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secretyam · 6 months ago

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Visions | OC Writing

Okay, final dump for the night. Here is another chapter from my story with Seren and Marcel. Enjoy~

Seren felt the vision coming long before it struck.

She had sensed its arrival that morning, the ache in her head blooming like a slow-building storm the moment she woke in the comfort of Marcel’s arms. Now, as she lounged in the courtyard, wings fanned out under the mid-afternoon sun, she knew she had an hour—at most—before it took hold. And when it did, chaos would surely follow.

Premonitions were nothing new. As a child, she had them now and again, though they always came more frequently in the warmer months. Vahn had been the one to see her through them, holding her steady through the pain and confusion that stretched on for what felt like an eternity. The fog that followed could linger for days, sometimes even a week.

But after his passing, she had weathered the storm alone.

She did not care to recall the close calls—the times she collapsed in the wrong place, lost in the vision’s grip, barely aware of herself. More than once, she had an accident in her delirium.

Seren sighed, rubbing at her temple. She supposed she should warn Marcel before it was too late. The only issue was that he was nowhere to be found.

After breakfast, she had knocked on his study door, but there had been no answer. She might have barged in on her own, but she still remembered what happened the last time she did that—Marcel’s anger had left her sore and walking funny for a week.

Wandering the castle in search of him had been useless, and questioning the guards got her nowhere. Was he hiding on purpose?

She bit her thumb in frustration. It wasn’t as if she’d be helpless when the vision overtook her—there were attendants who would see to her needs. Still, she disliked the idea of them worrying.

Then again, perhaps they should worry.

They were her captors, after all. They deserved no sympathy.

With a resigned huff, Seren rose from the garden bench, folding her wings behind her as she stood, and made her way inside, following the tiled walkway back toward the west tower of the stronghold.

Her time was running out. She could feel it—the creeping fog, the feverish heat coiling deep in her bones. Soon, she would be nothing more than a senseless heap on the floor she surmised.

Seren barely made it to her room before the first wave of nausea struck.

The walls lurched around her, tilting violently as her knees buckled. The floor rushed up to meet her, pain bursting through her arms as she hit the cold wood—hard.

She barely had time to take a breath before her stomach twisted savagely. A choked gasp left her lips as bile surged up her throat, spilling onto the floor before she could so much as crawl toward the bathing chamber.

Dizziness clouded her senses. The confusion was setting in now, thick and inescapable, dragging her mind into a disoriented haze.

Then came the second wave.

This one swallowed her whole.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Speckled sunlight wove through the trembling leaves, casting shifting patterns across Seren’s small hands as she carved a rune into the dark oak’s rough bark. The texture was familiar beneath her fingertips, grounding her in the moment, though something about it felt distant—hazy, like a half-forgotten memory.

Somewhere nearby, Vahn’s deep voice rumbled, comforting yet indistinct. He was speaking to someone, but the words blurred together, lost in the rhythm of the blade etching the rune’s twisting form. Were they hunting today? She couldn't quite recall. Only the rune mattered.

What had it meant again? Vahn had taught it to her once, though she hadn’t cared much for his endless lecture. And yet, something compelled her to keep going, to carve every curve and line with quiet precision. The rune twisted into completion, enclosed by a circle.

A god’s rune.

For protection? A summoning?

Why would she need to summon a god?

A sharp shift in the air made her pause. Vahn’s voice, once distant, was suddenly clear—too close.

"Starling," his tone soft, edged with something unreadable. "Who are you trying to call?"

Seren turned sharply, heart pounding—but before she could see his face, the world tilted, blurred at the fringes, and she was falling.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Marcel found Seren collapsed in her own vomit late that afternoon. He had been trapped in a grueling trade meeting with a northern kingdom, his advisors determined to keep him there indefinitely. When he was finally free, his first thought was to get his godling alone—she had been in a mood all morning, and he intended to demand answers.

But the moment he stepped into her chambers, all thoughts of confrontation vanished. Seren lay unconscious, her body burning with fever. Sweat clung to her skin, and her breath came in harsh, ragged pants between clenched teeth.

What followed was pure chaos. Within minutes, Seren’s room was teeming with bodies—healers and sorcerers alike, all bent on uncovering the cause of her affliction and finding a cure.

Marcel paced in restless circles on the floor of the space, heavy curtains had been drawn to block out the sweltering summer heat. Every few steps, his fingers raked through his hair, his frustration mounting with each unanswered question. Callan, his most trusted second, had long since abandoned any attempts to calm him. If anything, he looked just as pale and unsettled.

It was common understanding that a god-born could not be afflicted by sickness—Seren herself had insisted on it countless times. Yet as another pained whimper escaped her lips and she curled in on herself, trembling, it was hard to consider any other possibility.

Minutes bled into hours and the sun now slept below the horizon. Still, no answers emerged. Marcel’s patience, already frayed, snapped entirely when Seren let out another anguished groan. His frustration erupted into shouting, his voice a storm within the chamber—until the lead healer, Leah, had him forcibly removed.

Now, he and Callan stood in the corridor, silence thick between them. The air was heavy, suffocating. Marcel clenched his fists, jaw tight, but he said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

A faint click of the door had the two sullen men pulling away from the cold wall they had been leaning against. Leah, her tan face drawn with exhaustion, quietly exited the room. With a deep sigh, she spoke. “It isn’t sickness, that much we can confirm. After consulting with the sorcerers, it's difficult to say for certain, but these may be symptoms of a premonition.”

“She’s having a vision?” Marcel asked, his tone flat.

Leah hesitated before meeting his dark gaze, then nodded sharply. The ashen bun on top of her head bounced with the motion. “Seren reacts to touch, responds to pain, but she’s unable to wake. If we continue to assume that children of gods cannot fall ill, then there’s really no other explanation. The sorcerers agree. History has documented symptoms of premonitions that align with what she’s experiencing.”

Marcel’s body relaxed for what felt like the first time in hours. Callan clasped a hand over his shoulder. Their eyes met, a silent conversation exchanging between them before he started off down the hall.

“The best thing for Seren now is rest and to keep her fever down. We’ll reassess in the morning. A healer will be on standby and check in throughout the night,” Leah finished.

Marcel nodded, his face set in grim lines.

The lead healer left just as swiftly as she had arrived, her disciples trailing behind her. They had promised to return in a few hours to ensure Seren’s condition hadn’t worsened.

Now, Marcel sat alone in the dark chamber. He had pulled a reading chair—gone unused by Seren—to her bedside and lounged there, absently caressing her pale arm.

She was quiet now, no longer in pain. Leah had mentioned administering medicine for the discomfort, and it seemed to be working, offering a temporary relief.

"You truly do enjoy frightening me, Sunbeam," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "What is it you're dreaming of?"

But the godling gave no answer, lost in the grip of her restless sleep.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Soft spikes of golden wheat brushed against Seren’s outstretched hands as the vast field swayed beneath the warm summer sun. This was home, she thought—among the chatter of birds and the endless sea of yellow. She wandered on, unhurried, letting the land embrace her. She was here for a reason, though she couldn’t quite place it.

Glancing over her folded wings, she saw only more fields stretching endlessly behind her, with green, stony mountains looming in the distance. Her thoughts drifted like the wind through the stalks, and so she walked, untroubled. Content.

“You’ve been misguided, Sterling.”

The gruff voice shattered the quiet. Vahn strode beside her, his arms relaxed at his sides. His gray hair, kissed by the sunlight, almost looked gold. Had he always been there? Seren couldn’t recall.

She smiled at his comment. “Have I? You haven’t been here to guide me.”

“You stopped needing me the moment you learned to fly,” he teased, giving a light tap to her fawn-speckled wings. “You were always restless—I never took you for the type to be idle for so long.”

Seren frowned. What was he getting at?

“It’s not like I have much of a choice. My wings are clipped,” she muttered. “I haven’t tasted the sky in months.” She hated the sound of her own excuses, but Vahn’s gentle ridicule was getting to her.

“Good,” he said, striding ahead. “Then learn to walk like the rest of us.”

Seren huffed but hurried forward to match the older man’s pace.

“What are we doing here?” Seren asked, glancing at Vahn.

Her father turned to her then, and a chill prickled down her spine. Something was wrong. The wheat field, the mountains, even the warmth of the sun—it all felt distant now, slipping away.

Vahn’s eyes were white, glowing like embers in the dark. The world tilted beneath her feet, and a sudden weightlessness gripped her. She was falling.

“Reminding you of your role,” his voice echoed, not just in the air but inside her skull.

Everything faded to black.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Seren woke the next afternoon, though she was not herself. The healers had warned Marcel that while she had regained consciousness, she remained in a catatonic state—unresponsive to commands, barely reacting to touch or sound.

His heart twisted when he came to see her. The fierce, radiant godling he knew was reduced to a hollow shell.

She was propped up in bed, dressed in a fresh gown the healers had given her after she’d fallen ill again upon waking. Though her fever had finally broken, she sat motionless, her arms limp in her lap, staring at nothing in particular.

Marcel brushed a lock of blonde hair from her temple, his fingers lingering against her too-cool skin. Seren did not react. Her golden eyes, usually burning with life, were pale and distant.

“Hello, Sunbeam,” he murmured, his voice soft, coaxing. “Are you still dreaming?”

Seren didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared in a daze.

Leah had warned him that lingering confusion was common, that she was likely still lost within the premonition. There was no forcing her back—only waiting. For now, all he could do was ensure she received care, nourishment, and time. Until she was ready to return. Until then, all he could do was wait for her.

