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Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s feet clicked rapidly down the paved path towards the Elfsong tavern. Her shift had carried over longer into the evening than she had expected and she knew she was beyond late. She had done her due diligence of sending Lia a sending spell but it did nothing to settle the guilty twist in her belly that she was now more than an hour late to her own celebration party for the very position advancement that had now made her late–an endless loop of nonsense. 

She hastily scurried her way up the steps to the entrance and paused. She gathered some of that nervous energy, held it in her palm, and let it fall over her in a refreshing glamor. Nyara had taken great pains to pretty herself for tonight and she’d be damned if she would let all the compliments she had received today ended at closing time because the journey to Elfsong had disheveled her. 

Nyara had found the nicest dress she owned that wasn’t too formal for an evening at a tavern; a navy blue satin shift dress that hugged her curves in all the right ways. She suspected it was intended to be a midi but because of her height it landed at her ankles, the side slit only reaching her knee rather than her thigh. She paired it with some cream heeled sandals, a dainty silver amulet, a silver bracelet Dammon had gifted her not long after the city had begun its healing, and small silver loops Lia had gifted her for her name day. Nyara had woken extra early to proper apply her makeup and wrangle her long, bright white curly hair into something refined; she had swept her curls into a high ponytail, braided the end, then wrapped it unto a fully braided bun at the top of her head and had carefully smudged dark blue alone her waterline and close to her lashes, careful to not smudge any on the thick curly white lashes so they would stand out. She had completed the look with a pretty fig colored lip paint Astarion had purchased for her before running off into the Underdark to help the other spawn resettle. 

Astarion wrote to her frequently and based on his correspondence he would come back to visit in two months give or take. That would be nice considering it had been around eight months since she had last seen him. Likewise, Gale was planning a visit, as a consultant, to the Counting House in a tenday or so to oversee the changes she would be making to enhance security. She had personally invited him because, honestly, there wasn’t anyone else she felt would understand her vision better than Gale; and one who would be knowledgeable enough to suggest reasonable solutions to her queries. 

Nyara passed the threshold and quickly scanned the landing for her table. Dammon spotted her and threw up a thick forearm, a warm smile on her lips. Nyara tried not to cringe at Lia, Lakrissa and Alfira’s loud whooping and hollering from across the room. Locking eyes with Rolan she shot him a small, apologetic smile, and appreciated that from his expression he clearly shared her sentiments. She also didn’t miss his not so subtle one over he gave her before remembering himself and looking down at the beer he would likely nurse all night. 

Once close enough to the table Dammon reached out a strong arm and pulled her into a side hug from where he sat. Nyara laughed and threw her arms awkwardly around his neck, “I am so sorry that I kept all of you waiting. No one bothered to tell me that a title change was accompanied by a schedule change as well.”

Rolan raised his mug, “Such is the way of promotions.” 

She untangled herself from Dammon and threw her arms around the other three women before settling herself between Dammon and Rolan, throwing an arm around the wizard’s waist in a side hug as she sat down, a smile tugging at her lips when he flinched. 

Alfira, already deep into her cups, raised a glass and began to sloppily pour a generous serving of rich red wine into a glass before clumsily passing to Nyara. “Hurry! We need to make a toast!”

Nyara laughed, “Are they giving us a curfew Alfira?”

The woman snorted, “Don’t be ridiculous! But you’re so very late so now we need to get you drunk quickly so you can be drunk with us!” 

Rolan scoffed, “Speak for yourself.” He leaned towards Nyara conspiratorially, “Don’t let this heathen bully you into your cups.” 

Nyara smiled and raised her glass, waiting for everyone to tap edges with her, “To getting drunk!”

Lia and Alfira both squealed in delight, “To getting drunk!” 

Nyara flopped back into her seat, her thigh brushing against Dammon’s thigh as she settled herself into a comfortable sitting position of one leg tucked beneath her thigh and the other hanging haphazardly from her seat. “I am relying on the most responsible one here to see me home. I came with every intention of getting drunk enough to sleep through tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” Nyara gulped down her red wine and stuck the glass back out for Alfira to refill. 

Lakrissa shook her head, “Please don’t encourage this one.” She nodded her head in Alfira’s direction. “I don’t think the patrons want a drunken bard’s performance.” 

Alfira filled the glass to the rim and slid it across the round table to Nyara, “I’m not performing tonight. I can be as druuuuuunk as I waaaaaaant.” 

Lakrissa cringed at the woman’s loud, lyrical declaration as did Rolan. Nyara leaned towards Rolan and rested her shoulder against his and smiled behind her glass at the very unsubtle looks Lia was giving her brother. Nyara had decided on her way over that she had waited long enough for Rolan to gather the courage to advance their relationship. She knew the man was interested but she had wanted to give him the space to move things along at a pace he was comfortable with; but it had been ten months since the defeat of the Elder Brain. Ten long months of her friends scattering across Faerun and, in the case of Lae’zel, back to the Astral Plane, and ten months of having to pleasure herself alone in the confines of her bed out of fear that if she invited another body to her bed that it would scare Rolan off if he ever got word of it. But now it had been ten months too long. Ten months of silently screaming through whatever ordeal Haarlep decided to put her body through, ten months of finding a corner and riding out the barrage of sensations deep within her cunt or of writhing in her bed throughout the night until it passed…alone. Ten months of relying on an enchanted marbled phallic toy and her imagination of Rolan or the Devil’s hands and mouth all over her while her body was used to its limits. And as of late the frequency with which Haarlep used her form was increasing. Ten months ago, weeks would pass before she felt the tell tale signs of Haarlep’s activities; now, she could barely go a tenday without her form seeing action. 

If she were a better person she’d be ashamed to look Rolan or Dammon in the eye during these monthly meetups considering the depraved things her mind had conjured during Haarlep’s sessions. But she wasn’t a better person and she would most certainly be taking at least Rolan to her bed tonight if it was the last thing she did. 

It had, thus far, been suspiciously quiet. Raphael had not come for her despite her non-fulfillment of their contract. The first three months had been awful. She hadn’t slept, she walked around looking over her shoulder, and every holler for name in the street or knock on her door had made her heart explode in panic. And then six months had passed without so much as a hint of Korilla following her. The only reminder of her bond with the Hells was Haarlep’s consistent use of her body. Then ten months had passed. Nyara had assumed that either the inability to recover the Crown from the Chionthar had nullified her contract or that Raphael had decided to just wait for her to die to claim her soul. 

Dammon sat up and leaned closer to her, his blue eyes full of warmth and a little glaze from his drink of choice. “So, tell us about the promotion. What will you be doing now?”

Nyara took another gulp from her glass, “Well, as you all know, I worked as part of the security team for the higher security vaults at the Counting House. We are responsible for maintaining the wards and adding additional enchantments to ensure those vaults remain uncrackable.” Astarion had been a gods’ send until he left–helping her anticipate what others with his skill set would attempt to do in order to circumvent the building’s security systems. Since his departure she now unofficially consulted with Rugan and occasionally with Mol; having dinner with the former where she would casually let slip information about noble’s deposit and withdrawal schedules as payment for services and pilfering from her personal vault for the latter’s aid in her endeavors. “Mr. Glitterbeard decided that given my…unique…methods of maintaining the vaults’ security that I will now be the headmaster over all of the Counting House’s security. I’ll have three teams, the standard wizards and sorcerers who will oversee the safes, a more advanced team to maintain the vaults, and a hand-picked selection that will implement my crafted wards over the high security vaults. Today I was so late because we began the selection process and it was much more daunting than I had expected.” 

Dammon swigged at his tankard, “How so?”

“Because…the Guild saw this as an opportunity to try and shove their own into the vaults under the guise of my promotion and the need for new staff to cover the now vacant role. But if I allow that I know it will compromise the wards I worked so hard to craft and it will put a target on my head because it will look as if I am either (a) working for the Guild or at the very least sympathetic to them and (b) in light of these circumstances I risk the Zhents getting pissed that I’m playing favorites. Sooooo-” she polished off the remainder of her wine and slid the glass toward Alfira for a third refill, “finding a candidate without an agenda has been…taxing thus far.” 

Dammon blew out a breath, “Damn. Sounds like you have your work cut out for you.”

She nodded, “Yep. Had I known, I might have passed on the promotion.”

Lia laughed, “Oh please. You love being busy and you love being bossy too much to give something like this up.”

Nyara snorted as she reached forward for her glass, again too full for social politeness, and smiled at Lia, “True. But still…I’m not a fan of working harder than necessary. I just wanted the increase in coin that came with the title hahaha.” 

Lia gave her brother a sly smile before turning that wicked gaze, now uninhibited from the alcohol, on Nyara, “You wouldn’t need so much coin for rent if you would just take up the offer to come and live at the tower with us. We have more rooms than we need.” 

Rolan sputtered beside her and Nyara giggled, “You know Lia you’re starting to make more sense to me. One more glass and I just might take you up on that room.” 

Cal, uncharacteristically quiet tonight, threw his hand out and smiled, “Hurry then, finish that one and I’ll get you another. I am in desperate need of a part time referee to go between hers and his bickering.” The boy motioned between Lia and Rolan and threw her a knowing smile. Nyara grinned back and gulped down her third full glass of wine and after that last draining could now feel the consequences of her actions catching up to her. 

As Cal took the empty glass from her to pour another she felt warmth rising to her cheeks and hear roiling in her belly. She needed to put some food in her soon or she was going to be sloppy before anything fun had happened. 

She gave Rolan’s hand a warm squeeze and stood too fast, swaying a bit. “I need food or I’m gonna look like Aflira. Would anyone like to place an order before I go up?” 

Lakrissa chuckled, “Loaf bread, cheese, and nut spread for us please.” 

Lia partially stood from her chair, “Those fried potatoes where they put everything on top of them please.” She motioned at Rolan to get up, “And make him go order today is for you!” 

Rolan began to stand but she gently pushed down on his shoulder, “It’s fine. I need to walk around to sober up a little. I’ll put it on a tab and we can settle before we leave.” She looked down at him and gave him her flirtiest drunk smile, “Anything you’ve been craving Rolan?” 

He swallowed hard and then nodded before catching himself and shaking his head, “No! No. I ate already I’m fine. Thank you.”

She squeezed his shoulder before teetering off towards the bar to place an order.

Alan, as usual, was behind the bar and gave her a wide smile as he watched her swagger over. “Ara! Good to see ya!”

She waved, “Hi Alan. I’ve got an order for the table waaaaay over there in the corner.”

He gave her a once over and smiled wider, “You look nice. Celebratin’ or somethin’?”

She nodded and smiled back. Alan’s smile was always contagious which was a necessary trait for a tavern owner in these parts. “Something like that. Could you have them bring us two bread, cheese, and nut platters and a side skillet of the loaded potatoes? Oh! And a hot milk tea for me please?” 

Nyara was vaguely aware that Alan had responded to her but she had already turned around to wander back to her table before a chest collided with her nose. A warm hand at her back settled her and another had firmly gripped her to steer her away from their body. 

Nyara was already babbling an apology when she was met with a familiar pair of topaz eyes. Oh no. 

His predatory grin was condescending. He shamelessly let his eyes roam over her before leaning in and whispering, “You do indeed look quite nice tonight. Do tell…what is the occasion, Little Mouse?”

~oU0Uo~

The House of Hope was exactly as she had remembered; very opulent, very red, and a lot of wallowing. Raphael sat at the end of his table, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes boring into her as if by gaze alone he could extract her soul from her body. Nyara nibbled on her bottom-lip. She would wait for his queue. There was no sense in rushing into anything unnecessary. He had waited this long to make a move, she couldn’t imagine it was to bring her here and kill her…yet. 

Raphael motioned with his eyes to the place setting on his left. Nyara obediently nodded and made her way to that spot, mechanically walking towards the chair, awkwardly pulling out as the expensive wood scraped against the marble floor, and sat down unceremoniously. “Would  you say that I have dealt unfairly with you, Little Mouse?”

Nyara, wisely, shook her head no. She couldn’t rely on her drunken tongue to smooth talk her way out of this situation right now, considering she had chugged three glasses of wine before being summoned here. 

Raphael hummed. “And would you say that I have treated you and your companions with respect?”

Nyara’s eyes widened in alarm but nodded her head in a yes motion. What the fuck was this about? 

He leaned forward, “I see. Then do you care to explain to me why when I arrived home not two days prior, I was greeted by the sight of your form, in my boudoir, entertaining some of my more esteemed guests?” 

Several answers all came together in a nice neat organized file within Nyara’s brain. First, that explained why the night after her promotion had been announced Haarlep had seemed to decide that it was a wonderful time to have marathon sex that had resulted in close to six orgasms—with the aid of an enchanted marbled cock to work her through the fantom intrusions–of which the last two had been the byproduct of overstimulation. She had barely slept four hours from after it finally ended until her day started and why, during the final orgasm, every sensation that had been overwhelming her had just…stopped. Secondly, it suddenly occurred to her that Raphael perhaps had not been privy to Haarlep’s acquisition of her form. She pushed down the slight and inexcusably inappropriate disappointment that her fantasies of Raphael indulging in her form had been very wrong and focused on how his eyes were currently flickering between topaz and flames. Oh gods he was furious. 

Stupidly, she gave him an uncomfortable smile and a shrug. This was not the correct response. 

Before she could blink her back was against the table and a now red hand was tightly gripped around her throat causing her to see stars on the edge of her rapidly blackening vision. She instinctively scratched at his hand, her legs kicking out at him  in a futile attempt to get him to let her go. Raphael placed his forehead against hers, his horns digging into the skin at her brow, “Of all the disrespectful and treacherous creatures I have encountered you, Nyara, have disappointed me the most.” 

Raphael squeezed so much harder Nyara felt her tongue trying to loll out of her mouth like a dehydrated dog. She scratched harder at him and looked at him pleadingly. Her vision was already almost completely black with colored spots decorating the edge. She forced herself to hoarsely whisper, “I–srry—thot—was—-you.”

Nyara gasped and choked. The pressure was gone. She inhaled air into her starved lungs and wheezed like a fish out of water. She turned on to her side and watched as Raphael observed her from his seat, not a hair out of place and without a single indication that mere moments before he had been a fiend with his hands around her throat. He was just Raphael, the brown eyed, brown haired, polished aristocrat hellbent on stealing souls. 

She pushed herself to sit up and, now mindful that Raphael was sitting in the seat in front of where she was sprawled on his dinner table, did her best to close her thighs and sit straight. The back of her neck tickled from the curls that had escaped her nest bun during the struggle and was mindful that one of her boobs was determined to slide out of the side of her sheath dress. Nyara, as subtly and with as much dignity as she could muster, pressed her arm to her side to force her boon back in place. Raphael’s responding eyebrow raise made her cheeks color. 

“How long ago did you come looking for me and find a poor imitation in my stead?” His eyes had not left her and had not softened. Another wrong move and Nyara would find herself screaming in these halls for an eternity and not in the fun way she had done in her fantasies. 

“Before the battle against the Elder Brain-“ his answering snarl was enough to make her rush the last of the tale out with little dignity left.   “IgotdrunkandcamelookingforyouwhenyouwerentatSharess!” She took a breath, “I was drunk and thought I was going to die. I thought, what do I have left to lose? Worst case scenario he laughs and sends me back?” Nyara couldn’t bear to look at him. “It wasn’t until I felt that pull for my mind that I realized I had made a grave mistake. I managed to bargain for Haarlep’s retention of my body only, not my mind and certainly not a soul that wasn’t mine to bargain with in the first place.” She clicked her tongue and stared down at her lap, “Haarlep sent me on my way with the promise that this mistake would stay between us…but that I would remember my misstep every time I felt…well…you know.” 

Raphael had leaned back in his seat and was all but giddy with delight now as he observed her shame. She didn’t dare move but she felt too exposed sitting on the table, disheveled, admitting one of the worst decisions she’d ever made while drunk in, arguably, her whole life. 

“So you came into my home and left with less than what you had arrived with.” His rich laugh made her skin crawl. “Oh Little Mouse…poor, idiotic thing that you are.” 

He leaned forward and traced a line along dark blue silk separating her thigh from his warm touch. “And you clearly learned nothing seeing as you were on the road to making the same lust-driven decision again with either the pathetic little wizard or the do-gooder Infernal smith.” He tutted and snapped. 

Nyara was now sitting across from him, a large desk the buffer between both his gaze and his judgement. Before her floated her contract, glowing, gleaming, and still very much unfulfilled. Her crystal eyes widened in fear. Fuck. She was fucked.

“If the crown has truly been destroyed this contract would have incinerated in its case. It was, of course, something you cleverly renegotiated for. But as you can see, it hasn’t done so.” He leaned on his elbows, “I know you sought to defy me. I had initially assumed you planned to hand the crown over to Mystra. But imagine my surprise to find that she remains crownless, as does the wizard, as does my father.” He leaned forward and Nyara watched in horror as his human guise melted away to expose the large, red, menacing cambion sitting before her. “You will tell me what you have done with the crown now Nyara or I will collect what is due and owed and will hang you, skinless, from the ceiling of my boudoir and will keep you there until I find another use for you.” 

“I didn’t know that there had been a…small mutiny during my idiotic escapade in your home.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not the crown that is missing. I have the crown safely stored away. It’s—“

“The stones.” 

Nyara flinched at his barely contained anger, giving him a single nod in acknowledgment of her failure. She cleared her throat, “it wasn’t until days after everyone began to go their separate ways and I collected everything to bring over to you that I realized what had been done. I have the entire crown, every piece safely cleaned and reassembled, but…I was only left with a single stone.” 

Nyara dared to look up at him and his eye twitch was all the warning she had before the desk exploded into pieces and she was thrown against the wall. His wings unfurled and he shoved her hand into the wall again, “HOW COULD YOU BE SO CARELESS? SO FOOLISH?”

“I never thought they would dare jeopardize my soul! I wrote to everyone and I have managed to locate one of the stones but the third remains lost.” 

Raphael let her slide down the wall. “Show me.” 

She nodded, “Take us to the Counting House.” 

He snapped and they were within the corridor of the lower level. She stood, gathered the last of her functioning brain cells, and began to undo her own wards so that they could pass through. A small tear opened amongst the blinding yellow of crackling energy and she motioned with her head for the devil to pass through. Once the threshold was crossed she stepped behind him and beckoned for him to follow her to one of the last vaults. It was registered under the name Pel Lordraha. The cambion raised his eyebrow at her. She shrugged and began entering the complicated code to open the smallest of the high security vaults on the lowest level. It clicked, hissed, then popped for him to open the thick metal door. 

Nyara had been in a constant state of anxiety and restlessness while the pieces of the crown had sat and the bottom of a trunk in her apartment. She had felt like having the cursed piece was a beacon for anyone and everyone to come knocking on her door. And then, the grandest of opportunities had struck. Her old job welcomed her back with open arms and thus gave her the perfect place to stow away the nuisance until Raphael ultimately came calling for it.

The name? Well she knew he had a flair for the dramatic considering his personal incubus was named Haarlep so she figured he’d be pleased with a vault that had an anagram of its own for the self-made Lord of Avernus.

Just as promised, the crown sat atop a red cushion, fully rebuilt, with only a single stone in the center. Raphael stared at her with a hard look for so long she began shifting her weight from one foot to the other in discomfort. 

“Lock this and reseal the wards.” 

She did as she was told and once finished he snapped again and they were outside the Elfsong. He looked at her with distaste and snapped again and she felt her hair and makeup fall back into place and the aching at her neck ebb into a dull, barely noticeable, throb. He turned away and began walking down the steps, “Don’t you dare think to run off. I need time to ruminate and decide what will happen to you. I will call you when I am ready to hand down my decision.” 

Nyara watched helplessly as Raphael snapped and disappeared in embers on the street. She turned to go back inside and was met with a distressed Rolan at the doorway.

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara moaned as a hand fisted into the bun at the top of her head and used the secure handle to drag her to the doorframe, shove her up against it, and attack her neck with sloppy kisses–alternating between sucking, biting, and licking at the wounds left behind. She had no doubt she would be peppered in dark blue and purple bruises come morning.

The hand not holding her up against the door traveled down the front of her shift, gathering the fabric in a bunch, and shoving it to the side to slide his leg between her thighs and slide her up the doorframe to his eye level. The intensity and the blatant want in his stare made her breath catch in her throat. 

His tail slithered up her ankle, wrapped around one of her thighs and pulled up and out, spreading her wider for him. She closed her eyes and focused on everyplace his mouth touched–her jaw, down her neck, across her shoulder, her breasts over the fabric of her dress, her belly, her captured thigh, and dragged that forked tongue from her knee to her inner thigh before inhaling once he reached the apex of her thighs. “You are more divine in reality, prettier and softer than anything I have ever managed to conjure on nights when you plagued my thoughts so thoroughly I needed release if I ever expected to sleep.” 

Nyara was confident that if he weren’t so drunk none of what he’d just said would have ever left his lips. But because she was also drunk off her ass, the knowledge that this man on his knees in front of her thought about her so frequently he had to finish himself in order to get anything productive done, lit a fire in her that she hadn’t felt in gods knew how long. 

A forked tongue swiping from her entrance to the tip of her clit followed by lips pulling her bud between them and gently sucking had her shuddering and moaning like a wanton whore. When was the last time she’d been touched? Gods probably over a year ago when she had gone home with one of the half-drow who worked as a teller at the Counting House. And honestly, she’d only agreed because he was one of the few people at her job who hadn’t treated her like shit because of her heritage. Persistent circles over her clit had her cunt weeping and clenching around nothing and her thighs shaking. 

A clawed hand pressed against her lower belly, fingers splayed out, while the other hand ran a finger through her slick in search of her entrance. Once she was thoroughly shaking a single finger entered her and searched for that spongy spot deep inside and began its assault on her inner button until she was shaking uncontrollably and sobbing against her door, back pressed hard into the wood and hands gripping his horns as if her life depended on it. 

His lips and fingers worked her through her orgasm, almost bordering on overstimulation, before he slurped at her cunt, stood from his spot on the floor, used his tail to lift her back up the door, wrap her legs around his back, and push her hard into the wood as he kissed her like he might never see her again and this was his last opportunity to make an impression. 

She parted her lips and sucked his forked tongue into her mouth, welcoming the salty taste of her from his tongue and lips onto hers; her hands never leaving his horns as he assaulted her mouth with every ounce of his desire and affection. And she returned hers in kind. 

Against her lips his hot breath murmured “Et Alibi” and suddenly she was sitting on her kitchen counter, those bright orange irises boring into her in question as his claws slid under the flimsy ties at her shoulders. She gave a single nod and relished the feeling of his claws shredding through her expensive dress and baring her body to him. His eyes bounced around taking in every blue freckle, mole, fat roll, and stretch mark across her breasts, belly, and thighs. The way he was looking at her you’d swear she’d shown him water after days in the desert without it. He ran the length of his nose from her right breast up her shoulder, across her neck, and up to the pointed tip of her ear, his voice leaving a hot wake against her skin, “Is there a particular reason you forgot smallclothes tonight?”

She keened as his fangs grazed the sensitive tip of her ear, “Wanted to put on a show for you.” 

He growled against her ear and bit into the skin behind her ear where a small spider had been tattooed on her not long after her birth. Her hands rushed to his chest to peel layer after layer of his robes off of him, her impatience settling on merely opening his robe and shoving it to the side so she could reach down and rip at the ties of his stays. Nyara reached into his breeches to pull him out and gasped as her hand met hard, ridged, length. 

Her reaction seemed to sober him from his drunken, lust filled stupor because he was suddenly pulling back and stammering about tiefling anatomy. Nyara blinked at him in confusion. “Rolan, why did you pull away?”

“Well I mean…I just…I didn’t mean to startle you I was so caught up…and…well I apologize I should have warned you–” He was staring at the floor and Nyara was suddenly hit with the realization that Rolan was worried she would be repulsed by his body. She leaned forward off the counter, grabbed the open sides of his robe, and hauled him back toward her, guiding his member toward her soaked and sticky entrance. She rubbed the head up and down her slick and relished in his full body shudder. Nyara wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, “Did you feel that Rolan? That’s for you.”

Her hand slid between her folds, gathered her slick between her fingers, then reached out to start rubbing him up and down, using her own juice as lubricant. Rolan keened against her mouth, his hands grabbing anywhere they could reach on her body for purchase. 

She gripped him harder and squeezed his head, thumbing his weeping head, and sliding that down to join her juices gliding along the intricate ridges patterned along the head and sides of his cock. Her mouth was salivating at the prospect of what those were going to feel like inside of her. 

Nyara bit Rolan’s bottom lip, sucked hard, and whispered, “I need you inside of me. Now.”

Rolan braced his body between her spread, freckled thighs, laid his hands on the counter on either side of her cheeks, and watched as her hand dragged him through her slick again; circling the head of his cock over her sensitive clit before pushing him down to her entrance. Once aligned he began to tentatively push and the slow, deliberate stretch of her cunt around his thick dick made her toes curl and her hands grab fist fulls of the loose fabric of his robes still covering his back. 

He repeated his rhythm of barely pushing in and out and slowly added more and more of his cock into her until he gave a final push to seat himself inside which made him let out a low moan and had her whining into his neck. Then, as if a tether had snapped, Rolan rolled his hips in earnest and fucked into her without abandon. She raised her legs to wrap around his back, crossing her ankles above his tail, gripped his horns, and held on for dear life as Rolan continuously slammed into her against the counter, cursing in Infernal and Common against the skin of her neck. 

When his thrusting became more erratic he unlatched from the spot on her neck his teeth had been latched onto and looked at her with a silent question. She gripped him tighter between her legs and shook her head up and down–her response had his eyes rolling and his seed shooting hard and hot into her.

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s face was pressed into the cushions of her reading chaise, a clawed hand firmly on her cheek while the other raked down her back as his cock bullied its way into her over and over again from behind, abusing her sensitive spot deep inside until she was sobbing into the cushions and gushing ecstasy between her thighs and all over Rolan’s cock as he continued thrusting despite her sobs. 

Just when the stimulation was bordering on unbearable Rolan pulled out and, as politely as he possibly could have in their circumstance, requested to finish in her mouth if she would allow it. Nyara was so thoroughly fucked out and touched by his politeness she struggle to roll over and climb on top of a now sitting Rolan so she could give him the ending her deserved. No sooner than she had made her cheeks hollow and rolled him over her tongue he was already  moaning her name and gently pulsing along her lips and tongue as he spurt his spend down her throat. Just to be cheeky she locked eyes with him and watched his eyes flutter as she swallowed every last drop. 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara awoke early in the morning to Rolan lying behind her, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist,  his tail wrapped around her thigh, and his body humping into her behind. After two unsuccessful attempts to get his attention Nyara realized he was humping her in his sleep. 

She repositioned her body as best as she could within his death grip and raised her leg up and over his thigh. She gently reached for his cock, pressed between her back and his stomach, and gently guided it between her thighs, still lubricated with remnant slick from her slumber. Rolan continued to unknowingly rock his hips into her while she maneuvered him along her slit and then firmly closed her thighs around him. She wrapped her arms around his, closed her eyes, and let her body enjoy the slow build up of him rubbing along the length of her cunt with his head passing over her clit with every steady thrust. 

After about five minutes of his steady rocking, it wasn’t the mind shattering orgasm from earlier in the evening but it was gently burst of ticklish energy that left her eyes fluttering and a soft moan escaping her throat. His thrusting only lasted another minute or so before he was spilling in his sleep across her stomach and thighs. She gently rubbed at his arms and kept him tucked between her legs as she drifted back to sleep.

~oU0Uo~

As the beginnings of daybreak peeked through Nyara’s curtained windows Rolan’s hands squeezed at her waist and belly as she bounced up and down his cock in a slow, lazy, rhythm that had him groaning his praises beneath her. She didn’t think her body was capable of another orgasm this morning but she enjoyed bringing him closer to his.

Rolan reached up and took a full breast into his mouth and worked her soft, long purple nipple into a peak that rivaled the first joint on his pinky finger. He moaned as he worked her hardened nipple between his teeth before dragging his lips to the pale dusky skin beside her areola and sunk his teeth into the soft flesh. He worked a mark onto her sensitive skin while she wailed at the sensation. 

She squeezed her thighs around his waist and squeezed him inside of her as she sat up and then released as she sat back down. Rolan gave a surprised shout and suddenly he was writhing and thrusting his release up into her, his claws leaving the previous hand full of tits and instead gripping the rolls where her stomach met her thighs, and moaning until he finished releasing within her.

Nyara gently removed him from inside her and settled herself on his chest. Rolan wrapped his arms around her and kissed to top of her head where her bun had regressed into a disheveled braid that had come unraveled from her bun sometime between the counter and the chaise chair. He squeezed her tight and whispered, teetering in that soft space between waking life and sleep, “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this.”

She kissed his chest, “Oh I don’t know. I’ve been waiting ten months.” 

Rolan sat up. “What did you say?”

Nayara rolled off of him. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for ten months.” She tucked some of his hair behind his ear. “But when you weren’t responding to my flirting I thought maybe you’re more traditional and needed more time. So for the last ten months I went to our monthly meet ups wondering it it would be *this* time.” She nibbled on the soft point of his ear and whispered, “But I got tired of waiting for Rolan. So tonight I took matters into my own hands.”

~oU0Uo~

Nyara was on her third mug of black milk tea. She couldn’t focus and her board of directors helping her sift through applications was beginning to notice her distracted behavior. Just remembering her weekend escapade with Rolan had her flustered at work. She had caught the gangly new assistant, nephew to one of the women Glitterbeard was sleeping with, staring unabashedly at her chest–where her nipples were hard and peeking through her dress–with reddened cheeks each time he had come to deliver the milk tea she had sent for. Nyara silently cursed herself for not double binding her chest and believing that the thicker, richer fabric of her dress would conceal her and for foolishly thinking that the spring heat was excuse enough for her to justify that the likelihood of her getting a chill would be none. 

She had also been so wrapped up in Rolan she had managed to miss her first appointment with her father and brother in ten months. She’d sent a sending spell to Nadal to let him know she was safe and fine, just exhausted from her new position. Not the worst lie she had ever told them. Nadal had laughed and assured her everything was fine and to just come when she could; which would be tonight if she could get ahold of herself.

She and Rolan hadn’t left her apartment all weekend. They stayed in bed for the entirety of the day after the celebration and had woken up to do the same the day after. Rolan had been at war with himself on whether he would stay the night again or leave to prepare for the start of the new week—eventually responsibility outweighed desire and he’d seen himself out late that evening to make his way back to Sundries. 

Knowing if the roles were reversed she would appreciate the same she had sent him a sending spell that morning before work. Morning handsome! I am planning for this week to be hectic but I would love a dinner with you at the end of this tenday. 

Nyara hadn’t finished locking the door when his response came. I would love nothing more. I will find us a place and speak to you at the end of this tenday. Take care my dear. 

After ten more rejections based on a lack of credentials coupled with dubious intentions Nyara pushed away from the large rounded table and announced they were breaking for lunch. She ignored the looks of incredulity, silent accusations that she hadn’t really done anything for the last four hours, but she had, in fact, skim reviewed more than thirty applications and rejected twenty five of them. There was a neat pile of five potential candidates she would thoroughly vet after she’d had a hot meal and cleared her mind. 

Nyara felt eyes on her as soon as she stepped into the small tavern across from the bridge leading to the Counting House. The establishment had barely been open six months and already it was incredibly popular with the patrons on this side of the Gate. She knew several tellers were using the tavern to have lunchtime affairs with senior members of staff and a few more were using the tavern to entertain patrons. Glitterbeard had a few girls from Sharess on call to keep some of the Gate’s finest investing in their fine and now overly secure establishment. 

She ordered her fried fish and roasted vegetables basket and a half dozen sweet buns for pickup after her shift ended before sliding into the seat across from a familiar face. “Korilla! Long time no see.”

The dwarf sipped her mead then looked at her like she’d killed her cat. “Not long enough.”

Nyara scrunched up her nose, “Well then. With pleasantries exchanged, why are you here?”

Korilla gave her a why the fuck do you think look before smiling. Nyara ignored the roil in her stomach and sat straighter. “I have no intention of running. I’m not stupid.”

Korilla hummed noncommittally and watched the server drop off Nyara’s fish and vegetable platter. Once Nyara began to cut into her meal Korilla took another swig from her mead. “Throwing a party tonight?”

Her brow furrowed, “Noh…wah?”

“Half a dozen sweet buns all for you then?” She raised an arched eyebrow daring Nyara to lie.

She chewed, swallowed, and smiled. “For..” She stopped herself. She didn’t want Raphael to know about her family. There was a substantial likelihood he already knew but all the same, she wouldn't be the one to hand them over to him on a silver platter. “For an engagement I have this evening.”

Korilla snorted, “Wow, an engagement. So formal.”

Nyara set her cutlery down. “I don’t plan on running and I don’t need a shadow. I’ll come when called. We can either enjoy the remainder of each other’s company or we can take turns making each other’s lives miserable. You know he doesn’t care either way.” 

She watched Korilla’s lips twitch into a smirk. “You’re treading water hon. Careful. Don’t forget who you’re toying with.”

“I’m not toying nor am I taunting. I’m just trying to survive.”

~oU0Uo~

After letting herself into her father’s house she made sure to change the lantern shade to blue to alert her brother that she had arrived. Nadal had lost his hearing at an early age after a particularly brutal beating from their mother and her mother’s sister. She, her brother, and her father had been speaking in sign as long as she had been alive.

She made her way up the stairs with her sweet buns in tow and rounded the small landing, changing more shades as she made her way across the small salon to her father’s room. He was sitting up today in bed with a book in his lap and spectacles over his eyes. When he saw her he smiled, “ Dalharil . Beautiful girl. Welcome home.”

“Hello Kel'nar. ” She passed through the doorway and planted a kiss on his temple. Nadal had clearly just helped him bathe and had combed his greying curls back into a small bun at the crown of his head. Nyara placed the package on the night table beside her father’s bed and sat on the edge. “I missed you. How are you feeling today?”

“Ugh you and Nadal worry too much. I’m fine. I feel fine. I was just reading another one of those books your brother always orders from the library. I don’t see what he enjoys about them; they are so garish.” A lie and they both knew it. Around three years ago her father had begun to lose the feeling in his toes. He never told anyone. The issue progressed to losing feeling in his feet then up to his knee on his left side which led to more frequent trips and falls. By the time she and her brother had discovered the issue and had taken him to a healer the damage had already been done. It was a rare degenerative disease here on the surface but apparently it was common amongst drow males. It would keep eating at his faculties until her father could do no more than blink his eyes and purse his lips while bedridden. 

Nadal and Nyara had scoured every library and consulted with every experienced wizard and healer they could find but everyone returned the same verdict—no cure existed. So they changed approaches and began researching methods to delay progression of the disease. 

When Lorroakan had still owned Sundries he had refused an audience with Nadal because of his heritage. She’d heard the man was a cad so she had put on the sluttiest of her respectable young lady dresses and had bribed the young girl working the front desk for an audience. She’d watched the conflict raging behind his eyes, she’s a dirty drow but she’s a dirty drow with a pretty face and great tits. In the end she had convinced him to let her do some extensive research in exchange for some favors…one of which was letting him fuck her tits while working at his desk. 

She’d kneeled below his desk for the better part of a half hour as he slid his cock between her soft breasts while he f ocused on paperwork. Towards the end of that half hour she’d begun squeezing her breasts and sliding them up and down in an effort to move the affair along and not long after her ministrations had him releasing across her dark nipples. 

But that half hour had been invaluable because a half hour of roleplay with Lorroakan had bought her possibly five more years with her father so long as he was consistent with the delaying potion that she and Nadal took turns brewing.

Nyara snorted, “Read far enough in and I think you’ll find the appeal.” She reached for the box, opened it, and offered the buns over for her father’s inspection and thereafter choice of the best one. While he scrutinized the offerings her brother made his way into the room with a tray of coffee, loaf bread, and the delaying potion. 

Nadal set the tray on the other end of the bed and peered over her to see what was in the box. He gestured: Delicious but we haven’t eaten dinner yet. 

Nyara rolled her eyes and spoke slowly so he could read her lips, “Nothing wrong with a small treat before we eat.” 

Her father laughed, “I couldn’t agree more.”

Kel’nar as long as Nyara had been alive was a soft man, stuck in his ways, but still so very soft and sweet and most certainly ill suited to survive life down below. After who knows how many years of abuse, Nyara’s father and brother had fled the Underdark with her in tow when she was ten years old. For the most part, the surface was all she had ever known. Those first few years had been a nightmare; they had never stayed in a village more than a few months at a time for fear that her mother had sent scouts to come and retrieve her. Her father knew they wouldn’t waste resources on Nadal or him other than to kill them out of spite but Nyara was the only daughter of their house. 

But then it had been two years of moving from village to village and no one had come looking. So her father took a chance and settled them in Cormyr. They lived there from the time she was twelve until she was accepted to University here in Baldur’s Gate at eighteen. Her father’s work had been relatively simple and stable so rather than uproot their entire lives Nadal had moved to the Gate with her and they had made sure to visit Cormyr at least once a month if they could. Her brother, despite his inability to hear or speak, had managed to get a position at the city library curating the young adult selection. Nyara wouldn’t pretend as if life had been easy on the surface for a very obviously drow family but she knew life here, at least for her dad and brother, was leaps and bounds better than before. She had been too young to remember much but she had grown up with both of them waking up in panics from nightmares. There were times during arguments or even when Nyara was just loud that both of them would flinch and it made her heart ache. 

After much scrutiny, her father chose a bun and began happily biting into it. Nyara set the box off to the side and offered to help her brother bring food up to the room for the three of them. She left her brother to wrangle the potion into her father as she went downstairs to collect the meat, cheese, and fruit her brother had sliced and arranged in the kitchen. 

The hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. The shades on the lamps at the bottom of the stairs and through to their parlor had been changed from blue to red. 

She stepped hesitantly down from the staircase and edged around the banisters towards the parlor, tapping each shade back to blue in her wake. There was no reason to alarm her brother. Nyara drew the dagger she always kept strapped to her inner thigh and creeped around the doorframe, a fire spell on her lips. 

Raphael was sitting in the chair that was once her father’s favorite spot and something about that image set her temper aflame. She sheathed her dagger and sighed in frustration, “Raphael? What are you doing here?” 

A single, brown eyebrow rose in warning but Nyara couldn’t be bothered to remember the delicate situation she was in with him, especially not when he was here violating the sanctity of her family’s home. He could come and go as he pleased from her apartment, from her job, from the places she frequented but she’d be damned thrice over if he started fucking around with her family. She was going to rip Korilla a new one. 

“Look. I know I’m in a precarious situation with you and that I don’t have much of a leg to stand on but this is between us Raphael. Not my family. Respectfully, you have no right to be here. Show up at my apartment, at my job, and the places I frequent…fine. But not here. Ever—“

A hand on her shoulder made her flinch. Her brother walked up beside her, looked between her and Raphael, and signed: What’s going on? Who is this?

Nyara signed and spoke so Raphael wouldn’t get pissy. “This is Raphael. He is from, um, when I traveled and fought against the Elder Brain. He is in town and wanted to visit. Someone must have told him to drop by here rather than at my apartment.” She gave Raphael a pointed look, “He was just leaving.” 

Nadal looked between them and looked at her like he knew she was lying. And to prove it he signed: there is enough food if he would like to dine with us. 

Nyara shook her head. “Nope he is fine, this was just a social call. I’ll be up soon.”

Nadal gave Raphael one more once over, bordering on a glare, before placing a fist over his chest and bowing slightly toward Raphael and turning to leave. 

Nyara pinched the bridge of her nose and purposefully avoided facing whatever level of wrath Raphael desired to impose on her. Instead she was startled by amusement in his deep voice when he said, “Your brother cannot hear.” He shifted in her father’s chair and leaned his chin against his fist. “I wonder what befalls your father that these lower rooms are so untouched.” 

Nyara pursed her lips, “This home is off limits Raphael. I meant it. Take me now and flay me in your House but you will not come here again.” 

Raphael’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, “You are in no position to make demands of me Nyara. Especially after such a foolishly bold declaration like that one.” 

Nyara looked to the ceiling, silently counted to five, exhaled then made her voice as placating and apologetic as she could currently muster despite her temper. “Are you here to pass judgment?”

Raphael barked a laugh, “You mean will I be flaying you in my home?”

Nyara winced despite herself. Perhaps being around the devil has made her a tad bit over dramatic as well. When she didn’t answer he sighed. “I’m here to revisit the tale you told me. I believe you said there were two recovered stones but if memory serves me right I only saw one in the crown.” 

Nyara bit back her knee jerk response that he could have summoned her to ask this or could have just had Korilla grill her. He didn’t need to come into her home to ask her such a simple question. Instead, she gave a small nod. “The other stone will likely be arriving in a tenday or so. Its keeper will be visiting and is bringing the object with him.” 

Raphael stood, “I won’t keep you from family dinner.” He raised a hand to snap before eyeing her with distaste. “Give my regards. Let this be a lesson Little Mouse, of how far my reach truly extends and of all you stand to lose in the wake of your failure to produce that which we agreed on. Oh and if I may.” The smile he gave her made her toes curl and her spine straighten, “I much preferred the house in Cormyr to this one.”

Nyara’s mouth opened to respond but he had snapped and only embers now fluttered to the ground in his wake. If her father had also been deaf she would have screamed. 

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara looked at herself in her mirror, wearing nothing but black lacy smallclothes trying to decide what she would wear for tonight. It had been a little over a month now since she and Rolan started seeing each other, mostly in her bedroom, but Rolan did make an effort to take her outside every once in a while. No one in their friend group knew yet, not even Rolan’s siblings if he was to be believed. 

Tonight was girls’ night and Lia was determined to get into a newer place named DISenchantment owned by one of the Three Dukes. From what Lia described it was like a tavern but mostly dancing and there were bards and dancers but patrons also danced to the beat of loud drums in dim lighting. It sounded awful but Lia was excited so the girls all agreed to try and see if they could get in.

Raphael had been suspiciously absent since his impromptu visit to her father’s home. Gale had canceled his trip, citing spring exams, and had promised he would come to see her and consult with her and bring the stone after exams had completed. Which meant she had to go at least another month before Raphael would see progress. She had provided Korilla with the update and had expected him to rage, to show up at her apartment, to summon her to the House of Hope. Instead, Korilla had merely stopped her at the cafe down the street from her family home and had told her he would be expecting word as soon as the wizard rescheduled his visit. Stunned, Nyara had nodded and walked away.

She had finally chosen her candidates and they had begun their work maintaining the vaults. Glitterbeard was happy, the Counting House was attracting patrons from outside Baldur’s Gate, and she and Rolan seemed to be in a good place. Something about sneaking around made their relationship sexier and she found that she was more than happy to keep things this way for a while. 

Nyara wasn’t naive, she knew if Raphael was so silent it was only because he was biding his time and because he had sufficient knowledge of her comings and goings so as to not need to interfere. But his absence had given her some much needed breathing room as well. 

That absence had also given her an opportunity to talk to Rolan about what he had seen that night at the Elfsong. They had distracted themselves with sex that first weekend together but at dinner a week later he had broached the subject and she knew she needed to at least give him a watered down version should the Devil call for her while she was with Rolan. Nyara had left critical details vague but had at least told him she had signed a simple contract for an exchange of goods with the Devil which she was in the process of finishing out. He questioned the safety of her person and soul and she had assured him that so long as she was able to deliver on her promise, which would ideally happen within the next few months, that all would be fine. And since at least one of those statements had been true she didn’t think he needed to know much else. Rolan had seemed uneasy but at least reassured from her words and had appreciated her sharing any of it with him at all. As usual he had stayed over for the weekend for another round of marathon sex before leaving two evenings later to prepare for the new week. And for the past month and a half that is how they had been conducting their relationship. 

Nyara held up two outfits, one a strapless silky chest wrap with matching short skirt, the other a cross shouldered dress with sinfully high slits on either side. She and Rolan hadn’t really discussed exclusivity but considering his sister had no idea what was going on she didn’t think harmless flirting and dancing was going to hurt anyone, least of all Rolan. 

She tossed the strapless set aside and decided to go with the black long dress with high slits. As a dusky skinned girly she had learned early on that neutrals and dark blue tones were her friends and her wardrobe reflected that. If anyone could boast a capsule wardrobe it was Nyara. She slipped into the dress, tied up the cross shoulder, and shimmied her hips side to side to watch the slits sway, giving the briefest peek at her lacy black panties. 

Sitting in front of her vanity she undid her hair from the toweled bun it has been trapped in and let her curtain of curls flop down around her shoulders and back. Her father and brother had struggled so much with her hair when she was child. All three of them had curls yes but father’s and Nadal’s hair never grew past their jaws before they’re already chopping it off to start over again. But her father had declared her hair to be so beautiful he couldn’t bring himself to chop it off. So instead, he had begged women in the villages and later in Cormyr to help teach them how to handle the mane on her head. 

Nyara reached for the bottle of oil on the desk and poured some in her palm, rubbed her hands together, and began finger combing through her curls. She rarely ever did it but had decided tonight she would wear her hair out. It would probably be a giant lion’s mane by the end of the night once she’d been dancing and out in the humidity but she could at least start the night off looking sexier than usual. 

Once she had her bright white curls the way she wanted she grabbed some kohl and lined her eyes, dabbed some soft lilac paint across her lips to emphasize her natural lip color, and fanned some kohl over her white lashes. 

On her way out the door she grabbed a few gold rings and a pair of heirloom earrings her father had saved for her before locking it and making her way down to Elfsong where they had all agreed to meet. It was unprompted and frankly inappropriate but the entire walk over to Elfsong, each time she noticed someone giving her an appreciative once over, she wondered what smart ass remark the Devil would have if he could see her now.

~oU0Uo~

Lia and Alfira had clearly started way earlier and without Nyara and Lakrissa, both women goofily drunk and being quite loud at the bar. Alan was amused but she and Lakrissa shared a look between them; perhaps they weren’t going to make it to DISenchantment afterall. When Lia noticed Nyara from across the bar her eyes widened, she gave her a big, drunken smile, and then whistled before shouting, “WHOA MAMA!” 

Alfira struggled to turn in her seat to look where Lia pointed and began giggling loudly. Nyara grimaced which turned into an outfight frown when Rolan reappeared beside his sister and told her to hush, his voice dying when he noticed her. Rolan’s mouth fell open before he caught himself and gave her his best attempt at a platonic, friendly smile. Rolan either had not been given a proper invite or had decided that his mage's robes were going to be the best choice for a night at a dancing tavern. He didn’t look bad, per se, but he just looked like he always did.

Dammon came up from behind her and gave her a low whistle, “Whoa. Look at you.” He, on the other hand, had come to impress as well. He was wearing a navy blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, chest exposed from the open ties, a nice silver chain around his neck, and dark navy trousers with gray filigree embroidery along the outer thighs. Nyara gave him an appreciative once over before managing to say, “Look at you. Wow.” 

He visibly preened under her compliment and Nyara didn’t miss Lia’s and Rolan’s slight frowns. She sidled up to the bar and gave everyone a nervous smile, “Um so. What are we doing?”

Alfira leaned over the bar towards Nyara and whisper shouted, “Rolan overhead us talking about going out and invited himself so then we felt bad not inviting Dammon so now it’s like a regular hang out and not just a girls hang out tonight and someone was supposed to tell you but obviously no one told you because you look smoking hot.” 

Nyara did her best to suppress her smile. Alfira was drunk off her ass, Lakrissa holding her arm to steady her from slipping off the barstool, and now both Rolan and Dammon looked a little more than uncomfortable that the girls originally planned to get hot and go dancing without them. Lakrissa urged Alfira back into her stool as she mumbled, “And now I feel bad because that outfit is wasted here in the Elfsong.”

Alan snorted behind the counter, “ ‘urtful but true.” 

Nyara reached around Dammon and took the glass in front of Alfira away from her and took a generous swig, in desperate need of alcohol and pleased to have a mouthful of red wine headed straight to her belly, “So…mm…I’m guessing no dancing then?” 

Lakrissa looked at Alfira then back to her, “This one can’t stand straight so I’m not really sure that we could even get to that side of the city.” 

Nyara gulped the rest of the wine and nodded, “Fair enough. Soooo dinner and drinks here like usual?” 

Lakrissa nodded and smiled apologetically, “Ya I think so.”

Dammon looked down between them at her high heeled sandals and then back up to her, an easy smile on his face while holding his arm out for her to grab, “Let’s find a table then yeah?” 

~oU0Uo~

Two rounds of drinks and two rounds of whiskey shots later and Nyara was giggling at everything both Rolan and Dammon said and she had the fuzzy awareness that they were both competing to see who could make her laugh the hardest. Alfira had sobered up a bit more and was currently telling them about an opportunity that had fallen into her lap within the past two tendays. 

“So I would be traveling from the Gate to Cormyr playing at central taverns and inns for about three months total. Time traveling there and time traveling back. The group plans to spend around two nights at each venue to increase our chances of coin as well as exposure.” She looked sheepishly at Lakrissa and then at the rest of the group. “So I may not see you all for a few months.”

Nyara clapped excitedly, “Alfira, that is amazing! Oh and where in Cormyr? I have soooo many recommendations for food to try while you are there.” 

Rolan gave her a sidelong glance, “You have been to Cormyr before?”

Nyara snorted and swatted his thigh, “Been there? I lived there! I would likely still live there if not for University!” She was vaguely aware that she was talking louder than usual but no one seemed to be bothered by it. 

Lia sat forward, “Whoa really? So do you speak it?”

Nyara tucked her leg beneath her thigh and rested her elbows on the table. She gave Lia a wicked smile and recited one of her favorite bawdy lines from a song that was popular when she was a teenager. <<I want you to grab me with those legs. How? How? Like how to tie a naked knot.>>

Lia’s face flushed a bit and Nyara laughed as Dammon and Alfira clapped. She wasn’t sure they would be clapping if they had understood but it was fun nonetheless. 

“If you think that was good you should hear her when she sings in Cormanthan.” 

Nyara’s head snapped around before squealing in delight. That’s how she knew she was well and thoroughly drunk. When everything made her squeal and giggle. She jumped out of her seat and threw herself at the hulking body standing at their table. “DHARCIS!” 

