Crossworld Swordplay

The corridor was silent, save for the soft patter of rain against stained-glass windows. Damp stone. Candlelight. The first years halls towards the male dorms had emptied swiftly after the duel—no one wanted to cross Damon Valtair tonight.

His footsteps echoed with cold purpose as he climbed the stairwell, boots trailing water across polished floors. Lina followed at a pace just behind him—silent and careful.

She hadn't spoken since the courtyard.

When they reached his door, he opened it without a word and stepped inside.

A modest chamber, by noble standards—though better than most. A bed with a carved frame. A basin and stand. A rack for weapons. Firewood that hadn't been touched in days. Books, some borrowed and never returned. Everything is sharp, arranged, and functional.

He sat on the edge of the bed and began to unfasten his soaked boots. Rain dripped from his sleeves.

Lina lingered by the doorway until he looked at her. 

She moved instantly—head lowered, fingers clasped. She took a cloth from the basin stand, wet it, and wrung it out, then knelt without a word.

Her hands were small. Pale. A little red from the cold.

She tugged off his boots, careful not to splash, and pulled his feet toward the basin. Steam rose faintly from the warmed water as she lowered them in.

Damon watched her. Not leering. Not smiling. Just watching—quiet and distant, like he was observing an experiment unfold.

She dipped the cloth and gently brushed it over his arch, then the heel. She worked slowly, tenderly, with the kind of reverence only fear and admiration could birth.

"You're incredible, my lord," she said softly. Her voice didn't tremble this time—it was polished with a practiced warmth. 

He raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

Lina's fingers glided between his toes, her cheeks faintly flushed. She wasn't looking at his face. Not directly. Her attention was focused downward, like that would make her words seem truer.

"The way you moved… the way you struck him, over and over… I've never seen someone fight like that. Not even the senior heir," she murmured. "You made the others look like—like paper dolls holding sticks."

Damon didn't reply.

She paused, dipping the cloth once more before rubbing the ball of his foot in slow, deliberate circles.

"It was beautiful," she said softly. "Even the cruelty. Especially the cruelty." 

That drew a low chuckle from him.

"And yet," Damon murmured after a beat, "you didn't have faith in me~"

Her hands froze.

"I saw you, just at the edge of the circle. When I was on my knees. You looked ready to beg me to concede. You probably even tried."

He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead with idle fingers.

"I—I only…" She faltered. "I didn't want you to embarrass yourself." 

"Mm. Embarrass myself?" he echoed, amused.

"I was… blinded," Lina said at last, her voice softening into something hushed and intimate. "A terrible maid, truly. When you turned away at first, I felt relieved. But then… something in me ached. It felt wrong, and I didn't understand why."

She swallowed, meeting his gaze from where she knelt.

"But when I saw you rush back into the fight… all that doubt shattered. The knot in my chest unraveled. In that moment, I knew you'd win. I swear it, my lord." 

"You knew?" 

She nodded slowly, her fingers pressing into his heel with renewed devotion.

"You were never going to lose," she whispered. "Not even if he'd begged the gods for help." 

He leaned back, staring at the wooden ceiling. "Say it again."

She blinked. "What?"

He turned his head just slightly—enough for her to see the glint in his eye. "Say it again. What I am."

She swallowed. Then, softly:

"You're incredible, my lord."

"And?"

"The strongest man I've ever seen."

He let that sit.

Then: "Good girl."

Her shoulders eased. She lowered her head, dipping the cloth again and starting on his other foot—slower now. She worked with a silent grace, and Damon allowed the silence to return. The weight of the day seeped out through the warm basin, the gentle strokes, and the distant crackle of thunder still rolling over the academy.

Eventually, he spoke again—voice low and even, the way a man might comment on the weather, not issue a command.

"Undress."

It wasn't a request.

Nor a barked order.

Just a fact, spoken aloud—as if the outcome had already been decided.

Lina froze for half a heartbeat. Then she stood.

Her fingers found the ties at her waist, hesitant at first—then smoother, as she got slightly less tense. One by one, the layers of damp fabric slid from her frame, the folds whispering as they fell. She didn't meet his gaze, but she felt it—steady, precise, weighing every inch of her like a measure of worth.

She folded her clothes and placed them neatly on the edge of the chair, her movements careful and ceremonial. Then she returned to her knees, naked now beneath the low candlelight.

Damon leaned back, now fully settled in bed against the headboard, watching her with the same expression he'd worn in the courtyard—distant, cold, calculating.

A flicker of hunger stirred in his eyes, nestled right beside the control.

"Get on," he said, patting the sheets beside him. 

Her feet patted against the floor as she circled the bed. 

Lina climbed onto it without hesitation, lying down on her back as the damp strands of her hair fanned across the pillow.

Her breath came lightly now, barely audible over the faint crackle of thunder beyond the windows. He rose, slow and deliberate, shedding his shirt with one hand, his boots already drying by the fireless hearth.

The sheets rustled.

He didn't kiss her....

He didn't ask if she was ready.

He simply took her.

The act was not cruel, but it was possessive. Each movement was a statement. A reclamation. As if, in claiming her, he was erasing the last traces of Thorne Veras from her skin.

She didn't resist.

Not once.

And when it was done, he lay beside her, chest rising with the quiet rhythm of spent exertion. The candlelight threw long shadows across the chamber walls. Lina lay curled into his side, her fingers grazing the lines of his collarbone, tentative.

"We'll do that again."

She nodded against him, voice hushed. "Yes… my lord."

His hand drifted through her hair, trailing down the nape of her neck, as if testing her silence.

"Next time, I expect you to ask for it."

Lina's breath caught. She didn't move. Just whispered:

"…I will."

Outside, the stormlight flickered against wet glass. The academy slept in uneasy quiet.

And Damon Valtair smiled faintly in the dark. Not from the soft heat pressed against him.

From certainty.

Dominance had a taste to it.

And now that it was on his tongue, he would not give it up.