Chapter 1

One

A ric Solarian didn't need his magic to feel the demon lords' hunger all around him. Inside the Wrathgate, the stronghold of Sovereign Zaxos, the supreme leader of all the demon realms, it was a living thing, a roiling miasma that filled the room, thick as brimstone. The chains on his wrists and the collar at his throat were just another heavy reminder of his situation. He inhaled the heat of the Wrathforge, and tried to gather his thoughts as the stench of fell weapons being forged in the citadel's depths wafted all around him and Zaxos's courtiers slithered on the edge of his vision. Their shadowy forms gathered around him mottled the scent with their own as they called forth their own magics and exchanged their own murmurs.

He forced himself to stand tall, to hold his ground, even as it all reminded him, with every slow scrape of chain against metal, every seeping wisp of sulfur on the air, every hard gold gaze that raked over him—of what he truly was in the eyes of the demons. Not a great mage, as he'd once hoped to be, not a master of his craft, not a warrior of any skill. A pet, a trinket, a pretty, fragile thing to be paraded around and shown off, if he was lucky, and cast aside if he was not.

But not a threat. Never a threat.

He bit his lip to keep from wincing as the guards shoved him forward, and he scurried into place beside the demon prince's chair.

Prince Malekith, the sole remaining scion of House Ixion, a once-great demon house now reduced to only one. Malekith, who had breached a human outpost for no reason other than to pluck Aric from his fate and put him on a leash as Malekith dangled the prospect of Aric's knowledge of the human realm's defenses before this assembled court. Malekith, who'd uncovered an unfortunate scheme by Lord Darioth to slaughter his pet human before Aric had truly served any use, and was left with no option but to slay Darioth instead, and offer the Sovereign the greatest prize of all: knowledge of how to dismantle the human realms' wards.

So the story went. All according to Malekith's plan, if Malekith could be believed. Yes, it was Malekith's show. His grand performance, and Aric—Aric was just another one of his props.

He might have laughed at the thought, if laughter didn't taste so much like his own fear.

The demon on the Onyx Throne rose, and the chamber fell silent, save for the clinking of Aric's chains as the Sovereign raised himself to his full height. Slowly, he strode down from the dais of his throne, hooves clacking at a torturously unhurried pace. Sovereign Zaxos's sight swept over the gathered court, and the air all but shivered with the force of his will. Aric's blood curdled in his veins as the ancient demon lord fixed his burning eyes on him, and Aric had to fight to keep the revulsion off his face.

He was the reason they were all here, after all. The reason the demon court had been called to order. The reason Malekith had something to prove.

Zaxos's voice was a low, rumbling growl, the sound of an avalanche in the distance. "Let the matter of the human wards be brought before the council."

Malekith's hand settled on Aric's shoulder, a deceptively gentle touch. Aric's instincts screamed at him to flinch away, but he held himself still. He deserved no comfort from the demon prince, not after what he'd done.

"We are prepared to present our invasion strategy, in light of the information provided by the human mage," Malekith said, his voice a honeyed blade.

Zaxos's eyes flicked toward Malekith, and for a brief moment, something passed between them, something that made the air around them sizzle. Aric strained to see, to understand, but it was gone in an instant, and Zaxos turned his attention back to the rest of the council.

"Then let it be heard."

Malekith rose from his seat, his hand trailing over Aric's neck before falling away. Aric's skin felt scalded, as if he'd been branded, and he fought the urge to retreat, to hide. But there was no escape from this, no way to take back what he'd done. He could only stand there, chained and helpless, and watch as the consequences unfolded.

And pray that he might find some way to turn them to his advantage.

"Though it is most unfortunate that Lord Darioth sought to kill our golden mage before he could offer up the details . . ." Malekith jerked his head imperiously, letting their carefully woven story sink in. "It is my pleasure to provide you all now with a renewed campaign. One that will allow us to breach the human wards and strike right at their heart, if we have the courage to seize this chance."

Aric watched him, his heart pounding in his ears. Malekith moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his every step a challenge, a taunt. He was a predator circling his prey, and the court of demons gathered around them were all too eager to be swept up in his wake.

But Aric knew better. He'd seen the cracks in Malekith's facade, the moments of vulnerability that the demon prince thought he'd hidden. They were there, buried deep, but they were there, and Aric would cling to them, like a lifeline in the storm.