The large Mammon tiefling hefted her in his burly arms and swung her around. The man was more than a full head taller than her, which in her opinion was bullshit considering how the first three years of their friendship she had been taller than him. But then they had turned fifteen and he had stretched more than a head in one summer, to his mother’s dismay. He set her back down and steadied her at arm’s length so he could look at her. He winked, “Whoa look at you. If someone had told me that Ara wears dresses and lets her hair down I would have called them a liar.” He spun her around. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” Nyara could curl up and wrap herself in a blanket of that thick accented husky voice. Dharcis had learned Common much later in life than her and therefore spoke it with an obviously Cormanthan accent. 

The spin left her a little tipsy so rather than attempt a response she just started giggling. Fuck she was drunker than drunk. Once her giggling subsided she squeezed his arm, her death grip partly out of the necessity to steady herself and partly because he was a lot thicker than the last time she had seen him and you know what they say about curiosity…

“Friends, this is Dharcis! Dharcis these are my friends-” She gestured to each of them, “Lia, Lakrissa, her partner Alfira, who is by the way a phenomenal bard, Lia’s brother Rolan, the master of Ramazith’s tower, and Dammon, a master blacksmith.” 

Lakrissa raised her glass and gave a playful scoff, “Lia I guess me and you can eat shit.”

Lia gave them a tight-lipped smile and Nyara suddenly felt guilty that she had actually hurt her friend by not announcing some kind of special skill for her. Dharcis guided her back to her seat, “Here. You should sit. You’ve clearly been having fun.”

She motioned to the empty chair between Dammon and Lia. He nodded, suddenly a bit shy, before squeezing into the small chair. Dharcis had put on a bit of weight since she last saw him but he carried it very well. His bright gold skin practically glowed under the tavern’s low lantern light, those hellfire gold eyes crinkled at the edges from how often the man laughed and made others around him laugh. He’d grown out his dirty blonde beard and had that same, thick, sandy blonde hair tied back in a small knot at the crown of his head with some gold coins threaded into it. He’d recently waxed those taupe back-sweeping horns and they were shining for the gods, pressed tightly against his temple before turning down sharply at the ends . He had squeezed his body into a nice black leather vest and dark green leather breeches with tasteful black ankle boots. While most of his new weight had gone to his belly and arms his tail had stolen some for itself, the base from his back almost as thick as her neck now. Nyara closed her mouth to prevent herself from drooling. 

Noticing that he was staring at her she smiled and leaned forward, “How long have you been in Baldur’s Gate?”

“Oh not long. We arrived two nights ago and we came here to see what sort of stage and crowd we would be working with. We are scheduled to play here and at another venue named shy mermaid?” He had leaned forward to rest his chin on his fist. 

“Blushing Mermaid. How fun! Wow. I’d love to come and watch. Actually” she looked around the group, “We could all come right? No one sings or plays like Dharcis” She blew a kiss at Alfira, “Other than you Alfira you will always be the greatest of all time.” 

Alfira laughed and nodded, “That does sound like fun. We don’t leave until the end of the week.”

Lakrissa nodded as did Dammon. Lia and Rolan seemed hesitant but when Nyara pushed both agreed and stated they would bring Cal as well. 

Dammon cleared his throat before taking a sip from his whiskey, “So. How do you two know each other?”

Dharcis laughed, “We lived on the same street. Small neighborhood of all elves and humans with one little lightning bolt little drow and a meek little tiefling lad.” He winked at Nyara and smiled, “This one here would go starting fights whenever the other lads would make life hell for the only little tiefling in our neighborhood.”

Dammon looked at Nyara, “Is that so?”

Nyara downed her remaining shot of whiskey, “Would you believe that for two” she held up two fingers for emphasis, “whole years I was the taller one?” She gestured to him, “Look at this shit.” 

Dammon and Dharcis laughed. “And keep in mind that while yes there is a large goblin, human, elf population in Cormyr, me and Dee here were the only tiefling and only drow in the whole neighborhood. Ya know? He learned Uncommon so we could talk shit about the other children?” She smiled warmly at him. Dharcis’s Uncommon was not great but he knew enough to string a sentence together, but the fact that he had tried so hard to learn had really touched her father. Speaking of, “Oh Kel’nar will want to see you! Nadal too.”

She watched everyone exchange questioning looks and nodded her head, “Ha ha right. My dad and my brother. Kel’nar means Father in Uncommon. But his mom heard me call him that and thought that was his name. So we just call him that now as both Father and as a name. And Nadal is my older brother. Hey! How is momma by the way?”

Dharcis chuckled, “She’s well. As always she sends her love.”

Nyara nodded and then another thought entered her head. “Dee where are you staying?”

“Oh well um you know.” Dharcis wouldn’t look at her. 

Nyara rolled her eyes, “I don’t know what that means but grab your bags you will stay with me.”

She felt Rolan stiffen beside her and she felt a sudden wash of guilt that she had momentarily forgotten that he was next to her, or really there at all. Dharcis rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah no I couldn’t do that–”

“Oh shut up. If Kel’nar or momma knew that I didn’t offer my home they would beat my ass. You’re staying with me, that's final.” She reached for her drink only to realize it was empty. Dammon grabbed the glass and smiled.

“Maybe let’s take a break yeah?”

Rolan cleared his throat.”So ah how long did you say you planned to be in the city?” 

Dharcis threw her a knowing smile that in her current drunken state she didn’t understand before saying, “A tenday perhaps longer. We will see where the demand takes me.”

Rolan folded the napkin in front of him, “Perhaps, of course only if you wanted, you could play for us.”

Dharcis smiled, “Only if this one plays with me.” He looked around, “It seems fairly empty now that it is late. What do you say?”

Nyara took Rolan’s unfinished whisky and swallowed it all in one gulp. She was going to wish for death tomorrow but for tonight, she felt alive for the first time in a long time. “I say I’m drunk enough to say yes!” 

Rolan grabbed her arm, “Nyara what are you doing?”

“I’m going to go and perform like you asked–” She swayed a little once on her feet. She held onto Dammon for a moment to steady herself and started to giggle. 

“I asked him to go perform. Why would you need to go up there as well?” Rolan’s look of panic made her giggle more. 

Dharcis slid an arm around her middle and hauled her over to him. “Keeping secrets then are we? Well-” He winked at the group, “I won’t spoil the surprise.” 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara felt the sudden need to purge everything in her body and out onto the small wooden stage. Dharcis had gone to grab his lute from behind the bar where he had left it with Alan alongside his bags. She didn’t know where he had slept these last two days but she took comfort knowing tonight he would have a warm bed to sleep in at her apartment.  

He returned  to the stage with his lute and with a lyre. Noticing her confusion he smiled, “I will not be playing alone.” 

Nyara had not performed in years…she prayed she remembered how. The beginning of a panic attack was fraying the edges of her heavy blanket of drunkenness. She looked around and while yes, there really were not that many people and of those there they were likely as drunk as her and her friends, no one wanted to look like a fool, least of all her. 

Dharcis placed his warm hand on her shoulder. <<Calm yourself. All is well. You play and I’ll sing first. Once you warm up then we can swap.>>

Nyara nodded and sat on the small stool beside him. He strummed his lute, tapped his booted foot on the stage, and began a fairly mild and, frankly, unoriginal tune; the type of music meant to linger in the background. The type of music she could imagine irritated Raphael for its lack of originality. She snickered to herself.

Dharcis’s knee nudged hers, <<What makes you laugh?>>

She shook her head, <<Dee. I’m drunk.>>

He chuckled, <<I know.>>

She listened to the melody, counted, then began strumming her lyre to compliment his chords. Their current musical performance, if you could even call it that, was unremarkable and the people around them were largely ignoring them which was fine. 

Dharcis’s voice was a soft murmur, rumbling beneath the notes of his lute, <<How have you really been? We heard about what happened…and then we heard who had saved everyone.>> His knee nudged hers harder this time, <<How could you not even write to us? The Savior of Baldur’s Gate.>>

Now she needed another drink. She was tired of this savior shit. What she and her friends had accomplished was, yes, nothing short of remarkable but…

But despite everything she was alone, her dad was dying a slow death, and her soul belonged to the Devil because of her own hastily, desperately made decision. Raphael had questioned why she had simply accepted her friends making their own decision behind her back, a decision which jeopardized her soul. Nyara couldn’t fault them because she had gone to see him and sign his contract in the dead of night without telling anyone. They had just been paying back her dishonesty with one of their own–and in their case with the intention of the greater good. Nyara had signed with Raphael partly for Lae’zel but mostly because she had been too cowardly to try and find another solution. He was there before them and she couldn’t understand why everyone had been hellbent on suffering more than they already had to avoid a deal with him. 

Sure she had Rolan…but they didn’t talk. They fucked. They didn’t share secrets. They spoke with their bodies rather than their words and while Nyara was grateful for the distraction and for the relief…she was lonely. None of them understood what she had been through. She couldn’t talk to them about…well…anything. The good. The bad. Most certainly not the ugly…

<<Hey. Where did you go?>>

Nyara looked up and realized that Dharcis was staring at her. They were both still playing, though she was doing so absentmindedly and couldn’t say if she had stayed in tune or not. He gave her a small smile, <<What’s wrong?>>

She forced a smile back, <<How much time do you have?>>

Dharcis’s chuckle turned a forced smile into the beginnings of a real one. <<Empty your mind and play with me here for a bit and tonight we will have a proper conversation. No holds no bounds. How does that sound?>>

Nyara smiled and nodded. May the gods always bless Dharcis. He always seemed to know what she needed…and by the gods she had missed him terribly. It had been almost four years since she had last seen him. He had helped her and Nadal move Kel’nar to Baldur’s Gate after his diagnosis and she had left the property to Dharcis and momma. While the surface did things markedly differently than back home there were some traditions her father seemed incapable of giving up and this included inheritance to his daughter. Dharcis’s mom had raised Nyara as much as Kel’nar had raised Dharcis…their odd little pseudo family. 

Last she had heard momma rented the large home in Cormyr out to musicians which is why she had been disturbed at Raphael’s knowledge that the estate existed. She had initially sent all the rent to them but when Nyara kept sending it back momma had found more creative ways to hand over portions of the funds received: New jewelry, new dresses, nice blankets for Kel’nar, stylish doublets and vests for Nadal…

She really needed to go and visit momma. 

Dharcis nudged her thigh and gave her a you promised to stay focused look. She smiled, nodded, and followed his lead as he began stomping his foot and sped up the cords on his lute, transitioning into a relatively simple but classic Cormanthan structure–Dm – A7 – Dm – A7. She moved to the beat in her seat, listened, and then joined him–Dm – A7 – Dm – A7 then Dm – Gm – A7 – Dm which got a smile out of him.

<<I looked at you, you were looking so beautiful... so sensual

I imagined you with others and I felt bad, 

ay love

ay what a pain!>>

Nyara smiled and transitioned to accommodate his lyrics–Dm – Gm – A7 – Dm

<<So late I understood, that with you I had everything and I lost it.

I looked at you, with your hair in the wind... and your look

And your birthmark on your decollete, 

ay love

ay what a pain!>>

She rolled her eyes and did her best to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was good to see he was still dramatic. She looked up from her lyre and noticed a crowd had begun to congregate at the tables near the stage. Good. Dharcis deserved an audience. When she looked back over he was smiling at her, black and gold eyes crinkling in the corners, and for this brief moment–she left her worries empty from her head and smiled back, losing herself in this dramatic ass song with her friend. 

~oU0Uo~

Raphael threw the contract aside in a triumphant sweep. Despite the setbacks he had faced with regard to the crown even he could appreciate how perfectly his other designs were falling into place. That excitement was likely the catalyst that led to his thoughts straying to his mouse. She had developed a distasteful physical attachment to the upstart wizard that now occupied Ramazith’s Tower but Raphael was willing to overlook the transgression considering he knew it likely had everything to do with unfulfilled desires.  

He pulled his scry from its perch on his shelf and activated the search. He had anticipated several scenarios when opening his scry and was not ashamed to admit that he had hoped yet for others to greet him, perhaps a lovely visual of Nyara bathing, or Nyara pleasuring herself–ideally not in the presence of the aforementioned tiefling–or, the greatest moment of these, Nyara crying in the confines of her bedroom. Her sweet sobs lyrical notes on the harpsichord. 

What Raphael would never have expected to see, and was in fact so shocked by that he nearly dropped the scry, was Nyara performing in front of a crowd. No. She was not performing for them. She was enchanting them. 

Who would have thought his little mouse was a little bard? He would have preferred it if she refrained from so many blatant displays of physical affection with her stageman–it was unnecessary and vulgar. 

The Mammon tiefling strummed a series of diatonic chords from the A natural minor scale. The song's progression transitioned between tonic Am, subdominant Dm, C, and dominant E. Raphael felt the ghost of his fingers at his side mimicking the progression. The structure evoked the sensations of tension and release.He sat forward at his desk, enthralled by the vision before him. And just when Raphael had already begrudgingly admitted the novel composition of the song…Nyara sang; and he felt something deep within his chest snap.

<<The shadows used to keep me company

Waiting, waiting  for you

Sometimes I played with the waves

I asked them, Where did he go?>>

Nine Hells . She was singing in Coranthan. 

<<While my eyelashes were dancing

The spiders were climbing me

With my finger I blocked the sun

Meanwhile my heart was drowning>>

He watched as she practically floated across the stage, only now realizing what whorish garb she had donned for the evening, and toward the golden tiefling.

<<Like choppy spring

I stayed in the middle

Still to this day I feel solitude

Searching in thousands, searching in people

Searching in men, in so many men

Your humanity, your paternity >>

She slid her small hands around the broad expanse of the tieflings back and slid them down his chest as she belted out her poetry. Raphael’s nose scrunched in distaste. Vulgar behavior. 

<<Life, sometimes gives, sometimes takes

It turns infinite as darkness

To you it gave a chance

To grow lilies, and not to let them fade away>>

The little mouse slithered away from the man and danced daintily across the small expanse of wood serving as a stage, her hair billowing around her.

<<Meanwhile my curtains fall

I try to fit you in my life

What did I do wrong? Why did I lose you?

Knowing that you grow old somewhere there>>

Raphael’s eyes traced the curve of her body as it circled around the stage, her dress shifting to provide the barestv  glance of the lacy smallclothes beneath, her shapely legs competing for attention as they moved between the slits of fabric. 

<<Like choppy spring

I stayed in the middle

Still to this day I feel solitude

Searching in thousands, searching in people

Searching in men, in so many men

Your humanity, your paternity >>

In a move Raphael would have never advised of any performer, she turned her back to the crowd, looked up to the roof’s tavern, and plead for relief; the tiefling following her lead and slowing his strumming–the chords pulling grief and doubt from the audience.

<<Have you ever given thought

What your going to do?

When you grow old

Who will look after you?

Like choppy spring

I stayed in the middle>>

She turned sharply and began dancing in earnest in circles around the tiefling who appeared to be as  enthralled as Raphael was with the mouse’s performance. A talented musician to balance his craft with  his desires.

<<Still to this day I feel solitude

Searching in thousands, searching in people

Searching in men, in so many men

Your humanity, your paternity >>

The little mouse shouted, rolled her tongue, and danced to the beat of the crowd’s clapping as the tiefling finished out the remainder of the diatonic composition. Raphael felt compelled to clap as well before remembering himself. 

He closed the scry before the mouse would have an opportunity to distract him further. Raphael had been…deliberating. Biding time and marinating on what would bring his mouse to heel; she needed to remember her place, appreciate his generosity, and respect his authority over her being. And now…

Raphael smiled. Now he knew exactly what he wanted to do. 

~oU0Uo~

Pics of Dharcis and Nyara HERE

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

<<Damn.>>

<<Yep.>> Nyara leaned against the countertop nursing her concoction of herbs and honey, a recipe courtesy of Halsin, to keep the after effects of her night of alcohol consumption at bay. She and Dharcis had stumbled halfway up the stoned path to her apartment when Rolan had dryly reminded her she could use her magic to teleport them. 

Alfira had been beside herself that Nyara had never told her she could sing and had never offered to play with her. Nyara, too drunk and still standing upright from adrenaline alone, had stammered some excuse about not playing in years—which was very true—and they had all decided to call it a night, all agreeing to meet up again in two days to watch Dharcis and his group perform. 

Nyara had bathed while Dharcis had settled his things into her spare room and had dressed down into her more modest sleeping clothes, a cream silky top, silky pants, and a silk robe. Dharcis had settled at the tall table across from the counter, and she had vomited the entirety of her journey from the implantation of the worm until the night they fell from the sky and into the Chionthar after defeating the brain. Dharcis had listened patiently, laughing at some of the more sordid details, and going very still at the mention of her unfulfilled contract with Raphael. 

He leaned forward and sipped at the black tea she had brewed for him, most likely cold from how long she had been talking, and stared thoughtfully at the table. <<Do you know the terms of this contract beyond him claiming your soul?>>

Nyara gulped down the remainder of her tea, cheeks colored with shame, <<Not really no. I just know that despite everything that has happened and in light of how much time has passed, his generosity is astounding. He knows where I live, he knows where the object I owe him is, and he knows I am still missing parts and other than the initial tantrum I told you about, he hasn’t come after me.>> Nyara was no fool, sort of. She trusted Dharcis with her life but she didn’t think it would be wise to tell him about the crown so instead she referred to it as the object. 

He sighed and sat back in the too small wooden chair. <<Do you think you could get a copy? I could read it for you.>>

Nyara shrugged, <<If I ask I know he’s going to get suspicious and probably pissed; launching into some long winded speech about generosity and that he deserves to be venerated.>> 

Dharcis nodded absentmindedly. <<Well…by law it’s your right to view it. You can also challenge the terms but I think we both know how well that will go for you. At the very least, legally, he has to give you a copy. He’ll get pissed sure but even the Hells have their laws.>>

<<Since when did you become an expert on the legal machinations of Bhaator?>> Nyara had already turned her back on him to fill her cup with more of the concoction from the pot. Raphael wouldn’t like this. She wasn’t even sure it was worth asking. Would it even matter if she knew the terms? Her soul was his. What could be worse? She leaned her back against the counter again and frowned down at her cup.

<<We should rest. The sun is beginning to make its appearance.>> Despite his declaration he made no move to get up from the table. Nyara shrugged and downed the warm bitter tasting liquid. She set the small cup down on the counter, squeezed Dharcis’s shoulder and made her way to her room. She did little more than strip off her robe before her head hit the pillow and sleep overtook her. 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara awoke to a firm hand squeezing her shoulder. For a brief moment she had arched her back urging that hand to slide lower and squeeze but when she opened her bleary eyes and saw Dharcis she sat up and looked at him confused. He smiled and kept his voice low and soft, <<You have a guest. I’ll keep him busy while you freshen up.>>

Nyara rubbed her eyes, <<Who is it? And how early is it?>>

Dharcis moved to open the heavy drapes, <<I think it’s midday. Not sure. I was asleep until he started banging on the door.>> He walked back toward her door and cracked it shut, <<I think it’s your friend. >>

Nyara threw her head back on the pillow and groaned, <<I can’t.>> She rolled on her side and screamed into the pillow. Dharcis laughed and patted her back, <<I’ll let him know you’ll be out soon.>>

~oU0Uo~

Nyara emerged from her bedroom fifteen minutes later fresh faced in a cream sweater and soft cotton pants. She had wrangled her curls up into a bun and had managed to dab some paint over her lips. Rolan was sitting at the wooden table across from Dharcis who had not bothered to freshen up and was sitting shirtless and in cotton sleeping pants. She nodded to them both and walked towards the kitchen, “Rolan. Would you like some coffee?” 

“This late? I’ll politely decline.”

She heard Dharcis shift in his chair, <<I’ll take some.>> 

Nyara slowly opened the glass jar with grounds, spooned the powder into her kettle, poured water over the grounds from the carafe, and set it atop the small platform. She snapped and a bright blue flame lit beneath the kettle. She drew out two cups from her cupboard and set them beside her contraption. She leaned her back against the countertop and crossed her arms over her chest, “Could I offer you something else?”

She didn’t miss Rolan’s irritated glances towards Dharcis, his tail curling and uncurling aggressively along the leg of the chair. “No really that won’t be necessary. I merely came to check on you given your state from last night.”

Dharcis leaned back in his chair and draped his arm over the back of his head in a lazy stretch, “Well you can see she’s good. No need to worry so much.” 

Rolan shot him an irritated look before glancing back at her. “If you have a moment I’d like a word with you.” 

Nyara opened her mouth to argue but Dharcis rolled his eyes and got up. <<Ill go bathe. Maybe he’ll be gone when I come back. Just keep my coffee warm I’ll get it when I’m done.>>

She smiled and nodded at him. Bless Dharcis he’s just always knew what she needed. 

The large man nodded his head at Rolan, “Good to see you again. If you’ll excuse me.” 

Rolan eyed him warily and nodded politely before returning his gaze to Nyara. Unable to bear his accusatory stare she turned back to fumble her fingers around the coffee kettle. 

“You’re not one to sleep this late. And you were not answering my sending spells.”

Nyara opened the pantry she had enchanted to remain chilled and rummaged for her creamy milk blended from nuts. “Well as you can see I was asleep so that’s why I didn’t respond.” She found the small jar and opened it, pouring the thick liquid into her cup, then screwing the lid back on to deposit back into the iced pantry. 

“Yes but what could have possibly kept you up so late? It was barely after midnight when we all parted ways.” 

Nyara rolled her eyes. Ah. So that was the issue. Her kettle was beginning to boil in earnest now so it wouldn’t be long now before her coffee was ready. She turned around and gave Rolan the most placating smile she could muster, “I haven’t seen Dharcis in close to four years. The last time we saw each other I was just finishing at University and my family had made the decision to make the move from Cormyr to Baldur’s Gate because I had found stable work as had Nadal. With that in mind we stayed up later than expected catching up–”

“I can only imagine how that conversation sounded considering how inebriated you were last night.” Rolan’s eyes were focused on the shiny polish of her wooden table, the lines around his mouth more pronounced due to his frown. 

The kettle whistled beside her, startling her, and she turned to focus on making her coffee. If she kept looking at Rolan she was likely to punch him. He was being childish and petty and she was finding she didn’t like this side of him, whatever side that was. 

“Well that never seemed to be an issue before.” She poured the nutty, chocolate smelling liquid over her cream and stirred it around until it turned a nice caramel color. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet.

“Well…I’m not saying it is. I was–I was just worried that’s all.” 

Much of the snippiness had left his tone. She took a tentative sip and turned back to face him. Rolan’s concerns weren’t unfounded but she didn’t appreciate the point he was fumbling to make. She didn’t owe him anything and she acknowledged that he didn't owe her anything back. 

“Look. I appreciate your concern but as you can see I am fine. We all had fun and we’re going to see each other again in a few days. why are you really here Rolan?” She looked at him through her lashes while sipping her coffee. Rolan flinched at her words,  his tail curling up around the chair leg so violently she thought it might snap. 

“I—well. Hmm. I’m not quite comfortable with your— friend— staying here with you. Lia offered for him to come and stay at the—ah—at the tower with us. I think it would be better suited and then all of his companions could stay as well.” He wouldn’t look at her and it was a good thing because she was struggling to keep a straight face behind her mug. Was he worried or was he jealous? What exactly did he think they’d get up to under her roof?

“That is very generous.” She took a breath to steady herself. “I will let him know and we can tell you when we see you again.”

“Ah yes. Very good. And speaking of—would you be free for dinner tonight?” He still wouldn’t look at her. 

She clicked her tongue and left her cup hovering in front of her as she hopped on the counter, crossed her legs, then daintily reached forward for the cup. “I’m actually scheduled to see my father tonight. How about tomorrow at noon for a lunch date?”

For the first time since the conversation began Rolan looked up at her and his eyes held no trace of that prior irritation. She gave him her warmest smile and sipped more coffee. 

“I would like that very much.” 

~oU0Uo~

Dinner with Kel’nar had gone remarkably well and Nyara couldn’t control the grin on her face–Dharcis’s visit had done wonders for her father’s spirits as well as for Nadal’s. Reminiscing had been the perfect distraction from the shit show that was her life and seeing her father laugh as hard as he had at Dee’s stories set her stomach in somersaults. She felt giddy and full and wasn’t quite ready to end the evening just yet. 

<<Last night we had originally intended to try a new place in the gate called Disenchantment.>> She walked closer to him and let her shoulder nudge against his forearm–the man so much taller than her. 

<<What is that?>>

Nyara didn’t miss how Dharcis took in the number of tieflings, half-orcs, and drow walking freely along the busy streets. Despite how often they had traveled seeing so many of their own amongst society and not sequestered into a specific area of the city still startled her in a good way. It was the last two days of the tenday–vendors set up along the streets selling hand foods and baubles and would remain until later in the evening than usual. She threaded her arm through his, her hand trying to clasp as much of his elbow as she could, and steered him towards the stall that caught her attention. <<Alfira described it as a tavern with lightning in bottles and loud drumming where everyone dances in the dark.>>

Dharcis let himself be dragged and snorted, <<That sounds horrific.>>

<<I don’t know perhaps the description isn’t doing it any justice.>> Nyara approached the stall and smiled. The older woman, a short and wrinkly sunset skinned tiefling with short black horns gave them a toothy smile, gesturing her hand to the table, “Jewelry for the happy couple?” 

Nyara felt Dharcis stiffen but didn’t give him time to react poorly, “Indeed! I’m looking for something that will complement my color palette and not wash out his.” She nodded her head towards Dharcis.

The older woman closed her eyes when she smiled, “Hmm. Perhaps a dark gold with neelam gemstones.” Her weathered hands gestured to a matching set of jewelry clearly intended to decorate a set of horns. The woman lifted the daintier piece, dark gold braided into three distinct strands attached by the aforementioned neelam gemstone and moved around the table separating them. The older woman motioned for Nyara to kneel down a bit so she could reach her and delicately draped the set over her head–the piece resting along the middle part of her hair, the gem rested on the top of her forehead where skin met her hairline, and the braids fell on either side of her ears like earrings. Nyaray looked at the mirror and marveled at how nicely the gold and dark blue complemented her palette and even emphasized her little grey and blue freckles across her nose and cheeks. She smiled up at Dharics, “Try yours on.” 

Despite his obvious confusion as to why they were pretending to be a couple trying on horn jewelry, Dharcis got down on his knees so the old woman could drape his piece around his backwards facing horns. She patted his cheek and looked between them, “I haven’t seen one of your kind in a long time. Welcome to the Gate.” 

Nyara knew the woman meant a Mammon tiefling, but, knowing it was a sore spot for Dharcis, winked at the old lady, threw her arm over his shoulder and said, “Which one?” 

The lady just smiled and wrote out the cost to which Nyara conjured a bag of coins and counted out their value. Dharcis protested but Nyara ignored him and waved at the lady as she shoved him away and back down the street towards the rest of the stalls. 

<<Why are we buying jewelry?>>

Nyara let her eyes wander around the stalls, hunting for something that she’d know when she saw it. <<I’m in a good mood and I want to go out tonight. If, of course, you’re agreeable?>>

She felt him shift beside her, <<To that Enchantment place?>>

Her eyes drifted up toward him, <<I think it would be fun. I just sounds like fancy clothes, loud music, and plenty of dancing.>> A glimmer in the light around his back caught her attention and she pulled him towards it. This was exactly what she’d had in mind. 

The stall was framed by two racks of clothing—men’s on the right and women’s on the left—all the pieces were jewel encrusted skimpy pieces usually purchased by performers, the girls at Sharess, or for costume parties. Nyara’s hands were already thumbing through pieces along the rack until a silky navy ensemble made her breath catch in excitement. 

Her hands ran over the soft silk of a v-shaped chest wrap with an above-knee matching wrap skirt held together with gold ties. She pulled it from the rack and held it up against her, “Saer? Do you have the men’s equivalent of this?”

The stall owner glanced between them before walking over and pulling a silky navy shirt with gold embroidery around the collar and gold ties. “This is the closest I got.” 

Nyara looked over to Dharcis and nodded towards the shirt, <<Interested?>>

Dharcis squinted, <<Ara I don’t think that will fit over my wrist…>>

She snorted, <<I can fix that for you. I’m asking if you will wear it and go out dancing with me?>>

When he didn’t answer her she gave him her prettiest pout, <<C’mon Dharcis it will be fun!>>

He rolled those gold gleaming orbs nestled in black and sighed, <<Nine Hells. Fine.>> 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara nervously bounced back and forth balancing her weight from one foot to the other. They had been standing in line for the better part of an hour and the line had hardly moved. For a place she had never heard of until Alfira mentioned it, apparently everyone in the Gate wanted to get in. Finding it had been a challenge and Dharcis had begged for them to turn around and go back when he saw that it was nothing more than a hole in the wall with a hand painted wooden sign that read DISenchantment. Dharcis had grabbed her arm before they had knocked on the door and questioned whether she was, in fact, the same woman who had she saved Baldur’s Gate because everything about this place screamed that it was a murder house. She had laughed him off, pushed the door open, walked effortlessly down the worn-out wooden steps, and out into a beautiful underground foyer–black and gold marbled floors illuminated with floating lanterns, large black archways that reflected the glittering lantern lights not unlike water in the moonlight, and a line of people wrapped around and around from where they entered up to a staired dais with an orc and a tiefling guarding the entryway. 

Nyara had watched Dharcis among several other men give her several once overs, not including the jaw dropping reaction he’d had when she had emerged from her bedroom earlier. As promised, she had enchanted both of their outfits to hug their bodies perfectly and her chest wrap and skirt fit like a glove–her freckled thighs oiled, perfumed, and on display for the city. She had chosen the tallest pair of gold heeled sandals she owned which wrapped up her calves and tied into nice bows behind her knees, her largest gold earrings, and had picked her hair up into a high ponytail before braiding it down–a hairstyle inspired by Shadowheart’s classic look.  The horn jewelry sat snugly against her forehead and draped down the sides of her head around her ears, the bright gem bringing out the vibrancy of her dark eyes. She had forgone eye makeup and had picked a plum colored paint to gloss over her lips. The chest wrap emphasized her ample, freckled breasts and the skirt made her ass look like a globe—which was not, in fact, how her ass actually looked. 

Poor Dharcis was doing his best to remain a respectable friend but she recognized that look of hunger in his eyes and would be a bold faced liar if she said it didn’t excite her that she could pull this kind of reaction even out of her oldest and dearest friend. 

But he too had dressed to impress—the new shirt emphasized those new big and burly arms and mapped out his broad chest, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had forgone the ties, citing them as ugly, and let the shirt hang open in a casual v that stopped at his sternum. He had rolled the sleeves up to mid forearm—most likely in preparation for the heat—and had tucked his shirt into a pair of dark brown leathers. She was sure if she were to let her gaze wander down, his leathers would tell her everything she needed to know about how he felt about her outfit tonight. Hence, she’d made a conscious effort to keep her gaze above his chest so far tonight. Dee had also kept his horn jewelry on and she loved the dainty row of blue that sat across her forehead like a crown before the thickly braided gold cords wound back and around his horns with little coins dangling from the ends of either horn where they curved down behind his head. Dharcis looked like royalty tonight. 

The line shifted forward a few steps and the closer they got to the stairs the more clearly they could hear the steady drumming inside. Nyara was growing antsy but only because the anticipation was making her more excited for what awaited them inside if the waiting area was so ostentatious. Her eyes darted around and, admittedly, she and Dharcis did stand out a bit—not for lack of their clothing choice but more so because of how much clothing they wore. Most of the other patrons in line were wearing next to nothing—several leathery harnesses reminding her of a very specific someone. She shoved that image down and turned to Dharcis with a smile, <<What do you think so far?>>

<<Of waiting?>> His tone sounded annoyed but his eyes were so full of mirth and affection she didn’t believe for a moment he was anywhere near upset. 

She leaned in closer to him, now standing tall enough to reach his jaw courtesy of her heels, <<I feel like I have too much clothes on.>>

He barked out a laugh that had several people around then turning to see what had been so funny. She swatted at his arm, grinning, <<Hush you fool!>>

Dharcis leaned down to her ear, his breath hot against her skin, <<I was just thinking the same thing. Your friend forgot to mention the expected dress code.>> His breath and the pitch of his voice sent a shiver down her spine despite the stifling heat in the foyer.

She walked her fingers up his shoulder and tugged on one of the rings hanging from his pointed lobe, <<Unless I forgot how to count, I don’t recall this many hoops hanging from your ears the last time I saw you.>>

He winked and turned his head so she could see just how many now grazed both ears, <<Indeed. I added a few more to the collection.>>

Nyara had let a chosen of Loviatar beat her senseless, had been dragged around by a bear, had been thrown through rocks by a god, had felled an elder brain, and had survived a fall from the heavens into the Chionthar–but the idea of having her lobes pierced more than once made her wince in distaste. Likely thinking the same Dharcis just chuckled and shook his head, <<You're a strange one you know that?>>

The line moved forward again and now they were both close enough to the steps that she could see the colors of both the orc’s and tiefling’s eyes. As if sensing her stare the tiefling looked up at her, gave her a once over, and then disappeared in a flash of smoke. She and Dharcis shared a look between each other but didn’t dare utter a word. Suddenly, the tiefling reappeared with a beautiful curly haired woman beside him–topaz eyes, short dark curls, and an air of arrogance that made Nyara a little envious of how well the woman held herself in a crowd. The woman looked her up and down and then smiled, “By the gods it is you!” The woman shooed the line of patrons in front of Nyara and beckoned for her and Dharcis to walk up the steps. Several of the people that had been in line in front of Nyara began to protest but the curly haired woman raised her hand to stop their murmurs, “You would deny the Hero of Baldur's Gate? We wouldn’t even be here tonight if not for her.” Protests died in their throats and the foyer was suddenly too quiet. 

Nyara felt an awkward flush work its way up to her cheeks from her chest. “We don’t mind waiting…we’re here to have fun like everyone else–” 

“Nonsense!” The woman shoved several more patrons aside as she walked down the stairs to grab Nyara’s arm and walk her back up. “I will not have said savior standing in line for hours on end.” The woman stood before the orc, “If you see her again she is to skip the line immediately and can bring anyone  in tow with her as well.”

The orc nodded, “Yes my duke.”

“Excellent.” The woman smiled and nodded for the doors to open, “Welcome to Disenchantment. I hope you enjoy your stay.” The woman snapped and disappeared in a spark of embers. 

<<The fuck is this place?>> Dharcis looked on edge but Nyara was enchanted. The bar was huge, there were cages with beautiful girls dancing to the beat of the drums, and so many people pressed together in a sweaty mess dancing in ways that would make Wyll blush and cough. 

Nyara grabbed Dharcis’s arm and led him toward the dance floor, <<C’mon!>>

Just as a one rhythm would come to an end a new one would begin and considering the familiarity of the music Nyara suspected either the musicians or the owners might have also been from Cormyr. 

Her eyes wandered around the mass of pressed, sweaty bodies and marveled at the way they were rubbing against each other. Once the new beat took off she turned around, backed herself into Dharcis, and began moving her hips, mimicking the women in the cages. Dharcis’s surprised <<oh>> set her to task. 

It didn’t take long for him to find his rhythm and soon they were moving together front to back swaying as one creating delicious friction while, ideally, looking good. More bodies crowded around them doing the same and the lanterns floating around switched between red, blue, purple, and green seemingly on some sort of magical cycle based on the song’s pace. 

<<Are you glad we came after all?>> She felt awkward shouting over the drums and surrounding conversations to be heard.

Dharcis hummed and pressed himself to her, <<It’s…different from what I’m accustomed to. But->> He thrust his hips hard against her causing her to fumble and laugh, <<I’m happy to be here with you. It’s been too long.>>

<<It has been too long->> She turned her head against the spot on his golden chest exposed beneath his shirt and inhaled, <<Did you put perfume?>> He smelled like a newly crafted lute set by the fireside, smoky, woodsy, and sweet. 

His voice was suddenly in her ear, hot and husky, <<Just for you. Do you like it?>>

She could do nothing more than purr. It wasn’t as if she had never thought about Dharcis in a sexual way but she had done her best to push those traitorous thoughts away to prevent ruining what she had with him. Growing up his mother had pushed hard for them to fit together but part of Nyara had always suspected that while her father cared for and appreciated her friendship with Dharcis it was tolerated only because it was nothing more than a friendship. She had a feeling that despite all her father and brother had endured to escape Jhachalkhyn that he would only willingly accept a male or female drow partner–definitely not a tiefling. 

Nyara was usually careful and kept her physical daliances to strangers–no strings, no mess, no necessary cleanup after. But for some reason, post the invasion, she had been getting sloppily attached both physically and emotionally to people that were intended to remain on the friends only shelf of her heart. Dharcis was on track to become the latest friend to be knocked off the friends only shelf…

She let her hand trail down her body and grip around Dharcis’s arm wrapped around her waist and squeezed. Nyara enjoyed the feel of Dharcis overwhelming her sense–his arms wrapped around her and the firmness of him pressed behind her, the aroma of the perfumed wood used to craft a lute, the muskiness of his sweat, his hot breath against her cheek and neck, his hair between her fingers as she raised her hand behind her and gripped, the scrape of his horns against the side of her head. 

A deep skinned drow made his way over and reached for Nyara at the start of a new song, red eyes clouded from alcohol, and Dharcis’s growl in response alongside his arms noticeably tightening around her, sent a rush of warmth between her legs she was certain he could smell. Looking around them she noticed several couples practically penetrating each other mid dance, bodies twisting and grinding, slick with sweat, and lost to the obviously intentioned rhythm of the drums. She felt heat rise to her cheeks and an anticipatory tingle travel down her spine. She could feel the racing of Dharcis’s heart against her back and assumed he was beginning to notice the erotic nature of the dancing around them as well. 

The lanterns changed again and suddenly they were bathed in deep purple light, a deep consistent slow drumming, and a male’s voice reverberating around them. These artists were definitely Cormanthan… Dharcis took the lead and began grinding against her, pinning his knee between her thighs, and bit down on the point of her ear. <<You have no idea->>

<<The sun appeared-eh-eared…

Bronzed body and her friends were seeking action.

The song…

What causes in them and their bodies that sensation>>

Nyara arched her back and pressed her ass more firmly against his front delighted by the unmistakable hardness that awaited her eagerly. <<How long I’ve been waiting->> She closed her eyes and inhaled as warm fingers trailed down her front, across her naval, down the folds of her skirt, and ran up the soft fulness of her inner thigh, vaguely aware of the words being whispered across the skin of her ear.

<<She dances even by herself,

She moves her tail like she’s the center,

La la she flies with a twirl

Go on without fear, break the table,

The blade she wins with a stroke of luck.>>

She fisted her hand in his hair tighter as those warm fingers hunted for their target beneath the folds of fabric, a thick finger forcing past the thin lacy fabric of her thong, yanking it aside, and trailing a finger up her slick slit.<<For this moment.>> His approving groan was so deep it vibrated against the shell of her ear. The hand gripping his arm around her waist squeezed hard enough to bruise. 

<<She makes him crazy the way she shakes herself,

Dancing just like a candle,

She makes him crazy when she accelerates

And she burns.>>

Nyara’s gasp was silenced by Dharcis’s mouth on hers, swallowing her enthusiasm as his thick finger pushed inside her welcoming, wet heat. Her other hand ceased its death grip and reached between them to rub his length through his leathers–as she had suspected they did nothing to hide his size, shape, nor readiness from her. Her eyes darted around and looked for a better place to indulge in him. 

The structure appeared to be circular and tiered. In her lust filled haze she counted four floors and three sets of balconies above them. Her hand on his head trailed up and death gripped one of his horns to momentarily wretch his hungry mouth away from hers, “ Et alibi!”

No sooner than their feet touched solid ground again she was lifted and shoved against a pillar, her legs wrapped instinctively around his thick waist and hands gripped onto his gilded horns as his mouth sought hers again. He pushed his tongue desperately into her mouth, the thick appendage sliding against every part of her it could reach before tangling itself with her own. She could feel him breathing heavily against her cheek through his nose, clearly unwilling to break the kiss any time soon. Her hands reached for the ties of his leathers only to be swatted away. Dharcis broke the kiss, pushed his forehead against hers and whispered, <<Not yet.>> against her lips. 

Securing her against the pillar one of his hands left her ass, squeezing the cheek in his hand for good measure before traveling back to her front and ripping her thong away. 

<<Hey!>> 

She pushed at him in protest but he shoved her firmly back against the pillar and murmured against her ips. <I’ll buy you a pair in every color. Leave it.>> 

His thick finger explored her again and traced down the length of her slit already weeping in anticipation of his invasion. He hissed and began pressing bruising kisses against the side of her neck, his horns successfully pinning the side of her face in place against the pillar where he wanted her. <<Is all of this for me?>>

Nyara did her best to nod and whined when he bit down on the juncture where her neck met her shoulder. <Dharcis!>>

The warm finger touched lightly up and down, the barely there contact working her into an impatient mess beneath him. Her hips began rocking in an effort to manufacture more friction against her sensitive bud and lips. Dharcis smiled against her neck and pinned her harder against the pillar, <<Patience. I want to savor you Ara.>>

His tongue licked a stripe up the column of her neck and continued its ascent until it was forced back into her mouth. Had Nyara’s mind and body not been so clouded with lust she likely would have cringed at the eager and aggressive nature of his actions but in this moment she was only concerned with the prickling sensation beneath her skin and the desperate need to feel hands, tongue, and teeth over her soft skin. 

Dharcis sucked her tongue into his mouth and suckled, using her confusion and surprise at the gesture to shove his entire fat finger inside her dripping entrance. She screamed into his mouth–which didn’t leave hers again until he felt her stretch and adjust around his intrusion. 

She tried again to reach between them and release him but he grunted his disapproval. Nyara decided to stop trying, lay back, and enjoy his assault on her body. If he wanted something from her he’d communicate it. 

He yanked her chest wrap down and groaned when her breasts fell out and down from their weight, his hand cupping beneath as he lowered his mouth to pull her puffy peaked purple nipple into his eager mouth. His moan tickled her skin and made her back arch. 

His other hand was working her into a frenzy. She felt his thick finger abusing that spongy spot within her as his thumb took special care to rub mercilessly over his clit with each thrust and retreat of his hand. She tightened her thighs around his back and curled her toes and the mounting sensation of pressure and pleasurable discomfort building within her. 

His name tumbled off her tongue like a prayer–one that wouldn't be heard over the drumming below but would hopefully be enough to urge him to bring her to completion. She was so deliciously close to oblivion, a few more strokes and she knew she’d be crying out his name. 

Her thighs were pressed hard against his warm middle and she cried out as his fangs worried at her engorged bud in his mouth clearly relishing in the length of her excited nipples inside his mouth. 

His hand pistoned faster in and out of her and she felt the begin of the end for her–thighs and breasts shaking in anticipation of release–her toes curling and fingers yanking violently at his horns to pull every part of him against her. With her eyes screwed shut, body shaking, and breath coming out in needy whines and gasps, she felt that building pressure begin to overtake her. Nyara cried out a last desperate, <<Yes! Please!>> and felt her release rushing out, her body slowly being enveloped in an uncharacteristic warmth and floating on embers. 

Suddenly, Nyara felt empty and her orgasm died with that emptiness. Overcome with a painful frustration from the denial her eyes flew open in fury, her mouth fixed to demand that he finish what he’d started when she was met, not with eyes of black and gold affixed to a handsome golden skinned bard but of hellfire and red, all smirks and arrogance instead of lust. 

“By all means, do finish little mouse. Far be it from me to deny you anything.”

Nyara’s curse died in her throat.

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

In a panic Nyara’s hand reached down to pull her chest wrap up and into proper position but a red hand caught her wrist hard and held her in place. “Leave it.” His predatory gaze roamed over her, “I’m rather enjoying the new view.” 

She tried to wrench her hand from his grasp but he held firm. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Her eyes darted around the room in a panic, trying to ascertain where exactly he had brought her. A large desk, shelves of books, lots of portraits–not the boudoir and not the dining hall–she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing yet or not. Her gaze shot back up to Raphael but he wasn’t looking at her. Well...that wasn’t true…he wasn’t looking at her face. To be fair, with her tits out it would be distracting for anyone. 

Distracting…

Something very important clicked into place in the back of her addled mind. Her contract. She slid her other hand up and over her breasts as if to try and cover herself but succeeded in only pushing her freckled tits together and squeezing them up. The flame of Raphael’s eyes brightened, his gaze tracking her movements not unlike a predator. “Um…Raphael?”

His eyes shot up to her face, an arch of his eyebrow her signal to continue. “Well…um.” She tried to step back and stumbled against a chair. She was so fucking fortunate Raphael was there to stop her clumsy ass from falling. His grip on her wrist pulled her towards him, her heeled feet stumbling around his boots, and her arm and chest now pressed against him. He was so impossibly warm…and hard?

Nyara took a deep breath. She could do this. She’d already seen him naked…sort of. She could ask. Before she could speak Raphael sighed irritably, pushed her down into the chair that had just made an attempt on her dignity, and snapped. 

She looked down and she was the perfect picture she had been prior to her activities with Dharcis before being summoned. Raphael walked around his desk and sat, leaning forward on the glossy topwood and steepling his fingers. “I’m sure you are wondering why I have summoned you after so much time apart.”

She gave a single slow nod. Dammit all he had figured her out before she had even attempted to get what she wanted out of him. He sat back in his chair and smirked at her, “While you have been fumbling your way from bed to bed across Baldur’s Gate-” His withering glare made her slouch slightly in her chair, “I have managed to deal several detrimental blows to Zariel’s forces sans Crown.” So he was fighting even though he didn’t have the Crown? Then why the fuck was she here if everything was going so wonderfully for him? 

“Several members of her warband and generals, delegates, etcetera from the Second and Eighth layers of Hell will be coming to celebrate the victory and likely mine for information to report back to their masters.” Nyara was still struggling to understand what any of this had to do with her. “As such. Five days hence there is to be an important intimate gathering in the House of Hope to congratulate my efforts towards usurping Zariel and, ideally, introduce talks of further aid towards my cause.” His smile was serpentine and unforgiving, “And you will be responsible for providing entertainment to my guests.” 

Nyara sat very still. Entertainment could mean many things. She was a sorcerer so perhaps magic tricks? He didn’t know she could sing, no one did. Nyara failed to see how beguiling his guests with tales about the Savior of Baldur’s Gate would be beneficial to him at all in this scenario. Surely he didn’t mean she’d take up Haarlep’s role and fuck her way through the party? 

“You seem perplexed. I feel my request is fairly straightforward.” He was studying her and she didn’t like the weight of his gaze on her. 

“Um. Right. So…what type of entertainment did you have in mind?” She was gripping the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles were turning white. Maybe context clues would nudge her in the right direction. 

He leaned back, “Ah yes a theme. Very good of you Little Mouse.“ 

Themed entertainment? Oh she was fucked. 

He lounged further in his seat deep in thought, “Perhaps something that speaks to my achievements thus far. A wolf in sheep's cloth if you will.” 

Nyara’s hand came up to absently rub at her temple, “Wolf in sheep’s clothing. Uh huh.” What the fuck did that mean for her? A costume party? Surely not. Was she the sheep to be sacrificed to the wolf for everyone’s entertainment? That wouldn’t make sense…why leave her alive and relatively unbothered despite not having the crown in his possession for him only to harm her in mixed company? 

“Are you mocking me, Mouse?” The barely masked irritation in his voice made her watery eyes shoot up. For what his tone had lacked his expression made up for.

“N-no. I just. Forgive me but I don’t exactly understand what you want from me.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. She was tired, embarrassed, terrified, confused…this night was supposed to have been a reprieve. Instead it had devolved into a shit show. 

When he didn’t answer her immediately she dared a glance in his direction. It was uncharacteristic for Raphael to be silent for so long. His head was titled to the side and he was, again, studying her. Nyara did her best to guard her expression; having his full attention was unnerving–it made her feel exposed and afraid but it also excited her–the uncertainty of his next move, of whether he would lash out and just take what he so clearly was at least physically interested in taking...Her thighs rubbed together before she caught herself and made to cross one leg over the other–her skirt riding too high on her thigh.

She gathered all these feelings and tossed them into a neat little box within her mind labeled “for later” and did her best to focus on Raphael’s expression. 

He sighed, “Music my dear. I expect you to perform for my guests–”

“What? I’m not a bard. Why would you ask that of me?” She stood up and began pacing. He knew. He had to know. Why else would he ask… No. Deny. Deny. Deny. That was the path forward.

“Still to this day I feel solitude. Searching in thousands, searching in people, searching in men, in so many men. Your humanity, your paternity.”

The lyrics sounded odd in Common and it took her mind a moment to process what he was saying but then it clicked. She froze. No. NoNoNoNoNo… Nyara dared a look at Raphael and his smug smile made her blood run cold. He had been watching her. He may have been absent and left her to her devices these past few weeks but he had been watching. How much had he seen? The smirk on his face confirmed too many of her suspicions and made her gut wrench. There was no use denying now. Perhaps death would have been preferable to whatever fucking endless circle of uncertainty and humiliation she was now subject to as property of Raphael. 

“But I haven’t performed in years and…and I can’t rhyme in Common–” She was pacing again and now rambling. Raphael merely chuckled in response.

“I never made such a request. If you are worried about accompaniment worry not I can see to that. And because I am aware that it has been some time you will be required to rehearse here until the date of the gathering. I won’t have you embarrassing me from lack of necessary preparation.” 

She stopped in front of one his bookshelves, “I have work–”

“Your days will be yours and your evenings will be mine.” He snapped and she was in front of his desk again. “You’re in no position to refuse me Nyara unless somewhere beneath that barely there excuse for clothing you’re hiding my crown. ” His face was stern and left no room for argument. He’d heen humoring her but he was making it clear now that this had been a courtesy notice not a request. FUCK. She sighed and gave a single nod. 

“Very good Little Mouse. Every evening up until the gathering I will collect you from your apartment at sunset. You will be returned for work the next morning.” 

She pursed her lips. He knew exactly what she had been about to protest. Nyara nodded, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, suddenly cold despite the stifling heat. These next five days were going to feel like an eternity. 

When she looked up to him again she noticed he was staring at her legs, still bare and shiny from the oil she’d rubbed into them earlier that evening. She still had a goal. She could achieve that goal if she played her cards right. It’s not like the night could get worse at this point…probably. 

