Chapter Text
Marvin had expected something . . . more, when he finally slipped back into the warmth of Dark's tent. His mind had raced through the possibilities on the short walk back here, Bing prattling on enough that Marvin didn't have to speak, and by the time he said goodbye to the bubbling guy, he'd had a whole array of worst-case scenarios laid out.
But there wasn't anything obscene, or scary, or whatever. He didn't even see the scrolls on the desk at first, too busy looking for something big and offensive, and by the time he spotted them, he almost overlooked the familiar seal on the front.
Letters. From home.
Marvin dropped into the heavy chair, snatching the first scroll up with wonder, tracing the watcher crest pressed into wax over the front hungrily.
It felt like so long already. Since he'd seen the seal. Since he'd held his family's words, since he heard them.
Gods, it had hardly been days.
The first was from his parents, and it was predictably short. They'd had a chance to speak only the day before, and the letter contained nothing more than a short thanks, a customary missive praising his sacrifice, and an assurance that should he need anything, he need only ask.
They were also packing his things, apparently, but Marvin was unsure if Dark would wait long enough for them to reach the camp, or if he'd even be willing to allow Marvin his things.
It was a comforting thought nonetheless.
The letter from his sister was in much the same vein. Formal and precise, obviously expecting the letter to be read by more eyes than just his. But there was a comfort to the familiarity of her formal style, something he'd read and listened to plenty of times before, considering the work she had to employ as heir, and Marvin could feel the warmth behind the cool words.
Jackie's letter, on the other hand, was downright obscene.
. . . if Sir Great and Mighty Darkwolf hadn't decided this was a dick measuring contest, perhaps you could have come to him with nicer clothes. Or does he prefer to dress up his things like a little girl playing with her dolls? . . .
Marvin laughed, shoving his knuckle into his teeth to stop the sound and grinning it out as he continued to read.
Gods, Dark had probably already read these. What had he thought of this, huh? Jackie was the youngest of the three, absolved of many of the courtly duties delegated to the eldest, and with enough of a tongue that most people just didn't bother inviting him to court. Which was his preference.
There'd been a reason he hadn't accompanied them to meet Dark in the first place.
The more Marvin read, the more that pang in his heart opened up a little further. He missed him. Already. It hadn't been any time at all, but Marvin could hear his voice, could see the way he rolled his eyes, sneered a little when he talked about something he didn't like, or thought was wrong.
Which were a lot of things, as it were.
He'd hate this place. Or, no, that wasn't true. He'd hate the way Marvin was living here. He'd hate Dark. But he'd love exploring the camp. Hanging out with Bing. Sparring. He'd do great here, if only it wasn't the Darkwolf in charge.
. . . I hope he's caring for you well, but considering he didn't even let you collect your things, I do doubt it. Perhaps his teachers simply failed him, in which case I would implore him to visit our home, where I might teach him a thing or two in the subject of manners . . .
He could hear his brother's voice so clearly as he read the words, hear the vitriol, the disgust, clear as day, and the fondness in his chest mixed haphazardly with the longing, and the fear.
Jackie had to know Dark would read any letter he had. Or that someone would read it for him. There was no safety in these words, and something small and fragile unfurled in his gut at the idea that Dark might . . . respond.
But it wasn't like the letters were public. It wasn't like Jackie had stood up in front of a court, and said these things for anyone to hear, where Dark would need to take action to defend against this disrespect. He could only hope that the third son of a small ruling kingdom wasn't worth his time.
. . . I wish you well. I wish you home, but since that doesn't seem like to happen in the near future, I'll have to settle for wishing you good fortune in your attempts at diplomacy. I pray your influence over the Warlord is great enough that some good may come of this after all . . .
Marvin could read between those lines all too well. I hope you get close enough to kill the bastard.
. . . Be safe, Brother. Be safe, and be well, and be strong. I should like to see you again, whole and familiar, before we are much older.
Yours,
Jackilan of Argus
Marvin sat back in the chair, letting the hand holding the letter drop to his knee as he turned to look up at the tent canopy.
