Chapter One: The Weight of SilenceI pushed against his chest, but my limbs felt like lead, weighted down by the sudden, terrifying influx of his power. The air in the cell was no longer empty; it was thick, tasting of ozone and ancient, briny deeps.
"Let go," I hissed, though it was my own magic that refused to sever the connection. My palm felt fused to his skin, a magnetic pull that was dragging the very breath from my lungs.
"I'm not the one holding on, little bird," Alaric replied. His voice was strained, the mocking edge replaced by a raw, vibrating tension.
Outside the heavy iron door, the sound of leather boots crunched against stone. The jingle of keys—the guard was returning.
"Silence? Is everything alright in there? The torches in the hall just went out!"
Panic, sharp and cold, pierced the haze of the magical surge. If the guard opened that door and saw me—the King's pristine weapon—collapsed in the arms of the Midnight Prince, surrounded by a swirling vortex of forbidden light, my life would be forfeit before the sun rose. My father did not tolerate defective tools.
"Answer him," Alaric whispered, his breath hot against my ear. The shadows around us began to settle, coiling like sleeping vipers at our feet, but the gray light between our pressed palms remained, glowing like a dying coal.
I forced my voice to steady, drawing on years of court etiquette to mask the tremor. "I am... fine! The prisoner's magic is more volatile than anticipated. Do not enter until the cycle is complete. The discharge could kill you."
The footsteps stopped. A beat of silence followed. "Right. Aye, My Lady. I'll stay back. Just... hurry it along. It sounds like a damn thunderstorm in there."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My eyes snapped back to Alaric. He was watching me with an unreadable expression, his silver eyes tracking the way the light pulsed under my skin.
"You're shaking," he noted.
"My gloves," I whispered, looking down in horror. The lead-lined silk was shredded, hanging in pathetic white ribbons from my wrists. My bare hands were exposed—deadly, hungry, and currently glowing with the stolen essence of a prince. "If I walk out there like this, they'll know. They'll see what I've taken."
Alaric's gaze dropped to my hands. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out—not with his magic, but with a physical gentleness that felt more dangerous than his shadows. He took my wrist, his thumb grazing the pulse point where the blood was racing.
"They won't see anything if you learn to tuck it away," he said. "Your power is a void, Elara. You've been taught to use it like a straw, drinking until the glass is empty. But a void can also be a cloak."
"I don't need lessons from a prisoner," I snapped, trying to yank my arm back. He held fast.
"You need lessons from someone who survives the dark, and currently, I'm the only one in this room with that resume." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, rhythmic hum—the same humming the guard had mentioned. It vibrated through my bones, calming the frantic itch of the siphoned energy. "Close your eyes. Stop fighting the theft. Accept the weight of it. Fold the magic into the center of your chest, behind the ribs. Hide it where you hide your secrets."
I wanted to bite back a retort, but the sound of the guard's pacing was getting louder. I had no choice. I closed my eyes, focusing on the swirling, chaotic mass of shadow and light that I had ripped from him. Usually, I just let the energy dissipate into the lead-lined stones of the tower, a waste of power. But this... this felt like trying to swallow a star.
I pictured a box of cold iron in my mind. I dragged the energy toward it, tethering it down.
Slowly, the glow beneath my skin faded. The prickling heat in my veins receded into a dull, heavy ache. When I opened my eyes, my skin looked normal again—pale and untouched. But I could feel him in there. A tiny spark of Alaric's shadow-magic was nestled right against my heart, pulsing in time with my own rhythm.
"There," he whispered. He let go of my wrist, and for a moment, the loss of his touch felt like a physical blow. "The Silence returns."
I looked at my ruined gloves. I couldn't wear them. I reached for the hem of my heavy velvet overskirt and ripped two long strips of fabric from the underside. With trembling fingers, I wrapped them around my hands and wrists, mimicking the bandages of a scholar or a healer. It was a poor disguise, but in the dim light of the tower, it might pass for a ritualistic requirement.
"Why didn't you let it kill me?" I asked, backing toward the moonstone circle I had drawn on the floor. "You could have let the feedback loop shatter my mind. You would have been free."
Alaric sat back on his wooden bench, the shadows returning to him like loyal hounds. He looked exhausted, his face paler than before, but those silver eyes remained sharp.
"Killing you is easy, Elara Vance. Everyone wants to kill someone. But a woman who can drink the dark and keep her soul?" He tilted his head, a stray lock of black hair falling over his brow. "That is far more interesting. And I have a feeling I'm going to need someone interesting where I'm going."
"You're going to the chopping block," I said, my voice harsher than I intended.
"We'll see," he murmured. "Go on. Your keepers are waiting. But remember... you have a piece of the Midnight Isles inside you now. Don't be surprised if the sun starts to look a little too bright tomorrow."
I didn't answer. I stepped through the salt-veil, kicking the moonstone dust to break the seal. The barrier hissed back into place, a wall of shimmering air between us.
I didn't look back as I signaled the guard to open the door. I didn't look back as I climbed the freezing spiral stairs, my heart heavy with a weight that wasn't mine.
As I emerged into the cool night air of the upper palace, the moon was rising, full and silver. It looked exactly like his eyes. I pressed my bandaged hand against my chest, feeling that tiny, stolen spark of shadow kick against my ribs.
I was the King's Silence. I was a weapon. I was a tool.
But as I walked through the halls of my father's house, I realized for the first time that the house was very, very quiet. And I was no longer sure if I was the one who had silenced it, or if I was the only one who had finally started to hear the noise.