Nyara slowly lifted her leg and settled on the edge of his desk, leaning her weight on the palm flat on his desk, and letting her knee rest gently against the edge. She watched his eyes follow the curve of her thigh up, up, up until he finally reached her face. She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster, “If I could perhaps make one request of you?”

He raised his eyebrow but said nothing. She bit her lip and watched his eyes track the movement on her face, “If it’s not too much trouble I’d like a copy of my contract.” 

His eyes snapped back to hers, “Don’t play games Mouse. You signed our agreement. It’s a bit late to start—“

She raised her hand. “I’m not trying to escape. I know what I signed. I just…” she looked away. Fuck she needed a better excuse. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her screeching for her deceit. She suppressed the smile tugging at her lips and leaned further over his desk, knowing he now had to choose between looking at her eyes or down her chest wrap. “I’d like to understand my… obligations to the master, that’s all.” 

Nyara could tell from his look alone that he didn’t believe a word she said, but he was also visibly fighting the urge to look down. She had him. 

“Very well. You’ll have a copy tomorrow when you arrive for rehearsal.” 

She smiled, “You are most gracious, my lord. ”

His eyes sharpened. She was on thin ice. 

Nyara took the hint and stood, keeping her back to him and walking slowly away from the desk. “Am I dismissed?”

She didn’t see or hear a reply, merely a snap and she was suddenly standing on the marbled landing at the top of the steps that led to the entryway halls of her apartment. So much for a fun night out.

Dharcis was sitting in front of her door with his head in his hands. Hearing her steps approaching down the marbled hallway his gaze shot up and the exasperated look of relief on his face broke her heart. She was running and in his arms before she had even realized what she was doing. His big arms crushed her to his chest and nose pressed into her temple, <<Nine Hells Nyara thank the gods you’re safe. One moment you were there and I blinked and then you were just—gone.>> HIs voice broke and she gripped harder around his waist.  

<<I’m so sorry Dharcis.>> Her voice was muffled into his chest but she knew he’d heard her. Her arms slid back into his embrace to push against his middle but his grip on her tightened before finally stepping back. 

She whispered her special spell overlaid with an arcane lock and gently pushed the door open.

~oU0Uo~

<<So…all of this to tell you he wants you to be his personal bard for some fucking party?>> Dharcis was lounging on the edge of her bed, hands thrown up in irritation, while she alternated between telling him what had happened and peeling the layers of her party outfit off in search of something more comfortable. 

Despite being a dramatic, theatrical man himself, Raphael’s antics seemed lost on Dharcis. <<He loves his dramatics. At least this time he didn’t recite a foreboding poem…>> She remembered how Rpahael had been watching and promptly stopped talking. 

<<You know I’m coming with you right?>> 

Nyara stood up straight and looked over at him, <<Absolutely not.>>

She bent over and grabbed the cream sweater she had worn earlier that day and threw it on before sliding the chest wrap down her stomach and over her hips to the floor, the wrap skirt following quickly after. 

<<I have more experience with the Hells than you do. Me and Momma lived there before Cormyr. You also haven’t performed in years. And->> He sat up and folded his hands together over his knees, <<We perform well together. Your devil cares about image–I don’t see him saying no.>>

<<You don’t know Raphael.>> She lifted her knee to begin undoing the laces on her heels but Dharcis caught her elbow and dragged her down to the bed beside her. 

Before she could protest he rolled on top of her and slid his arm beneath her head, his large hand fisting in her braid and his knee parting her knees. Nyara gasped and steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders, <<What–what are you doing?>>

He sat away from her, <<I’m…forgive me I just->> Dharcis looked up at the ceiling, a ruddy mustard color dusting his cheeks, <<Between the dancing, and you disappearing, and then undressing in front of me…I lost control. Forgive me.>>

Nyara smiled. Poor Dharcis. He was probably as confused as she was exhausted with this situation and her crossing boundaries and then disappearing probably didn’t help his sanity. She grabbed his face between her hands and forced his black-gold eyes to look at her, <<I’m so sorry for dragging you into this Dharcis. This was not the reunion I had imagined for us->>

His lips were on hers before she could finish and her hands were tangling into his hair in agreement. <<If he’s going to watch so closely then let’s give him a show.>> Dharcis’s other hand slid down the length of her body, grabbed her thigh, and hitched it over his back. She obliged and wrapped her other leg around the knee between her legs, brushing his tail and causing him to moan as she did so. 

Nyara’s hands slid down to his pants and was surprised to find that they were still unlaced from earlier. Had he walked all the way back to her apartment with his leathers undone? Poor Dharcis must have been panicking. She kissed him hard, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth, and slid her hand inside his leathers to pull him out, biting him harder than she intended when she felt just how much Dharcis had grown…everywhere apparently. 

He pulled away and chuckled at her mild look of fear. Her voice was barely a whisper against his lips, <<Dharcis…I don’t think I can…I mean->>

He shushed her and kissed along her jawline, over to her ear, and down the side of her neck, whispering between kisses, <<I’m aware of our size difference. Don’t worry. We’ll go slow. I have no intention of hurting you.>>

The hand gripping her thigh slid back up to search for her slit and hesitated when her slick met his fingers. <<Weren’t you wearing panties?>>

She tried to sit up, <<Yeah?>>

He parted her lips with his thick fingers and searched for her clit with a third finger, <<Seems like you lost them somewhere haha>>

She moaned as his finger rubbed tentatively around her labia then up until it found her swollen nub. His ministrations were hesitant but not inexperienced—the light touches were exciting more than they were frustrating. He began a slow pattern of tight circles across the eager bundle of nerves and watched attentively to see how she reacted to each change in rhythm and pattern until he found the combination that quickly had her thighs shaking and undignified whines passing from her lips.  She squeezed his shoulder and begged for him to never stop. He laughed and kissed her arm as her orgasm overtook her and had her whining underneath him for longer than she thought possible. Either Dharcis was skilled or she’d been more worked up than she had thought earlier. 

Nyara spread her thighs, threw her arms over her head and closed her eyes, exhaling contentedly. That had really loosened her up and opened her eyes to just how tense she had been. Dharcis, however, saw this act of relaxation as another invitation and slid down between her legs to begin kissing his way from knee to thigh on either side of her mound. She fixed her mouth to protest but it died in her throat when she felt his fangs on the fatty flesh of her inner thigh barely touching her lips. His teeth sank in and he began sucking and moaning around the sensitive flesh. 

Her eyes fluttered close, hands scrambling to find purchase—one hand on his horn and the other sliding up her sweater to cup her still sensitive breasts. Dharcis sucked what must have been a love bite into her thigh then trailed the bridge of his nose up her lips until it rubbed against her sensitive clit, the bud twitching under his attention. He inhaled and Nyara had a brief moment of embarrassment especially considering how much keener his sense of smell was than hers but then his long tongue was deep inside her and all thoughts left her head. 

His muscle was thick and insistent, exploring every ridge and spot it could reach, the forked end of his tongue jabbing in all directions in search of that special spot inside that could make her see stars. Nyara however knew that for now she didn’t have another orgasm in her and wanted Dharcis to have some fun. 

She slipped her cream sweater over her head, grabbed Dharcis by both his horns and hauled him up towards her. He huffed in surprise but let her have her way. Her hands spread across his thick stomach and slid his shirt over his shoulders, careful of his horns, and kissed him as he slid his leathers down and off. As he hovered over her she reached between them and encircled as much of her hand around his member as she could–now that she was touching him she realized he wasn’t big so much as he was very thick–much thicker than normal. She would be needing a lot of lubricant and ample stretching beforehand if she had any hope of seating him inside of her. 

Her hand guided him to her entrance and he grabbed her wrist, <<Ara>> the look of panic in his eyes was endearing. Her other hand reached around the back of his head and drew him down for another kiss. She nibbled on his lips and smiled, <<I know. Trust me.>>

Her hand circled his head around her entrance and he shuddered from the slickness and the sensation of skin against skin–she dragged his head up the length of her slit and then circled him again around her clit, pressing her bud into the opening at his head. He keened and fell forward onto her, <<Nine Hells Ara->>

Her legs wrapped around his back and crossed at the ankles just above his tail–which slid up and between her legs before curling around her inner thigh. She laid his cock flat against her slick folds and Dharcis’s eyes fluttered. Nyara’s fingers scratched at his scalp and pulled him down harder against her, kissing and sucking at his full lips and Dharcis returned her ministrations eagerly. Her hands slid down to either side of his face, <<Dharcis. I want you to cum on me->> Her words died in her throat as Dharcis’s body moved and began thrusting against her, the drag of his fat member against her sensitive folds causing her to writhe beneath him. 

Dharcis’s thrusts became faster and more erratic, his mouth dipped away from hers towards her collar bone and across her breasts in search of her nipples–pulling the one nearest him into his mouth and biting down with care not to hurt her. Nyara arched off the bed and cried out his name. Dharcis’s thrusts were at a bruising pace and it was clear he was near his end. She was vaguely aware that he had detached himself from her breast to murmur a string of what sounded like Infernal curses against her skin–as she tried to focus on the sounds leaving his mouth he paused and groaned deeply before collapsing on top of her and rolling to his side before he could actually crush her beneath him. 

He gathered her into his arms and whispered in Infernal against her temple before kissing her and sighing. Nyara closed her eyes happily as she listened to his breathing slow and devolve into soft snores. As she drifted off to the sounds of his soft snores an errant thought entered and exited her head as quickly as it had come-what drawer would Raphael store her wet panties in?  

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s eyes rolled at the drag of Dharcis’s tongue over her folds. He’d already woken her up twice since they had curled into each other to sleep that night–the first time to sit her on his face while she sleepily swallowed as much of his thick cock as she could until they both finished in each other’s mouths–the second time to try stretching her out with his fingers but barely managed two before she was cumming around him and he had stroked himself to completion watching her writhe around his digits.  

She let out a deep moan at a particularly pleasurable pass of his tongue over her clit when there was a sudden sharp succession of knocks against her apartment door. Dharcis’s lips moved against her sensitive cunt, <<Ignore it.>>

Nyara looked over to the window and noticed behind the heavy drapes that the sun had likely been up for a while, its rays a bright yellow across her wooden floors rather than a soft orange. It wasn’t a work day and thus it wasn’t like she had anywhere to be so she closed her eyes and tried to lose herself again in his ministrations only to have her eyes fly open in panic at the sound of Rolan’s voice. “Nyara? Nyara are you alright?”

Fuck! Her lunch date! She had forgotten. 

She scrambled from the bed and conjured a robe, wrapped it tightly around her body and tripped over Dharcis’s boots as she barrelled toward her front door. Right as the next succession of knocks began she yanked the door open and did her best to not look so frazzled. 

Rolan stood across from her mildly surprised and clearly exasperated. He was dressed in a raffish midnight outfit, had polished his horns, and had a beautiful bouquet of white roses, yellow sunflowers, and soft pink hydrangeas. <<Oh Rolan these are beautiful->> she caught herself, “Rolan these are beautiful.” She looked around guiltily, “I’m so sorry. Raphael summoned me last night and I clearly overslept. If you’re willing…give me a moment to bathe and I’m all yours?”

Aware of how bad this situation was, she hollered out while guiding an annoyed and confused Rolan into her apartment and finding a vase to plop her lovely flowers into, <<Dharcis I invited Rolan in. Please be decent and don’t come out of my room. I’ll be back in a minute to explain.>> 

His answering voice was less than pleased, <<You’re fucking joking.>>

She turned and smiled at Rolan, aware how rude she was being but grateful he couldn’t understand either of them, “I’m so sorry Rolan I know this is twice now I’ve troubled you.” His eyes were fixed on her neck. When he noticed her staring he looked up at her and cleared his throat, “Actually, you clearly have too much on your plate. We can catch up another time.” He stood and headed towards her door. 

Nyara lunged after him and gently grabbed his elbow, “No Rolan please! I’ve been looking forward to this and Raphael just–”

“Another time Ms. Talab.” He shrugged off her and closed the door behind him. Ms. Talab? He hadn’t called her that since before they had reached Baldur’s Gate. 

When she turned around Dharcis was leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom looking too smug for comfort. Nyara frowned, <<Did he see you? Is that why he left so abruptly?>> 

Dharcis smirked, <<No. He left because of our smell and because of that->> He nodded towards her neck. She shoved past him and into her bathing room towards her vanity. Sensing her presence her floating lanterns lit up and Nyara froze. All along the right side of her neck were deep purple love bites from earlier that morning. 

She turned sharply on Dharcis, <<Why didn’t you warn me?>>

He raised an eyebrow at her, <<About the smell? All your friends are tieflings I assumed you knew->>

She shook her head, <<No about the bites!>>

His eyes softened, <<Apologies Ara I didn’t see them when you wrapped yourself up and ran off.>> His fingers caressed the side of her neck full of bites, <<It must have slipped when you moved around in the kitchen. I don’t think they would have been visible otherwise.>>

Nyara looked down. She felt like an asshole–poor Rolan. Twice she had caused him to panic and the second time had been because of her ill-advised decision to roll into bed with Dharcis. Raphael hadn’t been lying when he’d said she was fumbling her way from bed to bed…

Dharcis gathered her in his arms, <<It’s fine. He’ll get over it.>>

Nyara shook her head and pushed him off, <<Is that what you would do?>>

Something unrecognizable flashed in his eyes before he smiled, <<I’d be heartbroken. But…I mean…it wasn’t as if you two were a couple right?>>

Her mouth opened to respond and then closed. She and Rolan hadn’t actually discussed what they were. They were usually too busy finding new ways to fuck across her apartment. She and Rolan didn’t really talk much other than discussing how much fun they’d had or to make plans to eat together. 

Dharcis’s soft laugh pulled her back, <<I gathered as much.>> He hoisted her up and over his shoulder, slapping her ass as he settled her, <<Let’s eat something and decide how we will spend what remains of our day before your devil comes for you. No need to dwell on something so casual.>>

Nyara didn’t have the energy to argue and, as much as it bothered her, Dharcis had a point. She wasn’t excusing her behavior but she and Rolan also hadn’t discussed exclusivity. He didn’t really have a right to be upset anymore than she could be mad if she had walked in on something similar. 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara was applying the last of her makeup when she smelled smoke, sulphur and cherries. She checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure the healing potion she’d drank had rectified all signs of hers and Dharcis’s activities from her body. 

After a light lunch Dharcis had bent her over the sofa and eaten her so thoroughly her legs had temporarily lost feeling after her succession of two orgasms. Seeing an opportunity he had laid her flat on her back, opened her legs wide, and tried to work himself into her slowly. It had taken close to a half hour of diligent and patient shallow thrusting to get her acclimated to his girth but one that last inch had slid in both of them had yowled like animals in heat. 

Dharcis hadn't lasted more than a few thrusts before he’d spilled inside. After a very brief recovery time he’d sat her on the counter and gifted her every inch of him until she screamed his name like a curse.

He’d joked that they hadn’t blessed his bed yet and made their way to his room so she could ride them both into oblivion–squeezing him deep inside her as he came with his eyes rolled back behind his head and his hands full of her tits.

Two hours before Raphael was set to come and collect her Dharcis had forced her on her belly across her bed and fucked her like an animal in heat form behind until she had cried and begged for him to both stop and never stop. 

At the sound of Raphael’s affronted demand for Dharcis to explain who he was Nyara stepped from within her bathing chamber, through her bedroom, and out to a scene that made her swallow the laugh bubbling from within her throat. 

Dharcis was lounging on the sofa in a nice pair of umber trousers paired with a cream shirt and his traveling boots, his lute across his lap, ignoring Raphael’s presence–who was staring daggers into the man with a sneer on his face. Nyara cleared her throat and smiled, “Hello Raphael.” 

He gave her a judgemental once-over, clearly unimpressed with her choice of outfit. Unfortunately for him almost nothing in her daily wardrobe compared to how she had been dressed last night. She wore a cream shirt like Dharcis’s but cropped so her stomach was showing and a matching pair of umber trousers encircled with a thin gold belt full of coins that clinked melodically when she walked. 

“How does a drow such as yourself find the company of a Mammon tiefling in a city like Baldur’s Gate?” He didn’t bother to hide his disdain and Nyara fought the smile tugging at her lips. 

“This is my partner and childhood friend, Dharcis Dazoucis. I have only ever performed with him.” She knew this was a gamble but after much arguing Dharcis had insisted he wouldn’t let her do this alone. And knowing how persistent the man could be she relented with some conditions. He couldn’t try to play hero and get rough with Raphael. He had to keep his temper in check or she would tell Raphael to ban him from the House of Hope. He couldn’t tell anyone what they were doing or where they were going–which he had deadpanned was a given. And he couldn’t sabotage the performance. With her soul on the line she planned to do her best per Rapahel’s request. Embarrassing the devil wasn’t going to do anyone any favors. 

Raphael sniffed and sneered, “Among other things.” 

Nyara had anticipated this and had made sure she and Dharcis had both bathed prior to Raphael’s arrival. She’d used her enchantments to make her apartment sparkle but apparently it wasn’t strong enough to hide anything from the Devil. 

He gestured toward Dharcis, “If you do not perform up to standard I will have you removed.”

Dharcis looked to her and she glanced at Raphael before repeating what the devil had said in Cormanthan, <<He said if you don’t play up to his standards he’ll remove you.>>

Dharcis knew Common and spoke it perfectly fine but because of the issues he often dealt with because of his accent he used these situations to play dumb and force Nyara to do all the talking on both their behalfs. But his feigned ignorance had often helped them hear and see more than they were meant to because rich nobles would open their mouths and discuss secrets in front of Dharcis believing he couldn’t understand nor repeat what was said in his presence. In her youth Nyara had been very well acquainted with blackmail and until she had quit touring with Dharcis and started at university it had been their main source of income. 

Raphael raised his eyebrow, “You cannot be serious. How can he not speak Common?”

Nyara shrugged, “He speaks Infernal so if you ever want to talk shit about me with him you both have that option.” 

He was unamused by her joke and rolled his eyes. “Enough.” He raised his hand to snap and Nyara gestured to Dharcis to stand and bring his lute and her borrowed lyre. Raphael snapped and they disappeared from her apartment. 

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara watched from the corner of her eye as Dharcis marveled at the corridors of the House of Hope while Raphael rambled on about…something. She wasn’t listening. Dharcis was practically tripping over himself to take it all in; the corridors, the debtors, the feast hall, the portraits… He leaned in, <<You’ve been here before?>>

<<It’s…a long story.>> He didn’t ask more and she didn’t elaborate.

Raphael swept past a group of debtors mumbling to themselves as they dragged several clothing boxes through the hall. Dharcis frowned and Nyara did her best to ignore them while also finding a sick humor in the Devil having his custom clothes delivered from gods knew where. 

“You will both utilize this space to prepare–” Raphael threw open a set of double doors and ushered her and Dharcis into a grand semi-circular shaped room and Nyara’s jaw dropped–the walls were lined with a beautiful egg-shell colored stone, obscenely large vaulted ceilings, polished wooden floors made of a tree Nyara couldn’t identify, and four small blood-red floor couches along the edges of the room. In the center was a low pit full of instruments and to the side on a raised stage was, perhaps, the largest and certainly the most gorgeous organ she’d ever seen. The wooden pipe shapes emulated bat wings–tapered at the ends, pipes spanning upwards, tapering back into the center with several large pipes in the center, each side a mirror of the other. Her eyes couldn’t decide where to focus.

“-as you have limited time I expect you will spend these early days crafting a composition. Once you know what you will require for said magnificent performance I shall see to it that you have talented instrumentalists to–”

Nyara wasn’t listening. She felt herself slowly walking towards the organ, could feel its call thrumming across her skin begging to be touched, to be played. Oh the raw emotional turmoil she could craft with such an instrument made a chill run down her spine. Her fingers twitched at her sides. The room, the instruments—it was all seduction wrapped in elegance. The kind of place she could lose herself in.

A warm hand around her elbow made her flinch, <<Hey. Your devil is talking to you. Try to stop drooling and pay attention.>>

Nyara looked behind her, Raphael’s face was pinched in irritation, his lips pressed into a thin line. She gave him a sheepish smile, “I’m sorry.” She looked back at the organ, “This is just the most beautiful organ I’ve ever seen….ever.” Her compliment seemed to soothe his mood and he preened.

“Ah.” He fanned a hand in the instrument’s direction and moved behind her, “Do you play?”

She swallowed, “You could say that.”

<<Nah. Tell him the truth.>> Dharcis nodded his head toward the instrument, <<Tell him that you can make even the devil cry with your melodies.>>

Raphael arched his brow expectantly but Nyara shook her head. She refused to translate that to Raphael of all people. Let him wonder.

After more long-winded speeches about grandeur and the importance of her composing to impress these delegates, alongside heated negotiating on why Raphael was not welcome to observe the creative process nor was he a welcome spectator, finally, he left them to their work and agreed he would not eavesdrop nor spy until the night of the performance; should they need advice or suggestion he would be invited.

Nyara slumped exhausted onto one of the floor couches. They still had a night of preparation ahead of them and she had felt as if she had just finished a day of fighting off gods know what and was returning back to camp for some of Shadowheart’s healing words.

<<And I thought you were talkative.>> Dharcis ran his hand across the lute sitting in the orchestra pit, eyes sparkling with wonder as they ran across an instrument that was worth more than both of their weights in gold. His fingers plucked a tentative note, and the sound rang out pure, bright, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Nyara puffed out a breath, <<You have no idea.>> She slapped her cheeks, stood, stretched–mindful of Dharcis’s wandering gaze along the line of her belly and underboob–and placed her hands on her hips. <<So…he said the theme should be something like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Ideas?>>

Dharcis snorted, <<That is…idiotic and obvious. Do we have to do that?>>

<<He likes order, decorum, and respect. I’m not sure we should stray from his idea of a good idea.>> She fingered the hem of her blouse and stared down at her fingers, the calluses from playing the harp, lyre, and lute almost all smoothed away from years of inactivity. This was going to be hell on her hands…among other things. A dull ache bloomed behind her ribs at the thought—how many nights had she spent soothing hands cramped from hours of playing, Kel’nar’s warm voice teasing her, calling her a perfectionist?

At Dharcis’s silence she looked up and caught him staring at her. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head in a what? impression. His mouth spread out into a smirk then full on smile.

<<Nyara. Did you fuck the devil? Is that why you weren’t surprised to be in this opulent house?>>

If only he knew. Instead, she sputtered, <<What the fuck? No!>> She shook her head, <<He invited us to his home that first meeting.>> Her feet dragged her to the center pit and she plopped on the edge of the wall, <<Don’t be gross.>>

Dharcis shrugged and picked up the lute with such reverence she couldn’t help but smile. He began to idly strum out sad notes as he walked around the pit. The room shifted with the music—low, yearning, unfinished.

<<So…Kel’nar.>>

The name hit harder than it should have. It floated in the air between them like smoke, clinging to her skin, wrapping around her lungs. She didn’t respond at first. Just sat there, jaw tightening, throat thickening. Her hands curled against her knees.

<<Yeah. For a few years now. It’s aggressive and there is no known cure.>> She exhaled slowly, forced her voice to stay level. <<We’ve been delaying the inevitable with strong medicinal magic. But…according to the best of the best everywhere there is nothing that can be done.>>

Her gaze dropped to the floor. Even that felt too heavy to hold. She didn’t add how the worst part wasn’t the looming death, but the way Kel’nar had started to forget melodies. Little pieces of them—gone. The sharp, infallible memory dulled, fumbling. It was like watching color drain from a painting one day at a time.

She hopped down from the ledge and moved to the harp. The gold was too bright, too polished. She positioned it between her legs, fingers resting lightly on the strings but not yet playing. Her eyes stayed unfocused.

Dharcis was quiet for a long while. The notes he strummed faltered, softened into silence. Then she heard that low familiar rumble,<<I’m sorry, Ara.>>

It wasn’t the words so much as the way he said them—low, careful, without pity. Like he knew not to touch the bruise too hard or it would split open. She gave a tiny nod, not trusting her voice.

Then she plucked a single note on the harp. The sound was thin and aching, like the beginning of a mourning song.

She sighed as she leaned the harp back against her shoulder, the golden frame cold where it met her skin. <<Yeah. Me too. Especially af–>> she cleared her throat, <<after everything he and Nadal did to escape only for his own body to betray him.>>

Dharcis didn’t interrupt, didn’t glance away. His fingers resumed their dance across the strings of the lute, slow and reverent, like each note carried the weight of memory. Nyara could hear it in his playing—he knew loss, too. Not the same shape or shade as hers, maybe, but it lived in his bones all the same. She and him both hailed from a culture of violence. 

She let her fingers explore a low chord progression—tentative at first, then with more courage, building a harmony beneath the melancholy tune Dharcis had begun. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.

<<When it first started he kept begging Nadal and then me to slit his throat.>> Her voice was almost inaudible, barely a breath. <<Said he’d rather go out with dignity than…than like some sort of worm.>>

<<Sounds like him.>> Dharcis replied gently, plucking a countermelody that danced along the edge of hers.

<<But he’s fading.>> Her fingers stilled, just for a moment. <<Quietly. And I... I don’t know how to prepare for that. I don’t think I can.>>

The silence that followed was thick, not with discomfort, but understanding. Dharcis crossed the pit toward her, his lute cradled close, and without a word he sat beside her. Not too close, just enough that the music could stretch and intertwine between them.

They began to play in earnest now—not to impress, not to compose, but to grieve . She really hadn’t grieved…for anything. Not for Kel’nar, not for her friends, not for what she went through to get home and get that godsdamned worm out of her head…It was nice–to just feel—and not feel shame for feeling anything at all.

The melody they wove was not polished or perfect. It rose and fell in strange intervals, raw and uneven, like ragged breath between sobs. Notes stumbled. Chords trembled. The harp’s golden strings sang with aching tension as Nyara coaxed out every ounce of sorrow from her chest. The lute answered with soft harmonies, sometimes echoing her grief, sometimes soothing it.

It was a song of mourning. Of resistance. Of love held too tightly and slipping away too soon. Gods bless Dharcis. Nyara didn’t think she could do this with anyone else and most certainly not on her own. She owed him a debt and she had no idea how she would repay him once they were free–if they became free. 

She closed her eyes as they played, letting the sound thread itself through her ribs, binding her together just enough to keep her whole. Just enough to keep going.

Eventually, the last notes faded into the high vaulted ceiling of the room, and for a moment, everything was still. The air itself seemed to mourn with them.

Dharcis rested his hands on the strings of his lute, muting them gently. He looked at her—not with sympathy, but with the steady presence of someone who had chosen to sit in the dark with her rather than drag her back into the light.

<<Thank you..>> she whispered.

<<You never had to tell me thank you Ara. I’ll always be here for you. No matter what..>>

~oU0Uo~

As promised, Raphael had returned her at dawn, which gave her approximately four hours of sleep before she was expected at the Counting House—Dharcis had still been asleep when she’d left that morning. Her day had passed in a blur of monotony, her eyes skimming over schematics of the bank looking for places that likely needed strengthened wards and security, pointedly ignoring the area that held the somewhat assembled crown, and doing her best to focus on doing her job and doing it well despite everything else in her life going to hell. She couldn’t control much right now, but she could, in fact, control the safety of these patrons’ vaults of gold and jewels.

That evening, on her way to her father’s house, she had run into Dammon—sweaty, black smudges on his cheek and smelling of smoke and metal and the kind of effort that left skin glowing and tendons taut—and in that moment Nyara had discovered something new for her private use later when she was alone. He had asked if they were still meeting to watch Dharcis perform that night, and her world had shattered—she’d completely forgotten and, worse, Raphael was scheduled to pick her up as she was coming home from her father’s house. Fuck. 

While applying the finishing touches to her makeup—a dark red lip that was pulling more earth-toned on her pallid skin than it had on the pretty elf woman at the market stall who had convinced her to buy it—Nyara had sent Dharcis ahead to meet the others and had promised she would probably meet the group there after speaking with Raphael.

Considering the vastness of the favor she would be begging from him, she wore something incredibly unconventional—a blood red dress with a V that dipped down to her navel, the color so rich and deep it almost appeared to be the color of spilled wine or freshly drawn blood, with slits up both legs that were too high for her to wear small clothes beneath. She found her gold bands, allegedly heirlooms from her mother’s house according to her father, and a thick gold choker with a ruby hanging from its center that sat at the hollow of her throat.

Usually, she would pull out her oil and take the time to run it section by section along her long strands to define each clump of her curls, but given the crunch for time she murmured a glamour spell as she smoothed her wild white curls down into bone-straight locks against her head and down to her waist. Dry, her curls fell just below her nipples—but straightened out, her hair was navel-length and glowed like the moon herself. 

She paced around her living room waiting for him to arrive, her bare feet wearing trail lines into the plush knit of her carpet. The tightness in her chest twisted with every breath. There was still time to cancel. Still time to lie. Still time to go, watch Dharcis perform, and forget the part of her that was seriously contemplating inviting the devil to a tavern full of smoke and bad decisions—because she knew what it might cost if he said yes.

She fingered the unfamiliar silky hair over her shoulder as a flash of embers sparked into existence before her—she halted her steps just in time to avoid walking straight into Raphael’s chest. The nervousness bubbling in her belly fizzled into something warm and resolute at the sight of his astonishment to see her looking…the way she looked. That brief flash—topaz eyes widened, jaw slackened, the soft huff of surprise before he composed himself into a sly smile and arrogant posture—gave her all the confidence she needed to ask her boon.

“Raphael, I need a favor.”

His frown was not what she had been expecting. He didn’t speak, but the silence held weight. She instinctively took a step back, putting distance between them.

“I know. I know. I owe you more than I can probably repay, but I’m begging you to hear me out. I think…well…I think it’ll be in both our interests.”

She crossed her arms, not entirely for modesty, and gave the barest squeeze so that her breasts plumped together, subtly framed by the plunging neckline. A silent dare.

Raphael’s gaze slid down and back up so quickly she almost thought she had imagined it. Almost. His mouth remained in a faint frown, but his eyes glinted as he gave the barest nod for her to continue.

“I need to delay rehearsal tonight. We had previously made arrangements for Dharcis to perform, and…” she paused, measuring her words, “...I can’t really begin without my partner.”

His eyes narrowed. “We had an agreement, Mouse —”

She nodded quickly, hands open, placating. “Yes. Yes, we did. And we still do. But these plans were made before yours.”

“Then why,” he said, each word clipped, “did you not bring them to my attention when I gave you my terms?”

Nyara swallowed. This was going sideways. In her head, she’d imagined ogling, teasing, him asking what she’d give in return for his generosity. Not logic. Not tactics. Haarlep had let it slip all that time ago that Raphael was easily distracted. This was not how an easily distracted man behaved. She wasn’t prepared for him to be…reasonable.

She let out a long sigh. “Because—much like everything else important in my life—I forgot.” Her gaze drifted to Rolan’s flowers sitting on the countertop, an ironic reminder of another date she had forgotten. Her voice dropped. “Come with us.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but she pressed on.

“Perhaps…you’ll hear something that piques your interest for your…” she waved a hand, “...party?” Her hands returned to her hips. “And the moment it’s over, we’re back at your place. Continuing where we left off.”

She dared a peek at his face and was startled to see him actually contemplating her offer. Two fingers pressed to his lips. Brow furrowed. He was thinking about it. Which was terrifying in and of itself.

Feeling her gaze, his eyes darted to hers. “What would you offer for such generosity?”

Finally! This she could do.

Her lips curved into a slow, confident smile. “A live performance. Just for you. I need all the practice I can get, right?”

His fingers tapped against his lower lip. “Where?”

This would be the hard part.

“The Blushing Mermaid.”

Raphael blinked. Slowly. The silence that followed was unsettling and his gaze could have curdled milk.

Nyara bit her lip to stop the laugh building in her chest. His expression was so put out, one could swear she had just suggested they go skinny dipping in the Chionthar’s questionable dark waters.

Her grin was sheepish. “I know. But I’m sure you of all people know best the difficulty a bard without a patron faces. This is the best he can get…for now.”

He looked at her, nose wrinkled, clearly weighing the perceived indignity of attending a performance in such a place against whatever amusement or intrigue she might yet offer.

And then he snapped.

The air rippled.

Firelight shimmered in the space beside them.

Nyara inhaled slowly, trying to tamp down the galloping beat of her heart. She didn’t know what his answer would be. And worse—if he said yes—she didn’t know what that would cost her.

But gods help her, she wanted to find out.

~oU0Uo~

Nyara blinked and she and Raphael were now arm in arm outside the Blushing Mermaid. In a panic she looked down expecting to see bare feet standing in a puddle of gods knew what but was pleasantly surprised to see a very expensive pair of gold sandal heels with, what she could only assume, were real rubies patterned across the strap just above her toes. “What are these going to cost me?”

Raphael laughed and patted her arm, “That, Little Mouse, will depend entirely on your performance tonight.” 

Nyara shoved their way through the crowded, sweaty bodies, keenly aware of how out of place she and Raphael looked if the side glances and low whistles meant anything, until she found her friends at their table. Then Nyara was forced to play the mental gymnastics of introducing Raphael to this group and prayed nothing bad would come to them as a result of the introduction. She purposely avoided Rolan’s concerned and accusatory gaze–he knew who Raphael was–and focused her attention on Alfira’s sly smile and gaze bouncing between her and Rapahel and where their arms were enjoined. “Well hellooooooo. Who’s this?”

Raphael opened his mouth to speak and Nyara quickly interrupted. “This is Pel Lordraha. He’s a very prominent patron of the arts and the newest candidate for a spot on the board at the Counting House.” She pointedly ignored Raphael’s arched brow and amused smile beside her. “He overheard me talking about Dharcis’s performance tonight and I felt compelled to invite him.” She squeezed his arm, “Perhaps tonight can be fun and profitable for a fellow patron of the arts.” 

Raphael squeezed her arm back, clearly put off that patron of the art s was the terminology being used while they stood on the sticky floor of the Blushing Mermaid, overdressed, and out of place amongst its questionable customers. Alfira, Dammon, and Lakrissa however, were immediately enamored and pulled Pel away from her to offer a seat that was facing the small stage Dharcis and his companions were setting up on. As if sensing her gaze Dharcis looked up, gave her an appraising once over, and smiled; his smile fell when he looked beside her and saw Raphael sitting amongst her friends. She gave him a small helpless shrug and turned to sit where Dammon was beckoning in a chair beside him. 

“So Pel. You’re not from Baldur’s Gate. Where do you originally hail from?”

Nyara’s head snapped over to a frowning Rolan and beside him a frowning Lia and a confused Cal. Fuck. Nyara opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by Raphael’s smooth reply, “From Cormyr.” His eyes were sparkling with a mirth she didn’t appreciate, “Dear Ara here was too modest. I’ve known her since she lived in Cormyr. What fortune that we would cross paths again at the Counting House of Baldur’s Gate of all places.” 

Gods above and below. He was having fun. 

Nyara was suddenly struck with a sad thought–how often, if ever, did Raphael go out? She looked up and saw Rolan was staring at her, not Pel and she gave him a small smile–one he didn’t return. Lia, noticed, and looked at her with too many questions she didn’t have the tact to answer now so she focused her attention on Dammon who had just complimented her dress.

She smiled, “Too much for the Mermaid I know but we are headed to an event after so I figured I would kill two birds with one stone you know?” 

Dammon laughed and poured her a bit of wine into her glass before topping off his. “You know everyone eh? So I take it work is going well then?”

Bless Dammon for knowing how to small talk because between her trying to focus on keeping Pel from stealing the souls of her friends and avoiding Rolan’s ire she felt scatterbrained. She gracelessly gulped down her wine and motioned for more. While Dammon poured she answered his question, “It is actually. I’m finally getting a rhythm and am finally happy to just get back to normal, you know?” She took another large sip before nodding at him, “Mm. And you? How’s the forge? I feel like I never ask.”

Dammon’s laugh was warm and kind just like him. He looked good tonight too; brown shirt, black pants, and brown work boots. Something about the brown of his shirt made his blue eyes stand out beautifully against his sunrise skin. “I think it’s fair to say you usually have more pressing matters on your mind.”

“No but still. I want to know how you’re doing and that you’re doing well.” She looked at him through her lashes and loved watching the faint dust of orange that bloomed across his nose and the tips of his ears. 

His mouth spread into a grin, “Well I can’t say I’m not happy to hear that.” He tipped his wine glass against her in a small, private toast, “Maybe I could tell you all about it over dinner.”

Nyara smirked, “I’m sure I could squeeze that in.”

In the farthest reaches of her mind she knew it was ill-advised to leave Pel with the friendly and inquisitive ramblings of Alfira but dammit she deserved a little flirting tonight. She wasn’t going to have the energy for anything else if the next four days continued the way yesterday had. 

His fingers softly carded through the hair she had swept over her shoulder, “Wow. Lovely but I’ll admit I miss the curls.”

“Oh?” Dammon was focused on her white hair pouring through his fingers but she was focused on the wonder in his eyes, those gold irises framing blue seeming to sparkle as they traced over the line of her hair in his hands. 

“Yeah. I’ve always thought you had beautiful hair.” He said it as if in a trance and now it was her turn to blush. 

“What are you two whispering about?” Nyara and Dammon looked up at Alfira, trance broken for them both,  whose mouth was spread in a feral grin. Raphael’s brow was raised in either irritation or amusement, she couldn’t tell, but she felt the weight of his stare regardless. 

Dammon smirked and tipped his glass towards his lips, “If we’d wanted to share we wouldn’t have been whispering.” 

Alfira pouted then turned her attention back to Nyara. She braced herself for whatever was about to leave Alfira’s mouth. Instead, she was overcome with relief at the sound of the bar tender’s voice announcing the start of the entertainment. Nyara turned in her seat and rested her chin over the back, very aware that Raphael, Alfira, Lakrissa, and Rolan had a clear view of her bare freckled back since the dress was completely open. 

“Oh shoot we’re out of wine.” Nyara was vaguely aware of Alfira’s whining until a hand on her elbow was dragging her from her seat.

“Nyara and I will go get some before it starts.” 

Before she could register what was happening Rolan was dragging her across the room and towards the bar. Once she got her balance she shrugged him off, “Rolan what in the Hells—“

“I could ask you the same.” He turned on his heel, mouth pinched in a frown. He nodded toward their table across the room, “Why have you brought the devil here?”

Nyara’s nostrils flared, “Because I have a choice.” That wasn’t true she had invited him but only so that she could be here with everyone tonight…

Her words seemed to spark something within him and suddenly Rolan was soft, “My gods I didn’t even think. Are you okay? Is he forcing you—“

A wave of guilt washed over her. Raphael was a lot of things—arrogant, manipulative, smug—but their relationship wasn’t that nefarious. Not really. Not entirely. He hadn’t forced her into anything. Not with threats. Not even with coercion. He simply offered her what she wanted with strings that felt thin enough to ignore until she tripped over them.

She patted her hand on Rolan’s shoulder, trying to lighten the heaviness she could already see forming behind his eyes. “I’m fine, but I don’t have many opportunities to say no. Tonight was one of them. I wanted to see all of you—and the condition was he got to tag along.” She nodded toward the table where Raphael held court with their friends. “Just don’t talk to him and try to convince the others that he isn’t as charming as he’s acting.”

She motioned over the bar and held up two fingers—for two bottles of wine.

Rolan shifted closer, his voice softer now, tinged with a careful kind of concern. “Nyara, about the other day—”

“No.” She raised her hand, forestalling the apology, the conversation, the everything of it. Her stomach was already knotted. “We’ll talk properly, I promise. But not here. Not now. And definitely not while…” She tilted her head subtly toward Raphael, “...well, you know.”

Rolan didn’t look satisfied, but he had the grace to nod and let the matter die. For now.

They stood in silence, the low hum of tavern chatter and Dharcis and his trio strumming their opening tune wrapping around them. She could feel the warmth radiating off Rolan’s body beside her, could feel his eyes flicking to her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. And she didn’t want to admit how much comfort she took in it.

She had fucked Dharcis less than two days ago. She had flirted outrageously with Dammon on instinct. She was here with Raphael, for Raphael. And still, some small and selfish part of her had been hoping Rolan would be jealous enough to do something about it.

When the barmaid finally returned with their wine, he turned toward her. “You do look lovely, by the way,” he said, his voice gentler now. “But I agree with Dammon. Curls are preferable.”

Nyara blinked, surprised. “You were eavesdropping?”

Rolan reached past her to grab the two bottles, the soft fabric of his blue robe brushing her bare arm. The contact made her breath catch in her throat for a heartbeat too long. He turned toward the table with a faint smirk. “No. You two weren’t whispering as softly as you thought. Alfira’s just too caught up with your rich devil to notice anything beyond him right now.”

He paused, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Speaking of which—do you think it wise to leave a bard in the presence of a patron? He’ll have her soul before the night’s over.”

Nyara bit her cheek hard to keep from swearing aloud. She hadn’t thought of that at all.

What had started as a night meant to reconnect with friends had spiraled into a labyrinth of contradictions she didn’t know how to navigate. Her heart twisted in too many directions: Rolan, with his soft voice and kind eyes and careful hands; Dharcis, whose mouth had written psalms into her skin and left her breathless and aching; Dammon, all sweat and smooth sweetness and warmth, who made her feel like she was still something to be chased after rather than dominated; and Raphael, the danger she kept crawling back to with both dread and desire burning in her belly.

She didn’t know if she was being selfish or simply trying to feel something other than fractured.

As they returned to the table, Raphael had clearly said something funny. Everyone was laughing—Alfira, especially, her eyes shining as she leaned in far too close. Even Dharcis, from the corner, glanced over at the sound of the group’s laughter and offered a grim nod and placating grin.

Only Lia looked uncomfortable, her posture stiff, her smile thin. Nyara clocked it immediately and made a mental note to check in with her later.

Raphael, of course, had a shit-eating grin stretched across his face like he had already won whatever game he thought they were playing.

Nyara sighed internally, but plastered a bright smile on her face as she and Rolan approached the table. The group turned toward them, hands already reaching for wineglasses. Raphael’s gaze found hers, hungry and unblinking. She tried to make her smile reach her eyes—tried and failed, she suspected—but it was enough.

She slid into her seat beside Dammon, who immediately placed a warm hand on her thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t stop him.

She turned in her chair to watch Dharcis and his friends perform. The music curled around her like a spell, low and lovely. It should have been comforting.

But all she could feel was the heat of Dammon’s touch, the intensity of Raphael’s glare boring into her spine, and the question in Rolan’s gaze whenever he looked her way—like he was still waiting for her to answer something she hadn’t figured out how to ask herself yet.

Nyara took a long sip of wine and let the music carry her thoughts far away. She didn’t know how much longer she could juggle all of this. All of them. All of her shit…

But tonight, she’d pretend.

~oU0Uo~

The mouse looked just shy of miserable and Raphael was drinking it in with the enthusiasm of a drunkard at a tavern. Raphael was disappointed that his mouse kept such dull company and had, more than once, contemplated snapping the irritating bard’s neck if only to make her cease her insistent chittering. Yet he also found himself entertained by the amount of men at the table competing for the mouse’s attention and her obvious obliviousness to their vying affections.  

The Mammon tiefling played well enough for this establishment full of gnats but it was obvious to Raphael that his heart wasn’t in the music. His gaze swept over his mouse’s bare back and to the stage again where the tiefling played alongside a half-orc uglier than sin and a small drow woman with poorly drawn freckles on her face. 

He studied the trio, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was something particularly repugnant in the resemblance the drow girl bore to Nyara—an imitation, and not a flattering one. How many nights, he wondered, had this Dharcis creature used her to pretend? The thought was amusing, and revolting in equal measure.

The tiefling reeked of Bhaator but most of his kind usually avoided Toril for that reason–most finding settlements in Avernus or in the more habitable areas of Minauros. Raphael had a sinking suspicion he wasn’t as ignorant as he pretended to be but Raphael did enjoy hearing his mouse speak Cormanthan so what was a lie here and there? 

He hadn’t expected the evening to end in such a sad excuse of a tavern, surrounded by mortals barely lucid enough to appreciate music, let alone artistry. But his mouse had looked so deliciously divine—draped in his colors, hair bone-straight and severe—that he’d had no choice but to indulge her. What was he, after all, if not a generous benefactor?

His gaze drifted languidly across her figure again—soft, perfumed skin, black manicured nails, that blood red dress that clung to her like a lover’s hand. She always dressed impeccably, always presented herself like an offering. She cared about her image if she cared for nothing else.  And he could agree with the blacksmith on one count—yes, he too preferred her curls. Bone-straight hair did not suit her. No, chaos suited her. Her wild curls had always been a fitting crown for the tempest she carried within.

And that was why he found her companions so… puzzling. The bard was loud, graceless, and lacking in every kind of poise. The blacksmith, while physically agreeable, had the intellectual presence of a damp rag. The wizard—now he was an amusing contradiction—pompous, arrogant, yet quivering with insecurity whenever Raphael so much as looked his way. His sister barely spoke, save to scowl at Pel or his mouse. And then, of course, there was Dharcis.

Something about the tiefling felt wrong. It was odd that his kind ventured outside of Bhaator and even stranger still that he would have been raised in a place like Cormyr. Though, admittedly, it was just as odd that the mouse had been brought up there in a place full of humans, elves, and orcs alone. It was no wonder they had bonded out of necessity and fostered the bond under the guise of friendship . Raphael saw how the tiefling looked at his mouse and it was anything but friendliness behind those black, soulless eyes. 

He looked at her like she was his.

Raphael smirked at the thought. He wondered if she knew.

Applause broke the lull in the room as his mouse rose and began to saunter toward the miserable excuse for a stage. Ah, yes—the promised performance. He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, swirling the swill they dared call wine in his glass. Perhaps this little venture would not be entirely fruitless.

He watched with amusement as she moved through the crowd with practiced ease towards the decrepit raised platform, over dressed and entirely out of place for more reasons than just her attire, and took a spot beside the grinning tiefling to the dismay of the imitation drow beside him. There was absolutely no comparison and everyone on that stage knew it. If looks could kill his mouse’s soul would already be waiting for him at home. 

His mouse whispered to the half-orc who smiled and began to tap out what she requested on his drum, continuing the rhythm with more force at her nod. The tiefling was already strumming his lute and now his mouse needed to find a way to get the other drow to cooperate. Begrudgingly, the little thing began to blow out the requested notes on her small trumpet, which she played as if she had barely learned it solely for the purpose of following the tiefling on the road. Raphael rolled his eyes.

Once satisfied with their harmony his mouse turned, ran a hand from thigh to hip–garnering applause from the room of drunkards, and began to sing. 

<<Tell me you want me

And tell me you love me

Tell me you want me

And tell me you love me.>>

Raphael’s grin stretched wider.

What a little tease.

He watched the crowd lean forward, drawn into her voice like moths to flame. It didn’t surprise him. Local bards in these backwoods taverns sang sweet nothings about lost love and heroic deeds. But a Cormyrian-trained performer? They sang of vices—lust, power, longing. They danced sin into the air. Judging by the scandalized gasps of a few patrons, it was clearly too rich for their provincial tastes.

<<So you lost me, but you missed me already

Tell him that there's no one like me

This rhythm is killing me

Your attitude is tiring me

I'm more fire, she's wax

I know that then it despairs…>>

Nyara flipped her hair, hips swaying in perfect sync with the drum. Even the tiefling and the orc had ceased truly performing, their attention fixed on the mouse at their center. She had them in the palm of her hand.

Raphael’s eyes drifted back to the table. The blacksmith had gone slack-jawed. The wizard looked like he might combust. The bard was still bobbing along, utterly unaware of the undercurrents threatening to drown them all.

He sighed.

These people—these mortals—they didn’t understand what they were witnessing. They thought it was burlesque. A show. A game. Fools. All of them. Except perhaps the golden tiefling, who seemed to recognize something holy, or unholy, in the performance.

<<I keep dancing without you>>

<<Tell me you want me>>

She spun, a final flourish on the note, and held the room captive. The music still thrummed beneath her like a heartbeat. Raphael raised his glass in her direction and took a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers.

A performance, yes.

But the message?

That was for him.

And so he waited.

With a smile that knew the ending long before the curtain would fall.

~oU0Uo~

Nyara awoke sweating and panting with a familiar pressure building between her thighs. Dharcis had left her apartment to go find his friends after Raphael had returned them back–he hadn’t been tired and had felt guilty that he had been unable to mingle with them after the performance. Nyara had bid him goodnight and had lifted the ward so that he would be able to get back in when he did finally return home. 

She kicked the sheets off of her and approached the heavy drapes, peering behind them to judge what time of morning it was. Based on the position of the moon she had barely been asleep for an hour. Fucking Haarlep. Silent for weeks and then now decides to take her for a ride. 

The phantom thrusts were getting faster and more erratic. She squatted down and pressed the back of her head into the wall. Whoever was ramming Haarlep was likely about to burst. 

Several thrusts later and sure enough she felt a burst of unnatural warmth deep within her. Nyara sighed and prepared to go back to bed when she felt pressure around her tits—a tug, the ghost of a bite, a phantom tongue. She looked down and saw her nipple hardening beneath her sleeping shift. 

Fuck…not now. She needed to sleep. She had less than three hours remaining to rest before she had to be up for work at the Counting House. She considered her options. Dharcis was out and who knew when he would be back. Nyara and Rolan weren’t really on show up at my door when you need some fun terms at the moment and she would throw herself from the window before she’d summon Raphael for something like this—especially if he didn’t know Haarlep was breaking whatever agreement they had about using her form. She peeked from the window again and in the distance she could see Ramazith’s tower. She let her gaze drift to the left and hovered over the familiar moly shaped structure. What about Dammon?

Haarlep’s partner was now somehow tit-fucking her while also relentlessly rubbing her clit. The decision was made for her. She grabbed her silk robe, slid her feet into a pair of soft slippers, and opened a portal. 

~oU0Uo~

On the third bang the wooden door swung open and Dammon’s look of frustration quickly morphed into confusion. He blinked, likely taking in her state of dress, then shook his head a little, “Nyara?”

“Hi.” She gave an awkward little wave and wanted to kick herself for her stupidity. But considering she currently had a phantom mouth feasting on her nether regions she wasn't sure she would have been able to say much else without letting a whine escape. For what her phantom lover lacked in thrusting he more than made up for with his talented mouth. 

