Phew! Done. This chapter is perhaps the most different from its original counterpart, but I do think I like it better. It's a lot grittier, much more serious, and tackles the massive elephant in the room when it comes to this pairing. I don't write angry Regal too often, but I'm pretty sure he's justified in this one. Enjoy!
That he was a man devoted to his work would, were he honest, probably be a gross understatement. Raine herself had noted his "obsessive" work ethic. He liked the feeling of tasks finished, problems solved, the productivity and satisfaction of a job well done. Living a fairly isolated life as he had over the past few years, and before that developing a need to keep himself busy to stay even remotely sane, he supposed it was to be expected. He was a businessman, through and through, industrious, nose to the grindstone.
At least most of the time. Today was...a little different. Everything he did, he did with some measure of haste. He wasn't careless, and he didn't rush heedlessly through anything, but it was safe to say that his mind wasn't completely here in the office with his body. Maybe that explained why one hand was tapping his pen repeatedly against the desk while he read over the sheet of paper in the other.
The hours in this room had never before passed so slowly.
"Here you are, Master Regal."
Regal looked up to find George in front of his desk, holding out a folder he had forgotten he had requested not ten minutes before to be fetched from the archives. It took a few seconds of blinking before it came back to him, but with a soft, "Ah," he set aside his paper and accepted it, rising to his feet to cross the room with long, quick strides toward a cabinet. He sifted through the folder's contents and made short order of filing away most of it before taking the rest back with him to his desk.
He made a couple more trips back and forth, sorting through progressively smaller stacks with deft hands. All the while, his old colleague stood there in the center of the room and watched him quietly, his presence mostly background noise to the duke. At long last, he spoke up again.
"I don't believe I've seen you this anxious to leave the office in a number of years, sir."
Again Regal lifted his gaze, and he quirked a small smile before tucking away another signed sheet of paper for his own files. "I haven't had good reason to be in a number of years," he replied easily. After all, he thought, his smile twitching a little wider as he closed the cabinet and once more retreated to his desk to finally sit back down, he hadn't had anything, anyone, waiting for him outside in a very long time.
"You seem to be looking forward to this trip you intend to take, It's nice to see you finally taking someone's advice and getting away. And I daresay you're in better spirits than I've seen in some time."
"I daresay that's true," he mused.
George paused, then broached an almost cautious, "How is Ms. Sage, by the way?"
"Confused," he said as he signed the bottom of another document, "a little nervous. Still suspicious, but we seem to be making progress, and I think getting out and seeing Iselia will benefit her."
"And you, sir?"
He chuckled. "Quite possibly. But at the very least, even if she doesn't remember the village, it might help her understand more of who she is." Regal leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "At this point, I'll admit I'm optimistic."
"...About multiple things, it would appear."
Here, he flicked his gaze up to find George watching him again. The old man had his hands behind his back, his posture squared and professional, but there was a level of...concern creasing his brow as he regarded his employer. "I'm sorry?" he prodded, not quite sure what the implications there were supposed to be.
His vice president looked down at the floor for a moment. "I'm certain I don't need to tell you this, sir, but there is a great deal of...unease, shall we say, about your colleague. By all definitions, she is a criminal, and there is talk of the pursuit of justice, some manner of restitution at the least."
Slowly, he nodded. "I see. Well, it's inconvenient, to say the least—but I think we can agree there are extenuating circumstances. The Lezareno Group will compensate all those affected, and repairs have already begun on the second floor of the hotel. Things are moving along as well as can be expected, I'd say."
"Perhaps. But we have received correspondence, several letters asking why the company has not moved forward with formal charges. And why you yourself have, in fact, been so ardent in her defense."
"'Ardent'? She's a good friend, George, and a good person caught up in something beyond her own control. Of course I'm going to defend her."
"Is that all?" came a quiet challenge, and Regal once more fixed the other man with one arched brow.
"Is what all?" he asked.
"No matter the source, I have seen you tear apart every condemnation and accusation. If there is a single word spoken against her, you advocate for her to the very last and humiliate any poor fool who dares, despite what she has done."
He set down his pen with a sigh, but also some confusion. George knew the situation. He'd explained it before. Why were they even having this conversation? "As I said," he stressed, "extenuating circumstances. I advocate for her because she's the biggest victim in this madness, and I'll not have her name smeared by people who don't know her as I do."
"And how is that, Master Regal?"
