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for you to play. - sauron x oc & morgoth x sauron 🔥
the precarious misadventures of the dark lord & his dark lady. - sauron x oc one-shot collection🔥
hollowed ground. - martanis 🔥
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❯ PAIRINGS - mairon | sauron x artanis | galadriel
❯ WORD COUNT - 3.4k words
❯ WARNINGS - none
❯ SUMMARY - Artanis, Princess of the Noldor had no intentions of marriage, content in her life amongst the walls of Tirion. But that all changes when she is summoned to Máhanaxar to be used as a bargaining chip and punishment for one corrupted Maia.
She must marry the one they called Sauron in order to help prove that he seeks redemption truthfully. But she thwarts her new husband at every chance she gets, even though his punishment's could spell her own demise.
But that's not what she fears the most—it's her intense attraction to the corrupted Maia. A being wrapped in so much mystery and darkness turns out to be tender and kind beneath the shadows that haunt him. Over time Artanis begins to question herself and her morals as she grows undeniably closer to the Maia. But one lingering thought remains, she can't help but ever wonder why he even chose her in the first place.
masterlist
Days bled quietly into weeks. The spring harvest came and went in a golden blur of motion and sun-warmed soil. Then time softened, settling into a gentler rhythm, one measured not in court summons or strained silences, but in the steady cycle of the Pastures. Work in the fields. Seeds pressed carefully into living earth. Long hours beneath Laurelin’s glow with soil beneath my nails and wind against my skin. Evenings in Yavanna’s greenhouse, where green things breathed softly around us. And always—the journal. At first the entries came sharp and restless, ink pressed too firmly into the page. But as the seasons turned, the words began to flow more easily. One book filled. Then another. And another still. Before long, a small row of them lived upon the narrow bookshelf in my chambers.
Years passed. Then more. The seasons slipped by like whispers of wind through tall grain, so gradual I scarcely noticed the passing until I paused long enough to look back. Somewhere along the way, the tight constriction that had once lived beneath my ribs began to loosen.
Not vanish. Never that. But ease.
The looming dread I once felt at the thought of facing Mairon again softened with each passing harvest. With each quiet morning spent in honest labor. With each page filled in careful ink. And—though I resisted the truth of it for far longer than I cared to admit—something deeper began to stir.
A quiet longing. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But… absence had begun to take shape where anger once burned hottest.
I had not forgiven him. But I was no longer willing to let that night define every breath between us.
Yavanna, of course, noticed. She always did. And as the decades wore on, she lightened my duties with suspicious casualness, granting me longer hours among the flowering beds, or free afternoons to swim in the lake at the estate’s edge. She never remarked upon the change directly. But her knowing smiles grew more frequent.
The letters began around the twentieth year.
At first, only one. Delivered with quiet ceremony by Lótessë, who tried—very politely—not to look curious. Fine parchment. Precise, elegant handwriting across the front. Sealed in deep red wax bearing the unmistakable mark of Aulë’s forge.
Artanis.
I did not open it. Most months after, I simply refused them outright, waving Lótessë away with polite finality. She never pressed, merely inclined her head and left the parcel by my door when I was not looking. Soon enough, a small crate took up permanent residence beside my chambers.
It filled. Slowly. Persistently. Always another letter arriving just when I thought the stream might finally end. I told myself I did not care. Told myself distance was cleaner this way. Told myself many things.
Then one month… no letter came. I noticed immediately. I told myself it was coincidence.
The next month passed.
Still nothing. By the time a full year had gone by in silence, something small and traitorous inside my chest gave a painful twist. He had stopped. Given up.
Is that not what you wanted? The thought came sharp and unwelcome.
Freedom. Distance. Separate lives.
He toiling through his long sentence beneath Aulë’s watchful eye. And I, sowing seeds and pruning flowers in peaceful isolation. Everything exactly as I had once wished.
So why did the quiet feel heavier?
Winter found me restless. The hearth in my chambers burned low and warm, its glow beckoning me toward the chaise beside it. I had already read through my small shelf twice over, and the long evening stretched before me with too much room for thought.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I crossed the room. Lifted the crate and carried it back to the fire. My pulse had begun to misbehave by the time I settled into the cushions. The first letter lay near the top. I hesitated only a moment before lifting it free. My fingers traced the edge of the parchment and then, without quite meaning to, I brought it to my nose.
The reaction was immediate—vetiver, incense, cardamom. And beneath it all the unmistakable lingering warmth of forge-smoke. My heart fluttered traitorously. Memory followed scent with brutal efficiency, strong hands at my waist. Warm breath at my ear. Low, carefully measured words that had once set my nerves alight with equal parts fury and awareness. Heat rushed to my face and then I broke the seal. His handwriting was… beautiful. There was no other word for it. Each stroke of the quill was deliberate—elegant swells and precise curves that spoke of patience and impossible control. It was not the script of a careless being. It was careful. Intentional. Almost… intimate.
I swallowed and began to read.
Dear Artanis,
They have permitted me to write to you. Which is, I admit, a quiet relief. Books and work have proven poor substitutes for proper conversation, and journals do not seem to grant me the freedom to address you as I would prefer.
My breath slowed.
In these past years, I have had more time to think than perhaps at any point in my existence. I am deeply sorry for the pettiness that drove me to harm you. It was beneath me and far more beneath what you deserved.
My fingers tightened slightly on the page.
If I could alter any moment between us, it would be that night. I would not have touched you in anger. I would not have sought such hollow revenge for a slight I can scarcely justify even now.
Heat pricked behind my eyes.
I know I am the last person you would ever willingly bind yourself to. But I have wanted you from the beginning. Ever since—
The line ended. Violently scratched through. Ink pressed so hard it had nearly torn the parchment. My heart stumbled painfully in my chest.
What had he meant to say? The question burned—the same one that had haunted me since Máhanaxar. Why me?
I forced myself to continue. The remainder of the letter softened into quieter things—small recountings of his days beneath Aulë’s supervision, observations about the Elven apprentices in the forges, the mundane rhythm of labor and study.
Domestic, almost. The sort of things married people shared over morning meals. The things we should be sharing with each other. The final line sat alone at the bottom of the second page.
Yours dearest,
Mairon
My heart clenched painfully.
Why did he have to be gentle?
Why could he not simply be monstrous and make this easier?
My fingers drifted unconsciously across the page before I drew the letter slowly to my chest, staring into the flickering hearthlight. Tears slipped quietly down my temples. He had written this so soon after our fight. After everything.
