C & C welcome, not to mention needed.
Updated: 2-28-14

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Broken Palace
By: Angela Jewell
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Disclaimer: Didn't own them then, don't own them now . . . and yes, this fact still upsets me.

Special thanks to all my wonderful reviewers: pursemonger, pahlee, miikodesu, Compucles, AliceTheBookGirl, ilkane, O'Donoghue, BobV, KaChan84, AkaneKagome, Flameraven1, Minako-chan4, tomboy 26, La Pisces, ToraHimeSama, Guest 1, KaikiH, Guest 2, and Teddy's Circus. If not for you guys, I would have sunk into a readers-only funk, and never emerged long enough to revise and fix this chapter, so thank you so, so much! Here's hoping the momentum carries me to the next one!

A/N: This is the chapter that earned the M-rating, so read-at-your-own-risk warning applies. Also, I apologize for the crappy formatting at the end - this site is sorely, sadly limited. When I finish revising my website, I'll have it uploaded there where you'll be able to read it as it was meant to be read - indenting and all.

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Chapter 10
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Rain continued to lash against the small window of the ship, casting a darkness in the room that the shadows gladly embraced. But Akane barely noticed. She stared back at Ranma, confused and skeptical.

He couldn't be serious, could he?

He had already made it abundantly clear he despised her—yet, here he was, telling her quite confidently she was going to be his wife. Even after everything she'd just told him—after all the arguing and the fighting—this was what it had all been leading up to?

Honestly, Akane wasn't sure what to think. Maybe he was the one who swallowed too much seawater!

Luckily enough, Ranma was more than happy to enlighten her. When he spoke, his voice was more brazen than she had ever heard it; direct and to the point. "Once we're married and your father is out of the way, I'll take back my lands, my family's titles . . . Nerima will come under my rule like it was always meant to. And you," he told her, his eyes sweeping appreciatively over her body, no longer bothering to be subtle, "will spend the rest of your life making everything up to me. . ."

He smiled coldly then, and Akane bristled.

Was she even looking at Ranma anymore? Now all she saw was some pigtailed pervert wearing the face of her friend—someone who wouldn't be satisfied until she was dead, humiliated, or miserable.

"I don't understand," she said at last, finally finding her voice. "You never wanted to rule Nerima, Ranma, and you certainly never wanted to marry me. Not really."

"Oh?" he said, his eyebrow cocked in interest, "and how do you figure that?"

"Well," Akane began, feeling strange giving words to suspicions, that until now, she'd only secretly harbored. "For one thing, five years of no contact is a dead give-away. I mean, sure, you never got my letters, but at least I wrote them—you didn't even bother."

"And can you blame me?" Ranma replied scornfully. "A lot happened, Akane—securing a pen-pal wasn't exactly high on my list of things to do."

"So you never wondered then?" she asked him, a touch of anger coloring her tone. "You just took whatever they said as fact, and just ran with it? No questioning, no doubts—nothing?"

Ranma narrowed his eyes, not about to expose his own weakness when he had yet to discover hers. "Would that have changed anything?" he snapped, cold as ever. "Ranko would still be dead, Akane, and my life would still be ruined. You're just lucky marrying me is the worse you're getting—if it was up to my mom or pops, you'd be dead."

Akane didn't doubt that fact, not one bit.

She still had the scar to prove it.

"Besides," Ranma went on relentlessly. "Things change. It doesn't matter whether I wanted you or not, stupid. You were promised to me. Before you were even born, you were mine. Did you really think I'd just step aside and say, fine, Kuno—take her?"

"So . . . this isn't about Nerima then?" she asked, looking uncertain, noting how it was the one topic he hadn't bothered to broach. As if to confirm her suspicions, Ranma turned his head away but didn't deny it, and Akane felt relief flood through her. "I get it now," she said with conviction. "You're acting like some dumb boy who's had his favorite toy taken away, and now you're pouting."

"I am not pouting!"

Akane didn't bother to correct the obvious. Shivering, she sat back down on the bed and grabbed the blanket, wrapping it securely, tightly around herself. Oddly enough, she felt reassured by his words. Ranma had never been very good at retaliation—when Ranko had accidentally ripped his favorite shirt, he'd followed her around for days, calling her stupid names and sticking out his tongue every time he caught her eye. It hadn't bothered Ranko in the slightest, but her lack of response had sure made him furious. As far as Akane was concerned, this was more of the same.

