Chapter One: The Fool

With the way she lived, a little sleeplessness was to be expected.

Honestly, she'd grown used to it; laying awake at night for whatever reason. Be it worrying about a coming battle or an injured comrade, lamenting over their often poor choice of campsite, or simply wondering just what the hell she thought she was really accomplishing by running further and further from the perfect high society future her mother had so painstakingly mapped out for her, when she knew damn well it would all be waiting for her…whenever they returned to Totokanta again.

Yes, there were any amount of explanations as to why a little insomnia was nothing to get worked up about.

Lately, though, it wasn't any of those things keeping her awake. She couldn't sleep because she was a fool, a hopeless idiot that, every time she closed her eyes, started to remember the feel of his hands slipping over her skin; the wet heat of his mouth on hers; the hammering of his heartbeat under her hand. No no, when those memories screamed to the surface of her silent mind at night, there would be no sleep to quiet them.

It had been an accident. Sort of.

A complete mistake had brought her to his bed, but whether it had all been intended or not didn't change what had happened because of that error, nor that in the weeks since it had happened, he had said nothing to raise the subject or even acknowledge the occurrence of what was, she felt, an earth-shaking event. At first she thought it was just an act, after all, for the past two years their relentless and vicious bickering had been what had defined their relationship, and this version of their usual tension seemed no different at first. But as the weeks wore on, she grew less and less sure of the reasons that he couldn't quite seem to look her in the eye; and if he was ashamed of himself he hid it well enough that Cleo felt sure he just wanted her to forget it ever happened. And that was something she would never be able to do, even if her life depended on it.

Ironically, it had been her sleeplessness that started it all. It had happened on a sultry night at the end of the summer, the humidity pressing down on her skin as heavy and clinging as being smothered in velvet drape. The bedclothes were damp against her sweaty skin, she remembered that, and she'd kicked them off only to find herself unsettled. If was always difficult to sleep without something covering her, but it was far too hot for any other arrangement and a wicked thirst was demanding her attention with too much annoying zeal to ignore. On top of that, her window had been stuck shut with a hundred layers of old paint, and the air in the small room was stagnant and hot and she felt like she'd breathed it all in and out about twenty times over.

Eventually the restlessness had gotten the better of her, and she'd tromped out of her room in frustration, leaving Reiki sleeping in a dark furry ball at the foot of the bed. She wandered through the tiny inn toward the vestibule, guided only by the spilled milk roads of moonlight that bled in through a few open shutters, utterly unconcerned about being seen in her nightdress. If any pervert dared to venture even near her, she intended concretely she would beat them to a bloody mass of entrails before she'd put on a robe in this bloody heat just for some would-be propriety.

Having been born and raised in Totokanta, Cleo was accustomed to the creature comforts with which she'd been brought up. The city was regarded widely as the largest metropolis in the southwest of Kiesalhima continent, and being from a family of some considerable wealth and integrity, she hadn't gone without any of those luxuries for even a day of her life prior to her sudden and allegedly unexplained departure with the vagabond sorcerer and his apprentice all those months ago. She'd come a long way since then. Now that she'd travelled through vast rural areas of the continent from Masmaturia to Laindast, she never took lodging for granted. She'd slept on enough rocky ground and cold, wind-swept plains to be grateful for nights she could lay in a soft bed, out of the wind and rain, away from any variety of insects; but that night she was restless, unable to appreciate her bed or her moments of private silence. It had been a long, hectic day; the inertia of absolute exhaustion pulled at her limbs and eyelids, begging her to sleep, yet the heat seemed determined to interrupt her rest.

So, with her glass of clean water from the kitchen tap, she'd sat down at a small, unvarnished table in the atrium and laid her head on the pillow of her crossed arms. Absently watching the bony face of the full moon float outside the slots in the shutters, she'd let her mind wander down the same path it usually did when it was allowed.

