Chapter Text
When the morning dawns, lovely and bright, you chastise yourself for immediately jumping up to check the table.
“Dummy, he gave it to you last night! Cool it!”
***
You fall into the typical Sunday rhythm, the kind you’ve danced to hundreds of times. A two step to breakfast, a sashay down the hall to the room where you can snoop on the Royal Orchestra, knowing precisely when to arrive to skip hearing the warm ups you hate. After they’ve concluded, more familiar moves bring you to lunch, to laugh with the maids about a pink accessory dooming the knights’ wash. Next, a twirl and you’re perched in the room with the best light for some daydreaming and a cat nap, surrounded by a growing collection of mismatched pillows you’ve snuck out of the various unused rooms that share the floor you call home. The most typical day you’ve had all week even culminates typically, with you back in your room after dinner, all alone. You’re disappointed. It’s not fair to your visitor to hold his absence against him, he did warn you that he might not be back for a couple days, but now that you’ve gotten a taste of companionship that isn’t born out of a requirement to serve you, you can hardly be blamed for wanting more of it.
Your earlier daydreaming was of the typical variety, watching castle workers mill about the courtyards like hundreds of tiny ants, either enjoying their day off or completing their tasks, with you imagining what it’d be like to try routines like theirs. Now laying in bed, your mind is drifting somewhere else, as you clutch one of your satin pillows to your chest and rest your eyes, not quite ready to fall asleep yet. You turn the visitor’s name over and over in your head, like it's a pebble being smoothed out as you try different ways of emphasizing the syllables.
“Ra- fa -yel... Ra- fayel...Rafa- yel ...”
None of the pronunciations are any less warm and familiar to you. You list in your head all the things that ignite that feeling. Looking at the seashell and the scale both bring it about, but not the flower or pearl. The twinkle in his eyes as he leans in and down towards you, and the way he laughs sometimes is even worse. When he leaves, it feels like waking up from those dreams where you’re living as someone else, despite knowing you’re firmly planted in reality.
Logically, all of this should be incredibly troubling. You should go talk with the counselor, your isolation is clearly causing you to fabricate reasons to validate your immediate attachment to a stranger. To validate why you can’t shake the feeling that the stranger isn’t a stranger after all. None of these thoughts you’ve been having about desiring company should be permitted, there’s almost no doubt you’ll be married by the end of the year, and you’d prefer to be wed with your sanity intact. Still, having an interesting distraction until that time comes shooouuuld be alright. As long as you keep rejecting Rafayel’s offers, it should be fine. Should be.
Straying further, now that you’re somewhat permitting them to, your thoughts wrap around the image you’ve painted of him in your mind. Atypical two-toned eyes that convey the full breadth of his emotions for him. Gracefully messy hair that makes you envious. The low light of your chambers when you two meet makes him all the more mysterious, and maybe that’s what’s drawing you in. He’s a mystery to solve, which finally gives you something to do. No one wears a mask like that without a good reason, no one shows up only at night without a reason, and no one would risk their life, night after night, just to leave empty handed for no reason. The same way you did last night, tonight you swear to yourself that when you see him again, you’ll pull answers out of him.
***
“Your Highness! You’re alright?!”
“-Her window’s open, did they climb in through here?! Or maybe out?”
“-They must not’ve realized it was her in here-”
“But how would the archers have seen nothing-”
“-Hurry, what if IT got someone else too?!?
You groan, frenzied voices ripping you out of dreamland like a bucket of cold water. A hand ruffles your hair and you peel your eyes open to take in the state of your quarters.
“Don’t say ‘ it ,’ there’s no use in speculating. The fact we found the body in the castle, which means it wasn’t .” comes from above you, though it isn’t directed at you but a “Morning, deep sleeper aren’t you? I guess I can’t reprimand you for not hiding if you slept straight through it all,” does seem to be.
Captain Jenna stands over you, with seven members of the castle guard in tow scouring every square inch of your room. Ah, Mondays.
“Captain, there’s something on the table!” shouts a tall, burly guardsman, despite only standing several feet away. Both you and Jenna wince at the volume, but you’re speaking before you can think better of it.
“No -no, that’s mine!” you call back to him in a panic, despite having no idea what the item even is yet.
Big mistake , the guardsman picks up the object, and a chill runs down your spine. It’s a beautiful, silver dagger ornamented with so many pearls that it couldn’t possibly be intended for any use outside of a ritual. Yet, in stark, terrible, contrast to the milky white pearls, dried blood clings to the blade. You pale.