And so he did.

Marcel stayed by her side as much as he could, tending to her like she was made of glass. He brushed out her tangled hair, wiped the sweat from her brow, and coaxed warm broth past her parted lips when she was lucid enough to swallow. When she refused to drink, he pressed the cup to her mouth, whispering gentle reassurances, urging her to take just a little more.

He would never be soft, never be kind in the way others were—but for Seren, he would try. She was light where he was shadow, warmth where he was ice. She burned, and he was drawn to her flame despite the knowledge that it could consume him whole.

Marcel had never cared for softness before. It was a weakness, a liability. Mercy had no place in his world, nor did tenderness. Yet, when it came to her—his sunbeam—he found himself hesitating. His hands, stained with the weight of his past, hovered over her skin as if afraid to taint her radiance.

But Seren was not fragile, and she was not afraid of the dark places he called home. She stood in defiance of them, daring him to believe that there could be something more. That he could be something more.

For her, he would endure the ache of peeling back the iron cage around his heart. For her, he would let himself feel. Even if it destroyed him. So, he became what she needed.

Each night, he dampened a cloth with warm water and carefully wiped her down, running the rag over her arms, her neck, the delicate slope of her collarbone. He was meticulous, gentle, never rushing—ensuring she was clean and comfortable. When she shivered, he warmed her hands between his own, pressing soft kisses to her knuckles as if his touch alone could draw her back to him.

At night, when the castle was quiet, he held her to his chest, tracing circles into her palm as if willing her back to him. And when the cold crept in, he tucked the blankets tighter around her, pressing his forehead to hers with a whispered, “Come back to me, Seren.”

He didn’t know if she could hear him. But he stayed, unwavering, until she was ready to wake.

In the quiet moments when they were alone, Marcel softly recounted stories of their younger days. His voice was a low murmur, meant only for her ears, as if the words themselves could tether her back to him.

He told her of the first time he ever laid eyes on his godling. He had been just a boy, no older than fifteen, on a hunting trip with his father. His first thought had been that she was a golden eagle, circling high above the trees, watching them with sharp, knowing eyes.

Eagles weren’t known to appear in the region, but he had convinced himself it was a sign from the gods—that their hunt would be successful.

He hadn’t known then that the creature soaring overhead wasn’t a bird at all. It was her.

“You were stalking us, weren’t you?” he mused, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Watching from above like some silent sentinel. I wonder, even then, did you know we would meet?”

Seren gave no sign that she heard him, but he spoke anyway, letting the memories fill the empty silence between them.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Seren came to in the center of a shallow, black reflective pool, surrounded by a dark, mist-laden forest. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something rotten just beneath the surface. She was cold—so, so cold—and a terrible sense of doom settled deep in her bones, gnawing at the edges of her mind.

She gasped, struggling to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. Her golden eyes darted in every direction, taking in the endless sea of twisted trees that loomed around her, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky.

“Vahn?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper.

A gentle breeze stirred the mist, curling around her like ghostly fingers. It carried no warmth—only a hollow, unsettling emptiness. A shiver wracked her spine.

“Vahn?” she tried again, louder this time.

Silence pressed in around her, thick and suffocating.

She moved to stand, but the moment she shifted, something below the surface tightened around her legs. Panic surged as she clawed at the water, her fingers sinking into the inky depths. Something unseen had ensnared her, keeping her in place.

The fear of what lay beneath the surface twisted and grew. She sobbed, hands diving beneath the water, grasping at whatever held her, but there was nothing to seize—just endless, unyielding black.

A sharp crack echoed from deep within the forest.

Seren froze, her head snapping up. The mist curled around the trees, obscuring whatever lurked beyond the veil, but she knew—she felt it.

Something was watching her.

And it was waiting.

Desperation clawed at Seren’s throat as she continued to grasp at the nothingness beneath the surface of the dark pool. Her fingers tore through the cold, viscous water, searching—pleading—for anything to hold on to. But there was nothing.

Desperate, she reached inward, searching for the familiar warmth of her essence, the divine fire that had always been hers to command.

There was nothing.

A void yawned inside her where her power should have been. The golden flames that once burned so fiercely had been snuffed out, leaving her hollow.

Another snap echoed from the shadows of the trees. Closer now.

Seren’s breath came in frantic gasps. She felt like a snared animal, trapped and helpless, all hope of breaking free slipping through her trembling fingers. But still, she fought.

She thrashed against the unseen chains, splashing, pulling, struggling against the black muck that held her down. Minutes stretched into hours, her body aching with the effort. But no matter how hard she fought, she gained nothing. The water soaked through her tunic and pants, chilling her to the bone, leaving her weak and shivering.

Her strength was gone. Her breath came in ragged, uneven weeps.

And then, with a quiet whimper, she stilled.

She had nothing left.

The forest loomed around her, silent and waiting.

Seren closed her eyes, her shoulders trembling. I give in, she thought, her final shred of resistance fading.

“Well, finally,” a deep, arrogant voice boomed around Seren, echoing from every direction at once. It was as if the very trees whispered his words, the earth itself vibrating with his amusement. “I thought you’d never tire.” He sighed, the sound dripping with feigned exasperation.

Seren stiffened. She squinted into the dark expanse before her, searching for the speaker.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt.

The male only laughed—a sound that sent ice crawling down her spine. It wasn’t just one voice but many, overlapping and shifting, as though a chorus of unseen mouths spoke in perfect unison.

A million voices. A single presence.

Seren swallowed hard. The sound was wrong, something that did not belong in this world. And yet, it was here.

“I am all things. Every shadow, every whisper. I am both what you were, and what you will never become. Time bends to me, and you, little godling, are nothing more than a fleeting thought.” The man laughed.

Perhaps he wasn’t a man at all.

“What do you want?” Seren screamed, frustration cracking through the exhaustion in her voice. This was not a game she wanted to play—not with this unseen tormentor. Her body ached, the cold water leeching the last of her strength.

Then—time shifted. Or perhaps it froze.

The air thickened, charged with something unnatural. The already stagnant world seemed to pause, holding its breath. Seren’s skin prickled. A presence had entered the space—no, it had always been there, simply waiting for the moment to make itself known.

A shadow loomed over her.

Heart hammering, she turned sharply from where she knelt, breath catching as she found herself staring at a pair of shoes standing on the water’s surface before her.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

A man stood before her—tall and lean, his presence effortless yet suffocating. His long, dark hair hung like a curtain, casting fractured shadows over his sharp features. A long, straight nose gave him an air of quiet severity, accentuating the unnatural symmetry of his face. And his eyes—a sickly, hypnotic gold—gleamed with something between amusement and hunger.

A slow, knowing smile stretched across his lips.

Seren’s blood ran cold.

“Hello, birdy.” The man’s smile was all teeth, his glowing eyes squinting with amusement. “Quite the show you put on there.”

Seren shuddered. Deep in the marrow of her bones, in the very essence of her being, she knew—this was no man. This was a god. An ancient one.

He crouched before her, his movements fluid, almost leisurely, resting his arms on his thighs as he leveled himself with her. The proximity made her breath hitch. Even without touching her, his presence coiled around her like smoke, inescapable.

“Nothing to say, sweet birdy?” His voice dripped with mock disappointment. “Pity. I was hoping you would be... more.” He shrugged, utterly indifferent, as if she were a minor disappointment in an otherwise dull evening.

Seren glared—a weak, defiant flicker—but she had no fight left in her, and she knew it. She was outmatched in every way.

The air around him felt wrong.

It wasn’t just his presence—it was the way the dark mist curled at his feet, the way the black pool barely rippled despite her struggle. It was the way his voice had surrounded her before she even saw him, slipping into her mind like ink bleeding into parchment.

Her stomach twisted violently. She knew this feeling.

She had felt it in the rotting fields, in the blighted land where crops withered before they could bloom. She had felt it in the temples swallowed by creeping shadows, in the whispers that licked at the edges of her mind, calling her deeper, deeper…

The realization struck like a blade between her ribs. This wasn’t just a god. This was the god.

The one cast down. The one locked away. The one whose essence had festered in the world like an untreated wound—who sought to consume everything.

Seren stilled, she wasn’t sure she was even breathing. Her hands curled into fists, though she had no power left to wield.

The disgraced god only smiled wider, tilting his head, as if he could see the moment her mind put the pieces together.

“Ah, there it is.” His voice slithered through the air like silk. “That lovely little spark of recognition.” He reached out, fingers hovering just beneath her chin, not touching—not yet. But the promise of it made her skin crawl.

“Go on,” His voice lowered to a purr, dark amusement curling around each word. “Say my name.”

She had never known the disgraced god’s name. It was rumored that to say it would bring a curse upon the land in which you stood. But in this moment, the words came to her as if she had known them all along. “Kaelthas.” Seren spoke, nausea twisting deep in her stomach. The name tasted like ash on her tongue, bitter and wrong, as if merely uttering it had summoned the abyss.

Before she could draw another breath, Kaelthas’ hand shot forward, cold fingers wrapping around her throat like iron shackles. Then, he shoved her under.

The dark water swallowed her whole, freezing and thick like tar, filling her nose, her mouth—her lungs. Seren thrashed, her instincts screaming for air, but the pressure against her throat never relented. It wasn’t just his hand holding her down—his will itself was a crushing force, seeping into her very soul.

She wasn’t just drowning. She was unraveling.

