Page 118 of The Soulbond and Her Beloved

Until now.

This time, Twenty-four turned to thirty-six, Daemonikai remaining feral.

To forty-eight.

Then seventy-two.

Three excruciating days, and the grand king of Urai was still chained, still lost.

A cold dread filled Vladya as he stood behind the window on the fourth day, watching the beast quietly seated at one corner, watchful but exhausted, eyes still without recognition.

Is he completely feral now? Have we lost him once again to madness, and only this time, there is no return?

***

Emeriel woke with a load in her chest that had nothing to do with the heaviness of her pregnancy. She stretched to relieve the aching pull in her lower back, sighing. At five months, her body was beginning to feel the strain in earnest. Yet it was not her body that troubled her this morning.

She had a bad feeling.

The morning passed, the servants arriving to help her bathe and dress, but the feeling did not fade. She told herself it was nothing. It was not uncommon for Daemonikai to be delayed. His duties often took him longer than was expected.

But the feeling would not leave her.

She tried to distract herself. Reading in the library, tending the garden, wandering through the plantations. Even time spent with Aekeira brought little relief. Eventually, she gave up entirely and made her way to Blackstone to confront Grand Lord Vladya.

She hesitated briefly before knocking on the door to his study.

“Come in,” came the deep, familiar voice.

Emeriel entered, finding the grand lord behind his desk, eyes narrowed over the scroll in his hand. The furrow in his brow eased slightly when he saw her.

“Emeriel.” He set the parchment aside, rising smoothly to his feet. “Please, come in.”

He crossed to her, steadying her as she lowered herself into one of the cushions.

She flushed faintly. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Is everything well?”

“Yes, yes, all is fine. It's just…” She cleared her throat, smoothing her hand over the fabric stretched taut across her belly. “I have not heard from Daemon in days. I am… worried.”

“You need not be,” he said after a pause. “You know how his duties are. It wouldn't be the first time they've kept him away from the Citadel for long, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“I know, I keep telling myself that.” She fidgeted. “It's just... he told me this would be a short journey. A day, perhaps two. And when there are delays, he usually sends word. Not always, but often enough.” Her voice lowered. “I have a bad feeling.” She looked up at him. “I’m sure he is fine. I just… I need to hear from him.”

Lord Vladya’s eyes dropped, shoulders drawing subtly taut.

It was the tiniest reaction, but Emeriel had long learned that with him, even the smallest movements spoke volumes.

She sat up a little straighter. “You know something, don’t you?”

He crouched before her until they were eye to eye. “Only that he is delayed. You will hear from him soon. Don't let this worry you. He is fine.”

Before she could press him further, the door burst open. “I'm really worried this feral episode still persists. Daemon is—” Lord Ottai stopped short, seeing her. Alarm flashed in his eyes.

Emeriel stared at him, her mind grasping the words she had just heard. “Feral episode?” Her brow furrowing in confusion. “What feral episode?”

The Fourth Ruler went pale, his eyes darting to Lord Vladya in a desperate plea for help.

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