The vessel rocked side to side, like a cradle soothing the sleeping babe inside - however Dorian was anything but asleep.

He’d taken one of the books he’d found on the shelf of his room, shrouded in dust and stained yellow with age, and inside were tales for childlings who still believed in presents appearing before the fireplace on the morning of the Winter Solstice.

Still, he humoured himself; perhaps to put his restless mind to ease, he settled in the armchair and read.

The sun set, the waves grew calmer and he was already on his third reread of the tales, to glean anything about where it was from, looking at the made-up maps like they could ensure a safe journey to Eyllwe.

With a resigned sigh, he ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes, as he leant his head against the worn, velvet of the armchair. He slumbered, but lightly, until a pulse of sorts - a ripple awoke him.

It wasn’t wind; Rowan. It wasn’t fire; Aelin. Wasn’t a spear thrown and landing with resounding impact; Aedion. Wasn’t a growl, or the smooth shift of silk of ghost leopard to female; Lysandra.

The witch.

Lighting a candle, he padded down the corridors, and down a flight of stairs before pushing open the door to her room. She sat upright, as if she too, had awoken.

“Was that you?” He demanded. “The power?”

She shook her head, that hair of utter silk, spilling over her shoulders in lapfuls of smooth beauty. That hair.

“No. Witches don’t have magic like that.”

He sat down in the seat - the same on he had with every visit as he argued, “But you’re long-lived.”

She told him about Yielding, wars, murder and he argued, if only to hear her voice more. Soon she pouted those lips of sin and blinked those eyes of ruin slowly. “These chains rub my wrists raw. Surely you have sympathy for chained things.”

A bait. He responded coolly, “Its not my call. Besides, now that you’re speaking Aelin will have even more reason to put you into her good side.”

“I want to feel wind on my face.” She said, growl and impatience slipping into her tone.

“You’ve got a window. Go stand in front of it.”

The sheer arrogance, the maleness of that offhandedly said phrase sent shivers that had long-lain dormant off inside of her, the apex of her thighs turning molten.

“If I had been asleep, would you have lingered to stare at me for a while?” The witch all but purred.

“Would you have objected?” Icy amusement filled his eyes of sapphire.

“If you plan to sneak in here in the darkest hours of the night, you should at least have the decency to ensure I get something out of it.” She retorted softly, puffing her lips to make them pout, and titling her chin slightly down, to show of the newfound doeness in her eyes.

He laughed, sharp, cold, and shook his head as he stood, sweeping a gaze over her that made her feel naked in a way she wouldn’t complain about.

“As tempting as seeing you naked and chained, may be.” A lovers laugh left those sensuous lips.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy the loss of control.”