Fairy Bride Ch22: A Firmer Grip (Patreon)

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As soon as the Kepts leave the house, Alienor turns on her heel, brushing past the kitchen table.  “Sit down, Spencer.  I need you to see something.”

“Oh.  Lovely.”  Spencer shuffles into a chair.  “Glad this scolding won’t be in front of my wife.”

Alienor pauses over a cheeseboard on the counter.  Unreactive to his words, she grabs a small knife.  “She’ll need to hear my criticism if you ever want her on your side.  She must know that I’m impartial.  Regaining trust in authority is a slow process.”

He smiles mirthlessly.  “I’ve noticed.”

“... I can tell from your tone that you have objections.”  Alienor starts cutting.  “With the Kepts gone, feel free to lay them out.”

“I don’t want her wearing masks,” Spencer says immediately.  “It will only make everything worse.”

Alienor chuckles.  “If a horse refuses its shoe, do you let it scamper off until a rock breaks its foot?”

Spencer growls.  “She’s not a horse.”

“True,” Alienor nods.  “Horseshoes are made of iron.”

Spencer hesitates.  “...Daphne has nightmares.  About the Keeping.  Putting her in masks will… remind her.”

“Is that so?”  Alienor stops.  “That is… unfortunate.”

For a moment, Spencer thinks he’s actually gotten her to express something.  A slight curl of the brows, a brief flare of the nostrils.  But it doesn’t last long before she returns to cutting.

“And irrelevant,” she hisses.

“How can that be-”

“Keepings are built on power.  Power requires discipline.  Nymphs respond best to masks.  If they traumatise her, all the more reason to train with them promptly.  In humans, we’d call it therapy by exposure.”

Spencer trembles, glancing at L Morgan.  The butterfly is so small.  So fragile.  “No.  It’s not necessary.  Shuh-surely if we do everything else-”

“Do you know what your issue is, Harcourt?”  Her slicing quickens to a ridiculous pace.  “You approach every problem like politics.  Compromise and half-measures.  Only pushing as far as she pulls.  I’m sure that’s gotten you far in life, but it leaves you with every politician’s flaw.  Inconsistency.”

She sets the knife down and reveals a plate filled with twenty, evenly-sliced wedges of cheese.

“Allow me to demonstrate why you need a firmer grip.”

Spencer sputters.  “Really?  You know, I’m not a child.  I don’t need games to…”

He stops when she pushes half the wedges onto an empty plate.  Clearly, she’s not listening.  She rushes over to the table, and sets the plates down.

“Now…”  Alienor folds her hands.  “Say ten - don’t eat them!”

Frowning, Spencer lowers his hand.

Alienor sighs. “Say ten pieces make a good meal.  How many pieces do you have?”

“Ten.”

Alienor sits down.  “And I?”

“Ten as well.”

She nods.  “Us humans fool ourselves into believing our relationships look like this.  Equal cheese, equal power.  We both get good meals.  In reality…” She takes two wedges and throws them onto his plate.  “This slice might be a fulfilling job; that, a child’s affection.  Often, there’s an imbalance.  Someone’s getting a smaller meal.  Do you follow?”

He nods.

“Excellent.”  Alienor reaches over and grabs his plate.  Ignoring his surprise, she pours all his slices onto her own.  “And this…”

“Ah, hey!”

“... is a Keeping.”  She sets the empty plate down.  “How does that make you feel?”

Spencer rolls his eyes, but opts to play along.  “Frustrated.”

“Why?”

“You just stole all my cheese.”

“Ah.  But, see, I need the cheese.  I’m trying to build something greater. Something that requires far more than ten measly pieces, but will benefit us both.”

“What is it?”

“If I told you that you ‘couldn’t understand,’ what would you say?”

“I’d say ‘You’re taking the piss.’”  Spencer shrugs.  “And maybe ‘give my bloody cheese back.’”

“So we’re at an impasse.”  She nods.  “I want my something, you want your cheese.  Now, seeing your anger, let’s say…”

Delicately, she plucks out a single wedge with her gloves, and then plops it onto his plate.  “... I compromise.  Does this satisfy you?”

“Uh, no?”  Spencer holds it up.  “I had ten.”

“But you still have some cheese, so why focus on the other nine?”

“Because it’s not enough to feed me.”

