Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

The night was full of stars, and Alnam’s soul was full of doubt and elation. He had tried something similar with Leira – without enough knowledge, and blind to her cruelty. But this boy, this poor toy, was weaker. More vulnerable. And Lorian had taken him past the point of no return.

Perhaps he was risking everything again. The human might still betray him, just as Leira had. But Alnam’s life was already over, he breathed vengeance now, not air. The thick aura of Dal’coler no longer filled his lungs; he had rejected it, as he had rejected Lorian’s rule.

Noli had said Leira disappeared into her chamber an hour ago. He hoped she was asleep. If not, and she was waiting for her lord, all the better, Lorian would be occupied.

Elation. And doubt. Mixed together, they tasted like rot.

He shapeshifted. Leira’s skin felt alien – not like Lorian’s, which repulsed him – but alien in another way. It reminded him of his despair. Of how empty he had been. How empty he still was. 

He touched a round ear. Light hair fell on his shoulder, soft and betraying; still familiar after all these years. One night had made her part of him.

He was a fool. A broken fool, too bound to his doom, to his undoing, to turn away.

Perhaps both of them – Lorian and Leira – ran through his veins now, darkening his blood with nightfall.
But it didn’t matter. He still had strength, enough to ruin Lorian’s plans – whatever they were.

This human boy would be the first step.

And… there would be others.

His heart beat faster as he passed through the royal wing of the fortress. Every step felt way too loud. He half-expected Lorian to emerge from the shadows, eyes like deepest void, voice like soft silk.

Sometimes Alnam felt Lorian truly saw everything – not merely through his web of spies, but through something deeper, darker. A gift and a curse. A way of peeling the soul’s skin without touching it. If Alnam still had anything to lose, this power would terrified him.

Two lower fae guarded the human’s door. They looked at him with lazy amusement, their large green eyes glimmering like moonlit ponds.

“Is it time to feed him?” one purred.

“We don’t see the bowl, girl,” said the other, smiling with too many teeth.

“Or do you want to play with him too?”

If they knew…

“The king wanted me to look after him,” Alnam said, imitating Leira’s voice. The words tasted false in his mouth – because they were. Still, he smiled, with Leira’s lips.

“Indeed,” one of the fae said. “He was about to collapse.”

“Wipe away his tears, girl,” the other added. “Feed him with compassion.”

Their laughter sounded in perfect unison – so sickeningly melodious.

Alnam had caused pain before. To humans Lorian invaded. To Seelie who refused to bend their backs. He had never regretted it. That was the nature of war. War was not noble, it was starvation, sacrifice, pain. It devoured everything, it’s hunger not quenched; an unstoppable force.

And it had shown Alnam his own heart.

Under Marnsul’s peaceful reign, he could pretend, leaned back on silken cushions, talking to a crowned friend. But Lorian had stripped away all illusion. He hadn’t just driven Alnam into despair – he had put light on him. Pulled it from his chest like a precious, rare jewel. And for that, Alnam hated him most of all.

And it was the one thing he had no right to hate him for.

But he had never been sadistic. His dark deeds had always been a matter of need, not pleasure. He took no joy from screams. Now…

… he was simply hollow.

The guards let him pass. His boots – soft leather ones, high and lean, made from Karaman skin – sounded silently against the stone floor. Noli had ordered them from an unsuspecting sprite cobbler, along with servant’s clothing close enough to Leira’s to fool a broken man.

He wouldn’t take risks. Not here. Not now. The boy might be too far destroyed to notice, but Alnam didn’t believe in relying on his weakness.

The room wasn’t a dungeon, but it served the same purpose. No chains, no torture devices.  Just thick walls, holding misery inside.

The boy lay curled on the bed, muscles twitching under pale skin. He didn’t move as Alnam approached. He was crying.

Leira’s form moved closer. Alnam reached out a hand.

The boy shivered, before he touched him. His wide, reddened eyes opened, full of things Alnam hated to see.

