Chapter 57. The Princess's Gambit
On her late-night flight back to the castle from the Mourhollow House, Serphora's mind had whirled with shapes in shadow and figures moving in darkness. She shook her head. Right now, what she wouldn't give for a distraction of any type from what felt like the impending darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.
That's when she flew silently over the open-air training and sparring grounds, built firmly onto a ledge at the lower back of the castle. One of her favourite distractions and... tests... or projects was spotted out doing some late-night work - that soldier her mother seemed to trust so much... the one that never seemed to rest or sleep.
Quickly, she headed to her room and slipped into something a bit looser for what she had in mind for the small hours of the night.
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The moonlight spilled in silver sheets across the Raven Castle's training courtyard, long after the sparring matches had ended. The stones still smelled faintly of oil and steel.
None other than, Commander Sylen Velwraithe. He had stayed behind to sharpen his blade, a ritual he rarely skipped. It calmed his mind, kept his focus honed. There, in the Raven Castle's training courtyard, long after the sparring matches had ended, that soldier remained. Although to call him a soldier demeaned his true importance and rank.
He focused on sharpening his blade in his hand, with a whetstone at the side of the training courtyard. It was meditative for him. A warrior's ritual: the sound of black steel kissing stone was a source of complete Zen and clarity; focus, discipline. His jaw set, his body still, as though the whole world might dissolve if he simply stopped sharpening.
"Still at it, Commander?" Her voice was not laced with that cute sweetness that all are usually associated with her voice, but with a sultry curl out of the shadows like smoke before she fully emerged.
He knew who the voice was before she stepped into the swathes of tonight's moonlight, dressed not in court finery but in raven silk, her shoulders bare in the moonlight, as her dress hung loose around her shoulders, the fabric clinging to her figure in both flattering and revealing ways where the fabric chose to fall.
Her hair—long, straight, black as a raven's wing—flowed free about her shoulders in the night's breeze, strands catching in the moonlight, making her pale-blue eyes glow sharper against the night. She looked ethereal... a beautiful demon of temptation come to barter for his dignity and head.
He who knew she didn't belong here tonight and how out of place it was. That very fact made the intrusion deliberate. The soft fabric clung where it pleased; had he been anyone else... any other male, it might well please him.
A widower of war, his mate Celine Velwraithe was the younger sister of the Blackmere's now head lady. Once married, she had taken his name. She was beautiful and radiant, the light flecks of gold were a wonder under moonlight, especially when her pale golden eyes turned pale silver. Having fallen to the blade of a Crow harpy in the last harpy war, only 3 years ago, they had never had time to have any children.
Like this, Sephora reminded him of her in many ways, and it made the advances of her temptations intensely cruel. The younger princess could not know. How could she?
For Sylen, he had assumed she was acting on a crush she had on him as her previous trainer, from when she was a younger teen. It was quite normal for ravens to have an infatuation with one tutor or another, although it was never, ever advanced or acted on, and she... she was the younger princess. The Queen would have his head. He had sworn an oath to protect the royal family; as the head of the Commander of both the Royal and Noble Guard.
Resisting the familiar ghost that tempted him, in a different person and face... He shook his head.
As though to remind him that she was not a child playing at being bold, she stepped further towards him, her hand running his shoulder inappropriately. Feeling his muscles there. He tensed, unmoving from his work in sharpening the blade yet.
Tightening his grip and focus on the whetstone work. "Princess. It's late."
"All the more reason you should not be out here alone," she acquiesced, running her hands down the front of his shoulders. Feeling the muscles as her black almond nails scratched just a little through his tuning.
Stopping and removing her hands, feeling his tension, she walked to begin circling the nearest edge of the courtyard. "A man could be ambushed when his attention is buried in steel."
His jaw clenched. "I'm never unguarded."
"Oh, I know," The purr in her voice was velvet and Sylen wanted nothing more than blinders for his eyes and cotton for his ears. Sephora smiled faintly, although he now refused to try to look at her even in his periphery. "That's what makes it so much more fun," the word came out a sultry coo, "Don't you think? To… tempting an opportunity to test?"
She stopped just short of him, her playful look over at him from the side. Although refusing to look at her, Sylen would not see it. Her hair whipped around her face and whipped towards him, as she eyed him coolly in the way that a predator would who was sizing their prey.
'Temptress and demon,' He thought to himself. His voice was granite. "I'm never unguarded."
She shifted, moving again.
He kept his eyes fixed on his black steel sword, still too dull and could be further sharpened on the other edge, but his body betrayed him — shoulders taut, breath slightly shortened. With her gaze fixed upon him and licking every detail of expression, she caught what she needed.
