Alaric's POV
The stone floor of my cell was vibrating. Or perhaps it was just me.
I was slumped against the wall, my head between my knees, sweat dripping from my jaw onto the salt-stained floor. My heart was racing at a tempo that wasn't mine. It was the frantic, triple-time beat of a ballroom waltz—the rhythm of Elara's panic.
I gripped my hair, my teeth gritted so hard I thought they might shatter. Through the tether, I could taste the fermented plums on the Duke's breath. I could feel the suffocating weight of her lead-lined gloves. But mostly, I could feel her skin crawling where that old vulture had touched her.
Breathe, Elara, I'd told her, but even as I spoke, my own shadows were spiraling out of control.
In the corner of the cell, the darkness had curdled into a violent whirlpool. It wasn't just reacting to her; it was trying to reach her. It wanted to bridge the miles of stone and gold and wrap itself around her throat—not to choke her, but to shield her from the eyes of those gilded parasites.
"Quiet in there!" a guard roared, slamming the hilt of his spear against the iron door. "Stop that gods-damned humming!"
I didn't stop. I couldn't. The sound wasn't coming from my throat; it was the resonance of the bond.
When she had ripped her hand away from the Duke, the feedback hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. I gasped, coughing up the metallic taste of ozone. The silver lines on my own arms—the twins to the ones I'd etched into hers—were glowing so brightly they bled through the fabric of my tunic.
I forced myself to look through her eyes one last time. I saw the moon, cold and indifferent. I felt the bite of the night air on her heated skin.
I was afraid of the girl he was turning me into.
Her thought was a whisper of glass shattering in my mind. Then, the connection dimmed as she pulled inward, wrapping her psyche in the iron-and-lead walls she'd built around her heart.
I was left alone in the dark.
I slumped back, my breath coming in ragged hitches. The glow on my arms faded to a dull, bruised purple.
"She's a mirror," I muttered to the empty cell, my voice sounding like gravel.
I hadn't expected it to happen this fast. The "Merging" was a legend in the Isles—a myth of two powers, one of the Void and one of the Shadow, finding a singular frequency. They called it the Eclipse. It was said that when an Anchor and a Shadow-Prince bled into one another, the world either ended or began anew.
My father had sent me here to steal Oakhaven's light. He hadn't realized that the light was trapped inside a girl who was currently drowning in it.
The salt-veil in front of my cell flickered.
A new guard stood there. He wasn't like the others—thick-necked and smelling of cheap ale. This one was slender, his face hidden behind a visor, his armor polished to a mirror finish. One of the King's personal "Gilded Hand."
He didn't speak. He reached into his belt and pulled out a small, jagged crystal—a tidal crystal, glowing with an angry, artificial orange light. He tossed it through the veil.
The crystal hit the floor and shattered.
Instantly, the air in the cell turned to fire. Tidal crystals were designed to regulate the climate of the kingdom, but in a concentrated, broken form, they were weapons of pure heat. It was the King's way of reminding me that even in the dark, he held the sun.
I hissed, backing away from the burning shards as the oxygen began to thin. The heat baked the stone, turning my cell into an oven.
"The King sends his regards, Prince," the guard's voice was muffled by his helmet. "He noticed the lights flickering at the ball. He thinks you're getting too comfortable. This will help you stay... focused."
I sank to the floor in the only corner not yet blistering with heat. My shadows retreated, huddling beneath me, too weak to fight the artificial sun.
I closed my eyes, searching for that tiny, stolen spark I'd left inside Elara. It was faint now, muffled by the distance and her own fear.
Elara, I called out, not with a command, but with a plea. Don't let them put the mask back on you. If you become the Silence again, we both die in this heat.
I didn't know if she heard me. I only knew that as the cell grew hotter and my vision began to blur, the only thing keeping me conscious was the lingering memory of her hand—bare and terrifying and perfect—pressed against my heart.