Spellbound

15. Assassination

smut warning in the second half of the chapter
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Dorian's home was never loud. It bustled with life through the many feet scurrying around, the fleeting smiles and shy giggles when the master of the house complimented his servants. Yet, this tall mansion never experienced untamed laughter or careless voices. People whispered in the shadows, hid their identities, dreaded their circumstances.

None of them was free. None of them treated Dorian as the friend he wished to be. They all played a charade.

At night, this already quiet house was ghostly silent. No crickets sounded in the bushes. No wind rustled through the trees. The house lay mute, as if it had become one massive grave on the land it was built upon.

What would happen if Dorian reacted to Lavellan's attack before he died? Would his true colours as a blood mage burst out of him and rip Lavellan to shreds? Perhaps he had protective curses that stopped lethal attacks and reflected them onto the attacker.

Lavellan didn't want to think about it. He would find no peace before he hadn't tried. As a warrior and a Dalish, he felt useless being enslaved like many elves before him, with no possibility of defending themselves. Either he died tonight because Dorian punished his insolence, or he succeeded and freed at least some of his people. If he sat passively, he would succumb to the magic Dorian was weaving to pull him deeper into his net.

The door to the Bull's room was shut. As Lavellan snuck past, he prayed that didn't mean the two shared a bed tonight, since that would instantly nullify his intention. However, he picked up on the Bull's soft snoring inside.

Soundless like a feather in flight, Lavellan slithered down the corridor. Dorian's door was locked negligently by a regular bolt, but Lavellan took only seconds to open it. He hurried to step inside and sealed the entrance once more.

Alone with Dorian in his spacious room, Lavellan glanced around. The mage preferred to sleep in darkness aside from the soft light in the distance that illuminated the skies over Minrathous. The moon was big as it peered through the window, taking over a quarter of the visible night sky.

Without light, the usual lavish purples and golds looked like an assortment of black and white. It was impossible to tell items from each other, but Lavellan made out the shape of a person under the covers.

He crept closer; the knife slipping from its hiding spot. With the grip cradled in his hand, he appeared by Dorian's side. His shadow fell over the man, who was snuggled up to his chin into his expensive covers. He looked younger in sleep when all of his elegance and peacocking fell off him. For a moment, Lavellan believed to look at an entirely different person and his heart clenched in his chest.

But no, this was Dorian. He deserved this.

Vigilant not to tread too close to Dorian's body, Lavellan swung a leg over the mage's waist. He braced over him, ready to restrain Dorian's hands from an onslaught while his knife found to the tanned neck caressed by the pale moonlight.

Steady and calm, Dorian's heartbeat sounded in Lavellan's ears. So unprotected. So foolish.

Lavellan stared at the glinting blade. Since it hadn't been forged to kill, it was unfamiliar with the task of drawing blood to murder. It would do the job just fine once he moved it down and across.

The blade was sharp enough that Dorian's breathing against it would have drawn blood if Lavellan weren't careful.

He sat and stared. Wondered why he couldn't do it. Wondered what distracted him now of all times.

A movement below Dorian's pillow that didn't come from the mage had Lavellan glimpse up. The snake leisurely circled around Dorian, unbothered by the danger its master was in. It searched for a new spot to curl up in so it wouldn't get squished and its smooth body flowed through the silken sheets.