Chapter the 10th - In which there transpires an unforgivably large plot device, we come as close to smut as I'll probably ever get - which isn't very - and we learn how Stayne takes his tea.
I feel singularly terrible for not updating in forever, especially considering all the kind reviews I've received. I still can't believe it's already April (holy motarboard batman, I graduate next month! wtf high school, where'd you go?) But things have been crazy around here, for one reason or another, or another, or another...
/excuses
Anyway, I only hope this was worth the wait in some way. I'm particularly proud of the character development in this chapter, if I do say so myself. Also, about the smut thing - I ain't kidding. I'm a bit squeamish, I won't lie, and I'm probably never going to trespass the original T rating. xD
Again, all R&R and alerts and favorites make me feel gooier than the melted rubber on your favorite Wonderwoman action figure after leaving her and her justice promoting accessories outside in the sun too long.
True story.
Enjoy~
The faint click of an unseen lock being undone caused Stayne to jerk from listlessness as one of the massive, silver plated double doors of the room creaked trepidly inward by a fraction. Stayne snapped his head around so fast that his neck gave off a painful jolt of protest.
Anathacia appeared through the slot of the open door, her figure framed starkly by the pasty yellow lighting that brimmed from the hallway beyond. In one hand she bore a candle that flickered dismally against the darkness, and in the other she balanced a silver tray, which sported a teapot and two uniform cups.
"You're awake then, Captain Stayne?"
Her tone was light and conversational, and in his current mood, Stayne couldn't stand it. He gave a noncommittal grunt, not wanting to betray his candid confusion.
"I was beginning to wonder when you would be." Thacia said as she set the tea tray on the bed stand and began to measure out two generous portions into the adjacent cups.
"You had the attending physicians quite perplexed, as well."
No longer able to contain himself, Stayne straightened up in bed and demanded of the Duchess:
"What in the blazes did you do to me, Thacia? How did I get here? And why can't I recall anything that has transpired within the last three hours?"
Thacia did not respond right away, but instead produced two sugar lumps from an invisible pocket on her person and slipped them both into one of the teacups with a splash.
"According to the chief medical officer," She began slowly.
"You suffered an episode of combined exhaustion and dehydration."
She began to stir in the dissipating sugar with the tip of her little finger, teasing the surface of the drink until it started to swirl on its own accord.
"Though I'm rather in the opinion that someone – probably a person very, ah, close to you – pinched the bundle of nerves located at the base of your neck for a bit too long, causing you to lose consciousness in a most drastic and peculiar manner. Though of course the physician would not have picked up on that – Father acquired that particular technique from the locals during his crusade across the Crimson Sea, when he and Mother hunted the Snark. He has yet to demonstrate it to anyone outside of our royal family."
Stayne glared at her.
"A warning, the next time you decide to manipulate my physical condition, would not go amiss."
Thacia raised an eyebrow at him.
"Would you have even agreed to it if I had told you?" She countered, offering Stayne his cup of tea as she finished her thought.
"You are many things, Ilosovic Stayne - but spontaneous is not one of them."
Stayne accepted delicately, though did not drink as he continued to regard the Duchess with obvious discontent.
"You'll want to drink that before it grows cold," Anathacia advised, retrieving a footstool from somewhere under the bed and seating herself adjacent to the bedside.
"Two sugars and no cream, I presume?"
Stayne decided that he too weary and perhaps too dazed to entertain any real animosity against the Duchess. However, this did not stop him from replying in a tone that was slightly cooler than was completely necessary,
"My Lady's memory is impeccable."
Thacia must have sensed his lingering displeasure; she sighed, sipping carefully from her own cup.
"Oh, come now Ilosovic. You know somewhere beneath your indignation that neither one of us could have come up with any better plan under the circumstances."
Stayne drummed his fingers on the heated, ceramic surface of his cup and looked pointedly away and out the open balcony across the room, refusing to reply.
Anathacia set her tea aside and suddenly changed tactics. She heaved another sigh, but this time there was an exaggerated, feminine moan to it – the sort that did not in the least indicate distress. She leaned forward into the edge of the feathered mattress, supporting her chin with her fingertips in a very precise and delicate manner, mere inches away from Stayne. For his part, Ilosovic Stayne had never been so infinitely aware of the absence of his shirt. It took all that remained of his quickly wilting stubbornness to keep his eyes trained away from the Duchess. His sudden lack of obstinacy showed in his defeated attempt to adjust the silken sheets over his half-exposed chest.
"I know what you're doing." He said, fighting the impulse to glance toward her.
"It won't work."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Thacia simpered; the 'come-hither' pout in her tone was so pronounced, Stayne was aware of it without even looking at her.
"Though, it might interest you to know, Ilosovic Stayne," Thacia went on, extending a hand and plucking curiously at the edge of the sheet he had drawn over himself, like a child cautiously trying to clear the wrapping paper off of a gift without being discovered.
"The attending physician hadn't originally planned to relieve you of anything more than that onerous set of armor you were wearing – which, by the way, is in desperate need of upgraded shoulder panels, though that is neither here nor there – it was, in fact, under my own insinuation that the physician thought it best to remove the remaining several layers…"
That did the trick. Without any warning, Stayne thrust aside is tea and seized the Duchess with both arms. She cried out with a start as he hoisted her onto the bed; Stayne fought to suppress his laughter at the look of total surprise on her face as he rolled back and landed her atop of him.
