Dorian felt hot. Uncomfortably so. He rolled over and tossed the warm blankets off himself, freeing one of his legs. A cool breeze floated over him and he drifted back to sleep. In his dreams the Demon Prince returned to him. He felt him in his body, taking over, forcing control. He could feel the ugly blackness that crawled into his body, puppeting his limbs and making his mouth say things he didn't mean. Taking control of his eyes; Dorian remembered the horrors that he witnessed when the Vlag was inside of him. He turned over agitatedly, the imaginary Vlag turning inside of him too. Every night this happened. The nightmares returned and he relived some of the horrors of the past few weeks. Tonight was no exception. He saw himself, felt himself, walking down. Down into the dungeons. Then he saw himself standing, looking at a beautiful man in a dank, dark cell. The man was dying, a wound in his side. He hoped to die. The Vlag could sense it. Dorian, his oppressed soul, could feel the man's pain, wanted to take it away from him. The Vlag made him chuckle, he could feel his throating bobbing manically. The sound came from his mouth but it didn't feel like him. It didn't feel like when he laughed. He tried to resist a little bit, tried to push the demon out. Taking joy in the man's pain, the demon was stronger than usual. He pushed Dorian down again, forcing him to crawl back into the hole that he had been hiding in. Dorian wanted to scream in pain as a horrible sensation took over his mind. It felt as if nails were raking the inside of his head, scraping through his mind, in his thoughts. He wanted to scream so badly, but his throat would no longer obey him. He drifted away and he felt the Vlag move away from the dark cell. He told a guard at the door about the wound and took pleasure in the angered breath coming from the cell. The he found himself atop a horse. Another situation. Another painful memory. Except this one wasn't so bad. This one he remembered properly. This was the one with the beautiful woman. There were actually two women, one was beautiful as she was exotic looking, and the other was like a stunning icy storm. Dark hair and slanted green eyes paired with smooth skin and a small waist made the Shifter and enticement to men. When she was captured she had put up a fight, and the demon inside of him had moved his hand to hit her. She had shied away then, retreating to the back of the wagon that she was put in. But it was the other girl that captured his attention. Not a girl really, he sensed that she was way older than she appeared. She was eerie in her beauty, but she held a dangerous aura. She bowed to no-one and defied his father. She had spoken to him, and he relived the conversation. He felt himself smile. Remembered that he had broken through, pushed the demon down. Her danger intrigued him, and she swore that she would kill him. Some part of him hoped that she would, to free him. But he desperately wanted to live, to force the demon out and regain his power. Because maybe when he had his power back he could see her again. Fight danger with danger. The spark of attraction he felt towards her wasn't just because of the way she looked. Sure, he liked women. He liked the way they looked, and the way they thought, and he especially liked the way they felt against him. But he had never really liked a woman for something special. Except Calaena. He had loved her temper and the way her eyes danced when she was jesting. He had loved her for all she was. But not in the way he had thought. He thought she had been the woman for him, and his heart broke when she turned to his closest friend, Chaol. But after fighting with her, after destroying the evil, he realised that what he felt towards her was love, but between close friends, between siblings. He would do anything to protect her, but he was contented to see her happy in another's arms. The dream pulled him back in. He could see the silver-white hair that seemed to flow around her like water. Fluid and gorgeous, it contrasted with the blood red of the cloak she wore. And her eyes, those beautiful golden eyes that sat like gems upon those regal cheekbones. Her lips were sensual and her white teeth perfect. When she smiled, the corner of her mouth tugged up on the left and it made his heart beat faster. He wasn't sure she even knew that she smiled like that. She wasn't aware that for a few seconds she wasn't a warrior, hard-hearted and brutal. She was a lady, teasing and happy. He thought of the initial shock he had experienced when she had smiled a different smile though - a killer's smile. Iron teeth poking out of her mouth instead of the human ones that had been there seconds before. A witch. A Blackbeak. He knew she was wicked, but he just couldn't help himself. He thought of her the way he thought of no one else. Dorian became gradually aware that he was no longer asleep. He had finished dreaming and had been thinking of Manon, wide awake, staring at the top of his four poster bed. He sighed and swung out of the bed. He felt too confined. After the 'incident' with the Vlag he couldn't be in small places for too long. His bed wasn't small but he still felt… caged in. He went to his washing chamber and ran some water into the big stone basin. He stared at himself in the mirror. Dark hair, shockingly blue eyes. High cheekbones and tanned skin. He was good looking. Everyone knew it. But his features were marred by a thin white line that ran across his throat, and dark circles under his eyes. Proof of the Vlag. Proof of the nightmares. He splashed his face with cold water, suddenly feeling hot again. It was because he was thinking about Manon. Every night his thoughts returned to this. To her. He sighed and made his way out of his doors, onto his balcony. He stood and looked around. The castle was quiet. No sounds except for two guards laughing somewhere. The wind blew through the trees, ruffling the leaves. He looked up to the moon and thought of Manon again. He blew the air out through his nose, hard. He wouldn't see her again, no matter how desperately he wanted to. She was working with Perrington. She was his Wing Leader. She wanted to destroy him. He couldn't let it happen. He had to fight her. But for now, he thought, he just wanted to stare at the moon and think of her. Think of what could have been.
