Lady Mae Yara and Her Charming Pet

"What were you two talking about?"

Malec's tan eyes locked onto Allora.

Too casual.

Too controlled.

Suspicious.

Allora hesitated, mind racing for an excuse.

She couldn't tell if it was her own nerves making her tense—or if Malec had truly sensed something.

Before she could scramble for an answer, Surian had already provided her escape.

"Oh, Malec," Surian sighed dramatically, rolling her cool gray eyes.

"Always so paranoid. Must every conversation I have be about you?"

Malec's jaw ticked.

"When it involves my Canariae, yes."

"How possessive." Surian smirked, ignoring his rising irritation.

"If you must know, we were discussing how insufferable you are. I was offering her my condolences."

Allora snorted, covering it up with a cough.

She couldn't help it—that was a perfect way to shut him up.

Malec's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Cute," he muttered dryly.

Surian merely smiled sweetly.

"Good evening, brother."

With that, she strode away, her silver hair swaying behind her.

As she passed, she cast one last knowing glance at Allora.

A glance that whispered:

Remember what I told you.

Allora subtly slipped the black coin deeper into her garments.

Her heart pounded.

Surian disappeared down the corridor.

Malec's grip on her wrist tightened.

Malec led her through the immaculate palace halls, his pace controlled, steady.

But Allora could feel it—

That rigid tension beneath his composure.

He was thinking.

Calculating.

He knew something was off.

She needed to distract him.

She needed to act normal.

She—

"You look beautiful tonight."

Allora's head snapped up.

Malec's gaze wasn't on her—not fully—but he had glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

His tan irises flickered with something unreadable.

Her lips parted slightly.

"Excuse me?"

Malec didn't repeat himself.

He just kept walking, but his fingers brushed against hers.

"Even the moon favors you," he murmured.

Allora was caught off guard.

Malec had said many things to her.

Commands.

Threats.

Teasing remarks.

But this?

This was different.

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

Her skin didn't flush, but she felt the warmth creep up her neck.

Malec noticed.

Even though her dark skin wouldn't show it, he could sense the shift in her.

And he revered it.

A rare, sweet moment.

One she didn't even realize she had given him.

So he kissed her.

Not on the lips.

But on the top of her head.

Soft.

Gentle.

Possessive.

"I miss you," he murmured.

Allora froze.

She wasn't sure how to react.

The words lingered in the air, heavy, suffocating.

Her chest tightened.

She thought back to what Surin, Surion, and Surian had said.

How Malec was falling for her.

How he would never let her go.

Her fingers curled into her garments.

No.

She was too close to freedom to second-guess herself now.

Malec wasn't her future.

He wasn't her home.

And yet—

She still felt that warmth.

That strange heat under her skin.

Malec let out a small hum of satisfaction.

Even without looking at her, he knew.

Even without words, she had responded to him.

And he loved it.

Allora tried to steady herself.

She needed to focus.

She needed to play this right.

The festival.

She had to convince him to take her.

She opened her mouth to ask—

"Malec."

A smooth, familiar voice.

Allora's stomach dropped.

Malec's shoulders stiffened.

They had arrived at the dining hall.

And seated at the grand table were the two people Malec did not want to see.

King Surion.

And Surin.

Malec's expression darkened.

His mood instantly soured.

Surin lifted a crystal goblet, swirling the wine inside lazily.

"Ah, the lovers arrive," he mused, his ice-blue eyes flicking over them.

King Surion, ever the casual manipulator, simply smirked.

"Come, Commander," he said smoothly. "Sit. Drink. Enjoy the evening."

Malec was not amused.

And Allora—

Allora realized this dinner would be a battle.

The dining hall was grand, the ceilings high, chandeliers glowing with soft golden light. The scent of roasted meats and seasoned vegetables filled the air, but there was an undercurrent of tension woven into the very walls.

The seating arrangement was deliberate.

At the head of the table, King Surion lounged with an air of effortless power.

To his right, Surin sat in calm amusement, swirling the wine in his goblet.

To his left, Malec took his seat—tense, composed, but visibly on edge.

And next to him…

Allora.

Seated at the table.

A Canariae—not at her master's feet.

Not kneeling.

Not waiting to be fed scraps.

But sitting as an equal among royals.

And that was unheard of.

As the Awyan servants entered, their reactions were immediate.

A sharp intake of breath.

A few stumbled, almost dropping the plates they carried.

One paused completely, eyes wide, staring as though she had seen a ghost.

Allora felt their disbelief—no, their horror— sink into her bones.

Her fingers twitched on the tablecloth.

This was wrong.

They all thought it was wrong.

Her skin prickled with unease.

