12. Deliverance

At first there was nothing special about this starless night; moonlight cast wicked shadows against the walls of his prison, nocturnal creatures loomed about, filling the night with their symphony of noise, unique sounds he had never stopped to listen to before. Zero could not sleep though; he was still burdened by the words of the princess he had met earlier.

This story about witches and possession, Zero's sense spoke against it, but his memory argued, bringing details to his attention, such as her congress with unseen allies spoken in hushed tones. He remembered other things that had made little sense in the past, like sudden changes in her appearance and mood, conversations that they had several times without her finding it peculiar at least. The more he thought about it, the more sense this revelation began to make.

There had always been something unseen by him, an inconstancy her in her behavior, that look as if she was listening intently even when no one was speaking, a duality of fragility and dispassionate carelessness. So he laid awake, thinking about it, twisting and turning when the pieces he had in his hands still refused to form a coherent picture.

Even though she entered the room almost without sound, he felt a change in the air because of her presence, sensing her somehow. Zero turned his head to the entrance, saw her push inside through the door carefully, moving with that familiar, mesmerizing grace. He stopped to admire her; how she was embraced by the moonlight that made the fabric of her dress shine pleasingly. She looked unlike she had ever looked before, her open hair and lack of accessories made her seem more innocent, almost pure. He knew her as a Queen, always shrouded in marvelous fabrics, something threatening and sexual, but this was just a woman behind the curtain.

Azkadellia approached, reaching the bars of his cell, her fingers feeling their cold surface. Her eyes couldn't yet make him out from the dark, but she was getting used to the twilight. Then the shadows moved, rattled by her unexpected arrival, and she lifted her chin, barely containing her anticipation when he finally appeared into view.

He was not as well cleaned as she was. Zero's hair hung a little too long, his face had grown stubble, and there were burns and scars all over him. She recognized his clothes, a black sleeveless shirt and trousers, and realized he must've been captured while still wearing his uniform. He gave her a moment to take it in, to examine his condition, before he greeted her warmly.

"Sorceress," he said, forgetting about any qualms he might've had until now. She was here and it was all that mattered. Azkadellia lived and her presence alone was bemusing.

"Please don't call me that," she requested, showing unusual vulnerability.

"Why not?" he questioned, knowing now why DG was so intent in saving her sister. "Isn't that what you are?"

There was something intrusive about the way he spoke, a trace of antagonism of some sort. She didn't quite understand it.

His eyes appreciated the sight of her though, ravishing her more visibly than he would've dared in the past. Arrogance and lust danced inside him and he showed her everything.

"That part of my life no longer holds any meaning," she clarified, showing signs of unease over the subject. Regret was visible, shame as well. He didn't appreciate the way she downplayed their history, no matter how politically incorrect it may have been in their current situation.

"Am I not your dog anymore then? Should I be Adrian as well?" he asked his voice hoarse and low. Lust was replaced with cheekiness, opposition towards her new stance.

"I did wrong by you-," she started, but was cut off by his vicious voice, "Wrong? You made me set the world on fire and we both enjoyed watching it burn."

Oh, she recalled that, she recalled every glorious victory, every butchered peace treaty and every heated debate. She recalled marveling at the fruit of their handiwork, enthralled by it. Lying didn't help when he knew everything. Zero was the only one she could not fool.

"We indulged a twisted dream," she admitted begrudgingly, her face void from any emotion.

"It was your dream," he told her, moving closer, until they were both at the bars, staring at one another. She was smaller than he was without her high heels, and her apparent sadness made her feel so much younger as well. Cruelty had always aged her; her stoic face had made her appear jaded.

She didn't avert her eyes from his, but looked right in. "Yes, it was."

He felt his very being quiver with lust for her again, even when she was stripped of her power over him, appearing so young and delicate. It reminded him of that night all those years ago with her barely an adult, burying her face in his chest as he bit her shoulder and entered her, trying to diminish one pain by creating another. Wasn't it this the Azkadellia he had wanted to protect instead of the timeless Sorceress all along?

"I failed you," she whispered to him, placing her hand over his on the nearest bar. A flush of warmth spread from her fingers, her lovely skin feeling so precious against him.

"I know," he simply answered, realizing now that even she was only a woman. Mistakes, weaknesses, secrets, she had all of them, even if they were better hidden than with most people.