Despair. Pain. Fear.

But not surrender.

The boy’s hand shifted down instinctively, shielding himself. A cruel echo of Dal’coler’s customs.

“What do you want?” he rasped. His voice was rough, but defiant. “Is this what your monster lord wants now? Another beautiful round?”

“He is not my lord,” Alnam said. The lie was heavy. The beginning of many.

The boy laughed. His body still trembled.

“He is. Isn’t he lord of all here? And you’re human. Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re his toy, just like me. But maybe you like it. Maybe you like being useful.”

The words struck a thread in Alnam and awaken a memory, one he would prefer to stay untouched. To the time before his vengeance. When he had nearly ended his own life, hoping to follow Narlia into death as disease ravaged the Shadowlands. When his pain had been too empty to hold onto.

And later, when revenge became his breath. When Lorian became the only food left. Food for his open veins, to fill them with false fulfillment.

“I must be,” he murmured. “What other chance would I have here? But he is not my lord. And never will be.”

The boy’s eyes studied him – exhausted, and red. He wanted to believe him. But belief needed something he no longer had.

“Here,” Alnam eventually said, “humans are only as alive as they are useful. Toys die. Tools live.”

“Then go be useful,” the boy sneered. “You can’t help me. Even if you wanted to. And you don’t.”

“I can and I will. If you don’t let him break you, I’ll find a way. I did before.”

Empty words. Hollow as everything else. Leira would never speak them. And yet they passed through her lips.

The boy’s eyes dimmed even more. Suspicion dulled the spark in them. Trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Alnam sat beside him. The boy recoiled instinctively. Of course he did. Leira was Lorian’s creature. No kindness could erase that.

The Brusha on his bare chest watched him, its stretched, human-like face, twisted in joy. It seemed to mock him.

Try all you want, it seemed to say. You will fail. You will swallow yourself.

“You’re stronger than I thought,” Alnam said, voice soft.

“You thought I’d break?” the boy asked with dark amusement. “Is that what you want? Is this your role now? Comfort after cruelty?”

“You don’t know what my role is.”

“I don’t care,” the boy said, though his voice changed, a tone higher. “You’re just another cruel joke.”

Alnam felt the words touch something inside him. He had once thought revenge would matter. That it would hurt Lorian, burn a mark in him, like he had burned it in himself.

Now it was more a spark of justice in this deranged world.

The boy stared at him; intensely and quietly. Crimson eyes dug into Leira’s mask.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice raw.

Alnam froze.

A chill ran down his spine – not from fear, but from something close to awe.

He knew.

Somehow – without magic – the boy knew.

And Alnam could no longer be sure it was only a human he was dealing with.

“You are not her,” the boy said, a coarse, muffled laugh coming from his throat. “She felt different. You… you are full of frozen forests.” His eyes narrowed, gleaming with suspicion. “You are another punishment. Or a mirage sent to torment me.”

Leira’s full lips curled into a half-smile.

“I am not your enemy,” Alnam said. His voice was calm, but his pulse betrayed him, racing faster with each word.

He sensed it. He sensed his mask – but still not his good will. Maybe because it was not existent; he still wanted to use this boy in his own plans.

There was something about this man, something not completely mortal. Perhaps this was why Lorian had him. Why he had been locked away.

“If you wait,” Alnam added, “I will prove it.”

The boy spat, and the warm saliva landed on his simple clothes. Alnam looked down at it, and almost laughed. Of course. In Dal’coler, there were no allies. No kindness without price, no mercy without motive.

To the boy, this was just another cruelty. Another twist in the game. A touch of hope meant only to be crushed later, and harder.

But Alnam would not stop.

He was persistent.

Just like Lorian.

But unlike Lorian, he still had something within him. Something sharp and mad.

A goal.

A desperate, hopeless goal. It was the marrow of his bones now.

And beneath it, even deeper – a dream of death. Not as an end.