It wasn't like Ranma had launched some insane attack to capture her, after all—he found her in the marketplace—alone and unprotected. She wouldn't be surprised if this turned out of be some spur-of-the-moment thing . . . in the very least, it might explain why his crew kept wanting to knock her around. In their mind she was just some royal brat who was giving them more work to do, and constantly angering their captain.

And let's be honest here—Ranma's "brilliant plan" certainly needed some work. Her father would never hand over the keys to the kingdom simply because Ranma told him to—whether he threatened to marry his daughter or not. And if the dummy was using his brain, instead of his brawn, he should know that.

It was actually rather amusing; in some ways, Ranma hadn't changed at all.

He was still a complete and utter idiot. . .

"Honestly, Ranma," she said, regaining his attention. "How can you hate me as much as you claim, and still want to marry me? Do you think that makes any kind of sense?"

Immediately he grew defensive, and stammered, "Hey—back up a sec! I never said I was marrying you because I wanted to!"

Akane raised a slender eyebrow, looking confused. "But . . . wait a minute. You're saying this wasn't your idea? That someone put you up to this?" Surely his parents hadn't given him the okay, so who had?

Ranma nodded, but didn't bother to explain who the mastermind was. "Hell, if I had things MY way, I'd keep you around as a concubine, and marry someone cuter. You're not really wife material, ya know?"

With the blanket still around her, Akane launched to her feet, nearly knocking him over in the process. "You JERK! I'll have you know—I'll make someone a fine wife some day!"

"Yeah, when he goes blind and loses the ability to taste the food you'll try to cram down his throat."

There were many things Akane could let slide—an insult to her femininity was not one of them. Seething, she closed the distance between them and growling his name, threw an uppercut aimed for his head—one she was confident even Kuno couldn't have dodged. But Ranma caught her fist in his hand with surprising ease, and pulled her towards him, the blanket falling to the floor at her feet.

Akane frowned, startled to be overpowered so easily, though before long, hitting him was the farthest thing on her mind—she could feel his heart beating against her chest, surprisingly fast, and couldn't help but notice that his eyes were very blue in the darkness of the room.

Blushing, she took a shy step away from him . . . noting, like her, that his guard was down. Despite the shared moment, Akane knew an opportunity when she saw one. With his hand still on her arm, she quickly twisted his wrist, locking her free hand against his elbow as she forced him to the ground to avoid snapping a joint. Ranma stared up at her from the floor, his eyes wide with shock—and Akane hoped, some admiration as well.

"You know aikido," he marveled aloud, the hint of disbelief unmistakable.

"A little," she admitted, and then suddenly Ranma was twisting her foot and bringing her to the floor in a similar move, rolling her under him so he was straddling her body, his hands carefully entrapping her wrists. Having regained the advantage now, he leaned closer; a smile dancing in his eyes.

"And that punch—your stance was judo," he told her, and this time Akane definitely heard pride mingled with wonder as he added, "You're mixing them."

She gave him a slow, meaningful nod. "Anything goes. Isn't that what you always said?"

He didn't say a word; but his expression said it all. Again, she was aware of their closeness, of the way his hair fell over his eyes, his lashes long and dark as he watched her. Then, Ranma lowered his head, his tone teasing as he whispered in her ear, "That can apply to much more than just martial arts, you know. . ."

"Oh?" she replied, uncertain what he meant by that . . . until she felt his warm breath on her neck seconds later, followed by his lips on the column of her throat.

Oh. . .

Guilty that she was not only allowing it, but responding to it, Akane quickly broke free from his hold and pushed him away, relieved that he hadn't been using his full strength to hold her down. Climbing to her feet, she blushed furiously as she hurried to put some distance between the two of them, too embarrassed to look at him just then.

If her eyes hadn't been turned away, she would have seen him smile—but when she finally lifted her head, he was already moving towards the desk, walking with sudden purpose. There was a hot water kettle sitting there, something she hadn't noticed before—but Ranma reached behind it, grabbing a small mysterious bundle instead.

