Slowburn | Enemies to lovers | dark romance | false prophets | Space Opera | triangle | strong femme characters | eventual Romance | Eventual smut |
A desperate Baron.
A yearning Duke.
A woman who weaves destruction with an army of fire.
In the m...
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The planet of Grummon. Home of the Moritani.
Every religion in the known orders had one thing in common. There was good and evil, and they were both personified.
The good typically took the form of a god or prophet, almost always a man, never a being that shed blood without merit. The bad had an almost endless array of forms. The demon, the witch, the false king or the sword of fire.
Hawk peered upon herself in the reflection of a gold chalice and wondered which side of the coin she fell on. To be a god meant a life without imprisonment, but even prophets in the old tales had bowed to masters. To be a villain was much simpler, almost cathartic. But not for the first time, she questioned if cruelty truly ran in her veins. If to act as a king with an army and a flaming sword made her anything but what she was; a girl. One that knew fear.
"Are you not afraid?" She asked Collette. "It's been days."
The Duchess insisted on Hawk's company in the throne room as she plucked more seeing cards and overturned wine cups. Evidently, Collette could see the future in the chalice's reflection. Hawk tried to do the same, but found only wide eyes looking back at her.
"Not anymore," Collette said, "Eidan came to me in a dream. He is alright, shaken, but safe."
Hawk attempted to recall her last dream. It had been some time since she felt the grip of sleep pull her far enough to compose images.
"Do you know where he is?" Hawk asked.
"Not to the exact point," Collette said, "but I know he lives, so that is fine enough."
Hawk nodded, appeased. Despite how sore she was at her confines, the princeling had never explicitly transgressed against her. He asked too many questions, wore too doe-like of eyes. He brushed his hair back to accentuate his good looks because he lacked charm and that was his mode of defense. But, he was never unkind, never unintelligent, never anything like his father.
Collette would occasionally look over her seeing cards to Hawk. When something that made her spine shudder arose, she would burn the edges of the card over a lit candle. Hawk didn't understand the practice, but it seemed like a protective action. One that a mother would do.
"Did you ever wish to have a daughter?" Hawk asked. It would make sense as to why she consistently trapped her in Collette's company.
"No," Collette deadpanned, "Well, I tried. But it wasn't a loss." Collette singed the edges of another card and continued, "I think I only wanted a girl so that I could see what my mother saw. To feel by proxy what it would be like to raise myself, and if I would make the same decisions."
Hawk turned the chalice in her hand, "understandable."
"Not to you," Collette replied, "your mother died in childbirth."
