Chapter 20: Caged HeartsAmber surfaced slowly, painfully, from a sleep that had been anything but restful. The lingering scent of blood and the metallic tang of fear still clung to her memory, a phantom presence in the quiet, vender-scented air of Beldonna’s private quarters. Beside her, Beldonna stirred, a low groan escaping her lips, her body radiating a feverish heat even through the furs. Amber’s paws ached with a fierce protectiveness, a desperate need to shield this woman who, only hours ago, had been a terrifying, blood-soaked phantom, and then a vulnerable, wounded knight. The shock of witnessing Beldonna as the Nightshade assassin, combined with the raw intimacy of their shared bed, warred within her, leaving a confusing knot of fear and fierce, unfamiliar longing.
Beldonna’s emerald eyes fluttered open, unfocused and gzed with pain. She tried to push herself up, but a sharp gasp tore from her throat, and she fell back against the pillows, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hand instinctively went to her side, where the hooked dream steel arrow had pierced her. Even in her weakened state, Amber could see the deep, unsettling purple bruising around the wound, pulsing and twitching.
“Donny,” Amber whispered, her voice thick with concern, reaching out a hesitant paw to rest on Beldonna’s fevered brow. The knight flinched but didn’t pull away.
Beldonna’s gaze finally cleared, fixing on Amber with an intensity that, despite her pain, was unwavering. “Amber,” she rasped, her voice strained, each word a struggle. “You… you must go to the Dame.”
“The Dame, alone? Are you mad? She barely tolerates me.” Amber's ears fttered just thinking about being alone with such a terrifyingly powerful thing for longer than she had to.
Donny groaned as she held her shivering, feverish body. “ The arrow… it’s poisoned. Deeply. The infection… it’s spreading. Only she can remove it before it’s too te. Please.”
Amber’s brow furrowed. “But… you need a medic, what can she do that an apothecary can’t?”
“No,” Beldonna insisted, shaking her head weakly. “Not a medic. The wound’s origin… no one can know.” Her eyes, though clouded with pain, held a desperate urgency, a profound act of trust that implicitly id bare the depth of her desperation and the fragile, burgeoning connection between them. “Please, Amber. There isn’t much time.”
A cold dread coiled in Amber’s gut, but the raw plea in Beldonna’s eyes was undeniable. She nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs. “I’ll go. Just… hold on.”
The grand audience chamber felt even more imposing than Amber remembered, its starlit ceiling and polished obsidian floor mocking her disheveled state. She hadn’t even taken the time to change from the soft sleeping silks. Her fur was still rumpled, her face streaked with sleep and the lingering traces of tears. A mix of concern for Beldonna and deep apprehension about facing the Dame again, especially with such a personal and urgent request, churned within her.
The Dame of Desires sat upon her throne of petrified starlight, her shifting, iridescent form radiating an unsettling calm. Her golden eyes, vast and knowing, fixed on Amber the moment she entered. Several courtiers and noble people, engaged in hushed conversations and polite ughter, turned to address the woman in her night clothes abruptly entering the echoing chamber.
Amber forced herself to stand tall, despite the trembling in her paws. “My Lady,” she began, her voice a little breathless, but surprisingly steady. She lowered her voice, leaning slightly forward, trying to convey urgency without being overt in front of the company. “Lady Beldonna… she is in dire need. A… deep ailment. One that only your unique touch can remedy. It is… most urgent.”
The Dame’s lips, full and alluring, curved into a faint, almost imperceptible sneer. “Lady Beldonna? Needs my help? Little stray, you have it backwards.” Her voice, a melodic purr, was ced with a dismissive amusement that made Amber’s fur prickle. “And you, little stray, come to me for… what exactly? A poultice? A soothing balm? Do you imagine I keep a stock of mortal remedies for my knights’ clumsy missteps?” She tilted her head, her golden eyes glinting with pyful malice. “Tell me, little one, what exactly is it you think I can do that your common apothecaries cannot? Is her boo-boo too big for a simple bandage?” her voice of mocking bells.