“Exactly.”  Alienor leans forward.  “When you’re given a piece, it only reminds you of the imbalance.  When you eat it, it leaves you asking for more.  And once it’s gone, we’re both one cheese less.  So I’m forced to make the same choice again.”

She starts building her wedges into a little stack.

“I can either sacrifice another cheese, or listen to your growing dissatisfaction,” she continues.  “And the more I cave, the more impossible it becomes to create that for which I stole your cheese in the first place.”

Alienor gestures to a little structure of wedges, six layers tall.

“... A fondue.”

Spencer blinks, suddenly confused.  “Daphne didn’t complain when I bought her that yellow hat.”

“But she will the moment you refuse to give her red.”  Alienor replies.  “It’s tempting to give Kepts more control over time, like children.   But we rear our children to become independent.  She will expect the same, and when you refuse it, she’ll conclude that your gestures are the tokens they truly are.  Because you’re not interested in her freedom, Harcourt.”

She lifts a glove and points to the sitting room.  “You’re interested in the Tower.”

Spencer follows her to a massive landscape, hanging over the hearth.  It shows a massive sandstone behemoth, with impeccable detail below.  At first he believes it a recreation of Bruegal’s Great Babel… until he sees the top, and realises it can’t be.

This tower is complete.

“The Tower is why you’ve done this.  The Tower is why she’s here,” Alienor explains.  “It is a whole that cannot be without summing both parts.  It is what you offer her in place of all the cheese she’s lost.”

Spencer turns and looks at her, his confusion plain.  “I don’t understand.  Will this Tower make her happy?”

Alienor almost smiles.

“In ways you cannot conceive.”

‘15:33: Daphles <3: Hey, Spencer?  Doing my fifteen-minute check-in.’

Daphne glances up, trying to ignore the muttering from the line.  Beyond the small gelato shop, she can see a stream cut through the small town, revealing a park across the street.  How she wishes she could join the bench-sitters and afternoon joggers, instead of her present company.

Because Zetti is sniffing at each gelato flavour and growling like he’s found a threat.

‘15:34: Spence <3: Hi Daph!  Alienor’s X_X.  She likes ur butterfly tho!’

‘15:34: Daphles <3: You mean L Morgan?’

‘15:34: Spence <3: (._.)’

She buries her head in her phone, hiding from the growing stares she’s sure the Kepts’ outfits are drawing.  ‘15:35: Daphles <3: Hey, so, Zetti wants you to know there's multiple flavours.’

“‘I sure hope so’,” she reads out the reply.  “See, Zetti?  It’s normal, we don’t have to-”

“Then he should have a preference.”  Zetti cuts her off.  “Ask.”

Daphne sighs, and turns towards the counter.  “Désolé. Encore une minute.”

She can feel the annoyed glare from the worker behind the counter.  That’s been her, more than once.

‘15:35: Spence <3: Why?  Don’t you think this is weird?’

‘15:35: Daphles <3: It’s already weird.’

‘15:35: Spence <3: She says lemon.  Tell him I ordered whatever you say.’

Finally.  She nods at Zetti.  “Lemon and strawberry.”

“Citron et fraise,” he relays.

‘15:35: Daphles <3: Thanks, Spencer.  See you in fifteen.’

‘15:36: Spence <3: Cheers.’

She’s about to tuck the phone away when she hears a final beep.

‘15:36: Spence <3: And thanks for texting (◕‿◕)’

Daphne smiles slightly, despite herself.  It vanishes as soon as Zetti approaches, two gelato in hand.  “Do I ask him where we should sit, too?”

“My mistress always prefers eating outdoors.  Follow me.”  He gestures to her towards the door.

The gelato is delicious, but Daphne keeps her focus on the Kept.  He seems distracted, sniffing the air, squinting into the summer sun.  When he bites into the treat, he makes a gruff face, but continues to eat anyway.

“So…” she shifts.  “What’s the plan now?”

He eyes her suspiciously.  “We were ordered to enjoy ourselves.”

“Does that mean we can’t talk?”

“No.  But, if I may offer my opinion…”

It takes Daphne a second to realise he’s waiting.  “Uh, go ahead?”

“I got the impression you didn’t want to speak with me.”  Zetti takes another begrudging bite.

“No.  I’m just… confused.”  Daphne pushes in her chair and bites her lip.  “Don’t you find all this a bit… strange?”

