DACRAN
"Believe me, I really don't want to be doing this either," Kiara says, sitting on the couch, holding a glass of cheap wine. "In my defence, you're the one that attacked me in my home and proceeded to lose your gun." She chuckles. "How ridiculous. Do they even train you wherever you're from?"
Rain is pattering on the windows, the curtains are pulled. The light of the apartment is dim, and she has to blink the shadows away.
"I'll be honest. Attack Dacran once, I'll deal with it. Do it twice, at this point you're just being rude. Wasn't that little group of yours happy with the mess it made on north Dacran two weeks ago? You also had to attack the west side of the city?" Kiara tuts. "Oh, how terribly impolite of me." She moves closer to the man tied to the chair and rips away the piece of tape over his mouth. "I'd say don't scream, but this place is soundproofed, so feel free to do that if it makes you feel better."
The man doesn't let out a word. His eyes are burning holes through her, but she isn't scared. She's met more dangerous people than him. Besides, he's disarmed and tied up, and there's a handgun hidden in the drawer of the bookshelf behind her.
Kiara picks up her glass and sits back on the couch. She takes a sip; the wine is awful, but it's all she could get her hands on. Chaos makes it incredibly hard to find good wine, and she couldn't be bothered to look for it too far away. "Let's go back to our conversation," she states. "Who is behind this attack?"
The man snarls. "We don't answer to you."
She sighs. "Yeah, I know, that's why I'm asking who you answer to." She's starting to think this is a waste of time. She drops the glass, and it shatters on the floor. Red drops splatter on her white couch. "I'm going to assume you aren't Revolution. This is too much, even for them. So it has to be someone else, isn't that right?" She stands again and grabs the man's chin. "I understand why you may want to bring change. Unfortunately for you, I'm quite fond of our President."
A cruel smile splits his face. "Your President is dead."
Kiara's nails dig into his flesh. "No, he isn't. If he was, the entire country would know it."
"I stabbed him with my bare hands, that bastard," the man spits. "He stabbed me, but I got him back. Oh yes, I did. Once as revenge, twice to kill him. Then we left them stranded on the street to die."
Cold seeps through Kiara's bones. Her nails dig deeper, and drops of blood well up at the tips of her fingers. This man is a criminal. He hurt Harry. How dare he. She forces herself to smile. "So what I'm hearing is that you failed to kill him and ran away with your tails between your legs." She scoffs. "Like the little pitiful cowards you are. Now, tell me who the fuck is behind this."
The man laughs. "You can't stop us. We will take this country, even if we have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands."
"Presumptuous of you to believe you have what it takes to kill a man like him." She lets go of him and picks up the shattered glass. "No, you don't know whom you're dealing with. Styles is like this glass, the more you try to bring him down, the more he'll hurt you in return." She flicks the jagged edge of the glass with her thumb. It's red with wine. "Take it as a helpful suggestion. Don't try it with him. He's not someone you want to make your enemy."
"You think I'm scared?"
"I don't, because I know you're an idiot," she hisses, "but you should be. If you think you know what you're about to unleash, you have another thing coming. Take it from someone that knows him well. Until now, his behaviour has been exemplary in comparison to what he'll do if you keep this up. Do you really think you've seen the full extent of what he can do?" Kiara's hand tightens around the glass. "He will paint the streets red with your blood, and that's putting it kindly. You may think his moral compass is twisted, but this is where you have it wrong. He doesn't have one. But you know what makes him even more dangerous?" She chuckles. "His ability to make people believe he does. Your perception of him is the perception he wants you to have. So, if you think him harmless... congratulations, you've been manipulated."
The man lets out an unimpressed scoff. "We are stronger than you think. You can barely guess at the allies we have. And even if he survived, he's only one man in a country ravaged by a civil war."
The glass splinters in Kiara's hand. "It's them, isn't it? They're behind this."
The man doesn't reply.
The wine bottle hurtles past the man's form. Wine splashes the room. "Answer me!"
He sniggers. "How does it feel to be on the weaker side, Ms. Bryce?"
Kiara's eyes widen. He knows who she is. Her cover is blown. The freedom Harry tried so hard to give her has just disappeared.
