Walking through the palace at night without being spotted was easy, almost suspiciously so; Quercus was almost certain the queen had made sure most of the guards would be busy with something different from patrolling around that time. Before long he was standing in front of the heavy wooden door that led to Queen Luzula's quarters, and in front of four armed guards that stared back at him carefully.

"What is your reason to be here?" one of them asked.

Quercus said nothing: he simply reached into his pocket to pull out the gold coin he had been told to show them. The closest guard reached to take it, looked at him again, and nodded before turning to the others.

"Let him through. Her Highness requested his presence. No, no need to," he added as he saw Quercus reaching to get the decorative sword off himself to hand it to them. "It is Her Highness' order that you're allowed to carry it wherever you like in the palace unless there's a director order from her for you to leave it behind. She said it would have helped you a great deal having it with you when that assassin attacked."

Quercus stared at them in surprise for just a few moments before recovering. "I'm humbled by Her Highness' trust, although I am fairly certain no assassin would make it as far as her chambers," he finally said before nodding at the guards and stepping through the now open door, which was immediately closed behind him.

He had never been into the queen's quarters before, and hadn't he been used to the luxury of the palace he would have probably been taken aback by the marble, the fine tapestry and carpets and high ceilings covered with carved wood. He was at the beginning of a short hallways, with a number of doors – all made of carved wood with the Cohdopian national symbol – on both sides, and a larger one at the end of the hallway.

For a few moments he just stood there, the queen nowhere to be seen, unsure of what he should do – should he call out or look for her, or just wait? – then a door on his left opened, and he turned to see Queen Luzula looking at him with an amused half-smile, barefoot and with a dressing gown in place of the royal garments he had always seen her into. Her dark hair wasn't tied back nor held in place by golden pins and elaborated jewellery, but it was let loose on her shoulders in soft curls. Her eyes were so black that it was hard telling irises and pupils apart, and cold as always.

"It's rather unusual seeing you unsure on what you should do," she said, an amused note in her voice – whether it was at his uncertainty only moments before or at the bewildered look he was giving her now, he couldn't tell.

"Your Highness," he finally greeted her as he sank on one knee, rather grateful of the fact formalities allowed him to know what he should do right then.

"Rise," she said almost immediately. "I didn't have you summoned here to look at my carpets."

Quercus rose. "May I ask, then, what was I summoned for?" he asked.

She tilted her head on one side. "That's quite a cold greeting after so much time."

"It's no colder than the one you reserved to me," Quercus retorted before he could stop himself. "If not acknowledging one's presence counts as a greeting at all, that is."

He half-expected her to frown, or to deny having ignored him and challenge him to accuse her of lying, but she did neither: she only chuckled. "It got under your skin, did it not? You were especially livid yesterday. "

Quercus frowned. "So you noticed," he said quietly, not really knowing what to think of that little act. Why would she pretend not to notice his presence if she was actually observing him?

"Well, I'll admit it was hard to miss," she said with a slight shrug, finally dropping the arms she had kept folded over her chest, and a part of Quercus' mind immediately registered that the dressing gown showed more of her creamy skin than he had ever seen. "Everyone in the yard noticed your anger. And, most importantly, so did the High General."

The memory of High General Vulneraria smugly looking at him the previous day in the yard made Quercus clench his fists. "The High General?" he repeated slowly. "Are you saying you wanted him to…?"

"See you furious at me, yes. Oh, don't look at me like that," the queen smirked "you may be a good actor, but he's no fool and I couldn't take risks. You needed to look convincing. And what's more convincing of someone frustrated and angered beyond words for being ignored by the ungrateful monarch whose life he saved at risk of his own? What better reason to harbor grudge against me?"

Quercus stared at him for a few moments, an idea of what that could have been about finally starting to form in his mind, but he didn't voice his thoughts yet. "I'm not sure I understand, Your Highness. You want the High General to believe I harbor grudge against you? Why?"

She didn't reply right away. "I grow tired of standing. It was a long day, and I need to sit down. Come inside," she added, turning to walk back inside the room she had walked out from.

Quercus followed her expecting to walk inside a study, perhaps a lounge – and he stopped on his tracks as he realized it was her bedchamber he was into, a bedchamber luxurious enough to put to shame the room where he had stayed throughout his recovery from the assassin's attack. The only source of light was the fire that was crackling in the large fireplace on the far end of the room.

