Chapter Eighteen
The hours subsequent to Wyatt's unexpected reappearance within the palace walls seemed to blend into a blur of events that flew past Wyatt's adrenaline-soaked brain, and if it weren't for his training over the annuals, he might not have retained any memory of it whatsoever. Wyatt had virtually ignored all the buzz surrounding his return, as well as all the whispered rumors of the elder Gale's demise, and instead rushed his own Gale princess upstairs to the privacy of their quarters. Raw, Gates, and Jeb followed closely behind, running interference for the couple as Wyatt navigated them through the oddly busy corridors. Once behind closed doors once more, Raw had been surprisingly forceful in his insistence that the Tin Man allow him to heal his concussion before seeing to the Princess, still slumbering within the circle of his arms. Raw had, unfortunately, forewarned him that he would have to release his protective hold of the small woman to accomplish this task, and would most likely become unconscious himself during the process of the viewer's advanced form of healing due to the location of the injury. It was a miracle that Raw had any positive effect on the snarling Tin Man at all, but the continued throbbing in his skull coupled with the fatigue that grew exponentially once the initial adrenaline rush wore off were the final nail in Wyatt's stubborn coffin, and he finally gave in.
Letting go of DG, even knowing that she was safely encased within the confines of their quarters and guarded by an obscene number of soldiers gave Wyatt very little solace. His eyes were still tear stricken and panicked when he gazed down upon the serene beauty of his slumbering spouse. She seemed completely unencumbered by the cares that had plagued her in waking, as if the combination of Wyatt's presence and the darkness of sleep had removed all traces of its icy touch on her soul. He might have found some reassurance in her countenance, except her skin was clammy to the touch, like she was in the throes of fever, and the hair closest to her neck curled tightly against the base of her skull and clung to her skin where the beads of sweat had accumulated. She whimpered faintly when Wyatt slid his arms out from underneath her; an almost-protest for his withdrawal that, although momentary, was enough to still the Tin Man's heart and his hands to waiver in their removal from her being.
Raw won out though and chaperoned the man to the other side of the bed, where he waited until Wyatt had settled completely. When he'd finally completed his adjustments of the pillows behind his head, and checked DG one last time, his clouded blue eyes finally gazed upward, and the Tin Man sighed heavily, while nodding his compliance. Raw set to work immediately, and Wyatt had the distinct feeling that the reach of the man's fingers seemed to go beyond the barrier of his skull and reached into the very grey matter that made up his consciousness. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, having the furball digging around inside his skull, and Wyatt's mind wandered on the last time such a thing had happened. It had been Ambrose the last time, who'd complained of Raw's intrusion, and Wyatt's sympathy for Glitch's former predicament only grew while the viewer continued to unscramble his mind. Memories such as these were an intentional effect of the viewer's procedure, akin to a brain surgeon requesting that a patient count or sing a song whilst performing a complicated surgery. Raw needed Wyatt to recollect all manner or memories and feelings that made up the complicated tapestry of the man's mind as a way of ensuring the efficacy of his work. It was when Wyatt was nearly senseless and overcome with emotion that Raw knew his work was complete. Wyatt sobbed freely in the end, and when the viewer stepped back, the emotions had so overwhelmed him that he paid the man no heed and slipped quickly into an overwhelmed sleep.
When Wyatt's eyes opened once more, Raw was nowhere to be found, and the room had been thrown into darkness. This darkness would have been complete, were it not for the open balcony door, with its gauzy curtains blowing gently in the early morning breeze. The faint beginnings of sunrise were apparent from his position on the bed, for the sky beyond the open doors was an ombre palette of purples and blues, with a hint of dusky pink and orange where the suns would appear in short order. His eyes moved from this welcome sight to the form that breathed deeply at his side. Wyatt turned to gaze at the sleeping form of the princess, whose countenance had greatly improved since the last time he'd looked upon her. The clammy pallor had long since been replaced by a healthy glow, and he could spy the pleasant blush on her cheeks even in the weak light of dawn. A faint smile appeared on her plump lips as she slept, as if she might have been dreaming in that moment. Wyatt considered leaning in to kiss that beloved smile, but the tickle of wiry hair reminded him of the now thick beard on his face, and he rechecked himself. Instead, he crept from the bed and into the confines of the bathroom, feeling suddenly eager to rid himself of the persona he'd donned for the past cycle.
