Chapter 5: When the Chips are Down
This was utterly ridiculous.
Monica stared at herself in the mirror in her room that she had been provided by the emperor. Something felt off about her wearing these baggy, casual clothes in an environment that demanded dignity and refinement. But it was supposed to be a casual game of poker to gain some genuine human-to-human understanding. Not that she was going to let Lelouch coerce her into joining his side so easily. She was wise enough that she could tell this was all a front to gain a couple more pawns which he could betray and discard whenever it suited him. And she still had that uncomfortable feeling gnawing at the forefront of her perceptions. Every time Lelouch looked at her, she caught the telltale look of an empty longing in his eyes. And a strange glimmer of . . . familiarity. Did she . . . remind him of someone he once knew?
She couldn't help herself. Her usual predisposition for compassion showed itself again. He was arrogant and clearly narcissistic, but the pain he was burying so deeply inside of him bled through his pomp and swagger. Although . . . he could be using that pain as a tool to subtly coerce her. Did he have her figured out that well already?
Sighing in frustration, Monica shook her head and decided to focus on the remainder of the night ahead. Little could be gained from analyzing someone whose every action was so contradictory. Her main goal right now was to survive the war along with her friends. She hoped that Gino was being treated well. . . .
She had been provided a room directly across from her best friend Dorothea, and now she was knocking to coax the predictably unhurried woman from her quarters. Dorthy never seemed to take even urgent matters too importantly. Her laid-back nature was probably a result of her having grown up impoverished. She had learned to appreciate everything life had to offer—sometimes to overindulgence—and preferred to take things slowly even when decorum demanded otherwise.
"Dorthy?" she called through the heavy wooden door as she knocked for a second time. "There are only five minutes until the game! We need to get down there!" There was still no answer. Maybe Dorothea had uncharacteristically done the responsible thing and was already waiting for Monica along with the others. Then again, she had never shown herself to be punctual before.
Cracking open the door, Monica distinctly heard the slow, rhythmic breathing of the lone occupant sleeping. Of course. She had probably drunk too much alcohol again and had passed out. Swinging the door open wide, Monica frowned when she saw the predictable state Dorothea's lavish room was already in. Even with servants to clean their rooms at scheduled times, Dorothea's room was a mess of stacked dishes and discarded articles of clothing. How on earth had she actually managed to get it in such a state in just three days? And that was with cleaning help from the maids!
Huffing a sigh, Monica stormed to the woman who was curled up beneath the sheets in the king sized bed, catching a glimpse of the mostly finished bottle of wine on the bedside table. Frowning like a mother who had caught her daughter breaking the law, she stared down at the Knight of Four who had pulled her covers up to her chin; her long, raven hair spilling our everywhere around her pillow. Even seeing her friend in this disheveled, drunken state, Monica couldn't help feel jealous of Dorothea's looks. Maybe she would look just as graceful and womanly in a few years.
Well . . . if she ever grew a little more.
"Dorthy! Get up!" she shouted as she slapped her shoulder cantankerously. "What kind of knight are you, anyway?" Dorothea's only reaction was moaning a little and stirring before sinking back into her deep, quiet slumber.
More drastic measures would need to be taken.
"I said . . . get up!" Monica threw back the covers, exposing Dorothea to the cold evening air. Exposing quite a bit more than Monica had expected. A lot more.
"Aa-!"
Monica could only stare in open-mouthed shock at Dorothea's completely naked body. For some reason, it wasn't embarrassment that overtook her from the sudden sight (though she really shouldn't be surprised by it) but her jealousy only grew to the point of mushrooming, causing her anger to finally boil over and give her the means to wake her infuriatingly perfect colleague.
"Wake up, you shameless exhibitionist!" Monica shouted almost right in Dorothea's ear. The woman—who had turned onto her stomach by that point and was displaying another portion of her body that made Monica's inner vanity cry tears of fury—finally opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at her friend.
