Her ribbon sat neatly in her hair, keeping it tied back, away from her face.
She didn't speak, trying to slip back into the troop's periphery. So much of her plan relied on her ability to be innocuous, unassuming. He didn't trust her, and she doubted he ever would again, but that didn't change the fact that she knew him better than anyone else. He was still a prideful man, subject to bouts of drawn-out bragging once drunk. Granted, getting him drunk took more work than it would for any other person, but it wasn't impossible. Of course, she had to be careful now to find a balance that would get him talkative without killing him. It would be worthless if he just straight up died now.
His henchmen, the men in particular, kept trying to get her to sit down with them. She skirted away from their gestures, offering excuses and placating smiles. The women were less trusting of her, more watchful. She couldn't tell if they were truly more perceptive of her motives, or simply resented her for her assumed status as Olaf's favorite. If only they knew.
He deliberately avoided watching her. She was nothing to him; an underling, an expendable. At least she'd had sense enough to bring up the good liquor this time. She knew his taste, he had to give her that. As if on cue she reappeared, filling his glass. Good girl. She was quiet, more demure than usual. That concerned him somewhat. He watched her over the rim of his glass, taking a drink.
He hadn't said a word to her all evening. She felt somewhat bad for having slapped him, but not bad enough to break the silence between them. He had deserved it. She watched him as he slid down in his seat, trying to hide his exhaustion and dismay. She refilled the sip he had taken. Reflexively, he reached out to stroke her arm before pulling his hand back as if she had burned him. She stared at him, turning away slowly.
Had she really hurt him with her actions? Surely he was no stranger to deception. The thought nagged at her guiltily, an albatross hung about her neck. True, he had admitted to her- but that was nothing, that couldn't have been true, even if he had believed it to be. Regardless of his own intent, she felt a creeping sorrow linger against her forearm where he had brushed her with his fingertips. She didn't miss him, per say, she had just gotten used to his presence, and then had had the opportunity to get used to his… lack of presence. This was just confusion, it would work itself out. And yet, she couldn't help but wish he had let himself make contact, if even for that brief instant. It felt strange to be so disconnected. She thought back to the kitchen, when he had so lightly touched her face. The remembrance bubbled inside her. She continued with her work, cleaning away plates, trying to suppress the aching feeling in her belly.
The more he drank the harder she became to ignore, brazenly prancing about, not content to stay in one place, but fixated on showing off and flirting with every single one of his men. She smiled at them, tittering a false laugh. He knew her smile, he knew her better than anyone, and he knew when she was faking a laugh. His men moved to accommodate her, but she just continued on her merry way, making a great show of herself. The heartless, faithless wretch. She wouldn't even look at him, wouldn't acknowledge him. He had almost stroked her arm, but pulled himself back at the last possible second. Old habits die hard.
His heart suffered in a panging sort of anger within him. How dare she try to get in cozy with his men? Who did she think she was to disrupt his life in such a way? He scowled as she refilled his glass, turning to leave, no doubt off to flirt some more, her cheeks all blush and her voice all whispery and-
"Violet!" She turned to look at him. He hesitated, unsure what he meant to say. Stop being such a flounce? He lifted his glass, gesturing tiredly. "Bring something else, I've gotten bored with this."
"Oh. Okay." There was surprise in her voice, but she left the room dutifully, off to fetch more liquor. It was a shame, he thought as he swirled his glass. It really was good scotch. But thus are the sacrifices a great leader must make. He finished the rest of his drink.
He didn't want to talk work tonight-just looking at the papers made his head hammer with pain. Tonight he'd just let them get drunk, let them think he was feeling complacent enough to celebrate.
She brought up a new bottle. Odd, she could have sworn he would have liked that last one, but no matter. She came back into the room, refilling his empty glass. He didn't say anything in way of thanks, didn't meet her eyes, didn't acknowledge her. That was hardly unusual. She felt sad nonetheless.
She continued on her trajectory, trying to stay as out-of-the-way as possible, trying not to be seen. Every time she glanced over at him, he wasn't watching her anyway. With any luck she might actually succeed.
The troop didn't leave until late. Infuriatingly enough, they had stayed off the topic of plans all night, squashing her opportunity to get him talking. She was exhausted by the time they left, having spent the evening watching his glass, but luckily she had thought ahead, cleaning up throughout the evening so that she was able catch him before he went to bed. He stood up from the table clumsily, leaning his weight against the chair. He was very, very drunk.
"Here, let me help-" she offered her arm to him, but he shoved her off.
"I don't need you."
"Okay, I never said you did, I just wanted to help-"
"Did you?" His glare was cold, accusatory. She paused, looking away, hurt by his cruel gaze.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't apologize, I hardly care."
She looked up at him, disbelievingly, "You don't care?"
He shrugged angrily, "You can go to hell all you want, I don't give a damn."
