1. The Price of Her #2
What she did not want was his comfort. And so her answer was rejection to his touch and vengeance was the only thing she would give him now.
The ache settled deeper, spreading through him in a way that had nothing to do with guilt alone.
He missed the way her presence filled space without effort.
He longed for the familiar curve of her body against his, the way she fit as if inevitability had shaped her there long before he ever touched her.
The memory followed him into his muscles, into his blood, an insistent pull that left him restless against the sheets.
Gods, the need to be inside her clawed at him so fiercely it bordered on pain. Still, he would not go to her. Not yet.
She needed time to rage, to grieve, to strip herself raw of the life she believed he had stolen.
A week would be enough. Enough space to break apart and come back quieter, easier to hold.
She was Canariae. Fragile in the ways that mattered.
They burned hot, then faded. She would mourn what she had lost and accept what he remained willing to give.
His fingers flexed in the sheets again, this time softer.
The warmth of her breath, the curve of her smile, even the venom in her voice, he would take it all. He would bear the weight of her hatred if it meant keeping her near.
Malec closed his eyes as exhaustion pulled him under, thoughts dissolving into pure sensation.
Her warmth lingered in his mind, vivid and unshakable.
Time would soften her grief. What replaced it could be molded into affection, nurtured into attachment.
Love could grow from that soil, even if planted by his hand.
Canariae were creatures of brief seasons. They burned hot, mourned fiercely, and then moved forward because they had to. Their lives were too short to hold onto hatred forever. Memory softened with time; resentment faded under comfort. Forgiveness was not a virtue in them, only survival.
She would not cling to this forever.
She could not.
Morning light filtered through the narrow windows, thin and colorless against stone. The quiet felt fragile.
A knock at the door made Allora stiffen as she lay in the large canopy bed in one of the many palace guest quarters reserved for royalty.
Metal scraped inside the lock before it turned, voices murmuring beyond the archway in restrained argument.
When the hinges finally gave way, Surian stepped through with a long-suffering sigh, balancing a tray of pastries in one hand.
“They almost refused me entry,” she said, brushing past the guards without looking at them. “Apparently I qualify as a danger to royal property.”
She set the tray down with care and glanced back at Allora. There was no open pity in her expression, only its restrained cousin.
“He’s furious,” Surian added. “Since you ran, sleep has abandoned him. He drinks through the night and spends the rest of it calculating.”
Allora did not respond.
Surian moved to the chaise and folded herself onto it with quiet grace, studying Allora rather than pressing her. “I’m not here to report back to him,” she said. “And I won’t excuse what he’s done. I thought you might prefer someone who understands this place.”
Allora sat up in bed resting her back up against the overly fluffed pillows and gave Surian all her attention as Surian continued.
“Existing near him reshapes everything,” Surian said quietly. “You’re watched constantly without ever being named a prisoner. You’re present in every room, acknowledged, deferred to—and still invisible.”
It was clear that Surian was speaking of her experience more than Allora’s current situation and needed to vent. So Allora allowed Surian that much.
“You don’t trust me. That’s reasonable. Still, if you ever want someone who knows what confinement feels like, I’m close enough.”
A flicker of gold and blue caught their attention near the window.
A dragonfly had settled on the sill, its wings shimmering an unnatural iridescence that caught the pale light like frostfire.
Allora turned toward it slowly, drawn despite herself.
The creature hovered with an odd stillness, its presence deliberate, almost aware.
When she raised her hand, it darted into the room, traced a small circle in the air, and disappeared into shadow.
Surian watched the movement fade. “Strange little creature,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen one like that color.”
“I wasn’t certain where we stood,” she said carefully. “After the portal.”
Allora closed the distance without warning and wrapped her arms around Surian’s shoulders. The embrace came fierce and immediate, instinct overriding restraint. Surian stiffened in surprise before slowly returning it, her hands settling uncertainly at Allora’s back.
“Mel—” Surian stopped herself. “Allora.”
