Shahanshah Kairun Dariushzad | *stepdad*

The night winds sweeping in from the desert were unusually cold. The rising sandstorms were always a major obstacle for fugitives, especially for two delicate young women.

The night sky was studded with stars, and your mother's hand gripped yours tighter and tighter. Morgana shielded her face from the stinging sand, determined to see her plan through. Escape! We must escape! She was not a weak woman. Driven by love for her daughter, by love for her home and her true beloved husband, Morgana gritted her teeth.

"Come here," her voice sounds as she spots a herd of horses in the distance. You scramble into a cave, a temporary refuge for you both from the pursuit. But was it truly a refuge?

When the dawn sun scorched your faces, when your natural northern paleness proved vulnerable to the heat, the very thing you were both fleeing from finally happened.

Desert trackers. A dozen rugged men caught up with you, pinning you down as if you were vicious criminals. The last thing you remember is your mother's scream and her attempt to stab the attackers with a knife.

The soft bed was warm. Your heavy body had been aching for days, and doses of some medicine only plunged you into endless drowsiness and a kind of narcotic haze. Lifting your head, you see your legs swathed in bandages – even one awkward movement of your knee sent such a sharp pain through you that you screamed.

But no one heard your cry, or no one wanted to hear.

Your memories are hazy, traumatic, and damnably tangled, as if a spider was weaving its web right inside your brain. Your mother's scream echoes in your ears, followed by flashes of images, like the pages of a book being flipped. Here, you are both in a narrow, cart-like space. Your mother is unconscious, her black hair stuck to her face, the air saturated with the smell of blood. Here, you are being separated – you see Kairun, your stepfather, leaning over you, then a cruel slap rings out, and your eyes close again. Here, you see a heavy mace in his hands, and his gaze is full of something dark, sharp, and hidden.

Here, you see your legs have turned blue, swollen, with the shins split open on both sides.

You realize your legs are broken from the grinding sound echoing in your ears. In a panic, you gasp for air and grip the headboard, whimpering like a wounded animal. You cannot get up, you cannot move. The bed is a soft cage; the deceptively luxurious furnishings of the princess's chambers, where you had lived for some time in Arshakhad, seem to mock you. Suddenly, you feel the muscles in your torso cramp violently, and the agony continues for several minutes before you manage to calm down. Tears sting your eyes unpleasantly, and your gaze fills with something between fear and anxiety.

The door opened.

Kairun moves exactly like a lion. His steps are precise, strict, and damnably quiet. His face, contrary to your sensations and the pain throbbing in every cell of your body, is cold and seemingly pleased. His thin lips are stretched into a smile as he looms over you again. He looms like a lion over a fawn bitten by his jaws.

"My sweet, dear girl," his velvety voice is full of coldness and weariness. His fingers touch your cheeks, wiping away the tears. "What have you done? Did I not tell you – obedience is the key to my kindness?" he laments, pulls away, and his face takes on a sorrowful expression. "Your legs, how sorry I was to do such a thing. But you, my sweet girl, simply do not obey."

Kairun lifted your blanket. The swaddled legs, bound with splints of strong wood, evoked in him a feeling of awe and pain simultaneously. He looks at the broken legs he gave you, carefully replaces the blanket, and even straightens it a little.

"I hope now," a whisper that sends shivers down your spine, "You understand why I had to do this. My precious jewel, get well. And don't forget to take your medicine – otherwise, I will have to punish you again," Kairun uttered tenderly, and his lips touched your forehead in a sacred, but dangerous seal.

Your legs will heal faster – the best doctors, the best mages are tending to you, pouring immeasurable amounts of magic and mana into you. The best food, the best treatment, the best education, entertainment – while you are confined to bed, Kairun visits you in the evenings. He watches, adores, and convinces you of one thing.

You need him. He is not a monster – you provoked him. And you should be an obedient girl if you wish to continue living in this luxury.

And as for your mother... are those her screams of pain and moans of suffering that carry through the nights, from the deepest depths of the castle?

Kairun rolled his shoulders. The audience with his special people had concluded successfully – having uncovered an entire spy network, he had discreetly ordered their removal. No noise, no screams, no bodies. In a somewhat elevated mood, Kairun moved through the castle's luxurious corridors. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating his deep green eyes.

Each step seemed to accelerate his heartbeat. Her bones have finally healed, he thought.

