Chapter 6
THE BINDING
Seraphina
The handmaidens' hands feel like insects crawling across my skin.
They wash, perfume, and prepare me with mechanical detachment, their faces carefully blank.
I can smell their anxiety—the sharp, bitter scent of betas afraid of crossing an alpha.
I stare at the ceiling, my body present but my mind elsewhere—replaying the moment Malakai's shadows enveloped Asher, the terrible sound that tore from his throat, the way his body contorted as the darkness tore him apart.
The silence in the chamber is oppressive. None of the handmaidens speak, though they exchange meaningful glances when they think I'm not looking. They know their place too well to risk commenting on their lord's future omega.
A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up my throat. If only they knew. This isn't the blank shock of a nervous omega bride. This is the hollow emptiness that comes after watching the man you love die in front of you, his blood spattering your face, your screams doing nothing to stop it.
I still feel the phantom sensation of Malakai's tongue against my cheek as he licked away Asher's blood, his eyes never leaving mine. "Now you're truly mine," he had said. "No more distractions."
"Stand," one of the handmaidens commands, pulling me from the memory.
I rise mechanically, catching sight of myself in the tall mirror across the room. I look for some visible mark of what happened, some evidence of the trauma etched into my features. But there's nothing. Just a young omega with golden eyes that seem too large for her face, her skin unnaturally pale.
I had expected to see the maid my father had promised would come in the morning to offer tea—a way for me to get a message to him. I wanted to inform him of Asher's death. But this morning, no maid had offered me tea.
My focus returns to the mirror. The reflection is a lie. It doesn't show the rage burning inside me, the grief that threatens to swallow me whole, the hatred that now has a single, razor-sharp focus: Malakai.
"It's time for the ceremonial gown," announces Mistress Kate, gesturing toward the black wedding dress hanging in the corner of the room—the same one I had tried on yesterday. Was it only yesterday? It feels like a lifetime ago.
They move to dress me, but something in me snaps. I step back, arms crossed over my chest.
"No."
Mistress Kate's eyebrows rise. "This is not optional, Lady Seraphina."
"I will not wear it." My voice sounds strange even to my own ears—flat, dead. "That is a funeral shroud, not a wedding gown."
I lunge for her, faster than anyone expects. My fingers close around her throat before she can react.
"Guards!" Mistress Kate chokes out.
The chamber doors burst open. Two guards rush in, pulling me off her, their grips bruising. Mistress Kate straightens her collar, her composure barely ruffled.
"Grief makes even omegas dangerous," she observes to the guards, dismissing my speed as emotional reaction rather than trained reflex. They accept this explanation, as I knew they would.
"You will wear the dress," Mistress Kate says, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Willingly or not."
I want to fight them. Every muscle in my body tenses with the desire to strike, to use the skills I've spent years perfecting. But I can't reveal that training—not yet. Not when my only advantage lies in being underestimated as a "docile" omega.
So I stand rigid as they dress me, every touch an insult, every adjustment a violation. My face remains impassive, but my eyes burn with such intensity that one young handmaiden flinches when she meets my gaze.
"I will kill him," I say softly as they lace the gown at my back, my voice carrying in the silent chamber. Not a tantrum, not a threat—a promise, spoken with the same certainty as one might comment on the weather.
"There," Mistress Kate says with grim satisfaction, ignoring my words. "A perfect Shadow Court bride."
She studies me for a moment. "Many have tried. All have failed—though some lasted longer than others before they broke." Her gaze holds something almost like pity. "The living must survive, Lady Seraphina . Remember that when you're tempted to become a martyr."
Mistress Kate glances at the guards. "Restrain her," she orders calmly. "Lord Malakai anticipated this might be difficult."
One guard grabs each of my arms. Mistress Kate turns away and from a box I hadn't noticed, she removes what appear to be delicate silver chains. They shimmer in the dim light, strange shadows playing across their surface.
"A gift from your bridegroom," she explains.
"Shadow-infused silver. It will prevent any.
.. unfortunate displays of magic during the ceremony.
" She pauses. "Shadow and light magic are opposites—shadow consumes light, light disperses shadow.
