bloodthirsty squirrel

It was horrible, really. Kai couldn’t help but tense like a bowstring, wrists chained against the sides of the tub, the water perfectly warm and deceptively soothing. He complied with the angel’s wordless orders - a small pushing of his limbs on one side, then one other, Kyriel passing the sponge gently all over him in places he hadn’t reached before, washing away all signs of torture - sweat and blood falling away with the soap.

All the while, he kept touching him. Kai shivered and tensed every time, keeping his mouth firmly shut, not a single sound of discomfort making it through.

“Move forwards,” Kyriel ordered, fingers gently pushing on one of his shoulders. “I need to do your wings.”

Kai tensed, the prospect of the sponge going through his open wounds making his stomach twist. He could feel his injuries having mostly closed by now, but there was a clear limit to what his power could go to. He’d stopped bleeding, his magic healing the muscle and any injury deeper that a few millimetres, but his skin… He remembered the net flaring over it. Everything below it still belonged to him, and anything outside of it was under Kyriel’s control. Which meant that he’d healed, but only the lower level of the injury, the outer one still open and raw.

He swallowed, obeying without a comment. He leaned forwards, unfurling his wings behind him.

Kyriel started washing him slowly, surprisingly gentle.

“How was it, adjusting to the wings?”

Kai realised that was a question he was expected to answer to. He blinked, surprised. He’d expected some - Kyriel having been obsessed with him from the very first time he’d seen him, a human boy with a curse locking god-like powers inside him - but not this one specifically. In all fairness, Kai hadn’t been born with wings, the power inside him belonging to a real angel, his soul and memories and power locked inside a human shell, a special punishment for his falling. Which meant Kai’s wings had grown as he’d grown into his power himself, putting him in the unique position of knowing what it felt - to have wings, and not have them both.

“Heavy,” he admitted, slow. He carefully kept his tone neutral, not giving any hints that growing wings had been the best, most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to him, their presence such a core part of his identity now. “The back muscles took a while to build.”

Kyriel laughed, softly, behind him.

Kai swallowed, relaxing an inch. The water was warm over his skin, Kyriel careful, so careful, washing him with tender care. The bath didn’t seem to lose heat, no matter how long they stayed in there, the fire warming the air up from its corner. There was a pleasurable smell coming from foaming bowls left on the floor, a flowery and fresh scent.

“I would have liked to teach you how to fly,” the angel mused, after a second. He passed the sponge over a sore muscle, the skin closing as he did so, allowing the magic to do its job. Kai gasped, shivering in relief, the pain dissipating with a pass of the angel’s hand. “Your technique is… Fine, now, but you did look like a chicken the first time I saw you fly.”

Kai repressed a smile, biting his lip. He’d learned on his own, in the first months free, Ashe at his side but unable to help. He’d been terrified, both of them running, in hiding, his memories of his life before death painfully clashing, overlapping, with those of the years spent as a loved pupil under his master’s thumb. He’d been twelve when he’d been taken, barely more than a child, and the angel had been like a father to him - only the occasional punishment, for Kyriel hadn’t needed to. Kai had adored him, had fallen over himself to please him, to excel in anything the angel asked him to.

He hated to admit to himself he would have loved to have had his Magister to help him with that new part of him - wings, flying, living as an angel.

Kai straightened, forcing himself to tense again. He couldn’t lower his guard - he expected an interrogation, to be grilled on his every move taken in the time outside Kyriel’s control, the angel trying to fill the gaps in his mind. He knew what the princes planned, the leaders of the remaining human lands, coalesced in a desperate coalition of kingdoms as Kyriel’s empire expanded, a metastasis on the land. There were battle plans he’d been pry to, knew where the pockets of resistance in the angel’s land were, and the habits of key targets the angel might have liked to kill. And he knew, most importantly, that those questions, the soft ones, were meant to put interrogation subjects at ease, making them open up. Once the first words were uttered, it was hard for people to stop talking.

Shame that Kyriel had taught him too well, and he knew what to expect now.

“Yeah, well,” he mused, light, keeping his tone perfectly respectful, only the slightest barb in its undertone, “I would have liked to have the time to learn how to fly properly under the right circumstances. I was a bit busy trying to stay alive, though.”

