Lya,
The pack howls a lot these days, restless and weary, missing their litter mate. Sansa's wolf, Lady, got an injury last week, and she is sick. The pack is always around her. They don't leave her, even if she yelps and howls every night. In a way, they are a better pack than us.
The walls are cold in your absence, like the life has already been drained out from our home. I keep the seat next to me empty in the Halls, and my heart leaps in ecstasy with the phantom feeling of your hand reaching to steal my cake. And I feel like a boy wanting to cry every time I find a ghost in your stead.
Father speaks no more at the table. There is a despondent silence that gnaws our guts every time we feel your absence. He is no more the same man who told stories by the hearth. It has been days since Mother and Father spoke a proper word to each other. He is burdened. Mother is reckless. Bran is worried for you both and tells that things are not easier for you in the Capital. And Arya picks a fight with everyone in the castle and sometimes runs away. We search her from dawn to dusk, every second worried that she would be dead.
And I am breaking down. I feel lost in your absence. I wish you were here with me. You would know how to handle them, how to make things better.
Of course, I was a fool to never notice your presence here. Or your pain. You never showed your pain, and I didn't care to see beyond what you showed me. I wish I could take it all back.
They would not tell anything about what had transpired between Father and you. But I know for a truth, that he regrets all of it. He needs you. Bran and Arya needs you.
I need you, Lya.
I will give anything you desire. Mother cannot stand between us.
Come home.
~Robb
Bloody drips began to smudge the word home, spearing a knife through my heart, twisting it there until all of my blood would drain. My fingers brushed against all of his words, wanting to will it to life, hoping they would sear my skin.
It's his smile that I saw when I closed my eyes, ice melting in his auburn curls, the laughter that would echo in the woods when we would throw each other in the hot pools for fun. His warm fingers curling into mine, thumb brushing the back of my knuckles, and the heat of it melting away all the ice in my heart.
I peered down, shrugging away from that memory, and found Ghost doing the same, her scorching tongue lapping at the blood in my fingers. Nuzzling into her soft white snout, I bloodied all of it to red, and she hugged me, her warmth of her fur touching my heart like Robb's would. I felt safe to sob, no one to bear witness to my weakness, to find that chink in my armour.
I needed to give my father a chance, though, even if every evidence pointed against his love for me. If I did not, then I would never know the truth. At the same time, I didn't want to sit and wait, hoping he would break down the door, running to tend my wounds. No one ever did that to me. And I was done fooling myself with those lies.
Gerold's cut in my arm kept bleeding, and I tore a long silk cloth, tying it tight around my wounds, hissing around the pain. I would take care of it in the morning. The Grand Maester Pycelle could do something about that.
Taking a torch in hand, and the map with which I'd explored some parts of the castle, I stepped down the ladder beneath my bath chamber, which opened to a level of tunnel that went winding down south and southeast. The cold, cutting dark did something to my heart, making it jump out of my body at each step.
Reaching very close to my father's chamber, I paused, blinking at the closed wall that did not budge. I had no idea how this adventure would help. And I felt Ned Stark's eyes judging me for being a craven to sneak behind someone's back. But I was not a Stark. Perhaps the dragons enjoyed sneaking around, hoping to jump on their prey. Although, midst that deathly silence, I felt more of a prey than a predator.
Feeling for the handle, my fingers located a rotating puzzle with four animals drawn on each side of it. A dragon, a scorpion, a snake, and a griffin. I wanted to lock the dragon and open the door, but an instinct told me, if I got it wrong, I wouldn't be able to get inside. Shuffling the parchment on the floor, carefully exploring the signs, I found a text written next to it.
Pointed fang oozing with poison, ready to pounce when aroused, slithering and curling around the prey, and always searching for a warm cavern.
I guffawed, unable to believe someone wrote a sexual innuendo and would call it a puzzle. Jaime must have got the map from one of his whores, or from someone who had a lecherous mind. I was beginning to bring the lock to the dragon, but at the final moment I thought better of the mapmaker, and locked it with the snake. The door gave way to a huge dark chamber, right next to my father's.