These chains carry just enough shadow essence to smother your light completely. "
I struggle as they fit the chains around my wrists, connecting them to a collar that encircles my neck and another chain around my waist. They look like jewelry—elaborate and beautiful—but the moment they touch my skin, I feel the suppressive magic take effect.
The small reservoir of light I normally feel within me dims, becoming inaccessible.
Before I can respond, the chamber doors swing open. Guards enter, forming a corridor with their bodies.
"It is time," announces a court official, his voice formal. "The Shadow Lord awaits his omega."
The walk to the ceremonial grounds feels endless. I'm marched forward like a prisoner, which is exactly what I am. The chains clink softly with each step, a constant reminder of my captivity. Servants and courtiers line the halls, watching with poorly disguised curiosity and whispers.
"...too bright for our court, that one..."
"...they say she has powerful magic, though not today with those chains..."
"...doesn't belong here, these Light Court alliances never last..."
"...an omega challenging an alpha like Lord Malakai, she'll be broken within a week..."
I keep my gaze straight ahead, but inwardly snort at the last comment. They're right about one thing—I don't belong here. Not as a bride, but I do belong as the blade that will end their lord's life.
The grand courtyard has been transformed for the ceremony.
Black marble platforms, crystal orbs containing writhing shadows, dark flowers whose scent is heavy and cloying.
At the far end stands the most disturbing wedding arch I've ever seen—twisted black metal with shadows forming grotesque images.
And beneath it waits Malakai.
Even from this distance, his scent reaches me—dark cedar and winter smoke mixed with something ancient and dangerous. My omega instincts recognize him. Mate, they whisper traitorously. Alpha. Mine.
He's resplendent in ceremonial armor of black and midnight blue, shadows swirling around him like eager pets. His alpha presence fills the space, commanding and oppressive. When he sees me, his lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"My bride arrives," he announces, his voice carrying across the assembled crowd. "Slightly delayed, but here we are, at last."
As I'm led to stand before Malakai, I scan the crowd, cataloging faces and positions. Exits, guards, potential weapons. Survival habits ingrained through years of assassin training at the Light Court—skills I've kept hidden even from those closest to me.
When my eyes find the Light Court delegation, I spot my father, his expression carefully neutral—the perfect diplomat even as his daughter is chained and forced to marry a monster.
I want to scream at him, to demand how he can stand there so calmly.
But I know the answer: because to him, I'm not his daughter at this moment.
I'm a weapon he's deploying. —clinical assessment, nothing more.
Beside him sits Lord Temir, my father's advisor, his face a mask of misery.
The ceremony begins, a twisted blend of Light and Shadow Court traditions—shadow-wreathed flowers mixed with light-blessed candles that flicker but never fully die, representing the eternal opposition of our courts.
The priest speaks in the old tongue, words that predate the division between Light and Shadow.
I speak when prompted, my voice mechanical, my mind drowning in waves of grief and horror.
The memory of Asher's final moments plays on endless repeat behind my eyes.
His smile that morning, the warmth of his arms around me, the sound of his laughter—all of it gone forever, replaced by the terrible image of his body being torn apart by shadows.
I barely register the words being spoken, the rituals being performed. At this moment, I am not an assassin or a diplomat—I am simply an omega shattered by loss, forced to stand beside the alpha monster who destroyed everything I loved.
"And now," intones the Shadow Court priest, "the blood binding."
A silver chalice and ceremonial knife are presented. Malakai takes the knife first, cutting his palm with practiced ease, allowing several drops of blood to fall into the chalice. When he offers me the knife, our eyes meet.
Time slows as I take the blade, feeling its weight in my hand.
The first real weapon I've held since Asher's death.
I catalog the details automatically—blade length, edge sharpness, grip texture.
Even now, my assassin mind records every potential weapon.
The ceremonial knife would pierce between ribs easily, would slide through the gap in his ceremonial armor at the throat. Two seconds. That's all it would take.
I could plunge it into Malakai's heart right now. I might even succeed before his shadows or guards could stop me. But then what? I'd be executed immediately, and my chance for true vengeance would be lost.