#r: percy brightstar x keres whitlock

[walkingshcdow]

@alittlefirebirdtoldme | continued

What was she supposed to say? That she was so sure that he wouldn't even want her for a night? Percy had so many other options- what could he want with a poor human governess in her thirties? On this, she kept her mouth closed though, and instead kissed him in return, holding his elbow to keep his hand on her face, leaning in just a little closer so that her body pressed against his. He had to know. If this hadn't done it- she'd hardly been strictly professional in her tenure. The lingering glances. The brushes of hands. The nights she stayed up reading in his study or talking to him about nothing or turning down perfectly good marriage proposals in his parlor. The way she called him "Percy" like it meant he was an idiot and a confidant and a dear friend and the only person in the world she wanted to dance with or talk to or be vulnerable with. "I've waited nearly ten years for you, Percy Birghtstar." If he was lying, she'd kill him. She'd walk into the ocean. She'd take a position in Bauler's gate and leave in the morning and never truly recover. She could have started to sob, but opted instead to return his kiss with one of her own that was hungry and raw and reaching for the safety of his arms and his smile. Her face flushed. "I'd let you have me as long as you wanted, however you wanted."

"You've waited nearly ten years?" He laughed, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper after that kiss. "Hells, Keres, if I'd known that, you'd be my wife already. You better not be jokin' with me. You... aren't jokin', are you?"

For a rare moment, his smile slipped. He looked raw and vulnerable and... afraid. This would, of course, be the perfect practical joke. Andrew would come crawlin' outta the woodwork to laugh and jeer, and he and Keres would together tell him how pathetic he was. But after that kiss? And the one before? Could someone fake that intensity? What kind of sick person would pretend desire? Not to be that cocky, but most people wouldn't pretend to desire him. He was either their type, or his good looks didn't make up for his bad jokes, patchy education, and general disposition. He knew what people thought of him. Didn't matter much, though, compared to what Keres thought of him. He always assumed he wasn't her type because if he had been, someone as outspoken as Keres would've said something in the last decade. She wasn't like him. He could keep a poker face. Keres? Could barely tell a convincing lie to Percy's twelve-year-old. If she'd been in love, she'd hidden it well.

Then again, could just be because she needed a husband.

Humans didn't kiss husbands like that, though. That was... Sweet Sehaine... that was love and lust and the heady cocktail of a kiss Percy had craved for far too long. It couldn't have been an act, Could it? He smiled so, so shyly it pained him.

"I don't think I could take it if you didn't mean it," he murmured. "Because I've been keepin' my bleedin' mouth shut for nearly a decade and you know me... That's a personal record."

[walkingshcdow]

@alittlefirebirdtoldme | Percy x Keres

That some rival gang had kicked Andrew’s ass into a coma wasn’t all that surprising. Andrew had the habit of shooting off his mouth when maybe he’d be better off silent. He also crossed into plenty of territory he shouldn’t have. No surprise there. You know what was bloody gob-smacking? He had a fiancee. Pretty thing. Dark hair, wide gray eyes, buttoned up like she’d taken holy orders. Not at all Andrew’s type. Percy thought of kinder eyes and a Sturmovian drawl. Did Cedric know Andrew had a girl in the city? A human girl? Not that Percy could judge, not really. She wasn’t really a pretty thing. She was damned gorgeous. Not Andrew’s type, but if his husband was consenting, who was Percy to turn up his nose to plural marriage? It was customary for an elf to take multiple partners. Percy hadn’t remarried since his wife’s death and everyone looked at him like some kind of circus freak for it. No, he was in no position to judge Andrew - except that he was Andrew’s big brother and it came with the territory. 

Andrew would’ve hated the hospital if he was awake. The Guild packed into the room, claiming blood relation and gawking at Andrew in a way that was anything but flattering. Even the most attention-seeking asshat would blush with modesty. Andrew’s fiancee - Keres. Percy ought to call her by her first name if she was gonna be his sister-in-law - folded in on herself. She looked everywhere but at Percy, who tracked her like a mark. Couldn’t get a read on her. His lips twitched to the side.

“You sure she’s his fiancee?” he asked the nurse, voice low and quiet. “I know my brother and somethin’ just feels-”

“She’s more than that,” the nurse said. “She’s his guardian angel.”

“Don’t see a halo.”

“She saved his life,” the nurse elaborated. “You might show some gratitude, Mr. Brightstar. From what I hear, you’d be talking to the folks down in the morgue if it wasn’t for her.”

Percy hummed softly in assent. Gratitude, he could do. Even if nothing else about this made sense, at least Andrew was alive. He signed the papers the nurse offered him - everything an emergency contact should do - and then sidled up to Keres, who was staring out the window like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“I know this is one hell of a way t’ meet your in-laws,” he said quietly, “but what ya did for Andrew… Can’t thank ya enough. My brother is a right pain in the ass, but I dunno what I’d do without him. Nevermind Daphne. It’d break her heart if somethin’ had happened t’ him. I mean, I guess somethin’ did, huh? You happened t’ him. You saved his life and I dunno how t’ thank ya properly ‘cept t’ say welcome to the family.”

Meanwhile, as he tried to muster a smile for Keres, Daphne, stricken, whispered secrets to her uncle’s unconscious body with the kind of reverence humans reserved for confession. Percy swallowed hard. Smiling didn’t come naturally in situations like these - brother fighting for his life, his new sister-in-law trying to disappear into the bland wallpaper, daughter acting like this was a deathbed, and…

And Toni was definitely checking out the fiancee. Bloody hell. What a nightmare. 

[walkingshcdow]

Keres was making a terrible mistake, and she knew it. But for years she'd wanted him, wished for him, waited in vain for something she knew could never happen. Daphne's education was reaching a point where she would need someone else, someone more suited to her specialties to continue growth. It was only a matter of time until she found herself looking for a new position or accepting whatever horrid marriage proposal came her way. They were fewer now, far between as other, better options appeared every season. She had well and truly missed her chance and it was a thing to scream about in the quiet of her room while she looked for a way out. But tonight... tonight she would be selfish. Crass. Foolish. Tonight she would beg for what she wanted and face the consequences in the light of the morning.

She stood at Percy's door a fool, knocking in her most beautiful and least modest nightwear, her robe untied and loose around her shoulders. There was no way he could mistake her intentions- what she was asking of him- offering him. Would he humor her/ She almost fled back to her room, suddenly filled with fear that perhaps Percy Brightstar wouldn't turn out to be the man she knew he was, perhaps he had only been hiding it, and this, this would be the thing that revealed his pleasure in her misery and humiliation, where he took what he could get and then left her in ruins. She shook her head slightly and knocked again, shivering.

