Story: Nothing's Wrong With Dale - Tumblr Posts

I'm gonna delude myself into thinking that last part was a confession...cuz I can. Also great work on this chapter!!!! Loved it!

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Twenty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] Part Twenty

Your turn catches Breighton’s attention and you both move to allow Dale and Grandfather into the loose circle that your group has formed.

Greetings fly around as everyone is introduced yet again while you hope this is enough of a disruption for the topic of conversation to change. 

You haven’t even had a chance to hear about anything truly new and interesting about medical studies from this world yet.

“Lord Dale,” Dr Louisa says, a glint in her eye you don’t trust. “We were just discussing demonology laws. Given my area of study and given Northridge’s historically rigid stance on the laws forbidding any practice or study of the Depths, I was curious as to what your opinion on the matter was. Or yours as well, Lord Northridge, if anything has changed in that regard.”

You nearly have a heart attack at her bold question. Was the fact that only Grandmother was specifically warned against made her think that meant Grandfather is a more amenable target? Didn’t she realize the original warning was for her own benefit, not Grandmother’s? Your eyes dart to Grandfather and you brace yourself for whatever he’s going to say—you doubt Dale will be able to speak first.

Grandfather frowns sternly at Dr. Louisa, looking at her as if she had asked his opinion on the merits of running around naked with an unsheathed sword in the muck. “My stance has not changed, if you mean to say that Northridge should permit such activities within our lands or that any of the laws written by Lady Northridge should be repealed.” There’s no give to his words, no gentling them or self-consciousness. As if he had been asked if he still thought it was water in the river and couldn’t understand why that was a question in the first place.

He continues reproachfully, “A very audacious question, but I suppose given the foolhardy nature of your studies, unsurprising. Studying the intersection of materials from the Depths with an eye towards our medicine, except in how to counteract their poisonous effects, is the height of arrogance and recklessness. Northridge’s laws remain the gold standard and if everyone were wise enough to adopt them, then the violence and grief in the world would suffer a great blow.”

Dr. Louisa blinks back, clearly not having expected such a definitive and blunt dismissal of her entire field. Teresa pulls her goblet up to her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her grin. “I see,” is all Dr. Louisa manages.

Hopefully, that puts an end to her desire for drama or debate on the topic and you can finally move on. 

Unfortunately, not everyone shares your opinion.  Kenneth asks, seemingly unable to resist stirring the pot further, “And you, Lord Dale?”

“Hm,” Dale gives his head a little shake, as if bringing himself back to the conversation. “Oh.” The thoughtful frown on his face deepens as he rubs a hand on his chin. He gives Grandfather an apologetic look before he shakes his head. “I’m afraid I do not entirely agree.”

Grandfather turns to give Dale a look of parental skepticism, the kind given when a child expresses an opinion the parent feels they cannot be qualified to speak on. “No?” 

Is that a good attitude for Grandfather to have or a bad one? You’re not sure. It’s not suspicious at least.

“No,” Dale repeats. Is it only because of your knowledge of his nature that you see in his eyes when he makes the decision to truly present an opinion other than agreement on this, most delicate of topics. Does it read merely as bracing one’s self to a parent to the others? Or is it only you who can tell what placing his glass down means?

Dale opens his mouth, closes it with a frown, before he begins again, “I understand the motivation behind the laws Grandmother championed at a national level and agree with the vast majority of them.” His voice is careful and firm, but you see him fiddle with a cufflink before continuing, “However, if I am being honest, I feel Northridge’s ban is ultimately to our own detriment.” 

This is a risk and you don’t know why Dale is taking it. Obviously, since he’s a demon you assume he must have a less than glowing opinion of Northridge’s stance, but why press that now? Now, when Grandfather had finally backed off? He’s clearly being careful with his words, but why say them at all? 

When Grandfather opens his mouth to object, Dale barrels onward, obviously having committed to this conversation, “I certainly do not think the danger is not real or present, however, a complete ban prevents us from truly understanding that danger and prevents us from learning best to counter and deal with such a thing, if it were to arise.”

Your thoughts race with each new word out of Dale’s mouth. Is he trying to test the waters? To see if Grandfather will bend? And to what point? What is he planning? For the first time in a while, you let your worries about what Dale has planned overwhelm your worries for what others have planned for him. What does he want? Why is he still here? Is trusting in him the biggest mistake you’re ever going to make? Why is this the line he’s walking, that he’s pushing?

“Banning the knowledge and materials needed to summon or create portals is what keeps us safe from the very danger they present,” Grandfather scolds.

“What about the Fallridge fire ten years ago?” Dale counters. He glances at the group, likely seeing unfamiliarity with this incident. His eyes end their scan on you and he elaborates, “While home from school, a student tried to use substandard ingredients and whatever notes he could sneak into Northridge to open a portal. The result killed him and everyone within the block.” He turns back to Grandfather. “Let alone the others who died when those firesprits ran loose and no one knew how to seal the portal or banish them?”

You wince at the description of the incident, though you’ve heard similar stories before about summoning mistakes, or those who were summoned correctly but with the intent of causing harm. It does sound like a larger death toll than usual, especially if no one had the supplies or training to put an end to the incident or the demons. 

It’s also an interesting angle for Dale to come at this from. You were worried he’d just suggest a repeal to the bans, that having such strict laws is holding the fief back, as you’re certain the original Dale had thought. This Dale though… he’s certainly not trying to downplay the danger demons can present, if anything you think having such trained personnel would only make it hard for him to remain undetected. Why is he going there with this argument? Just hoping to propose stricter protection in order divert suspicion?

“And how bad could it have been if he’d done so correctly?” Grandfather snaps back, but he looks uncomfortable. “What about all the other disasters that the ban prevented from happening?”

Dale looks disappointed in Grandfather’s answer although you think it's a fair question to ask. “Firstly, you know I cannot prove a negative. Secondly, there are plenty of other fiefs that do not have bans who also do not have constant accidents like this. Thirdly, his warding is what failed which means if he’d done so correctly, it is less likely anything would have gotten through. And finally, having trained responders in the guards and our own schools to help combat such an accident could only have helped in this situation.”

Of course, that’s also a fair response. Your own fief, as best as you can remember it, has the same laws as the country as a whole and have not had significant incidents—at least, none that you heard of. While you were never particularly involved in anything regarding the running of your fief—that was your parents and brother and sister-in-law—they did frequently discuss such matters in front of you, having forgotten you were in the room in the first place. You’ve heard of accidents like that once or twice, but always handled competently by the city guards and put to rest quickly. 

“A singular occurrence is not enough to call for a solid and successful policy to be re-written or repealed,” Grandfather replies, folding his arms. You can see he’s not willing to concede this point. 

Dale folds his own arms in response and you hope he knows what he’s doing because this seems incredibly risky. You’d just gotten Grandfather to fall back from his investigation and now Dale is possibly bringing that back into focus. At least, you feel relatively comforted by the fact that so far, Dale is only discussing policy and law, nothing personal. “What about the incident in Hallen five years back? Or the diplomatic incident with Fief Sularia? They still refuse to talk to any of us. Our mining caravans are more vulnerable to bandits who use demons as they cannot hire any with sufficient knowledge to defend them.

“And even myself.” 

Well, there goes that. He has to go and bring up his own experience. You try hard to stop your nails from digging into your arm as you wait for what he’s going to say. “Someone from the family Vitoron attacked me for the fact that his entire family, save himself and his older sister, were worked to death in the mines because of a book they possessed and work they did outside the fief, where it was legal.”

You glance at Breighton to see if she has any insight into this specific incident and see her face has paled.

“What?” Grandfather’s look of frustrated discomfort melts into something truly startled and worried at the last point. “You never said anything of the sort happened.”

“I knew how you and Grandmother would take news of such an occurrence,” Dale replies smoothly, no hint of apology for keeping this from them in his expression. “And while I don’t blame the laws for his actions—revenge against me, who did not write or enforce the laws or actions taken against his family when I was all of nine—what did concern me was that I had no means of defending myself or knowledge of what he was even attempting,” Dale replies, his mouth grim.

“So yes, I did look into demonology.” Dale juts out his chin. “Ignorance is not safety.” For the sake of the sun, you hope this is Dale’s try to convince Grandfather that any odd behavior or demonic knowledge came from before he returned to Northridge, not his accident, but why now? You’d both already hid any reactions to his clumsy unmasking attempts that he’d finally started to truly back off. This seems like a step backwards, like it will make Grandfather more suspicious, not less—or at least anger him. Maybe he was just trying to act as authentic to the original Dale as possible, hoping that would sell the deception?

But is this public argument before he even officially inherited be what Dale would have done? Quite frankly, you didn’t know him well enough to guess. You can only hope this Dale knows what he’s doing.

When Grandfather looks shocked at Dale’s admittance, Dale’s frown deepens. “You trained and taught me to protect myself and Northridge. You expect once I have the opportunity that I would neglect to learn to protect myself from what is potentially the greatest one?”

“Those tools and knowledge are double-edged blades—poisonous ones at that,” Grandfather says, obviously settling on parental outrage. His face is hot with anger, though you expect it is also to cover up embarrassment at Dale’s public disagreement. And it's not as though you don’t think he believes what he’s saying about the danger.

“All tools are. All knowledge is,” Dale retorts, sounding the most like his old self since the accident—but even in his anger, there is a restraint, an attempt at sounding measured that the original Dale never thought to exercise. “I’ll not leave myself vulnerable out of fear or the misguided arrogance that I can successfully remove the threat entirely. I’ll not be held captive in my own home.”

“Dale,” Grandfather looks stricken by that statement. “That’s not the purpose of our laws. That does not mean that there are not degrees of danger. One can be warned against poisons without sampling them and hoping you survive.”

Is Dale trying to use the original Dale’s thoughts and motivations to justify laxing the laws in Northridge so that later he can take advantage of not having to hide so much? Is now the time for that? Your eyes go to Breighton, who looks grave as her eyes dart between her father and nephew, her lips firmly pressed together.

“Can they? In Northridge?” Dale asks, resigned, as he picks up his goblet once more, eyes focusing intently on the liquid within like it might hold the answers he seeks. “Because from where I’m standing everything is banned, including how to protect oneself.”

“There should be nothing to protect yourself from, if everyone would simply listen to reason and stop inviting venomous snakes into their homes or playing with fireworks indoors,” Grandfather snaps.

“But they won’t,” Dale says, the frown set deeper in his face, his countenance dark. “They’re never going to.”

“There is no safe way to engage with demonoloy or summoning,” Grandfather says, a cord on his neck standing out. “I don’t know what you thought you learned or what benefits you think you gained with that knowledge, but you’ve only put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

Dale opens his mouth to respond, his eyes snapping, but Grandfather refuses to let him. “I will not hear anything more about this and you’ll not mention anything of the sort to your Grandmother. She has worked far too hard and for far too many years to keep you safe to hear you’ve disrespected her efforts in such a manner—to say nothing of the disrespect to the memory of your parents.”

Dale had pressed his lips together when Grandfather mentioned Grandmother, looking away, but at the mention of his parents, he snaps back to attention. Taking a step towards Grandfather, Dale says, heatedly, “You may disagree with my decisions, but do not suggest I did so out of disrespect. That I did not do so because of what happened to them, not despite it.”

“Father,” Breighton’s voice cuts through the tense silence, her hand landing on Grandfather’s shoulder. The other landed on Dale’s. “Dale. Now is not the time nor place for such a discussion. I know that neither of you would disrespect Remmy or Qiana and you know that about each other too. This is a celebration of a betrothal, not a magistrates court. No laws are being rewritten tonight. And no one is going to get Mother involved in this either. Yes?”

Grandfather looks as though he wants to disagree, but then he finally looks away from Dale to meet Brieghton’s eyes. Whatever he sees there, makes him deflate. He bows his head slightly. “Yes.”

“Yes,” Dale echoes after a similar look from Breighton. He looks more annoyed than Grandfather, but also more cowed.

Grandfather sighs, looking tired. “I know your intentions are meant for the best, Dale. That whatever you’ve done is because you felt it warranted. I am aware you have felt trapped in Northridge in the past, but that has never been our intent. We have only ever acted for your safety and wellbeing.”

“I know,” Dale admits before downing the rest of his wine glass. “I did not mean to imply otherwise.”

Breighton lets go of both of them at those words, seemingly aware that's as close to an apology either of them will get. She turns back to the group, who have, out of politeness or discomfort, given the Northridges’ space. They closed their circle to talk quietly amongst themselves while the family argument between their hosts resolved—no doubt listening, but at least pretending for propriety that they were not.

Before she can say anything to smooth your return to more calm conversation, a sudden noise makes you wince and look around, eyes a bit wild, at the sound of a threat when you are already so tense. Instead, your gaze lands on the balcony overhead where the instruments for the musicians had been left. Multiple people are up there and seem to be setting up to resume performing. One of them gives you an apologetic look before returning to her cello.

Breighton has snagged Teresa’s elbow, who steps aside easily so Breighton can say to the rest of the group, “It looks as though the music will be starting up again momentarily. Was someone going to fetch us when the Governor’s study room was ready?” She directs the question to Dr. Louisa, who had originally went to see about it, but there is that same sharpness Breighton occasionally has that betray, despite her mild words, the fact that she remembered exactly who instigated the argument. 

“They were supposed to come to me,” Dr. Louisa replies evenly, her voice calm and giving no hint that she might be concerned about Breighton’s ire—except the wary look in her eyes. You don’t think she regrets what she pushed for, but she’s at least aware it had consequences and that Breighton will not forget. 

You wish you could send Dr. Louisa the bill for the next batch of ingredients for calming and sleeping teas you’ll have to order after this conversation. This betrothal has made you work through your store at an unprecedented rate–the only other times you came close was during final exam periods. That’s not all her fault, but tonight certainly is. 

“However,” Dr. Louisa continues. “I propose we head over now regardless. Perhaps we can intercept a messenger.”

“Why don’t we wait in the chess room?”Alent speaks up. “I know the Governor always has it prepared, for all there’s not much to amuse oneself with there. We can let someone know we’ve relocated there to wait. It’s directly off this hall.” He begins to purposely move in that direction and the others follow.

Julion catches the attention of a maid to tell her we’re moving while Breighton purposely steers Grandfather to the other side of the group from both Dale and Dr. Louisa. Since he’s met Kenneth before that seems like the safest move. You nod in response to her look and heard Dale towards Teresa—the least intimidating member of the party—for distraction.

You wind up in step with her and you’re grateful when she picks up the conversation right away, asking Dale what universities and colleges he’s visited throughout his travels. That leaves Grandfather up front, with the other members of the group in the middle, and Dr. Louisa just ahead of you, Dale, and Teresa who are pulling up the rear.

As you make your way through the rather crowded hall, conversation getting louder as the musicians who are ready begin to play once more, you start to feel claustrophobic. The only benefit to being somewhat of a main attraction at these events is that usually there’s more open area around you. Now that you’ve got to cross the entire hall and everyone’s caught up in the gala, which is in full swing with the music returning, that’s not true. You’ve never wished for that extra attention and therefore space more.

After the pair of you are jostled by a hurrying woman, you start to remind Dale to use his cane, for it often seems to slip his mind at these events, but then you stop. You don’t want to come across as ordering him about—that’s one of the reasons Grandfather was suspicious in the first place. Nor do you want to seem overly fretful—or draw too much attention to his continued balance problems. 

Of course, him tripping reminds people of that as well. Still, you’re not going far and the cane is in his belt, if he needs it. If he needed it, he’d use it. You’re just looking for something to do, some way to offload some of the tension still causing you to hold yourself tight.

You can’t say you contribute much to the conversation between Teresa and Dale. Between the noise of the crowd, your own nervousness, and the fact that you haven’t traveled much yourself, you feel strangely out-of-place, like an impostor despite this whole event technically being held for you. Like someone’s going to catch you and Dale in your lie at any second. It’s the most uncomfortable you’ve felt at one of these events after going to so many the past few weeks.

Reaching the chess room and entering the mildly cooler room feels like a relief. Since nothing has happened yet, each minute that passes feels like it's lifting the weight slowly from your shoulders.

As you all rearrange yourself around one of the tall tables, Dale catches his foot on a too long tablecloth and stumbles. As the other closest person, Dr Louisa reflexively steadies him, clasping Dale’s hands and forearms as she helps him regain his balance. 

Dale smiles ruefully, saying, “I thought training would be the time I needed my cane the most, but alas, the opposite appears to be true. My primary instances of near falls have all been while walking at my leisure, rather than during anything rigorous.”

You quickly move in to offer your own hands to aid him in stabilizing his balance and something dark catches your eye. Does Dale have ink on his hands? How odd, neither of you did any paperwork today. 

Then you remember: Dr. Louisa’s gloves. Your hands clench around on his own, his fingers instinctively curling around yours. She said they revealed the stain of a demon when coming in contact with them in the flesh or the possessed. 

Shit.

Dr. Louisa seems preoccupied with her discussion with Scholar Callipan and has already dismissed her contact with Dale, but who knows how long this effect lasted? She had said not long but what did that mean?

Dale doesn’t seem to have noticed your grip on his hand is far tighter than it should be, which is smething. He also doesn’t seem to have noticed what’s happened because now that you’re paying attention, you can see his other palm as he returns it to his side. There are dark, rich blue deepening to black smudges blooming where Dr. Louisa’s gloves touched him. And he’s making no move to hide them.

You need to either alert Dale so he could be extremely careful himself or get him away from Dr. Louisa so she can’t notice. Ideally you want to find some way to cover up his hands, though you’ve no idea how to subtly encourage Dale to put on gloves without anyone else noticing. Plenty of the others overheard her explanation of Dr. Louisa’s gloves and you didn’t want to alert any of them.

“Excuse me?” You turn to see a maid just inside the entryway. She curtsies and says, “Dr Louisa?” Dr Louisa nods, taking a step forward to identify herself. “The Governor’s study is now available for your use.

“Wonderful,” Dr Louisa says before turning to the others, “I know we only just arrived here, but let us relocate once more.”

“Yes, let’s,” Kenneth agrees. “There will be more room there and there’s a manuscript on the Governor’s shelves that I’m certain will support my point.”

“If you think it will aid in your case,” Julion says and gestures out of the room, “you’re welcome to attempt to locate this tome. I cannot wait to hear about how you misremembered which book or see that it will show I am correct.”

“This is far too academic for me,” Grandfather says and you risk looking directly at him, having avoided doing so since the argument. He seems more or less back to his usual demeanor, for all his gaze skitters over you and Dale relatively quickly. Good news for now, though it does nothing to calm you down. “I believe I shall return my wife’s side.”

