Malvor's voice slipped into my mind, velvet-soft but lined with a razor's edge of concern. "Annie, are you all right?"
My fingers tightened around the scroll. My chest was tight, head light, but I nodded once. Controlled. Small.
Fine, I sent back. The lie tasted bitter, and I knew he didn't believe me. I stared at the parchment like it was still a mystery, tilting my head, forcing my expression into something mild, feigned curiosity. Pretending. I was good at pretending. But Malvor knew me too well. I felt him linger in the bond, flipping through my emotions like pages in one of his ridiculous, over-written journals. Then he shifted. Pulled back. And in his place came something else. Heat, sharp and volatile, crackling like a fuse too close to flame. I didn't have to look up to know he was striding away. Straight for Luxor. Straight for trouble. I exhaled through my nose, folding the papyrus and tucking it carefully back into the box. My fingers brushed the wood as though it might shatter. I didn't move. Didn't speak.
A shadow fell over me. Long. Familiar. Heavy. I looked up, and there he was. Aerion.
His posture was impeccable, his armor polished to a blinding gleam, and his gaze, gods, that gaze, sharp and assessing, like a blade weighing where to strike. I summoned the smile I'd worn for years in temples. Smooth. Polite. Empty. "Lord Aerion," I said, as if my heart wasn't still racing.
"Anastasia," he replied. My name in his mouth sounded less like a greeting, more like a claim. I didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just smiled, syrupy-sweet, perfect enough to almost seem real.
"You truly are the most lovely mortal I have ever seen," he said, voice measured, smooth as polished steel. Words meant to impress, not connect.
I tilted my head, lips curving in practiced warmth. "Thank you." My tone was honey, hollow and poisonous if swallowed too quickly. He ate it up.
Without waiting, he lowered himself beside me, broad shoulders cutting into my space like they owned it. One arm draped along the backrest behind me, too close. Too assuming. "I have always admired strength in women," he continued, his eyes roaming in a way he thought subtle. "Grace under pressure. You have that… divine quiet."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Barely. "That's very kind of you to say." My voice was smooth as glass, polished by years of flattery from men twice as arrogant and only half as clever.
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "I don't usually notice mortals. But you…" His smile curved, confident. "You're captivating. I have an eye for potential."
Gods, he was trying to be seductive. The thought nearly made me laugh. He plucked a grape from a platter, holding it between two fingers like it was some precious gem instead of sticky fruit. "Would you allow me the honor of feeding you?"
I blinked. Once. Slowly. "I feed myself just fine, thank you." My smile was blinding. Sharp enough to cut.
For the briefest flicker, he faltered. Then he leaned in further, doubling down. "You're mysterious," he murmured, like he was unveiling some great secret. "And I am very good at unraveling mystery."
I picked up the box again, tracing the lid with my fingertips, as if it were infinitely more fascinating than him. "I'll keep that in mind," I said lightly. Calm. Neutral. Unreadable. He smiled, convinced he was winning. I smiled back, knowing he wasn't.
He looked at me like I was a riddle half-solved, pleased with himself for even trying. "You know," he said, dropping his voice into something he must have thought sultry, "I've won wars with less beauty than yours at my side."
My lips curved in the perfect, obliging smile. Serene. Empty. Enough to keep him talking. Enough to keep me in control. He mistook stillness for submission. Silence for consent. His thigh brushed mine as he shifted closer. His hand slid further down along the back of the bench, inching toward my shoulder. I didn't move. I didn't flinch. But inside, I was a scream sealed in glass.
He leaned in, his breath far too warm against my temple. "I imagine you've never had someone like me take real interest in you." His tone turned smug, dripping with arrogance. "Not like this. Not on this level."
I blinked slowly, still not meeting his eyes. "Oh, you're right," I murmured, my voice dipped in sugar and venom. "No one has ever flattered me quite like this."
If he caught the sarcasm, he ignored it. His smile widened, self-satisfaction oozing from every line of his perfect armor-polished posture. "You don't have to pretend to be unaffected," he said, brushing a lock of hair from my shoulder as if he owned it. "It's flattering, I know. A god, the god of Law, showing interest in you. That kind of attention means something."
