Private Tales The Fool You Need

[Nadya]

Only when he drew away from her did Nadya go to him.

"I didn't mean to!" Her face was of utter anguish, poisoned barbs pressing into her ever since she came home the night before. Guilt had destroyed her, but the price to keep Ilir's silence was something she could never pay, not after all of this. "Cullen, please. I was upset, you left me there and I was upset!"

She cut across the room, pacing before the front door. He couldn't leave, not yet, not until she poured her heart out to him.

"I can't say anything to fix this... but you need to know I did not mean for this to..." Nadya looked at him, knowing she was losing him. The tears fell freely, the sobs coming through easier than she thought. "Please..."

She could not lose him, not now... the past day wasn't going anywhere either of them thought it would.

Why did her chest feel as if it were about to burst? That he heart would crack through her ribs and tear her chest apart so that her lungs could breathe, for the quick hurried breaths she took were not enough to suffice. "I did this all wrong... I fucked it up, Cullen. I fucked it all up and I am going to fix it."

She knew many in high places, and many owed her favours. She could keep Cullen out from prison, maybe even talk to Ilir about keeping this all hushed and Cullen out of things.

"I can fix it, please. Let me fix this."

Then she lowered herself to her knees. It was different to her earlier kneeling before him to tend to his wounds. This, this was a Wing Leader known to be strong, confident, and unyielding. She had risen to where she was out of pure determination and focus, but now, she lay all of that behind her as she surrendered herself to Cullen, her eyes the most sorrowful they have ever been. "You know I would never mean to hurt you. I have always fought for you... and I was distraught... I made one mistake, Cullen, and I will fix it... so please, please, give me this chance."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s expression was hard as stone, his jaw locked tight as Nadya blocked his exit to plead with him. Her words, her tears, the desperate way she threw herself at his mercy—none of it could penetrate the shield of anger and hurt he had thrown up around himself. He refused to let her undo him, not again.

“You need to get out of my way, Nadya,” he said, his voice low and firm, trembling only slightly under the strain of his emotions. His fists were still clenched at his sides, and his knuckles turned white as he watched her sobbing on her knees before him.

He told himself not to feel anything, not to let guilt worm its way in. He refused to feel sorry for her. No, she had made her choice, and now he was left to bear the consequences.

“You meant what you did,” he continued, his tone colder now. “And you said it yourself. There’s nothing you can say to fix this.”

He shook his head, bitter laughter escaping him as his eyes burned, taking a step closer to her, backing her against the door. “Do you really think Ilir is going to forget what you told him? That he’s just going to let this go? Let me go?” He looked down at her, his frown deepening as his heart broke further, each crack growing larger with every word.

“Or did you think he'd let Eira run back to me? Leave me unscathed?” Another bitter laugh came, short and sharp like the sting of a blade. “You’re a lot of things, Nadya, but I never took you for being naive.” His voice softened into something raw, something dangerous as he added, “Nor did I ever take you for a traitor.”

His head shook and he stepped back again, looking her over as though he didn't know her at all. "All you've done is prove me right. That nobody, not even someone you considered to be your best friend in the fucking world can be trusted."

He moved to step past her, moving her out of the way and grimacing as pain shot through his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was the physical pain from last night’s fall or the emotional agony of this moment—perhaps it was both. Everything hurt, and her presence only made it worse.

“I don’t want you to fix anything,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. His tone carried the weight of finality, the chill of a door closing. “I want you to forget you ever knew me. Believe me, it’d be better for you that way.”

His eyes lingered on her for just a moment longer, searching her face for some spark of understanding, some acknowledgment of what she had done. Then, without another word, he shoved his way outside, his movements stiff with pain and his chest heaving as though the air itself had turned to lead.

"Meala." he called, ignoring the sneers he got from any who set eyes on him.

 

[Nadya]

His words were slices against her skin, what was once steel now became brittle and rusted, open to the wounds his scathing tone inflicted upon her. She became small, when she had stood strong and unrelenting.

It had always been Cullen that would thaw her ice, and here he was, unleashing a heat she could not withstand.

Her sorrow was all over her face, the realisation of the one mistake she laid against him was the match to strike every foundation they had made over the two decades of being in one anothers' lives.

And as soon he waved her aside, passing through the door so quickly, she was sure he'd trip on his feet with how much effort it took for him to summon that strength. Her pain seemed to echo the wounds he suffered, but the tears falling freely from her eyes were not the healing springs she hoped they'd be.

He wanted her to forget him. To forget why she loved him, the memories of their childhood, the loyalty she showed him by running to his house all those years ago. News had just been delivered to the Caliars as Nadya had been reading to her younger sisters, her ears hearing the news be relayed to her parents at the other end of the room. She remembered closing the book, staring at her father, then her mother. She had seen their shock and pain, their hesitancy at even saying a thing.

