10. Obedience as Strategy #7
Malec studied Kirelle with those sand colored eyes, reading the intent beneath her honey.
He did not like being maneuvered, but her words struck at the one nerve he could not ignore: appearances.
His reputation. If he kept Allora leashed at his side, they would whisper of his cruelty.
If he allowed her to step forward, even briefly, they would see control masked as freedom.
And though he cared little for what others thought of him, he wanted at least to attempt to have Allora’s future in social events be at least pleasant, he wanted her to have friends and go to gatherings. So he decided to relent.
The muscles in his forearm flexed once more around Allora's waist. A storm gathered behind his calm as he worked through the calculation. Then, slowly, he inclined his head. "If I stand at the door, and if she returns the instant I call for her—then yes. She may join you."
Kirelle's smile widened, victory wrapped in grace. She turned to Allora, voice bright and cheerful so all could hear. "Well then, little Canariae, come with me. Let us see if we cannot make this party worth your while."
Malec's grip loosened just enough for Allora to step away, though his hand lingered at her hip until the very last second. I am watching you. Allora straightened, plastering on her sweetest smile. Inside, though, she was electric with triumph. One step closer.
Kirelle's gaze slid across the lawn toward her father.
He gave a curt nod, the kind of small acknowledgment that spoke volumes.
He had taught her to be cunning, to wield her beauty and her wits as weapons, to navigate politics with surgical precision.
Now she was doing just that—removing the Canariae from Malec's orbit.
A distraction, nothing more, but a vital one.
Pride flickered across his cruel hazel eyes as he watched her maneuver.
Still, beneath it all, he swore to himself: one way or another, the Talandros line would be secured.
His attention shifted further across the lawn toward his son working a different angle. One way or another.
Kirelle lifted the large white feather she carried, pressing it lightly over her lips as she leaned toward Allora, shielding their quiet words from prying eyes. She guided her toward the parlor with perfect grace, her smile as polished as the tiles beneath their feet.
Malec had not moved after releasing Allora, but his position was no accident.
He had angled himself so that his line of sight remained unbroken, tracking her even as he fielded questions from the nobles.
He made it look effortless, but Kirelle could feel it, his possessiveness was impossible, unbearable.
What sort of life was that, tethered to a male who never let you breathe?
She glanced down at Allora, who walked beside her with her shoulders set but eyes shadowed, energy already drained by the weight of Awyan politics. "So," Kirelle asked softly, almost to herself, "that is what it's like. To be bound to the Commander."
Allora looked up at her, dark eyes tired but shifting into a resemblance of relief. "Yup. Not a fate any female should have to experience—Awyan or Canariae."
Kirelle's lips pressed into a thin smile. "I can see why you're so adamant about your choice."
For a moment, she wanted to linger in that space, to talk with Allora as though they were friends instead of rivals, two women trapped in cages built by the men around them.
But it wasn't to be. Allora was already planning her escape, and Kirelle was bound to remain.
Still, it was strangely comforting, for once, to have someone who understood.
"You know, Allora," she murmured, "I might miss you when you go. We could have been a great team."
Allora smiled faintly. "This is what happens when you let men rule everything. No diverse voices in power, no balance. It happened in my society too, but women fought hard and long. And when it happened, it was worth it."
Kirelle's throat tightened. She wished she knew what that felt like.
By the time they reached the parlor, Kirelle knew she had only moments before it filled. She turned quickly, her hand finding Allora's wrist as though steadying her. In one fluid motion, she pressed something small and flat into Allora's palm—a black envelope, sleek and barely larger than her hand.
Kirelle's voice dropped to a whisper. "Instructions are inside. Where I left the bag, how to use the powder. Maps, money, clothes…everything you need to slip away."
Allora's fingers closed around the envelope, tucking it swiftly into the folds of her dress.
Kirelle leaned closer, her copper hair falling forward to shield them. "The powder goes in everyone's drink. Servants, guards, everyone. You take it too, but it won't hold you long, just a few hours. For Awyans, it will fell them for two days, maybe three. That difference is your window."
Allora nodded, her pulse quickening. "Understood."
"Good luck," Kirelle said firmly, stepping back just as the tide of women swept into the parlor, their chatter rising. Surian was among them, her arm hooked neatly through Dariose's as he escorted her in. Allora slipped back to her side with perfect timing.
And there, at the doorway, Malec had planted himself, his entourage of admirers clustered around him. His gaze cut across the room, fastening instantly on Allora. Watching. Waiting.
Allora let out a slow sigh. Let the games begin.