Young Writers Society

Two hundred and fifty cannons fire all at once within the span of three seconds, creating a symphony of overwhelming crackling, booming, and hissing as cannon balls are propelled from their cozy barrels. Each cannon ball peels away like an orange, thousands of hyperiron pellets swarming from the thin hypertin coating that once held them in place. Each pellet finds a way to burrow into the side of the Aerial Investigator, shredding through wood, shattering glass, denting hypermetals, and tearing the fabrics of sails, shaders, and burlap maps hanging from ropes and pulleys along the eastern wall of the upper cabin.

In short, the impact nearly tipped the Investigator upside-down midair.

Evora shrieks as she is thrown to the side, landing on her shoulder harshly as she rolls, head slamming against the deck. I fall back onto the wicker tea table, the worthless piece of furniture not hesitating to topple back on top of me, in turn. Boiling hot tea and coffee splash onto me, seeming to especially target my face and neck, where the skin is exposed. I grit my teeth to keep from howling out in pain, my cyberpatches humming angrily at the stress.

"Ms. Ayers, brace!" I hear Evora croak weakly as I kick the table off of me, wiping dark liquid from my eyes. I get a quick look at her crumpled form as the inventor struggles to crawl to a secondary mast, wrapping her arms around the hypersteel-lined wooden post like her life depended on it.

Ah. Brace.

As if on cue, the air is spiked with electricity as Liviachi powers up her cannons once more. The quickness with which she reloads the guns tells me that this time, the bullets won't be metal and gunpowder. This time, they will be pure Luminexian power.

"Cover your skin!" I scream as I roll over onto my hands and knees, launching myself up as I sprint to the burlap tarp tied up above the door to the cabin. I leap, snatching at the fabric, tearing it down from its weak ties. As I run back to the inventor, who is frantically pulling at her aerial travel coat in an attempt to cover her face, I wrap the tarp around me.

I jump onto Evora as the next wave of fire hits, cradling her tightly to my chest, pulling the tarp over us as molten violet light showers us. I hear the wooden deck sizzle as the Rune's command does its work, ordering the energy to stick in semi-liquid form and eat away at whatever it happens to land on. Within seconds, the tarp looks as if it’s been in an attic for decades, eaten away by radioactive moths.

Gripping Evora's hand in my own, I drag her to the cabin doors as the eerie whine of the Signature Rune-powered cannons echoes loudly in the gusting wind, the sound mechanical and sinister. The tremendous clanking and clicking that mixes in with the metallic wail of the energy tells me that Liviachi's crew is loading the cannons with cannonballs again, only this time...

"She's infusing energy with the cannonballs. We need to get below deck; as far to the western side as we can manage," I shout over the screeching of the charging guns.

The inventor only nods, her mouth opening and closing uselessly as if she's searching for something to say, but turning up empty. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, focusing more on slamming the double doors of the cabin closed behind us, latching them securely before beginning the long run down the confusing corridors.

I let Evora lead the way; it seems she's already gathered in her mind that the best course of action would be to find the biter, pray he has the Dock Master with him, and make our way to the western-most side of the vessel. Hopefully the energy-charged shots won't tear their way straight through one side of the ship and out the other, effectively killing us. The poor Investigator is already liable to simply keel over and plummet to the ground, belly-up and everything.

I lose track of how many turns we've taken, my eyes locked in Evora's crookedly-cut black hair as we run, my body mindlessly following hers as the sputtering lights of the gas-powered mounted candles hypnotize my frazzled brain.

"Crackers!! I thought you said you had things under control, mum!"

Snapping out of my trance, I blink a few times, my eyes seeking out the source of the small voice. The biter. "Are you alright?" I ask numbly, struggling to refresh my brain. It must be the shock of the impact settling in--perhaps even the after-effects of energetic residue on my skin--but I cannot bring myself to think straight. And did the kid just call me... mum? Heavens, I truly hope not.

"Well enough," the biter shrugs, grinning as he scratches at his left ear furiously. Glancing over to Evora, who is giving him the Glare of Death, it seems, the kid's smile falters. "So you didn't have it under control after all?"

"She was fishing for something," the inventor growls, pushing past the kid to look into the room from which he had emerged. "Where is Corvailia?"

"Who?" The biter and I both ask; I have to give him credit for riding on the same mental track as me.

Evora flinches, irritated. "The 'Dock Master'. Where is she?"

