Author's Note:

Thank you so much for the encouraging comments, all! Great to hear people are into it :) Also, I'm glad the OC is interesting – it can be hard to enjoy fics with OCs, I know. Yes, we'll see some Kiera again soon.

Dee: I'm sorry you didn't enjoy this chapter. But I do think your SA content warning for the entire fic is rather misleading. Only chapter 12 contains one brief scene where a woman withdraws her consent, calls for aid, and the encounter is ended (the scene has a purpose, serving to illustrate Akkarin's psychic turmoil after Sonea's refusal). As a writer, I can only caution my reader about what to expect, and I did; the fic is rated M, the main category is 'Angst', and the blurb warns of 'dark intimate tastes'. If you chose to read on, despite knowing you didn't want to see such material, that is out of my hands.

––—

The nights were the worst. Sonea lay awake well into the early hours of the morning more often than not, straining her ears for Akkarin's comings and goings. It had been several weeks since that night, when she had stepped back from the precipice of her desires, and they had been miserable weeks. Tonight was no different.

True to his word, he had stayed out of her way. The only time in the day they would usually encounter each other was in the early evening, when he would be waiting in the entrance hall, reclined in his favourite armchair in the dark, to check that Sonea immediately returned to the residence from her classes.

Dark eyes smouldering but otherwise quite blasé, the High Lord would then dismiss her and dine in his study, or with the Administrator, or out in the city. He was often in the city, now. Sonea would sometimes hear him quietly murmur instructions to Takan from her bedroom across the landing, then the near-silent pat of his footsteps going back downstairs, across the entrance hall, and out the front door of the residence. Something in her chest seemed to ache as she lay alone in her bed in the dark, looking up at the square of pale moonlight that sometimes hit her ceiling. She felt terribly cut off from him in these moments, even though she wasn't exactly sure what she was pining for.

There was nothing to miss. Nothing but one kiss, and that hazy, dreamlike night in the study – when she had been stripped bare in front of him, aroused despite her fear, and been given an unbearably tempting ultimatum. A whole world of experiences that would never be.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Sonea thought she saw a glint of anger and reproach in those jet black eyes when they met hers. But these instances were so rare, she thought she must be imagining them. In all respects, the High Lord acted as if nothing had occurred between him and his novice. As if his mouth had not devoured her breasts, as if his cold fingers had not touched the most intimate part of her.

Sonea knew she should have been relieved. After all, wasn't this what I decided? She thought. I was the one who said no: I did not wish to continue. I did not dare see what he could make me feel, did not dare admit that I wanted it… And now it will never be offered again.

She tossed and turned in bed, feeling too hot one moment, too cold the next. Rare were the nights when this self-flagellation didn't happen. With each passing day, Akkarin grew more distant, and she grew weaker in her resolve. Even a scolding about her lacklustre Warrior Skills, or a brief conversation about some boring practicality, would have been better than this aloof indifference.

Sonea found herself full of regret, confusion, and fear every night, getting close to risking making a fool of herself by telling the High Lord she had changed her mind – that she did want to continue, and that she would tame her pride, and that she did not want him to be gentle.

A door clicked shut in the distance. It was the faintest sound, but it had been what she had been waiting for. It was what she waited for most nights, now. That little sign that, wherever Akkarin had been – in the city, his study, at the palace – he was now back in the bedroom that was a mere five paces away from Sonea's own.

She didn't know why she was usually able to sleep after that. It's not like she ever left her room at that point, or did anything but lie awake in bed when that click sound came. But somehow knowing he was back, alone like her, under the same roof, was…

Comforting wasn't the word. Reassuring, maybe. It reassured her that, despite the wedge she had driven between them, so long as they were bound in this strange way for years – him to High Lordship, she his hostage under the cover of being his novice – he may forgive her initial refusal and extend his invitation once more.

Sonea's eyes roamed across her shadowy bedroom, resting on the books above her desk. They were Rothen's copies, gifted to her just before she had hurriedly packed and moved out of his rooms – that day she had been forcibly mind-read by the High Lord. Her dark eyebrows drew together in emotion at the sight. How had she ended up with these desires, these impossible feelings, for the man who had forcibly taken her away from Rothen, who had taken his own best friend hostage? But she had.

I was beginning to think you had the courage of your convictions.

Akkarin's cutting words echoed in her ears, making her chest constrict again. What, indeed, had happened to the Sonea who had dared sneak into the Guild when every magician was out looking for her? The Sonea who had held her nerve in front of Lord Fergun's blackmail? The Sonea who had explored the underground passages in spite of Guild rules?

