Really, this was all very sick. Kier had no use for her, had no attraction to her beyond a need to possess what Moonblight had and use what Moonblight used, though the other tom would never have called it that — it was all about Moonblight, Moonblight, Moonblight, never about the she-cat actually beside him. He didn’t even have a plan in the long-run — Moonblight was taking a while, taking moons, but if he hadn’t run off or died in a ditch, he would be back; he would be back, and he would see Sagebristle, and all the ensuing pain and the violence would be worth that one, exquisite moment of wild, frenzied laughter as the pieces fell into place in Moonblight’s head and he realised Kier had had his mate and she’d loved it. Kier would be terrified, but that terror would mix with such glee, such giddy, faux-blameless gloating, and it would be— oh, it would be a cocktail of divine proportions. Moonblight would beat him to within an inch of his life and he’d feel a god. Maybe Eris would like to have a go at wooing Sagebristle — he knew his mate had some latent curiosity about she-cats; and wouldn’t that be a novelty, Sagebristle curling into their nest, he and the she-cat he actually loved casting knowing, grinning glances at each other over this fallen thing’s russet fur. Then he'd feel real desire. Perhaps Moonblight and Sagebristle’s relationship would shatter — maybe amnesia wasn’t a good enough excuse for unfaithfulness. But he didn’t even particularly care about that — he didn’t care about any after, and, truly, if Moonblight never came back and Kier was stuck with this clingy, docile thing with no pay-off, he’d be unspeakably disappointed. He’d have to have her done away with. Have to have her body left in some dripping bank of ferns. There wouldn’t even be the satisfaction of living out a life with her while Moonblight watched from some heaven — he felt that, vaguely, for his father, for Aspenstar; this, though, this needed repercussions. This needed repercussions or he would drive himself insane with no one to brag to.

But Kier was a sick tom.

He smiled with such tender, sorrowful reassurance, tilting his head and gently, repeatedly brushing his paw down her cheek as he looked at her, trying to be brave for her — oh, this Kier was a sap. And it was all very bland, really — this one was so whipped, and for what? For this plain thing in front of him? He couldn’t even channel his obsession with Eris, because that came of genuine excitement that never seemed to wane; it would have been as easy to feel desire for flour as it was to conjure it for this pale imitation of the great Loyal Guard she had once been, so ready to hit him in the face. Forget about him, and reclaim our lives from this mess he’s left us in. “Yes,” Kier agreed softly, stilling the ministrations of his paw to instead draw her gently closer and rest his chin between her ears, his throat laid against the back of her neck. With her eyes turned away from him and no one to see him, he smiled, and it was so calmly, gleefully cruel. Even with the gentleness of his touch, it seemed possessive, violent. His. The disgust that curled in his gut at the contact gave way to coiling excitement; not for her, but for the sickness of the future. “Let’s.”

you can timeskip baby!!! <3

To say Kier was frustrated was an understatement.

He was endlessly patient — he always leaned back and said, vaguely startled, “no, no — no, it’s alright” when she apologised and pushed him off. He always said things like we’ll go at your pace and of course you don’t need to feel guilty and I care about you more than that — and of course he didn’t mean a word of it. Of course he was indescribably frustrated by it, and as the weeks passed he only grew antsier and more short-tempered and pent-up, like ants were prickling at his fur — and then the second Sagebristle appeared he’d whirl around and greet her with a tender, beaming smile and ask her about her night; oh, if he had to hear about this dolt’s night one more time he’d scream.

Put frankly, he wasn’t used to being turned down, not when he actually set his sights on someone — he was used to being slapped and denied, put in his place, but that was only by she-cats, and very occasionally toms, who he had no real interest in; he was just making a lewd comment, or propositioning them for the rush of laughter it gave him — establishing a bit of dominance, you know. But the ones he actually tried with… He couldn’t even think of a time when he’d been turned down. It never happened. Just as he had a way of knowing where a cat’s weaknesses were, he had a way of knowing when they were open to the idea, even from a distance or on a first meeting when only one or two words had been passed, official business or no, visiting dignitary or no. He knew when it wouldn’t take much effort at all to wear them down, or when they wanted it far more than he did, when they wanted him to court them — likely because they had more romance in mind than he did. But he’d never been turned down.