"Hrrmmm . . . Good morning, Monica," Dorothea greeted her as she lay on her back to stretch her entire body out. "Another day of getting lectured about ethics and why war crimes are justified by our sexy tyrant. Sigh, I feel like a kidnapped princess, y'know?"
"Uh—Uh . . ."
"Huh?" Dorothea looked down at herself, and the moment obviously clicked in her head. But she simply dismissed it with an uncaring shrug and sat up before yawning like she had just had a good night's sleep instead of an alcohol-induced blackout. "Oh yeah, I've slept like this since I was a teen, Monica," she excused her indecency as she rubbed some sleep out of her eye. "It sure beats having to bundle up in dirty rags in the street. Grow up already. Besides, it's good for the skin, so I hear."
"Well—you're awake, so get dressed! We're late for the poker game that is so obviously going to change our minds."
"Oh yeahhhh." Dorothea scratched her lustrous and slightly uneven mop of bangs which only worked to make her look even more appealing. "We still gotta do that today. Well, as long as there's beer. Hm . . . do you think Lelouch will wear an open shirt?" She was answered with a fresh, baggy sweater that would cover up most of her body hitting her in the face, and she slipped it over her head while Monica continued to scramble to find some more clean clothes for Dorothea.
"Whatever happened to that determined woman I talked to the other day?" Monica grumbled loud enough for Dorothea to hear. "The one who was at least resistant to the idea of whatever Lelouch is planning?"
"Still here," Dorothea admitted, pointing to herself proudly, "but wine has a way of making you realize new possibilities. I don't wanna become an old maid like Nonette long past my prime before I lose my wife appeal."
Monica grit her teeth and huffed before tossing her a pair of panties and wrinkled jeans she had found not far from the bed, assuming they must have been what Dorothea had been wearing before passing out. "Oh, so you'd rather move up in the world like that instead of finding someone more honorable? Dorothea, you're a goddess compared to the rest of us Knights! You don't even need to do any searching for a husband since every suitor will line up just for the chance to look at you!"
"Pfft. Yeah, when they aren't Britannian. You wouldn't believe the number of white pigs who say they just want to use me for the night. Lelouch is a douche, sure, but he's the most sympathetic Brit I've met besides Gino. Besides, you know as well as I do that he's not going to just use us as soldiers."
Monica perked up, watching Dorothea rush to her drawer so she could get some clothes that were surely already clean. "Well . . . that may be true for me but . . . You too?"
Dorothea stretched a thong out in front of her and smiled. "The signs are there, you poor, innocent lamb. He's flirted with both of us almost nonstop and is trying way too hard to convince us to follow him. Sure, he's Geassed me, but he could have just made me a mindless zombie instead of only making me obey specific orders. If I'm gonna become a pawn for the Demon Emperor, I might as well be a Queen. Maybe literally. It's not like we can escape it."
Monica swallowed the bile in her throat and shook her head. "No! You can't give in like that! What would we stand for if we just gave ourselves up without a fight?"
Dorothea eyed her shamefully, not surprised that the naive girl couldn't see reality. "Not a corrupted system that we deluded ourselves into thinking we could change. Simple as that. Lelouch is wrong, yeah. But this has become a contest to see which wrong solution is the better fit to let a broken world stitch itself back together—even if its messy." With a bundle of fresh clothes to wear and make an impression on the emperor, Dorothea entered the room's walk-in closet and left Monica to brood in her idealistic denial.
The young girl waited in tense silence on the edge of the bed for her superior to finish preening. Now that Dorothea had fully admitted relenting to Lelouch's authority, she didn't know what to do. Lelouch had told her earlier that day that Gino had been shipped off to a maximum security labor camp where he would be well taken care of, but she certainly didn't trust that reassurance. Once the war was over, what would become of them? Lelouch had the power to do anything he wanted with his prisoners. Plus, Dorothea had long had an obsession with finding her perfect husband and tended to lean toward the more . . . undesirable side of the spectrum. Just the type a once-abused party-lover would fall head-over-heels for.