But as a release.

His jaw clenched, hard. His teeth pressed together as he watched the cruel spectacle Lorian was putting on for his new toy. He was no stranger to ruthless behaviour, he had been ruthless many times, it was the way of his kind and the rules of the game in Dal’coler – in all of Ain’asel. But he never took pleasure in it, while Lorian… he bathed in pain. Lorian’s face glowed with a sick light, blooming with satisfaction and joy.

His heart beat only a tone faster, his eyes burned with emerald flame.

Lorian’s court was made of frozen hearts. They followed him, they feasted with him, they listened to his commands and they rejoiced with him. While Alnam’s misplaced soul was caught between them, like a fish trapped in nets at the bottom of the sea. He could try to break free, but he would only draw the nets tighter around him. And the fisherman was waiting to pull him out and feast on him while his lungs begged for air.

He could only watch.

Watch as Leira assisted Lorian with a sparkle in her eyes. With that expression on her round face that didn’t suit her features. She was as out of place as he was, yet she chose to join the ravens. Black raven feathers and pitiless emptiness. He could almost see wings sprouting from her back, an illusion that was much more real. She wanted so much to be like the Fae… and her eyes became almost as empty as those of the lesser folk. Not empty… but devoid of compassion and mercy.

Leira… who should be dead… but somehow wasn’t. Vern’ese’s family was now on their estate, far from Dal’coler. He didn’t help them. They were not only endangering themselves. Leira was still the woman he had admired in the past. He knew she had drifted away from who she was – and his heart should do the same – but he still felt her beneath him, still heard her moaning. After thirty years.

He didn’t know how Vern’ese’s plans had failed. But here his connection to them ended. If Lorian knew… he still wondered what was between Leira and him. If he is capable of showing her affection in any way other than physical pleasure. If he could love. But… if he did, the Vern’ese line would come to an end.

And he won’t be dragged down with them.

He had too much to do in Dal’coler.

He was present at all the celebrations, like any member of the court, whenever he returned to Dal’coler. He was aware that his status kept him safe – without him, the court would turn into cliques, fighting each other for his property and power. That his position is almost untouchable and that he still influences the realm – that, and only that, made him come back here and look into Lorian’s pitch-black eyes. But also – that Lorian deliberately exposes him to his most sadistic whims. He would respect him for that, if it wasn’t turned against him.

The human tore the slave woman’s womb apart, staining her face with his tears. What was Lorian trying to achieve? If he repeats such games, this boy’s soul will be torn as well. He will be useless, even as a toy. Perhaps Lorian was already so deranged – and so bored – that he craved this man’s broken mind and despair on another, madder level. For nothing could satisfy his hunger.

But… … no. Alnam – for all the hatred that burned dully in his chest – would never call Lorian insane. His mind was still sharp. Perhaps it had turned in the wrong direction, perhaps it craved things Alnam had long ago rejected, and subjected them to his cruel schemes. But he was no fool.

When the boy had finished his horrible fucking, the guards pulled him forcefully from the bloody mess that was the dead Noyda. He clung to her as if she would come back to life if he wanted her to. If he could channel his own life force into her and somehow bring her back. His body shook and his spiked member dripped with fresh blood.

And then, as he struggled in the strong grip of the lower faeries, Alnam saw it.

Brusha.

Brusha, carved just below the boy’s heart, in his skin. Not a fresh wound. An old one, slightly spread and not quite clear. But it was Lorian’s mark. He would recognise it even on his deathbed. A mark that burned itself into his mind, just as it had burned itself into the boy’s skin – when they took his son to his chambers, with a royal banner draped over him. Burned into his pupils as he uncovered Corvel, to see him – still alive, so mutilated that Alnam could see the pulsing veins and the white bones. And the black smoke billowing from his limbs. Blind eyes. His gargling moans…

Alnam felt his world grow whiter. Clearer. He couldn’t put his finger on what that meant – why and how that brusha had been placed on this man’s skin… it was small, almost invisible… but a shapeshifter’s eyes were always as sharp as a polished blade.

