I'd just like to voice the genuine feeling of happiness I get when I see my story reach another hundred view benchmark, or oftentimes a simple heartfelt comment. Thank you, to all the dedicated followers of the Red Queen fandom.

"His lips are on mine, hard and warm and pressing. The touch is electrifying, but not like I'm used to."

Mare

"I apologize for my foolish, uncontrolled actions. I didn't understand what I was creating and should've known better than to continue on in the process of making a monster. If there is any method possible to reimburse my mistakes, I will more than happy to do so," I say all of this while kneeling before Volo and his damned court, my only escape being the sight of the intricate floor tiles, an array of metals and colors.

"Miss Barrow, it is clear to everyone in this room that you have done more than enough. Unless my wife can derive how you may repair her gardens, there will be no retributions." No words are uttered from the viper's mouth, most likely a shake of the head. Out of sense and fear, I don't defy the king by raising my head to him, playing the part of the obedient little girl just as I've been told to. "Leave. Before I change my mind. You and your fellow electricons are permitted to exercise your trade, so long as you leave this estate and area surrounding it in peace."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." After ostensibly hours, I ascend, but persist bowing my neck downward, avoiding the glares of the courtiers that are surely fixed upon me. Another awkward jerk of my head, indicating faux gratefulness. Rotating on the flat of my foot, I initiate my leave.

Opposite Volo and Laurentia, Davidson, Farley, and a couple other Guard and Monfort officials inhabit the corner of the throne area, most conversing amongst themselves. Farley seeks to latch onto my gaze; we haven't spoken since the events that yesterday brought. Though I do wish to explain myself to her, other priorities emerge on my list first. Davidson and I watch one another, and he bestows and subtle nod, signaling I did well. I return the gesture.

Tyton watches me from feet away, weariness pronouncing his features. I'm not the sole one who's acquired a trying day. As I cross the threshold that separates this room from a span of hallway, he decides to accompany me, strolling at my right.

"Well acted, but not sincere. Even those hotheaded as Volo could tell."

"Of course they did," I sigh. "All they valued in my speech was the drowning in my own lies. I hated every second and they know just that."

"Yes," is all he responds with.

It dawns on me now that our conversation involving his sister was never completed, though he brushed it off as if it had been. "Tyton, your sister-"

"There's nothing more to say about it. If there is a heaven, hopefully, she's there now." He surrounds himself with a wall of stone and ice, clearly. Exactly how I have countless times, sometimes in the correct ambiance, other times not at all.

"You don't have to do that, shut me out because the words are too troublesome to say aloud." I realize my volume has risen significantly, and quickly work to bring it down. "You once told me it was unhealthy to hold sadness inside, yet you do it yourself." Hypocrite, I'm tempted to yell. Only then do I grasp the fact that my voice hasn't lowered, maybe even gone up more. Though the terrible actors pretend not to be listening in on every word, various men and women have terminated their journies, conveniently striking up conversations with each other. "I only wish to be a shoulder to lean on."

"It's not as transparent as you might think," Tyton's lips barely part when he reveals this obscure piece information. Struggle contorts his body, giving hunched shoulders and creased brows.

"Then tell me, Tyton. What makes this situation so complicated?" I walk the fine line between curiosity and malice, my tone of voice especially, which is doused in pleads and a tad of contempt. It's immoral, really, speaking like this to a boy who still mourns his fallen sister; but that doesn't stop me from pushing. My actions are validated by the weight that shall be lifted from Tyton's shoulders after I force out his hardships.

"I lied," he breathes out before closing his eyelids and compressing the skin, then dragging a down his face, apparently set on touching thoroughly contacting every fiber. "about the man who killed her." He angles about and sets off, explaining for me to tailgate.

Tyton leads me down the corridor that branched off the one that had led to the throne room, taking another turn afterward. It will be a miracle if I learned the layout of this hellscape before I'm granted the blessing of departing, the date forever a mystery.

"She wasn't killed in Tiraxes, but in Summerton, Norta." I hike up my brows, accompanied by silent horror. Four years ago, Tiberias the Sixth would've been in dominion, wed to a Merandus, and two innocent boys at his side. Months previous any hint of Scarlet Guard terrorism aroused, the Lakelands the solitary threat to deal with. But even then, the war wasn't actually a battle for the cause all reds assumed it to be. Were told it to be.

"You were an uninformed red at the time, but during that midsummer, a considerable number of those just like my sister were executed, right in Caesar's Square. Supposedly, The Bowl of Bones was too grand for the traitors." In that case, I should be flattered and appalled I was special enough. "Strange, isn't it, that royalty uses the space for both marriages and beheadings?"

"Barbaric, really."

