Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 13

Thirteen

A s the crescent moon hung low in the velvet sky, Aric approached the ornately carved door to Lord Regent Valerian's chambers. The echoes of music and laughter from the ball still lingered in the corridors of Astaria's palace, but here, all was quiet—a stillness that hinted at secrets hidden away from prying eyes.

Aric paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Valerian's words from earlier in the evening played in his mind, their double-edged meaning slicing through the layers of charm and intrigue. Was this invitation merely a ploy to gauge Aric's loyalties? Or was there something more—a genuine interest, perhaps? Aric couldn't afford to let his guard down, not when so much hinged on his gaining access to Valerian's hidden research space.

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could make contact with the door, it swung open of its own accord. Aric's heart skipped a beat, his muscles tensing instinctively.

"Ah, Solarian." Valerian's voice was smooth as silk as he appeared in the doorway, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Come in."

The chambers were every bit as opulent as Aric had imagined, yet there was a calculated precision to their arrangement that spoke of Valerian's meticulous nature. The furnishings were rich without being ostentatious—dark woods polished to a mirror sheen, upholstery in deep jewel tones that matched the lord regent's own attire. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room's silken textures and gleaming metalwork.

But it was Valerian himself who commanded Aric's attention. He stood at the center of the room, a figure carved from shadows and moonlight, his angular features made all the sharper by the play of light and dark. Those piercing blue eyes fixed on Aric with an intensity that threatened to steal his breath away.

"Would you care for a drink?" Valerian asked, gesturing toward a sideboard where decanters of amber and ruby liquid gleamed.

Aric nodded, though he hardly needed the alcohol to heighten the feverish rush beneath his skin. "That sounds . . . perfect."

Valerian poured two glasses, the liquid sloshing with a rich, dark hue. "To unexpected opportunities," he said, handing one to Aric. As their fingers brushed, Aric felt a jolt like lightning racing up his arm.

"To opportunity." Aric's voice came out hushed, as if he were afraid to break the spell that had settled between them. He sipped the drink, savoring the sharp sweetness that danced over his tongue.

"Please, have a seat." Valerian motioned to a plush chaise that faced the fire.

Aric hesitated, aware of how close they'd be sitting. But there was a challenge in Valerian's eyes—a test, perhaps—and Aric found himself stepping toward it.

Valerian joined him, sitting close enough that their knees brushed. "I'm afraid I've monopolized far too much of your time this evening, Solarian."

Aric shook his head, the warmth of the fire and the drink loosening his reserve. "I'm enjoying our conversation. It's rare to meet someone so . . . intriguing."

Valerian chuckled, a sound like velvet over steel. "I could say the same of you."

He leaned back, studying Aric with those penetrating eyes. "You have a talent, Solarian—a gift for handling the unexpected, even when the odds seem insurmountable. I suspect it comes from the same wellspring as your magical abilities."

Aric shifted, his instincts sharpening. Valerian had seen him in action tonight, confronting the anomaly in the ballroom. Had the lord regent drawn conclusions about Aric's true nature? Or was this merely a compliment on his crisis management skills?

"It's not easy, finding one's place between such opposing forces," Valerian continued, as if reading Aric's thoughts. "But I believe you possess a rare strength, Solarian—one that our kingdom desperately needs."

There it was—the hint of Valerian's ambitions peeking through the polished fa?ade. He spoke of political needs and alliances, of strong leadership and renewed resolve in uncertain times. All the while, those glacial blue eyes watched Aric closely, weighing his reactions.

"I sense that we are kindred spirits in some ways," Valerian said with a soft smile. "Both of us pushing at the edges of what's considered proper or possible. We should not let small-minded others dictate our destinies."

Aric swallowed, trying to ignore the heat that spread through him at Valerian's nearness. "And what destiny do you have in mind for us, my lord?"

Valerian laughed softly. "So direct. I should expect nothing less from you." He reached out, his fingertips brushing over Aric's jaw with a feather-light touch. "Tell me, Solarian—do you ever tire of the role you're expected to play? The dutiful mage, the loyal servant to others' whims?"

Aric held his gaze, though it was an effort not to lean into that touch. "My path is my own to choose," he said.

"Is it?" Valerian leaned in closer, his lips a breath away from Aric's ear. "Or have you merely convinced yourself that's true because it's easier than facing the alternative?"

Aric's heart pounded, his thoughts a tangled mess of warning and want. Valerian was right—there was a part of him that had settled for the safety of familiar roles and expectations, content to play his part in the hopes it would bring some measure of peace.

