She shivered and tried to push herself deeper into the corner, but the stone walls offered no comfort from the storm. With the windows broken and snow steadily building on the far side of the room, the least of her problems was getting sleep, but she was exhausted. Her muscles ached in protest from having sat huddled for so long, but she hardly cared. It was so cold that she could hardly feel the pain anyhow.
Freezing was such a slow way to die, she realized. She'd stopped counting how many times the sun came and went, assuming she would soon be dead, and that it wouldn't matter how long she'd been locked away. She initially believed she would starve first, since the almost unending blizzard outside kept her supplied with plenty of frozen water to drink. At that thought, her stomach cramped painfully, but she couldn't curl her body any tighter than it already was. She could offer no pressure to help ease the pain.
One small sliver of moonlight created a beam of bright silver on the mound of snow and she stared at it, willing sleep to claim her.
Willing death to take her.
Eventually her eyelids grew too heavy to hold open, and though she was still awake, she didn't look like it. She couldn't even muster up a measure of fear when heavy footfalls echoed from the stairwell.
Years and seconds passed before her iron cell door was roughly pushed open, scraping harshly along the stone floors. She winced reflexively away from the sound before going still once more. Her eyes stayed shut. She stayed curled against the wall, not even looking up when footsteps came towards her.
"This is a much more appropriate reception," he purred, his voice floating down to her. "Seems a little cold was all it took to snuff out that insufferable fire in you after all, hm?"
She didn't – couldn't – answer. She was too cold to move, too cold to fight.
There was a faint rustle of fabric before something blissfully warm pressed against her cheek. An undignified noise escaped her throat as her stiff muscles struggled to move closer to the sudden source of heat and a low chuckle followed.
"You're tempting when you're full of righteousness, ma petite belle, but you are positively divine shattered like this..."
The warmth against her cheek reminded the rest of her body just how frigid it was, so that even if she had possessed the energy to respond, the tremors coursing through her wouldn't have allowed her to. Another whine escaped her, but pride had stopped being a priority long ago. All she wanted was to be warm so she could sleep.
"Good girl. Let's try this again, shall we? Maybe this time you've learned your lesson."
Suddenly she wasn't pressed against the unforgiving stone anymore, instead against something that was both firm and soft, but most importantly warm. She borrowed closer, ignoring the quiet laughter above her and floating sensation of being carried.
Halfway down the steps, lulled by the steady drum of his boots against the stone steps, she finally drifted to sleep and above her the monster smiled.
She woke up warm and comfortable for the first time in ages, but the pleasant moment shattered when she tried to shift positions. The blood drained from her face as he chuckled behind her and tightened the arm around her waist.
"Good morning, pet," he mumbled roughly as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck.
Her throat closed, preventing her from answering as she held perfectly still in his arms. The events of the night before came back to her slowly and she cursed her own weakness.
If she had fought him he would have left her there. If she'd fought, he would have let her die. And death was the closest thing to freedom she would ever obtain.
"You're still cold," he murmured. "We'll have a bath and get you fed."
Panic seared her.
We'll have a bath.
She tried, unsuccessfully, to wrench herself from his grasp. Anything to get away, to get distance, even if it meant being back in that godforsaken tower, but she was weak and he was far from it. She wheezed painfully as his arm constricted again, this time with enough pressure that if he twitched she feared her ribs would crack.
His breath was hot against her neck as he sighed and tsked at her. "You're smarter than that, pet."
"Put me back," she whispered. It sounded weak and frightened even to her ears.
"In the tower?" He asked. "And why would I do that? So you'll catch your death and die? Then what good to me are you?" She let out a strangled whine when his teeth sank into her neck. "No. I like you here. Be at ease, pet. I won't take you until you beg me."
She shuddered in revulsion. "I'll never want you."
He chuckled and, loosening his grip just slightly, lifted her with him as he rose from the bed.
"Still a bit of fire left in you, hm?" He said as he lifted her rigid form from the bed. "We'll take care of that in time."
She hadn't meant to let him win, but it was hard.
It was hard having the man she'd sworn to loathe be her only source of physical contact. It was hard because he locked her in an empty, windowless room when he needed to separate from her and smiled at her relief when he'd come to let her out. It was hard because aside from when she was locked in that dark room, he never let her out of his sight.
It was hard because he had stripped her of her pride by ridding her of privacy, of the privilege of bathing and sleeping alone. It was hard because he casually touched places no man had ever touched with a patient appreciation. It was hard because not once did his touches travel to the places she feared they would. It was hard because he was a man of his word and never once did he make her think he would force her.
