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When the touch of a hand roused her from her slumber, Theta didn't move.
For a short, cruel instant, she indulged herself.
The soft mattress became harder, the covers rough as they scratched the bare skin of her arms. The alarm would sound soon, and she'd get up. She'd patrol the corridors, look outside the window and see fields of blue. She'd clean her gun and hear other people's voices.
It wasn't the sounds of her colleagues' snoring, nor the smell of cheap cologne and stale air that greeted her.
Someone else would have found it pleasant, the perfume of the sheets, the scent of the flowers on the nightstand. To her, the royal chamber only reeked of rot and decay— and its master, of blood.
Still as a corpse, she laid cold and felt.
A finger caressed her nape, up and down in a circular motion. The edge of a nail softly pressed down and dragged itself across her skin with each movement.
The familiar tingle of goosebumps immediately ran across her traitorous arms, but she refused to utter a single sound.
Surprisingly, it was Salkov that came to her mind then.
“You've got nerves of steel”, he had told her once, back when they had still been cadets.
A man had just died in front of them. A shooting drill gone wrong, an accident.
If she focused hard enough, she could hear the gunshot again, hear the man fall, hear him cry. Everyone had rushed to his side, but there hadn't been much they could have done to save his life. Bullets and arteries weren't a good match, and the man hadn't been a nen user, hadn’t had any ken to protect himself with.
And Salkov had been right.
For having never seen someone die before, she had been unusually, awfully calm. Inwardly, she had felt shaken, but the need to externally express her shock or to seek comfort had never surfaced. Was it cruel to say that, to her, his death had just seemed like an inevitable conclusion? Now she imagined him there, close to her on the bed, and then she imagined herself underground, close to him in his casket.
Envying the dead was a vicious, bitter thing.
The finger became a hand, and the hand moved upwards, entangling itself in her hair and softly scratching along her scalp. Soft lips were pressed first to the back of her neck, then to the side of her throat, just above her pulse.
The contrast between the warm breath against her skin and the chilling dread it evoked in her nearly blinded her. She refused to believe a difference more jarring than that could exist— not in that world, nor in another. It couldn’t, it just couldn’t. Disgust made her insides churn. It crawled through her chest, clawing its way up through her esophagus and filling her mouth until only the taste of bile and acid remained on her tongue. It hadn’t even been the guardian spirit beast’s doing that time.
The caressing and petting continued for a while, accompanied by trails of butterfly kisses from her neck down to her shoulder. The ease with which those touches grazed her skin and prodded at her was nothing compared to the sickening familiarity which accompanied them. It was something she knew, a behaviour she could recognize with ease by then.
He had probably killed someone again. He was always more gentle when he did.
In hindsight, a part of her had always known. The extravagant hotels, the desire for privacy despite his status, the mysterious disappearances which seemed to follow them wherever they resided. Only a child wouldn’t have picked up on it, maybe not even then. Asking questions about the royals was inconvenient, though, everyone knew that. It was a ticket to a death sentence, worse than very few things on the long list of offences against the crown one could easily commit if they didn’t pay attention to where they placed their feet.
And so, she had averted her gaze to everything, coating herself in faux ignorance and never once turning back. Not until the prince’s monstrous affinity for nen had become painstakingly obvious, at least.
Maybe they were deserved, that pain, that fear. The wheel had turned and now there she was, coerced into a murderer’s bed, obliged to look at him, truly look at him that time, and see him for what he really was.
She’d do anything to escape, but she couldn’t in good conscience say her fate hadn’t been fair. She had been willing to sacrifice her life after the awakening of his powers, but what had she done before that? Nothing.
Some time later, the pull on her hair intensified.
Wrapping his free arm across her stomach, the prince fully pressed himself along the curve of her back and breathed in the smell of her skin. Burying his nose into the crook of her neck, he mouthed his way up to her ear and let out a low chuckle.
«How much longer are you going to feign sleep, my dear?»
Ignoring the shivers his voice sent down her spine, Theta willed her voice not to falter and slowly opened her eyes. Everything was black.
«I didn’t know whether Your Highness wished for me to speak or do anything.»
Tserrienich’s short beard scraped her skin as he laughed again. His thumb had now taken to drawing small circles on her stomach, while his other hand had left her head in favour of inserting itself between the mattress and her hip. Humming, he placed a kiss to the corner of her jaw and nibbled at her skin.
So close as he was, it wasn't hard to pick up on the stench of death that always accompanied him. It could have very well been a trick of her imagination, but not even the richest perfumes of the world would have been enough to mask it from her.