Maybe it was because he couldn’t doll out all the charm and charisma he usually could, all the villainous grins and hooded eyes and leaned in, insulting comments at someone’s else’s expense across the room that made the cat he was speaking to laugh in red-faced, startled guilt at the fact they were laughing at all, his eyes and his little grin on them as they did so. Kier knew he was charismatic — he wasn’t oblivious. But with Sagebristle, he had to be so gentle, so patient, so quiet; she probably thought him a complete simpleton. No one liked a loving tom, not really — they liked that hint of being used. No matter how tender and attentive and generous he was during, they liked knowing he didn’t care about them, not really. Instead, he had to make sure her kits were kept out of her sight, and he had to continue being so nice to them, the sickly sweet praise coming out barbed and underhanded through clenched teeth and sparking brows, rife with double meaning and veiled insults that went over the kits’ heads; and he had to spend time with her and seem interested when all she was doing was taking away from time he could have been spending with Eris doing things he actually wanted to be doing and having intellectually stimulating conversations with someone who was actually droll and clever — and it was all shaping up to be more trouble than it was worth and he wasn’t even getting anything out of it. At this rate Moonblight would be back and Kier wouldn’t have done anything.

When Sagebristle appeared, Kier had been in her den because he was contemplating just killing her and he was trying to work out the logistics. Look at this — she had a whole suite to herself and she wasn’t even doing anything to earn it. Hey. Oh, what a fine greeting — what a beacon of her brains and brilliance! What wit! He turned around and greeted her with a warm smile, letting her touch her nose to his and resisting the urge to draw back in short-tempered disgust. His chest coiled with hatred of her. “Hi,” he greeted gently, giving her a soft blink and padding round to take a seat beside her. As his gaze fell on the den in front of them, he let out a breath and, with one vague paw, began to brush back and forth along her shoulder, just gentle idleness. Without saying a word, he found a knot in her muscles and began to massage his paw into it, his focus still on the den; it was something he usually did for Eris and his paw had a subconscious mind of its own. Very couple-y. “Good, good,” he replied, so boyish and tender and meek, like there was still a tinge of shyness at life in general. “I was just thinking we ought to spruce the place up a bit — flowers or something. Silly thoughts.” He turned his head to smile at her, like he really cared, his eyes so soft. “How was patrol?” No one else in the Clan was so eager to go out on them; there were snickers and cruel laughter at the Royal Guard’s expense from the young cats who had never known her and who knew something of Kier’s more sinister plans for her, but he always shushed them when she came into hearing, giving her that innocent smile. She still thought NightClan was something of what it was, and they were more than willing to build this little film set for her and act out her script and play along to keep her in the dark.

“Oh,” Kier replied — and you know the tone he said it in: it was an oh. An ‘oh’ that went with a little shoulder wiggle and the hint of a grin; an ‘oh’ that was a realisation; an ‘oh’ that would be at home in a frat house, because it was a finally. He’d given up, been close to giving up — and now here it was, offering itself to him on a silver platter. He really did have to learn to be more patient; where a second ago he had been frustrated to the point of being ready to kill her, now he was scolding himself with such warm self mockery, such oh, Kier, you intemperate boor reproach. It all worked out in the end! Everything did for him. He really did just have to trust to fate — she was always going to come around; she clearly couldn’t do without someone to hold doors for her.

“Oh,” he said again, more cheerful, more ready, with that eager little grin that would have been endearingly excited if it had belonged to anyone else; a little of his real voice shone through. Giving her a knowing little look from where he’d previously been watching her with haughty, disinterested eyes, wary about another failed night of meaningless chitchat he didn’t care about (oh, if she went on about this patrol; he hated athletic girls), holding back a sneer as she spoke and the words took a moment to settle into his brain, Kier padded over, trying his best not to slink like an alley cat who’d got the cream. “Well.” He slipped in beside her, still wearing that grin. He settled close behind her, resting his paw on her warm side; her fur was so much coarser than Eris’, but she was pliant, so needy. He gave an experimental little push of his pads against the dip of her waist; the flesh was soft, and it gave. Well — good; good. “Is this better?” The smile was in his voice; he couldn’t keep it off his face. Letting out a purr that almost tore itself raw in its eagerness, far more for him than for her, he began to groom his tongue up and down the back of her neck, brushing over the soft fur behind her ear — it was a little too quick, a little clumsy, betraying his excitement. Hopefully she mistook it for something cute and sweet.