He missed him. He was going to miss him all the more with every day that passed. His brother's parting words were clear and easy to understand. Marvin could still remember the way Jackie had looked at him over the table, as everyone else had agreed to the mage's plan, as everyone else had agreed to let him sell himself for a chance to kill the Darkwolf.
"If you haven't brought him down in three moons' time, I'm coming to get you."
No one had disagreed. After all, if that amount of time had passed, it was likely Marvin had long since failed.
And failure here was unlikely to include a return trip home, no matter what Jackie thought.
Gods, what he wouldn't give to be back home. To be listening to Jackie bitch about Dark face-to-face, sitting around the quiet little table in their family quarters, peeling sweet oranges and preparing for a day of court and an evening of beating Jackie's ass in staff training.
The tent flap parted, and Marvin startled, turning sharply in the chair and nearly toppling right out of it as he turned to find Dark.
"My-" he started, habitual, and then shut his mouth sharply, clipping rough over his tongue before he found the right word. "Sir."
"I see you've found what I left you," Dark said with a smile, unclipping his cloak and hanging it from one of the bedposts. Marvin's stomach flipped uncomfortably, a reminder that Dark's hands had already been on these, and that his brother's words might earn him . . . something.
"Yes," he said, softly, carefully. "Thank you."
He stood as Dark approached, stepping away from the chair, letters in hand, and putting his back to the softly glowing fireplace. Dark raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak as he took the chair himself, crossing a leg casually and leaning back into it.
"I trust your family finds you well?"
"They are . . ." What was the right thing to say here? ". . . hopeful for me."
"Yes, I'm sure they are."
Marvin swallowed, looking down at the letters, and the freshly torn seal, and suddenly he needed to know.
"Have you . . . read these?"
"No," Dark answered back, easily, smiling, and something sharp and prickly rose up Marvin's throat.
"Don't lie to me," he echoed back, softly, Dark's words on his tongue. He could see the way his eyes tightened, hardened, looking at Marvin closer, before his smile curled just a little higher.
"I haven't," he repeated, easy, and Marvin felt his mouth thin down into a sharp line before Dark continued. "Yet."
Ah. He supposed it was worth something that he'd been able to read them first. That Dark had let him have them, even not knowing what was contained inside. Something curled dark and unpleasant in his gut at that, though. At the futility of resisting. At the idea that his privacy, his identity, were gone, and at least for the near future, Dark would own every part of his life.
The warlord was watching him, like he was curious how his words would affect him. Like he wanted to see that realization etched across his face, and Marvin hated him, he hated him with every-
Dark's eyes darted down. And then back up. And Marvin hesitated, noting the deliberate nature of the movement, but not understanding the significance. And then Dark did it again. Down, to the fire behind Marvin. And then back up to the letters in his hands. And-
Marvin could burn them. He could turn around, right now, and place the letters in the fire, and Dark would never know what was in them.
Was that what Dark wanted him to do? Why? Did he want to see if Marvin was trying to hide something? Would he just be sure to read them first in the future if Marvin did so? Or was he offering the mage a way out? A way to guarantee he had some semblance of privacy? An olive branch of sorts?
It didn't matter though. It didn't matter because Marvin didn't believe him. He didn't believe that Dark had kept his hands to himself, that he didn't already know exactly what was in these letters. He didn't believe that, even if Marvin burned them, he wouldn't be able to find out in some manner.
And there was something . . . better. About handing Dark the letters after he'd come to that conclusion. Like the illusion of choice had made the taste less bitter in his mouth. And the way Dark looked at him, curious and sharp, as Marvin passed the letters into his hands, was its own form of reward, though he couldn't quite put a name to it.
Dark watched him for a long, considering moment, before he set two of the letters on the desk, pulling up one to read, and Marvin recognized it as his sister's.
The mage turned away from Dark then, stalking across the room to flop back on the bed, unwilling to watch Dark's face as he read over what his family had said to him.
