So engrossed in her novel that she didn’t notice him until he was in front of her. The gem at his waist twinkled briefly in her vision as she craned back to look at him. But only for a moment. “Ary-“ 

He plucked her out of her chair and held her suspended for a moment as he turned around and threw himself onto the furniture, tucking her against him. He took up a lot of space normally, but in her favorite chair, the one with just enough room for her puffs and no pillows, his size was a bit ridiculous. But it was comfortable. 

Her novel fell to the floor as she studied him. He said nothing but looked weary and not just a bit fierce. She knew none of it was directed at her. Though he seemed impassive at times, she could…sense things from him now. Maybe it was the tie between them but she felt like she understood him a little better.

 “Can I do anything?” 

He rested his head on top of hers and stared out of the window at the lawn before them. His grip tightened gently on her side. “This is enough.”

“Ah, my greedy pet returns”. The voice was clear and mirthful, a tone often used from afar and in public. Sunlight dripped from him, this golden king who looked for his subjects love, but would settle for their fear. 

Avari made his quiet path to the throne, stopping just out of reach of the monarch. He remembered always that the prince found being within arms length of him discomforting unless on his own terms, and he had no interest in drawing his attention more than was necessary. “You summoned me.” He did not bow his head when he spoke, but met the bright eyes of the Spring Prince solemnly. 

“I have need of your services outside the kingdom.” If the prince was annoyed that Avari had corrected him, he simply stored it for use in tiny revenges later. Wouldn’t do to act out in court directly. 

“Which court.” This was normal procedure, he often wandered far to collect something owed. He only hoped it was not Winter. 

“Not court, realm. Through the veil.” The Shock in his pets eyes made his smile grow. Any opportunity to change the mask of this somber creature was a victory. “Something I have long been owed has been found. You will retrieve it. Now.”

Marcain flicked another invisible speck from his jacket, choosing this small rebellion from stoicism over tapping his foot. The urge was there. But when dealing with this particular Fragment one never knew where he was, or how long he had been watching and waiting. 

He did know that Death was doing this on purpose. Fine, let him play his games. It was several minutes and a few barely contained cane taps later before he made his appearance. 

The form he chose to take was that of a decently coiffed dandy, dressed nearly as kindly as Marcain himself. The borrowed body had dark hair cut close to the scalp and flinty eyes but was otherwise not particularly interesting. He took a seat with a wide grin.  “Am I to congratulate you on your nuptials then. Shall we drink?” He put his hands together and began picking at a fingernail. 

“We will not.” The cane twirled in disapproval. “It seems the ring you gave me was a little more than empty.” 

“Oh did you not like that? I thought gifts were customary for a wedding.” Maldectus didn’t blink as he removed a fingernail. “I thought you might enjoy having an easy point to manipulate. I was being THOUGHTFUL.” 

“Rage? I think you chose the least directional on purpose.” 

“I can only work with what I have, chap.” Another fingernail joined its partner and that seemed to be the tipping point for Marcain. 

“Must you do this at the table. Do you not feel that?” Death stopped and blinked blankly at the other man. 

“Oh, Sin, I forgot how preoccupied you are with feeling.” He swept the scraps into his pocket and folded his hands. “Well our bargain is met, Seine for the ring. If you only called me to complain…” 

“Seine is yours.” 

The grin widened and the chair scraped noisily as he stood in excitement. “Well then Marcain, enjoy your wedding night.”

One half to bind you to the truth 

One half to always doubt it 

One half to hold your heart with you 

One half to live without it

Valentine’s Day was always disappointing. There was never anyone important enough to make the holiday anything but cheesy so she leaned as far into the commercial aspect as was possible. If the candy was cheaper wrapped in pink than it was the rest of the year, she was absolutely going to buy it. Was she lonely? Its possible, but getting her to admit that she needed another person for more than the occasional booty call was no mean feat. Even Ophelia left that one alone.

So maybe Valentine’s Day was not that disappointing. She had her friend close by. She had candy. She had an eggplant emoji in her contacts list that would come running if she so much as let them see her typing. And she had him.

