The King didn’t. His eyes were on me, fascinated, hungry. “She’s magnificent when she breaks,” he murmured. “Do you feel it, son? How her fire answers to my power?”
Malakai moved.
He was on the King in an instant, his magic flaring bright enough to stain the world red. Every thread began knitting together, coalescing into fewer but stronger arms of blood. But the King caught his wrist mid-swing, the contact detonating the air between them. Power exploded outward, crushing, unyielding.
Malakai staggered back a step, blood dripping from his palm, teeth bared.
I could see it in his eyes, the calculation.
The fury. The impossible question of how to win when every strike only fed the enemy.
“Malakai, don’t,” I gasped, though I didn’t know what I was begging for.
Don’t stop. Don’t surrender.
Don’t fight. Don’tdie.
He didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed fixed on his target, sharp, focused. The threads of blood around him trembled, eager to bite, but didn’t strike again.
“Enough,” the King said, his hand still raised, my fire still twisting around his fingers like stolen silk. “You’ve provenyour passion. Now show me your wisdom. Surrender, and I might let her live.”
Malakai’s chest rose and fell, slow, deliberate. His jaw flexed. For a long moment, he said nothing. I saw how the red threads curled away from the King, and instead they stretched towards me, slowly swirling around my legs and climbing up. Soothing, caressing, memorizing every touch.
Malakai straightened.
The tension in the air shifted—less storm, more silence before it. “You’ll let her go?” His voice was steady, too steady.
The King smiled. “If you give yourself up, yes.”
Malakai’s power flickered once, the crimson light dimming like a dying ember.
“Malakai, no,” I hissed, struggling against the grip of my own failing fire. “Don’t you dare—”
His gaze met mine, and for a heartbeat everything was still.
It was the same look he’d given me that night under the ruined sky, when he’d promised he’d burn the world for me if he had to. Only now, there was no fury, only resolve.
“I told you,kitten,” he said softly, stepping forward. “You’re worth the fire.”
And then he lowered his head towards the King as if in reverence.
The blood threads shattered midair, dissolving into mist. The hall went silent except for the low, satisfied hum of the Demon King’s breath.
“What, no kneeling?” he mocked.
I saw Malakai’s lips twitch, irritation that he quickly bit back. “I’m afraid I have bad knees.”
The Demon King scoffed amused, yet he didn’t push further.
My fire flickered, sputtering weakly inside me.
I realised that this was worse than dying. I was watching him surrender everything he was, forme.
The silence was worse than the fire.
Malakai stayed frozen in place, head bowed, shoulders drawn tight as if the act itself flayed him.
The crimson light had dulled around him, fading to a gleam clinging to his skin. My chest burned, not from magic this time, but from the sight of him like that.
