The friendly air between Malion and Aurelia had grown into something strange and soft — something that felt dangerous to disturb.
They met almost every evening now, always in the same quiet patch of woods where the sun filtered through the leaves like liquid gold. It had started as coincidence, then curiosity, then something unspoken. They would talk for hours — about anything and nothing. About her mother's never-ending obsession with cotton prices, about the palace gardens he "occasionally" visited (though he owned the entire kingdom), about birds, clouds, and dreams neither of them believed in.
It was easy. Until today.
"You didn't come yesterday," Aurelia said as soon as she saw him, her tone playful but carrying a little concern. "Were you that busy? I thought you had nowhere to go."
Malion leaned against the tree, his long fingers brushing the bark, his dark hair half-shadowing his amused gaze.
"I ran into a little issue yesterday," he replied coolly. His tone closed the topic before she could pry. He didn't intend to explain that his "little issue" had been suppressing a rebellion in a neighboring province by sundown.
"Oh?" she raised a brow, sensing his avoidance but letting it go. "Well, I have good news for you then." She turned to face him, her smile soft and expectant.
"Rowan is back. He should be here anytime soon."
The name didn't sit well with him. Malion's jaw tightened slightly — Rowan? The same one he had seen in Dewshake? The one who left this town years ago — the same one who, apparently, used to spend time with Aurelia?
He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Wow… that's nice," he said flatly. Then, tilting his head, he asked, "But tell me — is that really good news?"
"Of course!" Aurelia laughed, unbothered by his tone. "You'll get to know him. And now, you'll have a male friend. You're always around me."
"I have other friends apart from you," he said smoothly, his lips twitching. "And I don't exactly need a male one. You're enough friend for me."
Aurelia's smile lingered — that was dangerously close to a compliment, and she didn't quite know how to react. So she teased instead.
"What's the name of this supposed friend of yours, then?"
Malion paused for a fraction of a second, realizing she'd caught him in a lie.
"…See?" she said, laughing softly. "You're lying. I am your only friend."
"You'd be surprised how large my circle is," he murmured, looking away.
"Really?" she said, voice full of mischief. "Then maybe you should invite them next time—"
The sharp snap of a twig silenced her mid-sentence.
Footsteps. Two, maybe three.
Her face lit up instantly. "That must be Rowan!"
Malion, however, felt his entire mood shift. His expression hardened, his arms folding slowly across his chest. A man emerged from between the trees — tall, sun-kissed, his dark hair slightly disheveled but his eyes bright. He smiled when he saw Aurelia, and for some reason that smile made something twist unpleasantly in Malion's chest.
"Aurelia," Rowan greeted warmly. "You haven't changed."
She grinned, stepping forward. "And you have! You actually look like someone who's been to Dewshake."
Rowan laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, they do make you work over there."
Malion's voice cut through their laughter like a cold blade.
"How did you know this place?"
Rowan turned, slightly startled. "Pardon?"
"I asked," Malion said, stepping forward, "how you knew this place."
Before Rowan could answer, Aurelia jumped in — cheerfully unaware of the tension brewing.
"This is where we used to meet before he left! We'd come here almost every evening, just to talk or climb trees or—"
"Climb trees," Malion repeated, his tone deceptively mild. "Fascinating."
Rowan smiled — but not kindly. "You are Malion, then," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Aurelia's new… friend."
"New?" Malion said smoothly. "I'd say… only."
"Is that so?" Rowan's tone was just as cool. "Well, I suppose she needed company while her old friends were gone."
Malion's lips curved faintly. "Gone or forgotten?"
Aurelia blinked between them, her smile faltering. "Wait—what are you two talking about?"
"Nothing," Malion said.
"Everything," Rowan countered at the same time.
Their eyes locked — a quiet, invisible war starting between them. Every word they spoke after that was dipped in subtle venom and wrapped in politeness sharp enough to cut glass.
"So," Rowan said, voice casual but his gaze taunting, "Aurelia tells me you spend a lot of time together."
"Yes," Malion replied, not missing the way Rowan stood close to her. "Enough to know she prefers tulips to roses… though I suppose some people never bothered to notice."
"Oh, I noticed," Rowan said with a smirk. "Just didn't have time to pick them."
Aurelia's eyes darted between them, realization dawning that this wasn't friendly banter anymore. "Okay—uh, maybe we should head back before it gets dark."
"Of course," both men said in perfect unison, which made her sigh.