Everyone murmurs their farewell to him and your mind races to come up with a similar excuse to leave the group without having to follow Grandfather—that seemed far too risky.

Another note from a violin pulls at your attention and inspiration strikes. “Lord Dale, would you care to indulge me with a dance? I adore this song,” you say, hoping your smile seems sincere to the others as well as Dale.

He turns to look at you at your words and so do quite a few of the others. You’re suddenly aware that you’re still holding one of his hands in both of yours, covering his palm as thoroughly as you can since you haven’t been able to think of a way to subtly grab the other. Do you look too simpering or clingy, holding on to him like this? You try to remind yourself that Dale is your fiance, that this is well within the bounds of acceptable contact and of acceptable social requests.

Dale looks mildly surprised, but his eyes dart to the musicians and to the paused scholars. While it feels far longer to you, it's truly only a few seconds before he smiles. “Of course, my lady.” He nods to the others, “Please excuse us. We shall endeavor to rejoin you later.”

They all murmur their farewells and none seem to take second glances at Dale or his hands. A few look mildly amused by your hold on him or perhaps your request. Someone makes a joke to his husband about how they used to dance when they were newly married. 

Still, you don’t feel the steel rod of tension melt from your spine until you’re on the dancefloor, one of Dale’s hands clasped in your own and the other firmly pressed to your waist. You hope that between the dance’s movements, the lack of the more educated audience, and then your hands covering each other will help mask any sign of Dr. Louisa’s little test until the effects dissipate. 

While you’re starting to relax, you stumble as the dance picks up pace. Dale’s hold on you is strong enough that you don’t fall out of step too badly. You try to recenter yourself in the moment, in the dance, before you make a more obvious mistake when Dale asks, “Are you quite alright?”

“Hm?” You look up to see him looking down on you, concern in his expression. You feel some heat in your cheeks as you rush to reassure him, “Oh, yes, I’m fine.” He still doesn’t seem aware of what happened and while you’re glad that means whatever the darkening effect is, it doesn’t hurt, it does mean he’s likely confused to some degree by your desire to dance and then inattention to the movements of it. 

Before you can make an excuse, he looks almost guilty as he says, “I hope I didn’t upset you back there. I hadn’t meant to start such an argument with Grandfather.”

Your fingers tighten briefly around his at the reminder, but you try to smile back at him. “I did not think that was your intent.”

“But you do think it was poorly timed,” Dale deduces.

It’s one thing to still be hesitant in large groups, but you have been making strides with being more honest with Dale. “Perhaps, with such a sensitive topic, at a party, with an audience before… Now, was not the best choice.”

Dale sighs, looking out over your head as you turn. “You’re probably right, though I struggle to think of a good time.”

“I doubt there will be, but there will still be better ones than now.”

“You are right, I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity,” Dale replies. He looks back down at you. “Poor judgment on my end, but I grow weary of so much talk around things, vague allusions to topics that can’t be broached because of priority, time spent with nothing much to show for it.

“It’s been a long few days,” you reply, rather relieved to hear him say as much. “A necessary stepping stone, but a tiring one, especially with these galas thrown into the mix alongside the meetings. I’ve never met or talked to so many new people in my life.” In fact, the act of dancing without having to listen intently and worry about what you say is welcome. You feel yourself settling even further, away from the danger and, while not truly alone, at least currently only expected to converse with Dale.

Dale actually lets out a short laugh at that pronouncement. You cautiously meet his eyes and smile shyly when you see he’s truly not laughing at you, but with you. “It has been rather a marathon of meetings and galas, hasn’t it?” Dale agrees. He gives you a smile that says he’s happy to be in on the secret. “I’m pleased to help you escape whenever you’d like, provided you don’t mind my own company.”

Your smile widens, this is what you’d been wanting—a friend, a partner, an equal who helps you as you help him. “Of course not,” you reassure him, “it's not the same sort of thing at all.” 

“No?” he asks, sounding amused.

“Oh!” You blanch at how that might sound and rush to clarify you don’t mean to discount his company, “I didn’t mean that as an insult, rather the opposite, I promise.” Aside from still being very aware of Dale’s physical presence and his attention when alone with him, most other sources of tension and worry that usually tug on you are less. 

In fact, the remaining danger seems to be the way he makes the rest of the world fade away, makes you want to lean on him in this dance, far closer than it requires. To spill your thoughts even though there’s no call for it. To ask him the many questions of who he really is and why he does what he does that stay buried so that you can still claim ignorance. Because you are still afraid of what the answers might be.

“No insult taken,” Dale replies, sincere enough that you believe him. He spins you around in time with the music and that must be why you feel lightheaded when he pulls you back. He continues, confiding, “I rather feel the same. There is so much to remember and a chance to breathe is appreciated—well, so to speak.”

You puff out air as the pair of you spin out and away, taking more jumping steps with the music. You briefly trade partners for the next portion of the dance before you’re spun back together. The dance slows enough for you to allow you to attempt to manage your panting. 

“Yes,” you agree, out of breath, but enjoying yourself despite the exertion. There had been so many years when you couldn’t have managed more than the first few steps before needing to sit down and you always get a thrill when you remember you can truly dance now. Beyond that, so much close attention on talk and connections and names—the simplicity of dancing in terms of deep thought is making you feel almost fluttery without the weight of concentration. “Dances such as these do rather discourage conversation by virtue of leaving you with little breath to do so.”

“Was that not your plan to avoid conversation with me from the start?” Dale asks, his tone nearly as arch as his eyebrow.

You’re relieved that by now you can tell when he's teasing you. Your cheeks are hot from the exertion, not from said teasing, you reassure yourself as you try to toss back, “You overestimate me, my Lord.”

Dale laughs as he spins you away from him. You trade partners in a whirl of motion before he catches hold of you once more. He tilts his head down in order to speak close to your ear—his words for you alone, “I don’t think I do, my Lady."

Dale nem's comeback is starting off with a bang 😭

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Twenty-One

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] Part Twenty-One

You barely contain a sigh of relief as you sit down next to Grandmother.

Perhaps yesterday’s gala’s events were more mentally taxing as you tried to keep Dale’s hands out of sight long enough for the detection colors from Dr. Louisa’s gloves to fade—not to mention the conversation preceding that mess—but today was tiring in an entirely different manner. You’ve been kept on your feet nearly the entire day and you are exhausted. Between inspecting various buildings all over the city for hours to start with and an evening spent dancing, you want nothing more than to be still.

Some of that sentiment must still be evident from your facial expression as Grandmother reaches over to pat your hand. “Have you been enjoying the dancing, dear?”

“Yes, Grandmother, but I believe I am finished for the night,” you reply and she smiles.

“I am glad you have been taking advantage of the vigors of youth while you have them,” Grandmother says. She looks over to where Grandfather is sitting and talking to a musician across the room. “Would that we were able to still dance as you do. Alas, all we have to show for our years are aching joints and lovely children.” She winks at you.

You smile back and gratefully accept the water glass your maid pours for you with a murmured thanks. While you rest, Grandmother bids good night to a number of said children and grandchildren, leaving you longing to follow them. Yours and Dale’s roles as the guests of honor make it unclear when exactly it is socially acceptable for you to depart. You’ve often been staying at least as long as Grandmother and Grandfather, if not an hour beyond them so as to ensure you spoke to all guests and showed your hosts proper respect.

You truly hope that will not be the case tonight because you’re not sure you’ll make it that late.

Dale joins you with Francesca and Charles, his cousins, who then depart themselves having sent their children up with a maid hours ago. Dale sits next to you but talks primarily with Grandmother, chatting about the others he’s been speaking to while you resist the urge to fall asleep in your chair.

A few moments later Dale says your name, rousing you. Straightening, you find you’ve indeed ended up leaning quite heavily against the back and side of your chair closest to him. Heat warms your face at practically falling asleep against Dale at a gala. “Yes?”

“Do you wish to retire for the evening?” Dale asks, his expression kind and nonjudgmental. You can hear the offer to retire as well and are grateful for it.

“I know that it is not as late as some nights have been,” you say, unable to keep from feeling somewhat defensive—after all it wasn’t even midnight yet, though it was close. “But it has been a long day. I am ready for sleep.”

“I agree,” Dale replies easily, he reaches down and squeezes your hand where it sits on the arm rest closest to him. “And we have plenty of errands to run tomorrow.”

He’s right. There are no balls or galas tomorrow. Instead you’ll be taking advantage of the time in the city to inspect the progress on the completion of various wedding clothing, decorations, food and so on to be sent on ahead to the estate. In fact, the only social event is a small dinner at the mayor’s home in the evening which is fine with you.

Besides, there’s another reason you want to be well rested for tomorrow. That had been the day marked “SECRETS” on the astrologer’s calendar. You still have no notion as to what that could mean, however, you do expect that you should be well rested for whatever it turns out to be.

“If you young ones are all already turning in, then I shall too,” Grandmother announces. “Dale, your aid, my boy.”

Dale is nearly already standing up to walk over to his Grandmother’s side, picking up her cane along with his own. You try to perk up enough to be helpful, finishing off your drink and supporting Grandmother’s other arm as she gets to her feet.

Grandmother’s maid is sent ahead to prepare her rooms, while the three of you, in addition to your own maid, begin to make your way to the guest quarters you’ve occupied this week in the Governor’s home. You’re grateful he’s allowed you to have an entire, if smaller, wing to yourselves. Such privacy means that any continuing festivities don’t upset your sleep, which given how busy these days have been, is critical.

You’ve made it halfway across the room when Grandfather walks over to you at a pace too quick for how tiring a day this has been, even if he hasn’t danced as much as you have. “Dale, there you are,” he looks triumphant as he continues, “Marquis Tiffin has finally stopped occupying Duke Yoral’s sole attention. You wished to speak to him, did you not?”

Dale’s eyes light up—only metaphorically—before he turns to you and Grandmother. “I did, however…”

“If you wish to stay, dear, do not let us steal you away too soon,” Grandmother says. “You’re a good lad, wanting to accompany me back to my rooms, but your fiance will be help enough. Enjoy yourself.”

“Yes,” you encourage him. “I know you had been attempting to talk to him all evening.” This Duke was the brother of a friend of his from abroad and he wanted to discuss sourcing certain ingredients for more foreign meals with him, in addition to comparing general travel stories as he had helped Dale’s group plan their trip.

“Thank you,” Dale replies with a grin at you both. After resettling Grandmother’s hold to your arm instead of his, he turns to Grandfather, “Are you sure you want to join us? Perhaps even the discussion of certain spices might cause your cough to come back.”

Grandfather elbows Dale in response to his teasing, “Impudent lad. Introduce me to your friend with all due respect and perhaps I shall refrain from sharing tales of your foolish youth.”

They leave in a cheery mood while Grandmother smiles after them. “I am so pleased to have Dale home where he belongs. He went through such a trying adolescence after being away at the capital.”

You hum noncommittally, but Grandmother needs no real prompting to continue to reminisce as you make your way through the quieter and cooler halls away from the main ballrooms. She only interrupts herself when you reach a large branching path before your wing. “Miss Adir, could you please go to the kitchens and see if there are any pasties that can be sent up to my granddaughter’s rooms?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Thank you, Grandmother.”

“My eyesight might be going, but I can still make observations. You never eat enough at these events, she fusses. “We shall have to have your measurements checked at the final fitting tomorrow.”

“The food at these events are so rich,” you protest. “Surely there hasn’t been such a difference in only a few weeks.”

“And still we shall verify the truth,” Grandmother insists. “Dale as well, though for the opposite eventuality. I informed those tailors of his ill state, reminding them to leave room for him to return to his healthier weight. I shall be interested in seeing if they listened.

“If there is anything else that needs doing, we must ensure that it is done tomorrow or our next free day in two days time. This is our last week in Connton before we return to the Northridge estate for your wedding,” Grandmother reminded you unnecessarily. “Only two more galas here. A pity, these have been so invigorating.”

You can’t help but shake your head silently to yourself, unable to find these events anything but exhausting, even if you enjoy aspects of them. Grandmother is an entirely different sort, seeming to be rejuvenated by so much activity and people.

Even now, she seems far more awake than you are, easily chatting while you feel as though you’ve used up all your words an hour ago.

You roll your shoulders, trying to dissipate the tension in them from so much activity—the danger of hosting a ball and inviting a dance troupe and their sponsors. The fewer candles and torches in this area of the house leave the light sparser and make you feel sleepier, makes the promise of slumber whisper more convincingly in your ears.

Still, you remember exactly what tips you off that something is wrong. 

Habit from these last few weeks has you watching every shadow and steering others away if they move oddly, in case Dale has a lapse in control. You’re only reacting on instinct when you see the candlelight flicker dramatically, the shadows pool unnaturally on Grandmother’s right. You pull Grandmother closer to you and quicken your step abruptly, wanting to get out of the way, not wanting her to notice.

 It’s the clash of metal the next second, the force and crack of something whizzing by both of you and into the opposite wall that makes you jump, heart hammering in your chest. Your mind catches up with your actions because Dale is nowhere in sight. Who is causing these things to happen? Are you under attack?

“Guards!” Grandmother calls out. Her voice rings through the space with all the command of a general on a battlefield and causes one of the people who are in fact attacking you to curse. 

There isn’t any way for you to tell if someone heard your call for help even as she repeats it. Without thinking about what to do next, you hitch up your skirts with your free hand and start to run down the hall with her in tow. More figures come after you from behind and out of the corners of your eyes. 

A wordless cry has you stumbling to the side as a person overshoots past you and through a doorway. Multiple people, at least three, dressed in dark clothing have come as suddenly as if they had materialized from nothing—all heading after you.

You dodge another projectile and turn the corner, flattening against the far wall. Frantically you try to remember where exactly you are in this stranger’s house and you realize you missed the turn back towards the more inhabited portion of the building in your haste. 

You don’t know what to do, paralyzed with fear and indecision, until the wall at your back falls away causing you to take a surprised step backwards. “Hurry,” Grandmother says, having realized you were backed against a door and gotten it open while your mind had still been trying to understand what was happening.

You turn and both go through, slamming the door behind you as you try to gain your bearings. You can barely take stock of the study you find yourself in before continuing forward as fast as you are able to. Your shoes are thin and pretty and so you feel the stone floor in this room harshly as you race across it. Your palm is sweaty from where it’s clutching Grandmother’s as you steer you both, her having lost her cane at some point and relying on you for that speed of movement you’re desperately trying to gain.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, every instinct attempting to help you to survive, for all the good it's doing. Your mind races wildly, thoughts of escape and who these people could be flickering through. Why are they attacking you? What do they want? Where can you go to get away?

Then all you can think of besides ‘get away’ is the ache in your arm, the burning in your lungs, the soreness in your feet.

Unfortunately, there was no way to lock the door you came through and so soon it’s quickly kicked back open. The sound of it hitting the wall makes you run faster, trying to get through this suite of rooms to the courtyard entrance you spot on the other side, where you can feel the cooling breeze beckoning you to escape—or get somewhere someone would be able to hear you.

Two arrows fly by your head and another causes Grandmother to yelp and falter, nearly tripping as she suddenly leans much heavier on you. You can’t check to see if the arrow grazed her, too focused on trying to get to the other door, when the shadows darken in those billowing curtains. At the last second you turn to the right, propelling Grandmother that way too. As you do so, you see the thinner of these, these assassins appear, daggers drawn and ready to impale you exactly where you’d been running too.

Not that you’re convinced you’ve managed to end up in a better position. You steered the two of you to the other side of the room, hopping for another door out, but the one you pull open in the end is only a closet. You whirl around to see four figures in black, fanned out and blocking any possible escape route. Panting, you brace Grandmother, who you haven’t looked to but sounds to be in worse shape given her age and possible injury. Her heavy breathing has a wheeze to it you don’t like. So does the fact that she’s not speaking up any more.

“Well now ladies,” the tallest man speaks, his voice low and condescending. He’s smug too, like the cat that got the mouse, as he steps forward twirling a dagger. “You don’t seem to have our prize stallion with you as we expected, but I’m certain his filly and granny will make perfect bait.”

I'm so ready for Sana to kick some ass!!!!

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Two

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41189829/chapters/117630658

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] Part Twenty-Two

“Well now ladies,” the tallest man speaks, his voice low and condescending. He’s smug too, like the cat that got the mouse, as he steps forward twirling a dagger. “You don’t seem to have our prize stallion with you as we expected, but I’m certain his filly and granny will make perfect bait.”

You’re glad to have a wall at your back in some ways, but you’d feel better with a method of escape.

“I know not what your aim is,” Grandmother begins. You’re relieved to hear Grandmother speak. The way her strength had been failing, you were getting worried about how bad she might have been hurt. You also have no idea what to do next, the assassins fanned out in a semi-circle on the other side of the desk you two are behind. Her voice is rough, but strong, as she continues, “but I assure you: it will fail!”

“Know not?” the one on the right says, her voice more bored than anything. Her head tilts with the question, but she keeps her spear pointed at your corner. She’s got a scarf tied tight about her mouth and hair, leaving only eyes free. She’s clad in dark well-worn clothes that give free range of movement. There’s a bulk to them that suggests leather armor of some sort is under them. She stands with a sturdiness you can determine even with your minimal martial knowledge. She looks like it’d take an ox to move her where she doesn’t want to go.

“Clen just said what our aim is,” the one on the left says, his voice mocking. Grimly, you agree. They all but said you’re now hostages to them, leverage against Dale. You wonder what he might have done, likely not to them, but to those that hired them. These were rough folks, but skilled. Although, they did bungle their actual capture of Dale, nabbing you and Grandmother instead.

They’ve already adapted their plan and they still seem confident. The tall man—Clen—isn’t even out of breath as he holsters his crossbow. The fact that no one’s heard the commotion is really starting to worry you. That means they must have incapacitated those nearby. Anyone you could have alerted or called to help must either be away or somehow dealt with already.

Of all the worries you had about this wedding, somehow attackers targeting Dale or yourself had never crossed your mind. Clearly, you’d been thinking too small, you realize somewhat hysterically. It’s taking everything you have to keep yourself together, but you know you must.

You’re no fighter, certainly not outnumbered with someone to protect. All of your minimal lessons were with weapons you didn’t have, people you do not have around you, and primarily were geared towards escaping. They also tended to be in consideration of one opponent, not four highly trained ones.

“She’s got a bit of a bleed going from her head,” Clen replies. You feel ice slip into your veins and turn your head, trying to keep them in sight but also take a look at Grandmother. You don’t even remember pushing her into the chair behind this desk. She’s managing to seat herself confidently. Her posture makes it appear as though these are mere hooligans who’ve burst into her office unannounced. Only the thin trickle of blood down her cheek betrays her affectation.

