The queen sighed as she slumped into the cushy chair in her study, glad to be back in the castle after so many weeks of adventuring. She had left the day after the masquerade, to be sure Reaver didn't try to further familiarize himself with her character. At the party itself, he had actually become gradually less annoying as she became more accustomed to his company, but he was no less persistent. Henrietta was certain he would try to spend more time with her in the following days, and she was quite satisfied with her dog being her only constant companion.

The canine himself, Rooster, lay at her feet, equally exhausted after a bout of killing hobbes. Having a friend around that didn't fill her day with chatter was a great comfort to the queen. She was always more at peace by herself on the gentle shores of Bower Lake than in the luxurious comfort of the castle, and a silent partner only added to that enjoyment. Henrietta bent down to scratch the dog behind his ears in a show of appreciation.

She undid the string on her highwayman cape and hung the cloak on the back of her chair, ruffling through the documents placed on her desk in her absence. She was wearing a simple corset underneath to accommodate for the spring weather, so her shoulders were left bare. There were quite a few documents demanding her attention pertaining to the restoration of Bowerstone's more damaged areas, so the stack of papers was quite big.

Not two pages in however, she discovered a packet that was so thick it must have had thirty papers in it. It was simply labeled Note for a Monarch, but the envelope had a wax seal imprinted with the double R's so that there would be no mistake as to who sent it. "Of course," Henrietta muttered to herself. "Even when I'm not here he's still busy worming his way into my life." Opening the packet, she found the cluster of papers was bound as a sort of manuscript, with a separate note attached to the front.

Greetings your majesty,

I do hope your little voyage sees you well, it would be such a disappointment to find you dead upon my return. With your leave I will also take mine to attend to a personal matter. It's a regular appointment that I am finding more tiresome with every passing year. Perhaps I will tell you more some day. For now, I just wished to say it has been a privilege to serve you and I eagerly anticipate doing so again in the future.

Your friend and loyal attendant,

Reaver

P.S. I've included for your consideration a portion of the book I have written, inspired by your charming nature. I hope you find it as thrilling to read as it was for me to conceive.

A devastating sense of dread settled into the pit of Henrietta's stomach at the postscript. She had a very strong feeling that she knew what his book was about. Of course, not reading it would only reveal to Reaver that she was afraid to do so, and that certainly wasn't about to happen. So setting the other documents aside and steeling her resolve, she turned to the first page and began reading.

"There's something you should know," the queen uttered softly, a faint rosy blush blossoming on the apple of her cheeks. The candlelight flickering in the royal gardens danced on her lovely porcelain skin as she gazed out at the row of lush fauna blossoming in the evening. She ran her graceful fingers along the column of the pavilion, slowly coming to a halt as she gripped the sturdy marble for support. "I-", she faltered, her voice trembling as she tried to find her verbal footing. At last she turned around to face the brilliantly beautiful man before her, her elegant sapphire gown swirling gently with her movement. His flowing white shirt hung open down to his waist, revealing a finely chiseled chest that lead her eyes down to his scandalously tight black trousers. The queen felt it a sin simply to look at him, and her face grew hot as she spoke. "I've never even kissed a man," she coyly revealed, fluttering her eyelashes downwards-

"Oh please," Henrietta muttered, interrupting her reading. "I've been kissed before. Why does he insist on painting me as some sort of wilting flower just because I've never lain with a man?" Rooster perked his head up at the sound of her voice, offering her an expectant gaze. Henrietta merely clicked her tongue and skipped to the next paragraph, annoyed that she had only just begun reading and was already off to a bad start.

"Then I shall leave the purity of your lips unmolested, Your Majesty," he replied with a sultry voice, igniting a burning desire deep within the queen's body. She breathed an anxious sigh at the touch of his deft fingers ghosting along her jaw; fingers that she knew would bring her absolute pleasure if she only gave the word. He had given her his vow as her loyal attendant that all she had to do was call his name, and he would take her to paradise as only he could.