“That’s your gift.” your mind suggests, unhelpfully. “Don’t let them take it.”
“Oh! I, uh, cut myself with it when I was preparing some flowers last night!” you answer quickly before you can think better of lying, maybe too quickly, but your gesture towards the full vase on your desk has everyone in the room sighing in relief.
Captain Jenna’s eyes narrow at you, and you fear she sees straight through you when she responds.
“Alright...don’t be getting into anything you shouldn’t, you hear me? You nearly met your maker there.”
And then, without waiting for her words to sink in or your answer to them, she’s patting you on the shoulder and rallying the guards out of your room and down the corridor. Had she seemed any more concerned, you’d be afraid, but having only received a brief warning, you don’t let yourself fret. Now instead, you’ve been left alone with your thoughts, and not the foggiest clue as to what’s going on. With no better option in mind, you approach the dagger.
It’s undeniably beautiful, with a long, ergonomic handle, angled hilt packed with pearls and blue gems, and the blade itself is etched in flowing filigree. Without the crumbly crimson stains on its edge, it would’ve been lovely. It puts the measly, cold forged knife you keep under your pillows to shame. You gaze down into your reflection in the silvery metal, refusing to touch it.
“What the hell’s wrong with him?! Is this supposed to be some sorta threat? But why would he threaten me when everything he’s done so far’s been to make it clear he’s here to help?”
You shake your head and fight the urge to take it with you when you leave your room and make a beeline for the dining room. Surely the maids will be gossiping about what’s transpired and can fill the gaps for you, and that can be what distracts you from the feeling of betrayal that’s creeping up your spine.
***
It’s unusually late when you retire to your room for the night, and when you do, you’re shocked to see Rafayel already sitting at the table, scowling at the knife like it personally offended him. He looks to you as soon as you start moving through the doorway, but holds his tongue and levels a withering stare at you until the door’s properly shut and locked. Then-
“What’s WRONG -”
“-you got into?”
“-all covered in blood -”
“-left it HERE ?-”
“-for gods sake-”
A pause. A couple of quick blinks.
“-huh?”
“Wha-okay, stop.” he says holding up a hand, looking just as bewildered as you feel, before motioning you over.
“Mind explaining to me what your intentions with this were?” you say, voice still cold but much calmer as you cross the room, holding your head in a manner you’ve been taught conveys authority.
“I could ask you the same.” he jabs back, brows furrowed and chin lifted, eyes unusually dark and vacant.
“First you soil something I worked hard to find for you, and then you leave it out in broad daylight, where anyone could stumble on it and find you guilty of whatever you did with it? Rookie move. I wouldn’t have given it to you if I knew you were going to use it so rashly-”
You angrily cut off his accusations, frustration flaring once more leading you to slam your palm down on the table with more force than you intend, then wince, but fire still back.
“ Use it?! I woke up to half the tower guards swarming my bedroom and questioning me about why my window’s open and why there’s a bloody knife on my dining table, I didn’t use it!”
He looks at you, then to the window, then back to you, as his expression shifts back from offense to pure confusion.
“Window...open? I always close the window when I leave you things. Why were there guards in here in the first place, did they magically sense a knife?” He’s trying for a joke, for what reason, you don’t know.
His words give you a pause though. He does close the window, it’s never been left open before. First, there’s relief, of course he wouldn’t threaten you, that never made sense anyways and you’re upset with yourself for even having considered it. But then, panic settles over you. That means someone else was in here.
“The maids told me a server boy was killed two floors down, and the blood led up the stairs to here .” you say, voice low, as you tuck your pale teal skirts in to sit down across from him.
“Well that bodes terribly for our evening, there’s no way I can get you onto the roof if the guards are all up in arms.”
Your fear is immediately exchanged for exasperation, it shows on your face because he’s stifling a laugh.
“Someone was killed . Two floors from where I live . And that’s what you’re worried about?”
“Didn’t I tell you things aren’t as secure around here as you think? It’s not news to me, but I’m glad you’re coming around to it. Maybe you’ll finally take me up on my offer~”
He drags the side of the knife against his thigh, clearing the dried blood from it, before flipping it with a toss to offer you the hilt.
“Didn’t think it’d be a practical gift, but maybe you should stick it under your pillow. Just in case, ya know?”