"The King killed forty men and woman, all by himself. In order to teach us filthy rats a lesson on respect towards our superiors. It's all so clear in my mind, every moment portrayed on the television, Zara's screams at the end." His eyes have gone away once more and it is no longer myself he recounts the darkest parts of his youth to. "And the worst part is, I saw the prince there, on the monitor. Sixteen years of age, I calculate; he didn't flinch once, unlike that timid brother of his, who appeared as if he was ready to throw up the last week of meals. Only a monster would be capable of retaining a straight face through all that brutality." I anticipate I'll be sick myself, listening to Tyton's sadistic remembrances of Norta's corrupt government. He shakes his head scornfully, before saying, "That's plenty of memories for one day. I think I'll go."

"Tyton," I procrastinate, though I don't have anything to say next. So I don't urge him to remain when he leaves because there isn't a reason to. All morning and into the afternoon, I've used this topic of conversation as yet another topic of distraction, which has proven to be my favorite method of relief from heartbreak.

No more, I decide right now. "I'm sorry for pushing. We don't know each other well enough for asking for those type of questions. I shouldn't have pushed," I repeat. He whips back around to return the gaze, anguish burning in those green eyes of his. In a matter of seconds, anguish becomes melancholy, and then ambition for an unknown cause.

A blur of flesh and skin and suddenly he's much closer than he'd been before, faces inches apart. And without a hint of hesitation, his lips are pressing on mine with brilliant clarity. Shock overtakes me immediately and I freeze up, but he doesn't relent. To the ordinary passerby, the kiss must look forced, with my tense shoulders and hands splayed on my cheeks.

As an eternity elapses, I locate my senses, which have been playing hide-and-go-seek, and break the caress, in spite of the longing that demands I allow him to finish what he started. Excessive gasps of air are taken from the both of us, those inhalations breathed in such proximity I swear we share the very molecules of oxygen that besiege us.

"It's awfully soon. I shouldn't-"

"No. You should've." My judgment relinquishes its hold, and before I know exactly what I'm exploiting, my lips are right back on Tyton's with a crushing passion I thought to not be capable of nowadays. The lip lock is different than the ones of the past, tender yet fierce, full of promise against fate. Speculation of all else is thrown away, only this moment exists.

Yet what horrifies me the most is the fact that I don't want to stop.

Arms wrapped around my waist, my fingers raking between strands of hair, and bodies pressed up against one another in such a way that there must be no tomorrow. Unrestrained glints of lightning flicker and are exchanged between the both of us, and they achieve nothing if not bequeath added pleasure to my nerves, veins, and bones.

Unfortunately, Tyton fractures the kiss that shouldn't have lasted that long in the first place. Immediate regret pushes me over the cliff known as my heart, but I don't let him see it. "Wow," he exhales out, still long pants taken from the both of us.

"Agreed." But it isn't the kissed who utters the accord, rather a third member, standing on the reverse end of the corridor from us. Evangeline rakes her eyes over the scene, just as I did Tyton's hair; already I'm certain a scheme brews in that pretty head of hers, no doubt to draw me further into demise. She nonchalantly struts towards Tyton and me in her alloy ensemble, the tail scraping contra the metal flooring, producing a spine-rattling tune that sends chills down my body. An expert in her aptitude, the sound is intentional, meant to disturb.

"Evangeline," I say warningly, though no real threat lurks beneath the empty words. "This is not your secret to tell."

She merely rolls her eyes and offers up a deep snicker. "Remind me how long it's been since Corvium, Mare."

I stare back blankly, not comprehending Evangeline is actually asking a question, instead of a rhetorical one. The magnetron cocks her head, gazing at me demotingly while doing so. Dangerously close she ventures, though I suppose it's not at all a risk for her, with her arrogance heavier than the dress she adorns. During the battle of Corvium, Evangeline actually edged towards my good side, in spite of her threats towards myself. Quickly as the phase came, it has left; it appears Tiberias's accord effected her as well. Comprehending, I compress my eyelids together brutally, refusing to answer such callous needling in Tyton's presence.

"Go on boy. Hurry along, now. Girl gossip is in session now."

Tyton looks back at us, surveying options. Stay at the simple girl's side, all the while resisting the magnetron's orders, the one who owns a glare as noxious as her blades. Otherwise, betray me before a relationship can commence. Opposing instincts, I disclose, "It's alright. Go. I'll be fine." Muffled terror washes over him, though he conceals the emotion as quick as a blink.

Figuring it's the sole manner I'll shake him, I give Tyton my back and focus my diligence on Evangeline. Few seconds transpire until footfalls disembark, rapidly plunging into a silence that I fear nearly as much as Evangeline's allegations that undoubtedly will dawn. Steadying my breath intake and composing myself as adequate as feasible, I face the destined queen consort of Norta. At least that's what they like to presume.

"So who do you plan on telling? A select few or every person you can in a hundred-mile radius?" Uniform respiration, uniform respiration.

