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Chapter Text

Hawke pulled back the strange woman’s hood and stared. A mess of deep red waves and curls poured out framing a face half obscured by a white domino mask. A warning bell of familiarity went off in his brain—he couldn’t escape the feeling that he knew her from somewhere—but his gaze was snagged on her large, bright green eyes. They stared up at him, seemingly frozen, while her lips parted for a sharp inhale.

“You are most definitely not who I thought you were.” He murmured after a minute. Now he wasn’t sure who she was at all.

“How did you know?” she demanded. Her voice also seemed familiar, but Hawke couldn’t place it. She must be another maid from the castle—someone who knew Britta well enough to steal her cloak.

Hawke paused, but, in a spur of the moment decision, chose the honest path. “Because the last time I kissed the owner of this cloak, she damn near sucked my tongue down her throat.”

“Oh,” the woman whispered, and Hawke spotted the distasteful wrinkling of her nose. It triggered a bubble of laughter that he had to swallow back down. Her reaction, combined with her clear inexperience from earlier made him ask, “Have you been kissed before?”

“I have!” she was indignant now. Her voice sharpened and she likely would have placed her hands on her hips if Hawke had not still been laying on top of her.

The grin came naturally then. “Do you always lie?” he teased, greatly enjoying this strange woman and her banter.

“No!” she exclaimed, her lips twitching into what looked like a traitorous smile.

“Liar,” that laugher was bubbling up again. It was all Hawke could do to keep it from escaping.

She was blushing now. The red spread down her cheeks towards her throat, and Hawke felt a surge of curiosity about just how far it would go.

“You should get off.” She said after a moment, seemingly clearing her brain from the fog that caused such a delightful flush.

“I was planning to,” Hawke muttered. With how innocent she seemed, she likely wouldn’t understand what he meant by that. He felt a surge of pleasant surprise when he noticed her eyes narrowing with a suspicion that showed she knew exactly what she meant. That surprise broke the damn he’d been building against that river of laugher, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction. She had a dirty mind. What an unexpected and thoroughly delightful development. It did what nothing had managed to in a long time. It filled him with a sense of warmth and ease that he’d forgotten was even possible. He felt content lying between the legs of this delightfully mad woman. Contentment? What a fucking strange thing for him to be feeling. But Hawke didn’t care. He wanted to chase this feeling—to see what else she could make him feel, and in turn find out just what she could feel. He hadn’t thought about anything other than his brother in so long. And just like that the warmth was chased away by a thin coating of ice that coated his insides. His chest started to tighten again.

“You really should move,” she said, her voice roughened around the edges. Her words broke his reverie and brought him back. His thoughts now moved to the warmth of her thighs that he could feel through his britches. And just how her hair would feel in his hands. And how her lips had felt under his. Halfway through his lust addled thoughts, he realized that he hadn’t answered her.

“I’m quite comfortable where I am.”

“Well I’m not.” Hawke caught the inhale that followed her words. His eyes followed the tremble of her mouth followed by a nervous swallow. She was lying—for whatever reason, she was trying to leave when she clearly didn’t want to.

“Will you tell me who you are, Princess?” Hawke asked, trying to prolong their game for a little longer.

“Princess?” she blinked, seemingly startled by his term of endearment.

“You are quite demanding,” he said with a shrug. “I imagine a Princess to be demanding.” Gods, if his parents had managed to have a daughter, she would have been a true tyrant. They had doted enough on him and Malik as it was.

“I am not demanding” she argued before following it up with the stout demand, “get off me.”
Hawke reveled in the return to the banter from before. He arched his brow and leveled a stare at her. “Really?”

“Telling you to move is not being demanding.”

“We’ll have to disagree on that.” He paused before adding in another shot, “Princess.”

Her lips twitched into another smile before she pursed them in a manner that looked out of place on her young face. It reminded him of a stern school mistress, and that was enough to trigger another bubble of laughter.

“You shouldn’t call me that.”

“Then what should I call you? A name perhaps?”

He saw her pause. And while he couldn’t hear her thoughts, the internal debate was clear on the revealed portion of her face. Finally, she took a breath and said, “My name is Poppy.”

“Poppy?” Hawke asked, enjoying the way that it rolled off his tongue. “I like it.”

“Well I do crave your approval,” she said with a sarcastic flatness to her tone that Hawke reveled in. This girl had quite the mouth on her. His lips twitched with the urge to kiss her and explore that mouth further, but he wasn’t done asking her questions yet.

“I suppose it’s only fair then to tell you who I am.” Hawke said, “I’m Hawke Flynn.”

Poppy let out a girlish, “Hi,” that made Hawke grin. It was cute, and he rarely found things cute.

“So, Poppy,” he began, “What brings you to my room dressed as my-“

“As your lover?” she interrupted.

“I wouldn’t call her that.” Hawke answered.

“What would you call her?” she asked, her eyes narrowing again. Was she being jealous? Adorable.

Damn. He didn’t know how to answer that. “A… good friend”

She wrinkled her nose and stared at him. Her eyebrow seemed to raise from under the mask—though it was difficult to be certain. “I didn’t know friends behaved this way.” She said loftily.

“I’m willing to wager you don’t know much about these sorts of things.”

“And you wager all of this on just one kiss?”

Hawke chuckled again. “Just one kiss? Poppy, you can learn a wealth of things from just one kiss.”

Poppy stilled. Her eyes stayed fixed on Hawke’s face and he could almost hear the cogs in her brain process what he said while she dissected their kisses from earlier. He was content to let her work until he realized that she’d neatly knocked him off his questions.

“Why are you here, Princess?” he asked again, fixing her with what he hoped was a disarming stare. She returned his gaze, but her eyes were still distant and she’d pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. He tried to stay focused, but he couldn’t help his eyes from settling at the full, bow shaped and berry colored lips. They were enticing, and maddeningly familiar.

“I…” she stuttered, before breathing deeply. “I was downstairs, and my uncle came in. He’d recognize me—mask or no—and he’d have been furious. Someone downstairs told me this room was empty, so I thought I could hide in here till he left.”

“Why’d you wear Britta’s cloak?” he asked, still curious about why she hadn’t stopped him.

“I knew she came here often so if someone thought I was her, I wouldn’t get in trouble.” She said, her voice more timid than before. As she admitted to all this, she looked so much younger than she had before. And so much more innocent.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Hawke asked, preparing to get up and let her leave. If she really had stumbled under him, he wasn’t about to force her to stay.

“It felt good.” Her simple answer floored him.

“Do you want—” his salacious question was cut off when he glanced down towards where her cloak had parted. Gods above. It felt like he’d been struck in the chest and knocked flat on his ass when he saw what she was wearing. Or, more accurately, what she wasn’t wearing. Her neckline dipped low, and it gave him an excellent view of the slopes of her breasts. The gown, well the gown was his favorite thing in the whole world. It was silken and sheer. So sheer that Hawke wondered for a moment if he’d died and gone to Elysium. The idea of such an innocent young woman tumbling into his lap while dressed for debauchery sent the blood rushing from his head to a very different place. His chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t from the stress or from the sadness. It was pure interest and delight at what lay before him.

“Do I want what?” she asked, her voice quieter than before.

Hawke paused. He could feel his cock hardening in anticipation.

“Do you want to pick up where we left off?”

Poppy paused, her eyes widening. She seemed to be deeply considering her options. She lay there, propped up on her elbows, for so long that Hawke was sure she was going to decline. He simply rested on top of her, waiting for a sign, any sign, to continue. But he felt her body relax under him, and that was sign enough.

“May I remove this?” he asked, his fingers tracing the edges of her mask. She bit her lip and shook her head. Hawke resisted the urge to pout playfully. He wanted to see her face and the faces she’d make during what was to come. “What about this?” he asked, his hands settling at the bow of her cloak. Poppy nodded this time. Hawke was sure he’d never removed a cloak quicker in her life. As the cloak fell away, exposing her body to the cool air in the room, she shivered. Hawke’s eyes were drawn to the sudden rise of her breasts. His hand followed the scandalous neckline of the gown, and he felt his body quickening with desire. He could see her gown in shreds, and him between her thighs—first with his tongue and then with his cock. He had to reel his desire back in. As a stranger in a dark room, he wasn’t about to be all of Poppy’s firsts. But still, there was so much they could do.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, his hand settling in the space between her breasts. “Tell me and I’ll make it so.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you…do this? You don’t know me, and you thought I was someone else.”

Hawke grinned. “I have nowhere to be at the moment, and I’m intrigued.”

“Because you have nowhere to be at the moment?”

“Would you rather I wax poetic about how I’m charmed by your beauty, even though I can only see half your face?” I asked. “Which, by the way, from what I can see is pleasing. Would you rather I tell you I’m captivated by your eyes? They are a pretty shade of green from what I can tell.”

Poppy frowned. “Well, no. I don’t want you to lie.”

“None of those things were a lie, Princess.” Hawke lowered his head towards where his hands lay on her breasts. He could scent her arousal as it came back to life. She smelled fresh and sweet and delightful. “I told you the truth, Princess. I’m intrigued, and it’s fairly rare anyone intrigues me.”

“So?” she asked, clearly not yet convinced.

“So,” he said, chuckling as he moved his mouth to trace the edge of her jawline. “You’ve changed my evening. I’d planned for a boring night, but I have a suspicion that tonight will be anything but boring if I spend it with you.”

She didn’t answer, but one of her hands moved off the bed to trace the edge of his shoulder.

“So, Princess, will you tell me what you want from me?”

Her breath caught and he could hear her heart thundering in her chest. “Anything?” she breathed.

“Anything,” Hawke murmured, his hand settling to fully cup one of her breasts. It felt surprisingly full and filled his hand. With the gown pulled tight against her skin, he saw the change in color across her breast, where it darkened to a rosy hue. His thumb ghosted over the hardened peak. Poppy gasped and her back arched. She pressed her body against him and her breast settled more firmly into his hand.

“I’m waiting.” He said, repeating the action. She was so responsive, and he intended to wring far more gasps and moans from her before the night was over. “Tell me what you like, so I can make you love this.”

“I…” Poppy was stammering now. “I don’t know.”

Hawke stilled. His eyes flew to her face and he read the full meaning of her words there. They reminded him of her inexperience, but they also fueled the maelstrom of desire within him. His skin felt hot and tight across his body. He couldn’t wait to show her exactly what she wanted.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He said, his thumb moving again—this time slower, harder, and more deliberate. “I want you to remove your mask.”

“I…” Her eyes widened. “Why?”

Hawke shrugged. “Because I want to see you.”

“You can see me now.”

“No, Princess.” His mouth lowered again. “I want to really see you when I do this without your gown between you and my mouth.” His gaze stayed fixed on her as he swept his tongue over the tip of her breast. The silk melted in his mouth, and it was barely a barrier. He closed his lips over the turgid peak. While he gently sucked on her, his mind filled with another image. It wasn’t something he thought of often while with mortals, but he could see himself sinking his teeth into her plump flesh. He wondered if she tasted as sweet and rich as she smelled. She cried out in pleasure at the sensations, and Hawke could feel his body thickening and hardening in response.

“Remove you mask. Please.” Hawke repeated, his free hand sliding down towards her hip with the goal of cupping her rear. The gown had ridden up there and pooled around her upper thighs. Hawke’s hand grazed a little lower, basking in the silken feel of her skin before his hand grazed something hard. “What the..?”

His hand closed over the hilt of a dagger. He rocked backwards in astonishment on instinct. He unsheathed the blade as he did so. She followed his movements, pulling herself up and reaching for the dagger.

Hawke weighed the dagger in his hand. “Bloodstone and wolven bone.”

“Give it back!” she demanded, moving onto her knees. Hawke glanced at her, noting the way the dampened fabric clung to the shape of her breasts.

“This is a unique weapon.”

“I know.” She looked up at him from under a tumble of red-wine waves and curls that were falling over her shoulders.

“The kind that’s not inexpensive.” Hawke said, considering the particular purpose of such a weapon. “Why are you in possession of this, Princess?”

“It was a gift, and I’m not foolish enough to come to a place like this unarmed.”

“Carrying a weapon and having no idea how to use it doesn’t make one wise.” Hawke remarked, though he knew full well that he never came into the Red Pearl with fewer than three weapons.

Poppy’s eyes narrowed with irritation, and she clenched her jaw. “What makes you think I don’t know how to use it? Because I’m female?”

Hawke stared at her. “You can’t be surprised that I would be shocked. Learning how to use a dagger isn’t exactly common for females in Solis.” At no point before this had Hawke expected the evening to derail in such a way. This woman was proving to be a tangle of mystery, and he found himself more enraptured.

“You’re right, but I do know how to use it.” Poppy spoke with such authority that Hawke knew that there was no way she was lying. His lips curved into an asymmetrical smirk. “Now I’m truly intrigued.”

Poppy’s eyes widened as he thrust the dagger blade down into the mattress and then practically pounced onto her. He settled between her thighs in a way that showed her just how intrigued she was. This time Poppy wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down towards her mouth. She still kissed inexpertly, but she made up for it with enthusiasm. Hawke’s hands rested on her hips. She shifted her position, accidentally grinding against him as she did so. Both groaned into the kissed they were sharing at the action and the sparks of pleasure Hawke felt intensified. He moved away from her lips, kissing his way towards her ear and down the column of her throat. Again, he felt the urge to sink his teeth into her, but he checked himself. He settled for gently kissing and nipping at the delicate skin of her throat. She panted and groaned, and her gloved hands settled at her shoulders. The gloves caught Hawke’s attention, and he moved to take them off. His eyes tracked her reaction as he slid one off and then the other—each time following the trail of the glove with kisses. He paid particular attention to the inside of each wrist. Then he moved back towards her chest while her hands sank into his hair.

“Still won’t let me remove your mask, Princess?” he asked playfully. This time Poppy paused. Her body was tense and she seemed to be considering it more seriously than before.

“If I do…” she said, her eyes no longer meeting his, “You have to promise not to be an ass about it—even if you change your mind.”

Hawke paused in bemusement, unsure what exactly could lay under her mask that would cause her such trepidation. He’d assumed it was simply paranoia about her identity, but she seemed genuinely concerned about his reaction. “You have my word.” He said, placing his hand over his heart for emphasis. Poppy closed her eyes then, and her body tensed in anticipation. Hawke moved slowly, his hands closing on the velvet ribbon the held the mask in place. He tugged on the ribbon and the knot came undone. As he pulled the mask off her face, Poppy’s eyes flew open, and she fixed him with a stare that challenged him to stay true to his word.

Hawke’s eyes roamed across the plane of her face. He tracked the uptilted nose, and the soft sprinkling of freckles. But he also saw the two scars that sliced across her forehead and upper cheek. He traced one with a fingertip. “Is this what you were scared for me to see?” he asked softly.

Poppy nodded, her eyes not meeting his anymore. “You wouldn’t have been the first if you told me that I look like a nightmare.”

Hawke made a resolution to pay a tortuous visit to anyone who would say such vicious words.

“Well, fair maiden, rest assured that I share no such delusions.” He said loftily before continuing, “Both sides are beautiful, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool.”

Of all the expressions he’d expected Poppy to have in reaction, gratitude was not one of them. He had just moved to close his mouth over her breast again when a sharp knocking on the door interrupted him.

“Hawke?” he heard Kieran call out. “You in there?”

Hawke, with his mouth still closed over the tip of her breast, closed his eyes and groaned in disbelief.

“It’s Kieran.”

“As if I didn’t know that already” Hawke muttered, resting his face against the swell of her breast. Poppy giggled, and the sound made Hawke open his eyes and grin.

“Hawke?” Kieran asked again, renewing the pounding on the door.

“I think you should answer him,” Poppy whispered.

“Dammit.” Hawke cursed, his hand idly playing with the breast that didn’t have his face against it. If he didn’t answer, the Kieran was likely to barge in, and there would be hell to pay. “I’m thoroughly, happily busy at the moment.” Hawke said, before closing his mouth back over the tip of her breast and laving at it with his tongue. Her responsive moan was cut short by Kieran’s continued efforts.

“Sorry to hear that, but the interruption is unavoidable.”

“The unavoidable thing I see is your soon-to-be broken hand if you pound on that door one more time,” Hawke warned. Poppy’s eyes widened and he grinned again, “what, I told you I was really intrigued.”

“Then I must risk a broken hand.” Kieran said, sounding unrepentant. Hawke growled in frustration. “The… envoy has arrived.”
Hawke tensed and let out a soft curse under his breath. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

“An envoy?” Poppy asked.

“The supplies we’ve been waiting for,” Hawke explained, struggling to find the words that didn’t reveal his plot to kidnap the maiden. They were sort of true anyways. “I need to go.” He paused for a few moments, gave her a soft kiss while his thumb traced over her breast, and then he lifted himself up off her. He reached down for his tunic while he called out to Kieran and told him he’d be out in a few. Kieran voiced an assent, and then Hawke heard him moved away from the door—likely to somewhere quieter. Hawke pulled his tunic over his head and then glanced over at Poppy. She’d retrieved the dagger and was slipping it back into her thigh sheath. He grinned at the sight. Clever girl.

Hawke shrugged on his baldric and picked up the two short swords from the chest near the door. He didn’t know what possessed him, but he opened his mouth and said, “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” while he sheathed the blades. He would come back for her. “I swear.”

Poppy nodded in response, but her gaze seemed unfocused.

“Promise you’ll wait for me, Princess.”

“I will.”

Hawke pivoted and then walked to the door before stopping. He turned back to take in one last look at the sight of her. Her waves tumbling in a waterfall over her shoulders and down past her chest. Her lips parted as she panted softly from their earlier activities. Her small hands clutching the edges of the cloak that she’d pulled around herself again. She seemed such an odd mix of brave and vulnerable. Hawke wasn’t foolish enough to imagine anything with her other than a night (or a few) of diversion. But he drank in the image still. She presented such an interesting puzzle, and he wasn’t done exploring it.

“I look forward to returning, Princess.”

Poppy didn’t say anything. She only bit her lip and stared at him in silence. Hawke knew she likely wouldn’t be there when he came back and that caused a twinge of regret. A more selfish bastard would have sent Kieran off alone, but he couldn’t ignore the duty he’d sworn to his brother. The maiden would be his, and sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

Poppy sat back against the wall of her room and stared into space. She could still feel the Lord Mazeen’s hands on her hips and breasts. She still felt his mouth against her throat. Her insides felt drenched in ice water, while her skin felt clammy and slimy. She’d gone into the bathing chamber and scrubbed the skin till she felt raw and pink, but she could still feel him. She missed the time before when Hawke’s touches were the ones that felt branded into her skin. The way his hands had run the length of her body, and the feeling of his hands and mouth on her breasts. When he’d kissed her neck, she felt consumed by an incandescent fire that blazed in the wake of his touches. When Mazeen touched her, she still felt a blazing fire. But the fire of a helpless rage was far less satisfying. She also felt pinned by the concern that he’d go through with his threat about telling the duke.

It’d been a day since Malessa’s body was found. The castle already seemed to be dusting itself off and moving along as if nothing had happened. Already, Rylan had stopped in and asked if she wanted to go for her evening stroll. Poppy said no—Mazeen’s knowledge of where to find her at that exact time had been unnerving. The night blooming roses could wait another day.

Tawny came in to check on Poppy before she herself retired to bed. Her eyes flicked over Poppy’s unmoving body and vacant stare with concern. “Are you alright, Poppy?” she asked from where she stood in the doorway.

Poppy, as if noticing she was there for the first time, turned and smiled. “I’m fine, Tawny. Just thinking.”

“About what?” Tawny asked, coming to stand by her. Her skirts rustled as she crouched down beside Poppy and took her hand.

“About… everything I guess.” Poppy said. “Mostly what happened to Malessa. It’s strange to think of a Descenter in the middle of the castle.”

Tawny nodded as she squeezed Poppy’s hand. “I know it’s unnerving, but that’s why we have guards. Besides, I bet that if someone came after you or I like that, you’d handle it in a flash.” She broke into a grin at the last part.

Poppy smiled, thinking about how she’d almost given into the urge to deprive the Lord of his favorite part. But the smile faded when she considered just how far he’d been able to get without anything more than the threat of telling the Duke. She’d almost felt guilty for the things she’d done with Hawke. But to have had the Lord do practically the same things in the same week without apology or permission?

Tawny, unaware of the direction of Poppy’s thoughts, squeezed her hand again before releasing it and standing up. “I’m going to bed. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” She said, smoothing her skirts before gliding out of the room.

Poppy watched her go. The sun had already set, and it was well past dusk now. The night watches had begun. She should go to bed too. But she felt a strange restlessness and ache consume her body. Poppy tensed at the idea of spending the night in her bed, alone and restless. She traced the raised skin of the scar on her face where Hawke touched her, thinking about the look on his face when he called her beautiful. She didn’t want to admit how much that had meant to her. But, just like it would have hurt for him to have jerked back in revulsion, the fact that he had kept touching her meant the world. It should have sparked concern that she cared so much what he thought about her face, but if it did, she ignored it.

Poppy sat there for at least another hour till, with her joints creaking in protest against having sat still for so long, she got up. Mechanically, she removed the white gown and slipped it back onto its hanger. She stared at her clothing for another minute. The sleeping gowns all hung together. Their translucent and silky fabric called to her. But, after a moment, she shook her head. Kneeling by the chest, she pulled out a pair of thin brown britches and a green flowy blouse from where they lay hidden at the bottom. Slipping them on, she moved to ferret out the boots from behind her headboard. Then, slinging a black cloak on before putting both the mask and her dagger in place, she eased herself out through the servant’s access and then down, down, down, until she was out of the castle.

With Malessa’s death, Poppy expected some number of guards in the Wisher’s Grove or by the jacaranda trees, but there was no one. Her skin prickled with concern as she realized just how easy it was for anyone to slip in and out of the castle. But she didn’t stop moving. Her feet kept carrying her forward through the city until she found herself outside the Red Pearl. A part of her brain, the sensible part that often kept her alive, was scolding her fiercely for coming back here at all—let alone so soon. She had no reason to think that he’d be here, or even happy to see her. Moreover, when he thought she was Britta, he’d voiced displeasure at the idea of being followed. Another part of her brain chimed in with the opinion that she didn’t come here for Hawke. A night alone playing cards and drinking champagne would do just as well. But that sounded hollow even to her. She stared up at the building, feeling smaller and smaller all the time. Who was she fooling, coming back out here? This had been a mistake. She turned on her heel to leave when she collided with a wall that was warm, hard, and all too familiar. Her nostrils filled with the sent of dark pine and lush spice.

“I’m sorr-“ the wall said, breaking off midsentence. Poppy looked up into a pair of molten amber eyes that widened at realization of who she was. “Princess,” Hawke breathed, “You came back.”

In that moment, Poppy’s mouth became a desert. Her tongue fastened itself to the roof of her mouth, and all she could do was nod.

Hawke’s hand slipped to cup her face. “I came back for you the other night,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on hers.

Poppy’s mouth still felt cruelly dry, but she managed to stammer out, “I… I couldn’t stay.”

Hawke grinned and a dimple revealed itself as he murmured, “You don’t strike me as someone who has trouble doing exactly what they want to.”

“I…” Poppy tried to find the words to explain why she’d left, but she couldn’t. The words. “I’m the maiden. I was scared. I’d only been hiding from Viktor and he was gone,” all lodged in her throat. Finally she just said, “It’s complicated.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, but blessedly he seemed to accept that as an answer. He leant down towards her face. “Fortunately,” he said, “I’m a complicated man.”

Poppy’s eyes drifted shut at the anticipation that he might kiss her or engage in any of the delightfully sinful things he’d done the night before. But he simply placed a chaste kiss on her scarred cheekbone and then moved to her ear. “I fear I must apologize.” He whispered, the warmth of his breath sending shivers of gooseflesh down her arms and legs.

Poppy’s eyes flew open. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and breathless. She cursed herself for the affect he had on her—they’d barely been talking for a few seconds and already she was giddy and aching. Her skin felt tight, and each breath required conscious effort.

Hawke pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes. “Because I pushed you farther than you might have wanted the other night.” He paused and pursed his lips. “I figured that you didn’t want to tell me, so you chose to leave while I was gone.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. The difference between him and the lord had always been clear in their touches and her body’s responses. But now, his words triggered a wildfire inside her. Her body thrummed with an unfamiliar energy. He thought she hadn’t wanted it? And he’d apologized? Without thinking, she reached out and fisted her hands in his tunic. She hauled him towards her and kissed him with a ferocity surprised even her.

Hawke adjusted quickly, reaching under her cloak, and letting one hand settle on her hip while the other splayed out across her back. They clung to each other while their lips moved in tandem. Poppy felt wave after wave of shivers coarse through her body while her heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly. Hawke moaned into her mouth, devouring her and stealing every gasp that escaped from her lips.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hawke pulled away and looked down at her with bright eyes and swollen lips. “Apology accepted?” he asked, his lips pulling back into a slight smile.

“You could say that,” Poppy whispered, glad he still had his arms around her. Otherwise, her knees might have actually buckled. As it was, she felt weak like a newborn kitten.

Hawke laughed, and he suddenly seemed younger. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Poppy, but when he laughed, it chased away shadows that she hadn’t realized were there. Her gift reached out then of its own accord. The pain was still there, but it seemed dampened. And over it lay an unfamiliar feeling. Poppy stepped back, unsure what she was experiencing. Her senses filled with something dark, spicy and smoky. It made her feel dizzy, hot and achy all at once. It tasted like… it tasted like how her arousal felt. Poppy’s eyes widened and flew up to meet his. She wasn’t clear on how it had happened, but she was feeling his arousal. She was sure of it.

“You alright there, Princess?” Hawke asked, his hand tracing the outline of her face under the mask. Still breathless, Poppy nodded before pulling him close again. But this time she lay her head against his chest and just breathed him in. Even through his tunic and undershirt, she could feel his body heat. He was so warm, and it just felt so good to be held by him.

“As nice as this is,” Hawke said, his voice a low rumble in his chest, “Do you want to take this somewhere more private?”

Poppy looked up in a daze. Only then she remembered that they were in the middle of the street. Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded. Hawke grinned before taking her hand and leading her into the Red Pearl. Poppy barely registered the lower rooms. Before she knew it, he’d led her to the upper level and into one of the rooms on the second floor.

The door had barely had a chance to close behind them before he had her pressed against it. His hands moved, first to slip the mask off her face. Then to unbutton her cloak. Both fell to the ground and then he was on her. Her hips and shoulders knocked against the door behind her while he kissed her. Their mouths and tongues moved, twining and exploring each other. His hands slipped behind her, reaching for her braided hair. By the time they paused for breath, he’d successfully undone it. She shook her head and let the waves tumble over her shoulders. She looked up and caught the tail end of an assessing glance.

“What?”

“You’re so beautiful it should be a crime,” he said, his voice rough and graveled.

Poppy blushed, “You’re one to talk,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. He wasn’t quite wrong either. As the maiden, what she was doing here? It was adjacent to a type of crime. The maiden wasn’t meant to be beautiful in a sexual way. But the fact that he thought her beautiful thrilled her. And it sent another course of heat through her that settled between her thighs. She ached and started pressing her thighs together, trying to find a little relief. Hawke noticed the slight movement.

“Let me,” he said, cupping her rear in his hands and lifting. Before she knew it, she was up off the ground. She moved on instinct, wrapping her legs around him and grinding down. Her core met his hardening length, and sparks of pleasure arced through her. She moaned and did it again. Hawke rewarded her with a growl before he carried her towards the bed. Gods, he was so strong.
“As much as I loved that dress from the other night, these britches are most intriguing.” Hawke said as he laid her down on the bed. He stood over her, his hands tracing the shape of her rear.
“Intriguing is your favorite word.” Poppy said, propping herself up on her elbows to look up at him.

“It is when I’m with you.” Hawke’s eyes roamed upwards, taking in the contrast of the deep green blouse against her pale skin and wine-colored hair. Poppy moved then, unbuttoning the blouse. She kept it on but parted it for him so he could see the white lace undergarment underneath. Hawke responded by removing his tunic and pouncing onto her like he had before.

“This is a familiar position,” he murmured, starting at her lips, and then moving down towards her jawbone and ear. He fully intended to move towards her breasts, but he wanted to take his time and savor her.

“Let’s hope we aren’t interrupted this time.” Poppy said, voicing a bravado that she didn’t quite feel. Hawke nipped at her earlobe and then laved at the skin underneath. His ministrations chased away all her conscious thoughts. She was here. He was here. And she wanted him.

Hawke paused briefly. “I want you to make me a promise.” He said, his amber eyes fixed on hers.

“What?” Poppy asked, wondering what kind of promise she could possibly need to make at a time like this.

“If ever I do something you don’t like,” Hawke’s hand slid down her as he talked, “You have my full permission to use this.” His hands closed over the knifed sheathed against her thigh.

“You want me to stab you?”

Hawke chuckled. “I was hoping for a mild flesh wound, but if you feel the need to stab me, then who am I to stop you?”

Poppy laughed and Hawke continued his exploration of her body. By the time he finally made his way to her breasts, the tips had tightened into small peaks that poked up through the lace that held them in place. The last time, he had been quick to put his mouth on them. Now, he moved both quicker and slower. Poppy watched, breathless, as he opened the front clasp on the undergarment, then gently pushed both sides away join her blouse where it hung loosely off her shoulders. Then he dipped his head down and started kissing. Before, his kisses had elicited moans and gasps. Now they teased and tormented. He worked his way around the base of the breasts, and then he moved up the sensitive underside of one. The other, he worked and kneaded gently in the palm of his hand. The pad of his thumb brushed against the peak, once, twice, thrice. Each time, Poppy’s head fell back, exposing her neck to him. Her arms collapsed underneath her, and she was flat on her back. Her legs locked around him, and while they both still wore their britches, she could feel him against her. She bucked against him, trying to find some friction or some release. Then, Hawke finally closed his mouth over her bare breast. They both shuddered, and Poppy sank her hands into his hair. Gods, it was soft. She gently scraped her nails across his scalp. Hawke moaned, so she kept doing it. Then he nipped his teeth against her breast while slightly pinching the other with his fingers. She cried out and bowed up against him. He kept attacking her breasts with unrelenting fervor. Poppy burned at his touch. She felt every brush of his calloused hands, and it electrified her. His kissed and caresses chased away the slimy feeling of the Lord’s hands on her. And that, more than any reason, made her want to stay. Even from underneath him, she felt strong and in control. That thrilled her, and it made Poppy feel nothing like the helpless girl who had to stand there while the Duke and the Lord ogled and hurt her.

She stilled when she felt his hand slip between her thighs. Hawke noticed the tensing and rubbed her shoulder with his other hand in reassurance.

“Remember what I said about the dagger,” he said, his voice low, “And I’ll start with my hands over the britches."

Poppy nodded before losing herself in a moan. He’d begun by cupping her through her britches. But now two of his fingers pressed down against the seam, and they started moving. Poppy felt her center flood with a damp heat that drove her to push back against his hand. More. More. More. Her brain chanted as her whole body tingled and tightened in response to his touches. Her pulse pounded, her breath came in short pants, and yet she felt alive. Hawke started dragging his hand in slow, steady circles that elicited another cry from her.

“I bet you’re soft and wet and ready.” He said, his voice a lush growl. Poppy shuddered, and she felt a flush start in her cheeks before it crept down her throat and spread across her chest.

“Do you want me to find out?” he asked, pushing ever so slightly harder against the stitching.

Poppy cried out then, driving herself into his hand. “I…”

“We don’t have to go anywhere you aren’t ready to,” Hawke reassured her, his hands still wringing sound after sound from her. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t touch you there.”

Poppy tried to consider his words. Gods, she wanted him. All of him. It was hard to think straight with the pleasure and heat crowding her brain. Finally, she said, “I… I don’t think I’m ready for… sex yet. But you can touch me.”

“Thank fuck.” Hawke grunted, his hand moving up to slip under the band of her britches. Poppy’s eyes flew open when she realized that the sensations of him over the fabric paled in comparison to the feeling of his fingers first sliding against the wet heat of her core. Hawke grunted and his jaw flexed when his fingers first brushed against her.

“Gods,” he said, his voice impossibly rougher than before. “You’re so perfect and ready.”

Hawke’s fingers began by circling a particular point. Poppy bucked and clutched at the sheets on the bed. The desire in her was coiling and tightening insider her now. She felt wound up and ready to explode, but she hung there teetering in limbo, not quite able to reach the peak of pleasure that she was chasing after.

“Hawke,” she moaned, “I need your fingers inside me.”

Hawke’s gaze flew to hers, and he responded by gently slipping his index finger inside her. His thumb continued his ministrations to her bundle of nerves. He started moving his finger inside her, curling just enough to hit a particular point. Every time he did, Poppy saw stars. She was getting close now. Then Hawke gently worked a second finger in, and suddenly Poppy was shattering. Any pleasure she’d felt before paled to the sensations that rioted throughout her. Was she moaning? Was she screaming? She wasn’t sure. Hawke’s lips were on her, and he swallowed every sound. Her limbs trembled and she kept thrusting up into his hand. Time seemed to both slow and speed up while the wildfire, released at last, coursed through her veins.

Hawke slipped his hand from between her thighs. Poppy watched, boneless and blissful, as he brought his wet and sticky fingers up to his mouth and licked each one clean.

“Honeydew,” he said, his lips swollen from their kissing, “Just like I thought.”

Poppy, inexperienced as she was, didn’t possess a vast knowledge of erotic art. But the sight of Hawke lying there, licking her off his fingers had to rank somewhere among the most arousing sights in the world. And it was hers to enjoy alone.

They lay there together, Hawke lazily dragging his hands across her abdomen, while Poppy reeled herself back in from the explosion of sensation. As she lay there, it occurred to her that, while he had just given her so much, she had yet to reciprocate. At that thought, she sat up. She’d heard the maids and ladies in wait giggle and whisper about the things that girls could do to men. And in a flash of that bravado from earlier, she decided to explore the possibilities. Hawke watched as she moved towards his britches.

“You… you don’t have to do that,” he said, his voice thick. His pupils were so wide that the light amber of his irises was hardly visible.

“But what if I want to?” she asked, working at the laces of his britches with one hand while the other palmed at his still hard member. Hawke didn’t respond to her, but he did start blessing the gods. Poppy took that as an encouragement as she pulled the laces loose. She pulled the front of his britches open and reached into his undergarments to touch… to touch him. And the first contact of her hand with his silky hardness, Hawke’s entire body jerked and his jaw clenched.

“Did that hurt?” Poppy asked in concern at his reactions, her hands moving away. He grabbed her hands and brought them back.

“Dear gods, do not stop.” Hawke gritted out, his head kicking back as she resumed her ministrations. Poppy couldn’t stop herself from smiling with pride as she moved to free him from his britches. With just a little effort his cock sprang free, and then she was touching him again. She experimented, rubbing her open palm against him. That earned her a groan from him. But then she firmly grasped him in her hand and started moving her hand across the length of him. At that, Hawke started rolling against her hand—similar to how she had been earlier. Poppy kept working him like that, noting how his muscles flexed under his thin undershirt. His breathing had become labored, and his eyes were hidden by thick lashes, but she could feel his gaze on her as she brought him closer and closer to his own peak.

“Gods, your touch…” Hawke began and then trailed off with a cry. He was crying out because Poppy, inspired by how he’d licked herself off his hands, had bent down and began licking the head of his cock. She wasn’t quite ready to fully take him in her mouth, but his reaction spurred her on. She licked and kissed her way around the head, her hands still moving along the shaft as she did so.

“Poppy,” Hawke’s voice was somewhere between a gasp and a prayer now. “I’m getting close. Do you know what that means?”

“I… yes,” Poppy did, sort of. She kept her hands moving across him, but she pulled her head back and reserved her tongue for the sides of the shaft instead. The idea of him finishing in her mouth for the first time was a little too daunting.

At that point, Hawke gave a shout and the tendons in his neck flexed. His body kicked back, and she felt his cock convulse in her grasp. Thick ropes spurted out, coating her hands. At that exact moment, she’d been licking the side of his shaft, and while she pulled away, she still had a small amount coat the side of her cheek. Once he’d settled, she pulled her hands away and looked down at the mess on them.

“Gods, you look absolutely debauched.” Hawke said, reaching out to run his hands through her hair. “Thank you for that.” He sat up just enough to place a kiss on her forehead. “Let me get something to clean you up.” He stood up then, rearranging his britches to tuck his cock back inside. He moved to the side table were a pile of clean towels stood next to a water basin. He dampened two, and then came back to were Poppy sat on the bed. With one, he cleaned himself from her cheek and hands. Then he used the other to wipe away the beads of sweat that dotted her temples, her shoulders, and her chest. His face was softened now, and he moved to close the clasp of her undergarment, once more hiding her breasts from view. Then he redid the buttons on her blouse. Poppy smiled up at him as she reached back and redid the braid he’d so eagerly undone earlier.

“Was that what you were planning for the other night?” she asked, still a little breathless.

Hawke grinned. “More or less. I was rather disappointed to come back and find you missing. Made for a much more boring evening.”

Poppy laughed, “Well I’m glad I caught the encore.”

Hawke trailed his hand across her face. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

He paused, seeming to find the right words, “I noticed you had scars on your stomach too. Where did you get them? They looked painful.”

Poppy nodded. “They were,” she said, trying to decide what answer was best. The detail that the Maiden was scarred wasn’t public knowledge, so she felt comfortable answering, “My family was attacked by craven when I was a child.”

Hawke blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “How old were you?” he asked, his voice softer than before.

“Not yet six. My parents died that night.” Poppy moved to hug her legs against herself, rocking back as she did so. It was weird to talk about it with someone who didn’t already know the story. “We were in a small village that didn’t have a rise.”

“Gods, I’m so sorry.” Hawke felt like a monster for asking.

“It’s alright,” Poppy smiled sadly. “It’s been a long time. And I live with my uncle now.” The lie, really the only lie she’d told him, rolled off her tongue. It helped that Viktor really did feel like an uncle or a father to her.

Hawke grinned, “the same uncle who chased you into my arms the other night?”

Poppy laughed. “The very same.” She stood up, adjusting to the feeling of relaxation that had settled in her ever since her release. She touched Hawke’s arm. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back here, but thank you. It was lovely.”

Hawke’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Poppy, but the polite thank you accompanied by a dismissal caught him off guard. He had to check his disappointment. After all, it wasn’t like he could actually pursue this woman. She was beautiful and smart and strong, but he wasn’t here for that. And he highly doubted that she’d be so grateful if she ever learned what he truly was. So he smiled and sketched a dramatic bow. “It was my pleasure.”

Poppy laughed as she moved back towards the door. She bent down and collected mask and cloak.

“Let me,” Hawke said gallantly. He tied her mask back into place, and then settled the cloak over her shoulders. Before she pulled the hood back over her face, he placed a light kiss across her lips.
“Goodbye, Princess.” He said, as she smiled and slipped back out of the room. Before he could think to say another word, she already down the stairs and out of sight. He closed the door and sighed.

Chapter Text

When Hawke had first laid out the plan to take the Maiden by posing as her guard, he underestimated how long it would take. He underestimated how hard it would be to spend this much time around the Ascended without killing them. Seeing them clustered on the dais was enough to remind him when other Ascended clustered around him. He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the cage they’d kept him in and at the feeling of their cold, bruising hands on him. Another thing that Hawke had underestimated was just how dull the affairs of Solis could be. Normally council meetings fell into this category—Hawke still attended dutifully since it was a chance to observe the Maiden and have an idea of the state of things in Solis and Macedonia specifically. But today was proving to be anything but dull.

A nervous energy hung in the air, with everyone sitting stiffly in their seats as they listened intently. Whether it was because of the upcoming rite or that poor girl’s murder, Hawke wasn’t quite sure. He’d scoffed internally when the guards had been told it was a Descenter who’d done it, and he’d felt even more riled when he heard the whispers that it must have been an Atlantian in the keep. He’d wager his father’s crown that one of the Ascended on the Dais was responsible, and they were using him and his followers to avoid suspicion.

More interesting to Hawke was the Maiden. Annoyingly, since the murder, she had not made a single walk in the garden. Jericho had been growing increasingly restless and grousing about the long waits in the Jacaranda trees for her dusk walks. Hawke supposed it made sense, but if she did not resume them soon, then he would have to change his plans, and that really wasn’t something he wanted to do. But in this moment, he wasn’t even thinking about her inconvenient change in habits. He wasn’t even thinking about how he’d use her when he finally had her. No, he was far too distracted. The Maiden was watching him. No, watching didn’t do it justice. She was staring at him. He’d felt her eyes on him since he first entered the hall. Her lips, the only visible portion of her face, were pursed into a thin line and her hands, normally clasped together, hung limply at her sides where her fingers periodically fidgeted against the beading of her gown. Hawke, for the life of him, couldn’t tell where this fascination of hers came from. He’d often seen her watching him train, but those were stolen glances while she lurked in the shadows. This bordered on full gawking.

Hawke shifted in his position. Normally he had no trouble finding a seat. However, he’d been late today after helping with security sweeps and the hall was abnormally crowded, so he’d been forced to take up a post leaning against one of the pillars that hemmed the hall. His eyes tracked the Maiden’s movements. She’d moved from staring at him to watching the couple who had just come up to the dais. They cut a simple figure in their clean but plain clothing, Hawke immediately noted the way the woman’s hands clutched around the bundle in her arms. Both appeared to be shaking, and their faces shared a similar bloodless hue. They kept their eyes low as they approached the dais, and they didn’t look up until the duchess bade them to.

“You may speak,” she said, her voice a velvet echo of another’s that Hawke would dearly love to forget.

“Thank you.” The woman’s voice was soft and reedy. “Your Grace,” she tacked on, glancing quickly at the Duke.

The bastard of a duke tilted his head in acknowledgement. “It is our pleasure,” he said, though Hawke greatly doubted it. “What can we do for you and your family?”

“We are here to present out son,” the woman explained, turning so the bundle faced the dais. Hawke had to crane his neck slightly to see from his vantage position, but the baby’s face was creased and ruddy as he blinked his large eyes.

Playing the part ever so well, the Duchess leant forward. “He is darling. What is his name?”

“Tobias,” the father answered. “He takes after my wife, as cute as a button, if I dare say so myself, Your Grace.” Hawke stifled a smile at his clear fatherly pride. Hawke glanced at the Maiden just long enough to see her grinning as well.

“That he is. I do hope all is well with your and the babe?”

“It is. I’m perfectly healthy, just like him, and he’s been a joy, a true blessing.” The mother straightened, holding the baby close to her breast. “We love him very much.”

“Is he your first son?” the Duke asked. Hawke bit back a scowl, but he was sure his face hardened nonetheless. The gall of the man to ask such a question. He might as well leer over the baby like he was a suckling pig.

The father swallowed, and Hawke’s insides turned cold at the hesitation. “No, Your Grace, he isn’t. He’s our third son.” He swallowed as he spoke, and Hawke didn’t have to be a mind reader to sense the fear radiating off the man.

The Duchess clapped her hands together with a glee that, while it played the part well enough, sent Hawke into a spiral of rage. “Then Tobias is a true blessing, one who will receive the honor of serving the gods.” If dying before his first birthday, starved and drained dry, was a blessing, then Hawke supposed she might be telling the truth. If only the gods weren’t fast asleep as they’d been for centuries.

“That’s why we’re here, Your Grace.” The man slipped his arm from around his wife. “Our first son—dear Jamie—he… he passed no more than three months ago.” The man cleared his throat before continuing, “It was a sickness of the blood, the healers told us. It came on real quick, you see. One day, he was fine, chasing around and getting into all kinds of trouble. And then the following morning, he didn’t wake up. He lingered for a few days, but he left us.”

Hawke’s fury plumbed new depths. How long would the innocent mortals of Solis be force to endure such loss? It was unfathomable.

“I’m incredibly sorry to hear that.” Hawke had to admit she did a fair job of affecting sorrow as she settled back into her seat. “And what of the second son?”

“We lost him to the same sickness that took Jamie.” The mother began to tremble as she spoke. “No more than a year into his life.”

Hawke, caught up as he was in the coiling dread and anger inside him, spared a glance for the Maiden. Her eyes remained fixed on the family, and her hands were clenched into fists by her side. Her mouth quirked down into a frown.

“That is truly a tragedy. I hope you find solace in the knowledge that your dear Jamie with the gods, along with your second born.” Hawke bit back a scoff. It was tripe, the lot of it.

“We do. It’s what’s gotten us through his loss.” The woman gently rocked the baby. “We come today to hope, to ask…” she trailed off, seeming unable to finish. Hawke could guess why. It took unspeakable courage to buck the system so publicly. Even though it was obvious and right. But what was right was often not what was done in Solis, and many people ignored the obvious. Eventually her husband took over for her, speaking the words that she could not manage. “We come here today to ask that our son not be considered for the Rite when he comes of age.”

A rolling gasp echoed through the chamber, coming from all sides at once. Hawke tensed, and with his arms crossed across his chest, his hands clenched. He knew what was coming next—they all did. This poor family had suffered unbearably already at the hands of the Ascended, and now they would be asked to sacrifice their last child to a fate worse than the deaths that had taken their first two.

The husband stiffened at the gasp, but he kept talking. “I know that it’s a lot to ask of you and the gods. He is our third son, but we lost the first two, and my wife, as much as she desires more babes, the Healers said she shouldn’t have more. He is our only remaining child. He will be our last.”

“But he is still your third son,” the Duke responded. “Whether your first thrived or not doesn’t change that your second son and now your third are fated to serve the gods.”

 While Hawke felt his insides roil with waves of rage, he spared a glance towards the Maiden. Curiously, she seemed tense too. Her lips were parted in a gasp, and her hands fisted at her sides.

“But we have no other child, Your Grace. If I were to get pregnant, I could die. We—”

“I understand that.” The tone of the accursed Duke didn’t change. “And you do understand that while we’ve been given great power and authority by the gods, the issue of the Rite is not something we can change.”

“But you can speak with the gods.” The hell they could. The hell anyone could when the gods had been asleep longer than any Atlantian had been alive. Hawke’s train of thought was interrupted when the husband moved to take a step forward but drew up short when his path was cut off by several Royal Guards shifting forward. A rumble of murmurs rose up from the gathered crowd. Hawke’s Atlantian hearing picked up on many of the whispers. Most were in shock at the audacity of the family. But he took comfort that a fair number expressed a quiet rage that such suffering should be born. The Descenters were here too, and even outnumbered, that rage would build and build. He would see their numbers grow. Hawke swore to himself that this family would not suffer at the hands of the Ascended again.

Hawke felt the Maiden’s gaze swing towards him again. He did little to hide the expressions that were written on his face. His jaw ticked at the thought of all the mortals who supported this hideous regime. The priestesses, the stewards, and even the gods damned Maiden herself. How they bore it, abided it, and helped it thrive beggared belief.

“You can speak with the gods on our behalf. Couldn’t you?” the man tried again, his voice rough with unshed tears. Hawke admired his tenacity. “We are good people.”

“Please.” The woman begged. “We beg of you to at least try. We know the gods are merciful. We have prayed to Aios and Nyktos every morning and every night for this gift. All we ask is that—”

“What you ask cannot be granted. Tobias is your third son, and this is the natural order of things.” At the Duchess’s cold words, the woman let out a shriek and a sob. “I know it’s hard, and it hurts now, but your son is a gift to the gods, not a gift from them. That is why we would never ask that of them.”

“Please. I beg of you. I beg.” The father dropped to his knees, his hand folding in prayer. His knees cracked against stone steps of the dais and the sound echoed through the room, but Hawke’s focus zeroed in on a softer soft that reverberated under it. The Maiden had left out a gasp. Her arms still hung loosely at her sides, but her hands were wringing now. She sucked in a sharp breath. Her frame seemed to shake, and he could have sworn that he saw her feet shift under her. His eyes narrowed when he saw her guard, Vikter, reach out a hand to her. Ostensibly, it looked to steady her, but it also seemed like she had almost gone to the family. That was very interesting indeed.

“Please. We love our son,” the father cried. “We want to raise him to be a good man, to—”

“He will be raised in the Temples of Rahar and Ione, where he will be cared for while in service to the gods as it has been done since the first Blessing. Through us, the gods protect each and every one of you from the horrors outside the Rise. From what comes in the mist. And all we must do is provide them with service. Are you willing to anger the gods to keep a child at home to grow old or possibly sicken and die?”

The father shook his head, his face paling. “No, your Grace, we would not want to risk that, but he’s our son—”

“That is what you ask, though. In one month from his birth, you will give him to the High Priests, and you will be honored to do so.” No. No they would not if Hawke had anything to do with it. Smuggling them from the city would not be the easiest thing, but it could be done. He’d had a small cluster of Atlantians come with Kieran to meet with him when he’d first arrived, and they would be returning to New Haven soon. They could take this family and ensure their safe haven. Hawke’s plan soothed his rage, but the family still wept on.

“Cease the tears. You know that this is right and what the gods have requested.”

The husband led his wife back to their seats at the back of the chamber. Their faces were drained of color, and they seemed husks of themselves. Hawke kept an eye on them through the rest of the meeting, though it didn’t last much longer. Their request had taken a simmering tension and set it to boil. He hadn’t caught their names at the beginning of their audience, so he would need to follow them and catch them on their way home.

At the end of the meeting, the Duke and Duchess stood and exited the room through a side door. Most Ascended most to follow them, though a few milled about to talk to each other. They ignored the mortals in the room, and most of those stood up to leave as well. Hawke was skirting the edge of the crowd and had just reached the main doors where the family also stood, when he saw everyone parting. The Maiden had stepped down from the dais. Rather than exiting through the same side door, she moved to leave through the main doors at the back of the room. Her guard followed close behind, his eyes darting along the crowd to ensure everyone behaved. The Maiden kept her gaze low, her head tilted down so the veil obscured even her jaw and mouth. Hawke held his breath—this was the closest he’d ever managed to be to the Maiden. As she moved through the door, her hand slipped out so fast that most would have missed it. She grasped the hand of the mother and squeezed tightly. Hawke saw the lines in the woman’s face smooth slightly. Then the Maiden was gone, the whispering of her skirts against the stone floors echoing behind her. Hawke inhaled again, and he caught a fresh sweet scent that hung in the air. But it was blanketed by the scent of tears that rolled of the family who now walked down the adjoining hallway in the opposite direction that the Maiden had gone. Hawke shook his head. Tonight, his goal was not the Maiden. Tonight, his goal was to help the family. Someone had to.

Walking through Macendonia at night always made Hawke’s skin crawl. In Atlantia, people struggled to find enough space to live. Solis had land enough to spare, but so much of it was uninhabitable due to Craven. Any town with a rise was more crammed than fish in a barrel. Houses sat practically on top of each other. Only the well to do had gardens or space to walk around. The streets looked washed out; the houses badly needed paint or whitewashing. But affluence did not extend out from Radiant Row, so these people languished in squalor.

Hawke waited till the family had made it to their house before he moved ahead of them and stepped into their path.

“Excuse us,” the father said, ducking his head down at the sight of the guard in his path.

“I was hoping to have a word with you, Mr…” Hawke said, working to strike a tone that was affable and nonthreatening.

“Tulis,” the man said, clearly not at ease with the large guard in front of him.

“Can we help you?” Mrs. Tulis asked, while her husband still seemed rattled from the audience, she sounded calmer than she had the whole time in front of the Ascended.

“Maybe we can talk inside?”

Mr. Tulis opened his mouth, likely to say no, but Mrs. Tulis warmly smiled and said, “Of course. Come on in, and I can make us some tea.” Hawke and Mr. Tulis alike both looked at her with a certain amount of shock. She moved past them, Tobias still sleeping in her arms, and opened the door. Wordlessly Hawke and Mr. Tulis followed her inside.

Hawke took stock of the interior of the house. It was small, crammed between two other buildings, and the ceilings were so low that he had to stoop to avoid hitting his head. They had few belongings; the kitchen was tidy but sparsely furnished. Good, it would make it easier to move them.

“So what do you want, sir?” Mr. Tulis asked, still eyeing his wife with a certain amount of incredulity as she placed Tobias in his cot and started bustling around the kitchen.

“I was at the council meeting,” Hawke began, but Mr. Tulis interrupted, face paling while his voice shook with fear, “Have you come to threaten us? We didn’t mean nothing by it—we just love Tobias so.”

“On the contrary,” Hawke said, “I wanted to offer my help to you.”

Now Mr. Tulis looked at him with incredulity. “Begging your pardon, but what help can a rise guard offer us? If even the Ascended and that Maiden of theirs did nothing.”

“I liked her,” Mrs. Tulis chimed in. Hawke looked at her more closely. She still bore the markers of sadness, but she still seemed more at ease than she had earlier. Her voice was steady and her breathing even. There was no world where she could be mistaken for being happy, but she seemed lightened. For whatever reason, between her encounter with the Maiden and the walk home, she seemed less troubled than before. Hawke couldn't explain it, but he was glad for it. He'd feared they'd both be in hysterics and shaking with fear at losing their son. Perhaps this would go well.

Mr. Tulis snorted. “All she did was hold your hand, love. That won’t keep Tobias with us.”

Mrs. Tulis frowned and opened her mouth, seeming like she was likely to disagree with him, but she closed her mouth and took his hand instead. “Perhaps,” she said, “But it was sweet of her still.”

Hawke shook his head, reminding himself that discussing every move the Maiden made was not why he was here. Though it had been curious that she had reached out to Mrs. Tulis the way she had. “Mrs. and Mr. Tulis,” he began, “I agree that you should be able to keep Tobias with you.”

“And how do we do that? If we don’t go to the Rite, they’ll just come and take him anyways.”

“Not if you weren’t in the Macedonia anymore.” Hawke said, leaning forward as he spoke. “It would be possible to remove you and your family from this situation.”

Mr. Tulis let out a sharp laugh that made Tobias jump in his cot. “And how do you propose we do that? No one leaves without the Ascendeds’ say so.”

Hawke shrugged, “Not necessarily. There are those who move in out of the rise walls with ease.”

“You mean the Descenters.” Mr. Tulis said, his voice flat. “We aren’t troublemakers. We just love our son.”

“I never meant to call you anything,” Hawke said, appreciating how dangerous this could feel for the family. His people might be willing to fight and die for him, but these people were strangers, thrust into an untenable situation through tragedy. Hawke continued, “but those who you might call Descenters would sympathize with you about having to lose a third child. They would agree that the Rite is an injustice that you should not be made to suffer.”

“How are we to trust you? This could be a trap.”

“It could be, but it isn’t.” Hawke let out a breath. This wasn’t going well—he wasn’t about to tell them who he was before they agreed to let him help them, but otherwise he was going to have a damned difficult time convincing them.

“I believe you,” Mrs. Tulis said suddenly. “It doesn’t make sense for you to be here otherwise.” She kept talking, her words tumbling over each other as if she feared they would escape if she paused. “Families disappear all the time, and no one knows where they went. People ignore it because there isn’t space down here, so someone moves in quickly. But anyone could come and snatch us or Tobias without a word of warning, and I doubt anyone would care. They wouldn’t even need a reason. But,” and she did pause to take a breath, “I want to know if you can guarantee our safety.” She glanced at Tobias’ sleeping form. “Can you promise me my son’s safety?”

“It is dangerous to travel outside the rise. Anything can happen. I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep.” Hawke said, taking Mrs. Tulis’ hand in his. “But what I can promise you is that you won’t have your son snatched away from you. You won’t see him sicken and die from a strange sickness of the blood that no one can explain. I can’t guarantee smooth travels or simple lives, but if you leave here under my protection, you will be free to choose a different life for your son.”

“What do we need to do?” Mr. Tulis still looked skeptical, but his wife’s confidence seemed to soothe the worst of his concerns.

“I’ll send some people to collect you tomorrow night. We’ll move you to a safe house while we wait for the rest of the group to be ready to travel. Pack light—there will be horses, but you won’t want to be burdened down during the journey.” Hawke said, standing up. He took both Tulis’ hands in his. “I appreciate that today has been very difficult on both of you. This is a lot to consider, so if you change your mind, we’ll respect that. I’d beg you not to—for Tobias’ sake. But my men won’t force you to come with us. But please also respect us with your discretion.”

Mrs. Tulis bobbed her head, “Of course we will.” She said, tightly gripping his hand in hers. “Thank you.”

~~~~~~

“So we’re to take on more people for that run to New Haven?” Kieran said, his eyebrows raised from where he stood next to the fireplace mantle.

“Just a few. With Naill and Delano and Rolfe on the trip you shouldn’t have a problem.” Hawke said, toying with the glass in his hand. They’d once again found themselves meeting at the Red Pearl. His mind drifted back to a previous night where a certain red-haired beauty had interrupted his plans. He wondered where Poppy was in the city.

“With Naill gone, who will you feed from?” Keiran asked, his voice tight. He clearly didn’t like the idea of leaving Hawke alone in Macedonia—even for a week.

“He’ll come back with you. If I feed before you leave, then I’ll be fine.”

“What’ll you do when its time to take the Maiden? You’ll need help.”

“Until she goes for a blasted walk in that garden, the plan is stalled. From there, we’ve got a few weeks till the Rite. Plenty of time for me to get made her guard, and plenty of time for you to get back.”

“I don’t like this. Things aren’t moving like we planned.”

“They rarely do,” Hawke forced a small grin that both he and Kieran knew he didn’t mean. “But it’s what we’ve got. Don’t start grousing like Jericho.”

“Gods,” Kieran let out a wolfish growl as he shuddered. “You’d think her lack of strolls was a personal affront to him.” He sniffed, “You know, I could still kill him. He’s too much of a loose string.”

Hawke resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Kieran could be such a worrier. “He’ll be fine. We won’t need him after this anyways.” Hawke stretched his legs out on the setee that he’d been sitting on. “If that’s all for the night, I’ll probably head back to my quarters.”

Kieran grinned, a real one this time, “You won’t wait around for that girl to show up?” He cocked his head. “What’s that you called her, Princess?”

Now Hawke really did roll his eyes. “She said she couldn’t come here anymore. And yes, I called her Princess.”

“She came here a second time and you didn’t think she would.” Kieran countered, smirking. “Seems like she’s as smitten with you as you are with her.”

Hawke raised both his hands in a defensive posture. “Who said I was smitten?”

“That would be me. I said it.”

“Well, it isn’t true.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. You’re definitely the most smitten that I’ve seen in a long time. Pretty impressive considering she’s a novice and you don’t even know her last name.”

Hawke levelled off a glare that would have withered anyone other than Kieran. Instead, Kieran shrugged and smiled beatifically.

“I’ll admit that she was a very pleasant way to spend two evenings.” Hawke said, his voice clipped, “But I’m not smitten. There’s nothing there, and there can’t be anything there. The last time she left, she thanked me like you would the gardener.”

Kieran was laughing now, a full guffaw that filled the room. “You didn’t mention that,” he got out between wheezes. “She’s a little chit of a girl, and she’s gotten you wrapped around her finger. Who knew that all it took was a prim and proper thank you. Might try trimming her hedges next time. See if that gets you a nice tip.”

“She isn’t a girl.” Hawke groused, choosing to ignore the rest of Kieran's words.

“Isn’t she? How old is she?” Kieran countered. “Wait, that’s right. You don’t know anything about her. Still smitten though.”

“I didn’t know that you spent time talking with the women you fucked.”

“Ah,” Kieran said, still chuckling, “But then I actually fuck them.”

“Shut up.” Hawke said, flipping Kieran off as he left. Even through the closed door, he could still hear Kieran’s peals of laughter.

The worst part about it, he mused on his walk back to the barracks, was that Kieran wasn’t entirely wrong. He wasn’t smitten, of course. But she’d been the most intriguing person he’d met in a long time. And it was a crime that he couldn’t devote more time to her—and clearly, she couldn’t devote more time to him. In a different world, they might have been able to actually talk and build a relationship. But he would have to content himself with the two nights they’d had, as painfully inadequate as they had been.

Even now, he still had the urge to plunge his teeth, all of himself really, into her plump flesh and find out just how her blood tasted. It was a little disconcerting just how much he wanted to feed from an ordinary mortal like Poppy. But, as mortal as Poppy was, there was nothing ordinary about her. The rich tone of her voice, the smoothness of her skin, the light in her eyes when she was talking to him. All of those things were decidedly extraordinary. But there was only one woman in Macedonia who he could devote himself to, and until the Maiden was stolen away, and Malik was free, he couldn’t spend his energy anywhere else. Besides, it would be cruel to court Poppy without being able to offer her anything. If he was a real guard, things would be different. But he would leave, and it was better that he left her with no expectations. It was better. It had to be.

Chapter Text

Poppy leaned against the door to her room and inhaled sharply. Viktor, having followed her into the room, spun on his heel. “Was that what I thought it was?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, trying to keep her tone level. She thanked the gods that she hadn’t had a chance to remove her veil. It kept Viktor from fully seeing her face and granted her a small reprieve.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” Poppy moved towards one of the chairs by her fireplace and sat down.

“It looked like you used your gift on that woman in front of everybody and their uncle.”

“Please, all I did was hold her hand.” Poppy was lying through her teeth. She absolutely had used her gift, but it was so brief that she’d hoped no one had noticed. Poppy, for the life of her, couldn’t explain what had possessed her. It still ranked among the most foolish things she’d ever done. But Mrs. Tulis had looked so broken, and Hawke had looked incensed. Poppy could understand. What was being asked of the family seemed unbearable to someone who had faced loss. She felt like something had taken over her and driven her down the center of the room towards them. Even then, she hadn’t truly planned on easing Mrs. Tulis’ pain until she was passing by. Until she could go to the queen on their behalf, it was all she could do to ease their suffering.

“Which is still forbidden.” Viktor ran a hand through his pale blonde hair and sighed.

“No one saw.” Poppy argued.

“That guard, Hawke Flynn saw.” Viktor countered. “And there were others around. Someone might have noticed.”

Poppy stared at the fire. Hawke had seen her, and she knew it. There was no way that he’d realized who she was (otherwise she would have been in real trouble), but she still doubted that he’d report her. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d even concern himself with. She mulled over Viktor’s words for a long time before she said, “They might have, but I don’t care.”

“You what?” Viktor paled with shock at her words.

“I don’t care. It was the right thing to do. That family was suffering. I can’t say anything and no one else was going to. So what if I touched her?”

“I doubt that the Duke would agree with you.”

Poppy’s skin chilled but she leveled Viktor with a stare that was hidden under her veil. “He can do whatever he wants, but it was the right thing to do. Besides,” she sniffed, “It’s been long enough since my last lesson that I’m sure the wrong number of breaths in a minute would get me the same punishment.”

Viktor kept staring at her as if he didn’t recognize the creature in front of him. And Poppy could sympathize. Weeks or months ago, she probably would have cowed and not done anything for the Tulis family. She would have stood by in silent sympathy. But something had changed in the last week. Poppy had felt herself shifting. It started in that first reckless moment when she decided to tell Hawke her nickname. It continued when she let him see her face. His lack of horror had bolstered her, but Poppy wouldn’t have regretted it anyways. The pleasure he’d given her so freely in the time afterwards still made her toes curl. Inexplicably, she’d felt a new confidence that just… made everything else seem less important. It was a shame, she reflected, that he would never get to know the minor role he’d played as a catalyst in her life. How the pleasure she’d found with him had served as a reward for taking control of her own life and making a decisive decision about what she wanted. But she wasn’t foolish enough to seek him out again.

“Viktor,” she said, “I knew what I was risking. It was my choice.”

Viktor closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose while he let out a long sigh. “If you say so, Poppy. But I hope the Duke doesn’t hear about it.”

“I know. But I’ll be okay.”

Viktor didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and left the room. Poppy stared at the fire for a while longer before she went to bed. It took every ounce of willpower to make herself not want those feelings of pleasure. She kept telling herself, “Not tonight. Not tonight,” and after a while she almost believed it.

~~~

Unfortunately, it took only a day for Poppy to realize that Viktor’s concerns had been all too valid. She’d been in the middle of dinner when the duke’s summons came. Tawny paled at the news and immediately set about gathering the ointments and bandages. Rylan, the guard on duty for the evening, stood silently while Poppy settled the veil over her face. Everyone’s faces were tight with forced smiles that didn’t meet their eyes. They all knew what was about to happen. Wordlessly, Poppy followed Rylan down the hallway.

It was earlier than she’d expected. The sun hadn’t begun to set, but the thick curtains in the Duke’s office would keep that from being a problem. Poppy also felt her insides curl at the possible reasons for this visit. Had Hawke recognized her after all? Had he told someone? Had someone seen her touch Mrs. Tulis? Her body stiffened when she remembered her encounter with the Lord Mazeen. Had he told the Duke?

All too quickly, Poppy found herself at the door that haunted her dreams and filled her with terror. She paused to give Rylan a reassuring smile and nod before she entered the suite that contained the Duke’s office. Inside, her worst fears seemed to come to life. The Duke and the Lord Mazeen were sprawled on the setees inside the room. And in their hands were glasses with the all too familiar reddish brown liquid. Red Ruin. The last time the Duke had been drinking that, he’d caned her senseless. Poppy stiffened, and she immediately knew it had been a mistake. The Duke’s mouth slipped into a smile—a real one that told her he hadn’t missed her reaction. Across from him, the Lord wore the same customary smirk that he had whenever he saw her. It reminded her of a cat stalking a wounded bird.

“Penellaphe,” the Duke drawled, “You’ve been such a disappointment.”

Poppy kept her eyes low and her voice soft. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She said, willing her voice to be docile. She wasn’t sorry about any of the things she’d done lately, but they didn’t have to know that.

“I wonder, do you know why you’re here tonight?” Poppy caught the subtle slurring of his words. She’d assumed they’d only just started drinking, but it sounded like he’d been at it for a while. Her skin chilled and she fought against a ragged exhale. This… this was going to hurt tonight.

“I couldn’t say, but you’ve never disappointed without cause.” Fortunately, lying to the Duke came easier than lying to Viktor.