"Oh!" The biter laughs, waving his hand theatrically as he doubles over in exaggerated laughter. "Ha! Hadn't the foggiest clue what you were going on about for a second there. She mumbled something about the privy before wandering off. I ain't so dumb as to want to ask after a woman and her chamber pot, so I let her go."

"Aether!" Evora shrieks suddenly, exasperated as she runs her fingers through her short hair, gripping the strands tightly in agonized agitation. "Bloody Hell!"

"Aether?" I ask, incredulous, looking between the kid and the inventor even as the biter swallows thickly, smiling nervously.

"Yes?"

"Ms. Ayers, one moment, if you'd be so kind; I'm sure I can give your questions my full attention after I've properly dealt with this child monstrosity," Evora bats my query out of the air with a dismissive gesture, hands moving to rest on her hips as she glares down at the biter. "What did I ask of you?"

"Watch the red-head?" The kid smiles meekly, scratching at his ear all the more fervently. "What was I supposed to do, follow her to the bathroom?"

An animal-like growl rumbles from within Evora's throat as her eyes widen. "She. Was. Lying! Damn it to Hell and back!" Whipping around, the inventor points at me--no, not me, but someone just behind me--and screams. "You! Gather up the security team and form a search party for Corvailia."

The poor deckhand--some dirty-blond kid about nineteen years of age, dressed in dirty overalls and a blue plaid undershirt--begins to protest, but wisely thinks better of it and scurries off to find help with his task.

I'm left wondering how that illiterate grease monkey knew who 'Corvailia' was when even I wasn't completely sure. It surely wasn't the name she originally gave me--I think she had given me the name Elayn, or maybe Iliir--which raised eyebrows and joisted red flags instantly.

"Um," I falter, quite sure I had a proper paragraph formed in my mind just moment before, ready to be developed into speech. The inventor glances at me, her stern expression warming slightly.

"Ah, yes. Ms. Ayers, I beg you do not alarm yourself, but this child and I are in cahoots."

Cahoots. Count on Evora to use words I haven't heard since I was learning my letters and wading through addition and subtraction. "I could have assumed as much," I say, cautious of how easily the inventor says this. As if it were the least of her problems. Our problems. My problems.

"I know you are aware of the fact we once knew each other; it's a fact we made obvious."

"Yes, from Firaiga," I nod, my gut clenching as that foreboding dread starts to churn my stomach. I am suddenly aware of a noise--or rather, a lack thereof--and lunge forward, knocking the biter and the inventor to the floor as a deafening chorus of explosions releases a hailstorm of energy-infused cannonballs. The metal rams the vessel, and the groan of strained wood and tortured hypermetal frames makes me fear for the worst.

All of my Royal Elite training kicks in, my mind ablaze with calculations and planning. Liviachi won't hesitate to shoot the Investigator right out of the sky, even if the action is parallel to declaring war on the King and his Territory. She really wants me dead, then.

Glancing up as the hailstorm of pellets subsides, I see hundreds of splintery holes in both sides of the corridor walls, doors nearly blown of their hinges, gas-lit candles broken, their exposed pipes beaten and bruised to the point of cracks.

I don't know which is more unnerving; the fact that gas was now leaking from thousands of feet of pipe, or the fact that Liviachi had fired three rounds from each of her two-hundred and fifty cannons in less than five minutes. Even for a DL as powerful as Liviachi, she shouldn't be able to accumulate that much power and expel it so quickly.

There's something else off about this situation, too, aside from a Luminex attacking us without much warning and a Hell of a lot less provocation. Thinking back on her past patterns, I can easily visualize her wanting me six feet under, so to speak. However... she is not usually so openly brutal. Liviachi is a woman who takes pride in her ability to kill silently and stealthily, usually by tearing a person down mentally and emotionally until they finish the job themselves.

But this... this is violent, even for that DL cur. Unfortunately, my gut and logical sense are both telling me the same thing: This feels like Nightengayl. I thought I'd killed him, too. "Evora, I do hope we can finish this conversation soon, but for now we really need to get to an escape vessel, preferably one docked on the lower western side of the ship." Lifting myself from both squirming boy and blushing inventor, I look around once more, listening for the tell-tale whine of charging Signature Rune cannons.

As soon as I hear the symphony of wails, I push myself up onto my feet, hauling the biter and Evora up after me. "Of course, of course," the inventor sighs, dazed. Turning a full three-hundred and sixty degrees around, she finally begins walking in the same direction she had been facing before. I bite back irritation, following her slow pace, shoving broken doors open as we move down the corridor so that I might check for anyone trapped or hiding.

