"If you do this, there is no turning back—"
"I know," I said, and meant it.
The words left my mouth just as the lattice screamed, a sound like crystal tearing itself apart. Power surged through the chamber, not wild but converging, tightening into a single, blazing point between Malrik and me. The artifact answered first—heat, clarity, an iron certainty that steadied my breath instead of stealing it.
The shadow recoiled.
"No," it hissed, its many voices collapsing into one. "You are not meant to—"
"Be quiet," Malrik said, and the command carried something new. Not dominance. Alignment.
I pressed my palm more firmly to his chest. The bond flared, not as a chain, but as a bridge. I felt his pulse, strong and controlled, felt the way his power folded around mine instead of swallowing it. For the first time since this began, the artifact didn't push. It waited.
"Now," Malrik said softly, to me alone.
I reached.
Not outward—inward. I followed the resonance where it hurt, where the shadow had clawed at doubts and old wounds. I felt the echo of the two who had come before me, their fear crystallized into a choice they hadn't been ready to make. I felt Malrik's guilt like a scar that never healed, a weight he carried without complaint.
I did not reject it.
I accepted it—and refused to let it decide for me.
The bond snapped into a higher register.
Light tore through the lattice, clean and surgical. The shadow screamed again, its form unraveling as the resonance it depended on inverted, rejecting its grip. Threads of stolen magic burned away, leaving nothing to hold it together.
"This isn't over," it spat, voice thinning. "Cycles don't end. They—"
"—evolve," I finished.
The last word landed like a verdict.
The shadow imploded, collapsing into a pinprick of darkness that the lattice sealed with a thunderous crack. Silence rushed in, heavy and ringing. The chamber's glow steadied, runes knitting themselves whole, the palace exhaling as if it had been holding its breath for centuries.
My knees nearly gave out.
Malrik caught me instantly, one arm firm around my back. His other hand braced the floor, grounding us both as residual energy rippled outward.
"It's gone," I whispered, disbelief threading my voice.
"Yes," he said, just as quietly. "It's gone."
The artifact dimmed, settling into a steady warmth beneath my ribs. Not dormant. Resting.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then the palace spoke.
Not with words—with motion. Doors unsealed. Wards recalibrated. Sentinels reformed from drifting light, their bowed heads acknowledging a threat ended and a truth revealed.
Malrik straightened slowly, helping me to my feet without letting go. His gaze searched my face, sharp and unguarded.
"Are you—"
"Here," I said. "Still me."
He nodded once, as if he'd been bracing for a different answer.
Footsteps approached—measured, numerous. The High Council entered the chamber in a sweep of dark robes and gold sigils, their expressions carefully neutral, eyes flicking from the restored lattice to the space between Malrik and me. They felt it. The change. Anyone with even a scrap of magic would.
High Chancellor Veyra inclined her head. "The breach is sealed."
"It is," Malrik confirmed.
"And the intruder?"
"Erased," I said before he could answer.
Veyra's brows rose almost imperceptibly. "Then the axis has stabilized."
"Yes," Malrik replied. "Permanently."
That word rippled through the council like a dropped stone.
Veyra's gaze sharpened. "Then we must address the consequence."
I already knew what she meant.
"The bond has crossed a threshold," she continued. "By ancient law, any convergence that stabilizes the lattice binds the crown to its counterpart."
I swallowed. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," she said evenly, "the marriage is no longer provisional."
Silence pressed down.
Malrik's hand tightened at my back—not possessive, not restraining. Present.
"This was inevitable," he said to the council. "The threat accelerated it."
Veyra studied me. "Do you contest the binding?"
Every eye turned my way.
I felt the weight of it—the crown, the city, the future written in rules older than memory. I felt the artifact, calm and attentive, waiting for my will instead of forcing it.
"I don't contest it," I said.
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
"But," I continued, lifting my chin, "I won't accept a ceremony used to control me. This bond was forged in battle. If there is to be a marriage, it will reflect that truth."
Veyra considered me for a long moment. Then she smiled. Just a fraction.
"As you wish," she said. "By rite, the royal marriage may be declared at dawn, witnessed by the council and sealed by the lattice itself."
My stomach flipped. Dawn was hours away.
Malrik leaned closer, his voice low. "You don't have to do this immediately."
"Yes," I said, surprising myself with how steady it sounded. "I do."
He searched my face, then nodded. "Then we do it together."
The council withdrew, leaving us alone once more in the quiet aftermath.
I exhaled, the adrenaline finally ebbing. "You didn't tell me the truth before," I said softly. "About the others."
"I didn't know how," he replied. "Or if it would matter."
"It matters now."
"Yes," he agreed. "And I will tell you everything you ask. Nothing withheld."
The sincerity in his voice tightened something in my chest.
"After dawn," I said. "Right now, I need—"
Rest. Space. Time to breathe.
"I know," he said.
He escorted me from the nexus chamber, the palace parting easily for us. Servants bowed, eyes curious but respectful. Word was already spreading. It always did.
At the threshold of my chambers, he paused.
"I should go," he said. "Preparations—"
"Stay," I said before I could second-guess it.
He froze, surprise flickering across his features.
"Not—" I clarified, heat creeping up my neck. "Not like that. Just… stay. Talk. Make this feel real."
His expression softened, something unguarded slipping through.
"As you command," he said lightly.
I snorted. "Don't start."
We moved inside. The doors sealed. Quiet wrapped around us.
For a while, we said nothing.
Then he spoke, voice low. "When you chose me back there… I felt it. Not obligation. Choice."
"I meant it," I said. "But don't mistake that for blind loyalty. If you ever try to decide my future without me again—"
"I won't," he said. "I swear it."
The artifact pulsed once, approving.
A chime echoed faintly—dawn approaching.
My breath hitched.
Malrik extended his hand, palm up. "When the lattice seals the marriage, it will ask again. Not for obedience. For consent."
I took his hand.
"Then let it ask," I said.
The palace lights dimmed.
Somewhere deep within the keep, the lattice began to sing—
And just as the first note rose, sharp and expectant, a cold whisper brushed the edge of my mind, too faint to trace, too familiar to ignore:
Cycles don't end.
My grip tightened on Malrik's hand.
The song swelled.
And before the lattice could ask its question, the artifact flared—warning, sudden—
Because something, somewhere beyond the sealed wards, had just answered back.