A/N: Arto and Luce gave me hard time in this chapter. Men are so hard to write! XD
WARNING: Quite a few POV shifts in this chapter. Also, plenty of stuff unsuitable for children.

Chapter 10:
The String of Destiny

The firmness of her hand and the warmth from her palm resting on his was enough to dispel any lingering doubts that he was dreaming. This was real. It was not a vision, not another passing flight of fancy. And it was unfolding right before his eyes.

Luce strode forward, leading Sarla to the center of the white marble dance floor. She followed silently, her eyes lowered and head slightly tilted to one side. It all seemed so easy, he thought as he watched her; her footsteps following his, the length of her green silk gown covering the ground he passed through only seconds before.

He could never look away from her now. He wanted to touch the tufts of hair that flowed free from the elaborate braid which crowned the top of her head. He longed to capture her amber eyes and stare into their depths, but she kept them lowered. What was she looking at? He looked down again and followed her trail of sight, focusing on the shadows their forms cast on the white floor. The polished marble sparkled like a mirror and showed an inverted world, reflecting the world above.

He could see two shadows, gliding a path through a brilliant cloudy sky. As if this was heaven, and we were earthbound creatures, daring to float across.

Was this the highpoint before everything comes crashing down?

He lifted his eyes and scanned the gathering of people that surrounded them, storm clouds gathering on the edges of his vision. They all looked on, anticipating the wrong move that would have made all their waiting worthwhile. Like a dog that waits on scraps of attention.

He turned away and brought his eyes back to Sarla. And what of you? What is your place, little lost feline? They've reached the center of the ballroom so he stopped walking and turned to fully face her. She still kept her eyes on the floor; her expression hard to read. Had she withdrawn back within herself? He lifted his finger and gently lifted her chin. Her amber colored eyes lifted and settled on him.

He smiled and she quickly looked elsewhere. "Everyone's watching us…," she said as she cast her eyes downward again. She turned her head to the side and a shadow fell over her face.

He felt the heaviness in her heart. "You are sad," he said, frowning a bit. Sarla looked up at him and an expression of wonder briefly crossed her features. "I just… thought of home," she admitted. "You should have seen it," she said with a thin smile before she lowered her eyes again and the smile faded.

She speaks as if all has been lost. His hands clenched. That's not true. "Tonight is a night of celebration," he whispered. "Do not waste your time on thoughts of the past, or even of the future. Think on the moment. Be with me." He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing it gently. "Shall we give them a show?" Luce smiled again, then he raised his head and stepped back a little, never letting go of her hand. He lifted her left hand with his right and placed them on his shoulder, while his other hand settled on her waist, right before where the cut ended on her dress. He could feel her warm skin beneath his open palm. Dear gods, how he wanted to feel more. He stepped closer to her than necessary. He would not let her out of his sight tonight.

"I think I can handle that," she said as the beginning of a wide smile appeared in her face. The music started; the orchestra began their musical serenade, gently, slowly, like a river emptying out to sea. Sarla instinctively looked up at the second floor where the musician was playing. Luce's smile grew as expressions of puzzlement, recognition, and finally amazement appeared on her face.

Sarla brought her eyes back down to him with amused eyes. "This is…!"

"The Princess' Waltz, yes," he finished. "Composed in honor of a Princess with effortless grace and beauty. You." With that, he led her, as they slowly eased into the familiar square step pattern of the waltz.

Sarla frowned and smiled at the same time, forming a bemused expression. "You flatter me," Sarla said as they completed the turn and repeated the process.

"Do I?" Luce said as he lifted one eyebrow. "When we sent a court contingent to celebrate with yours on your 14th birthday, we expected that they would come back." He mocked disapproval. "As it was, only the apprentice bard had a good sense to return. On the other nobles we had to use more… persuasive measures." Sarla chuckled, shaking her head. "That seemed so long ago, I barely remember," she whispered in a barely audible voice.

Luce smiled at her. "Shall I remind you then? But for now, let us finish this waltz. I would not presume to inflict our customs upon you Highness, when yours are fascinating enough on their own."

She smiled wistfully, sadness threatening to take over once again. But Sarla shook her head and smiled at him, "Do not worry about me, your Imperial Majesty, I can manage a little diversity."

"Oh I do not doubt, Highness," Luce said as he gently guided her into turn where she pulled away for a bit. When she was back in his arms, he continued, "I've never seen anyone dance the Minuet so gracefully before. Such a boring dance was turned into something riveting. And now this waltz. Is there anything you don't do well?"

"Such a blatant attempts, my Prince," she replied in a mock snide voice. "Careful. I might think that you're trying to endear yourself to me."

He laughed at her reply. "Trying?" A smile tugged at one corner of his lips. "I was under the assumption that I was succeeding. Obviously I have not tried hard enough."

