The Taming

Drink

"You look the part." She plucked at the drab shirt. "But you don't stand it." She swatted his lower back. Dragging a clinging hand down his spine.

Not slouching enough? Not hunched enough?

Duly noted for my next venture.

He found himself leaning forward to escape her touch. It feels like the scraping of cheesecloth.

"You're no serving boy." She purred. "Are you here perhaps for something else?" Her shrewd eyes moved to the glass still casually resting in his lifted hand. She took it from his fingertips.

That's it. Drink. He began to unwind.

"Perhaps you're here for my pleasure." She ran a finger down the open collar of his tunic. He felt his lip curling and fought the urge to withdraw.

I can smell Radix on her. The awful cross between ash and death that stung his nose.

She reached to clasp the fullness below his waist. Making his teeth grit and his jaw tick as he longed to throttle the woman.

I could snap her wrist in an instant. He refrained from letting his hands work into fists.

"Have some!" She commanded shoving the glass back in his hand and lifting the bottom to tip it to his lips and pour the fluid in his mouth. He swallowed rather than spitting it out as she'd thought he would.

Her effort to prove I'm a fraud.

"It's quite fine." He purred. "Have some with me." He turned his head to meet her dark eyes. Letting his soften as he gave her a prolonged look.

Her eyes are too dark and her face too square. And despite her relatively thin frame now, she had strange excess skin on her thighs and upper arms which swung as she moved, making her dress move abnormally. But it was her surety that she was quite attractive which made her exactly the opposite.

Her face softened. Posture melting.

"Drink with me..." He offered. Turning his voice incredibly beckoning.

My Voice of Persuasion.

"I must." She conceded. Eyes brightening with lust.

Yes, you must. He offered her the glass. Drown in it.

"But not that one..." She whispered, tipping onto her toes to speak against his full lips.

The stench of her was nearly overwhelming. His stomach heaved. Take effect soon, RiderStone. Before I wretch in this woman's face and reveal my distaste.

"I prefer a full glass."

"Ah. Of course." He spun to get away from her. Swiping the decanter and another glass. He poured wine in it as well as adding all that remained of the RiderStone in his haste to dump it. Likely five times what I put in the first glass. He spun to face her.

Her astute eyes lifted from the glasses to his face.

And he was certain that despite his speed, she was very aware of what he'd done. Or at least suspects.

"I've changed my mind. A woman of quality must not consume too much drink in the presence of an attractive man."

She plucked the emptier glass from his hand and pressed it to her lips.

Thank you for choosing that one, you hideous demon whore. He thought dryly. Knowing he was now left with the drink with the huge dose.

"Drink." She tapped the bottom of the other glass.

Dammit. He put it to his lips under her careful eye. Making certain his swallowing was readily apparent.

She lifted her drink and he tinked his to hers in a toast. They drank heavily. Before Marod tossed what remained of hers in the fire and turned on him, eyes rimmed in orange red.

Cimmerii eyes.

She gasped. Falling to her knees.

Bast watched dispassionately.

She clawed her cheeks. "Why can't I see?" She wailed. "My eyes!"

He knelt before her, already feeling less steady on his feet. He lifted her chin with a finger. Leaning to whisper next to her ear. "You're evil has a cost."

Marod screamed, raking fingernails over his face and down his chest.

Ouch! He lurched back with a hiss. Eyes turning gold and scales rising over his chest around the wounds.

Servants arrived in her chamber. Finding her kneeling on the fur before the fire. Howling hysterically and clawing her eyelids. But despite her crazed ranting, there was only her.

***

WaterRose, Meadowbrook, Grier Country

Elsabet walked the corridor. Pausing when she saw a hooded figure coming down the long hall past the stairs, where the back entrances were. Moving uncomfortably and dragging a shoulder and head along the wall making a horrible grating sound.

Someone who didn't want seen by the others. The sight was so eerie that at first Elsabet paused.

The torches dimmed as the figure approached. Agonizingly slow.

"Sebastian?"

He stopped. "Good evening Elsabet." His deep timbre sounded tired. Indeed, he was.

The plan hadn't gone as intended.

I didn't prepare to drink the poison myself. But when the Dread Witch caught me...

His face was in shadow, but he knew she'd noticed the way he leaned heavily to the side. Only the wall was keeping him up. I look the embodiment of strength and manly stature. He thought dryly. A bit ashamed she'd see him in this state.

"What's wrong with you?" Her gaze narrowed on him, askance.

"I'm very tired, Elsabet. I drank some poison." He sighed. Too exhausted for something clever.

"Why in the world would you do that?" She stomped.

It seemed a good idea at the time.

"To get someone else to partake without knowing it was poisoned."

"That was incredibly foolish! Will you die?"

Perhaps telling you was foolish. He shifted. Uncomfortable with her reprimanding tone.

"Are you hoping?" He eyed her with the half of his face that seemed unaffected. Blood eased from the other eye and from his ear.

The sight made her pale. "No." She chokingly admitted.

"Then no Elsabet. You're desire for me to live will help me press on." He said in a chivalrous tone.

"Are you teasing me?" She glared.

Whenever I can.

In hopes one day you'll reveal the same humor that led you steal my sherry and snack from the library. He recalled with a wan grin.

"Quite possibly." He leaned more heavily on the wall.

"You, foolhardy man! There's no man more foolish in the world!"

That may be true.