Breaking The Villain

Chapter 7: A Lesson in Loyalty

She drags him to an empty sitting room and sits down on one of the couches. Her armour creaks in complaint.

He's left standing like a chastised child in the middle of the room. Feeling weak, over-powered and out of bounds.

"Come here," she commands and the harsh tone of her voice bounces of the walls. He shivers in response but doesn't move.

Her eyes blaze a chilling blue. "Come. Here." she spits at him and his eyes immediately fall to the floor where he watches his feet take soft steps towards her.

Once he's reached the couch, she takes his wrist in her palm, much like how she dragged him here. He shivers as her warmth passes into him.

Suddenly and unexplainably, he has the intense urge to cry. He can feel the heavy weight behind his eyes and his throat feels like it's closing in on itself.

He should explain himself, he thinks. Not that it's his fault but to prevent any misunderstandings. Surely there is nothing between him and Emilia. And there's nothing between him and Helena. So she has no reason to be acting like a scorned lover. He needs to explain this to her. He needs to demean her. He needs to regain control of the situation.

He can't open his mouth. He can't even meet her eyes.

She tugs him closer and he allows the movement. His body becoming limp as a little ragdoll. One for her to beckon as she pleases.

She tugs him down and his back bends at the awkward angle. He looks up at her with wide, curious eyes. "What-"

"Bend over." Her tone is icy.

His eyes go even wider. All the blood rushing to his face, leaving his back trembling as the chill seeped into it. He shook his head. "What?" he asks again, more quizzically this time.

"Bend over," she runs her hands over her thighs, "My lap. Like a good boy."

"No!" he hurries, desperately needing to escape. He turns to the door, eyeing it longingly. All he needs was a quick teleportation spell. He wiggles his hand, trying to free it but she tugs him forward and he's thrown unceremoniously over her lap.

He squaks in shock and tries to shuffle off. Kicking out in protest. Her hand comes over his back to grip his waist tightly. He stills immediately, wondering how little effort she'd need to crush his ribcage in two.

Perhaps the strength a normal person might need to crush a mouse in their hands. Or fearfully, he thought, less than one would need to shatter a butterfly's wings.

Her fingers massage into his waist and he holds in a whine that had been trying to bubble out. The blood is rushing to his face and his hands are trembling. He moves to bring them together and her grip tightens significantly. He gasps.