The door opened, and Keres lifted her face, nerves steeled one more time to push through this, regardless of the consequences. What was there to lose from a life she'd already destroyed for herself.

"Will you have me, tonight/" She swallowed, painfully aware of every breath and sound and passing second. "Will you have me- for a night, in any way you could desire me, with no expectations on yourself."

"Will you have me, Sir Brightstar" She faltered for just a moment "- Percy"

Restlessly, Percy reshuffled the cards for a game of solitaire. The saying went that if you were unlucky in cards, you must be lucky in love. Utter bullshit, if you asked Percy. He lost every bloody game so far tonight and as for love...

People had opinions on who Percy ought to court. The Guild wanted an elf. High society shoved fresh, eligible ladies at him every sodding chance they got. End of the day, he wanted one woman and was pathetically hung up on her. She wasn't about to have him. Not that he outright asked, mind. Keres Whitlock was a proper lady and she wouldn't fuck, much less marry, her employer. Percy had always championed hopeless causes.

He laid the cards out in rows and columns.

Thing was, he laid little hints here and there. Complimented her. Let her catch him staring. Lingered in doorways. Touched her hands for a little too long. Called her by her given name. Stayed up late to talk to her. Leaned too close. Laughed too loud at her dry wit. Danced with her every chance he got. Bit pathetic, really, as everyone was quick to remind him. He needed to focus on things he could have. A solid education for Daph. Better infrastructure for the Caravan District. Little victories.

He turned over the first cards.

If he won this game, he'd let himself pine for a year longer, try to do right by her. If he lost...

There was a knock at the door.

Could have been Daphne, could have been a servant. He didn't expect Keres, scantily clad as he'd ever seen her, breathless as if she'd been running. Beautiful. Always beautiful. Fucking hells. Maybe he didn't need to win a card game.

But it didn't feel right, did it? She didn't call him Sir Brightstar. He bristled. What was she playing at? Had she been put up to this by someone taking the piss? No, she wasn't the sort. But she was... offering herself to him for the night. And that wasn't like Keres. It was like the best, wet dream, but it wasn't like Keres until she said his name. There it was, the earnestness. His heart ached, pounding something fierce like it was trying to break free. He cupped the side of her face in his hand, tilting Keres' chin so that her eyes met his.

"Keres..." he could barely speak. Wariness lit his green eyes as he tried to read her expression. "I..."

He didn't finish the thought. You didn't take gifts from the gods for granted. You didn't get second chances at this kinda thing. She'd disappear if he didn't kiss her and so he did. Gods, did she look fragile; Hells, did she feel divine against his skin. How many years had he wanted to kiss her like this, slow and deep and desperate and so, utterly devoted? He could have kissed her longer - forever wouldn't have been long enough, but he had something to say and he'd be damned if he didn't.

"Not like you not t' expect better outta me 'n one night," he said, voice quiet and raw. "If one's all you want, I'll give it t' ya, but you gotta know that I could get used t' kissin' you like that every day, if you'd let me."

Unlucky in cards, right? Maybe if he went all in on this bet, he'd be lucky in love.

[walkingshcdow]

The day Keres Whitlock disappeared started out like any other.

She made her coffee and sent Percy her customary email about what she and Daphne would be doing that day, what it was related to and what she hoped she would learn. She put on the customary outfit she wore like a uniform, and locked the apartment behind her. She got on the number 53 bus.

And never got off.

Never arrived for lessons.

Never sent a message explaining what had happened, what emergency or fickle public transportation had left her scrambling for a cab in the middle of rush hour traffic and promising to make up for lost time.

She simply vanished.

For hours, then days, a week.

Her phone had been found broken in back alley miles from where she should have been. No tracking came back on her. No one in the organization had any leads or sightings, all ideas had been exhausted in the first 48 hours.

This wasn't right.

Wasn't safe.

Daphne kept asking, to make things worse. Where was Keres? Why didn't she come to the lessons? Was she sick? Was she ok? Did they need to go get her? Was she ever coming back?

By all the gods in the Seladrine, Percy Brightstar would see to it that whoever had kidnapped Keres (or worse, but he couldn't dare think about worse, worse had happened before and to lose one lover was a tragedy and to lose two was a curse) paid dearly for it. Oh, the police were inquiring. Of course, they bloody were. One of the richest men in the county reported his daughter's tutor missing and suddenly she was a VIP. He had his own search going. They went out in shifts to look, following police leads and whispered rumors. How much had Percy paid and paid for information from gossip dealers? How often had it led to a dead fucking end?

After forty-eight hours, it was safe to assume the missing person was dead.

But Keres couldn't die, could she? Not Keres. She was too stubborn. She'd argue with Death so much he'd send her back to plague those who had a tolerance for her sharp words and bitter logic. Keres couldn't die because there was still so much left unsaid, undone, and unlived. It wasn't bloody fair.

Had it been bloody fair when Talia went missing? This was a path Percy had trod before. It was dark. It was cold. It was lonely. It always left him holding Daphne and thinking the world had gone dim and would never once brighten again. He'd been proven wrong once. He wasn't lucky enough to be proven wrong twice. And, anyhow, he didn't want to be proven wrong. He wanted to have Keres back. How fucking petulant he sounded in his prayers and private moments! He wanted Keres and nothing else would do. No one else would do. He sounded like Daphne, but worse. He was a grown man. He couldn't afford to sound like a child. He could afford to pour more resources into the search, but every passing day made it clearer that if Keres was alive, she didn't want to be found.

More than likely, she was dead. She'd hate to be put in a watery grave off the docks, but it was likely.

The ransom letter came on the eighth day, in shaky handwriting. A million dollars, cash, and Keres would go free. No guns, no cops, no witnesses.

They never said no to anything else, though, and Percy had been a young man when hand crossbows were still fashionable. He brought the cash, all right, but he didn't leave it behind either. With the crack of an arrow to the brain and a slump and it was over. Keres shivered under the docks, where the kidnapper had tied her, waiting for high tide to come, just in case Percy didn't show, didn't comply, or didn't act quickly. She looked bruised and tired, afraid in a way he'd never seen painted across her face and he undid her bindings quickly and carefully. He held her raw wrists in his hands and thumbed each reverently, healing magic seeping into her skin at his touch. He pulled her close murmuring prayers of thanks as he breathed her in. She smelled of sea air and sand and blood like she hadn't been properly cared for in days, and all Percy wanted was to draw her a bath and sit guard outside the door. He wanted to do up one of the guest rooms to be hers, damn the apartment payments for the time, and give her safety and rest and everything.

