Nadia X Lincoln X Talion

All it took was twenty four seconds for nearly everything that Lincoln owned to catch fire. A loud crash and a flash of light roused him from sleep, startling him so much that he fell out of bed. Lincoln sat dazed on the floor of his cabin, discombobulated and helpless as he watched the flames on his kitchen floor grow until they had consume half of his hut. By the time he stumbled to his feet, most of the house was engulfed in flames. The reality of the situation diffused through him slowly, and he was remarkably calm for someone standing amidst a burning house only because he was in shock. When his shock finally melted away a minute or so later, Lincoln's entire cabin was engulfed in flames.

His true nature made him ultimately invulnerable to smoke and fire, but his human form tolerated it poorly. The smoke settled in his lungs like ash and try as his body might, he couldn't cough up the contaminate. His skin did a better job at tolerating the heat and even though he was standing amidst the flames that consumed his cabin, he only felt uncomfortably hot. The heat didn't bother him; pieces of his glowed like hot metal in a fire pit but the feverish lick of the flames brought no suffering. Without the instinctual motivation to flee, Lincoln stood among the hungry flames as they consumed his house, frozen with indecisiveness. For whatever reason, he was reluctant to leave the safety and familiarity of his hut behind. In the end, it was the smoke that drove him out - by the time he burst through his front door, he could hardly breathe in between violent fits of coughs.

Moments after Lincoln had evacuated his hut, only mere minutes after the fire had started, the structure fell victim to the blaze and collapsed into an unrecognizable heap of burning timber. His cabin was essentially worthless and there hadn't been anything worth saving yet Lincoln couldn't help but feel devastated as he watched the life he had painstakingly built for himself burn to ash. The shack was more than a roof over his head; it was a symbol of how far he had come and how hard he had worked to adapt to this new reality and now it was all gone. The idea of starting over, completely from scratch, was enough to nearly bring the usually stoic and reserved swamp-dweller to tears.

At first, Lincoln had no reason to assume arson. He lived so isolated from society that any tragedy that might befell him was far more likely to be an act of nature than by the malicious hand of man. Over time, he had learned that he was at the mercy of nature - and Mother Nature was a fickle bitch. Fires were unlikely but not impossible in the swamp and it was dry season, meaning water levels were significantly lower and there hadn't been a decent rainfall in weeks. But as Lincoln started to look around, it became very apparent that there was something far more sinister at play. His cabin was the lone casualty of the fire, the rest of the swamp untouched by the flames. He remembered the sound of glass shattering and he realized that it hadn't been because of the fire - it was what had started the fire. Someone had thrown a lit accelerant through his window.

They know. The realization hit him like a bolt of electricity, strong enough to knock the breath out of his lungs as his mind grappled with this new turn of events. They know. The previous, helpless devastation Lincoln had felt moments before as he watched his shack crumble to pieces was nothing compared to the paralyzing dread he felt now. They know. But how? His mind immediately conjured up the memory of the Queen - Nadia - and the wayward bandits that attacked her. He had let one of them live, too lazy to finish the job. Had the bandit seen his blood? Lincoln couldn't be sure. But if he had, then all it would have taken was some research to realize that he had stumbled upon something far more valuable than the Queen herself. They know. Paranoia seized him and he spun around, sensing that the enemy lurked just out of sight - but he could see no one. Shadows danced in the light of the fire but he couldn't tell how many men surrounded him so his paranoia just assumed the worst. A moment of silence follows, filled only with the cackle of the fire as it burns the remains of Lincoln's hut. Finally, his suspicions are confirmed; an arrow pierces through the air, striking the ground just inches from where he was standing.

Fear was fleeting; a threat had been issued, and it was not in Lincoln's nature to run. Lincoln wrenched his axe free of the stump it had been lodged into - it was the only weapon to have survived the blaze for the sole reason that it lived outside, but it was better than nothing. The true advantage Lincoln had was these men were in his territory, fighting on his land. No one knew this swamp better than he did and even though he had only an axe, the entire swamp was his weapon.

The only thing Lincoln could assume with absolute certainty about his enemy is that they would not want him to retreat deeper into the swamp - so that was exactly what he did. Lincoln bypassed the burning remains of his cabin and without even a parting look over his shoulder, left it behind and charged deeper into the swampy wetlands. For such a large man, he moved with unanticipated grace and agility through the foliage-dense, semi-aquatic landscape. It wasn't that he was particularly fast and in a large, open space, he could probably be easily overtaken but the precision and accuracy at which he navigated the hazardous land would make it extremely difficult for his pursuers to keep up.

