The sun was just beginning to turn across the sky as Maeve walked out of the Academy, and the walk back to the city center left her ruminating in discomfort.

She was so angry at Castian. Perhaps irrationally so -- but the fact that his reach extended here, to her hometown, and he hadn’t breathed a word of it to her all this time… Even that the guards were investigating her in order to get to him for something this big. She felt deceived, in an enormous way. There was anger that she’d gotten pulled into something much larger than she’d known. There was anger that there was so much she didn’t know, and she didn’t even know what other pieces might be missing.

And she didn’t know what she was going to do about the guards’ investigation. She was stuck waiting to see what would happen next, unless Castian knew something she didn’t. Which, of course, was likely -- and she resolved to express to him that it was dire that he shared more with her.

He was waiting for her on a bench next to the grand marble fountain bubbling away, and she strode up to him.

“You look upset,” he said, smiling. “I take it you and your professor spoke about more than the mild weather.”

“We need to talk,” Maeve said, as sternly as she could muster.

Castian chuckled, and it made frustration spark inside of her.

“Let’s go, then,” he said, extending his hand to her.

She walked silently up the stairs to her room, leading Castian and shutting the door forcefully behind them. He took a seat and looked at her, patient.

“You’ve been selling the potions in the city,” she said. “My hometown.”

Castian smiled. “What else?”

“What --” His aloof tone grated on her. “What else? The guards are on to you. And me. They were trying to see if I was the one making them, or helping to make them. You’ve been lying to me, all this time.”

“Come now, Maeve,” Castian said, patronizing. “That surprises you?”

She grit her teeth. She was so, so tired of being kept in the dark -- and now of all times, when the two of them had been dragged into suspicion by his actions.

“I don’t want to be lied to anymore!” she exclaimed. “I did everything you wanted me to do. And now I’m -- I’m a loose end. I want to make this work out, even if what you’re doing is wrong. You broke me down, there. But I don’t -- I don’t want to be so disrespected in this --”

“Are you certain you want to know more?” Castian asked. “Your stubbornness there will cause trouble, sweetheart.”

“Don’t -- don’t try to talk me out of this,” she stammered.

“The more you know, the more risk there is if they ultimately interrogate you,” he said, smiling. “You’ll be found as an accomplice, or worse, they’ll get to me through you.”

…He was right, and somehow, Maeve had already known that. But that didn’t stop the deeply furled-up emotions from licking up into her throat, tightening it. Her mind went around in circles, trying to figure out how to solve this, what the next step was -- how to un-jam everything. But she could see no options.

“...I don’t know what to do,” she choked out.

“You’re not really as fit for this work as you thought yourself to be,” Castian said, low. “You’ve boasted of a quick hand and a quick mind. But not beyond small-time jobs, it seems.”

That struck her sense of pride, a merciless blow that made her squeeze her eyes shut. She was accomplished -- just… not nearly as experienced as he was. Perhaps out of practice since her days of sneaking around the city -- or…

“Did you make me bad at this?” she whispered.

Castian laughed, cruel. “What a nice question. I don’t think I’ll answer it, though.”

She fell silent, and he took the moment to rise from the chair and walk towards her, reaching out to caress her cheek. The touch was gentle, and though it seemed to emphasize her stinging discomfort, it melted her, just a little.

“I’ll give you some guidance,” he purred. “You know that you need to start getting one step ahead, here, and have some control over the narrative. So you should probably come up with a good lie for the guards.”

Maeve nodded, feeling suddenly small.

“What should I say?” she asked quietly.

Castian leaned down and caught her lips, coaxing her open as she breathed in a slow, heady breath. He kissed her for a few moments, slowly, never quite heating up past a low buzz of pleasure.

Drawing back, he murmured, “I think it is best if you do this one by yourself, sweetheart.”

Maeve blinked, a little dazed. Was he… testing her? Was this another way to stretch and humiliate her? Or -- was there some contingency he was planning where he needed to not be aware of the story she fabricated?

But the desire to fight for answers had been softened in her, so she simply found herself nodding.

He left her to sleep, and with a tired but clearer mind, she pondered over what she could do.

The main thing that needed to be avoided was a true interrogation. Maeve had a bad feeling that the guards were gathering evidence to be able to justify one, and if she could even stall them on it to come up with a larger plan, that’d be great.

The biggest lie they’d certainly caught her in by now was the potionmaking. That proved to them that she was hiding something. Would it be best to somehow “prove” to them that she did make the transformation potion? Planting evidence of her work, that after dropping out of the Academy she pursued potion brewing as a hobby?

It might point them to look at her as a suspect for the enchantment potions, but probably there were ways around that…

Another option was to come clean to them before they could magically force her to -- go to Sylvia and tell her at least some of the truth. Say that she didn’t make the transformation potion in a way that took suspicion off of her and didn’t point them to Castian.

