By The Silk That Binds Us - moonselune (2024)

Chapter 1: Part One

Chapter Text

Matron Minthara Baenre stood amidst the ruins of House Liakyre, her blade gleaming with the blood of those who had dared to stand against her. The women of the house had been slaughtered, their screams now a haunting echo in the silent halls. Kyorlin and Lesaonar Liakyre, the last of their line, knelt before her, their heads bowed in resignation.

"Your blood will purge Baenre of any weakness," Minthara declared, her voice cold and unwavering as she lifted her blade, ready to deliver the final blow to the twins. House Liakyre had helped House Baenre in an hour of need and in the future that Minthara had for her house, no history of weakness could be permitted to live.

But just as the blade was about to descend, the bells of Menzoberranzan rang out, their peals announcing the new rankings. Minthara ignored them with a perfected arrogance, she knew her house would remain where it had been for centuries, at the top. Though to Minthara's shock, Kyorlin and Lesaonar began to shake, not in fear, but in laughter, a sound that filled the bloodied room with bitter irony.

"Why do you laugh?" Minthara demanded, her confusion mounting as she lowered her blade, but they did not answer. However, before Minthara could raise her blade once more to cease their apparent joy, one of her servants, pale and trembling, hurried to her side.

"Matron, you must come outside, immediately`.There is something you need to see." The murmured, the voice shaking in unbridled fear.

Reluctantly, Minthara followed the servant out into the open, glaring at the twins with a vengeful promise. She walked briskly with the servant towards the balcony, a few bodies strewn across it. The rankings were displayed prominently, and to her expectation, House Baenre remained at the top. What she did not expect was directly beneath it was the name she thought she had literally just eradicated: House Liakyre.

She spun back and stormed over to the twins, fury blazing in her eyes. "How is this possible?" she screamed. "Your house is decimated! Your women all lay breathless!"

Kyorlin, still laughing, met her gaze with a cold smile and leaned towards his brother. "Say, Lesaonar, how fortunate it was that our sister's handmaiden looked so similar to her. Anyone could mistake her corpse for our dear sister's."

"How right you are Kyorlin, how irritating would it be for some vengeful matron if she survived? Alive all along." Lesaonar wheezed out, his lungs battered from the beating he had received just moments prior.

Minthara's fury turned into a tempest and she lunged for Lesaonar, lifting him up by his bloodied robe. She knew immediately who they were referring to, you, the fifth daughter of the House of Liakyre, the only one she had not slain with her bare hands. "Where is she? Where is your sister?"

Before either of them could respond, a frantic messenger approached, bowing as low as they possibly could so not to direct her rage unto themselves. "Matron Minthara, you are summoned to the High Priestess's chambers. The Liakyre brothers are to accompany you - alive and harmed no further."

Minthara unceremoniously dropped Lesaonar to the floor, and motioned for her convoy to depart. Not before, however, she set the remains of House Liakyre on fire. Kyorlin and Lesaonar barely got out in time, and they only had moments to mourn before they were fetched by the High Priestess' servants themselves. Seemingly having predicted that Minthara would not assist them in their journey to the temple.

Her mind seething with rage and confusion as Minthara marched to the High Priestess's chambers. She burst in, with no respect for the authority before her, her anger barely contained. "What is the meaning of this?"

The High Priestess, seated with an air of calm authority, gestured for Minthara to hush. "Matron Baenre, calm yourself. You may be Matron but even you still bow to our sacred customs."

Minthara bit her tongue and bowed to the High Priestess in formal greeting, she was still Lolth's favoured after all. Minthara's bloodied armour dripped onto the polished marble floor and she was overall dishevelled. She then began to pace, an unfortunate habit she picked when she was unable to contain her rage.

"I apologise, High Priestess, but please may you enlighten me why I have been summoned here? I have much more urgent matters to attend to-"

"-Like the assassination of Y/N Liakyre?" The High Priestess interrupted and Minthara stood still. She turned to the High Priestess and her scowl intensified, she had an instinctual feeling that something was very much the matter, if the High Priestess was involved. The High Priestess smirked and gestured for Minthara to sit, reluctantly, she did.

"Minthara, I warned you when you started this campaign to purge House Baenre of any history of weakness, to disturb the delicate web of the foundation your family has thrived upon, that history would come back to disturb you." The High Priestess looked upon Minthara with a sense of twisted satisfaction. "It seems it finally it has."

"What do you mean?" Minthara gritted out, and the High Priestess handed over a piece of old parchment, a contract. Though the way it shimmered in the light, Minthara realised it was no ordinary contract, it was a binding vow. Minthara picked it up with a dreadful distaste and a pit formed in her stomach.

"That is a binding vow between House Baenre and House Liakyre, made between the respective Matrons from over a dozen centuries ago." The High Priestess began to explain, "It states that in return for House Liakyre's sole trade of their weaponized silk in the war against House Oblodra, House Baenre offers their protection and as security, if their house was ever brought to near ruin by their descendents' hands, and to ensure Liakyre's survival they promise a union between Liakyre's highest ranking surviving member and their highest ranking member."

"You cannot be serious-"

"As you have not yet married, that makes you, Matron Minthara Baenre the highest ranking member of Baenre and Y/N Liakyre the highest ranking of Liakyre. By this binding vow and Lolth's will, you two shall marry." The High Priestess announced, before taking a lower tone, "And no further harm may come upon House Liakyre, you cannot kill your way out of this Minthara."

Minthara sat there stunned, yet not in silence, "This is ridiculous."

"It is, as who would ever bring a house to near ruin and allow a survivor to bring forward such an ancient and specific binding." The High Priestess said venomously towards Minthara, though there was an undeniable smugness behind her words.

"That means she's here in Menzoberranzen she is-"

"-She is right here, Matron Baenre," You said as you stepped into the room, and the air stilled at your presence. "or rather, my betrothed."

Minthara stood up at the sound of your voice and turned to you. There you stood, alive and breathing. She covered her astonishment with a smirk and straightened herself out.

"If I knew I was meeting my betrothed today I would have washed their families viscera off my armour first," Minthara spoke to you with restrained contempt. "Apologies for your loss,"

"Worry not, if they were felled by the likes of you then they were deserving of death." Your insult did not go over Minthara's head and she tightly smiled at you. You stepped towards her. "I believe a formal introduction is required, I am Y/N Liakyre, remaining daughter of House Liakyre."

"I am Matron Minthara Baenre, Matron of house Baenre." Minthara introduced herself and the two of you bowed in recognition.

With a cold nod, you addressed the High Priestess. "High Priestess, may I summon my brothers? Considering they will be part of the Baenre household, it is only fitting for Minthara to meet them."

The High Priestess waved her hand in assent, and a servant was dispatched to bring Kyorlin and Lesaonar. Moments later, the doors to the chamber opened, and your brothers entered, their expressions a mix of defiance and unease. They had barely escaped death at Minthara's hands mere hours ago, and now they were expected to meet her as members of the same household.

Kyorlin, with his head held high, and Lesaonar, with a wary glance at Minthara, approached. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the echoes of the recent violence still fresh in the air.

Minthara's eyes narrowed as she regarded them, the memory of her blade poised over them still vivid. "These are your brothers?" she asked, her tone icy.

"Yes," you replied, stepping beside them. "This is Kyorlin and Lesaonar Liakyre. As my kin, they are now under House Baenre's protection."

Kyorlin gave a curt nod, his jaw set in a firm line. "Matron Baenre," he said, his voice steady but guarded.

Lesaonar, more cautious, managed a strained smile. "Matron Baenre," he greeted, though his eyes flickered with the memory of his near-death experience.

The High Priestess watched the exchange with a mixture of amusem*nt and satisfaction. "It is good that you all meet now. The future of your houses depends on your ability to work together."

Minthara's lip curled in a faint sneer. "Yes, of course," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Welcome to House Baenre."

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent standoff between old enemies forced into an uneasy alliance. Your brothers, though wary, stood their ground, determined not to show weakness before Minthara.

After a moment, Minthara sighed, a gesture of reluctant acceptance. "Very well. If this is what Lolth wills, then so be it. But do not think for a moment that I will forget the past."

"Nor will we," you replied calmly, meeting her gaze head-on. "But we will do what is necessary for the future."

The High Priestess rose, signaling the end of the audience. "Remember, Minthara, Y/N, this union is blessed by Lolth herself. You will honor it, and through it, strengthen Menzoberranzan. Now go, and prepare for your wedding. The city awaits your union."

As you and your brothers moved into the grand, imposing halls of House Baenre, the reality of your new life began to sink in. The opulence of the Baenre estate was a stark contrast to the smoldering ruins of House Liakyre. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the glorious history of the Baenre family, and the air was thick with the scent of power.

Minthara, however, made no effort to hide her disdain. She ignored your presence whenever possible, her cold indifference a constant reminder of her intent to make your life difficult. She left you and your brothers to navigate the labyrinthine corridors on your own, offering no assistance or guidance.

Kyorlin and Lesaonar, though wary, adjusted to their new surroundings with a surprising ease. They were determined to make the most of their second chance, throwing themselves into their studies and training with a renewed vigor. The opportunities at House Baenre were unparalleled, and they were determined to excel, if only to honor the memory of their fallen family.

One evening, as you were unpacking in your new quarters, Minthara appeared in the doorway, her presence casting a long shadow across the room.

"Do not think for a moment that you are welcome here," she hissed, her eyes blazing with barely concealed rage. "I will make your life as hard as possible, Y/N Liakyre. You may be under my roof, but you will never be one of us."

Before you could respond, a soft knock on the door interrupted the tense silence. A young acolyte, dressed in the ceremonial robes of the High Priestess, stepped into the room. She bowed deeply, her demeanor respectful but resolute.

"Matron Minthara Baenre," the acolyte began, her voice calm and clear, "I bring a message from the High Priestess. She has sent me to ensure that the union between House Baenre and House Liakyre goes smoothly, and that Y/N Liakyre is treated appropriately."

Minthara's expression darkened, her anger palpable. "And what exactly does the High Priestess deem 'appropriate'?" she spat, her gaze never leaving yours.

The acolyte met Minthara's glare with a serene smile. "She means that Y/N Liakyre is to be treated with the respect due to a member of House Baenre. Any attempt to undermine or mistreat her will be seen as a direct affront to the High Priestess and to Lolth herself."

Minthara's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. The acolyte turned to you, her smile warm and reassuring. "If you require anything, Y/N, do not hesitate to ask. The High Priestess has instructed me to be at your service."

"Thank you," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I appreciate your assistance."

The acolyte bowed once more and left the room, leaving you alone with Minthara. The silence between you was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"Do not think this changes anything," Minthara said finally, her voice low and dangerous. "You may have the High Priestess's protection, but that does not mean you will have an easy life here."

"I never expected it to be easy," you replied calmly. "But I will not be intimidated, Minthara. I will do what is necessary to honor my house and our union, regardless of your efforts to make it otherwise."

Minthara's lips curled into a sneer, but she said nothing more. She turned on her heel and left the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges ahead. The path would be difficult, but you were determined to navigate it with strength and grace.

As the days passed, the acolyte's presence served as a constant reminder of the High Priestess's watchful eye. Minthara's attempts to make your life difficult were met with quiet resistance.

A few nights later the grand hall of House Baenre was lavishly decorated for your engagement ball. The air was filled with the mingling scents of exotic perfumes, the sounds of laughter and whispered conversations, and the soft strains of enchanting music. Drow nobles, dressed in their finest attire, moved about the room like shadows, their eyes ever-watchful and calculating.

You entered the hall, your presence drawing immediate attention. Your dress, crafted from the finest spider silk, shimmered in the dim light, the intricate patterns woven into the fabric telling the story of House Liakyre's storied past. Your hair was adorned with delicate jewels, and around your neck, a bejewelled necklace you had managed to retrieve from your mother's corpse.

Minthara watched you from across the room, her eyes narrowing as she suppressed the unbidden surge of attraction that your appearance invoked. She was dressed in her battle regalia, polished and gleaming, a stark contrast to your delicate finery. Her jaw tightened as she saw the way others looked at you, their admiration clear. She had never felt such conflicting emotions before—pride in your elegance and skill, and an unwilling envy at the attention you garnered.

As the evening progressed, it was time for the traditional engagement tasks, meant to prove the devotion and compatibility of the betrothed. Minthara and you were called to the center of the hall, where a hush fell over the crowd. The first task was announced: together, you were to take down a Hook Horror, a fierce creature known for its deadly claws and tenacity. The task was designed to test not just your combat prowess, but your ability to work as a team.

The creature was released into a large, circular arena set up within the hall, its monstrous form towering and menacing. Its chitinous exoskeleton gleamed under the torches, and its eyes glinted with a predatory intelligence. The crowd watched with bated breath, eager to see how the new alliance would handle such a challenge.

Minthara stepped forward confidently, her blade already drawn. "Stay back," she said with a smirk, her voice dripping with condescension. "I'll handle this. Just take a seat and look pretty."

Before Minthara could advance, you moved with a speed and precision that left the audience gasping. You drew a length of your house’s enchanted silk, a weapon as beautiful as it was deadly. With a flick of your wrist, the silk looped around the Hook Horror's neck. The creature let out a guttural roar, thrashing about in an attempt to free itself, but your grip was unyielding. With a swift, practiced motion, you tightened the garrote, the silk slicing through the thick exoskeleton as if it were mere cloth. In a final, fluid movement, you decapitated the Hook Horror, its head thudding to the ground with a sickening finality.

The hall was silent for a moment, stunned by the efficiency and lethality of your actions. Then, a murmur of approval and admiration swept through the crowd. Minthara stood there, her blade still raised, a mixture of surprise and frustration on her face. She had underestimated you, and now, in front of everyone, you had proven your worth beyond doubt.

You turned to Minthara, your expression calm and composed. "I believe that completes the task," you said, your voice carrying a hint of amusem*nt.

Minthara sheathed her blade, forcing a tight smile. "Indeed," she replied, trying to mask her irritation. "You have proven yourself quite capable."

As the evening continued, the tension between you and Minthara was palpable. Yet, there was also a grudging respect growing between you, derived from the recognition of each other's strengths. Minthara couldn't deny the skill and poise you had displayed, and while it irked her to no end, it also intrigued her.

Chapter 2: Part Two

Chapter Text

"How did you do that?" Minthara's tone was a mixture of irritation and curiosity, her eyes locked onto you from across the room. You were seated at the vanity table, carefully removing the intricate pieces of jewelry adorning you. The engagement party had ended about an hour ago and you were keen to get some rest.

"Whatever do you mean, Minthara?" you asked disinterestedly, not bothering to look up. You continued to unclasp your mother's necklace, your movements slow and deliberate. In the mirror's reflection, you saw Minthara's expression tighten, her arms crossed as she took a step closer.

"You know exactly what I am talking about." Her voice had a sharper edge as she moved towards you, her frustration evident. Grabbing the corner of your chair, she spun it around abruptly, forcing you to face her. The sudden motion made you gasp, clutching the necklace to your chest. Your initial surprise quickly turned to annoyance, and you met her gaze with a bored expression, one eyebrow co*cked in challenge. "Don't play coy with me. I will ask you one more time: how did you do that?"

