12. Chapter 12
Afew weeks in the Shadow King’s palace have taught me several important things.
First, I should never, ever trust the Shadow King.
Second, I know I'm only here because of what my specific magic can do.
I just don't know what he intends to do with it.
Why else would he have me breathing life into a dead garden, pushing my magic further every day?
I am not whatever story he has built around me in that cold, calculating mind of his.
But I can't ignore the truth. My magic stirred the first time I encountered him.
His garden answered when I touched it. And when Thorin looked at that tiny white flower, just for a moment, I saw something in his eyes that frightened me.
Hope.
I don't know what Thorin is planning, or why he has chosen me when others possess magic.
I only know that I refuse to become the answer he's searching for, so I need to find a way out of this palace.
Or I need to kill him. Neither option seems particularly easy, but becoming the Shadow King's weapon is not an option.
That leaves only one problem. I have absolutely no idea how to escape Andell, so my best chance is probably Onyx.
I saw the way he watched Thorin the other day, his jaw set so tightly I thought his teeth might crack.
Whatever loyalty he has to the king, he clearly doesn't approve of every decision Thorin makes.
Maybe, if I can convince him I'm not the enemy, he'll tell me something useful.
Because another week of having my magic pushed further and further until I'm too exhausted to think—
I glance down at my hands.
I need a plan. Or I have to kill him.
* * *
Growing up in Elvora, I heard countless stories about the Shadow King's capital. Most of them involved suffering, darkness, and people living in fear beneath the rule of a cursed tyrant.
Instead, every time I look out this window, I find families walking through the streets, or shopkeepers opening their stores. I find children racing through alleys while exhausted parents attempt to keep up with them.
Nothing about Andell resembles the nightmare I was taught to expect and the contradiction has become deeply inconvenient.
But I do know that Thorin—he is pure evil.
What he did to Briar the other day? That was terrifying.
Thorin says I don’t know the entire truth, and that may be true but one thing I know to be true—he is not a good man.
A knock sounds against the door, disrupting my thoughts. I don't even bother turning around at this point.
“If that's breakfast, tell them I'm accepting donations. And I’d like a hot cup of tea, please!”
The door opens and a familiar voice answers. One that I actually don’t mind hearing.
“You might be disappointed, then.”
I smile as I turn to see Onyx striding in the room carrying a tray of meats, cheese and breakfast pastries.
“You brought me goodies! I knew you had a soft spot for me.”
A laugh escapes him. “Don't let anyone hear you say that. They'll think I show favoritism.”
“I was under the impression you already did.” I smile, walking over to him and grabbing a particularly delicious looking pastry on the tray.
He sets the tray on the table beside the window before making himself comfortable on the settee.
“I wanted to check on you,” he says, handing me a cup of tea. “And I thought you might appreciate a walk around the palace today.”
My face lights up because yes, I desperately need to do something other than drain my magic every single day. “I absolutely would! Wait—no lessons from Thorin today?”
“Not today, little terror.”
I sigh in relief. “Well, that’s great news. My body almost can’t handle it anymore. King Thorin isn’t giving me enough time to replenish myself before he puts me to the test again.”
Onyx hums his agreement, lifting his eyes to me. “Are you alright, Lyra? I know life has never been that kind to you. How are you doing here?”
I look at Onyx—really look at him, and my eyes immediately begin to fill with tears.
“I don’t know—don’t look at me like that!” I say, noticing a look of pity cross his face. I hate when people pity me. I don’t want pity. I want to be free.
“Don’t pity me, Onyx. It’s not doing me any favors. Elvora wasn’t kind to me but I have someone back there. A mother figure. She probably thinks I’m dead. I use my magic for good—to heal those who are sick, or on Ryza’s doorstep.” I cross myself with his sign as I say it.
“This just feels…I don’t know what it feels like. No, I do know. It feels like I’m being used, and I don’t understand why. Is the king planning to kill me? There is magic surrounding Andell and other people I’m sure he could use. Why keep me hostage here? I don’t understand it.”