She laughed and everything was alright again. How good this feels, he thought as they continued to cover ground with their dance. No expectations, reassurances, or anything of the kind, there was only the two of them at that moment, dancing to timeless tune.

Yes, this is how it should be. Arms outstretched, one hand firmly on her waist, the other gently carrying the weight of her palm. Their steps fell so easily with each others as their banter continued, gliding through the room, oblivious to those around them.

Only with you, Luce thought as he led Sarla into another turn and easily caught her in his arms again. So radiant, my Lady.

So easy to love.


The dance eventually came to an end. He was loathe to let her go. The musical crescendo still resounded in the room when they halted their movements. He studied her; the smile upon her lips, her flushed cheeks, the sparkle in her amber eyes. It took all of his willpower to resist the urge to kiss her senseless right there and then. "You must forgive me," he said as he reluctantly released her hand. "I seem to have talked more than I danced. I'm a terrible dancer."

Sarla laughed, but said nothing. "You're not so bad my Prince." She looked at him and smiled, really smiled. Then she stepped close to him, and before he could take advantage of her close distance, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered before she pulled away, and then warmth of her lips on his skin was gone. Too soon, too soon! He opened his mouth to say something but words failed him.

She opened her mouth again to say something but stopped herself, her eyes turning to notice something at the edge of her vision. She lowered her head again and took a step back.

This could only mean one thing. Luce stopped himself from sighing. Here comes the real world to interrupt once again. He too, stepped back from Sarla and released her, then he bowed while she curtseyed, formally ending the dance.

"That was rare." The deep voice of the Empress floated to them as she approached, escorted by none other than Lord Benthur. "My son, taking the initiative to dance..." her eyes settled on Luce then to Sarla.

"Stranger things have been known to happen," Luce replied as he tore his eyes away from Sarla and turned to his mother. He kissed her cheek automatically.

"… and willingly receive affection from a woman other than his own mother," the Empress continued, as if he had not interrupted. When he pulled back, she patted his cheek. "What has happened to my only heir?" she asked as she turned to Sarla and smiled delicately.

"Let me look at you then, Cousin. You have become quite a lady," she said as she finally acknowledged her presence.

Sarla curtseyed and inclined her head but said nothing.

"I welcome you back to our ancestral halls." The Empress said with a flick of her hands, gesturing around them. "I apologize for not being able to acknowledge you earlier; there were… matters I had to attend to."

"I am honored," Sarla replied softly as she inclined her face gracefully to one side. Arto walked to stand by her side, and bowed to the Empress. "Your majesty is too generous with her attention to us," he continued.

Luce waited for Arto to meet his eyes. When blue finally met hazel, he inclined his head. "Lord Benthur, no, General Benthur. It was not so long ago when I knighted you. Again you have distinguished yourself. Congratulations on your recent promotion and… marriage." Luce said as his eyes briefly glanced at Sarla's direction.

"It is an honor to serve the Empire in whatever way I can," he replied without any emotion in his voice. There was a pause between them as his eyes held Luce's. Arto's countenance betrayed nothing but he was the first to look away, turning to glance at his wife who had shifted in her position.

"You must forgive me for taking the liberty of dancing with your wife." Luce said, looking at Sarla once again. He fought off a wince when he realized that his words did not come out as neutrally as he would have wanted. Well it doesn't matter. "I knew her when we were children. I… thought she would remember me."

Sarla turned her head in his direction, though she never raised her eyes. "I apologize for not having recognized you earlier. But I could never forget one such as your Highness." Her words were elucidated clearly and distinctly, contrasting from the subdued demeanor she exhibited.

I wish she would look at me again. Why does she not raise her head? Luce frowned and resisted the urge to lift her chin. Maybe if he tried another tactic, something unexpected, he'd see her exquisite eyes again. Luce smiled. "I would hope not. I still have all your letters after all."

A faint but distinct blush crept along her pale cheeks then, but she said nothing otherwise. She looked so cute when that happened. He decided to press it further. "You don't believe me? Let's see, the last one was about…"

She lifted her eyes to him and he smiled inwardly as her amber depths widened in alarm and amusement. Then they narrowed a bit as if to dare him to go on.

"…your 14th birthday." He held her eyes and abruptly trailed off when she saw a lopsided smile in her face. You hated me because I wasn't there, even though I promised that I would be.

But I lied, I was there.

Sarla shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, she turned to her husband, though she did not meet his eyes. "His Imperial Majesty and I exchanged several correspondences when we were younger," she explained. "But it was a long time ago."

"Seven years is indeed a long time," Luce half-whispered. A silence passed through the group.

"So you meet again..." The Empress commented, calling their attention back to her presence. "What is lost will eventually find its way back." She paused but never took her eyes off Sarla. "Perhaps we would be more comfortable if we continued our reacquaintance elsewhere? You should join us as we dine in the inner court," the Empress said, eyeing Arto as she took her son's arm.

