Everything went topsy-turvy... to put it politely. Harris was snooping around the Great Keep, looking for dust-covered secrets and gossip wrapped in lies. Anna was cursing like a cobbler after each futile attempt to kill Coldwain, who didn't show any hostility towards her, which clearly made her angry.
Nerissa and her close associates discussed the possible war with the werewolves at every council... And only Billean and Grace had not changed at all. One tried to calm her nerves, and the other did not give up trying to drag Anna into bed, actually, it was quite... possible.
"It's beginning…" the stern witch drawled, not raising her eyes from the book, when her beloved friend flew into the hall with another dagger in her hand.
-It's ending. Today for sure.
- I already asked, but I'll ask again. Why the hell don't you just take "damned justice" and chop off his head?
- I already answered. - The killer took something from the nightstand and hurried out of the room.
"What are you suffering for?" Crystal asked herself in a whisper as she exhaled, since Anna no longer heard her.
Anna was in no hurry, as she always was in such matters. She walked confidently and slowly up the narrow staircase of the castle, not bothering herself with stealth. Not a single creature in this world was worth Anna hiding, sneaking around in the dark like a cowardly thief.
And by the way, now the castle has acquired a completely different appearance, it is unclear what Coldwain did to it. Some kind of intricate spell or something else? Now the Dark Castle looked exactly as it did when it lived its golden age. Furniture, statues, precious decor - everything here simply screamed about Gothic luxury.
There were no longer those crumbling walls and broken windows, now it was an architectural masterpiece, the spires of which were shrouded in gloomy clouds. And as for Coldwein, or as he was also called Calder... some kind of crap, maybe because of his emotional coldness or he is literally cold, a vampire no matter how you look at it.
Of course, he wasn't afraid of the meeting. Coldwain was waiting for it, maybe even hoping for it. Meeting the woman you love is good, what's more, wonderful...even if she's going to kill you. And what's going on in his head, a vampire who lived 349 years lost his head because of a witch who, on top of everything else, swore to kill him...
Maybe it's something old. And honestly, he was ready to sing her odes of love, write poems in between instilling fear in half the world, the greater half of the world.
Yes, he was quite famous, a brave warrior, a great strategist, a crown prince on another continent and, perhaps, that's all... if you don't count all those legends and tales that were told about him. It's just strange that at his age he didn't manage to find himself a beloved (although what's strange about that if he's a rich heir and an ordinary man), probably now she found him herself, found him and wanted to kill him... She wanted to, right?
And finally the killer found the right room... a half-closed massive door, behind it a soft light coming from candles and they were already waiting for her there.
Coldwain sat in a chair, his legs casually crossed. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, a blood-red hue. His smile was slow, almost lazy.
"You took a long time," he almost whispered, looking her over from head to toe.
- Tired of waiting?
-What if yes? As far as I can understand, lately we...have become closer – Coldwein slowly approached her, almost flush.
"I wouldn't give a damn about such closeness," she whispered into his face in her smoky voice.
- Got the hint. - His hoarse voice could have driven you crazy if Anna hadn't already been crazy.
She pulled out a dagger and rushed forward, preparing to cut his throat.
The first attempt was clean, fast, and without hesitation. If her goal had been different, it would have been over in that instant. But Coldwain was no ordinary man, nor was he an ordinary vampire. He vanished from the blow like a puff of smoke, and her blade cut only into emptiness.
"Oh, Anna," his velvety voice sounded behind her. "Did you really think it would be that simple?"
She turned around, clutching the dagger in her hand, but Coldwain had already disappeared again.
It was a game. He let her attack, but he avoided her blows. He let her chase the shadow.
Anna hated it when her time was wasted.
She changed tactics abruptly. No more mindless attacks.
"Tired?" Coldwain asked, watching her from a nearby column.
- I'm tired of your cheap tricks.
-Aren't you tired of pretending?
She clenched her fingers and the air in the room shook. Dark magic flared around her, freezing the space, slowing movement, trapping Coldwain.
