Chapter 18

"And then he shouted. The king... he had no idea that a man could wield such power."

Leona’s voice quivered as she recounted the tale of Ulfric Stormcloak, the air in the room growing thick with unease. The mere thought of a man, capable of such an act made my blood run cold. To challenge a king and win with nothing but a shout—that took more than boldness. It took a power that most of us could only dream of.

As the weight of her words sank in, my gaze drifted to Amon. He was already watching me, a knowing smile curling at the corners of his lips. That look—what did it mean? Did he know something I didn’t? The unsettling thought lodged itself in my mind, refusing to let go.

“A shout?” Astrid’s voice cut through the tension, a mix of curiosity and concern coloring her tone. Her hand tightened around the paper she held, as if bracing herself for the answer.

I leaned back in my chair, feeling the weight of the room’s collective dread. The Brotherhood had faced many threats, but this… this was something different.

“Some teachings of the Greybeards,” Festus interjected with a weary sigh. His voice carried the weight of years spent unraveling mysteries that should have stayed hidden. “Ulfric must have spent time with those priests to learn the Way of the Voice.”

Grodyl’s scoff broke the brief silence, his expression one of forced resignation. “The power of a dragon, wielded by a man. It’s not just magic—it’s something ancient.”

“Like, Dovahkiin?” Asbjorn’s question hung in the air, tension crackling between us as Astrid rolled her eyes, clearly irked by the reminder.

“Not quite,” Grodyl replied, his voice thick with unease. “He might manage it once, maybe twice in his life. If it doesn’t tear his voice apart the first time.”

“I came as soon as I could, Speaker,” Leona’s voice carried a sharp edge of urgency, betraying the concern etched in her eyes. “I need to return to my post.”

Astrid gave a curt nod. “Go, Leona. Stay vigilant and keep us informed.”

Without another word, Leona turned on her heel, the heavy clank of her armor echoing through the room as she made her way to the portal. Beneath the soldier’s steel, there was the heart of an assassin—one the ranks of Castle Dour remained oblivious to.

As the door closed behind her, Astrid’s composed facade began to fracture. She sank into the central chair, the paper she held trembling as it met the table, her hand barely able to keep it steady. Her voice wavered as she spoke, the gravity of her words pulling the air from the room.

“The war has officially started.” She exhaled a shaky breath, fighting to regain control. “Brothers and Sisters, if we are to survive, we must bide our time, as we always have, and wait for the right moment to strike. But before that…”

“Before what?” Festus snapped, the lines of his brow deepening with irritation. “Before the dragons swoop down and burn us all to ash? Or Ulfric’s men storm our sanctuary?”

Grodyl’s agreement came reluctantly, his voice laced with the frustration of a man trapped between impossible choices. “He’s right. We need a plan, Astrid. We can’t just sit and wait for death to find us.”

“And what exactly would you have us do, Grodyl?” Asbjorn’s voice dripped with venomous contempt as he turned his glare on the Dunmer. “Fight dragons? Charge at them with our swords and daggers?.”

Grodyl’s patience was thinning, his tone growing taut. “We need allies.”

Astrid’s gaze turned icy, her words as sharp as the blades they all carried. “You’re suggesting we pick a side, then?”

“Sooner or later, Astrid,” Grodyl replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as he crossed his arms, weariness in every line of his posture. “Dawnstar already has the Stormcloaks at their back.”

“And what price do you think we’d pay for that protection?” Astrid’s voice cut through the room like a blade as she threw the rolled paper across the table. Her hands trembled, just for a moment, as she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Waste my people, waste you, on this man’s war?”

“Astrid’s right,” Fen’s voice cut through the clamor, as cool and unyielding as the chill that permeated the room. “Ulfric and his men are as unreliable as the Empire itself, and we all know it.”