"Is something the matter, General?" she asked, sitting on one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace and gesturing for him to sit on the one in front of hers.

Quercus was tempted to ask her what part of talking to the queen of Cohdopia at night in her bedchamber while she wore nothing but a dressing gown was not the matter, but he decided against it. For now he only wanted to know what the reason of the treatment he had been receiving since his return was. "It's nothing, Your Highness," was all he said as he went to sit on the armchair as well. Still, he couldn't will himself to lean back and sat up straight, his back rigid.

"Is it? You certainly don't look at ease," she observed, the smirk back on her lips.

He clenched his jaw. "I'm simply impatient to know why it was so important that the High General would think I have a grudge against you," he said stiffly. She'd had enough fun at his expenses as things were, and now he wanted answers.

"Oh, I'm sure you're starting to understand why, too, even if you're trying not to admit it yet. As I told you before you took your leave, while I know the High General and those around him are most likely to be the ones who helped the assassin to make it to the core of the palace, I have no proof at all against him. And not only about this – what he wants to keep from me, he can keep from me. He had enough time, during my father's regency, to get himself connections and resources not even I can figure out. This has to end. And to do that, I'll need someone to get close enough to him. Someone whose loyalty to me I'm certain of. You, General Alba," she said, her lips curling in a smile. "We have already established that you have all interest in reserving your loyalty to me, and you're not one to act against your own interest."

That, Quercus thought, was indeed above doubt. "I'm not. So what you want is that I pretend to be having second thoughts on where my loyalty should lie so that the High General may try to get me on his side."

"Precisely. You're popular among the troops, far more than Vulneraria himself; that's why he'll want to have you under his thumb. You could have access to much information that way. Of course, it will be a huge risk. One slip, and it might be the end of you."

"I'll be able to handle it, Your Highness. I will not fail."

"I hope you have as much patience as confidence, General Alba. The mission ahead of you will take time, patience, and good acting skills. Vulneraria is no fool. This is the reason why I ordered you to ask for leave – taking two weeks of leave when your ruler's life has been so closely threatened hardly screams 'loyalty', don't you think? – and ignored you until you were so frustrated everyone could tell you were furious. I needed the start of this little game to be… convincing."

Quercus frowned a little at the thought of all the anger and frustration he had to feel for the past two months. "It certainly was convincing to me, Your Highness."

"Oh, I noticed." She leaed. forward a little, and Quercus found himself staring at her as the flickering flames in the fireplace cast deep shadows on her face, her eyes suddenly looking less cold than they usually were. "You must have hated me."

"Your Highness, I could never-"

"Don't lie to me, Alba," she said sharply, leaving out his rank for the first time.

A moment of silence followed, then, "I did."

"Have you regretted risking your life for mine?"

Another silence. Their gazes locked and held, her dark eyes silently challenging him to answer to that, and he took the challenge. "... Yes."

"Do you now?"

"No."

A nod. "Kneel."

He obeyed her order as though in a daze, eyes shut and head lowered, but after only a moment one of her hands – it was small and soft and cool, like when she had brushed his hair back after he had been wounded by the assassin – reached under his chin to tilt up his face, and he opened his eyes to meet hers again.

"How can I be certain, then," she whispered, her face so close to his that he could feel her warm breath against his skin, "that you haven't already chosen to turn your back to me?"

"Because I need you," Quercus found himself replying, unable to tear his gaze away. "And you need me, Your Highness. I need your support just as much as you need my help now."

A smirk curled her lips. "You're an arrogant man, General Alba."

"I simply know where we both stand."

"Oh, do you?"

"Your Highness can of course correct me if I'm wrong," he retorted, and he wasn't surprised in the slightest when she pressed her lips on his for a few instants in what was little more than a soft brush.

"You never know when to keep quiet, General," she whispered against his lips.

"I only know when I can push and when I cannot," he murmured as a response, their mouths still so close that he would only need to tilt his head slightly for them to be joined again.

"And how far do you think you can push me this time?"

