Hey all! Long time no see- on this story at least! If you haven't seen the recent companion chapters in my Golden Thorns- Bonus Chapters post, go check it out!

Other than that, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

I do not own Bleach or it's characters

Ichigo:

I'd always heard stories about the Golden City.

As a child growing up in Bellator, parents would tell them as horror stories, to frighten their children into behaving or to ensure they never strayed too far from home. Then you grow up and the stories you hear paint a different light. One filled with taverns and exotic shops, and a pleasure hall on every corner.

When I left home I knew I'd one day make it all the way West, and I'd see for myself how golden the city could be.

I never imagined I'd be so bored.

The warehouse was as quiet as the grave, and just as lonely. Bonnie had either been too preoccupied to keep me in the loop on what she was doing, or she was avoiding me. I hoped it was the latter, at least then we had something in common.

I groaned as I stretched out on my cot, tucking my hands behind my head. Even Rukia had been absorbed elsewhere, not spending as much time in the cobwebs of my brain. I knew better than to ask her what was keeping her physical self so engaged or she'd give me a nosebleed.

I debated briefly about going up to the merchant district and getting a drink, maybe stop in and see if Cassandra was working to give me some free noodles, but remembering how infuriated she'd been the last time I'd seen her… probably not the best idea.

Now I could sneak into the High Courts, pick a few pockets to afford me a full belly, but I knew I wouldn't be able to resist visiting Orihime's room and borrowing a few books, and she'd made it clear I'd lose more than my pride if she found anything amiss when she returned.

I'd never realized I had so many terrifying women in my life. Their retribution for my misdeeds was the reason I was so beside myself!

Eventually, I dragged myself out of the warehouse, deciding it was better to be bored while in motion than to spend my entire afternoon lounging around.

The air in the city has felt less electric the past few weeks. Walking under the wide arch between the Lower Rim and the Merchant District, I could really feel the absence of… well fear. Those around me did not seem to be glancing over their shoulders as frequently, did not seem to second guess their rising voices.

Even though the patrols had doubled since Orihime's absence and the alley way beatings had only grown worse, they seemed to walk with a pep in their steps.

I recalled Orihime's face as she stared into the fire, the sorrow and crushing vulnerability at the thought that her people hated her. I am fine with their fear. I knew this, their glee, would destroy her.

It made me want to grab them by the collar and shake some sense into them. I glanced over their faces as I walked, and I could feel the irritation spread into my expression. Narrowing my eyes and hardening my jaw.

It was as if all their hardships, all the misdeeds done to them in the forgotten shadows of the city had somehow merged into Orihime's responsibility. As if her mere existence was the cause of all wrongdoings in the Golden City. Despite the fact it had been a cesspool long before she was born.

I paused at a shop with flyers posted in the window, a life-like drawing of the king hung high above the rest, sitting proudly on his throne. I saw nothing of Orihime in his face, saw no glimmer of her anywhere on him.

Then, just over his fur lined shoulder, I studied the lines of her own drawing. She stood behind Clark's throne, a near statue-like stillness to her body. They'd drawn her in her armor, a hand placed methodically on the pommel of her sword. Yet it was not that aspect that made her appear cold, it was her face.

Over the course of the last few weeks I'd come to know every line of it, every dent. I knew her face in anger, the fire she held so close to the surface. I knew it in sadness, as if the sorrow of all the world had been laid upon her. And I think I'd memorized most of all her happiness. It was much rarer to see, but it shined as brightly as the moon, something I could look toward with awe without fear of going blind.

Yet the person in her portrait was a stranger.

I knew not the hardness of those eyes, or that twist in her mouth. The Orihime living in the minds of these people, of those who passed this propaganda each day without looking up, I feared it was the same as the one trapped behind the glass of this window.

A calculated lie.

There was a shift of movement in the glass's reflection. I'd barely been aware of it before I was grabbed around the neck, a sweaty hand clamping around my mouth.

