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The anger didn’t burn hot or messy this time. It dropped into a cold, sharp focus. My hands rolled into tight fists against the obsidian floor, my jaw setting hard. He wanted me to break. He wanted me to weep over a story about my mother.

I won’t break.

“If I’m a stray animal,” I whispered through my teeth, my voice steady and low, “then you should be very careful where you put your hands.”

Malakai’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Let’s see if there’s any actual fire behind that tongue.”

He lifted both hands. The purple flame of his magic flared into a dense vortex that wrapped completely around my frame. The impact hit with overwhelming force—a suffocating wave of magical extraction that pulled at my chest, trying to violently drag an elemental signature from my blood.

I clamped my jaw, but a sharp, raw cry tore from my throat as the room tilted on its axis.

Soren let out a choked sound from the doorway, his boot heel slamming against the threshold as his protective instincts strained against his military orders. He stood there, knuckles white where he gripped his belt, fighting the urge to clear his blade.

“Tauriel!” Soren called out, his baritone cracking.

Then Soren shuddered violently under the weight of the invisible agony.

He’s breaking him to get to me.

A blistering wave of heat surged outward from my chest, the fresh black and gold ink searing against my skin as a low, vibrating hum rippled through the floorboards. The thick violet smoke coiling around Soren suddenly fractured, vaporized by a flash of gold.

Through the purple haze, Malakai suddenly froze. His dark eyes widened a fraction, his hands pausing mid-cast.

For a single heartbeat, the air in the room went dead still.

Deep within the jagged midnight swirls lacing my right arm, a faint, dark ripple moved beneath my skin. It wasn’t a flare of light; it was a dense, quiet shadow—a plume of dark smoke that snaked through the black ink before dissolving back into my flesh.

Hold it in. Don’t be the monster they expect you to be. Don’t release the darkness. Contain it.

The vortex vanished. The pressure dropped instantly, and I collapsed forward onto my hands, chest heaving as sweat trickled down the back of my neck.

Malakai stepped back, his severe features settling into a strange mix of intense curiosity and cold disdain. He studied the dark ink on my forearms, his jaw rigid.

“A shadow ripple,” Malakai murmured flatly. “A baseline displacement of the void. But the solar core... now, that may be promising. You are half a riddle, Princess. And half a riddle is useless to the crown.”

He turned on his heel, his dark robes sweeping behind him as he walked toward his inner study. “The session is finished. Clean the blood off your knuckles, Tauriel. You are expected in the throne room within the hour to formally present your marks to the court.”

The walk from the subterranean vaults back to my private quarters passed in a blur of bone-deep exhaustion.

Soren walked half a pace to my left down the cold corridors, his posture alert and unyielding. He didn’t force conversation, letting the heavy quiet settle between us, but his gaze stayed fixed on my face. When my knees buckled slightly near the grand staircase, his hand was there instantly, supporting my elbow with a firm grip that kept me from hitting the stone.

“He’s a monster, Taur,” Soren said quietly as we reached my oak doors, his tone laced with genuine frustration. “The King shouldn’t have authorized that level of extraction.”

“He authorized it because he wants to know if his placeholder is broken,” I replied, keeping my voice sharp to hide how wiped out I felt. I looked up at him, noting the tired lines around his eyes. “Thank you, Soren. For staying in the room.”

I’m sorry he tortured you to get to me…

But I couldn’t get those words out.

“Always,” he murmured, his hand lingering on the doorframe. “I’ll be right out here.”

Inside my room, the team of handmaids were already waiting.

Outside, frost bled down the narrow lancet windows of the spires, choking the citadel in a thick sea fog. The winter solstice was closing in—LunaStiya. We had days—only days—before the longest night of the year, but the magic wasn’t waiting for the date. The heavy, ancient hum of the triple moons was already vibrating up through the castle’s bedrock, buzzing against the soles of my boots.

The maids stripped away my damp training clothes, their movements quick as they dressed me in formal silks.

I was stepped into a structured, high-collared velvet gown the color of deep winter wine. The fabric was thick enough to keep out the mountain draft, tailored tightly around my waist and hips. Long, fitted sleeves lined with silver embroidery covered my arms completely, hiding the fresh black and gold markings—and the brutal morning I’d just endured—behind a wall of courtly armor.