“This is true. I was shocked at what Bran told me about your behavior towards him.”

Poppy glanced at the Lord Mazeen just in time to catch the smug expression that crossed his face. “I’m sorry if I caused offense,” she murmured, clasping her hands in front of her.

“If that were all, we could wrap this up quickly.” The Duke said, and Poppy’s heart picked up the pace at his words. That wasn’t all? Being rude to the Lord could get her quite a caning as it was. Maybe Viktor was right about the Tulis family not being worth it. He wasn’t, but ma—

“I heard you touched that woman from the council meeting. Really, Penellaphe, I would have thought you would know to behave better.”

Poppy decided to not dispute the Duke if that was all he knew. “She just looked so sad,” she said, her voice dripping with sympathy. It wasn’t a lie. She did feel sympathy for the woman. But she’d never taken such a sentimental tone willingly.

“It’s not a matter of how sad she looked. You are not the Maiden to feel sympathy for those beneath you. Especially those who would seek to break the rules of the Rite.”

Poppy saw the trap he’d set for her. She could not defend herself without questioning the Rite. And, as much as she might want to, as much as she might want to intercede for the Tulis family, this was not the time. She dropped her head and wrung her hands, “You’re right,” she said.

“Of course I’m right.” The Duke snapped, standing up quickly from the setee. Her docility almost seemed to irritate him further. “You should have known this at the time. For you to be touched by anyone is forbidden. But to have touched someone so beneath yourself? After they had questioned the gods and the Rite?”

“They didn’t question the gods. They just love their son. They’ve lost so much already.” Poppy said, shutting her mouth immediately and regretting that she’d said anything at all. The Duke’s eyes, coal black as they were, widened with delight. He stepped close, far too close for Poppy’s comfort, “Careful, Penellaphe. It would do for our precious Maiden to be harboring sympathies for those who undermine the gods and the Rite.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Poppy said, her eyes low.

“Remove the veil,” the Duke said, placing his drink at the table that sat between the two setees. He straightened and walked to the wall where he kept his collection of canes. Poppy paused, and when he turned back towards her and saw her still veiled, he frowned. “Penellaphe, remove the veil. You do not want to test my patience.”

“I’m sorry, but we aren’t alone, and the gods forbad me from showing my face.” Poppy said, desperately trying to keep from showing her face. This was going to be bad enough, but to let the Lord Mazeen see her face? Let the Duke try to cut her with his words as well?

“The gods will not be displeased with what happens here today,” the Duke interrupted.

It took strength Poppy wasn’t sure she had to lift her hands and undo the fine claps of the veil without shaking. The headdress loosened, and Poppy slipped it off her head. She kept her eyes low. Teerman took the veil from her hands and put it aside. Poppy clasped her hands and waited. Nothing she could say would save her now and almost anything would only make it worse. She hated waiting, but she did it.

“Lift your eyes,” he demanded, his voice low and deceptively soft. Poppy obeyed. His ebony eyes tracked over her face, mapping out her features inch by inch. His perusal lasted eternity. While he looked at her, it occurred to Poppy that she’d never see Ian with green eyes again. The next time they saw each other, he would have cold black eyes like the Duke. She suppressed a shudder.

“You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Poppy murmured, revulsion bubbling in her chest. She knew all too well what was coming next. Sure enough, the tips of his fingers dug into the skin under her chin, tilting her head to the left and then to the right.

He clucked his tongue. “Such a shame.”

There it was. The words he’d always said to her. “Shame,” or “nightmare,” or “tragedy.” Never once had he looked on her face without reminding her of what she was. Deformed. Scarred. Defaced. Poppy couldn’t help but compare it to when Hawke had seen her. The gentle ways he’d held her face while looking over the same expanse of skin. The way he’d held her gaze and told her she was beautiful. The lack of revulsion he’d shown towards her scars. It had been years since Poppy felt shame for how she looked. Her scars were a mark of her strength. Still, the Duke’s words always still cut into her. But now? Poppy felt the sour bite of anger bubbling up from her chest. How dare he say such words. How dare he beat her. She was the gods damned Maiden. Poppy tamped the anger down and shifted her focus to the large painting of the Temples that hung behind the Duke. In it, veiled women knelt before a being who was so bright, he rivaled the moon.

“What do you think, Bran?” the Duke asked of the Lord.

 “As you said, such a shame.”

“The other scars are easy to hide, but this?” The Duke sighed in mock sympathy. “There will come a time when there will be no veil to hide these unfortunate flaws.”

Poppy swallowed, resisting the urge to pull away when his fingers left her chin to trail down the two ragged indentations that started at my left temple and continued downwards, skirting her eyes to end just beside her nose. A time when she walked freely and unveiled? Such a thing had been mentioned in passing before—a benefit of her Ascension—but Poppy couldn’t imagine such a reality. She might dream of it, and she might want it with a biting desperation. But it never truly seemed that such thing would be allowed.

“I suppose it’s some small blessing. The damage to your face could’ve been far worse.”

Poppy thought to herself that the damage could’ve included a missing eye, or worse, death. But she didn’t say that. Instead she once again fixed her eyes on the painting.

“You do have such pretty eyes.” He removed his fingers from the scars and pressed one to her lower lip. “And a well-formed mouth.” He paused, and Poppy felt his gaze rake over her with a heat that belied the coldness that normally lay there. “Most will find your body pleasing.”

Bile clogged her throat and crawled across her skin like thousands of spiders. Poppy had to physically bite her tongue to keep from saying something. It was through sheer force of will that she held herself otherwise still. She wished that he’d just get to the damned point and tell her how many lashes she’d be getting today. But he always did love to drag things out. To make her sweat and dread. To tally in her brain just how many she thought each infraction was worth. And she’d do it. Today was probably sitting at least seven, particularly with him having been drinking and with the Lord present.

“For some men, that will be enough.” Teerman dragged his finger across her bottom lip before lowering his hand. “But I digress. I think twelve lashes will suffice for today.”

Poppy’s breath whooshed from her lungs. Twelve lashes? It was a lot. More than she’d had to take in a long time. She’d taken ten without losing consciousness before, but twelve? Gods give her strength. She lowered her eyes again, “If you say so,” she said, her voice soft and meek. In another world she might come up with a retort, but the number shocked her. It was too high, and they all knew it.

The Duke ran his fingers along the ridges that sloped along the edge of the particular cane that he’d been holding in his hand. His eyes flicked back to hers. “You know where to go.”

She did. Holding her chin high, she stepped past him towards his desk. She resisted the urge to lay him flat on his back. Or cut him with the dagger that lay strapped against her thigh. With the element of surprise, it would be an easy thing to do. But she couldn’t. That was the worst part of her position. It didn’t matter how well trained she was. She couldn’t fight back. Otherwise, there would simply be more lessons and word of her misbehavior would make it back to Queen Ileana. Never word of what had triggered her. Letters back to the capitol never contained what happened in the Duke’s study. They were carefully read before being sent. And Poppy didn’t have it in her to disappoint the Queen. Not because she was her “favorite” but because of the love and care that the Queen had showed to her after the craven attack. Her hands had changed Poppy’s bandages and held her when she screamed and cried for her mother and father. She’d soothed the wounded and terrified child and sat with her when she could not sleep. She’d comforted Poppy through night after night of endless nightmares. She’d done things no Queen needed to. Without her caring for Poppy as a mother might have, Poppy doubted that she would have ever recovered from that night.

Poppy stopped in front of the desk, her hands shaking with a barely leashed rage that likely looked to all observers as fear. She knew, without a doubt, that if Queen Ileana knew what occurred in this room, things would not well for either Ascended. She might not be able to write and tell her now, but when she returned to the capital? She would tell her everything. Poppy was not naïve enough to imagine that she was the only person he treated this was. There was no way that he gained such a perverse pleasure from only her pain.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Lord stand, slinking over to stand behind the Duke.

The Duke stepped forward till he was right next to her. His eyes glinted with a shine of eagerness that always chilled Poppy’s innards. “You aren’t ready, Penellaphe. You should know better by this point.”

Penellaphe’s jaw clamped shut as her fingers moved to remove the outer cloak that always hid her inner dress. Then she looked away while she lifted her hands to the row of buttons. Her fingers only trembled once and then stilled as she undid the bodice. She was all too aware of Mazeen shifting in his position to get a better view of what was to come. He now had an unobstructed view.

The Duke remained at her side, watching closely as the bodice of her gown gaped, revealing the all-too-thin lace undergarment beneath. The undergarment was similar to the one she’d worn the last time she’d been with Hawke, but there was no excitement now as it slipped down to join the bodice in a pool around her waist. Cool air washed over her back and chest, and Poppy prayed for the strength to stand there as if she was wholly unaffected by the entire ordeal. She wished she could be strong and brave and unmoved. She didn’t want them to see how humiliating this was, how much it bothered her to be seen like this, and not by someone of her choosing. She didn’t think she’d ever see Hawke in that position again, but he had shown himself wholly worthy to touch and to hold her. He’d shown it in his gentleness. In the ways that he’d respected her when she said what she wanted. In his reactions to her scars. She bitterly wished that she’d had the wherewithal to take things farther than she had, but at the same time, she did not think that that would have been possible while she remained the Maiden. In comparison, Poppy wondered how the gods had ever found men like Duke Teerman or Bran Mazeen worthy of the blessing. It seemed wholly wrong.

Poppy folded an arm over her chest, caving to the desire to hide even a part of herself from their wolfish gazes.

“This is for your own good,” Teerman spoke, his voice going dark and rough as he walked behind her. “This is a necessary lesson, Penellaphe, to ensure that you take your role as the Maiden seriously and so you do not dishonor the gods.” His voice slurred between words, and Poppy was left wondering just how much he’d actually been drinking.

Poppy felt his hand on her bare shoulder, and everything within her recoiled. It wasn’t just the unwelcome touch of his too-cool skin against hers. But it was also what she didn’t feel. She felt nothing. She never had from an Ascended. No anguish, no physical pain (and she knew they felt that), and no residual hurt. It was that way for all the Ascended. Poppy had once thought that that should bring her some relief, but it didn’t. It just left her with the feeling of crawling skin.

“Brace yourself, Penellaphe.”

Poppy obeyed, planting her free palm on the desk.

The room was silent except for the sound of the Lord’s breaths, deep and heavy with anticipation. Then, suddenly, Poppy heard the soft whistle of the cane cutting through the air a second before it struck her lower back. The ridges she’d noted earlier bit into her skin, and her body jerked involuntarily as spears of pain rippled through her skin. She’d thought that by now she would have grown hardened to his lessons but the first strike always caught her by surprise. Another strike landed across her shoulders, pushing out a rough burst of air as fire swept across her shoulder blades. Ten more. Poppy bit down on her lip till she tasted blood, willing herself to not make a sound. The third strike landed in the same place as the first. Poppy felt the skin break at the contact. The ridges were seeing to that. As Poppy felt the cool trickle of blood slip down the heated and inflamed skin, two more strikes landed in quick succession. The latter drove her down against the desk, and the hand she’d been using to cover herself moved to keep her from actually hitting the desk. She steadied herself, but when she tried to move that hand back towards her breast, the Lord Mazeen was faster. He stepped beside her, forcing her hands down as his gaze raked across her exposed breasts.

A fifth strike hit the center of her back, harder than even the ones that had come before it. More blood was leaking from the cuts in her skin now, making the skin slick and sticky. Poppy’s eyes were watering now. She was less than halfway there. She had to keep standing.

After the seventh, Poppy’s vision began to blur. This was bad. Worse than before. Her elbows buckled at the eighth and she was flattened against the table. Boldened, likely by the liquor, Mazeen slipped his hand under her body to cup one of her breasts in his palm. His nails dug into her skin just as the Duke hit her with the ninth blow. Poppy bit her lip to keep from letting him know just how close he was to losing that hand.

The Duke took his time with the tenth and the eleventh blows. Marking out the regions that had not yet been hurt and driving down on them. Poppy was drifting away at this point, fighting to stay aware of what was happening to her. Before she’d lost consciousness, and that had always made her feel sicker than the aftermath of a normal lesson. The last time he’d been drinking red ruin was a particular example. But she felt herself falling off the cliff into the abyss. Her mental fingers dug in, willing to keep herself aware, but one by one they were slipping.

The twelfth blow hit, and Poppy should have felt relief. It was over. She’d done it. But neither the Duke nor the Lord moved away. Instead, they loomed closer and even through the haze, Poppy could swear that she saw their nostrils flaring.

“Bran,” she heard the Duke say. He was hoarser than before. He ran his finger around the edge of the cane where her blood still dripped. Poppy blinked. The edges of her vision were going blurry and she could tell that she was fading out.

“It couldn’t hurt,” the Lord Mazeen said. “Just a bit. She isn’t even conscious.”

Poppy’s brain must have been shorting out. She could have sworn that she saw the Duke lift his bloodied finger to his lips. His eyes closed and he took a long swallow. “Just a bit,” he breathed, his voice rougher than Poppy had ever heard it.

She flinched and almost cried out when she suddenly felt the Lord’s tongue against her back. He lapped up the blood that oozed down her back. Then the Duke pushed him away. She felt his hands grip her should, and then blinding pain arced through her. Through the haze she realized that he’d bitten her. But with teeth that seemed too sharp for a human. Teeth like… like an Atlantian. His teeth shredded her skin and sank into the flesh of her shoulder. Her body shuddered at the painful fire that spread out through her body. Teerman moved his body closer, as he moaned, and with each draw of her blood Poppy felt him invade every part of her. She was crying out, thrashing against the pain, against the pain that kept ratcheting higher and higher. Except she wasn’t. The lesson had taken so much out of her that all she could do was lay there paralyzed from the shock of what was happening. Her brain was screaming for her to move. But she couldn’t. It seemed like an eternity before the Duke released her. No, not released her. The Lord Mazeen ripped him away from her. She lay there, unable to lift her head and unable to look at the two monsters who had just violated her.

“Save some for later,” he said, panting at the effort. Poppy heard the Duke snarl wordlessly. It wasn’t a noise a human should make.

Poppy felt like her brain had turned to porridge. She heard them leave the room while she lay there trying desperately to spool herself back together. Duke Teerman had bitten her. The Lord had licked the blood off her back. Neither of these things made any sense. The Ascended didn’t feed like Atlantians. But she had the proof of his bite on her shoulder.

Slowly she found the strength to lift herself up off the desk. Aching every step of the way, she pulled the bodice back up over the cuts. One breath at a time, she put herself back together. She had no words to explain what they had done tonight. And no idea if it had ever happened before. That thought, more than any other, clanged through her harshly.

There was no way that she wouldn’t bleed through the bodice of her dress, but Poppy relied on the outer cloak to hide it till her got back to her room. With a final grimace, she replaced the veil and stepped out of the study. Outside, she immediately saw Rylan’s stiff frame and worried face. Wincing through each step, she walked down the hallway. Once they were well away from the guards, Rylan caught her elbow. “You alright there, Pen?” he asked, his voice soft and laced with concern. Poppy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m alright, Rylan. It was just a bad night.”

“I know. You were in there for ages.” Rylan said, his lips pursed slightly. Poppy hated the cloying concern that laced his voice. It wasn’t like he could do anything about Duke Teerman either. They were both helpless against his vicious behavior.  

Poppy glanced behind Rylan through the window. “It’s only just dusk,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips while she thought about the night blooming roses that lay just outside in the garden.

Rylan nodded. “On another night, it’d be a great time for a stroll, Pen.”

“Yes…” Poppy trailed off, her mind wandering. It had been a long time since she’d walked in the gardens. Her back ached and was still bleeding, but her mind was whirling with what had happened in the study. She had no way to process the things that had just happened to her. “You know what, Rylan,” she said after a long moment of silence, “I think we’ll go out and see the roses. Just for a minute.”

“Pen, are you sure?” Rylan looked shocked. Poppy could understand. She typically went straight to her rooms after one of the Duke’s lessons. But tonight, she needed, well she didn’t quite know what she needed. But she needed something other than what going back to her room would provide.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Poppy said, squaring her shoulders and taking the turn that would lead them down to the gardens. Each step was difficult. Her back ached, and the spot where Duke Teerman had bitten her burned. Poppy blinked, willing away the dizziness that kept creeping in. It had to be the blood loss. But all Poppy allowed herself to feel was the determination to not let them control every part of her.

As she stepped into the cool open air of the garden, Poppy smiled. Even with her back, she still enjoyed the breeze that whispered across her lower face. Whenever she came into the gardens, her worries always seemed to ease away. They moved quickly towards the night blooming roses. Tonight was not a night for dawdling, but when she walked across the grey flagstone path, her racing thoughts didn’t follow her. She wasn’t thinking about Malessa’s limp form. She wasn’t thinking about the Atla—

Poppy stopped. Her eyes widened. Malessa. Malessa had been bitten. Malessa had been drained of blood. Malessa had been murdered by…

“Oh, gods,” she said. At the time she’d thought that the Lord Mazeen had the temperament of someone who could commit such an act. But not the means. But if he was like the Duke…

“We made it just in time.” Rylan said, not noticing the waves of horror that were crashing through her. Poppy didn’t even hear him. She didn’t see the roses in front of her. She looked ahead, her mind now careening wildly from one thought to the next.

“They’re so beautiful,” Rylan said. “They remind me—” His voice was cut off with a strangled grunt.

Poppy noticed that. She turned, her eyes widening in silent horror as she saw Rylan stagger backwards, an arrow protruding from his chest. A look of disbelief marked his features as his lifted his chin.

“Run,” he gasped, blood trickling from the corner of his lips. “Run.”

Injured as she was, Poppy still managed to rush to his side as she cried out, “Rylan!” She threw an arm around him as his legs crumpled. But he was too heavy, and as he fell, she did too. Her knees cracked at the impact against the pathway. Without even thinking, her gift reached out at the same time as her hand did. But, as she worked to staunch the flow of blood, her gift told her that he felt no pain.

“Rylan—” she gasped, a sob working its way up her throat. But it died before it could reach her lips. Her mouth dried and she tasted ash and bile. He had to be blinding pain. He had to be. But for him to feel nothing? Trembling, she looked at his face. His eyes were open, gaze fixed yet unseeing on the night sky above. Poppy shook her head, but his chest didn’t move. Rylan didn’t blink. He didn’t take a single breath.

“No,” Poppy whispered, her blood turning to ice and slush at the realization that she didn’t want to have. “No, Rylan!”

But Rylan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Underneath him, a pool of blood spread out across the walkway, seeping into the symbols etched into the stone. A circle with an arrow piercing the center. The Royal Crest. Poppy still pressed her hands down against his chest, her hands soaked with his blood, refusing to believe-

Footsteps echoed like thunder behind her. Trembling, Poppy twisted at the waist, though her back heavily protested. A man stood a few feet from her, a bow at his side. A hooded cloak shielded his face.

“You’re going to do as I say, Maiden,” the man spoke in with a voice that sounded like churning gravel. “And then, no one will be hurt.”

“No one?” Poppy gasped, her head jerking towards Rylan’s still form.

“Well, no one else will be hurt,” he amended.

Poppy stared up at the man. Rylan’s chest wasn’t moving. It hadn’t moved since he hit the ground. In the back of her mind, she knew it would never rise again. He’d been dead before he even hit the ground. He was gone.

Pain, so sharp and so real, cut through her. Something hot filled her veins and poured into her chest, filing up the empty spaces. Poppy’s hands stopped trembling. The grip of panic and shock lessened, replaced by rage. She wasn’t thinking about her fear now. She wasn’t thinking about the lances of pain that still coursed through her from her back whenever she moved. That blinding rage had blocked out every other thing.

“Stand,” he ordered.

Poppy rose carefully, aware of how her gown, tacky with Rylan’s blood, stuck to the knees of her thin leggings. Her heartbeat slowed in anticipation when her hand slipped through the slit along the gown’s side and closed around the smooth, cool hilt of her dagger. Before, she might have thought that he was the Atlantian who killed Malessa. But knowing that the Duke and the Lord shared the same predilections for blood, that no longer seemed likely. But even a mortal Descenter could be dangerous, and Poppy was still aware of just how much blood she’d lost earlier in the evening. She would have to be quick because her normal stamina just wouldn’t be there.

“We’re going to walk out of here,” he said. “You’re not going to make a sound, and you’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, Maiden?”

Poppy shook her head no.

“Good.” He took a step towards her. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, but if you give me any reason, I will not hesitate.”

Poppy remained completely still, the heat of her fury rising with every second that passed. Rylan had died because of her. It might have been his duty as her personal guard, but he was dead because this man thought he could take her. And for what? If he was a Descenter, he wouldn’t use her for ransom. She’d be a message just like the Ascended who had been stolen from Three Rivers. They’d been returned in pieces. A niggling thought buried itself in the back of her mind. If the three Ascended had been anything like Duke Teerman or Lord Mazeen, then they almost might have deserved it. But in that moment, Poppy didn’t care about this man’s agenda. All that mattered that he’d killed Rylan. Rylan who found the night blooming roses just as beautiful as she did.

“This is good,” he cajoled. “You’re being smart, and this will be painless for you.” He reached for her—

Unsheathing the dagger, Poppy shot forward, dipping under his arm.

“What the--?”

Poppy sprung up behind him, fisting the back of his cloak. She thrust the dagger into his back, aiming where Vikter had taught her. The heart.

Even caught off guard, he was quick. He lurched to the side, but he still couldn’t avoid the dagger altogether. Hot blood gushed out as the blade sank deep, into his side, missing his heart by mere inches.

The man yelped in pain. The sound reminded Poppy of a dog. Jerking the dagger out, a vastly different sound tore from his throat. A rumbling growl that raised the tiny hairs on her body and kicked her instinct into overdrive.

It was such an… inhuman sound.

Poppy tightened her grip on the dagger as she moved to shove it deep into his back once more. He swung around, and she didn’t see his fist until pain exploded along her jaw and at the corner of her mouth. Her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, and her aim went wide. The dagger sliced into his side, cutting deep but not deep enough.

“Bitch,” he grunted, slamming his fist into the side of her head this time.

The blow was sudden and stunning. Poppy staggered back, lights dancing across her eyes as the corner of her vision tuned dark. Vikter had always taught her that if she went down in a fight, odds were that she wasn’t going to be able to get back up again. She fought to keep upright, but it wasn’t enough. Her earlier dizziness made that impossible. She fell back on the ground and her dagger slipped from her grasp.

Poppy blinked rapidly, trying to clear the lights from her vision as the man loomed over her. The hood of his cloak had fallen back. He looked young, probably only a handful of years older than Poppy, and his dark hair was shaggy. He looked down as he pressed a hand to his side. Blood seeped through his fingers. Poppy knew that she must have hit something vital. Good.

His lips peeled back in a feral snarl as his gaze met hers. Even in the moonlight, Poppy could see his eyes. They were the color of frosted water. A pale, luminous blue.

“You will pay for that,” he growled, and his voice had grown impossibly more abrasive. It was as if his throat had filled with pebbles.

Poppy tried. She tried so hard to stand, but she couldn’t find the strength in her arms to lift herself up off the ground, and she knew that if she tried, her legs would only buckle out from underneath her. The man bent down, snatching her dagger away from her side. As he straightened, he let out a laugh that chilled Poppy. It sounded too deep, too changed.

“I’m going to enjoy tearing your skin off your weak fragile bones. I don’t care what he has planned for you. I will bathe in your blood and feast on your entrails.”

Fear threatened to take root. It really ought to have by now. Too weak to defend herself, Poppy was at his mercy. Yet, that rage from before still simmered. She couldn’t cave to it. “That sounds delightful,” she shot back.

“Oh, it will be.” He smiled then, teeth smeared with blood, and he took a step towards her. “Your screams—”

A sharp, piecing whistle came from somewhere deep in the trees, silencing him. He stopped, his nostrils flaring. The sound came again. His eyes darted down towards her, taking stock of the situation. He lurched towards Poppy, gripping her arms. Without warning, he hauled her over his shoulder and started running back towards the grove of jacaranda trees.

Each jostle threatened to send Poppy further into a pain fueled oblivion. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging half moon crescents into her palms. The sensation kept her grounded. It kept her from giving in. She had to find a way out. This was not how she was going to die.

Deep in Wisher’s Grove, the man stopped, dropping her to the ground like a sack of vegetables. Poppy swallowed a cry as her back exploded with fire.

“What the fuck, Jericho,” she heard a voice from the trees say. “You were supposed to kill the guard. Not attack the girl.”

The man, no, Jericho, grunted as he checked his wounds. It was darker here, but Poppy caught a glimpse of skin that looked too whole for having just been stabbed. Gods, this man must be an Atlantian. Her skin prickled. Maybe she was wrong about the Ascended having caused Malessa’s death. This man certainly seemed capable.

“Come off it, Naill, I just decided to move things along.” Jericho said, seeming satisfied by his healing. “Bitch tried to cut me.”

 “Can you blame her?” the voice from the trees asked, sounding slightly amused. A man stepped from between the trees into view. His eyes. His eyes were a warm golden. It reminded Poppy of Hawke’s eyes. He glanced down at her, bedraggled and bloodied as she was. Jericho, not caring about where he’d dumped her had thrown her into a patch of mud. “Gods, she’s a mess.” Naill said before glancing behind Jericho. His nostrils flared as a breeze blew towards them. “We’ve got to go,” he said, bending down to pick up the Poppy. “They’re about to find the body.” He hoisted Poppy over his shoulder and tucked her under his cloak.

Considering the fact that he was still one of her kidnappers, Poppy appreciated the fact that Naill was decidedly gentler about the way that he held her as they hurtled through the grove and into the streets of Macedonia. His hands held her steady and minimalized the jostling. By now the streets had emptied for the evenings. They had only a few minutes before the alarm would be called. Naill moved with an inhuman speed and grace that told her he wasn’t human either.

“Sorry about this,” Naill said as they took a particularly tight turn. “Brawling in the garden wasn’t how we wanted this to happen. Jericho’s a brute, though.” Poppy bit back a bitter laugh at the way he was apologizing for her brutal kidnapping. What did it matter if they were only going to kill her later?

After what only seemed like a few minutes, Naill and Jericho both halted. Glancing around to make sure that no one had seen them, they moved into a tight and dark alleyway. It was so tight that Naill had to lower Poppy down to the ground so they could all fit sideways. Poppy’s legs buckled and she almost fell to the ground. Letting out a curse, Naill wrapped his arm around her and pulled her body against his side. They slipped between the buildings. Stopping at a door, Jericho rapped his knuckles against it.

The door didn’t open, but a voice called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Jericho and Naill,” he said. Poppy noticed that he now sounded proud rather than angry. She supposed that this was likely because he’d managed to snag the Maiden. Limp as she was, she consoled herself with the fact that, had it not been for the Duke’s brutality, she would have escaped.

At Jericho’s words, the door swung open. Lamplight poured out, and Poppy saw a man with soft brown eyes look them over.

“Gods,” the man said, “She looks more like a sewer rat than—” he was cut off by Jericho moving inside. Naill followed, gripping Poppy tightly to make sure she didn’t collapse.

“Where is he?” Jericho demanded of the man.

“Upstairs with Kieran. They’re planning the route for the group that’s leaving tomorrow,” the man said, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. Poppy’s brain marked the familiarity of the name the man gave. Wasn’t that the man who’d been looking for Hawke at the Red Pearl? Jericho grunted in assent and looked at Naill.

“Give me her,” he said, his eyes stalking out the weakness of Poppy’s stance.

“I can take her up,” Naill said. Poppy appreciated the fact that he didn’t seem eager to leave her with Jericho. Maybe there was a chance that some of the Descenters didn’t want to kill her. A small one, but still a chance.

Jericho laughed. “Not likely. She’s my prize.” He snatched Poppy by the arm and was roughly hauling her up the stairs before Poppy could even blink. By the time they’d reached the landing, he was dragging her across the uneven wooden planking of the floor. Poppy barely registered that they’d reached a door when he sudden stepped inside and threw her down on the ground in front of him.

“What is this?” a voice asked. It was familiar. That must have been Kieran. It only slightly surprised Poppy that a Descenter would be working as a guard. It would provide access and knowledge that would be helpful. It did concern her more than it ought that Hawke seemingly trusted a Descenter. That could easily get him killed. It would be a complete betrayal. 

“I took advantage of the situation and grabbed the Maiden myself.” Jericho said. Poppy couldn’t see from her spot on the floor, and she was too weak to lift her head, but it sounded like he’d puffed his chest out with pride.

“That wasn’t the fucking plan.” Another voice was speaking now. Its familiar, lilting accent filled Poppy with ice. Gods, she knew that voice. She knew who it belonged to. She knew the smile that came with it. She knew the warm amber eyes that creased with amusement or delight when they met hers. She knew the scent that followed the voice, dark pine, and lush spice. She knew it all. Hawke was in this room.

“Well, we’ve got her now. Hell of a time too. She’s a bit of a wildcat.” Jericho said with a laugh that filled Poppy with dread.

“Casteel,” Poppy’s insides churned with horror at the name, “We’ve got to move quickly. They’ll have called the alarm by now and they’ll be turning the city over to find her.” The Dark One was in the room too? He was here in Macedonia?

“I know.” Poppy blinked in shock when it was Hawke and not a mysterious fourth voice who answered. “Leave her here, Jericho. Kieran, go down and make sure the safe house is secured. Check with Naill to make sure no one followed them here.”

Poppy finally found the strength to lift her upper body. Her veil was lopsided, but still covered her face. Good. Slowly she looked up at the figures who filled the room. Jericho was moving to leave the door. Another, presumably Kieran, was moving to follow him out. He wore nondescript black clothing and had short hair. His eyes, the same frosted blue as Jericho’s, gleamed against the rich beige of his skin. In another world, Poppy would have found him handsome.

Slowly, afraid of what she knew she would find there, she turned towards the only other man in the room. Hawke stood by a table. His arms were crossed across his chest and his jaw so tightly clenched that a muscle ticked at the corner of it. Poppy had always seen his eyes as warm, teasing, or inviting. But today they looked like they had at the council meeting. They blazed with an icy fury that followed Jericho out the door. When the others had left, he turned towards Poppy and his gaze tracked over her dirtied form.

Poppy stared up at him in open mouthed shock. Finding out he was a Descenter would have hurt enough. But he was the Dark One? Hawke Flynn, the acclaimed guard from the capitol, was the Dark One. The man who had kissed her, held her, and brought her to a previously unknown pinnacle of pleasure was the Dark One. The man who’s cock she had held and kissed was the Dark One. A dark voice in Poppy’s mind whispered that this was the gods’ punishment for her reckless and inappropriate behavior. They stared at each other in silence before Hawke, no, Casteel spoke.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice cool but affable in a way that Poppy didn’t expect. When she didn’t respond, he reached out a hand towards her.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Poppy gritted out, lurching away from his grasp. Casteel stepped back; an eyebrow lifted at her language. Poppy’s face turned as she moved, and the side that Jericho had struck was now on full display. She didn’t need a mirror to know that it already swollen and bruising. He’d also busted her lip.

“He hit you.” Casteel's voice was icy and tight now. When her eyes looked up to meet his, she saw the fury from before had returned. Poppy was terrified that he’d recognize her if she spoke, so all she did was nod. Casteel moved to the door and poked his head outside. He spoke in a low voice to whoever stood outside it. After a minute, another man joined them. He was pale with blonde hair, but his eyes matched those of Jericho’s and Kieran’s. He carried a basket in his hands.

“Delano will see to your face.” Casteel said. He looked to be about to leave when Kieran reentered the room.

“We’re all good, Cas.” Kieran said. “The guards are sweeping the city, but they already moved through this block. Rolfe is on the roof keeping an eye right now.”

“Good,” Casteel said.

While they talked, Delano crouched in front of Poppy. “Can I move the veil?” he asked. Poppy shook her head no. She didn’t know how long she could go with her identity hidden, but now was not the time to find out. Delano nodded. “I’ve got some salve. It may sting but it’ll help with the swelling.”

As he worked to treat the wounds on the lower part of her face, Poppy considered the fact that she also desperately needed treatment for her back. The cuts had definitely clotted at this point, but she could feel the fabric of her dress was crusted against the skin with her blood. Any movement and the wounds would reopen. She also really didn’t want to risk an infection. But there was no way to ask for treatment for her back without releasing a flood of questions. The Descenters were just as brutal as Duke Teermen had been to her. Jericho was proof of that. She had no idea how they would respond to the news that the Maiden had been abused by the Ascended.

“I’ve got to see to Jericho.” Casteel was saying to Kieran. “He put the whole damn thing in jeopardy, and he hit her. The plan was not to hurt her.” Poppy did find that interesting. Apparently they might not be planning to kill her. She still needed to escape but it was good to know. 

“He’s still downstairs licking his wounds. Apparently, she stabbed him.”

“She did what?” Casteel’s head turned and his gaze darted to where she still sat on the ground. Poppy knew that she currently didn’t look capable of wounding a mouse, let alone an Atlantian.

Kieran nodded. “Twice,” he said, his voice low, “with a dagger made of bloodstone and wolven bone.”

“Shit,” was the only thing Poppy could manage before Casteel whirled around to face her.

Chapter Text

Casteel had to hand it to Jericho. He certainly knew how to make an entrance. Kieran had called him to the safe house to iron some of the final details for the group’s departure. They’d just finished the final plans for getting the people past the guards at the gate when the door slammed open and Jericho threw a bloodied and bedraggled lump on the floor. Through all the mud and blood, it took Cas a minute to realize it was the Maiden lying prone on the floor. Her veil still covered her face, and she didn’t appear to be moving.

“What is this?” Kieran asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked at the mess on the floor. 

“I took advantage of the situation and grabbed the Maiden myself.” Jericho said. Casteel clenched his jaw. The plan had been to take her while the Ascended were busy at the Rite. It would give them time before the alarm was called. Instead they were probably doing sweeps across Macedonia while they hunted for her. This was going to make everything more complicated.

“That wasn’t the fucking plan.” Cas ground out after a second. He noticed that the Maiden started shaking when she heard his voice. He thought it odd that she hadn’t tried to get up off the floor.

“Well, we’ve got her now. Hell of a time too. She’s a bit of a wildcat.” Jericho was grinning like the cat that got the cream. He had absolutely no clue what a headache he’d just caused.

“Casteel,” Kieran interrupted his train of thought. “We’ve got to move quickly. They’ll have called the alarm by now and they’ll be turning the city over to find her.”

“I know.” Cas said, letting out a long sigh. "Leave her here, Jericho. Kieran, go down and make sure the safe house is secured. Check with Naill to make sure no one followed them here.”

Cas noticed that the Maiden had finally pushed herself up off the ground and was sitting up halfway. She turned to looked at Kieran and Jericho as they left the room. Once the door had shut behind them, she turned her head partially and stared at Cas in silence. Her dress was a mess, and the portion of the veil that didn’t cover her face was torn and lopsided. Her mouth parted slightly, but she didn’t say anything or try to move at all. Cas assumed it was from the fear or shock of what Jericho had just done.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, trying to add a warmth to his voice that could offset what was happening here. He knew that kidnapping the Maiden was always going to be somewhat unpleasant, but this was a step above what he’d expected. She looked more like a half drowned sewer rat than the Maiden. He reached out a hand to help her up off the ground.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” the Maiden hissed, lurching away from his touch. Hawke retracted his hand, biting back a chuckle. So, the Maiden could curse. That was a surprise. Granted, her constant companions were guards, so that might not be too surprising. As she moved, her face turned, and Cas caught a glimpse of the bruised skin and busted lip.  

“He hit you.” Cas’ voice was icy and tight now. That bastard. He’d had exactly two commands. Kill the guard, and don’t harm the Maiden. And he’d bungled it. The Maiden would need to have her face seen too, and since she didn’t want to have Cas touch it, he’d have to get someone else. He stepped to the door and found Delano in the hallway.

“Get the basket of healing supplies. The Maiden is injured.” Delano nodded and came into the room a second later with the basket.

“Delano will see to your face.” Casteel said, turning to give the Maiden some privacy while he handled Jericho. But Kieran came back into the room before he could move.  

“We’re all good, Cas.” Kieran said. “The guards are sweeping the city, but they already moved through this block. Rolfe is on the roof keeping an eye right now.”

“Good,” Cas said, letting out a sigh. There was a small mercy—their safe house hadn’t been compromised. Even most Descenters didn’t know about its location, let alone Cas’s presence in the city.

While they talked, Delano crouched in front of the Maiden. He was always so good at being the gentle and cool head in the room. “Can I move the veil?” he asked. The Maiden shook her head no. Cas wasn’t surprised. He’d wondered if the Maiden would remove her veil willingly. They certainly couldn’t travel with her wearing it.

“I’ve got to see to Jericho.” Casteel said to Kieran. “He put the whole damn thing in jeopardy, and he hit her. The plan was not to hurt her.”

“He’s still downstairs licking his wounds. Apparently, she stabbed him.” Kieran was grinning as he spoke.

“She did what?” Casteel’s head turned and his gaze darted to where she still sat on the ground. The Maiden looked positively pathetic, but she was always so quiet and demure. It was hard to imagine her vicious enough to wound a wolven.

Kieran nodded. “Twice,” he said, his voice low, “with a dagger made of bloodstone and wolven bone.”

Cas felt his world slam to a stop. He saw Kieran’s eyebrows shoot up as the shock Cas was feeling traveled down the bond. Even as Cas whirled around, his brain whirred at lightning speed. He saw her, the Maiden at all those meetings. He saw her walking through the garden through all those nights when he’d stalked her and her guard. He saw the upwards tilt of her mouth and her berry lips. And he saw Poppy at the Red Pearl. The way she’d hesitated before letting him remove her mask. How inexperienced she’d been. How desperate she’d been for human contact. He saw it all. And for the first time, he saw the truth. Poppy and the Maiden were one and the gods damned same.

“Shit,” the Maiden, no, Poppy said. Cas could share the sentiment. He looked down at her, wide eyed.

“Get out, both of you.” Cas said, his voice thicker than it had been in a long time. Delano immediately got up and left. Kieran took a little longer, his eyes darting between the two of them as he went. The door had barely closed when Cas stepped towards her.

“Princess?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice even. The Maiden jerked at the word, which was confirmation enough.

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice was low and strained. Completely unlike how she’d been at the Red Pearl.

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” Poppy stiffened at his words.

“Here, let’s get you into a seat.” Cas crouched down in front of her, reaching out a hand. Poppy didn’t move towards him. She stayed frozen in her spot, her breathing more rapid now. Cas grit his teeth. He didn’t expect her to cooperate, but she didn’t have to be so damned difficult. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching his arm around her back to hoist her up. Poppy let out a cry and pulled away from him.

“I know you’re scared,” Cas said, moving closer, “But let’s get you up off the floor.”

“I’m fine right here.” Poppy said, using her hands to inch away from him.

“Doubtful, Princess. You’re on the floor.”

“It’s a very nice floor.”

It wasn’t. The whole house was uneven and held together with nails and prayers. Cas bit back a laugh. Leave it to Poppy to be funny in the middle of being infuriating. “Well, then you’re dirtying it up. You’re a mess.”

“Well that’s not my fault, is it?”

Cas had to admire her courage, even it was inconvenient. “Either way, we’re getting you up off the floor one way or the other. You can stand on your own, or I can pick you up.”

Poppy bit her lip. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

“I…” Poppy paused, “I’m injured.”

Cas felt that old rage against Jericho simmering back up again. “Where?”

“My back.” Poppy whispered, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Will you let me look at it or do I need to drag Delano back in here?”

Poppy paused for a long minute, and Cas could almost hear the thoughts wrestling in her mind. Finally, her head dropped. “You can,” Poppy whispered. Her voice had gone so soft that any non-Atlantian would have struggled to hear what she’d said. Poppy reached up to remove the veil before wincing. “Can you do it?” she asked, seeming to struggle with each word.

From a distance, the veil always looked damned complicated, up close the network of chains was a nightmare. He struggled with them for a minute before giving up and just lifting the whole thing off her head. The chains tore as he did it, but the veil was so damaged that he doubted it mattered.

Underneath the veil, he thought he knew what he would find. Poppy’s face had been fixed in his mind since the last time he’d seen her. But the woman who was under this veil was nearly unrecognizable. Her scars were the same, but her eyes were ringed by dark circles. The lips that he thought of as a rich berry hue were pale and bloodless. Her bruising from Jericho’s fist was more severe too. It extended all the way up to her temple. He really would have to kill that son of a bitch.

Cas undid the buttons of the outer cloak and slid it from her shoulders. His breath caught when he saw the back of her dress. It was stained through with her blood. What had Jericho done to her? Slowly, afraid of what he was going to find, he undid the buttons of her bodice. When he’d finally finished and spread them open, Poppy let out a whimper and started shaking.

Cas couldn’t breathe. His eyes were frozen, fixed on what he saw under her dress. Dark, red, and angry welts mapped the expanse of her back. In several spots, her skin had been cut into. The scabs had dried into the fabric of her dress and had pulled away when he opened the back. They were now bleeding freely, and the blood ran in red rivulets down the swollen mess that was her back.

“Who,” Cas tried to speak but the words got caught in his throat. “Who did this to you?”

Poppy didn’t speak for a long minute. Finally, she said, “Do you really have to ask that question?” her voice brittle and hollow. She kept her eyes focused on the ground. Cas noted the red that crept into her unbruised cheek. Surely she wasn’t ashamed of what had been done to her.

“Was it the Duke?”

Poppy didn’t respond, but she inhaled sharply, and Cas took that as answer enough.

“Give me a moment,” he said, standing up, and leaving the room. He stepped into the hallway. Kieran was waiting just outside.

“You want to tell me what’s going on in there?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Cas drew a long shuddering breath. “You remember that girl from the Red Pearl?”

“Your princess?”

Cas nodded grimly. “Turns out she and the Maiden are one in the same.”

Kieran might have laughed if he wasn’t so surprised. “Really?”

“That’s not all.” Cas closed his eyes and leant back against the doorframe. “Before Jericho got to her, the Duke beat her so badly that I’m shocked she’s still awake.”

If Kieran had been surprised before, he was utterly agog now, “Wasn’t the Maiden supposed to be chosen by the gods?” he asked, his eyes wide.

Cas shrugged. “I shouldn’t be surprised that they would take advantage and hurt her.” He breathed deeply and reminded himself of why he stepped into the hallway. He moved to the bathing chamber that sat down the hall and grabbed a pitcher of water and a stack of wash cloths.

“Do you need a hand?” Kieran asked. Cas shook his head.

“I can do it.” Cas took another moment to breath and square his shoulders before stepping back into the room. He really ought to have known that the Maiden would not be immune from the abuses that he had come to expect from the Ascended. But, even more shocking than her identity, the fact that she was a victim of the same sort of treatment he’d experienced made him deeply unsettled. Was this the honor of being the Queen’s favorite?

Once in the room, he knelt down beside Poppy. “I’m going to wash your back,” he said, gently pulling back the fabric of her gown to make space. Then he damped a cloth and began the process of cleaning her up. As he used the cloth to wipe away the blood and clean the skin, he was reminded of an earlier time when he’d cleaned her under much pleasanter circumstances. He banished the image from his mind and started working his way up her back. Poppy pursed her lips, clearly trying not to hiss with pain when the whole process had to be wildly uncomfortable. When he reached her shoulders, he gently brushed the hair that had come loose from her bun away. Poppy froze as he did so. His fingers hung in place, as Cas received his fourth shock of the night. Above the angry network of welts, sitting at the juncture of her shoulders and neck, sat a pair of shredded puncture marks.

That bastard. That fucking vampry bastard. Cas fumed to himself. It was one of the greatest struggles in his life to keep the rage buried when he asked, “Who did this to you?” as his fingers brushed the angry bite marks.

Poppy barked a harsh laugh that rattled her body. “He thought I’d fallen unconscious,” she whispered. “I don’t understand. He bit like… like an Atlantian was supposed to.”

Very few Atlantians would have been able to help the cool rage that seeped into his tone, and Cas was not the exception. “I think you will find, Princess, that there are very few similarities between how an Atlantian and an Ascended feed. He could have killed you.”

“Is that what he was doing? Feeding?” Poppy demanded, her head turning so her eyes could meet his for the first time of the evening. Those, those were the same eyes. Even red rimmed as they were, that same fire he’d seen in her before still sparked in them.

“I think you know the answer.”

Her eyebrows raised and she said, “Doubtful…” she paused and then added, “Prince.”

Cas suddenly became very interested in applying salve to the wound on her back. “So you heard that,” he murmured.

“I did,” her eyes narrowed as she said, “Do you often make a habit of seducing your victims before you kidnap them?”

 It was hard to bite back a grin, but Cas did his best. “If anything, you seduced me. Do you often barge into young men’s rooms to seduce them?” he said, his tone light and airy.

Poppy sniffed in indignation. “Me, seducing men?”

Cas shrugged, “You came into my room, and then abandoned me. Then you ran into me. Add in what we shared? You’re definitely the seducer here,” he grinned, “Princess.”

“What we shared was hardly worth remembering.” Poppy shot back, though it was a pitiful attempt at a lie. Even as his hands moved across the ruined portions of her back, he caught a scent from her that heightened when they shared physical contact.

Letting loose a mock groan, Cas said, “Hardly worth remembering? You wound me.”

Poppy had opened her mouth to disagree, but her words were swallowed in a cry when Cas put the salve on a particularly angry welt.

“Your back is covered, but I’ll need to wrap it in bandages.” Cas said, frowning as he debated the best way to do it. Life in Solis meant giving up access to creature comforts like tape—something that would come in handy here. As it was, he was going to have to wrap it around her torso to get all the welts covered. Poppy seemed to understand the dilemma. Hissing softly, she eased the sleeves of her dress further down and slid the rest of the bodice away from her chest so it could pool around her waist. Her body was stiff as a rod. It surprised Cas that she would be so uncomfortable bared before him, when the obvious piece of information clicked into place.

“He made you undress, didn’t he?”

The light that had crept into Poppy’s eyes skittered away at the mention of Duke Teerman. “He found his lessons worked best on bare skin.”

Long ago, during his torments at the hand of Queen Ileana, Cas had learned what it was to be unable to breathe. Panic and starvation had driven him to desperation. Then, when Malik had been taken while freeing him, he’d felt again. The way that the air is pulled from your lungs involuntarily. The concave feeling of your chest collapsing in on itself while your throat closes up. Paralysis coursing through your veins as you drift away from yourself. Then, all at once, air rushes back into your body. You slam back into awareness. Casteel felt every second, from the initial shock, to freezing at every revelation, to burning with awareness.

Seeing Poppy so hurt and abused, both by his own men and by the Ascended who pretended to worship the ground she walked on, filled Casteel with a coursing rage. It, more than anything else, yanked him back into his body. It forced him to catalog every evil done to her. Every bruise, every lash, and every foul word. She had been a pawn—long before he’d ever decided to take her.

“What…” Poppy started, breaking the silence of Casteel’s ruminations. She paused and then continued, “What are you going to do to me?”

Do to me. Not do with me. Not do for me. Do to me. Cas registered the hidden tremble in her voice. He saw the wide-eyed gaze that she’d kept fixed on her floor during his ministrations to her back. The way her hands bunched into fistfuls of dirty fabric from her dress. She was afraid. Cas paused for a moment to consider what the Ascended had likely told her about him and about the Descenters. Forgetting that, Jericho’s treatment alone would have filled anyone with fear. And, truthfully, his answer now sounded hollow. “I will use you to free my brother. I will give you back to the people who have hurt you.” Those words stuck in his throat. They were the truth. Malik must be freed. But they burned like a mouthful of bitter ash. Cas swallowed. Less would do.

“We’ll talk later. You’ll be safe here—Delano will take care of you. As long as you’re under my protection, no one will hurt you.” Cas said finally. He hoped it would be true. Getting her out of the city would be a challenge now. Cas gently lifted her arm to tuck the last winding of her bandage into itself along her side. He averted his eyes from the front of her form, but not before catching a glimpse of the circling of bruises that followed the edge of one of her breasts. Cas marked the bruises to himself with silence. His hands shook and his jaw muscles tightened.

The duke’s fate had been sealed long before Cas had ever met Poppy. But now, with ever turn, he added a further torment to his dues.

With the bandages secure, Cas gripped Poppy’s arms and lifted her up off the ground. Gingerly, he helped her walk to a chair that sat by the table with all their maps on it. She gripped the back of the chair and used it to lower herself down. Once seated, Cas looked through the chests that lined the room. Finding a bundle of old tunics and britches, he grabbed them and threw them over to Poppy. Even moving as slowly as she’d been, she still managed to catch them. She eyed the worn clothing before glancing up at Casteel.

“You can wear these. They’re old but clean. Once you’re changed, Delano will find you a place to sleep. If you need help, he can help you or find one of the women.” Cas felt the woodenness of his own words. Mechanically, he inclined his head towards her, and then left the room. He scanned the hallway. It had emptied out in the time he’d spent with Poppy. But he could hear voices coming from downstairs. He followed the trail, a mixture of tense words and raucous laughter.

In one of the rooms on the ground level, he found Naill briefing a tense Kieran. Delano stood beside them, glancing around the room nervously. He saw Cas before anyone else and straightened. At the other end of the room, Jericho had a cluster of men who were listening to his every word.

“And that’s when I decided to take her. Took a few licks to get her to behave. Threw her over my shoulder and here we are.” Jericho gestured broadly, ending his story with a dramatic sip of ale. Kieran’s eyes tracked from Jericho to Casteel. He stood, but not fast enough. Cas was front of Jericho in an instant. The tankard lay in shards on the flagstones.

“You were told,” Cas gritted out, his hands pinning Jericho down, “to kill the guard and get out of there.”

Jericho glared up at him, unrepentant. “We’ve got her now, don’t we?”

“That’s not the point,” Cas said, “You were not to harm her.”

Jericho struggled against his grasp. “That’s not my fault,” he rasped, “she attacked me first.”

That reminder brought a question to Cas’s lips. “Where is her dagger?”

Jericho jerked his head, “It’s in my belt. Figured I could use it on her later,” he flashed a vicious grin at his audience, but no one laughed.

“Kieran, grab it for me.”

Kieran stepped close, his eyebrows knitted. He reached down into Jericho’s belt and pulled out the dagger. Casteel adjusted his grip, keeping Jericho stilled with one hand. He took Poppy’s dagger in his other and inspected it. The wolven bone hilt had been what caught his interest at first. The ivory tinted handle had been worn smooth from intense usage. It had a strong contrast to the dark, polished, sharp edge of the bloodstone blade. Cas noted with satisfaction that the dagger had survived the clash with Jericho unscathed. It was a pity that Jericho would not be able to say the same.

Without warning, Casteel’s hand moved. Jericho cried out, and everyone else lurched back. Dismembering a hand took considerably more effort with a small blade, but Cas took immense satisfaction with out the blade cleaved Jericho’s skin. With a twist of his wrist and some added pressure, it bore down into his bone. Without much more effort, the hand clattered against the floor. Jericho stared at Cas, his eyes wide. Casteel released him and sent him tumbling to the floor in an echo of how the Maiden had arrived just minutes before.

“I’d clean that up, if I were you,” Cas said, his tone icy. “It wouldn’t do to get the floors dirty.” He turned away to face Naill and Delano. “I want you two upstairs. The Maiden is your responsibility. Keep her safe and find her a place to sleep. She’s changing now.”

Cas exited the room as swiftly as he’d entered it. Kieran moved, quick on his heels. “When do we leave?” he asked, not bothering to ask about what had just happened in the room.

“Probably a week. She’s in no condition to travel.” Cas said, running a hand through his hair. This delay was going to be a problem. The guards were going to turn the city over in their search for her. Staying in place was no good. His hand moved to the door handle.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going back to barracks. I can’t disappear now, and they’ll want all hands on to continue the search.” Cas answered, pausing just long enough to open the door.

“And after that?” Kieran asked, the emotions from the bond likely telling him the answer already.

Cas squared his shoulders. “I’m going to kill the duke.”

Chapter Text

Poppy had barely managed to ease herself into the change of clothing Haw—Casteel had thrown her when she heard a knock at the door. The pants were clearly cut for a man, but the soft and pliable material hugged her hips forgivingly. The shirt was a different matter. The black fabric enveloped her. The man it was made for must have been at least a foot taller. But the mercy of that was his overly broad shoulders equaled room for her breasts without the fabric pulling taut across her back. Really, it looked like a tunic on her, ending mid-thigh.

“Yes?”

“It’s Delano, do you mind if I come in?”

“Okay,” Poppy said. A small part of her was impressed by his cordiality. Kidnappers weren’t supposed to be polite. She quickly reminded herself that such manners could be an act to lull her into security. There was still every chance that the Descenters would send her head straight to Carsodonia.

Delano eased himself into the room. “I’ll take you to somewhere you can sleep, and Naill is off to fetch some food if you’re hungry.”

Poppy wanted to fight. She wanted to mouth off and scream and stamp her foot. Better yet, she wanted to plant a swift kick to his chest and leave them all choking. But she felt like a shade of her former self. So weak. So tired. She must have lost a lot of blood over the evening. It would take some time before she could fight, and it would be better to catch them by surprise anyways. So she nodded, and moved to stand. Her legs buckled under her weight, and it was only Delano’s strong arms that kept her from pitching towards the floor.

“Thanks,” she whispered, gripping onto him for dear life.

“No problem,” Delano said with a soft chuckle. He adjusted his arms under her armpits so that he still held the bulk of Poppy’s weight, but she could move more freely. Without speaking, he guided her out the room and down the hallway. The space was not large by any means, but Poppy was still surprised by the number of doors on either side. Delano moved with predetermined surety towards one of the last doors at the end of the hall. Inside lay a narrow bed, a wash table, and a solitary chair. Still silent, he guided her to the bed and helped her unto onto it.

Poppy eased a breath when the softness of the quilt hit the backs of her thighs and calves. So it wasn’t to be a jail cell for her then. That was good. She would heal faster in comfort. Still, she needed to escape. Not to go back to the Duke and Duchess. She’d had enough of Masadonia. But to the Queen? Surely she would be horrified by what the Duke and Lord had done to her. Unless… Poppy’s blood chilled as a sudden idea crossed her mind. What if this was something more Ascended did besides Duke Teerman? Did the Duchess? Poppy had a hard time imagining the prim and controlled Duchess doing something so… so wild. But it wouldn’t be the first time the Duke and Lord had displayed… proclivities unshared by the other Ascended. Poppy cursed her own shelterdness. Even without the kidnapping, she wouldn’t have had anyone to talk to about this. No one to ask for guidance or information. She needed to talk to Viktor. He’d help her piece it all together.

“Are you alright?” Delano asked. Poppy realized with a start that she was still gripping his hands even though she must have been sitting on the bed for a minute at least. Her eyes refocused and she released him.

“I’m fine. Sorry.” Poppy said, using her hands to scoot herself farther onto the bed. “I have questions…” she said before Delano held up a hand.

“Eat first, and you can ask your questions later.”

A firm rap sounded at the door and Naill slipped inside, balancing a tray with a promising bowl of soup, a fresh piece of bread, and a few slices of hard cheese.

“This is for you if you promise to not chuck it at me for dragging you halfway through the city,” Naill said with a grin.

“Please. I’m too hungry to waste a bowl of hot soup.” Poppy said, her hands shaking as she reached for the tray. Naill saw the tremor and didn’t release his hold till it rested securely in her lap.

The soup, a chunky mix of vegetables, was good enough. But the bread and cheese? It was divine. Poppy wolfed them down while Delano and Naill stood whispering by the door. When she had finished, she wiped her hands on the sides of her borrowed pants and looked up at them.

“Thanks,” she said, as Naill retrieved the tray and stepped out of the room. When he returned, he and Delano took their posts. Naill stood outside facing the hall, while Delano pulled the solitary chair in the room towards the door and sat in it facing Poppy. She grimaced at his unyielding stare.

“I’m not going to do anything tonight,” she muttered.

Delano cracked a smile. “You’ve done plenty considering the state you’re in. Besides, Casteel told us to keep watch on you, so that’s what we’ll do.”

Poppy muttered a few choice names for Casteel that made Naill chortle from outside the door while Delano just rolled his eyes. Before long, even with the constant twinges from her back, she fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Casteel stepped out into the cool air and breathed. He took in breath after breath till he felt himself settle. Still, the gulps of air did not protect him from the sight of her ruined back. The red rivulets that ran down her skin in stark contrast to her pale and plump skin. And her eyes. Those bright, vivid eyes that had always reminded him of an Atlantian spring. In that upper room, they’d seemed lifeless and dull. As haunted as Casteel felt most days.

Without even thinking, his feet carried him towards the barracks. Clusters of soldiers still ran past him, nodding in recognition when they passed. Others who’d been off duty like him, were following in his wake. Most looked like they’d been asleep at home or mid-romp at the Pearl. Gods only knew how long it would be before they found peace again. With the Maiden missing, the Ascended seemed ready to tear Masadonia apart to find her again.

For the millionth time since his world came crashing down, Casteel considered just how difficult it would be to get her out of the city. Guards would be everywhere. Her description would be given. The scars and her hair would make a disguise difficult. Plus, she wasn’t likely to agree to any of their plans. Poppy had been delightfully stubborn during their previous encounters. With him as her kidnapper? Any resistance would be a foretaste. Still, Casteel relished the idea of challenging her. He’d always assumed the Maiden to be a shy, submissive sort of thing. The wild hellion he found instead was… intriguing.

Casteel’s train of thought was interrupted by the sight of the barracks. At the door, a harried Commander Jansen barked orders to all the guards who were newly arriving. When he saw Casteel, he frowned.

“Flynn, inside!” he yelled, pausing only to give command to his second before turning on his heel and stepping back into the main hall of the barracks. Casteel followed him wordlessly to his office.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jansen whispered as soon as the door had shut behind them. “I assumed when she disappeared that you had changed your plans and taken off.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Casteel said, not willing to take Jansen into further confidence. “Consider me a member of the search party.”

Without warning the door swung open, and a harried Viktor stepped inside. His pale blond hair was loosely tied back, and his face was bloodless. “I came as soon as I heard. Is it true?” he asked, his voice hoarse and graveled.

Jansen nodded. “I’m afraid it is. They were attacked in the gardens. Rylan is dead. The Maiden is missing.”

Viktor took a deep and steadying breath. His mouth pressed into a thin line. “I want to help find her.”

Jansen shook his head. “The city guards are looking for her. I want to send you back to the keep to consult with the duke and duchess.”

“Hang the Duke!” Viktor snarled. Casteel was taken aback by his intensity. “I have to find her.”

Jansen spared only a glance at Casteel before nodding slowly. “Very well. I’ll put you on the next squad heading out.”

Casteel decided to take advantage of Viktor’s knowledge of Poppy. Playing the concerned and capable guard Hawke Flynn, he asked, “It might be helpful to trace her earlier steps in the day. What was she doing before she walked in the garden?”

Viktor gripped the back of the chair in front of him till his knuckles whitened. “I was with her till the morning. Rylan took over then.”

Jansen shuffled through some papers till he found the one he’d jotted down the testimonies from the castle guards on. “She stayed in her rooms for the better part of the day till the Duke summoned her. She spent about an hour in his study.”

“What?” Viktor’s voice was low. Casteel watched him intently. There was no mistaking it. From the narrowed eyes to the tight lips, he clearly knew what such a summons involved for her. This had happened before.

“She was in there for an hour. After the Duke left, she went with Rylan to the gardens.” Jansen repeated, missing the concern that had doubled on Viktor’s face.

Viktor rubbed his face with his hands. “Where needs to be searched?”

Jansen sighed. “We’ve covered most of the area within the Rise. I don’t have the manpower to search every building in Masadonia, but we did find a trail that ran from the jacaranda trees through Wisher’s grove. They moved quickly. If I had to guess, they’re already outside the city by now.”

Casteel interjected, “A trail? It might be helpful to have new eyes look at the place where the attack happened. Maybe we can find something else there—more information that can tell us about her kidnappers?”

Viktor nodded. His shock from earlier had vanished and was replaced by hardened determination. “That’s a good idea…”

“Hawke,” Casteel supplied.

“Hawke, go with Viktor and look over the garden again.” Jansen said, opening his door to usher them out. Viktor led the way and when he was out of earshot, Janson muttered to Casteel, “I trust you’ll be able to handle your problem.” Cas nodded, and quickly moved after Viktor before he noticed that anything had happened.

The walk towards the keep was brisk. Viktor plowed ahead with grim determination. Casteel walked abreast of him on his right side. Viktor barely spared him a glance. He seemed utterly lost in what had occurred. His eyes roved across the streets—empty save for the guards that still searched for the missing Maiden. It was almost as if he expected Poppy to appear around any corner.

Tucked into his boot, Casteel could feel the press of Poppy’s dagger. He blessed himself for having the foresight to tuck it away from view before leaving the safehouse. Viktor likely knew about the weapon, and it was even possible that he’d been the one to give it to Poppy. Casteel couldn’t think of anyone else with the long-term proximity to the Maiden. Poppy had said it was a gift on her sixteenth birthday. So had Viktor also been the one to teach her how to use it? If so, the fact that she’d managed to wound Jericho while being injured did Viktor credit. Not for the first time that evening, Casteel thought about just how fearless Poppy was. How boldly she’d reveled in seeking pleasure with him at the Pearl. How she’d fought tenaciously when she had to have been in immense pain.

At the gates of the keep, they were halted by the guards. Viktor was recognized immediately, and Hawke soon after. Without much trouble, they moved through the lower levels towards the gardens. Viktor stopped only long enough to grab one of the unlit torches that had been handed out to the guards to aid in the search.

As much as it had helped him, Casteel cursed the laxness of the Ascended. The gardens sat abandoned. In Atlantia, these grounds would have been scoured for information. But the guards were chosen to fight Craven. Not search for kidnapped Maidens. If this was how they handled something so high profile… Casteel considered just how many petty thefts and assaults must go undealt with.

Stopping by the night blooming roses, Viktor started looking around, and Casteel mimicked him, though he already knew the story of what had happened. Rylan’s body had been removed, but the stone gravel loosely arranged around the flagstones showed where he’d fallen. Blood, his blood, lay congealed into the grooves of a flagstone etched with the blood crown’s royal crest.

“He fell instantly,” Casteel observed, mapping the lack of disturbance around where Rylan’s body had been. Two imprints in the gravel caught his eye. “If I had to guess, she knelt down next to him.”

Viktor glanced at where he was pointing and nodded. “You can see the mud that the attacker tracked in from the jacaranda trees leading up to here,”

Casteel’s sweeping gaze snagged on a patch of grass next to the walkway. Kneeling, he traced out a scattering of blood drops. They were too far away to have been Rylan’s. He also noted the gravel that had been kicked up over the stones. “There was a struggle. Someone was hurt.”

“Pop—The maiden wouldn’t have gone without a fight.” Viktor said, moving to stand next to Casteel so he could see Casteel had been looking at.

“Do you think it’s her blood?” Casteel asked, knowing full well that it had to have been Jericho’s.

Viktor shook his head. “Killing Rylan this way was quick and tidy. They wanted to snatch her. Hurting her when you have limited time before discovery doesn’t make sense.”

“But could she have wounded her attacker?” Casteel asked, “Jansen didn’t mention Rylan’s weapons being missing or drawn.”

Viktor bit his lip. “The Maiden was never entirely defenseless,” he said after a long pause. “She could have easily fought hard enough to draw blood.”

Casteel nodded before following Jericho’s steps back into the trees. Viktor paused long enough light his torch at one of the gas lamps that still illuminated the roses. Together, they mapped the heavy steps into the mud that surrounded the trees. Just inside Wisher’s grove, they halted.

“Here,” Casteel said, kneeling. He lifted a stick he’d spotted on the ground. From it was a scrap of muddied white fabric that had torn. “They paused here.”

“More like he threw her to the ground,” Viktor said, marking the large imprint of a body on the ground. He frowned before noting the second pair of footsteps—Naill’s. “They met with someone here. Now there’s two tracks.”

“Both men judging by the size,” Casteel added, bending closing to examine the bootprints. “They weren’t here long. It looks like the second man is the one who carried her based on the tracks.”

“Let’s go, then.”

From there, the tracks got considerable harder to follow. Though the ground in Wisher’s Grove was considerably muddy, from there they crossed a swath of thick grass before hitting pavement. That grass seemed to have taken all the mud that might have otherwise clued them about the path of the kidnappers.

Even though the trail went cold, Viktor pushed on. He started moving towards the outer perimeter of the city. Casteel trailed after him. “You want to check the Rise?” he guessed aloud.

“That’s right. There’s no report of a scuffle at the gates. If they got out another way, we better start looking now.”

“Do you think they went over the edge with rope or the like?” Casteel asked, the idea seeming ludicrous.

Viktor took a moment to answer, though his steps never hesitated. “It’s possible but unlikely.”

“Then how?”

“There are other, less well-known ways, through the rise walls,” Viktor said. “We can start by checking them.”

Casteel moved with renewed interest. This had the potential to be quite helpful.

Over the course of the next few hours, Viktor led him from tunnel to tunnel. As they went, he explained how they had served as old smuggler tunnels but had been blocked up when Viktor had been a boy. Each one was old, disused, and still unused. As they cleared each one, Viktor’s brow grew more and more furrowed. Finally, as dawn crested the walls of the rise, he looked at Casteel.

“Hawke, you’ve been helpful, but you should get some sleep.”

“And for you?”

“I’m going to find Jansen.” Viktor said, frowning, “I don’t think they’ve left the city.”

A younger, more inexperienced man might have panicked. In previous days, Casteel might have relied on compulsion to stop Viktor from it. Or kill him. But he stilled both urges. Compelling him would only be a temporary fix, and there was no way he was taking Poppy when she was so injured. Besides, killing him… well, Casteel had a feeling that if he killed Viktor, Poppy would never forgive him. So he nodded and parted ways with Viktor. Besides, Masadonia was enormous. The safehouse was well hidden in the block—inaccessible from either street face, most missed its presence entirely. The smugglers who’d originally built it had made it narrow so it ran along the city block. It would take someone knowing it was there for the guards to search it.

