Ali exhaled hot steam in the scorching bath chambers, which he had ordered the maids to fill with coal, turning the heat to inhuman levels until the water boiled against his crisp skin.
In his Spirit Realm, Ali gazed at the black sword drowning in his rich aura, pulling him in nonstop—begging him to reach out and claim it.
'Tomorrow…' Ali thought, pulling himself out of his Spirit Realm. He left the bath wrapped in a black bath robe from Paradise, the fabric heavy with good quality fur. A strip of black cloth still covered his eyes, yet he walked the castle corridors as though he could see. All the while, one sound gnawed at him since he had left the bath.
"She's crying…"
Ali's footsteps carried him into the bed chambers of the female residents. This wing of the castle was luxurious, perfumed with heavy scents, and patrolled by pretty maids on night duty. The moment they saw Ali, they bowed in unison, some of their cheeks reddening at the sight of his steaming, sculpted body. He walked past them toward the last door in the corridor, where an older maid spoke to a younger one, her expression anxious.
"Oh, my Lord," the older maid gasped, immediately bowing low, the younger following her lead.
WAAH. WAAH. WAAH.
Ali's head tilted toward the locked door from which the sharp cries of a baby spilled.
"She has been crying for some time now," the older maid explained, keeping her head lowered. "I have knocked three times, but Lady Fiona gives no answer. What would you have me do, my Lord?"
"Leave."
The maids didn't hesitate. They left with lowered heads, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
Ali took off the cloth covering his eyes and reached for the door, which unlocked itself at his touch. Inside, the king-sized bed was ruffled and draped in layers of dresses—carelessly discarded garments of the woman now sleeping on one side of the bed.
At the far corner, by the window, her daughter wailed in her crib, tiny fists flailing in distress. Ali stepped closer, reaching down and lifting the baby gently into his arms. He patted her back softly, calming her with a tenderness that no one would ever expect of him.
Soon, the baby's cries faded, replaced by peaceful breaths. Ali set her back down in the crib, his sharp gaze drifting across the room.
On the desk and drawers, items were scattered in a chaotic mess. 'Very unladylike,' he thought. He stepped closer. A small bottle of brown ink sat beside a thin brush. He uncorked it, bringing it to his nose. The scent was floral and herbal. "That's what she uses to colour her hair."
Next, his eyes fell on a glass cup with a faint green liquid at the bottom. He smelled it then brought it to his lips, tasting it. His body, which had been exposed to nearly every poison on Earth, recognised it instantly.
"Sleeping agents… and a dangerous amount of them."
Ali turned to the bed. Fiona lay sprawled across her silk pillow, her nightgown clinging loosely to her body. Dried tear stains marked the fabric beneath her cheek. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse weak.
'She's going to die.'
Ali turned her over. Her thin nightgown barely covered her motherly breasts, wet with faint lactation spots, but there was no time to admire. He placed his palm on her chest. Red electricity crackled against her skin, jolting her body violently.
HAAAAH.
Fiona's eyes shot open. She gasped desperately, clutching for air, then darted her gaze toward the crib first thing.
"What happened?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Ali didn't answer. He grabbed her by the hair roughly, dragging her toward a small box filled with discarded rags and trash, forcing her head over it.
"ALI?!" she cried, clawing at his thick arm.
Ali crouched, shoving his index and middle finger deep into her mouth.
COUGH. COUGH.
Fiona gagged violently as his other hand pressed into her stomach with light force. Her eyes widened as she vomited into the box.
BLUUURGH. COUGH. COUGH.
Ali stood, cleaning his fingers with a cloth as he stared down at her trembling figure, hacking and choking with both hands gripping the box.
"Hah… hah… COUGH—Ali…" she rasped, looking up at him, her eyes red from crying all night.
"Shut the fuck up," Ali said coldly, taking a seat on her bed.
"That cup could have put a bull to sleep forever. You're lucky to still be breathing."
"Ali…" she whispered, her tone soft and wounded.
GRAB.
Ali's hand covered her mouth as he yanked her closer. Kneeling now between his legs, she looked up into his black eyes.
"Your daughter's crying saved you tonight."
He tightened his grip. "I know grief, Fiona. I know what it takes from you. I know what you've lost. I understand your pain."
MMMMH—she tried to speak against his hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"But suicide?" His voice dropped, laced with disdain. "Giving up? I didn't think you were so weak. Maybe I was wrong about you."
With his free hand, Ali snapped his fingers. A withered flower materialised. Fiona froze, recognising it instantly.
"I went back to your home," Ali said evenly. "I picked this from the ruins."
He removed his hand, and she seized the flower, clutching it to her chest as fresh tears poured down. Ali's palm rested gently on her head, stroking through her silky hair.
"I have his body."
Fiona's golden eyes shot up to his, wide with disbelief.
"Where is it?" she begged, grabbing at his robe. "Where is George? Let me see him—please, let me see my husband!"
"Only once you've chosen a place to bury him."
Her strength crumbled, and she broke down again, burying her face into his chest. Ali wrapped his arms around her, holding her while she poured her grief into him.
Eventually, her sobbing slowed. She lifted her face, meeting his gaze. Golden eyes locked onto black ones. She leaned in, lips parting, but at the last second, Ali pulled back.
Fiona froze, shame flooding her expression. "You think I'm pathetic, don't you…" she whispered, loathing herself.
Ali cupped her face gently, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. "Fiona… it's taking everything in me right now not to take you right here. But it's not right. You're not in a state of mind for that."
He pulled her into a warm embrace, rubbing her back.
'I mastered the art of women long ago…', Ali thought, his expression unreadable.
He laid her down softly on the bed and stood to leave, but her delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Can you stay… just until I fall asleep? Just in case it's still in my system." Her voice was fragile, her golden eyes pleading and she looked very vulnerable, my other man would have pushed her down right away.
Ali turned back. He nodded, moving to sit at the edge of the bed, but Fiona tugged on him, pulling him down beside her. She curled into his chest, eyes closing with a faint smile.
'Was I just played?', Ali thought, though his body enjoyed against her softness.
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