Upon her first return to her hometown after their long crusade to restore the woman called Azalea, it wasn't much of a shock to her that she missed that impetuous bastard. Orphen. She wasn't even surprised at the realization of just how much she missed him and every frustrating thing that went along with him: all his caustic remarks, his obstinacy, even his occasional cruelty. In those long weeks without him, she would stare blankly into space, lost in her inane wishing, excruciatingly aware of his absence and unable to concentrate on anything else. Even if their similarities incited more arguments than anything else, she'd known within the first few weeks of knowing him that she was in love. Inexplicably, madly, stupidly in love. More in love than any girl should be, and with someone no girl should even bother being in love with at all.

Oh, she'd known it from the start. She simply hadn't known she'd known. It had taken her months to admit it to herself, which was part of the problem. Knowing she loved him…it only made her feel like an idiot. Like being in love with a beautiful forest or sunset; something far away that would never love you back, and you could barely expect it to.

But regardless of that, it was still hard to believe that someone so adept at the art of sorcery, one who could control such impressive power, could be so emotionally…bankrupt. When she was a little girl, her sister Mariabella had sat with her at the lake for hours, telling her stories about the black sorcerers from the Tower of Kiba, all the way in Taflem at the northwestern outskirts of Kiesalhima Continent: a decidedly foreign sounding city with its whitewashed chalkstones and ornate cobbled roads. Apparently it had been destroyed more than twice in the wars over the last couple hundred years only to be rebuilt grander each time. And of its inhabitants, she'd imagined mysterious, exotic champions in long robes gathering magic on their fingertips, their heads filled with runes and incantations and musical sounding spells.

Orphen, well. Suffice it to say he certainly fit that one dimensional picture rather well, but was basically in every way a negative of the noble, heroic traits she'd pictured would go along with it. He was brash, selfish, short tempered, vulgar, and sometimes she suspected he might be more than a little bit crazy…and yet he struck such a resonating chord of utter fascination within her that it echoed in her like a belltower. Nothing and no one had ever affected her in such a manner, and to such extremes. When he gathered light between his palms, she nearly forgot her own name. Just one bare glance from him was all it took, just the tone of his razorblade voice when he spoke an invocation could make her mouth run dry; just one unexpected smile could derail an entire train of thought.

In the atrium of the inn that hot August night, she'd simply sat at the small table with her half empty glass of water, resting her head in the cradle of her arms, and dozed in a stripe of moonlight for how long it was unclear, dipping in and out of dream filled sleep. Upon regaining enough consciousness to stand, she abandoned the glass and headed back to her room in the wooden labyrinth of the moon striped corridor, the dreamlike whorl of her mind guiding her on a leash of sleep. She quietly closed the her door behind her, crossed the room, still one foot in a dream, and slipped back into the vaguely cool bed sheets, only to be roused completely a moment later by another movement between the folds of the bedclothes.

Jerking upright, Cleo's head whipped to the source of the movement, regarding the sleeping sorcerer with initial horror. At a second, more alert glance, it was glaringly obvious it wasn't her own room. To begin with, the window was wide open, the pristine full moonlight pouring to the wooden floor like luminous snow. Her window was painted shut and the room was too stuffy and hot to even think in, much less sleep. The moonlight settled over the bed, into the folds of the white sheets and over Orphen's bare back.

Of all the people.

She'd been known to sleepwalk before. To end up in strange places. But this was a complete joke.

Terror and trepidation created an odd cocktail that sent her heart hammering in her chest, some rudimentary reflex threw up both hands to cover her heart, as if she might muffle the thunder that seemed to reverberate on the walls around her, threatening (in her terrified mind) to wake him. What would he do if he woke to find her here? All she had to do was simply slip away as quietly as she had come. All she had to do was act quickly.

He stirred, rolling onto his back and shifting an arm. Cleo held her breath, her heart in her throat ready to burst out. She was frozen, too afraid a move out of the bed would alert him, watching him until he grew still.

His face as he slept, she'd never seen it like that before. He looked so relaxed, so calm. It was rare that he removed the trailing red bandana he usually wore, but now it was absent, his dark hair falling over his bare forehead. Silent, she exhaled slowly, examining his features on his sleeping, moonwashed visage with more interest than she would have liked to admit. The long, dark eyelashes, the slightly parted lips, the sloped curve of his jaw.

