I am only two chapters ahead of this, and this concludes Part One of our tale...Part Two will begin with a short intro, then the wedding...I realized I am only two chapters ahead of what I am posting-how risky! If I am not ahead, then I may give up due to the stress of writing a chapter by chapter-how strange your authoress is...All my silent followers of this story of the Kingdom of Music...ah...Why so silent good readers? ;-) Please do leave a review! Thank you so much, Kitkat, TNP and Not A Ghost 3 for all your love. I hope I do not disappoint...In other news, the pg . net is virtually and completely down due to the memory of the servers it is hosted on etc. And with the php errors etc etc, sigh. Thankfully, Angel of Mystery-145/honeyphan has lovingly posted it to a new site... :-) phantomlnd . net (In caps just to make sure: PHANTOMLND . NET) So afraid ffn will remove my link. I will sob horribly if they did, lol. And yes, with it up again I will probably be revising the earlier chapters to include more symbolism and all for you phans out there :-D With that, I give you..Chapter Ten!

Chapter Ten

One of the secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others.

-Lewis Carroll

Raoul was sure that he could kill the next time he saw Erik. Sitting at the bar in Austria, with all sorts of rick raff around him, he sipped his beer with a strangely refined air in comparison to the rest of them, thugs, and gangsters all. He was surprised then, to see that his companion, the assassin, who he was told to address as Black, having the very same graceful air about him. Who was this mystery man beside him? Other than being an assassin by trade, he did not know anything about this strange man, who held his alcohol and spoke like that common trash, and yet could be so refined in his graces of killing and drinking. He wouldn't make small talk with such men under normal circumstances, however, having hear the word "Fop" applied to him more than once, and very liberally used, he decided to gall up to speak to this mysterious man…

Five minutes later, and Raoul had all but given up on talking. Black had refused to reply to anything he had asked, instead continuing to sip his beer in silence. Raoul had seen the man talk, but to very few of the men who inhabited this bar. And he had never seen this man engage in any polite conversation, just business deals. He was intrigued and fascinated by this man, who was seemingly brought up for the purpose of chasing elusive gold, of which he possessed so much. No wonder this man was sticking with him, he was sure. Deciding instead to return to their room, he bid his contractor a goodbye, heading out of the bar to the nearby motel, which they had rented a room in. Raoul turned the key in the lock, stepping inside the musty, dim room. In the corner lay the other's saddlebag, which Raoul presumed it contained the man's possessions. Curiosity got the better of him as he gingerly picked it up, believing it to be spring loaded. Rummaging in it, he found a single photograph amongst knives and bullets. It was old and worn, and he recognized that this was his nurse when he was but a wee child. On the back was scribbled "Dearest Mummy" in a crude, childlike font using simple ink. He knew this face, this nurse, she was sent away to care for a sickly cousin of his, he was told, when he was four. He barely remembered it, only to a certain extent due to his age. Suddenly it all fell together, how this man knew that Erik was his half brother, and the sickly cousin and the nurse. Erik. She was sent away because she sold him. All those hushed whispers of his parents of the Devil's Child, hadn't Madame Giry in her story said something like that about him? And the fact that he had escaped from the circus, ran away from being the freaky sideshow he was…Was Erik not only about ten then? He said nothing, hearing the door handle click, shoving the picture back inside the bag and kicking it aside and pretending to be busy with getting ready for bed. Secrets, would remain as secrets for now.

Days passed, and Erik was still half asleep in his den when Christine had her next large bout of vomiting. At least she only threw up the water this time, he noticed. It would mean that at least two hours had passed and the food had passed into the rest of her body. He nodded to himself in approval, smiling slightly. At least the medicine seemed to be taking effect, even in small amounts. Ringing the bell for Madame to bring the food hamper again, he slowly began the task of feeding Christine again. At least she could talk now, even if her voice was but a whisper. Soon, he would be able to hear her glorious voice again, he thought to himself. But please, my dear, get well soon! The prayers he finally would send heavenward to the God of Christine and the Girys were finally being answered. Erik made a mental note to actually attend Mass this Sunday, for Christine's sake. He bustled about the den, having neglected it much in Christine's illness. She could not live with such a horrible place to spend her coveted time with her husband! And yet, he reasoned, she would never need to come down here again when they were joined in body and soul by the holy union of God. No, instead they could spend the time lazing in the bed above. Ah, the phoenix bed, he had forgotten to fashion one more for her. He went up occasionally in the times of Christine's illness to make sure the west wing was completed in the Rococo-Gothic-esque fashion he had intended it to be, although in a taste not as vulgar as the original renovators of the Populaire had intended, with the indecent poses of women and men in heat scattered over the pillars of the Populaire.