Amber’s frustration mounted, her patience wearing thin. She met the Dame's gaze, her own golden eyes pleading, trying to convey the gravity of the situation without speaking too pinly. “My Lady,” Amber retorted, her voice sharper than she intended, a fsh of defiance in her golden eyes. “It is… unnatural.” Their golden eyes connect directly across the room, “She says it is a matter of discretion, of poisoned dream steel.”
The Dame’s golden eyes narrowed, the pyful amusement vanishing instantly, repced by a cold, calcuting intensity. The very air in the chamber seemed to sharpen. “Watch your tongue, stray.” Her voice, though still a purr, was now ced with an undeniable edge of danger. She swept her gaze over the assembled courtiers, her expression hardening. “Everyone, out. Now.” Her voice was a low, dangerous command that brooked no argument. “But you, Stray. Stay.” Her voice was still cold, almost accusatory. The courtiers, sensing the shift in their Dame’s mood, scrambled to obey, bowing deeply as they quickly exited the chamber, their hushed conversations dying as they fled. The grand obsidian doors of the audience chamber swung open with a silent, majestic sweep, revealing the byrinthine corridors beyond, then closed just as silently, leaving Amber and the Dame alone.
The Dame’s golden eyes, sharp and knowing, fixed on Amber, her expression unreadable. Then, as the st echoes of the departing courtiers faded, her gaze sharpened further, stripping away any pretense. “You and your big mouth about dream steel. Next time get my attention more directly without exposing any more secrets so brash and openly.” She hissed. “I know you know. Tell me everything.” Amber had no ability or want to hide right now, only that the woman bleeding into their bed gets aid as soon as possible. “I was at Beldonna’s room, and she came back from a…a…a hit…that went badly.” A hit…I said that so casually…” uh, she said some shapeshifter and a hunter pursued her, she caught a hooked arrow in the back. I bandaged her up, but the wound is tainted. She's feverish and has been struggling against it even after I removed the barb.” Amber produced the jagged piece of steel, coated in Beldonna’s blood, showing it to the Monarch.
The Dame hissed at the object in Amber’s hand. “Dispose of that…thing. Its presence is vile; it stinks of hate and nightmares.” The Dame said as she pointed ethereal finger towards the remnant of the arrow. “Then gather your precious ‘Donny’ and meet me at the Compass Reliquary. I can remove the sickness before it breaks her.” using Amber’s nickname for Beldonna, this time in a less mocking sense but her overall displeasure painted her entire tone. “Go now, Amber. My will is absolute.”
The journey back to Beldonna’s quarters felt agonizingly slow. Amber found the knight still struggling, her breathing shallow. Gently, carefully, Amber helped Beldonna out of the furs and into a simple, dark Fey silk tunic and trousers, chosen for ease of movement. The physical intimacy of supporting Beldonna, feeling the warmth of her skin, the subtle tremors of pain, was profound. Beldonna leaned heavily on Amber, her trust a palpable weight, as they navigated the hushed, secretive corridors of Compass Keep. The Reliquary was a hidden chamber, pin and unassuming, tucked away near the heart of the Keep, close to the Compass that held Poris itself above the keep like a fixed point in the universe. Its unadorned stone walls and ck of grandiosity contrasted sharply with the Keep’s opulence, hinting at its profound, almost sacred importance. They reached the heavy, unadorned door.
“Wait here, Amber” Beldonna murmured, her voice weak, but her gaze firm. “No one else but those who have sworn an oath to the court are permitted inside.” Amber nodded, her heart hammering. She watched Beldonna disappear into the dim chamber, the heavy door swinging shut behind her with a soft, resonant thud. The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the frantic beat of Amber’s own pulse. She pressed her ear to the cold stone, straining to hear.
The Dame’s voice, cold and clinical, yet with an underlying current of immense power, cut through the silence. “Lady Beldonna. Your report is te, I expected you st night.”
