Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.

The Price We Pay

1784

"Beautiful."

A tall, thin man smiled from behind his desk, his hands folded under his chin, and his arrogant eyes glittering at the woman who stood before him.

"A job well done," he congratulated, flashing her a smile and pulling open a drawer near his knee, "I believe we could celebrate with a drink."

She watched him pour the brandy, but said nothing. She had no appetite for alcohol today. She hadn't an appetite for anything. He must have known this because he had only set out one glass.

Of course he had only set out one glass.

When he looked up, he frowned. "Petra, darling, what on Earth is troubling you?"

Lady Petra Ral inhaled deeply with a confidence that she knew she possessed somewhere. When she exhaled, what was supposed to be scathing words and a tantrum of insults, was little more than a shudder and the rickety barricade of her own emotions.

"Are you happy?" she asked him, staring straight into his eyes and never moving. She couldn't have if she tried.

The man, one Kenny Ackerman, smiled again, a greasy show of appreciation, and stood, his golden watch chain jingling merrily as he moved across the study.

"My dear," he said, opening a safe and pulling from it a large square box, "you have helped me attain what I have been after for many, many years."

With another flash of teeth, he opened the box and Petra's breath caught. In the shimmering light of noon, the diamond collar cast tiny beads of colorful lights over everything in its sight. He lifted it from its case and moved to stand behind her. She swallowed as he clasped it around her neck, the weight of the gold casting pressing against her chest, left exposed from her low bodice, and the icy perfection of the stones unforgiving against her throat.

He pressed his lips against her pulse, lingering over her flesh longer than was necessary, and brought one of his hands up into the copper curls arranged atop her head.

"I am ecstatic," he breathed.

"Take it off."

The necklace was choking her. She was certain of it. It was going to suffocate her and she would die here in this manor, in the study of the most vicious man she had ever met.

"I don't want it," she said, forcefully, her voice trembling, "take it off."

Just to prove his command over her, Kenny moved his hand to the back of her neck, squeezing firmly. "Do I sense regret?" he asked, teasing her.

"I have given you what you want," she replied through grit teeth, "I have done everything you asked of me."

"And yet you want no reward?"

Of course she wanted a reward. She had been his dog for the better part of three years and there was nothing she craved more than what he had promised her. He had sworn it would be hers if only she could deliver one man to him.

Freedom.

Kenny held her life in a vice ever since he had retrieved her from her luxurious townhouse in Sina two years following her husband's death. The marriage had been short (six months) and convenient. As a result, she had been given funds to remain in her choice city while her husband continued his work in the political circus that was the Trost House of Lords.

When she had received news that he had been killed en route to his country estate, she had mourned appropriately. There had been a period of time that she had been required to stay in Trost in order to know whether or not she was with child (this was ridiculous of course. She hadn't shared his bed in four months) and if there were indeed to be an heir to the dukedom.

There wasn't, and with practiced politeness, she excused herself from the smoke laden Trost, and returned to the glittering fantasy that was Sina.

His brother had inherited, as was customary, and for two years life went on. Petra had more than enough left of her allowance (in addition to the funds her father insisted upon providing her with) and as Kenny himself did not tend to the books, he thought nothing of his brother's young widow.

And then, one chilly winter morning, the question of marriage arose from one of his peers.

"I haven't time for a wife," he had said, dismissing the idea. He was young, wealthy, and powerful. When the time came for him to desire an heir, then he would take up a wife. There were plenty of young maidens falling at his feet over his title. It wouldn't be hard.

"Ah, but remember what happened to your brother," his friend said over the chessboard, "you don't want the estate go to your younger brother now, do you?"

No, he most definitely did not.

Though Kenny was set in the idea of not marrying, the memory of the red-haired mademoiselle flashed before him. Was she still in Sina living the life of a duchess? Was she still dependent upon this household?

He checked the books.

Sure enough, each month, a hefty sum left the vaults of his house and made its way to the city, to keep happy the widow.

This didn't sit well with Kenny who was not a charitable sort of man. If she were to receive money from him, she would do so with gratitude, and she would live here in this house. He was lord over the entire estate and its assets. By marriage, she was one such asset.

He brought her back to Trost without hesitation.

As Petra stood silent before him in the study three years later, he felt a nagging sense of disappointment. She was a lady of breeding and had never shown such a direct defiance before. She knew where she stood in the world and knew how to mask and maneuver her emotions to suit those above her.

Or at least he thought.

"I went to great lengths to bestow this gift upon you," he said, wrapping one of her curls around his index finger, "for you to spurn it is rather offensive."

