Chapter 10
THE BOND
SERAPHINA
I wake to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows. For one disoriented moment, I forget where I am. Then the weight of a foreign arm across my waist jolts me back to reality.
Malakai. My husband. My mate. My enemy.
His breathing is deep and even, his face peaceful in sleep.
I ease away from his touch, careful not to wake him.
My body protests with every movement, muscles aching in places I didn't know could ache.
Between my thighs, I'm sore in a way that reminds me exactly what happened—the claiming, the knotting, the way my body betrayed me over and over.
I slide from the massive bed, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floor.
The bathroom chamber is lavishly decadent, all black marble and silver accents, shadows dancing in corners even the morning light can't reach.
I find my reflection in a polished mirror and barely recognize myself.
My neck is mottled with bruises, evidence of his possession.
My scent gland throbs with phantom pain where his fangs hovered but never pierced. My eyes look haunted, older somehow.
What disturbs me most is the lingering echo of something I refuse to name—a twisted, traitorous part of me that wasn't entirely repulsed by what happened. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
The soft clearing of a throat startles me, and I grab for a weapon that isn't there.
Three women stand in the doorway, servants, their eyes carefully averted. The oldest steps forward, a bundle of clothing in her arms. I glance past her to the empty bed behind them, Malakai is nowhere to be seen.
"My lady," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "We've come to help you prepare for the day."
I wrap my arms around myself, hating the vulnerability of my nakedness. "I don't need help."
The woman, perhaps in her fifties with iron-gray hair and eyes that have seen too much, bows slightly. "Lord Malakai has instructed that you are to be attended at all times."
Of course, he has. Another way to control me, to deny me even momentary solitude.
"Where is he?" I ask, nodding toward the empty bed.
"Lord Malakai left early, my lady. He mentioned court matters that required his immediate attention."
I should feel relief at his absence, but instead, a strange unease settles in my chest.
"We can help you wash."
I consider refusing, but the prospect of hot water is too tempting. I nod and turn to the tub of black marble that the other servants have started to fill with steaming water.
The servants move without speaking a word and once the tub is filled they help me into the bath.
Their hands are gentle as they wash my hair, as they scrub my skin with soft cloths and fragrant soap.
Not once do they comment on the bruises that mark my body, or the scratches from Malakai's shadows, or the telltale soreness of an Omega who's been thoroughly claimed and knotted.
They've seen such things before, I assume.
When I scrub my own skin too hard, the oldest servant gently takes the cloth from my hand. "You're hurting yourself, my lady."
"What's your name?" I ask, needing something to focus on.
"Lisa, my lady. I served Lady Morgana before you."
"Malakai's grandmother." The woman whose wedding dress I wore yesterday.
Lisa nods. "The last true Shadow Lady. There's been no proper mistress of the household since her passing."
"I am not your mistress," I say coldly. "I am a prisoner."
Lisa's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in her eyes—pity, perhaps. Or understanding. "Nevertheless, you are the Shadow Lady now. The household awaits your instructions."
The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh. I'm expected to manage a household in the heart of enemy territory, to play the role of dutiful wife to the man who murdered my lover.
"There are duties expected of you," Lisa continues carefully. "Overseeing the household staff, managing the domestic concerns of the palace, attending court when required." She hesitates before adding, "And producing an heir, of course."
The thought makes my stomach turn. I will die before I bear Malakai's child.
"Finish quickly," I tell her, rising from the bath despite the lingering ache in my muscles. "I wish to walk the grounds. I need fresh air."
"Lord Malakai has left instructions that you're not to go unaccompanied—"
"Then the guards can watch from a distance," I interrupt. "But I will not be caged in these rooms. That is final."
The servants exchange glances, clearly uncomfortable with the compromise between their master's orders and my demands. But I am their mistress now, a bizarre technicality that creates a delicate balance of authority.
They help me dress in a gown of midnight blue silk, the fabric light and flowing but higher-necked than expected, covering the worst of the bruises on my throat—a small mercy. As they arrange my hair in a simple style, Lisa watches me in the mirror.
