Liber Magistelli

[grimcirecodex]

#GRIMCIRECODEX - a collective of individuals across time and locations meant to bring a story to the light of the moon. REMEMBER: the moon maiden knows.

**this is a sideblog, therefore I cannot follow you from here. all follows come from my main blog @oddctelier

ㅤㅤㅤ𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃 | 𝚁𝚄𝙻𝙴𝚂 | 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚂 | 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂 | 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 | 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴𝚂

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 05

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝖮𝖶𝖤𝖣 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖱𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖲: 00 𝖮𝖶𝖤𝖣 𝖱𝖤𝖯𝖫𝖨𝖤𝖲: 04 𝖰𝖴𝖤𝖴𝖤𝖣 𝖱𝖤𝖯𝖫𝖨𝖤𝖲: 00

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤupdated: 08/08/26

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. ㅤㅤSLICE OF LIFE / MAIN BLOG IS @oddctelier

[grimcirecodex]

@rowan-lilypond ⸻ continued from here

THE SIGHT BEFORE HEIL IS A NEW ONE, to see his new bride delivered to him in such a state left a poor taste in his mouth. He is meant to be revered, a legend that strikes fear into the minds of mortals he so graciously allowed to live. He did not ask for the sacrifices to start, though he did not attempt to stop them either. Most not being able to live long within this realm anyway. One of his advisors scurried to his side, regarding Wenxie with the same distaste that Heil wore on his face. "It would seem the mortals wish to slight you," he murmured beneath his breath. Heil said nothing in return, only slowly stepping towards the man once again,

He knelt on the marble ground easily, garments flowing like magic as they settled around him. Slender fingers take hold of his chin, moving his head to the left and right to examine him. The corners of his lips twisted into a frown as he saw the red mark against his cheek. Heil ran his thumb over the mark for a moment before releasing Wenxie's face from his grasp. "I do not eat my brides." He stood again, motioning for a servant to help Wenxie stand. "If you refuse to abide by the common law rules of gods then you will find your stay here short and painful," he advised.

Dark eyes glance to one of his advisors who shoots Heil a look and the god gives a frustrated sigh as he turns back to Wenxie. "A servant will take you to our chamber and change you into an evening gown. We will re-connect over dinner. I am to advise you that attempting to run away is futile as there is nowhere more safe for you in this realm than within the walls of my palace."

[senhoradanoite]

this  is  not  a  love  story  but  rather  a  collection  of  moments  stolen  by  a  selfish  woman  &  the  damned  bastard  prince  who  was  most  likely  her  soulmate.  therefore,  it  shouldn't  come  as  a  great  shock  to  him  that  she'd  be  willing  to  sacrifice  however  many  lives  were  necessary  to  keep  wearing  gold  and  being  paraded  around  like  a  trophy  ;  still,  it  crossed  his  heart  in  all  the  wrong  ways.  how  much  longer  could  rhys  stand  to  be  a  traitor  ?  for  both  his  house,  name,  blood,  and  himself  ?  what  was  he  even  betraying  his  own  sincerity  for  ?  the  cruel  whims  of  someone  that  cared  not  for  the  meaning  behind  gestures  of  fidelity  and  only  what  they  could  buy  her  ?  someone  willing  to  sacrifice  this  frail  &  still  precious  bond  at  any  sign  she  might  be  losing  control  ?  the  emperor's  son  is  not  without  fault  ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  flaws  were  an  essential  part  of  his  fabric.  although  trained  in  every  way  to  be  perfect,  he  was  nothing  but  a  man  in  the  end.  this  deviance  from  his  initial  purpose  when  coming  to  these  foreign  lands  proves  it  so.  he  can  see  through  the  mirror  an  unmistakable  sorrow  inherited  from  isrora,  as  if  his  mother  had  sealed  their  fates  a  long  time  ago.  they  were  both  to  disgracefully  long  for  people  outside  their  reach.  the  apple,  in  the  end,  did  not  fall  far  from  the  poisoned  tree. 

he  finds  that  with  each  passing  day,  lines  that  were  once  clear  blur  more  profusely.  how  could  rhysand  allow  the  queen  to  kill  an  innocent  child  simply  from  not  being  born  to  the  '  right  '  mother  ?  if  such  was  the  rule  —  that  those  bastards  truly  did  not  have  a  place  within  this  world  —  what  was  he  living  for  ?  why  spend  so  long  training  in  the  shadows  to  rise  further  than  anyone  could  possibly  have  imagined  or  wagered  upon  ?  if  it  was  so  easy  to  lose  sight  of  the  end  goal  in  the  moment  his  crystal  blue  eyes,  speckled  with  gold,  found  her  all  consuming  gaze.  he  forgets  himself,  abandons  propriety,  and  is  willing  to  defy  gods  and  mortals  alike  for  another  piece  of  her  soul.  one  more  moment  under  the  grace  of  this  wicked  woman's  undivided  attention,  a  murderer  and  still,  the  single  object  of  all  his  nightmares  —  as  well  as  his  deepest  desires. 

❝  i  will  not  allow  you  to  harm  a  child.  ❞  tone  is  stern,  and  the  words  slip  through  his  clenched  teeth  as  he  applies  more  pressure  to  her  neck,  stating  his  unmoving  boundary.  ❝   you  want  to  reign  for  years  ?  find  a  way  to  bear  an  heir  of  your  own.  ❞  his  eyes  are  level  with  hers,  the  prince's  neck  bent  to  keep  his  sapphire  orbs  locked  with  the  tempting  stare  of  someone  he  was  not  allowed  to  share  the  same  breath  with  —  as  they  did  now,  against  all  reason.  ❝   this  is  non  negotiable.  the  moment  an  innocent  is  put  in  this  world,  if  you  are  to  make  them  suffer  because  of  your  greed,  i  will  no  longer  stand  by  your  side.  ❞  he  cuts  off  all  contact,  stepping  back  but  still  not  far  enough  ;  he  can  still  feel  the  puffs  of  her  breath  against  his  collarbone.  this  was  not  the  ideal  distance  they  should  be  in.  ❝   you  may  ask  anything  of  me,  except  that  i  turn  a  blind  eye  to  the  slaughtering  of  children  in  the  name  of  this  filthy  thing,  ❞  he  spits  as  if  cursing  an  entire  bloodline.  it  almost  seems  that  thinking  of  the  crown  upon  her  head,  placed  there  by  noble  hands  made  unclean  and  dripping  civil  blood,  left  him  disgusted.  but  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  benevolent  prince  —  only  burning  castles.  ❝ this  throne  you  believe  you  have  any  right  over.  ❞   house  corrino's  son  keeps  on  stabbing  at  the  wound,  kicking  at  the  fallen  soldier  with  spite.  again,  cruelty  was  an  art,  and  it  landed  better  with  a  clear  head  and  sound  logic.  he  has  a  reason.  or  he  did  until  thoughts  of  running  a  single  pianist's  finger  along  the  column  of  her  throat,  placing  his  tongue  against  the  pulse  and  leaving  behind  a  path  of  fire  as  it  quickened  started  to  circle  his  mind   — before  those  thoughts  began  ;  there  was  a  motive  for  leaving  the  spice  production  and  coming  here.  when  did  his  mission  disappear  so  far  beyond  the  horizon  of  making  donatella  a  force  not  only  to  be  reckoned  with  but  also  a  power  and  entity  almost  so  divine  that  no  one  would  dare  oppose  ?  was  this  vile  loyalty  —  this  horrid  adoration  —  what  they  called  love  ? 

