Hey everyone! this one came faster! Hopefully that means I'm getting better at this updating thing!

Im so happy that you guys are still sticking with this story even though im a terrible poster!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters

lets get into it!—

I was late to breakfast.

Every head snapped to the door when it creaked open. My father gave me a stern look, displeasure written in the lines of his eyes. I kept my head down.

Ryley stood and pulled out the chair beside him and waited patiently for me to slip into it. I had no choice, I knew, but given my only other option was the seat beside Cuyler.. Yes I was happy the decision had been made for me.

"We will remain a few more days," Luca continued, once I was seated. "Any more and I fear we'd be caught out during the approaching storm."

"Do you have all you need?" Clark asked, his fork scratching his plate as he stabbed a thick sausage, bringing it up to his mouth as Luca responded.

"More than we need. Thanks to your generosity we'll be able to feed my entire estate with the remnants of our journey."

"It's all I can do for my future family,"

I took a bite of my eggs. They dropped into the emptiness of my stomach.

"Speaking of," Clark's tone changed letting the rest of us know we were all being spoken to. "With everything going on, I think we should push forward the date of the wedding. Orihime has many responsibilities during war times and I would like her to be settled before the world goes to shit."

I prayed the devastation wasn't too clear on my face.

"Though I would have preferred her married here, before the people, perhaps it will be best to do it while you're in the north. Then when she returns to me, her head will be clear. Hopefully her womb will still be vacant. A pregnant General is a bit of a liability, don't you agree?"

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply before opening them once more. I was going to lose the eggs.

Luca was laughing, saying something about the Vilantrio seed-

"Forgive me, your majesty, but I must disagree." My head snapped in Ryley's direction as he cut off his father.

"Keep your mouth shut, boy." Seethed Luca, who was silenced by my father, who held a hand out, "No let the lad speak, Luca. He is to be king one day, and we owe him at least the right to speak his opinion." I bit my tongue. Where the hell was my right to an opinion.

"I believe it would be best for all of we postponed our nuptials. War can be tough on the hearts of the people, as we have all seen. It makes them restless and uncertain and such a thing can lead to devastating consequences." He motioned to his brother, "We were both attacked in the wake of the Southern rebellion, when our people had grown reckless in their hunger, their fear. When left alone for too long their thoughts can turn rotten," he looked at me, carefully, his timing perfection. His pause just long enough. "If we hold the thought of their heirs being married over them, it gives them a shining hope of a future. Of an end to the bloodshed. That hope could appease them, if used correctly."

Moves and countermoves… Ryley was an expert chess player, that I'd known, what I had not realized was that he knew how to shift the players on the larger chess board of politics.

Clark sank back in his chair, a laugh breaking from his throat, "Why the Gods chose to make you the youngest heir I will never know, you are a born ruler." The king looked to Luca, "You've raised him well, my friend. It saddens me that we will have to wait even longer until we are family by law," And that was it. The noose loosened around my neck and I felt, for the first time in months, that I could truly breathe.

I caught his movement moments before I felt Ryley's fingers slide over my thigh. He kept his hand there, a solid weight. I stole a glance, but he was watching our father's exchange. I looked to the hard line of his jaw, so close I could see the thin whiskers sprouting from his chin and found that I did not hate his touch.

That I did not hate him at all.

Yet, for no reason at all, my eyes shifted across the table. Cuyler, who hadn't said a word, was focused on his plate, his hands seeming too large for his utensils. His fingers were meant to grip a sword with strength not lift strawberries to his mouth with gentle attention.

I watched him chew, in a trance. It seemed both Vilantrio heirs had skipped their morning shave, for Cuyler's cheeks were rough. Yet while Ryley looked remotely the same, his brother seemed darker, manly and unapologetic.

It brought back the memories of our days on battlefields, where hot water was a lost luxury and shaved faces were a waste of resources. I'd seen Cuyler cut down men with a single stroke of his sword. And I had watched him wash his face in a bowl of crisp water in the hour that followed, scrubbing the horrors away. He had left the water stained red.

A drop of crimson fell from the corner of his mouth as he bit into his fruit and Cuyler wiped it away with his thumb. His eyes met mine as he popped it into his mouth.

Ryley squeezed my knee and the trance was broken. And then that touch slid away.

