Chapter 8
The silence in the chamber felt heavier once he was gone—thick enough to breathe, cold enough to settle beneath my skin. The fire hissed softly in the hearth, but it didn't warm me. Nothing in this palace was meant to.
He told me to rest.
Not suggested.
Ordered.
And for a moment, I truly meant to obey. The king's warning echoed in my mind:
"No one touches you. No one speaks to you. I will know."
But sitting alone in that dark room, surrounded by shadows carved into stone… it felt like the walls were waiting for me to make one mistake.
My mistake was standing up.
My bigger mistake was walking toward the door.
I didn't intend to open it.
I only wanted to look—to understand the place where I might die if Malakai didn't return.
My fingers brushed the iron handle.
It pulsed warm beneath my skin.
I froze.
Then, so slowly the air seemed to stop breathing, the door clicked open on its own.
Just an inch.
Just enough to be an invitation.
Or a trap.
My heart hammered as a draft of cold air swept into the room, carrying whispers from the corridor—voices too faint to understand but sharp enough to prickle my nerves.
I shouldn't go out there.
I knew that.
But every instinct screamed that staying in this room was no safer. Not when the entire palace wanted me gone. Not when the Council was likely tearing Malakai apart for bringing me here.
I pushed the door open the rest of the way.
The hallway beyond was dim, lined with torches burning blue. Shadows clung to the walls like they were alive. My bare feet touched polished black stone, cold enough to sting.
I took one step.
Then another.
Silence swallowed me whole.
Until—
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice cut through the air like a blade.
I whipped around so fast I nearly stumbled.
A woman stood a few steps down the corridor—tall, elegant, dressed in deep crimson armor that clung to her like a second skin. Her hair was obsidian-black, braided tight down her back. Her eyes—a piercing silver—studied me with open disdain.
Not hatred.
Not anger.
Contempt.
"I— I'm waiting for the king," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"I'm aware of who you're waiting for," she replied coldly. "But he did not give you leave to wander."
Something in her tone told me she was used to being obeyed. Maybe even feared.
"I only stepped outside," I murmured.
"And that alone could cost lives."
Her gaze sharpened. "Do you know what you are walking into, little wolf?"
The way she said it made my stomach twist.
"I don't know your name," I said quietly.
She smiled without warmth.
"I am Commander Lyra. Head of the King's Elite Guard."
That explained the armor… and the authority.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble," I said.
But Lyra stepped closer, her boots echoing sharply.
"You already have."
My pulse quickened.
"You don't belong here," she continued, each word precise, unyielding. "Human-born. Weak. Rejected. Your scent alone disrupts the palace wards."
I stiffened. "I'm not human."
"You have no wolf. That's the same thing."
Her voice wasn't cruel—just factual, dismissive in a way that made heat crawl up my neck.
"Turn around," she ordered. "Go back inside before—"
Footsteps interrupted her.
Soft.
Controlled.
Powerful enough to silence the air.
Lyra went still.
Something in her face shifted—from authority to caution.
Malakai.
He emerged from the shadows with lethal grace, cloak sweeping behind him like a storm. His expression wasn't simply angry—anger was too soft a word. His eyes burned with a cold, controlled fury that made the torches dim as if the fire itself bowed to him.
"Commander," he said, voice icy.
Lyra bowed instantly.
"Your Majesty—"
"What," he said softly, "are you doing speaking to her?"
"I was only ensuring—"
"That Elaine remained safe." His voice didn't rise, but the entire corridor seemed to flinch.
"That is your duty, not your threat."
Lyra bowed her head. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect."
"You did."
The king stepped in front of me, his presence enveloping mine. "Leave."
Lyra hesitated for the briefest moment—
meaning she wanted to argue.
Then she bowed deeply and vanished into the shadows.
Silence.
Cold, heavy, tense.
Then Malakai turned to me.
His eyes—usually unreadable—flashed with something too sharp to be anger. Something closer to fear… buried so deep he'd never admit it.
"You left the room," he said.
"I thought the door opened on its own."
"It did not."
"I didn't want to go far. I only—"
"You should not be outside without me."
His voice was low, controlled, but that edge—gods, that edge—made something in my chest thrum.
"I can't stay locked up forever," I whispered.
"You can," he said simply. "Until I know which enemies seek to harm you."
"I'm not helpless."
He exhaled sharply, the closest thing to frustration I'd ever seen from him.
"I know what you are," he said quietly.
Something in his tone made heat rise in my cheeks.
"What does that mean?" I whispered.
He stepped closer, close enough that the space between us felt charged.
"It means," he murmured, "that I felt it."
"Felt what?"
His gaze dropped to my chest—right where the old bond mark had burned and shattered.
"The echo of your pain," he said. "And something else. Something awakening."
My heart kicked hard.
"I don't know what's happening to me," I breathed.
"I do," he said.
I lifted my eyes to his.
"And you're not going to tell me?"
"No."
His voice dipped lower.
"Not yet."
A soft growl vibrated in his chest—felt more than heard.
"Come," he said, turning. "You are not safe in the open hall."
"I thought no one could enter your chamber without your permission."
He looked over his shoulder, eyes hardening.
"That," he said, "is exactly why you are not safe."
My blood chilled.
"What do you mean?"
But he didn't answer.
Not with words.
He simply placed a hand on my back, guiding me toward the chamber—touch firm, warm, claiming.
And for the first time…
I realized the palace wasn't the danger.
The danger was whatever had opened that door.
And whatever was awakening in me—
Malakai knew.
And he was afraid of it.