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“Would you care to take a walk, Princess?” Mal asked, his tone easy and relaxed as it pulled me in.

A dry, quiet laugh escaped my lips. I pulled my heavy traveling cloak tighter. “A bit late to ask for permission, don’t you think? Considering I just bypassed a captain’s ward and dropped three stories into the woods with you.”

Why did I…why did I let my guard down…

Mal stood there, hands loosely tucked into his belt, his expression unbothered. He looked entirely self-satisfied—a quiet, unpredictable presence wrapped in dark leather.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” I said, watching his body language closely. “A walking manifestation of malice. That’s what I’m going to call you. Malice.”

His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, the gold within them shifting in the dim light. He didn’t look annoyed; he looked intensely curious. He stepped half an inch closer, tilting his head.

“Close,” he murmured, his voice low in the quiet woods. “But not quite right.”

I raised a brow, keeping my guard up. “Close, but no cigar.”

Mal paused. His relaxed posture stiffened for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. He looked at me as if I’d spoken an ancient dialect from the archives. “A... cigar? Is that a type of explosive?”

A faint smile touched my mouth before I could stop it. The stark, absurd contrast between this realm and the mundaneness of Earth hit me suddenly. This wild world was completely normal to him, but to me, the absence of ordinary mortal things was a constant, weird weight.

“No,” I said softly, my tone dropping. “It’s an Earth thing. Rolled-up tobacco leaves people smoke. It’s just an idiom. It means you almost hit the mark, but missed the prize.”

“A strange realm,” Mal said softly, his eyes fixed on mine. “Smoking dried leaves for fun. I think I prefer my version of the prize.”

I wonder what his version of a prize was…was it me? Why was I letting him infiltrate my brain in such an intimate way. Stop. I needed to stop. Show some control…

He tilted his head toward the deeper shadows of the forest. “Walk with me.”

I hesitated for a second before falling into step beside him, our boots making almost no sound on the wet carpet of pine needles and moss. The air beneath the winter canopy was freezing, smelling of damp earth and pitch. Behind us, the black walls of the citadel rose high into the fog—a giant stone cage wrapped in frost—but out here under the trees, the space felt wide open.

I watched his fluid, effortless stride, my mind working through the riddle of his presence. He claimed to be a simple second lieutenant from the Amnethys province, but every habit he had screamed high court.

“You don’t move like a southern guard,” I said, breaking the quiet. “What was it really like? Your childhood out there.”

He didn’t answer right away. He listened to the wind moving through the high branches, his hands tightening in his belt, the easy smile leaving his face. His shoulders went rigid—a clear sign I’d hit a sore spot.

“My childhood wasn’t a festival, Tauriel,” Mal said softly, keeping his eyes on the dark path ahead. “My father is a hard man. Rigid, unyielding, obsessed with territory and standing. He isn’t someone you want to owe a debt to.” He paused, his jaw clenching. “My mother died when I was very young. I spent most of my life kept on a short leash within our borders. There was an uncle—my mother’s brother—but I wasn’t allowed anywhere near him until recently.”

I studied his profile, hearing the raw edge beneath his words. He wasn’t lying about the bitterness; it was too real to be a courtly performance. But the math still didn’t add up.

I slowed my pace, letting my tone sharpen. “Amnethys province is rough, from what I hear,” I said, eyeing him. “They raise people to survive.” I met his gaze as he turned.

Mal stopped, turning his head as a stray line of moonlight cut through the trees and caught his eyes. The vulnerability I’d just touched vanished instantly, replaced by that dark, quiet curiosity. Instead of defending his story, he turned the question right back on me.

“And what about the Drakhar princess?” Mal asked, his voice low. “The half-breed standing in the snow, accepting a duel on the first day of spring.”

A sharp laugh left my lips, though there was no humor in it. I pulled my cloak tighter against the cold. “I would have thought my family situation was obvious to anyone with eyes. You were in the throne room. My father treats people like counters on a map, my brother is the golden heir commanding the storms, and I’m the placeholder born from a mortal summer trip. There’s no hidden text there. It’s right out in the open.”

Mal stopped completely. He turned to face me, his tall shadow blocking out the moonlight. The wind howled through the high branches, but in the small space between us, the air went dead still.

“An open execution,” he spoke softly. He reached out, his long fingers trailing down the edge of my cloak before catching the damp fabric of my sleeve. He didn’t pull me closer, but the deliberate proximity made my chest tighten. “They see a placeholder because they’re blinded by their own ancient rules, Tauriel. They look at a silent core and assume there’s nothing inside. But I’ve stood in the ring with you. I saw how you adapted when Kaelor tried to drive you into the stone.”

Kaelor. How well did Mal know him. Did he also suspect him to be the heir of More Alora?

He took a slow step into my space, his hazel eyes holding mine with intense focus.

“You aren’t a riddle they can solve,” Mal whispered, his hand sliding up to rest against the side of my neck, his thumb brushing my jawline. “And you aren’t living in anyone’s shadow.”

My jaw set, my mind searching for a sharp line to throw up as armor. I wanted to pull away from his grip. I wanted to tell him his speeches were entirely too much for a lieutenant from the borders. But as his fingers rested against my skin, the physical weight of my exhaustion receded, replaced by a sudden, heavy heat.