Leur
501 years ago, 3 years after the start of the first war
No amount of soap or water would ever get me clean. Utter filth, that's what I was. Dirty and disgusting.
I reminded myself of all the lives I could save if I accomplished what I needed to. Both humans and fae, innocent women and children, countless husbands and fathers. I thought of the slaves that would be freed if I could just keep going, the families that could reunite, and the good that would come out of all this.
What did it matter if I destroyed myself in the process?
It was a sacrifice, and one I would give willingly. I'd offer up my soul, and in return, others would live. It was simply hard when the damage was to my soul, not my body. Harder when my death was long and slow, not a swift execution. Night by torturous night, he took more and more of me.
I could flay my skin off my body and I still wouldn't be clean. Not when he had been inside of me.
With each fake moan and arch of my back, I imagined his death. I thought of him dying as he grunted over me, those spiny fingers twisted in my hair like I was nothing more than an object for his pleasure. Perhaps that's all I was anymore.
Just playing a never ending chess game, being picked apart piece by piece.
All I needed was a distraction. Something to keep me from falling apart, something to remind me of what existed beyond the darkness of this palace and the endless grey.
An idea struck me, and I was moving before I could think about it. It was horrible and cruel, and it played on years of unspoken words. I'd take advantage, knowing it would never be to me what it was to him.
But maybe there wasn't anything good left inside of me, maybe there was only carnage left where my soul had once lived.
So, wreathed in shadow, I slipped into the guest room Tamlin was staying in. He was awake, writing in a leather-bound book in soft candlelight. And for a moment, I looked at him and wondered if I could do this. Could I be this selfish? Would I make it another day without something to break through the horror my life had turned into?
I stopped thinking again, and then I was standing outside his door in nothing but a silk silver nightgown and my robe. I knocked, and a chilled breeze drifted through the hall. I heard him get up, heard those strong and steady footsteps. Knew that in a moment, he would open the door and be staring at me with that face I knew like the back of my hand.
Stop thinking.
Stop feeling.
Just make it stop.
He opened the door, and I took one moment. Just a singular second to look at my best friend while he was only that, blonde hair glowing in the candlelight and squinting green eyes. I savored what I was about to sacrifice, what I was about to irrevocably change. Years spent growing up, knowing we were betrothed had never changed what he was to me. And if I did survive, I'd need to do this anyways. I'd need to find a way to look at him like this.
It was preemptive, I told myself, like studying for an examination.
He was utterly confused, but his eyes drifted down to my body. They raked over the exposed skin, lingering on my hips and chest before he caught himself. And that was the only sign I needed. Violet eyes met emerald green, and then I just let go.
I rose on my toes, my hands bringing him down to me. Our lips met, his unmoving as his body froze in shock. I did not give up, just pressed closer to him, the heat from his body nearly overwhelming.
Come on.
Kiss me back.
Make it go away.
He pulled me into the room with no warning, separating our lips for a moment. The door slammed shut, and then I was pressed against it. He looked over me with a look I had never seen before. Eyes darkened, panting, wanting. Two hands were braced on either side of me, pinning me to the door. He loomed over me, strands of his blonde hair hanging in his eyes, looking as if it was taking all of his self-control to restrain himself.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He growled.
My mind was blank, my body utterly numb. I answered on instinct, "You know what I'm doing."
He was panting, "What about-"
I cut him off before he could say the words that would break me in half, that would stop me from this deadly track I walked, "Never going to happen. You and I are engaged."
It didn't stop the way his face flashed in my mind, at the twist of pain in my chest as I pictured his hazel eyes, his olive skin, his black hair. I could not have him. I'd never deserve him, not now, not after any of this. I would not allow myself to sully him with my dirty touch and rotten soul.
But I had no choice but to touch Tamlin. It was inescapable. So I might as well lean into it.
I could sense his hesitation, even as his green eyes darted wildly over me, even as his heart was pounding in his chest. Even as light was shining in his eyes, as if I was handing him the world on a silver silken string.
Wicked and evil and cruel. That's what I was.
"I want this." I offered, "I want to try."
He groaned, leaning down to press his forehead to mine. I knew how badly he wanted this, knew it would make him happy. He'd never ask, and maybe this was the only good thing I had left that I could do.
"If we do this, there's no going back." He breathed, "If we do this, I can't just be your friend anymore."
"You've never just been my friend." I said, and it was the truth, "I want to be with my fiancé."
Liar, my shadows hissed in betrayal.
But then Tamlin's hands were on my waist, and his lips were on mine. Hot and demanding, yet gentle and calm. I arched into him, savoring the touch of anyone loving, anyone decent. His hands were smooth, arching over my backside, picking me up. My legs wrapped around his waist, my fingers curling into his cropped golden hair. As if we had done this a million times before, I knew exactly how to kiss him, exactly how to move with him.
He walked, never separating us, never allowing distance as he placed me on the bed. His shirt was ripped off with a heaving breath, bare chest and hard muscles illuminated by the candlelight. For the first time, I looked at him and saw more than a friend. I saw an attractive male.
His hands on me lit my skin, the ghost of claws lingering there as he touched me. Over and over, my preconceived notions about him faded away. I let myself be free, let myself enjoy it for what it was. I let myself feel clean while it lasted. There was no passion in my movements, no heart or soul, but it was good nonetheless. It washed away my memories from earlier in the night, gave me a dim light to look towards.
And when it ended, when we had both reached our peak and came back down again, I lay in his arms. Sweat still coated my skin, his scent mixed with mine and lingering there. He was asleep at my back, having curled me against him with a broad hand splayed across my stomach. It was intimate and close, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, surrounded by his power that I knew like my own. I should have been peaceful, was so sure that this would wash away the turmoil in my chest.
