Fable 1. Let the games begin

"_Closer, my darling"_

**Authors Note**: _(Not like you read these anyways, I certainly don't most times.) My, my, everyone. I find myself absolutely appalled at the lack of Reaver/Princess stories are on here. I myself recently acquired a new copy of 'Fable III', and found myself newly infatuated with the man known as 'Reaver'. I incessantly mourn the fact that you cannot marry Reaver in the game, and thus, my imagination took flight. I assure you, all violent trespasses would be easily forgiven. Hence, we have Fanfiction, where fantasy is brought to life, for as many or as few viewers as would please you. I must warn you, I have a severely depraved mind, and this story may come off as such. I would so love the input of the readers, I assure you. I shall try and spare you the majority of my dementia. This story is rated M, as I myself tend to find Rated M stories more well written and detailed to my distinct liking, and less "OC" and "fluff", if you will. I shall indeed try to keep to Reavers' original demeanor, and any changes I hope shall have a decent reason behind them. Also bear in mind that the lore behind the entire thing may or may not be 'on a whim', I have not yet recently had a chance to get my hands on a copy of 'Fable II' in quite a long while, however, I did try to do some mandatory research. I apologize for the long note, yet this story is for my own satisfaction to put my own fantasy out there. I should hope you all find pleasure in it as well.  
>Also, please try to bear in mind that anything in this story is likely to change. I like to think of it as a rough draft, and I welcome any input you may have. I promise I won't have you shot and left on the side of the road, as much as that may please our dear Reaver.<br>_

**_(AU on a later date: I HATE this chapter. Hate it. Fucking hate it. I seriously cannot even fathom the depths of my hatred for this piece. I re-read it, and it's just terrible. I wasn't lying about being rusty. It's clunky and almost disorganized. Unfortunately, I don't have the patience to re-write it all. Hang in there, folks. It gets better... sort of.)_**

"_Veil of a Queen, tying the hands of a king,_

_In the name of the species, under the silks,_

_let the games begin..."__  
><em>

"I present, her Majesty Seraphina, Queen of Albion and savior of the realm." The authoritative voice of her herald echoed off the wooded castle walls as she turned the corner into the royal throne room. Once she was within sight of the small gathering of subjects, the commoners and beggars alike cried her praises behind the velveteen rope that separated the minor crowd from the pathway to the throne. Her face flushed a deep crimson as she entered the grandeur throne room, heat flushing up through her face and into her cheeks. She couldn't bring herself to look directly at the faces of her dirtied and work-hardened subjects while she graced herself upon a fine red carpet bearing an overly-expensive royal armored gown and formal ostentatious jewelry. She had walked this path far too many times than she cared to count over the past year, each time leaving with a strange sense of dissatisfaction.

At first, she felt intense inner conflict over comfort and happiness of Albion's population versus a future for the kingdom and the safety of the people. The people of Albion had cried for change once she had usurped the throne from her elder brother Logan, and she had done her absolute best to oblige them without risking their own lives. She had spared only the most trivial of expenses while attempting to satisfy the people and their appeals, balancing the kindness of her heart and the overwhelming sense of protection that she was obligated to provide them. The people of Albion couldn't comprehend the severe danger they had been facing, as Walter had once stated that you could not understand the threat the darkness posed without first living through it. She refused to play the role of a tyrant like her brother before her, yet she needed to enforce strict guidelines to ensure the well being of the land. The treasury could not be spent leisurely, however, she needed to ensure that the people entrusted themselves to her and and sat well with their welfare and happiness in her hands. This had exhausted the fair Queen, constantly balancing charity and benevolence.

Thank the gods, her hours upon hours of heavy deliberation had come to fruition. The Darkness had been defeated and vanquished into oblivion, and the realm remained safe from the Crawler. Yet the people's satisfaction had not come without a cost. The gold that had been spent satisfying their lamentations had not come without a debt paid in blood. Their armory had suffered losses when quarters needed to be rebuilt or orphanages needed re-staffing, yet she could not bring herself to leave her people homeless or turn the home of so many destitute children into a bordello. She had tried her hardest to make sure their utmost of needs were met, and when the cries of the people were left unanswered, she made her best attempt at justifying her choices. Yet they did not seem to understand until the darkness was at their doorstep all the able bodied men readied themselves for battle. Impending doom was quite a difficult situation to understand until it surrounded you. In the end, all her decisions and sleepless nights had paid off, and the Darkness was abolished.

However, it seemed that the needs of her subjects were never ending. It had been mere months since the final battle had been executed and her land and people defended that a rally of new petitions had found their way into her court. The duties of a Monarch were unending, as her brother had once warned her. She now understood the darkened lavender circles under his eyes, and the dark, hollowed gleam to his eyes. It was indeed absolutely exhausting, and to a point, unnerving. She had no doubt that she looked quite similar to he did the last few day that he held the throne for his own. She could feel her own swollen eyelids dragging themselves down with the weight of sleepless nights and the kingdom itself, and her darkened ice blue eyes reddened from awakening far before her body deemed itself ready. Her shoulders seemed to carry an invisible weight as she climbed the endless steps to her golden throne, as though she was carrying the fate of all of Albion and all its people on her shoulders. But no matter how much stress she was under, she would never allow the people to see through her iron mask, so she put on an amiable face as she faced her subjects, ready to hear their graciousness and their complaints.

Court had always consisted of rules and regulations, and at the present moment, the Queen was unbelievably thankful for this. Her petitioner and their supporters, likely once again consisting of Page, were always punctual if not early and eager to plead their cause. Their opposition, however, was not. The former always consisted of the business tycoon and industrial mad-hound Reaver. Queen Seraphina had of course become quite accustomed to the fact that he wished to arrive at court on his own time, and refused to be dictated by the "needs and squabbles of lowly peasants", as he so endearingly put it. He was polite enough to never quite be late, yet he made it a point to never be early. He made it quite clear he came on his own time, and not the time of others, especially those he deemed unworthy of his presence. This seemed to severely vex Page as she stood with her hands crossed over her elbows, drumming her fingers impatiently as she sent occasional impatient glances at the door.

The Queen breathed a heavy sign, lightly massaging her temples with her fingertips as she glanced over at Page. Today, as was usual with all days that she found herself in the Queen's court, Page meant business. Her brow was furrowed, a slight twitch echoing in her features. The look in her eye was deadly, not unlike a balverine before an attack. The speckled revolutionist tapped her fingertips to a silent beat as she glanced ardently around the room, awaiting Reaver's inevitable arrival. The Queen could feel her own heartbeat pulse rapidly in her chest, fighting off a mild panic attack before the two mini-monarchs went toe to toe before her.

Page was a queen in her own right, queen to the poor, defender of the weak and hero of the working man. However, so was Reaver. King of industry, deflater of the impoverished and by all rights, maker of the treasury. It was only through Reaver that the Queen had been able to raise enough of a hoard of gold to fight off the danger looming over Albion, yet it was through Page that she had been able to put together enough of an organized rebellion to overthrow her maddened brother King Logan. She sat at an impasse, an uncomfortable rock versus a terribly hard place. She absolutely detested Reaver in all rights and forms, yet she owed him a debt of an entire nation, while she admired Page and her courage and strength while having to fight her own weakness for charity which tended to hemorrhage funds that the crown needed.

She could feel a headache coming on, and prayed that this petition would be of little matter. Something that she could reject or accept with little consequence either way. She glanced out the throne room windows, checking the position of the sun. It was getting late, there was no doubt about it. The blue sky was starting to show slight hints of orange as the sun began to descend. In a matter of minutes, she could easily dismiss court due to lack of opponent and retire to her rooms. She found herself praying that Reaver had been struck by bandits along the road to Bowerstone from Millfield, so that she may continue this 'consultation' another day.

It was wishful thinking, but nothing more than that. Reaver may be a plush businessman, yet he seemed quite talented with that Dragonstomper .48. The finest money could buy and one of only a few ever made, he assured her once. Even if he had been struck with the misfortune of a bandit attack, she knew it would take him mere minutes to dispatch of all the attackers. At most, he would be a few minutes late, and that was with the most well thought out and executed of attacks. It was with this knowledge that bit her lips nervously and lightly rubbed her fingertips into her temples, attempting to fight off the inevitable headache that seemed to pound its way into her mind.

As if on cue, the double oak doors burst open enthusiastically. Even through the crowd, she could spot the characteristically large ebony top hat on the head of a man who already practically towered over everyone else, enforcing his already well known superiority complex. He threw his arms out to his sides theatrically as if to allow the masses to bask in his very presence and beheld a triumphant grin as he addressed the Queen.

"Your Majesty, I must _deeply _apologize for my tardiness. I fear my carriage driver has not quite become accustomed to his job of getting places punctually. I assure you this trespass has been _severely_ dealt with." He said, exaggerating every syllable with a wicked grin. She eyed the pistol strapped flamboyantly to his side, and felt pity for whomever his driver was for the day. She had no doubt he was severely maimed, if not laying dead on the side of the road. Reaver seemed the type to bring a spare servant everywhere he went rather than do anything he deemed 'menial' for himself, so no doubt he had not driven himself here and ran no risk being seen doing any sort of manual labor if he killed a servant or two.

Reaver began to make his way toward her, customarily taking the red carpet path, his long ivory-panted legs taking large, dramatic strides. She noticed her crown seemed ten pounds heavier than it did a mere few minutes ago. He stopped just short of the steps to the throne and bowed before her ever so slightly, his mischievously gleaming amber eyes meeting her own cyan ones through his heavily arched black eyebrows. His trademark smirk plastered on his face, he rose and took his self-appointed place just to the left of the staircase leading to her throne where he stood tall and proud, both hands gripping the handle of his cane. Only when he had properly adjusted himself did he acknowledge the Queen staring at him impatiently, and the rest of the court glaring with her. A slight fox-like smile formed on his lips as he turned to her.

"I'm terribly sorry if I gave the impression that I was not ready, my dear." The guards shifted at his informal speech with the Queen, although it was more for appearances than anything else. Even in this court, Reaver was untouchable. "I was simply attempting to appear proper for Her Majesty. Such bad taste to slouch and drag in the presence of such radiance. I do wish your petitioner would do the same. I would certainly be willing to wait." He shot a small glare at Page, who sniveled in response. "Absolutely, do continue, your Highness. I am just _aching_ to hear the pleas of the people this morning."

The Queen rolled her eyes at his faux politeness and rested her hand on her palm as she turned to the crowd. Pages eyes lit up at her opportunity to speak, and she looked for the confirmation to speak. The Queen nodded, and tried to stay as attentive as possible.

"Your Majesty, we've gathered at the court today to ask your favor. We have matters that have risen to the utmost importance and can only be resolved by the crown."

The queen stifled an urge to roll her eyes again. _Everything_ was of the 'utmost importance' to Page. She had been coming in here with petitions and expensive proposals once a week for nigh on a year now. The Queen appreciated the cause, but the crown was not equipped with an endless treasury, and this was something Page didn't seem to quite grasp. When Page looked at Bowerstone, she saw endless supplies of gold and wealth instead of what it truly was, purely a status symbol. The only person in the room with enough money to fulfill all of her wasteful propositions and more using nothing more than what could be considered to him mere pocket change was the most unwilling and laughably uncharitable person in the room. The grandiose businessman to her left could easily renovate all of Albion and still live in luxury, yet he preferred to sit on his gold and instead use it to further his own interests. As selfish as it might be, it wasn't the Queen's place to say anything. It was by all rights his gold, and he could spend it as he wished. It simply frustrated her that while the royal treasury remained consistently empty, he could probably buy the crown off her head using nothing but the gold on his person at the present moment.

"Page, as delighted as I am to see you in this court, you do of course realize that the status of things have not changed? I have had to deny your past few propositions due to no pleasure of my own, but instead a lack of funds. The battle took a great toll on the royal treasury and I physically cannot make renovations that we cannot pay for, and it will take time to replenish our sources." The Queen stated pointedly.

'_A long time, the way we're going...'_ She added in her head. Yet Page remained unpersuaded, and Seraphina knew that she would continue to push the matter.

"Your Majesty, these are just a few small changes that would greatly improve the lives of your citizens. Small things like longer patrol routes to help secure your citizen's safety, and perhaps rebuilding of the more traveled roads to ease things for dwellers and traveling merchants." She pleaded with the Queen. "These are subtle changes that I believe could greatly improve the life of citizens of Albion, and all people who reside here."

While her speech was passionate and persuasive, the Queen resisted the urge to groan. Page knew little of finances and how they were run in the Kingdom. These 'small' changes would cost well over several hundred thousand gold to make, and that was gold she simply didn't have to spare right now.

"Page, as noble as your cause is, and as much as I wish I could make these changes for you, I simply cannot. We do not have the funds for such changes quite yet, although I assure you when the Kingdom has the funds, these shall be of the utmost importance." The Queen bit her lip, Page's disappointment plastered all over her face. Seraphina could tell that she wasn't simply going to drop the matter and that she would instead continue to push it. She decided to give her a taste of the tough decision making process.

"The guard routes that you suggest are more expensive than you believe. I will have to pay several men overtime, and so not to break the labor laws I have put in place, I shall also have to hire more men. More men means more combat training, weapons, and armor. We shall also likely have to build new housing quarters for the men as well, as the roads are perilous and long. The roads that you wish to renovate shall also take men to renovate them, not to mention supplies and temporary housing quarters for them while they should do the task. I suppose the workers would also like to eat? Well, there's sustenance costs as well. Not to mention affording new guards for the temporary roads that travelers will use while the new ones are being worked upon. All of this is not counting any unfortunate circumstances, including bandit attacks and rabid animals and losses at our expense at their hands." Her lips were tight with remorse, but she stood strong in her conviction. Page looked disheartened, but understanding. Much to her dismay, she could feel Reaver positively beaming next to her, obviously reveling in his success without having to even so much as open his mouth.

"I.. I understand, your Majesty. Perhaps when the treasury is a tad more filled, these changes can come to pass." Page let out a heavy sigh. "Thank you for hearing our plight. I trust your judgment." She graced the floor with a low curtsy. The Queen nodded her head in acknowledgment, but was yet again distracted with Reaver looking far too pleased with himself. His Cheshire grin proof that he took far too much pleasure in the suffering of her people.

"Reaver, I do know how you so love the sound of your own voice, perhaps you have input?" The Queen looked over at him, beyond antagonized. He simply turned to her bearing his unmistakable simper, his aurous eyes showing no signs of pity.

"Oh, your Majesty, is there anyone who does not?" He sent a flirtatious wink to an unknown noblewoman standing in the room, who she had no doubt he had most likely held company with a few nights prior. "I could not have made the decision better myself. These expenses simply could not be helped. There is no money to be spent on such _frivolities _as extra guards and roads." He made a point to brush his hands against his fine trimmed fur and ivory coat, sending a sideways smirk at Page as he did so. "Why, if people are so concerned with safety, why don't they learn to defend themselves?"

_'Avo have mercy,' _Seraphina slapped her forehead against her palm. _'of course, he had to open his gigantic mouth.' _Just as she expected, Page's eyes lit up, burning with a fire that couldn't be mistaken for anything except contempt. If Page had the change to speak, the pairs tennis match of insults would drag this court session for hours. Page opened her mouth to speak, the Queen interrupted with a comment of her own.

"I suppose it was, of course, too much for me to expect from you to simply agree with my decision? Oh, foolish me. How did I ever forget that you always have to have the final word? After all, how could this court ever continue to function without your _priceless _input." Her every word heavy with sarcasm. The Queen once again rubbed her temples, her annoyance reaching a peak. She wanted nothing more than to be in her chambers, in a hot bath, forgetting about all these incessant royal obligations. Reaver put on a faux pout, but his trade marked smirk was unmistakable beneath it.

"My, your Majesty! I _do _apologize!" His voice had a dramatic flair as he placed his hand over his heart. "I did not mean to offend. I only want what is best for this kingdom and of course, yourself. I agree with your decision whole heartedly." He bowed once again to her, his arms gracefully lengthening up his side. He turned then to Page, who stared angrily at him, her hands defiantly resting on her hips. "I'm so terribly sorry, little _surmulot_, but her Majesty has reached a decision and I do believe that it is final. I also believe that this court session is successfully adjourned! Tatty-bye! All of you." He waved his free hand dismissively at the court, but most notably, Page. Page gritted her teeth, but turned toward the door along with the rest of the court. As everyone flocked toward the door, the Queen was clenching her own teeth, annoyed beyond reprieve. She exhaled loudly, almost certain that flames would shoot from her nostrils.

"Reaver, it is not for you to dismiss the court, neither is it your authority." She spat with a sharp edge to her voice, although she couldn't say with truth that she was entirely angry that he had.

"Oh dear, I do seem to be making fumbles all over the place today! I'm so terribly sorry, my sweet. Old habits die so terribly hard." His voice feigned regret, but she knew better.

"I am _not _your 'sweet', I am your Queen. Not one of your paid courtesans to be dismissed so casually, and you shall address me as proper station requires." The Queen's fierce eyes met his. Much to her irritation, he showed no signs of any emotion at all. His face only had his ever-present smile.

"Of course, your Majesty! A woman of your position deserves only the utmost respect! Perhaps I could be allowed to make up for my various missteps." This sounded much more of a statement than a request. "I could not help but notice that your coronation was never properly celebrated, and as you know, I myself love a nice little get together. The court was much too busy preparing for that war of theirs. Such a travesty, if you ask me. Why, your brother Logan's celebration was rather extravagant. It was quite a pleasure." He placed his hand to his chin thoughtfully, as if recalling a pleasant memory. "I see no reason why your own party should not be the same." He looked down at her, cocking his head playfully to the side.

"You know well the answer to this, Reaver. How is it that I can turn away my people due to lack of funds, yet throw my own extravagant party in the same breath? There is simply no room in the budget, and there are more important matters at hand to use the funds that remain." She knew she was wasting her breath attempting to explain this concept to him. The man didn't know the meaning of the phrase 'lack of funds', nor did he particularly care for it.

"Your Highness, I have indeed taken note of the struggles of the court. It _pains_ me to see you suffer so. Which is why I insist that this party be held entirely on my account." He held his chin high, seeming rather pleased with himself. "Do not fret dear, I shall take care of this occasion entirely."

This caught the Queen slightly off guard, yet she remained acutely aware that there was an ulterior motive to everything that Reaver did.

"You do realize that I have not forgotten the last party of yours that I was an unfortunate attendee at? If I recall properly, you did indeed attempt to have me killed, along with my friend and allies, and succeeded to a degree. The _last _thing I need is a repeat incident." Her voice was laced with bitterness. Reaver was essential to Albion's economy, so she had been forced to pardon him when she took the throne, but that did not mean she wanted any more interaction with the man than was absolutely necessary. He was a necessary evil, yet it sickened her that he tried to cozy up to her the moment she had a crown upon her head.

"Oh my dear, I do apologize for that incident. It was quite the mess, was it not? You were an enemy to the crown at the time, and I do swear my utmost loyalty to the crown. I only did as was my duty. You do, of course, understand that I am terribly apologetic for any.. mishaps that may have happened, whatever the casualties may have been. Do allow me to make these _grievous _trespasses up to you. I won't take no for an answer. I only aim to please, my dear." His voice was playful, yet had stern undertones. Only Reaver could minimize the deaths of her comrades while feeling no remorse or regret. She once again felt the urge to set him ablaze.

"Should you truly wish to please me, you should donate the funds that would sanction this party to the treasury instead. I could push Page's proposal through and perhaps do some good for the kingdom." She knew it was fruitless to suggest, yet the words escaped her mouth. Reaver would sooner melt down the gold and throw it into the lake than serve Page's purpose.

"Perhaps an agreement could be arranged?" Reaver once again placed his hands to his chin, as if thinking intensely. "Perhaps... Should you allow me to throw the ball in your honor, I could be persuaded to _donate_ funds to the treasury. Both parties would win, yes?" His grin overextended his cheeks as he bore down on her. Reaver was a master of manipulation, and apparently that did extend to the Queen herself. He knew her weakness for her people, and was able to play it like a fiddle. She intensely disliked playing into one of his schemes, but should it serve her purpose and that of her subjects, it would seem selfish to say anything but yes. That did not, however, soothe her intense distrust of the man. She rose slowly from her throne, and turned to face him.

"I agree to this... 'offering' _solely _for the donation you offer me and the kingdom. Should I catch wind of any treachery or 'games' you have in store, I shall dispatch of you myself, and that is a monarchs' word." She slipped the small dagger she had holstered to her dress to his chest. Much to her irritation, he seemed to be more amused than threatened.

"My dear Queen, how very inappropriate of you! I dare say I enjoy your style!" He chuckled sinisterly. "You have my word, your Majesty, that this little _soirée _will be the utmost to your pleasure." He turned on his heel to leave, stopping short of the steps below her. "However.. I do have one simple request, if you will." He turned his head to meet her eyes as she lowered the knife. The dark smile that graced his features brought a feeling of dread into the pit of her stomach.

"What might that be?" She inquired, trying her hardest not to strangle the man that stood before her with her bare hands.

"You see, it is indeed traditional that the Queen be accompanied by the King to such an event. Yet, seeing as you have not yet chosen a suitor..." He paused momentarily. She really did not like where this was heading. "I find it only accustomed that you be accompanied by the man closest to the stature, and I myself find myself in lack of a worthy accompaniment. I would of course be most honored if you should accompany me." He extended his hand to hers, lowering his head slightly, yet never losing his smirk.

"I'm certain that you could find _many _other women more than willing to accompany you, Lord Reaver." She rejected his hand.

"Oh, but my Queen, I only accept the best, and you are, of course, the best. It would indeed be a shame if the treasury remained in such a menial state." His face donned a wicked grin and she felt her lip begin to twitch with malice as she took his hand.

"I will accompany you to the ball, Reaver. Assuming you hold up your end of the bargain which I am holding in the category. Not to do so would be treason against the crown. Subjecting your utmost loyalty to the crown, I assume you know what the punishment is?" Her voice was as cold as the pit of despair lurched heavily inside her stomach. She wanted as little as physically possible to do with this man, yet her kingdom needed the funds, and before her stood the richest man in all of Albion by far. If she needed to sacrifice a bit of personal comfort for the needs of her people.. then so be it. Especially if he was willing to throw around so much gold so freely. He held her hand loosely through his gloved fingers, the cold leather rubbing uncomfortably against her skin.

"Oh, I am absolutely delighted to hear that, your Majesty! I shall begin the arrangements right away. I shall contact you when I arrange our little gathering." He kneeled down and brought his mouth to her hand, once again his intimidating golden eyes staring up at her through his heavily lidded lashes as he kissed her hand. His mouth lingered a little too long on her skin before he finally released her and stood. She turned away from him, her mind heavy with her decision. She decided that at the very least, she would have the final word.

"One last thing, Reaver, if you will?" She looked him directly in the eyes doing her best to intimidate him. However, he had a way of making her feel like nothing more than a mere child as he towered over her by at least a foot, his narrowed auriferous eyes boring down into her own sapphire ones.

"Oh absolutely, my dearest monarch. Anything I can do to service you would be my absolute _pleasure_." He once again bowed lazily before her, his every movement dripping in arrogance.

"Get out. Now. Before I change my mind."


	2. Torturous One

"_Closer, My Darling"_

_**Authors Note:**__Hello, my lovelies. If you're anything like me, you won't read an in-progress story if it has anything less than 5 chapters. There's absolutely nothing worse than falling in love with a good story, only to have it so cruelly ripped away from you when there is no longer a 'next chapter'. I will of course not presume to assume that my story is quite as fabulous as others, but I assure you I am working my hardest. I realize that perhaps the story line is rather cliché if you will, but you know what they say. Stick to the classics. The last chapter left a sour taste in my mouth, so I stand by my word of making it likely to change unless, of course, the good people should disagree. _

"_Tortuous one, debauchery won  
>The attention of Emperors, Princes and Tsars<br>For the toll of her kiss, no soul could dismiss  
>The advance of her throne from afar"<br>_

The Queen stared despairingly down at auric embellished letter that had been placed upon her study desk. The scarlet wax seal was unmistakeable. Two extravagant R's placed back to back around an industrial gear cog. She gently picked up the letter and flipped it around to the back side. In gold fluidic lettering, it read "Reaver Industries". She felt a drop in her stomach as she read the words over and over. She had been absolutely dreading this day since the events that took place in the court. Reaver may be a swollen-headed ego maniac, but he seemed entirely too efficient when it came his own wants and needs, and it would seem that this party he wished to throw in her honor was quite high on his priority list. She knew it was only a matter of time before he contacted her to set up the details.

Reaver did seem to take any excuse he could get to throw some excessively ostentatious ball. It seemed his life consisted entirely of parties, depravity, murder and various unmentionable hedonistic vices. She would never understand where he found the time to run one of the most unbelievably successful booming industries in the history of Albion between his sexual conquests and his pleasure seeking lifestyle. The man had more money than he could physically spend in a lifetime, and he loved to show it all off in the most grandiose way possible.

She gently lifted the letter from her desk, searching her mind for any reason at all to ignore it and possibly throw it into the fire place. Yet, she knew better. This party was the key to restocking the national treasury, and enriching the lives and morale of her subjects. However, this did not make her dread the contents any less. Lifting the letter opener from the drawer, she penetrated the wax seal and maneuvered the knife carefully up and down the crease of the envelope.

Lifting the letter from the opulent envelope, she braced herself for the contents within. She steadily unfolded the thick piece of parchment, quickly viewing the contents, scanning the paragraphs without truly reading them. Only after several moments of preparing herself, she was able to bring herself to view it.

"_My dearest monarch,_

_I cannot tell you how absolutely delighted I am to have the privilege of hosting the celebratory coronation in your honor, however late it may be. Our most celebrated Queen deserves a lavishly palatial initiation, as is traditional of the Albion Court. It would be quite the scandal if such duties were neglected, would it not? _

_ I have taken the liberty upon myself to arrange most of the details myself which I hope shall be most to your liking. However there are a few minor speculations which I could use your person preference to decide, not to mention a few discriminating details which I can only assume you would wish to partake in. It is, after all, a party that I wish to be most to your liking. As I have stated many times, I only aim to please, your Majesty. _

_It would be most humbling to behold your radiant presence in my manor in Millfield at your earliest convenience. Most preferably the night of the reception of this letter. I assure you that my manor is more than elated at the thought of being graced by the presence of Her Highness, and shall be ready at your earliest convenience. _

_I pray that I may be honored with the gift your your presence most instantaneously. A visit from Her Majesty is, after all, an occurrence to be celebrated. I anxiously await your reply and arrival . _

_My most sincere thoughts,_

_-Lord Reaver."_

The majority of the letter had been written in fine black ink using what seemed to be an old fashioned quill, but his gaudy signature had been signed in what appeared to be molten gold, and took up a good quarter of the page remaining. It reflected the light so sharply that it almost hurt Seraphina's eyes to look upon it.

The Queen made an audible groan. Only Reaver was narcissistic enough to sign his name in melted down precious metals. It seemed that only he had the audacity to request, neigh, _demand _her presence on his own whim. It was customary that when you came to seek audience with the crown that you came to the crown on its own time. Reaver however preferred the opposite, as he made quite clear in his letter. He didn't even seem to have the good grace to _request _that she join him, or ask what time would be most convenient for her. He expected her to come on his beck and call, and most notably on his own terms.

The most frustrating part was that she was obligated to oblige him, no matter how absurd his requests. If she refused, he would no doubt once again hold the treasury (or lack thereof) at ransom, making some passive snide comment about the 'decrepit state of national funds'. It positively riled her to have to bend to his will, burning a pit in her stomach that couldn't quite be named as anything other than absolute disgust. No one else in the kingdom had the self important cheek to attempt to make demands of a monarch, yet it seemed that the one man who did was also the one man who had the status and ability to do so. This put a nasty taste in her mouth, and left the Queen in an ill humor.

She sat down at her desk, scanning her drawers angrily for parchment and a quill. She was absolutely dreading writing this reply, knowing full well what she must write and how she must write it. More specifically, she must accept his invitation politely. Worst of all, she had to actually keep her word. She got the feeling it meant little to nothing to Reaver either way, so it only hurt her own cause if she refused to show. She took a deep sigh as she flattened the paper against the hard oak wood of her desk. Pressing the quill to the paper, she began to write, resisting the urge to cringe as she did so.

_'Lord Reaver,_

_I have received your letter. I'll arrive at your manor this evening at 7:30. I'm afraid I won't be able to stay long, as I have royal matters to which I must attend. I must ask that we make this meeting as quick as possible. As I have said, I have important matters that require my presence._

_Queen Seraphina of Albion'_

The letter was short, to the point and borderline rude, but it was all she could bring herself to write without going further into detail about the depths of her hatred for him. Severe irritation formed a pit in her stomach as she placed the letter carefully into the envelope, and exited her study. As always, Hobson was waiting just outside the double mahogany doors, carefully examining the intricate molding on the wood paneled hallways.

"Hobson, I need this letter sealed and delivered to Lord Reaver's mansion immediately. It's high priority, and contains confirmation of an appointment I have this evening. I shall also need a carriage prepared at 7 this evening, ready to travel to Millfield." She handed him the letter, and vicariously tried to shift the responsibility to him. A malicious grin overtook Hobson's snake-like features as he took the letter from her.

"A letter to Lord Reaver? Carriage to the Millfields? Would this happen to be a _social _call?" He was doing a very poor job of hiding his implication of scandal. She wasn't sure what made her feel more queasy. His implications, or his suggestive smile which gave her an all too revealing look at his yellowed and decaying teeth. She swallowed a small amount of stomach acid, making a mental note to search for a new butler when time allowed.