"Oh, you mean this?" You gave her a lazy smile and held out your hand. Slowly, you drew a line of silk from your palm, its ethereal glow casting a soft light between you. The center of your palm illuminated as your index finger spun the silk, its appearance both delicate and dangerous. Minthara's eyes widened slightly, unable to hide her fascination as she leaned in to get a better look. The silk shimmered like nothing she had ever seen, as fine as a spider’s web yet brimming with lethal potential.

Before she could examine it further, you abruptly clapped your hands together, disintegrating the silk in an instant. Minthara flinched back, her curiosity giving way to irritation once more.

"It's nothing really," you said nonchalantly, setting the necklace down on the vanity.

"You decapitated that hook horror with it like it was forged in adamantine, and yet it looks like regular silk." Minthara's harsh words carried a hint of envy she couldn't conceal.

"Yes, I did quite well for just sitting there and looking pretty, didn't I?" you hummed, recalling her earlier remark. Minthara's face darkened, and she forcefully jolted your chair back so that it rocked precariously on its hind legs. One little push, and your head would hit the vanity behind you. But you remained unflustered, crossing one leg over the other as if to make yourself more comfortable.

"You will do well to remember your place," Minthara warned, her voice low and dangerous. She was not used to such insolence.

"Oh, I do, my betrothed," you smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Do you?"

"I am Matron of this House—"

"And I am to be your wife," you countered, pushing Minthara back, allowing the chair to rock forward and giving you the momentum to rise to your feet. You stood toe-to-toe with her, your faces mere inches apart, the tension palpable. "I apologize if your attempted decimation of my house has led you to underestimate me, but it would serve you well to remember that I survived for a reason."

"You survived because my imbecile assassins mistook your handmaiden's corpse for your own," Minthara spat, her voice filled with venom.

"And who do you think left them that corpse?" you interrupted, your gaze piercing into her deep red eyes. "I knew you were coming for me, and so did she. I couldn't risk my handmaiden striking a deal with you. I had to act first."

"You killed her?" Minthara's voice wavered, genuine shock flickering across her features. The idea that her assassins were outsmarted by such cunning hadn’t crossed her mind.

"And left her body for your assassins, implying that someone else had got there first. Truly, Minthara, you overwork your assassins; they were more than happy to take credit for it," you replied with a smile, reveling in her stunned silence. You cupped her cheek mockingly, adopting a patronizing tone. "Don't worry. When I'm Mistress of this House, I can deal with them for you, show you how it's done."

Minthara's eyes flared with anger, the dangerous glint intensifying. Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall. You watched her go, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Don't want to spend the night with your betrothed, Minthara?" you called out mockingly, your voice laced with feigned offense. "How disappointing."

The silence that followed her departure was almost deafening. You sighed dramatically, turning back to the vanity to finish removing your jewelry. Alone in the room, you took your time, savoring the quiet victory.

Minthara was formidable, but she was not invincible.

That night, you slept alone in your quarters, the silence only occasionally broken by distant, muffled sounds from the rest of the estate. You didn't sleep soundly, but it was enough. When you awoke, you could hear the hushed whispers of the servants just outside your door. Curious, you moved closer, straining to catch their conversation.

"Did you hear what happened last night?" one servant murmured, his voice trembling.

"Yes," another replied, barely above a whisper. "Matron Minthara slaughtered an entire rank of her assassins. They're being displayed in the gardens as a warning, as we speak."

A satisfied smile spread across your face. Minthara's wrath had been directed exactly where you wanted it. The consequences for her assassins had been brutal, but it reaffirmed her authority and your own cunning. How wonderful it will be, when you choose the replacements.

You dressed for the day, choosing an outfit that was both elegant yet understated, but more importantly were your house colours. As you made your way to breakfast, you could feel the eyes of the servants on you, their whispers following in your wake.

Entering the dining hall, you immediately noticed Minthara seated at the head of the table, her expression a storm of barely contained fury. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours as you walked in, and you could see the remnants of her rage smoldering in her gaze.

"Good morning, Minthara," you greeted her smoothly, taking your seat opposite her. You couldn't help but feel smug as you noted the dark circles under her eyes, the visible signs of her anger and sleepless night.

Minthara didn't respond immediately. Instead, she continued to fume silently, her gaze locked onto you. The tension in the room was palpable, and the servants moved around you both with exaggerated caution, clearly eager to avoid any potential outburst.

"Rough night?" you asked innocently, reaching for a piece of fruit. You bit into it slowly, savoring the taste as you watched Minthara's reaction.Her fingers tightened around the goblet she was holding, but she managed to maintain her composure.

"You think yourself clever, don't you?" she finally said, her voice low and dangerous.

"I merely act in the interest of our union, and if that means bringing you out of your delusions then so be it" you replied smoothly, leaning back in your chair. "After all, we are to be partners in this."

"Partners," Minthara echoed, her tone dripping with disdain. She set her goblet down with a sharp clink, her eyes never leaving yours. "We'll see how long that lasts."

You gave her a serene smile, unfazed by her hostility. "Oh we will indeed."

The rest of the breakfast passed in a tense silence. The servants continued their work, casting anxious glances between the two of you. As you finished your meal and rose to leave, you couldn't resist one last parting shot.

"Oh, and Minthara," you said, pausing at the door. "Do try to get some rest. It's unbecoming of a Matron to look so, well, ragged."

With that, you left the dining hall, your satisfaction growing with each step. Minthara leaned back in her chair, simmering with barely contained fury. She could not let such disrespect go unpunished. With a snap of her fingers, she summoned a servant who tripped over themselves trying to get to her.

"Her brothers," Minthara commanded, a cruel smile forming on her lips. "Lesaonar and Kyorlin. Bring them to me."

The servant nodded hurriedly and scurried off to fetch the twins. Minthara rose from her chair, straightening her garments, and walked out to the gardens. The morning light cast a ghastly glow on the lifeless bodies of her assassins, now hung as a grim display among the lush foliage. The macabre scene was a testament to her authority.

Lesaonar and Kyorlin were brought to her shortly after, their faces pale with fear as they took in the sight of the dead assassins. Minthara stood waiting for them, her expression icy and unreadable.

"Walk with me," she commanded, her voice a chilling whisper.

The twins exchanged a fearful glance but complied, falling into step behind her as she led them through the garden. The stench of death was overpowering, and they tried to avoid looking at the mutilated bodies hanging from the trees, swaying in the breeze.

"You must understand," Minthara began, her tone deceptively calm, "that while I am bound by the vow not to harm you, there are many ways to extract information without causing physical pain."

The brothers swallowed hard, their terror evident in their eyes. They knew Minthara was not bluffing. They had seen her ruthless efficiency firsthand and understood that she would find a way to make them talk.

"I only require answers," Minthara continued, stopping to examine one of the corpses with dispassionate interest. "Specifically, about your sister's… abilities."

Lesaonar's eyes widened, and he glanced at Kyorlin, who was visibly shaking. They both knew this moment would come, but that didn't make it any less frightening.

"It's a family secret," Lesaonar blurted out, his voice trembling. "An honor from Lolth given to each generation's female family members for their diligent worship. Only a few women of our house can do it."

Minthara turned to face him, her gaze piercing. "And what exactly is this ability?"

"We don't know much," Kyorlin added quickly, hoping to placate her. "It's a rare gift, a form of divine silk that can cut through almost anything. But only a few women in our house have ever been able to produce it. That's all we know."

Minthara's eyes narrowed as she considered their words. It was clear that they were genuinely terrified and unlikely to be hiding anything more. She began to pace, her mind racing with the implications of this revelation.

"Divine silk," she mused aloud, more to herself than to the twins. "A gift from Lolth. Fascinating."

She stopped pacing and turned to face them again, her expression hardening. "You will keep this interaction to yourselves. Should I discover that you have spoken of it to anyone else, I will find ways to make you regret it."

Lesaonar and Kyorlin nodded vigorously, their relief mingled with lingering fear.

"Good," Minthara said curtly. "Now, get out of my sight."

The twins hurried away, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the garden. Minthara remained behind, her mind already working on how to use this new information to her advantage. The knowledge of your unique ability could be a powerful tool, but it also meant that you were even more valuable—and potentially more dangerous—than she had initially realized.

You strolled through the garden, the scent of blood mingling with the fragrance of blooming underdark flowers. The sight of the assassin's bodies scattered around served as a testament to your cunning and strength, and you couldn't help but feel a smug satisfaction. You were set to meet your twin brothers, Lesaonar and Kyorlin, for some wine, intending to share a moment of triumph in the aftermath of the engagement party's events and catch up with them how their new tutelage under House Baenre was treating them.

You had to admit, despite their lowly status, you did have a fondness for them, more so than that you ever held for your sisters. There was just something so.. vulnerable about them. You felt bad for them, pitied them, even. And now they were all you had left of your family.

As you approached them, holding a bottle of fine wine in one hand and three goblets in the other, you noticed the tension in their posture. They sat rigid at the outside table, their faces pale and eyes wide with panic. You paused, your smile faltering.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light. "Surely, the sight of a few dead assassins doesn’t trouble you?"

Lesaonar and Kyorlin exchanged a nervous glance before Lesaonar spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not the assassins, sister. It’s Minthara."

You felt a chill run down your spine. The mere mention of her name in such a tone sent alarm bells ringing in your mind. You set the bottle and goblets down on the table, your previous smugness evaporating.

"What has she done?" you demanded, your eyes narrowing, and arms crossing.

Kyorlin swallowed hard. "She questioned us about your abilities, sister. We told her what little we knew, but she… she was furious. She threatened us, made it clear that she would make our lives a living hell if we didn’t cooperate."

Anger flared within you. You turned on your heel, ready to storm off and confront Minthara, but your brothers leapt up grabbed your arms, desperation in their eyes.

"Please, sister, don’t!" Lesaonar pleaded. "We should not have even told you. She’ll find a way to hurt us without breaking the vow. You know she will."

You stopped, torn between your fury and the palpable fear in your brothers’ faces. Minthara had indeed found a way to instill terror in them, and you realized that confronting her head-on might only make things worse for them. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm.

"Fine," you said through gritted teeth. "I won’t confront her. But I will find a way to protect us. To protect our House. Trust me."

That night, you entered your shared quarters, your mind still racing with thoughts of Minthara’s threats and your brothers’ fear. The tension was thick in the air, and as you prepared for bed, you felt Minthara’s presence behind you. She moved with a predatory grace, her eyes glinting with a dangerous curiosity.

"So," she said, her voice silky and dangerous, "you possess some extraordinary abilities. I must admit, I am eager to see them in action again."

You turned to face her, your expression defiant. "And why, exactly is that?"

Minthara’s smile was cold and calculating. She stepped closer, her gaze never leaving yours. "Observation, of course. I cannot wait to find out how they work, how you can be… harnessed, so to say."

She reached out, tracing a finger along your jawline. You resisted the urge to flinch, meeting her predatory gaze with one of your own.

"You’ll find that I am not so easily controlled." You told her, your eyes locked into hers. You would not back down, not now.

Minthara chuckled, a low and sinister sound. "We shall see, my darling betrothed. We shall see."

The tension between you was electric, the chemistry undeniable even as you both put up a façade of indifference. You could feel her desire to dominate you, to break you, and it only fuelled your determination to resist her, to fight her.

Eventually you took a step back, and you could feel Minthara's hot gaze on you, looking you up and down. You were in silk robe, tied across your waist, and you suddenly felt self-conscious under her gaze. She had never looked at you like this before, like she wanted to devour you - and not in the murderous sense.

You recomposed yourself and flounced away, but as you walked away Minthara caught your wrist and yanked you towards her. She caught you off guard and you fell into her, your bodies pressing together. Before you could protest, she wrapped an arm around your waist and clasped a hand over your mouth. Her head nuzzling into your neck.

"Hush now, let me speak." Minthara whispered to you, you could feel her warm breath on your neck. "You know you could just show me yourself, be rid of these incessant prideful hinderances. Display your talents for me, your betrothed, your future wife."

You wouldn't let it show, and you would rather be eaten by a bulette than tell her, but the way she held you, the way she talked to you, you could feel a warmth pool between your legs. Minthara removes her hand from your mouth and slides it down your neck, you can't help it when your breath hitches when she uses her thumb to caress a certain sensitive spot on your neck. You can feel her proud smile as your body conveys what your words would never.

"Let go of me." You shakily try to demand but her grip on you is unyielding.

"I don't want to." She hums to you and you try to remove yourself from her grip, but she pulls her arm around her waist closer to herself, pressing you tightly into her abdomen.

"M-Minthara let me go, now." You try to assert yourself, but you feel her lips just fractions aways from your skin and your heart begins to race. In an effort of preserving your pride, you pull out the last move you have. "Please, Minthara."

At the sound of your pleading, Minthara sighs in delight and releases you, relishing in the way you retreat to your side of the bed, her dominance asserted. Oh how she cherishes the way you look at her with trepidation. She slowly saunters towards you an aloof smirk on her lips. "Worry not, my betrothed, I will not try anything until you are begging for it."

"You can pray to Lolth all you like for that day, but it will never come" You snap at her, and Minthara laughs and it sends a chill through you.

"Never is such an absolute term, I cannot wait to make you choke on it."

Chapter 3: Part Three

Chapter Text

Minthara paced in the grand hall of House Baenre, her sharp eyes flickering over the scholars gathered before her. A mixture of her cousins and nieces, they represented the finest minds of her house, all assembled to unravel the mysteries surrounding you and House Liakyre. They stood in a semi-circle, awaiting her command with a mixture of fear and respect.

"You have a task," Minthara began, her voice cold and authoritative. "I want you to dig up everything you can on Y/N Liakyre's power and the history of House Liakyre. Leave no stone unturned, no scroll unread. I want answers, and I want them quickly."

The scholars nodded in unison, their faces tense with the weight of her words. Minthara's gaze then shifted to her nephew, a young drow with wide eyes and trembling hands.

"Arys," she called, her tone softening slightly as she addressed him.

"Y-yes, Matron," Arys stammered, stepping forward. He was petrified of Minthara, a fact she was well aware of and often used to her advantage.

"You will befriend the Liakyre twins," she instructed, her eyes narrowing. "Get close to them. Gain their trust. I want to know everything they know about their sister's abilities."

Arys swallowed hard and nodded, his fear evident. "Yes, Matron. I will do as you command."

"Good," Minthara said, her tone final. "Now go. All of you. I expect results."

The scholars bowed and quickly dispersed, leaving Minthara alone in the hall. She brooded in the silence, her thoughts dark and turbulent. The mystery of your power gnawed at her, a puzzle she was determined to solve.

Her contemplation was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. The Baenre tailor entered, carrying a measuring tape and various fabric swatches. She was a skilled artisan, responsible for outfitting the house's finest.

"Matron Minthara," the tailor greeted with a respectful bow. "I'm here to measure you for your wedding attire."

Minthara nodded, allowing the tailor to approach. As the tailor worked, Minthara's mind returned to the topic that had consumed her thoughts.

"Tell me," Minthara began, her voice casual but laced with underlying intent. "What do you know of spidersilk?"

The tailor looked up, her hands pausing in their work. "Spidersilk is a rare and precious material," she explained. "It is incredibly strong, yet delicate. Only a few houses have mastered its production."