And I—
I had ignored him. For years. For decades.
The realization sat heavy and aching in my chest. Because this was the nature of being bound fëa to fëa. Distance did not sever the thread. It only made its pull more noticeable in the quiet.
I exhaled slowly. Then reached for the next letter.
And the next.
And the next.
Until at last Laurelin’s pale glow began to filter through my open window. The crate had dwindled to a single remaining letter. I held it in my fingers, unmoving. Over the long night, I had read years of careful longing from a being I had scarcely spent more than weeks beside.
It was, terrifying, heartbreaking, and impossible to ignore.
Every letter ended the same way.
Yours dearest, Mairon.
And somehow, with each broken seal, it had grown harder to pretend my heart did not answer.
I broke the seal on the final letter. The difference was immediate. Only a single page slid free into my hands—not the careful, multi-paged correspondence I had grown used to over the long night. The parchment felt lighter. Quieter. Hollow even.
My eyes moved to the top of the page. And stopped.
My dearest
Scratched through. The ink was heavier there, pressed hard enough to leave faint ridges in the parchment. Beneath it—
My darling
Also struck out. Not hastily. Not in anger. Carefully. Deliberately. As though he had sat there for some time, quill hovering, before deciding the words were too much or perhaps not enough.
My throat tightened. It reminded me too sharply of that earlier letter—the one where he had nearly confessed something and then buried it beneath ink. I forced myself to keep reading.
Dear Artanis,
It has been nearly a year since I began writing to you. In all that time, I have not wavered in my pursuit of offering you the apology you deserve nor in the hope that we might someday share this existence with less distance between us.
My fingers curled slightly into the edge of the page.
But it seems you wish to keep us apart.
The words were steady. Controlled. Far too calm.
I believe I have come to accept that, if it is truly what you desire.
Something sharp twisted low beneath my ribs.
We shall be bound in all things but spirit, it seems.
My breath caught. The truth of it rang too close to the quiet ache that had lived at the edge of my fëa for years.
Still…
A faint smear of ink followed the word, as though the quill had paused there.
I will wait for you. As long as it shall take, even until the breaking of this world.
My vision blurred.
I will not surrender the hope that one day you may write to me or that we might stand in the same room again without silence between us.
The hearth cracked softly behind me. I barely heard it.
I miss you, princess.
The letter ended there. No long recounting of his days. No careful domestic details. Only—
Yours dearest,
Mairon
My heart clenched so sharply it almost stole my breath. Tears slipped free, darkening the careful ink where they fell. This had been written nearly a decade ago.
Under other circumstances, ten years would have been nothing to one such as me, a passing breath in the long life of the Eldar.
But now…now it felt like something fragile had been left waiting in the dark far too long. After all these years, he would have watched for a reply. Hoped. Waited. And received nothing.
Guilt—quiet and unwelcome—unfurled slowly through my chest. I wiped at my cheeks with the heel of my hand, but the tightness beneath my ribs refused to ease. Before I could lose my nerve I stood. Crossed the chamber in quick, restless strides. The letter remained clutched carefully in my hand as I lowered myself into the chair at my writing desk. My journal lay open where I had abandoned it days ago, its pages already heavy with years of thoughts I had never meant anyone else to see.
For a long moment, I simply stared at the blank space before me. My pulse was loud in my ears. Then slowly, I tore a single clean page free. The sound seemed far too loud in the quiet room. I smoothed the parchment flat. Dipped the quill. And began to write.
Dear Mairon,
Scratch.
The word carved too sharply across the page. I exhaled through my nose and struck a clean line through it.
Mairon,
Scratch.
I groaned softly and leaned back in my chair, pressing my fingers briefly to my temple. Not that either. Not nearly enough.
The quill rested loosely in my hand as I turned toward the tall window of my chambers. Beyond the glass, the Pastures stretched wide and quiet beneath winter’s slow approach. The once-golden fields lay pale and sleeping, frost beginning to silver the edges of the earth. Even the air had changed—thinner, cooler, carrying the long hush that came when Telperion’s light lingered longer than Laurelin’s with each passing day.
Everything was in a season of waiting. Perhaps I was as well.
I drew a slow breath, straightened, and set the quill once more to parchment.
My dearest Mairon,
Your letters have not gone unread. I imagine that is not the answer you expected after so long a silence, but I will not begin this with falsehood. They have sat beside my door for many years and I have sat beside them in equal stubbornness. If there is blame to be taken for the distance between us, I do not pretend it rests solely on your shoulders.
You asked once why I keep you at arm’s length. I could give you the simple answer, that trust, once fractured, does not mend at the pace you might wish. That what passed between us in those first days left more than pride wounded. Both things are true. But they are not the whole of it. The truth is less tidy. You unsettle me. You did from the moment we met beside the river, and you have continued to do so even in your absence. I have spent many years here in the Pastures convincing myself that distance would quiet whatever thread the Valar saw fit to bind between us. In some ways, it has. In others it has not.
I have read your apologies. I believe you regret what you did. Whether that belief is wisdom or foolishness remains to be seen but it is honest.
You should also know this:
I have not forgiven you.
Not yet.
But neither do I wish to remain forever frozen in the moment of our worst beginning. Yavanna, in her usual gentle persistence, has reminded me more than once that growth rarely occurs in still soil. I am trying to decide what I am willing to let grow.
You wrote that you would wait. I will not ask that of you. An Age is a long time to spend in quiet expectation of another’s heart, and I will not have you chain yourself more tightly than the Valar already have. If you choose patience, let it be your choice, not an obligation you believe I require.
As for whether we shall stand in the same room again without silence between us… that, at least, is no longer impossible.
You may write again, if you wish.
I will answer.
Yours dearest,
Artanis
I set the quill down slowly. Only then did I realize how fast my heart was beating. The letter lay between my hands, the ink still faintly wet in places. For a long moment I simply stared at it, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something safer. Something less revealing.
They did not.
Carefully, I folded the parchment and sealed it with my blue wax, pressing my signet into the soft surface with hands that were steadier than I felt. I had sealed many letters in recent years—to my mother, to Finrod—but this one… This one felt different. Final in a way I could not quite name.
When I turned the envelope and wrote Mairon across the front in my elegant, deliberate script, something low in my chest tightened—and then eased. I rose before I could second-guess myself.
I found Lótessë in the greenhouse, half-kneeled among one of the lower beds, patiently pulling winter weeds from the dark soil. The humid air wrapped warmly around my skin as I approached. She looked up at once. I held out the letter.