You press one of your spare handkerchiefs into her hand, while readying another. “Please use it to stop the blood,” you whisper to her. “You must.”

Grandmother accepts the cloth from you, but you both keep your gazes fixed on the assassins, unable to look away from the threat.

“So I suppose we can’t blame her for not following the obvious,” Clen grins. His scarf covers his head too, but it has holes for his eyes and leaves his mouth visible. The other man is taller than the woman, but shorter than the other men, with only a scarf covering his mouth. You can’t see well in the light, but you think he’s got markings either cut into his short shorn hair or inked onto his scalp.

 The final one hasn’t said anything. He’s the one who appeared suddenly in front of you to cut off your escape. He also has no covering on his face at all. His hair is black streaked through with gray and his eyes seem to glow, highlighting the blue of one and the green of the other. He looks the least physically strong, but you’ve a feeling he doesn’t fight that way—not to discount the short sword he does have in his hand.

Assassins, a word you can hardly believe you are thinking, also tend to come in two breeds: those who are extremely skilled fighters and thieves and those who are that and also dabble in demonics. That last one is definitely the latter. And even the others look like they might at least have had some Depth enhancement work done. Did someone know to send such types after Dale? Or were they merely counting on Northridge being vulnerable to such attackers? Maybe this group was just the best money could buy.

“We’re here for your little heir,” Clen says, enough theater pomp to his manner that you wonder if he was once a performer. “Our generous patrons want him trussed up and escorted back to them. Before we deal with him to their satisfaction. Bit frustrating he didn’t come back with you two as he had every past nights, but we’ve time to wait.”

“Even with this distance between us,” he smirks, waving an arm towards where you and Grandmother are wedged. “I know you agree that you’re well and truly cornered.”

“So sit still and wait like good bait,” the man on his left says, his eyes and voice conveying the smirk he must be wearing, “danglin’ on the hook, for the lordling to arrive.” You think you like him the least. His eyes seem cruel and his daggers very sharp.

“You can yell all you want then,” the woman says, seemingly convinced that you’ll stay put. She’s pulled her spear back to her and is polishing it with her sleeve. “But don’t bother now. Some’at mysterious struck the guards this wing of the house. What was it again, Lasky?”

“Food poisoning something bad, I heard,” the man on the left, who must be Lasky, says. His eyes seem to linger on you in particular, despite Grandmother doing the talking, even now when answering the woman. You wish you had more than a dull dinner knife on you because the idea of that one in particular anywhere near you makes your skin crawl

“My lot are in the cellar,” the woman returns with a shrug, “got stuck somehow.”

“And Two won’t tell what he did to his,” Clen jerks his head at the silent, unmasked man. He’s the one you’ve already decided is the most dangerous. You’re certain he’s by far the most mixed up in demonics. Even beyond the superstition of people with two different colored eyes. His disinterest in hiding his identity, the shadow movement he displayed, his silence and lack of blinking all point towards possession to you. He unnerves you far more than Dale did, even in the beginning. There’s a carelessness to him, something unbound and unrestrained. You don’t want to think on what he could do, if he wanted to. Your only comfort is the fact that he seems largely uninterested in doing anything but leaning against the wall and waiting.

“You will not succeed in this plan,” Grandmother says, clearly fed up with their antics. You’re happy she has it in her to feel annoyed instead of just scared, with the edge of anger like you. “You would do best to try to make your escape now while you still have the opportunity.”

“She’s got brass ones to be threatenin’ us right now,” Lasky says with a laugh that Clen joins in on.

“You’ve no idea what we’re capable of,” Clen says to Grandmother once he’s stopped. “If only your grandson hadn’t angered quite so many people with the money to spare. Mayhap then they’d have hired those lesser than us to accomplish their bidding.”

“He really shouldn’t have cheated that one Lord at cards,” Lasky adds and you can hear Grandmother let out an outraged huff. You bite your lip to hold back unexpected, ironic laughter at the idea that this is just more of same. Original Dale, being careless and leaving others to suffer for his mistakes. “I think he paid more than half our fee by himself.

“My Dale is no cheater,” Grandmother retorts hotly, as if that mattered at all. “If they had a real case, they would follow the proper channels. They would not send thugs after him.”

“Well, our patrons disagree,” Clen replies. He doesn’t slide his sword back into its sheath, but stretches with it still in hand. His shirt rides up to reveal red ink markings that confirm to you he’s got some sort of demonic enhancements. 

“Although the knight is a hypocrite,” the woman scoffs. “Complaining about someone else cheating.”

“Who cares? He’s the one paying us extra for—” Lasky starts to say before Two gives him a look. It’s not even particularly menacing, just filled with intent. Clen gets tense for all he doesn’t look at Two, but the woman gives Lasky a glare fit to set him on fire. Lasky shuts up.

She stalks over to him, pointing her spear at him with a thunderous expression on her face. 

Lasky turns from Two, who’s gone back to looking out through the open doorway to the courtyard, to face her. “Not your place, Vi—don’t try and speak on things you don’t—”

“Don’t need to understand to know you’d best keep your mouth shut, you ninny,” Vi hisses. “I made an exception, working with you lot, and I’ll not be regretting it.”

“Is this the time?” Clen sounds exasperated and turns to get between them. The resulting argument is quiet enough that it devolves to unrecognizable words and sounds. 

Your eyes automatically dart to the door and then to the courtyard, but you know you’d never out run them, let alone be able to with Grandmother in tow. And if they think they’ll be discovered, well, Grandmother would lose her value as a hostage. Besides, your eyes trip past Two while looking. He’s switched back to staring at you. 

“Keep calm,” Grandmother whispers in your ear, seemingly wanting to take advantage of the argument. You’re grateful she seems coherent, if tired, but her voice is less strong in your ear than when she was yelling at Clen.

“Your maid and my own will likely have already realized we’re missing,” she reminds you. You’d completely forgotten about sending hers ahead and no doubt yours will be up in your rooms with your late night nibbles soon, both wondering where you two are. “No doubt they will find some guards. Or it will be noticed some guards are missing from their posts. Either way, they will backtrack our route. It is only a waiting game. Just don’t let those ratbags get close.”

“I agree,” you say, glad your voice sounds steady. You try to pivot your body to keep them in the corner of your eye, for at least a few minutes. You desperately want to take a closer look at Grandmother’s injury. “How are you feeling?” 

“I will be fine,” Grandmother insists, but she moves as you do, sitting more heavily in the chair with each passing second. You’re able to finally see that the arrow did graze her head. “Just rather…” 

Her eyelids flutter rapidly and you hurry to brace her, barely able to keep from making a noise of surprise that might draw the kidnappers’ attention. Her hand falls to her side taking the handkerchief with it, stained red. The resulting cut is bleeding sluggishly into her hair and down her cheek. Since your spare is already in your hand, you’re quick to press it to the wound. You tug a ribbon free from your hair so you can try to fix the cloth in place.

You know the best you can hope for is to set her up in the least dangerous position that also leaves you free to protect her. Who knows what ideas these criminals might get without her conscious to be intimidating? With one less person to make a fuss?

You’ve just gotten it to stay when the sound of Lasky’s voice causes you to whip around.

“Aw, did she fall asleep?” he asks. His continually mocking tone sets your teeth on edge. The three who’d been involved in the argument are back to their original fanned out positions, best to limit your escape. He takes a step closer and you can’t help but press closer to the chair, needing something solid at your back. Needing to remember that now there’s only you there to defend Grandmother. You need to keep it together.

“Don’t feel lonely, I’ll keep you entertained, lady,” he says, stepping even closer. “I am certain I can keep your attention. I venture I could make you forget all about the pompous heir. His fault for letting his little betrothed walk back without him, isn’t it?”

Fear and anger rage inside you at his implications, at his approach. If only you were someone else, someone with the right training. Near everyone you know would be better in this situation than you: schoolmates, siblings. That sparks a memory and you glance down. This was the corset gifted to you by your oldest sister, who wasn’t a knight, but was never unarmed.

“Lasky,” Vi warns. “The granny’s already fainted.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Lasky says, glancing at Vi. “Well, not enough she would not still be useful.”

You hastily take advantage of that split second, fingers fumbling with the tie at the top of your corset. You slid a finger into the hole and drew out a flat, wickedly sharp dagger. Designed as a set with a sheath to act as a typical busk. It is on the thicker side than most busks, but still comfortable in its place down the center of your corset. While in its sheath it performs its job of lending stiffness to the corset. Out of its sheath, the blade is wicked sharp.

You had lessons on using it, but you’d never truly expected to need to apply them. That training was none of the forms and rules of typical martial training. Self-defense is about taking advantage of any vulnerability, leveraging whatever you had at your disposal to get away. It was all dirty tactics and cheap shots. You hold the dagger in front of yourself. The weight of the metal is slight, but steadying. You feel safer with something in hand to protect yourself with.

When Lasky turns back to you, his eyes immediately land on your new blade. “You think you can win a fight with that?” he sneers at it. “It’s hardly more than a letter opener.”

“No,” you reply truthfully, before you tighten your grip. You swallow, realizing you haven’t had to speak yet. You try to pull even an ounce of the steel Grandmother had in her voice into your own. “However, I think I can blind you in at least one eye or take a few of your fingers before you killed me.” Your voice is quieter, with less command than Grandmother’s, but it’s steady, which is more than you’d hoped for.“And I doubt you want that.”

“I told you these noble bitches were cold,” Clen says, but he doesn’t sound upset. Of all of them, he’s been almost cheerful the whole time. “Do not touch her until we have him—she is more tempting bait than the old woman. He’s probably just waiting for her to drop dead as it is. You know how these heirs are.”

Lasky hasn’t retreated, but he’s stopped advancing. You hope he can see how sharp the blade is. You hope he’s thinking about your words. How he will win the fight, but that you are more than capable of making him regret it. More than capable of leaving a lasting mark. That’s how they train the nobility who do not go into the military. Your virtue, your bloodline, are your most valuable possession. It is drilled into any noble, especially those who aren’t heirs, that you must ensure no one besmirches it. 

“Would one of you lend me some aid?” Lasky complains.

“The plan was not to take prisoners,” Clen points out, still sound amused more than anything. He’s not even looking at Lasky anymore, instead he’s checking his gear. Obviously, the fight with Dale or whatever guards might come are his main focus. It worries you that they have such time and anticipation when Dale does not. However, it also is a comfort because that means he’s not paying you as much mind. “I would prefer to keep my hands free.”

“No rope,” Vi clarifies where she’s pushing some furniture to the side, making a clearer area for a fight. That makes sense given the reach of her weapon. It doesn’t help the dread pooling in your stomach. You wish they would simply tell Lasky he wasn’t allowed to touch you, that you’re too valuable a prisoner to risk. In the end, you’ll just have to settle for being a hair too much trouble to do more than leave you in the corner you’ve backed yourself into. Alone. 

You want to check on Grandmother again. You want to see if she’s awoken or if the handkerchief is soaked through. But you can’t. You can’t afford to look away. Not with Lasky still where he is. Not with him still in the room. Not with him still conscious.

“Two doesn’t need rope,” Lasky says, but you think he’s pouting. Unable to believe how carelessly he’s saying these threats, you chance a glance at Two.

Two’s only indication he knows he’s being talked about is to cross his arms. He stares at you, still not blinking, but unlike Dale, his eyes don’t compel you to fall into them. His eyes make you want to look anywhere else. Given the threats currently facing you, you don’t feel too foolish for hastily looking away from him and back to Lasky.

“And I’m not spending the next however long trying to help you hold onto a squirming, crying girl for whatever purpose you’ve in mind,” Vi says, her voice hard. “Who knows when the heir might show up. And we can’t risk knocking her out with the granny unconscious.”

Lasky sighs, his eyes still betraying a grasping eagerness that you hate. He takes a step back regardless. “Fine, stay in that corner, but I’ll be back for you after we’ve dealt with your naughty fiance.”

You don’t take your eyes off of him, even as he retreats back to the others. You try to think of a plan, something else to do so that fear doesn’t overwhelm you like it’s threatening to. You keep the dagger upraised and pointed, but you try to push the chair back even further. You want to get it close enough to the closet. If you need to hide during the fight that will break out, you want the short distance possible to have to drag Grandmother and the chair. 

As you slowly, slowly do move the chair, you keep your ears alert for any information they might let slip. You catch snatches of phrases which begin to paint a picture.

“…don’t want Two to tire himself with the girl when…” Clen says to Lasky, making you readjust your grip on your dagger. You raise the point since it had started to drift lower the longer you kept it aloft.

“…even want her? This payout…” Vi complains.

“…aren’t here,” Clen sounds exasperated even as he helps Lasky use a dagger to pry the jewels from a decorative statuette. “Those are back at their estate…take us….”

“It’s the knight, he’s the one who cares about that,” Lasky says. “It’s why he brought Two on. The heiress is the one who…”

“After. Once Northridge is secured, you can do what you want,” Vi says. “But you’re not risking my…”

You’re pretty sure the knight they keep referring to is Eastmont, who must have warned them Dale had some access to enhancement from the Depths. He seems to also want Dale’s research, which must be why they’re trying to capture him alive. It sounds like if they succeed, Lasky will still want to keep you a hostage—he continues to keep looking back at you. His gaze makes a visceral feeling of disgust well up within you at the way they drag over your body. 

You try to think about who these other benefactors might be, a Lord and heiress are the only others they’ve mentioned. But before you think much further on it, Two straightens from his spot near the courtyard door, turning to face the door you came through instead.

The others instantly fall silent. 

It takes a tense moment that seems to stretch on and on, until you finally hear what Two must have.

“…certain they only went to the courtyard for some air, my Lord,” a woman is saying and you find yourself barely breathing as you try to hear over your thundering heartbeat for the reply.

“It seems a long time for such a thing to take, especially so late at night.” It is Dale. The relief that floods you is almost dizzying and you sway where you stand. Quickly, you shake your head and adjust your footing. Everything is about to get very very chaotic and you need to be ready.

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, my Lord,” the woman replies, “but things take longer for those getting on in years.”

“I shall forgive you,” Dale’s voice is cheerfully teasing and just that sound is immensely comforting to you. “However, best pray Grandmother doesn’t hear you say such a thing.”

“I would never,” the woman says as they get even closer. “Here, I believe Mr Allen said this is likely the way they went.”

They’re so close and you’re torn. Is it selfish to be so grateful he’s joining you in this extremely dangerous situation? Should you call out to forewarn Dale or should you not send him racing in to his death? Will it help or hinder him for you to shout? What is the right course of action?

But time is slipping through your fingers. You make your decision and pray it’s the right choice. 

“Dale!”

I've never been happier to engage with a slow burn series 😭🤧 kinda wish Sana woulda kicked a little more ass though but it's okay though cuz she still fought

Another great story part Moonshine!

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Three

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41189829/chapters/118476739

Warnings: Violence and Death (nothing too graphic, but its prevalent enough I wanted to mention it)

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen][Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] Part Twenty-Three

But time is slipping through your fingers. You make your decision and pray it’s the right choice. 

“Dale!”

There’s a second of silence before muffled confusion is evident from the hallway on the other side of the door followed quickly by pounding footsteps. Vi spares you a glare, but Clen seems unconcerned, merely readying his crossbow.

The door bursts open before anything else can happen and you can’t help but flinch as it hits the wall.

Framed in the doorway is an alert and worried Dale, his mouth in a hard frown and his hand already on the hilt of his sword. You watch as his eyes land on the four strangers arrayed in front of him. He draws his sword before he unerringly finds you and the unconscious Grandmother. That’s when fury ignites in his eyes.

“What is happening here?” Dale asks, his voice outraged as he takes stock of the situation. 

“Northridges simply enjoy asking after the obvious, do they not?” Clen asks Lasky before looking back to Dale. He lifts his crossbow and aims directly at you. Instantly you tense, ready to drop to your knees and out of range behind the heavy wooden desk. You freeze where you are because that would leave Grandmother a free target. “This is a kidnapping, your lordship. If you don’t cooperate with us, your fiance and grandmother are forfeit. Surrender now. Prove yourself more intelligent than the rest of your ilk.” 

Keeping your dagger in your strong hand, you grope blindly on the desk for something to use as a shield, cursing yourself for not thinking of grabbing such a thing earlier. As your fingers close around the ink mat, a sturdy leather mat to absorb any ink that might seep through when writing, your eyes meet Dale’s. You can almost see a cold certainty enter them before they slide back to Clen.

“No. You may surrender or run,” Dale retorts. “I’ll not go with you nor will I allow you to continue to threaten my kin.”

“Oh, lordling,” Lasky coos, “You’ve barely begun to hear threats. Wait until you learn of my plans for your wife-to-be. Not that you will continue to live for much longer, but I doubt you’d still wish to marry after I’m through with her.” 

You swallow down bile and hope Dale hurts him.

Dale growls, a dark, rolling sound that fills the room. You shiver, feeling it resonate through you, and quickly check to see that Grandmother has not yet awoken. The mixture of concern and relief that fills you at that fact doesn’t help any of your nerves settle, not that you expect them to for several days—provided you live that long.

“Do not—” Clean warns before cutting himself off with a curse as Dale charges. He manages a single shot in your direction before he’s forced to meet Dale’s sword with his own. The shot is still good enough that it hits your makeshift shield of an ink mat. The arrowhead pierces through the leather to scrape your arm and knock it back, but it doesn’t make it any further than that through the mat.

The clatter of the crossbow hitting the floor is nearly masked by the shouts and grunts as Clen, Vi, and Lasky begin fighting with Dale. Your eyes find Two, but he’s watching the fight, not you. Dale has managed to get his back to a wall, limiting his opponents ability to surround him. They’re appearing to have trouble ganging up on him without hitting each other, limiting their approach. 

With no better opportunity, you place your dagger down on the desk and open the closet door. You grasp the back of the chair Grandmother is on and begin tugging it is in towards the closet. You choose to keep your eyes forward towards the fight instead of putting yourself between Grandmother and the action. Hopefully if you see anything coming your way, you can intercept it before she gets further hurt. 

The chair is heavy, but you’re terrified, especially since you no longer have even your thin dagger in hand. The adrenaline seems to help as you drag the chair across the rug, grateful at least there’s no sound to alert the others to what you’re doing. The three assassins currently trying to fight Dale seem to have fallen into a pattern, with Clen engaging Dale’s sword and Vi trying to get at him with her spear from the side, herding him towards the opening in the wall to another side room. Lasky waits in that room, a seemingly endless supply of knives in his hands.

