Anya Alstreim had found herself in an unfortunate conundrum. It was one she wasn't unfamiliar with, despite her difficulty remaining familiar with the events in her life. In fact, the conundrum was precisely that. Once again, the Knight of Six had lost a significant chunk of time. Word had come in of the Emperor's unexpected demise. Everyone had been struck silent. Then there was horror. And then everyone was up in arms doing all kinds of things. The very last thing she remembered was Sir Weinberg ordering someone to do something and then...

And then she was on a plane. Staring up at her knightmare, the Mordred. Some engineer telling her it was in perfect condition should she need it in Area Eleven.

She had nodded then. Left and found a place to ride out the journey writing in her diary. Once again, a piece of her memories gone for who knows why. Every time it happened it was a painful experience, as much for the what as the lack of why. It was like her life was slipping away right before her eyes.

But... What else was there to do? She did her best to keep abreast of the situations she found herself in. Rolled with it, as Gino would say. Though while the carefree Knight of Three found enjoyment in such casual attitude, Anya found she could not. It wasn't a facet of who she was. It was a learned behaviour caused by the blackouts. Something she did because she didn't have a choice. Every experience lost tore at her ability to care about anything around her. What did any of it matter if she was going to forget it anyway?

And so... Here she was. In Area Eleven. Having endured the fanfare of her arrival and all of that pointlessness, after arranging her forces' stay in the region, she was finally heading to her meeting with Prince Clovis. Gino had conveniently passed on her orders to defend the region, having already assumed that was what she was going for. Was that what she had come here for? She had no idea. But it was as good an explanation as any.

The throne room of the Viceroy was styled to Clovis' tastes. It seemed he treated every part of the space as a stage for whatever performance he needed to give. The throne ostentatious enough for imperial royalty. The space before it as wide open as to be used as a ballroom if he wished to visibly recline before his most faithful subjects' merriment. And on the far wall, computer terminals. Staffed by military officers to keep the Viceroy aware of any urgent matter that required his attention. For example, if some grand tragedy like the death of the Emperor were to occur, Clovis could stand in front of a camera, pour his heart out at the tragedy of it all, have the footage sent out and get back to whatever he had been doing.

Honestly, Anya could appreciate that kind of efficient approach to rule. Just get the pointless and boring figurehead stuff done and out of the way as fast as possible so one could get back to what really mattered... Whatever that meant for the third prince. She had no idea. Art? Clovis was an artist, wasn't he? She was fairly sure.

"Ah, the inestimable Knight of Six arrives!" Prince Clovis cheered, rising from his throne with a gregarious grin, his blond hair perfectly princely as it just barely lay upon his shoulders. He stepped down the stairs, arms wide in a welcoming gesture that did nothing at all to raise her spirits. He stooped ever so slightly to accommodate their difference in height as he took her hand to not quite kiss the knuckle. "This Area is truly blessed to be granted the presence of such strength and beauty on her shores and I, of course, am doubly blessed to enjoy your company."

"I live to serve the Empire, your highness." Her tone was flat. Fitting to respond to excessive flattery.

"As do I, Sir Alstreim! As do I!" He gestured to a uniformed older man who hovered over the shoulder of another military officer. "May I introduce General Bartley Asperius. My right hand when it comes to managing the military affairs of the Area."

"An honour to meet you, Sir Alstreim," the bald and monocled General answered with a shallow bow. "The prowess of the Knights of the Round is worthy of the deepest respect. You have my personal thanks for assisting us in these dire times."

"And my thanks as well, and that of all citizens of Area Eleven!" Clovis added.

Her bored expression slipped off her face as she regarded the General. "General Bartley, then. Would it be you I would speak to for dealing with the terrorist threat in this Area?"

"The terrorists?" Bartley asked with a confused and dismissive frown. "What would they matter? A bunch of ragtag disgruntled Elevens, rats infesting their tenement ghettos. The so-called JLF only marginally more of a concern."

"I'm afraid I must agree," Clovis nodded along. "What threat are a bunch of ruffians within compared to those who come from without?"

"Well said, Prince Clovis," another voice spoke from another terminal, the officer manning it working furiously to try to make it cease.

"Who in the hells is that?" Bartley demanded.

"The natives of this land currently pose little threat. But to dismiss the threats coming from within entirely..."

