I’m sitting close to mother at the long kitchen table in my private dorm. The familiar scent of cinnamon and cloves wafts through the air, a remnant of the apple pie Jarnathon baked earlier.
Mother sits at the head of the table, her regal bearing a stark contrast to the hoy surroundings. The legendary sword that nearly killed rests against her chair sheathed.
At the far end of the table sits Octavia, her presence both alluring and unsettling. The mage did an impeccable job reattaching her fingers. There’s no sign of the grueso injury she sustained protecting our bond. Her golden eyes are fixed on , unwavering in their intensity. The smile playing on her lips is predatory, almost feral in its hunger.
‘She looks like a hentai villain about to rape their bully’s hypnotized girlfriend…. But I don’t hate it…’
Mother sighs deeply, the sound heavy with the weight of parental concern.
“Octavia,” she begins, her voice carrying the authority of a queen tempered with the worry of a parent, “as a mother, I have to ask. What are your intentions with my son?”
Octavia’s deanor suddenly shifts. She sits up straight, her posture transforming from predatory to poised in an instant. The eerie smile lts away, replaced by a look of calm composure.
She takes a mont, her brow furrowing slightly as if in deep thought. The silence stretches, broken only by the gentle ticking of the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft and asured, a far cry from the husky, possessive tone she used earlier.
“I currently have no intentions for your son,” Octavia states, her words clear and precise.
Mother’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion. Her erald eyes dart between Octavia and , searching for so explanation for this sudden change.
After a mont, Mother turns to , her gaze piercing. “Is she your girlfriend or not?”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can utter a word, Octavia pipes up.
“Your Majesty,” she begins, her voice surprisingly steady, “Elwin handcuffed today in class and then brought here. As we all know, Elwin is the first Prince of Sunhaven. I, on the other hand, am rely a simple Baron of the Isalora kingdom with no land to my na. I was granted that title when I beca the hero, but it’s a far cry from the prestige of the Warbringer lineage.”
Octavia’s words hang in the air, heavy with implication. I watch as she takes a deep breath, her shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact. “As I am far more warrior than noble, I fear I am not up to the Warbringer’s standards to ask for their most prized possession.”
To my surprise, Mother’s stern expression softens. A smile, warm and knowing, spreads across her face. It’s almost as if Octavia knows exactly what to say to win her over.
“Oh, co now, Octavia,” she says, her voice rich with warmth. “You’re selling yourself short, my dear. Need I remind you that the hero’s sword chose you over everyone else in the whole world?”
“If it were up to ,” Mother declares, her voice ringing with conviction, “Elwin would, of course, end up with a brave warrior like yourself. Soone strong enough to stand beside him, to protect him.”
She turns to then, her erald eyes softening with maternal affection. “Gods pray he doesn’t end up with an artist.”
Returning her attention to Octavia, Mother’s expression grows serious once more. “Octavia,” she says, her tone asured and deliberate, “let’s say I were to permit you to marry my son. Where would you live?”
Octavia’s golden eyes sparkle with mischief, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“Well, Your Majesty,” Octavia begins, her voice low and conspiratorial, “I’ve never really been a fan of Isalora if I’m being honest. All the hustle and bustle of the capital, and don’t get started on those knife ear cunts.”
Mother’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. She’s never been fond of Elves.
Ocatvia’s smile widens, taking on a hint of that predatory edge I’d seen earlier. “But Sunhaven,” she continues, her voice dripping with enthusiasm, “now that’s a kingdom I could really see myself in. The lush forests, the majestic mountains, the glittering cities, it’s all so vibrant and alive.” She pauses, her gaze flickering to for just a mont before returning to Mother. “And I can’t help but think it’s a place that could truly appreciate the kind of talent I possess.”
Mother’s erald eyes narrow slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. I can almost see the gears turning in her head as she considers Octavia’s words. “We’ve certainly never had a hero live in Sunhaven before,” she muses, tapping her chin with one elegant finger. “It could be quite the boon for our kingdom...”
Suddenly, Mother claps her hands together, the sound sharp and decisive in the quiet room. Her face breaks into a wide smile, her eyes twinkling with excitent. “Alright, it’s settled!” she declares, her voice ringing with finality. “I will not stand in the way of this courtship.”
I feel a pang of annoyance surge through at her words. “I wouldn’t have let you stand in the way anyway,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
Mother turns to , her smile softening into sothing more understanding. “Of course, dear,” she says, reaching out to pat my hand. “I’m just happy to see you’ve found soone so... suitable.”
Mother rises from her seat, the movent graceful. Her erald eyes, usually so sharp and piercing, now shimr with unshed tears.
“Co,” she says, her voice soft yet commanding. “Stand with , both of you.”
Octavia and I exchange a glance before rising to our feet.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Mother steps forward and envelops Octavia in a tight embrace. The hero stiffens for a mont, clearly caught off guard by this unexpected display of affection from the formidable Queen of Sunhaven. But after a heartbeat, Octavia relaxes into the hug, her arms cautiously wrapping around Mother’s waist.
‘Won hugging won is a strange site in this world. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mom hug one of my sisters.’
As Mother pulls back, her hands co to rest on Octavia’s shoulders. Her voice, when she speaks, is thick with emotion. “You saved my son’s life today. By standing in front of my blade, you protected what is most precious to .”
Mother’s grip on Octavia’s shoulders tightens. She swallows hard, visibly fighting to maintain her composure. “If Elwin had died,” she continues, her voice cracking slightly, “and by my hand, no less...” She trails off, unable to complete the thought.
Suddenly, Mother’s eyes blaze with an intensity that makes even Octavia take a step back.
“I’m not sure anyone would survive the Warbringer’s grief,” she says, each word dripping with barely contained fury. “Our love for Elwin runs as deep as our rage, and the world would tremble before our sorrow.”