"Why?" he asked, leaning in just enough to press his forehead against the bars, to inhale her scent and use it to drown the memory of her burned flesh from his subconscious. Her scent was much more vigorous now; it invited hunger with sweat and musk.

His eyes traced the shape of her breasts, her flat stomach, those smooth hands, her full lips. The desire that had existed in him since their first meeting had only grown stronger and stronger with time. Other women hadn't diminished it, hadn't compared against her.

Azkadellia tried to voice her thoughts, to give form to the truths she had learned, but it was not that simple. A lot of fault still lied in her, she couldn't just excuse herself. She tried though, she tried.

"I had mentor," she said, turning away from his frightening eyes. She could feel their stare across her body like the caress she had longed for. "She existed in my body, guiding me to greatness."

He wanted to tell her he had heard the story of her possession, to compliment her on crafting such a masterful lie, yet her tone, her body language, everything, told him she was being sincere. And so he listened instead, reigning in his yearning, knowing he needed to hear this.

"And when I strayed from the path she had set me on, she would push through, muddle my memories and put things back on track." Her tone was disillusioned as she tried to convey to him the horror of not being in control of your own body, your own mind.

"She convinced me that no one could ever love me. If someone got close, she would fix it. She would put me into sleep and creep into my skin to do the unspeakable."

A tear glimmered in her eye; he caught this immediately and simply stared at it. It was all too convenient, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

"I did not remember, and I did not care – Not until she took over for good. I was lost until DG helped me back out. We defeated the Witch together, cast her to oblivion. But I did not remember her abuse until I saw it within the Coffin."

Her tear fell down her cheek, dropping from her jaw and sinking into the front of her dress. She would not look at him through-out the confession, held back by fear. It was the same fear that had led her to ignoring him once she was free. Who was she without the Witch? Would he still care for her this way when she was nothing but a flawed woman?

"I did wrong by you," she repeated, glancing at him discreetly now.

His taunts were gone, his cruelty melted in the face of her honesty. Zero's face was caring, pensive. At the same time a storm brewed inside him, born from the frustration of living this charade with her, never seeing beyond skin deep, not even when she herself had put his hands on her neck and asked him to squeeze the life from her. How could he have been so blind to mistake the indifferent creature bent on hurting him for her?

"Why are you here?" he asked her, sounding almost appalled. She felt his hand retreat from the bars, away from her touch. The rejection stung, paralyzing her briefly with pain.

"I came to honor my promise," she responded.

Zero glanced at the bars nonchalantly, rolling his eyes a bit. He signaled her to do it, to set him free, and prove her word still meant something. Knowing he might not return her affection anymore, Azkadellia grabbed the bars again, squeezing them within her hands. Then the iron bars were no more and her hands clasped into fists instead, leaving nothing but iron powder on the floor where the bars had once stood.

Realizing she had released him, Zero took a step over the former obstacle. He stopped at her side, a free man inhaling freedom after imprisonment like it was the sweetest thing. Yet he did not move forward.

She felt his hand land on her waist and another close around her wrist as he pushed against the wall, pressing her tightly between it and his body. Azkadellia tensed instinctively under his stare, feeling him against her, enjoying the force he used. He twisted her wrist a bit, lifting it above her head and keeping it there, while his other hand slid down her pelvis slowly. Moments later he had already captured her lips with his, forgetting all about restraining her hand with his and moving it to her breast instead. He kissed her deep, draining her with such consuming contact, such potent passion. Azkadellia sunk into his kisses though, a prisoner of her own forbidden desires, this longing for him.

His breath was hot on her lips when their mouths parted for him to catch his breath, but he continued kissing her almost immediately, grinding his hips against hers and moving his other hand over her ass. She responded to the kiss instinctively, letting her emotions run wild for once without fear. She had longed for this, for his embrace, for his attention. It felt incredible, rekindled her memories of the last time she had enjoyed his closeness.

His lips swayed from hers, moving down her neck. He varied between kisses and bites and licks, knowing just how she enjoyed a little pain with her pleasure, just as he did. His hand cupped her ass, eliciting moans from her lips, sending her eyes into fluttering ecstasy. But his hand on her breast was too strong, too violent. It radiated discomfort across her body, forcing her to plead him to stop.

"Zero," she whispered, fearing she might alert the guards. "Not so hard," she gasped, but when he did not react, she moved her hands on his chest, pushing at him, disrupting his fervent actions.

