Court of Conquest

Chapter 20

The night air hung heavy with tension as Malachi stormed back to his wing, a brooding silence enveloping him. My anger simmered from Minerva's cutting comment, but his fury was palpable. It dawned on me that perhaps I had underestimated the impact of her jabs on him.

As we entered the wing, Malachi abruptly released my hand and headed straight to the balcony. His posture revealed the depth of his frustration—head bowed, arms spread across the ledge, muscles visibly tightening, and fists clenched. Concern gnawed at me, urging me to bridge the distance between us.

"Malachi..." I began cautiously. A deep sigh escaped him, and he spoke, his voice heavy with regret, "I am sorry, Elara. Tonight was supposed to be joyous." His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere.

I couldn't let the weight of the night rest solely on his shoulders. "No, I am sorry. You and your friends would have had a great time if I wasn't there," I confessed, feeling a pang of guilt.

That caught his attention. Malachi turned to me, his grip firm as he took my waist in one hand and cupped my face with the other. Our eyes locked, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Don't say that, darling. Everything was going great. I loved seeing you with them. They are my inner circle, and that is where you belong," he asserted, his words resonating with passion.

His plea echoed in the quiet balcony, and I couldn't help but be moved by the sincerity in his eyes. "It was Minerva that ruined the mood. She had no right to say what she did, so please don't listen to her," he implored, a protective edge to his voice that made my worries momentarily fade away.

"But what if she's right?" The question escaped my lips, a whisper carried by the evening breeze. "I am an outsider. There is a history between you that runs deep. Compared to everyone at dinner tonight, I really am just a delicate noblewoman who isn't even a real noble." The wine had loosened my tongue, prompting a wave of honesty that I couldn't suppress any longer.

Malachi seized my hands, his touch grounding, as he looked into my eyes. "You are delicate," he declared, pressing a tender kiss to one of my palms, "and you are noble," he continued, kissing the other. "But there is nothing wrong with that. And as for history, there is plenty of time to make some history of our own, little bird. Trust me on that."

His words were a balm to my insecurities, yet my expression betrayed lingering doubts. Sensing my unrest, Malachi guided me to the couch in the sitting room, pulling me onto his lap which I surprisingly let happen. The warmth of his embrace offered reassurance as he spoke.

"Remember that I was an outsider to those people before, and my blood is not purely from the Stonehearth tribe. Felix, who was at dinner, is a mutt too with origins in Umbralis and Pyrithos." My surprise was evident. Felix, seamlessly part of the inner circle, had always seemed a native to the Stonehearth tribe.

"Really?" I inquired, seeking confirmation.

"Really. Elara, the Stonehearth tribe and Frosthelm are a big part of my life, but they are only a piece of my story. Minerva is just hard to win over with anyone new. I mean, it took me years to get her to see me as more than a pesky kid who was in over his head," he revealed, his tone carrying a mix of nostalgia and determination.

"But you are you, and I am just me," I admitted, a heavy acknowledgment of the perceived disparity between us. Malachi, incredible and undeniably strong, seamlessly fit into the group, even leading it with a natural authority that drew everyone in.

"Just you?" he questioned, his eyes searching mine. "What do you mean by that?" The intensity of his gaze compelled me to look away, reluctant to expose my insecurities.

"Look at me, darling," he urged, and I obeyed, knowing he would insist on meeting my eyes. Malachi had a way of making eye contact a non-negotiable aspect of our conversations. "Please explain to me what you mean," he pleaded, a sincerity in his voice that urged honesty.