"I don't want your blood money," she whispered, "I'm through."

He released her hair, watching it bounce back into place. "You are through when I say you are through."

With a surge of energy, she pushed him away and stumbled backwards. "I will not subject myself to you any longer! I have given you what you want so take him and go."

It was cold in here, the air suddenly falling to an unbearable temperature and she crossed her arms over her chest to warm herself. Her bottom lip was trembling, and she could feel tears at the back of her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Not yet.

Kenny however, was laughing. It was a soft, but deep sound, a victorious chuckle. "You are entertaining, Petra. Surely you don't mean to tell me you have developed affections for him."

The way she lifted her chin confirmed his suspicion and his expression darkened to one of grotesque amusement. Petra shrunk back, desperate to reach behind her and unclasp the collar at her neck, but not trusting him with any of her sudden movements. He was like a cat, a fierce jungle animal always on the prowl, always ready to pounce, always thirsty for the blood of his prey.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice shaking as she clung to her composure, "by sundown he will be dead."

"You may thank yourself for that when it is done."

The truth pierced her and she turned away, squeezing back her tears.

"You are quite the actress, My Lady," he teased, "though I never expected a woman of your strength to fall for her own deception."

"Do not mock me," she snapped. "We had an agreement. I delivered you this Levi, now you will allow me to leave for Sina and we shall have no further communication. I owe you nothing."

Kenny let out a short breath of air from his nose. "You've got it all planned out, don'tcha."

Petra scoffed. She didn't need to play these games with him. "I will return to my life, free from tyrants such as yourself."

"And you won't even ask me once to spare him."

She froze, ice creeping up in her veins. He was taunting her, provoking her. He wanted to see her emotions, her anger, her grief, her desperation. But she would not give it. Not to him.

"You went to great lengths to capture him, Your Grace. I am not so foolish as to imagine you would free him on my account."

Perching himself on the desk, Kenny put a hand to his chin. "Though my price is indeed steep, it is not impossible."

She turned, throwing him a questioning glance.

"I offered you your freedom in exchange for his life, did I not?" He leaned forward, a half smirk plastered on his thin face, "but I am not above offering you his freedom in exchange for your life."

Petra took a step back, her breath coming fast and harsh, unable to keep up with the restrictions of her stays.

"You wish me dead?"

"Not dead," he corrected, "but bound. In marriage, that is."

Clenching her jaw, she stood her ground. She would never subject herself to such a horror. She had been at his beck and call for three years, unable to speak out or deny him any of his demands. Even with her freedom, back home safe in her townhouse in the most fashionable neighborhood, she would never forget his eyes on her, the way he commanded her.

Undress, he would tell her, standing in the doorway of her bedchamber, wolf's eyes devouring every bit of flesh that was exposed to him until she was completely bare before him. Sometimes he would push off the doorframe, his lithe fingers joining his gaze, turning her skin to gooseflesh at his touch, and exploring every inch of her.

No.

She would never give him that power, the power to do more than look, more than tease. She wouldn't, couldn't give him the right to her. Not for anything.

Not that it mattered.

"I don't trust you," she told him, "you will wed me and in the same breath kill him for spite. I will live with my guilt, but I will live freely."

"You will watch your tone, Petra."

In a flash of defiance, she reached behind her neck, unclasping the diamond collar, throwing it onto the floor at his feet.

"I am through."

She swept from the room then, her cerulean skirts swishing with her abrupt actions, leaving behind the master she had never intended to serve. She would pack her bags tonight and leave. She would make her own way, no longer dependent upon this estate.

Halfway to her rooms, Kenny's words replayed in her head, slowing her pace and once again bringing tears to the corners of her eyes.

It was her fault.

So desperate was she to escape from this life, she had gone in over her head.

She had found the man, Levi, that Kenny was so set on destroying, charmed and befriended him as she had been instructed to do. His trust hadn't come easy, but she had obtained it. She hadn't meant to, but she found herself addicted to their meetings and the escape they provided her with, even if it was naught by a pretense.

Pretense faded, and soon enough she found herself entangled in a blissful romance with the stoic and unflappable man. He never smiled, and his words were often cold and harsh, but his hands were warm, his touch was gentle, and when he stroked her hair in the stillness of the night, inviting her to sleep in his strong embrace, she was able to forget what had become of her life.

He listened to her when she spoke, on days they met for walks in the park or took lazy carriage rides about the city. He was particularly interested in the antics of her childhood, stories she could tell truthfully and without worry.

When he had quietly and subtly admitted his affections her heart had leapt, forgetting its place in the shackles of Kenny Ackerman and when he had so brazenly kissed her in the open street for all to see, she had let him.

