CW: general violence and threats, suggestive themes, implied torture
The protagonist knew they couldn’t carry it off forever. They just had to hope that when the truth came out they’d have enough warning to run.
They did not.
One day everything was laughter and roses, the next they walked into the dining room to be met with armed guards and drawn swords and the villain pale and terrible with rage over breakfaat.
One look at that face and the protests of innocence died on the protagonist’s lips. They put up no resistance as the guards swiftly disarmed them, bound their hands too tight behind their back.
“How did you know?” the protagonist said into the sudden stillness.
The villain tilted their head, eyeing the protagonist like they might a particularly offensive bit of paperwork. And then they stood from their untouched tea and toast to take up their own sword from where it had been laid across the breakfast table.
“Leave me,” the villain said, unsheathing the blade. “With this.”
The guard captain cleared their throat. “Your Grace, with respect-”
“If you’ve done your job they’re no threat to me now.” The villain tested the blade’s edge with a light tap. “Take the rug with you. I don’t want it ruined.”
The guards were too well trained to gloat or laugh like common street thugs over a cornered victim, but the protagonist felt that same vicious thrill go through the bunch. Hands quickly pulled the rug up and away, and the protagonist was kicked down to their knees. The door shut and it was just them and the villain.
“You like my things too much,” the villain said into the silence.
The protagonist blinked. “What…?”
“You asked how I knew.” The villain strode closer, their rapier glinting in early light. It was not the ceremonial one, nor the dull blade they used for practice bouts. “When you got tired or distracted, I’d see your eyes wander. I wanted to take you for just another greedy hanger-on but… no.”
The blade whistled through the air. The protagonist flinched as it stopped a hairsbreadth from their neck. “You looked at my things like someone who’d never before seen a properly tended garden or a well turned piece of lace. Like someone struck with delight that such a thing could exist,” the villain said softly. "An effective strategy, I’ll admit. I was looking so hard for a professional, it took me embarrassingly long to consider that someone could be cruel enough to send an amateur into my bed to do their spying.”
“No one sent me,” the protagonist said, too fast. They tried to swallow. Their mouth was so terribly dry. Their fingers were going numb, their arms and shoulders starting to burn. “Can I convince you I was just trying to con you out of a few good meals?”
“Oh, I wish you could,” the villain murmured back. The sword point flicked down into the soft parquet floor as they crouched to eye level. The protagonist shuddered as those clever fingers curled around their skull, pulled the protagonist closer. “I know how you fight and I know how you fuck,” the villain breathed into their ear. “We both you’re not going to last long if you make me do this the hard way. Save yourself some pain. Tell me who made you do this.”
The protagonist clenched their jaw and said nothing. The villain sighed and took up their sword again. “The offer stands,” they said and went to work.
In the end the protagonist told them everything. They could only hope they’d bought enough time for the others to run.
My wifi casually goes out 10 minutes before an app was due so I legit hotspotted to send her my edited paper that she only sent me 18 minutes before the time