Images exploded behind her closed eyes, flashing so fast her mind could barely keep up.

Marcel, a sword piercing through his stomach, his face twisted in agony as the Black Wake coiled around him like living chains, consuming him inch by inch.

Callan, his body sunken into a pool of rotting mud, his flesh peeling, eyes vacant, his voice—calling for her in a ragged whisper before the earth swallowed him whole.

A kingdom in ruins. The sky split open, fire raining down upon the land as monstrous shadows writhed in the flames, feeding, growing.

And then—herself.

Bound in chains, her body broken, golden blood pouring from gashes carved deep into her flesh. Her wings, torn and mangled, pinned like a butcher’s prize. Her voice a silent scream.

It was too much. The weight of it all bore down on her like an ocean of despair, sinking into her marrow, poisoning her thoughts. The pain, the sorrow, the utter helplessness of it all—it was real.

It was real.

A force wrenched her upward.

Seren gasped, coughing up water as she was dragged from the abyss, her body convulsing with shudders. But the air did nothing to soothe her. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged sobs as Kaelthas held her aloft by her throat.

“You bastard,” she choked, tears blurring her vision. “What have you done? What did you show me?”

Kaelthas only laughed, a deep, resonant sound that sent tremors through the air.

“Oh, sweet birdy,” he crooned, tilting his head, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t you see? There is no stopping me.”

Seren’s fury burned hot through the horror clawing at her mind. “You—”

Pain.

It began as a sharp tug at the base of her wings, a foreign, unnatural force wrapping around them like unseen chains. She barely had time to register the sensation before it turned into something far worse.

A searing pressure yanked at the joints where her wings met her back, stretching them past their natural limits. Sinew and muscle strained, pulled taut like fraying rope. A sickening pop reverberated through her body as the first joint gave way, white-hot pain exploding in her nerves.

Seren screamed.

Her body jerked involuntarily, hands clawing at Kaelthas’ wrist, but his grip on her throat was unyielding. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think beyond the agony carving itself into her very being.

Kaelthas took his time.

He didn’t simply tear—he wrenched, twisted, savoring every moment as he dismantled her. The tendons anchoring her wings snapped one by one, each break a fresh wave of torment that sent fire racing down her spine. Blood, thick and golden, trickled in slow, warm rivers down her back, seeping into the tattered remains of her clothes.

Then came the tearing.

Flesh peeled away from bone with a wet, sickening rip. Her nerves roared as Kaelthas pulled harder, and her body spasmed in protest, instinctively trying to keep what was being stolen from her. The raw, exposed muscles burned as if her skin had been flayed from the inside out, her entire existence collapsing into a vortex of suffering.

Another vicious yank—

And then the world shattered.

The final, brutal tear sent agony so deep through her body that for a moment, she thought she had died. A shriek ripped from her throat, raw and broken, as the last of her wings was torn from her body.

She was left gasping, her mind drowning in the unbearable absence where they had once been. It was as if a part of her very soul had been severed.

Kaelthas still held her aloft, his fingers digging into her throat, keeping her from crumpling into the black water below.

Golden blood dripped from his fingers—her blood. He lifted one of her ruined wings, holding it up between them as if admiring a delicate trophy. The feathers were soaked in golden ichor, trembling from the sheer force of their violent separation.

Seren sobbed.

Not from fear. Not from helplessness. From loss. From pain so deep it hollowed her out from the inside.

Kaelthas leaned in, his voice a silken whisper against the shell of her ear. “So dramatic.” he murmured, his breath disturbingly warm against her trembling skin. “This is just a reminder of what’s to come. Of what you’ll lose.”

She couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. Her body trembled violently, her vision blurred with tears.

Kaelthas smiled.

“You should thank me,” he said, his voice dripping with mock kindness. “Now you understand.”

He let go of her neck, and Seren felt herself fall. Her body, limp and battered, was consumed by the inky depths of the pool once more. She sank into the water, her broken wings trailing behind her like discarded weight, the sting of the loss still searing through her. The cold swallowed her whole, wrapping around her limbs, numbing her.

Her mind, too, began to drift, slipping into the familiar embrace of darkness. It was the only thing that made sense now—the only thing that could hold the fragments of her shattered self together.

The weight of the world pushed down on her chest, suffocating. The darkness surrounded her, pressing in from all sides. It offered her nothing but fear and pain.

She let go.

Seren’s eyes shut, surrendering to the terror that had claimed her mind and body. The ache in her heart, in her back, in her very soul, faded as she drifted deeper. Perhaps this was the end. Perhaps this was what it meant to be empty, to be nothing.

And so, she let the blackness take her.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Marcel had been awake when the screaming began.

Lounging on the settee, a book about various deities resting open in his lap, he had been lost in thought when the first wail shattered the silence. The sound cut through the night like lightening, raw and agonized, tearing straight through his chest.

He was at her side in an instant.

Seren thrashed against the sheets, clawing wildly at her back, her sobs violent and unrelenting.

“He took them! He took them!” she wailed.

Marcel caught her wrists, restraining her flailing movements before she could tear into herself. “Seren! Seren, wake up!” His voice was urgent, pleading, but she was lost in the throes of whatever horror gripped her mind.

She fought him, her strength fueled by pure desperation. “My wings! He took my wings!”

Marcel’s gut twisted.

“Seren, look at me!” He poured his power into the command, his voice edged with the dark force woven into his very being. “Seren.” The air around them thickened, his essence coiling through the space between them, grounding her—pulling her back.

Seren stilled.

Her eyes snapped open, wide and glassy, but unfocused. The room was bathed in moonlight, but she looked past it—past him.

“Vahn?” she whispered, her voice small and trembling.

Marcel froze.

A sharp, unwanted bitterness curled in his chest. He knew the name. Knew what Vahn meant to her. Her father, her protector. The man she reached for in her darkest moments.

Not him.

He swallowed down the sting and forced himself to exhale slowly. This wasn’t about him. It was about her.

Marcel loosened his grip on her wrists, shifting his hands to cradle her face instead. His calloused fingers brushed away the dampness of her tears, tilting her chin just enough to force her to meet his gaze.

“Seren,” he said, his voice low, steady. “Look at me. See me.”

Her lips parted slightly, her breath still uneven. For a moment, the distant fog in her golden eyes wavered—but then fresh terror flooded in.

“My wings,” she choked out. “They’re gone.”

Marcel’s throat tightened at the sound of her anguish.

“No, Sunbeam,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grasp her shoulders, steadying her. “They’re still there. No one took them from you.”

She didn’t hear him through the stupor. Her hands moved again, weakly clawing at her back, as if expecting to find only empty space.

Marcel didn’t hesitate. He shifted onto the bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her trembling frame and pulling her against his chest. He held her firm, letting the weight of him anchor her, letting the steady rise and fall of his breath press against her own erratic rhythm. Gently, he began to brush her wings, as he often did to lull her in the early hours of the morning.

“They’re still there,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something deeper, something unshakable. His power curled around them, a dark, protective force. “Feel them, Seren. Breathe.”

She shuddered against him, her body still taut with fear. But slowly—hesitantly—the tension began to ease. Her hands stilled. Her sobs quieted.

Marcel pressed his lips to the crown of her head, his arms tightening around her.

Was this what she saw in her vision? The future that awaited her?

Whatever nightmare had tried to take her—whoever had tried to cause her pain—he would not let them win.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Marcel awoke to warmth pressed against him, the scent of wildflowers and sunlight lingering in the space between him and his godling.

Seren lay nestled in the crook of his arm, her body still, her breaths slow and even. But she was awake.

His gaze drifted to her face—red-rimmed eyes, lashes still damp from the night before. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular, just staring, lost in some distant thought.

He shifted slightly, inhaling deeply, drawing her scent into his lungs as if to reassure himself that she was still here. Still real.

Golden eyes, dull but present, lifted to meet his. There was a weariness in her gaze, something ancient and raw, as if she had walked through a world he would never know.

“Good morning, Sunbeam,” he rasped, his voice rough with sleep.

Seren blinked up at him, and for the first time in days, she answered. “Good morning,” she murmured.

Marcel stilled. His heart stuttered.

It had been five days. Five days since she had been swallowed by the premonition’s grip. Five days of silence. Five days of waiting. The healers had spoken in hushed voices. The sorcerers had offered theories, none of them certain how long it would take for her to return—if she would return.

Yet here she was.

Cautiously, he reached out, brushing a few strands of golden hair from her face. The concern, all too normal in his heart now, returned when she didn’t react to his touch.

“Do you still dream?” he asked.

Seren’s lips parted slightly. And then—faint, but real—a smile.

It was small, barely there, but it unraveled something deep inside him.

“I’m awake now,” she whispered. “It’s over.”

Marcel exhaled slowly, his fingers trailing from her hair to the curve of her cheek, his touch careful—reverent. He didn’t want to startle her, didn’t want to shatter the fragile moment where she was here, present, with him.

But even as relief settled into his bones, the weight of the past five days lingered.

“You had me worried, Sunbeam,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, rough with something unspoken.

Seren blinked up at him, her golden eyes searching his face as if seeing him—truly seeing him—for the first time since she had woken.

“I…” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, as if trying to find the right words. But what could she possibly say?

She knew Marcel had seen her like this only once before, when the corruption first touched her—the same hollow stare, the same quiet that swallowed her whole. The Black Wake had fed from her essence, leaving her dazed and exhausted. But this had been worse.

