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.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen sneered as Ilir called him "Cull," the nickname like salt on an already gaping wound. It was Nadya's word, a reminder of the blade she'd plunged into his back and twisted until his life unraveled. Everything she’d done—her betrayal—had led to this moment, to this abyss of defeat.

He watched Ilir speak, his words calculated and cutting, his reinforcements descending on dragonback to drag Cullen to whatever hole they'd lock him away in. Fury roiled inside him, but it was smothered by the suffocating weight of pain and betrayal. Everything collided—rage, nausea, despair—until it all collapsed inward, leaving only a numb void.

Ilir had won.

Leovold Solherre had won.

They had won.

The great forces that had loomed over his life, always crushing, always relentless, had finally beaten him until there was nothing left.

Cullen’s fists unclenched, his arms hanging at his sides as the tension drained from his body. His eyes burned, but no tears came. He was too tired for tears. Too tired for anything but the suffocating acceptance of his defeat.

The rock beneath his feet trembled, the ground quaking with the weight of the dragons that landed behind him, their shadows swallowing him whole. Cullen didn’t flinch, didn’t turn to face them. He stood still, waiting for the inevitable with a quiet resignation that belied the fire still smoldering deep within.

He didn’t resist as the riders approached, their dragons looming like living storms, their presence suffocating. His knees hit the ground hard, forced down by the weight of hands that were too eager, too brutal. He grimaced as one of them struck him across the face with a gauntleted hand, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. Another booted blow followed, slamming into his already broken ribs, sending fresh pain shooting through his side.

Meala’s distant screech echoed in his ears, but he had sent her away—there was no saving him now, not without her being harmed in the process.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. His sneer remained even as his vision blurred from another strike, his breathing labored as the weight of betrayal and defeat crushed him more than their fists ever could.

 

[Nadya]

"Let me through, Fedyr!"

Nadya's voice carried through the cells, all empty save for the one at the very end.

"Turn back, Wing Leader."

"Oh fuck off. Did he put you up to this?" She barked at the Marked One on guard. The blond did not look at her, did not even bother to reply. All the Marked Ones that were in the Thunder were present, here to guard and not say a word. A punishment, a reminder of what could happen to them.

Nadya sighed, throwing herself against the stone wall and crossed her arms as she glared at the floor.

"Was it worth it?" He asked, finally. He still did not look at her, but it was clear word had gotten out.

"Was it worth you telling an Ascendant your uncle smuggled wyld dragon eggs to sell?"

"I didn't know better as a kid."

"Yeah? Neither did I about all of this." She lifted her head to look at the man, who sighed and finally returned her gaze. Nadya could see the understanding there in his eyes, that he knew what Nadya had felt for Cullen. How many in Thanasis knew she loved Cullen? She choked back the lump in her throat, clearing her throat and...

Footsteps, approaching. Fast and quick, that the urgency of the heels clicking on the stone made Nadya stand upright suddenly.

"Let me through! I need to see him!"

Nadya paled. Her stomach toss and turned in sickening ways as she recognised the commanding voice of Eira Malennis.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen lay crumpled in the corner of the damp cell, his body battered, bloodied, and bruised. The stone floor beneath him was as cold and unyielding as his reality. He hadn't spoken a single word since Ilir had left him to his fate. Not when the guards jeered at him, not when the other Marked Ones tried to coax him into drinking water or eating the stale crusts of bread they slipped through the iron bars. He remained silent, the weight of his despair pulling him deeper into the abyss.

Word of his betrayal had spread like wildfire. The whispers were inescapable, reverberating through the silence of the dungeon, each one another knife to the chest. Cullen Morvane, brought low, exposed, and cast aside. Who the fuck was he to believe he could make a life for himself?

Everything hurt—his ribs, his face, his limbs—but it was nothing compared to the agony twisting inside him. His reality was sharper, crueler than any noble thug could ever be. He had nothing left. He was nothing. And soon, he would rot here in the darkness, his name forgotten.

