DISCLAIMER: not mine :)

I can't believe it's chapter eleven already, rip! Enjoy!

After Gendry left her stewing in her room, the Cat ripped open the drawer of her desk and fumbled for the Brilliby bloom she had stuck to the back panel with soap. She threw it on the desk and glared at it so hard that had anyone been watching they may have half expected the blossom to burst into flame. Perhaps she would use it on the commander, she contemplated nastily. Perhaps she would slip it up her sleeve the next time they trained, and then sprinkle it in his water. She would enjoy watching his body shut down as the poison slipped through his veins and made him weak. He had tried to make her weak, had tried to take her power from her. She would enjoy doing the same to him.

Once, the idea of their argument may have induced her to add his name to her prayer, only... she sighed, and slumped in her chair, disgusted with herself. She had learned over the years that not everyone who was nasty to you deserved to die, in the same way that not everyone who spoke you kindly was a friend, and despite what she had said to Gendry in the hallway... she didn't hate him. Not truly. Perhaps that made her a weak, spineless fool. He wasn't her friend, wasn't even an ally of sorts, but... she couldn't bring herself to hate him. Oh, he made her furious, with his stubborn bullheadedness, his constant need to drag her around, the way he reminded her exactly what she was- but for whatever reason, she didn't hate him the way she should.

She sighed and grabbed the purple flower, inspecting it more closely in her palm. It looked so innocent and pretty. For a moment she wanted to ruin it, to crumple it up and crush it between her fingers. Instead, she stuck it back to the inside of the desk, and closed the drawer.

She wondered what Jaqen would make of all this- of her selling herself to the man who had destroyed her family, of this thrice damned tournament, of her weakness in her inability to despise her enemies. She wandered to the window, arms crossed over her chest as grief threatened to burst right through her. Jaqen. She missed him more than she cared to think about. Thinking about him always sent her spiralling down a path of despair that took far too long to pull herself back from, and so she rarely allowed herself to consider him, his bronze eyes and soft voice, his steady, capable hands. It was foolish to allow herself to dwell on him now, yet she allowed herself just a moment more, just a moment more to recall the first person she had ever chosen for herself, unable to let go of him just yet. She sank onto the window seat and curled up, pressing her cheek against her knees as she stared unseeingly out of the window, allowing memories of him to linger a little longer, as grief settled over her skin and seeped into her very bones.

Leaning against the doorway, Aegon stood, utterly transfixed. The girl was fast asleep at the window, utterly still, utterly silent. It was strange to see her so unguarded, so... small. Fragile. Breakable. She seemed so much younger in that moment, yet even in sleep her brow was puckered into a slight frown. She was leaning against the glass, darkened by the hour, and her hand was pressed against the pane, as if she longed to fall right through it. He could see where her breath misted the glass slightly. Something inside of him, something small, thrummed with inexplicable sadness for the girl.

A girl. That was all she was, really. Barely into womanhood when she was thrown into the mines to die. Who hurt you? he had asked her. Many people, she had replied. He wondered if his family was responsible for some of that hurt. The thought did not sit well with him.

As he stepped into the room and closed the door as quietly as he could, she made a little noise that made him falter. Perhaps he should go- it felt wrong to invade her privacy like this, and he knew she would not thank him for seeing her so vulnerable, but... he couldn't help it. There was something so tragically entrancing about the sight of her, something that made the very air in the room seem to pause. He wondered if she was dreaming, and if so, what about. He imagined she had many things to give her cause for nightmares, yet she did not seem to be in any distress. His guards reported to him every day, and they had informed him of the way she screamed and howled and pleaded at night. Yet now, she seemed so peaceful.

He made his way across the room as quietly and slowly as he could, treading carefully. Don't wake a sleeping lion, he thought to himself. Except, the girl was more... wolf than lioness, he thought; somehow more primordial, more savage. Untamed and unbroken. He watched avidly as her lips pulled down in a small frown, shifting slightly, so that her hand slid a fraction down the glass. Head bowed, hand pressed to the window... she looked almost as if she were praying. It stirred something in him, and he rubbed at his chest, as if he could push it away.

He sat down on the seat next to her feet. She had not even taken off her boots, he noticed. A strand of dark hair floated down to settle across her cheek, and he reached forward instinctively to brush it away.