“What do you mean?”

“The clothes, the commands?  Everything?”  Zetti just blinks at her silently, so she sighs and points at his collar.  “You have to wear that, nobody else does, and you get punished if you take it off.  Do you think that’s normal?”

“You have to wear that glamour.  If you pulled it away, you would face consequences.  You don’t seem to object, so why should I?”

“That’s…it’s not the same.”  Her face contorts.  “I’d stand out more if I took it off.”

“If I have something my mistress would like to display, I-”

“It’s a collar,” Daphne interrupts.

Zetti pauses, sniffing the air.  “Look behind you.  The creature there.”

She scoots around.  A pedestrian in a tank-top straddles a bench, her golden retriever at her heels.  It takes a moment for Daphne to realise what he’s talking about.  “You can’t be - ”

“The dog never chose that leash or harness.  And maybe, for others, that’s a source of shame, even ridicule.  But the dog understands which opinion matters more.  All they care about is a happy master, and a joyful afternoon.”

Daphne scowls, the colour creeping back into her cheeks.  “Did you always think like this?  There must have been some point when you weren’t-”  Her tongue freezes.  Right.  Can’t say that in public.  “... guided.”

Zetti takes another clearly unpleasant bite of gelato.  His calmness is infuriating.  “We are always guided.  From the moment of our births.  Hunger demands you eat.  Your lungs demand you breathe.  And everyone in this world is guided by commands, either from those with power, or those who empowered them.”

Daphne shakes her head.  “Th-that’s not-”

“You must obey the court, the bank, the employer, the cop.  Or you risk losing everything, even your life.  Compared to them, our Keepers are quite benign.  They have our interests at heart.”

Her breath hitches.  Something in her eyebrows twitch.

“Under their wings, we have food, shelter, clothes, care.  Your rebelliousness aside, you must concede that Spencer’s given you practically anything you could want.  How many humans could say they’re so generous?  How many would be so attentive to-”

“I never fucking wanted this!”  Daphne slaps the table, and Zetti draws back, surprised. She rises from her seat leaning forward.  “So you’re getting something from Alienor?”

Zetti slowly nods.

“Great.  Good for you!  Because I’m getting as much from Spencer as you’re getting from that bloody gelato!”  Daphne starts blinking rapidly.  “I had a life!  I was happy! And he took that all away, just like he always does, just like you people always do!  Taking and taking and-”

“Stop.”  Zetti cuts her off.  “You’re sweating.”

Before she can react, he places his hand on her forehead.  Daphne can feel beads of water drip into his cold skin.  Far more than there should be.  Only then does she realise how many are staring at them.  Their whispers are lost to the sound of rain.

“... sorry.” Her legs tremble and she drops back into her seat.  “I… I get-”

“No.  I’m thankful that you’ll speak with me so honestly.”  Zetti clears his throat.  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to share these concerns with our Keepers.”

She laughs.  Of course.  How kind of him to announce his betrayal.  “It’s nothing he doesn’t know.”

“I also wanted to offer advice, if you’ll permit me.”

“You don’t have to keep asking, Zetti.  I’m normal.”  Daphne drags a finger along the edge of the table.  Zetti nods.

“This will be far easier if you cooperate.”

She snorts.  “Oh, great idea!  I’ll just do everything he says, and then we’ll stop fighting!  How convenient.”

“Just for this excursion, that’s all I ask.”  Zetti shrugs.  “Personally, I am more reticent than my mistress to believe that our relationship is easily copied - ”

“Glad we agree.”

“ - but I know that your responses aren’t productive.  The more you put Spencer on guard, the less likely he is to heed her advice.  The less space he gives himself to improve.”

“What if I don’t care if he improves?”

“You do.  You really do.”

Daphne folds her arms. It’s true that it was refreshing to see Spencer off-balance, and even put some bloody faith in her.  But he’s hardly getting ‘advice’ she’d want him to take.  And as for acting like Zetti for the rest of her life…

…except… it’s not going to be the rest of her life, issit?

Daphne shifts again, feeling the weight of the other phone in her jacket pocket. Ten more days.  She can hold out for ten more days.  “Fine.  You’re right.  I’ll play along.  I’ll be beaten otherwise, anyway.”

“Thank you-”

“But…”  Daphne cuts him off.  “In return, you have to answer my question.”

“Certainly.”