"We'll get you home," he promised as her skin glowed faintly and appeared whole as ever. Percy kissed her hairline gently, stroking her scalp and only grudgingly pulling away to look at her still-battered, still-exhausted face. "But before we go, I need you to be very honest with me. Are there more of them? I'm not leaving a person alive who would harm you."

No loose ends. No guns, no cops, no witnesses.

[walkingshcdow]

If there was a more mortifying situation in the world than this, Keres Whitlock was sure she couldn't possibly have conjured it.

There she was, standing in the church of Lathander, at the altar with a man whom she'd sworn to tolerate for the rest of her life so that she wouldn't have to spend the next forty years wondering how she would keep a roof over her head when sodding Andrew Brightstar had opened his giant, foul mouth. Everyone knew that when the priest asks for objections, truthfully no one is supposed to answer. Not unless there is something concrete and urgent. This was not funny. And yet, he'd stood, cleared his throat, and very clearly proclaimed for the world to hear that she was already married. To his brother. In the church of the elven trickster god.

She could have killed him there and then. If looks could kill, he'd have been a dead man so many times over that not even hell would have him to hide from her fury. It was a small blessing that the shock of it kept the skies clear, or a hurricane would have sunk the fleets of the whole of the Sword Coast. And he'd, on that note, simply flounced his way out of the church.

All hell had broken loose.

It didn't matter that it was a lie. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. But now that it had been said it no longer mattered what was true, only how it was to be perceived. And there was no gracefully coming back from this. Everything went to shambles. Guests left gossiping, the groom might have decked Andrew there and then if he'd still been handy, Keres was whisked off against her will into a carriage headed not to her new home, not to her old home, but back to the Whitlock estate until it could all be sorted.

Nine hells, Keres sucked her teeth and raged, pacing her childhood bedroom, now starkly empty, trying to think of what she had possibly done to deserve this. What she could possibly do next. Or ever. With one stroke, Andrew Brightstar had ruined her life and she hoped he suffered for it.

Andrew hadn’t been present to dodge Keres’ betrothed as he lunged forward to strangle a man, but Percy had. It was probably Percy’s bloody hide the man wanted. Andrew had told everyone in good society that Keres was married to Percy in the eyes of Erevan Ilesere. The trickster god of the elves would probably approve of the lie but as Percy resisted the urge to reach for one of the many daggers hidden under his fine clothes, there was no lie Percy approved less of. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to marry Keres, it was that someone else had been a quicker draw to ask her. He’d just made peace with it, too, or as much peace as he could have, and he was now not sure whether continuing the lie would behoove Keres or if telling the truth would save either of their hides.

He'd settled for some sort of middle ground: a confession.

“If I was married to Keres, do you really think I would give her up so easily?” he roared, dodging yet another blow that could have broken his ribs. “I love her enough to respect her choice in husband and if you’re the man she wants-“

His nose cracked under Keres’ fiancé’s fist. Blood dripped down Percy’s lips and chin and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. He laughed and a dagger appeared in his hand as if by magic. It took ten men to pull them apart.

“Take her if you want her so badly, Brightstar,” he spat. “You bloody psychopath.”

“I’m not the one who started swingin’ in a Church,” Percy growled, shaking off the folks who tried to hold him back. “Gods, Keres deserves better’n either of us.”

He made his way outside, where the breeze had picked up to a wind, but not so much that there was a storm. Interesting. He would have thought that Keres would have caused a monsoon by now. He drove his carriage to the Whitlock estate without the aid of servants, many of whom had taken Daphne home the second the brouhaha broke out. He arrived to the porch and knocked upon the door and Keres’ foster mother saw him inside with purple fury written on her face.

“Mrs. Whitlock,” Percy said, holding up hands in surrender as her sputtered accusations that he had defiled Keres or else made a bigamist of her, neither of which felt like serious crimes to a crime lord, “if I had ever been so blessed as to marry Keres, the whole Sword Coast would know it. I dunno why Andrew lied to everyone, but with your blessing, I will make things right.”

“You had better,” Mrs. Whitlock hissed. “Keres is running out of options and, frankly, it’s embarrassing that despite our best efforts, the girl cannot find a husband.”

“She never had to look far,” Percy said wistfully. “I should have asked sooner.”

“And stain her reputation?”

“And make her happy,” Percy countered. “I would do anything to make that woman feel loved and cherished and treated like a queen until the end of her days.”

“Then why haven’t you, Sir Brightstar?”

There was no winning. He eventually got permission to visit Keres’ room without a chaperone. He knocked.

“I know I’m the last person you probably want to see, barrin’ Andrew,” he said through the door. “But I had to come and see that you were all right. I mean, I know you’re not ‘all right’. Everything went to hell back there. Thought you could use the company. Hoped you did. I’d apologize for what my brother said, but we both know no one speaks for Andrew Brightstar ‘cept Andrew Brightstar and… even though your fiancé broke my nose, the only thing I’m sorry for is that what happened hurt you. Like I told what’s-his-name, I respect your choices and you deserve better. You deserve the whole, sodding world, Keres. Can I come in?”

[walkingshcdow]

The hardest part of her marriage wasn't the marriage itself.

Keres Whitlock- no, actually, it was Whittaker now- had been preparing all her life for that arrangement. For the things she'd be expected to do, to say, to wear. Who to get along with, and what to be interested in. The things that happened behind closed doors of all kinds, the kinds of things the world could never know about.

The hardest part was that at the end of the day, she was lonely in her marriage.

Keres had no female friends, no relatives, no one to call on to fill her life with excitement or to confide in. That's part of how she'd come to the Brightstar's in the first place, and then why she'd had to leave. It left her isolated, and vulnerable for the darker whims of the men looking to make the most of their return to the season.

So when he left her alone, during the day, or on trips, or when he forgot to be interested in her because of a thousand other reasons, Keres was alone. Even when she was next to him, she was alone. After all, he didn't care about her. She could live with it. She did live with it. She bore it until her bones ached. And then... and then she stopped caring.