The swamp was particularly quiet this morning, perhaps aware of the violent assault on one of its residents, and not even the insects seemed wary to interfere. It was only a handful more minutes into the pursuit that Lincoln actually caught a glimpse of one of his attackers; an ear-splitting scream shattered the quiet of the swamp, snapping his attention about twenty yards to his right. Through the network of mangrove trees, Lincoln stilled as he watched the outline of a person thrash about in the hip-deep water, screaming as they stabbed at something below. The assault only lasted ten or so seconds and then the assailant swiftly and mercilessly pulled the figure under, abruptly cutting his screams off. Lincoln waited with bated breath but after five or so seconds, he knew that he would not resurface. Shouts of alarm came from behind him, calling for their fallen comrade, and Lincoln scanned the horizon as he tried to gauge their numbers. They were too far away to ascertain any details, but he paled as he realized that there were far more men after him than he had initially guessed. An arrow flew through the air, wedging itself into the soft bark of a mangrove tree a foot or so away was all the reminder Lincoln needed to keep moving.

That man's death had not been a complete accident and Lincoln had not chosen that particular path at random; even though it was still early in the season, there was one particular alligator that had already nested. His death was a result of his own incompetence; Lincoln had only lured him close to the nest, but his own lack of education and preparation were what sealed his fate. Nobody with no understand of alligator behavior, especially during breeding season, had no business being this deep in the swamp. As the rest of his pursuers would quickly learn, the swamp was a swift and merciless teacher.

The next three fell in quick succession and all went quietly, without the dramatics of the first fallen man. One man tripped a wire and hadn't even seen the massive rock, adorned with several sharp spears, swing down from above and lodge itself deep into his back. Another stepped up on what he presumably thought was a solid piece of land - and unfortunately for him, was wrong. Instead of solid ground, the man tumbled forward into a pit only to be stopped just short of hitting the ground by the long spear protruding from the man's back. The third tripped another wire, releasing some previously pulled back bamboo and it whipped forward, impaling the unassuming intruder on the several spikes it was dressed up with. By now, the rest of their team was calling out to one another, no longer reluctant to give away their numbers or position to Lincoln. And to Lincoln's horror, they were coming at him from all directions.

For every man that fell victim to the swamp or one of Lincoln's traps, there were two more to replace him. Arrows shot out from the void, piercing trees near him as he was forced to change his direction. He had no choice; even with their losses, they were persistent in their pursuit and were using their numbers to corral him towards the treeline. But Lincoln knew that once he broke the cover of the swamp, it would be game over. He was strong, strong enough that he could confidently fight off ten or fifteen men, but their numbers rose far above that. They would overwhelm him within a matter of minutes, and then one way or another, they would claim his life.

Those who had survived thus far were steadily growing more comfortable with the landscape, moving faster as they were motivated by the untimely death of their fallen comrades. Arrows flew through the air in masses, hitting nearby trees or sinking in murky waters. None had landed their target yet but the swamp was hardly a conducive environment for archery, so Lincoln didn't much more thought into their aim than that. He couldn't think about anything other than what would happen once he broke the cover of trees, an unpleasant reality that was quickly approaching. So instead of sacrificing the only advantage he had, Lincoln made a sharp right, making a last ditch effort to stay within the sanctity of the swamp.

A force collided with Lincoln and if he wasn't a mountain of a man, it would have knocked him off his feet. Lincoln had all but forgotten the axe in his hands but he wasted no time in swinging it, sinking the blade deep into the man's stomach. He didn't wait for the man to die; he didn't waste time with freeing his axe and before the body had even hit the ground, he was gone. The street was now close enough that Lincoln could make out the silhouettes of more men on horseback, presumably waiting for when he broke the cover of the trees. The men behind him were closing in, only several yards behind him now, and there was nowhere to run to.

By the time Lincoln was finally forced from the cover of trees, he was several miles away from his hut and completely lost. His attackers didn't him time to gather his bearings; they charged at him from the right, so Lincoln was forced to turn left. It was only after Lincoln had started to run that he realized the road was a dead-end. The road went up to a large, ornate gate (that was closed) and a tall, stone wall spanned for considerable distance in either direction. He tried to run through all the possible options in his head, but none were feasible. He couldn't scale a wall that high, couldn't fight off countless men, couldn't outrun men on horseback. This is it, Lincoln thought. After all these years, they finally found him and now, they were going to kill him.

