Month: April 2024

“Moderately quick death.”

The words ranged in the chamber, soft and pleasant like a cold rippling stream on the burned wound. Lady Astra felt them though like a whip on an open flesh.

Lorian kept her here for two days, in a mirror chamber. The looking glasses reflected her pale face, even paler now. The magic hidden in the mirrors was driving her senses mad, with mirages and cruel reflections, which showed her distorted visions.

But she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t frail. She lifted her face up.

Lorian stood only a step from her, with his black eyes buried into her; she could feel the morbid interest he offered her. She might be dead soon, but at least she could still oppose him. Nothing was worse than humility.

“I won’t give you the satisfaction” she hissed, a lock of her copper hair fell on her face, adding her a wild look. “There are fae who know who you really are. Those who won’t allow you to use them.”

Lorian laughed, lightly. His lips curled up in a smile, beautiful but oh, so cruel.

“Being used has many shades. Some even prefer it… ” his lips were now closer to her ear, she could feel his warm breath on her skin. “And those who love being used are the majority of this court… enjoying being part of something bigger and… more thrilling.”

She spat into his face but the spit hanged before him, not touching his skin, and fell on her shoes.

“Moderately quick death” he mused. “I promised that to your lord. He was so eager to follow my wishes, if I do so.”

“I do not care” Lady Astra’s hair fell again on her face. Lorian’s finger touched it tenderly and took the tangles off with a delicate move; caressing her skin lightly, and passing her cheek, to stay a bit on her lower lip. Her eyes widened with anger.

“Your lips said many things that displeased me. But it would be a pity to shut them before I hear your voice, telling me how much you want to die from my hand.”

“Never” she formed a wicked, desperate grin.

“Your spirit is indestructible. But I like challenges” his hand ran through her tangled hair and slightly pulled, close, closer. “You were so naive, Astra. Leira is a very talented soul. Skilled in deception. And you underestimated her. An unique unsuspected darkness always brings others to their knees…”

“Your wench,” Astra laughed, losing all decorum. “You call me naive, but it’s her who is a fool. She will end like me, sooner or later. And she knows it, yet she goes further into this pit, until the very bottom.”

Lorian’s eyes didn’t smile anymore. Darkened even more. Merciless. His grin became wider, more dangerous. She saw something in him, which made her toss in place, knowing he won’t be moderate. Ever.

His finger lifted her head, and his lips got closer to hers. She was tossing in place still, like a fish on dry land, but he pressed them against hers, pushing his tongue in, his hands on her hips, pulling her to his chest, flattening her breasts against it.

Her tongue, her mouth, slowly started to melt, while his kiss was becoming deeper. Her eyed widened. Green orbs filled with shock. Molten skin stuck to her flesh, she moaned painfully into him, trying to free herself off. But the darkness was relentless and thirsty, disfiguring her inside. His kiss deepening, more, swallowing her pain. Tears ran from her eyes as he tasted her, her body squirmed in his grasp. He dragged her closer, relishing on her, and her anguish.

Shadows crawled from behind him, enveloping his hands, forming seething talons. He pressed to her body, burying burning night into her skin.

It cracked.

His hands reached under it, Astra tossed wildly when darkness dripped into her throat and burned the flesh.

He eventually sighed into her mouth, leaving the rest of the heated shadows inside.

Lady Astra looked at her not with hatred anymore, but with utter fear.

“Leira… I think you forgot many things about me, Astra” his lips glistening with her blood… and night. “But you will remember them. Your death will be moderately soft, as I promised. But the path to it… delicious.”

She grunted at him, not being able to speak, her eyes filled  with tears of pain. Horror in her eyes, skin thrickling with hot blood.

And the ultimate dark came.

And slithered into her muscles.

Into her tendons.

Into her nerves.

And pulled.

Her nerves bursted from her body, splattering on the mirror wall. A net, intricate web of bloodied threads, looking like a tiny lace, beautiful in its horror. Astra’s mouth opened in the mute and terrified moan of pain and fear.

“I possibly should stay and watch as they are eaten” he purred, leaning over her, inhaling the scent of her hair. “But I am assured that it will give you more comfort, when you won’t see me during the process. Moderate comfort. After all, that’s what I promised to your lord. Moderation. Graceful mercy.”