"I regret to inform you that it is indeed _not _a social call. Lord Reaver has offered to make a generous donation to the castle treasury, and in turn would like to celebrate the occasion. He claims that he would like all of the details to be to my distinct liking. He requested my presence for a brief time to simply overview the details. Nothing _social _of the sort." Animosity lightly coated her words. Much to her dismay, his smile didn't even so much as flinch at her words. He simply shook his head in faux disappointment and clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Such a _shame_. Lord Reaver seems like such a suitable young gentleman. Not to mention, vastly wealthy. If I might be so bold as to say, if I found myself in your _position_, I myself might consider slightly more than a business call with the young Lord." His smile crept even wider with every word, and reached a peak when he saw the way the Queen was staring at him in absolute disbelief at what he had just said. He seemed all too pleased with her reaction, and it set her on edge.

"It _is _too bold, Hobson. I don't recall your job description being royal matchmaker, and I hardly find a butler qualified in matters of love, especially with that vile man." Her words were venomous. The butler only arched his bushy silver eyebrow.

"No one said absolutely anything about love, your Majesty." He turned on his heel and was gone before she even had the wits to reply. She sat in shock for several seconds, disbelief rang in her head at what he had just insinuated. It was safe to say that she was no longer hungry.

* * *

><p>Seraphina tapped her hands anxiously on her desk. Outside her window, she could see the scarlet golden rays of the sun slowly fighting the violent and indigo colors of the night for dominance and losing. It was dusk, and the sun was slowly making its way behind the Mistpeak mountains. Soon, it would be time for her to make the trip she had been dreading all day. She knew she needed to get up and ready herself for the journey, but her legs felt like lead and she couldn't bring herself to move.<p>

Instead, she traced her fingertips along the embellished edge of her desk, killing time she knew she didn't have. For a few moments, she heavily considered taking one of her spare 'slow time' potions, just to give herself a few more moments to prepare herself for this. Reaver was the absolute last person in all of Albion who she wanted to spend any amount of civil time with, yet he had once again found a way to worm his way into her schedule. She moved her hands to her forehead, rubbing her index finger slowly across the milky warm skin on her face. For a moment, she missed being a rebellion leader. At least then it would have been mildly acceptable for her to swing a sword at his pompous neck.

Finally dragging herself up from the chair, she made her way to the royal dress chambers, her legs feeling heavier and heavier with each step. She dragged her hands across the fine silks and fabrics of her multitude of royal dresses. He halfheartedly pulled a few out, looking them over without ever actually considering them. She bit her tongue, rolling her eyes at the thought of showing up to Reaver's mansion in full royal dress. She knew all too well that he would take this as some twisted form of flattery. That was something she desperately wanted to avoid, even more so now after her and Hobson's disturbing conversation that had taken place several hours prior.

She turned instead to her riding clothes, and various other less formal wares. The thought put a small smile on her face, rolling up Reaver's enormous driveway to his multimillion gold mansion in nothing but standard riding wear. The thought of his mildly disgusted face brought her a sense of joy. However, she knew that being the Queen of a nation had it's drawbacks. She couldn't be seen on the road, let alone conducting official business, in riding wear. However, if there was one thing Seraphina prided herself on, it was her talent of being able to do completely as she pleased without technically breaking any rules.

She picked a fine pair of black leather riding pants with ebony plated boots to compliment. She also settled on a plain off the shoulder white silk shirt with tied wrist length sleeves to go under an embroidered crimson riding corset. It may not have been the finest or even the most appropriate wear for a business meeting, but no one could argue that it wasn't finely made or expensive. It had been a gift from a tailor in Brightwall, and had been delivered shortly after the had taken the throne. She didn't want to know just how many hours he had spent embroidering it, or how expensive the materials had been to make it. She had no doubt that it was one of the finest things to come out of his shop. She had many dresses that were worth more monetarily, but the gifts that she received from her people were held more dear to her.

After donning her new attire (and spending many minutes thanking Avo that this particular outfit didn't require a servant to help lace), she walked into the bathroom, stopping in front of the floor length mirror to examine her aesthetics. This was another aspect she missed dearly about simply being a princess. She used to be able to dress more for comfort than she did for court, and it was perfectly acceptable for her to throw her hair back in a braid. However, when she became Queen, all of that seemed to change. Her servants would fret over the slightest knots in her long black hair, or bring her packs of frozen vegetables for her sleep deprived and swollen eyelids as if the kingdom itself depended upon it.

Her eyelids were indeed slightly swollen, her iced blue eyes ringed slightly red around the pupil. Her royal servants and Hobson himself would have a fit if she left the castle looking like "a common madam". She grabbed handfuls of her thick obsidian locks and twisted it into a messy bun on top of her head, placing pins in random places to hold it in place. To make it look a tad more regal, she pulled a black dahlia attached to a pin and placed it delicately into her hair on the lower left side.

She pulled a few loose strands down from her bun and took the heating rod from the counter, grasping it firmly in her gauntlet. She sent a spark of energy into the small metallic rod, heating it just enough so that she could wrap the small strands around it, successfully curling them. She continued to prod and pull at her hair until she was satisfied. Not too official looking, and certainly nothing that would impress, but enough done that no one could chastise her.

She took her small black coal liner and drew her typical wings off the top edges of her eyelids, and pulled at her lashes with a small mascara wand. No one could accuse her of being overly precise. For the final touch, she settled on a lighter pink lip rouge. She glanced at her reflection, turning her head slightly from side to side, and then decided that she was satisfied. It was perfectly casual, yet not quite lazy. She looked presentable, but certainly not regal. She was also rather pleased with her outfit. It was wayward and offhand, but not deficient in any manner. All things considered, it was an ensemble fit for a queen. Perhaps a rebel queen, but a queen no less. Not to mention, she liked to think that scarlet was her color.

Seraphina let out a heavy sigh as she glanced once more out the window. It was almost fully dark, the stars glistening in the sky like diamonds strewn across a velvet blanket. All things considered, it would have been a lovely night if the situation didn't stand as it was. Her carriage would be arriving soon to carry her to Millfields and she felt a churning in her gut like the calm before the storm. This was, after all, only the beginning. She could only imagine what her night would be like on the evening of the party in question. She put the thought out of her mind promptly. One night at a time, she told herself.

She put away a few lackluster items before leaving her wardrobe chambers. She carried herself down the halls, avoiding the glances of various castle service members. Word seemed to spread fast, not without the help of Hobson she had no doubt. The maids blushed and sent looks of envy, while the men furrowed their brow in what seemed like concern. She stifled an urge to roll her eyes. Why must it always be scandal in this castle? It frustrated her immensely that everyone automatically put their minds in the worst place possible. Many of them had been present during her 'civil conversation' with Reaver, and yet they still allowed their mind to drift.

To a point, she understood however. Reaver had a less-than-polished reputation amongst the men and women of Albion. In fact, he was known as a downright deviant. She couldn't blame them for questioning the motives of Lord Reaver when the Queen began spending time, be it forced or not, with him. Reaver was a man known to get his way through underhanded means as she knew all too well. He was, after all, holding a large treasury donation over her head to be able to throw this ridiculous ball of his.

She made her way down the grand stair case where, to her intense aggravation, Hobson was waiting for her with the same devious smile that he had only hours before.

"Does it pain you so to wear that same facial expression for hours at a time simply to annoy me?" She bit her lip in vexation, a slight metallic taste flooding her mouth.

"I do not know what you're talking about, your Majesty." He brushed her comment off. "I shall say that I do find your choice of clothes rather peculiar, however. Planning on _riding, _are we?" He placed extra exaggeration on his last sentence. The comment was innocent enough, but she knew Hobson, and nothing that came out of his mouth was innocent.

"I found no point in wearing a dress to this sort of meeting. I felt that I should dress comfortably seeing as this entire situation is uncomfortable enough." She glanced out the windows, biding her time and praying her carriage driver would hurry.

"Well I say, your Majesty. How very forthright of you." He chuckled lightly. She rolled her eyes at him once again. That man could find sexual implications in the most simple of conversations, and frankly, she was tiring of his company.

"Please go tell my carriage driver that I'm ready to depart. The sooner the better." She turned away from him, focusing her attention on a small speck of dirt that was floating through the air a few feet away from her.

"Yes, your Majesty. I will make sure that he gets you to your destination safe and sound. Once you arrive at Lord Reaver's mansion, I am most _certain _that he will take _excellent_ care of you." Just like that, he scurried off like a rat. Seraphina felt an overwhelming urge to smash her head against the paneling on the wall. Anything at all to get herself out of this mess. As if the situation wasn't cumbersome enough, she now had to deal with the suggestive and inappropriate commentary of her overstepping butler. She wondered if anyone would notice if he went on vacation. Preferably to a bandit camp.

This night could not be over quickly enough.


	3. Poison

"_Closer, My Darling"_

_**Authors Note:**__I'm working as hard as I physically can to keep these chapters coming for my invisible audience. I do like to think that someone enjoys them. I must thank my two reviewers for their gracious reviews. So rude, my little poulet, to not review. I, of course, am kidding, but I do sincerely appreciate the reviews. They give me a sense of security, if you will. There is nothing I adore more than the input of the fans, be it positive or negative. _

_'Your cruel device, your blood like ice.  
>One look could kill, my pain, your thrill'<em>

Queen Seraphina had her heavy head rested upon her palm as she stared out the window of her carriage. The white candlelight of the lamp posts lining Millfield reflected off the seemingly endless cobblestone road. She knew it was only a matter of time before her carriage came to a stop before the largest and most pretentious mansion in all of the district. Even from a mile or so off, she could see the ivory foundation of the ostentatious manor gleaming off the water. She wondered if the people who built it knew that such horrors would take place on its grounds. She herself had almost died on the premises once, let alone the countless people who had met their futile end there.

She had avoided returning here for as long absolutely possible, yet she knew deep in her mind that one day she would be forced to return. From the moment she had pardoned Reaver through mandatory regulation, she knew that she would once again find herself climbing the steps to his front door. That did not mean that she enjoyed it one bit. The only pleasure she found herself clinging to was the momentary peace and quiet before her driver announced their arrival. She took a deep breath, her hands intertwined together, kneading at her own skin in anxiousness. She sooner she could return home, the more amiable she would be.

Seraphina wished more than ever that Sir Walter were here with her. She had no doubt that he would know what to do as she glanced at the empty compartment of the carriage that he would be occupying if he hadn't passed away. He wouldn't have been pleased that she had been forced into a situation like this, but he would have stood by her side no less. She felt longing and the strange sensation of loneliness grasp her being. He would have protected her from Reaver. He would have even gone as far as to attend this meeting by himself to protect her from any feelings of insecurity. However, she was alone. Sir Walter had been taken from her, and the responsibilities of his passing fell upon her shoulders.

Several moments passed before her carriage finally came to halt. Dread filled her being as she brought herself to look out the window. The french styled manor stood tall and intimidating before her. The arabesque statues and perfectly trimmed garden all the same as her memory served her. She could hear her footman climb down off the carriage and make his way toward her door, apprehension flooding her limbs with his every footstep.

The Queen could hear the click of the door handle turning. It was time to honor her word. She put on a stoic face as her footman opened her door and offered her a gracious hand while she climbed the steps downward from her carriage and onto Reaver's property. He offered her a sympathetic face as she thanked him for his help. A part of her wanted to plead with him to take her back to the castle, where she could crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head and never think of this state of affairs again, but in her regal mind, she knew better. Her brother Logan had no doubt made sacrifices for his kingdom, and this was one she had to make.

She began walking the seemingly ridiculous amount of steps up to Reaver's french cut front doors when she heard a voice call out from behind her.

"Your Majesty!" It cried. She didn't recognize the voice, but she turned around anyways. She saw her footman standing before her. "Should... Should you need anything, absolutely anything at all, please do call to us." His voice was hesitant but assured. "We cannot imagine that this is a comfortable situation. Should you wish to return home, please don't hesitate to call upon us." His voice was genuine and caring, and his eyes glimmered with concern. She couldn't help but to offer a self assuring smile to him.

"What is your name, child?" She asked him. Her use of the word child was almost ironic, as she was almost certain that he was older than she.

"Jon.. Johnathan. I have worked for the royal family for quite some time. I have always admired you, your Majesty. I shall do absolutely anything within my power to assure that you remain within your comfort zone. I also realize that this movement is quite out of it, if I do say without overstepping my boundaries. Please don't hesitate to call upon your carriage. We only wish to see you safely home." He bowed slightly before her. He was a handsome if not childish looking boy, his mahogany eyes were wide and his cheeks reddened. He had lightened shaggy chestnut hair that lightly graced his forehead and heavy untrimmed eyebrows that were slightly hidden underneath his hat. His kindness was refreshing, and filled her with a small sort of hope. She smiled at him as he offered to take her hand.

"I assure you, Johnathan, that should any sort of dispute arise I shall call upon you immediately. I thank you for you your kindness. It is quite a change to see someone with a decent heart yet in this court." She released her hand to him, as he kneeled to kiss it. After a moment, he stood, offering her a small smile.

"Oh my! What an absolutely _lovely _sentiment! Why, it just melts my little heart to see such kindness and nobility!" The baritone, sing-song voice behind them seemed to shock them both. The Queen felt her lip tighten as she recognized it as none other than the voice of Reaver himself. Jonathan donned a look of surprise, and if she didn't know better, she would say terror. She saw his eyes met Reaver's cool amber ones for a brief second before Jonathan looked down at his feet.

"I must be going, your Majesty. My offer stands. Should you need to return home promptly, simply let us know." He quickly bowed before her once again before quickly taking off for the carriage. She gritted her teeth, wishing that she could accompany him. She wanted nothing more than to be on the road home. Closing her eyes, she slowly turned to face Reaver, refusing to open her eyes for several seconds.

When she did, she found him leaning lazily against his cane a few steps down from his mansion double-doors, his usual smirk playing on his lips while his eyes gleamed mischievously in the lantern light. His trademark top hat leaning ever so slightly on his perfectly styled long onyx hair. He seemed rather pleased with himself for foiling a pleasant moment for her. She narrowed her eyes at him, a scowl blatantly obvious on her mouth.

"My, your Majesty, I was just noticing the time when I realized that you were late. I of course began to worry, so I set out to find you myself. I was pleasantly surprised to find you in my own front yard, safe and sound!" His eyes flashed in the light as he cocked his head playfully to the side, sending occasional sideways glances at Johnathan.

"I am fine, Reaver. I spent many, many months on the road by myself, if you do not recall. I even managed to survive your onslaught of balverines. I would say that I am the least likely person in this kingdom that you should find yourself worrying yourself over." Her voice was harsh with irritation. Her banter with Reaver was often less than queenly, and she saw no reason to begin changing that now. She reluctantly began to climb the steps to his manor.

"I do recall your feisty fighting that night, your Highness. Quite impressive if I do say so myself." He smiled insincerely. "I must say that you look absolutely _ravishing_ this evening, your Majesty. I myself have always enjoyed a vagrant woman. That corset accentuates all the right curves and is absolutely flattering on your figure." His smile deepened as he raised a perfectly groomed arched eyebrow, obviously prodding her, hoping for a rise.

"Keep your empty flattery for your courtesans, Reaver." She spat. "I'm sure they are air-headed enough to fall for it and much more."

"Oh absolutely, your Majesty. I do pride myself on my ability. However, I was not simply flattering you, but speaking the truth." His smile reaching brilliant proportions, flashing his white teeth as he offered her is hand. She sent him a sideways glare and rejected his hand, continuing to climb the stairs on her own. He accepted this rejection with a sense of dignity, simply lowering his hand. When they reached the last few, he yelled loudly for servants.

"I expect his door opened by the time her Majesty and I reach it. If it is not, I have no doubt that I shall be in a foul mood for the remainder of the night!" He hit his cane theatrically on the white marble steps. He needed to do little more than that. The door was indeed opened by the time Seraphina reached it. A feeble and weak looking servant cowered behind the door, holding it open for the two of them, hiding his face from her view. His eyes wouldn't meet hers, and she felt a renewed sense of disgust for Reaver.

Reaver however, seemed perfectly content and he elegantly strolled his way into his manor, waving the boy off.

"One of these days, Reaver, you and I will have a talk about the way you treat your workers. I have no doubt in my mind that it trespasses upon my labor laws." She swallowed a new bout of hatred.

"Oh your Majesty, such a fighter you are! I assure you that my servers are among the most well treated and happy in all of Albion!" He widened his arms, beholding his manor and his servants. Not a single worker flinched as she did this. They simply looked away and scurried off, no doubt finding something to do.

His mansion was beyond immaculate. It was hardly as she remembered it. The last time she had been here, bottles, cups and all manner of debris had been strewn across the floor and the lights had been dimmed to the point where it was quite difficult to see. Not to mention, she had only seen a small portion of it. She had been dead set on killing him during her last visit. She had hardly noticed her surroundings.

She took the time to look over the fine marbled surroundings, embellished with all matter of intricate carvings and refineries. The house seemed to be a marbled expensive jungle of sorts. The floor was laden with exotic indigo rugs and plush carpets heavily embroidered with extensive needlework. The few aesthetic tables were home to expensive looking statues and clay work of the finest stones. On the walls hung paintings (mostly of Reaver) that did not look like they came anywhere near cheap and were probably worth more than she had invested in the entire royal castle.

She squinted her eyes at some of the paintings, as they were beyond peculiar. Some of them showed him brandishing a sword, standing in armor and bravely commanding a battle. Others showed Reaver in a dress with makeup upon his face (which she could not help but openly scoff at). The rest were of him in various positions and poses, doing one thing or another. She felt overwhelmed at the amount of localized narcissism. The house was indeed absolutely lovely, but she could not help but feel it tarnished with all these paintings of him placed inside of it.

He watched her eying all of his possessions, and couldn't help but feel the urge to laugh. The look of utter disgust that took hold of her features gave him a deliciously pleasurable feeling his his stomach. He so loved when she was flustered. The look that took over her lovely features was positively delightful! Her dark arched eyebrows furrowed over her enchanting oceanic aqua eyes and her plump rouged mouth tightened in anxiety and he felt such exquisite happiness that it couldn't quite be described. He did so love to mess with the monarchy, just as he had loved to mess with her brother Logan.

Logan hadn't seemed to make it as easy however, as Logan was indeed more corrupted than his dear sister. None of Reaver's immoral suggestions had seemed to have rocked Logan's foundation. It had only taken a glimpse of his own home to rock our dear Queen. He did so look forward to breaking her. He looked forward to the delightful mess he intended to make. He did so enjoy making a mess, and even more so watching others clean up after him.

Once he had his fill of her questionable emotion, he finally broke the silence. "My dear, why don't we venture toward the dining room. I have gone to the trouble of having a most lovely dinner prepared for us. Although, if you do wish to see more of the bowels of the mansion, I assure you that it could most definitely be _arranged._" His voice was heavy with his implication. He smiled, awaiting her appalled reaction, and indeed it came.

"Dinner? Oh, I think not. I told you in my letter that I have many royal duties to attend to. I simply can't afford to stay for dinner." Her voice was stern. He loved it when she was so regal. That meant that there was no greater joy to him than breaking down her façade.

"Is that so, my dear? You see, I took it upon myself to check with your royal butler. He said that you were clear for this evening. Unless of course you have some sort of _secret_ arrangement?" His voice was contemptuous and smug. He loved this part. He watched as her eyes fell, and she scrambled to find an excuse to leave. Her hands grabbed each other instinctively, and she stammered her words.

"Well, I have many duties. Letters to answer and propositions to consider. The life of a monarch seems never ending." She gave a nervous smile toward the floor, and he knew she was lying. She had given that same nervous smile to an inanimate object when she found herself fibbing ever since she was a little girl. Reaver remembered many visits to Castle Bowerstone when she was young and he had been attending her daily lessons with her brother Logan and he had yelled at his younger sister for something minor and unimportant more times than could be counted. Both of their parents had passed away, leaving Logan her only caretaker. This had stressed Logan to the point of cracking. He not only had a kingdom to look after far before he was ready, but a young child as well. She was too young to remember, of course, but Reaver was beyond ageless. He remembered every miniscule detail. He knew her excuses and her every behavioral trait. He had ages to memorize it all.

"Is that so, my dear?" He stepped gracefully toward her, by far overstepping his boundaries. It was only when he was all too close that she brought her eyes to his. He looked intimidatingly into her aquamarine eyes. His inhuman golden eyes staring down into her own. She bit her lip. Another trait she had held since he was a child, he thought. Ever since she was young, when she was anxious, she would bite and peel at her lips. It meant the pressure was building, and this pleased him.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time.. But I suppose I have enough for dinner. We simply must hurry." She brought her hand to her lips and began picking at them, her eyes flickering around uncomfortably and avoiding Reavers. Seraphina had never been one for confrontation unless it included a weapon of some sort. She was lying of course. He knew she simply wanted to return home, and this brought him a sick sort of pleasure. She would bend to his will, one way or another.

"I am absolutely delighted to hear it, my dear! I shall rally the servants and let them know of your inevitable company!" His hand was once again in the air theatrically. He brought it down to hers offering at first. "I promise that I myself am not displeased with your company." He kneeled before her, forcefully taking her hand and kissing it. A look of absolute abhorrence overtook the Queen's features. He felt divine pleasure once again overtake his senses.

"I only have one request." Her voice was strong once again. Oh my, he was so anxious to hear it.

"Absolutely anything, my dear. Anything for you." He gave her a devious smile.

"All the wine in your cellar at my disposal. This will be, by all accounts, an open bar at your expense." She gave a smile of her own, her eyes staring at him through her thick lashes. It was a smile that screamed hatred and malice. Her dark eyes narrowed when they reached his own.

"Absolutely, your Majesty. I would expect nothing less." He bowed to her, taking her hand once more and leading her up the stairs toward the dining room.


	4. Jezebel in Hell

"_Closer, My Darling"_

_**Authors Note:**_ _Going for a two chapter night. I must hope it is to your satisfactory. I've re-read it more times that I can count, but still have a **seriously** intense dislike for this chapter for one reason or another, and it seems almost ironic that it took by far the longest to write. However, despite my various attempts at fixing it, it was either learn to live with it or start the chapter over entirely. I didn't really have a genuinely set direction for this story, and I think this chapter sets the temporary direction in a peculiar way. It took a long while to write and correct and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I hope you will be._

_(When I uploaded this chapter, the text went absolutely haywire. Please forgive any oddities. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I'm working on fixing it promptly.)_

_'I can do it you gently  
>I can do it with an animal's grace<br>I can do it with precision  
>I can do it with gourmet taste<br>But either way  
>Either way, either way<br>I wanna kill you  
>I wanna blow you...<br>Away. '_

_ 'I will strangle him, I swear to Avo I will strangle him with my own hands.' _She thought venomously about her treacherous butler. Reaver's cool, gloved fingers gripped her own lightly as he led her up the cold marble staircase. She suppressed her racing heart with each step. Their footsteps echoed off the manor walls, dread ringing in her being with every loud clack of their footsteps. She absolutely despised the thought of being inebriated around Reaver, more or less because she was afraid her true opinion of him might slip and cause a 'national catastrophe', but she knew she could not face an evening with Reaver sober.

He led her down various hallways and past several doors, each one blending in more than the last. After numerous moments of maneuvering through his large mansion, she found herself wondering how a single person's house could be quite so large. It was all too much like a labyrinth for her liking. Why would anyone of their right mind place a dining room so far into a mansion?

He finally stopped before another androgynous door, waiting several seconds to open the door for her to build climax. His crisp glove slowly closing in around the knob, and eventually opening it for her, bowing for her as she entered. She stepped into the room, absolutely taken aback by its magnificence. The polished mahogany table beheld a lovely white opalescent table cloth with two crimson candles embellishing the middle of it. The walls were painted brick with a few panelings of carved Oak wood around the edges with a lit fire place gracing the corner of the room. A few expensive paintings of various scenic places were strung across the walls and a few decorative items and small marbleized statues were placed strategically across the room. A costly scarlet rug that matched her ensemble lay beneath the table, delicately embroidered with patterns of ebony thread.

The room was too dimly lit for her distinct comfort despite the grandeur crystal chandelier that hung feet above the table, but it was extravagant none the less. She found herself longing for a room like this in her own castle. Her azure eyes gluttonously drinking in every aspect of the chamber as she once again bit her lip. Unbeknownst to her, Reaver was tentatively watching her reaction. His eyes narrowed with pleasure as he noted her glistening eyes. He took the time to take in her reception before speaking.

"I take that everything is to your liking, your Majesty? I took extra care for you. I assure you, no expense was spared." He purred. Not even his tone could break her enchantment. She glanced around in wonder at the room, bewitched by the delicate allure. He grabbed her arm gently and led her to the head of the table as she shook her entrancement, calmly remembering who's house she was envying.

He couldn't help but smile to himself. Most royals had a taste for the finer things in life. He also noted that she had been denying herself those things for the sake of her people. She had afforded herself no fine dresses or decorations in her quarter since she had taken the throne. Reaver had made sure that when this room was well acquainted to her royal style, yet also well out of her reach. He sat down only after she had been seated for several moments.

"Yes, yes, it is indeed nice." Her voice was stern and stoic once again. She seemed to have broken the trance and her deep eyes were fixated on his, her stare never bending to his own. He did so love a challenge. It would have been so boring if she had been broken due to mere material objects. He found himself beaming again in spite of her.

"I'm happy to hear it, your Majesty. Do you find the comforts to your liking? I would be more than happy to call upon of the servants to suit your finer needs." He cocked his head once again.

"No, no I'm quite pleased with them. My only desire is for the bottle I was promised." She did her best to put on an apathetic face. This only deepened Reaver's infatuation.

"Of course, your Highness." He clapped his hands. In a matter of seconds, a servant appeared at the door. "Our finest Cabernet, __maintenant." __The servant made a quivering yet deep bow.

"Of course, Lord Reaver." The shaky servant managed to squeal before promptly running off. He spied the unmistakeable face of worry on Seraphina's face as she watched the servant boy scramble off.

"I see that your demeanor has not only managed to strike fear into the hearts of the court attendees, but that of your house staff as well?" She spoke nonchalantly, yet the look of concern on her face was recognizable. He grinned, challenging her,

"I do not know what you're implying, your Majesty. My staff is quite happy with their servitude. After all, who wouldn't be pleased to serve the beloved Hero Queen of Albion?" His voice was amiable enough, but the parody was heavy underneath his sentiment. She just looked sharply to the side and exhaled, no doubt a subdued attempt to roll her eyes. He gave her a cheeky smile, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.

A few moments passed before the servant returned with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. The crimson contents of the glass lazily sloshed against the sides of the container as he carried it toward the table. He uncorked the bottle and began to pour a glass for Reaver. The industrial lord's eyes ignited in anger.

"And just what do you think you are doing?" He arched his perfected black eyebrow. A shiver of fear ran down the poor servants spine.

"P...Pouring you a drink, my Lord." He stammered. His eyes rampantly searched for any wrongdoing, scanning the table and any other immediate surroundings.

"Don't you think it would be prompt for her Majesty to be served first? She is, after all, a guest of most high priority." He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table as he gave the boy an unyielding stare. The small boy gulped, and fretted to find a sufficient excuse.

"Of course, Lord Reaver. It was a simple mistake. I'm so used to serving you first..." The boy fumbled the bottle quickly over to the Queen and quickly poured her a glass. She sent him a look of sympathy as he did so, not wanting to know what awaited him when she left the premises.

"That's much better, my dear boy! Now that the Queen has had her glass filled, you should feel free to leave the bottle." Reaver's voice was pleasant enough, but he was fooling no one. The boy set the bottle down on the table and left with a look of utter terror on his face, and Queen Seraphina watched him feeling nothing short of regret, wishing to help him.

"Now my dear, shall we get onto the finer details?" He lifted the glass to his lips, taking the venomous liquid in.

"Yes, yes I suppose we should." She cautiously lifted her own glass, drinking in the alcohol. It stained her lips a delectable ruby red. She sent an innocent glance his way frowning as her eyes met his once more and immediately lifted the chalice again, downing it it two graceful swallows. He felt a devilish grin overtake his face. It was like watching an angel partake in debauchery of his own accord. He could think of no greater pleasure in life.

"My dear, have you ever heard the saying that there is absolutely nothing attractive about a woman who can handle her alcohol?" He swiveled his own glass between his fingers. He took a small sip from his gauntlet, never lifting his eyes from her cerulean ones from across the table.

"The better question seems to be do I seem like a woman who cares?" She removed her stare from his own, heavily eying the bottle that rested in between them. She reached a graceful arm toward it, grasping it with her delicate fingers and pouring promptly into her glass. She placed the bottle close to her, and sent Reaver a distinguished look from across the table.

'_How delightful! A power play! Her Majesty never disappoints_.' He lowered his head, giving her a small devious smile.

"I myself disagree with that saying. I find nothing more attractive than a woman that can handle her alcohol. Nothing else except, a woman that can handle my own." His grin deepened, and the candlelight projected shadows underneath his darkened eyes. She continued to stare him down in a silent battle of the wills, her eyes unrelenting as she took two more deep swigs of her wine glass, leaving it nearly empty. The hint seemed to fly just over her head.

