The silence that followed the Sunstone's destruction was more terrifying than the explosion. Vesper didn't scream or attempt to seize me. She simply looked at the empty, smoking spot on the floor, and then at me, her face a mask of cold, absolute horror.
"You have signed your death warrant, Seraphina," she stated, her voice shaking slightly, but devoid of personal feeling. "That relic was irreplaceable. You have sabotaged the King's final solution."
"I prevented his slow suicide," I countered, though the adrenaline was now giving way to a bone-deep terror. "The stone was contaminated. I told you. It would have drawn all my fire and left him to rule a crumbling ruin."
Vesper gave me a look of pure, cynical pity. "You think the King would ever accept your version of events? He will see only your disobedience and the destruction of the one object capable of containing your volatility. You should have remained the dutiful captive."
She didn't wait for my response. She spun on her heel and sprinted out of the Pit, presumably to report the devastation to Lorcan.
I was alone, shaking and utterly exhausted. The Obsidian Pit, usually cold, now felt aggressively frigid, awaiting the return of its true King. I knew I couldn't run. The Nightshade Court had surveillance I couldn't fathom, and the consequences of fleeing were infinitely worse than facing him now.
I went back to my chambers and waited. I didn't change out of the scorched training clothes. I didn't sit down. I stood in the middle of the room, hands clenched, conserving every ounce of magical energy I had left for the inevitable confrontation.
It took less than thirty minutes.
I heard the door to the outer parlor crash open with enough force to rattle the glass in the windows. It wasn't a guard or a servant; it was the King's unchecked fury.
Lorcan strode into my room, and the air instantly plummeted ten degrees. His face was a sheet of white marble, his jaw clenched so tight the tendons stood out in his neck. His amber eyes were blazing with a raw, terrifying power that had nothing to do with mere anger and everything to do with the Shadow-Curse.
The shadows that usually only clung to his clothing were now massive, tendrilled things, licking up the walls and devouring the room's light. The very air felt dense, suffocating, and impossibly cold.
"THE SUNSTONE," he bit out, his voice so low and vibrating that it felt like a shockwave hitting my chest.
"It was contaminated," I stated, holding my ground, forcing myself to look him directly in the eye. "It was drawing power even when the flow was stable, Your Majesty. It was a liability that would have sabotaged the healing ritual, not stabilized it."
He walked toward me, slowly, deliberately, each step radiating absolute menace. I could feel the cold on my skin like invisible burns. The Sun-Fire in my core buzzed in immediate, fearful reaction.
"You dare lie to me?" Lorcan stopped just inches away. His eyes were not just angry; they were haunted. "You do not have the knowledge to assess an ancestral relic, Seraphina. You destroyed the only failsafe that stood between you and a volatile death! Do you have any comprehension of what you have risked?"
"Yes. My life," I retorted, my voice unwavering despite the fear. "But I have an excellent comprehension of what you risked, Your Majesty. You risked my existence on a lie."
I pressed the attack, gambling everything on the faint hope that he valued the truth over his deception. "The Sunstone was not a stabilizer, Lorcan. It was an Anchor of Sacrifice. It was designed to slowly drain my life force to sustain your curse, not to mend it permanently. You intended to make me your battery. Why should I trust a King who sacrifices his Queen before the bond is even sealed?"
The accusation hit him like a physical blow. The mask of controlled fury shattered. His eyes widened slightly, revealing a flash of deep, profound guilt or perhaps, just disappointment that his deception had failed.
But then the Shadow-Curse reacted to his loss of control.
A massive surge of pure, raw shadow erupted from his chest, like ink expanding in water. The shadows surrounding us became violently active, twisting into sharp, crystalline shapes. The room's temperature dropped to a deadly, unbearable cold. I heard the ornate light fixtures crack, and a dark, suffocating pressure slammed into my lungs.
Lorcan wasn't just angry; his curse was overwhelming him. He had lost his physical anchor, and the shadow was consuming his control.
"Stop," he gasped, clutching his chest with one hand. "The curse… it is unstable."
The sheer cold was paralyzing, tearing at my skin and threatening to extinguish the Sun-Fire in my core. I saw the desperate terror in his eyes, the fear of losing control.
This was my moment. This was the terrifying, intimate connection Rian's note had warned me about.
I ignored the crippling cold and reached out with my internal fire. I didn't use Lorcan's shadow as an anchor; I used my Sun-Fire as a shield. I forced the golden heat outward, not to explode, but to gently push against the encroaching shadow in the room.
The fire and shadow met between us—a roaring, volatile membrane of opposing forces. The pressure eased instantly. My power wasn't fighting his; it was neutralizing the volatile excess caused by his extreme emotion.
I took a shaky step closer, forcing the shield of golden heat tighter around us, focusing every fiber of my will to stabilize his internal chaos. The heat, the warmth, flowed from me to him.
Lorcan leaned toward me, gasping, his amber eyes wide and locked on mine. He was desperate for the warmth, desperate for the stability only my fire could provide.
"You need me to live," I breathed, the words heavy with heat and power. "And I need my power to survive. The stone was your safety net. Now it's gone, and the bond must be delayed. We cannot proceed with this wedding when your curse is this volatile."
He didn't argue. He only stared at the golden light surrounding us, the physical manifestation of our desperate, toxic codependency.
Slowly, agonizingly, Lorcan wrestled back control. The encroaching shadows retreated, sinking back into the walls and his clothing. The cold lessened. He was still radiating fury, but it was once again contained.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, his gaze never leaving mine. "You are right. The bond cannot proceed without a stabilizer. You have earned a delay, Seraphina. And you have confirmed my terrible hypothesis."
He stepped back, the distance instantly making the residual cold on my skin feel less welcome.
"The Sunstone is lost. We have two weeks until the Moon cycles demand the ritual," Lorcan declared, his voice now dangerously calm. "Vesper was right: you have no control. If I cannot use the Anchor of Sacrifice to draw your power, I must use a mechanism that forces your control before the ritual."
He gave me a cold, predatory look that chilled me to the bone.
"There is no other relic that can contain the fire," he said. "Therefore, for the next two weeks, until your magic is stable enough to survive the bond, you will train with me. My shadow is the only mechanism that can temper your flame. You will learn to control your fire by forcing the channel through my control. And you will do so with daily physical contact."
The ultimatum was worse than the stone. The wedding was delayed, but the price was forced, daily, intimate proximity with the King who had tried to betray me.
"I will not be your shield," I whispered, staring into his ruthless eyes.
"You will be my conduit," Lorcan countered, his voice final. "And by the end of two weeks, you will either master your power or I will force the bond anyway, and pray my containment is strong enough to keep us both alive."
He turned and strode out, leaving the room silent, frigid, and vibrating with the knowledge that my defiant action had merely exchanged one deadly trap for another, far more intimate one.