So fast that he didn't even see her move, she lunged forward, awake in an instant. She caught his wrist as his fingers barely brushed her cheek, and in a heart beat his hand was slammed against the window while she knelt over him, her legs on either side of his lap as she snarled down at him.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, reeling where the back of his head had slammed into the window from the force of her movement.

He watched as realisation drew across her face. If anything, she appeared even angrier. Less panic induced fury, and more cold rage. "You fool," she growled at him, not releasing him. "What were you thinking? Waking an assassin like that!" Her eyes flashed quicksilver and lightening, and she leaned closer. He noticed, with no small amount of satisfaction, that even elevated above him as she was, her face was still level with his. Then it left him cold as he wondered just how someone so small could possibly, possibly, do that. "You were watching me sleep?" she hissed at him, digging her nails into his wrist.

"Did you know that you scowl even in your sleep?" he asked. She bared her teeth at him in response, and he gave her a pointed look. She swallowed and then flushed, a delightful shade of pink blooming across her snow white cheeks, as she realised that she was still kneeling above his lap, near flush against him. She dropped his wrist as if it had shocked her.

He pounced, turning them so swiftly that she gasped, a sharp, decidedly far too feminine sound for an assassin, so that her back was pressed into the bench, wrists pinned above her head in one of his hands as he hovered over her, smirking.

"I didn't know that faceless assassins could embarrass so easily," he said, and was satisfied when she cringed back from him as his breath fanned her cheek. "Tell me, lady Cat- is that a trait you all share, or is it just you?" She snarled at him, and he grinned. Oh, she was utterly, wonderfully furious- furious at him, first for watching her sleep and then for pinning her so successfully, and furious at herself for allowing him to. He laughed lowly. "Don't be ashamed," he said, voice rumbling in his chest. "You are not the only one here with extensive combative training."

She lunged up at him, and he reeled back in shock as her teeth snapped the air where his nose had been. It was a mistake; the movement threw him off balance, and though his hand remained tightly secured around her wrists, she snarled a leg up between them hooking her calf over his waist and using it to flip him. He fell off of the bench with a grunt, landing on his back hard. She rolled easily to rest atop him, and though he had managed to keep hold of one of her hands, she had somehow pulled the other free, and it now pressed hard against his windpipe. One jab, and he would be retching and rasping for breath.

"I know you said you wanted a private lesson earlier," she breathed down at him, silver flames dancing in her eyes, "but I didn't realise you wished to be instructed quite so thoroughly." She tilted her head. "If I had a knife right now, your throat would have been cut to the bone."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and bucked his hips suddenly, throwing her forward. He pulled her arm in tight and rolled them again, so that he settled between her thighs, pinning her wrists on either side of her head. She looked at her hand in shock, and then back at him, fury rippling across her face.

"You may have the edge in weaponry," he said lowly, smirking at her, "but it would serve you well to remember that I am much larger and stronger than you for close combat." He squeezed her wrists in emphasis, and when she threw her head forward in an attempt to smash his nose with her skull, he dodged, throwing his weight forward so that she could not pull off the same maneouvre as she had last time. She growled.

"That makes you slower," she said, trying to dislodge him, but he remained rock solid above her.

"Doesn't really help you know though, does it?" he chuckled. "I wonder what your fellow assassins would think if they saw you now- the great Dark Heart, pinned to the floor." She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he grinned at her. "Is it a different kind of lesson you're after- lovely girl?" He leaned down more closely, his face hovering so close to hers that he could see the ring of deepest blue around her silver eyes, the small scar on her forehead just above her brow, could feel her breath wash over his skin. She seemed to be shocked motionless, gazing into his eyes so deeply that he wondered what it was she saw there. Her lips parted slightly, as if she hadn't meant them to. His eyes lingered on them for a moment, as he leaned closer, his fingers relaxing around her wrists ever so slightly.

A moment was all she needed. She drew one leg in across his waist and flipped them, bringing her hands together to slam her elbows into the junction between his neck and shoulder. He grunted as she flipped him, vision going murky from the blow. When he opened his eyes, she stood over him, glaring down at him with icy rage.

"I told you before, and I'll tell you again," she said quietly, stepping away. "Do not call me that."

She made to stride away, where he wasn't sure, but stopped when he asked, leaning on one elbow, "What were you dreaming about?"

She looked down at him over her shoulder. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, and he wondered if she might turn around and pummel him for the question. But then her shoulders relaxed, and her fists uncurled. She walked away and leaned on the desk, back to him, quiet for long enough that he sat up with a sigh, believing she would not answer, when she said, deathly quiet, "I was dreaming about the man who used to call me lovely girl."

