The Great Hall was full to bursting as she slipped between the tall stone pillars unseen.  The sound from the stage of Azurian musicians demanded her attention, but she had to make sure she didn't lose him.  He was clothed in gold of course, but a few others were too.  Today's celebrations had not afforded them the chance to speak, but she took heart from the fact that his eyes had found hers more than once. 

She could not tell what the look in his eyes was, when she had caught it; whether it was mere curiosity - the only living princess of Calate was not paraded often, unmarried noblewomen were as cloistered as priestesses - or whether it was something more.

In Fara's case, being hidden from the world suited her. She had no desire to be put on show.  She wanted to hide.  She'd always been good at hiding.  In hiding she was safe.  Being seen came with too much danger.

But tonight she had to be seen. 

She not only had to be seen, but she also had to capture the attention of the most desirable prince in all of the four realms. A prince who was already promised to another.

Panos was across the room, surrounded by his men, observing the Azurian courtesans with far more than mere curiosity.  She could not blame her brother, they were beautiful creatures.  Lithe bodies sprayed in gold, rich lengths of hair inlaid with jewels, mouths covered demurely with silk as was their custom.  Fara had been hypnotised as they'd first entered the hall, the sound of the large Vielle played slowly and with great skill by the principal musician, to the movement of their bodies. 

Father sat surveying the room from his marble chair, deep in his cups but seemingly entertained by the jovial King Sylvan and his attractive Queen.  Valdr, of course, sat closed off from everyone else except Daphine, who tonight was a picture of austere beauty in a dazzling viridian gown. She leaned close and whispered into his ear seductively. He made no reaction as he observed the room, callous and indifferent. But Valdr was not indifferent to Azura. A 'race of wanton, frivolous, and tawdry fools.' He had thrown at father after the announcement of tonight's gala. He held them in contempt. But then, Valdr held everyone in contempt.  Even himself. 

Sometimes she wondered how different her brother would be if he had been born with a soul.  If he were capable of love and empathy.  Of warmth and desire and the ability to feel happiness.  But nothing existed within him but darkness. She was certain of it.

The sweat slid down her spine as she skipped forward, sliding herself between two groups of laughing Azurians into the main space of the great hall.  Bodies danced and moved together and the scents which hung together between them were exotic and forbidden.  She was gripped suddenly by an unseen reveller and spun around to face a tall dark-skinned Azurian dressed in a fine burgundy tunic, his neck draped with outlandish jewels. He lifted her up into the air and spun her around before continuing onto the next female.  The panic rose as she stood there, exposed. Her face was covered but she could not risk being noticed by father or Valdr so she skirted back to the rear of the room. Keeping her eyes on where Prince Galyn sat, she moved closer toward him. Seated with a collective of finely dressed Azurians surrounding him on all sides, both male and female, he spoke loudly and gestured theatrically, causing his crowd to cheer and laugh, and his men to slap his back in celebration.  She took a moment just to observe him, unseen.

The heir to the throne of Azura was tall and beautiful with dark copper hair that curled slightly. He wore a crown of bright gold; an intricate leaf design which wrapped around his head and contrasted extravagantly with the burnished bronze colour of his skin.  His eyes were wide dark ovals, deep and hypnotic, and she imagined for a moment what it would feel like to be looked at in desire by them.  His mouth was full and red like a ripe apple and as he smiled seductively at one of the females she felt a strike of envy like a whip across her back. 

She teased the bracelet and twisted it around her wrist, the metal calescent against her skin.  Magic. It whispered to her. White hot and forbidden.  She was not close enough for it to work, she knew that, but she whispered the words anyway.  It would do no harm to say them again.  She had been memorising them for seven moonrises now.  'Hear me, Goddess, hear me this night, bring me his love, let his passion burn bright.' She had repeated it again and again, in sleep, awake. She whispered them now, the words silent behind her lips and under her tongue. The metal band seemed to burn hotter and hotter at each incantation.

With her back to the wall of the great hall, she took a few steps closer to the group of laughing Azurians. The sheer numbers in the great hall meant she could not feasibly get any closer to him without stepping out from the shadow of the wall and into the main section of the floor. 

