23. The Day the Fox Forgot, the Dove Was Stolen #3
Two armored guards followed him inside, boots striking the floor in relentless rhythm that split the silence.
Light from the high windows caught on the thick waves of his golden hair, spilling in gleaming curls to his shoulders.
His blue eyes swept the chamber with cutting disdain before landing on the bed.
Near the hearth, Surin raised his head, his face carved from fatigue and patience. "Was that truly necessary?" He nodded at the guards with a weary flick of his hand. "He is unconscious. He cannot leap up and attack you."
Surion scoffed, sweeping his hair back with a careless hand.
"Forgive me if I'm not eager to test that theory.
We are speaking of Malec. The cousin who threw me into a fountain at my coming-of-age, the cousin who beat me bloody in every sparring match.
" He smirked at the guards. "Trust me, two isn't enough. "
Surin exhaled, slow and unimpressed. "Every blow you received, you earned."
His eyes drifted to the fresh scratches marking Surion's cheek, the angry red welts Surin assumed Melodie had left when she'd clawed at him before she was handed off like a bought piece of property.
"You keep accumulating them as though they are badges of honor instead of the marks of disgrace from your horrid actions. "
The pretense drained from Surion's smile, leaving it hollow of warmth.
"Yes, and every scar he gave me is why I'm still alive.
" He stepped forward until he stood at the edge of the bed.
"Besides, Kael is furious with me at the moment.
I'd rather avoid adding my dear cousin to the list of people who want me dead. "
Surion added dismissively, waving a hand as though brushing away an insect.
"Kael will calm, he always does. Give it a week, maybe two, and he’ll remember exactly why he needs me.” His tone carried the easy confidence of someone who had never truly faced consequences. "He'll blow off steam and forget about it. He always forgets."
Surin said nothing. He had learned long ago that Surion's capacity for self-delusion was boundless.
The fool treated Kael like a resource to be drained rather than the childhood friend who had stood by his side through wars and border conflicts.
When Surion had learned of Melodie's ability to bear Awyan hybrids, his first instinct had been to renegotiate the terms of the exchange, demanding more coin and trade concessions, squeezing his oldest ally for every advantage he could wring from desperation.
Surin had been forced to intervene before Kael walked away from the deal entirely.
This was how kingdoms fell, not in a single moment of defeat but through greed disguised as strategy and arrogance mistaken for strength.
Surion would make enemies that no clever maneuvering could appease, and when that reckoning finally arrived, the cost would reach far beyond his crown. It would cost the entire country.
Surion stepped forward until he stood at the edge of the bed, leaning over the sleeping figure with undisguised scrutiny. His eyes traced the transformation with clinical interest.
Platinum hair, once perfectly groomed and manicured, had been shorn to shoulder length.
Glamour still hummed across the sleeping Awyan, softening angular features, dulling the regal defiance that had once marked him as Talandros.
Only the closed lids guarded what still remained, those pale tan eyes that Surin had refused to alter.
"This is Malec?" Surion sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "You've scrubbed him clean."
"No one will recognize him," Surin replied flatly. "Not even her."
Surion's lips curled as if savoring the word. "Her. The Canariae." He took a long breath, slow and taunting, then grinned. "Does she know? That the brute who tried to imprison her is now nothing more than an empty vessel with a new leash?"
“She will never know,” Surin said, his voice steady and without hesitation. “The spell is sealed, his face has been altered, and the memories are buried.”
"And his name?"
Surin's jaw pulled taut. The word tasted like poison on his tongue. "Elion."
Surion's eyes lit up with cruel delight. He chuckled, rolling the word over his tongue like bitter wine. "Elion. Savage. Short and feral. Just like him." He leaned over the bed, golden hair spilling forward as his gaze raked the softened face of his cousin. "A beast deserves a beast's name."
Surin remained quiet. There was nothing to argue.
Surion's tone softened into a silken cruelty. "Do you know how many nights I dreamt of this?" he murmured. "Of seeing him finally under control. Leashed like the animal he is."
On the bed, Malec—Elion—was unrecognizable. Pale hair blunted, jaw softened, markings stripped away until all that was left was the barest echo of who he had been. The heir, the terror. The Talandros son.