"Here," he said, tossing it to her.

Akane caught it easily with one hand, and stared at it in surprise. Up close, she noticed it was a new dress, long and light blue.

"I had someone drop it off earlier," Ranma told her, answering her unspoken question. "If you don't want to get sick, I'd suggest putting it on."

Akane smiled, relieved to have something dry and clean to change into at last. Holding the dress carefully in her arms, she stood, waiting patiently for Ranma to leave. After several long, uncomfortable seconds, he was still there, leaning casually against the desk, watching her . . .

With a start, she began to suspect he wasn't PLANNING to. . .

"Well," she questioned irritably, not one to stay silent for long. "Aren't you going to leave so I change?"

Ranma gave her an aggravating smirk, and told her quite readily, "Nope."

Akane scowled, anger warming her up much quicker than any old dress ever could. "I see," she replied at last, her voice stiff. "So not only are you a thief and a kidnapper now, you're a PERVERT too?!"

Ranma shrugged rather boyishly. "It's not that big a deal," he told her, his eyes shining mischievously. "We're going to be married soon anyway . . . and it's not like you have anything I haven't seen on other women. Why?" he asked her, his eyebrow raised. "Afraid you won't measure up?" He smirked, and Akane had to fight the urge to slap him.

"Jerk," she muttered instead, dropping the dress onto the bed behind her. Still, his words bothered her—just how had he been living lately to speak of other girls so casually? And though she had reconciled herself to the idea of Ranma moving on long ago—for some reason, imagining him kissing or touching someone else still infuriated her; but she pushed those feelings aside, too angry to fully comprehend them. "I'm grateful for the dress, but I'd rather freeze to death, thanks. Good luck with the wedding though."

Ranma clicked his tongue in consternation, and shook his head. "Sorry—you seem to be under the impression that I'm giving you a choice here." His eyes narrowed seriously. "Take the dress off Akane . . . or I'll take it off for you."

Akane watched, horrified, as Ranma suddenly moved away from the desk, walking straight towards her. If she'd had anywhere else to go, she would have moved right then and there—but Ranma's slow advance was blocking the door, leaving only the wall beside her and the bed behind—and there was no way she was going to trap herself at either of those places!

She was cornered, and he knew it.

Growing desperate, her mind shouted desperately—STALL!

"You haven't believed anything I've said so far, have you?" she asked suddenly, grabbing hold of the first thing that came to mind. Maybe if she reminded him of why he was so angry in the first place, he'd yell at her some more and then leave on his own. . . an angry Ranma she thought she could handle, this version of Ranma . . . not so much.

But her ex-fiancé simply laughed instead, effectively dashing what little hope she'd held. "Not a word," he told her, painfully blunt. "Would you?" he challenged right back, as he finally came to stand before her.

Akane looked away, unwilling to answer.

Ranma didn't seem to mind. "Why haven't you married Kuno yet?" he asked her, confusion and curiosity warring for dominance in his voice. "It's been—what? Five years? He doesn't exactly seem like the kinda guy who'd wanna wait."

At the mention of Kuno, Akane frowned, instinctively curling her hands into fists. "I made a deal with him," she explained, the regret in her voice impossible to miss. "I said I wouldn't marry him until he could beat me in a fair fight, so every six months or so, he challenges me. If he wins, I'll agree to marry him, if not, he has to wait another six months before he can challenge again." She briefly toyed with the idea of telling him the rest, but he interrupted her before she had the chance.

"You little tease," Ranma replied, amused. "I always knew you liked to play hard-to-get Akane, but I gotta admit that's pretty impressive, even for you."

Akane's face went red. "I NEVER—!"

"—It does make me wonder though," Ranma continued, ignoring her little outburst. "If I beat you in a fair fight, would you have to marry me without complaining?"

Akane balked. "You want to be like Kuno now?" she asked him, and Ranma grinned, ignoring the slight. Slowly, he took another step towards her, leaving very little space between the two of them.

"Should we try it again? A real match this time?" he asked her, and then gestured to the bed. "That can be our ring."

Akane hadn't thought it was possible to blush even more than she already was, but somehow she managed. "I'm fine where I am, thanks," she replied uncomfortably.