He could tell when he got to Jackie's letter though. There was a soft sound, like a laugh, and Marvin could almost taste the amusement in the air.
"Your family does care dearly for you, don't they?" Dark hummed, and Marvin could hear the soft sound of the letters falling back to the table. "How lucky for you to have such faithful siblings."
"My brother is not a diplomat," he said carefully, staring up at the canopy instead of looking at Dark.
"I can see that, yes," Dark hummed, and there was a rustle of cloth as he stood. "Though, considering the implied privacy of this correspondence, I am inclined to think better of him."
"He would say it to your face, if you gave him the opportunity," Marvin said, and then winced, regretting the honesty in his words immediately. "Not that his words would hold much sway in court, of course. He's only-"
"The youngest son, yes," Dark said, and Marvin swallowed at how close his voice was, maybe a step away from the bed he was lying on. "From his point of view, I have taken his brother from him, for nothing more than a show of strength. I would like to think I would feel the same, in his shoes."
Marvin blinked, breath catching oddly in his throat, before he pushed up onto his elbows to look at Dark. The man was considering him with an easy expression, that dark little smile on his lips, and Marvin blinked again, slowly, taking that in.
"That is . . . kind of you."
Dark's smile went a little crooked. "Now, should he have chosen to say this 'to my face' as you say . . ."
"I know," Marvin said immediately. "There's a reason we kept him at home."
"Mm," Dark hummed. He seemed to consider Marvin for a long moment, before he turned his head. "Why did you give me the letters?"
Marvin froze, brain skittering over the question as he tried to find the answer he wanted.
"I- you wanted to read them."
"Yes. But I want a great many things that you are not required to give me."
Marvin's brain skittered over that too, mouth opening, but nothing coming out for a few long moments.
"I don't know what I'm required to give you," he said finally. "Better to be safe."
"Did you want me to read them?"
"I . . . did not want my brother's words to upset you."
"And yet you gave them to me."
"What choice did I have, Dark?" Marvin asked finally, deflating back onto the bed. "There's no room for distrust in this tent."
Dark was silent for a long moment, and Marvin shut his eyes, his own words racing through his mind, hoping desperately that he hadn't said something wrong. But when he finally cracked them again, glancing back at Dark, he found the man looking at him with an expression that wasn't . . . unhappy.
"I have a gift for you," Dark said, and the feeling that swooped through Marvin's gut was confusing and overwhelming, something between fear and . . . not fear.
"Okay," Marvin said slowly.
"But first, I'd like you to earn it."
Ah. The feeling through his gut was stronger, and less ambiguous. "Okay."
"Stand up for me," Dark instructed, and Marvin shoved off the bed, dragging himself to his feet and trying to keep them from shuffling nervously.
Dark stepped in front of him, and Marvin's eyes skittered off him, finding a spot on the tent walls behind him instead as he worked to keep his breathing even. He jumped when Dark's hand came up to rest on his side, over the warm leather of the corset belt, and there was a pitchy sound caught in his throat that he couldn't quite place the origin of.
"Easy," Dark said, and there was a smile in his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Aren't you? Marvin thought suddenly, only barely keeping the words out of his mouth. Dark's hand slid from his side to his arm, running down the length of his blouse before it circle his wrist softly, turning his hand palm up.
"I'd like you-" Dark started, softly, but there was an edge of danger there, something sharp and deadly, and Marvin swallowed. "-not to lie to me."
"I try not to," Marvin said immediately, because it was true, and he needed Dark to understand that, but the warlord only shushed him.
"I know," he said, warm, edged. "But I would like you to try very hard for me. Can you do that, Marvin?"
"Yes," Marvin whispered. What else was he supposed to say? His pulse thrummed erratically in his throat, the taste of danger so thick over his tongue, and he could feel that pull, that magic deep, deep in his chest, wanting so desperately to spiral out, to protect him from whatever vague danger it felt on his skin.
But it was so important not to. It was so important to wait. To learn. To know what he was getting into before it happened. And Dark, here, in this place, had not hurt him. Had not yet made himself a threat.