Dorothea was surprisingly quick to get done dressing, and Monica was simultaneously stunned and appalled by how she looked. Her hair was barely brushed out at all, giving her a wild look that still retained its volume without any flyaways or kinks. She wore a white, low-cut tank top that exposed all of her midriff and left her toned abs and ideally postured back bare for admiring eyes to gaze upon; and painfully small hot pants which only accentuated her long, toned legs. Dorothea was an utterly perfect woman who most men only needed to see out of the corner of their eye to fall for.
And Monica could tell that she was highly amused by her fuming with jealousy over that fact. "Aw, don't worry, sis," Dorothea chuckled as she pleasantly patted Monica's head with an intentionally hard but affectionate rap. "Who couldn't love a sweet lil' cutie like you?"
"Anyone within a 10-mile radius of you," Monica reminded her as she subconsciously pouted while looking away with a blush slightly coloring her cheeks.
"Then I'll distance myself from your hubby for the rest of my days. Come on, let's get this over with."
"'Over with.' Seems to me you're quite thrilled," Monica reminded her as she stood up and stormed toward the door to rush to their rendezvous.
"Pfft. Lelouch may be a stud," Dorothea admitted as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, "but we've still gotta get along with Suzaku. Lelouch is the one responsible for making Britannia an even bigger mess, but Suzaku—Well, I've got more of a personal vendetta against him now. He always struck me as weak and aimless. We should have known that he would do something like this. For some reason, I feel like Lelouch's views are justified to a point. But what does Suzaku have to believe in? An Imperialist Japan that was no different from the nation that just so happened to overpower it before it could begin its invasion of China? Heh. It's funny how changing power dynamics can make people forget the losers' sins once they're the victim."
"Hm." Monica cocked her head, finding it strange that she had never considered the idea. "Fate finding a way for justice to prevail, I suppose?" she speculated cluelessly, still too wrapped up in her own broad ideals to see the contradiction in her logic.
Dorothea sighed and regarded her sadly. "Humans in general are prejudiced shit, Monica. I've known that since I was a baby. I don't blame Britannia for the circumstances of my birth or my messed up life. Just the ideology that was pushed on it. I could be half-Japanese in a different timeline. . . ."
With that dark thought hanging over them, the two closely-knit companions hurried to the special lounge that was designated for playing billiards and card games. Ordinarily, it would host various distinguished guests from different countries on diplomatic business. Tonight, though, in addition to the emperor's unfortunate half-sisters Guinevere and Carine who had been Geassed to serve him as maids as well as the virtually mindless Bismark as a guard along with Jeremiah Gottwald, there were two young men who could be mistaken as ordinary school boys with refined tastes in fashion. C.C. sat between Lelouch and Suzaku, wearing a puffy turquoise zip-up. Curiously, there was also a beautiful young pink-haired girl sitting at the table dressed in ugly lime-green slacks and a magenta shirt that clashed as badly as a clown's costume. . . .
Lelouch was wearing a somewhat puffy white shirt that still made him give off a somewhat regal appearance, and he was already sitting at the card table with the Dealer button sitting in front of him. "Fashionably late, ladies," Lelouch mildly scolded them with an amused smirk. "Let me guess: Miss Ernst drank herself to sleep and you only now just woke her."
Dorothea looked away as she fumed with embarrassment. "Hey, gimme a break. It's not like we're exactly in an ideal position here."
Lelouch chuckled and reached under the table. "Well, some say the best cure for a hangover is a little more alcohol to help the body adjust. I hope you are a fan of beer. Please, help yourself." Pushing a dark bottle across the table, Lelouch nodded for her to take it, and she tentatively picked it up.
Dorothea's eyes widened with delight when she saw the label. "A—A genuine American dark lager?" She looked up at him, easily catching the sly twinkle in his eye but too excited to think about it. "These are almost impossible to get nowadays!"