The prince didn't reply to her words. He mouthed along her jaw and then moved to her neck again, wetly now, and with the additional threat of teeth. The first time he had done it, she had been sure that he would have tried to tear away chunks of her flesh. She still doubted she could put it past him. How easy was it to change from a flesh collector into an anthropophagous? Was there even a correlation? Sometimes, he looked at her in a way that made her fear he truly wanted to devour her.
Not long after, Tserriednich moved again and detached himself from her. It may have been only for a moment, but Theta could breathe again.
When he touched her again, it was to coax her onto her back, and she silently obeyed. Her limbs felt weak, heavy. She instinctively looked to the side of the bed, approximately to where the two nen beasts would be, but her eyes only met empty air. The second one, the one that the prince himself had conjured— she didn't know how it had done it or if Tserriednich himself had actively chosen so, but it had sealed her nen. Without an exorcist capable of lifting its curse or someone to force him to remove it, she had been left completely defenceless against him, and she felt like her body was becoming weaker by the day.
It was almost better that way. If she had had the means to attempt an escape, but not enough strength to accomplish it, she wouldn't have been able to live with herself.
The second her back was on the mattress, Tserriednich tore the covers off her body and straddled her hips. The fabric of his tunic felt wet and sticky, and she was sure it was leaving crimson residues on her body, but at least that time there wasn't enough light for her to truly see neither his expression nor the state of his clothes, for which she was glad. The prince's silhouette silently hovered over her for a moment, as if instead he could.
When he lowered himself onto her again, Tserrienich’s mouth latched onto her clavicle, and he delivered it the same treatment he had given her neck earlier. One of his hands caressed her thigh before running up her torso and cupping her chest; the other rested upon her hip, its nails slowly sinking into her skin.
Theta looked up at the ceiling and made no sound. She wondered in passing what that scene had to look like from the outside. Under normal circumstances, the sight of a man worshipping his lover's body in the privacy of his room wouldn't have been worthy of any remarks. But there was nothing normal about the twisted affection he felt towards her, about him, and there was nothing normal about her residence in his bed. Did she look pleased on the surface, or unwilling? Was it obvious enough? If someone were to see, would they know what was truly happening?
The prince moved his ministrations to her breasts, and the taste of blood invaded her mouth. Fisting the sheets in her hands, she took a silent, trembling breath and began to count. Anything to detach herself from all she could physically perceive, if only for a moment.
The fingers on her hip traced the half-moon marks they had left behind as if they were a prize. Slowly, they moved to her stomach, then they dipped down, down.
When the first finger entered her, she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her tongue harder. Tserriednich let out a hum as if in acknowledgement of her revulsion and pushed again. Without raising his head, he kept savouring the delicate skin of her chest and added a second digit, setting up a slow pace. Not for the first time, nor the last, she wished she had at least her gun. She wished her shot hadn't missed during training. She wished she had never stepped up to train him at all.
There was no reason for any of that. They weren’t lovers, nor equals. He could have his way with her when he wanted, how he wanted, without needing to resort to touches and kisses to persuade her to play along, yet he always did. It would have been easy to fool herself into believing that there was a small part of him that truly cared, buried deep within him. Easy, but naive. However twisted, maybe his was indeed a form of love, but nothing of what he did was for her sake.
He loved watching people squirm, always had. If not sheer violence, but mock intimacy was what it took to make her grovel, or to at least get a reaction out of her, he wasn’t about to preclude himself from giving it to her.
At the slightest change in her intake of breath, the prince retracted his fingers and dried them on the sheets. Kissing her one last time, he sat up again, massaging his way down from her breasts to her thighs. When she opened her eyes again, Theta tried to get a glimpse of his expression that time. She could faintly see the outline of his nose and jaw, but everything else was undistinguishable, a blur.
Tserriednich shifted, and a weight fell on her neck. The hand didn’t squeeze or push, but its mere presence there made her stomach knot.
Getting on his knees, he thumbed at her jugular and exhaled.
«She was nothing like you, that woman.» he began, running his other hand’s nails up and down her thigh. «Whiny, so whiny. Worthless trash. I used to think it was only brainless wenches that I couldn’t stand, but I’ve changed my mind now. You’ve raised my standards, my dear.» laughing, he leant down and kissed the corner of her lips. «You wouldn’t beg for your life even if I threatened to slit your throat here and now, would you, Theta?»
«I don’t pretend to have any form of power over you, Your Highness.» she mechanically answered, as if she was still just a bodyguard giving one of her many reports. It was easier that way. «If it is my death that you want, I have no choice but to accept it.»
