Page 81 of Return of the Darkness

“How do you sound sultry even when you’re mad?” He flashed Ophelia a smile he knew she wouldn’t refuse.

“Don’t sweet talk me. You owe me nine-hundred gold syiruna. She’s my most expensive girl.” Ophelia prowled towards him, draped in lavender gauze that blended with the silks hanging across the ceiling of the most prestigious brothel in the city, though he would never live to see it again if Ophelia heard him call it that aloud. “My success—twenty institutes, one thousand girls, the highest earner in the city for the last five years—wasn’t achieved by letting men like you get free nights.” Ophelia pointed a feathered fan at him while reeling off the same accomplishments she always did whenever he took advantage of her establishment. Waltzing around the stage towards him, she smiled at the customers that lounged in plush chairs while food and drink were brought to them on platters. She was right; her establishments were far more than brothels. They were renowned for everything from food and drink, tasteful entertainment to all round debauchery. It was the place to go for celebrations, business meetings, and even dirty dealings.

If the city actually had a queen, Ophelia would have given her a run for her money, and yet, “Aren’t you technically still a slave?” he jabbed. Ophelia slapped him across the face with her fan before glancing at the gold inking on her ring finger. “Okay, I deserved that,” he said, moving his jaw.

“What do you want here? You’re due at the palace,” Ophelia remarked, reaching for her ledger on the gold plinth by the door and the outrageously large gold feather quill. It was rumoured to be a gift from the Custodian of Q’Ohar, a gift passed down to his family for generations. The captain was sure it was a lie.

“Do I dare ask how you know that?” he gave an exasperated sigh and leant his arms on the plinth to face her.

“I know everything,” she said.

“Not everything,” a deep voice, rivalling Ophelia’s in silkiness, called from an alcove. He recognised the accent but the owner forced a theatrical tone that prevented the captain from recognising his identity. “You didn’t know I had arrived.” The captainstudied his friend’s reaction, waiting to see if she tensed, and if the voice belonged to her master he was yet to meet. Instead, a feline smirk appeared on her face as she lowered her quill.

“Probably because I hadn’t bothered to wonder if you’d ever return,” she quipped as the tall pale fae ducked through the curtain of an alcove. He then knew why he recognised the accent. Although his friend looked like he could crack a neck in seconds, he grinned like a child as his eyes trailed Ophelia. Bold move. No one in the city had laid with Ophelia, and he doubted this arrogant fae would be the first.

“Hello Osiris.” She kept her face neutral as he approached, towering over her.

“Helloamalina.” He grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.Beautiful, Osiris had said in his native tongue of Xyliar. Ophelia smacked Osiris’s hand away with the same fan she had pointed at the captain moments ago. “Still as feisty as ever,” he said as Ophelia strode away from him. The captain swore she exaggerated the sway of her hips more so than usual. When Osiris reached for her shoulder, the captain flinched.Bad move.Though by the usual, teasing and grin on Osiris’s face, the captain knew it was intentional.In a heartbeat, Ophelia swung back her leg and hooked it behind Osiris’s, sending him tumbling to the marble floor. Grabbing a strapped dagger from her thigh, she straddled him and pressed it to his neck. Still, the fae smiled. “Come now. Don’t tease me like that,amalina.” He lifted his head, trying to lean towards Ophelia as blood trickled down his neck. “You know I like knives.”

Although the string music in the domed room still played, the customers were preoccupied, watching the pair on the floor. The captain’s boots clicked as he walked towards them and bent down.

“Good to see you again, mate,” the captain grinned. “Glad to see I’m not the only one capable of defeating you with a knife.” Osiris rolled his eyes briefly before training them back to Ophelia.

“Letting her win like this is so much more fun,though,” Osiris purred, reaching a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind Ophelia’s ear. She pushed the dagger further into his neck, but did not hide her smirk.

“I feel like I’m intruding.” The captain motioned between them. “I’ll be back later this evening.” The captain turned on his heel and moved the curtain to leave.

“NINE HUNDRED GOLD SYRIUNA, ZEE!” Ophelia shouted after him, the only person who gave him such a ridiculous nickname instead of his title as captain.

The walk to the palace was short, but he wasn’t to go straight to the custodian’s hearing chambers. He detoured around the back and gave three specific knocks on the sixth statue of a wing against the marble walls. It opened slowly, and the captain stepped inside. He was surprised the dungeons were not as pristine as the rest of the city; the custodian cared greatly about appearances. He half expected her to even care for the thoughts of prisoners when they had first met. She did, just for far different reasons, looking for ways they could benefit her.

The captain trailed his hand along the dark stone, embedded with purple crystals, dulled from lack of sunlight.

“Upstairs,” grunted a voice at the end of the hallway. The captain tilted his head. That was why he had been called; he was to enter a cell only a certain power could control. The captain turned left instead of right and took the steps two at a time until reaching the cell bars at the top, forged from the only material capable of restraining power, the same material around the prisoner’s wrists. Only the custodians possessed such knowledge, which meant this prisoner was important. His custodian did not reserve this cell for merely anyone.

The captain pushed his fist against the lock, the gold ink on his knuckles acting as a key. Slowly, the prisoner raised his head. The captain closed the bars behind him and leaned against the wall to survey the man. He didn’t recognise the clothing, though he looked as if he hailed from Q’Ohar. If he looked closely, he sharedsimilar features to Ophelia: the same dark hair and gold kissed, deep brown skin. His hair fell from a black band, and patterns of water from the wall on his right danced over his features. His black leathers were far less intricate than those from other armies, and he wondered exactly where they had dragged this man from. Blood still splattered his clothing, but no weapons were strapped to his body.

“Kazaar Elharar. I’ve heard so much about you.” A lie, but the prisoner did not know that. The prisoner’s face was neutral as he stared back, seemingly uninterested.

“It’s impolite to not introduce yourself, especially when your captive has no idea where they are,” the man, Kazaar, said.

“You’re right. How rude of me,” the captain smirked. His midnight blue eyes sparkled in the streams of light filtering through the watery cell. “Riyas Sevia, Captain of the Custodian’s Fleet. Welcome to Carvyre.” He snapped his fingers and the wall of water on Kazaar’s left fell, revealing the blinding white marble rooftops of the surrounding city. “The Fifth State of Ithyion.”