Malekith reached the center of the chamber, and with a simple gesture, a map of the human realm sprang into being, hovering in the air. Malekith traced the borders with his clawed fingertips, his nails leaving smoking trails against the glamor in their wake.

"Our intelligence has confirmed the placement of the human wards, as the mage indicated. The northwestern wards are maintained from three towns in quick succession as they lead into the Kingdom of Astaria: the town of Drindal, the city of Brenville, and the duchy of Wythe." The glamor illuminated the three towns, strung like a constellation leading toward Astaria. "With this knowledge, we have devised a three-pronged approach to shatter their defenses and strike at the heart of their realm."

Aric's stomach churned. He'd given them everything they needed, all to save himself and Malekith from Zaxos's wrath. But at what cost? His people's safety was the reason he'd sought out the demon prince in the first place, but this—it was a death sentence for countless innocents.

Malekith turned toward him. "You have proven your worth to this council a thousand times over. Now let us finish what we have begun."

A hush fell over the chamber, and for a moment, the only sound Aric heard was the pounding of his heart; he felt nothing but the raw, exposed flesh of his palms where he'd dug his nails in. He braced himself, waiting for the storm to break, for the accusations and recriminations to come crashing down.

Vizra was the first to speak, her words barbed. "Is this the best you could do, my prince? A mere mortal to do the work that you and your lackeys could not?"

Aric winced, but he kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Vizra was there when Malekith killed Darioth. She'd been part of Darioth's schemes to lure Aric into their confidence, all so Darioth could steal Aric's human magic for himself. Only by bringing the knowledge of the human wards to Sovereign Zaxos first were Malekith and Aric able to spare themselves from Zaxos's wrath, and even then, Vizra had gained control of Darioth's forces, placing her house on equal footing with House Ixion as one of the vanguards of the demons' new war campaign.

"Vizra, you forget yourself," Malekith said, his tone smooth, but with a dangerous undercurrent. "You are speaking to your prince."

Vizra's lip curled, a sneer of molten gold. "I am speaking to the one who claimed he would be sovereign one day, and see how that worked out for you, Malekith . Iff you cannot deliver the human realm into our grasp, then perhaps you are not fit to rule at all."

The other demon lords exchanged furtive glances, their expressions hidden in the shifting shadows. Vizra was not alone in her dissent, that much was clear, and Aric's stomach twisted with unease.

"You question my loyalty to our kind?"

"I question your competence." Vizra's words were like acid, eating away at the fragile bonds that held the court together. "For centuries, your house has coveted the Onyx Throne, but what have you to show for it? Endless war, and for what? Stalemates? Constantly beaten back from the humans' borders as they devise new magic to repel us? If you cannot claim victory now, then perhaps it is time for a new dynasty to rise."

The chamber was filled with the rustle of wings, the scrape of talons on obsidian. The demon lords were taking sides, their alliances shifting and reforming before Aric's eyes. He had no place here, no voice in this deadly dance, but he couldn't bear to look away.

On the Onyx Throne, Zaxos was watching them, his molten gold eyes burning with an intensity that seared Aric to the core. He was a predator, too, in his own way, and Aric was all too aware of the vast power that lay coiled within the ancient demon lord.

But if Zaxos was troubled by Vizra's challenge, he gave no sign. He merely inclined his head, and the air in the chamber seemed to shift, the balance of power realigning. Neither conceding Vizra her point, nor disagreeing with it.

"Continue," Zaxos said, and Malekith's shoulders slumped, the tension bleeding out of him.

"Very well." Malekith's voice was a low, gravelly sound. "As I have said, we will use the human mage's information to bypass their wards and strike at their realm. The first phase of the operation will?—"

—And then Malekith was speaking, his words a tide that swept Aric away. He listened, dazed, as the demon prince outlined his plan, each word carefully chosen, each detail honed to a razor's edge. It was brilliant, in its own terrible way, a masterpiece of deception and destruction.

And all of it designed to puncture the human realms— Aric 's realms—with a wound that could never heal.

The council of demon lords hung on his every word, their doubts and dissension momentarily silenced. Malekith might give off the air of a spoiled, arrogant prince used to getting his way, but there was more to it than that, and Aric could feel it, sense it in the way the other demons watched him. There was a power in Malekith's words, a dark, seductive magic that lured them in, and by the time he was finished, it had ensnared them, body and soul.

Vizra's frown deepened, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line, but she said nothing.