His mind drifted, unwillingly, to Meala. The bond still pulsed faintly, like a candle barely flickering in the wind. He felt her anguish, her fury, and for a moment, he could have sworn he’d heard her cries echo through his fractured mind. She was out there, somewhere, but he couldn’t reach her. He’d sent her away to save her, and in doing so, severed the last tether he had to freedom.

Eira. His chest tightened painfully at the thought of her. His Eira—though she had never truly been his. The image of her standing beside Leovold Solherre made bile rise in his throat. She was marrying him, the man Cullen hated above all others, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

And Nadya. Gods, Nadya. His best friend, the one person who should have been at his side. She’d torn what little life he had apart, shattered it into pieces. The knife she'd plunged into his back was the deepest cut of all.

He had lost everything. And for the first time, he truly believed there was nothing left to fight for.

Cullen's swollen eyes cracked open at the sound of a voice, sharp and commanding even through the haze of his exhaustion. Eira.

He flinched instinctively, the name bringing both a flicker of hope and a wave of despair crashing over him. What was she doing here? She shouldn’t be here. The thought cut through the numbness that had consumed him since Ilir’s departure, an ember sparking amidst the ashes of his resolve.

His body protested as he tried to shift, the ache of his bruised ribs and the sting of his split lip reminding him of how far he'd fallen. He let himself sink further against the damp stone wall, retreating into the meager shadows of his cell as if they could shield him from her gaze.

But there was no hiding from Eira Malennis, not when she wanted something.

The guards hesitated, their unease palpable. One glanced down the hall as if hoping for orders that wouldn’t come.

“She has no clearance,” one muttered.

“I.. Think she is the clearance..” another murmured back.

Another moment of hesitation, and then the guards exchanged silent, resigned looks. With a reluctant shuffle of boots, they stepped aside, granting her passage.

Cullen clenched his jaw, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. Part of him wanted to shout at them to stop her, to keep her away—for her own sake and for his. But the words didn’t come, and he could only watch as her silhouette emerged from the dim corridor, her presence as luminous as ever, even in the oppressive gloom of the prison.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing himself to disappear, to melt into the wall and leave nothing behind but the broken remnants of the man he once was. But Eira’s steps were already approaching, swift and determined, and Cullen knew there would be no escape from the storm she brought with her.

 

[Eira]

Eira was a woman of emanating anger as she stormed past those standing guard. She came to a stop once she saw Fedyr, the shameless flirt no longer wearing his trademark smirk or possessing the spark of mischief in his eyes. He stood taller, over a foot taller than her, but she withered him with her gaze.

She did not see the Wing Leader until the Marked One cut a look to her, Eira's gaze following.

Gods, Eira had to fight her surprise, she is very pretty.

But there was no time to think on her jelaousy that this was the best friend Cullen had growing up, the friend he spoke of nearly every day they had spent together. All she could do was offer a sad smile before walking past them both and down the hall of cells.

She knew where he would be, for Eira knew her brother too well. At the end, all alone, and those that were just like him and Marked to stand and guard his cell as a threat of what could happen to them.

If she were Lady Malennis, she would fight for the rights of the Marked Ones to be vindicated if the cause was right.

Eira was still dressed in the gown she wore this evening, a daughter in mourning, a rider dressed in the environment her dragon knew best, and as elegant and lethal that she was known to be. A black dress that bared her shoulders save for the gauzy black cape that was flecked in golden dust. The black dress sparkled in black and golden shimmer as she moved, reminiscent of a Moon Dragon's scales. She could see in the dark, for a sliver of moonslight lit her up for Cullen to see but rendered him in the shadows around that light.

"Cullen." Her hands wrapped around the iron bars, pressing herself close. Her brows were furrowed deeply, worried and stressed for what her night was turning into. "Ilir had no right..."

To finish her evening at the ball, her brother and new Lord to the House Malennis, insisted on having the last dance with his sister. It was as the music began to swell that he revealed to her the secret she had kept, and the punishment he gave the traitor that owned her heart.

