The Dark Trinity

Chapter 9

Amelia blinked, the memory dissolving as Malcolm’s cold, clipped voice pulled her back to the present. She risked a glance at him, her heart twisting. 

He wasn’t looking at her, his attention fixed on the guard who stood at attention, delivering his report in hushed tones. But as the conversation continued, Malcolm’s tone grew sharper, colder.

“When exactly was the last report on my brother?” Malcolm asked, his voice measured.

The guard hesitated before answering. “Three days ago, sire. He was last seen near the border, moving south.” 

Malcolm let out a soft, humorless chuckle, more a breath than a sound. “Of course he was. Running again.” 

“I suppose I should commend him,” Malcolm continued, still gazing out the window. “It takes a certain kind of... resolve to disappear so consistently. A talent, even. Though I imagine it must be exhausting to live without purpose.”

Amelia’s stomach tightened at his words. The way he said it—so calmly, so devoid of emotion—made the disdain all the more cutting. It wasn’t the words themselves but the tone that struck her, as though Viktor’s existence was nothing more than an inconvenience.

The guard shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. “I couldn’t say, sire.” 

Amelia’s breath hitched as Malcolm shifted his attention back to her, his eyes locking onto hers. The cold emptiness she saw there made her heart ache for the boy she had once known—the one who now seemed to exist only in memories.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and the silence stretched between them. 

Malcolm’s expression didn’t change, but his hand shifted slightly. His thumb brushed against her lips, a fleeting touch that made her close her eyes instinctively. 

The guard, emboldened by the pause, let his gaze flicker toward her. “A beauty she is,” he remarked, his voice low. 

Malcolm’s gaze snapped to the guard, the air in the room freezing as his eyes darkened. 

The guard paled, realizing his mistake. He quickly looked away, bowing his head. 

His gaze shifted back to Amelia, his piercing eyes narrowing as they settled on her trembling form. His stern expression was unyielding, his voice cold and cutting. 

"If I ever catch you in the courtroom again, Amelia," he said, his tone low but menacing, "it will not end well for you. Do you understand?" 

Amelia shrank under his glare, her head bowing as if the weight of his words pressed her deeper into submission. She could barely muster a nod. 

Without warning, Malcolm grasped her wrist, his fingers firm as he lifted her from his lap and set her on her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she quickly steadied herself, unwilling to falter before him. 

As she stood there, Amelia’s eyes caught sight of her veil, a delicate scrap of fabric that now lay crumpled on the floor near where Malcolm sat. For a fleeting moment, she hesitated. 

Her heart raced as she knelt to retrieve it, her fingers trembling as they closed around the fabric. She dared a glance upward and caught a flicker of something in Malcolm’s eyes—something she couldn’t quite name—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual cold indifference. 

Clutching the veil to her chest, she turned on her heel and bolted from the courtroom, her steps hurried as she fled the suffocating atmosphere. The doors loomed ahead, and she pushed them open with more force than she intended, the sound echoing behind her as she escaped into the hallway.