When they had encountered the Wake, she hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t thrashed. She had simply stopped—trapped in a world he could not pull her from.

He had been forced to watch, powerless, as she lay unmoving, her breath shallow, her body cold. The memory made something dark coil in his chest.

His thumb traced along the delicate edge of her jaw, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. “I called your name, but you wouldn’t answer,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You just… stayed there, lost. No one could reach you.”

Seren’s lips parted slightly, but no words came.

For a moment, she only stared at him, her brows pinching together, something fragile flickering behind her eyes. Then, hesitantly, she lifted a hand, resting it over his.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Marcel huffed a quiet, humorless breath, his fingers curling slightly against her skin. “I don’t need an apology, Seren.” He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “Just—don’t do that again.”

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers squeezing his in return. “I’ll try,” she murmured. It wasn’t a promise. But it was enough. For now.

Marcel didn’t let go of her, not immediately. He lingered in the warmth of her touch, unwilling to let the moment slip away too quickly. But when her stomach let out a quiet, pitiful growl, he huffed a soft chuckle and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.

“I’ll have something brought up,” Marcel murmured, sliding out of bed.

Seren didn’t move as he padded to the door, speaking briefly with an attendant in the hall before returning. She only watched his muscular frame, silent and contemplative, before sighing and rubbing her face.

“I must look awful,” she mumbled.

Marcel turned back toward her, his gaze sweeping over her sleep-mussed hair and the shadows still lingering under her eyes. Even so, she was radiant, glowing in the soft morning light that spilled through the windows. The warmth in her skin had finally returned. He smirked. “You always look beautiful, Sunbeam.”

Seren snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, she stretched, her tawny wings fluttering slightly, and winced.

Marcel caught the small movement and frowned. “Come,” he said, offering his hand to her. “Let’s get cleaned up before breakfast arrives.”

She let him pull her to her feet, and though she moved slowly, her steps were steady as he guided her toward the adjoining bath chamber. Marcel helped her undress, careful to ensure the fabric didn’t tug on her wings.

The tub wasn’t prepared, much to Seren’s quiet dismay. Instead, Marcel turned toward the overhead piping system—the one she rarely managed to figure out on her own.

A moment later, a steady stream of warm water cascaded down from above. The instant it touched her skin, Seren let out a small, contented sigh, tilting her face into the stream. The heat soaked into her muscles, loosening the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding.

To the side, Marcel reached for the clasps of his shirt, unfastening them with practiced ease. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing the broad expanse of his chest—tan and marked with faint scars, each a silent testament to battles fought and won. Seren’s gaze flickered toward him, cautious yet unable to resist tracing the lines of his physique.

He made no show of it, no deliberate movements to draw attention, but there was something undeniably commanding in the way he undressed. As he loosened his belt and stepped out of his trousers, Seren swallowed, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Marcel caught her staring. His smirk was subtle, teasing. “Like what you see?”

Seren scoffed, turning her head toward the cascading water, though the warmth rising to her cheeks betrayed her. “Hardly,” she muttered, but the way her eyes lingered told another story.

Marcel joined her without hesitation, his hands finding her waist as he pulled her close. He observed the way she relaxed under the water’s embrace. A small smile tugged at his lips. “See? Not so bad.”

Seren hummed in response, eyes slipping shut. Maybe, just this once, he was right.

For a while, there was only silence, the steam curling around them as Marcel ran his fingers through her damp hair, carefully washing away the remnants of sleep. It was easy, natural, the way they moved together. He reached for the soap, massaging the lather into her skin, and she sighed again, leaning into his touch.

But as he traced the curve of her back, his fingers skimming over the tense muscles along her shoulder blades, the memory of the night before returned like a phantom.

“You screamed,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “In your sleep.”

Seren stiffened.

Marcel continued, his voice gentle but firm. “You were clawing at your back, saying someone had taken your wings.”

Seren swallowed. “I don’t remember doing that.”

Marcel exhaled, turning her to face him, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against her temple. “I do.” His hands held her close, ghosting along her spine, lingering over the place where her wings met her back. “You were inconsolable, Seren. You were trapped in that vision and there was nothing I could do to wake you.”

Seren’s breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, quietly, she murmured, “It was him.”

Marcel went still.

The disgraced god who plagued both their nightmares. Marcel had suspected as much, but hearing it from her lips made his blood run cold.

“He was there,” Seren admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And he—” She stopped herself, shaking her head.

Marcel pulled back just enough to look at her, his thumb tilting her chin so their eyes met. “Tell me,” he urged.

Seren hesitated, grabbing his arm. For the first time since she woke, he saw something uncertain flicker in her golden eyes. She wanted to speak—he could see it in the way her lips parted, the way her fingers trembled against his wrist.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she shook her head. “Not yet.”

Marcel studied her, searching for the right words. He wanted to demand more. He needed to know what she had seen, what haunted her so deeply that it kept her trapped in a catatonic state for five days.

But he also knew her. And he knew pushing her now would do no good. So, instead, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a long moment. “When you’re ready,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll be here.”

Seren exhaled shakily, nodding against him.

For now, that would have to be enough.

#yamwriting #oc #oc writing #seren and marcel #fantasy #romance #possesive love #smut

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secretyam · 6 months ago

Text

Obedience pt.2 | OC Writing | 18+

Here's the second part to the little smut chapter from Seren and Marcel's story~

Dim sunlight spilled over Seren’s face, kissing her skin with warmth. Her golden hair fanned around her head like a halo, strands catching in the gentle morning glow. A fog of sleep clung to her mind, thick and drowsy. Her body ached, yet a deep, lingering warmth curled in her chest. The scent of leather and sandalwood threatened to lull her back into slumber, comforting and intoxicating all at once.

She groaned softly, burrowing her face deeper into the firm padding beneath her cheek. A warm hand brushed over the feathers of her wings—slow, soothing, reverent. The touch only deepened the spell keeping her suspended between sleep and wakefulness, her thoughts drifting like embers in the wind.

For a while, she simply lay there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. But as the haze of sleep gradually lifted, awareness crept in—of her surroundings, of the solid warmth beneath her, of the dull, unmistakable soreness between her thighs.

Memory rushed back in a heated flood. Marcel. His discipline. The way she had surrendered to him, taken everything he gave her. A shiver rolled down her spine, and with it, the slow creep of delayed embarrassment.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Seren squinted against the sunlight, tilting her chin to meet Marcel’s gaze. The firm mattress beneath her was, in fact, his chest, clad in a soft gray tunic. The stubble that had shadowed his jaw the night before was gone, his sharp features clean-shaven. His dark hair was pulled half-up, stray strands framed his face in a careless manner.

“Sunbeam,” Marcel murmured, his voice rich with sleep, fingers threading through her tangled locks to brush them from her face.

Not that she would ever admit it out loud, but he was, without question, the most handsome man she had ever met Seren thought to herself.

Heat crept up her face as the memory of his fingers inside her—of the way he had unraveled her so thoroughly—replayed in her mind. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, the lingering ache between them reigniting the slow burn in her belly.

Marcel’s gaze darkened, his sharp eyes flicking to the subtle movement of her legs before returning to her face. A knowing smile tugged at his lips, lazy and amused.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low, fingers continuing their soft strokes along the tawny-speckled feathers of her wings.

Seren swallowed, her mind still thick with sleep. Was he no longer angry? The night before, his fury had been palpable, searing through every touch, every word. And yet now, his demeanor was unreadable—calm, teasing even. Could things really be fine?

She rubbed her eyes, willing herself to wake fully. But the moment she shifted, awareness struck like a jolt of lightning.

Bare skin met the soft fabric of his tunic. Her breasts pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, and beyond that, there was nothing—no clothing, no barriers, just the thin weight of the blanket draped over her back and her folded wings.

Air snagged in her throat.

Marcel’s fingers never stopped their slow, deliberate caress.

Seren hesitated, “I—I’m okay.” Her voice came out scratchy and raw. She found it hard to fully meet his eyes.

Slowly, she pushed herself up from where she lay half-draped over Marcel. As she moved, his arm slipped away, and with it, the soothing strokes against her feathers ceased. The loss of his touch left a strange emptiness in its wake.

There was little point in modesty now—he had already seen, touched, and claimed more of her than she dared to dwell on. So she sat back on her knees, thigh pressed against Marcel’s, and stretched languidly. Her wings unfurled with the motion, catching the light spilling through the nearby window, the golden rays igniting her feathers in a soft glow.

Marcel watched her in quiet interest. The weight of his gaze lingered, dark and calculating.

Like a predator watching its prey.

“Have I slept long?” she asked, finally glancing around the room, taking in her surroundings.

Her gaze landed on the bay window where her nest of pillows had been neatly rearranged—no longer the chaotic heap she preferred. More frustratingly, the stolen tome from the night before had vanished from the ledge where she’d left it. Seren frowned. So much for her act of defiance. It seemed her rebellion had been dealt with as swiftly as the rest of her.

At the center of the room, a tray of fruits and pastries sat waiting. As if on cue, hunger coiled low in her stomach, reminding her just how little she had eaten the evening before.

“Just through the night,” Marcel murmured. “It’s still early morning.” He reached out, catching a strand of her tousled hair between his fingers, rolling it absently as if testing its texture. The touch was light, almost idle—but there was an intent behind it, something unreadable lurking in the depths of his gaze. “Are you hungry?”