Anticipation hummed throughout Nadia’s body as they ascended the steps up to the top of wall, though one wouldn’t know it simply by looking at her. On the outside, she was focused and unbothered by the risky plan she had laid out. She felt satisfied knowing she was the one in control- the only one who knew exactly what was going on. While her soldiers, the mercenaries, Lincoln, and even Talion floundered in the dark, she was passively witnessing all the pieces fall into place. Being the puppet master behind such a plot was enthralling to her and, by the time they reached the top of the wall, she was radiating with confidence.

Releasing Talion’s arm, she stepped up to the edge of the wall and gazed out across the stretch of land that led up to Raevaryn castle. The landscape was empty and quiet, which made the single plume of smoke rising up from the distance forest all the more ominous. She stared at it for a long moment, watched it grow into a pillar that stretched far into the clouds. They had found her prize, and the chase had officially begun.

As she reveled in the fantasy of what might have been occurring in the depths of that dreaded swamp, Nadia nearly forgot about the next stage in her plan. Fortunately, the ever attentive Talion managed to recapture her attention. She turned to look at him as he addressed her, expression at first unreadable as she mulled over the fact that he was requesting that she give up her little secret. Perhaps it was childish to keep her plans to herself, but she had enjoyed the brief bout of secrecy- she had earned it. Now, though, with her mysterious savior on the way with a hoard of malefactors on his tail, it was time to share.

Eventually, Nadia’s face melted into a smile, “I was wondering when you’d ask,” she replied, a teasing hint to her tone despite Talion’s obvious concern. Without further ado, she gave him what he asked for, as though she had simply been waiting for him to inquire, “I am expecting a very important guest to arrive any moment now. He is hereby under the protection of the Crown, and his identity is to remain secret.” Even if she wanted to offer up further detail on the man, she simply didn’t know much about him. All she knew was that he was special- very much so- and Nadia liked to surround herself with such individuals.

Turning away, Nadia leaned her palms against the stone barrier that lined the wall, squinting her eyes against the rising sun, “Those…wretches we hired- they shall lead him here. It is important he thinks he’s come here out of his own desperation. Perhaps he will consider the idea that I’ve arranged all of this- that’s fine. He’s welcome to be suspicious. But there’s no need to confirm any mistrust he might be feeling.” In fact, she was fully anticipating Lincoln’s dubiety, but he would soon learn that he was better off trusting her judgement.

“Talion,” she turned her head to meet his gaze with piercing green eyes, “This remains between us.” It was an order- one not meant to be taken lightly.

As they waited, Nadia inspected the team of archers that lined the wall and ensured that the main gate was manned and ready to be opened on her command. Everything was perfect; she just needed the stubborn hermit to cooperate for once. If he had accepted her offer in the first place, she wouldn’t have had to go through all of this trouble. Nevertheless, she had taken his rejection as a challenge, and she was determined to rise to it.

Finally, as she reached the limit of her patience, she saw him. He was just a lone silhouette in the distance as he stumbled onto the road that led up to the castle. It wasn’t long before his pursuers came into view. She watched with bated breath as the chase continued closer and closer until she could make out his features from her perch upon the wall. He looked defeated as he approached the towering wall, and she realized that he wasn’t lying when he said he had no idea where Raevaryn castle was. As strong as he was, he seemed to lack in wit. Then again, didn’t all men?

The archers had already notched their arrows and taken aim- but not at Lincoln. Rather, she had already informed them to train their weapons upon the pursuers, and they did just that as the mercenaries closed in upon Lincoln and left him cornered between the stone wall and their remaining line of men. Heart pounding with anticipation, Nadia took in the scene and studied each of the unscrupulous fools she had hired for the job. She imagined that they were the bandits who had dared to assault her, and she longed to repay Lincoln for his heroism. Even if it was all fabricated, she was certain that these men deserved a brutal fate, and Nadia was all too happy to carry out the sentencing.

“Loose!” The command rang loud and clear, and the archers released their arrows. Several days ago, Nadia had asked Talion the proper term to use when addressing their archers. Even then, she had been planning for this very moment, and seeing it come to fruition was immensely satisfying. Arrows rained down upon the surviving band of men, and they didn’t stand a chance. The successive thuds of projectiles sinking into flesh carried on for several long seconds before all went still. In the aftermath, a pile of bodies- man and horse- laid in a heap at the front gate.

