"The King does not consume you; you are the breath that keeps his fire alive."
The world had the hush of a deep exhale. Sunlight lay across the dining nook like a slow-moving tide, gilding the wood and the half-empty cup cooling beside my hand. Alaric had left an hour ago for his duties, but his presence had not gone with him; it lingered in the space, woven into the grain of the table, into the air I breathed.
The silence was not empty. It was full of something vast and settled as though the air itself had finally found rest. Inside me, Black stirred, not with his usual watchful vigilance but with the languid grace of a creature content. His energy rippled through me like warmth from banked coals.
"Finally, Little One," he murmured, the words carrying through my mind like velvet smoke. "You stopped fighting the tide. You let it happen. You let the Law claim you both."