The argument continued, voices rising in discord, but my focus shifted to the parchment lying on the table. I reached for it, feeling the weight of its contents before I even read the words. It was a letter addressed to all the Jarls of Skyrim, outlining the supposed ‘dishonorable combat’ that had taken place and officially naming Elisif, the widow of the slain king, as the new High Queen. But the true purpose of the letter was far graver—it marked the beginning of the civil war.

Astrid’s voice, cold and commanding, cut through the noise, drawing all attention back to her. “We will gather our allies,” she declared, her tone brokering no argument. “And we will find a way. Until then, we must work hard, for dark days lie ahead for the Brotherhood.”

With her final words, Astrid turned on her heel and exited the hall with brisk, determined steps, leaving behind a room full of assassins to murmur and debate. Most agreed with her decision to wait, to bide their time until the first strike came. But there were others who felt differently, who believed that action was needed now. They whispered among themselves, voices hushed but filled with urgency. They spoke of gathering strong allies, of preparing for the inevitable.

It was clear to everyone present that we could not remain neutral; we would not survive without choosing a side in this civil war.

My thoughts turned to Ulfric, the man at the center of it all. His bold, ruthless move in the midst of the dragon sightings had already set a chain of events in motion, events that would plunge Skyrim into deeper chaos. The frozen land was about to be engulfed in a storm unlike any it had seen before, and as I sat there, the weight of the uncertainty pressed heavily on my chest.

How we would survive it, I couldn’t say. I had no answers, only questions that twisted and churned within me, leaving me unsettled and restless.

I pushed my chair back, rising from it with deliberate movements, determined not to let my thoughts consume me in the midst of the assassins’ quiet murmurs in the hall.

Making my way down to the bathhouse, I gave a nod to the guard at the door. He returned the gesture before shutting the door firmly behind me. I knew what would come next—he’d place the sign on the door, a single letter N etched onto it, symbolizing my presence and enforcing the rule that no one else was allowed inside while I bathed.

Yet on a midday like this, I longed for silence, for the solitude that the bathhouse promised. A sanctuary within a sanctuary, away from the world outside that seemed to burn with the fury of wars and dragons.

I undressed slowly, each piece of clothing slipping from my body and pooling on the floor before I stepped into the warm embrace of the water. As always, the heat enveloped me instantly, a soothing balm that unraveled the tension knotted deep in my muscles. A shiver of relief coursed through me, chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones.

I leaned back, resting my head against the edge of the tub, closing my eyes as I let the warmth seep into every part of me. For a moment, the weight of the past days, with all their turmoil and uncertainty, lifted from my shoulders. The world outside faded, leaving only the gentle lapping of water against my skin, a lullaby that coaxed me into a dreamless sleep.

Or so I thought.

Faint voices began to drift through the fog of my slumber. They were distant at first, mere whispers on the edge of my consciousness. But they grew stronger, more insistent, like a chorus of many, all calling out something I couldn’t quite grasp—a name, perhaps, spoken in a tongue my mind couldn’t comprehend.

The voices tugged at me, pulling me further into the depths of whatever lay beyond the veil of sleep. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t decipher their meaning, only that they were urgent, filled with a sense of something ancient.

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The passing days in the sanctuary had been agonizingly dull. Yet beneath the surface, a relentless tension simmered, almost unbearable, as everyone was on edge, haunted by the events that had shaken the very foundation of the country.

I spent those days buried in books or in training, avoiding Astrid’s gaze and everyone else’s for that matter. With no missions, no place I was needed, and worst of all, nowhere else to go, I was adrift, a shadow in a place that was beginning to feel more like a cage.

Amon had become a distant figure, a shadow I barely glimpsed in the corners of the sanctuary.

It was past midday when I finally dragged myself out of bed. As I caught my reflection, my eyes lingered on the small scar on my neck, nearly healed but still there, a crack in the porcelain of my skin, refusing to fade.

I let the cloth fall, resigning myself to the scar’s permanence, and made my way through the sanctuary’s winding halls to the dungeons below.

“Fuck yes.”

“You like that?”

“I love that.”