Cullen was no traitor. Cullen was the one that healed something inside her when she never knew it needed to be fixed. It had been Ilir that was the traitor, but what could she do against him that would not ruin all she had worked for, all that she built so that she had power of her own standing?

"He wants to keep you here until he feels like giving you a fair trial before the council..." And she knew that would not be fair at all on him. "Please... Cullen, let me see you."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen's head was tilted back against the damp, unforgiving stone wall, his body sagging as though the weight of her voice alone had crushed him further. Her voice, soft and familiar, should have brought him solace. Instead, it carved deeper into the hollow ache within him, the sound of it both a balm and a blade.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, as if by staying perfectly still he could make himself invisible, even to her. But then he turned his head, just enough to catch sight of her.

She was stunning, as she always was, but tonight—dressed in black and gold, like the very night sky he’d once flown with her—she was breathtaking. The light that filtered in caught in the shimmer of her gown, casting her in an otherworldly glow, while he sat rotting in shadow. She looked like everything, whilst he looked and felt like the nothing he was supposed to. Thanks for the reminder, Ilir.

A humourless, breathy laugh escaped him as Eira mentioned a ‘fair’ trial, the sound catching in his throat as the sharp pain of it ripped through his chest. Even now, Ilir's punishment felt omnipresent, as though the bastard was standing just outside the cell, watching and reveling in his suffering. Cullen swallowed hard, tasting blood as he let his head fall back against the wall.

He didn’t want her to see him like this. He didn’t want her to see what Ilir had reduced him to—a stark, undeniable contrast to her brilliance.

His voice came as a rasp, barely above a whisper, but the silence of the dungeon amplified it enough.

“Is it true?” he asked, his words laced with exhaustion and something deeper, more fractured.

The silence stretched between them, taut and unbearable, before he spoke again.

“You are to be Lady Eira Solherre?”

The name felt venomous on his tongue, and his stomach churned violently at the sound of it. He was grateful for the emptiness in his gut; that there was nothing left to vomit. But the way the name hung in the air, a cruel mockery of everything he’d once dared to hope for, was enough to make him wish for oblivion.

 

[Eira]

Cullen was unarmed in his cell but his tone dripped with the blood that collected from the wound in which his words cut into her.

Her breath caught, and she felt as if it was stuck there in her chest. She felt weightless, glad to have held onto the bars to keep her from swaying, but Eira's expression saddened as a cold sense of dread washed over her. It left her dark skin blemished with gooseflesh, but he would see that reaction from where he kept in the darkness.

All Moon Dragon bonded riders were gifted the sight of seeing into the dark, but even her eyes could not bear with the dark.

"I..."

She was fighting back sobs now, wishing this day, this night, could start all over again but this time she fought back with the fury she was capable of. Eira would fight for the man she loved, the man that knew her in the most intimate ways she never experienced with anyone else.

Cullen was to be her only...

But how was she supposed to her love that in order for her to build her power again, she needed to be in league with not his rival, but his most hated enemy?

"It is true." Just as her heart ached at the admission, Eira leaned her head against the bars and struggled for a deep breath to calm herself. "If I refused, Ilir would have no hesitation to kill me. I am a threat to him, and... this was the only way he could keep me alive." But even that feigned love from her brother felt false. "He will strip me of every power I have. He is taking away everything I have built, all the alliances I made that was counting on me becoming the Lady of House Malennis... I will not let him leave me with nothing."

Even as tears and light weeping took over her, all the Guards and the Wing Leader could hear the fight that was still in this petite noble rider.

Nadya could see why Cullen had fallen for her, and silently, she left the hall an empty shell.

Eira coughed, sighing with defeat as she sank to the floor, her gown cascading around her. "I am going to ruin everything he has taken from me, even if that means I tear down the entire Malennis House in the process." For there was no longer love there for it.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen's fists clenched tightly at his sides. His jaw tightened so hard that it ached, his teeth grinding as if that alone could keep the surge of emotions from escaping. When she confirmed Ilir’s taunts as truth, it felt like another lash to his already battered body.

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let the heat building behind them spill over. They could break his bones, draw his blood, but they would not make him cry—not here, not in front of her.