Suddenly I felt sick. The dread of knowing my father on an intimate level without his knowledge drove me to cocoon myself into my body. He could be anyone behind this wall, and how prepared was I to know all of him?
"What does the cheese monger has to say of it?" My father's voice cut like a knife. His footsteps were nearing the wall, and when it halted, a stream of liquid sloshing against glasses echoed, followed by him slurping the same, before the sheets ruffled around a cushioned chair.
"You do not have to worry about him. There is nothing short in our treasury that we should reach out to him." Rhaenys dismissed with a flourish of a sigh. "In fact…" She paused, waiting to gain Father's attention, like she knew how to garner it in the first place. "We should cut our ties with him."
King Rhaegar groaned, reaching out for another round of wine to his cup. "Why should we, though? He makes good investment and gives us generous gifts. We will need all of this later. You know why, of course. In my opinion, we should let him sponsor the event. He would be ready for a chance to pounce on it."
Rhaenys didn't answer for a while, and I wondered what was going on in her mind. My arm began to ache, and there was another wound forming around my heart, hearing them speak like equals. No one had ever done that to me.
"Rhaenys!" Father broke her silence. "Come here." He gave her a peck on the forehead, and her skirts shuffled to sit next to their father. "Tell me what is bothering you. Do not lie to me, child. It has been weeks since I saw any sign of happiness on your face. What is troubling you?"
Goose prickles tickled my arm. This plan of mine was a blunder. I do not want to hear them bonding like this. I did not deserve to hear all of their love, hiding behind a stone wall like a puppy hoping to get a pat on the back. I'd lived my whole life like that in Winterfell. Staggering on my legs, the blood loss already making me swoon, I braced myself against the wall. My fingers came away with a dark smudge of charcoal.
"Have the books started taking all your strength? We could hire someone else for this post. The Tyrells have been asking to meet Garth, giving me head ache of it, every day."
"Please do not vex me with the Tyrells' ambitions, Father. Nothing will ever be enough for them." There was a long pause when Rhaenys finished that sentence and I felt Margaery's smile right to my bone.
The wall loomed above me, and bringing the torch farther, I let the light fall across the red brick wall. My jaw must have dropped open, and I stood there stunned, air choking around my throat. There was a portrait of my father in the middle of the wall, drawn with charcoal, capturing his likeness like a mirror. Only that, it exuded agony with every stroke. A dragon flew above, and it drenched my father's likeness with a scalding fire, hot as sun that his face was melting in one half, an image of a scream ripping from his throat, as every muscle in his skin twisted like knots. I knelt on the floor, disgusted to watch it, at the same moment, a fascination seeping into my head. My fingers shivered in the cold, but my eyes refused not stray.
"You do know how much I love playing with numbers. Leave it to the vultures and we will be begging on the streets come next Winter." Rhaenys defied him. Her defiance earned her a chuckle as a reward. And how did he reward me? She got a place at his counsel and at his hearth, and I was here, waiting behind his wall, hoping he would speak a word about me. The more I became bitter, the more I enjoyed the portrait. He was pouring another cup of wine. "That is third cup, already." Rhaenys warned, and he stopped swirling or sipping it. "You enquired what bothers my heart. Tell me, father, how will I have peace when you are taking wine to company ever since my sister set her foot in this castle?"
I bristled, but my bloody, idiotic heart ached every second to hear his answer. "This has nothing to do with her."
"You welcomed her with a grand feast. I assumed it would put rest to—"
"Nothing will." He cut her sharply, but there was a tenderness in his voice. "It was once her mother who'd haunted my nights. And here she is, looking every bit her mother, in skin and in heart, and I so damn wish she didn't remind me of all my failures. I cannot function without the sting of this poison." He swirled the cup once. "Perhaps, if she had stayed out of my sight…"
I groaned, an ache settling like ice in my heart. I thought it would kill me, to hear my father call me his failure and wanting me to disappear, but I had nothing in me to feel it anymore. The pain just hardened that warm beating thing, wrapping around like an armour protecting from him.
