Author's Note:

I sin,
you sin,
we all sin for the cheap thrills that come from reading made up nonprofit stories about our favorite fandom's characters.

"Who are you?" Mouth twisted, eyes blazing, claws clicking rhythmically against the armrest of her throne; she sat tall and proud in the face of this—this insolence. The Shade stood an arm's breadth from her, arms and hands hidden in the long sleeves of the purple cloak, face hidden by the dark hood. It wasn't wearing its mask, for some odd reason.

"I know who you are." She knew he couldn't see her eyes beneath the metal plate of her mask, but she still averted her gaze for the quickest moment. What was he talking about? She didn't recognize this Shade, now that she thought about it. Even so, the voice was familiar. Perhaps it was one of the older Shades who had almost completed his term? That would be foolish, going against the Great Witch mere weeks from freedom. She plastered a broad grin on her face, hand raised in a welcoming gesture.

"Oh really?" she sneered, motioning for him to come closer. He moved a step further, but his face was thrown into darker shadow and she couldn't see anything other than the angled chin and a dark frown. "Do tell, my Shade. And take off your hood; I want to see your face as you tell me of your…revelations." There was a pause, and then the arms rose to throw back the hood. There was a flash of orange and silver, and then she stared up at the steely gray eyes she knew too well. "Y-you!"

"I know," he repeated slowly, "who you are." Her heart skipped a beat and then began to thunder against her ribcage, a cold sweat breaking out across her brow. How—how?! She'd been so careful, making doubly—triply!—sure that she hadn't been followed every time she left the city. She gulped, licking her lips. No, he was bluffing. If she gave him an inch, he'd know that his doubts were correct.

"How dare you come here, Inquisitor!" she snarled, sitting up even straighter as she pointed at him. "You'll pay for this dearly, impertinent knight!" Even in her shock, the persona of the Great Witch shined through clear as day. It was the result of years of practice, perfected to the point that it was nearly an adjunct to her own personality.

He stared at her with a cryptic expression, not revealing anything about his thoughts. His eyes somehow caught hers through the mask and she froze, paralyzed from… from what? Fear? No, she wasn't afraid of him. If anything, she'd just have to capture him and lock him in the dungeon until she could get the Storyteller to hypnotize him. Surely he wouldn't be that hard to overpower? Besides, how could he know that she was the Great Witch? She was going to call his bluff.

"Well?" she snapped as he kept his silence. "Who am I, Sir Knight?" He stepped forward without a word, eyes darkening. She had to crane her neck to look at him, the cones of her elaborate mask hitting the back of the throne. "Speak my name, if you dare." A hand hit the plush back of the chair near her face, knee balancing on the cushion as he effectively boxed her in. She stifled a gasp, eyes widening. What on earth!? She pressed herself into the chair away from him, her arms lying like lead weights on the armrests. They wouldn't respond to her mental screams to push him away.

"Take off the mask," he ordered. As if he has any right to give orders! If he really knows who I am, then he knows that I'm in charge! Before she could respond, the fingers of his free hand found the edge of her mask and tugged almost teasingly. The air between them electrified and she fought for breath, mouth falling open absently. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, the expression on his face both stern and curious. "Tis no help to you, now that I've found you out."

"Wh—I, I can't—" She couldn't even form proper words now, it seemed. Her mouth was dry, making swallowing difficult. His hand trailed down her cheek to her jaw, and then even further. She arched her neck as he pressed his fingers beneath the high collar, hovering over her racing pulse. The metal should have cooled her skin, but every place he touched burned with a hellfire that she couldn't escape, even if she wanted to. He leaned in and her eyes fluttered closed, waiting with agonizing anticipation for the touch of his lips. His breath wafted across her cheeks and she shivered, the sensation almost too much as he finally—

"Eve? Eveee….." A finger poked her cheek and she came back to reality, sitting up straight in her desk chair. Espella leaned over, brows arched as she grinned. "Are you in there?" She wagged her finger as if silently scolding her best friend for daydreaming at work. "I asked if you were free to come to the bakery this afternoon. You haven't come these three or four days past."

"Oh! I—er," She thought quickly for an excuse. "I'm sorry, Espella, but… but it's late," she finished lamely, biting her lip. Espella made a confused noise, her hands on her hips as she tilted her head.

"Huh? What do you mean, late?" she asked honestly. "You've gone home after sundown before. What's the matter now?" Her brow furrowed. "No one's accosted you on the path, have they?" she asked quickly. Her eyes held the fear of a not-so-distant memory. "I'll tell Father if they have, you know."

"That's not it," Eve assured her. "Trust me: if anyone dared lay a hand on me, they'd find themselves in the dungeons before they could blink twice." Espella giggled and nodded.