It was hard because he controlled everything from what she wore to when she ate.
"You're thinking again, pet," He murmured against her neck. It seemed her throat was his favorite place to rest and thankfully, she had gotten used to him being there, else she would still shudder every time he spoke. "You're thinking quite hard... I can nearly hear your thoughts churning."
When she remained still and silent – as she always did – he used the arm around her waist to roll her over. She stared at his bare chest, knowing better than to meet his gaze, and held her breath.
His thumb brushed against her cheek. "So quiet," he mused, "Why so quiet, pet?"
If she didn't respond he would let her turn back around. If she bored him he'd go to sleep. She just had to keep quiet and keep still, but he had figured out her little game long ago and no longer sought to let her live in ignorance of that fact.
His fingers titled her chin up and out of surprise, she accidentally brought her eyes up as well.
It wasn't fair that he had such pretty eyes. Cold, yes, but oh so very pretty.
She watched how the dim firelight reflected near and over his irises instead of actually looking at him. She didn't want to see that calculative stare or be forced to acknowledge that he read her like an open book. She just wanted him to go to sleep. Then she could sleep.
She stiffened when his lips pressed against her forehead.
"You're cold," he whispered and he was right. She was always cold, as if the climate of the tower had seeped into her very blood. "Even with the blankets, you'll freeze if you stay as far away from me as I'll let you lie," he continued. "I can keep you warm."
Panic suddenly seized her and she rolled back over in one hasty movement, burrowing into the very blanket they shared. Again, he was right. As thick as it was, she was still cold.
Behind her he sighed, but only moved close enough to put a hand on her waist. If he felt her shaking, he didn't comment on it.
When his grip relaxed a small while later, she wasn't entirely convinced that he had fallen asleep, but she herself was extremely tired. With more distance than usual between them, she took a chance and closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep even on the off chance that he was still awake.
Sleep didn't come.
Her toes and fingers felt like ice no matter how well she burrowed them into the sheets. Soon her shaking was no longer from her brief moment of panic, but from the cold, and then from tears. She hated needing him, hated that he was the one in control. Why couldn't he have just left her in the damn tower? A few hours more, possibly another day, and she would have been dead. She would have been free.
When the sun started to rise she was still awake, still shaking, and still cold. The hand on her hip squeezed her briefly as he stirred and, upon realizing how she'd spent the night, he sighed.
"The deal was a simple one," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Une vie pour une rose. Just because I had every intention of taking your father's life does not mean I desire to take yours. My deal called for a life, not an execution." His hand moved from her hip to her hair and without moving closer, he brushed stray curls out of her face. "You may have come to die in his stead, ma chérie, but to you I do not offer death. You may either suffer as you have, by my side, for the rest of time or you can make this easy on us both, but know this: the magic on these lands is bound to me and you shall not die unless I do. Not even if I put you back in the tower."
His fingers only just barely brushed her skin but she felt the heat in them the same way she felt the now-cold patch of flesh on her hip. A fresh wave of goosebumps made her shudder and caused her last few stubborn tears to trickle down her face. Even her tear-soaked pillow was cold.
"You came here of your own free will," he reminded her. "What is more important to you now that your father is safe, pet? Your pride," He moved slightly closer and covered one of her freezing hands with one of his sinfully warm ones, "Or your happiness?"
She could feel heat radiating off of him against her back and shivered again, but her eyes were out of tears and she was so very, very cold. A strangled sound caught between a whimper and a sob left her throat before she jerkily turned herself over and pressed herself against him. His skin burned hers for the longest time before her fingers became less stiff and she stopped shivering. She didn't pull away. It wasn't worth it.
Even though she had expected him to, this time he didn't laugh when he won. He just held her and pulled the blankets snugly around them.
"Sleep," he commanded gently, his lips against her hair. "I'll keep you warm."
He kept that promise too.
She was almost over the embarrassment of snuggling with him every night the first time he kissed her.
He started with his new tradition of kissing her forehead before giving the same tender treatment to her temple and working his way down her cheek. He slowed his already snailish pace at her jawline and time crawled until he got to the edge of her mouth.
"I can feel you trembling," he'd whispered. "Either take what you want or beg for it."
Her muscles locked up so that even if she had felt brave enough to 'take' she couldn't. After he hovered at the edge of her lips for what could have just as easily been five seconds as it could have been an hour, she finally managed to whisper a strained, "Please."
What started as gentle and patient quickly turned predatory and devouring. He nipped and tasted and somehow sensed her panic before it had fully set in. After adjusting his pace accordingly he sighed out a quiet laugh and murmured, "Not until you beg, pet," against her swollen lips.