Malec noticed immediately.

His gaze snapped to his cousin, Surion.

A warning. A challenge.

Surion sighed dramatically and gestured for the servants to continue.

"Apologies, Malec," Surion said lazily.

"This is the first time a Canariae has ever sat at a table in the Royal Halls. Or anywhere in the palace, for that matter."

He lifted a hand, a subtle wave to urge the servants forward.

"But come, come. You're all staring. I promise she doesn't bite."

Malec's jaw ticked.

He didn't appreciate the show.

But he said nothing.

Instead, he turned to Allora, his tan eyes scanning her too-quiet expression.

"Eat," he murmured softly.

Allora forced herself to pick up her utensils.

She had bigger things to focus on.

Like the voice slipping into her mind.

"Did you find your talk with Surian… productive?"

Allora's fork paused midair.

That voice.

Surin.

She flicked her gaze to him—

But he wasn't looking at her.

His attention was fixed on Malec and Surion, as though he were merely listening to their conversation.

But that voice…

Was inside her head.

"You and her both work together on this, don't you?" she asked in thought.

Surin's confirmation was instant.

"Yes. And Surion as well."

Allora's heart skipped a beat.

She resumed eating, keeping her expression neutral.

"The King?"

"Of course," Surin said smoothly. "He was the one who told me about you. He saw your worth long before the rest of us."

"So that's why he was so forward."

"Indeed. He was trying to get close enough to you to help."

Allora took a slow bite of food, as though she didn't have a single thought in her head.

The last thing she needed was for Malec to sense something was off.

"We're all avid advocates for Canariae," Surin continued.

Allora's eyebrow arched.

"That's cute."

Surin's lips twitched upward.

It was the smallest movement, almost imperceptible—

But she caught it.

Surin was amused.

He hid it quickly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin as if to disguise his smirk.

"Careful," Surin warned, his voice a low whisper in her head. "Do not make me react too much. Malec would not approve of us speaking without him hearing."

Allora fought back a smirk.

____________________________________________________________________________

As the low murmur of conversation drifted between Malec, Surion, and Surin, Allora remained quiet, focused on her food.

At least, that's what it looked like.

But beneath the surface, inside the privacy of her mind, another conversation was unfolding.

"Why do you look so sad, little dove?"

The voice slid into her thoughts smoothly, like silk over steel.

Allora's fork hesitated over her plate.

Surin.

She didn't look up at him, didn't acknowledge him.

She had to pretend nothing was happening.

But her thoughts answered.

"I want to ask Malec to let me go to the festival."

She stabbed at her food, pretending to be distracted.

"But I'm afraid to."

Surin's mental presence hummed with amusement.

"Afraid? You?"

Allora almost rolled her eyes.

"Afraid he'll say no,"_ she corrected. "Afraid he'll get suspicious."

Surin was quiet for a moment.

Then, his voice came through again, laced with genuine curiosity.

"And if he says yes… will you leave him?"

Allora's throat tightened.

She didn't answer with her mouth or her mind, she answered with the plead in her gaze.

Surin's mental voice softened.

"Perhaps I should help you, then."

Before she could ask what he meant, he suddenly spoke aloud—loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.

"So, Malec."

Malec's tan eyes flicked up sharply.

Surin leaned back lazily in his chair, swirling his wine in its crystal goblet.

"Will you be attending the Festival of Fall?"

The question was innocent enough.

But the weight it carried was not.

Allora stilled.

She didn't dare look at Malec.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

Would he sense her interest?

Would he question it?

Surion, who had been watching them both with vague amusement, suddenly perked up.

"Ah, yes," the King said smoothly. "The festival will be grand this year. It has been some time since you've attended, Malec."

He took a slow sip of his drink, then smirked.

"I imagine you have little time for such… distractions."

Surin chuckled under his breath.

Malec's expression remained unreadable.

Allora held her breath.

And then—

"Perhaps," Malec murmured, setting his goblet down. "I will consider it."

Inside her mind, Allora whispered to Surin:

"Why did you do that?"

Surin's mental voice purred with amusement.

"Because I am curious, little dove."

He paused.

"Will he let you fly?"

Allora didn't react.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't let even a flicker of excitement cross her face.

She played her part perfectly.

Casually, she tilted her head, feigning curiosity.

"What is the Festival of Fall?"

Malec's tan eyes moved over her.

He studied her too closely, as if he could already sense the gears turning in her mind.

She held his gaze, steady, innocent, eager.

As if she didn't already have a plan in motion.

Malec leaned back in his chair.

"It is a grand festival," he said slowly, voice rich and smooth. "Merchants from all over come to trade. There are competitions, games, performances… a celebration of the changing season."