"Well, as long as you're okay. You really should come, though," she added, jumping back to her offer. "Besides, you don't want to miss seeing a certain someone, do you?" She gave a very unsubtle wink. Eve froze in her chair before forcing her muscles to relax.

"I—have no clue what you mean, Espella," she lied easily, stacking the day's papers into a neat order and placing them at the edge of the desk. She returned her quill to its holder and wiped stray shavings from the polished surface. She didn't dare leave her desk in complete disarray like some people. She glared disapprovingly at the overrun, cracked piece of furniture directly across from her seat. What an eyesore….

"Eh?" Espella began to laugh. "Don't be so coy. It's not like I don't already know." Inhaling quickly, Eve looked to the ceiling before standing and pushing in her chair.

"Know what, may I ask?"

"That you like Sir Barnham!" she exclaimed in answer, throwing up her hands. "After the incident on your birthday, it's very clear that you're not entirely indifferent about him."

"Of course I like him," Eve replied smartly, one hand on her chair as she brushed back a stray strand of hair. "After all, Zacharias is an excellent coworker and he does a good job with the city's affairs. It would be hard to hate him, though I may not have liked him as much before."

"Eve Belduke, you stubborn ox!" Espella crossed her arms, glaring sternly in a decent imitation of Mrs. Eclaire. "You are the most obstinate woman in all of Labyrinthia!" she declared. "Just admit that you have feelings for him; it's not that hard!" Eve sighed huffily, closing her eyes and summoning her patience. Why did Espella even care that much? Maybe they were good friends again, but that didn't mean the teen had to know everything! When she didn't answer, Espella moved to different, more childish methods.

"Eve and Sir Barnham, sitting in a tree!" she chanted in a singsong tone, clapping in time to the beat. Eve felt her muscles tensing again, grinding her teeth as she fought the urge to clap her hand over the younger girl's mouth. Even after brainwashing every citizen that passed through the borders, that stupid schoolyard tactic had still made its way into the local vernacular. It was nearly impossible to get rid of, it seemed. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Espella, please!" She grabbed for her, but the girl danced out of the way and evaded her grasp by the hem of her cloak. "Act your age, alright?" she growled warningly.

"Mrs. Eve Barnham—oh, I like that!" She sighed dramatically, doing all but pirouetting just out of reach.

"Stop it, I said!" Her face was really red now, embarrassment burning through her as she chased her friend around the desk. Where was that damn mutt when you needed him? He was always managing to trip her up: why not Espella too?

"My my, so defensive!" Espella put a finger to chin. "Why is that, I wonder? Tell me, is it because you want his arms wrapped around you?" She hugged her own thin frame for emphasis as she winked again. "Or maybe you just love the way he says your name, Miss Eve," she crooned in a rather impressive mockery of his deeper voice, despite having to dive around the chair to avoid the grabbing hands. "Does your heart yearn for his lingering touch?" she continued as she righted herself and yanked her cloak to the side, quoting one of the newer romantic ballads floating around the local bards (and parrots).

"That is enough!" She was going to lock Espella in the dungeons for this! The girl laughed harder, leaning on the desk tauntingly.

"His heart burns for yo-ou," she cooed, twirling a plait around her finger innocently. "In fact, I've heard him say—"

"Dearie, dearie me…." Both women stopped in their tracks, turning as one to the doorway where the town's resident primary schoolteacher stood. The tiny glasses glinted in the torchlight as she looked at them, her lips tightened into a thin line. Espella managed to look repentant, getting off of the desk and smoothing out her rumpled skirt with her hands. Eve's heart felt as though it was clenched in an icy hand. How long has she been standing there?! For what seemed like eternity, all was silent.

"Little girls who gossip," Ms. Primstone began with quiet conviction, "are those who will end up with absent thoughts," she brandished her baton at Espella, "and broken hearts." The willowy rod swung to Eve. "Furthermore, pining over young men is neither practical nor acceptable, and should therefore be avoided. This will be on the test."

"Yes, ma'am," Espella mumbled obediently, her cheeks still dusted with a rosy hue. Eve forced a smile onto her face as she turned to fully address the older woman. Her schooling had been over longer than Espella's; long enough to address the teacher as an equal instead of as a better.

"Ms. Primstone," she greeted politely. "Is there something that you needed from me? I'll be glad to assist you." The best thing to do was to smile and pretend it never happened, in this case. The teacher glared at them a moment longer before sniffing haughtily and using the baton to push her glasses up her nose.