Rowan looked down at the mess of black and pale limbs that took up her couch. She’d stopped trying to fight him on his lack of clothes a bit ago, both because  he enjoyed the fight, and because she had decided to be honest with herself about it bothering her. So there he lay with pink shorts on, one arm flung out above his head and one foot on the ground because her couch wasn’t actually enough space for his form.

The urge to do something terrible to him struck her as it always did, if she saw him with any sort of vulnerability. And then, hard on its heels, the urge to do something sinful. And still terrible. Her mother would have told her once that her impulse was what she had been conditioned to feel, and what came right after was what she meant to do. But if she thought about that too much she really would do something horrible.

She finally decided on somewhere in the middle  and shoved his feet out of the way before falling onto the couch next to him. Damn reacted as expected and made a rumbling noise as he woke, putting his feet back up where they had been on the couch, now on her lap. 

“You’re in an exceptional mood today, Black.” He opened his eyes to see her open a small box that rattled slightly as she shook out small colored shapes into her palm. “What are those." 

She handed him one and without thinking he put it in his mouth. Sweet. He was instantly hit with the taste of sugar and it was mostly unpleasant. He preferred savory and the face he made probably reflected this. 

Rowan investigated the shapes in her palm and handed him another one. Damn looked at it this time. A tiny blue heart with the words "Bite me” stamped on it in yellow. His eyebrows went up and he leveled himself into a sitting position. “Why, is this a request?”

‘As if’ read the heart she showed him next as she chewed on a couple of others, phrases not worth using against him. Her familiar took the box of leftovers and dumped them into his palm with interest. A couple of them were snapped up without him really paying attention, and  a few more were sacrificed to her sweet tooth before he saw what he was looking for. 

Tiny clatters as the rest dropped from his palm and he moved over her, the loom over the back of the couch that he knew she hated. His hand collected hers, something pressing between their palms as his face neared. If she was honest she had seen this move in a dozen movies, in several books and either fortunately or unfortunately, now two times in her own life. His breath fanned out over her cheek, made sweet by the candy and framed by lips close enough that were they to speak would be meeting hers. 

But neither of them talked, he simply watched her with that hot look of his and she stared back with a very convincing air of nonchalance and annoyance. But he was immortal, and could wait much longer than her. So when she broke, and licked her lips, her tongue flicking out over his for a moment, he laughed.

And he released her, leaving behind the candy he had trapped between them as he walked off to the kitchen for something substantial. Rowan looked down to her palm to see a slightly damp pink heart, taunting her with the phrase 'you wish’.

There were nights where he wouldn’t even cross her mind. There were weeks, months even where she would swear she had forgotten about him altogether. That she was free. But every so often she would hear his laugh, the husky chuckle that she had coaxed so easily from him. On more than one occasion she could smell his scent, that soothing burn of steel in flame. Impossible memories dragged her back each time she got away, distracting her and then stoking her need to complete her goal. 

But this time it was no phantom, no mirage to reason away. He was here in front of her. And he was not laughing. In fact he was not speaking to her at all. He had returned only to see Viress. She was sure that he would not stay for long and that he would avoid her before he left. But here he was. 

She shifted slightly, the first to budge in their standoff. He didn’t smile, but he registered the movement, as he would everything else about her. There was nothing he didn’t know, and she felt too young again, too vulnerable in a place that should have been her sanctuary. “You came back.” Stupid. Of course he had come back, he was here in front of her. Was that longing in her voice? Could he tell that she had been hoping for this. 

“You have been busy.” His voice lacked the color or passion she remembered, that see had heard him use with others even. It seemed that was lost to her. 

Did he not see why she had done it. “I had hoped you would return to see it completed.”

“See what, Sentinel. The consequences of your good intentions?” He crossed his arms. “Are you proud of what you have accomplished?” 

This was going poorly. Her eyes slitted, ire rising. He spoke to her as if it were nothing, as if she had not done the very thing he tried and failed to so long ago. Her chin rose. “I have set us free.” 