Dammon opened his mouth to say something, who knows what, but Nyara was very close to coming undone and she’d be damned if she made Dammon watch her as she awkwardly came on his doorstep. So instead, she threw her arms around him and kissed him. 

When Dammon didn’t reciprocate Nyara felt a sudden sense of dread–oh gods she had overstepped. She began to pull away.

But then hands were gripping her ass and hauling her up. Instinctively her legs wrapped around his waist and suddenly his lips were moving against hers with more urgency than she’d anticipated. She was vaguely aware that he had kicked the door shut and that he was walking up the stairs to his room while holding her. This display of strength and dexterity summoned a gush of warmth between her legs and an excited pulse low in her belly. 

Once they were in his bedroom Dammon tossed her on his bed and before she had a moment to adjust he was between her legs, body pressed against her, and mouth attacking hers again. The phantom had resorted to his erratic thrusts again and was so close to hitting that perfect spot inside it made her want to sob for herself and in solidarity with Haarlep–despite the violation. Nyara’s fingers fumbled for the band of his sleeping pants and dipped her hand inside to grip him firmly; she didn’t want to rush Dammon but she was also on the verge of combusting. He hissed against her mouth and made to protest but when she glided her hand up and down  his sensibly sized cock his answering purr told her everything she needed to know. 

Where Rolan was long and Dharcis was unbearably thick, Dammon was a nice medium between the two–he wasn’t very long and he was perfectly thick. Nyara was certain he could ram it into her right now and she wouldn’t have to worry about walking funny anymore than she’d have to worry he’d tear a hole through her uterus. He was perfect. 

She slid her robe off her shoulders and hitched her shift up, inviting Dammon’s hand to search beneath and see how ready she was. When he didn't take the bait she pulled him out of his sleeping pants and rubbed him against her folds. Dammon’s surprised “oh” was all the motivation she needed. “ Dammon please. I need you inside me. Now. ”

It was dizzying how overstimulated she felt–it was like she was being fucked by two different men in two different planes at the same time. Dammon was careful as he pushed inside, taking care to rub his ridged head up and down her slit–paying special attention to her swollen clit–before pushing painstakingly slowly inside of her. 

The phantom male was currently railing in and out of her with some level of desperate urgency that if Nyara were actually beneath him she’d be bouncing uncontrollably and likely grimacing as it happened at her rather than mutually. Large hands were squeezing her breasts, barely able to contain one in each palm, and pulsing the squeezes with his erratic thrusts. She felt her thighs yanked wide and felt some additional appendage wrapped tightly around  her left ankle.

Dammon hoisted her thighs over his shoulders and slid in, groaning deeply as he did so. Once he felt properly seated, checking in with her twice each time he moved, he began to move in earnest and…Nyara’s mind went blank. She had a theory–two actually. The first, was that Dammon had gone so fucking slow so he could really feel insides and bless him for doing so because he was using her special spot as a punching bag and she was happy to take it over and over and over and over again. The second was that her phantom could learn a thing or two from Dammon and it would probably make him unstoppable with Haarlep once he learned that thing or two…oh gods she felt like she was about to burst.

Phantom lover must have flipped Haarlep over because those grabby hands that had been at her tits were now pulling her cheeks apart and the angle from which she was being impaled had improved slightly, he was almost there. He’d catch a pleasurable area and then immediately shift direction and before the spark could take it was gone again. Haarlep obviously was tired of waiting for him to get it right because a delicate finger, her finger, was rubbing intentional circles around her bud and the tingle was beginning to spread out to her toes.

Feeling her sporadic clenching around his cock Dammon picked up pace, mindful to keep the same consistent stroke just a little faster. All she could hear was his grunting, her whining, and the obscene squelching of their coupling. It was both the most embarrassing sound and the most erotic sound. Her hands slid upwards on her body and yanked her shift down letting her tits spill out and bounce freely as Dammon thrusted. She palmed her nipples and rubbed in time with his thrusts, closing her eyes, and just enjoying the dual sensations of her hands and Dammon’s cock pleasuring her in a completely different rhythm from Haarlep’s erratic and desperate clit flicking and her mystery lover’s bullying of her uterus with his cock. 

Two different dances in the same body. One methodical, intentional, and pleasurable while the other was hurried, brutal, and barely enjoyable. Nyara gasped at the sensation of teeth at her throat biting and ripping hard enough that the sensation broke through that faraway phantom barrier and made her hand fly up to her neck to see if she was bleeding. The position must have changed because now there were clawed hands ranking down her thighs and squeezing, an appendage which she now suspected was a tail wrapped tightly around her middle, and his phantom cock was spearing up inside of her. She felt the sensation of arms wrapped around her waist, a mouth at her neck, and warmth flooding her.

Dammon pushed her knees down and thrusted harder and faster and Nyara’s eyes rolled–a deep moan bursting from her chest as her orgasm crashed through her. Dammon’s thrusts became more erratic but, unlike her phantom lover, he quickly pulled out and released his spend on her belly and chest with a long groan. When they had both caught their breath Nyara looked down at the leaking mess and looked back up at him. His boyish grin was returned with her sleepy smile, “I wasn’t sure if…you know. And I didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking.” He rubbed the back of his neck and slowly crawled off the bed in search of a warm rag. Nyara was drifting in and out of slumber and was only vaguely aware of what Dammon had said. Before sleep claimed her she was suddenly struck with the sad realization that while she had cum…Haarlep had not.

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

When Nyara walked through the door that evening to quickly change and eat and maybe even squeeze in a nap before Raphael summoned them Dharcis was sitting at the round table, her contract sprawled across it, with coffee in hand. He was frowning. His voice cut through the silence before she had even managed to kick off her heels and close the door. 

<<Where were you?>> She knew what he was asking but wasn’t too keen on answering honestly. 

<<I was at work? What are you on about?>> She made her way around the table and poured herself what was left of the coffee he had brewed. She felt his glare hot on her back.

<<You know what I’m talking about.>>

When she turned around to face him he was out of his chair and in her space, <<You reek of the forge…>> Something terrible and unfamiliar stared back at her and for the briefest moment Nyara felt fear seize her. But then Dharcis blinked and whatever had been there was gone. He sighed and turned away from her, <<and if I can smell it so will your devil. Best you go bathe. We can discuss your contract while you do so.>>

Nyara could do nothing more than blink, nod, and shuffle past him to her bedroom. 

Dammon had been careful not to leave marks per her request because of work later that morning. Luckily she had left earlier that morning onto the next round of her happy hellbent lust tournament with enough forethought to have packed a bag of holding with minimal cosmetics, a healing potion, and a fresh change of clothes. 

Nyara shrugged out of her plain blue dress as she waited for the bath to warm. She recalled how convenient the spell had become during their travels and how they’d been able to have relaxing baths even in the Underdark. She shivered. 

She didn't remember much of her childhood but the few images that remained branded into her memories haunted her. 

Her mother. Nyara was practically a carbon copy of the woman–but her hair had been long and bone straight, eyes dark, cruel, calculating and whenever she had looked at Nyara she remembered she had always felt…unsafe. She remembered the first time her mother had invited her to her meeting chambers which Nyara had previously been barred from entering. Her aunt had praised Nyara that she was now old enough to learn the way of the jalilen. 

Her aunt had opened the chambers to a nightmare that still woke her occasionally and she suspected still did so to Nadal as well–her brother had been tied down on the floor while two priestesses whipped him with cat-o-nine tails covered in glass shards. His screams had made Nyara flinch. When she had taken off running to defend her older brother her aunt had grabbed her and slapped her hard cross the face before making her kneel next to her mother’s throne–gripping Nyara’s hair so tight her tears from fear and pain became indistinguishable–and made her watch until it was over and Nadal was dragged away in the sludge of his own blood and other bodily fluids. Her mother had watched impassively and had merely tossed her a disappointed frown before she was dragged back to her room and denied dinner for her foolish display of weakness. 

Steam billowing around Nyara’s face brought her back to the present. She grabbed the nearest jar of bath oil, poured it in, and lowered herself into the tub. Dharcis hadn’t followed her in yet. She laid her head back against the rim of the tub and let her eyes drift shut. 

Hands ghosted along her thighs and grabbed harshly behind her knees. She felt her knees press into her chest and a heavy, solid weight settle between her thighs. Her wrists were restrained by a smooth, warm appendage–probably a tail if experience served as anything substantive–and something very thick and very hot pressed inside of her without warning. 

Her body jolted and shook from the force of the pleasurable, albeit, violent penetration. Whoever was having her did so as if he hadn’t had the opportunity to lay with anything in eons. Pressure at her nipples had her back arching off the bed. The sensation was caught somewhere between sharp unpleasant pain and indescribable toe curling pleasure.  

She felt a ticklish molten sensation building deep within her core. That thick weight ws putting its paces against a pleasurable little spot against her wall and she could feel her whole body doing its best to shove what was making her feel so very good inside completely out of her. Shaking. Her body was shaking and she didn’t want any of it to stop. Gods. Had she ever had a buildup this fast with a stranger? 

It was coming–an overwhelming tingle that made her want to both squirm away and chase after that mounting pressure inside her. A snap and indescribable pleasurable heat from bursting light behind her eyelids to the tips of her toes. Then…in the midst of the most satisfying phantom sensation she’d experienced to date…at the junction where her neck met her shoulder she felt a hot prick and then searing pain.

Nyara sat up gasping, wet hands scrambling for purchase on the rim of the tub. Her eyes darted around and noticed Dharcis sitting on the bench in front of her vanity–his expression was cold, his full mouth downturned in a frow. Nyara’s heart was pounding, eyes darting around. She’d never seen Dharcis look at anyone, least of all her like that before. Between one heartbeat and the next his face was soft, brow creased in concern, and he was on his feet striding towards her in the tub. <<Hey. Hey. Relax. I’ve got you.>>

Nyara recoiled when he touched her–she couldn’t really say why–only that when his hand reached for her cheek she felt this inexplicable but overwhelming sense of dread and apprehension. Dharcis noticed her reaction and frowned but said nothing. Instead, after confirming she was fine he backed away from the tub and returned to his seat at her vanity. She splashed water on her face and sighed, <<I’m sorry. I had a nightmare.>>

<<You weren’t moaning like it was a nightmare.>> Dharcis’s smile was light but his tone wasn’t. There was an edge that got her hackles up. 

<<Well I can assure you I wasn’t moaning like it was a good time.>> Her wet hands slid along the sides of her head smoothing down hairs that had frizzed out from the humidity of her bath. Dharcis’s smile didn't falter but something in his heated gold gaze sharpened. 

When Nyara didn’t avert her gaze he shook his head and smiled. <<Let’s talk about your contract. It’s….interesting.>>

Nyara let out a sigh of relief and reached for a washrag. <<Why interesting?>> Her fingers tapped across a series of glass bottles, all of various shapes,sizes, and colors, before settling on the red one, pouring its contents over the rag, and began rubbing the tart floral and herbal scented sudsy rag along her chest and neck.

Dharcis’s gaze trailed the movements before turning to the document rolled up on the vanity behind him. <<Well, among the many carefully crafted addendums and subclauses–subclause thirty two section beta being the most appalling of them all, might I add, he had a whole separate set of clauses strictly related to the ownership and claim of your body in instances where collection of soul collateral was not fulfillable.>> He looked up at her from the scroll and furrowed his brow, <<Did he mistranslate the terms or did you sign without reading?>>

Nyara rubbed the rag in small circles around her breasts and up along the underside of her arms. <<I signed without reading. Given the dire circumstances we were in Raphael’s deal felt like our only chance at not dying horrible tentacled deaths.>> She lifted one leg out of the water, rested her foot on the ledge, and began scrubbing up the length of her calf. 

Dharcis sighed, <<Nyara–>>

<<Nope. Don’t do that. You don’t know the stress we were under and the stakes we were gamblin with.>> She plunged the rag in the water with a splash then wrung it out to begin scrubbing her other calf. <<I won’t say it was my finest moment but I don’t regret what I did. Now I’m just…>> She looked the red colored bottle with a gold stopper on the edge beside her tub, <<-trying to manage the consequences of my choices.>>

Dharcis stared at her for a long time, so long that Nyara had to physically resist the urge to squirm beneath his scrutiny. She had fully washed her legs and nether regions by the time Dharcis spoke again.

<<Be honest with me and I’ll be honest with you. What is the nature of your relationship with the devil?>> 

Nyara couldn’t stand the idea of looking at him when she answered so she settled on the red and purple murky water pooling around her bent knees. <<I fucked his incubus while he was away, after signing his contract, and now he’s paying me back for my treachery.>>

Dharcis let out an incredulous gasp but Nyara’s eyes stayed fixed on her knees. After a beat he spoke again. 

<<And nothing prior to…signing?>> 

She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. What the fuck was in her contract that made Dharcis ask these invasive weirdo questions? <<Mild flirting and mostly bickering. Me irritated we weren’t finding any alternatives and him smug that we couldn’t find said alternatives.>>

She listened to him shift on the bench. <<Did he ever call you by your birth name?>>

Nyara froze. <<No…does that matter?>> 

When she turned to look at Dharcis he was sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. The sinister resemblance in the moment between him and someone else made her stomach roil. <<It matters very much.>> 

~oU0Uo~

Raphael stood in the middle of his perfectly designed amphitheater, eyes transfixed on the organ that sat above it. He had previously been in his office reviewing several hard negotiated contracts with two noble-born drow–prickly and distrusting creatures the drow. Would that they had been born in Bhator none would be the wiser. It was, in his great opinion, the only race as difficult, prejudiced, and cruel-intentioned as his own. 

His feet moved of their own accord toward the organ and traced the very keys that naught but hours earlier Nyara’ fingers had danced across producing a melody that had stirred something in Raphael–something he had yet to decide whether it moved him or enraged him that she could indeed make even the devil cry as the oafish mammon tiefling had boldly opined in his presence. 

Raphael had been reading his work, calculating currency balances for souls acquired, and then he had blinked and he was standing here. The sensation was, in a word, unsettling. But the little sorceress drow’s presence in his life had been unsettling. A creature carefully molded from the clay of hatred and cruelty, especially the females, and yet this little mouse ran around charming and enamoring anyone unfortunate enough to cross her giggling path. He had watched with no small amount of disgust as every other male in that horrid excuse of an establishment had looked in her direction with several shades of covetous lust. And Raphael couldn’t deny the small rush of chill down his spine that each of those pathetic sods had looked at the gem on his arm and immediately determined that she was unattainable.

Raphael had surmised she was a diamond in the rough from the moment she had turned her back on a devil and filled her plate at his table. She had been so unbothered with the burden of fear that Raphael couldn’t decide whether her aloofness intrigued or irritated him. And of course, like all jewels, she was beautiful with the fortune of a heavenly figure and the misfortune of being affixed to a sailor’s mouth. Despite the painstaking efforts she took to always be presentable, her manner of speech and ill-kept company left much to be desired.

But he overlooked these faults because of her fear.

It was a unique flavor that Raphael rolled around his tongue and savored from deep inside, like an exotic spice he could never quite place. She felt fear around him but not of him. It was…intriguing. She feared being in his presence but he never tasted that sour aftertang of the worried certainty of death. No. This arrogant little shrew was afraid of being around him but not directly of him. And the reason for why this might be escaped him.

It was a puzzle, and Raphael—creature of contracts and conclusions—loathed puzzles without solutions.

He had grown obsessed. Not with her, he told himself, but with that strange scent of fear she gave off when their eyes met, when his shadow brushed hers, when his voice—smooth and honeyed—found her ears in an otherwise empty room. It was a fear that sparked like flint on stone, quick and sharp, never quite catching flame but always ready to. He caught it most when she thought herself unobserved. The brief pause in her breath when his hand lingered too close to hers. The twitch in her brow when his laughter echoed too long. She masked it well with her barbs and irreverence, but to Raphael—who had devoured a thousand varieties of mortal terror—it was unmistakable.

She feared what he made her feel.

That was his theory, anyway. She feared the pull, the gravity of his presence, the way he made her spine stiffen and her breath catch without any overt threat. It wasn’t the devil in him she feared—it was the effect he had on her. It made her unpredictable. It made her... interesting.

So he sought more instances for them to be together to investigate his theory—each time left with more questions than answers. He engineered little meetings. Pulled strings to force proximity. Conjured the perfect reasons to intrude. Watched, waited, tasted. And always, always that curious tension. It vexed him to say the least. But it also thrilled him in a way he could not explain.

Her fear—so specific, so carefully caged—was not submission, not the whimpering, groveling kind he was used to. It was a wild thing. A challenge. And Asmodeus help him, Raphael had never been able to resist a challenge.

He would find the source of it. He would dig down into the marrow of her dread until he understood every thread of it. And when he did… he would own it.

No. He would savor it.

Nyara had sat here, her dress askew between her knees leaving her legs exposed as they worked the pedals in time with her hands as they danced across the keys. Bathed in the dim glow of fading candlelight her fingers trembled as they drifted across the polished ivory keys. The melancholic notes had risen and fallen like cries of agony in an empty temple, echoing through the cold stone walls with a haunting, aching beauty. Her eyes, distant, had seemed fixed on some secret entity only she could see, each chord a whispered confession of grief. She had not played for swaths of adoring fans or a packed tavern—she had played for the Devil himself, who listened in silence. As the music swelled, her body had swayed with the sorrow it conjured—an elegy spun from sorrow and sin, offered to the dark in place of her soul.

Raphael had been tempted to forgo his plan altogether and just let her enamore his guests with her haunting aptitude for the organ. But then he had walked in on Haarlep pleasuring themself in Nyara’s form and he had been reminded what purpose this expose served. 

“Change. Now.” Time had escaped Raphael in the amphitheater and he had less than an hour before he would be collecting Nyara and the golden oaf. He brushed past Nya–Haarlep, now on their stomach with head propped over hands watching him and made his way towards his wardrobe. 

“But Master…” Raphael heard shifting on the bed. <<Don’t you want to play before you go?>> His shoulders tensed in irritation. Haarlep’s accent was atrocious but passable when Raphael was in deep enough that what they said made no difference so long as it was in her voice. But that had also become a problem that needed rectifying. He’d had close to ten months of uninterrupted use of her form and had been less than careful with his…proclivities. And it wasn’t until Haarlep had had the audacity to mention that Raphael was crownless while the Mouse walked free that he had even considered collecting on the contract. An oversight but not one that would happen again. 

<<Master– oof >> Haarlep had slithered into his space while he dressed at some point but Raphael was in no mood. He snapped and Haarlep was thrown across the room and into the restoration pool. “Bathe and change forms. I won’t repeat myself.” 

After confirming he was in fact presentable he made his way back to his study. While his contracts remained stacked and unattended on his desk his scry sat in its spot, glowing with temptation. Raphael’s hand was already holding it and summoning her image before he’d had the opportunity to reconsider. An image rippled into view–Nyara pouring something red into her bath. Well wasn’t this a delicious turn–a show before the performance.

The golden oaf was sitting across from her speaking. Raphael’s hand balled into a fist in an effort to trample his instinct to throw the scry at the wall. <<Well, among the many carefully crafted addendums and subclauses–subclause thirty two section beta being the most appalling of them all, might I add, he had a whole separate set of clauses strictly related to the ownership and claim of your body in instances where collection of soul collateral was not fulfillable. Did he mistranslate the terms or did you sign without reading?>>

A sneer—how dare this insufferable creature seek to undo what had already been agreed upon– in body and soul! 

His gaze followed her ministrations as Nyara rubbed the rag in small circles around her full breasts and up along the underside of her soft arms. <<I signed without reading. Given the dire circumstances we were in Raphael’s deal felt like our only chance at not dying horrible tentacled deaths.>> She lifted one shapely leg out of the water, rested her foot on the ledge, and began scrubbing up the length of her calf. He had, in fact, been the only logical option and he was delighted to know that she had seen it that way as well. 

<<Nyara–>>

<<Nope. Don’t do that. You don’t know the stress we were under and the stakes we were gamblin with. I won’t say it was my finest moment but I don’t regret what I did- >> Raphael didn’t hear the rest. I don’t regret what I did. Those words stoked a flame inside him he had long thought extinguished. Could he even recall a client that had not regretted signing on the proverbial dotted line?

<<Be honest with me and I’ll be honest with you. What is the nature of your relationship with the devil?>>  Raphael scowled. Who did this besotted bastard think he was? Friend or no said information was not his to demand.

<<I fucked his incubus while he was away, after signing his contract, and now he’s paying me back for my treachery.>>

Rage. White hot, all consuming, the desire to maim and destroy. YES. THIS. This is why he must continue with his well-crafted masterpiece that ends with him on his rightful throne and her in chains at his feet. She would writhe and beg and plead and he would simply look at her pitiful state with the distaste she had brought upon herself. The once mighty, witty, charming Savior of the Gate reduced to groveling at the foot of his supreme throne. Contemptuous Creature. 

Raphael hadn’t been listening until the gauche bard opened his mouth and uttered words that gave Raphael violent pause.  <<Did he ever call you by your birth name?>>

He watched, frozen where he stood as Nyara’s body mirrored his own. <<No…does that matter?>> 

<<It matters very much.>> 

What. Birth. Name.

Eyes still transfixed on the scry, he snapped and Nyara’s contract unfurled before him. Nyara sat forward in her tub, bare back towards him now as she focused all her attention on the tiefling.

<<Why? I signed. I would imagine Infernal magic would account for people lying about their names to get ahead—>>

The oaf sat forward smiling, teeth bared and gleaming in the lowlight of her bathing room. <<Exactly. Lying. You didn’t lie.>>

A sudden, chilling realization raced down Raphael’s spine. He glanced aside to the contract where the name Nyara Talab was scrawled in bubbly penmanship on the signature line, her blood an artful splatter beside it.

<<Kel’nar hid you all so well not even the devil found you. Ha!>>

Nyara stood from the tub, distracting Raphael’s racing mind momentarily, before wrapping herself in a towel and settling elegantly on the tub’s ledge.

<<Dee I still don’t understand. I signed my name as Nyara Talab. That’s my name–>>

<<No. That is the name Kel’nar ingrained into you until it was second nature. Your birth name was Zarae Torana. Just because you believe a name to be yours does not make it your own, does not make it real. Your name from birth is etched into the very essence of your soul. You signed that contract with the mistaken belief that it would be enforceable. Judging by the complete absence of your birth name anywhere in this document I would argue that Raphael also signed with the mistaken belief it was enforceable. Oh Ara you lovely lucky little thing! Do you realize what this is?>>

Raphael was vaguely aware that he was shaking—whether from rage or disbelief, who could say.

<<Um… no?>>

The oaf stood and smiled down at her while pointing animatedly at the contract. <<Love. This is what Infernal law would call a Mutual Mistake. If both parties share the mistaken belief that a contract is legally valid and enforceable, that can render the contract voidable.>> The tiefling hoisted her over his shoulder and dragged her, squealing and protesting, out of the bathing room.

Raphael snapped and the scry vanished, blinking out of existence and reappearing back on its shelf, untouched. He didn’t trust himself to look at her a second longer. Not now. Not while his mind roared like wildfire. He glared down at the contract still between his hands, brittle now at the edges where the ghost of his claws dug through parchment.

He had done his due diligence. He had traced her back to all those little, filthy villages outside of Cormyr before she’d settled in the capital. He had found the hovel that held her birth papers—Nyara Talab, daughter of Talabas Talab. A neat, quaint little fiction.

But fiction it was.

He looked again at the name written so confidently, so innocently on the agreement—Nyara Talab. And for the first time, the letters seemed to mock him. Laugh at him. He clenched the parchment tighter. He wanted to test it. He had to test it. Could he summon her? Could he call in the collateral that had been promised? His lips curled in disgust as he whispered the name, calling it to the power that had sealed the deal.

Nothing.

Not even a flicker. The circle didn't stir, the flames didn't rise, her soul remained untouched.

Because the contract… wasn’t valid.

The parchment curled and crinkled as the fury ignited inside him. Rage, not sharp like a blade, but molten—heavy and slow and catastrophic. He had been outmaneuvered. Not by a rival lord, not by a powerful archdevil, not by a learned scholar of Infernal code—but by a mouse . A bathing, giggling, unknowing mouse who had walked right through the front door of his domain and unwittingly undone it all.

The parchment burst into flames between his hands, unbidden.

His breathing turned shallow, each exhale shaking with a violence that had nowhere to go but outward. His office trembled as the temperature rose. Veins of red light cracked through the walls, arcane wards flickering, sputtering as if frightened. Papers lifted off the floor in a swirl of raw magical static.

He tried to speak. A word, a curse, anything to contain the storm.

But it was too late.

A breath.

A blink.

His office was in shatters—furniture split as though cleaved by invisible blades, ancient tomes torn asunder and scattered like dead leaves. His grand desk, the altar of all his dark dealings, cracked perfectly in half, bisected by his own fury.

He stood amid the wreckage, chest heaving, claws smoldering.

And still, that name—Zarae Torana—echoed in his skull.

He had underestimated her. Gravely. Stupidly.

And for that, someone— everyone —would pay.

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s feet were starting to hurt. They had been walking for around twenty minutes but to her it felt as if they had been in this sweltering heat for hours. Kel’nar had knocked on some fifteen doors asking for help and no one would answer. Well that wasn’t true. A few had answered with varying degrees of disgust that ranged from “dirty drow” to “your kind aren’t welcome here” to “crawl back to the Underdark”. 

Nadal had already signed several times that they should just go back and shave Nyara’s hair until she was old enough to manage it herself but Kel’nar insisted they keep going. He didn’t want his little girl to have to chop off her lovely hair because he was too inept and uneducated on how to help her take care of it. 

Kel’nar noticed her stumbling and swept her up, placing a kiss to her brow. “Beautiful hair for my beautiful little berry.” 

They had walked three blocks through the neighborhood and no one had answered the door. They stood at the stoop of the last house in their cluster. If this door didn’t open for them, Kel'nar promised they would go home. 

Kel’nar readjusted Nyara where she sat against his hip as Nadal approached to tug at the knocker. Kel’nar’s hand shot out to let her brother know he had knocked hard enough–Nadal wasn’t able to judge the aggressiveness of the sound himself. 

Nyara turned away and looked back up the cobblestone path to see a young yellow boy with horns and his mom walking up the path. He waved at her so she waved back. She looked at his mom who was not smiling. Nyara smiled at her too and waved again. The soft woman, also yellow with large backward curving horns, gave her a small wave. 

<<Who are you lot?>>

Kel’nar turned and waved at the woman apologetically. <<Hello ma’am. I am sorry to surprise you. I have been walking up the street. You see we live on the other side three blocks down in quarter A– >>

The woman pulled her son behind her, <<That house has been empty for a while now.>>

Kel’nar nodded, <<Yes. We arrived here perhaps a tenday ago.>>

The woman was still frowning. Nyara looked down at the boy and he was staring at her. She smiled and waved again. He smiled back. His teeth were sharp like animals that hunted and ate prey. She had read about those kinds of animals in one of the books her brother gave her. 

<<Alright. What do you want?>> Nyara looked back at the woman who now had her hands on her hips. 

Kel’nar cleared his throat. <<I…I need help with my daughter. Her mother is…no longer with us. I don’t know how to manage her hair and I don’t want to punish her by shaving it off like I do for myself and my son. If someone could just show me– >>

The woman looked to Nyara then back to her brother and Kel’nar. <<No one answered you from quarter A to here did they not?>>

Nyara hugged Kel’nar, <<They did sometimes. Dirty Drow, go back to the Underdark!>>

Kel’nar hushed her. 

The woman’s face softened, <<My name is Dhalia. This is my son Dharcis. You are invited into our home but know that if you try anything I won’t spare anyone’s life.>>

Kel’nar nodded, <<Of course Dhalia thank you. My name is Talabas, this is my son Nadal and my daughter Nyara.>> 

The woman, Dhalia, reached up to tug at Nyara’s wild frizzy white hair. <<Put her down. Let’s eat together and I can show you how to wash and comb it. If you use the right oils and butters on her hair you can go a few days before you will need to wash and comb it again.>>

Kel’nar put Nyara down and followed the woman, almost the same height as him, into the kitchen. She had bigger curls than Nyara which made her short dark hair look big, fluffy, and bright against her dark horns. Nyara signed to her slightly confused brother–SHE SAID WE CAN EAT WITH THEM AND THEN SHE WILL WASH MY HAIR. 

<<Why do you do that?>>

Nyara turned to the boy, Dharcis?, where he was following her from the doorway. He signed to Nadal and spoke to the boy, <<My brother can’t hear. This is how we talk to him.>>

<<Why can’t he hear?>> Dharcis was almost as big as her brother but he seemed like he might be the same age as her. 

She shrugged, <<I don’t know. I have only ever talked to him with my hands.>>

Dharcis considered her words then asked, <<How do you say hi?>>

Nyara smiled and signed—HELLO 

Dharcis repeated the gestures for Nadal who gave the boy a small smile and inclined his head before signing back—HELLO

Dharcis turned back to Nyara. <<Want to come see my toys?>>

Nyara shrugged and nodded her head, <<Okay!>>

After a meal of meat and vegetable stew with spongy bread Nyara has never eaten before everyone gathered around to watch Dhalia, Momma as Dharcis called her, wash Nyara’s frizzy and in some places matted hair. Nyara’s eyes drifted close from her gentle scratches and circular massaging motions all along her scalp. 

<<It’s best you came here. The human folk don’t know how to manage hair like hers.>> Nyara kept her eyes closed as Momma wrung her hair out over the basin before carding her fingers through her strands which reached her mid back when wet. <<After you wash her hair rub this through so her hair is softer and easier to comb. Don’t ever comb through it while it is dry you will break it.>> Nyara felt the teeth of the strange comb slowly jerk its way up her head. <<Always work bottom to top on her hair and only use combs that look like this made from wood or from bone. Don’t use those bristle brushes the human and orc folk use.>>

Momma wrung her hair out again and then guided everyone from the basin to a mirror. Nyara sat in front of the mirror and watched Momma bring a small jar full of something thick like wax and sweet smelling. <<This is shea butter. I won’t lie, it is expensive in these parts so I try to stock up on it when I have to travel. Mix it with a little seed oil and keep it in a jar like this. Locked tight and stored from the light. Using this on her hair will help it grow, keep it strong, and keep it from needing to be washed and combed as often as yours and your son’s.>> She watched Momma twirl clumps of her hair around her fingers, whispered something in a tongue Nyara didn’t understand, and then watched her hair poof up into a pretty waterfall of bouncing curls. <<There. If she sleeps in a scarf that will last you a good tenday before you need to do anything again.>> 

Kel’nar thanked Momma and offered to bring her something as a thank you in a few days. Dharcis pulled on Nyara’s sleeve. <<Will you be at lessons tomorrow?>>

Nyara shrugged. <<I don’t know. I haven’t started here yet. My brother usually reads with me after work.>>

Momma patted her on the head, <<Well if your pappa will allow, Dharcis can come get her in the morning and walk her to lessons and then walk her back to your home.>>

Kel’nar cleared his throat, <<That would mean she would be home alone—>>

<<Not a problem.>> Momma waved a hand like it was the simplest thing in the world. <<Dharcis can bring her back here and I can watch her until you or your son come get her after work.>>

She was already wrapping up a bundle of food—still warm, by the smell—and pressing it into Kel’nar’s hands before he could protest further. <<You’ve both had a long day. Go rest. We’ll see all of you tomorrow.>>

She practically herded them to the door, motherly and firm, the kind of care that didn't leave room for argument.

Dharcis waved at Nyara from the stoop, a hopeful grin on his face. Nyara waved back with a big smile, her eyes shining.

Kel’nar stood on the steps a moment longer, food bundle tucked under one arm, watching as Momma ushered Dharcis inside with a gentle scold about washing up before bed. Her light laugh drifted into the street.

He looked down at Nyara, who still had that soft, surprised smile on her face. Nyara hadn’t felt this happy in months.

<<You liked her,>> Kel’nar said quietly.

Nyara nodded. <<She’s really nice and soft. I like her food a lot.>>

Kel’nar reached out and smoothed a stray curl behind Nyara’s ear. <<Yeah.  I liked her food too.>>

They started down the path toward home, the late sun casting long golden shadows across the street. Nyara glanced up at him. <<Do you think I could go? To lessons?>>

He hesitated, then gave a slow nod. <<If it makes you happy, we’ll figure it out.>>

She didn’t say anything—just slipped her small hand into his, warm and trusting. And for the first time in a long while, Nyara felt like things might actually turn out all right.

~oU0Uo~

In the span of twenty minutes Nyara had gone from ecstatic to confused to irritated. Dharcis had given her, arguably, the most blessed news of all blessed news in existence. And yet…it had filled Nyara with an emptiness. Her agreement with Raphael had filled her with dread and anxiety but this new daily ritual of him summoning her from her home, despite her constant state of exhaustion, had filled her with an inexplicable giddy calm. It was the only constant in her chaotic life. And while Raphael judged her for many things none of them were related to her recklessness during that time with the worm. 

None of the people in her life could fathom what she and her friends had been through. Not one could really, truly, nod their head in understanding when she said she signed a–based on Dharcis’s words–depraved agreement without so much as reading it. Not a single person in her life, save for her father and brother, maybe, would look her in the eye ever again if they truly knew what all had happened between the moment she was taken to the night she fell into the Chionthar. 

It’s why she drank so much. She didn’t want to think…to remember. She wanted to close her eyes, feel good, and speed run the next five years of her life until all that had happened to her was nothing more than a nightmare that would creep up on her once every couple of years.

In her thirty years on this plane, prior to the Absolute, she had slept with approximately five people, ever. In the span of a month and some change she had fucked three different men who all habited the same friend group and was speed running an opportunity to add a devil to her roster. 

In some far-off rational part of her mind she knew she was headed towards self-destruction but she was so emotionally unavailable she couldn't be bothered to find a better way to cope for now. Her mantra for the last month had been–see a need fill the need. IF she wasn’t working, drinking, of fucking then she was thinking and nothing good came from her thinking, dwelling, remembering.

She rolled off the bed where Dharcis had plopped her down and stood to dress. Dharcis’s excited ramblings were nothing more than muted background noise while she riffled through her delicate drawer, sifting through lace, fine cotton, and silk, in search of the nicest small clothes she owned–aha! Her fingers delicately raised the blood red silk triangle bralette with matching silk panties with fine lace scalloping along the inner thigh and on the cheeky back. She felt Dharcis’s gaze hot on her back as she stepped into the delicate undergarment and slid them up along her calves, up her thighs, and settled the fine straps over her hips. Once situated she dropped the towel and gently maneuvered the bralette over her head before guiding each full breast into its respective triangle. 

Her feet stepped outside the folded ring of her dropped towel and into her wardrobe in search of her favorite, most perfect set. Her fingers grazed across blouses, dressers, sweaters, coats until her fingers found what she was looking for. Soft but thick ivory fabric–a high neck top that buttoned up in the back that fanned out into wide sleeves and was cut just above the navel. Pants of the same material and wide legged that buttoned in the back. It had been a gift from momma–allegedly the latest style at the time in Minauros that all the young devils were wearing in Mammon’s court–and it had quickly become the outfit of choice for monumental moments in her life. The buttons were strategically placed for the wings and tail Nyara didn’t have. It seemed fitting she should wear it now. 

Dharcis approached her from behind prepared to aid her with the buttons but she snapped and both garments righted themself on her body. She glided past him, still ignoring him, and made her way to her vanity. She chose the silver earrings Lia had gifted her and the silver bracelet forged by Dammon. She looked at the clock by her bed–barely ten minutes before Raphael would come to collect them. Nyara gathered her hair back, tied it, then gently twisted it into a full but neat curly bun, before securing it with two long silver hair pins Gale had gifted her when they had first reached Baldur’s Gate. Her hand reached for a small pot on the desk and dabbed the soft fig colored paint to her lips. Pleased with her appearance she walked back to her wardrobe, grabbed her heels and padded barefoot across the carpet and out into the living room. 

Raphael stood there, resplendent in a black doublet with gold brocades, black pants, and black and gold boots. He looked ready for a funeral. Nyara threw him her best bard’s smile, “Hello Raphael.” 

The look Raphael leveled at her could have incinerated stone. His eyes blazed with fury, lips curled in a sneer so sharp it could have drawn blood. But beneath the heat—just for a flicker—Nyara caught it. That glint. A spark of something else. Not rage. Approval.

He’d noticed the outfit. Not just noticed—assessed, appreciated, however reluctantly. His gaze dragged over her like a blade veiled in velvet, full of sharp interest he didn’t bother hiding well enough.

Her stomach twisted.

Behind her, Dharcis still sat rumpled and half-dressed, clearly not expecting they'd be going anywhere. The contrast between them made her momentarily hesitate. She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do.

Almost.

She turned back to Raphael, her chin lifting just a fraction.

“It will just be me and you tonight, Raphael.”

Dharcis’s protests rang out but faded into silence as Raphael snapped. 

In a swirl of embers they reappeared in his study. She barely waited for the glow to fade before rushing to his desk, plopping into his chair like it was a shield against what she was about to do.

“I—it has come to my attention that our contract isn’t valid. I would like to rectify that.”

Raphael didn’t move at first. The silence stretched a second too long. Then he stepped forward, slow and predatory, the faint scent of sulfur curling around his presence. His eyes flickered—topaz bright, then molten flame.

“Rectify.” The word came out sharp, clipped, laced with restrained disbelief.

It wasn’t a question. It was a warning.

Nyara’s hands clenched in her lap, but she surged forward anyway, stumbling over her words in her haste to reach him before the heat in the room could ignite. “I have only ever lived my life as Nyara Talab. Sometimes I forget it isn’t even my real name. But…anyway…that’s not the point.” She waved her hands wildly, fingers trembling. “The real point is that I need this contract with you. Draw it up again. Please. But this time I have one more thing I’d like to add—”

The air snapped.

A pulse of magic cracked the room like thunder. A tremor rolled beneath the floorboards. The walls pulsed faintly with power, reacting to the shift in Raphael’s mood. His horns flickered into view with a sharp gleam—coalescing from heat and embers of fury.

“You dare sit here,” he hissed, voice low and guttural, “and negotiate new terms—”

“No! No, Raphael—please.” Her voice rose with raw panic, and she flung her hands up defensively as she half-stood, caught between retreat and pleading. “I’m not trying to change anything we agreed on. I swear. I just— I just need to add something. Just one thing.”

Raphael’s expression was stone, the temperature in the room rose with unnatural suddenness. His flames burned brighter but with more control–a warning that she needed to make her point and do it with haste. 

“I’m begging you, Raphael.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t think you understand how much I need for you to have the crown.”

Something in him stilled.

Need. The word hung in the air between them–charged. 

“Yes,” Nyara breathed, voice rushing in now, frantic and unfiltered. “Look, back then when I signed the first time I was— I was desperate, okay? Terrified. Everything was coming apart—people dying, the realms shifting—and I’d just been—just been tadpoled, and I couldn’t think straight.”

She pushed away from the desk and began to pace, her limbs twitching like she couldn’t contain the storm inside her. “I was trying to find something, I knew I was close, but every lead died upon further investigation.  I—I didn’t know what to do. And then you came in.”

She pivoted suddenly and pointed at him. “You. You were the only one offering something solid. And I wanted that deal. I chose it. Even if the others couldn’t see why. Maybe they still don’t.”

Raphael’s mouth opened, but she cut him off before the words could form, barrelled right through the moment with a wave of her hand.

“From the moment you offered it I wanted the contract with you because it was the only logical option even if the others couldn’t see it yet and—maybe even now—still don’t see it.” She turned away hands moving while she rambled. “But it was logical and necessary for more reasons other than just needing the hammer. But I was so fucking exhausted and hyper-focused in the brai…god…thing that…well…that I forgot what I really wanted out of this deal.” Her voice was rising now, frantic and unmoored. 

She stopped, breathing hard, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to hold all the broken parts together. Her back was to him now.

“I forgot,” she said quietly, “what I really wanted out of this deal.”

A long pause.

When she turned back around, Raphael’s expression hadn’t changed—still cold, composed—but his fists had unclenched. Barely.

She walked back to him slowly, shoulders hunched like a child expecting to be struck. “I’m not trying to get one over you ,” she said. “I’m not trying to manipulate the contract. I just— I just need this. I need you. Because no one else can do what you can do. Because…”

Her voice softened, thinned.

“Because you’re the last hope I have left.”

The last embers of her bravado died out in the silence, flickering away like ash on the wind. Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven, the room suddenly too vast and too quiet. Every second stretched like a lute string pulled too taut—shaking, ready to snap. She stood there trembling, hands clenched at her sides, throat tight with unshed panic.

He hadn’t moved.

Raphael just stared at her, his expression unreadable, carved from some ancient, angry, beautiful stone. The fire in his eyes had dulled, banked—not extinguished, but hidden. Controlled. And somehow that was worse. Much worse.

Nyara’s pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to speak again, to fill the silence, to beg if she had to—but her mouth refused to move. Her voice was gone. Her will was gone.

All she could do now was wait—frozen, breathless, praying—that when he finally spoke, it wouldn’t be the rejection she feared was bubbling beneath the surface.

~oU0Uo~

After her run-in with Dammon, Nyara felt off-kilter, like her body and mind were moving in two different directions. She should have gone straight home, should have let the night swallow her, but the smell of the boar kabobs and charred veggies Nadal liked had anchored her to something familiar. The stall had been parked along the path, just like always. She’d ordered enough for dinner and leftovers, a little gesture to make sure Nadal wouldn’t have to cook tomorrow.

Now, though, the paper bags in her hand felt like lead weights, and the scent, usually warm, rich, savory instead curled into her nose like rot. What had made her mouth water moments ago now threatened to unmake her entirely. Her stomach lurched with a quiet rebellion. The back of her throat burned.

Nadal opened the door before she could raise her hand to knock. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, glinted with something akin to panic. A brittle panic that struck the center of her chest like a bell. She knew it before he signed a word.

“What happened?” she asked, already stepping forward.

He took the bags from her hands and tossed them onto the counter as if they were nothing. His hands flew up with frantic urgency—THE SPASMS ARE BACK. WORSE THAN ANY ATTACK HE HAS HAD BEFORE.

The words hit her hard making her stop in her tracks. “Where is he now?” she demanded, already turning toward the stairs. But Nadal’s hand caught her arm—gently, but firm. She froze, her muscles coiled, ready to strike.

He stared at her, searching for something in her eyes, perhaps permission or forgiveness, before signing again—HE IS RESTING. THE FITS TAKE MUCH OUT OF HIM.

“The fits?” Nyara asked, voice low and tight. “How many times has this happened?”Her rage was bubbling just beneath her skin, not all of it fair but none of it willing to be silenced. Nadal had been his caretaker for months, long months she had not been there. Long months she had been…gone…missing…chasing after dead gods and tentacled creatures. 

He motioned her toward the kitchen. They moved like shadows—her steps heavy, his uncertain. Inside, the air was too warm. Claustrophobic. The scent of the food made her stomach twist again. The silence between them was deafening.

Nadal turned, his face lined with exhaustion, guilt, and something darker. His hands hovered for a moment. Then he signed—SIGN ONLY. DON’T SPEAK.

Nyara nodded, throat dry.

THOSE MONTHS YOU WERE GONE, HE TOOK A BAD TURN.

MAYBE THE STRESS. I DON’T KNOW.

I DIDN’T TELL YOU BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO FEEL GUILTY.

NO ONE PLANS TO BE TAKEN.

She flinched, even though she’d prepared herself for the guilt to come crashing down. He kept signing, faster now. The dam had broken.

HE’S BEEN WORSE THAN WE LET ON SINCE YOU’VE BEEN BACK.

AND IT’S... ARA, IT’S REALLY BAD.

WHEN YOU’RE NOT HERE, HE JUST KEEPS ASKING IF I’VE HAD THE TALK WITH YOU.

Nyara's jaw clenched. Her fingers moved sharply, aggressively—WHAT TALK?

Nadal exhaled—a loud, unfiltered sound of weariness. He didn’t hear it, but she did. It scraped against her nerves.

His hands trembled now. When he looked at her again, she saw the signs of dark purple under his eyes from nights lost to sleepless pacing, silent prayers, and burdens too large for one man. Still shaking he signed—I THINK WE’VE REACHED THE POTION’S THRESHOLD.

HE’S GETTING WORSE. THE REMEDY ISN’T HELPING ANYMORE.

IT’S JUST… KEEPING HIM ALIVE.

Nyara felt the words like a blade, slow and deliberate.

HE’S READY TO DIE, ARA.

EVERY DAY YOU COME IN, LAUGH, PRETEND, TALK ABOUT NOTHING... HE KNOWS I HAVEN’T TOLD YOU.

AND HE JUST—

HE SHUTS DOWN.

She shook her head violently. No. No, that wasn’t true—NO, HE’S HAPPY. HE’S READING. HE SMILES WHEN I VISIT—

LIES FOR YOU. Nadal signed. HE FORCES HIMSELF TO KEEP LIVING. TO GIVE YOU TIME TO ACCEPT THIS.

BUT I CAN’T WATCH IT ANYMORE. I LOVE YOU, BUT THIS IS TORTURE.

HE IS SUFFERING. HE WANTS PEACE. IT IS HIS TIME. WE HAVE TO LET HIM GO.

Nyara’s stomach heaved again—grief and guilt and fury all tangling in her chest. Her vision blurred. Her hands flew—WHY DID YOU LIE? I COULD HAVE SPENT THESE MONTHS LOOKING—

LOOKING FOR WHAT, ARA? Nadal’s face twisted, his hands slashing through the air—YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO GET THAT SHIT? He grabbed the half-empty vial from the counter, shook it violently, then threw it down.

Nyara lunged, snatching it before it shattered.

EVERY TIME I HAVE TO MIX THIS, I SEE HIM. I SEE WHAT HE DID TO YOU. He was trembling now, fury leaking from his pores, tears threatening but never coming—IF KEL’NAR KNEW THE COST…

STOP. Her signs were jagged. Desperate—I DON’T REGRET IT. I WOULD DO WORSE. TO SAVE HIM.

THAT’S THE POINT. Nadal stepped back—HE DOESN’T WANT TO BE SAVED.

Nyara couldn’t feel her hands anymore. Or her face. Or her feet. Just cold. A numbing tide rushing outward from her heart.

Her arms fell to her sides. Her chest rose and fell in silent heaves. The air felt like it was pushing against her lungs instead of filling them. How could Kel’nar—her anchor, her impossible miracle—want to leave? How could he give up when they had all clawed their way out of death and shadow for this?

He was barely two hundred and thirty. In surface years, that was young. Too young. Nadal had just turned eighty—he was just beginning his true life. They had time. They had so much time. She had believed it with every visit, every book shared, every smile exchanged.

But it had all been a performance.

He was waiting for her to see. To say goodbye.

She shook her head, eyes wild. Nadal stepped forward but she shoved him off. He reached again, but she twisted away.

“Don’t,” she whispered—voice breaking like glass.

With a flick of her wrist, a portal roared open, blue-white and trembling with her fury.

And then she was gone.

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara was reviewing some of the sheet music she and Dharcis had crafted over the past three days, her fingers ghosting over the staves, lips silently mouthing notes.

The door slammed open.

Dharcis stumbled in and her heart seized in her chest. The moment she saw his face, she knew. His nostrils flared, his eyes burned with fury that needed no explanation. His gait was unsteady, half from rage, half from the effort to keep it bottled. His eyes locked on her like a predator scenting betrayal, and his nostrils flared.

<<Ara, what the fuck!?>>

The music sheets fluttered as Nyara stood, caught off guard but trying to hold her composure. She raised her hands in a placating gesture. <<I know. I’m sorry. I just felt Raphael would be more agreeable if it was just me and him.>>

Dharcis didn’t answer. He stormed forward, grabbed one of the low couches, and shoved it across the floor with a violent screech that echoed against the stone. The force of it knocked over a side table holding small glasses and a carafe of water. They shattered—sharp, clean.

<<Agreeable to what ?>> he snarled.

The force of his outburst summoned Raphael, who leaned against the doorframe like a lounging shadow. Raphael’s smile was pure venom, directed squarely at Dharcis.

Nyara nodded towards Raphael as a warning to Dharcis. He needed to calm down. Turning her attention back to Raphael she smoothed her expression into something more polite, more composed. “We will take care to not disturb you again,” she said with a practiced smile.

Raphael returned the smile with one far less courteous, his eyes flicking to Dharcis in cruel amusement. Then he vanished down the corridor.

The moment he was gone, Dharcis turned on her, fury still trembling just beneath his skin. <<Agreeable. To. What?>> he hissed again, stepping in close, his chest rising and falling too fast.

Nyara placed a steady hand on his shoulder, but the touch only seemed to ignite him further. <<Calm down, please. I know you’re mad—>>

<<Mad?>> he snapped, jerking away from her hand. <<You went behind my back. You met with him alone. And now you want me to sit down and move on?>>

His voice cracked and for a moment Nyara’s confidence faltered.

But then her eyes narrowed slightly. <<You’re not thinking clearly, Dharcis.>> She stepped into his space again, firm and deliberate, pressing a hand to his chest to halt his pacing. <<We only have three hours to practice before we get sent back. Ah—ah—>>

He tried to cut her off, but she pushed him down hard onto the crooked couch he’d thrown. His body resisted for a second, all coiled tension and outrage—but then he gave in, seething, jaw clenched.

She straddled his lap, her knees pressing into the cushion on either side of his hips. <<Listen to me,>> she said, her tone shifting, softer now but no less commanding. <<I needed to be alone with him to enlighten him about our discovery. You of all people should know this couldn’t be blurted out in front of you, not with that temper.>>

Her words dampened his temper. His fists uncurled. The sharpness in his shoulders eased slowly under her hands, and she took advantage of the moment, fingers sliding from his shoulders to the back of his neck.

<<I had to lay it out gently—convince him the original agreement wasn’t valid. He raged, of course. I expected him to. But in the end…>> Her voice dropped lower, sultry now, intimate. <<We came to a settlement. This performance in exchange for his generosity and we all overlook the whole thing. He gets to save face. No one needs to know about this…mistake.>>

Dharcis’s brow furrowed. <<Really?>> he asked, though the fight was leaving his voice.