All his men understood that no one was to enter or exit the safe house during the day, and Casteel was no exception. So instead, he went to the barracks. He gave a report of his activities and findings to the sergeant in command before finding his bunk. After being awake for more than a full day, it wasn’t long before he was fast asleep. No nightmares of the cage found him. His mind flitted from short dream to short dream of Atlantia: most of him exploring the caves with Malik and Kieran. But this time it was a different woman who clasped his hands as they ran through the tunnels with carefree abandon and who stole kisses underneath the water of the hot springs. Her red hair swayed with every step, and her bright green eyes almost seemed to have a silvery sheen in the dim cavern light. Her laugh—gods, her laugh rolled over him. Even in his sleep, he shivered at the sound.

Casteel awoke just after dark. Dressing quickly, he noted an updated duty schedule on the door. Hawke had been attached to the search group A. Since they’d worked the first night after the kidnapping, they were off duty while groups B, C, and D took up the hunt. He’d have no duty till the following evening. Taking advantage of the time, he slipped out of the barracks and made his way to the safehouse.

Easing his way inside past the door guard who nodded in greeting, he found all quiet. Most of the people who’d been readying themselves to leave were clustered around pallets on the first floor. He saw the Tulis family huddled together. Good, they had taken him up on his offer. Moving upstairs, he found Kieran holding watch outside the door. Once he’d fetched the healing supplies from the night before, the two finally spoke.

“I sent Naill to get some sleep. Delano is in there with her.” Kieran said.

“Good. I’ll relieve Delano than.”

Casteel stepped inside. Delano immediately turned to face him, nodding when he recognized who it was. Casteel placed a hand on his should and nodded towards the door. He’d take the watch now.

“She’s been sleeping ever since you left.” Delano whispered. “I was about to see about waking her to eat since she’s got to be starving again.”

“Fetch her something to eat and then get some rest. I’ll take watch.” Casteel said, grateful for wolven like Delano. Delano nodded and slipped out of the room.

Settling into the recently vacated chair, Casteel’s eyes roamed over Poppy’s slumbering form. Whether by choice or by necessity because of her back, she slept on her stomach. The arm closet to him curled up under her pillow. Her hair was spread out over her shoulders and a few stray locks had fallen down over her face. Casteel’s hand twitched with the urge to brush them back behind her ear. That would not do. Her lips had more of their old berry tinted color back to them. As plump as ever, they were slightly parted. Her breathing was shallower than it ought to have been, but it was even. Casteel imagined that the pain reducing qualities of the salve he’d applied must have worn off by now. Once she’d eaten, he’d have to change her bandages.

A soft whimper escaped her lips. Casteel noted the subtle tensing of her muscles. She was dreaming.

“Mama?” she whispered, her brows creasing. “Mama!” her voice turned into a cry. Casteel moved quickly, realizing that this wasn’t a pleasant dream.

“Shhh,” he said, moving to her side, and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright.”

Casteel rubbed soft circles down her arm till Poppy stopped whimpering. He pulled his hand back when she’d begun to open her eyes.

“Evening, princess,” his voice displaying an evenness that he didn’t quite feel.

“You’re back,” she said dully, shifting away from him.

“You don’t sound happy to see me.”

“I imagine most people aren’t happy to see their kidnappers.”

“Are you two fighting? I can leave.” Delano said as he interrupted them.

“No, I like you.” Poppy sniffed, reaching out to take the tray from him. “Thank you, Delano.”

“He gets a thank you?” Casteel said, his mouth open in mock hurt. “I thought you liked me too.”

“He’s nice.” Poppy said primly, surveying the food in front of her. Since the evening meal was already done with, Delano had filled the plate with some bread, hard cheeses and cured meats, and a handful of strawberries. He’d also brought up a large glass of water.

“I’m going to leave,” Delano said, glancing between the two of them. “Please don’t kill each other while I’m sleeping.”

“No promises,” Poppy muttered before popping a slice of cheese into her mouth. Casteel noted the deep sigh that she couldn’t fight as she devoured the meal. So she really liked cheese then.

“I need to see to your back, and we need to talk,” Casteel said.

Poppy paused midbite. “Someone needs to see to my back. I doubt that it needs to be you, highness.” She added a drawl to the last word that made Casteel’s jaw clench involuntarily. Immediately he knew he had made a mistake. Her lips curved into a smirk as she realized that using his title was an easy way to needle him.

“I think you’ll find that it’s only me who sees your back.” Casteel said, matching her smirk with one of his own. “Otherwise, I’d have to kill anyone who touches you. And I do hate to make a mess.” That was a lie. He’d make another mess of Jericho right now if he saw him. Or anyone else who hurt her.

Poppy flushed, clearly thinking of an earlier time when she’d let him do much more than see her back. Casteel’s smirk widened into a full grin when he caught the scent of her strengthening arousal. Oh, this was going to be good. Her eyes flew to his mouth, catching sight for the first time of his fangs. He drew them over his bottom lip for emphasis.

“Like them?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re a monster,” she said flatly before returning to her meal. In an instant, Casteel was on the bed in front of her. To her credit, Poppy barely flinched and did not stop eating.

“A monster? Unlike your precious Ascended who would beat a young girl senseless and then feed from her till she was half dead from bloodloss?” Casteel’s voice was low and deadly.

Poppy stilled. “Just because Duke Teerman is a monster too, doesn’t change anything else,” she whispered, her food forgotten.

“Oh, it’s not just Duke Teerman. Surely it occurred to you that this is how all Ascended feed?”

“I…” Poppy’s eyes were wide. “That can’t be true,” her voice showed the uncertainty that she wasn’t ready to express.

“What do you think happens to the third sons and daughters?” Casteel asked.

“They go to serve the gods.” Poppy answered quickly. But the range of expressions flashing across her face showed that she already knew the truth. Knew that what had happened to her was not isolated.

“No, Princess. They are fed from until they die or turn to Craven.”

Lips parting on a sharp inhale, Poppy’s eyes flew to his. “That’s impossible. You control the Craven.”

Casteel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “When have you even seen Craven show a conscious thought? No one controls them. They are consumed by bloodlust. No Atlantian has even made a Craven.”

“But you feed from mortals too.”

Shaking his head, Casteel said, “I’ve never been mortal. What would mortal blood do for me? Atlantians feed from other Atlantians. But the Ascended will feed from anyone.”
“That can’t possibly be true… the gods gave the Ascended their blessing.”

“I see I’m going to have to start from the beginning. First, no. They didn’t. King Malec O’Meer—”

“Created the Craven,” Poppy cut him off.

“You’re wrong.” Casteel shifted so that he had one leg drawn up onto the bed while the other rested on the floor. “King Malec feel hopelessly in love with a mortal woman. Her name was Isbeth. Some say it was Queen Eloana who poisoned her. Others claim it was a jilted lover of the King’s who stabbed her because he apparently had quite the history of being unfaithful. But either way, she was mortally wounded. As I said, Malec was desperate to save her. He committed the forbidden act of Ascending her—what you know as the Ascension.” Casteel’s gaze met hers. Poppy’s eyes were wide and her lips pursed. Casteel continued, “Yes. Isbeth was the first to Ascend. Not your false King and Queen. She became the first vampry. Malec drank from her, only stopping once he felt her heart begin to fail, and then he shared his blood with her.” Casteel tilted his head, as he noted the shock that rolled over Poppy, “Perhaps if your act of Ascension wasn’t so well guarded, the finer details would not come as a surprise to you.”

“Ascension is a Blessing from the gods,” Poppy argued with even less fervor than before.

Casteel couldn’t help the triumphant smirk that crossed his lips. He never thought it would be so easy to shatter the lies around the sheltered and precious Maiden. “It is far from that. More like an act that can either create near immortality or make nightmares come true. We Atlantians are born nearly mortal. And remain so until the Culling.”

“The Culling?” Poppy whispered before biting her lips as if she hadn’t meant for the words to escape.

“It’s when we change.” Casteel’s upper lip curled and the tip of his tongue prodded a sharp canine for emphasis. “The fangs appear, lengthening only when we feed, and we change in… other ways.”

“How?” Poppy seemed gripped by curiosity.

“That’s not important. We may be harder to kill than the Ascended, but we can be killed. We age slower than mortals, and if we take care, we can live for thousands of years.”

Poppy blinked. “How old are you?”

“Older than I look.”

“Hundreds of years older?”

“I was born after the war. I’ve seen two centuries come and go.” In Atlantia, he was still considered a relative youngster, but in that moment, as the shock crashed down on Poppy, he felt all of his years. It must feel like an incomprehensible length of time to a mortal.

“King Malec created the first vampry. They are…a part of all of us, but they are not like us. Daylight does not affect us. Not like it does the vampry. Tell me, which of the Ascended have you ever seen in the daylight?”

“They do not walk in the sun because the gods do not,” she answered, her brow furrowed. “That is how they honor them.”

“How convenient for them, then. Vamprys may be blessed with the closest possible thing to immortality like us, but they cannot walk in daylight without their skin starting to decay. You want to kill an Ascended without getting your hands dirty? Lock them outside with no possible shelter. They’ll be dead before noon. They also need to feed, and by feed, I am talking about blood. They need to do so frequently to live, to prevent whatever mortal wounds or illnesses they suffered before they Ascended from returning. They cannot procreate, not after the Ascension, and many experience bloodlust when they feel, often killing mortals in the process. It’s a miracle the Duke didn’t kill you.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that your feeding is different?” Poppy demanded.

Casteel shrugged. “Mortals offer us nothing, like I said. Wolven—”

“There are still wolven?” Poppy cut him off, her eyes impossibly wider than before.

Casteel nodded. “You’ve met some already.”
“Who—” Poppy began to ask before breathing deeply at the realization. “Jericho is one, isn’t he?”

Casteel had to admit it that she was a quick learner. “Good guess. What gave it away?”

Poppy shuddered, “The growl he made when I stabbed him… it was inhuman.”

“I imagine so. For the record, Delano and Kieran are wolven too.”

“But they aren’t awful.” Poppy went back to eating with a thoughtful expression.

“I think you’ll find that being awful is something that Jericho specializes in.” Casteel said, “It’s not universal across wolven.”

Poppy took a drink of water before speaking again. “And yet that’s who you choose to kidnap me?”

“A lapse in judgement, I admit.”

Her eyes narrowing, Poppy said, “He wasn’t supposed to take me.”

“No.”

“So what was your plan then? After Rylan was dead?”

“I was going to step in as your guard. There was a plan to take you out of the city before the Ascended realized what had happened. Obviously that has changed.”

“You were going to be my guard?” Poppy swallowed as she considered what he’d just admitted. Casteel could easily guess her thoughts—they’d been his as well. What would have happened in such a world. His realizing she was the Maiden the first time he saw her unveiled. All the potential for conversations. Just how close he would have been willing to get in order to take her. The relationship they would have inevitably shared stemming from the nights at the Red Pearl. The broken trust that would have followed. Instead of speaking, Poppy started eating the strawberries from the plate. Her cheeks were a hue of red that matched them, and her eyes no longer met Casteel’s. Finally, after she finished her food and Casteel had set the empty tray on the chair by the door, she looked up him and said one word: “Why?”

“I’m not done with my explanation yet,” Casteel said, directing the conversation away from its inevitable ending. He grabbed the basket of bandages from where he’d set it on the wash table. Looking at Poppy, he smirked, “As gratifying as it is to see you in my shirt, I will need to see to your back.”

Realizing that it was his clothing she was wearing, Poppy flushed ten different shades of crimson. Muttering curses that were decidedly unmaidenlike, she kicked off the blankets and moved back to her stomach, pulling her hair up and out of the way. Once there, she eased the shirt up and over her head.

Even with the admittedly awful circumstances they were in, Casteel couldn’t help but admire the plump curve of her rear. As he sat down next to her, pitcher in one hand and supplies in the other, he took a moment to eye the way his sleeping pants hugged swell of her hips. The way the band dipped enticingly at the small of her back. He set the pitcher of water down on the nightstand next to the bed and used a pair of scissors to cut away the bandages that had covered her wounds. As his hands pulled the bandages away from her skin, he began speaking again.

“Atlantian blood has many properties. We can use it to heal a mortal without turning them, something a vampry cannot do. But the most important difference is the creation of the Craven. An Atlantian has never created one. And, in case you haven’t been following along, the vampry are what you know as the Ascended.” Unlike before, Poppy had no counter to his claims. Instead, she closed her eyes turned her head away from him. “A vampry cannot make another vampry,” Casteel continued, “They cannot complete the Ascension. When they drain a mortal, they create a Craven.”

“But then how do they do the Ascension?” Poppy asked.

Casteel paused before answering, surveying her wounds. While the welts were still angry, the lashes had begun closing. The swelling around the bite on her shoulder had begun to heal too. Thank the gods that she seemed to recover quickly. Taking a washcloth, he dipped it in the antiseptic to clean the skin again to prevent infection. “Because it is not the Ascended who are giving the gift of life. They are using an Atlantian to do so.”

Whether it was from his words or the sting of the antiseptic, Poppy let out a harsh laugh that ended in a rough cough. “The Ascended would never work with an Atlantian.”

“Did I misspeak? I don’t believe I did. I said they are using an Atlantian. Not working with one.” With the wounds cleaned, Casteel moved on to reapplying the salve across her broken skin. “When King Malec’s peers discovered what he’d done, he lifted the laws that forbade the act of Ascension. As more vamprys were created, many were unable to control their bloodlust. They drained many of their victims, creating the pestilence known as the Craven who swept across the kingdom like a plague. The Queen of Atlantia, Queen Eloana, tried to stop it. She made the act of Ascension forbidden once more and ordered all vamprys destroyed in an act to protect mankind.”

As Casteel’s hands coated her wounds in salve and massaged it into her bruises, he couldn’t help but notice the flush that stained her cheeks or the strengthen of her scent in the room. Even with everything that had happened, she still responded to his touch. But, keeping his voice unaffected, he continued as if he didn’t notice her reactions. “That is what triggered the War of Two Kings. It was not mortals fighting back against cruel, inhuman Atlantians, but vamprys fighting back.”

Poppy eyes opened and she stared at him in silence.

“The death toll of the ware was not exaggerated. In fact, many believe the numbers were far higher. We weren’t defeated, Princess. King Malec was overthrown, divorced, and exiled. Queen Eloana remarried and the new King, Da’Neer, pulled their forces back, called their people home, and ended a war that was destroying this world.”

“And what happened to Malec and Isbeth?”

“Your records say that Malec was defeated in battle, but the truth is that nobody knows. He and his Mistress simply disappeared.” Casteel finished with the salve. “You should sit up so I can rebandage your back.”

Slowly, Poppy raised herself back onto her knees, her front angled away from him, and she pulled her hair over her shoulders. As Casteel wrapped the bandages around her, he said, “The vamprys gained control of the remaining lands, anointing their own King and Queen, Jalara and Ileana, and renamed it the Kingdom of Solis. They called themselves the Ascended, and used our gods, who’d long since gone to sleep, as a reason for why they became the way they did. In the hundreds of years that have passed since, they’ve managed to scrub the truth from history, that the vast majority of mortals actually fought alongside the Atlantians against the common threat of vamprys.”

Poppy shook her head. “What you’re saying isn’t… it isn’t believable.”

“Isn’t it?” Casteel asked, as he finished the bandaging. Once it was done, he handed her the shirt to cover her skin once more. “You can’t have thought the Duke feeding from you was an isolated thing. That’s what they do. They corrupt and they curse. They take children and feed on them until they are husks. That’s what they use the third sons and daughters for. The vamprys need a food source, Princess, once that would not rouse suspicion. What better way than to convince an entire kingdom to hand over their children under the pretense of honoring the gods? They’ve created a religion around it, such that brothers will turn on brothers if any of them refuse to give away their child. They have good an entire kingdom, used the fear of what they have created against the people. And that’s not all. You ever think that it’s strange how many young children die overnight from a strange blood disease?”

“You mean like the Tulis family?” Poppy whispered.

“They lost their first and second children to the Ascended. Not every Ascended can stick to a strict diet. Bloodlust is a very real, common problem. They’re thieves in the night, stealing children, wives, and husbands.”

“Malessa…” Poppy whispered. “I’d thought an Atlantian had done it.”

“The girl in the Keep? My money is on the Duke or the Lord Mazeen.” At his words, Poppy began shuddering and her breathing quickened.

“Do you really think I can believe that my whole life is a lie?” she asked, her body trembling. Casteel couldn’t help the wave of compassion that crested through him. This wouldn’t be easy for any person in Solis to realize. But before he could say anything, Poppy spoke again. “My… my brother,” she rasped between ragged sobs. “My brother. He ascended. I was… I was supposed to…” her words were cut off as her whole body convulsed with grief at what Casteel had told her.

Casteel reached out and placed a hand on her arm. When she didn’t flinch, he pulled her towards him, and slid so he could press her chest against his. He avoided touching her back and instead ran his hands over her arms in soothing circles. Of her own volition, she buried her head against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He felt the heat of her tears against his skin. Finally, after a time, her breathing slowed, and her body stilled. Without lifting her head, she asked, “What are you going to do with me?”

“The Atlantian they are using to make vampry—he’s my brother Malik.” Casteel said, each word costing him dearly. “I’m going to use you to negotiate his release.”

“I’m a hostage.” Her words were calm now, an icy whisper against his skin.

“I’ll give you back once they free the heir of Atlantia.”

“I thought you were the heir of Atlantia.”

“Malik is the true heir.”

Poppy’s body tensed. Her arms had clung to him, but not her fingernails dug into his skin through his shirt. “You’ve spent all this time convincing me that they are monsters, and you’re going to send me right back to them?”

“I will do what needs to be done, Princess.” Now it was Casteel’s turn to be icy. Poppy pushed him away from her and wrapped her arms over her knees. She buried her face and refused to look at him.

They sat there in silence, Casteel watching Poppy’s curled up form. Finally, she shifted to laying down on her side, and turned her head away from him and towards the blank wall.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” she said, after a long minute.

“I know.” Casteel meant every ounce of the admiration that laced his tone. It took an unbelievable amount of strength to handle everything that had happened to her in the last two days and keep going. Yet Poppy had done it. She hadn’t caved. And Casteel never wanted to see her eyes dull and lifeless again. He wanted to see them sparking as she rose to challenge him. He needed it. He needed her—No. He needed to free Malik. He couldn’t need Poppy. He couldn’t.

Chapter Text

Poppy lay there for what felt like an eternity, willing her breathing to be slow and even. Damn Casteel. She could feel the head radiating from his body from where he sat on the bed near her. When she rolled away, she assumed he’d take up Delano’s spot on the chair. But the stubborn bastard simply kept sitting next to her. So she faced the wall and pretended to sleep. She pretended that anger and bile weren’t scorching her throat as she considered what he had told her.

The Ascended were monsters. This still astounded and confused her, but… But what the Duke had done seemed confirmation of that. And Poppy had used her gift while Casteel had talked. And other than the pain and anguish that he felt all the time, she’d felt… vanilla. It seemed like sincerity. It mingled oddly with the hot and sour taste that she’d immediately associated with anger. Then at the end, while he sat there and watched her, she’d felt a tart and lemony taste. Confusion? Maybe conflict. None of it felt like he’d lied to her. But Poppy still didn’t know what it all meant. So he wanted to use her to free his brother, she could understand that. But their meetings… his surprise at realizing who she was seemed genuine. Why the gods had seen fit to throw them together in such a calamitous way…

And that was really what was rankling at Poppy. Just how far would he have gone to take her? How many lies would he have spun her? How much would she have cared for him if she’d been given the chance? Speaking of giving, how much would she have given him? As it was, she had come perilously close to letting them make love that second night. If he’d ended up her guard? A stab of pain cut into her as she thought about the eventual betrayal. Gods, it hurt just imagining it. And he had the audacity to act like nothing was bothering him now.

One thought rang loud and clear through Poppy’s soul. Casteel was using her. He had always planned to use her. He’d killed Rylan, and possibly Hannes. But the Ascended had clearly been using her too. She felt suspended between two opposite sides as they pulled on her, while she teetered and threatened to rip in half. Neither had her interest at heart. Not Casteel, not the Duchess, and definitely not the Duke. The Queen? Poppy ached at the thought of the kind and gentle figure she’d known being something so barbaric at the Duke. At this point it seemed like the only person who had ever truly watched out for her was Vikter. And yet he was helpless against the Ascended. He would never have helped her escape to find her own freedom. He believed in her service to the kingdom and the gods.

As she lay there, Poppy made herself a vow. She swore to be the person who determined her own path. Ian’s Ascension had left her entirely alone. Somehow, someway, she needed to find freedom. Freedom from the Descenters but also freedom from the Ascended. She was no longer interested in being told about her duty or her role for the kingdom. The Queen might have been right that the God’s chose her, but for what reason? Poppy didn’t know; however, she was fairly certain that the Ascended had been wrong about her purpose. They had to have been. The gods had belonged to Atlantia first, and, if Casteel was to be believed, they had gone to sleep instead of abandoning Atlantia in favor of Carsodonia. Casteel probably thought that the gods had never chosen her at all, but Poppy had proof that he was wrong. The jagged scars across her legs were proof of the gods’ favor. So was her gift. Right?

Poppy needed a plan. Leaving the Ascended behind meant leaving Masadonia. Casteel could do that, he definitely planned on it if he wanted to use her for ransom. So she wouldn’t escape till after that had done. But if he was an Atlantian and the others were wolven? They’d be fast. Poppy could be fast too, but not like that. Not with supernatural speed and grace. She’d need a head start, and she needed to know where she was going. Slowly, ideas started to coalesce. Nothing concrete yet, but with some time, and with her back healed, she might be able to make something work.

As she mentally worked her way through the tangle of her proposed freedom, the discomfort Poppy felt from lying in one position became unbearable. So, when she could ignore it no longer, she turned over on to her stomach, and then shifted so that she was facing Casteel. Through lowered lashes, she saw him watch her as if he was counting every breath she took.

“I’m not dying. You don’t have to hover,” she grumbled.

Casteel smiled. “Is dying the only excuse I get to hover? Not even dangerously injured?”

“My back isn’t that bad.” Poppy knew it was, it’d been a long time since the Duke had hit her the way that he had just done. She still felt the weight and weariness that came with blood loss.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re disagreeing with me?” he said, still smiling. “But, Princess, I’m afraid you’re wrong. Your back is exactly that bad.”

Poppy huffed. “Why are you here?”

“I’m guarding you,” he said evenly.

“No, why are you here.” Her hand flailed loosely to gesture at the bed. “Delano was guarding me perfectly well from the chair.”

If Poppy had wanted to make him leave her alone, this was entirely the wrong plan. Casteel leaned closer. “Ah, Poppy, but I’m not Delano. It’s as simple as that.”

“Clearly. He respects boundaries.” Poppy said drily.

Casteel laughed at that. It always amazed Poppy how much younger he looked when he laughed. The shadows that normally haunted his features skittered away, and his eyes seemed to glow warmly in the dim light cast from a single oil lamp that hung from the center of the room.

“So,” he said, still chuckling slightly, “While I’m on guard duty, I reserve the right to question you.” At this, Poppy tensed, but Casteel went on. “What the pure and untouched Maiden was doing in a man’s room at the Red Pearl? Being touched no less?”

Poppy had known this question was coming. So it didn’t take too long before she gave an answer. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “When that happens, I sometimes go out and explore the city. I’d been downstairs when Vikter, my guard, came in. He’d have recognized me—mask or no. A woman told me that there was an empty room upstairs, but you were in there, and you know the rest.” The words weren’t a lie. That was, more or less, what had happened. But it stripped the nuances from the evening. She only needed to give Casteel the bare minimum.

“So that bit about your uncle being downstairs?”

“Vikter might as well be an uncle to me.”

“Was he the one gave you that dagger?”

Her dagger? Gods, Poppy had forgotten all about it. It must be still lying in the garden somewhere. That or Jericho had it, and she didn’t want to think about something so precious in the hands of someone so foul. Closing her eyes, she tried not to linger on the feeling of its absence from her thigh. But she didn’t trust Casteel enough to confide anything about Vikter. So, keeping her face blank, she refused to answer and simply lay there quietly.

In the silence from her lack of an answer, Casteel considered, “If so, I assumed he’s the one who trained you. He did a fine job of it. Not many mortals could wound a wolven in up close combat, let alone someone as injured as you were.”

Poppy opened her eyes. Casteel’s tone was not patronizing. He was being sincere, and she didn’t need her gift to tell her that.

“Why did you learn how to fight?” he asked, when it was clear that she wasn’t going to volunteer more information.

“After the craven killed my parents… after they,” Poppy gestured towards the scars on her face, “I used to have horrible nightmares. I was so young, and I felt so helpless. I couldn’t protect my parents, and they couldn’t protect themselves.”

“So you decided to not be helpless?” Casteel asked.

Poppy nodded. “Every time it seems like more craven attack the rise. What’s to stop them from making it over? Besides, far more come back cursed than most realize. If they make it into the city… I want a chance. A chance to survive.”

Casteel studied her. Poppy returned his assessing stare with one of her own. She would not cower in front of him. She would not be afraid. He might be the Dark One, but he denied controlling the craven. And he had a point that they never seemed to be following particular directions. That likely meant that her parents didn’t die at his hands. Rylan had, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t want to harm her. So she would not let him think she was scared of him.

“What do mean when you say that more come back cursed?” he asked. “That’s not common knowledge.”

Cursing her own mouth, Poppy said, “I’ve heard people talk.”

Pursing his lips, Casteel raised his eyebrows as he said, “That’s doubtful. It’s not widely talked about.”

 Poppy kept staring at him in silence. She couldn’t bring herself to admit to anything that he might use against her.

Casteel continued, “I’ve heard that the child of the gods has helped those who are cur--.”

Here, Poppy found it time to cut him off. Her involvement with the network was not something she was comfortable talking to the Dark One about. “I’m not going to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Casteel said. His eyes, still assessing, lingered over her. After a minute he said, “You’re nothing like I expected.”

Rolling her eyes, Poppy said, “And just what were you expecting?” His tone made it seem like he’d expected a spoiled brat—a mindless twit who happily served the Ascended. A helpless chit who had no working mind. Poppy almost felt insulted by the assumptions he seemed to have made about her.

Casteel sighed. “Honestly? I’m not sure anymore.”

Poppy shifted in the bed, hissing when she accidentally pulled on a section of damaged skin on her back. In an instant, Casteel was leaning over her. “Are you alright?” he asked, his face lined with concern.

“You know, it’s rather funny that the man who kidnapped me is so hyper fixated on making sure I’m fine.” Poppy said, glaring up at him. She winced as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. “You know, I’ve had wor—” she cut herself off when she realized what she was about to admit to.

At her admission, Casteel’s eyes widened. “You’ve had worse?” he echoed, completing her sentence. “That reminds me, how often does Duke Teerman do this to you?”

It might have been from the blood loss, it might have been because she sat up for the first time in ages, but Poppy was feeling distinctly dizzy. “He…” she started, fighting against the sour burst of shame—her own shame at what the Duke had done to her. “At least once in a month,” she admitted at last, hanging her head. Her cheeks burned as she remembered having to stand there, half naked, while he gawked at her scarred body and abused her. It had been the one black spot since she’d decided to learn how to fight where, no matter what she did, she always felt like that same helpless little girl. The only rebellion that she could manage was that, no matter how bad it got, she never made a sound. And that always seemed so paltry. So inadequate when what she really wanted to do was dice Duke Teerman and the Lord Mazeen into a thousand tiny pieces. Slowly.

Warm, calloused hands reached across the left side of her face, spanning the width from her jaw to the lowest of her scars. Gently, so gently, Casteel tilted her face up to meet his. “I know you don’t trust me,” he said slowly, “And I know that you have every right to hate me.” And Poppy knew that was true. “But trust me when I say that you have nothing to be ashamed about. It is the bastard Ascended who should feel shame. Not you. And,” he continued, “You are not weaker because you couldn’t fight back.” He paused before adding, “I know what it is like to be helpless and a prisoner of the Ascended. And that’s what you were, Poppy.”

Casteel’s words didn’t fix Poppy. They didn’t fix her back. They didn’t fix the crack that had opened in her when she realized that Hawke was the Dark One. They didn’t fix the gash of pain she felt when she realized that Ian could be feeding on innocents and making them into craven. They didn’t fix the ache she had whenever she thought about how worried Vikter must be right now. They didn’t fix the rage that still roiled in her stomach with a burning fury that was both fire and ice at the same time. None of that could be fixed with some pretty words. But as Poppy sat there, feeling the warmth of his hand against her face, and seeing the conviction in his amber eyes, she did feel some of her shame melting away. They stayed there, frozen in time, eyes fixed on each other. It occurred to Poppy that Casteel might try to kiss her. If he did? Truthfully, she didn’t know what she would do. A wild part of her hoped he would. The rest of her just wanted her dagger again so she could make him pay for Rylan’s death.

Oh, Rylan. Her heart stung as she thought about his funeral pyre. Would it have already happened? Or had the chaos from her disappearance delayed it. He deserved a death with full honors—not to be forgotten.

They were only interrupted by a rapping on the door. Casteel pulled his hand back and stood up off the bed. Poppy stayed frozen, staring at his retreating form as he opened the door. He spoke softly, too softly for her human ears to hear the words, with the person on the other side. Then, accepting a glass of water, he closed the door.

“Thirsty?” He asked, holding up the water.

“Please,” Poppy said, reaching out for the glass. Casteel watched to make sure she’d drained the whole thing. Then, taking it back, he smiled. “You’re healing well—far better than I’d expected. We should be able to leave in the next couple days. I’d recommend getting as much rest as possible.”

“Where are you going?” Poppy asked, clearly intuiting that he was about to leave. Casteel grinned.

“You’re a quick study. I have business to take care of.”

Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Is this the kind of ‘business’ that usually ends up with someone dead?”

Casteel laughed. “Like I said, you’re quick. Have a good night, Princess.” He stepped outside with Delano slipping back inside to take his place, leaving a fuming Poppy.

The door shut soundly, and Delano eyed Poppy like a prickly thing that was likely to bite him. “Feeling better?” he asked, taking his previous seat.

Poppy frowned. “It’s not been that long since you left. Weren’t you supposed to rest?”

Delano waved a hand. “I napped. Plus,” he paused with a grin, “I’m a wolven, miss. I’ve gotten by in far worse conditions. Besides, once Naill gets some more rest, Kieran will come in here and I’ll take a longer break.”

The news that he was a wolven wasn’t new, but Poppy still tensed at the open admission. “You don’t seem… wolfish…”

The wolven’s grin widened. “And you seem unusually concerned with the health of your captor.”

 “If you take ill, I might get someone like Jericho watching me,” as Poppy spoke, she wrinkled her nose for emphasis.

Delano laughed, a deep rumble that still seemed inhuman, but warmer than Jericho’s growl. “I doubt that very much. After what Cas did to him, Jericho won’t be a bother for quite a while.”

“What did he do?”

“Cut his hand off for hurting you.”

“No,” Poppy breathed. She’d never admit it to his face, but Poppy took satisfaction that Casteel had punished Jericho for what he’d done.

Delano nodded. “Took it clean off in front of everybody. Used your dagger for it too.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. Casteel had her dagger? It wasn’t lost? “I imagine Jericho wasn’t happy about that,” she observed.

“Can’t say he was.” Delano sounded almost… cheerful at the thought.

“So what do you do when you’re not kidnapping young maidens?” Poppy asked, wanting to change the subject while she mulled over the news that her dagger was in the Dark One’s possession.

Delano shrugged. “I doubt my activities would be fit for your maidenly ears.”

Eyes narrowed, Poppy said, “I lived 10 years of my life locked in a room with servants and guards for company. The least maidenly part of me is my ears.” She blushed as she realized what that sounded like.

Delano laughed, half from amusement and half from surprise. “I have to say, I didn’t expect the Maiden to be funny.”

Poppy decided to take the tack the Ian always did when he was trying to charm someone into sharing information. “Do Atlantians play cards?” she asked, trying to seem at least a little bit like the innocent Maiden—that is, someone who would definitely not be good at cards.

Nodding, Delano said, “We do.”

“Could we play?” Poppy asked. She looked the part of a pitiful prisoner, she’d caught a glance of her face in the washtable’s mirror when she’d sat up. Her face wasn’t puffy anymore—Casteel’s salve and Delano’s ministrations had seen to that. But her cheek was still a mottled purple from Jericho’s fist.

Delano surveyed her. Finally, seemingly coming to the conclusion that Poppy had hoped he would, he shrugged. “Why not?” he asked. “I’ve got a set of cards on me.”

Poppy grinned as he started walking her through the rules of a game Ian had taught her as children. This was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving Poppy in Delano’s care, Casteel paused outside to talk to Kieran.

“Forged papers won’t do it this time. We’ll need an alternate route.” He said, leaning against the opposite wall from where Kieran stood.

“Got any ideas?”

“There’s some tunnels out of the city. Smugglers used them, but they’re blocked up. At least one of the guards knows about them, but obviously they clearly hadn’t been used. The southern tunnel didn’t look like it would be that hard for us to clear. We’d have to do it on our way out to minimize the time we could be found.”

Kieran’s brows lifted. “That’d work. Seems like you put the time ‘searching’ for the Maiden to good use.”

Casteel nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Do you still plan to kill the Duke?” Kieran asked, keeping his tone light. Even so, Casteel’s visage darkened.

“Yes. I’d always planned to, but now? Kieran, she’s barely out of her girlhood and he made her back look like a hardened criminal’s.”

“You weren’t talking about her girlhood at the Pearl.” Kieran commented. Casteel’s brows lifted.

“That’s different,” he said, not looking to discuss Poppy’s identity with Kieran. But Kieran had other plans.

“Is it?”

“Yes. And I shouldn’t have to explain it.” Casteel’s voice was harder now. Kieran needed to stop now while he was ahead.

“See, what you should explain is how you ended up with the Maiden under you and didn’t realize it.” Kieran said, his lips twisting into a smirk.

“I’m not explaining that either.” Casteel ran his hand through his hair. “Poppy being the Maiden is just.. bad luck.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for a story.” Kieran gave Casteel a mock pout before shifting into a serious expression. “Cas, I know the last day has been an upheaval, but you need to remember what your task is.”

“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten—my duty to Malik or to Atlantia.”

Kieran hoped rather than believed Casteel’s words. The shock and horror he’d felt down the bond the night before combined with the lingering conflict he’d felt ever since gave him ample reason to be concerned that Casteel was incredibly close to doing exactly that.

Chapter Text

Kieran stared at the wall. This plan had never seemed easy, and frankly it had never seemed like a particularly good one. Gods knew that he’d counseled everyone against it more than once. But it was what they had. Then, in the span of two weeks, everything had turned on its head. Cas being struck by lightning seemed more likely than the reaction he had to his mystery girl. Kieran had teased him at every opportunity, but he felt Cas’ awe and contentment. Dangerous feelings for a prince in an enemy country. That girl then being the Maiden and being thrown at his feet bloodied and covered in mud? Talk about bad luck. At least one of the trickster gods had to be awake. That was it. They were awake and fucking with Kieran’s day.

Sighing, Kieran pinched the bridge of his nose and willed the blooming headache away. It didn’t work—it never did. Seeing Cas again was worth it, but damn did he miss being able to shift at will. His skin itched when he thought about how long it had been since he’d been in wolf form. But that would have to wait.

The sounds of cursing and soft laughter from inside the room caught Kieran’s attention. Snapping him out of his spiral of frustration, he listened to Delano and the Maiden’s conversation.

“I win!” the Maiden crowed. Her voice caught Kieran off guard. It was so much richer and earthier than he’d expected of The Maiden. It also seemed vaguely familiar—not just from the night at the Red Pearl when he’d heard her with Cas.

“I can’t believe it,” Delano said ruefully. Kieran heard cards being shuffled. “Your beginner’s luck can’t last for forever.”

“Mhm,” the Maiden said. Kieran thought she sounded entirely too innocent. Apparently Delano had noticed it too.

“You haven’t played this before, have you?” he asked. Kieran stifled a grin, not needing to see Delano to know that his eyes had likely narrowed with suspicion. The last time he’d heard that tone, Delano had caught someone cheating. The normally mild mannered wolven had tossed the cheater out of their lodgings on his ass buck naked. It occurred to Kieran that he might need to make sure a similar fate didn’t meet the Maiden… eh. Or maybe? No, if Cas found out, then they’d all lose more than a hand.

“I mean, years ago.” The Maiden said, her tone now placating and a little defensive. Apparently, she’d noticed Delano’s suspicion too.

“You little minx,” Delano said. “And to think I was going easy on you.”

“That sounds like your problem, not mine,” the Maiden said with a laugh. That laugh, it struck an eerie chord inside Kieran. He shook his head to disperse the feeling. They didn’t know each other. She just reminded him of someone he couldn’t remember. A side effect of getting old.

“I’m not going to let you win this time,” Delano growled and the Maiden laughed in response. How was she so at ease with her kidnappers already? Kieran had expected her to cower in fright and shudder in repulsion. But then again, he considered, she had seemingly spent all her time being guarded. Besides, it seemed like the Asceneded had not been kind to their gods damned Maiden. So maybe this was an improvement. Kieran wrinkled his nose at that. It was a sad day when being kidnapped was an improvement on your life.

“We’ll see about that,” the Maiden said. Was she being coy with Delano? Naill needed to wake his ass up. Kieran was going to have to get in there before she talked her way into another Atlantian’s brain. It was bad enough that she’d fucked Cas up.

Almost on cue, Naill made his way up the stairs. Blinking owlishly, he stifled a yawn and waved at Kieran on his way to the washroom. Only a few minutes more, and Kieran could save his wolven brother from this Maiden’s influences. Was he the only one immune to her?

“How are you winning every time?”

“I’m just better than you. Gods blessed, you know.” The Maiden said. She laughed but her last words were almost bitter sounding—like she didn’t believe it either.

“Well, if they wake up and decided to bless me too, then we might play again. But I’m finished for now,” Delano said.

“Where do the gods sleep?” the Maiden asked.

“Around. It depends. Bele sleeps at her island in the Seas of Saion.”

“Casteel said we’re about to leave. Where are we going?” the Maiden asked. Kieran’s eyes narrowed at the random shift in the conversation. He willed Delano not to betray anything important.

“It depends. I imagine we won’t all go the same place. As for you? Eventually Carsodonia. Don’t really know other than that.” Delano said. Kieran could have blessed him for that answer. At least one member of this group could follow the fucking plan.

Still yawning, but now with wet hair and a slightly more awake expression, Naill left the washroom and joined Kieran. “Ready to switch?” he asked, taking up the position on the other side of the door.

Kieran nodded. “I’ll let Delano get some more sleep.”

“You need rest too,” Naill said.

Opening the door a crack, Kieran looked over his shoulder, “I’ll rest when I’m dead or when we’re finally back in Atlantia.”

Inside, he found Delano’s chair pulled up to the Maiden’s bed. She was sitting upright, her legs crossed. Her hair was a mess of waves that tumbled over her shoulders. Kieran hadn’t had a look at her without the veil—he’d been busy making sure they weren’t caught due to Jericho’s stupidity. So the Maiden was a redhead? At the sound of Kieran’s entrance, her eyes snapped to him. They surprised him too—such large, green, and expressive eyes. Between her eyes and her hair, he almost didn’t notice her scars. Long gashes that cut across the left side of her face. Whatever had done that had just barely missed her eyes. On the other side of her face, Jericho’s handiwork was still on full display. Kieran grit his teeth at the reminder of that wolven. Cas should have let Kieran kill him when he’d first offered. Jericho was a gods damned liability.

“Delano,” he said, his voice clipped, “get some rest. I’ll take guard here.” Delano looked up from his seat next to the Maiden and nodded. Swiftly, he rose and left the room. Kieran claimed the now vacated seat, his body grateful for the chance to finally sit. Slowly, he moved his neck back and forth getting comfortable. Once he’d settled into his seat, he found the Maiden’s eyes roaming over him. Her gaze met his, and he almost felt like he could see her internal calculations as she inspected him.

“Can I help you, Maiden?” he asked, curious about how she’d act with him.

“You’re Kieran, right?” she asked, her voice more guarded than it had been with Delano.

He dipped his chin in a shallow nod. “I was there when you first were brought here, Maiden.”

The Maiden’s nose wrinkled. “Brought? That’s a funny word for being tossed around like a sack of vegetables.”

Kieran bit back a chuckle. He settled for a shrug instead. “Jericho has always been…”

“A brute?” the Maiden supplied drily. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Haven’t we all…”

The Maiden cocked her head and rested her chin on clasped hands while her elbows were anchored on her knees. “I’m curious. Do any of you like him?”

“Not particularly. Why?” Kieran’s brow furrowed at her line of questioning.

The Maiden leaned back. “Just trying to figure out why you lot decided to sent the worst possible member of your… group to handle me. And also why everyone seems surprised that it went badly.” Her words were even toned and factual. It was obvious when she pointed it out.

At that Kieran couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “You might have a point, Maiden, but we still managed it. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. Kieran felt a little unnerved at her gaze. She hadn’t looked away from him since he entered the room. For some reason, Kieran felt like she was looking inside of him.

The Maiden shifted, mimicking the stretching that Kieran had done when he’d settled into his seat. “I have a question,” she said.

“You ask a lot of questions, Maiden” Kieran noted.

She shrugged. Was she mimicking him? “I’m a curious person,” she said with a grin.

“What’s your question?”

“When you came in,” she started, “You said you’d rest when you were dead or in Atlantia. I thought Atlantia was destroyed.”

“Parts of it. But not all, Maiden.” Kieran said, wary of telling her too much. Once they delivered her back to the Ascended in Carsodonia, she could easily tell the blood crown everything she’d learned from them. And that wouldn’t do at all.

The Maiden cocked her head. “You aren’t going to tell me more than that, are you?” she asked. Before Kieran could respond, she added, “You don’t have to call me Maiden, you know.”

“I figured you’d prefer it,” he said. “I know Cas calls you Poppy,”

“He does,” she said, her nose wrinkling. She obviously didn’t approve of it. “My name is Penellaphe.”

“Alright,” Kieran said, “Penellaphe, I have a question for you.”

The Mai—Penellaphe’s brows lifted. “For me?”

“Why aren’t you scared of us?”

She leveled him with a stare. “Would you rather I be?”

“It’s not about what I’d prefer. More like what would make sense.”

Penellaphe stared at him while she obviously considered her answer. “I think,” she said slowly, “that being scared of you would not do a whole lot of good. Either you’ll hurt me, or you won’t. How I feel won’t change that.”

“The Ascended hurt you,” Kieran stated. “Cas has ordered you unharmed.”

“I know,” she said. Kieran noticed that she tensed whenever he mentioned Cas’ name. “You’re concerned,” she observed, matching his factual statement with one of her own.

Concerned. Annoyed. Flabbergasted. These were all words that easily fit Kieran’s current mood. “Among other things,” he said, not wanting to tell her that she’d hit the nail exactly on the head. “Kidnapping is a complicated act.”

“Have you done it before?” she asked, her tone as light as if she was discussing the weather.

“Not exactly. Our prisoners don’t usually live long enough to be kidnapped.” Kieran admitted.

Penellaphe grinned. “Of course,” she said loftily, “I’d get kidnapped by some fucking amateurs. That’s just my luck.”

Kieran gaped at her language. Then he laughed. “You’re not very Maidenlike,” he observed, still chuckling.

Laughing at his response, Penellaphe said, “You all keep saying that.”

“Only because it’s true,” Kieran leaned back in his chair. “You were armed, you stabbed Jericho—”

“Twice,” she supplied, smirking with what could only be described as satisfaction.

“You were beaten within an inch of your life,” Kieran continued, “You swear, you aren’t afraid, and” he paused at the culmination of his point, “you thought it was a good idea to seduce the crown prince of Atlantia.”

Penellaphe tensed at that. “I didn’t know he was the Dark One,” she said defensively. “Also, it was by accident.”

Kieran’s eyebrows lifted so high he thought they might touch his hairline. “Really? I’m far older than you, and I’ve never ended up underneath someone in a brothel… by accident.”

Sniffing, Penellaphe said, “The Red Pearl isn’t just a brothel.”

Another chuckle bubbled up inside him. “The part you were in sure was.”

“Anyways,” Penellaphe said, rolling her eyes, “I fail to see what your point is.”

“My point,” Kieran said, leaning forward towards her. He rested his elbow on his outspread legs. “Is that you might forgive me for being shocked that pure, untouched and undefiled Maiden is violent, foul mouthed, and defiled.”

“Only slightly defiled, thank you,” Penellaphe corrected him indignantly. Kieran was amused that she let the other portions of his statement stand without correction. “Besides,” she continued, “you lot seem pretty defiled yourself.”

"Firstly," Kieran said with a grin, "If that's true then Cas is losing his touch." Kieran noted with delight that she blanched at his words before he continued, “Secondly, I think you’ll find that most wolven and Atlantians are far more relaxed about such things.”

Penellaphe leaned forward, “Really?” she asked, before blushing as if she hadn’t meant for the question to escape her lips.

 The unschooled eagerness, it made Kieran laugh again. As the last chuckles finished, he eyed her thoughtfully. He had to hand it to her that she’d even been able to work her magic on him—it hadn’t taken long for their conversation to flow easily. He could see how someone like Cas would be completely enraptured by someone like this. But… that just made her all the more dangerous. He, and by extension Cas, did not need the Maiden to be charming or likeable or kind. Every smile of hers and every disarming question she asked was an additional complication to the fucking plan. Kieran just hoped he could keep it together long enough for them to get Malik back, and for Cas to be safe and sound back in Atlantia.

“You’re proving my point, you know,” he observed. “That was not the reaction of a Maiden.”

Penellaphe leveled him with another one of those stares that made him feel like she could see inside his bones. “I never asked to be the Maiden, you know. I never asked to be veiled.”

Kieran tried to match her stare, even though he still couldn’t shake the feeling of nakedness that her glances left him with. “Then why?” he asked.

“Was I ever given a choice?” she asked, and Kieran heard that same bitterness that he’d caught before.

“Very few of us are ever given a choice, Penellaphe.”

Chapter Text

Kieran’s words hung in the air while Poppy stared at him. Like with Casteel and Delano, she’d been using her gift nearly freely during their conversations. It was the only thing that made her feel confident that Casteel had meant his promise to protect her. Delano felt sincere, warm, and slightly concerned. Really, Poppy expected everyone to be far tenser than they were. The city guards must be doing a terrible job if the Descenters and Atlantians were lounging in the middle of a kidnapping. With Kieran, other than a physical ache that had been tugging at him since he entered the room, she’d felt the thick sour taste that she’d come to associate with concern. As they talked, she felt a cool splash that felt like something akin to surprise. Then something light and sugary… amusement? But his last sentence to her unnerved her.

“Very few of us are ever given a choice, Penellaphe.” He wasn’t wrong. Second and third children were given no choice in their lives at all. Poor families stayed poor, and wealthy families stayed rich. It was, as she’d been told all her life, the natural order of things. Poppy had chosen Casteel as Hawke—just for two evenings but those two nights had meant everything to her. In the grand scheme of the world or his two hundred years of life they must seem like a paltry experience. Poppy felt so sheltered around these Atlantians. Their expectations of the world seemed entirely different to hers, and their views on the Ascended still made her prickle with unease. They chose to follow Casteel even though it had to be incredibly dangerous. Poppy had to admire the clear loyalty they felt for him, even if it meant snatching her away from the only life she’d ever known. But her family, her parents made choices when they were given none. They’d chosen each other, and they’d chosen to leave the city… why had they chosen that? Poppy fought the instinctive furrow that was knitting itself into her brow. She had been so young, and she couldn’t remember much about the trip before the attack.

And just what sort of choice was Poppy supposed to make? If Casteel had told her the truth, and against her desires to call him a liar, she did believe him at least partly, then what was she supposed to do? Help him free his brother? And then what? Go to Carsodonia and resume the role of a meek Maiden while she knew the truth of those around her? Poppy ached to talk to Ian or Vikter. It’d been so long since she’d seen Ian, and she knew Vikter had to be mad with fright. But what was Ian like now? His green eyes had been so warm and full of life before. He’d always matched her step for step with mischief. He’d always had a question dancing on the tip of his tongue. Was he still like that? His eyes would be black, and his skin cold to the touch. Poppy had already known that. And when she touched him with her gift she’d feel… nothing. It was the same with every Ascended. And Vikter? Would he help her run away and flee a life that she now no longer thought she could live? Or would he deliver her back to the Duke? She’d always known that he’d never help her shirk her duty. He believed—truly believed in her.

“So,” she said, changing the subject in an effort to glean some more information, “Casteel kidnapped me to ransom me for his brother’s freedom?”

Kieran nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“Why is his brother being held captive?” Poppy asked. Casteel had mentioned that his brother was held there, he’d mentioned that an Atlantian was used to make Ascended, and he’d even said that he knew what it was to be their prisoner. But none was particularly detailed and it still felt like it wasn’t the whole story.

Settling back into the chair, Kieran asked, “Did Cas tell you about the vampry?”

“He told me that Malec Ascended Isbeth and they have to feed nearly continuously. That that’s why they take the third sons and daughters.” Poppy said, frowning at the unwelcome memory that rose to the surface: the Duke and the Lord feeding from her. The idea of Atlantians, of Casteel feeding like that made her stomach flip in distaste.

“Well, to Ascend someone, you have to drain practically all their blood and then you give them the blood of an Atlantian to drink. It heals them but it makes them… different. It makes them a vampry.”

Poppy saw the implication before Kieran stated it. “So Casteel’s brother… Malik is being used for that?”

“That’s right.”

“For how long?”

“Now?” Kieran drummed his fingers against his legs. “Nearly a hundred years.”

Gods, that was such a long time. Poppy shook her head. “That’s…” her worlds failed her. That was so… miserable. Inconceivable. Unfathomable. Frowning, she asked, “Casteel said that he… he knew what it was to be a prisoner of the Ascended.”

Poppy hadn’t thought her statement would catch Kieran off guard, but his eyes narrowed, and he leaned towards her. “He told you that?” he asked, his voice lower than before. That splash of surprise had heightened, and the concern had grown even more cloying.

Nodding, Poppy asked, “Did the Ascended… did they use him too?”

“Penellaphe,” Kieran said. His tone carried a subtle hint of warning as he continued, “yes, they did. But that’s his story and I’m not going to tell it for him.”

Poppy knew when she’d exhausted an avenue, so she adjusted course. “What makes you think the Ascended will bargain Malik for me? Surely being able to make more Ascended would be more important than whatever being the Maiden is.”

Kieran blinked. Poppy’s gift told her that he was feeling… buttery. Was that approval? “Cas said you were smart,” he observed, half to himself. “We don’t know. But they’ve put so much effort into proclaiming how important you are for the kingdom—most of the common people practically worship you. So if they wouldn’t trade for you, then there’s nothing they’d bargain Malik for.” It occurred to Poppy that she’d very likely voiced a concern that Kieran himself had. If Casteel was the leader, Kieran seemed to be the group’s worrier.

“I’m your last chance then.” Poppy’s words were flat. “What happens,” she asked, “If this doesn’t work?”

Kieran sighed and closed his eyes. “Truthfully? War. War and destruction.”

“And Casteel is trying to avoid that?”

“Ideally. He’s not afraid of killing, but the death toll from such a war…”

She didn’t need him to finish that sentence. She didn’t know how large Atlantia was, but if wolven still existed? Who knew what other types of Atlantians were out there. Naill had run so fast, even while carrying her. A single one of them could easily take down several mortals, and most Ascended had lived their lives in luxury and ease. And if the Descenters gained traction in the cities? Poppy shuddered at the bloodshed that would ensure from what could easily turn into a civil war.

“Casteel said you were a wolven.”

“That’s a random question.”

“Well are you?”

“I am.”

“What’s it like? Shifting into an animal?”

“It’s…” Kieran seemed to struggle to find the words. “It’s the most natural thing in the world. When we’re young, we often can’t control it—we shift at random. But as an adult, it gets easier. Still, the longer you go without doing it the more it feels…”

“Like you’re denying nature.” Poppy finished. It occurred to her that Kieran’s description of his ability to shift matched how she often thought about her own gift. As a child, she’d sensed and eased pain without thinking. Controlling it had taken time and effort to learn. And even now, she felt it tingling all the time, begging to be used.

Poppy settled back and realized something that made her slightly embarrassed. She wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d been here, but it had been at least a day. And she needed to use a washroom. Badly. “Kieran,” she said, “I’m afraid I need to use a washroom.”

“I figured you’d need to sooner or later. You haven’t eaten or drunk much, but you’ve been here a while.” Kieran said, standing up. “Need a hand?” he asked as he stretched a hand out towards Poppy.

Grimacing, Poppy said, “I’m not sure. I haven’t tried to stand in a while.” Moving slowly, so as not to overly irritate her back, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand on her own. She managed it for a few seconds before her knees wobbled like those of a newborn kitten, and she had to sit back down. She might have been able to stand a little longer or even walk again with a second try, but she’d also thought that it might be helpful for them to underestimate her.

“Come on,” Kieran said, standing next to her and reaching out to take her hand. At the barest first contact, he flinched and withdrew. “Did you feel that?” he asked, rubbing his hand.

Poppy looked up at him. “I didn’t feel anything. Maybe it was a static shock.” She was surprised that something so small would surprise him so. “Ian, my brother, used to shuffle his feet around to shock people on purpose.”

Kieran chuckled, though he didn’t look convinced. “Your brother sounds like a real treat,” He touched her skin again, and clearly not feeling a shock, he looped her arm up over his shoulder and loosely wrapped his arm around the small of her back so his hand rested on her opposite hip. His free hand grasped hers on his shoulder, and he lifted her back up. Together, they made their way out of the room. Naill raised his eyebrows slightly when he saw them, but when Kieran inclined his head towards the washroom, he nodded and lifted Poppy up from the other side. This made the rest of the trip much easier. They deposited Poppy in the washroom and stood outside for when she was done.

If Poppy had hoped that the interior of the washroom would provide her any help, she was sorely mistaken. It contained only the barest of essentials. So, shaking her head, she used the facilities and washed her hands. Glancing in the mirror, she shook her head. She’d never gone unveiled for so long and in front of so many people. Should she have not? Once Casteel had recognized her, it’d felt a little silly to keep it on. Besides, Jericho had basically ruined the one she’d been wearing. None of the Atlantians had acted surprised or revolted by her scars. Their quiet acceptance of it was one of the many things that Poppy filed away under unexpected surprises. The few Ascended who had seen her face always treated her with pity or revulsion, a marred and broken thing that could have been beautiful. But Delano and Kieran acted like it was just her face. Like her scars were even uninteresting.

Using the washtable counter that was built into the wall, she hauled herself up and, bracing her backside against it, she inched her way back towards the door. Slowly, as to not catch her captors off guard, she opened the door. Kieran and Naill immediately resumed their positions and helped her back to her bed. Once she’d swung her legs back into the bed, she realized how weakened she actually was. Even that short trip had drained her. She badly needed rest and food.

“I need to take a look at your back,” Kieran said once Poppy had resettled herself. She looked up in shock and even mild alarm.

“I thought Casteel said he was going to be the only person who tended to my back,” she said, unsure when that had become something she depended on.

Shrugging, Kieran said, “He’s not liable to be back soon and the salves work best if they’re reapplied frequently. Besides, I might be the only one here he’d allow to do it and live.”

Poppy eyed him warily. “I’ve read about wolven,” she said, her voice laced with caution. “It’s said that they form bonds with other Atlantians.”

“We do.”

“That these bonds make the wolven duty-bound to protect the other Atlantian.”

“That’s part of it, yes.”

“What else do they entail?”

“Many things,” Kieran said, eyeing Poppy as if she was a dangerous and wild animal that he ought not to be sharing secrets with. “It links the two together, allows for us to share energy or strength if the other is weakened. You can feel your bonded’s emotions.”

Poppy’s eyes flew to his. “You can feel your bonded’s emotions?” she repeated, her voice faint with shock. Was that a common thing in Atlantia?

Kieran nodded. “It’s not like you know immediately what they mean, but you figure it out eventually.”

“Are… are you bonded with Casteel?” Poppy asked. It made sense if that was why he trusted Kieran over any of the other people in the building.

“I am. So trust me when I say that if Casteel would allow anyone to do this, it would be me.”

Slowly, begrudgingly, Poppy lay down on the bed, lifting Casteel’s borrowed shirt so Kieran could remove her bandages. He moved slowly as not to cause her discomfort, but when the last bandages had fallen away, he sat back and hissed in surprise.

“It’s not that bad,” Poppy said lamely, shame coating her tongue. She ought to have known that he would react like this. Hoping for him to be cool and collected was clearly overly optimistic.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her back. He knew. Cas had told him. Kieran knew that her back was bad. That it was cut and marred with welts. But seeing someone so young with wounds so severe and so needless, still caught Kieran off guard. His eyes mapped every cut—including the obvious teeth marks where she’d been fed from. The welts were darker than her face. Gods, he thought Jericho had hit her hard. The Duke made Jericho’s blows look like love taps. And she was sitting up and laughing so soon after what had to have been an awful beating? Kieran eyed her as he opened the jar of salve. Penellaphe was made of sterner stuff than he’d credited her.

“This may be cold,” he warned, scooping a portion of the salve out of the jar and spreading it on her back. Immediately Penellaphe tensed, but she didn’t make a sound. Kieran worked his way across her back, spreading the numbing and antiseptic salve across the cuts and welts. Underneath her wounds, he felt defined bunches of muscle. “You’re stronger than I expected,” he admitted aloud. If she hadn’t been injured, she likely would have fought off Jericho. That indicated training of some kind, but he found evidence of it on her body. Her curves disguised it, but around her shoulders and biceps he saw muscles. As she shifted to allow him to spread the salve more evenly, he caught sight of the scars on the inside of her arms. What had done that?

“Stronger than you expected for a woman?” Penellaphe asked, her tone sharper than it had been before. Kieran always forgot how rigid the roles of Solis were.

“Gods, no. My sister would murder me if I meant it that way.” She would. Vonetta and the Guardians would slice him into tiny, tiny pieces. “But it’s not common for women in Solis to fight.”

“That’s true,” Penellaphe admitted.

“Where’d you get your scars?” Kieran asked as he finished the salve and moved on to rebandaging her back.

“A craven attack when I was six. My parents died and I was… I was clawed.” Penellaphe’s voice was tight and uneven as she spoke. Her head was buried in the pillow at the head of the bed, so Kieran couldn’t see her face.

Kieran shook his head, astonished against his will at the woman in front of him. “In our culture, scars are never something to be hidden or considered ugly. They are a mark of bravery or strength. We wear them proudly.”

Penellaphe was quiet for a long while as he worked. Finally, in a small, soft voice she said, “Yours sounds like a very different world than mine.”

Once Kieran had finished with her back, and Penellaphe had slipped Cas’ shirt back over her head, he nodded briskly. “I’ll see about getting you something to eat and some water. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Alright,” Penellaphe’s head was bowed, and she didn’t meet his eyes. Kieran thought he saw a flush around her cheeks. Was it bashfulness from having another man touch her body? Or was it shame from letting someone see what had been done to her? Kieran was going to have to talk to the Cas.

Stepping outside, Kieran slumped against the closed door, and closed his eyes.

“She’s not unpleasant. Nicer than I thought the Maiden would be.” Naill observed to the otherwise empty hallway. Inhaling deeply and slowly, Kieran shook his head.

“The Ascended,” he said, his voice low and graveled, “deserve far worse than what we can do to them.”

Naill placed his hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. And Kieran knew he’d meant it. They’d only been in Masadonia a short time, but they’d seen enough to make them never want to enter Solis again. Penellaphe’s woes were only the newest in a long list of crimes. Parents who had lost children, spouses, or parents to strange wasting diseases that weren’t actually diseases. The way the craven were used as a tool to scare the populace into submission. Often it felt like too much to bear.

“I hope Cas makes the Duke suffer,” he said, “Or else I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Really, the laxness of the Ascended would never cease to amaze Casteel. The Maiden had literally been snatched out from under them, and yet Castle Teerman hummed and buzzed the way it had before her disappearance. People were still preparing for the Rite as if nothing had occurred. Meanwhile, in the city, Jansen was doing a fine job of combing for the Maiden while actually looking anywhere other than she really was. To be sure, the few Ascended that Casteel passed looked genuinely concerned, but they still isolated themselves in clusters.

Kieran had done his job well, Casteel thought to himself. While Casteel had been searching for the Maiden with Vikter, he’d put people in place to watch the Duke and track his movements. Because of this, Casteel knew that the Duke was currently at the city prisons “interrogating” suspected Descenters about the Maiden’s disappearance. It rankled Casteel that innocent civilians were currently suffering for something that, even if they were Descenters, they had no knowledge of. But this was an opportunity. An opportunity to seek justice for all the Duke’s victims. And an opportunity to seek justice for Poppy.

In his guard’s uniform, no one paid attention as he moved through the servant’s corridors in the new portion of the castle. Kieran had taken care of that as well, finding a series of routes that would allow him to access the castle unseen. The Duke only had guards around it when he occupied it, so it was easy for Casteel to slip in.

Easing the door shut behind him, a heavy door that would not easily allow sound to escape from the study, Casteel immediately stiffened at the scents that assaulted him. Poppy had been beaten the night before, and the smell of her still lingered in the air. It mingled with the scent of blood and adrenaline. She had been afraid. Very afraid. Casteel’s stomach bunched and flipped as he fought to keep the memories of her condition at bay. Walking the perimeter of the room, he clenched his jaw at the sight that met him. A rack of canes from the Blood Forest sat against the wall. One of them in particular caught his eye. Its curved head was patterned with detailed grooves. Grooves that had been wiped down, but still carried the traces of blood. Poppy’s blood.

Duke Teerman was never destined to have an easy death. From when Casteel first entered the city, he had marked the Duke as a target. But with every day, the list of crimes he was to pay for had grown. Before meeting Poppy, Casteel would have happily tortured the Duke for a week before killing him. Now, he may not have had the time, but he would still exact what he could. Her pain would not go unpaid for.

Still clutching the cane, Casteel slipped behind one of the heavy curtains that kept the Duke from frying alive. If previous habits were to be believed, the Duke would return to his study for an evening of drinking before eventually retiring at the first hints of dawn. A bitter voice in the back of Casteel’s mind lamented not being able to expose the Duke to sunlight. To make him feel the pain of mortality creep back into his veins. But, immortal that he was, he needed to rest before his guard shift the next evening. And if there was any time to spare, he wanted to spent it at the safe house. Otherwise Kieran would fret, and Poppy…

Casteel shook his head, willing himself not to think about Poppy. But it didn’t work. It hadn’t worked for a while, even before he knew she was the Maiden. Sometimes the thoughts were dark and circled around how she’d looked on the floor covered in blood. But sometimes? Sometimes he saw her arched back in ecstasy, her mouth opened in a keening cry while she rode his hands. Sometimes his fingers twitched at the memory of her wet and velvety warmth encompassing them. And sometimes his tongue itched to taste her again. Gods, Casteel wanted her so bad it ached. His cock often seemed to have a mind of its own where Poppy was concerned, and the rest of his body was fully onboard with the thoughts it supplied. But more than the physical urges that always besought him now, Cas wanted to see her face in moments of peace. He longed for those few quiet smiles and laughter that they’d shared between their moments of passion. He wanted to unravel her and see what exactly she was made of. Poppy was strong, wounding Jericho was proof of that, but Casteel wanted to spar with her. He wanted to see her wielding the dagger that was currently pressed against his calf in his boot. Could she beat him? Doubtful, but Casteel wanted to find out. And, as the Maiden, Poppy was rumored to be kind. Casteel knew she was spirited and wickedly funny. He wanted to hear about her life. He wanted to count her scars and make her feel safe. The idea of handing her back over to the Ascended made Casteel feel cold inside.

But Malik? Malik was not safe either. Malik did not know peace. Malik was funny, kind, and spirited. He was curious and had an active mind. And they were torturing him. Casteel was a selfish bastard, but he couldn’t ignore his brother’s torments for the sake of Poppy’s charms. Kieran was right. Casteel needed to remain focused on his self-appointed task. Otherwise, his father’s plans to reconquer Solis would be realized, and death and mayhem would descend upon the innocents who lay trapped under the heel of the Ascended.

His father… Casteel’s blood chilled as he thought about his father. It wasn’t like Poppy was any safer with the Atlantians. As the mortal called the Maiden, she was viewed as a symbol of the Ascended. A symbol that was better off dead and in pieces like the Ascended at Three Rivers. No, Poppy was better off in the hands of people who wouldn’t kill her. Casteel could only guarantee her safety for so long.

Casteel’s torrent of thoughts and fears were interrupted by the Duke’s entrance into the study. Listening behind the curtain, he head the door shut, and the sound of the duke pouring a drink from the sideboard. Then steps towards his desk. His chair creaked and groaned as Duke Teerman took his customary seat.

Stealthily, like one of the extinct cave cats that used to roam the wastelands, Casteel slipped from behind the curtain. Fast, so fast that no mortal could have spotted it, he was on the Duke. His first act was to wrap his fist around the Duke’s throat to keep him from crying out. His skin dug into the cool flesh of the Ascended who gaped up at him in shock.

Dorian Teerman’s face was pale and nearly bloodless on a good day. As he stared up at Casteel, his black eyes wide with shock, his face grew impossibly whiter. All except for the damning red stain on his lips with a matching stain on the tip of his collar. Casteel’s fury grew as he looked down on the vampry beneath him. The man had fed freely on the supposed Descenters had had not had the decency to clean himself after mutilating them for an imagined crime.

“If I’d allow you to speak, I’d tell you to call me Prince Casteel Da’Neer,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper.