"We know what you've done. We'll come for you too. We'll cleanse this country from the sewers to the top of the Palace, level by level. You can't stop us."
"You can't win—"
"We've come so far. Now we know who the true enemy is. It's only his fault if we're here, and now he'll pay for it in blood." He lets out a booming laugh. "Do you hear that? The ringing bells of opportunity! The time has come..."
He keeps blabbering on, but all Kiara can see is the look in his eyes. She's seen it before. "Oh, you didn't." She knows what she has to do now. The ringing bells of opportunity. She's hearing them too, now, and she's certain she isn't the only one.
She stands up and scrolls through her phone. She finds the number and calls it, ignoring the raving man at the other end of the room. The phone on the other side rings for so long that she starts thinking her call won't be picked up, but then there's some shuffling on the other side.
"Yes? Who's there?" A hiss, a creak, and a low murmur follow the question. Is it a man's voice? "Jackson, stop it." The sentence is whispered, but the microphone of the device picks it up anyway.
"Use my first name." Definitely a man's voice. Kiara would ask, but she's quite certain she does not want to know. She's had enough of the Palace to last a lifetime.
"Am I interrupting, Evelyn?" Kiara asks into the phone. She turns her back to the man, but keeps an eye on him over her shoulder to make sure he won't make a move while she isn't looking. Not that he'd manage to escape. She's quite good at tying knots, especially around arrogant men that think they're above everyone else.
There's some more movement, and then heels tapping on the floor. A door opens, then closes. "It depends on what you're going to say, Ms. Bryce," Evelyn says. She's alone, now.
"Where the hell is the Palace?"
"Pardon?"
"Dacran was attacked again," Kiara explains, "yesterday. Where were you?"
"We'll be there as soon as we can. But you must understand the priority of the personal guard is to find the President, and the personal guard has control over the army, so..."
"They're going to destroy this country!" Kiara hisses. "Trust me, I want him to be found just as much as you do, if not more—"
"Careful, Ms. Bryce." The tone of Harry's secretary is glacial. Kiara knows she's offended.
She changes topic. "I have one of the them here. Are you coming to pick him up? I mean, one of the group that attacked Dacran."
There's a pause. "As I said, the Palace's priority aren't these attacks, but..."
Kiara sighs. "I understand."
"Have you made any progress?"
She thinks for a long moment. She can only think of one thing—the woman she met in front of the eggs shelf a few weeks ago. But it's only a supposition, and she isn't even sure she'd recognise her in a crowd. Dammit. "Nothing yet. It's hard with everything that's happening. But..." She looks at the man and lowers her voice to a half-whisper. "Have you checked the hospitals in the area?"
A cold curtain falls over the call. "Why?"
"Just a thought." They would know if Harry was killed, wouldn't they? The news would travel all over the country. But they would also know if he was admitted to a hospital, and, according to that man, he was hurt. Where is he? Did he escape, just to die in some hidden corner that's yet to be discovered? Is he biding his time in the shadows? Kiara hates feeling like this.
"That's all, then?" Evelyn asks.
She only has a moment to decide. "Is my cousin there?"
"Yes."
"Can I talk to him?"
"We're very busy..."
Kiara's grip on the phone tightens. "Evie, please."
There's a sigh. "One moment. And be fast."
Kiara waits impatiently. The man's words have made her think of something, but she doesn't know who to ask. She doesn't know who to trust, because he knows her name, which means someone must have given it to him. Who even is on her side?
"Hello?"
Kiara could cry of happiness as soon as she hears his voice. She hasn't talked to him in years. "Jay, it's me."
Jayden gasps. "Kiara?!"
"Yes, I don't have much time. Listen to me. The attacks. I think they are behind them."
"Who's they?"
"You have to be careful, Jay. Not everyone is on your same side. Be careful, do you hear me?"
"I don't understand, you have to tell me—"
"I can't! Not like this. Only talk to those you can trust fully. No one else."
Jayden thinks for a moment. "Is this about the Revolution?"
"No," Kiara replies. "No, it's not. Not this time."