I have to hand it to the Dock Master--the job title seems more fitting, and likely far more truthful than any other name she might have given a person at any given time--for slipping her devious intent by me. I don't know what she's up to, or who she's working for, but at least I know there's one less ditzy woman on this forsaken planet. Too many perfume-soaked noodles waddling about dressed as ladies of nobility, if you ask me.

"I remember the blueprints for this one," the biter calls, jogging just ahead of Evora. "There are armored landing drones--four of them, I think--docked in the underbelly. Surely Theta's cannon fire couldn't have damaged them from there?" He smiles at us, only to have it wiped off by my confused expression and Evora's second deathly glare in less than an hour.

"Theta?" I inquire, feeling more lost than I did before I even knew my Lady was still alive. And that's really saying something; you've no idea how difficult it is to make a life for yourself when all you've done since you were an ankle-biter was serve your Queen.

"I meant Liviachi; sorry, my thoughts have been thoroughly derailed, what with the prospect of falling to our deaths sitting firmly on the horizon." The kid grins, scratching his ear before banking right, slamming a door open, and half-running, half-falling down a set of stairs.

The three of us jog down those dark steps for quite some time, choking on the slowly-building amounts of gas in the air, tripping over chunks of metal frames and splinters of wood. The stairs seem to wind in on themselves for an eternity, and I'm about to question the sanity of the ship's designer aloud when we reach the bottom.

Pushing open the door, the biter yelps. "Crackers!!"

Waving his arms like a lunatic, he falls back onto Evora, who in turn falls back onto me. "What the bloody Hell?!" I curse, gripping the inventor's shoulders to keep from falling on my arse.

"Dear Gods..." Evora breathes, tilting her head to the side so I can see past her head. I gasp. The entire bottom hull of the ship is gone, the wind worming its way into this newfound passage, wreaking havoc on what little is left of the cargo and the bottom of this unfortunate aerial vessel. "She bombed my bloody ship!!"

"How--" I start, but the biter shouts over me, struggling to raise his voice so that he isn't shrieking, but he can be heard at the same time.

"My money's on Corvallia; it's probably why the DL brought that Sentinel hound onboard. She wanted to use his heightened telekinetic abilities to connect to the good Dock Master and feed her instructions."

"Why would the Dock Master take orders from Liviachi?" I ask, feeling rather slow.

The biter grins. "You sure are behind, lady; best to keep up! Corvailia works for Liviachi. She has since just after the fall of Larana."

"My Lady's grandmother?!" Now I am truly and utterly confused, and I'm sure my facial expression reflects that embarrassing fact.

"Do you know another notable Larana? I'd love to meet her," the kid jokes, poking Evora in the ribs. She bats him away, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to think of a Plan B. Me? I'm on Plan W by now.

"I don't suppose the Dock Master had anything to do with Larana's actual disappearance?" I have to be sure. Best to know as much as possible before knocking the teeth from that lying red-head's jaw.

"Quite a few Luminex seem to think so." The biter calls, leaning forward slightly to look down. "Crackers, that's one heck of a fall! I'd hate to been the one to have to jump that."

"Too bad." The inventor shouts before gripping my arm tightly, shoving the kid out of the gaping opening. I scream for him, and then I scream for me as Evora dives, dragging me with her. The inventor has her goggles on over her eyes, the right eye alight with pale blue illumination, Security no doubt feeding her information.

"Shit!" I shriek, legs kicking and arms waving as I fight the wind that slams into my body, forcing my eyes closed as tears form on my lashes, the sheer force of the oncoming bursts of air almost enough to rip my coat from my body. "Shit! I'll kill you!"

"I know, and I apologize!" Evora howls, flashing me a sympathetic grin. "I know you are quite scared of heights, but I assure you, this was the only wa--"

And explosion louder and bigger than I've ever heard or seen blooms violently from the Aerial Investigator, the heat and force of the blast propelling us dangerously faster down, tossing us about like ragdolls. Turning my body so that I'm looking up, I regret my change in position immediately.

The Investigator has officially retired into a mass of falling debris, burning embers flying about as flames are beat into submission by the relentless wind. Broken, charred remains of deckhands are scattered across the sky, the blood burned before it had a chance to descend. Bits of boiled guts and crisped bones splatter on my face and clothes, bile rising up in my throat.

I wiggle and squirm until I am facing downwards once more, letting the inventor pull me and the biter close together, burying my face into her neck until me ear is pressed up against her flesh and I hear her pulse thrumming loudly, rapidly. I breathe her in, the soft scent of lavender tainted with the ghost-scent of cinnamon from my memories.