Aegon froze. Used to... oh. He had thought she did not like it because she thought he was being over familiar with her, that she did not like being mocked, though he had meant no insult when he said it. But used to...

He sighed, and sat up. "I'm sorry," he said, and she stiffened again. He stood, and walked over to her. He wanted to put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, or perhaps take her hand, but... she would not thank him for it. "I'm sorry," he said again, standing just behind her. "I didn't realise that you had a reason for not liking it. I won't call you that again, if that is what you prefer."

She turned around, biting her lip, and grief lined every inch of her face. "It is," she said firmly, crossing her arms.

"I'll leave you," he said when she did not make to say anything more. She made no reply, and he was at the door when he paused. "Who was he?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

A beat of silence, and then, in a voice devoid of anything happy or joyous, "no one. No one at all."

Margaery sighed, her breath causing hair to flutter before she wiped it away with impatient fingers. Megga was prattling on about some knight she had seen down in the yard, the tall, hulking one who wore the white of the Kingsguard. Margaery thought the girl was a fool- everyone knew that the kingsguard could not marry, and even if they could he wouldn't even deign to consider loud, dumpy Megga. Margaery knew that perhaps she was being cruel; after all, her cousins were just girls, and like all girls did, they had dreams. It was just unfortunate that Megga's were rather far fetched.

"You know, sweet cousin," she said, trying to be patient, "I think you could do far better than Rolly Duckfield. I'm sure that-"

"But Elinor is set on Ser Ambrose," Megga whined, collapsing rather ungracefully on a cushion. "If she can set her sights low for true love, why can I not do the same?" She sighed and put a pudgy hand on her chest. "I think it would oh so romantic- a kingsguard, breaking vows sworn before gods and men, for his true love!"

Margaery simply smiled and shook her head. She enjoyed all of her cousins, especially wicked tongued Elinor, but there were times when she found their company... tedious. She found their constant prattle and giggling tiresome, and though she would not deny them their youth, she couldn't help but sometimes wish that they would just grow up. She was sure that she had never been so... so silly at their age. She supposed that as the only daughter of the lord of Highgarden, and the Queen of Thorns' prodigy, responsibility had forced her to leave her girlhood behind her. Loras, for all she loved him, had no ambition for himself, and neither did Garlan, and Willas was content in the knowledge of his secure inheritance. She had once attempted to broach the idea of a match between her eldest brother and princess Rhaenys, but he had not seemed enthralled by the thought of his children having a claim to the throne- especially with the mad king wearing the crown, though his worst impulses had been contained of late by that red witch of his and the Hand.

Sometimes she resented that it all seemed to fall to her, but for the most part... she was grateful, grateful that her brothers' lack of ambition allowed her to take the lead. Admittedly, her first marriage to Renly, fool that he was, had been misguided and ill planned, but her second match to that spineless Viserys- that should have been the ultimate success. She would have been queen, and she was certain that she could have discovered what made him tick enough to control him. But he had died before the servants had even cleared away the wedding feast, and she had been left a widow for the second time in but a few years.

She stood up and straightened her skirts; it would never do to appear ruffled in any way, after all. "I wish to see my lady grandmother," she informed her cousins.

Alla sat up. "Allow me to accompany you, Maragery."

Maragery placed a hand on the girl's shoulder to halt her before she could stand. "That is quite alright, sweet cousin," she said gently. "I believe I can find my way around the Maidenvault by now!"

She strode from the room with a court trained smile, hands held delicately in front of her nave in a way she had found to amplify her femininity. Two guards followed her immediately, though they stayed a respectable distance behind. The corridors smelled like honey rose and sweet suckle, and two white butterflies fluttered past her.

Perhaps it was for the best, she thought as she walked through the courtyard to her grandmother's favoured pavilion. After all, Viserys had been... difficult. His temperament was volatile, much like his father's, his disposition cruel and vain. He had liked to call himself the Young Dragon, but in truth, he had been more akin to a serpent- a grass snake. She imagined that had he survived to his coronation, he would have declined into madness much in the way the king had- but Aegon; now, there was a real king. Clever and strong and handsome, it was plain to all that he, unlike his uncle, was far more his own father's son- without the predisposition for melancholy and superstition. Viserys had been weak; Aegon, however- he would make a much better match. She just had to snare him, first.