Now he had no way to retreat.
Anna stepped forward and struck.
The blade was supposed to cut through his neck.
But at the last moment something went wrong.
She felt the icy sting of magic, the interference of another. The next moment, her own spell began to crumble, torn apart by a force she had never encountered before.
Coldwein caught her wrist.
And for the first time all night long – he smiled for real. So sweetly, velvetily, charismatically that it jammed her, something inside her turned over.
- Nice try, Anna. But you can't kill me.
He squeezed her hand a little tighter, causing her to loosen her grip and almost let go of the dagger.
She froze, feeling the magic tremble in the air between them.
"Why?" she asked quietly, still holding her face.
Coldwain didn't answer right away. He just looked into her eyes, a look full of something she couldn't read.
- Because I am not your enemy.
He let go of her hand.
The weapon fell to the stone floor with a dull sound.
Anna did not back down, did not show that these words meant anything to her.
And she was gone… gone, leaving tension and the remnants of magic hanging in the air. Magic that was no longer shaken by the force acting on it, but by something else.
******
Meanwhile, in the Main Castle, Neryss and her advisors were still chewing over the werewolf theme. All the closest ones here were Monica Crystal, Orvael Darkmoon, the keeper of gold, Harold Wayne, the military leader, Sirisa Kasorn, the protector of the sea waters, Malevin Valeus, Zane Morvelin, Aisha Eirlen, Torvin Teravan, the keeper of the seal, the right hand of the queen.
And since we mentioned the keeper of the seal, this position was previously held by Neryss's husband Lorian Ilmaron, in fact, this is why he died, because of his pride, lies and ambition. Having risen so high and becoming the second person after the queen, he forgot who gave him all this. He bit the hand that fed him, calling himself a king, considering himself smarter than everyone, he signed his own death warrant.
Extract from the chronicle:
"…..Sir Lorian acted as the queen's representative while she was absent and received the ambassador. I personally was not there then, but one of my brothers was there and he is already dead, may the Great One rest him in the afterlife, he told me how it was. Ilmaron became proud and raised his chin and began to speak to the ambassador, as if the whole world belonged to him alone, as if he had created it, greatness clouded his eyes like fog clouds the sun. Lorian kept talking and talking about how important the ambassador's behavior was in front of him, because he was more important than even the queen herself, without his knowledge and favor the queen did not pass laws and did not execute the guilty, because it was he who could direct the anger and predisposition of Neryss... And when he could not close his mouth, ranting about his own power, he did not notice how she was standing behind him, the real queen, kissed by the sun and the moon, who had shed blood for her people, Queen Neryss. Her disappointed, tired face did not miss a single emotion, and after listening enough, she finally said: "Catch him." Standing on either side of her, Shahi Crystal and Letitia Haisan only slightly shook their heads and exchanged glances when the guards pounced on the former keeper of the seal, he shouted something and made excuses, but Neryss no longer heard, she only looked with her glassy eyes. The next day after imprisonment in the dungeon, the sentence was pronounced: execution. He was executed publicly, in the Square of the Saved, his head cut off while Nerissa stood aside and watched, holding their daughter Billean's hand…"
Monk Cedric Walters of the monastery at the foot of the Immortal Mountains.
...
"Hello, dear sister! I hasten to inform you that I am well, the Gray Valley is beautiful. Tomorrow I am marrying Morgan. Do not think that I do not want to see you at the wedding, we were just going to hold only the ceremony and end it there, without pomp and unnecessary equivocation. I hope everything is well with you, write how you feel now, what you are experiencing. I will miss those days that we spent together.
Your sister Elena"
"What the hell is this?" Anna said out loud, holding the printed letter in her hands.
The woman read it again and, having made sure that she had not imagined it, she exhaled loudly and rubbed her face with her hands.
- Was it smoked there...if yes, then I wonder what it was smoked with?
And, probably, there is nothing strange in those words, only if you do not know who Elena Black-Saintwood is. She personally would never have written such a thing in her life, even under the most powerful hallucinogenic drugs.