The dancers moved quickly, women being lifted high by their male partners, turned once in the air before being set down in one graceful move. The floor shook from the force of hundreds of feet, the music fighting hard to be heard above the dancing and the jubilant spirited voices all around.  She edged out from the wall. It would be difficult for anyone to identify her amongst the throng of bodies, she knew that.  She looked much like any other woman in the room, and with her face covered, she would only be noticed if someone were looking for her, which she was certain they were not.  Valdr would not expect to see her here, and her father believed it the last place she would even want to be.  Her maids knew she was here and had been thus tasked with keeping anyone from her room this eve should they come to look upon her.  She was ill and did not want to be disturbed.  Only Valdr would ignore her wishes, and so she had to hope Daphine's charms would keep him entertained.

She was focused so hard on the things which may spell her misfortune, so hard on Galyn of Azura and on the words of the mage's promise, that she did not see the woman flying towards her. The woman that had slipped like a wriggling fish from her dance partners arms.  The woman screamed as she fell, and it was this high pitched wail which too late caught Fara's attention. As she tried to move out of harm's way, the woman came crashing down, throwing Fara sideways in an inelegant careen across the floor.

As she lay there, a few embarrassing moments wondering how best to get to her feet without drawing the attention of those who would recognise her, a few voices spoke at once.

'Are you alright?'

'You must permit me to help you up.'

'Goodness, are you injured?'

She waved the proffered hands away, convinced if she looked up into any of these eyes her disguise would be eradicated. 

'I am quite alright,' she said, attempting to push herself up from the floor. Her full skirts were twisted awkwardly around her legs, restricting her. This would not be a graceful ascent, this much she now knew. Reaching out, she pulled the fabric free and kicked out her legs, then twisted her body around to push herself up from the floor.

'Are you all right?' A voice inquired once more.

'I am quite uninjured, thank you.' She said as she raised herself onto her knees. How mortifying.  Was her father looking? Was Valdr?  Was Galyn?  She couldn't be sure that the crone's curse would work and what hope did she have of seducing him now?  The clumsy fool who'd been sprawled across the floor.  Did she have to wear such a memorable gown?

Suddenly, a pulsating heat radiated through her arm, a hot pulsing which left her hand cold but spread the heat upwards from her wrist, like a beating heart. The bracelet. An organ. Alive.

A male hand appeared in front of her.

'Please, take my hand, my lady,' the voice said. 'I insist you lean on me.' 

She held her breath. She knew who the voice belonged to. Without the confirmation of his face she knew.  The bracelet knew.

He had come to rescue her from this mortification just as he would rescue her from all else.  Hesitation flooded her suddenly as she reached out her hand. Could she do this? Take him. Steal him.

She thought vaguely of the princess of Zybar, waiting across the ash sea for Galyn of Azura to marry her. How broken would her heart be when Fara took him from her? After a moment she decided it mattered not. She had to save herself. A broken heart was nothing against a broken soul.

As their hands touched, the jewelled bracelet glimmered under the light, pulsing with it's forbidden enchantment. With her heart thundering as though a million horses galloped through her chest, Fara looked up into The Crown Prince of Azura's eyes.

'Hear me, Goddess, hear me this night, bring me his love, let his passion burn bright.' she repeated once more in her mind. 

He blinked once, then again, his deep blue eyes shimmering with tiny fragments of light. Then he smiled at her. 

***

Fara heard the commotion outside the tent and cast a nervous glance around the space inside. Her skills as a servant were questionable. He would realise this soon enough. Whether they were poor enough to reveal she had been no palace maid she did not know. It was more likely he would punish her for it.  And since she had survived one punishment, she could do so again.

He spoke a few foreign words to Jhaan outside and from the tone, she tried to decipher his mood. It was low and brusque as always.  Commands.  Short and sharp and direct.  Would he expect contrition from her after last night's transgression?  For he would not have it.  Would he expect thanks for the healing salve?  He would not have that either.  Her decision not to rile him may be harder to maintain than she thought. 

Hidden under her pallet out of sight, the hairpin brought her an unimaginable amount of strength. She steeled herself at the mere thought of it nearby.

She heard the sound of him removing his footwear outside, and she wondered if he would be again covered in the blood of innocent Azurians, blood she would have to watch him clean off in his fragrant bath.  She opted to stand by the serving table, assuming he would want to eat first as he had last night.