Kyriel’s fingers tightened on his arm, where he’d left his free hand resting.

Kai’s alertness shot to the roof, hair raising on his neck and arms at the touch.

“You did more than that,” mused the angel, his own tone equally deceptively light. “You didn’t just run. You joined the humans in their fight.” His nails dug painfully in his flesh, drawing blood. “You defied me.”

Kai tensed, swallowing dryly. He was aware, terribly aware, of the thin line he walked on. He fixed his eyes to a point on the wall in front of him, trying to keep himself balanced.

“And you murdered me.” He whispered, and he was proud that his voice didn’t break - even as the memory was still fresh, terribly fresh, even all those years later. The feeling of death… He shrugged, forcing his shoulders to relax despite his instinct screaming, easing himself into a mask of carelessness like a glove. “I think that’s a tad worse, Magister.”

Kyriel’s made a incongruously frustrated sound, the sponge dropping into the water. He picked it up again, beginning to aggressively scrub at Kai’s shoulder. The boy winced.

“I freed you from your curse.” The angel’s voice was clipped. “I released your powers, your potential. And then I took you in - trained you.”

Kai didn’t answer, repressing a laugh.

He made it sound so charitable, didn’t he. Taking a orphan in, never mind that he had made him one. Never mind that he’d hunted him, killed him, and then brought him back. And to avoid having to deal with the inconvenience of a weapon who remembered him as the villain, Kyriel had erased his memories and played good master for a while. Until Kai had remembered, had dared to hope for something different for himself - and so the angel had dragged him back, killing his wife as punishment.

Kai’s eyes filled with tears, hot and angry. He willed them away, his body tense, back straight as a rod. Kept quiet, anything he could say now only leading to punishment - either a lie, or a fight brewing.

Kyriel started slowly cleaning his wings again, blood washing away with each soft stroke. Kai shivered, the pleasure of his wounds closing warring with the intensity of having his wings touched so. He closed his eyes, shivering.

Kyriel wasn’t fucking done tormenting him. If not with whipping, then with words.

“Do you miss it? Your time as human?”

Kai’s stomach dropped, feeling as if a blade had come through his lungs. He opened his eyes, suddenly alert again.

“No,” he whispered, hoarse.

Kyriel hummed, the sponge lowering to the longest feathers, at the bottom of the wings. The wounds knotted close beneath his touch, the boy repressing another relieved gasp.

“Liar,” he purred.

Kai’s fingers tightened around the edges of the tub.

“I’m not lying.” He swallowed. He didn’t want to start screaming quite yet, which was almost inevitable if Kyriel thought he had broken a rule. His brain whirred to find a thread to spin his words into something believable, a tale that could be bought. “I didn’t want to come the first time around either,” he croaked, slowly. “But this time - you had to fight to catch me. Have to fight still to keep me down.” The words tasted sour in his mouth. “You just had to break my leg to stop me from running, the first time around. I don’t miss that.”

His mind flashed, the memory terrible, to that night almost fifteen years ago. The angel’s magic wrapping around him, lifting him off the floor, snatching the air out of him with a dark vine around his throat. How he’d struggled - human, child, helpless - uselessly. His bone had snapped so easily after he’d tried to bolt anyway, the angel making sure he would be too slow to ever escape him alive.

Kyriel hummed, pensive.

“Ah, the helplessness then.” Kai hated how it sounded he was making a mental note, filing that tidbit of vulnerability away to use later. “But I thought you would have missed your simple life without responsibilities that comes with it, though.” He smiled, cruel. “No power. No world to be saved, if you can’t do anything about it. And you are irredeemable like that, loving the little people, always begging to get back to be them.”

The stab in Kai’s lungs deepened, the blade twisting.

Let’s run away, Ashe had whispered. They’d been children, a witch and a cursed child growing on the side of Kyriel’s forest. Your curse can’t catch you if we keep running.

What if it catches you?

I’m strong. It won’t.

Except it had, fifteen years later.

Kai blinked rapidly, fighting the tears filling his eyes - the memories of his grandmother’s hut filling his mind. His village. His people. His father, his sisters, dead by Kyriel’s hand, so, so long ago.

He was grateful the angel was behind him, for the time to recompose himself before he could see his weakness, naked on his face.