Without tearing her eyes away from the Lincoln- the last man standing- she uttered her next order to Talion, “Open the gates.”

Without missing a beat, Nadia swept down the staircase and back into the courtyard. All eyes were on her- attentive, but unsure as the main gate was cranked open. These people- her soldiers- were expecting something from her, and she was more than happy to oblige, “Bring him to me,” she demanded, planting herself in front of the parting doors, “Don’t touch him,” she added, tone harsh like the crack of a whip. She folded her arms neatly behind her back and watched as her latest fascination appeared before her eyes and was ushered toward her like a lamb to the slaughter.

He was on edge- every sense he had, natural and unnatural, were alert. Whatever was about to happen, he had a feeling he wouldn't know what to make of it. Or of her, for that matter. Talion was certain that as long as he served Nadia, she would remain a beautifully ornate puzzle he would never quite piece together. "Who is this man to you?" He began to question her, but stood at attention as the men came into view. When the queen gave the order to loose, he found his jaw nearly on the ground as the mercenaries they'd hired hit the ground in heaps, leaving a lone figure. He had hired men only to kill them, and he hadn't been the one to give the order. Nevertheless, as Lincoln was brought into the open gates and his soldiers swarmed down, he followed, escorting Nadia down the steps to the courtyard below.

Lincoln was soot streaked and sweaty from his ordeal, and Talion eyed him with suspicion. Who was this, and why did Nadia go to such lengths to bring him here? It was obvious that they knew one another, and the Lincoln had been herded here against his will. But Nadia had requested secrecy, so he must be important in some way. He kept his mouth shut, watching to see what Nadia would do next.

All it took was three steps into the castle for Lincoln to realize that he had about as much control over his primordial instincts as he had over the direction the wind blew. He had been living in an ignorant delusion all of these years, believing that he had finally found balance and peace within himself - but the jig was up. He hadn't retreated into the wilderness because of his disinclination to merge into human society, and he was only kidding himself when he had prided himself on his discipline and insights. It had all be a fantastic waste of time; he was a fool if he thought that he could be suppress what he used to be and even stupider if he believed that if he went through the motions enough, maybe he could learn to be something else.

A rough prod in the back prompted Lincoln back into motion after he had slowed to a stop just inside the entrance way of the castle. Trepidation and unease crawled over and despite the stillness and calmness of the group, a panic started to brew in the pit of Lincoln's stomach. As they ventured further into the castle, dormant desires and instincts started to rouse and with them, old memories that he had no interest in remembering. His perception started to oscillate and as they walked, he momentarily forgot what he was - or what he wasn't - and nearly tripped in surprise when he saw his own two legs instead of his magnificent, clawed legs that he used to have. He didn't have time to dwell on his confusion; something dark caught his eye, sharply contrasting the pale colors that accented the airy hallway. He looked down, paling at the sight of streaks of a viscous black liquid - his blood? He followed the pattern of black drops up the side of the crumbling wall - had the walls been partially collapsed when they had walked in? - and onto the ornate ceiling, obscuring the faded paintings beneath. Further ahead, large pools of black completely cover the floor but drag marks that spanned the rest of the hallway suggested that whatever bled out here lived, at least for a short time.

Lincoln couldn't breathe. He couldn't look away from the blood and couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, this was his blood - but that wasn't possible. He had stopped walking again and another push from behind reminded him to keep moving but he resisted, leaning back into the pressure to avoid stepping the in the blood. The touch was enough to break his trance away from the blood and he looked up at the rest of the assembly only to see that there was a concerning lack of reaction for what they walking on - but when he looked again, the blood was gone. Instead of dark, dried blood, a hazy reflection of himself stared back up at himself from the shiny white tile floor. Shocked, his gaze snapped to the walls but they were no longer falling to rubble or painted with black blood. He looked up, but the only decorations on the ceiling were the bright, crisp colors of the detailed illustrations. The second time the soldiers shoved him, he let them push him into motion.

Lincoln retreated into the inner conflicts within his mind, no longer paying attention to his surroundings. Everything was started to bleed together inside of him and it was getting harder to use rationale and logic to override impulse. When he had been cursed all those years ago, it hadn't nullified the instincts that governed the life of a large, apex predator. Instead, the curse had crammed all of those instincts and life experiences into a small, weak, foreign body and sprinkled some self-awareness and humanity on top and then set him loose in the world. Now he felt like his true identity, the dragon that he used to be, was trying to explode out of him but his skin was impenetrable. Instead, the pressure just kept increasing as his instincts waged war for something he was physically incapable of indulging in. By the time Nadia's voice brought him out of thoughts, they were already alone in the bathing room.