He almost sounds a little cheeky in his suggestion. The way his voice can swing between charming and boyish to no less than nine other tones is something you’re still getting used to. You tentatively reach out and accept the offer, gingerly wrapping your fingers around the beautiful, now-warmed metal for the first time, and pulling it slowly from his grasp as if afraid you’ll cut him as you take it. It makes a bright noise, sliding against leather before you support its full weight in your palm.
“He’s right, the threats are getting closer, but if they wanted me dead, I already would be. Jenna would’ve said more. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, there’s no real reason to give in, the guards are on a tighter watch, I’ll be fine” you reason with yourself, against the logic of his offer, observing the furrowing your brow in the polish surface of the dagger’s blade.
“There’s always been a risk, which is why I’m up here in the first place, I’ll be okay.” you say out loud then, more to yourself to cement the idea than to him. He just shrugs.
“If you change your mind, you know the magic words.”
With that, the two of you fall into conversation in a similar manner to the way you did on his last visit, exchanging stories. His are more lively than yours by far, but regardless, he listens to yours with the same rapt attention you’d imagine a master storyteller would receive. Somewhere along the way, you find out he made the knife you found this morning himself, a long, long time ago, and had no better use for it, thus deciding you might like it. You question his age as a result, but he shrugs it off.
“Hey, never ask a woman her age!~” he responds in mock offense, a hand placed over his heart, before he pivots the conversation back to a story you started earlier, in which you attempted to break out of the tower using bedsheets as rope.
A little longer, and a few more tales pass between you, when he suddenly perks up, the flame of the candle jumping with him.
“-Wait, you know what, if you really want to go up to the roof, I have an idea, but you have to trust me.”
Trust him. What a silly concept. Trust the man you’ve met three times, who breaks into your room nightly, sometimes when you’re asleep? Sure, why the hell not. You’re agreeing to it before you can convince yourself it’s a terrible idea, your desperation to get a good look at the stars for the first time in ages momentarily eclipsing your concerns for self preservation. His eyes give away his excitement at how easily you agreed.
Rafayel jumps up from the table and backs up towards the window. With a gesture of his hand as he goes, the candles dim down to a smoldering glow.
“Oh, a Fire Evol.” you finally piece together. You weren’t losing it for thinking the candles had been matching his moods after all.
You rise to follow him, and when he reaches a hand out to you, you hesitate for a second before taking it.
“WOA-what’re you-” you yelp as he abruptly uses your hand to pull you into his arms.
“Shh, they’ll hear us if you’re loud. Hold on tight, ‘kay?”
He hoists the both of you up onto the windowsill with surprising ease.
“Okay, ready? You might wanna close your eyes.”
“Hang on, what’re you doin- AAAAA- ”
You don’t get to finish your question or your shout, a chain shoots out of the hand he isn't holding you with like lightning, and the two of you are launched up into the night air at an unbelievable speed. Barely suppressing a scream, you cling to him for dear life and bury your face into the leather of his shirt. He could easily steal you away then and there, you belatedly realize, panicking. You’ve fallen into a trap! Why in the world did you agree to this!? Your stomach lurches at the feeling of freefalling, and you’re reciting a prayer you haven’t paid any mind to in years, when your feet gently touch solid ground.
“Alright, that wasn’t so bad,” he cheers, quietly, before attempting to step away from you, only to be stopped by your vice grip around his chest, “What’re you? An octopus ? You can’t see the sky from there, come on, let’s sit down.”
Amazingly, you’re alive. Even more amazingly, your trust seemingly wasn’t misplaced. You take a breath to steady yourself, likely bright scarlet to a degree you’re relieved he can’t see, as you quickly let him go and plop straight down. He laughs like music and takes two steps behind you to sit as well.
“Here, scoot back, you can rest against the spire, that way you won’t have to crane your neck” he offers, and you look over your shoulder to where he’s patting the rooftop beside him, before following his advice.
Once settled in, inches away from his side, you finally look up, and oh , forsaking your safety was so worth it.
Late at night, with the capital city and castle quiet and sleepy, the cloudless sky glows with stars. Swirls of gold and white blend across the sky in brilliant arcs where you can catch a glimpse of the galaxy your star system inhabits. Vibrant blue and red speckles decorate the brightest parts in sporadic little clusters, creating the richest glitter you’ve ever seen. The sharp, silver sliver of the moon hangs so low on the horizon, it kisses the tops of houses. You’ve dreamed of the stars many times since you last got to see them, and even the magic dreams can conjure absolutely pales in the face of reality. It’s breathtaking and heartbreaking in equal measure. Something so beautiful is so close to you every night, yet just outside your line of sight, just outside your reach. You let out a brief, awed-
“-Oh”
“Mhm,” he agrees, almost whispering, “If you think this is good, you should see it in the winter. When the air’s crisper and the ambient light’s lower. It's way better.”