The physician was massaging your legs. The man worked with technical precision; the aromatic oils overpowered the scent of incense and wormwood, which had left your skin reddened with the marks of his massage. The physician lifted his head, wiped his hands on the towel draped over his forearm.

"My lady, how are you feeling?" The question sounded insincere – merely a desire for confirmation of successful rehabilitation. Your leg fractures weren't complex, but you had been undernourished for long enough that the healers and alchemists, like mother hens, were desperate to get you back on your feet. Even if you would never be able to stand upright for long periods again.

Bowing, the physician withdrew. The heavy door closed quietly, and you were alone once more. Looking at your legs, strange feelings overwhelm you. They don't hurt as much anymore – the nagging pain in both shins has been replaced by a more subtle, yet just as constant, ache. Your maidservants, who attended to you three times a day, were teaching you to walk again. Not because anyone genuinely worried about you – but because such was the Shahanshah's order.

Your toes were still numb. No ordinary shoes fit you anymore – only sandals that wouldn't provide firm support for your fragile ankles. Your dresses, now verging on decency, reach all the way to the floor – to conceal this failing of yours before Kairun.

Ah, how delighted he had been!

Every time when he visited you was filled with a tenderness and care that felt like the dangerous flame of possession. Kairun personally carried you to the bath, where he washed you as if you were a statue he was determined to maintain. Carrying you in his arms, carefully supporting your injured legs... Kairun was ecstatic. You were dependent on him, and it filled him with bliss.

But now... could anything change? Your legs had healed. Beside your bed were special, carved crutches, to make your gait easier and more stable. But something about them seemed off – as if one was slightly longer than the other?.. Or were you just imagining it, because you had been locked within the four walls of your chambers for so long?..

A maidservant brought in a nutritious meal. She didn't look at you – just bowed almost to the floor, hastily left your chambers, and even forgot to take the cup from your morning tea. Your medicines in little bags stood nearby, meticulously portioned and labeled with the times you were obliged to take them. Can painkilling powders really have such a complex, strange taste?.. You didn't even have time to tell the maid she had forgotten the dirty cup. Though, could that really be a problem? It was just a cup.

"My precious," Kairun's voice sounded. He entered your chambers as was his right. It was his property, just like you. He looked at you, his eyes burning with a peculiar gleam as they fixed on your bare legs.

"I see you're feeling better," he purred—no, dangerously rumbled like a rattlesnake. Kairun sat on the edge of your bed, the mattress crunching under his weight. The silks caressed his palm as he smoothed out the wrinkles in the sheet. "Will you share with me, my precious, how you are feeling?" His question sounded slightly dismissive – he wasn't asking about your well-being in the literal sense.

His rough, cold hand touched your right shin. It moved higher, to your knee, and higher still, to your plump thigh. A touch unbecoming of a stepfather, but did he care? He had long since dealt with the big, dark-haired problem because of which he might have never seen you again.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Kairun asked after a brief silence, squeezing the inside of your thigh with such force that bruises would surely form. "I am your home, dear. Remember that, if unworthy thoughts ever settle in your little, foolish head again," his voice, a half-whisper, carried the dangerous hiss of a desert predator, and his lips curved into a charming, magnetically dangerous smile. "Do you understand, my girl? You are not clever enough to try to deceive me. But you are mine, and you will try hard enough to be sufficiently compliant."

Morgana was dressed in a festive, golden gown. Light fabrics flowed over her body; instead of a stiff, sturdy corset, there were several layers of silk sashes. Southern garments seemed too light, unfamiliar. Morgana felt almost naked in the middle of this throne room. The unpleasant feeling was drowned out by thoughts of you, her daughter.

She glanced at you sideways. Your clothes were equally luxurious, excessively so for your status. The line of your shoulders was covered, but the deep neckline almost exposed the hollow between your breasts. Swallowing hard, Morgana gently stroked your shoulder and discreetly adjusted the silks to cover your modesty.

But this gesture was not approved by her new husband, your stepfather. Kairun forcefully gripped Morgana's other hand, so hard that the woman pursed her lips and barely frowned. Enduring the pain and unwilling to show any sign of vulnerability, Morgana lifted her chin.

...She hadn't imagined it. Which meant there was no doubt – Kairun had chosen you, her daughter.