“How was your mother called, again?”

Kai closed his eyes.

“She’s long dead,” he croaked, and was grateful his voice only sounded the slightest brittle. “Too long for you to raise her flesh again.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

But Kai knew why Kyriel ventured with these questions. His brain whirred over and over again, weighting words, seeing and planning and scheming in his head against different traps the angel could be laying in front of him. Trying to keep one step ahead, to foresee his next strike.

Still, this one was safe enough, his mother and sisters and anyone he cared about really too long dead for Kyriel to be able to do anything about it. All but Ashe, but he couldn’t think about it, least the darkness opened wide beneath his feet, gnawing him whole - everyone else’s flesh had long burned, their spirits passed to the next stage.

“Thyra,” he said, finally. “Her name was Thyra.”

“Mmm. And your sister?”

“Which one?”

There was a flicker of surprise in Kyriel’s movements, the sponge twitching for an instant against Kai’s skin. There had only been one getting in his way, and he’d assumed she have been the only one Kai had. He remembered, faintly, going through her body when she’d put herself between him and Kai, her little brother running away in the snow.

“How many did you have?”

Kai straightened. So he hadn’t known.

“Seven. Eight, perhaps, I’m not sure.” He shrugged, feigning carelessness. “My step mother was pregnant when I ran away. The curse threatened to make her miscarry, and I wouldn’t have that.” He shrugged again, shoulders loose, most of his back closed up again. “Could have been a boy. I don’t know.”

“You were your father’s only son?”

“A bastard one. It doesn’t count.”

There was a moment of pause, Kyriel considering. Kai realised he could have never known about his past, not this way - not when he’d erased his memories after killing him, and hadn’t interrogated him on these details when he’d been busy breaking his curse. Weren’t relevant then, the things he’d cared about, the people he’d loved.

His stomach churned, knowing exactly why the angel enquired now.

“And why are you so sure I can’t catch them?” Kyriel’s fingers grazed Kai’s back, the remaining open wound of it, and this time he didn’t heal, but dug a nail in. The boy stiffened, chocking down a scream. “Doubting the reach of my powers?”

Kai gasped, fighting through the red haze in his vision. He laughed, hoarse and incredulous.

“You don’t remember?” He hissed, knuckles turning white around the tub. The metal groaned against his hold, his strength slowly returning the more he healed. “You killed them. You killed them all, trying to catch me.” His eyes filled with tears again, his teeth gritting, throat closing. “You cut through Freya, and let your monsters loose next. On the whole village.” He swallowed. “And then I burned it all. When I was on the altar. Once you forced my power out for the first time.”

Kai hadn’t had a choice. The power had not been his to control yet, the angel breaking his curse through releasing all the energy, magic, and tragedy that had been penned up beneath his flesh. It had been an explosion as the world had never seen, Kai’s power releasing in all its might from his chained position on the altar - a dome of blinding light, engulfing all, miles and miles and miles of it, reducing to ashes anything it touched. Destroying half of his region before killing him, his human flesh unable to withstand that degree of power.

If any of his people had survived Kyriel’s first killing, Kai had made sure they’d burned for good, not even a bone to retrieve.

He thought he heard the angel chuckle, behind him.

“Yes, that squares,” he said, voice laughing. “A bit hard even for me to retrieve.”

Kai was struck, again, how much he wanted the bastard dead.

Kyriel smiled, lowering his palm against the back of Kai’s neck. Warm, possessive. Making it clear Kai had to withstand the touch, be a good boy, or else. “Want to cry a bit about it?” He grinned, taunting.

Kai’s arms yanked against the tub, suddenly and violently. A pointless, childish reactions, the chains holding against the pull, the metal not even groaning as it did under his fingers a few minutes before. He repressed a hiss of rage, his vision swaying.

The angel’s fingers tightened around his neck, suddenly harsh, keeping him down. Kai froze, heart in his throat, arms shaking.

“Careful,” Kyriel murmured, dangerous, amused. “You were doing so well.”

Kai closed his eyes, humiliation warring with his rage.

“Fuck you,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Tears bit at his eyes again, the boy fighting them. “Sir,” he added, last, for he wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t want to hurt.

Kyriel laughed then, rich and booming, the sound reverberating in the small space. The boy winced.

