Malakai’s attention shifted towards him, slow and deliberate. “You talk as if it’s a title I asked for,” he said. His voice was calm, low, dangerous in its restraint.
The King casually strolled closer. “You have my blood,” he observed, “which makes you royalty among demons. Don’t be shy, you brought me a flame-wielder, come claim your seat as the Demon Prince.”
Malakai’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t a smile. “If you’re looking for gratitude, you’re centuries too late.”
The King laughed, deep and pleased. “Defiance runs strong in you. I’d hoped as much.” He turned slightly, his gaze sliding to me. “You see, little flame? He carries himself well. Fire mages have always made fine partners for demons. It’s almost poetic that my son should follow that same…appetite.”
My eyes widened briefly. Malakai’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t take the bait. “Let her go.”
“Why would I?” The King’s tone was amusement wrapped in steel. “She is valuable. Rare. And I’m not finished with her yet.”
Malakai took one measured step forward. The blood threads moved with him, whispering against the floor.
“You will be,” he said firmly.
The King’s eyes gleamed. “Careful, boy. Threats are only impressive when you can follow through.”
Malakai tilted his head, and for a fleeting moment, he smiled, lazy, sharp, utterly lethal. “Who said it was a threat?”
The air between them crackled.
One of the red threads shot out, coming right at me as it passed right above my shoulder, piercing into the one behind me.
Zinlia.
I glanced back, she gasped in pain, as the thread had struck her shoulder, forcing her to let go of me. Another strike, aiming for her head, but a dark mist curled in, deflecting the thread from Zinlia and cutting off the other from her shoulder.
I felt it even from where I stood, two deviations of the same power colliding in silence. One ancient and vast, the other raw and wild. Fire stirred in my chest, restless in response to both.
The King watched Malakai like a craftsman admiring his own creation. “Magnificent,” he said softly. “Blood and flame, fury and pride. You could be so much more than this… this half-thing wasting away among mortals.”
Malakai’s eyes narrowed. “You mean belike you?”
“Exactly like me,” the King said, stepping closer. “You could rule beside me. Take your rightful place. Become what you were born to be. You’d inherit a world, not chase after scraps.”
Malakai’s laugh was quiet and humorless. “A world built on stolen fire and the bones of humans? You really don’t know me at all.”
The King’s gaze flicked to me again, deliberately. “Don’t I? You crossed realms for her. Risked everything for one fragile, flickering human. Tell me, son, was itlovethat drove you, orhunger? Do you even know the difference?”
The words struck like daggers. Malakai didn’t flinch, but his blood magic trembled around him, the threads vibrating in the still air.
He spoke softly. “I know what it’s like to want something enough to burn for it.” His eyes met mine, and for a precious moment, the fury in them gentled. “And I know when someone’s worth the fire.”
The King smiled, cold and delighted. “Then prove it. Kill her.”
My breath caught.
Malakai didn’t move.
“Do it,” the King continued, circling me as if I was nothing more than a practice dummy. “If you love her, free her fromme. Show me the strength of your conviction. Or are you simply enslaved by your hunger for her?”
Malakai’s gaze stayed fixed on the King, his expression unreadable. The threads of blood hovered inches from my skin, humming softly, protectively… No,possessively.
For a moment, I couldn’t tell if he would do it.
Malakai smirked, calm as ever. “You mistake devotion for obedience.”
The King stopped walking. “And you mistake rebellion for freedom.”
