The cry of a child rang insistently from what remained of a small village, ravaged from the war between the two major kingdoms.
The kingdom of Nasaer had conquered, but of course, there were always consequences—and this village had borne them.
Snow lay in thick heaps over the wood of broken houses and the bodies of the dead, the only thing that had quelled the fires that had consumed most of the village, killing or driving away its inhabitants.
The army sorcerer approached on his horse, the last to leave the battlefield, guided by his vision promising him a special discovery—but only if he was patient.
A discovery that could secure Nasaer's dominance over the other kingdoms.
The cold wind blew sharply at his face, blowing his cloak back and nearly freezing his beard.
The child's cries grew louder, echoing from the ruins.
How could a baby still be alive? Two days since the war ended.
If hunger hadn't claimed it, the snow surely should have.
Was it a trap?
The sorcerer drew his sword. He wasn't taking chances, especially with angry villagers who just had their home destroyed.
He reached the source of the cries: a broken house, its roof collapsed to the floor.
The baby paused as if listening to his footsteps, then increased the volume of its wails.
Dropping from his horse, sword still in hand, the sorcerer pushed back the debris.
Small heaps of snow slid aside as he uncovered the child—hands fisted, tiny feet kicking, naked, a thin blanket barely covering its small form.
Almost instantly, he sheathed his sword and lifted the baby in his hands as its crying slowed.
A strong healthy child—he could feel the weight of the baby, astonishing for one who had survived alone for more than a day.
Lifting the blanket properly, he saw it was a boy:
a beautiful child, with the most courageous hazel eyes, staring up at him almost cautious—and without tears.
The sorcerer realized that the baby wasn't necessarily crying out of fear—he had been crying to be found.
The infant's tiny hand grasped the sorcerer, tugging gently at his beard, snapping him out of the awe he felt at the intelligence of a six-month-old.
"Let's get you home," the sorcerer whispered. "Azael."
The baby yawned, nestling into the blanket for warmth as the sorcerer mounted his horse and rode back toward Nasaer.
**
Eira teleported to the next place she thought Azael would be—the roof. He was there.
Not standing, not sitting, but lying, facing the cold night sky.
Cold because there was no moon, probably due to how much the sky had been triggered to cry.
She was glad she had given Theo a different route, keeping him clear of Azael's territory.
Azael lay motionless, pale skin glowing beneath the velvet red robe draped over him, the scent of wisteria hung in the air intoxicating her need for him.
The gentle rise of his thigh from a propped knee tempted her gaze.
His eyes were closed, but she knew he had already sensed her.
Still, she approached, unable to help the ache in her chest.
She knelt beside him, but he still didn't move.
His handsome face remained stoic, resting, the gentle plump of his lips tempting her.
Perhaps he was unconscious.
Perhaps she could steal a kiss.
She missed the feel of them against hers.
Bending closer, she brought her face near his.
Her undead heart pounded with fear of his reaction but she couldn't help herself.
"Thought you should have left by now," his breath brushed her face.
She froze as his eyes opened, meeting hers.
Eira swallowed but didn't move, only held his gaze as she whispered. "I needed to be sure you are fine, master."
A gentle scoff escaped him. His enormous ego clearly amused.
"Checking my welfare or attempting to assault me?" he asked.
Her gaze dropped to the line of his neck and the broad muscles of his chest, the red robe dipping to stop just above his belly button. Pale skin against velvet, irresistible.
She couldn't help herself as her hand moved, barely brushing his skin before he caught it instantly.
Pain flared in Eira as she met his warning eyes, a reminder that he was no longer hers.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she hated herself for wanting to hurt him just to have him.
"I can't forget," she said with a trembling voice. "I can't forget us. I've tried to stay away all these years but it hurts knowing that the only reason you asked to see me was because of another woman."
"You should have lived enough by now to control your heart, Eira," Azael said coldly, releasing her hand.
Her palms fell to rest on either side of his face.
His hair fanned beneath him, almost blending into the night.
"Yet," she whispered. "You can't control yours around her."
His face remained calm, giving her silence in return. Her arms grew weak from pain as she collapsed into his chest, crying profusely.
"I want to hate you so bad! So bad!" She sobbed, clutching the velvet of his robe, ashamed of her obsession.
He let her, not stopping her as she curled against him.
Her tears fell on him, inhaling the moist wisteria of his skin.
Memories of their time together resurfaced: his possessiveness, his strange but genuine care—all attention now belonged to Elana.
Eira knew she clung to the thin thread of his affection that might not even exist.
She just couldn't let go and if eventually the plan goes to hell, it would be better if he killed her himself after all he had given her nothing but this existence.
**
Elana inhaled as she heard the door creak open gently and Cara's whisper.
"Elana?"
"I'm ready," she said, standing gently, dressed in the coziest garment Zelda had given her.
Her heart ached; she missed Zelda already and Eldric's dry jokes at dinner.
They would feel so bad if they woke up and realized that she and Cara had escaped, despite their kindness.
Cara's hand found hers, and she smiled, trying to stay convincing enough to join the escape.
"You ok, flower?" Cara asked softly.
Elana nodded immediately.
The early morning breeze and mist hit her as they stepped outside threatening to lift the scarf over Elana's head; cold grass gently grazed her feet, the chill reminded her of Azael's breath, the memory of him calling her a slave.
Cara's hand remained around hers as they walked further until a warmer, rougher one took the other.
"Elana." Zane's low voice came before his new minty scent, no tobacco this time.
She forced a smile. "Hello Zane."
Other footsteps and voices, unfamiliar, followed including Caesar's and Cara's—as Zane led her to the iron carriage, the familiar one without horses but with an almost scary hum vibrating beneath them.
"I get to fulfill the one thing that is your greatest desire," Zane murmured, his voice brushing her ear. "Your freedom."
Elana flinched at his warmth, thoughts flashing to Azael's voice instead.
Could she ever escape the memories?
Could she ever recover if she left now?
"Let's climb in," Cara said.
Elana's legs felt heavy as she moved into the carriage, Zane and Cara seated on either side.
The sounds of the carriage seemed louder and more annoying than the one they were in, coming to Sirence.
Zane's hand held hers protectively as the carriage moved, yet her mind wandered… to the cold fingers that had lifted her chin, tasting the fiery warmth of Azael's kiss.