9. Her Terms #4
The servants gasped. Some looked away in scandal, others unable to help but stare. A guard dropped his spear with a startled clatter.
And Malec—Malec was stunned into stillness, his mind taking too long to register what had just happened.
Then his fury broke. "ALLORA!" His voice thundered down the corridor, raw with possessive rage.
Not just because she was being defiant, but because they were seeing her.
All of them. Her body, her skin, every curve and line that belonged to him and him alone.
No one else should ever see her like this. No one.
His hands wrapped the towel around her with almost violent efficiency, yanking her against his chest as he shielded her from view. "Your body is mine," he hissed against her ear, voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Mine! No one else gets to see it, ever!"
She only laughed harder, and he realized with a sinking, furious clarity that she had done this on purpose. This was her punishment for him hovering and controlling her and for just being in her space.
Malec's chest heaved, his eyes wild. He kept forgetting what any sane Awyan would have learned by now and never let go of.
This was not just a wild Canariae. This was Allora.
The stables smelled of hay and leather, the earthy musk of horses clinging to the beams. King Surion leaned lazily against the doorway, his silk sleeves grazing the weathered wood, a smirk playing over his lips.
Inside, Kael of the Western Kingdom stood beside his mare, tightening the saddle straps with a measured hand.
The chestnut flicked her ears, her coat gleaming like molten bronze in the shafts of morning light.
Her white-tipped muzzle and socks shone clean against the darker sheen of her body.
Kael had raised her himself, trained her from foal to war mount. She was, to him, perfection.
Surion tilted his head, eyes glinting. "You still saddle your own horse?" His voice dripped with incredulity.
Kael ignored him, running a brush along the mare's flank, fingers steady and sure.
Surion sighed theatrically, tossing his head back, exposing the severe line of his throat as though he were on stage.
"Are you still sore about the desert trade route?
" Silence stretched between them. "That prize route you've been begging me for since we were boys?
The one that would make your kingdom the wealthiest in the west?
" He laughed, sharp and grating. "Or perhaps you're upset I sold your precious Canariae.
Though I suspect you're more upset that you overpaid for her. "
Kael's head lifted, his electric blue eyes flashing, and for a heartbeat Surion felt that look like a blade pressed to his skin. A warning.
Sometimes Kael hated him, truly hated him. They had been boys together once, companions in idle hunts and lessons, but kingship had stripped away the charming veneer Surion once wore. Beneath was greed, selfishness, a hunger that had always been there, festering, waiting for power to feed on.
"Surion... you nevair know when to stop push-ing, do you?"
The smirk on Surion's face faltered, his bravado slipping. He raised a placating hand. "I jest, my friend. I did not mean to anger you."
Kael stepped forward, the ground vibrating faintly beneath his heavy stride. He stopped so close that Surion had to crane his neck upward. Kael dwarfed him, shadow swallowing silk.
His voice dropped, low and dangerous, each word weighted with his Zaharein lilt. "You treat-ed 'er like cattle, Surion. She does not even know what iz 'appening. And tell me, 'ow in ze 'ell do you plan to take 'er from Malec?"
Surion blinked, his smirk curling back with false ease. "Why so cross? You get what you wanted. She goes home with you. You finally have the little Canariae you've been pining for. A win for you, a win for me. You should be thanking me for arranging such a profitable exchange."
Kael's hand shot forward, seizing Surion by the collar.
He yanked him so close that Surion could feel the heat of his breath.
"'Earts are not games, Surion. Zey are to be respeck-ted.
She iz not... livestock to be sold to ze 'ighest bidder.
She iz a living being, a warrior and deserves better zan zis. "
He shoved him back, silk crumpling as Surion stumbled against the stall.
Kael's voice turned colder, harder. "You play wiz lives like zey are chess pieces.
You scheme and manipulate, and you sink zat because you are king, zere will be no...
no consequences." He stepped closer again, towering over him.
"But one day, Surion, your fickle be'avior will come back and bite you.
And when it does, you will 'ave no one to blame but yourself. "
Without another word, Kael swung into the saddle, the mare stamping once before settling beneath him.