“Did you always think this way about Alienor?”

Zetti chuckles, sliding down in his seat.  Daphne watches curiously. It’s the first time she’s seen him relax his shoulders.  “No.” He tilts his head.  “Does that surprise you?”

She wishes she could hide the way it does.

He pushes her gelato into her hand, beckoning her to eat.  “That something I’m getting from my mistress?  It took me a long time to realise that was worth more than she could ever take.

Spencer fiddles with his black tie, grinning nervously at the mirror in front of him.  Black shirt, black shoes, black trousers.  Even his studs are onyx.  “Heh, not to insult your fashion sense, but… isn’t this a bit excessive?”

Alienor clicks her tongue, never looking away from the canvas she’s painting.  “It’s not excessive.  It’s tradition.”

Something inside Spencer boils.  “Right.  But, heh, the dryads don’t dress like this-”

“Because they’ve already proven their commitment to their Kepts.  You haven’t. ” Alienor swirls her brush through the palette, merging colours into hollow greys.  “For every rule she must follow and you choose to ignore, your relationship draws further apart.  If she alone is put in place, she’ll always loathe it.”

Spencer huffs, turning around and folding his hands behind his back.  “Then maybe we should talk about the Tower again.”

Silence.  Alienor is apparently too focused on her brushstroke to respond.  Spencer clears his throat, speaks a bit louder.  “I said-”

“You’re not ready,” she interrupts.

He rolls his eyes.  “Why not?”

Another excruciating pause.  “Have you heard of my father?”

“Bernat Lousteau?”  Spencer blinks.  “In passing.  Some of his planes showed up in my aviator mags.”

Alienor sets her palette down, gesturing to the mounted heads around them.  “He built this lodge the same way he built his company.  By hand.  He felt it was not enough for a CEO to merely know business sheets and investors.  He slept in the worker’s barracks, hosted family dinners for each new hire.  Learned each step in the process of building a plane, so that he could forge his own.  Obviously, this was taxing for an already very busy man.  When I was a girl, I asked why he did it.  And he told me…”

She stops to look at a portrait in the hall.  Spencer realises that it’s her and Zetti, the Keeper straddling the Kept’s lap, both faces serious and serene.

“You must earn,” she hisses.  “Before you lead.”

Spencer folds his arms.  “So… I’m assuming you didn’t make it into the will?”

“Hahah.  Trust me.”  She turns around.  “I earned it.”

She briskly returns to the sitting room, opening a drawer by her easel.  “You have forced yourself into leadership, Harcourt, but you’ve yet to prove your worth.  Before you can climb the Tower, before you can even see its steps, Daphne must learn to trust you.  Totally.  Unflinchingly.”

“Heh, good luck with that,” he chuckles.

“Don’t fret.  That’s why we’re here.  I have ways to…”  Alienor rises to her feet, revealing the leather collar and leash in her hands.  “... expedite the process.”

“Keep your back straight, heels firm…”  Zetti presses his hand against her back, pushing her into place where she stands.  “... there.  Doesn’t that feel more proper?”

Daphne swallows down her sigh, pressing her hands together politely.  The chains on her wrists rattle with the motion, but she ignores that, too.  Just focuses on staring ahead like she was told, on L Morgan, climbing branches from her spot on the dresser.  Anything but Daphne’s horribly exposed chest.

Of course Spencer brought a fucking nymph dress on their vacation.

“No offence, but absolutely none of this feels proper to me… sir.”  Daphne bites out the last word only when she sees Zetti’s glare.

“You need to ask before you share your opinion,” he admonishes.  “Stating it freely could cloud your Keeper’s judgement.  You should trust that he acts in your best interests.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Then can I express my opinion, sir?”

“No.  And regardless of the answer, bow in thanks.”  He starts tilting her body until she sees the ground.  It’s taking all her effort not to shriek.  “Like so.  Now bow on your own.”  Zetti watches her stiffly.  “Curtsy.  Good.  Now stay in formal posture and recite your parting.”

“I am pleased to have served you,” Daphne replies tonelessly.

He smiles.  “We’ve made such progress already.”

Zetti sits at her desk and looks out the bedroom window, where the sun is just starting to rise above the mountain fog.  Daphne joins in the corner of her eyes, balancing on her aching heels.  It’s not the first time she’s caught him staring out.