The angel let go of his neck, shaking his head.

“Oh, that’s just perfect.” He grinned. “Very clever, my boy. Well done.”

Kai didn’t answer, breath coming short and ragged through his chest. He closed his eyes, pushing his anger back - he was going to kill the fucker, he was, but not with his hands chained, his back still half open. He forced his composure to return, clawing tightly at his emotions, his reactions. His arms stopped shivering, his breath quivering slightly.

“Can we stop?” He asked, hoarse. He felt so tired, suddenly, even the bath no longer pleasurable. He forced his fingers to unclamp from the borders of the tub, his previous strength gone, the metal harshly bent beneath his skin. “Everyone I care about is dead. Congratulations. I don’t want to talk about the past.”

Kyriel caressed his head then, slowly brushing through the boy’s hair. As if Kai was a kitten, a tamed thing. The boy shivered, biting down a sharp comment, refusing to flinch back from the touch. His skin crawled.

“Very well. Why don’t you show me how much you’ve learnt then?” Kyriel’s voice was smooth, deceptively peaceful. “Repeat your rules back to me, until you have them perfect.”

Kai gritted his teeth. Still, he relaxed from when he’d tensed, having expected a ridiculous, impossible to fulfil request. His mind grasped at the memory, the words, relieved.

He repeated his rules to the letter, exactly as Kyriel had first uttered them in the clearing, voice flat yet impeccable.

The angel blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected him to manage at the first try.

“Should I go again?” The boy’s voice was sweet, almost saccarine, anger churning in his belly. “Or did I earn the right to some bandages, sir?”

The angel hit him on the back of the head, not appreciating the sarcasm. But his other hand hoovered over the remaining of his prisoner’s open wounds, from top to bottom, the skin closing under his fingers. The back, and wings both, making his pupil whole - a clean canvas, ready for him to go again.

The boy gasped, shivering in pleasure. His whole body relaxed, free of pain. He let himself fall into the water, head dipping back over the side of the tub.

Kyriel carded his fingers into Kai’s hair, almost gently, until his neck was craned back, facing him. He let go of the sponge.

“How clever you are, when you want to,” he purred, smiling, a dark glitter in his gaze. He picked his knife with his free hand off the floor - the one he’d used to cut Kai’s clothes off, the blade short, sharp and glinting. “Should we test how much you remember from your lessons?”

Kai’s mind flashed to the thousand of pages of biology, classics, strategy and medicine the angel had made him study under his care. Philosophy, history, politics, maths, magic and religion, all of it swirling in his mind. It had been easy learning then, tutoring under the angel a pleasure and not a punishment.

He fixed his eyes on Kyriel’s face, unafraid. Not reacting as he trailed the blade on his exposed throat, slowly, down his collarbone.

The monster smiled. “A cut for every answer wrong, then?”

Kai forced his body to relax, making himself perfectly pliable, not an ounce of resistance against Kyriel’s hold. His eyes met the angel’s, clever and cold.

Languid.

“We might. But it would defeat the purpose of the bath, wouldn’t it?”

Kyriel’s lips curled upwards, amusement glinting in his eyes. He pushed the knife down, just a dip, against Kai’s collarbone. Opening skin.

The boy’s breath hitched.

Kyriel’s eyes darkened, hungry.

“It would,” he admitted, murmuring low. He pushed the knife away, the movement slow as if it costed him, lowering it onto the ground. “Change of plans. You are not going into a cell tonight.” He let go of his hair, standing.

Kai forced himself not to swallow, eyeing the angel with open eyes. He forced himself to keep looking relaxed, only polite curiosity on his face.

“Oh? I’ve been that good?” He didn’t hide the pungent sarcasm, letting some of his anger show - but he stretched, like a sleepy cat, within the limits of his constraints.

Kyriel smirked. His eyes took in his pupil’s slender, powerful form, his non threatening pose. The arrogance, still, he couldn’t disguise, virtue of the sheer power rushing through his veins. A collared puma, purring to his master.

“You might have,” he conceded. His fingers itched to grab at him, pulling him close. He snapped them instead, Kai’s wrists unlocking from the tub. “Continue behaving, and you’ll be chained to your own bed tonight, in your chambers, instead than in the cell I had prepped for you.” He smirked. “I’m not sure you would have liked that.”

