The First Kiss
Sylus stood by the bed, his expression unreadable but his mind far from calm. The sight of her frail form, dwarfed by the robe, stirred something unfamiliar within him—a sharp, painful ache he couldn't name. He had faced countless battles, weathered betrayals, and ruled with an iron fist, yet this trembling figure before him felt like an entirely different kind of conflict.
Without a word, Sylus crossed the room toward her. She instinctively took a shaky step back, her trembling hands tightening on the robe as though it could shield her from him. But Sylus's pace didn't falter. His grip was firm yet careful as he took her arm and led her to the bed. Her bare feet dragged against the smooth floor, her small frame light in his grasp.
When they reached the bed, she hesitated, her wide, fearful eyes darting between him and the soft expanse of fabric. Her breaths came quick and shallow, and when she didn't comply, Sylus let out a soft, frustrated sigh. Instead of speaking further, he leaned down, sliding his arms beneath her frail body. The girl stiffened, a soft gasp escaping her lips, but she didn't resist as he lifted her effortlessly.
Her trembling intensified when he placed her on the bed. She sat exactly where he positioned her, her entire body tense, her eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. Sylus lingered in front of her, his piercing gaze scanning every inch of her exposed fear, every flinch and shiver.
Slowly, he reached for the edges of her robe. The girl's breath hitched audibly, her body recoiling slightly as his hands moved. She squeezed her eyes shut, her whole form quaking as though bracing for inevitable pain. Yet she didn't fight him. Her hands fell limply to her sides, a gesture of resignation that made something twist sharply in Sylus's chest.
With deliberate slowness, he pulled the robe from her shoulders, the fabric sliding down to pool around her waist. Her pale skin was revealed inch by inch, marked by a painful tapestry of bruises and scars. Old wounds had faded into thin, ghostly lines, while fresh marks painted her in angry purples and yellows. Her ribs, stark against her too-thin frame, spoke of neglect and hunger.
Sylus's jaw clenched as he took it all in. A foreign, seething anger churned within him, directed not at the girl but at whoever had dared to leave these marks on her. It was odd, he thought. He was no saint—not even close. Yet the sight of her suffering awakened a protective fury he couldn't suppress.
He lowered himself to her level, his crimson eyes locking onto her trembling form. His hand hovered above her shoulder before resting lightly on her skin. She flinched at the contact, her breath catching sharply, but he kept his touch impossibly gentle. His thumb brushed over the edge of a dark bruise, his movements uncharacteristically tender.
The girl's trembling didn't cease, but she didn't pull away. Instead, her breathing grew shallow, uneven, as though she couldn't understand why his touch didn't hurt. Sylus traced the bruises with his fingertips, his movements slow, deliberate, as though afraid she might shatter beneath his hands.
Leaning in, he let his breath brush against her skin before placing a feather-light kiss on a particularly dark bruise. Her entire body stiffened, a soft whimper escaping her throat, but she didn't recoil. He continued, his lips brushing over her shoulder, her collarbone, her fragile arms. Each kiss was light, fleeting, reverent.
"Whoever hurt you," he thought bitterly, "will never touch you again."
The girl's breaths began to slow, though they were still uneven. Her trembling lessened as the terror gripping her gradually loosened its hold. She didn't understand why he was doing this, but the absence of pain was undeniable. Her mind, so used to equating touch with violence, struggled to process the gentleness in his actions.
Sylus's gaze lifted to hers. Her wide, tear-filled eyes met his, a mix of fear and confusion swirling in their depths. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in the faintest whisper of a kiss. Her body stiffened at the unfamiliar sensation, a soft gasp escaping her lips, but he didn't push further. He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers as though seeking some unspoken understanding.
Her breathing hitched, but there was no resistance. Her lips parted slightly, not in defiance but in bewilderment. For the first time, she didn't flinch from him. Encouraged, Sylus leaned in again, his lips brushing hers more firmly this time, savoring the softness of the moment. She stiffened slightly but didn't pull away, her breath catching as the warmth of his mouth lingered against hers.
The girl's trembling fingers clutched the fabric beneath her, her body unsure whether to yield or flee, yet she stayed still. The kiss was tender, patient, and unhurried, as if Sylus were trying to convey something he couldn't articulate with words. Gradually, his movements grew bolder, his lips pressing more firmly against hers, capturing her fragile breath. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss with an aching deliberation that sent a shiver through her fragile form. His tongue brushed lightly against her lower lip, coaxing her to part her lips further, to allow him past the barrier of her uncertainty. Each touch carried an unspoken promise—not of dominance, but of a careful, deliberate claim to her trust.
His hand slid gently to her bare back, his fingers moving in soothing, deliberate strokes over her bruised skin, as though trying to erase the pain etched into her body. The warmth of his touch sent shivers through her, and though she stiffened again, her breath hitched in a way that hinted at something more than fear.
Sylus' lips moved with an intoxicating mixture of command and tenderness, coaxing her trembling form to relax against him.
Sylus pulled her closer, her trembling frame now pressed against his. Her breaths grew uneven, not from fear this time but from a new, unfamiliar sensation that sent a shiver through her.
Breaking the kiss, Sylus lingered near her face, his breath warm against her cheek. His lips trailed downward, brushing along her jawline with deliberate care before finding the curve of her neck. The girl's trembling persisted, her body taut with uncertainty, yet the fear that had gripped her earlier was melting into something more subdued. His lips pressed softly against the delicate skin of her neck, lingering as though savoring the fragility beneath. He trailed slow, feather-light kisses along her pulse point, feeling the faint, rapid flutter of her heartbeat beneath his lips.
Her breath hitched sharply, and her hands instinctively gripped the fabric beneath her, caught between yielding to the unfamiliar warmth of his touch and the remnants of her fear. A small, involuntary sound escaped her—a mixture of surprise and something she herself didn't fully understand. The vulnerability in her reaction only deepened the ache within Sylus, both tempting and restraining him in equal measure.
For a moment, the room was filled only with the sound of her shallow breaths and the faint hum of his control wavering, as he paused, his lips hovering against her skin, torn between continuing and stepping back. His jaw tightened as he wrestled with the potent mix of desire and restraint, and finally, with a sharp inhale, he stopped himself, pulling away just enough to meet her gaze again.
The fragile trust in her wide eyes held him in place, grounding him. The temptation to go further burned in him, but he quelled it, shifting to gather her trembling form against his chest.
"Enough for now," he thought, his arms encircling her protectively as he lay back on the bed.
Sylus shifted then, his movements measured and deliberate. He gathered her trembling form, lifting her effortlessly once more, and lay down on the bed with her. Her back pressed against his chest, his arms encircling her protectively. The girl remained tense for a moment, her small body rigid, but the steady rhythm of his breaths and the warmth of his presence began to calm her.
He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, his fingers brushing over her arm in soft, rhythmic motions. She relaxed by degrees, her breaths evening out as exhaustion finally overtook her fear. Her trembling ceased, replaced by the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest as sleep claimed her.
Sylus closed his eyes, his mind a tumult of unfamiliar emotions. For the first time in as long as he could remember, the night felt less like a battlefield and more like a fragile moment of peace.
And for the girl, though she didn't fully understand it, this was the first time touch had brought her something other than pain.