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sunlight takes place after the plot thread i'll be posting soon <33
If Kier’s treatment of Moonblight came of an obsession with squeezing out his resistance, his treatment of Sagebristle stemmed from a strange, twisted jealousy. Really, so much of his new dictatorship had been created with them in mind, for the benefit of the two who, as a matter of obsessive pride, he had to overcome: there had been no real reason to separate the Loyal Guards, to make them prisoners, to manhandle them quite so much. It was just unfortunate for the others that the objects of Kier’s fixation happened to be among them. And now, he got to toy with them, to watch them dance to his fiddle even if it was only to buy them time to out-scheme him — he was aware of that. Found it terribly fun.
But his patience would outlast them. This wasn’t a battle; this was a siege. They could fight, they could scheme, they could throw up resistance and spit in his face — but in the end, when they were worn down and broken by exhaustion, when they’d either fled their home and left it to him to ravage or submitted to him, when they had nothing left to fight with, when he’d withstood every act of insolence, every bruise and split lip and bloodied insult, he would still be there. He’d long ago learned how to stifle his own fire, to turn it cold, to teach it to wait. And he could last longer.
So, now, for the sheer glee of it, he found Sagebristle and cornered her. She was a small cat, but he was still a fraction smaller. That didn’t seem to bother him one bit — seemed to add a spark of sadistic excitement to his bright, narrow eyes — as he grinned up at her, backed against one of the cave walls. With all the other she-cats in the Clan, he kept up his sickly sweet, overly polite attentions. But with Sagebristle, it all fell away into genuine, laid bare hatred. Hatred that had won. That had triumphed. It was twice as condescending because she was twice the conquest. He wondered if her bones were still aching. “My dear,” he greeted around his sharp-toothed grin, and only with her did those two words sound so much like mocking profanity, “I hope you weren’t thinking of breaking your confinement. You know how I can’t stand disobedience, even from such a pretty thing.” He paused for a moment. “If you’re looking for Moonblight, he’s running an errand for me.” His gaze didn’t leave hers as he said it, so casually disinterested but with such weighted meaning, mismatched pupils flicking back and forth, drinking in every sliver of reaction. He didn’t say your mate, didn’t say what it was or why — the goings on of Moonblight were no longer relevant to her, no longer her concern, and it was his dearest wish that by keeping her mate close to him and her far away, by feeding distrust and miscommunication, they might cease to be mates at all. And wouldn’t that be a most well-earned treat? It wasn't that there was any attraction to either of them — truthfully, neither of them were his type. It was just that he had to break them. Had to destroy them. But if Moonblight even so much as suspected Sagebristle and himself of some nefarious intimacy — oh, that would be wonderful. What a way to break a tom's spirit, to feed him that jealousy and let it fester. Let it do the work for him, like an insect put into someone's very brain. What a fantasy that would be.
Sagebristle had calmed down in the aftermath of Kier's ascension, though the violent hatred had not faded from her gaze. Throughout all the roughness she had encountered after her little stunt and in the imprisonment that followed, she had kept her stomach and abdomen untouched, turning her back and face to blows to shield that especially sensitive part of herself. There was a half-scabbed scratch above her honey-colored gaze even now.
"Of course I wouldn't dream of disobeying you, Kierstar," she returned the vitriol, her voice dripping with mockery and unmasked contempt. "I appreciate the update on Moonblight. What have you come to me for? Shall I scrape the dirt from beneath your claws? Massage your aches and pains away? Make myself a present to you in whatever way you desire? Or would you have me assist in the starvation and separation of my clanmates? How can I be of service, oh great and merciful one?"
At her open contempt for him, Kier's grin only grew. He let her continue in silence, his eyes flicking between her own as she spoke. At make myself a present to you in whatever way you desire, he gave a half-involuntary, exaggerated shiver, not trying to hide it one bit. "How did Moonblight get so lucky?" he replied at last in a soft, lecherous voice, leaning in slightly, the grin still on his face and his bright gaze briefly hooding into bedroom eyes.
"All very tempting things," he continued, leaning back as his tone returned to business. Throughout the fighting, his eyes had flicked again and again to Sagebristle's stomach; there was nothing to betray her yet, no roundness beyond a certain softening, but still he'd been aware, in that unspoken way that he picked up on details being off, things not being quite right, that something was not as it usually was. That something was different. Sagebristle had always been an efficient, ruthless fighter - two moves and you were on your face in the dust, as he'd learned for himself. She didn't spar, didn't parry. And yet throughout his entire ascension, she'd favoured defensive manoeuvres over offensive ones - had blocked, twisted away, taken blows she should have been able to deflect. But still he didn't say anything. The only hint that he might have suspected a certain condition was in the way he fell silent now, his gaze on her abdomen as he thought, lost in his head for a few moments. Then, finally, he lifted his head and met her gaze again with a pleasant smile. "But I was thinking of something simpler. Come dine with me. Of course you can't eat," he continued, like the punishment was the most casual thing in the world, "but that doesn't stop me from being hungry."
Still smiling, he stepped back and motioned towards his den. Ladies first.
