Page 132 of The Shattered Rite
"That’s fair. I’m still trying to decide what to make of myself."
She huffed a quiet laugh. Then sighed. The weight of the moment pressing down again.
Malric’s voice was lower now. "If things were different..."
"But they’re not," she whispered.
He nodded once.
Then added softly, "Try not to let the kingdom chew you up before you get the chance to piss off the right people."
She raised a brow. "Any in particular?"
His smile tilted sly. "Let’s just say... those with crowns tend to bruise the easiest."
She rolled her eyes. But her mouth betrayed her. She smiled.
For a moment longer, they stood in silence. Vaeronth’s silhouette cutting the sky above them. Then Eliryn stepped back.
"I should give my dragon some sky to himself."
Malric didn’t stop her. But as she turned, his voice followed.
"You’re not what I expected, Eliryn."
She paused. Looked back.
"Neither are you, Malric."
Then she walked away.
Vaeronth’s wings beat once above her. Protective. Sure.
And not far behind, Malric stood alone, watching the sky like it had stolen something from him.
Interlude 8: Malric
“Some stars burn too brightly to be ignored. That’s why kings learn to snuff them out before they become constellations.” —Notes from the Ashen Court, Volume II
She walked away without looking back. Bare feet brushing over wind-smoothed stone, each step deliberate, even with the limp. Her silhouette, lean and poised, carved a striking line against the pale cliff’s edge.
If he hadn’t come, he imagined that she’d probably be in the air by now. Riding that great shadow wheeling overhead, free and blazing against the sky.
She looked born for it.
The long shirt and riding leathers clung to her like intention, not vanity. Practical. Sharp. The kind of beauty that didn’t try. The kind that happened when someone moved with purpose,not polish. Her hair—reddish-gold, though the sun distorted it—shifted constantly in the wind. Loose strands caught the light like copper wire.
And her eyes—blank, silvered, opaque—should’ve made her seem lost. But when they’d turned toward him, it hadn’t felt like blindness. It had felt like focus. Like she saw past the fog between them. Like she was watching what he didn’t say.
She saw me.
That thought lingered. Unwelcome. Unshakeable.
Malric exhaled slowly and turned back toward the path through the orchard, stepping from light into leaf-dappled shade.
He didn’t let himself dwell too long on the way her voice had sounded when she said her name. Soft. Vulnerable. Like she trusted him. He didn’t tell her he’d known it already—that he’d memorized it long ago.
Some truths didn’t need to be offered. Especially not to her.