True to your suspicions, both Clen and Lasky seem to have some sort of  demonic enhancement to themselves or their weapons, although they remain clearly unpossessed. Clen has a strength to his movements that matches Dale’s own while Lasky’s daggers seem to come back to his sheaths when they miss. You eye the knife lodged in Dale’s leg and wonder if it's a good thing they don’t pull out to return when stuck.

You cross the threshold into the closet and have to focus on maneuvering in the much tighter space. It seems to primarily hold cabinets for files which you realize once you back into an ornate handle. It’s at a perfect height to jab painfully into your neck and prevent you from pulling the chair the final few inches into the closet.

You side-shuffle out from between the cabinet and the chair, mind racing as you check if the chair even will fit. The top of it is just under the height of the handle so you think you can manage it. You scoot around in front of the chair, a nervous glance over your shoulder to see the fight still raging, a confusing knot of bodies and weapons that you can’t make heads or tails of except that Dale is still holding his own. 

Kneeling down, you lift the front legs of the chair off the ground so they can get over the higher board marking the entrance to the closet and heave. After a few seconds of straining which feel like an eternity,  the chair finally moves those last few inches, thudding into the back cabinet and fully crossing over the threshold into the closet. You set the chair down, trying not to dwell on how it’s likely a bad sign that Grandmother hasn’t woken up for any of this movement.

You get to your feet, glad you’d pushed the chair towards the middle of the closet even before you’d realized how shallow it is. That leaves room on either side for you to fit in. Unfortunately it means that it’ll take too long to turn the chair around and try to wedge it against the door. Or maybe that’s a good thing because your hands are shaking and your palms sting where the wood of the back and legs had dug into your palms. You half close the closet door as you turn around. You're even more nervous now, after having your eyes off the fight for so long. You need to see if there’s anything nearby that might work as a wedge instead and check on the fight.

Dale seems to have gotten more room to breathe, the others all pushed back, but he’s in that doorway, with little at his back to guard it. Lasky takes advantage of that space before Dale can, sending a series of knives flying at him. Dale deflects two and dodges the other two. Unfortunately, with Lasky on the other side of Dale from you, you realize with a jolt of terror that sends the dodged knives in your direction.

One lodges into the desk, but the other flies just over it. You try to move out of the way and you manage—mostly. The knife lodges solidly in the closet door and through your skirts, pinning them in place. 

“Darkest damn—” You can’t help but let a minced oath out as you frantically begin pulling on your skirts, trying to get free. How the knife was sharp enough to pierce the fabric of your skirts but not enough to rip them now is proving nearly as frustrating as it is terrifying. 

You glance back at the fight and your eyes meet Lasky’s. Desperately, you reach for the knife hilt instead while your other hand fumbles to pick your own dagger up again. You swallow when you notice Lasky is indeed circling the fight, heading for you. You grip the hilts of both daggers so hard the little imperfections on then dig into your palms.

You point your own in the direction of Lasky’s approach while continuing to tug futilely on the dagger pinning you in place. Nothing you do seems to budge it and your hand keeps slipping off given how much you're sweating. You give up on pulling and start to simply shove at the hilt with the palm of your hand. 

“Did I pin a pretty little butterfly?” Lasky asks. He’s got another dagger in his hand, but he comes to a stop a few feet from you.

You keep your eyes on him, but don’t answer, giving the hilt of the dagger another strike with your palm. You feel it wiggle and wrap your fingers around it. If you can move, you don’t want him to know in case the element of surprise will help. 

At the same time, where can you go? Or rather, can you afford to leave grandmother? She’s hidden now, but if one of these assassins decides they need her or just wants revenge when the inevitable becomes clear. Dale is the only one here who you know will walk away from this fight. Whether everyone else, including yourself and Grandmother, will is still to be determined. 

“Did I nick your tongue too?” he taunts. “Do not pretend to misunderstand what your role is. Your little lord is proving more of a challenge than we expected, especially since Two isn’t helping.” 

You think he grimaces at that, but it’s hard to tell with his mouth covered. Still, for all his taunts, he’s clearly strung a lot tighter than he had been before. Good. 

“So you are going to help bring him to heel, as intended.” He flips the dagger in his hand in a deliberate move to show off. You chance a glance behind him to see Dale finally pushed into the side room and out of your line of sight. You’re certain the idea that you did manage to make eye contact with him is just false hope. You have to figure out how to get out of this yourself. And right now, running isn’t an option.

“You are not going to win this,” you reply, your voice a little rough, but still intelligible and not obviously full of fear, hopefully. “You should leave.”

He takes a step closer instead. “Just because he didn’t immediately fold, doesn’t mean he will triumph,” Lasky corrects, some anger coloring his voice. “He’s outnumbered and once Two remembers why they’re here, he’ll be outclassed.”

“Then should you not be aiding your companions?” you ask, trying to tug on the dagger with as little obvious movement of your arm as possible. Anything to keep from drawing Lasky’s attention to what you’re doing.

The lines by his eyes crinkle, he must be smiling under that mask. You feel more dread pool in your stomach. “Do you not see? That is what I’m doing. For all your threats, you’re no real match for me and while I still do not have any rope, I’m just as capable as taking out an eye as you are, if not more so. You need to remember who you are dealing with and surrender.”

A noise from behind—something heavy crashing into the wall and possibly a bookcase given the cacophony that follows—draws both your attention. Unfortunately, Lasky refocuses just as quickly as you do and so you’re still in a stalemate, both holding daggers, but truly, there isn’t a contest here. There is no question who will this fight, just what the collateral damage could be.

You hate this. You hate everything about this situation, from the fighting and Grandmother’s condition, to Dale in a fight against multiple opponents. Most of all you hate this man in front of you.  But what can you do?

Another smash and thud sounds from behind Lasky, but he doesn’t bother turning to look this time, just takes another step closer. He steps to the side, blocking your sight-line to the rest of the fight although not before you see a figure thrown across the room. You can’t even hope to identify who.

With another step, you give up on the pretense and give a final pull. This time the dagger is freed from the wall and you take a stumbling step downalong it, away from Lasky. You hastily bring that knife up to bare as well, holding one in each hand. You’ve had no training in the use of two daggers or even much training at all with your non-dominant hand. 

It’s clear Lasky knows that too, his confidence is obvious. The secondary reason for that becomes evident when the knife in your hand that belongs to him starts to tug. You’d thought if you were holding it, it wouldn’t try to return to him, like when it had been stuck in the wall, but apparently that’s not true. It fights your grip, attempting to go to Lasky and into its sheath on his arm like the others had.

You hold on tight, not wanting him to be further armed even if you don’t know how to wield it well yourself. He takes another step forward and you take another to the side. You notice that he’s steering you away from the relative safety the desk might have afforded you. The only good thing is that he seems to have completely forgotten about the fight going on behind him. Unfortunately, whenever you move to compensate, he blocks your own view. 

Finally he breaks the stalemate you’ve been locked in and rushes forward. You hastily stumble backwards along the wall, unwilling to give up the, perhaps false, feeling of safety it gives you. He slashes at you with his greater reach and you try to dodge, but you can feel his strike connected. Luckily, between the fabric of your dress and the manner in which the corset is boned you’re not pierced or cut by the blade. However, on his pull back, he catches your arm, slicing it and leaving a hot line of pain on your underarm that makes you cry out.

Your mind spins as the attack throws off your balance. You try to ignore the drip of blood down your arm, the sting of the cut, and the satisfaction in his eyes. Your palms are sweatier than ever and you have to focus on not trembling. The pull from his own dagger has only gotten stronger. With half an idea in your head about that, you kick out, slashing with your dagger more in the hopes of gaining back even a foot of space. 

It works, you catch some part of him, and he curses as he takes a step backward. “Would you simply stay—”

You lower your center mass and just as he raises his arm for a stab from above, attempting to use his height to get at your throat or chest, you release your grip on his dagger. In such close quarters, it doesn’t have time to turn or aim effectively. Given the strength it had been pulling at, it’s out of your hand like it was shot from a slingshot. Between your attempt at aiming and Lasky’s own speed, it misses its sheath entirely. The blade sinks into his armpit instead and he screams in pain.

Lasky’s fingers release the dagger held in that arm as his other hand clutches at the knife now embedded in him. You don’t waste any time standing there, immediately retreating, trying to find somewhere else to go, somewhere else to hide—anything to keep him away from you.

Should you go for the courtyard? Two’s no longer guarding that door—at least as far as you can tell, who knows if he needs to be near it to stop you from leaving. You feel a pang of guilt and regret for no longer staying to guard Grandmother, but with Lasky specifically focused on you and no real way to hold him off, you’re no use to her except to distract from her. The closet door was slammed shut so hopefully these assassins will just forget she’s even there. 

You head back towards where you came from originally, where Lasky’s been herding you. Hopefully you can find some of the Governor’s guards—or anyone, really. You sloppily knock over any chairs, ottomans, side tables you come across—anything to slow down your pursuer as you go. A wild, likely foolish part of you wants to run towards Dale. For all the fight still raging, and him already dealing with multiple opponents, you know he’d try to protect you. But your presence would just make his fight harder. Right?

“You bitch,” Lasky’s voice is ragged with pain and you hear his heavy footfalls getting closer as you round a short couch. “Get—” Whatever words he was going to say next are cut off by a thump and a wet gurgle. Unable to help it, you turn around.

Lasky’s already much closer than you expected, his eyes wide with surprise as he looks down at the raw spike of iron protruding from his chest. You identify it as a fireplace iron and look beyond him to see Dale’s back disappearing from the doorway.

A gasping cough brings your focus back to Lasky in time to see him collapse over the back of the couch and stop moving. You pant where you stand, feeling staggered by the sudden absence of an immediate threat. You can’t dwell on Lasky’s death, you can barely process your gratitude to Dale—only relief Lasky’s not capable of hurting you anymore. 

Should you return to Grandmother? You hadn’t actually gotten that far with how messy the room is. Hide in that closet to defend her if need be? Hadn’t you just proved how ineffective you’d be at such a task? You got in one good blow that was more accident than anything and still needed Dale to—. 

You hesitate and absently use your dagger to finish a cut made to the fabric of your dress. You take the strip of cloth and wrap it around your bleeding arm. The sudden pressure on the wound makes you flinch and grit your teeth against the renewed pain. 

Just as you secure that makeshift bandage in place and resolve to leave to find help, Vi comes running full speed out of the side room. You know the moment she spots you because she changes direction, heading for you. Immediately, you try to run for the door, but she anticipates your movement. She runs around wide, blocking that as a viable exit. 

Without thought, your turn, heading back the way you came and for the courtyard. She’s fast though, faster than you with her sturdy boots and training while your skirts and soft shoes only slow you down. She catches you just before the desk and closet you’d started this mad dash from.

A side hit from the spear bruises your side and you cry out as you are spun around. There’s desperation in her eyes as Vi lunges to cover that last few feet between you. She slams you back against the wall, her spear shaft across your throat. Your wrists too are pinned up in the skilled maneuver. Her wide, terrified eyes bore into yours. “What the fuck is he? You’re going to—”

The clash of metal on metal followed by a wet cough and a triumphant growl from the other room cuts her off. You only try to wrestle her for control briefly. You’re no match for her strength. Instead, you try desperately to wriggle your hands free, trying only to get more room to breathe. Your head is tilted back, your throat throbbing as she fixes her gaze back on yours. You try to say something, you don’t even know what, but she doesn’t give you a chance.

“They lied, he’s not human,” she spits. “He’s a skinwere.” It’s clear Dale’s revealed enough of himself that she knows he’s possessed, not enhanced. Another word for a possessed human is a demon wearing human skin or skin were for short. It’s a very negative term though and you think she might be local—you’ve heard that term used more in Northridge than even at school. No wonder she’s scared out of her mind. 

She must be able to tell you’re not surprised by the news because her eyes narrow, “You knew.” It’s not a question, but you can’t speak or even move your head to answer anyway. She doesn’t seem to need you to. 

She pushes against you with her spear, completely cutting off your air before she pulls back enough to let you speak. You cough, gulping in air as she orders, “Tell me how to kill it. Tell me—”

Before she can make any more demands, you drop your whole body down heavily. There was enough space now between the spear and the wall to let you, although it still wrenches your wrists and hands painfully. Your head hits the wall as you tilt it back to allow the movement.

Wrists and head hurting from the spear, backside throbbing from smacking into the ground as a dead weight, you’re moving before you can think about it. Crawling around her legs on your hands and knees. You scurry towards anything that can be perceived as safe. The sound of something heavy being flung into the wall makes you flinch.

A heavy blow to your back makes you yelp, collapsing onto your stomach. “You’re not going anywhere,” Vi snarls, the butt of her spear, pressing down with insistent force. “Not until—”

The pressure abates abruptly and you turn on your side to see something long and black around her wrist, pulling her weapon off of you. Your vantage point, combined with your throbbing head, makes it hard to follow all the action, but it looks like a black snake that Vi tries to tug off with a yell. 

She draws a knife with her free hand to strike the black thing, but the crack of bone breaking causes her to scream as her spear drops from her limp hand. It falls harmless to the floor. You manage to pick it and throw it far away. You know she’d be more capable of taking it from you than you would be at wielding it.

Vi finally looks behind her, following where the solid shadow stretches to and screams at whatever she sees. You only see another long dark ribbon of tangible blackness wrap around her neck before she’s pulled backwards with a strangled sound. She disappears out of your sight. 

Another thwack and gasping whimper make you wince, paralyzed on the floor, mind unable to decide what to do next. 

You hear footsteps heading for you accompanied by a tap of wood on wood. Then you hear a worried, “Sana?” 

Relief floods your body and you desperately need to see Dale, to reassure yourself that despite the horrible clashes and yells, the violence and the destruction, he’s whole. No matter what he must look like given what you’ve seen and how his voice still has an echoing, deep quality to it. You brace yourself on your palms to push yourself up. Opening your mouth to answer him, you’re interrupted by a crack before you can.

“I knew it,” an unfamiliar voice meets your ears. It has a strange, otherworldly grit to it and you freeze instantly. “How all these other humans are so blind, I’ve no notion.”

Dale hisses, “Hide,” before you hear him move away from you and towards the voice. You follow his suggestion, too cowed by the return of the threat to want to do anything else. Half crawling and half dragging your tired body, you tuck yourself under the heavy wooden desk.

“As though you are a paragon of subtlety,” Dale snaps back. He’s clearly nearly in that other side room once more, but his voice carries more than perhaps he’s even aware. 

“Ah,” the voice concedes, the sound carrying just as easily. Is that a demon power? You wonder with only slight delirium, projecting your voice? “ But I am not trying to be. Neither of us are.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” a far more human voice replies this time. “Us.” The two voices overlay on that word before the more inhuman voice continues, “We are not all so rude as to kick out the original owner. Some of us know what it is to share.”

You realize it’s Two, who has apparently decided to finally enter the fight and who’s strange nickname suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“I care not how many of you are fitted in that body,” Dale replies. “You’ll do no more harm here. You’ll not fulfill your mission.”

“Perhaps,” the casual menace of this voice is not intimidated by Dale’s confidence or orders. “Or perhaps there is simply more to be gained and less to be shared.”

Dale must see no more reason in talking because there is only the sound of movement and metal after that. Grunts sound from all three voices, perhaps more distinct given your inability to see and only to hear. They’re not enough to tell you who’s winning and you’ve no notion of how Dale stands in contest with another actual demon. Neither are likely attempting to hide their natures, but is that an advantage to one or the other? Or a wash?y

Does the Two being both help or hinder them? They had also implied that Dale was not sharing his own form, which meant the human who had been Dale was gone, didn’t it? Neither of them are mentioning Clen, so is he dead too? What sort of creature was the demon in Two? You know demons vary wildly, even the intelligent ones, in a manner far greater than humans did, what if this one was more powerful than Dale? 

It feels like ages of simply listening, though in reality is likely only a minute or two. You can’t take knowing so little about what is happening. You hesitantly move forward and cautiously kneel up to see just over the surface of the desk. 

They’re indeed still in the other room, moving so fast you can hardly tell who’s who. Front he glimpses you catch, neither of them are in forms that are entirely human anymore. Part of the fight seems almost mundane, the swords meeting and breaking apart as they circle, engaging and dodging stabs and slashes. The shadows in the room move unnaturally and at least two seem to be even more independent than that. They whip around Dale to meet and deflect animate stonework, colored grayish-green with a rusty red shot through it. The rock seems both to come from the columns and walls of the room beyond, despite looking nothing like ones in this room, and from nothing at all.

Your heart is nearly in your throat as Dale’s shadows seem as if they would be far weaker than something so sturdy. A big chunk of stone falls from the ceiling causing Dale to need to dodge to the side. He catches Two’s sword stroke awkwardly as a result. A clatter reveals that he’s been disarmed. His sword sent flying from his hand to land behind Two. 

Dale retaliates with a riot of shadows which erupt between them and forces Two back. It also nearly leaves them out of sight of the doorway and you straining to follow what’s happening. Dale’s back is to you and only half his body visible, while Two’s nearly on the other side of that room. From what you can tell he’s beginning to resemble a statue more than a person, if a moving one.

“I believe you’re unarmed now,” Two says with a smirk.

“I do not need a weapon to be armed,” Dale snarls, the shadows of the room flickering dizzyingly. His entire body seems more amorphous than ever before. You think he looks taller than he typically is, but thinner too. The arm you can see is oddly shaped, as if it is bare but also, more like a medical mannequin from class—bone and muscle with no fat to be seen. He brandishes his hand to better display the black claws he now has. In fact, you’re certain he’d been wearing a green suit earlier, but it’s black now too. Even his dark hair is even darker, untied and wild, longer than it should be. 

You keenly appreciate Dale’s rebuttal, but you still hate that his sword is gone from his hand while one remains in Two’s. They shift their stances and you automatically try to compensate with your position to keep your view. You bump into a lamp that’s been knocked to the floor.

As you push it to the side, something on the ground catches your attention. You peek around the edge of the desk to get a better look and very deliberately don’t look too closely at Vi’s body, only a few yards away. Instead you focus on the long, thin piece of polished wood instead. Dale’s cane. 

Instantly, you know you need to get this to Dale and more than that, you want to do something, anything to help him. Carefully, you put your hands down on the cold stone floor to steady yourself. Then you move just far enough out from behind the desk to grasp the foot of the cane and pull it towards you. 

You grasp it firmly in your hands and peer back over the top of the desk, checking to make sure that Dale’s still the one closest to the doorway. 