At a party, distant, wearing some monstrosity of a dress- and there was Percy. She'd done her best to keep her distance to be respectful, but why did she need to care? They started talking. Dancing. Drinking. Meeting up by chance for turns about the room or in town for walks or for tea. And suddenly, Keres wasn't lonely anymore. life was a beautiful place, one where she could sit across the table with Percy at dinner or cards and still keep her place in society.

A lingering gaze here.

A brush of fingers there.

It wasn't supposed to be an affair, but after it started, it was like feeding the starving. There could never be enough of his body in hers or the safety of his arms or the echo of his voice in her soul.

If she said that she didn't know what she was doing with the elvish poetry, she wouldn't have been strictly telling the truth. She had known the Brightstars long enough to know about the plural marriages in the guild, and their not strictly legally binding arrangements. There was no way Percy wouldn't know the verses- and he asked no questions except when they were through, if he could kiss her still. It wasn't until they were well and truly married and she lay next to him that it dawned on her what she had done.

"Oh my."

He'd well and truly lost her for a time. Percy remembered well the grief of Keres' engagement and the times during it when he dared to ask if she was happy. She'd insisted that her marriage to Lord Whittaker was satisfactory enough. Nothing and no one would make her change her mind. He'd stepped back. Watched her step into the role. Cried alone, drank with friends, and felt lonelier still. The house without her felt like it had lost some light and warmth. The Keres-shaped longing in his heart hurt every time his heartbeat thudded dully in his chest. It raced still when he saw her and still thrilled when Keres smiled. She seldom smiled real smiles, though, now that she was married, which was a damned shame. Nothing in the world was half so beautiful as Keres when she smiled. He endeavored to make her smile. Maybe it was selfish, but he meant to do it as a friend. He wanted the best for her. He wanted her to be happy. He hadn't had any goals or designs or hopes for himself. It started out with conversation, a joke, a casual touch...

But his hand lingered on hers. His eyes found hers in every crowd. He had already fallen in love with Keres years ago, so falling into an affair with her had been all too natural. It was as though she couldn't let herself love until she'd gone so long without it. Now she could let herself be loved until she'd languished in a marriage without passion. Gods, whatever they had denied themselves back when she was his daughter's governess had ripened into the most delicious and forbidden fruit. He savored her greedily. Every kiss, every touch, every blushing, and stolen glance...

He pored over ancient, Elvish romantic texts in his spare time. She'd happened upon him in the study and joined him in reading the wedding vows of the Guild. It startled Percy that she would join in and read with him, but these were words he'd longed to hear Keres speak for years. Better not to question it. He read his parts dutifully and elated. Only when the verses concluded, he realized he had questions for his now-wife.

Can I kiss you? It had been such a deceptively simple question. A kiss, a touch, and a night together sealed their union in the eyes of Erevan Ilesre. Would she do it?

He had his answer before dawn as they lay together in his bed. Percy thought about his childhood in the Guild and how his parents' polyamory had been a blessing of love and resource. He also thought about how Keres would never, ever in a hundred million years want to be labeled a bigamist. Practical advantages didn't matter. Love wouldn't matter. She'd be his wife in the eyes of the Elven churches but she'd hate it, hate him. So he could only try to steady his breathing and wait.

"You're tellin' me," Percy said. "Wish we'd done that a long time ago. Woulda made things a lot simpler."

He rolled over to look at her. He couldn't read her face which was not an auspicious sign. Still-

"You know I love you. And I've always loved you. And if I'd been a better man, I'd've made you my wife years ago, which I realize makes it sound like I planned this, which I can assure you I didn't. I would never have guessed in a million years you'd read along with me. D'ya know what we were readin'? Informed consent is important and all that..."

[walkingshcdow]

Keres Whitlock did not wear a wedding ring. She did not live with a partner. She did not date, did not have a dating profile, did not seem to look at either men or women lustfully from behind her dark eyelashes or above her starched white collars. And yet as long as Percy Brightstar had employed her to look after and educate his daughter, she had been embroiled in a messy divorce. It was something she disclosed during negotiations, explaining that one of the reasons she was seeking new employment had to do with the consequences of having been served at work in her last position, and the possibility of it happening again. She had been straightforward and clear that there was no danger, but she did not feel comfortable with her estranged husband having her address. And so occasionally papers or packages would appear to be signed for, and she would do so, slip them into her bag, and continue with the day.

Sometimes it was hard to remember she wasn't just another single woman living her life as much as Percy was a single man living his.

And sometimes she was asking for time off so that she could go to court or rushing out to meet with lawyers on her afternoon off.

"I'm sorry, I know everything is a mess- I'll clean it up later, or tomorrow, but I have to go." She was already throwing her coat on, trying to gather her things on her way out the door. "I'll do better."

Percy raised an eyebrow, looking around the kids’ toys – the dolls and plastic cars and glittery hair clips – strewn about the living room. Daphne was seven now, which was plenty old enough to pick up after herself. She was sleeping upstairs already and the mess would await her when she awoke. Shaking his head, Percy ran a quick calculation on who was home and whether Daphne would be safe without her two dearest advocates. Andrew was swingin’ by to drop off an order in fifteen minutes. He could text and ask him to stay while he made sure Keres didn’t get stuck taking public transit wherever she was rushin’ off to. Never mind the security team he kept employed. The thing was, Keres looked stressed and not much even ruffled her feathers. Oh, she was irritated a lot, with everyone and everything, but she never lost her cool. Now, she was scramblin’. Percy pulled out his phone, texted Andrew, and rebuttoned his coat.

“It’d be a miracle if ya did better,” Percy said. “Dunno if you know this, but seven-year-olds exist to make messes. ‘S what they’re for.”

Andrew texted back. He’d play babysitter if Percy needed with a wink-face emoji and a few others that Percy didn’t dare dignify with a response.

“And you’re not a housekeeper. So. D’ya need a lift wherever you’re rushin’ off to? Andrew’s on his way and can keep an eye on Daph for a bit. You’re dressed too nice for the bus.”

[walkingshcdow]

@alittlefirebirdtoldme​ | continued from here

Percy had almost taken breakfast in the study to avoid this morning’s breakfast. Last night, Keres had screamed. Twice, actually. The first scream had ripped Percy from trance and sent him flying down the hall before realizing that hadn’t been a scream of pain and knocking on her chamber door would be terribly uncouth, even if her scream had him biting his lip - maybe especially since she had him biting his lip, actually, hard to say. Sweet Seladrine, he wanted to hear her so pleased far more often. And then she screamed again - a raging sob that made thunder brew outside. He’d almost knocked then but it was all so terribly awkward. 