Nadya did not need to think. She got up and ran out from the house. Her slippers became muddy, the skirts of her pale blue dress torn and dragging brambles by the time a breathless girl ran into his home and screamed for him. Had called out his name only for a maid to stop her and tell her the young master was not home. She did not like her answer, did not like that he was not home where he should be.

Well into the night, Nadya had waited by the swing his father had made at the tree closest to the front door.

Her governess had arrived at the Morvane home an hour after Nadya had gotten there, but agreed to wait with the young lady. Had left the woman snoring in the front drawing room while Nadya waited for her friend. She needed to be strong, to not cry. She knew he would return.

And he did.

Nadya was small, but she was quick. Too quick for the attending Ascendants to stop her as she broke past them all and wrapped her arms around Cullen.

"No one can take you away from me. Nothing changes this. You will always have me, Cullen."

But today, Nadya had made that change between them.

 

[Cullen]

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

The jeers and taunts from the crowd blurred into nothing, the sounds of Nadya's pleading sobs chased him instead, echoing in his mind, threatening to pierce through the wall he was trying so desperately to build. He doubted he’d ever forget the sound of her pleas, how raw and terrible they had been. All he could do was try to smother them with anger.

With stiff, determined movements, Cullen mounted Meala, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain that lanced through his ribs. He didn’t care. “Go,” he muttered hoarsely, and Meala obeyed, launching into the air with a powerful beat of her wings.

The cold wind whipped at his face, tearing tears from his eyes as he urged her faster. Faster, away from the suffocating weight of everything he was leaving behind. Faster, home.

But when they landed, it wasn’t solace that awaited him. Meala hit the rocky ledge hard, sending loose scree tumbling down the mountainside as Cullen slipped from her back. He staggered toward his cavernous home, his lungs burning from exertion and his ribs screaming in protest.

And then he froze.

The air was thick with smoke, the acrid stench of charred wood and burnt leather hitting him like a punch to the gut. His eyes scanned the destruction, widening in disbelief as the reality of what he was seeing set in. Everything was gone. Everything.

His belongings lay in ruins, smashed to pieces or reduced to smouldering ash. Scorch marks blackened the walls, and the faint, bitter trail of smoke still curled lazily toward the cave's mouth. Panic clawed at him as he searched the wreckage, overturning what little remained. His weapons—gone. His armor—destroyed. Even the small tokens of a life hard-lived—obliterated.

“Fuck!!” The word tore from his throat, raw and guttural, reverberating off the stone walls. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms as the weight of the loss crashed down on him.

Meala’s screech cut through the haze of his fury.

Cullen spun, his heart pounding as he rushed to the cave’s entrance. Meala stood there, wings flared, her sharp cry echoing across the mountainside. Her warning was clear.

He wasn’t alone.

 

[Ilir Malennis]

Ilir dismounted from his dragon, more Blue than Moon, but the telltale scales that seemed to blend with it's surroundings could be seen. The dragon was large, old, and his bondmate sauntered towards Cullen. He had been watching from the skies, an anticipation overwhelming him. There was fun to be had.

He had not seen his sister in some days, but going through the cavern, he could see the evidence of her presence throughout. In fact, it was her belongings he had collected before torching the rat's home. None of this would come back onto his House.

"Nice day for a ride, is it not, Morvane?"

The smile was one that belonged to a winner, someone that knew no card drawn can beat his hand. Of course, none of this was personal to the Marked one. Hurting him meant hurting Eira, and until tonight, she would not know of this. Not until all her cards had been played and she could not make a move against him.

He had not slept a wink, not since the Caliar girl gave him something that would tip the scales. Ilir had swallowed his pride and gone to his uncle, asked for his help in securing a dragon. A half breed was all he could achieve, but Vawraek was a beast not to be trifled with. Until that bond had been made, forced in some family members' eyes, Ilir declared himself heir and Lord. His father was gone, may his soul rest in the clouds and skies, but without a leader, House Malennis could tear itself apart.

"Greedy thing you are, Cullen. Not only my sister, someone too pure and clean for your stained hands, you strung along that Squad Leader for so long, the first hint of rejection and she threw herself at me." She had not. The Caliar heir in fact snorted and told him to fuck off after Ilir asked her to visit him later that night and left him to celebrate an early win. "She told me something interesting... something that could tear down my House. Where would it end, hm? No, no..."

Ilir did not stray far from his dragon's reach. Vawraek did not watch his bonded, but his presence should deter anyone from approaching.

"Get on your knees. You are in the presence of a Lord to a Great House."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen stood at the entrance of his wrecked home, his body rigid, shoulders squared despite the dull, persistent agony in his ribs. His eyes stung, though now it wasn’t just from the smouldering wreckage of his home—it was from the sight of Ilir sauntering toward him with that smug, insufferable smile plastered across his face.