You’re not going to get cold feet again and not deliver after you’ve gotten me all excited? he wanted to laugh, almost bleary, almost dizzy and nonsensical, with the disbelieving joy of finally getting what he wanted. But he bit it back; even then, in that state, he knew it was the completely wrong thing to say, knew it would make her draw back and have some little argument with him that would just prolong and derail things. Now he finally had a foot in the damn door. And still all he could think was Moonblight; all he could picture while he ran his tongue over the back of Sagebristle’s neck was her mate standing in the corner, watching with such helpless fury while Kier took all those lovely flowers he so loved, so valued, and made them his with not one scrap of care. He found himself grinning again around his own tongue.



i think this is the first time i’ve ever felt myself blushing in discomfort while writing kier, and it could not be in a more public place. my face is a wince. in the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit i ask for forgiveness. in the name of erin hunter i beg clemency for corrupting your holy text

To say Kier was happy was an understatement.

Well, happy might not be the right word. It might not be the right word at all. Jubilated; satiated; pleased — those were more apt words. It was out of the way; he’d cleared the hurdle; even if Moonblight came back tonight, tomorrow, the day after, he’d have done it. He hadn’t truly realised how anxious he’d been about the whole thing, how much tension he’d been holding over missing out on the opportunity, until he’d laid it to rest, achieved it; and now, he felt like it had all melted away. Like he could breathe. Like he could loosen his muscles and relax. He’d had her. Now he could go back to Eris and be with the she-cat he actually wanted, actually adored; now he could ease up on playing this ridiculous game of domesticity with Sagebristle; now he could rejoin life.

He’d rolled away from her, lying on his back to catch his breath and commit every detail, every feeling and every taste, to memory. Now, catching movement from the corner of his eye, he rolled his cheek against the moss to meet her smile — and it amazed him that she could still be shy after all this — with one of his own. Remarkably, it managed to look sincere, even his eyes; he was far too pleased, far too warm, far too content with the whole situation — even, briefly, with her — to let any sort of predatory ire slip. Remembering he was supposed to care about her, at least for this morning, he shifted closer again. When she snuggled closer, the smile that hadn’t left his face stayed put, curling an idle paw around her and looking up at the hint of soft, buttery light foaming in from the main cavern and coating the walls with slants of shadow and brushstrokes of dawn glow. It was all very peaceful, very pretty. If this had been Moonblight and his mate, he imagined it would all feel very soft, very romantic; as it was, it just felt like a conquest, and that was Kier’s version of perfect happiness. Vastly different to genuine joy with Eris, but then everything about this was vastly different to that — this wasn’t attraction, this wasn’t love, this wasn’t passion; this was cruel business, a terrible business. And he was utterly content. So content that his chest was light and his head was soothed and quiet and he was seeing patterns that weren’t there in the stone of the roof. It was gentler than someone who’d just closed an important business deal, because this was more personal triumph with someone he had cared for when she was really herself and who he did have an enduring fondness for, but it was close.