The thought of Ilir harming her, of Eira being under his control, made his blood boil. But her words stoked a different fire altogether. Nothing.. She thought she could ever have nothing?

“Nothing?” His voice was a low, bitter rumble, heavy with resentment and disbelief. He forced his head to lift, the weight of it feeling almost insurmountable. “You have a name, Eira. Whether it’s yours or his, it will still mean something. You’ll have sons and daughters, wealth, a home. You have your dragon, and your freedom. Your skin is unmarred, your body unbroken. Don’t stand there and tell me you can even imagine what it is to have nothing.”

His words were sharp, cutting through the thick air of the cell like a blade. His gaze, shadowed by the dim light, locked on her. “You have no idea what it’s like to rebuild everything you’ve ever lost, piece by piece, only to watch it be ripped away again. To be reduced to... this.” He gestured vaguely to himself, to the bruised, broken man sitting on the floor of a dungeon.

His tone shifted then, becoming quieter, heavier with exhaustion. “You shouldn’t be here, Eira. You don’t belong in a place like this.” His lips twisted into a bitter half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure your betrothed would have plenty to say about it.”

The final words dripped with venom, though it wasn’t her he hated—it was the thought of her in a life with anyone else, with someone like him.

 

[Eira]

His voice warmed her still cursed her with defenses and distance. He was pushing her away, just like that, and it frustrated her.

"I do not want his name." She gritted out, drawing in a breath to calm her tears. Eira could not see where his face was, but she took a shot in the dark to fix her unwavering gaze onto his. "If I cannot have you, then none of this is worth it."

She stood up, emboldened by the reckless thoughts fueling her. Taking a shaky breath, she felt around for the lock to this cell, noting that it would only take a single key to open it. Then, Eira looked around, walking to the window that was much too small to escape through, but enough to let the sounds of the Outer District filter softly up towards them. "I am going to get you out." She declared, summoning that bravery that made her stubborn.

Eira wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands, looking around again in hopes a plan would form.

"I cannot have you like this. I cannot stand to listen to you give up like this... I will get you out, and we are going to leave this city, Cullen. My nothing does not compare to your own, but you are everything to me. If I cannot have you, Cullen, then I will have nothing..."

 

[Cullen]

Just like that, he had the strength to move. The strength to hope, whether he should trust it or not. She would risk everything for him, a man who had nothing left to offer her but his heart…

Leaning into the wall, he pushed himself to his feet, his body protesting every inch, his breath hitching from the sharp stab of broken ribs. His vision swam for a moment, but he focused on her, standing there with that fire in her eyes, that determination etched into every line of her face. She was the only light in this dark, suffocating place, and for a moment, he forgot his pain. Wrapping an arm around his side, he limped toward the bars, his eyes squinting slightly against the pool of moonlight.

“Eira…” he rasped, his voice rough and low. He reached through the bars, his bloody hand trembling as his fingers sought hers. The moment his fingertips brushed against her skin, he let out a quiet, shuddering breath, as though the mere contact soothed something deep inside him.

His eyes softened as he looked at her, the hard edge of his bitterness cracking under the weight of her determination. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “This... all of this... it’s my fault. I should’ve known better. I should’ve never trusted anyone with this. With you.”

His frown deepened, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting hers again, raw and unguarded. “You deserve more than this. More than me. You deserve safety, freedom, a life without... without chains.” His voice faltered, but his grip on her hand tightened slightly, as if silently begging her not to let go.

“The only reason I didn’t fight or flee was to protect you. I won’t have you risking your safety by doing something foolish.. The only way I’m getting out of here is if they let me out, and I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”

 

[Eira]

Something threatened to break inside her the moment his touch was on her skin. She went to it, held his hand and came to the bars as close as it would allow them both to be. "Oh Cullen." Her smile was sad, wobbling as she fought back the tears again. "I cannot fault you for wanting to share something that made you happy like the way you make me feel. I was always envious that you even have friends to tell.... to share in your joy."