"I'll inform the captain of the guard about the...compromise," she finally says.
"Good. Now, show me the way out."
Lisa leads me through a maze of corridors, pointing out the main hall, the library, and the dining room. I memorize each turn, each doorway, building a mental map I'll need if I'm ever to escape this place.
The eastern gardens are through a set of glass doors. The moment I step through them, I breathe easier. Plants I don't recognize grow in carefully tended beds, their leaves seeming to pulse with life.
I follow a winding path away from the palace, alert for any sign of pursuit. The guards keep their distance as promised, close enough to intervene if needed, but far enough away that I can't make out their individual features. Still, I feel their eyes on me, a constant weight of observation.
As I walk, I try to assess the fated mate bond Malakai spoke of.
I can feel it now that I'm paying attention—a strange warmth in my chest that pulses stronger when my emotions run high.
Is he sensing my emotions through it? Can he tell that beneath my calm exterior, I'm churning with hatred and fear and grief?
The garden path ends at a high stone wall—the boundary of the palace grounds. Beyond it lies the forest where Asher died. Where I lost everything.
I glance back toward the guards, their features still blurred before I approach the wall, analyzing its height, at least twelve feet high, with a mostly smooth surface. A normal person would find it impossible to scale.
But I am not normal. I am a trained assassin of the Light Court.
"Sera, don't!" A tiny voice cuts through the garden's silence before I can even gather my skirts. "Too much magical surveillance watching."
I freeze, recognizing the voice immediately. "Ivy?"
A faint shimmer appears near a flowering bush to my right, though I can barely make out her form.
"Not here," the voice hisses urgently. "The shadow magic here has eyes of its own, beyond just the guards. Go back to your chambers. I'll meet you there, the wards are different in personal spaces."
I hesitate, glancing longingly at the wall, my temporary escape so close. But then a flicker of joy rushes through me. My best friend is here! Even in this prison of shadows, I'm not completely alone.
"I'll be waiting," I whisper, my voice barely audible even to myself. I understand her caution, a fae creature from the Forgotten Grove discovered in the Shadow Lord's palace would face a fate worse than death.
The shimmer vanishes, and I make my way back through the gardens, past the guards who seem relieved at my return. When I reach my rooms, they are mercifully empty. I check every corner to ensure I'm truly alone, then I make sure the wooden doors are locked.
"Ivy?" I whisper. "Are you here?"
The air shimmers near the window, and a small glowing figure materializes.
"Well, look at you," she says, fluttering closer with an exaggerated inspection of my gown. "Already dressed as the Shadow Lady? Next thing I know, you'll be growing tentacles and hissing in the sunlight."
Despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips.
Ivy's barely five feet tall, a fact that irritates her endlessly.
Her wild silver-blonde hair changes color with her moods, now streaked with mournful blue despite her teasing tone.
Her eyes, larger than human proportion would allow, are the pale lavender of twilight.
A subtle shimmer surrounds her, not quite wings, but a faint aura of magical energy that distorts the air when she moves.
"You try refusing their clothes when yours are burned in a magical bonding ceremony," I retort, though my voice lacks its usual strength.
"Hmm, fashion by intimidation. Not their worst crime, but still on the list." Her light dims slightly as she circles me. "All jokes aside, you look like absolute hell, Sera."
"Thank you. Just what every girl wants to hear."
"You know what I mean." She moves closer, her light pulsing with concern as she reaches out to brush my cheek.
"I felt the disturbance in the boundary magic yesterday, a massive surge of shadow and light intertwining.
I tried to come immediately, but the palace wards were too strong.
I had to wait for them to settle before I could slip through. "
The gentle touch breaks something in me. My carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. "Asher is dead," I tell her. "Malakai killed him. Tore him apart with shadow magic. And now I'm—"
"Bonded to the bastard," Ivy finishes, her face grim. "I can see it on you, shadow and light intertwined, pulsing with new magic." She flies around me, examining the invisible threads of the bond with eyes that see beyond the physical. "Sweet merciful moonlight, Sera. What did they do to you?"