- "Dear sister", "I hasten to inform", "No pomp", what the fuck is this? Are we at a parade? It seems like she wrote this under threat of death... or sex with a werewolf, one of the two. - the killer whispered under her breath.
And then I heard footsteps behind me, it could have been Nerissa, William, or, forgive me, the Great Ones, Harris. But no, it was her, Billean.
"What are you doing?" she asked, sitting down on the sofa opposite and smiling with all 32 teeth.
-Here I am reading a letter from Elena, who, judging by everything, is now being tortured in a damp basement.
-Can?
-Of course. - Black handed the piece of paper to her mother.
Billean quickly glanced at the piece of paper and, pursing her lips, looked back at Anna's face.
-You know, this letter may seem really strange, but you know that people in love can change. To do certain things and probably start talking almost like an idiot.
-What do you mean almost?
-Well,- the woman drawled and then continued. - Maybe she really has changed, she has become smarter and more polite.
- It is clear that there are only two options: either she became the heroine of a sentimental novel during her journey from the Witch's Domain to the Gray Valley, or she wrote this with her eyes closed and a blade near her neck.
-Yes, perhaps so. And I think that if she is happy to be the heroine of a sentimental novel...then she shouldn't be disturbed.
- Do you think I'm going to go to the Gray Valley to the northeast and look for Elena there in a snowstorm, tied hand and foot by her new f... mh mh ... fiance? - on the penultimate sentence, the brunette pretended to cough into her fist.
-Yes.
-Okay, maybe you're right and I'm exaggerating.
-Really?
"No, of course not." Anna said it so obviously, but Bilean just rolled her eyes.
****
The day was drawing to a close when the gates of the Main Castle creaked and the dull clatter of horses' hooves was heard. A carriage emerged from the fog like a ghost, a little old, dark brown in color, with a coat of arms depicting an oak tree with gold dusting.
Rizalis Santwood.
Anna stood with Grace at the top of the steps, waiting for the moment when the carriage would finally stop and her uncle would finally appear from there.
"Who is it?" Crystal asked, raising one eyebrow, as if she was too lazy to raise both at once.
- Uncle, father's brother, - the killer said.
-Oh yes, I remember exactly, you were talking about him, I think.
-You're damn attentive, you know?
-Only when it comes to men. - Grace turned her head, meeting her friend's gaze.
The carriage stopped. No clanking, no humming, only the crunch of gravel under the wheels and a deep shadow spilling out of the half-open doors.
He came out.
Risalis Saintwood. A man whose eyes looked as if he had once looked into death itself - and laughed.
He was wearing an old uniform, his dark-dark red hair was pulled back, his face was kind as always. There was a slight silver tinge to his temple.
He looked around the yard like a general looks at a field after a victory.
-I always hated the capital for this damn fog. - This was the first thing Reese said before he approached his niece.
"I think I'll leave the relatives alone," the stern witch sang, heading back to the castle.
-I missed you.
- Of course, how could you not miss me? - the man bit his lip. - Okay, I missed you too.
And they hugged each other, so warmly and familially, as Anna could only hug her father if he were alive.
- Almost unchanged since our last meeting, still a beauty. - Saintwood nodded slightly.
-Alive and that's enough, but the compliment counts. - He only laughed slightly at her words.
-It means you haven't forgotten how to set priorities.
She wanted to say something else, something sharp, but his gaze had already slid further. Higher. Towards her.
Bilean.
She stood on the balcony, frozen. The smile on her face was polite, almost amiable. But her fingers, resting on the railing, were trembling and tapping. Risalis looked at her too long. Too closely.
"Lady Bilean," he said, as if regretfully, "it is good to see you... in good health."
"And you, Lord Santwood… alive," she answered quietly.
This wasn't just an exchange of phrases. This was a point-blank duel shot, only without blood. So far, without blood.
Anna noticed how her mother's lips tightened, how the servants in the courtyard looked at each other, not understanding, but sensing that something was happening.
Risalis looked at Anna.
