Persuasion

Striding into the manor, Argon found Isolde in the main hall, her gaze still clouded with shock. The sight of her in the dim interior, standing tall and poised amidst the rustic simplicity of the manor, was striking.

"Comfortable yet?" Argon quipped, his tone dry as he shut the door behind him. He leaned against the rough-hewn wood of a table, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze locked onto hers, appraising and unabashed.

Isolde's eyes widened from the loud commotion echoing from outside. She shot Argon a warning glance, her voice a frosty icicle cutting through the heated room. "If you've laid a finger on my retinue, Argon, there will be consequences."

Her words hung heavy in the air, their stark warning loud and clear. Despite her vulnerable position, she had not forgotten her station. A specific authority in her tone reminded Argon of the danger of underestimating her. This was, after all, not some commoner or low-born woman he had taken as his bride but the daughter of a powerful baron. She had her means of fighting back, and Argon found himself taking note.

Argon's mouth twitched up in a satisfied grin as the shouts and clash of metal resounded from outside. "Don't fret, my dear. They're merely having trouble with their steeds" With a final lingering gaze.

Isolde seemed to shake off her stupor, lifting her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. "You could at least let me inform my father of this proposal," she retorted, her voice edged with bitterness.

Argon shrugged indifferently, a smirk playing on his lips. "And let the situation get out of my hands? I don't think so, Isolde. This is between you and me."

With a firm glance at Isolde, Argon asserts, "You've already accepted the marriage, Isolde. All you're doing now is trying to dodge the consummation and the commitment that comes with it." His voice conveys annoyance, marking his growing impatience with the situation.

Isolde's face pales, but her defiant blue eyes meet his. However, Argon's words hang heavily in the air, creating an undeniable tension. She's cornered, her options dwindling to none.

"There are two ways this could play out," Argon continues, his tone steady. "You either honor your commitment to me, here and now, or I take my men and march against Horntide at once. Crossing Eldrige so openly will surely bring about my end. The game is up, the moment he gets wind of my plotting."

For a moment, there's silence as Isolde processes the gravity of Argon's ultimatum. A battle rages in her eyes, the realization of her dire situation sinking in. Eventually, determination settles on her features. She lifts her chin defiantly and meets Argon's gaze.

A cold shiver ran down her spine as Isolde reflected on Argon's threat against her father. The possibilities seemed to unfold before her like a dreadful tapestry, each one more alarming than the last.

If Argon were to succeed, he would assume control, perhaps becoming even more ruthless and powerful. His hold on Horntide would tighten, his influence spreading like a dark shadow. His brutal tactics and unforgiving nature would shape the fate of Horntide, forever altering its course.

On the other hand, if he failed, the consequences would be equally disastrous. The destabilisation of Horntide would be inevitable. The once strong and prosperous territory would be left vulnerable, weak and exposed to the predations of Waleran. The aftermath of such a failure could see the land torn asunder, its people scattered, and its history forever stained with the mark of defeat.

Isolde was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, the outcomes of both paths filled with uncertainty and fear. Argon's ruthless ambition and reckless disregard for the consequences of his actions painted a dire picture for the future of Horntide and its people.

"Alright," she concedes, her voice echoing through the chamber. "I agree to your terms."

A smirk curves Argon's lips, hidden beneath his armour's helmet. Isolde's surrender is another victory, another stepping stone on his path to dominance.

He walked towards her, closing the gap between them. He studied her face, a mixture of determination and apprehension.

Isolde looked at Argon with a newfound resolution, her hands clasping before her. "Don't harm my father Argon" she said, her voice steady. "I'm willing to be wed to you."

Argon quirked a brow at her proclamation, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "Perfect," he murmured, closing the distance between them again. He gently lifted her chin, making her look at him. "I will take your purity now to ensure your commitment."

Isolde's cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn't look away. She was a woman of her word and wouldn't shy away from her promises.

A dangerous glint flickered in Argon's eyes as he added, "And Isolde, if you go back on your word... well, I could always share the tale of how I made you moan like a whore." He let the words hang in the air, their threat palpable. "Then, no potential suitor would even dream of marrying you, so it's in your best interest to see this marriage through."

Isolde paled slightly under his threat, her blue eyes flashing with anger and fear. But she swallowed her objections, realizing the precarious position she was in. She had agreed to Argon's terms and now had no choice but to follow through. Her reputation, and perhaps even her life, depended on it.

"You will broach the subject with your father upon your return to Horntide," Argon continued, his gaze holding hers captive. "Convince him that a ruffian like me needs to be kept under a tight leash, and the best way is by marrying me."

"So be it," Isolde agreed, her gaze resolute. "But as your wife, I expect to be afforded all the comforts you can offer, Argon."

Argon chuckled at her demand, finding her audacity endearing. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Isolde," he replied. With a nod of approval, he left her in the hall, already planning for the next steps of his rise to power.

Isolde's eyes narrowed, "Why do you even want my hand in marriage, Argon?"

Argon's response was swift, a predator's grin playing on his lips. "Isn't it clear? I'm not lusting after your beauty or charm, Isolde. It's not about sentimentality; it's about power."

His dark eyes held a dangerous glint. "It's a tactical manoeuvre, an alliance. It's about fortifying one's position in the grand scheme of things. And, darling Isolde, you are the key to solidifying my place."

He closed the distance between them, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "With you as my wife, I secure more than a beautiful face by my side. I secure the full backing of House Eldridge. Your father, Baron Eldridge, won't dare to risk a scandal by not supporting his beloved daughter's husband in any of his endeavours, and a son-in-law will naturaly be protected against Baron Waleran."

His grin widened as he added, "And let's not forget your brothers. Both knights, always in harm's way. An unfortunate accident could happen anytime, and then, wouldn't I, as your husband, have a claim to the title of Baron?" His words carried an unspoken threat, and his eyes bore into hers, watching her reaction closely.