"And there you have it." Malekith surveyed the chamber, and for a brief, fleeting moment, his eyes locked with Aric's. "With your approval, Sovereign, we shall bring this war to a swift and decisive end."

Zaxos regarded him for a long moment, and Aric held his breath. The ancient demon lord was a mystery, a force of nature beyond Aric's comprehension. If he was swayed by Malekith's words, he gave no sign, and Aric was left to wonder what lay behind that molten gaze.

"You have my blessing." Zaxos said at last. "May your victory be swift, and the blood of your enemies flow in rivers."

And with that, the fate of two worlds was set in motion.

It was only after the council had dispersed, with a tentative approval of Malekith's plans and Zaxos permitting Aric to be unshackled, that the true undercurrents began to make themselves known.

As the demon lords filed out of the chamber, there were hushed conversations, furtive glances, the occasional flash of bared teeth. Vizra in particular seemed to be at the center of it, her honeyed voice laced with poison as she spoke with one lord after another. Aric couldn't make out their words, but he didn't need to. The meaning was clear, the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Aric's heart pounded in his ears, and he forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. This was not his world, not his place. He was a pawn, nothing more, and whatever happened here was out of his hands.

But it did nothing to stop the feeling of unease that coiled deep in his soul.

Aric let out a long, slow breath as the last of the demon lords departed, leaving only Malekith and Aric himself in the council chamber. His muscles ached with the tension that had held him rigid throughout the meeting, and he longed to run his hands through his hair, to let out the breath he'd been holding. But he dared not move, not yet. Not while the demon prince's gaze was fixed on him, those dark eyes giving nothing away.

A shiver ran down Aric's spine. He should be relieved, he knew. The council had approved Malekith's plan, and the threat of Zaxos's wrath had been temporarily averted. But now he was alone with the demon prince, and that could only mean one thing.

Malekith's long, slow smile sent a chill through Aric, and he fought to keep the panic at bay. He was overthinking it, he told himself. Malekith had gotten what he wanted. There was no need for further games, further manipulation. But Aric knew better than to let his guard down, even for a moment.

"Come, little mage," Malekith said, his voice a velvet caress with steel at its core. "Our work here is done."

A soft tug to the golden cord at Aric's throat. Aric forced his legs to move, and with each step he took towards Malekith, a thousand wary eyes seemed to follow. He was a traitor now, in the eyes of his own people, and a pawn in Malekith's game. He was alone, with no one left to trust, and the weight of it threatened to crush him.

Aric followed in Malekith's wake as he swept out of the council chamber, the guards falling into step behind them. Malekith's gait was long and sinuous, his movements a dark, sensual dance, and Aric couldn't tear his eyes away, even as a shiver ran down his spine. There was a raw power to Malekith, an unstoppable magic that drew Aric in despite his better instincts. He moved through the world like he owned it, and in a way, he did.

They wound their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Wrathforge, the air heavy with the acrid scent of brimstone and the distant clang of forges hard at work. Aric's senses were hyper-focused, every sound, every scent, every flicker of movement registering with painful clarity. But it was Malekith who held his attention, the heat of his body, the rich, smoky scent of his skin, the low rumble of his voice echoing in Aric's bones.

"Aric." His name was a caress, a dark promise on Malekith's lips, and Aric felt himself being drawn in, helpless to resist. "You did well in there."

Did it matter that Malekith was lying? Aric was a pawn, a pawn who had served his purpose. He'd outlived his usefulness, and Malekith was merely biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make his move.

"Thank you, my prince." Aric's voice sounded thin, even to his own ears. He was trying to be brave, but he knew what awaited him, and the thought of it turned his blood to ice.

They reached the private wing of the fortress, and the guards fell back, leaving Malekith and Aric alone. The door to Malekith's chambers swung open, and a wave of dark, spicy air washed over Aric, enveloping him in Malekith's scent. Malekith gestured for Aric to enter, and with a trembling hand, Aric did as he was bid.

"Aric." Malekith's voice was a low rumble, and Aric shivered, feeling the intensity of those eyes on him. "Look at me."

Aric took a deep breath and turned to face Malekith, trying to steady himself. Malekith was standing only a few paces away, his pale skin glowing in the dim light of the chamber, his eyes dark and unreadable. He was a clever spider, Aric knew, and Aric was his prey, caught in his web.

"You have something to say." It wasn't a question. Malekith's gaze was a challenge, a dare, and Aric knew he had no choice but to meet it.