The dragon behind him—Vawraek, was it?—was a sight to behold, all scale and power, but Cullen barely spared the beast a glance. No, his focus was on the man who had come to take everything from him.

The taunts didn’t hit the way Ilir likely intended. Cullen’s heart was already raw, battered by too much in too little time, but he’d be damned if he let this man see it.

“Greedy?” Cullen finally spoke, his voice low, dangerous, and dripping with disdain. He wiped his palms against his trousers, seemingly casual, though his eyes gleamed with the flicker of something darker. “That’s a funny word coming from you, Malennis. But then again, you’ve always been a man who takes things you haven’t earned.”

Ilir’s claim about Nadya hit a nerve, but Cullen didn’t show it. Not outwardly. He refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he straightened, a humourless grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took one slow, deliberate step forward as the bastard demanded he fall to his knees.

The command hung in the air, but Cullen didn’t flinch. He let it sit there, his silence deliberate as he regarded the man before him like he was little more than an amusing pest.

Finally, Cullen tilted his head, his voice calm but laced with steel. “I don’t kneel for anyone,” he said, his lips curling into a cold smirk. “Except maybe your sister.” Fuck it. There was little point in trying to reason with the pompous prick, and he wouldn't go quietly. Might as well annoy him a little more.

As if his defiance ignited something primal, Meala let out a guttural, bone-shaking growl that rolled like thunder across the mountainside. It was not the warning sound of a docile beast—it was rage, raw and untamed. Cullen felt it rumble through the ground beneath his feet, the heat of her fury rising with the smoke that still lingered in the air.

Meala moved, her claws scraping against the stone as she stalked closer to Cullen’s side. The golden dragon’s wings flared slightly, the membrane catching the dying sunlight as her shadow stretched like a predator’s across Ilir and his dragon. Honey eyes burned, fixed not on Vawraek but on the man who dared invade their home and ruin what was theirs. Smoke curled from her jaws, embers glowing in the depths of her throat as she snarled again—closer this time.

Cullen didn’t move to stop her. He stood tall beneath her protection, her fury echoing his own, the bond between them humming like a taut wire ready to snap. If Ilir thought Vawraek alone would cow them, he had sorely underestimated just how far Cullen—or Meala—would go when cornered.

“You hear that?” Cullen asked softly, his tone calm despite the chaos that trembled at the edges of the moment. He gestured faintly toward Meala, whose talons gouged furrows into the stone. “She doesn’t kneel either.”

Meala hissed, the sound like steam venting from a forge, and the heat that poured from her mouth sent the smoke swirling violently around them. Her massive tail lashed once, striking the ground with a crack that sent loose stone tumbling.

“Go on, then,” Cullen said, his voice dropping lower, deadly calm. His gaze never left Ilir. “Let’s get on with it.”

Meala bared her teeth, a deep, reverberating growl pulsing through her chest as her body coiled, poised to strike. Cullen didn’t move an inch, letting his dragon’s fury speak for him. The tension crackled like a storm, heavy and electric, as the air between the two men—and the two dragons—thickened to the point of breaking.

“Your move, Lord,” Cullen added, spitting the title like it was dirt on his tongue.

 

[Ilir Malennis]

Despite his new bonded dragon, Ilir had grown up amongst dragons. In hopes that a pure Moon Dragon would choose to bond with him, he made an effort to show up and be seen, but they were territorial, some days leaving him to observe from afar.

He did not cower or retreat from his position, not even as Vawraek let out a piercing call of warning. He had the trait of the moon dragons unique call, the higher pitched tone sounding more of a screeching outcry. A test.

"Touch me, and you destroy Eira's future." Ilir called out softly, barely audible, but he knew Cullen would hear his words. "I die, and she will never see becoming the Lady of the House. No one will back her. She would likely be killed off if her new husband to be does not keep her obedient."

He could not resist a smirk. "Upon my death, a letter will be sent to Eira's intended detailing your greed and treachery. How you stole his bride from him, ruined her, and the only way to pay for such a thing is your life. Unless you do not think Leovold Solherre would simply leave you be..."

Vawraek took a step back, towering to his full height as he settled onto his hind legs. A command from Ilir to once again challenge the Morvane traitor.

"By all means, Cullen Morvane. Have at it. Ruined Eira in the eyes of Thanasis... you know what they do as a society to those that soften at the Marked Ones."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s breath caught in his chest, the air turning to stone in his lungs. For a moment, all the chaos around him—the wreckage, the dragons, even the looming threat of Ilir—blurred and fell silent. Ilir’s words sank into him like jagged shards, each one slicing deeper than the last.

