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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Solitude

Am I lucky? Am I once, since I have taken on my miserable life in this godforsaken province, lucky?

A question that had bothered Ancano even back in Winterhold, had hold on to him during the entire travels to Solitude and now, here at the Radiant Raiment, sitting in a comfortable plush armchair in an admittedly horrendous pink colour, the though gnawed at him and made him disbelief in the reality that offered to him. Not for a second had he believed that she might agree to his invitation. Not after what had happened the last time. His faux pas had ruined his chances, he had believed. Nevertheless, she had let him step back into her radius. Controlled, limited to what she permitted. Deliberately keeping him at a distance, knowing perfectly well how much she was tormenting him. And the worst thing was that she took pleasure in it. His suffering was her joy. She had him between her jaws, shook him to death like a hunting dog in a bloodlust does to a rabbit and he writhed between her teeth, endeavouring to escape. Yet it was no use, he was captive and facing his end, his ultimate downfall.

His legs crossed, he sat there with his hands steepled before his face, casually brushing his fingers against his lower lip. He watched, mesmerised. Faralda twirled in front of the ceiling-high mirrors and glanced at her reflection. The skirt of her dress spun with her, billowing out and revealing all the facets of the shiny, lilac fabric. The fine material glittered like starlight and, when it came to rest again, moulded itself back to her body. Ancano closed his eyes for a moment, imagining not the fabric but his fingers stroking the soft, golden skin of her legs. What he would give to be alone with her now, to peel her out of the fine thread and right here, right now -

“What do you think, Agent?”

One of the two Altmer who ran the shop snapped him out of his thoughts. Taari looked at him with flaming eyes, making an effort to put on a polite smile. Ancano knew about the sisters' dubious reputation in Solitude. Haughty, even harsh, and always armed with a dose of mockery. However, they had refrained from using it when the Dominion Agent had entered the business. The impressive black uniform with its golden accents was good for that, so Faralda didn't have to suffer any scorn either. He was under her protection, the eye of the Altmer watching over her. Although he suspected that the sisters were used to holding back their snarky comments with their own kind, it might just be due to the innate elegance that Altmer naturally brought with them.

He straightened up a bit in his seat, tilting his head and let his gaze wander over Faralda. Endarie, the other sister, let one last pin disappear at the back of the dress and then stepped back, satisfied. The gown now sat like a second skin on her, hugging her figure and was still modest enough to not take all the attention of the evening. A wide neckline allowed a view of Faralda's sharply cut clavicles and led the eye into a low-cut décolleté. The sleeves opened just past the shoulders, giving the dress a regal feel. A golden belt with an ornamental eagle wings clasp interrupted the deep mauve colour and eventually let the skirt cascade to the floor. Ancano’s eyes caught on the thin auburn whisps of hair that had fallen out of her bun. For a moment he pressed his lips together, then swung out of his seat. With slow footfalls, he approached the scenery before him, inspecting what was served to him. His gaze locked with Faralda’s and unnoticed by him, his fist clenched. The look in her eyes was iron, unyielding. Don’t you dare to say no, she seemed to commune to him.

“Magnificent,” he admitted and the ghost of a smile darted across her lips. “Deep violets are suiting you quite well.”

“Actually, it is indigo,” Endarie murmured.

Ancano shot her a glare that silenced her ill-mannered mouth in an instant. Once more he absorbed the image of Faralda in this elegant gown, imagined her with a little more jewellery and was then satisfied. Presentable. Much better than the simple and worn-out mage robes she wore from day to day. A little colour did her good, brought out her features. And with that, he would make an impression. Besides, she wasn't going to embarrass him by opening her mouth and just spouting witless gibberish. No, she had the brains to hold a sensible and appropriate conversation at such an event. A wise decision on his part to ask her to accompany him. Even if it had cost him a lot of effort.

“The adjustments will be finalised this evening. I assume that the dress will be picked up immediately?” Taari spoke.

“I’ll send someone over to get it,” Ancano said and turned to the Altmer woman that had addressed him.

“Oh, you can go yourself, dear. No need to bother someone else.”

The lilt in Faralda’s voice sounded shrill to him and only with quick wit, he avoided a flinch of his shoulders. His mouth became dry, his tongue stuck to his teeth. The pet-name rang in his ears and he tried to concentrate.

“But wouldn't that ruin our plans for the evening?” he asked as gently as he could and with a forced smirk on his lips. Once more he felt like he was walking in a field filled with shards of glass.

“Oh, I can amuse myself for an hour. Don't worry about me. I’d suggest you fetch the dress. Would make it easier for you to pay, won’t it? Or will you trust just anybody with such a sum of gold?”

Hadn't he just been pleased that she was no fool? At the same time, he had forgotten how much she liked to use her intellect against him. How well she knew to twist him around her little finger. She had him in her grasp and he obeyed. For now.

A soft sigh escaped him. “Yes, dear.”

Soon after, Faralda had changed back into her clothes with the help of the two Altmer women. Friendly and a little too gleeful for his taste, she said goodbye to them and let him wrap her in her cloak. They stepped out of the shop and the chill of the winter day befell them. Snowflakes drifted down from the dull gray sky, blending into the layer of ice that covered Solitude. A cloud of condensed air rose from Ancano's mouth as he was unable to stifle a subtle sigh. Sensing her warmth at his side, he did not dare to look at her. The way to their accommodation, the Winking Skeever, was not far and yet he looked at the slippery road with concern. The town guards could make themselves useful by scattering some sand. On the way there, he had already seen a man with a crate on his arm skidding on the ice. Good thing their stay in Solitude was coming to an end soon.

He winced when Faralda linked arms with him. Raising his eyebrows, he glanced at her and noticed a faint grin on her lips. Apparently, her visit to the Radiant Raiment had put her in a exceptionally good mood and now it was time for him to benefit from it.

“I assume you're happy with your choice?” he asked and set off with her, the tavern already in view.

“Very. I've had my eye on the dress for a while now and to finally be able to have it and even have an occasion to wear it is simply fantastic.“

Her voice had a cheerful ring to it that he rarely heard in his presence. When they had first started to get to know each other, this light-heartedness had often been in her tone. But now...

“What do you think they thought of us?” she asked, sounding almost a little mischievous.

“Of us?” He pondered for a moment. “They saw us as a couple, perhaps even betrothed. Since I'm paying for your expenses, that might even be the obvious conclusion. And usually, guests don't just bring some girl with them to the embassy celebrations.“

“Usually,” she repeated, letting the word slide over her tongue. “And here you are, just bringing some girl to the party.”

The change in her tone was sharp and Ancano felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Over and over, she did it on purpose, twisting the word in his mouth.

“I haven't said that you're just some girl,” he replied

“Oh?”

She stopped in front of the door to the inn, pulled away from his arm and turned towards him. Briefly, she wiped a snowflake off her shoulder. Her wide eyes met his, gazing at him from an amber stare. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something. To reassure her, but nervous heat overcame him, he felt his heartbeat on his tongue. She'll just laugh at you, his subconscious whispered, and he came to the conclusion that it was probably right. He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, but then turned away and stepped over the threshold.

~⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅~

Separate rooms. That had been one of her conditions for escorting him. Not only here in Solitude, but also everywhere else they had stopped on their journey to the Embassy. Mainly it had been Windhelm and the ship they had travelled on to Solitude. The rest of the time in the covered carriage sent by the Embassy itself, she had barely given him a glimpse. While she had been reading, he had also pretended to be engrossed in a book. A heavy silence had hung over them, but the fleeting glances he had given her time and again had warmed his heart. Even in the dim light of the carriage, she had been absolutely stunning and he had revelled in the curling strands that had come loose from her neatly tied-back hair. It was almost ridiculous how often he found himself staring at her, savouring her beauty. Ridiculous, pathetic, downright embarrassing. And yet, even when they were having dinner together in a quiet corner of the Winking Skeever, he had done nothing but give her furtive glances. So much even, that his dinner had cooled down when he had only eaten half of it. There hadn't been much conversation, his fear of making another misstep and incurring her ire had been too great. And it seemed that she had enjoyed her peace and quiet and tolerated his presence.