That would tell Cullen that Eira had not known it had been Nadya that told Ilir. He had told her he only knew because he had eyes in places she thought herself to be careful.

"I lived a life of solitude despite the people that surround me, but you were the friend I called friend and love." And she could not share it with anyone in her life. Not even her sister, or her mother. Perhaps... Eira was afraid of what they would think.

"She is lucky to have you, your Nadya. I will make her promise to me that you are safe here. That no matter where you are, you are safe and healthy, and I will find a way to get you free." So that they could leave Thanasis and start a life together. There was an entire continent for them to explore, and she wanted to see it with him.

 

[Ilir Malennis]

When Ilir entered the building in which Cullen was being held, he expected to find his sister weeping on the bottom of the stairs, and not Nadya Caliar.

He frowned, pausing a foot before her and moved to kneel. His fingers held her chin and lifted them so that he could see the wreckage on her visage. Brown eyes raked her entirely, smirking as they found their way back to her tear stained face. "You really fucking loved him. I saw it all over you last night, but seeing it now... Gods, Nadya. Lighten up."

With a minor force, he pushed her face to the side before he stood again and sighed. "You are blocking the way up."

"Fuck you." She spat, literally spat on his boots.

"Filthy..." But his muttering fell silent as he looked at the Storm Rider.

Cullen had been a fool not to snatch her up. Maybe he did, and casted her aside once he found Eira, but the woman in front of him was every bit of a Thanasian beauty. She had the tragic and cursed family, the legendary dragon, and a beauty that would make her a fine wife one day. "Get out before I turn my attention onto you. And I know you would put up a better fight than Morvane."

"What you are doing to him will only start an outcry from the Marked Ones. You're a fucking fool to make them watch him like that, to watch him suffer and break down... They have the numbers, you know. Some even have the dragons to damage the Thun—"

But Ilir's patience was nothing to combat his anger. He could never touch Eira, could never harm her the way he always wanted to because she had been protected.

Nadya had been fair game.

His hand shot out, using his weight to push her down against the rises of the stairs as his hand wrapped around her throat. He squeezed, grunting with effort as he felt her claw at his hands and try to breathe.

"You have not learned have you, you stupid cunt." He seethed. "Say another word and you will condemn—"

"Your sister is here, Lord Malennis. Perhaps it is time to take her home."

A Marked One, blond, tall, and doing all he could not to glare down at Ilir. The Lord clenched his jaw and released the Caliar woman without looking at her. He climbed the stairs, effectively pushing the wheezing rider to the side. Ilir could feel the hate, the quiet seething aimed his way as he passed the Marked One, and as he left them both, he heard the male speak.

"Careful, Wing Leader. Talk like that and you may be fighting amongst our ranks with our signature look."

But Ilir ignored them. He sneered at every Marked One he passed, noting that the Guard he had asked to stand in the hall was the one that interrupted him downstairs, but the thought of punishing him left him as he saw his sister standing before the traitor.

"It is bad enough you ruined your virtue with the likes of him, but to put on this display for anyone to see? Really, Eira? Is this really the fool you need? Leave him. We are going home."

His hand gripped the cape, the length cascading behind her like a waterfall at midnight, and pulled it so that it lifted and pressed into her throat. Ilir would not let go until both Eira and Cullen stepped away from the bars. "Say your farewell."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen's jaw clenched so hard it sent a sharp pang through his temples. His grip on her hand tightened reflexively, the anger simmering just beneath the surface threatening to boil over. Eira’s words struck a raw nerve, not because of her sentiment, but because of her ignorance. She didn’t know.

The mention of Nadya was a knife twisting in his gut. The fury he’d buried for her betrayal surged to the surface, hot and scalding, but he forced himself to swallow it, his breath coming in harsh, measured bursts. Eira’s sorrowful smile, her trembling voice, were enough to hold him back from unleashing the torrent of rage. She didn’t deserve it, not when she’d already endured so much.