"House Liakyre among them," Minthara said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes, Matron," the tailor confirmed. "House Liakyre was known for their exquisite spidersilk. It is said to be unmatched in quality. House Liakyre will be supplying the spidersilk, for your betrothed's ceremonial wear. The same spidersilk she used to behead that hook horror, Matron."

Minthara frowned, confusion flickering in her eyes. "I burned down their resources," she muttered to herself, her mind racing. "How can they be supply her spidersilk?"

The tailor remained silent, her hands resuming their measurements with careful precision. Minthara simmered in silent anger. Ousting you was evidently not going to be as easy as she thought.

As the tailor finished her work and began to pack up her tools, Minthara's resolve hardened. She would uncover the truth, no matter the cost. She had underestimated you once, but she would not allow it to happen again.

Once the tailor left, Minthara prowled through the dimly lit halls of House Baenre, her steps purposeful and silent. She had been informed by a passing servant that you were praying in the house's chapel. Curiosity and suspicion drove her, her mind replaying the tailor's words about the mysterious spidersilk. She needed to understand you better, and what better place to start than your devotions to the Spider Queen? The one who seemed to favor you so greatly.

The house chapel was a domed shape and featured an illusion created bytheir archmage,that switched from spider to drow female, an ode to Lolth. It was beautiful, the chapel, ethereal even.

Reaching the entrance of the chapel, Minthara paused, her eyes adjusting to the flickering candlelight that illuminated the sacred space. She spotted you immediately, kneeling at the grand altar, your head bowed in fervent prayer. The soft glow of the candles cast an ethereal light around you, making you seem almost otherworldly. Minthara had to push down those damned feelings of admiration she had started to feel for you once more and slipped into the shadows, keeping her distance.

She observed you, her sharp eyes noting the way you seemed genuinely at peace, a stark contrast to the cunning and defiance you had shown her earlier. Your voice, though soft, carried through the quiet space, and Minthara strained to catch your words.

"Oh, great Lolth, Mistress of the Web," you began, your tone reverent and almost joyful. "I praise you for your unmatched cunning, your strength in battle, and your wisdom that guides us all. You have brought me to this point, and for that, I am eternally grateful."

Minthara watched as you lifted your face, a serene smile gracing your lips.

"Mother Lolth, give me the strength to face my upcoming marriage with courage and resolve. Help me navigate the web of power and deceit that surrounds me. I trust in your guidance and place my fate in your hands."

As you finished your prayer, a small spider scurried up your arm, its tiny legs tickling your skin. You held out your palms, and the spider settled into them, as if finding comfort in your presence. You cooed softly at the creature, a look of genuine affection on your face.

Minthara felt a strange pang of envy at the sight. Here you were, openly displaying a connection with Lolth that she herself had never quite achieved. Lolth favoured House Baenre greatly, but Minthara ahad never felt the revered connection that the matrons before her had. Perhaps that was why she went on her vengeful tirade to begin with, to prove herself to Lolth.

She stepped out of the shadows as you rose, still cradling the spider and whispering sweet compliments to it. Minthara had to admit, it was a very cutey wutey spider-idy. Shaking her head of the thought she stepped forward as obliviously walked past her.

"Y/N," Minthara called, her voice echoing in the chapel. The spider quickly scurried away, disappearing into the folds of your robe. You turned to her, a frown marring your serene expression.

"Must you always disrupt my peace, Minthara?" you scolded, your tone sharp. Minthara ignored your reprimand, stepping closer.

"I couldn't help but overhear your prayer," she said, her eyes narrowing. "You seem quite close with our most revered Spider Queen."

"Perhaps you should spend more time in the temple, Minthara," you suggested, your voice dripping with disdain as you turned away, heading towards the exit of the chapel. "It might do you some good. Instead of parading around the battlefield, try praying for once."

Minthara's jaw tightened at your words. She followed you, her curiosity unabated. "How is it that you have such a bond with Lolth?"

You paused at the threshold, turning to face her one last time.

"Some things, Minthara, are not meant to be understood by those who seek power for power's sake," you said, your eyes boring into hers. With that, you walked out, leaving Minthara standing alone in the temple, the weight of your words settling heavily upon her. As she looked around the sacred space, she couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease.

Your connection to Lolth was deeper and more profound than she had anticipated, though she should not be surprised considering the predicament she was in. Favoured by Lolth is how the High Priestess had described you. Blessed with powers, blessed with baby spiders, blessed with-

The baby spider.

It suddenly all made sense. That is how you still had reserves, that is how you manipulated that divine silk, it must be the spiders Lolth sent you. Minthara gleamed with a renewed sense of purpose and set a plan into place.

Later that night, as you both prepared for bed, you could tell Minthara was up to something. She hadn't threatened you in a while, a behavior quite uncharacteristic of her. You asked Minthara if something was wrong, but she merely brushed you off and slipped into bed.

"Nothing is wrong, go to sleep," she said curtly, turning her back to you.

"Yes because that is entirely reassuring," You murmered to yourself, passively aggressively yanking the covers away from her. Minthara rolled her eyes but allowed it. She had other matters to concern herself with.

Minthara waited until you had fallen asleep, the even rhythm of your breathing signaling your deep slumber. Just as she suspected, the baby spider from earlier crawled up from beneath your pillow and settled on your cheek, nestling comfortably against your skin. Minthara moved swiftly, capturing the tiny creature in a delicate yet firm grasp. She called for a servant, instructing them to wake up her scholars immediately.

In the dim candlelight, the scholars examined the spider, their faces a mix of confusion and fatigue.

"This is a common infant spider, Matron," one of them finally said, looking at Minthara with a mixture of concern and skepticism. "Are you sure you have been sleeping well? Perhaps the stress of the impending marriage is getting to you."

"This is no ordinary spider. It can't be" Minthara snapped at them, her patience thin. This spider had to have something to do with your abilities. "Check it for divine presence. Now."

One of the scholars prepered a spell and she moved towards the baby spider that blinked up at them. It was no bigger than a piece of gold and as the scholar enacted the spell, it was jsut as common as a piece of gold. No divine presence. With apprehension the scholar told her matron of her findings.

Minthara scowled and she dismissed them with a sharp wave of her hand, and they scurried out of the room, casting worried glances at each other.

As Minthara stood alone, holding the spider, it suddenly bit her finger and then scurried off into the shadows. She hissed in pain and frustration, storming back to the bedroom. She stood over you, arms crossed and damned Lolth for her presence (only in her mind, she was not that foolish).

Even in your sleep, she could tell there was a smile on your face, a smugness that spoke of an intimate victory. Minthara glared at you, her mind racing with thoughts of retribution and control. She knew that understanding your connection to these creatures and your peculiar blessings was crucial to bending you to her will.

For now, however, she was left with nothing but the faint, mocking smile on your face as she climbed back into bed, seething silently beside you. Though she could not help herself and yanked the covers off of you, cocooning herself in them, leaving none for you.

The next morning, after a particularly chilly night, you woke to an empty bed. Minthara was gone, likely tending to her wounded pride. You got dressed and made your way downstairs, curious to see what she was up to.

As you walked through the corridors of House Baenre, you could hear the faint clashing of steel and the grunts of exertion. Following the sounds, you arrived at the courtyard and saw Minthara training fiercely with her blade. Her movements were precise, powerful, and undeniably attractive. Despite the enmity between you, you couldn't help but admire her skill and beauty. Anyone would, you justified. But the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the way her hair fell from her bun, accenting the tattoo on her neck. You suddenly became fixiated on her neck and instead of wondering what it would be like to put a blade to it, you wondered what it would be like to kiss it.

You took a sharp breath in and composed yourself, perhaps the cold had got to you last night and you were coming down with something. As you turned to leave, a conversation caught your attention. A tired-looking scholar, clearly frustrated, was speaking to another scholar just out of earshot of anyone else.

"Minthara's losing her mind," he grumbled. "She's obsessing over that Liakyre girl. What's so special about her anyway? She's a parasite that's just latched onto our House. Dirty Iblith."

You felt a surge of anger. Stepping out from the shadows, you confronted the man. Despite your previous ability to remain calm with Minthara, you were not going to allow such disrespect to start among the staff. Especially from some, man.

"What did you say?" you demanded, your voice cold and steady.

The scholar turned to you, his face paling. "I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did," you interrupted. "You think you can speak about me like that?"

The argument quickly escalated, voices rising and fists clenching. The scholar, emboldened by their frustration and perhaps a bit of madness, shoved you. You retaliated, pushing back harder. The commotion drew the attention of the nearby guards, and soon a crowd was gathering. Among them were Minthara and the acolyte that had been watching you and Minthara.

Minthara's eyes narrowed as she approached, her expression unreadable. You braced yourself, expecting the acolyte to have to command Minthara to defend you. To remind MInthara that she was to protect you as to not anger Lolth. However, to your surprise, Minthara stepped forward of her own volition, placing herself between you and the scholar.

"Enough," Minthara's voice rang out with authority. She turned her gaze to the scholar, who visibly trembled under her scrutiny. "How dare you speak ill of my betrothed and cause such a disturbance in my House?"

The scholar stammered, "I-I didn't mean to—"

Minthara cut them off sharply. "Your insolence and disrespect will not be tolerated. You will be punished accordingly." She gestured to the guards. "Take them away."

The guards quickly apprehended the scholar, dragging them off as they pleaded for mercy. Minthara then turned to you, her expression softening slightly.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice low. As if she didn't want anyone else to hear her.

You nodded, still stunned by her actions. "Thank you."

Minthara simply nodded, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned to address the gathered crowd. "Return to your duties. There is nothing more to see here."

As the courtyard cleared out, the acolyte approached, her expression approving. "You handled that well, Matron."

Minthara glanced at you, then back to the acolyte. "It was my duty. Nothing more."

You may have felt hurt by her words, if it wasn't for the slight hitch in her voice when she spoke. Unnoticeable to anyone but you, who Minthara had regarded so frequently, often in a negative light, that you were able to tell immediately when something changed.

"Thank you, for your duty to me, dearest betrothed" You sweetly thanked, curtseying and you could swear that you saw something like a blush dare to rise to her cheeks. Minthara muttered something about reprimanding the guards and walked off, leaving you and the acolyte.

The acolyte flashed you a smile. "It seems things between you and the matron have developed. Perhaps there will be less bloodshed on the wedding day than previously thought."

"Perhaps," you slowly nodded in agreement, still reeling from Minthara's gesture. She could have easily allowed the scholar to walk all over you, but she didn't. A tactic, you convinced yourself, she simply did it to lull you into a false sense of security. You would not be fooled, though someone needed to tell your heart that.

Later that afternoon, you and Minthara found yourselves in the grand study, surrounded by parchments and scrolls detailing the arrangements for your impending wedding. The atmosphere was tense, yet there was an undercurrent of something else—an unspoken connection that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Minthara, always the picture of stoicism, scanned through a list of guests with a critical eye. "We need to ensure that no undesirables make it into the ceremony. The last thing we need is a disruption."

You nodded in agreement, your focus on a different scroll detailing the menu. "Agreed. We need to project strength and unity, at least outwardly." You paused, noticing a note about the wine selection. "What about the wine? I prefer the vintage from the vineyards of Val'ythin."

Minthara glanced up, her expression momentarily softening. "The Val'ythin vintage is also my preference. It has a depth that no other wine can match."

You were momentarily taken aback. "I didn’t expect us to agree on something so... trivial."

She gave a slight smirk, though her eyes betrayed a hint of curiosity. "Perhaps we have more in common than we care to admit."

As you continued to discuss the details, you found more common ground. Your taste in food was remarkably similar, both preferring the rich, exotic flavors of dishes seasoned with rare spices from the Underdark. There was even a shared appreciation for certain pieces of art and music, though neither of you would admit to liking anything that the other suggested too enthusiastically.

Reaching for a scroll that detailed the decorations for the banquet hall, your fingers accidentally grazed Minthara’s hand. The touch was brief but electric, sending a jolt up your arm. You quickly pulled back, and Minthara did the same, her eyes momentarily widening in surprise.

An awkward silence settled between you, the air thick with unspoken tension. You cleared your throat, attempting to dispel the moment. "So, the decorations. I assume you want everything in black and red?"

Minthara nodded, her voice a bit sharper than before. "Naturally. Anything else would be unacceptable." You rolled your eyes, masking the confusion and burgeoning attraction with sarcasm. "Of course, because we wouldn't want to deviate from the classic Baenre gloom. Minthara narrowed her eyes at you, her tone biting. "At least our decor has a purpose and meaning. Unlike the gaudy excess your House was known for."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Better gaudy than perpetually dour. It's a wedding, Minthara, not a funeral."

The sharp exchange seemed to ease the tension, both of you falling back into the familiar rhythm of barbed comments and disdainful looks. But the underlying current of that accidental touch remained, simmering just beneath the surface.

The conversation continued with more pointed jabs and forced cooperation, but every now and then, your eyes would meet hers, and the memory of that brief contact would spark anew. It was a strange, disconcerting feeling, but it also brought a certain thrill, a reminder that beneath the animosity lay something more complex and potentially dangerous.

Finally, after what felt like hours of negotiation, you both settled on the details. The menu was finalized, the decorations agreed upon, and the wine selected. As you gathered the scrolls and prepared to leave, you couldn't resist one last comment.

"Well, this was... productive," you said, your tone dripping with irony.

Minthara smirked, her eyes glinting. "As productive as it can be when dealing with someone of your... caliber."

You gave her a mock bow. "Always a pleasure, Minthara."

With that, you turned and left the grand hall, your heart beating faster than it should. As much as you loathed to admit it, the day had brought a revelation: beneath the enmity, there was a spark of something else, something that both intrigued and unsettled you.

Chapter 4: Part Four

Chapter Text

The library of House Baenre was a vast labyrinth of knowledge, its towering shelves filled with ancient tomes and forbidden texts. The dim light of nearby luminescent fungi filtered through the high windows, casting a fluorescent glow across the room. It was well past midnight, and the library was usually deserted at this hour. Yet tonight, two figures—Kyorlin and Lesaonar—were engaged in a quiet conversation, their voices hushed as they wandered among the stacks.

Arys, Minthara’s nephew, had been tasked with getting closer to the Liakyre twins, to then ply them for information about their older sister. When he saw them alone in the library, he thanked Lolth and seized the opportunity. He was not going ot fail the Matron.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Arys greeted with a grin, holding up a bottle of whiskey. The soft clink of glass against glass as he walked drew their attention.

The twins turned to face him, their expressions shifting from surprise to cautious interest. Arys approached, the whiskey bottle held out as an offering.

“A little late-night libation?” he suggested, his tone friendly. “I figured it might be nice to have a drink and chat." He then leaned towards them and dropped into a low conspiratol tone "Us men have to stick together after all.”

Kyorlin and Lesaonar exchanged weary glances, they had been cautious around the other members of House Baenre, they knew it was safer to keep quiet and out of the way, but then again an ally could never hurt. So, they nodded in agreement.

The three of them settled into comfortable chairs near a low table, the bottle of whiskey opened and poured into goblets. The rich, amber liquid swirled gently in the dim light. The initial awkwardness of their meeting quickly dissipated as the warmth of the whiskey took effect. As they drank, the conversation turned to their experiences in House Baenre. The twins seemed eager to share their thoughts and Arys smiled, this is exactly what he wanted.