"It would be our pleasure, Your Highness." Arto said as he offered his own arm to Sarla and she took it automatically.

Luce fought off a frown as he saw her fingers curl around Arto's arm. How could this once lowly soldier ever be suitable enough for her? He felt a light squeeze on his own arm and he automatically responded, giving one last glance to Arto before turning and walking away. He looked ahead, at the crowd of onlookers who parted to give way to their passage. He tried to take his mind away from a certain Princess following a few feet behind him; whose hands and body he held only a few heartbeats ago, whose lips touched his cheek for an all too brief moment…

She's another man's wife. He reminded himself and frowned. He saw movement at the corner of his eyes and noticed that his mother had been looking at him intently. "Interesting," she said in a voice low enough so that only he would hear. He arched his eyebrow in question.

"You've shown more emotions in the last few hours than you had in a year," she said with a mysterious smile. He turned toward her, hazel eyes turning rich yellow in the candle light, as they turned away from the crowds of the outer court.

Luce's eyes were unfocused. After a few heartbeats he tensed, then dropped her arm unceremoniously. Without saying a word, he quickly walked ahead, losing himself in the twists of doors and pathways.


They ate in silence. Sarla wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and sat back straighter in her chair. She was much too distracted to be able to focus on eating. They were inside the inner court, located in a hall almost as large as the whole area of the outer court but with significantly less people. Her eyes wandered around the room as discretely as possible and tried to absorb as much information as she could.

What first struck her in the room was the presence of the strange inscriptions in the walls around them. Something had been carved into the very stone though it had faded with time. The embossed marks ran all around the length of the floor, the pillars, even the ceiling. She couldn't determine if they were runes or figures or a new type of calligraphy? Perhaps some artisan went amok with the hammer and chisel, writing his erotic conquests in a language only he could read.

She smiled briefly at this. Gods, playing the meek and demure Princess was so boring.

In the middle of the hall, the tables were set with chairs to serve as the dining area. The high table they occupied was met on both ends, with each new table extending towards the door on the other side of the room. All manner of foods were piled and served generously. There were a few servants doing the rounds and serving drinks as their masters chattered in their own groups. Some of them threw furtive glances in her direction, but for the most part everyone kept to their own meals.

To her dismay, Luce was not at the inner court. She lost track of the Imperial Prince and the Empress after a sharp turn in the labyrinth of hallways as they kept a modest distance away.

Arto did not speak to her the whole time. He must've known the way; he strode forward confidently until they arrived in this hall already occupied by some high ranking nobles. Then she was tagged around while people flocked to her husband and congratulated him on his new status and the beautiful bride that he went home with.

She felt like a piece of chattel, just another spoil of war that the Dhorn took from their conquered lands. She only half-paid attention as she was dragged from one distinguished guest to another, introduced as the beautiful wife of General Arto Benthur and the Crown Princess of Betancuria.

Nobody mentioned her Kingdom nor gave any sign that they were aware that it was conquered. Either they took it as a given or they simply did not care (she guessed it was the latter).

As she was dragged around, the room, she kept an eye out for Luce, silently pleading that he would come so that she could have a decent bit of conversation again. As it was, Arto and the men did most of the talking. The women could have been a wall decoration in as much as anyone cared.

She expected Luce to appear shortly after the Empress reentered and took her seat at the High table, everyone else following her lead and taking their seats as well. But he never did.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Princess?" A voice to her left said, pulling her out of her thoughts. Sarla turned to the source of the voice and immediately fought to keep her expression neutral. Beside her, a middle-aged General clad in the same red robes as Arto though with less medals on his attire, had taken a seat. He had warm brown eyes, a darker brown shade of hair that was beginning to gray at the edges and an expressive mouth partially hidden by his thick beard.

He was ruggedly handsome. And she could remember how that beard had felt, tickling her neck as he kissed her skin. A tingle ran down her spine.

"Princess?" he said again, calling her attention.

Sarla forced herself to look up at him and broke into a smile. "Forgive me; I blanked out for a bit. Yes, the food here is lovely," she said as she presented another smile. "And you? Are you enjoying yourself, General Addams?" She could vaguely remember being introduced to him earlier though she had not been paying attention, distracted as she was. Now that she got a good look at him, there could be no mistake; this was the same General as the one she got the castle key from back at Moonville.

"I am honored that you remembered me, Your Highness. I hope you don't think me too forward when I say that your presence has made it worthwhile," he said as he smiled at her, laugh lines appearing under his eyes.

Sarla smiled and lowered her eyes. If she had a gold for every time that phrase was uttered, she could have formed her very own El Dorado.

"How do you find Rosethorn so far? It must have been difficult to leave Betancuria behind."