Sometimes he felt like a young dog that had been shown its limits. Any exuberance was nipped in the bud and as soon as he attempted to escape from his obedience, he was punished. And he submitted. Often, he thought back to his training. It hadn't been much different as a young recruit and it was only after he had worked his way up a few ranks that he had finally been allowed to take the reins. Something he had always enjoyed. And he had held the reins over her, too, until she had snatched the lead away from him due to his colossal misjudgement. So now he danced to her tune and apart from the anxiety that often made him hesitate, he enjoyed the clarity with which she ruled him. His mind drifted back to their encounter in the Arch-Mage's quarters. Salt lay on his tongue as if only just collected and the scent of cloves caught in his nose. Moans reverberated in his ears and his knees grew weak at the thought of her sitting on top of that table, legs spread wide open. Him kneeling before her, the desire to touch her omnipresent. Her harsh commands. As soon as he had let go, just obeyed and stopped thinking, a lightness had filled him. With that came the knowledge that she was allowed to do anything to him. He would still kiss the ground she walked on.

Sucking in a deep breath, he dared to knock on her door. Wood creaked, a chair he presumed. Light steps sounded, approaching the door. The turn of a key, then the snap of a lock. It startled him, echoed through the marrow of his spine. When the door opened a crack, a strip of warm light streamed into the corridor, interrupted only by her silhouette.

“Oh, it's you,” she said, sounding a little bored.

This tedium, it stabbed him in the abdomen as if it were a knife, twisting and unravelling his guts. His fingertips pressed harder against the package he held in his hands.

“I got you your dress,” he pressed out, having to clear his throat to get rid of the unease in his voice. “May I come in?”

She scrutinised him, glaring eyes scanning him from head to boot. Twisting her mouth, she then eyed the packages in his hand. One big and flat containing the dress and another on top, smaller and more delicate. A wooden box, the lid decorated with carvings. A surprise for her. Her gaze lingered on it and he noted how it had piqued her interest.

“I don’t think you have to,” she uttered at last, crushing him with her words.

She was about to stretch out her arms to take the packages from him. Her plan was clear, closing the door between them, leaving him to rot and be bitter about it in his own chamber. Maybe she wouldn’t even open the little box, let it stay at the Winking Skeever for the next tenant to take.

“Well, I- “ he stuttered, cursing himself for the tension in his body. “I have bought you a gift to go with your dress and would like to give it to you. In person.”

“If you must.”

She turned and let the door gape open. An invitation, he assumed, stepped in and closed the door behind him as best as he could while struggling with the packages in his arm. Finally, the lock clicked again and he turned and took in the view of the room. It was more spacious than his, had a double bed with an ornate frame, a little seating area with a table and quite a lot of storage options. However, the best thing of it was, that it was filled with her alluring scent that he sucked in deep. Cloves and a sweetness that he adored on her played with his senses.

“Now, will you put it down?”

Faralda stood by the seating area, now a goblet in her hand, sipping from it. With her nose wrinkled, she peered at him, something like disgust dripping from her expression. Ancano lowered his head and stepped to her bedside, carefully placing the package and the small box on the moss-green blanket. He took the box in his hands and noted how a light tremor had got a hold of his fingers. He bit down on the tip of his tongue. He turned, then approached her but held a safety distance. A little longer than her arm’s length. Fighting to hold his fingers still, he opened the lid. A golden necklace with a diamond set into a round pendant sparkled on red velvet. The links of the chain were fine, so fine that it was hard to imagine that a goldsmith had made them by hand. The diamond was large, pure and white. Small spot reflections scattered across the room like fireflies through the night. In the centre of the velvet, surrounded by the necklace, lay a pair of earrings. Matching small diamonds as studs, with a golden drop hanging from each.

Ancano almost didn't dare look up and it took him some effort to raise his gaze. He was met with a disbelieving stare. Faralda looked at him, then at the jewellery in his hands, then back at him.

“They had already caught my eye when we entered the shop. Then, when you were wearing that breath-taking dress, I couldn't help but think how you might look even more perfect. And so, I bought them for you and I hope, I really hope, that you like them.”

He gasped after he spoke, his explanation had been rambling, far too honest. She moved towards him, flowing and docile, her eyes set on the jewels. With her finger stretched out, she touched the big diamond on the pendant, as if to test if it was real or just an illusion.

“Ancano, you can’t just buy me such gifts, that’s…” she stumbled over her words, hesitated. “It’s too much, too expensive. I can’t accept that.”

“Oh, you can.” He sat down the box on the little table between the chairs and fished out the necklace, letting it dangle from his fingers. “May I?”

She gave a nervous laugh, but turned and held her neck to him. Still her hair was bound in a bun, fixated with some hair pins. Ancano stepped closer, held his breath and wrapped the golden string around her neck. It so perfectly complimented the colour of her skin. He saw goosebumps rise, where the cool metal touched her.

“Do I have to worry that you'll be standing outside my door with a ring next?” she hushed, with it coming another laugh.

A smirk spread across his mouth and for a moment he entertained the thought. The woman capable to incapacitate him like no other bound to him by marriage. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, he mused. A rush of courage overcame him and his fingers brushed along her neck, carefully stroked across her carotid artery. A kiss on her cheekbone followed and he bathed in the silence, in letting her wonder about what she had asked. A small victory for him, for once he had her in his hands again.

“You may,” he murmured in her ear. “Who knows, I might find a fitting ring for you, why not combine it with a proposal?”

She turned away from under him, facing him now. The diamond lay perfectly on her skin, weighty and precious. Ancano was pleased with his choice and who would have thought that he had such an opportunity?

“Stop talking nonsense,” she chided him, but he recognised her obvious insecurity.

She struggled with herself, trying to understand whether it was just a crude joke on his part or whether there was a spark of truth in it. He would leave her alone with it, let her gnaw at it. It was her turn to suffer, to writhe and squirm.

“Nonsense you call my true feelings for you?” he teased her, the corners of his mouth bowing even more upwards while he watched her cheeks flush.

Her brows raised. Too far. But why was it so much fun, if he was wronging her? An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but it stuck in his throat. As so often. With the narrowing of her eyes, his courage dwindled. He had flown too high, that was clear.

“Was that your intention when you came here? Gift me some jewellery and then taunt me? I think you have forgotten your place.” Her voice was now low, menacing.   

“Actually, I- ”

But he was interrupted by her finger pressed to his lips.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear a word from you,” she muttered. “You have two options. You wriggle out of here like the little worm you are and hide away in your room. We'll see if I'm still accompanying you tomorrow.”

Gods be damned, he had played his cards and lost big time. The tremor returned to his fingers and it travelled over his back into his knees. All of a sudden, he felt light-headed, anxiety burning in his stomach.

“Or,” she made a dramatic pause, “you’re dropping on your knees. Now.”

The last time, kneeling before her had been not that much of a displeasure. It had been rather enjoyable, to be honest and so there was not really a decision to make. His knees met the floorboards mere seconds after she had spoken her demand. The light pain shot through his femurs, almost meeting his hipbone. Yet he did not flinch, instead watched her attentively.

“Look at you, at least you’re learning fast,” she lilted and stroked over his head like she was petting a dog. “Now stay.”

He watched as she walked over to the seating area, letting herself fall on one of the chairs and crossing her legs. Her head tilted, she looked down at him, studied him. Ancano held still. He sat on his feet, felt the blood supply to his calves being cut off and they were slowly going numb. His uniform was not designed for this position and if he had even suspected any of this, he would have changed before he got to her room. However, he had taken the quickest route to her. Straight from the shop to her door. Her fingers now traced the corners of the little box on the table and he longed to be there instead of the wood, for her to caress him with such ease. She picked up one of the earrings, dangled it over the candles flame. The flicker mirrored in the golden drop and the diamond send little flashes through the chamber.

“How much did those cost you?” she inquired casually.

He swallowed hard. “The earrings? Or the whole set?”

“The set.” She did not grant him any eye contact while speaking.

“Two thousand Septims,” he answered and his voice cracked. Saying it made it so terribly true. He had spent an enormous amount of money on her, not to mention the dress.

“You know what I should do instead of wearing them tomorrow night?” Something sinister resided in her voice, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright.

