Winter

Chapter Five: Power

Little hiccups bubble up in your throat as your sit, numbly, hands braced around an almost intolerably hot teacup. Across from you, the Sinner pours his own serving, placing one small square of sugar into the near boiling water. After setting the white and blue teapot down, he slides the tray of additives towards you. A long pause of nothing. The Sinner is very careful to not even glance up in your direction, his one good hand laying flat on the wood, a single strand of hair falling in front of his face.

"I... understand that this is not ideal for you."

You glare at him with your itching, bleary eyes.

"It is," the Sinner pauses, straining to find the right word, "difficult for me to understand, myself. I don't know why we, you, a human, and I, a Fae, are somehow mated and one. But," he holds up his bandaged hand, the one that bears the mark, "we are."

Another sob threatens to overtake your body.

"Please," panic sets in his eyes as he sees your chest shudder, "this is something holy. Precious. The gods do not deem every Fae a soulmate, but they have seen fit to give me you, and I promise-"

You begin crying again, your body somehow dredging up the liquid for tears, leeching out every last reserve in an attempt to erase the pain.

"I'm a duke, I have power," he tries, struggling for something, anything to calm you down. "You will always be taken care of, you would want for nothing. I can arrange to give you an apartment, you can use it however you please-"

"How. How would I use it?" You can't gulp air fast enough. Oh god, your chest. It is in agony.

The Sinner looks at you, blank. "I- I don't know, that would be for you to decide."

"Oh yeah? Tell me what I enjoy doing. I'll do it in there."

He can tell that you're baiting him, but even so, you both know he has to take it in order to move along. "I don't know."

"You don't know!" You throw your hands up in the air. "You don't even know me! Who are you to say that I am somehow now yours? Hm? Who am I? What's my favorite band? What school did I go to? You don't even know my favorite color."

"That is all... correct," the Sinner manages to say before you continue mentioning all the different ways he doesn't know you, "but you are here with me now, and so I could begin the process of getting to know you."

Words cannot begin to describe how disgustingly incredulous you are. Just... you want to reach over and ram his perfectly sculpted nose into the unforgiving table. "Do you... not realize that I have been here for months?"

"Yes," the Sinner stammers, "but-"

"BUT YOU DIDN'T REALIZE WE WERE MATES, SO YOU DIDN'T CARE." You swipe the tray of sugar bowls, creamer boats, and little honey jars off the edge, a harsh shattering punctuating your words like arrow strikes. "I wasn't even a person to you, was I, until we touched. Just a pawn to you, a slave you could bully."

The Sinner says nothing, and that is answer enough. You slam your hands on the table as you stand, shaking so badly you think you might throw up. Before you can leave, he whispers, "wait. Please."

Please, he has never said to you, so you sit back down and stare at him, soul as hard as stone.

"Six months out of the year. However you want to divide it. You can leave, do what you wish, be with," he almost chokes at the words, "who you wish. But you return to me for half the year."

"No."

"Five months."

"No."

"Three." Desperation clings to his words, and bitterness, too. The Sinner has never begged for anything once in his life, but the feverish need in his eyes tells you he would. Now, on his knees, if you told him to.