In Shadow and Death

001

Dawn had ensued brisk and keen, with a shroud of grody wind and an ever present odour of indifference, the sullen tempest unabated as it shadowed Merikh's feline movements throughout the candescent halls.

The lustrous patterns cascading the floor clicked as her sable heels nuzzled above them, a sedulous display of her body as she stalked the Spring Court's halls with jurisdiction.

Deluged in winsome hues and embellished ornamentation, Merikh could acknowledge her regard of the court and it's chastity of gloom - even as she noticed the daubed cracks and contorted furniture - it's underbelly carefully concealed and restored.

She hummed her negligence and poised her lolling spine - ever the King's devoted attendant - and resumed her pursuit, however late she was.

Alas, the cosmic room exposed her purpose as she strolled through the eccentric, ivory doors, her desolate eyes resolute and drab as she settled herself amongst the mute assembly of conspirators and tyrants - the latter a portrait of immense boredom and restlessness.

"My patience was beginning to wear thin, Merikh." The king drawled monotonously, his nullified, ebony eyes unblinking as he stared down the ligneous table at his treasured subject.

"Apologies, your grace." Merikh atoned smoothly, painted nails reposing leisurely upon her chair's arms as she leant back passively, a full thigh crossed over her bare knee.

The king hummed his disregard, his blank heed setting upon the neurotic High Lord of Spring and his fiery emissary, "Continue." He permitted, though showed no absorption of the man's feeble dignity.

A colossal hand oscillated around his chair arm, the frail treen splintering beneath his acrimony as he leant forward with bared teeth, "I want her back." Tamlin apprised forlornly, sallow strands of a beast's mane limping across his defeatist face, accentuating the rouge of his verdant iris' as they bellowed their own silent appeals to the king.

Her king, entertained and enthralled, paused his gormless tapping of the chair and dabbled in a vague interest, "I care for your alliance, not your pathetic lovers quarrel." He corroborated imperviously, that glacial tone, a taunting egg shell, begging to be stepped on.

The verbal jading proved triumphant as Tamlin's tedious restraint cracked, his patience waned and exasperation enlarged, "Do not patronise me." He growled, whetted claws surfacing from his white knuckles as his gaze hardened upon the king. His fingers jerked brazenly near that ornate sword hilt.

Merikh smirked at his courage, remaining jaunty and unbothered within her immoral skin, a mockery of his pluck. "I do not intent to patronise you." The king sighed firmly, the indifference of his tone suggesting otherwise, "As a court with a sufficient army and private lands, your assets prove useful to me and my courtiers."

That unwavering chill settled upon her once again, cavernous, charcoal voids cavorting up and down her rather exposed body. Merikh internally bristled at that intentional gaze, especially as it settled upon her ripe breasts, barley contained in those scraps he had dressed her in. Her stygian hair had been complexly braided away from her pretty face, to reveal exactly that.

She almost growled at his implications, "I'll even send you a replacement." The king offered slowly, his gaze unmoving from Merik's chest as it rose and fell in thick breaths.

"i am not a whore." She contented lowly, carefully, gripping the timber of her chair steely, as if itching to cover herself and her dignity.

'Careful where you tread, sweet thing.'

"I never intended to imply as such." The king condescended rather mockingly, staring down his straight nose and arched brows at her, a leisurely grin bedecking his lips.

Tamlin sighed heatedly, slumping into his seat in silent defeat, "I want my wife, not some Hybern whore." He palmed his weary eyes as his emissary cringed beside him.

The king stilled, "Not pretty enough for you?" He tutted, sending those dreaded talons to caress her inured mind. They didn't - couldn't - do much, but the message was blatant, and so was the craving, "I happen to find Merikh the most prettiest things in Prythian. Like a jewel." He hummed, stroking her mind with that same starvation.

'Your my spy and my most trusted sentinel, you will find your way into this court and into that man's good graces, whether you have to fuck him or not.'

Tamlin faltered momentarily as he peered down the lengthy table at Merikh, her ruby lips now pulled into a deceitful smile and dancing with a misleading temptation that hid the promise of a painful death. "How long until you bring her back to me?" He inquired testily, leering impetuously toward the king.

He merely hummed, callous fingers tracing the honed tip of his blade "We will see."

-

Tamlin, ever the brooder, had since exiled Merikh within the barren confines of an uninhabited bedroom within the Spring Court.

It was pretty - at least - he owed her something absorbing to study as she awaited his presence. A vast window radiated from the centre of each copious wall, a golden emphasis woven between the ivory panels. From the ceiling, descending to the floor, fuchsia flowers cascaded, their buds odourless and vacant to represent the Spring Court's metaphoric hollowness.

The bed was pleasantly palatial, opulent pillows pristinely poised and an orderly folded comforter balanced along the mattress satisfactorily. The glass lamp beside the bed gleamed with an iridescent warmth, emitting a golden hue that danced along her pretty face.

Merikh huffed a sigh as she let the overbearing decor engulf her and her hollow being, unwavering by a delusive window, looking out amongst the prosperous estate in nothing but an immodest nightgown of the richest silk and palest rose.

A wolf is a wolf, however, even in a cage, even dressed in silk.

Merikh rebounded as a sheepish knock hollowed the spacious chamber, "Come in." She called in that melodically sensuous tone of hers, remaining situated by the window, the glow of spring adorning her in a feminine essence.

The ivory door glided evenly along the lacquered tiling, opening to her visitor and granting them warranted entry.

She looked over a slender shoulder, that glow emphasising her woeful cheekbones and full lips as her ebony eyes connected with amber and rust.

Lucien.

She refrained from rolling her eyes as she turned to face him fully, watching as his mouth opened and closed noiselessly. His stare remained upon her radiant face, not daring to look any further than her protruding collarbones.

"Clothes." He bestowed gingerly, traipsing heedfully toward the heart of the room, toward the bed. He placed down a pile of spirited fabrics with steady hands and bated breath.

Merikh watched his movements like a calculated hawk, peered down at him through a canopy of dark, wispy lashes, "Thank you." She hummed as he backed away, still by the window and encased in a goddess glow.

Lucien seemed to hesitate by the door, words on the tip of his snide tongue. With a pathetically fleeting glance, Lucien rushed out the doors and into the hallway.