“The king is not a man who is easily understood.” Onyx says, looking at me sympathetically. I hate that look, and I miss our banter.
“Would you tell me the truth if I asked you what he wants with me?”
Onyx thinks for a moment, and purses his lips. “He is my king, Lyra.”
“And you are my friend.” I say, reaching across the table to place a hand on his arm.
“You’ve been the only person actually protecting me this entire time. I’m having a hard time, and I’m used to hard times but you make it better, Onyx.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and I can’t stop the tears that run down my cheeks.
Onyx gets up abruptly and kneels in front of me, placing my hands in his palms.
“Listen, you little terror. Don’t let the palace break your spirit. You have so much fight in you, and we need more sparks of whatever the hell it is you bring here.”
I lift my head, really looking into his eyes. All I see is the man in Lycar—the pain in my ass, sarcastic, protective giant. He has always protected me.
We stay like that for a minute, staring at each other. I don’t know what it is, but something makes me reach for his face. His expression turns serious, his eyes softening as he leans into my hands.
“Onyx…” I moan his name softly, running my fingers through his long hair. Gods, he is exceptionally handsome. Unfortunately, so is Thorin. But Onyx has always been gentle with me, and I know he’ll protect me without question, not play games with me or use me for his own personal gain.
My body moves before my mind can register what I’m doing. I kiss him, softly at first, exploring. Onyx grabs my hair in a ponytail-like grip, gentle enough to bring my face closer to his and he caresses my cheek with his other hand.
I feel everything all at once. Protected, safe, and wanted. Something I have never felt in my life. Our kiss deepens and I lean back, laughing as I wipe the tears from my face.
“Sorry about the tears,” I laugh, but he only looks at me as if he is seeing me for the first time.
“Fuck.” He lets out a low growl that goes straight to my core. “No, no tears, Lyra. Come here.”
He brings my face closer to his, sealing his lips over mine as he consumes me in a kiss that goes directly to my heart.
We're a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses as his tongue explores my mouth.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that steals what's left of my breath.
“You are so godsdamned beautiful, Lyra. Inside and out. Sassy as hell, but goddess divine…” His words trail off as he stands and lifts me, turning to sit on the settee, settling me onto his lap.
His mouth finds mine again, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it.
I let myself sink into it, into him, because for once I'm not thinking about magic, a garden or a king who watches me like I'm a puzzle he hasn't solved yet.
I'm just here, in this moment. Wanted, not needed.
There's a difference. And, gods, it's exactly what I need.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, and I feel the calluses there, proof of a life spent with a sword and hard work.
At his touch, something in my chest loosens that has been tight since the day I woke up in this palace.
I let my fingers trail down to his jaw, feeling him smile against my mouth, and for one uninterrupted minute, I forget that I am anyone's pawn at all.
Then the room goes cold.
Not the kind of cold that slips through cracked windows—this is a living cold.
It crashes into the room so suddenly my breath catches.
Shadows pour beneath the door in writhing ribbons of black, racing across the floor like spilled ink.
They climb the walls, swallow the corners, and race over the ceiling until every inch of the room seems to pulse with darkness. A shiver races the length of my spine.
I know this feeling. I've felt some version of it every day in the gardens whenever he is near. Only… never like this.
The shadows lash against the wall as if searching—then they find us.
They surge toward the settee, spilling between Onyx and me before coiling around my ankles.
They climb my legs and sweep sharply across my arms and shoulders, no longer curious or feather-light.
They’re possessive and agitated. One shadow lashes across Onyx's back with enough force to make the fabric of his tunic snap against his skin before recoiling as though it regrets touching him.
Onyx goes completely still beneath me, every muscle in his body locking. I watch the color drain from his face half a heartbeat before the shadows withdraw toward the doorway.
And then he steps through.
No knock. No warning. Just Thorin, filling the doorway, radiating anger. His shadows continue to churn around him like a living storm, spilling from his feet and rolling across the floor in restless waves. The temperature plummets another degree as his gaze lands on us.
For the first time since I was brought to Andell, I understand why an entire continent fears him.