It was almost time for the dinner gong when Lorlen left the Magician's Library. He rose, stretched and walked to the door, nodding to a few colleagues as he made for the door. Every forthday, he carved out one afternoon to keep up his Healing knowledge. As much as he missed the more practical side of things, reading the latest Healing books helped him feel like he still had one hand on his discipline.

Lorlen had always assumed he may stay in his Administratorship for many years yet. But that was back when the prospect of doing so was brightened by the thought of working closely with his friend, who was likely to be High Lord for decades, if not his entire life. But ever since that friend had taken him hostage, Lorlen had found himself daydreaming about abdicating the responsibilities of his position. To go back to being just another Healer would mean seeing less of Akkarin…

As he turned to walk down the corridor, distracted, a movement drew his eye to one of the enormous doors. He took a step forward, then drew in a sharp breath.

Sonea was leaning against the enormous door as if she might fall over without its support. She took a step outside, then swayed. Hurrying forward, Lorlen grabbed her arm to steady her. She stared at him in surprise.

"Sonea! What happened?" Lorlen whispered.

"Nothing, Administrator," she said.

"Nothing? You're exhausted."

She shrugged, and it was obvious even that took effort. Almost all her strength was gone. As if she had been drained of it…

"What has he done to you?" Lorlen gasped quietly, looking around furtively to check they were alone.

Sonea's dark eyes snapped to his, some of the exhaustion replaced by a glint of defensiveness. "It's not what you think. Not him."

"But how did you get so exhausted? Surely not in class?" He asked through gritted teeth, straightening up and putting on a polite smile as a group of magicians passed through the doors towards the Guildhall for dinner.

Sonea nodded wearily, pulling her arm gently out of his grasp and testing out standing alone without leaning on anything.

"Warrior skills practical. The teacher set several against each class member," she explained.

Some of the tension in Lorlen's chest loosened. He recalled those types of drills; they could be very intense for the novice chosen to be the collective target, even though it quickly improved defensive skills.

"Even so. It shouldn't go this far, when properly supervised," Lorlen said disapprovingly.

Sonea smiled bitterly. "Lord Balkan favours… imitating real-life conditions in his classes. He says making drills too mild defeats the purpose."

"Here," Lorlen said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This will help."

He sent a gentle stream of Healing energy out through his palm into her body. Her eyes widened as she sensed it. It would not restore her power, but it did ease the physical weariness, setting her body up to restore it naturally over the next few hours. Her shoulders straightened and Lorlen noticed some liveliness return to her dark eyes.

"Thank you."

Lorlen waved a hand to say it was nothing. "Lord Balkan should have intervened before you drained yourself to this point."

Sonea shook her head. "Not his fault. He was dealing with an injury in another group. My opponents… took the opportunity."

Lorlen felt an unexpected surge of anger. "It was Regin of Winar, wasn't it, who was in your group?"

Sonea nodded. "Him and five others."

"This Winar boy clearly has a personal vendetta," the Administrator replied as he gestured out the University doors and towards the Magician's Quarters. "And the High Lord's lack of action is giving Regin free reins."

Sonea was quiet. Once they were on the grounds, Lorlen sighed and continued: "You need to ask him to intervene."

"He already has. Twice," Sonea muttered, her pale face looking tense in the moonlight.

Lorlen was startled. "What, and the boy still wasn't deterred?"

"He wasn't punished," she explained. "The first time, the High Lord left it up to Lord Garrell. The second time…" Sonea's voice trailed away. Her dark eyes got a faraway look at the memory. She cleared her throat. "It was over the midwinter break. Regin attacked me in the gardens. Suddenly, the High Lord was there. He… he shielded me." Her voice quietened, taking on a strange tone Lorlen couldn't quite place.

Lorlen frowned. Akkarin shielded Sonea against Regin? What is he playing at? Is he trying to trick her to trust him?

They paused at the entrance of the Magician's Quarters. Sonea looked away, toward the High Lord's residence, the slate grey building ominously isolated beyond the manicured gardens. Her chest rose and fell in a shuddering breath that Lorlen assumed to be dread.

"It won't be like this forever, Sonea," he said softly.

She nodded. "Good night, Administrator."

"Good night."

