Chapter 32
UNRAVELING
MALAKAI
Every time I close my eyes, I see it — the shadow tendril lashing toward Seraphina, the thin line of blood welling against her golden skin.
The flash of fear in her eyes before she masked it.
The way she said it's fine, it's just a scratch while the scent of her blood filled my lungs like an accusation.
I nearly killed her. Lost control for one moment, one vision of a future I have no right to want and I nearly killed my mate.
The seamstress trembles as she adjusts the ceremonial collar, her fear sharp in the air. I should find satisfaction in that terror, the way I have for centuries. Instead, I feel nothing but the echo of Seraphina's blood on my conscience.
"Hold still, my lord," the woman whispers, attaching the final silver clasp with shaking fingers.
I examine my reflection in the dark mirror — black and silver regalia, designed to intimidate, to evoke both desire and terror. Tomorrow, I'm supposed to stand before the entire court and declare Seraphina as my equal in rule. My queen. My partner.
The announcement has been planned for weeks. The court expects it. The political implications of delaying would raise questions I cannot answer.
But how can I bind her more tightly to me when my own shadows betray me? When the darkness I carry nearly carved her open in a garden full of children?
"Enough," I tell the seamstress, waving my hand. "It's adequate."
She bows so deeply her forehead nearly touches the ground before scurrying backward out of my chambers. I wait until the door closes before allowing the mask to slip.
My hands are shaking.
I clench them into fists, watching the shadows writhe across my knuckles. They've been restless since the garden — agitated, hungry, responding to emotions I refuse to name. The same instability that plagued me when Julia was pregnant. The same loss of control that preceded her death.
History doesn't repeat, I tell myself. Seraphina is different and she is not with child. The circumstances are different.
But my shadows don't believe me. And neither, if I'm honest, do I.
I should cancel the ceremony. Should put distance between us until I understand why my darkness is becoming volatile. Should protect her from myself, even if it means—
A knock at the door interrupts the spiral.
"Enter," I command.
Emmett appears, his face the perfect mask of court propriety he's perfected over centuries in my service. "The preparations for tomorrow's announcement are complete, my lord. The Twilight Crown has been placed in the vault as requested."
"Good." I turn from the mirror, removing the collar with impatient fingers. "And the Council's reaction to the rumors? About elevating an Omega to equal status?"
"Predictable," he replies with faint amusement. "Elder Bruno has taken to his bed with supposed heart palpitations. Elder Varis is drafting his third formal protest about 'Omega influence on Alpha authority.' The others are simply drinking heavily."
I laugh, genuinely amused. "Let them protest. By this time tomorrow, it will be done."
He nods, his expression shifting as he considers his next words. "The Light Court delegation arrives at dawn. Including Councillor Marcus."
"Seraphina's father," I murmur, my amusement fading instantly. "Make sure he's watched carefully. I don't trust his motives."
"Already arranged, my lord."
I study my oldest companion, noticing the unusual tension in his shoulders, the way his shadows flicker restlessly at his feet.
"What's on your mind, Emmett?" I ask, pouring two glasses of shadow wine from the crystal decanter. "You're brooding more dramatically than usual, and that's my specialty."
He accepts the offered glass with a slight bow. "Nothing worthy of your concern, my lord."
"After eight centuries, you still cling to formality," I chide, settling into a chair and gesturing for him to do the same. "Speak freely. Consider it a command if that makes it easier."
My general remains standing, his fingers tightening around the wineglass. "It's... a personal matter."
I raise an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "You have those? I was beginning to think you were born from the shadows themselves, with no personal desires whatsoever."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I assure you, I was born in the conventional manner. Though it's been longer than I prefer to remember."
"And yet, in all these centuries since you lost your mate, I've never seen you pursue another entanglement," I observe, watching him over the rim of my glass. "You've been alone as long as I've known you."
His silence is confirmation enough. I lean forward. "Who is she? One of the court ladies?"
He clears his throat. "My lord, there are more important matters…"
"Nothing is more important than this unexpected development," I counter, grinning. "My stoic, duty-bound general, finally experiencing desire after centuries of solitude? This is the most entertaining development all week."
"I'm pleased to provide such amusement," he responds, irritation breaking through his composure.
