Page 45 of Sundered By Fate

But the room was already changing, the shadows thickening around them like ink poured into water. Aric held on tighter to Malekith's shuddering form as the walls began to dissolve into nothingness.

He caught flashes—a desolate cityscape; a towering fortress carved from black stone; flames licking at the sky as soldiers in armor patrolled its walls. A woman's silver hair gleamed in the darkness, her lavender eyes swirling with malevolent cunning.

A fortress surrounded by flame and fury—a fortress that he knew all too well.

The Wrathforge.

Sovereign Zaxos's stronghold on the borderlands between their realms—the place he'd never truly escaped from?—

Malekith screamed again, and Aric felt the bonds of the dream tearing apart around them as Malekith's agony spilled over into him.

As the pain subsided, Malekith's eyes slowly opened, his gaze locking onto Aric's with a new clarity. He nodded, the motion small and shaky, but it was confirmation enough.

"I . . . yes." His voice was a rasp of broken glass. "I am his prisoner. At the Wrathforge."

Aric's stomach churned, but he forced himself to focus. "Have they?—"

Malekith winced, a shudder running through him, and Aric tightened his grip around him.

"He's tortured me," Malekith said, the admission costing him dearly. "For months now . . . they want to know my connection to you. Why I'm trying to usurp him."

"Oh gods." Aric held Malekith tighter, cradling his head against his shoulder as Malekith shivered with a mix of terror and rage. "I'm so sorry?—"

Malekith's fingers dug into his arms with an almost desperate intensity. "It's not your fault. This is my failure?—"

"No." Aric pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead, willing his anger at Zaxos and Sylthris and anyone else who might have had a hand in this back down. There would be time for revenge later; right now, all that mattered was getting Malekith back safely. "It's not your fault, do you hear me? I'll find a way to get you out of there—I promise?—"

He tried to look Malekith in the eye. Despite everything, that spark of determination he loved so much still lingered in Malekith's expression, though it was shrouded by fear and pain.

"I swear I'll get you out," Aric said fiercely.

"How long have you been there?" Aric asked, his voice a strained whisper. "And what does Zaxos want with you?"

Malekith shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. "I don't know how long it's been. It all runs together—the pain, the darkness. As for what he wants . . . he believes I'm trying to overthrow him, that I have some scheme to take the throne. I don't know why he thinks that. All I can remember is being captured, and the rest is a blur."

Aric bit back a curse. Of course Zaxos would suspect Malekith of betrayal. He was always paranoid, always seeing plots in every shadow. But if he'd discovered their alliance, their plan to end the war?—

Aric's thoughts scattered as Malekith shuddered against him again. The strong, capable demon prince he'd known looked so small and vulnerable now, so utterly broken by his captivity. It filled Aric with a fierce protectiveness, a desperate need to shield him from any further harm.

"I'll find a way to reach you," Aric vowed, pulling Malekith closer. "I swear it. You're not alone in this."

Malekith's eyes were wet as he looked up at Aric, something fragile and yearning in his gaze. "I knew you'd find me," he said softly. "I need to . . . escape. I needed to warn . . ." His brow furrowed once more with confusion. "To warn you."

"Why is Sylthris at the palace?" Aric asked, steering the conversation to something he might be able to tackle more directly. "What is she planning?"

Malekith's shoulders hunched, suddenly agitated. "I don't know. I don't?—"

The room grew darker, the shadows gathering like a storm cloud. The air crackled with tension, and a low rumble echoed in Aric's ears.

He had to calm Malekith down—whatever strange magic was at work here, it seemed to be responding to Malekith's fear and distress. Aric stretched out a hand to him, but Malekith flinched away, a wounded animal desperate to escape.

Aric swallowed his own fear and tried to project calm and reassurance. "It's okay," he said softly. "I'm sorry for pushing you too hard."

But it was too late—the dream was unraveling, the vision slipping through his fingers like smoke. Malekith's form wavered and blurred, his anguish tearing at the fabric of the dream.

"No—Malekith!" Aric’s desperation turned his voice into a raw rasp.

Aric reached for him, hands grasping at empty air. "Malekith—please. How do I stop her? How do I save you?"

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