"Hmm," she virtually sings, tapping her chin with a beautified finger, its nail filed to an acute tip. "perhaps a distinct Calore brother?"

Sickness jeopardizes the breakfast consumed hours ago, the bile greedy to view the sunlight. Maybe I imagine it, but I suffer from feeling the substance climbing upwards, the mass meeting my tastebuds, my gag-reflex barely able to contain itself. Swallowing dread and vomit simultaneously, an obnoxious grin is thrust into my features; if it doesn't vex her, I'll electrocute her. "Maven wouldn't be very fond of this occurrence, Evangeline. The boy has an obsession-"

"Stop right there and never be smart with me again," she emits the humorous growl, yet retains snowy posture and that wicked, cunning expression. "I've come to propose a trade, and these happenings shall have to act as leverage, I suppose."

"How I cherish our deals." The previous resulted in my oath to steer clear of becoming Ptolemus's assassin. These negotiations aren't usually in my favor.

"Manacles no longer confine your freedom; I can assure you it will not be that of the last occurrence." Is it fried eggs and coffee, or is she legitimately playing nice?

"Yet you revealed this secret shall be a bargaining chip. And so often words prove to be almightily compared to a set of chains."

"Fine, catch my bluff. I was just attempting to make you feel as if you had a choice."

"How considerate," I drawl, the appreciation drenched with acid.

"Nevertheless, suspicion tells me you'll like our agreement. Either I go reveal to your scorned lover the treason of the heart you've committed, or you select the latter." Evangeline delays her adjoining words, purely to spite. Treason, she calls it; but it is anything besides for treachery. "As the alternative, I'll be the guardian of your clandestine information, but for an expense."

"Perpetually a cost when doing business with royalty, isn't there?"

She bobs her crown vertically. "Yes, yes there is," the King's daughter asserts too softly for a personality like that of her own. I've punctured a wound. Apprehending her error, Evangeline twitches her topmost lip and throws a glare my way. "Together we will compel Tiberias's life to take the form of a living hell; so torrid even he cannot sustain. And as for this," the magnetron pauses, searching for the suiting words. What an oddity for the girl who undoubtedly toiled in institutions for years, gaining information on becoming the perfect queen, master of public speaking. Now she trips when conversing with a stupid little red girl. "it will materialize as social knowledge soon enough. You and Tyton will only manage to stay a secret for some span of time before someone slips. Who knows? Perhaps he doesn't want your bond to be private; perhaps half the residence is already aware."

My throat bobbles, a sufficient movement for Evangeline to notice if she cared. "Why are you helping me? A year ago you would've been more than happy to carve a couple blades into my chest."

"And certain days I still yearn to," she expels, almost fuming. "We're on the same side, aren't we?" No. "I will never adore Tiberias the way in which you did. You do." She uses the present tense, and it greatly unsettles. You don't love him; not anymore. "I don't wish to marry the boy, but it appears I'm trapped for options. So I propose we make him sad beyond belief."

"How do you propose we manage this?" I ask, gulping. Against my own morals, I sense a twinge of pity for the boy, subject to Evangeline's wrath. It would be folly to convince myself not an ounce of love remained for Cal. New guilt amasses; once again I'm blocked at a standstill, a crossroads where two loves collide. I shouldn't be growing this connection with Tyton that has been churning lately when I prolong these gloomy ideas, not a chance in hell of them reviving.

Yet I shun thoughts of exterminating Tyton, the flower in a field of snow; the lantern chasing aside the eventide. And someday, I prompt, my heart and mind will heal from these old wounds that never truly are vanquished, under Tyton's compassion. And when someday arrives, I promise to love him with all my heart or hope to die.

"There are unlimited options, really. In the beginning, the very mention of your name had Tiberias balking. A steamy brush of lips between you and your new toy would have this place in ruins."

"You suggest I use the very notion you vowed to keep a secret from him, against him? How clever."

"If you don't prefer that one, I can concoct plenty more." Evangeline looks me in the eye for the first occurrence in our conversation. "You are the sole being on this Earth who is capable of causing the prince unadulterated agony. Whatever method entices isn't my concern. Get the job done, and this secret of yours will be hidden on my behalf."

She twirls, metal spiraling alongside her. "Farewell, little lightning girl. And make him suffer."

The humid, yet comforting heat of the season dances amidst the air of my chambers, wafting through the cracked open window. Faint whoops accompany the breeze; one could guess they belong to Ella and Rafe, their discipline in training relentless. Combat honed fingers-morphed from the smooth skin of a child to a war stricken soldier's-stroke down my hair repeatedly, the motion mesmerizing to the both of us.

"I won't color it purple if you were ready to ask."

"No, that's not what I was contemplating," Tyton whispers, despite our solitude. "You're alluring in this state, without creams or a glamour to enhance your beauty."