«I do.» dipping his head down, he traced his teeth over her pulse and gave her neck a squeeze. «Terribly so. You'd look so beautiful covered in red, or exposed on my wall.»
Theta closed her eyes before they had the time to sting and pressed her lips into a thin line.
“Then why am I not dead yet?”
Her chest squeezed painfully, but she didn’t dare voice her question.
Tserriednich shifted again. When the sound of a belt being unbuckled reached her ears, first her blood ran cold, then a heavy sense of resignation washed over her. The less she struggled, the easier and faster it would be. What was to come was inevitable, she knew, and putting up a fight would only waste what little energy she had left.
The prince fiddled with his belt some more before throwing it to the ground and getting off her, settling between her legs.
For a long second, everything was at a standstill. Theta held her breath and tightened her fists around the sheets until her knuckles turned white.
Tserriednich moved again.
She began to count again.
Something prodded at her entrance. Stifling a whine, she took a deep breath and willed her muscles to relax.
Little by little, the sheathed blade of a knife was pressed into her body, until it was almost completely buried inside her. Rubbing his erection up against her thigh, the prince groaned and let out a short laugh.
«I can't have you on my wall. You're not for anyone else to see, my dear.»
Slowly, he pulled back the knife and began to thrust it in and out of her.
Theta bit down on her bottom lip and dug her nails into the sheets. It'd be over soon. She'd remain silent, and it'd be over soon.
… 20…
… 21…
… 22…
«I wanted you to be her. I killed her— just like this.» pressing his free hand on her chest, he jabbed a finger into the space between her third and fourth rib and sighed. «You would have been so good for me in her place. So much better.»
Combined with the feeling of the knife violating her and the grinding against her leg, those words made suppressing the urge to spit in his face even harder. Unbothered by her silence, the prince began to talk once again.
«I’d take my sweet time with you. It’s what you’d deserve.» adjusting his grip on the handle of the knife, he quickened the pace of his thrusts and began to rut against her leg. «I wouldn’t gut you like I do those pigs. I can’t waste you that way, or in any way. I’d have you die so many beautiful deaths, make you into my masterpiece over and over again if I could, and I’d still want more later. It’d be a disgrace to just choose one form, a loss. I can’t have that.»
Leaning down, he licked the side of her neck and pinched her skin between his teeth. Letting out a low growl, he gripped her hip and used his hold on her as leverage to move faster.
«I love that. I love that you hold so many possibilities within you just as you are.»
Theta tasted blood again.
A particularly sharp thrust of the knife almost made her gasp in pain. Instead of doing that, she grimaced and tortured the inside of her cheeks. Having the power not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her utter a sound was the only advantage she had. She wouldn’t let it slip from her fingers, never so easily.
Minutes later, however many or few that they were, the prince’s movements became erratic. He openly grunted in her ear, littering her clavicle and neck with wet kisses and bruises with every touch of his mouth. The closer he got to his climax, the harder he pushed the blade inside her, and the corners of her vision turned white for the pain. The leather of the sheath, rough and rich with details and decorations, scratched and scraped against her, to the point she was sure it had to have drawn blood. Digging her nails into the skin of her palms, she looked up at the black ceiling and mentally begged for everything to stop.
Letting go of her bruised hip, Tserriednich fumbled with his tunic, ripping it open and hurriedly shoving down his trousers and pants. Pushing his lips against Theta's, he shoved his tongue in her mouth and began to jerk himself. Not long after, he stilled.
With a drawn out moan, he pumped his cock one, two more times and came, spilling his semen over her groin and licking the blood from the open wounds in her mouth. He kept thrusting the knife into her as he rode out his orgasm, murmuring words of praise under his breath and making her skin crawl in disgust.
When he'd satisfied himself, he gave her one last open-mouthed kiss and slowly withdrew the blade, getting off of her. The bed dipped under his moving weight and rose again in quick succession, and suddenly there was light.
Lethargic, Theta turned her head to the side. His back to her, Tserriednich stood in front of the lit abat-jour as he finished taking off his sullied and bloodied clothes. Looking down at herself, she stared at the streaks of red he had dirtied her with, at the drying remains of his pleasure, and felt the urge to vomit. She didn't want to die, that was another satisfaction she wouldn't concede him. No matter what he said about or to her, dying would mean acknowledging his victory, and she couldn’t have that. The fantasy of closing her eyes and never waking up again, however, was growing too strong to ignore.
After Tserriednich had cleaned her off with a warm towel and wrapped his arms around her before going to sleep, she laid awake and stared up at the ceiling. If the succession war wished to claim any more victims, then her wish was for him to be one of them.