Sarla continued to look at the General as he turned to drink from his goblet. He seemed so normal like this, not at all a person you'd expect to fuck a maid and let her go if she was a good lay. The corner of her lips tugged in a smile; that had been what, months ago? The last time she "got any" and enjoyed it? When his searching eyes met hers, Sarla knew that she had been silent again for too long, "Difficult, but necessary. I was to be with my husband after all." Especially since I'm going to kill him, she silently added in her mind.

"That is true, it is important to be with your loved ones," Sarla fought off rolling her eyes at this. "My… late wife was from Betancuria. She took a while to adjust to her new surroundings here at the Empire. She said that she kept missing the rains back home." His eyes were sincere as he smiled nostalgically.

He must still love her, after all these years. Maybe that was what drew him to her, whether he realized it or not. Betancurian women are different. She smiled a little at this. "The Dhorn Empire is…very different. So many soldiers…" she trailed off, her eyes flicking to the men who were gathered around the table, almost all of whom were soldiers.

"Yes, our empire is highly militarized. Our Emperor started out as a soldier. He shaped the military to become the structure you see today. Our organization permeates all aspects of government. You could say that we are the government."

Sarla sat back straighter at this. He was very forthcoming with information. "I do not see the Emperor. May I ask why he does not join us?"

General Addams gave a tight-lipped smile. "The Emperor, like his son, shuns public attention. Though as everyone has noticed earlier, the Prince does not seem to have any problems approaching you."

Sarla gave a little smile and slightly turned her head away, saying nothing. Let them think what they want.

He leaned a little closer to her as if to say something important. "The Emperor on the other hand has not been seen in public for more than a year. They say that he is sick with a wasting illness. But he commands and directs the Empire still. The heads of the left and the right faction meet with him regularly and carry out his commands." He paused as he leaned back once again. "You are familiar with the factions of the military…?"

Sarla nodded at him. "The right faction takes care of threats from the territories outside the empire s while the left faction focuses on threats within. I have been told that General Henry Bastienne is the head of the left faction but I don't know who heads the right faction..?" she gave him the most innocently curious look that she had.

"Oh, he's here. He sits on the right side of the Emperor's empty seat, over there," General Addams said as he inclined his head to Sarla's right. "General Solomon Lyonson."

The name sounded familiar to her. Was he connected to the pleasant young man she had the pleasure of killing back in Betancuria? "Is he perchance a relative of the Emperor?" she asked as she nonchalantly sipped from her goblet, feigning disinterest.

"That's right, how did you know?" he said as his curious brown eyes looked at her with a hint of suspicion.

"I guessed," she said with a disarming smile. "He occupies a critical position in the Empire and you mentioned that he sits right beside the Emperor. It makes sense to trust only relatives in matters as important as that."

He smiled "You are very bright, Princess. Such a rare combination of beauty and intelligence. Commander… no, General Benthur is a lucky man."

She smiled at his compliment but could not make herself voice out gratitude. Oh yes, so very lucky indeed. She flicked her eyes to her right, where Arto sat. He was leaning towards General Bastienne on his other side, listening to something he whispered. She could not hear their words for it was buried beneath the waves of clinking table ware, chamber music and the blanket of hushed conversations taking place all around.

After a nod of General Bastienne's head, Arto turned to her. He straightened up slowly and held her gaze, his expression as blank as ever. Sarla noticed a small piece of the meat clung beneath his lower lip, where the curve of his mouth protruded above his chin. He eats like a slob, she thought and couldn't help the sneer that tugged at the corner of her mouth. I cannot be the wife of one so uncouth.

She raised her fingers delicately and touched the same area beneath her lips, trying to call his attention to its presence. He frowned at first, then raised his fingers to touch her mouth. Sarla frowned a bit and murmured, "Not me," in an annoyed tone against his forefinger. Before she could reach out and take the offending piece of meat herself, Arto's thumb caressed her lips, wandering their surface and stopping her movements.

Sarla looked at him and saw the heat reflected in his blue eyes. Oh dear, not again. She thought as his hands moved to cup her face and he leaned, kissing her thoroughly in plain sight of the others.

Don't cause a scene, don't cause a scene, she repeated in her head as she mentally counted to keep herself calm. He tasted of roast beef sauce and red wine.

Then with a gasp, Sarla pulled away, partly from lack of air and partly because Arto's other hand had brushed over her nipple in a firm caress. She covered her mouth to prevent further contact with his. "Are you insane?!" she hissed, partly to reprimand herself for allowing him to catch her unguarded yet again, and letting their kiss linger. She immediately recovered herself. "That was hardly proper, my Lord!" she chastised him.

The corners of his lips went up in a smile and he leaned his forehead against hers. "You asked for it."

"I did not—" Sarla pursed her lips and looked for the offending piece of meat that got her in this mess in the first place. It was gone, and reasoning with him was a lost cause. She pursed her lips again.