Duke Teerman’s mouth gaped in silent shock. His hands scrabbled at Casteel’s fist, but the prince had had the forethought to wear gloves in anticipation of the night’s activities. His free hand moved, taking the cane that the Duke had used on Poppy and spearing it through his midsection, pinning him to the chair behind him. Intentionally, cruelly, he missed Teerman’s heart. Instead, he aimed for one of his lungs. The effect was instantaneous. When Casteel released his throat, the Duke gasped, his voice hoarse, while his hands still massaged his throat.

“You took her,” he whispered, his voice roughened and low while he suffered from a crushed larynx. His black eyes burned with fury as he looked up at the Atlantian who represented his doom.

“I did,” Casteel admitted, reaching down to pry the dagger from his boot. “And I want you to know,” his voice dropped even lower, “That while I was always going to kill you, I will enjoy it even more knowing it is punishment for what you did to her.”

“Why,” the Duke gasped. “Why do you care about her? She is more…” his hands dropped to the cane that Casteel had staked him with in a futile attempt to pluck it from his chest. When it failed, he wheezed, “She is more dangerous to you alive.”

Casteel burned with fury at the Duke’s careless audacity. “I care because she is innocent, and yet you saw fit to beat her. You fed from her. You could have killed her, and you don’t care. You never care about the lives that you destroy.”

Taking Poppy’s dagger, he worked methodically. First, he cut out the Duke’s tongue so that the unworthy man could never speak another word about Poppy. Then, he sliced the Duke’s tendons in his arms and legs. Blood spurted onto him with every cut, but it was hidden by the black of his uniform. Then, with the Duke immobilized, he stood behind him and slashed his throat. Blood sprayed out across the desk that Poppy had recently been bent over. It arced through the air before coating the ground. But before it fell, the Duke had already begun the process of turning to dust.

A moment of regret passed through him that the Duke would not adorn the Rise when they found his body, but it passed quickly. Casteel needed to get out of here, and he need to leave as few clues as possible while Poppy was still in the city. Once the dust from the Duke’s corpse had settled on the ground, he moved to the window and slipped out onto the rooftops from there. It was a quick prowl before he was overlooking the gardens, then a drop that would have killed a mortal but only made his shins twinge in protest. From there, he was out through Wisher’s Grove and lost in the night.

Chapter Text

Not long after Penellaphe had eaten, she’d laid back down and fallen asleep. With her face half buried in the pillow, all Kieran could see was the portion that Jericho had bruised. Fucking Jericho. He was still downstairs nursing his hand and complaining to anyone who would give him the time of day. Kieran made a note to discuss him with Cas when he got back to the safe house.

By now the Duke would be dead, and Kieran felt a surge of satisfaction that another Ascended had died at his prince’s hands. From there, the plan was for Cas to be back at the guard barracks before they found the body. Then he’d do his shift of searching for the maiden. Kieran shook his head at the thought. Cas was a better actor than he—the idea of searching for your own kidnapping victim was a little too surreal.

Even with the bruises marring her face, Penellaphe looked peaceful. Her lips parted on a quiet inhale, while the furrow that had occupied her brow for most of their conversation had smoothed itself out. Her breathing was deep and even. The tranquility of sleep made her look… younger. So much younger that the older brotherly instincts in Kieran made him want to clap Cas upside the head for dallying with such a young woman. Well, he’d wanted to do that once he realized that Cas had been dallying with the Maiden. Kieran’s lips twitched as he remembered the first feelings after the shock had cleared. Half of him wanted to pound Cas into the ground for his lustful stupidity. Meanwhile the other half wanted to laugh himself hoarse. Even now, the absurdity of it was wildly amusing.

The Maiden had been at the Red Pearl. That still shocked Kieran. He knew, or rather he’d assumed, that Cas must have asked her about why she went there. Why she let him touch her the way he had.

Kieran’s meditations on the Maiden’s chastity were short lived. Penellaphe’s brow creased in her sleep and her breathing became more rapid. As she shifted in her sleep, he heard her softly whispering, “Mama, mama, mama”

The signs of a nightmare were something that Keiran had become quite familiar with, both on his own accord and from caring for Cas after he was freed from the Ascended. In a flash he was sitting on the side of the bed next to Penellaphe. As he reached out to touch her, her body convulsed and she spoke in a low voice that chilled Kieran’s soul, “What a pretty little flower, what a pretty poppy, pick it up and watch it bleed. Not so pretty any longer. Poppy.”

Then she was screaming, her body thrashing in her sleep as her hands tore at invisible monsters. With every convulsion she cried out for her mother. Naill and a bleary-eyed Delano rushed into the room, and their worried eyes met Kieran’s when they saw the torment written across her face.

Breathing a prayer to the gods, Kieran hauled her body against his, burying her head against his shoulder to muffle the screams. Penellaphe fought against him in her sleep, her nails digging into his back and shoulders after attempts to shove him away failed. Still Kieran held on to her, trying as best as he could to avoid the sores on her back. When that seemed ineffective, he shifted so his mouth was closer to her ear. “Penellaphe,” he said, trying to wake her from the nightmare. “Penellaphe, wake up.”

Gods only knew how long it took for Penellaphe to open her eyes. Slowly, blearily she lifted her head to look at Kieran from her position in his arms. “Wha-“ she croaked, her voice hoarsened from the screaming. Frowning, she tried to speak again, “What,”

“I’ll get you some water,” Naill said, clearly relieved that she was awake and not screaming like the lamea was after her.

“You had a nightmare, Pen.” Kieran said, settling her back into the bed. The nickname slipped out instinctively before he could stop it. Penellaphe’s eyes widened at the use of the word.

“Don’t call me that,” she rasped with unusual vigor, blinking back unshed tears.

Before Kieran could apologize for the unintended offense, Naill had returned with the water. Penellaphe reached for it eagerly, downing it like some men downed liquor.

“Are you alright?” Kieran asked, as Penellaphe took a series of deep breaths and seemed to steady herself.

“Yes, sorry to have woken you,” she said, her eyes fixed on her hands as they fiddled with the fringe of the quilt in her lab. Again, like when he’d finished tending to her back, Kieran saw a flash of red across the unbruised section of her cheekbones.

“I’ll give you a minute alone,” Kieran said, standing up and motioning for Delano and Naill to follow. The three stepped out of the room.

In the dim lighting of the hallway, Delano’s ice blue eyes, twins to Kieran’s, met his. “What the hell was that?” he whispered in a low growl.

Kieran gave into the wolven instinct of scratching behind his ear as he said, “Nightmare. She said she was attacked by craven as a child. That’s where she got her scars.”

“Gods,” Naill muttered, his gold eyes fixed on the ground, “I haven’t heard someone cry for their mother like that since…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. They all knew the torment and pain that the Ascended had caused the wolven packs. Countless dens were butchered and destroyed. Fathers were killed, and mothers and sisters were tortured until they wished they were dead. Many of the wolven still woke crying out for lost family members. Delano, one such wolven, paced in the hallway as he fought to keep his own demons at bay.

“Delano, you should go back to bed,” Kieran said.

Shaking his head, Delano said, “No, I’d already woken up to change watches. I was talking to Naill when we heard the screams.”

Running his fingertips against his close-cropped hair, Naill glanced between Delano and Kieran. “I’ve spent all my time out here. Do you want me to take a turn in there?”

At last, Delano cracked a smile. “And have to listen to Jericho grouse from downstairs about how awful it is to keep her alive? No thanks, I like her more than him,” the last few words slipped out almost unconsciously. Nervous, as if he wasn’t sure how that admission would be taken, he glanced at Kieran. But, instead, Kieran nodded in affirmation. “It’s a shame,” he said, “if she wasn’t the Maiden, she’d make a damn good Descenter.”

“Well then, Kieran,” Naill said, “you ought to get some rest.”

Shaking his head, Kieran muttered, “Lucky me,” as he went to the bunk that Delano had recently vacated. As if sleep would find him after hearing screams like that. If he had to guess, Penellaphe was feeling as restless as he was.

~~~~~~~

Given how unexpectedly pleasant, if terse, Kieran had been, Poppy was surprised by the flush of relief that she felt when Delano was the guard to reenter her room.

“Kieran’s going to take a break,” Delano said, taking his customary seat near Poppy. Even though Poppy was tired, her gift snapped out of her without warning. As soon as she felt Delano, she was immersed in chips of ice with a bitter cold that bit at her skin. His emotional pain was rolling off of him in waves that almost made her shiver. Gods, the only person with comparable pain was… was Casteel. She hadn’t gotten the sensations from him earlier, unlike Casteel who was always in pain. Had something happened that had upset him?

“Are you alright?” she asked, unsure where such deep pain would have come from so quickly.

Delano’s eyebrows raised. “Me? I’m fine. I should be asking you that,” he said, surprised by her concern.

Poppy was unconvinced, “It was just a nightmare,” she said, shrugging. “I get those from time to time,”

Head tipping back in surprise, Delano said, “That’s normal for you?”

“Normal enough,” Poppy said, still eyeing Delano with concern. The more they talked, the more he seemed to reel in the pain that he’d been projecting when he’d first stepped into the room.

“Kieran said it was craven?”

Flushing at the thought of them discussing her nightmare, Poppy nodded. “It’s always the night… the night they killed my parents.” Without thinking, her left hand traced the scars on her face. They were always the most obvious reminder of what had occurred that night.

Delano eyed her for a long moment, weighing his words. Finally, he said, “The Ascended… they executed most of the wolven dens they got their hands on. For those of us who survived and are old enough to remember… we all have nightmares like that too.”

Was that where his pain came from? An echo of Poppy’s own anguish? And his pain, something so raw and fresh after all these years, came at the hands of Poppy’s own guardians? She’d already come to accept much of what Casteel said as truth. But then, as her green eyes met Delano’s frigid blue in a wordless stare that communicated words that couldn’t leave her lips, she realized just how true Casteel’s words had been. How much misery had been spread in the false name of the gods?

“I’m… I’m sorry that the people who raised me are the ones who hurt you,” she said, weighed down by the pain that she could not ease.

“It wasn’t you,” Delano said, his voice thicker with an emotion that Poppy couldn’t quite place. It was warm and fresh, though.

~~~~~

Once his shift had finished, Casteel spent only the barest amount of time in the barracks getting into a clean change of clothing before he started his nightly trek to the safe house. Like always, he took the most circuitous route possible in case of being followed. Only when he was sure no one was tracking him did he turn towards the safe house. He still had a few minutes of darkness before the sky would begin to lighten with streaks of pink that hinted towards the beginnings of sunrise.

The Duke’s death had not been discovered until the previous morning had dawned without him leaving his study. By then, Casteel was soundly asleep in his bunk and above suspicion. Then he was able to sleep until his turn on the searching rotation had begun. It added extra headaches for the Royal Guards, but as a lowly Rise Guard, Casteel was uninvolved in that mess. Which was good, since pretending to hunt for the Maiden was exhausting enough when she was sitting in a bed wearing his shirt.

Once in the safe house, Casteel found Naill, as loyal as ever, standing watch outside of Poppy’s room. “Cas,” he said with a nod.

“Go get some sleep, Naill. I’ll handle her for now,” Casteel said as he moved to open the door. His tone was firm and brooked no disagreement. Naill nodded and immediately left his post.

Inside, Delano sat, watching a slumbering Poppy. His head snapped up at the sound of footsteps, but he immediately relaxed when he saw Casteel.

“Is it done?” he asked, his voice low so as to not disturb Poppy.

Casteel nodded, “Killed him about a day ago. How is she?”

Delano sighed. “It’s been touch and go. She’s been sleeping for a while now, but she had a pretty bad nightmare. Screamed herself hoarse. Naill said she’s able to walk with help now.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll be up here if anyone tries anything,” Casteel said, grasping Delano’s arm in a silent thanks. Together they recognized an unspoken truth. Guarding Poppy was as much about keeping her from their own people as it was keeping her from being found.

Once Delano had left, Casteel stepped over to the bed where Poppy was sleeping. The bed was narrow, but there was just enough space for him settle next to her. For a moment, he considered taking the chair, but he was exhausted. Besides, after the upheaval of the last few days, he craved the simple warmth of the woman next to him. He missed the days when he could have reveled in physical contact with her before he knew who she was. Even for himself, he wanted to take a few minutes to pretend it was still that way.

At the unexpected intrusion of another body’s warmth next to her, Poppy’s eyes snapped open. Her hand reached under her pillow reflexively, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. A weapon that was mostly likely the same as then one in Casteel’s boot at the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing here?” Poppy hissed, punching his arm when she couldn’t find a weapon to stab him with. Cas hid a smile as he rubbed his arm from where she hit him.

“I’m guarding you,” he said beatifically as he stretched his legs out and wiggled to get a little more comfortable. Poppy was not amused.

“It looks like you’re sleeping next to me,” she said, her lips pursed into a frown.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not sleeping next to you. I’m sleeping with you while I guard you.”

“I don’t think sleeping with me is any better than sleeping next to me,” Poppy hissed. “And how can you do that when you’re guarding me?”

Casteel lifted his lashes just enough to look over at Poppy. “I know I’d rather sleep with you.” He hadn’t meant to make his tone smokey and seducti—okay, maybe he did a little. But Poppy’s answering flush, combined with the headying taste of her arousal that hung in the air was confirmation enough that he’d been successful. Even as she blushed, Poppy’s green eyes widened as she gaped at him. More than ever she reminded him of that woman at the Red Pearl. Through time and sleep she was regaining that old spark he’d known before. “You’re unbelievable,” she grumbled, rolling away from him.

“What I am is tired, so hush up.” Casteel said, turning on his side so he could drape an arm over her. Under his arm, Poppy was as tense as a bowstring. Still, he pressed his body against hers and buried his face in her hair. With every inhale and exhale, he let the strain of killing the duke leave his body. Nothing the vampry had done had affected the woman in his arms. She was still here.

~~~~~

Poppy stared at the wall in disbelief. Casteel was pressed up against her, cutting her off from the rest of the room. A sensible part of herself was seething at his audacity. That, even while he was kidnapping her, he could expect to share her bed. But, that same wild part of herself that had sent her into the Pearl was reveling in the contact of his body with hers. Her skin prickled with awareness where his hand pressed against her stomach, where his breath was warm on her neck, and where his chest pressed against her back. The welts and bruises were healed enough that the warm and even pressure of his body was not unpleasant like it would have been just a day or so earlier. But Poppy also suspected that Casteel had not pressed up as closely against her as he could have.

With every breath Casteel seemed to sink deeper and deeper into sleep. Poppy wished she could relax as easily as he could. She wished that sleeping with someone cuddled against her was something that meant nothing—so familiar as to be blasé. But, much like their experiences at the Red Pearl, things that meant nothing to Casteel meant the world to her. He was so much older and experienced, and he had clearly been with many women before her. In comparison, Poppy felt like a forgettable amateur. Why, why did he have to be the person who had first guided her into the world of pleasure? Why couldn’t he have just been the attentive and assertive guard who had made her feel seen.

The only thing that kept Poppy from truly spiraling was the fact that Casteel hadn’t known she was the Maiden when he kissed her at the Red Pearl. It had nothing to do with securing her trust or ingratiating himself with her. He had wanted to do those things with her, and not for any exterior reason.

But no matter his motives, every grin of his and every touch they shared was dangerous. So dangerous for Poppy. He was her captor. The Ascended might not be her friends, but he was her enemy. The rest of the Atlantians looked to him for direction. She couldn’t allow him to use his charms now to sway her into submission. Even though she knew he would do anything to free his brother, her stupid body hadn’t realized it. Even now, her senses reveled in the feelings of his body against hers. She needed to stay alert and find a way to escape.

Escape always seemed like a long shot, and Poppy was still unsure how to go about it. Because of her weakness, the others, Delano especially, were quick to relax around her. That could be a valuable strength if they didn’t see her as a threat. Did Casteel? They knew she could fight, but they all seemed to assume that her blood loss had made her less dangerous. But, while she might have exaggerated her weakness at times, she wasn’t at full strength. How long would it take for her to be able to make a run? And would it be in time?

Forget about in time, where would she go? Part of her ached to go to Carsodonia to see if Ian had become like all the other Ascended. But that needed to wait. Poppy needed to find a place where Casteel couldn’t catch her before she thought about getting to Ian.

Frustrated at her own helplessness, Poppy adjusted her position, accidentally pressing her rear closer against Casteel’s lap. She froze in shock at the deep rumble of a groan that escaped his chest in response.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he murmured into her ear, the breath sending waves of gooseflesh down her body. “then again, it is an exquisite form of torture.”

“Tort-“ Poppy’s confused words were cut off as she felt him behind her, pressing into her backside. Her mouth went dry and all the sensible thoughts about escape she’d entertained flittered right out of her head. He was a wall of warmth and hardness that enveloped her. No, she steeled herself against the desire that was coiling up inside her.

“You can’t have enjoyed that,” she hissed, elbow cocking forward to jab him in the ribs. But Casteel’s hand gripped her forearm and locked her in place. Slowly, his fingers caressed the inside of her wrist in slow circles that made Poppy’s hand spasm.

“I find I enjoy most things when they’re with you,” Casteel said, mimicking the grinding movement that she’d done by accidents moments before.

“What happened to you being tired?” Poppy whispered, her breath coming faster now as her mind reeled through the possibilities of what was about to happen.

“There’s still plenty of time for us to sleep, Princess,” Casteel’s voice was decadent sin in her ears. Against her conscious will, Poppy’s eyes drifted shut in response. She found herself pressing back against him again, seeking some of that sweet friction. Casteel groaned again at her touch, his hand releasing hers and sliding up under her shirt towards her breasts.

This was, Poppy realized, a sort of power that she held over him. The power to capture his attention with only a few movements or words.

“I’m not going to… have sex with you,” she muttered, stumbling as she tried to find the right word for what they were about to do. Fuck? Make love?

“But there’s so much we can do,” Casteel whispered, his hand coasting over the bare skin of her breast. His fingers settled around the pebbled skin of its peak. Poppy found herself moaning in response as his hand, his fingers toyed with her. That moan, it seemed to break the restraints that had been holding Casteel back. His other hand slipped up under her body to play with her other breast while the first hand sank low. It dipped across her belly and slipped under the waistband of her pants. As his fingers ghosted across the skin above her core, Casteel pressed his mouth to her neck. Poppy arched back against him as he lavished her skin with kisses. With every touch he stoked that old familiar fire inside of her and made the desire inside Poppy climb higher and higher. His teeth scraped across her skin while his fingers dipped between her folds. At the first contact with the wet heat that had pooled there since Casteel had first crawled into bed with her, he froze.

“Gods, you’re dripping,” he whispered. Taking stock of the situation, he asked, “you can’t lay on your back, can you?”

Poppy shook her head, “I haven’t tried,”

“I have an idea,” Casteel’s hand withdrew from her pants, and he pulled away from her. Poppy groaned in protest at the lack of contact. Casteel gripped her hand and pulled her into a sitting position on the bed. Moving onto the floor, he gripped her hips and hauled her close to him so that her legs dangled off the edge of the bed. Settling on his knees, he lifted her just enough to slide her pants down her thighs. On instinct Poppy parted her legs so he could move between them. She was rewarded with a wicked grin and a warm flash of approval in Casteel’s molten amber eyes. He pulled back to drink in the sight of her, and his eyes mapped out the jagged cuts that adorned her thighs and calves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of the scar that was closest to him. Then, he looked up at her again. “Are you ready for me to taste you, Princess?” he asked, his lips parting into a full grin that showed both dimples—as well as the fangs that were visible under the curl of his upper lip. Poppy shuddered at his words, and Casteel lowered his mouth to her center while his hands slid up under her thighs to grip her rear. At the first contact of his tongue to her core, Poppy’s head arched back. If his fingers had made her see sparks before, then now she was a wild blaze of pleasure. It made her wonder what other things could make her feel—Poppy banished those thoughts as she lost herself in the feeling of Casteel devouring her.

As her insides churned and coursed with the liquid heat that Casteel was filling her with, Poppy couldn’t help but wonder what he, the dark one, the crown prince of Atlantia would say if she told him the truth about the scars that he had just looked over. But as quick as that thought came it was banished by a targeted flick of Casteel’s tongue against her.

It took everything Poppy had to stay relatively quiet while also holding herself upright. Supporting herself on one hand, she used the other to stroke the deceptively soft locks of raven hair of the Atlantian with his head between her thighs. This seemed to spur him on, and he moved to slide a finger into her. The movement, an echo of a simpler time at the Red Pearl, wrung a low moan from Poppy. The memory, combined with the riot of sensations inside her, sent Poppy teetering over an invisible edge. She balanced there, consumed by the feelings of Casteel’s tongue on her while his finger slid in and out of her. Then, as he added a second finger, he glanced up at her to watch her reaction. Poppy’s eyes met Casteel’s and he curled them inside of her to brush against that same point as before. His eyes gleamed with delight as her lips parted in a silent scream. The combination of his mouth and his fingers was too much. She tumbled from that internal ledge and fell into the abyss.

As a child, Poppy had seen a fireworks show in Carsodonia. She remembered sitting from a window overlooking the gardens and watching as the rockets exploded into sparks of green or gold or red that shimmered in the air before falling back towards the ground. In this moment? Poppy felt like a firework. She felt the explosion of feeling, she shimmered with delight at the release that followed, and then she was falling, not even conscious of what came next. If she could, Poppy would have glowed from the all-consuming bliss that she had given into.

Slowly, Casteel pulled away from her boneless form. He looked up at her with an expression of pure feral pride, as he slid Poppy’s pants back up her thighs, pausing only long enough to place a kiss on that same scar as before. Standing up to get a better leverage point on her, he moved her pants back up to her hips. Poppy’s head felt limp, but her eyes drifted open to look up at him.

“Was that good for you, Princess?” he asked, those beautiful eyes of his sparking with a delight that showed he already knew the answer. Poppy mumbled in affirmation, and a rumbling laugh sounded in Casteel’s chest. Then, before she knew what was happening, he had bundled her back under the blanket and had moved her onto the same side as before. He settled in behind her, and it wasn’t until Poppy was on the edge of a sleep that she realized he had sought nothing from her in return.

Chapter Text

Poppy’s eyes drifted open. She felt Casteel’s solid warmth pressed up against her while his scent of dark pine and lush spice enveloped her. In a position that was half casual and half possessive, his hand lay under her shirt, pressed up against her stomach as he gripped her close. Slowly then all at once the memories of the previous night filtered in. Poppy felt a deepening flush creep across her body at the memories of what she had let the Dark One do to her. It felt like a line had been crossed, a line that she had been too blinded by shock and pain to see. In the dark, when he had caressed her and pulled her close, Poppy had thought only of their nights at the Red Pearl. She’d craved the safety and surety she’d felt from his touches before… before she knew what he was. Poppy’s blood chilled as she mulled over what they’d done—what she had allowed him to do. She wasn’t sorry, but this was dangerous territory.

She tried to ease herself away from him, but Casteel’s arm pulled her closer against him.

“Morning,” he rumbled, his voice deep and graveled after a long sleep. He paused and then said, “Evening, I suppose. The two have been rather jumbled.”

“How long has it been?” Poppy whispered, not fighting the feeling of his body enveloping hers.

“Two days give or take,” Casteel answered, though he had to pause to count back the days before he answered.

“Has it only been that long?” It felt like it had been a week or more.

Casteel shrugged against her body as a low chuckle sounded in his chest. “Time flies when you’re having fun,”

Taking care to roll, first to her stomach and then to her back, Poppy looked up at him. “This is fun?” she asked, disbelieving the levity in his voice.

“It’s certainly more intriguing than I imagined kidnapping to be,” Casteel smirked as he leaned forward and nuzzled against the tender skin of her neck. Poppy’s skin prickled at his touch and the flames of desire from the night before started to awake.

Shaking herself free from his influence, Poppy rolled her eyes at his advances. “That… that can’t happen again.”

If anything, the glow of amusement in Casteel’s eyes brightened at her deferment. “And why is that?” he purred, a warm hand skirting the hem of her shirt.

Poppy’s hand slid to his and pushed it back against his side. “Because,” she said slowly as if he was a very young child, “I don’t think it should happen. You kidnapped me.”

Head dipping, Casteel’s mouth brushed against her ear. “I like to think that adds to the intrigue,”

“Speak for yourself,” Poppy’s voice was brittle as she warred an internal battle against her inner desire to grab Casteel’s face and kiss him with a ferocity that both scared and entranced her. “But I’m saying no,”

Casteel opened his mouth to respond. His warm honeyed eyes gleamed with delight at the prospect of teasing her, a verbal spar that would prove amusing. But before he could, the door behind them swung open with a ferocity that threatened to break its hinges. But the door held on, though it groaned as it slammed into the wall. In the doorway, a vision of fire and fury, stood Kieran. His ice blue eyes blazed as he settled on the sight of the two of them in bed together. Behind him stood Naill and Delano, with the latter looking deeply concerned.

“Cas,” Kieran gritted through a clenched jaw. Casteel immediately tensed, ready for action. “Outside, now” he finished, a storm brewing behind his controlled demeanor. Poppy’s gift snapped out immediately as Casteel lurched to his feet and padded out of the room barefoot. She didn’t need it to tell her what Keiran was feeling, but his anger seared through her anyways. The door swung shut behind them, and she lay there in shock as her mind whirred about what could have put Kieran in such a state.

~~~~~~~~~

Though his terse demeanor wouldn’t show it, Kieran wasn’t usually in a foul mood. He usually woke up with a calm sense of surety and direction. Kieran always had a plan, and he always had a path. At every turn he’d recalculate, and the plan would continue. After over two-hundred years alive, little phased him. Call it his seer instinct, but he was rarely caught off guard. As a result, he was rarely in a bad mood. This evening had all the makings of a typical night of kidnapping and guard duty. The decent of mood after a good sleep had lingered, even when he’d accidentally hit his head on the low bunk over his bed. The mood flickered with an inkling of confusion when he found Delano sleeping on the bunk above him. It guttered and threatened to extinguish when he saw Naill sleeping on a pallet on the floor near them.

Kieran lurched towards Naill. “Wake up,” he said, shaking his shoulder.

“Wha?” Naill said in confusion, jerking awake. He looked up at Kieran, his brows knitted with an unspoken question.

“Why are you both in here?” Kieran demanded, springing to his feet.

“Cas told us to sleep—that he’d watch over her.” Delano offered by way of explanation as he sat up in the bunk.

Kieran’s good mood kindled anew. So Cas was back in the safe house. That was good. They needed to finish their plans to escape the city. Naill and Delano could watch Penellaphe while he and Cas looked over their options.

With Naill and Delano at his back, Kieran pushed open the door and stepped into the upstairs hallway. At once he halted, his nostrils flaring, as the scents of sweat and musk and sex collided with him. He felt rather than saw Naill and Delano tense behind him. Their preternatural senses all told them the same fucking thing.

At that, Kieran’s mood went out entirely. Anger pulsed through him. Anger at the world for the plan falling apart at every step. Anger at the godsdamned Maiden for being pleasant and beautiful instead of a spoiled pawn. Anger at the fucking Ascended for abusing her so shamefully that everyone couldn’t help but pity her. And anger at fucking Casteel for being too fucking busy thinking with his godsdamned stupid cock to stick to the fucking plan.

The door was powder in Kieran’s path. Inside the room, he didn’t need to see Cas pressed up against Penellaphe, but there it was. He knew what had happened before he entered; their scents hung thick in the air as a damning testimony. But there Cas was. He’d pinned Penellaphe against the wall, and her hand was holding his back. She looked. Kieran blinked in shock. She looked like she didn’t want his attention. Now it was a different type of concern coiling in his stomach.

“Cas,” the words were ground out one by one. “Outside, now.”

Cas, to Kieran’s chagrin, looked more shocked and tense than he looked ashamed. In a moment he was outside the room with Kieran and the others.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, having the audacity to look like he didn’t know.

“What’s wrong?” Kieran asked, his evening royally fucked. “What’s wrong is that you’ve decided to go and have a fling with the gods damned Maiden.”

The king of assholes formerly known as Casteel Da’Neer had the nerve to look relaxed in the face of this accusation. “Is that all?” he asked, his shoulders releasing some of their tension.

“Is that all?” Kieran repeated, agog at his bonded’s utter stupidity.

“I thought there were guards outside at the least,” Cas ran his stupid hands through his stupid hair.

“Cas, you can’t pretend like it isn’t a big fucking deal that you’re fucking the maiden.”

At least Cas had the decency to look a little perturbed. “Just because you don’t find her attractive doesn’t mean that I can’t,”

An old wolven wise woman had once called Kieran the cream of the crop. Today that cream had begun to curdle. “It’s not about whether I find Penellaphe attractive,” he bit out. Penellaphe was beautiful and alluring, but she was also profoundly off limits. He felt the boundaries between them in his soul. As much as he liked her, he’d even refrained from treating her like a friend for that same reason. Well, he’d tried to not treat her like a friend. “Anyways,” he continued, refusing to let Cas derail him into a discussion of Penellaphe’s innumerable charms, “This is about you and your stupid fucking decision to fuck the Maiden.”

Cas crossed his arms over his chest in protest, “We aren’t fucking,” he said.

Even Naill seemed shocked by that protest. “You aren’t…” his words trailed off when Cas fixed him with a glare that warned suffering and death if he interjected himself.

Kieran, whether by the rights afforded Cas’s bonded or blinded by sheer anger, kept going. “Hasn’t it worried you that if you return the untampered Maiden clearly tampered with that it will destroy everything we’ve worked for?”

Cas blinked. Clearly he hadn’t.

“And,” Kieran said, forging ahead now that he saw a potentially effective path, “Did it occur to you that it might not be wise to seek sex from an inexperienced girl you’ve just kidnapped?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” Cas said, frowning.

“Because,” Kieran said, speaking very slowly so the ignorant dolt could understand him, “she might not have wanted you, but was afraid to tell her fucking kidnapper no.”

Cas paled slightly and it pleased Kieran to see that at least some of his words had taken root. “She would have known… we… we’d had a relationship before I knew who she was. She knows I’d never force her,” he protested lamely.

“Which was still before you fucking kidnapped her. And have you told her that?” Kieran was in the home stretch now. Cas was realizing the error of his ways. This was good. Maybe they could still keep to the same godsdamned plan as long as he kept his wandering hands off the Maiden.

As she was wont to be, the Maiden opened the door from her room then like a gust of wind hitting Kieran’s carefully constructed house of cards. All attention was fixed on the young woman standing on her own accord. Her eyes, a deep green that haunted the back of Kieran's mind, roved over the clustered Atlantians. Like before, Kieran felt utterly naked under her assessing stares. It unnerved him that someone other than Cas could look at him like they knew exactly what he was feeling. Her lips pursed when she saw the tense forms of men who had clearly been arguing.

“I need to use the washroom, but you all seem… occupied,” she said quietly, using the wall to support herself along without their help. Cas moved to help her, but she fixed him with a silent stare and waved him back. Her movements were still stiff, but Kieran was pleased to note that she moved more easily than she had the day before.

When the door to the washroom had shut behind her, the argument continued, albeit in more hushed tones than before.

“I’m going to step away and get Penellaphe some food. Please don’t kill each other,” Delano said, glancing nervously between the two of them. Naill nodded and moved with him in unison.

“Kieran, this isn’t your concern.”

“Cas, we are all here with the sole purpose of helping you kidnap the Maiden. What happens to her is exactly what I am concerned about.”

“She isn’t,” Cas paused, “She isn’t just the Maiden.”

Eyes narrowing, Kieran said, “That’s exactly what none of us need her to be. You can’t humanize the people you kidnap.”

Cas’s shoulders slumped a little. “I didn’t have a choice, Kieran. Between the Red Pearl and what the Duke did to her…”

The maelstrom of controlled fury that had been building inside Kieran dimmed at the feelings of anguish and conflict he felt from his bonded.

“I know,” he said, hand on Cas’s arm.

“But I still plan to use her to free Malik,” Cas swore, his face resolute.

Before Kieran could respond, the door to the washroom opened and the Maiden stepped back out. During her time in the washroom, she’d fought back the mess of uncombed hair and bullied it into something approaching a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. Overall, despite her rumpled and oversized clothing, she looked like the most composed person in the hallway. Her lips were the only portion of her face that betrayed any discomfort. As she stepped forward, this time using the wall less and less, her mouth would occasionally twist into what Kieran guessed was a wince. However, she still made it on her own back into her room.

“I need to see to her back,” Cas said, his eyes fixed on her retreating form.

“You need to keep those damned hands of yours as far away from her as possible. Go and eat while I’ll change her bandages. We’ll talk in a minute.”

Cas looked like he was going to protest, but instead he turned around and left Kieran to manage Penellaphe.

Inside the room, Penellaphe sat on the bed and watched him warily. When he grabbed the basket of bandages and salves she nodded and lay flat on her stomach for him. This was their new routine after all.

“Pen… Penellaphe,” Kieran amended as he lifted her shirt and began removing the old bandages.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted before he could speak. “I’m sorry I snapped at you for calling me Pen.”

Kieran shrugged as he noted that her back was healing exceptionally well. Cas might have been overly cautious when he said they’d need at least five days before she could travel. “It’s alright for you to not like a nickname.”

“That’s not why…” Penellaphe drifted off before continuing. “Rylan, the guard Jericho killed used to call me Pen.”

At that, Kieran felt like a colossal asshole himself. Of course she was close with her guards, and of course she would still be mourning the death of one. “I’m sorry for reminding you,” he said, and he meant it.

“It just caught me off guard, that’s all.” Penellaphe said with a small chuckle that turned into a wince when Kieran touched a particularly tender portion of her back. “You can call me Pen if you want,” she said, her voice smaller than Kieran had ever heard it before.

“Alright, Pen.” Kieran knew that this next bit was going to age him at least ten years. “I know you and Cas have… had a relationship before. And I know that things are still…”

“Complicated?” Penellaphe offered with another chuckle.

“Yes. Complicated. And I know that Cas can be… hard to resist.” Gods did Kieran ever know that. It had been years since Cas had last turned that charm on him, but Kieran knew all too well how hard it was to refuse his bonded. The man was a force of nature when there was something he wanted, and he was too damned charming for his own good. Forget his compulsion. He could use those eyes of his to get into the pants of practically anyone. Had used those eyes to get into the pants of anyone he wanted.

“We didn’t have sex,” Penellaphe said with a rush. “I think he wanted to, but I said no. I don’t,” she paused, realizing who she was talking to. “I don’t think it’s wise to stay intimate given our situation.”

‘Our situation’ was the most diplomatic description Kieran had ever heard applied to kidnapping, but he could have kissed Penellaphe for seeing the light of wisdom. “Good,” he said, relaxing a little. “And, if Cas ever… if he ever wants anything, you can tell him no.”

“I know. He doesn’t seem like he’d force me,” Penellaphe said. Kieran breathed a sigh of relief that maybe things weren’t as bad as he’d feared. “How,” Penellaphe started and then started to blush, “How did you know that things had… escalated?”

As he finished spreading the salve across her back, Kieran said, “Wolven senses. Atlantians in general have heightened senses of smell. We can smell arousal.”

“You can smell what?” Penellaphe’s voice was higher pitched than Kieran had ever heard her be. Her cheeks flushed a crimson that spread down her neck.

“Arousal. It’s not the only thing we can smell, but it’s hard to miss.”

“Can… can Casteel smell it?”

Kieran bit back the answer that had danced on his lips. Telling Penellaphe that his crown prince had a nose for arousal likes a godsdamned bloodhound didn’t seem particularly helpful in this moment. Instead, he settled on a simple, “He can.”

“That explains a lot,” Penellaphe whispered, the flush cresting her cheeks deepening.

The rest of the bandaging went smoothly, and Delano soon returned with food for Penellaphe. Before this catastrophe of an excursion, Kieran would never had called Delano or Naill the chaste or responsible pair of their cadre (many a drunken night in Evaemon could be used as evidence to the contrary), but given how they’d treated the Maiden, they were quickly becoming his preferred companions. Leaving the ravenous Maiden in their care, Kieran joined Casteel in the planning room where the Maiden had so recently been dumped on the floor and into their lives. Even as they talked over the plan to leave the city, Kieran saw Casteel’s eyes stray continuously to the spot where she’d laid there pitiful and helpless. Still, it wasn’t long before they’d reached a workable plan that evacuated the entire safehouse.  

Chapter Text

After another day of healing that mostly consisted of Kieran making Poppy walk around her room to get stronger, the group had clearly decided that now was when they were going to leave. Kieran had left her a bundle of clothing to change into. Poppy was glad to see clothing that had at least been designed for a woman’s body. The britches were a little snug, but they fit. And the thick undershirt paired with a long sweater tunic and a heavy-duty cloak were a welcome change. Casteel’s old sleepwear had been stowed away in a pack. Kieran had even procured her a comb for her hair and a leather tie so she could actually braid it out of her face.

Since the… incident between her and Casteel, she hadn’t seen him. She’d heard his voice in the hallway speaking with the others, but he hadn’t set foot in her room. Instead, it was Kieran and Delano who spent the bulk of their time getting her ready to travel. They were quieter than before, and there was an unspoken ripple of tension in the air. Since bending was still mildly difficult for Poppy, Delano helped her ease a pair of boots onto her feet. She’d come to rely on Delano’s quiet presence since Kieran had seemed increasingly concerned and Naill rarely entered the room—preferring instead to stand guard outside.

Poppy still meditated on the best time to escape, but she’d decided against making an attempt while they were still in Masadonia. That would put her back into the hands of the Ascended and she definitely did not want that. Besides, if she ran away here, she’d still need to find a way out of Masadonia. This way, the Descenters could do that part of the job for her.

A twinge of disappointment ran through Poppy every time the door opened and it wasn’t Casteel. She didn’t trust that feeling, or what it spoke to, but her heart still leapt that it might be him. Was it because he didn’t want to see her or was ashamed of what they’d done? Or was it because Kieran had so thoroughly scolded him for how he’d treated her? When Casteel had first left the room, Poppy had taken advantage of the time to test her mobility unobserved. She’d been in the middle of attempting a stretch when a glint from Casteel’s boot had caught her eye. Looking closer, she found her dagger tucked into his right boot. Poppy’s heart leapt as her fingertips brushed the wolven bone hilt. She considered taking it and trying to escape right there, but a single dagger would not see her through Masadonia, and Casteel was too observant to not miss its presence against his calf. Hearing raised voices, she’d all but jumped out of her skin. She’d pressed her eyes to the door and caught Kieran’s concerns about her being… happy with what had occurred with Casteel.

Whether it was due to her own inexperience or due to a lack of context, Poppy hadn’t considered anything forced on her. Well, not really. Casteel had definitely been the instigator, but… she had wanted it. Still, she felt a warmth of gratitude when she realized that, despite the fact that they’d taken her and were going to use her, the particular Atlantians in charge of her care were actually concerned with her wellbeing. Knowing that Kieran would stand up to his own prince when it came to making sure she was comfortable and not coerced? Given how her own guards had cowed to the Ascended, it meant everything to Poppy.

Even though Poppy had been moving around the upstairs unveiled, she still pulled the hood of her cloak down over her face before Delano led her to the downstairs landing when it had come time for them to leave. They’d been taking people out of the safe house in batches, and she was in the middle grouping. When they exited the building, Naill and Delano were on either side of her.

“Pen,” Delano said softly into her ear, adopting the nickname that Kieran had started, “I don’t want to threaten you, but you need to be quiet.”

“Or else Naill will haul me over his shoulder again and run for it?” Poppy guessed drily.

A warm chuckle sounded from Naill’s direction. “I still feel bad about that,” he commented, looping an arm through her elbow. “I had no idea you were injured,”

“Better you than Jericho,” Poppy said, casting an eye out for the unwelcome wolven. But Delano guessed her thoughts and answered her unspoken question for her.

“He’s not here. Cas sent him ahead with one of the other groups,”

Knowing that, Poppy breathed easier as they moved through the city streets under the cover of night. From her own adventures in the streets of Masadonia, she quickly realized that they had mapped out the routine of the guards that still roamed the streets. Delano and Naill would occasionally dip into alleys to allow guards to pass before they would continue on. Once they reached a metal grate built into a wall that swung out to reveal a set of steps down into the ground, Poppy realized how they were escaping. Vikter had told her before of the old smuggler tunnels that had been dug out of the city. But he'd always said they were blocked up. Inside the tunnel at the base of the stairs near some recently cleared rubble, Kieran and Cas stood waiting for them.

“Is it just the four of you?” Poppy asked, shocked that such a small group would brave their way through the wilderness and craven.

“Not just us,” Kieran answered, “We’ve got another one waiting with the horses.”

“Oh,” Poppy whispered. Suddenly she realized that she hadn’t told them a rather important piece of information. “I can’t ride,” she admitted.

“We planned for that,” Casteel said quickly before turning around and leading them down through the tunnel, torch in hand.

The tunnel, clearly unused as it was, wound down through the city. Poppy still had a pretty good guess of where they were going, and she could tell that it was bending out towards the rise. After an hour or so, the tunnel ended in a hollow that was obscured by a large boulder. Casteel reached out a hand and helped Poppy up and out of the tunnel. There, she found a human Descenter waiting with five horses in hand.

“You’ll ride with me, Princess,” Casteel murmured into her ear. His hands settled around her hips, and he lifted her up onto the saddle of the largest horse in the grouping. With a smoothness and swiftness that made Poppy jealous, he and the others swung up into their saddles. With a signal from Casteel, the group started riding across the Barren Plains.

Immediately, Poppy started to wish that she’d thought to ask if she could ride with someone—anyone—else. The pace they set was not punishing, but it was faster than she was comfortable with. Casteel’s arms wrapped around her, one holding the reins while the other… while the other splayed across her stomach.

“I hope you’re not uncomfortable,” Casteel murmured into her ear. “I know riding like this is a new experience for you.”

“It is,” Poppy breathed, her back ramrod straight as she fought to keep distance between herself and Casteel’s unnaturally well-formed thighs. She tried to not think about other types of activities that were new experiences to her courtesy of Casteel. The awkwardness of her posture served as one such distraction. Even a few minutes into the ride had her body begging to relax against him.

“You’ve been unexpectedly docile,” he said softly. Poppy’s body stiffened at his words. “I suppose I now have to worry about waking up to a slashed throat and the horses gone.”

A bubble of nervous laughter escaped Poppy’s barely parted lips as she thought about her dagger in his boot. “Something like that,” she said, relaxing at last and leaning back against Casteel after a long while. The evening air was awfully chilly, and her layers only did so much. Casteel was a beacon of warmth on a cold night.

They road on, stopping only when necessary to see to ones needs or rest the horses till dawn crept up over the horizon. The purple-grey morning light made the abandoned farmhouses they passed seem all the more dilapidated and haunted. Poppy imagined the lives people had here, till the craven had driven them into the cities like Masadonia. Such regions were uninhabitable now. She’d always been told it was the doing of the man who now snugly fit his body against hers. But that no longer seemed believable. Was it the actions of Ascended like the Duke?

Poppy kept twisting around in her seat to look out in the dim morning light. Casteel laughed at this and pulled her closer towards him. “What are you looking out for?” he asked, his breath a tickle against her ear.

Poppy turned so she could look back at him. “I haven’t been out of the rise since I was a child,” she admitted, “And we took a different route into the city.” After a pause she added, “Plus I was looking out for barrats.” She shook at the thought of the man-sized rodents that could knock someone off their house.

Casteel laughed, a low rumble in his chest that only Poppy seemed to hear. “You’re so… unexpected.”

Poppy lifted a brow in question. “I think being afraid of barrats is very expected, your highness.” She enjoyed the tightening of his arms that showed she’d annoyed him with her response.

“Not when you’re a fearless Maiden with a penchant for stabbing people and you talk to your kidnappers without fear.”

“I’ve only stabbed someone once,” Poppy protested before saying with a grin, “And I think he was asking for it.”

“Point is,” Casteel continued, unperturbed, “I never expected that it would be barrats that have you trembling in your seat.”

Poppy knew that it was time to ask a question that she’d been holding back. “Casteel,” she said, using his name for what might have been the first time.

Casteel froze, his mind obviously tracking with hers. “Yes, princess?” he asked, is voice losing its teasing tone.

“You said you knew… you knew what it was like to be a prisoner of the Ascended. What did you mean by that?” Poppy asked, finally voicing the question that Kieran had refused to answer.

He didn’t answer for a long time, and Poppy noticed that his hand had begun twisting and moving rhythmically against her stomach while he seemed to mull over a response. Finally, he said, his voice tight and low, “When I was a much younger man, I thought that I could easily put an end to the threat of the vampry. I went to Carsodonia with the intent to kill Ileana and Jalara. But I was stupid and I failed. They captured me and took me to one of their temples.” Casteel’s voice had started to shake, and it seemed like every word cost him. “They… put me into a cage when they weren’t using me for the Ascension. And then they would slice and cut and fed upon… they would pour my blood into golden chalices that the second sons and daughters drank after being drained by the Queen or the King or another Ascended. I lived like I was nothing more than cattle.”

Gods no. It couldn’t be true. But, as Poppy looked up at him, her gift told her that it was nothing but the truth. His anguish was heightened now. It mixed with an undercurrent of rage. It had to be that rage that kept him moving when the grief and horror threatened to devour him.

But Casteel wasn’t done talking. Now that he had begun, the words seemed to tumble out of him on their own accord. “I wasn’t just used for food. They used me… for entertainment. That’s how I know, Poppy. How I know what it feels like to be beaten and whipped and used for someone’s sick pleasure. I was there for nearly five decades.”

Poppy’s eyes were misting and she had to look away because the expression in his golden eyes was too much for her. “How,” she began, her voice rough with her own emotions, “How did you escape?”

“My brother came for me. He’d been trying to free me for years. But the one time he succeeded… that was the time that they took him.”

Casteel’s sorrow at what he described was unimaginable. It poured into Poppy and almost made it hard to breathe. So, she did the only thing she could do. It was stupid and purely based on instinct, but she reached out and touched the bare skin between his sleeve and glove on the hand that pressed against her. Hoping that it would only be interpreted as a compassionate gesture, she touched the warmth of his skin, and she poured every ounce of warmth and happiness into him that she could manage. She felt him relax against her as it took effect.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as his breathing eased. “I’m sorry that the people who raised me are the ones who tormented you.” It echoed the apology that she’d given Delano, but she meant it just as much now as then.

“That’s why I have to free him,” Casteel said, sounding confused as to why he was feeling better.

“I understand,” Poppy said, and she did as much as she didn’t. She still couldn’t understand what Casteel thought she was supposed to do when she went back to the Ascended. How was she supposed to live among such monsters? But she understood the unrelenting drive to free his brother.

As the morning light deepened and spread across the remnants of the Barren Plains, in the distance was a sight that made Poppy’s innards quail. A sea of crimson branches rose up and crested over the surrounding hills as far as the eye could see. They had reached the Blood Forest.

“I wouldn’t look down if I were you,” Casteel murmured as they took their first steps into the forest. Even though every instinct made her want to turn and run, Poppy immediately looked down. The ground was a patchwork of bones littered between the trees. Rabbit skulls and deer? Poppy’s eyes snagged on a leg bone that was wrong for an animal a—

Poppy tore her gaze away from the mess on the ground. “The bones…” she said, “They’re not all animal bones, are they?”

“No,”

Against her own conscious will, Poppy’s hands slipped to grasp the arm that was still wrapped thoroughly around her body.

“Are they the bones of craven who died?”

“Some of them.”

Poppy shuddered at his implication. Casteel chuckled and said, “I told you not to look.”

“I know,” He’d told her not to, but Poppy had looked anyways. Even now, she looked up at the mid-morning light as it dappled down through the blood red leaves on the trees. The leaves glistened like droplets of blood suspended in the air. It was beautiful—in a haunting sort of way. As they went farther and farther into the forest, the temperature dropped until Poppy’s breath plumed in the air around her. No one spoke, and there were no sounds except for the regular taps of hoofbeats.

With the exception of the necessary breaks for the horses including a stop for lunch where Casteel and Poppy ate handfuls of dried nuts and fruit with aged cheese, the group traveled through the forest for the better part of the day. It was only when the sun had started to set that Casteel called for the group to half for the night. Delano handed Poppy a study bedroll and showed her a knoll in the center of the camp where she could bed down. With a saddlebag for a pillow, Poppy curled up into a ball.

As the night crept over the forest, Poppy tried to ignore the chill that settled over her and crept into her bones. Around her, Naill and Kieran kept watch while Delano and the human Descenter that Casteel had introduced to her as Willam settled in to sleep for the first half of the night. Poppy envied the way that the Atlantians fell asleep with such ease. Such relaxation escaped her. With every breath, Poppy was afraid her teeth would start chattering.

If anyone had asked her, Poppy would have denied letting her eyes track Casteel’s tall figure while he moved across the perimeter of the camp. She certainly didn’t stare at his profile in the moonlight while he looked out towards the expanse of the forest. Even if she had watched him, she was merely assessing an opponent. Was his eyesight like his sense of smell? Just what could he see in the dark? If she ran, how easily would these Atlantians track her? As if he could sense her thoughts, Casteel’s head turned towards her. Softly, so softly that she didn’t hear a single footfall, he stepped down towards her.

“Are you sleeping, Princess?” he whispered, crouching down towards her.

“Maybe,” Poppy murmured in return, trying keep her jaw from trembling in the cold. Casteel’s hand dangled down towards her cheek, caressing the edge of her jaw and down towards the exposed skin of her neck. His skin was hot against hers, and it took a wealth of strength to keep from leaning into his touch.

“You’re freezing,” he said, straightening and stepping towards a pile of provisions. Poppy heard rather than saw him rummaging around. Then, he was stepping behind her. Poppy heard the sound of a bedroll unrolling behind her. Then, Casteel was on the ground next to her, and Poppy suddenly enveloped in another layer of blankets with a particularly warm Atlantian behind her back.

“I’m fine,” Poppy grumbled, even though she was already warmer in Casteel’s dark pine scented embrace.

“I can’t let my hostage freeze to death,” Casteel whispered in her ear.

“So you’re sleeping with me?”

“Princess,” Casteel’s voice was silken in the evening air. “So scandalous. I’m clearly only sleeping next to you to keep you from becoming an icicle.”

Poppy opened her mouth to protest that he was being contrary when she recognized that he was teasing her.

“Is that what this is?” Poppy asked, shifting away from him, though he easily followed her.

“Call it Atlantian hospitality.”

“What would Kieran say if he saw you next to me?”

“He could always take my place—though he does kick in his wolven form.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Poppy said, chuckling to herself in spite of the situation. She hadn’t yet seen a wolven shift, and the idea was as curious as it was terrifying.

“I will say,” Casteel’s voice was a little louder now and it tickled against her, “Wolven fur is much softer than it appears and really quite warm. Would make an excellent cloak.”

Poppy could have sworn that Delano was sleeping, but the wolven lifted his head and growled, “My fur is much too nice for a cloak.”

 “You’re right,” Casteel said, “I’d make it into a pair of britches at least.”

“Penellaphe, the next time you feel like stabbing someone, take a crack at Cas. Maybe then people can get some sleep,”

Poppy startled at Kieran’s voice. He was keeping guard at the perimeter, and she pulled away from Casteel at the reminder of the earlier evening.

“Can we please not do any stabbing?” Delano asked.

“I’m not going to stab anyone,” Poppy grumbled, burying her head under the blankets.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Casteel said, “I still haven’t seen you draw blood.”

“You say that like you want to,” Poppy said, lifting her head to look at him. In the pale light of the moon she could see the barest online of a grin while his honey eyes seemed to glimmer.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispered, the words a soft kiss against her skin. They were so quiet that she didn’t think any of the others could hear him. If they did, then they didn’t let on.

“I’m really not that violent,” Poppy said, choosing to ignore the heat that lay in Casteel’s gaze.

“Somehow I don’t believe that,” Casteel said.

“Between the two of you, I’d say that Casteel is easily the most violent.” Naill chimed in. Poppy’s cheeks burned at the idea of every Atlantian in the cadre having an opinion on her violent tendencies.

“Me?” Casteel’s tone was all mock surprise, “What have I done?”

“You killed Duke Teerman,” Delano supplied, “Now is it wishful thinking to get some sleep?”

Poppy’s breath whooshed out of her and her eyes widened as she stared back at Casteel. “You did what?” she breathed, not quite believing her ears. Dorian Teerman was dead and Casteel had done it?

Casteel’s hand slid up Poppy’s back and settled against where Duke Teerman had bitten her. “There was no way he could be allowed to survive after what he did to you,” he said in a low tone that brooked no disagreement.

“Wha-“ Poppy’s words were lost in a shocked giggle that bubbled out of her. “What did you do?” she asked, collecting herself.

“He was staked and his throat was cut,” Casteel’s words were matter of fact. They left so much to the imagination. In Poppy's rendering of the scene, it was her dagger that he used to punish the Duke. 

“Really?” Poppy’s voice was eager. She knew she should be shocked. She should be horrified. She shouldn’t be… pleased. But she was.

“Is that delight I hear?” Casteel said with a laugh. “You’re such a murderous little creature.”

“I’m really not,” Poppy said, but she let Casteel pull her close against him. She let the evenness of his breath lull her asleep. And in the quiet of the Blood Forest, she felt a sense of calm that came from knowing that no one else would be made to feel the way the Duke had made her.

Chapter Text

Not even Kieran’s disapproving eyeroll was enough to dampen Casteel’s good mood the following morning. He awoke with his face pressed up against the soft warmth of Poppy’s neck. Not for the first time, he felt the urge to sink his teeth into her and feed till he forgot where he ended and she began. Would she taste as sweet and fresh as she smelled? Casteel couldn’t wait to catalogue every breathy moan or gasp that escaped her lips while he drew blood from her. But he reluctantly banished those feelings and willed his body to not yearn for her. All too soon, she was awake and looking at him with a strange mix of warmth and wariness.

“Morning,” he said, stretching and taking stock of the campsite. Most of the others had already awoken and were preparing to continue on the journey to New Haven.

“So, where are we going?” Poppy asked, taking the food that he offered her without question.

Casteel chewed for a moment considering his answer. He knew where they were going today, and even tomorrow. But after that? “We’re going to Three Rivers today and will be in New Haven by tomorrow.”

“Three Rivers…” she mused, “There’s a lot of Descenters in Three Rivers.”

“There’s a lot of Descenters everywhere, Poppy,” Casteel said with a shrug.

“And what then?” she asked. Not for the first time, Casteel felt a silent accusation in her grass green eyes. All too often, her eyes hardened into a brittle coldness that resembled emeralds. Not the warmth that he’d seen in her at first. That coldness… it was never with his men. Even now, when Delano or Naill would walk by she would look up with a polite smile. But when she looked at him? Her eyes narrowed and the wariness returned.

“Then I’ll send a message to the vampry saying that I have you. We’ll negotiate the terms from there,” Casteel said with a shrug that didn’t match the turmoil he felt inside. Would it be that simple? Send a messenger and with it send her back off to the vampry? Surely the queen wouldn’t treat her as badly as the Duke had.

Poppy’s own thoughts seemed to echo his own, “And then I’ll be off to Carsodonia?” her voice was brittle and hollow. It reminded Casteel of the way she’d sounded when he’d first revealed the truth of the Ascended to her.

Casteel’s chin dipped in affirmation. “I thought you would be pleased to go back.”

Life flared in Poppy’s eyes. “You thought, after everything you’ve told me, that I would be pleased to go back to a world ruled by monsters who steal children? A world where I am expected to… to become like them?” She laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sort of sound. It clanged inside Casteel like a bell cracking on its first ring.

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that this wasn’t what was happening. That he’d find a way to save both her and Malik. But the words froze in his throat. The cold of the Blood Forest had seeped inside him and he had become like a pillar of ice himself. His tongue lashed itself to the roof of his mouth as the sight of her skin, ripped and ruined, meshed with visions of what he knew Malik was experiencing. The laughing and grinning faces of the Vampry as they crowded round him, taking his blood while they… while they used him with all the cruelty they possessed.

“Sorry to interrupt this delightful conversation,” Delano was begging for a cruel and slow death with every word he spoke, “But we’re ready to start for the day,”

Poppy stood, her eyes still trained on Casteel. “Delano,” she said, her rich and smooth voice carrying an impassivity that Casteel had never heard her use before. It sounded more like the voice of a queen. A voice that his mother would use in such a situation.

“Yes, Pen?” Delano asked. Casteel fought the urge to blink in surprise. When had they started using nicknames for her?

“I’d like to ride with you today,” Even as she spoke, Poppy didn’t take her eyes off Casteel.

Delano’s eyes darted between the two of them. “I…” he began, looking to Casteel for directions.

“Sorry, Princess,” Casteel’s lips kicked up on one side. It showed both his right dimple and fang, and he instantly saw a flash of annoyance in Poppy’s face as her body stiffened. “But you’re riding with me,”

Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “But I don’t want to ride with you,”

Casteel shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t always been a conniving bastard, even if Kieran might disagree. But in that movement, every inflection in his voice and every movement of his eyelashes were calculated. He found himself tallying each of his movements against Poppy’s reactions, and he pushed forward when he saw her lips purse into a frown. “I’m afraid there’s no other option,”

“I can walk,” Poppy said, her voice firm. “Or,” and she grinned with a wickedness that Casteel hadn’t seen before. “Kieran?” she called, her head tilting slightly.

“Yes?” Kieran said, leaving his spot by the horses where he definitely wasn’t listening to come join their little… domestic dispute. Delano shuffled away, muttering something about mad princes and forward maidens.

“Kieran,” Poppy said, turning towards him with wide eyes and a slight frown, “I’m not comfortable riding with his highness. I think it’d be more… appropriate to ride with you.”

Casteel felt rather than saw the internal battle that Poppy expertly sparked inside Kieran. But, before his traitorous wolven could respond, he stepped between the two of them. “I told you, Princess, that you’re riding with me.”

Poppy’s head snapped up to look up at him, her chin tilting in defiance. “And I told you that I don’t want to ride with you,”

Even if Kieran had considered giving in to Poppy, he took one look at Casteel’s tightened jaw and said hastily, “I’m afraid Cas has the strongest horse, so it’ll be him you’re riding with,” and rushed away to join Delano.

Vikter, Casteel decided, had a will of iron to have been able to wrangle the woman who stood in front of him. A will of iron and balls of steel. In his two hundred years alive, he had not seen a woman with a glare as cutting as the one Poppy had fixed him with.

“Come on,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and using his immortal strength to move her towards the horses. Poppy planted her feet when he tried to move her. Casteel flexed his fingers and moved to hoist her up when… when her leg twisted around his and she lurched away with a hard shove. In an instant, Casteel cursed as he realized he was hurtling back towards the ground. The impact forced more breath from him than he’d like to admit, but in a second he had leapt back up to face her. Poppy had tensed and dropped into a defensive crouch, her face whitening as the realization of what she had just done sank into her.

Biting back a grin, Casteel tutted at her. “That wasn’t very nice,” he chided, stepping towards her again. Poppy sidestepped him and jabbed towards his left. He moved to block her but—it was a feint. She smoothly ducked down and popped up on his right side as she hit him with a hard shove that sent him tripping back over a hard root. This time Casteel managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. He stilled as he assessed her. He knew that she was trained, but she was faster than he’d expected.

“And here I was going to go easy on you,” he said, cracking his neck as his eyes glanced at the positioning of her feet. Just behind her was a tangled knot of roots. Using every ounce of his Atlantian speed, Casteel lunged towards her. Poppy’s eyes widened as she realized she couldn’t dodge him. But instead of leaping back like he expected, she darted forwards into his lunge. Tucking herself in tight, she used his momentum to twist him up over her shoulder… onto the knot of roots he’d intended to trip her on.

This time, all of Casteel’s breath exploded out of him. His back groaned for an instant at the impact even as his sinew began knitting itself back together. If he was a mortal man, that would have been… Gods that would have been a damaging fall.

At some point the wolven had stopped pretending to work and were just openly watching the bout between the two of them. Naill let out a long low whistle as Casteel reeled himself back together. “Should we stop them?” he asked as Poppy moved into another defensive stance.

“Why?” Kieran asked, his tone blasé. Was he enjoying this?

“Traitors,” Casteel wheezed, pulling himself to his feet. He grinned at Poppy. “This has been highly entertaining, but we really must be going,”

“I’m not riding with you,” Poppy said, her voice almost a growl.

“You don’t have a choice,” Casteel said, taking back every word he’d said about her supposed docility the previous evening. “Either you ride with me, or I’ll personally truss you up and toss you over my saddle,” his voice dropped low and this time every ounce of smoke he poured into it was entirely intentional, “and I have far more interesting plans for tying you up,”

His calculation worked. Poppy’s shock and surprise at the sexual charge of his words gave him just the edge he needed. In a second, he had her pressed against a nearby tree, her hands pulled up over her head.

“You cheated,” she growled, trying with every ounce of her strength to shove him off. Casteel only pressed himself closer. He saw the flush creeping across her cheeks as his body molded against hers.

“I just used every tool in my arsenal,” he said, sliding his free hand down past her hip to cup her rear. Poppy’s eyes widened and she stilled at the contact. But before she could tell him off with what Casteel was sure was a creative and scintillating insult, he used his two points of contact to hoist her up over his shoulders like a lost lamb. Poppy struggled against his hold, but his hands pinned her arms and legs against him. Smiling brightly at his men, he carried her over to Setti.

“Now, will you behave or does Kieran need to bring out the ropes?” he asked with a smirk that Poppy could hear even if she couldn’t see it from her angle. In response, Poppy tried to bite him. “Naughty, naughty,” Casteel chided with another grin. Making a bet that she wouldn’t try to fight him as hard with a horse involved, he swung her onto the saddle and immediately hoisted himself up behind her. Poppy wrestled against his grasp for only a minute before the height involved with falling from a horse seemed to quell her stubbornness.

“Well, if we’re quite done,” Kieran said as he and the others all swung up onto their own horses. They took off then, setting a deliberate if not punishing pace with the goal of escaping the Blood Forest before the end of the day.

Poppy, rather than speak another word to Casteel, settled for whispering a litany of curses interposed with recitations of what she would do with his body once he released her. They grew steadily more creative with every repetition, and Casteel had to bite back a laugh. She really wasn’t afraid of him. That or she was completely foolhardy. At this point, either seemed equally likely.

They were still another hour from leaving the Blood Forest when Casteel heard the pattering of distant feet. He halted Setti as the others followed suit. Poppy, thankfully, clued into the fact that something was amiss. Her eyes swung between the party as they listened to sounds that her mortal ears couldn’t pick up on.

The pattering grew louder into a rolling thunder of feet. Casteel wheeled Setti towards the sound, but it was too late. A sea of barrats broke upon them like a cresting wave on a shore. One leapt up as it tore past them, knocking Willam off his horse. Casteel gripped Poppy’s hip as he felt a tremor of fear course through her. The barrats swept past them, and Casteel saw the group stiffen as a mutual realization passed from person to person. Behind the last of the barrats crept tendrils of mist that hugged the ground and oozed down towards the horses’ feet.

“We need to go,” Willam said, dusting himself off from the fall.

“It’s too late,” Kieran said, sliding off his horse at the same time as the others. Poppy was only seconds behind Casteel, her face pale and her eyes almost luminous in the pallor cast by the dappled sunlight of the Blood Forest.

“Naill, take the horses,” was all Casteel had time to say before he heard the sound that had driven the barrats away. Naill nodded and grabbed the reigns of the animals before taking them away from harm. Casteel could hear the starved and frenzied Craven hurtling towards them, so he acted on impulse. Sliding both of his serrated swords from their sheaths, he handed one to Poppy. She took it without question and he grinned, “Try not to use it on any of us,”

Any response she might have had was lost as the Craven bore down on them. Casteel almost immediately lost himself in the cool calm he always felt in a fight. He cut and slashed, blocked and parried with a smoothness that had been developed from years of training. Only out of the corner of his eye did he catch sight of something that threatened to break his focus.

Poppy was… Poppy was fighting with a brutal efficiency that matched his own fluidity. She traded his own grace and strength for speed as she ducked and spun between Craven. One lunged for her neck, and she used the collar of its shirt to knock it off balance. A second later and she had stabbed it through the heart. Another lunged for her back, but she had heard it coming before a warning could cross Casteel’s lips. Before the Craven could collide with her, her sword had sprouted from its back. Again and again, she hacked away at the Craven, her face fixed with a calmness that Casteel recognized all too well. Was she glowing? Was she an immortal warrior descended from the heavens? Casteel couldn’t tell anymore. Her strength and tenacity had blinded him. Blinking to break the trance, he threw himself back into the fight.

As he parted the last of the Craven’s head from his shoulders, Casteel heard a guttural curse. He turned to look at the same time as Poppy. Her eyes widened at the sight. Delano had been jumped by two Craven at once. He’d killed them both, but not before one had managed to sink its teeth into the flesh of his forearm. He leaned back against a nearby tree as he surveyed the damage to his skin.

“Delano,” Poppy said, her voice low and full of pity. But Delano waved her off, “I’m fine,” he said as if the bite was from a mosquito instead of a Craven.

Casteel’s hand brushed Poppy’s shoulder, “Atlantians,” he murmured to allay her fears, “cannot be cursed by Cravens’ bites. We are immune. Delano will be fine.”

Whatever reaction Casteel expected from Poppy, he didn’t get it. Her eyes widened, but the realization that crested over her face looked… it contained more horror than the curiosity he’d expected. Her eyes darted between Delano and Casteel.

“Atlantians aren’t cursed by Cravens’ bites?” she repeated dumbly, her voice hoarsening. Casteel took advantage of her dulled reactions to slip the sword from her grasp and slide it back into the sheath on his hip.

“It hurts like the blazes, but we recover just fine,” Delano said cheerily, holding out his arm for her to inspect. Even now, his skin had begun to knit itself back together. “I’ll be healed in just a few minutes.”

Poppy didn’t look relieved. She didn’t look amazed. There was no curiosity sparking in her eyes and no questions dancing on the edge of her tongue. Poppy looked very, very afraid. Her hands trembled as she traced the edges of Delano’s wounds.