Breakfast was not better.

Daphne was blithely unaware of adult tensions at the table, babbling on about her spell books. Keres wouldn’t look Percy in the eyes. Percy couldn’t shake the feeling that everything from the screaming to the stubborn silence now was his fault. Daphne skipped off to practice cantrips and Percy was left alone with Keres. It wasn’t helpful. It wasn’t like she was going to admit that she’d had an outburst last night or receive well that he’d heard it. 

Corelon’s left tit. He’d have to do something anyway, wouldn’t he? Or nothing would get done. Sighing, Percy set his fork down. 

“Ya don’t have t’ tell me why you were screamin’ last night, but if you want somethin’ to help with night terrors, I know an herbalist.” A pause. “‘Less there was somethin’ ya wanted t’ get off your chest. ‘m all ears.”

[walkingshcdow]

The worst part might have been that even in the trance, he couldn't stop seeing it. That horrific moment flitted through his memories over and over, as if accusing him. It hadn't been his fault, had it? Not really. Gods, he didn't know if he could live with himself if it was.

That fucking book.

It was just supposed to be a book, and then it was a war, and then-

Her cry still echoed in his ears. The thunder that had rolled in had settled in his bones, still rattling him. He could still see every cursed second of it- the scream. Her wide eyes were in a panic. The sound of a sword pulling from soft flesh covered in blood and sickening as she went pale and started to fall.

He'd run in to save her, to end that man's life and pull her into his arms where she belonged and-

It had already been too late.

Her grey eyes were still open, dull, and lifeless as she stared into the unfeeling heavens. Her hand still clutched at the bloody wound like she could stop the damage. But it was too late for healing spells, too late for potions.

Keres Whitlock was dead, and it was... he shuddered, trying to escape the look on her face or the cry in his ears for just one moment. There was no way around it, it was his fault.

@thelostbarovianroyals - this is what Clare made me live with prior to the last session. Welcome to Percy's personal hell.

[walkingshcdow]

They’d been officially dating for just a little while, but Moros was feeling… bold. Comfortable. Dinner at the Brightstar manor had been lovely, and she wanted…

“Percy Brightstar” she walked over to him, one had set gently on his chest and the other set behind her back. “Ask me to stay the night. And when I say no, you ask me again, and tell me all the reasons why I should.”

It was a game. A stupid game, one people played less and less these days, but she was always a bit behind the times.

“I want to spend the night with you, Percy. I want to give you everything. Let you be the first to touch me and know that I love you.”

“I’ve waited lifetimes for this, Percy. Ask me to stay.”

His breath catches tightly in his chest. The games change from generation to generation and he does so love a good game. He doesn't easily say "no" to a challenge and he hates to say "no" to Moros. He almost does, though, because for a moment she reminds him of his wife. Late wife. The sweep of her lips, just that coy little smirk, with clear gray eyes is enough to stop his breath, stop his heart, and stop his need to play games.

But he exhales slowly. He smiles. He scoops her hand in his and kisses her knuckles, her palm, her wrist, and he looks into those familiar gray eyes.

"Stay the night," he says, smiling. "Stay every night. Let me make love to you, Moros, and I promise, I won't have to ever ask you to stay again because you'll know that this is where you belong. Stay with me."

She's going to tell him "no". That's part of the game. What she doesn't know is that part of the game, too, is making that "no" damn near impossible to say.

[walkingshcdow]

Keres Whitlock was all propriety. She was black pencil skirts and crisp white blouses, sensible black heels and looks that could kill. She never sat on desks, only chairs, never crossed her legs, only her ankles. She projected an essence of demure strictness that belied the fires that burned inside her for her employer, Percy Brightstar.

It felt wrong to love lust for a crimelord. To watch too closely as he smiled. Melt when he rolled up his sleeves to work and revealed fine muscles and story after story in ink on his skin. Dream of a lifetime where she was bold, and he was eager, and he followed the seams on her stockings with his fingers to her center of hot desire and made her his.

Sometimes, if she was foolish, she dreamed about it.

How it would feel to kiss him. To pull at his elven earlobes with her teeth. To run her hands over his chest and tear at his buttons. To have him hovering over her, grinning that stupid grin and listening to her whine and moan, pressing himself inside her expertly and thrusting against her again and again and again...

She wondered embarrassingly if he ever noticed the way she looked at him, or the flush in her cheeks like she'd been caught.

He couldn't read minds, and it made her thankful every day for small mercies.

If she couldn't have him, shouldn't have him, at least she could dream.

You'd have to be blind not to notice how pretty Daphne's tutor was. Tutor wasn't quite the right word, but neither was "nanny". It wasn't like Daphne needed to be pushed in a pram these days and it wasn't like the services Keres Whitlock rendered the Brightstar family fell neatly into lesson planning and grading. In olden days (olden days Percy remembered more keenly than he would ever voice), she'd be called a "governess". He thought she'd hate that term. Keres was a thoroughly modern woman. Professional-like. Her dark hair was most often swept up off her neck and not a single button of her blouse came undone. But, gods, she was pretty.

Pretty didn't capture it, though, did it? Pretty brought to mind a kind of sweetness. She had a switchblade for a mouth and her words were as tough to swallow as bad tequila. His men didn't fuck with her in part because she was his whether she wanted to be, but mostly because when she aimed to devastate an ego, she often landed a killing blow. Gods, she wasn't pretty, she was exceptional. He wouldn't insult her by calling her anything less.

Cleaning a gun was a precise act and the kind of thing that some of Percy's men trusted hirelings to do for them. Not Percy. Sleeves pushed up, windows open, Percy took the sultry afternoon to swab out the barrel of his favorite handguns. A slight breeze ruffled the curtains and, if he looked up, he could see the breeze tousle a strand of Keres' hair that had come loose. It would take the same kind of gentle precision to brush it from her face as it did to care for any weapon. He moved the cotton swab slowly, deliberately, and looked up at her. The afternoon's heat must have painted that blush on her cheeks; grading Daphne's indecipherable handwriting must have painted that look of consternation between her brows. He smiled. He shouldn't have imagined her looking down at him like that or the little whine he wanted to make catch in the back of her throat if she was going to be so frustrated and flustered. He'd give her a damn good reason to pull that face and maybe even to dare to unbutton that blouse of hers.

Gods, she wasn't just exceptional. Percy wasn't a poet, but sweet fuck, did he know when to recognize the gods' craftsmanship. He knew when to appreciate it.