Azkadellia expected irritation, but found a content look in its place as he stepped back, focused on evening his anxious breathing. She had nearly driven him under, made him lose himself in desire, again, with such little effort. He had half a mind to lay her down then and then, just to get it out of his system, fortunately his reason prevailed.

"There you are," he said with a victorious smirk, recognizing her willpower, her desire for dominance. The woman he knew didn't let him do as he wanted, but followed her own desires. With her standing before him like this, something had been missing, that spark of extraordinary willpower he enjoyed looking at.

Azkadellia remained glued to the wall though, unwilling to move while he looked at her with such familiarity. She could no longer restrain him, not after revealing her current stance. He wasn't hers to command anymore.

"Freedom is yours," she said, feeling disappointed and cruel suddenly. He was not a hero, not a knight that could rescue her. Theirs was an entirely different story.

"You must leave while you still can," she continued, hardening herself.

Zero reacted with amusement. "And what will you do? Stay here to appease the bloodlust of those you've wronged?" he mocked her, realizing how desperate she was to be deemed worth something. What had she seen inside the Coffin really? Why had it burned down?

"I don't have a choice," Azkadellia clarified defensively, recognizing her role as the sacrifice in this play all too well. She didn't expect him to understand or want the same, but it was what she had to do herself. "We all must face the consequences of our actions sooner or later."

"That's truly noble," he contemplated, yet ended up shaking his head and rejecting her words a moment later. "But you're not noble."

Anger flared in her, she moved her back from the wall and stepped in front of him, standing tall and proud. "I'll fix what I ruined, rebuild what I burned. I deserve nothing else."

Her eyes were hard as she said those words, knowing them to be true in her heart. She believed it was the only way to go on, to make repentance for past mistakes.

Zero's hand moved to her cheek, caressing it tenderly, even as his posture and expression remained distant.

"What we deserve and what we want are two different things," he told her, illustrating quite clearly with his hand that maddening need for her which existed inside him.

"I don't deserve freedom, but it is what I want," he continued, searching for her eyes with his, fingers pushing into her hair instead as he pulled her face in for another kiss. Yet she retreated almost too soon, pulling away from him, unwilling to fall into the trap of intimacy again. He did not let her move too far from him though; Zero grabbed her wrist into his hold, keeping her within his reach.

"And I don't deserve you, but I do very much want you," Zero then confessed darkly, alluding to the fact that he owed his life as penance for his crimes, but chose to give it to her instead.

Azkadellia was caught between his silent plead, a selfish desire, and the action she knew he had to take, what was right by everyone else. He could've easily run, leaving her behind, and gone into the world like evil she had willingly unleashed. Instead he tempted her with the remnants of her domain.

"I no longer want to rule," Azkadellia told him, tired of the weight of the crown. It could not buy her love.

"Who said anything about ruling, Sorceress?" he teased her, watched her chest heave with seething annoyance at his persistence to call her by her former title.

"My name is Azkadellia," she told him tensely, turning her head to look up at him. A second later she realized she didn't really want him to say her name, a revelation that occurred too late.

"Azkadellia," he called her, speaking unlike ever before. He sounded so revering, so intoxicated. That gleam in his eyes was deeper than normal delirium, deeper than his bloodlust. It both frightened and excited her.

"Who – said – anything – about ruling, Azkadellia?" He asked, speaking torturously slow on purpose, to make the question sink, to have her understand what he truly meant. She felt his vice-like grip on her wrist toughen.

"Why?" she asked, truly oblivious to his answer. "What is there about me that draws your gaze anymore? Can't you see I'm not that cruel creature?"

"Oh, I can see you've changed," he said it like a compliment, predatory eyes lost in her graces.

Without make up, without fashion, without her heels, without her corset, he should've found her ordinary in comparison, but really, she was almost more enthralling to look at. And her ignorance towards own her grace was as charming as ever.

"But this,-" he touched her hair, sliding his hand playfully through it and bringing his hand to her chin, "-was all there before, beneath the iron maiden."

"I'm still saying it's a waste to live your life according to what you or anyone else deserves," he told her, finally letting go of her aching wrist in order to offer her escape if that is what she truly desired.

"And your solution is slinking away into the night, diminishing into a hateful memory, a scare tale for the generations to come? You want me to be remembered as a mad tyrant?" She frowned, speaking with a dark tainted voice now, expressing her fears clearer.

Zero's look was full of clarity, unclouded by romanticism or sentiment. "So which is more important to you?" he prompted her with a query. "Righting the wrongs done to the faceless mass you can never begin to appease, or righting the wrongs this mentor did to you?"