❝  yes, you  were  rash.  ❞  rhysand  doesn't  argue  against  her  majesty's  own  point,  especially  due  to  the  fact  that  he  remains  bitter  over  being  questioned  as  a  possible  foe  when  all  he  did,  come  of  day  &  fall  of  night,  was  scheme  like  a  lowly  bandit,  pulling  strings  behind  the  curtain  as  a  master  puppeteer  so  no  one  could  touch  the  myth  he  would  yet  make  of  her.  in  a  way,  rhys  should  be  grateful  she  is  used  to  practicing  bloody  hands  and  does  not  shy  away  from  impossible  choices.  ❝ seeds  of  distrust  only  take  root  if  the  soil  is  fertile,  don't  you  think  ?  ❞  he  paces  around  the  room  for  no  longer  than  two  heartbeats  and  then  stands  next  to  one  of  the  flames,  keeping  them  from  total  darkness,  standing  on  a  candelabrum  upon  a  piece  of  furniture  built  with  wood  so  noble  those  who  fabricated  this  would  never  be  able  to  afford  it.  ❝  i  gave  you  no  reason  to  doubt,  and  yet,  you  insisted  on  misjudging  me.  is  my  word  only  as  valuable  as  every  single  other  person  in  court  who  comes  to  whisper  in  your  ear  ?  ❞  lungs  empty  with  a  profuse  exhale  of  air,  and  his  eyelids  fall  closed  for  a  moment  as  he  tries  to  assess  if  perhaps  it  is  only  a  bad  night  and  he  is  simply  too  tired  for  this  conversation  —  but  then  her  next  words  come,  and  his  eyes  snap  open.  ‘  your  soul  fits  perfectly  with  mine  ’  —  poison  tree.  maybe  they  were  right  about  the  rotten  liquid  coursing  through  prominent  veins,  stark  against  his  pale  complexion. 

❝ you're  right.  we  cannot  act  on  that,  we  must  not.  ❞  although  he  says  so,  there  is  hesitation,  and  for  the  first  time,  the  nobleman  is  avoiding  her  stare,  afraid  that  all  composure  would  decay  to  ashes  if  they  were  to  lock  eyes.  and  how  right  he  is  —  after  one  hard  swallow,  his  opalite  hues  land  on  her  angelic  traces,  and  were  this  a  love  story,  he  would  kneel  before  his  queen  and  beg  to  be  released  from  this  torture.  would  do  as  he  said  ;  part  ways  with  a  handshake  —  sweet  and  dignified.  but  this  is  a  tale  unfolding  between  lies,  spilled  crimson  red  &  sordid  cravings.  and  so,  he  walks  surely  and  quickly  towards  her  before  his  mind  can  be  changed  by  thoughts  of  order,  rules,  fates,  and  that  which  we  conquer  with  the  bed  of  our  nails.  he  wraps  an  arm  around  her  waist, the  other  finding  purchase  on  the  queen's  upper  thigh,  and  abruptly  —  if  only  because  nothing  about  this  yearning  is  soft  —  he  spins  tella  around,  knocking  down  from  the  desk  anything  on  his  path  while  he  sits  the  other  comfortably  atop  the  old  oak  wood,  leaning  forward  until  he  is  inhaling  the  air  leaving  her  mouth.  both  of  his  palms  settle  at  the  table,  on  each  side  of  her  body,  fingers  gripping  the  edges,  and  for  a  moment  the  world  is  so  beautifully  and  disturbingly  quiet  —  until  he  breaks  the  silence.  ❝ your  dimwit  husband  knows  nothing  of  the  woman  he  neglects.  ❞  rhysand  whispers,  tip  of  his  nose  rubbing  against  hers  in  a  circle,  tentatively,  eyes  now  entirely  focused  on  her  lips.  ❝ push  me  away  and  i'll  go  immediately,  we  will  never  speak  of  this  again  or  share  the  same  breath.  but  give  me  one  word,  say  yes,  and  i'll  lay  down  my  pride  at  your  feet  and  beg  for  just  one  night  so  both  of  us  can  live  on  knowing  what  it's  like,  ❞  he  says,  running  his  nose  along  her  smooth  skin  until  his  mouth  is  just  beside  her  ear,  and  the  angel  guiding  her  through  a  path  of  glory  must  seem  awfully  like  a  devil  now.  ❝ not  just  to  fuck,  but  to  make  love.  no  armours,  no  masks.  ❞  

[grimcirecodex]

IF THERE WAS ANYONE DONATELLA believed could understand her position within the court it would have been Rhysand. Someone who equally clawed their way to the top with secrets and blood, unafraid to dig their hands into the dirt that covered their enemies. Her belief that she had been betrayed may have been rash but Tella, at the time, had believed it justified. It would not be the first time that someone had attempted to throw Tella to the wolves, allow the court to pick her bones clean and leave her at the mercy of a man who did not truly love her and women who wished to replace her. With her hands at her sides she bit her tongue, attempting to keep her composure around Rhysand always proved to be difficult, he was the one person she truly felt she could be herself around. He has seen her at her barest moments and embraced it, however now in his presence she feels nothing but fear pulsating through her veins. The pair were intertwined, blood equally coating both of their hands in a deep crimson they could not ignore. And yet Tella has not felt closer to someone than she does Rhys, as if he was half of her soul. It certainly aided her to have him as an ally and keeping him close has been beneficial to her, that was enough to cause her accusations to crack right at her feet.