"I don't know, sir!" the officer answered the General. "It's coming through the emergency broadcast channel! I can't disable it!"

"Emergency broadcast?!" Bartley asked with complete bewilderment, shouldering the officer out of the way as he observed the signal coming in. "Using one of our own security codes...? How could that...? Are the Archibalds engaging in some foolishness now?!"

"Oh General, the Archibalds are among the nobility! Foolishness is what they do!" the voice spoke in a mocking tone. Slightly garbled, enough to recognise it was being altered. "But I'm afraid their activities that allowed me to access this channel are the least of your concerns compared to what the rest of that lot are up to. They and a few other noble houses."

Bartley silently ordered the man on the other terminal to trace the source of the broadcast. "Who are you?!"

"I believe you all could call me a friend. No, no," the voice immediately corrected itself. "I shouldn't be so presumptuous. An ally might be more accurate. Perhaps even a truer ally than most in your court right now. But if you need a more concrete label, perhaps you may call me... 'Eleven'."

"Eleven?!" Bartley snarled. "The damn rebels!"

"Oh General, you don't know much at all about the native resistance if you truly think they would ever go by the label Britannians forced upon them."

"If you aren't a rebel then who are you?" Clovis cut in, feeling his military commander was getting more mockery than useful information. "What do you want?"

The officer attempting to trace the origin point nodded, confirming they were getting close.

"What I want? Your highness, I want what you want. Merely to assure the security of this land from any who would do it harm. Such as the Chinese Federation. Or the Archibalds. Or the four other noble houses for whom I discovered an intent to sabotage your rule in favour of one of your half-siblings. Opportunistic, but perhaps a little too eager."

"And you expect I would believe the words of one who hides behind a ridiculous moniker, who refuses to show his face."

"I expect you would believe your own eyes, your highness. When your men find the source of this signal you will find the results of my investigation. Make of them what you will. I look forward to our future partnership."

The signal cut. Bartley looked to the officer tracking the signal, getting a nod of confirmation. They had succeeded within less than two seconds of the cut. Whoever it was, they knew exactly how long they would need to track the signal back to him. Long enough to ensure they would, and also long enough that they would be long gone by the time soldiers or police arrived.

Clovis watched the officers coordinating the response. "Bartley, I want a full investigation into this." Then as an afterthought. "And the Archibalds."

"Yes, your highness! Right away!"

"Sir Alstreim," the prince spoke again, regarding the diminutive knight. "What do you make of that business?"

There was a little more life in her eyes, a little more focus as she stared up at him. "I think it would be worth looking into the information given. Actionable intelligence is undeniable. And one may never know where one's most valuable allies might emerge."

"Hm. I'll consider it. My apologies for not having more time, but this situation does need my direct attention. I'll have arrangements made to assist in getting acquainted with the area."

"Thank you, your highness."

As she turned to leave, those who knew her might have been both confused and either terrified or elated to see a smile on the girl's face.

And the moment she left the throne room that smile fell. The happy expression replaced with one of abject confusion, then resignation. It had happened again, hadn't it? She was just speaking with Prince Clovis and then...

Once again, all she could do was go with it and hope to pick up the pieces later.

-(-)-

"Oh, Lelouch..."

Milly Ashford was a tease. Lelouch knew that. He had known that before he had gone forward with his plan to secure the Ashfords' allegiance. Before he had effectively proposed to Milly, though not in so many words. He knew from having spent so long in this vivacious blonde's presence. In Pendragon and here in Japan. He had watched that childish mischievousness evolve into a young woman's coy teasing behaviour to wrap young men around her little finger. It was a game to her and she treated it as one. She made sure it was clear that it was only a little fun at their expense. And just like for those boys who hoped it would one day be more than that, she had approached him with the same manner.

For... About a day.

After all, while Lelouch had known Milly had that teasing streak in her, it was easy to forget one of her other qualities. To say she was spoiled would be wrong. A wealthy upbringing she might have had, but it wasn't one without hardship or sacrifice. But even so, there was undoubtedly a streak of... Impatience, that existed within her being. Insistence. When she had an idea and she believed it a good one, when she genuinely wanted something, it was difficult to dissuade her at best. And when the only person denying her the thing she wanted was herself...