Rhaenys wrapped her arms around him, eager to ward away his agony. With a flurry of movements, a door opened, and Ser Arthur's voice wrapped around the dark with an iron fist.
"Your Grace! My Princess! My apologies for disturbing you at this hour." Ser Arthur did seem to understand the thickness in the air, and I wondered how much of my father he knew.
"You barge in like a brute and expect me to accept your apology. If I don't find an army at my door for a fight, I will put your neck to my sword and rub its rust away." My father made an easy jape, and the knight did laugh, all the disturbances melting away, just like that. He did seem to be warm with the people around him. "What is it, Arthur? Wait, let me take a guess. It is either my brother acting like a fool, tormenting some small folks, or my daughter out in the streets parading with her wolf that somehow seemed to have eaten five children."
So, he did know of my activities, although Ghost would never eat a human flesh for food. And I didn't like to be compared with Viserys. "Ah, it's both of them. And it is not good news."
"What did they do now?"
"There was a fight in the Broken Anvil."
Rhaegar let out a humorless laugh. "I will give my brother the crown on the day he lifts his sword to fight."
"I pray the Stranger to take me before I have to witness that day." Ser Arthur responded.
"You are a bad influence on his already skewed judgments, Arthur. Tell us what happened." Rhaenys interfered.
"It wasn't Viserys who fought. It was Lady Lyarra who was involved." There was a sharp silence, and I realized I needed to leave for my chambers. I was done with overhearing my father's disappointment of me. "She fought with Gerold—my cousin. If I had not gone on time with Aegon…" He let the silence to fill in.
"I will kill that brother of mine." King Rhaegar roared. "He dares to touch his own blood now?"
"Father, let Arthur finish what he has to say." There was an urgency in Rhaenys's tone, like she needed him to stop from making a hurried decision. "If Gerold fought, what Viserys have to do with that?"
Ser Arthur was speechless, and I recalled him not being present in the Hall when all of it had started. Although there were other witnesses. Even if Renly was a coward, there was a chance that he could take my side. If nothing else, the Tarly boy could tell the events.
It was my father who intercepted. "What has gone to your head, Rhaenys? Gerold is Viserys's dog. He will not bark without Viserys's command."
"It is not true." Arthur answered, clearing his croaked throat. "That boy has gone out of control long back. I wish I'd seen that coming. Gerold is no one's dog, though."
"You cannot kill your own blood." Rhaenys urged my father, and I felt his will resolve. That was fine. I didn't want one of my own to die. "That is kin slaying, Father. We do not want anyone to give that a reason to break us down."
I didn't want to hear anymore. I'd already heard way too much than I could stomach. Taking one last look at my father's portrait, where he was dying miserably under the fire, with the content in watching it happen, I strode to my chamber, feeling dizzy, my steps wobbling with a hazy determination to leave this place, where I was not welcome, memories of Winterfell and Robb beginning to warm my thawed heart.
It occurred to me that, perhaps, there was someone else who wanted my father dead, from the look of that beautifully crafted portrait.
Did I want my father dead, though?
That thought made me lose footing on my ground, and I fell thrice, stumbling in the dark. I tried to clear my head, unwilling to waste my time thinking about a man who wanted me gone from his sight. Emerging from the ladder out into the bath chamber, and finding my bearings, I opened the door into my chambers and found someone sitting in one of the cushioned chairs, their heel of one leg perching on the soft cushion, with an elbow resting carelessly on that knee, extending to a sword that dangled between those swift fingers.
"Where the fuck did you leave, sister?" Aegon questioned, and I cursed all the Gods, as the lights went out of my eyes, for letting me swoon in front of my brother.
The chambers swirled in my vision, fragments of portraits, a bed, the huge porch coming to my view, but I pushed myself to wake up. His fingers were on the wound of my arm, and that pain brought me back to presence, and I struggled to steady my foot, my palms pressing his chest one time, and a table the other time, his chortles the evidence of my shame.
