Don't make him the villain

2- The Hierophant

It had been a little over a week since you had taken the decision to stay with the Darkling. He had brought you back to his little palace, giving you permission to roam the grounds freely as long as you reported back to his room when he arrived. Some days, he didn't come back at all, the nights felt long and lonely without him in his big dark bed.

When he had time to spare, he would come back to you, experimenting with the powers you had stolen, trying to take them back, erase the mistake you had made the first day you saw him.

The tingling in your fingers provided no fear. You came to associate it with the Darkling rushing back to you to caress your skin, waiting for the moment it shows up, giving you excuses to seek him out.

When the pain became too much to bear, always peaking at random moments throughout the day, he made sure to be by your side and comfort you, taking you in his arms. Or send grishas carrying multiple elixirs to calm your nerves and slow the flow of blood torturing your veins when he was far from home.

In the days that had passed, you hadn't thought about escaping, or even poisoning him in the slightest, seeing as he covered up your tracks from the killing streak you had gone on before. You could even say you started to enjoy his company, and crave his touch at night.

On one particular morning, you recalled, he had told you that he had never been able to sleep so soundlessly before than when he holds you, used to waking up every hour, memories ripping him away from a peaceful rest. He had stayed in bed with you that morning, keeping you close, exploring your body with his hands, making swirls of shadows dance between your fingers. Unlike everyone else, his powers never scarred you.

Deep down, you knew you were living on borrowed time. That he had been using you as a distraction from whatever war was raging near the Fold, and that sun summoner he seemed to always be thinking about. That his courtesy would run out once he got bored of your presence, if you offered too much of a fight, if you didn't fight back enough. That whatever cursed thing he had put inside you would grow big enough to swallow you whole in complete darkness.

And yet.

You've never felt better. The respect you gained just by being his favorite, always treated like a princess. The fake freedom you gained, walking through the Little Palace and the gardens outside, carrying books from his personal library you were allowed to read. But even then, the thing making you stay wasn't the certitude of the pain being kept away. It was him. His neediness, his desires, how he made you feel, the way your body responded.

The unspoken promise that he would make you feel amazing things if you complied with his demands. And saints did you comply.

🌑🌓🌕

That night, you had greeted him politely with a bow of the head when he came back from the capital, not risking kissing him in front of all the glowering grishas who would kill you in a heartbeat to take your place. You were wearing one of the dresses he had selected for you, black or white without fail, never any colors, all embellished with amazing craftsmanship and care, golden patterns woven throughout the bodice. He loved giving you intricate clothes only so he could take them off himself, enjoying the expensive fabric as he tore it off your body.

He walked you back to his room immediately, holding you possessively, a hand on the small of your back as you climbed up the stairs to his wing. A hexagonal room filled with dark wood and black drapes behind the council's war room. A huge four-poster bed in the middle, next to a window giving in to the yards down below, big enough to see the night sky from the bed.

"I want to show you something", he says walking to his personal workplace facing the window, dropping the letters he was holding in his hand onto it. He sat down in the only chair, leaving enough room for you between him and the desk. You understand his intentions and sit down on his lap, facing the table. He breaks the seal of the envelopes, you recognize the double eagle of the royals, and leaves you time to read the content of the letter whilst trailing his mouth on the back of your neck, pushing your hair to one side, exposing parts of your shoulders.