Private Tales Where Even the Stones Scream

Her brow creased faintly No, she didn’t believe he would allow it. But if their blades had found her throat when they had the chance, there would have been precious little he could have done to stop it. He wouldn’t allow her death because she was 'his'. Because if she was to die, it would be by his will alone. And because he took far too much pleasure in breaking her himself to let anyone else ruin the game.

She shook her head slowly at his insinuation, dark hair clinging to her damp cheeks. Afraid? She denied it, but she wouldn't give breath to the word knowing her voice would betray her, crack open with everything she was holding back and betray the lie.

When his hand came to her cheek she tried to turn away, am instinctive recoil, but his grip tightened. A sharp nail brushed close to her eye, not quite touching, close enough that the message was clear. Her jaw locked, teeth grinding as she held his gaze, refusing to flinch even as the threat hummed between them.

But the fire inside her was guttering.

The adrenaline that had kept her upright bled away, leaving dizziness in its wake. The room swayed, her vision darkening at the edges as her legs began to weaken beneath her. She scowled at him through it, hatred burning hot, even as her strength failed.

“I… hate you,” she breathed, the words barely more than a rasp, before her legs gave way..

Panic flared the moment her feet left the floor.

She twisted weakly in his hold, fingers clutching at the front of his tunic.. Her body betrayed her, shivering despite her effort to still it, knowing he'd feel every tremor. She hated that. Hated the way exhaustion stripped her bare.

Weakness was punished. Vulnerability was punished.

But her limbs ached, heavy and unresponsive, and when he set her upon the bed she folded in on herself instinctively, drawing her knees up. She could not make herself look at him looming there, watching. The sheets were softer than anything she remembered. She should have recoiled from this place, from the dark elf’s bed, from the perverse safety it offered.

But there was nowhere else she would have felt safe enough to close her eyes tonight. They would come for her again, and right now she had nothing left to give, no strength to fight, no fire to burn them away. If she could just sleep. Just for a little while.

When his hand settled against her forehead she flinched, then stilled. Heat poured through her, searing and strange and achingly familiar, and a quiet sound slipped from her lips before she could stop it, a breathy sigh, half relief, half surrender. She pressed faintly into his palm, eyes squeezed shut against the red glow.

It felt good. His magic always did.

Her lashes fluttered, heavy as stone, the world narrowing to warmth and the distant crackle of the hearth. Her voice came in a whisper..

“I can’t go back to my chambers…” she swallowed hard. “Threnody…” The name faded as her eyes slipped closed, sleep dragging at her whether she willed it or not.

Sleep claimed her utterly; deep, dark, and mercifully empty. No dreams clawed at her mind, no memories stirred. She felt weightless upon the feather-soft bed, cocooned in warmth, aware only of a steady presence beside her. It was enough. Enough safety to let her guard finally slip, to let her body take what rest it had been denied. One arm had drifted across the sheets in sleep, her fingertips brushing fabric, his robe, before stillness took her again.

Light eventually found her. It seeped through her closed lids, coaxing a faint furrow into her brow. She stirred, eyes squinting open as she blinked the haze away, disoriented for a heartbeat. Then her focus sharpened, and she froze.

Her hand drew back at once, fingers curling to her chest as she stared at him in silence. Reclined beside her, absorbed in a book, he looked… almost ordinary. Relaxed. Normal, in a way that unsettled her more than his cruelty ever had.

She turned away quickly, pushing herself upright, a hand dragging down her face before combing through hair that had dried into unruly waves. The storm inside her chest had quieted, but it had not vanished.

With her back to him, she spoke softly, the question heavy despite its calm.

“What are you going to do about Ravenna?..”

Keres let out a soft, humourless scoff, turning just enough to glare at him over her shoulder.

“See reason?” she echoed. “I don’t want her to see reason. I want her to see punishment.” Her lips pressed thin. “Or am I the only one you ever see fit to punish?”

She shook her head faintly, irritation threaded with exhaustion. “I may matter little,” she muttered, “but I didn’t think you were the sort to let open disobedience pass so easily.”

Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose. Her body protested, muscles stiff, bruised and aching, but she stayed upright. She tested her balance once more, steadying herself with a slow breath. Then his words caught up to her.

Remain here...

Her spine stiffened. “I don’t want to stay here,” she said at once, the refusal sharp, instinctive. Just as quickly, the image of her own chambers surfaced, blood on stone, a lyre fallen silent, and her voice faltered.

For a moment she said nothing, gaze fixed on the floor. When she looked at him again, it was wary, quite aware that she was in no position to be listing out her demands to him. She was certain he'd remind her.

“Perhaps.. a room closer to this one?”

She scowled to herself as he laughed.

“I’m glad I am of some amusement to you,” she cut in, dark eyes flicking to his mouth, noticing the way it fought a smirk.

She hesitated when he made the offer, genuinely caught off guard.. A book? Paint? Her brow creased, nose wrinkling faintly. Those were gentle things. Soft things. The sort of pastimes meant for girls who had been allowed to grow up whole.

She had no answer for them.

Her gaze drifted away, jaw tightening. She didn’t paint. She didn’t read. She didn’t do things just because they were pleasant. Survival had never left much room for hobbies beyond listening for the dead and learning how not to die.

