To disagree with the Master would've won him the wine and a victory. It would've meant that I dared to think that I was intelligent enough to offer a thought worthy of their consideration.

To agree with the Master meant that I said what was expected of me, that I deferred to his wisdom in all things. Even a bet.

To agree made him lose such a bet.

I lived my entire life with fear at the forefront of my emotions. I was forced to control myself because it was the very thing I lacked. I had to mind my dread. I had to check my temper.

I had to lose myself little by little to survive day by day and I was determined to see the Master lose a little of himself too.

Even if it was only a bottle of wine.

"Will wonders never cease?" Auberon asked. "I guess it's possible to win a bet against you after all, Commander."

"You haven't won." I felt my insides constrict. I had a keen ear but not enough to know how the Master had felt about this small act of rebellion.

Anybody that witnessed this interaction never would've thought it to be but the Master was smart. I had no doubt in my mind that he saw it for what it was.

Suddenly, my rage disappeared. The void it left behind flooded with a horror that threatened to suffocate me.

I suppose the beatings that I suffered were well-deserved since it was clear that my instinct for self-preservation all but vanished in the face of my anger.

I started at the sudden yank on my hair.

The Master's hand was held tightly against my neck, a handful of my braid grasped firmly in his grip. Out of instinct, I pulled against him, trying to lower my head but I was reminded with a hard tug that I was not in control here.

I was met with an unfamiliar scene. Three Fae languished lazily among pretty cushions, their forms glowing warmly under several floating lights. Not courtesy of the Master - he had a different skill set that had nothing to do with conjuring pretty tricks.

He and Auberon lingered at the edge of my vision. They were a smear of silk and linen.

The only one I could see clearly was directly in front of me and he was a vision of beauty and grace. His legs were pointed at me, crossed at the ankles. He was leaning back comfortably, his head propped against an open palm. His hair, a red so dark that one could mistake it as black, curled gently at the ends. It framed his eyes, black as the night was long.

"You weren't listening." The Master's voice was soft.

"How could you possibly tell?" Auberon asked.

My eyes darted to his and he looked adoringly at me. "I know more about her than she does. Of course I can tell."

My blood chilled at that statement. It was a well-known fact that Fae can't lie - not that it stopped them from being crafty little bastards. I couldn't tell if he said it because it was true or if he only believed it to be true.

"Well?" he asked, brow arched, eyes sharp. "I asked why."

I glared. It was all I was allowed to do at this angle. "Why what?"

His eyes flitted up as he suppressed a laugh. "See? She wasn't listening."

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"What does it matter why she agreed with you? You still lost," Auberon jeered.

I replayed their conversation in my head, my eyes never leaving the Master's face. It had been a one-sided bet. He hadn't meant to win - he simply prevented a loss.

I narrowed my eyes accusingly at him.

His grin widened imperceptibly.

I curled my lip, unable to help the disapproval.

He arched a brow as if to say he didn't care.

It was a wordless conversation, over as fast as it'd begun.

"He didn't lose," Aeon said. I glanced at him. He looked back at me, amused, then at the Master, even more so. As if he'd been privy to the silent exchange between us. "He just didn't win."

I couldn't see Auberon, but I did see him throw a cushion at his face. "Sometimes I wonder if you like taking Alvar's side just to rob me of a victory."

Aeon caught the pillow effortlessly, tossing it gently over his shoulder. "You lose as often as an Aed uses magic. Let's be honest - the Elder Tree left you severely lacking if you're as stupid now as you were when you were Made."

A fiery heat engulfed the gazebo in an instant. To my left, Auberon's entire body had turned into a furnace, flames springing excitedly all over his skin as if he couldn't quite contain himself. Aeon responded in kind. An eager rush of fire licked a number of scorching paths across his body in unpredictable patterns.

It was clear that the nature of their magic was different. One was brash, brutish, and unforgiving, like a hammer that forced a path to open where once there was none.

The other was quiet, languid, and seductive, like the touch of a lover that dragged their fingertips torturously over your skin as they whispered promises of carnal delight.

Neither had moved but everything had changed.

"You push your luck every day, you little troll," Auberon growled.

"By the grace of the Elder Tree, it looks like I'm one lucky bastard then, doesn't it?" Aeon quipped.

"When I kill you with my own two hands, that'll be the day your luck runs out."

"Come at me, Auberon, and we'll see whose luck runs out faster."

I flinched as sparks leapt from Auberon. I tried to pull away but the Master's hand - that infernal hand - held me still.

"Isn't it thrilling?" I felt his lips brush the shell of my ear. His words drowned out the heated words that were volleyed between the other two. "The smallest spark of conflict gives way to a wildfire of passion whether it's an argument between friends or a war between nations. Can you say any vision compares to the beauty of such discord?"

The two Fae were now standing, face to face. Their eyes were lit the same shade of scarlet, their magic amplified so much that it burned to breathe. They were clearly enraged, each agitating the other, both on the verge of exploding.

Then-

It was barely there, hidden under the distraction of their anger - a fervor that thrived from the danger, a hunger that called for blood.

I felt him hum, the vibration tickling my ear. "I suppose it's hardly fair that this is likely the closest you will ever come to seeing true beauty but I have high hopes that one day, you'll see what I mean- what I truly mean."

He released me, walking up to Aeon and Auberon. He placed a hand on each shoulder and their flames slowly stifled. The lights that had lit the gazebo faded from existence and a the moonlight bathed the Master in an eerie glow.

Suddenly, a dense wave pulsed out from the center, stealing my breath. Where the air had been scalding just a moment ago, it was now frigid. I shivered violently, my breath forming a thick cloud, my lips turning a deathly blue.

His fingers were covered in little blue flames, wispy like the smoke from a raging fire. It hovered here and there, winking in and out of existence as his magic strained to wreak havoc. Only by his control was it forced to be reined in.

In the Master's place, stood the Commander. It was the aura of someone who expected to be obeyed without question, to be a threat, to be an authority. This was the Commander whose magic flared so hot, it burned cold.

"Enough." Even his voice, though low, was firm - an order. "Aren't we all friends here?" A light hearted question asked with a menacing undertone.

For a moment, I thought I would die. From tension? From shock? From the mind-numbing chill that was stealing my life with every breath I failed to take?

Auberon and Aeon beamed at nearly the exact same time and just like that the tension was gone. There was laughter. There was jokes. The only evidence of anything having happened at all were the random char marks and the dwindling smoke that rose from them.

His back was still to me. I didn't need a knife. If I could grab Elouan's wine bottle and smash it to form a jagged edge, I could plunge it straight through his neck. My knuckles would brush the junction of his shoulders, the glass driven to the hilt. His blood would splatter a charming mess surely, but it would be the drip, drip, drip that would mesmerize me as rivulets ran down my arm.

He turned his head, eyeing me deviously.

I swallowed.

The bottled remained untouched.