Would Lorian be so careless as to open himself up to gossip?

Then why didn’t he hide this mark? Was it irrelevant?

He couldn’t act quickly without knowing what it meant. And how he could use that fact in his own game.

*

Waiting.

Something he was used to. Patience grew in him like a parasite, dulling the rush so typical of the Fae. Lorian had always been patient, and Alnam, involuntarily, adapted it and made it his own. They both learned from their victories and mistakes, and took what was best.

Patience was a natural state of mind when dealing with Lorian Ain’dal. Quick action would lead to a fall.

He watched the human boy through the eyes of his servant, Noli. She wasn’t spying; he couldn’t force himself to risk her life like that. She was just always in the right place at the right time. And always close to him, and he was aware that she somehow sensed his pain and tried to ease it, for whatever reason. Her silent attention didn’t bother him, nor did he feel offended by it. But no one could heal his heart. It was closed to sensations, to love – but unfortunately not to emotions. They brewed inside him, and her every act of care, no matter how small, reminded him of what he had lost and what he would never have.

He could take her to bed. He could let her try. Try to clear the storm cloud that hung over his head every day and every night. But it would be futile, a lie, a cruel game – more like what Lorian would do – use a human and then turn to another.

After Leira, he stopped seeing humans as a nuisance, as simpler beings. She proved to him that they reacted in the same way as Fae… and could become very much like them, under the right pressure… or under careful influence. He couldn’t look at them as other courtiers did, not anymore. Which stripped him even more of the usual confidence he had woven around himself.

But he couldn’t love. And he couldn’t pretend to love. That would be against his morals. Against his being.

She stood beside him, a light scent of lilac in her hair. Her robes were white, like those of all his servants. Her eyes were narrow and filled with an inner flame. How easy it would be to simply allow. Allow her to unburden his soul, at least for one night. Allow himself to forget. Push the pain down and replace it with joy. If only for a moment.

He couldn’t though bear any more lies in this palace of false promises and cruel longing. Winter shackled his limbs… but not his heart. Even if it became cold as snow.

She revealed that Leira was often seen entering the room where Lorian kept his new plaything. To bring him water and food. Alnam wondered why her. Lorian could use any lesser fairy. He learned long ago that Leira was not used to such trivial tasks.

The answer was one.

This man was important to Lorian. And the Brusha under his heart… was not a sign to be taken lightly.

An idea began to form in his mind. Risky, but like everything he had done so far.

And wonderfully just.

Tiyan was pushed under the feet of the Unseelie King. Lorian’s gaze, sharp as daggers lay on him, with an amused glint it pinned the boy to the ground. He was surrounded by human women, who were pressing to his sides, looking at Tiyan with grim interest. They seem completely pleased with their presence here – or would they be if not fleeting signs of fear, which observant eyes could catch if looked deeper and more insistently. Fear… and love. Something Tiyan experienced and which hurt more than blade stung inside his guts, to spill them on the stone floor…

The feasting chamber grew silent. Slowly, all conversation stopped. Blue, green and white eyes; all turned at him. Even if royal alcove was separated from the rest of the chamber, to insure privacy, he felt exposed before their gazes, naked and vulnerable.

Lorian allowed his shadows to slip under dresses of the women around him. And they liked it – and hated it at the same time.

“Lorian… what a peculiar way to introduce him to the court. I would assume you would at least give him something to cover his private parts” a velvet voice reach his ears. Someone leaned towards him; wings, thick, black, raven-like, embraced him over his shoulders; feathers brushed him over his face. “But at the other hand, that way it’s much more thrilling…”

Tiyan looked into the most round eyes he ever have seen. Blue, deep, big – surrounded by black mask, centered on him with a delicate yet chilling curiosity.