She tried to remind herself that, regardless of her personal feelings for Rhys, he was a cunning and dangerous man. He too has curated an image that he must protect and she did not know how far he was willing to go. The threat of what he may do however had never swayed her, if anything it had only brought her attention to him even more. To know there was someone just within reach, who was just as violent as her; how could she not be drawn to a man of that calibre? Every glance, every whispered conversation, it had ignited a fire inside of her that only Rhys could put out. In the same breath however, he was the one would started it in the first place. Dark brown eyes cut to Rhysand at ever opportunity, finding comfort in another that was not her husband and that alone should have told her to look away. But Rhysand commanded Donatella's attention, tugging at a plethora of strings that always made her find him in any room; even if he was unaware of what he did to her.

Eyes widened at the pressure he placed on her neck and suddenly she was frightened to even breathe. Each word he spoke was sharp and cut with venom, spoken from a place of anger. Tella opened her mouth to defend her actions, to remind him that she is nothing without her title and could be discarded of very easily, when he was suddenly no longer there. The absence of his presence was enough to make her stumble, almost immediately her hand rose to her throat. Their song and dance was coming to a violent crescendo, the threat of leaving her alone within a system built to destroy everything she had done struck a fear in her chest that quickly spread throughout her body. "You said it yourself, any one of them could strip me of everything! Toss me to the wolves or raise one and be nothing more than a maid." The thought having made her pull a face that was a mixture of defeat and anger. Yet in the haze of it all she still found herself searching for the one thing she could not have, him. “You know all I have sacrificed to be here, more than anyone you know how quickly I could be cast aside!” It burned her to have Rhys speak so angrily at her, as if he was ripping her heart straight out of her chest. Donatella was regretting her decision to blame a betrayal against him as it has allowed their trust to be torn. Surely she could have found out if there was truth to what was being accused before pointing her finger. Worst of it all was that he was right, Tella would be monstrous if she killed innocent children. A child has no choice in their lineage, how could she fault them for her husband’s affairs when she had yet to bare any herself? Again she brought her hands to her stomach, as if magically she could will a child within her womb and secure her place here. But all she was met with was crumbling resolve and the sharp truth that Rhysand spat at her, she had no claim to the throne and her position was in jeopardy without him. It left her wondering how long he will give her until he twists the knife with a smile while he kills her.

Donatella knew there were no words to appeal what she had done, accusing someone she has cared so deeply for of something so heinous was not a simple misunderstanding. “I wanted to trust you,” she said desperately. Her eyes followed him closely and she wished he would just look at her. Even if loathed her, even if he wished her dead, she simply wanted him. "There are others that surround us who wish for me to find direction from someone else. Perhaps I began do doubt my own intentions for keeping you close." Selfishly she took a careful step towards him, wanting no more than to reach out her hands and take him in her arms. Her mind told her that this was all a game of moves and counter moves where she could end up losing it all, that he was a puppet master tugging her into position. That same mind had allowed her to believe he would deceive her, and now she was fearful that she would lose everything. "You have no idea how much it hurts to stand so close to you. To hear your voice and watch your mind work so brilliantly and know that I am nearer to you than I have ever wanted to be and yet still so impossibly far away. Every moment has felt like a dagger nestled between my ribs and I let it remain there, allowing it to rot until I found myself dreaming of you, Rhys. It frightened me so badly that I took the first chance to weaponize my feelings and hurt you. For that I will always be sorry." Her words tumbled out in dramatic fashion, even if she wished for them to be silenced she does not think that they would. "You have enthralled me, Rhys. Body, mind, and soul."

There is a moment, however brief, that Tella believes she is being foolish in admitting her feelings. She knew that whatever she felt could not be acted upon, regardless of how desperately she wished it was different. But the moment his eyes are upon her she feels all resolve crumble. Any thought of keeping this professional is slipping through her fingers and in a moment they were close once again. Her skin is aflame the moment he touches her and suddenly she is caged between his hands. All eternity paused in anticipation of his dreaded, desired touch and Tella knew that this was the threshold. If they continue down this path it could lead to her ruin but what a blissful path it would be. She feels a shiver run down her spine as slender fingers reach up and grab the fabric of his jacket. She is fearful to take the plunge, to cross into this unknown with the man she desires more than anyone. "Yes, that is what I want," she murmured. "I want you, Rhys."

[silkchvffon]

SHE SENSES HIS SKEPTICISM immediately, has learned how to read how a body tenses, how a single line on a face can give away intention. winnie remains perfectly calm as she stills in front of him. only when he's seated on the bed are they the same height, and a flood of satisfaction at this very simple fact washes over her. he does not scare her like this, even when she is aware that he could easily hurt her if he sees fit. it does not cross her mind now though.

« do i ? » she feigns innocence as she removes her shirt with tender, slow fingers. she tugs at the thread of her corset, knot loosening it with one hard familiar tug. her hands get to work on freeing herself from the garment, but her gaze never leaves him. « it was. i will not miss it, » she admits, then the corset thuds against the floor, revealing soft naked skin. she does not move to remove her skirt. instead she kneels in front of him, hands placed on his thighs, moving slowly towards the waistband of his pants. « do not go gently on me, viking. it would offend me greatly. » ╱ @oddctelier.

[grimcirecodex]

BJÖRN SAYS NOTHING AS WINNIE REMOVES her clothing, simply taking in the sight of her. He knew women of her trade rarely looked perfect, men just as rough as him leaving darkened bruises and discoloration against the female’s skin. But to Björn’s surprise Winnie was unblemished, her skin reminding him of the statues he has seen in temples and gardens, their details so fine they could almost be real people. He watched her intensely as she sunk to her knees, dark brown eyes watching her every move like a wolf would watch its prey. Despite priding himself on being more level headed than other members of his ætt, a beautiful woman like Winnie could easily make him struggle with even that.

He smirked slightly at her words before lifting his hips to pull his trousers down and out of their way, revealing his stiff cock. There was no way he could go gentle with such an enticing woman in front of him, not when she was wishing that he would be anything but. His hand wrapped around the base, giving himself a couple of jerks as he aimed himself towards her lips. “Dangerous words, Winnie. I suggest you start by showing me your talents,” his hand came up to tangle in her hair, giving it a forceful tug as he spoke.