But there was also a part of him that longed for more—that craved the kind of passion and freedom that Valerian's touch promised.

"You deserve so much more," Valerian whispered, his lips brushing against Aric's skin. "And I would give it to you—a partnership like none the world has ever seen."

Aric shivered, his resolve wavering as Valerian's hand came to rest on his shoulder. His stare held Aric captive, promising a glimpse of something beyond even Aric's wildest dreams.

But even as Aric leaned toward him, drawn in by the spell Valerian was weaving, he couldn't shake the sense of danger lurking beneath those seductive words. Did Valerian see him as a potential lover, or merely a political asset to be leveraged? And what price would Aric be willing to pay for the kind of power Valerian offered?

Aric wondered if Valerian was trying to incite something within him. All those years at court with Malekith had taught him how to play the role of willing pawn—honed it into something he could even relish at times. But even with the threads of treachery and deceit binding them both, there had always been a truth there between him and Malekith, more sacred to them than any other loyalty or oath.

Could he ever hope to forge such a bond with someone like Valerian? The lord regent was ruthless, certainly, but no more so than the demon prince. And his ambition to reshape the balance of their world could dovetail with Aric's own dreams . . .

Malekith's words came back to him, the soft, sultry rumble of his voice. You think you are anything more than a pawn, Aric? A clever, useful toy? He always knew Malekith saw him that way. Aric wasn't certain whether it was worse that he had enjoyed the role he played for Malekith's delight.

Valerian wanted him for more than his cleverness, though. Valerian wanted—what? A mage to show off like his many artifacts? A warrior for their cause?

But when Aric looked into Valerian's eyes now, he thought there might be something more there.

"And what cause would that be, exactly?" Aric said. "The Pureblades seem not to think you've moved past your long-ago disagreements."

"Oh, I have not." Valerian traced a fingertip along Aric's jaw and grinned at him. "That is the fight of a generation. It is our war with the demons that is far more important now. I would settle for peace between our species and no more."

That was more than Malekith ever asked of Aric. Perhaps too much.

But if it wasn't—what choice did Aric have?

Valerian's finger stilled its stroking. His touch settled like a weight on Aric's skin. It was hard to remain unmoved by such scrutiny. He felt something hot and desperate begin to stir in his chest.

He thought about Valerian's words, the promise of a partnership. It wasn't just about power; it was about shaping the world in their own image. They could build something lasting together—a legacy that would stand the test of time.

Aric frowned as they spoke on of the possibilities. Was he seriously considering it?

Yet if he could have wished for a world without the constant threat of conflict lurking just around the corner of every day, and a way to move forward from them and expand, that might be worth some measure of uncertainty for him. The war had drained so much from both sides—lives lost, resources squandered. What might they have achieved instead, if not waging endless battle with one another? There was more to be done in Astaria alone that might transform their reality without setting foot outside the walls?—

Aric blinked rapidly, then laughed softly at himself.

A wild, desperate part of Aric craved to give himself over to what Valerian was offering him now—the same way he had fallen headlong into Malekith's arms. Aric knew the hazards well enough, and yet the dangers only heightened his longing, charging the air between them.

“Vanishingly few in Astaria understand the true power of our magic. Fewer still how to wield it to best effect. But you, Aric, eclipse them all.”

Valerian traced a finger along Aric's lips, and in that instant they both seemed to know what came next.

Suddenly, Valerian's lips were on his, hungry and demanding. Aric gasped, his protest smothered as Valerian's hand slipped behind his neck, drawing him closer. It was a kiss that tasted of desperation and longing—of needs that had been denied for too long.

Aric sank into it, letting the fire burning in his veins consume him. This was what he wanted—what he craved with every fiber of his being. To be seen, to be desired—not as a tool or a pawn, but as something more.

And yet, as Valerian's hands began to roam over his body, Aric couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong. That this wasn't who he was meant to be with—that there was someone else out there, waiting for him. Someone who understood him in a way that no one else ever could.

He tried to push the thought away, focusing instead on the feel of Valerian's fingers working the fastenings of his coat. But then Valerian's hand found the hardness beneath his trousers, and Aric's mind went blank.

"You are a treasure beyond imagining," Valerian purred, his lips trailing down Aric's jaw to his throat. "Even more beautiful than the fabled Blade of Light. To possess you, to wield such power . . . It would be a dream come true."