"Suit yourself," Ranma told her, and then, reaching out a hand he fingered her sleeve. "Now, about this dress. . ."

Her dress was very uncomfortable; but even so, Akane was suddenly very reluctant to part with it.

"It needs to come off," he told her, his eyes falling to meet hers.

Nervously, she swallowed. So much for her brilliant stalling technique. . . now every bone in her body was screaming, pound the pervert! Though part of her worried that was exactly what Ranma would want.

Akane was no fool. Even with all the training Lady Hinako had made her undergo, she was still nowhere near his level—the way he'd stopped her punch just now and how he'd turned her own technique against her, had been proof of that. So Akane found herself faced with a choice: Fight a battle she had no hope of winning and be completely at his mercy when she lost, or pray this was some lesson in humiliation and try to regain control by simply doing what he said.

After all, he was still Ranma. Doing something like this was just part of his petty revenge—it's not like he'd hurt her or anything—at least she hoped not. And yet, despite her resolve, her hands still refused to go anywhere near her dress.

"Need my help after all?" Ranma asked her, startling her from her train of thought.

Panicked, Akane quickly shook her head. "No! I can . . . I can do this," she said with difficulty. Ranma simply nodded, his eyes dark with something she refused to identify.

With nervous, shaking fingers, Akane gathered the hem of her dress in both hands, moving with glacial speed. Her heart raced and her pulse quickened as she summoned every ounce of courage for the task ahead, her mind gently encouraging: don't think, just act . . . make it as quick as possible. . .

She took a very deep breath. And then, blushing furiously, Akane pulled the damp dirty dress over her head in one quick motion, leaving only a short, nearly transparent slip in its place.

Almost instantly she could feel his eyes on her, boring into her with an intensity that made her feel as if she really were naked. Her face felt hot, and she knew her entire body was burning with embarrassment. . . but she tried not to let it show, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

Dropping the dress to the floor, Akane quickly reached for the blue one on the bed, angry with herself for not having it ready to go beforehand. But then she felt Ranma's hand on hers, suddenly stopping her. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, the fingers of his other hand brushing the low neckline of her chemise, his touch lingering.

Instantly her brain stalled, the light contact on her sensitive skin making her feel very very warm . . . distantly, she noticed that his hand wasn't stopping. Soon it reached her strap, tracing a path along her skin with his fingertips as he gently slipped it down her arm, leaving her shoulder bare, and through the fog obscuring her thoughts, she watched him reach for the other. . .

Wait a minute, she thought suddenly, his words finally sinking in. He wanted her to remove everything?!

Before he could finish lowering her second strap, Akane's body stiffened and she smacked his hand away, outraged. "Just what do you think you're doing?!" she demanded, trying her very best to forget how close she'd come to letting herself be undressed by him.

Ranma slowly smiled. "Just . . . helping," he replied smoothly. Akane licked suddenly dry lips, and opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his form of "helping" . . . when suddenly his mouth was covering hers, his kiss preventing her from saying anything at all.

Akane stood there, too shocked to move—to remember why she should be pushing him away. The reason was there, dancing on the edge of her memory—but for the life of her she couldn't seem to recall why that was. His lips were too soft and pliant, and he moved them with expert skill as he coaxed her, applying gentle pressure to get her to respond.

She hesitated for only a moment. . .

Because how could kissing Ranma ever be wrong?

She had imagined this so many times before, had imagined his touch and his taste in those dark nights in her room, when her fingers would drift south and his name would fall breathlessly from her lips.

Now, she was truly lost in him; in the feel of his mouth, hot and wanting against her own, his tongue ravishing hers from within. He tasted like salt. Like the sea itself . . . though Akane couldn't remember it tasting this good when she was drowning in it. And it may have only been the third kiss they'd shared, but her body, her heart, both remembered.

Oh, she had MISSED this. . .

Ranma's hand found its way into her hair, his fingers wrapping themselves around her damp curls, sending a lovely tingling sensation all throughout her body as fire raced within her veins. Akane was certain she'd never forget that sensation. Not when his body fit against hers so comfortably . . . when everywhere he touched, a sudden jolt of pleasure followed.

He was kissing her with a fervor and urgency Akane was hard-pressed to match. But she tried her best anyway, not about to be left behind. . .