“I have a question for you, Daphne.”  He asks, never looking away.  “Were you ever assigned a dryad?”

“... I’m not sure,” Daphne confides, blinking.  “A dryad found me.  Her name was Astraea.  She called me hers, but…”

Daphne hesitates.  Should she explain the full story?  Does Zetti really care?  A part of her’s flattered he even bothered to ask about her past.  It’s the first time someone other than Spencer’s shown interest in… years.

“Astraea wanted someone from her past.  She didn’t want… me.”  Daphne grimaces.  Simplest way to put it.  “So I left.  Flew right off her balcony, and found a job in London’s Market to hide.”

“Alone?”

“No.  There was a boy, Ian.  He was the store clerk who worked night shifts with me while I was still living like a human.”  She smiles sadly.  “I liked him.”

“So he was your partner?”

“OH!  No, no, we… well, I’m sure he… I…”  Daphne sputters into awkward chuckles.  “We didn’t leave on the best terms, but… I never took him up on his offers.  I never took up anyone’s.  Except Spencer’s.”

Zetti turns to her, brows furrowed.  She ignores the twist in her gut.

“They tried, but… they couldn’t know about me.  ‘Safety first,’ what we always said.  But Spencer was different.  He knew I was fae, and he liked it.  And he gave off this vibe… I-I thought it would be a fling before he-”

“Daphne.  You’re sweating again.”

Daphne wipes her forehead.  It comes back damp.  “Sorry.”  She swallows.  “I… I’m ‘assigned’ now.  So it doesn’t really matter.”

“I see.”  In the long silence, Zetti offers a smile.  “Thank you for sharing.”

She tries her best to match.

A knock jolts them both, throwing off Daphne’s pose.  Spencer peers in and immediately blanches at her dress.  Alienor stands behind, toneless as ever.  Daphne notes the bronze contraption in his hands.  A mask with metal sheets to cover the sides of her eyes.  Horse blinders.

“... Good morning… Kept.”  Spencer looks back to Alienor, his face sickly.  “You look marvellous today.”

“Thank you, Keeper.”  She swallows, and notes how Zetti beams.  “I’m… ready to serve.”

Spencer gives the leash a harsh pull, dragging Daphne away just before she can collide with the traffic cone.  Reflexively, she cranes her neck around to see, but with another tug and click of his tongue, he pulls her back the way she's supposed to face.  Exactly as he was instructed.

Alienor lounges on a sofa, her hand permanently by her baton, smiling more brightly than Spencer’s ever seen.  It’s a definite contrast to the deep, quaking shudder that travels down his spine.

“Yes.  See how naturally she turns to you.  And smile, Spencer.  It’s positive reinforcement.”

Spencer forces a grin as Daphne stumbles to his chest.  Cold chains press on his skin, and her face is upturned.  The terrified little heartbeat he feels while holding her makes it obvious that it’s not for affection.  Between the taut leash and the bronze blinders limiting her view, she has no choice but to follow his eyes’ movements.

“Nuh-no.”  Spencer stops her, and, with his eyes, gestures until she sidesteps around the coffee table.  “There.”

“Reward her, Spencer,” Alienor calls out.  “She didn’t turn away that time.”

“R-Right.”  Something collapses inside him.  “Guh-... good girl, Daphne!”

Daphne’s face is a hot, bright red.

“More.”  Alienor tuts.  “Remember.  Positive reinforcement.”

Spencer twitches, reaching into the pack around his waist.  It’s filled to bursting with small, sweet sugar cubes.  Daphne’s eyes flash as he holds one in front of her.

“O-Open up, darling.”  He gives her a pleading look.  “I-It’s a treat!!”

Reluctantly, Daphne opens her mouth, allowing Spencer to delicately place the cube on her tongue.  He moves his hand to her hair, petting her soothingly even as his voice cracks.  “Thuh-thuh-that’s a guh-good girl, Daphne.  Buh-best nymph around.”

“Perfect,” Alienor rises from her seat.  “Now, let’s repeat the exercise, mmm, four more times.”

Silence fills the room.  Maybe this is a bonding experience, Spencer decides.  For once, he and his wife feel exactly the same about someone.

Spencer releases the leash and sighs as the door finally closes, Alienor having judged it time for a rest.  Daphne beelines for a nearby pitcher of water, pouring herself a tall glass before fumbling for the switch in her mask.  The blinders aren’t making that easy.