She lifted her sweeping sky blue skirts in one hand as she ascended the steps to the pavilion, where her grandmother was gazing boredly out across the gardens, as ladies twittered around her. Little doves, the Queen of Thorns called them- pretty, in a plain sort of way, but useless, and easily acquired. Decoration- but also a veritable tactic.

"Lady grandmother," Margaery greeted, curtsying with a smile.

"Rise child, there's no need to waste time on pomp and circumstance here," Olenna said, waving her over. Jewels sparkled upon wrinkled, liver spotted fingers, yet somehow, the older woman seemed to pull them off, when such finery and ornamentation was typically reserved for the young. A feat, it seemed, that Cersei Lannister failed to accomplish. "What have you got for me today?"

Margaery sat delicately, and looked pointedly at the small gathering around them. She cleared her throat, and beckoned the attending servant. "Would you mind going to my chambers and asking a maid to fetch my headache tonic?" she asked, raising a hand to her temple and feigning a wince. "I fear the sun has made my head spin most dreadfully."

"Of course, my lady," the servant said, before darting away on a fool's errand. Her head was not spinning, but it was a well known fact to the maester and her maids that her head throbbed during her moon blood, so who would dare question it? As it was, her head didn't throb that badly during her time of the month either- but no one had to know that, and besides; it was a perfect decoy for times such as this.

"Deftly done, granddaughter," her grandmother said quietly. "You are learning." She clapped her hands and turned to the musicians just down the path, practising in the sun. "Come now- what is the point of playing music if no one can hear it? I have an old woman's ears- pray sing louder, so that I might appreciate your talents." Margaery folded her hands in her lap and waited until her grandmother was satisfied they would not be overheard, and turned back to her. "So, what news?"

Margaery sighed. "I have not yet been able to secure a private meeting with the crown prince," she said quietly, "though I am told the Queen was quite wroth after a small council meeting two days ago, and raved to that Myrish Merryweather woman about me for hours. Senelle told me she heard them talking about it." Senelle had been her spy for some years now, and Margaery was willing to admit that it was about time she replaced her before things became suspicious- but the girl was clever and discreet, and Margaery trusted her information.

"I see," the Queen of Thorns said, lacing her fingers together. "I shouldn't worry on that front, my dear. Tywin Lannister is perfectly well aware of his daughter's jealousy and shallowness when it comes to her opinions. I shouldn't imagine he will be much swayed by them."

Margaery frowned. "It is not Tywin I am worried about."

Olenna chuckled. "Well, he should be. Do not make the mistake that simply because the prince is contemptuous of his grandfather's Hand, that he does not take his advice. Aegon is clever, granddaughter, and he knows to use all of the weapons at his disposal, whether he likes them or not." She popped a lemon cake in her mouth and chewed, swallowing twice before she said, "and what of the prince's interactions with that dornish slut? Do you believe she intends to become queen one day?"

"I am not sure," Margaery admitted, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other delicately. "I have been spending some time with Arianne lately, to try and learn her motivations, but- she is good, grandmother. Very good." Indeed, Arianne Martell was a tough nut to crack; she had a way of putting everything out in the open, as if she did not care for the subtle machinations of the court- distracted everyone with petty business, while she worked away at something far, far bigger. Margaery just didn't know what that was- and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

Olenna patted Margaery's knee with a withered hand. "Don't worry yourself, my dear," she said, eyes glinting. "She'll make a mistake and trip soon enough, and we'll be there to make sure she doesn't get back up again- unless, of course, it suits us."

The words did not comfort Margaery, but she held her tongue. They sat in quiet for a moment, and the performers struck up a new song, one that she did not recognise. "There's something else, too," she said quietly.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"The crown prince's champion," Margaery said quietly, mouth ticking. "She... the prince seems drawn to her, for some reason." Oh, she had seen the way he watched her, the way his eyes lingered on her a little too long, the way he verbally sparred with her that day in the gardens, the way he had held her hand the day before.

"A pretty face and an alluring background," her grandmother said, waving a hand dismissively. "That's all it is. I imagine he'll bed her, and after that move on. And you'll be there for when he is ready to."

"All the same," Margaery said, frowning. "She may present a problem."

Olenna simply smiled. "Not if we remove her." When Margaery did not smile, the Queen of Thorns picked up another lemon cake. "Don't frown, dearest. You'll get wrinkles like mine, and then the Crown prince certainly won't want you."