Her pale eyes gleamed a dangerous silver under the waning moon's light, catching every line of strain across his face. She could see the battles he had won, the victories, and the now ongoing battle within him — the dutiful commander, loyal to crown and country, refusing to step toward her… and the man who could not stop seeing... and watching their lips as they curved when speaking his name.
"You've been avoiding me," she whispered, coming closer again, and her voice was almost pleading in a playful way. Yet, the words are both dangerous in accusation and invitation.
"I've been training your sister," Sylen stated flatly, turning back to his blade, "You are no longer my student and haven't been for some time."
"Yes... yes... Training her. Commanding your big, strong guards to protect her... and me. How does it feel? When you're praising her." Sephora's tone shifted, soft and sweet as honey, but it cut sharply to the heart of what she wanted. The Commander had no interest in Seraphina, he would not dare dream of it... with either of the twins. He vehemently refused. His brother, Lord Everen, the head of the noble house, would have his wings if not his head. It would appear an internal family feud and coup, "...and what of me, Commander? Am I not worth any of your time to help protect?"
She knew the strike had landed when he paused, the whetstone stilling against the blade.
"Again, you are my duty as Commander of the Guards. Not as my student," he tone held a finality to it.
"Perhaps not," she allowed, stepping closer until the skin of her fingertips brushed his arm. Causing goosebumps, involuntary and he cursed as he could not stop or hide it. "...but I could be something else... to you."
Her words hung in the night air, thick with intent.
Rising to his feet, wanting to leave immediately, the commander took a moment and stood perfectly still. Every muscle wound tight, his control fierce. He should step away, and he knew it. He should call her reckless, spoiled, and dangerous. He should remember that she was the Raven Queen's daughter, that touching her was ruin, not only for him but his whole family's name.
Instead, he found himself looking at her plump lips, that naturally blood mouth with an accented cupid's bow.
The words slipped like poison into his bloodstream. He shifted a step back, forcing more space between them to regain that very control. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I don't play, Commander." Her eyes glinted. "I always mean what I say."
With a knowing smirk that donned slowly with knowing, her countenance was the way a hawk might smile at a rabbit that thinks itself clever.
For a long moment, the only sound was the wind travelling its path down the mountain's night. Then, in a sudden movement, Sephora plucked the sword from his hands.
"Careful!" he snapped, lunging forward. His hand closed over hers to steady the blade, their bodies colliding. Now, she was held tightly in the commander's strong arms.
Too close.
Her smile was small, wicked with a wanting glint in her eye to match. "See? Even unarmed, you'd never let me fall alone." The way he held her allowed Sephora to press herself against him, draping her body tightly over his, putting more pressure on the lower half of his torso - he was a good size down there, and it made her bite her lip. Making him squirm before jolting back uncomfortably and releasing her.
He yanked the sword back, blood on his hand. He'd grabbed his own more roughly than necessary. "Go back inside, Princess." He ordered.
She didn't, "You're bleeding... for me." She drifted backward, her gaze never leaving his, and perched on the low wall of the courtyard as though she belonged there. She hummed idly, swinging one leg, the silk slipping just enough to show the smooth line of her thigh - an open invitation.
"You don't scare easily, do you?" she asked.
"I don't scare at all."
"Mm." She leaned forward, conspiratorial. "Not even of me?"
The question was dagger-sharp. Sylen looked at her then, really looked — and that was his mistake. He saw not the spoiled princess, not the Raven Queen's youngest, but a woman who knew how exactly how dangerous she was.
A woman who wanted him to step closer, to cross a line that could never be uncrossed. He held his ground. "Go to bed, Sephora." He told her again.
She had won.
She didn't need him to act now — not yet.
It was enough that she had planted the hook and had gotten her talons under his skin.
"Goodnight, Commander," she whispered, leaning close enough that her breath brushed the shell of his ear. "Dream of me."
Then she was gone, silk and shadow sweeping out of the courtyard, leaving Sylen with his sword half-sharpened and his thoughts half-shattered.
For the first time in years, he felt the surety of his control slip from his grasp; the ground beneath him shifted.
H stood there for a long while after watching Sephora, climbing the night's air and disappearing, as she flew towards her chambers. Out of earshot of the commander, she allowed herself a private, victorious laugh.
Commander Velwraithe stood rooted to the stones as though petrified into a statue. His sword half-sharpened, his hand sliced open, not deeply but enough to sting and his breath remained unsteady.
He had not touched her; she had touched him.
He had not kissed her, although his eyes had once again fallen on her who held that silver fire... and her lips... Her lips he had entirely resisted.
He knew whatever this was for Sephora..
The battle for him had already begun.