with those penetrating, soulless black eyes. His black hair fell loosely around his wide shoulders and face, tousled as if he'd been in the wind. He held his hand out, and a great black throne magically appeared before the fire.
She shivered at the sight of it and the effortless way he'd conjured it into being. He was intense and omnipotent.
Even so, she refused to cower before him. "Have you any idea how upsetting it is to have no control over your life?"
He took a seat on the throne that was facing the fire, but he didn't look at her. "Have you ever had control of your life, Seren?"
"I?? she hesitated before she finally answered. "Yea. I did once."
A stool appeared so that he could rest his long, mail-clad legs upon it. He crossed them at the ankles as he stared at the fire. "And when was this?"
"Until you captured me."
He snorted at that. "You had no control. You told me yourself that you were forbidden to even leave that paltry town without permission from your master."
"It's not true. I am a freewoman. I had hope for my future. I had potential."
He scoffed at her words. "Potential. A sad word, that. Have you any idea what it really means?"
"Of course. It means that at any moment, things could improve."
He shook his head, but still didn't look at her. "It is a word used by those above you to make you tolerate your present lowly status by hoping for something that will never be. There is no such thing as potential. It is only a lie peddled to imbeciles."
She refused to believe his words. "You only think that because you had no potential," she whispered angrily. Then louder she said, "What happened to make you so cynical?"
She wasn't sure, but she thought he might actually be stifling a smile. "Life, my lady. Sooner or later, it destroys the potential in us all. As we strive like ants dancing to the command of our queen, it passes us by while we dream of a better place and time. Then one day all too soon, you awaken to find yourself old and shriveled, still working for others while you have nothing left but memories of work and suffering. Your potential gone, it leaves nothing in its wake. Nothing but hatred and bitterness to accompany you to your grave. You may take your potential if it comforts you. But I know the truth."
Seren had never heard anyone speak thusly, and in truth it made her heart ache for him that he had nothing to believe in. "And what comforts you, then?"
Kerrigan grew quiet at the question. At first she didn't think he would answer, until his deep voice filled the emptiness. "Nothing comforts me."
"Truly nothing?"
He didn't look at her or respond as he stared into the flames.
Even though he scared her, Seren forced herself to cross the short distance between them. She stood just behind his throne so that she could watch him. He sat there quietly as if he were made of stone while the fire crackled and danced. The air was thick with the scent of wood and pine.
For some reason she couldn't even begin to understand, she felt a peculiar urge to brush at his hair. Instead, she clenched her hand into a fist and rested it against the back of his throne.
"When I was a girl, my mother used to sing to me whenever I hurt. She would hold me close and promise me that one day I would have my own little girl to love. That I would find my place in the world and be happy. To this day, I think of my mother's voice and it warms me. Surely you had a mother."
He gave a bitter laugh. "My mother was a drunken whore who couldn't abide the sight of me unless it was to blame me for her wretched state in the world. I assure you, I found no comfort in her mewling insults."
Her heart ached for him. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to be hated by the woman who had birthed her. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him, only to have him grab her hand in a rough grip.
"What are you doing?" he asked angrily.
"I was offering you comfort, my lord." She grimaced as his grip tightened. "Please. You're hurting me."
His black eyes bored into her. "That is what I do, Seren. I hurt people. Never let yourself forget it." He let go