'_Glorious, absolutely glorious. She's playing the game, just as I knew she would. How unfortunate that she's neglected the guidelines_.' He felt his 'hard' work paying off. He had sent many a sleuth experienced bard and other inconspicuous moral-lacking citizens to spy on her throughout her misadventures as Rebel Queen of Albion. He had seemed to know quite before anyone else that she would soon behold the royal throne. One statement that seemed consistently reported was her all too recent visits to local taverns. Her Majesty was indeed a wondrous alcohol connoisseur. She spent many of her free nights carousing the taverns with her companions, building up the tolerance of a Hero. That's why he had taken special care to make sure that this alcohol was tailored to her distinct liking.

He took no greater pleasure than watching her eyes begin to glisten with inebriation in the light. He reveled in her venerability. She was so used to her incredible tolerance that she seemed to neglect just how much she was drinking, pouring glass after glass, no doubt in an attempt to wear his patience down. It was only when she had taken several more deep sips from her chalice that he broke the silence and initiated their meeting, blissfully watching her guarded wall fall away.

"So, my dear, I was thinking that you and I should wear matching ensembles." He said pointedly. He intertwined his hands with each other on top of the table, resting his chin lazily upon them.

"You are kidding right? Oh my Avo, please tell me you are kidding." Seraphina scoffed, hiding her head in her hands. "This was the urgent message you called me here for? This was so important that you demanded my presence?" She laughed out loud, the curled loose strands of hair shook with her. He simply smiled pleasantly, silently amused at her less-than-queenly demeanor.

"Your majesty, you know how important these frivolous matters are to the court. It would be an absolute scandal if the queen were left unattended at a ball. We must make all appearances seem official." His voice was unwavering, although the both of them knew that every word out of his mouth was a lie. He counted on this. She sat in astonishment for a moment, her lush mouth slightly agape. Her glazed oceanic eyes narrowed on his golden ones once again and she let out a vicious laugh.

"You, Reaver, are beyond absolutely delusional if you think for one bloody second that I will stay here for this nonsense." She rose from her seat, once again reaching for her chalice on the table, taking a large swig from it and successfully emptying another glass. Blood red liquid dripped slightly from her mouth, which she promptly licked away. Reaver's eyes narrowed. "I am the Queen of Albion, and I have important matters to attend to. Much more important than what to wear to a damnable party." She began to make her way toward the door, only succeeding in fumbling over her own feet. He let out a chuckle of his own and he rose to offer her his hand. A look of intense uneasiness came over her face and her eyes widened in realization.

"What have you done to this wine? What have you done?" She demanded as he lifted her up by her waist. "Don't touch me!" She tried to push him away, but he only pulled her closer, her face only inches from his as his stare bore down into hers. She recoiled, pulling into herself.

"It would appear, your Majesty, that you have had one too many." He brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. She turned her head viciously away from him. This only seemed to fuel his desire. "Such a lovely face you have, my dear. Such milky skin, and I dare say those beautiful eyes of yours could tame a balverine on his worst night." His voice was honey sweet and sultry. "My, if I would have known that the little tyke of Logan's would have turned out to be such a notorious beauty, I myself might have stepped in." She pushed herself fiercely away from him, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled it past his shoulder in tango-like position, her body forcefully closer to his and he held tightly to her wrist "Now, now, your Highness, calm yourself. There's nothing more unattractive than a lush."He arched his eyebrow and silently reeled at her futile attempts to push him away.

"This is treason, Reaver. I demand you release me at once!" She struggled her wrists against his grasp. He only dawned a mischievous smile. He loved it when they were feisty.

"As you wish, your Majesty." He relinquished his grip from her body, and she fell to the wooden floor, betrayed by her own weight. He couldn't help but laugh aloud at her distress. He keeled over, using his cane as a counterweight, his malicious laughter echoing up toward the ceiling. He waited a few moments to look at her no doubt priceless faceless facial expression. When he finally brought himself to bring his eyes toward hers, he was not disappointed. Her face was rile with fury, her eyes positively dancing with rage. Her lip twitched with delicious hatred.

'_Come to me, little one_.' He lowered his face, taunting her, readying himself for the inevitable assault. She lunged at him, knocking him over on his hind side. His tall ivory hat was sent carelessly across the room. Pinning him to the floor beneath them, she gracefully pulled a dagger from her hip and placed it to his throat. Her every feature drunk with wine and rage as she prodded his skin with the knife. He could once again only bear a defiant grin.

"Oh, my Queen. I am disappointed. I figured that the rebel queen of Albion would be able to at the very least be able to successfully subdue a man!" He let out a chuckle, watching her aggravation reach a peak. She shoved the dagger an inch closer to his exposed throat.

"Really? It seems like you're quite subdued. An inch further and this dagger would penetrate your jugular, and you would bleed to death before me and I dare say that I would enjoy it." Her face drenched in maliciousness.

"You see, it's entirely too easy to deflect." He stated quickly. A slight look of confusion came over her face seconds before he swept her away. He overpowered her hand, wrapping his own around her wrist and slammed her dagger wielding limb against the floor. She cried out in pain as the knife skidded away across the wooden surface.

He then proceeded to roll on top of her, using her own weight as a counter and easily shifting positions and straddling her. He grabbed both of her wrists with his own and pinned them above her head, using his free hand to grab his Dragonstomper from his holster and placed it carefully above her cleavage. He placed his knee on her abdomen, successfully pinning her legs beneath his weight. His sadism was apparent as he donned a look of joy watching her squirm and struggle beneath him. She bit and scratched, but her mild attacks never came to fruition.

"Struggle all you wish, your Majesty, but this position is inescapable." He placed his face close to her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her neck. He detected the softest scent of fear and rage, and it only pushed him further.

"Get off of me now! Or I shall have you beheaded!" She kicked and struggled bearing her teeth in primal rage.

"My dear Queen, if you were going to have me beheaded, you would have done it ages ago." He pulled himself from his fantasy reluctantly. "Although I assure you that I mean you no harm. Calm yourself, my dear. It was only a bit of fun. I do say I couldn't resist. It's so rare that I meet a warrior with a fire to meet my own." He pulled the pistol from her chest and in one graceful movement pulled himself from her and was standing once more. He slid his pistol back into the sheath at his side and offered her a hand. Her look was one of absolute puzzlement as she stared up at him from the floor. Her trembling fingers took his gloved ones and he easily pulled her up.

"What just happened?" She placed her hand to her forehead as she leaned against the table. She eyed the wine suspiciously again, knowing full well that something was off. Reaver took note of her concern.

"It's Aurorian, my dear. Stronger than in our own little continent, and much more expensive." He picked up the bottle and took a hearty swig, confident and pleased with himself. "I suppose I should have warned you before you dug in, but you seemed so happy to partake in it, and that's such a rare sight these days. I simply could not bring myself to destroy it."

He ran his hands through his charcoal locks, smoothing the few hairs that had been knocked out of place. She heaved a sigh and sat back down on her chair. She bit her lip and kneaded her fingertips into her temples once more. Her mind was swimming with the alcohol and slight shame as well. She had never been so easily defeated in a skirmish. She was formulating something to say, and he was on pins and needles waiting to hear it.

"I don't know what the hell just happened here, Reaver, but I do know one thing. You are, without a doubt, the most underhanded and despicable man in all of Albion. I detest everything about you. You make my skin crawl and frankly it makes me sick to be around you. If you want something, do me the favor of simply asking. It minimizes the time I have to spend in your presence. I'm tired of this gratuitous facade." Her voice was calm and assured. His mouth widened in a cruel smile.

"You wound me so, your Majesty!" He placed his hands dramatically over his heart, leaning back ever so slightly. She exhaled, shaking her head toward the floor. He picked up his empty wine glass from the table. "But I'm afraid you are stuck with me." His voice deepened. "You see, this city couldn't function without me, and you know it. I dare say that it would fall apart in my absence. Without me, your little kingdom would crumble." He crushed the glass gauntlet in his hand, shattering it and allowing the pieces to fall to the floor. The loud noise made her jump with surprise. She stared at the shards on the floor, and then back to Reaver. His eyes darkened but the brutal smile still took hold of his face as began to move toward her. Fear momentarily shook her senses as she lifted herself from the chair in silence, still stunned at his sudden act of aggression.

"This wretched place needs me, just as much as it needed you. You need me as well. Who else would refill that pathetic excuse for a treasury? Who else could so efficiently run my industry?" His footsteps echoed suspensefully off the floor as he made his way toward her. He carelessly brushed the remaining glass from his glove. He stopped just inches short of her, and she could feel the warmth of his body hitting her own.

"Let's not pretend this isn't the truth, _mon minet_. We must learn to co-exist, or one of us shall surely face destruction." His florescent pupils shined dangerously in the firelight. He raised his hand and caressed her pale face, lightly grabbing her chin and cheek affectionately. "And let's be honest, little one. I've lived through multiple monarchs. I dare say you've only lived through one." His voice was taunting.

"I will not fall to you, Reaver. I can promise you that." She stared back at him with an equal intensity, grabbing his roaming hand and shoving it back toward him fiercely. He grinned playfully once again.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, my sweet. I do so love when the monarchy beholds such possession." He turned from her and paced back to the table and shifted the conversation. "Seeing your present condition concerns me. You will indeed be in for one hell of a morning tomorrow, that wine brings a vicious morning-after. You will need your rest, and frankly, I find you a repulsive drunk." He could help but to throw in an insult as he picked up his trademark hat and brushed imaginary dirt off of it, placing it carefully back onto his head. "I believe I can handle the arrangements from here, so long as you are willing to cooperate with my arrangements, of course." His voice was innocent and his features lightened once again. She momentarily glanced at him, wondering just how he could switch moods so rampantly. She considered anonymously sending him some complimentary bi-polar medication.

"Do what you will, Reaver. I will comply with your _outfits_. Although I have no clue as to why in your right mind you would still want to throw a ball in my honor after tonight." It was a genuine question. He simply smiled with faux kindness.

"Your Highness, you take everything far too seriously. It's all in good fun, wouldn't you say? Monarchs who are too official ruin all the pleasure. I may speak for myself, but I had a rather_ great_ time at dinner." He leaned lazily back on his cane.

"Dinner? We didn't even eat." Her voice was slightly quizzical as she stared at the empty table.

"Would you like to?" He arched his eyebrow at her once more.

"Absolutely_ not_. I must be going." She stated quickly, heading for the door before he could make another offering.

"I'll have a servant call your carriage and show you the way to the door." He fell back into his seat. "Remember your Majesty, lots of water and bed rest. You are going to feel like absolute hell tomorrow." He sent her a sideways smirk. "I'll send a letter with the information your way when I configure it." He turned away from her, focusing on some unknown thing around the room as he waved his hand dismissively at her. "Ta!"

She couldn't even bring herself to be offended at his dismissive gesture. She simply wanted to go home, more than anything in the world. She hadn't even fully heard his goodbye before she slammed the dining room door. She waited just outside the room for the servant to escort her to her carriage. She had never been more thankful to be on the way home in her life, and she did her absolute best to not think about returning here. It was inevitable, but she would be damned if she would think on it this night.

Another faceless servant scurried quickly down to meet her at the dining room doorway. She didn't greet him or exchange any pleasantries, she simply awaited instruction toward the exit. It was several seconds before she noticed his lack of speech or movement, and looked up. She recognized him as the small, tired servant that had held the door for them. His face was one of concern and borderline apprehension.

"What is it, child?" Even she could discern the weariness in her voice.

"I mean no offense, your Majesty, but are you quite alright? Your hair is disheveled, and your shirt is torn." He pointed to a small place on her collar where a small tear was forming.

"I'm quite alright, but thank you for your concern." She tapped her foot nervously, offering him a small smile.

"Oh, Reginald?" A melodic voice called from behind the door. Seraphina visibly flinched, as did the one called Reginald.

"Y..yes, m'lord?" Reginald leaned close to the door.

"Send me that servant boy, the one who brought my dear guest and I the wine. I do believe we have unfinished business." Reavers voice was perfectly pleasant, but the looks that made their way onto the faces of both the Queen and Reginald were not.

"Right away, Lord Reaver." Reginald instinctively grabbed the Queen's hand, leading her through the corridors quickly. He left her at the front door, muttering something about her carriage waiting in front and how nice it was to have such royal company. No doubt lines that had been rehearsed. She offered him a tentative smile as she closed the french styled doors behind her, although she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. This was a house of horror. Her heart felt for both Reginald and the small servant boy. At least she got to leave this awful place, but they were stuck here like the poor damned souls of purgatory.

She pounded her boots on the marble steps out toward the entrance way where she could see her carriage awaiting like a gift from the gods. She began to run, feeling like if she didn't reach the gate in a matter of seconds, that she would be locked in here too. As she finally reached the mansion gate, she could have sworn that she heard the echoing sound of a gunshot ripple through the silent midnight air.


	5. Disease

"_Closer, my Darling"_

**_Authors Note:_**_ That last chapter was intense to write, there's no doubt about it. I could waste more time writing petty details about the Queen's schedule in between her meeting with Reaver, but that's not why we're here, is it? Please don't get your hopes too high, I'm doing my best to write realistically (I realize that Reaver is somewhat hostile towards her, but that's how I see it in the game, and I believe that it would take time for him to act upon romantic aspirations toward her and vice versa as well.) I have high hopes, but I cannot guarantee that I can live up to them. Either way, this will be a short chapter. It's more of a "lead up" than anything. This was more or less a quick chapter, and prone to error. _

_'__Feels like you're making a mess__  
><em>_You're hell on wheels in a black dress__  
><em>_You drove me to the fire__  
><em>_And left me there to burn__ '_

It was a stifling Tuesday evening in Bowerstone Castle. Rain pounded quietly on the window as Queen Seraphina sat with her head buried in her hands at her heavy wooded study desk. The smell of water on grass permeated her room, but not even the calming scent could relinquish her uncertainty about the day. Several days had passed since her last altercation with Reaver, and she dare say that she had enjoyed the sense of silence that came from his absence. However, she couldn't shake the sense of unease that had taken hold of her since that evening. His blatant defiance of her stature had set her on edge, and had proven that he was by no means threatened by her queenly status.

Each day when her personal mail was delivered, she felt a small flood of panic overtake her senses, fearing that the letter would bear the scarlet seal that dramatically announced Reaver's calling even in his omitted presence. It was only a matter of time before that letter reached her door, and she was dead set on maintaining every second until that moment arrived. She dreaded returning to his plush mansion with its deceptive and impeccable appearance. What took place on the inside was nothing short of monstrous. It was an illusion of perfection, concealing absolute horror. She wanted no part of it.

However, she knew the day would come shortly and knowing her luck, most likely sooner than later. Reaver wasn't the type to just drop a subject like this, especially when he felt he had the upper hand. It irritated her beyond all reprieve to know that he believed he had the advantage, and it frustrated her all the more to know that he did. A monarch was indeed replaceable, and she knew that to be true. She had replaced one herself.

An industrial Lord on the other hand required specific skills, and skills not easily replaced. She vowed not to fall before him, and that was a promise that she intended to keep. The question was how to keep her promise without crushing her kingdom in the process. Her mind turned toward the glass he had shattered, and just how easily he had destroyed it between his fingers as if was nothing more than a mere hindrance. She pondered if he could truly crush her monarchy as effortlessly.

She was shaken from her inner monologue by a quiet knock on her door. Quickly dispelling her thoughts, she rose from her seat and walked toward the entryway, feeling her heart pumping in her every footstep. Before she could think on it any further, she quickly closed her hand around the knob and turned it, yanking the door open with more force than was necessary. Hobson stood before her, smiling pleasantly while inconspicuously holding his hands behind his back. She heaved a deep sigh while staring him down lazily. She hadn't quite forgiven him for betraying her schedule to Reaver, and he was under permanent speculation for his commentary.

"What is it, Hobson?" Her voice was unenthusiastic and apathetic, doing her best to feign nonchalance. She prayed her wild heartbeat and flushed skin wouldn't be too apparent. He simply gave her a sordid smile, thumbing at the parchment in his hands tantalizingly.

"Such a _dreadful _day, wouldn't you say, your Majesty?" His toothy grin made her cringe slightly. Surely somewhere in this castle was a spare toothbrush he could make use of.

"I rather like the rain." She stated pointedly, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Yes, I suppose you would. It does, after all, make life so much easier for your gardeners." He was stalling, building up climax. Hobson only acted this cheeky when he was finding amusement in her despair. She knew this could only mean one thing. Anxiety filled her being, and she found herself at an inner conflict. She was anxious to read the letter and get it over with. At the same time, she was savoring the time before she was forced to acknowledge it.

"I don't suppose you knocked on my chambers to discuss the weather?" She eyed the letters he was holding behind his back.

"Of course not, your Majesty." He paused, provoking her impatience and irritation further.

"Well, if that will be all..." She tried to shut the door, only to find his foot holding it ajar. She bit her lip, and swung it back open. "What might you need, Hobson?" The Queen placed her fingers to her temples.

"You see, I have here several letters addressed to the monarchy." He flipped through them carelessly. She narrowed her eyes, searching for the gilded crimson seal.

"You are planning on handing them over to me, correct?" She was reaching the peak of her annoyance.

"Of course, your Highness." He bowed and submitted the letters to her, but only after a moment longer of sustaining the silence. She snatched them from his grip before he could find another excuse to keep them from her.

"Expecting something, your Majesty?" His voice was ridiculing, mocking her apparent concern. She had officially run out of tolerance and slammed the door in his face once more. Through the oak, she could hear him chuckle as he made his way back down the corridor. She took a deep swallow, holding the thick pieces of parchment in her hands. Chances stood that one of them was inevitably the signature that she had been fearful of. Making her way back to her desk, she sat down apprehensively as she placed the stack carefully in front of her.

It was no more or less mail than she normally received. No reason to panic, she told herself. She had yet to see an ostentatious wax design yet. She fingered through the mail. A few from the Lords of Providences seeking assistance, a small amount from villagers needing a judge to settle a dispute and requesting an audience, and one or two containing a recount of the royal budget. It wasn't until she reached the end of the small bundle that she saw it plain as daylight. A blood red seal embellished with the double R's around a gear.

Panic set in as she stared at the envelope for several seconds. She picked it up, flipping it over to the opposite side to check the address. Just as she had suspected, it was addressed straight from his mansion, not a bill of some sort or another from one of his factories. She felt her fingers tremble slightly as she fumbled into her drawers looking for her letter opener, her eyes never leaving the seal.

Seraphina finally brought herself to pull out the fine parchment from the envelope, hesitating before she opened it fully. She unfolded the paper onto her desk, biting her lip so hard that she felt a cool, metallic liquid fill her mouth. She swallowed back the blood and fear and read the fine lettering, temporarily swallowing her distress as well.

'_8 O'clock, Friday evening._

_ -Reaver'_

She stared in disbelief at the letter. It was one line with the exception of his gaudy signature which took up several inches as usual. There was no taunting edict, no insinuating or suggestive pick up, and no threatening pretense. She squinted her eyes, picking up the letter and rereading the sentence over and over. After several times, she finally sat it back down and stared into oblivion with disbelief. The man was utterly unpredictable.

8 O'clock Friday evening was the date he had set, Seraphina had no doubt about that, but she found it beyond belief that he had resisted throwing in some sort of mockery or gibe into the letter itself. Exhaling and furrowing her eyebrows, she rubbed her temples harshly. She wasn't quite sure if she was relieved or suspicious that the letter had been so simple. It wasn't Reaver's style, not in the slightest.

There was another heavy knock at her door, jolting her from her deep thoughts and suspicions. She gritted her teeth with irritation as she stormed over to her door. Furiously swinging it open, she was greeted by the distrustfully amiable face of her butler once more.

"_What _might you need, Hobson. I'm quite busy." Her voice was heavy with aggravation.

"There's just one more thing, your Majesty." A small derisive sneer formed in his smile. She arched her eyebrow at him inquisitively. He simply handed her a large black package that had been decorated with a styled wine-red ribbon. She took the sizable delivery from his hands, searching it for a tag. He was gone before she brought her eyes from the box. She kicked the door closed with her heel, carrying it delicately to her desk where the rest of the mail resided. She flipped the case carefully from side to side, studying it. She hardly waited to sit down before ripping off the ribbon and removing the lid, anxiously peering into the mysterious package.

It only took her a few moments of breathless analyzing before discerning that the contents of the crate was indeed a formal dress. A closer look at the ribbon beheld a small 'R' inside of a cog embroidered in obsidian thread.


	6. Off to the Races

_'Closer, My Darling'_

_**Authors Note:** Thank you for all your reviews. I try to take all of your input into consideration, and I cannot even explain just how much I appreciate the support on this story. I was actually planning on writing this chapter last night, but I overdid it at the gym and had a slight fever to boot. I couldn't bring myself to half-ass this chapter. I've actually been looking forward to it, seeing as we're getting close to the ball scene. I hope it lives up to my expectations. Delilah may or may not become a larger part of the story as sort of a companion, depending on her reception. Nothing too serious, but an interaction or two every few chapters perhaps. Sometimes I dislike when authors focus too much on an OC character, and I assure you that isn't what this is meant to be. Delilah is more of a beacon of temporary hope, reminding the Queen that there is still good in the world. All of this before she spirals, however. She can stay or she can go, it's up to you._

_Please excuse any grammatical errors. It's very early in the morning, and I began writing this on and off well over 8 hours ago. The words are all blending with each other at this point.._

_ 'Likes to watch me in the glass room bathroom, Chateau Marmont  
>Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup<br>Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac  
>Fumes, says it feels like heaven to him'<em>

It was approximately 5 o'clock on Friday evening, and Seraphina could feel the tumultuous knot binding in her stomach. She kneaded her hands together nervously, knowing full well that her servant would promptly come to prepare her for Reaver's '_soiree'. _Despite the lack of information in the letter given to her, word had spread rampantly across the kingdom about his little 'get together', and she had no doubt that it was indeed done on purpose. She hadn't even needed to alert Hobson about the arrangement for him to awaken her in the morning, reminding her of her previous engagement in an infuriating, matter-of-fact type of way. Not that she even needed reminding.

Blood freezing apprehension didn't even begin to describe how she felt today. She had awoken with a chasm of panic brewing in her stomach and a pounding headache axing its way into her temples. She was quite certain that she wouldn't have slept at all if it hadn't been for the incessant prodding of her overstepping butler.

"The bags underneath your eyes are already quite noticeable naturally, a blessing of your heredity no doubt. You need be heading off to bed. Cannot have you looking like a weary-dreary mess tomorrow, your Majesty. The state of the kingdom seems to depend on it." He persisted, heavy with ulterior motive. She was quite resistant at first, but finally realized the truth in his words. As much as she abhorred obeying her deplorable butler, she couldn't help but finger at the deep lavender circles that had made their home underneath her optics. A slight crease in her skin was graciously given from her mother, a reminder of the constant stress that was persistent of being a Hero, but the shaded bluish hue seemed unnecessary.

Deep sleep had been fleeting, and she remembered awakening several times finding herself staring at the clock placed above her windows, dreading the sunlight that would soon be streaming through her windows. She had only been wrong on one account. The sunlight was far from bright and luminous when it made its way through her closed darkened drapes. This seemed a premonition of a cloudy and drizzly day.

She had been correct. The day was indeed overcast and jaded. Rain gently poured onto her window once more, making a light tapping sound as it hit the glass. The weather seemed to mirror her mood exactly. Attending this ball was something that she must do. It was a royal obligation, and by all means, not the most strenuous thing that could be asked to benefit her kingdom. However, her emotions were completely askew.

She had never feared Reaver before, or even thought much of him besides the seeming fact that he was a completely immoral serpent of a man. She couldn't entirely say that she feared him now, but there was an emotion there that she couldn't quite place with all certainty. Her heart raced in his presence. Her hands would tremble when he approached her. He sent her mind swimming with various ways to commit homicide without ever being implicated. She had developed such a deep and profound hatred that it was quite difficult to place a word on. It sent a shiver down her spine, her gut radiating with malice.

Yet, Seraphina found herself awaiting a servant to lace her corset to attend his ball. A party he was throwing in her honor, no less. She hadn't even been able to bring herself to remove the gown that sat anxiously awaiting in the ebony box upon her desk. Seeing the contents, she immediately closed the box and left it sitting without so much as a second glance. She didn't want any reminders of the promise she made until it was absolutely necessary.

She turned her head to meet the package that rested upon the oak surface. It was only a matter of time before it was opened once again, this time by her servants ready to place the silken gown upon her shoulders and lace it tight to her being. Her lip twitched in disgust thinking of being so tightly enclosed inside something that had been designed by Reaver. She pondered what would happen to the kingdom if she ran away, taking comfort in the dramatic thoughts of her mind, knowing full well she would never bring it to fruition.

She awaited the knock that would inevitably grace her door, and indeed it came. It was only a quarter past five when a light rap on her door shook her from her thoughts. She opened the entryway with a resigned sense of duty to find a small, freckled servant girl waiting just outside, her hands clamped together nervously. She was a pretty young thing with light auburn hair and deep brown eyes the color of Earth. Noticeable freckles blotted her skin like stars in a night sky. She offered the Queen a small smile as she was allowed into the room.

"I'm here to ready you for the ball, your Majesty." The servant girl's voice was shaky and hesitant but pleasant as she curtsied a low, practiced bow before Seraphina. The Queen shook her head shortly.

"No need to be so formal. What is your name?" She gazed at the girl, envying her slightly. She certainly didn't have to attend a ball tonight.

"Delilah, madam. The name is Delilah." Her accent was slightly cockney, and her voice barely into adulthood. She sent a radiant smile towards the queen.

"Like the flower? It's a lovely flower, and a lovely name. I'm happy to have you here with me to ready me for the evening." The Queen offered her a smile, subconsciously reaching out for companionship. The life of a monarch was lonely and stressful. Once she had taken the throne, most of her old companions had disappeared to one place or another. Ben Finn had become an admirable soldier in Albion's Army, traveling from fort to fort to ensure the safety of her continent. Page only showed her face when she wanted a proposal pushed through, leaving the Queen with a distinct feeling of dismay. It was likewise with every other ally she had made during the rebellion. She silently longed for the days of being a rebellion leader. She had never felt quite so alone as she did now.

She got a small sense of comfort from Delilah's optimistic smile. Her bronze eyes shined so bright, even against the gray, clouded sky that plagued Albion. For a moment, Seraphina wasn't sure whether she wanted her, or wanted to be her. Delilah kept her gracious smile as she made her way over toward the jet crate that sat atop of the desk. The maroon ribbon still lay discarded beside it, untouched for several days.

"Is this your attire, your Majesty?" She held the box up delicately in her hands. The Queen nodded, reserved and apprehensive. Delilah removed the lid and gracefully placed her hands inside, pulling out the dress and holding it for the light.

"Your Majesty, it's absolutely _beautiful! _This dress is gorgeous! I've never seen anything like it!" Delilah exclaimed, holding it excitedly in her hands, feeling the exquisite material. Despite the sense of curiosity that filled her, Seraphina refused to look at it, looking away and blurring her peripheral vision. The dressing attendant folded it up lightly in her hands, looking up toward the Queen.

"Are you ready? This dress will be absolutely stunning!" Delilah was certainly more excited about it than Seraphina was. She wondered if she should offer her the chance to go in her place. Shaking off the thought, Seraphina nodded slightly. Delilah gently placed the dress onto one elbow and gave the Queen her hand, offering her a beaming smile. Seraphina couldn't help but giggle slightly, staring at the girl's bright grin. It was such a relief to have the company of someone so happy. She took her hand, squeezing it lightly. Delilah lead her to the large dressing room.

She began stripping off her garments one by one, hearing the soft thud as they hit the tiled floor. Seraphina felt no shame when it came to her body, remembering the intense training and battles that had shaped it. She was toned but not to the point of bulkiness. Her stomach showed light muscle, leaving her with lines on the offsides of her torso. Her arms were nicely muscled due to days of swinging her mallet relentlessly at all manner of villains and her legs slimmed from days of running up and down Albion's endless terrain with all of her gear.

Delilah watched the Queen undress tentatively. Once she was stripped, Delilah promptly picked the clothes off the floor, placing them to the side and picking up the gown from the counter.

"Are you ready for the undergarments?" Delilah's voice was low and steady as looked up toward the Queen's eyes. Seraphina grimaced her lips, nodding tightly. She reached her hands out, and in a matter of seconds a pair of stockings and a garter belt in her hands. She opened her eyes and squinted at the garments, her eyes flickering toward Delilah. The girl seemed equally as puzzled as the Queen however.

"It was folded inside the dress, your Majesty. I can only assume it was meant to go under it." She shrugged quizzically, her eyebrows raised slightly. Seraphina exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes, remembering the origin of the dress.

"Of course..." The Queen's voice was harsh. Delilah chucked lightly, staring back up at her.

"You didn't commission this dress yourself, did you?" She giggled, her laugh tinkering up the walls like a soft bell. The Queen found herself smiling as well as she shook her head, slipping the underwear on, fumbling to hook the stockings to the clips on the rear end.

"Let me help." Delilah spoke informally as she took the straps from the Queens' hands, easily beginning clipping them. Her hands were soft as they scraped lightly across the back of Seraphina's thighs as her breath graced lightly across her skin as she kneeled behind her. It sent a shiver up her spine, commanding goosebumps down her legs. As quick as she had gone down, she was standing again inspecting the clips.