Arto had withdrawn; his hand found and lingered above hers on top of the table while his other plucked an apple from the nearby basket. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the fruit at her.

She caught it easily with her left hand and pondered its effectiveness as a missile if it hit just the right spot. Damn that man for being such a tease! Emotions flitted across her face and she did not bother to hide them. Calm, Sarla, she thought to herself. Don't let him get to you.

She was about to bite the fruit when she raised her eyes and noticed that the people from the surrounding tables, men and women alike, were gazing intently either at her or at the apple that she was about to bite. Had they been looking the whole time? Sarla blushed furiously, turning almost as red as the fruit that she held in her hands. Voyeurs, the lot of them. She was sure that they'll be expecting a strip show from her next.

She turned to Arto as she finally took a bite. You're getting bold, Benthur. She could understand that he was laying a claim on her, reinforcing his position as her husband especially after that public dance with the Prince.

And truth be told, he was a good kisser… But she'd rather die than to admit the fact that he stirred lust in her. And she's seen his package after all, and it was… interesting.

But is he determined to be a tease for the short period of time they'd be together? Because it was going to be cut short, she'd make sure of that. But then, she thought as she took another bite from the fruit, two can play that game. She could also make his life a living hell, and was rather good at being a tease as well. Why don't I remind him of that? She made sure that he was still watching her when she dragged her tongue slowly through her lips, wetting them thoroughly. Then she slowly brought the fruit closer to her mouth, tongue coming out to meet the grainy surface of the apple. She gave it a small lick, enjoying the way the rough texture of its flesh felt against the buds in her tongue. She closed her eyes with a small exhilation. Then, slowly, she sank her teeth into its flesh, taking in a slightly larger amount than was appropriate.

She pursed her lips and made a show of chewing what was in her mouth. She glanced at Arto from the corner of her eyes and saw that his eyes were fixated on her lips and followed the trail the apple's syrup made down her chin. She pulled away the hand that he held and slowly wiped the apple syrup from her face. She smiled smugly as she watched him follow her every motion. Time to drive the point home.

She leaned to him, giving him a show of what was between the thin green silks that ran down her chest. But before she could say anything, her new vantage point allowed her a glimpse into the view several seats from where they were. Sarla's eyes were drawn by a movement behind General Bastienne where a pale white arm framed by the layers of transparent clothing shimmied and the hand that it revealed brought a goblet to red, waiting lips. Henry Bastienne had finally leaned back on his chair and gave Sarla a good view of the Empress who sat beside him. He was whispering something to her ear as she listened impassively.

Sarla stared as the woman's dark raven locks became rich mahogany brown and merlot-colored eyes turned to honey color in the light and shadows that framed her face. Her mouth went dry and she lost the words she was about to say.

Mother… she thought as she stared at the Empress' profile. No. No! She said as she cleared her vision and looked upon her for who she was. It was so easy to see the similarities between her mother and the Empress when viewed from this angle. Why hadn't she noticed it before? She was the only one who was spared… She remembered the words of the quiet Lady Bastienne, as they recalled the story of the civil war.

And she was not her mother, no. Her mother was dead. She killed herself. She's gone. Sarla could feel unshed tears burning in the sides of her eyes, and then she felt Arto's cold fingers on her cheek, calling her back to reality. She blinked and stared into his blue eyes, realizing that he had been looking at her all this time. "It's rude to stare, Princess."

Sarla closed her eyes and prayed for the tears to go back down where they came from. She inwardly flayed herself for letting her emotions run away like that. "You can let go now," she said as she opened her eyes and looked at him with an even gaze. She would not lose sight of her focus. She raised her hand to remove his hold on her. But he interrupted any movement that she tried to make.

"I have no intention of doing so," he said as his fingers moved from her cheek to twirl strands of her hair between his fingers. He leaned forward as his hands slid down to her face and settled on the point that joined her neck and shoulders.

"You're mine." She saw a new sparkle in his eyes as he smiled at her. She's seen that gleam before in the eyes of fanatics. And that was what Arto was, a soldier in an empire of fanatics.

I am no one's, Sarla thought as she watched his hands slide down from her neck, lower and lower. But perhaps, for now, I'll let you believe that. Sarla closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations his hands were bringing her.

After all, it makes revenge so much sweeter.


Arto's other hand wandered below the table where it pulled up her silk gown and caressed the bare skin of her inner thighs. Her hands gripped his arms, stopping further explorations. She looked at him with an expression that was hard to read; a combination of anger and… lust?

"My dear wife," Arto said as he used his other hand to readjust her position and made her body face his, her legs positioned at the empty space between their chairs. He tentatively flicked his fingers across her crotch. She gave a small gasp and bit her lip. "Do you really want to make a scene?" He watched her close her eyes and shiver slightly under his touch.

