Now The Songbird Is Gone (Part Six)
Short Summary
Commander Snow wants nothing more than to leave District 2. But why leave alone when he could take someone with him?
The Story
By the third day, it’s no longer a secret. She walks through the compound, and everyone notices. Whispers trail behind her like shadows, carrying her new, unspoken title.
The Commander’s girl.
Seraphina feels the weight of their eyes as she moves past.
Soldiers glance up from drills, officers pause mid-step, and even Maris doesn’t look away when she passes.
She keeps her head down, careful, though every subtle gesture, a lowered gaze, the flush rising in her cheeks, marks her in their minds.
She isn’t invisible anymore.
She’s his.
Not officially, perhaps, but enough that everyone knows she belongs to Coriolanus in some way. And that knowledge is both terrifying and oddly… thrilling.
She hears it first as a soft murmur while walking past the mess hall.
“That’s Snow’s girl…”
A soldier nearby snickers under his breath. Another whisper.
“Bet she’s spoiled already.”
She tightens her grip on the strap of her bag, wishing the earth would swallow her up. She wants to hide, run, disappear, but she can’t.
She can’t, because if she tries, he will notice. And that thought alone keeps her feet moving, however stiffly, however reluctantly.
It happens later that afternoon. She doesn’t mean to bring it up.
Really, she doesn’t.
They’re in his office again, the door closed, the familiar quiet settling around them like a second skin.
Seraphina stands near his desk, fidgeting slightly with the sleeve of her dress, while Coriolanus reviews something on paper.
Or at least pretends to.
Because his attention drifts back to her every few seconds anyway.
“You’re distracted.”
He doesn’t look up when he says it. She startles slightly.
“I..I’m not.”
Now he looks at her. One brow lifts, unimpressed.
“Try again.”
Her fingers twist tighter into the fabric. She hesitates, then exhales softly.
“I just… heard something earlier.”
That gets his attention. Fully. The paper is set aside without a second thought.
“What did you hear?”
His tone is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it. Not anger. Interest. Possession.
Seraphina shifts her weight slightly, glancing down before forcing herself to speak.
“Some of the peacekeepers were talking.”
A pause. His hand reaches for her, rests on her waist.
“They said… they said I’m ‘Snow’s girl’.’”
The faintest curl of a smile. Not offended. Not angry. Amused.
“I see.”
He leans back slightly in his chair, studying her now, eyes slow and deliberate as they take in every reaction, every flicker of embarrassment on her face.
“And?”
She hesitates again, cheeks warming.
“They also said..”
She trails off, already regretting bringing it up. Coriolanus tilts his head.
“Go on.”
His voice is softer now. Encouraging. Teasing.
“They said they bet I’m… spoiled already.”
The words come out quieter than she intended, her face burns immediately after.
For a moment he says nothing. Then he laughs, genuinely amused. It’s not mocking, it’s pleased.
“Did they now?”
He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk, gaze locking onto hers with something sharp and entertained.
“Well, do you believe that they are correct?”
The heat in her cheeks spreads instantly, and she looks away, embarrassed, but he doesn’t let her hide for long.
“Come here.”
She obeys, slowly she moves closer. When she’s close enough, he reaches out, two hands settling on her waist, pulling her into his lap like he has done multiple times this week.
It has become this ritual. Every day she’s walked to his office by Maris, who leaves her alone once Seraphina stands in front of the wooden office doors.
Coriolanus calls her in and she spends most of the time perched on his lap, waiting patiently while he files reports and signs documents. Sometimes he asks her to fetch him something to drink, or he orders her to play with the hair on the back of his neck.
Sometimes Seraphina feels embarrassed, being used like a little maid by the Commander of district 2. She’s supposed to hate him, her brother is probably still locked up, but he treats her so well it’s hard to think about that.
“Do you feel spoiled?”
The question is quiet. Her lips part slightly, but no answer comes. Because what is she supposed to say?
He watches her struggle for a second, then hums softly.
“Let me help you.”
His thumb lingers at her cheek for a moment, brushing away the heat there as if he’s the one who put it there to begin with, his gaze fixed on her face like he’s studying something delicate, something that belongs entirely to him now.
“You stay in my rooms, you wear what I provide, you come when I call, and you sit exactly where I put you.”
His fingers slide from her cheek to her chin, tilting her face just enough that she has to look at him, and can't hide in the space between them this time.
“And you’re taken care of.”
The words soften slightly at the end, but they don’t lose their weight.
“Better than anyone else in this compound.”
Seraphina’s breath catches, her hands still where they rest against him, unsure whether to pull away or stay exactly as she is.
He watches that hesitation too. Always.
“So.”
He murmurs, his thumb brushing once more along her cheekbone, slower now, almost absent.
“I’ll ask you again.”
A small pause.
“Do you feel spoiled?”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out immediately.
Because the answer is there, sitting heavy in her chest, complicated and confusing and impossible to say without making everything more real.
“I don’t know.”
Seraphina admits finally, her voice quiet, uncertain. He studies her for a second longer.
Then a faint smile returns. Softer this time. But no less knowing.
“You do.”
His hand slides from her face back to her waist, settling there like it belongs, like it’s always been there.
“You’re just not used to admitting it yet.”
Her cheeks burn again, stronger this time, and without thinking she looks away, trying to escape the weight of his gaze.
His hand shifts immediately, guiding her back, not forcefully, just enough.
“Don’t hide.”
The words are quiet. But they land all the same.
“You came to me.”
His voice lowers just slightly.
“You stayed.”
Another pause.
“And now you sit here.”
His fingers press just a fraction firmer at her waist, grounding her again, reminding her exactly where she is.
“With me.”
***
The next few days shift something in the Compound.
At first, it’s subtle.