"For fuck's sake, Lya, let me help you to a chair at least." Aegon growled, and I was even more determined to not let him.
"Let me go, Aegon. I will find my way." I was slurring, too. Great. I was checking out all the criteria of getting humiliated. How much blood did I actually lose?
He did let me try, probably respecting my wish to not bear witness to my shame, only for a few seconds though, before he growled and wrapped his arm under my legs, lifting me like I was a weightless paper, depositing me unceremoniously on the same cushioned chair he'd been sitting. "Could you not even pretend to be graceful to accept my offer to sweep your feet? There is a queue waiting for me to do this shit at every feast."
"And you do it?" I slurred again, my eyesight already beginning to improve, along with some of the hearing that I'd lost.
"Of course! I am a charming Prince. It would be improper for me to let the ladies lay on the floor." One corner of his lips curved, his mood already souring at that prospect.
"Well, charming Prince, now that you have helped your lady, get the fuck out of her chambers." I remembered how he stood there in that inn, like I hadn't existed at all. Like how everyone in this freaking family wanted me to remain. Invisible and non-existing.
His brows raised to his hairline, his eyes assessing me, pausing at places on my body like I was a puzzle that he had to solve. "That was rude, sister. I'm hurt by your rejection of my help. Do not worry, I will not leave till you are safe in my arms."
Pouting like a wounded puppy, he offered me a glass of water, and as I gulped down, and my senses began to locate all the things that were going wrong in the chamber. I registered my table, everything in its place, even Robb's letter that I wished I'd tucked it away. "How did you get past Jory?" My words stopped in my throat at the sight of blood splatter on the rug. There was a lot of blood to be considered it to have fallen from the cut in my arm.
Ghost was the first thing that I ran to, who was tied with a golden buckled leather belt to a metal ring near the window that opened to the porch outside. It was not my belt, and I never tied my wolf. Her neck was wound tight, and her furs were more red than white. "Who the fuck touched my wolf?" I growled and Ghost muzzled into my neck, and my arm hurt so much that I couldn't pull her strong body back, what with the excitement, she was wrapping herself around me.
"Lya, listen to me." Aegon answered in the same iron clad calm voice that their sire had used. "Let the wolf be tied for now."
"Trust me, she won't bite you. Help me remove this belt."
"She won't bite me? It bit three of my men, and two of yours. I do not even know how many will survive come morning."
I zeroed my eyes on him and the rug that was drenched in blood. He had no reasons to lie. But I couldn't bear the thought that her neck was hurting, and the knot was complex, the one which Jaime had once taught me and I hadn't paid attention to it. "I promise you! With me near, she won't do anything to you." He was unconvinced, and he dragged his long fingers into those silver-blonde locks, looking at me like I was a crazy woman. "Please!" I'd no shame in asking for help when needed.
"Stop fucking me with those puppy eyes." He growled before tentatively reaching me, and Ghost did stir from my embrace, baring her teeth. My fingers calmed her, and she took in my scent, rubbing it over her snout and her neck, while Aegon pulled her a little, untying that stupid knot. "You owe me one, sister."
Once over, he moved away, and she was all over me, her fear, anger, and desperation wrapping me like smoke. I took her to the bath chamber, and when I calmed her enough, I latched the door. "Care to explain what you did to my wolf?" I wanted to gauge his eyes out for coming near her, but since he'd helped me just now, I was willing to be decent.
"You are asking the wrong question. In fact, you are not in a position to even ask a question." He threatened me, his tone a bit rude, a bit harsh, and a bit powerful. "What were you thinking, bringing such a beast here?"
"Does she make you wet your pants, Aegon? Because, I didn't think—" He was onto me then, his menacing face burning with indignation, and I wished my traitorous eyes stopped admiring the cut of those jaws, or that glint in his malicious eyes. It was tempting, powerful, anger spilling at the merest strike of words.
