HĀROS BARTOSSI | DAEMON T.

[ 𝟐𝟐 ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓

── •✧• ── ⋆⋅༻✦༺⋅⋆ ── •✧• ──

(A/N: Spicy chapter incoming— 

DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains mentions of explicit sexual content that may be unsettling or distressing for some readers. Please proceed with caution, and if you feel uncomfortable with these themes, please refrain from reading on.)

The warmth of fire seemed to grow within Maevys when she caught Daemon's gaze lingering on her longer than anticipated. An unspoken connection pulsed between them, and before she even realised it, she was already falling deeper into the mesmerising depths of his fiery purple pupils. 

Each moment that passed felt suspended in time, and the world outside their quiet corner of the tavern was fading away. The flickering flames from the hearth danced against the walls, their glow diffusing the edges of the room, as though the night itself was holding its breath.

Daemon's lips curled, his eyes arching into crescents as he gazed back at her. He blinked, slowly and softly, in endearment, and masked behind those shadowed eyes was something far more passionate than he would ever dare to admit.

The silence between them lengthened, heavy with the longing for something that neither could say. None of them spoke but their eyes, and the only noise in the room besides the indistinct ruckus from other drunken patrons outside was the crackling firewood. Yet, even as the laughter filtered in, it felt distant, like a storm far from their sheltered world. 

Nonetheless, such was not unpleasant to the pair. Rather, they indulged in the ambience the tavern offered. Here, in the small room, it was just the two of them and their palpable tension that loomed. Here, was where they could finally be bare of the facade they wore.

Maevys narrowed her eyes at the man before her, bewitched in a moment of quiet contemplation. Daemon was a Prince— a rogue, yes, but still a Prince. And she... She was just a woman, bound by loyalty and rules, and an illegitimate status, each one an invisible shackle with which only she could see. 

Still, in this very moment, the space between them seemed to splinter open, revealing something they both longed for secretly but could never reach.

Her gaze traced the untamed strands of his silver hair, much like the dangerous spark in the half-lidded, dilated, endless purple of his stare that mirrored the fire, both the warmth of it and the danger it carried, and then on his slightly parted lips, stained with the rich redness of wine. She hitched her breath, unable to tear her attention away from what the glistening wine was hinting at to her. For a heartbeat, she had forgotten about everything else and slowly, she was losing herself in the tenderness he was showing her.

Without thinking, her fingers, trembling ever so slightly, stretched toward him. Her touch was light, hesitant as she lightly brushed across his lips to wipe away the glossy remnants of the drink, the simple act felt more intimate than anything they had shared before. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, tasting the sweetness of the wine, and with it, the bitter ache of what could never be. 

The flavour of the wine burned against her tongue— bitter yet inexplicably sweet, much like the feelings that churned in her chest. It was as though it carried a secret, forbidden allure. The sensation startled her, ripping her from the trance she had unwittingly fallen into. A gasp of surprise escaped her lips as the reality of what she had done struck her all at once. Her cheeks flushed crimson instantly as a rush of heat spread through her, and she sprang to her feet.