If Lincoln hadn't been seconds away from a nervous breakdown, he would have laughed at Nadia's order. Aside from his impending panic attack and contrary to popular belief, his unwillingness to cooperate did not stem from embarrassment or modesty. Clothes were another baffling and annoying oddity of human culture. At first, the feeling of clothes on his newly sensitive skin had been unbearable and he often went without, but he was quick to learn that nudity was not accepted amongst human societies. It was only after years of habituation and slow integration into human customs that Lincoln had started to appreciate the benefits of clothes enough to wear them even in the absence of others. In the absence of hard, nearly-impenetrable scales, his new human skin was appallingly exposed and while clothes weren't even close to a comparable replacement, they did offer some protection from nature and the elements.

Over time, Lincoln had slowly realized that clothes were much more than a cheap physical barrier between skin and the outside world. The unspoken philosophy was shockingly integrated within cultures, and colors and styles usually held arbitrary but prominent significance which dictated entire interactions and quality of life. Even though Lincoln had just started to learn some of these trivial subtleties - for instance, Nadia's excessive and impractical wardrobe conveyed her royal status - he still didn't understand the association with nudity and ill or erotic intentions and vulnerability. He couldn't fathom why humans placed meaning when there often wasn't any; nudity was just the absence of clothes and nothing else. Had she not just blatantly burned down his home and shepherded him into her castle with presumably self-serving intentions, then he might have been amused enough to oblige by her request. But this was neither the time nor the place, and he wasn't feeling particularly cooperative. Unfortunately for Nadia, nudity was not the way to make Lincoln feel vulnerable. Unfortunately for him, she was already unknowingly doing that just by parading him through her castle.

"A tower," Lincoln entirely ignored her request while he grappled for the quickest solution "You said there was a tower. A private tower," And the ability to come and go as he pleased, but he got the feeling that part of the deal may have been rescinded. But there wasn't time for any lengthy negotiations or explanations or justifications for whatever happened and whatever was going to happen. The past and the future faded away until they were nonexistent, completely irrelevant to the here and now. His heart beat with one sole purpose, and that was to get as far away from this castle and all the splendor and wealth inside of it. If he saw something valuable, just a single precious gem, he would go careening over the edge.

"I want to go there," Lincoln declared, the unspoken now hanging in the air as he shifted his gaze warily between Nadia and her bodyguard. The man was tall and fit, obviously some sort of military man, but he was still only a fraction of Lincoln's hulking frame. Lincoln had yet to meet a man that rivaled him in size and the many possibilities of what he was capable with his size and strength made most people wary of him. Even if this bodyguard was disciplined enough to counteract the huge advantage of Lincoln's size, he still lacked one thing; desperation. As each second ticked by, logic and sanity slowly lost their grip on him as his desperation to quiet his inner demons grew exponentially. He didn't want to resort to physical violence, especially when he knew that it would ultimately result in his untimely passing, but he was dangerously teetering over the edge. Even the fear of death was starting to ebb away, paling in comparison to living under these conditions.

His eyes shifted back to Nadia, feeling a sense of déjà vu as he pressed his back against the wall and stared at the woman who both caused and could alleviate his hysteria, "Please."

For all the man he was, Nadia was pleased to find that her guest was even more submissive than she had anticipated. Was it trauma that made him cower? Or perhaps it had something to do with his mysterious condition. No matter the reason for Lincoln’s behavior, Nadia watched passively as his skin practically crawled with discomfort, waiting for him to oblige and begin shedding his clothes. When he failed to follow her orders, her lips pressed together in the faintest indication of her disappointment. Her ploy to get him as vulnerable as possible wouldn’t be as successful in the sanctity of his new living quarters, but Nadia was willing to negotiate. After all, she supposed she’d had enough wins for one day.

“Easy, Talion,” she crooned, approaching her general as he stepped in front of her defensively. She touched his arm in a soothing gesture- something that Talion always seemed to respond positively to. Nadia was not oblivious to the effect she had on the man, and unabashedly used it to her advantage at times- not that he needed much convincing. Nevertheless, she was always careful not to cross the line, ensuring that Talion did not succumb to his desires and overstep his boundaries. She respected his self-control; a trait she had learned was rare amongst men.