If Dark wanted to kill him, he could. But he hadn't yet, and all Marvin could do was hope that that held true. That whatever interest Dark had in him was enough to keep him alive, enough to give him a chance.
Dark hummed, his thumb coming down to press firmly into Marvin's palm, pressing at tension and stress and Marvin was honestly surprised he wasn't sweating more. He felt the whorl of Dark's thumbprint over the scar on his palm, felt him trace it in something like adoration, before he turned his hand back over, and traced the fainter line along the back of his fingers.
"This scar," Dark said, still in that same soft-dangerous voice. "Where did you get it?"
Marvin felt the weight drop in his stomach, the fear rear up into something sharp and unwieldy before he managed to tamp it back down.
Was Dark just going to go over him, ask where every scar he had came from? Some were easy to explain away, but others-
He hadn't had to tell an outright, solid lie yet. He hadn't had to look in Dark's eyes and say something completely, wholly untrue, and he was afraid of that moment, afraid Dark would see it immediately, and this whole thing would crumble down in an instant.
If Dark asked him where the scar on his side was from, he wasn't sure he could make a story that Dark would believe.
"My brother, actually," Marvin answered, a shaky sound that might have been a laugh in his voice. "We were . . . playing with knives when we shouldn't have been."
True. Though "playing with knives" actually meant sparring with real blades. They'd been lucky - if Jackie had swung just a little wider, he likely would have taken his fingers completely.
"How many marks has your brother left on you?" Dark asked, a soft rush of amusement over the blade of his voice, and Marvin followed the sound, the laugh in his mouth a little more human this time.
"More than a few," he said, pulling his hand gently from Dark's grasp to shove his sleeve up, baring his forearm and the small burn sitting neatly on the pale underside. "He gave me this one dropping a hot bed warmer on me while telling a story about a fish."
Dark raised his eyebrows, that same lazy smile on his face as he reached out to support Marvin's arm in his hand, thumb brushing over the mark the same way it had traced the others.
And then it shifted a little higher, brushing the edge of a ragged scar nearly hidden by his sleeve, and Marvin's stomach dropped out again.
"And this one?"
That one had come from a real fight. A mercenary agent who'd stolen into the keep in the dead of night, though to do what he'd never really admitted. Marvin had stumbled on him by accident, and he'd hardly had time to ask what he thought he was doing before he'd been at knife's edge, a short fight for his life more important than the why of it all.
There was a believable story for it, though, he realized. One he hardly even needed to lie about, since it wasn't even the man's knife that had given him the scar.
"I got in a . . . disagreement with someone," Marvin said, trying to turn the shake in his voice into something more like chagrin as he shoved his sleeve up farther to bare the full mark. "You know, it's funny, I don't even remember his name now. But we argued, and things got heated, and he ended up shoving me into a wall that had this big ironblood piece, you know, one of the metal mage sculptures? It was a massive owl given to my father, but the metal was sharp, and it cut my arm open."
Dark hummed, thumb still following the line of the scar, further than his sleeve could push up, still hidden under the fabric.
"Clumsy," Dark commented dryly, and something sparked in Marvin, something electric on the back of his tongue, something that made him want to bite.
He could remember the face of the man, the snarl carved into his mouth, the hatred in his eyes. He could remember the way his arms had flexed, fingers like brands on his arms as Marvin twisted sharply, trying to find enough room to bring his arms up as the man shoved him with a purpose.
"I think he meant to," Marvin said, voice careful, crisp, words too honest, and Dark looked up at him, something unreadable in his expression.
"And I'm sure he regretted it," the warlord said, smiling, and that vicious thing on his tongue turned liquid and hot, burning down his throat.
Dark made a slow circuit around him, hand lingering on his arm for a long moment before it moved to his back, tracing a line down his loose shirt, over leather, down to the fluttering hem.
He sucked in a short, shocked breath when that hand slipped under his shirt, fingers tracing the thin line of skin between the press of the corset belt and the top of his pants.
