Malekith’s expression softened, his thumb stroking Aric’s cheek. “They are gone. You are safe now.”
Aric nodded, trying to focus past the pounding in his head. “The sorcerers. What happened to them?”
“Nothing that they did not bring upon themselves,” Malekith said with a smirk.
The infirmary was a blur of motion as the demon healers swarmed around him, their hands glowing with dark energy as they assessed his condition. Aric tried to focus on their words, the strange, lilting language that seemed to shimmer in the air, but the world was still spinning, tilting, and he couldn’t find his balance.
Malekith stood back, watching the proceedings with an unreadable expression. Aric tried to catch his eye, to offer some kind of reassurance, but Malekith’s gaze was fixed on the healers, his attention elsewhere.
Aric’s vision swam, and he slumped forward, the cool stone floor rushing up to meet him. Strong arms caught him before he fell, and a low voice rumbled in his ear.
“Rest now, little mage. You have done well.”
Aric wanted to ask a thousand questions that had been burning in the back of his mind, but the darkness was already pulling him under, and he didn’t have the strength to fight it.
As he slipped into unconsciousness, he felt a touch on his forehead, a brush of cool lips, and a promise, unspoken, but understood.
There will be much to discuss.
Aric drifted in and out of consciousness, the world around him a hazy blur. He was vaguely aware of the demon healers tending to his injuries, their dark magic hanging in the air, but their words were a jumble, the strange, lilting cadence of their language dancing just out of reach.
But then, in a rare moment of clarity, he heard them speaking in hushed tones, their voices tinged with a palpable sense of unease.
“. . . anomalies . . . both realms . . .”
Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as he strained to listen.
“. . . growing stronger . . . no explanation . . .”
He forced one eye open, the world swimming before him, but he couldn’t make out their faces. With a surge of panic, he feigned unconsciousness, but the healers paid him no mind, too engrossed in their conversation.
“. . . affecting the ley lines . . . the very fabric of . . .”
The flaws he’d noticed in the design of the human weapon, the same disturbances that had been wreaking havoc with the rifts as they tore open on the battlefield . . . Could it all be connected?
But before he could hear more, the darkness claimed him once more, and he was swallowed up in its icy embrace.
Aric awoke to a sense of unease, a nameless dread prickling at the back of his neck. The air in the infirmary had shifted, becoming charged with tension, but he couldn’t say why. He lay still, his senses on high alert, and scanned the room for any sign of what had roused him.
The other patients were sleeping, their forms shrouded in darkness, but the healers were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the infirmary appeared to be empty, the only light filtering in from the high windows, a pale wash in the pre-dawn sky.
And then he sensed it, a familiar presence moving down the hallway, gliding with the effortless grace of a hunting panther. Aric’s heart quickened, and he pushed himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching.
The figure materialized in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the soft light, and Aric’s breath caught in his throat. Malekith. His demon prince, his captor, his . . . what, exactly?
Aric’s mind shied away from the answer, the truth too raw, too painful to confront. He had no place feeling this way about a demon, least of all the one who had taken him from his home, who held his fate in his hands.
But the way Malekith’s eyes softened as they met his, the way his expression shifted, made Aric dare to hope. Maybe there was more between them than mere captivity. Maybe there could be.
Malekith moved to his side, his footsteps silent on the stone floor, and Aric’s pulse raced at the sight of him. With his pale skin and dark eyes, his beauty was the kind that could draw empires to ruin, and Aric was no exception. He let out a shuddering breath as Malekith’s fingers brushed a lock of sweat-damp hair from his forehead, the touch light, reverent.
“How do you feel?” Malekith asked, his voice a low rumble in the stillness of the infirmary.
Aric’s voice felt thick, uncooperative, but he managed a nod. “I’ve been better.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Malekith’s mouth, and he sat on the edge of the narrow cot. “You did well in the trial. Better than I had dared to hope.”
Aric’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Then why the long face?”
Malekith’s smile faded, and he glanced around the infirmary, his eyes scanning the shadows. Aric forced himself to stay quiet, to let him speak when he was ready. After a long moment, Malekith leaned in.
“The healers are concerned. Your outburst, the way you shattered the sorcerers’ illusions . . . It is not like anything they have seen before.”
“I told you, my magic is different from yours.” Aric’s heart was still racing, the memory of the power surging through him, the flames dancing at his fingertips, making his pulse quicken for a whole other set of reasons. “I draw on the sun’s power, and I shape it with my will. It’s . . . intense.”
“Intense is an understatement.” Malekith’s expression softened, and he reached for Aric’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “But it is beautiful, in its own way. Like watching the sun rise, the way the flames dance and shift at your command.”
Aric’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away, the compliment too much to bear. “It’s a weapon. That’s all it’s ever been.”
“It is a part of you. A powerful, wondrous part.” Malekith brushed his thumb against the inside of Aric’s wrist. “And one that I am honored to have glimpsed.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the steady rhythm of Aric’s heartbeat and the distant cries of the waking city. But Aric’s thoughts were spinning still, the healers’ words echoing in his ears.
“The healers are not the only ones who are curious about you,” Malekith said, his tone casual, but his eyes intense as they met Aric’s.