You look over to him, and regret doing so. Freshly dark adapted eyes allow you to admire him in closer proximity than ever before. Rafayel looks vulnerable, ethereal even. Bathed in gentle light, stars reflecting off his eyes and earrings in a way that makes it feel like he himself is glowing, giving off his own light in return. In your room, the candlelight paints him in all hard angles, giving him an intimidating, sharp edge. But out here, under the forgiveness of the sky, you realize he’s much softer, much smoother. For the first time, you start to believe that maybe he really does just want to help you. Your chest aches, more things are struggling to claw their way up out of it and into your mind, but you force them down, drawing your eyes up to the few inches of face he has exposed.
The expression he wears is far gentler than any you’ve seen from him yet when his eyes shift down to yours, crinkle up at the edges, then train themselves back on the heavens.
“You know, I get to see the stars every night, but it’s been a while since I really looked at them,” he muses, head cocking to the side ever so slightly, “I’ve never painted a nightscape somehow, and this makes me wonder if I should...”
“You really are a painter, aren’t you?”
“Yes, cutie, I am . I thought I made that clear with the seashell? I made all the things I’ve given you, but you still don’t believe me-”
“-you made the pearl?” you interrupt, glancing at him.
“Okay okay- maybe not that one- but the rest.” he says, floundering for a second, before pausing and regaining his composure to add “Sounds like I’ll just have to make you more. Maybe then I’ll be able to convince you.”
“It seems like there’s always gonna be something for you to convince me of...”
His face tilts towards you with an expression you can’t quite place.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
The two of you fall into easy, quiet conversation punctuated with comfortable silence as you alternate between looking to the sky and each other. The nighttime air is chillier than you expected, but there’s enough warmth radiating off your companion to keep you comfortable. You briefly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
“Can fire Evols do that? Or is it always this warm when you sit right next to someone?”
It's then, with a question on your mind, that your vow to yourself from nights past comes back to you.
“Hey, Rafayel, can I ask you something?”
In your periphery, you watch as his hand shifts slowly from his lap to his chest.
“If I said no, you’d still ask anyway. What is it?”
You pick your words carefully and look right at him.
“Why’re you doing all of this for me? It’s dangerous, not to mention a lot of work. I’m just a stranger.”
He hums for a moment and glances over in your general direction, but doesn’t meet your eyes, then solemnly answers.
“I thought you were a bird with clipped wings, trapped in a cage. Rapunzel, left up in the sky, all alone, with decisions made for her supposedly to save her, but at the same time they extinguish her flames. It seems like I was right. I know what it’s like to live like that. No one deserves that fate.”
You’re stunned to have received a genuine, honest answer from him, having been fully prepared for him to brush you off again. His “I know what it’s like” bounces around inside your head like the little rubber balls you played with as a kid. No wonder he’s doing all this. Instead of clarifying his mysteries, you now have even more questions. Of course this didn’t make things easier to grasp, he isn’t a two-dimensional character in a storybook, he’s a real, living breathing human being. He knows what it’s like . You can’t help but try your luck now that you’ve gotten this far.
“I have another question, if it’s not too much...” you start, allowing him the opportunity to stop you.
When he doesn’t react and instead continues to avoid your gaze, idly rubbing at a seam on his shirt, you decide to continue on.
“Your mask- I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve never seen someone wear one like you do- why do you-”
While you fail to find the wording you wanted, he seems to understand your intentions and saves you.
“Safety. Yours and mine. If your guards ever saw me, they’d never identify me, and you wouldn’t be able to give them any useful information. If anything happened to me, they wouldn’t know I associate with you either, so you’d be safe from it. Simple.”
“ Not simple,” you correct, immediately disappointed to notice the too quick, unconvincing lie, “Your hair and eyes are too unique, there’s no way that mask actually works as a disguise.”
He sighs, shoulders sagging ever so slightly while he turns his face away from you, clearly caught. It’s quiet, awkward for the first time since you’ve met, and you have half a mind to offer him an out just to get rid of the awful feeling, but he sets his head straight again, halting you. That weary look you saw the other night is back, as he blinks slowly and speaks low.