That challenging tone again – but this time it wasn't with words that Quercus would answer. He lifted his head instead, and their mouths were joined again in more than just a brush. Her hand grasped his hair tightly, painfully, but she didn't tug or try to push him away: it was him to finally pull back, and he looked up at her to see her eyes were half-closed, lips still parted and usually pale skin slightly flushed.

"Have I pushed you too far, Your Highness?" he asked hoarsely.

She smirked down at him. "If you had, you'd be dead," she said softly, letting something fall from the sleeve of her dressing gown on the ground with a clatter – a long, thin dagger. Quercus stared for a few moments at the decorated golden handle and steel blade glistening in the flickering light of the fireplace, then he chuckled breathlessly.

"I'm glad my estimation was correct, then."

"You should be," Queen Luzula said before rising form her armchair. "Stand."

Quercus stood, but made no other move, all his senses telling him he was not to push her now. She seemed satisfied with his decision and reached out to put her hands on his chest, smirking at the small shudder he could not entirely hide. Her hand rested on the place where the assassin's dagger had pierced his flesh, barely above the heart. She brushed her thumb over the spot. "You, General, have the devil's own luck," she muttered.

"I cannot deny that. But I think we both had luck on our side that day."

"True enough," she commented before reaching for the pin that kept his cloak in place and removing it. He stood there, unmoving, while she let the cloak slide off his shoulders and then went to unbutton his uniform. She opened his jacket and shirt and ran her hands over his chest, pulling back a little to glance at the scars on him as though she had never seen anything like that before – and, if he was to think her consort had been the only man she'd had until now, she probably hadn't.

"Do you remember," she was asking, a sly smirk curling her lips as she traced his most recent, still fresh scar, "what you told me the first time I told you to show me your scars, sixteen years ago?"

He remembered. "I told you that your father probably wouldn't have appreciated it if I took my shirt off in front of you," he said, a small chuckle escaping him. "And I'm rather sure he still wouldn't. Nor would a lot of people. I daresay we're in a most inappropriate situation."

Queen Luzula shrugged. "Having second thoughts, General? Why would you?" she asked, tilting up her face so that she could look straight into his olive green eyes. "Are there ties I'm unaware of, General Alba?"

For the briefest moment he thought back of a village at the outskirts of the Babahlese region, of a woman who would never call him by name and a child whose eyes were uncomfortably similar to his own, but he pushed the thought away. He and Issoria rarely met at all, in the rare occasions he took a leave or would happen to be in the area, with no commitment for either of them… and he couldn't even tell whether the child she had last was his or not. He shook his head. "No. I have no ties to speak of that are not to this country. But Your Highness does," he added, deliberately pushing her.

She scoffed. "My consort will never even come close to me again," she said, some contempt showing in her voice. "He fulfilled his role when he gave me a daughter, and I have no further use for him. He'll live a comfortable life in another palace and I will live mine as this country's ruler – changing ancient laws that have no place in this world anymore," she added, her gaze darkening, and Quercus knew it was no coincidence that neither of her children had been betrothed to any noble's spawn upon birth as it was custom.

"Yes, I suppose that's a rule that truly had to go," he said before smiling a little. "I guess I should hope I won't give you any reason to think I'm no longer useful to you."

The queen reached to run her hand through his hair. "You're a competent soldier, and could someday make a fine politician. Stay loyal to me, and I'll always have a use for you," she said, and he had no time to reply anything, because she reached up to grab his hair again and yank his head down, and an instant later their mouths were joined again. Quercus returned the vicious kiss, somewhat light-headed at the warmth of her body against his through the fabric of the gown, and reached around her to pull her closer – but he still didn't dare to press his luck by holding her tightly. She didn't seem to appreciate that hesitation, for she immediately broke the kiss.

"Last thing I need is being treated yet again like a porcelain doll," she hissed against his lips, and Quercus immediately covered her mouth with his again, his grip around her tightening, roughening, his right hand tangling in her hair and his other arm holding her tightly enough to steal her breath and probably leave bruises on her pale skin. They were both gasping when she pulled back once more to stare up at him, black eyes heated, and it took him a few moments to realize she was challenging him – again – into seeing how far he could go.

It was fine with him: he liked trying his luck, seeing how far he could push. Quercus smirked and reached for the sash around her waist, and moments later her dressing gown slid on the floor without making a noise.

