Luko's Internal Conflict

As Malec rode through the city gates, dragging Melodie with him, Luko was dealing with problems of his own.

The streets of the capital were as cruel as ever.

Nobles in their fine silks and smug grins strolled through the palace corridors, their laughter mocking and sharp.

And of course—Luko was always the target.

"Ah, look at him," one of the men sneered, a tall, silver-haired noble with piercing blue eyes. "Our little Canariae whisperer."

His friends laughed, elbowing each other.

"Did you enjoy your time with the slaves, Luko?" another chimed in. "Learn any new tricks?"

Luko kept his expression neutral.

This was nothing new.

He was lowborn.

His mother had been a servant, his father a nameless merchant.

His ability to speak Canariae only made things worse.

Only lesser beings learned the tongue of slaves.

And so, he was always lesser in their eyes.

But Luko had long since learned to swallow his pride.

Because pride did not keep men like him alive.

Instead, he bowed his head slightly, offering a tight-lipped smile.

"Gentlemen," he said smoothly.

They laughed, clapping him on the back mockingly as they passed.

Once they were gone, Luko exhaled slowly.

And then, he thought of Melodie.

Of the way she was paraded around in chains, stripped of dignity.

And suddenly—

His own humiliation felt small.

Because he could walk freely.

She could not.

And that was something he could never forget.

Malec was not a gentle master.

He never had been.

Disobedience had one outcome—punishment.

And yet—

As he watched Melodie kneeling on the cold stone floor, her wrists raw from the restraints, her body tense yet silent, something in him felt off.

His chest felt heavy.

His anger had simmered, but in its place, something worse had settled.

Something he refused to name.

She was suffering.

And he hated it.

But he couldn't let her go unpunished.

Because if he did—

She would do it again.

She had to learn.

She had to break.

Then why does it ache to see her like this?

Malec didn't understand it.

But he found himself looking for reasons to be around her.

He was drawn to her—like some curse he couldn't shake.

He watched her as she cleaned, as she moved about her duties, as she spoke quietly to Luko in that foreign tongue of hers.

He told himself it was to keep her in check.

But deep down, he knew better.

He was becoming interested.

He wanted to see her.

To hear her voice.

To know what she was thinking.

Because despite everything—

She still refused to submit.

And that both enraged and intrigued him.

"You are to bring the dark one."

The royal messenger's words echoed in his mind as he prepared for the small gathering.

Malec felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his gut.

The King wanted to show her off to the nobles.

Like a rare pet.

Like a trophy.

Malec had no reason to refuse.

But he did not like it.

Because they would see her.

And they would want her.

And Malec was starting to realize—

He did not want to share.

Melodie stood silent and composed, dressed in fine but revealing silks, the fabric designed to enhance her uniqueness.

The nobles whispered among themselves, their eyes lingering on her dark skin, their fascination evident.

The King, in his usual arrogance, chuckled as he recounted the story of her escape.

"She thought she could outrun the Silver Fox," the King mused, sipping his wine. "But nothing escapes Malec once he decides to hunt."

The nobles found it fascinating.

It was rare—unheard of, even—for a Canariae to be hostile, rebellious.

"She must be worth a fortune," one of the noblewomen murmured, examining Melodie like one would a prized pig.

"Malec," another noble inquired, "Have you considered selling her?"

Malec's spine stiffened. 

No.

Melodie kept her expression neutral, but her mind was anything but calm.

This… this was impossible.

Yet she heard his voice as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.

And Surin—

He knew she could hear him.

His icy blue eyes gleamed, watching her with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"I am Surin, father of Malec," his voice whispered in her mind. 

Melodie swallowed, careful not to react. But she saw it now. How did she miss it?

The resemblance.

His features, his height, his posture.

But he looked barely older than Malec himself.

How slowly do these creatures age?

"How are you able to do this?" she thought, testing the connection.

Surin's lips curled slightly, his amusement growing.

"I am gifted."

Melodie's stomach twisted.

"Gifted how?"

Surin tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Mental thought is not a language, little Canariae," he explained. "It is emotion. Feeling. Intention."

His voice was smooth, flowing like water in her mind.

"Your thoughts translate those emotions into words for you."

Melodie's breath hitched.

That meant—

"You're not actually speaking my language, are you?"

Surin smiled.

"No."

Her heart pounded.

This was beyond dangerous.

This meant he understood her completely—no matter what language she spoke.

She could lie to Malec.

She could lie to Luko.

But she couldn't lie to Surin.

Surin leaned in slightly, his presence strangely calming, yet deeply unsettling.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked.

Melodie tensed.

She had been planning to play along, to flirt just enough to make an escape.

But she hadn't expected this.

"Why?" she thought, testing his reaction.

Surin exhaled softly, tilting his head.

"You are rare," he said simply. "It is not often I meet a Canariae with intelligence. Or… defiance."

Melodie's stomach churned.

Was this another game?

Another trap?

Surin gave her a knowing look.

"You are wary of me."

"Shouldn't I be?" she shot back.

His icy blue eyes glinted.

"Perhaps."

Melodie's pulse quickened.

If she could get away from Malec, if she could get closer to the capital, maybe she could—

"Malec will not let you go," Surin said smoothly. "And you know this."