“Could you have this sent to Aulë’s Mansions?” I asked. Her gaze flicked briefly to the name on the front—perceptive as ever—but she said nothing. Only a gentle, knowing smile touched her mouth as she brushed soil from her hands and accepted the letter.
“Of course, Lady Artanis.” She departed at once.
I stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching until the greenhouse doors closed softly behind her. Then—
I felt it.
That familiar awareness along the edge of my senses. Not him. But close enough to make me turn. Yavanna stood three rows back among the flowering beds, pruning shears resting loosely in her hand. Her smile was warm. Patient. Knowing.
Of course she had noticed. She always did.
Something in my shoulders loosened under her gaze—not embarrassment, not quite relief. Something quieter. Hard-won. Because somewhere in the long, quiet decades of soil and seasons and stubborn reflection, I had stopped letting others define what I was permitted to see. Stopped letting fear alone shape what I felt. I was not naïve enough to call it forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was… something.
And for the first time since Máhanaxar, the thought no longer filled me with dread. If I must share eternity with another—perhaps it would not be unbearable.
Not if that someone was Mairon.
Our letters stretched across years. What began as careful, measured correspondence softened into something steadier—something intimate. After that first reply, we found a rhythm neither of us named but both obeyed. Each week, without fail, a letter arrived. And each week, I sent one in return. Lótessë became our quiet courier, her knowing smile never faltering as she delivered one parchment and accepted another in the same breath. She never pried. Never asked.
But she noticed. Everyone in the Pastures noticed, I think. My journals—once filled daily with restless ink and self-interrogation — began to gather dust more often than not. The more I wrote to Mairon, the less I needed to untangle myself alone.
I told him truths I had once only dared confide to paper. How the soil felt different in winter. How the lake mirrored Telperion’s light like silver glass. How sometimes, when I walked alone at dusk, I missed the particular weight of his gaze—steady and deliberate—more than I had ever expected.
And he…
He wrote of Laurelin. Of how he remembered the way its warmth caught in my hair. How my skin seemed to hold its glow long after the light had shifted. He described me in such patient, excruciating detail that more than once I had to set the letter aside simply to steady my breath.
Like now.
I sat perched along the broad branch of the great oak near the greenhouse, one leg dangling lazily while I reread the final lines of his most recent letter. His words traced the curve of my shoulder beneath golden light. The arch of my brow when I was irritated. The way my mouth softened when I laughed—though I had never believed he noticed such things. Heat climbed slowly up my neck. I swung my foot idly, attempting to cool my face in the mild afternoon breeze.
“My lady?” The voice drifted up from below. I startled slightly, nearly dropping the parchment. I smoothed it quickly into my lap and peered down. Lótessë stood at the base of the oak, hands folded neatly behind her back, a familiar brightness in her green eyes.
“Yes—forgive me,” I said, schooling my expression though I was certain the flush still lingered.
She tilted her head slightly. “You have a letter from Valimar.”
That was… different. I pushed myself upright and leapt lightly from the branch, landing with practiced ease before stepping toward her. The letter she held was not sealed in red. Not bearing Aulë’s mark. It was heavy cream parchment embossed with gold at the edges. Dark blue wax sealed it. And pressed into that wax—Manwë’s sigil.
My stomach tightened instantly. The air seemed colder around me. I turned the envelope over in my hands once before breaking the seal. The wax cracked cleanly beneath my thumb. Inside, the message was brief. Formal. Unadorned. I was summoned to Valimar once more. No explanation given. No indication of purpose. My pulse began to pound faintly in my ears.
Memories rose too easily—
Máhanaxar.
Chains.
The Ring of Doom.
I swallowed. After all these decades what could they possibly want now?
I folded the letter carefully, far more calmly than I felt, and lifted my gaze toward the distant horizon where Valimar lay beyond rolling land and light.
Somewhere far to the north, beneath Aulë’s stone halls, Mairon would feel this shift in my fëa at the anticipation. Of that, I was certain. And for the first time in many years, anticipation warred not with dread, but with something far more dangerous.
Hope.
Hope that maybe letters would no longer be our future. But golden halls and walks among the gardens like I was beginning to dream about.
I know enemies treated each other with hate and anger, but am I the only one who likes enemies-to-lovers ships not because of the manipulation, codependency, or the "toxic" aspects of the ship, but because of the idea of the villains redeeming and the angst and hurt/comfort potential?
❯ PAIRINGS - mairon | sauron x artanis | galadriel
❯ WORD COUNT - 3.3k words
❯ WARNINGS - none
❯ SUMMARY - Artanis, Princess of the Noldor had no intentions of marriage, content in her life amongst the walls of Tirion. But that all changes when she is summoned to Máhanaxar to be used as a bargaining chip and punishment for one corrupted Maia.
She must marry the one they called Sauron in order to help prove that he seeks redemption truthfully. But she thwarts her new husband at every chance she gets, even though his punishment's could spell her own demise.
But that's not what she fears the most—it's her intense attraction to the corrupted Maia. A being wrapped in so much mystery and darkness turns out to be tender and kind beneath the shadows that haunt him. Over time Artanis begins to question herself and her morals as she grows undeniably closer to the Maia. But one lingering thought remains, she can't help but ever wonder why he even chose her in the first place.
masterlist
In the days that followed the incident in the bath, I made it my quiet mission to avoid Mairon at all costs. It was not difficult at first. The Mansions moved to predictable rhythms if one paid close enough attention. I learned the cadence of his hours—when he reported to the forges under Lord Aulë’s watchful eye, when he walked the outer courtyards, when he retired. I reshaped my own movements around his, slipping through corridors minutes too early or too late, choosing gardens he did not frequent, adjusting my rides to opposite hours. It became a careful dance of absence. And, to my private irritation, an exhausting one. I did not examine too closely why avoiding him required such constant awareness of where he might be. So when a letter arrived bearing the seal of Lady Yavanna, I nearly sighed with relief before I had even broken the wax. She wrote with her usual warmth, inquiring whether I still wished to assist with the coming spring harvest in the Pastures—work that would begin in a few weeks’ time.
Yes.
I penned the response almost immediately, the word coming far too easily to my hand. By the time the ink dried, a strange lightness had settled in my chest. Distance. Air. Something that belonged solely to me.
I set about packing what few personal belongings I had brought to the Mansions. The quiet order of the task steadied me — the careful folding of riding clothes, the selection of practical gowns, the familiar weight of my gloves. I told myself the relief I felt was simple practicality.