The duties of a ruler start early in the morning, so Queen Luzula certainly wasn't one to oversleep. But a soldier she had never been, so when Quercus awoke at the crack of dawn she was still deep in her sleep. He didn't truly mind: on the contrary, he was glad of that opportunity of observing her while she wasn't aware of his gaze. Not that he could see that much of her face since she was resting her head on his chest, but once he carefully brushed her hair aside he could see that she looked a lot more peaceful when asleep, and younger, the sneer gone from her face and cold black eyes closed.

She looked human, almost vulnerable, so much more now than she had looked even when he had seen her for the first time from afar so many years before, when he was only a young man and she was nothing but a child. Still, he knew she was far from vulnerable: he knew that once her eyelids opened he would stare in eyes that were as dark and cold as long-dead embers, that her tongue – soft and warm and even gentle against his own when so she wished – could cut deeper than a blade, and that beneath the long black hair his fingers were tangled into there was the calculating, steel-trap mind of a politician.

And yet, he thought, that cold and calculating creature was currently sleeping, defenseless, in the arms of a man she knew could kill her with his bare hands and virtually no effort. But maybe it was yet another proof of how well she knew that he had nothing to gain and everything to lose from her death. Yes, that had to be it: she didn't trust him as much as she trusted the need he had of her support.

"Would you have ever thought you'd make it this far, General?" her voice snapped him from his musings. He looked back down at her to see she was still resting her head on his chest, eyes shut, but now there was a sly smile on her lips. How long had she been awake? Had she awakened when he had brushed her hair aside?

"Your Highness?"

"You heard me," she said before shifting enough to lean her head on his shoulder and reaching to trace abstract patters on his chest and stomach with her fingers. "Would you have imagine you'd come so far, from the barracks to the Queen's bedchamber?"

In his mind Quercus scoffed, and for a moment he was almost tempted to point out how he considered the position, power and prestige he had obtained a far higher achievement – but of course, he wasn't stupid enough to say anything like that to her. "No, Your Highness. I never expected nor imagined anything like this. It came as a complete surprise, to be honest."

She chuckled, her breath warm against the side of his neck. "A surprise, you say? It seems there are some matters you're no better at than most other men. I suppose it's a good thing I decided to be straightforward."

"I cannot say I have any reason to complain, Your Highness."

"Is there any other answer you'd dare to give?" she asked, propping herself on an elbow to look down at him, some amusement in her eyes. "I have nothing to attend to for another hour. A rare occurrence. You should feel lucky," she said. "Or honored, if you're arrogant enough to think I rearranged my agenda for you," she added, reaching to stroke his chest again. "Are you, General Alba?"

He shook his head, looking up at her for a few moments before he decided to try his luck and reached up to brush a lock of her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. She didn't seem to mind. "I wouldn't dare to think that for an instant, Your Highness," he said.

The queen laughed. "Liar," she said before turning her gaze back to the scars on his chest and stomach. "You truly are used to escape death. Tell me how you got them."

Quercus partly sat up, leaning his back against the bedpost, to glance at his own scars. "Most of them weren't serious. The one you're touching now was barely more than a cut; it scarred simply because the doctor at the camp didn't sew it properly, since he had many other men to fix after me. I'm afraid that in whatever I could say about it there is nothing interesting enough to entertain Your Highness," he said, the formality with which he addressed her sounding like a mockery now that he was running a hand from her shoulder to her hip. Her naked skin was warm as her eyes were cold.

"And this one?" she asked, slender fingers reaching to trace a scar on his side.

Quercus' gaze darkened as he thought back of the battle where that one scar, the oldest battle wound he had, had been caused. "A grenade fragment, during a battle," he said vaguely, but he had let his expression darken too much, and she had clearly guessed there was more to that than he was letting by.

"What battle was it?"

"It's referred to as the Battle of Hegeliana. Perhaps you've heard of it."

She nodded. "I remember hearing of that battle when I was a child, yes. Only one man survived. It was you, then?"

"Yes. But that was no battle. That was a massacre," Quercus remarked coldly, not shifting from her touch as she traced the scar again. "They lied to us. Sent us to die. The High Command had to know we could never win: we were meant to take time. The reason why I was promoted twice after surviving it wasn't anything heroic I did – it was to encourage me to keep my mouth shut about it and be content with that I got."

