Chapter 118: ⊰ 118 ⊱ The Agreement

| Malachi |

The silver cuffs clink on my wrists as the guards lead me down an unfamiliar corridor. Though Rook has reduced the dosage in my food as promised, the restraints remain.

Three days have passed since my conversation with Rook. Three days of gradually returning strength, of carefully rebuilding myself both physically and mentally for whatever comes next. And now, finally, the moment I've been both longing for and dreading: seeing Penelope and our son.

The guards stop before a set of wooden doors carved with intricate patterns that I recognize as Northern Tribe designs. One of them—a stern-faced female with a jagged scar across her jawline—fixes me with a hard stare.

“Alpha Rook says you have thirty minutes,” she says, her tone making it clear that not a second more will be tolerated. “We’ll be right outside.”

I nod, careful with the simple gesture. Any aggression, any attempt to overstep the boundaries Rook has set, will end this privilege immediately.

The doors swing open, and before me is a sunlit room I’ve never seen before. Large windows overlook a small private garden, filling the space with warm natural light. There are comfortable furnishings—a sofa, several armchairs, a plush rug that looks perfect for a baby to lie on.

And there she is.

Penelope stands by one of the windows, Elio cradled against her chest. The sunlight catches in her hair, creating a halo effect that makes my breath catch. She’s wearing a simple dress in a deep blue that brings out the amber highlights in her eyes—eyes that watch me warily as I step into the room.

Her posture is guarded, protective. One hand cradles Elio's head against her shoulder, the other rests at her side, fingers slightly curled. Everything about her body language screams caution, distance.

The door closes behind me with a soft click that seems to echo in the tense silence.

“Penelope,” I say, her name feeling both familiar and foreign on my tongue. I stop several feet away, giving her space. “Thank you for coming.”

She doesn’t move closer, just gives a small, tight nod. “Rook said you wanted to see Elio.”

“And you,” I add softly. “I wanted to see you both.”

Her eyes flicker with something—pain, maybe, or uncertainty—before her expression closes again. “You have thirty minutes.”

The coldness in her voice cuts deeper than I expected. I’ve spent days preparing for this moment, rehearsing what I would say, how I would approach her. But now, faced with the reality of her distance, the words stick in my throat.

Elio shifts against her shoulder, making a small sound that draws both our attention. Seeing him—even just the back of his head, his tiny shoulders—sends a wave of emotion through me so powerful I have to lock my knees to remain standing.

“He's grown,” I say, grasping for something, anything, to ease the tension between us.

“Babies do that,” she responds, but there’s less edge to her voice now. After a moment’s hesitation, she asks, “Do you want to hold him?”

Relief floods through me. “Yes. Please.”

She approaches cautiously, and I’m acutely aware of keeping my posture open, non-threatening. When she’s close enough, I notice the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the slight pallor to her skin.

Is she not sleeping well? Not eating enough?

As she transfers Elio to my arms, our fingers brush briefly, and it takes everything in me not to catch her hand.

Elio blinks up at me, curiosity coloring his eyes. For a terrifying second, I fear he won’t recognize me, that the bond we began to form during our brief first meeting has already faded.

But then his tiny face breaks into a toothless smile, his arms waving in what seems like recognition, and my heart nearly bursts.

“Hey, little man,” I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

I look up to find Penelope watching us, her expression softening slightly at the sight of Elio’s reaction to me. It’s the tiniest crack in her armor, but it gives me hope.

Moving to one of the armchairs, I sit carefully, cradling Elio against my chest. He grabs at my shirt with surprising strength, cooing softly.

“He’s strong,” I say, pride swelling in my chest.

Penelope sits on the edge of the sofa across from me. “Rook says it’s the royal bloodline. Northern Tribe babies develop faster than most.”

“Rook seems to know a lot about Northern Tribe traditions,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, curious rather than accusatory.

She nods, relaxing slightly as we move to safer conversational ground. “He’s been telling me about our parents, about the tribe’s customs. It’s... strange, learning about a heritage I never knew I had.”

