The Golden King

Malec stood in the high tower, inside Luko's office, his tan eyes distant as he watched over his friend.

Luko lay on a long velvet chaise, his torso bandaged, his golden eyes dull with exhaustion.

The medics had done their work. He would survive.

That should have been Malec's main concern.

But instead—his thoughts kept drifting back.

Back to her.

Back to the kiss.

Malec exhaled slowly, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders tense.

It wasn't as though he had never been with a woman before.

His people, the Awyan, were encouraged to have as many physical encounters as possible. Their women bore so few children, so the act of sex was not considered sacred—it was practical. A duty.

As a young man, it had been enjoyable. A pastime.

But as he grew older, the encounters became transactions.

Meaningless. Predictable.

Which is why, long ago, Malec had begun drifting away from high society.

He focused instead on border security, war, and conquest.

That was where his purpose lay.

The only times he sought companionship were in brothels—quick, impersonal, routine.

He had never even looked at a Canariae.

It would be no different than kissing a donkey or a cat.

And yet—

The memory of her lips against his still lingered.

His body had reacted.

A physical response—one he had not expected. One he did not want.

Disgusting.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he inhaled deeply, willing the thought away.

Malec's eyes shifted to the cage across the room.

Melodie sat inside, no longer bound, but a thick metal collar was secured around her neck, a long chain attached to the iron bars.

She was watching him.

Not with fear.

Not with shame.

With amusement.

Slowly, with exaggerated smugness, she raised both fists—

And flipped him off.

Malec's brow furrowed. He didn't know what the gesture meant, but he could guess.

A long breath hissed out of his nose.

He turned away from her, his jaw clenching.

He would not be played with.

Not by her.

Not by anyone.

But as he looked out over the forest, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, he felt her gaze still burning into him.

And no matter how much he tried to push the thought away—

He could still feel her lips against his.

The days passed slowly.

Malec had avoided her.

He had buried himself in military work, training, overseeing the fortress, anything to keep his mind occupied.

But the distraction never lasted.

Because no matter how much he tried to forget—the ghost of her lips still lingered.

And the worst part?

She knew it.

Every time he passed by that damn cage, she watched him—waiting. Testing.

She smirked when their eyes met.

Smirked.

Like she had already won something he couldn't understand.

It made his blood burn.

It made him want to teach her a lesson.

But he didn't.

He just waited.

The knock came in the early evening.

Malec sat in his study, seated at his large wooden desk, a goblet of dark amber wine resting beside his arm. The fire crackled low, casting long shadows across the walls.

A messenger entered, bowing slightly, before stepping forward with a sealed letter.

"From His Majesty, the King of Ilyndor," the messenger said.

Malec took it without a word, breaking the wax seal.

He didn't have to read it.

He already knew what it would say.

The King had heard.

He knew about the fire. The escaped Canariae. The dark-skinned captive that Malec had yet to control.

Malec stared at the letter for a long moment.

Then—he scoffed.

Without hesitation, he tossed it into the flames.

The paper curled and blackened, eaten by the fire.

The messenger shifted uncomfortably.

"Shall I prepare a response, Commander?"

"Yes," Malec muttered. 

Malec knew exactly why his cousin had summoned him.

The King wanted to see him squirm.

Wanted to mock him.

The great Silver Fox—outwitted by a Canariae.

He could already hear his cousin's laughter.

And Malec wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Maybe he would gift her to the King as a present.

Maybe that would be the easiest way to rid himself of this mess.

But something inside him resisted.

The thought of handing her over made his jaw tighten.

Made something in his chest twist—strangely, inexplicably.

Why?

He didn't know.

And he refused to think about it any further.

He simply turned back to the messenger, voice sharp.

"Have the horses ready by dawn. We ride at sunrise."

The journey was uneventful.

For days, they traveled.

The roads stretched endlessly, dust kicking up beneath the hooves of horses and the wheels of heavy carriages. The air grew colder, the landscapes shifting from dense forests to open fields, the trees turning shades of gold and burnt orange.

Autumn.

Melodie noted the subtle changes in the land, memorizing the details—the paths, the rivers, the turns in the road.

If she was ever going to find her way back, she needed to remember everything.

A few Canariae had been recaptured, but it was mostly the old ones—those who hadn't been able to run fast enough.

Malec barely paid them any attention.

The humiliation of returning with only a handful of elderly prisoners should have bothered him, but he didn't seem to care.

His mind was elsewhere.

Melodie noticed it immediately.

For once, he wasn't glaring at her.

He wasn't even looking at her.

He was avoiding her gaze altogether.

And she thought that was hilarious.

Big, white pig, intimidated by a mere woman.

A Canariae woman, at that.

She almost wished she could enjoy the moment more, but she was too cold, too exhausted, too focused on survival.

Still, it was something.

Bet he's never been treated like that in his life.

If things weren't so terrible, she might have actually laughed.

Melodie noticed Luko riding in one of the carriages, still bandaged, but no longer treating her with open hostility.

He had forgiven her for the things she'd said to him a week ago.

Saving his life changed something.

She could feel it in the way he looked at her now.

Not as an experiment.

Not as a wild beast.

But as a person.

Good.

She would need allies if she was going to get out of this alive.

The further they traveled, the colder it became.

Melodie curled up in her cage, using the straw for warmth, her arms wrapped around herself.