God, why? Why did he have to be…? Sometimes it only angered her. Things would just be so much easier if he didn't look like that. She had a wicked compulsion to reach up and run her fingers through his hair, just to see what it felt like. Yet she held still, examining him as though she might burn the image into her memory and never forget it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he spoke suddenly, his eyes remaining closed until she jerked back in shock. She held her breath again, another odd reflex that her body thought might save her from the next few minutes of humiliation. She considered bolting, but figured it wouldn't do much good.

Orphen had tiredly opened his eyes, staring straight through her for a moment before focusing on her face. He didn't sit up. His gaze just burned up at her in the moonlight, and once again, like a moron, Cleo forgot to breathe. Things would just be so much easier between them if…if he didn't look like that. Her throat constricted embarrassingly, and she wiped her damp palms on the sides of her slip, considering him with wide eyes. His fairly calm reaction hadn't been at all what she'd expected.

He prompted her again. "Well?"

Yes, not the reaction she'd dreaded, but she still had no answer. Instinctually, a lie found a way to her lips, and she was relieved just to hear her own voice. Sounding frightened and urgent wasn't a stretch. "I heard crunching noises outside my window, like someone was trying to get in, and…I don't know…I was too scared to go back to sleep…."

Sure, that didn't sound contrived at all. He didn't appear too convinced either, but still made no move to get up. He blinked heavily, his eyes hooded and unfocused. When his voice came, it was thick and gentle. Half asleep. Maybe half drunk. Had he been drinking? The words that usually bit into her came to her ears like feathers. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice (or care to comment on) the peculiarity of her getting into his bed to tell him she'd heard bandits outside her shutters. Why she'd even bothered with lying about the reason, she had no real idea. This was all so stupid.

"Really. You're sure about that?"

She nodded dumbly, her hands fisted up against her chest, sitting upright with her bare legs tucked up beside her. She watched his gaze flick over her, seeming to linger on one of the little red ribbons holding her gauzy nightdress up on her shoulders. The longer he silently regarded her, the hotter she felt a blush crawling up her skin, invisible in the moonlight. Finally his eyes closed again. "Well…what did you want me to do?"

"Ah…I don't know. I was just scared…so, I…I came in here…"

His eyes opened again, staring through her, his eyes gone soft-focus with exhaustion, before they closed again. "…go back to sleep."

"…hu-here?" she squeaked, her voice going shrill even as she tried to keep it at least in a stage-whisper. The pounding heart was back.

All he did was sigh heavily, a weak furrow appearing on his brow for a moment, the corner of his mouth tightening in annoyance. But he didn't reply.

Cleo started at him for another minute or so, frozen in place, appraising the meaning of his apathy and silence. He had heard her, hadn't he? Clearly he wasn't awake enough to be reasonable. She couldn't decide what to make of this reaction. They had all been asleep for hours now; she recalled the clock in the hallway reading close to four. He was likely only half-conscious throughout their conversation; they were all exhausted, it wouldn't be surprising if that was the case. After all, she'd been in such a state she'd found herself in the wrong bed.

This should have been her cue to quietly get up and correct that error; return to her own bed and leave him to, hopefully, completely forget they had spoken in the first place.

She lay down slowly, pulling the sheet over her legs, never taking her eyes off him; as though he might spring and belittle her for actually believing he'd just invited her to share his bed. She watched him sleep quietly over the soft white hills of the pillows, gradually gaining the confidence to pretend to herself that she belonged there in bed with him. It gave her a delightful tingle, and it was just a harmless game, after all. Orphen just slept quietly, and Cleo was now wide awake and having the time of her life. She planned on staring at him like this for as long as she could keep her eyes open.

Long minutes passed, maybe twenty, and she ventured a few inches closer, her heart calming and confidence rising for each inch until she could feel the heat of his skin. She curled her right arm under her head, and, softly enough she felt sure it wouldn't wake him, she lifted her hand to his shock of black hair and combed just the tips of her fingers through it, sliding it away from his forehead. She had imagined it rough, but it was smooth and slick, slipping between her fingers, and she smiled involuntarily. By the time she realized his breathing had changed, his hand had already closed bruisingly tight around her wrist.

"Can't sleep?" if his voice had sounded different before, it really sounded different now. She felt her chest stiffen; as though her heart was squeezing to a standstill. Frozen like a frightened animal, she was trapped in his grip, leaning slightly over him. His rust colored eyes stared up at her, the shadow of her arm falling in a dark stripe over his face. She could not even blink, and the sudden quiver that shook her body was beyond her control as he began to sit up, his right hand still enslaving her wrist and his left suddenly catching her other arm. He pushed her onto her back, leaning over her with all the menace he seemed able to muster, pulling her limb forward to ensure she could not look away.

He appeared to be awaiting a reply, his eyes still intent on hers, his features shadowed in the sallow glow of the full moon. Cleo's mouth went dry, the entire event surreal enough to be a dream and a nightmare all at once, and her heart strained in her chest, hammering painfully and thundering in her ears. She'd never felt the power he held over her with his rough charm more than in that moment, held in the thrall of his burning eyes so that if she'd even had an answer, she never would have been able to speak. She was sure he could feel her shaking, feel how quickly her breath flooded in and out of her, giving her away. Yet he just held her there, the moment frozen still. Actually, she wasn't positive she wouldn't faint. She'd brought this upon herself, she knew that.

Sometimes she just didn't know why she did the things she did.

"Nothing to say?" he prompted, his voice hoarse but sharp and cold as usual, for once catching her completely speechless and unable to turn it all around and throw it back in his face. Usually her defense mechanisms would have kicked in by now: usually she would have snapped back or slugged him. Under the circumstances, however, being caught in such a situation had left her wit paralyzed.

"I'm…" her voice shuttered out like a draft, tumbling clumsily over her quivering lips in a ghost of a whisper. Her spineless shaking was embarrassing her, the cowardly thunder of her heart. It was almost as though his method was to punish her by simply allowing her to embarrass herself into submission, staring her down with that familiar spark of anger in his eyes; his hands gripping her just tightly enough to frighten her. The blush that had blossomed on her cheeks at first had spread over all her exposed flesh, yet his hands on her felt hot. She might have been imagining that part. She licked her lips, trying to control her anxiety enough to speak, but all that came out was a stammer.

"O-Orphen…I….just…" Christ! What was she supposed to say?

Though obviously furious, he didn't seem interested in her attempt to explain after all. He pushed forward without warning; his mouth smothered her stammering and caught her lips awkwardly half open. His hand eased up, his fingers crawling up the nape of her neck and into her hair. After a quick gasp of surprise, Cleo's bones abruptly lost all their solidity, and her muscles went flaccid.

Oh. This wasn't real.

Cleo had kissed a few boys in her eighteen years: at the Christmas Formal at the academy, under the staircase between classes, in the dark courtyard after hours. Some were tentative kisses, some too hard with scraping teeth, all of them unpracticed and clumsy. This was nothing like that. Kissing Orphen, after two years of nothing but outright verbal warfare and silent wishing, felt like her blood was igniting, like her veins were lines of gunpowder. He sucked the breath from her and she lay still and unresponsive as a paralytic. But the way he kissed her, it was strange. Angry, forceful, but slowly; with an almost peculiar intensity that made her shake like a dry leaf in the wind. After a moment that felt like a year, she returned the action as best she felt able, and he finally freed her captive wrist, her hand cold and bloodless above it, and abruptly he was gripping her leg, tugging on it, slipping under the hem of her nightdress with little apology.

Somehow, it was difficult not to focus on that undeniably bizarre, vicious anger in that kiss. She didn't understand, was even a little frightened, but regardless she didn't push him away. Maybe he'd counted on that. Instead, she whimpered in response, winding her arms around him as she'd only ever dreamed of doing.

From the moment she'd seen him atop the ruined tower in the lake, far more than a year ago now, there had been rarely any other dream that came at night than ones of Orphen. In her rather detailed fantasies, they had made love many times and in various imagined places. The most frequent of these occurrences took place in that same lake near her home, where she would be swimming in the starlight. He would be watching her this time, standing atop the tower that jut out from the center of the water, his hair and cloak whipping in the wind, his dark eyes smoldering, never leaving her body. She wouldn't see him at first, but could feel him watching her. She would feel fear, a delightful erotic trepidation of the black fantasy that burning gaze promised. Sometimes he would use magic to seduce her, using spells she had just conjured up in her imagination, but often he needed no assistance in persuading her. Cleo had always known how arrogant she would make Orphen if he was aware of the sorts of dreams she had about him.

Or maybe he would just be disgusted.

Was this really happening? His mouth slid from hers to her jaw, dotting it with molten, open mouthed kisses that lingered burning on her skin even as he moved further down her neck, dropping further down to her collarbone until the lace of her neckline impeded his progress. It all felt so real. God, how she hoped this was all real this time. She snaked her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair as he returned to fit his mouth against hers once more. He took a sharp, deep breath as she returned his kiss without hesitation, hooking a leg around his to feel the press of his body more intimately against hers.

Oh, she knew this wasn't decent. Not something a well-brought-up, respectable girl would ever do. Her mother would be appalled, her sister shocked at this vulgar behavior; but she'd never been any good at adhering to the things everyone seemed to think a lady should be, and even less what a lady of the noble Everlasting family should be.

The hem of her slip was edging ever higher, the fabric gathering over her thighs and hips, his hand sliding up with it under the dress, up to her bare waist and ribs. She found the waistband of his pants, slipping her fingers in and tugging gently. From the back of his throat, there was a soft rumble in response to that action, and he kissed her harder; more insistently. Somewhere in a part of her brain that could still reason, Cleo wondered how far he would take this before he spoke again, and if he didn't say another word until he stripped the nightdress over her head, until he pushing her legs apart…did she care?

Did she? Cleo felt a sudden spike of apprehension.

How far would she allow this to progress before her nerves forced her to speak up?

He rarely spoke in her dreams; he would simply smile that wicked, charming smile and she would fall flat on her back for him. Maybe her brain just couldn't think the way he did; couldn't conjure up any convincing lines she could believe would actually come out of his mouth. Not like he needed to bother with seducing her anyway. And even in waking life, he had to know well enough he could've had her by now if he'd really wanted.

He just hadn't wanted.

His fingers continued their journey, now running along the curve of her back, and Cleo had the bold urge to speak. Like a lovesick teenager, she wanted to tell him that she loved him; that she wanted to belong to him, no matter where he went or what he did. Instead, she did none of these, and slid a hand down from where she clutched his sinewy shoulder to press her palm against his chest. His heartbeat was strong against her hand, and it was going much faster than she would have expected it to be if she'd truly had the capacity to think about things like heartbeats.

While she was sifting through a million thoughts based on the feel of his anatomy, his mouth lifted from hers suddenly, hovering there a millimeter away for a long moment. Suddenly hesitant.

Cleo had to beat away the notion that perhaps he didn't want her after all...despite how she'd slowly felt his initial anger drain away; despite the tentative almost-tenderness she felt replace it.

But maybe she was just imagining that. Among other things, she'd been known to let her imagination get the best of her.

"Cleo…" to her surprise, he suddenly spoke, his whisper brushing his lips against hers once more, making her almost swoon. She loved how her name sounded spoken like that, a rough whisper that sent a hot shiver across her skin, despite the distinct regret she could hear in it.

She waited for him to continue with held breath, but she never heard the end of that sentence.

Somewhere beyond the inn walls there erupted an echoing scream. There followed a cacophony of heavy objects falling, glass breaking, splintering wood, the clatter of footsteps. Under her hands, Cleo felt all the muscles in Orphen's back contract as he brought his head up quickly towards the open window in the direction of the surprising clamor. He looked down at her for a moment—an almost startled expression passing over his dark features, the lightning bolt clarity of a man waking from a trance. His hands snapped away from her body, and he threw back the sheet, up so fast it was dizzying, snatching his shirt up from the back of a wooden chair as he stormed from the room without even a glance backward.

She heard a violently muttered curse as he was closing the door, leaving her sprawled in his bed, still panting, still trembling; legs splayed bare in the moonlight.