QL: Holyhead Harpies, Captain.

Prompt: The Dornishman's wife. (I chose the theme of Jealousy and Adultery from the Summary page, along with a few references to the song).

Word Count: 1464

Warnings: Jealousy, Adultery, Murder, allusions to sexual situations.

A Kiss Is A Terrible Thing

She sang quietly to herself as she bathed, rinsing the soap bubbles from her skin. Her soaked hair stuck to the skin of her back, and as she rose from the bath and stepped out onto the marble floor, rivulets of water ran down her already wet skin. Using a soft towel, she dried the ends, being careful not to rub and cause damage.

Her hair was beautiful, everybody said so. It flowed around her, the most stunning shade of pale blonde, long enough that she could almost sit on it.

Patting at her skin, she continued her song, humming when she came to sections that she didn't know the words to. Once dry, she rubbed creams and lotions into her skin, things taught to her by her mother, to keep her looking young, no matter that the years were passing.

Satisfied with her body, she dressed in a light robe. It was deceptive; long and flowy, but utterly seductive. She smiled at her reflection, and then turned her head, just so, to wink at the eyes that had been watching her.

They disappeared almost immediately, and she laughed, a tinkling sound, like a wind chime caught in a breeze.

…

"You're stunning."

Narcissa smiled at her husband, though it didn't reach her eyes. She'd found him waiting for her in the foyer of their home, but he wasn't alone. Bellatrix—her sister, though they looked nothing alike—was hanging from his arm, her false laugh still echoing in the air.

Jealousy flashed through Narcissa, but she pushed it away. There was nothing to be jealous of, she told herself. When Lucius had her, why would he want her sister? And why would he ever be foolish enough to flaunt it in front of her?

And yet as Bellatrix walked away to join her own husband, the look in Lucius' eyes as he watched her made Narcissa's blood boil.

…

The party was in full swing, and as usual, Lucius was in the centre of it. Everybody wanted to speak with him, everyone wanted to be seen with him.

Narcissa was usually with him, smiling and laughing and being a good wife, as she'd been raised to be. Especially because the party was being held by the Blacks, by her own mother and father. But tonight, Narcissa didn't want to be a good wife.

The way Lucius had looked at Bellatrix had been stamped in her mind, tattooed there so that she couldn't think of anything else. Tonight, Narcissa wanted to be wanted.

She walked out onto the balcony of the house she'd grown up in. It was a cool night, and it felt nice on her heated face. It was warm inside, the press of bodies making it almost unbearable.

"You look beautiful."

She didn't turn, she knew who'd followed her outside. She'd known he would before she'd even made the conscious decision to leave the party.

"More or less beautiful now than when I was naked in the bathroom?" she asked, voice low and sultry and so unlike her that she'd almost surprised herself.

"As beautiful," he replied, his hand reaching out from behind her to rest on her hip. He was standing so close, she could feel his breath making her hair flutter. "You're always the most beautiful thing in any room."

She preened at the words. He really meant them, she could tell. It felt like it had been far too long since Lucius had meant his words.

"You shouldn't be out here," she murmured into the darkness. "It's improper."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But since your husband is currently entertaining my wife, how improper is it really?"

She turned to face him. "Then, I suppose, you should entertain me, Rodolphus."

…

Lucius showered immediately when they returned home. Narcissa watched him go through narrowed eyes. Lucius never showered in the evening; he preferred to do so first thing, to wake himself up properly and prepare him for the day.

She picked up his shirt from the laundry basket he'd carelessly dropped it in, and found herself unsurprised to find lipstick on the collar.

The shade was familiar.

She put the shirt back into the basket and perched herself on the bed. Despite Rodolphus' flirtations, she hadn't been able to bring herself to do more than allow him to kiss her cheek. She'd enjoyed his attention, but she was, beneath her anger, a good wife, and she couldn't allow another to touch her bare skin, no matter how much she wanted to feel wanted.

To see that her husband hadn't returned her loyalty filled her with rage and a jealousy so deep, it felt like it was stealing her breath.

He'd touched another, and no matter how many showers he took, his hands would always be dirty.

Lucius returned to the room, already dressed in silk pyjamas. He frowned when he saw that she still wore her dress.

"Narcissa—"

"Did you make her moan like you do me, Lucius?" she asked, voice low and husky, anger and heartbreak fighting for dominance. "Did you kiss her neck, and clutch her skin? Did she make you feel as good as I do? Better?"

"Narcissa, I—"

She glared at him, and he cut himself off, swallowing whatever words he might have said. She stood, rounding the bed to his side, where he kept his cane when he was sleeping. He reached out to stop her, but she was quicker, nimble fingers pulling the black steel blade from the handle.

She pointed it at him. "Was she worth your life?"

"Narcissa, I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me!" she screamed. "I saw the way your eyes followed her! I saw the lipstick she left on your collar this evening! Do not tell me that you didn't touch her!"

She stalked towards him, the blade held in front of her. Anger was clouding her judgement, and she should leave, she knew, before she did something that she couldn't take back, but she couldn't.

She needed him to hurt the way she did.

"It meant nothing," he tried, stumbling back. "A stupid mistake. I didn't have—"

"If it meant nothing, then there was something," she said, before thrusting the blade forward. "You'll never betray me again, Lucius."

…

The bedroom door opened with a soft click. Narcissa stepped inside. There were two people sleeping in the bed, and she rounded it to the side of the smaller person.

Her sister looked younger in her sleep. Her wild black hair splayed across the pillow, and her lips fell into a natural pout. She hadn't showered like Lucius had; there was still a hint of lipstick on her lips.

Narcissa rested the blade on her chest, the point digging just slightly into her skin.

"Narcissa?"

Rodolphus said her name softly, cautiously. She glanced at him to see he looked far too awake to have only just woken up.

Bellatrix slept on. She'd always been a deep sleeper, even when they were children.

"Narcissa, what happened?"

She realised he was looking at her dress. Pure white when he'd found her on the balcony, now it was streaked with red.

"He touched her," Narcissa whispered. "And she touched him."

"Did you kill him?"

Narcissa tilted her head. "He will never betray me again," she replied quietly. "And neither will my beloved sister."

…

She sang as he bathed her, his hands gentle as they scrubbed at the blood on her hands. Her dress had been burnt until it was naught but ashes, and he was taking his time to make sure there wasn't a fleck of blood left behind.

He had a plan, he promised.

Narcissa let him do as he pleased, the night catching up with her. She'd been so happy only hours earlier, as she bathed and readied herself for the party. How things could change.

"We're going to let the police think we were together," he murmured, quiet but clear, interrupting her song. "Adultery may be frowned upon, but it isn't illegal."

Narcissa laughed, nothing like the tinkle of earlier. It was cold and bitter and just on the edge of hysteria.

"We'll come home in the early hours to find them both dead," he continued. "We'll call the police, grieved and guilty, but only of an affair."

Narcissa looked at him then. He didn't seem too broken up about the death of his wife.

"Do you want me, Rodolphus?" she asked, pressing her hand against his chest, leaving a damp imprint in his shirt.

"You know I do," he replied. "I always have."

She leant forward to claim his lips with her own, chaste and barely there. "Then let's make the pretend a reality. I just want to be wanted. And I don't have to be a good wife anymore."