Cyrene watched with unblinking eyes as the powerful muscles of the orc before her rose and fell. Shuddering. Like tremors cascading down an ancient mountain. To the apprehensive mage, everything only served to consolidate the brutality of the orc kneeling...No...crouching before her. From the way Urganza's palms clenched, the blanching of her knuckles, the occasional nerve that jumped on her neck, to her well-toned legs peeking from the side slit in her long skirt. For one scandalously salacious moment, her eyes, unbidden, wandered further up those legs, wondering if the Orc wore her undergarments or if that subtle lush green texture was Urganza's own natural elegance.

Pulling her eyes, Cyrene admonished herself. Such thoughts were unbecoming of a Lady -- and, especially, when death lingered dangerously near.

"My intention....." Her words broke. Only unintelligible sounds spilled forth. Cyrene suppressed a sob and continued "I, myself cannot speak much about the nature of personal affection."

At her words, Cyrene felt every corded muscle of Urganza tightening; hardening like tempered steel.

The fear reared its ugly head again. Fear -- not for herself but for Antilorwe. Cyrene dived -- deep inside the turbulent whirlpool of her own memories, into the dark recess -- seeking any sliver of benevolence in Urganza she could recall. The only image she could cling to was in Arlond. She had offered Cyrene more, then. A safety, a place, and comfort that her modest self could provide. A dream, perhaps even beautiful for Urganza, yet a terrible nightmare for the troubled past self of Cyrene.

Perhaps, did the Orc trapped Antilorwe with a similar offer? After all, Cyrene had Rylonvirah with her then. Antilorwe could have been storm-tossed between opposing forces making it impossible to resist what Urganza offered. Protection in exchange for an uninhibited ravaging of Antilorwe’s own body? A vile thought that Cyrene found hard to accept. The noble Antilorwe would never stoop so low.

"Forgive me." Urganza's words flowed bitterly, hollowing out Cyrene's heart. The dagger of dread throbbed harder and harder inside her chest. A terrible pressure.

Cyrene shifted her gaze to see the Orc with resolute set. Those sharp amber-coloured eyes stared back -- deadly silent. Defiant. Silent implacability. A robust sword of emotional venom against her thinly veiled intentions. With rueful pity, her own eyes misting, realizing that the effort of building Antilorwe's security was futile -- because, Urganza was simply adamant.

"Urganza, I feel that you are better than you made yourself believe. That time at Arlond, you were brimming with valour. Your selfless actions.... So willing to protect." Cyrene could no longer look. Her wet eyes were promptly buried in her palms.

"I am not a noble hero. A mere mortal -- worse. A mere mortal who is prone to give into her own lust."

"There is nothing more pathetic or pitiful than a lover who cannot deny her true feelings -- nothing less decadent." The trembling of Cyrene's voice mirrored every bit of her inner turmoil.

"Yet, there is something even worse, much worse -- A lover whose oath means nothing. A lover who could only deliver excuses instead of vows."

Cyrene shattered under Urganza's words. A blow like the thunderous strike pounded from a titanic maul of cosmic proportions. Did the Orc really love Antilorwe? Cyrene refused to face the obvious answer, and more -- its venom-coated implication; she was responsible for the agony. She could not help but see the sharp features of the Orc shimmering in a new vibrant light. Her own grey-tinted view of Urganza -- obliterated. There was a veneer of emotion roaming on those rigid features -- emotions laced with pain and with grim contemplation.

"Will Antilorwe be spared?" In despair, Cyrene's hand reflexively touched her delicate throat. Then, with a sudden shock, her own bloodshot eyes were caught in the glare of Urganza's. And Cyrene, in all her delicate concerns, fears and apprehensions, never thought to see the barest hint of empathy in the Orc's eyes. She -- certainly -- failed in interpreting the subtle emotion leaking from the thick-hardened shell of Urganza.

"The Lady of the Manor is a fleeting mirage." The deliberate delivery of those ominous words cut deeper; far deeper. More painful than the venomous claws of unacknowledged guilt reaving her inner self. Worse. Cyrene felt her own heart -- a searing dagger carving through her own body.

"A very real and compassionate mirage but a mirage nevertheless," added Urganza.

