8. Darak
8
DARAK
T he rich aroma of meat and vegetables fills my mouth with each spoonful. After weeks of stale bread and dried meat, this stew might as well be a feast fit for an elven king. I scrape the bottom of the bowl, savoring every last morsel.
"My goodness," Serra laughs, her hand brushing my arm. "You remind me of little Turo when he skips his afternoon snack. Always acts like he hasn't eaten in days."
"Can you blame me?" I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "My darling sister here thinks moldy bread counts as a proper meal. I've had better rations during sieges."
The bond is filled with a surge of heat. Lirien's spoon clatters against her barely-touched bowl. "Perhaps if someone helped gather supplies instead of brooding in corners-"
"Now, now," Serra cuts in, rising to collect the empty dishes. "There's plenty more if anyone wants seconds." Her hips sway as she moves to the kitchen.
"Thank you," I hold out my bowl. "I'd love some."
Serra beams, ladling another helping. The vegetables swim in rich broth, steam curling invitingly. Behind me, Lirien's anger simmers through our connection like a pot about to boil over.
"Well," Serra says once we've finished, "it's getting late. You two can take my room for the night. I'll bunk with Turo - siblings like you should be able to share a bed, no?"
I feel Lirien's discomfort spike through our bond at the word 'siblings.' The lie tastes bitter, but it's safer than the truth. Especially here.
A low rumble fills the room as Rook crosses his massive arms, his shadow looming over the table like a storm cloud. His hooves scrape against the wooden floor as he shifts his weight. "I didn't agree to any of this. They've eaten. Time for them to move on."
"Of course," Lirien pushes back from the table, her chair scraping softly. "We wouldn't want to impose-"
"Nonsense!" Serra's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, her earlier warmth hardening into something more commanding. "I won't hear of sending travelers out into Kanturak at night. What kind of hosts would we be?"
The minotaur's nostrils flare, and I catch the slight twitch of his fingers toward the war axe mounted on the wall - a massive weapon that could cleave a man in two. His eyes bore into me with ancient hatred, generations of conflict between our peoples written in that single, burning glare.
"The kind that value their family's safety," he rumbles, each word dripping with barely contained violence.
"They're staying," Serra says with finality, already gathering linens from a nearby chest. Her movements are quick, deliberate, as if rushing to defuse the situation. "This way, you two. The room's just down the hall."
I follow, my eyes drawn to the gentle sway of her hips when a sudden irritation fills me - Lirien's emotions bleeding through again, sharp and jealous. The binding spell connecting us pulses with her displeasure, and I clench my jaw against the unwanted intrusion into my thoughts.
Serra pushes open a wooden door. "It's not much, but the bed's comfortable enough. Oh!" She taps her chin. "We don't have a proper washing basin, but there's a lovely lake just beyond those trees. Perfect for a late-night bath, if you're interested." She smiles. "The water's quite warm this time of year."
My mind wanders to thoughts of moonlight on wet skin, water droplets trailing down plump, human breasts... I massage my chest, trying to ease the sudden sharp pressure.
"Thank you," I manage through gritted teeth, fighting against both the unwanted arousal and mounting irritation. "You're very... accommodating."
"My pleasure." Serra's fingers brush my arm as she passes, the light touch sending an unwelcome shiver through my body. Her floral scent lingers in the air. "Sweet dreams, you two."
The door closes with a soft click, leaving me with my treacherous thoughts of bare flesh and steaming water - moonlit curves beneath rippling waves that I cannot banish from my mind. The increasingly uncomfortable magical tether squeezes my ribs like a vice, Lirien's emotions bleeding into my own consciousness until I can barely distinguish which longings are truly mine. I rake my fingers through my hair, cursing under my breath at the demon's manipulations.