That was the first night he purred – like a cat – as he held her, and she was reminded that this man wasn't wholly a man, but also a monster – a beast.
But he was warm and though he terrified her, he stuck to his somewhat contradictory moral code with a brutal transparency. She realized, as her had lay against his chest and she felt that soothing rumble, that he may be dangerous and he may not be entirely human, but he was warm and kept his promises.
She was starting to wonder if that would be enough.
He stopped locking her in the dark room, choosing to lock her in the room where they slept instead, though he rarely went anywhere at all. The blizzards still came, but the days were slowly warming enough to melt the night's snows. She could watch the small woodland creatures frolic in the snowy mush and wet earth while she waited for him to return.
The flowers were just barely starting to bud when he beckoned her to follow him out of the room.
She had stood and stared at him, confused, as he held his hand out to her from the doorway.
"Come," he ordered gently. "I have something for you."
She had hesitated for quite some time before crossing the room and giving him her hand, but she went with him. It quickly became apparent that the castle was a maze when after two turns she didn't even know how to get back to the bedchamber. She was panting slightly from the trek when they reached two ornate doors at the end of a long hall.
He stopped her, kissing her soundly before cupping her cheeks and holding her gaze.
"A reward," he purred. "A gift."
Her confused pout made him smile. She knew he was laughing at her as he stepped back to let her open the doors herself, and briefly she panicked over the possibilities that could be awaiting her on the other side.
She thought he was being sardonic. She never would have guessed he was actually giving her a gift.
"You may take as many as you can carry," he said as she stood in the threshold, too shocked to move. "And when you've finished those, I'll bring you back to exchange them."
She hadn't realized she was crying until his thumb brushed tears off her cheek. It was the first time she burrowed herself against him not to seek warmth, but for comfort…and to convey the gratitude she couldn't voice.
"I take care of what's mine," he murmured against her hair as if he'd heard her unspoken 'thank you', "Fetch your books, love."
She'd gotten more than she could carry, but once she realized she couldn't carry all her selections, he had picked one book for himself and tucked her extras under his arm, indulging her. She piled her treasures on the small table on her side of the bed and immediately picked one up, but stopped right when she flipped open the cover and glanced at him worriedly. He'd been watching her, amused, and came forward to drop another kiss on her lips while she stared at him.
"I wouldn't have given them to you if I didn't expect you to lose yourself in them," he said. "Read, pet. If I need your attention, I'll get it."
It was dark when she closed the cover with a quiet sigh of satisfaction. She stretched and looked around, finding him under the covers and watching her with a pleasant expression that she couldn't quite read.
"A good choice?" He asked and she blushed. He passed her some folded cloth – a nightgown, upon further inspection – and told her to change. "You can tell me about it while you get warm. You're cold again."
She was. She'd been so engrossed in her book that she hadn't noticed the goosebumps on her arms or how cold her fingers had gotten, but he had. So she changed into her bedclothes and burrowed into the familiar, nearly-searing heat he gave off. He kissed the top of her head before tangling his fingers in the hairs at the nape of her neck.
"Tell me," he prompted.
So she did. She even tried to keep it short but he asked her questions. How did she feel about the main character? Did she think the conflict resolution was reasonable? What would she do in this minor character's shoes or that one's. He questioned her until she was rattling off every thought and feeling she felt while reading. He questioned her until she fell asleep in the middle of answering.
She fell asleep because he had purred again.
When it was consistently warm, they opened the windows to let the breeze in. She'd been lying atop the covers with another book - a comedy this time - in her hands when he snatched it and silenced her inquiries with his lips.
She hadn't complained.
Though it was warmer in the castle she still managed to be cold, and as always his warmth was welcome. His touch was so familiar and calming now that she didn't panic when his hands moved from her waist to her hips, but he stopped at her thighs.
"Beg me," he whispered.
She hesitated for the briefest of moments, recalling his words from months prior – though they felt like years.
"Either take what you want or beg for it."
She wondered if that invitation still applied and decide to chance it. Without looking away, she leaned up enough to recapture the space he'd put between their lips. He growled, the sound coming from deep within his chest and giving her goosebumps even though she wasn't cold anymore.
She didn't beg him, in the end, though - as she would demurely point out to him much later when they were both quite tired – technically he had.
"Your fire's still burning," he'd purred into his favorite spot against her neck. "I'll make you beg yet, love."
Like all the others before it, he kept that promise too.
Happy Tomione Day, Everyone! Thanks for reading~