Hours later, Cressida remained lounged on the bed of their shared chamber - a term she still couldn't say without a hint of disgust.
Agrona was off doing goddess-knows-what, probably terrorizing nobles, making men cry, or brooding dramatically near a stained glass window again.
Not like Cressida had the freedom to check. She was practically on house arrest with luxury furniture.
"Alright, let's test this emotional link, shall we?"
There was the idea of nicking her own skin bloody, but then again, that would probably make Agrona show up like a starving hawk the moment she smelled blood because of a phantom blood loss. Tempting, yes.
Besides that, there were so much she could do:
Option one: Trip on purpose. Easy, subtle, and non-lethal. Imagine Agrona suddenly stumbling mid-meeting with a council of dukes.
Option two: Slam her pinky toe against the table leg. The pain alone would echo through eternity. Deliciously stupid, but poetic.
Option three: Cry dramatically for no reason. That would really confuse her. Agrona might think she's developing empathy.
"But the question is," Cressida grinned to herself, twirling a strand of hair, "how do you make a sociopathic bitch yearn for you?"
A wicked, terrible, absolutely inspired idea bloomed in her head.
Perhaps she really was a sick pervert after all.
***
"Your Imperial Highness?!" a servant cried out, panic lacing her voice as she reached toward the desk.
"Don't touch me!" Agrona snapped, slapping the servant's hand away with enough force to make the papers on her desk flutter.
For the past hour, something had been off. She was supposed to be reviewing contracts and, well, politely threatening the representatives from the Church of the Dark Tide. Instead, her body betrayed her.
Her heart was beating so fast to the point she felt like she was burning in a good way along with uneven breaths.
Agrona, Empress of the Dark Tide, was squirming and she had no idea why.
She clenched her jaw, trying to maintain composure as a shiver ran down her spine.
This wasn't the exhaustion of paperwork or hunger.
This was… something else.
Something indecent.
"Hey, you," Agrona snapped, pointing at the trembling servant. Her face was flushed scarlet, strands of dark hair clinging to her temples. "What is this feeling... where you're hot, sweating, and if you don't bite your lip, you might make a sound you'll regret?"
"E-Excuse me, Your Imperial Highness?" the servant stammered, clutching the folder in her hands like a shield.
Even she was starting to blush. There was no way the Empress was that… deprived. Right? The mere idea made their ears burn.
"Maybe you're just… hungry for blood?" the servant offered weakly.
"No!" Agrona snapped, crossing her arms as if that would somehow contain the heat radiating through her. "It's not hunger. It's… something more primal than that."
The silence that followed could have killed a mortal.
For a woman who had ruled for centuries, the idea that Agrona Aurelion had simply forgotten what it is felt like tragedy.
"Then…" The servant swallowed hard, glancing around nervously. "M–May I whisper it, Your Imperial Highness? It may not be… wise to say aloud."
"Fine!" Agrona snapped, flustered beyond saving. "I permit it!"
They advanced swiftly, crowding in close.
Every word was delivered in a low, urgent rush, precisely chosen for the Empress's comprehension.
The information dawned on her slowly, a chilling progression, until her face finally solidified into an expression of utter mortification.
"I... Arousal?"
"Yes, Your Imperial Highness," the servant whispered, swallowing hard. "Is it because of your new toy, perhaps?"
"NONSENSE!"
"EEK!"