A/N: Hello all and welcome to chapter three of Dark Desires! Last chapter saw our ambitious and quite evil protagonist making her move. Time we see just what our second lead, the ever fabulous Master Reaver, has been doing in his spare time! XD
Also, I'm moving this to an M rating. I think you know why…XD
Dark Desires
Summary: When Reaver is bored in the throne room waiting for the king, he and the princess, Annabel, have a talk about her one day taking the throne. He didn't expect to help her in a bloody coup.
*Ruthless*
Reaver hummed cheerfully, twirling his cane as he entered one of the many factories he owned in Bowerstone Industrial. He was blessed with the happy sight of one of his foremen angrily whipping some snotty little indigent and smiled. It was nice to know that there existed other people in the world who shared his attitude towards poor performance during working hours.
He recognized the man as Foreman Charles and the businessman strode towards him with a confident swagger in his steps. "Good day to you, foreman. How have things been going in my absence? Smoothly, I hope?"
The foreman cracked his whip at the boy's back again and gave Reaver a twisted grin. "Oh, yes. A few of these little brats did think about taking more than your allotted break time of three seconds. I showed them exactly what you would think of their misbehaviour and punished them accordingly."
Reaver glanced at the whipped boy's back. His dirty black shirt was torn from where he was struck and crimson rivers of blood ran down his body, but he did not let a single pained whimper escape his lips. He had taken the beating rather well; most new workers sobbed like infants for hours and had to be struck again. Instead, the boy continued to pound away on making a metal cooking pot, not even glancing back at his assailant.
'Good. He knows exactly where his place is in the world.' Reaver sniffed haughtily and looked back at his foreman. "Anything else I should be made aware of before I head back to the court?" 'The way I see it, it won't be Logan's for much longer. The princess will have started to make her move.'
He did find it both scandalous and delicious. To think that the one who would lead a coup against the king would be his own little sister. It would be the talk of the country for months, perhaps even years. Everyone in the kingdom would be taken by surprise, for no one saw such a bold attack on his lordship coming. No one except Reaver. He would stand by on the sidelines and bask in its glory, drinking in the gossip like it was a fine brew.
"No, sir." Charles shook his head. "A few of those disgusting beggars did try protesting outside the factory, going on about wanting better working conditions, but the king's guard took care of them. A few shots into one's body were all they needed to make them flee like the little cowards they are."
Reaver chuckled and tipped his hat to the foreman before heading up to his office. Thankfully it was away from the stench of the under privileged and the smoke of the machines, meaning he could have a few moments with no one for company but himself. He would have loved to have some random tavern wench he could swoon, but the thought of bedding some filthy commoner probably plagued with all sorts of nasty diseases did nothing for him. He'd much rather enjoy the company of the princess in his bed. She was someone who could set passions on fire, literally in some cases.
Reaver entered his office and took a seat in the fine chair he procured from his exploits as the Pirate King of Bloodstone, cracking open a bottle of brandy. The Hero of Skill poured himself a healthy glass and knocked it back, the alcohol barely having any effect on him thanks to his Heroic blood.
He remembered the times when he would saunter into the deplorable excuse of a tavern Bloodstone had and the city's raunchier occupants would practically throw themselves at him. All of them wanted a taste of the Pirate King who slew Captain Dread, men and women alike. He personally didn't care much about who he bedded. Either way, at the end of the night, they were screaming his name like a furious banshee. A fine time for him, he admitted. All of that changed when he met the late queen, Sparrow.
The two never saw eye to eye, constantly butting heads and sometimes going so far as to attempt to murder each other on more than one occasion. Sparrow hadn't been pleased with his attempts to bed her, despite his best efforts.
Reaver rested his head back against his chair and hummed. If he was being honest with himself, he was rather glad that he didn't choose to shag Sparrow. Especially since it would almost guarantee that he wouldn't be able to enjoy the princess later on in life. Time had very little effect on an immortal being such as himself. He may have looked not a day over thirty five, but he in fact had lived for close to three hundred years. And yet living as long as he had did nothing to ease the pain he still felt in his heart from that night. The night a boy, so terrified of death, made a deal with the Shadow Court.
The night he watched as Oakvale burned.
He lost everything that night. All of his friends, all of his family. Everyone he ever loved. It was during that time that the boy he was died and he took up the moniker of Reaver. As a Hero who was exceptional in the ways of Skill, he used his powers to become a pirate king, killing other pirate captains and ruling the newly built port of Bloodstone with an iron fist. Anyone who crossed him or attempted to overthrow him was made an example of. His conquest of the southwest of Albion was known by all. Rough seas, a mile away; it didn't matter. He would kill the captain of the ship and absorb their crew into his own.
