So sorry for the delay! I was so busy with school, but I try to write whenever I can. Anyway, the upside is that this chapter is longer than usual (yeah, longest I've ever written!). This story will only run for 2 more chapters, and after that, I'll immediately start working on the sequel.

Thanks for the faves/alerts/reviews so far and keep 'em coming!

Now, on with the story...

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Santana didn't know it was possible to feel this happy.

She woke up to Brittany's blue eyes so close to her own, and she didn't waste any time in closing the gap between them. They must've spent what seemed like hours trading kisses—long and slow and lazy kisses—on that cramped bed, until Lord Tubbington crept between them and pried them apart with a well-placed claw to Santana's back.

With a yelp, Santana fell out of bed. Brittany just giggled and held out a hand to help her up, and if she didn't look so adorable, Santana would have grabbed that thing and hurled it out the window. Cats land on all fours anyway. And with that demonic furball (whose purpose in life seemed to be tormenting her), she wouldn't be even surprised if it could sprout bat-like wings.

Brittany gently nudged Lord Tubbington away, and he reluctantly jumped down into the floor, his tail swishing irritably. Santana would have wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but Brittany instantly grabbed her and stuck her own tongue down Santana's throat. Now that is more like it, Santana thought as she eagerly returned Brittany's fierce kisses.

Even now, as they were having breakfast with Mercedes, she couldn't keep the giddy smile off her face.

"So, I've talked to Sam," Mercedes said by way of opening, coughing meaningfully in order to break up the heated eye-fucking going on between her and Brittany. If Santana wasn't on rags, she would have dragged Brittany upstairs and let the blonde fuck her senseless.

Wait, what?

Santana Lopez didn't let anyone top her.

She felt heat creeping up her cheeks when her mind retorted, With Brittany, I wouldn't mind.

"I'm sorry, Sam, who?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Samuel. He's Captain of the Guards. He dropped by this morning and he kind of owes me a favour, so... Anyway, he said he'll be able to help you. You got a letter from Lady del Monico, right? I just told him the Lady sent you. Not necessarily accurate but—"

She was cut off when Brittany suddenly engulfed her in a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you, Mercedes!"

"Why, you're very welcome, Brittany," she answered, patting the blonde's back awkwardly. "But, maybe you should let go now, I kind of need to breathe?"

"Oh, I'm sorry."

So this is it. They are really going to the Palace.

Santana couldn't help but feel sad and afraid in a way. But then she remembered Brittany's promise and declaration of love, and she knew, no matter what, that they are going to be fine.

Agony.

That was the state Santana was in right now. Pure, unrelenting agony.

She wondered how noblewomen could stand doing this to themselves. The corset was too tight, and she had a hard time breathing. Terri mentioned that it was made from whalebone and she couldn't avoid thinking that they might stab her right in the gut and she'd die a gruesome death even before they reach the Palace. Not to mention, her breasts threatened to spill over the top. She had no idea they were this big. She kept tugging her dress upward self-consciously.

And the lace!

She wanted to set fire to all the looms in Ross which are in-charge of producing these damned things. She itched everywhere and it was driving her crazy. She couldn't help but gape at Brittany, who was calmly braiding her hair with a serene smile on her face.

"You look so pretty, San," Brittany murmured, watching Santana struggle from the corner of her eye.

"Pretty? I look like some cheap clown prostitute flaunting her wares on the filthy streets of Halifax!" she snapped, looking herself over in the mirror and grimacing in disgust.

Brittany strode towards her and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She placed her chin on Santana's shoulder and caught her eyes in the mirror. "No, you don't. You don't give yourself enough credit, San. You look absolutely gorgeous."

"You don't have to lie through your teeth you know," she replied, scowling.

Brittany chuckled. "I'm not lying." She playfully bit Santana's earlobe, inadvertently sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "You should wear dresses more often. They suit you very well." She picked some lint off Santana's shoulder. "You look like a princess."

Santana sighed. "You sure you're not saying that just to make me feel better?"

"I don't. Look, if you don't believe me, I'll go ahead and call 'Cedes," Brittany said, smirking.

Santana was mortified at the thought. Mercedes would surely give her a hard time about this. She could already imagine her saying: "I never thought I'd live to see this! The great Santana Lopez in a freakin' dress! Praise!"

Turned out she was right.

It was a good thing business was incredibly slow in the mornings, since the moment she appeared downstairs, cowering behind Brittany, she could see the range of emotions that flashed across Mercedes's face. First was shock, then confusion, and finally, barely-concealed amusement.

In the end, she just burst out laughing. Santana just glowered at her.