The sky darkened early now, the sun setting quickly behind them, casting long shadows over the road.

Then—

A distant horn sounded.

Melodie's head snapped up, her muscles tensing.

Ahead, towering walls loomed into view, stretching so high they nearly disappeared into the sky.

Stone. Thick. Imposing.

This was no small city.

This was a fortress.

The heart of the Awyan Empire.

They had finally reached the Capitol.

And something told Melodie—

Her real fight was only just beginning.

The cage was beautiful.

Ornate. Gilded.

Not something meant for prisoners, but for Canariae that were kept as pets.

Melodie sat inside, her wrists unbound, her metal collar still secured, a long golden chain connecting her to the bars.

It was pretty. Elegant.

And it made her sick.

The King arrived shortly after.

Tall, regal, with piercing blue eyes and long silvery-gold hair, he exuded the same otherworldly beauty that all Awyan seemed to possess.

But unlike Malec, his aura was more refined. Unthreatening.

A man accustomed to getting his way.

His eyes flickered toward Luko's bandaged torso, and a slow smirk played on his lips.

"Troublesome journey, I see," the King remarked lightly.

Luko inclined his head respectfully.

Malec said nothing.

"Tell me, cousin," the King continued, glancing at Malec. "How does the great Silver Fox return from battle bested, humiliated, and—" he gestured toward Luko, "with a limping scholar?"

Malec's jaw ticked.

The King chuckled, clearly enjoying himself, but careful not to poke the bear too much.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he led them to his quarters.

The King's chambers were grand, a place of luxury and indulgence.

The fire burned low and warm, casting a golden glow over the mahogany furniture and lavish rugs.

Malec poured himself a strong drink and took a slow sip, staring silently into the flames while Luko recounted everything.

From the stables burning, to the escaped Canariae, to how the dark-skinned one outwitted Malec.

The King laughed heartily, enjoying every moment of Malec's displeasure.

"You, outplayed by a Canariae?" the King grinned, shaking his head. "What a time to be alive."

Luko smirked, taking another sip of his own drink. "Not just any Canariae."

And then—

Luko told him about the kiss.

The amusement instantly vanished from Malec's face.

His hand tightened around his goblet, his tan eyes flashing as he let out a low, warning growl.

Luko ignored him.

The King, intrigued, leaned forward. "She kissed you?"

Malec didn't answer.

So Luko continued.

He explained it all—how Melodie had done it as a distraction, how it had actually worked, how it had thrown Malec off just long enough for her kin to escape.

When Luko finished, the room fell silent.

Only the soft crackling of the fire remained.

Then—

"So…" the King mused, tilting his head. "How was it?"

Malec exhaled slowly.

"It was strategic," he said flatly. "A calculated move. A desperate attempt to throw me off balance."

The King looked thoughtful. "I didn't realize they were that intelligent."

Luko shook his head. "Most aren't. But this one?" His golden eyes flickered. "She's different. She's not from our world like the others. She's unique."

The King raised a brow.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "I must see her."

Malec's expression darkened.

"No," he said, voice like stone.

The King blinked—then laughed.

"No?" he echoed, amused.

But Malec wasn't joking.

His jaw was set, his tan eyes sharp.

"She is not for you," Malec stated, slow and firm.

For a brief second, the King simply studied him.

Then—his smirk returned.

"Now I really must see her."

The great dining hall had been rearranged.

The long banquet table had been pushed to the side, replaced by a grand cage in the center of the room—as if the entire setup was meant for entertainment.

Golden candlelight flickered against the bars, casting long shadows across the polished floors.

The three men entered, servants bowing as they took their places in large leather chairs in front of the cage.

And inside—

Melodie lay curled in a fetal position.

She was no longer in rags.

She wore a blue, one-piece dress, something simple—made for serfs.

Her skin gleamed like polished black glass, reflecting the soft glow of the fire.

Her hair had been washed, oiled, and brushed.

Long, thick, soft curls cascaded down her back, reaching her waist.

The moment the King laid eyes on her, his amusement vanished.

He was astonished.

"Incredible," he murmured, stepping closer.

He had seen lightly toasted-skinned Canariae before, but none like this.

None with skin this rich, this deep, this striking against the firelight.

None with hair so uniquely textured—fluffy, soft, defying gravity itself.

Slowly, almost instinctively, the King reached out, fingers hovering just above her curls—

But before he could touch her—

Malec caught his wrist.

"This one bites," Malec warned, voice low and firm.

The King glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

Then—he laughed.

"You sound attached, cousin."

Malec said nothing.

The King let his hand drop, but his eyes never left Melodie.

"She would fetch a hefty price," the King remarked. "I have never seen one like her. She is rare."

Malec's expression remained neutral.

"She is a wild boar at best," he muttered. "She needs taming before she can enter any home."

The King turned back to him.

"A fine gift," he said smoothly. "I am pleased."

But before he could say another word—

Malec cut him off.

"No," he said again, sharper this time.

The King blinked.

Then—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

"Ah," he murmured. "I see."

Malec's tan eyes narrowed.

The King leaned back in his chair, exhaling lazily. "Very well. I will not take what you wish to keep."

Malec stiffened, his grip tightening around the arms of his chair—

But he didn't argue.

And for the rest of the evening, the King simply sat, watching the dark-skinned Canariae curled inside the golden cage, silent and unreadable.