He watched her as she walked away towards the gardens and the shortcut that led to the residence, hoping that his words would prove true. Then he turned away, heading to his own rooms in the Magician's Quarters.

There must be a way to free her from that prison, he thought.

Lorlen almost missed a stair in shock when he suddenly heard Akkarin's wry tones echo in his mind.

– There are many, Lorlen. The question is, is your rescue even sought, or desired?

Lorlen's heart pounded fast. He hadn't been able to tell that Akkarin had been listening to this exchange via the ring at all.

– What do you mean? He replied anxiously.

– What I said.

Then Lorlen felt the presence in his mind fade.

When the Administrator had taken a moment to gather himself, he continued slowly up the stairs towards his office, his mind racing at the High Lord's cryptic words. How could Akkarin possibly think Sonea wouldn't wish to be free of him?

As he shut the door of his suite of rooms on the top floor, Lorlen suddenly paused and recalled the shift in Sonea's tone and the look in her eyes when she had told him that the High Lord had shielded her.

Surely not… he thought in dismay. He was used to seeing the female attention Akkarin would receive both before, and after, his travels. Sonea was mature beyond her years, however, and nowhere near as impressionable as the sheltered young ladies of the Houses. Surely she wasn't growing attached to her captor in some way?

Lorlen's jaw set tightly and he moved to the decanter of pachi wine on the table of his sitting room. He breathed strongly through his nose, growing anxious, as he poured himself a glass of the pale yellow liquid.

He couldn't help but wonder whether this was his fault, somehow. So distressed had he been by Akkarin's revelation that he had been trying his best to avoid the High Lord socially. He had barely even asked him any questions about his daily life with Sonea or his new guardianship. How convenient for Akkarin that had been.

Instead of hiding away, perhaps he should have been scrutinising Akkarin's every move. After all, he was being watched through this damned ring, wasn't he? Sonea was keeping quiet for both Rothen and his sake. The least he could have done was to be more attentive to how she was faring under their collective predicament.

Lorlen mentally called for his servant to prepare him a dinner tray in his room, then downed his glass. Akkarin wants me to behave as I normally would to avoid suspicion, doesn't he? Well, then he will have to put up with more impromptu visits from his 'friend' in future, he decided bitterly.

––––––

Sonea walked up the dark staircase of the residence. She had eaten with Takan and Viola in the kitchen, trying to keep her thoughts from straying to her earlier conversation with Administrator Lorlen.

There is no way he can know we spoke, she reassured herself for what felt like the tenth time that evening. But with the High Lord, she could never be sure.

At least she felt much better after Lorlen's healing magic and Takan's delicious cooking. She could already feel herself returning to her natural level of power, but a night's sleep would still be the best remedy for the day's trials.

When she reached the ground floor foyer, she noticed the door to Akkarin's study was slightly open. A warm glow of light seeped through the crack. She was about to turn away and head upstairs towards her bedroom when a dark, deep voice froze her to the spot.

"Come here, Sonea."

His voice reached her from beyond the study's door. Her heart leapt to her throat.

Sonea moved towards that crack of light. She pushed open the heavy darkwood door and saw the fire crackling away at the grate, bathing the shelves of books in a soft glow. By now, the familiar space should have felt like an inviting room, had she not been stiff with fear and anticipation.

The High Lord was seated behind his desk, his fingers steepled under his chin. His black eyes glittered with the light from the fireplace. Sonea shut the door behind her, and she heard it click as he locked it with magic. Her head spun, and her mind immediately went to the last time she had been locked into this very room with him.

Pulling her thoughts to the present, Sonea somehow remembered to bow, drawing a half-smile from Akkarin.

"I hear you had a Warrior Skills practical in the Arena this afternoon," he said nonchalantly. Sonea was caught off-guard for a moment, then tried to adjust her tone to a neutral one.

"Yes. We had a series of mock duels, in groups and individually."

"And how did you do?"

Sonea felt her cheeks heat. "I was defeated in every round," she replied through gritted teeth.

Akkarin pursed his lips and raised one dark eyebrow. "I see," he said, his tone edged with displeasure. "And yet I know for a fact that your power exceeds every one of your classmates. So tell me, how were you defeated?"

