Irrandor Castle: within the long halls of the main keep
In a composed rush, Claire made a swift escape, pushing Lurian forward as she made for the lift. He was quiet, too quiet. Clearly, meeting with that strange ‘na-fae was weighing heavily on his mind. She could sympathize; she could see how it tormented him to come so close to the truth, only to have it denied so cruelly...
All because he was ‘better off not knowing’.
‘What a load of shit,’ she thought, her expression that of disgust as they approached the lift’s open cage. She couldn’t fathom a truth that needed such concealment, especially when it seemed to pertain to naught but his own suffering. As far as she could tell, it affected no other—not even the lord.
Feeling indignant on Lurian’s behalf, she crammed them into the bronze death trap and powered their descent. This time, the task was not as taxing—as they were merely going down but two floors.
To distract herself from the creaks and groans of the elevator, her mind returned to their most recent encounter. That highborn—she possessed such a suffocating gravity about her, as if the air itself was forced to bend to her will.
The mighty elf’na-fae had such presence. It was in her melodic cadence, her words—laced with such authority. And the way she toyed with Lurian, dangling the truth just out of reach, it all felt so practiced, so deliberate...
‘She had such enviable power,’ she thought, feeling a shiver as the ghost of the ‘na-fae’s power washed over her.
‘Thinking back, it was such a strange encounter. Almost like she was waiting for them,’ she thought, re-imagining the scene.
‘And that maid, she was so odd; a high-elf servant, one sharing a meal with her mistress? Her identity could not be so simple.’ Her thoughts began to wander, thinking they might share a more intimate relationship than servant and matron...
Maybe something similar to her and Lurian...
Claire had heard rumors of such things; scandalous tales of elven wives bored after a long life of marriage to but a single man; elf’na-fae, that in their boredom, seek out something new—something only a fairer hand can offer.
In her youth, she thought such tales a mere fabrication of idle maids. ‘But what if it’s true?’ she thought, feeling a hot flush working its way up her features. ‘No! What are you thinking? She’s likely just a distant relative,’ she thought, chastising her own indecency—as they exited the lift.
Suddenly, “Claire, it seems we shall go hungry this night,” said a tired Lurian, halting her scandalous musings. She was surprised to find that while she was distracted, they had made it all the way to the large wooden door of Lurian’s chambers.
Startled, she near hopped out of her skin in fright. “Ye-yes. So it would seem, my lord,” she replied, unsure what else to say. Thankfully, he seemed oblivious to her flustered state and had no knowledge of her private musings; else she truly die from the onset of embarrassment.
Eager to be rid of her treacherous flush, Claire moved to open the heavy oak door that stood guard before Lurian’s abode. Oh, how she hated the weighty thing. With strips of iron reinforcing its frame, it had the look of a door built to secure a dungeon full of heinous criminals, and not the young lord’s own bedchamber.
After repeating her nightly battle with the stubborn thing, Claire swept into the modest chamber and activated the small fire stone lantern by his bed. Its warm, muted light—banishing night’s veil—chasing back its chill.
The austere room held a small bookcase, a large mirror, and a heavy wooden wardrobe by a large wooden bed. She could not help but huff; all that was needed were bars on the near-opaque windows, and the illusion of a prison cell was complete.
For a highborn alf’na-far to live in such an abode was near criminal.
Trying for a welcoming smile, she turned, her eyes meeting his, and in that moment she caught a glimpse of the profound sadness that hid in the depths of his steel-gray eyes.
Noticing her concern, Lurian snapped out of his state of melancholy; his face hardening with his returning resolve. “It’s fine, Claire,” he said, sounding exhausted, “Just as one can grow accustomed to pain, one can grow accustomed to disappointment and dissatisfaction. Though that woman offered little in the way of answers, she did confirm that it is a curse that ails me. Though little, it is something, something more than I had yesterday. And that something—it gives me a direction... and for now, that is enough...”
Claire nodded, moved behind him, and pushed him into the chamber.
Parking him at the foot of the bed, she moved to his side, quietly awaiting instruction.
He looked up—his tired eyes meeting hers. “Come—Claire... put me to bed; I am so very done with this day.”
She smiled, in awe of his seemingly endless resilience. “Not going to bathe—my lord?” she asked, as she began to move about, readying the room.
“No, just lay out a simple sheet to spare the bedding any stains from the blood in my hair. Or the dirt that I am sure I’m no doubt covered with,” he said, his words so solemn—so weary. He looked so utterly shattered. Dark shadows clung to the hollows beneath his eyes, and his once perfect posture was now slumped—as if his bones were that of lead.
In the silence, Claire went about prepping his chambers.
Whilst laying out a heavy woolen sheet to protect his bedding, Claire took note of Lurian’s lingering gaze. She rather liked it, for she could feel no vulgarity in his eyes. Instead, there was this quiet intimacy to it. It sent her heart a-flutter—birthing a pleasant warmth in her belly. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Having finished the task, she activated the room’s sole heat stone and looked back over her shoulder—as if only now noticing his captive attention. “Your hair is a true mess—my lord,” she giggled. “Perhaps it’s wise to let me at least run a comb through the knots, just to rid you of the worst of them?”