He paused.

"It is also… quite large."

Allora's lips parted slightly, pretending to take in the grandeur of it all.

"That sounds… amazing."

She placed her hands on her lap, shifting just enough to look sweet, hopeful.

Then she smiled.

"I would love to see it."

Malec said nothing at first.

He simply watched her.

For a long, drawn-out moment.

The flames from the candles cast golden shadows against his sharp, aristocratic features.

Then, slowly, he leaned in.

So close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.

"If you behave," he murmured, voice dark, deep, intentional.

"I will take you."

Allora's smile widened.

A beam of excitement, manufactured just enough to be believable.

"Are you serious?" she asked, tilting her head in feigned innocence.

Malec's tan eyes flickered.

"Yes, little dove."

He reached out, brushing his fingers just barely along her wrist.

"Be good for me, and I will reward you."

Good.

She would pretend.

She would play along.

Because nothing mattered more than getting to that festival.

Nothing mattered more than getting back home.

A sharp squint.

Allora almost didn't notice it.

But when she turned slightly, she caught Surin's piercing gaze locked onto Malec.

Expression unreadable.

Wine untouched.

Watching.

Calculating.

Noticing.

He knew.

He knew Malec was up to something.

And Allora couldn't afford to care.

This was her chance.

And she was going to take it.

The next few days were carefully measured.

Every interaction.

Every moment.

Every look from Malec was a silent test.

Would she comply?

Would she listen?

Would she prove herself worthy of reward?

Malec never said what the punishment would be if she failed.

He didn't have to.

It was in the way his tan eyes tracked her movements.

In the way his jaw tensed whenever she strayed too far from his side.

In the ghost of a smirk he gave when she chose to submit.

She played along.

A perfect act.

Smiling when he touched her.

Lowering her gaze just enough when he spoke.

Following when he led.

All to reach the festival.

But she wasn't the only one playing a game.

"Careful, little dove."

Allora froze.

She had been walking through the stone corridors alone when Surin's voice slipped into her mind.

Smooth. Controlled. Dangerous.

"He is setting a trap for you."

She turned, slowly, toward the dimly lit hall—

And there he was.

Leaning casually against a column, dressed in elegant dark robes, a silver ring glinting on his finger.

Watching her.

Always watching.

Allora kept walking, kept her expression neutral as she responded in her thoughts.

"What kind of trap?"

"One you won't see until it's already snapped shut."

A slow smirk played on his lips.

"Malec is no fool, Allora. You think you've won him over?"

His blue eyes gleamed with amusement.

"He is watching you just as closely as you are watching him."

Allora didn't break stride, but her pulse quickened.

She knew that.

But hearing it from Surin made it feel more real.

More dangerous.

"So what do you suggest?" she asked.

Surin chuckled.

"Win."

And just like that, his presence vanished from her mind.

Leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Two days before the festival, Malec took her to the countryside.

To his aunt's great estate.

Allora had expected another cold, suffocating fortress.

Instead, she was met with rolling green fields, towering fruit trees, and a grand white stone manor.

The air smelled fresh. Alive.

Malec seemed more at ease here.

A rare thing.

"Come," he murmured, guiding her up the steps.

"I want you to meet someone."

Allora nodded, hiding her curiosity.

Inside the estate, they were greeted by Lady Mae Yara.

A striking woman with silver-streaked black hair, piercing golden eyes, and an air of effortless command.

Unlike most Awyans Allora had met, Mae Yara didn't look at her with disdain.

Or fear.

Or hunger.

Instead, she simply tilted her head in mild curiosity.

"Ah, so this is the infamous dark Canariae," she mused.

"You must tell me… is it true your kind make those strange gestures with their hands?"

Allora blinked.

"Gestures?"

"Shaking hands," Mae Yara chuckled. "Such a curious thing."

Before Allora could respond, someone stepped forward.

A Canariae man.

Tall. Broad-shouldered.

With warm brown skin, dark eyes, and neatly tied-back curls.

A handsome face, but it was his expression that caught her attention.

Something knowing.

Something testing.

And then—

He extended his hand.

For a handshake.

Allora froze.

A quiet moment stretched between them.

The other Canariae—the feral ones—had never done this before.

None of them had.

She had even tried once, back at the palace.

And every single one of them had looked at her with confusion.

But this one?

This one knew.

This was a test.

Or perhaps…

A message.

Allora reached out slowly.

And as their palms met, he spoke.

"Zumaro of the House of Errydain. Formerly known as Lieutenant Oliver Massen of the U.S. Army. Pleased to meet you."

Allora's blood ran cold.

What. The. Fuck?