When did I become so timid? She asked herself angrily. Is he right? Did I refuse him to protect myself, or because my courage failed me?

She didn't know the answers, but the questions themselves troubled her. Closing her eyes, Sonea snuggled back under her duvet again. Starting tomorrow, she would go back to trying to live a little.

—-

As the door opened, bright sunlight streamed in to dazzle Akkarin's eyes. He shaded his face with a hand and stepped onto the University roof.

A blue-robed figure was already there, leaning over the banister, lost in thought.

Akkarin made a low, disapproving noise. "There are so many identities imprinted into the door, I wonder why I bother coming here in the expectation of solitude."

Lorlen jumped slightly and turned around quickly to face Akkarin, but when he saw his face in the bright sunlight, he grew calmer to see that a self-mocking smile accompanied his scolding words. The High Lord's robes looked almost dark grey in the direct midday sun, and his black hair revealed a dark brown sheen. In the bright sunlight the High Lord's pale skin looked sickly, as if he was not sleeping enough. Shadows lay under his eyes, but his gaze was sharp.

"You have an entire residence to yourself, Akkarin. Let us mere mortals have some rooftop air," Lorlen replied, a little too sharply.

The High Lord's smile faded. But he kept his tone smooth when addressing his former friend. "You know perfectly well I no longer have my residence to myself."

He walked to the Administrator's side and rested his elbows on the railing alongside him, gazing out towards the Lookout. It was a clear day, sunny but bitingly cold, for early spring.

Akkarin grazed the surface of his thoughts with his senses, and frowned to notice a mix of curiosity and disapproval emanating from Lorlen. It was a strange combination. Fear, he had often sensed in Lorlen's thoughts when they now spoke. Anxiety about his, the Guild's and Sonea's safety, certainly. But there was a strange anticipation in the Administrator's thoughts now, as if he was looking for clues to confirm a suspicion he had.

"How is she, then?" Lorlen asked, attempting nonchalance.

Ah, clearly, my novice is the subject of this suspicion, Akkarin noted with interest. But he couldn't make out anything more specific than that from Lorlen's mind. He was either not sure what his own hunch was, or he was growing coincidentally quite skilled at keeping his surface thoughts vague.

"Really, Lorlen. Is Garrell, Peakin, or Balkan asked weekly about the wellbeing of their novices? One would think I adopted Sonea, rather than merely took on her guardianship. She passed her midwinter exams. That's all I need to know," Akkarin replied curtly. A frown line seemed to have etched itself between his eyebrows at the topic.

The Administrator scoffed quietly. "You know perfectly well why I ask. That Winar boy hasn't been deterred. You should intervene more… decisively."

A hard glint seemed to enter Akkarin's eyes. "My lack of intervention is itself a teaching method. She is too merciful to fight back, and too proud to ask for help. Attributes she would do well to grow out of."

Lorlen let out a quiet, bitter laugh, turning to look at his former best friend. "Akkarin, I have never, in all our years, seen you ask for help. As for pride, you've written the book."

The High Lord raised one black eyebrow, his face impassive. But on the inside, the mental calm he had cultivated with difficulty over the past few weeks felt somewhat unsettled by what his former friend was saying. If he thinks I have anything in common with my novice, he is sorely mistaken, he thought in irritation.

Lorlen backed down from the topic under Akkarin's icy gaze. He cleared his throat, turning back to the sunny scene in front of them.

"Well. Perhaps this invitation to court will deter Regin. Surely the boy won't dare continue harassing Sonea after she has been presented to the King," Lorlen suggested.

Akkarin's intense gaze relaxed a little and his black-clad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. His eyes roamed over the brown-robed figures far down on the Guild grounds, all hurrying to the University dining hall for the midday meal. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Merin extended the invitation to satisfy the curiosity of his courtiers, not out of any interest in the girl."

Lorlen scowled; even though he had to show tact when the topic was the King, he didn't like the sound of this. "A novice of this Guild is not a source of entertainment," he said in annoyance. "Our deference to the crown is one thing, but sometimes I think the Houses forget that the Guild are not just here to mend their villas and heal their horses."

"Security breeds complacency," Akkarin muttered, a faraway look in his eyes. "There has been no real conflict since the Sachakan War ended, bringing about the agreement between the Allied Lands. Is it any wonder that a peacetime court seeks petty amusement?"