His voice was quiet, almost casual, but Seren wasn’t fooled. He was watching her. Weighing her reaction. Waiting.

For an apology? If so, he’d be waiting a long time. Her punishment had been apology enough, Seren thought, resentment curling at the edges of her mind.

“Not at all.” She huffed, deliberately averting her gaze—not just from the food, but from him. She focused on a point outside the window instead, as if the sight of the morning sky could steady her pulse.

He hummed in response, smiling softly. He seemed too subdued. It made her uneasy.

Was he not done with her punishment? Had last night not been sufficient?

Marcel shifted, sitting forward, pulling away from the oak headboard of the bed—only to draw closer to Seren. Their legs remained pressed together, the warmth of him seeping into her skin. The flicker of heat sitting low in her stomach began to bloom at his movements. Seren quietly cursed her body for the reaction.

She had never minded his closeness, even now. It reminded her of their younger days, when he was just a boy trailing after her through the forest, their laughter chasing the wind. How many afternoons had they spent sprawled in meadows, basking in the golden sun, speaking in whispers only the trees could hear?

Sure, she was frustrated with him, but that familiarity had lingered, even now—years later.

He was different now, of course. All hard edges and dark shadows. But in his quiet gestures, in the way he watched her, she caught glimpses of the young prince she once knew.

“Are you angry, Sunbeam?” Marcel pulled Seren from her reflection as he began to trace idle circles on her exposed kneecap, making her stomach do a silly little flip. “Do you think my punishment was cruel?” he pressed.

Seren was quiet for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Anger warred with something else—something raw and treacherous. Irritation at his possessiveness, at his need to control ruled her thoughts. And yet, deep down… the thrill of it lingered, humming like a whisper against her skin.

She clenched her jaw. Regardless of what last night had done to her, challenging him would serve her best now she decided. “You say I am free to roam, then where, Marcel?” Seren met his gaze finally, defiance in her eyes. She may have surrendered last night, but that doesn’t mean she would do so again. “You think I don’t worry about the Wake too? The corruption is not new to me! I’m not a child, or a pretty little treasure that you can keep locked away forever.” She leveled Marcel a glare. “I know how to defend myself. I have long before you came around, clipping my wings and caging me. So yes, you were cruel.” She bristled.

"Perhaps I was. But you don’t understand what it does to me, seeing you put yourself in danger like that. It makes me reckless. It makes me... impulsive." He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw. "I only did what was necessary to keep you in line. I need you to stay safe, Seren. Even if it means taking choices from you."

Seren narrowed her eyes and scoffed. “Taking my choices from me? And I suppose you think that’s noble?” she shot back, her voice sharp despite the rasp of sleep. “That wasn’t about keeping me safe. That was about you proving a point.” She turned her head away again, refusing to meet his gaze.

She didn’t want to acknowledge the heat curling in her stomach at his words—that maybe, deep down, she didn’t hate being kept in line by him. She willed her frustration to hold steady, to smother the flicker of something else stirring beneath it.

Unfortunately for her, Marcel had other plans than continuing their growing argument.

His hands found her hips—not rough, but firm, deliberate. Seren tensed, fingers curling against his wrists as she tried to shove him away, but his grip held steady. Without effort, he guided her onto his lap, her bare skin meeting the heat of his body as she straddled his outstretched legs.

The shift made her breath catch. Sore flesh pressed against solid muscle, and the friction sent a warm tingling sensation through her. Her hands pressed against his chest and fisted in his tunic, the woven material bunching beneath her grasp. She was too aware of the way her body responded—nipples hardening as her chest rose and fell, softly brushing against Marcel’s torso. The heat between her thighs grew slick against the fabric of his lap.

“You’re being unfair,” she whined, tawny wings flaring in protest. She wasn’t ready to be this close—not when the memory of last night was so fresh in her mind.

Marcel only chuckled, his hands gliding over her wings, fingers smoothing the ruffled feathers with practiced ease. He coaxed them to fold, his touch a soft command, as if taming something wild.

And damn him, Seren let him. The intimacy of their adjoined bodies was messing with her mind.

“Tell me,” The dark prince mused, lips barely grazing the shell of her ear, “if you hated me so much, why are you trembling now?”

Calloused fingers trailed down the crevasse between Seren’s folded wings, kneading into the curve of her hips. The touch sent sparks skittering through. Heat coiled tighter in her stomach, the tender ache between her thighs pulsing in response.

Seren cursed her own arousal. Attempting another shove was futile— Marcel’s hold against her soft flesh tensed in an unspoken order. She belonged right where she was.

"You can lie to yourself, Sunbeam," Marcel continued, his voice soft as velvet. "But you can’t lie to me."

The potent anger at Marcel’s words ebbed with every passing second, drowned beneath the heat of their entwined bodies. Seren tried to protest, but only a soft squeak escaped her dry throat. She had no answer to his taunts—no denial that wouldn’t betray her.

“Let’s compromise, shall we?” Marcel’s green eyes met Seren’s, steady and unyielding. “I’ll do better about letting you roam, but when I say not to go somewhere, you listen. Hmm?”

He brushed a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear, fingers lingering just long enough to make her pulse studder. “Of course, I can’t have you wandering alone—but I’ll keep the guards to a minimum.”

Silence stretched between them. The challenge in Seren’s gaze wavered, crumbling beneath Marcel’s gentle touch.

Finally, she gave in with a groan. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered.

Marcel knew he had won—and he didn’t even need to say it. He felt the fight drain from her as her body softened against him, tension melting away in quiet surrender. A slow, knowing smile stretched across his face. “I know,” he purred, voice rich with satisfaction. “And yet, here you are—right where I want you.”

He shifted beneath her, drawing her closer, and Seren felt just how much he reveled in her surrender. The hard length of him pressed against the aching heat of her folds, friction teasing where she was already slick. The dampness between her thighs only grew, staining where she sat atop him.

A soft, unwilling moan escaped her throat as Marcel pulled her tighter against him. Her breath hitched, eyes fluttering, and she bit down on her lower lip in a desperate attempt to steady herself.

Marcel’s hand found her chin, his touch both possessive and teasing. His thumb brushed over her lip, prying it free from her teeth.

“Tell me how much you hate it.” he coaxed, his voice low, velvety, wicked.

Seren did hate it. She hated the way her body gave in so easily to him, how no matter what she said, her retorts lacked the bite she wished they held. She swallowed hard, pride warring against the undeniable need pooling low in her belly.

But then, something else demanded her attention—something she had ignored in the haze of warmth and desire. It had been building steadily since she’d awoken, a pressure she could no longer overlook.

Seren snapped out of the intimate moment. “Mar—Marcel?” Her voice wavered, laced with hesitation. “Would you… let me go?”

She shifted, attempting to slide from his lap, but Marcel’s grip kept her locked on top of him. An eyebrow arched as he studied her, amusement flickering in his green eyes.

“Something bothering you?” he asked, his smile stretching wider.

The urge was undeniable now and Seren felt herself running out of time to take care of it. The heat in her cheeks grew as she swallowed her pride.

“I need to.. um.. use the chamber.” She uttered, glancing towards the washroom.

The chuckle that left Marcel was filled with dark amusement. “I see,” his voice practically beamed in response.

Seren’s stomach twisted as she caught the gleam in his eyes. He was plotting.

Before she could plead further, Marcel moved.

His hands slide from her hips and gripped her ass, lifting her effortlessly as he rose from the bed. Seren yelped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck to keep herself from tipping backward.

“This is not necessary, Marcel!” she screeched, panic lacing her voice.

But it fell on deaf ears.

Marcel wasn’t listening—no, he had already made up his mind. And from the wicked glint in his eyes, she knew he was enjoying this far too much.

He all but strutted into the bathing chamber, Seren’s naked, struggling form cradled in his arms. She kicked, pushed at his chest, her wings fluttering uselessly, but it was futile. His grip was firm, his amusement evident in the way he barely flinched at her resistance.

The scent of warm water and fragrant oils filled the air, and Seren’s eyes darted to the steaming bath that had already been drawn. When had that happened? Had she truly been so deep in slumber that she hadn’t noticed attendants enter the room?

None of that mattered now—not when her full bladder ached with unbearable urgency. She was running out of time. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of last night. That had been mortifying enough. Why Marcel delighted in this, she could not begin to understand. He was a madman!

“Marcel, please!” she whined, squirming in his hold. “This is embarrassing!”

His low chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. “Nonsense,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re going to learn, one way or another, to submit to me.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his breath hot. “What better way than now?”

He set her down with maddening gentleness, the warmth of the tiles beneath her only making her predicament worse. Only then did she realize—he was still fully clothed. Unfair, as always.

She glared up at him, determination flaring. “I’m not peeing in front of you.”

Marcel crouched behind her, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “You don’t have a choice, Sunbeam.” His hands settled on her hips, holding her firmly in place. “Go on. Let me see you.”

Seren could feel the sting of humiliation pricking at the corners of her eyes. Once again, Marcel had stripped her of her pride, leaving her exposed and helpless before him.

She crossed her arms over her chest in defiance, though the movement only served to push her breasts up, unintentionally offering him a sight he clearly enjoyed. “I will—when you leave!” she snapped, voice wavering between frustration and desperation.

Marcel hummed, unbothered, his hands settling on her hips, moving in slow, deliberate circles. The gentle rhythm was deceptively soothing, lulling her into false comfort as his touch inched closer—too close—to her core.

Panic surged through her, and she reached for his hands, desperate to pry them away.

