Cyan P.O.V.

“Hurting Seren physically is off the table, but what do you suppose about mentally?” Arline asks. She sits on the kitchen counter sipping blood from a glass. Draven stands across from her, cleaning up the mess we made while rummaging the kitchen for snacks after our talk with Lore.

“You heard His Grace. We aren’t to cause harm, and that includes whatever mental fuckery the two of you are trying to conjure up,” Draven replies around a knowing stare that could rival Lore’s if either of us didn’t respect Lore a hundred times more. Not to say we don't have respect for Draven. Of course we do, but he's not Lore. They aren't even remotely comparable, which sounds more insulting than it's meant to be.

“It could be carefully crafted mental fuckery. Bit by bit, we pick away at him until he goes running home with his tail between his legs,” Arline explains, looking at me for agreement, which she should already know she has. Great minds think alike, after all!

“I must side with Arline--”

“You always side with her,” Draven begrudgingly interrupts. I kick him in the shin. He whacks me in the side of the neck with a damp cloth, which hurts far more than I’d like to give him credit for.

“I’m simply saying, none of us like the bastard. I’m definitely not going to pretend that I’m happy he’s here. The sooner he leaves, the better, so let’s fuck with him a bit and make him want to leave,” I say and hop onto the kitchen counter next to Arline. The cooks hate when we do that. They aren't here to stop it though.

I already finished the cookies I grabbed from the cupboard. If the kitchen staff asks where they went, I’m blaming the kids. Without hesitation or remorse. They blamed me for eating the last of Oliver’s birthday cake last time when I know it was one of them! Oli cried for, like, three hours! And Lore made me clean out all the chimney’s, without magic, as punishment. Those sneaky little asshats.

“He will leave sooner if there’s no trouble. Speak harshly all you want, so long as you don’t give him reason to stay,” Draven orders while looking between the two of us like he expects us to get into trouble now… and okay, I was considering freezing some water outside that pompous peckerhead paladin’s doorway so he’ll slip in the morning, but that’s just a little prank!

Arline snaps her fingers. “So we have permission to be verbally mean and minorly violent? Maybe throw a rock at him once or twice? Nowhere vital of course, just, say, his ankles.”

Draven heaves a long breath prior to pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t deal with either of you.”

“You should be used to us by now.” Arline hops off the counter to set her cup by the sink. Some blood drips onto the counter. Draven glares dagger as if to say “bitch, I just finished cleaning.”

“I’m going to bed. I’ll need my rest if we have to put up with this bullshit for a few months.” She waves goodnight, then steps out of the kitchen without having cleaned up the mess. Probably to purposefully piss Draven off.

Well, there’s no way I’m staying here alone with him, especially when he’s in a bad mood. I’m about to follow Arline’s lead when the very person I’m trying to escape from grabs the back of my shirt. At least it wasn’t my hand this time, although my body likes to react as if they're one in the same. I shiver and hate myself for it.

“Cyan,” he says. That alone shouldn’t make my toes curl, but here we are. “Don’t go out of your way to bother Seren.”

“I don’t need or want your lecturing,” I growl while pivoting on my heel to face him so he’ll release me. Maybe not my best idea because now I see how close he is. I almost ran smack dab into his chest. Draven peers down at me with those freakishly bright orange eyes of his, the ones that were always breathtaking, but they get worse by the day. It's a curse, I swear.

“This isn’t a lecture,” he claims, leaning too close. My eyes dart to his lips, the ones I used to wonder what they felt like and now wish I didn’t know.

“Everytime you speak to me it’s a lecture or an insult." And a reminder of our positions. Draven is Lore’s right hand man. Lore goes to him first for help. Draven’s the one who leaves in the middle of the night, takes long trips to who knows where, and knows every piece of business Lore’s associated with or will be.

I want to be that; someone they can rely on. Even if it’s only Draven at first, if he asked for my assistance on something… I’d be ecstatic. I know I’m the last choice because I’m childish and erratic and simply not as good as Draven and Arline, but I try. I really try to be. I want to be relied on. I want to help.

“Not every time,” Draven argues, his voice unusually soft. “I’m speaking seriously, keep a distance from Seren. For your own good.”

“You and Arline have more to worry about than me.”

“Do we?” His gaze darkens and lips set into a thin line.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Draven gives me a brief once over.

Why does it feel like he sees right through me, always? Even when I’ve never told him or Arline about my past, Draven simply seems to know. I trust Lore to never tell him, so maybe I’m the problem. The truth’s written all over my face, or something along those lines.

“Nothing,” he finally grumbles, turning to clean up after Arline. “Get some sleep.”

“I’ll get some sleep if I want to… which happens to be now, but it’s of my own accord, not because you told me to,” I declare, practically feeling Draven roll his eyes. Not that I blame him. I want to bang my head against the wall for whatever that was.

Before Draven decides to make me question my restraint any more, I swiftly leave the kitchen. Every time we’re alone, I’m the one left feeling both nauseous and excited, which is not a combination I’d recommend. What does he get out of our interactions? A sense of superiority, probably. He’s always composed. Never looking less than perfect--well, there was one time he got flustered for the briefest moment ever.

My entire body heats up at the memory that I shove back into it’s ironclad box and kick it into the depths of my mind where it belongs. The Unspeakable Incident must remain unspeakable even in my mind, but pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t lessen the rapid racing of my heart that won’t stop even after I’m far out of Draven’s view. It’s not fair.