[midnightsciety]

Usually these parties were rather boring, Nick would stay for a few hours and get drunk and then make his way back to his chambers after being hit on by countless people that he didn’t really give two shits about. Most of them only spoke to him because he was the prince and they knew that soon he would be looking for someone to betrothed too (well, least the king would be looking for someone for his son) and they all wanted to be that person. He couldn’t believe that fate had smiled on him so well tonight with someone that seemed to bring out parts of himself that he normally kept hidden very well.

He turned his attention to the people around them again, the people that were staring at them as Wulf pulled him closer to his chest. A soft groan escaped past his lips as he felt the strong chest of the unfamiliar man, his arms wrapping around him as he let the man lead the dance acroos the floor. Nick smirked as he met eyes with some prince from another kingdom that had been trying to get his attention all night, but any time they talked it was all about politics and asking what the prince’s chambers looked like; Nick had checked out after five seconds of speaking to him. Wulf though had his attention the moment they spoke and it wasn’t many men he would let dance with him so openly like this. “Let them be envious then, you are the most interesting man at this party and I would much rather be talking to you.” said Nick with a soft smile as he moved his hands lower on the man’s hips, resting above his ass, “though I am curious where you came from. You don’t seem to be as stuffy as the people my father usually invites to these things, part of me hopes my father finally found someone to match with me, but you don’t seem like someone he would pick out for me. Who are you?”

@oddctelier

[grimcirecodex]

NICK HAD DRAWN WULF'S ATTENTION quicker than any crown jewel he has ever seen. Most royalty do not hold his attention the way the prince has, all consuming and alluring in a way that is almost intoxicating to the pirate. Sneaking into the kingdom to steal a crown jewel and instead he has found something that has gained his attention far greater than anything or anyone else in this room was something that Wulf had not anticipated when they had decided to steal from these people. The pirate could feel almost all eyes in the room falling upon him and Nick, though something told Wulf that he was not the main source of attraction. His fingers dug a bit deeper into the fabric of Nick's jacket, almost a tad bit possessive.

The groan brought a smirk to Wulf's lips, the sound ringing pleasantly in his ear. "Dangerous words, little prince," he teased. All he could imagine was how delicious that ground would sound beneath him and suddenly Wulf formed a thought that it should be Nick he brings back to the ship and not the crown jewel. Funnily enough, Wulf had thought this would be an uneventful evening, get what he came for while he and the crew escape into the night in celebration. Now things have taken a turn and Wulf finds himself completely enamored by the prince pressed up against him. "I am not the kind of man a king would invite into his home," he warned with a grin. Wulf spun the pair easily between the couples who occupied the dance floor, a cryptic look in his eyes as he held the prince securely against him. "My crew call me captain, those who speak of me call me the harbinger of death, my enemies call me the devil." He spun the prince expertly, pulling him back into his arms until they were mere inches away from each other. "But you, little prince, may call me Wulf."

[amomentxofhappiness]

@grimcirecodex

This man was confusing. On one side he was abducting her for coin and taking her back lord knew where. On the other he was praising her ability to survive and blend in. It was contradictory.

She frowned for a moment, her thoughts showing in her face but quickly went back to focusing on the task at hand. She'd plan her escape once she rested and knew him better; see his weak spots and exploit them. That's what mama would do and she was her mother's daughter.

Grabbing the blade from him with a little nod, she started working on removing the pearled buttons from the dress. They'd fancy a price in neighbouring places she was sure. "I have no reason to kill you and there are easier ways for a woman to kill a man than in combat," she retorted. She could think of a few. She had fantasized with a few actually, ever since that dreadful night. If the worst came to pass, if Grimaud found her again she would d.ie yes, but she'd take him with her.

Once she was done with her work, pearled buttons, golden laces and salvageable fabric neatly stored back in her backpack, she made a little rumple of what was left of her dress and neatly placed it in a corner by the door, so they could toss it somewhere once they left. Returning his knife with a quiet thank you she headed to bed and wasn't long before she was lightly snoring tucked in the warm bed.

Bree had a few houra of quiet sleep, of being back at the library with Haydee practising propriety, fencing with the boys, stolen kisses from Cisco... but then things changed. It was dark; she felt the cold of the drizzle making her coat heavier than it was, her hair dampened and her brother near her--until he wasn't anymore.

Grimaud was there. Grimaud had gotten a hold of Ben--tired, exhausted Ben from the fights and the run and keeping them both safe and Bree could see the moment her brother's eyes lightened up and he was dazed, dazed and confused and speaking gibberish and not knowing who she was. And then Ben ran away scared into the woods and she was all alone with ihim. "What did you do to him? What did you do?!" She trashed and hit against the man's chest when he got a hold of her. "Ben come back! Please come back--let go of me! No! Let go of me!" But the man's grip on her was tight and the knife to her throat was cold as ice. Just as the man's eyes. "No, don't--don't--I won't, no please let go of me!" The grip felt different though, warmer but no less threatening.

[grimcirecodex]

RERIR WAS ALREADY CONTEMPLATING THE best way to transport the female back home, mulling over a few ideas in his mind as they settled down for the evening. No doubt there would be some issues getting her there and he did not expect her to be willing. Those who run from responsibility do not simply go home without a bit of fight in them. He raised a brow at her statement, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his dark eyes rested on her. "You have many reasons to kill me, though if you wish to keep civil I will not argue." He watched as she picked apart her dress meticulously, the act reminding him how his mother used to be when he was younger.

He took his weapon back, re-sheathing the blade and allowing the room to fall silent. Rerir had learned long ago how and when to sleep, especially if he was around imminent danger or someone he believed would run if given the opportunity. He'd settled into a chair near the hearth, allowing the embers to stay low as both become comfortable enough for the evening. It didn't take long for him to hear the gentle snores from the bed and soon he allowed his eyes to close for some needed rest as well. He wasn't sure how long he had been sleeping when he heard the first signs of distress from Bree across the room, despite it not starting off as anything loud. He'd been trained to hear even the most far off of sounds and almost immediately he'd picked up that something was amiss.

Eyes opened and readjusted to the lack of light within the room for a moment before he was pushing himself up from the chair and going to Bree's side. Whatever she was dreaming, it was making her cry out in her sleep and it was obvious that she was in distress. Normally Rerir would shove the individual awake, he didn't want to lose whatever little sleep he could get over something like this. Though he figured something like this would call for a more respected approach. So instead he sat on the edge of the the bed and leaned down to wrap his arms securely around her to keep from hurting herself. He didn't keep too tight of a grip, just enough to pull her into a sitting position to make things more comfortable before holding her against his chest.