What had they been fighting about again, she wondered? Now, all she knew was that she wanted to stay in Ranma's arms like this forever . . . even as something tugged at the back of her mind, insisting that she couldn't.

And then a word came to her, unbidden.

. . . Kuno . . .

Akane instantly froze, his name falling from her lips without a thought, not even realizing that she'd spoken aloud. In the next few seconds, her mind reeled.

She was his now—he'd beaten her fair and square. What had she been thinking? Had her pride, her word of honor—things that had kept her going these past five years—come to mean so little? Suddenly, doing this now. . . liking it . . . it felt wrong . . .

This had to end. All the more, because she didn't want it to.

Slowly, reluctantly, Akane forced herself to pull away. . .

. . . Honestly, Ranma was surprised he held back as long as he did. Watching her stand there, not being able to touch her, was akin to the worst kind of torture he could possibly imagine. And then she removed that dress, and his body felt like it had been engulfed in liquid fire.

And really, who could blame him. . .?

Her eyes, bright with indignant fury; her face flushed with shame and guilt as her long dark hair fell over her rounded breasts and erect nipples, just visible through the dampness of her slip. She had looked achingly beautiful. And then she licked her lips, and all rational thought fled his mind.

Before he knew it, Ranma was kissing her . . . his hand tangled up in her hair, his arm around her waist as he pulled her closer; his mouth exploring hers with a passion he feared would never quell.

He had envisioned her like this many times before—imagined it was her body beneath him as he bedded other women; her lips screaming and moaning his name. And yet, Akane's taste, her scent, the feel of her—it was all so much greater than he could have possibly imagined.

Oh, but he had MISSED this . . . before this moment, he hadn't realized just how much.

Not only was she not pushing him away, she was kissing him back—her lips parting willingly to give him entry, returning everything with just as much passion and enthusiasm that he gave. That realization alone made him tighten his grip; his lips almost bruising as he crushed her to him—demanding to feel every inch of her; to feel her body flush against his until it really WAS her screaming out his name.

Only . . . when she finally did say a name, it wasn't his.

"Kuno . . ."

Ranma froze against her, too shocked to speak as Akane slowly pulled away from him, looking guilty. For a second, he let her . . . too shaken to react as his mind continuing to insist he hadn't heard what he THOUGHT he'd just heard, but . . . how else could he explain her reaction?

Her face was flushed as she turned her head away, suddenly refusing to look at him. And Ranma noticed tears glistening in her eyes as she bit her lip, trying to hold them back.

Tears . . . because of him? Because he wasn't that idiot Kuno?!

At that, something within him finally snapped.

Why did it ALWAYS come back to KUNO with her?! When would she get it through her thick stubborn skull—the ONLY one she was ever going to marry—she was EVER going to bed—was HIM!

It seemed she needed reminding. . .

Ignoring her cry of surprise, he pushed her down onto the bed, using the full weight of his body to hold her there. Just above her he hovered, his eyes taking her in; her lips red and slightly swollen, her eyes dark, her breathing fast. The slip she wore had risen up, leaving her stomach bare before him, and Ranma took the chance to follow her sweet curves, his eyes drawn to a thin, pale scar just above the rise of her hip.

When had she. . .?

"Please, Ranma. . . listen. . ."

The sound of her voice reminded him of the matter at hand; he was determined not to let her say anything more. Before she had time to beg further, he bent down and kissed her roughly, cutting off her protests as she struggled stubbornly beneath him. Unlike before, she seemed determined to shut him out this time—she had closed her mouth tightly, barring him entry, and he found himself growing increasingly frustrated that he couldn't kiss her the way he wanted to.

But Ranma wasn't the type to shy away from a challenge. . .

Running his hand ran down the length of her side, her entire body grew tense with uncertainty, especially when he reached a very sensitive spot . . . and pinched her. Hard. Akane's eyes widened and her mouth flew open in surprise—but Ranma was ready and waiting. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her protests as he victoriously claimed his prize.

In his head, his father's words echoed; softly mocking.

. . . Be nice to your fiancée, boy . . .