He was angry with her, that much was obvious. She almost abandoned her plan, but she needed to know.
"I suppose that's fair. I don't know why I ever thought I could trick you."
He scoffed. What a dumb girl. "You can't. You shame me by even thinking so."
She nodded softly, "You are far better with plans than I am. First with me, then my siblings-"
"Again with the siblings!" He threw his hands up in the air. "Look, I don't have them, I don't want them, I don't know why they stopped talking to you other than the fact that I too hate talking to you." He saw her face pale at that. That one had hurt. Good. "Once we get to them I'll be sure to get a handwritten explanation detailing how none of this was my fault, will that please you?"
Her head snapped up, intrigued, "Get to them? What are you talking about? Do you know where they are?"
"No." He held out a warning finger towards her. "No, you do not get to creep in on my confidence like that. You're a filthy double crosser, you're, you're a volunteer." He could hear the hurtful anger in his voice, but he couldn't stop. She gripped her arms to herself, pale. "You want to know what's happening?" She didn't move, didn't respond to his biting tone. "The people you let live? The people you chose? Chances are, they've scooped up your precious little family and are currently taking them far far away, and the next time you see them, they'll be trying to kill you. Don't worry about that last part though, they won't be successful if my experience is anything to speak by."
"Oh why the hell do you care so much? I can hardly be the first person to make an attempt on your life!" She matched his tone, yelling. "You said it yourself, I was your nice mantelpiece trophy, nothing more and nothing less, so what the hell do you care?!"
"Because I tried to tell you I loved you, and you tried to murder me!"
And then the word was in the the air, a leaden ball dropped ten stories, a crater bridging the space between their feet. There was a shift in the axis of their world, a sudden drop of the illusions they had been clinging to.
Neither of them spoke, frozen, shocked at the palpable weight of his words.
She gripped her arms against herself tightly.
"And that would change things, why?" Her tone was unfairly cold.
"Because I wasn't lying. Although I do applaud your sense of distrust, this time it wasn't warranted."
"I know." Her tone was softer, guiltier, more mournful.
There was a break in the argument, a hollow pause.
He blinked, "And you did it anyway?"
She shook her head slowly, sorrowfully, "You cannot buy me with your own desire. I did what I had to, as best fitted me. It was never about you, if that makes it any better."
"So you just… didn't care?" There was offended disbelief in his voice.
"I cared, just not as much as I cared about other things."
He looked away, not wanting her to see how her words hurt him.
"Well, rest easy, I won't make the mistake again."
Her chest tightened, "I don't think one has so much say in it."
He glared back at her, his eyes piercing, "So now you care? Now that you've realized just how beneficial my fondness was, now it's time you try to slink back up, try to reclaim it? My Darling," he strode towards her, tilting her chin up with his index finger, "I am not so pliable."
She pushed his hand away, but he caught her by the wrist. Neither said anything, tense, waiting to see who would break first.
"You know, for a while I didn't think that I hated you. I didn't do it because I wanted to, I-" she clenched her jaw. She owed him no excuses. He smirked down at her, lowering himself so that they were on eye level.
"Be sure to learn from my mistake, then."
His eyes pierced her painfully as he dropped her wrist. The room was silent.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was little more than a whisper, caught in her throat.
He looked away, ignoring her.
"I know things will never be the same, but," she hesitated, measuring his response, "if there's something to be done, something that involves my family, I need to be in on it."
"And how the hell am I supposed to trust you?"
"You can't." She shook her head softly. "The same way I can't trust you."
"And why the sudden softness, the sudden change of heart?"
She met his gaze, forcing herself not to tremble. "I know that you're my best shot at helping them. I've made my mistakes, but they're innocent. And I'm tired of all of this dodging about." She gestured between them. "You're the best shot I have. And… I think we had a good thing going."
It was a lie, but she suppressed her emotional response. She needed him back on her team. Or, more accurately, she needed to be back on his team.
He scoffed. "And what exactly were you planning on doing about that once I was dead?" His words stung, but she couldn't hold them against him. He was right, after all. She looked away, not able to meet his eyes.
"Did you mean it when… Do you still…"
He shook his head, "You taught me that lesson quite swiftly." She didn't understand the plummeting of her heart, but it felt as if her bones were keening within her.
"This was never supposed to happen. Any of this. I never wanted this."
She clutched at herself tightly, her eyes threatening to brim over with tears. His hand brushed the hair from the side of her face hesitantly. She lifted her fingers to cover his, clutching his palm to her cheek, desperate for kind touch. She was so lonely.
All at once he knew he would forgive her, if he allowed himself. He was a foolish man, too sentimental for his own good. Not that he would ever tell her, he had learned the hard way that she must never know of his weaknesses. He lifted his other hand to her face. She looked up at him, all beauty and betrayal, and then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. She was his temptation, and she would be the death of him, sooner or later.