Donny’s voice was weak but still retively clear. “You are right, I apologize mistress.” She attempted to Bow but let out a shriek of pain because of her back injury. “Right…the report…well, I waited in Count Trioh’s drawing room all day, waiting for him to send his evening correspondence about the spreading taint from the Bckpon. Slit his throat right after he signed his name.” She lingered for a bit, trying to catch her breath. “What I didn’t realize was he had visitors from the King Himself, that bastard shapeshifting nightmare and his idiot huntsman apprentice. I managed to escape the shifter in the manor, but his minion is a skilled tracker. He found me in the woods making my escape by fairy ring and tagged me with that wicked arrow. I barely got away from them that time. Damn Dreamers.”
“I see. Now tell me this, my trusted hand, are you getting predictable, or are you getting distracted? Both answers are a problem for me.” Then, the Dame’s voice sharpens, cutting through Beldonna’s report like a knife. “Open the box, unless you cherish drowning in your own blood. Now.” Amber heard a faint, unsettling click from within the chamber. A shiver ran down her spine. Beldonna let out a shriek, more of a cry of absolute pain. Amber couldn’t see what was happening, but the process of this ‘healing’ sounded as painful as her own shifting into a beast.
The Dame’s voice, now a low, dangerous purr, continued with a scoff, “Your heart is a muddy mess, just like your little whore.” Amber heard this, and though she didn't know what it meant, the implication of her own "muddiness" sent a fresh wave of shame through her.
The Dame’s voice shifted, becoming more pointed, ced with a cruel, knowing amusement. “She’s a cute distraction; I'll give you that. But how many cute distractions is that now? I lost count after that st little slut you hauled in. Just tell me once you’re tired of being knuckle deep in the Stray so I can send her back to her hovel in Valentia." The words were a venomous assumption, a dismissal of Amber as nothing more than a fleeting carnal pleasure, a convenient toy for Beldonna to discard. “Lose the girl, sooner than ter. Beldonna. We have work to do.”
Overhearing the Dame’s cold command to “lose the girl” and the dismissive talk of her being a “distraction” sent a fresh wave of panic and old trauma through Amber. The fear of being abandoned, of being “dropped off back in her hovel” like a discarded toy, was overwhelming. The beast within her stirs, not yet a full shift, but a terrifying, uncontrolble tremor that makes her feel utterly exposed and powerless. Her fur prickles, but it's illusory fur, a phantom tickle across her skin, not yet fully manifest. Her muscles tense, and her teeth ache, lengthening slightly into rger fangs. Her cws, too, pushed outwards, elongating, while her body felt a subtle, painful surge of growth, hinting at a rger form struggling to break free. She tried to fight it,, clenching her jaws, digging her cws into her palms to anchor herself. Her ingrained fight-or-flight response kicked in. She instinctively recoils from the door, a desperate urge to run seizing her.
She forces herself to move quietly, trying to appear nonchant, but her movements are stiff, unnatural, a silent battle against the burgeoning transformation. Her joints ache as her bones try to shift, her skin prickles as fur tried to sprout. “No, no, no. Focus Amber, Focus!” She focused on putting one paw in front of the other, her senses overwhelmed, her only thought to get away, to find a pce where she can let the shift happen safely, where no one will see her monstrous truth. She bolted, fleeing down the corridor, trying her best to hide her transforming form from any on comers, darting into alcoves and behind tapestries when she heard approaching footsteps. Her time in the Keep had taught Amber well. She knew how to get to the Dream Garden, her pet project that she and her Sparklings took care of and revived in a short time.
Amber burst into the secluded garden, the cool, damp air a slight balm to her fevered skin. Her eyes, still wide with panic, nded on a thick, gnarled Mushroom Tree, its bioluminescent cap casting a soft, ethereal glow. With a raw, guttural cry, she unched herself at it, her newly sharpened cws raking against its resilient bark, carving deep, jagged sshes. Each furious swipe was a desperate attempt to release the terror and humiliation coiling in her gut, the primal urge to destroy. She tore at the bark until her muscles burned, until the illusion of fur began to recede and her fangs and cws slowly, painfully, receded back to their normal size. When the rage finally subsided, leaving her utterly spent, she sank to the ground at the base of the scarred tree, her body shaking, the furious gasps repced by ragged, heartbroken sobs.