There's shuffling on the other side of the call. "Time's over," Evelyn says. "Call me if you find anything. And, about your little problem, there... we can't take him, sorry."
The phone call is over. Kiara puts away the phone and turns to look at the man. He's been studying her for the past couple of minutes.
"How many people have you killed?" she asks, walking towards him slowly.
He rolls his eyes. "Why, because you even count them?" He laughs as if he's just said the funniest thing in the world.
"I've only killed one person, as you may know. I didn't do it alone—you probably don't know that." Kiara walks past him and towards the bookshelf. "He wasn't a good person. In truth, he was an asshole, and he deserved it." She opens the drawer. "That's the thing with me and Harry, you know. Day by day, year by year, I watched him fall from grace. I watched him turn into the man he is now, and I could do nothing to stop it. I hated it, at first. That he could be so... so..." Her voice falters. "But then I realised one thing. I'm not a good person either, because I don't regret killing that man. I don't, because he brought pain onto others. So, thank you."
"What for?" the man grumbles.
Kiara's hand tightens around the gun. "For giving me a reason to do this without feeling bad."
She turns around and shoots.
• • •
THE REVOLUTION
Alouette's hands fumble with the hem of Harry's shirt. He leaves a trail of kisses on her neck as he walks her towards the bed; his hands are warm when they slide under her clothes to hold her waist. She falls on top of the mattress and her body slides away from his grasp when she has to let go of him not to pull him down with her. Harry parts her legs with a knee and grabs her by the throat, pulling her into a heated kiss. Alouette gasps, her thoughts are spiralling and she can't tell where the earth and the sky are anymore.
Her hand cups his cheek and she moves backwards, allowing him to climb on top of her. His position is stiff, and this time she's the one that has to lift her body off the blanket to press her mouth against his again and again.
She gently pushes his shoulder to encourage him to lie on his back. "Let me..." He follows her wishes, and she's the one on top of him, now. She straddles his hips and smiles, leaning down and kissing him. His lips part and she deepens the kiss, tutting when his hands lift her shirt again. There's nothing she wants more than to feel his touch on her again, the warmth of his skin on hers and the burning trails he leaves on her body—but the temptation to tease him is too high. She grabs his wrists and gently pins them against the mattress, above his head. "So eager," she whispers, crossing them to keep her hold on them with a hand and lifting his chin with the other. "But don't you still owe me some time from the Palace?" She leans in and presses her mouth on his again. The ring on his necklace slides out of her shirt and dangles across his throat, all he needs to do is reach out and grab it. His wrists twitch in her hold, but they don't move.
They break apart and Harry chuckles. "Are you going to hold that promise over my head forever?"
Alouette runs her finger over the angle of his jaw and the curve of his heart-shaped lips, considering it. "Am I allowed to?" she asks in the end.
"You can do everything you want with me," he replies. His hips jerk up, and she gasps. "Actually, as a matter of fact, please do."
Her eyebrows raise and a smile curves her lips. "Oh?" This man. So arrogant, so demanding, and yet so... hers. She bites her lower lip, regarding him with a long look. "Everything, you say?" Her nails travel down the column of his throat, and he lets out a gasp. "Well, there's something..." She kisses his jaw, eliciting a low moan from him. "Do you want to know what it is?"
Harry turns his head towards her, his nose brushes against her cheek. "What is it?"
Alouette smiles against his neck. "I've realised I still haven't heard you moan my name. We'll have to change that."
"I'm quite certain I have," he whispers back. His breath hitches when she nibbles on the sensitive skin of his neck.
"You weren't loud enough, then." She grabs his chin and kisses him, drowning the fuck that leaves his lips.
There's a knock on the door and Alouette gasps, letting go of Harry's wrists and hopping off him. He tenses up and stands up with some difficulty, flattening his clothes and running his fingers through his curls a few times. Alouette gets off the bed and makes sure she looks presentable before walking to the door.
Anthony is standing on the other side. She opens her mouth to ask him why he's here, but the look on his face shuts her up immediately. Even if they don't look the part, she knows he knows. They've never taken so long to open a door before.