"Not at all, High Inquisitor," she replied standoffishly, lips pursed. Like most of the town, she seemed to forget that Eve was no longer an Inquisitor at all. Over half of them still addressed her as Lady Darklaw, even though her real name was out in the open. A scant few settled on Miss Eve instead, preferring a more informal name. "I was on my way to theatre practice, and I heard such a commotion coming from this direction that I became concerned. Truly, 'tis not the sort of sound that is supposed to be coming from an office setting," she rebuked with another, longer sniff. "Naturally, I came to see what the matter was." So you came to stick your nose in my business, Eve thought crossly. You probably thought that Zacharias and I were fighting and wanted to get some gossiping material yourself. Still, the civilized smile remained.

"Well, since there's no emergency," the teacher finished (somewhat disappointedly), "I'll be taking my leave. I hate being late for practice. Punctuality—as you well know, my dear High Inquisitor—is of the utmost essence!"

"We were just leaving ourselves," Espella blurted out, clearly uncomfortable with staying another moment in the room. "It's getting late, after all." Stealing my excuses, now? Eve sighed as she checked her desk one last time for order before following Espella out the door. As she passed across the threshold, the baton smacked her lightly on her backside and she jumped. She twisted around in surprise to see Ms. Primstone eyeing her thoughtfully, finger tapping her chin.

"Take care in pursuing young knights, my dear," she finally said in an unusually soft voice. Espella had rushed down the hall as fast as a walk could carry her, and was now waiting at the corner that led to the main antechamber with a questioning gaze, unable to hear the conversation. "Men are often prone to flights of fancy, and aiming for the top often creates many enemies out of those that would otherwise be friends." She tilted her head. "It will lead to nothing but trouble," she advised.

"Thank you," Eve managed to sputter. "But I don't think you'll have any reason for alarm." She met the beady gaze steadily, and then the teacher smiled.

"Alright, along with you," she ushered, standing back to let her through and waving her baton, acting as though they were children leaving from school and not two grown women. "Take care on the way home." Espella waved and nodded, trying to redeem herself in her former teacher's eyes before grabbing Eve's hand and yanking her along the corridor.

"What did she say to you?" she asked as they spilled out the front doors into the sunset, surrounded by sleepy woods and the birds' last songs of the day. The Courthouse was bathed in orange, light playing off the lit torches as knights moved through on their rounds and would-be actors trickling in for their weekly rehearsal in the courtroom.

"Nothing of consequence. Just a reminder to behave myself." She waved to Jean Grayerl and Lettie Mailer as the two girls headed into the Courthouse, the courier's bag miraculously empty for once. "She should have been telling you that, after that display back there."

"Oh, don't be angry with me, Eve!" Espella pleaded. "I was only teasing you about all that; don't be cross." She clasped her friend's arm. "Come to the bakery, please!" The look in her eyes suggested that she knew Eve was upset about something, and her friendly jesting had some part to do with it. "Aunt Patty will be happy to see you, and Father might even be there. He comes around a lot more now that he's getting his strength back."

Eve hesitated. She didn't want to hurt Espella's feelings and make her think that she'd gone too far in her teasing (though it had gotten a little out of hand). But she didn't want to go to the bakery, either. There she'd have to face the newest apprentice baker, and after the types of daydreams she'd been having, just looking him in the eyes was difficult. It didn't help that they worked together.

"I don't—" Espella's eyes shimmered in the fading light as she pouted. "Well, just a quick supper wouldn't hurt," she sighed. "But I'm not staying long afterwards." The girl cheered up immediately, linking arms and smiling brightly.

"Great!" she chirped, before biting her lip. "Oh, and Eve, can I ask you something confidentially?"

"What is it?" They began walking towards the town bustling just out of sight behind the trees. Espella leaned in close, eyes checking to make sure they were alone before whispering secretively in her ear.

"Do you ever wonder what he tastes like, all covered in sweat and flour?"

"Espella Cantabella!" The girl in question laughed at her shriek all the way home, only stopping when they reached the door of the bakery and Mrs. Eclaire stared at them strangely.

Why is she staring at me?

Zacharias Barnham was engaged in his usual nightly routine of preparing dough for the next day. Patty had mixed it all together, but it was his job to knead it out and set it aside in covered bowls to rise. It saved them all time in the morning, seeing as they could wake up and begin baking almost immediately. He was always surprised at how much forethought had to go into something as relatively simple as making bread. No wonder Mrs. Eclaire always beat sense into anyone who dared suggest otherwise.

The shop was closed, supper cleaned up, and now Eve and Espella sat talking quietly at the table while he worked. Patty was in the basement, counting up leftover stock and balancing the day's funds. Constantine and Eve the cat were sharing a day-old croissant, both tails wagging as they licked at opposite ends of the slightly stale bread. He concentrated on his dough, rolling and kneading like the baker had taught him when he first expressed interest in working part-time. Even though Eve's birthday had come and gone, he still stayed on at the bakery, helping out in exchange for room and board.