Nyara leaned in and kissed his cheek, her lips warm, deliberate. <<Really.>>

She let her mouth linger, trailing from his cheek to the edge of his jaw, then further down toward the hollow of his throat. Her breath warmed his skin as she whispered, <<And I’d like to do our best now—really do our best—so we can celebrate properly later.>>

Her lips brushed the edge of his pointed ear, tongue grazing the sensitive skin there, and Dharcis shuddered under her. The heat between them was no longer born of anger but of something else—something wilder and more dangerous.

<<I asked for the rest of the week off from the Counting House,>> she murmured, hips shifting slightly against his. <<I’d like to revisit Disenchantment—if you’re agreeable. And then… see where the day takes us.>>

Dharcis growled low in his throat, but this time it wasn’t fury.

She knew his silence wasn’t surrender, not quite. But it wasn't a refusal either.

And as the heat between them shifted—no longer sharp with rage, but slow and molten—Nyara allowed herself to finally exhale the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The balance had changed again.

But she knew better than to think it would stay that way for long but she could enjoy it for now.

She lingered a breath longer in his lap, just enough for him to feel the absence of her when she rose. Her body dragged slightly against his as she stood, a deliberate brush of warmth that left a raw silence in its wake. She turned from him with calm efficiency, refusing to look back, even though she could feel his gaze pinned to her spine like a blade.

With practiced grace, she smoothed the telling folds from the front of her clothes—nothing hurried, everything exact. It was not vanity but control. She would give him this much, but no more. Not yet.

She returned to the table, her fingers gliding over the familiar measures of ink and parchment, but her skin still tingled from where he’d held her, from the way his breath had caught when her lips found his ear. The music in front of her blurred momentarily, from uncertainty and anticipation of what was to come.

Without looking up, she crooked a finger in his direction.

<<Let’s run through the pre-ceremony pieces.>> Her voice was cool and composed. It shimmered with the same heat that had just passed between them, coaxing rather than ordering. A slow challenge.

Behind her, she heard the couch creak under his shifting weight. She heard that pause—just a beat—where he warred with himself. Whether to stay in the burn of that moment with her, or follow her lead.

He moved.

She didn’t need to see it to know. She heard his heavy approach, hurried steps that did nothing to hide his eagerness. The air changed with his nearness, charged again, though not in the same way. Not with fury.

He settled beside her, picking up the lute from where he had left it resting the morning prior. Dharcis remained silent but his presence buzzed at the edge of her focus.

Nyara kept her eyes on the music, but her lips curved—barely. <<Start with the harmony pickup after the second bridge,>> she said softly. <<If you can keep your hands steady.>>

There was a pause.

Then a low, near-growl of a response behind her ear: <<Try me.>>

And just like that, the heat between them flared again. 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s back moved rhythmically against her front door as Dharcis’s mouth hungrily devoured hers. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his generous waist and her ass rested against his large bracing forearm. What was it with these tiefling men and fucking a girl against the door? 

After the third swipe of his other clawed hand against her blouse she had to swat his claws away in an effort to deter his intention of shredding her clothes from her body, <<Stop this was a gift from momma!>>

He finally relented and let her drop her feet down to the floor. She had a sinking suspicion they weren't going to make it out of her apartment. That was fine. She had too much on her mind anyway. 

She walked Dharcis backwards to the couch until he plopped down, legs spread, cock visibly hard against his thigh, and eyes wild and heated. She stood just out of reach and slowly began to peel away her blouse to reveal the beautiful lacy bra she had anticipated using as a last resort on Raphael. 

His pupils were blown so wide the black of his sclera was barely a ring framing heated gold. Gold tracked the heavy sway of her breasts as she gently slid the sleeves off her arms and snapped the blouse into a folded pile out of sight. 

Nyara had always been shy about the size of her chest–much too large for an otherwise small frame. It had gotten her too much attention at an early age. But she had never felt that kind of observation from Dharcis. Despite their changing bodies he had always looked at her and smiled. Never at her chest or her legs. There was the occasional glance at her body once they were proper adults but he usually had to be exceedingly drunk to even look at her with anything more than familial love and affection. 

She turned around and bent over, hips swaying, as she slid off her pants to reveal the cheeky matching panty set. She could hear Dharcis’s impatient shifting behind her. 

Nyara couldn’t get over Raphael’s fixation on her friendship with Dharcis. Nor could she shake the now waking dread of what she had just agreed to. Raphael didn’t make wagers he couldn’t win. Now coming off the high of potentially getting what she had originally wanted for her father she was dreading if in reality she had now orchestrated two untimely demises. 

Dharcis’s hand on her ass cheek jarred her from her jumbled thoughts–large, warm, grounding. She let his hands guide her body back and softly tumble into his lap, teeth and lips already sucking marks into her shoulder and up her neck. She wrapped her arms around his, holding her tightly against his too warm body, and squeezed those arms tighter against her. He growled in response and bucked up beneath her. His tail slithered up her thigh and coiled tightly, possessively, around her flesh–gold against silver. 

Her back pressed against his warm chest reminded her of a very different experience almost eleven months ago now. Red clawed hands gripping her thighs so violently they left bruises–holding her open as Infernal cock pierced her repeatedly with such precision Nyara’s toes had curled and her body had shook so violently her teeth had chattered. A different tail wrapped around her neck squeezing the air from her lungs while forked tongue coaxed yet another orgasm from her overstimulated body. Her mind drifted to their parting from the House of Hope. Raphael's knowing and judgemental look before whisking them back to her apartment. 

A thick finger at her entrance caused her to gasp. Dharcis’s hand was gently squeezing the column of her throat, his mouth still sucking shapes onto her shoulders and neck, while his tail held her thigh open for him to begin teasing her entrance with his fingers. Her surprise was misinterpreted as excitement and she felt his moan reverberate through his chest to her back as he slid a single, thick finger, inside. Then stopped. 

Dharcis stilled. <<What’s wrong?>>

Nyara turned her body and straddled him, already guessing what was running through his mind after feeling how wet she wasn’t. <<I’m sorry.>> She kissed his cheek then down his face to his neck. <<Today was alot…Let’s take it slower.>>

She rocked slowly against his length over his stays letting the bulge in fabric coax some fire into her core. He brought his arms around her and rested his hands on her cheeks, pulling and kneading the flesh as she rocked. 

Her hands slid down his chest to the ties at his waist and gently began to undo the leather knots. Dharcis bucked up again, <<We don’t have to you know– >>

Nyra cut him off with a kiss, coaxing his tongue into her mouth and gently sucking on it before pulling away. <<I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I just needed to slow down.>>

She stared down into those black-gold eyes. Eyes that had watched her without flinching, even when she’d been at her worst–unmade, undone. This was quite possibly the only man in all of Toril who had loved her for her. Not her body. Not her power. Not her legend forged in battle or fire. Just… her.

Dharcis had seen the beautiful parts of her—but also the monstrous ones. The selfishness. The rage. The deep, snarling loneliness she tried so hard to bury. And he had never turned away. He had held her when she shattered. Laughed with her when the world made no sense. He hoisted her higher at her best and picked her up again at her lowest.

And never once, not once, had he asked for anything in return.

Her heart ached with the truth of it.

Raphael didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about.

All his velvet words, all his curated scorn and cynical little rhymes—they were nothing more than background noise compared to this.

She ran her thumbs along Dharcis’s cheeks, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a sigh. The warmth of his skin grounded her, made her feel real, seen, safe.

And then she kissed him.

Soft at first, hesitant, almost reverent. Hoping—praying—that as her lips moved against his, he could feel it. All of it. Her faith. Her trust. The weight of her belief in him and the gravity of her fall into his embrace.

She poured herself into that kiss like it might say everything she didn’t have words for.

And gods help her…She hoped he understood.

She knew she hadn’t been the best of a friend to anyone lately, Dharcis included, but that could change. And most importantly she no longer felt that, considering all that had happened, if she would have made the same deal with anyone else from her group but here in this moment she knew she wouldn’t regret doing it with Dharcis. She would never regret betting on Dharcis. 

As if he too lived in her thoughts he grabbed her and hauled her body to his–pressing her as tightly to him as he could without hurting her. His hands roamed everywhere grabbing and pulling at her, one hand tangled into her bun and the other squeezing her thigh. 

Nyara wrapped her hands around his neck and murmured against his lips, <<Take me to bed.>>

He was on his feet with her in tow, lips never parting, and walking them to her bedroom. She jostled slightly in his arms as he kicked off his boots at the door before he softly lowered her to the bed and pressed his weight into her. 

She tangled her fingers into his sandy golden curls and traced the inside of his mouth with her tongue while his hands wandered in search of purchase on her body. 

Vigor renewed she grabbed his hand from her thigh and slid it over to her mound knowing this time he’d find the answer he wanted. Without hesitation his thumb pried her panties aside so his middle finger could slide freely down her slit. He smiled against her lips as he dragged her slick back up to her clit and pressed soft circles into her bud. Nyara moaned against mouth. 

Dharcis made to rise to take off his clothes but she didn’t want to separate from him. Pulling him back towards her she murmured against his mouth and was giddy at his surprise of now having skin on skin contact between them—clothes banished elsewhere. 

His mouth left hers to begin a kissing descent down her body but her blood was hot and she needed him now. Her hand flew between his legs and pumped him before running his head against her clit. Dharcis hissed and looked at her cautiously. <<Nyara— >>

She arched her back off the bed and opened her legs wider so he could take a better position. <<I can take it. Please. I need you Dharcis— >>

Ever the attentive partner he worked a finger inside of her and pumped before adding a second finger as his teeth scraped across her fat react nipple. He moaned around her peak, <<I love these you know.>> He sucked hard and released her tit with a pop before sitting up to adjust. <<You’re beautiful you know. Inside and out Ara.>>

<<Dharcis— oh!>>

He gently pushed his head inside, careful, steady, and rocked. Perhaps she had been a little too ambitious. But she was as tenacious as she was impatient and impulsive and so she reached between them and whispered. Suddenly Dharcis was sliding all the way in and Nyara’s eyes rolled in ecstasy. 

He fell over her and rested his arms beside her head, braced just enough to keep from crushing her. His breath was hot and ragged against her cheek.

What in the Nine Hells did you do? he growled, voice low and astonished.

She wrapped her legs tighter around his back, keeping him locked to her. <<I’ll tell you later>>, she murmured, threading her fingers into his hair and tugging lightly. Her nails dragged down the sculpted lines of his shoulders, leaving faint red streaks in their wake, and she whimpered when his cock found that place inside her again—that place only he ever seemed able to reach without fail.

Dharcis was relentless. He moved with feral purpose, with a rhythm that built like thunder beneath her skin. Each thrust was a vow. Each drag of his hands along her body a plea for her to stay, to trust, to let him in. She was lost to it, to him—his name spilling from her lips in a breathless chant that slowly shattered into broken, raw sounds. Jolting grunts. A long, spiraling cry as one orgasm crashed like waves into another. Her whole body trembled, racked with pleasurable waves she could no longer separate, until ecstasy turned to helpless overstimulation and she could only clutch at him, whimpering as the tremors took her.

Then, as if he too had ridden that same wave to its crest, Dharcis suddenly gripped her hips and pulled her flush against him one final time. He clung to her, buried his face into the crook of her neck, and groaned out his release in a sound that vibrated through her ribs.

Nyara sagged beneath him, her body spent and slick with sweat. She didn’t want him to move. Didn’t want the warmth between them to fade or the moment to end. When he shifted to roll off her, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back, holding him there.

She pressed her lips between his horns, a tender kiss to a place she had come to know as uniquely his. Her voice was soft, from both exhaustion and uncertainty. <<Dee. You’d never betray me, right?>>

The question spilled out unexpectedly, heavier than she meant it to be, but too true to take back. Beneath the pleasure still echoing in her limbs was something deeper—something that had started curling inside her chest since her meeting with Raphael.

Dharcis raised his head. His eyes were heavy, ringed with a pleased exhaustion, but steady. Real. There was no smirk on his lips, no flirt in his tone—only that quiet intensity that made her feel seen.

He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing each finger one by one as if memorizing them. <<I’d run myself through before I allow myself or anyone to hurt you, Nyara.>> His voice was low but fierce.

She blinked. The words hit something unguarded in her, something she’d kept armored even from herself. She looked at him—really looked—and for a moment she felt it fully: the rarity of being chosen. Not for her name. Not for her bloodline. Not for her magic or power or legends.

Just for her.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the scariest thing of all.

<<Thank you…for never letting me feel like I was alone.>>

Dharcis didn’t respond. He just wrapped his arms around her and buried his face back into her neck like he was anchoring himself to her—like she was home. And in the silence that followed, Nyara finally let herself believe she might not be alone in this world after all.

~oU0Uo~

Dressed in old Minauran celebratory clothing—why he couldn’t be sure—his mouse was practically begging to re-sign the original deal. A nervous little mouse skittering around and squeaking about nonsense that Raphael was only barely listening to save for the part where she had said that he was her last hope . Hope. What an ugly word that held so much promise of disappointment—not typically a word used to describe Raphael's work. Raphael didn’t care what she needed so long she signed, correctly this time, on the dotted line. But in a very odd turn of conversation he found himself overly curious of what exactly Nyara believed he could do for her. 

“What could you possibly want that you would beg so beautifully, Nyara?” Raphael looked down his nose at his pitiful little mouse. She stood meek but determined before him with a wobbling and frantic voice that lit a fire deep within Raphael. Her begging was beautiful despite being interspersed with her nonsensical ramblings. 

Her dark eyes stared up at him, wide and shining, catching the flicker of his infernal light. Her bottom lip trembled. She blinked once—slowly, deliberately—but that couldn’t disguise the desperation etched into every soft line of her face.

It was a delicious sight.

Raphael inhaled the moment like incense, letting it coil through him. Every inch of her composure, every shard of pride, had been swallowed by whatever gnawed at her heart. He applauded her determination to remain somewhat in control but her emotions were getting the better of her. 

He savored it.

This wasn’t the poised, clever Nyara who parried his threats with sharp words and veiled glances. No. He had not seen that Nyara in some time now. Ever since her defeat of the elder brain she had become–erratic and skittish. It grated on his nerves. But this?  This was something altogether more decadent: raw need . She had said the very word herself. He could taste it, thick in the air between them. Desperation. That most sacred of offerings.

And yet… the earnestness in her gaze gave him pause.

He saw her throat move as she swallowed, her voice catching on the edge of vulnerability. “Could I show you?” she asked quietly. “I think that would be easier.”

Raphael tilted his head, the ridges of his horns catching the firelight. He narrowed his eyes, weighing her words with calculated amusement. Could it be a trap? Of course. But Nyara—his mouse—was much more clever than that. She had nothing to gain by harming him.

Or did she?

His lips curled at the thought. If this was a ploy, it would make her betrayal all the more exquisite. He gave the smallest nod—barely more than a twitch of his brow. “Show me,” he purred. 

Nyara raised her hands and began to weave her magic—slowly, deliberately. After days of watching her sing it had almost slipped his mind that she was a talented sorceress first and bard second. Light gathered around her fingers like mist, shaped by her emotion more than by incantation. And as the air shimmered, Raphael felt the temperature shift. The scent of sulfur and parchment faded, replaced by the faint aroma of jasmine and old wood.

The chamber blurred into something… gentle.

The world around them rippled. Infernal opulence replaced with something humbler, worn around the edges. The cottage was small, built from repurposed stone and thick-cut lumber. The walls were marked with repairs, and though the place hummed with music and laughter, it bore the scars of living too close to the edge.

Nor was it drow space. No obsidian pillars, no gloom-lit elegance. No underdark wealth. This was a frontier home on the edge of an orc-human township, and every inch of it whispered survival. Mistrust. Otherness.

And yet—it glowed with warmth.

A man stood inside the conjured room—svelt, white-haired, handsome in that boring, drow way. He was much darker than the mouse but the familiar features were there. But what held Raphael’s attention was the tenderness in his every movement. The way his eyes crinkled as he watched Nyara’s fingers dance across the toy piano keys barely tall enough for her feet to reach the floor while he sat beside her, 

He watched as the little Nyara laughed, full-bodied and unguarded, playing a clumsy melody while her father watched beside her. Raphael caught the swell in Nyara’s present throat as she watched it, and he tasted the sting of love in the conjuring—real, deep, enduring.

The memory shifted.

Now her father labored at a desk by candlelight, sewing tattered robes late into the night. Then his mouse stood outside while her father argued with human bureaucrats at a school window—Nyara’s enrollment scroll clutched tightly in his hands. He worked himself to ruin to get her into the conservatory. Raphael recognized the desperate gleam in her father’s eyes. He had known poverty like that in others—it was the kind that stripped away dignity but made for ripe pickings for a devil.

A flicker.

A tavern bloomed into being, grimy and crooked, like it had been built out of salvaged rot. The wood slats sweated from humidity, the oil lamps burned low, and the floor was permanently stained from spilled ale and worse. It reeked of desperation.

Two figures took the makeshift stage—young, barely more than teenagers, but already carrying themselves like they’d seen too much. Nyara’s braid was shorter then, her clothes pretty enough but ill-fitting. The golden oaf stood beside her, thinner than his more robust figure now, his lute worn almost to the bone.

They began to play.

Raphael watched, at first with amusement. The music was far too refined for such a rancid place—measured harmonies, aching in their simplicity–but beyond what individuals of their age would be expected to compose nonetheless. Nyara’s voice was lighter and unguarded. There was no sultry manipulation here. Just truth. Just need.

That caught him off guard.

The patrons in the projection barely noticed, too soaked in drink or grief to care. A few coins hit the floor. A grumble of reluctant claps. Nothing theatrical. No glory.

And yet they played on.

When the illusion shifted to the walk home, Raphael raised a brow. The scenery changed from gutter alleys to a row of modest houses. The inside was humble, patched with effort and care.

Raphael watched as Nyara and Dharcis set down a meal—modest, but warm. Stew, black bread, a bit of dried fruit. Her father blinked at it as if it were a feast. When Nyara laughed, it sounded  tired but delighted. Her brother helped cut pieces of the bread and pass it amongst the family. Dharcis reached across the table and passed her the last slice of bread when he thought no one was looking.

Another flicker.

Now her father sat on the floor beside the organ—Nyara now almost a young woman, her voice filling the room in song while she played. She faltered on a high note and winced. She stopped playing. Her father held her face in both hands and whispered something that made her smile.

Raphael felt something shift in himself, subtle and unnerving. Pity? No. Respect, perhaps—for the artistry of the setup.

A ripple as the image shifted again.

Her father laughed as he held up a crumpled letter—an acceptance scroll for the university in Baldur’s Gate. Across the room, the same mouse that now stood before him, with slightly shorter hair that had a horrid black color accompanied by a dyed blue streak along the right side, squealed with joy and tackled him in a hug.

He nearly fell from the impact, catching himself on one elbow. And yet he just laughed harder. <<You’re going to that university,>> he said firmly. <<Even if I have to sell everything we own.>>

The moment moved on to something darker.

The signs of strain came slowly: a limp. A cane. Hands that trembled when trying to patch garments or scribe letters for patrons.

Then a coughing fit that left blood spattered on a rag.

Her father stepped then completely crumpled to the ground as her brother, nearly the mirror image of their father, moaned loudly for help.

Raphael leaned forward slightly.

He didn’t blink as Nyara’s conjured memory took them into Lorroakan’s tower. That arrogant bastard had been too foolish even for Raphael to attempt dealings.

Nyara stood before Lorroakan.

Raphael’s nostrils flared.

The bastard mage reclined in his cold sanctum, swirling his wine lazily in one hand as he lounged on a throne constructed by books of varying degrees of value. Nyara stood stiff and silent. Her barely modest dress lowered from her shoulders. Her chin was high, but her eyes were deadened. 

Raphael had anticipated enjoyment at watching Nyara suffer but found that it twisted sourly in his stomach instead. 

Lorroakan judged her like a newly acquired trinket. Not a woman. Not even as a drow. Just a toy to use and discard. 

She endured it.

The air went still. The mouse in the room with him didn’t move, but Raphael could feel her tension, the way she buried her revulsion. The exchange of dignity for a potion. No power, no bartering. Just submission.

Raphael exhaled slowly, doing his best to savor it despite the mounting revulsion.

The images dimmed again.

Her brother, the man from his visit to her family home. His fingers moved quickly—signing —and Nyara whispered the words for Raphael as he watched the memory.

“Those months you were gone, he took a bad turn. Maybe the stress. I don’t know.” Nyara’s face barely moved as she gave voice to the memory. But her knuckles turned white from where her hands grief the back of the chair she stood behind. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel guilty. No one plans to be taken.”

Her image from the memory flinched from his words as if she hadn’t already braced for the blow.

Her brother’s signing grew faster. His hands chopped the air.

“He’s been worse than we let on since you’ve been back. And it’s… Ara, it’s really bad. When you’re not here, he just keeps asking if I’ve had the talk with you.”

Nyara’s jaw clenched. Her hands moved sharply, cutting the space between them —“WHAT TALK?”

The boy signed without mercy now.

“I think we’ve reached the potion’s threshold. He’s getting worse. The remedy isn’t helping anymore. It’s just… keeping him alive.”

Raphael tilted his head slightly. Even he felt the charged implication in that statement.

“He’s ready to die, Ara.”

Nyara shook her head violently. Her signs were desperate— “NO, HE’S HAPPY. HE’S READING. HE SMILES WHEN I VISIT—”

“Lies. For you.” Her brother’s hands were shaking violently. “He forces himself to keep living. To give you time to accept this. But I can’t watch it anymore. I love you. But this is torture. He is suffering. He wants peace. It is his time. We have to let him go.”

Nyara’s entire body recoiled in the memory. The projection shimmered.

But it wasn’t over.

Her signs were jagged, seething —“WHY DID YOU LIE? I COULD HAVE SPENT THESE MONTHS LOOKING—”

“Looking for what, Ara?” Her brother’s expression twisted. His fingers carved the air like knives. “You think I don’t know what you did to get that shit?”

He grabbed the half-empty vial off the table and hurled it.

Raphael saw Nyara lunge, grabbing it before it shattered.

Her brother was shaking now, unshed tears glowing at the corners of his eyes.

“Every time I mix that potion, I see him. I see what Lorroakan did to you. If Kel’nar knew the cost…”

Nyara cut him off, fists clenched —“STOP. I DON’T REGRET IT. I WOULD DO WORSE. TO SAVE HIM.”

Her brother’s final signs struck like thunder.

“That’s the point. He doesn’t want to be saved.”

The projection collapsed into silence.

Raphael and his mouse were alone again.

Raphael let the silence stretch. He took in every curve of her back, the firm grip of her hands on the chair before her, and the defiant tilt of her chin despite the tears now threatening to spill down her cheeks. 

He approached and circled her slowly. His boots tapped gently against the floor was the only echoing sound in the office. 

Finally, his voice—deep and coiling like a serpent—broke the stillness. 

“You’ve worn grief like a crown,” he murmured. “And guilt like armor. I wonder…”

Raphael lifted her chin with a single clawed finger.

“What is it you want now, my dear?” His smile was soft and cruel. “What pain could be worth reliving all of this? What could possibly make you beg again?”

He already knew. It was clear what she wanted. But he wanted to hear her say it. 

His mouse’s dark eyes shone bright, “I will get the stones and place the completed crown on your head, as originally promised.” Her voice wavered. “In exchange you will use your infinite powers to save my father from his fate.” 

Raphael stared at her hard. 

The cogs in his mind were turning.

An idea. 

“Let us play a game little mouse. What do you say?”

His mouse looked at him through shining eyes with mild confusion. Raphael found himself drawn to her pouty lips. 

He perished the thought and made his way back behind his desk. “Let’s make a wager. I’m feeling benevolent and a bit generous tonight despite all that has transpired.” 

The mouse merely nodded. Raphael continued. “How deeply do you trust the golden oaf?”

Her brow furrowed. “Dharcis? I trust him with my life. Why?”

Raphael tethered the storm beneath his skin—rage, disappointment, and something perilously close to envy. His smile remained, but it no longer bothered to reach his eyes."Ah, but your life, little mouse, is not yours to wager in this game." He lifted his hand in a lazy, almost bored flourish, then let two fingers rest delicately against his cheek, "If you’re so eager to entrust that gilded tiefling with your own life..." His gaze sharpened, gleaming like a blade in candlelight. "...would you so readily place your father’s in his hands as well?"

Raphael relished the hardness that shifted behind her eyes. Her guard was up now. Good. This is the mouse he was accustomed to. Her gaze sharpened. “What does my trust in him have to do with my request of you? What’s the wager Raphael.” Not a question. A demand. Audacious little rodent.

He clasped his hands behind his back and looked toward his impressive bookshelf–giving her his magnificent profile for view. “I must admit…” Raphael drawled, voice rich as velvet, “…I find myself utterly fascinated by the depth of your attachment to the tiefling.” He turned to her, his grin already blooming—slow, knowing, cruel at the edges. “His kind are so often... intolerable. Prone to obsession. Possession. A certain selfish glint in the eye that never quite goes away.” He let his wings unfurl behind him, deliberate and dramatic—a well-timed spray of scarlet on black canvas. “Greed, my dear, is in their blood. A gift from their ancestors.”

A beat. A pause just long enough to press.

“They do have a knack, though—a charming habit of bestowing fortune upon those they find... worthy.”

His gaze slid toward her, fiery pupils narrowed in interest. Raphael grinned.  “Tell me... has this Dharcis brought you fortune, little mouse? Or merely the illusion of it?”

The mouse merely glared.

Raphael smiled.

"A little wager, if you’ll indulge me. I suspect our dear Dharcis is keeping something rather... pertinent from you. Ah-ah—” His mouse was already having a visceral reaction to his words and Raphael was struck with giddy delight mixed with something akin to salt in the wound. How odd. “–what exactly, I couldn’t say. Just a whisper in the wind, really—a hunch, if you will. But should you uncover it—"

“No, wait.”

The mouse shook her head and approached. Her heels clicked against the marble floor. The firelight traced the curve of her legs beneath the otherwise shapeless garment, revealing the ghost of a silhouette that seemed unintentional—yet lingered in his mind far too long. A faded memory of glistening freckled thighs sitting in one of the high backed chairs.

She perched herself on the edge of the desk with practiced ease. Close now. Close enough for Raphael to inhale the faintest whiff of her—tart, floral and herbal—a complement to his cherry and myrr. His eyes drifted, unhurried, unapologetic, along the line of her thighs to the slight spread of her hips beneath the cloth.

“What constitutes something of import?” she asked.

Raphael paused, lips twitching at the corners—not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. Her interruption danced the fine line between insolence and intrigue, and he hadn’t yet decided which delighted him more.

She was sharp. And sharper still when she forgot to be afraid.

Without lifting his gaze, he let his fingers trail lazily along the cracked spine of his ancient tome, Metamorphoses by Ovid, the leather worn smooth by centuries of idle contemplation.

“A secret,” he mused, voice slow and honeyed, like liqueur over a blade, “that would constitute a betrayal of trust... now that, my dear, is a definition worth savoring. Fair, wouldn’t you say? Almost poetically so.”

Her teeth found her bottom lip as she considered him—her expression conflicted, uncertain. But it was the gesture, the soft pressure of pouty flesh between her teeth, that held him. Raphael pondered what those lips tasted like, and how easily she wielded innocence as a weapon.

She nodded.

His mood soared. “Excellent. In two days’ time we shall question Dharcis. If his secret constitutes a betrayal of trust, then your soul is forfeit regardless of my possession of the crown, and your father’s life...” He leaned forward, just slightly, letting the words settle between them, “doomed.”

“However,” he continued, his smile a shade gentler, but no less wicked, “should he hide no secrets from you, I will save your father and let you walk free—again, regardless of my possession of the crown.”

Nyara stared at him openly—her expression a mixture of disgust and disbelief. 

Her contempt didn’t wound—it fascinated. He savored it. And yet… yet, beneath the swirl of indulgent cruelty he’d wrapped around his heart like silk, a darker chord trembled.

It was true he hadn’t yet uncovered the secret, not fully. But Raphael knew wrongness—tasted it on the air like blood in water, felt it coil behind smiles, wrap around words. The golden oaf reeked of it. Dharcis, with his too-perfect righteousness and almost clumsy devotion to his mouth. It rang false.

And she—she was blind to it—both in depth and deceit. 

The mouse looked down at her lap in concentration. A shadow passed across her face—uncertainty, perhaps. Regret. There was that delicious scent again–a fearful uncertainty. This, Raphael was reminded, is what made her so dangerous.

After a beat, she spoke again.

“I believe Dharcis has his secrets. You know I have mine. But I don’t believe whatever he’s hiding would constitute a betrayal of my trust.” She looked up at him then, and for a moment Raphael thought the firelight might have pooled behind her eyes, so bright and fiery she was in her certainty.

“I’ve known him practically my whole life. He’s one of the few I confidently trust with my life.”

The resolve in her voice stirred something unwelcome in his chest—a tightness, quick and unfamiliar, gone as soon as it arrived. He quelled it before it could fester. Jealousy. How quaint.

But it still curled low in his gut, sour and smoldering. She spoke of him with reverence. His mouse trusted him. Trusted him as if such a thing were permanent, unshakable, divine. As if betrayal could never wear a familiar face, never come wrapped in childhood memories and golden smiles.

Some lessons, Raphael thought bitterly, are only learned when the blade is already in the back.

“I accept this wager.”

She stood, sharply, drawing herself up as if her body remembered it was something to wield. Chin tilted high, eyes flashing. Her face only a breath from his now. 

“You’re wrong, Raphael.”

A beat of silence passed.

He didn’t answer right away. He only looked at her—truly looked. Her defiance. Her foolish hope. The wild tangle of conviction and desire that burned through her like a fever.

She was radiant in her fury and determination. And it maddened him.

How easily she held his attention. How unknowingly she stirred things best left dormant.

His gaze dipped, just once, to the soft part of her throat barely visible beneath the high collar of her blouse. He imagined sinking his teeth into that pulse point—not to draw blood, but just to feel her heart stutter against his lips.

And then he smiled. His fangs bared. Soon enough. 

“We shall see, in two days hence.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a velvet purr, a breath away from her skin.

“I’ll leave you with some inspiration...”

His tone turned low, reverent, as though reciting a sacred curse:

“My touch, a gift, now brings only despair,

To all one holds, brings golden ruin there.

My treason’s kiss, a curse, forever binds—

To all they cherish, Midas’ grief one finds.”

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara slowly drifted awake. She became  more aware of her surroundings from the feel of the low, vibrating purr against her spine—Dharcis. His breath was hot against her shoulder. When he sensed her awareness he turned her gently onto her back, kissed the hollow of her throat, and folded her knees to her chest as though offering her body back to the gods that made it.

And then he devoured her.

Hungrily—ritually. Thoroughly. Worshipfully. Until her thighs trembled around his horns and her calves locked like they might never unwind. Her breath came in broken gasps. Her skin prickled from the pleasure curling tight and syrup-slow in her belly.

She was ruined after this past month—no man without infernal blood would ever feel right in her again. The past month and a half had been a long, sweet spiral into corruption between her wizard, her blacksmith, and her burly bard, and at this rate her sheets smelled like sex, sweat and something unnameably dark. If she could smell it she knew he could and she was starting to suspect he wanted to ruin them so he could burn them.

~oU0Uo~

When she woke again, the world was hazy and violet and orange at the edges, and Dharcis was already inside her.

He moved slowly at first, careful not to press his weight into her back, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was almost too languid to feel real. His mouth hovered just behind her ear, where the spider tattoo sat as a secret mark and whispered things that made her toes curl—filthy things in Cormanthan, beautiful curse-sounding things in Infernal. His voice wasn’t so much spoken as chanted, each word rippling through her skin like a spell she hadn’t meant to summon.

When he lost the capacity to speak in mortal tongues, it sounded less like words and more like dark magic groaned through clenched teeth and born of some primal need. Had he not been buried inside her to the hilt, she might have believed he was whispering curses into her ear instead of unraveling himself.

She tilted her hips and pushed back into him without warning.

Dharcis stuttered, breath catching—surprised and most certainly aroused. That surprise vanished quickly. He snarled low, snaking one arm beneath her chest and the other across her shoulders, locking her down. His hips slammed forward, and she gasped—every thrust sharper, desperate, deliberate.

His mouth found her cheek, her jaw, the shell of her ear—every word now half-growl, half-prayer, switching between languages like he no longer knew what realm he belonged to. When she thought she couldn’t take another stroke, when her body was coiled so tight it felt like fire in her bones, he dragged his mouth to her ear and panted, <<Let me make you swollen with my seed. Have my babies, Nyara~>>

Her brain broke.

There was no coherent thought left. Only a rush of heat and shock and the raw, terrifying gravity of want—and the slow, spiraling realization that if he kept saying things like that she just might give in.

~oU0Uo~

When Nyara woke up for the third time that morning it was proper morning with a soft yellow glow feathering through the edges of her drapes. She stretched and reached for Dharcis only to find his side of the bed empty. Yawning, she sat up and scanned the room—it was empty and her bedroom door was closed. Nyara shrugged and made her way to the bathroom to wash up. 

When she emerged, freshly showered, her curls still damp and braided back tight, she felt oddly… calm. Cozy in her soft slate-blue sweater and matching skirt set she stepped into her slippers and made her way to the door. Then she heard him. 

She gently opened the door, greeted by the smell of coffee, and popped her head around the frame, spotting Dharcis’s wide back as he stood at her counter, chopping something in rhythm with the soft, low song rumbling from his throat. The sight made her giddy. Dharcis almost never cooked. This was going to be a treat.

Nyara tiptoed across the carpet with practiced stealth and lowered herself into the chair at the round table, silent as a cat.. She propped her cheek in her hand and watched him quietly, eyes tracing the movement of his shoulders, the familiar way he moved through her kitchen like he’d been here many times before. 

<<You haven't left my life, my darling, but I already miss you

Who would've thought? No one believed in us and we're reaching a year

Just thinking about losing you

Turns the thousandths into hours

With you I'm going to death

And especially when we're alone>>

He threw cuts of sausage into a hot pan and it hissed to life, a soft haze rising, filling her apartment with smoke and the sharp tang of vinegar and fat. He kept singing, casual and soft, as he cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork.

Nyara watched him through half-lidded eyes, letting the scent, his voice, and the low hum of domesticity lull her deeper into the moment. There was something almost surreal about seeing him here like this in her space. A space she had grown very accustomed to living in alone—bodies passing through sometimes but only temporarily. 

<<I love to see you naked

You're the prettiest painting

How can I explain such beauty?

Wet under the shower

If we go out, you're fine exquisite>>

He flipped the sausages with one hand, the muscles of his back flexing smoothly as he worked. She was suddenly envious of his long armspan—he was barely moving, yet getting so much done. That envy melted quickly into something warmer, more wistful, as she took in the taut stretch of him, the lean way his body carried itself now.

He’d always been… bigger. Softer. Back when they were younger he had worn clothes that were too big for him, hunched his shoulders inward to make himself smaller around the humans, and had cowed his vibrant personality to appease the majority. He’d smile at everyone but rarely talk unless she pulled him into a conversation. 

Quiet. Watchful. Trying not to stand out. He’d hated how people looked at his horns. 

When it was just the two of them against the masses he always mumbled crass jokes under his breath only loud enough for her to hear. But when they were alone? He’d come alive. Silly. Loud. Playful in a way only she ever really got to see.

And pudgy. He had always been pudgy.

Nyara bit her lip as she remembered that softness. The way his belly used to jiggle just slightly when he laughed too hard. The curve of his waist when he stretched, lazy and warm in the mornings when they shared a bed in some drafty inn above a tavern during their travels. She missed that softness. He didn’t look unhealthy now—gods, he looked good—but different. Like traveling as a bard had worn him down in places she hadn’t noticed until now.

Had that life taken its toll on him?

When she’d seen him again at the Elfsong, she thought she’d caught a glimpse of that familiar roundness beneath his shirt but she’d also been drunk, and her memory from that night was more emotion than fact. Now? Seeing him like this, moving in her kitchen, singing as he cooked? Despite how much she enjoyed it, she couldn’t deny that physically, he looked like a soldier, not a bard.

<<I've always dreamed of a life with you

Facts are worth more than promises

I'll follow you not knowing where you're going...>>

He slid a plate closer and tipped the browned sausages onto it with a satisfying thump, then poured the eggs into the still-hot pan and stirred them expertly. Nyara watched him with a half-smile. She would’ve burned them for sure if it had been her at the stove. Her eggs always stuck or turned chewy, and Nadal had eventually banned her from even trying breakfast foods.

Her smile faltered slightly. 

Nadal. Kel’nar…

Raphael.

Raphael’s words still nagged at her. The whisper of suspicion he’d planted hadn’t gone away. Dharcis had kept things from her before but nothing important and, in all honesty, every person was entitled to some secrets. His secrets had never hurt her or her family so what did it matter? But watching him now, singing in her kitchen, feeding her, touching this space of her life like it was his own—how could this man ever be anything but what he seemed? Still, doubt was an avid concern she kept burying deep in the recesses of her mind. Fucking Raphael. 

<<When my memory fails and there's only portraits left

I can forget everything but you being mine— oh godsdammit Ara! >>

Dharcis had turned to plate the eggs and caught sight of her over his shoulder. His voice cracked off and he startled so hard he nearly dropped the pan. Nyara only grinned at him and stuck out her tongue.

<<I hated it when we were kids and I still hate it now.>> He kept his back to her as he moved to grab mugs and pour the coffee like nothing had happened. She rose from her chair to stop him.

<<My sneakiness? You loved it when I scared you then, and you still love it now.>> She said it lightly, teasingly, letting the warmth in her tone cover the strange, tight knot that had begun to pull in her chest.

But Dharcis flinched.

Not a full-body recoil, just the slightest flicker in his brow, the tightening around his eyes. Barely a breath of movement—but she saw it. 

Why would that make him flinch?

Nyara blinked, trying to push the thought away. She scratched lightly across his back, gentle, soothing, and took the mugs from his hands like nothing had happened. Like nothing hadn’t been said.

<<I’ll make it. I have a new recipe and I want you to try it too.>>

Dharcis didn’t answer immediately. For a moment she thought he might call her out on the avoidance. He could read her too well sometimes. But then he glanced over and smiled—not the bard kind he gave others, but the one just for her. The smile that said I know who you are and I love you anyway.

That smile made her ache.

She reached into her ice box and pulled out the nut milk then reached high into her cupboard for a plain glass jar. Her fingers worked automatically, pouring, capping, shaking the frothy mixture, but her mind buzzed with Raphael’s words from earlier. 

She tried to push them aside as she slammed the ice box shut with her hip.

Dharcis smirked at her over his shoulder as he set breakfast on the table. <<Huh. That looked way hotter last night.>>

Nyara snorted, <<You’re disgusting.>> She had meant to say more. Something wicked and biting to keep things light. But it caught in her throat, strangled by the strange, heavy tenderness rising inside her from watching him as he moved so easily through her space…their space. 

People changed. That was inevitable. She had most certainly changed after her experience with the Elder Brain, and maybe Dharcis had too from his own experiences during their time apart. 

This man was the only one who had ever really known her. The only one who had never asked her to be more or less than who she was. He’d held her hair back while she vomited after too much celebrating, laughed with her until she cried, sang her to sleep when she was too wired to rest. He’d seen the broken pieces of her and didn’t flinch. He accepted her and her family–he treated her father like he was his own. Dharcis had been the one to see about Kel’nar while she was studying. 

Not like Raphael. Not like everyone else.

She poured the coffee slowly, savoring the rich aroma and the swirl of cream as it bloomed up and out from the black. She set his mug beside him and sat down, shoulder brushing his. Close. Familiar. Safe.

He slid two plates into the middle of the table, Cormyian style. Shared meal, shared space. Like they had a hundred times before.

They toasted. The clink of ceramic was soft, but it echoed louder than she expected.

<<Mmm. Oh Ara, this is good.>>

She chewed around her sausage, <<Wight?>> Her mouth full, and uncaring. It felt normal. Intimate.

She hadn’t kept much food in her apartment. Her pantry was practical, survivalist. But this breakfast? Eggs, sausage, butter? That meant Dharcis had either brought the food with him yesterday or left early to get it fresh at the market while she was still asleep. 

She glanced at him with something like wonder. What a sweetheart.

She reached out and rubbed his shoulder gently. <<This is delicious. I don’t remember the last time you cooked for me.>>

They ate quietly. His eyes flicked up every so often to meet hers, and every time they did, she found it a little harder to look away.

When he offered her the last of the eggs, she waved it off. But she made a greedy grab for the remaining sausage, now cool enough to eat with her fingers. He laughed at her and she grinned, cheeks full. 

<<I perform at the Elfsong tonight.>>

Nyara nodded through her chewing. <<Mhmm. About that.>> She swallowed. <<Raphael said you can perform but I have to get picked up at the designated time.>>

Dharcis raised his cup to his lips. But the moment she spoke, his eyes flashed.

That look. That look that turned his gold-black eyes into molten fury. That rage that simmered beneath his skin—hatred, anger, fear—all of it wrapped in one unreadable burst.

And then he blinked at it was. Gone.

He nodded like nothing had happened. But Nyara shivered.

<<How will he know when I’m finished?>> he asked, not looking at her.

She wrapped her fingers around her mug, chasing warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee. <<Ah. He said when you’re ready, just get to someplace secluded and speak his name aloud. He’ll find you.>>

<<Is that so.>> Sip. Stare. Silent. <<And what will you be doing?>> he asked.

Nyara shrugged. <<I’ll get started until you come. Not sure what else I can do, but considering his generosity I didn’t really think to push the issue.>>

He nodded again. Jaw set. She could see him winding up for an argument. Could feel it.

But she cut in first.

<<Have you thought about staying here? Permanently.>>

That caught him by surprise.

He sputtered, then ran a hand through his sandy curls, pushing back his hair with a startled laugh. <<Are you asking me my plans, or asking me to stay?>>

She only smiled, shrugged, and took a sip of coffee—hoping he couldn’t see how hard her hands trembled.

<<Menace.>> Her heart fluttered. <<If I did stay, where would I live?>> he asked.

She gestured around her apartment, trying to mask her hope with playfulness. But inside, her chest felt raw. Vulnerable.

<<Oh? Where would I work?>> he asked.

She tilted her head, smirking. <<Mm. That depends. If you just want work, you could come to the Counting House with me. If you want to be a performer, then we could probably work something out with the taverns here in the Gate. I don’t really pull my Savior of the Gate card but I think in this situation it could be—justified— oof !>>

Her coffee was abandoned on the table as Dharcis suddenly, wordlessly, hauled her over his shoulder and strode toward the bedroom.

Nyara laughed, a breathless sound caught between surprise and joy.

In that moment, her doubts didn’t vanish but instead folded themselves neatly into manageable squares, tucked under the weight of something stronger.

She didn’t just want him here. She needed him.

Gods help her, she was ready to shove him into her life and never let him leave again.

~oU0Uo~

Raphael had given up on his attempts to spy on the mouse.

He stood in the center of the boudoir, the rich crimson carpets muffling his steps as he stalked away from the still-spinning scrying orb. A fire burned low in the ornate hearth, casting dancing shadows across the carved stone walls and heavy tapestries. Hellish sculptures leered from the corners—twisted demons and weeping angels, half-trapped in eternal torment. The faint smell of sulfur laced the air, mingling with incense smoke that wafted from a golden censer shaped like a screaming nymph. The mouse had seemed to appreciate that one. 

On the long obsidian table near the window the scry sat quivering, flickering with faint light.

Raphael had assumed she would spend her hours wisely by diligently peeling back layers of that golden fool. The bard with too much charm–the mouse’s opinion not his, little to no sense, and deliciously deviant past. Raphael had expected manipulation. Careful questions. The slow unraveling of secrets. Instead, he had been treated to the basest display of mortal indulgence.

They fucked like rabbits.

It didn’t matter when he tuned in—twilight or dawn–if they were conscious, they were tangled up in each other. In her bed. In his bed. On the floor. Against the kitchen counter once, though that had ended in broken glassware and mutual laughter that clawed into Raphael’s spine like a scourge.

He had almost shattered the scry in his hand from sheer, blinding frustration.

Instead, he’d slammed it down on the table, the magical glass pulsing once like a wounded heart before stilling.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

He prowled to the massive window that framed the hellish vista of his domain—blood-colored skies, floating chains, rivers of fire, the endless churn of the blood war far below. His reflection stared back at him from the glass—pristine, handsome, otherworldly—but his eyes burned with fury.

He had chosen her.

Out of thousands of crawling mortals. Out of entire bloodlines steeped in promise. Nyara had caught his attention. Clever. Cunning. Wounded just enough to be pliable. A creature with potential. She was supposed to rise—ascend above the muck of mortal filth and become something more.

Instead, she rolled in the dirt with her bard, licking her wounds and moaning like some tavern whore in heat.

And Dharcis. That ridiculous, bright-eyed lout with his warm voice and golden curls.. A tiefling who had somehow, infuriatingly, become more important to her despite Raphael’s carefully curated warning. 

A dusky arm snaked around his torso, “I think we could do better, Master. ”

Raphael fisted the culprit’s white hair in his hand and yanked the imitation drow down to their knees. They whined. 

He was tempted. The image of the mouse on her knees was a vision–but it was naught more than an illusion. Another reminder to her continued insolence.  

Raphael sneered, “Change. Now.”

He paced back toward the center of the room, the chains hanging from the ceiling clinking faintly as if responding to his mood. The fire crackled louder.

It wasn’t just the lust that disgusted him. It was the weakness. It was that Nyara, his mouse, his promising little plaything, had fallen to it so easily. Casual dalliances were excusable and the arrogant wizard who had been frequenting her bed was easily overlooked because nothing about that pairing had an air of permanence. 

But the golden oaf has been a steady constant in her life.

She had no idea what power she was trading for perceived comfort.

He glanced at the file Korilla had provided him not long after he and the mouse had made their bargain. Its contents had only served to confirm his suspicions. Though that news did not bode well for the mouse. He almost pitied her. 

Raphael leaned against the obsidian table and stared down at the still orb, his voice low and bitter. “You were supposed to be more than this.”

The orb gave no answer, just a faint shimmer, and a residual whisper—Nyara’s laugh, breathless, intimate, like a secret being shared.

Raphael’s knuckles went white.

“You know—”

Raphael didn’t bother to turn but was somewhat placated that it was now his own voice addressing him.

“The rod isn’t always the best method. I think you’ll find the mouse to be much more malleable if you took, perhaps, a different approach.”

Raphael still didn’t bother to look. He lessened his grip on the edge of the table. “Speak clearly, Haarlep.”

He heard rustling behind him—the lazy slide of silk over skin and the deliberately slow, wet slap of steps across the stone floor for no reason other than drama. Then came the unmistakable scent of Haarlep’s pipe: rich, spiced tobacco with undertones of something darker, sweetened with hedonism and clove.

“The little mouse latches on to creatures that show her an ounce of attention not related to her body.” Raphael heard the breathy exhale of smoke, felt it drift along the back of his neck like a ghost of temptation. “Why not play to your strengths?”

Raphael turned then, finally, his brow arching in silent demand.

Haarlep reclined lazily in the nearest chair, limbs sprawled as though they owned the room. Their long, claw-tipped fingers toyed with the pipe, rolling it between them with slow, serpentine intent.

Not that the insolent creature was in any hurry to be helpful.

They stretched—a performance more than a necessity—arching with feline grace and a knowing smirk. Then another intentionally drawn-out drag, cheeks hollowing slightly, golden eyes narrowing as if savoring a wine only they could taste. Raphael’s frown deepened into something more pointed. A final warning, and one that would have sent most beings into stammering retreat.

Haarlep merely rolled their eyes, utterly unimpressed.

“ Woo her, Raphael.” They smirked around the pipe. “You don’t have to scheme as much when they willingly offer up what you want. Besides,” they gestured languidly with the stem, “you have much more to offer her than the oaf , as you so charmingly call him. Surely, you can work with that.”

They exhaled again, and this time the smoke curled into the vague shape of horns and a tail before dissipating in the air.

“I’d love to add him to my collection though,” Haarlep added, smirking, “One like him would be quite popular, if you catch my meaning.”

Raphael turned away sharply and began pacing, his steps echoing with cold finality on marble. His wings twitched once in restrained agitation.

Woo her. How mortal. How absurd.

And yet… There was a morsel of merit to the argument, loath as he was to admit it. That damned oaf had no brilliance, no poise, no strategy. He gave nothing, was nothing. 

And yet she had gambled two lives on the misplaced belief that this creature was worth her candid, foolish faith. To be the recipient of such unfiltered affection, such stubborn, reckless belief...

Raphael’s mouth twisted. That sort of loyalty couldn’t be commanded. It had to be earned. And somehow, that brutish fool had stumbled into it with nothing but a desperate heart and those familiarly pathetic golden eyes.

What did she see in him? 

Raphael snapped his fingers once, and in a breath, his doublet and matching trousers appeared, fine and perfectly arranged, clasped to precision as if a handmaid had spent the hour readying him. The magic calmed him—if only fractionally. His irritation was replaced with something more manageable now—plotting. 

Their game had changed. She had made her move, however small, however stupid.

Now it was his turn.

And this time, he would not be playing by the same rules.

~oU0Uo~

Dharcis’s groan was deliciously deep. Nyara hollowed her cheeks to take more of his shaft inside her mouth, savoring the sound and the way his hips involuntarily bucked. He shuddered beneath her hands, golden skin warm and taut under her palms, the muscles of his abdomen fluttering with every drag of her tongue. Not that it was her business, but she couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since he’d been touched with intention, with affection.

He had always been so careful. Since their early teenage years, Dharcis had been a contradiction—wanted and just as quickly rejected. Once their bodies had begun to change, the human girls whispered about him behind cupped hands, half in awe of his beauty, half in fear of his bloodline. None would dare be seen with him, yet plenty had offered themselves in the shadows. Nyara had watched it all, the offers he turned down, the loneliness that sometimes lingered in his eyes afterward. She’d been proud of him for that. Proud that he had never let their cruel, conditional affection define his worth.

Still, it had cost him. He was called cold, arrogant, too proud for a foulblood. As if it were arrogant to expect to be treated like a person. Cunts, she thought, her fingers gently cupping his balls, still surprisingly heavy despite the pleasure they’d wrung out of each other since that morning. She ran her tongue along the thick, pulsing vein beneath his cock and felt him twitch. He whined again, almost helpless.