I was in the alley, away from any helpful eyes before I could even think to struggle.

I felt Rukia flare behind my eyes, but the needle in my neck was faster. The last thing I heard before the world teetered to black, was the sound of my name suddenly cut short.

Orihime:

I could not tell if I was beginning to wake, or still weaving through unconsciousness. There was a thickness to the coating of my throat, and tried as I might to swallow, I could not.

My eyelids refused to blink open, and the weight of my head was impossible to lift.

I had the sense of being moved, my arms held at an odd length from my body and my legs sliding across damp earth.

Then it was warm, and I was seated and why couldn't I lift my head?

A man spoke, and he sounded incredibly far, "Is she dead?"

"No," spoke another, much closer, "See her eyes moving under the lids? She's in there. I'd bet she can hear us too."

A laugh, cutting in and out of focus, "You in there little princess?" I felt a pressure on my forehead, and suddenly my head no longer felt so heavy. And I could see, just a sliver of the world beyond my own head. It was red like fire, and blurry like seeing through fogged glass. "Wake up, little princess. Wake up," Then my head gained back the weight of the world and my chin dropped down to my chest.

My lips shook as I tried to part them. "Cu…" my voice had no sound. I tried again, "cuyler…"

There was a loud thud, a door slamming open or shut. And it brought a shaking to my body, as I forced my head to listen to my commands. It moved up only an inch before snapping back down. "Cuyler…" Stronger this time.

"I'm here, Orihime. I'm here."

His voice soothed a bit of my shaking. "C-an't… mo… move,"

I felt a hand glide over the crown of my skull, before he said, "I'm surprised you can even speak. I must not have given you enough."

There, under the sludge of my mind, was fear.

Cuyler continued, "Though it doesn't really matter I suppose. I have the antidote here, and I'll give it to you if you promise to play nice. It'll give you your strength back slowly, and I'd hate to have to make a mess of you if you get ahead of yourself."

I'd used all the expendable energy I'd had to speak, and so silence was all I could give him. My chest heaved with struggle, but not even a finger twitched with movement.

"Lift her head,"

A hand at my throat, then it coaxed my mouth open, a liquid like death slid down my throat and I choked.

The hands left me quickly, and the voice that filled the air was no longer so calm, "Don't you think we should tie her up?" I did not know the name of the speaker but I could see his face in my mind. He'd been one of the few who'd cheered when I'd gotten the door open. A lifetime had passed since then.

"Yeah," Spoke another, "She'll be able to move soon. And I'd like to make sure her fists are kept a safe distance from me."

"Now, now." Cuyler's voice sounded so different than the last time I'd heard it. Was it really only a few minutes ago, or had it been hours? "If she's to hear me out, I need her to understand that I'm on her side. And if she wants to bash in one of your faces in order to calm enough to listen then so be it."

Blood began to pump into my limbs, and I clenched my fingers and pinpricks shattered along my entire arm.

I lifted my head, cringing as the pain throbbed.

Cuyler had the nerve to grin, "Welcome back,"

I studied the room. We were at the base of the watch tower, my back to the stairs. The fire blazed behind Cuyler who stood with arms crossed. There were two men behind me on either side of the wooden chair I slouched in. Then one more at the door.

Cuyler was waiting patiently for my eyes to find him again, "Why?"

I wanted there to be a reason I could accept. A missing piece to the puzzle that would make everything clear. I wished he could explain away the aching in my chest. Yet I could already tell that the Cuyler before me was a different man than the one sitting under the stars with me.

"You know why." He said. I willed the emotion away, but instead it filled my throat, my eyes, my world. "He told you, didn't he? Wilibau. That northern traitor turned Inbetween trash."

I shook my head, "He didn't have a name. Just that-"

"Just that there was a snake in the henhouse. Slithering around my father's throat. He thought you could find me, that you could convince me to join your little band of rebels." He took a step toward me, now close enough to tower. "Too bad for you I was already watching."