"Ezra has asked me to come by to make sure he'll be good to go in ten days," Anthony says as he walks inside, looking at them warily. Alouette is so embarrassed she wishes she could dig a hole in the ground and hide in it. He turns to look at her. "Do you think you could give us some privacy? It won't take long."
She nods fast and walks out of the door, eager to escape the embarrassment. Has he heard them? Part of her is afraid that the answer might be yes. The Revolution's headquarters have never been famous for their soundproofing.
She shakes her head, dismissing her thoughts. Even if he has, it means nothing. He already knows she and Harry are much closer than it would be acceptable for them to be.
The people she walks past give her weird looks, and she checks her pockets to make sure she's still carrying her knife. She immediately feels better when her fingers wrap around the cold steel of its handle, a stark contrast to the warmth of Harry's wrists, that's still making her skin tingle. She's going to lose her mind.
Harry has a way to make her feel so powerless and powerful at the same time she can't wrap her head around. She can never tell who's at the mercy of whose desires when they're together. And him—Heavens. Is she even playing a power game when he's so eager to submit to her? Does she even mind? All she knows is that it's a reward to hear him moan and know she is the one behind his pleasure, to watch him dominate his conversations with others while knowing that, with only a few words, she can make him plead. He's hers. It isn't a possessive statement, but a factual one. He's hers just as much as she's his, and there's nothing that can be done about it.
She's been walking for nearly ten minutes with no direction in mind, avoiding all the people that approach her to find out more about what was said in the meeting. It's confidential information, and even if it wasn't, she wouldn't tell them anyway. She doesn't want to give anyone the opportunity to learn something they might use to hurt Harry in a secondary moment—Ezra will undoubtedly tell them what they need to know soon. There are so many thoughts in her mind that she can't tell where they start and end.
She realises she's reached one of the gyms and pauses in the frame of the door, glancing inside.
"Look who's here!" a cheering voice shouts, "is your boy no longer enough?"
Alouette turns her head just in time to see a very shirtless man walking towards her. She widens her eyes in surprise at being approached like that, wondering if she's made the terrible mistake of encountering one of her old flames, but then she recognises the foul sentence written on his chest, next to a rough-looking scar with a heart tattooed on it. Right.
"How naughty of you, Ivenhart. What would he think if he saw you strolling around us half-naked men?"
She raises an eyebrow. "He'd think I don't have good taste," she replies jokingly, and Jesse laughs.
"I'll pretend to believe you just to spare you the embarrassment, I know I look great, and the tattoo gives me character."
Alouette hums, her eyes darting to the sentence etched on his chest. She thought it was awful when he first mentioned it to her, but now, upon seeing it with her own eyes, she feels like she should formally apologise to him with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates.
You're my butt.
It can't get worse than that. She looks away in the second her gaze lands on the scar that cut the original sentence in two in a mess of stitched skin and dark blots of ink, guilt washing through her again. She can't think about it. If she does, she'll be unable to deal with it. Jesse clears his throat and looks away, as if he can sense the reason behind the insistence of her gaze. She feels a little sick, but there's nothing she can do. She's never been in this position before. She's never met someone she brought pain onto—she's never been that kind of person. There's something that should be said in situations like these, but he doesn't want to hear it from her. What right would she have to open her mouth and try to make it better? Would she even be trying to help him, or herself?
"What are you doing here, Al?"
She blinks the thoughts away, discovering Elijah is standing in front of her. The state of the perfectly ironed black t-shirt he's wearing lets her know he too was less appropriately dressed when she arrived, and, really? Now she's starting to wonder if Harry would actually have grounds to feel jealous. She shakes her head with a chuckle. Even though something is definitely going on between them, she can't tell what his thoughts on the matter are—how exclusive he expects them to be. It's hard to tell with the chaos they're in at the moment. She does wonder, though. If they were still in the Palace, would she find him on Mia's balcony again, or would he only linger in hers?
"How did the meeting go earlier?" Jesse asks. "So sorry I couldn't go, I purposely hid in the wardrobe when Ezra came to fetch me."
Alouette chuckles. "It'll work out fine, I'm sure. Just so you know, Ezra's planning on shipping you off to the Palace in ten days."