He sighed. “Very well, have at it, Claire.”
Smiling, she chose to ignore his reluctance and wheeled him over to the large mirror that occupied the chamber’s far corner. ‘He will forgive my selfishness... He always does...’
Her Lurian could be rather sweet; ever striving not to inflict his suffering upon those in his orbit, especially those just trying to ease his burden.
Parking him squarely before the full-length mirror, Claire began, thinking it only right that Lurian should have the chance to look upon her whilst she worked. ‘A good maid sees to all her master’s needs—doesn’t she?’ she mused, chuckling lightly at her own—not-so-innocent machinations.
With an amused smile, she secured a fine comb from the top of the nearby windowsill and took up her place behind her Lurian.
For a time, the room was silent, as they enjoyed the quiet intimacy in the act. She enjoyed the way he seemed to relax into her touch; the stress leaving him as she slowly worked the comb through his beautiful silver-blonde mane.
She brightened when she noticed him almost asleep under her gentle ministrations...
“...There, all done,” she said, her words snapping Lurian from his tranquil rest.
Happy with her work, Claire then set to the task of getting the debilitated Lurian onto his bed. A task made all the harder by his inability to offer much assistance, but with a herculean effort on her part, she managed.
Once settled, she sat at his side and took from her pocket a half dozen glass vials filled with a faint purple liquid. “Will you be needing one of your draughts?” she asked.
“No, Claire,” he grumbled, his face a picture of disgust. “I doubt I’ll be needing them after the day I’ve had...”
“You sure? They’re freshly brewed?” she asked, playfully shaking the glass tubes containing the rather foul-tasting concoction.
Amused, Lurian let out a huff and rolled his eyes. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll manage...”
She smiled, placing the vials in a small wooden stand on the dresser by his bed. “Well, they're here; just in case.”
“Thank you, Claire.”
Sensing the profound gratitude he sought to communicate, she instantly softened with his words.
Feeling all warm and fuzzy, she rose and attentively tucked him in...
Standing over him, her golden amber eyes locked with his metallic gray. His eyes held within them a deep fondness...
And a beautiful, bitter longing for more...
Her heart quickened as her eyes drifted lower to his lips.
And, unable to resist the impulse, Claire leaned in—capturing Lurian’s lips...
At first, it was something pure—something chaste, but she soon lost herself to the wondrous explosion of new sensation as a possessive hunger awoke within her. It was a hot storm of once dormant desire; an awakening of the most primal instincts present in her blood...
Everything slipped beyond conscious control as her hand shot forward—seizing the sides of his face...
“Ahhh, ss-stop, stop, stop,” he hissed, breaking the kiss.
She heard the words, but lost to desire’s pull, she ignored them as she wanted more.
Then, with all the strength he had left, he forced her back.
“What?!” she barked, struggling to rein in her near-feral urge to claim him as her own.
“I can’t, Claire; I just can’t,” he whispered.
Noticing the pain and frustration evident in the lines of his face, Claire broke free of instinct’s hold. ‘Why?’ she thought, but soon her confusion gave way to understanding. “So that’s why we’ve never taken this further,” she whispered. “It’s the pain—isn’t it? It’s too much...”
“Yes. This ‘curse,’ it acts up whenever my blood is up, double so when I am aroused,” he rasped with a wince.
Frustrated, she clenched her fist atop his chest. “Is there no way to—I don’t know, grit your teeth and power through it?”
“Grit my teeth? Really? That’s your solution?” he asked, an angry heat creeping into his tone.
Claire leaned back, a lustful fire still alight within her eyes. “Well—why not,” she argued, “I heard your whole speech about becoming accustomed to pain and about how today you had your knee stomped in, and you didn’t even flinch. Surely—”
“Claire, in the heat of battle and in the heat of ‘this’,” he waved his hand, gesturing at her seated atop him, “Are two very different things.” He frowned, an altogether different fire in his eyes. “Not to mention, I am tired and am fresh from the healers’ hall—not that really changes the underlying issue...”
Claire's eyes darted back and forth—searching his. And when she saw naught but anguish and pain, she growled and leaned back, reining in her raging libido.
“Thank you. Now, get off, please.”
The hint of impatience in his tone annoyed her, but she complied.
“Does,” she swallowed, “Does that mean we can never take this further?” she asked, her eyes resting on the half-open door.
“Perhaps,” he stated plainly—not even attempting to soften the blow.
The room fell silent as she came to the revelation that there was a real chance they might never be more than... Whatever they are...
She was angry with herself; she didn’t understand the sudden immense surge of arousal that assailed her. It—it just took control and ruined everything—
Without another word, a flustered Claire stormed out the open door—slamming the weighty thing shut in the process. ‘Stupid, so stupid. What were you thinking, jumping him like that? What in the Faiths is wrong with you?’
Air, she needed air.
In a rush, she ran for the closest balcony.
She was so embarrassed.
She needed to clear her head, and perhaps one of those fable spells that turn back time...