He didn't always know when to stop staring, though, and he caught her eye.

"You're chewin' your lip," he said. "Penny for your thoughts?"

[walkingshcdow]

Keres Whitlock was ready to be done with today.

She couldn't even remember how it started, just the worrying about Percy on some thieves' errand, the distracting of Lady Watcher, and Percy and Cedric bringing back some poor girl whom now they were responsible for, and had to live with, and was sleeping in Keres' bed where she most wanted to be.

Percy had been bright enough to get another room, and she was grateful for it now. When he'd opened an innocent-looking book afterward and swept them up into a nightmare she hadn't been prepared, and she was still shaking. How quickly it had changed from the observation of a child to fighting for their lives over and over again. She'd been so worried about Percy. And yet she couldn't convince herself to abandon their friends or the innocents they'd run into. She'd tried. She'd tried so hard to let them lay in the beds they'd made but...

The last had been the worst. She already felt terrible, carrying the pains of battle in her now healed body, in shock from being stabbed and hit by a blizzard, and then they'd been thrown into a wedding from hell. Armed guards had appeared and started murdering guards and partygoers alike. Old men, women, children- it hadn't mattered. And none of them were prepared to defend themselves- except perhaps them, and it had taken all their efforts to stay alive and keep fighting until relief appeared.

Relief.

It was a funny thing to call a vampire in his true monstrous form, but he'd finished off the attackers. Some people had gotten out. And they'd gone down to check on the survivors.

When it had all faded, it should have been a relief. The adrenaline should have stopped pumping and the sick feeling in her stomach should have faded. She was just so tired...

Keres had never been so thankful that Percy suggested an end to the night.

She slipped out of her dress mechanically and under the covers, almost unaware of her employer's proximity. It had all been too much. Before she could even realize it, Kers had broken down into her pillow, sobbing her heart out for the things they'd seen and the fear they'd felt. She didn't realize he had even noticed until Percy was laying wrapped around her, shushing her gently and clutching her to his chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"Keres..."

Keres turned to wrap up in him, wailing into his chest until she couldn't weep any more, only hiccuping like a small child.

Gods, she could have kissed him then.

It wasn't the most romantic place or time, but he was holding her, and he was gentle, and she felt so safe and happy to know he was there- she could have given him everything, with no expectations, no shame, only adoration and gratitude, and love.

"Beyond seven mountains, across seven rivers, there was and there was not..." His voice was low and soothing, and the images he conjured to accompany his story were mesmerizing. It only took a few moments for her to fade, still clinging to him, whispering "I'm sorry before the darkness of sleep took her away to hopefully dream of better things.

Bloody useless coward. Turncoat, thief, traitor. He hadn't pledged any kind of loyalty to anyone. Not the innocent bystanders nor the Devil himself had Percy's fealty. The only person who mattered in all that time spent in that book from hell was Keres.

And he had failed her. She'd been stabbed. She wasn't meant to be stabbed. She wasn't built for it. She was a governess, not a gods-damned soldier. And it wasn't her war. It wasn't her fight. The only reason she was there was that Percy and his thrice-blasted curiosity had opened the book. He'd shoved it deep in his satchel, so deep, into the pocket no one knew was there, that he sewed for squirreling away coins and trinkets. No one would know he hadn't burned it in a fire. He should. He really should. That book and everything in it had almost killed Keres and what good had he been in keeping her alive? From range, he downed a priest. A bloody priest. He should have focused on the man advancing on Keres but he had thought, genuinely, foolishly thought that he could kill the one providing healing support and then rush in with his rapier from the shadows and fend off Keres' attacker.

No.

No.

All nine hells no.

She'd been skewered so easily and her cry rang out in Percy's ears. When the fight was over and he rushed to her, what paltry healing could he give her? A strange warmth emanated from his hands as he touched her and she seemed a little stronger. But no. No. It wasn't enough. His magic had finally - finally! - come to bear fruit and it was such a meager harvest.

And whose fucking idea had it been to leave the warmth of the temple for the frigid blizzard? He should have stayed and fought the monks honorably but no. They had Keres captive and had wounded him and all he could think was that maybe if they fled, they could run so far that they would be in the courtyard at home, looking up at the manor. It would have been worth the exhaustion then, but instead, he paid for his hubris and didn't know which gods to thank that Keres hadn't suffered for his folly. They'd still been forced to watch that horror show of a transformation. All he could do was hold her. Hold her. It wasn't enough. Was it ever fucking enough?

This was why he hadn't proposed to her in the first place. He was a bloody coward for one and for another, she deserved better than a thief in rich man's clothing. All the charm in the world had been bloody useless then. What did charm do against monsters and gods and mortal wounds? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but make things worse somehow. He hadn't protected her and she deserved- Well, how the hell should he decide what she deserved? She'd be the judge, but she couldn't possibly want his foolish, yellow heart.

He tore off his outer clothes without caring for propriety and settled into his shirt. He settled into his bed. He would not sleep. Elves did not sleep. At least he'd be given a coward's mercy and be spared nightmares. He would be able to watch her breathing in the next bed and wish for all the world that she was his wife and know full well that he had failed her.

But then she started to cry and all self-pity fled. She'd almost died and had never once been prepared for this kind of war. She likely hurt and there was precious little he could do to better her lot, but if he didn't try, he wasn't just a coward but a cruel idiot. He rose from his bed and without hesitation wrapped his arms around her. He felt the last of his magical reserves sap as something warm and healing flowed between them and then he pulled up that cantrip - that silly, stupid spark of magic that everyone used to think made him so special - and began to tell her a story in the elven tradition, with moving images flowing between his hands while he murmured the story to her: "Beyond seven mountains, across seven rivers, there was and there was not..."

He spun her a tale, an old one, of good triumphing over evil and beautiful, brave heroes whose love won out. The Elvish dripped from his tongue like honey and as Keres' tears subsided he wondered if this, perhaps, was what the magic and charm were for. Maybe he wasn't the warrior everyone thought or the Scourge everyone feared. Maybe he was this other thing, this man who held Keres after they survived hell, hand in hand, finally safe and still, and gave he the comfort she would need to go on for another day. He heard her hoarse, quiet apology, and though he knew she must have been asleep and though he knew he owed her a thousand apologies as everything leading to this moment was utterly, irrevocably his fault, he said something else, lips to her ear before drifting into Reverie:

"I love you."

