Eryshae

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Durnan

Durnan popped open the top buttons of his embroidered shirt, slow and deliberate. His pale chest glimmered faintly in the candlelight. The gesture wasn't one of comfort; it was a performance, designed to assert dominance and set the tempo of the night.

With a casual flick of his fingers, he gestured toward her. "Remove it," he said. Serene didn't move at first. But her face gave nothing away. Then, in a single practiced motion, she unclasped the ornate cloak from her shoulders. It slipped down her arms and fell to the floor with a heavy whisper, the silver trim pooling around her boots like spilled moonlight. Durnan watched, eyes glinting with something darker than hunger.

He stepped forward, the air between them hot with silence, and with practiced, almost reverent fingers, undid the buttons on the back of her dress.

Each one echoed louder than the last.

One.

Two.

Three.

When he finished, he let the fabric breathe, unfastened but untouched. Then stepped back. He crossed the room, took a seat at his grand obsidian desk, and poured himself a generous cup of dark rum, the amber liquid catching fire in the low light.

Serene stood still, arms crossed tightly over the front of her dress, keeping it from slipping off her shoulders. She wasn't trembling. Not yet. But her grip was firm; not to hide, but to hold on.

Durnan drank slowly, watching her as if memorizing the silence between her breaths. "Now," he said softly, "let's talk about how obedience keeps daughters alive."

Serene breathed in slowly, gathering the shards of composure that had served her through every council debate, every courtly intrigue, every lie she'd had to swallow for the sake of power. She kept her voice smooth. Calm. Almost curious. "You've already won, Durnan," she said, eyes fixed not on him, but on the carved lion's head of his desk. "You have my vote. My attention. And if you were clever, you'd ask for something more lasting. Something public."

He said nothing. Just watched her, that small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he sipped his drink. She continued, taking a tentative step forward. The dress stayed up, barely. "Isn't it more satisfying to control the Cardinal from the floor of the Chamber? From the eyes of the people? What is this; this moment; compared to the power of perception?"

Still, silence. She shifted again, letting the weight of her voice drop; lower, darker. "You won't get away with hurting Victoria forever. Eventually, someone will notice. And when they do;"

"You'll what?" Durnan asked, cutting her off, voice silk over razors. "Declare war? Cry at the pulpit? Beg your priest for absolution?" He rose from his chair, placing the untouched glass of rum on the desk. Her breath caught as he stepped in front of her; so close she could smell the oil in his hair and the burn of his cologne.

"You've spent so long rehearsing how to sound powerful," he murmured. "But not for a moment learning how to listen… and obey." Serene's mouth opened to reply, but he reached up first, his fingers sliding into her hair; gentle and slow. It was almost tender.

Almost.

But she knew better.

He gathered a section and twisted it around his fingers, studying it like a precious thing. Like a leash. "You were born to command, Serene," he whispered, brushing her temple with his knuckles. "But you rose through my mercy. And tonight…" His voice dipped lower. "…you stay aloft for my pleasure."

He stepped back, admiring her silhouette. She held his gaze, stiff and unmoving, but her heart was thunder in her ribs. She had tried to twist the knife. He had taken it and sharpened it instead.

The fire in the hearth cracked softly, casting slow-turning shadows against the high walls of Durnan's chamber. Gold trim caught the light like glinting teeth; on the velvet curtains, on the carved edge of the desk, and on the gilded glass in his hand, slow-rolling with rum the color of blood and honey.

Serene stood still, the thick weight of her cloak pooled around her feet. Her arms crossed over her chest, hands gripping the neckline of her dress, holding it in place. Defensive. Poised. Unyielding.

The room was warm. Too warm. Scented with burning cedar, spiced tobacco, rum, and the sharp edge of polished leather. Durnan took a slow sip and leaned back, letting the silence stretch until it frayed at the edges.

"You wear fear well, Cardinal," he said at last. "It wraps around you tighter than silk."

She tilted her chin. "What is it you want, Durnan? Beyond the pretense. You've had power for years; why now?" His mouth curved, amused. "Because now, you have power too. And I prefer not to be alone at the top."

He rose with unhurried grace and stepped toward her, the click of his boots softened by the thick Aubellan carpets. He circled her like a predator deciding whether to pounce or toy.

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"A partner at court," he murmured, "a possession in private." Then, gently, he ran his fingers through her hair. His thumb traced behind her ear. Her breath caught despite herself.

"You're a beautiful woman, Serene. But more than that… you are dangerous. That's why I want you." He came closer. She could feel his breath at her temple. "But only if you choose it." The question hovered. His hand fell away, resting instead on the desk.

Seconds dragged. Serene's heart thundered; not with desire, but calculation, memory, dread. Victoria's face flashed behind her eyes. The girl's cold stare in the ornate hall. The trap already sprung. She swallowed. Lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Yes."

The word emerged on a breath; measured, controlled. Not to submit; but to survive long enough to act. Durnan smiled. Victorious. Satisfied.

The screen offered only a sliver of privacy, yet Serene stepped behind it as if it were a sanctuary. She worked methodically, unfastening her gown fully. She hung it neatly, smoothing the fine stitching.

She stared at the sapphire slip draped on the hook. A gift; or a demand. Sapphire: the color of loyalty. As if that could be stitched into her. She slipped it on with grace, the cool silk gliding over her skin like riverwater at dusk. It clung where she wished it didn't. Still, when she emerged, her spine was straight, her eyes unreadable.