Assuredly a blush travels up my neck, my cheeks, as he vocalizes his opinion. Across the course of my life, I've been labeled with a multitude of descriptions, and alluring fails to meet this list. More often it's bitch, nothing, useless... When I was still in adolescence, Mom surely told me how pretty her little girl was; all mothers tell their daughters so. And only two other boys ever had the incentive to categorize me in such ways.

I shift up from my position lying down on the mattress, and sit up with my knees tucked into my chest.

Noticing my self-consciousness, Tyton replaces the field of interest. "You know why I was so quiet when we first met?"

I shake my head.

"I couldn't find my words that day, to greet you without earning myself a week in the hospital from his royal majesty. You're strikingly beautiful if you like it or not." His declarations don't aid the redness that persists its effervescing, never satisfied with the intensity it already owns.

"Tyton..." I trail off, a warning to stop his compliments as if they're insults.

"No," is all he says. From just behind me, the creak of Tyton climbing off the bed sounds, and in an instant, he's clutching my hand, our fingers laced together, and hauling me into the washroom.

Straight to the sink, but that isn't the object of which is the concern. A refined, expertly contrived looking glass looms before us, its skeleton a shimmering gold, surely made of the same substance it takes the color of. Moisture from the heat of day adheres to the mirror, offering my blurred reflection, hazy and unclear.

Tyton pushes away the condensation, unveiling the both of us. "Now look, with authentic appreciation."

After dragging out a blink, I gaze back at the girl who is just as miserable as I am. Slightly bloodshot eyes, from the exhaustion and tears that are never through with their terrorism. At least the assured bags that decorate my eyes have been covered with the powder Farley awarded me a couple days ago. Lips chapped from the biting...

"Tyton, I can't do this; there are other, paramount activities that need to be seen to." I make a move to leave the lavatory, but I hardly get anywhere before Tyton's strong arms clamp down on my shoulders.

"No. It's evident there's nothing more important than this."

I could break out of his grasp if I wanted to, had the energy. Instead, I turn back around.

"You like focusing on the negatives, don't you? The golden, brown skin of yours perfectly offsets from your orbs, the shade of a thriving elm tree in the spring, brighter than all the others." I want to tell him, no, only lies flow from his mouth. Yet the words he utters are so poetic, beautiful even if they are falsehoods. "And the gray ends of your locks aren't distasteful when the correct beholder views them."

As much as I try to hold back my simper, a tentative one pops out. "It's amazing how all in one day I can kneel before a man who least of all deserves to perch on that throne, choking my pride, and then this happens. Thank you," I whisper the most genuine statement I've owned in my existence.

"Of course," he speaks back softly.

Before I have the chance to regret it, I whip around and encompass my arms about Tyton, forcing him into a crushing embrace. Momentarily surprised, but he quickly returns the gesture, surrounding each other in innate body heat.

It comforts me, far more than it should.

"Not just for this, but everything, every little thing you've done for me these past days. Even the kiss." The addition to the sentence I promptly wish to take back.

"About that," Tyton's breathing hiccups; I can practically listen to the beating of his heart from this distance. "I really shouldn't have." The electricon uses the same plead as earlier.

"I don't bemoan it if you're curious. But it's far too soon, you weren't wrong on that part." If only I could see his expression now. "Though," I add nimbly, "I do believe a relationship could blossom between us, someday."

Finally, those rapid gallops of his heart pumping blood cool down to a steady pace. Though it isn't his organ that panics, but mine, I note now.

"Friends, for now, we can agree," he responds right into my ear.

"Yes, nothing less than that," I return.

A timid, almost frightened knock sounds on the door that divides my chambers from the rest of the world. Possibly a slave-though Volo claims otherwise- to deliver lousy news reporting yet another event gone wrong.

"What fantastic timing," I murmur under my breath, traipsing towards the exit once Tyton releases his arms.

Though the face of the person who greets me wasn't the one I was expecting.

For a moment I forsee Farley launching into a lengthy reprimand on the irrationality of my actions and I disjoin my lips, ready for a counterargument. Yet there's such a burden of struggle attached to her features, tensing her jaw, her eyes alert and dejected synchronously. On the brink of sobs, in fact.

"Farley," I say, double-checking my tone is sincere and thoughtful. "What's wrong?"

"If you're concerned for my happiness, that's very considerate, but I assure you there are far more captious dilemmas to mull over. Shockingly, her pitch maintains a steady beat, though it's hollow. Her throat bobbles when she announces this vague information.

Farley hasn't cried for a long time, and today sadness risks that streak.

When she understands I have nothing to say, confused, she formulates broader. "Your parents are here, you best go speak with them. I'm only a messenger; this news is not mine to deliver." This go-round, her voice hitches and a sole droplet of salty despair washes out her tear ducts.

Mom and Dad are here, all the way from Piedmont, a thousand miles south.

Only a crisis would allow these circumstances.