Pleasure invaded Nadia’s senses as Lincoln resorted to begging for mercy. She stared him in the eye, reveling in the power she had over what she could only describe as a beast of a man. His reaction was enough to satiate her for the time being, and so she decided to appease her guest even though her original deal had revolved around him coming to the castle willingly. “Of course. Your tower has been prepared, as promised.”

Nadia brushed past the men, approaching the door, “Talion, please escort us to the former Advisor’s living quarters. Our guest shall bathe there.” She knocked delicately on the door and the guards immediately wrenched it open. Nadia stepped out into the hallway and, despite her own orders, began the trek without waiting for the escort to catch up. She needed to clear her head before she faced Lincoln again. The situation felt far more delicate than she had originally anticipated, and while that solidified her control over him, it was some cause for concern. There was a possibility he could break under the pressure of his new environment. Clearly, she was missing some vital aspect that dictated his life. If only she knew what he was hiding, she could work through such obstacles and ensure his place at her side.

As the entourage approached the western wing of the castle, Nadia’s mood shifted, taking a downward spiral at the reminder of Roman’s existence. She glowered at the tile floor that she imagined he’d walked over thousands of times, hatred broiling in the pit of her stomach. Although they had rarely spoken to each other during the time they shared a home in the castle, she had grown to detest the man. By now, she was well aware that he had acted as a devilish earpiece on her husband’s shoulder. It became quickly and abundantly clear to her who was in charge of Raevaryn, and it wasn’t her beloved Alister. Roman’s threat to her only amplified when she heard the rumors of his manipulative abilities. The hypocrisy of it all made her fume. How dare he subjugate special individuals when he himself harbored such a dangerous ability? He was to blame for the lack of talent amongst her people. They’d all been scared off, imprisoned, or killed. If it weren’t for Talion, she’d had been left with a useless army of pathetically average folk.

Nadia relaxed her fists as she reached the top of a spiraling staircase and laid eyes on the traitor’s former home. The handmaidens had already beaten her there and were filing in and out to fill the bathtub with warm water before Lincoln arrived. Impatient, she slipped past them and entered the living space, satisfied with the now barren state of the room. She had taken great satisfaction in stripping and destroying Roman’s personal possessions. All that was left were a few necessary pieces of furniture, including a bed, a wardrobe, and a couch. Everything else had been stripped down to reflect Lincoln’s drab living conditions as much as possible, though she hoped he would be grateful to no longer be living in that wretched swamp.

Once the men arrived, she gestured toward the bathroom with a smile, urging Lincoln inside where his private bath awaited. “Go on. We’ll give you some privacy…” she decided this time, as though it were a privilege, “Once you’re cleaned up, we’ll talk.” Although she framed it as a simple chat, the weight of her intentions was reflected clearly in her gaze. If he expected this kind of hospitality to persist, then she needed answers in return.

With one man taken care of, she shifted her attention to the next, pinning Talion with a stare as she shut the bathroom door behind her. Although her attitude toward him was usually one of respect, a harshness had entered her gaze this time. She ventured further into the room and eventually settled upon the lonely couch, crossing her legs. She gestured to the cushion beside her in invitation but did not bother waiting for Talion to settle before she spoke.

“What’s the status on Roman? I had expected him to be in custody by now. He’s just one man, after all. There seems to be a lack of urgency on the matter. Perhaps you and your men don’t grasp the severity of the situation?” she paused but wasn’t seeking an answer for the borderline demeaning question, “The former Advisor is a traitor, a liar, and a deviant. The damage he’s done to this Kingdom is despicable. Not to mention the atrocities he’s been up to behind closed doors.” Nadia’s fingers tapped on the arm of the couch rhythmically as she prepared to further annihilate what was left of Roman’s character, “My ladies took notice,” she explained, referring to her servants- the women she used to work alongside. “Apparently Mr. Addison was known to fornicate with peasants and kidnap young boys he snuck past your guards. It’s revolting to think about, but I thought it might motivate you to get the biggest threat to our nation behind bars.”

Nadia took a deep breath once the rant was over, swiping her bangs back from her face to regain composure. During her short reign so far, she had not allowed her poise to slip in such a way. But her vendetta toward Roman had grown unhealthy, like a festering wound. Until she had complete control over him, that paranoia was bound to infect her and mutate into something far more insidious.