“You know, Arys,” Lesaonar began, a hint of amusem*nt in his voice, “we actually get treated better here than we ever did back in House Liakyre. It’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

Arys raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? I’d have thought House Baenre would be far more… intense for you guys. ”

“Oh, it is intense,” Kyorlin admitted with a laugh, “I can imagine that without our dear sister's protection here we would already be dead by now. But back at Liakyre, the female members—sisters, aunts, cousins—were always picking on us, bullying us. Here, they don’t even bother with us. It’s like we’re invisible, which, honestly, is a very nice change.”

Lesaonar nodded in agreement. “The libraries here are amazing, too. We were never allowed such access to resources back at our old house. We weren't deemed worthy enough. This-" Lesaonar gestured to the towers of books around them "-Is a whole new world.”

Arys chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. I always thought the Liakyres were a soft house, that you boys would have got off lightly, maybe even have a few third sons kicking about. You weren't exactly high up in the ranks.”

“You would think that,” Kyorlin said, taking a sip of his drink. “But our matron- mother, even, was dilligent. Brutally so, a devout and traditional follower of Lolth. I personally believe she was delighted when she had twin boys, it meant that she was able to sacrifice every son born after us - and she did. It got to a point where she was praying for boys, just so she could make a show of her love to Lolth.”

Arys’s curiosity was piqued. “What about your sister, Y/N? I've heard she is a dedicated follower of Lolth, is she like your mother?”

Lesaonar’s expression softened slightly, a hint of fondness in his eyes. “No, she isn’t, at all. Y/N was actually the kindest of them all. Her love for Lolth is natural, our mother's was desperate."

"She despised Y/N for it, often sent her off to darkest parts of the underdark, hoping she would never come back, but she always did." Kyorlin said with a light smile, as if reminscing on a funny memory.

"Just because of her connection with Lolth? Or because of what she did at the engagement party with that hook horror?" Arys pressed and he noticed Kyorlin visisbly tense.

Lesaonar, however, had been swept away by the whiskey's effects and before Kyorlin could stop him, words tumbled from his mouth and he gestured with a dramatic flair. "Of course, she was envious that Y/N was such an emblem of our divine heritage-"

"-That is quite enough for tonight!" Kyorlin interrupted his twin, snatching his drink from him. Arys smiled, he was clearly on to something and Lesaonar had let enough information slip for him to get the Matron off of his back. Kyorlin helped Lesaonar to his feet and turned curtly to Arys. "Thank you, Arys, tonight has been a pleasure but I fear the whiskey has gone to my brother's head."

"Worry not, we are going to be family in a few days. Been a pleasure to get to know the both of you." Arys nodded to them as they left, he had all that he needed.

After a celebratory drink for himself, Arys made his way out of the library, the bottle of whiskey nearly empty and a satisfied smirk on his face. He had successfully gleaned useful information from Kyorlin and Lesaonar, and he was eager to report back to Minthara.

As he made his way through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps echoed faintly against the stone walls. He was so focused on his pride that he barely noticed the soft patter of footsteps behind him.

Suddenly, Kyorlin appeared out of nowhere, his expression grim and his movements quick. Without warning, Kyorlin swung a heavy book from a nearby shelf at Arys. The blow caught Arys off guard, sending him crashing to the floor. The sharp impact of the blow to his head caused a burst of pain and disorientation. Blood trickled from the wound on his forehead, staining the stone floor and before Arys could react, the darkness enveloped him, and he lost consciousness.

When Arys came to, he was lying on a cot in the infirmary of House Baenre, wounded guards and soldiers lay groaning around him, most wounds probably inflicted by the women of the house. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and a warm, sticky sensation on his face alerted him to a trickle of blood running from a cut above his eyebrow. He struggled to sit up, disoriented and confused.

A healer, an elderly female drow, most likely a great great aunt of his, with a stern expression, stood over him, her hands deftly applying a cool compress to his head. Her eyes were narrowed in disapproval.

“Careless fool,” she muttered, her voice stern and authoritative. “Getting drunk in the library and falling over. You’re lucky those Liakyre twins found you before anyone else did.”

Arys blinked, trying to piece together the events leading up to his current predicament. “The twins? Kyorlin and Lesaonar?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The healer nodded curtly. “Yes, they found you lying on the floor of the library. They brought you here and took care of you. I must say, you’re fortunate they were able to intervene before more serious harm occurred."

Arys's mind raced as he tried to remember what had happened, but his memory was hazy. The events from the library, the conversation with Kyorlin and Lesaonar, and the details about Y/N seemed to be slipping through his fingers like sand.

“Did-did they say anything important?” he asked, his anxiety growing.

The healer gave him a puzzled look. “They didn’t mention much. Kyorlin said something about you getting drunk and falling, but he didn’t elaborate."

Frustrated and disoriented, Arys tried to recall the conversation with the twins, but the details eluded him. The whiskey had clearly affected his memory, as had the fall and he felt a pang of frustration and fear that he would not be able to report anything to his aunt. The wedding was only a few nights away and if he hadn't brought any useful information to the Matron by then, then he was sure that his own mother would sacrifice him and offer him as a wedding gift to the couple.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The grand hall of House Baenre was abuzz with the preparations for the grand ceremony tomorrow. The space, with its opulent drow architecture, was being meticulously fussed over for the upcoming wedding by an array of servants and lower family members keen to rise through the familial ranks. The rehearsal, a necessary formality, was underway with the High Priestess presiding over the proceedings, while you and Minthara stood side by side, ready to go through the motions of the ceremony.

Minthara’s posture was relaxed but betrayed an evident lack of interest. She leaned against a stone column, her expression bored, and her eyes glazed over as the High Priestess explained the order of the ceremony.

“The ceremony will commence with a prayer to Lolth, invoking her blessings and ensuring her favor upon this union,” she explained, her voice echoing in the cavernous hall. “This will be followed by the binding blood vow, where both parties pledge their eternal commitment.”

Minthara’s eyes glazed over further, clearly disinterested, though she nodded occasionally, if only to maintain the pretense of attentiveness.

“The next step,” the High Priestess continued, her tone unwavering, “is the cutting off of the House Liakyre symbol from your body, Y/N, and its replacement with the House Baenre symbol, on your neck to match Minthara's."

You shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the tattoo removal and couldn't help but notice that Minthara's interest piqued at the mention of it, a small smile appearing on her lips. She would be the one to slice it from your skin, and brand you with your new House mark. The thought of losing a symbol so deeply connected to your identity was unsettling, as was the nausea that came with it, though you tried to push the unease aside.

At this point, now teased with more exciting matters, Minthara’s usual veneer of control slipped slightly. Her lips curled into a subtle snarl. “And what about the toast?”

The High Priestess’s eyes narrowed slightly at Minthara’s interruption but she continued as if unaffected. “After the new tattoo is applied, there will be a toast, followed by the banquet. The drinks served to you will contain Menzoberranzan love magic, ensuring the bonding process expected later in the night is completed effectively.”

Both you and Minthara stiffened at the High Priestess’s words. Minthara’s expression transformed from irritation to shock, her eyes wide with outrage. You, too, were taken aback by the unexpected and rather vulgar revelation. The thought of a magical enhancement to facilitate intimacy was not something either of you had anticipated.

“This is absurd!” Minthara’s voice was sharp, betraying her anger. “You can’t be serious. This is an outrage.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “Yes, this is crossing a line!”

The High Priestess raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your reactions. “Grow up, both of you. It’s merely a ritualistic practice to ensure the union is properly sealed. It is in the privacy of your own quarters and it’s just sex—nothing more, though if it is something more then all the better for House Baenre.”

"As if." "I would rather turn into a drider."

“Enough,” the High Priestess said, her voice cutting through the tension. “The ceremony is tomorrow. You both need to rest and prepare yourselves. This rehearsal is over.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and began to walk away, her robes trailing behind her like a flowing river of crimson. You crossed your arms looking up at Minthara with a scowl, Minthara scoffed, putting her hands on her hips.

The High Priestess’s dismissive attitude only fueled your outrage and frustration. As she swept away, her crimson robes flowing like a river of silk, you turned to Minthara, who stood with her arms crossed and a scowl etched into her features. The air between you was charged with tension, every word an electric spark.

Minthara’s frustration burst forth like a dam breaking. “This is all your fault. I could have just obliterated your entire house and been done with it, but no, you had to sneak away and find some ethereal loophole. You’ve dragged me into this farce of a wedding.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Minthara,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s my fault you were too blinded by your own bloodlust to consider there might be other options. I had no idea I was dealing with someone who thought slaughtering my entire house was a viable solution.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, her irritation barely contained. “You think this is funny? This wedding, this ceremony—everything about it is a nightmare. And it’s all because of your stubbornness and your insipid refusal to accept reality.”

“Reality?” you countered sharply. “You know, for someone who claims to be so powerful, the mightiest in Menzoberranzen, you sure do complain a lot.”

The argument continued as you both stormed down the corridors of House Baenre, your footsteps echoing off the cold, dark stone walls. Minthara’s heels clicked furiously against the ground, each step a testament to her frustration. You matched her pace, your own anger simmering as you exchanged barbed comments.

“If you had any sense of responsibility, you’d have thought this through before you dragged me into your mess,” Minthara snapped.

“And if you had any sense of decency, you wouldn’t have murdered my entire family, forcing my hand.” you shot back, the words barely hiding your exasperation.

The quarrel continued unabated as you reached the separate quarters designated for the night. As was traditional, the night before the wedding required that you both sleep apart, a formality steeped in ancient customs. The thought of having to spend the night without Minthara’s presence was both frustrating and unsettling.

As you reached the door to your quarters, Minthara stopped abruptly, facing you with a final scowl. “Enjoy your night alone. Maybe you’ll finally get some clarity on how you’ve managed to make everything worse.”

“And you, Minthara,” you replied, “try not to let the weight of your own bitterness crush you before the ceremony.”

With a final huff, Minthara pushed past you and slammed her door shut with a resounding thud. You watched the door close, the sound reverberating through the corridor.

You turned and entered your own quarters, the room meticulously prepared with fine furnishings and dark, rich drapery. You paced the room restlessly, your anger giving way to an unsettling sense of emptiness.

Lying on the bed, you stared up at the ceiling, your mind racing with thoughts of the looming ceremony. The more you tried to focus on anything but Minthara, the more her absence became a palpable void. The bed felt too large, the space too empty.

Meanwhile, in her own quarters, Minthara was equally restless. She paced her room, the luxurious furnishings and the meticulously arranged décor doing little to soothe her frayed nerves. The silence of her room was as unnerving as it was lonely. You weren't muttering your prayers, indulging in an absurdly long night time routine. Despite her irritation, she couldn’t shake the feeling of missing something—or rather, someone.

Eventually, both of you found yourselves lying awake in your respective beds, staring at the ceiling, the quiet of the night amplifying your thoughts and frustrations. The realization dawned that despite the heated bickering, there was a certain sense of connection and familiarity that had been strangely comforting. The absence of that presence was felt deeply, and meditation eluded both of you as you grappled with your thoughts.

The night had dragged on with restless thoughts and a growing sense of unease. Exhaustion finally overcame you, and you slipped into a meditative trance, hoping for some respite before the impending ceremony. In the quiet of the room, you found a semblance of peace, the rhythmic rise and fall of your breath guiding you towards a state of calm.

Just as you were beginning to drift into a deeper state of relaxation, the serenity was shattered by the loud creak of your door. You jolted awake, blinking against the sudden influx of light and noise. The door swung open to reveal a flurry of movement as a group of young girls, no older than fourteen or fifteen, stormed into the room. Their chatter and giggles filled the air, a cacophony of youthful exuberance that was anything but peaceful.

The girls, dressed in colorful and somewhat mismatched garments, scattered around the room, dropping various items on the floor and chattering excitedly. They carried brushes, jars of oils, and an assortment of fabric, which they began to arrange haphazardly around the room.

Kyorlin and Lesaonar entered behind them, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusem*nt. You looked at them, bewildered.

“By the demon's web, what is going on?” you demanded, struggling to sit up against the tangle of blankets and pillows.

The twins exchanged glances before Kyorlin shrugged nonchalantly. “We have no idea. We were just told to bring them to you.”

One of the servants who had entered with the girls stepped forward, offering an apologetic smile. “As Matron Baenre understands that you have no female relatives to assist you, she has sent these girls to help you get ready for the ceremony. It’s her way of ensuring you’re properly prepared.”

The realization hit you like a cold wave. This was no act of kindness or generosity; it was a clear attempt to pass off the unruly young girls onto you, so the Matron wouldn’t have to deal with them herself. It was a tactical move, a way of keeping them out of her hair while she focused on her own preparations.

The girls, oblivious to your annoyance, began to tug at your sleep garments and hair, their energy boundless. They giggled and chatted as they pulled at your clothes, chattering about hairstyles and makeup, their fingers too eager and too rough. It was clear that their idea of assistance was more chaotic than helpful.

Feeling a mix of frustration and desperation, you turned to Kyorlin and Lesaonar. “Can you two perhaps go and pray for me in the chapel? It seems I could use some divine intervention right now.”

Kyorlin and Lesaonar looked at each other, a smirk playing on their lips as they took in the scene before them.

“Pray for you?” Lesaonar echoed with a grin. “Or pray for a miracle to get us out of this madness?”

Kyorlin’s expression softened slightly. “We’ll go,” he said with a chuckle. “It seems like you could use some peace and quiet. We'll see you at the ceremony, dear sister.”

With that, they exited the room, leaving you to the chaotic whirlwind of young girls. As they bustled around you, their laughter and chatter gradually began to fade into the background of your mind. You were left to endure their relentless enthusiasm, trying to stay calm despite the overwhelming noise and activity.

The young girls swarmed around you with a flurry of questions, their voices rising in a cheerful, chaotic crescendo. They seemed to have no sense of personal space, their faces close to yours as they eagerly awaited your responses. You could barely keep up with their rapid-fire inquiries as they tugged at your garments and pushed various accessories into your hands.

“Where’s your wedding dress?” one of them asked, her eyes wide with excitement as she peered into the open wardrobe.

“How are you going to style your hair?” another chimed in, her fingers already brushing through your locks with the kind of enthusiasm that only a young girl could muster.

“Are you going to fight anyone during the ceremony?” asked a third, her face a mix of curiosity and awe.

“Are you going to use your powers?” the last girl queried, her eyes sparkling with a blend of admiration and anticipation.

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure amidst the whirlwind of questions.

“My dress is being prepared by the seamstresses. As for my hair, well, I haven’t quite decided yet. I might leave it to the skilled hands of you young ladies.” You glanced at the older girls who were already starting to work on your hair, their excitement palpable. “And no, there won’t be any fighting during the ceremony. It’s all about unity and devotion. As for my powers, they’re not really part of the ceremony. They’re something I reserve for more pressing matters.”

The girls seemed somewhat satisfied with your answers, but their curiosity remained unabated. Their chatter continued, and you could see their faces lighting up with interest. In an effort to calm the scene and make the best of the situation, you decided to offer them a distraction.