Then he felt the strength in her arms fall away, allowing his hands to wander where they wished. He smiled inwardly; she was so vulnerable like that. A little touch and attention and she becomes a puddle on the floor. Like all the other women I've met.

No, not just any woman. Mine, Arto thought as he let his eyes wander around her face but could read nothing of her emotions. She stopped resisting him; she was already wet and he could feel it as he began his ministrations to her nether lips. A smile pulled at his lips as he felt her pulse quicken beneath the hand that caressed her neck. He could feel her heat and wetness with his other. Very good Princess, you have learned something after all. She wore nothing under her dress. He played with her curls for a while before caressing the outer folds of her vagina, coating his fingers with her liquid desire.

He brought his forehead against hers and looked at her in the eye as he inserted one well lubricated finger into her depths. Her face remained impassive at his initial intrusion, but as he started his explorations she winced and closed her eyes. Her lips were parted and her hands clutched the arm that moved inside her tightly. His fingers found the sweet spot in her nub and began rubbing in earnest. Her frown deepened and she bit her lip, resisting the urge to make a sound. She looked so beautiful with her skin flushed with desire and the pleasure that he was giving her.

And she's mine. Mine to take, however I want to. He began pumping his fingers, inserting another one to join the first, wanting to see the warmth in her cheek and groin spread into all of her being.

The sound of tinkling bells distracted his attention as he turned his eyes on the other end of the room. A group of men and women entered; the slaves who would be the entertainment for the night. The males were dressed in riding clothes while the women wore elaborate gowns made from feathers. They all wore masks that hid their faces. The tinkling sound continued and they stepped closer.

About damn time.

He knew that the sound were from little bells each had wrapped around their ankles; a sign of their status as a slave. Arto turned her head back to Sarla as he felt her hands clamp around his shoulders, turning fully to him to give him better access. She had closed her eyes and was breathing faster now, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks.

He kept going, playing with her while the rest was distracted with the show that was about to start. There was a flash of red at the corner of his eyes and he saw that another person had entered the room, weaving across the walking troupe clad in bright red riding clothes. He weaved easily through them and stopped only when he was already a few feet away from the Empress. He bowed to her as the music in the halls turned into sultry tunes of seduction.

Arto inserted another finger into Sarla now and curled it inside her as his thumb continued rubbing her clit. Sarla's thighs had clamped onto his hands but it did not prevent him from proceeding further. His other hand held her waist to steady her. From the edge of his line of sight, he saw the dancers turn to their partners, and slowly, sensually, take their clothes off one by one.

The red hunter straightened and started to undress but only with his lower garments. The different couples in the room moved slowly, each following a beat of their own, a hunter, paired to prey, conquering, surrendering to the other. Some began to kiss; their tongues stuck out to meet the others' while their bodies continued to shed the clothing they had, all while swaying to the sultry music of strings. Their masks stayed on.

Sarla gasped against his ear as he slipped a third finger inside her and began caressing her inner folds. He renewed the vigor in his movements and he lowered his head and licked a path from her neck upwards to her ear. She shuddered, and though she made no sound the sudden tightening in the flesh that surrounded his fingers and the clenching of her thighs around his hand told him all that he needed to know. He smiled against her cheek. This was the first time she came because of him. And tonight, it would be the first of many.

A woman with pink hair and dressed in furs, wearing the mask of a feline came in, nonchalantly walking through the dancers as they began to fuck wherever they found space. Arto raised an eyebrow at her entrance and took the chance to discreetly look around the room. Did they know who she represented? They were all gazing intently at the display, and no one was paying attention to them. The pink haired woman did a pirouette before she arrived in front of the red robed hunter. He stifled a scoff. Did they really think Sarla could do that?

He turned back his attention to her, and noticed that she still had her eyes closed and was breathing deeply, perhaps not yet aware of the happenings around her. She made neither sound nor movement as she climbed down from the throes of her orgasm. He withdrew his hands and wiped them at the table cloth before he wrapped them around her, pulling her head to rest against his chest. To everyone else, they looked as if they were sharing an intimate hug between lovers. But what happened under the tables, well…

The pink haired woman walked backwards as the man in the red coat turned to her, a massive erection jutting proudly from his crotch. The woman started to shed her clothing, and, when she had nothing, save for her mask, she stood, surrounded by coupling bodies, waiting for the man to come to her.

He came to her, and stopped as they were face to face. She bent down and paid tribute to his cock, taking it inside her mouth. The nearest man to her stood up and left his current partner, and, without any warning, speared her from behind. She groaned but the sound was muffled by the cock inside her mouth.

Arto felt his own erection twitch. He looked at Sarla by his side; she was looking at the display in front of her now, her eyes wide with surprise and wonder. He fought off the urge to smile. This was quite a culture shock, of that, he could be sure.