- Well, let's go, my dear, otherwise my servant will fall in right now along with the luggage.
"Of course," she said, and then whispered softly, "You're needed here more than ever."
He nodded. He smiled. And he passed by the balcony with only a glance, like a ghost who no longer wants to scare. Only to remind... of old wounds... that were once inflicted by a nun who was not a saint at all.
********
The evening in the Main Castle was drawing to a close, and a strange tension hung in the air—the sky was ablaze with shades of blood, as if it itself foreshadowed a storm. In one of the long corridors, a maid rushed fearfully from door to door, finally reaching the right one.
- Madam Anna! - she cried, catching her breath. - Forgive me... but... the dog... he... just came to the castle... all covered in blood, wounds.
The killer's eyes narrowed.
- What?
- Aeron, one of the guards, heard him mention the name of that man... Kol or... Coldwein for sure.
Anna didn't even want to listen any further. The glass of wine fell over onto the table, blooming into a crimson pattern on the wood, and the witch flew out into the corridor with such speed that the air hissed.
She didn't appear in the hall door - she burst in. Harris Shade was standing in front. He was so surprised that he didn't even have time to turn around, as he was already pressed against the wall, his throat squeezed with inhuman force, using magic of course.
"What the hell are you doing?" the werewolf growled through clenched teeth.
- That's my question, little wolf. What did I tell you?! Don't get involved. Not with your claws, not with your paw, not with your dog nose.
- He is an enemy. You said it yourself.
- I said: not your enemy. - The witch moved closer. - You, scum, almost destroyed everything.
- I'll rip your tongue out, dog, if you ever go where you weren't invited again. This is my oath, my goal, and my business. You're not the judge here, and you're not the executioner here.
- He's playing with you, Black. I just...
- Shut up before I remember that the word "truce" does not apply to animals.
She let go of him abruptly. Harris fell to the floor, breathing heavily. The sword at her side trembled slightly in its sheath, as if sensing the blood boiling in its owner.
- You're still here because the head of the clan said not to touch for now. But you keep asking for the decision to change. One more word and you'll find out how the damned swords talk.
And without waiting for an answer, Anna turned around and left, throwing over her shoulder to the werewolf:
-And advice for the future. Don't waste your short dog life on other people's vows.
Harris, however... remained on the floor. Breathing. And thinking.
********
And while in one room Black nearly strangled her enemy... in another a conversation took place that was more like a knife fight - only instead of blades there were words.
"How's Rain?" Billean asked quietly, carefully placing her cup of tea on the table.
- Stop this performance. No one can hear us anymore. And I would also very much like not to hear your vile voice, - Risalis responded. In his usually soft, kind eyes there was fatigue, sadness... and hostility.
- I don't understand... What did I do to displease you?
- Because you're a slutty bitch, Billean. You're the one who drove him to this.
- How long do I have to repeat this? From the very beginning, we both knew that this marriage would not be about love.
- And he loved you. To madness. I have never seen anyone who loved like that. He would have died for you. And you know what? He died. Internally - when he realized what kind of person you were. But he still kept quiet and told me to keep quiet. - Risalis stood up abruptly.
"I saved him with this marriage. Saved him from shame, from death. For me he was always a friend, the closest. But I did not love him." With these words she turned to the window, without raising her eyes.
- Saved... - He laughed, but the laugh came out dry, like a crack in glass. - You are a holy virgin, Billean. It seems a lot happened to you in the monastery.
There was a pause. Risalis slowly sank back onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. Billean remained silent.
- I can't talk about it anymore. It's just killing me inside. I came to help. Not you - Anna. At least she honors her father's memory... And, unlike you, she really deserves everything she has, and of course more.
"Who's arguing…" Billean muttered and literally flew out of the room, slamming the door.
And Rizalis, sitting on the couch, was drowning in memories of his brother. The memory of Sagewin was the only thing that stopped Rhys from revealing all of Billean's secrets, even after death he could protect the love of his life.