He stared at Ilir, his face betraying everything he felt: raw, unfiltered pain that twisted into anger, disbelief, and finally back to pain again. His chest heaved with the effort of holding himself together, but it was futile.

“Eira…” he whispered, his voice cracking like a brittle edge. He tried to steady himself, but the weight of what Ilir had revealed crushed down on him, threatening to break him entirely. “You’re lying.”

The words came out hoarse, a desperate attempt to deny what he’d just heard, but even as he spoke them, doubt curled in his stomach like a viper.

Meala’s growl rumbled behind him, low and furious, her golden eyes fixed on Ilir like a predator sizing up prey. Smoke coiled from her nostrils, and she crouched as if preparing to spring, her wings twitching with barely contained rage.

Cullen held up a hand, palm out, to still her. “No,” he murmured, his voice strained but firm. He couldn’t risk it—not now.

Every fiber of his being screamed to act, to lash out, to silence Ilir forever, but it wasn’t himself he was protecting. It was Eira. Always Eira.

Cullen’s hand shook as he turned back to Ilir, the sharp edges of his rage tempered by a deeper, gnawing fear. “You care so little for your sister,” he said, his voice low, trembling with barely suppressed fury., “that you’d just hand her over to him? To Leo Solherre?”

Even saying the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. Leovold Solherre—the man who epitomised everything Cullen despised. A man whose cruelty and arrogance rivalled even the royal family who had taken everything from him. And now Leovold was to take her from him too.

The thought of Eira in Solherre’s grasp sent a wave of nausea through him. No. He wouldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let it happen.

“You’re lying,” he repeated, though now his voice faltered. He wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but the look on Ilir’s face told him otherwise. That smug, knowing grin. The triumph in his eyes. Cullen’s stomach churned with disgust at the smirk Ilir wore as he made his threats. He hated him more in this moment than he thought possible. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Eira.

Cullen’s hands shook at his sides, clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to lash out, to do something—anything to wipe the smug look off Ilir’s face, to silence his taunts, to take back the control that had been ripped from him.

He wanted to scream. To fight. To break Ilir’s neck and end this nightmare here and now.

But he could do none of that.

The weight of the situation crushed him, dragging him down until it felt like he was suffocating under its enormity. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he thought he might choke on the words he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

The air felt colder, heavier, and even Meala’s steady growl behind him sounded distant, muffled by the pounding of his heart.

For Eira.

That thought anchored him, even as his body trembled with the force of his restraint. She was the only thing that mattered. Not his pride, not his hatred, not the overwhelming rage that burned through him like wildfire. Ifshe suffered because of a mistake he made now, he would never forgive himself.

Cullen forced his hands to unclench, letting them fall limply at his sides. His head dropped, shoulders slumping under the weight of resignation. “You’ve already won,” he said quietly, the words like ash in his mouth.

He looked at Ilir, his expression hollow but his eyes still burning with quiet fury. “You’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?” His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. “You’ve taken everything—my home, my belongings, my peace..” And his heart. The admission felt like a knife twisting in his chest, but he refused to let Ilir see just how deeply it cut him.

Cullen swallowed hard, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense. “So what now?.. Did you come here to taunt me or kill me?.." he asked, feeling the heat of Meala's breath at his back. He turned his head, looking up at her, knowing she would defend him. The dragon was quite literally the only thing he had left..

"Go to Faye, Meala." he commanded gently, his brow furrowing when it seemed she wouldn't budge. "Go! Now!"

 

[Ilir Malennis]

Ilir smiled.

It was haunting how similar he looked to Eira in the smallest of ways, but there was no doubt he was a Malennis. They were known for their handsome features, their arrogance, and Ilir was perhaps even more power hungry than his sister.

"I wanted to share the good news with you, Cull." The use of the nickname came with ease, stolen from Nadya Caliar. "That your life will get worse from now. I commend you for sending your dragon away, that will make it much easier for my friends to incarcerate you until a decision is made... I insisted on life imprisonment, and I think they will take my advice..." Ilir lifted his arms either side of him, shrugging as his palms opened with the movement.

Vawraek snarled, turning to circle and scented the arrival of more dragons and their riders.

"I will tell Eira to visit you after the ball we will be attending tonight. The first event she will be seen as Eira Malennis, engaged to the heir of House Solherre." Ilir could not help himself, grinning widely as he indeed had won. "My poor sister, coming out of mourning for our father and dazzling Thanasis with this happy news."

And the news that Eira's efforts to succeed their father's title was all for nought.

Behind him, two dragons broke past the cloud cover and aimed for the plains on which they were standing in.

"Enjoy your last moments of freedom, Cullen. I am going to visit your dear friend Nadya and tell her the good news and properly thank her for all of this." He grinned, winking at the Marked One before turning around to mount his dragon.