Durnan watched from the desk. He didn't rise. He didn't need to. The air between them shifted; like heavy curtains had just been drawn closed behind her. She stepped forward with the poise of a performer. Inside, her thoughts whirled; Victoria's eyes. The way she looked at me. Like I was already lost. Am I?

"I must say," she said softly, calm as a still lake, "I never imagined my first night as Cardinal would end in a private audience like this." Durnan swirled the rum. "Power changes the shape of a person's world. Doors open. Curtains part. Old debts come due." Serene tilted her head. "And tonight? Am I here to pay a debt... or to learn what the price will be going forward?"

Silence. Then Durnan stood.

He approached slowly; not like a predator, but like a man who knew he owned the room, the rules, the future. He stopped just short of her, gaze traveling over her like a draft: too light to feel, too cold to ignore.

Then, with one hand, he slid his fingers firmly around her neck. "You ask the right questions," he murmured. "But questions delay nothing." Serene didn't flinch. But her breath caught; not from fear, not from want, but from clarity. The illusion of control slipping like ash from a burned treaty.

She had walked in armored in diplomacy. Now she wore silk and silence, and the blade was no longer hers. She had tried to stall. She had tried to frame this as politics. But Durnan wasn't playing politics tonight. He was making a point. And she was the parchment he meant to sign it on.

Still, her voice remained even. "Then speak plainly, Durnan. What do you truly desire?" He leaned in, almost gently, and whispered: "To see if you'll break. To know what it sounds like when the Cardinal gasps." His hand didn't move lower, but the weight of his presence pressed down like a command. A test. A challenge.

She didn't look away. Instead, she drew a breath sharp as flint, and with it came her reply: "You'll never hear me shatter. Only shift." A flicker crossed his expression; curiosity, or respect. Maybe both. Then it vanished. He stepped back, slowly, and lifted his glass again. "Is that so?."

Durnan's eyes darkened to molten obsidian as he closed the scant space between them, his presence engulfing her like a storm-swelled sea. The air thickened with the scent of spiced tobacco and aged rum, mingling with the crisp cedar burning low in the hearth, crafting an intoxicating haze around them. His breath was warm against her skin, the subtle musk of leather and cologne seeping into her senses like a promise too tempting to resist.

His fingers, calloused yet careful, traced the sharp line of her spine, sending a shiver rippling through her skin. He followed the path up to her neck, where the pulse beat quick and fierce beneath the delicate flesh, and his touch was at once possessive and reverent; like he was cataloging a rare treasure he both worshipped and sought to claim.

She is fire and ice all at once, his thoughts burned behind his dark gaze. A tempest wrapped in silk, defiant even now, daring me to break her. To own her. "You wear defiance like armor," he murmured, voice thick with something darker, more urgent. "But even the strongest steel bends beneath the right pressure."

His mouth ghosted along her throat, lips feather-light and cruelly slow, igniting a fire that seared through the careful calm she wore like a second skin. The faint rasp of his breath, the teasing brush of his tongue, made her pulse stutter, breath hitch.

Her hands, trembling with a mix of resistance and want, rose to press against his chest. She felt the taut muscle beneath the pale fabric, the rapid beat of his heart pounding as fiercely as her own. She should pull away, hold fast to the control she'd carved from a thousand battles. But instead, she leaned in, drawn by a force she could neither name nor fight.

Durnan's hands moved with deliberate urgency, slipping down to cradle her waist, pulling her into the full heat of his body. The embroidered silk of his shirt was cool against her palms, but the warmth beneath burned relentless and unyielding. He bent his head, lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that was both claim and surrender; fierce, demanding, intoxicating.

"You belong to me tonight," he whispered between kisses, voice rough with need and possession. Her breath hitched as his hands traced the curve of her ribs, fingers tightening with possessive hunger. The weight of his body pressed against hers, anchoring, challenging, promising dominion and protection in equal measure.

Serene's lips parted, a soft sigh escaping as she tangled her fingers in the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still. The silk of her dress slid further down her arms, exposing pale, trembling shoulders to the firelight's hungry gaze. The faintest tremor ran through her; not fear, but something far more potent: desire laced with defiance.

She is a storm I want to weather, Durnan thought, every breath of her intoxicating him more than the strongest rum. Her beauty is a blade; sharp, dangerous. And I am foolish enough to want to bleed for it.

His mouth traveled lower, leaving a trail of fire across her collarbone, down the hollow of her throat. He caught the swell of her breast in one hand, fingers curling possessively, nails just grazing the sensitive skin. She shivered beneath his touch, caught between trembling surrender and the steel of her will. She felt herself sinking deeper into his web.

"You're mine," he growled, lips brushing hers again, breath ragged. "No one else will have you. No one else will touch what I've claimed." Her eyes, dark and fierce, met his in the firelight; a challenge, a warning. But beneath the steel, a spark of surrender glimmered. Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Then prove it," she breathed, voice thick with promise and fire. Durnan's hands tightened on her waist, fingers digging in as if to tether her to him, to this moment. "Oh, I will," he promised, voice low and fierce. "And when I'm done, you'll know exactly who holds the power."

Time slowed, the world shrinking to the sound of their breath, the slick heat of skin on skin, the electric charge of dominance and desire sparking between them. She pressed her body closer, matching his hunger, her heart a wild drumbeat echoing in the dark. And as the fire cracked and shadows danced against the walls, Durnan knew with fierce certainty:

She was his; body, mind, and will.

And he would never let her go.