******
The tavern on Sin Street was buzzing like a beehive. A violin was screaming in the corner, and one of the regulars, whose alcohol level had long since crossed the human limit, was cursing behind the bar. The air smelled of smoke, spices, roasted meat, and whiskey so strong that even a sober eye would begin to water just looking at the bottle.
And behind the counter, as always, in "their" places sat Crystal and Anna.
"Carriage, pour us something new," the stern witch muttered, looking into the empty glass.
- The only new thing, my dear, is a couple of whores at that table in the corner. I can offer you some whiskey, you don't lower the alcohol level, do you? - the woman grinned.
-Give me some whiskey...but we'll come back to the table in the corner later. - Black leaned back on the flimsy back of the chair and, crossing her legs, slapped a couple of coins on the counter.
-You've completely lost your mind, now stop this display of wealth. - The carriage easily leaned over the counter and with one light movement of her hand shoved the coins into the fold of the killer's shirt near his chest.
"So what is this?" Grace asked jokingly.
"A small thing, but nice," Anna said with a smile, raising her eyebrows.
"I wouldn't say it's a trifle," Roche was already pouring whiskey into glasses.
-Okay, slow down, carriage, this is my woman.
- That's it, I don't really have any claims, I have Tony. By the way, about him... Hey Tony, where the hell are you?! - At the last question, Elia screamed throughout the tavern, and what's the tavern, it was probably heard even on Witch Island.
-Here, what have you lost, little bird?
Suddenly, a short-haired brunette emerged from behind the curtain that covered the entrance to the kitchen.
-Do you know where I'm going to shove your bird now? Let's get to work.
-Oh, don't be angry, Al, everything will be fine now. - Tony slowly walked up to the counter and began to polish the glasses, simultaneously glancing at the carriage.
-Good evening, ladies. Are you warming your heart?
-Soul, conscience and liver. - Anna nodded, slamming her glass against the wood. - Why are you shirking your work?
- I'm a table decoration. - Tony hadn't even had time to lean against the wall when he immediately grabbed the towel from the carriage and grabbed it on his shoulder.
Tony rolled his eyes.
- Oh, come on. Are we under a regime again?
-Speaking of which, how long did you serve?
-I would say enough.
- A couple more of these vague answers and I'll be sure that you dropped the soap. - Grace turned her gaze to the brunette.
-Can't you come up with anything new?
- No, as your lady noticed, the only new thing here is...
- Since you can't sit still...fifteen.
There was a pause for a second.
The carriage didn't even look at him. She simply threw the rag on the counter, spread her arms and quietly but very expressively said:
- Tony... does mommy know that you're lying like you're breathing? - ... - Okay, ten. - He chuckled and poured whiskey into glasses.
Grace squirted into her glass.
- Now that's what I call "minus five for cunning." - And he also says that he was in solitary confinement, - Kareta narrowed her eyes. - And he himself wouldn't catch a rat in the kitchen in the morning. - I'm not a rat catcher, and when it comes to the kitchen, I'm an expert, I've been to the prison one. - Tony muttered, but everyone was already laughing.
The carriage clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh:
- Yes, my dear, you "served" in the prison kitchen for a couple of weeks at most. While the cook was in comatose.
"Yeah, kamatoze. With knocked out knees," Tony muttered, taking a sip from the flask he'd just pulled out of his pocket.
And they laughed, the two witches and the two former robbers, as if life could still be as simple as the cheap whiskey in their glasses.
******
The quiet night had already settled. The city was asleep, or pretended to be. The streets of Doar always breathed double life: lanterns above, blood below. The carriage had just slammed shut behind the two witches as they turned off the main street toward the castle.
"What air, huh?" Grace said, stretching her arms. "Or am I just drunk?"
"You're drunk," Anna chuckled, buttoning her jacket. "And don't breathe too deeply, it smells like raw dog."
"I hope that's not a metaphor," Grace muttered.
But it was not a metaphor.
A man emerged from the darkness between the houses - tall, with a strange mixture of coldness and wildness in his gaze. He walked slowly, as if he knew that only death would stop him. However, he clearly thought that this did not concern him.