“I’m glad,” she whispered, “I’m glad you’ll be okay,”

“I’m sure he’s touched by your concern,” Casteel said, confused by her reaction. Poppy didn’t seem to hear him. Even after Naill had returned with the horses and Casteel had lifted her up, her eyes were fixed on Delano. She didn't react to any of Casteel's questions or any of his caresses against her legs and hips. It was as if Poppy had slipped into another world where all she saw was Delano's bitten arm.

Chapter Text

The rest of the ride passed in a blur for Poppy. She was distantly aware of the brief stop in Three Rivers, but every time Casteel tried to catch her attention, she felt herself slide deeper and deeper into her whirling maelstrom of thoughts. Delano had not been cursed. No one of Atlantian blood could be. She’d always been told by the Queen that her preservation from the bites that scarred her legs was a blessing from the gods. But had she lied? Did this explain why the Duke and the Lord Mazeen weren’t able to resist her blood that night? But her parents had been mortal—hadn’t they? They’d been so close to the Queen and King that it felt insane to consider them having been even half Atlantian. And yet Poppy was not cursed.

Poppy’s head throbbed from the effort spent thinking these questions over. Even as she mulled it over, she remembered Kieran telling her that he could sense Casteel’s emotions. That alone had been an interesting tidbit, a factoid of interest. Now it felt like crushing confirmation. It didn’t make sense, but it had to be true. And what did that mean for her? What had the Ascended planned? Had they…had they planned to use her the way Casteel and his brother had been? Poppy’s blood iced over at the thought. Her head spun at the idea of being bound and used to create more Ascended against her will—to relive the Duke’s torment a thousand times over. Since Casteel had told her the truth about the Ascended, she had not truly considered running back to them, but now it seemed even more impossible. But if she told Casteel, how would he respond? Would he condemn her to that fate for the sake of his brother? Poppy shuddered at the thought. She would like to think not, but in the brief weeks that had passed, she’d come to feel like she no longer knew anything at all. Casteel was still an enigma, and her life was in too much danger to risk it.

As the horses continued their fast pace across the grasslands that spanned between Three Rivers and New Haven, Poppy could feel Casteel’s eyes fixed on her. She had been foolish to fight back against him in the Blood Forest—she knew that everyone in the party now knew her back was practically healed. But it had been so satisfying to finally wipe that smug grin off his face. Poppy’s cheeks heated at the memory of him pinning her against the tree and his impudent words about rope. And when she fought the craven… the look of trust on his face when he gave her his own sword. No one other than Vikter had ever looked at her with such confidence in her own ability. But Casteel had. Damn him. Why, why did he have to be the Dark One? Why did he have to be the Atlantian who had kidnapped her? And why did he have to be so stubborn in handing her back?

“Are you alright?” Casteel’s words at last broke through the reverie that had gripped her since seeing Delano’s arm.

“I’m fine,” her words carried more bite than she intended.

“Ah, she speaks!” even his exclamation was a soft whisper in her ear. “But princess, I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” She was, but that was hardly the point.

“It depends. Do liars don masks and trick young men into sexual favors?” Casteel’s words were an indecent kiss against her skin.

“You’re not a young man,” Poppy cut back, her cheeks blazing with color now.

“Is that your only retort?” Casteel asked, his hand sliding up her thigh to rest on her hip.

“I don’t understand you,” Poppy declared, rolling her eyes at his behavior.

“What don’t you understand?”

“How you are so distant one minute and the next you’re practically undressing me with your eyes.” When they’d first started the journey, Casteel had been reserved and proper. But since then he’d slipped back into continuously goading her on more and more to be… inappropriate with him. Kieran and the others be damned.

“I can undress you for real if you like,”

“That’s not necessary,” Poppy’s words were short, and her skin felt hot and tight. Why did he have to always have this effect on her? His touches and words alone were enough to set her senses on fire, and it was only touching him that ever seemed to provide relief.

“Pity,” Cas lamented, his hand sliding from her hip to rest just between her sweater and undershirt. Was it his hand? It felt more like a brand burning its way through her skin. Poppy shifted, her breaths shortening, but the friction against Casteel’s lap just triggered a deep rumble in his chest.

“Can we not start flirting on horseback?” Delano asked, rubbing his temples with his free hand.

“I can always flirt with you, Delano,” Casteel said, his hand sliding farther up Poppy’s stomach. “I did think you looked rather lovely today.”

“Dear Gods,” Naill said to Kieran, “Now he’ll never stop.”

Poppy wanted to hide her face in her hands. This was mortifying. “Oh, Gods,” she said to herself. Casteel’s hand was rubbing circles against her stomach now, even as he rained compliments down on Delano. He had just finished calling Delano, “His radiance,” when Poppy’s control finally snapped. She elbowed him in the stomach. Hard.

“Ouch,” Casteel said, his voice dripping with mock injury. “You’ve wounded me,”

“Pity she didn’t wound your tongue,” Kieran said, glancing over his shoulder to shoot Casteel a disapproving glare. Casteel was unrepentant.

“You’re very violent,” he observed.

“I’m really not,” Poppy retorted, wondering why Casteel was always so obsessed with her violent urges.

“Liar,” he said, his voice in the same teasing tone as it had been that first night at the Red Pearl. Poppy didn’t need to look at him to know his lips had kicked up into a lopsided grin. She could practically hear that stupid dimple make an appearance.

“Since when are you an expert about me?”

“Since I spent months watching your every move as the Maiden,” Casteel admitted, “Plus our encounters at the Pearl were very… enlightening.”

Poppy really didn’t need him to start reminiscing about the Red Pearl in front of the others. “You’re lucky I don’t have my dagger,” she said, “Because I would be about to stab you in a very violent manner,”

“Now that I believe,” Casteel said with a free and open laugh that sent shivers down Poppy’s spine. At the sound, Kieran glanced at them again. Poppy didn’t need her gift to sense the concern that was radiating off Kieran.

It was just before sunset when they reached New Haven. Poppy was shocked when, instead of skirting the outskirts like they had at Three Rivers, they instead rode straight through the rise gates. The guards didn’t even pause to question them—they immediately let them pass through. Within the rise, she saw a small city surrounded by woods. Their horses’ feet clattered on the cobblestones, the sound ringing out as call to the inhabitants. One by one, people trickled out from their houses, their eyes fixed on Casteel and Poppy. With a start, Poppy realized that her hood had fallen back much earlier in the journey and she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She felt their stares rake over her exposed face and scars. Fighting the self-consciousness that washed over her, she leaned back farther into Casteel’s arms. But she did not turn her head away. She returned their stares, every one of them.

Casteel felt the change in her posture, “It’s alright,” he murmured. “New Haven is ours—no one here will harm you while you’re with me.”

He was wrong. Poppy’s eyes mapped the faces surrounding her—icy hostility scattered in a sea of curiosity. But, more than that, her gift whispered in her ear. Bitterness, bursts of sourness coating her tongue, ash, and thick concern. Her throat burned from feeling so many negative emotions at once. They assaulted her, driving her further into herself. There were people here who did not mean her well.

They reached the foot of the keep where Poppy saw a cluster of people waiting for them. Jericho stood in the back; his eyes trained on her. They were the same frigid blue as Keiran or Delano’s, but they felt even icier. But in front of him stood a tall and broad-shouldered man next to a dark-haired woman who cradled the slope of her pregnant belly. Their eyes slid over her face, but it was Casteel that earned their gaze.

In a smooth and fluid motion, Kieran was off his horse and embracing the man before Poppy could blink. The burly man enveloped Kieran in a hug that lifted the wolven off his feet.

“Elijah, it’s good to see you,” Casteel said, dismounting before helping Poppy down.

The large, shouldered man, presumably Elijah, clapped Kieran’s arm one last time before embracing Casteel in a similar manner. Poppy stepped aside to keep from being bowled over at the two men embracing. Elijah pulled back and looked Poppy over.
“This her?” he asked, his eyes lingering on the scars.

“It is. Elijah, this is Penellaphe—otherwise known as the Maiden.”

Elijah’s glance was frank and assessing. His eyes were a warm brown that felt refreshingly human. Poppy was painfully aware of her straggled braid and dirt-stained face—her clothing still had a faint reek of craven’s blood. Still, she met his stare with one of her own. She refused to cower before anyone again. Elijah’s brows lifted in surprise at her stalwart expression.

“She’s a feisty one,” he observed, half to himself. “You can see it in her eyes.”

“A feisty one with ears and a mouth,” Poppy retorted, flushing slightly at how he talked past her.

The pregnant woman laughed then, a deep belly laugh that was reflected in the way that her shoulders shook and her black hair rippled behind her. Casteel shared a chuckle in return as he turned towards back towards his horse. “I’d be nice to her if I were you—she gets violent when she’s cranky.”

“I do not get cranky,” Poppy exclaimed. Elijah bit back another laugh.

“Ignore them—they’re like this all the time.” Kieran advised, shaking his head.

“You two always manage to get into the damndest messes,” Elijah said, shaking his head with barely controlled laughter.

Whatever conversation might have followed was interrupted by a rider coming up on the group. He nodded when he saw Casteel and Kieran. “You’ve arrived. I was worried I would have to ride out and find you, Prince.”

“What is it?” Casteel asked. Poppy marveled at how quickly the mask of a prince settled on his face.

“Alastir Davenwell is coming up from Pompay and he requests you and Kieran join him. Says it’s urgent. I can show you the way,” the man said, wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow.

Casteel nodded, “Kieran, we’ll go now.” He glanced at Delano and Naill, “Take Penellaphe with you and get her settled.” Without another word, he was up in his saddle and he and Kieran had disappeared from view.

“Come on, Pen,” Delano said, hand on her shoulder. “We’ll see to the horses and get you into a room.”

“A room with a bath?” Poppy asked, looking up hopefully. The woman laughed again.

“I’m Magda,” she said, “I’ll go see to the bath.”

“Thank you,” Poppy said, inclining her head with gratitude. The woman blinked, surprised by her frank thanks. Poppy felt her cool splash of surprise. But the woman quickly shifted into a blank smile and nodded before going inside the New Haven keep.

Delano and Naill took Poppy with the horses into the stable. She leant back against one of the support beams, enjoying the feeling of being on firm ground once more while her eyes drifted shut while her guards traded jokes between each other. The air was blessedly relaxed—something that had amazed her since she had first been taken.

“What are you doing here?” Delano snapped, his voice a tense growl. Poppy jerked back into awareness. Jericho was looming in the stable door, his eyes trained on Poppy.

“Just out for an evening stroll,” he answered, his mouth twitching into an unpleasant smile.

“Bullshit. You’re here by yourself—you’re here for her,” Naill spat, stepping between Jericho and Poppy. Delano moved to join him. Poppy tensed as she felt Jericho’s stare boring into her.

“You’re wrong,” he said, “and you’re right.”

Footsteps sounded behind him and at the other stable entrance. Delano’s head whipped and he cursed again.

“I am here for her,” Jericho said, “But I’m not alone.”

He wasn’t at all. Two men stood behind him, another three lurked at the other entrance. All but Jericho hung back, still clinging to the shadows of the twilight outside.

“You’re being incredibly stupid,” Naill said, stepping towards Jericho.

Jericho didn’t even break his stare towards Poppy as he inclined his head. “Perhaps,” he said.

“I know you think you’re owed your pound of flesh. She cut you,”

Jericho sneered. “Don’t forget the hand.” He brandished the stump at the end of his left arm. “There’s that.”

“That’s on you,” Delano answered, his hand casually resting on the blade at his hip. “Not her.”

“Yeah, well, can’t take it out on the Prince, now can I?”

“Do you understand he will have your head if you harm her? All your heads?” Delano said. “He’s said no one is to hurt her. You try to do what you want to do, all of you will die. Is that what you want, Rolf? Ivan?” He rattled off the names of the others that lingered outside. “He will see this as a betrayal, but you still have a chance to walk away from this with your lives. You won’t if any of you take a step forward.”

No one moved forward, but no one moved to leave. Then a single man stepped forward—an older man with brown eyes. “She’s the fucking Maiden, Delano. She was raised as an Ascended, by the damn Queen herself, practically. The Ascended took my son in the middle of the godsdamn night.”

“But she did not.” Naill replied, his tone even and placating. “She’s just as much a victim of the Ascended as you were.” All the men, including Jericho stared at him in shock. “Don’t forget when we took her, Teerman had beaten her half to death. He fucking fed from her thinking she’d passed out.” Some of the men, the ones who’d been at the safehouse and traveled ahead of them blinked at the reminder. Others exchanged silent glances—apparently Jericho had neglected to mention this fact.

“I get that the Prince wants to use her to free his brother, but you and I both know, Malik is most likely dead,” Jericho spat out, regaining control of the bourgeoning mob. “And if he’s not, it probably isn’t a good thing. He’s got to be so fucked up by now that he has no idea who he is.”

“But if we send her back to the bloodsucking Royals, we send one hell of a powerful message,” another argued. “It will shake them. We need that advantage.”

“Plus, we want it,” the man who was called Rolf said, “You have to as well. Those bastards killed your whole den, Delano. Your mother. Your father. Your sisters weren’t so lucky. They waited a while before they killed them—”

“I know exactly what was done to my family,” Delano snarled. Poppy’s skin prickled at the memory of him telling her about it days ago in Masadonia and her stomach twisted with sorrow. “But that does not change the fact that I will not allow you to hurt Pen.”

“Pen?” scoffed Jericho. “Since when are you calling her nicknames? Did she spread her Maiden thighs for you as well as the Prince?” Poppy’s cheeks heated at the implication and the widespread knowledge of her relationship with Casteel.

“You’re going to regret that,” Naill hissed.

“She was there,” another voice said. Poppy’s mouth dropped open in horror and recognition. From where he’d stood in the shadows of the second entrance, Mr. Tulis stepped into the dim lighting of the stable. His eyes were trained on Poppy’s face. “She was there when the Ascended wanted to take my son and she did nothing.”

Poppy’s mouth was dry. She would have stumbled back if she wasn’t already pressed up against a support beam. Mr. Tulis stared at her with venom and hatred. He was wrong--she had done something, but it had paled in comparison to what they'd needed. “You cannot tell me that you didn’t know what they were doing. That you had no idea what was happening to our children. To the people who went to bed and never woke up? You had to know what they were.”

Poppy only managed to stammer, “Is Tobias safe?”

“The Ascended will never get their hands on him.” Mr. Tulis swore. “We will not lose another one.”

Delano said, “And you would betray the Prince, who aided your family in escape? Who made sure your child could grow and thrive?”

Mr. Tulis did not take his eyes off Poppy. “I would do anything to feel the blood of the Ascended flowing on my hands.”

Poppy opened her mouth, “I am not an Ascended,” she whispered. Other words screamed for release. I didn’t know. They hurt me too. I’m… I think I’m part Atlantian. They were going to use me like Malik. I’m like you. But none of them made it past the lump in her throat.

“No,” he sneered, brandishing his knife. “You’re just their whole future.” Poppy knew then that not even her suspected Atlantian heritage would have saved her from the sea of hatred that was crashing over her.

“Don’t do this,” Delano said, unsheathing his sword.

“He’ll get over it,” Jericho said, “He’ll find another pretty girl with a warm cunt and forget all about her. And if we have to kill you both to keep him from finding out? So be it. It’s your grave. Not mine.”

As fast as everything happened next, it almost seemed to Poppy that the world had slid into slow motion. Rolf shoved Mr. Tulis back as Naill struck, quick as a viper. He grabbed the larger man by the chest as he sank his teeth into Rolf’s neck, tearing, ripping—

Someone else crashed into Naill, pulling Rolf free. Blood poured, and Rolf laughed, “You bit me.” He threw his arms out as his back bowed, cracked. “You actually bit me,” he said again, but the last of his words turned into a gravel that grated against Poppy’s ears. He snarled as he sank to all fours. Poppy watched in silent fascination as, for the first time, she saw a wolven transform.

Naill kicked the man off, baring his fangs that sounded almost cat-like. He flew at the man, taking him to the ground as Delano turned to Poppy. “Pen, kill any of them that get close to you,” he said as he threw his sword at her. She caught it in surprise as he turned back to those clustered around Jericho. Then it was Delano’s turn to shift, splitting his shirt up the back as he fell forward, his lengthening hands smacking against the ground as white fur sprouted over his now mammoth form. In less than a heartbeat, a massive wolven stood there.

Jericho winked at Poppy, “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, raising his sword.

What happened next was a blur of bloodstone and steel punctuated by wolven growls and snapping teeth. Poppy cut and slashed, doing her best to defend herself from the attackers. Rolf charged Delano at the same time that someone moved to strike her. Poppy blocked her attacker easily, returning his blow with one that sent the mortal sprawling till he lay in the straw with a final stillness. She turned in time to hear a yelp—Delano’s. Blood coated his white fur, and Poppy prayed it was Rolf’s. He limped backwards, and Poppy knew that she was wrong. Rolf prowled closer, getting ready for a second strike. In a split second decision that, in later moments Poppy would not be fully able to explain, she ignored the men who were actively trying to kill her. She leapt and brought her sword down on Rolf’s neck. It slashed through flesh, sinew, and bone. He went down without even a yelp.

Poppy’s eyes met Delano’s then, warm green and ice blue as someone else hit her with a blow that sent her sprawling. Even as fire arced across her barely healed back, she gripped the sword stubbornly—

Screams erupted from her as sharp daggered claws dug into her shoulders, roughly flipping her onto her back. She swung her blade up blindly and it hit the wolven atop her. But even as she scrabbled to her knees, a boot swung and collided with her ribs. Poppy didn’t even notice the sickly cracking noise from her side as she fell back down. She scrabbled backwards, striking her sword out at Jericho who loomed over her. He fell back onto his ass with a yelp.

“You bitch,” he spat, lifting his face. The sword had split open his cheek and his forehead. His eye. “I’m going to rip you in two,”

Poppy staggered to her feet. It hurt so much, but she forced herself to stand upright. “Will that help you grow back your hand? Or the eye.” She shuffled around him but missed the man who loomed behind her.

Mr. Tulis snapped forward, a dagger leaving his hand to sprout itself squarely in Poppy’s chest. She shuddered as the realization of what had just happened crested over her. Her gaze slowly lifted to Mr. Tulis’. “I’m glad,” she said hoarsely with the last breath in her lungs. “I’m glad Tobias is safe.”

Several things happened at once. A wordless scream came from Poppy as she pulled the dagger from her chest. Mr. Tulis’ eyes widened at shock at her words. And Jericho, Jericho leapt for her. Even the dagger wasn’t enough to save her from the swarm of claws that dug into her skin and sent her spiraling into blackness.

Chapter Text

How much could one man sweat?

The first flurries of snow were already in the air and the wind was bracing at best. Even so, Alastir’s messenger had wiped a fresh sheen of sweat off his brow no fewer than three times before they’d left the rise. Kieran noticed it too, looking over his shoulder to exchange a quick and silent but meaningful glance with Casteel.

Casteel would later curse himself for his own slowness and stupidity, but it wasn’t until they were more than ten minutes past the rise that he first realized something was truly wrong. The breeze changed direction, carrying the man’s scent straight to him. This man was afrai—no, he was terrified.

“How is Alastir?” Casteel asked, keeping his voice light and conversational.

“Fine—just wanted to speak with you.” The man’s voice was short but it carried an unnatural tremble that betrayed him. Casteel didn’t hesitate. He urged Setti into a gallop till he was besides the man. The mortal was easily plucked from his seat on his own horse. From there, once Setti had slowed down enough, Casteel leapt to the ground with the man in hand. Kieran was only seconds behind him.

“What,” he asked, his voice icier than the wind that tossed at his cloak and cut through his thick woolen tunic, “are you not telling me?”

The man’s face was white with terror. “Nothing, Prince,” he stammered.

“I will kill you, you know,” Casteel said, “if this is a betrayal.”

The man shook in silence, his eyes wide in terror. His lack of a response was undercut, however, by the large damp patch that formed in the seat of his pants. Casteel wrinkled his nose at the sight.  Compulsion it would be, then. He inhaled, willing the eather in his blood to obey his will. Then, visualizing what he wanted the man to tell him, he spoke.

“Did Alastir send you?”

“No,” the man gasped, the word escaping his lips voluntarily.

“Is this a trap?” Casteel asked.

“Ye—not for you,” the man bit out, trying and failing to fight the compulsion. He was weaker than most.

“Who is it a trap for?”

“The… the Maiden.”

Nothing else mattered. Leaving the man a horseless and piss-stained mess in the snow, Casteel darted back onto Setti. Kieran followed suit. Leaving New Haven, their ride had been determined but not hasty. There was nothing but haste now. Faster and faster, Casteel urged Setti back towards the rise walls, his lips moving with a silent plea to the gods that it wasn’t too late for Poppy—or Naill and Delano. He knew and trusted their loyalty explicitly. They would die to protect anyone he told them too, but their clear bond with Poppy cemented it.

They swept into the open square in front of the keep that they’d been in only minutes before. Casteel’s nostrils flared at the scents that assailed him. Blood had been spilt nearby. Leaving Setti, he followed its damning trail with Kieran hot on his heels as he shifted into his wolven form.

The site in the stable was grim—Naill and Delano were sporting severe injuries as they fought against a cluster of attackers. Help had arrived, but only minutes before. Jericho was squaring off with Naill—the side of his face sporting a wicked cut that had taken out one of his eyes. Leaving Kieran to join the fray, Casteel looked around wildly for the only person who mattered. His heart might have actually skipped a beat when he caught sight of her. Poppy was laying prone in a pile of hay, her head at an unnatural angle while her sweater was soaked with blood. Her fist was closed around a bloodstone dagger. Casteel fell to his knees at her side, hands flying to her neck to check for any signs of life.

“Poppy, wake up, please,” he begged. His shoulders sagged with relief when he caught the faintest traces of a weak pulse. She was alive, but only barely. Collecting her into his arms, he left Kieran to sort through the mess while he took her into the keep. Inside, a wide-eyed Magda ushered him into the first private room on the ground level. He settled Poppy on the bed, but she didn’t respond. The dagger she’d been holding clattered to the ground, but Casteel didn’t even notice.

“Poppy, wake up,” he said, the anguish inside him threatening to overwhelm. What had he said to her less than an hour ago? You’re safe with me. What a fucking farce.

After a minute of calling her name and rubbing her hands, Poppy eyes fluttered open. “Hawke?” she breathed.

“That’s it, Princess,” Casteel said, his lips twisting into a half smile half grimace at her usage of his nickname—not that she knew it was actually his name.

“I’m dying…” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering shut.

“No you aren’t—I’m going to fix this. I’m going to take your pain away,” Casteel said, his hand at his mouth before he’d even fully processed what he was going to do. He was moving on pure instinct now, consumed with the drive to protect the woman in front of him. His arm stung with a sharp burst of pain as he used his fangs to pierce the skin, but it was nothing compared to the pain spearing through him at the sight of Poppy’s injuries. What Duke Teerman had done to her paled in comparison to the work of Jericho and his cronies. Her skin was shredded from claws, and she had at least two severe stab wounds.

“Here, Princess,” he said, holding his arm to her mouth so that the first drops of his blood fell into her parted lips, “Drink. My blood will heal you.”

Casteel expected her to fight him, much like she always did. But instead, Poppy obeyed, latching her lips to his arm. She drank slowly, too weakly at first. But, as the eather in his blood moved into her body and started healing her, he felt each sip strengthen. Her eyes opened and met his own, the glaze from blood loss fading as she stared up at him. Still she drank, taking more and more from him.

“That’s it—that’s enough,” Casteel said at last, having to drag his arm away from her. Poppy followed him at first, but she quickly settled back into the bed, too weak to actually fight him. Even as he knew that his blood would heal her, Casteel watched every inhale and exhale that left her lips. He counted them, and measured their strength by the rise and fall of her chest. He would not lose her. He would not.

Kieran opened the door, poking his head through to survey the scene. His clothing was hanging raggedly off his body, and he was sporting several new bites and cuts that were already healing. “Is she alright?” he asked, nodding at Poppy’s sleeping form.

“She will be—I had to give her some of my blood.” Casteel said, his thumb running circles over the palm of one of her hands. He could feel every callous there from her weapons training. That training was likely the only thing that had kept her alive till he’d returned.

“Cas,” Kieran began in shock, but Casteel cut him off.

“It’s done.”

Kieran knew a lost cause when he heard one, so he changed course. “Delano and Naill will be fine—they’re pretty cut up but nothing permanent. I’ve got them healing upstairs.”

“And the others?” Casteel asked, the fear for Poppy’s wellbeing undercut by the blaze of fury that was coursing through him.

“Most still alive. Dragged them down into the dungeon—figured you’d want a crack at them. I sent someone out to get the man in the woods before it gets too dark.”

Casteel nodded. Trust Kieran to know his will without him ever having to give a command. “I’ll deal with them when I know she’s safe.”

The door swung shut without another word. It opened, minutes later and Magda poked her head in.

“I brought a pitcher of water and some stuff. Cloths to clean her up. A fresh robe for her. Comb and some hair things too for when she awakes,” she said, offering the pile of supplies to Casteel. He took it, murmuring his thanks, and turned his attention back to Poppy. Slowly, aware that she was still asleep, he peeled the ruined clothing off her skin, starting with the shredded sweater and undershirt. Even as the wounds were healing, he hissed in at the sight of the mutilated flesh on her chest and arms. A blooming bruise along her side indicated cracked ribs at best. He bit back the bile that threatened to rise up his throat. This is fine. She will recover. I will punish the people who hurt her. He told himself as he used the dampened cloth to clean her skin. Every swipe brought a little more control to himself. When she was no longer covered in her own blood, he slipped her arms into the robe that Magda had brought and tied it across her waist. He’d left her pants on—half to preserve some semblance of modesty for her comfort and half because she hadn’t sustained any injuries to the lower half of her body. With her body cleaned, Casteel moved on to her hair. He angled her head so that it fell against the basin that Magda had brought in with the pitcher. Then he poured the last of the water over her hair. Blood and sweat mixed with dirt to make her hair a matted mess, but the worst of it melted away with the water. Casteel gently worked her hair with his hands till he’d cleaned out as much as he could. Then, wringing her hair into the basin, he set it and the pitcher on the floor to examine what else Magda had brought. A small leather pouch held a leather hair tie, a handful of hair pins, and an ivory comb. Leaving the hair pins for later, Casteel grabbed the comb and the leather tie.

As a young Atlantian, Casteel would have laughed at the idea of him devoting so much energy to a girl’s hair. But as Poppy slept, he found comfort in using the comb to work through the knots in her hair—he worked gently to avoid pulling or tugging. It was slow going, but Casteel worked on until her hair had reached some level of manageable. Then, pulling it into a loose and sloppy braid, he tied it back. It wasn’t a particularly pretty job, but it would have to do. His hand settled at the roots of her hair, and he massaged her scalp absentmindedly.

The ministrations were enough to raise Poppy from the deep sleep that she’d been in while her body recovered. She blinked, bleary eyed, as she looked over at Casteel’s body seated on the bed next to her.

“I’m not dead?” she croaked, her voice hoarse and rough.

Casteel found it inside himself to grin, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Afraid not, Princess. You’re stuck with me.”

“Are, are Delano and Naill alright?” she asked, her brow furrowed. Casteel knew that she was still slogging through the brain fog that came with feeding after being injured so badly.

“They’ll recover—I’ll tell them you asked.”

“You… you made me drink your blood,” Poppy said, her eyes drifting down towards his wrist.

“I didn’t have to. Just offered and you took it.”

“It was… it was…” Poppy seemed lost for words as she struggled to explain just what her first taste of Atlantian blood had been like. When she failed, she looked at him again, “I won’t… I won’t Ascend, will I?”

“No, Poppy,” Casteel’s voice was gentle and hid the inner pride that she clearly believed him about the vampry. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked that question.

“I feel… fuzzy. Like my body isn’t attached to me,” Poppy said, her eyes fluttering shut again.

“That’s the blood, just lay back and enjoy it,” Casteel said, rubbing slow circles across her shoulders and neck.

Poppy obeyed for a minute, but her brow started to furrow again, and she opened her eyes. They were wide and glassy again—but it was a different sheen that he saw there. Shit. He forgot about this side effect of the blood. “Its so hot,” she whined, her hands tugging at the robe that Casteel had so carefully placed on her only minutes before. Her scent, sweet, fresh, and dusky always threatened to overwhelm him when it was as strong as now. It enveloped him and made his jaw ache from the effort it took to keep from taking her right there.

“Shh, that’s the blood. It’s… an aphrodisiac. It’ll pass.”

“Cas,” Poppy said, her voice roughened with need as her hands slid down towards her britches. “I need you,”

Kieran had once described an invisible line between him and the Maiden. Casteel had never seen that line for himself and danced over it when he wanted, but in her altered state, that line shone starkly. “If I do what you’re asking, you’ll hate me more than you already do,” Casteel warned, his voice rough with barely leashed need. Need for her. Need to plunge himself into her warmth and see that she was still alive.  “And I can’t—I can’t take that from you when you’re in a state like this.”

“I don’t hate you,” Poppy whispered as she looked up at him with wide and pleading eyes. “I hate that I always know where you are in a room. I hate that I miss you when you aren’t there. I hate that I crave your touch and your laughter. I hate your stupid dimples. I hate that you’re you and I’m me.” Her voice was stronger now and fervent as she said, “But I’ve never hated you.”

Casteel knew then. He’d always known, really. But in that moment, he knew that he would do anything for the woman cradled in his arms. He would sacrifice anything. Her eyes were his guiding stars, and her smile was his crown jewel. His hand slid to cradle the gentle slope of her jaw and pull her against him. His eyes drifted shut as he basked in the feeling of her body pressed against his. His free hand pulled hers up against his chest and away from the delectable space between her legs. For now, for this moment, Poppy was his everything.

Gods only know how long they lay there, tangled in each other. Poppy’s body had relaxed as the last effects of the blood had cleared her system. Casteel drifted into awareness as he felt Poppy’s hand sliding up the expanse of his shoulders. Her movements were tentative—a fact that still left him amazed given all the touching that had occurred between them. Poppy’s head lifted up off his chest, and Casteel’s opened his eyes just enough to meet hers.

“Yes, Princess?” he whispered, not wanting to break the spell that had wound them together so tightly.

“I’m afraid,” she breathed, her eyes wide as she unconsciously nibbled on her lower lip. Casteel’s focus was inextricably drawn there.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, cursing every one of his followers who had made her afraid or hurt her.

“No, not like that,” Poppy said, shaking her head. Casteel’s eyes drifted towards the tangled curtain of red hair that framed her face. From the first moment he’d seen her hair, he had wanted to plunge his hands into his, to run his hands through it. “I’m afraid,” she said, “to kiss you or to need you.”

“Do you? Need me?” Casteel whispered, half afraid to hear her answer.

Poppy closed her eyes, as if she was afraid to see him as she told the truth. “Yes,” she whispered.

Casteel moved then. Hang the gods. Hang Kieran. Hang Malik. He brought her impossibly closer against him. Their lips collided in a frantic storm of lips and teeth and tongue. One of Casteel’s hands settled in her hair, wrapping around the back of her neck to bring her face against his. The other slid down to the lush curve of her rear. Pulling himself into a seated position with his back against the headboard of the bed, Casteel lifted her into his lap with her legs straddling his. Only a few scant layers of clothing separated them now. Poppy moaned as the juncture of her legs settled over his hardening and thickening member. That groan unraveled Casteel. He poured himself into the next kiss, willing himself to consume every gasp and moan she made. Poppy’s hands were not idle either. As they kissed, her hands slid under his shirt. She gripped its edges and moved to pull it over his head. Casteel broke their kiss and looked at her wide eyed. “Are you sure, Poppy? This isn’t the blood still?” he asked her, his chest tight at the thought of what they might finally do.

She nodded, and instead of removing his shirt, she slid the robe off her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor and Casteel drank in the sight of her—full breasts with tips that were visibly tightened from need. He had seen the white and shiny scars that slashed across her stomach before, but he looked at the curve of her belly still. Interspersed with the old scars lay the pink outlines of newer wounds that had already healed. Casteel’s hand drifted across one such spot. “I will kill them,” he swore hoarsely. “I will kill them all.”

“Later,” Poppy said before Casteel’s own shirt joined hers on the ground. They surged back towards each other, reveling in the contact skin against skin. Casteel moved down her neck, nipping and scraping his teeth against the soft skin. Poppy arched into him, a breathy gasp escaping her lips. Then he moved down her breasts and firmly enclosed the turgid peak of one in his mouth while his free hand settled on the other. As his tongue laved over the pebbled tip, Poppy threw her head back as her hips ground down against his. That sweet friction sent a groan rumbling through Casteel. He renewed his attention to her breasts and was rewarded by Poppy losing whatever control she had left.

“Oh, Cas,” she moaned, her hands scrabbling against his shoulders as her hips ground against his. Casteel made a mental note that his first decree would be to make it so that no one else would ever call him Cas again. No other pronunciation sounded as satisfying as the gasp that she added into the ‘a’ sound, dragging it out into a breathy hiss of pleasure.

Was it minutes later or only seconds before frantic hands were tugging at their pants? Casteel had scarcely managed to bare her perfect and shapely legs when Poppy moved to slide his down. Casteel lifted his hips to help the process, and he couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that settled in his belly at the widening of her eyes and the way her tongue slid over her parted lips as his cock sprang free from his pants.

“If you keep looking at me like that, then this will be over before it’s started,” he said, taking her hands and guiding them back towards his chest.

“I—you’re perfect,” Poppy whispered as her eyes trailed down his reclined form.

“I’m not. You deserve someone who is. But I’m too much of a bastard to allow that,” Casteel said, and he meant every word. He could see her mapping out the patches of small scars that were scattered across his body. Many were gained in happy memories with Malik, a few from training mishaps, and the remnants a painful reminder of other times. Her fingertip traced the brand on his hip—the red and shiny outline of the blood crown’s royal crest.

“Did… did they do this to you?” she asked, her brow furrowed and her voice thick with emotion.

Casteel nodded. “Let’s save that conversation for another time,” he whispered, flipping them so that he was above her, his body cradled between her delectable thighs. Poppy yelped at the movement, but as he lowered himself to kiss her again with renewed vigor, their bodies pressed up against each other and any questions she might have had evaporated into the night air.

Kissing Poppy was like coming up for air after nearly drowning. Casteel could have mapped out every curve of her body with his lips and tongue and he’d still be surprised how she managed to feel new and refreshing every time. He worked his way down her body, using all of his centuries of skill to wring a litany of gasps and curses from her. Finally, he found himself at his ultimate destination. He’d tasted her before, and used his fingers on her for good measure, but it still thrilled him when he drew his tongue against her folds for the first time that night. Poppy bucked against the contact. Grinning, Casteel used one hand to pin her body down while he slowly slid his index finger inside of her. No matter what they’d done before, Poppy was still new at this, and Casteel didn’t want to hurt her when it was finally time to cross that last threshold.

Licking and sucking her bundle of nerves as he went, Casteel used first one finger and then a second to bring Poppy to the precipice where he let her dangle as his movements slowed. He felt her inner walls tighten against him, and the thought of that feeling against his cock was almost enough to make him finish right there. As it was, Casteel felt almost painfully stiff with need for the veritable goddess in his arms. Poppy bit out a curse when she realized that Casteel was intentionally not making her finish. She tried to buck her hips and ride his hands, but Casteel held her firmly in place.

“Patience, Princess,” Casteel said, curling his fingers inside her in a way that he knew would send sparks of pleasure through her.

“Please, Cas. Please,” Poppy’s lips were swollen, and her eyes were blown wide.

“You only had to ask,” Casteel muttered against her thigh. Then, he renewed his attention to her body till he felt that telltale fluttering inside her. Even without that, Poppy’s protracted moans and sudden arching of her back was evidence enough. Her thighs clamped down around him as she rode out her orgasm, and Casteel thought that this was a prison worth staying in. He continued devouring her, more gently now, till Poppy had stopped trembling. She lay there, limp from the sensory overload, and her hands had habitually settled into his hair. Casteel lifted his head and drank in the sight of her, flushed and bright eyed. She had been limp from pain before, but now she was consumed by bliss. As Casteel prowled up her form, he lingered to press kiss after kiss to the old scars and new patches of wounds that she’d recently suffered.

“Are you ready, Poppy?” he asked, knowing her answer but needing to hear it from her before he finally did what he’d longed to do from the outset. He’d finally be able to bury himself into her and feel enveloped in her warm embrace.

Poppy nodded again, her lips parting enough to whisper, “I am,”

“This changes everything,” Casteel said, and Poppy nodded in assent. Gods did it ever. He didn’t know how he’d ever be able to give her up now that he had her. How he could look the vampry in the eye and give him this wonderful and clever woman.

Poppy blinked, a moment of clear thought breaking through her blissed state. “Are you—”

“Protected? I take the monthly aid,” Casteel saw Poppy visibly relax at that. “This may hurt,” he warned her. Gods he wished that it wouldn’t—would give anything to keep her from feeling anymore pain.

“I know,” Poppy said, lifting herself up just enough to steal a kiss from him. Casteel grinned against her and then he moved. First, he pressed up against her, rubbing himself in her abundant slickness. Poppy groaned at the contact and her head fell back against the pillows. Then, when he was satisfied, Casteel pushed into her. He felt that initial resistance, and when he’d made it halfway through, Poppy tensed. She inhaled sharply and he could see a hint of tears at the corner of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with feeling.

“It’s okay,” Poppy whispered, her nails combing through Casteel’s curls against his scalp in a way that made shivers run down his spine. He lay there frozen till he felt her start to relax and lift her hips against his. He moved then, slowly at first until he was finally buried inside of her. They groaned in unison then.

Once Casteel was sure that Poppy had adjusted to the feeling of him inside her, he began to move. Slowly at first, still afraid to hurt the beautiful creature in his arms, Casteel eventually picked up the pace till they were both moaning at the pace. As he slid in and out of her, Casteel latched his lips to the side of her neck. He kissed and sucked in imitation of another action that he still craved from her. It had been ages since he’d fed, but her mortal blood wouldn’t assuage his burning hunger. Even still the urge was there, but Casteel leashed it back. One arm of his slid under her to hold him up as he moved while the other migrated back down to the sweet bundle of nerves. He rubbed against it till Poppy bucked against him and moaned in a second orgasm that pulsed through her. Poppy’s nails scraped against his back, and Casteel would have given anything to have her always do just that. But it wasn’t until she moaned his name one last time that Casteel knew he was done for. He buried himself with one final thrust while his own release barreled through him. The tension coiled low in his stomach released and he filled her.

Once he could move without trembling, Casteel slid out of her. He lay there, Poppy’s head against his chest as he marveled at how strong she was. How she had survived so much and was still fully alive. Distantly, Casteel was aware of Poppy stirring. She briefly left the bed; he heard the sounds of her stepping into attached bathing room. She soon returned, and out of the corner of his eye Casteel saw her bending down towards their piles of clothing and shoes.

“Magda brought you a fresh sweater too, besides the robe.” He said, still staring at the ceiling above him. At the edges of his mind, the thoughts of what he’d do to the men who’d hurt her lingered, but Casteel was still drunk on the feeling of Poppy’s skin.

“I’ll settle for a towel,” Poppy laughed, climbing back into bed once she’d cleaned herself up.

“Are you alright?” Casteel asked, his fingers running along the sides of her body. Poppy nodded.

“I’m tired, and a little sore, but I’ll be okay,” she said, pressing her lips against his.

“I wish I could stay the night in here with you, but I’ve got to get up,” Casteel said, even though he didn’t move.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just dealing with the bastards who hurt you,” Casteel grimaced. Against his own will, he forced himself up and started the process of dressing himself. The path from the keep to the dungeons was enclosed so he wouldn’t need his cloak, but even Kieran would raise an eyebrow if he strutted in without pants and a shirt. Even so, his eyes never left Poppy’s reclined form as she drank in the sight of him. “Don’t look at me like that or I’ll never leave,” he warned with a grin. Poppy matched his smile with one of her own.

Collected once more, Casteel stepped towards the door. “We’re short guards for you tonight—I’ll lock the door in case anyone thinks to try anything, and Magda’s room is down the hall. Shout if you need her—she has a key. If you get hungry, there’s a kitchen on this level, so she can easily fetch you food.”

“Okay,” but Poppy was already sliding her naked body back under the blankets. Casteel cursed the gods that he couldn’t stay, but after taking in one last look, he left the room.

It was good that Casteel knew his way around New Haven keep. He was so lost in his thoughts that he would never have made it to the dungeons without his long legs taking him there of their own accord. Inside, he found Kieran leaning casually up against a line of cells. They’d split the surviving men, only three, into individual cells. Inside one, Casteel was pleased to see Jericho’s hunched form in one of the cells.

Kieran’s brow lifted at the scents rolling off Casteel. “Was that necessary?”

“To me it was,” Casteel answered. Kieran nodded with a displeased grunt. He seemed skeptical of Casteel’s answer, but he knew better than to push him after the day they’d both had. They set about exacting torment from the men for what they’d done to Poppy. One by one, they took them up out of the dungeon to the keep walls. For Mr. Tulis, death was quick. His mortal form precluded longer torments. Casteel shook his head in regret—it had been a mistake to send Jericho with that group. Most of the men involved in the attack had been part of that group who’d made the trip from Masadonia together. He could only imagine the kind of vitriol that Jericho had filled them with. It wouldn’t have taken much to get them to move against someone attached to the Ascended.

For Jericho, Casteel moved much slower. Kieran, in anticipation, had collected a series of stakes from the blood forest. They staked him to the wall. His wolven healing would keep him alive, but every breath would be agony. It would be a prolonged form of execution.

Given the late hour, no one was moving out and around New Haven. Dawn had just begun when Delano joined them. He moved stiffly, but he looked a sight better than he had earlier. He nodded at Casteel and Kieran.

“Morning,” he said, eyeing the mess in front of them. “Busy night?”

Jericho groaned, but that was either from the pain or from Delano poking him with the toe of his shoe. Casteel all but rolled his eyes, but Delano grinned unapologetically. “What?” he asked innocently. “He bit me.”

“That’s mature,” Kieran commented from where he stood.

“I’m a mature guy,” Delano laughed. He turned to Casteel. “How’s Pen?”

“She’ll be okay. It wasn’t good.”

“No,” Delano hesitated. “Rolf had knocked me down once. He had a clear shot at ending it for real but Penellaphe nearly hacked his head right off. It’s the only reason they got to her—she was trying to protect me.”

Unspoken in that admission was an apology for his failure. Casteel shook his head, “You both did well.”

“Ah, I better go see if she’s hungry,” Delano said.

Casteel nodded, “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute. We need to talk.”

Delano grinned, the only admission that he could smell the reek of sex that still lingered off Casteel. “I’ll say you do.”

“Bye, Delano.”

It wasn’t really goodbye, however. Delano waltzed away, whistling, while Casteel and Kieran finished driving a final stake through Jericho’s arm. They’d scarcely finished when they heard the sound of rushing footsteps. Delano slid around a corner, his eyes wide.

“Cas,” he wheezed, “She’s gone.”

Chapter Text

Delano’s words hung in the air. He’d scarcely skidded to a halt before Kieran and Casteel took off in the direction of Pen’s rooms. The three of them had barely made it into the room when Casteel spun on his heel. His eyes flashed with a kind of panic that Delano had not seen since Casteel had come to his senses and realized Malik was still trapped with the Ascended.

“She’s gone,” he whispered, casting his eyes around the room as he searched for some sign or clue. “She must have been taken.” Delano shifted in unease, but before he could risk his own throat, Kieran sniffed the air. The air hung heavy with the scents of Pen and Casteel and a musk that reeked of sex, but nothing else. No fear. And, more importantly, no other person.

“I can’t smell anyone else. Just you two.”

“Kieran, I’m telling you, she had to have been taken.” Casteel’s voice was raised in panic. Kieran ploughed ahead.

“Cas, no vampry or wolven or descenter could make it in here without us scenting them. She is gone.”

Hearing the commotion, Elijah and Magda rushed from down the hall, with a bleary eyed Naill hot on their heels.  “What’s wrong?” Elijah asked.

“The Maiden has run away,” Kieran said, jumping ahead of whatever words Casteel might have been able to get out.

“I’m telling you, Kieran, that she was taken.”

Kieran actually had the nerve to roll his eyes at that. Delano grimaced internally. Bonds from birth aside, Kieran was going to be lucky if he made it with his throat intact. Casteel seemed to agree as a low snarl ripped from him.

“There is no way she ran away,” he growled, taking a step towards his bonded wolven. Kieran stared at him, his shoulders thrown back in unrepentance.

“ And why do you say that?” he pushed, taking his own step towards Casteel. Delano, for his safety, took a step back towards the door. Magda and Elijah followed his example, moving out into the safety of the hallway.

“We…” Casteel faltered. At the uncertainty in his voice, Kieran surged forward.

“You what? Had sex? Fucked? Confessed your feeling? Swore to be true forevermore?” Kieran was almost abreast with Casteel now.

Elijah chose that exact moment to let an unhelpful chuckle loose. The glare that Casteel swung towards him burned through Delano. His hands shot up in the universal symbol of “It wasn’t me”.

“Sorry,” Elijah said, his mouth still twitching with a poorly concealed grin. Casteel rounded back towards Kieran.

“You wouldn’t understand it, but I know. There’s no way that she ran away.”

Only the gods know what insanity had possessed Kieran for the words that left his lips next. “Your cock can be quite distracting, but I doubt it made her forget that she was being kidnapped.”

In a second, Casteel had Keiran pinned against the wall. Delano frowned—the wolven would normally have been able to put up more of a fight than that. For all that he was riling Casteel up, Kieran seemed to be letting himself be the object of his rage.

“Think, Cas,” Kieran whispered. “Think through last night.”

Casteel staggered back. “I brought her in here. She’d been injured. She… she slept for a long while. Magda brought us some things. She… we… we had sex. Then I left to join you.”

Brows lifted, Kieran asked, “Is that all?”

Golden eyes widened as a flash of realization hit him. Numbly, slowly, Casteel sagged against Kieran’s body. “I told her the room would be unguarded.”

“What possessed you to say that?” Elijah asked, his voiced raised in disbelief. For anyone who hadn’t spent the last week with Casteel and Pen, Delano could understand such confusion. They hadn’t seen how different Penelaphe was from the expected Maiden. On the other hand, for Delano, it seemed typical for Casteel to have made such a lapse given how quickly Pen had slipped into the group. Half the time it didn’t feel like they were taking her for ransom.

“I think you’ll find that the maiden, like most women, is particularly persuasive when naked.”

Kieran’s words had barely left his lips when Casteel was on him with another snarl. Delano worried his bottom lip—breaking up a fight between the two was something he hadn’t had to do since they were boys. It’d been destructive enough then. “I told you,” he growled, “it wasn’t like that.”

“Either way,” Naill said, throwing his foolish ass into the fray. “She’s gone, so we’ll need to start looking for her.” Ever the sensible one, he eyed the door. “Was it open when you got here?”

Casteel and Kieran turned their attention to Delano. “No,” he admitted. “But it was unlocked.”

“I locked it when I left,” Casteel added.

“Well, the doorjam isn’t damaged so someone either unlocked it or picked it.”

“It’s not like the Maiden could pick locks,” Elijah said, frowning.

Casteel cursed then. “Actually, that sounds like exactly something that she could do.”

“Well then, Delano and Naill, let’s go organize some search parties.” Kieran said, relieved to have his prince’s attention fixed on the task at hand. He started towards the door.

“I’ll help,” Casteel said, quick on his heels.

“No, you were supposed to spend today talking to the families of the men you just staked to the wall.” Kieran said before continuing, “We can take the first groups out and you can join if we haven’t found her by then. She’s a mortal—she can’t move that quickly.”

In all honesty, Delano expected Casteel to put up more of an argument. Instead, he nodded. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

It was quick work to follow Pen’s scent through New Haven. From her room, she’d gone down the hallway into the kitchen. From there, Magda was able to confirm that several satchels of food were missing. Pen had then gone through the servant’s mudroom. No one was certain, but there was a pile of weatherproof boots and a wall of hanging cloaks that she could have easily chosen from.

After a night of snowfall, her tracks were mostly obscured, but a faint trace of her scent still hung in the air. Delano, Naill, Kieran, and the others took off out of New Haven. The tracks she did leave were sure, steady, and alone. Kieran had been right. Pen left of her own accord. Delano thought. He couldn’t necessarily blame her, but the idea of her running alone through the woods left a tinge of concern.

They followed Pen’s tracks till they reached the large creek that bordered New Haven and Whitebridge. There, quite suddenly, her tracks vanished. Gone with it was her scent. The water burbled on, unaware of the dilemma that now presented the Atlantians.

“So what is it, then?” Naill asked, his breath pluming in the icy morning air.

“She didn’t go across. She must have traveled along it to hide her scent,” Kieran said, frowning.

“Southwest or Northeast?”

“It makes no sense to go Northeast. Nearest Vampry are in Oak Ambler and this creek starts in the Wastelands. No, she must have gone south.”

So they set off, heading down towards Whitebridge. Delano only prayed that Pen would be safe—safe from the Craven and safe from the Vampry.

Casteel eased himself into the house that the Tulis’s had been placed into. Mrs. Tulis looked up, her eyes wide. “Prince?” she asked, her voice soft. At the sound of the door clicking shut, her baby stirred and began to cry. His voice cut through the haze that had settled over Casteel since Delano had first turned that corner.

“I’m afraid I have some rough news, Mrs. Tulis. You ought to sit down,” Casteel said, willing himself to continue this conversation. Kieran, damn him, had been right. He still had a duty to these people.

“Is it about my husband?” she asked, her voice tight. Even as she spoke, she pulled Tobias close against her chest and rocked him. “He’s been gone since yesterday and I don’t know what could be keeping him.”

“I’m afraid it is. Your husband…” Casteel hesitated, trying to find the easiest way to tell this poor woman that her husband had tried to murder an innocent woman. Had tried to murder Poppy. “Your husband was part of a group that attacked the Maiden.”

Mrs. Tulis’ eyes widened, and the hand not currently holding Tobias flew to cover her mouth. “That’s not possible,” she whispered in horror as tears crept into her eyes.

“I saw it with my own eyes.” Casteel said, his hand pressing against the arm slung around Tobias in comfort.

“He’s dead. Isn’t he?” Mrs. Tulis asked as she pulled in a long shuddering breath. “You can tell me,” she said, her voice a little stronger.

Casteel nodded. “We executed everyone involved. I didn’t,” he paused as he searched for the words. “I didn’t want you to not know what happened. We aren’t like the Ascended. Deaths don’t happen behind closed doors.”

“He… he was so angry at the Ascended. For killing our two children. For wanting Tobias.” Mrs. Tulis said, blinking back the tears. “I always told him the Maiden wasn’t like the others. She was good to me.”

Recalling the way Poppy had reached out to Mrs. Tulis that day—a move that still left him impressed at her bravery in the sight of such abuse—Casteel asked, “Because she held your hand that day?”

Mrs. Tulis shook her head. “It was more than that. When her hand touched mine… it felt like a light was shining inside me. I felt warm and safe. I’ve never felt so comforted. Still sad, but less.” Despite her tears, she let out a small laugh. “Forgive me. I know it sounds silly.”

“No, not at all,” Casteel stared at Mrs. Tulis as his mind worked through a singular moment that had happened on their way to New Haven. He’d told her about Malik, and Poppy had touched his hand in comfort. And, exactly as Mrs. Tulis described, soft warmth diffused across him, and a deep light seemed to shine in the darkest regions of his soul. He’d felt so… at home. Was that Poppy’s effect on people?

“I never truly believed it, you know.” Mrs. Tulis said, rocking a little, her gaze pensive. “I’d always heard the rumors—that the Maiden wasn’t just chosen by the gods. That she was the child of one and bore their gifts. Their touch.” It might have been from the grief that was consuming her, but Casteel saw a flush steal into her cheeks. “I’m sure it all sounds silly to an Atlantian prince.”

“Not at all,” Casteel said, his hand squeezing her arm again. “Magda, from the keep, has offered to come sit with you. She’ll help you as long as you need it. You and Tobias are still safe here—you have my word.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Tulis said, her eyes still a little distant. Casteel stood up to leave when she asked, her voice shaking, “Is she alright?”

Casteel’s throat was one the verge of closing up as he answered, “She has no lasting injuries. But she’s missing.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Tulis gasped, “I hope you find her.”

“I do too,” Casteel said, his mouth slipping into a smile that he didn’t feel. He nodded his head towards the still seated woman and stepped out of her house. Mrs. Tulis had been the last of the family members he’d needed to talk to. Thankfully, her bond with Poppy, inexplicable as it was, seemed to make her less questioning of Casteel’s news. It had probably helped that he’d gone to her before she’d found out by seeing her husband’s body staked to the keep walls.

Trudging back towards the keep, Casteel mulled over her words. Did Poppy have a… touch? It was strange that both of them would experience such a similar reaction during moments of pain. He’d assumed it was because of the emotional connection that he’d built with Poppy. But Mrs. Tulis had none of that. And her claim at the end, that Poppy was a child of the gods? Preposterous.

But… if that was only the Solis explanation for something—if Poppy could actually do something with her touch and the mortals explained it by calling her a… well, a deity. That was plausible. But what could she be? Casteel had never heard of a human being able to do what she’d done. Unless…. No, Poppy smelled completely mortal. She carried none of the attributes that Casteel had observed in the half Atlantian half mortal bloodlines.

Poppy was mortal, and Poppy had run away. She’d looked deep into his eyes, told him she needed him, and then she had traipsed out of his life the moment the door was shut. Kieran had already left before Casteel realized the final detail that sealed her having run away. In between meeting with families, Casteel had reached down to pull out her dagger. He’d wanted to look at it and remind himself that she was still alive. But instead, when he pulled it out, he’d found a different knife. He found the knife that she’d been clutching in her hands when he’d found her. No kidnapper had done that. She had. She’d seen an opportunity and seized it. Even now, Casteel felt like she'd taken that dagger and plunged it into his heart.

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid to need you.”

Fucking damn it all. Damn the Ascended. And definitely damn Atlantian princes with wide amber eyes that make such idiotic phrases slip out unintentionally. Like many of the things that had happened recently, Poppy had not expected to spend that night running away after confessing the all-consuming need she’d felt to finally close the gap with Casteel. She’d also not expected to nearly die at Jericho’s hands. After slipping into nothingness, after Casteel had coaxed her back to life and given his blood, she’d been overwhelmed with feelings—his and her own. Anguish. Relief. Comfort. A simmering undercurrent of rage. And it had crashed over her with the ultimate sensation of need. Need to feel him, to feel alive after having felt so cold. But Casteel hadn’t told her that he needed her. No, instead he’d kissed her soundly. So soundly that she’d nearly forgotten her own name—forgotten the danger that Casteel held for her.

Poppy seethed as she picked up the pace and kept running. By now she’d been moving for the better part of a day and a half. They hadn’t found her yet, so she assumed that they’d tried looking down towards Whitebridge—a calculus that made sense to anyone who didn’t know the truth.

Casteel couldn’t keep her safe. He hadn’t kept her safe. The hatred and rage that had pulsed in New Haven should have warned her. But she trusted him and the others. Trusted that they would protect her. And, to their credit, Naill and Delano had nearly died trying. Poppy’s heart still pricked that she hadn’t been able to see them recovered before she ran. Their injuries were the very thing that had made this opportunity for her. But any danger that the Atlantians held for her, the Ascended were surely double. They had to have known, at least some of them, that she wasn’t a normal mortal girl. Had they groomed her to join Malik in his torment, turning ladies and lords in wait into vampry? Was she to be his food? Casteel had said that Atlantians needed to feed on other Atlantians. The thought of yet another crazed beast shredding her skin with his fangs and pulling her very essence into himself sent a shudder of revulsion through her. First the Craven and then the Duke. Was Malik just another such one?

What else did He expect me to do?

Really, how could he have not seen the opportunity he’d handed her? Poppy had scarcely given thought to running away after she’d been injured. Even when she’d stood up to clean herself, the thought seemed remote. But as she’d reached down for the towel and he’d been distracted, she’d seen it. The dagger lying next to his boots and her own dagger glinting from inside. It seemed insane that he hadn’t noticed the quick switch—her own dagger tucked into the pile of clothing that Magda brought. Then, he looked her in the eye and told her that she’d be unguarded for the night and told her that she was close to the kitchens. Once he’d left the room, she’d started investigating. Magda had left a comb and a collection of hairpins—exactly what Ian had always preferred for breaking out of locked rooms. He’d even left his own fucking cloak for gods’ sake.

It was that same thick cloak that Poppy hauled tighter around herself as she fought against the bracing wind. Other than a few breaks to eat or relieve herself, she’d scarcely stopped to rest. She didn’t know for sure how quickly wolven or Atlantians moved over long distances, but her head start would quickly diminish. Once they realized that she hadn’t run towards Whitebridge, she’d be rapidly running out of time.

Find food. Find safety. Lose the Atlantians. Stay hidden from Craven and Ascended.

All that was going to be a tall order. The creek hid her scent in the burbling water as long as she ran through the rocky shallows—thank the heavens that the boots she’d grabbed were weatherproofed. But leaving the creek meant that her scent would be in the air again. So, Poppy just kept moving, waiting for an opportunity to break off.

At least she had plenty of food—the kitchen had several prepared satchels for travelers. And with her dagger tucked into her boot, she felt far more comfortable than she’d been in ages. Comfort aside, she still felt a gentle ache between her thighs—a reminder of just how far things had escalated with Casteel in this damnable mess. She didn't regret it, but she couldn't shake a nagging feeling that it had been a mistake. That running so soon after would only serve as yet another complication. 

With her gone, what would happen for the Atlantians? If they failed in recovering her? Kieran had said war was the next alternative—to avert that, Poppy had considered letting them ransom her for Malik. But that… that was before she realized the truth. Before she realized that she was in just as much danger from the Ascended as Casteel or Malik.

Should she have told Casteel? How would he have reacted? The words had almost slipped out involuntarily while he held her after the attack. Would it have changed a fucking thing?

No. They were too far down this rabbit hole, and Poppy doubted that Casteel would have been able to give up freeing his brother to protect her—no matter how much he wanted her physically.

And that’s what this was, right? A physical attraction? Lust. They hadn’t spent nearly enough time together for a true emotional relationship—or what Poppy would have imagined such a thing to be—to form. In his two centuries alive, Casteel had surely pursued plenty such relationships before. It was probably because she was so inexperienced that she felt so attached—had felt so attached even before they’d finally crossed that line. Even more so than that first night. As she run, Poppy felt a niggling urge inside her to turn around and run back to his side. She ignored it and plunged ahead. Things had grown so tangled, and she felt no room to indulge or explore the mess of feelings and aches that came with thoughts of Casteel. Thinking about his crooked smile or warm eyes was the last thing she could manage. Certainly, she couldn’t waste time remembered the rumble of his voice when he was fighting a laugh or the way that his hands were always on her. Even in silence, he was always seeking her out with tiny strokes and caresses. 

Where exactly was this creek going? Poppy cursed herself for not finding a map before she ran, but such things weren’t exactly just lying around. The course of the water had wended north-east. To the north by the coast would be Oak Ambler? Below it would be Pompay—or the remnants. Below that? Poppy couldn’t remember what was left. Near Pompay was the Wastelands. If Poppy could make it there, with no Ascended, surely there would be fewer Craven. Forging through the wilds of Solis wasn’t ideal, but she felt too distinctive to slip into a city and not be recognized on her description alone. She knew how to slip by unseen, but…

No, Pompay and the Wastelands was better. When she was free of Casteel, she’d figure a plan to get to Ian. Good, sweet Ian. He didn’t deserve to be a vampry. Not that any of the lords or ladies in wait would deserve such a curse, but he was always so gentle and giving. So playful and trusting. That couldn’t have changed entirely, could it? If it had, then Poppy owed it to Ian to help him end it.

Her legs burned and protested with every step, but Poppy kept moving. It ached. Gods did it ache, but she couldn’t afford to stop or sleep. She knew that Casteel would search every inch of the kingdom to free Malik. So onwards she moved, sometimes walking and sometimes running, farther and farther into the wilderness. When the creek inevitably split into two smaller streams, she leaned right, charting a course that would take her into what she hoped was Pompay.

~~~~~~

The sun had just begun to set when Kieran finally called off the search down towards Whitebridge. They’d mapped the course of the creek, but her scent never reappeared. As they moved back up towards New Haven, Kieran wondered—not for the first time—what the fuck had happened in the last few days.

Cas had insisted on continuing to flirt with Penellaphe. Sometimes it’d even been amusing—watching him get thrown on his ass was a sight for sore eyes. Then came New Haven and Jericho. That… that had been anything but amusing.

Kieran was no stranger to fear. He’d first learned it during his many escapades as a boy with Cas and Malik. Then, barely after having turned fifty, he felt it more severely when Cas disappeared. The weakness that had crept into his bones and sapped his strength. That had made him afraid. So too had the pain from invisible injuries. Even as he lay bedridden for another fifty years, he’d been terrified for Cas. Terrified to lose him.

Even when Cas returned, the fear found new avenues. Malik’s capture. The brewing war. A hundred years spent trying to find another way to free him. But all that paled to the blind terror he felt from Cas as they’d hurtled back towards the stable. The sight of Penallaphe lying there limply, soaked in her own blood, had settled behind Kieran’s eyelids. Even now, it still haunted him. He’d felt fear then too, his own fear, that she would die and war would be inevitable. Not just because of Valyn’s plans, but because of the destruction that would come from Cas losing her.

Because that’s what this had become. It was clear to everyone but Casteel. Even before he’d gone and given himself to her, this had long stopped being a kidnapping effort. He was in love with her. Had likely been in love with her from that first damnable night at the Red Pearl. Cas and Poppy might have been the only two to not realize it. Their blind stupidity infuriated Kieran. He’d lost all hope of seeing Malik freed from this while they were on the journey to New Haven. Cas… he didn’t touch people the way he touched Penallaphe. Not often. And he certainly didn’t look at them with such depth. He probably thought it was subtle—that no one had noticed. He was wrong. What the hell had he been thinking? How were they supposed to hand her back now? Even if Cas regained Malik, how would he ever recover? The answer was simple: he wouldn’t.

 Speaking of the bastard himself, Cas joined them just as the sun was setting. Kieran raised his eyebrows when he saw his bonded in a strange cloak.  Cas grimaced almost sheepishly at his questioning glance.

“Our wayward maiden took my cloak in addition to everything else.”

A wayward laugh threatened to bubble out of Kieran’s throat but he tamped it down. He’d pushed Cas as far as he’d dared this morning. Another man would have died saying less. But Cas would have believed anything other than the truth, and there hadn’t been time for him to be deluded.

“Any signs?” Cas asked, his hands in his pockets as he tried to strike an air of nonchalance.

“We tracked her down to the stream but it looks like she ran along it to hide her scent. We looked southwards first, but there was no sign of her. The creek winds along the Dead Bones Clan towards Pompay. Best guess is that she’s running to Oak Ambler.”

“Oak Ambler?” Cas’s brows lifted. “That’s a good five days on foot at least.”

Kieran nodded. “Which hopefully means that we still have time to intercept her.”

Together, the two set off at a renewed pace. Not far behind were Delano and Naill along with a handful of other wolven in their shifted forms.

Running long distances was never Kieran’s favorite in his human form. But he and Casteel needed to talk—badly. So he kept with it and promised himself that he’d shift as soon as he’d said what he needed to say.

“Cas, brother, I’m sorry this this has gone tits up,” he said, breaking the cool silence that always settled between them after a bad fight.

“It’s fine,” Cas said, even though his tone held an edge that said it clearly wasn’t.

“No, I can see how she’s affected you. Her running—it hurt you.”

“She,” Cas started and then paused, even while his long legs never hesitated in their stride. “She must have been scared after Jericho. That’s all I can think for why she’s trying this now. I… I promised I’d keep her safe.”

“You did—she’s alive now because of it.” Kieran reminded him, eager to avert the spiral of self-loathing that Casteel favored in times like this. Besides it being tedious as hell, it wasn’t rightly earned. “This is Jericho’s damned fault. Not yours.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Cas said, shaking his head as he leapt over a fallen log. The woods were thicker here, and they closed in around the stream.

“We’ll find her,” Kieran promised, leaping over the log in turn. Casteel slowed just enough to clap him on the shoulder in a silent thanks. Kieran grinned, returning the friendly clasp with one of his own.

“Let’s pause for a minute. I need to shift before my legs fall off.”

Chapter Text

Running away sounded better as a figment of her imagination, Poppy decided as she hauled Cas’ stolen cloak tighter around herself. A wild and dangerous idea that she really hadn’t thought through fully. Sure, she’d thought through ways to avoid being tracked, and had so far managed to chart a course that had kept her away from the Craven. But with every step, she realized just how little idea she had of where she was headed. Just what was in the Wastelands? Would she even be able to survive? And had it even been worth it? Maybe if she’d told Cas about her suspected Atlantian heritage, he would have changed plans.

As it was, things had progressed too far for her to turn back. He’d been just like the Ascended—seeing her as a tool to achieve their goals. Not as a human, not as a woman, and not as someone worth caring for independent of her value as an object to be possessed. Vikter cared for her, Tawny too. But wasn’t that just because it’d been their job? Guarding her, and living in her quarters? Such proximity mandated a kind of familiarity, and it had not been on their own choosing. Only Ian had ever truly loved her for who she was. Not what she was. And with him Ascended, who could even guarantee that care was still there? Poppy refused to believe he’d become as cold and callous as the Duke. But… would he still see her as his partner and mischief and little sister?

After their parents’ deaths, Ian had barely been fazed by Poppy’s designation as the Maiden. “You’re my sister,” he’d said with a shrug. “Who cares if you have to wear a silly veil?” Then he’d made a joke and scampered off into the bushes with Poppy hot on his heels, sticking as close to him as his own shadow.  

Gods, it ached to think of him. Since she’d left Masadonia, she could no longer expect his monthly letters. No longer would she trace the letters on the page, imaging him sitting at his desk as he spun tale after tale of strange creatures and faraway places. But she had to believe that they’d be reunited. Hopefully before Cas’ father razed the city of Carsodonia. Poppy faltered in her steps as she considered the thought.

A war. That’s what her running away had doomed Atlantia and Solis to. A war. Kieran had called her their last hope to avoid conflict. Well, she’d ruined that plan. Truthfully, she hadn’t even fully considered it. Her feet were moving out the door after Cas left before she was even fully aware of it. She’d shushed the part of her that screamed to stay in their bed. She’d ignored the ache in her heart as she slipped out the kitchen. Casteel was on his own. The Descenters too—Poppy needed to look after herself. The attack in the stables was proof of that. Trusting anyone to protect her was a useless endeavor.

The snowstorm that came upon her just after nightfall had now turned into freezing rain. Sharp gusts of wind cut through her soaked clothing. Poppy’s legs ached and her eyes kept drifting shut from exhaustion. Move! Her brain shouted, even as her body faltered. But as the rain soaked through Cas’ thick cloak, an idea struck her.

Poppy had hugged the stream for four days now, and she needed to break off before the Wolven and Atlantians caught up with her. With the driving rain, she felt sure that her scent wouldn’t be easily caught. So, glancing around between the flashes of lighting that illuminated the tangled branches of the wilds, she left the stream in what she thought was a general easterly direction. The path wasn’t easy—here the forest understory was thick with brambles and tangled roots that threatened to trip her at every turn. Poppy moved more slowly, checking each step before she made it to avoid snapping her ankle. Something else she definitely didn’t need.

Even the thought of Casteel finding her like that—shivering and broken—made Poppy shudder. It was too easy to imagine the curve of his lip, half in anger and half in amusement, at the bedraggled sight in front of him. The drawl of his imaginary voice tickled her ice-cold ears. Poppy had felt immensely capable as she’d slipped out of New Haven armed and bearing provisions. But coming back with a broken ankle from a careless tumble? No, that really would not do at all. He’d probably insist on carrying her. That or toss her over his saddle like she was a bundle of potatoes. The memory of him hauling her over his shoulders sent a flush of warmth through Poppy. What was it he’d said?

“I have far more interesting plans for tying you up,”

Atlantians, Poppy decided, were very bad for one’s mental stability. They brought an onslaught of hot flashes and heady giggles that were most unsuitable for the health of a young woman like herself. Besides, with all the time they spent smirking and making filthy jokes, it was a wonder they accomplished anything at all.

Poppy couldn’t help the crooked grin that slipped on her face at the idea of Delano and Kieran’s reaction to her disappearance right after she and Cas had… had fucked. Because that’s what it had been, right? Not the coupling of a pair deeply in love. He didn’t love her. He loved her body, though for reasons she couldn’t understand.

 In another world, she’d been mortified to think of the wolvens knowing that she’d willingly shared a bed with their leader, the Dark One. Gods, even two months ago, someone telling her that would have seemed insane. But the forced intimacy of her kidnapping had set Poppy’s world into a tailspin. In all honesty, she no longer felt quite sure of who she was. Everything she’d ever known about herself seemed to be a lie. She still had the characteristics of herself that she knew—her skills and her temperament. But who was she? Where had she come from? Who were her parents really? Those questions rattled around in her head without answer.

That’d had been one benefit to keeping the wolven around. Kieran and Delano had both been incredibly willing to talk with her through her endless stream of questions that came from her discovering this new world of Atlantians. Sure they rolled their eyes, but they answered her as freely as they could. The comparison between them and the Duke: someone who would have caned her within an inch of her life for breathing wrong. Forget that. He had caned her within an inch of her life. What would have happened if Poppy had stayed in Masadonia? How would she have lived on knowing what he and the Lord were capable then.

Poppy’s eyes flared at the reminder that, while Cas had neatly disposed of the Duke, and god’s bless him for that, the Lord Mazeen was alive and well. This was a fact that she’d have to remedy before long. Even if all the Ascended were bad, he surely existed on a tier above. What he’d done to poor Malessa alone should have sealed his fate. She imagined herself hacking him into a lot of very tiny pieces with steel—to keep him from turning to dust. Maybe then she’d set them on fire. Truthfully he deserved far worse, but she might have to settle for efficiency.

Charting a path away from the stream took longer than simply following it, but Poppy kept moving. She badly needed to rest, but the fierce weather spurred her on—surely the Atlantians had stopped to let the storm pass. They’d likely assumed that she had as well. Poppy depended on it. Once she felt like she’d truly lost them, then she could find a place to rest. Maybe even start replenishing her food stocks. Out here, she seemed removed from all the dangers of the blood forest. Surely there were wild animals or plants that she could eat.

Plants would be preferrable—as much as Poppy didn’t mind taking lives to defending herself, the idea of hunting and skinning an animal for the first time made her stomach churn.

A crack of thunder shook the ground, and Poppy lurched midstep, barely catching herself on a nearby tree before tumbling to the ground. As she righted herself, she looked down, realizing that the tree had an inner hollow that seemed mostly protected from sight and the elements. She debated moving on for only a moment before clambering inside and away from the lashing of the wind outside.

The tree wasn’t comfortable by any means, but it sheltered her, and despite the icy chill on her skin, Poppy soon found herself drifting away into sleep. Outside the tree, hidden in the dark, she missed the tangled web of bones that dangled between the trees above her. Their clattering was hidden in the howls of the wind.