Once you see that he is, you call out, “Dale!” Then you lean up high on your knees and throw the cane like you’ve seen others throw a javelin. It soars through the air and into the further room where Dale and Two are tangled in a confusing knot of shadow and stone. 

They break apart at the sound of your voice and Dale leaps backwards as if propelled by some of the shadows under him. A hand, black like he’s wearing gloves or dunked his arm in ink and clawed, snatches the cane out of the air with careful precision. You think you see the glint of a blue eye on the back of his hand, practically the only color standing out against his form now.

“Will that do you any good?” Two asks, seemingly curious more than anything as he watches Dale hold the cane. You can’t tell if his lack of anger over this fight, the way he keeps treating it like a tournament fight for entertainment, is a good thing or not.

Dale says nothing, merely twists the handle. He carefully pulls off the wood to reveal a long green rapier.

“Jade,” Two hisses, taking a full step back. “A dangerous weapon for one such as ourselves to wield.”

“All weapons are dangerous,” Dales replies brusquely. “Humans regularly use weapons as deadly to themselves as they are to their enemies.”

“How adaptable. All the shade in your nature, I presume,” Two says, a mocking edge to his tone.

“You are not the only one who can use stone to their advantage,” Dale bats back as easily. 

Two lets out a bark of laughter and the sound seems to come from far more than two mouths, let alone one. You would give nearly anything for him to never do that again. “It has been so long since I spoke with one of us with intelligence still left to them up here. The sunlight seems to drive too many insane. Almost a shame to kill you.”

“A good thing then,” Dale says as he charges, “that you will not.”

The visibility of the fight becomes impossible after that. There’s too much movement from shadows and they move further into the room. You’re back to primarily trying to gauge the fight based on sound alone: thuds and crashes and ripping that you can’t identify.

“So close. But perhaps you are correct,” it’s the human voice this time, panting but not demoralized. Some of the sight line clears and you see Two hunched over, a hand on their chest. “I shall not be able to kill you nor collect the bounty so generously placed on your head.” They pick up their head, “However, the knight had the correct idea.” 

“Yes,” the grating demonic voice picks up and they slowly straighten. “I’m certain you must have supplies or books worth perusing. I can tell your form is impeccable underneath, despite your essence spilling out. This body, with him intact, still gets a bit stiff if I’m not careful. I shall be intrigued to ascertain how you accomplished such a thing.”

“You think I will allow you to leave?” Dale hisses. “After all you’ve done.” He throws a hand out to emphasize the general state of destruction around them.

Two laughs and it's one of the most unsettling things you’ve ever heard. It has a screech to it that makes your skin crawl. You are resisting the urge to cover your ears or yell yourself in order to drown him out when he looks over and meets your eyes. His dirty red eyes, the color of dried blood, bore into yours across the distance and he rushes for you.

He crosses the distance faster than he should be able to you and there’s a ripple in the walls that seems to respond to him. Panic seizes your heart and mind as you instinctively dive back down and under the desk. Your hands desperately latch onto and drag a broken ottoman to cover the open part of the desk.

Curling up behind it, you feel something slam into the makeshift shield, pushing you and the desk back, the wooden legs squealing against the floor as it moves. A wordless roar comes from further away and another crash echoes through the room. The sound of what you think are books falling to the floor and a heavy grunt follow.

Then, silence.

You cough a few seconds later, unable to help it due to all the dust the stone moving has kicked up. You think you hear a smothered groan while you attempt to stop, but you stay rooted in your hiding spot, waiting.

After another dull thump, Dale calls your name. His voice is still strange and yet you can hear the confusion and worry in it. You can hear a lot more than that actually. Your eyelids flutter despite being unable to see anything other than dust and dingy wood. 

Your name sounds different than when he’s said it in the past. There is a depth to it, meaning below the surface that you can hear when he’s like this. Like emotion and inflection and neither of those. 

There’s a layer of softness, of imagery that it conjures up, that you can almost feel through his voice. Of gentle sunlight through the window on a clear day. Your favorite chair and the taste of fresh, sweet honey melting on your tongue, soothing and comforting. Its respect and harmony and the potential to be more than you are alone, of joining and of belonging. Tension leeches from you in waves, like taking off so many heavy coats to stand unburdened. You want to drown in the sensation, you want to hear him say nothing, but your name for the rest of your life.

You want to come out, to go to him, regardless of what you might see. Hesitantly, you push the ottoman away and start to crawl out from beneath the desk. Shakily, you stand up and turn to face Dale.

To your surprise, he looks far more human than the glimpses you’d gotten of him during the fight. His eyes still glow unnaturally and his hair is too long and wild. He’s roughly the correct height again with no too tangible shadows or extra eyes, though you’re not looking at his hands on purpose. His skin for the most part is a shade of human coloring once more. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding either, no obvious large wounds or injuries. 

You can’t handle a direct conversation about his nature now, not after all of this, and so you look beyond him to assess the rest of the situation, although you can tell by a feeling in the air that Two is gone.

The room beyond him does look as though the bookcase closest to you had been tipped over or thrown towards the desk, but Dale is standing in such a way as to suggest he’d caught it before it fell. His free hand is also held open in a gesture towards the wall behind you, where you can see large bricks of rock have come loose, though not enough to threaten the integrity of the wall itself.

You meet his eyes once again and he finally relaxes, shoulders drooping as you both stand in the aftermath. Then he’s striding forward and the cool fingers of his free hand grip your chin as he examines you.

“I am fine,” you say, which would probably be more convincing if you couldn’t feel tears dripping down your cheeks. His eyes rake up and down your form, obviously trying to assess that for himself before finally settling back on your face once he’s done. 

Something that might be relief starts to spread over his face until he freezes. He withdraws his hand abruptly from your face, tucking it behind him with a speed you don’t bother to try to match. Instead you resist the urge to swap towards, wanting his touch once more as it had felt grounding.

Then he blinks, his eyes darting around the room with renewed concern. “Where?” Dale asks.

After a second of confusion, you realize who he’s asking after. Your hand closes around the door handle for the closet and you pull the door open to reveal a still unconscious Grandmother hidden away safely.

You grab one arm of the chair and Dale the other as you pull it out from the closet. You don’t even care that he’s clearly doing the majority of the work. It takes a second before you can see her chest moving with her breathing. 

“Grandmother will be too,” you say, not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Good,” Dale says. He carefully brings a human thumb to wipe away your tears with a tenderness that does not match the danger that lingered in the way he still holds himself. You can’t help but lean into his touch, the safety he offers, if only to you. “It would only be worse for them if you were not.” His eyes slide to Grandmother’s unconscious form and menace seems to drip from his voice. “It shall be bad enough for them as it is.” 

You jump at the sound of a door opening, looking past Dale to see two of the governor’s guards walk in. They stop, gaping in the doorway.

Dale straightens, ignoring the reinforcements that have finally shown up. He doesn’t respond to Grandfather’s concerned voice calling his name and Grandmother’s and even her own. His head swivels to the direction of the courtyard, where Two went.

Fear grips your heart and your hand lands on his forearm, “No.” He doesn’t look back at you either. He gently, but inexorably pulls out of your grasp. You can’t stop him, you know that you can’t, but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving, of him pursuing this threat. “No. Dale. Don’t go after him!”

He ignores you, jade rapier in hand, and runs out into the courtyard.

“Damn you,” you say, voice tight as you try to stop more tears from welling up. What if he’s found out? What if Two can do more to hurt him? What if there are others in wait and he’s outnumbered? What if—? You wipe your eyes more harshly than perhaps you need to as you force yourself to focus on what you can do, who you can help.

While the other guards race to follow Dale, Grandfather hurries across the room to be on the other side of the chair, calling Grandmother’s name. You can feel her breathing, but you need to see if her heart is in trouble. You check her pulse as you tell him, “We need a doctor. Now.”

Sana: I prefer you as you are too

Dale:

They're so cute together 😭 Another great chapter 🩷

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Four

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong With Dale Chapter 24

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] Part Twenty-Four

Grandfather is quick to spring into motion. Apparently, since the maid who’d come to get him had only known you were in distress and that you’d been with Grandmother for longer than expected, he’d brought a doctor with him. They thought she might have fallen, not that you’d been attacked, for all they had taken guards just in case. 

You two were immediately ushered to Grandmother’s rooms where you were pushed aside for the far more learned medical professional to take over. Instead, the captain of the guard began interrogating you over what had happened. You told him all you could, hopefully without giving away anything regarding Dale’s inhumanity. They’d seemed satisfied enough about your short, blunt answers and soon left to spread that information around. The last you heard from the captain was him ordering a thorough search of the entire property for any more conspirators and to see if anyone had been able to catch up with Dale and Two.

Resigned and exhausted, you’ve collapsed in the wingback chair in Grandmother’s sitting room.  You watch a maid bring something into Grandmother’s bedroom, the sound of voices—the doctor’s and Grandfather’s are the only ones you can identify, not that their words are intelligible—from the other room is somewhat soothing as at least no one is shouting. You thought she was going to be fine, but what did you truly know? They’d been in there for what felt like hours, though you have no real notion of the passing of time. 

Your eyes search out a clock and when you finally spot one, despite having no idea what the time could be, you’re still surprised to learn its two hours past midnight. Like trying to reach back a far distance, you try to remember what time it had been when you left the ballroom. Before midnight, surely.

Oh. Had this attack been ‘secrets' referred to in the astrologer’s calendar? You let out a small sound that might be a laugh because, brightness, you hope so. You’re not sure you can handle anything else happening today, especially anything with secrets of any kind.

You fidget in the chair a moment longer before you find yourself walking to the side table on instinct. You hang the teakettle over the fire with surprisingly steady hands. You’re boiling water for tea primarily out of a desire to do something other than sit around waiting for news on Grandmother or Dale. 

You ignore the pouches of headache and insomnia tea in your pockets to fuss with the options the Governor put in Grandmother and Grandfather’s rooms for them. You watch the fire more diligently than you need to, trying not to think about anything at all. Right now your thoughts are too full of worries for listening to them to be at all helpful. 

The water boils quicker than you expect, so you set the kettle on the thick pad to keep while you set the green tea leaves into the steeper. The motions of fixing your cup help settle your nerves, as does holding the warm cup in your hands once you’re done. 

You blow on it carefully as your thoughts start to flow once more. How much longer until someone sees fit to inform you on Grandmother’s condition? When will Dale return? Did you skirt the truth correctly while talking to the captain? You can’t even truly remember what you said. You know that you leaned heavily on the idea that you were hiding and confused.

“My lady,” you turn at the sound of your maid’s voice. She’s standing with Grandfather, having just entered the sitting room from the bedroom. They both look tired and worried. Worn out.

Your heart stutters in your chest and your grip tightens around the handle of your teacup so you don’t drop it. “How is Grandmother? Has her conditioned worsened?”

“What?” Grandfather reflexively glances back at the door as he frowns. “No, no,” he’s quick to reassure you, crossing the room towards you. “She’s gone to sleep, but she was alert and able enough to argue with the physician before that.” His mouth curves a small, but genuine smile with the telling. “Dr. Mull complimented your bandaging. She has no doubt Deidre will make a full recovery.”

You nearly sit down in relief. “Oh, thank the light. When I saw you, you looked...” You trail off not sure you want to tell him that he looked older, more tired, than you’ve seen him previously. Instead, you focus on the good news, on the worry you can put down. “I’m so glad to hear she shall be alright.”

Grandfather continues to look odd though, almost cautious in some manner. Did he want to interrogate you about the fight or where Dale went as well? He takes another step closer and reaches out towards you before he evidently thinks better of it. “Speaking of healing, do you not think perhaps now it is time to allow the doctor to do an examination of yourself, my dear?”

You’d already been trying to muster the right words to say to him about the events that his question’s topic throws you off-balance. You blink at him. “Me? I am fine.”

This time it’s your maid, Miss Adir, who speaks up. “My lady,” her voice has far more of the artificial calm pragmatism than it usually does when speaking to you. The maid you grew up with, who you had grown quiet close to, pointed it out to you once when your brother’s valet used the tone. Douglas had been insisting on joining a hunt despite having rode straight home from the capital for days straight and was dead on his feet. She said all servants had them for when nobles were being particularly hard-headed. Miss Adir hasn’t even said anything specific and you are already beginning to feel foolish. “You’ve multiple injuries, which surely with your experience, you know should be either attended to by a professional or at the very least properly bandaged.”

Reflexively, you adjust how you’re holding your arm, the cut stinging anew. With your attention drawn to it, the material of your makeshift bandage itches. You can see the sense in what she’s proposing, however, it feels as though you’re still waiting, as if the fight and the danger must still be present because Dale has not returned yet. It feels wrong to leave this room, to do something that feels as final as tending to your injuries when the events of tonight have not yet concluded. 

Grandfather must read some of your hesitance on your face and he adds, “Deidre gave explicit instructions to have your own injuries sorted before I went to sleep for the night, my lady.” 

It’s heavy-handed to use Grandmother against you like this, but now you can also see that his current worry is at least partially regarding you. Does that mean his suspicion over you is truly gone now? Is this all that had to happen? For you to be attacked by assassins? You should have led with that evidently. You find the thought funny enough you have to resist the urge to let out a laugh. You’re fairly certain it would not have come out right. “Very well.”

“Thank you,” Grandfather says, looking relieved that you're not arguing further. “Do you wish to wait for the doctor?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes. “That is not necessary. All of my injuries are only to the flesh. My head was unharmed and no bones have been broken. If my estimation of any of my injuries were incorrect, I shall inform Dr. Mull myself.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says, though not without a glance towards Grandmother’s room. You know you’re holding yourself stiffly due to tension and worry and yes, your lingering injuries, but you hope it only comes off as the former two. It must because he nods. “Yes, and I shall remain alert for Dale’s return.”

You nod and gesture with the hand still holding your teacup to the tea table. “Please, help yourself to some green tea. I freshly boiled the water only a few minutes ago.” When Grandfather stares at the pot with mild distrust, you add, “No special blends, just the green tea provided by the Governor. I was merely thirsty.”

Grandfather blinks back at you before smiling sheepishly. “Lovely. Thank you.”

You nod. “You are welcome,” you murmur as you let Miss Adir usher you into Grandmother’s dressing room.

“I’ve had some fresh clothes brought for you and I've got your medical bag,” Miss Adir says as she guides you into a chair. “Why don’t you finish your tea while I set it all out, hm?”

You nod, feeling like it’s all you’ve done for the past few minutes but helpless to think of what to do or say instead. Quietly, you sip your tea as the candles in the room are lit. It looks similar enough to your own dressing room here in the governor’s house, but larger. None of the details seem to stick in your mind and you find it easier to look down at the cup in your hands. 

In what feels like only a few seconds, you realize the cup is empty and Miss Adir’s hands are carefully taking it from you. “Let’s stand you up, my lady, so we can get you out of this tarnished ensemble. Oh, how do you want to do this, my lady? Should you change first or bandage yourself first? Or should I?”

The confusion and concern in her voice finally snaps you more fully to the present. You push up out of the chair and finally take a good look in the mirror, needing to better assess the situation in order to answer her questions. 

“Oh,” you say as you stare at yourself. You’re not sure if you expected to look worse or better, but it’s still a surprise to see the evidence of the night’s events on your person. 

Your hair looks mussed, almost as if you’ve slept on it, and your cheeks still have the faint evidence of tear tracks on them. Your eyes too are red at the edges, pupils still wider than even the dim lighting should require. The rest of you, well your dress as a whole looks like you’ve taken a tumble down a hill except instead of streaks of greenery, there are streaks of gray rock dust. Your makeshift bandage stands out as obviously as the large tear from where it had come from on your dress, exposing the cream of your stays. 

Your injured hand automatically goes to cover the hole and you feel a pang of pain at the movement. The aches and bruising you know must be under everything don’t show beyond the general disarray your clothing is in. Then there are the splatters of red, dried to a darker, rustier color, which are not from your own injuries which stand out starkly on the light green fabric. “Oh my.”

Miss Adir comes closer, hovering with her hands clasped tightly. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather the doctor see to you?”

You shake your head, but feel more present having truly seen what state you’re in. “No, she would not tell me anything I cannot tell myself. We should take all of this off, clean and bandage what can be, and then re-dress.”

“Yes, my lady,” Miss Adir seems dubious but grateful you’ve decided on a course of action. 

She carefully helps you out of the dress, though you fight the urge to remind her that it's likely destined for scrap. Even if the dress could be salvaged, you doubt you’d want to wear it again. After she loosens your stays, you fiddle with the busk to pull out the sheath and dagger. You set that aside separately so it can be strung along a leather thong. You’ve no desire to be without it anytime soon. You might sleep with it nearby.

Soon enough from your stockings to your shift, all has been carefully peeled away, leaving only the bandage left. Your front mostly looks normal, although there’s a bruise forming on your hip and another on one of your thighs you don’t remember getting. It’s your arms that have the most obvious damage, your wrists from the spear and then the cut on your arm. None of the other scratches and nicks you’ve picked up warrant bandaging.

Miss Adir hisses in sympathy as she comes over with some cloths and a basin of water. “Oh, your back.”

You turn to examine it in the mirror and wince. There’s a large knot where Vi had used the butt of her spear that’s already quite dark and angry looking. You feel an unexpected thrum of satisfaction at the sight of it, as though how much it hurts is now justified by the sight of the damage. “Yes, well, nothing much to do about bruising.” You reach back with your uninjured hand to run your fingers over the damage, checking as gingerly as you can for anything more that the sight might be disguising. “Nothing’s broken. I shall simply have to be careful of how I sit.”

“We can add a pad under the stays to keep from pressing on it too harshly,” Miss Adir says. “My mother did so after she was knocked into a fence post.”

“Yes, no stays tonight though.” The Governor had ordered your wing into a lockdown: no one in or out except guards and the servants already there. With no guests and the late hour, you were not getting any more dressed than you had to.

“No, no,” Miss Adir agreed. “Your bandages are here—I believe they are the correct ones, but your bag is over there if you require something else.”

“Thank you,” you say, reaching to check she had the right of it before taking a cloth and dipping it in the warm water. As you begin to unwind the makeshift bandage, she begins to help clean off the rest of you. It’s nicer than you expect to have the feeling of sweat cooling washed away until she does so.

The bandage sticks to your skin and you have to be careful not to leave any loose threads in the cut. You narrow your focus to cleaning the cut and making sure you don’t need stitches because that task seems like something you can manage.

The slash is longer than you initially thought, but not as deep as you’d worried, no matter how it hurts. Miss Adir helps hold the end of the bandage in place while you wrap it up. 