"If our goals are the same, then why are you doing this?" I tried to gesture around us but my arms still had no feeling past the wrists. "I have no loyalty to your father. Just slit his throat and let him drain out for all it matters to me."

The men around me all chuckled. I didn't think that was a good sign. "Oh little heir, you look so closely that you miss the grand picture." the grin slid from his face, "I have no desire to rule in the North. My eyes are on the horizon, to the West."

How typical.

"Another man who fancies himself a king." I laugh, not bothering to hide my growing contempt. "Go on then. March your farm hand warriors to war. Fight your way to my fathers throne room and demand yourself heard. You'll be headless before you reach the stairs."

"I think I'll pass on that, I've had my fill of war,"

My blood flowed slower, my body less resistant to my guidance. I leaned forward, and the men behind me shifted on their feet. "Don't have the stomach for it, Cuyler? Or is it your nerve that's lacking?" I rolled my shoulders, finally able to hold myself straight. Good posture is necessary to look down your nose at someone. "I could give you a few pointers. You'd only be doing me a favor if you succeed."

The man at the door cut in, "I thought you said she was smart."

I gritted my teeth but Cuyler ignored him. "I don't need to kill Clark, more powerful men than me have tried. Time will do it for me."

His arms went slack at his sides, and eyes turned dark. No light reflected in them, no white left showing. I shifted in my seat, hand instinctively going to my hip- to grip a hilt that was not there.

Cuyler continued, with no indication he felt the shift in his appearance, "The poison seems to be slowing your mind as well as your body, so I suppose I'll have to put it plainly. I plan to kill my father, I plan to kill any who stand to oppose me in the chaos that follows. And then, I'll take you for my bride and wait patiently for my throne to come to me."

My throat went dry, "My father-"

"Will be thrilled. He has grown tired of my father these past few years. The oaf hasn't noticed yet, of course. But then again, he doesn't have as many eyes in the west as I do."

I stilled him with a look, "Yes, I understand you are very pleased with yourself. But what I was going to point out is that my father will never allow you to hold power in the north and become interim Heir."

He spoke without a moment for thought, "I will relinquish my hold on the North. I'm sure it will prosper in my brother's hands."

I felt the walls closing in on me, but I willed my voice steady. "It seems you've thought of everything. Yet what of Ryley?" His eyes twitched at the name. "I'm afraid he's grown quite attached to me and Clark favors him already."

"My little brother will no longer be your concern."

"Ah, yes then there is the matter of me. As you seem to know, my loyalties to Clark have become a bit strained lately." I glanced behind me to the men at my back, an excuse to test for any restricted motion. "As it turns out, I have no intention to be ruled by anyone. Least of all Northern wolf pups with no stomach for war."

I needed him to take one more step towards me. Just a few inches forward and he'd be within my range. The chair I sat in seemed sturdy, no rocking with my weight, it would do well as a weapon until I could get to the sword at Cuyler's waist.

"I think, eventually, you will see things my way."

"I think I'll save myself the trouble and just stab you through."

He cocked his head to the side, "I was hoping you would be more receptive to our mutual interests. Though I would be lying if I said I wasn't anticipating the challenge."

I glanced to the man at the door. He would be the hardest obstacle, too far away for me to debilitate him quickly yet too close to deem irrelevant. Cuyler cleared his throat and I glared back at him.

"You have watchful eyes, Orihime. Always evaluating, searching for a threat, an enemy. Never did you realize that the more you focus, the harder you look, the less you will see."

Move forward, you cocky bastard.

"You believed no one was watching when you walked the streets of your city, that no one was listening through the cracks of your door at late hours." Cuyler's grin was slow coming, "Foolish of you to think the shadows around you belonged only to him."

I shot up, and I wasn't sure what I planned to do but I was quickly grabbed by the shoulder and thrown back into my chair.

Cuyler leaned forward, so close our noses nearly touched. "Will you mourn him, Orihime?"

"If you touch him-"

"Bold to assume I have not already."