Isolde crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "And what do I get out of this marriage, Argon? It's all well and good threatening to rebel, but I have no other incentive to marry you," she demanded.

Argon's lips curled up in a cruel smirk. "You get me, Isolde. Isn't that enough?" His eyes scanned her from head to toe, his gaze predatory. "I see the way you look at me. There's a spark of desire, isn't there?"

Argon leaned closer, his eyes boring into hers, his voice lowering to a gruff whisper. "You're drawn to me, to my strength. It's primal, a natural reaction of a woman to a dominant male."

Pulling back, he let his words hang in the air before continuing, his voice resolute, "If I could single-handedly conquer Oakshade and kill Ser Bornmowe with just a handful of men, imagine what I could do with a proper army behind me."

His eyes were ablaze with a potent mix of ambition and determination, "Stick with me, Isolde, and our lineage will last a thousand years. We'll create a legacy that will outshine the flickering light of Horntide's precarious position right now." His words echoed in the room, full of raw promise and unwavering conviction.

Argon straightened up, pushing back from the table, his cold gaze meeting Isolde's. "Enough talk," he said tersely. "Do we have an accord?"

Isolde met his gaze, her own eyes filled with a mix of resignation and determination. The silence stretched between them, palpable, like a living entity. Finally, she gave a curt nod, her lips set in a firm line. "Yes," she said quietly, yet her voice carried a weight that filled the room. "We have an accord."

Argon's lips twitched into a smirk, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good," he said, a note of finality in his voice. With their agreement settled, the dynamics of their relationship shifted, sealing a pact that was bound to bring about unforeseen consequences.

Guided by Argon, Isolde ascends to the chamber, her steps delicate and uncertain. The room they enter is well-kept, resulting from the attentive care of Lyra and Saera. It's the perfect setting for the power play that's about to unfold.

Argon studies Isolde closely, admiration twinkling in his eyes. This is more than just a strategic move for him. Isolde is strikingly beautiful, and the thought of her as his wife thrills him. Her golden hair, the perfect complement to her sky-blue eyes, has a charm he cannot deny. She carries an allure beyond her high-born status, making her a treasure he yearns to possess.

A smirk tugs at Argon's lips, the promise of the consummation ahead already stirring an eager anticipation within him. He extends his hand to her, inviting her to come closer. As Isolde hesitates towards him, Argon knows he is about to seal a deal that carries more than just political advantages. It's a deal of pleasure, ownership, and power.

Argon steps forward, the anticipation in the room palpable as his hands reach for the clasp of her robe. His fingers, roughened from countless battles, seem out of place against the delicate fabric, but they are surprisingly gentle as he unclasps the robe, letting it fall in a pool of rich fabric at her feet. The room's cool air hits her exposed skin, causing a shiver to run through her.

Next, he reaches for her stola, the thin garment that served as her last piece of covering. He lifts it from her shoulders, the material whispering against her skin as it slips away, leaving her bare before him. The intimacy of the moment is palpable, their breaths mingling in the quiet room. Isolde's eyes meet his, a silent acceptance in their depths as she stands exposed under his hungry gaze.

Argon's eyes studied Isolde. Although she lacked the voluptuousness he usually preferred, her beauty was undeniable and bewitching. It was a softer, more ethereal allure, a stark contrast to the raw, earthy desire he was accustomed to.

Her figure was slender and delicate, with a soft curve to her hips that accentuated her femininity. She possessed a grace and elegance that made him feel like he was gazing upon a masterpiece. Her skin was smooth, porcelain, glowing softly in the dim light. Her golden hair was spread out on the pillow, framing her exquisite face with high cheekbones, expressive blue eyes, and a mouth made for sin.

As Isolde stands bare before him, Argon's gaze appreciatively roams over the curvature of her body. Her breasts, modest yet full, rise and fall with her anticipatory breaths, lending her an air of vulnerability. His gaze traces downwards, appreciating the slender taper of her waist that flares out into rounded hips and a pert, well-shaped bottom. The moonlight streaming through the window adds a soft glow to her skin, highlighting her figure's gentle dips and swells. The sight of her unadorned form sends a jolt of desire through him, a primal appreciation of the natural beauty before him. He can't help but reach out, the urge to touch and claim too strong to resist.

Feeling the room's chill hit her bare skin, Isolde instinctively crossed her arms in a futile attempt to shield herself from the room's prying eyes. Argon, encased in his armour, all the while, observed her with a hawk-like intensity.

"For fuck's sake, Argon, get out of your damned armour," she spat, her voice strident and edgy. Her cheeks blazed a fiery red, a clear sign of her discomfort at standing stark naked before him.

Under Isolde's challenging gaze, Argon lets out a low, amused chuckle, "Well, aren't you full of surprises," he muses. In an unhurried, almost provocative manner, he unfastens his Dayless armour piece by piece. First, the intricate chest plate and back guard reveal the muscular expanse of his torso underneath. The rivets and bolts click softly as they fall to the wooden floor, adding to the escalating tension.

Next, he unhooks the greaves protecting his legs, his movements echoing a predatory grace as he discards them aside. Lastly, he unhooks the girdle at his waist, the belt falling away with a quiet thud. With each piece of armour removed, Argon's physicality becomes more and more apparent: the hard lines of his muscles, the chiselled contours of his abdomen, the raw strength radiating off him.

Standing there, completely unarmored, the room is filled with a new kind of tension, one far removed from battles and strategies, one that is intrinsically human. With a wolfish grin playing on his lips, Argon meets Isolde's eyes, "Satisfied?" he asks, his voice a husky whisper that seems to echo in the otherwise quiet chamber.