At his command, she didn’t argue. She was tired, and her body betrayed her anyway. With a quiet huff of irritation, she sat back down on the bed, careful of her aching muscles, hands braced against the mattress.

“I don’t paint,” she muttered. “And I doubt you keep any books that would interest me.”

Keres felt his attention on her long before she saw the shadows move, themselves from the corners of the room, slow and sinuous, creeping across the stone toward her bare feet. Her toes curled reflexively, a shiver running through her as temptation whispered just beneath the fear.

She drew her legs up onto the bed and wrapped her arms around them, making herself smaller, putting distance between herself and the dark things reaching for her.

His question snapped her gaze back to him.

For a heartbeat she searched his face for mockery, for the glint of cruelty she had learned to expect. For the trap. But there didn’t appear to be any, only a quiet, unsettling curiosity that unsettled her far more than malice would have.

If I freed you.

The words hollowed her out. She should have had an answer. A destination. A name, a road, a place she had been saving inside herself like a last coin. Instead there was nothing. No safe harbour. No waiting arms. Just flight that would end in chains again, or fire.

Roul had not come for her. How could he have? The single person who had ever seemed to care was gone, and the world beyond these walls had made it abundantly clear it had no room for her.

This world did not want her. She had no place in it.

Wetness blurred her vision before she realised she was crying. A tear slid free, then another. The moment she noticed, shame flared. She turned away quickly, scrubbing angrily at her cheeks with the heel of her hand, jaw clenched.

“I don’t know,” she said at last, voice tight. “And I don’t care to answer pointless questions.”

Keres tensed at first under his touch, every instinct screaming that closeness was danger, but the fight bled out of her too quickly. Gods help her, she leaned into his palm, just a fraction, as though her body had decided before her mind could catch up. His hand was cool, steady. Not cruel.. Not at the moment.

Her breath shuddered as he drew her closer, shadows licking at her heels, promising numbness, relief... more. That promise was a drug, and she hated how much she craved it. But for those moments wrapped within them, she forgot how alone she was, forgot the hollowness, the pain, and the shame.

Her dark eyes glistened as they lifted to his, then faltered, sliding instead to the bare line of his chest where his robe gaped, the slow rise and fall of it. Her fingers twitched uselessly at her side, aching with the impulse to reach, to anchor herself to something solid and real before she drowned in the want of it. Her breaths came sharp and uneven, catching in her throat.

..There is only one person who cares about your fate..

Her eyes burned as she looked back up at him, tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes. He spoke of caring, of fate, of inevitability, and some treacherous part of her wanted to believe him. Wanted to belong to someone, not out of force.

Still, she very much doubted that care was the appropriate word. None ever truly cared for Keres, and she doubted that he could really care about anything. Despite how much she wanted to be cared for, she wouldn't be delusional. He was the one hurting her.. and protecting her. Punishing, and rewarding..
He wanted her to be powerful, why? She was a slave here (though she had never accepted that term). She had hurt that warden, had surprised them all, they wanted her gone.. Was she a threat? If she was a threat to them, surely the more powerful she became, the more of a threat she could pose to the Shrike..

Shrike.

A monstrous moniker meant to frighten her..

“Tell me your name,” she whispered. She shouldn't want something she didn't know the name of. Her chin lifted slightly in his grasp in fragile defiance.

Her lashes shuttered at the first brush of shadow against her skin, a soft, broken breath slipping free of her as the tension she’d been holding in her bones finally gave way. The cold was gentle, almost kind, and when his fingers slid into her hair she stilled, breathing deeper, grounding on the steady pull of his hand, on the weight of his crimson gaze holding her in place.

Alarak..

The name struck something deep and fragile. Not a title. Not a monster.. A name meant a person. Something real. Something she could cling to instead of the dark. For a heartbeat she hesitated, fear and want crashing together in her chest. Then fear lost.

Her mouth crashed into his. It wasn’t careful or sweet. It was driven by hunger and anger and relief all tangled together. Her mouth pressed hard to his, claiming more than asking.. Her hands fisted in the fabric at his chest, nails biting lightly into skin beneath silk.

Her breath shook against him, a quiet, broken sound swallowed between them, and for that moment there was nothing but a name on her lips, and the fierce, aching need to believe it mattered.

She went with the pull willingly, breath breaking from her as the shadows claimed her and the mattress caught her fall. The bed dipped beneath her weight and she arched instinctively toward him.

Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, dragging him down with her, nails scraping skin where cloth gave way. She trembled, not with fear now, but with a feverish, aching want that had lived too long unanswered. Too long denied. Her mouth found his again, hungry, desperate, all sharp edges and need, as though she could pour every unspoken thing into the kiss and make him understand how desperately she wanted to feel something.

She tugged at his clothes with clumsy impatience, palms sliding over hard lines and heat, breath stuttering against his mouth as her hips shifted beneath him, seeking, pleading without words. Her pulse raced so fast she thought it might tear her apart from the inside.

“Alarak…” his name tumbled in a breath from her lips.

This wasn’t tenderness. It wasn’t safety. It was choice.

And for the first time in her life, she was choosing to want without apology. She could regret it later.