The voices hit me like a slap as I reached the dungeon door, stopping me cold. Amon’s voice was unmistakable, but the other… made my heart twist in a way I didn’t want to know.

I moved closer to the cells, each step heavy, as if something dark and forbidden was pulling me forward. The voices grew clearer, more distinct.

“Give me that neck, ” Amon’s growl was low and commanding, filled with a dark hunger. The sound of bodies colliding, of skin on skin, was a raw, primal rhythm that echoed through the stone walls.

As the whimpers turned into gasping moans, I turned to leave, my chest tight with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. But before I could flee, his voice cut through the air like a blade,

“Don’t just stand there,” Amon’s voice was thick with desire, dripping with a dark promise. “Come, join us.”

I stood there, paralyzed, as if my feet had been fused to the cold stone beneath me. Every fiber of my being was ablaze with shame, my cheeks burning as the blood rushed to them.

Why did I even come here?

“Who’s that?” Fen’s voice pierced the oppressive silence, dragging me back to the brutal reality of the situation. Panic surged through me like wildfire, and I tore myself away from the dungeon’s depths, my legs carrying me up the stairs with a frantic urgency. Each step was a desperate attempt to flee the scene that I had witnessed, to escape the suffocating heat that now coursed through my veins.

I was unseen, just as they were to me. Amon might have heard my footsteps, but there was no proof it was me. It could have been anyone.

Back in my room, I slammed the door shut, leaning heavily against it, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The thought of them together, so raw and intimate, was burned into my mind.

I need a contract.

The thought of it brought a fleeting sense of purpose, a lifeline to cling to in the chaos that threatened to swallow me whole. But even that was slipping through my fingers. Days had passed since I’d last faced Astrid, avoiding her with a determination that bordered on cowardice. And she, in turn, had refrained from calling me out. The tension between us was a festering wound that refused to heal.

It was maddening to sit beneath the stone walls of the Sanctuary, as the world outside shifted and churned, as dragons became more than just legends and war loomed on the horizon. The Brotherhood had always thrived in the shadows, but now, it felt like we were waiting for the storm to pass.

But storms like these don’t just pass, they leave everything in ruins.

I hadn’t even taken a step away from the door before it swung open again, and there he was. Amon stood in my doorway, his mismatched eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole my breath. His shirt hung open, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame, revealing the smooth, flawless expanse of his chest. A thin trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, drawing my eyes like a magnet.

My breath hitched in my throat, a small gasp that I barely managed to stifle. I wanted to recoil, to put distance between us, but my body betrayed me, rooted to the spot by a need I refused to acknowledge. Amon took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the space between us,

“Noisy, aren’t you?” His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, laced with amusement and something darker, more primal. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, wrapping around me, muddling my thoughts.

I feel like I’m drowning.

My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending alive with the tension that crackled between us, electric and charged with the promise of something wicked.

Snap out of it.

My brows furrowed in frustration at his words, my body a taut wire of barely suppressed anger and arousal.

“Noisy? I was just—”

“Visiting?” A smirk curled his lips, one that spoke of intimate knowledge and unspoken promises. He took another deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us with a predatory grace. Instinctively, I stepped back, my breath hitching at the intense hunger in his eye, a red hunger that spoke of something more than a simple meal.

“Did you miss me?” His voice was low, laced with a provocative edge that made my pulse quicken and my skin prickle with a mixture of annoyance and desire. His gaze was unwavering, commanding my attention with an almost magnetic pull.

“How did you come here?” I demanded, my voice trembling as I tried to regain some semblance of control.

He raised his arms, showing off the broken chain as it were a reminder of his raw power, and I could feel my body responding to the dangerous allure of his freedom.

Another step forward from him, another step back from me, and we were inside the room. The change in surroundings did nothing to deter him—his focus remained solely on me, his gaze filled with an insistent determination and a compelling sense of something I couldn’t quite name.

“Leave,” I murmured, “you don’t want to make her wait.” but the command was weak, a breathy whisper barely louder than the wind outside.