My eyes flicked toward the crowd, toward Malvor. He was still distracted, laughing with Vitaria and Tairochi, utterly unaware. Good. I turned back, my smile still calm. "I imagine it does mean something," I said lightly. "To you."
He chuckled, low and rich, like he thought he'd found a chink in my armor. "Ah, coy. Pretending not to be interested, keeping up the game."
I shifted, crossing my legs, deliberately moving his thigh off mine. He took it as an invitation. Of course he did. His hand slid onto my knee, creeping higher, warm and presumptive. Territorial. Still, I didn't flinch. Didn't twitch. Didn't give him the satisfaction.
"I know what women like you want," he whispered, lowering his voice to something he clearly thought seductive. "You're waiting for me to make the first move. That's fine. I'm not shy."
I lifted my hand. Not to stop him, but to adjust an earring. My face didn't move an inch. My stillness was sharper than any slap. "I was just thinking the same thing," I murmured, tone honeyed and lethal. "You are certainly not shy."
He grinned, smug and pleased. Then he froze. Because Malvor was there.
The air changed before I even looked up. He stood over us, silent and still, fury radiating from him like heat from an inferno. His eyes weren't on me. They were locked on Aerion's hand. On where it touched me. I didn't move. Didn't break. I only lifted my head, met Malvor's gaze, and said, clear and sharp as a bell:
"My Lord of Chaos."
The my hit like a lightning strike. I felt it ripple through him, shaking something ancient, volcanic, chained for centuries. His magic coiled, thick and electric, the hair on my arms rising with it. I shivered. Not from fear. From the sheer force of him. Aerion, the fool, mistook it. His grip on my thigh tightened, smug grin spreading. "I can see why you bought this one," he drawled, lazy as a lion in the sun. "Docile. You've done well."
I never looked at him. Not once. Only at Malvor. Aerion chuckled, oblivious. "If you tire of her, I'd happily take her. Gods like us, we need something interesting to pass the centuries."
The silence that followed was deadly. The kind that made stone want to split. Malvor's rage crashed into me through our bond, white-hot, terrifying in its clarity. Pure murder. And beneath it, fear. Not for himself. For me.
Aerion, still blind, dragged his hand higher, his voice dripping arrogance. "She has poise. Calm. Rare in a mortal. Delicious."
Inside, Malvor vibrated with unspent destruction. I flexed my hand against my leg. Wait, I told him silently. Not here. Not yet.
Aerion leaned back, smug as ever. "I'll make you a trade," he said, as though this were a negotiation, as though I were a coin to be bartered. "You've been eyeing that war horse of mine. I'll give him to you. In return, I get a night with her. Just one. Fair deal. You get loyalty. I get entertainment. Gods like us should share, no?"
Malvor laughed. Just once. Sharp. Cold. The sound cracked like a whip, and every god nearby froze mid-breath. The storm in him sharpened, honed to a blade. I could feel it, his chaos folding inward, condensing into something so precise it scared even me. Aerion finally started to notice.
I laid a hand on Malvor's clenched fist, my touch deliberate, steady. Trust me. My gaze stayed locked on Aerion, my lips curving into a smile that was all silk and venom. "A fair trade, My Lord of Chaos," I said sweetly. "He did offer you your favorite horse."
Malvor stiffened beside me, trembling with fury. I squeezed his hand harder, my calm wrapping around him like a leash. I know what I'm doing. I turned to Aerion, tilting my head, my eyes gleaming wicked. "You'll deliver the horse to his stables tonight. And tomorrow morning…" I leaned in close, lowering my voice to velvet. "…you'll get the ride you're begging for."
Aerion's smirk spread wide, stupid and sure. "It's a deal."
I stood, smooth and sharp, my fingers trailing down Malvor's arm like a command. Not yet. To Aerion, I gave one last poisoned smile. "Sleep well tonight, my lord. You'll need your strength."
I strode away, Malvor falling into step beside me, his jaw tight, his magic shaking the air. His hands twitched like claws, but his eyes gleamed, bright, wicked, unhinged.
The moment we rounded the corner, he spun me against the wall, his hands gripping my waist hard enough to bruise. His voice was a growl, hot and furious against my skin.
"Annie. My wicked, wicked girl. What in all the realms are you planning?"
I smiled up at him, slow and merciless. "You'll see."