“No,” he said but feared what loomed in her mind.

“Go on a morning stroll, enjoy their glisten in the morning sun. Just walk along the streets, greet the bards, approach the Blue Palace. I’ve heard the view from the city walls over the ocean is gorgeous. I’ll climb them, stand on top of the arch, watch the sunrise. And then,” she turned her head to him, a bleak stare punched him in the guts, “I’ll just throw those in the Sea of Ghosts never to be seen again.”   

Her laughter rang through the room, resounding in his ears. It felt like his heart was in a screw clamp, closing ever tighter and taking the breath out of him. Another gasp left him, but he tried to hide it, averted his face from her. The snap of her fingers let his head shoot around back to her. She grinned from ear to ear, the earring still in the palm of her hand.

“So, what was your intention?”

“Intention?” Lines formed on his forehead. “The intention was to gift you something you might like.” Auri-El, he sounded miserable. Pathetic.

“Oh, how thoughtful of you,” she giggled, then her serious expression returned. “I guessed you wanted to buy me like a cheap whore. Hoped that I’ll suck you off.”

“Faralda, I’d never- ”

“Careful,” she interrupted him and leaned forward a little. “Be very careful what you say now. Think before you speak. And remember what you have done in the past.”

He remained silent, sulking at her assumption. Never had he tried to buy her affection and to talk of cheap when he had spent several thousand Septims on her was more than unfair.

“If I think about it, I have an idea what to do with you.” Her smirk turned into a wry smile and a shiver rand down Ancano’s spine. “Come here.”

Lifting on one foot, grateful to get out of this uncomfortable position, he saw her wave with her arm.

“Ah-Ah, no. Back on your knees. Crawl, dear.”

He clenched his teeth, yet obeyed. Crawling over the floor, he avoided her eyes, stared at the floor instead. Pure humiliation and shame raged inside him, but slowly they mingled with something else. Excitement. Anticipation. He clung to the experience of the last time he had been in this position. Kneeling in front of her, she above him. Faralda stroked over his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear and touching the tip. Her fingers followed the contour of his jaw and found themselves on his chin, pushing it up. Their eyes locked and once more, Ancano barely dared to breathe. Her cheeks were still flushed and the pendant had slipped into her cleavage as she leant forward, nestling between her breasts. Oh, how he wished to be the amulet right now.

“Get it out,” she whispered and bit her lip.

A second long he pondered, tried to find out what ‘it’ meant. Then, he understood. Nestling with the fastening of his trousers, he felt the tingling sensation in his crotch, heat accumulating. It grew tight in his pants and when he finally open, his erection burst out. Sitting between her legs, her knees at his ear’s height, he looked up to her, awaiting a new order.

“You must be bursting,” she purred and played with a strand of his silver hair. “All those days on the road, on the sea and no time to get off pressure. All that staring, all that longing. I know how you yearned to touch me. To bury deep inside of me, feel me around you. Didn’t you?”

Her voice in his ears was the luring song of a siren and for a moment, he forgot that her questions demanded answers. With half closed lids he had only listened and waited for more, for her to read out his thoughts to him. She tugged on the strand, having it wrapped around her finger. A sharp pain ripping on his scalp brought him back.

“Didn’t you?” she repeated her inquiry.

 “I did,” he breathed.

“What were your fantasies? When did you want to fuck me the most?”

His cock twitched at her suggestions, growing ever harder.

“Everywhere. Every time. First in that carriage, make the driver wonder if one of the wheels was misfunctioning, just because I’d fuck you so hard. Then you sucking my cock on the deck of the ship, outside in the night. Maybe one of the sailors watching me take you over the railing after that.”  
He took a moment to breathe, felt the blood building up more and more in his cock.         
“And here, in Solitude. Back at the Radiant Raiment,” he slurred the name of the shop, “just get you out of the dress, have you on those bitches’ counter. Have my load dripping out of you on their priced possessions.”            
A moan ended his sentence, his erection now painful. He wished for the sweet relief, knowing that some simple touches would seal the deal.   
“And at the embassy. I’d love to fuck you there, on this bitch of an ambassador’s desk, then her bed. Our sweat all over her sheets, you biting into her pillows because you can’t contain yourself anymore. Your screams echoing through her solar. And I want her to hear it. To know what we’re doing but that she can’t do anything about it. She has to take care of her guests after all.”

“What a filthy dog you are, next you’ll tell me you want to ruin the ambassador’s paperwork.”

She chuckled and her fingers travelled from his hair back to his chin, her thumb resting on his lower lip. It penetrated, and he sucked, tasted the slight salty aroma of her skin. His abdomen tensed and a familiar tingle at the back of his head spread. His fingers clenched onto his thighs and he rocked his hips once. An empty plead for her body to be there, to welcome him. Yet she sat above him, no intention of giving him his release.

“You know, I should let you put your cock away and send you to bed. And don’t you dare to touch it. I’d like to see you squirm at the Embassy tomorrow. All of your thoughts wrapped around nothing more than my wetness and how you want to dive into it. Oh, and just imagine, I’d just give you a little, inconspicuous stroke and you come undone. Just while you’re talking to the ambassador.”

She waited and observed and Ancano was shook by another twitch that flashed like lightning through his entire body.

“Dear, please. Don’t do this to me,” he whispered, his eyes half lidded.

“What? What don't you want me to do?” Scorn poured from her tone.

“Please don’t let me come while the ambassador speaks with me.”

His ears glowed read, the humiliation mingled with the arousal that ruled his form. His nails dug into the leather of his trousers and his eyes closed, he tried to concentrate about anything else but the heat coursing through his cock.

“Look at me while saying that.”

His eyes were wet, when he opened them to find hers and a tremble possessed his forearms.

“Please, Faralda. Please don’t let me come while the ambassador speaks with me.”

Silence. Torturing silence. The bustle from the tavern thudded through the walls and underlined his own, laboured breath and his heartbeat in his ears.

“See, you can be such a good boy.” She bowed down, hushed a kiss on his quivering lips. “Then go on, touch yourself.”

“Th-Thank you,” he stuttered and his trembling hand wrapped around his length.

Few strokes were enough and with a moan, he spilled on the floor, between the legs of her chair. His cock throbbed, and he held onto it, felt every pulse coursing through it. Pearls of sweat stood on his forehead that ran down and caught in his eyebrows. His eyes closed, he noted Faralda’s hand stroking along his cheek, allowing him to tilt his head and rest it on her leg. He sucked in her scent, the calming aroma of pomegranate and cloves settling on his racing, yet empty mind. For a moment he enjoyed the closeness until she nudged him with her knee.

“Clean that up before it soaks into the wood. And then leave.”

He nodded, still mesmerized. Oh, how he would never give up on conquering this woman. No matter how long it would take him, one day, she’d be his again.   

~⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅~

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

The Embassy

‘Grant’ was the best word to describe the impression that rained down on Faralda, when she entered the Thalmor Embassy. The two-storey high entrance hall was filled with the hum of chatter. A lot of Mer and also humans were present. She was surprised at their sight at first, but then remembered that the ambassador's main function was diplomacy. And this had to be extended to all citizens of Skyrim, not just those who happened to be born with pointed ears. With her arm hooked to Ancano’s they strode in, side by side. Although she tried not to look around too obvious, she wished to soak up all the details with wide eyes. It took her effort not to stare like a small child and instead she tried to concentrate on the walking, the smooth fabric playing around her legs, the barely noticeable dangling of the earrings on her lobes. Side by side they parted the mass and found their place with the other guests that had just arrived. A row of people had formed, all of them waiting to greet the ambassador. Faralda had spied her from afar; a tall blonde woman clothed in the signature black uniform with golden details. Straight she stood, a polite smile playing on her lips while she welcomed the new visitors.

Faralda’s eyes darted around and she counted the guest that came before them. Two, four, six. These greetings seemed to go on fast, a little chat with the ambassador and then they moved on to wherever. Her fingers buried deeper into the bend in Ancano's arm, holding on tight; her heartbeat accelerated.

“Nervous, dear?” He whispered to her from the side.