Finally, Christine could talk normally again, and it had almost been but two weeks since she had fallen. Her health was not fully regained, and Darius prescribed a few more tonics to get her back to functioning health, including strict orders for her to plump up, and to be strong. Erik had complied, stuffing Christine with various meats and breads, ranging from the prime cuts of steak with the freshest chickens and fishes from all over the world. He had engaged chefs of exotic descent, ranging from the Middle East to the Bahamas and the Caribbean islands, even travelling all the way to Asia for other delicacies. From foie gras to halibut, from flank steak to ramen noodles, Christine was sure she had never had such a wide array of food in her short eighteen years of life. Approaching the nineteenth year in about a month or so, with the winter approaching its own end, she delighted in the pleasures that Erik had served to her, and slowly regained her health and strength. Erik had engaged the services of a priest also, making sure that the man was all but short sighted and blind, he did not wish for any questions about his mask. This was as although he was in possession of the flesh colored mask, he preferred the black and the white ones, which needed decidedly less application paste, or best, none at all. This allowed his skin the feeling of freedom and less itchiness as he unmasked himself nightly. He had sealed the deal, and he would be married to Christine in February the following year. December, its cold would end, and she would be married in the spring of February with the early February crocuses and their gentle heads that swayed in the wind. The girl sat obediently by the fire in the sitting room, barely recovered. She was embroidering a handkerchief nervously, realizing that she and Erik were the only ones in the room. The servants had taken the day off, and Madame Giry and her daughter were out purchasing supplies and other luxuries in place of the servants. Christine did not dare venture even the slightest gaze at him. What of their impending marriage and the like? She did not know, having been ill for almost a month with pneumonia.

Slowly, Erik came to descend to join her at the hearth, by the dying firelight. Watching her slim fingers as they threaded the final stitches to her pattern in and out, he mused at how she had grown from the clumsy girl he had once known, to this fine young woman. She set her work aside in the basket, leaning into Erik's chest as he pulled her close. They stayed that way for a while, as Christine admired her handiwork, and Erik paid a compliment to it, saying that it certainly was very fine. They then proceeded to sit in the silence, with Christine lacing her hands with Erik's and giving him a tiny squeeze, which let to his heart clenching itself happily and then unclenching as she unclenched her hand around him. She gave a small smile, the deep silence between them momentous, with the dying fire. Erik moved to stoke it with the poker, and put in a few more coals, before he resumed his seat beside Christine. They watched as the fire roared heartily to life, consuming the coals like the fire that consumed them in the night of Don Juan, the fire they had fallen through and passed simply like the innocent souls Christine knew they were. Erik looked down at Christine, shifting as she snuggled close to him, his hand wrapping around the small of her back, kneading the soft flesh encouragingly and silently as they stared at the red fire, dancing. The silence still hung in the air like the tension it was, foreboding. Christine fingered the ring on her hand, her engagement ring to him. It was but a simple band of silver, but so lovingly crafted of roses, entwined. Two roses, depicting them. Finally, Erik spoke.

"I'm sorry," he began, but she shushed him.

"No time for regrets, even if you regretted the way you proposed to me."

"Can you read my mind, Christine? Don't steal my words."

"Really, Erik, you aren't as mysterious as they all claim you to be."

"Saucy wench."

She giggled, snuggling closer to him in the cold. He was sure she was doing this on purpose. One false move, one more step in the directions of temptation, and she would lose all forms of virtue she had ever known of. She didn't seem to mind, the way that she was allowing herself to be held. Control yourself, Erik's mind shouted at him, as he reminded himself that they would be married in a few months. Surely, then, would he then allow himself to capture her whole, body and soul. But as of now, they would preserve the time, innocent and glorious.

Like that they stayed, in their own world, such that Erik could even ignore the soft footsteps of the Girys as they settled the items in the parlor and the storage, creeping upstairs in politeness so as to not disturb the couple.

Christine slowly rose from her position amongst the sheets. In her cuddling with Erik, she had somehow fallen asleep. She yawned and stretched, finding that Erik had spent the night at her bedside again, seated on a small stool with his arms folded under his head as he slept, curled up. Try as hard as she may, she couldn't pull him up to the bed, which annoyed her. He was so much warmer than the sheets. And as much as she knew this would be shunned in a proper Victorian society, she had thought of this time and again, but she did not care. They were engaged already, weren't they? Although, Raoul had never done such a thing when they were engaged, in fact he never did such a thing. He was so simple, so refined, so easy and safe. She felt almost sinful for comparing them, for beside Raoul, Erik seemed almost like a man, and she could see the difference that she had lacked in making her choice the first time. The first time around, she had not wanted to run with Raoul, but concerned for her safety, she had done so. Then she had regretted it with a regret deeper than the raging seas. She never needed a second time; she had only left for her safety and to pacify Raoul. Did Erik not want that too? And somehow Raoul had returned, somewhat with a vengeance, as he stood stock still in the doorway, glaring at his half brother, and firearm in his hands.