The Cat awoke suddenly and jarringly at the knocking on the door. She had been dreaming, dreaming of running with a pack at her back and howling at the rising sun with the taste of blood in her mouth and the feel of earth beneath her claws. It had been a good dream, and she did not appreciate being woken so brutally. She cursed loud and violently enough that the door opened.

"Are all assassins so foul mouthed, or is that just you?" Gendry asked, striding in. He was wearing his white cloak for once, though he had foregone the armour for a leather jerkin.

"Are all kingsguards such pricks, or is that just you?" she snapped back, pulling her knees up to her chest and pressing her forehead to them, groaning at the cramping in her gut and the throbbing in her head. She must have forgotten to drink the night before, after Aegon had left her to grieve.

He rolled his eyes at her. "You are a terrible morning person, did you know that?" He eyes her critically. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" she snapped and he sighed, crossing his arms. Pain flared in her gut, but she ignored it. "Why are you here, anyway?"

He raised a brow. "It's the first trial today," he said, marching to the window. "Do you always sleep with the curtains open?"

She did- she liked to fall asleep looking at the stars, the open sky, and know that they would be waiting for her when she got free. "Why do you care?" she asked nastily, as he peered out the window. Another stab of pain- she went still.

She slipped a hand between her thighs, and winced. She did not need to look at her fingertips to know what would be there. She tried to do the maths in her head- a month since she had been pulled from the mine, more than that. Not that she supposed it mattered, but-

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," she, swallowing. "You said that I need to be ready on time for the trial." She hadn't bled in months, not since that day she had snapped at Castamere- of course it was just her luck that it would come today!

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You guessed that, didn't you?" When she didn't reply, he marched over to the bed. "What's wrong? Are you ill?" He reached for her chin, and she swatted his hand away, but not quick enough for him to miss the sheen of sweat on her forehead. He frowned. "You don't look well. You're pale."

"I'm from the North," she said through clenched teeth. "I'm always pale."

"Not this pale," he said. He put a large hand to her brow, and she tried to push him away, but he persisted. "You're hot," he said, stepping away and shaking his head. "Were you ill in the night?"

The Cat pursed her lips. "I'm fine," she said, pulling the sheets up higher.

He didn't seem to believe her one bit, but he sighed and rounded the bed. "In that case, you'd best get dressed and have something to eat. And before you ask, no, I don't know what the trial will be, so don't bother." He crossed to the armoire and yanked out a pair of breeches and a shirt, before tossing them over the changing screen. When she made no move to get up, he frowned. "Hurry. We need to be down there in a half hour."

"What are you, a maid?" she groused, not moving from the bed. "Maybe I should start giving you other chores, if you're so interested in my laundry."

He scowled at her and crossed the room in four long strides. "Get up," he commanded again.

The Cat lifted her chin defiantly. "I will when you get out."

His eyes flashed. "We don't have time for this," he said impatiently, reaching for her covers to yank them away.

"No!" The word burst from her lips, and she snatched at the covers, trying to pull them from his hands. "Get off, you brute!"

"Why are you being so difficult this morning?" he growled at her, yanking the covers out of her hands and throwing them back. "Just get u-" He cut off mid-sentence. She scrambled for the covers, but it was too late. His eyes went wide at the blood staining the sheets, her nightgown, her thighs. The Cat froze, and felt red rushing to her cheeks as he took it in. She grasped the covers and pulled them up again.

Neither of them spoke for long moments, horror settling in her guts, and then he asked, "are you alright? Are you hurt, somehow?"

"I told you to leave me alone," she snapped, surprised and furious at the burning in her eyes. "I told you to get off."

He grabbed at her shoulder and shook her, but she pushed him away and stood up. "Cat- tell me if you're hurt. Now." He snagged the sheet in his hand and twisted her around, inspecting the stained back of her gown. "Gods, how-"

"Get the fuck off of me!" She hissed, tearing out of his grip. "And stop looking at it! What do you think it is, you oaf?" She wrapped the sheet around her more securely. "It's just my- moon blood. I wasn't expecting it, that's all." She was a fool for not having seen it coming, for forgetting that one bodily function that was so important.

