vicious [d.m]

six: labyrinths & heirs

Khione wakes the next morning to a knock on the door.

Immediately, her hand flies to her wand under her pillow, fingers curling around it — but when the door cracks open an inch, it's only Ayla, peeking her head in.

"Morning," she says with a grin. "Breakfast's being served."

Khione settles back into bed, keeping her wand in her grip. She's famished, her stomach growling with just the mention of food — but she refuses to give in to Malfoy. "Not hungry."

Ayla's dark eyes twinkle as she shoves the door open the rest of the way, exposing the tray she carries in her hands. "I thought so."

She trundles in, balancing the tray precariously before placing it on the edge of Khione's bed. "Poached eggs, sausage and toast. It's all I could take from the dining hall without drawing attention."

Khione's stomach speaks for her as she sits up, the blanket sliding off, pooling around her hips. "You..."

She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to make of the kindness — so instead, she swings her legs off the bed and stands, ignoring her aching muscles. "I need to shower."

"Alright," Ayla replies, cheerily. "Do you take coffee or tea?"

Khione falters, one hand curling around the edge of the doorframe leading into the bathroom. She blinks at her reflection in the mirror ahead of her, reflecting Ayla behind her, waiting patiently for her answer.

"Coffee," she replies, hesitantly. Ayla nods, already turning to go. Khione starts, pauses and then says again, "Black."

Ayla flashes her a brilliant smile. "Why am I not surprised? Get in the shower. I'll be back soon."

———

Khione scarfs down her food, hair still wet from her bath. She'd changed into a long-sleeved white shirt and white loose trousers, trying not to aggravate her wounds.

It feels good to fill her stomach — and even better to take a long sip of the black coffee Ayla had deposited on her bedside table. She hadn't slept much, her paranoia creeping in at the edges of her mind, ensuring she never got more than half an hour of sleep at a time — but that isn't new to her.

It's only when she sets her empty mug down, relishing in the hot burn down her throat that she hears the creak of the floorboard underneath a familiar footfall.

"Do I not get a moment of privacy?" Khione asks without looking up as she folds her napkin and tucks it underneath her empty plate.

The scent of limes and clean sheets weaves through the room as he steps in, pushing the door open wider with one hand.

"Believe me," Malfoy says, hair wet like hers, fresh out of the shower. "I'd rather not see you either. But the Dark Lord calls for you."

Khione freezes. She'd entertained the possibility that Voldemort might want to see her — but had dismissed it, considering herself too insignificant for his time. Now, the dread curls low in her gut — like a viper waiting to strike.

"Normally, he wouldn't bother," Malfoy goes on, his mouth a grim line as he surveys her, strong arms crossed over his chest. "But since I personally recruited you, you're of interest to him."

"Do you expect me to thank you?" Khione stands, any comfort she drew from the food non-existent now.

He ignores her — which infuriates her further. "If you're smart, you'll keep that mouth of yours shut when you're in the presence of the Dark Lord. Unless you have a death wish. In which case you'd be doing all of us a favour."