The key to survival, Catherine had learned long ago, was not strength, but adaptation.
To be the water that takes the shape of its container.
Tonight, the container was the expectation of a powerful man, and she had to be the dark, melancholic wine he would desire to drink.
When the heavy study doors opened, she did not turn immediately. She remained by the window, her back to the door, a solitary silhouette contemplating the falling night, the sapphire necklace he had given her shining coldly against her skin.
"My Oracle!" Valerius's voice was a boom of satisfaction, the call of an owner to his most prized pet. "I crushed those fools at the council today.
A victory that deserves to be celebrated. Come, I've had a wine brought up that has seen more than a century pass."
She turned slowly. Her face, which she had so carefully prepared, was a work of art of ethereal grief. Her eyes seemed to hold ancient sorrows, and a cloud of mystical preoccupation veiled her features. The performance began.
Valerius's smile faded, replaced by a flicker of possessive concern.
"What is it? What has happened?"
"The echoes," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. She approached him, placing a hand on his chest as if seeking an anchor.
"The file your servant brought… The spirits trapped within it are loud. Their suffering… it resonates inside me. It is a deep darkness, Magistrate."
Her explanation was perfect.
She was not complaining; she was stating a mystical fact, a burden she carried for him. His concern morphed into a kind of protective pride.
This was his Oracle, and she was suffering to help him.
"Hush, my poor thing," he said, taking her in his arms.
His hand stroked her back, a gesture meant to be comforting but already laden with desire.
"Think no more of these ghosts. I am here.
I am solid. Anchor yourself to me. Let my strength chase away the shadows."
It was exactly what she wanted.
She let herself sag against him, feigning a fragility that invited him to be strong.
He led her to the armchairs, poured her wine, but the atmosphere was no longer celebratory.
It was one of consolation, a far more potent form of foreplay for a man with his ego. He no longer just wanted to celebrate his victory; he wanted to be the cure for his precious acquisition's ailment.
The conversation was brief.
He quickly sensed that words were useless.
He set down his glass, then took hers from her hands and set it down as well. He leaned in and kissed her, a kiss that was meant to be tender but was already heavy with his hunger.
Catherine responded to it, but her kiss was a technical thing, a learned response.
While their tongues brushed, her mind was reciting a list of names: Lars Jensen, Jun-Ho Park, Solari, Van Der Meer… Elmer.
He lifted her effortlessly and carried her, not to the desk this time, but toward the adjoining bedroom, his own private sanctum.
He laid her down on the immense bed, its black silk sheets cold against her skin.
The glow from the fire in the next room cast dancing shadows on the walls, turning the bedroom into an intimate theater stage.
What followed was a study in contrasts, a storm of flesh observed from a perfectly calm eye of a hurricane.
Valerius undressed her with a feverish haste, his thick hands eager to possess what he believed was his. Every touch, every caress, was an affirmation of his ownership.
Catherine let him, her body responding with exquisite precision. She arched her back when she was meant to, moaned softly when his fingers found her wet heat, her legs wrapping around his waist as if it were her own desire guiding her.
She was an actress at the peak of her craft.
As he captured her mouth, she turned her head slightly, her lips brushing his ear. "Show me what power is, Magistrate… true power…"
This whisper, not a plea but a challenge, drove him mad. He penetrated her with a powerful thrust, a triumphant growl escaping his throat.
The rhythm he set was that of a conqueror, fast, brutal, entirely focused on his own pleasure.
And Catherine became his dance, his echo. Her body moved with his, her nails lightly scratching his back, her feigned moans building a symphony of passion that fed his ego and pushed him further.
But inside, she was marble.
While he thrust into her, her mind was far away. She was seeing the scarred face of The Rook. She was visualizing the wax seal.
She was planning the next message for Mathieu.
Valerius's body was just a warm, rhythmic pressure, background noise for her calculations. She felt the hot seed spill inside her, and even this ultimate invasion was just another data point.
A biological transaction she registered without emotion. She was a whore again, but this time, the price wasn't a few copper coins. It was an empire.
He collapsed on top of her, as he had the first time, sweaty and breathless. He kissed her, the taste of him filling her mouth.
"You are divine," he gasped. "You chase away all shadows."
He rolled onto his side, keeping her pulled tightly against him, his hand possessive on her hip. In the quiet afterglow, as his breathing deepened, Catherine played her final card.
She let a light shiver run through her body, a tremor he could not miss.
"What is it, my treasure?" he asked, his voice drowsy.
"The voices… they won't be silent," she whispered, her own voice laced with a vulnerable exhaustion. "The file… it opened a door in my mind. To decipher their warnings for you, I need silence. Solitude. A true sanctuary where I can focus without being disturbed."
He propped himself up on an elbow, his protective instinct fully activated. He was the only one who could care for his tortured Oracle.
"You are right," he said with a new gravity. "You cannot work under these conditions. I have just the thing. There is a forgotten library in the north wing of the manor. It is isolated, soundproof. No one has set foot in it for years. It has its own small entrance to the gardens."
He pulled her closer, placing a kiss on her forehead.
"I will give you the only key. It will be your domain. No one, not even I, will enter without your express permission. You will have the silence you need to serve me."
Catherine closed her eyes, hiding the flash of glacial triumph that shone within them. She had succeeded.
He wasn't just offering her a room, but a headquarters. An inviolable sanctuary, granted by her jailer himself.
"Thank you, my lord," she whispered, her voice full of perfectly performed gratitude. "You are my only anchor in this storm."