"Petty indeed," Lorlen murmured, feeling a strange moment of camaraderie with his former best friend. He hadn't felt like they were on the same side about something since at least before he had discovered Akkarin's secret. "She has now been a novice, what, nearly three years? Do they really expect to see dwell habits, whatever they assume those to be?"

Akkarin nodded curtly in agreement, but his eyes were brooding as he looked towards the gleaming towers and turrets of the palace in the distance, just about visible at the centre of the rooftops forming the Inner Circle.

The fools, the High Lord couldn't help thinking. He had tried to deter Merin from the idea, but his frivolous wife, Queen Berria, had grown quite excited at the idea of hosting the High Lord's novice at the palace. "Oh, you simply must bring her, Akkarin. A street urchin at the royal banquet table! My ladies will be most entertained," she had said.

Through gritted teeth, Akkarin had bowed politely. A strange wave of anger and protectiveness had thrummed in him at the insulting demand. As if Sonea were a curiosity to be gawked at. But there was no getting out of it.

"Well. I'm sure she'll conduct herself sensibly," Lorlen said, searching Akkarin's face but, as always, failing to read much out of it.

"Yes…" the High Lord replied quietly, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. "She is nothing but sensible nowadays."

Lorlen raised an eyebrow inquiringly, but Akkarin had already stepped away from the railing and begun to walk back to the rooftop door, black robes billowing about him.

—-

The High Lord was settled into his favourite armchair in his study, holding a glass of pale wine in his hand. His fine senses could detect the voices of Viola and Sonea floating down the stairs.

Even though Sonea's bedroom door was shut, Akkarin noted the exasperation in her servant's voice. His lips curled up at one corner in amusement. By the sounds of it, negotiating his novice into the appropriate look for a dinner at the palace was proving difficult.

Takan quietly walked in to the study and carefully hung a fine, black cloak with a dark green silk lining on the hook by the door. He brushed down its ends and adjusted its clasp with a deft hand. This clasp bore not the incal of the High Lord, but the small, gold-and-green crest of House Velan. Much like the night of the Midwinter Meet, It would complete the dark green longcoat, black shirt and black silk cravat Akkarin was wearing tonight, but everything was in lighter fabrics suitable for early spring. A dark green silk ribbon held back his long black hair.

Taking another sip, the High Lord studied the firelight glinting off the rings on his hands. The one featuring High Lord's incal and Takan's blood gem were always there, but he rarely wore his family Delvon heirloom ring; a gift from his grandfather. Tonight, the emerald with its intricate gold band featured on his right hand.

Merin had made clear the invitation was for an informal dinner among select courtiers from the Houses, and that he expected his presence as Akkarin of Delvon, not the High Lord of the Guild. Akkarin snorted softly. Well, he will be sorely disappointed if he thinks the former is more amenable than the latter.

"Do you require anything else, master?"

Akkarin took a sip from his glass and his jet black eyes, glinting with amusement, met Takan's. "Perhaps a raise for Viola, don't you think?"

Takan unsuccessfully tried to hide the smile Akkarin's words provoked at the same time as they heard the sound of a door opening and shutting. One pair of quick, soft footsteps descended the stairs, and a few moments later, Sonea was hovering at the doorway of the study. Takan unobtrusively bowed his way out of the room.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, High Lord," she said. Her black eyes were fixed on the bookshelves behind Akkarin, a flush in her cheeks from hurrying down the stairs. The High Lord set aside his half-drunk glass of pachi wine on a low table and stood up. Viola arrived, but hovered worriedly at the doorway, awaiting her dismissal for the night.

Sonea's blush deepened as Akkarin studied her boldly and closely, like a man looking at an expensive item in order to decide whether or not he would buy it.

He took care to keep his face impassive as he inspected whether her appearance was appropriate for the occasion. He drew some satisfaction from seeing her positively squirm with discomfort under his scrutiny. No doubt she thought he was drawing this out on purpose, as some kind of punishment.

It matters not what she thinks, he thought to himself darkly as he circled her elegantly clad form, eyes narrowing. He couldn't predict what kinds of conversation the courtiers would draw her into, but he would make sure his novice's appearance gave them nothing to amuse themselves with.

And there was certainly nothing amusing about his novice's appearance. Viola had created soft waves out of her shoulder-length, silky black hair and pinned it all up with little sapphires glinting here and there. The dress was inky dark blue silk, its neckline off-the-shoulder, as favoured by the ladies of the court this season. The sleeves widened as they approached the hands, billowing with movement. Akkarin's eyes lingered unnecessarily long on the skin of Sonea's pale collarbones and the top of her bosom, given shape by the hidden corsetry of the dress.