The things I do for love, Santana thought miserably.

Her only consolation was that she and Brittany didn't have to ride across the city looking like this.

She was pleasantly surprised when a carriage stopped by just in front of the inn.

Mercedes just gave her a withering look. "What? You don't think important people don't come to stay at the The Troubletones?"

Right on cue, the sign bearing the inn's name dropped to the ground, nearly decapitating a clueless passer-by. Santana had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing, and one look at Brittany told her that she's struggling with the same problem.

Mercedes just pursed her lips and sighed. "Shane! Fix the damn signage!" Then she turned to the two of them. "What are you two waiting for? Get in."

The sight of the Palace never failed to amaze Santana.

It stood on a hill—a towering white marble monstrosity. The shiny marble reflected sunlight like a beacon, catching the eyes of weary travellers far and wide. At the foot of the hill were forbidding, thirty-foot walls with watchtowers at the corners. The watchtowers were crawling with guards, eyeing the city with disdain. She couldn't help but wonder how the rebels managed to breach that fifteen years ago and succeeded in slaughtering the King's wife and taking Brittany away.

Santana was dismayed to find the thickening crowd that stood between them and the gates of the Palace. Like Santana and Brittany, there were dressed in their finest clothes. But unlike them, they were sweating buckets in the midday sun.

"A lot of people are seeking an audience with the Princess. They think she's weak-willed, and thus she would be more lenient with their wishes, but they're wrong. Sam tells me she's quite ruthless," Mercedes said, peering into the curtains.

"She is. From what little I could remember," Brittany murmured sullenly. Santana could tell that she's beginning to get worried on how this day might turn out. She instinctively laced her fingers with Brittany's in an effort to soothe her.

Mercedes smiled knowingly at them.

"How are we supposed to get past them?" Santana asked, in an effort to draw Mercedes's attention away from their interlinked hands.

"No worries, Sam said we'll go through the supply gates at the back. He'll be waiting for us there."

They circled around the mass of people, and Santana noticed that a few of them were getting violent—not only were they in a verbal tussle with the guards, but some were flinging vile things towards the gates. She saw some of the guards running for cover. She slammed the carriage window shut.

Eventually, they slowed down and stopped.

Mercedes was the first one out, and the two of them were quick to follow. Santana saw Mercedes talking with a tall, blonde knight in armour in hushed whispers. His mouth was so big, and Santana's eyes couldn't help but be drawn to it. All of a sudden, Brittany suddenly leapt up and tackled the knight in a hug. He was caught off-guard, and so were Santana and Mercedes.

"Sammie!"

"I—yeah, but who are you?" he asked, frowning, as he gently set her down.

"It's me, Brittany! Don't you remember?" Sam just stared at her as if she were mad.

"Th-they know each other?" Mercedes asked Santana.

"Well, Brittany used to live here," Santana sighed. Brittany was still trying to convince him. "And I'm sure, with lips that big, she won't be able to forget him."

"...and when you tried kissing Quinn up there in the gardens, she ran away and you were caned by your Papa. Don't you remember?" Brittany was nearly in tears and Santana was getting increasingly annoyed. The moment Brittany starts crying, she would rip him to pieces.

"I... I do remember that. H-how—I—how do you know that?"

"Sam, it's a long story. I'm sure there'll be lots of time for that later. Brittany just has to see her father," Mercedes answered for her.

Sam was visibly struggling with himself. "But... The King is really ill. He won't be seeing anyone anytime soon." Santana knew he still can't bring himself to believe that Brittany is the long-lost daughter of the King.

"Look here, Fish Lips, Brittany was kidnapped during the siege, fifteen years ago. She had spent three-quarters of her life as somebody's slave. If you add anymore to the misery she had suffered by doing what you are currently doing, I will end you."

Sam smiled humourlessly at her. "I'm pretty sure I could take you on, Fideli."

Mercedes and Brittany immediately grabbed each of Santana's arms before she could launch herself at Sam. "Don't try me!" she sputtered.

"Sam, just let them see the King," Mercedes said in a strained voice. "Or, I'll... I'll withhold that thing you want most." Despite her anger, Santana burst out laughing.

He reddened and sighed, looking resigned. "Fine. But the best I could do is to let you see the Princess. And see if she grants..." He sighed again. "'Cedes, you could vouch for them right? You sure they wouldn't be pulling a stunt at the throne room? An assassination perhaps?"

"As if anyone could touch the—oh." Mercedes was cut off when she happened to glance at Brittany. "No, they won't. And looking at Brittany, you wouldn't expect her to even have the ability to hurt a fly."

