The palace did not shudder again.
It breathed.
A deep, resonant exhale rolled through the stone beneath my feet, slow and deliberate, as if something vast had settled into awareness and decided—at least for now—not to crush us beneath it.
Virel's composure cracked first. Just barely. Her fingers tightened in her sleeves, knuckles paling.
"You have awakened it enough," she said. "Any further and—"
"And what?" I asked. "It listens better?"
Her eyes flicked to me, sharp. "It remembers better."
Malrik stepped closer to me then, not touching, but near enough that the bond eased its constant strain. The sensation surprised me. Comfort slid in where tension had been, subtle but unmistakable.
"That is why we will speak here," he said. "Where it can hear. And where it cannot twist what is said."
Virel hesitated, then inclined her head. "Very well. But know this, girl—truth spoken before the artifact binds deeper."
"I'm counting on it," I said.
Malrik turned to face me fully.
For the first time since I had met him, there was no crown of authority in his posture. No distant king carved from fire and law. Just a man carrying something too heavy to set down.
"The artifact was forged at the end of the First Sundering," he began. "When demonkind nearly tore itself apart. Power without balance devours itself."
I folded my arms. "So you invented a leash."
"A tether," he corrected. "A counterweight that exists outside our hierarchies. Mortal. Changeable. Resistant to stagnation."
"Convenient," I said.
"Yes," he agreed without flinching. "And cruel."
The bond pulsed—low, steady. No surge. No resistance.
Listening.
"The crown chooses a bearer," he continued. "But the counterweight must be chosen by the bearer. Not by fate. Not by force. By intent."
I stared at him. "Then why didn't it reject me?"
Virel answered. "Because you did not resist the moment it touched you."
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped.
She was right.
I had been terrified. Furious. But some instinct—buried deep beneath reason—had leaned forward instead of away.
"That doesn't make it consent," I said quietly.
"No," Malrik said. "It makes it compatibility."
The word settled between us, heavier than any accusation.
I looked at my marked hand again. The pattern beneath my skin seemed sharper now, more defined.
"What happens," I asked, "if I walk away?"
Malrik's jaw tightened. "The artifact will pull. Slowly at first. Then violently."
"And if I die?" I asked.
Virel inhaled sharply.
Malrik did not look away. "Then the counterbalance collapses. The crown destabilizes. The realm fractures."
"So I'm insurance," I said. "Alive."
"More than that," he said.
I scoffed. "That's a low bar."
He reached out then—not to grab me, not to command—but hesitated, his hand hovering inches from mine.
"May I?" he asked.
The question stunned me more than any revelation so far.
The bond waited, expectant.
"Yes," I said.
His fingers closed gently around my marked hand.
The contact sent a warmth through me—not a surge, not a flood—but a steady current that aligned something inside my chest I hadn't known was off-kilter. My breath caught despite myself.
Malrik stilled.
"I can feel you," he said quietly. "Not your thoughts. Your… gravity."
"That's unsettling," I said, though my voice lacked bite.
His mouth curved faintly. "You should feel what it is like from my side."
I met his gaze.
There it was—not fire, not dominance—but something raw and unguarded. Relief. Awe. Fear.
"You're not hollow," he said. "That matters."
The bond hummed, pleased.
I swallowed. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make this sound like it's… personal."
His grip loosened but did not release. "It is."
Virel cleared her throat sharply. "This is drifting."
"No," Malrik said. "This is aligning."
She looked between us, unease replacing calculation. "Careful. The artifact responds to emotional convergence."
I pulled my hand free—not abruptly, but enough to reestablish space.
"Then we should be very careful," I said.
The bond tightened slightly in protest, then settled.
"Fine," I continued. "Let's assume I don't want the realm to collapse. Let's assume I'm willing to… work with this."
Malrik nodded once. "Then we train the bond instead of letting it train us."
"Train how?"
"Exposure," he said. "Shared intent. Controlled proximity. Gradual synchronization."
"That sounds suspiciously like intimacy," I said flatly.
A pause.
Virel looked away.
Malrik did not. "Intimacy is not inherently romantic," he said. "It is awareness without armor."
I laughed under my breath. "You really know how to sell this."
His eyes softened. "I am not selling. I am warning."
The gallery grew warmer, the red glow beyond the windows pulsing brighter.
Virel straightened. "This conversation must end. The outer factions will have felt the shift."
"Already?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "They will come with questions. And blades."
Malrik turned toward the windows, expression hardening back into something kingly. "Then they will find us prepared."
He glanced at me. "Which means you will no longer be hidden."
"Of course," I muttered.
"You will stand beside me," he continued. "Not behind. Not above."
"And if I refuse?"
The bond answered before he could—a tight, warning pulse.
Malrik exhaled. "Then the artifact will interpret that as fracture."
I closed my eyes briefly.
When I opened them, I nodded. "Fine. Beside you."
Something shifted between us then—not dramatic, not explosive—but real. Like two paths that had been circling finally touching edges.
"Good," he said.
Virel studied me intently. "You adapt faster than most."
"I don't have the luxury not to," I replied.
She inclined her head. "That may save us all."
Or doom us, I thought.
A distant tremor rolled through the palace—not violent, but purposeful.
Malrik's gaze sharpened. "They're closer than expected."
"To the gates?" I asked.
"No," he said. "To you."
The bond flared—alert, protective.
I stepped closer to him without thinking.
He noticed.
His shoulders eased by a fraction.
"Looks like the artifact approves," I said.
His mouth curved, just barely. "It seems so."
The tremor came again, stronger this time.
Somewhere deep within the palace, ancient mechanisms shifted—gears turning, seals unlocking.
Whatever truth we had spoken had not gone unheard.
And whatever was answering it was already on its way.