Malakar’s breath hitched as his gaze locked onto the young girl in the deep sapphire gown. For a mont, he seems to be frozen; his usual composure starts slipping. The world around him seed to fade into the background; only the muffled sound of his breathing was pounding in his ears. Her face—it was too similar, and disturbingly so.
That woman from his past. The one who he couldn’t forget even after so many centuries had passed.
His throat tightened, and the familiar storm of emotions stirred deep inside him. He swallowed hard, trying to regain control, but it was impossible to deny the sudden rush of disbelief, and sothing dangerously close to fear. His jaw dropped, and for a brief mont, the Crown Prince facade faltered as Malakar stood at the forefront.
The sapphire gown clung to the girl’s small fra, which made her appear fragile, much like the one from all those years ago. Her face—the high cheekbones, the delicate nose, even the shape of her lips—was nearly identical. It was as if the witch from his past had returned, reborn, standing before him in a new guise.
But the ensettling thing is she seems to be a pure human, she slls like a pure human and not of a witch tribe.
If they are the sa Or it is just a re coincidence. He couldn’t tell.
His hand twitched on the table, and for a fleeting mont, his demonic instincts scread at him to hug her, and to possess her. But then he caught himself, his fingers curling into a tight fist as he forced down the urge.
This girl wasn’t the witch from his past, what if he was wrong that they have rely the sa face and nothing else?
A whirlwind of emotions swirled in his chest—confusion at how this girl could look so much like her, and sothing darker, sothing deeper. It made his stomach churn, made him grit his teeth as he fought for composure. His breathing quickened, though he tried to mask it with a faint cough, his fingers drumming against the table in an effort to maintain a facade of calm.
Hell’s Mother, what sorcery was this?
He clenched his jaw tighter, the muscle flexing visibly as his mind raced. The mories were too vivid, too raw, and seeing this girl so innocently seated before him—it tore open old mories he’d buried for eons. He glanced away briefly, his hand rising to brush his lips as if the simple motion could sohow erase the shock surging through him.
But his gaze drifted back. He couldn’t help it.
She looked at him, her eyes wide and frightened, as though she sensed the intensity of his stare. That sa innocence, the sa wide-eyed terror he had once seen in her before it had all gone to ruin.
But then he rembered all the past and those painful mories; he was not ready to et her, not yet at least. After all, the pain from the past was still visible in his mind, like it was just yesterday. He couldn’t forget about it, and what about the promise he made to himself on that painful day—that he would co back and the day she would regret eting him?
Malakar exhaled sharply, the sound barely audible over the chatter around the table. He tore his gaze away from her face, fixing his attention on the goblet in front of him. His knuckles turned white as he gripped it, willing the emotions back under his control.
He could almost hear the mocking laughter of his past self, taunting him with the irony of this mont.
The world didn’t care about his pain, his vengeance. It only seed to throw more reminders in his path, daring him to confront the ghosts he’d long since buried.
But this wasn’t the ti.
No one here needed to know how much that face unsettled him. No one could ever know.
Swallowing once more, Malakar forced a smirk to his lips, though it felt foreign and strained. His eyes darkened, and the swirl of emotions simred beneath the surface. He let out a slow, controlled breath as he composed himself, pushing the mories back into the recesses of his mind where they belonged.
He leaned back in his chair, his body language returning to its usual nonchalance, but his mind remained on high alert. The girl was still looking at him, her eyes darting nervously, and he couldn’t help but wonder—
Was this fate?
Or so cruel trick of the universe?
Either way, Malakar knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t let her presence affect him. The past was catching up to him, and now, more than ever, he needed to find out who she truly was and are they really the sa?
Malakar’s mind was swirling with countless thoughts, still reeling from the shock. She moved gracefully, her head slightly bowed as she responded quietly to sothing the queen said. The sapphire gown she wore accentuated the sa grace and elegance he rembered, but now there was a fragility in her posture, a tension that hadn’t been there before. It tugged at sothing deep within him.
His gaze lingered too long, absorbing every detail. He barely noticed the low hum of conversation around him, oblivious to the tension thickening in the room.
Then, out of nowhere, a sharp, piercing gaze cut through his reverie.
Malakar’s attention snapped to the source, his instincts flaring as he t the cold, unwavering eyes of Prince Dorian.
Dorian’s expression remained as calm and unreadable as ever, but there was no mistaking the warning in his look. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, and though his lips barely moved, the ssage was clear: Stop staring
Malakar tilted his head slightly, eting Dorian’s gaze with a smirk that was equally filled with amusent and challenge. The prince had noticed. Interesting.
The tension between them thickened in alarming rate. Dorian’s protective glare sent a clear ssage—his sister was off-limits. Malakar wasn’t stupid. He could see the bond between Dorian and her from the way the prince’s eyes softened, just for a mont, whenever they flickered toward his sister.
But Malakar wasn’t one to be intimidated, even by a prince maybe he would if it was his Lord. He had faced far worse than a protective brother in his ti. Still, he knew better than to cause a scene here, not in front of both kings and the entire Aetherlyn court.
With a deliberate, slow movent, Malakar broke eye contact and leaned back in his chair, a casual smile tugging at his lips. He raised his goblet to his lips, sipping as if Dorian’s warning ant nothing to him.
But inwardly, his mind was spinning.
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