Then, without warning, the flap of the entrance was pulled back and he stepped inside the space, letting it fall closed behind him. 

He did not look at her as he crossed the tent towards his weapon stand.  He was not as considered as he had been last night as he removed them either; shoving them almost irritably into their compartments as though they'd offended him somehow.  Once relieved of them he whipped round to face her, dark eyes finding her own, that ever-present purple light simmering behind them. 

When his eyes dropped to the weight of steel around her neck she had the sudden urge to raise her chin proudly at him, to show him he had not broken her with this newest humiliation.

However, he did not look particularly pleased by the sight of her collar. An unnamed look crossed his sharp features - disdain came closest, but there was irritation there too.  Perhaps she did not wear it well enough for him.  Perhaps he grudged having his name pressed against her unworthy Azurian skin.

An image came to her then, an image unbidden, of how covetously he had looked upon Iaria of Asalla, collared and prepared for his pleasure. How passionately he had kissed her, with the same mouth that possessed nothing but coldness now.  How tenderly he had caressed the courtesan's body, with the same hands Fara knew delivered death with horrifying ease.

Fara's nails dug crescent moons into her palms as she stared back at him, as he pinned her there with his dark gaze.  She should not look so directly at him.  She lowered her eyes.  She could feel the heat from him, smell his earthy scent mingled with something sweeter and more human. Blood. Her stomach lurched. Though she did not always like when he spoke, as often it was to issue some command she did not care to obey, she wanted him to command her now.

'Would you desire some wine?' she asked, her own voice sounding oddly foreign in the space between them. 'Jhaan brought it from the ship's stores only this eve.  It is cool.'

'Did I give you leave to address him as Jhaan?' he asked her. She glanced up.  'Did I give you leave to address him at all?'

'I..' She hesitated.  'I asked his name and he offered it as such.'

''He offered it as such, My Lord'.'

'He offered it as such, My Lord.'

'So you are able to follow instruction.' It was not a question but an observation.

'If it displeases you I shan't address him as such again, my lord.'

He stepped forward. 'You shan't address him at all unless I give you leave to do so, do you understand? He does not exist to you unless I deem it so, do you understand?'

She tried not to let her confusion show. 'I understand, My Lord.'

He smiled a very small, very cold smile.  'Do you?  Or do you merely pretend to understand my instructions until such times as you deem them no longer important?'

She swallowed, slowly.  He knew.  Of course, he knew.  What a fool she was to think that she could leave the camp and he would not find out.  She had two choices now; admit and hope for leniency or, deny and suffer the consequences. 

'Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to offend or disobey, I only—.'

'Enough, I am tired.' He snapped, waving his hand.  'It would be most welcome if you ceased wasting your breath on empty statements and promises you do not intend to keep. However if you ever have Jhaan carry out any part of your duties again, I will find a befitting forfeiture for you both. This, I assure you, is no empty statement.' His eyes were dark with promise.  'Now pour the wine, that is if you think you can manage the task without assistance?'

The relief flooded through her body. He was angry she had allowed Jhaan to assist with her duties, not because she had left the camp. She let out a breath and moved to pour him some wine, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the goddess.  She would not allow Jhaan to be punished for helping her. This she would make sure of.

At his request, she plated up some of the steaming meat stew - which surprisingly did not smell as awful as she imagined it might - into a small bowl and refilled his wine cup which he had drained immediately.  He removed his own clothing this time, loosening off the solid steel breast and shoulder plates and heavy leg coverings, and dumping them at his feet. Wearing only a thin white loincloth to cover his modesty, he strode towards the food table. 'Put them outside - Jhaan will clean them.'

In two trips she carried his battle wear to the exit of the tent and arranged them in a neat pile.  Outside, the camp was lively, warriors and servants moving through it to destinations unknown. She glanced at the huge silent Varveh which did not appear to be chained up in the makeshift stable, it merely stood, ready and waiting to serve its master.

When she returned to him he was cleaning his hands in the small basin.  She watched as he washed his hands thoroughly, scraping the blood and dirt from beneath his black claws with all the concentration of a jewel maker.  He dried off his hands and lifted the bowl of stew she had prepared, and began using his fingers to lift the food into his mouth.