"Lady..." he almost sang, coming closer. "I knew I would find you. I could smell your blood... I knew you were my true one."
- Oh, here comes the evening show. - Grace smirked slightly. - Anna...
"Don't interfere." The witch stepped forward, not taking her eyes off the werewolf. "Repeat. What did you just say?"
- You are mine. Destiny itself brought me to you. You belong to me. I will take you. I will protect you. And you will love me as you should.
"Oh, Great Mother, have you caught some kind of mental illness?" Grace snorted.
Anna slowly drew her sword—not "justice," but the very same moon dagger that was still with her.
- Listen carefully, breeding dog. I belong to no one. And if you dare tell me again that I am "yours," I will rip out your tongue and throw it in Lae, where the sand-swallower will eat it with pleasure. Understand?
The werewolf suddenly smiled, almost tenderly.
- Oh, you're just resisting. It's normal. In our clan...
- Is it common in your clan to fuck those who disagree? - Anna's voice became icy. - We get heads rolled for that. Welcome to civilization.
He stepped closer.
- You don't understand yet. I'm not asking. I came to take you.
"Boy, you wouldn't even take a pie from the shelf, what are you talking about," Grace responded, but Anna had already moved forward.
The werewolf lunged at her, his eyes flashing, his claws growing on his hands in a split second. But the moon blade was faster.
The first blow is to the throat. The second is under the ribs. The third is just because.
The body fell to the pavement with a wet crunch. Blood quickly spread over the stones. The werewolf wheezed, tried to say something.
Anna leaned over and whispered:
- Take your culture with you to hell. Here - there will always be a law, and not just a desire.
She turned to Grace and brushed the blood off the blade.
- Let's go. Let it lie there.
"You know what's going to happen when they find him," Grace said, turning back to the body, "they're going to scream that you're a crazy killer. That you kill for no reason.
- Let them scream. Better to be a mad killer than to let the beast devour you.
The two figures moved on in the night. The streets of the city were silent. Only the corpse by the lamp confirmed: there would be no foreign savagery in this kingdom.
*********
The morning in the Great Castle was surprisingly quiet. Too quiet, especially after yesterday's "road home", although most likely the news would soon spread. Anna Black threw her cloak over her shoulder, a couple of daggers on her belt, determination in her eyes. Today she was going to finally sort out one problem... quite an old one, almost four hundred years old.
"Are you going somewhere again?" a voice said.
Loud. Smug. Painfully familiar, and just as painfully annoying.
She closed her eyes instantly and, mentally counting to five, without turning around, said:
- If you start the old song "don't go there, it will kill you, you won't cope, let me be your savior" again - I beg you, Harris, die in silence, and don't mess with my brain.
He came closer nevertheless.
- Look, I'm serious. I can help. I'm stronger than you, you know that. I feel like you're in danger, and I...
"Oh, Great Ones," she hissed, turning sharply. "You do this every time you want to get sent away. I'm not in danger, Harris. I fucking am danger. Bitch."
He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at her as if making up his mind. He came closer, one step, two.
Anna found herself with her back to the cabinet with herbs and jars. It wasn't like she was cornered, she crossed her arms and waited for a lunge.
"I won't let you die," he said quietly. "Even if you want to."
And with these words he took out of his pocket a small cloth bag, barely noticeable.
"This is…" She narrowed her eyes. "Harris, what the fuck are you doing?"
He squeezed her wrist sharply, brought the bag closer to her face with his other hand and sprinkled dust right into her face.
- Sleep a little, and I'll do everything for you.
There was a pause for a moment. Anna blinked.
Didn't pass out. But pretty much in... shock.
- Are you out of your mind? - she exploded.
And at the same moment, with a sharp movement, she grabbed a bag of aromatic powder from the shelf nearby - a mixture of lavender, cayenne ash and desert pepper juice. Charlene had recently brought it, arguing that "It fills the room with a pleasant aroma." And, as it turned out, it also calms the sick in the head an order of magnitude.
