Luminous

121 - The Choice Again (3/3) ❢

Author's Note: This chapter took so long to write as it is the one I am most scared of posting. I'm sure many more revisions are down the pipeline. This scene may be very disturbing. Please let me know where I can improve as it is a very delicate subject, and I may be handling it inappropriately. 

This person is evil. Irredeemable, pure evil. This chapter is to show how he knows one's deepest fears and desires, and wields them to break one's sense of self so terribly, he can compell one to do things one would never deign to do normally. 

I'm not condoning any of this. He is not an anti-hero. He is not a love interest. He is a monster. If any part of this chapter is hinting otherwise, let me know.

***

As the journey wore on, Meya rehearsed her demands and conditions, what she would ask, what she would not give. Then, she'd hear Graye's counteroffer that she wouldn't take nevertheless.

She was only meeting him because she could, just so she'd know she'd done everything there was to be done. Turn over the remaining two thimbles to find Freda was toying. There never was a crystal to cure all ills in the first place. No hope from the beginning. She'd take despair over regret as her torture.

Yet, if so, why was she trembling? If becoming Graye's mistress in all but name was not even the last thing she'd do, why was her heart shivering in anticipation?

Before she reached the truth buried deep within, the horses slowed to a halt. Meya peered out the window. The resplendent Graye mansion in sunlight was now a pure shadow of rock, like the peaks of Greentail Ridge whence he hailed.

Baron Graye wasn't waiting with his entourage, but a wavering light shone from a window high on the uppermost floor. The whip helped her dismount, then led her down the silent, deserted bowels of the long gallery, vacated of life with nothing but husks of history clinging to its walls, bone-white ghosts frozen in the moonlight.

The whip stopped before the lone door with light shining underneath, then knocked. Meya told herself she was relieved when Baron Graye's voice answered.

Graye was sat at his desk in his nightgown, his long silvery-blond hair tied back in a loose ponytail. He looked up from the letter he was writing. There was no pause of surprise before he smiled tenderly.

"You came alone." 

He rose to his feet and glided down to receive Meya, motioned for the whip to bow and dismiss himself. He drew her a chair and poured her tea so she could warm her hands, then settled soundlessly back onto his seat.

"So, Coris is chained, and The Axel is in his belly." He plied tea to his half-empty cup, set down the pot then met her eyes at last. "He may flee or stay. One way or another, he will abandon you. His fate is sealed. Your father's is not."

At his expectant look, Meya blinked and averted her eyes, her heart pounding. This wasn't what she expected. He said he'd like to hear about Dad. Yet, it seemed he'd already heard everything. He'd expected her. He knew she was hopeless, and so chose words to make her hope again, make her desperate. And it was working.

Just as much for warmth as for time, Meya drew an enormous gulp of tea. The stream of heat barreled down to her stomach, pooled at the region underneath, seeped out onto her linens. She found her eyes drawn to Graye's chest, peeking from the hanging collar of his robe trimmed in gold, full and broad. She wished to see further, to be held against it—

What?

Meya shook herself. What in Fyr's name was wrong with her? He was thrice her age, widowed with two daughters. And she was pregnant with another man. Why would she desire him?