“ Not simple, you’re right, because there’s a little more to it than that. You don’t have to believe me, but it is to protect you. And me.” he says, voice gone uncharacteristically gravelly and raw, “I’ll put it this way. If I hadn’t been wearing it when we met, you would’ve gone right back to screaming for your guards. It’s better like this.” a tight breath, “Like this , I can do what I came here to.”
Once again, you have more questions than answers, and his tone sends another pang of sorrow straight to your heart. The way his head hangs now, with eyes shut, makes it worse. You think you catch on to what he means by it, so you offer him the only thing you can think of to help.
“But your eyes are so pretty, I doubt I would’ve noticed anything else-” his head snaps up, wide eyes finally meeting yours, once again tinged with that unreadable expression, so you continue, “-and you’ve been nothing but charming. I don’t think you’d have scared me away then, and you certainly won’t now.” you finish, speaking with an amount of confidence you hope he can feel.
He brought you the miracle of witnessing the sky again, and immensely improved a week’s worth of lonely nights with only three short visits and a couple little objects. The least you can do is tell him the truth, especially about something that seems to be eating away at him. You can’t fathom the idea that there’s anything hiding under his mask that would scare you. In the sharper light of your room, you can see his lips moving beneath it when he talks, so he isn’t missing his lower face or anything crazy like that, so he must just be too hard on himself.
You look back up at the sky, unsure of what else to say, and watch as he does the same, but he does respond to you, eventually.
“I’m honored you think so,” he says, still quiet but sounding lighter than you’d expect, given how torn up he was just moments ago, “But it’ll stay right where it is.”
There’s a finality to his words, so with that, you let him start up and guide a conversation back into safer waters, deciding that’ll have to satisfy your curiosity for now.
***
You only realize your eyes have been closed when you feel a fingertip briefly connect with your forehead.
“We should probably get you back down to your room before you’re too tired to hold on.” Rafayel says, poking you again.
“-mmm”
“You sure I can’t convince you to leave with me tonight? It’d be so easy, we’re up so high, we could clear the outer wall so easily-”
“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, “What’re you, some creature of the night, here to lure me out to my death in the open sands? ‘M not fallin’ for it” you sleepily joke, weakly swatting at his hand that’s still lingering within forehead-prodding distance.
His breath catches, and you realize your misstep too late. You just discussed his worries about his appearance, only for you to go and compare him to a creature ? Nice . Real nice of ya. But before you can attempt to take it back, he seems to brush it off.
“Oh Rapunzel, is this what I get for trying to help? Your hair was too short, so I had to climb aaaaall the way up your tower aaaaaaall by myself, and now you’re mistaking the prince for a monster? How cruel .”
He slowly stands up, rolling his shoulders before offering out his hand to pull you to your feet. You accept it, and he does all the work of standing for you, as you lean into him, this time feeling more prepared for his strange method of travel.
“Let’s get you to bed. Hold on tight.” he says again, wrapping your arms up over his shoulders.
Just like before, there’s the sound of a chain propelling itself out away from you, but instead of tearing through the sky at breakneck speed, he’s carefully repelling the two of you down the tower wall. Without the terror brought on by unexpected speed to distract you, you’re much more aware of the way you’re clinging to him, arms around his neck and face now pressed into his shoulder as one of his arms braces your upper thighs to him. All the men you’ve ever been even remotely this close in proximity to were smelly, water was a luxury and guards aren’t particularly well known for their hygiene. Where your face is pressed to the high collar of his shirt, he smells like smoke, his evol , leather, his clothes , and something else pleasant and crisp that you don’t have a word for. His hold is firm, but careful. It’s warm and comfortable, and despite dangling hundreds of feet off the ground, you feel oddly safe, but entirely too self aware.
“What’s an ‘octopus?’ Is that a bad thing to be?”
It takes a couple minutes more to descend back down to your window and swing through it, the chain disengaging and returning to his hand with a metallic zing. When you loosen your hold, expecting him to set you down on the tiled floor of your room, he doesn’t, instead opting to carry you over to your bed, setting you down there instead. You’re thankful the candles are still low enough that your face must be invisible, since he is, as he places the dagger he gifted you under the farthest pillow from your head, having lifted it off the table in his path to your bedside. Satisfied with its placement, he rises up and takes a step back.
“Alright, it might be a few days before I’m back, I have some things to take care of. Don’t forget about me, and stay safe, okay?”
“Wait! Rafayel -You have to promise -You can’t tell anyone I was outside, okay?” you call out to him as he retreats to the window.
He startles for a second, back to you, and raises a hand to wave.