"The neckline is easier to slip it up. I believe it will be easier to slip into." Delilah picked up the dress and slipped her hands onto the neckline, ruffling the rest of the dress up into her hands. She bent down onto her knees and held the dress out for the Queen to step into. Seraphina noticed the dress was a deep ebony as she picked up her legs and stepped into it. Delilah pulled it up over her breasts, and the Queen took hold of the fact that it was a strapless gown, barely holding underneath her collar bones. She also realized how soft the material was against her skin, but also questioned a distinct lacking of fabric in the back. She could feel the cool air of the castle send waves against her exposed back. Still, she refused to look into the mirror, but thought that it was a rather peculiar design for a dress.

"I think the corset it meant to go over it..." Delilah turned the corset over in her hands a few times, trying to decide which way was up. She finally wrapped it around the Queen's bust and waist and began gracefully threading the silk thread through the eyelets. Through her peripheral vision, she could tell that the corset was a matching black, hardly visible over the dress itself. She felt the air leave her lungs as Delilah pulled harshly at the strings behind her back, constricting her ribs and pushing her breasts up into her throat. Finally, she felt the girl delicately tie the large amount of remaining string into a large bow just above her extremity.

"I... I don't think it's meant to tie all the way. It's pulled as tight as it will physically go, but... There's a large amount of rearward skin showing..." Delilah placed her hand to her chin, furrowing her eyebrows. The Queen felt her cheeks redden as she turned quickly from the mirror and glanced behind her. There was indeed a lot of skin where fabric should have been. The corset was tied, but left a good four inches showing wide ways from her upper back to the dimples above her rear. The dress itself dropped elegantly, coincidentally meeting ends just as the corset did. Aside from the corset stitching, a very large amount of back was showing. She lowered her head in displeasure.

'_Reaver. He would do his utmost to make me as uncomfortable as physically possible.' _She thought venomously. She bit her lip, chewing off excess amounts of skin. Delilah widened her eyes in worry and instinctively put her hands to the Queens just below her mouth.

"You shouldn't do that, your Majesty. You don't want to redden it by picking." Her concern was apparent in her voice. The Queen looked up at her, her cheeks reddening as she blushed once again. She flicked her azure eyes from Delilahs copper ones, nodding silently. Delilah took a few steps back, looking up and down, smiling pleasantly.

"It's absolutely lovely, your Majesty. It's simple, yet elegant. I couldn't think of a finer dress myself, not that I'm an expert." She offered the Queen a kind smile. Seraphina turned, ready to face her reflection. The dress was indeed lovely, albeit a tad bit too revealing in the back for her distinct tastes.

It was a soft and luminous ebony silk that clung to her form in front with a small bit of excess of fabric that barely overlapped each other creating the illusion of a sash in the middle of her legs. It had excessive amounts of fabric in the back for a dramatic train. '_Wouldn't quite be Reaver if it wasn't dramatic.' _She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Small but noticeable silver stitching laced its way down the side of the ribs of the corset. It was indeed quite simple, but she couldn't deny that it was also quite beautiful. She would have been quite flattered if it weren't for the person who gifted it to her.

However, one aspect stuck out like a sore thumb. Her earth-colored bra stuck out fiercely from the tops of the dress, and noticeably through the lacing of the corset. Delilah stared at it for a slight moment before smiling again.

"That covering doesn't quite go with the dress. Let me check in your wardrobe and see what you have that could fit better." She skipped out of the room, leaving Seraphina's view and allowing her to inspect the dress once more. She smoothed it out over her knees, and picked invisible specks of dirt from it. She turned her head from side to side, bringing her body with her, looking for any flaws in the design.

"Your Majesty?..." Delilahs voice called from the other room, and she sounded surprised.

"Yes?" The Queen turned her head out of the door and saw Delilah carrying the box that the dress had come in with her. She felt her stomach drop once more, anticipating whatever hidden surprises came with the package.

"There's something else in here... A lot else... I don't know how I missed it." Delilah stared down into the box, furrowing her hand around. Seraphina could hear the scraping of the contents. She set the box down and pulled out several small silver cases, opening each one slowly. Inside seemed to be numerous amounts of unbelievably expensive looking jewelery that rivaled the Aurorian diamond itself. Seraphina's eyes widened in disbelief as she picked up a weaved diamond choker with an overly large clasp trail and eyed a large pair of exquisite matching earrings. Delilah's eyes turned to saucers as she held up the jewelry to the light, the light beams from the gems reflecting off her large pupils.

"Unbelievable..." Seraphina picked up a diamond tiara embedded in silver, turning it in her hands.

"It absolutely is! Look at this! Oh my Avo! Who sent these to you?" She was practically jumping for joy. The Queen however, was not. She only felt anxiety rise in her throat once more. This jewelry was worth more than enough to sustain the treasury for several years, and feed almost all of her subjects. Instead, it had been frivolously spent on evening wear that would only be worn once. It couldn't even be sold for the gold, as the only person who could afford this sort of grandeur investment was Reaver himself. This brought a strange mix of frustration and anger.

"This shouldn't be happening..." Seraphina clenched her eyes shut tightly, rubbing her teeth against one another holding back an emotional outburst and the overwhelming urge to have Reaver publicly executed.. Delilah looked at her sympathetically, placing the jewelry down delicately. She placed her hand inside the Queens and grabbed it lightly.

"Your Majesty... I know it's uncomfortable, but please do try to enjoy yourself... The staff worries for you, and no one blames you for wanting to get away once in a while. I know this ball isn't the exact idea you had for a good time, but..." She paused, looking downward. "Who ever sent you these gifts bought them at great expense. I know it isn't much consolation, but I know they'll look absolutely lovely on you." She offered her a wide smile, doing her best to carry positivity for both of them.

The Queen couldn't help but laugh despite herself, tears from frustration brimming slowly in her eyes. She grabbed Delilah by the arm and pulled her close into a hug, only releasing her after several seconds. Delilah hugged back with equal intensity, doing her best to console her Queen.

"Let's get these on you." Delilah beamed and picked up the diamond choker and wasted no time placing it onto Seraphina's upper neck, gently pulling the long weaved clasping train until it reached her lower back. The Queen picked up the delicately hanging earrings and placed them into her ears, feeling lazy letting her handmaiden do all the work. The jewelry was absolutely beautiful, she thought. It glimmered softly in the light, the immaculate stones shining brightly into her reflection. Delilah took a pair of upper-elbow length silken onyx gloves and carefully slid them up the Queen's hands, placing a large moonstone ring onto her fingers afterward.

Delilah picked up a peculiar piece of jewelery and examined it, trying to decide what it was. It was a pair of intricately carved serpents entwined with each other with a blood red garnet for each eye. Too large for a bracelet but too small for any manner of necklace. Seraphina noticed the lack of movement and looked over, taken aback slightly when she noticed the beautiful ornament.

"I'm not entirely sure what this is, your Majesty..." She flipped it in her hands several times, as if looking for a nonexistent hint.

"It's an upper arm bangle..." She took the trinket from Delilah's hands and grasped it in her palms.

"A what?" Delilah looked at her in confusion.

"An upper arm bangle. It goes on your upper arm." She opened the entwining snakes and placed it around her arm, clasping it shut once again. It rested easily on her skin. "I've wanted one since I was a child. It was always my favorite type of jewelry ever since I saw one on a foreign noblewoman at court when I was younger. I never was able to find one in Albion..." She stared at it, the ruby red eyes of the twin basilisks staring back at her. "A serpent is my favorite animal."

"What's wrong, your Majesty? Shouldn't you be.. happy? I mean, you've wanted one since you were a child, and it's of your favorite animal. It's like it was hand crafted for you." Delilah seemed conflicted.

"Yes... Yes, it is like it was handcrafted..." Her voice trailed off. It was several moments before she regained her voice. "I've never told anyone that before. Not a single soul." Seraphina's voice was low and contemplative as she traced her fingers around the band. How could he have known?

Delilah tried not to think on it too heavily as she returned to the box, looking for anything she might have missed, suspicious now of the seemingly 'magical' box. She narrowed her eyes on a piece of paper placed on the very bottom of the box, placed intentionally.

"Your Highness, there's a note in here, and another thick black bag, but that looks to be it." She picked up the parchment and handbag from the newly empty container, flipping it from side to side, making sure there was nothing that could hide from her this time. Seraphina broke her thoughts and glanced over at the letter, completely ignoring the ebony leather casing in her opposite hand. Taking it from Delilah's hands, she ripped it open with a sense of urgency. As she tore away the envelope, she noticed the infamous seal that tainted the letter and sealed her sense of anxiety.

_'My dearest monarch,_

_ I had it figured that you wouldn't open this gift and rifle through its contents until the absolute last moments. I had you pegged for one who enjoyed climax. Therefore, I simply couldn't resist leaving a piece of the puzzle undiscovered until the last moments as well. Such delicious suspense. That last letter between us was indeed rather mysterious, was it not?I decided to hold some of the more intimate details myself until the timing was left to perfection._

_ In this box you have no doubt found all of the trinkets and prizes befitting a Queen, including the attire. I designed the dress myself, and watched over all the blood, sweat and tears that went into painstakingly making it. It is, after all, a large part of being royal that entails you to look your absolute best. It was all rather costly, as you have no doubt guessed. Do not worry, mon ami. I assure you that I spared no expense. I myself find the entire ensemble to be rather ravishing, and how could it not be? As I stated previously, I designed it myself._

_ If I am correct, you should be arriving at my little get together in a matter of mere hours, and I assure you that I anxiously await your presence. I have a little surprise planned for this evening, and I do hope that you shall enjoy it. _

_ Do not fret, my Queen. I assure you that every aspect of tonight was planned with you distinctly in mind, and none of it includes any sort of lycanthrope activities, although it can certainly be arranged if you find yourself longing for a taste of the underworld. Although I can imagine several other ways there are to enjoy a little bit of debauchery without risking your little neck._

_ Awaiting your arrival, _

_ -Lord Reaver'_

She stared at the letter in disbelief, partially disturbed and yet as much as she hated to admit it, partially impressed by his cleverness. The man could plan and strategize her every move before even she knew that she would do it. Much to her dismay, there was no explanation for the bangle nor any clues to how he could have possibly known. This left her with an endless pit of curiosity, feeling slightly violated that he knew such personal details about her.

It was several seconds before she set the letter back down on the cabinet, still in a daze. Delilah eyed it curiously, but decided to leave well enough alone. She turned back toward the mysterious black leather bag that was held shut by a string pulled through the top. She pulled the chord, loosening the opening and reached inside.

"Your Majesty, there's one last thing." Delilah's slender hand rested inside the bag.

"How much was in that damned box?" The Queen frowned, uncomfortable with this 'generosity', knowing full well it wasn't anything of the sort. At this point, her anxiety was so rampant that she almost felt absolutely nothing at all, turning completely numb to emotion. Delilah's face was unreadable as she kept her eyes downward towards the contents of the bag.

"What's inside?" Seraphina felt curiosity gnawing slightly in her throat.

Delilah just slowly pulled out what appeared to be a porcelain matte black masquerade mask with a satin ribbon, embroidered with what appeared to be trails of crushed diamonds. Apparently, this was to be a masquerade ball.


	7. The Devil in a Black Dress

_'Closer, My Darling'_

_**Authors Note:**** I took a small hiatus writing this chapter to overview what I wanted to do in my head. The entire story thus far has been leading up to this, but I'm thinking this is only the beginning. We all know Reaver is a devious man and likely has his own agenda to fill when he offers niceties such as a royal ball, however reluctantly it may have been accepted. The ball will likely be split into two separate chapters, since a single one would be one HELL of a sitting. **_

_'A devil in a black dress watches over,_

_My guardian angel walks away_

_Life is short and love is always over in the morning,_

_Black wind come carry me far away'_

The rain had stopped falling hours before, but the smell of precipitation lingered heavily in the warm summer air. The night was hot and slightly humid, though a soft breeze brought relief to anyone fortunate enough to cross its path. Darkness had taken rule over the celestial sphere, allowing the stars to lend their light brilliantly across the indigo firmament that ruled the heavens. Across Albion, the hour just after dusk was referred to as 'Vault of the Heavens', when the stars shined their fiercest and the full moon rose in the sky, allowing those who would partake to bask in its glorious presence, radiance reflecting lightly off of the silver clouds.

Seraphina greatly enjoyed the times she could stand on her balcony, basking in the moonlight, looking contemplatively over her kingdom. It brought her a sense of peace and calm that couldn't quite be felt anywhere else since she had taken the throne. It seemed every moment of her day was spent on calculating taxes or conducting meetings. She lived and breathed for her kingdom during the day, but midnight was her own. On this night, however, she had entirely different obligations trespassing on her private time.

She sat in the plush compartment of her carriage which was maneuvering its way up the small cobblestone path of Millfields. From across the way, she could see Reaver's mansion competing with the night sky for dominance of beauty. It had been heavily lit, a luminous beacon that seemed to announce to anyone that could witness it that a great event was being held, and to those unfortunate enough to be lower class, a snide and passive snuff that successfully rubbed their lack of status in their faces. The ostentatiousness of it all left a sour feeling brewing in her stomach.

It would only be several moments before her carriage pulled up to the guarded iron gates of the manor. She smoothed her dress down her knees anxiously, recalling the few moments before she had left the castle grounds. Delilah had complimented her looks several times while tending to her thick charcoal hair, piling her newly curled mane into messy ringlets atop her head, pulling down a few random strands for an elegant look and then successfully tying her mask underneath. Delilah had also escorted her to the doors, wishing her good luck before she departed.

Hobson kept his same, sickening smile while rambling on about how a 'good monarch' should behave at such an event. She chose to tune him out, ignoring whatever implications he was tipping her. Jonathan had greeted her kindly, taking her hand as he helped her into the carriage. Although it was not entirely necessary, she appreciated the sentiment.

The Queen had been deep in her thoughts ever since, rereading the note Reaver had slipped her in the attire box over and over in her head. Several lines didn't quite sit right with her. Lines such as '_I have a little surprise planned for this evening, and I do hope you shall enjoy it' _and '_I assure you that every aspect of tonight was planned with you distinctly in mind'. _She had known Reaver far too long to not be noticeably suspicious and on guard when he said anything of the sort.

The carriage began to slow as they were no doubt reaching the guard post just outside the gated estate. She could feel the weight shift as Jonathan stepped down off the horse masters' plateau to approach the small post where a few guards stood watch. He approached them, no doubt announcing her arrival. The gate was opened and the carriage began to move slowly once more, followed by several guards in royal uniform along with it. She looked out at the large statue of Reaver that had been strategically placed just outside the gates, rolling her eyes at his impeccable narcissism. Only Reaver would place a large, marbled statue of himself right outside his own home. She had been here many times, but each time her sense of surprise and disgust was renewed.

Out her window, she noticed the crimson banners that usually hung from Reaver's front door had been replaced with royal purple ones that bore her seal. Seraphina couldn't deny that this surprised her a little. Reaver was a man to draw as much attention to himself as possible, but it was after all her coronation party, and his clunky, industrialized mark would stick out like a sore thumb, aesthetic and moral wise.

Her entourage stopped just short of the entryway staircase into the manor. She could hear noblemen and women crowed just outside the doors to the mansion and all along the front garden, pushing and shoving each other drunkenly about to get a look at the carriage that was being made such a fuss of. '_No doubt the wine cellar has already been opened. Sure hope they know what they're in for.' _She thought bitterly, recalling the last few times she had been in the presence of Reaver and liquor.

The guards gathered in organized fashion just outside of her carriage doors, pushing back stragglers that would stray too far from the rest of the herded drunks. Jonathan once again stepped down from his post, standing just outside her carriage doors, his hand awaiting on the handle with anticipation.

"May I present, her Majesty Queen Seraphina, savior of Albion and ruler of the Realm!" His voice echoed throughout the quarter. She closed her eyes and placed her palm to her forehead over her small mask for a brief moment. Everyone in all of Millfields could have heard that, and that meant that Reaver most likely did too. So much for sneaking in unnoticed. He opened her compartment door and kneeled down before her, offering her a hand as she stepped down from the gilded carriage, pulling her dress up just enough so not to fumble. Placing both feet on the ground, she thanked him and helped pull him up.

The Queen glanced around the crowds of nobles that flocked before her. Many cheered, drunkenly clapping and hollering with great enthusiasm, but looks of snobbery could be easily found as well. Many of the noblewomen sent envious looks to her attire and accessories, folding their arms and looking away dismissively. Some of the noblemen who had their business regulated more strictly under her rule gave her distinct looks of disapproval. Seraphina was quite used to this. There was one thing that she noticed immediately after scanning the crowd, however. Everyone was donning white attire.

Silvery threaded dresses and opalescent coats were all that could be seen. Even the hats and various masks that adorned them seemed to shimmer with an alabaster gleam. She glanced down at her own attire self consciously, suddenly very aware at quite how dark she was amongst the frosted masses. '_I suppose this is more appropriate. It feels like I'm attending a funeral. A very loud, drunken, anonymous funeral.' _She did her best to dismiss the vast hue differences in color between her wealthy subjects and herself.

She made her way up the embellished stone steps of Reaver's mansion. The heavily wooded doors were pulled open immediately when her foot made contact with the top step, revealing the innards of his home. She almost lost her breath as she stared inside. _Everything _was white. The grand staircase had been adorned with a white carpet that fell gracefully down its steps and led to the front door. Tables and stands revealed milky threaded coverings. Ivory candles and lanterns were placed randomly throughout the home. The glasses and plates placed in the hands of the attendees were a translucent crystal to give the illusion of pallid colorlessness. Even the mahogany colored furnishings that once made settlement in the room had been replaced with ashen furniture instead.

Seraphina glanced around uncomfortably, looking for a familiar face or even a friendly one, only to remember with dismay that it was a masquerade party. Everyone in this room was completely anonymous. She made her way through the crowd what appeared to be an empty sofa, an ebony mistress surrounded by overwhelming amounts of chalky figures. The only found relief in the fact that Reaver was no where to be seen. Even amongst these equally stuffy, expensively dressed people, Reaver had an air about him that mirrored a vacuum. A black hole of a personality that sucked everything inside of it, drawing attention from everything in the room and placing it upon himself, only relinquishing it when he saw fit.

She sat down onto the plush velvet sofa, attempting to draw as little attention to herself as possible. It was a difficult task seeing as everything, inanimate and living alike, contrasted her attire so starkly. She was a raven hiding amongst doves. She heaved a sigh and placed her hand on her palm, pondering how long she would have to stay here before it would no longer be scandalous to leave.

"And then a devilishly handsome soldier by the name of Ben Finn approached the seemingly distressed maiden, offering her some much needed companionship." A playful voice announced in front of her. Glancing upward, she saw none other than her companion and battle buddy General Benjamin Finn. His face was also adorned with a mask, but his styled flaxen hair was unmistakable behind it. He was wearing what appeared to be a solid white soldiers uniform with black battle boots underneath. She furrowed her eyes at his attire, looking up at him questionably with a small grin emerging onto her face.

"Before you ask, please don't. I took an old soldiers uniform and soaked it in bleach for a few hours. A few scrubbins and heave sessions later and voila! Instant ridiculous party attire!" He beheld his hands over his outfit mockingly before pulling her into an embrace. "Couldn't do nothin' about the boots though." He glanced down at them and clacked them together lightly. The Queen couldn't help but to give a small chortle of laughter at him.

"You seem to know what's going on much more than I do. Why is everyone wearing white? Speaking of it, have you seen Reaver?" She glanced around anxiously.

"_Why _is everyone wearing white? Didn't you receive the invitation?" Ben looked at her with a quizzical expression.

"I seem to have been left out of that particular memo list. I received a note with a date and time and a box with this in it." She picked up bits of her train and showed it to him. She was hoping to avoid spilling the 'petty' details about hers and Reavers meetings.

"Ah, well, no matter. I seem to have a spare invitation around here somewhere." He waved it off and began searching his various pockets. She was thankful he didn't pry any deeper into what she had said. "Although if it is any consolation, the dress is quite lovely." He offered her a smile. "I'd have worn it myself if I had one!" He laughed at his own joke, and she laughed with him, more amused by how funny he found himself than by what he had said. "Here we are." He took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and attempted to smooth it on his trousers. After a few seconds, he handed it to her and she began reading the small yet expensive looking note.

'_Attention to all with the means to attend,_

_We are gathering to celebrate our dearest monarch's late coronation ceremony. Join us for a night of revelry as we celebrate in the prosperity of the kingdom together. It is to be held in the lavish estate of the head of Reaver industries, Reaver himself. The theme is to be virginal and white, a symbol and tribute to our Queen's purity of heart and morality as ruler. _

_Open bar will be served._

_Ruffians and rabble will be escorted off the premises on sight.'_

At the bottom of the invitation were the finer details, such as date and time. The Queen was blushing hard by the time her eyes met the bottom of the page.

"Did everyone in the _kingdom _receive this?" She crumpled it in her hands, her mind still swimming with the words 'virginal' and 'purity'. Did Reaver even know the meaning of those words? He had obviously not written the invitations himself, but he had no doubt dictated them.

"It would appear so, Majesty. Although I'm sure you've taken notice to the fact that only nobility and aristocrats are among us tonight. '_Ruffians and rabble."_ He mimicked Reaver with a ridiculous and flouncy gesture. "What a bastard." He reached for a nearly full cup that someone had left on a nearby table and took a deep swig out of it. "To answer your question, no. I haven't seen the pompous blighter around all night, although no one has really been here that long. I'm relatively thankful for it. He probably spends more time on his makeup and dress than you do." He chortled.

"He makes a statement about my purity, and then places me, and only me in black. I'm not going to bother looking further into it." She rolled her eyes. "Do you think it would be appropriate if I left yet?" She glanced around yet again.

"Oh, according to his 'servants', the party hasn't even begun yet. The ballroom doors haven't even been unlocked. He did, however, open the bar to keep us quiet. That's the one bloody thing I'll thank him for." He stated, tossing the now empty cup carelessly behind him.

"I thought something felt a little off. I've had the misfortune of attending one of Reaver's parties before, and this hardly meets ends." She said, more than a little disappointed that it was too soon to make her way home. "I didn't even see the ballroom, but I did see the rest of the manor, and it was completely thrashed by the time we arrived." She thought back to the 'secret society meeting' she and Page had snuck into contemptuously, recalling the several inebriated guests and destroyed furniture. "Who else is here? Have you seen anyone?" She quickly changed the subject.

"Page received an invite, but refused to go. Even with me. I did ask her, you know." He made a sour face at the rejection. "Sabine would have come in here guns blazing, so you would have no doubt noticed him. Kalin is back in Aurora and isn't set to come back for a few more weeks. I'm afraid it's just you and me here tonight in this vast wasteland of.. free drinks and beautiful women." His eyes wandered over to a small group of ladies that sat giggling in the corner.

The Queen pursed her mouth. She had been hoping that at least one or two of her former friends would be here. She would have given a limb to see Sabine attend. Watching the vicious little man go toe-to-toe with Reaver would have no doubt put a smile on her face. "I'll be back. I need a drink." She remarked to Ben, who didn't appear to be listening. He was 'inconspicuously' flexing his muscles for the ladies. She rolled her eyes, a small smile gracing her lips as she walked away.

Seraphina approached the bar, carefully reading the bottles before pouring one into her glass. Nothing from Aurora for me this time, she thought to herself. She loved to drink, but she also _liked _to drink. She didn't want to have 3 glasses and be done with it. She also had the feeling that a skirmish with Reaver with her drunk and in a dress wouldn't end well on her part. She swirled the wine around in her hands, examining the maroon concoction before taking a sweet sip of it. It was high quality and deep, with a small hint of oak. She raised her eyebrows, nodding slightly to herself while she carried it back to where Ben was standing looking disappointed. She sent him an inquisitive look.

"Married." He said pointedly. "Can't say I didn't try, but even my unmatchable prowess with the fairer sex is bound to fail sometimes." The Queen rolled her eyes and keeled in laughter.

"Yes Ben, you do quite well for yourself. You've _only _been rejected twice today." Her laughter echoed up the walls.

"Yet I have succeeded many more." He raised his eyebrow, making a faux handsome face with a stuffy expression. The Queen snickered again. Their banter was broken by the voice of one of the manor's elder staff calling attention to himself.

"Excuse me everyone, but the time for celebration has arrived. The ballroom is being opened, and the bar restocked." The older gentleman had a distinct way of rolling his R's in a posh manner. Cries of approval erupted from the guests at the mention of a restocked bar. Even Ben threw his hands into the air end let out a little cry. Seraphina snorted at Ben's apparent drunkenness. "If you will all follow me, I shall escort you to the estate ballroom." The servant turned on his heels.

Before the senior man could even begin to move, hoards of drunken guests were flocking up the stairs toward him. He simply turned and continued walking toward the ballroom until he was out of sight.

"I suppose we should make our way up there, right? That's what we're supposed to do?" Ben eyed the empty wine table.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Come on you drunken lug." They began making their way toward the ballroom.

"Hey, I am _not _that inebriated. Not yet anyways. I intend to be properly good and plastered on Reaver's _hard earned _expensive liquors before I leave this place." He rubbed his hands together as they made their way down the various hallways, avoiding clumsy and overly intoxicated party attendees that stood in their way, finally reaching a large pair of marbled double doors. Seraphina had never seen the ballroom before. The last time she had been under the impression she was on her way there, she was tricked into an underground battle arena.

"You ready for this?" Ben looked over at her.

"As ready as I'm ever going to be." She pushed the doors open, joining the massive mob that had already clustered itself around the ivory marble enclosure, save a large open space that laid just under a grand staircase embellished with a plush crimson carpet that led to another large entryway that was sealed off with red velvet ropes. The room itself was made mostly empty for dancing, with the exception of a small stage off to the left where a band was set to play and a large oak door labeled '_Wine Cellar' _and a rather large, rectangular oak table filled with glasses and a few entrees so the guests would never be too far from their source of joy_. _All along the edges of the room were massive marbled pillars holding up what appeared to be a pallid stone mini roof that overstretched the pillars themselves by just a few inches, making a darkened stone alcove around the radius of the rounded chamber.

"It's rather extravagant, isn't it?" Ben remarked, looking around the massive marble ballroom. "Wish I had a house like this. I'd be throwing these bloody balls all the time." He stopped, keeling in laughter after realizing what he just said. Seraphina placed her hand to her mouth, resisting the urge to chuckle at his crude joke. A few straggled guests made their way into the room, most notably back toward the wine cellar. It was several moments before everyone had successfully made their way inside and any matter of event happened.

The elder serviceman that had directed them toward the ballroom was standing at the top of the stairs with his hands properly behind his back. "Ladies and gentlemen." His voice was loud and booming, catching the attention of all the guests. The banter and loud conversations all halted as they stopped and turned toward the grand staircase.

"May I present to you, your host for this evening. Lord Reaver."


	8. Angel Eyes

_'Closer, My Darling'_

_**Authors Note:**** Going in for the second part. I've done my best to portray Reaver, because frankly his pompous and self-important ways are why I myself find him to be so attractive, but Ben Finn is a different story. I never particularly paid too much attention to Ben, although I did find his occasional commentary quite funny. This is a difficult chapter to write, as ballroom demeanor is difficult to translate from head to paper, but luckily that wasn't entirely the focus itself. **_

_'Don't you try to hide with those angel eyes,_

_If you let me inside, I won't hold back this time,_

_Such a deep disguise, the devil is right inside,_

_More than paralyzed, Oh it's the chase you like'_

The large mahogany doors burst open, revealing a form that could be none other than Reaver himself. His large, statuesque form dominated the doorway as he entered, tipping his hat slightly so wouldn't knock upon the entryway. He was adorned in an matte black suit, the lapels of black silk trimmed elegantly down the front. His trademark vest was visible underneath the his coat, but blackened to a charcoal color. The only part of his outfit that wasn't an obsidian color was his cane, which remained the normal wooded tint.

He held his hands up theatrically, holding his cane between his thumb and his index finger, as if allowing the crowd to bask in his presence. The room grew dead silent as he presented himself. He proceeded down the stairway slowly to build anticipation, his cane clacking loudly on the marble. Anxiety grew in Seraphina's stomach with every beat of metal upon stone. She was suddenly feeling very exposed in her slate outfit, contrasting against the snowy attire of the crowd.

His walk consisted of long, dramatic strides, each step consisting of the loud scrape of his boots against the unrolled carpet. His body swayed lazily, reminding the Queen of the way he had waltzed into the room upon her battle with the hobbes in his underground arena. He halted at the end of the steps, coming to a slow, exaggerated stop at the foot of the stairs, leaning back ever so slightly on his cane and over viewing the guests that crowded the marbled ballroom.

"My dearest friends, I welcome you to my most humble abode. I take it that you have all had your fill of joy and merriment as you awaited my presence?" He arched his eyebrow toward the crowd, cocking his head slightly to the side, resting both hands on the head of his cane. They cheered without hesitation, holding their wine glasses into the air. Seraphina huffed, partially wishing she had a wine glass of her own to down. She hadn't had quite enough to drink to deal with his extravagant demeanor quite yet. Only Reaver would feel the need to have an announcement ceremony that rivaled that of a monarch. Not that she minded his arrival was more pronounced than her own. She simply loathed his grandeur style.

"I am so delighted to hear it. I assure you no expense was spared in the preparation of tonight's celebration. Only the _finest_ for my most honored guests." A small smirk graced his features as he scanned the crowd. "As you are all aware, there is a very special _guest_ among us tonight. A presence with a most _regal _bearing." Reaver donned a devious grin as the crowd looked around amongst themselves, searching for said guest, obviously too dumb-drunk to realize the obvious hint he had given them.