Sonea did not expect this line of questioning. She cast about for an answer. "I – I don't know. I couldn't hold my shield by the end…"

Akkarin sat back, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Shielding uses more power than striking. You already know this. What of your strategy of attack?"

Sonea couldn't hold his gaze, and lifted her chin to look at the shelves behind him instead. "I - I did try – "

"Clearly, you didn't." His black eyes locked onto Sonea's, smouldering with intensity. "If you expect my protection, Sonea, you need to do your part. I will not have my favourite cower in front of that upstart from House Paren."

Sonea was torn between feeling indignant and slightly smug at the High Lord's description of Regin. "I'm doing well at Healing and Alchemy – "

"That is no excuse," he replied sternly. "Why are you afraid of striking back?"

"I'm not afraid!"

"Sonea," Akkarin interrupted, his low voice silky. "You are. The sooner you admit it to yourself, the sooner you can overcome your fears." He stood up in a graceful swish of black robes and walked around his desk to stand in front of it. A few paces were between them.

Sonea looked down, her jaw set in suppressed anger. The silence stretched on.

"Perhaps you need a little more… incentive," he said.

Sonea looked up at his face, suddenly noting how the harshness of his aquiline nose and black eyes was in sharp contrast to his smooth lips and long, silky hair.

The High Lord's lips curled into a small smile. "Strike me."

"What?" Sonea asked, her eyes wide with surprise. "H - Here?"

"Yes." He still held that half-smile, almost mocking her.

"No," Sonea said stubbornly.

His smile vanished and he took a step closer to her. "I am your captor. And you wish you could turn me in and free yourself, do you not? So attack me."

She felt like he was playing with her, and her cheeks coloured again. "If this is for your amusement…" she muttered quietly.

But before she could finish her sentence, Sonea felt the wind knocked out of her: Akkarin had sent her a weak forcestrike from the side.

She doubled up, caught off-guard. It had done no damage, but her left hip ached dully where he had hit. She felt the shock of what had just happened slowly fade into anger. What does he think this is, a game? She thought. It felt like the last straw in a trying day. The pounding in her head threatened to overwhelm her faculties.

"Yes, Sonea," the High Lord whispered, his eyes glittering in the firelight. "Use your anger."

Something snapped inside Sonea from the build-up tension of the day, and the emotions left over from that fiasco of a Warrior Skills lesson that afternoon. She gritted her teeth and, without thinking too much about it, unleashed a strong, invisible heatstrike straight at Akkarin. She snapped up a shield around herself at the same time.

The High Lord's small smile held firm, as his shield deflected then somehow contained and absorbed her strike.

"Again."

Sonea released a volley of forcestrikes at Akkarin, at first tentative, then fierce. She curved some of them to hit his shield from the back. She noticed Akkarin had also created a second shield around the both of them, no doubt to protect the room and its contents from damage.

The air in the study grew very warm as Akkarin somehow continued to absorb her strikes into his shield.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice taking on a strange, deep quality. Sonea could swear that his tone carried a touch of arousal.

Tears stung her eyes from effort as her sight blurred. She saw Regin's taunting face, and the sneering faces of five others standing around him. Sonea hammered the figure in front of her again and again.

Each of her forcestrikes began to grow slightly weaker as she expended more power. Akkarin did not move, merely looking at her with his intense, dark gaze as his shield glowed with the impact of absorbing her strikes.

Eventually, Sonea's strikes began to dwindle into wisps of mere light. Strands of black her stuck to her forehead, which glistened with a thin sheet of sweat. She drew deep, shuddering breaths. Her shield wavered and fell. Akkarin dropped his own shields a moment after hers, and exhaled heavily.

"I knew my little slum cat had it in her," he purred in an unmistakably seductive tone, the curl of his lip almost smug. Even though he had shown no hint of effort when using his power to shield, Sonea could see his black-clad chest rising and falling with somewhat ragged breaths.

This hint of his own physical exertion gnawed away at the last of Sonea's rage. Perhaps it was the exhilaration of what had just happened, or the tingling sensation in her body from releasing so much of her power, but suddenly all she felt was raw, desperate desire.