"I see," Queen Luzula said, and glanced at him thoughtfully. "Vulneraria was already the High General back then. That must have been his decision."

Quercus clenched his jaw. "I'm aware of that," he said.

"One more reason for you to work against him," she commented, reaching to brush back his hair. "Was it revenge what motivated you into climbing ranks like you did?"

He stayed silent for a few moments, thinking back of how his first reaction upon finding out he and the others had been deceived hadn't been anger, but desire of having been one of those who counted and could make decisions rather than one of the expendable nobodies who could be sent for slaughter any moment without a second thought. He had climbed ranks because he wanted to be one of those who mattered, never again to be used as a puppet to be thrown away after having been useful.

"More or less," he finally said, and he was relieved when she didn't try to press him into saying anything more on the matter. She just leaned her head on his chest again instead, and Quercus found himself instinctively reaching to hold her closer, his chin resting on top of her head. There was a long, surprisingly peaceful silence.

"You should probably go now," Queen Luzula finally said after some time, pulling back. "Before long I'll be expected to get up and call for the servants to help me dress."

He nodded as he let go of her. He watched her stand and walk up to her dressing gown on the floor. "How am I going to get out without being seen?" he asked, getting up and reaching down for his clothes.

She smirked, sliding on her dressing gown and folding it around herself. "There is a secret passage behind the fireplace," she said. "Few know about it, and thankfully none of those in the High Command. Here," she reached to press what seemed to be just a part of the decorative frame around the fireplace, and the wall on the back it slid aside.

Quercus blinked, pausing for a moment from buttoning up his shirt. "I see," he said. "But why didn't you have me using it to get inside tonight?"

"It cannot be used to get inside, only to get out. It can't be opened from outside this room – for safety, so that no one can sneak inside without getting through the guards," she explained. "It will lead you to the cellar; there will be a switch on the wall. Press it, and be quick to get out: the passage will close again in seconds. And of course, never tell anyone about it. It may be one-way only, but one can never be too careful."

He nodded. "I won't, Your Highness," he said. "So, if you wish to summon me again for whatever reason…?"

"You'll receive a message, along with an item to show to the guards so that you can be let in. It can only happen when I have the most trustworthy guards in front of my door; no one in the High Command can know that you and I are meeting."

Quercus chuckled. For a moment he had almost forgotten the little act they were about to play. "I see. It seems like I should get ready to use all of my acting skills."

"Yes. I won't speak nor look at you unless I have to when anyone else is present. And you keep looking frustrated. I like that scowl on your face," the queen smirked. "They must think you're out of favor, and resenting me for it. Don't glare at me too openly when I'm not looking, but try to make it obvious enough anyway. Those we're facing are observant men. There will be no need to overdo it."

"I will keep it in mind," he assured her, looking around for his jacket. He found it on the floor a few feet from him, picked it up and put it on. He was almost done buttoning it up when he felt something being laid on his shoulders – his cloak.

"You are of course aware," Queen Luzula whispered in his ear, her hands reaching around him to clasp it back in place with the pin he had been given the day he had been promoted to general, "that breathing a word of this to anyone would mean death for you."

Quercus turned to face her and – trying his luck once more – pressed his mouth on hers. She didn't seem to mind. "Yes, Your Highness," he said against her lips. The contrast between the gesture and the formality with which he had addressed her made her chuckle.

"I'm glad to see you know where you stand," she said before pulling back. "Now go. Take this," she pressed a box of matches in his hand, "to find the switch at the end of the passage. And remember – there will be no room for mistakes."

Quercus took it and bowed to her deeply. "I won't fail you, Your Highness," he said before turning to the fireplace and getting inside the passage. The entrance was only about four feet tall, and he had to stoop low as he walked down the narrow, low passage.

"I know you won't," the queen's voice was the last thing to reach his ears before the wall on the back of the fireplace closed again, leaving him in darkness. Quercus paused only for a moment, then he smiled in the dark and kept moving forward: he had a mission to accomplish, and he couldn't wait to get started.

He still had no idea what kind of secrets he was going to learn; but even if he did, nothing could have prepared him for the moment when he'd have to face a truth he would wish he never had to see.