"Not for the emperor of Britannia, Lady Ernst," Lelouch reminded her. "Go ahead—have a sip."
With her hands trembling from excitement, Dorothea snatched the bottle opener from a table beside the couch and popped the cap off. She didn't hesitate to give the cold bottle a long, thirsty swig and was greeted by the thick and mildly sweet maltiness of a brew that was crafted to utter perfection. She couldn't keep herself from squealing at its sheer deliciousness and placing her hand on her cheek and she twisted in an uncharacteristically girlish display. "Wonderful!" she complimented the emperor's selection. "With beer like this so accessible, I may be tempted to join you more willingly," she joked, only then realizing how condemning her words sounded.
"Dorthy!" Monica elbowed her, prompting the slightly older woman to rub her arm and retreat into herself a fraction.
"W-Well—I'm joking, of course," Dorothea excused herself as she regained her composure. "Treating us nicely doesn't make you any less of a traitor."
Lelouch quickly glanced over her ridiculously revealing outfit and smiled knowingly. "Yes. I understand, Miss Ernst. I understand perfectly." He leaned back and began shuffling the deck, keeping his eyes on the obviously infatuated woman. "I hope you are as good at poker as you claim, Dorothea. This usually isn't seen as the type of game for graceful young women of noble upbringing."
"Hm. What about a guttersnipe who had to bluff her way through her first half of life before finally hitting the jackpot?" Dorothea challenged him eagerly. "I'll show you what I've learned from my old life and working among the white pigs of the Britannian military. N-No offense, Monica."
Monica looked at her over the top of her wine cooler which Guinevere had handed to her, the maid naturally already knowing what suited her tastes thanks to Lelouch's orders. "None taken. I'm mostly Polish, you know. Of course, with the assimilation of my people it is hard to tell the difference now."
"Which brings us to the reason for this game," Lelouch invited them to finally join him, Suzaku, and their mysterious guest at the table. "Please sit."
Dorothea regarded the ill-attired guest as she put her hand on her chair to pull it out and frowned. "Ummm . . . who is this . . . prim little girl here?" she asked with a touch of derision. Suddenly, Monica sprang forward and put her arm in front of her friend like the their violet-irised opponent could attack them with her bare teeth should she be provoked enough.
"P-Princess Marrybell! What a pleasant surprise!" she greeted her with a forced grin. "I haven't seen you since we met in Cambodia!"
Princess Marrybell, who was known to be quite cunning and wise beyond her years despite her gentle and unassuming appearance, actually seemed quite annoyed by the Knight of Twelve coming to rescue Dorothea's dignity. "Lady Krushevsky," she returned the greeting in a slightly perturbed tone of voice, "I am pleased that you survived the attack against my brother. I do hope you can be convinced of his wisdom."
"It is all water under the bridge, as far as I am concerned," Lelouch let the matter go as if it hadn't been traumatizing for the battle's few survivors. "The knights were only doing as they were ordered. I cannot fault them for that."
"Yeeaaahhhh . . . ," Dorothea remembered as she scratched her chin with an obvious note of sarcasm to it, "and what about the two thousand others who were massacred?"
Suzaku visibly shuddered at the reminder of what had essentially been a war crime on his part, and Lelouch jumped in to once again salvage their conditional relationship between them and their idealistic rivals. "Camaraderie is a bond that can surpass even many friendships," he reminded her with a pleasant smile. "Suzaku believes in the both of you . . . as I do. Shall we begin?"
Lelouch dealt the cards, "burned" the first in the deck, and turned over the three Flop cards so the betting could begin. "Ante is two points. Monica, please proceed accordingly." Monica added a single chip to the Pot so Dorothea could put down her full ante, and then it was Marrybell's turn to begin the actual betting.
