onewhoturns

A/N Aug 2018: Welp, this ends the ficlet. ...I’ll probably write a follow-up, cause my smutty heart has not been satisfied, as much as this chapter went ahead and shifted the story to a weak M rating. Feel free to hmu on AO3, FFnet, or buy me a ko-fi.

Title: The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag
Chapter: 3/3
Pairing: Emily/Outsider (emsider)
Word count: 1258
Rating: M
Summary: “That’s a lie.” // “May the Outsider claim my lying tongue if it is.”
start here (1/3), previously (2/3)

Oaths? What oaths? Something inside her was twisting and roiling in her gut, and she could barely think, let alone remember making an oath. Multiple oaths?

“I don’t…” Her voice came out weaker than she’d wanted, and she hurriedly cleared her throat. But before she could speak again-

“You lied, empress.”

His lips brushed against her ear, and it didn’t take much to imagine the satisfied smirk. She almost wished he’d kept that cool hand on her neck as warmth flooded her again, as she tried to remember what exactly she’d sworn.

“You know it, I know it, the Hag certainly knows it - though I doubt she bore witness to the events in question…”

Emily tensed, the blush creeping up her chest at the implication of his words, purred against her skin as his grip around her tightened. She cleared her throat again, and felt the slight rumble of a chuckle against her back. He tilted his face, a motion that - had it been with a less vicious intent - may have been akin to nuzzling the crook of her neck. “I-”

His lips were directly against her skin as he spoke, yet somehow, in this place, they were clear as day, practically hissed in her ear. “You put on quite a show, Your Majesty.”

If she’d had any doubt what he referred to, it dissipated immediately. Blushing furiously she broke free of his hold, stumbling away. “Oh, by the-” She cut herself off and turned on him, utterly uncomfortable with how weak her knees had gone. Her mind raced, trying to remember her oaths, even as she scolded her body for the way it hummed and tickled and reminded her how very attractive risk was. Drawn to danger. Drawn to power?

“‘By the Outsider?'” His grin was wolfish. “I’ll admit, I’ve come to enjoy the way my name rolls off your tongue.”

Tongue. ‘May the Outsider claim my lying tongue…’

Emily stared warily, mouth snapped shut. Her blood seemed to skitter through her veins, making her skin thrum and her toes curl. She was torn, part of her wanting to move toward him, drawn in by the intrigue, the promise of something truly intoxicating, and another part warning her to get as far from this being as she could possibly get. So she didn’t move at all, unconsciously clutching at the fabric of her dress, trying to keep her breathing even.

His steps toward her were slow, casual, and she would bet he knew how each inch closer tightened her throat more than his hand ever could.

She swallowed hard.

“You swear an awful lot for a proper young lady.” For all his casual demeanor, lightly murmured words, she felt his approach like a predator. “...Such a temper.” He was teasing her, and before he could reach her he veered to the side, beginning a slow circle.

She turned, trying to keep him in her sight, her gaze sharp for all her confusion.

“...Such passion.” He smirked, meeting her eyes for a fraction of a second before turning his head. “I expect to hear such things from the Golden Cat, of course, but from an empress…” His tongue tutted against his teeth, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Your father would be so disappointed.”

Emily scowled. Again, hinting at something he’d yet to explain. She opened her mouth to demand, what about my father? But he went on.

“And these oaths! Such graphic language. You’d think with the amount of time you spend on your back-”

Her jaw dropped in fury. “How dare you-”

His sharp-tongued voice rose to speak over her, “- and your knees, and - well, all manner of positions, my dear, truly creative -- one would think you’d had enough, but to bring a god into it…”

She’d planted her stance confrontationally, hands balled into fists, unafraid to strike. She was mortified, furious -- all number of things that served to make her blood boil and face flush.

His pacing stopped, and black eyes fixed on hers again. “You’re just insatiable, aren’t you?”

In a flash, she’d drawn her knife, clutching it perpendicular to her arm, ready to slash at him. “Say that to my face, you black-eyed bastard,” she hissed the words, focusing on her anger, just her anger, if only to drown out the other feelings that warred inside her. Some part of her - a part she didn’t like, at least not when he spoke of that part, as he did now - wanted to grin right back, to gloat, to dare him to follow through on his threats, but she smothered that part of her, let its ember burn away far below the surface, letting it scorch her.

A hand covered hers, twisting her wrist before she’d even processed the sight of him shifting into shards of Void again, and she froze as her own blade rested just below her neckline, other arm pinned to her side by what now was an iron grip as he pressed against her back. Challenging him in his own domain… She was strong, but she was human. She’d almost forgotten that he was not. He was still as stone, unmoving even as she struggled to shift the angle of the blade again.

“I did.” His voice was ice, sending a shock through her, making her shiver. “And I’ll say it again.” His mouth moved to the other side this time, pressing lips hard against her ear. “Insatiable.” The word seemed to echo straight into her bones, and she bit her lip until she tasted blood, killing the whimper before it could leave her throat. It was hard to hold on to her anger when all she wanted to do was turn her head and-

She forced herself to breathe, to keep her eyes open - no matter how much her eyelids fluttered - to stare straight ahead. But just those four syllables whipped that ember into a devouring flame, and the strength of it shocked her enough to loosen her grip, the knife falling to the stone with a muffled clatter. ...This was not good.

She felt his lips curve into a smile.

“You think I don’t see how often you lay awake? Few, if any, are shielded from the gaze of the Outsider, Your Majesty. And I almost hate to inform you: you are not one of them.”

Cool fingers slid over her now empty hand, weaving with hers, and she found herself sinking back against him, melting into his touch. His hand guided hers, dragging across her hips, curling over the curve of her waist...

“If the Abbey only knew of your Restless Hands…”

He once more shifted, lips moving to her left side again, and she sucked in a breath as - she couldn’t have been imagining it, she couldn’t - his teeth nipped at her ear. Their splayed hands traced straight up the center of her torso, and she found herself arching back against him as fingers brushed the inner curves of her breasts.

“You’d do well to mind your oaths.”

They kept going, further up, and she held deathly still as he guided her own hand around her neck, fingers tightening briefly.

“...And don’t threaten me, Empress.”

The warning seared into her, stony, echoing, and then she was-

Cold-

So Voiddamned cold!

She jerked back, blinking water from her eyes.

“There, she survived - are you heathens satisfied?”

Emily knelt in a daze, wiping rosewater from her face, unsure how she remained so calm. Of this she was certain: at least one heathen in this room was not satisfied. Not at all.