"You need to wake up." He rocked her slightly against him as he spoke, keeping his voice low so they would wake up no one else in the inn. "Bree, you're dreaming. Whatever it is, it's not real." They remained like this for a few more moments before he saw her eyes blink slowly, a look of confusion on her face as he relaxed a bit. "It's alright, you were just drea-" his words cut off when she crashed her lips to his. Caught off guard, Rerir could only still at the action as he was not sure how to react. Instinctively, the warmth of her body and the soft cushion of her lips against his had him kissing her back as he held her securely against him.

[grimcirecodex]

@babyitsmagic ⸻ continued from here

DARK EYES REGARDED THE FIGURE IN FRONT OF HIM, his expression not revealing any of his inner thoughts. Heil has been gifted some strange sacrifices in the past, once he’d even been gifted a goat which he had found particularly insulting, but it was rare that the mortals sacrificed a male. His head remains straight as he looks down at the boy in the middle of the rune circle, dark hair and eyes are what greeted him for a brief moment.

Humans always were such strange creatures. One moment they are kicking and screaming, the next they willingly submit to their new reality if it means they will no longer endure pain. Heil wonders how this individual will act in the long run, seeing as how he is already dead set on being incredibly rude and disobedient. The gag was handed to the servant who untied Rhain's hands and he said nothing, simply scowling down at the boy in front of him. "I am not anyone, I am a god," he corrected sharply. "Just as equally as important you are my bride and I your groom, if you wish to have somewhat of a long life in this realm you need to abide by its law. So kneel."

[idontkillorphans]

Sleipnir shivered at the others words, his stomach doing flips at the promise of plans and fun. As if this could ever be fun. He grunted at the tighter squeeze to his sides, feeling like his ribs were gonna crack any second. He gritted his teeth when called a good boy. Treated closer to a dog than a man, then a person. But what was preferable? To be treated like a dog? Or be put down like one?

He let out a half gasp when the other let him go, his eyes darting to the surrounding forest. He could bolt but how far would he make it? He looked back to the one speaking. They were fae, they would certainly kill him for breaking his end of the bargain. His eyes fell to the others hand, the point to the ground. Despite everything, he collapsed.

Sleip grunted as he hit the ground, catching himself as he ended on all fours. He tried to catch his breath before shifting back, looking up at the man. He was tired. "I-" He nearly choked on the words. "...I surrender." He gulped.

[grimcirecodex]

KIER MARVELED IN THE DEFEAT OF his new human pet, the look of defeat etched within his face was a satisfying sight. He had never been too found of humans but this one has clawed his way into Kier’s line of sight and he has no intention of letting him go. “So obedient.” Kier spoke softly as he leaned forward, slender fingers dipping into the mess of Sleipnir’s hair. “And you will be greatly rewarded, I will make sure of it.” He said with a throaty chuckle. Kier straightened his back but kept a hand on Sleipnir’s form beneath him like some sort of power struggle. “Your devotion is duly noted, and my end of the offer will be honored." He took a fist full of Sleipnir's hair and had him look him in the eye. "My friend is correct, you are a very good boy," he taunted.

The admission of Sleipnir's surrender brought a grin to Ronan's features. He has always known that he and Kier are a deadly combination, especially when it came to dealing wit humans, but this experience so far has been nothing. short of exciting for the fae. Ronan took a few steps towards Selip and Kier, only stopping a few feet directly in front of the insults that Sleip spewed at the conditions surround his predicament. "Very obedient, something tells me you will do exactly what I tell you to do with little to no fight." As he hovered a few feet away from the pair there was a dark and twisted expression readable on his features. "Leads me to wonder what else I can command of you and it will be done." He cocked an eyebrow and raised it, his arms crossing over his chest as he spoke.

[grimcirecodex]

open to: m/f/nb

plot: at the request of the king demre has killed the queen, though she had her own personal reasons for doing it. y/m is suspicious of her but there is currently no physical evidence tying her to the crime.

connections: anyone who would find themselves within the royal court

replies will be moved to a new post!

DEMRE PINCHED THE FLAME EMITTING from the white candle in front of her, a string of smoke rose into the air as she clasped her hands together tightly. Nights alone within the chapel were few and far between and lately it truly seemed like the kingdom was in unrest. With the recent death of the queen many individuals in and out of the court were trying to make sense of things. She stood gracefully, her movements offering no noise against the holy walls. They had been standing there for quite some time, quietly observing her after entering quite loudly. Demre knew that there was a chance the rumors would spread and trickle back to her, if anyone followed enough clues they would question the priestess. She did not know if they were simply there for guidance or to accuse her of witchcraft or murder, she steeled herself anyway as she turned to look at them. "Do you wish for guidance or are you here to pay your respects?"

[grimcirecodex]

open to: m/f/nb

plot: y/m was chosen as the sacrifice to Heil, obviously they are unhappy about being promised to an immortal god.

replies will be moved to a new post!

THE RUNES UPON THE FLOOR GLOWED with the promise of a bride to soon be delivered, yet Heil looked at it with an unreadable expression. It has been years since he brought hellfire to the human world and clearly they still feel the fear that came with his presence, the sacrifice of individuals as a show of good faith that they respect the immortal. Heil honestly did not care if they believed he would harm them again, their fear was all that was needed to keep these mortals in line. He could already picture the ceremony on the end of the mortals, someone begging or demanding to be let go as they were sacrificed at some type of alter. Heil's summoning circle was within his own home in the spirit realm with only a few advisors there to bare witness. Purely it was all ceremonial and quite honestly Heil did not care for the song and dance of it all.

With a brilliant flash of light they appeared within the circle, bound and gagged just as the last one had been. Every ten years seems like a blink of an eye in the eyes of an immortal, especially when most brides do not make it for the first year. Once the summoning spell was complete he took a few steps forward, towering over his new bride as they looked upon him with a mixture of fear and anger. He leaned forward, removing the gag from their mouth as a servant rushed to untie them. Once they were freed Heil took a few steps back and intertwined his hands behind his back as he regarded them. "Perhaps the custom has been lost after all these years but normally one kneels in the presence of a god," he scolded.

[grimcirecodex]

perhaps i will write a few open starters for my fantasy muses!