"Yes, my prince." Aric's tone shook, but he forced the words out. "I would ask you a question."

"Then ask."

Aric's throat felt dry, his words a whisper. "Is this necessary? The full-on invasion of the human realm. I know we had to reveal the wards to Zaxos, but is there no other way?"

Malekith's expression didn't change, but the air in the chamber shifted, charged with a dangerous current. Aric held his breath, waiting, but Malekith said nothing.

"I know what you said to the council, but there must be another path." Aric's words tumbled out in a rush. "Some way to avert this bloodshed. I cannot stand by and watch my people die, nor can I be the one to bring death to yours."

Silence stretched between them, thick and cloying. Malekith's eyes bored into him, searching, weighing, and Aric fought to hold them, to not flinch away. He had laid his cards on the table, and now all he could do was wait.

Malekith looked away, wounded. "You know the answer to that."

And he did. Aric had known from the moment he set foot in the demon realm, but he had tried to ignore it, to convince himself that there was another way. He had given everything he had to give, and it still hadn't been enough.

"Our peoples' fates hang in the balance," Malekith said, his tone a seductive caress. "And you are the key to it all."

Aric closed his eyes, trying not to feel like his lungs were crushing in. "I only wish I knew what that meant."

Malekith's hand was warm on his cheek, and Aric started, his eyes flying open. He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even heard the demon prince move. Malekith's thumb brushed over Aric's skin, a gentle, coaxing touch, and Aric couldn't help but lean into it, despite himself.

"Trust me, little mage," Malekith said. "I will not let any harm come to you. You have my word."

Aric searched his face, looking for any sign of deceit, but Malekith's expression was a mask. He was a master of deception, Aric knew, able to bend the truth to his will. But Aric wanted to believe him, with a desperation that frightened him. He needed to believe that there was some other way, that he didn't have to be the instrument of so much death and destruction. He'd exposed hints of it, here and there, that he was playing a longer game than even Aric could imagine—a delicate web of strategy to bring about the end of the war, and allow humans and demons to live side by side. It was a beautiful dream, and one Aric wanted to share with him. One Aric hoped might actually bear fruit.

But he was afraid to hope.

Malekith's stare was like fire on his skin, and despite the warning bells that were going off in the back of his mind, Aric found himself stepping closer, unable to look away. Malekith's heat drew him in, and before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out, his fingers brushing against the soft, cool skin of Malekith's throat.

Malekith's pulse fluttered beneath his touch, and Aric's own heart leapt in response. They'd been separated for too long after Darioth's death and the resulting maelstrom of questioning, but he was tired of holding back, of denying the pull he felt towards Malekith, even in the face of everything he'd done.

Malekith's eyes fell shut, and he let out a slow, shuddering breath. "Aric," he whispered, and the sound of his name on Malekith's lips was a caress in itself, a spark that set his skin ablaze.

Aric's hand moved of its own volition, trailing up Malekith's jaw, his thumb brushing over the soft curve of Malekith's lower lip. Malekith's eyes flew open, and the look in them sent a jolt of raw heat straight to Aric's core. It was a hunger, a need, and despite everything, Aric found himself aching to satisfy it.

He leaned in, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Malekith's scent surrounded him, heady, intoxicating, and he was falling into it, losing himself in the dark, seductive tangle of it. Their lips were so close now, and Aric's pulse was a deafening roar in his ears. He should stop, he knew, but the thought was distant, muffled, drowned out by the rush of his own blood.

And then their lips met, and it was like a bolt of lightning, searing and white-hot. Malekith's mouth was a dark, velvety promise, and Aric melted into it, unable to resist. He tasted of shadows and spice, a flavor that was uniquely, intoxicatingly Malekith, and Aric never wanted it to end.

His hands dipped into that dark, silken hair, and he tugged Malekith closer, wanting to erase the space between them. Malekith's body was hard, unyielding, and he moved with a predator's grace even as he kissed Aric with a desperate, searing hunger.

Malekith's hands were everywhere, sliding under Aric's tunic to caress his skin, tangle in his hair, and Aric's breath caught in his throat. He was a man possessed, caught in Malekith's dark, seductive web, and he never wanted to find his way out.

They stumbled towards the bed, Malekith's long fingers working at the lacings of Aric's tunic, and the cool silk of the bedding enveloped them as they fell. Malekith's body was a heavy, searing weight on top of him, and Aric arched up into it, aching for more. Malekith's kisses were a heady poison, and Aric drank deeply, unable to stop himself.