“You know,” you began, your tone shifting to one of storytelling, “since you’re all so eager to know about me, how about I tell you a story while you do my hair?”

The girls’ eyes widened with delight, and they all gathered closer, their attention now fully focused on you allowing the older girls to work on your hair with less chaos.

“Alright, let me tell you about the time I had to go to the surface.” You began, weaving your tale with an air of intrigue.

“It was years ago,” you continued, “when I was sent on a mission to the surface world. Everyone says the surface is a terrible place, filled with danger and discomfort, and I’ll admit, I had my doubts. The light up there—oh, it’s so harsh and blinding compared to our soft, ambient glow. And the air, so dry and warm. It felt like walking through a blazing inferno.”

The girls gasped, clearly captivated by your description. One of them, with wide eyes, asked, “Was it as bad as they say it is?”

You nodded solemnly. “At first, it was overwhelming. The sun burned my skin, and I had to be careful not to let the light blind me. The surface world is a place of harsh contrasts compared to the Underdark. But I managed to survive by staying in the shadows as much as possible and using my knowledge of the surface’s geography to navigate through it. It’s a different kind of danger, one that requires patience and cunning.”

Another girl, clearly intrigued, asked, “How did you manage to stay safe?”

“I had to be very cautious,” you explained. “I used cloaking spells to hide from prying eyes and relied on my wits to avoid the more dangerous creatures of the surface. I even learned a few tricks to blend in with the surface-dwellers, though that wasn’t always easy. The key was to adapt and use every bit of knowledge I had to my advantage.”

The girls listened intently, their previous frenzy momentarily forgotten as they absorbed your tale. Their hands worked diligently through your hair, carefully arranging it as they listened to your story with rapt attention.

“So, you survived all of that?” one of them asked, awe in her voice.

“Yes,” you confirmed with a nod. “And I returned with a deeper understanding of the surface world. It’s not as simple as the stories make it out to be, but it’s not entirely the nightmare some say it is either. It’s a world full of challenges, but also of opportunities.”

The girls exchanged impressed glances, clearly impressed by your resilience and resourcefulness. Their chatter slowed as they focused on their task, and you could see the newfound respect in their eyes.

As the girls finished arranging your hair, their lively chatter slowly faded, replaced by a more subdued and focused energy. The transformation in the room was palpable; the earlier chaos had been replaced by an air of contented productivity.

Just then, a servant entered the room, carrying a beautifully wrapped bundle. The girls’ eyes immediately widened with curiosity, and they gathered around the servant as he carefully unwrapped the bundle to reveal your wedding dress.

A collective gasp of admiration escaped from the girls as they saw the dress. They circled around it, their faces lit up with awe and delight. “Oh, it’s so beautiful!” one of them exclaimed, her voice full of wonder.

“It looks so elegant!” another girl chimed in, her eyes sparkling.

Their enthusiastic reactions warmed your heart. It was clear that they were genuinely impressed, and it was a comforting change from the earlier frustration and chaos. You couldn’t help but smile at their genuine appreciation, feeling a sense of connection with these young, spirited girls.

The servant, noticing the girls’ fascination, cleared his throat to get their attention. “Ladies, you need to leave now. We have other preparations to attend to, and you must be ready to greet the guests soon.”

The girls, though reluctant, knew better than to argue. They cast one last longing look at the dress before reluctantly shuffling toward the door. “We’ll miss you!” one of them said, her voice tinged with sadness.

“See you at the ceremony!” another added, giving you a bright smile before exiting the room.

Once they were gone, the room seemed quieter, their youthful energy having left an almost palpable mark. You stood by the mirror, taking in your reflection. The sense of camaraderie you had shared with the girls lingered, making you feel unexpectedly lighter.

Now the girls were gone, the servant held the dress up to you. "It is time."

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The grand hall of House Baenre was a magnificent spectacle of dark elegance. The rich crimson and obsidian banners draped from the walls, their opulent fabric catching the flickering light of the many torches. A hushed reverence hung in the air, only heightened by the murmurs of the elite of Menzoberranzan who had gathered to witness the grand wedding ceremony.

At the altar, Minthara stood like a figure from a dark legend. She was clad in her ceremonial regalia—a striking blend of armor and finery that showcased her status and power. Her dress was an elaborate piece of art, a seamless fusion of practicality and splendor. The armor was adorned with intricate patterns of red and black, the colors of House Baenre, and it accentuated her commanding presence. The armor, polished to a high sheen, caught the light in a way that emphasized her formidable and fierce demeanor.

Minthara’s light purple skin contrasted sharply with the dark fabric of her attire, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. Her white hair was styled meticulously, cascading in silken waves down her back and framing her sharp, striking features. The house Baenre sigil was emblazoned across her neck in a bold tattoo, a mark of her dominance and heritage. It was impossible to ignore the intense gaze she cast over the assembled guests, a mix of pride and cold calculation in her eyes.

The High Priestess and the acolyte stood beside Minthara at the altar, both figures imposing in their own right. The High Priestess, with her elaborate robes of dark violet and silver, held a commanding presence that matched the gravity of the occasion. Her ornate staff, topped with a symbol of Lolth, rested beside her, its presence a reminder of the divine power that governed the ceremony.

The guests—elite members of Menzoberranzan society—filled the seats, their whispers creating a low murmur of anticipation. They were the crème de la crème of drow society, their attire as elaborate as the occasion demanded. The front row was reserved for your family, though it was glaringly empty apart from Kyorlin and Lesaonar.

The moment arrived with the soft sound of the chamber doors opening, revealing you in all your ceremonial splendor. The room fell into an awed silence as you began your walk up the aisle, every step measured and graceful, drawing the collective gaze of the assembly.

You were enveloped in a dress that seemed to transcend mortal craftsmanship. The fabric, a delicate blend of shimmering silk and ethereal spiderweb patterns, clung to your form with an almost otherworldly elegance. It was as though Lolth herself had spun a cocoon around you, the silk’s iridescent sheen reflecting the candlelight and casting a faint, ghostly glow around you. The dress flowed behind you like a silken waterfall, trailing behind you in a whisper of movement that seemed both fluid and majestic.

Your hair was styled with meticulous precision, two sharp curls cascaded down the sides of your face. These curled strands were reminiscent of spider pincers, framing your features in a way that emphasized your otherworldly beauty. The rest of your hair was pulled back, accentuating the intricate work of the dress and the delicate silver adornments that accentuated your collarbone.

Silver spider legs were strategically placed along your body, their intricate design accentuating the curves and lines of your form. Two legs arched beneath your collarbone, glinting subtly as they caught the light. Another set adorned the curve of your bust, emphasizing the elegance of your silhouette, while additional sets traced your hips and thighs, creating a cascading effect that drew the eye and added a touch of both elegance and danger.

The glossy finish of your makeup made your red eyes stand out with a fierce intensity, their piercing gaze capturing the attention of everyone present.

As you made your way up the aisle, Minthara’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in a mixture of awe and admiration, her typically composed demeanor momentarily faltering as she took in the sight of you. You looked like a divine gift from Lolth herself, a vision of beauty and power that left her momentarily breathless.

Your approach was marked by the soft, almost melodic swish of your dress and the respectful silence of the assembled guests. Minthara’s eyes followed you with an intensity that spoke of both reverence and longing, her own fierce beauty momentarily overshadowed by your ethereal presence.

The High Priestess and the acolyte observed the entrance with approving nods, the former's stern expression softening just a fraction. The ceremony had now reached its pinnacle, with you as the centerpiece, a radiant embodiment of Lolth’s favor.

The grand hall was bathed in the flickering glow of countless candles, their flames dancing in the hushed reverence of the ceremony. With a solemn nod, the High Priestess raised her arms, her voice resonating through the hall as she began the ancient prayer to Lolth. The chant was a haunting melody, woven with words of devotion and supplication, invoking the favor of the Spider Queen upon the union about to be sealed.

You stood beside Minthara, your gaze fixed ahead, though you could feel her intense stare burning into you. A slight, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips as you tried to maintain your composure under the weight of her scrutiny.

The High Priestess concluded the prayer and turned her attention to the next phase of the ceremony: the binding blood vow. The acolyte stepped forward, presenting a ceremonial dagger with an ornate hilt. The dagger’s blade glinted ominously in the candlelight as it was passed to the High Priestess.

The High Priestess took the dagger and approached you. With precise, practiced movements, she made a shallow cut on your palm, the pain sharp but brief. The blood that welled up was immediately captured by the High Priestess, who then turned to Minthara. She made a similar incision on Minthara’s palm.

The words of the vow began to echo through the hall, the High Priestess guiding you both as you repeated the ancient promises of loyalty to each other and to House Baenre. You vowed not only your fidelity to the house but also a solemn promise to never bring harm to each other, pledging to protect and uphold the sanctity of your union.

As you spoke the words, you noticed a sudden and alarming change in Minthara’s demeanor - and not just the grimace from swearing she would never be able to bring harm against you. Her face grew pale, and a look of weakness and disorientation crossed her features. It was as if a wave of illness had washed over her, and she swayed slightly on her feet.

Instinctively, you reached out and grasped Minthara’s hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. The mingling of your blood, open wound on open wound, had an immediate effect. Minthara’s pallor quickly faded, and her strength seemed to return as the warmth of her body stabilized.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of the acolyte’s face. There was a momentary flicker of something sinister in her expression before they quickly masked it with a neutral demeanor. You gripped Minthara's hand reassuringly, but were just met with her narrowed accusatory eyes, whatever had just happened was evidenlty your fault somehow.

The ceremony continued, with the High Priestess’s gaze flickering between you and Minthara, noting the strange turn of events but choosing to proceed with the rites regardless, you believe she was just happy that you both made it there alive. Your shared blood dripped from each other's palms, landing in the alter below, as it fell it pooled and spread into Lolth's insignia, a sign of approval.

After what felt like an age the binding blood vow was complete, a rush of sharp magic danced across each of your palms as you flinched away from each other, only to realise your wounds had both been healed. Servants attended to you both, ensuring that you were cleaned up and presentable.

"Now, for Y/N Liakyre to shed herself from the past, and embrace her new future as Mistress Y/N Baenre, Wife of Matron Minthara Baenre." The high priestess announced and an involuntary shiver racked through you, you were not looking forward to this. Mainly as Minthara would be the one slicing your beloved House mark from your skin, and considering she thought you just tried to poison her, you were certain she was going to be anything but quick about it.

The ceremony continued with a palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air. The High Priestess’s announcement rang out clearly, declaring the next phase of the ritual. “Now, for Y/N Liakyre to shed herself from the past and embrace her new future as Mistress Y/N Baenre, Wife of Matron Minthara Baenre.”

A shiver ran through you, a blend of apprehension and anticipation. You knew what was coming—Minthara, the one you were still getting to know, would be the one to remove your house sigil. The thought of her performing this act, particularly under the shadow of the recent incident, filled you with unease. You had braced yourself for an uncomfortable ordeal, expecting the worst given the tension between you.

To your surprise, however, Minthara approached you with an unexpected gentleness. Her eyes, though guarded, were soft as she prepared to perform the task. The intricate dagger she held, - her personal favourite, you noted - glinted ominously in the candlelight, but her touch was surprisingly delicate.

Minthara’s hand was steady as she positioned the blade near your wrist. Her fingers, though firm, were careful as they traced the outline of your House Liakyre sigil. You felt the cold metal of the dagger as it made contact with your skin, but instead of the anticipated pain, her movements were precise and controlled. There was an almost reassuring quality to her touch.

As the blade began its work, Minthara leaned in slightly, her breath warm against your ear. “I will make this as swift and painless as possible,” she murmured, her voice a low whisper that carried both assurance and an unexpected tenderness.

The edge of the dagger sliced through the skin with an efficiency that took you by surprise. Despite the sting of the incision, Minthara’s soft praise was oddly comforting.

Once the sigil was completely severed from your skin, Minthara gripped the wound with one hand, her touch surprisingly soothing. You could feel the warmth of her magic as she began the healing process. The sensation of her healing spell was like a gentle wave washing over you, numbing the pain and closing the wound.

As the healing magic worked, Minthara's other hand moved to your neck. With a deliberate, yet gentle motion, she traced the Baenre sigil onto your skin. Her touch was careful and meticulous, her nail guiding the sigil’s shape with an almost artistic precision. The sensation was both hot and cold—a duality that made you wince but also marvel at the intensity of the moment.

The sigil burned into your skin with a searing warmth, and you could not help but flinch slightly, even though you tried to remain still. Minthara’s face was close to yours, her gaze intense as she focused on her task. When she finished, she inspected the mark closely, her expression a blend of satisfaction and relief.

As she pulled away, your eyes locked with hers, and in that moment, something shifted between you. You hadn't realised it but you were holding her hand that she had just healed you with, a connection that felt both intimate and profound. The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming, a sudden, unspoken understanding passing between the both of you.

Before you could act on the impulse, the High Priestess’s voice cut through the charged silence. “Now that the mark is complete,” she announced with a tone of finality, “let us proceed with the final rites of the ceremony. The toast.”

The intrusion of the High Priestess’s voice shattered the moment, and you and Minthara were abruptly reminded of the ritualistic nature of the event. You quickly withdrew your hand from Minthara’s, trying to steady your breathing and regain composure. Minthara cleared her throat as if she had not been victim to the same fleeting feelings as you.

As you and Minthara turned toward the altar, the final stage of the ceremony was upon you: the toast. The High Priestess, with a solemn expression, raised her goblet high and addressed the assembly with practiced grace.

“Let us now toast to the union of House Baenre and their newest member, Mistress Y/N Baenre. May this bond be as strong as the webs spun by Lolth herself, and may their loyalty to each other and to House Baenre be unwavering.”

The audience responded with elated cheers, their eyes fixed on you and Minthara. The atmosphere was thick with expectation as the High Priestess gestured for you both to take your goblets.

You and Minthara exchanged a knowing glance, your previous unspoken connection now tempered by the ceremonial formalities. The goblets, adorned with intricate patterns and filled with a dark, almost ominous liquid, were a focal point of the final rite. The contents imbued with Menzoberranzan love magic.

Minthara’s lips curled into a smirk as she looked at you, her eyes gleaming with challenge. She lifted her goblet, her movements deliberate and poised, and with a defiant glint in her eye, she downed the contents in one swift motion. The crowd watched in anticipation, their cheers momentarily hushed as they awaited your response.

You met her smirk with a challenging look of your own. Taking a deep breath, you raised your own goblet, feeling the weight of the ritual and the gaze of the onlookers. With a final, resolute glance at Minthara, you followed suit and drank the contents in one go. The liquid slid down your throat, its taste oddly unremarkable despite the grandiose of its magical properties.

As the last drop of the goblet was consumed, a cheer erupted from the audience, their enthusiasm a stark contrast to the tension that had lingered between you and Minthara. The High Priestess’s face remained inscrutable as she nodded in approval, and the formalities of the ceremony drew to a close.

In a moment of shared understanding, you leaned in toward Minthara, and she responded with a confident yet tender kiss. The crowd’s cheers swelled, their applause growing louder as the kiss deepened. It was a brief but meaningful display of unity, a symbolic gesture that marked the beginning of your life together. As you both pulled away, your eyes locked, the tension of the earlier ceremony now mingled with the thrill of the new chapter ahead.