Accomplishing even something as simple as that, in this quiet room that feels separate and safe from the rest of the world has helped to resettle you, though you can feel exhaustion begin to nip at your heels. You try to shake it off, resolving to get another cup of tea soon. 

Some renewed urgency floods your veins with the only true injury you can treat handled. Feeling cleaner helps too as you put on the fresh shift and drawers. You sit back down to put on your stockings and when you do, you notice Miss Adir biting her lip. “What is it? Is something else wrong?”

“No, no,” she’s quick to reassure you, before biting her lip again. “Only, are you really okay? I can’t believe something like this happened here. What if myself or Miss Nila had been with you and Lady Deidre? Suppose Lord Dale—”

“Miss Adir,” you say, placing a hand over hers which you’ve only just realized are trembling. “I am fine. You heard Dr. Mull say Lady Deidre will recover, yes?”

She nods, looking up at you with wide eyes. You’re reminded that, while you always feel young, she is a couple years younger than even yourself. Before this wedding and your arrival, she’d primarily been a general maid, not assigned directly to any of the Northridges. She must feel even more in over her head than you do. “Lord Dale did arrive in time and the guards were summoned timely as well.” Something occurs to you. “Were you the one who discovered Grandmother and I were not where we were supposed to be?”

Miss Adir nods, some tears in her eyes. “When I got back up here with your pastries and Miss Nila said you still hadn’t gotten back, she went to tell Lord Archibald and Lord Dale while I alerted the captain. He did not seem to think much was amiss, but I convinced him to at least check with his other guards in the wing. I’ve heard such tales from the other servants since we’ve come to Connton. He’d just discovered some were not at their posts when Miss Nila came to tell him of your shouting and Lord Dale rushing into a fight!”

You smile at her, relieved that notice had been spreading as you’d hoped. “Then you did exactly what you should have.”

“Shouldn’t I have done something more? When I think back on how slow we were to fetch anyone or how long it took to discuss matters, I can only think at how frightened you or Lady Deidre must have been while we took our time.”

You shake your head. “We were frightened because of the actions of the attackers, not your own. And you had no reason to think anything grave was amiss. Neither Grandmother nor I would place any blame at your feet.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Now,” you stand back up. “Help me into my petticoats and dressing gown so we can rejoin the others.”

“Yes, my lady,” she replies with a lightness in her step that you feel yourself. Strange how reassuring her had helped you center yourself. What is done is done and everyone did the best they could, including yourself. It did not however, help alleviate your worry over Dale, who was still in the fight, perhaps even literally.

When you and Miss Adir emerge from the dressing room, you see Grandfather look over to you and some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. “You look much better, my lady,” he says as he gestures you into your former seat. Miss Adir leaves to take your previous garments away and you see a guard peel off from the wall to accompany her.

You thank Grandfather for the tea he pours you, but you can see an eager, but reluctant look in his eyes that tells you that, since he has been reassured of your state, he too wishes to ask you for details on what happened.

What follows is a near identical set of questions as you’d fielded from the captain and you’re relieved to find that your previous answers do come back to you. It is only when he starts to repeat himself, obviously frustrated that you cannot provide more information, that you begin to grow weary once again. You know he is not truly angry with you, at least you do not think so, but it is a tiring exercise to walk the line between what information to reveal and what not to.

“I’ve told you,” you finally say, cutting off another question about what had happened to the leader, Clen. “I spent near as much as I could hidden after being assaulted by Lasky and then the other. I don’t know when in the fight he even died. I could see nothing.”

“The room is a mess of destruction,” Grandfather says, having gotten up to begin pacing. “Far more than would come of an ordinary fight, even with ones so brutal.”

“They had enhancements from the Depths,” you remind him. “Not the woman, but the others.”

“Yes, so the Captain said too.” Talking through everything seems to be how Grandfather is processing everything, you simply wish it did not feel quite so much like he was trying to catch you out in a lie. Unlike the days before, you can tell he isn’t actually suspicious of you. “There was only one that left alive at the end, yes?”

“Yes,” you reply. You debate telling him anything more about two, but likely the captain will anyway. Still you don’t want to upset him further so you cautiously add, “However… I do not think the one had enhancements.”

“Oh,” Grandfather stops pacing to stare at you. “Not what I would have suspected.” He relaxes,  “That is a good thing, they should be easier to apprehend.”

“You misunderstand,” you say, shaking your head. There is no point in delaying the information. “I believe that one to be possessed.”

Grandfather pales at your words. “Caverns below, true possession? Did you alert the captain to your suspicion?”

You nod. “Of course.” Now you wonder if the captain had kept that to himself until Dale’s return so as not to worry Grandmother or Grandfather. Had he reported while Grandmother was present? Regardless, it’s too late now and you want Grandfather braced for the information. “I could hear very little—they kept to the edges of the fight initially and I was hidden as best I could, but at the end… They spoke in voices. Multiple voices. Not to mention the strength they displayed and their interaction with the physical world beyond that of a human.”

Grandfather looks truly shaken and you begin to regret letting him know. “I cannot think on the damage one such as them might wreak.” You resist the urge to point out he’s already seen it. “To think someone hired such a horrible monster in order to attack our family. Dale mentioned being able to combat such lower tactics and evidently he held his own, but I now more greatly understand your concern on his going after them.”

“He had a blade that seemed able to damage even those from the Depths,” you say, wanting to give Grandfather some reassurance, but obviously unable to say that Dale is in fact on even footing with Two.

“That is good to know. Perhaps I should acquire something similar. Too many tools that can be used against those from the Depths are from the Depths and therefore, too great a risk to have in one’s possession. That is why we banned them,” Grandfather says, half to himself as he slowly begins pacing once more. “What manner of influence did the possessed one have access to?”

“Stonework,” you reply, knowing you are likely encouraging Grandfather’s fear, but unable to keep your fears in any longer. “They seemed to partially turn to stone, but that might have been a trick of the light. I did not get a good look. They treated the entire fight, those they had been working with, Dale and myself, as if… we didn’t matter to them, not as people. At least, that is how it seemed to me.” 

That is what, looking back on everything, unsettles you the most. How they didn’t care that their companions had been killed. They did not enter the fight until it was just them and Dale. Even that they seemed to see as an entertaining challenge, more than a fight with lives at stake. The demon in Two had seemed far less, for lack of a better word, human than this Dale was. It had been extremely disconcerting and frightening, bringing back old fears that maybe this demon Dale was only a good actor. But to what end? 

You force yourself to focus on Two and the problem at hand, as always feeling as if Grandfather might somehow be able to read your worries and thoughts on Dale on your face. “The others were more obviously there because they were paid well. Two seemed to have an entirely different agenda and was far more dangerous because of it, not to mention his abilities, which were far greater than those with mere enhancements.” You shudder at the memory of the cruel menace in his voice, which only seems to grow worse to your mind now that there are fewer things to focus on. It had physically discomforted you to hear, but now it seemed to suggest they had personally inflicted harm to others the likes of which you could not imagine.  “I never want him near me again.”

“Yes, the machinations of those demons from below are incomprehensible except to spread chaos and destruction,” Grandfather replies, scowling fiercely. “If I ever run into one of those demons, I—”

Whatever threat he was hoping to make is cut off by the door opening. You both turn, Grandfather’s hand to his sword hilt and yours to the dagger lying on the table beside you. 

Dale is in the doorway, looking worn but whole as he walks in.

“Dale!” you and Grandfather say at the same time. Grandfather has put his hands on his grandson’s shoulders, looking him over, before you can even get to your feet.

“Are you alright?” he demands. “What happened? How could you go off on your own like that after someone so dangerous?

Dale carefully places a hand on Grandfather’s arm, pulling it off his shoulder. “I am alright. I’m sure you’ve been informed of those who attacked us. The other had to be stopped. I ensured they will no longer harm our family,” Dale replies, his voice blunt and tired.

You try your best to assess Dale for injuries or other signs that might give him away in his exhausted state. Similar to you, you expect the majority of his injuries are bruisings, but nothing appears obviously broken, nor is he bleeding profusely from anywhere in particular. Relief finally floods you at this confirmation that he is going to be alright. You can’t help but let out a breath of relief which brings his gaze to you. You try to offer him a smile, but he still seems on his guard, which must mean it was a poor attempt on your part. 

He looks back at Grandfather. “How is Grandmother?”

“She is recovering well,” Grandfather says, beginning to herd Dale towards her room. “Come, you must let Dr. Mull assess your injuries.”

“There is no need,” Dale attempts to protest.

“Of course there is,” Grandfather retorts, not slowing down his pace in the slightest. Dale turns pleading eyes to you.

“Let him look you over,” you say, “And so long as he approves with it, I can provide the rest of the supplies or aid with any bandaging.”

Dale glances from you to Grandfather before he slumps, realizing he’s outnumbered. “Yes, sana.”

With that, the pair disappears into Grandmother’s bedroom. 

You set about readying the dressing room to tend to Dale, or for the doctor to do so herself. You only hope if it comes to that, Dale has himself under control. Not to mention that if Dale is injured severely enough for the doctor to wish to do so would be very worrying indeed. 

Miss Adir is sent for more water and cloths while Dale’s valet goes to fetch him fresh clothes, though you hope Dale can just go to bed rather than be kept up even later being interrogated. 

You’re checking on your supplies, making sure you have enough bandages when you hear the door push open further behind you. 

“Sana?” You turn to see Dale in the doorway.

“Dale, how are you? How is Grandmother? They said they didn’t want too many people in her rooms,” you ask, following him into the room and taking a closer look at the slashes that pepper his clothing.

“As I’ve said,'' Dale still sounds tired, but also less stiff. As if he too is finally feeling the release of some tension generated by the fight. He takes off his jacket, clearly knowing you need a closer look to help care for his wounds. “I am alright. So is Grandmother. She was sleeping easily and the Doctor said there will be no lasting damage. She said similarly for me, if not for a few scars. One of my ribs is broken, but nothing else is. She agreed that your training would be plenty to help with the other cuts, though with a similar warning to let her know if anything requires stitches.”

“Oh good, yes,” you say, your hand clasps around his wrist as you turn his arm to better see the longest cut on it. The red staining his shirt looks dark, but human and you hate how much of it there is. Perhaps you should have left the bandaging to the doctor. What if you do not have the right training after all?

He leans closer to you, causing you to look up. There is caution in his face as he says, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” The more people asked you the worse you were starting to feel. With Dale finally back here and whole, if not uninjured, everything finally seems to have fully caught up with you. “I just…” you can’t find the words for what you're feeling and trail off. Your frown deepens, frustrated with yourself, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I... I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“It would be understandable, if you were not,” Dale murmurs. Your fingers hesitantly brush the edge of his torn sleeve. “Sana—”

He gently pulls you by your forearm closer to him. Without giving it any further thought, you collapse into him. Wrapping your arms around him and fisting your hands in the back of his shirt in an effort to stop from shaking. 

You bury your face against his chest. He’s solid and firm beneath you. The scent of dark spice with the hint of woodsmoke envelops you. He’s not warm, but that’s alright, your face feels warm enough with the effort of holding in nonsensical tears and with embarrassment at how you’re reacting. You can’t bring yourself to let go of him though, not when you finally feel rooted to the ground again.

One of his large hands spans your back while the other rests on your head, with enough weight that you feel him, but no hold, no pressure. You’re sure if you tried to push away, he’d let you. 

You press closer instead, mumbling another ‘I’m sorry’ through closed eyes.

“Hush,” he says, and there’s no judgment in his tone, only something you think might be fondness as he adjusts his hold on you. “You did so well, handling everything, I was beginning to worry about what else you might have faced in your past to prepare you to handle such an event. For a second, I nearly wondered if you were entirely human.”

That pulls a startled laugh from you. “That does seem to be a popular theory.” First Grandfather and now even Dale, if only in jest. You could hear the mild irony in his tone and enjoy the inside joke, for all it doesn’t help dissipate the surreal feeling of this night. You loosen your hold on the back of his shirt, but the thought that perhaps Dale would prefer if you were more than you are makes your hands spasm. He had said you’d done well, but what if that was only with the caveat that you are human? What if he wants someone more like him? “So sorry to disappoint, but I’m definitely only human.” 

If he notices how desperately you are clutching at him once again, he doesn’t show it. “Nonsense,” he intones and, as always, his words are so self-assured that you are already half-way to believing whatever he is going to say next. “I would only be disappointed if you were anyone other than who you already are.”

A wry smile crosses your face because you think that’s a compliment. In fact, you think it might be the highest compliment you’ve ever received. Pulling back a little, you tentatively look up and meet his dark, endless gaze. The corners of his eyes crinkle and there’s a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you.” You give him a squeeze and start to pull away. “I prefer you as you are too.”

His eyes widen slightly and a surprisingly vulnerable expression crosses his face. “Is that so?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you reply, hoping he can hear how certain you are. “It is.”

He grins down at you, a strangely boyish pride on his face, and you flush, finally letting go of him. His own hands fall from you and to distract yourself from their loss, you fuss with your hair and clothes. When your eyes dart back to his own, he’s watching you with an indulgent smile. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” you admit because you truly do. 

“Good.”

“How are you?” you ask, looking into his eyes to better assess his answer, to try to communicate you don’t just mean physically. Perhaps he faced all sorts of events like today in the Depths, but you don’t think so. He hadn’t panicked, but he had not been unfazed either.

He frowns, as if he hadn’t thought to take stock of how he felt until you asked. “Concerned and angry, but no longer as unsettled as I felt even moments ago.”

You nod because that honestly sounds like your feelings exactly. “Will you be able to find who did this?”

“Oh, yes,” his entire being seems to darken, the shadows around him that much deeper than they were seconds ago, the air that much colder. “The responsible parties will be found and punished accordingly, as I told Grandfather. Make no mistake about that.”

“Good.” 

We finally get to meet our family!

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter Twenty-Five

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] Part Twenty-Five

You’d thought the galas had been uncomfortable, but apparently they are nothing compared to the three Northridges in an argument.

You’re all in the study Grandmother’s been lent for your stay, Dale and yourself at a table with Dale’s paperwork spread out around him while Grandfather paces having long vacated his own chair. You wish you could occupy yourself by reading his notes, but they’re in a shorthand code you don’t know. Probably for the best for secrecy purposes, but unhelpful as a distraction. You wonder if Dale will teach it to you once you have the time.

“Unacceptable,” Grandmother says, frowning at Dale. You think it’s the sternest she’s ever looked at him given her usual soft spot for her grandson. “Pride is no excuse not to use every advantage at your disposal to locate these enemies.”

“Unnecessary,” Dale corrects. He presses his lips together before he forces himself to take a deep breath. You appreciate how he keeps his frustration contained, his eyes trained on his notes and waiting to respond when the original Dale would not have. You want to comfort or show your support for him, but you’ve no idea how. So you keep your hands clasped in your lap and hope that when the moment comes for you to assist, you notice it. “All the combatants were defeated; we need to focus on who paid them. I doubt any of the true architects behind the attack would be found out by exorcists. Such people would only be useful at locating the mercenaries.”

“You cannot be certain that the skinwere is truly vanquished,” Grandfather insists, not pausing in his pacing.

It’s challenging to know when you should speak up and when you should keep silent in this argument, particularly when it is not yet your family. Your inclination during verbal fights is nearly always to remain silent. Your eyes dart to Dale, whose expression does not give away that he is by far the most knowledgeable regarding whether or not he has killed a demon or merely removed a possession. Unfortunately, that would not be a helpful interjection.

Grandfather continues, “It might have simply returned to the Depths. What will you do if it returns? In a new body, it will already know your strength and will be more prepared. It will have all the knowledge it gained prior to the attack. It could take you by surprise. An exorcist—”

“Is unnecessary,” Dale repeats. He finally looks up from his papers to meet first Grandfather’s and then Grandmother’s eyes in turn. “I know that it is vanquished. An exorcist will only waste money to confirm the same thing. Many of them are charlatans regardless, no more able to identify and banish a demon than anyone else and only able to part the gullible from their coin.”

“I know plenty of competent and qualified exorcists, Dale,” Grandmother’s tone is arch, clearly not thrown off by Dale’s rebuttal. “The persistence of the demonic is not to be underestimated.”

“We have been dealing with these threats longer than you have, my boy,” Grandfather says, a paternal and condescending tone to his voice. “We have the experience. We have the contacts. We should be leading this investigation and yet you are willfully keeping vital information to yourself.” 

“Yes, and I shall continue to do so,” Dale replies, eyes back on his papers while you resist the urge to fidget under Grandfather’s intent and frustrated gaze. He had shared some of the information he learned about the employers of the mercenaries from his separate, second fight with Two with you, but nothing with his grandparents beyond his confirmation of Two’s defeat. You’re not sure that his grandparents realize he’s told you even a word or two more than them and are not sure if you even want them to find out. “I was the target of this threat and I shall be the one to see it ended.”

“Now is not the time to act too big for your britches,” Grandfather snaps.

“If this is a bid for maturity, for lordship, it is misplaced,” Grandmother’s voice is clearer and sharper. “Only the childish attempt to do things in isolation, mired in a false sense of independence, in pride, in hubris. There is no need to prove yourself, Dale,” her voice gentles here, at the end. It is interesting to hear them make points that would be valid, if only they were aimed at their grandson and not the present Dale. They don’t know they are arguing against a stranger, that their words are aimed at a ghost. “There is nothing to prove. There are only enemies of Northridge to deal with, with everything we have at our disposal.”

You wonder how the original Dale would have handled this argument, if he even decided to have it. The point might have been moot given how much this Dale needed to draw on his nature to win it. Maybe instead you and his grandparents would have been here, reading a ransom note. Maybe you or grandmother would not have survived the night.

“You expect us to trust your judgment,” Grandfather says, strain in his voice as he attempts to rein himself in, “but there are actions that speak against such rational thought. I still cannot believe the utter foolishness that you demonstrated, chasing after one into the night. Do you know how many of those demons have powers over darkness?”

You look down at the papers on the table, just in case your eyes or expression otherwise give away how ironic you find that statement. Picturing Dale’s control over shadows and darkness  brings back memories of the fight. It also brings up memories of the dream you had last night. The dream’s images conjured to your mind by the sight of this new Dale, with his humanity an obvious after thought, to be contemplated while asleep. Darkness poured over the estimate of the human form, his bright eyes, the strength and speed he possessed in those moments.

You feel your cheeks heat at how the dream had diverted from the memory it began by rehashing. Of how it was routed in the manner of his hand on your chin after the fight had ended. In your dreams, his grip had once more been delicate silk over wrought iron strength. He had done more than look as he checked you were whole. His voice had that same reverberation of feeling and affection you heard near the end of the fight, when your name on his lips had evoked such emotion. 

