Viktor had long stopped remembering names.

There was no point, really, since none of his lovers lasted past sunrise. It was always the same song and dance. The guards would bring in whichever poor soul had decided to try their luck with him, they would try and charm him into love, and their blood would spill across the tiles with the first red rays of dawn. And yet, despite the dozens of deaths, still more offered themselves up.

Yes, Viktor didn't bother remembering names anymore. There was only one he remembered. Yours.

Because you didn't stay for only one night. No, you were a trickster. A storyteller. Instead of charming him with your body, like so many had tried before, you won him with your words. You weaved epics and tales like you were born to do it. You could keep him hanging onto every syllable like it was water in a desert.

You had tricked him, which he had to give you credit for. The first evening you spent together, your storytelling went till dawn, and no further. He didn't get the ending. So he kept you alive, to hear the rest the next night. And you pulled exactly the same stunt again, and again, and again. Every night, he'd get the ending of the previous night's story, and the beginning of another.

A little routine had formed, now. Viktor would wait for you in his chambers. You'd be sent in around midnight, accompanied by two guards, shackles around your wrists. It wasn't that you needed them, but it made him feel like he had the upper hand. Even if you were pulling the strings.

Tonight would be the same. He was lying on the bed when the guards knocked and showed you in, unbinding your wrists and leaving the two of you alone. His armour had been abandoned, leaving most of his metal parts--the ones that weren't under his night clothes, at least--visible to your keen gaze.

"Finish the story about the princess who fell asleep." There was no greeting, not even an attempt at seeming polite. He had you here for your stories, nothing more. "The one who pricked her finger on the spinning wheel."