[thewebspinner]

[ariadnethedragon]

LEO SUTER as HARALD SIGURDSSON

Vikings: Valhalla — Season 3

[idontkillorphans]

Sleipnir floundered like a fish out of water. Trapped like a fawn in a trap. He bleated and squirmed, wriggling around to try and free himself - to find a way out - any way. But nothing prevailed. "Gr-" He grunted as he felt their fingers bite into his arm, unknowable strength causing him to wriggle less - to fight more. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the advice to submit. He whined when the other mentioned how tired he felt. How is muscles ached. No, they didn't ache. They burned. Each movement felt like fighting a current, already battered and bruised but still trying to survive - still trying to keep his head above water. If he didn't get out of this hold, didn't get away from these fae. He most certainly would drown.

"Get off me-" He continued to growl at the one holding him, twisting and biting his cheek through the pain.

Sleipnir barked at the other one as he started talking now. Sleipnir dropped his weight fully, his legs going placid and collapsing - but nothing worked. He grunted as his face was grabbed, forced to look at the other. His motion stilled as the other spoke, forced to watch, forced to listen. Whatever the reason, the tone worked. Harsh, strict and straight to the point. He swallowed, finally pulling his face from the others hand. But the squirming stopped as he took a breath, he was exhausted.

His head fell down, eyes closed. "Swear it - you'll let me live and -" He flinched at what was to come. What he was to say to these monsters. "Swear it and I will surrender." He lifted his head, looking at the one that did not hold him, keeping his gaze. But the one that held him would feel him shaking like a leaf.

[grimcirecodex]

THE DELICIOUS SCENT OF HUMAN FEAR entered Kier’s nostrils and he found himself grinning as Sleipnir continued to fight against his hold. The ones who fought until the bitter end were always the most fun and breaking humans was by far the most fun thing to do. Men like Sleipnir were the most fun and Kier had no intention of letting him go. "The more you struggle, the more fun it is for me." Kier murmured into the human's ear as his fingers dug into his skin. He could feel the man shaking in his arms as a wicked grin spread over his features. "Of course i'll allow you to live," he purred. "I plan on having so much fun with you, I think you will like your new life here in my kingdom." Dark eyes look up and meet Ronan's, giving the other fae a knowing look. "He is frightened but he will submit, he's all ours now." He said in his native tongue.

Ronan smirked at the submission, seeing Sleipnir relent was exactly what he wanted. "Look at you, fighting so roughly to prove you can get away and then giving up so quickly. Such a good boy." He said, tone condescending. "He looks like a frightened child, it is almost too fun to resist." He replied to Kier, giving the other a small nod. Attention is brought back to the subdued human in Kier's grasp and Ronan releases his jaw to take a step back. "A promise is a promise, we fae cannot lie," he reassures. "But now you must uphold your end of the bargain." He stepped back and pointed his finger to the forest floor, nodding for Kier to release him. "Kneel to your kings and surrender, then this will all be over and the real fun can begin."

[silkchvffon]

HE IS GRATEFUL, IN THIS moment, for the fact that he cannot see the witch. the sound of her alone is enough to send shivers down his spine and there's a slight tremble in his hands. he hopes cisne does not notice how his body tenses, but the weight of her arms around him is reassuring in ways it has no right to. they have to survive this. she has to.

her comment feels like a thousand lashes. ambrose's eyes close for a second — what good are they open if they cannot survive this ? but her request comes as a beacon of hope, even when he knows what it means: if this does not work, they are most definitely dead. but at least, right now, they stand a chance. « take it, » he urges her desperately. « take however much you need. » even if it kills him. if it means a chance for her that is good enough for him. « drain it if you must, cisne. do it now. »

[grimcirecodex]

CISNE WAS ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED THAT this plan was not going to work, or that she was going to harm Ambrose in some type of way. Now that they were fleeing for their lives she had to accept that she didn't actually want anything to happen to him. She wasn't sure if she would be able to move on if something were to happen to him right here, right now. Cisne needed to be braver than she felt, she needed to protect them and get them both out of here in one piece. She feels her heart tighten in her chest when he allows her to take his energy, his words sounding like a parting goodbye. This couldn't be the end, not after all they had gone through. Cisne's grip tightened around him and she immediately began chanting her incantation.

She felt a warmth spread from her fingertips and up her arm, immediately knowing that it was his energy flowing through her. With the newly acquired energy Cisne aimed her pendent at the sky directly at the witch, just as the thing screeched loudly across the sky. She felt the pendent burning in her hand as she spoke her spell, as the final words left her lips the pendent shattered and the witch let out a loud inhuman scream as she fell from the sky in a ball of fire. Almost immediately Cisne felt her energy drain and she is sure Ambrose felt it as well. Clutching her hand to her chest she re-positioned herself and pressed against Ambrose for support. "Just get us out of here, she can't follow us anymore."

[senhoradanoite]

'  nothing  more  than  bastard  makers  '  —  the  words  leave  her  rosy  lips  with  surprising  ease  ;  at  least  to  him,  it  comes  as  a  surprise,  but  it  really  shouldn't.  she  was  the  regent  queen,  and  any  child  not  birthed  by  her  would  be  only  that  —  a  bastard.  much  like  him.  therefore,  it  was  only  obvious  she  saw  herself  as  high  and  mighty,  secure  in  the  position  of  power  obtained  with  sweat,  blood,  tears  &  an  awful  a  lot  of  scheming  from  the  shadows.  still,  it  left  a  bitter  taste  in  his  mouth,  a  saccharine  smile  clinging  to  the  corners.  rhys  never  resented  his  title  ;  always  knew  where  he  belonged  and  how  cherished  he  was  by  his  father  and  mother  —  not  a  royal,  but  regarded  as  the  emperor's  wife.  he  was  the  only  child  morrigan  really  cared  about,  and  his mother  was  the  woman  he  could  not  marry  but  had  dedicated  his  life  to.  the  people  did  not  look  kindly  upon  them even so  because  the  righteous  consort  from  a  strong  line  of  nobility  refused  to  leave  or  give  up  her  privileges.  rhysand  wonders  briefly  if  donatella  is  bound  to  be  just  like  his  stepmother.  creating  innovative  ways  to  punish  innocent  children  for  their  natural  claim  to  a  place  she  was  forced  to  conquer  by  climbing  with  nails,  teeth  &  poise.  ❝  bastard  makers  ?  ❞  a  laugh  coming  from  deep  within  his  throat,  short, rough  and  scornful,  resonates  around  the  dimly  lit  room.  ❝ careful,  your  highness,  ❞   he  spits  venomously.   ❝ i  don't  need  to  remind  you  that  while  you  bore  no  children,  some  of  them  have  been  through  several  pregnancies  and  one  is  bound  to  be  successful eventually.  what  happens  when  the  king  is  forced  to  choose  an  heir  ?  we  all  know  he  is  not  getting  any  younger.   ❞   the  words  seemingly  make  fun  of  the  situation,  but  he  is  looking  to  get  underneath  her  skin.  to  remind  her,  painfully,  that  those  bastards  would  covet  the  kingdom  she  believes  to  have  a  claim  over  and,  without  a  son  of  her  own,  tella  would  eventually  be  sent  somewhere  far,  most  likely  north,  to  live  out  her  days  in  isolation.  or  worse,  she'd  have  to  raise  one  of  those  '  bastards  '  as  her  own  if  the  solace  were  to  stay  in  society,  wandering  the  castle's  halls. 