"She needs more adornments," he snapped at Viola, who winced apologetically.

"There were earrings with the dress, High Lord, but my lady did not purchase them," she replied.

Sonea's dark eyebrows lowered, in prelude to digging her heels in on an issue. "There was no need, High Lord…"

"As familiar as I am with your infinite capacity for stubbornness, Sonea," Akkarin interrupted sardonically, "you will have to trust that I know better what befits a palace banquet."

Her lips pursed a little in annoyance, but she lowered her kohl-rimmed eyes to the floor in at least a show of acquiescence.

Akkarin walked around to the drinks cabinet that had two large, wood drawers at the bottom. He removed the magical lock of the first drawer and opened it, gazing at its contents thoughtfully. Sonea dared steal a glance, and saw only velvet boxes and pouches inside.

After opening a few of the velvet boxes to check their contents, the High Lord straightened with something that glittered in his hand. It was a choker of medium-sized sapphires in a polished silver setting. Sonea's eyes widened in surprise.

"Put this on," the High Lord ordered, stepping towards his novice and holding out the necklace. "My family insists I store these in the Guild. They think it safer than keeping some of the older heirlooms at home."

At that, Sonea took a small step back. "I couldn't," she exclaimed. "It belongs to your family!"

Akkarin scoffed quietly in impatience, gesturing for her to take the item off his hands. "As such, I can do what I will with it. But don't worry – I will expect it back at the end of the evening. Now hurry," he snapped.

Sonea reached out reluctantly, her pink lips set in a frown, and held the choker up to her neck by each end. Viola swiftly stepped up behind her and took the ends off her hands, securing the clasp at the back. She arranged the blue stones until they flared at her throat, paced equally apart.

A self-satisfied smile played about Akkarin's lips as he looked at the final picture. Do your worst, Berria, he thought. He felt strangely pleased. Not only would his novice look like she belonged in that room, but the combination of her youth and, Akkarin had to admit, attractions, would provoke envy in more than one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting.

He grunted quietly in terse approval, then waved a hand at Viola to dismiss her. Takan, as always, appeared just when he was needed. He placed first Akkarin's, then Sonea's, cloaks around their shoulders and did the clasps at the throat.

Sonea was absentmindedly running her fingers across the precious stones at her throat, looking uncomfortable. But she was, once again, tantalisingly and completely transformed out of her brown robes, the High Lord thought.

He beckoned with a finger for her to follow him, and walked briskly out of the study, using magic to douse the fire as he left. They crossed the dark foyer in silence and stepped out of the front door onto the grounds. Walking on the damp grass in the direction of the Guild gates in silence, they made for the Guild carriage that Akkarin had arranged, as he knew Sonea couldn't ride.

The cool night air made Akkarin suddenly aware of the fire that seemed to be coursing through his chest and limbs. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at his novice. He could hear and sense that she was close behind, and it was tempting to send his magical presence out to gauge her surface thoughts, but he resisted the urge.

A waft of that gan-gan scent she used suddenly hit him as the wind changed direction. Akkarin scowled. Thorn in my side indeed.

He couldn't say he had forgiven her yet for her cowardly refusal several weeks ago. The High Lord had never, ever been rejected by a woman. And by a novice, no less! He was a dangerous man to cross, and an ever more dangerous man to mock. It had plunged him for a while to the darkest, most ruthless corners of his mind. A pity that it had cost him his welcome at Madam Merla's, and in Kiera's bed. She had been a choice morsel, by the standards of the trade.

But as the weeks had worn on, and the High Lord had minimised interactions with his novice, he had on occasion detected Sonea's surface thoughts. And he was satisfied with what he found there.

She was in utter turmoil. Her thoughts fluttered every day between regret, longing, and self-denial.

His carriage driver bowed to him as they approached the open gates, holding the highly polished black wood door open deferentially.

Akkarin suppressed a chuckle as he climbed in, watching Sonea follow and sit stiffly opposite him. Her cheeks had a touch of pink from the cold night air, and she was decidedly looking at a point somewhere to the side of his face.

The High Lord placed an elbow on the windowsill and rested his chin between two of his long, elegant fingers, hiding the curl of his lip. The carriage jerked into motion, and Sonea gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles white, to stop the forward motion from swaying her towards Akkarin.

Yes, he had been too hasty to think his plan was upended. She may not know it yet, the High Lord thought with satisfaction, but she will go back on her decision. And soon.