The realisation came flooding forth, gnawing its way -- tearing open her very soul with cold determination. It tore her flesh; only flayed ribbons of anguish left in its cruel wake. Urganza called Antilorwe a mirage -- something to disappear at the closest approach. The harsh implication corroded her vision to blankness. Antilorwe; her Antilorwe is about to die; to be slaughtered.

Without warning, the red haze enveloped Cyrene's entire body, arcane holdings flared to life. Pulsated with coaxing whispers. Urging her to bargain -- to bargain one more time. The locked armatures of her mind -- held by chains so black, struggling, fraying and reeling like angry ophidians in an icy prison -- gave way to an arcane lull of power. Her resolute will slowly ebbing. That frightening edict -- the lifeless pale form of Antilorwe, her punishment for a crime not her own -- echoed incessantly throughout her senses. Tensely trembling, Cyrene gripped beyond the elemental powers that shaped the realm. To barter with forces that only a planar mage could. To plead for Antilorwe.

Only the ephemeral memory of Tristan -- or rather the effect of her inconsiderate act -- shackled her from venturing too far.

One last time. Reason argued. Allure -- promises -- tender embraces -- deal -- survive. Like a precise clockwork pattern, the design of temptation continued. Cyrene felt her heart smother itself, contracting painfully against her fragile walls. Her soul spoke. Begged. So peaceful; gentle undertones filling into a cavernous hollow, providing consolation. One last time -- to save Antilorwe.

Cyrene grind her teeth and denied all. She would not. She would bargain with the Overlord instead.

"Urganza, what can I promise, in exchange for Antilorwe?"

---

Urganza thought that her senses betrayed her. Her mind, driven by an overwhelming surge of emotions, finally gave, casting only phantoms that whisper in the wind. All those sentiments, the shame, the exhilaration, the redemption, the eternal oath; a mortal soul could only bare so much before thawing.

But Cyrene's words were anything but true. No falsity or conjuration of her eager mind.

Urganza's gratitude for Antilorwe bloomed. Cunning and convoluted as it might be, the plan of the High-elf did indeed lead to desired results. Cyrene's words just stirred the conscious perceptions of her own self. Did she really have those effects on Cyrene? So many things Urganza could say, so many emotional throes she felt surging, swelling like a primordial force engulfing the cold void. But even those are trifles to the absolute and magnificent adorableness of Cyrene.

Cyrene wants her to leave Antilorwe. In spite of reserving all those noble virtues of mercy and forgiveness for Urganza, deep down, Cyrene is still an insecure girl seeking validity and definitely not immune to petty jealousy. What other implications could those words of Cyrene carry? Except, a clear and confident message -- in a not-so-confident manner -- "I will forgive you, leave Antilorwe for me."

Urganza could never get used to the refined and complicated ways of thinking that moulded the high-born women. After all, she is a simple orc with proficiencies in three things; done in consecutive order. Point a heavy axe, grunt and split skulls. And none of those required complexities in cognitive thinking. On the contrary, what Antilorwe suggested, to incite jealousy in Cyrene, the veracity of how it came to fruitfulness, simultaneously baffled and astonished Urganza.

"What would calm your sense, Urganza?" asked Cyrene. Tears slowly stained her lovely cheeks.

Something twitched within Urganza. Something very wrong -- inherently wrong. Those tears of Cyrene lanced through her. The plan was to ease approaching a jealous Cyrene, not fill her tender being with more pain and tears. She wanted to give her very self to Cyrene. Giving was the key; not taking the little comfort that resided in her. The sincere expression that the Mage wore flooded her mind, inciting a sickening feeling of goading, a ravening bitterness and rancourous self-hatred corroding every corner of Urganza's being.

Cyrene is her love, the one she swore to cherish. Not a pawn in a game -- tossed aside. Her emotions stroked only to elicit amusing reactions. The part she played. How easily it happened. The knowledge of it; twisted and tormented Urganza. Contrition pulsed uncontrollably through her. Unforgiving, harsh, sardonic. Cyrene loved her, despite all her flaws, yet, her cowardly self could only repay with the devious ruse. Deep in her soul, Urganza saw the mangled image of Cyrene falling onto the ground, struck by her own callous stupid actions.