Maeve thought about how she’d do that. The best lies, in her experience, were hidden beneath layers of truth. She could also rely on guessing some of the things that Ashton had revealed to the guards -- like whatever he’d told them about her relationship with “Kairon.”

She’d go back to work after another day off. Tomorrow, she was going to go see Sylvia.

Sylvia was exactly where she had been the first time Maeve was in the guardhouse, attending to various books and parchments behind the desk. Seeing Maeve walk in, it was the first time she saw more than an expressionless mask on Sylvia’s face -- shadows of surprise playing across it.

“Maeve Loravyr,” Sylvia said. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Maeve took a breath. “I need to share something with you, for the investigation. I… I wasn’t completely honest when we last spoke.”

Sylvia nodded, a little cautious, perhaps, but not entirely untrusting. “Follow me to the other room, please.”

She brought with her the enspelled parchment and quill, and they took seats across the table from each other. The very real, tight nerves that Maeve was feeling were in her favor -- she was sure she looked flustered and stressed. Sylvia cast a magic detection spell, and then they began.

“What did you want to correct?” Sylvia asked.

“So…” Maeve started, “I didn’t make the transformation potion.”

Sylvia began writing. “Who did?”

“...Kairon,” she replied. “He was the one who tipped me off about Foxtail, and he was the one who made arrangements so that I could get in.”

“How close were you to him?” Sylvia asked.

“Somewhat,” Maeve said, quietly, trying to play the role of the blushing maiden. “I didn’t know him very well -- he was guarded around me -- but he was guiding me, and I was… drawn in.”

“I’ll ask you this again,” Sylvia said, “do you know where he is now?”

Maeve shook her head. “He disappeared without a trace after I was kidnapped.”

“Where did you meet him first?” Sylvia asked.

“At the tavern I’m staying at; the Noble Dove,” Maeve admitted. “Over a game of cards.”

She had flashes of memory of it, warm and almost nostalgic. Sylvia nodded, continuing to write.

“Do you have anything else to share?” she asked.

“No,” Maeve said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t completely honest at first. I was… nervous. But I hope this helps.”

“Thank you,” Sylvia said. “If that’s all, you may leave.”

Maeve thanked her in return.

It was a little after noon when she got back to the Dove -- too late to really go to the guild and too early to spend the rest of the day drinking. It left her with unease; she should be happy about having a day off, some time to do whatever she wanted, but it felt like the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone and without a distraction.

Maeve felt like the interaction with Sylvia had gone well. She hadn’t floundered, and her story made sense. But there was a good chance this didn’t end here. There was likely going to be a need to somehow monitor the investigation from the outside, create some fake leads, or plant some evidence… The initial part, though, was done.

The issue was that she was exhausted by the prospect of it. She felt trapped -- by the stress, by the lies, by what was to come weighing over her, and by the unknown. At the same time as she desperately needed a break, the free time she had ahead of her today just filled her with cloudy thoughts and the feeling of urgency and planning.

Maeve sighed. She missed her friends -- she even felt a little yearning for Grant’s simplicity of dealing with problems by chopping their heads off. But she wasn’t in much of a mood to invite them out for drinks later.

There was a bathhouse in town that boasted hot water and large, pool-like tubs -- it was pricey, but perhaps worth it to spend a little extra on herself today.

The water was deliciously hot and she couldn’t touch one end of the tub from the other. Maeve tried to lose track of time while soaking, and ended up spending the better part of a couple hours in the water. Afterwards, she ate food from their tavern service -- roasted fowl and greens that reminded her of her parents’ cooking. The water was kept warm by magic, after all, and she wondered if the people preparing food were doing so with spellcraft, too.

Back at the Dove at sundown, she ordered herself some ale and sat to watch the people coming in.

Castian wasn’t here, and Delilah and the crew had been a bit turned off from surprising her with visits since the last time they’d “caught” her with him. Maeve remembered the last time she was simply sitting at the bar and taking in the atmosphere of the tavern -- some weeks back, watching Castian swindle a woman out of coin.

There were games of cards being played at a couple of the tables, and if it had been a better day, perhaps she would even be tempted to join. Several people were having a loud meal, some of whom she recognized as staying through the past few weeks.

Maeve herself had been staying at the Dove for several months now. It wasn’t uncommon for adventurers or guilders to be nomadic, but she was finding herself wondering if she might switch to one of the nicer taverns in town sometime.

Eventually, tipsy from drink, she headed up to bed -- tomorrow, she finally went back to the guild.

Maeve slept well enough and woke in the morning to don her leathers and head downstairs for a bite of food before going to see what the jobs were for the day.

“Maeve Loravyr?” The innkeeper was calling her.

Oh -- oh no. She didn’t need the stress of this today. What was it now?

She walked over, stiffly, and he handed her a letter.