The sobs that followed were quieter than the night before, no longer explosive but unsteady and deep.
Exhaustion and fury had sunk into a heaviness that sat low in her chest. Allora's body trembled against her.
The guards at the door shifted and deliberately looked away.
When Allora finally shifted back, her face was damp and her breathing uneven.
She scrubbed at her cheeks with the sleeve of her gown, impatient with the evidence.
Surian’s attention sharpened. “I think he knows I helped you,” she said quietly. “He hasn’t confronted me, but I can feel it. The way he watches has changed.”
A measured pause.
“I may need to leave the Capitol. I don’t trust what that change means. I cannot dismiss the possibility that he might decide I am expendable.”
Allora’s eyes drifted, distant for a moment before focusing again. “He knows,” she said. “I didn’t tell him but he understood anyway. He mentioned betrayal from his family.”
“And he didn’t rage?” Surian asked.
“No.” Allora’s voice lowered. “He looked wounded, not mad. As if your help hurt him more than the escape itself.”
Surian absorbed that in intimate stillness.
"He won't harm you," Allora continued, though certainty did not sit comfortably in her tone. "Not over this. Right now everything revolves around keeping me here. If he touches you, I become unreachable in ways he cannot afford. He understands that."
Surian folded her arms loosely, weighing the claim. “And you trust that calculation?”
“As much as I trust anything about him,” Allora replied. “He has lost too much already. Losing you would cost him more than he’s willing to pay.” Her gaze intensified. “You don’t need to play kindness to avoid punishment. He’s too occupied trying to contain me to monitor your loyalties.”
A gentle hush stretched between them, heavy but not hostile.
Allora turned away first and moved back toward the window.
Her fingers wrapped around the cold iron bars as wind tugged at distant flags beyond the walls.
“He’s unraveling,” she said quietly. “He presents control, but it’s surface only.
Underneath, he’s barely holding himself in place.
” Her grip tightened against the iron. “If I push too far and he feels cornered, he won’t negotiate.
I won’t wake up in a room with tapestries and roses. ” Her voice thinned into bitterness.
“It will be a tower. Somewhere frozen. Alone. With a male who believes possession is protection.”
Surian swallowed, the movement subtle but visible. The image lingered between them, too vivid to dismiss.
“He’s walking a narrow edge,” she said at last. “He’s careful for now, more deliberate than usual. But make no mistake—Malec is still Malec. A killer and a genius strategist. If he believes someone could take you from him, he won’t hesitate to remove the threat.”
Allora gave a slow nod, her jaw tight, a dread coiled and unresolved at the base of her throat.
"I know," she said quietly. "That's why we can't afford missteps." Surian's expression shifted, the composure thinning into disquiet.
“People are whispering that he’s losing his mind,” she said. “They see the restlessness, the way he moves now, the way he speaks, and they call it madness.”
Allora lifted a brow. “They’re late to that conclusion.”
Surian didn’t return the humor. “He isn’t mad,” she replied evenly.
“Dangerous, yes. Possibly wired wrong in ways most people wouldn’t survive.
But never insane. He has always been controlled.
Cold when necessary. Precise down to his last breath.
” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the guards in the doorway before returning to Allora.
“This is the first time I’ve seen him care about someone else’s feelings. ”
Allora stilled.
“He’s spent his life keeping distance,” Surian continued.
“He didn’t play with the other children.
He didn’t cry when our father beat him. He never sought comfort.
Emotion slid off him as if it had nowhere to land.
” Her eyes held Allora’s steadily. “You are the first thing that has ever reached him.”
The weight of that settled heavily.
“Now he’s… unpredictable. He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling, doesn’t know how to process what he feels.
And I’m afraid,” Surian said softly, “that if he explodes—if all that chaos and love and desperation boils over—he won’t just break.
” She took a slow breath. “He’ll consume us all in the fire. ”
Allora turned toward the window, the warning pressing into her ribs. Her pulse thudded hard and uneven. If he burns, she thought, I’m the spark he’s trying to cage.