Lorian shifted, his fingers reached for the chin of the woman, who was pressing tightest to him. His smile was delicate like raven woman’s calm interest, yet Tiyan didn’t doubt, it doesn’t promise kindness.

“My lord…” moaned a human woman, feeling his shadows coil around her breasts. Her breath got faster.

“Perhaps our guest – who so kindly traveled to Dal’coler through the wind and storm – thinks we treat him not fittingly to his status” Lorian’s hand caressed her face; the woman leaned to his touch. “After all; he possesses gift not yet seen. Such gifts, which I take great interest in, should be placated and their each and every itch eased” Lorian licked the lips of his slave and a tendril of shadows traveled from his mouth, into her. The woman closed eyes; her body shivered.

The raven fae clicked with her tongue.

“It’s enough all your itching places are scratched in this palace. And they are many.”

“As always hitting the most fragile spot” Lorian’s smile was sun incarnate.

“Hitting fragile spots is your favorite activity, my beautiful lord” laughed the raven. Her hand traveled to Tiyan’s chest. Pricked his nipple and slid over his stomach. Tiyan tossed, but the twin fairies held him down. “Have you hit many of his?”

“Til the last drop of blood.”

The Fae around them still looked into him, like harbingers of death. They knew. They knew something he didn’t and that terrified him. Lorian had no bounds. And he was here for a reason.

The fae King took the hand of a slave, which was laying between his legs, and moved it aside, which was greeted with a lazy protest. Lorian whispered something into her ear, his fingers in her black hair. The woman’s eyes filled with longing and terrified adoration.

“Leira.”

Someone approached and when entered his vision, Tiyan saw the same creature who brought him water. Her expression this time serious and undecipherable and in the gleam of massive amount of fairy lights, she looked even more misplaced, than enormous eyes of the raven.

“A good King pleases his court” mused Lorian. “Gives it juicy fruits and offers joy. And you, my unique flamebringer, will be the source of it.”

Leira pulled, hard and Tiyan was released from twins’ grasp. He almost pushed her aside, to at least try to run, but he still remembered cold and amused eyes of Qhal, when he tried that before and the sick grins of the small folk. If he wanted to survive, he had to endure.

Even if it’s hard and even if it makes his soul die.

He didn’t managed to protest, when Leira reached between his legs, and quicker that he would expect from a human – which she couldn’t be – clasped something around his member.

A long appendage, apparently made of silver. It had spiky thorns, growing from the smooth surface. A terrifying thought started to worm into Tiyan’s mind. The purpose of this. It couldn’t be…

“What it is” he asked through the clenched throat.

“Joybringer” smiled charmingly Leira. Nymre turned to Lorian, with a scoff summing her words up.

“You teach your slaves too much of your own charm.”

“Only those who can bear it” responded her lover, his tone dripping with sweet sap. “Leira knows what brings joy better than any other human in this chamber. And soon… sweet Noyda will learn that too.”

Hearing the name, Tiyan’s heart skipped a beat. All elements shifted into right place. They… can’t. They won’t do it.

But they were fae. Of course they will.

“I won’t” he dared to look Lorian straight into his pitch black eyes. The fey king cocked his head, looking with intrigue.

“How… bold. A lamb refuses to be sacrificed… Even if the knife is sewn to his hand.”

Tiyan felt pressure in his head, sudden, immense. It grew stronger with each second. From a meat mincer, which slowly ground his mind to a colossus press, smearing his brain onto the wall made of iron nails.

And more.

More.

Even harder.

When it eased, Tiyan found out that he lays on the floor, coiled in fetal position, and he screams, screams so loud. Deafeningly. His hands pressed to his ears, like if he tried to stop his brain from oozing from his skull.

“Are you sure? You seemed to not like the… alternative” Lorian voice cut through the air. Mercilessly.

The Unseelie around them started to blur in his vision, like washed by a huge wave, through which only silhouettes could be seen, a hazy imagery from a dirty mirror. He already pulsed between his legs, not from pleasure though. The appendage didn’t have spikes inside – but he would now prefer it did.