And then she betrayed him.

Two months later, at two-thirty in the morning she had led him to the gardens of her home where hired men were waiting. When they clamped iron around his neck and wrists, Petra felt the weight of her broken heart hanging heavy in her chest. He looked back to her and there was no hatred in his steely gaze, no disappointment, and no sadness, simply understanding.

For nearly eight hours Petra wept.

What a fool she had been, she thought to herself as she climbed the stairs. She should have left, disappeared overseas with her lover. They could have both been safe in a distant land. Instead she had been consumed by fear and followed her orders blindly. She didn't even know why Kenny hated this man so much.

Shortly after she retreated into her room and pulled her traveling trunk to the center of the chamber, the door burst open.

Of course.

She should not have acted so rashly, upsetting the master of the house in the manner she had.

"Don't worry," she sighed absently, throwing a riding habit into the trunk, "I wouldn't have left without saying a proper farewell."

"Indeed you won't."

Petra paused, lifting her head from the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. With no consideration for her personal space, Kenny gripped her upper arm, pulling her to a stand and hauling her from the room.

"I am more than capable of walking on my own!" she cried out, smacking his knuckles with her tiny fingers, "release me."

With a satisfied grin, he continued to pull her through the halls, giving her a good yank every few feet when she pulled back in her futile attempts to free herself.

"Where are you taking me?" she hissed, using his grip to her advantage now as she sidled up beside him.

"To say your goodbyes," came his calm, yet smug response.

Petra's eyes widened and her mouth ran dry when he hauled open the door that led below the estate, to the family's catacombs, and the dungeon.

"No."

"A lady would tie up her loose ends," he said sweetly, the light from the torches bouncing off his taunting eyes and slicked back hair, both a solid onyx.

She stared down the stone hallway, dark and damp, with the distant squeaking of rats scurrying about. He was down here, somewhere, chained to a wall, or perhaps the floor, maybe both. He was likely beaten, starving, forced to sit stagnant in the filth that caused him so much distress.

And it was her fault.

"Do you find amusement in my torment?" she wondered, replacing her brave facade and stepping forward, lifting her skirts to avoid the water that trickled down the walkway.

"I don't deal well with rejection," he chuckled, taking up her arm again, but this time, as a gentleman. It made her skin crawl.

With a sharp inhale at the contact, Petra stared straight ahead. "You never did tell me why you detest him so. What has he done to you to warrant such hatred?"

"He takes and takes until there is nothing left," he replied casually, "everything that has ever been mine, he has stolen from me. Even you, it seems."

"I was never yours," she quipped.

"Maybe not be choice," he mused, "but you were my brother's asset. I inherited care of you when he died."

Care was an interesting choice of terms, but Petra made no motion to comment further. She was smart enough to know when not to fuel his fires.

When they stopped at an iron door, devoid of anything that could be considered a window, Kenny pulled a torch from the bracket on the wall and pulled out a single key. A knife lay hidden in the folds of Petra skirts and though it cried out for her to cut him down, her fingers trembled and remained frozen in their place on his arm. Her fear was not of killing, but of failing to kill, and the repercussions of such an assault.

They stepped into the damp room and Kenny used his flame to ignite two others on the wall, illuminating the cell completely.

Just as she had imagined, Levi was clad in irons. His neck, wrists, and ankles all bound to the three hundred year old stone that surrounded them. Petra removed her hands from Kenny's arm and resisted both the tears at the back of her eyes and the urge to run to him. Neither would do her any good.

Kenny grinned, crouching low, his fire dangerously close to the smaller man's face.

"Little brother."

Petra covered a gasp with her hands. Her husband had never spoken of another brother before, and neither had Kenny. Was Levi such a black sheep that his very existence demanded death?

Levi lifted his head and spat in the face of his elder sibling.

"You play dirty Kenny but I never expected you to use your woman against me."

"I'm not his woman," Petra clarified, rising her chin and steeling her jaw, "despite my apparent usefulness."

Something flashed in Levi's expression at her acrid tone and clear distaste for Kenny. Relief, she imagined.

"To be honest," Kenny laughed, ignoring Petra's indignation, "I didn't expect it to work."

He stood then, taking hold of the back of her neck and pulling her close, but forcing her to look at the man shackled before her.

"But this little thing is something extraordinary isn't she? She's easy to like, almost. . maternal. A huge comfort to me, certainly." A wicked smile lit up half his face and he gave his head a small nod to the side, "but you wouldn't know anything about a mother's comfort, would you Levi?"