She would have liked to wipe the smirk from his hand with a quick and well targeted slap but instead grinded her molars together. What kind of question was that? Of course, she was nervous. They were at the Embassy, meeting with one of the prominent figures of the ruling body of the Dominion and he asked her that. She herself had never been a big fan of the rather extremist views of the Thalmor and she had never made a secret of this to Ancano - but here and now she had immense respect. Even if only half of the rumours about the Thalmor were true, they were certainly intimidating and a little nervousness was in fact appropriate.

“Why wouldn’t I be? This is not just any, ordinary little party, isn’t it?” she spoke her mind and maybe had hissed it a little too harsh at him.

Yet the smug smile on his lips did not disappear. His small triumphs, when he saw her just a little weak, he gorged in those, enjoyed them way too much. As he had done yesterday at the inn, spinning his lies a little too far. So far, that she had to intervene. But as it seemed, she hadn’t given him a hard enough treatment, as he had recovered quite well from it. Perhaps he was high on the success of her accompanying him, even that she had not made her threat a reality and did wear the jewellery he had gifted her.   

“Not for you,” he paused and turned his head to meet her with a golden stare.     
“But I’ve told you before that these evenings get rather boring when you’re here every time. There’s not that much variety with the guests and they all tell you the same stories every time you meet them. As if nothing new happens in their lives. And the interesting people, well, those know that they are interesting and do better not to be too talkative around an agent.”     
Another time he hesitated, seemed to think about his next words before uttering them.      
“There’s reason why I brought someone to talk to, to have a little bit of fun with.”

“Fun,” she repeated, pondering the word. “And what is that idea of fun you have? Something you’ve already mentioned yesterday?”

A low chuckle came from him, as they made some steps forward to progress in the row. If she hadn't mistaken it, he had pressed his lips together briefly, lingering in a memory for a moment. She could only guess what this memory was, but his words, the little spill about his fantasies was still clear in her mind.

“I may have. There are indeed some things, that linger in my mind. But I digress, there are many more things for you and me to do here.”

“Many more, you say? Besides having a chat and you delving in your filthy mind?” she had said the last part a little too loud and noticed how the shoulders of the man in front jerked upwards. The corner of her mouth twitched. At the same time, she felt how tension came into Ancano’s upper arm and chest. Good.

“There are people to meet for you. Influential people, that may be of use for you. Opportunities to bond over knowledge, to reinforce your endeavours in research. And, of course, food and dance.”

“Mh,” she hummed. “A real party then.”

They made another step and now stood before the ambassador. Faralda eyed her a little more, found perfectly applied eye makeup on her, the bright colours accentuating the tangerine glowing embers of her irises. Additionally, she noticed that the ambassador’s smile looked a little more stilted than before as soon as her gaze fell on Ancano.   

“Ambassador Elenwen, always a pleasure to meet you,” he spoke smooth as an eel and bowed his head a little.

“The pleasure is mine, Ancano,” she answered, the hardly noticeable rasp in her voice betraying her ageless persona. “I'm delighted that you were able to accept my invitation this time. And you even brought someone.”     
Her head turned to Faralda, the smile on her lips growing warmer.   
“You must be Faralda, from the College of Winterhold, yes? I’ve heard of your work, if I recall correctly, one scholar I’ve talked to when I’ve been to the Isles spoke about it. Quite the fine work, interesting from what I heard.”

“Oh,” she made, not expecting to be asked about her research. “It has travelled to Alinor? That is quite the surprise, but a good one indeed.” She gave a laugh, a little unsure.

“Historical research is always of use and doing important base work even more. I’m glad that you’re doing a service for the Dominion, even though you’re in this… in Skyrim.” With an earnest expression the ambassador turned to look at them both. “I wish you a enjoyable evening. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask the servants.”

And with that, Ancano pulled her along while Faralda was still stuck on the fact that the ambassador saw her research as a service to the Dominion. Never in her life she had thought about doing anything for the Dominion. Her work was her interest, what she had fun learning about and not something to use for a regime. There was a reason she had retreated to Skyrim.

“Could have gone worse,” Ancano mumbled as they walked through the winged doors at the end of the entrance hall.

A bigger hall opened up behind them, this one too adorned with the banners of the Thalmor, black with golden accents omnipresent in the rest of the décor. It was a ballroom, Faralda realised. It swarmed with people, the middle full with couples dancing. More mer and humans stood to the sides, some sat at tables enjoying a drink and some appetisers. Faralda's stomach growled. She hadn't eaten anything since Solitude where a hearty breakfast had been brought to her room. It had been unwise of her not to take a snack with her for the trip to the Embassy and she now regretted it. A Bosmer in servant clothing came by, carrying a tray in front of her. Ancano picked up two goblets from it and handed her one of them. Still, she clung to his arm, watching the swirling dance the masses. It was hypnotic, somehow, they all moved in perfect synchrony to the music. She hadn’t made out where the musicians where, not being able to spy them through all the people.

“This is bigger than I expected,” she admitted and sniffed her goblet, unable to let her eyes go from the scene before her.

“Most of the time these parties are smaller, yet, occasionally, Elenwen is in the mood for something big. And it seems to be like that.” He too let his gaze wander, watched. “At least it's easier to avoid the people you don't want to face. You simply blend in.”

“You could have warned me,” she mumbled.

“Warned you?” Another chuckle left his throat, this time a little more heartfelt. He took a sip from his goblet, swayed the red liquid in it. “My, you were the one who forbade me to speak. Difficult to warn you then.”

A fold formed between Faralda’s brows. “I never forbade you, at least not yesterday. I’ve only told you to be careful what you say,” she clarified.

“I quite vividly remember you telling me to shut up.”

Damn, he was right. Faralda pursed her lips.

“And honestly, you’ve robbed me of my clear thinking and concentration just after that, I don’t see where this is my fault.”

Oh, that self-indulgent fucker. It was all his fault, everything that had happened to him was his fault and it seemed like he did not want to understand that. It was his misstep, his betrayal, his lies and treachery that had brought him here. Flames of anger hit against the inside of Faralda’s abdomen, screeching to be let out. And now? He thought he was safe, thought that she wasn't going to harm him here. Perhaps she should have continued to ignore him, turned down his invitation with a burst of laughter. Releasing his arm, her fingers found the pendant of her necklace and played with it. Then again, he suffered so well. And one day she might destroy him. Eventually she sipped her wine, tasting the rich bouquet. Russafeld, no question. Being here had its benefits. And nothing stood in the way of an enjoyable evening.

~⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅~

Colours swirled around her, blurred and merged into a single river. For a fleeting moment, she thought she would never stop spinning, thought she would take off, fly away and see the province from above. Become one with the night sky, dance with the stars. But just as she lost her balance, she was recaptured and pressed against his chest. She looked up; the world was still spinning. Two goblets of wine on an empty stomach had dulled her senses and the little bit of bread and cheese she had allowed herself was slow to soak up the alcohol. She inhaled, smelled lemons and pine needles. He had caught her again and was now holding her tight against him. The smile on his lips was content, superior. She had given him a moment of control, letting him guide her. And he did so in the dance, leading her with expertise and experience. She hardly had to pay attention to her own steps, as she ended up in the right position anyway.  He made sure of that and now their eyes met and for a second, Faralda felt the urge to kiss him.

No, that is not right, she scolded herself. He does not deserve that; he does not deserve you. Even this, the closeness they shared he did not deserve. Her flushed cheeks grew warmer, burned. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear that had come loose from the spinning and had fallen out of pinned-up hairstyle. It had taken her a miserably long time to get this hairdo to look nice. That had been difficult, all alone and out of practice. His finger remained on her cheekbone, caressing it. His other hand on her waist pulled her a little closer.

“You look beautiful,” he breathed.

Her hand rested on his chest, feeling his heart beat fast. Everything indicated that he meant this compliment and that it really came from the heart, but she didn't believe him. No longer did she trust a word he said, knowing how much it had stung to hear him speak the words she had claimed for herself to another woman. It was just his little game to appease her, to regain her favour. Nothing he said reflected what he meant. He was a liar, she reminded herself.

“Thank you,” she still pressed out, her good manners demanding it.