"Do not play with me, sister. Fire doesn't care who you are before burning you down to ashes."
For the first time, he was revealing the chink in his armour, exposing himself vulnerable, raising to my bait. And I was an eager participant to push his limits. "If fire runs in your blood, do you think flowers run in mine?"
His eyes darkened to black, jaw twitching, and he was sitting on the precipice of indecision. "Fire or ice, you were born a bastard. Do you think your blood matters here?"
And just like that, we exchanged places. He was reaching out to drain the blood out from my veins, tearing into my only vulnerability. And I was falling into his ploy, even when I know I shouldn't show him my wounds. But my vicious father and his cruel words wouldn't leave me alone. "All of you have shown how much I matter, over and over again." I gave a humorless chuckle, my eyes stinging. "Do not tell me you came here to put me in my place. The King has made it loud and clear."
"Did he though? Here I was, wondering if he somehow gave you false hope of love and family, when he threw a feast in your name." Aegon folded his arms, the taut muscles tightening into ribbons of ropes.
"Like throwing a bone to a dog." The realization of my own words stunned me. And I damn as hell didn't know why I was admitting my weakness to this boy who called me a bastard seconds ago, and watched in amusement when I was about to be hacked to death.
"He did." There was neither kindness nor malice in his words. Somehow during our exchange of words, he'd invaded my space, his chest rubbing against my own, the thick air sweltering hot, his fingers dancing on the tip of my own, dragging it slowly higher and higher. "And what have you decided to do about it?" If I'd not tasted his eagerness, I would have admitted to him the plan to return to the North.
"Whatever my plan is, you will be the last person I would share it for a counsel."
Shock registered his features, and he searched my eyes for humor in it. "I have never been rejected like this."
"Your arrogance shows. Tell me what brought you here. I have other matters to address."
His face fell down, somehow my words have really wounded him. But he recovered immediately, a smirk pasting on his mouth, a jape wanting to stumble out. "Let me take a guess. Have you decided on your answer to the romantic missive of Robb Stark's? Are you going to write about how much your heart aches at the separation? Or will you break his heart confessing your growing feelings for me?"
My face turned crimson, and I pushed away his crowding chest, anger and humiliation assaulting mine. "How dare you go through my personal letters?"
Aegon gave a throaty laugh, his head cocking to a side. "I was the last to read. Do you think the counsel would send you an unopened missive?"
I was not going to let him see how much that affected me. The idea that the whole counsel read out what Robb had written to me, which was pretty intimate, reaffirmed my decision to leave this hellhole even more. "You should be ashamed to even admit it."
"Oh, do not be an uptight prude. The missive was beautiful. Dany even shed some tears at the end of it. Although, no one could understand why you would choose to leave your home, abandon the heir of Winterfell, who is offering you the North, and come to a place where you have everything to lose. What is your grand scheme, sister?"
"Work harder, brother." I was not going to justify myself again. And he did not earn anything to see my personal past. "Or smarter—" I waved my hand. "—if you are capable of it, of course."
"Smarter, huh? The obvious answer, like the Queen had insinuated, is that you are here to seduce me to your bed. Like your mother did to my father." A curiosity edged in his voice.
The Queen Elia's words crawled into my skin, and it brought back memories of Lady Stark. I had to keep a reminder of how Oberyn threatened me, to realize that the Martells would choose my mother to bear all the blame. "That would have been true, had I found you to be a man like our father. You are not him. Are you?" I wanted to add I was not my mother either, but I controlled my tongue. He didn't have to know that.
My words seemed to have cut a deeper wound to his heart. A longer sigh escaped his lips, and he resigned, taking steps away from me, lost in his own troubles. So, he did have grievances of his own with Father. How did my sire, who seemed to be so perfect at every move, have managed to fuck up so many people's life around him?
"Listen, let us call for a truce. I think it would be better if you—"
"Shut the fuck up, Lya." He closed his eyes, the same malice returning to his gaze. "You have thrown a rock at the wasp nest, and now I'm asked to bear the sting of it all."