Two servants scurried forth, unhooking the velveteen ropes that separated Reaver from the massive crowd as he began to walk forward. Seraphina felt a drop in her stomach, realizing his footsteps were drawing closer, yet she refused to look up. Ben looked at her, realizing the uncomfortable shifts in her stature. "You don't think he's coming over here, do you?" He whispered, though it sounded more like a statement as he instinctively placed his arm protectively in front of her.

The crowds parted like the sea before Moses as Reaver made his way closer and closer to the Queen and her companion, her muscles tensing with each small click of his cane on the marbled floor. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room falling upon her, bearing down remarkable weight. The clack of metal upon marble grew louder and more dramatic until it finally stopped right in front of her. Through her eyelashes, she could see his ebony boots waiting only inches from her own. She brought her darkened azure eyes up to meet Reaver's cold, golden ones as he stared down at her though a black mask that likened her own. The mask was purely decorative, as everyone in the kingdom would have known his presence even with his face hidden behind the satin embroidered porcelain.

He bowed dramatically before her, offering his hand to her own. She looked at it with a sense of hesitation, and then at the crowd around her with which was bathed in suspense, waiting to see if the Queen would take his hand. Ben shifted his glance to hers, a riding sense of worry plastered on his face.

"Don't worry, my sweet. I shan't bite." He lowered his voice so that only Ben and herself could hear. "Unless of course, that's what you _desire, _your Majesty." An antagonistic sneer took hold of his features as he noticed Ben's hands curling into tight fists, his stature changing to a defensive position. Seraphina knew disaster was imminent if the two weren't separated. Ben had taken on quite a bit of Page's unbridled hatred of Reaver, and was even less in control of his emotions saturated in fine wines and liquors.

The Queen quickly took Reaver's hand, anxious to be rid of his presence as soon as possible. She realized that with Ben being short of temper and inebriated, it could lead to a brawl rather quickly. Reaver smiled as if he anticipated the movement, and placed his lips to her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. He lingered for a moment to long before finally removing his lips, his pupils burning into hers.

"Dearest friends, I do believe that it's time that we began this little _soiree." _He stamped his cane on the hard flood, never releasing her hand from his. Seconds later, the band that had shadowed the stage previously began to play a sultry, piano sonata leading into a tango. Reaver pulled her hand forward, beckoning her. "Shall we, my dear?" He lightly tugged her toward the ballroom floor where the entirety of the crowd was beginning to amass.

Ben was reaching a violent peak at this point, his hands at his side in defensive stance, preparing to strike. "I would suggest taking your hand off her Majesty." Ben spat venomously, causing Reaver to suppress a small fit of laughter. Seraphina threw her hand out to her side, blocking Ben from perpetrating any planned attack, hoping to cease the scene that seemed inevitable with Reaver's insistent prodding.

"It's quite alright, Ben. I shall handle this." Her face turned to Reaver, who seemed to find her friend's drunken attack stance all too amusing, staring down at him with that seemed to be a hybrid mix of pity and enjoyment. "As you can see, my friend isn't feeling to well. I should think it rude to leave him in this state alone. I'm afraid I'll have to reject your proposal on his behalf." She gave a small, attempted pick at her lip behind her black satin gloves, looking away from him as she did such, hiding behind her lie. Reaver seemed to know this as well, as he only once again playfully cocked his head to the side, his smile deepening.

"Why, if it's companionship he so desperately longs for, I dare say he will have the second best company in all of Albion!" He once again clicked his cane on the marble, and a barrage of immodest young women, no doubt courtesans, came forth flirtatiously, waving their fans and twirling their hair about. The giggling group of girls surrounded Ben, hanging on him and twisting their bodies around him in ways that seemed quite inappropriate in public view. "The finest company shall be held by myself tonight, however." Reaver whispered in her ear as he grabbed her hand, pulling her forward toward the group of dancing nobles. She sent flustered looks back toward Ben who was completely submerged inside a circumference of promiscuous women. She relaxed, convincing herself she wasn't entirely disappointed with it. The Queen felt like she wasn't in any immediate danger surrounded by party guests, and Ben deserved all the finesses that could be afforded to him at Reavers expense, and she was willing to bet that those women did _not _come cheaply. Reaver had likely hired them specifically to keep any of her male companions _otherwise _occupied when he made his move, no doubt expecting resistance.

Various party guests moved out of Reaver's path as if propelled by a magnet as he led the Queen to the middle of the dance floor. The obsidian adorned couple cast a black shadow over the silver-frosted crowd. A smug look came across his face as he placed his hand upon her waist, taking her other hand into his matching one, curling his lean, cold, gloved fingertips around her own. She allowed him to take her, looking to the floor and refusing to meet his triumphant stare as she felt them blaze into her skin. He led her to the beat as gracefully as a professional dancer, his posture straight and his stature strategically placed to seem superior to all others in the room.

"My dear, who taught you to dance? A drunken sailor?" He scolded her mockingly. She was still turned from him, her eyes meeting everything in the room but his auric glare. "You're much to restricting with your movements. The art of dance is all about _fluid movement._" He purred as he pulled her closer harshly, partially catching her off guard. She could feel the edges of her dress scraping lightly against his trousers as his fingers trailed across her exposed back. Blood filled her cheeks and she could feel herself blushing from the human contact. He only chuckled at her anatomical response.

Seraphina did her best to follow his lead, only wishing for the song to be over, although she was all to aware that the night had just begun. His catlike movements far out graced her own despite her years of training for such an occasion. Yet she found her mind otherwise occupied, mainly trying to block out Reaver's obvious closeness to her own form, attempting to ignore his body heat radiating toward her own. She detoured her obvious nervousness with conversation.

"I see that you and I have both been dressed in darker colors. An obvious mistake, I assume?" He pressed his hips slightly closer to hers as she swayed with him.

"I feel the need to take credit for such a bold move, my dearest. Without your deepened raven colors, you would have no doubt blended in with all the other attendees at first glance. The only way I would have known you is by your no doubt exquisite form, and I assure you, I would have taken absolutely _no _pleasure at all in examining every female anatomy in this room to find your own. None of them would have even held even the smallest flame, and believe me, my little Jezebel, I _have_ compared them." He threw his cackling head into the air, delighting in her sudden violent recoil from the thought of him honestly thinking of her in any carnal matter.

Taking a deep breath, she regained composure and took to changing the subject. She realized exactly what game he was playing at, as he had done it many times before. It was the bet of who would lose their head first, but usually only one side knew they were playing. "I thought that the 'white' theme was indeed a tribute to my purity and morality as a monarch. It might give quite the offhand message dressing me in black, won't it?" She awaited his answer, doubting she wished to know it once he spoke it.

"Of course, my dear! Yet, it seems all things that were once white eventually become dirtied and tarnished to some degree. I myself find white to be quite an unattractive color. So clean and pure, never seeming to have partaken in the vices that make life quite so enjoyable." He said matter of factually. "I only enjoy _tarnishing_ it. Watching that which was once pure and true corrupt with utter _desire, _even begging and pleading for it." He whispered in her ear, his breath lingering upon her skin and sending shivers down her spine. She gulped, realizing the revelation of his words though he little needed to speak it. Several silent moments passed between to of them as he held her closely, trespassing on her personal space. When he finally spoke, his words were no more comforting than they were before.

"_M__a chérie_, you shall have to come much _closer _should you wish to make this dance acceptable." His smile was malicious and playful all at once, and she could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he was taking far too much joy in her sense of discomfort. Seraphina decided to play his little game, if only for the moment. The sooner she could escape his iron grasp, the sooner she could leave this party and return to her own ground. She stepped a few inches closer, focusing on his eyes as she did. He took too much pleasure in her discord, so she decided to take his sense of gratification away from him.

Much to her dismay, his smile only widened and his eyes glistened with amusement. "I said closer. _Closer, my darling._" He once again pulled her into his form and she could feel his every bit of anatomy against her body, his hands navigating foreign lands as they lightly trailed down her back, tracing all sorts of strange symbols and letters into her skin beneath the corset lacing. He couldn't have drawn her closer should he have tried. She could feel his hips move against her own to the beat of the building tango. She did her best to follow his lead, allowing his body to lead hers and sending her own mind millions of miles away, deeply wishing for more wine to subdue the disgusted feeling that was building in her middle as she did such. Reaver narrowed his eyes, almost as if reading her mind.

He twirled and moved her lightly while heading toward the outer circles of the crowd, strategically heading toward the wine table, though his eloquent steps wouldn't have been recognizable to anyone who did not have a mind of his own. As he reached the outer perimeter of the table, he gracefully and inconspicuously grabbed two goblets from the table and handed one to her with her newly free hand. He downed one himself in two easy swallows, throwing the cup aside for the servants to gather and glancing at her in a challenging manner. Seraphina stared at him inquisitively for a moment before deciding that it was a foolish move to attempt to decipher his motives. She swallowed the fine wine in several refined gulps, attempting to savor the sweet taste against her pallet.

Several moments passed as Reaver twirled her amongst the crowd and she did her best to follow along with his expert steps. The wine flooded her head, making her slightly woozy and all too vulnerable in his arms, believing herself capable of outfoxing him when given the chance. He simply grinned her as he held her close, moving his own body to the tempo. The song was slow, yet the '_vivace_' of the song had yet to begin. He spun her in circles, once again making his way toward the liquor table, easily grabbing two more chalices filled with fine wine in his hands. He handed the Queen another one, watching with pleasure as she downed her own cup before swallowing his own in one simple swallow.

Her head was in a steady fuzz by the time the rhythm slowed, breaking momentarily before the song broke into climax. Reaver's warmth was impeccable underneath his leather glove as he gripped her right hand and stared at her through his mask, reeking of seduction. He narrowed his shining eyes onto hers, moving his face ever so slightly closer to her own. She could feel his wine laden breath upon her neck as she moved his face from him, shivering reluctantly in response. He slowly moved her hips along with his own to the beat, his hand making its way down to her mid back over the course of several seconds, pressing her even closer to his own middle. A strange, tingling feeling made its home in her stomach as his hand rested upon her extremity.

Her vision was quite blurred by the time he spoke again. She had taken to following his instruction flawlessly as he led her on the floor, twirling and bending to his will, meeting his eyes only when fate demanded, doing her best to ignore the feeling that lay brooding in her gut. Eventually, the song came to a dramatic ending and he dipped her low beneath his own form, his hand and knee holding her up her weight. He brought his face all too close to her own for comfort, his narrow lidded golden eyes gazing into hers. His lips were centimeters from her own, and she could feel his expelled breath landing upon her own skin. She gritted her own teeth halting any movement, only looking upon him with contempt.

"Are you quite done, Lord Reaver?" Her voice was shaky but assured. A feeling she couldn't entirely place had made home in her stomach. She felt a peculiar quivering feeling throughout her limbs as he bore into her, his eyes glazing over her as he brought her up to eye level.

"Might I say that the outfit I designed looks absolutely _ravishing_, your Majesty. I'm quite pleased with the way it turned out." He brought her upright, their conversation taking place underneath the politely clapping audience. He ignored her sentiment. His smile was charming and disarming as she could feel the beat of his heart as he held his chest against her own. She swallowed hard, feeling the wine swimming heavily in her head.

"Save your flattery, Reaver. It's nothing but empty promise to me, as it has no doubt been to many other women in the kingdom," She rolled her eyes heavily, rejecting the urge to scoff at his compliment.

"I won't deny that I have shared many of the bed company of Albion's more aesthetic women, your Highness. I shall say, however, that you are the loveliest of companions that I have yet to have the pleasure of sharing the throes of lust with, although that could be changed rather fast, should you wish it so." He purred into her ear, bringing his face close to her own once again, his hands claiming her more tightly than was comfortable.

She shook herself, her rebellious cerulean eyes meeting his furiously. "As I have stated before, Reaver, I am not one of your whores. I will not be so easily swayed by hollow sentiments of flattery. You are a flatterer and a liar. I am not foolish enough to fall for your lamentations of love. You yourself admit you have shared a bed with many of Albion's finer women. I refuse to be one of those countless bed notches. Women of royalty are expected to have _higher _standards." Her voice was laced with contempt just the way he liked it. His only response was a rueful smile. It was indeed so difficult to find young minxes who put up such a fight these days. If they could resist his money, they could never resist his looks or his charms, and yet she managed to shake them off as though he were a mere leper beggar. It delighted him. The chase was always the most enjoyable, seeing as they weren't much use after that.

"Then I suppose I shall have to try harder to sway you, your Majesty. Although I assure you my words are all but hollow." He closed his eyes lightly, giving her a poisonous smile. "But there is the matter of the guest I hold in my library who so endearingly requests your presence."

Seraphina flickered her eyes to his, curiosity taking hold. His smile took on wicked proportions.

"What are you talking about, Reaver?" Her voice was serious. He only laughed aloud, squeezing her hand harder, almost too hard for comfort.

"My dear, I do recall alerting you to a small surprise that I had planned for this evening. Unless of course you have forgotten." His malicious laughter echoed throughout the ballroom. Seraphina wasted no time, ignoring his insulting prodding.

"Take me to it. Take me to it now." Her voice was impatient and borderline desperate, the taste of wine heavy in the back of her throat.

"Oh alright, your Majesty, but only because I enjoy hearing you _beg_ for me. Although there are entirely more pleasant things that I can imagine you begging for. I suppose all in good time." He smirked, his face positively amused at his own comment. She ignored his sentiment, stifling his joy. He held her hand tightly, leading off the ballroom floor and towards one of the darkened alcoves hidden by the darkness of the stone mini roof, easily finding a doorknob hidden in the shadows and clicking it open slowly.

He lead her though various hallways, each adorned with wooden hallways and many bookshelves stacked up against the towering walls. She remembered just how much this place resembled a labyrinth.

"How is it that you remember your way through this bloody place?" She glanced at the seemingly endless walls before her. "It's massive."

"Your Majesty, you seem to get used to massive things when they present themselves before you on a daily basis." His voice was heavy with implication. She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head. She should have known better than to ask him a fully serious question.

After several moments, he came to a large entryway embellished with heavy oak bookshelves. He placed his hand on the knob of a door, opening it slowly before he led her inside. The room was dimly lit, although she could tell it was quite massive by the clicking of the doorway against the walls that echoed endlessly against the wooded walls. She could hardly see a thing, and instinctively reached out for a hand, grabbing Reaver's shoulder. He laughed playfully as she clung to him, and she punched him in the top of the arm as hard as she could muster. This only caused him to snicker harder.

"I plan on killing you, you know." Seraphina stated matter of factly, almost as if she found the thought relaxing.

"Only if you find yourself capable, my love." He tossed back, obviously unswayed by her threat. He continued to lead her up several staircases and into what appeared to be a study of sorts. He reached his long arm out and elegantly flipped a switch, lighting the gigantic room ever so slightly, still leaving immense parts of the room mostly dark and ominous.

"I do hope you enjoyed that, because it will be the last time it ever happens." She let go of his arm, brushing her gown off instinctively.

"As you say, your Majesty." He waved her off, his voice dismissive and disbelieving. He subdued the urge to laugh heartily her words.

"Who did you bring me deep into these catacombs for, Reaver? You said someone wished to see me. I see no one here." Her words were fierce.

"Oh, don't you? I must apologize. Some of these lights have long since burnt out and I've neglected to have them fixed. Are you here, dear old friend of mine?" Several moments passed before a voice echoed through the room.

"Sister?" A distant voice called from the darkness. Seraphina felt a chill run down her frame as she moved toward the blackness from whence the voice came. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the light. A form eventually emerged in the darkness, one she recognized as her own dear brother, King Logan sitting before her.


	9. Mephisto

_'Closer, My Darling'_

_**Authors Note:**** It's quite difficult to maintain Reaver's aloof form of flirtatiousness the closer he gets to the queen. It's becoming quite challenging to write him spot on character, as the Fable franchise never really allows your character any sort of intimate actions with him, so I'm sort of treading on uncharted waters here. He revels in making her feel uncomfortable and exposed, but the more time she spends around him, the more immune to his antics she becomes. This means he shall have to raise the stakes a little. In doing that, he may show what could be interpreted as uncharacteristic amounts of attention to her when she is in his presence. He is a predator and she is his prey, and the more the rabbit evades the jackal, the more fixated he becomes on devouring her. **_

_** '**Now tell me all about your pain  
>Down to the detail,<br>Don't say it's love, your fragile heart feeds my contempt_

_Reminding the mortal of death, I am the spore of your pride  
>An angel heaven sent, the master of all<br>I am the urge of the flesh'_

The slight smell of dust and ancient oak lingered in her lungs as she stood facing her estranged brother. It had been many months since she had laid eyes on him, as he had been forced from the castle shortly after the great battle for his own safety. When the threat of apocalyptic destruction no longer loomed on the horizon, the people demanded his blood, on account of he was spared for his men and the promise of his help in rescuing the land, yet he was far from forgiven in the eyes of the people. After he had fulfilled his end of the agreement, the people of the kingdom had demanded their sacrifice be repaid in blood. His blood, to be exact.

The Queen hadn't entirely forgiven his trespasses upon her either, but she refused to condemn him to death for it. She always held a soft spot for family and those who she had grown up with. She recalled his face, twisted and vile when he had sentenced her childhood friend Elliot to death. The fear it provoked had stayed with her all throughout her journeys as the Rebel Princess, driving her to claim the throne. She refused to bear the same face as she watched the large and terrible headsman's ax take away her life's blood.

He stood before her now, his stone like face hadn't changed in the slightest since she had seen him off. The darkened mauve trenches still bore heavily underneath his eyes, and his lithe, tall frame seemed just as pale as it had the day she usurped the throne. Other than that, his appearance was impeccable, his slick slate hair oiled back and his skin showed no signs of discord other than the flesh colored scar that graced his upper lip since his returning from Aurora so many years ago.

It brought her satisfaction to know that he had been taken care of since taking his leave. His clothes were expensive and well fitting, and no doubt clean. He had refused to say where he was adjourning to when left, leaving her to wonder if he was simply taking on the life of a vagrant. It was clear now that he had made plans far in advance to be kept well off in at least slight luxury. How he had ended up here at Reaver's estate was an entirely different question.

"Brother... Logan, what are you doing here?" She was in far too much shock to ask any more specific questions. Logan heaved a sigh, a seemingly hereditary trait, before standing from the table. He remained silent for several moments before speaking.

"This is the only place it's safe for me to be at the moment." He directed a glance at Reaver. "Well.. Safer than most."

"What are you talking about? I had you royally pardoned. You're a free man, held in no forms of contempt against Albion's court."

"Not in the eyes of the kingdom." His voice was harsh and cold, and hidden deep in his eyes was a twinkle of regret. "But perhaps this isn't the place to discuss it." He shot a cold look at Reaver, who in turn threw his hands into the air innocently.

"Oh, by all means, don't hold your family meeting off on _my_ account. I would _never _come between siblings.. Although there was that one time..." He pretended to look off reminiscently into the distance. Logan grunted and tapped his fingers impatiently on his crossed arms, realizing that Reaver wasn't planning on giving them any privacy. He pursed his lips and looked over at his sister, pulling out a chair for her to sit at the table. Seraphina gave him a peculiar look before taking her seat and watching him take the place adjacent to hers.

"Logan, what's going on? I thought you were safely hidden. This is one of the most ostentatious places in all of Albion on a regular basis, let alone on nights like this. If what you claim is true, then we need to get you out immediately." Her voice was authoritative, and it gave Logan a small smile.

"Aside from a gravestone, this is one of the safest places in all of Albion. Reaver has a guard that rivals Bowerstone Castle, and even if the perpetrators managed to find a way in, I doubt they'd find me in this.. _maze _of a mansion. I have to imagine it was built for quite such a purpose." Logan sent a sideways glance at Reaver, who was humming pleasantly in the corner, examining books and then tossing them lazily on the ground for someone else to clean up. "I tend to think of it as a poisonous spider. Although the outside is bright and flamboyant, there is a deeper meaning. It's almost daring someone to mess with it."

"How did you come to be here? Are you trying to tell me that he's just _allowing _you stay here free of any sort of charge?" Her voice was palpable with disbelief.

"Essentially yes, although I'm not foolish enough to believe that there won't be any sort of delayed cost. I'm just savoring the moments between finding out what that might be." He rubbed the soft spot on either side of his nose with his thumb and his index, resting his head on the arch of his fingers.

"But _how_ did this come to pass? Why are you in danger so suddenly? I thought you left for that very reason. At least if you would have stayed in the castle, we could have protected you!" The Queen was frustrated now. She hadn't much liked the thought of sending her brother out into the land that he had so venomously provoked, and finding out that it hadn't helped definitely didn't soothe her unease.

"I admire your fire, sister, but you forget there are those who walk among you in the castle walls who would have my head as well, I would have only have been putting you and those you care about in danger. There are those who are so enveloped with thoughts of hatred and revenge, and it's a fire that can only be doused by my blood. They have even gone as far as banding together, tracking me down and stalking me. They watch my every footstep and memorize my routines. The only moments of safety I have known are in these walls, as hideously uncomfortable as that man makes me. He has however requested that I take my leave in a few days time." Both of them could have sworn they heard a small cackle coming from the corner of the darkened room where they assumed Reaver made off to.

Logan lowered his voice. "Reaver is the most hated man in all of Albion, second only to me. He has the means and cruelty to protect himself from his enemies. I wasn't entirely sure where else to turn. When he told me of your presence in his estate, I knew I had to see you one last time, if only to say goodbye, and... apologize for all the horrible things I have put you through. I thought I was doing what was right for the kingdom and for yourself, but I was wrong. I was foolish to think that the cruel means and iron fist I ruled the kingdom with were reasonable. At the time, I was blinded only the images of destruction that were to be with the coming of the Darkness."

His eyes darkened. "That cave changed me. Watching my men enveloped in darkness and falling before me like flies... I knew I couldn't allow that to happen to my kingdom. I shall pay for my sins, whatever the cost. I can only thank you for redeeming our family from the depths that I dragged it to, and tell you how much I care for you." His eyes were glistening in the low lamp light.

Seraphina felt a tight retching in her gut, and she shook her head furiously, small droplets escaping her eyes. "No, no, I won't let you do this. I won't let you fall for this. No other man in this kingdom would have done any differently. You did what you thought you had to do to protect your kingdom and its people."

Logan offered her a small smile before taking her hand in his ice cold one. "Someone did do differently. You did. You earned the money through other means and raised enough to keep your promises to the people and still have enough to defend them. I couldn't have asked to be a better monarch than you are now."

"I won't let you do this, I won't. I don't care what I have to do." A small heave escaped her stomach as she threw herself around Logan, clinging to him tightly and burrowing her head in the crook of his neck. He placed his arms around her and closed his own eyes, enjoying what he thought would be the last few moments he would ever spend with his baby sister.

A slow clap came from the corner of the room and the click of Reaver's cane came steadily closer. "My! What a touching sentiment! I myself despise sappy endings, but I'm sure someone somewhere is bound to appreciate it." His made a mocking gesture, placing his hands over his heart. "The two siblings torn asunder by an enraged kingdom! Oh, it's almost like something out of one of these tatty books." He shoved a disheveled book across the floor with his cane, successfully ripping a few pages and scattering them across the wood.

"Reaver!" The Queen quickly turned from Logan to face the aloof aristocrat. "You will help him."

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear, what was that? That sounded terribly like a command." He placed his hand to his ear, mimicking hard of hearing. The Queen rose and stampeded towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him into a nearby bookcase. He laughed joyfully, a devious smile overtaking his features as he saw how beautifully flustered she was. Parts of her skin began to glow a furious aqua underneath her gown in symbols and lettering unknown as she gripped his shirt tighter. Logan only watched in utter amazement at the raw power his sister wielded.

A quick flick of his wrist and he was wielding his Dragonstomper .48 in his hands and placed it to her chest. "Now, now, my dear, I believe that it's best that we _calm _down before someone gets hurt." This only made her eyes glow more violently than before.

"If you condemn my brother to die, than you condemn me to death as well. You have the means to help him, to _save _him! Yet you refuse, and for what? He is no nuisance to you!"

"My little Queen, I know I have quite the track record of being so delightfully _caring _and _selfless,_ but I have yet to see what I have to gain from all this." The meaning behind his words took hold and her skin began to fade as she softly let go of his collar.

"What is it that you want, Reaver? I cannot offer you coin, though I doubt that matters to you." She lurched her shoulders forward and gave a deep breath. Being at Reaver's whim didn't fill her with very much optimism.

"Hmm... What could I possibly want from a monarch, let alone one as ravishing and striking as yourself." His eyes narrowed. Logan jumped forward from the chair.

"No sister, I won't allow this, I won't take it, not at this cost!" He slammed his fist down onto the table.

"Hush now, _Prince _Logan. The adults are talking." Reaver gave a small maniacal laugh before placing his hands to his chin and pacing around in small circles, mimicking intense thought. Logan only stared at him malevolently, wishing to choke the breath from him and watch the light leave his eyes. After several moments, he spoke again.

"I do believe that I shall be most satisfied if you only.. ask _nicely_." He tilted his head, giving Seraphina a smirk of epic proportions and batting his eyelids. She stepped back slightly, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Ask... Nicely?" She furrowed her eyebrows.

"Yes, quite out of character for a monarch, I'm aware. Yet I feel as if I am going to offer my services, I shall at least have them rendered willingly, and not demanded of me." He pulled a chair out of a nearby table and fell lazily into it, lacing his hands into one another on top of his cane which sat between his legs. Logan seemed to relax a little, though still quite tense. Seraphina looked at Reaver with suspicious eyes.

"I'm waiting, my darling." He tapped his fingertips impatiently on the handle of his cane. Seraphina felt her lip twitch and frustration build in her stomach. This request had nothing to do with any sort of nicety. It was about bending her to his will, and establishing dominance.

"Reaver, you will host my brother Logan here in your ma-" She was cut short mid sentence by Reaver clacking his tongue at her.

"Ah ah ah, your Majesty. Still seems slightly too much like a _demand_ for my taste." His sing song voice was all to pleasant. She bit her lip hard, kneading her nails into the skin of her palm. She took a deep breath before speaking once again.

"Lord Reaver, will you _please _host my brother Logan at your estate until further notice." She spat out the 'please' as subdued as possible. Reaver put on a faux pout and waved his hand, as if awaiting the rest of the plead. She closed her eyes, pretending to be talking to someone, anyone else. "He is in grave danger and needs to be kept somewhere safe, and your property is the only place I see fit. He needs-" She stopped short, remembering Reaver's weakness. "_I_ need you. Will you do this for me?"

Reaver seemed positively delighted as he stood from the table. "Oh alright, but only because you begged so _nicely._" She rolled her eyes to the point of pain, relinquishing her hands from fists, only happy the ordeal was over with. "Although we are so short on space, I don't know how we'll _ever _manage." He threw his hand into the air in mimicked frustration, kicking another unfortunate book that happened to cross his path, walking god knows where into the stark room.

Logan approached her, his eyes contemplative and somewhat regretful. "You didn't have to do that, you know. Not for me. I wouldn't expect anyone to grovel to Reaver, not even my worst enemy." She placed her hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"You are my brother, and therefore one half of me. Now you shall be safe until further notice. After all, it's not I who has to stay here with him. You're the one who has to keep his company." She chortled, and Logan let out a light laugh with her.

"Luckily for me, this house is large enough that I could have lived here for weeks without him ever taking notice. I should be able to avoid him for a bit longer." He placed his hand nervously on the back of his head. "But I cannot thank you enough for what you have done here tonight. I only hope that this will be the end of it."

As if on cue, Reaver waltzed back into the room. "Oh, your Majesty, there is also the matter of the treasury donation to be made, and your brother's parole hearings." She stared at him dumbfounded for a moment.

"_Parole _hearings? I wasn't under the impression he was a prisoner." She crossed her arms over her torso defiantly.

"You see, your brother is quite the trouble maker. He had the entire kingdom in riots! It was quite the time to be had! So of course you'll understand my hesitation upon thinking of the kind of trouble he'll stir up in a single house. Excuse me, _mansion_." He beamed at her. "All I ask is that when I call, you shall come. I shall give you notice of course." He grinned, leaning arrogantly on his cane.

"I fail to see why you could not make appearances at the castle." She raised her eyebrows at him, tapping her fingers.

"Of course you understand the sensitive nature of what we're undertaking together. I like to think of it as give and take. I give your brother a safe haven for the time being, and I take a little of your precious time. I, after all, have to ensure my own well being ." He leaned forward toward her. "Not that I mind your company when it is given, of course."

"This was not a part of our deal, Reaver." She sneered.

"Hmm.. Wasn't it?" He drummed his fingers contemplatively on his chin for a moment. "Ah, yes, well it appears it is now. Tatty Bye for now, my little Queen and her fugitive brother! I shall send for you early next week to discuss the matter of the donation. Logan, you no doubt know your way around here by now." He boastfully moseyed down the stairs toward the doorway.

Logan came up behind Seraphina and placed his hands on her shoulders comfortingly, both of them wondering what kind of deal with the devil had just been signed. Nothing with Reaver could ever be taken at masked-face value.

"That room is an absolute _mess! _Total discord, it's disgraceful. You've made me out to be a terrible host, all of you! Send me the wing master. Him and I must have a little chat about proper etiquette!" Reaver's voice could be heard scolding staff members from just outside the hallways. Both Logan and Seraphina cringed at his last sentence.