"I am unfamiliar with the strategies of such an uncouth game," the somewhat spoiled Royal admitted as she looked over the few possibilities she had in her hand along with the Flop. "It all appears to be largely based on chance. Oh dear . . . I do not like odds that cannot be overcome." She was foolishly exposing her hand as weak, and her nervous expression was a dead giveaway.
"Really?" Dorothea eyed her incredulously, her brow raised in derision as she leaned forward to draw her attention toward her. "The genius Marrybell mel Britannia doesn't know how to bluff?"
Marrybell looked at her with her glass of seltzer water shaking in her hand as she thought in consternation, and she almost spat her mouthful out when she realized that Dorothea's sizable, mostly-exposed bust was sitting atop the table without the woman's knowledge. "Well, I suppose a wild African dog like yourself is quite good at lying, Lady Ernst," she mocked her as she set her water down and adjusted her posture to appear more ladylike despite her ridiculous attempt at causal attire making her look comical.
Dorothea smirked with a mouthful of beer still in her mouth, her bottle hanging idly from her fingertips while she swallowed. "That's Arabian, Your Highness. I wouldn't expect a Britannian to know the difference."
"Hm, well . . . Africans live in an inhospitable peat bog and make the best manual labor, whereas Arabians are foolish enough to think that a desert is a reasonable place to live. Plus, their women make the most excellent servants, if you take my meaning. And you both need to be taught to end your barbaric way of life for the good of the world. I don't blame you for your people's ignorance, Lady Ernst. You are one of the few who has seen the superiority of Britannian culture."
"Just bet, you entitled bitch!" Dorothea finally snapped, slamming her hand on the table as she leaned so far over the table she was almost lying on top of it, giving Marrybell an even clearer view of her shameless cleavage. "You think you're so smart—prove it here!"
Monica glanced at Lelouch, expecting him to intervene before the game descended into a cascade of racial slurs and insults of character. But the emperor only sat there, watching the scene as if the argument itself was part of some kind of scheme they were ignorant of. It honestly wouldn't surprise her if that was the case.
Marrybell threw a mere ten point chip into the Pot and sat back to let Suzaku bet. "I'll see your ten and raise you one hundred." Everyone stopped and stared at the bold bet, naturally wondering if he was bluffing.
"Hmmm, the Imperial Jap wants to be so badly recognized among his oppressors," Dorothea taunted him with her chin perched on her entwined fingers. "You never really did have a good hand, did you, Suzaku?"
Suzaku looked at her irately and was obviously struggling to overcome his offense. "I've got a good hand," he assured her. "It's all about how you use it."
"Hm," she chuckled contemptuously. "There is a difference between lying to your opponent and lying to yourself."
This remark definitely set something inside of Suzaku off, and he only raised his bet by another hundred points to assure everyone of his intentions.
C.C. took her turn as passionlessly as she seemed to do with everything in life, only raising the bet by thirty points before handing it to Lelouch. The emperor paused and regarded his half-sister Marrybell as he toyed with a chip in his fingers. "Oh, Marrybell. I have learned some very troubling news recently."
The princess looked at her brother with an expression of mild concern, subconsciously confident that she would be able to correct the problem as she was accustomed to doing. "And that is? Is it . . . regarding my bodyguard?"
Everyone in the room listened with rapt attention when Lelouch nodded. "Lyre, his name is, I believe?" He glanced at Monica, who had also grown significantly more attentive at the mention of the name. Smiling so thinly it could not even be perceived, Lelouch broke the news to his sister with all of the empathy of a detached, experienced judge. "It has been discovered that he is a double agent for Peace Mark. His real name is Orpheus Zevon—as in the noble family Zevon."
Marrybell gawked in stunned silence, considering the implications this could mean for Britannia. "Orpheus," she repeated the familiar name. "I have seen his grave myself. Are you absolutely certain?"