With a nod to each other, Minthara took your hand and led you towards the grand banquet hall. The room was adorned with opulent decorations, the feast laid out on long tables that gleamed with silver and crystal. The air was filled with the rich scents of exotic dishes and the buzz of conversation.

As you entered the hall, your gaze fell upon your brothers, who were seated among the guests. They caught your eye and offered you warm smiles, their faces reflecting a genuine sense of pride and joy. The sight was reassuring, a small island of familiarity amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Nearby, the young girls who had helped you earlier were eagerly waving at you from their seats. You smiled back at them and gave a playful wave, their excitement evident as they responded with enthusiastic giggles and cheers. It was a comforting sight, a reminder of the bonds you had managed to forge even in the midst of such a formal and intimidating occasion.

Minthara led you to the head of the banquet hall, where a line of guests was already forming to offer their congratulations and present you with gifts. The well-wishers approached one by one, each one bowing respectfully and offering their tributes. The atmosphere was filled with a blend of festivity and formality, the air thick with the scent of rich foods and the murmur of polite conversation.

Amid the bustling crowd, you noticed that the acolyte from the ceremony had slipped away from the banquet. A sense of unease prickled at the back of your mind, and you excused yourself from the line of well-wishers with a polite but hurried apology.

“I must give my thanks to Lolth for the ceremony,” you said, your voice steady but urgent. “I will be back shortly.”

Minthara gave you a curious look but nodded in understanding. “Don’t be long,” she instructed, her tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You made your way swiftly to the chapel, the grand archways and shadowed corners of the sacred space offering a stark contrast to the celebratory chaos of the banquet. As you approached the altar, you saw the acolyte kneeling in despair, her head bowed and her hands clasped in a desperate plea for mercy. Her soft sobs echoed through the empty chapel, the sanctity of the space amplifying the depth of her distress.

A smirk touched your lips as you approached, your footsteps echoing ominously. The acolyte’s head snapped up at the sound, her tear-streaked face reflecting shock and anger as she recognized you.

“I cannot imagine Lolth will be forgiving to the one who tried to poison her favored on the day of their union,” you said with a cold satisfaction. The words seemed to land heavily, deepening the acolyte’s rage.

“How did you survive?” she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper, trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “How did both of you survive? That blade was coated in Purple Worm Toxin; as soon as it drew blood, the effects should have taken hold immediately.”

"Evidently, House Baenre-"

"-House Baenre!” she spat out, her voice laced with venom. “I hate them all! They destroyed my family. Minthara killed my sister on a whim, and my house fell because of her cruelty. I was sent here to exact revenge, to see House Baenre's ruin!”

You listened with a mix of cold detachment and grim understanding. The animosity and vendetta against House Baenre were clear, but you had little sympathy for her plight. Your position as Mistress of House Baenre meant you had to uphold the dignity and power of your new house. Her vendetta was irrelevant to you now; she was a threat that needed to be dealt with.

“You failed,” you said, your voice steely. “And as Mistress of House Baenre, I am obligated to ensure that all transgressions are punished. However, I doubt I’ll get there before Lolth herself. That doesn’t mean I can’t offer some assistance.”

Before the acolyte could fully comprehend what was happening, you began to weave a cocoon of divine silk around her. The shimmering threads encased her body, the silken strands gliding effortlessly as they bound her tightly. Her struggles against the cocoon were futile, the threads forming a firm and unyielding prison.

With the cocoon fully formed, you turned your gaze upward to the statue of Lolth. The statue’s eyes, previously dim and lifeless, suddenly flared with a deep, crimson glow. The eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness of the chapel, signaling the goddess’s presence.

A small smile graced your lips and in a flash of blinding light, the cocoon began to tremble and writhe. The divine silk glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light as the acolyte’s form within the cocoon began to twist and contort. A cacophony of harsh, bone cracking sounds filled the chapel, the process of transformation a brutal and unsettling spectacle.

The cocoon’s surface split open, revealing the acolyte’s body undergoing a grotesque metamorphosis. Her limbs elongated and twisted, her form shifting into that of a drider—half-drow, half-spider. The transformation was violent, marked by a series of inhuman cries and the sound of tearing flesh.

As the final touches of the transformation took place, a portal of shimmering web appeared above the altar. The drider, now fully transformed, was dragged upwards by the force of the web, struggling against its constraints but ultimately powerless to resist.

The portal drew the drider into its depths, vanishing into the dark expanse of the Underdark. The last sight of the acolyte was a flash of horrified eyes and twisted limbs before it was completely absorbed by the portal.

You watched with a mixture of resolve and cold satisfaction as the portal closed, sealing the drider's fate. The chapel fell silent once more, the only sound being the distant echoes of the banquet hall. You slowly albeit with great difficulty due to the restrcitve dress, kneeled infront of the statue and clasped your hands in prayer.

The dim light of the chapel flickered as you approached the grand statue of Lolth, her visage looming large and commanding in the sacred space. The flickering flames of the nearby torches cast eerie shadows, creating an atmosphere both reverent and charged with divine energy.

You fell to your knees on the cold, polished stone floor, your posture embodying both respect and solemnity. The weight of the evening’s events settled upon you, and with deep breaths, you centered yourself, preparing to offer a prayer worthy of the Spider Queen. You lowered your head and closed your eyes, focusing all your energy and intent on the divine presence before you.

In a voice both steady and reverent, you began:

“Most Glorious and Resplendent Lolth, Queen of Spiders, Matron of the Underdark, hear the words of your devoted descendent.”

“Great Mistress, it is with deepest gratitude and unwavering devotion that I come before you in this sacred place. I offer my thanks for your boundless favor, which guided my ancestral aasimar, Liakyre, from the treacherous embrace of her mother Eilistraee, and into the welcoming web of your dark grace.”

“O Divine One, you who nurtured and raised her as your own, you who allowed her bloodline to continue and for House Liakyre to ascend, I beseech you to acknowledge my humble gratitude. Though the house now lies fallen, its legacy persists within the fervent fire of this descendent’s heart.”

“May the blood of Liakyre, whose blood now courses through me, burn brightly and unyieldingly as I take up the mantle of Mistress of House Baenre. Empower me to honor the past, to uphold the strength of our bloodline, and to fulfill the sacred duties entrusted to me by your will.”

“Grant me, O Lolth, your divine blessing as I forge ahead into the future, carrying forth the traditions of your dark and eternal house. Let your gaze remain upon me, a guiding light in the shadows, as I serve House Baenre with loyalty and fervor and continue Liakyre's legacy through them.”

With each word, the sense of the divine grew stronger, the statue’s eyes seeming to glimmer with an otherworldly light. The ambient light in the chapel seemed to intensify, focusing on the statue’s form as if Lolth herself were acknowledging your prayer.

With a final bow of your head, you left the chapel, the sense of divine favor still tingling at your fingertips. The grandeur of the banquet hall greeted you as you emerged, the sounds of celebration and the clamor of the crowd filling the air with vibrant energy. The guests, a mélange of the elite and powerful from Menzoberranzan, erupted into cheers as you re-entered the hall.

The atmosphere was electric with excitement. You made your way to Minthara, who was surrounded by well-wishers and offering polite nods and pleasantries. As you approached, her sharp eyes fixed on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“What was that about, Y/N?” Minthara asked, her voice low yet demanding. “The High Priestess mentioned something about you and the acolyte. I need to know what happened.”

You offered her a reassuring smile, knowing that any explanation now would only add to the evening’s complexity. “I’ll tell you later,” you said smoothly. “For now, I could really use a drink.”

Without waiting for a response, you reached for her wine glass, taking it from her hand with a quick, deft motion. Minthara’s eyes widened in surprise as you took a long, deliberate sip of the wine, savoring the rich, intoxicating flavor.

Minthara’s protest died in her throat, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched you with a mix of amusem*nt and frustration. She looked as if she were about to speak, but the moment was abruptly interrupted as you leaned in and pulled her into a passionate kiss. The suddenness and intensity of the kiss seemed to catch her off guard, but she quickly responded, her arms wrapping around you as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.

When the kiss finally broke, you pulled away, your lips lingering on hers for a heartbeat longer. You could see the desire in her eyes, a fire that matched your own. With a playful smirk, you murmured, “Must be the Menzoberranzan love magic in the wine from the toast.”

Minthara’s eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and amusem*nt. “Is that so?” she replied, her voice dripping with a teasing challenge.

Before she could respond further, the crowd’s cheers and laughter seemed to rise around you, drawing the attention back to the festivities. You took her hand, guiding her through the throng of guests, ready to embrace the rest of the evening's revelry. You felt a high like no other, your family may be 6ft under, but you were now mistress of the most powerful House in Menzoberranzen, you had just seen Lolth turn a once devoted acolyte into a drider because of her transgressions against you. Oh the night was young, and you intended to enjoy every moment of it.

Chapter 5: Part Five

Chapter Text

As the festivities continued, you could feel the subtle, intoxicating effects of the Menzoberranzan love magic beginning to take hold. The laughter and applause of the guests seemed to amplify the enchantment, wrapping you in a cocoon of euphoria and heightened emotion. You were surrounded by the opulence and sheer power of Minthara, her presence radiating authority and respect. The realization that you were now part of this world, bound to her, began to settle in, and it was impossible to ignore the growing sense of satisfaction.

Minthara’s aura was captivating, a force of nature that drew you in. You felt a growing sense of contentment and pleasure in being by her side, a stark contrast to the resentment you had intended to harbor. The love magic was working its way into your thoughts, making you appreciate the strength and allure of the woman you had married. You had been meant to hate her, to use this union as a means of ruin, but amidst the revelry and the enchantment, you found yourself wanting to indulge in the moment.

The crowd’s admiration for you was palpable, but it seemed to intensify Minthara’s possessiveness. You noticed how her gaze grew sharper when others approached you, how her body language became increasingly protective. It was both surprising and oddly gratifying. She seemed unable to tolerate the attention you were receiving from well-wishers, her frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior.

At one point, as you were surrounded by a particularly enthusiastic group of guests complimenting you on your beauty and grace, Minthara made her move. With a sudden but graceful maneuver, she swept you out of the crowd, her arm wrapping securely around your waist. Her hand pressed just above your abdomen, her fingers warm and possessive against your skin.

“Excuse me,” Minthara said in a voice laced with barely concealed irritation, directing a pointed glance at the people around you. “I need to have a moment with my wife.”

Her words, though commanding, were accompanied by an unexpected tenderness. As she pulled you closer, her body pressed against yours, you could feel the intensity of her emotions. There was a raw, almost primal possessiveness in her touch that was both thrilling and unsettling. You could sense that she was struggling with the same magical influence that you were, her emotions heightened and her desire for you growing stronger by the minute.

The magic seemed to blur the lines between reality and desire, making every touch, every whisper, and every glance from Minthara feel amplified and all-encompassing. You tried to remind yourself of your original intent—to hate her, to make this union a burden—but the enchantment made those thoughts seem distant, almost irrelevant.

You looked up at her, catching the intensity in her eyes, and for the first time, you could see the depth of her feelings laid bare. The kiss from earlier had ignited a spark between you, and now, with the love magic at play, that spark was becoming a flame.

As the crowd continued their festivities around you, the space you occupied with Minthara felt like a private, intimate world. The music and laughter of the banquet hall faded into the background, leaving you both in a bubble of emotional intensity.

Minthara’s grip tightened slightly, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Are you enjoying the attention, my love?”

The possessiveness in her voice was undeniable, but so was the genuine affection she felt. You nodded, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, and allowed yourself to indulge in the feelings the magic had stirred.

You looked up at Minthara, trying to balance the heightened emotions stirred by the enchantment with the reality of the situation. Her possessive grip on your waist was both comforting and intense, her body radiating warmth against yours.

“Perhaps,” you admitted with a soft, seductive smile, “I am enjoying the attention.”

Minthara's pout deepened, her eyes narrowing playfully as she leaned closer, her lips brushing your ear. “It’s such a shame, then,” she murmured, her voice laced with a hint of mischief, “that I’m going to have to cut that short.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her sudden shift in demeanor. “Why’s that?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant despite the thrill her words elicited. Minthara’s smirk was almost predatory as she looked down at you.

“Because,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that only you could hear, “I want all your attention for myself.”

The possessiveness in her tone was unmistakable, and you could see the determination in her eyes. You tried to reason with her, though you were well aware that the love magic was amplifying your emotions and making her possessiveness feel almost endearing.

“But we can’t just leave our own wedding reception,” you pointed out, your voice a mix of amusem*nt and frustration. “There are guests, there are formalities...”

Minthara cut you off with a firm yet affectionate squeeze of your waist. “We’re Matron and Mistress of the most powerful house in the Underdark,” she said, her voice filled with unwavering confidence. “We can do whatever we want. Besides, you’re my wife now. The celebration can wait.”

Her words, though assertive, were tinged with a possessive tenderness that made you shiver. You could feel the pull of her desire, the enchantment working its magic to make her emotions even more intense.

She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered, “Let’s make the most of this night. We have all the power in Menzoberranzan, and right now, I want you all to myself.”

The weight of her words settled heavily upon you, mingling with the effects of the love magic. The idea of escaping the crowd and focusing solely on each other felt both thrilling and indulgent. Despite the chaos of the reception, Minthara’s intense gaze and the way she held you close made it clear that she was determined to have you all to herself.

With a sigh of surrender, you looked around the banquet hall. The guests were absorbed in their conversations, the music playing in the background, and the merriment of the night was in full swing. It was easy to see why Minthara felt she could take control of the situation. As Matron and Mistress, you were indeed in a position to dictate the course of their own night.

As Minthara guided you through the labyrinthine corridors of the manor, her grip on your waist was firm and unyielding. Her touch was both possessive and electrifying, every step she took radiating with the intensity of her desire. The corridors seemed to blur past, the sounds of the banquet fading into the background as you were drawn further into the private sanctuary of your quarters.

Once inside, Minthara wasted no time. The door was closed with a decisive thud, and she turned to face you with a mixture of hunger and urgency. The air between you crackled with the residual magic of the evening, amplifying every sensation and emotion. Her lips crashed onto yours, her kiss fierce and demanding. You responded in kind, your hands gripping her shoulders as you were pulled into the passionate embrace.

In the midst of your heated kisses, Minthara pulled away just enough to murmur, “I didn’t ask you what happened with the acolyte.” Her voice was a husky whisper, her breath mingling with yours.

You paused for a moment, catching your breath as you gazed into her eyes. “She tried to poison you,” you managed to say, your voice laced with both satisfaction and urgency. “But I dealt with it. She’s been… taken care of.”

Minthara’s eyes darkened with a mixture of arousal and satisfaction. The knowledge that you had dealt with the threat seemed to heighten her desire even further. She captured your lips in another searing kiss, her hands moving with a sense of purpose as she guided you towards the bed.

With a swift motion, she pushed you down onto the bed, her body following closely as she pinned you beneath her. The intensity of her gaze was matched by the firmness of her hold, and you could feel her heated breath against your skin.

“I want details,” she murmured, her lips brushing your ear. “But that will have to wait until morning.”