Avoiding Mairon had grown… difficult. Not because he sought me out. But because, despite myself, I had become increasingly aware of him. The Pastures would remedy that. A few weeks beneath open sky and living green would return some semblance of normalcy to my life.
Or so I hoped.
On the eve of my departure, a summons came. Lord Aulë requested my presence in his private study. A quiet unease settled low in my stomach as I made my way through the Mansions. The air near the forge-wing always carried warmth—banked heat in the stone, the faint metallic scent of worked ore—but tonight it felt heavier. Expectant.
The door opened at my knock. I was not alone in being expected. Lord Aulë stood near his great worktable, broad and steady as ever. Beside him waited Lord Námo, dark gaze already fixed upon me. And near the tall windows stood Eönwë, radiant and composed. Three of the Powers’ most trusted voices. All watching me. My spine straightened automatically.
“You wished to see me, Lord Aulë?” I asked softly.
The Smith inclined his head and gestured to an open chair near him. I moved forward, the soft whisper of my gown loud in the otherwise still room, and took the offered seat. One by one, the others settled as well.
Their attention did not waver. Aulë spoke first, his tone gentler than the weight in the room suggested. “Yes, child. I hear you will soon travel to the Pastures to assist my wife with the spring harvest.”
“Yes, my lord.” I folded my hands neatly in my lap to hide their faint tension. “I am most grateful to have been asked.”
Aulë nodded, but his gaze shifted to Námo. A quiet warning bell rang in my chest.
Námo cleared his throat. “Mairon informed us earlier this week that there was… an incident between you both.” Heat flooded my face before I could stop it. My gaze dropped at once to the pale fabric of my gown, but beneath the embarrassment something hotter stirred—sharp and unwelcome. The memory of the bath rose unbidden, and my fingers curled slightly into the silk at my knees.
“He was very forthcoming,” Námo continued evenly, “but we have nevertheless taken steps regarding the matter.”
I inclined my head, carefully composed. “Thank you,” I said softly.
And I did mean it—at least in part. Námo studied me for a long moment, as though weighing something deeper than my words.
“We believe,” he said at last, “that it may benefit both of you to spend some time apart.”
Relief flickered—quick and bright—before I could fully contain it.
Aulë continued smoothly, sparing Námo the need. “Mairon will be removed from your wing of the Mansions and placed under house arrest for a time. You, meanwhile, will depart with Lady Yavanna as planned.”
The tight band around my ribs loosened a fraction. Space. At last.
“It will not be long,” Aulë added kindly. “Only until matters between you have… settled.”
Settled. As though anything between Mairon and me had ever been calm. Still—I nodded.
“Thank you, my lords.”
“This is not to be taken lightly, Lady Artanis.” Eönwë’s voice cut cleanly through the room. I turned toward him, one brow lifting despite myself. “It is as much a punishment for you,” he continued, gaze sharp but not unkind, “for acting against the will of the Powers, as it is for him.”
My eyes narrowed slightly before I could stop them.
Punishment?
The word sat strangely in my chest. Separation from Mairon was the very thing I had been quietly engineering for days. My pulse was steadier already at the mere thought of distance.
…was it not?
Understanding dawned slowly—and with it, a flicker of grim amusement I buried at once. They believed our bond stronger than it was. Believed distance would wound. Believed I would feel his absence. If only they knew. I lowered my gaze demurely.
“Of course, my lords,” I said softly. “I apologize.”
The three of them seemed satisfied.
Moments later, I was dismissed. As I stepped back into the corridor, the door closing quietly behind me, I drew in a slow breath. Freedom waited in the Pastures.
Distance.
Air.
And yet…
My fingers brushed unconsciously at my wrist—the same wrist he had once caught with effortless ease. My pulse gave one traitorous, uneven beat. I straightened at once and continued down the hall. I would not think of him. Not now. Not when I was finally about to be free of his shadow for a while.
The next morning, Róselindë greeted me in the courtyard with a soft nicker, her silver-gray coat already brushed to a quiet sheen beneath Laurelin’s early light. Relief loosened something tight in my chest at the familiar sight of her. Beside my mare stood another grey I did not recognize—taller, finer-boned—and at its shoulder waited a woman I had never met. She stroked the horse’s mane with slow, absent affection, as though the motion were second nature.
She was taller than I by a few inches, willowy where I was built more solidly for the saddle. Golden-blonde hair fell in a loose braid over one shoulder, threaded with living green ribbons. When she turned at the sound of my steps, her eyes caught the light—
Green. Not the honey-deep storm of Mairon’s gaze. But bright. Clear. Leaf-green in full summer. Yavanna’s people. The Maia’s attire confirmed it: layered silks in soft greens and warm golds, embroidered with curling patterns that mimicked new growth and unfurling vines. Nothing about her felt sharp or guarded. She was spring given form.
“Lady Artanis!” the woman called brightly when she spotted me. Her smile bloomed quick and warm. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
I descended the last stair at a measured pace, schooling my expression into polite calm even as my body hummed with restless urgency. I needed to leave. The Mansions pressed too close around my lungs this morning—their corridors too quiet, too watchful.
Too… touched by him.
“I am Lótessë,” she continued cheerfully.
Up close, the scent of turned earth and crushed green things clung faintly to her—clean and living. I offered her a small, courteous smile.
“Lady Lótessë.”
Róselindë nudged my shoulder impatiently, and I gratefully turned my attention to my mare. My gloved hand slid along her familiar neck, grounding myself in the solid warmth of her before I swung smoothly into the saddle. Lótessë mounted a moment later with easy grace. To her credit, she seemed to read the tightness in my posture at once. Whatever bright greeting she might have offered next died quietly on her lips. Instead, she settled her reins and waited.
I was grateful for the silence.
Without further ceremony, I gathered Róselindë’s reins and pressed my heels lightly to her sides. My mare surged forward at once, eager and sure, and the Mansions of Aulë began to fall behind us. Only then did my lungs begin to feel less constrained.
The journey to the Pastures took two full weeks by horse. At first, I rode harder than was strictly necessary. The wind tore at my braids. My thighs burned pleasantly from the long hours in the saddle. Each mile placed between myself and the Mansions eased something coiled tight beneath my ribs. I told myself it was only the relief of movement.
Not escape.
Not avoidance.
Lótessë proved a quiet companion on the road. When she did speak, it was gentle—observations about the weather, the state of the spring bloom, small practicalities of the journey. She did not pry, and for that alone I found myself warming to her presence by slow degrees.