"Our intelligence officers were quite thorough checking the facts, Marrybell. I am afraid it is undeniable. He is now in the custody of the Zilkhistanian government as part of our treaty. He will be processed accordingly." He took his turn without saying another word to her, conscious that Marrybell was actually growing nervous over the future of her dear bodyguard who many suspected to be her secret lover. "Next round of betting, Monica," he addressed the Knight of Twelve as he burned the next card on the top of the deck and set out the single Turn card for the next round. "Is your hand advantageous enough to convince me of your true strength?"
Monica, Dorothea, C.C., and Suzaku finally realized what this game was all about—and, particularly, bringing Marrybell here. Lelouch was analyzing the knights' ability to hold their resolve when under pressure. And so far, Dorothea was failing the test horribly. Monica realized that, despite her growing panic over the fact that the man she had fallen for was probably undergoing excruciating torture right now, she couldn't let her emotions take over her sense of reason.
"Of course," was her calm and rational response. "I see your two hundred and raise you five hundred." She stared at him to illustrate her point, but she could tell that Lelouch knew she was bluffing.
"Sometimes the high risks you take are what reveal your true weaknesses, Milady," he reminded her with an amused smirk. "Like charging headlong into battle without thinking. Or falling in love with a man you barely know. Dorothea—your turn."
The game kept on with this tense atmosphere. Through the next round of betting after the River card was turned, Monica, Dorothea, and Suzaku still made foolishly high bets in a display of false courage.
By the end of the first set, surprisingly, it wasn't Lelouch who won the Pot. When everyone showed their cards, Marrybell was revealed to have a Straight Flush from a Jack downward. Dorothea, who had been so intent on showing the dizzy newcomer that she was every bit as clever as her, gawked at the princess's hand and stammered in disbelief without getting a single word out. Marrybell was briefly distracted from her worry over her personal knight and went back to her pompous self. "Hm. Gamine street smarts are no match for genuine well-educated intellectualism, Lady Ernst," she bragged as she tossed a few locks of hair over her shoulder, her words indicating that her ignorance had all been an act. "Let this be a lesson from your better."
The game came to a surprisingly quick conclusion. Suzaku had a nasty habit of overestimating his own advantage and was out of the game very quickly, whereas Monica and Dorothea were simply bad at pulling a fast one on either of the Royals. Lelouch had them figured inside and out, and he was able to exploit every opportunity he saw to get them to fold or bet far more than they needed to. By the end, Marrybell had won it all and had almost totally forgotten about Orpheus's bleak fate.
In truth, Lelouch had allowed her to win, often giving up a few more chips than necessary each turn and folding when he was completely sure he had a hand that was guaranteed to win. Marrybell would be a very effective ally, he knew. He would give her everything she wanted if it meant she would remain on his side, and she was always eager to eat it up. The knights would continue to try to resist most aggressively, as illustrated by their strategies. But he would continue to manipulate and coax them into falling right into his hand. Now, he truly knew how they thought, and there was nothing they could do to escape his authority.
C.C. remained an enigma even during the game, breaking even for the first several sets and barely betting anything. Eventually, though, her pile made the natural trickle into Marrybell's. Oh well. She knew it was all a part of Lelouch's scheme, anyway.
Both Ladies of the Round trudged back to their rooms, their eyes hollow with defeat and their spirits broken. "Damn prissy princess played us all," Dorothea lamented as she let her second bottle of beer hang by her side. "Sigh, and Lelouch barely looked at me. . . ."
"He would know you're trying to manipulate him," Monica reminded her quietly. "All it did was make Marrybell more sure of her righteousness and proper upbringing. I've never seen someone so conniving and underhanded before. I'd applaud her if she wasn't so proud about it."
Dorothea sighed and held her buzzing head. "Well, back to bed for me. Hopefully I won't be feeling like a rock tomorrow morning."
"I'm gonna stay up for a while. Need to do some thinking."
Dorothea glanced at her and smiled sadly. "'bout your boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend! I barely even know him!"
"He must be pretty special if you're already 'in love with him.'"