The urgency of the moment made the complexity of your ceremonial attire a frustrating obstacle. As you both tried to strip each other, the intricate layers and fastenings of your clothing proved difficult to navigate. Each attempt only seemed to result in more entangled fabric and increasing frustration.

You both started to strip each other of your ceremonial garments, the complex layers of fabric proving more challenging than anticipated. Frustration mounted as you struggled with the elaborate designs, each piece of clothing more intricate than the last.

With a determined smile, you reached for a more practical solution. Summoning your divine silk, you wove it into a series of precise, shimmering cuts through the elaborate layers of your wedding attire. The silk sliced through the fabric with divine ease, and in a matter of moments, your garments fell away in a flurry of silken threads. Minthara's ceremonial wear got the same treatment and as you finished, Minthara looked at you in awe.

“Impressive,” she breathed, her voice filled with admiration. Without hesitation, she moved back on top of you, her body pressing against yours with a renewed fervor as you fell back into the plush covers. She turned your head to the side as she straddled you at the waist, admiring your neck, specifically the House Baenre mark. “Such pleasure it gives me, to have you beneath me, the one that escaped, now bearing my house mark, now my wife.”

Before you could respond to her, Minthara leant down and caught your lips in hers aggressively. Breasts rubbing against each other, you moved a hand down her side as she bit down on your bottom lip.

You dipped your hand between her thighs and were delighted to feel that she was just as turned on as you were. You began to rock her hips against yours creating a pleasurable friction between each of you aching c*nts. Minthara gasped into your mouth and pulled away only to latch onto your neck.

You couldn’t help but cry out as she kissed and nibbled your neck, increasing the pace as she grinded against you. Her kisses were accompanied by a slow, deliberate grind of her hips against yours, a rhythm that ignited every nerve ending. The heat of her body, the soft friction of her movements, and the unrestrained passion in her eyes made it clear that she was fully immersed in the moment.

With a fluid motion, she began to move her hips in a rhythmic, sensual dance, the friction between your bodies becoming a source of intense pleasure. The contact was both exhilarating and intimate, each movement bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Her hands roamed over your skin, her touch leaving a trail of heated sensation.

"Mmm, yes- ah" You responded in kind, your hands gripping her hips as you matched the rhythm of her movements. You couldn't help but gasp as the shared pleasure intensified. The intensity of the moment was palpable, each touch and movement a testament to the passion that had ignited between you.

"I-ah-I am close, wife." There was such an intensity that Minthara addressed you that you couldn't help but arch your hips, the pleasure increasing tenfold. You were her wife, the most powerful woman in menzoberranzen was calling you wife, the power trip brought you closer to the edge.

Minthara was true to her word, and as you both neared climax you couldn't help but grunt each other's names into the other's mouth as you stole each other's oxygen greedily. Minthara bit down on your lip as she came, causing you to gasp and to your surprise you also came - funny, you never had taken yourself as a bit of a masoch*st but here you were, writhing in pleasure beneath the woman who murdered your family as your blood trickled down your jaw.

Lolth forgive you.

Determined not to be outdone, you took advantage of Minthara’s brief recovery and shifted your position with purposeful grace. Straddling her now, you felt a renewed sense of control and intimacy. Your lips eagerly found their way to her neck, and you began to trace a path of fiery kisses and gentle nibbles along her sensitive skin. Minthara’s breath came in soft, shuddering gasps as you made your mark on her.

“Eager to make your mark, I see,” she purred, her voice a breathy whisper of delight. She held your head against her neck, her fingers tangled in your hair as she guided you to the most sensitive spots.

Each touch of your lips, each caress of your tongue, elicited delicious shudders from Minthara. You could feel her pulse quickening beneath your lips, her body responding eagerly to your attentions. When you hit a particularly sensitive spot, Minthara gasped sharply, her body arching slightly in response. You couldn’t help but grin at the effect you were having on her.

The passion between you two intensified with each passing moment. You continued to kiss and bite her neck with an increasing rhythm, the pleasure you were both experiencing melding into a shared, fervent rhythm. Minthara’s hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer, urging you to continue.

Your movements became more fluid and urgent, the desire between you two igniting with an almost primal intensity. You explored each other with fervor, your hands and lips mapping out every curve and contour of Minthara’s body. The connection between you grew deeper, each touch and kiss a testament to the powerful, consuming passion that had taken hold of you both.

As the night wore on, the two of you became a tangled, passionate mess of limbs and pleasure. The room was filled with the sounds of your intimate interactions—soft moans, gasps, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed.

Exhaustion and satisfaction gradually began to replace the intense fervor. You and Minthara’s movements slowed, the rhythm of your lovemaking transitioning from urgent and desperate to slow and tender. You took your time, savoring every caress and kiss as you both began to drift into a more relaxed, intimate connection.

Eventually, the intensity of the night gave way to a more gentle, romantic exchange. The passion was still present, but it was now wrapped in a softer, more affectionate embrace. You and Minthara held each other close, your bodies intertwined beneath the tangled sheets. The warmth of her skin against yours, the steady beat of her heart, and the soothing rhythm of your shared breaths created a cocoon of comfort and intimacy.

In the quiet of the early morning, the two of you drifted into a peaceful trance, still wrapped in each other’s arms. The last remnants of the night’s passion faded into a deep, contented sleep. Minthara’s head rested gently against your shoulder, her breathing steady and calm. You held her close, feeling a profound sense of contentment and closeness.

However, the peaceful atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Before either of you could fully awaken, the door swung open, and the High Priestess strode into the room with a mixture of authority and amusem*nt. Her eyes quickly took in the scene—the two of you tangled together, the disheveled sheets, and the lingering evidence of the night’s activities.

The High Priestess’s gaze flicked between you and Minthara with a wry smile. “It seems you two have had quite the night,” she remarked, her voice laced with both amusem*nt and a hint of disapproval. “I trust the consummation of your union was satisfactory?”

Startled, you and Minthara both stirred awake, trying to regain your composure. Minthara’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation, though she quickly masked it with a defiant expression. You, still partially tangled in the sheets, tried to sit up, your mind racing to process the unexpected intrusion.

“Well, it appears you’ve met the ceremonial requirements,” the High Priestess declared, her tone formal but with an undertone of mirth. Her gaze lingered on the love marks and the tangle of limbs before her, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Minthara, brushing stray locks of hair from her face, managed a snarky remark. “And when exactly, will this love magic, wear off?.”

The High Priestess’s laughter erupted suddenly, a deep, resonant sound that filled the room. You and Minthara exchanged bewildered glances, trying to decipher the reason for her amusem*nt. In the midst of her laughter, the High Priestess managed to reveal a startling truth.

“Oh, you poor fools,” she said between chuckles. “There was no love magic in the toast. The toast was all part of the ceremony, but the effects were entirely of your own making. I simply wanted to... usher things along.”

Her satisfied laughter continued as she turned and left the room, leaving you both in stunned silence. The implications of her words began to sink in, the realization that everything you had experienced was the result of your own emotions and desires rather than any external enchantment.

Minthara’s eyes met yours, a mixture of shock and confusion etched across her face. “So, we…" Minthara stopped to clear her throat. "We weren’t under any magic?”

You shook your head, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and resignation as you pulled the sheets closer to you, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable. “It appears so.”

A brief silence fell between you two, filled only with the sound of your deep breaths and the lingering aftereffects of the night. The reality of your situation, and the irony of it all, began to settle in.

“You know,” Minthara said with a soft chuckle, “maybe it’s just stress relief. We’ve both been through so much, and maybe… maybe it’s just easier to put it down to that.”

You nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yes, I think that might be the simplest explanation. It was a lot of stress and emotion finally finding release.”

“You know,” she said, her voice low and seductive, “if it’s truly just about stress relief, perhaps we could... go another round? Just to ensure that all that stress is thoroughly relieved.”

The question was delivered with a playful smirk, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The way she looked at you, the lingering passion from the night before evident in her gaze, made it clear that she was both serious and teasing.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the faintest blush creep up your cheeks despite the earlier events. You should say no, really you should but, you’d both been through so much, and it was clear that you were still caught up in the aftereffects of the celebration - making it much easier to just write it off as that. You hesitated for a moment, then, with a chuckle, you decided to play along with her suggestion.

“Well,” you replied, your tone matching her playful mood, “if it’s truly for stress relief purposes... how could I possibly refuse?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Now perfectly absolved of any form of stress, you prepared for lunch with your younger twin brothers, Kyorlin and Lesaonar. After the whirlwind of the wedding night and the High Priestess's abrupt interruption, you welcomed the prospect of a more relaxed engagement with family. The intricate details of the ceremony were behind you, and now you could focus on reconnecting with your siblings.

As you approached the smaller dining hall, saved for more private affairs and heard the sound of raised voices. The voices grew clearer as you neared, revealing the familiar bickering of your twin brothers.

Kyorlin was evidently agitated, gesticulating with an exaggerated sense of frustration. His sharp eyes were fixed on Lesaonar, who was attempting to avoid his twin’s intense gaze with a mixture of defiance and discomfort.

“I’m telling you, Lesaonar, I'm not stupid, I know it’s not normal to just disappear like that and then show up with—” Kyorlin’s voice cut off as he spotted you walking in. He straightened up, his expression shifting to a mixture of surprise and relief. “Ah, there you are.”

Lesaonar, standing near the long dining table with a sheepish smile, offered a hasty wave. His neck, visible beneath the collar of his tunic, was adorned with several prominent love marks—clear evidence of a night spent in fervent company.

“Lesaonar won't tell me who he was with last night,” Kyorlin continued, his tone now a mix of curiosity and frustration. “And now he’s showing up with these marks and won’t divulge a thing. I thought you might have some insight.”

You winced slightly at the implication. The thought of who Lesaonar might have spent the night with, especially after the night you had experienced yourself, was not one you were keen on pursuing. You offered a reassuring smile to your brother.

“Trust me, Kyorlin,” you said with a light laugh, “I’m as in the dark about Lesaonar’s nocturnal activities as you are. Some things are best left to the imagination or rather.. not.”

Lesaonar’s eyes softened with gratitude as he caught your gaze. “Thank you for siding with me,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and playful mischief. “I knew I could count on you.”

Kyorlin raised an eyebrow, clearly still frustrated but willing to move on for the moment. “Fine. Dearest sister, at least tell me how things are going with your new role.”

"Kyorlin are you lonely?" Lesaonar asks him, a mischevious smile on his face. "Is that why you keep asking about late night-"

"I could not have been referring more to how our sister feels as Mistress of the house, not about her wedding night, please, for the love of Lolth, do not tell me about your wedding night." Kyorlin stressed sending an irritated look to his twin.

You smiled at the two of them, at least some things would never change.

“Ah yes, I am officially the Mistress of House Baenre,” you said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Minthara has already laid out a detailed itinerary for me this afternoon. There’s a lot to take in, and it seems the responsibilities come with their own set of demands. Nothing I cannot handle though dearest brothers."

The three of you fell into a joyeous and relaxed conversation, a needed relief from the intensity of the past few days. However, the lively banter between your brothers was interrupted as a servant approached, bowing respectfully. The servant’s attire was pristine and formal, indicative of the house’s standards.

“Excuse me, Mistress,” the servant said with a polite but firm tone. “Matron Minthara requests your presence immediately.”

You frowned slightly. “But I’m not expected for another hour. Couldn’t it wait until then?”

The servant’s expression remained unwavering. “If Matron Minthara desires to see you now, it is imperative that you attend her. It matters not what the schedule dictates.”

You exchanged a quick look with Kyorlin and Lesaonar, who both raised eyebrows in silent curiosity. With a resigned sigh, you stood up from your seat.

“Well, it seems I must attend to the Matron’s wishes,” you said, attempting to sound composed despite the unexpected summons. “I will be back shortly - hopefully.”

The servant led you through the opulent corridors of House Baenre, the grand architecture and intricate decorations a constant reminder of the house’s power and prestige. As you walked, your mind raced with thoughts about Minthara’s sudden urgency. The atmosphere in the manor felt charged with authority, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that Minthara was asserting her control in a rather dramatic fashion.

When you finally reached Minthara’s private study, you were greeted by her standing confidently at the center of the room, her expression a mix of amusem*nt and mock severity. Her regal posture and the way her eyes glinted suggested she was fully aware of the power she wielded over you.

“Well, if it isn’t the Mistress of House Baenre herself,” Minthara said with a smirk, her tone both playful and commanding. “I couldn’t possibly wait another moment to see how you were adjusting to your new role.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. Despite the irritation you felt, you refused to let Minthara’s antics provoke a reaction. Instead, you decided to respond with a touch of humor.

“It’s sweet of you to miss me already,” you said with a teasing smile. “I didn’t realize you’d grow so impatient in such a short time.”

Minthara’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Oh, it’s not impatience, dear. I simply wanted to remind you that, even as Mistress, you still answer to someone, to me.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against a nearby table, your smile remaining in place. “Well, it’s good to know you’re keeping an eye on me. I suppose I should be flattered.”

Minthara’s demeanor softened slightly, and she took a step closer to you. “It’s just a little reminder of who holds the reins around here,” she said, her tone becoming more affectionate. “I’ve no doubt you’ll handle everything with grace, but a little reminder never hurts.”

Minthara’s gaze softened, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes as she began to outline your responsibilities. She walked over to a large, ornate desk where she had clearly been reviewing some documents. Picking up a scroll, she waved it in front of you with an exaggerated flourish.

“As Mistress of House Baenre,” Minthara began, her tone carrying a mix of authority and playful condescension, “you are now responsible for managing the staff. This includes overseeing the daily operations and ensuring that all duties are performed to our standards. You will also be in charge of the younger members of the house, guiding them and ensuring their behavior aligns with our expectations.”

"Oh those little darlings? They will be no worry to me I assure you," You smiled, reminiscing on your wedding morning despite it not being even a full day ago. "It's amazing what some interest and an ear to lend does to the most unruly of souls."

Minthara glared at you, she had already realised her plan to set her disordely younger relatives on you had backfired. They all seemed to adore you and looked up to you with reverance she could only receive from fear.

Minthara took a breath in and let your comments wash over her, deciding to move on to the most important matter. “And, of course, you must ensure that I am satisfied with your performance. My expectations are quite high, and I trust you will rise to the challenge.”

You scoffed lightly, not taking her overly serious demeanor too much to heart. “Well, I suppose someone has to make sure everything runs smoothly around here. And who better than me?”

Minthara’s smile widened, clearly thinking she had successfully asserted her dominance. “Indeed. I’m sure you’ll find the tasks quite fulfilling, if not demanding.”

Just as she seemed ready to revel in her perceived victory, you leaned forward with a confident grin. “Oh and by the way, I’ve already arranged for replacements for the assassins you… eliminated. Handpicked, I might add.”

Minthara’s expression shifted to one of surprise and mild annoyance. “What are you implying? I have already taken care of the replacements.”

You raised an eyebrow, your tone calm and unwavering. “Yes, but I took it upon myself to handle that particular duty. As you said it’s part of my role as Mistress, not yours. I wouldn’t want to burden you with the minutiae of every little detail. Especially considering your poor choice last time. I mean this is how we got into this predicament to begin with.”