"Yeah, I'm not worried about her, I'm worried about—" He cast his eyes warily at Santana, who was still weakly struggling against Mercedes and Brittany.

"I just want to see my Papa," Brittany said.

"Alright, alright," he mumbled, looking away. He still didn't believe her. "If you do anything, the Princess could have you thrown in the dungeons in a second. Are we clear?"

Her Royal Highness, Lucille Quinn Judith Dianna, Heiress Apparent to the Throne of Kingsvale and the Branic Dominions beyond the Great Sea, Princess of the Realm, sat on a small, albeit equally luxurious chair below her Father's throne. Her advisers, called Magistrates sat beside her, three on each side.

She was dressed in a floor length dress, the colour of pine, and her legs were crossed primly in front of her, and she was delicately running a hand down the goblet of water which rested on one of the armrests.

The moment they entered the throne room, right behind Samuel Evans, Captain of the Guards, her hazel eyes turned to them. Her gaze hardened when they settled on Brittany.

It all started when she was three.

She was too young to remember all the details, but this particular memory stuck with her all throughout her life. This took place right before everything changed.

She and Brittany were playing with the dolls their father had brought home from Ross, when suddenly; Brittany was whisked away by their mother, taking all their dolls with her. She had no idea why—her three-year-old mind could not understand things such as hatred and malice—and all she knew that day was that all her toys were gone. She started crying and with wild abandon, until her father picked her up and carried her to the gardens where they watched butterflies flit about, and her tears stopped.

During the days and the weeks that followed, she slowly noticed that her dynamic with her sister had changed for good.

When before both of them sat on their father's lap whenever he held an audience in the throne room, now it was only Brittany. She was unceremoniously handed over to her Nana, with her foul breath and her wrinkled face (not that she had anything against old people, but they remind her of trees for some reason, and they terrify her—especially when lightning flashes and they cast monstrous silhouettes against her bedroom window). It didn't help at all that she liked to sing along with whatever the minstrel is playing on his lute, and Quinn had to endure hours of her Nana's vile breath washing over her face.

When before, she and Brittany slept side by side on the huge bed in the bedchamber just beside their parents', now she was relegated to a much smaller bedchamber downstairs which she had to share with Nana. Brittany no longer played with her too, and during the few times that she did, their mother would immediately swoop in and snatch her away. She took to playing with Cook's boy instead, a blonde little boy who goes by the name of Sam.

But playing with him was very different from playing with Brittany. All he seemed to care about were swords and fights, and he even brought Quinn with him to spy on the pages during their training. She's always tired and dirty by the end of the day, and her dress ruined. She missed Brittany terribly.

Finally, she couldn't take her loneliness anymore, so when Brittany sat down with her to play with dolls again, after they made sure their mother was gone, she asked her why she is avoiding her.

Brittany had looked confused at first and Quinn had to repeat the question.

"Mama says you're not my sister," she answered with a small shrug.

Quinn's four-year-old mind could not understand. Of course they were sisters. They were both daughters of the King. They had known each other ever since they were able to remember anything.

Nevertheless, she was too stunned to respond, and Brittany did not seem keen on elaborating, so she just ignored it and they went on playing—blissfully uninterrupted this time.

Another year went by, and Quinn was getting used to being treated second to Brittany. But it was during the first of their lessons that it finally sunk in.

Their tutor had addressed Brittany as Heiress Apparent, and her royal styling took forever to say, but when it came to Quinn, it was a simple:

"Her Royal Highness, Lucille Quinn Judith Dianna, Princess of the Realm."

She couldn't help but wonder why. Both she and Brittany had four first names each. But she knew she was better than Brittany in every way. Granted Brittany was a few moons older, but still, Quinn was a lot smarter and prettier. She could sing better too. She didn't know why life is so unfair.

Eventually she found out that she wasn't Brittany's sister. She was born to another woman (a nun from an abbey in Ross, which she only learned during her late teens), and everything suddenly made sense.

She started ignoring Brittany from that day on, but the other blonde was evidently too dense to notice. And when Brittany celebrated her fifth birthday, their Papa gave her a really pretty necklace as a gift. He said it was an heirloom from his grandmother.

Brittany wondered aloud if it could produce bolts of cloth (since it's a loom—silent heir), earning confused looks from their parents and Quinn couldn't help but snicker cruelly.

During her birthday, she in turn received a jewelled comb from their father, but she couldn't help but burn with jealousy since Brittany's gift was infinitely better than hers. She hurled it as hard as she could where it struck Brittany on the nose (haha, take that!), and it immediately started bleeding.