	10. Temptation

_'Closer, My Darling'_

_**Authors Note:**** Sorry for the absurdly long waiting period between chapters. I've had some things to take care of this week, and haven't been able to wholeheartedly write. I feel it's only fair that I put all of my energy into what I write. Either way, I was listening to a particular playlist I had on my iPod, and I realized just how much Reaver reminds me slightly of Adam Ant, especially in his song "Stand and Deliver". Made me chuckle to myself, confusing those around me since apparently it was audible laughter. Anyways, I'm still boating in uncharted waters right now, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm going to take this in the short run. I'm just going to write and see what happens.**_

_'__You've got to make me an offer that cannot be ignored  
>So let's head for home now, everything I'll have is yours<br>Step by step and day by day, every second counts I can't break away  
>Full of desire<br>Temptation  
>Keep climbing higher and higher<br>Temptation __'_

The rest of the party passed uneventfully. She spent several moments talking with her brother Logan about the state of the kingdom and other royal small talk before deciding to head home early. Ben somehow stumbled his way to her at the front gates with two young women around his arms as she awaited her carriage home. He could barely formulate speech, not that the Queen could have heard it between the relentless giggling of his arm candy. She felt he mumbled something about having an absolutely fantastic time and needing to attend Reaver's 'soirias' more often, absolutely butchering the french accent. She gave him a hard tap on the back and wished him luck with his coin purse and on finding a way home.

When she arrived at Bowerstone Castle, she collapsed into bed, hardly speaking a word to anyone before making her way to her chambers. The answers she gave were automatic and unpersonalized, as she was too out of steam to be able to formulate full sentences as she came nearer to her royal chambers . She slept in full dress, far too exhausted to fuss with her attire to remove it. When she finally crawled under the sheets, she could only guess that it was shortly after 4 am and she did not awake until 3 pm the following day.

The days surrounding the party passed without incident. She attended to her basic royal duties, returned letters to delegates and concerned citizens and held meetings with her royal advisers to go over matters of recent attention. Although she went through the motions of her daily life, she couldn't move her mind from her refugee brother in Millfields. Surely she would have received a letter from someone if something had gone wrong? She took the lack of activity as a sign of good will.

It would be nearly half a week before she received any news from the estate or her brother. She she arrived home from court one day to find a small stack of letters placed upon her desk, one separated slightly from the rest. Recognizing the gilded seal, she immediately ripped the letter open, blatantly ignoring the letter opener that was always strategically placed inside the war room desk drawer. The contents of the envelope consisted of two pages and two very clearly different hand writing styles. Seraphina felt her heart flutter in her chest, recognizing the second page's handwriting as her own dear brother's.

Eying the first page, she also recognized the grandiose handwriting as Reavers. It was a rather long letter, as was fit to his usual delusion that everyone else enjoyed hearing his opinions just as much as he did. She quickly began scanning the first page over, resisting the urge to simply chuck it to the wind.

_'My Dearest Queen,_

_ I have done my utmost to uphold our little agreement. I have your brother safely tucked away in the innards of my estate, and I assure you that he is being rather well taken care of. I do, of course, find his refusal to join my little 'gatherings' rather off putting. The man simply denies himself any form of enjoyment. Being the fine host that I am, I even brought some company purely for his pleasure, yet he refused, which I personally found rather rude. Fret not, however. I assure you, __**nothing**__ went to waste._

_ Despite my numerous attempts at explaining just how unsafe it is for you two to correspond outside of my property and imploring him not to, he simply insisted upon writing to you. I do believe he rather longs for your presence, not that he can be blamed. Even the most seasoned of sailors and the most optimistic of travelers becomes weary in the absence of the sun's radiance, or in this case, the sullen shadow of a former king. _

_ I assure you that my manor is open to you day or night at your whim, but I do believe it most prompt that we set a designated date for you two to hold your family reunion, seeing as I have noticed a larger number of vagrants and ruffians around my property that I can only assume are spies for this 'conspiracy' your brother is absolutely convinced is taking place, although I myself find him slightly 'off his hinges', if you will. I have had them dispatched of either way._

_ You will find his letter attached to the back of this one, as you have no doubt noticed. Respond when you find most appropriate. My manor is always at your disposal, your Majesty. _

_ Although, should you wish to make a more 'personal' surprise visit, I assure you I would be absolutely nothing but accommodating._

_ I do so love surprises,_

_ Reaver'_

_ "_Oh, spare me." She shoved his letter into a randomly picked drawer, simply wishing it out of her sight. She picked up Logan's letter and carefully spread it on the desk before reading.

'_Sister,_

_ I still cannot come to comprehend or fully show my appreciation for what you have done for me. You have put your own safety on the line, and for this, I cannot thank you enough. I dare say I am deserved of my fate, yet it does not make it any easier to accept. I can't bring myself to blame the people of Albion for despising me after all the suffering I have caused._

_ I only wish the safest place in Albion was somewhere a little more... solitary. I knew Reaver was a man of many vices and debaucheries when I allowed him into court, yet it seems I didn't know quite the extent of his hedonism. They say you cannot fully know a man until you know what happens behind closed doors. I'm not entirely sure I agree with that saying any longer, as plenty here takes place out in the open. _

_ I realize I should not question his 'kindness' in this dark time, but I can't help but feel he has an ulterior motive. Once placing Reaver in charge of industry, I quickly came to realize that he is a man who does little unless he comes to see personal gain from it, although I cannot fathom what that might be. I ask you to tread carefully around him. I am only more stern in my distrust of him since taking shelter here, as I have seen the type of devious behavior that he exhibits. _

_ In my spare time, I have begun research into more virtuous places to seek asylum. I have little worth looking into at this time, but I pray my efforts will not be in vain. I have the strangest feeling in my stomach that the sooner we remove Reaver's presence from our personal lives, the safer we are to be. He is a man of many faces, and likely to switch allegiances on a whim. This fact makes me nervous. _

_ As for now, it appears I have no choice but to trust him and his judgment, although the thought sickens me. I never for a moment guessed when I sat upon the throne of Albion that my fate would one day rest in the gloved hands of this narcissistic sycophant. I take solace in the nights that I might tread his gardens without company in the light of the silver moon and think of home, and cling to the shred of hope that one day I might return to the castle, and to you._

_ We must speak in person soon. I realize by requesting this, I am placing your life in his hands,and I must ask your forgiveness for this. Reaver speaks of you often and 'fondly', enough so that I must swear he does it solely to arouse my anger. The sooner I find my way out of this mess, the sooner I can rest easier knowing that you are sleeping soundly at night with no danger or manner of discomfort plaguing your dreams. _

_ I hope to receive word from you soon, and gaze upon you sooner. I dare say you are the only mortal thread holding me to this world._

_ Your Brother,_

_ Logan'_

She stared at the page for a moment before fumbling in her drawers for a quill and sufficient paper to reply. The thought of adjourning to Reaver's home of her own free will did indeed unsettle her stomach slightly, but she reminded herself of what hung in the balance. Logan was indeed right. The longer he stayed hidden away at Reaver's mercy, the more likely the man was to twist the deal and his allegiances on a whim. In was in both of their best interests to remove themselves from the situation. Yet, it seemed that Reaver was a sticky man, and was always able to worm his way back in. She had counted on the day of the ball being her last real encounter with him besides required court customs, but it just so happened another situation arose where his presence was required, although not desired.

As she placed the quill to the paper, she was careful to code what she wrote, knowing full well that Reaver was self-important enough to read letters although they were addressed to someone else entirely. He would no doubt read the letter himself before second handing it to her brother.

'_Brother,_

_ I agree with your observations wholeheartedly. It is best that we speak in person, for fear that this letter may be intercepted. I shall make arrangements to travel there on the morrow evening. I shall do my best to make sure I am not followed or escorted. I trust Reaver has a stable of sorts, or at the very least, somewhere to comfortably house a horse. Simply return this letter to confirm, marking it with Reaver's seal. Servant nor butler alike will lay a hand on an envelope that bears that seal. Our plans should be safe and entirely discreet for now._

_ Seraphina_

_ P.S. Reaver, as you saw fit to read this letter, I have decided to not send you one of your own. Perhaps you should keep your prying eyes for underneath a courtesans dress instead of using them for letters that aren't meant for you.'_

* * *

><p>Reaver smirked devilishly down at the letter placed on the desk before him, licking his lips playfully as he read the final sentences. Logan tapped his foot impatiently on the hardwood floor as he sat in one of several divans that graced Reaver's study anterior to his desk. The light from the massive marble fireplace reflected heavily upon Logan's sharp features, exaggerating his already pointed impatience as he noted Reaver's reaction to the letter. His arms were crossed over his chest and he tapped his finger angrily on his forearm, his stare burning into Reaver's otherwise occupied form.<p>

"Why do I have the feeling that letter was _not_ written to you, Reaver?" Logan's voice was flat and monotone with just the slightest hint of annoyance. Reaver didn't answer back for several more seconds, allowing his irritability to seethe.

"Perhaps because it was not. Simple mistake, I assure you. I am most used to when mail is _addressed _to me, it is in fact _meant _for me." Reaver's golden eyes flickered in the light as he lifted the letter from his desk and slowly strolled toward the chair adjacent to Logan's. Once reaching it, he flopped down and shifted several times attempting to find the perfect position, reveling in Logan's apparent animosity as he took his time before handing over the letter.

Holding the parchment in between two fingers, he lazily held his hand over the armrests of his seat toward Logan who promptly snatched it out of his hands violently. Reaver chucked at his impatience, reaching into one of his various pockets for a box of matches to light his large, ostentatiously inlaid ivory pipe with. Logan scanned the paper through squinted eyelids, taking in every word. Reaver glanced over a few times, each time resisting the urge to ask Logan if he needed a pair of spectacles and chortling audibly at his own joke as he packed the pipe with tobacco.

By the time Logan had clearly finished reading, Reaver was taking a deep inhale off of the pipe, blowing smoke slowly out through his mouth and into the air above him while holding the pipe dramatically out to the side. It was several moments before the pair spoke, Logan at a temporary loss of words and Reaver allowing it to sink in before breaking the delicious silence.

"Quick as a whip, and I do so love whips." Reaver finally spoke, smoke funneling out of his mouth while his every word dripped with antagonism.

"What?" Logan visibly shook from the thoughts in his mind, hearing Reaver's voice but not fully taking in the words. Reaver scowled slightly, realizing that his prod had been successfully ignored.

"My, your sister. Oh, she's as clever as a fox, is she not? I must wonder if she's as nimble as one as well..." Reaver allowed his voice to trail off lightly, as if allowing his thoughts to wander. Logan was noticeably angry this time, his features darkening as he turned his head slowly toward Reaver.

"I would suggest keeping those _thoughts_ from your mind, Reaver. She is your Queen." Logan turned his head from Reaver, exhaling deeply. "You've never been one for _smart_ women. _Quick_ perhaps, but never smart. Not to mention cheap." Logan spat the last part out quietly.

Reaver raised his eyebrows in faux insult. "My dear boy! I am offended!" He placed his hand over his heart, the corresponding hand lifted in the air theatrically holding the pipe. He moved his head slowly toward Logan. "I _assure_ you, my women are _anything _but cheap." He threw his head back in laughter. Logan scoffed and rolled his eyes, placing his head in the palm of his hand.

"Send me to the assassins or throw me to the wolves, I care not but anything is better than _this. _Listening to a devious pervert talk about his petty squabbles with common street whores. This is what I have been reduced to." He waved Reaver off with his free hand.

"Oh, I cannot deny that I once in a while indulge in the fruits of a common garden, but it makes the forbidden, loftier ones all the sweeter and juicier." He took another deep inhale of his pipe.

"I count most noble women among today's ranks no higher than a common street whore, seeing as most partake in the same activities on a day by day basis. The only difference is at least a courtesan doesn't pretend to be anything more than just that." Logan stared into the fire.

"I must say I do agree with that particular observation. I myself am rather disappointed at the lack of challenge when it comes to the court. I do believe at this point, I have had all the women at least once and it proved not the least bit satisfying. All the women except of course.. one."

Logan looked over at him in total surprise for several seconds before keeling over into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, or the closest thing to it for the sullen man. His muffled chortles echoed up the walls.

"Oh by Avo, good luck with fruitless endeavor, you foolish man. The woman despises you, she recoils from your very presence, and she finds everything about you to be absolutely repulsive. The only challenge you'll accomplish will be getting yourself thrown into a dungeon and beheaded, and not necessarily in that order." He quaked with amusement. Reaver only smiled, his eyes shining with the fire of a man who enjoyed a good conquest.

"My dear Prince Logan, you know little of the art of seduction. It's not what you _are. _It's what they _perceive _you to be." Reaver held his pipe thoughtfully between his lips as Logan shook off the last of his fit.

"You ruined that trick a long time ago, Reaver. She's dealt with you on an almost daily basis since she took the throne, and even before that. I believe you tried to kill her once? Nothing begs romance like mauling your object of affection into submission." Logan sneered.

"Some women _do_ like that sort of thing, although of course I wouldn't expect you to know it. I can't imagine how long it's been since you've felt the touch of another human being. I must ask, are there cobwebs in your trousers at this point?" Reaver shuffled with laughter in his chair as Logan sent him a stern look. "In all seriousness, I dare say there's not a single soul in the kingdom who can handle a little firebrand like your beloved sister. Unless, of course, you count myself." He arched his eyebrow at Logan.

"I believe that ridiculous hat has cut off the circulation to your head, Reaver. Seraphina would rather throw herself into the Aurorian Sea than spend a night with you. She's not some prize to be won and then casually tossed aside. Even you of all people must realize the commitment that comes with courting a Queen. Not to mention the fact that she's the most desired woman in the kingdom and she doesn't even so much as glance at any man, or woman, for that matter. What exactly makes you think that _you_ of _all _people stand even the _slightest_ chance? You're a damned fool if you think she wouldn't shudder at the thought." Logan's tone was venomous, spitting every word as a personalized insult to Reaver. Much to his dismay, Reaver looked completely unfazed, and even satisfied with himself.

"Every woman finds themselves lonely, dear boy, and even a Queen has urges." Reaver smiled pleasantly at Logan's apparent uncomfortable shift with the talk of 'urges'. "I dare say that I enjoy the thought of partaking in a battlecat like the queen. So fierce, and so feisty. She must be absolute lightning under the sheets." He batted his hand whimsically through the air.

It was only seconds before Logan was standing, his tip of his cutlass placed at Reaver's still sitting form. Reaver waved him off, unperturbed.

"You are _never_ to speak of my sister as anything other than your Queen and Majesty. Is this understood?" He prodded the sword closer. Reaver made a quick sigh, shaking his head.

"I do so wish I didn't have to point this out to you, it's quite awkward, but.." He gave a soft laugh. "You appear to be at the slightest of disadvantages here, given the situation." He gave a few moments for the words to sink in. "Now put the sword down before you hurt yourself. lighten up, my dear Logan! I say, I'll never comprehend you royals. Always so uptight. You would think people in such positions of power would learn to _enjoy life_ more."


	11. Devil's Grin

_'Closer, My Darling'_

_**Authors Note:**** We're slacking on the reviews, my sweets. I use them not for narcissistic gain, but instead for knowledge. I will admit, I didn't entirely have a dead set direction to take this in, and I find my own mind to be quite a bit sicker than that of the general population here. I use your encouragement as assurance that I am taking the story in a decent direction. Without them, I can only bring myself to guess and wander blindly through the labyrinth that is my imagination. Updating becomes slow when writers block happens, and I am most hoping to avoid that. On a side note, I will have you all know how terribly difficult it is writing Logan, since you never really hear him speak 'unofficially' enough to really get a good feel for his personality, so I was more or less forced to guess what a more "casual Logan" might sound like. You know, one who doesn't have the entire kingdom up his ass. **_

_**'**__Say hello to the pretty eyes,__  
><em>_Say hello to the deadliest lies.__  
><em>_You've got the looks, baby, I could die__  
><em>_You've got the looks__  
><em>_You've got a murder style_

_You've got a perfect skin,  
>With a Devil's grin.<br>You've got a perfect skin,  
>Eyes like sin<strong>'<strong>_

It was a bright, periwinkle blue afternoon outside of the Bowerstone castle walls. The golden sun was shining brilliantly in the cloudless Albion sky, lending its light in through the windows, leaving traces of gentle beams that gracefully warmed the curtains and small sections of the castle floors. Everyone who made the castle a part of their daily routine seemed cheerful and positive, mirroring the pleasant weather that seeped in through the pores of the castle, seemingly relieved that the hanging overcast weather had finally relinquished its grip over the skies.

Everyone was optimistic it seemed with the exception of the Queen, who sat broodingly in her war room, preparing for her inevitable journey. It had been all too long since she had traveled without a small entourage following her, and it would be an even greater task convincing them not to do as much. Her late night trips to Reaver's manor were becoming suspicious, and she was all too aware that forcing her army of elite soldiers to stay behind would only make it worse. She had instead planned for a midday business meeting to discuss the ongoing donation to the treasury, although she realized that anyone with any sort of imagination at all would still reach the same conclusion. It was a consequence she would have to endure simply for her brother's sake. She only wished the entire situation over with and forgotten.

The head of Royal Guard hadn't been entirely too keen on allowing her Majesty out of his sight when she traveled. After all, if something were to befall her, it would fall upon his head. However, she reassured him that the chances of anything being able to overwhelm her were little to none, seeing as she almost single highhandedly led a violent rebellion against Albion's past monarch and was beyond expertly skilled in all manner of weaponry and will. He was reluctant but eventually submitted to her will. Not that he had much of a choice. She was the final say.

It was nearly 3 in the afternoon before she saddled her horse for her journey, kicking in a new pair of charcoal riding boots that rose to her knee over her black leather laced riding pants. She had debated wearing the royal blouse and crown on her trip versus just a normal yet expensive armored tunic. She eventually came to the conclusion that the less of her subjects that recognized her, the better, and the crown was an absolute dead give away, not to mention an acting homing beacon for bandits and all sorts of lowly marauders. So she stood instead in her deep violet highlander shirt and almost obscenely large belt that came with it. From afar, she would appear simply like another vagrant, although upon closer inspection, the clothing was far too finely crafted to be carelessly tossed in the hamper of any sort of vagabond. She felt no need to be formal any longer, so she carelessly tossed her raven locks into a messy riding bun, a few rebellious tresses immediately falling short.

The stable master had picked a fine ebony stallion for her ride. It was a large horse, bred precisely for speed as she had requested. It stomped its hoof anxiously in the dirt as she approached and placed her hand gently on its mane, petting it lightly in an attempt to soothe it. It gave in to her generosity, lowering its head. She lightly stroked its thick black hair as she awaited the stable master. He hurried out a few moments later, petting the horse on its hind side as he approached.

"A fine day for a ride is it not, Majesty?" He was a bald and bold man who was amicable enough, though he had a small, fracture like scar that ran down the uppermost of his forehead, giving the impression that his skin was cracked open like a poorly housed china doll.

"I should certainly hope so." The Queen wasn't feeling too particularly chatty on this day, only wishing to discuss the prospect of a new safe house with her brother, and of course, collect her reward for her attendance at Reaver's party. She longed for the day that her life could continue to normal, whatever 'normal' may be for a monarch. Endless streams of mail, complaints, court sessions, advisory meetings... On second though, part of her wanted to run off and join Lambert and Pinch in their rather unsuccessful acting troupe.

"Aye, Albion has seen it's fair share of harsh weather lately. M' pa used to say it was an omen of sorts when he was a sailor down in Bloodstone. There's a strong wind in the distance, the likes of which is probably harboring fierce storm, and soon. I hope you're planning on returning home quickly." His voice was stern as he adjusted the various buckles and latches on her horses saddle. It was several moments before he noticed her staring at him with a rather quizzical expression.

"Of course, it's all just ol' sailor talk, madam. Runs in m' blood. We all worry about you, that's all. Not safe to be riding the roads on a black moon night. The winds are treacherous, the rain is blinding, and all sorts of devils dance in the shadows." He took her hand and hoisted her onto the saddle.

"There is wisdom in your words. Thank you, horse master, for your concern. It has been noted." She gave him a quick smile as her steed sped away down the hard cobble stone streets. "Rather the devil I know than the devil I don't." She huffed to herself, setting off toward what might as well be the gates of Hell.

Her trip was speedy and uneventful, taking place over the course of no more than an hour or two. By the time she arrived at the posted gates, she felt her horse was feeling rather unforgiving and he huffed and kicked his way inside, no doubt not accustomed to making so far a journey in so short of a time. She gave him a sympathetic look, patting him on the side of his neck as the guard opened the gateway for her and took the horse by the reigns to lead him inside, stopping just short of the stairs leading to the entry way.

She climbed off the large, black beast who simply snorted in response, pulling his head slightly away and slightly dragging the guard with him.

"Make sure he's very well taken care of. He's had a long day today, and he deserves all the finest supplies available. The crown shall pay for whatever items he requires from Reaver's stocks." She stroked his mane, attempting to soothe the spirited equine's foul temper.

"Absolutely madam." The nameless guard gave her a quick solute before leading the bronco off which it violently protested, shaking it's head fiercely and forcing it's hooves into the ground.

_'Well, they do say that animals can sense evil, and this is the closest place to pure immorality in all of Albion.' _She shook her head, feeling slightly sorry for the horse, and even sorrier for whomever was going to be grooming it.

Turning her mind from her troubled steed, she began steadily climbing the steps upward toward the French styled double doors that held the entrance to the estate that she had seen more times this week than she would have been comfortable acknowledging in a life time. She took a deep, unrelenting sigh as she knocked her fist against the glass, thankful only for the few moments of silence before she entered the manor.

A small, disheveled looking young man with vibrant red hair came to answer the door, though he seemed to make a point to hide his face until the last moment. When he finally revealed it, the Queen couldn't help but gasp.

"Barry? Barry Hatch? You're _alive? _But I _watched _you get mauled by a balverine. I was there when Reaver allowed you _die!_" She managed to stutter the sentence out, far beyond startled to see him breathing, let alone walking and working. He only let out a chuckle, which seemed to pain him.

He looked essentially the same, his violent ginger hair still styled in the same awkward style it had been when they had met previously, but he had a trio of flesh colored scars running down the right side of his face and another small one on the left of his lower chin. His right eye seemed to have lost a small amount of it's brown pigment, turning into more of a faded gray, but his left eye was still very much blue. She had noted his multicolored eyes the first time they met, along with his seemingly debilitating speech impediment. It seemed this poor man was blight with misfortune.

"Well, it would seem that when you get bitten by a bawverine, you mo'e or less turn _into _one. It's awight though, we awe _wild _in bed!" He let out another vicious laugh, this time grabbing his ribs in pain. Seraphina stood in the doorway, staring at him in absolute horror. Even in the face of monstrosity, Barry still managed to find the time to make inappropriate jokes. "Don't wowwy though, you' Highness. It's mowe than contwollable with cewtain medicines." He bowed low before her, still grasping his rib. She nodded her head toward him, still slightly in awe of the fact that he had even survived.

"Now, if you'll come wight this way, Master Weavah will see you. You'll fowgive me if I move a tad slow, I'm still in the 'ealing pwocess. It's a slow woad to wecovery awfa a beatin' like that. Least she coulda done is kissed me fiwst. We wasn't even mawwied and she still beat me into submission. I usually like that in a woman." He sent her a small suggestive smile.

"You are one very strange man, Barry Hatch." Her voice was still bewildered. She would have to have a word with Reaver and make sure his 'illness' was truly under control. She couldn't have a speech impeded, ginger, lycanthrope butler running rampantly around and eating nobles by the light of the moon.

He led her down a few hallways, gimping slightly as he did but never the less smiling his slimy smile until they reached yet another grand door in the mansion. He bowed again, holding his hand before the door, no doubt waiting for her to knock. She gave him a small but confused smile as she lightly rapped her knuckles on the oak door.

"And who might that be?" Reaver's deep, melodic voice resounded from the other side of the door.

"The Queen is hew to see you, Masta' Weavah." Barry leaned his head toward the door slightly.

"Oh, but of course!" She heard the tapping of a cane on wood and Barry quickly turned the handle to reveal Reaver lounging in a divan in front of a massive fire place. Barry pushed her into the room almost too excitedly and gave a deep bow to Reaver.

"Do you need anything? A bottle of wine, pewhaps some owderves?" Barry clasped his hands together manically and Seraphina eyed him suspiciously.

"Not now, Barry. Although I assure you I shall rouse you should we need any further service. You may take your leave now." Reaver turned from him and waved him off.

"I'll be wight outside the doow if you need anything, mista." Barry gave another deep bow.

"Barry, if I so much as take one step outside this room and you are anywhere _near_ the door, I shall throw you _back _to the balverines. I believe the chances of surviving _two _rounds with the balverine mistress are quite slim, and as I recall, she played a little too roughly last time for even _your_ tastes." Reaver gave him a distinct look and Barry hobbled out of the room as fast as his slightly crippled legs would carry him, shutting the door behind him.

"Useless, absolutely useless. I should have fired that man when he applied for sick leave in the from of bleeding out all over my newly polished floor." Reaver gave a small scowl. The Queen stood motionless for a moment before deciding that it was probably best to not think any longer on what he just said.

"How is he... _alive_?" She couldn't bring herself to ask any more than that. There were far too many questions she needed answers to and not nearly enough patience to delve into the topic.

"My dear, you seem to know so little about those creatures that you mercilessly slaughtered in my home! You see, when a balverine bites you, you take on some of its, shall we say, 'properties'. The transformation begins immediately after the bite, although you won't fully transform for several hours, and you essentially go on a raving blood lust until such a time allows you to return to human form. After that, you shall transform, typically against your will, every full moon. After enough time spent as one of those beasts, you eventually begin to be able to control the transformations, although the craving for blood seems to be relentless." He stated matter of factually, leaning back in the chair and placing his hands on his cane.

"But I thought he was _dead._ Many, many people have died from a balverine mauling without ever transforming into one. How is it that he survived? He lost so much blood." Despite his lesson on balverine law, she was still quite confused.

"Oh, like hell I was letting that slippery bastard tarnish _my _home and not pay for it. Out of the kindness of my heart, I had him properly bandaged, thrown in the pit of misfortune until his little 'fit' was quite finished, and then promptly went about explaining to him how he was to work off the grievous trespass he had made. He was, of course, more than happy to oblige." Reaver held a lofty smile as he explained exploiting his butler.

"I haven't seen him working the manor before. You wouldn't happen to be letting him out to dine, would you?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Oh my dear Queen, as charmed as I am that you have spent enough time with me to get rather acquainted with my staff, you do have to understand that Barry is in a rather _fragile _state. He cannot handle the type of excitement that parties and drinking bring any longer. His emotions are rather.. _uncontrollable. _So when the time comes that I bring company, he is left to his own devices working where we are not. However, it seems that since you have indeed been spending rather large amounts of time here, I thought it was time that he was able to reveal himself to allow you to get more comfortable with the manor." An arrogant look spread across his features.

"I have absolutely _no_ intentions of getting comfortable here, Reaver." She could feel her lip begin to twitch lightly as she looked on him in irritation.

"Yes, well, that is of course your choice, but seeing as the circumstances stand as they are..." He looked off. "I am, of course, housing your brother at my own risk. I do believe that it's only _polite_ we get further acquainted. At least then I could justify the action as a 'favor for a close friend', where as it is right now, I'm not even entirely sure where this whole situation sits, or how long it shall hold up." He placed his hand thoughtfully to his chin. She released a heavy grunt, instinctively crossing her arms over her chest.

We'll talk more on this later, Reaver. Where is my brother?" Her tone laced with impatience.

"Otherwise occupied." He waved his hand dramatically in the air. She furrowed her brow, a thick sneer overtaking her features.

"Otherwise occupied? He sent me a letter confirming this time, and you tell me he is otherwise occupied? I must say I trust his word over yours." She tapped her foot impatiently on the wood, which Reaver quickly mimicked with his cane.

"Well, normally I pride myself on being a rather strict _confidante _but since you insist upon knowing, he has holed himself up inside my library and simply refuses to let anyone in. He always seems to be barring himself inside one room or another, be it the war room at the castle or the library here at my very own home. So unsociable, if you ask me." He leaned forward, as if gossiping.

"He will let me in." She turned toward the door.

"Yes, that might be true, but I figured we might take this time null of his presence to discuss the guidelines of my donation." He placed his hands innocently on top of his entwined fingertips which rested upon the hilt of his cane. "And might I say that royal indigo is _very _much your color. Brings out the brilliant hues of turquoise in your eyes."

"_Guidelines?_ I already attended your bloody ball like we agreed upon, what _more_ could you possibly want?" Her eyes widened and she threw her hands in the air, beyond frustrated. It wasn't entirely true that she hadn't seen this coming however.

"Yes, well, it's quite simple really. The changes are of course in light of certain events and I have the perfect proposal that shall indeed benefit us both, not that you have ever heeded my proposals at all before. I still think the orphanage would make a much better brothel, but that is a discussion for another time." Reaver pointed politely.

"Certain events." She blinked at him several times, her face blank as she sat for several moments. "Certain events." She repeated, her face unchanging. "Reaver, I am going to strangle you with my bare hands one of these days, I swear it. You cannot even begin to contemplate the depths of frustration you arouse in me." She placed her hand across her forehead and placed the other one on her hip, holding back the urge to run him through with her sword.

"Be careful where you place those hands on other people, your Majesty. You never quite know what it can do to a man like myself. As for the frustration, I assure you there are many more _pleasurable _things that I can arouse within you." He leaned forward even closer, and even though she was still halfway across the room, she felt the sense of uneasiness in her stomach.

