Chapter Text
The moment the Dark Prince opened his eyes he knew something was terribly wrong, and he lay for several long, tense moments trying to decide what it was. A wary glance at the other side of the bed confirmed he was alone, although… the coverlet was strangely askew … a warmth still lingered on the sheets…
…and Renathal sat bolt upright, the memories of the previous day, and night, and the small hours of that morning stampeding across his brain like a herd of sinrunners.
The court and the Countess, the odd behaviours of the other Harvesters, the mortal’s mysterious dress and her bare lavender skin in the candlelight when the inexplicable garment finally lay crumpled at her feet. There had been so much to process in so brief a span of time. Nor did Renathal have any to spare for all of it now. There was only one thing that mattered currently.
Where was Elisewin?
Flinging back the crooked covers beside him revealed a minute dip in the mattress where a body had recently lain, and the slight smell of sex, heady and sharp, still permeated the sheets. Last night had happened, Renathal was certain. The strain on various long-retired muscles had left a pleasant residual soreness. And something itched at his collarbones. He dropped his chin to peer down at his chest. A string of raised marks, born of desperate lips and blunt mortal teeth, decorated his skin like a necklace.
A satisfied smirk crept past Renathal’s consternation. Elisewin's exquisite lavender skin would be similarly marked. He wanted to see that, run his fingers across his own handiwork, but… where had she gone? The fleeting surge of smug, possessive affection ebbed, and he peered around the room hopefully, as if it might offer him answers.
He had asked her to stay. She had said she would. They had wiled away a precious, entwined hour in gentle competition for who had desired the other longer. Then he had watched the slow rise and fall of her bare chest until, reluctantly, closing his eyes and allowing sleep to claim him, too. He had not heard her wake. Instinctively, Renathal’s brain began to contemplate worst-case scenarios. He had expected Denathrius to interrupt them all night. Might his Master have sneaked in and spirited Elisewin away while he slept? It was not impossible. Even now, a royal summons might wait downstairs, inviting the Prince to Nathria, where he would arrive to find his new lover and his Master -
Renathal scrambled from the bed, scanning the Tazavesh rug for last night's abandoned clothes. But they, too, were missing. As were Elisewin's. After a minute’s frantic search on and under every piece of furniture, he snatched up a dressing gown instead and threw it around himself, wondering as he did so how many mysteries his brain could reasonably be expected to hold.
A knock on the door interrupted his bemusement and made his superfluously racing heart stutter. But the voice that called after it, “Your Highness?” worked magic on his electric nerves.
“Enter,” Renathal answered at once.
And Elisewin entered; arrayed in her usual scarlet tunic and trousers, hair loose and tidy, carrying a laden silver tray. The rest of the short morning’s tightly coiled tension melted from Renathal at the sight. She smiled, and he fancied he could feel his skin tingle where those same parted lips had danced across it only hours ago.
Arousal and relief outdrew nerves. Elisewin was still here. The Master had not come for her yet. And, if the dark tint to her eyes as they darted down his unfastened robe was any indication, she harboured no discomfiting regrets about last night’s events.
"Good morning, your Highness," she said, offering the Prince a deep, deferential nod over the top of her tray.
Renathal raised his eyebrows, but Elisewin’s formality was explained by a low, phlegmy cough and a squat, bald head poking around her knees. She stepped aside to allow Breakfist, also toting a tray, to pass.
“I thought,” she continued, nodding at the trays - her own piled with foodstuffs; Breakfist’s with tea accoutrement, “you might appreciate a bit of a lie-in, and breakfast served to you here. What with how strenuous last night was - last night's court was, I mean.”
She blinked, then turned quickly on her heel and followed Breakfist to the fireside chairs, depositing her burden on the table between them. Stooping to relieve the dredger butler of his own tray allowed her long, dark waterfall of hair to hide her face, and allowed Renathal’s unobserved lips to curl as indecorously as they wished.
“How very thoughtful,” he pronounced over the careful rattle of cast-iron and glass, following at his leisure and leaning against one of the bed’s four posts to watch Elisewin work.
It was an enjoyable experience: admiring her figure from behind without the least self-recrimination or caviling resolutions to spoil it. And he had ample opportunity. She, too, was taking her time, making something of a fuss of arranging the tea things just so on the low, carved-wood table. Beside her, Breakfist shuffled his feet and gave the occasional, pointed cough, which unsubtle promptings the mortal servant just as pointedly ignored.
Renathal intervened with a clearing of his own throat.
"Do join me for a moment, Elisewin," he said, a liberal coat of formality painting his words for the benefit of the butler whose face registered a muddy disapproval. "I have a few items that require immediate discussion. And when we have finished, you may help me dress. Thank you, Breakfist." He addressed the last to the dredger, along with a nod of unquestionable dismissal.
