Hello, hello! First off, thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story in my rather lengthy absence. I am so sorry about the obscenely long break between posts. I've had serious writer's block this whole time. I am bad, and I ask forgiveness for my flakiness. In hopes of making up for it, please enjoy this chapter, as well as one I plan to have up very soon. Be prepared: angst reigns in this.
Elisif jerked awake, drawing a ragged breath as she lay on her side. The room was dark, the slightest bit of chill seeping into the chambers. She'd felt almost certain that something had woken her, but a brief inspection from her bedside revealed nothing, and the insistent grip of Raminus pulling her closer drove her to distraction. She allowed herself to be drawn against him, the smooth, naked planes of his body pressing against hers, his heated flesh soothing the last of her apprehension. Gingerly she stretched, her body pleasantly sore from their earlier activities. Her skin still tingled with the memory of his magick washing over her, tiny electrical jolts rocking her over the edge faster than anyone ever had. Laying there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the gentle press of his fingers into her flesh, holding her tightly, she felt safe. Still, her mind would not stop its turning. Why?
It had happened earlier in the night, after they'd washed and eaten, after they had sated themselves in one another, their bodies slicked with sweat, hair matted to faces, limbs desperately entwined. She lay on top of him, unwilling to shift onto the bed, but he didn't seem to mind, hands resting at her hips. With a ghost of their former frenzy, Elisif touched her lips to his, kissing him deeply, his tongue still tasting faintly of her. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, and she trailed teasing kisses from his lips, nipping at an ear all the way down to his throat. The slightest of moans was his reply, and an upward curve graced his lips. She had whispered to him, silly things, scandalous things, things that she'd be embarrassed about later. She sang his praises, describing in detail what she loved most about their couplings, about his talented fingers and tongue, his perverse use of magicks that made her toes curl. He turned her praises into moans, fingers toying away at her, sliding through her slick once again, grazing overly-sensitive flesh again and again, and then holding her firm against him as she shuddered into another climax that left her twitching, panting, and very nearly sobbing. After that, she slipped into bed beside him, sweaty forehead pressed to his shoulder, breath quieting down as she drifted off to sleep. It was then that it happened, those three mutinous words, the quiet, sighed phrase that robbed her of sleep, that reminded her far too much of times past. His mouth pressed close, lips tracing the shell of her ear, air tickling her flesh as he breathed out so quietly, so terribly. "I love you."
Laying there after, in the dark and rapidly chilling room, the only warmth her magling lover, and Elisif thought of little else. Why? Why those words? Such a terrible thing. Oh, not that he was terrible, no, quite the opposite. Raminus was what any sane woman would want in a man: handsome, considerate, steadfast, not to mention a marvelous lover. Any sane woman would be sleeping contently in his arms, ready to do whatever he asked. Anyone but her would be beyond pleased, over the moons with happiness. Yes, she did feel love for him, as much love as her fractured mind could summon, as well as immense gratitude, but more than anything, she felt guilt. Guilt for her wickedness, not for the sake of the gods, but for his sake. She suspected Lucien would dog her until she was alone, and she did not desire such a thing for Raminus.
Lucien was a great deal of the problem. Had they never met, or at least never reacquainted themselves after she came into her abilities, before all the terrible things that had happened, perhaps the love she had always bore him would have faded. If he'd never returned to her life, she could have loved Raminus as deeply as she had the assassin, and there would have been no danger to her. Perhaps she wouldn't have suffered, perhaps they would have been happy together, settled in the Imperial City with a little family of their own. Yet Lucien did return, and they did reconnect after his absence.
In her naivety she had accepted his murderous ways, his unrepentant, bloodthirsty soul, and she had reveled in the passion of him. In her youth and foolishness, Elisif had given him all that she could muster, every last secret part of her mind, body, and soul. Whispered confessions of fears and dreams, hopes and troubles, all them she placed in his care. She had held him in higher regard than the gods, for he was far more real that they had ever been. They'd created a life together, or at least the start of one. She still remembered the night she had told him of it, of that little spark within. They had been in one another's arms the entire night, and she was so very close to slumber, eyelids heavy and closed as he moved about their darkened room, dressing to leave before the guards started their morning patrols. He had touched her face, then the soft swell of her abdomen, and he had whispered those same accursed words, I love you. She couldn't help but utter them back. She meant them so desperately, had needed to hear them from him, and afterward she had clung to those words like a talisman. Her heart had clenched from his softly spoken declaration, and when she awoke late in the day, there had been nothing that could have frightened her. She felt invincible.
Of course, it wasn't long before Faren's men had proved how very far from invincible she truly was.
They took her, and Faren systematically destroyed all that she possessed. Every passion, every desire, every fear...every possibility. Faren had kept her shackled, kept her in the dark in every sense of the word. She spoke in the beginning, begging for her life, for her freedom. Then, after a few months, there was nothing to beg about. She had held fast to hope, to the glimmering shade of a future, of another life even in this place of despair, and then that tiny spark was extinguished, a razor thin line in its place. The first scar that Faren ever gave her, though certainly not the last.
All that suffering, all that shame, and it had all started from love. Surely if she had never loved him, had never held him so close to her heart, none of this would have happened. What was love in the end, except suffering? Especially when it ended, when it was soured and perverted, when it was nothing but a burden for the only one who still felt it? For nearly a decade she felt the weight of it, small and dense and dark, festering and warping until it very much resembled hatred, a hatred fed by dark words from grey lips. For years that hatred had sustained her, helped her through the torment of enslavement. She needed to hate Lucien, to put all of the blame on him, on his ways. Yet by the time she had made her escape, revenge was the last thing on her mind, neither again Lucien nor Faren. Then there was their fated meeting at the waterfront, when he very nearly choked the life from her. He had hated her as well, and for all the wrong reasons. All that potential, all those hopes and dreams they had dared to have, all gone. All that remained were scars, an abandoned home in the Elven Gardens District, and a broken mind.
Said mind was drawn back to the mage at her back, and as he rolled over in his sleep she took the chance to move, stagger over to the fireplace, and throw on some logs. With a bit of coaxing the flames sprang to life, weak light filtering into the room once more. She took stock of the room. Their belongings were folded neatly save what had been taken off in their haste earlier that night. She allowed herself a moment of contentment as she looked over at the messy bed and messier mage sprawled on it. The scene reeked of domesticity, of something she knew to be a pipe dream, but she couldn't deny that she wanted it at least a little. Who didn't desire the comfort of hearth and home? Still, it was wrong in every sense, and utterly selfish. Raminus needed someone normal, someone who didn't occasionally hear a clamor of voices in their head, someone who was wholly sane, and most of all, someone who wasn't irreparably stained with blood. Still, she shook off those thoughts and hurriedly moved back to the bed, back to the warmth of her mage lover. Back to the arms she didn't deserve. She slipped under the covers, her chilled skin against his, watching his reactions with a fascination she couldn't explain, running her hands across his chest and shoulders and arms, entwining her fingers with his and kissing his cheek.
Finally, perhaps only because she knew he was asleep and couldn't hear her, she whispered the grossest of sins in the smallest of voices, "I love you, too."