He wanted to say something — oh, he wanted to say something. He wanted to say something to pry and prod at her memories, something like ’my, well, I never knew you were so cuddly when you were smashing my head into the ground’ or ’so, this is what had him so obedient.’ But he held back. He refrained. It was less important now to keep up his act, but he didn’t abandon it completely — even for him that was too cruel, to shatter her innocent happiness in this gentle moment; his bitter enmity was with her mate, not with her. And the satisfaction wouldn’t come from Sagebristle’s remembering, not even half — it would come from Moonblight’s horror. It would come of being able to look him in the eye, smiling so smugly, and say with absolute honesty that he knew where all her sweet spots were. So, he kept it up, and it wasn’t difficult. It wasn’t a terrible chore anymore. He’d gotten the reward, and that always made him more amenable. Rolling his head again so his cheek was resting against her own where her muzzle was buried in the side of his neck, Kier smiled. “Are you happy?” he asked, so soft, so quiet. So warm. The lazy contentment, the pleasure, in his voice wasn’t an act either. It was certainly good for his back, his sore joints that were always made so much worse by denied sleep, to lie here in the warmth. Nothing about this happiness was because of Sagebristle, but it was a convenient overlap. Turning his head further, he gave her a gentle nuzzle, just so he could savour the scent of her; always a little spicy, a little earthy. He’d know that about her too, know how she smelled in bed. Nothing was a secret from him anymore. He'd heard her say so many wonderful things, things she couldn't deny even if her memory came back; she'd meant them when she'd said them, and wouldn't that haunt her. He wanted to hear her say it, just for his own keening amusement: she was happy with Kier.

Kier shivered with residual pleasure, his smile lazy and heavy-lidded, eyes little more than slits. His whole body felt warm and languid, filled with pins and needles; even the air in his lungs felt lazy and so pleasurably cold. As he held Sagebristle, rolling languidly onto his side to face her, still all he could think of was Moonblight; his thoughts were as slow and warm as everything else, just fantasies and hazy, half-imagined horror, accusations, spitting rage. He shivered again. He was facing her, but he wasn’t looking at her; his gaze was on the wall over her shoulder, and now, as the shiver rolled through him, his eyes lidded further, consuming him in hot, inebriating blackness. He subconsciously turned his head more towards her, his muzzle pressing against the crook of her neck with fresh, heady need.

And then she was speaking. Of course I’m happy, you dunce. Kier opened his eyes to look at her, the lazy, pleased smile spreading across his face again. Oh, wasn’t that sweet. Now she sounded more like herself, and that knowledge sent a fresh wave of pins and needles up through his legs, through his stomach; this sounded like the Sagebristle who had so hated him. Now he truly could imagine her saying such similar things to Moonblight, to her kind, loving Moonblight. What a pity he wasn’t here to be so loved by his mate. What a pity Kier had to soak it all up for him. And soak it in he did. Whatever the future held, Sagebristle would never be able to escape the memory of telling Kier how happy he made her. She could say how much she hated him, how much she never would have done any of this if she had been in her right mind — but the point remained: she had. Oh, she had — and she had done it eagerly. It wouldn’t change the fact that right now, she was lying here against him, happy and warm and melted. And happiness could haunt just as much as grief.

He hooked a languid paw, so gentle and so sure of what he wanted, under her hip and used her waist to draw her nearer. He held her close, and if she weren’t so needy and so far gone, it might have seemed more threat than love.

You’re too kind to me. “Mm,” he agreed, eyes closed, drawing closer across the moss to lose his muzzle in the hot fur of her neck, breathing her in, holding her close, so warm, so cruel. “I am.” What a thing it would be to add, especially when you don’t deserve it. What a thing it would be to pepper in a little smatter of insult — would she take it? Would she say yes, Kier? But the words died on his tired tongue and he stayed silent as he drifted into black, swirling warmth. His lids flickered as he dreamed. All of the dreams were bad for everyone else and wonderful for him.

---

When Kier had woken, he had been lazily spooned against Sagebristle; it was his natural sleeping position with Eris, and so his body had unconsciously slipped into it, substituting his mate for this lesser thing. It hadn’t fussed him at all; he had raised his head slightly, looking over her still-sleeping form with a barely-awake, hooded-eyed smile, his paw still curled around her waist. She was about as bony as his mate, but all that thought did was make him miss her. So, while Sagebristle was still sleeping, Kier had untangled himself from her, drawing himself out of the heat that lay trapped between their bodies and consumed the nest after a moment longer of drinking in the illicit feeling, the sight. He dragged his paw so slowly across her hip, watching her shift and mumble in her sleep with attentive, intoxicated eyes. And then, finally, with sudden efficiency like that was enough of that, he’d ducked his head down to sink a quick kiss into the fur of her neck, just for the sick domesticity of it that would mean nothing to anyone but him — not all things needed to be known to hurt — and risen, immediately swamped by the coldness of the den air. And then, still smelling of his conquest, he’d gone to his mate — and unlike with Sagebristle, that eagerness, that fawning bounce in his step, had been genuine. He had so much to tell her, but mostly he didn’t want to talk, even if that only meant catching the last hour of her sleep and whispering kisses up her side. Wonderful, too, if it didn’t.