~~~~~~

Her curves were like silk under his hands. The lush swell of her hips hypnotized him. Every inch seemed more luscious than the last, and he hungered for her. Her scent hung heavy in the air, thick with the sweet fresh smell of honeydew. The first time he'd tasted her, Cas had felt like he was drowning only to come up for air. Their eyes met and Cas felt a zing of energy racing along his spine. Her lips curved into a smile that matched his own, and he felt electrified by her presence. The gods had blessed him when they’d given him the scourge of her. She was his and he her willing slave.

Tentative, always so tentative at first, her hands slid up his arms, tracing the corded outline of his body. Her lips parted on a heady exhale that he ached to devour. Almost too quick to be seen, her tongue darted out, wetting the corner of her lip. Cas's focused zeroed there, his body thickening and hardening in response. 

But even as he dove into the warmth and safety that her embrace offered him, Cas found the dream crumbling around him. Instead of Poppy’s warmth and shy smiles, he found a surly Kieran nudging him with his toe. He pulled himself up into a seated position on the soaked ground, peeling the waterproofed bedroll off his damp skin.

“Morning,” he said, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. Kieran grunted and tossed him a bundle of food that served as breakfast. “You’re cheery,” he observed, finding it inside himself to smirk at his bonded despite the situation. Poppy still hadn’t been found, and he was constantly consumed with worry.

“Pay him no mind,” Delano said, stepping into view. “You woke him up.”

“I woke him up?” Cas asked, glancing back towards Kieran’s heavy frown.

“Oh, Princess…” Naill said with an exaggerated moan drawing out the syllables on princess. He ducked as both Kieran and Cas chucked whatever was closest to them in his direct. For Cas it was a boot. For Kieran it was his own breakfast. Unperturbed, Naill laughed to himself and moved out of range. Kieran stepped away, muttering about idiot Atlantians and wayward Maidens giving him a headache.

“How long till Oak Ambler?” Delano asked, changing the subject before more violence occurred.

“Another day or two. Why?” Cas asked, trying not to think of Poppy as he chewed on a piece of aged cheese.

“I was just thinking,” Delano said, clearly hesitating with every word, “what if she isn’t going there?”

“It’s the nearest Vampry other than Whitebridge.” Cas said with a shrug.

“But that’s just it,” Delano said. “She was furious every time you said you were going to hand her back. After what they did to her…”

“You think she’s not running to the Vampry?” Cas asked, looking at Delano with a spark of realization.

“If I were her, I wouldn’t.”

“Where would you go?”

“Somewhere no one would look for me.” Delano said, his lips twisted into a frown.

“Do you think she’s running towards the Wastelands?” Cas asked, his brow furrowed with thought as he considered Delano’s opinions.

“It’s where I’d go.”

Casteel didn’t say anything for a long minute while he stared at the Wolven in front of him. The idea of Poppy alone in the wilds set his teeth on edge—there were far more dangers than she knew of in these woods. But Delano’s idea sounded a chord of truth inside him. Poppy had fought him at every turn when he talked about giving her back for Malik. And… he hadn’t told her about his thoughts. Those wild impulses that danced on the edge of his consciousness whenever he looked at her. The impulse to bury himself in her and never let go—that she was aware of, or else he’d certainly done his best to convey it. But unspoked to all, was the impulse to take her back to Atlantia. To make her his bride and his queen. Atlantia’s first queen of mortal blood. Freeing Malik… surely Poppy’s status as the Maiden of Solis would give her a powerful voice that he could leverage. All to keep her with him. He’d rewrite the music of the stars themselves if it meant spending more time with Poppy.

But Poppy didn’t know any that. Surely, she didn’t think him capable of discarding her so easily. But what had he told her to the contrary?

“We should split up,” he said. Kieran’s brows jumped up. “Naill, take a group to the borders of Oak Ambler. Look for any signs of her or any rumors around her disappearance.”

“And the rest of us?” Kieran asked.

“We’ll begin scouring the Northern Wastelands for any signs of her—starting with the edges of Pompay. That’s the easiest place for her to get to from this angle.” Cas felt a new energy sparked within him as he led the division of their search parties. This new course promised action and a new chance to find the maiden who’d stolen his heart. He had to find her. He had to. He would find her.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Poppy noticed as she awoke was the cold press of metal against her throat. Her eyes, drifting slowly at first, flew open and she found herself pressed into the crevice of the tree by a shadow looming over her.

“Hello there, little bird,” he cooed in a tone that set every hair on Poppy’s skin upright. “Got caught in the storm?” The hand that wasn’t holding his knife slipped around her shoulder and he yanked her out of the hollow. Sprawling on the ground, Poppy looked up. The early morning light was still dim and grey, but she could make out the flesh-colored mask the man wore. Uneven stitching tracked across his face, and through the holes she made out a pair of dark eyes and crooked, yellowed teeth.

Without a thought, Poppy leapt to her feet, dagger in hand.

“Ooh, the little bird has teeth,” he said, eyeing her blade with a grin that made Poppy’s innards flip with terror. “I’ll have to fix that before I clip your wings.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Poppy gritted, dropping into a defensive stance—the same that had sent Cas flying less than a week before.

“I wonder,” the man said, running a finger over the edge of his knife. “Can you still suck my cock if I’ve cut out your tongue?” He cocked his head, “I suppose even a scarred bitch can do that.”

The sound that ripped from Poppy’s throat was so far from human that it almost scared her. Rage had replaced the fear she’d felt when first waking up, and it roiled in her stomach. Whoever this man was, he was going to die. Poppy was done being cowed by people who threw taunts and threats towards her.

A change had occurred, so suddenly that she’d almost missed it. The Maiden had died that day in the New Haven stables, and it was a new creature who leapt towards the man now. A creature of fury for strength and bloodstone for claws. Every ounce of learned timidity was gone as she fell upon him. Her eyes were merciless, and her aim unerring. He was taken by surprise by the swiftness of her blow, not even having time to block. Poppy’s knife dug deep into his chest as her knee rose up, colliding with the space between his thighs.

The man fell back, eyes wide in surprise. His knife fell soundlessly to the forest floor, hidden by the solid thump of his head against the tangled roots. Poppy stood over him, her foot planted on his throat.

“You seem to have mistaken a hawk for a sparrow,” she said, digging her foot into his throat.

The man’s eyes were wide under the mask, and his teeth were stained with the blood that now pooled in his mouth. Poppy almost relented to let him die in peace when her eyes noticed the texture of his mask. Was that… skin? A new course of revulsion passed over her, and she felt no pity for her would be assailant as he passed from this life in disgrace and defeat.

Bending down to collect his fallen dagger, Poppy looked around herself to catch her bearings. Far in the distance, she heard the burblings of the creek as the water tumbled southwards. Elsewhere, carried on the wind, she heard the clanging of metal and bloodstone. Was someone else caught in a fight against a man like this one—with stolen skin for coverings? All thoughts of her escape gone, Poppy raced towards the sounds. With the light, she leapt over the roots and dodged the brambles, willing breath into her aching lungs.

Running had always been her least favorite part of training. But now, she understood why Vikter had insisted on it. No matter how she’d protested or claimed that she wouldn’t need to be able to run for the kind of fighting that happened in the rise walls, Vikter had been impassive. Only his determination had kept her going, and those muscles served her now. As she moved deeper and deeper into the forest, the sounds grew louder and clearer.

Poppy skidded to a stop just before a clearing where the fighting was. A figure in the trees caught her attention first. Bow in hand, he was looking down and away from her. Like her own attacker, he wore a mask and jerkin of skin. Poppy swallowed a retch at the realization as she followed his gaze. Down below, a single man was fighting off a host of assailants. His auburn waves caught in the sunlight as he ducked and spun. Even outnumbered as he was, he managed to put up a respectable fight. He moved with a speed that betrayed him. An Atlantian. A member of Casteel’s cohort sent out to look for her?

Atlantian or not, he was still fighting a pitched battle. Poppy stood there, transfixed by indecision when she saw the man in the tree take aim. He was going to fire on the Atlantian. In that moment, Poppy knew what she had to do. Reaching down to the dagger she’d taken from the other man, her arm bent back, and the knife left her hand before she spared another thought.

A breath passed. Then another. Before a third could leave Poppy’s lips, her knife found its home in his neck. The man scarcely had time to gurgle in surprise before he tumbled down to the ground. The sound of him colliding with the understory disrupted the fighters. The sole Atlantian glanced towards it, his golden eyes blazing. They widened when he saw Poppy. Shit. Well, there went the opportunity to sneak away. Surrendering herself to the reality that she was too involved to escape, Poppy ran towards the fallen bandit from the tree. She freed her dagger from his throat and liberated the bow and arrows from his grasp.

This is no different than fighting Craven. Poppy told herself as she notched an arrow to the string. Even so, a part of her cringed as she loosed it. The arrow sped through the air, embedding itself in one of the mystery fighters wearing human skin. Nobody bent on being a hero dons clothing made of skin. As sheltered as Poppy was, even she knew that.

Ponderings on the morality of skin wearing aside, Poppy had already notched another arrow and let it fly. With her help, the ground of the battle was rapidly changing. A man ran towards her, his yellowed teeth bared in a snarl that iced Poppy’s blood as he brandished his sword. Poppy swallowed her fear and ducked to avoid his blow, her dagger sliding up between his ribs. With a sharp twist, she found his heart, and he went down.

Biting back the growing panic that came from helping this man, Poppy took up the bow once more. This is the right thing to do. She swore to herself as she notched another arrow. Then another. What good is knowing how to fight if I don’t help people?

Once they were surrounded by piles of dead bandits, the strange Atlantian looked over at her from across the clearing.

“I suppose I owe you my thanks, strange wild woman that you are.” He said with a flourished bow that almost set Poppy giggling. It looked more like the bow of a courtier than that of a dirtied warrior after a pitched bout.

Poppy realized with a start that she surely did look like a wild woman. Her hair hung behind her in a tangled braid, and her face was now streaked with what was likely dirt and blood. Her clothes… well those were a mess unto their own.

The strange Atlantian continued on, “Do you, strange woman, have a name?”

“Tawny,” Poppy lied, saying the first name that came to her. As far as lies went, it wasn’t half bad—Tawny was a name that she could easily answer to.

“Tawny,” he said, testing it out. “It is a name as beautiful as you are.”

Poppy couldn’t help it then—the giggle broke loose until it shifted into a full laugh. “You’re flirting at a time like this?” she managed between peals.

“I admit it’s a bit absurd,” he said with a grin and a shrug. “I’d expected to be fending them off for another hour at the least till you came to my rescue.”

“I’m your rescuer, then?” Poppy asked, stooping to clean the blood from her dagger.

“And I am your hapless maiden,” he said with another bow.

“Do hapless maidens have a name?”

“I can’t speak for the rest of us, but mine is Emil.” He stepped closer to her, offering his hand as he did so. Poppy took it, his firm grasp enveloping hers. He smiled again, a brilliant sort of thing that might have set another woman’s heart a fluttering. As it was, it sparked a sharp prick of pain at the similarities to some of the warmer smiles that Cas had shared with her.

As a rule, Cas’s smiles were few and far between, particularly when they’d first met. They started as guarded and playful grins, usefully accompanied with an attempt to spur on physical relations between them. But at the end, they’d morphed into something more, growing warmer and more open. Poppy ached to see just one more smile of his like the last he’d given her. He’d found his release with a deep growl, burying his head in the crook of her neck, but after…. After, when he’d looked up, his eyes had seemed luminous with unspoken feeling. And he’d smiled then, a wide and real smile that had set her heart afire.

“You’re still holding my hand,” she whispered, her cheeks warming at the heat that had crept into his gaze.

“So I am,” he said, glancing down at it. “Such a calloused hand for a lady. Though,” he added, seeing the sharpness that crossed her face, “it makes sense given your violent proclivities.”

“You weren’t complaining about my… proclivities when I was saving you,” Poppy objected.

“You’re right, it was most helpful.” He finally released her hand with another smile, though this one didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And I would be remiss if I didn’t inquire as to why a valiant warrior like yourself was out in these woods alone.”

“I could ask the same question,” Poppy muttered.

“My question first,” he said with a slight narrowing of his eyes.

In that moment, Poppy chose the story that seemed the simplest. “I… I’m a runaway,” she admitted, her cheeks staining red. “I was a lady-in-wait at Oak Ambler, but I…” she trailed off, her eyes fluttering shut. She prayed it just looked like emotion instead of buying time.

“Well, I suppose I can admit to my mission then,” Emil said with a grin. “I’m a scout.”

Poppy feigned ignorance, “You don’t look like a huntsman.”

Emil’s countenance darkened. “Not for the Ascended,” he said, stressing the word.

“Are… are you a Descenter?” she asked, her voice dropping to a low whisper.

“In a sense,” Emil said, inclining his head slightly. “Why are you running away?”

“I… I saw something I wasn’t supposed to.” Poppy said, her head dropping low. She sat down, and Emil followed suit. “My friend Malessa was murdered. They said it was an Atlantian, but… I saw one of the lords leaving the room she was in. He had blood on his collar.” She looked up at Emil. “I was afraid, so I’ve been running ever since.”

As a rule, Poppy was a terrible liar. Vikter has always said so. Though, perhaps she was only bad at it with people who knew her face and tells. Emil reached out, his hand grasping hers firmly in support. “That must have been frightening. Where are you running to?”

Poppy shrugged. “Anywhere? Truthfully, I didn’t plan it very well. I thought if I went far enough south, I’d be lost to the wilds.” A shudder passed through her. “I didn’t think I’d be stuck fighting off men with skin for clothing.”

“Speaking of which,” Emil glanced around. “We ought to be going before more arrive. They will have heard the fighting.”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Poppy said, shaking her head. Emil might not be part of the Atlantians searching for her, but there was no way she could keep company with him and not be discovered.

“Not here you won’t.” Emil countered, eyes darting between the trees. “My company can get you to the borders of Pompay. There you’ll be safe from the Dead Bones Clan and can go wherever you wish.”

Gods only know what impulse made Poppy take his hand. Standing up, she nodded in assent. Breathing a sigh of relief, Emil inclined his head. “Our path is that way—I’ll go slow so you can keep up.”

I’ll go slow. Poppy would have snapped at the condescension, but she had seen Cas and Naill move enough that she knew he could easily outpace her in a single breath. So she swallowed her retort, and followed in his footsteps. Even going slow for him was faster than she wanted to run after fighting first thing in the morning. Her stomach and thighs grumbled in protest. Bile threatened to rise up after so much activity on an empty stomach. It helped when Poppy imagined a host of skin wearers in the woods behind her.

As it turned out, Emil was a very considerate leader. He paused, not infrequently, for Poppy to catch her breath. Infuriatingly, she noted that he was barely winded. During one such rest stop, as she gulped down breath after breath, Emil broke the silence that had reigned between them.

“Feel free to slap me for my impertinence,” he said, his warm golden eyes tracing the contours of her face. “But where are your scars from?”

Poppy stilled. Once, the knowledge of her craven attack had been traumatic, but non-controversial. A sign of blessing, of being chosen. Now it felt like a weighty secret branded across her face.

“I was mauled by a craven as a child,” she said, her eyes not meeting his.

“Shit,” Emil said. “Now I feel like a right bastard for asking.” Poppy twitched at the unconscious echo the words shared with Casteel's after he'd asked the first time. Was he going to haunt her for the rest of her life?

Rolling her eyes as a way to dismiss the specter of Casteel that lingered in her mind, Poppy said, “I’m impressed it took you this long.”

 “I didn’t notice them at first.” Emil said with a shrug.

Poppy’s eyebrows jumped up at that. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I mean it. I was far too busy admiring your…” he grinned between words, and Poppy felt the heat of his gaze as he finished, “fighting forms. You have to admit, you make a fetching rescuer. If I’d known such ladies like yourself ran about these woods, I would have let myself get caught more often.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Poppy’s mouth, and before she knew it, she was laughing. Emil smiled in turn as he watched her. “I’m quite taken with you,” he announced.

“You’ve known me for all of thirty minutes,” Poppy said, shifting uncomfortably at the turn in the conversation.

“Ah,” Emil said with a waggle of his eyebrows. “But they’ve been a very full thirty minutes. And you know what they say,” he paused for emphasis, “Couples who fight together,”

“Kill each other from frustration?” Poppy interjected, thinking of the time she and Cas had fought off craven as well as everything that had followed.

“I was going to say, ‘have fantastic sex,’ but I suppose your option works for cynical bastards.” He paused, and his facial expression turned serious once more. “That reminds me, where did you learn to fight so well? I’ve never known women warriors in Solis.”

Considering that she was drowning in lies already, Poppy decided to stick to the truth for this one. “I was close with a guard,” she admitted. “He taught me how to fight.”

Emil’s eyes widened. “Do you mean I have a rival for your hand?” he asked with a dramatic sigh.

Poppy opened her mouth to protest—Vikter wasn’t anything like that. But Cas loomed large in her mind, and she only managed the lame retort, “Not him.”

“Ah, but there is someone?”

“Was someone.” Poppy placed special emphasis on the was. That’s all Casteel was. A fixture that had changed her life.

“I can live with a ‘was’ considering I am here.” Emil said with a wide grin. Poppy shifted again, wondering how she’d landed into the hands of yet another Atlantian fixated on getting into her britches while knowing nothing about her. And how was he going to react when she rejected him and set off on her own again. Could she give him the slip? It had been chance that had set her free last time, but such events rarely happened twice.

“Come on,” Emil said, breaking her mental tailspin. “We’re almost there.”

Poppy was opening her mouth to ask just what he’d meant by ‘company’ when she heard the sounds of life up ahead. Moving through the trees after Emil, she saw a clustering of men with their horses. Drawing closer, she saw the telltale mix of golden and frigid blue eyes. Atlantians, every one of them.

This really isn’t good. She thought to herself.

The men stopped their chatter when they noticed Emil had returned.

“You found a friend,” one of the wolven called out. Poppy reddened under all the gazes. Just what would these men do to her if they knew she was the Maiden? Would they use her like Cas or try to murder her like Jericho? She felt dizzy from fear.

“I wasn’t aware we were taking on strays,” one of the older looking men in the party observed. His pale blond hair was tied back, leaving the large scar that cut across his forehead clear to see. The gravel in his tone and his general posture reminded her of Vikter. That reminder made her throat tighten as she thought about how her guard was likely mad with worry since she’d disappeared.

“This is my valiant savior.” Emil said with a flourish. “Stumbled into a nest of Dead Bones, and she helped fight them off.”

“Then she is remarkable indeed,” the older man said, more warmly. His eyes narrowed and his gaze turned assessing as he asked, “and just what is a young lady doing running loose in the territory of the Dead Bones Clan?”

Emil jumped to answer before Poppy could, and she was grateful for that. “Tawny’s a runaway from Oak Ambler. Saw a vampry taking a snack when she wasn’t supposed to and has been alone ever since.”

The man’s eyebrows lifted at that, but his lips curved into a smile. “Well, then I suppose we ought to offer young Tawny our protection.”

Grinning, Emil turned to her. “Said you’d be safer here.” He glanced around. “Might as well do the introductions before we move on.” He rattled off a list of names that Poppy was sure to forget before gesturing at the man who had spoken before. “And this is our leader Alastir Davenwell.”

Alastir bowed. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tawny.”

Chapter Text

Alastir… Hadn’t that been the name the messenger had said when he’d distracted Cas and Kieran at New Haven? He must be important for his name to have such weight… Poppy felt, not for the first time since the debacle of her kidnapping had started, that she was truly in deep shit. A ragtag band of Atlantians might have been a minor hiccup. But this? She likely only had days before they encountered other Atlantians carrying news of her disappearance.

Feeling like her tongue had cemented itself to the roof of her mouth, she bent her head in what she hoped was a polite nod. Alastir fixed her with another unreadable look before turning back to Emil. When Poppy reached out with her gift, all she could taste from him was a thick sense of concern melded with the cool splash of surprise and curiosity.

“You said you ran into the Dead Bones Clan?”

 Emil grimaced as he nodded. “About twenty of them. Would have taken me a while to get back without her help.”

“So you said,” Alastir mused. “They’ll likely be out in greater numbers since you escaped.” His Wolven blue eyes flitted around the campsite. “This site is defensible, so we’ll stay here for the day. We’ll continue on to New Haven tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to talk to our new guest.”

Poppy did her best to hide the rush of fear she felt after hearing the words New Haven. Emil might have fucking mentioned that. So much for a safe escort; now she had an entirely new party of Atlantians to escape.

“Here, take a seat,” Emil said, guiding her by the elbow to an empty log. “I’ll get you some food and water.”

“Thank you,” Poppy said, looking up with a smile.

“She speaks!” Alastir exclaimed with a gentle smile as he took a seat near her. “I half expected Emil to insist on talking for you the whole day.”

Poppy couldn’t help it, she grinned at that. “He is rather… forward,” she admitted in a low, conspiratorial whisper.

“I heard that.” Emil called out from where he rummaged through the saddlebags. “It’s all part of my charm.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Alastir shot back, his eyes twinkling. He turned back towards Poppy. “Emil is a nuisance, but a harmless one.”

“If anything,” Emil said, rejoining them as he handed her a satchel of food, “She’s the dangerous one. Been a minute since I saw a mortal fight like her.”

Poppy settled for taking a bite of cheese rather than comment on Emil’s adulations.

“Really?” Alastir asked. “It isn’t common for women in Solis to fight.”

Rolling her eyes at that, Poppy interjected, “If I had a drachma for every time someone said that to me, I’d be a wealthy woman.”

Alastir’s lips twitched into a smile, but it failed to meet his eyes. “The question still stands, Miss. Tawny. How did a young lady like yourself learn to fight?”

Having told the story once, the half truth came easily to Poppy. “I was close with a guard. He taught me how to fight in case the craven made it past the rise.”

“It seems like you were an excellent pupil.”

Looking greatly as if he was ready to comment on Poppy’s aptness as a student, Emil opened his mouth to speak, but Alastir continued, “Tell me, Tawny, what has Emil told you about our cohort?”

Poppy paused as Emil handed her a flask of water and a clean cloth. Spilling some of the water on to the cloth, Poppy set about wiping the worst of the blood and muck off her hands. “He said he was a Descenter, ‘of sorts.’”

“He was telling the truth, and he wasn’t.” Alastir said. “We are Atlantians.”

“Atlantians?”

“Aye. We serve the one you call The Dark One. Tell me, Tawny, does that frighten you?” Alastir asked.

How am I supposed to react to that? Poppy wondered, blinking. She looked around the group. “I suppose after the last few weeks, nothing scares me anymore.” The shudder that passed through her is real. “As long as you aren’t trying to kill me while wearing skin, that is.” Alastir blinked, grinning crookedly at her answer, similar to how Vikter would when she’d just cracked a joke in public. Unable to laugh while dearly wishing to. Aching at the memory, Poppy turned to washing her face, first pulling back the hair that fallen into her face during their run. She looked up to see that Alastir’s eyes were fixed on her scars, an unspoken question lingering behind his gaze.

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” she asked, gesturing towards her forehead in the same place where his scar lay.

“Indeed,” Alastir murmured, his voice softer than before. He cleared his throat and continued on his previous train of thought. “All that the Ascended have told you is a lie—we are not the bloodthirsty monsters you have been taught to fear. They are.”

“That’s a lot to believe.” Poppy said slowly.

“Emil said you saw an Ascended feeding?”

“Not exactly. I saw one of the lords of the Keep leaving my friend’s room. He had blood on his collar. Inside, Malessa was dead—bitten and drained of blood. The Ascended said it was an Atlantian who did it, but I knew.” Enough truth, the truth of the Lord Mazeen murdering Malessa and the truth of the Duke’s bite on her own shoulder lay behind her words. Like Ian had always told her, “The key to lying is figuring out how to tell the truth while you do it.”

Alastir reached out a sympathetic hand and gripped Poppy’s forearm in support. “That must have been truly terrifying to witness.” He smiled at her warmly, “But you’re with us now, and the Ascended cannot harm you.”

Perhaps it was the upheaval of the last month. Perhaps it was the tone of his voice that made her ache for Vikter’s fatherly presence. But before Poppy had fully considered anything, she’d thrown her arms around Alastir in a tight embrace. Her eyes prickled with the tears that she’d dared not shed before. Not since that night in Masadonia after Cas had first told her the truth about the Ascended.

Awkwardly, as if the warmth of her gesture surprised him, Alastir patted her shoulders. “It’s alright, child.”

Pulling back, Poppy flushed as she realized how insane she likely seemed. The emotional upheavals inside her were all too real, but it was another Atlantian responsible for the turmoil she still felt. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve been running in circles all alone, and I haven’t been able to tell anyone what happened,” she said, sniffling back another sob.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Alastir said, squeezing her hand.

“For the record,” Emil said, “I’ve never seen anyone hug Alastir. Second,” he grinned at Poppy in a mischievous way that warned her to brace herself for whatever was coming next, “If you find yourself overtaken by emotion again, I give excellent embraces.”

Poppy’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything, Alastir’s boot shot out and collided with Emil’s shin.

“You’re an impudent ass,” Alastir said.

“Correction,” Emil said, still grinning shamelessly. “I have an adorable ass.”

“Oh, gods.” Poppy said, hiding her face in her hands.

“Go make yourself useful instead of harassing our guest.” Alastir said, waving his hand in a dismissal. Emil laughed and bowed towards Poppy before waltzing off, whistling as he walked.

“He means well,” Alastir said, watching him walk away. “If you tell him to stop, he will.”

“He’s alright.” Poppy said with a weak laugh. Truthfully, Emil’s flirting always seemed so ostentatious that it was hard to take him seriously.

“Tawny,” Alastir asked, turning back towards her, “I’d meant to ask. Do you have any family to worry about?”

Shaking her head, Poppy said, “They were killed by Craven when I was a child.”

Alastir’s eyes widened. Once more his eyes tracked over her scars, his face paling as he did so. Lines bracketed his mouth as he asked, “Is that…?”

“It’s how I was scarred.” Poppy said, her fingers tracing the lowest scar that dipped below her eye, angling towards her nose.

“You wear your scars proudly,” Alastir said, swallowing before continuing. “You were lucky to have escaped without being bitten and turned.”

Poppy stilled, unable to stop the tremor that crept into her voice. “Lucky,” she managed with a nod. “Yes, I was.” Her eyes were fixed on the ground, too afraid to meet Alastir’s eyes in case she saw doubt clouding them.

Alastir smiled again, “I’ll let you have a minute of quiet rest while I speak to the men. It’s likely been far too long since you’ve been able to sit in quiet without fear.”

Smiling sadly, Poppy watched him leave. All the other men looked up to him, clearly giving Alastir the due of a respected leader. Vikter had walked among the guards much the same way. He never ranked with those like Commander Jansen, but he still carried respect among the others. His courage was known, as was his strength and integrity. What would he say if he saw me now? Poppy wondered. Her life as the Maiden seemed so removed after days of running through muddy streams and… well, Casteel had pretty thoroughly banished the more obvious traits of the Maiden. But so too had all the cruelty that she’d suffered. Being innocent and docile had not saved her from the Duke’s cruelty, and she doubted that Jericho would have wanted her less dead if she’d curtsied to him when he’d killed Rylan.

The other Atlantians gave Poppy a wide berth. Polite but uninterested, they left her to Emil and Alastir’s company. Emil excelled at coaxing laughs from Poppy while Alastir remained kind but reserved. True, half her laughs were from surprise and the others were from disbelief, but she felt warmth that prickled her conscience. How would Cas feel if he saw her laughing with one of his men? What would Emil say if he knew she’d been… intimate with his prince?

The day passed in relative quiet—the Dead Bones Clan seemed unwilling to attack them while they were gathered together. Darkness stole upon them, and Poppy counted the hours till most of the party bedded down, so she could begin the process of escaping once more.

Chapter Text

The next time that Casteel came up with a scheme to free Malik, Kieran was going to knock him upside the head and drag him back to Atlantia. It’d taken Cas fifteen years to recover from what had been done to him in Carsodonia. They’d spent eighty years at least trying to free Malik once Cas had returned to a shadow of himself. Then, once they’d heard tell of the Maiden, a girl chosen by the gods, it’d been only a matter of time before Casteel had seen her as a leverage point. Four years. Four years he’d been a guard in Carsodonia, pretending to be a loyal servant of the Vampry bastards. Then the successful transfer to Masadonia. Finally the Maiden was within their grasp.

When he’d stood in the Red Pearl with Cas and Jericho, the plan had seemed so simple. Not easy, necessarily. But simple.  Kill a guard. Take his place. Take the Maiden. Three steps and they would have her. A fourth and they would ransom her for Malik. What could go wrong?

But it had gone wrong. Not ten minutes after he left, the Maiden had stumbled and fallen under Casteel. Worse yet, he hadn’t recognized her. Well, Kieran couldn’t exactly fault him for that—veiled as she was, he doubted he would have realized it was her either. The odds of the Maiden being in the upper rooms of the Red Pearl seemed infinitesimal at best. Yet there she was. Two nights in a row, they’d collided. Kieran had had no clue that Cas’ mystery girl was the Maiden, but he’d still seen the change in his affect. The lightness in his step after seeing her both times.

The glow in his eyes that Kieran had only ever seen a few times before—when Casteel felt well and truly interested in the challenge before him. As a boy, Cas had been given to tinkering. Building makeshift electrical circuits or backyard aqueducts had been his preferred pastimes when he didn’t have his nose stuck in a book. A math problem that would have Malik throwing his schoolwork at the wall before running out to play would keep Cas engrossed for an afternoon.

That innocent fascination with a puzzle or riddle had long since disappeared from Cas’s affect when they’d gone to Carsodonia to free Malik. Instead, there had been a serious and hardened Atlantian, hell bent on a single mission. No price was too high to free his brother. No sacrifice too great. All he could think about was the next step that it would take to see Malik crowned the king of Atlantia. But after Penellaphe… that focus had seemed fractured as if she’d taken it in hand and cracked it over her knee.

Kieran had to hand it to Penellaphe. If, three weeks ago, someone had told him that The Maiden would have successfully evaded an entire team of Atlantians and Wolvens for the better half of a week, he would have laughed in their face. Even after seeing her fight off those Craven, he would have rated her chances as slim to none. Nothing personal to her, but he and Delano were some of the best trackers out there. But evade them she had. Among some of the men, particularly those who had come from New Haven, he’d heard the grumblings as they wondered if she was even still alive. Was her body lying somewhere in the forest?

Such questions lingered at the forefront of Kieran’s mind as well, and even as he moved through the woods, he found his throat tightening with concern. Such a feeling was understandable—this kidnapping plan was always a long shot. To have it go wrong nowas deeply concerning. If she wasn’t found, the ensuing war stood to be devastating. But that wasn’t all. The effect it had on Cas? Even more concerning. Ever since Poppy had disappeared, Kieran had noticed the dulling of Cas’s amber eyes. Those striking features were sharpened and haggard, as if he’d finally begun to show a fraction of his true age.

 Even now as they passed along the edge of the Dead Bone’s Clan on their way to Pompay, Kieran couldn’t shake the feeling of misgiving that something was wrong. He had as much reason to believe her in danger as to believe she was safe, but even so, something whispered in his mind that she would need help. Just what that was supposed to mean—getting help from her kidnappers—was something that Kieran feared to think too much about. Something about it felt like an acknowledgement that this had passed from beyond a simple kidnapping to… what exactly?

Just what where they going to do with her when or if they found her again? If she wasn’t a ransom, then how would she survive among Descenters who’d rather send her head to the blood queen than see her live in peace—even as one of them? Was there a world where they could accept her?

These questions and more rolled around Kieran’s mind as he followed Casteel through the woods. Fortunately for them, the Dead Bones Clan had seemed to let them pass through. Such good fortune would normally have been commented on, but their party had slipped into silence. The others having been split into different groups, he and Delano ran ahead of Casteel in their wolven forms.  The others would head back to Spessa’s End if she wasn’t found by the end of the week.

Another week. That was all the time Cas had given them to look for her. What would happen after that week, even Kieran didn’t know. He’d spent so much time considering what was likely to happen next that the all the uncertainties and eventualities were giving him a headache. If they ever found Pen, she owed him a tin of pain relief powder for all this hassle.

Kieran knew, had known that that parties of Atlantians traveled regularly between Spessa’s End and New Haven. Still, when he heard the sound of horses and voices in the distance, it took him a moment to realize that they were coming from such a party. Bounding over a log in synchronism, he and Delano halted with Cas hot on their heels.

Emil, someone he recognized as a frequent companion of Alastir’s seemed to be leading the party. He saw the shock flashing across his face as he recognized his prince and the wolven next to him.

Biting back a groan, Kieran felt the ache building in his stomach that came with every shift. Then the stiffness in his paws as they shrank back into human hands. Bones splintering, cracking, and reforming to match those of a human. The prickling of skin as the fur retracted. He couldn’t say that it was a comfortable sensation, though certainly natural. Shifting was the most natural feeling in the world. Nothing else compared to the freedom he felt in his wolven form. The process always felt like minutes, but in reality only seconds passed before he was back into his human form.

“Casteel,” Emil said with a nod. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

“We’re looking for the Maiden—she escaped after we captured her.” Casteel said before continuing, “We’ve searched the area between Oak Ambler and Whitebridge.” He paused only to hand the satchels that held both Kieran and Delano’s clothing to them once they were done shifting.

“We’re happy to help look for her, of course,” Emil said. “We’re in the middle of our own puzzle, but of course the finding the Maiden takes priority.”

“You have an issue?” Kieran asked, sliding his trousers up around his waist.

Emil waved his hand. “It’s nothing. Tell me about the Maiden”

“She escaped New Haven a little under a week ago. We tracked her as far as the stream that runs down towards Whitebridge, but we lost the scent after that.” Kieran explained.

“What’s she look like?” Emil asked, methodically drumming his fingers against the horn of his saddle.

“Medium height, red hair, green eyes,” Cas was rattling off her traits and he didn’t seem to notice the widening of Emil’s eyes. He added, almost as an afterthought, “she has some scars on her left side of her face.

“I—” Emil was interrupted by one of the wolven riding behind him.

“Isn’t that the girl you found running in the woods, Emil?”

“What?” Cas said, head whirling around as if he could see her in the party.

“I was going to say,” Emil said, “It appears your missing maiden and our puzzle are one in the same.”

“Go on,” Cas said, and Kieran could hear the tightness in his voice. The breathlessness sounded like he’d been crushed under the weight of a heavy boulder.

“I was scouting not two days ago, and I ran into a spot of trouble with the Dead Bones Clan.” Emil explained as he slid out of his saddle, feet thumping to the ground. “Out of nowhere, a young woman starting helping—said her name was Tawny and she was a runaway from Oak Ambler.” Emil shrugged before saying, “she matched your description.”

Any life that had let Cas before rushed back to him with desperate fervor. “Did you see what direction she ran in after?”

“I actually insisted that she join us—it was too dangerous for her to be running alone?” Emil said with a frown.

“Then where is she?” Cas asked, his voice even more breathless than before.

“I brought her back to the party and Alastir wanted to ask her some questions.”

“Alastir is here?” Cas asked, frowning as he looked around. Alastir Davenwell was nowhere to be seen.

“That’s just it,” Emil said. “She disappeared that night.”

“What?” Cas asked, looking as if his hopes had been crushed. They had, of course. Things would have been too easy if that was how they found the Maiden again.

“The guards did even see her go,” Emil said. “And the strangest thing is that she wasn’t alone—Alastir and three other men disappeared that night too. Didn’t even take their horses.”

Kieran didn’t need to feel Casteel’s shock racing down the bond. He had plenty of his own. But felt it he did. “Did you get a trail from them? Where did they go?”

Emil nodded, a frown still playing on his lips. “The last scent we caught from them was headed towards Stygian Bay.”

“Then let’s go,” Cas said. He turned towards Kieran. “If Alastir realized she was the Maiden, then we are running out of time before he makes my father’s plans for the Maiden a reality.”

Turning south, they took Emil’s spare horses, and they moved with him and the others in tow. Moved towards Poppy and the ability to save her from having her head sent to the Ascended in a basket. Before they had moved with purpose and now they moved with urgency. The intensity and purpose of protecting Penellaphe spurred them on.

The gods were asleep, Kieran knew that. As such, any prayers would fall on deaf ears. And yet, as the horse beneath him moved with the others, he couldn’t help but breathe a silent prayer that Pen was alright. That she wouldn’t be harmed by Alastir. That anything Alastir did wasn’t irreversible since Kieran was fairly certain such liberties taken with the Maiden would result in the wolven’s demise at Casteel’s hands. And Kieran prayed, for Casteel’s sake that Penellaphe would be returned to them safe.

Pen’s warmth. Her endless fountain of questions. Her strength and courage in the face of dangers that would send other stronger warriors running. These things had endeared her to Kieran, despite the headache that she presented at every minute. So finally, as they ran, trying to save her against all odds, Kieran prayed for her. He prayed that she would be alright. That no new terrors would haunt her dreams.

But in the silence, punctuated only by thudding hoofbeats and his own heartbeats, Kieran’s prayers provided no warmth. Only a whisper of the fears that he dare not voice. A fear that Casteel would return to that shadow from a century ago. That in stealing her from the Ascended, he had accidentally broken himself once more. And Kieran didn’t know if there was enough time in the world for him to heal. Not after a wound like this. Not after how long it had taken him to heal from Shea. Because he hadn’t fully healed. Not ever. He’d just channeled his pain so it didn’t consume him. But through the bond and because of their friendship, Kieran knew that that channel was at risk of disintegrating.

Chapter Text

With darkness came a creeping chill that settled into Poppy’s bones. Though not the same icy coldness as the blood forest, she still ached for a little more warmth—the kind that she’d felt when Cas had held her on the forest floor. She knew, without a doubt, that all it would have taken was asking Emil to provide her a little warmth and he would have jumped at the opportunity. But instead, she wrapped herself a little tighter and bided her time. She was just cold. Just cold. It wasn’t as if she missed Casteel—just his warmth. One wasn’t supposed to miss their kidnappers. Though she could admit to missing Delano’s gentleness and Kieran’s gruff humor. Or even Naill’s even tempered disposition. But not Casteel. She would not miss him.

Whispers between the other Atlantians teased at the edges of her hearing like susurrations in a twisted stream. Low murmurs and chuckled responses exchanged between men who were clearly friends. If she’d been blessed with anything other than poor mortal ears, she might have even determined their words, catching onto the jokes that now flitted past her.

Emil, once seeing that she was situated, had bedded down a stone’s throw away. She tracked the even rise and fall of his chest, measuring the depth of his sleep as the night moved on. She’d lost track of Alastir after he’d stepped away to speak to some of the men on patrol.

Minute after minute, the whispers of the other men trailed off into silence. Slowly, carefully, Poppy eased herself up out of her bedding, sliding the strap of her bag on as she moved. Emil had given her a fresh bag of food and a waterskin that she’d tucked into her other supplies. Even in her bedding, she’d kept her shoes on for quicker escape. With every step, she paused, waiting for a shift in the easy breathing of her companions. When none came, she moved on. The guards moved on an even rotation, and Poppy had noted that there was a single gap in their movements—a boulder that they would approach and then turn around at. Keeping it between her and the guard closest, Poppy slipped through the outer perimeter.

Even still, Poppy didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. The camp was out of sight now, but Poppy still felt a prickling at the edge of her vision as if someone was watching. As she flitted between trees, Poppy kept looking round to see if she could see the source of her unease. Her hand slid down to the top of her dagger, sliding it free from the place in her boot.

“It’s cold tonight,” a voice remarked, skittering along Poppy’s skin like gooseflesh. Even as she whirled around towards the source, the low graveled tone and easy warmth sent tears to her eyes. But it wasn’t Vikter who stepped towards her, slipping into a beam of moonlight. It wasn’t Vikter’s pale blue eyes twinkling with warmth.

“Alastir,” Poppy managed, swallowing back her disappointment even as she tensed from the upset in her escape.

“I have to admit, I hadn’t expected you to leave us so soon,” he said, looking at her with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I…” Poppy stammered, trying to scrape together a reason. “I thought it was best,” she managed at last, hearing the falseness in her own tone.

“Best to leave poor Emil hanging?” Alastir asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He’ll recover.” Poppy said with a laugh that she didn’t mean.

“I suppose he will,” Alastir said, leaning to the side on a fallen tree that bridged the gap between them. Even though he looked the picture of ease, Poppy didn’t feel the same relaxation. Her nerves jangled together, warning her to run, to hide. To do anything that would get her away. But still she stayed, pinned in place by the icy chill in Alastir’s frigid blue eyes.

“I have to say, Tawny,” Alastir said, breaking the silence that hung in the air between them. “I was rather surprised at how well you took the news of us being Atlantians.”

“Oh,” Poppy said, another warning chill slithering down her spine. “I suppose nothing surprises me anymore.”

“You said that before,” Alastir said, taking another step towards her. “Still, you must have had questions—strange that you didn’t ask them.” Poppy’s tongue had glued itself to the roof of her mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t find an excuse, let alone force it out past her lips.

“You know what I think?” Alastir said, his fingers trailing back and forth across the roughened bark of the dead log.

“What?” Poppy whispered. Her voice was little more than a whisper. Not the kind of low sultry whispers that she found so naturally when speaking to Cas. But a lower, more fragile whisper, much like she’d found herself using around Duke Teerman.

“I think you’d already known something of Atlantia.” Alastir said, his eyes tracing the lines of her scars. “In fact, I think you knew exactly where you were going,” he paused before adding, “Poppy.”

Poppy had done a descent job of standing in place, but at the usage of her real name, she lurched back. Blinking, she tried to recover, but the moment was lost.

“I thought you were familiar,” Alastir said, stepping towards her and out of the moonlight. Wreathed in the shadows of the trees, he said, “From the moment I first saw you, your face was one I'd seen before. You look so much like your family.”

“You knew my parents?” Poppy asked, her eyes wide. “Cora and Leopold?” the words blurted out of her before she could reel them back in.

Alastir’s lips thinned. “I remember them, yes. But that’s not who I was referring to.”

Poppy’s eyes were wide then, her mouth filled with chalk. She edged back again. “I don’t have any other family but my brother,” she said, fighting the bands of panic that were tightening around her chest.

Humming, Alastir smiled, but any warmth she’d seen before was vacant. “Did you know, Poppy,” he said, taking a step to replace the one she’d placed between them, “that you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’ve been told that, yes.” Poppy managed. How had Alastir known her parents? Did he know she was Atlantian too? Her senses were all alarm, warning her that something was dreadfully wrong.

“How long,” Alastir asked, his eyes almost glowing in the dark, “How long have you known that you weren’t fully mortal?”

“I… less than a week.” Poppy admitted. Her hand shifted around the dagger, but she saw Alastir’s eyes narrow at the movement.

“I wouldn’t use that,” he said, gesturing towards her dagger. “So what made you realize it?”

“I heard that cravens’ bites don’t curse Atlantians.” Poppy admitted, not sure what this strange wolven meant to do with her.

“So you were bitten that night.” Alastir said, taking another step towards her.

“I… yes…” Poppy admitted. She took another step back, but this time she collided against the hard surface of a tree. No, not a tree. A tree would have bark that was cold and coarse. But this, this was warm and solid. Whirling around, she found herself hemmed in by another man—an Atlantian that she recognized from earlier. Instinctually, smoothly, she brought the dagger up in a quick motion to stop this encroachment, but Alastir was faster. Darting behind her, he clamped his hands on her biceps, hauling her back.

Hissing a sharp breath between gritted teeth, Poppy kicked at his legs. Alastir grunted, but his grasp only tightened. His fingers dug into her arms. Failing to break his hold, Poppy used her feet to launch herself up and back, her head snapping towards his jaw. Even as she made contact, pain burst across her field of vision. Alastir fell back a step, and Poppy whirled away. Dagger in hand, she eyed both Atlantians as they moved back towards her.

“What do you want from me? And how did you know my parents?” Poppy breathed, slipping into one of the many defensive crouches that Vikter had taught her.

Alastir smiled, but he hung back, “Coralena and Leo asked for my help some years ago. They’d found themselves in the possession of a foster daughter who wasn’t fully mortal. Had a powerful touch that could cure pain. They wanted to get her out of Solis—to Atlantia.”

A foster daughter? Poppy’s head whirled at his words. She’d always assumed that her parents were her real parents. That one or both of them carried a trace of Atlantian heritage. “Why didn’t you help them?”

Brows lifted, Alastir said, “Oh, but I did.”

Poppy’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst from her chest. “What do you mean?” she asked, barely managing to coax the words from her throat.

“I met them in Lockswood.”

Lockswood. The words clanged through her like a garish bell. That damned village in the Niel River valley. That was where her life had veered into what it was now. That night had taken some of the dearest people in her life away. 

“You were there,” she whispered, her grasp tightening on the blade of her dagger.

Alastir nodded.

“Why…” Poppy’s voice trembled so she paused till she could manage the words, “Why didn’t you help them when the Craven came?”

Those eyes, once warm and welcoming turned flinty. “Because I knew what you were, and had the craven not attacked, I would have killed them and you myself. Sloppy of me to not finish it.”

“What I am?” Poppy asked, her hands shaking at the revelation.

“But that’s all irrelevant,” Alastir said. Now he was moving towards her, with the other man in tow. “What matters is that we cannot allow you to step foot in Atlantia.”

“Why not?” Poppy asked, tensing in preparation to strike. They were Atlantians so she’d have to be quick. But they weren’t aware of just how good she could be.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that,” Alastir said. His eyes flitted behind Poppy as his head dipped into a nod. She darted forwards to attack, but a blow caught her from behind. Her vision exploded with white stars, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

When Poppy was a child, she’d once gotten stuck in a bramble. She’d been playing hide and seek in the jacaranda trees with Ian, and she’d crawled into a tangle of woods to hide from him. When she’d tried to leave, she’d realized that it wasn’t just a mess of dead branches she was in. Vines with thorns had grown up around the dead wood. Try as she might, she couldn’t squeeze back out. The thorns dug and bit into her skin. She only freed herself with the cost of bloody arms and a torn gown. Her arms ached and burned for a week after that, from the abrasions that covered her skin.

Much like then, Poppy’s arms were burning. That was the first thing she realized as she swam up through the dark depths of sleep. Her wrists felt like bands of fire had been clasped around them. The second thing she’d noticed was the burst of pain that still ached at the base of her skull. These two lances of pain were so pressing that it took Poppy a moment to realize two other facts. First, that she was upside down. Or, rather, her head was. Second, she was moving.

Poppy’s eyes drifted open to see waves of grass passing under her in a haze. Not a tangled wood or mossy understory. She was swinging in place. Blinking cleared the haze just a little, and Poppy now saw that she was tossed over the side of a horse. As her gaze settled, she realized that the burning of her wrists was from the bindings of rope that were cutting into her skin.

Groaning, she tried to shift in place, but the bindings were too tight.

“You’re awake,” Alastir said. Poppy looked up and saw that she’d been secured behind him like a troublesome saddlebag. He didn’t even look back at her as he said, “I’m afraid the means of transport was necessary given the situation.”

“What situation?” Poppy gritted out, still trying to find a way to lift herself up in place. She really ought to have built up her core muscles a little more.

“You, my dear.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, wincing as her efforts only made the bindings dig deeper.

“Don’t be coy,” Alastir said. “We’re quite past that.”

“But I don’t know—why would you kill me for being part Atlantian?” Poppy asked, turning her wrists to try and find a loose spot.

Alastir laughed. A deep throated chuckle that didn’t sound nice at all. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Isn’t it?”

“My dear, if you were only part Atlantian then I’d be the first to welcome you home.”

“So why are you doing this?” Poppy demanded, finally finding a little purchase in the give of her bindings. If she twisted her hands just right, the rope slipped down off the widest point of her wrists. It wasn’t enough to break loose, but it eased some of the burnings.

“Because you’re more than part Atlantian.” Alastir said, his gaze still fixed forward. “You are a threat that cannot be allowed to survive.”

Poppy hung there, caught in silent shock. As she failed to speak, Alastir continued on. “Do you know who Malec was?”

“The king of Atlantia who created the Ascended?” Poppy said, remembering Cas’ story.

Alastir glanced down at her. “You have been talking to someone. Anyways, you’re right. I was his bonded wolven. I… I was the one who revealed what he was doing to his wife.”

“That was centuries ago,” Poppy said.

“And I’ve been a proud servant of Atlantia this whole time.”

“Proudly kidnapping young women?”

“Only when they are the bastard descendants of bloodlines better left forgotten.” Poppy opened her mouth to respond, but Alastir wasn’t done. “You look remarkably like him, you know.”

“Look like who?” Poppy demanded.

“Malec. You resembled him a little as a child, but now it’s quite unmistakable.”

“What are you saying?” Poppy said, her blood turning to icy slush from the shock.

“Isbeth wasn’t his first affair,” Alastir said. “And several of them had offspring.”

The shock of his words coursed through Poppy. “But even if what you’re saying is true, why are you killing me?”

“Because you’re too much trouble left alive. The Da’Neers know that. They know that measures have… been taken to eliminate distractions.”

Casteel knew? He knew that Alastir made a habit of murdering Malec’s descendants? What would he have done if Poppy had told him her suspected ancestry? If he’d realized what Alastir was saying? Though, of course, it had to be false. Alastir’s conviction was genuine, but he had to be mistaken. A result of aged paranoia? It made sense to Poppy. But the idea of Cas casually watching her be executed for the crime of existing filled Poppy with a pain that she didn’t quite understand.

Throughout her time as the Maiden, Poppy had spent much energy trying to please the gods. She walked slower, talked quieter, and put as much energy as she could bear into being the submissive and ideal maiden. But something that she had rarely thought to do was pray. Pray for them to provide relief from her pain. Pray for them to grant her peace. But then, as she dangled helplessly from the horse. Poppy delved deep into the well of herself that she associated with her gift. She sank into the warmth that she often felt just before she eased pain, and she whispered for aid. Just two words. Two words were all that left her lips. She imagined them flitting across the barren grasslands that they were crossing and finding a helping hand—any hand. Just two tiny words.

Help me.

Chapter Text

Poppy had grown accustomed to possessing a particular set of skills that she pursued towards mastery. Blades, bows, and blocks alike were things she knew well. Years of training with Vikter had seen to that. Each was undertaken with intention, honed, and perfected. But, unbeknownst to her, she had become the master of a new skill. That is to say, Poppy had become an expert in the art of being kidnapped.

Of course, when one had been kidnapped more than once, one cannot help but compare the differences in styles. As far as techniques went, she had to give points to Alastir over Jericho for the abduction. Where Jericho moved with brute force, Alastir operated with a menacing finesse that still left a tinge of fear in her. But, between Casteel and Alastir there was no comparison. Delano and Kieran too ranked above her current captors. Here, she was thrown over a horse’s back like a wayward sack of potato. There, she had been treated like a valued member of their cadre. Casteel… Casteel had never looked at her like a danger or a scourge. Maybe it was her condition when she was taken? After all, with her physical state, they would have been monstrous indeed to not have compassion on her. But even as she tried to excuse their kindness, she knew that Alastir would not have been swayed by such a pitiful sight. He hadn’t when she was a screaming child crying for her mother, and he wouldn’t have even if the Duke had beaten her twice as badly.

These thoughts and more bounced around Poppy’s head as they road on. What else could she do, suspended as she was? Escape? Not with Alastir routinely looking back on her to make sure the bindings were sufficiently tightened. Even upside down, she tried to keep alert, scanning the horizon for any signs of life or landmarks. But the forest had long since given way to empty fields of long grass, and try as she might, she was often too busy trying to avoid being hit in the face with the grass as the horse moved.

Thankfully, blessedly, these Atlantians did not ride forever. They slowed, reaching a standstill. Alastir slid from his horse and Poppy craned her neck to glower up at him. He looked down at her, impassive.

As they stared at each other in embittered silence, it occurred to Poppy that things might be about to go very badly for her indeed. Now that she was well away from Emil or Casteel or anyone else who might help her, she had no protection against this man’s—this Wolven’s—designs. And, as he had already told her, none of those designs involved her leaving his sight alive. A blast of panic burned her throat like stomach acid, and she was suddenly grateful that it was her who could read emotions and not the other way around.

“I’m going to untie you from the horse,” Alastir said, smooth and unflappable. His ice blue eyes twinkled with something approaching humor as he said, “I must warn you that escape is quite impossible. Still, we will keep your hands bound, and you will sleep tonight with guards on either side of you.”

“You,” Poppy began and had to pause to cough. A day of disuse, bouncing upside down from a horse, had left her throat worn and parched. “You aren’t going to kill me today?”

Alastir set to work on removing some of her bindings as he said, “I still have more questions for you, and there will be plenty of time to execute you in the morning.”

She had another twelve hours or so live. A lot could happen in that time, and Poppy intended to make the best of it. As Alastir reached for the last knot holding her in place, she eyed his weapons thoughtfully. A sword at his side and a dagger on his thigh. One or both would easily aid her escape.

A good kidnapper—Casteel, for instance--would take care as they untied her so she would not fall onto her head once the bindings were loosed. As it was, only her core muscles kept her in place until she could slide down the other side of the horse—onto her feet instead. Even so, her knees buckled as she reached the grown. Poppy toppled, the blood rushing from her head with such rapidity that she felt the edges of her vision go black. Alastir watched as she pulled herself into a seated position, blinking rapidly as she chafed her arms and legs as well as she could with the bindings on her hands still in place.

“Comfortable?” he asked when she had finally regained enough awareness to notice that he crouched in front of her.

“I’ll manage,” was all Poppy said. She refused to give him the pleasure of her admission of discomfort. He was a new duke, and this was a new lesson. Poppy would not show weakness. She would not display pain. Not to him.

Alastir shrugged and stood. Poppy realized as he did so that he held a length of rope that connected to the bindings on her wrists. Staggering, she pulled herself up and followed him. Anything to avoid the indignity of being dragged. With every step, her legs protested, cramping and shuddering, but still she moved. He led her away from the horse to where the other Atlantians had laid down bedrolls. Poppy knelt on the one he motioned towards. Even though she had not walked in hours, the seated position felt good on her legs.

“Have some food,” Alastir said, offering her a handful of dried meat, nuts, and fruit.

“Are you usually in the habit of feeding people you’re about to murder?” Poppy asked before devouring the food.

Alastir smiled, and Poppy felt the amusement was genuine. “Even the damned deserve a last meal.”

Only the gods knew what kept Poppy from rolling her eyes at the false nobility in the sentiment. He was going to kill her. What did it matter if she was fed? But as she ate, she saw him attaching her bindings or a stake that he gouged into the soil nearby. It looked like a picket used to keep a horse from straying. Poppy chafed at feeling like a piece of livestock.

After she had finished her last swallow of food, Poppy eyed him warily. “You said you had questions for me?”

“Yes,” Alastir said, taking a seat on the ground in front of her. “Questions…” he trailed off, studying her intently. His gaze burned into her, and Poppy felt herself quail, though she refused to show it.

“Usually, they work by you voicing a desire for an answer.” Poppy snapped, annoyed by the protracted silence.

Alastir laughed. He actually laughed. “Oh, that the circumstances were different, Poppy. I think we would get along famously.”

“I tend not to get along with people wanting to murder me,” Poppy said.

“How old are you?” Alastir asked. His question started her. That was what he wanted to know?

“Eighteen.” Poppy answered. Alastir seemed to relax slightly, that is the lines in his face eased. Poppy felt a warmth of… relief?

“You had the ability to heal pain with a touch as a child,” Alastir said, eyeing her still with a sour taste of distrust.

“Yes,” Poppy breathed, shocked that he knew of her gift. Her parents must have told him—must have trusted that it would help him offer her survival. But it had damned her instead. Damned her to be the Maiden, and now damned her to face an execution for the crime of an alleged ancestry that she could not even be sure of.

“Has it grown since then?” Alastir asked. Poppy shook her head, not trusting her voice. It was the truth after all—she hadn’t been able to do more with her touch than alleviate pain. And he hadn’t asked about the sensing ability.

“Why,” she asked finally, when it seemed that Alastir was content to study her in silence. “Why do you want to know how old I am?”

Alastir studied her more for good measure. “When Atlantians reach nineteen, they enter the Culling. It represents a honing of their powers and a sudden growth of ability.”

Poppy understood then; she understood the concern he had for her. “You think I could grow to do more than heal pain,” she said, her voice flat.

“It’s irrelevant since you are still too young, but yes. To have the gift of touch, you must be not a distant descendant.”

“Why do you think I’m his descendant?”

“The ability to alleviate pain is a power of the deities—children of the Gods. Malec was the last one of them. Paired with the familial resemblance, and that is quite enough evidence.”

“And for that I must die?” Poppy asked.

“A descendant of the deities represents an irrefutable claim to the throne. If… if the Wolven discovered one still lived… it would be destabilizing.”

“Why?”

Another smile graced Alastir’s lips. “Is that your favorite question?”

“Only when I don’t understand.”

“The Wolven believe they were appointed by the Gods to be the guardians of the deities. They… accept the rule of Atlantia, but it is not preferred.”

Poppy sat in silence, reeling from the wealth of admissions. If she survived, she… she had the claim to the throne? How would Casteel handle that information. Would he too see her as a threat? Something to be managed and minimized? A small voice, a voice of hope that she dared not trust, whispered that Casteel had never held her back. He’d never put her down. He liked when she fought and he sought the challenge. Maybe this would have been the same. But they were out of time now, and she would not have the chance to know for certain.

“Why were you running to Atlantia?” Alastir asked, breaking Poppy’s reverie.

“I… I wasn’t safe in Solis. I didn’t know what you claim—that I’m descended from Malec. I was just… running.”

“For a child of Malec, there is no safety anywhere.”

An uneasy silence hung between them as they stared at each other. When another Atlantian called Alastir’s attention away, Poppy took the opportunity to examine their surroundings. They’d camped at the base of a bluff that overlooked the ruins of an old town. The cracked flagstones and overgrown houses reminded Poppy of the areas just outside Masadonia. Had these people been driven out by the Craven as well?

It wasn’t too long before Alastir returned to her, and Poppy asked, “Where are we—these ruins…”

“This is what’s left of Pompay.” Alastir said blankly.

Poppy’s eyes widened and her throat constricted. How many times had she and Vikter talked about Pompay and traveling down to see Saion’s Cove or Spessa’s End? They both thought there were still people living down here—when had it become a ruin?

“What… what happened?”

“The Ascended found this area to be too much of a nuisance to maintain because of its proximity to Atlantia. So they eradicated them.”

After everything that had been said and done, Poppy shouldn’t have been surprised that the Ascended would be capable of such cruelty. But as she swallowed her sorrow down, she thought that this was yet another tick in the list of crimes that the Ascended were responsible for. But who could ever bring them to account for it? Casteel? His father? They’d failed so far.

“How did you know about Atlantia?” Alastir asked. His question jarred Poppy and it took her a moment to recollect that he was still ostensibly questioning her.

“I…” Poppy trailed off. She couldn’t tell him that it was Casteel who had opened her eyes—who had shown her what the Ascended truly were. And yet, the truth was all she could admit to. “I met someone at a pleasure house. He was a Descenter. He told me.”

Alastir studied her. Poppy struggled to meet his gaze.

“And this was in Oak Ambler?” he asked.

“Ye-yes.” Poppy said. She at once felt that she’d made a mistake in her answer when Alastir’s brows climbed across his forehead.

“I’m rather familiar with the Descenters of Oak Ambler,” he said, his voice still calm and affable. “What was his name?”

His question met with success. Poppy hesitated as she mentally scrambled to find a name. She blinked, realizing his intent. Alastir smiled.

“Where are you really from, Poppy?” he asked, his voice lower than before.

A thought occurred to Poppy. Casteel had sworn he meant her no harm even as the Maiden. But Jericho and his friends were clearly proof that not every Atlantian operated under the same principles. If Alastir knew… if he even suspected she was the Maiden. What would that change? Instead of dumping her body in an open field, would he send her head back to Carsodonia?

“I think I’m better off not answering that question.” Poppy said, her voice firmer than she felt. Alastir’s eyes narrowed.

“I’d reconsider that, Poppy,” he said, his voice threatening.

“Oh what, you’ll kill me? You’re already planning that.”

“There are worse ways to die than a quick death, and we will have ways of… extracting that information from you.” Alastir let his words hang in the air, obviously intending them to frighten her.