"Arto," a deep feminine voice called out from his side, drawing his full attention almost immediately. He looked at the Empress who was leaning her chin against her palm, watching the events with an almost bored expression. "Perhaps you should dance with your wife?" she said nonchalantly.

He felt Sarla stiffen against him as she pulled away and straightened up. "If it's all the same I'd rather not…" she started to say, but before she could finish he interjected. "Of course. Anything for an Ascivan." He immediately stood up, his hand still linked with hers.

"You cannot be serious. How do you expect me to dance around…" she spoke in a low voice through an obviously fake smile. He raised one eyebrow in challenge and when she made no move, he pulled her up roughly to her feet.

Her eyes widened at his display of force and stood stunned. Spoiled brat. Before she could react or come up with a quip, he leaned to her ear and snaked his arms around her waist, making sure that he put a light pressure in the small of her back. "You're a fool if think you were asked to dance."

"What…?" There was actually a worried undertone in her voice.

"There's no use resisting, and you know it." With one hand behind her and the other taking her hand he guided her down to the platform where the slaves performed their sexual acrobatics. The frolicking couples they passed paid them no mind and continued seeking their pleasure. Some of them cleared away when they saw his approach, masked faces turning to their direction, naked flesh parting, only to come together again shortly elsewhere.

He turned to her as they reached a wide enough clearing in between the coupling bodies. She did not move, but only stared at him with incredulity in her eyes. She gave a near imperceptible shake of her head as he walked closer to her. This garnered a small smile from him.

Playing hard to get? He leaned down and whispered to her ear. "What's the matter Princess? Do you feel unequal to the task?"

She raised her chin and gave him that look that said promised him that she was going to make him regret this. He smirked and stepped back, raising his hands in invitation. "Shall we…?"

"Since you ask so nicely," she replied in a loud sing song voice; sweet sounding to others' ears but her eyes told him another story.

He smirked as he pulled her towards him as soon as their hands touched. Without giving her a chance to recover, he tilted her face and kissed her passionately. She struggled and gave a little shriek as he groped her in warm and unexpected places. His tongue slipped dipped inside her parted mouth, seeking hers and suckling it to stifle her words.

He held her close to him as he continued the explorations of his hands. No curve or warmth was left unexplored and more and more flesh was exposed from under her dress.

He felt Sarla give a strong push against him and when she wasn't successful in dislodging him, she turned her head to the side, stopping their kiss with a gasp.

"What?!" he growled against her ear. "Didn't you want this?" He saw a frown form on her forehead as she remained silent, her head turned away from him. She stopped struggling when she realized its futility and looked elsewhere eyes at the happenings around them.

"Stop it, Arto." She said in a dangerously low and serious voice. "Don't force me." The cries of the women as they were fucked senseless made it hard to be heard by anyone else.

"You still haven't figured it out?" he said as he flicked his tongue at her ear, eliciting another shiver from her. The way she felt against him as the sensation went through her body almost drove him mad. He fought to keep his voice steady as he explained. "This is your initiation. If you embarrass me, then I will let whoever wants you have their way with you."

She turned to him with a mixture of shock and fear on her face. "You wouldn't…" she turned her face towards the Empress and met her eyes. Arto didn't have to turn to see for himself and was quite content to watch the change in expression on her face, fading into an unreadable mask once again. While she was distracted, he slipped one hand under the shoulder of her dress and slipped it off, exposing her neck and right breast. Then he bent down to lick his way up from her bosom to her neck.

Her sweat had perhaps the most addicting taste that he'd ever known. He ground his erection against her leg as he continued kissing her, leaving a wet trail of kisses on her neck.

He felt something warm touch his cheek and looked up to see that she had closed her eyes and a tear had ran down her cheek. He kissed the corner of her eye. "Shhh," he whispered as he peeled the other corner of her dress. "That's a good Princess."

Her green dress snagged at the golden arm band that she wore on her left arm. With a barely restrained growl, he tore off the cloth and pulled the destroyed garment away from her body, fully exposing her nude state to all. He felt her eyelids flutter against his skin as she opened her eyes again.

He noticed that her amber eyes had begun to pulse faintly. And instead of the hate he expected, he saw nothing; her eyes were unfocused and glassy. He had never seen her this way before. Beyond the haze of lust that clouded his brain, he was able to sense that something was wrong. "Sarla…?" he asked, trying to meet her eyes.

Everything was silent. The chamber music had stopped, and he could no longer hear the breathless moans and gasps of those who sought and gave pleasure. Even the noise of clinking dinnerware had halted.

The room was bathed in blood red light. The markings on the room, engraved into the very walls had begun to bleed and emanate the color of blood. Writings they did not understand began to appear, undecipherable, all around them. There was definitely a palpable presence in the air. What was happening?