Wyatt stood before the bathroom mirror and eyed himself critically as he peeled away the dusty layers of clothing to reveal the man beneath. Although his body was the same overall, he felt unrecognizable with the bushy beard obscuring his face. Only the piercing blue eyes that stared back at him reminded Wyatt of the man he'd been a cycle before, and he winced when the image before him reminded him painfully of who he'd been when DG had found him in the iron suit annuals before. That man, similarly wild-eyed and unkempt, had lost everything, and had stared vacantly back at him through the glass whilst plans of revenge had boiled just beneath the surface. Wyatt pushed the memory of that time away, pausing only momentarily in cutting the long hair away from his face to furiously shake its remnants from his head. He resumed removing the beard, while silently reminding himself of the improvement in his circumstances from the last time. He paused to splash his now clean face with cold water – DG is still alive – his mind seemed to say to him, and he sighed audibly as he straightened to take stock of his appearance once more. The face staring back offered him a satisfied smirk before he turned away to turn on the shower, his steely eyes glinting with growing impatience. He wanted to get clean again so he could return to her – and make sure that she didn't disappear on him.
While Wyatt bathed, letting the searing hot water seep into his bones and steam his skin, he continued to take a mental inventory of his state since the last time he'd been conscious. The searing pain in the back of Wyatt's skull, that had been near blinding before, had thankfully disappeared. The fatigue that had accompanied this injury, making him feel as if he was dragging his limbs through molasses, had dissipated as well, leaving Wyatt with the ordinary road weariness associated with prolonged travel. A cycle of sleeping on a combination of hard, packed dirt and stone had left his muscles in a state of perpetual soreness that Raw's attentions had not corrected, and he groaned quietly when a jet of steaming water pounded against them. It was a tempting thought, to stay under those hot jets until his body melted into a submissive puddle, but he was clean now, and the bed was a much more tempting prospect given his continued weariness. With that, Wyatt exited the shower and dried himself before he left steamy confines of the bathroom.
After crossing to the balcony door, and closing it with a calculated caution, Wyatt drew the curtains to complete the darkness of the space. He crept to the bed to find DG still breathing softly in her sleep, and his lips curled into a soft smile. It was enough for now, given his screaming muscles and tired mind, to just be near to her. Wyatt slid in bed, groaning softly at the feel of the sheets, so soft and warm against his bare skin, and a relaxed sigh escaped him as his head settled on the pillow. His eyes lids dropped, and his breathing slowed as he finally allowed himself to relax, and drift back into a pleasant sleep.
Time no longer meant a thing to the slumbering couple, and it passed over their darkened cocoon without any acknowledgment from the pair. Their collective breath was soft and contented as they settled into an affectionate tangle, somehow aware of each other even in their unencumbered state. Not a care seemed to trouble them whilst they remained in this state and were it not for DG's curious hand on Wyatt's chest, they might have stayed that way for a few days. Although she had been vaguely aware of Wyatt's return, DG's mind had been a hazed, almost drunken jumble after the events in the interrogation chamber. Once Wyatt's arms had wrapped around her, physically shielding her and surrounding her in their warmth, she'd lost all sense of herself, and did not regain any sense of her physical body until much later, when she'd found herself draped over his bare chest. Her fingers glided delightedly through the soft, blonde hairs of his chest, and they gently pushed on his pectorals to test the realness of his body under hers. Wyatt hummed contentedly at DG's touch, and he stretched out like a cat as she continued to caress his skin, giving her soft fingers more access to explore him. DG smiled devilishly as he did this, and sat up to look down upon her husband, still asleep and smiling of his own accord while he undoubtedly dreamed of her.
DG realized that he'd clearly had an opportunity to bathe while she'd been unconscious and was blessedly bare and shaven, and the muscles of his arms and legs flexed as he shifted below her. DG looked down, and finding herself woefully overdressed, made a swift decision. Her dress was soon discarded, as well as her undergarments and slippers, until she was left with nothing more than the silver pendant glittering around her neck. Her pale, curvaceous body seemed to luminesce in the soft light, muted for the thick curtains covering the windows. If Wyatt had awoken in that moment, his heart might have burst for the raw beauty that stood before the bed, seeming like some sort of angel for the manner in which the light seemed to be drawn from her very being. He did not rouse, however, even when DG slid back under the blanket to rest beside him, and she happily resumed her exploration.
They'd both discovered, early in their romance, that the touch of the other was better than any salve. Touching Wyatt now proved better now still, and while her hands gliding along his body, she felt as if she was awaking after an eternity of sleep. Her lips soon joined fingers while her arousal grew, and her hair tickled Wyatt's sides when she leaned over him, until her soft touches finally moved the man and his eyes fluttered open. Finding DG on top of him brought an instant grin to his face, and Wyatt's hands drifted to her arms, where he grasped her gently and held her still while he turned them over.