It had the town seal stamped in wax.

Shaking, she walked over to a table to open it. Surely -- it wasn’t --

‘Maeve Loravyr,’

‘This letter is to inform you that your presence is required at the guard house in one week for interrogation related to the AXXXXX case.’

‘This is an official and interrogative summons. We have gone through the legal process necessary to procure permission for this summons. There will be a mageguard conducting this interrogation with a Zone of Truth. Failure to respond will trigger a warrant.’

Her heartbeat was spiking high, pounding discomfort through her all the way down to her hands were trembling holding the parchment.

She’d failed. She didn’t know how, but she’d failed.

What had gone wrong? She thought the conversation with Sylva had gone so smoothly; she thought that she’d come up with a good story…

It would be fine. It would be fine. She would do something -- come up with something --

There were stinging tears prickling in her eyes from frustration, from stress. Hurriedly she folded the letter up and stuffed it into her satchel, pressing her palm against her eyelids to stop it all from coming out. Trying to steady her breathing --

“...Maeve?”

Delilah’s voice -- Maeve’s eyes shot open; she hadn’t noticed, but Delilah had come into the Dove over to her, and she had worry plainly over her face.

“Hey!” Maeve said, instantly stretching her quivering lips into a smile and swallowing the lump in her throat. “Good morning.”

Delilah folded her arms. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Maeve shook her head. “Nothing -- nothing. What are you doing here?”

“You skipped out on guildwork yesterday,” Delilah said. “So I wanted to come make sure you were OK. And you’re clearly not --”

“I’m fine,” Maeve insisted, but there was a tremor in it.

“You’re not,” Delilah said. “Maeve. Tell me what’s going on.”

The allure of sharing her stress with a trusted friend was so great, it seemed like the sweetest temptation presented in front of her. Maeve’s throat clenched and she worked hard to steady her expression. She just needed to play this off --

Delilah was looking at her, waiting.

“...I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry -- I can’t -- I can’t --”

“Why?” Delilah asked, the rising frustration in her voice transforming into concern. “Why can’t you tell me?”

She couldn’t give away that she was being investigated -- that she was lying to the guards -- that she’d helped Castian, a wanted criminal -- that she was obsessed with him -- that she was protecting him --

For her own horrible sexual satisfaction --

Maeve’s lips were tightly pursed, but her eyebrows were beginning to screw up, eyes prickling.

Delilah put a hand on her shoulder, soft, looking her straight in the eye.

“Is he… hurting you?” she asked quietly.

Yes -- it was all his fault -- helplessness, fear, frustration -- cuttingly shameful pleasure at the mention of it --

Maeve’s eyes widened and a sob rose to her lips, escaping, and then she was crying. A flash of anger crossed Delilah’s face, but she pulled Maeve into her arms, embracing her.

“No,” Maeve choked out against her shoulder. “No -- no, he’s -- no, it’s not --”

“Shh…” Delilah stroked her back. “It’s OK.”

For once, Maeve let herself stop talking, stop fighting, and let the tears come for just a few long moments while her friend held her.

When she finally fell quiet and her breathing had relaxed, Delilah pulled back.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, softly.

Oh, how Maeve wanted to.

“Not yet,” she whispered, and then a little more confidently, “not yet. Delilah, I -- I promise I’m going to be OK. I’m so sorry to worry you.”

Delilah sighed. “You know you can trust me, right? You don’t have to keep lying to me?”

Maeve nodded. “I know. I -- maybe I’ll tell you soon. It’s just -- there’s a lot going on, and it’s complicated, and I need to be a little… discreet.”

“Are you in trouble?” Delilah asked.

Maeve put on a small smile. “Nothing I can’t get myself out of.”

Delilah returned it. “Honestly Maeve -- if you need me to knock someone out for you -- and if that bastard sorcerer is hurting you --”

“I’m OK,” Maeve said, shaking her head. “It’s OK.”

Delilah took a breath, and seemed satisfied enough.

“Can you maybe…” Maeve started sheepishly, “not bring this up with the guys at the guild?”

“Are you sure?” Delilah said, grinning. “Haggr would dote on you if he knew you’d had a breakdown, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Maeve said. “Thank you.”

“Alright.” Delilah patted her shoulder. “Now let’s finally get to work, please!”

Delilah was good on her word and didn’t breathe a hint to Grant and Haggr that Maeve was going through something this morning, which made her feel a bit more at ease. But the interrogation summons in her satchel was too present for her to fully relax.

The job they took today was taking down a giant squid at the docks -- it had been worked into a territorial frenzy and was blocking several ships from departing. Fighting a creature of the sea turned out to be a task that required creativity -- Maeve could take shots at it by throwing darts, Delilah was all-too-happy to practice her skills with a bow (and Haggr was doing so in a less boisterous way), but Grant was frustratedly swinging his great axe into the water when it passed by the end of the dock. Eventually, they figured out how to herd the thing towards him enough for it to be sliced in two as he jumped into the choppy waves, axe swinging down.