She's screaming out instructions, and the biter is howling in protest, cursing his childish obscenities as we plummet. However, as the steep cliffs, fresh water lakes, and needy pine forests rush up towards us at an alarming rate, all I can do is lose myself in the intoxicating smell of a time that passed long ago.

*****

Pressing my hip against the cracked door so that it creaks open slowly, the light from the hall seeping into the dark room, I make sure to move as carefully as possible. I'd hate for the tray in my arms to rattle and wake her.

Setting the large platter of breakfast pastries, tea, fruits, and cheeses onto the end table by my Lady's large bed, I glance at her briefly. She never did put on any clothes, and another strained sigh escaped my lips. She has a meeting with two visiting Lords in two hours; it takes her thirty minutes just to get out of bed, another forty to fully wake herself, an hour to eat breakfast--she really is too picky of an eater for her own good--at least fifty minutes to get dressed, and another hour to get her long hair bound up into a presentable style.

Damn it to Hell; I would never get her ready in time, even if I had the maids multitask. Leaning over, I press a gloved hand to her bare shoulder, moving a few steps to the side as her leg lashes out at me angrily. "Leave me be," she grumbles into the pillow, burying her face farther into the warm cushions.

"My Lady, you must prepare yourself for the day," I whisper kindly, giving her another shake as I step back to my original position. Sure enough, an arm pokes out of the sheets in a failed attempt to strike me away. "You have an important meeting with Lord Ambrys and Lord Velor in two hours, my Lady."

"Screw the both of them," she hisses, turning over onto her side so that she is facing me. Her face is contorted into a protesting pout.

"I'm sure they would enjoy that, but neither of them meet my standards." I smile, and after a moment, her sleepy mind registers the joke. Eyes fluttering open, she grins as she chuckles. Her slender hand reaches out for my own, and with a surprising showcase of strength, she yanks me down on top of her.

I think I grunt in shock, but the sound is lost as she wraps her limbs around me, placing a gentle kiss on my neck, nuzzling her face into my short hair. "You truly are wonderful, my lovely Elite." She mumbles lazily, her lips finding my jaw, the lobe of my ear, and the edge of my left eye. I bite down on my lip until it nearly draws blood, eyes slipping closed. What was it that I came in here to do, again...?

Ah. "I thank you, my Lady, but these distractions won't deter me from my job." I grip her wrist as her hand slides down from my shoulder to my waist, stopping her from going any farther. I'm already far too tempted to stay here with her, despite the countless dangers. The King had been behaving so unpredictable as of late, I shudder to think of what he would do to my Lady or myself if he caught us. "You simply must lift yourself from the mattress as swiftly as you are able, my Lady,"

"Maira..." she whines as I prop myself up, effectively tossing myself up and over her bare form and back onto the floor. Brushing my coat off, I tug the sheets away--just enough to slightly chill her and encourage her to get out of bed, but not so much as to make her painfully cold. "Darling, the doctors keep telling me morning exercise is good for my health. Helps me stay perky throughout the day and all that," switching tactics, my Lady grins seductively, lacing her fingers around my wrist once more. I sigh, the words seeming to lag in my mind before I finally realize what, exactly, she was alluding to.

A wide, fiery blush forms on my cheeks as I turn away from her, afraid to let her see how deeply her words affected me. It's beyond physical attraction and the old 'loyalty to the crown' thought process now. I think... no, I know I am in love. "Come now, my Lady," I rasp, exasperated as I watch her roll over, her back to me now. "You're honestly making it harder than it needs to be,"

"Said the actress to the Bishop," she chuckles heavily, yawning.

I bite back a laugh at her crude humor, trying to mold a frown to my face. "Up,"

"Yes, mother," groaning, she lifts her arms, wheezing as she struggles to lift her upper body, waving her hands around frantically as she does so. "Who is it that is supposedly gracing me with their presence?"

"Lord Ambrys and Lord Velor," I recite, careful to maintain the careful pronunciation required for these foreign names. If I can't pronounce it correctly, I might as well retire as my Lady's personal assistant, bodyguard, Elite, and caretaker. Speaking of caretaking... "Eat the limia fruit, my Lady,"

I busy myself opening the double doors to her large walk-in closet; even so, I glance behind me to see her looking wide-eyed and guilty up at me, currently in the process of pushing the limia fruit off her plate and into the trash can. "It is so very bitter, Maira,"

"It's good for your immune system. Heaven knows you have a weak one." I see her eyebrow arc and quickly amend my statement. "Astonishingly intact, considering the high levels of stress and long hours your position as Queen gives you, but poor still the same."