Kai’s gaze lowered. He let his face pale, appropriately chastised, slowly massaging his wrists. He moved slowly, not daring to stand without being explicitly told. He glanced up, almost shyly, looking at the angel from under tick eyelashes, silver eyes wide and wary.

He licked his lips.

“I’m not stupid,” he whispered, hoarse. “You know that.”

Kyriel lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Kai swallowed, throat dry. He looked at the angel, almost pointedly, then away. As if ashamed, warring with himself. “I don’t want to hurt.” His face twisted, sour. “Not if I can help it. Not if there is no point.”

Not if Kyriel was going to get what he wanted anyway, the question only being how much Kai would have screamed before either consenting or breaking.

The angel relaxed, satisfaction pooling in his stomach. He leaned to ruffle his pupil’s hair, the movement warm.

Kai froze, as one might freeze when nuzzled by a big, big predator. His stomach squeezed, shoulders tensing, face flushing red.

The angel grinned.

“Very well, then,” he conceded, standing again. He took a towel off the ground, unfolding it. “Step out, now. Let me dry you up.”

Kai let the flush creep further up his face, his shoulders tensing. He swallowed, lowering his gaze, moving uneasily in the water.

“I might need some help,” he admitted. His voice was hoarse, fingers trembling slightly. “I’m not sure how strong I am, still.”

Kyriel’s grin widened.

“We will fix that, don’t worry.” He folded the towel on one arm, offering the other one to his unchained prisoner, for him to lean on. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Of that, Kai had no do doubts.

The boy took the angel’s hand, his hold reluctant, wary. As if he was scared the angel would let him go, or grab his wrists and twist, make him scream with his touch alone. All very realistic possibilities, but Kyriel only clasped his fingers, hold tight as irons, and helped him hoist himself off the water - eyes roaming all over his naked body, flush and crimson. Hungry, taking him fully in.

Kai shivered, shame creeping oily over him. Still, he forced himself not to flinch away from the angel. He kept his eyes resolutely on the floor, as it was proper anyway, and stepped out of the tub. His breath came short, the boy not fully able to hide his panic.

And then he stumbled, swaying on weak legs, falling on one knee.

The angel stepped forward, immediately leaning to help him up.

Kai’s fingers closed on the handle of Kyriel’s discarded knife, left on the floor next where he’d fallen. He lunged, burying it to the hilt inside the angel’s chest. Lurching forwards, driving the blade hard into his heart, meeting him halfway as he leaned down towards him.

Kyriel widened his eyes. Blood rose to his lips, gurgling.

Kai twisted the blade into the wound, hard.

“Go to hell,” he whispered, hoarse.

Then, he bolted.

Previous - next - masterlist

Tag list: @suspicious-whumping-egg @forthetaintedsorrow-whump

He only lets go when the crowd has thinned, but his smile is gone long before that. As soon as the curtain has closes, the king sinks to his knees. There’s not much space in the carriage and his nose brush the archduke’s knees as the man spreads his legs.

“I apologise, Your Grace.”

The duke’s eyes turn towards him with a glint of something cruel as he evenly says, “Whatever for, Your Majesty?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know, but there’s only so many things he could have done that would make the duke so angry. He speaks clearly, knowing better than to stumble over his words.

“I went against your will. I didn’t think-”

The duke’s hand moves and he flinches, expecting a hit. It only tangles in his hair, pulling his head up sharply. The duke doesn’t look composed anymore, and his voice is not so even as his lips curl into a sneer.

“You were never asked to think, were you?”

The tight space of the carriage makes it feel as though he is looming over the prince when he leans forward.

“Opposing me so publicly – Did you think you were allowed an opinion on my decisions? That you could… express it? Publicly?”

The hand in his hair tightens its grip and the duke shakes him a little. He doesn’t even try to speak to defend itself.

“I think not. I think His Royal Majesty simply forgot his place.”

The king swallows. He tries to lower his eyes, but the duke grabs his chin, nails almost digging into the skin – but not yet; there’ll be another crowd at the palace’s gates.