"The only thing you're arousing is a blood lust." She did her best to shrug off his comment.

"Well, that's one step closer than we were before." He raised himself from the chair, taking slow, sultry steps toward her. "Blood lust is _indeed _a form of lust, and there is a very, _very_ fine line between total hatred and absolute desire." He stopped just short of her, the toes of his boots lightly gracing hers. He placed his hand on her cheek and maneuvered her face upward to look at his, peering into her eyes. He stood much taller than she, towering over her like a mere child and intimidating her with his overstepping stature.

She was caught in a whirlwind of emotion, too dumbstruck and angry to even move, but she knew she had mere seconds before this took a turn for the worst. She slowly reached her arm down and placed her hand on the hilt of her dagger, ready to plunge when necessary. He moved his face only centimeters closer to hers and she tightened her grip on the handle before he spoke.

"Now, about the treasury."


	12. Somewhere In Time

'_Closer, My Darling'_

**_Authors Note:_**_** I absolutely cannot thank you enough for the feedback. I assure you I find all manner of reviews helpful and encouraging, and in no way do I ever find them boring or useless. I always absolutely welcome them. Anyways, this is a romance story, so it will eventually ignite a spark between the two, and I have absolutely no intention of letting it simmer out without any sort of climax. Those sorts of stories always disappointed me, personally. So, that being said, if you are one of the people who enjoys Reaver so in character that it becomes impossible for him to feel for someone, perhaps this is not the story for you. I am also doing my best to build it up rather slowly, as I myself like stories that build before jumping straight into amour, and with Reaver's particular character, I imagine he's the type who likes to bat at his prey like a cat plays a mouse. I'll do my best to oblige the request for action and allowing Reaver to boast his skills as 'Hero of Skill' (I always wondered if he glowed like Garth, it's been a while since I played Fable 2 so I don't entirely recall the rules about the fabulous glow) although I'm not entirely fantastic at writing combat scenes. **_

_**The mini-scenes are written more or less from the perspective they're focused around, hence why this one is so Reaver friendly. You'll notice when they shift perspective.**_

_**(P.S. I also rather enjoy Kiltsaresexy's stories as well. I was highly disturbed at the lack of Reaver/Princess stories, so hers were a pleasure to read.)**_

_'__Somewhere in time__  
><em>_I will find you and haunt you again__  
><em>_Like the wind sweeps the earth__  
><em>_Somewhere in time__  
><em>_When no virtues are left to defend__  
><em>_You fall in deep__'_

Reaver tapped his fingers pleasantly on the hilt of his cane, making no effort to conceal his honeyed stare on the Queen who sat impatiently over the edge of the matching divan. He was all too amused at her sense of edginess which was quite noticeable as she lightly stamped the heel of her boot on the polished wood floor while her head sat lazily in the palm of her hand. The tenuous silence had ensued for several minutes after their last altercation in which she, once again, nearly found a reason to sever his neck and was refusing to speak to him any longer.

He moved his gloved fingertips up toward his chin, lightly stroking it while contemplating her annoyed sneer which seemed misdirected at some poor inanimate object in the room. He admired her fire, and it was entirely safe to say that he had never quite met a woman like her before, and by a woman like her, he of course meant one that could so easily deflect his advances. Not to say that he wasn't at least slightly impressed with her battle prowess which was unmatched by any of her foes.

The way she wielded a weapon was truly artistic, slashing and maiming her opponents as gracefully as an artist wielded a paintbrush, sending rich strokes of blood red paint across her environmental canvas, the poetry unmistakable as life and death danced around each other in their eternal tango. Her skill with a rifle was also to be envied, although not by him of course. She hardly missed a shot, and the power behind her weapon was reminiscent of his own natural ability.

His personal favorite however was the way she manipulated the elements by channeling her hereditary inner potency and unleashing the wrath of a Hero upon her unsuspecting victims through her spell casting ability. They way they were strewn carelessly into the air and electrocuted mercilessly was quite a sight to behold and it more or less excited him in more ways than one. It had turned the night of the Wheel of Misfortune into quite the amusing night indeed. It had taken only mere minutes of witnessing the battle for him to realize he was in the presence of a fellow Hero, and not just any hero, but the daughter of his late 'colleague', Queen Sparrow.

He had chastised himself for not realizing it earlier. When rumors had spread across the Industrial District of rebellion, he had simply figured the ever nosy Page had finally gathered the bravura to lead her men against the throne, in which he figured that she would inevitably fail. After several of her men had 'managed' to infiltrate his manor during one of his little get togethers, he knew it was only a matter of time before the little r_at d'égout_ showed her speckled face in his home. It was no large matter to him to end her, he figured that he might as well make an entertaining little spectacle of it. He had never dreamed that she would bring the magnificent offspring of his late playmate. Lucky for both Reaver _and_ Page it would seem, as Page would have no doubt perished without the expertise of the Hero.

The resemblance became stronger and more magnetic the more often he found himself in her presence. She had the same fiery, strong personality, shared the fierce battle antics, the identical pleasant yet regal bearing, and the very same alluring and remarkably enchanting sapphire eyes. Not to mention, the same aggravating passive ignorance to his advances. Sparrow was indeed ambitious, ambitious enough to become Queen of Albion, and he had seen her as a playful advocate once upon a time. Yet time had a mischievous way of surpassing everyone but himself, and while he had been off on his own adventures, Sparrow had taken a husband, bore children, and brought a kingdom to prosperity, and inevitably withered and took her last breath.

Her late husband had taken control of the kingdom after her passing, also looking after the two children she had left behind. Logan had been but a small and surly child, and Seraphina nothing but a mere babe. Reaver had been able to worm his way into court with his extraordinary amounts of influence and ill acquired hoards of gold just years before her father's passing and managed to secure a permanent position as a man of affluence before Logan's coronation and had made frequent visitations to the castle ever since.

He hadn't thought much of the children in terms of any particular interest. He did have a few moments at the castle with them, greeting them casually and occasionally conversing with them like a 'good noble' should, but he mainly kept his distance until chances for advancement had arisen and he found it a most worthy cause to cozy up to Logan. Seraphina had been a social and persistent little mite however. She often ran wildly around the castle, carousing with everyone in her path until her flustered nannies were finally able to locate her. There had been more than one occasion when she had come across him in her wake of childish destruction and forced him into conversation. She had been an intriguing child, brighter than most and certainly more charming. He had still brushed her off, as his dislike for children was notorious. Yet, she continued her wanderings until she reached the age where it was appropriate for a lady of royalty to be busied during the days.

His efforts had indeed paid off and he landed a plush job running Albion's industrial quarter, and it was a job he found rather suited towards his tastes and rather enjoyable. The princess had been around no doubt on his many consultant journeys to the castle, but she saw little of court as Logan typically kept her locked away, busying her with lessons and tutors of all sorts. It wasn't until she made her glorious debut at his manor that night that he had truly had the chance to acknowledge her allurement, not to mention the many times of her blatantly ignoring his existence and persistence that he truly reveled in her utter desirability. He did so love a good chase.

Yet here she sat in _his_ manor, in _his_ presence, once again pretending she didn't enjoy his attention. It was only a matter of time before she caved. After all, no woman could ever resist the charms of the industrial magnate for long, although he admired her commitment to the bit and her feisty recoils. It was only a pleasurable bonus to be able to prove the late King Logan wrong, and no doubt rub it in his face.

So here he sat, prodding her with his unrelenting gaze and awaiting her next move on the metaphorical chess board, and indeed it came.

"Reaver, didn't anyone ever warn you that it's rude to glare? Surely there's something else in this room that you can stare down." She continued, looking purposefully away from him.

"I'm so terribly sorry, my dear. It's my natural instinct to gravitate toward the most exquisite element in the room." He left his heavy lidded focus on her.

"Oh, enough with it! The games are growing incessantly old. Your empty flattery and never ending desire to cross my personal boundary is growing tired." She let out a heavy sign, and had a look upon her features that resembled Logan all too much.

"I've assured you once, your Majesty, the flattery is all but empty." He once again pulled the pipe from his coat pocket, lighting it with ease. "Although your cold demeanor towards me is quite challenging. I've never seen quite a restrictive dancer! Until, of course, the wine graced your delicate lips. I've never seen you quite so radiant as you were in that moment." He took a deep inhale, blowing it playfully in her direction. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

"I do hope you enjoyed it, as it was the first and most definitely the _last_ time it shall ever happen." She turned away embarrassed at the memory.

"This might come as quite a shock, but was in fact, not the first time that you and I have shared a ballroom together." He looked off thoughtfully, knowing full well that this would pique her interest. She looked at him with a disgruntled sort of confusion.

"I believe I would remember something of that sort." She shot him a stern, annoyed look.

"That's not entirely true. I believe that decent memory doesn't set in until around six years of age. If my own memory serves true, you were only around around five years old." Smugness took over his features. There is no way she could resist curiosity after a statement like that.

"I highly doubt that you were even around when I was a child, let alone a welcomed guest among the court." She chortled.

"Not entirely true, my sweet. I was actually an acquaintance of sorts of your late mother. Her and I were quite close at one point in time." He exaggerated, sending a smirk towards her as he spoke. Before she had the chance, he began speaking once again. "I was making my way across the castle to attend court, the rather bane of my existence at the time, so I admit, I may have taken a detour. You were no more than a small child at the time, and a rather defiant one as well, a trait I see has not entirely changed with time." He gave her a small simper before continuing.

"You were rebelling against a rather discomposed dancing instructor having being scolded for not completed a move with the designated amount of grace. You ran into me, quite literally." He took another deep puff off his pipe, sending her a sideways glance, waiting for her to speak. Yet, she didn't, she only stared at him with eyes glazed with curiosity, awaiting the rest of his recountal. This left him feeling rather pleased with himself, as she had always been a curious one and he knew she simply couldn't resist.

"You were on the floor for no more than mere seconds before popping back up like the lively little tyke you were. You stared at me for moments before demanding that it was my duty as a noble to teach you this little _plie_ with which you were having so much trouble. I myself was in no great hurry to hear the laments of peasant farmers, so I adjourned with you to the ballroom, much to the even greater distress of your tutor." He let out a small titter remembering the small, frenzied man's fearful expression as he entered the ballroom with the princess in training.

"I did, in fact, dance with you, my Queen. If I recall correctly, you found great amusement in stepping upon my shoes much to my discontent. I had to bend down to even grasp your tiny, fretting little fingers. I see that also has not changed with time. Had I been your father, I would have fired that instructor. He did a remarkably poor job, and it appears to have tailed with you through the years." He let out a sinister cackle, allowing his head to fall back lazily. Seraphina, however, remained silent, looking at him with a mixture of distrust and disbelief, but just the slightest hint of wonder.

"I don't believe you." Her statement had been made to sound stern, but even she could hear the lack of truth in her voice. Reaver shot her a look that only flustered her further. She furrowed her brow and looked down at her feet, taking in his words and feeling the need to defend her own statement. "Even if what you say is true, that makes this entire situation even more... bothersome." She stumbled over the last word, finding it difficult to quite convey the thought in her mind.

"And what reason would I have to lie, my dear?" Reaver leaned forward and narrowed his auric eyes on her own.

"How is that even possible?" She turned away from him, running over all he'd said in her mind once more, bringing her hand nervously to her mouth.

"Don't hurt yourself, little one. We have business to discuss." He waved his hand, as if minimizing the conversation. She regained her composure, turning herself toward him and doing her best to put the conversation out of her mind, but compiling it for further discussion once more important matters were taken care of.

"What is this deal you offer, and how does it correlate to the situation at hand?" Her voice was stoic once more. He sat quietly for a moment, his cheshire smile leaking across his cheeks.

"You see, as honored as I am to host your brother here, I cannot help but feel as if I am _intruding_ on a very loving sibling relationship, and as I have previously stated, I would _never_ come between siblings. I own a small amount of land just outside of Silverpine that I have yet to develop, and I might be convinced to _donate_ it to dear Logan." Reaver leaned back, crossing one knee over the other.

"You know as well as I do that there is a_ reason_ he is here. It isn't safe for him elsewhere, or have you forgotten this already?" She placed her fingertip on her temple.

"Ah, yes, your Majesty, but that is the beauty of the location! As you know, Silverpine is plagued with an infestation of sorts. Balverines, to be specific. You are also aware that I have struck a little deal with their kind, although I won't bore you with the details." He skirted around yet another shady conversation. "Point is, your brother will be safe. Marauder nor assassin alike will be able to come within miles of him without being viciously mauled by our lycanthropic allies." He threw his hands in the air triumphantly. "He will be guarded by the most _bourgeois_ of defenders without a care in the world!"

Seraphina bit her lip. "I don't imagine that this will come cheaply, especially not from the likes of you."

"Cheaply _for_ me, absolutely not. It shall however come monetarily free for you." He replied, feeling quite pleased with himself. She only eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't trust this for a damned second, Reaver. You do _nothing _unless you gain personally from it. I've seen you put children to labor, orphans kicked from their beds for courtesans, and innocent men fall to your feet lifeless for sending you a sideways glance, yet you expect me to believe that you would do all of this out of the _kindness of your heart_?" She let out a cruel wave of laughter. "Do you think me a fool?"

"Well, not _entirely _free, I suppose. Your presence shall be required during all the planning and mental aspects of this little project." Reaver gave her an innocent smile.

"Which, I imagine, will be taking place here." She knew _exactly _where this was going.

"Well, it's only fitting, seeing as I am the one funding our little venture." He replied pointedly.

"Which, in turn, will land me here quite often." She placed her hands to her temples and letting out another monstrous sigh. The excuses she would have to make to visit so frequently would go down in history.

"Unless, of course, you'd rather blueprint your brother's _secret_ safe house in a more public place?" He arched his brow at her. Check mate.

"Fine." She spat. "I still don't trust this. This is a costly exchange, and you'd have me believe that you're doing it for the mere price of my company?"

"Well.. I suppose there is one thing that has weighed rather heavily on my mind lately." His voice was sickly pleasant and it made her stomach churn.

"Oh here we go, wait for it." Her tone was heavy with sarcasm. He ignored it.

"I've noticed that since the noble death of your close friend Sir Walter, you have yet to take another 'official' royal adviser." A hint of a sly smile made its way across his face.

"And there it is." She half rolled her eyes, rubbing the soft spot between her cheek and her nose as it snuffing out the stress. "I don't even take your proposals into consideration at court. What makes you think that I'd even remotely respect you and your 'opinions' if you stood by my throne?"

"It would be purely for appearances, of course. I have come to terms with the fact that you are far too virtuous and whimsical to ever hear out my immoral yet nicely profitable schemes." He tsked her. "Yet with me in a place of royal adviser, this would appear much less _scandalous, _seeing as you're going to be spending much more time here in my humble abode. As I have stated previously, it benefits us both."

"And you believe that promoting you in the first place would not appear somewhat _off_? Everyone in that court knows that I despise you, yet you believe it would appear perfectly normal for you to stand before me one day, and stand beside me the next? Surely even you understand the sort of talk that might spark." Her words were strong, yet in her mind she knew it was a futile effort. Reaver would hear nothing less than acceptance. If she rejected the offer, she had no doubt that he would help her brother find his way to the streets before nightfall. She gritted her teeth angrily at the thought of being manipulated.

"Oh my Queen, if there is one thing you need learn, it's that you must ignore the small talk of the plebeians. They will whisper at absolutely any sort of oddity. I cannot even begin to contemplate the numerous rumors that circulate the court about myself! Although, I'm also quite certain that most of them are true." He let out a sinister chuckle. "It's merely a matter of experience, my dear. I have held my place in this city longer than most have been alive long enough to see it." She gave him a curious look at his cryptic words. "Should anyone question you, simply say it is a matter of financial opportunity. After all, with the treasury sitting in that sorry state, this kingdom won't continue to function as well as it does for long." The hard truth rang true in his words.

She sat for several moments, contemplating his words before speaking. "I... understand what you say, but I cannot deny that I am extraordinarily hesitant to place you in _any _sort of position of power. You were appointed a business manager, and look what you have managed to turn it into." She referred back to her misadventures in the Industrial District. He only let out a cackle.

"I did as was required of me at the time. I assure you that royal adviser is nothing more than a title. Did Sir Walter have any _real _power? Other than your overwhelming respect for the old chap, of course." He gave her a waxen remorseful smile that reeked of falsity. "An adviser has no real potential unless the person he is _advising _chooses to heed them. So in realistic terms, I suppose all that I am asking is the chance to stand a few feet closer to you in court. A small price to pay, I assure you."

The pair sat in silence for several moments after he concluded his speech,. The Queen nibbled at her lip in frustration, knowing there was only one answer to his request, but still lamenting the loss of her ability to tell him to shove off. He apathetically took several small puffs of his pipe, blowing rings around the room nonchalantly. The scent of expensive tobacco clouded her thoughts.

She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale before she spoke, regretting the words as they left her lips. "You may be royal adviser for the time being. I trust your discretion on the matter at hand, and it would indeed appear unseemly if my frequent visits here were left without reason, although more traditionally the royal advisory takes place within castle walls."

"Oh, absolutely splendid! I'm so very pleased we could come to a reasonable compromise." She rolled her eyes at his liberal use of the word 'compromise'.

"Do not abuse the privilege, Reaver. Remember that it is not beyond my power to have you executed for any manner of treason." The Queen felt the urge to throw in a threat of her own.

"Oh your Majesty, I do so love your vulgar displays of power." He cocked his head to the side and sent her a sultry smile. "Perhaps I shall see many more of them now that we're going to be spending an awful lot of time together."

"I have no doubt that you shall hear many more death threats now that it's the case." She whispered as she closed her eyes and placed her forehead in her open palms. Reaver let out a pleased snicker at her malicious retort.

"I'd imagine your troublesome brother has just about had his fill of solitude. Perhaps it would be best if I sent someone to fetch him. I'd guess that he is most anxious to speak with you." He pushed himself gracefully off the chair.

"That would be best." Seraphina spoke through her hands which still shielded her face in a subconscious sort of shame. She was certain that he was looking all too pleased with himself as he tapped his trademarked cane against the wooded floors twice. Yet, their conversation from earlier still nagged heavily on her mind. She didn't recall Reaver ever swaggering down the halls of her home in the early years of her life, but she also hadn't been allowed to roam much after reaching adolescence and was almost never allowed into court. It was entirely possible, but not all too probable considering the circumstances.

Reaver didn't look any older than thirty five, and she rejected the thought that he was beyond fourty years of age. How was it possible that he was not only carousing with the court when she was a child, not to mention an acquaintance of her mother who had passed years and years before? The thoughts ran tracks around her mind, leaving her feeling like she was attempting to finish a puzzle without having all the pieces. She made a mental note to ask Logan, who was older than she and might have a more accurate recollection. Perhaps he would have some insight.


	13. Blacken the Cursed Sun

"_Closer, My Darling"_

_**Authors Note:**__ I've been reviewing some of my previous chapters and slightly re-writing them. Nothing too large, since I don't have the patience for it, but a small re-word here, some sentence changes there, things like that. I've spent the past few days doing that, so I'm terribly sorry if you guys got alerted 350 times because of it. I'm not entirely sure if it sends notifications for chapter replacements. If it does, please let me know, and I'll try and let you know beforehand if I'll be going through and redoing the story ever so slightly so you know to ignore the next few useless notifications. I'm hoping this is where the story will start 'igniting' more or less, but I guess it all depends on the whim in which I write it. I try to write with a realistic flow, and if the interactions seem forced, I end up deleting them. That's why it takes ever so long to being any sort of actual 'interactions' between characters. That, and I suppose my personal dislike of any stories that force romance all too quickly and unrealistically. I promise I'm doing my best to maintain the realism of the characters. Sorry these chapters seem to be taking longer and longer to be posted, I'm having a difficult time writing lately and I'm not entirely sure why. This chapter in particular is sort of difficult because it's almost pure banter between two guidelineless characters. So before you ask, that's why it's "odd". It's more of a build up chapter anyways. _

_'Seize the darkened day, there's only Hell to pay.  
>And no left to see this prodigal return.<br>Sweet apathy's black toll, you'll mourn the traded soul.  
>I'll dig a deeper hole, sanctity a breath away.'<em>

The heels of Logan's heavy treading stride echoed throughout the corridors, his authority resounding in every step. He held his his hands clenched tightly behind his back, furious and seething that he had not been alerted immediately to his sisters' arrival, mostly notably with himself. Leaving his beloved younger sister alone with Reaver was much too far out of his comfort zone, yet he had been so focused on his research and solitary confinement that he had fallen into a trance like state, awakening from it only when he was disturbed by the crippled servant knocking heavily upon the doors.

Stress weighed heavily upon his shoulders as he pushed his fingernails into the exposed flesh of his palms, leaving small, red blisters upon his skin. He ground his teeth against each other, leaving an odd sort of sensation in his mouth as it went numb with the tension. Although his face was stoic and unemotional, the remainder of his body language was rugged and tense. He did his utmost to appear regulated and calm, but on the inside, his body was flooded with panic, and even anger.

Reaver had made his intentions quite clear, and it was Logan's brotherly duty and tenant to make sure that Seraphina did not fall prey to his fiendish plans. Yet every moment that she was out of his sight remained another moment that Reaver could plant his seed of lasciviousness into her mind. There was no end to the extent of damage that Reaver could have done in his absence, this knowledge only encouraging to him to liven his pace, and in turn, the pace of the hobbling servant that accompanied him much to his seeming dislike.

Upon reaching the corridor that housed Reaver's study, he briskly passed the butler, violently shoving the door open and storming inside, ignoring the copper haired servant's stuttering protests. Logan was relieved to find his sister sitting firmly upon her own divan while Reaver was beaming pridefully near the opposite set of furniture. Although he took no contentment in the fact that she looked so unnerved, he was alleviated to find her resting upon her own self claimed space and not appearing to have been soiled by Reaver's libidinous plan. Her face lit up as he entered the room, and a small sense of relief came over him.

"Logan!" She raised herself from the chair steadily and made her way toward him. He took her hand into his immediately when she was within reaching distance, his hand clenching hers tightly.

"It's a lovely day. Walk with me, sister." Logan began to lead her out the door, turning slightly toward Reaver, sending him a threatening sideways glance. "I trust you have enough to busy yourself in our absence?"

Reaver only gave a roguish simper in response. "Oh, I should certainly hope so."

Logan ignored his facetious response, taking Seraphina's arm into his and quickly swept her to the exit. She studied Logan's austere facial expression, and sent a perplexed look back to Reaver who waggled his finger playfully at her before she was promptly pulled through the doorway by Logan before Reaver could find an excuse to accompany them.

The pair briskly walked in contemplative silence throughout the halls of the estate. Seraphina noted Logan sending shifting, distrustful glances at the workers that could occasionally be spotted throughout the halls before reaching the gardens. As she stepped outside, she noted the darkened landscape and the overcast of clouds that had taken reign over the sky. Not exactly what she would classify as a 'beautiful day'.

Once they reached the courtyard, he pulled her deep into the foliage, past rows upon rows of layered hedges and intricately trimmed bushes into what seemed to be a ivy laden wooded gazebo hidden behind several rows of lofty shrubbery. He quickly pulled her into the gazebo after surveying his surroundings discreetly, pushing her curiosity into overdrive.

"Logan, what exactly are you doing? You look insane doing that." She tugged on his shirt, leveraging him back inside the gazebo from his scouting mission.

"I don't want any of Reaver's staff to eavesdrop on us. I spent days searching the grounds for a secluded place, and I don't want it compromised." His tone was firm, yet his words had a slight nervous edge to them.

"Why the secrecy all of the sudden? Truly you don't believe that one among Reaver's men could be part of the treason?" She glanced up at him with concern.

"Partaking in sedition, absolutely not. Yet, I do believe them loyal to Reaver, if out of nothing but fear. That braggart doubles as a rather effective control freak, and allows us not a moment to ourselves. When he does allow us private conversation, I have no doubt that he intends to know of what we speak." His eyes shifted uncomfortably.

"I couldn't agree further, but what exactly does it matter? Yes, it's invasive, but nothing more than a nuisance." She shrugged.

"Never underestimate your opponent." He stood, walking toward the edges of the pavilion and staring bleakly out into the shrouded garden.

"Opponent? I dislike him intensely, as much as anyone with so much as a sliver of a conscience, but I feel like 'opponent' is a tad of an overstatement. Surely you don't believe that he conspires against us. He might be an insatiable prick, but treacherous?" She paused after her words, contemplating them. "Eh, upon second thought..."

"I don't believe he is partaking in the plot against me, but I do believe that he has an agenda of his own. He had made that all too clear to me." Logan's lip twitched with distaste.

"What do you mean he made it all too clear?" She eyed him skeptically. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"It matters not." He turned his fixation from the surrounding umbrage and back to her, quickly shifting the subject. "What was discussed in my absence?"

Seraphina eyeballed him for a moment, contemplating pushing the issue, but decided against it, realizing how weary she was of pursuing evasive conversation at this point. Instead, she decided to hopefully lead by example and be completely open with Logan with his own inquiries, or as open as possible considering what had just taken place.

"Reaver and I came to another 'agreement." She spoke lightly. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw the slightest hint of panic in his eyes.

"What might this agreement consist of?" Logan anxiously bit his tongue, doing his best to hide his anxiety.

"Well, that's where things become sort of... complicated." Her words didn't give him any comfort and he cringed slightly as she spoke them. "The good news is that you won't need to take shelter here for much longer. Reaver has offered to build on some property he owns and have it guarded until the issue at hand can be dealt with. Luckily, it's in the Silverpines and as far away as physically possible from this manor as you can get without entering the city or the mountains."

"The _Silverpines? _I feel that it might be more dangerous to relocate there than to just walk openly on the streets." He scoffed. "Surely you know about the foul sort of infestation that openly plagues those woods."

"Yes, well, that's another thing." She paused momentarily, pondering how to break the news delicately. "The balverines _are_ the guards." Just as she had expected, he stopped short on his heels, a look of complete stupefaction plastered on his face. She placed her hand up, as if trying to calm him and even vicariously shift responsibility. "Hey, I don't know how he does it. He's had a treaty with the creatures for at least two years now. I noticed it when I broke into his secret society meeting during the rebellion. I assume he was planning on developing Silverpine and needed to ensure that his workers and buildings wouldn't be destroyed by them, so instead he enlisted their services."

Logan scowled, running his fingers up the side of his temples. "You're telling me that I am to be moved to Silverpines on _Reaver's _property, guarded by _Reaver's _balverines, at _Reaver's _discretion? There is absolutely no escaping the man. Regardless, that's not what worries me." He let out a heavy sigh. "At what _cost_ is this coming at?"

Seraphina made a squeamish, uncomfortable face. This is where things would become difficult. "You see... He, um... Well, good news is he didn't ask for any sort of monetary compensation." She gave him a small, cheeky smile in a seeming attempt to disarm the conversation. Logan didn't seem to be buying in on it.

"I assume your hesitation to tell me is an ill omen." Logan arched his brow, giving a slight scowl. Something about Logan's facial expressions reminded her of her father's face when he used to scold her, inevitably seeing through her fibs. It gave her a slight, guilty tingling in her stomach.

"Well, not entirely awful I guess. I mean, it sounds bad, but it's really more of a title than anything." Proper speech failed her, and she stuttered and stumbled across the sentence. She bit her lip and stared down at her feet, avoiding his eagle eye glare. Conversations like this with Logan always had a way of making her feel like a child being reprimanded by her parents. She laced her hands nervously behind her back, waiting for him to speak.

"That doesn't tell me much. What it does tell me, however, is that you're avoiding this for a reason." He narrowed his eyes at her. "What did you promise Reaver?" Seraphina had run out of stalling time, and had no choice now but to relinquish the details, although she felt more apprehensive than she felt she realistically should have been. Logan tended to have that effect on people, especially his fledgling sister.

"Well, all I really authorized was a title." She gave him a half-hearted smile, hoping that he would drop the subject, but his stare didn't relent. "Okay, okay... He sort of... might have wanted to be royal adviser." She spit the words out quickly, the pitch of her voice synonymously rising with the expansion of Logan's eyelids.

"You authorized this?" His voice was harsh and low, his face turning a subtle hue of crimson.

"It's okay! It's fine! An adviser has no real power unless I so grant it. All he really wanted was an official title. You know how egotistical he is. He wants everyone else to think he's as important as he thinks he is." She did her best to justify her decision. Logan, once again, didn't seem convinced.

"Sera, a week ago you would not have _ever _considered making him a part of the royal court, but today you made it official. It's not the role of adviser that worries me. It's the fact that to him, this was just a trial run to see what he could get you to agree to." Logan could feel his heart racing in his chest. Reaver was gaining power over his sister, and it was all his fault. It was only a matter of time before Reaver demanded something a little more personal from her to protect him. "Tell him the deal is off. I'm taking my leave tonight." Logan turned and stormed out of the gazebo, leaving his sister in a temporary confused daze. He felt light droplets of rain begin to hit his face as he left the cover of the pavilion.

"Logan, what in Avo's name are you talking about?" She raced after him, shaking off her disorientation. She grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back toward her. "I am doing this for you! Reaver is only a mere hindrance! Once we get this affair settled, you'll never have to see or speak with him again, and you'll be _safe._" She shook him by the helms of his sleeves.

He looked down into her eyes, his darkened cerulean eyes meeting her light ones. "It isn't myself I am worried about." He let his words sink in.