"Hey there, Princess," Wyatt purred at the woman smiling beneath him.
He didn't give her an opportunity to speak, and instead leaned down, meeting her lips in a soft, hungry kiss. DG whimpered in his mouth, and her hands slid around his torso as they continued to devour the other, getting drunk off each other and finding no satiation to slow them. Wyatt shifted as they continued this way, moving himself to rest his hip on the bed next to her, while his free hand traveled slowly from her graceful neck, to her growing belly, until it finally stopped at her knee.
His lips left hers, and she whined only slightly before he complied again, but by nuzzling her neck until she stretched upward, allowing him access to the soft column of her throat. "I've missed you, Dorothy," he murmured to her skin while his hand resumed its travel.
DG whimpered as his nimble fingers lightly grazed the inside of her thigh, and she gasped when he gently pushed her leg outward to expose her further. His fingers glided in the soft folds between her legs, causing her heart to flutter and her breath to go shallow. It had been too long, it seemed, and a mere tease was enough to make her come unglued. His fingers seemed to unlock something within her, kept hidden while he was absent, and now set free, it seemed as if she would shatter were it not for his firm grip on her, and his eyes, watching her as she lost control. She moaned senselessly when his index finger slid inside to test her, while his mouth suckled at her breast hungrily. She cried out while her legs shook and her body trembled, and Wyatt's hand slowed to a gentle massage, until he finally withdrew from her warmth and kissed her softly. DG's eyes had shut tight when she'd shuddered against Wyatt's hand, and when they fluttered open again, the pupils were blown wide and her face was flushed.
Her heart thundered in her chest and she pushed Wyatt onto his back, growling sexily as she slid on top of him, "I'm not finished with you, Tin Man. It's been too long."
Wyatt growled back when DG reached down to meet him in her own hungry kiss, and his hands grasped her head to his while they desperately fed on the other. This only seemed to amplify their need, and DG sat back suddenly to breathe, causing Wyatt to look on her, seemingly frozen by the sight that he'd so missed in the past cycle. DG smiled demurely down on the awestruck man, relishing the moan that escaped his lips as she slid down his length and bottomed out with a delicious whimper. His head leaned back as she started to rock back and forth at an unhurried and torturous pace, his hands flexing on her hips and guiding her as she stroked him, leaving him helpless to her. Every turn of her hips was a caress on the man's battered body, and her hands on his chest seemed to sap the venom of the past few weeks out of his soul. DG was like oxygen, and the longer he breathed her in, the more he needed her, imploring her for more as she continued to move over him. As DG drew Wyatt closer to his breaking point, and he begged her to not stop, his eyes could not help but settle on her as she moved. She was like a goddess with her rounded belly and swollen breasts, and she moved as if possessed by some internal rhythm that he too was entranced by. His hands seemed drawn to her body as well and glanced over every inch of her skin while she drew every ounce of pleasure out of him. DG only hummed in contentment when he touched her, goading him with the small sounds from her mouth until her breath became shaky and feverish.
This was Wyatt's signal, and he drew her close to him while he turned them and sat up on his knees to stroke her. While one hand grasped her knee, using her to keep his body balanced above hers, the other reached forward between her legs, where his thumb found her sensitive button. The digit rubbed her in firm, slow circles while Wyatt continued to strum his body against hers, until DG exploded with a bright cry. Wyatt's hand moved now, while DG panted and shuddered, and he held her body against his as he thrust once more, hard and fast while a hoarse shout of completion issued from his mouth.
His body collapsed next to hers, and the pair panted to the ceiling while they recovered their senses. An exhilarated smile graced the princess's face, while next to her, the Tin Man fought to bring his heart under control. Only when he'd pulled the princess into the crook of his arm, and felt her cheek against his chest, did his heart begin to slow and his breath even out. A contented smile spread on his face, and he pulled her closer still while a possessive purr sounded from the back of his throat.
"I love you Wyatt," DG murmured in near sleep, adding with a yawn, "Don't leave me again."
Wyatt's chin rested on the princess's crown, and he inhaled the smell of her hair before he murmured back in blissful fatigue, "Never again, Dorothy. I promise."
DG hummed her approval and nestled against her husband's firm chest, while his other arm encircled her. They both sighed and allowed the silence to surround them once more. Their wounds had been healed, and their hearts were full, and they drifted back into a satiated sleep, both finding it impossible to focus on their troubles while in such a harmonious state.