By the second week, the air itself began to change. Richer. Warmer. Alive with growing things.
When at last we crested the final rise, the Pastures spread before us in a vast sweep of gold and living green. And the harvest was already underway. Golden fields rolled toward the horizon in neat, shimmering waves. Elven attendants moved through the rows with practiced rhythm, their laughter occasionally carried on the breeze. Maiar in Yavanna’s colors worked among them, coaxing growth here, steadying heavy heads of grain there.
Life. Everywhere.
My shoulders lowered a fraction without my permission. This… this I understood.
We guided our horses down the gentle slope toward the great house at the heart of the fields—pale stone half-embraced by climbing green. If Lady Yavanna was anywhere, it would be there, at the center of her growing domain. Róselindë’s ears flicked forward, her stride eager. For the first time in days, the tight, watchful edge beneath my skin began—slowly—to ease. Though somewhere, deep and unwelcome, a quiet thought still lingered: Distance was not quite the same thing as freedom.
Even here—beneath open sky and living green—I could still feel him. Not strongly. Not enough to name a true pull. But at the very edges of my fëa there lingered the faintest brush of awareness, like distant heat from a banked forge. Curious. Persistent. Waiting. As though some part of him stood just beyond a closed door, fingers resting lightly against the frame. Wanting entrance.
My jaw tightened.
As if I would grant him such allowance after everything. After the bath. After the chains. After the way his presence had begun to haunt the quiet spaces of my thoughts.
Absolutely not.
I drew a slow breath and forced my attention back to the world before me. Róselindë’s stride shortened beneath me as we approached the inner grounds, and I gently reined her to a halt at the edge of the flowering courtyard. The moment my boots touched the earth, the tension in my shoulders eased by a small, grateful measure.
At the courtyard’s heart stood a fountain unmistakably wrought by Lord Aulë’s hand — pale stone carved into sweeping, organic curves that somehow still bore the precision of master craft. Water spilled in soft, musical tiers into a wide basin where floating blossoms drifted lazily across the surface. Small golden insects — real and carved alike — glimmered along the edges, so delicately made it was difficult to tell where artistry ended and life began.
Yavanna’s touch softened every line.
“Artanis.”
The warmth in the voice reached me before the presence did. I turned. Lady Yavanna stepped through one of the vine-draped archways, sunlight catching along her skin as though it favored her. Her smile was immediate and bright, the kind that settled deep into the bones rather than merely touching the surface.
And for one brief, disorienting heartbeat—
My breath caught. Auburn hair. Honey-green eyes. Not the same. Never the same. But close enough that my pulse stumbled once in my chest before I mastered it. Yavanna crossed the courtyard with open warmth, and before I could so much as incline my head properly, she drew me into an embrace.
It was… firm. Grounding. Perhaps a touch tighter than strictly necessary.
For half a breath, my body went stiff with surprise—and something older, something homesick—before I returned the hug, my arms sliding around her in answer. I had spent many seasons in the Pastures in my youth. Before duties. Before politics.
Before… him.
“It is so good to see you,” Yavanna said warmly as she finally released me, her hands lingering briefly at my shoulders as though taking quiet stock of me. “Come, come—let us get you settled.”
Relief moved through me in a slow, unwinding wave. I nodded, perhaps a touch more quickly than was seemly. Rest. True rest. No shared corridors. No watchful green eyes appearing where least expected. No careful awareness of another presence just beyond arm’s reach.
Here… I could breathe.
Here… I could simply be.
As I followed Yavanna toward the inner halls, I let my shoulders lower for what felt like the first time in weeks. For a little while, at least—
I could be Artanis again.
Once I was settled into the guest chambers and my duties properly laid out, I found myself… adrift. I had come here to work—that much had been made clear—yet Lady Yavanna seemed far more interested in seeing me rest than putting my hands immediately to labor. The linens had been freshened twice. A tray of fruit had appeared without my asking. Even the windows had been opened wide to allow the warm breath of the Pastures to move freely through the room.
As though she hoped the air itself might soften me.
It might, in time. But to soften where Mairon was concerned, that was another matter entirely.
Still, idleness had never suited me.
I changed quickly into clothes I did not mind dirtying—fitted riding trousers and a loose linen shirt. The familiar practicality of the garments settled something restless beneath my skin. I bound my hair into a crown of tight braids, fingers moving from long habit, and gathered the small list of tasks that had been left upon my table.
The soil was calling.
I could almost feel it already—the warm give of earth beneath my hands, the golden kiss of Laurelin’s light along my skin. Something in me ached for it with quiet desperation.
I had just stepped into the corridor when Lótessë appeared directly in my path. Not abruptly. Not rudely. Simply… there. Blocking the way with gentle determination. I offered her a polite smile.
“Lady Yavanna wishes to speak with you before you wander into the fields,” Lótessë said softly.
I stilled. A faint thread of unease tightened low in my stomach.
“Of course,” I replied carefully. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” She offered nothing further. Which, somehow, made me far less certain of the answer.
We crossed to the far side of the estate in companionable quiet. The air grew warmer, more humid, rich with the scent of growing things even before the greenhouse came fully into view. It rose from the gardens like a structure grown rather than built—sweeping panes of frosted glass framed in pale living wood. Condensation pearled along the inside surfaces, catching Laurelin’s light in soft, golden haze.
Lótessë opened the grand doors without a word. Warm, living air spilled out to meet us. Inside was a riot of green. Vines trailed from high trellises. Broad-leafed plants crowded the lower beds. Flowers in every stage of bloom spilled color across the carefully tended rows. The air hummed faintly with life—insects, growth, quiet breath. And at the center of it all stood Yavanna. She was pruning with small, precise motions, utterly absorbed.
“Lady Artanis, my lady,” Lótessë announced gently.
Yavanna turned at once, her smile warm and knowing. With a small wave, she beckoned me forward even as she dismissed Lótessë with equal ease. The doors clicked softly shut behind me. The humidity wrapped around my skin like a living thing. I approached just as Yavanna lifted another pot—white flowers spilling over its rim in cheerful disarray.
“I am sure your mother taught you how to prune flowers,” Yavanna said lightly.
I inclined my head. “She did.”
“Good.”
Without ceremony, she placed the pot and a pair of delicate shears into my hands. I accepted them automatically and set to work, trimming back the small white blooms with careful efficiency. The familiar motion steadied me—cut, assess, adjust—my breathing gradually evening into the rhythm. Yavanna drifted a few rows away, gathering something unseen.