"Ilosovic!" She reprimanded, breathless. She struggled into a quasi-upright position, hands on either side of the man beneath her. In turn, the man in question laughed then; the sort of ringing, unforgettable laugh that abides in the memory as a testament to treasured times, brought back to recollection when life is not so untroubled. The sound of it was true and light-hearted – even Stayne himself couldn't even remember a past instance when he had felt as carefree – as reckless – as joyful as he did in that moment when he draped the Duchess across his chest and held her there by her waist, feeding off of the sheer disbelief that commanded her expression.
"What – too spontaneous for you, Anathacia DeVyne?" He challenged, still smiling. The Duchess paused, striving to decide whether she was flattered or furious with him. Her ambiguity made her look sheepish, even weak, and the moment passed. Stayne faltered, embarrassed for both their sakes. His shame soon spawned a sudden, poignant anger, and he sat up sharply from the sheets and brushed the Duchess aside gruffly.
"You're afraid." He realized, sneering. Thacia, unprepared for Stayne's dramatic flares in disposition, remained at an overwhelming loss as she groped haplessly for some response to quell his frustration.
"Well, yes – but no! You merely caught me off guard – if father were to find out –"
"Save it." He snapped.
"Even here, out of the omniscient gaze of the Watch, you let the visage of your father restrict who you are."
He lifted her chin with one hand, not altogether gently, and forced her to meet his eyes.
"You are a Duchess, Anathacia DeVyne – you are as strong as you are both beautiful and proud. Can you not see that this…this terror of your father dilutes that? Even the thought of him seems to subdue all that I…that…I fell in love with."
Again, the words seemed to clog in his throat, unfamiliar as Stayne was with recognizing the sheer truth of the matter. When she did not respond, he continued.
"Lord Farian is a man, Thacia - a powerful one that should be respected, of course - but he is a mortal man nonetheless; he is not all seeing nor all powerful; he is human, and he makes mistakes like you and I – yet you treat him like a devil, a very devil that haunts at your heals with a rat o' nine tails, waiting to scourge you back to submission should you choose to follow your heart."
Anathacia was deathly sober as she replied.
"But he's my father, Ilosivic. I can't disappoint him."
"'Can't'?" Stayne pressed.
"Or won't?"
There was a silence as his words delved into her perception and slowly took root. The only answer Anathacia offered was something between a shrug and a cautious shake of her head.
"Listen to me," He commanded at length, brushing his thumb along her cheek as he still held her chin.
"I want you to make a choice. Since it seems you cannot please the both of us at once, you must either choose one or the other."
"That isn't fair, Ilosovic," Thacia bristled,
"How dare you think –"
"I wasn't finished." He cut in. Thacia glared at him, her nostrils flared with suppressed anger, but she held her tongue and let Stayne carry on.
"I was going to say that at this point I really care which one you pick, so long as you commit to your choice and stop toying with me. But above all, Anathacia" Here he softened and grew earnest.
"In whatever you choose, I want you to please yourself. Forget about your father – forget about your kingdom even, your loyalty has been proven time and time again. Your duty has blinded you, Duchess – forced you down a path that demands too much. Just once, I'd like to see Anathacia DeVyne choose her own path, instead of resigning herself to the bleak restrictions of Court life that can only end in misery and regret."
The silence that occurred after this statement seemed to deepen and age like a mulled wine, gaining potency as what felt like a millennium seeped by. Stayne could have sworn afterwards that he caught the shine of unshed tears in Thacia's steadfast blue eyes.
Finally, in a cracked whisper harrowed with emotion, the Duchess gave her answer.
"I choose you."
"Then come," Stayne said warmly, entwining his fingers into hers and brushing her cheek with a light kiss.
"I believe you were in the middle of something decidedly…exciting, before you started second guessing yourself."
His hands started climbing up the back of her corset, picking at the taught lace eagerly. Thacia drew closer and hesitated for only a moment, before seizing Stayne in a full, unbridled kiss on the lips. She moaned – or maybe he did, Stayne couldn't tell for sure – as they fell back together into the downy mass of cool satin sheets and thick animal furs. He tugged fervently at the last few strains of lace that persisted in securing the Duchess' corset, suddenly aware that Thacia was atop of him, and just as adamant that she escape the confines of her dress as he was.
He didn't immediately realize that Thacia had abruptly stopped all movement, only halfway out of the strewn, stubborn clutches of the corset.
"What are you doing?" Stayne asked, not altogether patiently. Thacia raised a finger to her lips and shushed him soundly.
"Shh! Do you hear that?"
Stayne sighed and fell still.
"I'm sure I can't hear anything –" He started to say, not really listening.
"Then you're not really listening!" Thacia said, "Hush!"
A single second of silent stillness ticked by; and then Stayne heard the voices.
"…Do what you can to re-secure the training grounds and the adjacent stables," A deep, gruff voice was saying as it approached.
"And for Time's good sake, find Anathacia! She's supposed to be on the Fire Watch!"
Stayne looked suddenly to Anathacia. Anathacia snapped to Stayne. The horror of one was mirrored perfectly in the other's wordless, wide-eyed expression.
"Father!"
Hello, hi, me again! Terribly exciting, no? I just thought I'd pop in and mention that the whole 'I knocked you out with the vulcan death grip' plot device is a phenomenon that I didn't entirely* make up. There is, it seems, a bundle of nerves somewhere in the neck that if you pinch for long enough, causes you to collapse without being able to control movement for a few seconds. Or so says my mother the nurse.
*Yes, I know I embellished a bit - yes, I know that as a plot device it seems terribly anticlimactic - yes, I know Spock could have done it better, but to be terribly honest, I wrote myself into a bit of a corner, and had to fudge my way through it. The quality of the end result, I'll leave you to decide.