He set down the empty bowl, which she refilled from the steaming pot without being asked and drained his wine in one mouthful before sliding it across to her to be refilled again.  As he fed, he acted mainly as though she were not there, not looking at her as he took the refilled bowl or cup, ignoring her audience entirely as he feasted loudly and hungrily on the stew and wine.  

When he had had enough, he turned his back cast aside the cloth and climbed into the large scented basin. Fara set about clearing the food away; piling the empty stew pot, bowl, and jug onto a wooden serving tray before carrying it to the exit of the tent.  When she nudged it open this time she found Jhaan waiting on the other side.  She tried to meet his eye but he kept his eyes low as he took the tray, turning away wordlessly to carry it off.

A small tiny pinprick of loneliness pierced her chest but she brushed it aside and let the flap of the tent fall closed. 

When she turned back she found Theodan watching her, his dark eyes suspicious and narrow.  She stood straighter and crossed back to the small table where a second wine jug sat.  She lifted it and refilled his cup.  She wondered how many jugs it would require to make him intoxicated. He was large and the wine was too sweet to be strong she thought. The scent of it as it hit the air was pungent and it tickled the inside of her nose as she poured it.  She set the jug down on the serving table and crossed to hand him the cup, then she moved to stand behind him. She clasped her hands in front and stared straight ahead at the thick black hair of his head and awaited further instruction. Much like the Varveh outside. 

As she stood there the heated scent of the basin and the small fire started to spread.  Slow and unnoticeable at first, soon it was all around her; the sweet soothing scent of the oil scented bath being dragged lazily through the air. It wrapped itself around her like ribbons of lace; draping and looping themselves across her body, around her throat, her wrists, through her fingers.  Her eyes began to feel heavy, her breathing slowing, her bones softening.  She could not be certain, but it felt as though she lost herself to sleep for a few moments while stood there. 

His voice cut through the warm syrup-like air and woke her senses.

'I would have you where I can see you.' His voice also sounded thick with sleep, as though he too were affected by the air of the tent.  She wondered about the quality of the oil then, given to her in a small ornate jug by Jhaan along with the instruction to 'use it liberally in the commander's bath', it smelled not unlike the salve he had used on her back earlier. Did it soothe the mind as it soothed the body? 

As though in a trance, she moved slowly around the basin and cane to stand by the opposite end, facing him.   Too large for the steel frame of the bath, his legs were bent at the knee and spread apart. He watched her through them keenly while he sipped his wine. 

She lowered her eyes to stare at the ground.  Partly as she did not like the look in them - the dark glaze that shone back no longer gave her hope or illuminated a path to freedom, it made the blood in her veins quicken with fear.  And partly, as her head felt heavy upon her neck.  Too heavy.   

'Who are you?' he asked quietly. 

Her body spasmed with fright, much like the moment where the body is perched on the very edge of sleep and the mind pulls it back to wakefulness with force.  She could not stop the speed with which her head snapped up, but she tried not to let her terror show in her voice. 

'I... I do not understand my lord?'

'You understand perfectly. Who are you?' his expression remained the same; malignant, dark, all-seeing. 

She stared at him, a desperate pulsating beneath her cheek now, her fingernails, in the base of her spine.  She dug her fingernails harder into the palms of her hands.  Her body trembled.  Like the flicker of a dying candle. 

'I am Cassine, claimed by Theodan of Leoth. I serve him as my master and wear his name in testament to my duty.' 

His eyes did not change, so unconvinced and unimpressed by her oath was he.  He lifted his cup and drank, keeping his eyes on hers.  It took a degree of strength to hold his stare, but she knew it would enforce her oath if she could, so she did.  

Theodan lowered his cup.  'No, Cassine, that is not who you are.  That is who I have commanded you to be. I ask about who you are,' He said.  'Perhaps, my question should have been: who were you before?' She stared at him still, uncertain of whether this was a trick and whether he knew, or something else entirely. He sighed and gestured out with his hand. 'You worked at the palace of King Sylvan? Tell me how you came to be there.'

A rush of relief, loud as a flock of birds in flight, soared through her.  He did not know. Of course, he did not. If he knew then would he be asking questions as he soaked in his bath? No. Sense told her this. If he knew then he would be dragging her before the Zybar King and claiming his reward.  Of course, he did not know. 