He placed a kiss on her shivering lips. His mind caught her begging, a wordless plea, which she couldn’t articulate but which appeared in her mind, which he gladly invaded.

“And maybe you will rest easier, knowing that your husband will be safe. Grateful for my compassion. Taking the offered life straight from my hands.”

Her mind screamed at him. It latched onto him with a filling taste of despair and hatred.

Lorian just chuckled, charmingly and… walked away, his shadows following him like smoky ghosts.

Lady Astra watched in horror as the mirrors reflected a slithering darkness which started to crawl closer and closer to her nerves, which pulsed with promise of even more intense torment. And the mirrors… They were both cold and fierce in their hunger. In their cruel thirst for her body and soul.

Just like Lorian Ain’Dal.

He didn’t take her softly. He took her with passion of the storm, hungry and wild. But she didn’t want kindness in bed. She stopped being soft long time ago. She long time ago undestood what she craves for. Beauty of dark possession, abandoning herself in it, hopelessly reaching into the core of the night.

He spilled inside her – so delicious to be able to – his eyes locked with hers, her heart beating like a drum in her chest. Her body pulsating, when the climax washed over her.

“Lorian…” she grunted, a low growl of pleasure. He took her chin up, his lips closed over hers, his tongue pushing inside. He tasted of frozen berries, the scent of violets overwhelming, when the passion disturbed his dark aura, allowing it to release the tentacles of shadows.

He laughed, lightly. His hand buried in her long tangles. His perfect features showing dark, still hungry amusement.

Why I can’t say no to this?

“I like when you tremble under me…” he huffed into her ear, his voice a whisper. A shiver again ran down her spine. When she became like this? Was it him? Or was she always like that?

The forbidden flowers, taming guilt, black as obsidian stone which opened –  shows crimson veins. They all bloomed wider in her. Spreading thorns, cruel but so beautiful.

Violets.

They bloomed with violets.

“Hurt me then” she raised her face, bold challenge in her voice, her own eyes burning with darkness. Lust dripped off her, just between her legs.

She would not dare to say it months ago. Now… everything changed.

“Deliciously…” he bit her lower lip and kissed her again, slowly… taking his time. Tasting her, taking in the flavors.

“So much…” she murmured into his mouth. Frozen berries and melting snow, pure as fresh water in the stream.

Why I can’t say not to this…

His chuckle reached her ears, her legs dragging him even closer, she could feel him again pressing just in the right place. She wanted to urge him more, but then his shadows crept, tendrils of his power slowly seeping inside, fitting into her.

She still looked into his eyes with mute defiance, when he entered her, more, harder, deeper… and she felt it all, at once.

Pleasure… his pleasure, his very lust, pulsing inside her. And adding to it… something close to pain, a desireful pain, not exactly hurtful but tempting with its sensation. Not seering, not overwhelming, but present enough, to make her moan. To make her want more, to feel that she is alive, that it’s real and she can’t stop this, even if she wanted. Mixed with delight, it was like intoxicating drug, bad for mind… but too wickedly pleasant to allow it to stop.

Why you allow yourself on this.

You are not like that.

But of course you are.

You knew that when you were alone… and you imagined exactly this.

She embraced him with all she had; hands and legs, she latched to his skin, digging her fingers deep into his flesh. His black eyes gleamed with something dangerous, when he was sending more of his magic into her, pleasant with a hint of a forbidden…

Oh goddess…

She loved that.

More.

Just more.

You are lost.

She drowned in his gaze, pulling every drop of desire she saw in it.

His moves ceased.

His aura almost invisibly shivering.

His eyes became darker… and empty. Not black void anymore… filled with intelligence and cruel charm… but wells without end, flat lights. Death.

His power pulled her nerves, hard. She stiffled a protest.

She saw as his face tensed, his body became rigid, his muscles hard like stone.

His voice was like coming from the same bottomless well without end, flat… and barely pushing itself through his throat. An illligeble grunt, so unlike him.