Maybe a brave man would have said it while she was awake, but if Percy knew anything it was that he was a coward and he was utterly and hopelessly in love with the woman in his arms. He could not ever come so close to losing her. Not again. Never again. Human life was all too brief. If any of the gods had mercy...

He followed her breathing to a place of peace and perhaps that was mercy enough.

[walkingshcdow]

@alittlefirebirdtoldme | continued from here

So she was all right. Now that she wasn’t coughing up water, her tongue was still sharp, still aimed true, right to the heart and right to the point. 

“Rather lose a jacket ‘n lose you,” Percy said, trying desperately to sound casual. He didn’t. He swallowed hard. A jacket was a jacket. Who cared about something so easily bought or swiped, so easy to wear out or ruin or go out of fashion? Keres was irreplaceable. One of a kind. If she had drowned, Daphne wouldn’t have ever recovered. Wouldn’t have forgiven Percy. Percy wouldn’t have forgiven himself. He would have grieved in a way human men just didn’t. In a way a man who wasn’t her husband should. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, ruffling his own hair, taking a steadying breath and trying not to look at Keres with too much intensity, trying to find another place in the hall or room to fix his eyes. They darted around like green dragonflies, never landing for long. “You honestly can’t expect I’d do anythin’ but jump after you. I’d do it again. Hope I don’t have to, but y’know. If you need someone t’ do somethin’ foolhardy and dangerous for you… Well, you know me. I excel in foolhardy and dangerous.”

And I would do anything for you. He wondered if she knew he was fighting against every instinct that told him she deserved to hear that because he knew she was right. It had been dangerous and foolhardy and, what she didn’t say, it had been improper. Noblemen didn’t fling themselves into the ocean to rescue their governesses People would talk. People already talked. He may have saved Keres’ life, but her reputation would undoubtedly take a hit. He’d be congratulated as a hero and people would wonder how long she’d been sleeping with her boss. Sexism looked so different in the human world than it did among elves. Utterly baffling. She’d probably tell him within the week that he should’ve let her drown. He’d savor her “thank you” while she meant it. His eyes landed back on her face. For someone who had just bathed and dried from jumping into icy waters, he felt hot and shaky. Couldn’t have been a fever already. Would have taken longer to settle. Percy sucked in his cheeks and then, on the exhale, smiled. HIs features were composed now because if he hadn’t wrestled himself into place, he would have kissed her by now. The last thing she’d want, really. He wasn’t owed anything for pulling her from the sea. He’d do it again if he had to, all without expectation. Wouldn’t be fair to expect anything. He really hadn’t even expected the “thank you.” He’d expected - if anything - to be turned away. 

This was why Andrew thought he was bloody pathetic. Heroes in stories got a kiss from the fair damsel they saved, yeah? Except Percy wasn’t a hero and Keres would punch him if he called her a damsel. They were just two people who were good friends. And if he couldn’t imagine living without her, if that terror had been more terrifying than death as he dove into the water, that was his own business, right? No one wanted to hear it or have it tacked onto this like a sodding condition. Nah. Better to say as much of the truth as he could and let her pretend she didn’t also think he was a sorry sap. Better to let her think he’d do as much for anyone because he was a risk-taking fool, even if she suspected - she had to suspect - that he was only a fool for giving her his whole heart. Elves didn’t do that. Elves loved expansively - multiple partners, multiple marriages - and Percy loved with a dog’s blind and fawning devotion. She should really tell him to leave before he made it all so much worse.

“Just glad you’re safe,” he said. “I’d say anyone woulda done the same, but I didn’t come here to debate the inherent goodness of man or anythin’. Just wanted t’ make sure you were doin’ all right. Are you all right?”

[walkingshcdow]

@alittlefirebirdtoldme | continued from here

“If we could get all the patients” - this word he said as if it left a sour taste in his mouth, as if it wasn’t quite right to describe the horrid conditions, predicaments, lives of the women incarcerated in this prison. It was a prison, wasn’t it? Not a bloody sanctuary that was for sure - “outta here, I’d torch the place. Be a public service and a hell of a wedding gift.”

He looked far away for a moment, only a moment, as he imagined the flames, the frantic escaping, as if it were overlaid with his fantasies of the wedding, marrying Keres by the border before fleeing the country, making a new life, a house for the both of them where they could forget this place. Or pretend to. 

He kissed her temple. 

“If you’d consent t’ a marriage under Erevan Ilesere, we can get married tonight. You ‘n me on the run, in the woods somewhere. Otherwise, I sent word to the temple of the Seladrine on the eastern border. Get you far away from this place ‘n the sea ‘n all of it, ceremony at dawn. Felt fittin’. But if we’re doin’ that, we need t’ leave now. My men can only hold everyone off for so long.”

[walkingshcdow]

"Trust me, Keres"

It was a laughable thing for a thief to say, and even more so from a conman. Keres knew more than most exactly what Percy Brightstar was, and how little anyone should ever take comfort in such a phrase. And yet, he was perhaps the person in the world she trusted most in the world- so much that when she was pushed by the jostling crowd over the short ledge that constituted the sea wall near Daggerford, it was Percy's name that she shrieked. The water had been choppy and icy cold down below as she'd plunged into it, her mouth and nose filling with salt as the water choked and soaked rapidly into her dense clothing, pulling her downwards into the depths. She'd dreamed that this was what hell was like- all rushing water and deadly quiet, the cold soaking into your bones, a voice so deep in the bottomless darkness that it echoed in your skull.

There you are. I've waited for you to come back to me at last.

She screamed again and tried to surface, feeling for all her efforts as if she made infinitesimal progress, pulling in a small gasp of air before sinking like stone.

She felt, rather than heard, something hit the water nearby. Hands locked onto hers and familiar arms dragged to the surface coughing. It couldn't have been more than a minute, just long enough for Percy to push through to the wall himself before diving in but it had felt like lifetimes. Keres hadn't known she'd been sobbing until someone had them hauled up in a boat shivering, clinging to each other like lifelines.

Now they were back at home, and she was still trembling even with a blanket wrapped around her wet frame. It wouldn't have been terrible, but her hands shook and made it impossible to get the wet clothing off so she could sink into a warm bath. Keres was fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves, almost ready to tear them off when the same hands that had lifted her from the depths, the same ones that had held her tight on the way home, and shook with their own cold and shock covered hers, and that voice- honey-sweet dripping over gold- interrupted her thoughts.

"Trust me, Keres."