“Wouldn't dream of it. Good night, Princess~” he calls back, stepping out the window and back into the open arms of the night.
The moment he’s through the threshold, your candles all go out, and the window swings closed a little harder than you expect. Alone in the darkness of your room, you mull over the new information you’ve pulled from him, and worry about the possibility of needing a knife just a foot away from your head, as your consciousness slips off to dreamland.
-⎽__⎽-⎻⎺⎺⎻-⎽__⎽-
Rafayel’s screwed . He’s such a monster . He’s such a monster and he’s screwed, what a nightmare .
He doesn’t stick the landing. He doesn’t stop to gather his thoughts. He makes a break for it, running as fast as his legs will carry him, thoughts cascading and falling apart as he internally rips himself to shreds.
How could he. He should have never taken their suggestion, his techniques were working well enough without needing to add fear to the mix too -she didn’t deserve that- and adding a new lie to the pile ripped a hole straight into his chest in a way lying never had before. Thank the Almighty he left the window open, there would’ve been no way to get out of her accusation otherwise, but ridiculously he’s wishing he had been forced to come clean instead. She was right , she’s been right this whole time , he could feel it from the moment they met. She knew what he was, but talked herself out of it, and he helped talk her out of it too. He shouldn’t feel remorse, this is his job after all, but guilt fills his body with lead, slowing him as he tries to put as much distance between himself and the worst curveball life has ever thrown at him, as far as he can recall.
And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he had done worse . Her curiosity, her interest, her trust, he could feel them, as clear as day, and he used them, nurturing and leaning into them to further draw her to him. Of course she’d fall for him, he knew that going into all this, what with how lonely she was. His offer of companionship wasn’t likely to lead to much else. But now in the face of her increasing affection, his stomach is sick. How dare he. How dare he use her feelings, which by all means he has no right to even know , to draw her closer to a terrible fate.
“Curse this strange bond.”
Two nights ago, he convinced himself that he’d just be putting her out of her misery by doing what he must, but now, he’s certain of something else. He’s inflicting such terrible cruelty on her. Giving her hope.
He breaks through the threshold of the building he spends his days in, immediately diving straight into the murky black depths of the large pool that occupies the majority of the floor space. The mask, his gloves, his boots, and the outer layer of his shirt are thrown up and out of the water, before he’s tightly curling in on himself, continuing to spiral.
“Why in the world did I answer her!?”
He’d done fantastically at keeping himself at an arm's length up until that point, why did he falter? Was it her easy honesty? Was it the uncanny familiarity coaxing him into letting his guard down? Couldn’t he have answered with anything other than the truth, just as he had every time prior? Honesty’s never gotten him anywhere but trapped. It’s how he stranded himself here, he should know better. But he couldn’t resist giving her the information she craved, even if it hurt him to give it to her. Without knowing it, she offered in return the same terrible thing he was drip-feeding her, hope.
From her, the dreaded hope took the form of her affection. She was somehow seeing through him. She gave him compliments . One to the character he’s playing, or thinks he’s playing for her. But also, one to him too, to his god-awful appearance none the less. This does nothing but add to his ever-diminishing willingness to carry out his job, when not carrying it out just isn’t an option for him.
Finally, is the terrible cherry on top, she commanded him. Accidentally. He was vaguely aware that that might be something the owner of his heart could do, but when she ordered him to keep quiet, it took him completely by surprise when it zinged though his chest and settled like a lock over his mind. He doubts he can even speak of the topic she forbade, even alone and just to himself. Stupidly, against better judgement, he tries it anyways, and bright hot agony seethes into his body, emanating from his chest. He lets out an agonized groan into the water, which mostly muffles it. Nope. Definitely not trying that again, lesson learned. This is a problem.
Undoubtedly, it’d be much worse if she realized the power she held over him, he acknowledges. He played it off well enough, he thinks. He hopes. All he can do now is vow to himself that he’ll lure her out and rid himself of her before she can figure it out. Before he can grow any more attached. He knows he could’ve stolen her away the moment she was first in his arms, but he had hesitated. It isn’t time for that yet.
“She’ll either go willingly, once I’ve learned enough, or not at all until I’m left with no other choice.”
So, for now, a stalemate.
“I’ll deal with the Nest tomorrow” he decides, skull aching too much to fathom putting the mask back on.
As he floats, suspended in the dark water, fresh, new pearls cascade slowly down through the pool, landing in the piles that already coat its deep floor. He falls into a restless sleep.