The music had changed from the last lively piece to a calmer one, no doubt to give the dancers a break. Faralda was grateful for this, as she still felt a little dizzy. Ancano brought her back into a dancing position, but now inevitably closer. Only a hand's width separated their upper bodies. His arm wrapped around her back and with little pressure he initiated the first steps. Shortly afterwards, he spun her round again, this time slower. Faralda's eyelids fluttered shut, the music befuddling her. Not having to make any decisions, surrendering, letting herself be led, she enjoyed it. Right now, she allowed it, granted him another small victory. He was going to be punished soon enough.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asked, trying to open her eyes again, which she only managed with great effort.

“Oh, it's part of the basic training to learn to dance. It's great for body awareness and the recruits have to be presentable,” he replied. “Admittedly, it's not much different from fighting or fencing. The only difference is that we don't have any sharp blades between us.”

“Fencing? I didn't know that about you. How did you get into it?”

He twirled her around again and appeared to need a moment to think. Had she asked too intimate a question?

“A relic of my training. I guess, you don't know much about our process, but you can imagine it to be a bit like studying at a university. Different courses, specialisations, but with more military drill,” he laughed under his breath and Faralda didn't understand what was amusing about his words. “And so, there are also social organisations, I was part of a fraternity. And part of mine was the Mensur. Now, if you asked me, I'd explain it to you as silly boys' behaviour. Petty enmities that ended in fencing matches. Without those fancy protective masks, of course. We deviated from the classic Mensur long ago, a complicated process for fencing. We fought to draw blood and wore our scars with pride.”

“I haven't discovered many scars on you yet,” said Faralda, beginning to doubt this story.

“I was just good at it. And the scars I obtained are already old and I've helped them fade a little. At some point you grow out of your youthful recklessness.”

A snorting laughter escaped her. “Did you really?”  

He twisted his lips and blew and angry gust of air out of his nose. The next twirl he sent her in had a little more momentum, as if he was playing with his muscles, showing her, that he was in fact a strong and capable man. Oh, he was so pathetic. He made it so easy to push his buttons, to manipulate him in the right direction.

“What do you know about my youth? You did not experience me then. I did grow as a man, that’s what aging naturally does to you,” he grumbled.

With the next pull on her and her meeting with his body, she met his gaze, licking her upper lip. A smirk lay on her mouth, mischievous.

“Oh, growing from a grain of sand into a pebble may be impressive in relation, yet it is still a pebble that can be kicked around easily.”

He paused in his movements, his fingers digging deeper into her waist. She saw the anger on his face as it ate into the lines on his forehead. Deep in his golden eyes, which had now regained more of the citrine glow, she saw something else. Hurt.

“So that’s how you see me, a pebble to be kicked around,” he uttered, not letting go of her.

Something about this picture before her was utterly funny to her and so she let out a giggle, that only worsened his frown. All the superiority that he had felt was crushed, and once more she had reminded him that he was in no control. She could hurt him whenever she wanted and it was her choice alone how deep she’d cut the wounds.

“I may, my little pebble,” she chuckled and planted a peck on his mouth. He did not kiss her back, remained motionless. “Or do you like it better when I call you a dog?”

“A little, if I’m honest. Sounds less… feeble.”

A true fear spoke from his eyes and she relished in it. The thought of what a simple pet name did to him, shattering his self-confidence and bringing him to his knees, brought her to a joyful ecstasy.

“I'll think about it and inform you of my decision,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. The fabric of her dress rustled gently and his arms disappeared under the long, open sleeves.

He let out a long, drawn-out sigh and rested his forehead against hers. “As long as you put the ‘my’ in front of it, I'll settle for that.”   

~⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅~

They had found a place to sit and rest, away from the dancing and chatting masses, taking a breather. Faralda mused how long they must have danced, song after song he had whirled her around. Her feet hurt and she rubbed her calve, the muscles tired and strained. While the lights had blurred in before her eyes, she had been contemplating his words. They did not sit right with her though she wasn't able to say exactly why. Perhaps it had been the devotion with which he had uttered them. It stirred an insecurity in her, a fear. Maybe she had let him get too close to her and now he was sticking to her like horse shit under her boot. Was she ever going to get rid of him? What would happen when they got back to the college? Letting her eyes drift over to him, she regarded him and his stupid grin, the satisfaction he continued to radiate. He was too sure of himself, thought that if he just bent to her enough, he might win her favour. But Faralda knew one thing for sure: he would never be able to have her again. Although he lay in her hand like a bug on a spring morning, ready to be crushed, she was also far out of his reach, almost untouchable. However, it seemed as if she had to make this clear to him again.

“Are you alright, you look a tad disgruntled,” she heard him say through the roar of the crowd.

Turning her goblet, she looked at the last few drops of wine in it and how it sloshed sadly back and forth. A small sigh escaped her lips and she put the goblet down again.

“Is your wine empty? Would you like another? Perhaps a little something to eat?” he continued to ask.

Faralda sensed a surge of wrath inside her. He cared for her, looked after her well-being, tried to read her wishes from her lips and all she experienced was disgust. It felt as if he was buying his closeness to her, as if she had to be grateful that he had brought her here at all. His every touch burned her skin - of aversion and yet also of desire. That was what bothered her the most, her own inability to eliminate her interest in him. She bit her lower lip and ran her tongue over the inside of her teeth. His actions were unforgivable, yet she couldn't cut herself off, just couldn't let go. He was a venom, a drug, pulsing through her veins, gradually corrupting her and yet she was addicted to his presence, his caress. Something he was never allowed to know.

“Another wine would be excellent,” she said, putting on an artificial smile.

In an instant, he stood up and searched for a servant, spying one at the other end of the hall. With quick steps he made his way over, while Faralda watched the billowing of his cloak. Many of these cloaks she had seen this evening, all of them swirling on the dancefloor, mixing with the bright colours of evening gowns. Notably less women were present in the uniforms and for a moment she pondered, what the reason for that might be. Perhaps there were less women in the Thalmor in general, knowing better than to support their radical views. On the other hand, they may only not be in Skyrim. Thinking back to the Isles, she imagined them at the bureaus of the Dominion, supporting the cause with their paperwork. Women fighting was something she did not connect with Alinor’s government, thinking of how the Thalmor had brought quite the step down for the freedom of women in the lands. Bearing children, children to fight in another war. They even paid money to mothers that birthed more than three children, paying them respect with a medal. Faralda saw the ambassador in the crowd and wondered if she had gifted children to the Dominion yet.

“If he’s holding you hostage, just say a word and I’ll get you out of here,” she heard a voice from behind and turned over her shoulder.

Another Thalmor stood behind her, looking down on her. She straightened in her seat, only now noticing how slumped she had been sitting. He was tall she noted, taller than Ancano, his hands crossed behind his back. From brilliant emerald eyes he fixated her, full lips bowed in a playful smile. Unlike most of the guests, his head was shaved clean, a snow-white beard adorned his chin.

“Pff, he wishes,” she laughed, now turning in her seat to take in her visitor in full.

He rose a brow, yet still seemed amused. “Never thought he’d be capable of swooning a woman to come along with him, especially not such a gorgeous one.”

Faralda’s cheeks flushed, partially because of the wine and too because of his compliment. With it came a flutter in her stomach, that definitely came from the wine, of that, she was sure.

“May I?” he asked and pointed to the empty seat between hers and Ancano’s deserted one.

She nodded. “How come you think so badly of him?”

“Oh, you might not know him for long enough if you’re asking that. But typically, if you’re in a room with him for say… more than an hour, he shows exactly what I mean by that.”

With an added smirk, he sat down his crystal glass on the table. A finger's breadth of golden-brown liquid stood in it. Faralda hadn't spied that one in the time she had been here and wondered where he had got the supposed brandy or whisky from.

“I never said that I don’t think badly of him. Been under a roof with him for long enough to witness his… how he can be. But why would I say no to a nice evening with free wine and food?”

She rose her goblet in his direction and he clinked it with his glass, the last sip of the wine sweet and sour on her tongue.

“So, you’re from the college then, not a student, I hope?” the Mer asked and for a moment his humorous demeanour froze.

Faralda felt a light sting in her chest and shook a head. “Instructor,” she pressed out.