In all her years, Poppy had never expected the feeling coursing through her. Gratitude. She was grateful for the Duke’s lessons. Grateful that he’d forced her to survive the indignity of baring herself and silently taking lash after lash. What did Alastir know of the pain she’d survived? He thought a little torture would scare her? That she could be cowed by the idea of a painful death? It was insulting to say the least. How dare he presume such weakness of her. Some of her earliest memories were of the pain of being slashed by Craven as her parents—foster parents—were mauled to death. She knew now that this Wolven bore no small amount of responsibility for her suffering as well as theirs. For him to know expect that she could easily be frightened… it galled her.

Instead of cowing, instead of bowing and scraping as she begged for mercy, Poppy flashed a thin-lipped smile. It wasn’t a nice expression, but she recognized its efficacy when Alastir’s smugness faltered. He left her to stew in the silence. Even though no one spoke after that, the men remained painfully vigilant. Truly, escaping would be a herculean task. These men were not wont to trust her as easily as Delano and Casteel had. Oh, Poppy’s heart ached for those Wolven. She’d felt it, a real camaraderie between them, and she would have given anything that her circumstances were different—that’d she’d been born in Atlantia or was a simple human Descenter. Then she could enjoy their company without complications or strife. Trust could be given freely and not poisoned before it began.

As she sat there, Poppy considered Alastir’s words. She was closer to nineteen than not, and she’d already felt a change in her gift. Did that mean she had the chance to do more? Was there a way to defend herself? Through her gift, she could make a connection to another person to sense their emotions. But was that all? Even as the twilight passed into the shadow of night, Poppy laid back on her bedroll staring at the stars. She studied them, considering just what might she be able to do to prevent her death or torture. This would have been a topic she would have preferred to practice in a place like Vikter’s training room—she had no ideas what skills normally accompanied the descendant of a deity, let alone how to use them. But that didn’t stop her from mulling it over till weariness finally coaxed her into sleep.

If Poppy had more wherewithal, she would have fretted that Alastir’s words would have triggered a nightmare. Thankfully, blessedly, that was not the case. Instead, her dreams fixated on a warm presence and a soft smile. Someone Poppy did not know, but someone who’s love and pride for her emanated with such strength that it made Poppy’s eyes prick with tears. No words were spoken, but in the silence, she felt the safety and surety that she’d missed since Ian had left for the capitol. She’d known it so well when her parents were alive, laughing and always reaching for each other. And, even though she’d never wanted to admit it, she’d known it other times too. Like when Casteel had held her in the safe house. She’d felt his warmth. And she’d felt safe—far safer than she’d had any right to feel given the circumstances.

But event those feelings of safety would not stop the marching of time. With it came the first rays of sunlight—first an eerie grey light over the ruined buildings, and the soft warm pinks and golds of first light. Unlike the night before, Poppy’s captors offered her no food and no drink. They ate themselves and washed. And when that was done, they stood, turning towards her. The time had come.

Alastir bent down, loosening her bindings from the stake. “Come, Poppy,” he said, walking away from their encampment. Poppy followed flanked on either side and from behind. She swallowed her fear, tamping it down and embracing the acidic burn of anger instead. This. This was the man who’d caused her parents’ death. This man would kill her too if she let him. She would not give him her fear. She walked, head high until they hit the stone steps of the ruined amphitheater of Pompay. Alastir guided them down the remnants of an aisle to the center stage.

“Taste for the dramatic?” Poppy quipped. Thought it was obvious that killing her in such a scenic placement suited his sense of self-importance. This was confirmed by Alastir’s silent smile as he bent slightly, his hand freeing his dagger from his thigh sheath.

Poppy stared at it, feeling utterly stupid. How was it only now that she’d thought about the well being of her dagger? She’d lost it when they’d knocked her unconscious. But there it was in the palm of his hand.

“I’d recommend you’d kneel for this, Poppy.” Alastir said, his smile a mirror of the thin lipped one she’d given him the day before. Poppy stayed standing, until one of the other Atlantians gripped her shoulder, forcing her onto her knees. But as they pushed her down, the rage inside her grew, pushing farther and farther up. Poppy glared at Alastir, her eyes sparking with that rage. Blinking, Alastir took a step back, his pallor lightening.

“Come one,” one of the men growled. “We’ve been dealing with this shit for too long. Kill her and be done.”

At his bidding, Alastir resumed his place, his grip tightening on her dagger. Poppy’s gift snapped out, almost without her intention, connecting her to the Atlantians. She felt their distrust and resolve tumbling over her. But even as Alastir stepped closer, Poppy felt an undercurrent running beneath the surface connection she’d always known. Even in the cold air, her skin buzzed with a heated energy, her skin prickled with gooseflesh as every hair on her body stood on its end. She inhaled sharply, tasting a metallic tang in the air.

 Above them, the clouds had gathered rapidly, darkening the morning light. Thick and heavy droplets of rain splashed down around Poppy. Alastir flinched as a crack of thunder boomed.  A cold wind gusted, sending Poppy’s loose and tangled locks streaming in the air; through the rushing around her ears, Poppy was suddenly aware that the Atlantians, Alastir included, were suddenly not focused on her. They looked up, their faces paling.

“I don’t like this,” one of the men muttered. “Hurry up and kill her.”

Poppy swallowed as a cavernous pit cracked open inside her. It felt like every bone in her body was snapping and shattering under the force that was vibrating through her. Her eyes watered and the blood rushed from her head, leaving her dizzier than she’d been the other day. Alastir turned back towards her, his blue eyes cold with resolve. He adjusted his grip on the dagger and cocked his arm for a swing.

Through the fog that had settled in her brain, Poppy became distantly aware of blood pooling around her knees. Had Alastir struck already? Her gaze drifted up towards him, and no—her dagger was still clean. It was then that Poppy noticed the droplets, instead of rain, large dark globules were splattering down around them. A belated realization crashed down on her—the sky was raining blood.

“The gods are with us,” Alastir said, his voice not supporting the confidence of his words. He swung, Poppy’s dagger slicing through the air. She inhaled, bracing herself for the piercing of flesh.

When Poppy had been a child, she’d often been scared of the dark. Time after time, she’d burrowed into her parents’ bed, afraid of the creatures that she imagined in the shadows. And every time, her mother had dried her tears and ruffled her hair as she whispered, “Don’t be afraid, Poppy. You are stronger than what lives in the shadows.” Those words, paired with soft promises of love and safety were always what allowed Coralena to coax her back to her rooms.

So as Alastir swept towards her, his jaw gritted and his eyes burning, Poppy stared at him in silence. Inside her head, her mother’s voice echoed from deep inside repeating, “You are stronger than what lives in the shadows.” Her blade sliced through the air with a soft hum, Poppy’s eyes trained on its unerring arc, but it never reached its target. Instead, her blade fell, clattering on the cracked flagstones. Looking up, Poppy expected to see Alastir, but he had gone. Blinking, Poppy stared at the space that Alastair had occupied. Before her mortal brain had even processed what was happening, he had vanished from her field of vision. In his place, an enormous fawn colored Wolven stood, his ice blue eyes trained on Poppy. Her mouth dried as she stared at the unfa—no, not unfamiliar. Even though she’d never seen this wolf before, Poppy recognized something in the face, in the eyes.

“Kieran?” she whispered, not sure if this was all some fevered hallucination born of panic. Kieran stepped forwards, his hot breath chuffing against her cheek. But even as they stayed, frozen in close proximity, almost touching, but still apart, the battle around them had not ended. Yips and snarls echoed around the amphitheater, and Poppy felt the rush of movement surrounding her. Her other captors yelped as they tried to fight her rescuers off, but the snarls and snapping faded. Distantly, Poppy become aware of a pale Wolven joining Kieran—she recognized him as Delano from the day in the stables. They’d found her against all odds, they’d found her.

Maybe it was the bloodied rain. Maybe it was the fright of almost dying. Poppy felt a strange dampness coat her cheeks as she stared at the Wolven before her.

“You saved me,” she whispered, her voice crackling with unspoken emotion.

“We did, and maybe you can now explain why you needed rescuing in the first place.”

That voice, a rich timbre with a slight lilt so achingly familiar to Poppy, set free a riotous flood of emotions that left her speechless. Kneeling and bound as she was, she stared forward, afraid to look towards the voice. Afraid of the sight that she knew would meet her eyes if she shifted even a fraction. But staring ahead did not preserve her. On the edges of her vision, she saw movement, and her traitorous eyes tracked it. They met a figure in black, dark waves tumbling across his forehead and cheekbones. Amber eyes blazed, and his well-formed mouth was pressed into a thin frown. Power seemed to roll off him like water off a cliff, and Poppy knew how he’d earned the title of Dark One. Casteel. Casteel had found her.

Chapter Text

In the moments that followed, neither Cas nor Poppy would have been able to recount exactly how long they stayed frozen, their eyes locked in a wordless battle. Around them, Kieran and Delano stepped back, all the others stepped back. Slowly, Poppy rose up off her knees, even though her abused muscles and joints protested at every move.

“Cas,” she breathed, feeling the traitorous lurch in her voice. Cas stared at her in silence, the muscles lining his jaw ticking.

Finally, after a long pause, Cas only gritted out one word, “Don’t,” he said. “Just don’t.”

“Don’t?” Poppy asked. Her chest was tight from the silent tension that was crushing down on them.

“Don’t,” Cas repeated. He turned on his heel and walked back up the stairs out of the ruined amphitheater.

Blinking, Poppy looked around and down at herself. She was filthy—they all were. Covered in grime and sweat and beaded with droplets of the blood rain that stopped as suddenly as it began. Above them, the sky had cleared of storm clouds and the morning sun cast the sky into shades of rose and pale blue. It would be a beautiful day—were it not for the storm that Poppy still felt crackling at her fingertips. She rolled her neck to the side, trying to ease some of the tension that left her taut as a bowstring.

“Come on, Pen,” Kieran said, reappearing at her elbow. He led her up after Cas. With every step, the adrenaline that had been coursing through Poppy’s veins seemed to ebb away. In its stead, she felt a deep weariness creeping into her bones. Against her own will, she leaned into Kieran’s grip on her elbow.

At the top of the steps, Poppy saw Casteel already mounted on what had been Alastir’s horse. A flash of auburn hair caught her eyes as she realized Emil was leaving the party on horseback at a quick pace. Even so, it was Casteel that she stepped towards, but Kieran’s grip tightened.

“No, Pen,” he said. “You’ll ride with me.”  

A new pit opened up in Poppy as she mechanically obeyed. What had happened to the prince she’d known in the blood forest who refused to let her ride with anyone else? Kieran helped her step up and onto the horse’s back before he slid into place behind her. Intellectually, Poppy knew that it was his thighs against hers and his chest against her back. But in her pain, in Casteel’s rejection, Poppy was insensate. Her eyes, dull in the pain that was coursing through her, stayed fixed on the dark figure that rode ahead. Sometimes Poppy caught glimpse of his profile, so rigid that she could imagine the gods having carved it from stone.

The longer they rode, the more time Poppy had to assemble her thoughts. “Where… where are the men who were going to kill me?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“The ones behind and to the side are dead. They refused to yield.” Kieran said, his voice terse and his words clipped. “Delano’s got Alastir. He’s still unconscious.”

Swallowing, Poppy knew what she had to tell the taciturn Wolven behind her. “Thank you,” Poppy whispered. “For saving me.”

Numb as she was, Poppy felt Kieran’s body shift behind her in response to the gratitude. She heard the sharp inhale of breath, and she felt the rumble in his chest before she heard the words leave his lips.

“It would have been a lot easier if you never needed saving,” Kieran said, his words digging into her more than claws ever could. Poppy drew in a shuddering breath. She felt his rebuke scorching her skin. The repudiation of it burned her throat with acid.

“It’s complicated, Kieran,” she whispered, not trusting her voice. Not when it was ready to betray her. Every lurch and every quaver poised in her throat to trigger a wave of sobs that she could only hold back for so long. The isolation. The fear. The close calls with death. Poppy had been holding herself together through it all and now she felt ready to snap. These Atlantians had saved her yet again, but they weren’t her allies. And, oh gods, she needed allies. She needed Ian, Vikter, Tawny. Someone to be in her corner. But had even they been there for her—really? Ian, as a foster brother he never chose to be. Vikter and Tawny both, assigned to her keeping. When was the last time that someone had chosen and loved her for… just her? Just Poppy? Not a bastard descendant of anybody. Not a half Atlantian. Not The Maiden. Just for who she was. A lump formed in her throat as Poppy began to wallow in the thought that maybe no one had.

“Pen,” Kieran said, interrupting her pained stupor. “This was complicated from the moment you walked into the Red Pearl. Now this is a gods damned nightmare.”

Poppy stared ahead at Casteel. His hands were fisted around his reigns and his shoulders were tight. She didn’t need her gift to feel him, but it reached out anyways. Inscrutability aside, Cas was in pain. The lingering aches from his brother’s captivity that normally coursed through him were chips of ice digging into her skin. That same sharp anguish that she’d felt after he’d saved her from Jericho was back. And simmering below it all was a burning anger that scalded Poppy’s soul. How? How could he be feeling all this and remain so cold? Even feeling it set a new wave of sorrow off in Poppy’s battered heart. Was she responsible for this?

Or was it from the delay that Poppy had caused in his plans to save Malik?

That is all I am to him—a tool for his machinations. An obstinate stupid tool of a girl who won’t behave.

“Where are we going?” she asked, wondering if they were already riding to her doom—to Carsodonia, to the Queen, and the Vampry.

“Spessa’s End. We have some things to sort out.”

“Is it like this?” Poppy asked, gesturing out towards the destroyed dwellings around them.

“Not really,” Kieran said before slipping back into silence.

Poppy sat there, a roiling mess of emotions. But she was so tired. Weary after all that had happened, she felt sleep creeping in on her. Finally, her head drooping from exhaustion, she leant back against Kieran and fell asleep.

One might have forgiven Poppy for suffering any number of nightmares as she dozed in Kieran’s arms. But as she slept, she felt nothing. No pain and only the slightest tinge of sorrow. She was lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the horse and Kieran’s own warm scent—a scent she belatedly realized later that she’d never noted before. Where Cas always smelled deeply of dark spice and lush pine needles, Kieran smelled… like citrus and the dark amber liquor she used to steal from the larder with Tawny.

Even as Poppy slept, that oppressive quiet hung in the air for much of the rest of the day. They barely stopped except to give the horses a rest or to eat. The morning gave way to a clear day with a warm breeze that kissed Poppy’s cheeks. But even that slipped into the grey of twilight and finally the dark of night. Cool tendrils of wind caught at Poppy’s knotted hair. After sleeping most of the day, a sharp jostle of the horse’s hoof caught her awake. At some point, they’d moved from the poorly marked dirt road to the treachery of broken cobblestones. Empty fields had become thick forests that hemmed them in.

How long till they stopped? Would they ever? Poppy’s internal questions were interrupted by the lilting trills of a bird call. Birds singing after dark? To her surprise, Poppy saw Cas lift his hands to his mouth. He mimicked the cry, and with a startle Poppy realized that it wasn’t a songbird. It was a signal. That realization had barely hit her when she saw the first sights of the Rise that protected Spessa’s End. It was smaller than many of the Rises that Poppy had seen in Solis. Still, bathed in moonlight, it sparked a sharp emotion in Poppy that she couldn’t quite place. Grief maybe? It overwhelmed her, but she swallowed it back.

Diminutive as it might have been in comparison to other Rises, it still towered over them at least a dozen feet tall. Like the Rise in Masadonia, Poppy spotted the even spacing of parapets. Looking up, she felt a pang of remembrance of all those nights she spent nocking arrows against her bow while a sea of Craven tried to break through the Rise.

Looking forward to where the cobblestone met the Rise, Poppy saw a heavy iron gate creaking open. Torches glowed in the murky evening light, flaring and dancing in the breeze. As they flickered, they cast writhing shadows across the courtyard. Poppy stared openmouthed.

“How was this not destroyed?” she asked.

“It was damaged some, but we’ve repaired it.” Kieran explained, nudging his horse to follow after the shadow that Poppy knew contained Casteel, even if she could no longer make out his features.

“Did the Vampry murder the people like they did in Pompay?” Poppy asked, already knowing the answer. Gods. Two whole towns destroyed. And had there been a reason? Had anyone put anymore thought into it other than convenience and a desire for blood? Where they threatened by the proximity to Atlantia? It boggled the mind. Poppy chilled as she wondered just how long places like New Haven could survive.

“They did, but we’ve reclaimed it.”

As they rode on, people came up to greet Casteel. Poppy noticed that, with the way Kieran had pressed her back against his chest and tucked her under his lightweight cloak, most people failed to even notice her. Instead, they bowed or knelt to Casteel—who seemed more abashed than anything. Several times they greeted him with such fervor as if he was someone come back from the dead. How long has he been gone?

As they rode up to the sandstone walls of the inner fortress, Kieran helped Poppy dismount.

“This way,” he said, shooing her away from the torchlit main entrance and into the shadows of a side courtyard. Poppy jumped slightly at a new presence at her other elbow, but relaxed when she realized it was Delano.

“Where are we going?” she whispered, feeling like vocalized tones would not have meshed with the aura of secrecy they had cultivated.

“To your rooms. Casteel thought it would be best to minimize the number of people who know you are here—till things are more settled.” Kieran said, glancing around before slipping into a small postern door. Poppy ducked as she followed, blinking as she stepped into a lamplit hallway.

Kieran navigated the passages with ease, and soon Poppy found herself deposited into a room whose comfort outstripped any lodging she’d been in since leaving Carsodonia. Looking down at her mud-stained boots, Poppy winced at the lush rugs that covered the shining plank floors.

“I half expected to be thrown into a potato cellar,” Poppy admitted, stooping to slide her blistered and aching feet out of her boots before she tracked more filth than was necessary into the room.

“There’s still time for that,” Kieran said, his focus fixed making sure the outer doors to the terrace were properly locked and the curtains were drawn closed.

“There’s hot water for a bath in the next chamber,” Delano said, snagging the boots from Poppy’s hand. When she glanced up at him, her brows lifted in question, he shrugged. “We’re keeping it quiet that you’re here, so I’ll be fetching your linens and laundry.”

“You’re my attendant?” Poppy said, laughing in surprise.

“Drew the short straw,” Delano said, feigning disdain. “There’s a sleeping robe in there—leave your clothing by the door.”

Poppy glanced at Kieran. “What’ll you be doing while he’s fetching my laundry?”

“Making sure you don’t run off again,” Kieran said, taking the seat that offered the best vantage point of the room and its exits.

Pursing her lips, Poppy sighed as she left the room. She deserved that. Running away as she did, right after sleeping with Casteel, might have done more harm than good. She couldn’t apologize for looking out for herself, but maybe. Maybe she’d hurt them just the same.

Inside the bathing chamber, Poppy found a large and luxuriant tub surrounded by pitchers of steaming water. Half the pitchers were more than enough for a generous bath. Stripping herself from the dirty clothing, Poppy reached a bare arm just out of the door enough to drop the clothing in a pile. Then, latching herself in, she eased her aching body into the hot water. Hissing, half in pleasure and half in pain, Poppy looked around the chamber for something to wash herself. Next to the tub, she found a box of a pine scented scrubbing paste and a washing cloth tucked behind a bar of spicy scented soap. Poppy’s brow wrinkled, even as she dug a handful of the paste out and started tackling her beaten legs. Was… was this Casteel’s room? Even the thought of them sharing the same tub or bars of soap wasn’t enough to stop Poppy from using them in her crusade against the dirt that had become one with her.

Finally, her skin reddened and fresh once more, Poppy pulled her body up out of the tub. She tracked the way water sluiced down across her breasts and stomach. What had it been since she’d had a decent meal: two weeks? Wondering if Delano might include scavenging for food in his servant detail, Poppy reached down and grabbed the towel. She ran it over her body, enjoying the feeling of something fresh on clean skin. Her skin prickled in a cool air, so Poppy made quick work of grabbing the sleeping robe and fastening it around herself. Then, grabbing a comb, she moved to finally tackle the entrenched roots that had taken up a home in her poor beleaguered hair.

When she stepped back into the broader living chamber, Poppy saw that Delano had read her mind. A bowl of steaming creamy soup with a hunk of bread and several large chucks of hard cheese were waiting on the side table between the two chairs that sat next to the fireplace. Sitting in the one unoccupied by the taciturn, golden skinned Wolven who was still looking at Poppy like she was about to cause more trouble at any minute, Poppy made short work of the food. Manners be damned, she outright moaned when she reached the first bite of cheese.

Seeing Kieran lift a brow, Poppy shrugged. “Cheese is good. I make no apologies,” she said with a laugh.

Kieran stared at her in silence and mirrored her shrug with a short chuckle. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Poppy.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Poppy said, tearing the bread into bits to better clean the last of the soup.

“Honestly, I’m never sure with you.”

Poppy had only reached for the glass of juice when Casteel stepped into the room. Instantly, their eyes snapped to each other, a silent tether reaching out before Poppy had the wherewithal to stop it. Tightening her jaw shut as she reeled herself back in, Poppy loosely closed her hands around the glass. The cool press against her skin kept the blazing fire at bay.

“Penellaphe,” Casteel said with a brusque nod before turning to Kieran. Poppy’s heart cracked a little more at the coldness he displayed. “Alastir still hasn’t woken up. I’ve put him in one of the other rooms and Naill will tell us when he wakes up.”

“I must have hit him harder than I thought,” Kieran said, leaning back with a small smile toying at his lips. He didn’t look particularly upset.

Casteel took up a spot leaning against the fireplace. “I’ll have to reassure him when he comes round that he’s not in trouble for trying to kill the Maiden.”

Spluttering mid sip, Poppy choked back her surprise. That’s why they thought he was trying to kill her? He didn’t even know I was the Maiden! This new piece of information confirmed a suspicion that Poppy had nurtured before—she needed to tell Cas and Kieran the truth before Alastir came round. The truth of her suspected heritage needed to come from her lips and her lips alone. Otherwise it would only complicated the matter more.

In the silence that followed, Poppy looked up to see that both Casteel and Kieran were staring at her. “Yes?” she asked, hiding behind another sip of the juice. What fruit was this? Sweet and just a little tart, it was more refreshing than she’d expected. It was rea—

“Something to share?” Casteel asked, an eyebrow raised.

“I—” Poppy’s words died in her throat. Cheeks blazing, she sipped on her juice some more.

“I thought as much,” Casteel said, shaking his head as he turned back to Kieran. “As I was sa—”

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” Poppy demanded, finally losing it at his cold demeanor.

“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve spoken to you twice.” Casteel said, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

“You can take those two fingers and shove them up your ass.” Poppy said, belatedly realizing that at some point she’d left the chair and was now standing with her feet planted on the floor. Glass in hand, she glared at Casteel. “I am not a child to be ignored and I won’t be treated like this.”

“Then you shouldn’t have acted like a child and run away.” Casteel said, unphased by Poppy’s irate behavior.

“A child?” Poppy was spluttering again. Reeling herself in, forcing herself to regain a little composure, she scowled at Casteel. “You have no fucking clue what happened—what has happened.”

“Oh, then enlighten me.” Casteel was blazing now. Eyes of molten ochre, lips pressed together in a rigid line, and a body that thrummed with tension, he stood to his full height. Glaring down at her, he said, “I have spent days trying to piece together why the fuck you would run away like that. So yes, I would love to know what the hell you were thinking.” His words were a deadly whisper, low and threatening.

As Poppy stood there, weighing just what she could say, the emotional rack that she’d been stretched over pulled a little tighter. Something finally cracked.

“Poppy,” Kieran rocketed to his feet. Tilting her head, Poppy looked over at him to see that his brilliant blue eyes were fixed on her hand. Looking down, Poppy saw it. The cracking hadn’t been her heart. Nor her soul. It’d been the glass in her hand. Most of the shards had fallen to the floor, but a few were embedded in her hand. Red rivulets dripped down over the glass and broken skin, pooling on the polished wood floor.

Immediately, Casteel was by her side. Guiding her back to the chair, he pulled her hand into his. “When will you stop getting yourself hurt?” he asked, gently pulling the shards out. Kieran has found bandages somewhere and was leaning over, his eyes tracking between the two of them.

Maybe it was the shock, but Poppy couldn’t feel any of the pain from the deep cuts. She stared down at Casteel, at the cuts in her skin, and the red staining her skin.

“Cas,” Kieran said, nudging him with the bandages. Casteel didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the fresh blood welling up on her hand.

“Do—do your pupils normally get that large?” Poppy asked. And they were large. They reminded her of the blackened eyes of the Ascended. Only a thin strip of gold remained visible.

“They do that sometimes,” Casteel said, his voice rough and tight. His eyes didn’t stray from her blood.

“Cas,” Kieran was closer now. “When was the last time you fed?”

Casteel blinked, reaching for the bandages at last. Wrapping them tightly around her hand, he cleared his throat. “It’s been a few weeks, but I’m fine, Kieran.”

“Fine?” Poppy echoed in disbelief. “Fine? You looked ready to bite my hand off.”

“It’s hardly a meal,” Casteel said, tying off the bandage. Even when Poppy’s wound was tended to, he didn’t drop it. Nor did his eyes leave the spot where the glass had pierced her. Seeing her confusion, he added, “Your hand. It’s too small.”

“Why haven’t you fed?” Poppy asked, latching onto that piece of news.

“I’ve been distracted.” Casteel said. His voice hadn’t lost that tightness, even though he seemed a little more like himself.

“Cas, we should go,” Kieran said, his hand on Casteel’s shoulder. Casteel turned towards him, even as his eyes stayed fixed on Poppy’s hand.

Since they’d found her again, Poppy had been shunted aside. Ignored. Hidden. Already she knew her fate—had known it all too well during the life she’d had under the Ascended. She’d be locked alone in this room for hours without another soul to break the solitude. Nothing would change and nothing would improve. But not anymore.

“Why haven’t you fed?” Poppy demanded, reaching out and yanking Casteel back.

“You want to know why I haven’t fed?” Casteel whirled back towards her. His face—it didn’t look like the warm and open face she’d known at the safe house. It didn’t look like the tightly controlled warrior Prince. It didn’t even look like the blazing Dark One, raining down fury upon his enemies. It looked… haggard and dark. Shadows that didn’t seem possible lurked in the lines of his face. Poppy felt her legs tremble, but she refused to quail. She stared up at him, refusing to acknowledge the pounding of her heart.

“Pen, this isn’t the time,” Kieran said, but Casteel was too far gone.

“Do you know,” he said, his words a rough caress against Poppy’s skin, “what happens when an Atlantian forms an attachment?”

“An attachment?” Poppy swallowed. Like what they’d done at New Haven?

“Yes. They find the idea of feeding off anyone else intolerable. Repulsive. Your focus becomes honed onto that one person.”

“Does it?” Poppy asked, her mouth dry as her mind whirled with thoughts at Casteel’s news.

“Yes,” Casteel said. “But the joke is on us, Princess.” His endearment slapped across Poppy’s cheek better than any hand could have. “Because it’s you. And you, Poppy, are mortal.”

“Cas, we need to go.” Kieran’s voice was urgent, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“What’ll happen—if you don’t feed?” Poppy whispered.

Casteel smiled, but it wasn’t kind or warm. It felt cold and cruel. His lips lifted up to reveal the hint of “Remember when I told you about my time in Carsodonia? When I was that mindless bea—”

“Cas,” Kieran moved between them now, his hands splayed out on Casteel’s chest. “This isn’t you.”

“Let him talk,” Poppy said. Her voice didn’t even feel like it came from her. It was too weak, too soft.

“Why do you care,” Kieran said, turning to challenge her. “Since when have you ever cared for him.”

Those words did what nothing else had managed. Poppy quailed. She shuddered, stepping back.

“From the moment I met you,” Casteel said, taking a new tack, “All I have wanted is to sink my teeth into your flesh. To take you into myself and finally see just how you taste.” His smile thinned as his tongue traced the edge of an elongated canine. “I thought the world stopped when I realized you were the maiden. It’s fitting, you know, that I have been tortured twice by the Ascended. Because that’s what being around you is—it’s fucking torture. Keeping you at arm’s length hasn’t worked. You’ve still managed to invade every part of me.”

Poppy felt like she’d toppled off the edge of a precipice. Tumbling in freefall, she stared up at Casteel as her world spun, the axis of her paradigm obliterated. 

“You bathed with my soap. But I can still smell you. The entire time you were gone, I could still hear you. Your gods damned laugh haunts me. It’s all just inside me. How did I ever think I could use you?” The look on his face changed from hungry to pained. “You are as much a part of me as my own hand.”

As she assessed the shattered remains of her world, Poppy made a decision. She saw how he’d been hurt by their miscommunications and misunderstandings. Too much damage had been done to each of their lives in this tangled mess. And in the smoldering ruins, Poppy refused to see anymore division between them. She had had enough.

“What would happen,” she asked, her voice startlingly level, “If you feed from a half Atlantian?”

The question seemed to knock Casteel off his axis. He blinked, startled by the randomness of it. “I—it would work. Why?”

Poppy held out her wrist. Shockingly, she managed the movement without even the barest hint of a tremble. Casteel started down at her hand like she’d offered him a pet hamster. A dangerous one at that.

“Then feed,” she said.

“But you’re no--”

“Casteel, trust me. Feed.”

Casteel stepped towards her, his shoulders shuddering with every step. Softly, gently, his hand closed around hers, lifting their joined hands to his mouth. But instead of biting, instead of the sharp press of fangs shredding skin, he only pressed the softest of kisses to the inside of her wrist before sliding her hand down and away from his mouth.

Disappointed at his stubbornness, Poppy pulled back as she opened her mouth to scold him, but Casteel was faster. He half yanked her towards him, and half lunged towards her. Meeting in the middle, his teeth plunged into her throat, and she felt him pull her into himself. The burst of pain she’d felt at the Duke’s bite never came, only a smaller burst that immediately faded into something… else. As quick as it came, it vanished. Casteel, eyes wide, pulled back at the first sip. Lurching back a step, he faltered, wiping her blood from his chin. In the silence, in the space between them, Poppy felt a warmth bloom.

“Cas,” Kieran said, stepping forward again. “What’s wrong?”

“Her blood” Cas answered, never breaking his stare with Poppy’s. “There’s eather.”

Then, as quick as he’d left, he was on her. Poppy was consumed by the riotous sensations raging through her veins. This, this was nothing like the shredding and burning she’d felt at the hands of Duke Teerman. Flames licked through her bloodstream, pooling in her lower abdomen, but they were softer—more like the burn of a smokey glass of amber liquor. With every pull of Casteel’s mouth against her throat, she felt herself sliding farther and farther into a warm pool. A… a hot spring? Soft voices and laughter echoed around her, and Poppy felt the cool press of lips against her skin. She almost startled awake when Kieran moved next to her, sliding his body behind hers. A hand settled on the portion of her neck not covered by Casteel’s mouth as he wedged his body in such a way to support Poppy. Even so, she barely noticed. Cas shifted, his hands settling on her hips and drawing her closer. Poppy followed, letting his mouth, his power, and his hands be her guide. Even as she slid further into Casteel, it was useless as he had already invaded her. The gift has entangled them, and she was drowning in his emotions. His anguish and raw grief. His anger. His disbelief. And… his warmth. His sweet and tart emotions. And his desire for her.

It might have been hours later, but all too soon for her liking, Casteel had pulled away. His mouth was stained red, his chest heaving. His eyes were widened with disbelief. Poppy felt numb from the tidal wave that had crashed over her. Too much had happened in the evening to even rationalize.

“Do you need anything?” Kieran asked, pulling away from where he stood behind Poppy. Casteel shook his head, unable to speak. “I’ll be outside then.” Before Poppy was even properly aware, he had left the room, the door closing with a soft click.

Still breathing rapidly, Casteel stared down at her. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or shake you”

“I could say the same,” Poppy said.

Dropping into the chair that she’d only recently occupied, Casteel let out a long sigh. “How long have you known?”

“I… I didn’t. Not at first.” Poppy let out a weary laugh. She, she felt too much energy to take the seat across from him, so she simply hovered as she stood next to him.  “I’d been bitten that night. By the craven.”

Casteel blinked. Swallowing, Poppy could track the comprehension that swept across him. “Delano…” he said, his voice almost a hushed whisper.

Nodding, Poppy said, “I hadn’t decided whether to tell you when we got to New Haven. And then it all…” she trails off with a shudder. This admission scared her. Poppy was more petrified than she’d ever been. But she felt like Casteel had bared a portion of himself and now she had to do the same.

“I had no intention of running away when we…” she trailed off, her cheeks reddening. “I wasn’t using you. But when I saw my dagger in your boot. And when you told me that I’d be unguarded.” She flips her palms open. “I don’t regret what we did but it scared me. What the Ascended wanted from me scared me. And…”

“You were scared of me giving you back. That you’d be like Malik. Like I was.”

Nodding through her tears—when had she begun crying? Poppy looked at him. Really looked at him. She saw all the pieces of him, jagged and cracked, and how they fit together. How many times had she accidentally cut herself on his edges? And yet she was drawn ever closer.

“Poppy,” Cas began. “I’m not a good man. I’m selfish. I’ve killed and I’ve lied and I’ve cheated. I’ve done so many awful things to free Malik. But…” he pauses, “I’d never give you back knowing it would be the same fate. Could never.” Cas trailed off as he bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. Poppy stood between his knees, her hands slipping to cup his face against her stomach.

“I know,” she murmured again and again in a ceaseless litany as her hands settled into his hair. “I know.”

They stayed there, Cas bowed and Poppy standing before him in silence. Only soft breaths and the gentle whisper of Poppy’s nails in his hair and against his scalp broke through. Slowly, Cas stilled. Breathing deeply, he looked up at her.

“What do we do now?” He asks. “I’ve planned and strategized, but… I have no plan for this.”

“We figure out the next step and we take it.”

“No, we need a strategy.” Casteel seemed to be more like himself now. “I need to keep you safe. Alastir won’t be the only person trying to kill you for having been the Maiden.”

Poppy opened her mouth to explain why Alastair had actually been trying to kill her but then shut it again. That needed to be said. Poppy knew that—half of their problems had come from secrets. But they’d just established a new and tenuous peace. Somehow telling Cas that Alastir believed her to be the rightful queen of Atlantia seemed like uncorking a new bottle of trouble, one that she wasn’t quite ready for. So, she shut her mouth again. Finally, after considerable mulling as she tried to find something that she could say, Poppy said, “We should talk more about it in the morning.”

“Gods,” Cas looked abashed. “You must be exhausted.”

“I am” Poppy tried to smile but she was far too wan to pull it off.

“I…” Cas hesitates, an unusual thing for him. “I should go. It’s best that we not complicate this again.”

Hurriedly, as if he might change his mind if he stayed another moment longer, he jerked upright. But Poppy was too close, and she planted her hands on his shoulders. “Cas,” she breathed, reaching down to take his hands in hers. “Just because I don’t know what our path should be doesn’t stop me from knowing that I want it to be here.” As she spoke, she looked down to where she’d interlaced her hands with his.

Cas swallowed, still looking like he’d fallen into a dream that he couldn’t believe. Poppy stepped back, pulling him upright. As she stepped towards the bed, she felt Cas following her like a meek lamb.

“Is there clothing you can change into?” She asked, her mouth drying as some of her resolve started to flee.

“No—I hadn’t planned to stay in here. I—I can find someone to fetch some.” Cas turned, eager to leave. Poppy was certain that if she allowed him to leave that he wouldn’t come back. She held on tighter.

“No matter,” she said, with more calmness than she felt. Internally her heart was racing, climbing higher and higher towards an invisible peak. Turning towards him, her hands settled on the hem of his shirt. Slowly, tentatively, she lifted up. Casteel eased, relaxing into her touch as she pulled his shirt up and off of his body. Hands sliding back down his chest, she settles at the waistband of his britches. Sliding down, she knelt in front of him, resting on her heels, her hands moved to slip first one boot and then the other off his feet. Settling his last foot down on the floor, Poppy used his hips to ground herself as she slid back up. Casteel was looking down on her like he’d forgotten to breathe.

“Do… do you want me to leave your britches on?” Poppy asked, her fingers skimming the hem of his waistband.

“I—I don’t know that there’s a need.” Casteel whispered.

“Alright,” Poppy said. Without breathing, she hooked thumbs into the band and pulled it down. As the pants slid down, her eyes followed the dips in his hips. Then they slid down a little farther, freeing him. Poppy swallowed. The last time they’d been together, she’d been half delirious from the adrenaline. But now, as she methodically bared his skin, she was able to see every part of him. Every scar, the smatterings of hair along his torso, the gentle outlines of defined muscle under skin. Her eyes freely lingered along his body, and she felt the warmth from before return with a newfound intensity. Helping Casteel step out of his trousers, Poppy slid her way back up his frame. Tentatively, as if he was a wild animal likely to startle at any moment, she slid her hands to the sides of his hips. Her gift had open since he’d first fed from her, and Poppy felt an almost overwhelming rush of smokey arousal from him. That, combined with the sight of his hardened length confirmed her in the choice to be so forward.

Casteel stood completely naked in front of her, but he hadn’t dared make a move towards Poppy. His hands hung loosely at his sides, and his eyes were heavily lidded and fixed on her. Pulling him towards her, Poppy gently slid his hands to her hips. Even as she refocused on Casteel, she became aware of the gentlest subtle movement of his thumb against her sleeping robe.

That slightest of encouragements spurred Poppy on. Rocking onto her tiptoes, she leant close against Casteel and pressed the softest of kisses against his lips. They stood, frozen in place, connected at three points: the lips and Casteel’s hands on her hips. Then, Poppy laced her hands around his neck, firmly pressing her body against his. Moaning at the sudden contact, Casteel finally made his move. Stepping forward, he swept her back until her legs collided against the bed.

As their lips moved, tongues meeting and twining, Poppy felt his hands tugging at the knot that held her robe closed. She arched against him, even as he slid her robe open. Poppy hissed as their skin met, and Casteel used that sharp exhale to plunder her mouth. His hands slid up her body, coasting over the tips of her breasts till they settled at the curve of her jaw. Fingers laced in hair, and Poppy took her time exploring Casteel’s mouth.

Even as they kissed, Poppy felt the curl of arousal, something that she now intimately associated with Casteel, pooling in her stomach as tendrils of warmth tingled through the edges of her body from her fingertips to her toes. With every kiss, Poppy embraced a warmth that she had given up on experiencing again. During those nights in the forest by herself, Poppy had believed that this was a dead end, something she was better off not experiencing. That intimacy with Casteel would only lead to ruin or pain. But could something painful lead to pleasure like this? Her skin thrummed with energy, and every hair on her body stood on end. They’d only done this once, but every part of her body reacted in recognition to his touch. A press. A caress. A kiss, and a squeeze. These and more set Poppy’s blood aflame.

Casteel moved to press her back onto the bed, but Poppy had another idea. Gripping his shoulders, Poppy turned their bodies, so he was the one with his back against the bed. Pushing him farther back until his knees pressed against the bed, Casteel let his body relax into the soft coverlet. Wordlessly, Poppy crawled atop him, straddling him with her hands settled on his chest. With her robes trailing behind her, she found a place where warmth met warmth. The softest parts of her meeting the hardest parts of him. As Casteel’s cock brushed the wet heat of her folds, his lips parted on a headying inhale that sent shivers down Poppy’s spine. His hands settled on the bare skin of her thighs.

“Look at you,” Casteel said. His words were a low rumble of heat and smoke. “I thought I’d never see you like this again.”

Poppy leaned down to place a kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry,” she breathed into his skin. “I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t apologize for protecting her own well-being, but she knew that her decisions had hurt him. She had hurt him.

Moving a hand to cup her face, Casteel lifted her face so their eyes could meet. Deep, forest green mirrored in a smoldering, swirling pool of ochre.

“We’ll talk more about his, Princess,” he promised, “But I’m not angry. Not like I was.” His hands kneaded circles. “And the longer you stay like this, the less angry I am.”

Then they were kissing again, and their words were lost in a flurry of moans and soft gasps. Poppy rocked against him, enjoying the sweet friction of their bodies against each other. With every movement, she felt herself sinking farther into a blissed state where all she knew was the touch of his hands and the nip of his teeth. As if reading her mind about those, particular canines, Casteel grazed his teeth against the tender flesh of the bite they’d shared. Poppy shuddered under his touch, pressing down harder against his hardened length. Chuckling against her neck, Casteel repeated the movement. Poppy felt like her eyes were about to roll back into her head.

“Do you like that, Princess?” he asked, his teeth nipping at the base of her earlobe closest to the bite.

“I… I think you know what I like.” Poppy said. Her voice didn’t sound quite like herself, it was deeper and huskier. It sounded like a voice of a woman much more accustomed to tangled and sweaty nights at the Red Pearl.

“Then let me oblige.” Casteel’s hands dug into her, and suddenly Poppy found their roles reversed. Now it was Casteel looking down on her. He paused, mapping out the view below him: Poppy’s hair splayed out against the pillows, her heaving chest, the tips of her breasts tightened into sharp points that her robe barely covered. Her old scars, shredding the skin of her stomach and thighs. His hand skimmed over all of these, hesitating when he passed over the raised skin of her thighs. Then they dipped between her legs, and Poppy’s body bowed at the contact. She arched up off the bed, pressing against the cup of his palm as his finger delved into her. The brush of that nimble digit curving up inside of her, the press of a battle hardened callous against her inner wetness, it was all too much. With his free hand competing with his mouth for the territory of her breasts, he’d barely added a second finger before she unraveled completely as his thumb worked circles against her bundle of nerves. Crying out, she trembled under his grasp, as waves of pleasure coursed through her. White fire poured through her, blazing behind her eyelids, under her skin, everywhere. Casteel consumed her cries. He plundered her mouth with a searing kiss until she’d rode out the last wave of pleasure.

Pulling back to look at her, Casteel grinned in self-satisfaction. His lips were swollen and his eyes gleamed with an almost fevered brightness. “Are you ready, Princess?” he asked, his voice a velvet caress against her. Poppy could only nod mutely, her words had fled away with the pleasure that still sent her inner muscles convulsing.

“I’ll need you to say it,” Casteel said, his grin widening to reveal the sharpened points of his fangs.

 “Please, Cas.” Poppy’s voice was thin and reedy with need. “I want this,” She lifted her hips against his for emphasis.

The words had barely left her lips when Casteel surged forward. Captured her lips again, he moved, angling himself up and into her. The first intrusion caused the briefest pinch of pain—a reminder of how inexperienced she still was—and then his continued movements chased that discomfort away. With every roll and thrust, his length sparked flares of pleasure inside her—fragments of that same white fire. Poppy raised her legs, hooking her calves around his rear to better accommodate his presence inside her. Lest her hands be forgotten, she brought them up against his back, gripping, digging, and scratching as Casteel worked his cock in deeper. Never hard enough to break his skin, but she had no doubt that he'd be marked well after they’d finished for the evening. Casteel didn’t seem to mind, he let out that familiar rumbling growl that rumbled deep in his chest.

Once, that growl had left Poppy intrigued but confused. Now, as she traced the edges of his fangs with her own tongue, she recognized it for what it was: a predatorial growl of delight. It vibrated through her, awakening something feral deep inside that recognized Casteel’s wildness. Together they moved, claiming, kissing, joining, until Casteel slipped a hand down between her thighs. As he thrust into her, deep rolling movements at an intentional pace, that wicked hand of his worked her nerves just so. Poppy felt herself spiral back into the depths of ecstasy, and as she trembled and tightened around it, it wasn’t long before Casteel’s thrusts became more erratic. His face sharpened and he plunged into her, his lips parted on a sharp cry. Poppy muscles fluttered as she felt him convulse inside her. Even as he sagged against her, she pulled him into a final kiss. Unlike the others, this was neither shy nor impassioned. But rather it was a kiss of quiet satisfaction and deepened intimacy. Warmth tethered them together, and they stayed wrapped in a sweat slicked embrace.

Entirely too soon for Poppy’s liking, Cas lifted himself off of her. Rolling to the side, he wrapped his arm against her, pulling her body against his. Poppy snuggled deeper into his grasp, reveling in the soft prickling of his hair against her skin.

“Forgive me if I don’t let you out of my sight.” Casteel said into her hair, a warm chuckle diffusing into her skin that blunted the guilt his words would have otherwise aroused.

“Does sex normally make you murderous?” Poppy said, pressing her backside to be flush against him.

“Those were extenuating circumstances, and you know it.” Cas said, gripping her tighter. He swallowed and when he spoke again, Poppy heard a catch in his voice. “I’ll never be able to make it up to you—I failed to keep you safe.”

“Cas,” Poppy said. “You won’t always be able to protect me.”

“But I can try,” Cas was taut and his voice was strained. Poppy sensed, after weeks of studying his words and mannerisms, that a darkness was brewing. Her gift had never closed off during their encounter, and she felt his pain reemerging. Like before, it threatened to consume him. With every inch of their bodies touching, Poppy felt the overwhelming instinct to relieve his pain. She rubbed his arm, as she let all the warmth that Cas had given her bleed across the bond.

“Wha—” Cas swallowed, his words dying before they could be fully voiced. Poppy shifted, turning to look at him. His face had lost the lines, but he seemed torn between confusion and wonder.

“I’ve always been able to take away pain,” she said by way of explanation. She toyed with the fringes of his hair. “The Ascended said it was proof I was chosen by the gods, but…” she shrugged. “When I saw Delano be bitten, I realized that it was likely just another lie.”

“You’ve done that before,” Cas said. His eyes showed the light of understanding that gleamed whenever he’d begun to solve a new puzzle.

“To you on the way to New Haven. And to Mrs. Tulis.” Poppy admitted, her cheeks reddening. “I wasn’t supposed to, but I just couldn’t live seeing people in pain while knowing I could help them.”

Cas was silent, but he pulled Poppy closer, kissing both her cheeks, he said, “You will never stop amazing me.”

It wasn’t long before they’d drifted off into sleep. Poppy, for the first time since the safe house in Masadonia, felt the simple warmth of being enveloped in Cas’ touch. Cas buried himself, first in the depths of her hair, and later in the pillows of her breasts. He slept there, his head resting on her chest, his hands splayed out across her stomach. Neither of them felt the curse of a nightmare or the strain of worrying about tomorrow. They were, in that moment, reunited.

Chapter Text

Warmth, sweet and gentle warmth, is what slowly teased Poppy awake. The soft warmth of the bed below her, the press of the pillow under her head, and the weight of the blanket across her body. Warmer still, coarse hair prickling against her stomach, she felt the heavy weight of an arm thrown across her. At one end of that arm, she felt the calloused pads of a hand trace circles across her hip. As Poppy’s eyes drifted open, she saw the other end of the arm. There, with dark hair thrown across his brow, she saw the man who had chased her across Solis. But instead of a captor or a pursuer, his eyes were sleepy and warm, and his hint of a grin was open and familiar.

“Morning,” she said, her hand skating out to trace the lines of his chest. Cas’s chest rumbled as he enveloped her, bringing her head against his torso.

“You’re still here,” he said, his tone half statement and half wonder.

“You sound surprised,” she said into his skin, running circles across his back with her hands.

“After the last few months, I doubt anything can surprise me.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you.” Poppy said, lifting just enough to look at those swirling golden eyes that always seemed to send her stomach fluttering. “But things only seem to be getting stranger.”

Cas sighed as his hand settled on her rear. “You have that right—the other day was strange enough.”

“What do you mean—aside from Alastir trying to kill me?” Poppy asked, her voice pitching with surprise when he moved suddenly to lift her until she was straddling him.

“That’s better,” he said with a smirk. Poppy’s lips parted as the softest parts of her met the hardest parts of him.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, breathless as she rocked against him, more on instinct than anything else.

“Always. I can see you better this way,” he said, smiling as his hands settled against her hips, driving her down against him.

“You were saying about the strangeness?” she reminded him, her already slick folds sliding against his hardening length.

“I—yes—we were following you when the Wolven went wild,” Cas said, his voice tightening as she continued to grind against him. “They said they heard your voice in their heads, begging for help.”

Poppy stared down at him, her eyes wide. She halted, mid movement. “They did what?” she asked in disbelief.

“That’s how we found you so quickly,” Cas said, his eyes assessing her shock.

“That’s… a little weird.”

Cas let out a short chuckle. “You’re telling me. Once they heard it, there was no stopping them. I had to trail behind hoping they were right.”

Poppy leant down, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “I’m glad they were,” she whispered.

The next inhale that came from the Atlantian beneath her was a shaky one. “Really? Truly?” he asked, still not sounding like he believed it.

Poppy eyed him under hooded lashes. “I hurt you,” she said. “I hurt you when I ran away.”

Cas swallowed and blinked rapidly as he said, “It wasn’t great.”

“You can admit it you know—I won’t be mad.” Even as Poppy smiled, she felt a well of tears pooling in her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered in an attempt to keep them at bay, but she felt his pain—she felt the weight of his agony as he relived the past several weeks.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Cas said, but his smile was too thin and too forced.

“How you feel matters.” Poppy urged, moving to roll off him. Cas gripped her hip, keeping her in place. His free hand coasted up her body, drifting over her stomach and chest. Finally, it settled in place, cupping her cheek and bringing her close against him. She leaned into the calloused grip, feeling the warmth of his skin. His fingers, long and slender, spanned the width from her chin to her ear. Not for the first time, Poppy mourned the fact that such hands were those belonging to a master killer and not an artist.

“I feel what I feel, but I can manage it.”

His words were meant to reassure, but as Poppy fell silent, she felt unease stirring in her heart. His pain always astounded her, but if this was how he managed it… He boxed it away and pretended it didn’t matter. She couldn’t help but wonder how long that would work before his soul cracked from the weight of it and he lost himself to his pain forever.

“Anyways,” Cas’s voice was stronger and steadier then, “I have some business that I need to see to here. Kieran and Delano will be your company.”

Those names sparked a flare of warmth through Poppy, but they also brough a sharp reminder. “Is it a secret that I’m here?” she asked.

“For now,” Cas’ thumb was moving in idle circles across her hip. The contact, paired with firm flesh pressed between her thighs sent bolts of desire through Poppy that she tried desperately to quell. “The news that I have the Maiden here won’t go over well with many people, and I have no interest of New Haven repeating itself here.”

Poppy shuddered at the memory, her pain a twin flame to the tightness she felt in Cas’ chest. “How long will we stay here?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said, that finger still moving along the curve of her hip. “I hoped last night that I would have a clearer plan for how to keep you safe, but I’m not sure what to do next.” He hesitated before adding, “I knew that I couldn’t use you before, but I had to find you first. I couldn’t dare think of what to do next till that’d had happened. It hurt too much.”

Swallowing her emotions down again, a habit that Poppy had become all too adept at as the Maiden, Poppy forced a smile. “It’s alright,” she said. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Together,” Cas echoed, his smile a little warmer than before.

After he left, with a series of lingering kissing that sent shivers skittering down across her bare skin, Poppy barely had time to slip on the secondhand clothing that Cas had produced for her before she saw a massive white wolf pass by the veranda doors. Tucking the hem of Cas’ borrowed shirt into the front of her britches, she cautiously pressed the door open, using the key that Cas had pressed into her palm before leaving.

With everything that had happened in the last day, Poppy could not have been blamed for shedding a few tears. The close run with death, the sudden discovery and rescue, the wild range of treatment and reactions to her returns, and the twist of the previous night could have overwhelmed anyone. But the final weight that tipped her internal balance was that small key. The trust that it conveyed, a trust she had not even come close to earning, left her dabbing back tears for the length of her toilette. 

The door swung open silently, and Poppy stepped out into the fresh morning air. The breeze was still warm, not having a single trace of the icy cold she’d so recently endured. It carried a faint hint of salt, brine and seaweed, and reminded her of younger days running the beaches of Carsodonia.

Poppy had barely made it onto the veranda when the wolf slung forward, nosing her hand and licking at her palm.

“Hello,” she said, resisting the urge to scratch around his ears—that seemed a mildly disrespectful thing to do, at least without asking first. Poppy still had a slight pause when it came to her familiarity with the wolven.

Delano, as she presumed him to be, cocked his head towards her before jerking his head down towards barely visible shoreline.

“You want us to go down there?” Poppy asked. Delano chuffed in response and started loping down the hill. With her two short legs compared to his four long ones, Poppy had to keep a brisk trot just to stay within sight of him. She’d forgotten boots, but the grass was fresh and springy under her feet. With just enough dew to drip from the tips of the blades, she skipped over feeling like she could fly.

As they drew closer to the shore, Poppy caught the first hints of the steady susurrus of the waves, tumbling and crashing down against the sand. The sound spurred her one, and before she knew it, her feet were sinking into the sand, and the sea was before her.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, turning to glance at Delano. He dipped his head. “I almost want to jump right in.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before Delano leapt into the water with a single spring. Poppy watched him prance within the waves before following with a wild, most unmaidenlike whoop. Tumbling into the waves, clothing and all, she felt the wall of saltwater crash down over her. The waves carried more of a chill than the morning air that rattled Poppy to her bones. She shuddered but delved further into the water, embracing the chills that skittered along her body in line with the waves.

 Once upon a time, Poppy had known how to swim. Ian and her mother used to spend long afternoons at the beaches that lined Carsodonia, paddling and floating the hours away in the sheltered coves. Rather, Poppy had floated, basking in the sun, while Ian swam up from underneath, ready to surprise her. Sometimes he popped up from behind with a loud yelp that sent her spluttering. Other times he was a grasping hand, clutching her ankle and pulling her down into the deep. Then, Cora would be on them in a flash, clucking with disapproval as she hid an indulgent smile. Then she’d take them for treats from the street vendors that lined the beaches. Poppy’s favorite had been a sweetbread stuffed with roasted nuts and apricots and honey—sprinkled with cinnamon and a thick dollop of cream. If she closed her eyes, Poppy could still taste the flaky crust and the rich medley of flavors.

Even still, enough time had passed since Poppy’s last attempt at swimming, that she kept herself to the shallow water where she could still walk. Delano paddled back and forth, moving from the deeper to the shallower. Once or twice, he dived down under the water. At one point, Poppy lost sight of him, only for Delano to leap up onto her from behind. Giggling, she fell down on her rear, the retreating wave leaving her stranded on the sand. Delano rolled to the side, jumping up before shaking his fur wildly in every direction. Poppy laughed as she shielded herself from the spray, leaping up and springing backwards out of reach of him and the waves. 

“Having fun?” a familiar voice asked. The graveled tone was as icy as the water that she splashed around in. Poppy froze, her voice open in a shout of joy as she turned to face Casteel’s bonded.

“Hello, Kieran,” she said, swallowing the joyful and free woman back down into the hollowed pit of her stomach.

He looked past her, eyes settling on Delano. “Go get dressed. I have her.” The other wolven dropped his head before bounding out of the water and disappearing up over the rolling dunes of salt grass. Poppy’s eyes dropped to her feet as she sloshed her way up onto the shoreline. Her skin pebbled in the breeze, and Poppy felt a painful sense of awareness crash over her as she looked down at her soaked clothing. It clung against her chilled skin, leaving her feeling like a person caught in a rainstorm. Even as she stared down, she felt Kieran’s burning and unforgiving stare. She swallowed again, fighting against the memories of shame and misery as the duke’s cane bit into her flesh and sent her knees knocking against the heavy wooden desk. She’d avoided his eyes too, played a demure role, but it had always failed to protect her. Anger, coated with ash and vinegar, burned against her insides, splashing her veins with a warmth that pushed back against the cold. She looked up, squaring her shoulders. She would not cower. She would not be afraid.

“I have to say that I didn’t expect to find the two of you out here.” Kieran said, turning away and beginning to walk. Poppy blinked, her mouth falling open as she stared at his turned back.

“I suppose it was a little inappropriate,” she admitted. Her shock pushed her resolve back a little. Kieran halted, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Inappropriate?” he asked, his brows furrowed. “Poppy, it’s fucking freezing.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t wrong. At some point, Poppy had wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging her body to conserve the little heat that he had left.

“Inappropriate…” he muttered.

“Where are we going?” Poppy asked, eager to change the subject as she trailed after him haplessly.

“Back to your room to get you some damned clothing that isn’t completely soaked in saltwater,” Kieran said. “Cas will kill me if you die of cold after everything we did to get you back. Besides,” he added, “I brought you breakfast before I realized that you’d gone galivanting with Delano. It’d be a shame if that bacon went cold.”

“Aren’t you angry with me?” Poppy asked as they stepped up onto the veranda. Kieran pivoted on his heel, holding out a flattened palm to stop her. He moved inside before returning with a towel.

“Dry off before you ruin those carpets,” he said, eyeing her still dripping form. Poppy bent down, running the towel over her arms and legs to capture the worst of the freefalling water.

“Well?” she prompted.

Kieran ran a hand back over his close-cropped hair with a loud sigh. “Do you want me to tell you that I’m fucking furious?”

“If it’s the truth.” Poppy studied the individual fibers of the towel, tracking the weave and weft.

“It wouldn’t change anything.” Kieran said, his voice caught between a growl of frustration and a wry laugh.

Poppy looked up; warm and verdant green met frigid blue. “I’m sorry, Kieran,” she said, “I’m not sorry I ran, but I’m sorry that it hurt you and the others.”

Lips pursed into a thin line as Kieran stared at her in silence. Then, turning to face the indoors, he said with a more bitter laugh, “You don’t get it, Poppy.”

Poppy stepped inside, closing the doors behind her. “What don’t I get?” she asked in confusion.

“This whole thing has been fucked since the beginning,” Kieran said. “I never wanted to kidnap you—thought it was farfetched and foolish.”

“Not wrong to kidnap an innocent?”

“Don’t even try that—there are no innocents in this mess. We’re all fucked.” Kieran said. “But Cas said that it was the only way, so off we went to Masadonia. Then he meets you and decides to think with his cock and not his head—big surprise there. Here,” he said, jabbing his thumb towards the plate of food. Steam still curled up from the bacon. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Even as Poppy sat down, perched on her folded towel to protect the seat against her dampness, she said, “I’m not sure that this is a conversation that I should be eating for.”

“If you don’t, I will,” Kieran threatened. Poppy took the threat for an undoubtable truth, so she loaded up her fork with potatoes and bacon and popped it into her mouth. Every bite was fresh and flavorful, the potatoes were crisp and lemony, topped with a chopped green herb whose sharp and clean flavor was accentuated by a showering of flaky salt that melted on her tongue. All together, even as basic as it was, the entire plate served as the kind of well cooked meal that she’d only dreamed of—even nestled in the Duke’s keep and surrounded by luxury. Kieran took her silent chewing as a sign to continue.

“Then Jericho decided to be an idiot and grab you.” He said, beginning a nervous pace back and forth across the floor. Poppy eyed the agitated gesticulations of his broad and calloused hands. At some point, he’d lost the preternatural stillness that had always marked him as something more than mortal. Tension bracketed his mouth, radiating off him in waves. Kieran’s eyes met Poppy’s as he said, “and damn it if it wasn’t a clusterfuck from then on. You had to be nice and hurt and brave. I didn’t want to like you—hell, I thought you were more dangerous than any of the Ascended.”

“Why?” Poppy asked, the fork in her hand frozen in place. It hovered over her plate as she stared at Kieran. “Why was I so dangerous?”

“Because you were so painfully mortal and human that none of us with a fucking brain could possibly blame you for anything the Ascended had done.” Kieran said. “I lied just now, Poppy, when I said there were no innocents. You were the closest thing to it, and what they’d done to you…” he swallowed, his fist pressed against his mouth. Drawing a steadying breath, he continued, “Cas couldn’t stop himself from being around you, and I knew. I knew then that there was no gods damned way that he could ever bring himself to use you to free Malik. There was no way he’d ever give you back.”

In hindsight, Poppy would later swear that she’d forgotten how to breath as his next words collided with her. “But I also knew that there was no way we could ever let him. Delano said as much to me.”

“What?” Poppy asked, her chest tight and her eyes brimming with unshed tears. They cared about her that much?

“We were spending our first night in the blood forest, and you’d already bedded down with Cas.” Kieran explained. “Delano and I were keeping watch when he said, ‘doesn’t quite seem right sending her back to those fuckers.’ And it wasn’t right, Poppy. We all knew it. We all knew you couldn’t go back there.”

Poppy stared at him, speechless with shock. At first, she felt a soft warmth at the thought of Delano’s quiet protectiveness creep through her. He cared—they all had. But as she thought through her time in the forest—her time in their captivity, that gentle warmth gave way to something more primal. Fire, that same fiery anger from before coursed like magma through Poppy’s veins. “Why,” shy began, pausing to steel herself against the errant tremble in her voice as she launched herself up to her feet. “Why didn’t any of you fucking say a gods damned word of this?”

Kieran looked shocked at her wrath, his mouth hanging open as he stared. Poppy blazed on, her finger pointed accusingly at his chest, “How the fuck was I supposed to know that you weren’t going to send me back?” she pushed, as he stumbled back. “I said repeatedly that I didn’t want to—that I would not go back. And no one ever took me by the hand and said, ‘of course we won’t, Poppy.’ No, they just shrugged as if it was the only thing to be done.”

“That isn’t fair,” Kieran said, recovering his composure.

“But it’s true,” Poppy hissed. “I had no fucking clue that any of you were planning on doing anything but sit on your asses and ignore anything I had to say. So yes, I ran. I’d almost died on your watch, and I ran. And you don’t get to be mad about it—not one bit.”

“Poppy,” Kieran’s cheeks were tinged with crimson, and Poppy tasted waves of anger, sharp, bitter, and acidic pouring off from him. “You didn’t feel Cas’ emotions after you left. I had to sit there and watch him die inside while we looked across half the country for you. He was in agony.”

“As if I wasn’t.” Poppy scoffed. “I’ve apologized to Cas. He’s forgiven me.”

“And just because he’s forgiven you, I have to as well?” Kieran challenged.

“It would be nice.”

“I’m not nice.”

“I suppose kidnappers never are,” Poppy said, her eyes sparking with anger.

“Guys?” Delano asked, poking his head inside the door that led to the adjoining hallway. “Is everything all right?”

Poppy’s gaze flitted between the two of them. “Everything is just fine,” she said icily, stalking away towards the washroom to change out of her bedraggled clothing. Her joy, so fleeting and free was doused in her rage. Fucking Atlantians and their cryptic moral platitudes. They would have whined and moaned the whole way to Carsodonia rather than do the right thing.

The door to the washroom slammed shut behind her, rattling on its hinges. Poppy leaned back against its solid warmth, breathing in the silence. She heard steps on the other side—Kieran’s by the sound of it.

“I heard you, Poppy. I heard you begging for help in my head,” Kieran said, his voice broken and miserable. “I would have torn apart the world to help you. I’m sorry that I was too weak to stand up for you before.”

Poppy exhaled, low and slow before saying, “I’m sorry too, Kieran. For a lot of things.”

“Can we start over?” Kieran asked, his voice so quiet that she had to strain her ears to catch it. “Can we start as friends?”

“I’d like to try,” Poppy whispered, her hands shaking as she fought against her wet clothing. “I’d like to try.”

Chapter Text

Kieran watched Pen, with a sharpened focus. She’d slipped out of the washroom, dried and amicable before settling into the ample cushions of a divan with a book clasped tightly in hand. Other than a small smile, she had barely spoken a word. The fight seemed to have sapped her of most of her energy and spirit.

Under the soft throw and reclined back, only the presence of her foot, tapping idly against the cushions confirmed her continuing presence or awareness. In the weighty silence that followed, Kieran found himself torn between watching Pen or making eye contact with Delano. As a general rule, he had never been averse to matching eyes with others, particularly wolven, but Delano had elected to make the process interminably unbearable. That is to say, he kept staring at Kieran with a series of expressions more weighted than the previous. Even from the corner of his vision, Kieran could see the lift of a pale eyebrow.

“What happened while I was gone?” the eyebrow asked. Kieran shook his head, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He denied the question, refused to give it power. He had refused Delano’s questions since he begged Pen for her friendship. Still, that did not stop Delano from staring, even while silent.

“Who stays in here normally?” Pen asked, breaking the silence.

“I believe it’s the King and Queen,” Kieran answered, relieved for the topic change.

“Oh,” Pen said, her voice suddenly softened and awkward.

“Why?” Kieran asked.

“They, um, have interesting choice in books. That’s all.” Pen’s voice was growing higher with every word, practically squeaking by the end her sentence.

Delano’s damnable brow climbed ever higher as the wolven stood, padding silently across the plush carpet till he stood next to Pen’s reclined form. Kieran watched, as time slowed, and Delano's arm swept out, snapping the book from Penellaphe’s grasp. At once, she sprang to her feet, lunging towards him, but Delano had already danced away, looking at the book with a smirk and furrowed brows. Thanking the gods that Delano’s attention had finally been pulled away by something other than his fight with Pen, Kieran sat back, grinning at the spectacle.

“My, my, Penellaphe,” Delano said, practically vibrating with delight as he pranced backwards, continuing to evade Pen’s blustering pursuit. “This is quite unmaidenly.”

“It isn’t mine—I just found it in here.”

Delano folded the book against his chest and those damned eyebrows raised again. If they kept moving, Kieran was tempted to attack them with a pair of tweezers with Delano slept. If he insisted beyond that, Kieran feared that no head on Delano’s head would be safe. He entertained a vivid image of the wolven, bound as Kieran plucked each follicle with methodical precision. “Are you saying that Cas’ parents, our king and queen resort to reading this kind of materials?”

Poppy swallowed, her eyes wide. “I didn’t say that,” she protested.

“Although, I can see why a couple would choose to read this—it’s most titillating.” Delano said, chuckling as he looked back into the pages of the book.

“I hate you,” Pen’s voice was a full whine as she launched herself towards Delano once more.

“Should I be jealous?” Cas asked, his head only barely through the door. Pen whirled to face him, her hands balled into fists and her face flushed as crimson as her hair.

