When Maliny stirred, the late morning light was spilling through her window in golden streams. Her lashes fluttered, confusion clouding her blue eyes as she sat up slowly.
"Drovok…?" she murmured, her voice soft and unsure.
He was there, seated beside her bed like a silent sentinel, his broad green frame casting a protective shadow over her. Relief flickered in his gaze, though his jaw was set tight.
"You're safe," he said simply, moving closer. Without hesitation, she leaned against him, letting her head rest against his massive shoulder. The weight of her trust was something he felt deep in his chest.
His clawed hand brushed lightly against her hair before he bent his head, his lips brushing the side of her temple. His voice was a low growl, more vow than comfort.
"As long as I breathe," he whispered into her ear, "no harm will touch you. Even if I must burn the world to make it so."
She couldn't see the fierce light in his eyes, but she could feel the warmth of his words sink into her bones.
⸻
Elsewhere in the young Duke's study, the air was thick with something colder. Leonardo sat at his desk, fingers steepled, eyes sharp as blades. His aide stood across from him, shoulders tense, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple.
"You understand the order," Leonardo said softly, almost kindly—but the softness only made the threat more chilling.
The aide swallowed hard. "Yes… my lord."
For a heartbeat, the silence stretched—thick, suffocating—before the aide turned and left, his steps a little too quick. Leonardo's gaze lingered on the door, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips. The seeds of his plan were already buried; soon, they would sprout into something no one could escape.
⸻
The afternoon sun was warm in the palace gardens, its rays spilling over emerald hedges and clusters of scarlet roses. Maliny sat on a marble bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her head tilted slightly toward the sound of trickling water.
Drovok sat beside her, his deep voice weaving a picture for her mind. "To your right, there's a bed of red roses—full bloom, their petals catching the light like drops of wine. Behind them, tall hedges curve around the path, shaped so perfectly it's as if they've been standing guard for centuries."
She smiled faintly, listening.
"In the center," he continued, his tone softening, "there's a tree—its bark silver like moonlight, its leaves a pale pink that move like silk when the wind passes. They call it the Dragon's Eye. Beneath its branches is a fountain, carved from white stone, with water spilling from the hands of two marble guardians. They're… beautiful, I suppose."
"You suppose?" she teased lightly.
He huffed, glancing away. "I didn't grow up around beauty like this. Where I come from, the ground is wet and thick with mud. The air smells of rot, not roses. My kind don't have fountains—we have swamps."
Her laughter was soft, genuine. "And yet, you speak of these things as if you've always known them."
He glanced at her then, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Maybe because you're here. Makes it easier to notice the good things."
Her cheeks warmed, though she didn't answer, simply turning her face toward the sound of the fountain again.
⸻
From the upper terrace of the estate, a figure watched. Maliny's uncle, his eyes sharp and calculating, leaned against the balustrade. His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes—a smile heavy with secrets and intentions no one could yet name. The breeze tugged at his dark coat, but he didn't move. He simply watched the scene below, like a man studying pieces on a board before making his first move.