This wasn't how it was meant to be. This wasn't how it was meant to happen.

I am vengeance, I am hate, and I am death, and nothing more. By Ban-Keren, I am...

But what was he really? What had he become since this witch had crashed into his life and fucked everything up so much that he had risked it all to save her? All the gruelling training. All the pain. All the tides he had spent losing himself, desperately trying to cling onto the last vestiges of Aleina's son, trying to hold onto something—anything—just to stay in control.

Ever since he'd set eyes upon Elara in the catacombs under the citadel, the water plastering her undergarments to her body, he'd been losing his grip with the passing of each tide.

He should never have followed her into Koh-Miralus' house. He should have left her to her fate in the bathing chamber.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

And now, she thought she could control him with the palm of her hand, as if he were nothing but the water itself?

"Yours?" he said, looking into the witch's eyes. "Think I would fall into your clutches that easily?"

She smiled, tugging on her lip with her teeth. Had they gotten sharper? Would he see the nightmares from his childhood creep out from under her skin? Pictures from books brought to life, crawling up from the catacombs under Druvaria, the voice of his mother turning into a witch's scream?

"I think you're already in my clutches. At least, you certainly feel like you are." She pressed firmer, her thumb beginning to stroke him through his britches.

"It means nothing," he replied, although he had to fight to subdue his breathing. She certainly had a good mastery of it, that he could tell. "You could be any one of Clova's girls right now. A means to an end. That is all. How does that make me yours? Maybe you are mine, did you think of that?"

She shifted underneath him, not to dislodge his body from hers, he realised, but to press herself against where his knee rested between her legs.

"Is that why you followed me this moontide? Is that why you pulled me naked from the bath? Dressed me, brought me here, instead of back to Grimefell? Tended to my wound with such a gentle hand?" She ground herself against his knee, squeezed her thighs about his leg. A small groan of satisfaction whispered from her open mouth. "Do you want me to be yours, Juda?"

"I want..."

She arched her back on the chair, exposing more of her throat. Her hand moved a little faster, her fingers exploring the shape of his cock.

His thumb brushed her jawline. Droplets from her hair had formed a well in the dip in her collarbone. He thought about leaning closer, dipping his tongue into it and lapping it from her skin. She wouldn't taste of the sea now. She'd taste of sweet musk and redberry and desire. He could smell it on her skin, could feel it enveloping his senses and making his mouth water.

"Say it, Juda," she said, her other hand toying with the laces on his britches. "It won't kill you to say it. It won't even hurt. Well, unless you want it to..."

Juda leaned closer. He could kiss her now. Crush his lips against hers, suck her tongue into his mouth, taste her in his throat.

"I want..." he whispered.

The witch smiled. Goading him. She was always fucking goading him.

"I want you gone," he said, standing up and wrenching himself from her grip. He missed the feel of her hand upon him already, but he stepped back, looking down at her as she glared up at him. The surprise on her face didn't thrill him as much as he had expected it to. "I should never have brought you here. It was a mistake. I see that now. Go back to whatever remnants of your life that remain."

Had he really just said that? Had he? Even though every inch of him had fucking yearned for her and still did?

"Oh, Juda." She sighed, and rolled her eyes, but the smile returned, as her gaze swept over him, lingering on his crotch. "Aren't you exhausted yet of being so fucking boring?"

He stiffened. "I don't have the luxury of being fun."

"Are the girls at Clova's place not fun then?"

Juda shot her a disdainful look. "You think that is about fun? It's about holding onto something of myself while I still can. That's why all the novices go there. We fuck so we can still live a little while longer. Like I said, it means nothing."

Elara wrinkled her nose. "And yet, you are not like the others. Isn't that what you said? Isn't that what you are meant to be? The Highguard who would kill the King." She laughed as she sat up, slowly, he noticed, for he doubted she was free of the pain just yet. "Estella Camren says that you're not like the others. Erron Rhomm says you're not like the others."

"Erron Rhomm is a liar and a thief." Juda snorted.

The witch leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she looked at him, that maddening smile still on her face. "Aren't we all?" Dragging her gaze over him once more, she sighed, her eyes drawn to the staircase.

As noble houses went, Roth's house was smaller and far simpler in comparison to many of the others in the mid echelon. He was not a dull man, by any means, in fact, he had raised Juda on stories and knowledge, but they had spent more time at the King's Library than they had spent here. Even now, with Juda stationed at the novice quarters, he knew Roth rarely came home, often falling asleep draped over his desk, a flask of wine never far from his hand. He put no weight on wealth and power, preferring to live a more modest life, where books were King, and where vengeance reigned.

But, still, this house held something of Juda's heart.

"Where is your chamber?" Elara asked, her eyes narrowing. "You lived here, yes? So, you must have your own chamber. Is it up there? I should like to see it."

She was already on her feet, moving quicker than he had expected her to. He'd given her too much velam root, he hadn't meant to, but his hand had shaken as he'd spooned it into the spiced wine because he'd been too busy watching her through the scullery door as she lay slouched back on the chair.

"Wait..." he said, but he knew it was pointless even as she climbed the stairs. He followed quickly, slipping past her before she could reach the top. "You need to leave," he said. "Look, I'll make sure you get back to Grimefell, okay?"

Elara climbed the final step, forcing him to move back to allow her the room. But there wasn't enough room. She was too close again. Always too close.

"What are you afraid of, Juda?"

By the dead gods, he wished she wouldn't keep saying his name. Her mouth looked good when it formed the word. It sounded like the sweetest tone on her tongue.

"Are you worried I'll discover you were just as boring as a child as you are now?" She peered over his shoulder. "That's it, isn't it? The one with the closed door."

She was right, of course. He wouldn't have been surprised if that door had been closed since the very tide he'd joined the Order. He'd certainly not entered that room since, and he wondered if Roth ever had.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he said.

Elara grinned. "Bold, novice. Bold. But I think you lie. One peek and I'll be gone. I swear on the dead gods themselves, I will."

She was mocking him again, he could see it in her eyes, but what choice did he have if he wanted her to leave? He needed her to leave.

"Fine." He forced the word out through gritted teeth. "But you will find nothing of interest in there, witch. If that makes me dull, so be it. I care not for your opinion either way."

She was gone in an instant, opening the door that Juda had shut many moons ago.

There had been no point yearning for the half-life it had been. A life he could have had, versus the one he had lost. He couldn't have both, that much he had known only too painfully, and the only thing that had ever mattered to him, was ensuring Ban-Keren paid for what he had done. And so, he'd shut that door gladly, for to shake off the bind of the other life Roth could have offered him meant that he could honour the promise he'd made to his mother when she'd been dragged onto that ship. That was all that had mattered then, and now.

The witch had stopped just beyond the boundary. Juda edged as close as he could bear, following her gaze about the room.

"Oh," she whispered, and then again, "Oh."

"I told you, there is nothing here."

The room was even more stark than the rest of the house. The rest was Roth, all Roth, the empty side of him. The one that made him drink too much.

But this room—this room was Juda, and he felt every awful, lonely part of it.

"You lied," Elara said, her voice soft. "You said there was nothing of interest in here."

Juda hovered by the doorway as the witch explored the room, her gaze touching everything, her fingertips sometimes lingering. The stack of storybooks kept in size order on the shelf. The small iron statuette of a Highguard—a child's trinket that young Juda had studied often, his own fingertips tracing the buckle detail on the vest, testing the point of the double-bladed scimitar to see if it could pierce his skin. A wooden chest containing toys he had never once played with, the lid now faintly licked with a fine layer of dust.

"It's practically empty," he said, as she approached the bed, stopping to pick up a carved marbled pendant that rested on the table, brushing her thumb over the hole through which a ribbon had once been threaded, long since lost.

Juda's heart thudded. Put it down. Please. Put it down.

Elara was watching him, her eyes widened, her lips parted. "This chamber isn't empty, Juda. You are here. Your pain fills every part of it."

Fury erupted, sudden and strong, like storm waves crashing against the old, weathered sea stacks, and Juda jumped at her, grabbing the pendant from her palm and flinging it across the room. Grasping the back of her neck, he pulled her to him, enjoying her gasp of surprise almost as much as when he heard her say his name.

"You know nothing of my pain," he seethed.

"Then show me," she said, defiant. In her eyes, flashed danger. In her face, his downfall.

Desperate and cornered, he crushed his lips against hers, his whole body awakening as she opened her mouth to him, allowing him to taste her as she would taste him. There was the faint bitterness of sea salt on her tongue. The sweetness of musk and redberry on her skin.

Had he ever hungered this much? Ever enjoyed the taste of another's tongue, another's mouth, like this?

The vibration of her moan thrummed down his throat, into his chest, as she snaked her fingers into his hair, tugging at it from the roots and pushing her body against his.

Frantic now, they pulled at each other's clothing—first, his tunic, then hers—and Juda pushed her back onto the bed, grabbing her wrists and pinning them either side of her head as he kissed her throat, tasted her skin on his lips. He nipped at her collarbone, remembering the water that had gathered there and couldn't resist brushing his tongue over the indent. Elara raised her hips off the bed, and he pressed down instinctively, needing to feel her body under his.

Her hands were in his hair, sliding down to his neck, gripping his shoulders and digging into his flesh, as he kissed his way from her throat down to her breasts, sucking a taut nipple into his mouth and stealing a gasp of pleasure from her.

Kneeling between her thighs, he yanked at the laces on her britches, impatient now to see her as she'd been when he'd watched her in the bathing chamber, naked and beautiful and oh so fucking perfect in every way. Snatching the boots from her feet, Juda tugged on her britches, sliding the soft leather over her hips and down her legs.

He paused to catch his breath as he looked down at her, the ache for her starting in his throat, building in his chest until he thought it would push the air from his lungs entirely. Whatever this was, it was feral and raw and he knew that it would never go away until he buried himself in her and let her poison crawl under his skin.

Dragging herself backwards onto the bed, the witch's burning gaze never left his as he unfastened his own slacks, and especially as her hand slid between her thighs. Was she mocking him now? Challenging him even as she pleasured herself right in front of him? Juda found he didn't care. All he could do was watch her, as her fingers moved expertly, stroking that part of herself which Juda longed to taste.

"You love to watch, don't you, novice?" she whispered. "Just as you watched me in the bath. Did you touch yourself? I bet you did." Her fingers moved faster, slid deeper. "Tell me, what did you enjoy more? When he put his hands on me or when I killed him?" She raised herself to her elbow. "It's a fine line with you, isn't it?"

"And with you," he growled, climbing onto the bed. He thought then about the water, wondering what it would feel like to have it bind him as she straddled his body. To be at her mercy. Would he raise her up as one of the old gods? Worship her as she worshipped her foremothers? He thought he might. One more utterance of his name on her venomous, beautiful lips and he would give everything of himself to her.

She shifted farther back towards the cushions, as if retreating from him, but he grabbed her wrists and hauled her to her knees, grasping her arse so he could feel her against him. They remained like that for a moment, bodies moulded together, noses almost touching, arms wrapped around each other.

She'd been right about the room. It was full of him. Sometimes it had been filled with so much anger and rage he wasn't sure how the walls could ever contain it. And sometimes, there had been so much sorrow and pain, it was as if his blood painted every surface and all he could see was pieces of his heart torn free and he knew he would never get them back again.

But now, the room was full of her. Her scent. Her taste. The smoothness of her skin. The curve of her hips. The look in her eyes.

"Show me, Juda," she murmured against his lips. "The pain. All of it."

Juda gripped a handful of her hair. "Think you can bear it all?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Please." And he felt it then—that she wanted this, she wanted him, just as much as he did her. In exactly the same way he wanted her.

Wrapping the length of her hair about his fist, he pulled it back from her ear, to expose that which she had sought to keep concealed from him.

"Then give me this," he said, brushing his mouth just below. She groaned and pressed into him. "Give me this and I will give you everything, Elara. Everything."