His hand fisted in her hair a moment later. She let herself be guided up his body until she lay sprawled across his chest, too warm skin pressed to warm skin. His arms wrapped around her back as though he needed to be sure she was real. Then he kissed her forehead, lips lingering, and chuckled low against her temple. <<I think you've successfully drained me dry.>>

She snorted, her smile curving lazily against his collarbone. <<But they were still pretty full...>>

Dharcis’s laugh was low and deep. <<I assure you, there’s nothing left. But—>>

He shifted, flipping them over so she was on her back, his golden hair falling forward in a loose wavy curtain that tickled her cheek. He lowered his weight slowly, carefully, resting his chin against the curve of her right breast as if it were a pillow. His eyes, those gold eyes gazed up at her through thick curly blond lashes. <<I’m more than happy to keep going until you’re spent.>>

He kissed the top of her breast, a sweet press of lips that made her toes curl, then trailed lower—slow, measured, reverent. Across her ribs. Her stomach. Every inch of her felt seen, touched not just with desire but with something deeper, quieter. She didn’t want to name it. Not yet.

He lifted her thigh onto his shoulder. He kissed the skin softly, then again with more pressure—his lips leaving ghost-warm imprints as he slid two fingers inside her. Nyara gasped. His rhythm was frustratingly gentle at first, his thumb brushing her clit in featherlight strokes. Her hips rolled helplessly toward him, her body aching for more, but Dharcis held the pace. He watched her, mesmerized.

Every sound she made, every hitch in her breath or arch of her back seemed to go straight to his heart. His jaw clenched like he was trying to keep control of himself.

He laid over her slowly, one of his hands pressing her knee down as he hovered. His presence was overwhelming in the best way. His weight, heat, scent, all of it. She closed her eyes to savor it, to let it consume her.

His voice brought her back. <<Look at me, Ara.>>

He didn’t demand it. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t quite a request either. It was something far more fragile—like a thread between them pulled taut.

She opened her eyes. And saw him.

Saw the way he looked at her, not like a conquest or a fantasy, but like a truth. Something sacred. His gaze told her things he couldn’t speak. Things he might never speak. But she felt them anyway.

Her body shook.

His fingers pressed deeper, found that perfect place inside her and massaged it with gentle, deliberate care. His thumb moved in delicate flicks over her clit, rhythm and pressure tuned to her exactly. She gasped, clung to his shoulders, and tried to hold on.

Her breath hitched.

The world blinked out around her. Her orgasm came in waves, shattering and sweet. She cried out his name—or maybe just breathed it—and in the dark warmth of her unraveling, she felt more than just pleasure. She felt held.

Dharcis wasn’t just loving her body.

He was loving her.

~oU0Uo~

<<Ara.>>

<<Ara.>>

<<Little moon.>>

Nyara’s eyes cracked open, just barely. She blinked, lashes heavy, the edges of the world still bleary. Her limbs felt too heavy to move, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She blinked.

Dharcis was bent over her, the shape of him gilded by that lazy afternoon sun. He was already dressed—mostly—but his shirt hung open, revealing lines of gold-dusted skin and the faint bruise-colored impressions her mouth had left hours ago. She felt the whisper of his breath, then the warmth of his lips pressed gently to her temple, slow and lingering, like he was reluctant to leave her.

<<Get up, little moon.>> His voice was deep and rumbling, affectionate. <<Your devil will be here in an hour. I’m leaving for the Elfsong. Love you.>>

Nyara gave a soft, sleepy nod, her voice a breath against his collarbone. <<Mmm. Good luck. Love you too.>> She wasn’t entirely sure the words made it out clearly. She hoped he heard them.

She might have meant to sit up, to kiss him one more time. But the weight of the bed, the comfort of the cooling sheets still steeped in him, and the soft ghost of his voice in her ears pulled her back under. Her fingers curled into the pillow.

The world went black again.

~oU0Uo~

“Little mouse.”

Nyara groaned and dragged the covers over her head, curling tighter into his heat still lingering on the sheets. Fucking Dharcis. 

The air was warm, sweet with the smell of him—wood and smoke.

Then her blanket was gone.

The world turned cold. 

<<Fuck Dharcis>> she muttered, arm flailing half-heartedly to find the stolen warmth. <<If you’re waking me up then I better get better sleep than I was just having after you’re done with me.>>

She sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes. Her hair was a tangle down her back. 

Every curse on her tongue died.

At the foot of her bed stood Raphael.

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Dharcis stared down at Nyara while she slept. Nyara.

Beautiful Nyara.

Soft Nyara.

Sweet Nyara.

His Nyara.

He pulled her small, soft body closer, with reverence, until her face was pressed into the hollow of his chest. Yes. Like this. This was good. Her breath warmed his skin. He inhaled deeply, nose brushing the crown of her head. Now, after everything, she smelled like she was his.  

He wrapped his arm tightly around her back, letting his fingers rest against her spine. It was his favorite position. It had always been.

It was how they had slept as children, curled up beneath too-thin blankets, her tiny body fitting perfectly against his like she had been carved just for him. It was how they had continued to sleep whenever she stayed the night at his house when Kel’nar and Nadal worked late into the nights. It was how they slept the whole long year they traveled Toril together, scraping coin from broken towns and tattered taverns, chasing glory like fools.

Before she left.

Before she abandoned him for this ugly, stinking city, with its air thick with piss and ambition, for the University with its poisoned ideas and too many men with too many books in their arms, who looked at her like they could know her.

They didn’t know her. They couldn’t. She had belonged to him long before they’d even learned her name.

His claws moved through her braid, slow, careful not to wake her. He didn't like when she twisted it up and pinned it out of reach like something shameful. Like it was not for him. His claws raked gently over the tight, dark plates, working from the tip upward. Unraveling her. Bit by bit. Strand by strand. When he reached the root, he paused, fingers tangling deep at her scalp.

He whispered in the dark, his breath grazing her temple. <<Its too pretty to hide, little moon. Why you do this?>>

She didn’t stir. Her lips parted slightly against his chest.

Dharcis closed his eyes.

She was so still when she slept. So soft. So easy to hold. So quiet.

He liked her most like this.

When she was awake, she was clever and sharp-tongued. She said things that made his head spin. She asked too many questions. She argued when she should just listen. Sometimes she looked at him like he was wrong. Like she didn’t remember.

But when she slept?

She remembered.

In her dreams, she turned to him. Always. Just like she had when they were children. Just like she had during storms. Just like she had when he was bleeding, when they were running, when the whole of Toril seemed to forget them both.

<<You remember, too,>> he whispered. <<Even if you lie, even if you don’t say…I know you remember.>>

He tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips against her forehead. It was not a kiss, not exactly. It was a mark. A silent claim.

Then he closed his eyes, a smile curling slowly at the corners of his mouth, even as something dark twisted under it—tight and aching and deep.

She was here now. In his arms. As she was meant to be. And he would not lose her again. Not to books. Not to cities. Not to devils. Not even to herself.

His fingers tightened in her hair. Raphael. Even thinking the name soured his mouth. As if it were some poison left to rot on his tongue. The devil saw too much. Always watching. Always circling. Eyes like molten gold, sharp and ancient, seeing deeper than they had any right to.

He had noticed Dharcis’s stare, the way he curled protectively around her, the way he always kept himself between her and the rest of the world. Of course he had. Raphael was no fool. He had looked once—just once—directly into Dharcis’s eyes, and in that moment, Dharcis had known that the devil knew.

He knew that Dharcis was in love with her and more dangerously knew what Dharcis really is. 

And worse—Raphael had looked at Nyara afterward. Looked at her like he understood her. Like he had the right. Like he would be the one to coax her heart open with a well-placed hand and a smirk with a dark whisper of Dharcis’s truth.

Dharcis's jaw clenched so tightly it popped.

No.

He would not let the devil be the one to tell her. Raphael—charming, smug, ancient thing that he was—would not steal what belonged to Dharcis. Not the truth. Not the confession. Not the moment. Not her.

He should have told her long ago. When they were still children, sleeping back-to-back under the stars. When she scraped her knees and he kissed them, pretending it meant nothing. When she smiled at him like he was her whole world and he smiled back like it didn’t devour him.

But she was always slow with feelings. Always taking her time. Always chasing after light when Dharcis had long since accepted the dark.

So he waited.

He waited when her eyes wandered to the human boys in their neighborhood. When she would disappear with a handsome elf who had attended their performance and wanted to discuss patronage…

Even now Dharcis was patient. He waited when she took Rolan to bed, thinking no one knew. She thought she was clever—sneaky—but Dharcis had seen the way her fingers twitched when she sat at the table with the others… like she carried a secret under her skin. 

He graciously overlooked her affair with the blacksmith with the calloused hands and mortal blue eyes.

Through it all, Dharcis stayed.

Watching her. Smiling when she smiled. Laughing when she laughed.

Waiting for her to catch up.

But he was done waiting now.

She didn’t see what those men were. The blacksmith liked her beauty, nothing more. Rolan liked her attention and praise, obviously her beauty as well. And Raphael? Raphael liked her because she resisted him. Because she wouldn’t bend. Not yet. But devils didn’t love, not really. He would take care and time to dim Nyara’s light until she was nothing but the shadow of the new moon. He wasn’t capable of loving her, cherishing her. Not like Dharcis. 

Dharcis didn’t love her for her beauty or her attention. 

He loved her for her faults. 

For the fear behind her eyes. For the rage in her hands. For the ugly, broken parts of her soul she thought no one would want.

He loved her when her hair was a mess and her face was streaked with tears and her mouth spit venom at the world.

He loved her when she was cruel. When she lied. When she tried to run.

And he would love her still when she finally stopped running.

A knock at the door.

He looked to the small clock in her room—less than two hours to sunset. It wouldn’t be the devil yet.

He didn’t want to leave her but he still had his part to play in this story. He pressed his lips to hers and pushed with enough force to move her but not startle her from sleep. Then he whispered ancient words under his breath to keep her deep in dreams. It was not time for her to wake yet.

Dharcis stood and stretched. He scanned the room and found a pair of leathers, stepped into them and let the tangled laces fall loose against his hips. His chest was bare, the dusky markings of infernal magic spiderwebbed down his ribs like smoldering brands. The muscles in his arms flexed as he ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further, then strolled barefoot and slow to the door. He opened it in one sharp motion.

Rolan.

He took a moment to savor the expression on the wizard’s face: wide-eyed, immediately taking in Dharcis’s state of undress—his chest, the faint scratches down one collarbone, Nyara’s love bites along his neck, her scent unmistakable and still warm on his skin. The subtle flicker of pain in Rolan’s eyes was reward enough.

Dharcis leaned lazily against the frame, the low light from within casting a burnished gold glow over the hard angles of his body. He smiled, all teeth.

The wizard stiffened but did not move.

Dharcis tilted his head. “Rolan. Nyara is still sleeping.”

“Ah. I see. Let her know I stopped by and wish to speak with her soon about a matter which she will know what I am ah referring to.”

He started to turn, but Dharcis slid out into the hallway, closed the door gently behind him and rested his back against it like a sentry. The muscles in his shoulders tensed against the wood of her front door. He was a wall and Rolan knew it.

“No. I’m not thinking to do that.”

Rolan’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”

He smiled but knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “Rolan was hearing my words. I am thinking that you need to understand your place. Nyara is not interested in talking with you. Not anymore—”

“Respectfully Dharcis, this is something she can tell me herself. If… ah… it’s true.”

The calm in the wizard’s voice only further stoked Dharcis’s fury. He stepped closer, enough that their shadows merged. Rolan did not flinch. Not even when Dharcis loomed over him, the heat from his bare skin radiating like fire.

“I am telling you what we both  know she is too kind to tell you.”

Rolan nodded once, steady. “All the same. Social calls aside. We have business matters that needs must discuss. Tell her to call on me at the tower when she has time and then you and her can carry on with your time together.”

Dharcis snarled. Arrogant tiefling!

The air around him shimmered just a fraction—just long enough for a suggestion of his other form to bleed through: the gleam of something ancient and hungry. His jaw clenched so tight it ached.

“There is no need for that. As I said. Tell her we should conclude business and then be done here. I bid you and Nyara a good evening.”

Rolan turned sharply and made his way down the corridor without another glance.

Dharcis stood rooted, shaking with restraint. Oh, how badly he wanted to crush that calm out of the wizard—reduce his dignity to ash, make him beg and crawl—but not yet. He had a plan. A part to play. And this petty irritation could wait just a little longer.

He exhaled, slow and silent, and turned back toward the apartment. The fury still coiled in his gut, pulsing hot.

He wandered back into the apartment and into their shared room. Nyara still slept where he’d left her. Beautiful.He looked at the curve of her shoulder, the way her breath moved her chest beneath the covers and the storm inside him stilled.

For her, he could wait.

Dharcis moved to her bathing room to change. He wouldn’t bathe today. Let the devil smell Nyara on his skin as a warning much like it has been for the wizard. 

He smirked at the thought. 

After dressing he returned to her bedroom and stared down at her. She had curled herself to his side of their bed and huddled, chasing after his warmth.

He kissed her temple again, slower this time. A promise. A warning.

<<You will see,>> he whispered, his voice low, thick with the twist of his desire to speak his true tongue. <<You will know soon. What I am. What I feel. What I have always felt. No more hiding.>>

His lips ghosted over her skin.

<<No more devil lies in your ears. No more pretty men with soft hands and no spine.>>

His voice was steel now, quiet but cutting. <<I know you. Since we were born from the same dirt and darkness. I know your soul Little Moon. He does not.>>

And when you remember, he thought, when you finally see me you will not look away. You will not leave again.

He would make sure of that.

~oU0Uo~

Raphael stood rigid, the very embodiment of judgment with his arms crossed across his chest. His nose was scrunched in irritation, eyes narrowed in disdain as they raked over her bare skin with something between offense and disgust. The fine lines at the corners of his mouth twitched with sour disapproval, like her nakedness itself was an inconvenience.

Nyara’s mind was sluggish and slow to understand the gravity of the situation before her. 

“You’re late,” he said flatly.

Nyara blinked again, slowly, as if she could still unsee him. Her mind still struggled to wake up enough to process her situation. 

“What in the Nine are you doing in here?” she mumbled grumpily while belatedly gathering a pillow to her chest.

Raphael’s eyes flicked upward. “You have an obligation, mouse. I feel I have been quite generous with you and I come here to find you laid out and unprepared for our appointment. Tsk.”

Nyara bit the inside of her cheek. The haze was gone now, burned away by his voice. The warmth, too, had vanished with Dharcis and the discarded blanket now crumpled on the floor.

Raphael turned before she could speak and stalked toward the door. “Ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder. “Dress well, Little Mouse. If you’re not standing in the waiting area dressed in ten minutes’ time, I’ll drag you by the hair.”

The door slammed shut.

~oU0Uo~

Eight minutes later, Nyara stumbled from her brief shower into a practical pair of cotton white small clothes and slid into her navy blue satin shift dress from the night of her celebration party. She popped on a small pair of silver teardrop pearl earrings. She wiggled her fingers over her face and glamoured some color onto her cheeks and lips then ran her hands across her hair until it braided itself nicely down her back. 

She slipped out of her room and was met with the most uncanny image–Raphael posed with hands clasped behind his back scrutinizing her book collection. Book collection was a generous descriptor considering it was mostly smut she had collected during her travels and unwanted books Nadal sometimes brought home from work. He didn’t turn to face her, “Your literature, if it could be called that, explains your proclivities I suppose.” 

Nyara snorted. “Would you believe I haven’t read almost anything on that shelf?”

Raphael didn’t appear to believe her. She shrugged, “I just kept them for the fun of the memory. I’m not a reader.” 

Raphael studied her. “What do you mean by not a reader ? Surely you are literate.”

She waved her hand, “Yes I am literate but I do not find enjoyment in reading fiction. As a child I did enjoy the encyclopedia books Nadal would find for me. Now I find more enjoyment in being drunk and not having to think if I’m being honest.” 

Raphael’s nose scrunch of disgust made Nyara’s lips wobble in an effort to suppress a smile. Despite her somewhat dire circumstances she was in a remarkably good mood. She knew she needed to be more cautious considering Raphael had caught her naked and unprepared for their regularly scheduled meeting but those things aside she felt… good. 

She padded barefoot to her kitchen, “Do you want some coffee?” Her mind was running leaps and bounds to make sense of this situation—Raphael in her apartment and her offering him coffee because he waited for her to get ready.

“No. We’re late for our engagement–” He paused and looked her up and down. “You’ve worn this before.”

Nyara rolled on the balls of her feet, “Yeah. You might find this shocking but my wardrobe is quite limited. You’ve just had the privilege of seeing the best of it these past four days.” 

Raphael prowled around her, eyes skimming her with a level of scrutiny that should have made her want to cover herself–but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. Thinking back on it, while Raphael had stared at her in several compromising situations, something about the way he looked at her felt more thoughtful than it did lascivious. 

He hummed deep in thought under his breath then snapped. The air around her body shifted and suddenly she found herself wrapped in the finest one-shoulder satin dress in the most beautiful shade of burgundy. The shoulder trim and bottom hem of her dress had bright gold embroidered filigree uncomfortably similar to the trim on Raphael’s doublet. That detail aside…she looked good . 

She held her arms out and did a small twirl, admiring the way the fabric shifted against her when she moved. “Gods, Raphael. Where are we going?”

Raphael’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. There was something dangerous in the way his eyes traced the curves revealed by the new dress—sharp, assessing, not indulgent, but not untouched by something darker either.

He tilted his head slightly, voice smooth. “A devil never tells.”

Nyara snorted again and reached for the pot of coffee anyway. “You always tell. Eventually.”

Raphael stepped toward her, and she became painfully aware of how the air changed when he moved. He always carried a different kind of stillness. Not silence, because silence was absence. Raphael’s presence filled space like music you couldn’t quite hear—low, tense, brimming.

“I tell,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, “when it serves me.”

Nyara’s smile faltered for just a heartbeat. Her pulse skipped for a reason she didn’t want to examine.

She took a long sip of her coffee to hide it, leaning a hip against the counter. “Then what? You dressed me like your little ornament for your own amusement?”

“That is one possibility,” he said, watching her over the bridge of his nose. “But hardly the only one.”

She felt the brush of his magic still clinging to the fabric, warm and intimate, like invisible hands that knew the shape of her body before she’d even registered the touch. The fact that he hadn’t glamoured something garish or vulgar—no plunging neckline, no over-exaggerated silhouette was testament to the fact he treated her in a way that didn’t make her feel as unsettled as she should be in his presence. The dress was elegant, refined, and undeniably her . She looked like something precious in it. Like something chosen.

The filigree shimmered when she shifted her weight.

She traced it absently, narrowing her eyes. “Is this your trim?”

A smirk flicked across his lips, subtle and unrepentant. “You noticed.”

“You dressed me in your colors.”

Raphael stepped closer until he was just a breath outside her reach. He didn't answer her. 

Nyara blinked. 

He leaned in slightly, voice a whisper of velvet and heat. “Consider it a taste of what victory could look like if our little wager goes differently than you planned.” 

Her throat went dry. 

Raphael’s eyes dragged over her again, slower this time, not with the lazy appetite of a man trying to undress her, but with the infuriating gaze of someone marking his claim . Measuring. Evaluating.

Nyara straightened her spine. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.” He reached up and, with a feather-light touch, adjusted one of her earrings. “And yet, here we are.”

“You’re the one who popped into my bedroom while I was naked.”

“I hardly ‘popped.’ I announced myself.” He stepped back then, but only slightly. “You simply weren’t listening. Moreover, we’ve had a standing appointment that you failed to be prepared for.”

She folded her arms. “What’s this really about, Raphael?”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. He didn't speak right away again—unusual for someone who loved hearing the sound of his own voice. 

Nyara’s mind flickered back, unbidden, to the look in Dharcis’s eyes earlier that morning. The way he had clung to her in his sleep.

And now Raphael was here. Watching her. Wrapping her in his colors. Touching her hair as though she belonged on his arm. She was being adorned not as a woman but as a symbol. A prize. A battleground. She should have been furious. And yet…A little part of her wanted to ask him how she looked.

Instead, she said coolly, “I need shoes.”

As she turned away, Raphael murmured, almost to himself, “You won’t need them long.”

Nyara glanced over her shoulder. “What does that mean?”

But he was already by the door, looking utterly content with the chaos he left in his wake. His expression was inscrutable, but there was a glint in his eye that Nyara couldn’t decipher. 

“Come along, little moon ,” he said with mocking gentleness. 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara opened and closed the menu for the third time since they had been seated. 

The menu was written in Infernal or some variation of it and Raphael was doing little to hide his smug smirk directed at her nervous energy. She could read the simple characters–Dharcis had shown her the alphabet, his name, her name, and a few cuss words in Infernal when they were teenagers but the language never stuck with her. 

“In need of assistance, little moon?” 

Nyara frowned, “Don’t call me that.”

“Whyever not?” Raphael wasn’t looking at her, his eyes skimming the words she couldn’t read—but despite not looking at her she felt the weight of his interest in the explanation he was sure she would give. 

She watched her hands as they uselessly rearranged the cutlery that had been set down before them on the smallest most intimate godsdamned table in this opulent establishment. “Because you don’t know what it represents.” 

Nyara didn’t look up but she felt his eyes on her—hot, scrutinizing, demanding more information before he spoke again. Information she wouldn’t give freely. Her gaze swept out across this oddly shaped place. 

Raphael had suggested, more like announced, that they would have dinner and discuss the events of tomorrow considering per her own admission there wasn’t much she could do alone without Dharcis in terms of rehearsing. 

The building was perfectly circular as if chiseled from obsidian by some ancient precision that mortal hands could never possess. The outer walls stretched upward like the inside of a great tower, rimmed with elegant archways and inset alcoves glowing softly with ambient crimson light. There were no windows, only soft pools of flickering flame nestled in sculpted sconces that cast long shadows across polished black marble floors.

Each level spiraled above the next, forming a continuous ring of terraces that overlooked the hollow center. From where Nyara sat, she could peer down and see straight to the bottom floor, where the host station was little more than a distant, dim speck encircled by low fog that clung to the foundation like breath on glass. In the center of the well, suspended by some invisible arcane mechanism, hung a massive, slowly rotating chandelier—formed entirely from twisting gold filigree and black crystal. It stretched almost the full height of the structure, branching like a weeping willow between the floors, scattering refracted light like falling stars.

Each level of the restaurant was distinct in style and extravagance. The bottom floor was sparse and dark, with humble seating and crude iron-framed tables. From there, the levels rose in opulence—bronze, then silver, then velvet-lined booths with glimmering chandeliers, until finally Nyara could just make out flashes of deep sapphire upholstery and carved obsidian thrones nestled against the topmost floor she could see before the rest of the upper floors were lost in shadow and distance.

Their own table sat somewhere in the upper-mid levels, perhaps a quarter of the way down from the top, high enough that she could not see the bottom dwellers clearly, but far enough down that the elite devils seated above remained distant silhouettes.

Hierarchy was shoved into the bones of the building. From the quality of the cutlery to the thread count of the napkins, every detail whispered: this is your place, this is your worth .

Nyara glanced up and tried to catch sight of the topmost terrace, but the haze of smoke and the shimmer of illusion magic masked the true height. Just enough to obscure. Just enough to remind.

She turned back to her own table, noting the gold-inlaid menus and the neatly folded napkins embroidered with dark red thread. The table was grander than anything she’d attended in the Gate but it wasn’t as extravagant or luxurious as those above them, of that she was sure.

Above the scraps, but below the gods.

A fitting place for a cambion . 

“Surely it can’t be that poetic as to warrant such a childish reaction.” Raphael was still skimming the menu but she knew his curiosity had won out his disinterest from the pettiness of his remark. 

She slumped in her seat and tipped her head back to gaze at the upper floors. “We’re quite far up. Looks like you’ve been busy. Good to know at least one of us has their shit together.” She reached for her wine, toasted him, then threw it back gracelessly. 

Raphael preened but not enough to convince her that he hadn’t seen through her attempt to flatter and distract from the topic. 

She sighed. “It’s…it’s a play on words. My birth name. The family we fled from…my name translates to Shadowdancer of the Mistresses of the Night. My mother’s family was known for a lot of unsavory acts related to that devoted mantra. I’m sure you can imagine what it means to be a family of female drow known as mistresses of the night and the significance of a name like Shadowdancer.” She stared down at the dregs of her wine, gently tilting the glass side to side. The remains reminded her of dried splattered blood. 

“When my family told Dharcis’s family who we really were after what, at the time, we had thought was a close call encounter with drow rangers, Dharcis had laughed so hard he’d cried at the idea that I would have been some sort of assassin.” She couldn't bring herself to tell Raphael that Dharcis had said the idea Nyara could enter any room and do something other than turn heads was laughable. Her family’s aspiration that Nyara could train seriously enough to slit a throat  was more likely to end in her target mooning for her attention. Hence the name Little Moon. But Raphael didn’t need to know any of this. It was for her and Dharcis alone. 

Raphael gave an amused hum before sipping from his glass. Noncommittal but understanding that she wouldn’t be saying more than she had and that he was satisfied with what she had given him despite it. “The registry your father recorded…”

Nyara snorted, “You really think those ignorant humans bothered to see the issues with the nomenclature on the paperwork? I’m honestly surprised that they didn’t change the names for us to fit something that made sense to them better.” She winced realizing that said registry had probably also fooled the devil across from her.

Their server arrived and Nyara didn’t bother to pick up her menu. She and Raphael both knew she had no idea what the establishment served and that she would dutifully eat whatever he picked for them. This knowledge was enough to have him smugly ordering for them both and tossing her an arrogant smirk once the server refilled her wine and disappeared into the shadows. 

Raphael looked at her long and hard, amusement etched in the distinguished creases beneath his eyes before speaking again, “It’s shocking that as close as you and the golden tiefling are that you never picked up the tongue.” 

Nyara shrugged and looked off across the chasm to where other patrons sat across the way. “I can write my name and Dharcis’s name and curse something awful if needed. That’s as much as I was able to retain.” It was unsettling how comfortable and at ease she felt sitting in a restaurant in the Hells across from Raphael. Like it was just any other evening. 

Raphael set his glass down with a quiet clink, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a thoughtful smile. “How charmingly selective. A true scholar of profanity, then.” He tilted his head, chin resting on his knuckles. “Though I suspect your memory isn't at fault. One must ask…was it unwillingness, or convenience? A curious thing…what we refuse to learn often says more than what we embrace.”

Nyara didn’t respond. She tilted her glass again, watching the wine spin a lazy circle before tipping it to her lips.

Raphael leaned forward slightly. The shift was subtle but no doubt practiced, just enough to appear interested and not predatory. “You speak of this tiefling as though he were a…constant. And in your world, I imagine, that’s something of a miracle.”

Nyara glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

He gave a slight incline of his head, acknowledging the warning look without backing down. “Forgive me. I merely find myself intrigued. A drow child raised beneath the principles of betrayal and yet you speak of him with reverence. Of trust. Loyalty. Devotion, even. You’ve even gambled on him. In all my life, I’ve seen few beings of your intelligence and caliber capable of maintaining such… purity of intention.”

Her jaw tightened. “Dharcis is…complicated. We’re both complicated.”

“Mm. No doubt. But he seems to have navigated that complexity rather well, wouldn’t you say?” Raphael swirled his wine and watched her over the rim. “To be born into deceit, molded by suspicion, and yet find one creature in all of Toril who never failed you… well.” He smiled again. It was soft, slow, and clearly false. “That’s poetry even I might envy.”

She looked away. Raphael’s interest in Dharcis was starting to get under her skin for more reasons than just worrying for his safety. But she still felt compelled to defend him. Gods knew Dharcis had suffered enough preconceived notions based solely on his appearance. 

“It’s not just childhood,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “I didn’t have anyone else. Not really. I was raised to be wary of everyone and to know that trusting is a mistake. That love is a weapon. That the moment you let your guard down, someone will slide a blade between your ribs and call it a favor. That’s what I was raised to expect.” She paused and stared at the patrons across the way—a large purple devil sitting across from a small purple she-devil. The nature of their relationship to one another was unclear. 

“I mean…as much as I hate to admit it…my own companions stabbed me in the back.” She sipped from her wine to mask her bitterness. “I acknowledge that I provided the blade for them when I went to go see you without telling any of them but I was gambling on my soul.” She frowned, “They collectively decided that my soul was worth dooming rather than seeing you crowned. But Dharcis… Dharcis never let me down.” Her voice was sharp now, defensive.“Even now. Even when he shouldn’t. Even when I… when I don’t make it easy for him.

Raphael chuckled softly, but it was devoid of humor. “And what a dangerous thing that is.”

Nyara’s brows drew together. “Excuse me?”

“I said dangerous, dear Mouse. Not false.” He reclined back in his seat, long fingers tracing the stem of his glass. “The most exquisite illusions are those we fashion for ourselves. And the most devastating wounds, of course, come not from daggers but from expectations unmet.”He gave her a look that was all teeth and elegance. “I wonder. When the little moon finds herself eclipsed yet again…what then?”

Nyara glared at him. “I’m not your damn plaything.”

“No,” he said with relish. “You’re so much more interesting than that.”

Their food arrived and several silver-domed plates were placed delicately before them. Raphael didn’t look away from her, even as the server lifted the lids and steam curled upward, fragrant and rich.

“I do hope,” he murmured, lifting his fork, “that your trust is well-placed. Because disappointment, when it finally comes, does nothing for the appetite.”

He took a bite, eyes still on her.

Nyara didn’t answer. She cut into her meal, her knuckles white against the utensils, and said nothing.

~oU0Uo~

Raphael glanced toward the far side of the balcony. He lifted his coffee again with an elegance that made Nyara’s breath catch as he blew gently over the rim before taking a slow sip.

“My, my,” he mused aloud, voice silk-wrapped and dry. “It must be going exceptionally well.”

Nyara blinked, turning toward him. “What?”

He smiled over the rim of his cup, eyes gleaming. “Your golden tiefling. It’s quite late, and I’ve yet to hear the thunderous call of him demanding my presence.”

Nyara rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself.

Raphael chuckled. 

The eastern balcony of Raphael’s House of Hope overlooked a jagged horizon full of obsidian peaks jutting from scorched soil and a sky painted in bruised reds and dusky purples. Nyara sat curled into one of the low-backed chairs, a cup of coffee, blackness softened from her requested cream nestled between her palms, its steam curling upward like a warm breath in winter.

Without thinking, she murmured, “Avernus is prettier than I expected.”

Raphael, across from her with one ankle elegantly resting over his knee, looked up from his coffee and barked a surprised laugh. “Isn’t it just? Most only see the fire and blood but never the artistry. That sky,” he gestured with his cup toward the scarlet expanse, “wasn’t carved by accident.”

Nyara gave a half-smile and leaned into the breeze. It was warm, dry, and had the faintest stench of sulfur. “Still. You’d think it’d smell worse.”

“I keep the corpses in the cellar,” he said lightly, sipping his drink.

She snorted. “Charming.”

They sat like that, silent, but not uncomfortably so. There was a strange comfort in the heat, in the rhythm of the wind that hissed over the balcony rail like a lullaby. The stillness here didn’t feel dead. It felt watchful. The ease of it made her sit up straighter. 

“So,” Nyara began, breaking the quiet. “What exactly do you hope to gain from letting those assholes into your house? You already seem to be doing well enough without them.”

She didn’t mean it as flattery, but she caught the flicker of something pass behind Raphael’s eyes before he turned his attention back to the sky.

“Mm,” he hummed, contemplative. “Doing well enough is a lovely plateau. One can build a very comfortable prison atop it.”

Nyara raised a brow, but said nothing. He went on.

“In the Hells, power is hierarchical. You see, the lone warrior may be lauded for his climb—but the climb itself only exists because others are beneath him. Hierarchy is not merely structure here, it is identity. You are defined not just by what you are—but by what others are not.”

Nyara frowned, swirling the remains of her drink. “So you want people beneath you to make sure you stay important.”

Raphael smiled. “I want the Hells to see the truth of what I am by virtue of what they are not.” He sipped his coffee again. “The mountain peak only has meaning because the valley exists to contrast it.”

She didn’t answer right away. There was something about the way he said it, not defensive, not even arrogant—just... absolute. As if it was simply how the world worked, and anything else was naivety.

Nyara rested her chin in her palm and looked back out at the strange sky, her expression unreadable. “You’re terrifying when you say shit like that so casually.”

“Am I?” His voice warmed. 

They sat a while longer, until Raphael’s fingers tapped lightly against the porcelain rim of his cup.

“Well,” he said with sudden levity, “shall we pass the time with a bit of culture? I seem to recall you once mentioning knowing a few Cormanthan rhymes.”

Nyara gave a surprised laugh. “I’m sure I’ve never said that but even if I did… I only know the lewd ones.”

Raphael’s eyes gleamed. “Of course.”

She smirked and in an effort to one-up the Devil began: <<There once was a bard from Suzail…Who boasted a tongue most fair…>>

“But found to her shame,” Raphael picked up smoothly, “That pleasure and fame…Don’t thrive when one gags on air.”

Nyara choked on her coffee covering her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing.

“ My gods, you speak Cormanthan?”

“Dear Mouse, I was alive when it was still referred to as the Forest Kingdom.”

Her lips curled now suddenly re-evaluating all her conversation with Darcis in front of Raphael. Despite the revelation she reclined back in her chair, delight coloring her voice. “Alright then. <<There once was a drow down in Wheloon…Whose hips made the guards swoon…>>

“She stole all their swords…” Raphael continued smoothly, “And plundered their hoards...Then asked if their shame tasted good .”

Nyara was laughing openly now, shoulders shaking. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d cackled like this and of all the people that resided in Toril it was with a devil that she was losing her shit. 

Had Nyara not been enjoying herself so much she would have noticed Dharcis leaning silently against the frame of the nearby archway leading back into Raphael’s home. Perhaps, in hindsight, so much would have happened differently if she had noticed him and not been so caught up in Raphael. 

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Dharcis continued to sit stoically and silently against the lounge chairs long after they had finished their final rehearsal. Raphael had left Dharcis calling his name for an hour before finally sending Korilla to collect him, meanwhile she had been wined, dined, and joking with the devil while he had been stuck. Nyara knew well enough that Dharcis was more upset that she had been enjoying Raphael’s company than he was at being left outside waiting but she didn’t know how to address that issue without making him angrier.

To add insult to injury Raphael had rejoined them after they had finished and was now purposely lounging beside her while she and Dharcis both sat in the music room awkwardly waiting for Rapahel to finish his rambling. 

Raphael had his arm draped around the headrest behind her and she could see Dharcis’s eyes fixating on that arm, its placement, her dress, and Raphael’s outfit. She knew he was taking it all in and just thinking about that conversation already had her feeling drained. In an effort to speed this along she yawned and stretched. At Raphael’s irritation she gave him a sheepish smile and apologized, “Apologies Raphael I’m just so tired.” She made to stand and Raphael offered his forearm and stood with her. “Thank you for everything this evening. We really should be going though considering tomorrow is the big day.” 

She nodded her head towards Dharcis and he stood as well. 

Raphael smiled, “Ah yes of course. Understandable. The debtors will see you to your rooms then.”

Nyara paused, “What?”

Raphael’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He posed before the doorway, arms folded, with a finger resting against his chin, “Oh dear. Did I forget to mention it?” He waved his hand, “No matter. You will be sleeping here in my House of Hope tonight. I can’t dare risk any hiccups and keeping you under my roof is the best way to see to that.” He motioned for her to step out into the hallway and then wedged himself between her and Dharcis, “Separate rooms of course. I’m sure you understand.” 

Dharcis snarled and shoved his way around to stand next to her once they were in the hallway, <<This jackass is playing games Nayra. We need to leave.>>

Raphael’s eyes flashed. She giggled nervously, <<Haha, Dharcis, shut up please. He can understand you.>>

Dharcis looked to Raphael, skepticism married with irritation written across his brow, <<You understand me?>>

Raphael inclined his head in a single, deliberate nod.

Before Dharcis could erupt again, Nyara touched his arm, guiding him back. “Very generous of you, Raphael. Of course—we’ll take separate rooms. Please, lead the way.”

Raphael dropped Dharcis off first, placing him at the far end of the estate before escorting Nyara to her own chamber—uncomfortably close to the Boudoir, if her memory served.

She waited outside the door for him to leave. Raphael did not, in fact, leave. Instead, he opened it, gestured for her to step inside, and followed.

Nyara swallowed her unease.

Raphael crossed to the wardrobe, opening it with a flourish. “I took the liberty of having clothing provided. Your performance attire is in the box on the top shelf, and what you will be expected to wear for the remainder of the event is in the back.”

Of course he would dictate her attire. She forced a smile. “That is very generous of you. Thank you, Raphael.”

He shut the wardrobe with a loud click and turned. His eyes pinned her in place.

“Generosity,” he purred, pacing now with his arms clasped behind his back, “is such a mortal word. No, I do not deal in gifts. I deal in investments. And you, Mouse, are my most fascinating gamble.”

He circled her, his voice lowering. “Tell me—are you still so certain of your choice? Of the wager we struck? Time yet remains to unfasten the chains of your own making.”

The ghost of a hand slid firmly up her thigh. What the fuck.

Nyara did her best to not flinch and instead raised her chin towards him with as much confidence and defiance as she could muster despite her strong need to face plant onto the bed beside her. As if Rpahael would modify their agreement anyway… “I am certain.”

His smile faltered. She watched wearily as steps grew sharper. “So certain. And yet you show no loyalty to those who call you blood. No visit to your brother. No word for your father. Curious, considering tomorrow should be their night, is it not?” The phantom hand slid up her hips and across her belly. 

Nyara shivered, stiffened, and parted her lips to respond—how dare he use what she had shown him against her. He knew fucking damn well why she wouldn’t be seeing them. Partly because of the wager and partly because she wasn’t ready to accept that her father was suicidal… Why was she surprised? She told the devil her weakness and he was doing what devils do. Manufacture and Manipulate... 

“You know. I am at an utter loss when it comes to you Mouse. Curious thing you are.”

Nyara took the bait. “What exactly is that supposed to mean Raphael?”

He leaned against the wardrobe, “It means exactly what it sounds like Mouse. I see a woman of considerable power and talent wasting away her days not cultivating her natural born gifts but instead playing guard for the ill-gotten gains of her lessers.” He unfurled his wings and shook them in agitation, “And this isn’t the worst of your faults. No. Savior of the Gate and slayer of gods that you are and you deliberately choose to keep the company of unambitious, uneducated, untalented creatures of folly. It makes me question what exactly her certainty is worth. Considering the current company she keeps–”

The hand gripped a cheek in each hand and let it fall so it would shake. What the hells was Haarlep doing?

“Thank you for the room Raphael. If that’s all I think I need to rest. I mean, my unambitious and idiotic ass needs all the rest so I don’t embarrass you tomorrow right?” She knew better than to let his words get under her skin. And yet here she was, angry, and doing her best to hold back telling him where he could shove his ambition.

“Oh come now Mouse, there's no need to be upset. What are words between friends–”

“Friends don’t throw confidences back at each other Raphael. Friends don’t fear venting to one another. I took a risk telling you what I did to plead my case and you’ve done nothing more than prove my fear true.” Nyara felt a laugh escape her lips, “You know what? You’re right. I don’t know why I’m so upset.” She looked him up and down and took the smallest sick pleasure in the hint of confusion that passed across his brow. “It’s not like you know any better. You have no friends, no family, no lover. What would you know about mutual trust and respect? How foolish of me to expect otherwise." 

She felt the ghost of fingers gliding up her spine and shivered. 

Raphael opened his mouth, irritation etched in the lines gathered at the corners of those hellfire eyes but she raised a hand. “You have been a wonderful host. I am tired and cranky because of it. Let’s leave it at that, yeah? I really need to re–” The hand tugged her head back with so much force she was unable to hide her flinch this time. Raphael’s eyes narrowed. His mouth remained parted but words never left his lips. 

A crash exploded from down the hall. The sound was faint, the commotion still far off from where they stood but voices rose in the distance and something heavy slammed into stone with bone-cracking force.

Raphael’s head tilted, mood suddenly lifted. “Well,” he murmured, “it seems your evening is about to become significantly less restful.”

He started toward the door but stopped at the sound of another heavy crash. The splinter of wood shattering under brute force. There was a familiar guttural snarl, and Nyara’s head turned towards the door at the sound of Dharcis’s voice in a tongue she didn’t understand, and then the wet crack of impact, something—or someone—slammed hard against stone.

Nyara felt a dull ache bloom behind her eyes and felt the pounding of her heart pulsing to the rhythm of the ringing in her ears. Her fingers tentatively brushed the base of her skull where she was certain she would feel blood seeping down her neck. 

Raphael’s smile sharpened, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “Ah. The golden boy makes his move.” He stepped leisurely toward the door, adjusting his cuffs. “Shall we?”

Nyara couldn’t follow.

Her other hand flew to her stomach as though she’d been punched, the air rushing from her lungs in a strangled gasp. She bent double, one palm now braced on the bed beside her, the other leaving the back of her head to claw at her side. The pain came in waves, sharp and disorienting, stealing her breath before she could give it voice.

Raphael turned, one brow arching. “My, my… What fresh little display is this?”

Her knees buckled. She hit the ground, choking, eyes wide as her chest heaved in shallow, ragged bursts. A bruising pressure bloomed around her throat, invisible but crushing, forcing her eyes to bulge as though unseen hands were strangling the life out of her. She looked up desperately to Rapael as if there was something he could do to stop it and hated that she hoped he could. 

Raphael crouched smoothly before her. He tilted his head, studying her convulsing form with detached fascination, like a scholar observing a specimen.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice velvet-soft, “not his fists. Not his blade. But you feel them nonetheless.” He leaned closer, red eyes burning, “Carnal endeavor need not be bound to the boudoir it would seem.” Raphael’s fascination turned sour, “By what manner are you and my incubus bound?”

Outside the door, another crash thundered through the House, followed by Dharcis’s feral growl. Nyara groaned. If Dharcis didn’t stop soon Nyara felt like she might actually be in danger.

Raphael’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. “Fascinating.”

Another crash. Dharcis’s snarl carried closer down the corridor, words in Infernal spat like curses. Nyara heaved herself onto her side at the foot of the bed when the door slammed wide. Dharcis stormed past dragging Haarlep by the throat, the incubus’s form a perfect, nude replica of Nyara’s. She felt dizzy, both from her inability to suck in air and from watching her own breasts and body bounce as Haarlep clawed at Dharcis’s hand still around their throat. 

Dharcis’s eyes blazed, curses spilling from his mouth as he slammed the creature against the wall. Nyara flinched, feeling the sharp high ring in her own skull from the impact.

“Well then…” Raphael’s voice halted the chaos. “A display most impressive. Yet I wonder…who, exactly, do you intend to punish?”

Dharcis didn’t slow. His eyes were wild, burning, lips pulled back in a snarl.

Raphael’s tone hardened, smooth but sharp. “Think, tiefling. She is bound. Whatever you inflict upon my dear incubus…” He gestured toward Nyara who was currently crumpled and wheezing on the floor. “…is mirrored upon her.”

The words seemed to slice through Dharcis’s rage. His grip slackened. His gaze snapped toward the chamber.

Horror replaced fury. His hand fell open, Haarlep slumping in a heap at his feet, coughing and broken. Dharcis staggered to the doorway, golden eyes wide and helpless, fixed on Nyara.

She convulsed once, twice, and then darkness surged up to claim her. The last thing she saw before her vision blacked was Dharcis’s silhouette in the doorway, his despair painted plain, before the world fell away.

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s eyes fluttered open from deep sleep. She didn’t recognize the bed, the ceiling, nor the silky top and bottoms on her body. She tried to sit up but was then reminded what had woken her up. Suffocation. The phantom’s weight crushing against her chest. The sensation of arms pinned behind her head, a tail hooked under her thighs, tugging until they locked around a body that wasn’t there. The thrusts drove into Haarlep with a frantic rhythm, each one raw and urgent accompanied by a faraway sensation of something slick, insistent, almost certainly a tail brushing at her clit. 

Her fingers slid down her body, opened her lips, and tried their best to match the phantom’s pace.

The pressure built fast, sharp and blinding, breaking over her before she could catch her breath. She exhaled then pressed her face into her pillow with fingers still between her thighs. As she felt her eyelids getting heavy, her last drifting thought was that she knew it couldn’t have been Dahrcis and that, with no shame to be found at all, she hoped it had been Raphael.

~oU0Uo~

The hall was alive with the hum of emissaries from Cania and Avernus circling the central dais like predators in two disparate packs. Ice met flame in measured bowing and careful courtesy, and Raphael moved among them with the grace of a predator at a feast. The chatter of frozen teeth against heated smiles was almost tolerable until the first note cut the air.

He paused mid-step, hand brushing a goblet as though touching it might betray the spell forming in the room.

The little mouse.

He had done himself the service of not going to her prior to this evening. He had food sent to her and the idiotic tiefling. He handled his own affairs. But there was also a very far-off part of himself, he’d never admit it, but a far off part that was thrilled at the prospect of the surprise of the evening. He knew nothing more than how they would be costumed and even then…not how they would look in said garb. Looking up to the stage he was glad he had remained patient.

Her long white curls spilled down her back, unbound, shimmering in the torchlight, held only by the tiara he had gifted her as part of her expected attire for the event—gold inlaid with onyx and ruby, treasures meant to mark her as his. 

Her body was wrapped in scarlet so deep it resembled fresh blood and gold fabric reminiscent of Sharran nightsong garb, slits tracing the curves of her legs, revealing the faintest glimpse of lace beneath.

She began to move before she sang. He had seen her dance, yes, but this… this was not merely a dance. It was hunting, a call, an enchantment. A culmination of the capabilities she was atrophying by slumming in the Gate as she had been.

<<Who has not wanted a werewolf goddess

In the heat of a romantic night

My howls are the call

I want a tamed wolf>>

Her hips swayed with feral grace. The crowd leaned forward, devils and emissaries alike, drawn to her like moths to a flame. Raphael’s fingers itched to still the motion, to claim it, and yet he knew that to interfere now would shatter the effect entirely.

He should have been paying attention to the emissaries.

<<Lord Raphael>> hissed a Canian envoy, frost-kissed lips drawn tight. <<The boundaries of your holdings– >>

Raphael’s ears did not register the words. His eyes traced Nyara’s movements as she circled the dais, her hair flicking, her gold tiara glinting with every step.

<<She’s already seated at her table

And set her sights on her next prey

Pity the unprepared one

Who wasn’t executing one of those>>

The emissary stumbled over his words. He had been saying something about treaties and jurisdiction, but Raphael’s attention was elsewhere. The devils of Avernus and Cania both shifted uneasily; their rivalry forgotten in the wake of her song. Even the seasoned court of the Nine Hells could not resist the primal pull of her performance, just as he had anticipated. Though, if this were to be successful he needed to cut her off lest she distract him further. 

Raphael took a measured sip from his goblet, forcing the frost to temper the fire curling in his chest. He should have been appraising these emissaries, judging them, bending them to his will. Instead, he was tracking the little mouse as she prowled the stage like a huntress.

And then the emissary from Avernus spoke again, voice insistent with unaccustomed fervor. <<My lord… perhaps a compromise could- >>

Raphael’s head tilted, cold and precise. <<Compromise is not victory. Do you understand?>>

The hunched devil nodded, irritated but obedient. His dark eyes kept flicking to the dais, betraying his attention to her.

Nyara’s voice dripped with heat, low and dangerous, teasing the senses.

<<Sitting across the bar, staring right at her prey

It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way

Nocturnal creatures are not so prudent

The moon's my teacher and I'm her student>>

Raphael felt a tug deep in his chest. She was not for them, and yet, the devils leaned in, enthralled. Even the Canian envoy, implacable and detached, stood swayed and entranced.

His tail flicked in irritation. His control, his absolute dominion, was being tested by a simple mortal.

She spun, a final arc of her hips sending the scarlet fabric in waves. His eyes narrowed. She was wearing his gift, she carried his mark, yet she performed as though she answered to no one.

Raphael’s wings were flexed, twitching with barely restrained agitation. He did not applaud, though the devils around him erupted. The emissaries’ polite nods and murmurs of approval did nothing to calm the storm curling inside him.

He moved among them again, gliding between Avernus and Cania, trading formalities and veiled threats. He negotiated, he charmed, he threatened in ways only Raphael could manage. All the while, the memory of the little mouse’s hips, her gaze, her voice, lingered at the edge of every sentence.

<<Raphael>> his father’s envoy;s grin was salacious, <<Zariel never made such a sumptuous offering.>>

Raphael’s smile was perfect, predatory, flawless. <<Of course not. I’m glad we are of the same mind– >>

The next piece began without warning. 

Dharcis stepped onto the stage alongside her, hands brushing hers, bodies moving in the most intimate synchronization Raphael had ever seen outside of his own bedchamber. And she… she smiled.

<<It hurts me to see you leave
And yet I long for your return
I suffer silently
Knowing you are gone, gone forever>>

The hall hushed once again. Even Raphael’s attention sharpened against his will. She danced with Dharcis, twirling, sliding against him, the slightest brush of her hand sending shivers through the audience. His jaw tightened.

<<Do not speak, do not resist
Your absence tortures me
I ache for what I cannot hold
Your eyes, your lips, your presence>>

He watched Dharcis mirror her movements, keeping pace, hands caressing the small of her back, the bend of her waist, his voice smooth and deep as he sang with her. Raphael’s jaw clenched.

How dare she—how dare they—perform such temptation in front of him?

<<All that I’ve done for you
It was torture to lose you
It hurts so much that it’s like this
But I'm not going to cry

Cry for you>>

Raphael’s jealousy twisted in his chest. And yet she shared the stage with Dharcis like a willing temptress, smiling, laughing, drawing the heat of the room toward them both.

Nyara moved, playful, provocative, and teasing down into the audience as she slid into the next song.

<<I lost the romantic way of seeing life

My heart more like a stone than a sponge with every day

I feel dead while alive

We’re happy from the inside, I know that

But what can I do if, deep down, the one I want is you

And I can’t have you

I think I’m going to lose my mind>>

Raphael’s eyes followed her every gesture, every flick of wrist, every arch of her back. The crowd roared with delight, claws grabbing for her which she seamlessly evaded. The hunt only served to increase the collective appetite. 