Reduced to nothing.
"I suppose the resemblance is close enough to vanish," Surion murmured.
Surin adjusted the vial of tincture at his side, his voice low. "As long as he never comes near her, the spell will hold."
Surion didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the sleeping figure, his expression carefully neutral.
Too neutral.
Surin's eyes narrowed. "What have you done?"
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"Surion." The name came out barbed, edged with warning. "What in the seven hells are you up to?"
A beat passed. Surion exhaled, his lips curving into a smile devoid of warmth. “I may have already enrolled him in the Western Guild Hall of the Red Serpent.”
The words hung in the air like poison.
Surin went very still. Then fury ignited, hot and immediate. He surged forward, closing the distance between them in two strides, his voice a hissed whisper so as not to wake the sleeping Awyan. "You did WHAT?"
"You heard me."
"The Silver Serpent operates out of Kavira!" Surin's hands trembled with the effort to keep from throttling his nephew. "You're placing him in the same city as her? As Kael? Are you out of your gods-damned mind?"
Surion's smile widened, unbothered by the rage radiating from his uncle. "I'm perfectly sane."
"Then explain yourself. Now."
“Losing his memory is not enough.” Surion’s voice sank lower, casual cruelty threaded through every word.
“He should suffer for the rest of his life. I want him to feel her presence without understanding why, catch glimpses of her in crowded streets, hear her laughter drifting through festival squares. Let his chest tighten whenever she passes, his skin burn with a longing he cannot name. And through all of it, he will remain powerless to change a single thing.”
Surin stared at him, disbelief and horror warring across his face. "This is madness."
“This is justice.” Surion’s eyes glittered with ancient bitterness, a grievance carried for decades.
“Malec tortured me since childhood. Or have you forgotten simply because I am not him? I was helpless against him my entire life, and he made sure I never forgot it.” His voice hardened into steel.
“Now he will feel the same helpless ache, the same powerlessness to stop it.”
Surin just stared at his nephew, the weight of the moment crashing over him like a tidal wave. He had always known Surion was capable of cruelty, of scheming, of self-serving manipulation. But this? Turning on his own blood with such calculated viciousness over a childhood grudge?
He had known Surion was a monster.
He had never known how far that monstrosity reached.
“You would risk everything,” Surin said quietly, disbelief hollowing his voice. “Her safety, his sanity, Kael’s wrath, even the fragile stability of two kingdoms, all of it gambled away for the sake of revenge over some childish cruelty?”
Surion's smile never wavered. "Absolutely. And trust me it will be good for him."
He turned toward the door, his robes sweeping behind him with theatrical flourish. The two guards flanking him fell into step, their boots striking the floor in measured rhythm. The door opened, then closed with a soft click, sealing Surion's cruelty outside the chamber.
The moment thickened with strain.
On the bed, Malec stirred again, a faint twitch, his brow creasing as his lashes fluttered against his cheek. His chest rose with a restless breath. A lost memory hovered at his lips, unsaid yet aching.
Surin remained by the bedside, jaw locked, heart sinking like stone. He had seen this magic fail before. Gods help them all, he feared he was watching it fail again.
And if it failed, it wouldn't be Malec who paid the highest price.
It would be her.
Perched on the high stone sill of the chamber window, a golden dragonfly rested in stillness, its delicate wings catching the dim light like molten glass.
Its many-faceted eyes scanned the chamber below where two Awyan lords had plotted over the body stretched motionless on the bed.
Malec, now branded Elion. The spell had stolen his face.
The new name had stolen his future. But the echo beneath his skin remained, and the thread of memory braided into his bones could never be fully erased.
The dragonfly saw it. And someone else saw through him.
A presence, young in body but ancient in soul, moved with the creature. Watching. The bond between them was unbreakable, untouched by even the strongest Awyan magic. Though no one in the room knew, the shimmering familiar was not idle. It carried a mission. A vow.
To guard the father who no longer remembered and defend the mother who fought for what was taken.
And though none could see it yet, the soul guiding the dragonfly was no stranger.
Vaeril waited.
Small and hidden though he was, he was fighting with everything he had to bring them back together.