Now, an hour or so later, Kier was just padding back out of his and Eris’ den, still smoothing down his shoulder fur with quick, business-like licks — usually he would never have been seen out without his fur in perfect condition, but the start to this night had been a heady, time-stealing thing and he was running late. “Ah,” he greeted Sagebristle when he saw her up and about, still lapping at his pelt. “Sagebristle.” His eyes were mischievous, knowing, like he held the full heat of the last hours between them, but he purposefully didn’t stop grooming, didn’t give her his full attention beyond the maintained eye contact and a quick little upwards dart of his brows and the lazy, self-satisfied smile around his tongue — it was like two lovers in an office trying to be discreet, and the open secret of it was addictive. “Feeling good? You had your aches and pains — are they better?” His eyes still didn’t leave hers as he lapped at his fur, perfectly cocky. He hoped she’d mistake it for fondness. No one ever didn’t feel good after they’d spent the night with him; if he was sure of one thing, it was that.

Really, all of this was having the opposite effect to what one might have thought — he’d started out greatly respecting Sagebristle, truly thinking that in another life, they might have been the best of friends. He’d had a great deal of deference for her. Now, as his confidence grew, as his arrogant untouchability did, as they grew physically closer and he grew more comfortable, as he continued to face no repercussions and no consequences and began to imagine he never would, everything he’d ever feared in her gave way to complete disrespect. He’d once wanted her approval; now he regarded her with utter, lazy contempt. The great warrior was nothing. She was a mewling, warm-bellied kitten under his tongue, in his grasp. There had never been anything in the world to fear in her. It was a joyful feeling. He’d never had this much energy. He was having the time of his life; he had his cake and he was eating it too. Nothing could ruin this indestructible mood.

Did Moonblight have any siblings? Or any other children? Kier was so caught off guard that for a moment he was silent, just smiling at her from where he’d stopped grooming. Then, still smiling, he turned his head, body twisted, and followed her gaze. The nursery. It was a lucky thing he was turned away from her, because the look that crossed his eyes, so slow, so creeping, was monstrous.

Anyone who knew Kier the leader — anyone who’d had to live under him in a far more genuine way than Sagebristle had — would have recognised that he was seethingly angry: the very deliberate, close-lipped smile; the look in his eyes that was so polite. That look had killed dozens. But his anger wasn’t directed at her; it was directed at the nursemaid. He’d pay a visit to her later, one of his visits that was so cheerful and attentive and insistent that nothing was wrong — oh, no, my dear, nothing in the world is wrong. The kind of visit that was wandering slowly, unhurriedly alongside a fireplace, picking up little knick-knacks off the mantle and turning them over while the homeowner sat so anxiously in a chair, devoted to the cause but knowing they’d done wrong. The kind of visit where he never said outright what he was angry about. It kept them so dutiful, so eager to make it up to him, if they didn’t know precisely what their slip-up had been; then they were better across the whole board. He would just be checking in to see if she was alright — if she was quite right in the damn head, because he was more than happy to crack it open to make sure. They were as much a torturous beating, left them gasping on the ground in a puddle of their own spit just the same, as if he actually laid a paw on them. And maybe he would. For her, maybe he would. Superior she-cats were just as stupid as any other; she had probably been off with the fairies, off chasing butterflies, to have let Sagebristle’s kits out when she had known she was nearby. Oh, yes. Oh, no. She was gone. The nursemaid would be gone. Then let the others fall in line when she was gone like she’d never been there at all. They would whisper her name, so fearfully, and Kier and all the guards would smile and tilt their heads and say who?