"I'll escort you," Rowan offered.
"I'll do it," Malion said immediately.
She looked at both of them — tall, proud, silently challenging each other like two lions over prey — and groaned. "You don't both have to."
But they only stared at her, neither moving an inch.
Finally, she relented. "Rowan can walk me. His house is on my way home, and I don't want you to go out of your way, Malion."
That should have been harmless. But it wasn't.
Malion's eyes darkened just slightly — enough for her to shift uncomfortably. He smiled, but his tone had lost its warmth.
"As you wish, Aurelia."
She nodded, grateful, and turned to leave with Rowan. Malion stood still until they vanished from view — then his expression fell entirely.
"Now," he muttered, his voice like a low growl. "It's time to claim what's mine."
The shadows around him stirred, whispering in a tongue only darkness understood.
"Nyx," he called quietly.
A faint ripple appeared beside him — and from it, a figure of smoke and ink emerged, kneeling low. "Yes, my lord."
"Make sure nothing happens between them," Malion ordered, eyes still fixed in the direction they went. "And find a way that bastard leaves her side before nightfall."
Nyx bowed deeply, his shadowy form already fading. "As you command."
Meanwhile, on the path home, Rowan and Aurelia walked side by side under the dying sun. The air was sweet with the scent of pine and dust, and for a while, it was just like old times — almost.
"So," Rowan began, glancing at her, "how did you meet him?"
"Malion?" she asked, smiling faintly. "He was… just there one day. We met by chance."
"By chance," Rowan echoed, unconvinced. "You should be careful around him, Aurelia."
She frowned. "Why? He's kind. A little strange sometimes, but kind."
Rowan laughed softly — but there was no humor in it. "Things are often not as they seem."
Aurelia slowed her pace, her brow furrowing. "You make it sound like he's dangerous."
"Maybe not dangerous," Rowan said, eyes on the road ahead. "But not ordinary either. I've seen men like him — charming, quiet… the kind you never truly know until it's too late."
Aurelia sighed, shaking her head. "You're overthinking it. He's a nice person, Rowan."
He gave her a long look, then smiled faintly. "Then promise me you'll be careful."
"I will," she said softly.
They walked in silence for a moment — until Rowan, trying to ease the mood, draped a friendly arm over her shoulder, just like he used to.
And then— crack.
He tripped on a stone.
A loud, undignified "Ah!" escaped him as he fell forward, crashing onto the dirt path in a cloud of dust.
Aurelia gasped. "Rowan!"
He groaned, clutching his ankle. "I'm fine, I'm fine— wait— no, I'm not fine—!"
She knelt beside him, concern written all over her face. "Oh gods, you're bleeding—did you sprain it?"
"No, it's just… the ground attacked me," he muttered grimly.
She couldn't help it — she laughed. "The ground attacked you?"
"Yes," he said with mock seriousness. "It's clearly allied with Malion."
Aurelia bit her lip to hide her giggle as she helped him up. "You're unbelievable."
He leaned heavily on her shoulder as they continued, limping awkwardly. "And you're surprisingly strong for someone so small."
"Don't flatter me," she said, rolling her eyes, "you're just dramatic."
Meanwhile, somewhere unseen in the trees, Nyx stood watching — his shadowy face blank with disbelief. His mission had been simple: separate them. And yet, he had somehow managed to make them closer, quite literally arm-in-arm.
"Oh no," he whispered to himself, spectral eyes widening. "Oh no no no no…"
As they disappeared around the bend, his smoky hands clutched at his head. "He's going to kill me—"
The wind shifted, and a voice like death itself coiled around him.
"Nyx."
The shadow froze, trembling.
Malion's voice was calm — too calm. "Tell me… how did it go?"
Nyx hesitated, his smoky form flickering nervously. "Well, my lord… you see, they are… separated by emotion—"
"Are they touching?"
"…Yes."
"Walking together?"
"Yes…"
"Laughing?"
Nyx whimpered. "…A little."
Malion's smile was cold. "You had one task."
"I— I tripped him, my lord! He was supposed to fall away from her, not into her—!"
Malion pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am surrounded by incompetence."
Nyx bowed so low his shadow nearly melted into the ground. "I will fix it—!"
"You won't," Malion said sharply. "I will."
And as the night settled over the quiet path, the king's eyes glimmered red in the dark — a promise that this little game of friendship and affection was about to end.
For Malion, patience had never been a virtue.