Panic. Thick as tar, slid down my throat and into my chest. If I had allowed the connection to Rukia to grow solid, I would have more confidence as I said, "You would not be here, threatening me with Ichigo's life if he was already dead. You mean to use me, and you need him alive to do it."

Cuyler laughed, "How brilliant you are." He placed his hand on top of mine, working his fingers slowly up my arm as he amended, "Though alive could mean a variety of things. I can commit many horrible acts on him, and still have him breathing at the end of it."

My hands shook as I clenched them to fists. The tips of his fingers curved over my collarbone.

"You should pray to your gods I never get free of your grip, Cuyler, for if you loosen even an inch, I will show you what it is to suffer."

He smiled as his fingers wrapped around my throat. "Tell me more about what you will do to me, I savor the cruelty you hold in your voice when you speak of it."

"You're sick with Witchfire," I say, breathless under the pressure of his fingers, "I can help you-" I cut off with a squeeze of his grip.

"I think more clearly than ever before. Why wait for old men to find their way into their graves, when I can walk them to it myself? Why watch simpering boys waste the advantages placed in their paths, when I can reach out and take those advantages for myself?"

I wanted to point out that I was no pawn for him and his brother's to fight over, but the words, and my breath, quietly died in my throat.

I sputtered and Cuyler watched me intensely, his devil eyes glowing and unhinged. He did not relent until the guard behind me said his name, and even then he waited a few seconds more before throwing me back.

I sucked in much needed air, hard to do past clenched teeth.

Cuyler watched me collect myself, all glee and self-righteousness. "You will be a beautiful bride, Orihime, and an even more beautiful Queen."

I huffed a breath, before glared up at him with slitted eyes, "You may call me what you intend me to be, Cuyler. A beautiful slave."

He knelt before me, to look me squarely in the eyes, "I would never dream of stealing anything from you but your title, and that I take only because I must." He reached for my neck again but this time to ghost his touch across where he had strangled only moments before, "I would have courted you properly if given the chance, if the war had not destroyed us both." His hand moved to stroke the ridge of my jaw, his gaze seeming to look right through me, "If you had been chosen for me and not Ryley."

He was surely mad, must be to have the nerve to caress me as if I were not held to this chair by his men, as if I were his star crossed lover and not his prisoner.

"I would have eaten you alive," I say, before snapping my teeth at his hand. He snatched it back quickly and then laughed outright.

Then, "When will your pretending stop? Your lies may work on Ryley, but I know the looks of a woman in heat. You have wanted me long before this, long before you ever pined for your rebel rabble," a darkness crept into his expression, "Try something like that again, and I will take one of his fingers and make you wear it as a pearl necklace."

I wish to lash out again, wish to spit in his face but I sensed no bluff in his threat, and so I do nothing.

"And once your anger has dwindled, once our father's are rotting in the ground and you have forgotten the low-born's face, you will want me again." This time when he took me by the neck, I got the sense it was to prove he could. And the way he held me there, with no pressure or movement, reminded me too much of a leash. "After this night I will not touch you again. Not until you are begging for it. Not until the rebel's blood wets the cobblestones. I will have you on your knees the same night I slit his throat and you will thank me for it."

The words dropped into me like a rock, sinking low beneath the surface, into the dark. And what rose up to meet them was just as ancient and unforgiving as the sea.

I brought my hand up to his cheek, to caress the bones under his paper skin. I imagined them broken and bleeding under my hands. I made him a promise that vibrated through us both as premonition, "Know that nothing comes without consequence, without cost. Know that I am just as patient as I am destructive. Know that if Ichigo Kurosaki dies, if he is injured beyond repair, I will be awakened from a restless sleep, and it will be your head I come for." I cradled his face in my palms, like a mother of the dew, "Your choices have been made, and you will never be safe again."

Cuyler leaned into me despite my words, "Your touch warms me more than any fire could. One day, I hope to be deserving of it,"

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o.o

dont hate me