A different kind of attention when Seraphina walks past. Conversations that quiet just a second too late. Glances that linger a little too long before snapping away the moment she looks up.
And then it stops being subtle because Commander Snow makes sure of it.
It starts with small things.
A new dress appears in her apartment one morning, soft fabric, far finer than anything she’s ever owned. Capitol-made, without a doubt. It fits her perfectly, as if it had been tailored specifically for her.
Then comes breakfast.
Not the standard meals distributed to workers or even officers, but something else entirely, fresh fruit, warm bread, real butter. Delivered daily.
Always with a quiet, “From the Commander.”
Then the roses.
Always fresh. Always replaced before they can wilt.
Her apartment slowly stops feeling like a cage and starts feeling like something else. Something curated. Controlled. Built for her.
Built for him.
***
By the third day, no one bothers pretending anymore.
“Snow’s girl.”
Someone mutters as she passes.
Another voice, quieter but not quiet enough.
“Lucky thing.”
Seraphina doesn’t know what to do with that.
Because it doesn’t feel like luck, but it doesn’t feel entirely like a punishment anymore either.
And that confuses her more than anything.
Coriolanus, on the other hand, seems pleased.
He calls her to his office more often now, always opening his arms for her to fall into, occasionally pressing a kiss to her cheek when she’s not paying attention.
Possessive in a way that doesn’t need to be said out loud.
***
That afternoon, she’s standing by his desk again, fingers nervously brushing against the fabric of her new dress when he looks up from his papers.
“They fit you well.”
Her cheeks warm immediately.
“Thank you.”
He leans back in his chair slightly, studying her like he always does, like she’s something he’s still figuring out, something he’s already decided belongs to him.
“You don’t sound very convinced.”
“I am.”
Seraphina says quickly, then softer.
“They’re just… nicer than I’m used to.”
A faint smile pulls at his lips.
“I know.”
That’s the point. He gestures toward him.
“Come here.”
She obeys without hesitation now.
That, more than anything, seems to satisfy him. When she reaches his desk, he doesn’t stop her there.
His hand finds her wrist, gentle but firm and tugs. Effortless.
She ends up in his lap again. Like it’s natural. Like it’s expected.
“Comfortable?”
Coriolanus murmurs near her ear.
There’s that teasing tone again.
Her breath catches slightly, but she nods.
His fingers brush lightly over the fabric at her waist, absent-minded, almost casual but not really. Nothing he does is accidental.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“To what?”
“This.”
His hand tightens just slightly.
“Being taken care of.”
Seraphina stills slightly at that, her fingers tightening where they rest against his shoulder, the words settling somewhere deep, somewhere she doesn’t quite know how to respond to.
Being taken care of.
It sounds gentle. It doesn’t feel optional.
“I…”
She starts, but the words don’t come easily, her thoughts tangling somewhere between gratitude and something far more uncertain.
He watches her for a moment, that same quiet, patient observation, as if he has all the time in the world to let her figure it out.
Then, slowly, he shifts. Not away from her. Never that.
But forward, his attention sharpening just slightly, something more deliberate settling into his expression.
“You won’t be staying in that apartment anymore.”
The words come easily. Casually. Like he’s commenting on the weather.
Seraphina blinks. Her breath catches.
“I…what?”
For the first time in days, she pulls back just slightly, just enough to look at him properly, confusion flickering across her face.
“My apartment…”
“It’s inadequate.”
He cuts in smoothly, not harsh, not raised, just certain.
His hand remains at her waist, anchoring her in place even as she shifts.
“It’s small. Poorly placed. Too exposed.”
Each word lands like it’s already been decided, already filed away, already solved.
“And I don’t like the idea of you being there without me.”
That part is quieter, more honest. More dangerous.
Seraphina’s heart stutters at that, her fingers loosening slightly against him before tightening again.
“You’ll stay with me.”
Not a question. Not a suggestion. A decision.
Her breath catches again, sharper this time.
“In your… apartment?”
She already knows the answer. Still, she asks.
He tilts his head slightly, studying her reaction, the faint tension, the uncertainty, the way she hasn’t pulled away completely.
“Where else?”
There’s the faintest hint of amusement again, his eyes flicker and a smirk appears on his face.
But it doesn’t soften the weight of it.
“You’ve already spent a night in my bed.”
That lands, because it’s true.
His hand slides slightly higher along her back, slow, deliberate.
“It’s safer.”
Another pause.
“For you.”
His gaze doesn’t leave hers now.
“And more convenient.”
For him.
He doesn’t say it.
He doesn’t need to.
Seraphina swallows, her thoughts racing, trying to find something to hold onto, something to push back with, but nothing comes out.
Because every argument feels smaller than the way he says it.
Smaller than the way he’s already decided.
Her silence stretches just a second too long. He notices.
“You’re thinking too much.”
His voice softens again, just slightly, his hand making his way to her neck, settling there, holding her still.
“You’ll have everything you need.”
Seraphina tries to move, tries to look away from his burning eyes, His fingers dig into her neck, not harsh, not painful, just to remind her she doesn’t move unless he allows it.
“And I’ll know where you are.”
That’s the real reason. It settles between them, unspoken but clear. His hand steadies at her waist again.
“Maris will have your things moved.”
Already arranged. Already in motion.
Seraphina exhales slowly, her shoulders lowering just slightly, not quite relaxing, not quite resisting either.
Caught somewhere in between.
“Okay.”
She says finally, the word quiet, almost uncertain. But it’s enough, it always is.
A faint smile touches his lips.
“Good.”
His hand tightens just slightly at her waist, pulling her a fraction closer again, as if sealing it, as if confirming what’s already his.
“Then I won’t have to wonder what you’re doing when you’re not here.”