“Touch me,” Marcel murmured, his tone dark, edged with warning, “and you’ll find yourself in the same predicament as last night. I won’t hesitate.”

But Seren didn’t listen. She latched onto his wrists, intent on stopping him—but the moment she did, the fight was lost.

Shadows slipped from Marcel like living silk, twisting around her limbs with practiced ease. She gasped as they coiled tight, yanking her arms behind her back, binding them to her ankles just as quickly. The force of it left her fully exposed, her chest rising and falling with each shuddering breath.

“Marcel!” she whined, voice thick with mortification, pleading for him to spare her this indignity.

But he only leaned in, his warm chest pressing flush against her back as his hands began their slow, torturous exploration over her skin.

One tan hand trailed up, palming her breasts, kneading, teasing, fingers rolling her nipples into stiff peaks. A gasp slipped from her lips, shamefully unbidden, as the calloused texture of his skin sent jolts of pleasure sparking through her.

Then, with a soft hum of amusement, his other hand drifted lower, settling over the soft swell of her belly. His fingers pressed down, massaging the delicate bulge where her bladder was filled to its limit.

Seren cried out, her body jerking in protest, but the movement only made it worse—the pressure unbearable, her body betraying her in the cruelest way.

Seren was losing the battle, her control slipping with every calculated press of Marcel’s hand against her swollen bladder. The pressure was unbearable, yet his touch never relented, forcing the liquid inside her to beg for release. His rough, unyielding grip on her breasts left her breathless, torn between humiliation and the cruel pleasure he was coaxing from her body.

But the moment his hand left her hardened nipples, she knew it was over.

With a final tug to a sensitive peak, Marcel’s top hand drifted lower, joining the other in its relentless torment. His fingers spread her flesh apart with ease, the intimate touch dragging a ragged moan from deep within her throat.

“Come on, Sunbeam,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

The low rumble of his words sent a shudder through her, rattling her resolve as much as his hands did her body. Without warning, his fingers found the swollen bundle of nerves at her core, pinching, rolling—so devastatingly precise that a sharp squeak escaped her lips.

Seren jerked instinctively, her hips twisting to escape, but there was nowhere to go. Marcel was there, solid and immovable, trapping her against him.

Her composure shattered.

With a final, pitiful wail, the last of her resistance crumbled. Her body betrayed her, surrendering completely to his torment. Her bladder gave out in a sudden rush, hot liquid streaming down her trembling thighs, pooling beneath her. The acrid scent filled the air, sharp and undeniable.

“No!” she sobbed, shame burning hotter than the pleasure still pulsing through her veins.

But Marcel only smiled, his grip tightening as he pressed against her back, letting her feel just how much her surrender pleased him.

"Good girl," Marcel cooed, his voice dripping with approval. "Just like that."

His lips found the delicate curve where her collarbone met her neck, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, each touch sparking against her overheated skin. The pleasure mingled cruelly with the relentless torment of his fingers playing over her swollen, throbbing clit. He pressed down harder on her bladder, forcing every last drop from her shaking body.

Marcel was unyielding. His control over Seren was absolute. There was nothing he could ask for that she wouldn't—couldn't—give.

As the last of her hot release streamed down her thighs, Seren shuddered, breath coming in sharp, uneven pants. The unbearable pressure finally ebbed, leaving behind a strange, dizzying relief that muddled her thoughts. She hated how it felt—how her body had betrayed her, how his touch made it impossible to think.

As the final trickle faded, Marcel’s hands slowed, his touch becoming almost gentle. He continued to kissed the side of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

"You did so well for me," he murmured, voice laced with quiet praise.

A traitorous warmth bloomed deep in Seren’s chest, something she refused to name. Joy at his approval? No—she couldn’t think about that now. Not when she was still shaking, her body wracked with humiliation and lingering pleasure alike.

The dark chains binding her wrists and ankles unraveled, shadows dissolving like smoke. As soon as she was freed, she slumped forward, but Marcel was already there, catching her before she could crumple to the floor in the puddle of her own urine.

“No more,” she whimpered, weak and breathless in his arms. "Please... I-I can't give anymore."

Tears of shame burned at the corners of her eyes, the mortifying mess she had made sinking into her skin, into her very soul.

But Marcel, ever indulgent, simply lifted her as if she weighed nothing, cradling her against his chest before lowering her into the waiting bath. Warm water enveloped her, soothing away the evidence of his twisted pleasure.

The water lapped gently around Seren’s body, Marcel’s hands lingered against her damp skin before pulling away. The warmth soothed her trembling muscles, but the weight of what had just transpired clung to her like a second skin. Her chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, shame still burning in her gut.

But Marcel—Marcel was utterly unbothered.

He rolled up his sleeves, his expression as composed as ever, and reached for a cloth. Seren stared at him, her gaze flickering downward, catching sight of the undeniable evidence of his arousal still straining against his trousers. And yet, he made no move to relieve himself. No lewd remarks, no demand for her to return the favor.

Why?

Why was he so entirely focused on her when she had already given him everything?

The soft splash of water pulled her from her spiraling thoughts as Marcel dipped the cloth into the bath. He started slow, dragging the damp fabric over her arms, across her shoulders, before moving down to her chest. His touch was deliberate—thorough, but not rushed. When he reached her thighs, she tensed, heart pounding in anticipation, but he merely hummed.

“Relax, Seren,” he murmured, his voice lower now, richer. “Let me take care of you.”

Seren swallowed hard but said nothing. At this point, it was easier to obey than to argue.

Marcel worked the cloth between her legs with the same careful attention as the rest of her, and the moment the fabric brushed over her still-sensitive clit, a moan slipped from her lips before she could stop it. Her entire body jolted, the sensation sharp and electrifying.

But that was all. A tease. A taste.

He didn’t go further.

Didn’t press his fingers inside her, didn’t stroke or rub—he simply moved on as if the reaction had never happened.

Seren's stomach twisted, heat rising to her cheeks for an entirely different reason now. Disappointment curled through her, ugly and unwanted. Had she not been humiliated enough? How could she possibly want more after everything he had done?

Marcel didn’t seem to notice her inner turmoil, or maybe he did and simply chose to ignore it. Instead, he reached for a small glass bottle resting near the edge of the tub, pouring a fragrant oil into his palm before settling behind her.

“Lean back,” he ordered, and when she hesitated, he guided her himself, pulling her until she rested against his chest and edge of the tub, her wings half-draped over the side. She hadn’t even thought to use her essence to conceal them—her mind was too muddled from what had just occurred.

Marcel’s fingers slid into her blonde hair, working the oil into her scalp with slow, steady circles. Seren shivered, but not from the cold. Every motion was soothing, almost hypnotic, lulling her deeper into a haze of pleasure.

She hated this. Hated how easy it was to lean into him. Hated how much she wanted him to keep touching her.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt rather than heard Marcel’s smirk as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let yourself rest, Sunbeam.” And, traitorously, she did.

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secretyam · 6 months ago

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Obedience pt.1 | OC Writing | 18+

Please enjoy this little piece from Seren and Marcel. It's part one of two. Be warned, it's just a brain dump with tons of smut :>

That afternoon, Seren slipped into Marcel’s study unnoticed by the guards patrolling the castle halls. The dark room, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace, yielded nothing of particular interest, but that hardly mattered. The sheer thrill of disobeying Marcel’s orders was satisfaction enough. That grumpy bastard had it coming. Ever since their argument in the southern aspen grove, he had been cold and distant, ignoring her as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience. How long could he stay mad? Her defiance was petty, but the voice in her head demanded retribution for his indifference.

Plucking a tome on god-led battles from one of the ebony shelves, she slipped back down the hall undetected. Once safely in her quarters, she curled into her window nook, surrounded by plush pillows and warm blankets. Marcel had ordered the space furnished after finding her asleep on the cold floor, her wings awkwardly spread out. The memory still left her flustered. He had terrorized her since her arrival—he had clipped her wings, caging her within the castle. And yet, the simple act of providing her comfort had sent heat rushing to her cheeks. Gods, she hated the way he affected her.

Hours passed, and the afternoon sun dipped beyond the horizon. Seren set the stolen book aside and stretched, the tension in her muscles rippling through her tawny-gold wings. Another day trapped, ignored, and restless. She needed to move, to shake off the itch crawling under her skin.

A hot bath would have to do. Not in the mood to bathe while maneuvering around the awkwardness of her large wings, Seren called upon her essence. A shimmer passed over her fawn-colored feathers, golden undertones catching the chamber’s light as wisps of radiant aether drifted from her back. The transition was seamless—ethereal—as if they had never been part of her body at all. Like sunlight melting into the horizon at dusk, they faded gently, dissolving into her form until only the faintest glimmer remained in the air.

It was easier this way— to maneuver in the water without their cumbersome presence.

Shrugging off her olive tunic and brown leggings, she let them fall to the floor in a careless heap and padded to the adjoining bathing chamber. The maids had already prepared the water, leaving the room cloaked in steam.

The tub was large enough to accommodate multiple bodies, far grander than anything Seren had ever experienced before her captivity. She relished the space it provided, reminiscent of being submerged in a tranquil lake. Slipping into the warmth, she let herself sink beneath the surface, releasing a quiet sigh as the heat melted away the tension in her body.

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

Stepping out of the bath, Seren reached for a thick towel, wrapping it around her damp skin before crossing back into her bedroom. The lingering warmth clung to her, steam wafting off her sun-kissed skin. Her wings, bound by essence, ruffled instinctively, though unseen. The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lantern—but even in the shadows, she felt it.