"You make no sense to me."
He growled, unsheathing my lion pommel headed sword on the table. The glinting metal swallowed the warmth of Gerold's blood, leaving behind the crusts. "Darkstar is a peerless savage." Savage didn't seem like a praise. "I haven't been able to best him at my peak." And neither did I. That one did have something that was more than a fight for glory. "You gave him the first cut that I so longed to deliver. You robbed me of my prize."
"I so hope this isn't a jape. Are you annoyed with me because I beat you to give him a cut?"
Aegon shrugged. "That isn't the only reason. I must beat him one day. But, yeah, I hadn't anticipated that you'd be able to stand your ground against someone like Gerold." He sheathed the sword back, and ran his thumb along the lion's head. "The Kingslayer's sword."
I bristled at the mention of that. "Ser Jaime." My throat clenched. "Ser Jaime Lannister. Call him by that."
Pouncing on a cat that got its mouse, he cracked his lips, happy at finding another of my weakness. "Forgive me for forgetting my manners. I've personally requested the White Bull to put Ser Kingslayer as my guard. Although, I must agree that you share the same temper with him. He gets all hot and bristling when I enquire about you. If I didn't know better, howsoever preposterous it might be, he seems to be in love with you." It had been a week since I'd last saw Ser Jaime, and now I could see how much Aegon would have pricked and prodded the golden knight's wavering temper, just to find a weakness in him, like how he was doing it to me. "Father doesn't appreciate his presence around you anymore."
"Father has no rights to tell who I should or shouldn't spend my time with."
"That seems teetering close to an acceptance of your relationship with him." He edged closer to me, searching to see my reaction to his words. He looked desperate for my answer, and he somehow seemed to forget that desperation was also a weakness.
"And who can stop me from doing that?" I shrugged, and a wince shot through my arm.
My answer only earned me a scowl. The war of words brought me a thrill, especially when he failed and got all rustled up. "Sit down and show your arm. Had your wolf not ate Pycelle's chin, he would have stitched that wound."
"You bought the Maester here?"
"Tell me you didn't think I came here to sneak into your bed." He winked with a charming grin, and I saw why the Tyrell girls giggled at the thought of him. He guided me towards a comfortable chair. "Not that I wouldn't, just so you know."
"Hate to hurt you, but I would prefer if you never attempted to try again. Ghost may get accustomed to the taste of royal blood." He unwound the silk cloth that I'd tied before. And the moment it came loose, blood rushed out, like my fucking body hated to rein it in. "Tie it back, Aegon. I can wait till the morning."
"The Maester won't be available come morning. He lost a healthy portion of his face." The fact that Ghost had attacked that man meant he had to be distrusted, but I knew I was going to be screwed for this attack. These lots would try all possible ways to hurt me.
"Who else got hurt?"
"It tore into the hands of two golden cloaks and nipped at your guards just enough to ward them away." My arms began to shake, and even my own judgments about my wolf began troubling me. "And Ser Kingslayer."
"Ghost wouldn't have attacked Ser Jaime." Why did Jaime come here, but not wait to see me?
"He was your lucky charm. If he was not there to tie that monster to the ring, your head might have graced the pikes of city walls to have planned the murder of Crown Prince. Lord Connington would have seen to that." He was laughing, but I lost all my humor, my face draining with the lack of blood, and when I found his fingers fumbling with the lace of my leather vest, I gave all my meager strength to push him away. "Perhaps you do have a death wish."
"I would rather die than to expose myself to you. Does the King know of the attack?"
Aegon pried my fingers away, and pulled a dirk from his belt to cut through the fabric, like he had no patience to deal with them. "He will know. The Maester will ask for your blood. It doesn't help that there have been complaints from the small folks that your wolf had a taste of their children." In one go, he ripped away the material, leaving me in my small clothes.