"Aric," Malekith whispered, his voice a dark, velvety caress against Aric's ear. "Are you sure?"

The question cut through the fog of lust that had clouded Aric's mind, and he forced himself to focus, to remember why he was here. He was a pawn, he reminded himself, a means to an end. But for now, he could pretend that things were different, that he was more than that. He could lose himself in Malekith, if only for a little while.

Malekith had pledged to protect him not so long ago. Nothing had changed that. Nothing could change the ache he felt for this man, demon or not. Aric craved him, needed him, and with Malekith, they could find a better way.

He kissed Malekith again, his answer a silent promise, and Malekith's answering smile was a dangerous, wicked thing. The rest of the world fell away, leaving only the two of them in the darkness, and Aric let himself be consumed.

Aric's breath hitched as Malekith's mouth descended, a scorching brand on his fevered skin. Down the firm swell of Aric's chest, the hard tiles of his abs, then lower, into the golden hairs that trailed almost from his navel to the root of his cock. Malekith's lips, so full and soft, closed around the head of his shaft, already stirring to hardness, and Aric's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more. Malekith's hands rested on his hips, holding him still as he swirled his tongue, tasting, teasing. A low groan escaped Aric's throat, and he threaded his fingers into that silky black hair, guiding Malekith's mouth down, down, until he was fully sheathed in that wet, velvety heat.

Malekith hummed in response, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through Aric's body. He moved with slow, deliberate languor, sucking and laving with practiced skill. Aric's head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as he surrendered to the onslaught of sensations. He was keenly aware of every stroke of Malekith's tongue, every scrape of teeth, every gentle tug of his hair. It was too much and not enough, a sweet torture that left him breathless and desperate.

He wanted to thrust, to take, but Malekith held him firmly in place by the hips, dictating the pace. Aric's muscles quivered with the effort of holding back, his entire body thrumming with pent-up desire. He was acutely sensitive, every nerve ending singing, and he felt each touch, each caress, like an electric shock.

Malekith's hands slid up his thighs, stroking and kneading, his mouth never still. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin of Aric's inner thighs, and Aric's breath hitched, his hips twitching. Malekith's eyes, dark and hooded, met his, and Aric saw the promise there. A silent plea formed on his lips, and Malekith responded, his mouth working Aric's cock with renewed fervor.

Aric's hands tightened in Malekith's hair, his knuckles white as he struggled for control. He was teetering on the edge, his entire body coiled tight, and then Malekith's fingers, slick with oil, pressed against him, seeking entry. Aric's eyes flew open, his breath catching as he felt that first burn of penetration. Malekith's finger pushed past the resistance of his body, and Aric's back arched, a strangled cry escaping his throat.

Malekith's mouth left his cock with a wet pop, and he murmured words of encouragement, his breath hot against Aric's sensitized skin. His finger thrust slowly, carefully, scissoring and stretching, preparing him. Aric's body trembled from holding still, his cock leaking against his abdomen. He wanted more, needed more, and his hips bucked restlessly, seeking friction.

Malekith added a second finger, stretching him further, and Aric bit his lip to stifle a moan. It burned, but the pleasure was indescribable, a white-hot brand that seared through him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet, he trusted Malekith to take care of him. Malekith's fingers worked him open, each thrust hitting that spot that made his vision spark and his cock twitch.

"Please," Aric gasped, his voice hoarse and desperate. "I need?—"

He didn't finish the sentence, but Malekith understood. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at Aric's entrance, the thick cock Aric had only experienced once before even more impressive for the experience: subtly ridged, broad and long, with precum beading like pearls at the tip. Aric's eyes met his, searching, questioning, and Malekith's expression softened. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Aric's lips, before pulling back to look into his eyes.

"I've got you," he murmured. "I won't let you fall."

Aric nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He trusted Malekith, even as he feared the depth of his own feelings. With a slow, steady thrust, Malekith entered him, every ridge of his cock a shuddering sensation that rippled across Aric's hole, and Aric's breath stuttered. He was big, and Aric had to adjust, his body stretching to accommodate him. Malekith gave him a moment, their foreheads resting together as they breathed in unison.

Then, with a slow, relentless rhythm, Malekith began to move. Each thrust was deliberate, claiming, and Aric's body responded, opening and welcoming him in. The stretch burned, but it was a good pain, a pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. Aric's hands clutched at Malekith's shoulders, his fingers digging into the hard muscle as he met each thrust, rising to meet him.

