Content Warning:
This arc contains depictions of toxic relationships, emotional abuse, manipulation, cycles of abuse, drugging (love potions/ spells), physical torment, and psychological trauma.Please proceed with caution if these themes may be triggering for you. Your well-being comes first.
It had been a week since Anagan joined the coven, but the days felt more like a blur than a series of significant events. He spent his mornings wandering through the castle's expansive gardens, losing himself in the vibrant colors and exotic plants that were unlike anything he'd seen before. Every evening, like clockwork, he would find himself in Ogron's company, though the king always maintained an air of nonchalance about their interactions.
One afternoon, as Anagan wandered through the garden, he came across a particularly striking red flower. It was stunning, the petals a deep crimson that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Anagan reached out, intent on plucking it to take with him, when a hand gently but firmly caught his wrist. He looked up, startled, into Ogron's eyes.
"I wouldn't recommend that," Ogron advised, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
"Oh? Is it poisonous?" Anagan asked, tilting his head in curiosity.
Ogron's chuckle deepened, the sound almost affectionate. "I wish it were that simple. It's a carnivorous plant—and a clever one at that." To demonstrate, Ogron picked up a nearby twig and lightly touched it to the flower's center. In an instant, the petals snapped open to reveal rows of sharp, tooth-like structures, which closed around the twig, snapping it in half.
Anagan's eyes widened in awe. "Wow… The Magic Dimension sure is serious when they call a plant carnivorous, huh?" He couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed; the flower had been so beautiful.
Ogron's voice took on that familiar, unsettling sweetness as he leaned in closer. "If you'd like, I can have one of the gardeners pot one for you, darling~."
The nickname no longer caught Anagan off guard; he had grown accustomed to the king's affectionate terms of endearment, finding them strange yet oddly comforting. Still, he shook his head with a polite smile. "I don't think that's necessary, thank you, though."
Later that day, Anagan found himself in the castle's vast library, engrossed in a book about the flora of the Magic Dimension. He was particularly fascinated by a section on the plants of Lynphea, a realm known for its lush vegetation. So absorbed was he in the text that he didn't notice Ogron approaching until the king's warm breath brushed against his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Would you like to go there with me next time I have business in Lynphea?" Ogron's voice was soft, almost tender, but it still startled Anagan.
"Oh my, you're a jumpy little rabbit, aren't you~?" The subtle richness of Ogron's tone sent a flutter of butterflies through Anagan's chest.
Ogron leaned closer, his words dripping with an addictive honey. "Don't let me stop you. That flower you like is on the next page. I won't disturb you then, my dear."
As the king turned to leave, Anagan found himself reaching out almost involuntarily. "Why don't you stay? You can tell me about all these flowers, and why you incorporated some into your garden."
Ogron's smile was warm, though his eyes held a coldness that Anagan tried not to notice. The two men spent hours in the library, talking not just of plants but also of themselves. Anagan found himself captivated by the king's voice, a strange mix of charm and authority that made him feel both at ease and slightly on edge. When supper arrived, the food tasted far better than it had the night before, when Ogron hadn't been there.
As the evening drew to a close, Ogron reached across the table and took Anagan's hand, his eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Ana," he began, his low, sweet tone vibrating through Anagan, "how do you feel about the company of men?"
Anagan choked on his wine, surprised by the question. It seemed innocent enough, but the implication was clear. Ogron didn't move, simply watching as Anagan struggled to regain his composure.
"I—er—that's, um, I need more context," Anagan stammered, his heart racing.
Ogron's smile widened, clearly amused by Anagan's discomfort. He leaned in closer, his voice soft and inviting. "I mean, would you take a man as a lover, if you should take one?"
There was that laced darkness again, one that only set itself when Ogron mentioned love, an undercurrent of something more sinister beneath the surface. Anagan shifted nervously, unsure how to respond.
"I suppose if he made me feel loved and safe…" Anagan answered unsteadily, his mind spinning.
"I see," Ogron said, his tone satisfied. He released Anagan's hand and leaned back, his charming smile never fading as his eyes bore into Anagan's soul.
That night, when Anagan retired to his room, he found that his bedding had been changed. The new quilt was soft, a deep green with intricate embroidery that took his breath away. But what truly made his heart flutter was the red flower, the one he had admired in the garden, now potted and standing tall on his desk.
He smiled, unaware that the butterflies in his stomach were gently flying into a candle's fire.