It was an illusion of course, this blissful haven created by the Princess and her Tin Man, and both knew that without a doubt, the gears of time were still turning just outside the confines of their protective shell. There were whispers amongst the royal guard and palace staff that the eldest princess had been fatally wounded, and the youngest spirited away to heal from her own injuries sustained while failing in her attempt to protect her sister. These rumors were swiftly squashed by the monarch, who vehemently denied such allegations, and ordered complete silence on the matter whilst the threat to the monarchy remained. It was widely known amongst the staff that Lord Ambrose had left expeditiously in the night to deliver the eldest princess to Finaqua, where many assumed her young, broken body would be carefully deposited amongst her relations in the Gale family tomb. The Queen had refused to witness this departure, and many believed that she was inconsolable, and unwilling to admit the painful truth of her family's loss. The fate of the youngest princess was still in question outside the circle of her closest friends and family, and even the maids had been told to stay away from her quarters when they'd normally be going about their morning tasks which included changing linens and deliverying breakfast.
Whilst the royal wing of the Central City Palace was under a sort of moratorium, and servants moved about as expertly as ghosts in effort not to disturb the remaining royal family, the lower levels were abuzz with activity. The Royal Army was in an uproar, and its generals were like a nest of angry hornets as they stormed from one meeting to the next. Without General Cain's input, there was some question as to how to proceed next, and none dared to disturb him while he remained resting in his chambers. The matter of how to deal with Vizor was his assigned task, after all, and none would be more effective than he himself, and so the only matter truly on the table was how to handle the younger Cain. While there was no doubt amongst his commanding officers and compatriots alike that he was an able officer and deserving of commendation for his many services to the royal family, there was some discussion about the events of the night previous. His presence during the Princess's attack threw some doubt on his judgement, and some wondered if he could be trusted to make the best decisions when faced with having to choose between his own father, a fellow soldier, and his greater edict, to guard the royal family. General Andrus had been the boy's greatest supporter, while General Jinjur had vied for his censure. In the end, the matter was left to the Monarch, who refused to even speak of the matter until her son in law could offer his own opinion. For now, she would only allow the Generals to remove him from duty, which they fought over as well, until she very nearly had to step in on that matter as well. The Queen could not disclose the truth of her reluctance, of course, since it would entail revealing the rouse that she and her daughters had worked so hard to create. The truth would have to remain hidden for now, until General Cain could eliminate the remaining threat presented by Vizor and his unknown partner. Until then, Jeb was an unfortunate scapegoat, and the Queen silently vowed to correct the boy's situation once the smoke cleared on the operation.
It had only been a day since the Princess Royale's apparent death, and the General had yet to make an appearance. The other generals had given up on their bickering as the second sun set on that first day, and retreated to their various corners, knowing that the entire process would be repeated the next day. Tension was high amongst the military, even with the Generals removed from sight, and the guard detail throughout the palace remained on high alert. Ordinarily, these men and women would balance duty with a sense of positive energy, and laughter and light banter could often be heard in the common areas of the palace. Tonight was a somber affair, however, and the Queen's Royal Army was in a state of mourning that they could not yet share with the rest of the OZ. It was a difficult task, to continue about their assignments without discussing the deep sadness that purveyed amongst them, and many avoided speaking all together, unless required by their shared missions. None were grimmer than those assigned to the Sorceress's former advisor, and these were a tough bunch to begin with. Many had seen the inside of an iron suit at one time or another during the dark annuals of the Sorceress, and all had fought alongside Captain Cain and General Andrus at the siege of the tower. These soldiers had been tried of under the most challenging of crucibles, and their metal was being tested again when they had been tasked with guarding the man who had taken the hope they had found in the elder Princess and the pride they'd had built by rejoicing in the continued livelihood of their Captain. The halls of the prison level were filled with soldiers that night, daring Vizor and his partner to attempt escape, so that they might be afforded the opportunity of the retribution they bitterly sought.
The prisoner's cell was silent, however, and the soldiers milling about outside his iron door were not afforded the opportunity to act against him. Behind that door, the dark man paced anxiously. It had been hours since he'd successfully dispatched the bitch child who'd murdered his mistress, he thought with a snarled lip, and he'd yet to hear from his new master. There was almost no doubt in his mind that His Highness had been successful in his campaign to retrieve the belt from the former Tin Man, but where was he now? There was no light in that small room, apart from the small metal sconce that hung from the wall by the door, so he could not judge how long he'd truly been waiting. He hadn't had a meal since entering the closet of a room, and until something was offered, he wouldn't know if it was morning, noon or night.