He moved closer, weaving between Avernus and Cania, maintaining the illusion of diplomacy while his attention was entirely consumed by her. Raphael did not believe she understood the gravity of the game she was playing in his home. 

<<You’re the love of my loves

I can’t love you anymore

And I don’t want to have you

You’re the love of my loves

And when I think about your love

There’s nothing left for me anymore>>

Her hips swayed with teasing precision. The scarlet and gold fabric of her garb shimmered and twisted with her every movement, slits revealing just enough to stir fascination and envy simultaneously. Raphael’s eyes traced her, helpless against the magnetism he himself had orchestrated—the glide of her leg, the narrowing dip of her waist, the sinuous lift of her arms. All deliberate, all intoxicating.

A chuckle rose from one of the devils nearby, guttural with admiration. Raphael’s jaw flexed, teeth grinding behind the mask of his smile. Insolent creature. They had no right. Not one of them. To let their gaze drink her in as though she were some bauble tossed into the infernal pit—ah, but that was precisely what he had made of her, wasn’t it? His own game, his own staging, a temptation meant to prove her allure, his power. And yet it was he who burned for it now.

He raised his glass, tilting the crimson liquid to his lips as if to savor it. The wine turned to ash the moment it touched his tongue. For every flick of her hair, every sly smile turned toward her audience, Raphael felt this inexplicable coil tighten in his chest. She was his creation, his possession, his grand design and still, the hunger in their eyes made him want to rake the flesh from their faces.

How exquisite, this torment. How utterly damning.

He let out a soft laugh meant to veil the storm that tore through him. <<Ah>> he drawled to no one in particular, <<see how she moves? Every gesture a symphony, every breath a blade. You are privileged, my friends, to witness such artistry in my house.>>

He had orchestrated her performance, choreographed each cruel note, believing he could stand apart and revel in the spectacle. Instead, every glance she cast at another carved him raw. He felt the devil’s paradox crack his ribs—envy and pride, possession and agony twined together like a garrote.

She was his. And in making her perform, he had given the rest of them license to look upon what was never meant to be shared.

Raphael’s smile did not falter. It never did. But his grip on the stem of his glass tightened until the crystal screamed in protest, a breath away from shattering.

The Canian emissary’s gaze lingered too long. Raphael leaned toward him, velvet and threat in his voice. <<Do not mistake my tolerance for approval. Your attention is ill-placed.>>

The devil arched his brow before muttering some concession, though Raphael could see the pull of her voice tugging at the corners of his mind.

Raphael’s wings flexed behind him. He should have been thinking about the careful dance of diplomacy he had cultivated for centuries. Instead, his thoughts were tethered to her body, her voice, the way she moved with such deliberate power that the world could have ended at this moment and he would not have fucking noticed.

Nyara’s chest heaved gently, white curls falling across her face, the tiara glittering as if mocking him. The room erupted into applause, devils stomping, emissaries shifting uneasily, some applauding, some still frozen, spellbound.

Raphael’s breath was slow and measured. He did not move to the stage. He did not acknowledge the audience. Every fiber of him was focused on her, on the small, teasing smile curling at the corner of her lips, on the way she had drawn every eye and every pulse of attention in the hall to her.

<<Follow, Follow

Follow, Follow

You’re the one that I follow

Follow to the middle

Middle of the shadows>>

The orchestra moved and music continued. Bodies shifted to move with the rhythm this time while others were content to watch.

<<Definite, definitely 

in you I lost my soul 

following nothing endlessly again
Your soul’s a sea, 

your soul’s a sea, 

your soul’s a sea
My body sails so sad>>

Nyara’s hips swayed, the scarlet and gold fabric twisting and sliding with each movement. Her arms lifted, flowing like water, and bodies out on the floor followed her lead, caught in the orbit of her rhythm. 

<<For the heart in me, 

the heart in me, 

the heart in me
Your body sails so sad
Follow my love, taking everything>>

Her voice climbed, the notes weaving around him like silk and fire. Her eyes glided across bodies until they met his. In that glance there was recognition, teasing, and a subtle challenge. She was aware of him, of the fire he carried. Her gaze, dark and shining, searching for something as if to say, Did you see me? I did well for you did I not? Will you take everything from me? 

Raphael exhaled, a sound too soft to be noticed. The coil loosened, just enough for breath to slip past his lips. There it was—her desire to please him, to meet his gaze, to turn her performance into an offering rather than a theft. The fire in him banked, reined back to its purpose. She danced not for them, not truly. She danced for him.

Her eyes had tethered him again. He was the master here, and she—glorious, brazen creature—was still his masterpiece.

<<Your soul’s a sea
Your soul’s a sea
Your soul’s a sea
My body sails so sad>>

The final note rang through the hall, long and resonant, reverberating through the floor, through the walls, through Raphael’s very bones. Every head turned, every breath caught, every eye fixed on the little mouse who had dominated the room.

He exhaled slowly, deliberately, maintaining his composure, though inside he was chaos more than order. Raphael’s eyes remained locked on Nyara. She was smiling now, playful, aware, teasing him still with the knowledge of what she could do, what she had done. Every sway of her body, every glance, every note was a challenge. A declaration. A temptation. And he… had already lost.

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s breath came in ragged, exhilarated puffs from the thrill of the performance. She hadn’t performed in years and even when she had…it never felt anything like this. 

Her curls spilled over her shoulders, catching the torchlight. She looked good. She knew she looked good. But she also felt good. Every step, every sway, she scanned the crowd, searching desperately for him.

Raphael.

She did not pause to question why. The compulsion was too raw, too immediate, too vital. She didn’t bother to dwell on what it meant or what it required; she only sought him, and that alone sent a pulse through her.

The hall erupted in raucous applause as the next notes began, not from her own voice, but from somewhere behind, crawling up her back in an eerie harmony of dread. Fingers dragged across strings, each note an unsettling shiver that traveled the length of her spine. Her chest tightened with instinctive unease.  She and Dharcis had never rehearsed this song. It sounded nothing like anything else they had composed. 

The fact that Dharcis was playing along was concerning but she didn’t have the time to consider what that meant now. She needed to warn Raphael.

Her eyes locked on Raphael. The world around her, the applauding devils, the whispering, the gilded dais, all fell away. There was only him, and the urgent message she had to convey without letting anyone else know that she knew something was off.

She swayed deliberately, subtly, exaggerating the grace and fluidity of her movements. A twist of her hips, a flutter of her hands, was all a coded language meant only for him. Her smile remained that of the performer, luminous and confident,but her eyes burned with what she hoped was a silent alarm, a plea.

She moved toward him, threading her way through the stage and the crowd, never breaking character, never losing the guise of the performer everyone else adored. 

As the strange, foreboding notes behind her grew in intensity, a thread of unease coiling through the hall, Raphael adjusted his posture. Subtle, measured, utterly composed, he acknowledged her without giving away his awareness. Nyara was both irritated and excited by the fact that his eyes betrayed him and that by some virtue of proximity she was even able to recognize that about him. 

~oU0Uo~

Something was wrong.

Raphael watched, on edge, as she sashayed towards him as best as one could to this ongoing musical recreation of wailing—as generous of a description as he could muster for the sounds at the moment. Strings dragged raw and low, a dissonant scrape that promised no release, while percussion bled in heavy, staggered intervals. The melody was not one of grace but of hunger—sharp crescendos, sudden silences that left the air taut, aching. The song was all teeth. And it had no place here, in his House, during his event.

The Mouse’s hand unfurled and beckoned him forward, eyes pleading for him to play along. She was smart enough not to let on that she knew something was amiss, and for that, he was impressed. The smile that touched her lips was a mask, painted over the strain at the edges of her eyes. He caught it—of course he did. He always did. The emissaries from Cania and the adversaries of Zariel would not. They were too busy drinking in the spectacle of it all, eager to be seen, to preen, to plot.

But Raphael’s eyes never left her.

Their bodies folded together as they began across the dais in rhythm with the slow, grinding beat—other couples following suit behind them, drawn as much by social expectation as by the sheer compulsion of the music. The song seemed to creep under their skin, forcing bodies to move whether they wished to or not. A perverse waltz, if one could call it that.

Smile still sitting placidly on her lips, she leaned forward, words barely audible and hot against his throat. <<Something is very wrong.>>

Raphael spun her around, one hand pressing at the small of her back, posture elegant and commanding, a predator circling its prey. He swerved, avoiding another couple as they barreled by, and her words brushed against his chin. <<I rehearsed every minute of tonight. This song was never part of it.>>

The sharpness of it grated at him. He could feel the notes vibrating against his ribs, thrumming like a war drum muffled under velvet. His gaze slid to the gold tiefling strumming his lute at the far side of the hall. Molten eyes burned holes into him and then down to her, pressed against him. The musician’s fingers bent the strings too cruelly, too deliberately. 

Raphael dipped, mouth grazing the point of her ear. “Is Dharcis aware?”

She didn’t respond, but he felt her fingers tighten involuntarily against his shoulder. 

He smiled. It wasn’t kindness.

Around them, the House of Hope sparkled. Chandeliers bled firelight across silks and jewels, bouncing off the polished obsidian walls, catching in the glasses raised in endless toasts. Devils and fiends alike swayed to the jagged rhythm, their laughter too sharp, their movements too eager, as though the song had wound strings through their limbs and pulled. The emissaries from Cania—ice in their veins, eyes as pale as winter’s edge—now segregated themselves at the northern end of the hall, whispering in huddled knots. Zariel’s enemies, bold enough to accept his invitation, clustered near the dancing and the orchestra, their sharp smiles flashing as they tried to drink him dry.

Raphael felt the House itself pulse with unease.

He guided her in another turn, their movements precise, as if the chaos of the music were beneath them, unable to touch them. “Keep smiling, dear Mouse,” he whispered, lips never leaving the mask of his smirk. “All will be well.”

She tilted her head, lashes lowered, and from a distance one might think she was whispering something wicked to him. Her words were anything but. <<I should hope so. Let it also be known that I would have NEVER picked something like this. But it’s…we need to be on alert.>>

A smile tugged at his lips. Her concern for safety balanced with the affront to her talent this song ushered in. 

The music climbed, violins shrieking in unnatural harmony. The floor seemed to hum beneath their feet, each step sending reverberations up his spine. He tightened his hold on her waist.

They glided across the room, twin foxes threading through wolves. His gaze swept the dais, the balconies, the tiers of nobles. Eyes tracked him, of course—they always did. He was host, spectacle, up and coming Arch Duke of Avernus. But something else was here, unseen yet palpable, slipping between the notes of the music like a serpent in tall grass.

The beat surged, relentless. Bodies collided, spun apart, crashed together again. It was less dance, more battle.

At the song’s peak, Raphael spun her out, arm extended, then reeled her back in with a sharp tug. Her momentum carried her dangerously close to a diplomat from his father’s court, a man draped in violet velvet and crowned with silver horns. Raphael snapped her back against him just before impact, a smooth motion disguised as grace.

Their eyes met. Hers wide, startled, lips parting as if to speak.

Raphael felt a shift. Subtle…but there.

Her eyes, dark and opalescent, looked upon him not with fear nor disdain but with a surprised wonder. Raphael felt something akin to warmth rush through him.

But then…her gaze shifted. Past him. Over his shoulder.

Raphael’s blood went cold.

He turned just as her hand left his shoulder, shoving at his chest with more strength than he thought she could muster. His balance faltered, and in that stuttering instant the world shifted. A spear sliced clean through her shoulder, bursting through flesh and silk in a spray of crimson.

Her wail ripped the music apart, a higher pitch than the violins could ever reach. The hall froze for a single heartbeat, every eye snapping to them. Blood sprayed across Raphael’s cheek, warm, sharp, metallic, and he caught her weight as it collapsed into him.

The spear jutted grotesquely from her body, the shaft trembling where it had lodged.

The crowd gasped, but too slowly.

The gold tiefling’s hand stilled on his strings.

Then…bodies were moving.

His guards leaping to action as the traitors descended upon them.

At the sound of murmuring Raphael’s eyes snapped down to Nyara who was knelt down, a palm braced against the onyx and gold marbled floor, fingers twitching with effort as she shielded them. Even in her agony she was choosing to protect him.

Her gaze traveled past him, <<Windows.>>

Raphael followed her sight and saw the incoming onslaught of Zariel’s soldiers surging through every balcony surrounding the hall.

His guards formed a rhombus then pushed out, forcing crowding bodies and soldiers back. Nyara stood. Despite her body shaking she ripped the spear from her shoulder with a cry, and then murmured as she pressed a hand against the now gushing wound. That same blood-soaked hand then spattered him with flecks when it flung out, <<IRA ET DOLOR!>>

A body was forced back from behind him.

She stood, planted her heeled foot forward, then snarled behind his guards, <<DETONO!>> Her head tilted slightly towards him, <<Are you just going to stand there or do you plan to do something?>>

Raphael would have been enraged at her insolence but a body leapt for him and he was spitting hellfire before the body had the chance to react.

The House of Hope had erupted into violence.

Chandeliers swayed violently overhead as soldiers clashed with devils, steel on steel and claw against shield. The music twisted, strings ringing discordant against the screams, as though his orchestra were scoring the carnage itself. Wine spilled and mixed with blood across the marble, trampled beneath panicked feet as emissaries shoved and clawed for cover. The ice-clad lords of Cania vanished behind curtains of frost and shadow, their guards snapping to form. Zariel’s alleged enemies shouted and continued their assault.

Raphael, fire licking up his arms, tore through the nearest attackers with theatrical ease, his claws rending flesh, spells hissing between his teeth. But his gaze kept cutting back to his Mouse.

Nyara staggered but did not falter, her barrier shimmering in arcs of crackling light. A circle of protection against the carnage. And when his back pressed to hers, her shoulders trembling but determined, they fought as though they had done this a hundred times before. She ducked when he raised flame. He pivoted when she struck with force. Her shield around them caught his blind spots; his infernal magic seared those who broke through hers.

Back to back. Two very different creatures from opposite worlds cutting in tandem.

For a fleeting moment, Raphael thought: This is how it should be.

~oU0Uo~

Smoke choked the air, and Dharcis’s vision swam with the blood-gleam of the torches. This House of Hope now burned with chaos. He should have seen it coming. He should have warned her. But no—he had held his tongue, fearing Raphael’s piercing gaze, fearing the devil would sniff out her tension, her dread. He had swallowed his warnings, had bitten down on the urge to grab her wrist and pull her away, because Raphael was watching. Because Raphael was always watching.

Now she had taken the blow meant for another.

The spear through her shoulder was burned into his vision. The sound of her wail. The sight of her blood. It unspooled his restraint and left nothing but fury burning down his spine. He had lost sight of Nyara…

Dharcis staggered through the melee, instrument now forgotten. He did not feel anything but the red-hot hunger clawing inside him. His eyes were wide, wild, scouring every corner of the hall. 

And then he saw them.

Back to back in her shielded circle, a strange anticipation in every movement. His lips curled, teeth bared as bile rose in his throat.

She was bleeding for him. She was moving for him. Protecting him.

Raphael’s fire arced forward, searing one of Zariel’s soldiers into ash. Nyara’s shield curved seamlessly to cover his flank, absorbing a second strike. They moved like one creature with two heads, each anticipating the other’s next motion. It was obscene. It was beautiful.

Dharcis felt his insides twist into a knot of razors. Jealousy, sharp and sick, lodged in his chest. His vision narrowed—not to the soldiers pouring through the shattered windows, not to the emissaries scattering across the marble floor—but to Raphael’s hand. Raphael’s hand brushing against her hip as he steadied her stance.

The gesture was nothing. A practical correction in the heat of battle. But Dharcis saw it. Dharcis felt it. And it shattered something inside him.

His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving, and with each inhale the shadows clung tighter to his limbs. They wound around his arms, his shoulders, his throat, whispering promises, urging him forward. The chaos blurred into crimson haze as screams muffled, blades clashing like distant thunder. There was only Nyara. And Dharcis. And the usurper standing between.

He surged forward.

He would carve Raphael out of her life. He would rip him away, erase him from her sight. He would free her from the leash Raphael had wound around her throat, from the cage she didn’t even know she lived in. She would see. Who had always stood for her. Who had always loved her. Who had adored every broken, ugly piece she tried to bury. Who had whispered her into sleep when her soul screamed for rest.

She was his. His destiny. His other half.

The sight clawed through him and shredded what little reason remained. It should have been him at her back. It should have been his hand steadying her, his fire braided with her magic. Raphael had no right to that intimacy.

He raised his blade, slipping into the shadow of battle, angling toward Raphael’s exposed side. One clean strike, one breath, and Raphael’s fire would gutter out. She would fall into his arms, into safety, into the truth she had been blind to.

Nyara’s head turned.

Just a fraction. 

Enough for his nameless intent to be seen. Her eyes found him with a look that was not pleading or fearful but precise, terrible, and resolved. Surprise, yes. Anger, yes. Hurt, yes. He longed to wipe the tears gathering at their corners with his tongue. To taste her misery and whisk it away. But beneath it was something else he could not name in that instant—an awful clarity…

His muscles tensed and he moved.

He felt the blade in his hand, the angle, the hunger that had sent him through the throng of chaos. He saw Raphael’s flank, saw the opening, imagined himself closing it forever. He saw the future where she would fall into his arms and understand. He saw the word us written in the ash of the hall.

But she struck...

Not at Raphael. At him.

<<STATICA SYNAPTICA!>>

The invocation cracked through the air like lightning.

Pain lanced through bone and sinew in white-hot lines. His shoulders seized. Fingers spasmed around the hilt. For a beat he thought it was a trick of the smoke, that the world had bent and thrown him into a new angle of reality—but then the smell of burnt hair and the sting on his tongue told the truth. Heat clenched his chest. The sounds of panic around him shrank to a thin, high ring.

She had hit him.

She looked at him with tears but her hand had risen and the spell had been for him. Her lips had formed his ruin.

The rage that had fueled his charge curdled into something stranger: a numbed, incredulous grief. 

She did not choose me.

Then everything went black.

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s pacing was proving to further sour Raphael’s already spoiled mood. The Little Mouse hadn’t stopped moving since the perpetrators had been dealt with and Raphael had moved her, Dharcis, and himself to his study to be dealt with in private.

Her footsteps were soft but relentless, scuffing across the marble like a drip of water slowly carving stone. The air of the room had changed—thick, metallic, tinged with the acrid scent of spilled ichor and smoke. Raphael leaned back in his chair, clawed fingers drumming against the desk, eyes half-lidded in a predator’s mock repose. There was the smallest, paranoid portion of his mind that still believed Nyara had been part of the coup-d’état—but rationality dictated otherwise. If that were true, she would not have saved him… twice.

And yet—there it was again. That little jolt of heat in his gut that felt dangerously close to giddy. She had not only fallen on the literal and proverbial sword for him but had struck her dearest Dharcis in his defense.

His gaze slid from the still-breathing carcass of the tiefling sprawled across the rug to the Mouse herself. Her arm was mostly repaired but her body was streaked with dried blood and other viscera from those she had slaughtered alongside him. Her once-beautiful garb was in tatters, clinging in shredded strips, leaving very little to the imagination. Raphael snapped his fingers and fresh clothes appeared on the chair beside her.

The Mouse paused and looked up at him. He merely turned his head down to the scattered papers on his desk and motioned flippantly for her to dress. It wasn’t as if she had anything he hadn’t already seen and indulged in, but mortals and their notions of modesty…

When the rustling of fabric ceased, Nyara perched on the edge of his desk, thumb between her teeth in worry as she stared down at the Mammon tiefling. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, her voice a soft tremor, likely to herself but loud enough for Raphael’s infernal hearing to catch. “Did I kill him?”

Raphael scoffed. “No. But you likely wounded his spirit by choosing to disarm him rather than help him in his coup–” He let the implication linger …

Her head shot up. “Raphael. Dharcis didn’t have anything to do with this nor did I.” She sensed his disbelief and leaned forward, her tone sharpening. “I won’t pretend he didn’t try to… you know… harm you… but that was just a brief slip in sanity at the sight of an opportunity presented, you know?” She shook her head. “This was your people not being as friendly as you previously thought. Don’t put that on us—”

Raphael leaned in, elbow resting on the desk, letting her defiance wash over him like an irritant. Her denial was as amusing as it was pathetic. “You’re certain?”

She gave him a look of disbelief, dark eyes wide and rounded with irritation. “Yes I’m certain. He has been with me constantly for the last five days. When exactly would he have plotted your downfall in that time?”

“He wasn’t with you when you were with the blacksmith. Nor during your time with me or when you saw your brother–”

“Be fucking for real right now, okay? I get devils are like paranoid or whatever but listen to yourself. Are you actually saying that in the time it took me to get fucked, eat a dinner, tell dirty jokes and fight in sign with my brother that Dharcis had ample time to plot your assassination? Who does that reflect poorly on?”

Her words lanced him more than he let show. He noticed the barest hint of her breasts, spattered in blood, beneath the loose blouse. His eyes flicked back to Dharcis. Her argument was sound, but Raphael knew in his bones the tiefling was involved. He knew truths she still hadn’t uncovered yet. Several truths.

And still, he found himself thinking—when she looked at Dharcis like that, would she ever look at him the same way? When she forgave Dharcis so easily, would she ever forgive him?

<<…Little Moon…>>

Nyara all but leapt from his desk to the tiefling’s side, and Raphael’s mood immediately soured again.

<<Dharcis. Thank the gods I was so scared that I… gods I’m sorry I didn’t mean… we were fighting and–>> Her dusky, freckled hands slid up the tiefling’s sweat-slicked golden chest and cupped his large face, thumb brushing over his brow in a gesture so intimate it made Raphael’s jaw clench.

Raphael sneered. “Mouse. He has questions to answer, or have you forgotten?”

Nyara clicked her tongue at him and Raphael had to restrain the urge to slap her. <<He just woke up, let him breathe for fuck’s sake.>> Her hands cradled the tiefling’s large head, careful of his horns, and moved to lay him gently against her lap. Her touch lingered as she checked him for wounds, fingers trailing over his chest and neck, murmuring something too low for Raphael to catch.

Raphael watched a golden hand engulf hers and sighed inwardly. The tiefling’s expression was almost reverent. Elation flickered across his face at her touch—a dog basking in its mistress’s attention. Raphael’s talons dug shallow grooves into the edge of the desk. He had saved her twice over, given her tools to survive, offered her power beyond measure. And yet here she was, playing healer to the very creature who’d tried to bring him low.

He wanted to take her chin, force her to look at him, to see him. He wanted her to choose him—not out of desperation, not out of some devil’s bargain, but to forgive him the way she forgave Dharcis without hesitation. The thought came unbidden and unwelcome, but once lodged it would not leave.

“Dharcis. I have made a wager with your Little Moon. You will answer my questions truthfully or doom her soul to an eternity in my service. Do you understand?"

He took pleasure in the tiefling’s visceral reaction. The fool sat up suddenly and stared at the Mouse, <<What is he talking about?>>

Nyara patted his chest. <<I will explain and you can be angry at me later but for now just answer his stupid questions so we can leave together. Please?>>

Dharcis, bewildered, masked his anger and gave a slow nod in Raphael’s direction.

“Excellent. How long have you been working for Zariel?”

The Mouse barked out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my gods, still? What the fuck kind of–”

<<I am three years into a ten-year sentence.>>

The Mouse paused. <<what…>>

Dharcis didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze on Raphael, hate-filled and determined.

“When exactly was this plan put into motion?”

The tiefling inhaled. <<Two days before I arrived at the Gate.>>

The Mouse stood abruptly and stepped back from both of them, pain etched across her face. Raphael smirked. Let the finale begin…

“Mmm. And what was to be your reward for your part in this assassination?”

<<I…Upon your death I would be given Nyara as reward and gifted what remained of her contract with you.>> His eyes slid to Nyara, who stood still in shock. <<I didn’t tell her we broke your contract so there was nothing to worry about Ara.>> The tiefling sat up on his knees. <<And my remaining seven years would be commuted. I would be free and clear of my debt to the Arch Devil.>>

Raphael’s lip curled. The audacity. The little Mouse’s eyes were wide, wounded, but still not turning to Raphael for protection. Still not reaching for him.

“Curious. But why now and why my mouse?”

Dharcis smirked. <<You have a spy in your house. We knew your moves before you did, Raphael. Zariel has merely been bidding her time until she could strike. She knew of your contract with the Savior of the Gate and sought to use it to her advantage…but we were never able to learn what exactly the terms were and thus she forfeited the idea and settled on assassination instead.>>

<<But you knew…>> Nyara didn’t look at either of them. <<You read my contract and knew what I owed. How do we know you didn’t tell Zariel?>>

<<What? Ara I would never do that. Yes I was bound in service but I used the tools I had to help you break it– >>

<<But what if it had been unbreakable? Then what? You would’ve had to tell your master right?>>

<<Ara…>>

<<Answer me.>>

Raphael didn’t bother to hide his delight. The Mouse was seeing the picture and her anger was deliciously palpable. The betrayal… and still she had held him, comforted him.

<<Maybe. I…if it had been unbreakable I would have just stalled…>>

<<Would you have ever told me what was going on?>>

<<If the contract had been unbreakable yes I would have. But it was broken, you are free, and the plan failed so…>>

Raphael let out a low, pleased hum. “Oh the Little Mouse is not free, young Dharcis. Far from it.” His smile sharpened. “Shall we enlighten the poor creature?”

Nyara shook her head. <<I don’t see why I’m not free. Our agreement was for a breach that would constitute a betrayal of trust. He didn’t betray me, he betrayed you. I didn’t get hurt and wouldn’t have gotten hurt.>> She motioned to her body and then to him, <<So I think we’re done here. You got your answers. I got mine. Let’s be done now.>>

This uncouth and audacious girl. Delusion didn’t look good on her. Nor did pathetic and petty denial. No matter. He would educate them both now on the error of their ways.

Raphael’s smile widened. “Tell me then, Dharcis—how long have you been in love with my Mouse?”

The tiefling stiffened. Nyara blinked at him, confused.

<<Since the first time I laid eyes on her. At first it was innocent, like a sister but then–>>

“–but then,” Raphael cut in, voice a blade, “it twisted, didn’t it? Into obsession and lust. Into jealousy. You went out of your way to isolate her whenever you could. Always pulling her from others. Always whispering in her ear.”

Dharcis’s jaw worked, his eyes flicking to Nyara before falling to the ground. <<It’s true.>>

Before he could explain himself Nyara stepped forward, voice sharp. <<Your questions are irrelevant to our bargain. Dharcis being in love with me or not has nothing to do with it.>> 

He found it infuriating that despite it all she continued to use his tongue for him. Raphael’s talons clicked against the desk. So she wouldn’t even flinch at this? Not even bite at the revelation?

“Very well.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Then tell me, Dharcis—why did you bring that other drow girl along as part of your troupe? She clearly lacked talent, lacked grace, was just lacking in every way really.”

Dharcis’s lips thinned. <<I won’t answer that.>>

Raphael’s smile became a slash of white. “A non-answer, Mouse, forfeits your soul. Shall we consider it default?”

Nyara’s eyes flashed. <<These questions have nothing to do with our bargain– >>

“They have everything to do with it,” Raphael cut her off silkily. “We never stipulated how many questions or about what, only that it would be secrets revealed. And secrets,” he leaned forward, “are what bind souls.”

He turned his gaze back to Dharcis. “Answer.”

The tiefling stared at Raphael, unable to look at Nyara. His throat worked. <<She was… to quell my urges. When I missed Nyara the most… She didn’t mean anything to me. I thought of Ara every time and...>>

Raphael saw it. The small, sharp flinch in Nyara’s shoulders, the faint tremor in her hands. It was exquisite.

He smiled, satisfied. “There it is.”

Dharcis’s voice cracked when he tried to speak again, but the words caught. He dared a glance at Nyara, only to find her eyes trained forward, her jaw set tight. No fury nor tears, just an awful, wounded stillness. 

<<Ara… I never wanted you to know this way. It wasn’t… it wasn’t what you think.>>

Her gaze cut to him at last, sharp. For an instant, Raphael thought she might strike him herself. But she said nothing. The silence stretched, suffocating, until Dharcis bowed his head like a penitent man awaiting execution.

Raphael basked in it. The boy’s shame, his Mouse’s brittle control. Oh, but the cracks were showing. He could see the questions unraveling inside her skull, clawing at the foundation she’d built for herself.

Was he ever really my friend? Or has it all been a means to an end?

Raphael’s grin curled wider, baring teeth. “Fascinating, isn’t it, Mouse? How truth tastes so much sharper than lies. One begins to wonder… was there ever a moment of his friendship that was not laced with want? With hunger?”

Nyara shook her head, as though to banish his words. <<Enough. This doesn’t matter. You’re twisting things… >>

“Oh, but I don’t need to twist,” Raphael murmured. His gaze slid to Dharcis, reveling in the way the tiefling flinched under the weight of it. “He does it for me. Every silence, every hesitation, every half-truth he’s told you. Tell me, Mouse—how many nights has he stood watch over your sleep, swearing protection, while secretly imagining how it would feel if you woke beneath his touch?”

<<Stop.>> Nyara’s voice cracked, low but firm. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting crescents into her palms.

Dharcis shut his eyes, breath shuddering. <<That’s not—>>

“It is,” Raphael cut in smoothly, savoring the blade he’d buried between them. “Oh, Dharcis, don’t bother denying it now. Not when your precious Nyara is already asking herself the only question that matters: Was it ever real at all?”

Her chin lifted, proud, defiant, though her lips trembled with the effort. She would not give him the pleasure of her tears. Not yet.

Raphael leaned back against the desk, folding his arms, watching them both with satisfaction. “You play the part of the noble tiefling well enough, Dharcis. Loyal companion, stalwart protector, aching lover in secret. But we both know blood tells a truer story than masks ever could. And let us not forget, boy—you were never truly one of them to begin with.”

And then, as before, the Mouse shook her head. Refusing to break. Refusing to collapse into the rage he so desperately wanted to see. <<Li-Like I said before. This is irrelevant and I was not the one he betrayed. We. Are. Done.>>

Raphael’s wings shifted slightly, the leathery folds rustling. “Not quite, Mouse. The agreement stated was as follows: If his secret constitutes a betrayal of trust, then your soul is forfeit regardless of my possession of the crown, and your father’s life..” He let his words sink in. 

Dharcis caught the mistake immediately and looked over to Nyara with the most delicious and desperate longing.

Nyara’s brow furrowed. <<Yeah I don’t…>>

Dharcis closed his eyes in defeat.

Raphael smiled. “My dear Mouse. Our agreement didn’t specify whose betrayal of trust. He betrayed mine and thus I am choosing to enforce and collect on our agreement. Yours and your father’s souls are mine–”

Nyara shook her head. <<Mhmm. It didn’t. It didn’t specify your trust either. And I say my trust wasn’t betrayed. Guess we’re at a stalemate aren’t we.>>

Raphael paused. His talons stilled mid-tap. 

Had his Mouse done this intentionally?

For the first time in the evening, a flicker of something like admiration crept in through the jealousy, the hunger, the rage. Perhaps his Mouse wasn’t as foolish as he had assumed she was.

Dharcis was staring at Nyara as if she had stolen the very sun from the sky, and his Mouse stood with arms crossed, chin lifted despite fresh tear streaks running down her cheeks, meeting Raphael’s gaze with stubborn defiance.

A stalemate.

Such a simple word. Yet the very fact she had chosen it, spoken it aloud, gnawed at him. Mortals did not speak to him this way. Mortals did not maneuver the rules of infernal contracts so deftly…least of all her.

Raphael leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, allowing silence to stretch, the weight of his gaze coiling around both of them. Inside, his thoughts roared.

She should have broken. She should have begged. She should have been on her knees pleading for her father’s life. But no. Instead, she digs her heels in, tosses his own words back at him, and finds the crack in the armor. Gods below, she tasted the edge of damnation and smiled in its face.

His tail swished once, betraying irritation. Dharcis, emboldened by her defense, had leaned closer and made to stand. The tiefling’s golden eyes gleamed with raw, boyish devotion, like a hound who had just discovered his master truly did love him.

Raphael’s jaw tightened.

She forgives him. Even now, with the taste of betrayal fresh on her tongue–despite her claims otherwise–she chooses to comfort him. He lies, he withholds, he admits his leash to another master—and still she tends to him as though he were the injured party.

Raphael rose from his chair, his form towering, wings unfurling just enough to cast long shadows across the room. He made sure that his presence filled every inch of space, the heat of Avernus clinging to him like a second skin.

“You’ve had your confessions, your denials, your mortal spat,” Raphael went on, his tail flicking lazily against the floor. “But understand this, Mouse: by Infernal law and right, Dharcis is mine. His actions were a direct attempt on my life and by law he is mine to do with as I please because he was foolish enough to be caught. And the law, as you so often forget, is the very marrow of our existence.”

He stepped forward, boots jingling softly against the polished floor, his smile sharp. “He is my prisoner. His life, his body, his suffering—all mine to play with until I am satisfied.” His eyes flicked to Dharcis, savoring the tiefling’s shallow breath, then back to her. “You, however, are free to go.”

Nyara blinked. For a heartbeat, she looked as though he had struck her. Then her chin rose, her hands curling into fists. <<The fuck kind of offer is that? I’m not leaving him here. Not with you.>>

Raphael laughed once, low and amused. “So predictable. Loyalty unto self-destruction. Tell me, how can you know he would even be safe under my roof? A traitor in the House of Hope? I could flay him alive and hang his skin as a tapestry, and none would question my right.”

Her jaw clenched, her lips pressing into a hard line. <<Get. to. the. Point.>>

He tilted his head, regarding her. She chooses him again. Again. After all Raphael has offered her, all he might yet give. Still, she clings to the oaf. The thought scorched through him, bitter as bile. And yet—he found himself smiling.

“If you stay,” he said softly, “I will refrain from torturing the pathetic gold thing. For a time.”

Dharcis’s hand twitched likely in an effort to stop himself from reaching out for her. The relief and shame written in every line of his face. Raphael’s stomach turned at the sight of it.

Raphael leaned back against the edge of his desk, folding his arms, “But make no mistake, Mouse. By law, by blood, by the Nine—his life is mine. I may squeeze it out of him drop by drop, or I may let him wither slowly. That is my right.”

His eyes glittered, unblinking, pinning her where she stood.

“The only question that remains, little Mouse, is this: what would you do to keep him alive?”

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

Nyara’s magic sparked before her thoughts could catch up.

A bottle flew first and shattered against the wall with a thunderclap of sound and scent, sour wine spilling like blood down a golden filigree painted wall. Then the vanity mirror cracked from a thrown heel, shards glittering like a thousand fractured reflections of herself. The air thickened, pulsing with the wild hum of raw magic mixed with her grief.

A chair splintered mid-air, catching fire before it even hit the ground. Books burst open in invisible gusts, pages fluttering like wounded birds. Curtains ripped free of their rods, torn by unseen hands, scattering red silk through the air like falling petals.

Her breathing hitched, erratic, too fast. The walls bent inward for a heartbeat…then snapped back as she released another surge of power, this one heavier, deeper. Her magic was too strong, too emotional, too alive to be controlled.

“Fuck you!” she screamed at no one.. “FuuuuUCK all of you!”

The chandelier overhead exploded in a rain of crystal. One shard skimmed her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood she barely felt. Her hair was a snarl, pink tinged curls frizzed with static, her skin flushed with heat. Her eyes blazed wild and unseeing as the energy built again, inside her curling up her arms like phantom vines ready to bloom into ruin.

With a guttural snarl she threw her hands out and whispered a single word.

The room rewound.

The flames snuffed out, the curtains rethreaded themselves through their rods, books drifted back to shelves, glass reformed midair into perfect, unbroken shapes. The mirror reassembled with a glinting sigh, showing her reflection: wide-eyed, trembling, still streaked with tears and blood.

For a breath she stood still.

She hiccuped…Then she shattered it all again.

Another whispered syllable.

And everything burst outward. Her scream tangled in the crash, the magic reacting to her pain like a living storm. The cycle repeated, over and over. Destroy. Restore. Destroy. Restore…

Her throat burned from shouting. The room stank of crackling Weave, sweat, and salty tears. When her magic finally ebbed, she dropped to her knees amidst the wreckage, chest heaving, fingers trembling against the polished floor.

“Stupid,” she hissed to herself. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than noise. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed. Her eyes were sore, her head was pounding, and her face ached in places she didn’t know a face could hurt. 

Slowly, she climbed onto the bed. The sheets were still rumpled from the night before and reached for the book that had somehow survived. She wasn’t sure which one it was. Didn’t care.

She flipped through it, eyes unfocused, the words swimming on the page without meaning.

Her mind drifted.

Dharcis.

To the look on his face when Raphael’s questions had peeled back his lies. To the way his voice broke when he said her name. To the unbearable honesty of his shame.

How could she have missed it?

She’d thought his moods were just…Dharcis being Dharcis. Overprotective. Jealous. A little too attentive when she tried to go out without him. He’d always been that way even when they were kids… But now, looking back, it all twisted in her mind, rearranged itself into something darker.

The night he’d first returned she had been drunk, disheveled, and reeking of wine and she’d barely recognized him. Softer around the edges, pudgy from indulgence. But as time passed during his stay he’d hardened again, that soldier’s build creeping back. The way his eyes tracked every man who so much as looked at her. And she had overlooked it all. 

And that insistence—no, that demand—to read her contract.

To translate it. To understand it.

Gods, she’d thought he was just trying to protect her.

Nyara laughed.The sound was broken…one might even describe her as hysterical…she would say she was hysterical…and hurled the book across the room. It hit the far wall with a dull thud and fell spine-down, pages crumpling.

“Stupid,” she muttered again, pressing her palms hard against her eyes until colors danced behind them. “You stupid, stupid whore.”

Her breath hitched, broke. A sob tore free before she could stop it. 

She curled up on her side, fingers tangling in the sheets. The tears came quiet at first and then louder. Louder until she was gasping, until her chest ached and her throat burned and she could do nothing more than whine and whimper into her pillow.

Eventually exhaustion swallowed her whole.

~oU0Uo~

Rain drummed against the cracked roof of the warehouse. The air smelled of dust, rust, and wet stone. A single lantern burned low in the corner, casting gold light over two figures huddled beneath a threadbare blanket.

Nyara sat with her knees tucked to her chest, tears streaking her dirty face. Her shoulders shook despite her efforts to keep quiet.

Across from her, Dharcis sat cross-legged, his tail flicking with anxious rhythm. He wanted to ask, she could tell, but he didn’t. He just sat there, watching, waiting, the way he always did when she was dealing with something. He gave her the space to let it all out and then talk it out with him after. 

<<You’re going to get sick if you keep crying like that,>> he said finally said, voice soft.

She didn’t answer him. She just sniffled and buried her head in her arms. 

She listened to his body shift, clearly uncomfortable. Silence stretched between them. Outside, thunder rolled.

It had been a long time since something this serious had happened. But perhaps that was the price of getting too comfortable. Her brother had always said that and she thought he was just being cranky with Kel’nar. But that afternoon while they had been headed home from classes she had noticed several drow in soldier’s garb hiding at the edge of the road that led down to hers and Dharcis’s houses. She had grabbed his hand, cut down a different alley, and started running to the place Kel’nar and momma had designated as a safe house in case anything ever happened. Nyara knew momma was running from something too but she didn’t know what–but that fear had made her family and Dharcis’s family the perfect little paranoid family unit–always watching each other’s backs. 

Nyara had sent a sending spell to momma and to Kel’nar. Neither had responded yet. That had been hours ago. 

<<Your father’s going to come soon. Or your brother. Like usual.>>

That broke something loose. Nyara’s head snapped up, eyes rimmed red. <<You don’t understand, Dharcis. I—>> she choked, hiccuped, pressing her fist to her mouth. <<I’ve put you in danger. You shouldn’t even be here.>>

<<Danger?>> He frowned, confused. <<Nyara..>>

<<That’s not my name,>> she whispered. <<Not my real one.>>

He blinked, waiting. She closed her eyes and let it spill out before she lost her nerve. <<My name is Zarae Torana. I’m… I’m the heir of House Torana…>>

Dharcis’s eyes widened, then softened. The pieces were coming together. <<Oh.>>

<<Oh?>> she echoed, half-hysterical. <<That’s all you have to say? Dharcis, they’ll come for me. They’ll come for you. You’re not supposed to even be near me. If the Matrons find us...oh gods…>> Her breath hitched again, sobs bubbling up faster than she could stop them. She pressed her palms over her face, nails digging into skin, her voice pitched into a whine. <<My father and brother took me from them…to save me. But if they find us—if they find you—they’ll kill you.>>

He didn’t say anything right away. Just crawled closer and wrapped his arms around her. His hands were clumsy but warm. She clung to him, shaking.

<<Hey,>> he murmured against her hair. <<It’s fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll keep you safe, okay?>>

<<You can’t– >>

<<I can,>> he insisted, a crooked smile in his voice. <<You forget who you’re talking to? I tower over even the largest drow you can name but even before that I would just bore them to sleep with my lute. And even before that…They have to find us first. I don’t think they’d look at this suspicious and cursed looking shack of a warehouse and think ‘Yes. This screams safe house.’>>

She laughed, wet and miserable. <<You’re stupid.>>

<<I know. And you’re stuck with me now.>>

Her arms tightened around him, desperate but grateful. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. Fast. Steady. Safe.

<<I’m sorry,>> she whispered. <<For lying.>>

<<Little Moon. You didn’t lie.>> He pulled back enough to look at her. <<You just didn’t get a chance to finish the finer details.  And now you did. So we’re good.>>

He grinned and it was like sunshine and chaos across a black sky. <<Your secret’s safe with me, Nyara.>>

She sniffled, a weak smile forming despite herself. <<Promise?>>

<<Promise.>>

<<No more secrets. Ever.>> She held out her pinky, solemn and ridiculous. He stared for a heartbeat, then hooked his with hers, a crooked grin plastered on his face. 

<<Pinky promise>> he said, and she repeated it with him, voice trembling but sure.

~oU0Uo~

Nyara awoke with a start. Thunder shook the room. How the fuck does it even rain in Avernus? 

Her throat was raw from screaming and crying and her eyes felt like they had weights sitting atop them. 

Her room was still…eerily so. The violent lightning cracking through the drapes painted lines of gold across the once chaos ridden walls. The mirror was whole again. The wine stain gone. The air hung heavy with the ghost of her magic and the weight of her misery.

For a long time, she didn’t move. Just lay there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Dharcis’s voice still echoed in her skull. Pinky promise.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, the smallest, most broken laugh escaping her.

“Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely. “And look how well that turned out. Jack ass.”

~oU0Uo~

“I’m not fucking wearing that.”

Korilla shrugged unbothered, “I’m not the one who cares whether golden boy dies or not. Wear it or don’t. I’m just responsible for bringing you to dinner.”  

Nyara had spent what had felt like two days wailing in her room before crying all she had left to cry and resigning herself to plotting. But then she realized there wasn’t much to plot without knowing the gravity of their situation. 

Food had appeared on her nightstand each morning and each evening and that had happened roughly five times. She hadn’t touched any of it. On what she assumed was the third day she began browsing the limited library in her room which, maybe as a sick joke or maybe because he couldn't be bothered, were all smut books from her apartment and history lessons for consorts of the hells. 

She was mid chapter reading about a maiden fae getting railed by a large orc before being called upon by a group of older tiefling women and told she needed to bathe and dress for the master of the house. Every time she asked after Dharcis she was met with silence as if Raphael had stitched their lips himself. 

She sat numbly, let the women bathe her and comb her hair into some sort of dual buns wrapped with red roses on the back of her head and left the rest of her hair curled and flowing down her back. The hair looked fine. The issue was the clothing…or lack thereof. Raphael expected her to come to midday meal…or dinner?—She didn’t know what time it was—dressed in a blood red dress with a plunge neckline and waist high slits on either side that looked eerily similar to the one she’d worn to the Blushing Mermaid. 

Nyara looked to Korilla again, “Well right now I don’t know how much I care either. Tell him I want proper clothes.” 

“I’m not doing that.” She turned on her heel and walked to the door, “He expects you before the next hour in the dining hall. If I were you…I wouldn’t be late.” 

She stared at the closed door, the wood grains mocking her. Three days and now Raphael decides he wants to spend time together? Nyara whirled on the older women and dismissed them. They tried to protest but she held up a hand. “I’ll bear his punishment. Don’t worry.”

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was immaculate but the rest of her looked like shit. Good. He wanted to play games?…Nyara could play games. 

~oU0Uo~

Raphael sat at the dining table, fingers steepled beneath his chin, the glow from the infernal chandeliers spilling gold across his horns and cheekbones. The House of Hope was never truly silent, but the air tonight was suspended, anticipatory.

The table stretched out before him in opulent indifference. A feast had been conjured, each dish perfectly plated: roasted meats glistening with ruby glaze, crystal goblets filled with garnet-dark wine, fruit so ripe it nearly bled color. It was, by all accounts, a magnificent setting. And yet the seat across from him remained empty.

How fitting, he thought, that anticipation should taste like hunger.

To his right, bound in enchanted silver at wrist and ankle, Dharcis sat slumped in one of the velvet chairs, his chains faintly pulsing with runes that shimmered whenever he moved too sharply. The golden tiefling’s eyes were shadowed, his expression distant, somewhere between shame and resignation.

Raphael turned his head slightly, studying him with mild amusement. “You should be honored,” he said lightly, his voice a purr beneath the crackle of nearby firelight. “Few of your kind dine with me twice, and fewer still survive the first invitation.”

Dharcis’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look at him.

Oh, but this was delicious. Raphael could hardly contain the thrill of it. To see the boy sitting there docile, restrained, knowing exactly who held the reins now, it was an indulgence centuries in the making.

And tonight would be better still.

He could already picture it: Nyara entering draped in his colors, her body an offering wrapped in scarlet silk. She would look divine. Wounded, perhaps, but radiant nonetheless. She would sit where he told her, speak when he prompted, and she would understand, finally, the elegance of surrender.

He smiled at the thought, a flicker of pleasure passing from body through wings. 

Beside him Dharcis shifted, muttering something low under his breath in Infernal. “She won’t give you what you want, Raphael.”

The devil’s golden eyes slid toward him, predatory and amused. “Won’t she?”

“Not the way you think.”

Raphael’s fingers twitched once, the air around his hand sparking with hellfire. “Careful, little bastard,” he said softly. “I can remove you from my sight and hers faster than you can draw breath.”

But Dharcis merely smiled. A small, weary, indifferent curve of his lips that irritated Raphael more than outright defiance would have.

That apathy, that insolence dressed as serenity…it was infuriating.

“Explain yourself,” Raphael commanded.

Dharcis exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded. His Infernal was rough around the edges from underuse  but intelligible enough, the accent undeniable. “Devils like you… take and take, until there’s nothing left. You snuff out the light you claim to covet. You’ll do the same to her. Like a candle you’ll burn her out. Leave her hollow. And then you’ll hate her for it.”

The words hit like ash across Raphael’s skin, searing and cold all at once.

For a heartbeat, his hand rose, poised to snap, to silence that insolent tongue forever. The magic gathered, humming in his bones. But before the flame could ignite, the sound of footsteps echoed from beyond the grand doors.

He lowered his hand.

Ah.

Right on time.

The heavy doors swung open on their own accord, and Nyara stepped into the dining hall.

Raphael’s smile froze in place.

This… was not what he had envisioned.

Her hair was exquisite, coiffed precisely as he had ordered—two braided buns adorned with red roses, the rest cascading in curls like moonlight spilled across dark water. But that was where obedience ended.

Her skin looked wan, her cheeks flushed raw from weeping, eyes red-rimmed and hollowed. The dark crescents beneath them stood in stark contrast to the shimmer of her freckles—what once were constellations now looked like illness bruised across her face.

The dress fit her beautifully, but not as he had intended. The fabric clung and dragged as if she’d thrown it on carelessly, not worn it as an honor but endured it as a shackle. She hadn’t even bothered with shoes.

Barefoot.

Barefoot, in his house.

Every step she took slapped faintly against the marble, a defiant, graceless rhythm.

She reached the table, ignored both him and Dharcis, and dropped into the farthest chair from his own. Her body slumping sideways like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then she reached for the nearest bottle of wine, yanked out the cork with her teeth, and tipped it straight back.

The gulping sound of liquid filled the silence.

When she finally came up for air, she noticed Raphael watching her. She lifted the bottle lazily, her voice dull and rasped, <<Sorry.>>

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

<<To misery!>> she announced, raising the bottle higher, then took another long swallow before slumping back in her chair again, staring at him through the haze of intoxication.

Those eyes so normally quicksilver bright, alive with some maddening spark now looked dead. Empty. It made something unpleasant twist deep in his gut.

How dare she look like that in his colors.

She was supposed to burn, not wither.

He glanced sidelong at Dharcis, expecting to find smug satisfaction there. Instead, the male looked sick, green beneath the gold. His eyes stayed fixed on her with a mix of guilt and grief that Raphael found nearly unbearable to witness.

He wanted to laugh.

He wanted to crush that expression from the man’s face.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning ease, letting his gaze travel over Nyara with the patience of a predator at rest. “My dear Mouse,” he said, voice silky but edged. “You look…” He tilted his head. “Alive.”

Nyara barked a single laugh that sounded nothing like amusement. <<Alive and miserable. Just like you wanted.>>

Cormanthan. Always Cormanthan. A tongue that once stirred something in him to hear her speak now grated against his senses. All so that Dharcis could understand.

She was doing it on purpose.

Raphael’s fingers drummed lightly against the table. He could still taste the echoes of her earlier outburst. Her magic had torn through her chambers, the crash of furniture, the shattering of glass, the desperate rise and fall of her voice before the silence that followed. He had let it play out. Let her rage.

He hadn’t imagined it would hollow her this completely.

Beside him, Dharcis stirred and murmured in Infernal, low and almost reverent: “Your wick is too short, master.”

Raphael turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “Careful,” he hissed.

Then he snapped his fingers.

In an instant, the table refilled itself with the sounds and scents of steam rising from dishes that hadn’t been there before, the air thick with the perfume of roasted meat and butter. The wine bottles refilled themselves. Plates gleamed. It was almost enough to hide the tension clinging to the room.