❝ who  knows  ?  maybe  your  darling  husband  will  find  a  sense  of  fatherly  love  one  of  these  days,  and  what  happens  to  you  then  ?  ❞   he  needed  not  poke  at  the  wound,  for  it  was  most  likely  always  festering  and  bleeding,  causing  discomfort  and  fear.  but  rhys  —  for  all  his  gentle  touches  and  reassuring  presence  —  was  taught  that  cruelty  is  an  art  better  offered  with  cold  reason.  he  would  not  provoke  her  in  any  other  circumstance,  but  she'd  called  him  here  and  was  now  accusing  of  treason  the  one  person  who'd  been  by  her  side  since  the  woman  ascended  to  the  chambers  of  the  noblefolk.  he  was  less  than  pleased,  to  say  the  minimum,  and  how  she'd  dismissed  those  women  as  '  bastard  makers  '  did  give  space  for  the  wicked  inclination  to  remind  her  that  she  was  not  exactly  afforded  the  luxury  of  letting  herself  go  too  far  on  the  cliff  of  self  importance,  for  the  fall  could  be  deathly.  it  should  have  bothered  him  to  insinuate  that  she  knew  intimately  how  simple  mistresses  rose  stations  in  the  blink  of  an  eye,  but  at  that  moment,  the  prince  felt  nothing  but  disdain  —  perhaps  the  same  with  which  those  other  women  were  treated.  stupidly  infatuated  with  a  man  who  kept  them  hidden.

❝  you're  right.  ❞  he  finally  gives  up  the  most  vicious  low  cadence  of  his  tone.  ❝ i  do  not  care  that  you  feel  betrayed,  for  i  know  myself  well  enough  to  assure  you  i  am  not  a  traitor  and  i  believed  you  knew  as  well.  if  anything  you're  breaking  your  own  heart  for  no  reason.  ❞   there  is  sincerity  covering  each  syllable,  although  his  stance  remains  detached  and  distant.  he  would  not  go  as  far  as  to  beg  for  trust  —  in  his  eyes,  he'd  done  more  than  enough  to  earn  such  a  thing  without  the  need  for  fancy  declarations.  with  actions  and  lingering  gazes.  still,  his  eyes  do  soften  against  spite  or  frankly  better  judgement,  and  although  he  is  disappointed  in  her,  how  could  a  man  raised  amongst  intrigue  since  childhood  not  understand  the  apprehensions  of  being  discarded  ?  stabbed  in  the  back  with  a  knife  gifted  to  someone  you  once  loved.  someone  you  will still  love  even  while  bleeding  in  their  arms.  '  would  you  not  have  us  prevail  ?  '  he  remembers  hearing  through  a  crack  in  the  door,  and  since  then  he  has  sworn  to  be  only  as  brave  as  the  voice  calling  out,  '  not  like  this.  never  like  this.  '  and  it  was  undeniably  cowardly  to  leave  the  woman  he'd  grown  so  fond  of  —  in  many  dangerous  ways  —  to  wonder  what  the  honest  truth  behind  said  actions  was.  ❝  i  have  no  idea  how  this  letter  came  to  be  and  if  you  would  like  i'm  more  than  willing  to  compare  my  handwriting  and  seal  to  this  nonsense.  however,  in  interest  of  honesty,  i  admit  to  exchanging  correspondence  with  my  father.  ❞   but  certainly  she'd  imagined  as  much. 

❝ he  asks  about  your  husband  and  his  moves,  even  if  that  prick  can  barely  be  accused  of  having  any  strategic  plans.  lately  he's  want  to  know  if  it  would  be  worth  the  trouble  of  sending  duke leto  to  take  over  the  kingdom.  ❞   rhysand  exhales  a  heavy  sigh  and  tears  his  stare  from  her,  walking  closer  to  the  balcony  behind  his  ' friend ',  looking  out  into  the  infinite  darkness  that  seems  to  creep  closer  every  night.  ❝ i've  been  telling  him  not  to  bother,  ❞   confesses  the  youngest  son  of  house  corrino.  ❝ so  i  suppose  i  have  been  lying  to  someone  .  .  .  just  not  you.  ❞   turning  on  his  heels,  the  nobleman  regards  donatella  with  a  vague  glance.  ❝ i  would  not  lie  to  you.  it  pains  me  you  would  think  otherwise.  ❞   hands  come  to  rest  in  front  of  his  body,  fingers  still  intertwined,  and  his  eyes  lower  to  the  floor.  ❝ and  it  hurts  my  pride  to  admit  so,  but  it  is  the  truth.  ❞   in  a  risky  move  and  clear  sign  of  weakness  rhys  has  only  allowed  himself  once  or  twice  before , when  they  are  alone,  tired  and  shielded  by  the  low  lighting,  he  steps  closer  &  closer  until  they  are  sharing  the  same  breathe,  bodies  inches  from  touching.  however,  it  is  a  rule  that  they  must  not,  and  the  prince  always  prized  an  order  of  things,  but  she  makes  him  bold  and  reckless  enough  to  place  his  left  palm  on  the  side  of  her  neck  carefully  ,  still  applying  faint  pressure,  fingers  feeling  her  pulse  as  he  whispers:  ❝ how  many  more  ways  can  you  drive  me  insane  ?  being  away  from  you  is  torture,  being  close  to  you  is  a  punishment  from  the  gods.  ❞ 