Humiliation at my body being exposed, fear that there could be a chance that my father would punish me for this crime, combined with the hunger in his own eyes that traveled beneath my neck, crimsoned my whole skin. "What do you have in mind?"
"Now, you speak like a dragon." He leaned down, his fingers curling into my locks, and when he tugged it playfully, a pleasant hum passed into my guts. I was beginning to let my own hunger invade me, even when a voice in my head ordered me to a stop to this. "I would like to do a trade with you."
He stared into the depths of my soul, wetting his lower lip, and the metallic taste of the chambers was replaced with his own cinnamon scent. I leaned into his grip, praying to all the Gods that I stopped making a wrong decision. His calloused fingers traced my jaw, like he wanted to register the shape of it, and it went low and lower to my neck, sending jolts and jolts of power into my core.
"I will make the Maester shut his mouth, if you will not open yours against Gerold." A groan escaped me, and I saw him through my lidded eyes, wondering what was he plotting, and if I was a pawn in his game or a collateral damage. I wished I was not bleeding when he was tormenting with the ministrations of his fingers. I wished he didn't look bloody delicious. If I was honest, a part of me wanted to be played, dragged, and destroyed by him. Any sane person would not accept to his request. And I was no fool to think he came here to heal my wound. He had come to strike this deal all along.
"Not enough." I answered, pulling away my fingers from the bleeding cut, letting it drain into the rug. "I want more in exchange." Pressing my blood drenched palm into his chest, I felt the beat of his heart vibrating through my fingers, all hot and lusty, and I put all my remaining strength to push him away. "And you need to keep your paws off of me."
Aegon groaned, withdrawing himself away, sucking his breath, his eyes so light that I saw two distinct colors in them. "Curse my dick for not getting humiliated by yet another rejection." I chewed my lips, stopping myself from chuckling at the improper comment. "This has to be stopped. Now." He pointed at the cut in my arm that was bleeding. "What do you want me to do? I can make a tourniquet. Or—" He grinned, and the smile reached his playful eyes. "—we could play with the fire, if you are up to it."
I should refuse to raise to his challenge. See through his viciousness and call him out to be cruel. And perhaps he was expecting me to do that. But the vigor in my heart felt the need to win him in his game. "Does a dragon need to answer that question?"
His face registered surprise at first, obviously expecting me to back out of the game we were playing. Within moments, his orbs darkened, thrill and excitement running at madness speed. Of course, I wanted to elicit this reaction from him, to impress him, even if I was going to be burned in the process. And that thought troubled me a bit. He began to test me, expecting me to back away, as he washed his dirk in wine, and offered a glass of the same. I swallowed all in a gulp, the thickness of the liquid burning through my stomach, but relaxing my muscles. He was burning that curved dirk in a candle, watching with eagerness, wanting to see what my plan was, waiting and waiting and waiting for me to withdraw.
"Do you really want me to do this to you?" The scalding tip of the dirk steamed. "You could change your mind."
Tourniquet. Ask him for a tourniquet. The word refused to come out of my lips, my own arrogance stopping me from stepping back. "You gave no answer for that deal of ours."
The heat of his palm warmed my cheeks, and when he knew I was not backing out, a growl escaped his lips, his scarred fingers wrapping around my jaw. "My sane side of me says I shouldn't give a promise without knowing what you will you ask of me in return." His thumb pressed into my lower lip, smearing the drop of the leftover wine, and the heat of his body coiled around me, leaving my jaw open when he took away that connection. "Right now, though, I want to be insane with your own madness." He pushed a soft silk into my parted mouth, and I bit around it. "Anything for you, Lya."
That was the last thing I heard before I screamed into the cloth, the heat of his dirk searing into my skin, making a mark on me to remember. It definitely felt stupid, and I would have cursed myself and cursed him had I not felt drowsy from all the pain and alcohol. The last I saw was his ravishing lips, eyes dark and desperate, looking at me with a fascination of finding all the things he craved in me. And that was when the lights went out for sure this time. And I knew he was going to be my mistake that I would grow to regret.