Her throat tightened.

Damn it.

He was reading her too well.

She needed to change the subject.

"Can all Awyan do this?" she asked instead.

Surin chuckled lowly.

"No."

His gaze flickered toward Malec for a brief moment before returning to her.

"Your master could—if he tried."

Melodie's breath caught.

"What do you mean?"

Surin's smile deepened, his expression unreadable.

"He already uses his gift," he murmured. "Just… differently."

Melodie's brows furrowed.

"How?"

Surin's fingers brushed absently over the rim of his goblet.

"He reads people," he said simply.

Melodie stilled.

"Reads people?"

Surin nodded.

"He does not intrude into minds like I do," he explained. "But he sees. He observes. He senses intent through body language, expressions, shifts in breath. It is an unconscious skill. One he does not even realize he has."

Melodie's stomach tightened.

This… this was useful information.

If Malec could read people through their actions—

Then being unreadable could be a weapon.

If she learned to control her emotions, to remain utterly blank, expressionless—

Then maybe, just maybe, she could trick him.

"Clever girl," Surin mused.

Melodie gritted her teeth.

Damn it!

She had forgotten that he was still inside her mind.

Surin chuckled.

"Do not fret, little Canariae," he murmured. "Your secret is safe with me."

Her heart pounded.

She didn't trust him.

Not for a second.

But she had just learned something far more valuable than she had expected.

Malec could be fooled.

And she was going to find out how.

Malec gritted his teeth as he watched Surin interact with Melodie.

It was wrong.

He hated the way his father's fingers trailed over her skin.

He hated the way she didn't pull away.

And he hated the look in her eyes.

She was planning something.

He knew it.

And so—The decision was made.That night, Malec told the King he was leaving.He would take Melodie North, back to his stronghold in the frozen lands.Away from the King.Away from the nobles.And most importantly—away from his father.

Even after the gathering had ended, Malec's grip on Melodie did not loosen.

They walked through the dimly lit halls of the palace, his large hand clamped around her arm, his pace quick and rigid.

Melodie could feel the anger rolling off him in waves.

His fingers dug into her skin, but not hard enough to bruise—just firm enough to remind her that she was trapped.

He was keeping her close.

Too close.

She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his breaths came slower, deeper, like he was forcing himself to calm down.

But he wasn't calm.

Not at all.

Something about that gathering had changed him.

"Malec."

The smooth, commanding voice stopped them both in their tracks.

Melodie didn't have to turn around to know who it belonged to.

The King.

Malec stiffened beside her, his grip on her tensing even further.

Slowly, he turned.

The King stood near the grand staircase, his wine glass half-raised, a smirk curling on his regal face.

"You didn't enjoy yourself?" he asked, mocking amusement in his tone.

Malec's tan eyes darkened.

"You already know the answer," he muttered.

The King let out a chuckle, swirling the deep red wine in his glass.

"Come now, cousin. It was only a little fun."

Malec's jaw tightened.

"Parading my Canariae around as entertainment is not what I call 'fun.'"

The King raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Then what would you call it? Training?" he mused. "Or perhaps... you simply don't like sharing?"

Malec stilled.

Melodie felt his fingers flex on her arm, like he was fighting the urge to clench his fist.

The King's smirk widened.

"You must sell her soon, Malec," he said, leaning lazily against the railing. "You can't keep holding onto her forever."

Silence.

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Melodie's stomach twisted.

She turned her head slightly, stealing a glance at Malec.

His face was blank, unreadable.

But his eyes were burning.

The King tilted his head, looking mildly amused.

"Or do you plan to keep her?"

A ripple of low laughter echoed from the nobles lingering nearby.

Then—

"If he won't sell her, I will offer five hundred gold for her," a noblewoman piped up, sipping from her goblet.

"I'll offer six," a man added casually.

"Seven," another voice joined in.

The room shifted.

Suddenly, Melodie wasn't a person anymore.

She was a commodity.

A thing.

A prize to be won.

And Malec—

Was losing control.

"Enough."

The room froze.

Malec's voice was calm.

Too calm.

The kind of calm that warned of an impending storm.

He let go of Melodie's arm, taking a slow, measured step forward.

The air felt heavier, the tension crackling like fire.

The King merely raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" he mused. "Is there a problem?"

Malec's jaw ticked.

"She is not for sale."

The King tilted his head, still smirking like this was all a game.

"Not even for a thousand?" he asked, amused.

Malec's teeth clenched.

"Not even for the throne."

The room fell into dead silence.

The nobles exchanged wary glances.

The King's smirk faded slightly.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then—

The King chuckled, shaking his head.

"Well, well," he mused. "It seems my dear cousin has grown... attached."

Malec didn't answer.

He just stood there, his entire body tensed like a beast ready to lunge.

The King exhaled, finishing his wine in one slow sip.

"Very well," he said, handing off his goblet to a nearby servant. "She is yours. For now."

Then, with a final smirk, he turned and walked away.

The tension in the room lingered, thick and suffocating.

Malec remained frozen, staring at the space where the King had stood, his shoulders heaving slightly.

Then, suddenly—

He turned to Melodie, his tan eyes burning.

"We're leaving."