to announce the evening lanterns would be lit soon, but his words came sluggish, his eyelids heavy.
Allora's pulse hammered. Malec couldn't notice.
He was too elated right now, too fixated on her, watching her like a hawk with his prey finally in sight.
That was the only reason he hadn't caught on yet.
The approaching nighttime helped too—everyone naturally grew tired as the sun set, so the drowsiness would seem ordinary.
But she couldn't risk it. If even one person collapsed before she had Malec isolated, if his keen mind caught the pattern, everything would unravel.
She had to remove him from the scene.
So she played along. The tired little canariae. She let out a delicate yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, blinking as though exhaustion had returned to her limbs.
Malec saw instantly. His head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing with concern. "Are you alright?" His voice softened, tender, protective.
She nodded faintly. "Just… tired again. I thought I had more strength than I did."
He was out of his chair before she finished the sentence. "Do you want to lie down? I can take you."
She hesitated, eyes dropping, her reticence deliberate. Then she looked up through her lashes and gave a small, submissive nod. "Yes. But… would you carry me? I feel weak."
His eyes lit like a dying Awyan handed salvation. "Of course," he whispered.
He lifted her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, cradling her like holy relic. She let her head fall against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. His heartbeat thundered against her cheek; fast, eager, full of hope.
He thought she was coming back to him.
Good. Let him think so. She would be gone before he ever woke.
As Malec carried her up the stairs, Allora kept her face pressed to his shoulder, her arms looped lazily around his neck. Her heartbeat was steady—too steady—but inside, she was calculating every detail.
One floor passed. Then another.
She risked a glance downward and caught sight of Luko. He leaned against the parlor wall, blinking sluggishly, his fingers fumbling over a page of his notes. His head dipped once before he jerked it upright, shaking it off in vain. Almost gone.
Next came Surian. She still sat with her teacup balanced loosely in her hand, her back too relaxed, her perfect posture sagging. The elegance that defined her had dulled beneath the drug's heavy curtain.
Allora smiled. Good. No guilt. Not anymore. They had drugged her first, then held her down like cattle, all while whispering false comforts while cutting her will apart. Their willingness to look away had cost her everything, so they deserved sleep.
Her eyes returned to Malec, who had noticed none of it. His attention was fixed entirely on her, as it always was.
"You look so tense," she whispered, her voice pitched low, soft, almost childlike.
He glanced down at her, surprised. "Do I?"
"You're tired," she murmured, nestling her cheek closer against his chest. "You haven't gotten a full night’s sleep in days, have you?"
A deep, exhausted breath rattled through him, and his jaw unclenched. "No. Not really, not since that night. Those three gods-forsaken days… I thought I was losing you."
He reached the top of the stairs, opened the bedroom door, and stepped into the space he now thought of as theirs.
The air inside was cool. Quiet.
He laid her down gently on the bed, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. She looked up at him, eyes calm and unreadable, betraying nothing of her plan.
He kissed her forehead.
He looked down at her with concern, his warm beige searching her face as though he could read the truth in her skin. "Are you truly alright?"
Allora let out a long, somber breath, her lashes lowering. "I'm exhausted. From Kirelle's stupid tea party."
The corners of his mouth lifted in a low chuckle, though the sound was strained.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders sagging, posture beginning to slouch.
There was weariness in the lines of his face, but his smile remained soft, almost tentative, as if waiting for permission to linger by her side.
She studied him for a moment. This was it. Her last test, her final olive branch. One last chance to see if there was anything in him that would bend for her.
"Malec," she said seriously, her voice steady though her heart thudded in her chest. "Would you ever take me to see my people again? My family? Even just once."
For a heartbeat, not a word passed between them. His eyes didn't harden, and his voice carried no cruelty. When he answered, it was in that quiet way of his, firm as iron yet soft as silk.