THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Elder La Muerte's office loomed in shadow, defying the golden rays of morning that filtered through grand, arched windows. The darkness seemed to cling to the room, swallowing light whole as if the sun itself dared not challenge the shroud.

Behind a vast, ornately carved desk sat Elder La Muerte, a figure both formidable and regal. Her hair, raven-dark and artfully tousled, framed a face marked by an ethereal beauty that bore the weight of time and power. Her uniform, striking in design with gold epaulets and crimson embellishments, radiated authority. With eyes as sharp as a hawk's, glimmering like molten gold, she exuded an air of danger.

Her fingers, clad in lace gloves, toyed with a feathered quill as though it were a blade, tracing patterns on a parchment that held ancient symbols. The quill moved in calculated circles, dripping ink as dark as her intent. Her gaze cut through the silence like a sword, locking onto David, who stood tall amidst the overwhelming atmosphere, the pressure of her presence heavy on his chest. Yet, he did not waver.

David bowed deeply, a gesture polished by two months of relentless training and preparation for encounters just like this. His voice, calm yet edged with reverence, broke the silence. "Forgive my impudence, Noble Elder," he began, eyes momentarily lowering before meeting hers once more.

Elder La Muerte's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as she angled the feathered quill against her cheek. The morning light barely touched her, consumed by the unnatural darkness of her chamber.

"For a moment, I thought your new title had inflated your pride," she mused, the quill tracing delicate patterns on her skin as if testing the edge of her curiosity.

"Not at all, Noble Elder," David replied, a touch of humour infusing his voice to mask the storm roiling inside him.

"My intentions are purely noble. I have come across pieces of a puzzle, ones that have haunted me with shadows of past pain."

The elder's eyes narrowed subtly, and she set the quill back into its ornate holder. Silence filled the room like a dense fog, pressing in on David until the air felt as though it would shatter under the weight. He stood firm, though the suffocating aura she emanated tested his resolve.

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But for a brief heartbeat, he sensed something—an echo of emotion, almost like pain, vibrating through her imposing presence. It was gone before he could grasp it fully.

"I met with Angelica," he said, breaking the tension. The elder's golden eyes sharpened as they locked onto his, a glimmer of intrigue flickering in their depths. "So, you have," she responded, her voice low and laced with an unreadable emotion. It was as though she had been waiting for this moment, each word a bead of inevitability on a string she had spun long ago.

With a graceful gesture, she extended her hand toward a chair across from her desk. "Sit, then," she offered, a command wrapped in politeness. David complied, easing into the chair while maintaining his poise, muscles taut beneath his cloak as if bracing for battle.

"I assume you've come to learn why Angelica is an executioner in my service," Elder La Muerte continued, never breaking eye contact. The room seemed to darken further, the shadows shifting as if leaning in to listen. Her voice, deep and resonant, held the gravity of secrets older than he could fathom.

"Yes," David affirmed, the single word carrying the weight of months of unanswered questions.

Each syllable echoed in the chamber, mingling with the scent of old parchment and arcane incense. He knew that whatever answer awaited would change the path before him, revealing more about the elder's inscrutable nature and the truth that had eluded the old David.

Elder La Muerte's fingers interlaced, resting on the desk with a calculated elegance. "To understand Angelica's role," she began, her tone softening by a degree, "you must first understand the debt that runs through this bloodline—the sacrifices, the deals made, and the echoes of power that bind us all."

David's eyes narrowed as he felt the weight of Elder La Muerte's revelation settle over him like a shroud. His attention sharpened, and he leaned forward, straining to catch every nuance of her words. Weeks of gruelling study and personal growth had fortified him, giving him newfound strength, yet knowledge—sharp, elusive, and vital—was what he sought most. What she had just said made his pulse race.

"You were betrothed," she disclosed, the words striking him like a blow. David's chest tightened, shock coursing through him. In the story of his past life, a shadowed history that had never been fully unravelled by the author, this truth had been buried deep.

The old David had a betrothal that had haunted his memory, an unsolved riddle that now resurfaced with sudden, stunning clarity. But why was it important now?

Sensing the uncertainty that clouded his features, Elder La Muerte rose from her seat with a fluid grace that set his heart racing. Before he could react, she moved behind him, her presence so close that her warmth seeped into him.

She wrapped her arms around his frame, drawing him into an unexpected embrace. The contact stunned him, her floral scent enveloping his senses and her breath a soft whisper on the nape of his neck. A shiver ran down his spine, spreading tingling heat through his body.

"Would you believe me if I told you I took her away to protect you?" she murmured, the words piercing through the haze of his shock. Her voice, usually so guarded, carried an edge of vulnerability. It was enough to pull him from his daze, but confusion still clouded his mind.

"Protect me?" he echoed, the question tasting foreign on his tongue. What did she mean? His confusion deepened as she tightened her hold, pressing him closer so that he could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. His head rested against the warmth of her chest, and the gentle rise and fall of her breath left him almost lightheaded.

"I knew of your love between you two," she whispered, her tone laced with a bitterness that hinted at painful memories. "If the House of Elarionne had discovered your feelings, they would have executed her without hesitation."

At the mention of that cursed name, an unfamiliar rage flared within David, burning bright and fierce. It was a fire that did not belong to him, an echo of a trauma that clung to the old David like a shadow. His breath quickened, muscles tensing under the strain of emotion he couldn't fully grasp.

Another ghost of my past,

he thought, trying to steady himself.

Elder La Muerte's eyes, sharp as they were empathetic, noted the change in his demeanor and a subtle smile crossed her lips. It was an expression of approval, an acknowledgment of his growth and composure. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to align, but one question still clawed at him, desperate for an answer.

"Why?" he asked, his voice thick with a mix of confusion and awe. "Why save her and protect me?"

The elder's embrace softened, the harshness of her aura melting away to reveal something gentler. Her fingers found their way into his white hair, brushing it with a touch that was both tender and commanding. "It is a promise I made, one that I failed to uphold fully," she said, a wistful note coloring her voice. "But it is a vow I will continue to keep."

Her words spoke in riddles, hinting at past loyalties and failures that stirred more questions than answers. But for now, they were enough. David felt the tension in his chest release as her hand caressed his hair, each stroke drawing him further into a realm of fragile trust.

"You may take Angelica," she declared, her tone carrying the weight of finality. But then, her eyes gleamed mischievously as she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The warmth of it startled him, sending a jolt through his senses. "However," she continued, her voice now as intimate as a secret, "if you ever have any troubles, come to me."

David's eyes widened at the unexpected offer, his breath catching in his throat. Elder La Muerte was becoming an enigma, a puzzle he couldn't quite decipher. Yet, the conditions she laid out were ones he could not afford to refuse, no matter how cautious he remained.

Before he could respond, she led him to a nearby leather couch. With a commanding gesture, she indicated for him to sit and lie down. Hesitant, David did as instructed, sinking back until his head rested on her lap. The softness of her thighs was disarming, a comfort that felt both foreign and forbidden. He opened his mouth to protest, but her finger found his lips, silencing him.

"Shh," she whispered, the sound a tender command that sent a thrill down his spine. "Consider this our first step in building trust."

Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, up to the strands of his hair, drawing lazy patterns that made his skin prickle. It was an intimacy he didn't know how to handle, a moment suspended in time where the lines between past and present blurred.

David's eyes fluttered closed, not in surrender, but in acknowledgment. The walls between them were shifting, and in that delicate, silent space, he accepted the beginning of an uncertain alliance.

****

A/N: The House of Elarionne is the same house that Eric De Gor was banished to.