Aric moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily into Valerian's touch. He wanted this, wanted to surrender himself to the promise of pleasure and power that Valerian offered. And yet, even as he lost himself in the heat of the moment, his treacherous heart still yearned for someone else.

Malekith.

The demon prince's face flashed through Aric's mind, those dark eyes boring into him with a hunger that made his blood sing. In that moment, Aric knew with absolute certainty that this was wrong—that he belonged with Malekith, not Valerian.

But oh, how he wanted it all the same. The desire was a physical ache, a throbbing need that threatened to consume him. Aric's body trembled as Valerian's hand continued its teasing caress, each touch stoking the flames higher.

"Tell me you want this," Valerian commanded, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me you'll be mine, and I'll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."

Aric opened his mouth to answer, to yield to the temptation that Valerian represented. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he saw Malekith's face again, those dark eyes filled with a longing that mirrored his own. Images flooded him—memories of another lover, another time. Dark eyes glinting in the moonlight, a sly smile playing on full lips. Hands that could be gentle or cruel, depending on his mood. A voice like velvet over steel, whispering promises in the dead of night.

Even now, Aric couldn't explain the pull he felt towards the demon prince. It was more than just physical attraction, though that was certainly a part of it. No, it was something deeper—a connection that went to the very heart of who he was.

And he knew, with a certainty that shook him to his core, that he would do anything to protect that connection. Anything at all.

"Aric." Valerian's voice snapped him back to the present.

Aric froze. He wasn't sure why—the dream he'd been clinging to had just burst in a shower of golden sparks around him.

He grabbed Valerian's wrist, holding it still. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can't do this."

Valerian's expression shifted, the heat in his eyes cooling to a calculated anger. "What are you saying?"

Aric released his grip on Valerian's wrist, scrambling for an excuse. Anything to explain why the haze had broken suddenly, why he'd no longer been able to follow Valerian's touch so easily down that path.

But Malekith had burned through him like fire as soon as his hand had touched Valerian's, and nothing Aric could say could erase the hunger Valerian must have seen etched in his features before that. It would be so easy to seize this chance, the softening of Valerian's anger that whispered he might forgive him for this transgression if only he would give him the right words . . .

He did not know Malekith was alive, but . . . these memories were making him doubt.

"I'm sorry," Aric said again, turning away from Valerian and sitting up straighter. "I—I thought I wanted this, but it's too much. The memories of my time with the demons, the cruel games they played . . ." His voice broke on the word, and a shudder ran through him. "I wasn't—I wasn't prepared."

Valerian's anger faded, replaced by something that almost looked like concern. He reached for Aric's hand once more. "Aric, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you." But his eyes were sharp, assessing, and Aric had the sudden sense that he'd been found wanting. "It's just—after everything you've endured—I wanted to show you there was more to life than pain."

Aric fought back a wave of nausea, not from Valerian's touch but from his own self-loathing. He was poisoning this—he would poison anything good in his life because he was still so tethered to?—

No. No. He couldn't think that now.

Not now.

"I should go," Aric said thickly.

As Aric prepared to leave, his eyes fell on a strange artifact on Valerian's desk. It was a small, intricately carved stone that seemed to pulse with an energy similar to the anomalies Aric had encountered. The stone was set within a larger object that resembled a royal staff, implying its significance to Valerian's ambitions. Valerian noticed Aric's interest and quickly moved to conceal the object, but not before Aric recognized symbols similar to those he'd seen in his dreams of the demon realm.

"Forgive me," Valerian said, his voice tight. "A personal matter I've been attending to."

Aric nodded slowly, his mind racing. What was Valerian hiding? And how did it relate to the growing magical disturbances?

"I trust you'll keep our discussions tonight in confidence, Solarian," Valerian added, his tone softening. "I'm sure you understand the need for discretion."

Aric forced a smile. "Of course, my lord."

But as he left Valerian's chambers, the image of the pulsing stone burned in his mind.

Back in his own quarters, Aric paced restlessly. His skin was still flushed from the wine—and from Valerian's touch—but his mind whirred with thoughts of the evening's revelations.

Valerian's ambitions were barely veiled; that much was clear. Despite his rhetoric about peace and unity, it was obvious that he saw Aric as a tool—a means to solidify his claim to power. And while his words had been seductive, promising Aric a place by his side as he reshaped their world, there was something cold and calculating in those blue eyes that made Aric's blood run cold.

