Hi folks! Here's chapter 2 which is a lot longer thank goodness. Thank you my dear reviewer! I hope more will join you soon :) Please review, guys. It letsme know you're all actually reading. I take positive and nagative reviews of course. Constructive criticism is good for everyone. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 2 - Grand Entrance
Queen Eliza sat by the fire in her study, contemplating the dancing of the flames, trying to pick out shapes in the warm colours and plumes of smoke. In her hand she held a small goblet of wine which she held close to her chest, occasionally sipping from it with a slow, relishing deliberation. Her other hand leant against her face, fingertips stroking the soft skin and eliciting a sigh from her pink lips each time she made contact with a thin line of stress or age. Being Queen of Albion was terrible for one's complexion, she mused.
As a figure she looked perfectly at peace, although one might wonder why such a powerful woman, who appeared so happy on the surface, could be found sitting in the early hours before the dawn listening to the roars of an approaching storm. Then one would look into her eyes and find the answer. There was a haunted look in those deep pools of blue and when, in the fire, they spotted a resemblance to one certain man the formerly placid queen twitched and whimpered.
"Walter." She whispered, bending her head low that she would not have to face the flames any longer. She missed him so.
You can only blame yourself.
Throwing her goblet to the carpet, the Queen shrieked in frustration. She did not know if the voice, the snide, accusatory and evil voice of the Crawler was real or part of her imagination. Since she had defeated the Darkness and lost her dearest Walter to its damned clutches, the great Queen Eliza of Albion had slowly began to lose her mind during the night. When she closed her eyes to sleep, darkness closed in from every corner her mind and she felt herself suffocating in the thick blackness both mentally and physically. Her mind would scream as all of her bad memories would return in a torrent of pain and her body would jerk to life, leaving her gasping for breath as she clutched at her face to remove the Darkness which was not there in the first place.
She had not told anyone, and during the day the Queen was perfectly amiable and cheerful, seemingly taking the weighty responsibility of running Albion in her stride, the way her brother had not. But no one saw the Queen at night, and she vowed no one ever would. To allow someone to see her in her weak and vulnerable state, plagued by irrational nightmares and relying on alcohol to help her through it all was unthinkable and degrading and, folding her hands into tight fists, Eliza swore that she would kill before someone would tell her secret.
Logan never said anything but in his eyes she saw a subtle understanding. He would send her a glance which would speak volumes to her. They understood each other silently and she knew that he would never say a word. They were one and the same now; a heroic blood line tainted by a strange madness and an even stranger inability to display emotions to siblings. She found it so difficult to display weakness to Logan and he to her. He was rarely found in the castle grounds at all, forever locked in his chambers which were once hers, pacing back and forth, forever bathed in light. His servants knew the consequences if Logan's fire ever burned low.
Hearing raised voices in the hallway, Eliza raised her head in wonder. Who could be causing such a ruckus in the castle at this hour?
"Sir, with all due respect I really-"
"My dear boy, if you were giving me the respect I am due, you would be kneeling before my rather grand stature and as it is, I am in no mood for such ignorance."
Upon hearing the slick aristocratic tones, Eliza threw herself from her seat by the fire and launched herself at the doors across the room, grabbing the pistol she kept on her person at all times.
"Now, you're a handsome young thing and I enjoy nothing more than handsome young things but-" the sentence was punctuated by the cock of a pistol. However, before a shot could be fired, Eliza flung open the doors with a great force, her robes billowing around her.
"Ah, speaking of things I enjoy." said Reaver, a lecherous glint in his eye as he raked his eyes over the Queen's state of dress. She had a sudden desire to cover herself, but, fighting the instinct, Eliza raised her pistol to Reaver's head and tilted her head slightly.
"Reaver, to what do I owe this rather abrupt pleasure?"
Reaver smirked and slowly lowered his weapon; much to the relief of the young man guarding Eliza's door-it was the poor boy's first night on such an important shift.
"James," said Eliza, addressing the man, "visit the kitchens and they'll give you a strong drink. And you," with a pointed glare at Reaver, "Come with me."
James made to walk away and as Reaver sauntered into the room he turned back, "I'll be seeing you soon I hope, James." He ended the statement with a wink that made colour rise furiously to James's cheeks and closed the doors with a throaty chuckle.
"Oh, my dear, you do time your entrances well; your guard very nearly gained an extra orifice."
Eliza turned impatiently, pistol still in hand, leaning on the chair she had just vacated.
"Reaver, what do you want at this hour?"
"I hope I am not interrupting, your highness. I have merely called upon you to inform you of my grand return (most important, I am sure you'll agree)…and to inform you of a certain difficulty I currently face."
Eliza almost smiled at his sense of self-importance, but nodded her head to indicate she was at the very least listening.
"You see, dear," Reaver walked forwards and lifted the bottle of wine from which she had been drinking, pouring himself a goblet and settling before the fire with a satisfied sigh, "I have returned in all my industrial glory to Bowerstone but I find myself quite in need of a house. As you know I vacated my old residence for it really no longer suited my, rather fine, taste."
"And why is that any of my business, sir?" asked Eliza with a raised eyebrow, taking a seat across from the man.
""Sir?" Oh, so curt, your highness. It is your business because I find myself quite enraptured by this charming little demeure. Might my generous ruler grant me rooms in her spacious abode?"
Eliza sat back in her high-backed chair and contemplated the man she had known since she was a child. The fire threw dark shadows across his face, occasionally giving his features a slightly demonic appearance. But, Eliza realised that in all the time she had known him, Reaver never changed. He had been young as an early inexperienced business man and here, many, many years later, he faced her as young as ever.
His infinite youth was far too curious for the inquisitive queen to ignore.
"Where have you been, Reaver? You abandoned us to fight the Crawler. You scurried away on your little errand at the perfect wrong time. I suppose I should have expected nothing less."
"Oh, hush, Eliza. It was merely a matter of self-preservation. My 'little errand' was really rather important. Surely you read my note; I made it quite clear I am most unwilling to make this visit annually. It can grow so tiresome. I would have stayed, had I been able."
Reaver lowered his goblet and stared into the fire with a faraway look in his dark eyes. Eliza was unsure if this was for dramatic effect, but allowed him his theatrics – one could do nothing better for Reaver than humour him. But growing impatient after several minutes of silence, Eliza broke into the man's reverie.
"Well, Reaver, are you going to tell me what exactly this errand was? You did say in your note and I find myself rather curious."
Reaver shuddered and broke his gaze from the entrancing dance of the flames, turning to face his Queen. He drank in her features, appreciating the interested expression upon the royal countenance. He so loved a captive audience.
"I am afraid you shall have to remain curious, my dear. I am in no mood to inform someone of my deepest, darkest, secret if they cannot grant me the small favour of a room."
Eliza scoffed, "Nothing is a small favour when it comes to you, Reaver. Your room would have to have an array of dispensable servants with targets painted on their chests before you could ever truly be satisfied."
"As Queen I am sure it is perfectly possible for you to do this. However, I ask nothing more than simple chambers for now. With luxury fittings of course – I deserve nothing but the best, dearest."
"Naturally," said the Queen, rolling her eyes, "And if I were to grant you these rooms, would you finally tell me why it is you take an annual leave?"
"Of course" said Reaver with a courteous bow of the head.
Eliza noticed the small smirk playing around his lips as he bowed his head. She frowned considering what kind of man Reaver really was, and how he was perceived by her adoring public. To put it succinctly, they considered him to be a pompous prick. And he certainly was one; a violent one at that. How would it look to the people, if their Queen, renowned for being pure and good, allowed the kingdom's most corrupt tycoon to live in her castle. Not many had reacted positively to Logan's continued life and Eliza worried about continuously angering the proletariat with her choices. They were hardly a forgiving bunch.
Reaver noticed the hesitation on Eliza's face and quickly extracted his pistol, "Of course, I could always go and find young James and his friends in the kitchen. And I won't let you stop me." He twirled the pistol nonchalantly before directing it at the Queen's indignant face. Her pistol lay out of arms reach and Reaver would shoot before she reached it. He would shoot faster if he gained hint of her gauntlets charging.
Oh blast.
Eliza sighed and nodded in defeat.
"Very well, Reaver, I shall make the arrangements for your rooms in the morning, for the time being, sleep in my guest room – it is tolerably comfortable."
"I do not usually settle for tolerable, my dear, but for you I certainly shall."
Reaver stood swiftly, tucking away his pistol and heading for the doors of the chambers with a victory swagger that made Eliza snigger.
"Bonne nuit, your highness." He said quietly, smirking at her before leaving her rooms.
As he walked towards the guest room, Reaver's youthful face adopted a rather twisted frown, which marred his fine features. He had no intention of telling Eliza his true story. He had adopted a new identity, had moved with the modernising times and no one living knew of his sordid past anymore. Reaver intended to keep things that way.
He was no longer Pirate Lord and Thief. And he was even further from being Him, the weak past. He was now Reaver, genius industrialist and closet Hero.
I hope you enjoyed it! Now, please, review :D
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