Monica sighed in annoyance and closed her eyes. "How does he know? Was he watching us all this time? He has too many ways to blackmail us."
"Makes sense to finally give in, doesn't it?" Dorothea suggested, prompting Monica to look at her as she took one last gulp from her beer.
"But do I know that Orpheus won't be harmed if I really do relent?" Monica put to her. "He's being watched by Zilkhistan. That means Queen Shamna. I just wonder . . . I-I don't even want to think about it!"
"Look at it this way, sis: The old system is dead and Lelouch can do whatever he wants to get what he wants. I warned you before what he might be willing to do to get you to cooperate. Maybe you should take your new circumstances as a sign that he actually wants you as an ally. If you continue to reject him—well . . . I don't want to think about it, either."
Monica looked out the window at the cloudy, moonless night. Was sticking to one's morals really worth seeing those they cared about get hurt? Or not only getting hurt themselves, but losing all sense of dignity as their world was forcibly torn down without their consent? Dignity didn't only come from one's sense of justice, after all. . . .
"I-I'll consider it, Dorthy," she decided at last. "And . . . thanks."
"Don't mention it," Dorothea graciously took the acknowledgment with a playful punch to Monica's arm. "Sticking together means we look out for each other, even if we have to compromise a few important ideals."
Ideals. That subject seemed to be coming up a lot lately. That was what this was all about. Were ideals more important than morals? Monica felt sick at the thought of Lelouch being right.
"Yeah. I'll consider that. 'Night, Dorthy. Don't drink anymore tonight, okay?"
"Heh, I've probably had enough for three whole days today," Dorothea mused with a laugh. "Tomorrow is gonna be a dry one."
"Let's hope so," Monica shot back. "I'd hate for you to start aging prematurely with your looks. There's still time for you to turn things around."
Dorothea stared up at the ceiling wistfully. "Yeah . . . Maybe I can."
The two women parted ways and Monica went to brew some tea in the kitchen. At 10:38 PM, she was sitting by herself with a hot cup of mint tea, staring out at the eerie moon which had finally shown itself from behind the clouds. In this darkened room, it bathed her in a haunting light that somehow made her all the more reflective on the coming future.
A sound in the direction of the door caught her attention, and she was shocked to see Emperor Lelouch standing there, staring at her quite intently. "Um . . . good evening, Your Majesty," she said as she nervously stood and performed the customary respectful bow. "Would you are for some tea, as well?"
Lelouch began approaching her slowly, his gaze not harsh or condemning, but strangely reflective, as if he was considering what could be going on in her head even as he approached her. "You are . . . a strange conundrum, Lady Krushevsky," he said, and she suddenly felt the need to back up. Whatever he was here for, it didn't seem like proper intentions. This was surely some kind of manipulative tactic he was pulling to put her off again. "You believe so dearly that justice should be a standard for all, yet you so willingly tried to oust me after I killed my hypocritical father. You fell for a man who you knew nothing about, but it was that single instance of him standing up for justice that was such an easy catalyst for you to develop feelings for him. But despite it all, I have reached an inevitable conclusion that is . . . wholly contradictory. Yet . . . strangely profound."
Monica couldn't believe how close he was to her now. She was actually pressed up against the wall in an attempt to get as much distance between Lelouch and her as possible, which only completely trapped her as he leaned over her. Her fear spiked when her suspicions finally took root, and she knew what the answer to her next question must be. "A-And that is?"
With his arm positioned so she could not escape him, Lelouch looked down at her and spoke breathily, prompting a shocking tingle to rush down her spine. "I think . . . I am beginning to fall for you."
Monica blinked. Those had been the exact words she had been expecting. But now that they had been uttered, she was having a hard time wrapping her mind around the idea. "Wh-Wh-What?"
Monica may be my primary waifu for her kindness alone, but Dorothea really hits different. ;-3
Hopefully the new writers for the series know they both have fans.