Malekith's mouth found his again, their tongues tangling in a desperate, hungry kiss. Aric could taste the salt of himself on Malekith's lips, and it sent a jolt of desire straight to his core. He wanted more, craved it, and his hips moved in time with Malekith's, their bodies moving as one.

"My golden mage," Malekith growled. "My star. Mine alone."

"Make me yours," Aric said, hoarsely, and he would beg for it again and again until it was so.

The pace quickened, growing frantic as their need escalated. Malekith's thrusts became sharper, more insistent, and Aric met him with equal fervor. He was lost in a haze of pleasure, his entire body on fire, every nerve ending singing. Malekith's name fell from his lips in a litany, a prayer, as he chased the peak that beckoned, just out of reach.

"You are mine," Malekith said. "Always."

His claws found Aric's back, and dug in, though it didn't feel quite like he was merely raking at Aric's flesh. It was something magical, dark and elegant being etched onto him, infusing him with something that tasted and hummed with Malekith's power that by now he knew so well.

And then, with a final, deep thrust, Malekith found that spot again, and Aric's world exploded. His release crashed over him, a tsunami of pleasure that left him gasping, his body shaking uncontrollably. Malekith followed, his own release a hot rush deep within Aric, and he buried his face in Aric's neck, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps until he sank his teeth into the side of Aric's neck with a ferocity that pierced even Aric's delirious haze.

They stayed like that, locked together, their hearts pounding in unison. Aric's body felt boneless, sated, and he wanted nothing more than to stay in Malekith's arms, to lose himself in this moment of connection. But even as he clung to the demon prince, he knew it was an illusion. Their worlds were still at war, and the future they sought was so very far away.

But for now, in this moment, he could pretend. He could pretend that Malekith's arms were his sanctuary, that their bodies could communicate what their words could not. And as he listened to the steady beat of Malekith's heart, he allowed himself to hope, just for a little while.

Even if he was only fooling himself.

Sometime later, Malekith's breath ghosted over Aric's ear, warm and intimate. "I have a plan," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "A way to end this. But I can't reveal more yet."

Aric's heart leapt, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. He turned his head, searching Malekith's face in the dim light. Malekith's eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was an intensity there that made Aric's breath catch.

"What do you mean?" Aric asked, his voice hoarse. "End what, exactly?"

Malekith's fingers traced idle patterns on Aric's skin, sending shivers down his spine, and once again Aric felt that intricate magic from Malekith's claws flare to life along his back. "All of it," he murmured. "The same thing you want, my star. I need you to trust me."

Trust. Such a simple word, yet so fraught with meaning. Aric wanted so desperately to believe him. But doubt lingered, a cold knot in the pit of his stomach.

"Why can't you tell me more?" Frustration edged into Aric's voice. "If you have a plan, let me help. I've already given you everything I have."

Malekith's expression softened, a flicker of something like regret passing over his features. "Not everything, little mage. Not yet." His hand cupped Aric's cheek, thumb brushing over his lower lip. "There are ears everywhere, even here. The less you know, the safer you are."

Aric closed his eyes, leaning into Malekith's touch despite himself. Hope warred with doubt in his chest, leaving him breathless and uncertain. He wanted to believe that Malekith truly meant to end the war, that there was a way out of this tangled web of politics and bloodshed. But he couldn't shake the nagging fear that this was just another manipulation, another layer of Malekith's grand design.

When he opened his eyes again, Malekith was watching him, his gaze intent and searching. Aric met that gaze, trying to see past the mask of the scion of House Ixion to glimpse the truth beneath. But Malekith remained inscrutable, a beautiful enigma wrapped in shadows and secrets.

"I want to believe you," Aric whispered, the words heavy on his tongue.

Malekith's lips curved into a smile, sad and knowing. "I know," he said softly. "That's all I can ask for now."

He pressed a kiss to Aric's forehead, gentle and achingly tender, before pulling away. The loss of his warmth left Aric feeling bereft, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

As Malekith rose from the bed, his lithe form silhouetted against the dim light, Aric watched him go. Questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. Whatever game Malekith was playing, whatever plan he had set in motion, Aric knew he was just a piece on the board. A pawn, perhaps, or something more. But until Malekith chose to reveal his hand, all Aric could do was wait and wonder.

And hope, against all reason, that Malekith's promise of an end to the war was more than just another beautiful lie.