Then—
“I had hoped Mairon might have joined us.” The shears paused mid-cut. “He always did enjoy pruning my flowers,” Yavanna continued warmly. “Such a perfectionist eye. My beds were never so orderly as when he tended them.”
A soft, disbelieving huff escaped me before I could stop it.
Mairon, patiently pruning flowers. The image refused to settle properly in my mind.
And yet…
There was unmistakable affection in Yavanna’s voice. Not indulgent. Not blind. But fond in a way that felt… old. Almost maternal. I glanced back just as she returned, carrying another pot — and a small blue book tucked beneath her arm.
“There is much you do not know about Mairon,” she said gently.
The words landed with quiet weight. I realized, belatedly, that my pruning had grown… aggressive. Yavanna noticed immediately. With a soft smile, she took the plant from my hands. Her fingers brushed lightly over the petals I had thinned too harshly. Warmth gathered beneath her touch. The blossoms filled out again. Whole. Unharmed. I exhaled slowly through my nose.
“Perhaps,” she continued mildly, “this time apart will teach you a thing or two.”
I looked up at her then, the fight in me dimming—not gone, but… quieter. Something about Yavanna made falsehood feel particularly useless.
“Everyone seems to remember him as he was,” I admitted softly. “Whereas we of the Eldar can only see what he became.”
Yavanna laughed—soft and knowing. “Because we,” she said, gesturing lightly to the greenhouse and herself, “knew him before your people ever woke beneath the stars.” Her gaze softened with memory. “We saw what he made in the harmony of the Song. Beauty. Precision. Devotion.” She paused. “My husband judges him more harshly, it is true. But love does not vanish so easily among the Ainur.”
Not love. The word settled uneasily in my chest.
Yavanna turned then and slid the small blue book toward me across the worktable. “I want you to have this.”
I picked it up slowly. Its cover was embossed with delicate flowers and winding fauna, the leather soft beneath my fingers. When I opened it—
Blank.
Completely.
“Fill it with whatever you wish,” Yavanna said gently. “Thoughts. Observations. Anger, if you must.” Her smile turned knowingly amused. “You have committed yourself to Mairon for eternity, child. Eternity will be very long indeed if you spend it endlessly weighing who was right and who was wrong.”
Heat flooded my face. “So they told you,” I muttered.
“Of course they did.”
Her hand came to rest warmly on my shoulder. “Mairon heals best when he works,” she said softly. “You must discover what works for you. Whether that is speaking with me… writing in that journal… or,” her mouth curved, “venting your frustrations upon my sister’s unfortunate flowers.”
Despite myself, my lips twitched. I looked down at the little blue book again, thumb brushing its edge.
And—to my quiet surprise—something in my chest loosened. Just a little.
Perhaps…
Perhaps this would help me untangle the knot of thoughts and feelings that refused to settle. Perhaps I might, in time, learn who Mairon truly was not merely who my people believed him to be.
I closed the book gently. For the first time since arriving in the Pastures…
❯ PAIRINGS - mairon | sauron x artanis | galadriel
❯ WORD COUNT - 3.3k words
❯ WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI - unprotected p in v, bath sex, unconsensual choking/drowning
❯ SUMMARY - Artanis, Princess of the Noldor had no intentions of marriage, content in her life amongst the walls of Tirion. But that all changes when she is summoned to Máhanaxar to be used as a bargaining chip and punishment for one corrupted Maia.
She must marry the one they called Sauron in order to help prove that he seeks redemption truthfully. But she thwarts her new husband at every chance she gets, even though his punishment's could spell her own demise.
But that's not what she fears the most—it's her intense attraction to the corrupted Maia. A being wrapped in so much mystery and darkness turns out to be tender and kind beneath the shadows that haunt him. Over time Artanis begins to question herself and her morals as she grows undeniably closer to the Maia. But one lingering thought remains, she can't help but ever wonder why he even chose her in the first place.
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I woke to the gentle light of Laurelin spilling warm gold across my face and bare skin. For a long moment, I did not move, suspended in that fragile space between sleep and waking. Then I shifted. The ache between my legs made itself known at once. A sharp breath caught in my throat. Heat crept slowly up my neck as memory followed sensation far too quickly. I rolled carefully onto my side, muscles protesting in unfamiliar ways, and stretched my hand across the bed. Cool linen and empty.
Mairon was gone.
My fingers tightened reflexively in the sheets. The faint imprint beside me had already cooled; whatever warmth he had left behind long since faded. An unexpected knot formed low in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome.
Of course, he had not lingered. Why would he when I had tried to kill him?
Shame prickled hot beneath my skin. I exhaled slowly through my nose, staring at the vacant space where he should have been. He had not been what my mother or uncle feared, not in that moment, not in the quiet dark between us. He had been careful. Devoted, even.
Gentle.
Until I ruined it. Until I forced the mask to slip and saw the darker edge beneath when he was pushed too far—when I rejected not only him, but whatever fragile thing he was trying to become.
My grip loosened. A soft sigh left me just as the chamber doors opened. I turned quickly, pulse leaping traitorously at the foolish hope that it might be him, but the tension drained just as fast when Mírien’s dark hair and crimson gown came into view.
“Good morning, my lady,” Mírien said warmly as two attendants followed behind her, each bearing steaming basins. They slipped silently into the adjoining washroom, and within moments the familiar scent of jasmine, neroli, and vanilla began to coil gently through the air.
“Good morning,” I replied, my voice still rough with sleep.
Mírien crossed the room and swept the curtains wide. Laurelin’s full glow flooded the chamber, painting everything in molten gold. I squinted slightly at the sudden brightness, clutching the sheet more tightly to my chest.
“Where is Lord Mairon?” I asked, striving for casual and not quite managing it. Mírien paused—only for a breath—but I noticed.
“He is with Lord Aulë. His duties began early this morning,” she said.
She did not quite meet my eyes. Something in my stomach twisted.
“Of course,” I murmured, carefully schooling my expression into something neutral. Mírien turned back toward me, her smile gentle but not reaching her eyes the way it usually did. He told her something. Heat crept up my neck again.
“Come,” she said softly. “Let us get you prepared. Breakfast will be served in the dining chambers, if you like.”
I nodded and slid slowly toward the edge of the bed, gathering the sheet with me. The moment my feet touched the floor, my legs betrayed me—unsteady, weak in a way that had nothing to do with the previous day’s travel.