"It's the fairy, isn't it?" I ask suddenly. "Ivy."
Emmett's wineglass freezes halfway to his lips, his expression briefly unguarded before his control reasserts itself. "That's absurd."
"It is, rather," I agree, delighted. "She's irritating, disrespectful, and entirely too fond of glitter. The magical equivalent of a sugar-addled child who's found her mother's makeup. And yet... I've noticed how your shadows calm when she enters a room."
"Your observational skills are clearly deteriorating with age," he mutters, tossing back his wine in a most undignified manner.
"Oh? So you weren't staring at her during the last council meeting when she flounced in with that message for my wife?"
A flush creeps up his neck, an unprecedented sight. "I was monitoring a potential threat."
"Of course you were," I agree solemnly. "Very thorough monitoring."
"Are you quite finished?" he snaps, finally dropping into the chair opposite me.
"Not even close," I reply cheerfully. "I have eight centuries of your stoicism to make up for."
"You're enjoying this far too much," he grumbles, reaching for the decanter to refill his glass. "And you're one to talk about romantic entanglements. You, who swore never to feel anything again after Julia. Never to take another Omega mate."
The name sends a jolt through me, though I manage to keep my expression neutral.
"This isn't about me," I deflect. "We're discussing your infatuation with a creature half your size who probably has the life expectancy of a mayfly compared to us."
"Ivy is over three hundred years old," he corrects automatically, then winces.
"Ah! So you've researched her lifespan," I crow triumphantly. "How thorough of you."
He actually groans, setting his glass down with a thud. "For the love of darkness, Malakai, enough."
I freeze. Malakai. Not "my lord," not "Shadow Lord," just... Malakai. He hasn't called me that since before. Before Julia. Before the curse hollowed me out and left something monstrous in its place.
The familiarity of it unsettles me more than I want to admit.
The playful atmosphere evaporates, replaced by something heavier, laden with centuries of unspoken grief. Once, we had been more like brothers than lord and general. Before Julia.
"I miss that sometimes," I admit, surprising us both. "Who we were. Before."
He studies me, centuries of shared history in his gaze. "You're different since Seraphina arrived. Not like before, but... more yourself than you've been in a very long time."
"Ridiculous," I dismiss, uncomfortable. "I'm the same delightful tyrant I've always been."
"No," he says with quiet confidence. "You're not. You laugh again. Not just at others' fear, but with genuine amusement. You create beauty with your shadows, not just destruction. You look at her the way you once looked at…"
"Don't," I warn, my shadows darkening. "Don't say it."
"Someone has to," he persists with unusual boldness. "You love her, Malakai. It's written all over you, obvious to anyone who remembers who you were before Julia's death broke you."
Love. Such a simple syllable for so devastating an emotion. I stand abruptly, my shadows whipping around me.
"Love is a weakness I cannot afford," I say automatically, the words hollow even to my own ears.
"And yet," he persists, rising to stand before me, "you're about to name her your equal before the entire court. Something no Shadow Lord has done in recorded history."
"It's strategic," I argue. "A political maneuver to strengthen…"
"Stop lying," he interrupts, something of our old friendship emboldening him. "If not to me, then at least to yourself. You're naming her as your equal because you love her."
Before I can respond, a ripple of awareness brushes against my consciousness—Seraphina, nearby, her emotions a complex tangle I can't quite decipher through our connection.
But something is wrong. The bond between us thrums with her anxiety, her fear.
"We'll continue this discussion later," I tell him, already moving toward the door. "It seems my Omega requires my attention."
"Of course," he replies, his voice returning to its usual formal tone, though a hint of familiarity lingers. "Run away from the conversation, just like old times."
I pause at the doorway, glancing back with narrowed eyes. "Careful, old friend. I still turn people into garden ornaments when irritated."
"I'll keep that in mind... my lord," he responds, the hint of a smile touching his lips.
I stride through the corridors toward our chambers, my shadows flowing about me in agitated patterns.
What he said struck closer to the truth than I care to admit.
Love. Perhaps that is what this unfamiliar ache signifies.
This constant awareness of her, this need to ensure her safety, her happiness.
This terror at the thought of losing her.