Minthara scoffed and her brow furrowed slightly, and she opened her mouth to protest. “But—”

You interrupted with a gentle but firm voice. “It’s my responsibility now, dearest wife. I’m fully capable of managing these aspects of the house without adding unnecessary stress to your already demanding role.”

She hesitated for a moment, then sighed in reluctant acceptance. The assasins would be loyal to you of course and no doubt be more difficult for her to order around. Plus Minthara was sure they would eagerly come running back to you with every detail they could. A minor issue. “Very well. I suppose it’s only fair that you handle it as part of your duties.”

You offered her a reassuring smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having asserted your role effectively. “Thank you for understanding. I assure you, I’ll handle everything with the utmost attention and dedication.”

Minthara’s co*cked her head at you, an irritated look in her eye. “I have no doubt you will. Just remember, I’m always here if you need guidance—or if you decide you want to test the limits of your new responsibilities.”

It was not advice, you noted, it was a warning - don't get too confident. As you prepared to leave her quarters, you could feel the weight of your new responsibilities settling over you. The dynamic between you and Minthara had already begun to shape itself, a blend of authority, affection, and mutual respect. With a final, confident smile, you turned and exited the room, ready to face the challenges of your new position with determination.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The evening had settled into a calm, deceptive quiet as you prepared for dinner with Minthara that night. After the tension of the day, you hoped for a peaceful meal, a chance to enjoy a moment of calm in the whirlwind of your new responsibilities. You had almost convinced yourself that Minthara had forgotten about the acolyte matter, that perhaps she had been too preoccupied with flexing her authority over you that she had forgotten the whole matter completely.

As you entered the dining hall, Minthara was already seated, a serene yet calculating expression on her face. The table was set elegantly, with flickering candles casting a soft glow over the polished surface. You exchanged the usual pleasantries, the conversation flowing easily enough, but there was an undercurrent of tension that you couldn't quite shake.

Halfway through the meal, you heard the soft, ominous click of the door locking behind you. Your heart sank as you realized that Minthara had not forgotten. In fact, it seemed she had been waiting for the right moment to address the issue that had been lingering between you. Minthara leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you.

"You didn’t think I would forget, did you, darling?" she asked, her tone deceptively mild. "The matter of the acolyte?"

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "Minthara, the acolyte sought to kill you during the vow. I healed you when you were injured, and then I caught her in the chapel. Lolth herself turned her into a drider and dragged her into the depths of the Underdark. There’s nothing more to it."

Minthara’s gaze sharpened, her expression hardening with suspicion, you had hoped the comment about the drider would lead her astray that she woul dbe in awe of such an occurence that she would forget her true mission.

"That’s a convenient story. But you are not known to be a healer, at least not one with the talent to save someone from such an injury." Minthara bit out, raising from her chair and beginning to approach you. "And why would Lolth, the Spider Queen herself, intervene on your behalf? Why does she favor you? And it’s not just your family’s devotion."

The questions hung in the air, heavy with the weight of implications you had hoped to avoid. Minthara’s skepticism was palpable, her distrust evident in the way she leaned toward you, her eyes locked onto yours.

"I told you the truth," you insisted, but there was a tremor in your voice that you couldn’t quite suppress. "I did what I had to do to protect you, to protect our house. Lolth’s will is beyond our understanding. Accept it Minthara."

Minthara’s displeasure was evident, her lips curling into a cold smile. "It’s all too convenient, don’t you think? You expect me to believe that everything happened exactly as you said, without any further explanation? No, there’s more to this, and I intend to find out."

She stood, her movements deliberate and controlled, as if she were savoring the power she held over you. "Neither of us are leaving this room until you tell me the whole truth. And for every hour you withhold it, my guards will beat Kyorlin."

The mention of Kyorlin sent a surge of anger through you. You pushed your chair back and stood, your eyes flashing with fury. "You can’t do that! I won’t let you harm him."

"I have every right to discipline him after he attacked Arys in the library, or did your dearest brother not tell you about it? Such disorder among you." Minthara’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it, only a cold, calculating cruelty. "You will tell me what I want to know, or Kyorlin will suffer the consequences. It’s your choice."

Desperation clawed at you as you turned toward the door, intent on leaving. You would use your magic to break it down if you had to. But as you summoned your power, you felt an emptiness where your magic should have been. Panic began to rise as you realized that your abilities were gone, as if snuffed out by an invisible force.

Minthara’s laughter rang out, dark and triumphant. "Did you really think I wouldn’t take precautions? Your wine was spiked with essence of sussur. Your magic is gone, and it won’t return for at least a day. You’re powerless, wife."

The weight of her words crashed down on you, the reality of your situation sinking in. Minthara had planned this from the beginning, ensuring that you had no means of escape, no way to fight back. You were trapped, at her mercy, with no magic and no way to protect your brother.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you faced her, the room closing in around you. Minthara took a step closer, her voice a whisper of silk and steel. "Now, tell me the truth, or Kyorlin will pay the price for your stubbornness."

The stakes had never been higher, and the path before you had never been more treacherous. Minthara had you cornered, and the only way out was to reveal the secret you had fought so hard to keep.

The room fell into a tense silence as Minthara’s threat hung in the air. Your heart raced, but you steeled yourself, determined not to show any fear. You refused to believe that she would harm Kyorlin—her authority only extended so far, and you knew your brother was capable of taking care of himself. This had to be a bluff, an attempt to break your resolve.

"You’re bluffing, Minthara," you said, your voice firm despite the flicker of doubt that gnawed at your confidence. "You won’t harm Kyorlin. He is your brother by marriage. It’s not in your best interest."

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening as she turned toward the door. Without a word, she opened it and motioned for someone to enter. The door creaked fully open, and two guards stepped inside, dragging a figure between them. Your heart lurched as you saw the familiar form of Kyorlin, his face bruised and bloodied, his expression a mixture of pain and defiance.

“No!” The word tore from your throat as you instinctively rushed toward him, desperate to reach your brother.

But Minthara was faster, her grip like iron as she seized your arm, holding you back with a strength you had no hope of beating. "And what exactly do you think you are doing, beloved?"

Kyorlin looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and determination. He tried to speak, but the guards tightened their hold on him, pulling him violently back toward the door by his throat.

“Take him away,” Minthara ordered coldly, her gaze never leaving yours as the guards obeyed, dragging Kyorlin out of the room. You struggled against Minthara’s grip, your heart shattering as you watched your brother disappear through the door. The echo of the door slamming shut behind him felt like the final nail in the coffin.

Tears of frustration and helplessness welled in your eyes as you finally stopped struggling, your body going limp in Minthara’s grasp. She released you, allowing you to stumble back, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You felt the walls of your resolve crumbling, the weight of Minthara’s power pressing down on you until you could no longer bear it.

"Alright," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of despair and defiance. "You win, Minthara. I’ll tell you everything. But I warn you, the truth is something you won’t like."

Minthara’s expression remained unreadable, but you could see the glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she waited for you to continue. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for the revelation that was about to change everything.

"Yes, Lolth favors me," you began, your voice growing stronger as you spoke. "She favors me not just because of my devotion, but because I am her descendant. My lineage comes from an aasimar named Liakyre."

Minthara’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "An aasimar?" she scoffed. "Lolth has no aasimar children. You expect me to believe this?"

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, a bitter, mirthless sound that echoed through the room. "No, you’re right. Lolth has no aasimar children. But Eilistraee does. Liakyre is the aasimar daughter of Eilistraee, the so-called 'benevolent' goddess, the traitor. But Liakyre saw through Eilistraee’s lies and fell back into Lolth’s embrace—her grandmother’s embrace."

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, her skepticism deepening as she tried to process the information. "You’re lying. This is absurd. Why would Lolth accept a descendant of Eilistraee, her sworn enemy?"

You met her gaze, your expression unwavering. "Think about it, Minthara. What better way to damn Eilistraee than to take her own daughter and make her Lolth's perfect paragon? What better way to mock the 'Dark Maiden' than to ensure that her legacy, her blood is tied forever to Lolth’s greatest house? Eilistraee's greatest loss, the most celebrated figure in the underdark."

Minthara’s lips pressed into a thin line, her mind racing as she considered your words. You could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle to reconcile the truth with the deep-seated beliefs she had held all her life. But the evidence was undeniable, and as the realization dawned on her, you could see the anger and betrayal beginning to simmer beneath her composed exterior.

"And what of the contract that bound us together, Minthara?" you continued, pressing your advantage. "The miraculous contract that made me your wife. You think that was a coincidence? No, wife. That was Lolth’s will, ensuring that Liakyre’s bloodline would be firmly entrenched within House Baenre. This is her plan, this is her way."

Minthara’s silence stretched on, the air between you thick with tension. You watched as her expression shifted, the fury in her eyes fading, replaced by something far more unnerving—a slow, creeping smirk that sent a chill down your spine. It was a look of triumph, of satisfaction, as if the final piece of a puzzle had clicked into place in her mind.

She turned to you, her smirk widening as she stepped closer. The weight of her presence was suffocating, and despite your resolve, you couldn’t help but feel a growing unease. She reached out, taking your hand in hers with a surprising gentleness, lifting it to her lips. The touch of her lips against your skin was cold, calculated, and filled with a twisted kind of affection.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft yet dripping with mockery. “Thank you for finally telling the truth. You have no idea how much this means to me.” Her eyes gleamed with a sinister light as she released your hand, her smirk deepening into something almost feral.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door, her steps deliberate and unhurried. You stood frozen, a mix of shock and confusion swirling in your mind. This wasn’t the reaction you had expected. You had anticipated rage, perhaps even violence, but not… this.

Minthara paused at the doorway, glancing back at you with that same unnerving smirk. Then, with a final, almost casual wave of her hand, she exited the room, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, you simply stood there, trying to process what had just happened. The oppressive atmosphere that had filled the room seemed to lift slightly, and you realized with a jolt that the door was no longer locked. You were free to leave.

Without wasting another moment, you rushed to the door, pushing it open and nearly stumbling into the corridor. The fear and anger that had built up inside you now fueled your steps as you raced through the halls of House Baenre, desperate to find Kyorlin.

You burst into the family quarters, your breath ragged from the sprint, and stopped short as you saw Kyorlin sitting at a table, chatting animatedly with Lesaonar. They both looked up as you entered, Kyorlin’s expression shifting from surprise to concern.

“Sister, what’s wrong?” Kyorlin asked, standing up from his seat. There wasn’t a single mark on him—no bruises, no signs of the beating Minthara had claimed. He was perfectly unharmed, his face alight with the carefree demeanor he always had around his twin.

“You’re… you’re okay,” you stammered, the relief flooding over you like a wave. It was all a lie. Minthara had deceived you. The 'Kyorlin' you had seen was all a ruse.

Kyorlin frowned, exchanging a puzzled glance with Lesaonar. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You sank into a nearby chair, your legs suddenly feeling weak. The realization of how thoroughly you’d been manipulated settled in, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Minthara had played you perfectly, using your love for your brother to break you down and extract the truth she wanted.

Kyorlin, noticing your distress, moved to your side, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. “What happened? What did she do?”

You shook your head, struggling to gather your thoughts amidst the turmoil. “She… she tricked me. I thought you were in danger. I thought she was going to have you beaten until I told her the truth.”

Kyorlin’s eyes widened with shock, his expression shifting quickly to anger. “That iblith.”

You winced at his use of the derogatory term, though you understood his frustration. “Kyorlin, you cannot say that,” you said firmly, trying to keep the situation from escalating further. “We don’t need more reasons for her to come after us.”

The reminder of Minthara’s threat made you think of something she had mentioned. You turned to Kyorlin, your curiosity getting the better of you. “What happened between you and Arys, Minthara’s nephew? I heard about an incident in the library.”

Kyorlin’s face tensed, and he shifted uncomfortably. He had kept this matter close to his chest, and it showed in his nervousness.

“I—I didn’t want to worry you,” he stammered. “But… Lesaonar had too much to drink and started talking about family secrets. I… I attacked Arys because I didn’t want those secrets getting out. I did it to protect us.”

Lesaonar’s face twisted into a mix of annoyance and irritation. “You attacked Arys? And didn’t even bother to tell me? What’s the big idea?”

Kyorlin’s face reddened with both guilt and irritation. “Well, maybe if you didn’t get so drunk and start blabbing, we wouldn’t have had to deal with this.”

The conversation was quickly escalating into a full-blown argument. The tension in the room thickened, and you could see that neither brother was about to back down.

Before the argument could spiral further, you raised your hand, cutting through the noise. “Enough. I need to get some rest before my head explodes from all this chaos.”

Both Kyorlin and Lesaonar fell silent, their faces reflecting a mixture of frustration and resignation. You excused yourself from the room, your mind racing with the day’s events. The thought of Minthara still waiting for you in your quarters only added to your stress.

You returned to your chambers, hoping against hope itself that Minthara would be out dealing with her sinister plans or something equally nefarious. But as you entered, you were greeted by the sight of Minthara lounging on the bed, her expression an unsettling blend of mock sympathy and amusem*nt.

She looked up as you entered, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, look who’s finally here,” she said, her voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness. “Had a hard day, did we? Perhaps you’re in need of some stress relief?”

"I would rather feed myself to the spiders." You smiled tightly back to her. You didn't give her the satisfaction of bringing up Kyorlin, you knew she was relishing in the psychological warfare she had enacted.

You began to undress, your movements mechanically efficient. The tension of the day had left you drained, and the thought of a quiet night seemed like a distant hope. You quickly prepared for bed, shedding the day’s formal attire in favor of more comfortable garments.

As you slid between the cool, silk sheets, Minthara watched with an almost predatory gaze. Her eyes followed your every move, and you could feel her presence growing more pronounced as she approached the bed.

Without waiting for an invitation, Minthara smoothly slid into the bed beside you. Her touch was deliberate and firm as she pulled you into her embrace, her body a warm contrast to the cool sheets. You instinctively tensed, trying to create some distance between the two of you.

“No, no,” Minthara murmured, her voice soft but insistent. “You need to relax, my love.”

You squirmed slightly, trying to extricate yourself from her hold, but Minthara's arms were unyielding. She wrapped around you with a possessive tenderness, her warmth enveloping you despite your protests.

“Minthara," you said, your voice strained as you tried to maintain a semblance of resistance. “I need to sleep.”

She only chuckled softly, the sound a low, soothing rumble against your ear. “Hush, my dear. You’re my wife, You need to relax and unwind. You’ve had a very long, stressful day.”

Despite your best efforts, the exhaustion and emotional strain of the day began to take their toll. Minthara’s warmth was surprisingly comforting, and as you lay there, you found it increasingly difficult to maintain your resistance. Finally, you relented, sinking into her embrace with a tired sigh. The soft rhythm of her breathing and the steady warmth of her body gradually coaxed you into a state of uneasy relaxation. Minthara’s arms tightened around you, and she nuzzled her cheek against your temple.

“There, isn’t that better?” she whispered, her voice laced with affectionate satisfaction. “You’re my darling little divine one, and I’ll take care of you.”

The endearment, while somewhat mocking, held a certain warmth that made you feel a little more secure, despite the complex feelings swirling within you. As you lay there in her arms, you allowed yourself to succumb to the quiet comfort of her embrace, hoping that sleep would come and bring some respite from the chaos of the day.