Not their cleanest work, but it got the job done.

When Maeve got back to the Dove, the smell of saltwater in her hair, Castian was waiting for her at a table.

All of the stress and emotion gripped her upon seeing him, and she walked over with a sense of dread.

“Bad day?” he asked with a little smile.

…She couldn’t do this here. She wasn’t going to do this in the tavern.

Maeve reached out and gingerly grasped his wrist. He chuckled -- a horrible pleasant sound juxtaposed against her sharp anxiety and discomfort -- and let her lead him upstairs.

When she closed the door behind him, she didn’t know what to do. She needed to communicate to him what was happening -- she needed to scold him for misleading her -- she needed to tell him how Delilah was pushing to know things -- the interrogation summons --

Castian had taken a seat to wait patiently on the chair, watching her tremble, and she hated it.

All of the emotions twisted in her chest and throat, blocking her from being able to make the words. Every moment that Castian was silent made a wave of stress and anguish wrack through her gut, pushing something closer and closer --

“Go ahead,” Castian said calmly, smiling.

“...Help me,” she choked out, and then the tears started coming. “H-help me -- you -- they -- they’re --”

It was humiliating to feel herself sobbing in front of him, but she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Did they get the summons?” he asked.

“Yes,” she cried. “And -- and, Delilah… she --”

“And you’re having trouble keeping secrets from your friends?” he said, and finally got up.

Face hot and damp, she nodded. Castian came up to her and embraced her, as Delilah had earlier, but his touch was so different, firmer, sliding to sensitive parts on the back of her neck and above her hip instead of platonically comforting her. He leaned into her ear.

“You can’t do this alone,” he whispered. “You need me.”

His words squeezed inside of her, pulling up shame and the feeling that she was being manipulated -- that she had been manipulated and she didn’t even know how --

His voice lowered even further, to a breath, and she felt herself quiet her sobs to hear: “Because you are borderline incompetent. Because you are dependent on me.”

“No,” she moaned, sagging against him, feeling something breaking. “Please, no -- you’re -- you’re twisting my mind --”

“Am I?” he murmured, drawing back while gripping her shoulders so they were face-to-face. “Does it not seem true, Maeve? Can you deny the way you’ve struggled?”

All of her memories of the past week were tinged with stress -- thing after thing --

“And you are here begging me for help,” Castian said.

She was breathing heavily, staring at his expression laced with sadism, not wanting to plead herself further into his accusations but feeling like a trapped animal or a small child.

“You will need to trust me fully and completely,” he purred, bringing a hand to caress her cheek. “Against your better judgment, you will need to let me take control and put you in situations you don’t like.”

What he was saying to her filled her with uncertainty -- but with a sureness that she had been cornered into this position, into being too weak to fight or see any other options. But there was a strange, warm comfort in his words, the option to give up; it brought a sinuous and sexual yearning…

“Do you know part of why you’re so brittle and stressed?” he cooed.

Castian reached into the inside of his jacket and produced a glass vial that was filled with the swirling blue enchantment potion. Maeve gasped raggedly, her worn body suddenly fiercely filled with desire -- a reflection of her desire to let go to him, a physical representation of it --

“You haven’t been allowed to just relax and surrender, lately,” he said, darkly, pressing the vial against her cheek. “You haven’t gotten your fix.”

Maeve moaned, past the ability to control herself already, feeling her knees weaken under her.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please --”

“I’ll take care of everything,” Castian said, smiling. “Stupid girl.”

He uncorked the vial, and with his free hand he gripped her chin, pressing thumb and fingers firmly on either side of her face, making her mouth open and whimper. Her heart raced, her mind fired off panic and pleasure in tandem, but she was entirely helpless to stop him as she felt him pour the potion into her waiting lips.

She could feel the anticipatory chemicals flooding her brain and bloodstream, and she could feel the exact moment as they became enchanted -- as it all became enchanted. She watched his cruel grin and intent gaze grow fuzzy as her vision started going, her eyes starting to tingle and hum with magic and then that sensation sinking deeper in, behind them, to spots inside of her head that she could never reach --

The tension in her neck and shoulders was melting, all of her muscles melting and she was dimly aware that she was going limp, Castian catching her and guiding her sagging body to the floor. Less and less aware as the bliss started hitting her harder, and harder, even the memory of the unyielding waves of pleasure from the potion being wiped away, wiped clean, pumping through psychological and physical pleasure -- perfectly sweet and hot --

Folding in on herself -- becoming consumed -- he was talking to her and she couldn’t hear and couldn’t see --

Her body, saturated with control and magic, was tensing in one more anticipatory way, one final act before she was about to perfectly lose her consciousness, and --

...