She grumbles something, but reluctantly stuffs the circular pod of egg sack-like fruit into her mouth, shuddering at the taste and texture. "Lord Ambrys... isn't he the one that looks a bit like Dr. Akdel?"

"I wouldn't know, my Lady. They all look like pale feminine girls' dolls to me." I sigh, lifting a pale blue dress with a black lace front and off-the-shoulder sleeves, scrutinizing it, and returning it to the rack. Lord Velor is native to Callian, a nation that was conquered by the Felectian Empire twelve years ago. Feletia's national colors are pale blue and black, so that won't do at all.

"How rude,"

"Yet true,"

My Lady sniffs. "Quite,"

A loud crackling tells me she's found the crisped raspberry tarts, drizzled in lemon crème and dark chocolate. I feel my lip twitch. "Limit yourself,"

"Hmph." grunting, she adjusts herself, pushing the covers aside. Thank goodness; progress. "Lord Velor is so... severe, Maira. He makes a conversation about cloud formations seem as hard and colorless as coal."

"It is a political necessity to maintain relations with Lord Velor, and, by default, Lord Ambrys. The two are very close."

She gasps, astonished. "How close? Dear Gods, with Annair on holiday in the East, I haven't caught hold of a single whiff of gossip."

I visibly shudder at the thought. "Heavens no. Lord Velor is married, and Lord Ambrys is too... fleeting of a soul to settle like that. Remember, they've been close friends since their childhood days."

"Makes you wonder a person's story, doesn't it?" My Lady hums softly, swinging her feet out over the edge of the bed. "Alright, I'm finished. Dress me up."

Out of time, I snatch a pale violet dress with black accents and gold buttons, complete with a high neck and a cut-out back crisscrossed with black silken strings to hold it in place. Crossing the room to my Lady, I take note of how little she'd eaten, exhaling sadly.

She pouts up at me. "I tried, but I simply haven't the appetite. You always bring so much!"

"The better to tempt you with, my dear," I mock, tugging black lace pantyhose up over her feet and up her thighs.

In truth, our nation's Queen hadn't eaten more than a fraction of a pound of food per day for over three years. As a result, she had lost plenty of weight, her body frail and her health feeble.

It was best to give her as many choices as possible, so she might at least choose a lucky pastry, cheese, or fruit to nibble on. She refused milk, eggs, most fruits, plenty of vegetables, and a majority of meats, as well. She had even lost favor with sugar recently, which was extremely alarming.

She stands for me when I tap her knees, and I pull the pantyhose over her hips, adjusting the band quickly. Next come her high-heeled shoes, delicately formed and covered in straps. Believe it or not, it's actually easier to put the heel on before the skirts; otherwise you find yourself wrestling with thirty pounds of frills and ruffles, and that simply won't do.

I think she hums a tune under her breath as I pin her underskirts at her back, pulling the dress itself over her head shortly afterwards. It takes at least five minutes to untangle and tie all of her straps in the back--a bad choice on my part--and even then I have to circle her, flattening wrinkles and adjusting corners. Next comes her black lace shawl, pinned around her shoulders by the Royal crest in the form of a broach.

Finally, her jewelry is put on. That alone takes another fifteen minutes; my Lady has always been fond of her rings, and Heavens, does it show. Silver, gold, brass, and copper rings are slipped onto her finger, each unique in design and accented with an assortment of solid and liquefied hypergems, various expensive metals, and crackled pearls.

Guiding her to her large three-paneled mirror, I begin work on her hair. She's switched tunes at least seven times by now, working on a happy sing-song sort of melody as I brush the tangles out of her dark chocolate locks, smooth the hair down with water and a comb, separate the necessary strands, and begin working on the design of the hairstyle. She chose to wear dangling earrings, so I'd best put her hair up in a bun, let the trails of her long hair run loose in the back, and allow her bangs the freedom to cup her face.

"Julian writes lengthy letters back and forth with Lord Velor," she whispers quietly; in the near-silent room, with my mind so focused on the task of twisting, binding, and pinning her hair, I almost don't hear her. There is even a large part of me that, for just a moment, questions whether or not she spoke at all. Glancing up at the mirror, peering over her shoulder to view her face, I analyze her blank expression carefully.

Lately, my Lady had carried a sort of deadness around with her, as if she had lost her emotions recently and was slowly decaying without them. Part of me wondered if it had anything to do with her family line and the tainted blood that ran through it. If the thick, dusty history volumes in the Royal Library had been at least partially accurate--books recounting events of the past had a tendency to be warped with lies and the preferences of the author--then Demonic Luminex had long been a part of the Divyal line.