"That's assuming they want me to know anything at all," the man sneered to himself, imagining the Queen's loyal Tin Man, pulling the strings on his confinement until he talked like a good little puppet. "I won't be played by that pathetic excuse," he scoffed haughtily to the door, hoping his jailers would hear his protests and pass them along to his adversary in the grey fedora.
He paused to listen. There was no sign of response or even a slight shuffle of feet from the soldiers on the other side, and Vizor began to wonder if he'd been left to die in that abandoned corridor, devoid of any other prisoner except himself. Vizor's mouth was dry, and his stomach growled in anger, and he huffed loudly while he fought the anxiety that grew where food ought to have been hours ago.
Whatever brave front he put on in front of the Royal Army, it had all but vanished now that he was alone. In its place, panic had set it, and his brown eyes darted around aimlessly when he resumed his useless sentry of the room. "Where is my master," he hissed to himself as he turned to stomp in the opposite direction, pausing only when a soft voice curled through the air and sent shivers up his spine.
"You called, my boy?" Roquat whispered from the far, darkened corner of the room. When he emerged from the shadows, the shriveled man removed his chocolate-colored hood, and his coal-like eyes, that glowed red for a moment before turning black as night once more, pierced the sorcerer's chest like a hot poker.
"Your Majesty," Vizor exclaimed in a quiet hush, and he dropped to his knees while sweeping through a bow that was a graceful as a dancer's.
Roquat was visibly perturbed by the tall man's prostrating, and seethed dangerously, "Get up, Vizor. Give me your report."
Vizor was ruffled by the man's dangerous hiss, and he scrambled to his feet and complied quickly, "I have successfully dispatched the Princess Royale. I was almost successful in doing the same to the slipper, but I was interrupted by the Tin Man."
A satisfied grin spread on the wizened face that hovered at Vizor's chest level. Despite the old man's stature, Vizor knew Roquat to be a formidable wizard, greater possibly than The Wizard himself, and at least as menacing as the Sorceress had been. So instead of meeting the old man's eyes, he stared at the wall beyond as a good soldier might, his body ridged as he awaited his master's response.
Roquat studied the trembling man before him for a count of seconds, finding pleasure in making the tall man sweat while he remained utterly silent. He'd been a useful pawn, he calculated silently, but his time on the board had come to an end and would no longer serve his goals.
Roquat swished away from Vizor, and he proclaimed appraisingly while he reached within the confines of his deep trouser pocket, "You've done well, Vizor. I can see why the Sorceress kept you so close." He held a velvet pouch before him and continued, "these are for your services. They should recompense you for all you've endured, as well as the permanent consignment of your laboratory."
Vizor retrieved the purse from the old man, and he poured the contents into his palm. He studied them for a moment, before pinching a particularly eye-catching ruby in his fingers and meeting the other man's eyes with a confused expression. "But, sir, I'll need my laboratory. Where else shall I go? The entire kingdom will be after my head once the news has broken about the Princess's murder." Vizor stopped mid-protest and stared at his fingers. A grey, stone-like pallor was spreading from the tips of his fingers where he still grasped the gem and continued to climb with every panicked breath that escaped his lips.
"I am afraid that you won't be needing the use of your laboratory any longer. In fact, you won't be needing anything. Except maybe a decorative plant or two at your feet, to brighten your gloomy countenance in the cold cycles." Roquat replied darkly as he crept closer to the man, whose arm was now distinctly stonelike, and unmoving when Vizor tried to jerk away.
Vizor's panic was increasing by the moment, and as much as he hated to rely on the saccharin sweetness of Queen Lavender and her toy soldiers, he knew that even they would have mercy on him. Seeing that Roquat would only stand and watch him slowly turn to stone, he did the only remaining thing he could think to do, and yelped with frightened gasp, "Help! Someone, please help!"
Roquat sneered in disgust at the man screaming before him, and he considered swiping the gems from the stone fingers just inches from his face, but a commotion sounded in the corridor, and footsteps were quickly approaching. His spindly fingers moved to his waist instead, and after he muttered a few indistinguishable words, he was gone with a wosh of air.
When the door swung open, it was too late for Vizor already. His face was frozen in perpetual fear, as if carved, and he stared forward forevermore, as if pleading for assistance. In one hand, he held a singular ruby as if inspecting it in the light, and in the other, open for the guards' inspection, was a pile of the same rubies, glittering threateningly like snakes' eyes in the dark.