So, she would create some alternate history for herself and make him believe it. Maybe if she lied well enough, she might even believe it herself.   In her mind, she thought of Nara, a kitchenmaid from Calate who had been born in the castle kitchen itself; her mother and father had been in the employ of her father for many years.  Nara, a small, sparrow-like girl who Fara had thought was not mute until one day she'd happened upon her singing in the apple garden, had fallen in love with the kennel hand and both had gone into the mountains to rear cattle and sheep and children of their own.  Fara had envied her more than she would ever know.  

'My mother was a kitchenhand, and my father worked in the stables - he was one of the Kings most favoured horse masters. I was brought into the Queen's service on my twelfth name day.'

He said nothing for a long moment, watching her closely, dark eyes narrow with interest.  'You tended horses with your father?'

'On occasion.  When I was not at my duties.'

'What duties were they?  How exactly did you serve the Queen?' The note in his tone was dubious, as though he had noticed her skills as a servant were not quite as sufficient as they should be. A fact which would not have escaped the notice of a Queen's household either. 

'I was a seamstress of the royal wardrobe.  I have small hands.' He appeared slightly amused at this.  'I learned the skill when I was a child.'

'Siblings?'

She emptied Cassi and Valdr from her mind.

'One brother. Older by six years.'

This displeases him.  She thinks.  Or perhaps it is disappointment, confusion - she does not know. Lies upon tricks upon deceit.  Who is winning she could not say. 

'Tell me of the Queen - she was a fair mistress?' He continued. 

'She treated all of her people fairly.'

'And the king?'

She hardened. 'Did not deserve to die as he did - he was a noble and kind ruler, a true son of Ethis.'

'He was a stubborn, idiotic fool,' he added, his voice not wavering from its cool calm. 'The Prince.  Tell me of him.'

His eyes went still as they watched for her reaction.  The knot in her chest turned hot - to anger and then pain - it rose to her throat and captured her breath, squeezing it tight.  She took a deep breath and let it flood her cheeks before it spilled down her arms to clench in her fists. Stone. Be stone. Be cold like searock and hard like stone.

'I will not talk to you of him.'

A flicker of something crossed his dark eyes.  'You will do as I command you.'

His eyes dropped to the collar and she wondered if maybe the inscription of his name meant he could force her to do this. She waited, silent, stubborn. Nothing happened.  She was not compelled. She remained silent. he spoke instead. 

'Were you in love with your prince, Cassine?  Is that why his death pained you so?' He asked, a cold indifference - not unlike Valdr's -  to his tone. 'I very much recall the way you looked at me in that throne room - I can see echoes of it now, burning there in those golden eyes.' She blinked, not wanting him to see anything in her eyes that she did not wish to show him. And she did not wish to show him that. Her pain. Her loss. Her stolen love.  'Yes, I think you loved him, your brave and noble prince.  I think you love him still. Why else would you desire my death so fervently you can almost taste it? Tell me, Cassine, does it taste sweet or bitter?' So soft was his voice, like that of a lover. 

She said nothing. Her breath was quiet and barely there.  Still like water.  Hard like stone.  Cold like searock.  She thought of nothing but him burning in the darkest pits of the farthest corner of the underworld for all eternity.  Please, Goddess. Hear my prayer.

The Leoth watched her all the while.  Ready. Waiting.  He had such a look on his face it was as though he knew. As though she did not require for her to speak for him to know. As though he were already inside her mind, as though he already knew everything she desired and had ever desired.

Moments passed. Many thousands of them she was sure.  

Then he drained his wine and stood up. 

His body blocked out the light from the sconces, casting a dark shadow over her, chilling her; it was the shadow of the monster he was.  She watched as he stepped gracefully out of the basin and wrapped a clean cloth around his lower body, not bothering to dry his dripping skin.

'Your temple burned to the ground today,' he said as he turned to her. 'It likely burns still.'  She felt the skin of her palm split apart from the force of her nails. Blood seeped out. Relief. 'The Zybar tore down the statues of your beloved Goddess and made your proud priests watch while they ravaged your priestesses.'