My breath hitched. The room tilted. And Mírien was there instantly. Her hands caught my arms before I could stumble fully, steady and careful, though I did not miss the knowing softness in her expression. Mortification burned hot beneath my skin.
“I have you, my lady,” she murmured gently.
I managed a small, grateful smile, though my pulse still fluttered unevenly. She gave my arm a reassuring squeeze before guiding me toward the bath.
The warm water helped. By the time I was dressed and composed once more, the worst of the trembling in my limbs had faded and I was ready to face my day.
The walk to the dining chambers felt longer than it should have. My pulse quickened again as I neared the doors, but it softened slightly when I heard only the quiet murmur of attendants inside rather than the voice I both dreaded and—
No.
I pushed the thought firmly away.
I was not ready to face him. Not yet. Not with my body still remembering too clearly the weight of his hands, the heat of his breath—
I stepped into the chamber.
It had been set for one.
The round table near the tall windows gleamed in Laurelin’s light, neatly arranged with fruit, warm breads, and steaming meats, all prepared for a solitary meal. Something in my chest tightened unexpectedly at the sight.
So he truly had no intention of joining me.
I was not sure why that unsettled me.
The attendants bowed as I entered, one pulling out the chair with quiet efficiency. I sat and began filling my plate, though my appetite lagged behind the motion. My stomach still felt… strange. Too tight in some places. Too warm in others.
Mírien entered a moment later and dismissed the other attendants with a quiet gesture before taking up her usual place along the wall.
Waiting. Watching.
I broke the silence first. “What is on the agenda for me today?”
It was a careful question. Neutral. Proper. Even if part of me already suspected the answer.
“Nothing, my lady,” Mírien replied promptly. “Though, if you wish for diversion, Lord Mairon has arranged for you to be fitted for new gowns.”
My hand stilled over the fruit tray. Of course he had. My stomach twisted—not entirely unpleasant, which only irritated me further.
“So I will not be permitted to gather my belongings from Tirion, then?” I asked, lifting my gaze to her.
Mírien’s expression softened with something like sympathy.
“We will send for your belongings, but it may take some time for them to arrive.”
I nodded slowly.
“And Róselindë?” I asked more quietly. “Will I still have her?”
At that, Mírien’s smile warmed—genuinely, this time. “Of course, my lady. Your father was most insistent that she remain with you. Shall I have her prepared?”
Relief loosened something tight in my chest. I nodded, finally taking my first bite of fruit.“Yes,” I said softly. Riding would help. It always had. And perhaps—if I were very fortunate—the wind might finally quiet the maddening awareness that still lingered beneath my skin.
Dresses could wait when I wanted a chance at freedom once more.
Once our horses were saddled and brought round, Mírien and I set out across the Mansions’ grounds. Even with the wind in my hair and Rosélindë’s powerful stride beneath me, I could still feel the invisible boundary Lord Námo and Aulë had placed upon me. I was permitted to ride—but not beyond the grounds. Not without Maia escort. Freedom, carefully measured.
Rosélindë, however, had no patience for such constraints.
She surged eagerly the moment I gave her rein, bright and restless beneath me, and I had to keep a firm hand on her to prevent her from breaking fully into a run. Her ears flicked forward, breath already quick with excitement, and I found myself working harder than I meant to just to keep her pace manageable so Mírien could remain beside us.
“Easy,” I murmured, fingers tightening lightly in her mane.
We rode until the cultivated paths softened into the quieter edges of the Mansions’ lands, where a quick-moving stream cut silver through the grass. I slowed Rosélindë there, guiding her down the gentle bank.
She lowered her head eagerly to drink, sides just beginning to dampen with sweat. I stroked along the warm curve of her neck before carefully dismounting—and immediately regretted the motion. A soft groan slipped free before I could stop it. My body protested sharply; the lingering soreness from the night before made all the more noticeable after the ride. Heat crept up my throat, equal parts irritation and reluctant awareness. I busied my hands in Rosélindë’s grey mane. Mírien dismounted a moment later, allowing her own horse to drink beside mine. I could feel her attention settle on me—gentle, perceptive, and far too knowing.
Of course, she knew.
I kept my gaze on the racing water as I spoke. “He told you, didn’t he?”
It was not quite a question. Mírien hesitated only briefly before sighing softly.
“He did,” she admitted. Then, more gently, “But that does not make me think ill of you, my lady. Had I been in your position… the thought may have crossed my mind as well.”
My throat tightened. I nodded faintly, eyes dropping to the stream as Laurelin’s light fractured across its surface.
“I just…” My fingers curled unconsciously in Rosélindë’s mane. “For the first time since all of this began, I felt like I was taking my control back. Like something in this situation was finally mine to decide.” The admission came out thinner than I intended. Mírien stepped closer just as tears slipped free down my cheek. Before I could turn away, her arms came around me—warm, steady, and achingly gentle. I sagged into the embrace despite myself. “The first time in a while,” I whispered, voice fraying, “I was doing something for me.”
My breath hitched.
“But I couldn’t do it. I just… couldn’t.”
The words broke apart, and then the sob came—sharp and sudden, all my tightly held emotions spilling free at once. Confusion. Shame. Frustration. All of it tangled together until I could scarcely tell one from the other.
I had been so certain in that moment. So certain when I raised the blade. And yet…
In his eyes the night before, there had been no hatred. No cruelty. No cold satisfaction. Only that quiet, steady devotion that unsettled me more than anger ever could.
He didn’t hate me for trying. And he wasn’t avoiding me at the moment, like I so surely felt.
He was giving me space to come to terms with everything that had transpired the previous week and last night. And it was only now that I was realizing it.
I was bound to him, and in that binding we now shared our spirits with each other. We could not turn on each other, nor could we harm the other in such a way that would mean the wrath of the One.
We had sealed our fates together in every way possible, whether he or I liked it or not.
“It’s okay,” Mírien reassured me. Her hands were rubbing up and down my back softly for further reassurance as I sobbed into her dress, feeling the guilt of my actions more than I had all morning.
After returning from my ride, I sat down in the small salon off to the side of our chambers. Hoping Mairon would eventually show up and we could finally talk about what had happened between us. So that I could give him a reluctant apology for trying to kill him. But he never showed; only the gentle crackle of the hearth growing low showed the passage of time for me.
It was when Laurelin’s light dimmed, and Telperion’s silvery glow seemed to touch the corners of the salon’s walls, that Mírien finally entered the room and asked if I was ready for dinner. I agreed and found myself eating alone once again, to my dismay. I inquired with Mírien, but she still had no idea when Mairon would return from his duties.