“What are they like? The traditions?”

As she begins to speak about naming ceremonies and moonlight rituals, I see a spark of genuine interest in her eyes. Penelope has always been curious, always eager to learn. It seems her captivity has at least given her the opportunity to discover her roots.

Elio squirms in my arms, and I adjust my hold, marveling at how natural it feels despite having held him only once before.

“You’re good with him,” Penelope observes, surprise evident in her voice.

“I had practice with Seth’s younger siblings,” I explain. “When their parents died, they lived with him at the mansion for a while.”

“I didn’t know that.”

A sad smile tugs at my lips. “There’s a lot we didn’t get to learn about each other before…” I trail off, unwilling to name the separation that still feels like an open wound.

Silence falls between us again, but less strained this time. Elio has drifted to sleep against my chest, his tiny fist still clutching my shirt.

“Penelope,” I begin carefully, knowing I might be breaking the fragile peace between us but unable to stop myself. “I need to ask... Jax. Has he—”

She tenses immediately, her eyes hardening. “Don’t.”

“I just need to know—”

“What?” she cuts me off, her voice quiet but sharp. “If I’ve given into him? If I’ve betrayed you completely now instead of just partially?”

The bitterness in her tone takes me aback. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself of my promise to Rook. “I’m trying to understand where things stand. For all of us.”

Penelope looks away, her face etched with tension. For a long moment, I think she’s not going to answer, that I’ve pushed too far.

“I haven’t fully given into the bond," she says finally, the words barely audible. "Not like you're thinking."

Bright and dangerous hope flares in my chest. I try to temper it, to remind myself that “not fully” doesn’t mean “not at all.”

But I can’t help it.

“It’s complicated,” she continues, still not meeting my eyes. “The bond... you know better than anyone it doesn’t just disappear because you want it to. But that doesn’t mean…” She trails off, glancing back at me with conflicted eyes.

“What?” I prompt gently, despite my eagerness.

“It doesn’t mean I’ve chosen him," she says, the confession weighing heavy in the air between us. “I haven’t made any choices at all.”

The weight of what she’s saying—what she’s not saying—settles over me. She hasn’t chosen Jax, despite the true mate bond, despite my mistakes.

But she hasn’t chosen me either.

We’re suspended in this uncertain space, neither together nor fully apart.

I want to press further, to ask what she needs from me, what I can do to fix what’s broken. But I’m afraid of shattering this tentative understanding we’ve reached.

Instead, I look down at our sleeping son. “He deserves better than all this,” I say softly.

“Yes,” Penelope agrees, and the sadness in her voice matches my own. “He does.”

“I made a mistake,” I admit, the words coming easier now than I would have expected. “With Jackson. With the arrangement. I was desperate to find you, but that’s no excuse.”

She watches me, her expression guarded but attentive.

“If I could undo it…” I begin, then shake my head. “No, that’s not right. If I could do it over, I’d still do whatever it took to find you. But I would have found a different way. One that didn’t compromise what we both wanted for Elio.”

A single tear slips down her cheek, but she quickly wipes it away. “It’s not just about the arrangement, Malachi. It’s about trust and choices and about what kind of relationship we're building.”

“Were building,” I correct softly, the past tense a knife to the heart.

“Maybe,” she says, and that single word contains more hope than I dared expect. “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if we can fix this.”

I want to argue, to assure her that we can, that we will. But I’ve learned enough to recognize that pushing now would be a mistake.

“I’d like to try,” I say instead, my voice unsteady. “If you’ll let me.”

Before she can respond, a knock at the door signals the end of our time together. Penelope rises immediately, crossing to take Elio from my arms. The loss of his warmth against my chest leaves me feeling hollow.

“Penelope,” I start, desperate to say something, anything, to keep this connection from breaking completely.

She pauses, Elio nestled securely against her. “You know what I can’t understand?” she says, her voice soft but steady. “Why it was so easy for you to break your promise to me, when keeping promises is everything you stand for.”