And then Dark's fingers brushed carefully, pointedly, over that scar, the one of his side, the one he couldn't explain, and Marvin went very still.
"Have you ever killed someone, Marvin?" Dark asked quietly.
The breath left him, and it didn't come back. There was a silence in the tent, a physical weight on his skin, and he felt like if he moved, if he breathed, it would crush him in an instant, drag him down and flatten him under whatever Dark deigned to be mercy.
"No," Marvin whispered back. He had to know. He had to. The scars, the questions, the way he looked at him. He had to know. He had to be toying with him, and it didn't matter what answer Marvin gave now.
But the 'no' came so naturally, so quickly, and he let it past his lips, let it brush against the silence, and waited for it to crack under it.
He didn't flinch when Dark's hand came up, pressing flat against Marvin's chest, before it slid up, up, up, pressing over his throat, fingers curling one by one to create a vice that Marvin didn't even try to fight.
"I asked you," Dark started, softly, carefully, and Marvin swallowed against his hand. "Not to lie to me."
Silence fell in the tent, and it was like a presence on Marvin's skin. He knew there were sounds. The camp outside. The magefyre crackling in the corner. The steady sound of each breath he drew in, because he must be breathing to still be standing, but he didn't hear any of it. There was only the pressure of Dark's hand on his neck, the weight of the power behind him, and Marvin wondered if this was what it was like for the man who'd given him the scar on his arm to die.
It had been so quiet. Mage blades slid so easy through fabric, through skin, and Marvin had felt the rush of victory when the man slid to the floor in front of him, his blood warm on Marvin's hands.
He hadn't shouted. Maybe he couldn't breathe then. He'd just looked at Marvin, and Marvin had looked at him, and watched him die, and that had been that.
Would Dark kill him like that? Quietly. Without fanfare. All he would have to do was squeeze, just squeeze with the slightest bit of the power Marvin knew he had, and that would be it. All of this would be over.
But he didn't. And Marvin didn't know why, but he understood that this was delicate, so delicate, and he knew what Dark wanted, so he opened his mouth and gave it to him.
"I was 15," he said, softly, somehow afraid to press his voice louder against Dark's hand. "My mother, brother, and I had traveled to see our aunt for her youngest son's birthday, and there was . . . there was a man. I'd met him before I think. When I was younger. But this was the first time I'd met him after I- presented."
Dark's fingers pressed ever so slightly along his pulse before they relaxed, and Marvin swallowed again, closing his eyes and trying to rearrange the words in his head.
"He was a friend of my aunt's so I- I didn't think anything of him. Or I . . . I noticed him, more than I really should have, but I didn't think anything was wrong, I thought I was just- he was just- I don't know, attractive maybe. I didn't- know."
He swallowed again.
"I didn't know. And I don't think he did either, because I don't think he would have gotten that drunk otherwise. Or maybe he would have. I don't know. I didn't know him. All I knew was he walked me to our rooms late after the party, and then he- I really don't think he knew before that, because he grabbed me, sudden, like he was surprised and just- he asked me if I was an Omega. And I-"
Marvin laughed, tilting his head back slightly in Dark's grip to look up at the ceiling.
"I didn't know what to do. Because no one knew then, my sister didn't even know yet, my brother only knew because I told him in secret. And I didn't- I didn't know how he could know that. No one told me how Alphas work. What they could do. And I think he saw me panic, because he just- he reached out and, like, pinched? The back of my neck in this particular grip, and it did something weird to my head, and I just-"
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
"He said something, like, 'easy Omega' or something like that, and I was so- angry. There's a reason first time meetings like that between Alphas and Omegas are always supervised, because we can be- they can go really wrong. And he was drunk, so he pushed. I growled at him, and he growled back, and then it just- . . . I think he just wanted me to submit because I had challenged him. Like, he just needed me to bare my throat, because I was an Omega, and I had challenged an Alpha. And he was stronger than me, but he was drunk, and I was smarter, and he said 'down, Omega, down' and I was just so angry."