I should have felt the eyes, and had my relief not overtaken my attention, I'd have noticed the tension in the air of the room and had six more seconds to prepare

I didn't dwell on that as men swarmed from the servants entrance, as the main doors pounded against stone as they too were throw open. I met eyes with Cuyler and felt his steadiness, his assurance.

He had known they were coming. I noticed within the next second that no one else stood, or seemed shocked. I could feel Ryleys gaze and I knew I should meet it, but I couldn't break the stare of his brother.

Seconds ticked by and the men would be on me in moments but still I waited, waited for the slight worry to enter Cutlers eyes. It never came. Good.

I smiled, more to myself than to him.

It had been Orihime Inoue who'd been seated but it was not her who rose. If it was a show they wanted, then I'd gladly oblige.

Eight men. Two with sword's. Three spears. The rest bare handed.

That was all I made out before a sword swung for my head, it slammed into the hard oak of the table, lodging. I swung, my knee going up into his stomach, he grunted but he was not a recruit; unused to violence. I gripped him by the back of the neck and slammed him into the table, the plates breaking against his face and slammed my elbow down into the crown of his skull.

Twisting, I kicked my chair out, it's base slammed into a mans shins. I flung myself towards it stepping off the seat, I met his body with an unforgiving force, we fell hard, and I felt more than heard something in his neck snap as I jammed it down with me.

I rolled as the first spear aimed at my chest, nearly hit its mark. I threw a hand out to it, wrapping it in the vine of my grip, and yanked. The man jolted forward, right into my heel as I sent it up into his groin. I freed the spear from his hands and swept him off his feet with its long reach. The jagged end was through his throat before his next breath entered the world.

I yanked it out and snapped it over my knee, palming the shards in both hands, turning to see the remaining five hesitate, or maybe attempting to use their numbers to their advantage. But there were only three weapons left and I now hand two of my own.

I charged head first, and they split down the middle. I slid under the swing of a spear, and sprung back to my feet, plunging the silver end of my spear between two meaty ribs and into the heart nestled within, I kept it securely there as his sword clattered to the ground and I flung the now vacant body over my shoulder into the only two armed men left and then both crumbled under the weight of their comrade.

I nearly did the same as two hard bodies slammed into me from both sides. I wasted no time, my fist jabbed against a throat, at the same moment my foot kicked out a knee from under the other- he dropped to a knee and I threw two punches into the face of the other before he could catch his breath. And as the one on the ground moved to stand, I kicked him solidly in the chest shoving him back into the feet of two spear handed men.

I grinned as they neared, raising my fists encouragingly. They lunged together, both spears going for my gut, intending to spill my breakfast on the floor for all to see. They hadn't noticed the sword at my feet until it was already in my hand, I spun on my knees and severed his leg from his hip- his blood spraying over my face and neck- his throat was next, he gurgled on his life before that too was severed from him.

The last man stood alone, staggering back a step. His weapon seeming little more than a stick against the gleaming silver in my palm. I swung it down on him, the wood slicing in half like melted butter. He didn't have time to blink before my sword was sticking in his chest, I stared into his eyes as they dimmed. I felt Morta reach up and snatch the soul from inside him.

And because I had not forgotten my audience, I fisted his shirt and swung him over, letting him land solidly on the table, causing the glasses under him to shatter and splash their liquid onto the pure white table cloth.

Only Clark and Cuyler smiled, Ryley seemed nearly green and his father stared on in absolute shock. I reached out and plucked a glass of water from the table and downed it quickly, not caring of the droplets that fell over my chin and onto my shirt, loving the idea of it smearing the blood and sweat coating my skin.

I slammed the empty glass down and sighed in satisfaction.

Clark cupped his hands together and leaned back, "Proof enough?" He asked his friend, who had not taken his eyes away from my face. I raised a brow at him in question and he stuttered out a breath, a curt nod his only answer.

He'd needed me tested. I understood, of course. He had a lot riding on the shoulders of his soon to be daughter, and reputations could be deceiving.

I moved to sit in the one remaining chair, stepping over an unconscious body, not even thinking anything of it but Clark flicked a hand at me, "Go get yourself cleaned up. You're making the boy sick."

Ryley's color had turned from green to nearly purple in his attempt to keep the bile down. I realize then that he had never seen a man die. He had not heard the sounds or felt the presence of the Goddess of death. I remembered how I'd felt the first time I'd faced that reality and had a surge of an emotion similar to pity in the hollow of my chest.

