21. Foundations #3
The words hit her like a jolt. Melodie blinked once, her breath catching despite herself.
She looked away quickly, turning back toward the window, but not fast enough to hide the twitch at the corner of her mouth.
It wasn't quite a smile—too bitter for that—but it was close enough to matter.
She tilted her head, still refusing to give him the full weight of her attention.
"What does that mean?" she asked slowly, her voice taut.
Then rose slightly almost in an accusing manner: "What are you saying? "
“It means we are not without power,” he said. “You least of all. That much you have proven. What you created is beyond the reach of kings and empires alike. And now the realm is aware of it.”
His hand moved then, slow and deliberate, as if testing the air before his fingers brushed gently against hers.
He did not close his hand. Only the faintest contact lingered between them.
“You’ve been hunted long enough, Mel,” he said quietly.
“Reduced to a remedy. Claimed like property. None of that defines you. What you represent is the future, and that truth unsettles them more than they dare admit.”
Her head turned at that, slowly, reluctantly. She studied him the way a person studies a problem they haven't solved yet, her mouth a stubborn line. But she didn't pull away from the touch. She didn't spit venom or tear his words apart the way she always did.
And in that breath, a darker thought crept in, cold and uninvited.
She had created the impossible. To anyone’s knowledge, no one else had ever reproduced it.
Vaeril existed because of her blood, her body, and her rare compatibility with Awyan magic, a union no other Canariae had ever achieved.
If they knew that, if they truly understood what she represented, she would be far more than valuable.
She was dangerous.
Would she become their savior? The key to their survival, studied and used and bred until there was nothing left of her but data and bloodwork and children she'd never wanted?
Or would she become their enemy? The thing they feared most, the foreign corruption that diluted their precious lineage, the proof that their superiority was a lie?
And when they decided which she was because they would decide, the empire always did, would Malec be enough to protect her?
She looked at him now, really looked. At the silver fox emblem on his shoulder, careful way he held himself, controlled and contained. Then down at the hand resting gently against hers, asking permission even now.
He was powerful. She knew that. But power had limits and the empire had teeth.
The gates of Caelistra rose ahead, but long before they reached them, the carriage slowed to navigate the crush of bodies flooding the streets.
Awyans. Hundreds of them. They lined the cobblestones shoulder to shoulder, pressing against the barriers the city guard had hastily erected.
Some waved handkerchiefs embroidered with silver thread.
Others simply stared, eyes wide and hungry, tracking the Talandros crest on the carriage door like wolves watching prey.
"Blessed be the Canariae mother!" someone screamed from the crowd.
"She who births miracles!" another voice echoed, shrill and desperate.
"Let us see The Mother of Miracles and the Blessed Child!"
Melodie shifted on the seat, her hand tightening around the broken tracker in her lap. The voices outside weren't reverent. They were ravenous.
Malec's jaw locked as his eyes swept the crowd through the narrow window.
He saw it all. The wealthy matrons in their gilded silks, whispering behind jeweled fans.
The merchants calculating, already imagining what price her womb might fetch.
The minor nobles leaning forward with wet, eager expressions, as if proximity alone might grant them favor.
They wanted to borrow her. Rent her. Own her.
Over his dead body.
Across from them, Surin sat with his arms elegantly crossed, pale blue eyes tracking the same crowd Malec watched. His expression remained neutral, carved from stone, but a darker current moved beneath the surface. He let it sit before speaking, his voice low and measured.
"How do you intend to protect her from an entire kingdom?"
Malec didn't look away from the window. "The same way I always have. With my fists and my name."
Surin's gaze drifted to Melodie, who sat focused on the small device in her hands, oblivious to the weight of the conversation happening around her. Guilt washed through him, cold and unwelcome. If only things had stayed the way they were. If only she hadn't given birth to a miracle.
His daughter-in-law was now the center of controversy, as she had always been. And until her dying breath, she would remain so. That reality would never bring his son peace.
He watched Malec pull her close and bend to whisper words meant only for her. Surin knew that tone. His son’s reassurance always carried the shape of promises the world could never keep. Absolute safety was a fiction now, especially for her.