Amon’s smirk only deepened, his gaze searing into mine before drawn irresistibly to the uncovered wound that marred my neck.

In a swift, fluid motion that was both surprising and intimate, his hand rose to my neck, his fingers skimming softly over the tender wound. The caress was light, but it sent a shock of heat through me, amplifying the sting of his touch. Only then did I notice the brutal burns beneath the cuffs on his wrists, the skin looking agonized and nearly unbearable.

I stumbled back, another step widening the distance between us, trying to escape the searing intimacy of his touch. “Back off,” I finally managed to growl, my voice rough and strained. But instead of retreating, a small, knowing twitch pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Just so you know,” his whisper was thick with concealed lust, yet he wanted me to feel it, to understand the depth of his desire. “When they told me I had a visitor, I wished it was you.”

The quiet pounding of my heart surged into a frantic drumbeat as I averted my gaze, desperately trying to escape the intoxicating pull of his presence.

I tried to step past him, to reclaim some semblance of control, but he was quicker. His arm shot out, blocking my path, his palm pressing firmly against the bookcase next to me. My breath quickened, caught between the need to push him away and the desperate, consuming desire that made me want to pull him closer.

I met his gaze with all my defenses raised, trying to steady my voice. “Why are you here?”

“You visited me, didn’t you?” He pulled back slightly, his posture relaxing into something deceptively casual. “It would be considered rude, if I didn’t return the favor.” His eyes roamed over the room, but their focus quickly returned to me, filled with an intense, unsettling curiosity.

“Like this?” I asked, my words tinged with uncertainty. “After you’re done messing around with someone else?”

I crossed my arms, a futile attempt to shield myself from the potent tension between us.

“Speaker starved me,” he breathed out, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Do you think those bottled-up remains are enough? I had to feed.”

His reasoning only fueled my irritation further.

Hunger? That’s his excuse?

“And you didn’t enjoy it-” I retorted, my words laced with contempt. But he looked at me as if he could see right through.

“I didn’t enjoy it a little bit.” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, the raw intensity of his gaze making my breath hitch.

“Right,” I forced an insincere smile, my heart pounding against my ribs. “You loved it.”

The tension between us thickened, a palpable force that wrapped around us, darkening his eyes. As he fell silent, I had no more words. I fought back the rush of blood to my cheeks one last time and sidestepped past him, making my way toward the door.

Why do I even care?

As my hand reached the handle, his voice rang in my ears.

“You know,” he said, his tone softening. “I often get what I want.”

There was the same possessiveness in his words that made my pulse race.

“I wanted to escape prison, survive dragons, as I wanted to be here, by any means necessary,” he continued as I lifted my gaze, “And now, here I am.”

Prison?

My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of his past that had suddenly surfaced, revealing a side of him I hadn’t anticipated.

I froze, my hand trembling on the door, the threshold between us suddenly an abyss of possibilities. Questions swirled in my mind, but I couldn’t find the words to voice them.

He turned toward the hall, a smile curling on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You see,” he murmured, his voice taking on a dark edge, “it’s the funniest thing.” The smile on his face widened, pale fangs glimmering under the faint torchlight. “Now, I have my sights set on something else.”

There was no mistaking the dark promise in his words, the unyielding resolve that radiated from him. I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever he wanted next, whatever his new target was, there would be no escaping it.

As his words hung in the air, he slipped into the hall, his presence like a shadow dissolving into the darkness.

The space where he had just stood was empty, as if he had never been there at all. No lingering warmth, no trace of his presence—nothing but the cold, oppressive silence that swallowed everything whole.

I peered down the length of the hall, but he was already gone, vanished into the labyrinthine shadows of the Sanctuary.

Just like that night.

But this time, my steps carried me to Astrid's chambers instead of chasing after him.

I pushed the doors open with ease, her guards offering knowing nods as I barged into the room. She was behind her desk, seemingly busy writing a letter.

I couldn't stop the silent clench of my jaw as I met her startled gaze.

"Contract. Now."

To be continued…