He meant them obviously, searched for the answer he wanted from her, delving furiously. Azkadellia realized it now; that he knew why she had put his hands on her neck, why she had nearly killed him after their first night together. In his own strange way, he was asking her to tell him if she still wanted him, if she would leave with him.

The dilemma was enormous and she hadn't really expected it. Azkadellia had thought all she could do was fix past mistakes, to pledge her own future in this task. She hadn't truly considered happiness, taking what she wanted, to be an option. If she was reformed at all, the answer should've been simple; she should've found it in her heart easily. But the past nagged at her, crumbled her defenses, beckoning her to grasp what she had wanted for so long now that it was truly a possibility.

He felt her recoil, lower her eyes from his, slip away. Worry clasped his insides at that moment; his playfulness vanished, replaced by uncertainty.

It was not in the cards for her though, was it, she realized. It was all about buying love – this need for redemption – to fit into her mother's arms again. Her heart was not in it. It was something she knew she had to do, but dreaded with every fiber of her being. What she truly wanted had been on his lips long before she had realized it herself. Azkadellia had let despair control her destiny, while seeking to control it herself. If she really wanted to make amends, wouldn't she have agreed to her mother's plans instead of embracing the Coffin?

Ques sera sera, as her father had often said, it is fated.

"Do you remember?" she asked him, gaining his undivided attention so easily. "When I asked you if you were afraid of me?"

"Yes," he responded without hesitation, that moment carved deep into his being.

"It was not me who turned you down," she then followed her question with a heartfelt confession, tears burning in her eyes, but refusing to emerge.

"I know."

Of course now it was plain to see. The different was as clear as day.

Azkadellia continued her concession, "She told me it was just the evil that men do when I could not find you by my side in the morning. That you simply did not care."

Strangely, hearing her say it gave the truth more credit than just silently accepting it. "She lied," he commented, telling her between the lines that it had, in fact, been quite the opposite.

Sobered from her confusion by the sight of him looking at her curiously, his feelings clearly on display, Azkadellia began to feel lighter and lighter. That dreadful weight from her heart vanished. One by one the chains of guilt, anger, envy and love that had bound her to her false destiny gave out and broke down.

"I do want you," she told him. "You always made sense of this mad world to me," Azkadellia continued, surrendering to the smile that wanted to emerge. It was nothing like her smiles before: just elated, exultant.

"I'm yours," he responded without hesitation, speaking from the heart. He took her hand into his, gently tugging at it to bring her closer. She abided by his mute invitation, tying her arms around him once close. She could see a hopeful future for a change, for even if it was spent disgraced and in exile, it would be spent by his side.

"We can run as far as the Zone stretches," he assured her, already lulling her into a feeling of safety.

Zero caressed her sides, slid his hands across her bare arms. She no longer saw hostility in his stare, a mad thirst for violence and destruction. Whatever it had been before, she had been the one to give it form, to allow it to surface. It was buried now, sleeping, and in its stead lay a trace of the man she had been pushing beneath the surface.

Azkadellia stopped his vows, his quiet assurances, by kissing him again, placing her hands around his face, and truly giving herself into the kiss. He didn't object, for words were meaningless promises when he could convey the same message by touch.

In the dark they could revel in closeness for awhile, pretend freedom was already here, but only for awhile.

She knew they were still within the castle walls, surrounded by the enemy, the two most wanted criminals in the history of the O.Z. This was not the time or place of sweet reunions, of rediscovery. They needed to flee while they still could.

He noticed her hesitance and knew its cause. It was unwise to stop to enjoy her, to taste her. He just couldn't quite hold back, not when the long desired fulfillment was so close. He kissed her carefully a few more times, taking in the sweetness and expecting rejection subconsciously, and then he let her go, knowing her mind was still consumed with the now. Soon they would have all the time in the world.

"I didn't prepare-," she almost stuttered, finding her knuckles in his hold, worshipped by his lips.

"Of course you didn't," he simply told her, flashing a toothy grin.

It reminded her of the Zero in her memory, the knight with a thousand lives as they had called him. He had always smiled at the walls, when others would be punished for similar insolence in a heartbeat. She had allowed him his quirks, a little more leeway, and he had always smirked while practicing his evildoing.

Zero brushed her hair aside, confident as always. He had prepared. Even during his darkest moments he had planned on taking her with him somehow.

TBC