Felt him.

Marcel’s presence reverberated through the air like a storm waiting to break. A sharp breath slipped past her lips as her stride faltered for the briefest moment. But she masked it quickly, schooling her features into cool indifference before continuing forward.

He sat on the edge of the unused bed in the corner, arms crossed over his broad chest. All sharp angles and coiled power, he exuded boredom in posture alone—but Seren didn’t miss the slight tick of his jaw, the faint tension in his shoulders. No, he wasn’t bored.

He was pissed.

Their eyes met, a silent challenge crackling between them. His dark tunic bunched at his forearms where his arms crossed, his fingers tapping idly against his bicep. A muscle in his jaw flexed. He looked unkempt — his umber hair slightly disheveled, stubble dusting his usually pristine jawline. Had he been running his hands through his hair? Had her actions driven him to his obvious irritated state?

Seren lifted her chin, closing the distance between them with deliberate confidence. Her heart pounded, but she kept her arms folded, securing the towel in place—not that it hid much. A betrayal of her own body, her nipples pebbled under his scrutiny. Damn him.

The warm light cast his features into sharper relief, unforgiving and unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. The space between them stretched taut, tension winding like a bowstring. She fought to steady her breath, hoping he couldn’t hear the way it faltered.

As if sense her discomfort, Marcel finally spoke.

"Seren." His tone was steady, but she caught the anger laced beneath it. This wasn’t an apology and this certainly wasn’t a visit borne of concern. "Did you have a good day?"

Deceptively casual. A trap, laid bare before her. He knew.

Her pulse quickened, but she kept her expression impassive, her words dripping with venom. "Another day in my little gilded cage. How good can it get?"

Not an outright admission. Not yet.

The corner of his mouth twitched, a huff escaping him. "I hardly consider you trapped, seeing as you roam where you please—regardless of the consequences."

So he did know.

Instinctively, Seren took a step back. If he knew about her visit to the grove, that was one thing. She could make excuses. But if he knew she had been in his study-

Marcel caught her retreat and smirked. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze dragged lower, taking his time as he surveyed her. Each second of his perusal burned hotter against her skin. Heat pooled low in her stomach, and she cursed her own body for reacting.

"You can’t keep me locked away forever," she snapped, hating the whine in her voice. "I need space."

"I never said you couldn’t roam. But I made rules for a reason," Marcel said smoothly. "The southern grove isn’t safe to go alone. I don’t even go alone these days."

A pause. A shift in his tone.

"But you did more than break one rule, didn’t you?"

His gaze met hers, dark and knowing. "My study isn’t your personal library."

Seren stiffened.

Shit.

He knew everything.

Sweat prickled at the back of her neck. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

A poor lie. A useless lie.

Marcel exhaled, a sound more amused than exasperated. Shadows stirred at his back, stretching and curling like living things. Seren’s breath hitched as a tendril of darkness slithered forward, sleek as silk, coiling lazily over his shoulder. She was never scared of the darkness that often surrounded the man, seeping from him like a murky aura. It felt familiar to her in someways, as if the essence inside of her recognized it as its own. Echoes of one another, two halves of an unbroken whole.

Before she could react, the ropy shadow snapped out and wrapped around her bare thigh.

She gasped, a jolt of surprise piercing through her. Gods-damned essence. The shadow held firm, cool against her flushed skin. Panic and something dangerously close to thrill coiled in her stomach as she realized her predicament—trapped in his grasp, unable to retreat without dropping the towel.

Marcel sighed, as if disappointed. "I can’t have you thinking you can break my rules without consequences, Seren. You know better."

Her fingers dug into the fabric at her chest. "Let. Go." She was not in the mood to put up this this man’s games tonight.

Marcel’s smirk deepened, the tendril’s grip tightening just slightly. "I don't think I will."

The ropey darkness yanked back in a deliberate motion, pulling Seren off balance. A small squeak escaped her throat as her arms instinctively shot out to steady herself, but it was too late—the towel slipped from her grasp and pooled at her feet. The cold air of the room kissed her now exposed skin, pulling a sharp inhale from her throat. Seren suddenly found herself knee to knee with Marcel, completely and utterly exposed. She felt her stomach flip, the heat building. How could she be so aroused by this man? Their eyes locked once more and Marcel arched a brow in challenge.

Another tendril lashed out, coiling around Seren’s wrist with ease. In one swift motion, it tugged, spinning her effortlessly in place and pining her arm to her back. She let out a small yelp in surprise by the action. She was now facing away from Marcel, her ass on full display under his heated gaze.

“Marcel, you can't be serious!” Seren snapped, twisting in vain against his grasp, throwing a glare at him over her shoulder. His calloused fingers traced the delicate slope of her shoulder blades, brushing her blond trusses aside and igniting an involuntary shudder. The contrast between his rough touch and her soft, exposed skin sent a unique sensation through her, making her breath catch. Seren felt her cheeks reddening, much to her dismay.

“Oh, I’m very serious right now,” Marcel murmured, his breath a whisper against her spine, just above her pinned arm. “Why do you hide your wings like this? Isn't it uncomfortable to sustain your essence for so long?”

Seren clenched her jaw. Now was not the time for this conversation. "They get in the way," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "You’ve proven your point. Now let me go." She hissed.

Marcel clicked his tongue, his fingers trailing in an excruciatingly slow path down her sun-kissed flesh. Each featherlight touch sent tiny tremors through her, making her squirm beneath his hand. “Such a shame,” he mused, pausing his wandering touch “If you had just listened, I wouldn’t have to punish you.”

Before she could argue further, Marcel’s boot nudged her feet apart with quiet command. The motion widened her stance, exposing her heat to him and making her breath catch. The realization dawned on her then—there was no escaping him now. She struggled against the shadows binding her, but they held firm, leaving her utterly vulnerable to his will. She whined in protest, but Marcel continued to ignore her plight.

"I tell you not to go into the grove, and yet you disobey. I tell you to stay out of the study, and still, you refuse to listen." Marcel’s voice was low, taut with restrained anger, each word grinding between clenched teeth. “You always do love to test my patience, don’t you?”

Seren gasped as his rough hand cupped between her spread thighs, a possessive, searing touch that made her pulse stutter. Seren could feel the heat in her core turning liquid between her thighs. Gods, how could she be so aroused by this?

"It seems your mind forgets who you belong to now," Marcel murmured, his fingers slipping between her slick folds, dragging deliberately through her wetness before tapping against her clit. "But your body remembers."

"Marcel…" Her voice was a breathless whine, but he was beyond stopping.

A single finger teased her, sliding through the heat of her arousal, pressing, rubbing, spreading—exposing her, making her shudder with every precise movement. Her body betrayed her, thighs trembling, breath catching in sharp, shallow gasps.

"Feel this?" His tone was dark amusement, his finger gliding back and forth, parting her, taunting her. The lewd sound of her own smoldering want filled the silence, mingling with her quiet, hitched breaths.

Then, just as suddenly as he had touched her, he was gone.

Slap!

Seren jolted, a sharp cry escaping her lips as his palm landed with a harsh spank against her throbbing core. Pain and pleasure tangled, a dizzying contrast that made her head spin. Her skin burned where he'd struck, a pulsing, confusing heat spreading through her.

"Why?" she whimpered, reeling in shock. Seren attempted to look over her shoulder again, desperate to see his face, read what emotions his emerald gaze was holding.

Marcel chuckled, dark and satisfied. "That," he said smoothly, "was for your little trip to the aspen grove."

Slap!

She groaned, her body shuttering from the next sharp strike of punishment.

"And that," he mused, rubbing his palm over her swollen, aching folds, "is for the study." The sting of his discipline faded into something deeper as his hand kneaded at her lips, replacing anguish with a slow, throbbing pleasure.

Slap, slap, slap!

Marcel’s palm met her again in three quick movements. Tears welled in Seren’s amber eyes as she bit her lip, trying to suppress the broken sob that clawed its way up her throat. Her body quivered, left utterly exposed, vulnerable, trembling beneath his control.

"I get it! I get it!" she cried, her voice breaking.

Marcel exhaled a pleased hum, his fingers returning to their roaming over her pulsing heat in lazy strokes. "No, Little Sunbeam," he purred, his voice filled with wicked satisfaction. "I don’t think you do."

Seren tensed as Marcel’s warm finger slipped inside her, his touch slow and deliberate, kneading at her slick entrance to coax her into yielding open for him. “Ahh—” she gasped, eyelids fluttering shut as pleasure rolled through her like a slow-burning tide.

Desperate to stop his advances, she reached down, fingers grasping blindly for him—only for another tendril of smoky shadow to coil around her untouched arm, twisting it behind her back. Fully bound and helpless, she was left completely at his mercy.

“The rules I make aren’t to keep you prisoner, Seren.” Marcel’s voice was rich with amusement. He pushed his finger to the knuckle, causing a little gasp to escape past her lips. The pressure against her already sore, dripping folds made her tremble. “Though, I must admit—I do enjoy when you challenge me.”

He began to withdraw, slow and taunting, only to thrust back in with measured precision.

“Places are off-limits for your safety,” he continued, each word punctuated by the deliberate motion of his hand. “We’ve seen the Black Wake’s corruption in the grove. What would happen if you were caught in there—alone, with no one knowing?”