Breakfist, still frowning, nevertheless kowtowed to his Master’s wishes. With a bow, he shambled from the room, shutting the door behind him with a dubious click Renathal only distantly heard. He had closed in on Elisewin before the dredger’s footsteps had faded into the hall, wrapping himself around her from behind and dipping his face into the hollow of her neck. He breathed in her familiar scent - delicate and fragrant as the anima-infused steam rising from the nearby teapot - and inhaled the warm little sigh that escaped her as his lips climbed their newly learned path up her jawline.
“What was it you needed to discuss, your Highness?” she murmured playfully.
Renathal growled into her ear; purely for the pleasure of feeling her arch against him.
“Renathal, when we are alone,” he reminded her, his voice a low, deadly purr. “And why you were not here when I awoke, after I specifically requested it.”
“You asked me to stay and I did - as long as I could, Renathal, oh-” She broke off with a gasp as Renathal’s fangs nipped approvingly at the tip of her long ear. “But Breakfist was going to come after me if I didn’t report for my morning duties. It's a miracle he didn't come looking for me last night when I didn't bring your armour or clothes to be cleaned right away. And, anyway…”
Her hands found Renathal's and pried them gently from her waist, a little shake of her head dislodging his mouth from her earlobe.
"You also seemed quite concerned that no one discover you’re fucking a member of your staff.”
Renathal froze. The heat coiling in his gut chilled abruptly; at Elisewin's crude phrasing and the unpleasant implication behind it.
“That is not what I said."
“I was paraphrasing," she argued airily, stepping out of his slack embrace.
"That is not what I meant."
Renathal crossed his arms over his unfastened robe in reproof of Elisewin's delicate eye-roll and the insouciant little smile she wore as she bent again to attend to the tea.
“What I said," he continued, stressing each word sternly," was that there would be consequences should we be discovered. And so there would be. But they would be the same whether you were a member of staff, as you put it, or a high-ranking Venthyr noble. Even a Harvester yourself."
“Really?"
The question was mild, as if Elisewin were hardly listening, all her attention on the apparently complex mechanics of lifting the teapot over the Prince's cup. She poured steadily. Her face was set in a perfect, impenetrable example of her signature blank expression. Almost… too perfect; and purposefully impenetrable. Renathal watched her closely through slightly narrowed eyes as he answered:
"Surely, you did not think discretion was required purely in regards to your status?”
Elisewin's little shrug was the picture of casual unconcern, but her hair swung suspiciously across her face again as she spooned sugar into Renathal's cup.
"Well, it can't be encouraged, can it? I’m not a Venthyr yet, I’m a - a penitent. And not even a proper one at that, seeing as I’m still alive. I'm really just here to be punished - educated." She shot a quick glance at Renathal, who pardoned the incorrect theology with a careless wave of his hand, before returning to her work. "And, whether or not it's strictly permitted, fraternizing with un-redeemed souls certainly can't be good for the Prince of Revendreth’s reputation."
Renathal's bark of laughter startled Elisewin so badly she dropped the sugar bowl's lid. It hit the table with a clatter. Her hands fumbled to replace it without looking, her attention finally returned to the Prince, whose good humour was also reinstated now he knew his lover's dissatisfaction lay with her own imagined faults and not his.
"My reputation," he chuckled around the word, "has survived far worse, I assure you. I think it could certainly withstand the weight of being discovered fraternizing with Revendreth’s first and only mortal. Quite the novel accomplishment, that. I would expect to endure a great deal more envy than disfavor."
"I see," said Elisewin blandly. She straightened, Renathal's cup of tea in her hands. “Is that what I am to you, then? A novelty?"
She offered him the cup, along with a small, carefully crafted smile; which, even without the benefit of eons’ experience in false faces and subterfuge, Renathal would have known better than to trust.
"You are a novelty," he agreed, more solemnly, accepting the proffered cup and replacing it on the tray. "You are a wholly novel, singular, and extraordinary being."
And, encouraged by Elisewin’s blink of surprise, he took her still-outstretched hands and coaxed her closer, until her legs brushed his under the loose folds of his velvet dressing gown.
"Unswayed by status, un-seduced by power. Unafraid to face dangers most Venthyr would cower before in order to further your atonement. An atonement for crimes you cannot even remember and sins that have never been satisfactorily explained - another novelty. Most souls sent to Revendreth know exactly why they are here, even if they do not agree with it. You have been left in the dark, and navigated it with grace.”
There was no question, this time. Elisewin’s cheekbones were turning a blotchy violet as hot, mortal blood rushed to her face. But she made no move to hide them. Her gaze was glued to Renathal’s, hanging on his words. He could see the sharp lines and angles of his own face reflected, blue-white, in her wide, unblinking eyes.
