The silence in her room was deep and almost palpable – its tendrils suffocating all sound, even her breathing. Leira’s chest did not seem to move, only someone very close would see it rise in shallow breaths. The cold in the chamber grew, and slowly, gradually, Leira’s skin was covered in a thin layer of frost.
The windows were open, the magical barriers still in place, the winter chill had no right to enter – not in a natural way. But the room was slowly turning white, painted in intricate patterns by the brushes of the cold.
The slumbering chamber looked like a still life, frozen in time. Drowned in white, in the monochrome beauty of death. And the barriers broke. They were meant to trap nothing but warmth, not to protect anyone. And now the airy spell that made them work shattered. Flickered and dissolved.
The gust of icy wind blew into the room, wind that had been carried across the plains of Ain’asel and the Sacred Forest, bringing with it the scent of cold. It swallowed all the warmth that was left. And played with Leira’s hair, suddenly it looked like it was under water, fluttering around her face.
Leira opened her eyes.
They were no longer pale blue. White pupils, white irises, like ice that began to reign in her chamber.
She stood up, her feet touching the cold floor and immediately covered in frost. Her eyelids fluttered as she followed the empty voice of the white room behind the window.
Her chambers were protected by numerous spells set by Lorian himself – his power was stronger than that of any Fae living in Dal’coler. No one could enter, the magic would kill anyone who tried to cross the borders of Leira’s room.
But Leira could leave it easily. Being sure – even through deep sleep – that it belongs to Lorian who promises her elusive nights under black stars. The only voice who paradoxically would work on her – and the monsters knew it.
Her cold feet carried her to the window. She looked as if made of crystal, covered with snow, the waves of her hair petrified in a parody of movement, pale and shining.
One foot crossed the boundary of Lorian’s spells. A second. Slowly she stepped out onto the balcony. The black stone around her was now white, like the huge moon that hung over Dal’coler.
And there, on the balcony, sat a creature of nightmares.
Covered in black fur, large fangs protruding from its mouth, claws longer than its arms jutting from its fingers. It looked like an oversized bat, or would if its wings weren’t as ethereal as those of the lower fey. Light as the snow that covered the walls, sprinkled with dust. They glowed beautifully in the stark darkness, a grotesque contradiction to the monstrous appearance of their owner.
It made a strangled noise and jumped with unnatural agility from the battlements surrounding the balcony, digging its claws into Leira’s night gown and pinning her against the frozen wall. Leira didn’t react, just leaned over the ice behind her, deep in her magic-induced slumber.
And the creature began to feed.
Not on her blood. Not on her flesh. It dug deep into her dreams, deep into her core. And began to suck out all the joy she had ever felt… and replace it with fear.
Cruel, unadulterated panic.
Leira could not move. But her whole mind was flooded with fear, so strong that it cut deeper than the knife. The creature pumped the horror in, taking everything Leira was. She would scream, scream forever, if she wasn’t immobilised and her voice taken from her, her strength slowly draining from her muscles. Its long tongue licked Leira’s neck, as if to extract sweat and tears and make his feast even tastier.
Leira raised her hand with great effort and tried to push the monster away, but her strength and will were abducted by the power of her enchanted sleep. The creature looked at her arm in surprise, she shouldn’t be able to move at all. It pressed her harder against the wall, instilling more fear into her, causing her hand to fall. Leira trembled, her emotions attacking her from all sides.
Until a clawed hand, dark as night, plunged into the creature’s back, ripping off its fur, boiling its skin, burning the edges of its wounds and emerging from its chest, smoke rising from its flesh. The sound the creature made was no ordinary wail. It was the painful cry of a wounded wolf cub. Thin as paper and vibrating in the bones with the music of the frozen night. Fingers of mist caught the muscles and crushed them in a burning grip. The scream was louder, the fey creature writhing in agony as the hand tore tendon from tendon, stirring in the wound. It shook like Leira before, its claws trying to reach the attacker.
Lorian withdrew his hand.
The fey was tossed to the snow-covered ground like a used sack.
Lorian’s shadowy form was like an apparition, surrounded by the light of the moon. Wrath burned within him, making him look like a vengeful god of old. The beast sprawled at his feet, mortally wounded, but Lorian knew what it was and that its kind healed easily and quickly. His shadows penetrated its flesh like ropes, pinning it to the ground and preventing it from moving.
He caught Leira in his arms as she lost her balance after the creature had freed her from its clutches. She fell like a rag doll. Her hair stopped flowing around her head, her skin thawing in the hot warmth of his shadows.
Lorian looked into her mind. Slowly, so as not to destroy it while she was still under the spell.
And found… absolute chaos.
Fear.
Pain.
Tormenting her being with horrible visions and images. Gnawing at her emotions like iron buried in flesh.
The creature beneath his feet moved with effort, its face a mask of pain, but he could feel a sense of victory in its mind.
He felt the rage seep further into his spine, like a liquor made from forbidden ingredients. He was so good at suppressing it when others were around, and even now he was so used to wearing masks that he only showed a small part of it. He picked up Leira, who was as light as a feather but as stiff as a stone. His shadowy form slowly changed into his normal one, but the night followed him, deep and hungry.
The creature began to laugh suffocatingly, but Lorian’s shadows entered its mouth and spread down its throat. He had no intention of killing it, though. He left it there to silence it. The creature’s eyes widened and its choking sounds grew louder.
It must be in great pain. But Roga’eus were always strong, the strongest sprites in the realm. They endured pain far more easily than most of the fey races.
But Lorian knew that all had their limits. And he planned to show it where it limits were.
Leira fell like a gossamer through his hands as he laid her on the bed. Her eyes still moving, seeing dark horrors, her joy drained from her by the roga’eus assassin. Sent by whom? Leira – and he – had many enemies. He knew he would find all the answers in the assassin’s mind. But first he would play a game. No one was to know what powers he possessed, and his ability to read minds was to remain in the shadows.
His power was great, but it wasn’t a healing kind. He could tear flesh easily, inflict horrific pain, do pleasure and destroy minds – but was not able to mend Leira without causing additional and unknown damages to her. She might be forever changed – maybe even he would shape her into another person – who could adore him and be completely dependant from him… or hate him, trapped in her past she had with him.
He could take Leira to a healer and they would not dare to ask question – not to a king of fairies. But fairy tongues can be as cruel as spells. Just as no one was supposed to know about his hidden powers, no one was allowed to take advantage they had, playing the roles of cruel master and obedient servant.
If they knew what a weakness she was, they would use it against her.
Someone knew.
Someone already knew. And did just that.
His enemy?
It didn’t matter – he’d find out soon enough.
Though… the only healer he could turn to was as close to him as blood could get. Her blood he loved to spill, driven by dark passion. The blood he covered her with, fucking her out of breath. The blood that flowed from his enslaved lovers that she killed every time she learned of his infidelity.
The healer who had every right to leave Leira in that state, as revenge. The one who could kill with her power as easily as she could heal mortal wounds. And who was the only Fae in Dal’coler who didn’t fear him, who he couldn’t force into submission.
Nymre.
Nymre was Leira’s saviour.
If she agrees.
A smile crept over his lips.
It was so pleasant, sadistic and painful. Beauty of a different kind, a sword of cruel irony that hung over him from the day he decided to have Leira. A challenge deeper and more deadly than any other. But worth it.
He looked into Leira’s blinded eyes.
Years of fear and creeping emptiness. Eons of pain. Something she had left behind, turning suffering into a peculiar form of pleasure.
But he was not the only monster in this realm.