A blanket smacks me in the face, followed quickly by a pillow. I catch them both, a smirk tugging at my lips as I watch Lirien claim the bed like a territorial cat, stretching herself across the mattress with deliberate slowness. The worn fabric of the blanket is rough against my palms - clearly not the finest accommodations, but after days of sleeping on forest ground, even this humble offering feels like luxury.
"Sleep on the floor, elf."
"My, my. Someone's in quite the mood." I drop the blanket and pillow at the foot of the bed, methodically unstrapping the leather straps of my chestplate. The familiar motions help mask my amusement at her territorial display. "And here I thought we were having such a pleasant evening. The food was good, the company... interesting."
"Pleasant?" She whirls around, her silver hair catching the moonlight streaming through the window, creating an almost ethereal halo that contrasts sharply with her scowl. "You practically drooled into your stew watching her bend over the table. I'm surprised you managed to eat anything at all, the way you were staring."
"Jealous?" I stretch deliberately, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles after a long day, noting how her eyes follow the movement before darting away like a startled bird. A smirk plays at my lips - for all her power, she's still so painfully young sometimes. "I didn't realize our bond extended to exclusive dining companions. Though I must say, your reaction is... enlightening."
"As if I care who you ogle." She yanks off her boots, throwing them harder than necessary. "Though you could try to be less obvious about it. 'Oh Serra,'" she mimics my voice, pitching it higher, "'please, I'd love seconds. Would you like me to lick the bowl clean? Why not dribble a bit down your chest?'"
"That's a terrible impression of me." I prop myself up on an elbow. "And if I recall, you're the one who bound me to you. Can't blame a man for appreciating beauty when it's served alongside actual food."
"Beauty?" She scoffs. "What, because she's so tall and perfect with her massive-" She cuts herself off, cheeks flushing.
"Her massive what?" I grin. "Please, do finish that thought. I'm fascinated by your detailed observations of our hostess."
She crosses her arms over her own chest, cheeks reddening in the most amusing way.
"Well, if you're so concerned about Serra's... assets," I lean forward, enjoying the way Lirien's magic crackles through our bond, "maybe you should take notes. Might help you understand why men actually look twice at some women."
Her fingers curl into the bedsheets. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come now, little Purna." The words flow like poison honey. "All that power, yet you hide behind those shapeless robes. At least Serra knows how to present herself. Though I suppose when you've got nothing to present-"
The bond explodes with hurt - raw and deep - before I can finish. Lirien's face goes white, then red. She crosses the space between us in two strides, and warm spittle hits my cheek.
The door slams behind her retreating form.
I wipe my face, the sudden silence deafening. Our connection is plagued with emotions I can't quite name - shame, rage, and something else, something that makes my chest ache. When had our usual verbal sparring turned so sharp? The memory of her expression - not anger, but genuine pain - sits uncomfortably in my gut.
For the first time since she bound me, I find myself wishing I could take words back.
I rub my chest, the dull ache beneath my sternum refusing to subside. The bond pulses like a second heartbeat, each throb carrying echoes of hurt that aren't mine. Or perhaps they are - this cursed magic makes it impossible to tell where her emotions end and mine begin.
"Ridiculous," I mutter, spreading the thin blanket across the wooden floor. "I should be celebrating in the halls of the Miou right now, not playing nursemaid to a human's wounded pride."
The words ring hollow even as I say them. The image of her face - not the usual flash of anger I've grown accustomed to, but genuine pain - keeps surfacing in my mind. My throat tightens, a physical reminder of what I already know: I went too far.
I arrange the pillow, though sleep feels impossibly distant. The ceiling above holds no answers, just rough-hewn beams that blur as I stare. Minutes stretch into hours.
My fingers trace the edge of the blanket. "Come back so I can sleep, you stubborn female," I whisper to the empty room. But she doesn't.
The guilt sits heavy in my stomach, made worse by the knowledge that I meant to wound. We trade barbs daily, but this was different. This was cruel for cruelty's sake, and beneath me. Even a bound dark elf should have more honor than that.
Still, she doesn't return.