There was no greater terror than ceasing to exist entirely. Than being written out of the story all because you’d screwed some damn little thing up.

But when he turned back to Sagebristle, he was still smiling. He let out a prolonged laugh, the sort that went with ohh— you know! The laugh carried through his voice as he spoke, too cheerily flippant, too eager to dismiss. “Well, let’s just say he wasn’t precisely faithful to you — a number of she-cats gave birth in the weeks after he left and who—“ He laughed again, though he hadn’t truly stopped to begin with, “who am I to ask which tom they’ve bedded. The more the merrier! Any one of these kits could be one of his—“ He softened deliberately, tongue uncurling from where he’d started to form a ‘ba—‘, “little darlings.” Kier slipped over and slung a paw around her — reassuring on the surface, possessive in reality. Whose are you? he wanted to ask, low in her ear, just to hear her say yours, Kier. Yours, sir, like good little Cascadepaw did. Realising himself how different he sounded now that he’d grown unsubtle with the ruse being over, he made his voice more gentle, more like the one Sagebristle had come to know. His grip grew more gentle as well — his eyes, his very air. He rested his muzzle against her ear, his voice comforting and quiet. “But siblings, no. No siblings.” There were — he knew about the SummerClan dolt — but that would only lead to questions no one wanted to answer, and he couldn’t have this one slipping away to SummerClan to speak with her. He brushed his paw up and down her side lovingly. “It must have been confronting, Sage. I’m sorry for that. I suppose those kits do look like Moonblight.” It irritated him, made a hot pit form in his chest, that she’d clearly remembered enough about him to know that — and she hadn’t told him. Only a liar wholy unworthy of trust could feel so affronted, so seethingly jealous, at not being trusted with that knowledge. Clearly, something was wrong with her.

He turned himself slightly and did the same for her, gripping her gently and forcing her to scoot around to face him directly. He smiled, tilting his head so softly and running his paw down her cheek, stopping at her chin. His grey eyes bore into hers; there was a strange thing about Kier’s eyes, that even when he blinked so softly, it looked like he’d never blinked at all. The attentive stare never faltered, never faded. It looked like he could see her, see everyone, even when his lids were closed. “But you mustn’t worry. You mustn’t let it upset you. If he was unfaithful, that was through no fault of your own. You were a loving mate, as loving as anyone could be under those circumstances. And speaking with them will only do more harm for you than good. What she-cat needs to know her mate sought out other she-cats’ beds?” He smiled, small and comforting, giving her chin a little twinge and then brushing down her neck, down her side, to finally stop on the ground. “All it will do is dig up a past that needs to be laid to rest.” He smiled wider; he knew he was pushing it, but at the very least, diverting away from pragmatism and giving into sick personal emotion — and wouldn’t feeling be the death of him, of all his great schemes — he wanted to hear it. He wanted her to know she’d said it. His voice took on a slightly trembling quality, like he was barely holding himself back from the desperate, vicious joy of hearing the answer. “You do love me, don’t you?”

Kier could tell she was lying; he just kept on smiling, just kept on gazing at her with unblinking eyes that somehow seemed more ominous now, just kept on brushing his paw up and down her cheek. Now, the movement felt as if, in the blink of an eye, he could have her throat in his claws instead. But on and on he went, smiling, like he was waiting to taste her lies, like he was saying good girl, good girl, come on — which way are you going to spin it? As she seemed to decide and began to speak, he nodded along with her, and it felt just as patronisingly dangerous. It's behind me now- laid to rest, like you said. He made a little cooing sound that sounded so infantilisingly comforting, like it was a very smart choice, or like she was a very brave little thing for keeping on with her lie and he admired her terribly; he touched his paw to her chin again, tilting his head. His eyes dropped for a moment; when he looked back up, just as she did, he gave her another smile. Anyone else who knew the Kier he was — the one she was just beginning to form a shaky idea of — and not the sweet Kier she was most familiar with, would have seen the murderous patience and run. This smile was the smile of now where, my dear, would be the best for us? Mm? What do you think? What would cause the least mess? Snapped neck? Mm — I think so, too.