“H-hey!”  Spencer stutters.  “You’ve worn that mask for an hour, and you’re not panicking!  That’s a good sign, right?”

Daphne tosses an exhausted glare over her shoulder, turning her whole head so he can see.  “Very astute, Dr. Pavlov.  Suppose that positive reinforcement’s working.”

Spencer gives her a pouty look before the door clicks open again.  It’s Zetti, hefting a large ivory chair.  Alienor follows with a blank canvas.  “Keeper, take a seat.  Kept, to me.”

They both glumly follow her commands.  “Is there a problem, mistress?”  Daphne speaks while Alienor sets her easel.

“Of a sort.”  Alienor peeps her head out, approximating the distance between herself and Spencer.  “So far, you’ve impressed me.  I had an inkling that a better environment would make you more complicit.”

“... Thanks, mistress.”  Spencer can tell Daphne’s trying to hide her venom. Her eyes cast to Zetti for approval, and Spencer’s face lights up.  Is she making friends?

“Tonight, I’d like you to prepare dinner for your Keeper.  It will calm his unspoken fears of poisoning.”  Alienor smirks, ignoring Spencer’s wounded glance.  “But first we need to discuss your… body.”

“What about it?”  Just like that, the smile in Daphne’s voice has turned guarded.

“It betrays the loyalty you show in your mind.”  Alienor grabs the palette and tests colours.  “All through this morning, I’ve seen twitches.  Flinches.  You shake when you're touched.  Your Keeper sees it too. It needs to be dealt with.”

Daphne’s face freezes.  “Uh, I-I’m sorry, mistress, but i-it’s rather difficult-”

“Which is why we’re practising now.  I’d like to recreate a portrait with you two.”

“W-wait, what?”  Daphne grabs her mask.  “St-still wearing…?”

“That one, there.”  Alienor points out the portrait she’d shown Spencer earlier, with herself on Zetti’s lap.  Spencer can feel Daphne’s face collapse.  “You’ll take my position.  It should only last the afternoon.”

Spencer watches Daphne with growing concern.  She takes a step back, her breath quickening.

“Obviously, I prefer you smile,” Alienor ignores her.  “But it’s most important-”

“Wait.”  Spencer interrupts, gripping his chair tightly.  “Darling?”

Daphne’s hands paw for the back of the mask, grasping for a switch she can’t find.  “Spencer, please, I-I have to take it off.  I can’t… you… p-please - ”

“SIT DOWN!”  Alienor snaps, freezing Spencer halfway to his feet.  “You are not helping her.”

“Like Hell!”  Spencer starts to rise again, but he feels Zetti’s fierce grip on his shoulder.

“Stand down, Harcourt,” he growls.

“LET GO OF ME!”  Spencer shouts back.  “W-we have to stop this!  Look at her!”

Daphne starts curling inward, hyperventilating.  She’s not looking for the switch anymore; her hands clutch at the mask's sides, grasping and holding, her arms trembling with the effort.

“No.  She needs to learn how to calm herself.  You need to learn how to watch”  Alienor gestures her head sharply, walking towards him.  “I will not end this training until I am holding that portrait.  If you stand in the way of that, you will be punished in her place.”

Spencer stops, looking at her with horror.  Alienor flashes a smirk.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Spencer turns to Daphne, then Alienor, then Daphne again.  Zetti’s grip is still tight.  Time seems to turn still.

“Perfectly,” he whispers.

And then he punches her in the cheek.

“MISTRESS!”  Alienor stumbles to the floor.  Zetti briefly loosens his grip, but it’s enough time for Spencer to slam him into the wall.  He turns and shouts.

“DAPHNE, GO!”  The nymph is already down the hall.  Spencer smiles, triumphant.

It lasts all of a half second, before he feels the other Kept’s charge.

When Spencer opens his eyes again, he’s on the floor, lying in a field of spilled sugar cubes.  He kicks and scratches at the massive fae standing over him, gripping his neck with furious hands.  Something bold glows in Zetti’s eyes, and he ignores the blood on his cheek drawn from Spencer’s nails.

“Don’t fucking hurt her!” Spencer sputters out. “You-ah-ahk!”

“I could say the same.” Zetti starts to squeeze.