A smarter woman, perhaps one less in love, would have told him to leave her be. She'd manage. But it was hard to think when he was so kind and all she wanted to do was pretend he was hers. So she nodded and pulled ruined hair out of the way, letting him help her out of layers until she could manage on her own. His fingertips were gentle, almost tender, and for a moment she could have sworn she felt his eyes following the curve of her neck, the hesitation to pull away as he brushed a loose strand of hair back behind one ear. It was a cruel trick of the mind. He held no such regard for her, and if he lingered it was because he too needed to be put into a hot bath and clean clothing as much as she.

It was this she reminded herself as she thanked him and withdrew flushing into her rooms.

Trust me, Keres.

There wasn't much Percy Brightstar admitted to fearing. Not that he never got scared, mind. A good bandit captain knew to keep these things close to the chest. The only people who needed to know what you feared were people who wanted to exploit those fears. He wasn't so hard to read, though. He had a daughter. Most people would think threatening Daphne would be the quickest way to make Percy's blood boil.

Maybe it was. Didn't mean he didn't have other fears.

He feared the future the way any sensible person might. He feared the inevitable close of Daphne's formal education because human society would expect her to make a debut, and, just as bad, Keres would leave his home for the last time. To say he was a bit in love with her was like saying the Weave was a bit magical or the universe was a bit vast. Not that he'd do anything untoward. She was his daughter's governess. His best friend, too. Couldn't lose her.

For a moment, though, he did. He lost her in the crowd. Throngs of people came to the seaside for a holiday and they separated them because Percy hadn't the courage to hold her hand. He spotted her though quickly enough. Against the gray sky, she was a dark silhouette. He admired her windswept beauty for a moment and then he saw the carelessness of the jostling crowd and pushed his way towards her. He wasn't quick enough to catch her before she fell off the edge of the sea wall, but he was quick enough to doff his coat and leap after her. What a sight it must have been - behind him there were shouts and gasps that got swallowed by the wind. Below him, a splash. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for frigid waters.

The dark water reeled Keres in, her gown soaking up water and pulling her down. Someone once told Percy never to save a drowning person: you only ever got pulled down with 'em. He never heeded moralizing. He wrapped his arms around Keres, the closest he'd ever held her - likely ever would - and pushed towards the surface. The gods must have smiled upon him because they breached the surface with gasps and help had already gathered - a small fishing boat took them in while onlookers gawked at the show.

He feared losing Keres more'n almost anything. He'd almost done just that. Now, she clung to him and they both shivered. He murmured against her hairline, not sure what words he said to bring her comfort, not sure if they were words at all. He rubbed his numb hands against her shoulders. He feared losing Keres, but he hadn't, not today.

Home was a blessing. The warmth. The familiarity. The safety. Daphne rushed downstairs to pepper him with questions he did not answer as he rushed Keres upstairs, ordering a hot bath be drawn for her. She trembled under his touch and his own hands shook - hands, legs, core. Was it the drenched and half-frozen clothing? Fear? Adrenaline? Something else? No telling. All he knew was that Keres was shaking even more and that if she didn't get warm she would die and if he didn't see to it himself that she got warm, he'd die a different type of death.

He had to be strong for her. For them both. He braced himself.

"Trust me, Keres."

He'd had a wife once before. He could manage the layers her hands weren't steady enough for. Gently, Percy peeled wet clothing from Keres' body once she gave him that little nod. His breath felt hot - and so did his core, despite the chill - as he leaned in. He pried wet strands of hair from the delicate curve of Keres' neck and his hands began to shake again, for new reasons now. Maybe it was better she only trusted him so far before retreating to her rooms. Otherwise, he would have kissed her naked and cold flesh with the stupid belief that his hands could warm her as well as any bath. He stood alone in his room with her sopping wet gown and nearly ruined corset laid upon his bed. He picked them up, heavy as they were with seawater, and hugged them to himself. They smelled of ocean salt and ozone and it was the first moment Percy realized that Keres smelled exactly as the wild waves did before a storm. He draped the wet garments near the fireplace. A servant told him there was a bath drawn for him as well and he dumbly followed. Sinking beneath the warmth, Percy wished he had been just a little braver. He was brave enough to dive into the ocean after her, but not to pursue her...

Once dressed and dried, he dared to knock on her door.

"Keres? I came to check on you. May I come in?"

[walkingshcdow]

Keres had loved Percy Brightstar for almost ten years now. It was a thing she tried to keep to herself, but even if no one else knew, she was well aware of the lengths she'd go to in order to make sure that he and his family were safe.

She tried hard not to dwell on it, but today she no longer had that luxury. Percy was under suspicion for having once attacked the Duchess of Daggerford in order to gain his position and title, and unless something could prove otherwise or make the city assured of his loyalties in a major way, he would lose his title, his life, and the safety of his people.

Unfortunately, Keres knew how to cause a distraction in Daggerford that would mean Percy would go free. More unfortunately, it meant that she needed help, and there was only one place to get it. Keres kissed Daphne goodbye and went off to find her unfortunate ally.

. . .

"Here's the plan, Andrew." She steeled herself, pacing in his parlor. "You're going to denounce me to the Duchess as a cleric of Umbreelee, someone who's been scheming for years while your brother wouldn't bring the case without evidence. But you'll tell them I got careless with him away and you saw me trying to summon a storm. They'll lose all interest in Percy's rumors if you sell it correctly and he'll be home a hero within the hour."

"And then?"

"You remind him he has responsibilities."

"Beggin' your pardon Keres, but you realize the consequences for bein' labeled as a storm cleric, a traitor to the Duchess-"

"More than I like to think of."

"You love him, don't you?"

"That's none of your business."

"I'll tell him, when it's over."

...

The thing is, Andrew had always been a reliable conman. It was easy to forget with the way that he carried on, but he was a competent second and Percy had chosen him for a reason. He delivered her to the courtroom all in fury and righteousness, spinning the tale of how he'd caught her summoning a storm, at worship to a dark goddess and his brother had tried to catch her for years to gather proof. How she'd become careless, but even now Percy had told him to keep watch on her. He played her up as a villain, and she struck him bitterly with lightning to confirm his story.

Within the hour she was sentenced for her treason against the Duchess and her people and sent to prison to wait for her end.

She prayed it would be short and kind, but kindness was hardly a thing they were inclined to give. If they simply exected her, it would be mercy enough.

Keres was right though.

By nightfall, Percy was delivered home to Daphne's arms safe and no longer under suspicion, heralded for the work he had done to protect the city from internal evils.

--