Almost.

Dharcis glared at him over the food, the chains clinking faintly as he shifted. The look was almost pitying.

“You know you don’t need sustenance to live,” Raphael murmured in Infernal, his smirk sharp as a knife. “Shall we tell her?”

Before Dharcis could respond, something small and sticky hit the table between them.

A sweet bun.

<<Keep it in a language I can ssssspeak,>> Nyara slurred, dragging the last syllable with mockery. <<Be faiiiiiir.>>

Raphael blinked once.

He hadn’t realized she was that drunk. Or perhaps it wasn’t entirely drink. Perhaps it was exhaustion…the bone-deep kind that made the world slant sideways.

She was unraveling before him, thread by thread.

And yet… she was still beautiful.

Not the polished, radiant beauty he had expected to toy with tonight, but something rawer, more compelling. There was an honesty to her disarray, an authenticity that gnawed at him in ways he refused to name.

He wanted to reach across the table and tilt her chin up, force her to look at him properly and to remind her of what she was meant to be. His.

Instead, he poured himself a glass of wine and took a measured sip. “Very well,” he said coolly, switching to Common. “Fairness, then.”

Her eyes flicked to him, heavy-lidded, disinterested.

Raphael smiled, all teeth. “Tell me, my dear Mouse, does misery taste better when it’s self-inflicted? Or is this just a new performance?”

No answer.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “You’ve been silent for days. I’d begun to think you were plotting.”

<<I was,>> she muttered, picking at the edge of her plunging bodice. <<Didn’t get very far.>>

“Pity.” His gaze softened, a mockery of sympathy. “I had so hoped our little… partnership… might inspire something grand.”

Dharcis made a low sound in his throat, something halfway between a scoff and a warning.

Raphael ignored him.

Nyara’s fingers tightened around the bottle. <<If you wanted an encore, you should have come to my room sooner.>>

“Ah,” Raphael said, voice dipping low. “But I did come. You simply didn’t see me.”

That made her freeze. Her gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing.

Good.

Let her feel that sting. Let her wonder just how much of her tantrum he’d witnessed.

He smiled again, slow and serpentine. “You play your chaos like an instrument, Mouse. And yet, for all the noise, the melody remains the same.”

<<And what melody is that?>> she asked bitterly.

“The one that begins with defiance and ends with surrender.”

For a moment, silence reigned again.

Nyara’s lips parted as if to answer, but whatever words she had drowned in another long pull of wine instead.

Raphael sat back, studying her. The sharp flicker of jealousy that twisted through Dharcis’s expression didn’t escape him. That, at least, was a small satisfaction.

And yet… there was something about her stillness now that unnerved him.

The spark he loved to provoke—the glint of defiance, of wit, of life—it was flickering. Weak. Barely holding on.

Dharcis’s words came back to him, unbidden and irritating: You’ll snuff out her light.

He dismissed the thought, reaching instead for his goblet, swirling the wine within. “Eat,” he said at last, gesturing toward the feast. “You’ll need your strength.”

<<For what?”>>

“For tomorrow.”

Her head lifted slightly, sluggish suspicion creeping into her tone. <<What’s tomorrow?>>

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ll see.”

Across the table, Dharcis tensed, the chains clinking softly. “Enough Raphael. She didn’t do anything to warrant this. Let her go–”

“Silence you ungrateful bastard. You should be dead. By. right. I allow you to yet breathe because of—”

<<Stop it,>> Nyara muttered, pressing her hands to her temples. <<Both of you. Just stop.>>

Raphael tilted his head. “Stop what?”

<<Talking like I’m not here.>>

He chuckled low, dangerous. “But my dear, you weren’t here. Not until now.”

That broke something in her expression. It was just a small crack, a fissure of pain she couldn’t quite hide.

He saw it. Dharcis saw it.

And for the first time that evening, Raphael’s satisfaction curdled.

He looked down at his wine, suddenly aware of the faint tremor in his hand, the pulse of heat crawling up his neck. When he lifted his gaze again, she was watching him—eyes dull but steady, a quiet defiance behind the ruin.

How dare she still have that.

That light.

He could feel the fire in his chest building again, slow and steady, licking the edges of control. His jaw tightened.

The room seemed to lean closer, the chandelier’s flames flickering with the rhythm of his anger. “Well then,” he murmured, setting his goblet down with deliberate care. “Shall we begin?”

<<You know what?>> He watched as Nyara pushed herself upright, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the marble. She charged forward before stumbling and catching herself on another chair. <<Let’sssss start with our termssss.>> 

Raphael leaned back in his chair. What was the Mouse doing? 

She didn’t walk so much as sway, barefoot and half-dazed, making her slow orbit around the table.  When she finally stopped, it was to drop gracelessly into the seat to his left, across from Dharcis.

The bottle clattered against the table as she tried once again to pull the cork free with her teeth.

Raphael snapped his fingers.

The bottle vanished. A glass of water appeared in its place, clear and still.

Nyara blinked at it, then at him, her mouth curving in a sneer. She lifted the glass anyway and drank deeply, water spilling down her chin.

Then she turned her attention to Dharcis. Her voice, when she spoke, came out hoarse and steady. . <<I have questions for you. Raphael asked his. Now it’ssss my turn.>>

Raphael’s brows lifted, delight flickering in his expression. Oh, this was unexpected. Retribution! He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped along the backrest, smiling like a man settling in for theater. “By all means, Mouse. Indulge yourself.”

Nyara scooted forward to tuck one leg beneath her, the movement causing the high slit of her dress to shift dangerously. For the first time that evening, Raphael’s amusement faltered. His hand twitched instinctively toward her lap–then stopped.

Control, he reminded himself. Control.

Still, he could not help the faint note of concern that flitted across his features. The dress was not meant for such…carelessness.

She didn’t notice.

The Mouse sat back, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and frowned at Dharcis. <<What are you?>>

The room froze.

Dharcis stilled. Raphael did too, his hand hovering above the stem of his glass.

His Mouse, unrelenting, nodded once. <<I’ve known for a while you’re not a normal tiefling, but really…what are you? You and Momma were running from something. Why?>>

Raphael cleared his throat, the sound cutting sharp through the stillness. “That is two questions, Little Mouse—”

<<Okay and?>> she interrupted, narrowing her eyes. <<You asked too many to count when it was your turn. Now it’s mine.>>

He sneered, lips curling as he shifted in his chair, ready to correct her tone when Dharcis spoke. <<I’m a cambion.>>

The words landed like a struck chord, humming through the chamber.

<<My father is a devil. Momma was a normal tiefling.>>

Raphael went perfectly still. Her reaction would be everything. Raphael, unnecessarily, held his breath. 

The Mouse, on the other hand, only blinked and then leaned back in her chair and said, <<You guys were running from your dad?>>

Dharcis gave a single, resigned nod.

For a long, heavy second, silence.

Then the Mouse started giggling. <<My mom and your dad would make some kind of couple.>>

The sound burst from her, loud and wild and wholly out of place. Dharcis stared at her in disbelief—then, inexplicably, started laughing too. The two of them, laughing. Together.

Raphael’s fingers clenched against the marble.

How dare she.

How dare she offer her laughter—to him. To the bastard who had deceived her, hidden his infernal blood, lied about his loyalties, lied about everything. He could feel rage uncoiling in his chest, tightening behind his ribs.

Dharcis’s laughter faded first, though he was still smiling when he met the Mouse’s eyes. She smiled back.

And that—that—was when something in Raphael finally cracked. The Mouse’s voice broke through his angered haze. 

<<How the fuck did you wind up with Zariel?>> Nyara asked.

Dharcis’s shoulders slumped. <<Right. My father found Momma. Sent his people to bring us back. A devil named Mizora offered me a deal…an audience with someone who could keep us hidden.>>

He hesitated, glancing at Raphael before continuing. <<You had just moved your father to the Gate. And then everything went to shit. I went. She offered me ten years of servitude in exchange for Momma’s safety. I took it. The time you were saving the world, I was fighting a war in Avernus.>> Dharcis looked back at Nyara, guilt etched deep into his face. <<And then, suddenly… because of him.>>

Nyara’s head snapped toward Raphael. <<Did you sell him out and then make a bargain with me?>>

Her voice wasn’t drunk now. Instead, it was sharp, alive, dangerous.

Before Raphael could even breathe, she was on her feet, snatching up a fork from the table, brandishing it like a dagger. <<You sold him, didn’t you?! You—>>

<<No, Ara, stop!>> Dharcis shouted. Chains clanged as he lurched forward. <<It was because of the contract between you two! He didn’t sell me out! Sit down before he kills you!>>

Raphael rose halfway from his chair, mouth stern and face fixed in warning. He wouldn’t continue to tolerate her insolence. 

Dharcis turned to him, voice tight. “She’s drunk. Be merciful.”

Merciful.

The word was acrid in his mouth.  He could hardly see straight for the fury boiling under his skin. How dare this half-blood wretch instruct him on mercy. How dare he presume parity in his own House and demand leniency from Raphael.

He was at his breaking point and on the verge of teaching both of them what infernal hierarchy truly meant, when Nyara, of all creatures, broke the tension.

She placed the fork gently back on the table.

Then—drunkenly and dare he say almost affectionately—patted Raphael’s shoulder.

<<Apologies,>> she whispered, before stumbling back into her seat.

She drank the rest of her water in silence.

Dharcis swallowed hard, meeting Raphael’s eyes. <<Zariel wanted leverage against you,>> he said softly. <<Because your war was… successful.>> He looked back to the Mouse, <<He’s been after her seat longer than you think. But when he made his contract with you, Zariel wanted to know why. The Savior of the Gate, the Slayer of Gods, the Bringer of Salvation for Toril—Zariel wanted to seize that asset before he could.>>

She frowned, her drunken mind catching on the thread. <<Wait. But you said you were three years into a ten-year sentence. The contract happened barely eleven months ago. Does momma…know?>>

Dharcis went still. His mouth opened—but no words came.

Raphael tilted his head, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing.

“Go on, Cambion,” Raphael couldn’t resist the goad, “Tell her.”

Dharcis’s jaw flexed. <<It doesn’t matter.>>

“Oh, but it does,” Raphael purred. “Because it means your dear mother’s safety was secured by something—or someone—else. Something you failed to mention.”

<<What’s he talking about? You said servitude to Zariel was the payment…>> The Mouse demanded.

Dharcis closed his eyes. <<I told momma that you and I got married and that I would move to the Gate to care for Kel’nar so that you could finish studying and work.>>

Nyara’s breath hitched. <<The clothes. The jewelry. The gifts…her asking if I had started having kids yet even though I didn’t even have a man…Dharcis…>>

“But when word spread of your heroism she couldn’t wait to tell everyone how her daughter saved the world,” Raphael finished for him, smiling faintly. “And then suddenly…young Dharcis appears back in your life.”

Dharcis didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

The Mouse sat forward, <<So it was momma who sold me out not you. And she didn’t even mean to…>> 

The air around them pulsed, hot and alive. The chandeliers flickered.

Raphael rose from his chair completely now, his expression unreadable. “You mortals do love your tragic bargains,” he murmured. “A son sells his freedom to save his mother. A daughter sells her soul to save her father and her lover. I wonder…”

He looked between them. 

The Mouse’s pulse thundered in her throat. She looked at Dharcis, then back at Raphael, and for a brief, terrible moment, she seemed almost sober. <<I won’t let you hurt him. And…let’s not forget my soul isn’t forfeit yet. We are at a stalemate still.>> 

Raphael’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, my dear Mouse. He just spoke of three betrayals you can’t honestly expect me to believe that you don’t feel an ounce of betrayal.” He leaned down, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him like a furnace. “By Infernal law and right,” he said softly, “he is my prisoner. His life belongs to me. And you—”

<<Are still free and in the process of negotiating terms. Seems like we have an issue of ambiguity here.>> 

He straightened, gaze glittering. “Excuse me.” Not a question. A last chance for her to correct her behavior. 

Raphael watched as the Mouse propped her shapely legs up onto the armrest of his chair and smiled, <<I’m mad at him sure but…I mean my husband only did what he did to keep me safe. I don’t see why I’d see it as a betrayal. Oh and let’s not also forget if not for us your ass would be a pile of goo on the floor right now. You weren’t born in Avernus I know that much.>>

Raphael’s eye twitched. Contemptuous Creature—

Dharcis cleared his throat, <<Ara as much as I loved hearing that…we’re not married so whatever argument you’re attempting to make won’t work—>>

<<Oh but Dharcis dearest you’re a cambion born somewhere in the Hells right?>>

Dharcis gave a hesitant nod. Raphael was slowly losing to the urge to rip her tongue from her mouth and then shove it back in as a makeshift gag. 

<<It has been a long two days. I found quite a bit of reading material and one of those books being a translated copy of consort behavior in Bhaator. If I’m recalling what I read correctly, a devil declaring a mortal or a lesser creature as their spouse is binding.>> The Mouse looked up to Raphael, <<Am I wrong?>>

Raphael glared at her. “What point are you attempting to make Mouse? You want to be a widow?”

The Mouse’s smile was cruel and unfamiliar on a face usually so full of laughter and light. <<No. But don’t most contracts contain spousal clauses?>>

<<Ara no! Are you insane?>> Dharcis attempted to stand so violently the chair scraped against the table and creaked under the force of his efforts. 

His Mouse was sharper than he gave her credit for. He would also be murdering Haarlep tonight if he had any idea who would have put that type of literature in the Mouse’s room.  Raphael continued, voice calm and cruelly pleasant. “We can arbitrate the ambiguity of our agreement later, if you like. There is no need to threaten servitude to the Blood War on his behalf, which is what I am sure you are attempting to do, Mouse. Do as you wish, however foolish, but know this. Regardless of your folly, Dharcis does not leave this House. Not until I am satisfied.”

The Mouse shook her head, stumbling to her feet again. <<No. No, you can’t—how do I even know he’ll be safe?>>

Raphael smiled thinly. “As previously stated, if you stay, I won’t torture him.”

Dharcis’s eyes widened. <<Raphael.>>

But Raphael ignored him, turning his gaze to Nyara, drinking in the sight of her defiance. Clever but not clever enough, his little Mouse. But he could aid in refining what seemed to be an incredibly sharp and conniving mind. 

“Tell me, Mouse,” he murmured, stepping closer, voice a silken threat. “What would you do to prevent his death?”

The firelight shivered, painting the walls red.

Nyara stood before him—barefoot, exhausted, but unbroken—and for a heartbeat, Raphael couldn’t decide if he wanted to destroy her or fall to his knees before her.

The Mouse smiled, <<A game of cards for the terms of my extended stay.>>

~oU0Uo~

The cards appeared on the table with a simple snap. A new deck, pristine with edges gilt, and faces patterned with infernal sigils that seemed to pulse faintly beneath the candlelight. Nyara blinked at it, chest hollow, the world tilting like a ship. For a heartbeat she had forgotten how to be a performer; she remembered only how to be tired, raw, and achingly honest in ways that left her too vulnerable for comfort.

Dharcis made a sound that might have been a laugh or a groan. <<They should be real,>> he said, voice low, <<Not trickster’s—no liar’s cards. Undistinguishable to both parties. No markings, no bent edges. True playing cards.>> 

Raphael’s smile did not widen; it sharpened. “Your concern for fairness is touching.” He was dismissive wit his words, “But your counsel is unnecessary. This deck is...sufficient.”

“You must leave,” Raphael added after a beat. “You cannot be privy to the terms.”

Dharcis looked at Nyara, confusion flaring across his face at the order. Nyara bit her lip. She had one clear thought: keep him safe but don’t let him off easy. He, like Raphael, had been keeping her in the dark about too much for too long. 

<<I love you,>> she told Dharcis, the words tripping out of her mouth in a rush that startled both of them. <<Don’t worry.>>

Raphael’s expression changed so visibly she nearly laughed at the cruelty of it. He bristled but quickly recomposed himself. 

Dharcis’s shoulders dropped as if the simple phrase itself had eased his sorrows. He smiled and Nyara felt, briefly and stupidly, like all the wrong that had come to pass could be righted with this stupid ass suggestion she’d made.

“You will be excused for negotiations,” Raphael said finally to Dharcis. His voice was low and disinterested but Nyara could see the flash of possessive temper beneath. “You will be gone until called.”

Before Raphael could snap Nyara slid a card to Raphael and one to herself. Her fingers moved with surprising steadiness of habit. <<Higher card wins.>>

“What does the winner determine?” Raphael asked coolly, watching her.

Her voice came low, a small, breathy thing. <<Whether or not  Dharcis sleeps in my bed while we live here. >>

The devil’s nostrils flared. “You make a ludicrous wager.”

<<It’s hardly a wager.>> She gave a tired half-smile and slid the deck toward him. <<Shuffle. If you refuse, I’ll assume you don’t trust yourself to the luck of cards.>>

He sneered then took the deck. He shuffled with the languid, expert motions of a man who had used a thousand small rituals to claim a thousand small satisfactions. When he dropped the cards and angled them to deal, Nyara felt an odd, absurd shiver. She offered the opening bet as a truce of sorts: Dharcis stays in her room when they remain here; the alternative is he goes to another chamber. It was small. It was soft. It tethered him close without promising too much.

The Queen of Red Wands gleamed when Raphael revealed his card. He smiled; it was a thin, predatory crescent. Raphael seemed certain of Dharcis’s place in his house. 

Nyara’s fingers uncoiled as she turned her card. The King of Black Daggers flashed steel under candlelight. A slam. It was the higher card.

<<Dharcis stays with me.>> Nyara announced, voice steadier than she felt. She winked at him. Dharcis’s face went an odd shade of green; he looked as though he might be ill but couldn’t hide the grin of satisfaction from his face either. Raphael did not look pleased. 

Raphael snapped his fingers and Dharcis vanished. 

Nyara slid the deck to him and ordered him to shuffle again. She readjusted and propped her feet on his lap. Raphael’s eyes glinted, but he said nothing. Cards whispered between his long fingers, the flick of them sharp and rhythmic, too precise to be human.

Nyara folded her arms, breasts pressed together, watching. Every nerve in her body buzzed, but it wasn’t fear exactly. It was something hotter, sharper, like a reckless energy that came after too many nights of no sleep and too much drinking followed by too little thinking.

Fine. He wanted a game? She’d give him one.

When he was done, he slid the deck back to her, and they began.

The rules were simple and, in Nyara’s opinion, perfect for a man who thrived on secrets and lies. She held up the deck, “Three cards each. You place one card face down and declare what you played. You may call bluff. If the caller is correct, a term is added to the contract of our bargain; if wrong, the caller pays by having one of their previously earned terms voided. We go until we finish the deck.”

The suits in this table’s deck were like poetry: Black Daggers (sharpness, betrayal), Black Maces (brute force, endurance), Red Chalices (lust, favors), Red Wands (influence, wildfire). Numbers two through ten, plus the Ace, Queen, King. The visuals of the cards were stunning. Nyara didn’t think devils had time or use for games like this. 

Her head throbbed from crying and alcohol without enough food to counteract it but she kept her voice even when she announced her first card: “Ten of red chalices.”

Raphael’s eyes flicked, to her chest then her face, just once. He placed his card face down as well, then said dryly, “Three of red chalices.”

His voice was measured. She felt the prickle of doubt at the back of her throat. He’s testing. Or he’s baiting. It didn’t matter. She had terms to earn and she’d play the hands as strategically as she could. She could always resort to her body if absolutely necessary but that could be left for later. Her exhaustion had reshaped into a strategy. She played a two of black daggers and then Raphael announced that he had done the same. 

“Bullshit,” she said before she could think twice. 

Raphael’s mouth thinned. He flipped his card. A two of Black Daggers gleamed under the flame. 

The first three rounds were brutal. Raphael called her bluff every time. When he accused her of lying, she didn’t even argue. Instead she just smirked, shrugged, and accepted the terms as they came tumbling out of his honeyed mouth:

Mandatory meals together.

Mandatory performances whenever he requested.

And finally…no shared room with Dharcis.

Nyara laughed when he said that, loud and unrestrained, until Raphael’s glare silenced her. “I understood not wanting scandal in your Home but we’re married?” she teased. “Separate rooms isn’t going to do much.” She winked at him then slid farther down in her seat, toes pressed against his thigh.

Raphael didn’t rise to it, which was somehow worse. Just that calm, composed expression, the faint curl of a smile that promised something sharp underneath.

Fine.

She’d let him have those first wins. It made him cocky.

She could feel him studying her the whole time, his eyes tracking every twitch, every glance, every tiny tell.

Fine. Two could play that game.

Her mind, however, wasn’t really on the cards anymore. It was spinning in circles behind what she hoped was a calm expression.

Raphael wanted her close. She could feel it…see it in the way his eyes lingered. Maybe the attack on his precious House had rattled him more than he’d admit. Maybe he was worried that Zariel or some other devil might snatch her away.

Good. Let him worry.

If she could just get her footing, she could turn that possessiveness into leverage.

Her brain ticked through her plan: Keep Dharcis alive, keep him hers. If he was her husband—even if only really in name—then Raphael couldn’t claim her as his consort. That was infernal law… she hoped. Maybe. She wasn’t entirely sure, but from what she’d read it was something.

Everything hinged on Dharcis’s father and whether that devil was high enough in the hellish pecking order to make Raphael or Zariel hesitate.

Mammon was the obvious guess. But… something about his temperament, his pride…it didn’t feel like Mammon’s spawn.

Didn’t matter. She’d figure it out.

The goal was simple: survive, and get enough leeway to move on Toril again. She needed to find Karlach. Astarion. Gale. Maybe even Rolan—he could reach her brother faster than anyone else.

And then there was the matter of the Crown.

If she could maneuver things right, get it on Raphael’s head… she could nullify her deal entirely. Save her father. Free herself.

She just had to keep Raphael’s attention long enough to move things in her favor. He didn’t seem the type to make these kinds of mistakes or even to entertain even half of her bullshit. But here he was…playing bullshit. 

“Your turn,” Raphael said, voice low.

Nyara blinked back to the present. “Let a girl strategise.” Her voice had a playful scolding to it. Raphael again didn’t react.

She played her card face down and said, “Eight of Red Wands.”

He looked at her for a long moment, smile slow and lazy. “Lying.”

“Am not.”

He turned her card over. Nine of Black Daggers.

“Fine.” She sighed, not even pretending to care that she’d lost again. “What do you want this time?”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. “No more lying, perhaps?”

“Then what’s the point of the game?”

His laugh rolled out like a slow burn and the sound awoke something inside her. Something warm and wrong.

They went several more rounds before she caught him slipping.

He placed his card down and declared, “Queen of Chalices.”

Nyara had been counting cards since the second hand. There hadn’t been a single Queen of Chalices in play yet, and she’d already seen the other when she played it claiming it was a ten of wands in the discard pile.

Her lips twitched.

“Bullshit,” she said softly.

His nostrils flared ever so slightly. His fingers froze mid-motion.

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “Thought so.”

Her voice steadied, growing almost conversational. “Three days a week. On Toril. I’ll see my father, my brother… my friends. You get updates on the Crown, progress reports, whatever you want. That’s the deal.”

He narrowed his eyes. “One day.”

“Two.”

“One.”

She bit her lip, thinking. Then sighed and nodded. “Fine. One day.”

The agreement slid into place between them, quiet and final.

By now her exhaustion was seeping back in, dull and heavy. Her head throbbed still. Every nerve felt raw.

She was so close to something. She could feel it, hovering just out of reach.

She placed her next one down, announcing absently, “Five of Black Maces.”

He didn’t call her on it, just mirrored her play. The air between them felt tighter somehow, the glow of the infernal chandeliers pressing heat down on her shoulders.

For a moment, she thought about Dharcis—wherever he was, what kind of “room” Raphael had given him. Then she thought about her father, her brother, the faint hope of freedom.

A blur of movement pulled her back. Raphael dealing the next hand.

His face was unreadable but she could sense it now. The tension winding in him. The way his tail flicked once, sharply.

He was close to breaking his perfect composure. Likely not a fan that in this game they were equals–equally able to calculate the others missteps and just as equal in their ability to deceive one another. They both had the same amount of information to operate with. 

She leaned forward on her elbows, half-smiling. “I think you’re cheating,” she murmured.

He gave her that infuriating, half-lidded look. “I never cheat, my dear.”

Her smirk deepened. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

When he won two more hands after that, she barely reacted. Just nodded and hummed as he set his new conditions:

She could not side with Zariel—even if it meant Dharcis’s death.

And before the final hand ended, they would settle the ambiguous terms of their original contract.

Her stomach twisted, but she hid it behind a slow sip of water.

The next round would be the last. 

She glanced at the deck, then at Raphael. Her lips moved with no sound, barely noticeable, while Raphael’s eyes scanned the remaining two cards in his hand. 

~oU0Uo~

Raphael turned a single card in his fingers, running a thumb along its edge. The faintest glimmer of infernal fire danced along the ink—his ink. His craftsmanship. His carefully designed cards. He could feel the pulse of the House through the table, through the very air. Everything here was his.

And yet, somehow, she made it feel… unsettled.

Nyara’s eyes followed every motion of his hand with a too-casual defiance as if she’d already decided she was going to lose but would make him work for it.

It infuriated him as much as it fascinated him.

He dealt the last hand. 

Three cards for her. Three for him. 

The game had been meant as a distraction, a lesson in consequence and compliance. It had spiraled into something else…

Every glance of hers, every smirk, every muttered fine, whatever you say, had burrowed under his skin.

When she’d told that pathetic gold-touched whelp she loved him—in front of Raphael—something in him had cracked.Marginally…but it had. 

He’d felt it, raw and humiliating, a pang he hadn’t known he was capable of. And the moment she’d turned her attention back to him, that ache had transmuted into vindication, furious, consuming heat.

Now she sat across from him, chin propped on her hand, exhaustion pooling beneath her eyes, and still she glowed. 

Damn her.

He laid a card face down. “Seven of Black Maces.”

Her gaze flicked to the card, then back to him. “You’re lying.”

His mouth curved. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

He turned it over. Black Mace. Seven.

Her lips parted. Just slightly. The faintest tremor of surprise. Then she laughed, short and sharp. “Guess not.”

The sound rippled through him like a plucked string. “You are reckless,” he said finally.

“So are you,” she replied, the last of her strength threaded into the soft retort.

He permitted himself a small, dangerous smile. “We are a good match then.”

For a heartbeat, he saw something else beneath her mask. A bone-deep fatigue, despair edging into something dangerously close to surrender.

Her hand shook when she reached for her final card. Just slightly, but enough to catch his attention.

She placed it face down, eyes on him the entire time. “Queen of Chalices.”

Raphael studied her. Every instinct screamed at him to call her bluff. It was the same card she had called him for. But her voice was tired. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes unfocused.

Not cunning. Not sharp. Just… spent.

He hesitated.

And she smiled.

It was small, barely-there, but it was victory.

“Lying.” Raphael smirked and reached for the card. He flipped it and paused. 

A Queen of Chalices.

He felt it, like a splinter sliding beneath the nail. The faint pulse of deception hummed in the air between them.

She exhaled softly. “I win.”

He tilted his head, curiosity cutting through his restraint. He didn’t answer her. 

Nyara set her hands flat on the table. Her voice trembled, but not from fear. From something rawer, almost desperate.

“I’ll consider Dharcis’s behavior a betrayal of trust,” she said quietly, “if you’ll concede my father’s soul. Only mine in exchange.”

Raphael’s smile froze.

“I’ll give you eternal servitude,” she continued, each word measured. “Any capacity you want should I fail to deliver you the Crown. But if I put that crown on your head.” He felt her toes press into his thigh as she hauled herself upright, her eyes piercing his soul, “You will consider mine and Dharcis's debts paid and then you’ll save my father. That’s all I ask.”

~oU0Uo~

Chapter Text

~oU0Uo~

When Nyara opened the door to her room she wasn’t surprised to see the image of Raphael, in a robe, lounging on her bed reading one of her smut books. She slammed the door, pressed her back against it and sighed, “If I fuck you right now who gets in more trouble. Me or you?”

Haarlep promptly shut the book and took the state of her in with a hungry, languid gaze, “Oooh and this is why you are my favorite.” They clicked their tongue, “Hold that question though. You look like hell. Not in the good way.” 

“I know. It’s intentional.” She crossed the room and sat atop the vanity table, feet propped on the bench. 

Haarlep hummed, “Raphael does enjoy a balanced diet of insolence.”

Nyara gnawed on her bottom lip, “Are you alright by the way?”

Haarlep’s look of confusion was comical. 

“Dharcis did a number on you the other night. I hope you’re fine.” Nyara had also been an unwilling participant in that scuffle. So much had happened over the course of the last four days she had to keep reminding herself there was still much left to be angry about beyond what she, Raphael, and Dharcis had discussed. 

“Oh little mouse that was foreplay. Perhaps I should be asking how you are feeling.” Their smile didn't reach their eyes. 

“Haarlep what did you do to me? No games I’m…mentally, at the end of my rope. What is our connection?” Nyara leaned her head back against the mirror. Raphael had seemed incredibly intrigued by their bond…intrigued and irritated. 

“Oh Little Mouse.” Haarlep rolled onto their stomach and propped their head in their palm, “The master was very cross with me…until he realized it could benefit him as much as it bothered him.” Their smile was lazy, secretive. 

Nyara closed her eyes, “Meaning what.”

“When you came to me…looking for Him…you resisted and also submitted just enough that our bond morphed into something unusual. You fought me enough to retain your soul and remained determined enough I couldn’t take your mind from you…but you submitted to the fantasy physically in a way that allowed me to take not just your form but your senses as well.” A pause and fabric shuffled. Then a hand was ghosting up her thigh. 

Her eyes flew open and she was met with her reflection on the bed, a hand rubbing up and down their thigh. Nyara’s eyes narrowed. She could feel everything Haarlep felt. But if the bond had taken that way and Haarlep told Raphael that he could reap a benefit from it…

Nyara pinched the skin of her thigh and Haarlep reacted. “It works both ways.”

Haarlep gave her a single nod and slid a hand up their stomach to cup a breast. Nyara grabbed the opposite breast Haarlep squeezed. The sensation was dizzying. So all those times she had had some fun Haarlep had known…

An idea…

“Haarlep, would you like to participate in a game with me?” 

Haarlep tweaked their nipple, “I’m not getting punished for you.”

Nyara rolled her eyes and slapped her own thigh. Haarlep purred. “No need. I’ll probably be the one that gets punished. You’re going to tell on me.” 

~oU0Uo~

Nyara washed up that morning, threw her wardrobe open, and was pleased to see that it had been filled with a variety of clothing options that matched her personal style. She had managed to negotiate autonomy over her wardrobe with Raphael but of course he had dictated it all had to be his colors. The little wins…

She dressed in black satin pants, satin chemise, and donned the matching satin robe. In front of the vanity she whispered a glamor and restored her face to pre-depression plumpness and dabbed a small bit of plum paint onto her lips. Her fingers wiggled over her hair and it laid fresh, wild, and curly down her back, stark white against black. Satisfied, she slid her feet into a pair of red slippers and made her way down to the dining hall for breakfast. 

Let the games begin.

Raphael had not arrived yet, if he would at all, but Dharcis was sitting miserable and chained to his same chair from the night before, still bloodied, bruised, and dulled from whatever had happened to him since he’d been banished. <<Morning Handsome.>>

His head shot up, <<Nyara? What are you doing here? And…wow you look…wow..>>

<<I know. The wonders of sleep.>> She sauntered over and sat in the chair beside him. <<Want to eat together?>>

His brow furrowed, <<Nyara why are still here? Are you…alright?>>

Nyara sighed, <<Honestly? No. I’m mad at you. I’m mad at him. I’m mad at myself. But…>> she reached for one of the beautifully arranged butter buns sitting on a three tiered stand at the center of the table. Her eyes scanned the table and found the coffee pot and snapped. It reappeared beside her and she poured a cup for Dharcis and then for herself. <<I can’t be productive if I’m wallowing. So…>> Her hands danced across glass ramekins until one of the jams caught her attention and scooped some onto her bun. <<I am choosing to be productive and to focus my energy on fulfilling my contract so we can leave.>> 

Dharcis stared at her open-mouthed. She took that opportunity to shove a piece of her bun into his mouth. She took her own bite while he chewed. 

<<How did you sleep?>> She watched as he chewed and swallowed then leaned forward to help him drink his coffee. 

<<I was surprised…mmm…thank you love. I was surprised I slept alone. I distinctly remember you gambling to sleep in the same bed as me. Are you insane?>> 

Nyara drank from his cup as well and smiled, <<I was drunk. And I did but of course I got my ass handed to me three times in a row and he undid that before even touching my contract.>> 

Dharcis, despite himself, laughed. But once reality set in he leveled her with a look of sincerity she rarely ever saw from him. <<What did you offer?>>

Nyara tore another piece off to feed to him when Raphael appeared. She popped it into his mouth then winked. They would talk later. 

She nodded her head at Raphael, <<Good Morning.>>

Raphael appraised her and clearly pleased with what he saw nodded, <<Good Morning Mouse.>>

She raised the mug to Dharcis’s lips so he could drink. Raphael did not like that. 

“If you are hungry young Dharcis you need but ask.” Raphael raised his hand to snap.

<<Actually Raphael. I would like to open a dialogue.>> Nyara grabbed her mug of coffee and plate with the pinched apart sweet bun and rose. She walked deliberately behind Dharcis and around Raphael whose eyes never left her, and came to sit on Raphael’s left where she had been the night before. 

Dharcis frowned. Raphael did his best to suppress his satisfied smirk. 

Mug raised between both hands, elbows on the table she leaned in toward Raphael. <<I know that here one must never do something for nothing right?>>

Raphael inclined his head as he reached for his own mug of coffee that seemed to have appeared from nowhere and without the need for request. Interesting…

<<So…what shall we trade for Dharcis to be unchained?>> At Raphael’s shift in expression she rushed forward with her words, <<He’s your prisoner. I accept that as I’m confident he does. But…>> Her eyes glanced towards the chains then back to Raphael, <<Maybe we can come to an agreement on a different sort of tethering?>>

Raphael leaned back in his chair, coffee poised just so in hand. “What is his mobility worth to you?”

Nyara took a delicate sip of her coffee, eyes never leaving his. <<Dharcis is my instrumentalist. I’d think you would want me performing at top capacity.>>

“Our agreement was for your performance not his.”

<<Yes but I can’t always sing and dance and play an instrument. You’d be forced to pick. Hear me sing, watch me dance, or listen to me play. With him unbound you don’t have to make those concessions.>> She shifted in her seat and tucked her foot under her thighs. She moved in just the right way she knew Raphael caught a glimpse down her blouse.

“Hmm.” Raphael leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Then he need only be unbound for performances.”

<<But that wasn’t what I made my offer for.>> She tilted her head, that half-smirk creeping back. <<If he’s only unbound for that purpose then you still must choose whether I sing, dance, or play. You don’t get all three for nothing. Dharcis should be unbound to eat, to sleep, and to perform.>> She lifted her cup and took a slow sip, eyes never leaving his. 

Raphael’s mouth curved, sharp and indulgent. “Oh, but that’s two additional demands, little mouse. So tell me. What do I get in return?”

Nyara’s lashes fluttered once before she leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. <<That’s two requests, not demands.>>

He arched a brow, clearly entertained. “Be they requests or demands, the scales must balance.”

<<Well…in exchange for Dharcis’s unbound autonomy I will make sure I am always presentable and that I am an excellent house guest.>>

He barked out a quiet laugh. “You think your bare minimum qualifies as a trade?”

Nyara gestured to herself, <<I can always make last night a repeat. Misery loves company or whatever.>>

That gave him pause. Only a flicker, but she saw it. She pressed the advantage. <<I’ll make it worth your while.>>

Raphael leaned back, considering her over the rim of his mug. “And if I agree?” Raphael’s expression softened with wicked amusement. “You would promise civility? Dress to please me? Bite your tongue, even?”

<<Let’s not get dramatic. I’ll look as good as I do now or better and we won’t have a repeat of last night.>>

“Now there’s a rare treat,” he murmured.

<<Don’t push it.>> Nyara tore off a piece of her bun and threw it at Dharcis. He caught the piece in his mouth. 

Raphael chuckled under his breath as he set his mug down. “Very well. If you are to perform with such grace, your little golden companion may dine unbound. Perform unbound.” He paused, deliberately letting the moment stretch. “And sleep unbound.”

Nyara’s brows lifted, cautious. <<Sleep unbound?>>

“He is still a prisoner,” Raphael said smoothly, “and the House knows its master’s will. Should he stray, the walls will correct his error.”

<<So... short leash, invisible collar.>>

“If you wish to think of it that way.”

She gave a small, triumphant smile and raised her mug to him. <<Then we have a deal.>>

Raphael studied her a beat too long. “Do not mistake my generosity for affection, Mouse. You owe me your most agreeable self in return. No tantrums, no sulking, no insolence.”

<You’ve seen how good I can look. Trust I can act just as well.>> Nyara winked then sipped from her coffee. 

Raphael shook his head. “You’ve a tongue too sharp for your own good.”

<<And yet you keep letting me use it.>>

That earned a slow, delighted smirk from Raphael, who set his cup down and steepled his fingers. “Mouse. Do you ever stop to think before you bargain, or do you simply feel your way through the fire?”

Nyara looked to Dharcis then to Raphael, holding his gaze before she popped the last piece of her bun into her mouth. <<Depends on who’s holding the torch.>>

That made him laugh, warm and surprised. Nyara was shocked at the pleasantness of the sound. Raphael’s lip twitched again, almost approvingly. “You’re learning.”

<<I have a great teacher.>>

He inclined his head with mock solemnity. “Then pay attention, Mouse. Lessons like this don’t come cheap.”

~oU0Uo~

Nyara and Dharcis had wandered the House together, testing Raphael’s new allowances. They learned quickly that “mobility under discretion” was Raphael-speak for “barely tolerated.”

The dining hall accepted Dharcis, begrudgingly.

The music room allowed him as long as Nyara was there.

The main hall—the site of their disastrous performance—opened for them like a mouth waiting to bite, that is to say, no entry without binds. 

Everywhere else? Forbidden. Doors that opened for Nyara slammed shut for Dharcis. Even the infernal servants ignored him, eyes sliding past as if he were invisible.

When they’d reached the corridor that led to her chambers, the House itself had shivered and Dharcis physically couldn’t cross the threshold.

Nyara had laughed. “Petty bastard.”

Now, back in Dharcis’s assigned room, she sat sprawled on his bed, picking at the embroidery on his pillow while he stood by the window, bound, staring out into nothing.

<<You’re awfully quiet,>> she said finally.

He didn’t turn. <<Not much to say. You did enough talking for both of us this morning.>>

<<You’re welcome,>> she said dryly.

He sighed, bound arms folding over his chest. <<You shouldn’t have bargained for me.>>

<<Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t have done,>> she snapped. <<I hate seeing you look like a sad dog.>>

He turned at that, his eyes dark. <<You think this is some game, Nyara? You don’t know what he’ll ask next. You don’t know what you’ve—>>

<<I know exactly what I’ve done,>> she interrupted. <<I’ve bought us both a little bit of room to breathe. You’re not chained to the damn chair anymore. That’s progress.>>

He shook his head. <<At what cost?>>

She pushed up from the bed and crossed the space between them, voice dropping. <<At the cost of you wondering what I bargained. I’ll be keeping you in as dark a room as you kept me.>>

He flinched, guilt flashing across his face. <<Ara…>>

Good. He should feel bad for what he’s done and for all that he kept from her. She stepped closer, close enough to smell the faint sulfur clinging to his skin. <<You don’t get to look at me like that,>> she murmured. <<Not when you’re the reason we’re here.>>

His jaw tightened. <<I was trying to save you.>>

<<Aaaaaand how did that work out? Now we’re both caged and he gets to play warden.>>

Her hand shot out before she thought about it. A sharp smack to his shoulder.

He blinked, startled. <<Did you just—?>>

<<Yeah, I did.>> She hit him again, lightly this time. <<The first was for lying, or shall I say, not getting the opportunity to suss out all the details. The second one is for scaring the shit out of me.>>

He stared at her.

<<And this,>> She punched him again, right in the chest. <<is for making me choose between him and you.>>

Then she grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

It wasn’t graceful and it wasn’t tender. It was messy and desperate. He froze for half a second before his chained hands came up, one tangling in her hair, the other stretching as far as it could to find the curve of her back.

For a moment, the world around them didn’t exist. Not Raphael. Not the House. Not the infernal law and contracts hanging over their heads. Just heat and guilt and something that hurt too much to name.

She broke the kiss first, panting slightly, eyes glassy. <<I’m still mad at you,>> she whispered.

He smiled faintly, forehead resting against hers. <<Wouldn’t have it any other way.>>

She groaned and shoved him back. <<We need to clean you up. Come.>>

They moved toward the bathing room, lips locked, hands all over each other, Nyara more so than Dharcis. She kicked the door shut behind her and snapped so the water would run in the conveniently sized tub. Speaking of which—

<<Dharcis…mmm…drop the glamour.>> 

Dharcis pulled away from her. <<What?>>

Nyara held his gaze and slid the robe off her shoulders. She sat on the edge of the tub and leaned back to test the water, never losing eye contact. <<Remove the glamour. I know what you are now so I don’t see a need to keep pretending.>> 

She slide the straps down her shoulders and let the camisole slide down to pool at her waist. Dharcis’s dark eyes devoured her exposed chest. She slid her slippered foot up to his waist and gently nudged him. <<Show. Me.>>

Dharcis turned his head to the side, his eyes downcast. 

Nyara blinked, the teasing dying on her tongue. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched.

She tilted her head. <<Hey.>>

He didn’t answer. His throat bobbed once.

Her smile faltered. The air felt less at ease now. She stood, slow and deliberate, the satin of her robe whispering against the stone floor. When she reached him, she cupped his face between her palms, thumbs brushing along his jaw. <<Look at me.>>

His eyes lifted, hesitant.

<<Even if you look like a giant pile of goo>> she ran her thumb over his full, cracked lips, <<I’d still love you.>>

That earned the faintest twitch of his lips.

<<I’m serious. You’re my husband or whatever—>> she made a vague motion between them, <<I’ll take you as is.>>

Dharcis’s brow lifted, a small laugh rumbling up. <<As is? Like… at the markets?>>

Nyara nodded solemnly, which only made him huff another laugh. <<Ass>> he murmured.

After a beat he took a deep breath, stepped back, and closed his eyes. For a heartbeat, the air grew heavy. Then the glamour unraveled.

His horns stretched, curving long and black-tipped behind his head. His skin deepened in tone, marked by faint ridges that caught the light. Wings, large and bat-like, unfurled from his back in a slow, trembling sweep. His tail thickened, its movement deliberate, almost predatory. And when the second set of arms unfolded from his sides, Nyara’s breath caught.

He looked otherworldly. Terrifying but also still so very beautiful. 

She stared, wide-eyed. Then, slowly, she reached out. Her fingers brushed over his chest, so warm, solid, alive, and trailed down the now more prominent ridges across his ribs. <<You’re… gods, you’re—>>

She didn’t finish. She just touched him, palms gliding down his torso, exploring, memorizing. When she reached his wings, she let her fingers trace the edges of the membrane, gentle and reverent.

She felt Dharcis shiver.

She smiled faintly, trying to keep her voice steady. <<You should’ve told me.>>

<<You would’ve run I mean c’mon Ara look at me…>>

<<You don't know that.>> Her hand slid lower until her fingertips brushed his tail. He flinched, startled, and the appendage whipped lightly around her wrist before retreating. She laughed softly and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

<<Handsome.>> Nyara tugged him toward the tub, the water steaming and fragrant with oils. <<Now, sit. You’ve been stewing in filth and misery long enough.>>

He hesitated, wings folding tight against his back but then finally obeyed.

He sank into the water, the chains glinting faintly under the surface. Nyara made a show of sliding down her pants before she climbed in behind him, knees framing his back. She poured oil into her palms, rubbed them together, and began to work it over his shoulders, down his arms, over the second pair too. Slow and careful. The sound of water lapping filled the silence.

He exhaled, the tension melting from his body through her fingers. Her hands moved lower, tracing the scars and sigils branded into his skin. She cleaned carefully around the binding chains, fingertips glowing faintly with a trace of magic to soothe the burns.

Neither spoke.

Once finished her hands wandered lower. Nyara trailed hot open-mouthed kisses along the back of his neck and savored the purr that rumbled out from his chest. As expected, he was hard. Slowly, she began to stroke him. Dharcis bucked against her hands and hissed. 

Mindful of his horns she licked and bit and the shell of his pointed, ridged ear, and began whispering filth to him. 

<<Nyara Dazoucis has a nice ring no? How could you have left your wife alone and wanting for so long while you ran around in Avernus doing fuck all? Hmm?>>

Dharcis groaned and his hands flew up to squeeze at her knees. 

<<What do you think Raphael will do when I show up to dinner reeking of my husband? Neck and chest covered in bruises and bites like a heated brand…>>

Dharcis bucked up violently and turned his head to start biting at her thighs resting around his shoulders. 

<<Could you imagine what he’d do if you filled me with your seed and it took–ah!>>

Dharcis turned around, grabbed her by her waist and carried her over his shoulder from the bathing room to his chambers. 

She murmured under her breath and dried them off before he threw her against the bed and climbed over her. He forced her hips up so one set of arms could rest behind her while the other set grabbed her ankles and pulled her down the bed to him and pressed his face deep into her neck and snarled.  

Nyara bucked her hips up and rolled them over. Dahrcis’s wings fanned out behind him and she did her best to avoid kneeling on them. Sufficiently straddling his waist, she began to rock her body against his thick, heavy cock that laid, angry and waiting, up past his start shaped navel. Dahrcis pulled her down and kissed her.  

Nyara grinned against his lips and then licked a stripe from his mouth to his ear across his cheek and then back from that ear to his mouth and bit his bottom lip, pulling the flesh between her lips. Dharcis groaned from his chest, his hands reaching down to grip the flesh of her ass cheeks. 

Still sucking and biting his bottom lip she began rolling her hips against him, feeling her core brush against his hardness with each tilt of her hips and the delicious jolt that ran through her from the ridged contact. Her hands deftly swept across his chest and slid up to rub her thumbs along the thick column of his neck. Dharcis kneaded and palmed at her flesh, shaking her cheeks between his hands as she rolled faster on top of him, trying to find a rhythm both of them would enjoy enough but not too much.  His other set of arms slid, also bound, up her stomach and kneaded her at her heavy breasts.

Nyara leaned down and licked a line from his chin up to the seam of his swollen lips, <<Fuck me Dharcis.>>

His hands flew from her ass cheeks to her hips. His hands, chained together and the same for his ankles limited his movements but Nyara knew Dahrcis was strong enough to figure it out. She was still mad afterall. He could do the work to make it up to her. 

She sat up on her knees to give him space to align himself at her entrance. Before he could react she impaled herself on him without warning and Dharcis growled from somewhere deep in his chest. Nyara cried out, forgetting that this would be a more painful than pleasurable stretch.

Once she had the time needed to adjust, she was relentless, squeezing him inside her as she rose before loosening as she sat completely back down on him. Dharcis’s eyes burned into the space where they connected, growling from the stimulation, his breathing shallow. 

Dharcis bucked his hips up and rolled them as best he could with arms and ankles bound so that she was now on her back. She looked up at him questioningly and opened her mouth to protest but it quickly died and morphed into a pleasured moan as Dharcis used his ridged pelvis to grind against her sticky slit and his mouth pressed against hers in a hot, desperate, possessive kiss. 

Dharcis’s tongue pressed inside her mouth, forked tongue against hers battling for dominance while his pelvis aggressively grinded in short, succinct, thrusts against her clit. One set of his hands held her ass and the other set of hands cupped her face as he kissed her. Nyara’s hips twitched beneath him but he kept the same, steady rhythm for her despite her thrashing and wailing. Copying what she had done earlier he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood. Nyara’s answering high pitched whine made her own toes curl and his tail thrash around behind him. 

Nyara could feel her end approaching rapidly when Dharcis’s tail slithered up her calf, up her thigh, and between her ass cheeks. 

Her eyes lit up, wild and delirious, and she gave him a wicked smile, <<Dharcis!>>

Dharcis raised himself up and supported his weight on the palms of the hands that had been gripping her face so he could look down at her, his black eyes now almost entirely gold from his pupils being so blown out. He looked down at her with such ferocity and said, <<You’re mine.>> Nyara’s back arched, her eyes fluttered close, and she moaned deep and long, wrapping her legs around his back, ankles locking together just above the base of his thick tail.

Dharcis pushed in and out erratically, fucking her through her orgasm. His other hands held her cheeks apart to let his tail explore.  He lowered his head down to her chest and licked at her hard nipples, letting the fork in his tongue coax them to taller peaks before pulling the hard nubs between his teeth. He trailed his mouth down to the plump swell of flesh beneath her nipple and bit hard, sucking until Nyara knew her flesh would darken and bruise. The combined stimulation of his teeth piercing her breast and his tail relentlessly attempting to penetrate her ass had her cunt clenching around his cock again, a rush of liquid gushing from her, and a soft and unexpected cry of his name  tumbling from her bruised lips. 

She felt Dharcis smile against the mark he’d left behind and trailed open mouth kisses across her chest to her other breast. Still struggling to catch her breath she wrapped a hand around the back of his head and yanked him up to her neck, <<More…mark me>>

The House shook.

Match. Set. Nyara one. 

~oU0Uo~

Raphael stepped into the threshold of the boudoir to prepare for a lunch meeting and was met with the sight of Nyara writhing on his bed whimpering. Raphael rolled his eyes in irritation, “Enough Haarlep. Change now.”

Haarlep’s body writhed, hands clutching at the sheets. They weren’t even touching themselves. Odd.

Haarlep’s breath hitched and then they whined, “”Noooo please master. Just a bit longer. She’s…ohhhhh…our Mouse is having soooo much fun.” The last of their words came out in a choke. Haarlep twitched and in Nyara’s hitched voice cried out. The sound went straight to his loins.

Before he could remove his clothes to indulge Haarlep he watched as Nyara’s form screamed and liquid gushed from between Haarlep’s legs and onto his bed. 

Raphael saw red. 

~oU0Uo~