He collapsed onto the chaise, burying his face in his hands. What was he doing? It had been all too easy to fall for the lord regent's charm, when what he needed was to learn the truth behind Valerian’s plans. Instead, he’d been pulled into the current of Valerian's ambitions, abandoning his own principles and dreams.

And for what? A taste of the power and passion he'd shared with Malekith?

Aric's heart ached at the thought of the demon prince. It wasn't just the memory of Malekith's touch or his intoxicating presence that haunted him; it was the bond they shared, a connection that transcended boundaries and worlds. A connection he now realized he'd never truly understood until it was too late.

Aric lay back on his bed. The pulsating stone, so like the arcane energies that had become both his burden and his salvation, lingered at the edge of his thoughts. But it was the memory of Valerian's touch, the promise of power and passion, that kindled a fire in his veins.

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as he allowed himself to remember the taste of Valerian's lips against his own, the insistent pressure that had sought to devour him. It was a dangerous game he played, indulging in the phantom sensation of those hands roaming over his body, stoking the embers of desire that still smoldered beneath his skin.

Yet, as his own hand moved to the fastening of his trousers, it was not Valerian's face that swam into view behind his closed eyelids. It was Malekith—his dark eyes alight with an echo of Aric’s own soul, his lips curved in that infuriatingly smug smile that Aric had come to crave.

Aric's breath came faster as he imagined Malekith's hands replacing his own, the demon prince's skilled fingers tracing the lines of his chest, his hips, his thighs. He could almost hear the low, sultry purr of Malekith's voice, whispering dark, sweet nothings in his ear as they moved together in a dance as old as time.

His body arched off the bed as he gave himself over to the fantasy, his hand moving with practiced ease even as his mind rebelled against the betrayal it represented. He was caught between two worlds, two lives, two versions of himself—the dutiful mage and the demon's consort. And in this moment of weakness, he let himself revel in the dichotomy, to embrace the forbidden desire that burned within him.

Aric's breath came in ragged gasps as he lay back on his bed, his hand moving rhythmically over his throbbing cock. His fantasies were filled with images of the demon prince, Malekith's dark eyes and full lips igniting a fire within him that he couldn't douse. The memory of their passionate encounters, the way Malekith's hands could be both gentle and demanding, the taste of his lips, all of it swirled in his mind as he pleasured himself.

As his climax approached, a wave of guilt washed over him. He felt like he was betraying something - or someone. The confusion in his chest mirrored the turmoil in his mind. He was entangled in a complex web of politics, desire, and loyalty, and he had no idea how to untangle himself from it.

But even as guilt threatened to douse his arousal, his body betrayed him. His back arched, his hand moved faster, and with a strangled moan, he came, his seed spilling onto his stomach. His body trembled with the force of his orgasm, and he lay there, panting, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Aric lay in bed, staring at the ornate ceiling of his chambers. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions—a tangle of desires, fears, and unresolved longings. Valerian's touch lingered on his skin, a cruel reminder of the passion he'd almost let himself succumb to. But even now, in the stillness of his room, it was Malekith's face he saw when he closed his eyes.

He was a fool—a lovesick idiot who'd let himself get swept up in the romance of forbidden love. He'd allowed himself to believe that what he and Malekith had shared was something real—something more than just a fleeting affair in the midst of war.

But it had been real. Aric knew that with every dark and aching part of him. And if there was any hope—any chance at all—that Malekith might still be alive, Aric owed it to both of them to find out.

The memory of the artifact on Valerian's desk burned in his thoughts. He knew it was a clue—another piece of the puzzle that might lead him back to the demon prince. But what did it mean? And how was it connected to Valerian's ambitions?

Aric's hand drifted to his chest, where the sigil blazed beneath his shirt. The damn thing had been nothing but trouble from the start, marking him as something other—something dangerous. But maybe it held answers too.

If only he could decipher its secrets before someone else did.

With a sigh, Aric rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers up around him. He needed rest—a reprieve from the chaos in his mind. But as he closed his eyes, all he could see were shadows on the wall, twisting and turning into shapes he couldn't quite make out.

A dark figure with wings spread wide; a crown of thorns encircling a brow. Eyes like pools of shadow, watching him from the darkness.

Malekith.

Aric's heart ached with a longing he couldn't name—a need that went deeper than any he'd ever known. He had to find him. Had to make things right.

Even if it meant becoming something else entirely.

With that thought burning in his mind, Aric let sleep take him once more.