"Reaver..." she whispered huskily, as he-

"What? Reaver!" Henrietta shouted, startling Rooster enough to alert her that her outburst was much louder than she intended. A few moments later the guard outside her door had rushed into the room with Hobson poking his head in through the doorway looking about for signs of distress.

"Is something wrong Your Majesty?" Hobson asked her, his concerned expression not fully hiding his stronger curiosity.

"Just... frustrations with diplomatic relations," Henrietta replied with a shaky laugh. "Certainly nothing more than the usual. Please go back to what you were doing." She had flipped the book closed and put the more orderly papers back on top a split second before the intrusion, though she could feel the embarrassment burning in her cheeks.

"Yes, My Queen," the guard answered with a salute before leaving the room. Hobson lingered a moment longer with suspicion clear on his face, before he finally left the queen back in the privacy of her study. Henrietta immediately snatched up the manuscript as soon as she was alone, not even opening it, and instead just throttling it as if it were Reaver's neck. He had written himself as her lover. Reaver. With herself. The Queen.

But of course he had written himself as the romantic lead. Henrietta dropped the book and rubbed her palms in her eyes, bothered that she hadn't realized it as soon as she received the damnable document in the first place. He had been trying to talk her into casually handing her virginity over to him for the majority of the masquerade. If he wasn't getting it from her in real life, then he would live out his fantasy in fiction. Why he felt she needed to read it was lost on her however.

Henrietta shoved the book to the side and looked back at the actually important documents placed on her desk in her absence. She had business to attend to, and reading Reaver's little love story was not a productive use of her time.

Filling out forms wasn't a difficult task, and for a lot of papers she merely needed to provide her signature. Nevertheless, it was tedious work compared to her usual adventuring, and it didn't take long for her to grow weary of the bureaucracy. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand for a moment and stifled a sigh, knowing all too well that she had to get this work done. And yet, she couldn't help but to let her eyes wander over to the manuscript sitting off to the side of the papers.

Henrietta couldn't deny she was a bit curious as to exactly how far Reaver took things in his little story. The conventional wisdom was that a queen should be respected, but that deviant was anything but conventional. She suspected Reaver never getting any sort of comeuppance for his Wheel of Misfortune escapades gave him the idea that he was unpunishable. Her inaction didn't exactly communicate the idea that he should fear her wrath. The queen was certainly angered by his little stunt, but the whole usurping the crown and ruling the queendom business left her with other things on her mind.

Henrietta tried valiantly for at least another minute to keep her mind on her work, but her curiosity inevitably got the best of her. So picking up the manuscript and finding where she had left off, she once again began to read.

"Reaver..." she whispered huskily as he ran his velvety tongue over the white column of her throat. Fingers trailing down her spine sent shivers shooting all the way down to her toes and caused her to involuntarily bring her lithe frame closer to his. He pressed the full length of his perfectly sculpted body up against her as the queen wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the softness of his magnificent hair as she ran her fingers through his silky locks. The dashing rogue took off her crown and set it aside on the marble railing, tangling his fingers in her own hair as he lavished her face with kisses, covering every bit of skin but her lips. When he had moved down to sensually nip at her collarbone, the queen could stand it no more.

"I want you Reaver," she breathed, her voice thick with desire. "I need you." The queen could feel his lips grow into a smile against her skin as he kissed the top of her pillow-soft breasts, before he brought his sparkling eyes up to captivate her own.

"Is that your command Your Majesty?" he asked, his beautiful mouth only a hairs breath away from hers as he formed the words. The powerful ache the queen felt when his willing and able lips left her body was almost unbearable, and she could do little but nod her consent.

"It is my desire," she at last replied through shuddering breaths. "Take me now." The seductive smile drew out upon his face almost as slowly as his hand slid tantalizingly down her body.

"You will no longer be the Queen of Virgins," he whispered silkily, toying with the hem of her elegant gown. "For a night of unequaled passion."

"It is a worthy trade," she replied firmly, unable to withstand the torture any longer. Her unyielding desire for him was a painful hunger that could only be sated one way. The decision was simple.

"Of course," he answered, slipping his talented hand underneath her dress. "Henrietta." His hand snaked its way up her smooth thigh at a deliberate pace, building up the queen's anticipation beyond sanity. His fingers left hot trails of fire as they danced against her skin, until they at last-"

"Oh my," Henrietta muttered to herself. If she had any doubts before about the nature of Reaver's book then they were certainly banished now. She didn't exactly expect him to write a dissertation on the structure of the classes, but she was a bit dubious that he would actually write out an entire love scene between the two of them. She turned the manuscript on its side and examined the thickness of it. It was easily thirty pages at least. Exactly how long did the scene last? Henrietta flipped forward a few pages and quickly read a sentence.

She could only hold on for dear life as each wave of sensations threatened to drown her. Reaver mercilessly continued-

The scene was still marching on. She flipped forward to the middle of the book and had a look at the contents there.

The performance of his wicked tongue was nothing short of maddening as he-

It was still going. She turned to the last page, wondering just how long he could stretch out one scene.

Her cries of ecstasy were-

The entire thing. The entire thirty page manuscript he had sent her was just one long love scene between Reaver and the queen. "Well this is certainly not safe for the study," she said to herself, opening her desk drawer and stashing the manuscript under some papers. Henrietta could feel her cheeks burning as she closed the drawer. She glanced down at Rooster and gave him a shaky smile, though she could swear the dog was giving her a judgmental look. "What?" she asked, turning back to her more important papers. He merely offered her a sigh before rolling over and going back to sleep. The queen was only too happy to return her attention to her duties, as she had found herself suddenly wanting to occupy her mind with some very dry paperwork.

There was certainly enough paperwork to take up the rest of the day, and by the time the sun had set, Henrietta had made a sizable dent in her workload. There was still quite a bit left for her though, and she hadn't helped her cause with the relatively slow pace she worked at. The tedium kept her mind in a blank haze all day, and she was desperate to get her brain active again.

She sat back in her chair, quite ready to retire to her bedroom for the evening. She didn't move from her seat however, as her eyes were transfixed on her desk drawer. She cupped her chin with her hand, concerned about what to do with Reaver's little 'gift'. "It would probably be unwise to leave that manuscript here in the study," she said to no one in particular. "If someone happened to accidentally stumble across the book, it would be disastrous." She dismissed the idea that there was little danger of someone ruffling through the queen's desk drawer, and decided it would be best to take the book to her bedroom with her where it would be safe.

The queen stood up and walked over to a nearby bookshelf to retrieve two tomes: Attack of the Killer Puffins and a Select Your Own Endeavour book. She brought them back over to her desk and set them down, before retrieving Reaver's manuscript from the drawer. Sandwiching the manuscript between the two larger books, she tucked the collection under her arm, whistled to Rooster to follow her, and walked the very long distance to her bedroom.

Shutting the door and locking it behind her, Henrietta set the books on the nightstand and changed into her bedclothes. She doused all the lights but the one on her bedside table, and made herself comfortable in bed with Rooster curled up at her feet. Turning to the stack of books, she regarded them carefully. She briefly entertained the idea of reading Attack of the Killer Puffins to retain some semblance of self-respect, but her curiosity was much too powerful to simply ignore Reaver's manuscript. She knew her inexperienced nature meant the content of his writing was unexplored territory for her, and she was nothing if not adventurous.

The queen was well aware that the principal characters in the story were herself and Reaver, but it was only fiction after all. She was sure they represented the two of them in name only, and that the degenerate author himself would be far from her mind as she read. So retrieving the manuscript and steeling her resolve, she engrossed herself in the story.

Henrietta finished the last page and closed the manuscript, marveling at what she had just read.

Reaver had made love to her in words. Very thoroughly.

He had been sure to include very detailed descriptions of every action and the resulting sensations the fictional queen experienced. To say it was eye-opening would be an understatement. No, going from having very little knowledge of the subject matter to a state of understanding the intricate minutia simply from reading a thirty page manuscript was an experience Henrietta could only describe as transformative.

The queen rubbed her eyes, as if trying to wake up from a dream. She felt unlike herself, like she had gone a little bit mad, or that the story she had been reading was more real than the darkened bedroom she was sitting alone in during the middle of the night. A feeling of incompleteness washed over her, and she became aware of a sudden emptiness in her bed. The manuscript had clouded her mind, leaving it simultaneously opaque and yet full of imagery.

Her whole body burned as she tried to dispel the thoughts from her mind. But try as she might, she could not help but to picture what she had just read. It was simply too new, too shocking, and altogether much too intriguing. She was utterly transfixed while reading, and when she had finished she could not stop thinking about it. And that was the worst outcome possible, what she had most hoped would not happen from reading the blasted thing. The events played out in her head over and over, and she knew with startling clarity... that she had enjoyed it.

But she didn't just enjoy reading it, oh no. It was the images still loudly parading in her head that she couldn't get enough of. Images that were all the more provocative because they depicted her being intimate with that duplicitous knave of an author. The story's 'hero' should have been abhorrent to her, and he certainly qualified for that category before she began reading the manuscript. But once she had taken the time to read the entire thing, the thought of Reaver's body intertwining with her own was an idea not revolting, but pleasing to her. It was as if she had been hexed.

Henrietta was at a complete loss as to how to compose herself. She did the only thing she could think of when her mind was in such a jumbled state.

She read the story again.

A second exposure to the manuscript did nothing to dull the effectiveness of the material, and she felt no less unsettled than she did before. She put the manuscript back on the nightstand, cursing the damn thing for being so compelling. The queen blew out the last candle as she did so, and laid back down in her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Henrietta's uneasiness only grew when she was in full darkness, as her eyes could see nothing to distract her from her mental imagery.

The queen curled up in a little ball like she had when she was a child, frightened of the theoretical monster underneath her bed. It was no longer some grotesque monstrosity she was hiding from however, it was Reaver she feared was lurking in her bedroom. But instead of swallowing the bed whole with her in it as her imaginary monster threatened, Reaver would merely climb under the covers beside her and give her unimaginable pleasure.

The thought of Reaver in her own bedroom delivered Henrietta a shocking revelation. What would happen the next time she has to meet him? There would be no way she could banish those thoughts if he was standing directly in front of her. The queen had such a loose grip on her rationality with these images swirling in her head that there was a very real possibility his fiction would become prophecy. She desired him now, even if she still had a powerful awareness of the fact that Reaver was a very, very bad man.

Henrietta sat up as quick as lightning, groping around in the dark for a match to light the candle on her nightstand. Once she had light to see by, she grabbed the manuscript and read over the accompanying note. It was dated over four weeks ago. Henrietta's mind reeled as to what that meant for her. Exactly how far away was Reaver's destination? How long was he planning on staying there? Did he leave the manuscript for her before he left or did he send it by post? Most importantly, how much time did the queen have to escape before the jaws of his trap clamped shut around her?

The queen wasted no time in planning her flight. She hastily left her bedroom to measure the work left for her in the study. The papers specifically needing her attention were no small amount, and she couldn't very well abandon it after being gone for so long. She needed at least two days to settle any business pertaining to the restoration of Bowerstone's more damaged areas. On the third day she would leave. It didn't matter where to, as long as she wouldn't be easily found.

She knew she needed time alone to right herself again. There was no other choice if she wished to regain control of her own senses. If Reaver came back to town while she was trying to pull herself together she would be completely undone again, and he would most certainly use that to his advantage. Therefore her path was clear. The queen would live like a hermit if she had to, as long as she stayed away from Reaver!


Fable 3 acted like the Wheel of Misfortune was supposed to show how depraved and immoral Reaver was, but I had already seen it before in the last game. And then you can play it again for fun and prizes! It really dulled the effect, and made me want to go around telling all the NPCs that it was no big deal. The metagame sort of got in the way of the role playing there.

But more importantly, big thanks to Yarbo and onelove87 for the reviews. You rock!