“Good, good. Has been a bad habit of his before, therefore I’m asking.”

The sting grew into a full-blown pain, burying deep into Faralda’s heart. You’ve bewitched me. These words of him resounded in her head like they had done in the hall of the Arcanaeum, first to her uttered with a mesmerising silkiness and then… to Nirya. In this exact timbre and as she imagined combined with the same soft caress.

“Do I look that young to you? I’ll take it as a compliment then,” she spoke on trying to keep the hold on the shaking of her voice and the bleeding of her soul.

He gave a low chuckle, one that sounded way more pleasant than any that she had ever heard from Ancano.      

“Take it as that.”        

He took another sip from his liqueur, while his eyes clung to something in the distance. Faralda followed them and saw Ancano, two goblets in his hand, approaching their table. There, on his face, flinched an expression of discontent. Lids narrowed, he reached them, put down the goblets and pushed one over to her.

“I see you found company, dear. Or has the company found you?” Ancano uttered, not without a hint of scorn swinging with it.

He sat down, leaned back and scrutinised the other Mer.

“Happy to see you too, Ancano,” he laughed and mimicked him, leaning back too.

For a moment, the two men looked at each other, one friendly, the other grim. Tension lay between them and Faralda felt the urge to escape from the situation. It grew nearly unbearable, until at last, Ancano gave a groan.

“The pleasure is mine, Ondolemar,” he muttered, taking a big gulp from his goblet, seemingly searching the room for a server that had more wine for him.

“Sounds like it,” Ondolemar answered. “Haven’t seen you here for quite the long time. Had a feeling you wished to stay away from certain people. Certain people that roam these halls daily.”

“It’s news to me, that you enjoy being in her presence,” Ancano shot back. “Yet I’ve heard, you don’t have anything to hide. A real model student you are, leading the justiciars well and holding an iron fist around the worship of Talos. Or am I missing anything, Commander?”

Commander, Faralda mused. It had a nice ring to it, fitting for his demeanour. Tall, strict and those striking eyes. Once more her eyes glided over him and she caught herself fantasising, what these full lips of his might taste like. She imagined him demanding, a little dominating maybe, even ruling. Ruling body of the Altmeri Dominion, she thought and suppressed a chuckle.    

A broad, toothy smile spread on Ondolemar’s face. “I can’t complain and she neither. And you? Still stuck with the stubborn mages?” He turned to Faralda. “No hard feelings.”

She waved it off. “Been called worse than stubborn, it’s not wrong I’d say.”

Worse had been being called a madwoman, she wanted to add but instead only shot Ancano a glare. He flinched under it, only a light movement, yet clear for her to see. It seemed to stay hidden from the other Mer.

“Stubborn, yes. We should discuss this in a more private environment. Too many ears here that don’t have to be concerned with those matters.”

Interesting, she thought, crossed her arms and played with her earring. Was she the lone reason for this restraint of him? Of course, Thalmor secrets were nothing she was ought to hear and simply chatting about it in the middle of a ball was rather absurd. She bit on her tongue, watched how the two of them exchanged a look that was equal to a silent agreement.

“Alas,” Ondolemar said, his head turning back to her and she almost startled under the piercing green. “Care for a dance?”

He held out a hand, an encouraging smile on his lips. Faralda hesitated, a slow roll of her eyes found Ancano and his once more sour expression. He had a problem with this invitation and this reason for it clear. Jealousy dripped from the citrine of his irises, a spiteful stare directed to the hand of the other. Within seconds she decided to take the invitation, standing up in glee. Ondolemar swept her away and Faralda felt like a robbed princess, taken away to the enemy’s kingdom to get married to a prince, that was a complete stranger to her.

The dancing begun and she found that he was in no way inferior to Ancano in his movements. He too led her with almost impeccable grace, giving her the security she needed as an inexperienced dancer. After a twirl, he pulled her a little closer to him, his mouth next to her ear.

“Just look at him pouting,” he whispered, and she heard the malicious joy swimming in his voice.

Faralda peered back at her table and sure enough, Ancano's annoyed stare was fixed on her and Ondolemar. The corners of her mouth curved upwards. He clutched his wine goblet, his whole posture tense, even cramped. She sensed that he wanted to jump up, push himself between them and dance with her instead of Ondolemar, but he was glued to his seat. And that was what he was supposed to do.

“Odd, that you didn't hesitate at all,” the Mer at her side continued. “Usually, the girls at his side wait for him to let them go.”

She gave a laugh, ringing and clear. “So, you do this often? Snatch his women?”

“I'm not innocent of this,” he answered, leading her a little further into the crowd, hiding her from Ancano's watchful gaze.

It was warmer there and Faralda felt the wine going further to her head. Or was it the constant spinning? She didn't know, only that she looked up and met Ondolemar's eyes. His hand was soft against her back, but he controlled her movements.

“Well, I'm not one of his girls for a start,” she laughed. “As if I'm going to let him forbid me anything, pah!“

“Oh, does he know what he's let himself in for?”

He still joked, yet Faralda's expression had become serious.

“Oh, he knows that. And I know how to keep him in line.”

Once more, a curious eyebrow rose. “Care to explain?”

Faralda tilted her head, a wide smile spreading on her lips. “I could show you. Let me suggest something to you.” 

~⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅~

As soon as the door fell into lock behind them, Faralda threw onto Ancano, trapped him between her and the wall. Hungry kisses met his lips, her hands clinging to the leather of his uniform. He tried to huff out words, noticeably caught off guard. She left him no time to speak, pulled more on his uniform, as if trying to tear it, and nipped on his lower lip, when he finally snaked his arms around her. More kisses fell down on his face, not all of them finding his mouth. Faralda’s hands searched his body now, wandering under the cloak, gathering his tunic and finding their way to his waistband. Her fingers teased him there and with her pelvis pressed to his, she felt him growing.

With a quick movement, he turned her and she crashed against the wall behind, so violent he pressed a gasp out of her lungs. His lips now trailed along her neck and décolleté, shoving the sleeves of her dress from her shoulder just to grace the skin with his teeth. He let go and pressed his forearm against her chest, pinning her against the wall. His breath tickled her chin and Faralda met his eyes, looking into a sea of golden desire.

“How do I deserve this honour?” he asked and placed another kiss on her lips before she was able to answer.

“You do not,” she pressed out, his weight on her ribcage robbing her of air. “I just have cravings that want to be satisfied.”

“Cravings,” he hummed, letting the word stand between them. “That’s good enough.”

He buried into the side of her neck, sucking, biting, kissing her there. A trail of goosebumps formed on her arms, while he gathered her dress, grabbing her leg to pull it up and wind it around him, pressing himself to her core. Her nails scraped along the soft skin of his throat and a wish to grow claws rose in her. Claws that would sink into his skin, tear his flesh apart. Let him bleed out while he was still caught in his longing for her, not noticing how life flowed out of him. A moan escaped her mouth while she mused about hot blood on hear fingers. It drove him further on, made him slide his hand along the inside of her thigh. Dangerously close he was to her centre, almost reaching it, when she gave him a forceful shove with her leg, catching him at the right moment to get him out of balance. He stumbled, fell a little to the side and let go of her, immediately wanting to come back, but she put her hands on his chest, keeping him at distance. His heart raced under her touch and with a look of incomprehension he stared at her, starting another try of getting closer.

“Pull yourself together,” she muttered to him, aware of the teasing undertone.

A groan left him, full of want, full of desire. Oh, how he writhed under her, wishing for nothing but closeness to her. And to not grant him that, flooded her with joy, one of the malicious kind. Her 'no' tortured him and she saw it in his eyes, the suffering he went through in this exact moment.

“Dear, I-“ he wanted to speak but with an irritated blink of her eyes, she silenced him.

“Did I allow you to speak? I do not remember that.”

Her lips slightly parted she watched how he lowered his head, devout. Some day she’d get him to fall on his knees with only a wink, but that still needed some time. He still had to learn, learn to read her perfectly. Yet, this was a good beginning.

“You were right about one thing, dear. Forming connections works well for me here and, luckily, there's something in it for you too.”       
She paused, analysing his reaction. Still keeping his head down, she sensed the worry coursing through him. Dread, she could literally smell it.      
“Come,” she just said, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him further down the corridor.