He seemed to relax a little as he realised there wasn't an injury, and his shoulders slumped a little- as his cheeks went a violent shade of crimson. He cleared his throat. "Oh. I thought- how can I help? Can I get a maid, or the maester, or-"

"No!" The word was a near shout and he blinked. She licked her lips. "No maester. You don't- don't need to tell anybody. It's fine. Just go and sit down, and shut up about it." She pointed at the dining table, and glared at him until he followed her order. She swallowed and turned back to the bed, and ripped her covers off. He's already seen, anyway, she thought bitterly, using the sheet to cover the stain until she could clean it later. It's just blood. You've seen plenty of blood before- spilled a fair share of it. If anyone was versed in cleaning out bloodstains, it was her.

She walked to the changing screen and stripped of her nightgown, frowning in disgust at the stains, peering down at the red on her thighs. She threw the gown over the chair and reached for the water, using the cloth to clean herself off.

"How did you not know it was coming?" he asked from over the room. "Surely you must have known it was due."

"Well, I didn't," she replied tersely, searching the draws for strips of cloth, smiling grimly when she found them. "It stopped when I was- in the mines. I did not expect it to return again so soon." In truth she hadn't even considered it once, fool that she was. Good food, safety, rest- of course it would come back sooner or later. She just wished it could have been later.

"Oh," he said, and then, "it's completely natural, Cat. Just- just your body-"

"You don't need to fill the silence," she said, a blush spreading across her chest as she dressed, as quickly as she could. She sat on the chair to lace her boots in short jerking motions. She stood up and rolled her neck, taking a moment to allow the blush on her cheeks to abate a little before she joined him at the table.

Yet it seemed of the two that the Lord Commander was by far more embarrassed by the situation than she was. She rolled her eyes at him. "You'd think that a man of your profession would be more accustomed to the sight of blood," she snipped, reaching for some ginger tea to calm her stomach.

He coughed, and began to heap eggs onto his plate. "Yes, well, let's just try and forget that, shall we?"

"Forget what?" she asked innocently, sipping at the tea, and wincing. Someone had put far too much honey into it.

"Will you be alright to compete in the trial?" he asked after a moment.

She huffed. "I'll be fine," she replied. "You would be surprised the things women can do while bleeding. Besides, I thought you wanted to forget about it."

"Fine," he said, and that was that. They ate in silence for a time- or rather, he ate (truly, no one should be able to eat that amount of food in one sitting- it was likely more than she ate in a day!) while she sipped at her tea, feeling nauseous as she watched him.

She wrinkled her nose. "How can you eat that much?" she asked.

He shrugged, and said around a mouthful of bacon, "What do you expect? It's you who eats like a sparrow." He nodded at her empty plate. "Really though, you should eat something. At least have some eggs."

She grimaced. "Tea is just fine," she said, helping herself to another cupful of the over-sweetened drink. "It wouldn't be the first time I've gone without eating."

He frowned at her. "Right," he said.

She downed the cup, and set it down on the table. "You know, you still haven't apologised," she said casually.

He raised a brow at her, and set down his fork with a clink. "What for?"

"You said some awfully horrid things to me yesterday. You acted as though I was nothing more than a crazed killer." And though she had only brought it up to change the subject- it had hurt, she realised, to be reminded of how he saw her. Even though she didn't trust him one lick, even though she knew he could never be her friend, not really, that he worked for her enemy- it had hurt that he had immediately jumped to the conclusion that she would do something awful, when she had only intended to be nice.

"Can you blame me?" he asked. "Besides, you said you hated me more than anyone else alive." And though he was only pointing out what she had said, she was sure that she detected a flicker of hurt in his eyes, too.

"And I meant every word of it," she said. However, a small smile began to tug at her lips—and she soon found it reflected on his face. He tossed a piece of bread at her, which she caught in one hand and threw back at him. He caught it with ease. "Stupid bull," she said, smiling now.

"Crazed killer," he shot back, taking a big bite out of the bread.

"I really do hate you."

"And I you, assassin."

She smirked. "No you don't," she said, and he paused. "And that's what pisses you off so much."

He went still as he hesitated, and she wondered if she had gone too far, when he said, "At least I'm not going to come last in the trial because I'm late." And with that, he stuffed the bread in his mouth, stood up, and walked around the table. He grasped her arm and yanked her up, tossing her playfully in front of him. As she walked through the door, him a pace behind, the Cat allowed herself a small smile.

Person: Is it my turn in the hedge yet?

Hedgehog: No.

Sorry. I just wanted to share my all time favourite joke with you. Hope you liked! (The chapter, not the joke- though I hope you liked that too!)

Over and Out xoxo