Crash! - the powder smashed into the werewolf's face in a cloud. The dust hit him straight in the eyes.
"AAAAAAAH SHIT," Harris screamed, clutching his face. "WHAT IS THIS, BITCH?!"
"With the scent of lavender, asshole," Anna read from the bag calmly, as if she was making tea. She threw her coat over her head, fixed her hair, and headed for the door.
Harris rolled on the floor, trying in vain to rub his eyes, which only made the burning worse. His screams echoed down the hallway. And Anna, without turning around, added:
- I warned you not to stick your nose in. Next time I'll stick the powder into another mucous membrane. And also with the scent of lavender.
And she left. Cold and collected, as always.
There is complete seriousness on his face.
There is irritation in my soul.
And the plans are the same old song: to kill Vladislav Koldvein.
**********
While passions were boiling in the capital, the noise did not subside and almost on the other side of the world, in the Gray Valley, everything was dead. Where Elena Black... died. And Elena Grave remained.
Poor Elena. Poor, stupid, afraid. She had dug her own grave - out of loyalty, politeness, weakness - and into that grave Morgan Grave had laid her, slowly, with steady pressure. Not with his hand, not with his sword, no. He had buried her inside herself.
They were sitting in the living room. The gray room in the Gray Valley. Everything was gray - the walls, the sky outside the window, the cup in her hands, Morgan's face.
He chuckled. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, as if from his own wit. "You didn't put on the family pendant again." "I forgot," Elena whispered.
"Have you forgotten?" He bowed his head, looking at her with an expression that could mean anything. "I'm sorry…"
"Do you often forget that you're Grave?" The voice was still even. But something in it was trembling. Not the intonation - the temperature. As if the air had dropped to minus ten.
Elena was silent. Because she knew: any word would be wrong. As always.
"You were Black," he continued, not rising. "So proud. So sharp. And now whose are you?" He extended his hand. The touch to her chin was soft. Too soft. Disgustingly soft.
"Mine." "Yes," she nodded. He sighed. "I'm so tired of breaking you into pieces. You're still twitching. Resisting. Even in small ways."
He stood up abruptly and walked over to the window. He spoke into the glass:
— I don't need you. I need a family name. I need a legacy. I need you to sit up straight, smile, and bear me legitimate children. He turned. His eyes were brown or almost gray. Empty.
- You can throw the rest out of your head.
She quietly put the cup down. Her hands were shaking. He noticed and grinned again.
- Are you afraid of me?
She didn't answer.
"You know what a fool you are?" he said, leaning towards her ear. "You thought I loved you, you thought someone would pounce on your beauty."
He laughed. Silently. As if at a stupid dog.
- I chose you because you're silent. Because you looked... like a person who could be broken. And I like it when things break beautifully.
He lifted her by the chin and looked into her eyes.
- I'll cut out everything that's left in you. And I won't even break a sweat, I'm stronger Elena and you know it.
She looked at his face. The face that had seemed noble to her before. The face behind which she had sought salvation.
"You… bastard, dirty bastard," she whispered.
- No, darling, - he kissed her temple. - I'm just your husband. For the rest of my life. And if you remember again that you were once Black - I'll rewrite you.
He left, and the room remained as quiet as death.
And inside her, in the deepest corners, something began to stir.
And yes, it wasn't she who wrote that letter, could she?
Believing in a fairy tale about love, she gave herself completely and what happened... after the ceremony, her fairy tale became a nightmare. As if the world broke into "before" and "after". Morgan showed himself completely, did everything that characterizes a person as the last bastard... everything. In his hands, Elena is a doll, if he wants to play with her, if he wants to break her, nothing will stop him. He did not want to love, he only wanted to own and that's it.
If it were possible to describe the feeling she was experiencing... it was... it was like tearing her own throat out with her own hands. And for now, all that was on her mind... was escape - that was the path to freedom. She understood that after everything, her family would not even think that she could be bad here... so now Elena had only herself.