"What?"
"Exactly how well do you know her?"
The other brow joined the first. An odd question, to be sure, but he was silent for a few seconds. How well?
He knew many of her quirks, her passions, her voice and the manner in which she spoke; he knew her face, her bright, intelligent eyes, and the way she held herself; he knew the questions she had, her present insecurities and vulnerabilities; he knew which book she favored from his collection, and what foods she did and didn't like. He knew her scent, her warmth when he held her, and even the taste of her kiss now. He still had a lot to learn, but...
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and at last he replied with a reflective, "Well enough."
"And therein, I'm afraid, lies the problem."
Regal blinked, taken quite aback by this statement. "Pardon? My acquaintance with Raine is a 'problem'?"
George closed his eyes. He still looked a bit hesitant, but there was an uncomfortable sort of tension creeping into his junior's shoulders. Something as yet unspoken. Something very familiar.
"...Sir. I am an old man. But I am not yet senile. Every time you say her name these days, you do so almost reverently. Every time we speak of her, you begin to smile. She has become more than a mere 'acquaintance.' Am I correct?"
Well, that was bold, and he wasn't sure he at all appreciated it. He didn't have anything to hide, wasn't ashamed of his feelings, however unexpected, but something in the man's tone felt remarkably intrusive. Frankly, particularly at this early stage, it was no one's business but theirs. It would have been one thing if this were some good-natured tease, but it seemed almost an accusation instead and left him wholly uncomfortable.
He set down the pen he'd picked up again very deliberately and folded his hands on the desk. "I don't believe I'm obligated to answer that," he stated, a very slight edge of warning sharpening his words.
"No, sir, you are not. However, I feel it is my obligation to bring to your attention the potential ramifications should you choose to pursue such a..." He paused, then finished carefully, "an incongruous match."
The bottom dropped straight out of his stomach as it finally hit him why they were having this conversation. Why it felt so damned familiar. Why there was a problem.
He couldn't be serious. After everything they had been through?
"Incongruous." There wasn't anything special about the word, but as he repeated it, it tasted repulsive. He rose slowly out of his chair, palms flat on the desk, and locked his flashing gaze with George's. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Master Regal—"
"You, of all people, have no right to make that judgment." His voice was low and dangerous, and he could feel his heart pounding with the rising tide of anger and disbelief.
"Please don't misunderstand me, sir," George urged. "I have no intention of interfering."
"Again?" he snarled.
George dipped his head in concession. "Again. But I would be remiss if I did not point out the difficulties that will be faced by you and Ms. Sage if this goes forward. The reality cannot be ignored."
"After everything that happened, everything you did, have you learned nothing? Status? Class? Titles? They mean less than nothing to me, and you know that.."
"Nevertheless, they are important in our society—"
"Society be damned!"
"Do you truly think the world will be kind to you? To her? Alicia was a maid, far beneath you, and they frowned upon her." Regal stiffened at the name, but George continued. "This time, not only is she outside of your class, but she is not even of your race. A half-elf, involved with Tethe'allan nobility? Master Regal, I implore you to see reason, for the sake of you both. She will be despised, but unable to escape the public eye, and everything you have built as a duke and the president of the Lezareno will be in jeopardy. It would place both of you in the line of fire. To assume anything else would be nothing short of utter naivete."
It was a good thing, for all involved, that there was a desk between the two of them. Instinct wanted to reach out and grab the man by the neck. Instead, he just leaned a little closer.
"You listen to me," the duke growled, "and listen well. Raine is more than 'a half-elf.' She is a woman, and one about whom I happen to care a great deal. I know where our differences lie, and I know what that means. Nothing about my position makes anything easy, nor ever has, and I will walk into this with eyes wide open. Yes. I was naive twenty years ago, little more than an inexperienced boy, but the only reason, the only reason, I regret falling in love with Alicia is because of what you did to her. I am a patient man, and I accepted what you did, choosing to believe it came from the best of intentions and the most limited knowledge of the consequences, But that you can stand here now, look me in the eye, and continue to claim that you know best with that blood on your hands is absolutely inconceivable."
He shoved himself away from the desk so hard it scooted an inch as he rose to his full height again. "I am not blind. I am not a fool, and neither is she. She is stronger than the world you fear, the world that would dictate her life and mine. If we face criticism, so be it. The only opinion I give a damn about is hers, and I will defend with every breath our right to live as we please, with whom we please, wherever, whenever, and however we please. I will continue getting to know her as long as she will allow and take my cues from her, not from the court; not from the outdated prejudice of arrogant, ignorant cowards."