"Erik…" she breathed, heaving as she tried to pull him up again. Grunting with the effort, she slowly pulled his hands from under his head, shaking him in the process. Erik kept his eyes close, laughing inwardly at her efforts. He had long been awake, but this, this situation he found himself in was quite amusing. No, he would not wake; instead he would enjoy this for the time being.

"ERIIIIIIIK." Christine groaned and heaved again and again, barely having gotten the upper half of his body up on the bed. Sighing at her efforts, with Erik splayed unglamorously over her; she could not help but laugh, pulling him up more. Heaving at her effort again, she finally managed to get his legs up on the bed, which was the moment she realized he was looming over her, a playful smirk on his face.

"What a kindly effort, Christine. A certainly novel way of inviting me into your bed."

She made a face, an attempt at looking scandalized. Blushing, she let him prop himself up in her bed, which had barely enough space for the both of them. Pressed close to him, with his glittering eyes of mystery, she blushed, almost realizing how easily he could overpower her. It served to heighten her fear and want of him, blushing deeply at her perceived impropriety of the whole situation. Finding herself flush against him, with his strong, tense body pressing onto hers, she breathed in his scent, the slight sheen of sweat of the warm morning, breathing shallowly. Dear God in heaven. If he was to be so potent when but this close, she could not imagine the delights she could feel when she married him. Feeling almost giddy with delight of her potently dark husband to be, she reached out and placed a quick kiss to his lips.

Erik could but see the way that she was pressed against him, and the friction was delicious, sending shivers down his spine when they made contact. Slowly, he found her lips on his, and it was slow and hurried all at once, all but making up for the lost time. They were both aware at the way that Erik delighted her in that small confines of her bed, her generous mounds peaking gently through the thin chemise. Erik had often admired her form and figure, especially in those harem dancer costumes, which left little to the imagination. However, he had always felt a pang of jealousy, those others other than himself should be treated to such a glorious view of his wife to be. He slid a hand tantalizingly up her thigh, which had been exposed in her sleep. Remembering how he had longed in the nights of watching her, longed to touch her as such, he took his time, savoring the feel of her smooth skin against his rough palm. He let out a low moan, dipping his head to the neckline of her chemise, suckling gently at the soft skin there. What he did not notice was the door as it slowly opened. The sun was high in the sky, and it was way past breakfast and time for luncheon. Madame Giry entered the room cautiously, and with a cough, the lovers sprang apart as if they had been burned. In a clipped voice, she announced luncheon, and they looked at each other with a guilty look in their eyes and a blush on Christine's cheeks, before Erik turned to face Madame Giry.

"Antoinette, I would kindly request you knock first before entering…" he said, in a clipped, strangled voice.

"I did," she replied. "There was no reply, so I assumed you all to be still asleep. Imagine my shock when I entered to see you both in such…situation. I thought I raised all my ballet dancers to be more…virtuous women."

Christine let out an involuntary giggle, blushing furiously.

"Come Erik, " she sang. "Im hungry."

Nodding stiffly, still embarrassed at the situation, for he had never had such experiences before, he followed after. No matter what those other ballet girls said, there was no way he had ever entertained any dark clandestine sexual relations with any woman. And he certainly would not. As a child, before Giry had married, he had wanted her, even during his time in Persia. As such, even as the Shah's favored assassin, he took none of those girls offered to his bed. And he would continue to do so, even as the dark Angel of no virtues and no God. It was not so much for religious reason which he protected himself, it was for the women he loved. Feeling Christine's smaller hand slip into his, he smiled down at the girl, slowly descending the steps to luncheon.

Life, he guessed, could wait until he had snapped out of this blissful dream. Which of course, he hoped to never end.

"Ma bel ange Christine, mon amour."

Part One concludes! Anyone wants to cry for little baby here. This story is my love, because I really have never written this far nor gotten so many reviews so fast etc etc etc /sobs happily/ I love you all! By the way, I am no longer putting :) or :D anymore, they say those are for childish people who tend to swear more etc according to studies made. Therefore, for my English's sake and the like, I will now type it out as :-) and :-D etc. Just so you know, random facts lol. Up next, phluff and a wedding. Hmmm. /calling Wedding Crashers Anonymous to hire some...one.

Oops, plot revealed. ;-)