Electricity shot through him at the taste of Akane's lips, at the feel of her soft body rubbing so completely against his own. Her hands were trying to push him away, but not about to give up so easily, Ranma pulled them up and over her head with a quick angry jerk—her back arching sweetly as he locked both of her small wrists in one hand, pulling her slip up and over her breasts with the other.

Again Ranma paused to stare down at her; fire burning through his veins as he drank in the sight of her chest heaving where she lay; her breasts, though small, perfectly pert. Entranced, his mouth moved to cover her nipple, teasing it with his tongue, and then he nipped it none too gently as Akane squirmed in vain beneath him.

Now, she really was crying. But Ranma could tell they were tears of frustration and anger, not fear, not over what he was doing. As much as she complained, she hadn't really tried to stop him. Not yet.

"Stop and listen, you idiot. . ."

He continued to ignore her, his hand moving to her inner thigh; his lips blazing a trail along her jaw, her slender throat. Before long he could taste her tears, salty and bitter on his lips—and heard his mother's voice now, gently chiding. . .

. . .Do you believe making your fiancée cry is a manly act, Ranma. . .?

He shut it out. His senses filled with Akane; with her scent, with her taste; the softness of her skin. She was begging him still, her lips slightly parted—and Ranma took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth again, exploring her with relish, drinking all of her in.

God, revenge never tasted so sweet.

She killed Ranko, ruined his family, caused his curse . . .

She deserved much worse than a good fucking.

Again, she tried to free her captured fists—to upset his hand that had finally reached her panties. But Ranma's grip on her hands grew even tighter. Shifting slightly, he pushed her legs apart, forcing her to open wide for him—and just as his lips rediscovered her breast, as his fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties to reach the soft curly hair of her sex. . .

. . . like a doll, its strings cut, Akane stopped struggling all together.

At that point, Ranma had thought nothing could have made him stop. But then he noticed that something was wrong. Confused, he pulled slowly away to stare down at her.

Her body was glowing. . .

Again, he could see her aura, its light bathing her in a familiar reddish hue . . . but now, weary and heedful, Ranma could see patches of black and gray mixed among the crimson—something he hadn't noticed in the marketplace or in the darkness of the water before.

Slowly he sat up, the mad fire in his veins receding to a dull manageable roar as concern took its place. What was going on here? A person's aura wasn't a water tap—it didn't turn on and off when you willed it to. But Akane was staring blankly as if caught in a trance; her body lifeless. Whatever was happening, Ranma knew he had to snap her out of it. . .

With surprisingly gentle fingers, he touched her cheek.

"Akane . . .?"

Akane didn't hear him.

She froze as she saw Ranko on the bed, crying, a shapeless man hovering over her, his pants down around his ankles.

"Ranko. . ." she whispered, her eyes wide with shock and fear. The man still didn't seem to notice her—he was grunting from exertion, moving back and forth, back and forth as Ranko beat at him, her hands striking his chest as she fought to push him away. . .

Akane stood helplessly, unsure what to do—how to help her friend. Ranko was strong. If she couldn't fight him off, Akane knew she didn't stand a chance. She needed help.

She turned to look around the room, searching for a weapon. And that's when her eyes fell upon the family sword hanging on the wall.

Ranma shook her, frantic now, his voice full of alarm.

The sound of someone's voice, faraway but insistent, broke through the haze of Akane's memory, pulling her out of it so rapidly that she felt herself shaking from the strain. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, her thoughts spinning painfully as she met Ranma's startled gaze.

Slowly, he reached out a hand as if to touch her; and she flinched away, moving as far away from him as she could possibly get; the shock of his actions, of her own vision, still too raw. Even so, she regretted the decision almost immediately. She needed him to listen . . . to understand what she'd just seen. . .

But before her very eyes, Ranma shut down. His expression hardened, worry turning to disdain in an instant. His eyes regarded her coldly—taking in her half-dressed state; her tearstained cheeks; her body, trembling where she sat. From her small corner on the bed, Akane pulled down her slip, reclaiming her modesty.

"Ranma, I . . ."

A mocking smile gradually spread across his handsome features as he interrupted her. "Don't worry," he told her lightly. "I'm sure two days from now, you'll forget any of this ever happened."

Not sparing her a glance, he climbed to his feet and left the room. The door slamming shut behind him.

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THE END
Chapter 10
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