Speaking of Eve… he dusted more flour onto the dough and resumed his motions, not looking up once. He felt eyes burning into his face; ever since they'd cleaned up the last dishes from the supper table, she'd been staring at him. He couldn't understand why; he'd even managed to subtly peek into a dish to make sure there wasn't anything amiss. But his face was free of flour, armor relatively clean, hair in place, and nothing in his teeth. Therefore, there was no reason to be staring him down.

He managed to peer through his lashes as he reached for a bowl to put the finished dough in. Espella elbowed her and whispered something that had to do with flour. To his surprise, Eve blushed—a very pretty color—before rubbing her cheek and looking as though she wanted to do nothing more than hide beneath the table. He looked up at them fully and Espella burst into giggles, hiding her face in one hand as the tips of her ears turned red. Eve glanced back at her before looking at him apologetically.

So it was him they were talking about. It was clear enough from Espella's behavior, at least. He wondered what could be so funny about him that they had to keep it a secret. Those girls… he couldn't understand them sometimes. Even now, her face brighter than Mrs. Eclaire's hair, she still stared at him with an undefinable expression.

He stared back, unsure of what it was that she wanted. Was she trying to tell him something silently? Did she need something? He looked around the counter, trying to see if there was anything obvious that she might want him to bring her. But there was nothing but flour covered surface and a rolling pin. Surely—she didn't want the rolling pin, did she?

She shifted in the chair, and his eyes were drawn to her breasts as they pressed against the table. He looked away quickly, swallowing hard and yanking a new batch of dough out of its container forcefully. If she caught him looking—well, she'd want the rolling pin then, wouldn't she? She'd knock him into the new year, she'd lock him in the dungeons and feed him bread and water, or she'd take a page from Foxy's book and squash him like an insect on the cobblestones outside….

Still, he snuck another peek when her head was turned for good measure. What would it be like to touch them? He knew the basics of it, of course, but he'd never gotten to touch hers, not even accidentally. She always made sure to stand an acceptable distance from him, and they never had to maneuver through tight squeezes together, anyway. Even on the machines that they used to rebuild the town, she'd kept her distance. If his lucky stars had shined on him just once, she might have stumbled into his lap when the crane's motor had busted; instead she had fallen the other way. He'd barely been able to grab her arm and keep himself upright in the seat too.

He turned his mind back to the dough, trying to banish those sorts of thoughts from his head. After the gift-giving fiasco on her birthday, he hadn't been able to pick another good moment to be alone with her, as it were. He'd meant to courageously give her the most perfectly baked éclair in the history of éclairs, confess his feelings and sweep her off her feet in a scene reminiscent of a bard's romance.

But that had fallen through almost before it began. He couldn't even bring up the subject of her birthday before Espella and all her friends had waltzed through, downplayed his gift and practically stomped it in the dust with the flawlessness of their own presents. Damn his strict schooling, and the prejudices against giving gifts to others! Still, she'd accepted his day-old leftover éclair without a big fuss, and had even mentioned to him the next day that it had tasted delicious. He'd stayed on cloud nine the rest of that day, floating in the euphoria that embodied her acceptance of his mediocre pastry.

He hazarded another glance to see her staring at him again. This time he didn't look away and her eyes softened, delicate lashes hiding her irises as the barest hint of a smile passed across her lips. His heart thudded once, twice, before resuming its natural rhythm and he licked his lips, feeling the heat rising to his face. She hadn't said a single word to him and already he was blushing like a schoolboy; what was wrong with him? It had to be his earlier thoughts. He scolded himself in a manner more befitting Ms. Primstone: Lewd thoughts lead to nothing but trouble!

When she opened her eyes, he found himself arching a brow at her without really thinking about what he was doing. It was a silent query, though he wasn't entirely sure what he might be asking her. The smile spread fully across her face, almost smug in its entirety and certainly full of her usual coolness. He responded with a complacent grin of his own, twisting up the corner of his mouth as he looked away, only to see Espella looking between the two of them with a gleeful expression. She winked at him, blonde braids bouncing as she moved her head, and the moment was lost. He looked back down at the dough, focusing with all his might on kneading the life out of the defenseless hunk of raw bread.

When it was time for bed, her smile was still running circles in his mind. He lay on his back in the dark, remembering the nameless expression combined with the way her body was pressing into the table. He imagined what it would feel like to have those pliant curves pressed up against his body, those eyes staring into him as he touched her bared skin freely. Sighing heavily, he turned onto his side and scratched Constantine behind the ears.

It would be another sleepless night, it seemed.