Amber huddled at the base of the scarred Mushroom Tree, her body still shaking with the aftermath of her near-shift, the raw, heartbroken sobs tearing from her throat. The Dame’s words echoed in her mind, a cruel, relentless litany: “Lose the girl like she’s done so many others.” “I’ll drop her off back in her hovel.” The familiar, suffocating fear of abandonment, of being discarded, washed over her. This was it. Donny had saved her, yes, but the Dame’s will was absolute. She was coming to finish the job, to send Amber away.
She heard footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, crunching softly on the mossy path. Amber flinched, tensing, bracing herself. She didn't look up, just squeezed her eyes shut tighter, wishing she could simply vanish. She knew it was Beldonna. Who else would come looking for her here? The warrior would be composed, perhaps even a little weary, but utterly resolved to carry out her mistress's command. Amber prepared for the inevitable, for the polite, detached dismissal, for the final, crushing confirmation that she was, once again, alone and unwanted.
“May I ask you a question, Amber?” Beldonna’s voice, soft and gentle, cut through Amber’s despair, startling her with its unexpected tenderness. It wasn’t the cold, dismissive tone she’d anticipated.
Amber flinched, her sobs hitching, misinterpreting the question as the prelude to her dismissal. “No! I don’t know where I’ll go, or what I’ll do! Just… just get rid of me like you do with all the other girls…just fuck me already and get it over with!” The words were raw, ced with the deepest fear of abandonment and a return to transactional survival, a fear that, even with new connections, felt louder than ever.
Beldonna’s expression softened further, her understanding profound. She gently interrupted Amber’s panicked outburst, her voice firm but tender. “Amber. I am not getting rid of you. That is not why I am here. I would never do that.” She waited patiently, her hand still extended, for Amber’s sobs to subside, for her to be ready to hear her. “I found your note - may I have this dance?” Amber blushed deeper and hotter than she ever had in her life at the implication.
Amber, surprised but deeply moved by the unexpected invitation, took Beldonna’s hand. “A…am…I dreaming…?” she said as their paws met, a spark of warmth passing between them that seemed to banish the lingering chill of the Dame’s words.
Donny simply shook her head, “I’m not one for Dreams.” pulling Amber close. They began to move, slowly at first, a hesitant sway that gradually found its rhythm. It wasn't a formal courtly dance, but something more intimate, born of shared vulnerability and unspoken understanding. Amber's initial awkwardness melted away, repced by a growing ease as Beldonna guided her with gentle pressure, their bodies moving in silent conversation. The soft glow of the Dream Garden's bioluminescent pnts seemed to pulse in time with their quiet steps, and the subtle light of Poris above cast long, dancing shadows that mirrored their movements. Each turn, each step, was a defiant act against the Dame's will, a silent decration that this connection, this burgeoning love, was real and belonged to them alone. The world outside, with its cruel pronouncements and political machinations, faded into the background.
The dance led to a tender embrace, a natural culmination of their shared emotions. Amber melted into Beldonna’s strong arms, feeling the steady beat of the knight’s heart against her own. It was a haven, a sanctuary from the storm of fear and shame that had consumed her moments before. She inhaled Beldonna’s scent—vender and faint traces of cedar a strangely comforting combination—and felt a profound sense of belonging settle over her. Beldonna’s fur, soft against Amber’s cheek, offered comfort Amber hadn't realized she craved. They held each other close, a silent promise passing between them in the quiet hum of the garden. Amber gently whispering into Donny’s ear with new tears in her eyes, “I can’t believe this isn’t an illusion…”
“This is real, Amber.” The embrace deepened, their breaths mingling, until their lips met in their first kiss. It was hesitant at first, a soft press, then a deepening, a gentle exploration. It was a kiss born of profound vulnerability, a silent acknowledgment of the raw, exposed truths they had just shared. It was defiance against the Dame’s cruel assumptions, a rebellion of the heart. It was burgeoning love, fragile yet fierce, sealing their connection against the backdrop of the Dame’s manipution and Amber’s past trauma. In that moment, surrounded by the quiet magic of the Dream Garden, Amber felt truly, profoundly safe, and for the first time in a very long time, truly, profoundly seen. This kiss marked their first night truly together, a choice made against the Dame’s will, a quiet rebellion.