Manon couldn't sleep. Once again she was thinking of her situation. How to save the Thirteen from her Grandmother. How to get away from Perrington. She and Asterin had flown to Adarlan to warn Aelin about Dorian, to tell her that he was still there. She had seen him once since. And she still thought of him. She made her way up to Abraxos' keep. The beast was sleeping on his back, feet in the air. She stalked up to him in a foul temper and slapped his stomach. He rolled onto his side, covering himself with a wing before snoring again. She snorted. Worthless beast. He would probably die one night sleeping like this. An attacker would enter and slit his belly and he wouldn't have even heard it. The rest of the keep was quiet, and Manon wandered around, observing the Thirteen's animals as they slumbered. There was Asterin's pale blue female. She slept delicately. On her side, her two large front paws held to her chest. Manon made her way back to Abraxos. She thought of Asterin's Wyvern and the way that Abraxos and her interacted. He always left space for her in their line-up. Right next to him. As if it comforted him knowing that she was beside him and safe. For the first time in a long time she thought of love. It's almost as if they are in love, she thought, too tired to notice how absurd the possibility was. No - she had thought of love recently. Asterin. Her lost love. It was the saddest story Manon had ever heard and it made her feel vulnerable. It gave her feelings. She wasn't used to feelings like this. It brought about thoughts of attraction and what it would be like for Manon herself to be in love. She snorted. Not possible. Her, the Wing Leader, have feelings. But a face popped into her mind, and as she sunk down onto the hay next to her Wyvern she let the image stay. A man, a very handsome one, who frequently haunted her dreams and seemed to consume her thoughts more and more often since she had last seen him. Dorian. The handsome prince whose eyes had once been so alive, but now met hers with a wisdom and sadness that she wished she could erase. She had never felt attracted to someone, let alone a human. But he wasn't just a human - he had magic. Very powerful magic. A flicker of hope ignited inside of her - it might work. She suddenly felt uneasy. Ever since they had come to Morath, Asterin had been acting strangely. And now Manon knew why, but it still didn't explain what was changing inside her, herself. She was changing. She could feel it, in her thoughts and in the things she said. The way she wanted to disobey her grandmother and free her Thirteen. The way she wanted to help Dorian. The way that she felt hope and happiness and love. She rolled onto her stomach on the hay, looking directly into Abraxos' watering trough. It was a large metal pail and reflected the moon in the window behind her. And it reflected her. She studied her face. She had a slender face - not overly plump or skinny, just right. Her dark gold eyes flickered in the moonlight, the dark lashes framing them making her more beautiful. Her hair matched the moon in colour she thought. She combed her fingers through it and brought it to one side, braiding it over her shoulder. When it was braided it revealed her more somehow. As if being able to see her ears made her appear younger and more vulnerable. She rested her hands on her chin and smiled. First her warrior's smile. The frightening one that terrified men and was reserved for humankind in general. The smile that revealed just how much she enjoyed killing. And then she stopped because she noticed how it seemed to twist her features grotesquely. She was still gorgeous, but there was something dark and evil about her when she smiled like that. She didn't like it anymore. The horror that she caused. She wanted what Asterin had once had, she realised. To feel so strongly about someone that you would endure anything for them. She smiled again, thinking of that feeling. Of being happy. The freedom that she felt when she was flying. The grin was a cheeky one, slightly shy and coy. The left side of her mouth quirked up before the right, and it made her eyes crinkle in the corners. She saw them sparkle. This smile. She liked this one. She turned over and looked at the moon through the window. Abraxos' body keeping her warm. His contented huffs during his sleep calming her. The moon seemed so big, as if it could see everything. It probably could. It could probably see the palace at Adarlan right now. All the lights off inside. She wondered if Dorian would be up, doing formal King stuff. Battle plans and organisations for funds and his court. Looking after his people. She a warm breeze whispered past her and she did the most foolish thing she had ever done. Placing her hand on her mouth she kissed her finger tips lightly and blew the kiss along the wind. Dorian, she thought. Would it work?
Dorian had been outside for nearly an hour. Staring at the sky, the stars, and the moon. At the trees and the buildings and his city in the distance. He had so much to do. Sending Chaol to a healer to get his legs fixed was a priority. And now Calaena - no, Aelin - was gone with Rowan and Aedion. He felt lonely. And Sorscha. His father had taken her. He remembered the love he felt for her, but he didn't really remember her. Those weeks that the Vlag had been inside him he had been in such immense pain that he had forgotten nearly everything about her. Except the way he felt when he was with her and the gut wrenching sight that was her head rolling away from her body. He wanted to feel that again. Before going back inside he looked up at the moon once more. He wondered if Manon could see it from where she was. A spring breeze tickled his ear and neck, seeming to plant little kisses in the places it touched. As he turned his back on the moon and opened his doors he thought about it. It could, he thought. It really could work.