Seren barely registered his words. Her mind was slipping, growing hazy beneath the steady, relentless pleasure he worked into her body. The wet sounds of his movements filled the space between them, mingling with her soft, uneven breaths.

“Seren?”

The sudden stillness of his hand inside her made her whimper.

“Are you listening to me?” Marcel’s voice was smooth, edged with quiet authority.

Seren swallowed hard, struggling to pull herself from the fog of pleasure clouding her mind. “Y-Yes,” she forced out, though her breathless tone betrayed her resolve. Her body, however, told a different story—hips instinctively rolling to seek the friction he had so cruelly taken away.

Marcel chuckled, dark and knowing. “Liar.”

With that, he resumed his slow, torturous rhythm. “You know, this is supposed to be a punishment,” he scolded, slipping a second finger inside her.

Seren hissed at the burn of her entrance stretching to accommodate him, her thighs trembling as the sharp sting mingled with the already building pleasure inside of her. Instinctively, she tried to adjust her stance, but Marcel had her legs spread wide, his own thighs pressing firm between hers to keep her in place.

Noticing her struggle, Marcel’s free hand skimmed up her hip, his touch deceptively soothing as he traced slow, reassuring strokes along her heated skin. “Relax, Little Sunbeam,” he murmured.

But there was no easing the intensity of his fingers. He twisted them as he went, each curl and push against her sensitive walls coaxing a fresh wave of wetness from her needy, betraying body.

A breathy moan slipped past Seren’s lips before she could swallow it down, her muscles finally giving in as the acute stretch melted into a blissful ache. Her head fell forward, damp blonde locks clinging to her flushed skin, and still, Marcel did not relent.

He drank in every sound she made—every twitch, every breathless gasp—a quiet hum of satisfaction vibrating in his throat as he quickened his pace. The wet, obscene noises of his fingers scissoring her open filled the space between them, each slick thrust sending a fresh shudder through her writhing frame.

“Mar-ahn! Marcel,” Seren bit out between gasps. “P-please…” She wasn’t sure if she could take much more of his punishment. She could feel her control over her essence was slipping.

“Hmm?” Marcel mused, “I know you aren’t one to beg, but go on—I do adore it.” His fingers never slowed, stretching her further, working her body into sweet submission.

Seren sucked in a sharp breath, her pride warring with the helpless pleasure that kept her on edge. “L-let go,” she panted, cursing her traitorous body for leaning into his touch, for reveling in the torment he gave her. A shudder rolled through her as another wave of heat coiled deep in her core, her juices dripped down between her thighs—a testament to how weak she had become beneath his will.

Then, without warning, he withdrew.

She let out a broken whine, her walls clenching around nothing, her body instinctively chasing after his touch.

Slap!

Seren sobbed out, her knees buckling as the sharp sting bloomed between her legs again. The wet sound of the impact echoed through the room, and before she could catch her breath—

Slap!

A second, harsher strike landed against her swollen clit and dripping folds, sending a violent tremor through her. Stars burst behind her vision, and her head tipped back, golden lashes fluttering as her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

“I decide when we’re done.” Marcel’s voice was dark, commanding, and so devastatingly sure of her.

Before she could find her breath, his fingers were back, cruel and unrelenting as they found the little bundle of nerves at her center. He pinched, rolled, and toyed with it, watching as Seren squirmed beneath his touch, her teeth sank into her bottom lip to keep from moaning out.

It only made him hungrier.

When he finally returned to her core, he didn’t waste time. He plunged three fingers inside, stretching her even further, pushing her to the very limits of what she could take.

“Please!” Seren mewled, her voice trembling, desperate. She could feel something coiling tight in the pit of her stomach—hot, dangerous, all-consuming.

Marcel smirked at the way she clenched around him, at the way her body betrayed her even as she fought to hold on. His fingers worked her mercilessly, curling deep to stroke that one spot hidden within her walls—that spot that forced little moans from her throat, made her hips jerk despite herself.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as wave after wave of searing pleasure threatened to overtake her. Each stroke, each curl of his fingers sent sparks licking up her spine, unraveling her inch by inch.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Marcel purred, his tone pleased and knowing as he pressed his lips to her back. “That heat building deep inside you—don’t fight it.”

His free hand smoothed over her quivering stomach, pressing down just enough to intensify the sensation. Seren let out a choked moan, her head lolling back, amber eyes rolling as the pleasure mounted, pushing her to the edge of something she wasn’t sure she could withstand. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was new and frightening.

Her walls clenched around his fingers, and then—

It hit her all at once, a shattering rush of pleasure so sharp it left her panting. Marcel continued his harsh movements, pumping into her in a building harsh rhythm. Seren’s entire body tensed, then convulsed as a sudden, uncontrollable gush of wetness spilled down her thighs, drenching Marcel’s hand still inside of her, coating his wrist and thighs. A strangled cry tore from her lips, her body shaking violently as the climax overtook her, white-hot and devastating.

But he didn’t stop.

“No!” Seren wailed, her back arching against the uncontrollable pleasure.

Marcel’s grip tightened on her waist. He worked her through it, dragging every last tremor from her body, coaxing more with every merciless stroke. Seren’s thighs trembled violently, her breath coming in short, ragged sobs as another wave overtook her—another gush, another rush of hot liquid spilling from her, helpless against his control.

Her head was hazy, stars flickering in her vision with every slow blink. What had just happened? The evidence was undeniable—her release glistened on the floor, streaked across Marcel’s thighs, still nestled between her shaking legs. Seren was too overwhelmed, too utterly wrecked by the intensity of it all to even register embarrassment.

"Look at you," Marcel hummed, a low growl of satisfaction in his throat as he felt the way she pulsed around his fingers still nestled deep inside her. She was wholly spent, entirely consumed. "So beautiful when you surrender." He placed a soft kiss on her back in adoration.

Seren could only shudder in his grasp, her mind blank, her body still reeling from the aftershocks of the pleasure that had torn through her. A soft, broken whimper left her lips as her knees gave out completely, her naked body slumping against Marcel’s broad chest.

He caught her effortlessly, his arms wrapping around her as if he had been expecting it. "Oh, Little Sunbeam," he mused, his voice softer now, a hint of something indulgent beneath the possessive satisfaction. "Did I take too much from you?" Marcel whispered into her ear, softly nipping at her lobe.

Seren could only shiver in response, her breath still uneven, her body limp against his. The strength to hold herself up had long since abandoned her, and in that moment, she had no choice but to let him support her, to let herself be held as she straddled his lap soaked with her fluids.

Marcel growled in approval, pressing a lingering kiss to her damp temple as he cradled her against him. "Good girl," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns over her quivering thighs. "Good girl." He repeated quietly.

Seren barely heard him. Her body was weightless, floating somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing shallow, her muscles completely lax against him.

A moment later, her body yielded to the relentless torment Marcel had bestowed upon her. Weariness and bliss entwined, pulling her into unconsciousness.

Marcel let out a quiet chuckle, though something in his chest twisted at the sight of her limp in his arms, utterly drained. He carefully freed her from the shadowy restraints, scooping her up with effortless strength, mindful of her boneless form.

He stood from his spot on the bed, turning with Seren in his arms to lay her down with surprising tenderness. The moonlight filtering through the windows illuminated her sweat-slick skin, her parted lips, the flush that lingered on her cheeks. He reached for the blanket, tucking it around her small, delicate frame, ensuring she wouldn’t wake up chilled.

And then—he felt it. Like it was his own, he sensed her control slipping on her divine essence as consequence of the punishment.

A soft hum of energy pulsed from Seren, the golden aether flickering like the last embers of a dying fire. As her body surrendered fully to rest, her divinity waned, ebbing like the tide. The glow that usually clung to her skin dimmed, retreating beneath the surface, and in its place—

Her wings returned.

Light tawny feathers slowly shimmered into existence, unfurling weakly between her shoulder blades. They twitched once before settling, a quiet sigh leaving her lips as if even in sleep, she felt their return.

Marcel exhaled, raking a hand through his dark hair as he watched her in silence.

Even now—especially now—she was breathtaking. As a child, he had believed her to be the descendant of a seraphim, and perhaps he hadn’t been entirely wrong. That celestial aura of hers had etched itself into his soul, lingering even after all these years apart.

His anger at her defiance still simmered beneath his skin. He understood Seren’s need for independence, her relentless urge to challenge him—but the fear he felt when he learned she had returned to the southern aspen grove was real. And then, after everything, she had come to his study, stoking the embers of his irritation into something far more dangerous.

He wasn’t ready to share the secrets kept in his office with Seren. Not yet. There were things she wasn’t meant to see—things he wasn’t ready to explain. He needed more time before he was willing to let her in.

With a final sigh, Marcel leaned down, brushing a kiss against her parted lips, lingering for just a moment before pulling away.

"Rest, Sunbeam," he murmured, voice softer than he would ever admit. His fingers lingered against the light freckle on her cheek, a fleeting touch—far too tender for a man like him. But only for a moment. Then he pulled away. "I’ll be here when you wake."

With a quiet breath, he dimmed the lantern at her bedside. The warm glow faded into shadow as he turned, slipping silently into the quiet hall of the castle. Marcel let out a low chuckle as he walked down the dimly lit corridor, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension. His blood ran hot. Seren had made quite the mess of him. He glanced down, noting the evidence staining his trousers—dark against the fabric, a reminder of her helpless surrender.

He would have to change. The night was young, and there was still much work to do.

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