But he still was in her, his shadows didn’t retract. His face showed no emotions now, a mask of marble statue, hiding rushing storm behind it.

She saw it then. His mind delved in hers, so deep, that she would scream in surprise, if she wasn’t used to opening before him.

Pain. Not her pain. Not one mixed with pleasure, not desireful pain. Safe one.

Agony.

His.

He projected the imagery of his torment just inside her, unwillingly, against himself.

She saw as he melted in heat, as his tendons splintered and filled with liquid death. He was decomposing inside, rotting alive, with his flesh spread by unknown force, feeding on his torment.

How often this had to happen to him? How… long?

She dragged him closer.

Her hands ran through his body. Clenched around his hips. And pulled. His hips instinctively moved and he slowly filled her again.

This was frightening. But she felt he wanted this. He wanted to awash his pain with her body. With passion. And she wanted to experience him like that.

She wanted to burn with him, even if what she felt was only a small particle of his own feelings.

His shadows closed around her, spread her and entered through her pores, binding him with her. She felt them in every part of her body. They amassed when his agony intensified.

And they lost in it.

His hips, dragging him against her walls… his tensed body, hard but filled with passion… the pain was drilling him, but she knew that he wants her even more, when it circled in his veins.

“Pour yourself into me” she whispered.

Maybe it was some sort of twisted perversion for her  – fucking with him when he suffered… but giving herself to him at the same time.  Making it easier for him to pass through it. She never felt so wrong but good at the same time.

It was him. Only him. Only he could make it work.

She wanted to understand him for so long. Now, she brushed deeper under his surface.

She felt and saw as his body changed into something unreal. Her fingers buried in his hair, now sank in pure shadows. His eyes – white glowing dots in the dark skin, his hands blackening, like touched with coals.

She allowed him to sink into her, become one with her, in this beautiful, frightening way. Finding in herself amounts of pure darkness, she never would admit to possess.

She was not a human anymore. Last bridge fell, leaving open void.

She drowned in him, allowing him to fill her in all ways.

It was dangerous, deadly possibly. But she desired it.

She didn’t know what caused his pain. She didn’t know how this happened, what stood behind his anguish.

But she wanted him.

Only this mattered now.

Nymre entered the vast Hall of Preparation. The forest priests arrived from Natsel’sort two days ago. The New Lunar Year was approaching, sweeping dust off the old one with its hems and wings.

Lunar New Year… Lorian always loved this celebration as a young fae. She knew that, because they met exactly then, she returned to Dal’coler after a long absence and was hungry for sensations… and the king of the fey showed her much of them and even more. She remembered how carefree they were. How passion was still young.

Lunar New Year, with its freedom, with its joy, with its darkness. Lorian still liked this day, but celebrated it in a much different way. She as well, her vain nature bathing in the luxury and ominous gloom of Dal’coler. She wanted him to steal her like he was doing with women in the past and love her in some forbidden place. He was doing it so many times during celebrations, not caring at all at royal protocol.

She wondered what he plans for now. What he plans for her.

The woods’ priests… hidden behind the thick black veils, they were unrecognizable, dark creatures of the darkest place in Ain’asel. They felt the special bond with the Sacred Woods and tales told that they talked with the trees, the oldest ones, equal to gods. That’s how Lorian knew that he doesn’t need a heir. The dark forest fed on his darkness, on his conquest, like a sanguisuge. It was Lorian’s most enchanted lover.

But even if they wanted him to have heirs… he wouldn’t have them with her. She was sterile, infertile, a price she was paying for being one of the most powerful women in the realm. Usually, she thought it was comfortable. But sometimes… The thought of Lorian taking another woman to place a child in her womb, was making her angry. Not because she would have other woman – he had human women in the past. But because his heir would not be hers.

She would kill that woman, as always she was doing.

But… something in this was wrong.

Something in this was… sad.

Sex is one thing. Bond is another.

One of the forest priests started walking in her direction and she brushed another bad thought that started to worm inside her head, slithering over her mind.

“Lady Nymre” a sussuring voice reached her from behind a intricately sewn veil. “I felt you. Before you came. Your aura flickers, pained, hungry. Swelling with anxiety.”