Her mind shouted at her to stop, but her body seemed to take steps forward towards her guardian of its own accord. Sonea looked up at the tall man above her with burning eyes, wanting to feel his kiss again.

A muscle moved in Akkarin's tight neck as he watched her bold approach. The smile fled his lips.

With a hand's span between them, Sonea caught once again the faintest whiff of that which now evoked memories and made her head spin. It was that musky mix of well-oiled leather, spicy red wine and paper. Harsh, yet sensuous, yet cerebral. Both a contradiction and an intoxicating combination. Like three aspects of his personality, Sonea thought, catching herself by surprise. When had she come to feel like she knew some of what was hiding behind that aloof exterior?

When Akkarin did not move away, but continued holding her dark gaze with his own, that was all the confirmation that Sonea's adrenaline-fuelled mind needed at that moment. She took a final, shaky step forward.

When she crushed her small body up against him and rose up on the balls of her feet to reach for his lips with her own, it was the High Lord who gripped her upper arms with both of his hands. Akkarin let out a low, feral sound in the back of his throat, and pulled away. Sonea's face heated and she immediately took a step back, lowering her eyes to the floor.

What had come over her to dare such a thing? It must have been the erratic ups and downs of magical power she had experienced today.

"I – I apologise, High Lord," she said quietly. Her chest rose and fell quickly. The heat of the fireplace suddenly felt suffocating as she waited in front of the black-robed, imposing man.

When she saw him move out of the corner of her eye, she looked up. He had turned his back to her, but Sonea could see that one of his hands had clenched into a fist, half-hidden by the black silk sleeve of his robes.

Akkarin cleared his throat, then walked around his desk and sat in his chair. "Apology accepted, Sonea." His face took on an expression she had seen before. A touch of amusement and satisfaction played about his lips, and his jet-black eyes narrowed as if undressing her with his eyes.

He leaned back in his chair with uncustomary casualness, drawing another jolt of longing in Sonea. Those rare moments in the day when his cold, elegant physicality grew more languid and sensual were hypnotising: as if an unreachable presence had suddenly become human.

"Have you had time to think about what I said three nights ago?" He asked.

Sonea swallowed, her throat suddenly quite dry. She wet her lips. Akkarin's gaze slid to her mouth.

"I have," she whispered.

His eyes rose back up, and he cocked one eyebrow airily. "And?"

"I – I should not. I cannot. I'm sorry. My answer is no," Sonea closed her eyes then reopened them slowly. Why did it feel like the room was spinning?

A muscle in Akkarin's jaw tightened slightly, and the amusement around his mouth disappeared.

"Which is it, Sonea? You should not yield to me, even though you want to – as your actions just now suggested? Or you cannot yield to me, because you refuse to master that pride you so cherish?" he said, his tone growing cold.

Sonea felt her chest tighten and she blinked rapidly. Why was he making this so difficult? She wanted him – of course she did. It frightened her that she wanted him, despite knowing his capacity for violence and ruthless calculation. But she needed to go against her own will before she lost herself completely.

"Please…" she whispered, agonised. "I shouldn't."

Akkarin's dark brows drew together at her answer, eyes narrowed in study of Sonea's flushed face and pleading eyes. Is he angry? Disappointed? Sonea wondered, her heart beating loudly in her chest. She felt like her decision was taking every last bit of self-control she had.

Soon enough, the High Lord's face smoothened back to an inscrutable, aloof expression, like Sonea's words were inconsequential to him.

"A shame," he drawled. "I was beginning to think you had the courage of your convictions. Clearly, I was mistaken."

The indifference in his tone cut into her. In one smooth movement, he stood up and walked around his desk, towering over Sonea once again. She swallowed and willed herself not to take a step backward. A part of her mind was screaming at her for backing down from what every fibre of her being seemed to be drawn towards.

Akkarin crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes unreadable. "Well then. If you continue to hold your tongue and work diligently, Sonea, I can stay out of your way, and you mine." His voice quietened, growing threatening. "However, if you continue to speak to Rothen or Lorlen – yes, I know about your little chat with the Administrator today – or use the underground passages, you will regret it."

