Eryshae

Eryshae

Ruwan

Preface

A word of caution.

This chapter treads in shadows where power twists and mercy is absent. Obedience is not freely given, and rebellion is punished. If such darkness unsettles you, turn back before the doors of House Eberflame open.

Shadows dined first in the Eberflame manor. Dark wood paneled the walls, its surface gleaming like still water under the flickering flames. The long table stretched beneath a velvet runner, crimson and soft as blood. At the head sat Durnan Eberflame; sharp-eyed, austere, and quiet as an executioner in prayer.

Ruwan lounged to his right, reclining with the ease of someone who knew precisely how much power he held; and how to use it.

The doors opened.

She entered with her head bowed. The red slip clung to her body like it was painted on, high slits teasing the curve of her thighs, the lines of her hips. Her hair was swept back, exposing the hollow of her throat, the slope of her shoulders. A servant, yes. But shaped for pleasure.

Victoria moved with practiced grace, bearing platters of smoked game fowl, roasted blackroot vegetables, and ash-glazed firefruit. She said nothing. She was not expected to. Ruwan watched her hips sway as she approached, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Finally," Durnan said, lifting his goblet. "Some dinner." Barely sparing Victoria a glance.

Ruwan gave him a sideways glance. "And all it cost was a whisper in the right ear."

Victoria reached for his plate. He didn't let her finish. His hand slid around her waist, yanking her down into his lap. She landed with a soft shiver, her breath catching as his arm curled possessively around her neck. The other hand wandered; along her thigh, over the slit of the slip, up the contour of her ribs. Her body reacted. Her breath deepened. Her pulse, he could feel it thudding against his forearm.

But then; a twitch. A subtle tightening in her spine. A flicker of something beneath the surface.

Rebellion.

His grip didn't waver. Instead, he trailed his fingers higher, grazing her breast through the silk. She shivered, then melted again, the resistance vanishing like mist.

"Still well-trained," Durnan said, watching her with mild interest. "She listens better than most Cardinals," Ruwan said, his voice low. "Acquiring her from Serene Liri was the right move."

"A spectacular move," Durnan replied, slicing into his meat. "Blackmailing Serene with her own daughter? Brutal. Elegant." He lifted his goblet and studied Victoria.

"Isn't that right, Victoria Liri?"

Her eyes lowered. She nodded. Her blush wasn't shame. Not exactly. It was heat and humiliation tangled together, twisted into submission.

They ate. As knives scraped over porcelain and wine filled their goblets, they spoke of politics and power as casually as some men discussed weather. "The Water faction's crumbling, Lady Nerine would see them falter." Durnan said.

"Let them falter, Thorian will back Lady Nerine anyway." Ruwan answered, stroking Victoria's inner thigh. "Serene still holds sway. Let her win the vote. She's ours now and the Eberflame brand is already scorched into her pride."

"And should she forget," Durnan mused, "we send her daughter's tongue in a glass box." Victoria didn't flinch. Not outwardly. But her hand trembled slightly as she refilled Ruwan's plate.

Ruwan finally released her, patting her head like a pet's. "Fetch the dark spiced rum, Victoria." She rose. Her slip shifted high across her hips, and she didn't bother to adjust it. Her steps were silent, trained.

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Victoria returned with the decanter. Behind her lowered eyes, a faint flicker stirred; a spark, perhaps. Small. But still alive.

Victoria poured the rum with steady hands, though the air between her and Ruwan still vibrated with what had just passed. She bent low to fill his goblet first, the scent of spice and citrus curling in the candlelit air. The neckline of her slip gaped slightly as she leaned in, and Ruwan allowed himself one final caress; a drag of his knuckles along the soft underside of her breast; before he took the goblet from her hand.

Durnan raised his glass. "To House Eberflame; and quiet conquest." Ruwan clinked his goblet to his father's.

"Stay," he said, voice like velvet dragged across a blade. She obeyed instantly, kneeling beside his chair with her hands folded in her lap, back straight, head bowed.

Durnan watched her for a moment, then returned to the matter at hand. "Serene Liri will push for the Western Cardinal's vote. Her influence still sways the weak."