Mother takes a deep breath, visibly collecting herself. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, though no less intense. “But thanks to you, Octavia, that fate has been averted. You have my eternal gratitude.”
Octavia stands tall, her white hair gleaming like spun moonlight. Her golden eyes, usually so nervous and shy, now burn with an inner fire that seems to illuminate the room.
“Well then,” Mother sighs, her voice rich with emotion, “I’ll see to it you receive a reward fitting of the hero who saved Elwin.”
Mother turns, her queenly bearing commanding attention even in this intimate setting. “Let’s head back,” she declares, her voice carrying the weight of royal authority.
The mage from earlier, her violet eyes shimring. “At once, my Queen,” she responds, her voice filled with reverence.
“Wait, Mom,” I call out. The room seems to freeze, all eyes turning to . “What about the curse the mage ntioned on Octavia?”
Mother pauses, her hand resting on the ornate doorknob. She turns back, her erald eyes widening slightly as if she’d completely forgotten about that particular detail. “Oh yes, that,” she murmurs, her brow furrowing in thought.
She looks back at the mage, who stands quietly in the corner, her violet eyes watchful and alert.
The mage steps forward, her robes rustling softly against the polished wooden floor. “We checked her thoroughly for curses when we reattached her fingers, Your Majesty,” she explains, her voice calm and steady. “There was no trace of anything left.”
I feel relief that Octavia isn’t suffering from so unknown magical affliction.
“Do we know what kind of curse it was?” I press.
The mage shrugs, her violet eyes eting mine. “I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” she admits, a note of frustration creeping into her voice. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now, leaving no magical residue for us to analyze.”
“Do you feel any different, Octavia?” I ask, my voice softer now, tinged with concern.
Octavia turns to , her golden eyes glimring with an otherworldly light. A diabolical grin spreads across her face.
“Hmm,” Octavia purrs, her voice low and breathy. “I’m not sure.” She seems to be lost deep in thought. Barely listening to our conversation.
Mom’s voice cuts through the tension, breaking the spell. “I’ll notify the headmistress on the way out that one of her students was cursed,” she says, her tone businesslike but tinged with concern. “It seems fine as it is, but it’s troubling soone would curse the hero .”
She turns to Octavia, her erald eyes softening slightly. “Do be more careful in the future,” she admonishes gently.
Octavia tears her gaze away from , composing her features into a mask of respectful attention. She nods solemnly, but I can see the corners of her mouth twitching, fighting back that wicked grin.
“Of course, your Majesty” Octavia replies, her voice steady and earnest.
Mother nods, satisfied with Octavia’s response. With a rustle of silk and the soft clink of her sword, she turns to leave. The guards fall into formation around her.
As they file out, Mother pauses at the threshold, her hand resting on the ornate doorfra. She looks back, her erald eyes softening as they land on . “Be good, Elwin,” she says, her voice warm with maternal affection. “And do try to stay out of trouble.”
“Bye, Mom.”
With that, she’s gone, the heavy door closing behind her with a soft thud. The sudden absence of her commanding presence leaves the room feeling strangely empty, like the aftermath of a storm.
But that emptiness doesn’t last long.
As soon as the echo of the closing door fades, the atmosphere in the room shifts.
Octavia’s deanor changes in an instant. Gone is the respectful, composed hero who spoke so thoughtfully to my mother. In her place stands a creature of pure, unrestrained desire.
Her golden eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. Her lips part, revealing teeth that seem sharper than they should be. She takes a step towards , then another, her movents fluid and predatory.
Jarnathon, ever-present and attentive, begins to speak. “Your Highness, shall I prepare so refreshnts for you and your guest?”
But his words fade into the background, drowned out by the thundering of my heart as Octavia closes the distance between us.
She reaches out, her fingers trailing along my jawline with a touch so light it’s almost reverent. Her eyes roam over my face, drinking in every detail as if committing it to mory.
“I want you, Elwin,” she purrs, her breath hot against my skin. “I want you in ways you couldn’t possibly understand.”
A shiver runs down my spine, equal parts fear and exhilaration. I feel my cheeks heat up, a blush spreading across my face. But I don’t look away. I can’t. I’m trapped in the golden inferno of her gaze, willingly drowning in the depths of her desire.
“Then let’s go upstairs,” I manage to say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the trembling in my limbs.
A beastly smirk spreads across Octavia’s face, transforming her features into sothing almost feral. Without warning, she grabs my wrist.
‘So then are we dating? Is it okay to ask her? I don’t want to be seen as desperate.’
As we ascend the staircase Octavia’s grip on is firm. Halfway up, curiosity gets the better of . “Hey,” I begin, my voice sounding strangely loud in the hushed stairwell, “what are we exactly?”
Octavia pauses mid-step, turning to face . The movent is so sudden that I nearly collide with her.
“Oh, that’s right,” she purrs. “You’re big into labels, aren’t you?” Her free hand cos up to cup my cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle given the intensity blazing in her eyes.
“Think of as your owner,” Octavia continues, her thumb tracing lazy circles on my skin. “Wife, fiancée, girlfriend... those pale in comparison to what I am to you.”
I chuckle awkwardly, trying to mask the mixture of fear and excitent her words ignite within . “But,” I stamr, “is it okay if I tell people we’re dating?”
Octavia’s expression shifts, her eyes widening slightly. For a mont, I catch a glimpse of sothing softer behind her carnivorous gaze.
“I would love that, Elwin,” she whispers, her breath hot against my ear. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, that softness vanishes, replaced by sothing darker, more intense. “But going forward, let’s not talk to anyone without my permission, okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe, trying desperately not to blow my load on the spot.
‘Yup, this is the one.’
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