Levi grit his teeth, his chest rising as he breathed to keep himself calm.

"My poor, beloved mother died giving birth to this filth," Kenny explained, "and three years later, my father, my father, not his, died saving him from the thin ice of our skating pond."

Petra tried to wiggle away, but he held her firm. "That's not his fault!" she protested. She understood aristocracy and the pride families held. That the Duke had allowed his wife's illegitimate child to bear his name and grow up alongside the other children even after her death was certainly something to be commended. She also recognized the anger and resentment they would have felt towards him, but was it so bad that they would want him dead?

"Two years after that," Kenny continued, "a carriage accident. A sister, an aunt, and two cousins perished. Yet the runt lives on."

Levi smirked, "being small has its advantages."

This earned him a solid kick and Petra cried out as Kenny's boot connected with Levi's face, sending blood spurting up into the air. The torch he had been holding rolled off into a corner, flickering silently on the cold stone.

"Then what of my brother?" he demanded, grabbing a fistful of his hair, forcing the youngest of the Ackerman men to look at him, "it was your band of thieves that ambushed his carriage. They killed him on your orders you tiny fuck."

Petra's eyes went wide at this. Was it true? Her marriage had not been one of romance, but she had never disliked her husband. She had certainly never wished him dead.

Spitting out the blood that had dripped into his mouth, Levi leveled his gaze, "They didn't know he was my brother."

He let out a small huff, then shrugged one shoulder, jingling the chains that held him. "If they had, they would have disfigured him instead."

Kenny kicked him again and Petra had to take hold of his arm to keep her balance as she was jerked around by his movements, his hold on her as strong as it ever was.

"Why are you bitching?" Levi asked, grimacing as he absorbed the pain, "you have everything. The title, the fucking houses, Hell you've even got her."

Through with her lack of say in her own life, Petra took a breath and with a quick movement, jammed her elbow into Kenny's ribs, causing him to stagger sideways in pain, releasing her from his grasp.

"I am not an object!" she cried, wanting to believe her own words, but for all her claimed independence, she knew the truth. According to their law, she was, in fact, an object. An asset, just as Kenny said, a treasure to be inherited, bought, or sold.

"Petra."

She turned to Levi, his lids turned down in a way that caused a lump to form in her throat. He wasn't making an attempt to save himself. Why wasn't he fighting harder? Was he above begging?

"Levi I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't—"

"I'm not blaming you," he cut her off. Normally sharp and biting, the words he spoke to her this time were soft and gentle, "but you should go."

He knew what his fate was, and he accepted it. He had always known. His eldest brother was a peaceful man. Though he had cut Levi from the family as soon as he had been old enough to do so, he had never seen a desire to inflict actual harm on the boy.

Kenny was different. So consumed by rage and hatred, he had run him out of town and when he held the threat of death over his small brother's head, Levi didn't doubt its truth for a second. He had always known that if ever he were to be caught, his life would end.

As it turned out, he had been caught.

"Petra isn't going anywhere. She has to reap what she has sown."

Levi's head snapped to his brother. "You intend to punish her for doing the job you commanded she do?"

"That's the funny thing," he replied, pulling a pistol from his black tailcoat, "love was not part of the bargain."

Petra moved to speak against this, but without much thought, Kenny aimed his weapon, shooting Levi in his leg, his narrow eyes shining when he cried out in pain, falling to his knees.

He shot him again, this time in his arm, and the elder's face bore no expression, as if he were merely conducting an experiment, not exacting revenge.

"Stop," Petra whimpered, clutching her skirts, "please stop."

If he had heard her, he chose to ignore it, pulling back the hammer once more, aiming this time at his heart.

Petra stared ahead at her lover, blood soaking one of the arms of his white linen shirt, and shining against the black deerskin of his breeches. His nose was broken and as his head hung in the iron shackle around his neck, blood dripped from his mouth, splashing in a steadily growing puddle beneath him.

She couldn't let this go on. Circumstance had cursed him, and even if it were true that because of it he had been forced into a life of crime, he wasn't a bad man. He didn't deserve this.

"You may have me!"

Kenny paused, flicking his gaze toward her. She was breathing heavily, the volume of her words having surprised even her. She cleared her throat and stood straighter.

"You may have me," she repeated, "in exchange for his freedom."

"Please," she added, the tears in her eyes finally falling in a steady rhythm over her cheekbones, "please stop hurting him."

Levi sighed, then cast her an annoyed glance, "don't throw your life away for this, Petra. A good girl like you shouldn't even be involved in this bullshit."

Kenny, however, was laughing.