"I can take care of myself, Logan." Her voice was showing hints of anger now. "Reaver is bound to blow it, and then I'll boot him back to his former position. It shouldn't even matter."

"You don't understand how Reaver operates! The Industrial Quarter ran perfectly fine until he took over, but after he took control, he became absolutely irreplaceable. He makes himself the most important factor in absolutely anything he does, and if you don't think he'll do the same with the position you give him, you are sorely mistaken. It's a risk I cannot take!" Logan's voice was venomous.

"A risk? A risk for _what?! _The kingdom? The treasury? The morale of the people? What _risk_, Logan? By all means, enlighten me!" Seraphina was yelling now and her hands were up in he air at her sides, frustration welling in her gut and wrenching at her insides.

It was Logan this time that looked down at the ground in defeat. "A risk for you." His hands were balled tightly into fists at his sides as he swallowed back his pride. Seraphina's features softened slightly, and she waited a few moments before she spoke again.

"Logan, I assure you, you needn't worry about me." She placed her hand gently on his back. "I know what kind of a man I am dealing with, and I have no intentions of letting him get into my head. Right now, the most important thing is keeping you safe. I can hold Reaver to his word long enough for him to hold up his end of the deal. Crossing me would be a grave mistake. Who's foolish enough to cross the Queen of Albion?" She joked, a seeming failed attempt to lighten the mood.

"The only person who has the resources to do so." He sighed, kicking at the moist dirt between his feet.

"Logan," She lightly smacked his face, surprising him as he looked down at her with a quizzical expression. "I promise you, I can take care of myself." She offered him a sincere smile, and he did his best to return it, although he wasn't wholeheartedly convinced. She was a stubborn young lass with bullheadedness to match his own, and no matter of arguing with her would ever change it. He would simply have to wait out the storm, not to mention, guard over it.

"It's not that I don't believe that you can. I just worry. I mean, you're a beautiful, blossoming young woman, and Reaver is a well known deviant an-" Logan was cut off by Seraphina placing her hand up, guarding her face as it turned a blushing red.

"Oh by Avo, Logan, no. We're not going there." She shook her head vigorously. "Reaver will flirt with, dance with, and breed with anything that moves. If you think I'm unique to that situation, you're out of your mind." She laughed in spite of herself.

"I don't deny what you say, but there's something different about you to him." Reaver's words echoed in Logan's mind as they had many times before. Seraphina gave a chortle of laughter again.

"Perhaps that I rule a kingdom? That I am the only female in the continent with any manner of power to match and overthrow his own? I have no doubt that he'd take great pride in saying that he tamed the shrew that is the great leader of Albion, but it will remain a fantasy and nothing more. When you're a Queen, you get used to the sleazy advances of people who long for a taste of power." As she finished her sentence, Logan shot her a questioning look, and it donned upon her exactly who she was talking to. "Oh, yeah... That's right." She paused, suppressing laughter. "Then you know exactly what I mean."

"I suppose you're right." He shook his head at her distasteful jokes, concealing a small smile. "Still, I don't like any matter of this situation."

"Don't worry about it, Logan. I will deal with it, and soon all of this will be over." She placed her hand to her chin, recalling her previous conversation with Reaver. "But that does remind me, I have a sort of odd question for you." Logan raised his eyebrows at her in response. "Just how far back do you recall Reaver at the castle?"

"I suppose I remember him most from around the time of my coronation, but..." He arched his brow, his face scrunched in deep thought. "It is entirely possible that he was around before then. I've never much thought about it before now. Until I was sworn in, I never much paid attention to those who attended court. Father always kept me away from the nobility of Albion. Why would you ask such a peculiar question?"

"He's been making some strange commentary lately. Commentary that insinuates that he remembers us as children, and was even around for longer than that. I guess it could just be nothing, but I thought it was worth looking into." She hesitated before speaking again. "He told me a story from when I was young that he claimed to have witnessed. Something about my ballroom lessons and dancing with me as child. I suppose it could be utter nonsense."

A small spark lit in Logan's eyes. "Wait... I recall something like that." He closed his eyes, doing his best to recount it. "I was speaking with father in his study when your dance instructor entered in a flurry with Reaver in tow." He placed his knuckles to his temples.

"Brave man, he must've been. Who would have thought from a dance instructor." She thought back on Reaver's trigger happy tendencies.

"Reaver didn't become quite so openly amoral until he took over industry. He wasn't exactly in a place to be, as he wasn't above the law until he owned a large chunk of it." Logan regretfully stirred back on his mistake. "I was quite young when it happened, but I do remember the two bickering. Father did nothing but laugh it off and make a comment about the petty squabbles of nobility before sending them off, but that's all I truly remember."

"There's one more thing." Her voice grew quiet. "He claimed to be an associate of mother... The Hero Queen Sparrow."

Logan shook his head firmly. "No, no I don't believe that. Not only would she_ never _have associated with a man of Reaver's 'caliber', but to have known mother in her glory days, that would make him at the very least as old as she would have been, and it's impossible that he's more than 10 years older than myself with his particular aestetics." He pondered the equation for a moment.

"That's exactly why I needed to ask you. The things he says, the things he knows..." She stopped herself. "Do you remember how old he looked when he came into the study?"

Logan looked toward the ground and then back up at her again. "If I recall correctly, exacly the same. But I was nothing more than a child, my memory could be off." He shook his head again. "I don't believe any of this. This has to be one of his tricks. Even if what he says is true, and he truly did know our mother, than it would be documented somehow. All of her journeys as Hero were, either through witness accounts, a poetic edda, or even her own journals. If he is truly telling the truth, there will be evidence of it. Unfortunately I'm not sure where her personal accounts were sent after her passing. I'm sure there's still a few in the castle, and others have probably landed in the Brightwall Academy or other benefactors of learning." He rubbed his temples. "I'm sure it's all a lie, as it usually is with him, but I guess it could be worth looking into. You would do well to check with the castle librarian. He has an account on any book that has ever graced the shelves of the royal library."

Seraphina nodded, making a mental note to make a trip to the library quarters when she returned home.

"There has always been something off about him, but I suppose I've never thought too deeply into it. I couldn't, seeing as I put the man in charge. But this... this is deeper than I imagined." He was interrupted by a large drop of rain hitting him square in the face. It had been drizzling lightly since the couple had stepped outside, but it seemed the storm was stirring and beginning to break. The black sky thundered above them, a premonition of the coming tempest. "We had best be heading back in. It won't be long before this storm breaks and Reaver sends a squadron of his minions to search for us."

Seraphina nodded again, taking his arm in hers as he escorted her back to the manor. Logan didn't quite appear to be as shifty eyed as he was before, but his sense of suspicion hadn't entirely worn off as he would stare down any servant unfortunate enough to cross his path. She rolled her eyes, punching him lightly in the arm as he scared off a squeamish young gardener.

The pair made their way silently back into the parlor of the estate only to find Reaver waiting patiently for them. A look of intense dismay came over Logan's face and Seraphina shifted nervously as he strolled casually over toward them.

"Ah yes, have we quite finished our little adventure?" Reaver's voice was pleasant as he smiled cheerfully at the siblings. Logan nodded stiffly in return, subconsciously tugging his sister in the opposite direction, cautious of Reaver's overly cheerful demeanor. "Splendid, absolutely splendid. However, I have some unfortunate news for our Queen." He turned toward Seraphina. "It seems that the oncoming storm has spooked your steed. In his fit of rage, he managed to injure himself. It appears that you will not be traveling anywhere tonight." He ended his sentence with a foreboding smile.

"Injured himself? Is he alright?" Her thoughts turned toward the black stallion she had used for her journey. He was a strong and capable mount, and the horsemaster would be none too pleased if she had wounded him on her first ride with him, especially if he wasn't even in her care at the time.

"Oh yes, he's quite alright. A rather menial affliction, nothing but a sprained fetlock. Yet it will keep him off his hooves for the rest of the week none the less." He dismissed her concern casually.

"Well I trust you have a spare mount I could use for the journey home?" Her voice was stern again.

"I'm afraid not, my dear. Storms seem to have terrible effects on animals, you see, and my stock is quite unnerved right now. None of them shall do you any good on this particular night." His smile creeped even wider.

"It's fine. The journey back to Bowerstone Castle isn't a horribly long walk. I can manage." She stood her ground, staring down Reaver. Thunder cracked sinisterly outside the walls, sending a flash of bright light throughout the halls.

"Oh, absolutely not! This storm is shaping to be an absolute downpour. I simply cannot allow the Queen to be prouncing about in it. It's simply not safe." He stared her down through his amber eyes, sending a chill down her spine and disapating her willpower. Logan seemed to catch wind of this, and stepped in.

"She will be staying in my chambers." Logan's voice was firm and unbridled.

"Oh, nonsense!" Reaver waved away the notion. "I believe that it is traditional for the Queen of Albion to have the finest room in the house. I assure you that she shall be very well taken care of." He turned his unyielding stare to Logan and the two bore into each other with intensity so feverent it could be felt throughout the manner. Logan was radiating hatred, and seemed to be bordering on battle stance. It was Reaver who finally broke the tension, chuckling playfully although a slight malevolent edge could be heard as well.

"I assure you, I can be a rather accomadating host. You have nothing to fear, my friends."


	14. Noir

_'Closer, My Darling'_

_** Authors Note: Sorry this chapter took ridiculously long. I actually had to go out, purchase Fable II and re-beat it to do some preemptive research for future chapters. That in itself took a little while, not to mention I spent 600 years flirting with Reaver in "Reaver's Rear Passage" (pun may or may not be intended). I realize that reading a story that seriously neglects climax can be a total mood killer. I'm not writing a novel here, but some people enjoy the wait as much as I do. I guess I'll leave it up to you. Leave your thoughts in the review box, because I always take them into consideration (Exception being any sort of battle scene, as it will be a while, since Logan is safely tucked away right now, although I could throw in a bandit altercation or two...). Long authors notes are becoming my trademark because much like Reaver, I apparently like the sound of my own voice, so I might as well throw in that I'm trying to make Logan and the Queen's interactions a little more.. sibling-like, and less formal. I just don't want it to come off as poor or lazy writing. (I WILL BE GOING BACK AND CHANGING REAVER'S AGE TO AROUND 32 INSTEAD OF 22/26. (I've been spending way too much time around kids in their 20's and it's way too immature for how I picture Reaver. He doesn't look that boyish.)**_

_**(Doc uploader went apeshit again, made everything in italics, and messed a whole lot of other shit up. Just ignore it for now. I'm working on fixing it.)**_

_'I've got your knife inside my back, I've got your rope around my neck_

_I feel your poison in my veins, corrode and eat away my days'_

The violent storm raged outside, and the sound of the tumultuous wind echoed through the halls of the darkened estate. Heavy rain pounded relentlessly against the windows of the study, the occasional rumble of thunder reverberated off the glass paneling as if threatening to shatter it. The candle lit chamber seemed even more ominous with the elongated dark shadows playing sinisterly to the flickering flames and the blackened sky just barely visible through the drapes.

The demeanor of the dysfunctional trio seemed to mirror the conditions outside, with the exception of Reaver who seemed to be in rather high spirits. He perched cheerfully with one leg extended over the other upon the tawny divan that sat closest to the entryway. He fingered his extravagant cane with his hand while sending the occasional taunting smile at Logan who stood stiffly with his arms crossed by the fireplace before him, seemingly ignoring his provocation. Seraphina carefully watched Logan's facial expressions, waiting for his patience to collapse and for him to openly attack Reaver, if only to break the palpable silence.

The triad had been sitting in a tenuous reserve ever since Reaver had suggested they adjourn back to the study. Neither of the siblings had the energy or prior idea to argue, so instead they had followed his instruction and made themselves as comfortable as possible given the present situation. Yet no one seemed to have any conversation that could take place in front of the group as a whole, although plenty to say to each other individually without the nuisance of prying ears. This wholly extended to Reaver who sat thinking of which of the little wolves from the dyad pack he would separate first, although he only had particular interest in one. '_There are many different routes to the same destination, yet some are far more gratifying than others'_ He often told himself.

Seraphina herself was growing weary with the silence. The wind whipped branches scratching against the window and the cackling of the fireplace seemed to be her only audible company. Reaver seemed completely entranced with sending her brother jeering facial expressions, and Logan seemed hellbent on completely ignoring him to the point of tuning out absolutely everything while staring broodingly down at the slate embroidered rug beneath his feet. Seraphina tapped her heels impatiently, flickering her glances between Logan and Reaver and waiting for one of them to strike a conversation. This was bound to be a very long, very awkward night.

Surprisingly, it was Logan who broke the silence. "I believe that my sister and I are going to make our way to the library." He pushed away from the marbling of the fireplace.

"Oh, absolutely delightful. A trip to the atheneum." Reaver pushed himself off his own recliner, no doubt preparing to accompany them. Logan opened his mouth to say something, but Seraphina saw an opportunity and stopped him.

"It's quite alright, Logan. I believe I'll stay here and keep Lord Reaver company." The words hesitatingly left her mouth, and both Logan and Reaver alike looked toward her with total shock, although Logan's facial expressions were geared more toward concern, while Reaver's seemed pleasantly surprised as a sly smile came across his features.

It was several moments before Logan could bring himself to speak. "Sera, might I have a word with you?" He turned icily toward Reaver. "In _private?_" Reaver threw his hands innocently into the air, although failing miserably at hiding the smugly triumphant expression on his face. Seraphina nodded, and was no sooner yanked harshly through the door which was promptly shut by Logan's free hand. A high pitched chortle could be heard through the wood, though the siblings did their best to ignore it.

"What in _Avo's name_ do you think you're _doing?_" He hissed, attempting to keep his voice down.

"Logan, if he accompanies us to the library, you'll never find what you're looking for." She placed her hands defiantly on her hips.

"I wasn't aware I had a task." He frowned, awaiting whatever misguided scheme she was dreaming up

"You do now. I'd be willing to bet that somewhere in that library is more on the information that we discussed earlier." She lowered her voice. "If what he said has any spark of truth to it, there should be at least _one_ account of it in a book in that room. I'll keep his attention here, leaving you free to look without being scrutinized."

"I don't approve of this. Not in the slightest." He crossed his arms, his voice resembling what a fathers' might sound like. "I lock myself in the library constantly without his incessant company. I could simply do this later."

"Not for long. I'm going to subtly prod him on it tonight, but if he picks up on it, I don't know how many existing accounts will still be there afterward, assuming he wants this to remain a mystery. You need to get to them before he has them disposed of or hidden." She whispered.

"Is 'subtly' the keyword here? Because nothing you do is subtle." He arched his brow at her disapprovingly.

"Oh, and yanking me through the doorway like we have something to hide won't arouse his suspicions?" She crossed her arms and leaned forward defensively.

"We _are _hiding something!" His voice raised ever so slightly forming a raspy whisper as he threw his hands up in the air.

"Get out of here. Go! Get a move on!" She gave him a harsh shove down the hallway.

"The library is the other way, Seraphina." He turned on his heel and began walking the opposite direction boorishly, shaking his head at her. "I don't like this, not in the slightest, and for the record, I don't approve." He shook his head. "But you're an adult, and I'm trusting you to hold your ground while I'm gone and do your best to put him _in _the ground if something should happen. Don't disappoint me."

"Aye aye, Captain." She faked a solute in his direction. "I've bested a bandit king, fought off legions of hollowmen in Mourning Wood and led a revolution, but this'll be the one that gives me trouble. Your insight prowess is astounding." Her tone was reminiscent of the ones she had during childish qualms they used to get into as young siblings. He only rolled his eyes and gave her a stern look as he always did before continuing to tread the hallway until he was enveloped in the darkness.

Seraphina took a moment before re-entering Reaver's study, taking a brief few seconds to think of a tactful way to pry into Reaver's past. Logan's words held truth to them, she wasn't exactly subtle by any account. She did her best to keep a formal demeanor most times, but that didn't seem to do much to dull the side of her personality that absolutely detested skirting around the matter at hand. Tact had never been one of her strong suits. She relied on people like Page and Walter for matters like that, and with Walter gone and Page skulking around Bowerstone Sewers somewhere, she was on her own.

For a moment, she debated just outright asking him. Nothing ever seemed to actually anger him. He saw her insults and threats as mere child play, and never seemed to take them for anything more than a light chuckle. She couldn't even really picture him livid, so what was there to lose? Reaver was an egotistical narcissist, and never seemed more at home than when the subject was focused upon himself. If he had truly not wanted her to ask, why would he have mentioned it in the first place? Yet again, shortly after he brought up the subject, he quickly changed it. She concluded that it was a mere game to him, and games had to be played tactfully. He enjoyed getting into her head, so she would have to change the locks.

It surprised her just how little she knew about the man, although she had never technically thought on it much before. He had been around as far back as she could remember, but she never really thought much of him either until he became a hindrance in her way. She knew little of his business antics or anything that went on outside the castle walls until she made her escape that night with Walter and Jasper. Even knowing what she did now, it took her aback to realize quite how shrouded in mystery the tycoon was. No one seemed to know a damned thing about him except for that which was blatantly obvious. Getting into his head could prove difficult, or rather simple. She wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but there was only one way she could find out.

She slowly crept her fingers around the cool metal of the doorknob, hesitating slightly before pushing the heavy door back open. A burst of warmth from the fireplace hit her face as she looked into the room. She found Reaver standing in the exact same place he had been when she had stepped out, the flickering flames danced on the weathered wood inside the stone pit, casting exaggerating shadows across the room and his already darkened eyelids, giving him the impression that he was even more imposing than he already was. She flickered her eyes up at him and found his amber eyes were locked on hers in a strange and unreadable sort of stare. It sent an unfamiliar malicious shiver down her spine as she quickly looked away.

"Seems darker in here than it was before." She did her best to keep her voice calm, suppressing the oncoming anxiety that was flooding her system. Between the ominous surroundings, the conflict of tactical versus practical reeling in her head, and the mysterious, homicidal business man before her, this was definitely shaping to be more stressful than she had prepared for, and she had been prepared for a strenuous task.

"Yes, it seems that the candles have burnt out whist you and Logan took your small hiatus." There was a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Did they now? How very convenient." She purposefully turned from him to shut the door, avoiding his penetrating stare. He once again skirted the subject.

"It absolutely astounds me just how little someone's demeanor can change through the years. You've gone from child, to princess, to queen and yet when in the presence of those fortunate enough to invoke your comfort, you still act quite casual, and I use casual in the _loosest_ form of the word. Yet, for whatever reason, you still attempt to portray the ceremonial and formal Queen to everyone else." She could practically feel his smirk radiating. "The_ facade_ is broken, my dear. Although it was a worthy bravado_."_

She turned to face him once again, leaning casually against the doorway and meeting his glower once again. "I found nothing particularly odd with my commentary."

He let out a small chuckle. "I was more referring to your banter with your sibling."

Even in the warmth of the room, Seraphina could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, an overwhelming blush overtaking her features. She was now slightly grateful that the lights had been dulled, gods damn her if Reaver were to see it. "You heard that did you?" She bit her lip, cursing her lack of forethought.

"You seem to underestimate my hearing. Being as uniquely talented an individual as I am, I find that acute hearing comes in handy in many situations." His grin deepened. "Although if it's any small consolation, any other person might not have heard you."

"Of course. Of course you did." She grunted, bringing her fingers to her temples again as she paced toward the fireplace, eventually taking root where her brother had stood before her.

"Oh, don't stress yourself, _ma petite_. It pains me so to look upon such a pretty little face with such a terribly strained expression." Something sparked in his expression. "After all, it's not your fault. Your mother should have warned you about all of my particular talents. _All_ of them." His voice was unbearably arrogant.

"You know nothing of my mother, Reaver." She paused for a moment, deciding to take a chance. "Or do you?"

Reaver let out a vicious cackle, obviously amused at her ill disguised attempt. "Oh, my dear girl." He took several large, slow strides toward her, still allowing a few chuckles to pass. "I must admit that it charms me to see you claw your way through the tides of time searching for such things, although I regret to inform you that your brother shall find no such validation in my library. I'm afraid you have chosen to spend the remainder of your night in my company with little to show for your ulterior efforts." His words echoed with a dark underlying tone.

"Logan is bound to realize that sooner or later. He'll be back." As the words escaped her mouth, she wondered who she was actually attempting to convince.

"I wouldn't count on it." His words were simple, yet terrifying.

"Yeah? And why is that? You overheard our conversation, you know he thinks I'm absolutely mad. He'll be back to check on me." She crossed her arms.

"Check on you? Or check on _me_?" He gave her a small simper. "Either way, our young prince seemed so terribly tired when he left, did he not? He has no doubt had trouble sleeping, although I'm entirely sure that I can rectify the problem."

"Reaver, if you harm one hair on his head, I'll pluck your damned eyes out with my bare hands." She grabbed the color of his frilled shirt with one hand, glowering up at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. I was simply seeking to help an old friend with his insomnia and restless nights." The feigned innocence in his voice was far overshadowed by something darker. "I'm sure we can put the time to good use and get to know each other better." He entwined his cold, gloved hand around hers which was still wrapped up in his shirt and looked down on her once again. His golden eyes glistened and danced sinisterly in the fire light, peering into her and gazing into her very being. It was as if she was caught in a gravitational beam that refused to relinquish her. She could feel her heart beat quicken as he narrowed his eyes on hers, and the tenuous grip she held on his shirt started to weaken. Several moments passed before she was able to shake herself from his auriferous fixation.

"Don't _do_ that!" She shoved him away from her, but his strength seemed like that of a boulder compared to hers.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, darling." He offered her a virginal smile.

"That damned stare of yours. It shuddersome and it creeps me out." She pushed herself closer to the wall and looked away from him.

"Shuddersome? I say, I've heard my attentions described as many things from the fairer sex, yet never shuddersome. Although I suppose I could expect no less from a girl who courted that light hearted and tedious noble boy some years back and never again since. What was his name? I cannot seem to recall." He spat out the words 'light hearted' as if it was an affront.

She felt a sharp pain in her stomach like the ones that happened when she thought of Walter. The intense feeling of loss and guilt overtook her, and she felt her entire body weighed down by it. "Elliott. His name was Elliott. And you'll never speak of him again." Her glance met the floor, afraid that if she looked up to meet his accusing stare, he might catch wind of her shame.

"Ah, young love. One never quite recovers from the prospect. Such a frivolous loss, what transpired that day. I dare say, I never could have forgiven Logan for that, yet here we are in this very situation! Who knows what that childish courtship could have blossomed into? Perhaps he could have sat by your side as King and you'd have crying, leaching little mites of your own. Yet it seems that here you are, alone in only my company in this most lavish of estates. Oh, what a _terrible_ fate has befallen you." His sarcasm was palpable.

"It wasn't like_ that_ with Elliott." She said defensively, protecting the memories in her mind. "I mean... He wanted it to be, but I never saw him like that. He was my best friend, and we were young. His loss taught me that love is nothing but a liability."

"And who could blame you? He was nothing but a mere boy, incapable of defending himself, and so terribly naive. For a warrioress such as yourself, you would need a mate with equal skill." He pronounced his last words carefully.

"It wasn't his fault. It was my decision, and I chose the people. It was what he wanted." She let out a sigh, swallowing the pain clawing its way up her throat.

"So young and foolish. Doesn't anybody learn that in the end, all we have is ourselves? To sacrifice one's vitality and youth so freely is beyond me, especially for the sake of rabble." He spoke distastefully. "Oh well, nothing can be done now. You would do well to remove your gaze from the past and look at what is placed before you, little _Seraphina_."

She was taken back when she heard him say her name. He purred it into her ear, exaggerating every syllable in some foreign accent. Reaver had never spoken her name before. He was always calling her those ridiculous pet names like 'dear', 'darling', and 'my Queen'. Something in the way he spoke it was unlike anything she had ever quite heard. Over the course of her life, her name had been stated many times by many people. Loudly, proudly, angrily, scoldingly, and even lovingly, yet never quite like this. Something in his voice was a little too intimate and husky. It was a strange sensation.

The color rose to her cheeks again and should she have pushed any harder against the wall, she might well have molded into it. Reaver seemed to take delight from her discomfort, his mind endlessly taking mental notes of her behavior. Her words from earlier rang true, and as she had grown to feel that love itself was nothing but a liability, she had paid little attention to the oncomings of unwelcome advances paid to her by people who saw themselves as her potential suitors. Reaver's however were becoming increasingly harder to ignore. She felt especially uncomfortable in the situation because she had little knowledge on how to deflect them, and instead was stuck simply turning herself from them and ignoring the odd feelings they gave her. Even she was aware that this wouldn't work for long.

"You shouldn't waste your precious time planning these things out." He spoke, as if reading her mind. His voice was quiet and smooth. "You really must learn to live in the moment, or you'll be stuck as what you are forever."

"And what am I, Reaver? A monarch? Leader of a nation? Daughter of a Hero Queen? A savior? In which one of those titles will I be stuck?" She sneered.

"Trapped, my dear. Surrounded by people who leech off of your successes and fame. Living day to day for everyone else but yourself. A tigress caged inside castle walls longing for the freedom of the open road. Your mother was a gypsy, and her blood courses through your veins. It was that longing for freedom that eventually took her to an early grave, and it shall take yours too, make no mistake. Your mother was never more radiant and alive than when she held a gun in one hand and a sword in the other, and that same triumph permeates within you as well." He gently caressed her cheek. "You will become a dulled inferno amongst candles until you eventually extinguish. Such a pity."

She tried to deny what he spoke, but deep down she knew the truth of it. Life at the castle had become monotonous, and despite the fact that she was an accomplished fighter, everyone treated her as if she was a porcelain doll. She had no freedom, no time to herself, and certainly had taken no adventures since her first sitting on the throne. Her road to the throne had been long, treacherous and adventurous, and she had gotten so caught up in the journey that she had neglected to prepare for the destination.

"There you go, talking about my mother again." She shifted uncomfortably. "Why is it that you know more about her than I do? How is that possible?" There was a hint of jealousy in her voice.

"All in due time, my dear. I have no doubt that a persistent little one such as yourself shall indeed find the answers you seek, no matter where they might lie. Yet I grow restless of all this formality and I am far past due for my nightcap." He turned his head to face the door. "Barry, if you please?"

It was only seconds before the hobbling butler made his way into the room, struggling with a large bottle of wine and two glasses, seemingly focused on not dropping anything, which appeared to be rather tough. He made his way toward the desk in the back of the room, carefully placing the wine bottle and glasses consecutively. Seeming rather pleased with himself, he turned toward Reaver and gave him what she imagined was supposed to be a sly smile. Seraphina suddenly felt very self conscious of the closeness in proximity that Reaver was to her. "Is thew anything else I can do, Masta Weava?"

"Indeed not, Barry. You are free to retire to your pit now. Rest assured I shall call upon you otherwise." Reaver waved him off. Barry gave a low, lopsided bow and exited with a sinister crack on his face. Reaver proceeded to mosey over toward the desk, pouring two generous glasses. He motioned one toward her, offering it up as he took a deep swig from his own.

"Oh no, not this time. I know how you operate, you sly bastard." She shook her head vigorously.

"Well, if that's true, then you shall certainly know how to avoid a repeat fumble like last time. I assure you, I'm not relinquishing my nightly drink for the likes of you, so rest assured that I shall be taking in equal consumption." He chuckled darkly. "Besides, the night is young, and I know you're quite the night prowler. Drinking alone can be quite the sour experience."

She hesitated a moment before speaking, looking at the wine with unmistakable longing. "Fine, but one slip up on your part, and I'll decorate this wall with your sinews." She treaded carefully toward the table, her glare never leaving him.

"Yes, yes, as I've been told many times before. Yet, seeing as you're going to be here a while, I figure that you might as well get comfortable. I myself always found that it's much easier to get comfortable with this particular nectar." He took another deep swig before placing his chalice on the table and promptly removing his ivory coat, carefully strewing at across the back of the chair placed behind the oak desk. It gave her a rather peculiar feeling to see him without his trademark coat across his shoulders. He suddenly looked much more naked even though he was still very much clothed with his earth colored vest and ebony business shirt. It was as if an entire layer of him had been stripped.

"What are you staring at? My, if I would have known that it only took a single layer of clothing removal to arouse your interest, I might have done this sooner." He prodded her playfully.

"Oh, sod off. It's just odd, that's all." She rolled her eyes.

"Well, feel absolutely free to remove your jacket as well. Although, seeing as you don't have one, you should feel free to remove your top. I doubt it shall disturb anyone, present company included, of course." He flashed her a mischievous grin.

"Oh dear Avo." She smacked her palm to her forehead. "Haven't even taken a sip yet and off you go like a damn race chicken." She picked up the chalice and took a few suspicious sips.

"Oh my dear Sera, you must learn to _carpe diem_." He took another deep swallow of his glass, staring at her challengingly.

"I'll seize your damn neck is what I'll seize." She ponied up to the challenge, taking a small swallow of her own.

"Even_ better_." Reaver gave her a suggestive look.

"This is going to be a long bloody night." Seraphina took her glass and swallowed heavily.


	15. Authors Note (continue soon)

Authors Note:

I am so, so sorry guys. School and all the paper work and tests have been an absolute menace. I promise I'll update as soon as I can. I have the chapter halfway done, it's just a matter of finishing it and reviewing the finer points. I liked to pride myself on my fast updating, but unfortunately, I've let you all down lately. I would just like to apologize and let you all know that it's a work in progress. I think about it a lot and will hopefully be reviewing soon. Thank you all for the support.


End file.