The question makes my breath catch. I have no answer that would satisfy either of us. And before I can respond, the door opens to reveal one of the guards.

“Time’s up,” she announces.

Penelope gives me one last look—complex, unreadable—before turning away. The sight of her walking out that door, our son in her arms, nearly breaks something fundamental inside me.

But the fact that she came at all, that she allowed me to hold Elio, that she admitted to not choosing Jax... it’s not forgiveness, not reconciliation, but it’s a start.

I’m still staring at the closed door when I sense another presence in the room.

Rook.

I don’t need to turn to confirm it; his scent is unmistakable.

“That went better than expected,” he comments, moving into my line of sight.

I don’t respond, still processing everything that just happened. After a moment, I ask, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” he answers simply. “She’s struggling. More than she lets on.”

I finally look at him, searching his expression for any hint of the satisfaction I’d expect at seeing me brought so low. But there’s only a thoughtful assessment, perhaps even a hint of sympathy.

“She said she hasn’t fully given in to the bond with Jax,” I say, unable to keep the hope from my voice.

“She hasn’t,” Rook confirms. “Though not for lack of effort on his part.”

Relief washes through me, stronger than I care to admit. But Rook’s next words quickly temper it.

“Don’t mistake that for a victory, Malachi. The true mate bond doesn’t just disappear. You know that,” he reminds me as though I need to hear it. “It grows stronger with time, with proximity. Every day she spends near him, every moment he demonstrates his worth to her and Elio, the pull increases.”

“I know,” I say, the words like ashes in my mouth. I’ve seen it happen before, witnessed how Julia’s resistance to her true mate gradually eroded until she could no longer deny it.

Then she turned around and left me anyway.

“So you know we need to move quickly,” Rook says, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. “There’s been a development.”

This catches my attention. “What kind of development?”

“The Continental King has summoned all remaining contenders to court,” Rook says, watching me carefully. “Including you.”

“Me?” I stare at him, caught off guard. “Everyone thinks I’ve disappeared. How do they even know where to send the summons?”

“It came to your territory,” Rook explains. “Your beta, Axel, forwarded it to me through channels he hoped wouldn’t be traced.”

My brows furrow. “This is unusual. All contenders rarely gather at once.”

“Precisely why it’s caught our attention,” Rook agrees. “It could be an opportunity to identify who’s behind the corruption.”

Understanding dawns. “You want to use this. Send me as a contender to gather information.”

“It's a perfect cover,” Rook says. “You’d have legitimate reason to be there, to interact with other contenders, with the Continental King himself.”

“But if I suddenly reappear after being missing for weeks—”

“We’ll craft a story,” Rook interrupts. “Something plausible. The details don’t matter much; most will assume you’re simply lying about where you’ve been.”

It’s a good plan, I have to admit. Using my contender status as cover while working for Rook’s agenda. And it gets me out of this cell, back into the world. One step closer to rebuilding what I’ve lost.

“What about Jackson?” I ask, the question coming unbidden.

Rook’s expression shifts slightly. “What about him?”

“Is he still here? In the dungeons?” I feel an unexpected twinge of concern for the Alpha who, for all his faults, had upheld his end of our bargain. “What happens to him?”

“He’s being held separately,” Rook says, studying me. “And he’ll have his own role to play in what’s coming.”

“You’re not going to kill him?” The question is blunt, but necessary.

A slight smile touches Rook’s lips. “Not unless I have to. Contrary to what you might think, Malachi, I don’t kill without reason.”

Relief washes through me, more intense than I expected. Despite everything, I don’t want Jackson’s blood on my hands. I don’t want his death as part of the price for finding Penelope and trying to get back to my family.

“So,” Rook says, extending a hand in a gesture that feels both businesslike and deeply symbolic. “We have a plan. Do we have an agreement?”

I look at his outstretched hand, then back to his face—so like Penelope’s in certain angles, in certain lights. The brother of the woman I love, the uncle of my son. A potential ally instead of an enemy.

I grasp his hand firmly, silver cuffs clinking with the movement. “We have an agreement.”