The buxom blonde heiress sat in her new fiancée's lap, her uniform jacket open, her blouse unbuttoned. Her skirt had ridden up as her legs spread wide. Beneath her, Lelouch kissed at whatever bare skin he could find. His ministrations lacking expertise, but his focus entirely on learning this new skill that had the potential to be somewhat important in future. He couldn't deny his own amorous intent for this moment either. His work setting up that call to Clovis' throne room had been best described as precarious. An early gambit that had to be expedited due to Alstreim's sudden presence in the Area. It was important to him that the resistance forces not be removed, and if it became Alstreim's aim he didn't doubt she had the capacity to do so. The goal had been to focus their attention on threats for which removing them would benefit everyone. Duplicitous nobles? Everyone hated them. An excuse to pluck them like the rotting weeds they were was something to be grateful for.

So far as Lelouch could tell, his plan had gone flawlessly. He had delivered his message, introduced himself to Clovis, positioned himself as an ally of sorts, and delivered intelligence that would aid his half-brother, proving his intent. All without implicating his true identity. He had spent a significant amount of stockpiled resources to arrange it, but it would be worth it in the long run.

And so, he had run across Milly after quietly fleeing from where he made the call, feeling the rush of success. She had run across him having made arrangements for another plot. The two teenagers with surging emotions had met, and crashed into one another. So here they were in an empty classroom, her hips rolling atop him as the fingers of one of his hands were delving under her panties. It perhaps spoke to his complete lack of awareness of the female form how surprised he was at the slick wetness he found there. But the pleased gasping of his name at his touch quickly shoved such surprise to the back of his mind.

Her hips slid back and forth over his covered erection, feeling the hardness of it against her sensitive areas. She leaned down, bringing his head up to lock their lips together in clumsy but enthusiastic kisses. "Lulu," she breathed into his mouth, "Yes, there. Just a little higher– Ah!" she squeaked as his middle finger slipped over a certain nub. "Keep, keep touching me there..."

Lelouch wasn't above taking a little instruction for a new subject. He endeavoured to keep that one raised nub as part of his ministrations as he continued to explore her womanhood. His fingers delving between the folds in shallow massage. Realising her opening seemed to be revealing itself to his explorations. His ring and little finger slipped inside her to her giggling delight. The new experience was leaving both of them giddy, not least because it was a new experience they were sharing with one another.

"Keep going, Lelouch!" she begged, pulling his head into her cleavage. Panting harder as she felt her climax gently approaching. "It's good! It's good! Keep touching–! Don't stop–! Nn!" Her words ceased, her moans ceased as she felt the intense releasing sensation of her climax. The building pressure bursting free in one blast of ecstasy. Only when it was abating did she get her voice back, letting out a moan. "Anh!" and panting from the excitement. The first time she finished from someone else's touch.

Lelouch's hand withdrew from her underwear, the boy looking at the slick substance coating his fingers. "That was different from how I imagined."

"Hah, heh, you imagined it, huh?" she asked teasingly, looking down at him with a flushed smirk. "Guess I really got you going yesterday, huh Lulu?"

"You're surprised?"

"Honestly, a little!" she answered with a huffing laugh. "Not like you paid much attention to girls before even when they threw themselves at you."

"I guess you're just a bad influence," he joked. Though his joking tone fell away immediately afterwards. "It was something I never thought I could involve myself with. Letting someone else in, it wouldn't have been smart with what I intended to do. Now... Well, now it's different."

It was clear enough what he meant. He intended to focus entirely on his goal to the exclusion of everything else. Probably destroy himself in the process. "You're right it's different!" she agreed, slipping off his lap to her knees, her arms resting on his thighs. "Now you're going to be my husband one day. You need to remember you have people to come back to." She grinned up at him. "And you need to remember to have a little fun every once in a while." She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulled down his underwear to let his manhood pop out. Still erect and wanting. She reached out, took it in hand and felt the heat from it. Her head tilted in curiosity, smiling as she gave it just a little tug to see what happened.

Her fiancée grunting in appreciation was what happened as the skin peeled back to reveal the head. She gave it a few quick, dainty strokes, watching with fascination as a little bead of fluid emerged from the tip. "Sit forward a little," she ordered. Requested. Whichever it was, there was no way Lelouch would refuse in this moment. He scooted forward, bringing his manhood a couple of inches away from her face. She considered... No, they weren't there yet. Instead of that wild idea, she sat up just a little more and with a fair amount of effort pulled her bra up over her breasts. "Do you like them?" she asked, knowing the answer. Everyone liked them.