Sonea bit down a sob in the back of her throat. It wasn't that she hadn't heard these threats from Akkarin before – it was how quickly the promise of his touch had turned back into the chilly set-up of her first month under his roof. And you're to blame, she told herself. He will never look at you, kiss you, or touch you the way he did this past week ever again.

The study door unlocked with a click. "You are dismissed," Akkarin said dryly.

Sonea stood still, torn between leaving and the mad, sudden urge to undo her refusal and beg him to take her back.

The High Lord uncrossed his arms and his aloof expression suddenly faded. He threw her a dark look of pure hostility. "Get out," he hissed, eyes burning.

Sonea stumbled out of the room and across the dark foyer, throwing herself onto the staircase that led up to her bedroom.

She did not stop until the had shut her door and sank down to the floor behind it, leaning her back against its darkwood grain. The tears that had long threatened to spill over finally did. She allowed herself muffled sobs. She felt overcome, suddenly, not with fear or confusion, but with regret that she had displeased him.

–––––

An hour later, the High Lord was at Madam Merla's. And he was in a cold rage.

Akkarin jerked Kiera's face up so her black eyes could meet his own. The effects of the wine he had rapidly consumed after he had dismissed Sonea from his study coursed through him, filling his insides with a reckless fire. He gripped her chin tightly until Kiera's eyes began to water in pain. "My Lord Ralend… please…" she whispered.

"Quiet," Akkarin snapped, his face half hidden in the candlelit room. Kiera's face looked stained with real tears, to his pleasure.

Placing his hand over her mouth, Akkarin gripped a delicate wrist and yanked her across the room towards the bed. Kiera squirmed and jerked in his ruthless grip, but she was far too small to prevent Akkarin from flinging her roughly onto the sheets.

Something was different about tonight, and Kiera's wide, frightened eyes showed that she knew it. As always, she had put up a bit of a defiant act when he had begun to order her around. Usually, her rebellious streak pleased this particular client, she knew. But the man's dark eyes had burned with ire instead of arousal.

"I will tolerate no more protests from you," he whispered in a deep voice. He reached down, his black hair tickling Kiera's face as his hand harshly pinched one of her small breasts through the silky fabric of her crimson lingerie. Kiera moaned quietly, pretending arousal.

But her eyes quickly darted to the tapestry behind her bed. There was a pulley hidden there, which could be used to call one of the thugs on duty if a client grew violent.

Before she could decide whether to reach for it, in one sudden, sharp movement, Akkarin slapped her. Kiera whimpered in pain as her face snapped to one side; he hadn't taken off his rings, and one of the jewels had scratched an angry red line into her cheek. The corner of Akkarin's lips curled into a smile at the sight. He reached down and grasped Kiera's slim, ivory neck with one hand.

He had choked her before as part of their games in the pleasure bed, but tonight, his grip seemed to tighten until she struggled to breathe.

Kiera made a snap decision. Spluttering, she threw back her arm, grasping until her hands made contact with the pulley next to the tapestry behind her. She yanked at it.

Quick footsteps sounded outside the door a few moments later. Akkarin withdrew his hand from Kiera's neck and she began coughing. The door opened and Madam Merla walked in, flanked by two large, coarse-looking men.

Akkarin turned around coolly, his face impassive as he faced the newcomers.

"Lord Ralend. I'm afraid this session will have to be cut short," Madam Merla said, her tone polite but firm. "My assistant downstairs will issue a refund for the half-hour remaining."

She snapped her fingers brusquely at Kiera, who scrambled off the bed and out of Akkarin's reach. She retrieved a floor-length nightgown and shrugged into it, her eyes nervously darting between her Madam and her client.

Akkarin dark eyes narrowed in irritation, but he inclined his head politely. In elegant, silent strides, he walked to the chair that held his long coat and picked it up. "I see. I shall take my custom elsewhere, then, Madam Merla," he said icily.

Madam Merla returned the polite incline of his head. "As you wish, my Lord."

The tall, imposing man strode out of the room and down the stairs, ignoring the assistant who had readied a pouch containing his refund. Retrieving his cloak and stepping out into the cold night, he leapt onto his horse. His stallion reared at the sudden weight, but calmed when it recognised its owner.

Akkarin nudged him into a gallop back towards the Guild gates, his fury pounding in his head unabated.