Jesse gasps and puts on his shirt. "And here I thought I was his favourite. Does he want me to be killed or something?"
"I'll make sure nothing will happen to you, I'm coming too."
"You're going to the Palace again?" Elijah suddenly asks. His voice is tense, and Alouette tenses up in return. She doesn't need to answer his question. "You've only been back for two weeks and you're going again?"
"Harry, he..."
"What about your sister?" Alouette's heart sinks in the moment he mentions Amina. "You made a promise to your sister. You promised you wouldn't leave again, and now you're going to break it?"
Her promise. She remembers her meeting Amina over breakfast two weeks ago, the conversation they had, the things they said. The things she promised her. How could she forget? There's no way Amina will let her go, and there's no way Harry will let her stay. And while Alouette wants to go back with him, she doesn't want to be separated from her sister again. She can't have both. But how could she stay here, between the walls of a place that has grown far too small for her, while the world goes on just beyond them? And how could she go, betraying her sister and making her hate her? She has to choose, and she hates it. She hates it, because deep down, she already knows the choice she'll make.
"Do you have the slightest idea of how much she suffered while you were running all over the country with him?!" Elijah is saying now, raising his voice. "Her mother doesn't care and her father is dead, you're all she has!"
Alouette flinches. How could he say that, knowing that Amina's parents are also her parents? How could he mention her father's death so casually in front of her, when he knows how hard it hit her, how much it hurt her? Does he expect it not to sting anymore? It's been years now, but it still hurts. Sometimes, when she lets her mind wander too far at night, it still takes her breath again. She still finds herself hoping it isn't real, looking for traces of her father in the most unlikely places, trying to decode messages and truths she isn't even certain exist just to stop feeling like she's been abandoned. Knowing all this, how could Elijah say this to her?
Jesse notices the fire in her eyes, because he swings an arm over her shoulders. He smells like sweat and bad humour, but the weight in her chest is so heavy that she barely notices. "I'm sure she'll find a way," he tells Elijah dismissively. "You can go back to training with the others, I'll take her back before she ends up wandering to the showers." He sends her a side glance. "Unless that's what you're after?"
Alouette briefly considers slapping him, but she already feels bad for shooting him, and she doesn't want to make it even worse. Elijah leaves, and Jesse spins them around and walks them out of the gym.
"Ignore him," he says, letting go of her and walking her straight to the stairs. "Things weren't easy for him while you were gone. And then you came back like this... I mean, you get what I mean. But he does have a point. About your sister, I mean."
Alouette sighs. "I know—that's the worst part. But I just... I just don't know what to do."
Jesse regards her with a long look. "It's not enough, is it?" He shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk up the stairs, a defiant smile on his face. "The Revolution. You had a taste of what it means to call the shots, and now the Revolution is too small for you."
"I don't know what you mean," she replies, even though his words resonate inside her. It's not enough. Can she hide in here, following Ezra's orders, knowing she could be out there, actually bringing change? Going away with Harry is tempting. She'd be with him, she'd be fighting their common enemy and, maybe, she'd be able to convince Harry to be kinder in his ruling. Maybe, she'd be able to give helpful suggestions, or at least keep him from doing the worst he can do. She managed to keep him from killing people needlessly in the past—maybe it wouldn't be so different. The world Harry's offering her is one where she's respected and valued, not one where she's used for the sake of her image and then thrown aside as soon as she develops a mind of her own. But Amina. She can't do this to her sister again.
"You don't have to justify yourself with me," Jesse says with a shrug. "It's why I joined the Revolution as well, despite my parents being against it. I wanted to do something."
That sparks Alouette's attention. "Your parents are against us?"
"Not against, not properly, at least. They're scared. Everyone that has something to lose, no matter how small, is terrified of associating with us. But I, I've never been that kind of person." He stops on the landing. "The idea of living my life like them terrified me. You know, abandoning all I cared about to find a job I hated and work for the rest of my miserable life just to have enough money to eat so that I'd be able to keep working in the name of a government that has never and will never represent me. My parents have always thought it's the only way to survive in this country, and maybe they're right. But I hated it, so much. So, when I turned eighteen, I cut ties with them and joined the ranks of the Revolution. It's been three years since I last talked to them."