"Yes."

"Really?" she asked. It was rhetorical but he nodded slowly anyway. She leaned forward with a smirk, her round and heavy breasts resting on his lap. Then wrapped around his penis. "Do you like it when they do this?"

"Oh, Milly..."

"I think you do." She put her hands on the outside of her bountiful breasts, used them to squeeze and rub at his erect penis. Using the soft, pliant globes to massage his manhood. Watching his reactions to see what motions he liked best. Vertical motions seemed to be a winner. Using them to stroke him the way she had with her hand but instead with the warmth and marshmallow softness of her tits.

"Milly," he panted, "F-faster, please."

"Faster?" she echoed, "Really? Do you want this to be over so quickly?"

A war raged inside him. He wanted to finish, but he also didn't want this experience to end. In the end, his silence let her decide, subjecting himself to minutes of pleasure his salacious fiancée drew out for as long as she could.

But, she was inexperienced. Not well versed enough in a man's reactions to keep him away from the edge for long. "M-Milly, I'm going to–!"

The warning came too late just as Lelouch came too early. "Ah!" Milly gasped as she saw and felt a thick, white substance burst out of the tip that poked out of her cleavage. She closed one eye just in time for the jet of warm cum to succumb to gravity and splatter over her face. It glued that eye shut, dribbled down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. On instinct alone her tongue flicked out at that wetness encroaching on her lips, tasting his seed without meaning to. Another and another spray erupted, painting trails along her neck, her sternum, then more weaker bursts pooling between her breasts. "Aha, that was way more than I thought it would be!" she laughed.

"Me too."

She carefully wiped at her eye, resolving to wash her face before opening it. It probably wouldn't feel great getting cum in it. "What do you mean you too?"

"I'd never... Reached completion before," he admitted in an evasive way. "It was amazing though, thank you."

"You're welcome!" she answered his gratitude. Not that it was necessary. It had been fun. And she looked forward to more in the future.

-(-)-

Knightmare Piloting Experience Day! Seize the chance to find out what it's like to be a knight, piloting the backbone of the Britannian military, the knightmare frame!

That was how it was sold to the student body. It seemed the Ashford Foundation had dipped its military education into its standard education services. At each school the foundation ran, knightmare simulators were temporarily installed to give students the chance to try their hand at piloting a knightmare. Or at least an experience very close to it.

It was something many, almost all students were eager to give a try. After all, knightmare pilots, knights, they were heroes of Britannia. Every one the modern version of the knights of gallantry and chivalry from the days of old. From the legends that gave some of the empire's highest offices their names.

It was a crock of shit.

But a popular crock of shit all the same. So many students had tried their hand. The first to get involved at Ashford Academy had been the members of the student council, setting the stage for everyone else to give it a try.

The blonde heiress Milly Ashford had put in an appropriately capable showing for someone who had been around such machines all her life. Nothing exceptional. It was experience guiding her more than talent. Much like her, Lelouch Lamperouge their vice president put in an able but not exceptional performance.

The brash Rivalz Cardemonde promised to wow everyone with his skills. His bravado cost him. After familiarising himself with the controls he tipped the simulated machine over when the combat exercise began. He took the failure with good humour at least. Shirley Fennette went into the experience with a little more caution, doing better than the ill-fated Rivalz, but didn't exactly wow anyone.

Nina Einstein was not interested in participating. Instead she chose to take on the task of monitoring the systems, making sure nothing went wrong.

After the student council, it was more difficult to get students off the machines than to get them to give it a try. After all, it was an appealing prospect. Knights were heroes. And for most students at the academy, not an unreasonable dream vocation. They were all from upper-middle or upper class families. With minimal greasing of wheels and palms, any one of them could secure themselves a place as a knight of Britannia from their family's influence.

Kallen Stadtfeld watched from the sidelines. Trying to keep a scowl off her face as she watched another generation of Britannians get dragged into their leader's wars. That was all Britannia did. All it was good at. Making war and subjugating people for their own gain. And here was a Britannian school enabling that attitude.

She didn't want to be here. She just wanted to go back to the ghetto. To be with everyone else, everyone who knew her brother. The people who cared enough to mourn him.

"Are you going to give it a try, Kallen?" one of her 'friends' asked.