Ruwan sipped the rum, letting the warmth bloom across his tongue before replying. "Let her push. It gives her the illusion of agency. The more desperate she becomes, the more tightly we'll grip the reins."

"And the others?" Durnan asked. "The East votes as we command. Ocean City drifts as ever; neutral for now, but tide and coin turn quickly. The real variable is the Hollowshade family."

Durnan snorted. "Relics and incense. They'll bend the knee when the coins hit the altar." Ruwan's fingers trailed down to Victoria's shoulder, lazily stroking her collarbone. "And if they don't… we remind them what fire does to hollow things."

Durnan grunted in approval. They lapsed into silence for a while, broken only by the soft clink of goblets and the occasional scrape of a knife. Victoria remained motionless, the perfect ornament; silent, obedient, beautiful.

But Ruwan watched her from the corner of his eye. He saw it. That flicker again. That ember beneath the ash.

It intrigued him. He reached down, curling a hand into her hair, gently this time. Almost tender. Her breath caught. "You're quiet tonight, Victoria," he murmured. "Do you tire of silence?" Her lips parted. No sound came.

Durnan chuckled. "She wouldn't dare speak. Would you, girl?" Victoria shook her head slowly. Ruwan leaned down until his lips brushed her ear. "Perhaps we should test the limits of your silence later."

She shivered. Durnan smiled. Then straightened, turning back to Ruwan. "Three days until the vote. The moment Serene steps into the light, we tighten the noose."

"And if she resists?" Ruwan asks as his fingertips trail lower down Victoria's hips. Durnan drained his goblet. "Then the daughter suffers, and Serene will be brought into the fold, willingly or not." Victoria didn't move. Not a flinch. Not a breath. But Ruwan saw it again; deep in her, like a coal refusing to die. And it pleased him.

He set his goblet down and stood, drawing her up with him by the hair. "Dinner's over," he said. "Leave the mess. Come." She followed, barefoot and silent, the hem of her slip whispering against her thighs.

Durnan raised his goblet once more. "To the fire that consumes all things." Ruwan didn't look back. He already knew it would burn.

Ruwan said nothing as he led her from the dining hall. Fingers tangled in her hair, he guided her through the candlelit corridors of the Eberflame manor. The grip was firm; not cruel, but absolute. Her bare feet padded over polished obsidian floors, the hem of her red slip whispering with each obedient step.

They reached the double doors at the end of the hall. Darkwood carved with the Eberflame crest. He pushed them open.

The bedroom was vast and severe, blackstone columns, velvet drapes heavy as blood, a bed wrought in iron and shadow. At the center, a raised dais waited like a stage. Ruwan guided her there and released her with a quiet command.

"Stay."

She knelt at once. Perfect posture. Head bowed. Silent.

He lingered a moment, the smell of leather filling the air, studying her, then crossed to the far wall where an array of implements gleamed in the firelight. He let his fingers brush over leather straps, ropes, and steel. Finally, he chose a slender riding crop. He didn't strike her with it; instead he carried it back like an emblem, resting it across his hand as he stood before her.

The tip lifted her chin. "Look at me."

Her gaze flickered upward, just for a heartbeat, before sliding away.

Ruwan smiled faintly. Not displeased. More intrigued. He traced the crop along her collarbone and down her arm, a silent reminder, a promise of consequence, before withdrawing and lowering himself into a throne-like chair by the bed. He sat in easeful command, the crop resting across his lap.

"Serve me," he said. His voice was low, velvet edged in iron.

Victoria rose and moved toward him with careful grace. Each step measured, drilled into ritual. She sank to her knees again before him, waiting. The silence pressed heavy between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire.

Ruwan watched her. Studied her. A creature bent, but not broken, not fully. He saw it again: the ember beneath the ash.

He reached out, curling his fingers briefly into her hair, gentler this time. Almost tender. "You're quiet," he murmured. "Does obedience bore you?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

The crop tapped once against his palm, sharp in the stillness. "Careful," he said, almost softly. "Defiance burns hotter than devotion. And fire… always consumes."

Her breath caught. She bowed her head lower. And still, he smiled, because he had seen it: not surrender, but the spark of resistance.

It pleased him. The ember had not died. And that, more than obedience, was what would keep him warm.