The tears rushed to her eyes as the surge of white-hot fury lifted her up off the ground to strike him.  She felt her nails catch his cheek as she struck out, words of fury and fire exploding from somewhere deep and dark and buried. Even as she hit him she knew, knew this would be punishable, that it would likely mean her death, but it did not stop her or calm her.  Fear could not contain this storm any longer.  She wanted him to bleed, to hurt in some small way, anything that would afford her some relief from the endless guilt and pain inside her. 

He did not strike back or command she stop. He let her blows land for a time before he caught her hands in his; small weak hands captured in strong large ones. She thought of how weak she had always been, of how acts had always been committed upon her, and not by her. How acts were always committed upon the weak by the strong.

She thought of Cassi and Galyn and even Saira.  Her hands bound, she opened her mouth and tried to use her teeth to bite at him. When she could not find any purchase she hissed and spat instead, vile words streaming from her tongue; words about his accursed race, about vengeance, about his dark devil god that had destroyed all of Ethis and ruined Azura. 

In her mind she saw nothing but the bleeding broken priestesses of Azura, white cloaks covered in Zybar filth, throats cut open by leoth nails, purity tore from their bodies. She saw Galyn in his golden armour, torn apart on the Palace floor.  She King Sylvan's head atop a metal spike fixed to his beloved horse as it rode up to the palace gates. She saw Valdr's black eyes, his mouth twisted with hatred, his soul a black pitiless void.

She felt something soft at her back and then he was above her.  His blood was red as it ran down from a cut in the apple of his sharp cheekbone, bright against his pale skin. No.  No. No. Leoth blood was black. She had always been certain of that.  They were not like the rest of Ethis. They were beasts.  Inhuman monsters.

Why wasn't he fighting her?  Why didn't he end her life as he had ended so many others?  Instead, the monster looked down at her with softness, that ever-present light in his eyes, a tiny flicker in the darkness, growing larger.  As she stared at it she felt the fight begin to leave her body, that same exhaustion falling over her, wrapping itself around her, soothing her, lulling her into submission.  She felt her hands drop to her sides suddenly too heavy to hold up.   

He hesitated a moment before reaching out slowly to brush her hair back from her face. His touch was shockingly tender.  She slapped his hand away and became suddenly aware of every part of his body in relation to her own.  He was pressed atop her, every movement she made pushing her body harder against his.  Her blood continued to swirl and rage, a storm contained inside her body, a body which trembled beneath his far more powerful one.

Then, before she had time to consider it or prevent it, he leaned down and kissed her.

She felt herself begin to fall as their lips touched, and as it fell, her body splintered apart, every part of it scattering far and wide in the darkness. She felt everything, every nerve, every vessel being lit up, pure bright tendrils of light, before being slowly pulled back together.  She was no longer a body, she was a million single nerves, each one with its match in him, and as he kissed her it seemed as though every nerve found it's other and rejoiced in the discovery. She was no longer here, or anywhere, she was simply falling with him, attached to him, endlessly. 

She felt nothing but him. Nothing but warmth and light; not her body or her mind or her soul.  No pain or fear or anger.  The kiss was boundless, endless, an eternity; every nerve of his entwined with every nerve of hers, as though it had always been this way, as though one had never or would ever exist without the other. 

She was thrown back into her body with a force, a sharp sensation which pulled her out of the warmth and back into herself.  He kissed her still, deep, long strokes of his tongue and lips as his body moved slowly against hers.  He tasted of honey and cream and wine and fruit and of everything wonderful she had ever tasted upon her tongue. 

She felt the sting again, sharper this time, and then a pulling sensation on her lip. Her lip began to sizzle, tiny sparks of pleasure spreading out from the sharpness as he sucked at it.  She felt a similar sensation between her legs, a pulling, a sparking - and then, as though he felt it too, he moaned deeply with pure pleasure.  The second sting against her lip was sharper and made her cry out. He pulled up from her mouth at once. 

His dark eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them, the darkness in them eclipsed completely by a glowing white light. As he blinked, the light began to dim, until it became that small flicker in the dark once more. His lips were red and a small trickle of blood seeped out from one side of his mouth. 

Breathless, and with hot sparks of pleasure still flaring between her legs, she lifted her hand to touch the blood seeping out from her own lip. She left it to slip down her face like a teardrop. 

As his gaze re-focussed on her mouth, hungry with desire, she lifted her hand and struck him hard across the face once more. Then she spat in it.