"You are surrounded by darkness,” he went on thoughtfully, stroking the pad of his thumb across one of her coloured cheeks, enjoying the heat. “And instead of fearing it, you seek to understand it. That, in particular, is a most novel gift. And one I greatly admire.”
Elisewin swallowed hard before asking again, "Really?", the single, hoarse word somehow fraught with meaning. And Renathal thought there was more vulnerability in it than anything his lover had gasped or moaned or cried for him the previous night.
“Really,” he replied, the thrill of his own naked honesty vibrating across his bare skin. “I… admire you, Elisewin. And I would consider it the greatest of privileges to parade about Revendreth with you at my side. This secrecy is not - not my preference. It is... for your protection every bit as much as mine."
The very real danger they were still in reasserted itself with a familiar prickle of icy dread, making Renathal stumble suddenly over his words. His hands clenched reflexively around his new, unsanctioned lover’s, claw-like nails scraping the delicate mortal flesh. But Elisewin did not flinch.
“I believe you,” she said, squeezing back, her voice as warm and reassuring as the pattern her fingers smoothed across his knuckles. "And I'm sorry if I implied... I'm sorry. I just… I still don't understand. What do we need protection from? What consequences could the Prince of Revendreth have to fear?"
Renathal only shook his head. He could not answer. Honesty was all well and good when it made her look at him like that - like he was the only thing in any world that mattered - but how would she react upon discovering the details of what awaited them? It was not a conversation Renathal was ready to have. Whatever twist of fate was keeping their inevitable end at bay, he was not going to question it. Or let it go to waste.
"It is... complicated," he said vaguely. "An explanation best saved for another time."
Elisewin opened her mouth, no doubt to argue further, but her tongue flicking across her lower lip gave Renathal a better idea. He dipped his head to kiss her. And wondered, as their lips reacquainted themselves with each other after hours of separation, how he had managed to do anything else since she had first walked in. His lover fit her body back against his with an eagerness that betrayed her own stifled desire; whatever she had been about to say forgotten as her hands slid under his loose robe, tracing the cold planes of his shoulders before winding themselves in his hair. For a few, flawless minutes each forgot the questions that plagued them. And when at last Elisewin broke their kiss to gulp down frantic, necessary breaths, Renathal groaned, not at all ready to allow the moment to end.
"Your tea ... will have gone cold ... your Highness," Elisewin managed between gasps.
"Renathal, dearest," he insisted, fangs grazing the delicate skin under her chin in gentle reprimand. She cried out at that. Renathal could feel her legs trembling as she rose on her toes, back bent, simultaneously trying to escape and lean into the sensation. He smirked against her pulse point. "And, what with how strenuous last night was, I believe I require something more fortifying than tea."
"But you-" Elisewin's protest wavered as Renathal caught the back of her thighs and wrapped her legs around his hips, stopping himself from tearing through the thin material of her trousers in - what he considered - an extravagant display of courtesy. Which he ought to have forgone, he realised, when Elisewin was able to finish: "You have a guest waiting for you. Downstairs."
Every muscle in Renathal's body tensed -
“Who?”
“General Draven.”
-and relaxed.
"Draven can wait," he decided. The General would never be sent as a mere messenger. Nor would his old friend begrudge him a few minutes' delay. Or more. "I have more important duties to attend to first. After all," he added, voice suddenly wicked, "my mortal charge must remain my top priority. "
Relief, and the fiery anticipation once again curling in his lower abdomen, lent his limbs a surge of giddy anima, and Renathal sauntered forward, depositing his lover, now quivering delightfully with breathless laughter, onto his waiting bed.
"I thought this wasn't a part of my atonement?" Elisewin mused between giggles, and the various manouevres required of her arms as Renathal tugged her tunic off over her head.
"It is not," he agreed, then paused.
The sight of her bare, dusky torso in the dim candlelight, with its pattern of pretty, violet bruises, each a perfect match for his own mouth, momentarily derailed Renathal's train of thought. His fingers moved of their own accord, tracing the line of his visible affection from Elisewin's collarbones to her navel. When he met her glittering eyes again, his glowed with hungry, amber fire.
"Consider this... a reward," he said, lips quirking sharply around his fangs, "for your hard work, and significant progress.”
“Ohh, I see..." An equally mischievous smile settled across Elisewin's face. "Well, if that's the case, I’ll be sure to stay on my best behaviour then, your Highness - Renathal.”
She corrected herself with a gasp as Renathal pushed her back against the rumpled covers. In one fluid shrug, his robe was relegated to the floor and he was crawling up his lover's body, pausing to dip his head, pale hair pooling around her breasts, and murmur against her madly fluttering mortal heartbeat:
“Good girl.”