The carriage rolled to a halt at the palace gates. Beyond the iron bars, another crowd had gathered, faces pressed close, hands reaching through the gaps. The roar of voices swelled like a wave crashing against stone.
"Canariae mother!"
"Show us the child!"
"Bless us, holy one!"
Malec's eyes swept the scene with cold precision. Rows of imperial guards flanked the entrance, their formations perfect, their armor gleaming. But he knew better. They weren't here to protect Melodie. They weren't even here to protect him.
They were here to protect Surion. From him.
The scent of his cousin's fear hung in the air, thick and ever-present. But Malec also knew it was theater. Not a single soldier would dare lay hands on him or his. And even if they tried, he'd brought his own men. Hand-picked and loyal. Each one would die before letting harm touch what was his.
The carriage door opened. Malec stepped out first, his boots striking the white stone with deliberate weight.
The crowd fell silent for a heartbeat, then erupted again, louder than before.
He turned back toward the carriage, bent forward, and extended his hands.
Melodie squirmed as his fingers closed around her waist, irritation flaring across her face.
Being lifted like a child and treated like delicate cargo rubbed every nerve the wrong way.
But in the carriage, he'd been clear: Don't fight me in front of the court. It's imperative they see me as dominant, in control. You as mine. Even if it's not true. They'll measure any weakness in my hold on you and exploit it.
She'd agreed. This was a game. And if they wanted to win, they had to play it right.
Careful of her wrapped abdomen, he set her down on the stone and immediately straightened the cloak around her shoulders.
His fingers adjusted the fabric with precise, deliberate motions, ensuring the silver fox emblem stayed visible against the deep blue.
Marking her. Claiming her in a language the court would understand.
Then he guided her forward, his hand firm at the small of her back.
Behind them, Surin descended from the carriage, his movements slow and measured, pale eyes already cataloging every watching face.
At the top of the palace steps, Surion stood with his arms spread wide, advisors flanking him like decorative pillars.
Banners snapped in the wind above his head, gold thread catching the sun.
"My cousin! My uncle!" Surion's voice rang out, practiced and bright.
"Here to present the Canariae miracle. I have missed you, Allora. "
He moved down the steps toward her, arms outstretched for an embrace.
Melodie looked up at Malec, her eyes asking the question clearly: What do I do?
He gave a single, small nod.
She turned back to Surion and accepted the hug, her arms lifting without warmth, her body stiff. The embrace was mechanical, emotionless. But even as she went through the motions, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this solely to provoke Malec.
Don't embarrass Surion. Behave. Don't make a scene. The words cycled through her mind like a mantra.
Surion released her and turned to Surin, clasping his uncle's hand in the traditional Awyan familial gesture. Then he extended the same courtesy to Malec, who accepted with visible stiffness, his grip controlled but cold.
Melodie looked up at Malec, her voice cutting through the formality. "Malec, I need my bag."
She meant the one Kalemon had packed for her, the one with the broken human tech, the damaged tracker tucked carefully inside.
Malec glanced down at her, his expression softening for just a moment. "You will not carry anything. The servants will bring it to our room."
She nodded. Complied. She could feel Surion watching, gauging her every move.
The king's eyes narrowed slightly, taking note. "I see you've returned to your soulbound after all this time, Allora. The Awyans of Caelistra are eager to see you." He paused, his smile hardened. "What's this? No quip? No Canariae sarcasm? Have you been tamed after all this time?"
Malec's eyes went dangerous, pale tan irises flaring with heat barely restrained. He took Melodie's hand in his, grip firm and possessive, and turned his full attention to Surion.
"I have given her name back," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "She is no longer Allora. She is Meh... lohn... dee."
Melodie groaned audibly, and Malec looked down at her with the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. "Sorry, little dove. I will try harder."
She sighed, turning back to Surion. "You can just call me Allora."
Surion nodded, though his expression remained calculating.
Malec turned without another word, guiding Melodie toward the palace entrance. His hand never left hers, his stride purposeful and unyielding.