ravella let her breath hitch, a slow, deliberate pause that was almost imperceptible, and yet it carried the weight of command. she did not recoil from his hand upon her chin, nor did she flee from the closeness of his body; she allowed him the illusion of control, letting him turn her head, guiding the subtle tilt of her features as though she were carved from marble, pliable only in appearance. her fingers tightened for a heartbeat at his neck, not in anger but as a reminder of the dominance she held even while seeming yielded, a flickering haunted smile crossing her own lips.
“do not presume, axell,” she whispered, her voice smooth, like scales drawn across his steel, “that you hold me as much as i hold you. the illusion is yours, the reality is mine.” she traced the line of his jaw with her sleeve, wiping the dark bloom of blood from the corner of his mouth with deliberate care, the motion both tender and commanding. violence had always been his devotion, and she cherished the way it made her feel, like wind at her command, like the very world bending to her will. she leaned closer, letting her breath ghost against his ear as her hands moved lightly along the curve of his shoulder, tracing muscle and sinew without ever lingering too long.
“you know i would never doubt you,” she said, voice low and husky, a purr that wrapped around the sharp edge of her words, “you have always been, the most worthy." her orbs of ice eyes glimmered with that unnatural violet of stormlight, scanning his features as though reading the thoughts that churned beneath his disciplined exterior. his touch was rough, one of pure desperation; akin to how a hungry dog would gnaw at bones, and she found herself wholly aware of the lack of space between them. chest to chest, step by step; she wanted him. and so, she would have him.
she allowed her fingers to slide back to the nape of his neck, tilting his head slightly, enjoying the way he leaned into her touch, the subtle surrender that was both his strength and his weakness. “you are mine, axell, and yet i merely wanted to give you a way to prove it, to them,” she breathed, her lips brushing the shell of his ear without granting a kiss, a teasing promise rather than a gift, looking up at him with a closeness that was anything but virtuous or honourable. honour was a stranger in these cold, dead halls. “the nobles may conspire of their power and rank, but they should know where my eyes are." her nails pressed just lightly along his collarbone, marking him without drawing blood, a reminder that her touch could be as exacting as any sword. "they should all know it is you i depend on."
and the emphasis on the word they made it painfully obvious who she spoke of; it was any man that was not him. each and every one of them. ravella let her gaze linger on him, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the sheer, undeniable presence of his body. he was a giant, more than any man in the vale, and she knew it. a dangerous truth, one that made the game they played infinitely more perilous.
“yot you must tread carefully, axell,” she murmured, letting her fingers trace lightly down the curve of his chest, her voice almost lazy, almost languid, “because your frame, your size… it marks you. you are a mountain among men, and the wrong pair of eyes might notice. the wrong pair of hands might drag you into their narrative before you realise it. still, it cannot be an accident. not whilst we are still… .” she let her lips curve in a faint, knowing smile, watching the dark fire ignite behind his eyes, feeling the way he leaned just enough into her gravity, compelled by her words, her presence. "they will know it is was us."
she had accepted it that soon, there would be blood between those of the mountain and those of gold caverns. it had boiled and simmered, and now, she had come to terms with knowing some matters could only be settled in blood. "but we all do as we must. don't we, high commander?" she asked, her tone almost rhetorical; what did he do because he must? what had he done because he wanted to?
she allowed herself a brief inward breath, her mind spinning even as she maintained the cold, marble exterior. domeric—his influence, his reckless fervor—loomed in the back of her thoughts like a shadow she could not dismiss. he had too much, too many secrets that could undo her if they were ever revealed, and yet axell’s loyalty, his strength, the raw power he offered her—it was intoxicating, more addictive than any whisper of danger. she acknowledged the threat of the lions, of men who would twist truths for their own gain, of that thing in the crib pretending to be her daughter. she could feel the strain of her ambition pressing against her bones, the necessity of control warping desire into a weapon. she needed him, needed the reassurance of his power, and yet feared the consequences if it slipped from her grasp. the vale was a treacherous place, her womb empty and vulnerable, the court ready to rewrite every line of her life.
she had to hold him close, bend him, shape his ire and devotion into tools, and never allow it to become a liability. in the quiet moments, her heart raced—not with tenderness, but with the thrill of danger, the pleasure of having a living weapon willingly at her side, poised to act at her command.
her hand rose to the side of his face, tilting it slightly so that he would meet her gaze fully. “do you think the lions would not twist it our truth..,the truth? would they not dispute the proof of rowan’s illegitimacy, only for the sake of pushing jasper too, of the very line we hold sacred?” her breath hitched for a moment, her eyes narrowing, the candlelight dancing across her dark features. “i do not believe it, not whilst my womb remains fruitless, empty." she pressed her forehead briefly to his shoulder, a fleeting, almost imperceptible gesture of intimacy that betrayed the ice in her voice, only to pull back immediately, letting the control of the moment settle back into her hands. still, she knew the seed had been planted.
axell was a royce, was he not?
her lips parted as she let the thought linger, dark and unspoken, a flare of madness in eyes that appeared so empty for a moment she almost seemed like an other. “and that… that thing,” she whispered, her voice tight, almost a hiss, “the thing that masquerades, lying in the crib in the royal nursery. you've seen it, haven't you?" it had not taken her long to work out that avalon was no child, no baby; it foreshadowed a sense of doom for ravella arryn, and she so regretted the day she had reached down on all fours and all but pulled the babe from within herself. it should have been left to die within some scorching hearth, or freeze upon the forest floor. "you see it, don't you?"