“I was not acting out of immature pride or foolishness then and neither am I now,” Dale replies, snapping you back to the present. His jaw is set as he puts his pen down to give them his full attention. “I am acting as I see fit, based on the circumstances at hand. I had received the training required and the knowledge to hold my own in such a fight. I had observed my opponent and knew the limits of his capabilities as well as my own.” 

Dale’s confidence in the fight, even more so than in the tournament, had been obvious. Even now it was a comfort to you, to know how strong he truly was. This Dale’s strength is an asset, not the concern it had been originally. You still might have advised him to include his grandparents, if you didn’t know what you knew and how dangerous such a thing could be to him now. He must be walking the line between those who know who hired the mercenaries and those who can tell what he is very carefully indeed.

“My estimation was correct as I returned and they did not. It was not luck or coincidence and I’ll not discuss in maybes,” Dale adds at the end when it was clear Grandfather was going to add something more. “We are already here, now, and we are not discussing the actions already taken, but those yet to occur.” 

Dale clears his throat and shifts in his chair before continuing when neither of his grandparents spoke, allowing him the time to do so, despite their misgivings. It was interesting to watch, and unlike many such discussions in your family, but perhaps the circumstances that were different here resulted in the older relatives not simply talking over the younger ones. “Those circumstances are clear: the attack was directed at me personally, the attack was a coordinated effort of fellow nobility, and they did not see Northridge as capable of defending herself from such threats. I have corrected them on the final point. They will be unprepared for such an eventuality and will need time to re-group and plan, as well as raise funds due to the amount paid in advance to the assassins. They will see the wedding as too distracting to us to move quickly now, which I am also subverting.”

“Most likely, they don’t even know that the assassins have failed,” you chime in with a glance at Dale, glad to have thought of something to add. Some of this you’d discussed with Dale the other night while you and the doctor bandaged him up. Unfortunately, since you’d been joined in the dressing room by the doctor and Dale’s valet, you’d not been able to continue your more private conversation. Since then, the only time you’ve been alone, have been short walks between meetings which has been the time to discuss much at all. “From what we overheard, it is unlikely that they had other team members. It will take time for their lack of communication and lack of success to reach their patrons—who might even think they simply took the money paid upfront and then left, if we’ve managed to keep word of the attack properly stifled. That confusion and uncertainty is something we can take advantage of as long as we are subtle.”

Dale is clearly trying for patience, but he’s also frustrated when his grandparents don’t seem particularly persuaded by these arguments. “We all agreed that keeping the news of this attack as quiet as possible and painting it as a minor event was for the best. Have either of you changed your minds regarding that decision?”

“No, of course not,” Grandmother replies, frowning. 

She tries to continue speaking, but Dale continues instead, “Your primary resources are the full might of the law and those at your disposal in Northridge, your contacts in the realm of the law throughout the country and beyond, and your prior experience dealing with similar attacks during the height of your senate career.” Dale is exclusively addressing Grandmother at this point. “The majority of those resources would require bringing in a great deal more people and would undermine our decision to keep this attack quiet.”

“And my experience?” Grandmother asks, arching a brow.

“Which I have listened to extensively over the years,” Dale says, a mild tone of long-suffering grandchild in his voice, likely a mix of the original Dale’s familial condescension and his own exasperation given his personal greater experience. “As well as in the past few days as you recounted more details that had been omitted from the stories you told in my youth. If there is anything further you wish to share, please do so. However, throughout your tales, you worked exclusively with a small network of those loyal to you and involved only Grandfather in our family.” The implication that this is what Dale was doing by excluding them and including you was obvious.

“That is no reason not to share your strategy with us, Dale,” Grandmother says, disapprovingly. “My parents were unable to provide helpful advice in this arena, not in the manner your Grandfather and I can. I cannot recount every detail of every experience I have had. Sometimes the smallest details are most relevant and yet do not come to mind until the moment of connection is made. I cannot provide such insight if I am blinded.”

“I appreciate that,” Dale replies. “But the danger posed by making you a target, is greater in my mind than the value of that minute insight might afford. If I were struggling on my path of discovery and response, I would agree share further, but I am not.”

“And what of my resources?” Grandfather is agitated by Grandmother’s considering silence and at being ignored.

“My understanding of those you have at your disposal are primarily contacts for exorcists, demon hunters, mercenaries. Additionally, given the speed at which such lives are lost and won, I expect many are outdated. I mean no offense, but, you last actively utilized them over a decade ago. I think you certainly have solid relationships you could pull on that would steer you in the right direction to active members far quicker than the average person. But that it would still take time. And they are not who we need at this time. The assassins are all dealt with, I do not believe new individuals will be contracted with soon, and so the patrons are my focus.”

“I have contacts among the peers,” Grandfather says defensively. “Many who might have heard of who would use such an underhanded move such as this or who could discover such tactics. I am not so far removed from the game.”

“And this is the crux of the matter, is it not?” Dale’s frowning and for the first time in a long time, he reminds you of the old Dale. Your heart races with anxiety over his disapproval, even if it’s aimed at his grandparents and not you. You’d forgotten how much he’d made you nervous in the beginning, perhaps because this Dale makes you nervous too, but the difference in why has never been more stark. 

This Dale worries you because of how much you still don’t know about him, about what he wants and what he plans. The conversation you were hoping to have that night never occurred, your time together interrupted by servants and doctors and Grandfather. You haven’t been alone since, except for short spans in the halls, where anyone might overhear and so you are both careful to remain vague. The lack of clear communication has become a larger and larger source of frustration for you. Sometimes he makes you feel as if there is more at stake because you believe there is more to gain from his partnership.

That Dale had worried you because of what you did know of him, rather than how each new hint you discern for this Dale reassures you. The original Dale, his arrogance, his moods, his overconfidence, his heavy handed assumptions, and his temper—his clear ability to hold grudges—all caused worry and nervousness to creep through your veins. 

And in the split second Dale reminds you all that, he also helps wash it away. Because it is so clear, that while he’s frustrated and displeased with this conversation, obviously tense from the subject and the line he has to walk regarding what he knows and needs to do with his grandparents, you are not afraid. Not of him.

 He takes a deep breath, his stare intense, but his jaw unclenched, his hand open on the table. “I also have such contacts,” Dale points out. “Fresh contacts from my travels and time in court. I am the one who moved directly in these circles that the ones targeted me have come from. I am the one most able to deal with this threat. You must know that, even if it worries you.”

Grandmother frowns, but doesn’t look away. “I cannot approve of you keeping us out of this investigation, especially given my involvement already, but I do understand why you wish to, however much I wish I did not. None of my fears lie with your capabilities, my Dale.”

“I know,” Dale replies, leaning back in his chair. His arm moves to the armrest and the back of his hand brushes against your own, just a touch too strongly to not be deliberate. You startle a little at the pressure, enough that Dale retreats, his fingers curving around the end of the arm rest. You hasten to correct yourself, not able to explain that you were surprised, nothing more. Carefully, you place your hand on his forearm, fingers loosely wrapping around his wrist and giving a, hopefully, comforting squeeze. A reminder he’s not alone.

He continues to look at Grandmother, but he turns his arm over and you slide your hand into his. It's grounding in the same way your embrace had been and you’re all too pleased to be able to do so now. “However, I believe it to be the right move, the one with that will grant the greatest chance of success with the least complications. And I will stand by it.”

You look over to Grandmother and find her staring at your joined hands. Your instinct is to let go, like a child caught doing something naughty, but while your hand spasms, you’re able to calm your racing heart and keep your hold on Dale.

Grandfather opens his mouth with a frown, but Grandmother cuts him off, “Very well. We will let you handle this, for now. If another attack occurs, we will not be kept to the sidelines.”

“Understood,” Dale replies, but you can feel his relief in how his hand relaxes in your own.

“And the moment you believe that you can use our help, you must promise to ask for it,” Grandmother continues, not looking away to Grandfather who’s come to stand beside her.

Dale nods, but she continues to wait and you give him a look. He blinks in surprise before realizing what she wants. “I promise that if I believe further aid from you would be warranted, I will ask for it.”

“See that you do,” Grandmother says before her demeanor lightens, her smile nostalgic as she says, “You have grown so much, my boy.”

Dale looks startled. This time his hand twitches in yours. It's clear he has no idea what to say and so he merely nods, looking back down at his papers. He tries for casual as he replies, “Yes, well, that is what tends to happen.”

Grandmother’s smile only widens and Dale reaches with his free hand to straighten the papers. Something written catches his attention, though you’ve no idea what given his shorthand code. “Actually, I was hoping to get your opinions on one part of my investigation.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says gruffly, still obviously displeased with the turn the conversation took, but not enough to disagree with Grandmother.

“I would appreciate your impressions of the two primary candidates I have for one of the patrons,” Dale says after a glance at you. When you walked over with him to the study and discussed this part of the conversation. You shared your impression of three primary patrons, which he confirmed having received the same information from Two: the Duke, the knight, and the heiress. You have no thoughts on two of them but you did express your suspicion of the knight from Eastmont, due to both his animosity and his knowledge of demonics, which Dale agreed with.

Dale seemed to have his own suspicions about the heiress, but the Duke, he’d only been able to narrow down to a short list. Hopefully, not only would Grandmother and Grandfather be able to advise on who to look at first, but also should mollify them regarding Dale more or less shutting them out of the rest of the investigation and action he planned to take against these conspirators.

“He was referred to as ‘the Duke’, which I believe to be literal,” Dale says. “Between that and the reference to gambling, I suspect either Duke Gaelole or Duke Karihas. Both I played at cards and won substantial amounts from, though of course no cheating was needed on my part.”

Grandmother cackled. “I taught you too well, sweetheart. I am also surprised that those two are still playing as they did.”

You’ve only heard these names and not had any personal interaction with either of them. It begins to get harder to follow certain family connections, when not bragged about, and so it's possible you went to school with a grandchild of one of them. That’s likely the only connection you could have had, sheltered as you had grown up.

“Duke Karihas,” Grandfather rubs his chin as he speaks. “He is arrogant, too fond of the drink and I can only guess, more susceptible to it than before. However, it is not his style to hold grudges. His memories tend to fade quickly with time, no matter the size of his losses. His children fund such vices these days as he still breaks even more often than not. Duke Gaelole on the other hand…”

“He plays the gallant and generous lord, but in truth, he would gut his own grandson in an alley over disrespect or a lost bet,” Grandmother pronounced. “He plays the amiable host, the graceful loser on those rare occasions he loses, but he is cold as a fish and as ruthless as a demon.”

“I had thought, even though the loss was smaller, that he might be the true enemy,” Dale admits, the frown deepening on his face. “There were repeated losses and he grew both more charming and more insistent as time wore on for rematches. There was a look in his eyes when I finally refused to play anymore hands and collected my winnings. A dangerous one.” 

You wonder how the original Dale’s memories appear to him now. You wonder how he grew to learn how to read human expressions. You hope this Dale isn’t inclined to gamble, no matter what skills Dale used to possess. You feel now is not the time to bring such a matter up, but you feel buoyed that you likely will try to discuss it with him, because you feel you can.

“He’s got deep pockets, Dale,” Grandfather warned. “And he does not hesitate to dip into them as he pleases. He’s notorious for holding grudges and acting on them. Notable careers ended or reputations ruined, if he so desired. Tread very carefully with him.”

“I understand,” Dale replies gravely. He looks back and forth between them. “All I ask is that you allow me to take the lead on this matter and to trust that if I can use your assistance, I will ask for it. I know you would wish to do the same. Trust I would not put my faith in empty pride if I truly did not feel I had the resources required to bring these enemies of our family to rest.”

“I do not like this,” Grandfather says. “I do not think it is necessary.” His shoulders slump, ever so slightly, “But I would do the same, and have done so in the past.”

“You have a year or until another attack,” Grandmother warns, “before we act, with or without your leave. It is only in consideration of your determination and persuasion that I allow you this freedom to deal with the threat as you will.” Unexpectedly, her eyes find yours, “And I also trust that you are not conducting your investigation alone. That you are involving your soon to be spouse as well. 

“Yes, Grandmother,” Dale replies dutifully, you echoing him only a beat behind. He smiles at you in response, resting his hand over your own and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Pardon my intrusion, my lords, my ladies.” You turn to see Grandfather’s valet opening the door to come in. “In addition to alerting you that it is time to begin preparing for this afternoon’s gala, I also have a letter.”

“Our thanks for the reminder,” Grandfather says. “Who is the letter for?”

His valet walks over to you, rather than any Northridges. “It is addressed to the family, but to my lady’s attention.”

You accept the letter, frowning at the handwriting of the address. It doesn’t look familiar and you’re not expecting any mail. Are you? After these past couple days, anything unexpected makes you nervous. You quickly break the plain seal, wanting to get past this new tension as soon as possible. The message inside is short and in a hand you do recognize. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Dale asks, leaning closer and clearly as on edge as you had been. “Is something amiss?”

“Oh, nothing like that. My family has arrived.” You don’t know why the thought is so foreign, so disconcerting. And yet everything that has happened in these whirlwind days seems so far removed from your life before Northridge, that your family seems like an unexpected intrusion. You knew that they had to be arriving before the wedding ceremony, but Mother had said travel was more unpredictable than she’d expected and hadn’t been able to provide an estimate for their arrival. “They will be joining us at the gala tonight.”

Sana just gave Elle Woods during the part of the conversation regarding Dale's true nature and I loved it😂

Like, "what else is new?" 😂😂😂

Beautiful work!!!! @moonshine-nightlight

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 30

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] Part Thirty

You blink at the woman for a few long seconds, trying to comprehend her words. “Excuse me? Did you just say Lord Dale has called off the wedding? Our wedding?”

“I…” The maid is at a loss for words in the face of your incredulity. She swallows. “Yes, my lady.”

There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like wind roaring. You stay perfectly still, your face blank as you try to think. That is not possible. It’s not. How could he do something like that? Why would he? You’d dealt with so many surprises, jumped over every obstacle, and handled every challenge. Why instead did you feel as though you had survived a trip at sea only to find your ship crashing into the pier while within sight of home? You feel numb.

Perhaps you are making some sort of expression because the woman grows paler. “I’m sure it is simply pre-wedding jitters, my lady,” she hurries to reassure you. “Lord Archibald will have him seeing sense before you can blink.”

“Best to continue getting you ready,” Ms Dearden says as she lays out your corded underskirts. You appreciate her practiced dismissal even if you fear there’s more at play here than she’s aware of. “Young men these days always get cold feet. He’ll be over it soon enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Your own voice seems distant to your ears, but your words are enough for Callalily’s maid to resume work on your hair. At some point she finishes and you’re helped into your underskirts. Your mind stays blank as you try to conceive of reasons for him to do such a thing beyond tiring of you and this whole facade. Distant imaginings of what your life would be like without the wedding crumble to fog. 

You’ve been so committed and focused on today that the news feels nonsensical more than alarming. How could the wedding not be happening? Did you just speak with your sisters? Has every moment of the last few weeks been in service of it? Are you not now suddenly dressed in your lovely yellow wedding gown? The person in the hand mirror looks as though they are marrying today.

The door flings open and Steward Bilmont hurries in despite the reproach from the women in the room at both his presence and the dramatics of his entrance. 

You only need to look at his face to understand that the situation with Dale has not improved since the first maid broke it to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but something about your countenance, or perhaps your lack of reaction, must inform him that you know something of the situation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, my lady,” Bilmont says, wringing his hands. “He’s not been this unreasonable in weeks. Lord Archibald has refused to put a stop to anything, but Lord Dale refuses to see reason. He’s barred the door to his chambers after Lord Archibald wouldn’t accept his words.”

“I see.” With careful fingers you put down the small hand mirror and begin to stand, adjusting your skirts as you do so.

It’s Miss Adir who asks, her voice filled with trepidation, “My lady?” 

“Excuse me,” you say, an undeniable calm spreading through your veins, as you cross the room towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” Steward Bilmont asks as you brush by him.

You realize your decision as you reply, “To speak with my betrothed. Please continue preparations without me.”

The maid who brought the news is the one who speaks up, as your hand closes around the door knob. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Continue without me,” you cut her off, eyes snapping, because finally some emotion has made itself known to you and it is anger. You’ve worked so hard and been through so much. Dale thinks he can just put an end to it all mere hours before you’re to be wed? No.

“My lady…” Bilmont tries, his hand settling gently on your arm. He’s almost wincing, the look in his eyes resigned. As though he thought everything had been going too well and this was the inevitable shoe that dropped. 

You shake his hand off. “If Lord Dale wishes to call off our wedding,” some of that anger finally bleeds into your voice and you see the surprise in Bilmont’s eyes, “he shall tell me so to my face. Get out of my way.”

He obligingly steps back, hands hanging back at his sides. You don’t bother to observe the others' reactions, opening the door quickly, and letting it shut heavily behind you.

You walk briskly down the hall and towards the Northridge family bedrooms. No one else, servant or noble alike, crosses your path as you head that way. Not until you’re closer. You hear shouting and decide to peek around the corner, wanting to get the scope of the situation you’re walking into. 

“—utter foolishness!” Grandfather is shouting at Dale’s closed door with two guards flanking him. He bangs his fist on the door for good measure. “Do you wish for me to find your Grandmother? I’ve kindly not informed her of your idiocy, but I shall have to if you persist!”

There’s no reply from the other side of the door, not even a sound. Grandfather rattles the door knob to no avail, but doesn’t try anything further with the solid wood door.

He groans in frustration and turns to the guards. “I want to know the instant he leaves this room and if he does not within the hour, I shall have to inform Lady Deidre as promised.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guards chorus looked properly cowed by the threat, even if it wasn't aimed at them.

Grandfather turns dramatically enough you see more of the original Dale in him than you thought possible and storms off. The guards take up posts on either side of the door, not baring it, but still present enough that you stay where you are. You’ve no desire to speak to them or to shout at Dale with them nearby.

You frown, unsure why but something doesn’t sit right with you the longer you look down the silent corridor. It seems….empty, or perhaps still, in a manner that makes you feel as if you are not where you should be. Not that your presence is unwanted, but as if you are lost. 

You study the scene more closely and find your eyes drifting towards the bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint light coming from under Dale’s bedroom door. After a second, you realize what is wrong with the light and shadow—both are completely still. Before, the maid had said both of them were shouting and you’ve never heard this Dale raise his voice except in a physical fight. If he were truly upset, or at least strongly emotional, there should be some evidence in the shadows, some unnatural movement.