“You don’t UNDERSTAND!”  Spencer sputters and coughs, struggling for air.  He grits his teeth, eyes wild.  “She’s all that bloody matters!  She’s been fucking-”

“Stop.” The voice comes from Alienor, above Spencer, doubled over like all commands.  Zetti’s muscles grow stiff, and he releases Spencer at once.  When the spell breaks, Zetti looks at his mistress in bewilderment.

Alienor points at the hall.  “Follow the Kept.  Leave him to me.”

“Mistress, I can’t.  You’re hurt-”

He recoils.  Alienor’s slapped him.  As Zetti blinks the sting away, she readies her hand for a second discipline.  “Go.”

Zetti bounds off, leaving Spencer to shrivel and hack.  Alienor watches for a moment before straightening her posture.  “Harcourt… what were you going to say?”

Spencer catches his breath, curling into himself.  “I… I have to protect her.”  He notices the flash in Alienor’s eyes.  “She’s been… hurt enough.”

L Morgan peers down from the sticks of her cage, straddling the dresser.  Silent and unmoving.  Daphne pushes herself into the corner of her bedroom, drowning in the sounds of rain.  Her hands are wedged between the bronze plates, and she’s overwhelmed with the scent of lavender every time she breathes.

She hears the door click open, and she flinches back, huddling close.  “Go away!”

“You have a chance to get out of this,” Zetti responds quietly.  “Ask for permission to apologise, and - ”

“I’m not going to beg, and I’m done with this sick little game!” Daphne raises her head, her vision wavering as she glares at him.  “She wants me to apologise? Sp-Spencer can fucking order it!”

Zetti frowns. “I… know you’re hurting.  But you promised you’d make this easy-”

“It shouldn’t be easy!  I shouldn’t give in!”  Daphne stifles an angry sob. “When did you give up your dignity, huh?  Before she put a leash on you, or after?  How do you live like this!?”

“I…”  Zetti’s face contorts.  He starts muttering something, too quickly.  Like a mantra.  “... I am stronger with my Keeper,.  Before she found me, I was lost.  She showed me life.  She showed me light.  And through her, I found love-”

“This isn’t fucking love,” Daphne hisses, cutting him off.  “That’s just what you want it to be.”

Zetti snarls at her.  She laughs.

“Does that make you angry?  Good.  That makes both of us!”

“You’re not angry,” Zetti scowls.  “You’re afraid.”

For a moment, Daphne freezes.  Zetti’s eyes feel like they could bore through her skin.  But she shakes her head and springs to her feet, flinging her arms.  “Yes!  Of course I’m afraid!  Do you have any idea what he did to me?”

“It has nothing to do with how he’s hurt you,” Zetti walks forward.  “You’re scared of the day when he won’t have to hurt.”

Daphne pulls back into the wall, staring at him blankly.  Zetti nods slowly.

“At first, I thought you resisted because Spencer has failed.  But now I understand; he’s succeeding.  You can see yourself with him, you can sit on that chair. You see my mistress and I, whole and happy, and it fills you with dread that his future will work.”

She laughs, her head lolling with the weight of the blinders.  They cling to her face like a spider, but Daphne doesn’t care.  She can lose herself to the memories later.

“Okay!  Fine!  You found me out!  I don’t want his fucking future!  I don’t want her to-”

“Who’s her?”  Zetti asks.

Daphne freezes, her expression growing blank.  After a moment, the scowl returns, searching Zetti’s eyes.  “... I just want to be free, for once in my life!  Tell me you don’t want the same, Benezetto.  Tell me why that’s wrong!”

Zetti pauses, meeting her glare.  Then slowly, calmly, he turns around, and mutters something before he slams the door.  The half-heard words stick in her mind for hours, long after she’s paralysed by her history.

“Because you’re not.  And you never will be.”

Hello everyone!  Lehanna again with another fresh chapter of villainy :3

Big shout-out today towards Hark for his work on L/Daphne both in this story and in Chrysalis.  It’s always a challenge for me to truly keep the character in spirit, and he’s always swift in correcting my course.

While I think we can all agree that Alienor’s beliefs are… extreme… I’m curious to know what you guys think of Zetti.  Does his stance towards Alienor make him weak, cowardly, even complacent?  Is there any truth in his words?

We’ll learn more about this strange couple and their goals for the Harcourts in Chapter 23: The Tower, coming to you all on Friday, December 15th.  See you then!