“Nadya is no friend to me, Eira. Not anymore” he growled, his voice low and tight, the edges rough with restrained emotion. He drew in a shaky breath, forcing himself to focus on the feel of her hand in his, grounding himself in her warmth, her presence.

His gaze locked onto hers, the intensity in his dark eyes unwavering. “She.. Just stay away from her, please. Don't trust anyone,” he told her quietly, his voice a low rumble, laden with bitterness. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, a gesture of comfort amidst the storm brewing within him.

He leaned closer to the bars, his face drawn tight with anguish and fury. “Nobody will want to upset your brother. Even if there was a chance that anyone would listen to you, you shouldn't tarnish your own name by speaking mine. Your brother has kept this contained, for his own sake, I--"

Cullen’s words faltered the moment Ilir entered the dungeon, his imposing presence and sneering disdain choking the air in the narrow corridor. Cullen’s focus remained on Eira. His battered body screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain, lifting a trembling hand to touch her face. His eyes fixed on hers, committing them to memory in the fear that it may be the last time he saw them. His fingers barely grazed her cheek, but it was enough—enough to anchor him in this moment, enough to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

“I love you, Eira,” he said, his voice low but unwavering, each word a promise carved from stone. His dark eyes searched hers, desperate, pained, as Ilir yanked her back with a cruel tug of her cape.

“No!” Cullen roared, his voice cracking under the weight of his anguish. He reached through the bars, ignoring the sharp flare of pain from his broken ribs, clawing at the empty air between them as if sheer willpower alone could keep her by his side. “Stop! Let her go!”

Fury burned through the haze of his injuries, and he stepped back from the bars, his hand raising in surrender, hoping the distance would loosen his grip on her. His other arm cradled his ribs, but his voice was steel and thunder.

“I swear to the Gods, Ilir,” he growled through gritted teeth, his glare piercing through the dim light, “if you harm her, I’ll see you burned alive. I’ll bring everything you hold dear to ash.”

The words were not a plea but a vow, laced with venom and unrelenting resolve. Even as Ilir dragged Eira away, Cullen’s gaze followed her, his eyes blazing with fury and love. "I'm sorry, Eira." his head shook. He should have known better to believe this could have worked, to believe that he could have her, that there would be no consequences.. That he wouldn't ruin her life and his both.

 

[Ilir Malennis]

Ilir laughed.

It was unnatural how pitched it was, but it was a delirious sound against these stone walls. They held glee and malice, and echoed through the dim hall. Eira kicked and kicked, but she was so small and dressed immaculately that it hindered her attempts. She was smaller than her brother, and Ilir held her roughly just to show Cullen that he could.

"You think you can harm me from behind those bars, Morvane?" He smirked, a hand rising to grip Eira's jaw and force her to look at Cullen. "You cannot touch me. She cannot touch me. I have fucking won."

 

[Eira]

Eira could not help the whimper.

She had been too wrapped up in Cullen's presence that her brother's arrival had caught her by surprise. He held her in a way that she could not get out from so easily, not when he was much stronger than her. She gritted her teeth, sad and dark eyes looking to Cullen as he apologised.

It was difficult to speak with Ilir's thumb pressing deeply into her jaw, but Eira's hands came together and fiddled with something on her hand.

Ilir was too focused on Cullen. Too focused on Eira struggling in his grasp to notice a golden band ring roll into the cell past Cullen. She had not shown him the simple ring she had suddenly been wearing the week she returned to Thanasis after she recovered at his home, but it had been the memory it sparked that made her buy it. Engraved on the inner side was his name, Cullen Morvane, and a particular portion to his Marks that she had spent time tracing over with her fingers above his brow.

Giving it to him was a reminder that she loved him the way he was.

And hopefully, a reminder that he had always been enough as he was.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s eyes blazed with fury, but the twisted laughter of Ilir sent an icy chill down his spine. Every fiber of his being screamed to charge, to do something—anything—that could tear Ilir’s hands away from Eira. But he was helpless, bound by the cruel reality of the bars between them, by the brutal punishment his body had already endured. The sound of Eira’s whimper, so soft yet so full of pain, sent a stab of sorrow through his chest, more painful than any blow he had taken.

