Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Your hands are freezing,” Lucanis grumbles. He turns over to kiss warmth into Rook’s fingertips, intending to start nearest her wedding ring as he always does.

A pull at his scalp gives him pause and he swipes around blindly to find what he is stuck on. When he shifts, there is a sharp jab at his shoulder and a strange texture beneath his palm.

A number of things come to him in the moment that follows. First is the familiar, cloying smell that is lodged in the back of his throat, one that even years of peace cannot erase from his memory. Next, bleary eyes now open, he notices the stain. Strands of his hair are matted to the sheets.

The weak dawn sunlight haloes her wild head of curls. He cannot see her eyes, but he can see the gaping smile stretched across her pale throat. His old dagger, meticulously maintained, is half-buried between their pillows.

The noise that tears itself from Lucanis is enough to startle the birds from the trees, but not enough to drown out the discordant cackle echoing in his head.