“No Kasparian, you have simply decorated the prison.” He turned from her then, giving her no chance to respond as he left. There was nothing she would know to say. Not to him, not now. She stared woodenly at his back, atop a throne she had worked so hard to gain and meant very little in this moment.

“Did you bring it?” The dark shape didn’t wait for her to answer and left the door he had just opened for her, allowing her entry into his room. She handed over the scraps of bark she had stolen so casually before he could move too far away. He inspected them for a moment and then turned away to make noise or do whatever his plot required.

He seemed content to ignore her and she was happy enough to use the time to snoop around his bare space, and what little belongings he had decorated with. Of course she had already snuck through here but it was a little different when the person you were looking out for was right next to you, allowing it. 

He didn’t quite reside in the dungeon but it was certainly dungeon adjacent. And he hadn’t done much to warm up the place.  A bed, two long tables with scattered bits and bobs, no chairs. A small window hung free of draping near where he was working because of course it never got bright enough in Winter’s domain to worry about a glare that may harm him.

She briefly wondered about the scraping noise she heard from his corner and the person making it. He had no problem with her in his space. He seemed to not care about her being near at all and he had certainly agreed with her joining him readily enough, even if his one caveat still rankled her.

You must listen to me. 

Her stubborn streak had met him time and time again, but in this he would not budge. If she wanted to go, she would listen.

And so he had asked for bark and her time and she waited, pawing through books that she could not read and herbs that she could not name. 

“Strip." 

There was no way she heard him correctly. Spinning to face him, her eyes daring him to repeat himself. "Excuse me?" 

"Strip. You can keep your slips on.” He was stirring something in a large bowl and looking rather expectantly at her. He had never lacked for confidence in their exchanges but where Asher’s was measured in yells and threats, the drow held his in whispers and promises. He did not need to tell you not to test him, you knew. 

They stared at each other for a while longer, her angry eyes matching his calm blinks. He stirred the bowl more slowly now. She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “I will not be naked with you." 

"You said you would listen to me. To your slips.”

Another battle of gazes ensued and she hissed in a breath as she realized he would not budge on this. “Turn around." 

He obeyed and she could see his elbow saw back and forth as he stirred. She was not able to take her eyes from him as she peeled off layer and layer of clothing. Of armor. Of safety. She refused to drop her clothes onto the floor and so onto the bed they were tossed. She watched his ears twitch each time a layer hit silk, but he did not turn to look. "If I’m suitable, will you tell me what your awful plot is now.”

She had kept her slip on of course. And there was no bright light, nor flaring hearth to reveal outlines of her body as they do in a torrid novel. But still she felt some pride when he turned and his eyes went to slits, as if she was simply too much to look at in full force.  A couple of steps took him to the table at her side and she watched his gaze widen as he no longer could look at all of her at once. The bowl met the table and she stared at its disgusting contents.

Globs of inky black stared back at her, like oatmeal but made of ink. She had no idea what he did to the bark but it was unrecognizable. “I’m not going to eat th- AAAAAAT." 

She barely stopped a shriek as his hand met her arm and he smeared some of it onto her skin. "What are you doing!” She wrenched her arm away, aghast at the black ooze on her pale skin. 

“A disguise.” He reached for her hand again and after a minor tug of war- he let her win and simply smeared it onto her nose. In her distraction, this time accompanied by a shriek, he resumed his work on her arm. 

“What is this?"He massaged the nasty mess into her arm, her elbow, the cracks in between her fingers. If she was honest it felt kind of nice, once you got over the fact it was disgusting. The massage? Fine.

"A spa treatment. Its used to darken the skin." 

She stared at her arm while he moved to the other, interested now. Would it dye her? He had stopped just above her elbow and it made her look like she was wearing liquid gloves. "Yes but what is it made of." 

"Ash bark." 

"And?" 

"My blood.”

“DROW!” She took her arm away from him again. 