"It's not as strenuous as you might think, not like piloting a real one probably is," another added, the first nodding along in agreement. The two trying to coax her into it, to prevent her from missing out on what they saw was a rare opportunity.

"I'm not–" interested. The third word stalled on her tongue. She wasn't unused to lying to these people. But what use would that lie be? She knew, this was a rare opportunity. The chance to get even simulated experience piloting a knightmare. If her brother's friends ever got their hands on a real one... The rage and grief bubbled inside her. She looked at the machine as it moved to emulate the movements within the simulation.

... Screw it.

She got in line, watching the Britannian teens laughing and chatting as they prepared for their own turn, as they came together to discuss the experience afterward. Before too long, it was her turn.

She maintained her sick girl persona, being careful and ginger with her movements as she climbed into the faux cockpit. She had looked into how the frames worked before. Know your enemy and all that. So the controls weren't unfamiliar. She breathed steadily as the cockpit closed and the simulation began. Images were fed to her via viewscreens, showed her surroundings in the same way factsphere sensors would on a real frame. As she moved the controls, the cockpit moved with her. She took the time to familiarise herself with the experience of controlling the machine. How it reacted to her movements, the best way to react and move with those reactions. Soon enough, her two minutes of preparation were up and the combat portion began.

A tank rolled down the street, its main cannon firing a shot that had Kallen jerking the controls to evade. And suddenly she had the machine dodging sideways, the rifle in her hands belting out a half dozen rounds at the tank in a quick burst as her landspinners took her off and running down the road. A slash harken cut through the air and the tank immediately after. She used her machine's momentum and power to tear the tank from its treads and break the turret clean off. She... People struggled with this? She had trouble understanding how. It felt entirely natural how the machine moved with her.

The simulation went on, the half-Britannian tearing through a tank platoon and then taking shelter from incoming air support. A less convenient battle as she wasn't an amazing shot with either rifle or slash harken. But she found an unusual solution in using the terrain to bring herself closer to the strafing aircraft. Making her way up a building, catching the enemy aircraft with an easier shot and tearing it out of the sky before she cleared up the rest of the enemy forces.

The viewscreens flashed a 'COMPLETE' sign. It was over? Already? The machine opened and as she climbed out she didn't need to put on any kind of act to keep up her sick persona. A lucky thing because she had entirely forgotten it. She looked utterly shell-shocked.

"Kallen!" her friend shouted, looking at her with worry. "Are you okay? That was amazing!"

"It was?" she asked, still bewildered.

"It was," another voice joined them. She looked to see the source and saw that boy, the one on the student council. "The best performance today by a wide margin. You have some real talent, Miss..."

"Stadtfeld!" her friend answered for her excitedly. "This is Kallen Stadtfeld! Kallen, this is Lelouch Lamperouge, the student council vice president."

Okay? She wasn't sure why she should care. Or why the girl was so excited about it. "Nice to meet you?"

His eyes widened by a hair in surprise. "Stadtfeld," he repeated. "Then it seems I forget my manners." He took her hand and, ugh, he was doing that kissing the knuckles thing. Well, not quite. His lips never touched, small mercy. She hated the noble treatment. Also... Her hands were sweaty from the simulation and that was embarrassing.

"Have you ever considered training as a knight, Lady Kallen?" Ugh, and he was calling her a lady too?! This was the worst! "You're remarkably talented."

Displeased as she was, she finally remembered to keep up her meek persona. "No... I... That was just a simulation. I don't think I could handle the real thing," she answered, laughing weakly.

"I see." It sounded very much like he didn't see, like he didn't believe her. "Well, never say never. You never know what may happen in the future." He handed her a sheet of paper, a load of numbers and statistics she couldn't follow. "These are your results from the simulation. If you ever change your mind, make this a part of your application. I imagine they'll have you in another simulator in short order to verify exactly how valuable you would be to them. It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kallen."

He turned away from her. "Just call me Kallen," she grumbled.

Her friends' eyes flew wide.

The boy turned, looked at her over his shoulder. Smiled. "Just Kallen, then."

Her friends seemed to think giving him only a few seconds to walk away before breaking into girlish squeals was somehow discretion. She had only realised how what she said came across after the fact. It looked like she was flirting or showing interest. Nothing could be further from the truth. Her friends had decided it was like the start of some kind of romance story as if she would ever stoop so low. He was just another Britannian bastard.