With the directions still fresh in her mind, she ran to the end of the corridor with him in tow, passing several doors along the way and positively surprised that no one crossed her path. She had expected obstacles in the form of soldiers roaming around, but she didn't encounter anyone. Her luck. Eventually she climbed a flight of stairs and another dark corridor opened up in front of her. She looked to her left. There, a door. The first in the line. Her hand clutched the handle and she held her breath as she pushed it down. Open. With Ancano dragged behind her, she disappeared into the room. As promised, she found herself in a bedroom. The only source of light was the silvery glow of the moons through the window, casting a stripe of bright white on the floor and part of the double bed. Breathing a non-audible sigh of relief, she turned to the Mer behind her.

“See? Not so bad, ain’t it?” she chuckled and let her fingers run along the clasps of his cloak.

He looked at her, visibly unsure if he had the right to speak in this moment. Another giggle left her mouth and she caressed his cheek with the knuckles of her hand.

“Am I finally getting some manners into you?” She paused, viewed the twitch of his lips. “Lovely. You see, you're so much more tolerable if you only speak when you're asked to. Now get out of that uniform.”

He didn't need to be told twice and began to undo the buckles on his coat. It fell to the floor with a rustle. The tunic followed promptly and Faralda let her gaze wander over his lean figure. Her gaze lingered on the scar on his abdomen. It was quite prominent, more so than it should be. He had apparently neglected to take proper care of it and so his flesh at the puncture mark was uneven and paler than the rest of his golden skin. He undid the laces of his trousers and slipped out of them, as well as his boots. The last thing to fall to the floor was his undergarment and Faralda's attention was drawn to his erection. The drop of pre-cum at the tip glistened in the moonlight and conjured a grin on her face.

“Now sit,” she said and nodded with her head to the nearby chair opposite of the bed.

He obeyed, took the few steps and sat down; his eyes half lidded. She knew that he was fighting with himself, trying to get his lust under control. It must hurt, she mused. All the blood in his cock, accumulated and dammed in there. Tension under the soft skin, a little burning. With these thoughts, she felt her own agitation rise, warmth spreading in her abdomen and between her legs. It grew to a heat accompanied with a tingle when she approached him. Slowly, she lifted her skirt and took a seat on his lap. Her centre, still separated with a thin layer of cloth, touched his length. His entire body gave a spasm together with a choked moan. She kissed his open mouth, let her tongue glide along his lower lip. Sending a wave of magicka in her fingers, she weaved a glowing spell that snaked around her fingers. It left her, wound around his ankles, tying them together. For now, he did not notice and she put her hands on his shoulder, shoving them back, letting his arms dangle behind the backseat of his chair. The magical binds did now also wrap around his wrists, weaved with the wood near them. She rocked her hips on his lap, giving him a taste of her heat. His muscles twitched, he wanted to take her in his arms, feel more of her – but he could not. He leaned against his restraints, trying to slip away, and it took him a moment to realise that there was no escape.

“You’ve been quite jealous this evening, haven’t you?” she purred in his ear. “You should get rid of that, dear.”

She stood up from him, walked a few steps backwards and let the picture of him set in her mind. There he sat, naked and defenceless. The gold of his eyes mirrored disbelieve and only grew as the wooden floor behind her creaked under the weight of steps. Faralda maintained visual contact with him as she felt a pair of hands coil around her waist. The note of a woody, spicy cologne played around her nose, a hint of citrus in it. Leather mingled with it and she held her breath as the buckle of her belt opened as if of its own accord. A stubbled cheek rubbed along hers, lips tracing her jawline. The belt slid to the floor and remained there. His hands retreated to her back and one by one opened the small buckles that held her dress together. The fabric lost its tightness and sagged. The sleeves slipped over her shoulders and slender fingers helped the dress to drop to the floor. A kiss found her neck, his beard tickled her skin.

“No,” Ancano let out as a hoarse and long-drawn whimper, the ache in it audible. “Please, Faralda, please.”

She watched as he writhed, fighting with himself. He wanted to look away, yet he could not. He was caught by the scene unfolding before him and with every stroke that the other Mer granted her skin, his pain grew.     

“Please, Faralda,” he begged. “Don’t, please.”

Ondolemar’s hands explored her body, one coming to a rest on her breast, squeezing it; the other wrapping around almost her whole neck. His teeth scraped along her earlobes and a shiver ran down her spine. Her hand found the one on her chest, gave it a nudge further down. He followed the impulse, trailing down her stomach to between her legs. With the strength of only two fingers, he spread her legs, giving a moan in her ear. Cool air hit her wetness and made her aware that it had soaked through her slip and even covered the insides of her thighs. He found his way in her undergarments, giving her a taste of his touch on her most sensitive spot.

“You’re delightfully wet, darling,” Ondolemar murmured in her ear, topping his words with another kiss.

Her knees were weak at this point and she had to lean against the form body of his behind her. Even through the thick leather she felt his hardness, pondering how big it might be.

“Please,” another miserable gasp sounded. He still begged.

Faralda’s lips quivered, her tongue slow and numb in her mouth. Could she bring him to tears? Would he cry seeing her being taken by another man?

“You know how it is Ancano,” she sighed. “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Tit for tat.”

I hope his cold heart bleeds slow, she thought and leaned back to find Ondolemar’s lips. They exchanged a kiss, tender and soft. His grip around her throat tightened a bit, her jaw now laying in his hand. He lifted her chin, savouring in looking at her. With a force that swiped her off her feet, he turned her and she landed with her back on the mattress, sinking into the sheets. A clean smell emanated from them and she sucked it in. Ondolemar’s dark figure bend over her, still having a firm grip on her neck with one hand and supporting himself with the other. Faralda’s chest rose and fell with her breaths, her nipples hard from the fresh air surrounding her. She drank in the emerald of his irises, awaiting his next move. To her surprise he let go of her, instead more kissed found her body, tracing her figure down until he kneeled between her legs. His hot breath met the thin fabric between her legs, his fingers running along her thighs. She craned her neck to see what he was doing, how he was doing it. As he pulled the fabric to the side to give her a first, tender lick, she clawed into the sheets beneath.

“Hold still darling and you’ll be getting what you want,” he hummed, sending another shiver over her body.

Her glare shot to the side, seeing Ancano. Expressionless, even empty he watched, lines forming on his forehead when Ondolemar’s teeth sank into the cloth of her underwear and pulled it down. Faralda gave an exciting yelp that turned her attention back to the Mer between her legs. His hands grabbed the fabric, tearing it in two and throwing it carelessly to the floor. Just after, he pulled her closer, then buried himself in her without a warning. A gasp left her lips and with it the heat grew stronger, even unbearable. Already she was so close to coming, feeling a pulse in her clit. Ondolemar’s tongue split her labia and his full, soft lips found her clit, sucking and nudging it with his tongue. Her hips bucked out of her control and he pulled her even closer, so close she wondered if he was still able to breathe. Two of his fingers sunk into her wetness, hooking inside her, applying a rhythmic pressure. She kicked her legs, had the urge to squeeze them together. What she experienced was too intense, but so very addictive. Faralda felt as if she was going to shatter at any moment, trying desperately to hold on to something. Her climax built up inside her and when it surged over her at last, she locked with Ondolemar's gaze. Moonlight reflected in the emerald sea of his eyes as she fell apart beneath him. Her moans rang in her ears, the throbbing in her centre convulsed her entire body.

Her laboured panting continued as Ondolemar bent over her once more. His tunic had vanished, where, she didn't know. Nevertheless, she was amazed at the definition of his body. A lot of work must have gone into it and, caught up in her fascination, she reached out an arm and brushed over his defined biceps.

“You like what you see, do you?” he murmured a question to her.

Nothing more than a nod was what she was able to give him as an answer. Her eyes wandered further down on him, noting now how his trousers gaped open. Seeing his erection awoke a renewed hunger in her and she wished for nothing more than to feel it inside of her. She stretched out a hand, lay her fingers around his length. Giving it a few pumps, he watched how the lust spread on his features. Quicker than she had anticipated, he seized her hips and turned her around. Instinctively, she slipped to her knees and held her behind out to him.