He could feel the rage like a distant echo under his skin, heating him, raising his pulse as he remembered the sensation of heavy fingers on the back of his neck, shoving him down. The sound of his voice, so thick in his head, heavy, and he'd be so livid his tongue had felt like a knife cutting at his own mouth.
"He was really surprised when I put him on the ground. I don't think he expected me to- to fight at all. He tried to put me against a wall, and I put us through a table. I was panicking, but I wasn't helpless, and he ended up on the stone floor under me. He hit his head on the way down, and I thought that was enough to just- get away from him. But he caught my leg when I tried to roll off of him, and he kept- kept calling me Omega, and he got a really good grip on me and I just . . . I just wanted him to let me go."
Liar.
Marvin took a ragged breath in, trying to get control over that wildfire under his skin, burning down his hands. He could remember the man's face, the scent that burned his nose, the sound of his voice scraping in his skull, the rage, the complete and utter fury that he would- that he'd tried-
"I'd knocked a candle holder off the table in all the fuss, and it was right there, and I just . . . swung it."
And then he shrugged. Like it didn't matter. Like he was embarrassed, and just . . . didn't want to talk about it, instead of the screeching, vibrating fury sitting on his tongue that made him want to say something dangerous.
"And it killed him. So."
Marvin hadn't noticed the way Dark's hand had turned while he spoke, gone from a threatening pressure along his throat to stroking a thumb gently over his pulse point, back and forth, and Marvin let out a quiet sigh, trying to relax the tension out of his spine. He didn't realize how close Dark was until he slumped into his grip and found himself pressed against him, heartbeat jumping, before he relaxed into him, closing his eyes as he felt the gentle brush of Dark's breath along his hair.
"When you killed him," Dark began, and the tension crawled back up Marvin's shoulders, his breath catching in his throat. "What did you feel?"
"I don't . . . know."
The stroking over his throat slowed, and that gentle pressure was back again, like the mildest warning.
"I think you do," Dark said softly, and Marvin shivered.
"I just . . ." the mage started, trailing off and swallowing the taste of something sharp, bitter, metallic in his mouth. There was that distant fear, the thought that he was going to say something wrong, that he was going to mess up. But all he could see, hear, taste, was that memory, and the heavy beat of that animal feeling under his skin was stronger than the fear. "I just wanted him to stop. I wanted him to get that- that word out of his mouth. I wanted his scent out of my nose. I wanted him to-"
Marvin took a ragged breath in.
"He didn't even know me, and he wanted me to bare my throat for him just because- he wanted me to submit just because he thought he could make me."
Dark hummed, and Marvin could feel the vibration of it in his chest, something warm and hazy, and he reached up to dig his fingers into Dark's arm. Not trying to pull it away. Just pressing blunt fingernails into his skin.
"But he couldn't," Dark said, and the curl of his smile was back in his voice, something deep and pleased, and Marvin wondered if he should be scared. "Could he?"
And Marvin couldn't help the way his voice curled over something viscous, vindictive as he pulled his lip back in a snarl.
"No."
Dark made that low, pleased noise again, and something stirred low in Marvin's gut. He was suddenly hyper aware of the roughness of Dark's palm against his throat. Of Dark's other hand under his shirt, against the skin of his side, his fingers pressed over the top of his hip bone. The heat of him at his back, the subtle warmth of his scent in his nose.
It was . . . new. The way the fury in that memory twisted into another feeling. Made him want to push, press against Dark's fingers over his hip, test their strength, feel the power behind them. The way he wanted to feel them tighten. The way he wanted them to bruise.
"I have met Omegas before," Dark began in that same low voice, and Marvin's breath caught softly once more. "Soft, pretty things, bathed in silks and treated like queens. Precious delicate gems to be hidden away, hoarded, adored."
Dark's thumb pressed into his jaw, forcing him to turn his face, turn back to look at Dark, close, so close, those dark dark dark eyes taking up his vision as the warlord's thumb brushed carefully under his mask, over the dusting of freckles on his cheek.
"You're not quite like them, are you?" he asked, voice pitched lower, almost crooning. "Despite how you like to pretend."
Marvin's tongue was dead in his mouth, too thick and clumsy to make anything useful. His pulse was a steady thrum along his throat, heavy enough to be seen along the delicate skin there, and he could feel how wide his eyes were as he stared up at the man, some mix of emotion stirring in his gut.
There was fear. The edges of fury. And Dark's thumb brushed over his hip, just shy of where his body had taken a molten interest, and Marvin didn't know what flavor he was chasing in his mouth, or if he even wanted more.
"I-" he started, breaking off to swallow roughly. His eyes darted over Dark's face, looking for something he couldn't even name, his brow pinching forward, lost, and he couldn't even begin to guess what he was going to say.
Dark held him like that for a long moment, waiting, searching languidly over his face, before he seemed to settle on something there, and he smiled.
"Thank you," the man said, warmly, and Marvin made a confused sound, lips parting as Dark brushed his thumb over his cheek one last time before he let it fall back to the mage's neck. "For your honesty."
"You're . . . welcome," Marvin managed roughly after a moment, and Dark smiled in a way that made that molten heat crawl up along his spine.
"Now," Dark said, his hand falling away from Marvin's face, and the mage had to bite back the pitiful lost sound his throat tried to make as Dark made his way back around to stand in front of him again. "I promised you a gift."
"You did," Marvin said slowly, hesitantly, trying to clear the muddy waters of his thoughts.
Dark turned to retrieve his cloak from the bedpost, swooping it over his shoulders in a practiced motion, and it took Marvin several long, embarrassing moments to even think to grab his own, fastening it around his shoulders and pulling it tight, as if he could hide himself and his shame beneath it.
Dark didn't make a comment. Only held the tent flap open and smiled at him as Marvin hesitantly ducked through the opening, back out into the chilly afternoon air.
The noise in this section of the camp was different from the rest. It wasn't the murmur of men, laughter, bowls clattering or boots stomping. It was the heavy snorts of horses, the screech of birds, the bark of dogs. The clank, clank, clank of a ferrier re-shoeing a horse rang out sharply over the clearing they stepped into, and Marvin followed Dark with a strange kind of disconnection, noting only distantly the way the men deferred to him.
Deferred to him. But didn't hit their knees. Didn't back away. Only dipped their heads, looked away, continued their work.
It was so different from what he'd expected.
Dark led him into a dark tent, the thin sliver of sunlight through the flap behind them the only light in the tent, and it took Marvin's eyes a few moments to adjust, to take in his surroundings, and a few more to recognize it as an owlery.
The tent wasn't as large as he'd first thought, only wide enough to hold a couple of men abreast. But it was tall, filled with perches up to the ceiling. And on each one rested a bird.
There was a surprising assortment. Hawks and falcons and owls and birds Marvin had no name for. His family's owlery had consisted almost entirely of ravens, his father's mark, and he looked up at a massive speckled owl in a soft kind of wonder, almost too distracted to process Dark's next words.
"I trust you know enough to make a tether," Dark mused, looking up at the massive bird as well, his voice and posture mild.
"I . . . yes?" Marvin said hesitantly. A tether was a simple type of magic, a pair of foci that a mage could use to guide a messenger bird, send it to a desired location before bringing it back. Marvin had made his first tether at seven years old. He could make one in his sleep.
"Good," Dark said, smiling, glancing down at Marvin before looking out across the birds around them again. "Feel free to take your pick."
Marvin blinked at him. His brain felt foggy, too far behind, and he couldn't quite put together the pieces of the conversation. Part of him was still back in Dark's tent, processing the feeling of Dark's palm on his throat, fingers over his hip, and he opened his mouth, pausing there for a long moment before he managed a quiet, "What?"
"A messenger bird, Marvin," Dark said, not unkindly, though there was a curl to his lips that told Marvin he was amused by the mage's confusion. "Or would you rather all communication with your family continue to come through me?"
Oh. Oh. Marvin's lips parted again, this time in a quiet shock as he stared at the warlord. That was . . . so much more than he'd expected. Than he'd even begun to hope for. Dark wanted to give him his own messenger bird? Let him make the tether, let him control his own communications?
There was so much danger in that. In giving an unknown - a non-loyal - agent the opportunity to send out information unsupervised. It wasn't even like Marvin was some random soldier within their ranks - he was in Dark's inner circle. He shared Dark's quarters, would undoubtedly be privy to information most would not. It was the kind of carelessness that could topple kingdoms, and Marvin hesitated, confused, wary.
"Why?" he asked, quietly, and the wariness was clear in his voice.
"Because I want to," Dark said simply. "Because you did not want me to read your personal correspondence. Because I have no reason to cut you off from those dear to you in such a tedious manner."
Marvin blinked at him, and the words slipped off his tongue without his permission. "I can't tell if that's compassion, or arrogance."
Dark laughed, a hot, rolling sound that made Marvin press his lips together tight.
"If a spy in my ranks could bring me down, I would long since have fallen," Dark pointed out, amused. "I welcome the very people I've conquered into my ranks. I have had dissenters amongst my men, even those closest to me, since I began my campaign. None have managed more than paltry attempts on the integrity of my host."
Marvin stared at him, and he knew the disbelief showed through on his face, watched Dark look him over, and laugh again, easy, comfortable. Unconcerned.
And then he shifted forward, turning his attention fully on the Omega, and Marvin resisted the urge to take a step back as the full force of that gaze was back on him.
"Why do you think I accepted you into my tent, Marvin?" he asked, sudden, and the hair prickled along Marvin's nape, something careful and dangerous.
"I'm-" Marvin started, faltering before he shook his head. "I'm a . . . trophy."
"Are you?" Dark asked, smiling, and there was an edge to it that tasted sharp, metallic. "How many trophies have I taken before? Have you heard of any before you?"
"You- . . . you must have-"
"Really? Must I? How many trophies have you seen? In my war tent. In my sleeping quarters. Anywhere. What stories have you heard that say I'm the type to keep things simply as a display?"
"Well obviously you are," Marvin snapped, breathless. "Because you kept me."
"And what makes you think you're simply for display?"
Marvin floundered, his mouth opening, and then shutting again, confused, on edge, looking for the trap.
"What else am I here for?" Marvin asked, before something sharp prickled up his spine. "Besides sticking your dick in."
The stark words seemed to surprise a laugh out of Dark, something just on the soft side of mocking, and Marvin felt the sharp bite of anger in his mouth.
"If I wanted something pretty to stick my dick in," Dark said, smile turning crooked. "I would have no trouble finding it."
"I don't know," Marvin snapped, suddenly at the edge of whatever careful patience he'd been clinging to. Ever since Dark had removed his hand from his throat, there had been something buzzing under his skin, some lost, confused, frayed feeling, and he couldn't juggle everything on top of it, couldn't guard his tongue when all he wanted to do was lash out until things started making sense. "I don't know what you want, Dark, so why don't you just tell me."
And instead of being annoyed, instead of taking the words as the disrespect it was, Dark's face just split into that dark, curling smile again, the one that made Marvin's gut flip, made his teeth almost . . . itch, and his breath caught softly again.
"I want," Dark started, reaching out to hook a finger under Marvin's chin, force him to look him in the eye from behind his mask. "To see you. Not the pretty little creature you think I want. I want whatever foul little words you catch on your tongue. The sharp edges and teeth you're trying to soften for me. I want you to stop lying."
And then he dropped his hand, and Marvin felt almost . . . lost without it. Like it had been a brief, fleeting anchor in the storm of confusion washing over him.
"And I want you to pick a bird, Marvin." He stepped back, turning to look up across the perches in the owlery, still smiling, at ease, big, dark, confusing. "And when you've found one to your liking, we'll find you a horse as well."
His eyes darted back to him, wicked and pleased, and Marvin was reminded suddenly of the castle cats finding a new toy.
"We have some distance to travel before we reach Merismuth."