Silly Tiyo…

“Show us how much flame you possess in your veins… and in blood that charges you.”

Noyda was dragged into the chamber by the lower fairy guards. The fear in her eyes, the tears smeared on her face, her pale face, it all made Tiyan almost sink under the stone floor. The cruel Fae games Lorian led with him, shouldn’t affect her. The tiny hair on his neck rose when the woman was tossed under Lorian’s feet, just like Tiyan before.

“Please, my Lord…” she uttered, panic clenching her throat. “I was good. I listened to the folk. Please.”

Lorian’s smile was death itself.

“That’s why I prepared for you a special delight. This man never truly learnt how to effectively please. So… I want to give him helping hand. And they say… blood is the strongest aphrodisiac” he turned to Tiyan, shadows started to creep in the boy’s direction, to eventually coil around his spiked member. “Do you need help, Firebringer? Or you fill my eyes, like you should?”

One more gaze at Noyda, made him assured he would prefer to die than do this.

“No,” a bold defiance in his voice. They had his body. They had his fear. But they will never possess his soul. And won’t force him to hurt anyone. His own pain would be nothing compared to what would happen to him, if he destroyed all he fought during his life.

Nymre sneared.

“He needs additional helpings, yes.”

Lorian’s black eyes seemed to delve deep into Tiyan’s soul. He could feel the tendrils of shadows anchoring themselves in his head… not a pressure anymore, not pressing stone… but something… worse.

Something started to seep into him and when it burst inside, Tiyan felt pain, which he never expected to feel.

Fire overwhelmed him, flame so hot that it was white, attaching to his every nerve and spreading in his veins and tendons, to burst between his legs with inferno. He stopped seeing the chamber filled with Fae, the room disappeared into a reverie made of suffering. He almost could see his member melting inside the silver appendage, and being rebuilt to melt again…

He heard delicate laughter of the Unseelie king.

“How does it feel to have your own power turned against you? Beautiful fool, you will do it, because you are weak and because you fear to die. And because you still care for your sister, who can be treated with the same flame.”

“I won’t play your sick games” croaked Tiyan, trying to overcome the pain, but barely managing. Mina… Noyd… their faces blurred, intertwined, giving way to a molten flesh of both of them, dripping of his hands.

“This is the only game you can still play. And only way to not be subjected to all of this for next hundred of years. Some say… that pain can become a friend after long time. Maybe you long for a good friend, stuck to your flesh, giving you its eternal love.”

Tiyan’s eyes dripped with tears. Salty drops fell on his cheeks, trailing slowly from his chin. Not because he was feeling pain, not because he felt terrified. But because Lorian had right. He was a coward – something he always tried to repress and not allow it to stain his mind. But he feared this so much. Death. And more pain. And Mina, subjected to the same.

His shaking hand traveled between his legs. It was so ugly. This device… and even Noyda, who looked at him with begging eyes.

You will be lost, if you do it.

But maybe he lost himself long ago.

He heard a whisper in his mind, cruel, shredding his heart into pieces.

“Maybe you will make her like it – an amused laugh – but if not… you will at least still remain… alive.“

Fae twin – he didn’t know which and he didn’t care – pushed him between forcefully spread legs of crying Noyda. She tried to push him away, and he almost again backed off. But the pain in his groin returned. Harder than before, boiling his sanity. He didn’t want to submit to it, so much. He wanted to find a way, to stop this, kill himself – before he is forced to do this hideous thing. But he was exactly this. And no good was in his heart. No good, while he wanted to pretend otherwise, all his life.

They can subject Mina to the same.

You are weak. You are scorn-worthy. This woman will pay for your weakness.

Noyda…

Noyd, please forgive me.

Because he won’t forgive himself.

And he delved between her legs.

Submitted to Lorian’s pounding power inside his body.

Feeling his world shatters when her insides gave out first blood.