I gave the king a small dip of the head and moved toward the door. I paused as I rounded the table, "Sorry, my love." I whispered in Ryley's ear, loud enough to ensure they all heard. And then I planted a kiss on his stumbled cheek, pulling away I saw two specks of smeared blood had found its way onto his skin and I whipped it away with my thumb before patting his shoulder.

Cuyler stood as I departed, and though I told myself not to, I looked back to see him returning the grin I had given him before it all.

The grin of anticipation.

My back pulsed and throbbed with every heartbeat. The wounds seemed to be red hot against the fabric of my shirt and I clenched my teeth against the burn.

People stared as I made my way across the court. Though, with my face drenched in the drying blood of my opponent, I felt they did not seem near as surprised as would be expected. I wondered if that reflected on my character or their own.

The two sleepless nights were pulling me down, my body quivered. Muscles I hadn't used in too long had been strained. I welcomed the ache, just as I welcomed the stares of the politicians. I wanted them to fear me. I wanted them to remember the look of me as I was right now, I wanted them to hesitate the next time they spoke of me.

Whore. Traitor. Wench.

I suppose it had been my own fault. For letting them forget what I was. And what I was willing to do to those who spoke out against me. They would learn.

They had watched me, young and small, thrown into the fighting ring and had put money on my head. They'd wanted my blood to stain the sand. Waiting for my death to be met with thunderous applause. They would regret it.

The quivering turned to something else, something dark. How many could I kill before anyone could stop me? I could scratch their eyes out and Clark would praise me for it. What was to stop me?

Someone brushed my shoulder as they passed and I tensed. So easy… to reach out and snatch their soul. A few were armed, but it was all for appearance. They wanted to look strong, to command respect without earning it. They would fall quickly.

I stopped walking, under the vaulted ceiling, the world continued moving around me. The monster inside me roared, demanding its next meal.

None of them could stop me. None of them would try. They had watched, they had cheered.

I would smile over their corpses.

A familiar scent over took my lungs, I didn't need to look to know. It smelt of rain. Like a world wiped clean.

He reached up and rubbed a soft cloth against my cheek, it came away sullied. He looked down on it, and simply folded it over and brought it back up, attempting to get rid of the evidence of my evil. Scrubbing the dried blood from my face with gentle strokes of his handkerchief.

His touch felt like acid on my skin. An angel's touch against that of a demon. I moved my face from under his cloth. "Sam," I said, my throat raw. "I need Sam."

Ichigo hesitated, hand still raised toward me. I couldn't meet his eye, I couldn't let him see the monster that was still awake, it would be it's eyes he saw. And he wouldn't understand. He was too good, too pure.

Sam. Only Sam could look into those eyes and stare the creature away.

I don't know how I got to my room, I didn't remember moving. I didn't recall splashing water on my face, whether it was hot or cold. Yet, somehow I'd cleaned all the muck away with shaking hands and a vacant mind. My shirt stuck to my skin as I pulled it over my head, I stared at it in my hands. Crazy how it could still feel so soft. So smooth.

A shadow shifted behind me, large and dark.

Finally,

Sam pulled off his own shirt and made his way to me silent and swift. He yanked the shirt over my head, guiding my arms into the sleeves.

"I wanted to," I said in a voice too soft to belong to me, "I wanted to,"

He didn't acknowledge whether he knew what I meant. It wouldn't have made a difference. He put an arm around my shoulder, the muscle a heavy, grounding weight, though I hunched under it.

Sam lead me to my bed where the sheets were already pulled open, my legs shook, nearly buckling with only a few inches before I'd be in the soft embrace of my bed. I slid into it, still tense even as Sam pulled the cover up and set it carefully over my back.

I didn't close my eyes, though my lids felt heavy and swollen. Sam waited, standing over me. He sighed deeply, his shoulders hitching. He sat himself beside the bed, tucking his legs in, his naked back leaning back against the mattress.

He didn't say a word as I reach out a hand. He understood, like I knew he would.

My palm laid over the curve of his shoulder, the skin hot against my cold fingers. And it was only because of that warm that I allowed my lids to drop.

I was asleep before they'd even closed completely.

.

.

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I've gotta say, Sam has been a true surprise to me. He just cares about hime so much, even tho I had never planned on them having such a strong friendship! I love it!

let me know what you think of him, so I know if I'm the only one!

till next time!—