He entered. Deep, deeper than she thought possible. With every thrust he penetrated her whole depth, spread her wide for him. A firm grip on her hips, he glided into her only to pull out almost whole, his tip remaining at her entrance. Again and again, he played this game, picking up speed while doing it. Faralda saw stars, only rocked with his motions and trying to hold on as best as she could. Every of his thrusts was accompanied by a moan in unison and was not even interrupted by him lifting her up and pressing her back against his upper body. He wrapped the gold necklace that hung from her neck around his knuckles, pulling it tight around her throat.

“A precious gift from him, isn’t it?” Ondolemar groaned and Faralda wondered how he was able to articulate so well while inside her.

Another nod from her and the necklace tightened a little more, pressing down on her arteries and cutting of her blood flow. She grew lightheaded, her sight blurred. Sweat stood on her forehead and breasts, she saw them sway with the thrusts he pumped into her body. Her head rolled to the side, fixing her gaze on Ancano. He looked to his bare feet, the frown on his face had grown into distress. Behind her, Ondolemar tensed and his hand found back to her clit, circling it, pinching it between to fingers and rubbing. Faralda’s head leaned on his shoulder, her mouth giving strained and distant moans. Blood rushed in her ears and her vision blacked at the corners of its field.

“Ancano,” she muttered his name to get his attention and his head shot up, seeing how she came undone in another man's arms for the second time this evening.

Ondolemar let go of the necklace and blood rushed back into her head, supporting the orgasm that rioted through her entire form. She clawed to his thighs, sure to leave scratches on the leather of his trouser. But that didn’t matter to her, the only thing she felt was the excitement of a rush of oxytocin spreading. The Mer behind her too gripped onto her body, holding her close to her loins giving irregular last blows to her. His length pulsed inside her and he spilled, his highpoint coming with a beautiful groan. With it he let go of her and Faralda slumped at the sudden missing support, crashing down on the mattress. Another time she was seized and turned, Ondolemar again on top of her, giving her a last, tender kiss.

“A fine ride you are,” he chuckled. “If you have the time, I'd like to repeat this.”

The flush on Faralda’s cheeks grew worse, something she had not believed to be possible. She took in the beauty of his face once more, lingered on the full lips and the emerald eyes. A smile spread on her lips. Maybe. Maybe she’d do it again.

Ondolemar rose, tugged away his cock and picked up his tunic, putting it on again. With soft steps he backed away, almost disappearing in the dark he had lurked in when they had come here. Faralda scooted to the edge of the bed and put her feet on the floor. She still wore the pointed heels, curios how they had held on without a supporting strap. Her head turned again, finding Ancano in her periphery.

“Come here,” she ordered him and at the same time dissolved the spell that had shackled him.

He stretched his shoulders, avoided her gaze and rose from his seat, standing up.

“Oh, do you never learn?” she scolded him. “Crawl, dear.”

Slowly, he sank to his knees, his calves shaking. And then he crawled, head low and devout, taking to her direction. She slipped out of her shoe, stopping his motions with putting her toes to his cheekbone. He held still, waited.

“You’ve been hard the entire time, have you?”

He nodded.

“You like what you saw, did you? Wished to do it yourself. Too bad you can’t,” she spoke on, playing him a disappointed tone of voice.

He lifted his head, glared. A spark of rebellion in his eyes and she let it happen, curios what he was about to do. He lifted to sit on his legs, her foot still on his face. His hand wrapped around her ankle, his mouth enclosed her big toe and sucked it. For a moment she watched, tried to read in his face what part of her body he’d rather suck. Then she pulled away from him with a jerk and kicked. Crack. An ugly sound came from his nose and blood spilled from his nostrils, running along his lips and chin. She lowered her leg, watched how he winced in pain, eyes pressed shut firmly.

When he opened them again, pain stood in in his eyes. Faralda gestured him to come closer and he crawled further, came to a halt between her legs. Not unlike the last evening, he looked up to her, expectant. She took his chin in her hands, raised it, looking at the black sheen the blood had in the moonlight. Her thumb rubbed under his nose, smearing the warm liquid over his cheek. She bowed down to him, gave him a kiss on the lips. The taste of iron and salt spread on her tongue and she gave a broad smile. Little drops fell from his chin to the floorboards, mixing with the white honey-esque liquid that had dripped from inside her.

“Lick it up,” she demanded.

Without hesitation he bowed his head, and she saw how his tongue came out of his mouth, licking across the floorboards. Cum and blood mixed on it and he took it in without a flinch. He was done soon, the wood now glistening with his saliva instead.

“There’s more,” she hushed and laid a hand on the back of his head, giving him direction.

She spread her legs for him. Now he did hesitate, unsure he looked up to her. She gave his head another push and saw how his frown at last disappeared. He licked her clean, relishing in it. Faralda watched and felt nothing, too overstimulated, even numb from her lover before. When he was done, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him back until he sat on his legs again.

“See, you can be a good dog,” she praised him. “Now help me back into my dress.”

She stood up and gathered the gown from the floor, slipping it on. He stood up, waited. As no objections followed, he stepped over to her and closed the hooks of her dress with nimble fingers. When he was done, she put her shoe back on and turned to Ondolemar, who still stood in the corner of the room.

“I’d like to have another dance, you too?”

He took his cloak from the chest of drawers next to him, swung it over his shoulders and closed the claps. Stretching out his arm, Faralda hooked on to it and let him lead her out of the room. At the threshold she stopped and looked back at the naked mess that still stood in the middle of the room.

“Now, get yourself dressed. You look pitiful. And get me a wine when you’re back in the ballroom,” she added but did not wait for his answer.

She left with a smile on her lips.

~⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅~

Ondolemar stood at the fortifications of the Thalmor Embassy, looking over the spiked fence down to what may have been the sea if it were not obscured in an abyss of darkness. The goblet of wine in his hand shook and he took another sip, hoping to somehow calm his nerves.

“There you are, I’ve been searching for you. And so is Elenwen,” he heard a female voice.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw how the small statue of a woman climbed the stairs, holding her dress and careful not to slip on the ice that covered the stone. Her shoes clacked while she walked and every step of her made him flinch a little.

“Uh, everything alright with you?”

Brelas came to a halt next to him and he turned his head to look at her. Her friendly magenta eyes met his and a little warmth spread around his heart. Something he had missed this evening dearly. He spread out an arm and she let him pull her close.

“Can’t say it is,” he murmured.

“Do you want to speak about it?” she asked, snuggling a little closer to him.

“I’ve had an encounter,” he said and his gaze lingered in the far again. “You’ve seen Ancano and that he brought a woman?”

“Yeah, I wondered about that,” she said.

“I never thought I’d say that but I worry about him,” he uttered and took another sip. Still the wine had no soothing effect.

“Worry? About that assho- uh, I mean… man?”

He gave a laugh. Still Brelas tried to hold up formalities around him, not speak bad about the members of the Thalmor. It was engraved in her, he knew that and it was better to now get it out of her as long as she worked so close to Elenwen.

 “That woman he’s with… I want to spare you the details but she’s terrifying. What she does to him, it’s cruel. And it is so unusual for him to let that slip, you know him he’s more of the rougher kind.”

“You can call it rough; I have another word for it. Will never forget how I tripped and spilled a drink at his feet and he gave me a slap on the face for it. Maybe I should tell that woman about it and she’d be double as cruel to him,” Brelas mused aloud.

“She might. I wonder what drove her to it.”

“He scorned her and did it to the wrong one, I guess. Don’t feel bad for him. He seemed quite… eased by her side. Does him good to get back the shit he does.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I’ll have an eye on it,” he said and looked down on her, stroked a loose strand behind her pretty brown ear. “You said the other terrifying bitch wanted to speak with me? That much she takes the risk to send you looking after me?”

“Mhhh, I have to get back in, can’t leave Malborn alone any longer. But yes, she’s somewhere in the ballroom. Just see what she wants, can’t be that bad.”

It can’t be as bad as the things I’ve seen today, Ondolemar mused and downed the rest of his wine. A little wooziness set in. He’d need much more to cope with that experience.   

~⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅~