A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter that is ENTIRELY Reaver-centric. Please read and review! I love hearing your thoughts!
-Chapter Three-
The past month and a half without Lilyana had been the most tumultuous. Every day was more difficult, and no matter how many drinks he'd consumed, how many people he killed, nothing could chip away at his overwhelming despair. He'd gone through members of household staff like tissue paper, dispatching them for even the smallest of errors. The most recent being the pulp left in his morning beverage.
Every night he came to the same small tavern, and every night he left unsatisfied. He tried grasping at every bit of what he once was, and every time he tried, he came up empty-handed and still thinking only of Lilyana.
Throwing the rest of his drink back, he pushed his hair away from his eyes, and that's when he saw the woman. She was Lilyana's opposite in every way. Her skin looked like melted bronze, but her eyes were vivid like emeralds. She wasn't very pretty in the face, but her body was curvy and luscious. She was staring intently at him, as if he were the only man in the room, and after all, why wouldn't she?
She was very clearly a whore, but that didn't deter him from standing and crossing the room toward her. Every step had to be very deliberate, due to the drink, but he sauntered over to her, his blue eyes widening, entrancing her.
"Are you looking for a good time, sir?" Her voice was low and sultry, and she raised a perfectly arched brow.
"I may be," He said, plastering on his most seductive grin.
"If you can afford me, I think you have found one." She offered a wink.
"Darling, I could afford a dozen of you."
The woman wore one of those flowing Auroran dresses, and he pushed Lilyana from his mind. He needed this. He needed to put a period at the end of the story. He followed her up the stairs to the small room designated for just such a purpose. He was pulling his gloves off, stuffing them in the pocket of his trousers, and he entered the room after her, closing and locking the door behind them.
He reached into his coat, and he tossed a fat, jingling purse onto the nightstand, and he stripped himself of his vest. His eyes fixed on her as she sat on the bed, and she was staring back at him, almost excited at the prospect of bedding the beautiful man.
She was working at undressing herself, taking her time, giving him a show, and she licked her thick, painted lips, her eyes, once again, working their way down his body. "Don't be shy now," She said, her velvety voice sending a prickle of unpleasantness all down his spine.
He unbuttoned his shirt, and the woman rose, seemingly unsatisfied with his progression in undressing. She moved to touch his face, but he caught her hand, flinging it to the side. "Don't."
She shrugged, merely crossing her arms over her bare breasts, almost impatient now. She wore only those little underthings, and he cursed himself for thinking of her again.
He took off his shirt, and he laid it by where her wages sat on the bedside table. Unbuckling his belt, he glanced up to see that she had gone down on her knees before him, her hands moving up his thighs. He grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her to her feet, and he took her face in his other hand. "Do not touch me unless I explicitly ask you to."
She nodded softly, a small smile creeping across her lips. "Yes sir."
"Don't speak."
She bobbed her head again, her smile growing.
He covered that smile with his mouth, and he closed his eyes. He was plagued by Lilyana's tear-drenched face, so he opened his eyes again, looking up to the ceiling as this woman kissed him. She was too forceful. He drew away, and he put his hand on the top of her head, pushing her back down to her knees in front of him.
The woman worked at unbuttoning his trousers, and she tugged them, along with his underpants down to his knees. Her eyes widened, obviously impressed with what she found, and she chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head. She took him in her delicate, soft hands, and even that felt wrong to him.
He backed up against the bedside table for support, and she followed eagerly, pumping and working him in her hands, but to no avail. Nothing was happening, and a sense of dread and humiliation washed over him.
Her eyes flashed up to his face, then back to his manhood. She leaned in, as if to take him into her mouth, but she paused.
"Do you have a problem?" She asked, her eyes still moving between him and his unwilling member.
Before anything else could be done, his Dragonstomper had gone off, and the woman flew backward across the room, hitting the opposite wall, a new hole in her underwhelmingly plain face. He exhaled, annoyed with both himself, and her, and he tugged his pants back onto his hips. He gathered up his things, including the purse of gold, and he glanced out the window. It was a bit of a distance to the ground, but he'd jumped from higher in he past.
He glanced back to her once more before he pushed himself out of the window, falling gracefully and rolling speedily to his feet. The alley behind The Desert Rose was luckily empty, and he could hear the alarm that the gunshot had raised inside. He slid his shirt on, followed by his vest, but he didn't bother buttoning.
The quickened walk to back to his house was uneventful. To those passing by, he undoubtedly looked like just another drunk stumbling away from the pub. He entered the house, and the servant waiting to greet him looked over him, a momentary look of judgment flickering across his features.
"Good evening, Your Gra-"
He shot the man without hesitation, and he rolled the corpse out of the path to the stairs. He took to the stairs with the determination to climb into his bed and sleep dreamlessly, but he knew that he wouldn't. He hadn't had a peaceful night since he'd left Brightwall.
He woke with a start, his heart pounding in his throat, and he threw the blankets off. He could still see the images of her tear-stained face in his mind, hear her screaming, feel her hand slipping from his. And then she was gone, and he was left alone in the deep blackness.
He had never feared solitude. With the sort of lifestyle that he'd grown accustomed to, he had never been alone, but now, even when surrounded by people, he was more alone than he had ever been. He glanced out the window to see that it was still mostly dark out. Attempting sleep once more would be unfruitful, he was sure, so he simply moved to his vanity.
He opened a small black, lacquered box, and he gazed on the sparkling blue of Lilyana's ring. He'd never felt a pain quite like the feeling that surged through him as she threw the thing in his face. He picked it up out of the box, and he turned the glittering bauble around. He raked a hand through his unruly hair and glanced at himself in the mirror.
He looked so unlike himself. His hair was a mess, his face unshaven, and those new eyes were still slightly startling. He hadn't had blue in quite a few years. He replaced the ring in the little box, and he pushed himself away from his vanity.
Crossing the room to get a drink, he felt the fatigue setting into his limbs. He'd been throwing himself into the planning for the factories, but soon they would be built. He would have to find some other work to focus on. Perhaps he would move on to some other part of the world and thrust his industry upon them as well. He poured his drink, and he drained his glass as quickly as he could.
After another few drinks, the sun was rising, light spilling into the room through the window. He would have to get ready for another day, and he would have to face it alone.
Nothing would ease the heaviness of his mind anymore. No amount of men, women, or drink changed anything. More weeks passed, and an invitation to a ball at Kalin's estate reached him. He stared down to it. Lilyana would most definitely be there. He longed to see her, if only for a fleeting moment, but he knew that if he saw her, he would want more. He would need to touch her, hold her, make her his again, though he knew that she didn't want him anymore. He would never have to worry about watching her wither away, but in granting her eternal youth and beauty, he had sentenced himself to an eternity without her.
He drew in a breath, and he crumpled the piece of paper. He let it fall to the floor, and he exited his house. The new pub he'd been frequenting was a little further than he liked, but when he'd lost his temper weeks ago, he'd ensured that he'd never be welcome at The Desert Rose again.
Reaver entered the tavern, and he immediately was shown to the best table in the house. He sat in his usual seat, and his usual drink was placed before him. He leaned back into the chair, and he sipped.
"Did you hear?" asked a soldier from a few tables over. "The Queen has already arrived here in Aurora."
"Yeah," another chimed in. "I was on duty when she arrived at Kalin's estate. She's with Ben Finn of all people."
The first soldier chuckled. "I wonder what her husband thinks of that."
"I don't know, but they did look pretty chummy. He was looking at her like she was-"
Reaver's glass fractured in his grip, and the pieces went everywhere. His hand was cut, but he didn't pay it any attention. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened in anger.
The two soldiers turned to see Reaver, and their faces paled. They quickly paid their tab and exited the tavern in a hurry.
Ben Finn. Reaver had never much cared for him, but his contempt for the boy had just doubled. He pulled the glove off of his hand to see that the glass had only created a few small scrapes that barely bled. A barmaid was at his table, clearing away the glass and wiping the liquor from the table.
She gave him a wide, sparkling smile as she leaned over, her full breasts barely contained by her tight dress. "Is that all that you need, sir?"
His eyes drifted across her, and he lifted a hand, dismissing her.
She looked slightly sullen as she made away with the broken glass.
He rose from his seat, no longer in the mood to be around others. He dropped a few coins on the table, and he left the tavern. Ben Finn and Lilyana. He couldn't imagine what she saw in the boy. He was so exceedingly beneath her in all aspects.
He needed to see evidence of this for himself. Perhaps they were still at Kalin's estate. Perhaps he would be able to catch a fleeting glimpse of her. He patted his left breast pocket briefly, ensuring that what he had placed there, remained, and he combed his fingers through his hair.
It was easy enough to find Lilyana and Ben taking a stroll in the crisp night air. His arm was looped casually around her waist, and the pair was grinning and laughing. She was dressed in a dark dress, but with what he assumed to be Ben's coat draped over her shoulders, but he couldn't see much more than that. They were faced mostly away from his vantage point.
He pushed away from the gate, his anger bubbling over, and his hand twitched over the pistol at his waist. He could shoot Ben and take what was rightfully his, but he knew that would hardly endear Lilyana to him. He dropped his hand, and he pulled his gaze away from the pair. His chest tightened, and his body went rigid.
He turned away, and as he walked, he saw Lilyana's house. The guards were being rather lax in their duties, so it was easy to enter undetected. He hurried up to the bedroom, and he saw that the horrid bed that they'd broken had been replaced by something much more tasteful.
His eyes scanned the room, looking for any sort of evidence of foul play. He picked up her discarded clothing, seeing that only hers lay across the chair in the corner of the room. He rifled through the pockets of her vest, and he found nothing. Frustrated, he threw it back down, and he moved over to the bed, searching under the pillows, lifting the blankets, but finding nothing. He lay everything flat once more, and he moved to the vanity. Nothing.
Reaver observed from afar as Lilyana and Ben approached the door. The boy still had his arm around her, and she backed away to return his coat. When he took it from her, she leaned in and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek, which he returned with one of his own.
His hands clenched into tight fists, and he felt his whole body shaking with pure rage, his vision spotting slightly. Lilyana bade him a quick goodbye and entered her house. He watched as the stupid boy grinned and rubbed his cheek while starting a path down the road.
He had to take action. He sprang from hiding, and he grabbed the blonde soldier by the collar, spinning him around to push him against the nearest wall. The Dragonstomper was in his hand and pressed against the underside of Ben's jaw within moments.
"You must be very brave or very stupid," Reaver hissed angrily, drawing the hammer back on his weapon of choice.
Ben's eyes were wide with fear. "I...er... Hello, Reaver."
"Do you make it a habit to kiss other men's wives, or is it just Lilyana?" Reaver seethed, pressing the barrel even tighter against his face.
"You know about that?" Ben questioned. "It was a while ago...it didn't mean anything."
"I was talking about that display just then," His tone was absolutely murderous. "Do, go on, though. Tell me about these other kisses. I do so love a story."
"That was a long time ago," Ben said. "You were gone, and she was upset."
"And that excuses it, how?"
"It doesn't," Ben admitted. "But she turned me down, anyway. She didn't want to complicate things, what with the baby and all."
Reaver's hand released Ben, and he stepped back. He lowered the gun, and it almost fell from his hand. He looked up to Ben, who had suddenly realized that he'd just given Reaver the news.
"You didn't know.." Ben's tone was serious, suddenly.
"Go," Reaver demanded, stowing his pistol and looking away. His heart was rapidly pounding, and he braced himself against the wall.
Ben left him silently, glancing back momentarily before turning the corner.
Reaver was collecting himself, trying to sort out the slew of feelings that had emerged. He, instead of thinking, crossed the road toward Lilyana's hut. The guards moved to stop him, but he simply glared, and they moved aside, letting him pass.
How dare she keep this from him! She had no right. This was a matter that should have concerned both of them, and she hid it. Every step up the stairs was angry and determined, and he knew that she probably heard him coming. He didn't care. He wanted her to know that he was angry. He wanted her to know that she would regret keeping it from him.
He put his hand on the knob, and he turned it.