You chance another glance down the corridor, but it looks utterly ordinary. As your gaze sweeps from further down where Grandfather disappears around a corner and then back closer to yourself they snag on the stairway down towards the studies and other meeting rooms. There’s no movement, but the shadows are deep and dark. There are no windows there, that stairway is more utilitarian than for show like the grand staircases in other places throughout the house, so that’s plenty of reason for the darkness, but…

You move as quietly and fluidly as you can towards that staircase, hoping not to attract the guards notice. You don’t want to talk to anyone except Dale. You don’t know what Grandfather would try to say to you given he is clearly trying to keep this news contained. He stopped attempting to prove anything with you since the attack, but you’re still not completely sure of what he thinks of you. Keeping your skirts just high enough off the floor and grateful your house slippers are soft and quiet, you make it to the stairs without the guards' notice.

Your footsteps are nearly silent as you hastily make your way down the flight of stairs. You’ve never given much thought to the amount of light that fills it, but surely it wasn’t this dark in previous mornings. Or is that simply your imagination? Is it just your hope that it means you can find Dale and talk some sense into him?

You peek out at the bottom, looking for anyone in this area of the house who might question one of the couple getting married wandering about alone. No one is present. An eerie silence permeates the corridor and like the staircase, it seems darker than it should be. You step out, eyes on the window that lets light in, but seems outnumbered by shadows.

Dale’s personal study is off a smaller side corridor from this hallway, in its own small tower. You think the upper floor might connect to his bedroom. Then there is the underground room, the real reason you believe the original Dale had requested his current quarters and this study.

There’s an oppressive aura that thickens the air as soon as you turn the corner and it builds the closer you get to his study’s door. You imagine that's partially responsible for the lack of others in this area, which in some ways you’re grateful for. You also manage to draw on its presence as fuel for your anger at such obvious overflow from his nature. The shadows under the door ripple, as if it were night and a lighted candle was guttering in the breeze, unremarkable except for the fact that it's closer to noon.

Cautiously, you reach out for the door knob. Grasping it firmly in your hand, you find that it's not locked as you had feared. The knob turns without effort and the door swings inside to reveal Dale’s study. The flickering shadows solidify as you step inside, eyes searching for Dale. 

You find him quickly enough, a trunk half packed of books next to him. Somehow you don’t think they are being gathered for your wedding trip. He’s by the window, back to you, but you can see tension in every line of his body. All the breath desserts you at the sight of him. All the words you could say dry up in your mouth. The door shuts with an audible click behind you.

“WOULD—” Dale whirls, his frustrated voice cuts off the second his eyes land on you. Abruptly all the anger in his face leaves him. Instead he practically deflates, merely gaping at you. To your surprise, he spins away from you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice pitched higher than usual. “I thought we were not to see each other until—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his shoulders slumping.

You take another few steps into the room and clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’m fairly certain that the betrotheds laying eyes on one the morning of the wedding is of no consequence if there isn’t to be a wedding, hm?” You’re grateful that you’ve rediscovered some of your anger and your frustration to draw on for the strength to weather this conversation.

“I…” Dale can’t seem to think of an adequate response even as he refuses to turn around. 

Your heart constricts in your chest at this confirmation. “So it’s true?” You hadn’t realized how much you were hoping despite all the evidence to the contrary that once you found Dale he’d explain how it was all one big misunderstanding. “You’ve called off our wedding.”

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

“Dammit, Dale!” The words jump out of you, louder than you’ve ever spoken to Dale. “Look at me,” you say, your voice breaking. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to look at me as you do so.”

Slowly, like a man condemned, he turns. Dale swallows, looking profoundly guilty. He murmurs your name, but you refuse to let his soft voice sway you and merely stare straight back at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are complex, but unchangeable.” His words are rote and his voice wooden. You imagine he said something like this to Grandfather. “I apologize.”

“I don’t understand,” you say as plainly as you can, tired of talking around topics and pretending to be sure when you aren’t. “Complex? How complex can they be that you won’t even enumerate them for me now. Please explain, justify, anything.” Dale just stands there and that anger surges through your blood. You take another step forward, your voice as stern as you can make it, “You owe it to me. Tell me why you are calling off our future.”

“I…” Dale starts before his blue eyes meet yours squarely for the first time since you arrived and he appears to shrink in on himself. He sighs a deep sigh, looking weary. “I could say any number of reasons, but you’re correct. They’re just excuses.” He pulls himself back up and braces himself. “In truth, I simply cannot bear to deceive you any longer.”

“Deceive me? About what? What can you not have told me that would cause our wedding to be canceled?” Panicked, wild scenarios begin to fly through your mind. “Did you marry someone else on your travels and they’ve arrived today? Have you been caught smuggling? Are you a wanted man? Did something happen this morning?”

Dale looks taken aback. He blinks at you. “Wha-? No, no—none of that.”

You feel some exasperation mixing with your frustration as he continues to talk around whatever he’s worried about. You’ve done this dance every day for weeks now and you are so, so tired of it. “Then what? I thought,” you swallow, hating how small your voice has gotten. You clear your throat and try again. “I thought you wanted this—wanted our marriage.”

“I do!” The words burst out of him, surprising you. How can he say so when he’s the one who is ruining it. He continues more quietly, as if the volume was what shocked you, “I do, but you don’t know…” He trails off again, looking away.

“Then tell me,” you plead, taking another step closer. Only another step or two and you could touch him. You could try in vain to keep him from leaving you. 

“I,” he starts, looking at you and away again. “A few weeks ago, there was a… I mean to say that I,” he begins again, obviously having difficulty getting the words out. At least you can see he’s truly making the attempt this time. “Well, not me, but he…” Is this something the original Dale had done that was coming back to ruin everything? That was what you hoped for, in a strange way, because at least it would mean that this Dale still might want you. That whatever prompted this was out of his control. That maybe you could fix whatever it was. “I care about you,” he finally says, his eyes bright, bright blue as they meet yours squarely once more and your breath catches at the genuine sentiment in his voice, “more than I ever thought I would, but I’m not who you think I am.” He takes another deep breath and says bluntly, “Dale of Northridge died weeks ago and then I possessed his body.”

Everything seems to screech to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand. Aside from the relief at finally hearing him say it out loud, you don’t. Understand, that is. “Yes…” you say slowly, nodding. “And…?” You’re still waiting for him to complete the thought. To tell you what he’s been building to. Prompting him seemed to help before. “Did you eat someone a few weeks ago and have just now been discovered? Did something you forgot come back to cause problems now?”

“What?” Now Dale looks nearly as confused as you feel. It makes you want to scream in frustration because he’s the one doing this—he has to be the one that knows what is going on. “No, I don’t think you understand.” He talks more slowly, like you’re not hearing his words right. “I’m not human, I’m a demon.” He once again appears to brace himself for your reaction, but you still don’t get it.

Maybe you aren’t hearing him right, but that’s never happened before. Is this some new demonic power or collateral influence? “Yes, I know,” you reply just as deliberately. You enunciate as you ask, “But what did you do that means we can not be wed?”

“You must not be comprehending my words.” He seems to be aware of the issue, getting frustrated himself. He runs his fingers through his long dark hair before he takes on a consoling tone, “I know it is a great shock to find out your fiance is now a demon—”

“What?” You stare at him because is that what he thinks you are getting caught on? You put your hands on your hips and can’t say anything except, “Of course, I know you’re a demon.”

“What?” He leans back, eyes wide. “No.” Dale shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Did you think you’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding it?” The response bursts out of you before you can help it. Because no, this cannot be the conversation you’re having. It can’t be. “How about we begin with how the human Dale was obviously interested in demonology and black market dealing. How excited he was the night before this,” you gesture to Dale’s entire body, “happened. How sick you were after and your memory issues. The fact that you occasionally have more eyes than is proper and your influence on shadows and the claws. You’ve had a tail at times, for stars’ sake!”

“Oh.” Dale’s voice is small and his eyes big as he stares down at you, clearly at a loss for words.

You’ve seemingly found a well of words with which to rebuke him. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to conceal your nature?” You take a step forward, unable to contain your ire and incredulity. He takes one back. “It is not as easy as you must believe to distract people from wriggling shadows and additional eyes and all the strange things you say. Did you really believe I didn’t know? That you were hiding it that well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dale sounds more flustered than you’ve ever heard him. “Humans are so oblivious most of the time!”

“Not that oblivious!”

Dale throws his hands up. “Well, no one’s instigated a purge, have they? And Grandfather and Grandmother don’t know, do they?”

Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal and you grudgingly admit, “No. Although Grandfather did think I’d cursed you for a couple weeks.”

“He thought you cursed me?” 

“Yes!” you reply, exasperated that he didn’t even know. “After the hunt, where you did light knows what with the boar, he became convinced that I had cursed you or ensnared you with my ‘potions’. Perhaps while you were still recovering from your supposed illness. As a supposed practitioner of dark ritual or maybe even a summoner, he kept trying to exorcise me, which I had to make sure didn’t accidentally affect you.” When Dale just looks at you, obviously hearing this or putting the pieces together for the first time you can’t help, but feel as if you might be the one who has lost their mind. “You must remember when he practically threw a glass of holy water on us?”

Dale’s brow furrows. “…I did think that was a bit odd.”

You snort. “Yes, I would wager so.” Slowly, you realize you're laughing. You put a hand to your mouth but all it does is muffle the sound. Dale looks newly worried but you can’t stop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that I knew.” Collapsing into a chair, you cover your face in your hands as you try to regain your composure. 

How is this happening? How had you managed to get so far along without realizing he didn’t know that you knew? Who does that say more about him or you?

After a moment or two, you sense him near you and he asks, “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, like he’s still worried the knowledge of what he is, even if it isn’t new to you, might be capable of breaking your mind or whatever he feared would happen.

“Yes, yes,” you finally sit back up, blinking in the light as you attempt to reassure him. “I will be. I simply need a moment.” Dale hesitates from where he’s leaning over you before turning to fetch a cup of water. Haltingly, he holds out to you. “Thank you,” you say as you wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes while laughing.

You sip it carefully as you pull the tattered remains of your composure around yourself once more. Dale watches you take the first couple of sips before he begins to pace in obvious agitation. He’s clearly waiting for you to finish the glass before saying whatever is so clearly on his mind. You’re content to take your time and make him wait after everything he’s put you through, seemingly without even realizing what you were doing.

After a minute, you set the glass down deliberately and Dale comes to a stop in front of you. “I don’t…” he starts to say before changing his mind. “If you know, then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” you ask. He’s the one constantly doing incomprehensible things.

“Marrying me!” he says, rather emphatically, as though it should be obvious. He runs his hands through his hair. “Going through with this wedding! I don’t understand.” He sounds desperate to understand.

You feel of heat gather high on your cheeks, not having expected to have a light shown on your own actions so directly. “What do you mean? We’re betrothed. Getting married is the expected course of action.”

He gives you a flat look that says you’re not fooling him. “Try once more. I admit there were certain times where I did think you…” He looks at you, a distant look in his eyes as he remembers whatever particular instance. “Where I did think that you knew. Half a dozen times, I was sure you knew,” he continues, eyes intent once more, “but you didn’t do anything about it! You never revealed me or tried to exorcise me or even demand any sort of recompense for keeping it secret. You merely continued on as we had. You were still there, at my side.” He sighs and he looks so tired again. “And so I thought I must be wrong, that you couldn’t know.”

You're not sure what to say in the face of his conviction that you knowing what he is and you continuing to associate with him were so unlikely he’d discounted it out of hand. He made it sound like tolerating or using him was the most he’d expected. “I…”

“And you’re afraid of demons!” The words burst out of him. “So why would—?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you reply because that’s certainly true. If the manner in which the shadows behind Dale are writhing in distress are any indication, the reassurance can’t hurt. You’re worried about how his nature makes life more complicated and what other people might do, but you’re long past the point of fearing he’d physically injure you on purpose.

“I heard you and Grandfather talking about Two,” Dale replies, as if that proves something. “How you feared them because of what they were. That night, when I remembered what I’d heard, I changed my mind again about what you knew.”

You stare at him before saying slowly, “Dale, I was afraid of Two because they were trying to kidnap and murder us. Their being a demon made them more dangerous, so yes, that made me fear them more than the others. You were who knows where fighting them on your own and I was worried about you.” If you thought Dale looked confused before, he looks downright confounded now. You keep talking, relishing in the opportunity to finally speak honestly about the attack, “However, you being a demon makes you stronger, which reassured me. I couldn’t say anything else because of Grandfather’s attitude, but I did not grow up in Northridge. I may not have met a demon before, but I didn’t live anywhere with the rigorous, studied suspicion and fear that Northridge cultivates.”

“The rest of the world is not Northridge,” Dale acknowledges having composed himself, “but it is not charitable in its view either. And it is not wrong in that opinion. I’ve been on the Surface before. No one has ever treated me in the manner you have after learning what I am. It was impossible to reconcile the person I got to know with someone who would want what humans understand demons to be.”

It’s not as though you can’t follow where he’s coming from. You haven’t told anyone else about what he is for a reason beyond just what Grandfather and Grandmother. You’d never even seriously considered telling any of your siblings because you know they wouldn’t understand. You want to ask further about the personal experience he’s alluding to but that isn’t what matters at this moment. “I…” You take a breath and finally say the obvious truth that you’ve never been able to say directly, even if you alluded to the sentiment right after the attack. “I do want to marry you.” Dale looks thunder-stuck. “Far more than I ever wanted to marry Dale before you took his place.”

“You do?” You’ve never seen Dale look so completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because he was a selfish, mean, entitled prick.” The plain, honest words slip out without thought and Dale’s eyes widen. “Because you’re not. I like you.” You swallow and continue, “I think we get along well. I would have tolerated marrying him. You make me look forward to marriage.” 

It's a weight lifted to finally say those words, but they inevitably bring up your own confusion, your own lack of understanding of this Dale’s motivations and you can’t pass up the opportunity to ask. “But this is not just about why I have stuck to this facade. Why have you?” You still have no notion of what a demon might want. You’d only barely convinced yourself that Dale wanted this partnership since he was going along with it. He isn’t now. So perhaps you don’t know anything at all. “You could have stolen all you could from Dale and then disappeared to live your own life about a week after being here. You don’t have to be, to be,” you search for the words to define what’s he’s been doing, especially knowing he’s not been working toward the same end goal as you, “taking part in all these events, and playing dutiful grandson with Grandfather, Grandmother, or all the others.” You take a deep breath and add, with only a small shake to your voice, “Or being with me. Why are you still here?”

Dale opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he stares at you.

Your shoulders slump in the face of his inability to give any reason, let alone a compelling one. “Although, I suppose there is no more wedding, is there? You’ve called it off, for all you haven’t left or told me why.” The prospect of the fall-out to come leaves you exhausted and hurt already. “I assume that leaving will be your next move.”

“No, no,” Dale starts to protest, “I…” Something changes in his expression as he searches for the words to say and this time, they come out steady, “Originally, I stayed because it was easy. I thought the best stroke of luck I’d had in my existence was when that imbecile broke himself opening an unguarded portal and I’d won the fight for his body.”

“Oh.” It had never even occurred to you that there might have been such an event. No matter what he does next, you’re grateful this demon is the one who won too.

“It’d been so long since I’d been up on the Surface,” Dale says wistfully. “I didn’t have a plan beyond getting here. I suppose, at first, I had considered taking what I could and leaving to make my own life. Except…” Your breath, your future hangs on that “except.” “I enjoy it here. Northridge, I mean, not just being out of the Depths. It’s somewhat impossible to know how much is experience and how much is borrowed memory, but I care for Grandfather and Grandmother. And for you. What is here in Northridge is more than I’d hoped for. A safe den, a loyal clan, a bountiful territory, an exemplary mate. Why would I go searching for better when it seemed I’d already found all I could want?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Dale seems so sincere but that only brings your mind back to what prompted this conversation. “Then why are you trying to stop the wedding?”

“Because I thought you didn’t know!” he protests. “I told myself that since I’d never out-right lied to you, that was good enough.” He sighs. “But I realized if my only reason for not telling you who you were even marrying was because you might make a choice I didn’t want, that it was rather despicable.”

You can’t help, but ask the obvious. “Then why didn’t you simply tell me instead of calling the wedding off?”

“Because I’m selfish too,” Dale says, “and I couldn’t bear for you to know the truth and look at me like—.” He breaks off, shaking his head.

He’s returned to not meeting your eyes. Tension has crawled back up his spine to settle in his shoulders. His arms are crossed and he still seems one wrong word away from running. As if Dale’s still waiting for you to reject him. Perhaps you need to make up for all the times you didn’t speak up before. It seems like a fair condescension if the hope blooming in your chest is proven true. 

You stand up from your chair, crossing the remaining distance between you and Dale. You place gentle hands on his forearms and they loosen under your touch. Carefully you push those crossed arms down until they hang by his sides where you can entwine your fingers with his. You take advantage of the height he has on you to look up into his eyes, not even surprised to find more than just two. “Well, I do know.” Those glowing blue eyes stare back down at you with the same hope reflected in them. “And I still want to marry you. If you do.”

Dale’s answer is immediate and earnest, “I do. I want that. I want the life we spoke of building more than anything else I’ve ever thought to want.”

You nod, a smile breaking out across your face.“Good. Go-” He cuts you off with a kiss, which starts out light but grows in pressure when you kiss him back. He tries to lift a hand to your face, but instead the back of your own hand still held in his touches your cheek instead. You pull back to see the pout he makes as he stares at his hand, obviously unsure of whether to let yours go or to keep holding on. 

The sound of a door opening above you followed by disgruntled voices pops the bubble of privacy you’d been enclosed in. You sigh. “While we still need to have a full conversation, I think it can wait for tonight at the least, yes?” Dale nods eagerly. “Then I must return to getting ready.”

“And I must assure Grandfather my ‘bout of childish insanity’ is indeed over. I’ve never seen him so furious.” At the look of surprise on your face, Dale smiles. “Regardless of what he thought before, Grandfather certainly thinks well of you now. He repeatedly told me that this would be the worst decision I ever made if I went through with it. He’s refused to even tell Grandmother, more out of fear for me than for her.”

High on emotion and relief, you giggle, too pleased that Grandfather spoke so strongly in your favor. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Dales says as he leads you to the study door. “And it's not as though I could provide a solid defense when I knew he was right.” He pulls you into a solid embrace before letting you go with a final kiss pressed to your forehead. 

You pull the door open without looking away from him, not able to resist asking for one last reassurance, “Your word that you will be there at the other end of the aisle?”

Dale smiles. “Yes, sana, I give you my word that I will let nothing stand in the way of our wedding, not even myself.”

Moonshine’s Masterlist

Updated: July 7, 2024

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