"Louis!" the Empress commanding voice resounded from the table up ahead. She stood up from her chair and was clearly agitated at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Arto turned towards the entrance and saw the Imperial Prince. He stood silently near the door. And he was not alone; he was flanked by two figures covered in black robes and a low cowl.

The Bone Servants…! Arto thought as he became aware of the very palpable fear that hung heavy in the room. The Prince began to walk forward and the people who had lain in the floor scampered out of his way. Arto loosened his grasp on Sarla and felt her slowly slump to the floor.

The Prince stopped a few feet from Arto and looked him in the eye. "How could you do this to the one you were supposed to protect?" he said in a quiet voice that was tinged with strong emotion… was it hate?

No matter. His own rage boiled inside him. "She is my wife." He all but spat, how dare he question his actions? "Mine to do with however I…"

The Prince's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to him. The simple act stopped his words. The presence of the man was overwhelming. It was as if he dared him to continue, dared him to damn himself in front of everyone, to make that one mistake which would strip him of everything he worked hard for. Oh yes, all he had to do was utter the wrong words.

For the first time in a very long time, Arto held back the words he wanted to say.

The Prince's eyes began to glow slightly, a soft golden light began illuminated his face. They were glowing like Sarla's, though his came more strongly. "She's not your destiny."

Arto's eyes, narrowed at this and he stepped forward, consequences be damned. "Destiny?" he all but spat. "In the eyes of the gods and men, she's mine."

They stood unmoving, staring at each other. Sarla did not make a sound, not even to indicate that she heard their exchange. She remained curled on the floor, the bones in her spine visible in her bowed position.

"Louis, darling, you surprised me." The Empress said in a conversational way as she sat back down her throne. "Come join us and take your Father's seat."

But the Prince made no move, not even to acknowledge his mother's words. How dare he disrespect an Ascivan! Arto thought as he stared into his glowing eyes, not backing down on the implicit challenge.

But wait… Arto lifted his eyes to look at the red glow of the carvings around them. He looked at the Prince, then at Sarla's crumpled form. They had been told that Rosethorn Castle reacts to the bloodline of family who built it. Were they causing this? The Prince was undoubtedly an Ascivan as well, and so was Sarla, though he didn't believe it at first. After all, it hardly made sense…

But who was he to question the orders that he receives, and which was beneficial to him in more ways than one? But what was she thinking?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rustling clothes. He turned to see the Prince kneel beside Sarla.

"Princess?" He reached out to touch her but hesitated as he saw the near imperceptible shaking of her shoulders. Had she been crying all along? "Sarla…" he said as he placed one hand on her shoulder. "Can you stand?"

There was a stillness as if she steeled herself for what was to come. "Of… course," she replied. But made no move to do so.

"Of course," the Prince repeated. Slowly, he removed his black coat and draped it around her shoulders. Then, with his hand supporting her back and the other hooking itself under her knees, he scooped her into his arms and stood.

Arto briefly glimpsed Sarla's tear stricken face before she turned and buried her face in the Prince's chest, hiding the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. She looked so lost, like that time in the music room. He clenched his fists. It should have been him that would do that. He was her husband! It was his right! He closed his eyes, frowning and breathing deeply.

No. He thought as the Prince stood at his full height and looked at him as if he waited for him to snap.

No. He repeated to himself. He said to let her go when the time comes.

Arto looked at the Prince, but he was looking forward beyond him, at the Empress herself. His eyes still glowed a faint golden light. He said nothing, carrying a crumpled mass of a woman in his arms. He covered her well, Arto thought idly.

"I claim the right of First Night*," The Prince declared, his voice resounding across the hall. There was silence, nobody spoke to support or challenge his words. Nobody dared, not even the Empress.

After a few moments, he turned to Arto and said in words meant only for his ears. "If she's yours, she'll come back of her own accord."

Then he turned with Sarla still in his arms, heading towards the exit. Each step that his leather boots made on the carpeted floor reverberated a thousand times in Arto's mind as he felt the rage flare inside him. With the Prince's declaration he had been effectively deprived on the enjoyment of their own first night… and of his access to her body, indefinitely. He clenched his hands until they hurt and bit his lip until he felt the metallic taste of his own blood.

She'll come back? No. I'll take her back. He threw one last look at their retreating figures.

Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess.

A/N:

*The Right of First Night: In medieval Europe, the ruling nobleman had the right to spend the first "wedding" night with newly-wedded brides in their fiefdoms. I'm appropriating the practice here.

Thanks to the people who put together the wikia gaming article for ADWR! My memory of some parts of the game were a bit hazy, so these helps in getting some of the facts straight. Good job!

By the way, in case you were curious, I listened to 'The Waves of the Danube' by Iosif Ivanovici for 'The Princess Waltz'.

And as always, thank you Tawni for beta-reading this! You are the best! :D