In the years before the Church, just after the Storvalia Empire lost control of the Northern and Eastern territories and just before the Fortressian Order was first established, 'humanity' was a rare thing indeed. Mortals, in general, were an endangered species; this was mainly because of impure Demonic Luminexian beings--then known as SigNATURE, pronounced differently than 'signature'; they were called this because of their close ties with nature, their shape-shifting tendencies, and the unique tattoos they were born with--made a point of hunting down mortal souls.

Modern theories support the idea that SigNATURE killed humans because they possessed something they did not--souls. The result of a DL experiment, SigNATURE had been one of forty-nine failed tests at altering Luminexian DNA. They were released still the same, and humanity was nearly taken out entirely. Then again, it could have simply been a petty show of power, these creatures hunting the only beings they were strong enough to beat.

The Divyal line aided the Demonic Luminex in reigning in the SigNATURE and finding a balance amongst DLs, SigNATURE, and mortal souls, turning their backs on the Celestial Luminexian attempts at luring them to their 'holy' side with riches and power. I do believe CLs wanted the SigNATUREs to stick around, finish off humanity, and leave the world solely to its alleged rightful owner: Luminex.

There were many cases of interaction between Divyals and DLs after that, the most infamous of which being the late Queen Larana's mystery mother, who many believed to be the unknown oldest survivor of the Purge. The scandal was brought up some time into her rule, and wasn't the best story for her already-shaky image.

"Perhaps they've struck up a friendship," I say suddenly--too loudly, making me wince as my voice echoes in the otherwise quiet room--remembering her earlier statement. Sometimes, it's too easy to get caught up in your mind and forget your surroundings.

Finishing up with her hair, I move on to her light dusting of makeup, tickling her bottom lip to get her to smile before pursing her lips. I apply the red lipstick carefully, slowly, making sure I don't leave any unseemly marks around her mouth. "I don't think so,"

"Why is that, my Lady?" I ask, a heavy foreboding settling in my stomach. Lord Velor was set to stay with Lord Ambrys here in the Iron Palace for another week. The King hadn't hesitated to schedule a few hunting trips and several sports matches as soon as he'd gotten wind of their visit. I'd dismissed it as foolish genuine excitement at another male presence or feigned excitement for appearances, but now...

"They write in code," her lips slowly relax as I apply the blush directly after finishing with the lipstick. "Some of it doesn't make any sense to me, and seems completely irrelevant to previous letters. It's not any code I know..." She bites her lip, and my hand slows from its task of dusting her with pale pink blush. I can't help but admire those slightly bowed lips, just a bit fuller on the bottom, moist with lipstick and flawed where her teeth had scraped her lower lip. "I know he doesn't particularly care for me these days... I'm too busy with my work, and he has his mistress, and I have you, but I--but I still love him, and I thought... I thought maybe he still loved me... that someone still lov--"

I grip her chin, tilt her head up slightly, and kiss her. An entirely impulsive action, but it had to be done. Tears were brimming her eyes, and it would have caused her makeup to run, and she would've been red-eyed for her meeting, and...

I love her.

Swallowing, I pull away before her tongue can begin to probe where it really shouldn't go. She gives me a pouting look, but it's more playful than anything else; she's cheered up now. When she gets into that deep, depressed gloom, she tends to forget there's still someone amongst the living who loves her, and who would die for her.

I let her hand rise to my head, stroking my blond hair fondly has I finish applying her makeup. When I'm finished, it doesn't take long to clean up my mess, tossing hairpins, makeup brushes, blush cases and lipstick canisters into a bin and tucking the box onto a shelf that rests up against a wall perpendicular to the four-poster bed and opposite to the door.

Placing my hand at the small of her back, I smile, opening the doors for her as we exit into the hallways in record timing. "My Lady,"

"Yes?"

"I love you," I say it with far more sincerity and affection than I meant to, but my Lady doesn't flinch and her expression only warms as she lifts a hand to cup my cheek. I lean into it, my eyes briefly flicking up to make sure the halls were, in fact, empty before returning to her.

In response, she stands up on her tiptoes and leaves a soft kiss on my lips before turning and sashaying down the corridors towards her inevitable meeting, grinning brightly, her cheeks flushed without the aid of artificial blush.

I smile, following after her, my thoughts darkening as I think on her worthless husband and what he might be up to.