With a steel-encased resolution, Urganza decided to come clean.

"Cyrene, you are all that I need. A million dawn, I would sacrifice to hold you for a night. I swear upon all my life -- be mine. My love for you has never waned, not since Arlond. Your laughter, your touch, your gentle eyes -- it made me bask in sentiments that I thought were lost."

Her own words, fell in tandem with a gentle warmth spreading across her flesh. The softest of pressure grabbed Urganza and stroked her psyche into a peaceful serenity. Almost as if the heavy oppressive pressure lifted and only the gentle velvet caress of Cyrene remained to be experienced.

Liberated -- by her own verbal acknowledgement -- from her encrusted hard cage of low self-worth, Urganza continued; words flowing undeterred and rapidly. "I was a hollow shell of a raider. Knew only to take, never give or provide, until Arlond. And then you were there. Silent yet strong, weak yet courageous, simple yet elegant. Calling me. Bringing a better version of me. And when you refused, I saw very little of me. I felt nothing anymore."

Before Urganza could realise it, her lips refused to yield to stop the eloquent speech. Every word carved through. Sentiments poured. She could feel the tiny ember of warmth glowing in her chest, pulsating in delight, propelling her towards -- what -- blissful serenity?

"And fate brought me to you. You returned -- more beautiful, alluring, charming, sensual and.... free of all those shackles that held you. Cyrene, you were audacious enough to break free and reach beyond all that sought to bind you. And I was just a dumb orc, failing to consider your own feelings. In a desperate attempt to lure you, I changed everything. Brought you lower -- tarnished all that selfless love."

"I should not have gone to...No!....Involved Antilorwe...."

But her words were cut short by Cyrene's cold voice, laced with impatience. Baring all previous hesitance, Cyrene raised herself. A subtle hue of hardness -- an attribute that Urganza thought the simple Cyrene incapable of -- mingled generously in her tone.

"If I give myself to you, will Antilorwe --" Cyrene's word made Urganza's mind reel "-- be spared your wrath."

Urganza recoiled. Shocked. Her mind blanked. At the mention of Antilorwe's name, a virulent sensation built within her. Her overwhelmed mind stopped. The potent presence of the elf was a boundless ocean lapping gently against her robust hull; incessantly. And the ache that accompanied only culminated with each wave. Now that her task is complete, would she simply discard Antilorwe like a defective tool? The notion turned her very veins into thorny serpentine creatures writhing inside.

Had this question been posed before the previous night, before her stepping into the manor, the answer would have been trivial. Simple. Unconfounded. Urganza would have answered without sparing a second thought. But what she now felt for Antilorwe, what they felt together, at once. Those touches, those luscious lips, the inflamed passion and what they shared, she knew, very well, those sentiments binding her to Antilorwe were every bit as valid as what she felt for Cyrene. It was difficult to surrender something so precious and valuable.

"Forgive me, Cyrene," Urganza was filled with sorrowful remorse. Her voice, a mess of discordant unison, sent a piercing sensation bursting along her spine. "My own feelings on Antilorwe are murky, at best."

Urganza glanced to see Cyrene's slender feet touch the ground, and then the girl lurched towards her. Her lips pressed on Urganza's own; and continued that sweet succulent push ignoring the sharp stinging pain from the Orc's extended tusk. The softness of those coral lips crushed Urganza. Her hands dug deeply into Urganza's chiselled back, propelling her tongue inside. Urganza, powerless to resist the enticing force let the warmth of Cyrene take over her.

Urganza tilted her head, anticipatingly. Her vision faded. There was only the zealous delight of Cyrene, her ethereal presence surrounding her. She breathed Cyrene and her world dissolved around the gorgeous mage. Every battle-defined muscle of Urganza refused at that moment, fearing that their gesture would break the sublime affection delivered from Cyrene. Sapped of her own will and strength, Urganza could only, and hungrily, await the taste of sweetness fed through those inviting lips.