His hand clenched into a fist as Ilir taunted him, that mocking smirk of victory carving deep into Cullen’s soul. I have fucking won... The thought twisted in his gut like acid, but Cullen held his ground. He could not give Ilir the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. Not while Eira was still there—still struggling.

Cullen's eyes locked onto Eira, the world around him fading into a blur as everything became centered on her. He saw the way she struggled against her brother, her resolve pushing through the fear, her gaze not leaving his. He felt the weight of her unspoken words, the bond they shared without a need for explanation. She was fighting—not just for herself, but for him. For them.

His fingers twitched where they hung through the bars, a desperate need to reach her, to touch her, to make sure she knew he wasn’t giving up. Not now, not ever. His eyes were soft but filled with an undeniable strength, as if they were trying to convey everything his broken body could not. He didn’t care about the pain, the blood still staining his skin, the weight of the marks on his skin. He only cared about her, about the way her sadness and her love filled the space between them, the way her spirit never faltered.

She had just given him a ring—a ring that told him everything he needed to know, everything he had already known, but the sight of it only made the ache inside him sharper. He didn’t move to pick it up, even as it rested just beyond his reach. He couldn’t. Not yet. The ring wasn’t the most important thing right now. She was.

Instead, his gaze stayed anchored on her, his heart bleeding in time with the soft whimper that escaped her lips, knowing that the sight of her—this brave, defiant woman—was all he needed to hold on to. He wouldn’t be able to pick up the ring just yet. Not when he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice rough. “I will never stop loving you.”

He let the words hang in the air between them, letting them breathe life into the space where everything seemed to break down, where nothing else seemed to matter. Not even the ring, not even Ilir’s taunts. All that mattered was that she knew.

Then, with a guttural sigh, Cullen forced himself to look away, his eyes narrowing as he faced Ilir once more.
"Take her away from here..." his voice cracked with the finality of it, the words slipping from his throat as though they were too heavy to bear. He could feel his heart breaking over again in real time, each throb a painful reminder of the truth he was already too familiar with.

Ilir was putting on this show for him, hurting and tormenting her to rile him. Outside this place, Ilir would let her go, and she would go to Leovold Solherre, where she would be shielded from the chaos his own love for her had caused. Where she'd be safe from her brother. That thought lodged itself deep within his chest, a jagged stone he would carry with him for the rest of his life. He would let her go—he had to. He had no other choice.

The anger inside Cullen still smoldered, but the sorrow he felt for her, for them, clouded it. His heart screamed for her, but his voice was steady as he met Ilir’s gaze again.

"You won. Go."

 

[Nadya]

Nadya had been stewing silently in the stairwell. Tears still flowed over her red cheeks, staring into the stone before her as the blond Marked One stood vigil beside her. He did not offer words, did not ask if she was alright.

His hands moved, but Nadya paid no attention to them despite recognising the glint of iron being unsheathed.

Good. She thought. Bring me a swift death to null this...

What was it that she felt? Numbness, pain... shame?

She was roused from her thoughts when footsteps came down the steps, two sets of varying weights. Nadya quickly stood, no longer crumbling against the steps where Ilir had choked her. Her own throat flared with pain, bruising after what he had done to her. Her eyes landed on Eira Malennis, the smaller woman looking like Death's Consort by the way her midnight dress shimmered no matter the lack of light provided.

It ached Nadya to see someone else's devastation. She felt as if she did not deserve to mourn the loss of her dearest friend, now alone up there.

But all thoughts of envy turned sour, as Ilir Malennis came back into view.

Now she understood Fedyr's steel.

She did not need his defence, but it felt nice that she was not alone in facing Ilir once again.

"You are dismissed, Squad—"

"Wing Leader." She corrected. Her eyes held defiance, a reckoning waiting to be unleashed. Her words a cold and sharpened steel, a weapon. "You have yourselves a good night's rest, Lord Malennis, Lady Malennis."

And as she passed Eira, Nadya could feel the stare pressing against her.