From then on, whenever neither of their parents nor their Nana was looking, she would take the opportunity to hit Brittany. She couldn't help but feel incredibly happy whenever Brittany would open that huge maw of hers and start bawling. Brittany may be older, but she's the bigger baby. However, she'd feel a twinge of guilt later as she went to bed; since Brittany never told anyone that it was Quinn who was making her cry. Eventually, it would be Brittany who would start avoiding her of her own volition and Quinn grew even sadder, since her day just wasn't complete without any contact with her sister—whether hurtful or otherwise.

Until that fateful night.

She was roughly awakened by a blast outside the Palace. Instinctively, she reached for Brittany beside her (as what either of them was wont to do after being awakened by a terrifying nightmare), found none, and remembered that they hadn't slept side by side since they were three.

With a frightened whimper, she jumped out of bed and tried waking up her Nana, but as old as she is, she just slept through the sounds of commotion outside. She briefly wondered if she had died during her sleep, but the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the stench of her breath told her otherwise.

Knowing no one is coming to get her, she crept out of the room with the intent of snuggling closer to Brittany, because she's just so scared. But the sight outside her chamber was even more terrifying; she thought she'd woken up in one of the Hells because everything was so red. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was only caused by the fires burning outside.

"Britt, I'm sorry, I wouldn't hurt you no more," she mumbled as she slowly made her way up the stairs. A draft of wind blew and it went right through the thin nightdress she wore, sending her teeth a-chattering. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a scream. Quickly, she ducked behind an enormous vase and warily peered into the deserted corridor.

"Mama? Mama!" she heard Brittany's shaky voice call out into the darkness. Quinn realized she's just as frightened as she is, and even though they had started hating each other, she couldn't help but feel some sort of protectiveness over her sister. "Papa!"

Quinn saw a small silhouette—Brittany—emerging from their parents' bedchamber. From what little light filtering through the windows, she could see tears streaming down her face. Quinn's heart went out to her, and she was about to emerge from behind the vase when a huge man—a giant, came up behind Brittany and grabbed her. Quinn had to bite her lip until it bled to keep from screaming.

She saw Brittany struggle with all her might and she really, really wanted to help her, but what could she do? She's still tiny, and barely even five.

Quinn didn't know what happened next, but Brittany suddenly went limp.

"Quinn, it's me. It's me Brittany," she said without preamble. Sam stood beside them mouth agape, while Santana watched the Princess's face. Her features were inscrutably hard and unreadable.

An eternity seemed to pass, until the Princess stood up. "Leave us," she said to her Magistrates. If they were shocked at Brittany's sudden arrival and declaration, they were doing a good job of not showing it. Her guards also filed out of the room quietly. "You too, Evans."

"B-but, Your Majesty—" Sam started to protest, glancing at Santana.

"Leave." Her tone left no room for argument. "That includes you, Fideli." She pointed harshly at Santana. "And shut the door."

Santana wanted to contest her orders, but then she realized that this time, she had done all she can and it was now up to Brittany to face her past.

Sam opened his mouth to argue but thought the better of it, and then he motioned to Santana to follow him. Afterwards, the great oaken doors were laboriously shut.

"So it's true then?" he asked her in a low voice.

Santana nodded. From the periphery of her vision, she could see a man briskly walking towards them, quickly followed by several others all wearing the colours of the City Watch—a sickly yellow and royal blue. Her instincts were telling her to bolt now, and she cast a tentative glance at the windows, but realized that it would be a bad idea. She'd probably break something again, and she wouldn't be able to outrun them. The Palace was crawling with guards anyway, and she couldn't fight her way out of that one. She had to live all her weapons back at the inn, for obvious reasons.

Sam stepped up in front of her, perplexed as to why the City Watch is on his turf.

"We have received word of a murderer on the loose, and that she is currently in Kingsvale. Worse, she had managed somehow to make her way into the Palace," the man read from a scroll. He looked up and look at her straight in the eye. "Santana Lopez, you are accused of the murder of Azimio Adams, and the attempted killing of David Karofsky, both thralls in the service of Lord William Schuester, the Baron of Thornville." He looked up. Sam cast a wary glance at her. "Do you deny the accusation?"

Santana just shook her head and two of them strode up towards her and grabbed each of her arms. She didn't resist.

So this is how it ends. At least, I gave Brittany her happy ending, she thought miserably, resigning herself to her fate as they fastened manacles on her wrists.

TBC.

You'll probs hate me for this, but I don't think I can update before Saturday. I have two quizzes coming up: Steel and Concrete Design. Anyway, leave me your thoughts on the chapter on the box below. Salamat! (Thank you in Filipino)