“Lady. If this is what keeps you squeamish you will NOT be going with me." 

She glared at him again but offered her arm this time. What an easy threat. How nice it would be to have leverage over him. But they were to join his world this time, and so as much as it stung it made sense he would lead. 

He crouched suddenly to pick her up and sit her on the table, a move that would have gotten him a smack or a slice but had happened all rather quickly. She reached out to steady herself as he resumed his crouch to start smearing her feet and her hands went to his head. Or rather they tangled in his hair rather quickly and he froze, waiting for her to extricate herself. 

Her hand brushed the tip of his ear and his inhuman levels of stillness suddenly reached new heights before he leapt back from her towards the door and stood. "You can do that part yourself. Don’t miss any spots. Near the knee. Then neck and face." 

A small victory, to have discomforted him. But she would keep it to herself. "How long does it have to stay on?" 

"3 hours.” He turned to leave, clearly not far enough away from her yet. 

“Three HOURS? DROW!” She yelled at his retreating form, furious. But then, just as furiously, she did what she was told and plotted about how she would wait the three hours on his bed. Ruin it.

It was a lovely court gathering, for a Tuesday. All around her were whispers. Rumors. But in a court that prided itself on its secrets that was nothing new. Secrets traded and bought but never to leave the walls. 

 “A new gift, this one not refused.” 

 “I heard that Winter has locked him up.” 

She overheard but tossed aside the tidbits, tying them to the new earthly intrusion in her realm. She had no intention of acknowledging it and on the off chance this was a completely different new prisoner, she would treat them the same. 

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop a scowl as her brother joined her. She did not refer to him as such but for appearances sake they were as close to kin as anything else. 

“I’ve seen him, you know.” He offered her a glass and out of habit she refused.

“The rotting leaf? As have I.” 

 He laughed and downed the spare glass. 

“No. A different gift. This one from a meeting with a Queen that you were not invited to.” 

She scoffed. “I doubt you were invited either. And if it were so precious why do tongues say that it has been locked up?” 

Another laugh. He never seemed to run out of mirth, a trait she knew was meant for the upper hand and still rankled from time to time. “Winter has put him not in the dungeon, but the tower. Which I suppose for one of his kind may also double as a place of torture.” 

She sighed and ripped the remaining glass from his hand, remembering then to at least sip it in a ladylike fashion. “What is he then, or must you riddle me all night.” 

Would he ever stop laughing! He slid away from her with a taunt. “Why don’t you go see for yourself.” 

Every time she heard his name her blood went hot. Not boiling like in a rage, that she knew. But a new more insidious type of heat that slid through her veins. Surely he was the bad guy in her story for making her feel this way. Though no one had ever whispered anything remotely villainous about him, perhaps it was the lack of terrible whispers that made him more of a threat to her sanity. 

Truly he had to have faults somewhere but the perhaps the absolute worst thing about him was that he was striding towards her. And he was smiling.

Unseen hands flipped through the pages of several books at once, his gaze devouring the words on the page as he searched for the answer. His palm smacked down on one book in particular suddenly, dissipating the wispy appendages in a soft cloud. He raised the book, flipping back and forth through a few pages as he read, inventorying the information into “useful” and “not useful but never to be forgotten”. Satisfied with with his literary material he started walking towards another room, nose deep in the book when he felt the presence.

Firm hands cupped his cheeks, giving a pinch and a pat before moving up to repeat the same to the cheeks on his face. “Care for a tug and a tussle, dearie?” Came the laughing inquiry, voice soft and floating in the air like a promise.

Dare made a cutting motion with his free hand as if batting at the creature, but made no contact. “Hands off, you slag.” There was no malice to his insult, no heat. He said it dispassionately, almost idly as if it were a part of a routine. Which it very well could be, as the Merry Widow was as persistent as she was capricious. One minute a lovely offering of ethereal pleasures and the next- oh yes her shriek.

A windowpane nearby rattled with the force of the noise, but it held as it had time and time again. Good, he was sick of replacing it.