If Sagebristle had only told him her memories, he would have had an answer for every single one — are you in love with me? Are you in love with me? could sound so forceful, so demandingly insistent, so vicious out of context, so frightening. He could spin worlds with that. But she didn’t. And he couldn’t. She lied right back.

As it was, he and Moonblight, without the latter knowing at all, were locked in a silent battle for Sagebristle’s very memory. If Moonblight were here, he would no doubt be gentle; Kier, though, was willing to tear her limb from limb in this fierce tug of war. She was insignificant — it was about Moonblight. And if she was torn apart in the battle for her soul, then he would cast her aside and step over her broken body like she were nothing but crumpled paper. If Sagebristle were half of what Eris was, Kier could be a loving mate to her, ten times what Moonblight was. He felt irrationally jealous just for the fact she was in love with such a bumbling, nothing idiot, so bland, so insignificant — Kier didn’t want her, didn’t want her one bit, but it was the fact that she had him and still clearly yearned for Moonblight that made him so destructively angry. Not because he was insecure, not because he saw himself as somehow lesser to Moonblight — but because she was so… small-minded. So utterly without ambition. It went without saying that Kier didn’t think very highly of she-cats’ loves and emotions, saw them as inherently inferior and less important to male emotions, more apt to be bent by them — and as he saw it, if a she-cat had the chance to throw out the old for a more powerful suitor, she ought to take it. She was just a little idiot. He didn’t feel any panic at his lies unravelling — because that was half the fun and he just hoped it would stay in place just long enough for Moonblight to see; because he knew he was a good enough story-spinner that he could keep things afloat and then duck out gracefully when they truly began to crumble down around his head. He just felt a deep, hot irritation.

He’d been turning his head this way and that as he watched her, as he listened to her, the smile never leaving his face. At her shy little burst of laughter, the smile grew, still so patient, so tender, like they really were just having an intimate little chat. If one ignored the murder in his eyes and the sick uncertainty in hers, it really was a sweet little moment. But he would go along with this game for as long as she would; he wondered how far she would go, even if she suspected that he knew she was lying. What would she continue to give him? You first. It’s impolite to force a confession from a lady. “Yes,” he agreed so warmly, so quietly, drawing her closer with the paw on her cheek. “And you’re such a lady.” You little minx, he really wanted to say. You clever little minx. She always had been a match for him, back in the day. Their faces were a breath apart, close enough to feel the static of each other, close enough to feel each other’s air, to breathe it. He smiled, gaze wandering down to her mouth and back up to her eyes. “I love you, Sagebristle,” he told her with conviction, relishing in the lack of any effort towards the ruse; the words could not more obviously be lies. A little grin spread across his face, crinkling his eyes as he stared into hers. “Your turn, my dear.” Tell me you love me.

Neither had said they knew the other was lying; likely, neither would. They were locked in a dangerous game of mutual deception and mutual feigned ignorance, both playing at being innocents. “So,” he suddenly, with a paw impossible to see from their close proximity, grabbed her waist and hauled her slightly closer, “you don’t want to go back to bed?” It was so mocking, so cruel. So tender. His nasty eyes were laughing at her; his soft voice was giving her the option to believe he was unaware, for her own safety, for her own life. He hadn’t outright said he knew, though this came close; neither had she. Neither knew how much the other knew, and neither could ask without showing their hand. She was trapped in here with him; he wanted her to stay of her own will, for Moonblight to see; it was in both their best interests for them to just continue on playing this little ruse, Kier so gentle and Sagebristle so… nothing. He would never force her to do anything, that wasn’t where any of the fun came from — it came from the intoxicating idea that even if she knew, she was still drunk enough on this life with him to cast her reason aside, her obstinacy, and continue on. It came from the idea that even safely back with Moonblight, she would still be slinking around behind his back to have her fill of him. And if there was one way to manipulate Kier, it was to play into that. Into any fantasy. His conscious mind might spot a lie, but, like he was drunk on heady catnip, he would be powerless to drag himself out of his own head and do anything about it.