Did You Just Fucking Slap Me?!

"Have a nice goodnight sleep, Princess," Weyden mocks as he kicks me back into my room. I fall on my hands and knees. I grit my teeth and clench my hands into fists. Anger and hatred for that asshole are all that I can feel. It consumes every fiber in my being.

The familiar buzzing under my skin grows in intensity. The lamps start to flicker. I am unable to focus on anything but Weyden's laugh echoing through the air.

I hate him. I hate him so much.

I despise him.

I snap out of my enraged trance from a hand hitting my cheek. Hard.

"Did you just fucking slap me?!"

Dagon, who is standing over me with his arms crossed in front of his chest, cocks his head sideways as he looks down at me. His face is scrunched up into a scowl.

"Yes." He nods firmly. "Calling your name wasn't working. You needed to snap out of it before you'd make the lamps explode. I don't know about you, but I was not planning on sitting in absolute darkness for only the Mother knows how long." His displeased scowl returns on his face as he glares down at me. The way he is looking at me... It is an expression I had never seen him make before. The shadows over his face darken, his gaze cold and distant.

This is most likely the expression he put on to get things done. The expression he uses to command respect from his people.

My breath leaves my lips in a slight sigh as I stare up at him. Unable to look away. I know in the back of my head I should feel scared or at least uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Even Father's stern or even enraged gaze is less intense than Dagon's. But still, I do not look away. I take it all in. How the light of the softly swinging lamps reflect in his eyes like stars. His eyes are like pools of the darkest liquid – a liquid so dark it sucks away the light from everything in his direct environment – reflecting a rain of shooting stars.

How can I ever look away from such a breathtaking spectacle? Let alone feel threatened or on edge.

When the air around us changes again, and his gaze softens, I look away. I grumble some curses and roll my eyes. What the fuck is going on with me?! I glance everywhere but Dagon. An anxious feeling starts to creep up on me. My breathing quickens, only just slightly, and the swirling pit of darkness inside me – the one I successfully turned to a lower pit, so it wasn't a constant presence in my mind – grows in size.

Paint.

I need to paint.

I reach over to the painting supplies I had stashed underneath my bed, and pull them to me. Without acknowledging or even thinking about the other being in my personal space – still glaring down at me – I start painting.

I sigh, content the moment my paint-covered brush connects with the still-empty canvas. My muscles relax, and the anxiety slumbers to the point it is gone from my mind.

I paint a girl with white eyes. She wears a crown on her head decorated with skulls, feathers, thorns, lightning, and twirls of darkness. The girl is crying.

The girl is me.

A breath of relief escapes my lips when the painting is done. I lean back against my wall. I am exhausted but completely calm. My gaze darts to the other side of my bedroom. To the blanket and pillow, the rebel leader used to make his own space.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Dagon looks away from the mural in front of him to meet my eyes. His face is scrunched up, and he looks at me in a curious way. "For what?" his lips from a sly smile. "Slapping you in the face?"

I growl low. That fucking insufferable asshole.

"No. For killing Polly," I clarify. I glare at him. "If you ever slap me again, I will rip your arms off and feed them to the deathwings." Dagon, in response, only rolls his eyes. His equally black hair hangs in front of his face. His skin is covered in bruises, cuts, and blood. The black shirt he wears is ripped, showing a big scar on his chest. It looks to be fully healed, and some smaller scars cover it here and there. Something that tells me it is an old one.