“My apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t- I didn’t realise it meant so much-”

He can’t flinch away from the slap. It’s almost a relief that the duke has let go of his hair, both because his neck and back were starting to hurt and because there’s no way he could have dressed his hair again if it became too dishevelled. He doesn’t have the luxury of another blunder right now.

“You naïve little fool. Everything I do means something. Every. Single. Thing.” Every word is punctuated with a sharp squeeze of the hand holding his chin, and the king assumes it’s already reddened. He can’t feel crescent-shaped thing digging into him yet, which should make it easier to hide.

The duke is in control enough – and kind enough – to not backhand him. There are no rings to scratch at him, and he shouldn’t bruise from this.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into that pretty little head of yours, but we’re going to fix it.”

Another flinch from the king, who forces himself to meet the duke’s eyes. “Please, Your Grace, I swear-”

The duke surges forward, pulling the king along. The king is slammed against the carriage’s wall, pinned under the duke’s frame. The duke is still holding his chin, but his other hand trails down the king’s chest, fingers splayed possessively.

“You’ve been such a wicked ward, haven’t you? Teasing me, defying me, making such a spectacle of us both.” He presses close, lips brushing the shell of the king’s ear. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty, I’m going to take good care of you. Do such a good job reminding you of your place.”

He keeps the king pinned a while longer before relaxing his grip and stepping away. The king sinks back to his knees, burying his face into the duke’s robes.

“Your Grace, please-”

“That’s more like. This is the respect you should have shown to me earlier.” He buries his hand in the king’s hair, almost petting. “Shh, there’s no need to cry. I’ll guide you. Put you back into your proper place.”

He tilts the king’s head up with a brush of his knuckles. “It’s my responsibility – my right – to discipline you when you stray.” His thumb brushes softly over the king’s lower lip. “We’ll work together, you and I, hmm?”

“Please-”

The duke tries to maintain his façade but his eyes glitter with satisfaction, something almost predatory in the way he looks down. He loves seeing this – a desperate, submissive king, completely at his mercy and grovelling for forgiveness.

“Shh. I told you there was no need for his.”

His hand moves from the king’s chin to his throat. His grip stays lax, more possessive than anything else.

“I suppose it’s been a while, but that’s no reason to behave like this.” A sharp squeeze to make the king meets his eyes. “When we arrive, you’re going to walk beside me; head held high and that pretty smile of yours for the crowd.”

His grip tightens a little as a flash of anger darkens his face. “If you even think about disobeying me again, so publicly at that, I will destroy you. Is that clear?”

The king swallows, throat bobbing under the duke’s grip. He nods, but the duke’s doesn’t relent. He lowers his eyes.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A smile spreads on the duke’s face, wicked and slow. He lets go of the king’s throat, fingers trailing down. He leans back slightly.

“Good boy, I knew you’d see reason.” He lets go, straightening his collar and smoothing out any wrinkles with meticulousness.

“Remember, love, your happiness, your safety – your very existence depends on pleasing me.” His tone is gentle, almost sweet. “I can be very generous to those who obey, darling. You’ve seen it.”

He pulls the king up, pushing him back on the settee and not paying him any more attention as he tries to quickly straighten his clothes. The carriage slows down as they approach the gate and a smile is back on the duke’s face. “Let’s put on a good show, hmm? Smile for your adoring subjects.”

He doesn’t grant the king any time, quickly opening the door. The king pushes himself up and almost scrambles – but not because that would be stupid – forward to smile and wave and pretend.

 The duke steps out behind the king, leaning close. “Such a good king, aren’t you? So well-trained, so obedient.” His hand finds the small of the king’s back in a gesture that appears supportive. It burns like a brand but neither of their smile waver.

He raises a hand to acknowledge the crowd’s adoration, smile just shy of seductive. “Please, Your Majesty. We have much to discuss in private.”

He bows slightly, letting the king leads them – though he stiffens with every step. The mask falls as soon as they’re behind closed doors, and the duke stalks forward.

. . . . . . . .

Here's a written college lecture crash course that goes into much more detail on the "why" and with some wonderful sources to back up:

https://www.ling.upenn.edu/courses/Fall_2014/ling001/prescription.html

The wikipedia article for prescriptivism, comparing it to descriptivism:

And this one helps explain the place of either in writing from a published author, professor, and publishing professional: