(Author's Note: I apologize for the short chapter, my characters decided to be idiots and moved the plot along faster than intended! I thought about rewriting it, but they wouldn't let me, because they run the show, apparently.)

~Zaire~

It was immeasurably pleasing to fold his little doll like origami, and see how far she could bend without breaking. The silken sheets and fluffy duvet were far too comfortable for her, compared to the rough bark of a tree, or the cold, dirty forest floor, but he made up for the difference with brutal thrusts. However, he found himself showing her a little mercy by softening his vise-like grip to caress her body as he switched up on her, giving her slow, deep, grinding strokes and gentle, coaxing kisses on her trembling lips. She writhed beneath him all the while, crying out for God, and each time she came, he had to clamp down on his resolve to make the pleasurable torture last. She took advantage of his temporarily lax hold on her, and used it to explore her own dominance by pushing him onto his back and straddling him. He allowed her to take control, amused by the feeling of it. She found a magnificent rhythm as she rode him, and he couldn't help but buck his hips and grip her waist when she shied away from giving herself another peak. As soon as she shattered on top of him, he pinned her knees open wide once more, intending to reclaim his reign over her.

But suddenly, a malicious smile formed on her lips, and before he realized what was going on in that head of hers, one of her shadows sharpened before slicing down her sternum, and the sweet smell of her blood filled his senses. An enraged roar peeled from his throat, and he wanted to throw her across the room for fucking with him like that, but in the blink of an eye, his mouth closed over the gash, and he was drinking greedily. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him there as his head started swimming and a haze of red cast over his vision. Her pulse danced on his lips, and a vicious growl rattled in his throat before he found the will to tear himself away, immediately dragging one of his claws across his chest until his own blood was gushing. Then, he grasped her delicate face and forced her to open her mouth so it would rain down on her tongue, causing her wound to close up almost instantaneously. 

"How dare you," Zaire hissed, swaying slightly as he flipped her over and shoved her face into the bed.

He lifted her hips high and slammed into her ruthlessly. Her shadows hooked into the hand that kept her face buried into the blankets, but he refused to let up. As always, his punishment excited her, and this time, it only made him more furious. She was so wet from it, and her muffled moans had him scowling at her lovely arched back. He groaned through his release, and gave her a vehement swat on the ass, before pulling away and cradling his head in his hands, trying his damnedest to push through the drunken stupor. 

He was only vaguely aware of her crawling up behind him and wrapping her arms around him, panting breathlessly. He repelled her with a not-so-gentle shove from the batting of his wings, and whirled around to level her with a bleary glare.

"You think you're so clever, pulling that little stunt?!" Zaire ground out through his teeth. 

His mate glared back at him with a deviously smug smile on her blood-stained lips. 

"It worked, didn't it?"

Zaire grabbed her by the throat, then, and crushed his lips against hers hard enough to bruise, before staggering off the bed, letting out a string of curses. 

"If you believe that getting me drunk will have me confessing my love for you, you're mistaken," he rasped, but as soon as the words left his mouth, the taste of her hurt exploded on his tongue, and he wished he could take it back. 

Now that he had wiped that smile off her face, he was remorseful of its absence. Her shadows went limp, and she shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks, offering no retort. Zaire's fury withered, and he felt paralyzed as he watched her hastily get dressed, unsure of how to rectify the situation. A moment before, she was the monster, but now it was him. 

He realized a second too late what was happening when she appeared to vanish, bolting toward the seam in the living room. 

"Fuck, wait - "

He tore after her, only to see the tail end of her dark hair and the edge of her dress get swallowed by the cosmic void. 

"NO!!!"

His bellow rattled through the entire house, obliterating the fixtures and cracking the walls. She had never crossed the Veil on her own, and his stomach lurched at the sensation of her separation as well as the guilt and fear that roiled through him at the possibility that she could get lost between the realms. Going in after her would only spit him out on the other side! And if she hadn't made it to the mortal realm, there was no way that he could retrieve her. She had to find her way through on her own. 

It was hours before the summit, but he needed to see Talon, now!  Zaire pulled on his clothes, nearly tearing them in the process, and he must have covered the distance between his home and the Dark Court palace in seconds, crashing to the ground and stumbling up to sentries at the castle's entrance with the grace of a raging bull. The red haze in his vision was quickly fading to a harsh pink as he burst into the throne room. Nothing like a catastrophic emergency to sober someone up. 

Talon groaned at the taste of Zaire's emotions, wrinkling his nose at him as he stood from the dais.

"Oh, what have you done, now, boy??"

With a flick of his hand, Talon sent the guardsmen out to have a private word with Zaire, along with little Koi, who Talon had taken under his wing to one day play an integral role in the Court. Zaire's explanation came tumbling out, and his old friend appeared to be deeply unsettled by his frantic words. However, Talon's measured response did nothing to quell his concerns,

"Dessa is resilient. She will make her way through, I am sure of it."

Talon apparated, then, and rematerialized a few seconds later with a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

"Agron is heading to the city. I have stationed him at the seam until she emerges."

Zaire made no move to accept the coffee, so Talon insisted, "I cannot have you inebriated for the summit. I am sorry to say that we have more pressing matters at hand."

So, he begrudgingly snatched it and downed the contents, ignoring its scalding temperature. The caffeine helped to dispel the last of his "rose-tinted glasses," and once Talon was satisfied that Zaire was fully sober, he apparated again, this time returning a few minutes later through the doors with a handful of the most prominent Dark Court members. Marching in behind them were two sentries supporting the weight of the sickly-looking emissary, who seemed to still be recovering from a particularly draining experience dealing with the Light Court sovereignty. 

At that moment, Zaire could hardly spare any worry about what the emissary had to report, too disconcerted over his mate's well-being, but he fixed his eyes on the Fae male anyway.

.   .   .

The Light King, Ghast, had received word of the former sovereignty's attempt to claim Solitaries under the Dark, and he was not inclined to trust the emissary's assurance that the current sovereignty rejected the act. The Light Court saw fit to torture the emissary until they could be sure that there was no deception going on. The emissary was sent back to deliver the request for a treaty that would ensure that neither Court would employ Solitary mercenaries, upon the threat of war. However, if that was all that they had requested, there would be no reason to call a summit. A renewed treaty was the best case scenario. The hefty stipulation attached was for the Dark Court to offer a gesture of goodwill - the gift of a coveted prisoner. Ghast wanted the notorious killer that had slain the last recorded matebond between a Light Fae and a Dark Fae. 

Talon's guilt tasted stale when that information was revealed to Zaire, as if he had been holding it inside. The Light King was asking for someone that had already been executed when Zaire was still a child. Back when the Dark Queen, Ygris, still ruled. Would the potential treaty be rescinded?

"What does this mean for us?" Zaire finally asked, more than perplexed by the way the Dark Court members seemed to be avoiding his gaze. All except for the Dark King, who held firm with a weighty stare.

"It means that it is time that you know the truth," Talon said gravely, stiffening his posture. "Ygris believed that execution was too merciful. Eternal imprisonment was chosen instead."

Zaire's dark energy electrified the entire room as he scowled, his claws digging into his palms deeply enough to draw blood. 

"You're telling me that my mother  has been in the dungeon under the palace, this entire fucking time - and you KNEW about this?!"

"I didn't know until I took the crown, Zaire, I swear to you. I was going through the Court scrolls when I saw the ruling, and I didn't believe that she was still alive until I saw her with my own eyes."

Zaire's blood boiled at the realization that his putrid excuse for a maternal figure had been right underneath his feet for centuries, existing on the plane of the living, when he'd thought she was long dead. 

"I'm guessing you want my permission to send the wretch off!? Hand her over, before I slaughter her myself!" Zaire growled, turning to abandon the needless summit, but Talon apparated in front of him, holding him still.

"Ghast demands that you and I facilitate the transfer."

"Oh, is that all??" Zaire barked sarcastically, shaking off Talon's grasp. 

"That is all," Talon confirmed on a weary exhale. 

First, Dessa's vanishing act, then, his heinous mother's "resurrection," and now, a damn trip to the fucking In-Between! Somehow, Zaire dove headfirst into the pits of hell that day.