"But, sir—"
"No. You don't get to speak." He had scarcely even blinked, just holding his manager in a steady, icy stare. "From this moment on, in every thought, action, and word, you will afford her every shred of the respect she deserves. Which is a hell of a lot more than you do," he added venomously. "Do you understand me?"
There was silence. George had his head bowed again, his eyes closed, but he said nothing.
"I said," Regal pressed, "do you. Understand me."
"...Yes, Master Regal," came a soft reply at last.
He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice, though it lost none of the fury. "Get out."
Without a word, George gave a slight, stiff bow, turned, and retreated from the room. Only once he was in the elevator and out of sight did Regal release an angry rush of air and turn his head savagely to one side to stare daggers at the far wall.
He honestly couldn't believe that was a discussion he had just had to have. Certainly, a relationship like theirs wouldn't be easy, wouldn't be simple, and they'd have to fight for it. He knew that. Maybe he hadn't wanted to think about it just yet, while everything was still new. Maybe it was a good thing to think about—but not a reason to change his mind. Not a reason to think twice about the feelings he had for her. And to have George dare to bring it up made him shake with raw, incredulous rage.
He pressed his forefinger and thumb against his eyes and bade his blood pressure to lower even a little. It was true that they faced a difficult path, but it was his job to walk through it all at her side for as long as she'd have him, whatever that looked like. Nothing was going to threaten her unless it went through him. Not her current struggle, not anything to come. Of that he was certain.
When he dropped his hand away and looked over the desk, the papers a little disheveled by his movements, his eyes could barely focus on any of them. ...That was it, he determined. The day was done. He was done. All he really wanted in the wake of that fiasco...was to go home and see her. Leave the island behind, just for a little while, and spend time with her. And that was exactly what he was going to do.
Deciding that what few tasks remained could wait until his return, he stowed them away in a drawer, grabbed his suit jacket, and made for the lobby. His face was still hard, his shoulders still tight, and no one he passed even tried to speak with him. He did take a deep breath in the interest of not scaring his poor receptionist when he paused by her desk.
"Please inform everyone that I am leaving and will send word of when I expect to be back," he requested evenly.
"Yes, sir. Oh, Lord Bryant?" she called as he resumed his path toward the tram.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"Enjoy your trip."
Finally, a little of the steel cracked, and he smiled ever so slightly. "I intend to," he assured her before finally leaving the office altogether.
By the time he had finally made it back to the house, he was still upset, but his pulse had leveled back out. He was just eager to get inside and maybe, if she'd let him, get another chance to hold her. It would undoubtedly do wonders for his mood.
"Flare," he hailed after he'd stepped inside and shifted back out of his public mindset. He still privately thought and spoke of her by her real name, but he did respect her wishes to be addressed by the strange alias. When he hung up his jacket and looked around, though, the room was dark and empty. Her book was still there on the couch upon closer inspection, but she was quite absent. Odd. Maybe she was still packing her things.
Regal began climbing the stairs with quick, light steps. "Flare? I know you're getting tired of being asked this," he chuckled as he reached her bedroom door and rapped on it, "but are you hungry? "
There was no answer from within, but after a second, he heard a quiet scratching on the other side. He recognized the sound of Azrael's claws by now, as she really didn't like being behind closed doors, but the lack of any other sound had him a little confused. Had she gone back to sleep? She had been tired, but it was around midday at this point.
"Flare?" Carefully, he eased open the door—and immediately had his foot pounced on by a little kitten who greeted him with quite an unhappy meow. But the room from which she fled was as dark as the rest of the house, and when he peered in...it was just as empty, too.
He blinked and opened the door the rest of the way. A frown began to settle over his face, and he drifted in after absently picking up Azzy. "Where is she, little one?" he murmured. "Where is..." He stopped there by the bed and looked down, and a chill went through his spine.
All of her clothing was there, neatly folded and organized, every piece she'd acquired since her arrival to the island. And there on top, laid out rather deliberately, was the nightshirt. He reached out to pick it up gingerly, then slowly turned back toward the door with concern in his eyes, numb even to the little creature butting her head up insistently against his cheek.
"Raine, where are you?" he whispered.