Alouette peers up at him. "Do you regret it?"
"No, never." Jesse chuckles. "It's funny. Every once in a while I drive past my old apartment and watch them leave for work. The last time, I nearly got out of my car to talk to my mom. I stopped myself, though. I didn't want to put her in danger. I wonder if they even miss me sometimes."
"I'm sure they do."
He hums. "I suppose." He clears his throat. "You've arrived, Ivenhart. I'm not walking you to the door, I don't want to meet your puppy," he states with a shudder. "If you want those ropes, just let me know." He walks down the stairs, and Alouette sighs and walks down the corridor.
She stops with her hand on the door when she hears voices on the other side.
"Here's another you might find interesting."
She recognises the person that has just spoken as Anthony. With a quick glance around the corridor to make sure she's alone, she puts her back against the wall and stands in wait.
"I'm more than happy to lend you half of my library if you want," Anthony continues, "but, as a doctor, I have to tell you that..." His voice falters for a moment. "If, you know, in the eventuality that you might be... dealing, with something, I think it would be more helpful to speak to a professional instead of reading..."
"You misunderstand me, doctor." Harry's voice is glacial and shuts Anthony up in an instant. "There's no issue for me to be concerned of. Mine is simple curiosity, and I have nothing better to do at the time."
A heavy silence follows. "Okay," Anthony murmurs in the end, "I'm sorry for assuming it was something it wasn't. I hope you'll find this book just as fascinating, and you're always welcome to pick out more from my library."
The door opens and Anthony steps out. He sends Alouette a glance as he walks past, but doesn't say a word. Alouette doesn't move, assimilating the conversation she's overheard. Is it about the books Harry's been reading lately?
A few seconds pass by, and then she opens the door and walks in.
Harry is sitting on the chair, that has been moved on the other end of the desk, in front of the barred window. He isn't wearing a shirt, and he looks up at her as if she's just interrupted him in the middle of a thought process by coming in. Alouette's face grows warm as she looks him over; the curve of his shoulders, the line of his back. She hasn't seen him without a shirt since she helped him bathe a little over a week ago. Her earlier conversation comes back to her, and she's taken aback by the realisation that she wishes they could stay here forever, side by side, where everything is a little more meaningful, where his presence makes the void a little shallower.
"Where did you go?" he asks her, standing up and wiping a few red drops from his lower stomach with a tissue. "You weren't outside."
"I had a walk." Alouette tilts her head, observing him more attentively. He isn't wearing any bandages, and three new scars trace the past of his body on the pale skin of his abdomen. "Did he remove the stitches?" she asks, and he nods.
She watches him walk to the bed and pick up his shirt. There's a slump in his shoulders, an empty cup on the desk. She closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around his waist, leaning her forehead against his naked back. His muscles tense at her touch, so soft yet so unexpected. She pretends it doesn't hurt something deep inside her.
"What's this for?" Harry asks. She feels more than hears his words.
"I don't know," she admits. "You looked sad."
"I never look sad. I would know," he murmurs, as if not showing any emotion is something he practiced in front of the mirror countless times while growing up.
"Your eyes do."
He lets out a humourless chuckle. "You're seeing what you want to see."
She doesn't let him go and gently pushes on his chest to pull him closer to her. "Will you not let me hug you, then?"
He halts. "You may," he replies then, "if it makes you content."
Her arm travels up his chest and her fingers tighten around his shoulder. "It hit me so hard, when I saw you just now," she admits, "how much I want to keep seeing you. Tomorrow, in a week, in a month..." Forever, her mind adds.
"You'll go back to the Palace with me."
"Harry..." Alouette's arms tighten around him. Her heart is beating too fast, and her head is spinning. There's a sour taste in her mouth.
He doesn't move. She knows he's already understood from the tone of her voice. There's no secret she'd ever be able to keep from him—not anymore. Still, she forces her lips to part, the truth to leave her throat.
"I can't come with you."
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry for the little delay x
Miki