“Not of me,” Delano cackled, “though I fear Pen might be having an affair with this… novel?” he looked over at Kieran, a single eyebrow raised. “Is it a novel?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Kieran asked with a shrug. Delano grinned, and suddenly a book shaped missile was whizzing through the air like an arrow loosed from a bowstring. Poppy yelped as she jumped to catch it, but Kieran plucked it mid-flight. The supple leather, dyed a rich forest green, looked well worn, but when Kieran opened the book, he found only two thirds of it filled with handwritten notes, each written under a date. Recent dates too.

“It looks like a diar—” Kieran’s voice trailed off as the looping letters settled before his eyes into legible words. Words that made even him blush.

“A diary?” Cas’s voice was a rumble behind him, as the taller Atlantian peered over his shoulder. Kieran heard the rattling breath that followed, as his bonded saw the same words that were reeling, nay, spinning before his eyes.

“Poppy,” Cas said, his voice edged with unmingled delight, “this is most unmaidenlike.”

“That’s what I said,” Delano cheered, moving to join Kieran and Casteel. The three of them looked over the pages of the book and down on Pen’s fidgeting form. Her gaze swung between the three of them, as she swallowed in silence. “It isn’t mine,” she protested in vain.

“Poppy, there’s no shame for being curious about…” Cas paused as he turned a few pages and read over them with more studious intent than Kieran had seen him show in years. “Three, no foursomes!” he proclaimed with vigor. “Though I confess to being slighted that my own talents are apparently not enough to satisfy you.”

“A real tragedy,” Delano added, turning the next page. His eyebrows lifted, a habit that Kieran wondered if he’d ever be free of. “I’ve never even thought of using that orifice.”

“Really?” Cas said, grinning. “I hear it’s quite enjoyable.”

“I hate you all,” Pen’s voice was a rasp, a husk of embarrassment and shock. “I just found it—it isn’t mine.”

“That’s right,” Delano said, ever eager to be as helpful as possible, “she claims this is your mother’s book.”

“By all that’s good in Illeesium, I hope that’s not true,” Cas said with a chortle that destroyed any air of mock shame that he tried to show. “I could go another two hundred years without imagining her being that…” he eyed the page again, this one helpfully illustrated with some rough sketches between the margins, “flexible.”

“She and your father are rather impassioned,” Kieran heard himself say, almost without realizing it, “They might attempt this entry.” He emphasized it by jabbing towards the particular section with his thumb. Cas and Delano looked obediently, before joining each other in loud guffaws. “Please spare me, Kieran.” Cas wheezed, “Consider my nerves.”

Delano flipped to the next page, his smile widening. “I can tell that she’s considering his nerves,” he said, nodding towards the beginning line of the first entry on the page. Kieran cocked his head to the side, his lip caught between his teeth as he considered the description.

“I can’t say that sounds pleasant,” he said, shifting almost subconsciously to protect his own assets.

“Live a little,” Delano urged. “You’re never too old to experiment with that—there are some invigorating… ointments.”

Kieran’s nose wrinkled. “Leave me out of your… experiments.”

“I am still here,” Pen said, hands splayed on hips as she tapped her foot in impatience.

“I can never forget that, my dear.” Cas said, peering over the book with a smile for her. “I still cannot believe that a… maiden like yourself would engage in reading such lascivious materials.”

Now it was Kieran’s time to lift his eyebrows. “Are we talking about the same maiden?” he asked with a wry smirk.

Cas considered the question. “You are right, my friend,” he said, placing a hand upon his bonded. “I should expect nothing less of a maiden who seduced me at a brothel.”

“I can’t believe we are back to that,” Pen groaned, rubbing her temples as she started pacing across the room.

“I’ve never left that,” Cas said, chuckling as he left the two wolven to envelop Penellaphe in an embrace. Despite her protestations, she sank into his arms and buried her head in his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around him. “In fact, one might even say that I love that,” he said more softly into her hair as his thumb moved in circles around the small of her back. It would have been cute if it wasn’t so disgusting.

In response, Delano choked as he mimed being sick. Kieran elbowed him, even though he shared the sentiment. “If you two are going to be like that, we can leave.” He said, making ready to beat a hasty retreat when Cas, while still holding Pen in a tight embrace, raised a single hand.

“Wait,” Cas said, “There was something that I needed to discuss with you before we got distracted.” Pen pulled back and looked at him questioningly. “Alastir is awake.”

Pen stiffened in his arms, and Kieran couldn’t ignore the scent of fear that permeated the air. “I’d forgotten about him.” She said, in a low whisper.

“I wish I could,” Cas said, “what he tried to do… its beyond comprehension.”

“Well,” Pen’s cheeks reddened. “It makes sense given what he said. I’d meant to tell you, Cas, but so much was happening.”

Only the squeal of hinges warned of a fifth entry into this arena. Cas’ head whipped towards the door as Kieran and Delano stepped into the path to shield them. Kieran blinked in surprise at the stranger who stood on the threshold, taking in the scene before her.

“My word,” the mysterious woman, an Atlantian by the glint in her golden flecked eyes, “this is most exciting.”

“You,” Pen gasped in surprise, wrenching herself free of Cas’ grasp. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” the nameless woman said with a knowing smile, “I had stayed here two nights ago on my way home when I realized I’d left something behind.”

“Home,” Pen echoed. Her eyes widened. “You’re an Atlantian.” She said, realizing the obvious. Kieran opened his mouth to ask the obvious question—just how many Atlantians did Penellaphe know—when the woman spoke again.

“Proudly,” she said, “Though I apologize for the deception, it seems the intent was to good effect,” nodding towards the still joined hands that formed a bridge between Casteel and Pen.

“Excuse me,” Cas said, breaking into the conversation. Kieran thanked him for doing the work of the gods by asking some damn questions in this mess. “But how do you know each other? And who are you?”

“So many questions,” the woman exclaimed, rubbing her hands with glee as she threw her head back in ringing laughter that sent her curls quivering. “I suppose I should take them in order.”

“How kind of you,” Cas sniped, but Pen cut in before the woman could answer.

“She sent me upstairs to your room at the Pearl that first night. Said I would find sanctuary there.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Cas asked, his shock hitting Kieran like a tsunami. The woman smiled and dismissed his question with a casual wave.

“I felt like you two needed to pick up the pace. Besides, all I did was give a gentle nudge, and it looked like it all turned out just fine.” Kieran snorted, wondering if this was one of the gods come to earth. If she had awoken for the sole purpose of ruining his day.

“But who are you?” Cas asked, still as bemused as ever.

The woman grinned, revealing two sharp fangs. “I am called Wilhelmina Colyns, your highness. I serve on your parents’ council.”

“Oh, gods.” Pen was the first to speak, her face red. “You don’t mean…” She hid her face in her hands, any further words muffled so even the heightened hearing of the Atlantians could not pick it up.

Wilhelmina’s eyes widened before she clapped her hands. “Oh, you naughty thing,” she chided. “You found my journal, didn’t you.”

“Sorry, what?” Delano asked, edging away from Kieran as his eyes darted towards the book that Kieran still held open in his hands. Kieran, at once becoming aware of everyone’s attention snapped the book shut. Embossed across the cover, in a spidery hand, gold lettering read “The Diary of Miss Willa Colyns”.

“I’m always forgetting those in the worst places,” Wilhelmina continued, unfazed as she strode forward and plucked it from Kieran’s grasp. “This is at least the seventieth one I’ve worked on.”

“Seventy,” Kieren echoed. “You mean you have, er,” he paused as his mouth dried, feeling more like an awkward adolescent than he had in years, “that you have sixty-nine other journals like that.”

Wilhelmina cocked an eyebrow. “Did you all read this?” she asked, a slow grin spreading across her face. “My, how adventurous of a group activity. But yes,” she continued, “When you’ve lived as long as I have, seventy almost seems lacking. So many experiences lost to poor documentation.” Her eyebrow arched as she said, “I’ve always enjoyed… vigorous record keeping.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Pen muttered. Kieran nodded in agreement. He was no prude, most wolven weren’t shy about physical intimacy. But reading someone’s personal diary, particularly when it was so explicit? He felt a little queasy at the thought.

“Not to point out the obvious,” Delano said, “but can we go back to the fact that Cas meeting Pen was due to a member of the royal council?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good question.”

“Oh, I wasn’t acting in my capacity as a royal advisor. Just as in interested party.”

“Why would you be an interested party?” Pen asked.

“My dear child,” Wilhelmina said, reaching out to run a thumb along Pen’s cheek, “When it comes to your bloodline, I can never be anything but.”

“So it’s true then—what Alastir said about my father.” Pen said, her voice quavering with emotion. Kieran and Cas shared a worried glance—just what had Alastir thought about Pen that had led him to try and kill her?

“Perhaps. Alastir has always jumped to conclusions. He’s never stopped being a little too reckless, and that’s coming from me.” Wilhelmina said, her hand sliding down to grip Pen’s shoulder. “But I suspect he saw the same truth in you that I do.”

“Care to enlighten us what this truth is?” Cas interjected, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Kieran didn’t need to open their bond to feel his frustration with the lack of information. Cas had never been one who dealt with lack of control well, and this was sure to test his patience.

Pen turned to face Cas. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, and she closed them before beginning to speak. “Alastir said he recognized me. That I had to be a descendant of Malec—someone close to him. That’s why he was trying to kill me.”

For a long moment no one spoke. They all froze in a silent inhale, processing the words that Pen had just put out into the world. But Pen wasn’t done. She continued, “That’s not all.”

“How is that not all?” Cas asked, his face lined with shock.

“He was at Lockswood when my parents died and I got these,” Pen’s hand traced over her scars. “My parents were meeting him to get me away from the Ascended. He left us to die.”

“Shit.” Delano was the first to speak.

“Well, I did not know that,” Wilhelmina said, her grip on Pen’s shoulder tightening. “I mean, I know that you are more than you appeared.”

“But to be a child of Malec,” Kieran said, still watching Cas’ stilled figure, “that changes everything.” Cas had not moved since Pen had explained who she was. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, and Kieran could hear his heart ratcheting higher and higher. Had he breathed since Pen had uttered those words?

“Alastir said that was why I had to die,” Pen said, shifting away from Wilhelmina’s touch as she stared at the floor. She fidgeted as her right hand snaked out across her front and gripped her left elbow. “That it would cause problems for the throne.”

“Alastir, you old fool,” Wilhelmina said, shaking her head as she clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Penellaphe, that is your name, right?” When Pen nodded, she smiled. “It’s a good name, a proud name. And despite Malec’s unfortunate legacy, if you are his descendant, and I do mean if, it is nothing to be ashamed of. To be a child descended from the lineage of the gods could never be shameful.”

Pen nodded dumbly, “I just wish my parents were my parents,” she admitted, gaze turned down towards the floor.

“To try to save you from life under the Ascended, I’m sure they loved you very much,” Wilhelmina said, pulling Pen back into an embrace. Pen, a good half a head shorter than her, leaned into the hug, her shoulders shaking with unshed tears and silent sobs.

Kieran stared at Pen, and for once he felt like he saw her. Really saw her. Saw her for all small moments they had shared during the last couple months that had never quite made sense. The quick kinship that she had formed with the Atlantians, particularly the wolven. The revelation from the night before about her heritage allowing Cas to feed from her. The fact that the Vampry had made her the fucking Maiden. “That’s why,” he rasped. “That’s why we heard you crying for help. You’re a child of a deity.”

Pen looked up, a single tear tracking down her face, but she only nodded. “I think so,” she whispered after a shuddering breath. “It’s the only explanation I can come up with.”

“So, not to make this political,” Delano spoke slowly as he eyed the room. Perhaps he thought that saying the words they all knew but dared not speak more slowly would make them less problematic. “But doesn’t that mean that Pen is…”

“The rightful heir to the Atlantian Throne,” Cas interrupted, speaking for the first time. His gaze slid first to Kieran for a long breath before settling on Pen. She met his gaze, still shaking in Wilhelmina’s arms. “If she is his child, or a derivation thereof, then she is the rightful queen.”

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Pen whispered, tears streaming more thickly then. She lurched towards him, but Cas just stared at her, hands open and listless at his sides. “I don’t want to take the throne from your family.”

“The crown has never cared who wanted it, my dear.” Wilhelmina said gently. “It simply is and simply belongs to those whom it chooses.”

“That’s stupid,” Pen said, hiccupping between sobs. “Why would we have a never-ending history of civil wars and revolutions if ‘the crown chooses’?”

“The crown’s choice does not stop others from desiring its power. The role of sovereign has a role in the natural order of things.”

“Are you saying that people don’t have a right to choose who rules over them?” Pen asked, that anger from earlier flaring to the surface. In all honesty, Kieran was relieved to see it. Seeing her weepy and shaking was unpleasant reminder of where they’d been before, and where he’d give anything to never return.

“Now I know that I said I’d make things political,” Delano said, “But a discussion of the rights of man seems a little untimely.” Kieran’s lips twitched at a smile, but Pen’s harsh glare quelled it and he remained neutral. “I’m just wondering what we should do now.”

“We should,” Cas began, his voice shaky and unwieldy. “We are on Atlantian soil now. Her claim supersedes everything. Even if she leaves the continent…” his voice trailed into silence as even he considered that possibility.

“I don’t think running away is the right choice,” Pen protested.

“So do you want to claim my parents’ throne?” he challenged. “Do you want to become the sole ruler of Atlantia?”

“I…” Pen words failed her as an uneasy quiet prevailed. “I don’t think Atlantia will want me. They don’t know me—they’ll think I’m just like the Ascended.”

“There is another option,” Wilhelmina said quietly, breaking the locked stare between the two with impressive courage, or foolishness. Kieran wasn’t quite sure yet. “You could both marry.”

Foolishness. Definitely foolishness. As Penellaphe and Cas both stared openmouthed, Kieran eyed the visitor, once more considering the possibility of her being a trickster god. Maybe if they took a nap, this could all go away. He closed his eyes, counting to ten and willing this to all be a figment of too much whiskey and too little food. But the tableau remained when his lashes lifted, and Cas and Pen had both  opened their mouths to speak.

“That’s not an option,” Cas said, cutting Pen off before she could say a word. Kieran tracked the surprise that crossed her face, the slow blink, and the tremble of her bottom lip. She had not opened her mouth to agree with him. Shit. But to Kieran’s own surprise, it was Wilhelmina who spoke next.

“And why not?” she challenged. “Do you loathe her?”

“Well, no.” Cas said, seeming perturbed that it was his parents’ advisor who was forcing the issue.

“And is there not already a relationship between you two?” Wilhelmina pressed on. Cas nodded but remained mute. “Marriages have been built on far less than whatever this is.” She gestured at the two of them for emphasis.

Cas began to protest, but this time it was Pen who spoke loudest and clearest. “There are two of us,” she said. “Two of us who required to make that choice.” She stared at Cas for a long minute before she said, “I think we should do it.”

“Poppy,” Cas breathed, his voice rough and broken, “I can’t do it: I can’t... marry you." his head hung as he whispered, "I'm sorry.”

Kieran pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long fucking day.  

Chapter Text

Kieran blinked. Then he blinked again. He was dreaming. This couldn’t possibly be real. After all they’d gone through… the days filled with worry and longing for Pen while they scoured the Wastelands for her. Even while Cas was radiating waves of anger when she’d been found, the undercurrent of relief had been palpable. She was his and he was hers—two truths that Kieran had suspected from the first time he saw them together. There was no world for one without the other, and for Cas to throw it all away… it was almost too much to accept.  

In the stunned silence that followed Cas’ words, it was Pen who spoke first. “I think you all should leave,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. As the rest of them shuffled out of the room, she kept her eyes on Cas alone. Kieran cast a long look over his shoulder at his bonded, the internal maelstrom of agony mounting like a wildfire caught in the wind. But his bonded didn’t share the look, instead looking at Penellaphe the way that a beseeching supplicant might look at their queen.

As the door snicked shut, Kieran stepped across the hallway to assume his standard guard post. His eyebrows lifted when Delano pressed his ear against the door, Wilhelmina leaning over his shoulder. “We ought to be able to hear them,” she whispered.

Kieran looked at them both aghast. “You can’t eavesdrop,” he hissed, consciously aware of the risk his own volume might play in alerting the unaware subjects of Delano’s surveillance. In response, one of Delano’s brows kicked up as he looked at Kieran. “I’m as loyal to the prince as one can be, but we have to know what they decide.”

Shushing them, Wilhelmina said, “I can just make out what they’re saying.”

Kieran swung between the two unrepentant spies, horrified at such outright mutiny. This could not be happening. But there they were, listening with rapt attention to their prince and his lover debate the merits of marriage.

“Cas,” Pen’s voice was soft, as if she too knew about the anguish that boiled just underneath his skin. “We need to talk about this. I know this is a lot—for me to be descended from the man who hurt your mother--”

“—I don’t give a fuck about who your father or grandfather or even great grandfather was,” Cas interrupted, his voice edged with a panic that sent Kieran’s pulse thundering. That panic was one he’d rarely heard in the years spent trying to free Malik, an old and deep fear from a wound that had never healed. It took Kieran back to night after night spent detangling Cas from the memories and nightmares, while his bonded was a shuddering mess of shadows and guilt. He could still see the agony etched into his bonded’s face in the dim lamplight. Those first years after his return, Cas refused to sleep in a dark room. Like his fear of baths stemming from them washing him before taking every scrap of dignity that they could, his fear of the dark stemmed from the monsters wreathed in shadows that beckoned from within it. The bitch queen of the vampry, a glittering diamond of cruelty, lurking in the shadows of his room with a mocking smile and cool, grasping hands.

“Then I don’t understand why…” Poppy’s voice trailed off and Kieran’s heart twinged at the rejection she must be cycling through.

“I can’t do that,” Cas said. He likely would have continued, and he very likely did continue, but Kieran’s attention was snagged by Naill’s quick pace as the dark skinned Atlantian rounded the corner. His brow was drawn low, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line that immediately telegraphed concern.

“Why are we listening at the prince’s door?” he asked, the worried lines in his skin smoothing as he looked at Kieran with jovial bemusement.

“Because those two have a death wish,” Kieran said, gesturing at Delano and Wilhelmina. As he did so, it occurred to him that Naill likely had not met the woman—since he and Delano hadn’t—and wasn’t likely to know who she was. Naill hesitated, weighing his question before dismissing it with a shake of his head.

“I need to speak to the prince,” he said, settling back on his original mission rather than investigate the current quagmire that Kieran was stuck in.

“Why?” Kieran asked, ignoring the two who continued discussing the conversation that was happening on the other side of the door.

“It’s urgent—Elijah and the others just arrived from New Haven, but our scouts have spotted some trouble on their heels,” Naill said.

“I’d not recommend interrupting them,” Delano whispered, his brow creased with concern. “Pen sounds like she’s ready to stab him.”

“Well then shouldn't we go in there as soon as possible?” Naill asked, looking at Kieran in disbelief.

Kieran started to explain when Delano launched backwards, pushing himself and Wilhelmina out of range from the door as it opened, and Pen stepped out onto the landing. The apples of her cheeks were stained with red, and her eyes glimmered with an almost feverish sheen. As her gaze took in the sight of the audience clustered around her door, Kieran spotted the upward tilt to her lip that hinted at some amusement before she buried it back down beneath an impenetrable mask of cool dispassion.

“We can hear you,” she said, amending it to say, “I can even hear you.” Delano’s face paled at that, something that impressed Kieran given how light his features already were. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at each of them, “And it’s a bit rude to listen at the doorstep when you’ve been asked to leave for a private conversation.”

“Well, this is all wildly entertaining,” Naill said, easing past her. “Cas, we need you—we spotted three ridings of Solis soldiers with some vampry carriages in tow. They aren’t on the road directly towards here. They’re cutting across Pompay on the trail of our people from New Haven—probably out scouting for the Maiden without any real idea of where she’s at.”

It always amazed Kieran, seeing how Cas could take the overflowing fount of pain in himself and stopper it as easily as one corks a wine bottle. It still lingered, just under the surface, clearly visible to those who knew to look for it, but in times like this, when he was needed to serve as the prince and leader, he seemed to effortlessly tamp it down under lock and key. Within a breath, his face was a tightly sealed mask, and within two, even his voice was unnervingly even as he said, “We’ll ride out and intercept them—keep them from getting any closer to Spessa’s End.” He immediately started walking, heading out past all the others. Delano was tense, ready to fall in line behind his prince next to Naill, while Wilhelmina leaned against the wall, still seemingly amused by everything she was witnessing. A red blur passed at the edge of Kieran’s vision, something that he recognized instinctively as Pen striding after their prince.

“I want to go with you,” she said, her jaw set in grim determination.

Cas spared only the barest glance over his shoulder. “That’s not going to happen,” he said.

Kieran could swear he heard Pen grit her teeth in response. Her eyes flared brighter, swirling orbs of green that seemed to glow in the dim light of the windowless hallway that Kieran had never noticed before. It reminded him of the eather that swirled in Cas’ eyes whenever his emotions were heightened.

“You don’t get to make that call by yourself,” she said, and even though her words were simple and not aggressive, something about her tone and emphasis on yourself made them feel like she’d just released a catapult full of gravel and small boulders right at Casteel’s heart. Kieran felt the dig pelt against his skin, the stinging bitterness that swelled in response, and he glanced down half expecting to see a visible wound of some kind.

Despite the feelings that churned chaotically inside Casteel, his voice was impenetrable. “You’ll be safer here. I’ll leave Kieran here to keep an eye on you.”

Kieran debated the wisdom of protesting but the words were already tumbling out of Pen’s mouth before he could formulate a single coherent thought. “I’ll be safer with your group.” Kieran could have sworn he heard a hitch on the word “your” as if she’d started to say “you” but had changed her mind. But Pen was ploughing ahead, “if the people here find out who I am, then I’ll still be in danger.”

“They won’t find out.”

“You can’t promise that, and particularly not now that everyone from New Haven is here. They know you took me. They know what happened.” Pen said, and Kieran’s fist clenched at the unbidden memory of how she looked, prone on the ground of the New Haven stable, shredded and mangled. While they’d hunted for her, he had to fight against that memory on an almost daily basis. He couldn’t give in to the sight of her skin, bloodless and chilled in the autumn air. He’d refused to find her like that. At the time he believed it was for Casteel’s sake, but as he looked at the vibrant woman in front of him, it was hard to feel like there was anyone else in that hallway but her.

Something about Pen seemed to drain the oxygen from the room until she, and not the air itself, was the source of life. She blazed like a wildfire, too much to ignore but almost painfully brilliant to look too closely at. It wasn’t her appearance, but something deeper and innate. Kieran remembered the ride to Spessa’s End with Penellaphe in front of him—buried underneath the dirt and distress, he’d scented an undercurrent that struck a chord that, despite its unfamiliarity, was a scent that he recognized immediately.

More ancient than the roots of the Skotos mountains, it spoke of ruined fields littered with the dead and dying after a clash of man against steel. He could almost hear the screech of carrion birds circling overhead. That unnatural stillness where no life lay. It smelled the way Pompay felt after the Ascended had butchered everyone in the region. But still, that was only a facet of the scent that Penellaphe carried. It spoke of lives lived, loves lost, and the aged slipping peacefully into the arms of eternity surrounded by those who would carry on their memory. Then, in the wake of such an onslaught, it smelled like the quietness of rebirth. The whisper of regeneration. A seedling growing from the mangled stump of a tree destroyed by the wrath of winds and rain. Penellaphe smelled like the agony of birth, the tumultuous complexities of death, and the renewal of life all interwoven as tightly as a tapestry into a single scent. Pen smelled like the breath of life itself, old and ancient but unchanged, mingled with the eternal and all-consuming scent of death. The final and eternal ending. It seemed to clash with the reality that lived before him. Pen, in her voice and carriage, was painfully mortal. She lacked the preternatural stillness of the immortals, and she crackled with the chaotic energy of mortality.

Even so, the revelation of her potential heritage fit a puzzle that Kieran had never even realized was missing a piece. Had she been a god and not just the descendant of a deity, Kieran could have easily envisioned her, seated upon a throne and wreathed in starlight as the one who mete out justice upon the world. Not as the god of common endings. But rather the god who brought about the ending of life itself. She carried the promise of that final and ultimate darkness. Her scent was primal and unyielding.

Kieran shrugged off the ruminations. Such instincts made little sense to him, and there were more pressing issues at play—such as if Penellaphe was about to chop his bonded into tiny pieces and set him on fire while Delano handed her the matches and Wilhelmina cackled in the background. Or, if Cas pushed any farther, if someone was going to be missing a spine soon. Either option seemed like a painfully real possibility.

The muscles in Cas’ shoulders bunched and flexed, and Kieran didn’t need the bond to feel the tension running through his body like a live wire crackling with electric current. He stared ahead, the cogs of his mind turning as he weighed the options. His back slumped imperceptibly as he turned back to look at Pen, “I won’t ask you to promise to do what you’re told, because I know you won’t,” he said, his eyes alight with twin flames of worry. “But you have to promise not to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not going to hand myself back to them,” Pen protested, her arms crossing in emphasis of her protestation. Cas’ only response was a lifted eyebrow, so she added with a huff, “Fine, I promise not to do anything stupid.”

Cas studied her. “I should compel you to sit quietly in that room, bound and restrained till I return,” he said. Kieran’s lips twitched as he caught the staining of pink along Pen’s jaw and the unmistakable heightening scent—just what was she thinking about? But Cas acted like he couldn’t tell what everyone else was aggressively pretending to ignore. “But I’m going to give you this—and pray to the gods that it doesn’t blow up in my face.”

Pen nodded then, an almost imperceptible dip to her head. She and Cas stared at each other in mute agreement, a silent conversation that promised further arguments once they had solved the problem of the Ascended hot on their heels. Those arguments were sure to be a bloodbath and Kieran wondered just what in the Da’Neer ancestry made the men fall wildly and head over heels in love with insane women.

Wilhelmina spoke then, reminding Kieran and the rest that she was still leaning against the wall as a rapt member of the audience. “Well,” she said, “I had planned to return home once I retrieved my journal,” she glanced pointedly at the book in her hands. “But given that Alastair is a captive and we have vampry on the doorstep, I feel like I should make myself useful.”

Kieran wanted ask just what this woman could possibly do that was useful and not a complete headache for him fueled with absurd misunderstandings and frenetic debauchery, but Casteel nodded, dismissing the mental image of Pen sitting at Wilhelmina’s feet while she took detailed notes on the exact ways to destroy a man. “With the arrival of the people from New Haven, we will need to find them places to stay,” he told her. “The leader of them is a mortal named Elijah. He’s the man to go to.”

“Elijah,” Wilhelmina tested the name on her tongue and grinned. “I do love a man of the earth who’s in charge.” She bowed ever so slightly before strolling off in the opposite direction.

“So I know that we have to go kill some vampry,” Naill murmured, “But I almost want to see Magda’s reaction if that woman lays a hand on Elijah.”

“I don’t,” Delano said. “Magda was terrifying before she got pregnant.”

Despite any of the pain or anger that she might have otherwise been struggling with, Pen grinned. She linked her arm with Delano’s, ignoring the territorial glint in Casteel’s eye—though by the stiff posture of the wolven, Kieran guessed that Delano was all too aware of just how close he was to losing life or limb.

“I will never understand,” Pen said, “how someone as brave as you were in that stable is also so nervous when it comes to the things that women might do.”

Delano grinned with only a flicker of sorrow, “I was the only boy in my family,” he said by way of explanation. “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe.”

“That’s true,” Naill chimed in. “Time was that Delano’s sisters were the most beautiful and terrifying creatures this side of the Skotos mountains.”

Even though the sadness was visible on Delano’s face, he thumped Naill with his free hand good naturedly. “He’s only saying that because he decided to flirt with my sister, Preela, and then when he pissed her off, she left him tied to the bed while he yelled for help loud enough the whole street could hear.” Delano made a face as he shuddered in revulsion. “That was a sight I never needed to see.”

Naill frowned. “You didn’t see hardly anything—you bolted and left me there as soon as you walked in.”

“And I’ve never made a wiser choice,” Delano said sagely. Pen’s lips twitched in a wry grin as she watched the Atlantians wrangle over a century old dispute. Cas seemed a hairsbreadth away from tapping his foot in impatience as he watched them.

“Are you quite ready?” he asked, eyes still slipping to where Pen and Delano’s arms were linked. A sly and bitter thought fluttered through Kieran’s mind that if Cas wanted to be jealously possessive of Pen, turning down her hand in marriage wasn’t the best step forward.

On their way to the stables, Cas grabbed a few other Atlantians, mostly those who had come from New Haven to round out their party. Kieran was halfway through saddling his horse when he realized that Cas was leaning against the waist high stall door on his elbows, his shoulders low and his face showing a weariness that he hid around the others. “I need Poppy to ride with you,” he said softly.

“Anything you need,” Kieran said automatically, and he meant it.

“I just…it’s been a wild tumble of two days and I need some space,” Cas said, his voice just above a whisper.

“Anything you need,” Kieran repeated, and Cas inclined his head in silent thanks.

When he stood beside Pen and told her that she’d be riding with him again, Kieran expected the same flash of pain that he’d seen the day before when they had saved her from death by Alastair's hand. But her mouth only tightened slightly, and she nodded. “I thought as much,” she murmured slowly. Even though her eyes were downcast, they still shone with a fiery determination. Pen had not been defeated or swayed by Casteel’s panicked rejection, and Kieran wasn’t sure if he was impressed by her resilience or frightened by her stubbornness.

Chapter Text

Nothing, not even the solid grip of Kieran’s arms wrapped around her or the steady rise and fall of the horse at a steady canter could stop the storm that raged inside Poppy. Her veins crackled with unspent energy that coursed up and down her limbs, practically sparking off her fingers. It was a wild beast, pacing inside her too-tight ribcage. Every beat of her heart seemed to quicken, matching the tempo of the hoofbeats of the horses around her. It strained with her feelings, pulling against muscle and sinew, feeling like it could beat its way out of her chest.

Around them the world passed in a haze of glass and trees, the warmth of the southern lands around Spessa’s End unfamiliar to Poppy after years spent in the windy and damp cold of Masadonia. Even as they rode towards more fighting and violence, the breeze was gentle, brushing lightly against Poppy’s face. It felt strange, seeing such tranquility with the whirling of emotions that she felt inside. Other than a brief stop for lunch, and a few breathers for the horses, they had kept moving all through the day.

“You alright?” Kieran asked, sparing a glance down at her. Poppy looked straight ahead, the muscles in her jaw working from the effort that it took to keep from lighting the fuse inside her that was one stray spark away from incinerating everyone around them in her wrath.

“I’m fine,” she gritted out. It was a lie. And it wasn’t. She wasn’t fine, but she would be. Cas was an idiot, but it didn’t change their reality. He couldn’t run away from it—couldn’t run away from what they had to do. The problems of Atlantia and Solis were bigger than him and his issues. And Cas clearly had a mountain of issues taller than the rise around Carsodonia.

“Should I worry about you murdering Cas in his sleep tonight?” Kieran muttered close to her ear, close enough that only Poppy heard.

“Possibly,” Poppy, her laugh choppy and uneven. She blew out a long breath. “No—I won’t. He’s a coward, but I won’t kill him for that.”

Even as she spoke, Poppy couldn’t fight the urge to glance at Casteel as he rode just ahead of them. Over the hunch of his shoulder, she spotted the telltale redness that splashed across his sharp cheekbones. He’d heard her. The internal scorekeeper in her head cheered as she marked a point for her on the blank slate.

“Well, that’s a relief. Keeping the two of you alive is already more work than it’s worth,” Kieran chuffed.

“Ouch,” Poppy said, but she couldn’t help the grin that crept across her face. The tally keeper in her brain reluctantly added a column for Kieran and gave him a point.

“Don’t blame me,” Kieran said. “I signed up to help Cas kidnap a totally normal human woman. Instead you showed up.”

“And what am I?”

“Trouble. A wild hellion causing trouble and headaches for me everywhere she goes.”

“I thought you wanted us to be friends?” Poppy asked. If his idea was friendship was making fun of her at every tu—"

“—have you had friends before?” Kieran asked, fighting back a laugh.

“I have friends,” Poppy exclaimed, indignant.

“Right,” Kieran said, chuckling. Poppy couldn’t help the slight glance that Cas threw over his shoulder at them and the sounds of Kieran’s laughter. His eyes were sharp like chips of amber, but she stared back defiant. He broke first, turning away without a word.

“Friends make fun of each other,” Kieran explained as if he hadn’t noticed the moment.

“I had—have a friend back in Masadonia,” Poppy murmured, her eyes still tracing the outline of Casteel’s stark figure. “When she found out I was sneaking out to the Red Pearl without her, she threatened to cut my slippers into ribbons.”

“See?” Kieran said with another low laugh. This time Casteel remained unmoving. “Friends do that.”

“So, you only make fun of your friends?” Poppy asked slowly, working through it was a tangled ball of thread. She had teased Tawny and Vikter but the easy way that he poked at her was a different dynamic than she’d known before. “What do you do to your enemies?”

“Kill them.”

The abruptness of the admission was like a bucket of icy water splashed over Poppy’s bones. She shifted in her seat, trying not to think about what might have happened to her if she and Cas hadn’t become what they were to each other. “I’m glad I’m not your enemy anymore,” she said with an unsteady laugh.


One of Kieran’s hands moved from the reins to run down the length of Poppy’s forearm. “You were hardly our enemy,” he said. “You were a tool. Neither Cas nor I would have tried to hurt you.”

“I’m tired of being everyone’s pawn,” Poppy said, unable to hide the knife’s edge of bitterness that cut through her voice. Kieran’s hand closed around her arm, just tight enough to catch her attention without hurting.

“Then don’t be,” he said. The rebuke stoked Poppy’s ire, drawing it towards him instead of Casteel. That anger snarled inside her, a wild thing just aching to be free. Her hands opened and closed on empty air, unable to grasp and hold the anger from breaking free.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she seethed in a sharp whisper. “People have never cared what I wanted—only how they can use me.”

Kieran was unperturbed. “And what are you going to do about?” he challenged softly.

“What am I supposed to do?” The words were louder than she intended. She caught Delano and Naill sneaking glances from their horses, even as Casteel stared straight ahead. Meeting Delano’s icy blue stare, his eyes lined with worry, she smiled tightly till he turned away.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Pen,” Kieran said once they’d lost the attention of others. “That’s part of you taking responsibility for yourself.”

“I’m not,” Poppy insisted, irritation with Kieran swelling to replace the anger that she’d been stewing towards Casteel.

“Really?” Kieran asked. “And if you succeed in marrying Cas, do you intend to be anything other than the pawn that secures his family’s throne?”

Poppy swallowed, unable to respond while Kieren kept talking. “Not being a pawn takes more than the desire, Pen. It takes actions. And those words don’t mean much if you keep allowing yourself to be someone else’s tool.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Poppy whispered, still staring at the back of Cas’ head and the barest edge of his profile that moved in and out of view. Since the moment she’d run away, she had been trying to choose for herself. “But he won’t let me.”

“I’m not saying that Cas isn’t frustrating and stubborn, Pen,” Kieran said. “But—”

“—But I’ll figure it out, and without your help,” Poppy cut in, frustrated with her inability to not sound petulant as well as with the wolven behind her. Kieran laughed again, a low rumbling sound that seemed out of place for the conversation they were having before he was silenced by Cas pulling up to a halt.

“If you two are done,” Cas said, his voice polished ice. “Over that hill is where the scouts sighted the Vampry.” He gestured ahead of them to where the flat grasslands and neighboring treeline bled into rolling hills. He glanced over at Poppy, his face rigid and impassible. “Kieran, take the others to scout of a perimeter while Poppy and I see to the horses. Don’t engage with them till I find you.”

Even in silence, the next minutes were a flurry of activity. Kieran dismounted before turning, his arms outstretched to help Poppy dismount. But even as she reached for his hands, Cas slipped between them. Silent and firmly, but not roughly, his hands settled around her hips as he lifted her up off of Kieran’s horse and placed her gently on the ground. Their eyes met for only a moment before he stalked away, their horse’s reigns in hand, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Poppy stared after him, her thoughts an impenetrable swirling mist before she was distracted by Kieran’s chuckling. Turning on her heel, she glared up at him. Kieran looked down on her, his mouth caught in a grin.

“Cas is almost as petty as you are,” Kieran said, shaking his head.

“I’m not petty!” Poppy exclaimed, stamping her foot in anger. Kieran watched the motion, brows raised and a smile toying on his lips.

“Are you done?” he asked. “Because that tantrum didn’t change my mind.”

Hands balled into fists, Poppy growled. “I am not throwing a tantrum.”

“Every time you’ve managed to lie, I’m always shocked it worked because you’re so bad at it.” Kieran said, laughing as he stepped over to join the other wolven and Atlantians who were studiously pretending that the ground was extremely interesting. He glanced between Poppy and where Casteel stood with the horses. “Enjoy your walk,” he said, turning away.

Poppy glared after him, cursing entitled wolven, idiot Atlantians, and everyone in between. She was almost afraid to look at the Atlantian standing behind her, afraid of what she might do to him once they were finally alone. It occurred to her that if Cas didn’t pull his head out of his ass soon, then murder might be a realistic option. She envisioned herself stabbing him cleanly through the heart.

“Come on,” Cas said. Poppy glared over her shoulder at him. He seemed unruffled, but Poppy fought against the tendril of her gift that tried to reach out towards him to crack open that exterior and find how he truly felt.

“What’s your plan?” she asked, stalking beside him as they led the horses into the trees.

“To keep you out of danger mostly,” Cas said. “It’s twilight so we’ve missed our chance to catch the Ascended in their carriages. We could wait till tomorrow, but I don’t want to spend too much time outside the rise till…”

“Till what?” Poppy asked, “and what do you mean keep me out of danger? What are you going to do?”

Despite his stoic exterior, a glimmer of light shone through a crack in his façade when Cas rolled his eyes at her. “So many questions,” he tutted. “Which should I answer first?”

Poppy scowled, ignoring him. A heavy silence hung in the air, veiling the space between them till Cas cut through it by saying, “Till we know what our next step is.”

“You mean till we’re married,” Poppy cut in.

“Moving on,” Cas said smoothly, stopping now that they were thoroughly hidden in the trees. “Keeping you out of danger includes right now. So, I’m going to keep you here with the horses so you can’t get into any more trouble.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Poppy laughed in disbelief, stepping back as she bit back another mean snort bubbling up from inside her. Cas, bending down to stake the horses’ long lines to the ground, glanced up at her but he didn’t speak.

“Just this morning,” she said, “You made this huge deal about how we were going to handle things together.” Pain stung her skin like a thousand tiny cuts spread out across her body. A logical part of her brain whispered that the pain was her own, if she had looked down, she would have seen the tiny half moons etched into her palms from how tightly she’d balled her fists. “But the moment something happens, you’re right back to ignoring anything I have to say,”

“Poppy,” Cas started to speak when his head whipped to the side. Eyes wide, he cursed. “I told those idiots not to engage.”

It was just a whisper under the normal sounds of the forest, beneath the susurrus of wind between branches and the twittering of roosting birds, Poppy heard the faint clanging of steel. Staking the last of the horses, Cas rocked to his feet. He looked at Poppy. “I don’t have time to force you to stay here, but can you please promise to listen to me?” he asked. Poppy nodded, and then they were off.

Another part of her brain, different than the logic or the scorekeeper, noted how he measured his running so they could move side by side. It should have quelled some of her anger, but Poppy was distracted mentally stuffing that part of herself down an imaginary well. Before long they were almost at the edge of the trees, hidden in the low-lying scrub and bushes. Cas crouched down and motioned for her to do the same.

Settling down on her haunches, Poppy tried to ignore the way the dim light poured down on Cas, softening the harsh lines of his face. Turning away, her cheeks reddening, she looked out past the brush and trees. Just a few feet away, she could see Kieran and the others fighting off a collection guards and knights just outside a ring of tents and four carriages encircling a fire. Delano, still in his human form, narrowly dodged a downward swing from a human guard, but one of the royal knights, a blur of blanked metal and crimson lunged towards him—too fast for a mortal. Delano sidestepped the blade before Naill jumped in, slicing down through the neck of the night. As his head fell from his body, Poppy stared in horror as the head slipped from the helmet, showing a mouth frozen in an open snarl framed by two sharp fangs. Moving so fast it was a wonder her own neck didn’t snap, she stared at Casteel openmouthed.

“The knights,” she whispered. “They’re—”

“--Vampry too,” Cas confirmed, his eyes a luminous gold in the dim light. “The royals don’t want the common people to know it, but far more receive their ‘blessing’ than just the chosen.” He reached down into his boot. “I shouldn’t do this,” he said. “Gods know, I’m just as likely to have this end up in my own heart, but I want you to defend yourself.”

Poppy’s eyes tracked his hand as he pulled out an all too familiar blade of bloodstone and wolven bone. She watched as he flipped it once, the bloodstone glinting in the twilight. Her fingers trembled as she reached towards it, wrapping her fingers around the hilt and took it from his hand.

“I want you to stay here, out of sight,” Cas said. “I’ll go out and take care of them. Promise you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise.” Poppy wasn’t sure how much her promise could mean anymore, but Cas seemed to relax having heard it. Rising to his feet, his hand brushed her should and cheek in a singular moment of silent tenderness, and then he was a blur racing towards the conflict.

As Casteel stepped into the clearing, hands already unsheathing the twin blades that hung at his sides, Kieran’s shoulders eased, even though he didn’t turn to glance at him. “Glad you could join us,” he said, thrusting his sword through a mortal guard. Poppy cringed at the snapping of bone and sick thud of dead flesh against the ground.

“I’m always game for a dance—even if you started the party without me.”

Casteel was right, through the haze of violence and blood, he stepped forwards and back with a fluid grace that belied the chaos around him. He was dancing, a waltz that left his partners without limbs and life. Hefting the blades in his hands, the swords wove a pattern of death around him, leaving little but hewn flesh and blood spray in their wake. As she watched, transfixed in the dark of the bushes, Poppy wondered how all the different masks of Casteel could possibly fit together. The tender lover, the leader anxious for control, and the Atlantian who seemed descended from the old gods of death themselves. Some days it seems like Casteel was a beautiful gem, all sharp edges and facets that she could easily cut herself on if she wasn’t careful.

Even as Poppy watched Casteel step in and out of the haze of violence, she noticed that no Royals were in the fray.  Other than the dozen knights that still kept the Atlanians and wolven busy, she didn’t see any of the royals that she could expect to lead a search party for her. A flash of blond caught her eye, cutting through Poppy’s thoughts. Turning her head, Poppy just caught the edge of a figure disappearing into the woods a stone’s throw away form her. Palming her dagger, she crept after the shadow, stealing through the dark just like Vikter had taught her.

In the growing dark, the woods seemed to loom in around Poppy, the tangled branches reaching towards her like bony fingers. A chilling breeze feathered the back of her neck, whispering through the tangled woods. Unbidden, memories rose up like bile, an acrid smoky haze filled with screams and razor-sharp hands that shredded her skin. Poppy opened her mouth to scream, but it died on her lips, swallowed by the fear that roiled inside her.

Panic swelled, deadening her limbs and making every step laborious. Poppy paused, forcing one breath and then another. That was the past. It isn’t real. She told herself, taking the memories and putting them back behind a door. They pushed back, trying to force their way into her mind, but Poppy was stronger. She’d survived, and the craven had died. The past was dead. It was gone and she was here. Her head clearing with each breath, Poppy pushed past the low-lying branches after the man who was creeping deeper and deeper into the woods.

Her footfalls hidden by the quiet rustling of the forest, Poppy had almost made it to the figure when a twig snapped underfoot. The sharp sound cut through the murmuring words. Freezing, Poppy silently cursed her luck, as the man turned towards the betraying sound, his body all tense lines prepared to strike. In the dim light, Poppy saw the pale blue eyes and blond hair that framed a weathered face. Her throat filled with emotion, at the recognition. His eyes met hers, widening with shock.

“Vikter?” she breathed, her voice trembling from shock. Then she was running towards him, her body colliding against his in a solid embrace. Poppy felt his solid arms wrap around her body as she buried her face in his chest. It felt like a wave of joy, anxiety, and weariness were all crashing down on her and all she could do was hold on and let Vikter shelter her.

“Poppy,” he rasped, holding her tightly. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Oh, Vikter,” Poppy shuddered as she clung to him. He was warm and real. In the beginning she’d been so beaten down and exhausted to think of how he must have been feeling with her gone. But to have him here again—he was her family and she was reunited.

“We have to get out of here. The descenters are attacking our camp,” Vikter said, stepping back before pulling her along. “When we spotted them, there were too many of them—I had to get away to keep looking for you.”

Vikter pulled on Poppy’s hand, but she was rooted to the ground. Her oath to Casteel echoed in her mind. She promised him she wouldn’t run again. He glanced at her, brows raised in confusion. He pulled again, but she stayed in place.

“Vikter, I can,” she whispered, tears welling at the corner of her eyes.

“We have to get out of here, Poppy,” Vikter’s voice was rough with desperation, but Poppy couldn’t move.

“I can’t go back, Vikter,” she said. “I can’t go back to that life.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t understand, Poppy. They took you. We’ve—I’ve been looking ever since you disappeared.”

“No, Vikter.” Poppy said. “They saved me. Casteel—”

“The Dark One?” Vikter asked, eyes wide with incredulity.

“He was only able to take me because of what Duke Teerman did to me during his last lesson.” Poppy explained frantically. “He hasn’t hurt me. He saved me.” The words fell from her lips like puzzle pieces falling into place. It was only as she said them that Poppy realized how true that was for her. Casteel, for all his idiocy and foolishness, had saved her in so many ways. He had built her up and forgiven her even when she’d hurt him. Even now, while they were diametrically opposed, he had armed her and not left her defenseless.

“Poppy, this is insane,” Vikter said, dropping her hand to run his own through his hair. He reached out for Poppy again, but she stepped back, shaking her head wildly. As she did, she felt her braid slip from her shoulder. In the dim light of early nightfall, she saw Vikter’s eyes track down towards her neck and towards that damned bite.  

“He bit you?” he asked, incredulous. “Poppy, he bit you and you’re defending him?”

Poppy’s cheeks flamed, and she swallowed before saying, “He bit me because I let him. I told him to. Vikter, I…”

“Don’t say that,” Vikter said, interrupting her. “Don’t say what I think you’re about to say.” He shook his head, still staring down on her in shock. “I can’t believe you would do that.”

“Can’t you?” Poppy said, standing a little straighter. “After how the Teerman’s treated me? You can’t understand why I would care when someone showed me a better way to live? How many, Vikter,” her voice turned harsh, filled with gravel and pain. “How many times did he make me undress, bent me over that table, and beat me? You knew—you counted every time.” She saw Vikter cringe at the memories. “How many times did you have to help me limp back to my room?”

“Poppy,” Vikter tried to speak but Poppy kept talking.

“They hurt me. They used me. That last time, the duke and the lord fed from me like an Atlantian would, but it hurt. It burned worse than a craven’s bite. Casteel, he would never…” Poppy trailed off, deciding that she might not want to tell Vikter that Cas had planned to use her in the beginning. “Vikter, me being the Maiden… it’s got to do with my parents. Who I’m descended from. The Ascended are using me because I’m not fully human.”

Vikter seemed stiffen and relax all at once. His pale brows creased as he said, “You know tha—”

Poppy would never hear what Vikter thought she knew. Poppy would never be able to ask Vikter what he knew. If he had answers about who Malec was to her or who her parents really were, she would never know. Because in that moment, appearing from the dark like a nightmare of shadow and misery, the Lord Bradole Mazeen appeared from the trees behind Vikter, a glinting steel sword in hand. Poppy opened her mouth to warn Vikter, but it was too late. In a blink he was on them. The blade whistled through the air, cleaving flesh from bone. Vikter crumpled, his mouth open, the unspoken words dried up, leaving Poppy and the Lord Mazeen staring at each other alone in the dark woods.

The lord smiled, a slow vicious smile with lips that curled just high enough to show the cruel points of his fangs. “Hello, Maiden,” he purred.

Chapter Text

Ice crawled up Poppy’s limbs, freezing her muscles and turning her blood into wet slush. With each beat, her heart stuttered—seizing from the frost that was growing over it. Every inhale and exhale was heavy and forced, the air pluming in white clouds around her. Perspiration trickled down the small of her back, forming small icicles underneath her clothing. Everything felt slowed and unreal. Poppy was a pillar of solid ice, staring straight at Brandole Mazeen as he loomed over her.

The Lord smiled again as he drew near, lingering just out of arms reach. Poppy stared at him, her eyes wide. Between them, Vikter lay on the ground, his face turned up towards the sky. Blood trickled from the corner of mouth. She could see the barest hint of movement in his chest, but it was too slow and too shallow.

“I’ve been looking for you, Penellaphe,” he said, eyes raking down her body before settling at the bite that covered the side of her neck. “Though I see I needn’t have been worried about your safety.” His tongue flicked along the tip of one fang and then another, reminding her of a serpent sensing its prey.

Even though thinking felt like crawling through a sea of porridge, Poppy knew that there was no way in all the abyss that Brandole Mazeen had felt the slightest ounce of concern for her or her wellbeing. She glared at him, still unable to move. The shock and fury were building in her blood, a tidal wave of icy fire trapped behind a dam.

“You’re always so quiet,” he tsked. “Such a perfect Maiden.” His eyes narrowed as he reached a single hand towards her. “But I know the truth.”

“Do you?” Poppy gritted out, fighting against the ice that had seized her. She had to move. She had to get away from him. She had to kill—

—Bran’s too cold finger brushed the edge of her cheek, leaving a wake of revulsion and goosebumps behind. “It was always so hard,” he breathed, eyes trailing her face. “So hard to see you walking through the keep. I dreamed of how you’d taste, it possessed me.” He swallowed heavily, the coal black sheen in his eyes burning with a wildfire that curled Poppy’s stomach. Bran smirked, a cruel and small thing that pressed his lips into a small thin line. “But then I finally did.”

Vikter. She had to check on Vikter. She had to save Vikter. But she was a frozen lake, dammed up and still. She strained against an immovable force, throwing every ounce of herself against it just to move an inch. But she didn’t. Her inner emotions screamed at her to move, to snap Vikter’s dagger up under the Lord Mazeen’s jaw and into his brain. But her joints were locked, and she couldn’t even move her pinky finger.

“Vikter,” she forced out. Bran’s eyes flitted down, as if noticing her silent guard for the first time.

“He has been so much trouble,” he said, still smiling. “Always asked too many questions about your disappearance and our lesson. Truthfully,” his smile widened, “I was already going to see to him before I caught you in this little tryst. So much familiarity with your guards,” he tsked again. “But you’ve always been so coarse and unworthy.” Poppy’s eyes, the only thing she had control over, followed his gaze down her body to the regions that he deemed so coarse and common.

“I was simply going to wait in the woods till my men dealt with your friends. But then I heard you and Vikter having such a touching reunion and I couldn’t resist. You’ve caused so much trouble, Penellaphe.” He said, his eyes still fixed on her breasts. “And with Dorian gone, I’m afraid I’m going to have to teach you a lesson myself.” He laughed, a wet rasping chuckle. “And I’m going to enjoy it.”

Bran lunged for her. As he moved, his face changed, distorted by the hunger and cruel delight. His teeth were bared, showing the fangs that had been stolen like his speed and power from Atlantia while his eyes glowed with a ghoulish fire that she’d never seen before.

Time seemed to slow as he moved towards her. Poppy threw herself against that unshakable wall inside herself that dammed her power, fueled by her rage at all the things he’d done—all the liberties he’d stolen from her. It didn’t budge. She threw herself again, thinking of Vikter’s body. The wall held, with only a trace of movement. Poppy gathered herself, pulling in everything she had. She thought of her mother’s face as the craven had pulled Poppy away with ragged claws that tore her open. Ian, being taken away by the queen, leaving her alone. Poppy thought of every indignity that the Duke and the Lord had enjoyed at her expense. What Jericho had done, and what he had almost done. Poppy took every moment she’d ever been made helpless, and she channeled it into a wave that crashed down against the wall that kept her back. It smashed down on it with all the force that she could manage. She could have sworn that she heard the groaning and splintering of wood as the dam still held her back.

In that too-slow-moment, with Brandole Mazeen bearing down on her, with his teeth poised to rip open her throat, Poppy wondered if this was how she would die. She asked if this, despite all her promises to Cas, would be the moment that took the life from her eyes. Would she let Bran steal her life? Would she never know freedom or choice?

The dam broke. Power, pure scalding power rushed through her, filling her muscles and running down the length of her limbs. Vikter’s dagger became a brand in her hand, as she brought the blade up, faster than she ever would have thought possible for a mortal to manage.  Bran, seeing the movement and blade humming through the frigid night, angled away, but Poppy caught his side. The dagger pierced his low abdomen, and he let out a deep and shuddering growl.

“Bitch,” he hissed, pulling away. Poppy moved back as well, her dagger still inside. His eyes still glowed, and he stalked around her as she crouched, ready to spring up at him at the first movement. But that defense? It wasn’t enough. That power inside her continued to grow, mounting taller as its waves sloshed inside her veins. It needed to release. Its freezing touch was scorching her from the inside, and it was all too much.

Bran lunged again, his sword out to block her dagger this time. But the power was too far gone. Distantly, Poppy was aware that the encroaching forest was flooded with a blinding light. She moved towards Bran, and as their blades met and steel clanged against bloodstone, her free hand reached past of its own accord. The dagger held against his sword, an impossibility of strength and weight. Powered by fury, hope, and something ancient that she’d never felt before, Poppy fingers dug into his chest. The power crackling inside her flared, and her fingers tore through his muscle and sinew. Bones cracked under her grasp. Bran was frozen in the grip of her power, his mouth open in a shriek, but Poppy couldn’t hear him over the churning and roaring of wind in her ears. The power was loose now, whipping around them in a cyclone of light and rushing gusts that tore at her hair and pelted her skin. Her hand moved deeper, plunging into his chest till her fingertips barely touched the muscled organ that thundered wildly in his chest. She wrapped her fingers around it.

Poppy pulled. She pulled with all her might, and with the immortal wall of energy behind her. Muscle and sinew tore like cords snapping free. With every ounce of strength that she could muster, with all the rage that pulled at her own thumping organ, Poppy ripped Brandole Mazeen’s heart straight from his chest.

“You deserved worse,” she said, her voice a roar of gravel and wind whipped fire raining down on him. Bran topped at her feet as she stared down at the heart in her hand. It had stuttered its last beat before she’d removed it from his chest. She cast it away, looking at the choking and gasping vampry at her feet. He was dying. The stolen fire was fading from his eyes, but he was looking up at her with pure hatred. The power flared again, flames licking at the fuel that was her anger. He deserved to hurt. The power flared again, and Poppy knew that she was shining brighter than the sun. Bran floundered in the light. His skin peeled and cracked, splitting open as he writhed, and Poppy knew that it was her. It was her light, and she was burning him alive. The power roared in wild delight, pulling at her skin and hair again. It seemed to ask her to burn brighter with it, to lose herself in it. Brandole Mazeen was turning to ash now, his skin and flesh shriveling around his bones while the air reeked of burning flesh. His heart was long gone, incinerated in the wildfire that was Poppy.

She lost herself to that fire. She was everything and nothing. Her power had become a wild beast, not bound by flesh or fire. She had felt it pulling at the edge of her mind when she stared up at Alastir. But now, in that forest clearing, she became it. The heat was tearing at her skin, but she felt no pain. She was everywhere, the body she’d always known was only one vessel in a world full of them. She had burst free, and she was feeling her power stretch out. The earth whispered its greetings, and she felt the vessels of the trees pull back from her fire. Another vessel caught her attention, one of flesh and bone. But it was broken like a pitcher dropped on a stone hearth. Its own light was leaking fast.

Vikter. He was dying. She had incinerated Brandole Mazeen to nothing but a smoking husk and Vikter was dying. Her adopted father—the second in her life—and she was losing him. Poppy’s maelstrom stuttered, and she knew in that moment, that if she couldn’t save him, then nothing was worth doing. The shell that had once held her dropped to her knees, clutching him in her arms. Above and all around, Poppy poured her light into him. Like every time she’d given him her gift, using the bond to push light and warmth and happy memories to drive away his headaches, Poppy purged his pain. She saw each thread of tissue knit itself together. His body was perfect and whole. But his heart still held still. His eyes still remained wide and unseeing. Poppy’s pulse quickened in panic as she threw her power at him.

A silvery thread of light escaping Viker’s heart caught her eye. Instinctively she knew what it was, recognizing it as the grace that was his soul. She caught that thread, coaxing it back to her till she’d coiled it in her hands. Slowly she tipped it over onto his still chest.

“I need you to live, Vikter,” the roar was a wild plea, dampened by grief into the barest of a whisper. “Please.”

The thread of silver light lay on his chest, neither moving nor disappearing. Poppy stared at it, not sure what she could do next. She had rebuilt his broken body. She had saved his soul. What el—

“—It won’t work,” a familiar graveled tone said, not unkindly. Poppy and the vessel that had once been her jerked their heads towards the sound.

Vikter was standing above her, but it wasn’t the Vikter she had known. He looked different. Somehow, he was taller, and while his face was clear of weathering or lines, he seemed older than she’d ever seen him.

“I’ve been summoned,” he said. “My soul isn’t like others. When the fates have called—not even you can keep me here, Poppy.”

“But I need you,” Poppy cried, the anguish mounting.

“Not anymore,” Vikter said. “You have become so much more, and you are free, Poppy.” He smiled, a crooked smile, but Poppy still recognized the grief and sadness that lined the corners of his eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

He’d barely finished the last word when his whole body seemed to shimmer and vibrate like a string on an instrument that had just been plucked. Then he faded into nothing, leaving Poppy and her power to collapse on herself in the absence. Her vessel, that body she’d always known, molded itself across his body, her fingers rooted in his hair.

“No,” she begged. “No, Vikter. Not you.” His body was a broad expanse of emptiness, a shattered vessel that mirrored how she felt. She hugged him closer, letting her power subside into waves of racking sobs. The grief was a torrent, crashing through her and sweeping all awareness away.

All that was left, all she had, were the memories of how Vikter had first smiled at her when they met. How he’d coaxed her from cowed shyness into an incorrigible interrogator who dogged his footsteps and stole his every hour. All she had was his patience as he painstakingly taught her how to use her body to protect herself, and the feeling of his calloused hands against her own when he gave her the dagger that now lay next to her prone form. He’d shown her how to be brave, and how to want. All she could do was look at the sky and scream his name in a deep and pronounced wail of loss and agony.

But every storm fades. And even though the tides beat against the sand, they pull away, slipping back into the depths. Just so, the wracking sobs subsided, leaving her emptied body and the power that she had become. She was the shore, holding him tight against her with her body molding against his still figure. But there was no tide. No cosmic force, not even her own, could bring Vikter back to her. He was gone.

Gone.

Another sob tore through her, something feral and ragged. Even as she choked out that wet and nasty sound, she knew she couldn’t live like this. She couldn’t endure being split, lost from her body and lost from the only man who had selflessly cared for her without reservation.

“Poppy?” The voice was not like the roaring that still rang in her ears—a sound that she distantly recognized as her own. It was flesh and bone, and familiar. She knew that voice. The power churned brighter as she turned towards him, a feral beast protecting the body of its kin. She would not let him take Vikter’s body away from her.

A man stood between two trees, his swords hanging limply in his hands as he stared at her. His dark hair fell across his face, framing two glowing amber hued eyes. His jawline was set, with a pair of high sculpted cheekbones above them.  Gods only know what he saw as she snarled at him, a wild thing of beating winds and snapping jaws. She was at once a wildfire and wolf, ready strike at any threat. Behind him, fanned out where the wolven and Atlantians.

“Poppy,” he said again, dropping his swords to the ground. He took a step, his hands open. “Poppy.” He glanced back at the others. “Go find the horses. Get away from here.” One, again she distantly recognized, nodded, his frigid eyes blown wide in shock as he cast one last look at her before ushering the others away.

“Go away,” she snarled, but it wasn’t her voice. She wasn’t Poppy anymore. She could burn him like she was burning, like she had burned the Lord. She threw her hands out towards him, power racing down her glowing arms—

—Poppy knew him. Poppy had loved him. The beast that she had become pulled her arms back. The heat flared against her. It was too hot, too bright, too much. She was losing herself to the flames.

Her hesitation was all that Cas needed. He lunged for her body, pulling it into his arms. “Poppy, I need you to breath,” he said, his hands running over her pale cheeks and her chest. She watched him, numbly realizing that at some point her vessel—her body—had stopped moving. She had stopped breathing. She was on fire, lost in her power, and she hurt. The power hurt so much, almost as much as losing Vikter did. She was being torn apart by the pain.

“Poppy,” Cas’ voice was everywhere, filling the woods around them. She stared at him, lost in the sound. The pain lessened, caught by the sight and sound of him. “Poppy, I need you to come back to me.”

This time it wasn’t a plea or a request. It was a command. His eyes lifted from her body, staring directly at her. “Poppy, come back.”

She tried. Every inch of her tried to return, to follow his command. She pulled at her power, pulled at the fringes of her conscience that were slithering away all too quickly. But they slipped through her fingers, moving faster than she could gather them up.

“Poppy, you can do it,” Cas’ urged, his voice cracking from the effort it took to fuel the compulsion. She focused, trying again. This time she moved softly, gentling the threads of herself into a bundle. She looked at Cas, unsure of what to do next. She had slipped too far away from her mortal frame, become something more. She didn’t even know if this thing she’d become could even fit in her body.

“Come here,” Cas coaxed, gesturing at her. “Just try and see what happens.”

She stepped into the space where her body lay cradled in his arms next to Vikter still form. Nothing happened. She stared at her body, the limp way her arms hung from Cas’ embrace. She almost looked like she was fast asleep, and not trapped in this limbo between life and… whatever this was. Her body looked at peace.

For a moment, one single moment, she wavered. Maybe she could follow Vikter, spend eternity exploring the afterlife with him. But the anguish on Cas’ face halted her. The hope of their future lives had saved her from the Lord Mazeen. How could she abandon him now. Breathing deeply, she felt out the edges of her consciousness one last time. At the fringe, she felt a small cord that almost escaped her notice. She followed it, trailing it down to her body. She took that cord in hand, pulling it taut. Then she moved, becoming one with herself.

It felt strange. For a split second, she was two in one, then she felt the bone and muscle encasing her like a mortal cage, and then she was just Poppy. Just human Poppy. She stirred, the movement feeling foreign and strange. Slowly, methodically, her eyes drifted open. Cas’ wide eyed amber stare met hers.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she responded, the word more a soft exhale than anything.

You’re alive,” he said. He almost didn’t sound like he believed it.

Poppy’s lips felt dry and cracked, almost as withered as the lord’s prone carcass just a few feet away. “It hurts,” she said, forcing the words out of her.

“I’m sure,” Cas said, his smile shallow and without a dimple to be seen. He glanced over at Vikter. “I’m so sorry Poppy. I know you loved him.”

“It was the Lord Mazeen.” Poppy explained, wincing as she tried to sit up. Cas was immediately helping her, his hands splayed across her back as he supported her till she was upright.

“We’ll find him and kill him,” Cas promised. His tone promised murder and death for the Lord.

“I, ah!” Poppy hissed as a protesting muscle twinged. “I took care of that.” As she spoke, she pointed towards the still smoldering remains of Brandole Mazeen.

A started laugh burst from Casteel as he looked, for the first time, at Brandole’s corpse. “What did you do to him?” he asked.

Poppy tried to think over the memories but it was all hazy and tangled up. It felt unreal. “He killed Vikter. He was going to hurt me. But something happened to me. It was like I broke out of my body.”

“You definitely did,” Cas confirmed, still staring at the shriveled husk of an Ascended. “When I got here, you were glowing and three times taller. The whole forest was shining with bits of you—windy as fuck too.”

“Well, I… I killed him.” The memories were too jumbled for Poppy to be sure what exactly she’d done.

Cas moved from behind her, leaving one supporting hand on her shoulder as he shifted to a squat where he could look over at Mazeen’s body. “Poppy, you incinerated him.”

“I…” Poppy tried to make sense of it all. “I think I ripped his heart out first,” she said slowly. “I wanted him to hurt.”

The look that Cas threw at her was a strange one. Poppy was in no condition to use her gift, but she dearly wished she could—if only to untangle the strange mix of awe, confusion, fear, and respect that she saw flit across his chiseled face. He stood, reaching out his arms to her to pull her upright. Once she was tottering on her feet, aching with every step, he pulled her close and planted a soft kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a stunning murderous creature,” he whispered.

Hauling Vikter’s body while supporting Poppy on her way to the horses would have been difficult for even an Atlantian to manage. However, Kieran, seeing the lack of light and screaming from the space between the trees, quickly returned. He shouldered Vikter’s body, leaving Cas to carry Poppy like a weak kitten in his arms. She felt boneless, worn down by everything that had just happened. Kieran settled Vikter on his horse with him, while Cas settled her sidesaddle across his lap.

“I don’t want to burn him,” Poppy said, staring at Vikter’s body. It still bothered her, seeing him so unnaturally still. His face had begun to take that stiff tone that only those who would never wake could have.

“We’ll bury him on the bluffs overlooking the bay,” Cas promised. He planted a soft kiss to her hair. “He deserves it.”

They limped back, Poppy slowly explaining what she could to the others. The news that she had both incinerated and removed a heart from a Vampry was taken in stride. No one, not even Casteel mentioned how she split herself from her body. As she slipped into a shallow doze, cradled in Cas’ arms, Poppy wondered if anyone even had an explanation for it—what was unnatural or supernatural to her often seemed commonplace to them.

The travel back to Spessa’s End was solemn. Of the men, only Cas had ever known Vikter, a fact that he whispered to her when she slipped back to consciousness after a few hours of unsteady dozing.

“We searched high and low for you,” he explained softly. “He was hellbent on saving you.”

Poppy didn’t respond. She only gripped Cas’ arm to let him know that she’d heard him. But a quiet part of her whispered that Vikter hadn’t needed to save her because Casteel already had.