Those velvet lips explored her receptive mouth. Tongues duelled. Cyrene's minty breath spread over Urganza's heated skin. Warm hands sensually caressed her naked arms. With a tug that is impossible to resist, Urganza felt those keen eyes staring at her. Vivid dazzling emerald eyes peering her inner soul. Urganza's heart throbbed, beating faster and harder. The ache slowly rose from her inner core, the ache to be devoured -- by Cyrene.

Just as serendipitous as the kiss was, Cyrene broke it with the same fervour.

Cyrene's dainty hands cupped Urganza's cheeks with surprisingly immeasurable strength. "Answer me Urganza. Do you wish to witness the commitment behind my promise?" The rich timbre of her vibrant tones crashed on Urganza like a sudden grand symphony.

Urganza shuddered. Overwhelmed by the ecstasy invading her very being, she found it difficult to reply. All she heard was the truth behind Cyrene's question. She wanted the Mage to know how deeply cherished her tender act meant to her. How her soft lips and satin tongue set her ablaze. Sent the blood flowing in her veins boiling. Trepidation encased her. How could she begin to capture in words, those magnanimous excitement or the magnitude of her enthusiasm or the endless tide of love she possessed towards Cyrene?

"Cyrene, your very aura overwhelms me," Urganza leaned closer, thrusting her neck, drawing in more of Cyrene with every deep inhale, "Those lips of yours, they wrap me with a promise of sweet nectar. Spirits around and by the tusks of my brother, sometimes, craving you is an illusive feeling radiating and you, with your incomparable grace, an enigmatic dream."

Cyrene's eyelids fluttered. She narrowly blinked a spilling teardrop away. The words of the Orc High-Lady echoed, shattering her own resolve. Where she expected Urganza to be a field of an unkempt tangled mess of weeds and creepers, her declaration was anything but a beautiful fragrance of jasmine wafting through. Like finding a harmonious chorus amidst cacophony. It was the first time, that she experienced the bold Eloquence of Urganza to reach out beyond her tongue and touch her entire being. In ways -- though she loathed to admit -- almost akin to Antilorwe.

"But....but..." A sigh escaped her tight lips. Alluring. Moist. A torturous torment flowed from those provocative lips. "What about your own desire, Urganza?"

Urganza flustered, deeper. Cyrene's loving smile settled upon her face. Her silken hand smoothed down. The muscles tightened, carving new routes to her supple neck. All that held, and yearned to be touched, desired the healing touch of Cyrene's embrace. Focusing with intoxicated eyes, Cyrene's long black hair running wild and wispy, glowing skin, mesmerizing smile, and a cloying scent. Smooth cheeks. The glitter of emerald eyes and the warm hearth of Cyrene's kiss, demanding satisfaction. Everything -- an impassable dream that is impossible to ignore.

"Cyrene, are you sure? I mean here....." Urganza stammered. "My raging desires aside. We do not have to rush. Do anything that you are uncomfortable with."

The urge to protect, nurture, treasure and shelter, flashed within Urganza's fiery depth. By sheer miracle, her strength resurfaced. Her palms tracing curves on the warm skin of Cyrene's arms, Urganza said,

"Your consent is more important than my desires."

Cyrene found her own resolute firmness on shaky grounds. What kind of enchantment did Urganza bring? Was it a deep cajoling grasp of love she witnessed? Did Urganza always possess such a soft and noble inner self, hidden deep inside all those spiked and rough exteriors? Thoughts about the full intent, of Urganza, of her own actions, began to shift, taking a shape that Cyrene dared not to face.

Slowly, steadily, Cyrene's own conviction started weighing heavier upon her. Unable to break from the path she paved herself but still powerless to stop the second seductive presence seeping deep within, claiming room where there should have been space only for one -- only for Antilorwe. The notion chased away all her other thoughts, propelling Cyrene towards a frightening and devious revelation.

Was she content with being wooed by both of them simultaneously? Perhaps the arrival of Urganza would add a small spice to the mix and whet her appetite even further. Still stunned, much too shocked by the discovery of her own lewd and lecherous thoughts, on her own faltering devotion to Antilorwe, Cyrene forced herself forward, dispersing all those whimsical and traitorous notions.

After all, she is only doing all this to save Antilorwe's life. No personal feelings whatsoever.