[grimcirecodex]

IF ANYONE KNEW HOW DANGEROUS AND ruthless the royal court system was it would be Rhys, there was no one that Donatella could will herself to trust more than him. He'd become a confidant, an ally, she did not want to believe that he was capable of conspiring against her. Not after she has worked so hard to get to where she was. Anyone could be a mistress to the king, that's exactly what she had been when she arrived to this kingdom. But she was the only one willing to get rid of the queen, the one individual who stood in her way from sitting upon the throne. Rhys knew better than anyone how difficult it had been for her since her arrival here, to throw it back in her face that it could all be taken away was like a dagger to her back. Regardless of how true it was, Tella had no intention of allowing one of her husband's mistresses to lay claim to the throne. "If my husband chooses one of those whore's children as his rightful heir then I will have no choice but to protect my standing, no matter what it takes." It would be no new task for the queen, it was how she earned her title in the first place. Killing her husband's former wife had been necessary, how else was she supposed to take her rightful place upon the throne?

The simple thought of raising one of her husband's bastard children caused a look of fear to cross her face. Tella did not wish to be discarded, tossed out into some castle in the countryside with the false promise of being returned here one day. Raising someone else's ungrateful brat to take the throne, the idea made her feel sick. Instinctively she brought her hand to her belly but there was no swell with the promise of child that greeted her. Of course this fear had plagued her mind and she had no doubt that many of his mistresses have made moves to attempt and make their claim to the throne. Though she tried to not listen to the gossip of the other women it was hard to not listen to them speak about sleeping with the soldiers and men on the council to try and be with child if it would strengthen their standing in the eyes of her husband. "Do not lecture me on my position should my husband find favor with one of his whores," she hissed angrily. "This conversation was not about myself, it was about you and your supposed betrayal!" She felt that her words fell on deaf ears, that he would not listen to her regardless of her reasons.

In truth Tella did not really believe that Rhys could do such a thing. Not when he had just as much to lose as she did. Perhaps that was why she had come to rely on him so heavily, because if anyone could sympathize with her it would be him. Her eyes widened when he said that she was breaking her own heart and instinctively she took a step back from him. Rhys had the alarming ability to thrust a mirror to someone's face and force them to look at their reflection, even if they did not wish to see it. Tella hated greatly that he was correct, it had truly hurt her heart to believe that Rhys would betray her in such a way. At first she had refused to believe it but her advisor had warned her to not be so rash, that many people wanted the position to get her out of the court. But she could not ignore the fact that her personal feelings could cloud her judgement, as much as she hated to say it. No matter how much she wished it was different, Rhys had carved his initials right into her heart. "If you are only corresponding with your father then perhaps I was rash to assume this letter is from you," she said reluctantly. "It would seem that someone would like for seeds of distrust to grow between us." Donatella moved to pick up the letter from the ground, keenly aware of how close she was now to Rhys when she straightened her spine.

Donatella watches as he walks towards her balcony, feeling shame bloom in her chest when he admits that he has lied to his father for the benefit of her kingdom. How quick she was to judge him when he clearly was willing to put another family name above his own. She was selfish enough to wish it was because of her and not because he wished to have a strong political tie with her husband. Tella knew better than to engage in affairs with others, that it could damage the image of the crown. "I am sorry that I accused you of such a heinous act," she admitted sadly, casting her eyes to the ground beneath her feet as she wished for it to split open and pull her down into the depths of the underworld. That is the only way that she could properly atone for what she has accused him of. Her breath only quickens when Rhysand comes to stand in front of her, eyes drawing up and meeting his. His words send a current of electricity through her body and almost instantly she finds herself leaning into his touch. One hand reaches up to rest against his chest as he speaks as she looks to him with sad eyes. "Do you not think I feel the same? I pray to the gods for mercy, that they may release me from the torment of this. All they give me in return is the pain of knowing that your soul fits perfectly with mine and that I cannot act on that fact."

[idontkillorphans]

Sleipnir fell on all fours, shaking as he looked over his shoulder.

Nothing. He didn't see anyone.

But it provided him no comfort, not even a little.

"Get up-" He growled to himself, forcing himself to his feet, prosthetic leg twisting awkwardly. All the sweat and mud and blood was messing him up. "Fuckin - move-" He grunted as he pushed himself further. He couldn't even think. He just had to survive.

Sleipnir slid when he saw the man - the talkative one in front of him. "No-" He was cut off as something caught him from falling, a tight grip around him. He looked down, stomach dropping to see it to be a pair of arms, his stomach twisted when he heard the voice near his ear. The second one - the quiet one.

"Get - off of me!" Sleipnir barked, squirming from where the best held him tight - but to no avail. Prize. He did not like that. That could only mean bad things surely. Sleipnir bowed forward, quickly slamming his head back to try and catch the other. He wouldn't give in so soon. Not if he could help it. "Ahh!"

[grimcirecodex]

KIER CLICKED HIS TONGUE WITH a disapproving sound as Sleipnir squirmed in his grasp. Humans always tried to fight even with their dying breath, how unimpressive. And just when he thought that finally his little pet was ready to submit, but the humans who resist are always the funnest to break. "Oh you have so much fight in you." His nails dug into Sleip's arm as he spoke, almost enough to break the skin but not nearly enough. "If you were wise you would simply submit, it would just make you feel so much better." His voice was soft and gentle, like he was whispering a prayer into Sleipnir's ear with each word. "Aren't you tired of running, do your muscles not ache?" His grip around the man's waist tightened, almost like he was trying to suck him into his body. "Just submit to me and I will make sure you do not feel pain ever again."

It was almost humorous to see Sleipnir struggle in Kier's grasp. Of all the high fae to have an infatuation on you, Kier is the last one you want to have it. "Trust me, you will have wanted to have me winning our little bet." With the human somewhat restrained Ronan made his way across the forest floor, each step leaving no sound as he moved. He grabbed Sleipnir by the jaw roughly, forcing him to look Ronan in the eye. The fae grinned wickedly as he leaned forward, keeping his face inches from Sleipnir's. "Do as Kier says and we will allow you to live. Keep running and my patience will run thin, and when I have little to no patience I start to get violent." The contrast of Ronan's voice to Kier's is drastic. Where Kier speaks softly like a mother talking to a child, Ronan speaks with a harshness brought on by winter. "Admit defeat and the two of us may grant you mercy. It must be better than this continuous running."