"Did you think that would work, Petra? That you could change your mind when things got a bit messy?"

She opened her mouth but he held up his hand.

"You gave him up without a thought not two hours ago. I offered you the chance to save him, and you chose yourself."

Good girl, Levi thought to himself. He wasn't angry, he wasn't even slightly upset at that knowledge. Kenny wanted him dead for being born on the wrong side of the sheets. He didn't want to imagine what he would do to a strong willed woman like Petra.

"Don't," he ground out, "Petra just go. Let me be."

"No," she said, her voice firm and unwavering, "I'm not leaving until you do."

He let out a small breath of air and nodded to his leg. "Shame. I can't fucking walk."

It was meant to be a humorous quip but she didn't acknowledge it, staring ahead at Kenny. "Release him."

He shrugged. "It's too late for that, My Lady. Far too late."

She crossed the room, stopping to stand before him. "What do you want?" she asked, "if you no longer want me?"

"Oh I want you still," he said, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand, "and I will have you. Once my brother is dead."

Freedom, she thought. He had never intended to grant it to her. Her actions from here on out didn't matter. The result would be the same. She was, of course, simply an asset.

With a sharp inhale for courage, she reached into her skirts, taking hold of the knife and in one swift motion, slashed it across the side of his face.

"Free him!" she demanded.

She had expected him to stumble back, to be blinded by the pain she inflicted upon him. In her head she stood above him, brandishing the weapon, robbing him of the pistol, and pinning the all powerful Kenny Ackerman at her mercy. Reality, however, has a way of disappointing.

He screamed, that much was true. It was an angry, guttural yell, but it didn't last long. His hand came around her wrist and he pulled her close, forcing her to drop the blade into his own open palm.

Levi watched the exchange, pulling himself against his restraints as best he could. His blood was his strength. It was his great misfortune that most of that strength was laying on the ground.

"Little girls shouldn't play with knives," Kenny snarled into Petra's face before he shoved her to the ground. With an annoyed 'tch', he tossed the knife downward, watching with mild interest as it embedded itself into her back.

Levi struggled to remain conscious. He recalled crying out her name, he knew that the pain coursing through his veins was no longer physical. Was she dead? No. No not yet.

Petra felt the sharp stab of the blade just to the right of her left shoulder and she froze, paralyzed with shock. She felt herself go cold and she didn't know if it was the stone beneath her hands or the damp settling into her bones. Or was it something else? Her vision was becoming hazy. She didn't know.

Another gunshot rang out and she forced herself to look behind her. Levi was limp, hanging from his wrists and neck, blood pooling at his stomach. He coughed and more splattered from his mouth, squelching against the floor like the insides of the gutted fish at the marketplace.

"No."

It couldn't be.

Squeezing shut her eyes, Petra lifted her arm, feeling behind her for the ivory handle of the knife. Her trembling hands wrapped around it and she screamed when she ripped it from her body. She knelt on all fours for a moment, allowing a few sobs to overcome her as her shock faded to pain. Pushing through it, she crawled to where Levi hung, cupping his face in her weak hands.

"Please don't die," she pleaded softly, "please don't die."

His eyes were opened, but only just, what little light they had ever sported fading quickly. His mouth twitched and he made a low sound in the back of his throat, but nothing came out except another cough, accompanied by the oozing of blood down his chin and this time, onto the skirts of her gown.

She brought her arms up around his neck, cradling him against her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her teeth chattering as she spoke. It was so cold. He grunted and moved his head to rest on her shoulder, welcoming the shroud of death he knew would soon come to claim him. Since he had to die, doing so in her arms was more than he could have asked for.

Petra closed her eyes, savoring the warmth he was sharing with her and when Kenny came to stand beside them, she didn't bother to move. It didn't matter now.

She heard him place his pistol to Levi's temple, but didn't loosen her grip. She felt the spray of blood, bone, and what was more than likely brain matter, and though her body began to shake with a fierce intensity and she felt her soul slip from her body, she didn't open her eyes. She wouldn't move from this spot until she was dragged from it.

Kenny pressed a booted foot to the wound on her back and clicked his tongue.

"You're no use to me like that," he mused.

Cocking the gun for the last time, he gave a disappointed shake of his head, and pulled the trigger, watching as her arms fell away from his brother's body and she crumpled into the puddle of his blood. If it was together they wished to be, then together they could rot.

What a waste.

He sighed, placing his weapon back where it had come from, then left the dark chamber, returning to the bright, livable rooms of his estate. Checking his timepiece, he raised his brows in surprise.

"Ah," he said, "teatime."

xxxx