I sat at my dressing table as Mírien ran a brush through my golden strands, laughing softly about some gossip among the attendants in the household, when my husband finally returned. I gazed at him through the mirror; his crimson tunic and pants were covered in soot and fillings from a long day in the forge, it seemed. His gaze met mine in the mirror, and heat traveled from the back up my neck up to my face as he gave me a similar look as he did the night before when he entered and saw me in just my dressing gown.
He crossed the room and disappeared into the washroom, though with not as much as a word to either Mírien or me. I turned to Mírien and lightly dismissed her for the evening, then rose from my stool and followed the same steps Mairon had taken, finding him refilling the copper tub with the extra water the other attendants had left after my bath.
I walked up to him and moved to run my fingers under the hem of his shirt, feeling the strong planes of his back as he stood just before the tub of steaming water.
“I’ll get you dirty,” he breathed in a low but seductive tone. I was hyper aware of the warmth passing between us in that moment.
“You won’t,” I said, helping him out of his shirt. Still not quite sure why I was even doing this, but it seemed right. And as his tunic fell to the floor beside the tub, he turned and captured my lips. The kiss was deep and consuming as our mouths moved. My fingers trailed up his chest and carded through the dusting of hair there before my arm slipped over his shoulders, fingers tangling into his auburn hair at the nape of his neck.
I urged him to deepen the kiss by granting his tongue access to my mouth with a gentle whimper. I had no idea what I was doing, but it felt good in the moment, even right to be sharing with him.
He broke away slowly, fingers coming up to push a stray strand of hair behind my ear as his honey-green eyes smoldered in the gentle light of the flickering candles.
“What brought this on?” he asked, softly. My fingers tightened in his hair as his traveled down my neck, then to the stone lying at my breast. His hands hovered over it, and in turn, the diamond pulsed softly until it felt heavy upon my chest. I had forgotten about it for most of the day, until this very moment when its maker was now in its presence.
“Apology,” I breathed softly against his lips, pushing my body flesh against the hard line of his body, suddenly feeling bold enough.
He hummed, and a smile filled his lips before he spoke. “Is that so?”
Mairon captured my lips again. This time, slow and languid as our fingers found the ties in the others' clothing—his trousers and my dressing gown. And when they pooled around our ankles, he picked me up quickly, our lips barely parting. We sank into the steaming water, my hips bracketing his as he nestled me against him. My fingers gripped his shoulders while his traced the curve of my spine, sending shivers down my spine.
Our gazes locked then as he pulled away, his teeth lightly grazing my bottom lip. I gave him a soft smile as my fingers moved to cup his face, my skin gently scraping against the fresh, growing stubble there. My mind went elsewhere with thoughts of what it would feel like to scrape against the skin of my thighs.
Mairon chuckled then, a sly, teasing smile filling his lips. “Later, princess,” He leaned up and kissed underneath my jaw, then gave it a gentle nip, causing me to whimper against the motion. “If you’re a good girl, that is.” I nodded and rolled my hips against him in anticipation of being rewarded in such a way.
His hands went to my hips underneath the warm water and began rolling them against him. My back arched against the motion. His mouth descended down my neck, tracing across my collarbone, then down towards my breast. Mairon hummed against the skin while my fingers moved to thread through his hair, and my hip kept rolling against his thigh.
The dual stimulation had me moaning and whining against him. Until one final roll, and my core seized, and I let out a cry of release. Mairon released my nipple from his mouth, and his hand came around and wrapped around my throat. I looked down and took in his darkened green eyes as he looked up at me, still coming down from the high of release.
“Now that was a good girl,” he praised. My body flustered at the praise while my fingers released his hair, traveling down his chest. Feeling bold, I wrapped my fingers around his erection. My tiny hands could barely cover the entire thing. Mairon dipped his head back against the rim of the tub, a breathless sound leaving his lips as I caressed him underneath the water, still not quite sure what to do.
Mairon seemed to have read my mind in that instant, his hand coming to guide mine in a rhythm he seemed to like. But after a few strokes, he stopped me and took my hand away. He angled himself at my entrance instead and went to my ear.
“Well have to practice that, but right now I want to be inside that tight little cunt of yours.” He breathed against the skin of my ear until his lips wrapped around the pointed tip. A shutter coarsed through my body at the motion and his words.
I braced myself against his shoulders again and lifted myself to hover my center in line with his blunt head. His hands went to my waist, and he gently sank me down onto him. My toes curled at the still painful but pleasurable ache that filled my core once he was fully seated inside me. He paused a moment and let me adjust it, then began to move me in a rhythm that had both of us filling the steam-filled room with our breathy sounds and the gentle sloshing of the bath water against the tub.
“You truly are divine, princess,” he commented, picking up pace until I felt his hand snake around to my front and rub against my swollen bud. My fingers dug crescents into his shoulder as the feeling in my core became overwhelming. “Come for me, princess,” he panted against my skin as I rode higher. Until, in one final thrust, I came over the edge with a cry of his name. But it suddenly died in my mouth when he laid me back underneath the water, hand around my throat. Still, he drove into me even when the oxygen grew low in my lungs.
I thrashed against him, kicking and screaming as water splashed about. He did not relent until all I could feel was his body slowing and then with one final thrust he spilled into me. Mairon released me, and I shot up out of the water, gasping for air as he lounged against the back of the tub. My eyes narrowed at him.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, still gasping for air as my fingers touched my neck.
“We’re even,” he said, then waved me off. I got out of the bath quickly, then went in search of a towel. I grabbed one and dried myself off before turning back to him. His eyes were on me with a pleased smile on his face. “Oh come now, you didn’t think I’d let it slide, did you?”
So he had been avoiding me and this.
All day.
Until I caved and gave him some sort of cruel satisfaction in trying to get even with my attempt on his life. Tears welled into my eyes that moment, I gripped the chain around my neck and pulled down, yanking it free of my neck. I tossed the chain at him until it skittered across the marble floor and turned away from him. I heard the water sloshing as he moved, but paid no mind to it. All I wanted was to get out of here and fast.
“You’re a monster.” I choked out, loud enough for him to hear. But I didn’t wait for a reply. I moved back into the bedchamber, grabbed my nightgown, slipped it on, and turned to leave the room.
I needed to get far away from him, and from the rage currently boiling in my chest. Because I knew that if I had stayed in that room, I would have killed him in his sleep.
There was no doubt of that.
Because I had been completely and utterly wrong about him.