Surion smoothed his shirt down, lips twisting. "What, you do not trust me?"
Kael looked down at him, his expression carved in stone. "You will 'ave ze deed to ze trade route only once she iz in my posseshun. Not a moment before."
Surion's eyes narrowed, but Kael no longer cared to see it. He dug his heels in, the mare surging forward through the gate. Behind him, a small host of Zaharein soldiers followed, the thunder of hooves shaking the stableyard.
As the wind rushed past, Kael's chest tightened. He told himself he was returning home, that this was duty, not desire. But still, he looked for her—in the streets, in the market, in any passing crowd. Just to see her face again to catch her smile one more time before everything changed.
After Malec had wrangled her naked body back to her bed chambers, furious that she had shown her form to half the staff and other males no less, he had carried her wrapped in a towel and literally thrown her onto the bed.
She had laughed the entire time, wiggling around like a child as he tried to dress her.
He'd attempted to stay patient, but she could see his nerve fraying with every squirm and giggle.
In the end, he'd made sure she wore at least five layers of clothing before dragging her down to the small dining parlor to eat.
Allora had kept a huge smile on her face the whole time, reveling in the fact that she'd gotten under his skin. Victory was hers.
Now, sitting at the table, Allora couldn't quite place the scent in the tea Surian had brewed for her.
It was light, sweet, with a trace of citrus clinging to the steam.
Honey, too. She could taste it in the faint glaze along her tongue.
She yawned, propping her head on one elbow as she slumped forward over her plate.
For once, her stomach had obeyed her. She'd actually eaten.
Two eggs. A torn hunk of bread. Dried meats and fruit.
And the peaches, at least that's what she called them.
Their skins were soft and golden like the peaches from home, but when she bit into them, the flesh inside bled a deep purple-red, rich and sweet, like drinking sunlight turned to wine.
They were her favorite. Malec had them brought from the southern provinces, where the fruit grew all year.
Here, they were rare, seasonal treasures.
But she barely tasted any of it. Her gaze drifted out the window at the gray sky.
Winter was creeping closer. The clouds were thick, the light muted, and the chill that hung in the air carried with it a heaviness she couldn't shake.
Behind her, Malec, Luko, and Surian spoke in low tones.
Politics, strategy, family squabbles. Did it even matter?
Not like she ever had a say in anything.
Malec's arm rested along the back of her chair, his fingers absently rolling strands of her hair between them, needing the contact like a tether to his own sanity.
He had nearly lost it this morning when he'd seen her collapse, his panic flashing raw across his face before he gathered it back into steel.
Even now, he couldn't stop touching her, as though her presence alone was the only thing keeping his heart from breaking its cage.
THWACK.
Her head smacked the table, the sound loud in her own ears. She jerked upright, dazed. Malec was already there, his large hands clamping her shoulders. He did not ask her what was wrong. And that struck her. Malec always asked. Always demanded. But not this time.
The room swam. She felt submerged, her ears filled with water. Surian and Luko's voices rose, but the words blurred into static. Malec, where was he? Her vision struggled to focus until she realized he was there, lifting her into his arms. Weightless. She was weightless.
Am I flying?
Her head lolled against his chest. She tried to ask him what he was doing, why he was carrying her upstairs, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came. No strength in her tongue, no movement in her limbs. Only her eyes fluttered, lashes heavy, struggling to stay open.
Panic surged. She tried to fight, to scream, but her body would not respond. Only her mind reeled, screaming inside her skull. The voices around her grew more muffled, stretched thin, as though the air itself was pulling them away from her.
Drugged.
Her thoughts snapped clear for one searing instant. They drugged me.
And then her body convulsed. Tremors ripped through her limbs as Malec lowered her onto the bed. Heat flooded her veins, searing, a wild current as though lightning itself had rooted inside her. She thrashed without meaning to, her own body betraying her, every nerve alive with fire.
Malec's voice tore through the chaos, loud, panicked. Luko's boots scraped the floor, Surian's voice cut piercing over them both. "Do it now!"