Her eyes widened. Big, too big to be real. Beautiful, with misplaced beauty only fey possessed.

Anxiety.

She had the world under her feet. Powerful lover. Magic that could destroy a human city and actually did in the past. Beauty and mystery.

Anxiety.

An anger started to boil inside her, but only partially directed at the priest.

When the world falls down, beauty dies with it.

“We all have our banes” her voice was harsher than she planned, she shouldn’t talk with this tone to a woods priest. But honestly… Now she didn’t care.

When the world falls down… power becomes irrelevant.

“Of course” Nymre could hear the hidden joy in his voice, a dark eagerness to sip more of her well hidden pain. “We can see through emotions like you can see through the iron. You want to know what I found in yours?”

“No” Nymre felt the situation doesn’t favor her. But something, at the same time, dragged her into this.. maybe, only maybe this creature can uncover things before her, which she still tried to understand. “Yes.”

The priest, this time, openly laughed. The sound was sharp, like a talon drawn through the glass.

“Lady Nymre was always bold, as tales tell. She captured our king into a dripping net of desire. Dangerous Lady Nymre. Drinking blood from his hands.”

A slight shiver came down his spine. The priests of the woods had a reputation among High Fae, and it was not a good one. Even if they needed them to appease the forest, and explain its wishes.

“Good, brave Lady Nymre” his voice silenced more, still sharp and thin as a dagger’s blade. “You are sad, so sad, that you can’t give an heir to your lord. You think though that he will never want one… that he loves his power much more than any son or daughter. But… we see the future. And I see an heir to Lorian Ain’Dal. Young, agile boy, filled with energy.”

Nymre didn’t react. Her eyes drilling into his veil, like trying to burn it and dig into his face.

“Ah, truth. Cruel, cruel truth. And I see a lot of death, dangerous Lady Nymre. Not long from now. A lot of delicious, cruel, vicious deaths.”

Nymre… just stood.

“Maybe more trees will grow in our woods. More fae souls replenishing emerald among our groves. Green within blue and blue within the bark. Fae-borne trees are strongest and most vital. Which tree would you like to give your aura to, when your time comes?”

He had to toy with her. Had to. Death. And Lorian’s child. Not hers. Will she also grow a tree? Will she die, so so soon?

Her heart beating fast. Foolish heart, stupid. Emotions as visible as rain on the leaves, soul so open, tempting this foul Changeling to pour venom into it.

She felt as a taloned hand closed over her arm. Her gaze landed on the face, hidden behind the material. Thick, with laced texture. So thick, that one could not see anything behind it. But… she could swear that she saw the eyes, red, maddened, suffering… yes, suffering.

And even if she saw them only for an insignificant glimpse… She knew the pain that they held.

Red or black.

Deep and bottomless or flaming.

They were almost the same.

She saw the same pain in Lorian’s eyes. The same hunger, hurtful hunger, which she never has seen before. Only now. Only since the last few years, intensifying inside his eyes, a painful well of horrors.

They knew. They surely knew why he was not the same anymore. Knew why he withdrew from her. Hiding secrets. Secrets of his inner struggles.

“Take the hands off me” she hissed. Her aura intensified too, sticky and light, but powerful… enough to swipe the city off the face of the land. The priest laughed again, harshly, deeply amused… but took his hand away.

And bowed before her, with a deepest bow, only abided by Changelings.

To the dead.

He bowed before her like before their god, the forest… or a dead person, who’s aura returned to the trees and fertilized them.

Was it a gesture of utter respect… or… ?

A lot of delicious, cruel, vicious deaths.

Was it a joke? A cruel game?

Or… he saw her in this vision, a vision given to him by the woods.

Of her dying.

He seemed to bathe in her worry. She should never lower her guard down like this. She should…

Her heart beat in a wild rhythm, when she observed as Changeling priest returns to his people and they start preparing for the first celebrational prayer in Dal’coler, carried every day, until the New Lunar Year starts.

Their voices, sharp as iron blades, which could harm all the fae. Aside from Lorian, her and few others, the Ancient Ones, long living, gathering power for ages.

But… Why did she feel that this blade cut her skin already and released poison?