For several nights, Morgana had been tormented by mental anguish. The story of her father and his wife was complicated, but so traumatic for her, somewhere deep in her soul. Eric adored Aglaia; it didn't bother him that he was married to Aglaia's mother. And he had committed many cruel acts – his former wife, Gloria, was forcibly drugged and endured terrible suffering that rotted her mind and consciousness. Before the war, Gloria hanged herself, driven by the demons of her broken psyche. Morgana wasn't afraid of such a fate for herself, no.

Morgana feared that Kairun would inflict more pain on you than Eric had inflicted on Aglaia. Eric carried Aglaia in his arms with pure love, but Kairun... was incapable of that. Morgana had observed how he interacted with you. How Kairun looked at you, how he showered you with endless gifts and attention. Your dresses were more luxurious than your mother's! It was a frightening signal.

...Morgana decided to flee. With you, to save you from a sad fate. Morgana had prepared for this for several weeks before a sense of determination and confidence was reborn in her heart. Her goal was to cross the peninsula, blend into the crowd, and, even if it took months, reach home. And if she failed, you had to survive. Gathering all her will, Morgana planned the escape, and soon your legs were carrying you across the hostile desert.

You trusted your mother. Morgana had loved you from the first day of your life – your memories were hazy, as the ten years of war had been a great shock to your psyche. When Arshakhad attacked Tarnelis, any outcome of the war was traumatic and terrible. Unfortunately, victory was on Arshakhad's side.

Your grandfather – killed. Your grandmother, a young woman – captured by the Tarnelis advisors, among dozens of voices and mourning for her husband. Your father – eliminated, his fate still unknown. Your mother – the wife of the Shahanshah himself, driven only by love, through the desert storms. Adjusting her hood, Morgana looks at you. The cold desert night makes you shiver, and she steps out of hiding to gather some branches and warm you. You were no longer a child, but to a mother, even an adult young woman would always be her little girl. The meager rations, stolen from the royal kitchen, were rapidly running out. Every trading village was a place to replenish water and, perhaps, if the merchants and traders possessed any empathy, they might feed you a hot meal.

You understood why you had fled. The unpleasant feeling that had loomed over you for many weeks before the escape had now transformed into a determination to survive. You still remembered what life could be like at home.

But your journey was cut short at the very end. Reaching the designated point on the map, you were discovered. The desert trackers hired by Kairun to capture you were merciless. Someone hit you on the head, and you lost consciousness. For the first time, Morgana felt her body vibrate with rage – she managed to wound one man with a knife, to gouge out another's eye, but it was a drop in the ocean. The men beat her, used her as punishment, and threw her into a cart. Your rare awakenings from pain were filled with the smell of blood and your mother's groans of agony.

It was unknown how many hours the journey to the Palace took – you were both given some potion that shattered your consciousness for a time.

And while Kairun was breaking your legs, in a caring gesture of instruction for your future actions, Morgana was being tortured. She was imprisoned in a deep dungeon where there was no light, and the air was stale and full of damp dust.

...Kairun visited his wife three times. The first meeting was full of mockery and hypocritical concern. He lifted her face, swollen from the beatings, by the chin, and lamented female foolishness. Morgana spat in his face; the saliva mixed with her blood, and the stench filled Kairun's nostrils. As punishment, Kairun personally waterboarded her, rolling up the sleeves of his luxurious robes and gripping the rough sackcloth.

The second meeting was full of cold malice and displeasure. Morgana remained silent. Clenching her teeth, emitting guttural sounds and gurgles, she never answered his questions. The punishment – a red-hot brand on the delicate skin of her stomach and back.

The third meeting was fatal. Morgana lost consciousness during the torture, and the last thing you heard about your mother was her screams of agony. Kairun ensured that the young woman's body was discarded so far away that only vultures or other wild birds and beasts could find her.

...And while Kairun was lavishing attention on you, while his hands caressed your legs, healed after the fractures, somewhere far away a settlement existed.

A settlement where a kind elderly couple, who had witnessed the horrors of Kairun's rule in his younger years, took pity on the northern stranger and offered her a hand in her moment of agonizing need for salvation.

While Kairun was enjoying caring for you, while he was squeezing your body, pressing you into the bed and whispering words of obsessive attachment, of pathological love for you, his mind did not think about the fact that somewhere far away, perhaps, the northern she-wolf was regaining her strength. And someday, perhaps, she would bite his head off, once and for all.