But I laid there, and all I saw in my mind was Azriel's face. All I could think of was him, feeling like I had betrayed him. Even if we were not together and never would be, he was my mate. I knew that, and yet here I was in another male's bed. Another male's hands on me, another male holding me, another male's scent mixed with mine.
It was different with the King. There was no feeling there. I had pretty much all but been ordered to sleep with him by my father, and he was happy enough to have a young toy. I had no choice, had to do it for the sake of my court and Prythian.
But nothing made me do this. This was my own choice, and maybe that was why it had seemed so appealing. Being able to pick what I was, who I touched, what I did- it was all I had. This choice was the only one I had made for myself in so long, but now it felt only like a mistake.
Azriel's laugh, those black shadows, the way his shoulders squared before a fight, the gentleness that existed below that hard exterior.
Tears slipped from my eyes before I could stop them, my shoulders shaking with swallowed sobs. Something inside of me snapped, my heart caving in on itself. Tamlin stirred, and I tried to will myself into silence. I tried to contain the heartache that was ripping through me, but I failed. His tightening grip, confused whispers, the softness of his tone- it only made me cry harder.
He flipped me onto my back, his voice soft and concerned as he loomed over me. I took a deep breath, refusing to look at his face, refusing to see what I had done. It was wrong, so wrong, not the deep melodic voice it should have been. His hands were too smooth and too soft, his hair was too light, no tattoos on his skin, no wings at his back. And I was disgusting. I was vile and wicked for doing this to Tamlin. For twisting his affection for me to fit my own needs, for leading him on, for taking advantage of him.
I was no better than the King.
"Tell me what's wrong." He pleaded.
Only a gasping breath escaped me as I tried to formulate a lie. The truth was too revolting, too hurtful. How could I look him in the eye and admit what I had done, how I had lied, how I laid in bed next to him and wished he was someone else?
So, I came up with the only excuse I could, "The King, Amarantha... if they find out-" I forced out.
He shook his head, wiping my tears, "They're not going to know."
"Our scents are merged." I answered, the truth like a punch in the gut.
What would Azriel think if he scented another male on me?
Would he even care?
But I cared. I cared so much that it hurt. It was stupid and silly, but the thought of belonging to someone else, the thought of having another's scent mixed with my own-
"Amarantha left for the battlefront yesterday." He soothed, "She won't know a thing. And the King is leaving to visit the troops stationed in the Spring Court in the morning, isn't he?"
I nodded, hating the way his gentle touch made me feel worse. I knew all of this, it was the only reason I had even thought this was a good idea.
He pulled me closer, "Then we just have to be busy in the morning, keep shields up, and by the time they get back it will be gone."
"We-" My breath caught in my throat, "We can't do this again."
At least that was not a lie.
"We can." He argued, "This war will end, Leur. It's coming to a head soon. We'll get out of this place, and then we can be together."
Trading one prison for the other, I couldn't control my flinch.
And finally, I watched some recognition cross his eyes. I lay underneath him, and I watched him realize what I was, what I had done, how I had used him. I was a fucking monster, and now he knew it.
But I didn't expect him to stay.
I didn't expect the way his eyes softened after the initial flash of hurt, didn't expect him to sit me up. I didn't expect his hand to wrap around mine, didn't expect him to look me in the eye.
"I've only been doing this for a few months." He admitted, "This game, selling myself to her for information, and-"
His breath caught in his throat, "And already it feels like I am dying inside."
Tears slipped down my face,. "And it's different for me. I chose this, without anyone pushing me to do it. I heard them whispering amongst the troops that a High Lord's son had been taken captive, rumors that it was the Prince of the Night Court, and I chose to find out anything I could, to do anything necessary to find out where Rhys was." He whispered, "But you never chose this, and you have been here for four years. Four fucking years, Leur. And I've been left to sit by and watch as you slip further and further away."
Was that truly how long I had been trapped in this hell? I stopped counting after the first year.
"I'm- I-" He stuttered, before stopping himself. He took a deep breath, eyes focusing on my face, on the sheet pulled up over me, on the tattoos swirling over my skin.
"I'm not him. I can't be him." He breathed, voice steady and smooth, "But I can be whatever you need me to be."
The guilt lessened, if only slightly, but he continued, "It's not just you who needs a distraction. It's not just you who needs to feel something good. So just tell me what you need me to be, and I'll be that for you."
I let my eyes meet him, and something sparked between us that hadn't been there before. Not like earlier and not overwhelming need, but mutual understanding. He knew me, knew what this felt like, knew what it meant to feel used and broken. He saw me, saw this for what it truly was, and was willing to be what I needed. And I was willing to be what he needed.
Azriel wasn't here, and thank the Mother for it. But just because he wasn't here didn't mean I had to be alone. Just because I knew someone I could never have was my mate didn't mean I had to feel this guilt for doing what I needed to survive.
So, I leaned forward, leaving all of those expectations, all of that guilt, behind me. And I whispered, soft and low, in a voice I had never used with him before, "This doesn't have to be this hard."
A smirk grew on his lips, "No, it doesn't."
"I need you to be my friend, and I need you to be more when we feel like we're losing ourselves," I said.
His hand trailed up my arm, over my bare shoulder, gentle and warm, "Sounds good to me."
My heart started to beat faster, my mouth went dry. I wanted to move closer, wanted to let this go, wanted to try again with the truth out in the open. But not before-
"And after this? When we win the war?" I whispered.
"We'll figure it out if we live that long." He answered, hand cupping my cheek, quiet laughter on his lips. A gentle spring breeze drifted over me, calming me, and washing away what lingered on my skin.
That was all I needed to hear, all I needed to feel.
My lips met his and my mind went blank.