And yet, despite having the largest pirate crew in history, many accolades to his name, and a steady stream of prostitutes lining his bed, he felt incomplete. There was something missing and he wasn't able to quite put his finger on it.
Until earlier today, when he met the princess in the throne room. Their little discussion had sparked something buried deep within his soul and he couldn't quite figure out what it was. All he knew was that he enjoyed it very much, even more than participating in an orgy with the king himself. It was thrilling.
To think that he would be the one responsible for setting up one of the most violent events in Albion's history sent delighted shivers up his spine. He poured himself another drink and swirled it slowly in the glass, relishing in the fact that everything that would come to happen in the future would all be because of him. He ignited the princess's ambitions and turned them into a deadly weapon. A weapon that would raze Logan's legacy to the ground and leave it beyond tarnished.
Reaver chuckled and sipped his drink as though it were a fine wine. 'When the coup happens and Logan's headless corpse falls from his gilded throne, just remember that you couldn't have done it without me, dearest Annabel. I was the one who planted the seeds for you.'
Reaver smacked his lips and took another sip of brandy, jerking out of his euphoria at the irritating sound of someone banging on his door. "Master Reaver!" It was the other foreman of the factory, Olivia. By Avo the woman was annoying with the way she constantly banged on his door like a spoiled child asking for a toy horse, but he wouldn't deny that he often imagined her screaming his name to the heavens. Her curvaceous frame left very little to such a creative imagination like Reaver's.
"Yes?" he asked, placing his glass down. "What is it that you want?" 'Hmph. I'm not lucky enough for her to come in asking me to breed her like a filthy animal.' He only wished that was true. He could use some good stress relief before he returned to the king's court.
Olivia entered, her dark clothes slightly singed from brushing up against hot machinery. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, but there appears to be another demonstration outside the factory! The guards are nowhere to be seen; otherwise I would have notified them instead of disrupting you."
'Bloody peasants. They never do learn, do they? And yet they wonder why I despise them so much.' Reaver rolled his dark eyes and stood up, grabbing his cane. "I'll attend to it. In the meantime, please consider taking me up on my offer, will you? I can promise you it would be a night you would never be able to forget."
His seductive purr plus the not so subtle innuendo made the woman's cheeks flush a bright red and she stuttered at his retreating back. The door shut behind him and he chuckled a bit before placing his spare hand on the grip of his ever faithful pistol, the Dragonstomper .48. Only six of the beautifully crafted firearms were ever produced, for six very lucky people. Well, not all that lucky. Reaver himself had killed four of the other owners so far and the other was lost somewhere in Albion. He wasn't able to track it down, being as busy as he was, but he promised that he would eventually find it and when he did, he'd kill its owner and take it for himself.
Reaver reached the balcony overlooking the city and wrinkled his nose in disgust at the horrible and unusual aroma polluting the city. As easy as it would be to place the blame on the underprivileged for not bathing properly, he knew it wasn't the case. Bowerstone was beginning to have a very serious waste disposal problem. He'd bring it up later on today in the court, for he already had a plan to remedy the problem before it could get much worse.
Below him he could see a bald man, one of his workers, standing on a table trying to form a mob. "Reaver is exploiting us! We deserve fair pay! We demand better working conditions! We're workers, not slaves! Reaver treats us like animals. We're not going to bloody take it anymore. There's only one thing for it. We have to stand up to Reaver!"
Before the crowd could get too excited by his words, Reaver rolled his eyes and drew his pistol. He carefully aimed and fired, shooting the man in the chest. He fell to the table with a cry of pain, the crowd gasping in horror, and Reaver scoffed. "But lying down is so much easier than standing up. My dear friends, in order to raise morale I am offering prizes to the most deserving workers. The rules that will govern what I like to call, 'The Reaver Team Spirit Award' are these; firstly, any worker that so much as murmurs another complaint will be shot." He shot the man a second time to emphasise his point.
"Secondly, any worker who takes more than a three second break will be shot." He fired a third time, his natural gift in accuracy enabling him to shoot him in the exact same spot again. "And lastly, any worker who breaks any other rules I have yet to formulate will, yes you guessed it, be shot." He fired his pistol one more time, this time straight through the protester's skull. The man was dead before his head hit the table and Reaver chuckled. This would make them think twice before trying to have another one of these bloody protests. By Avo they were tiresome.
"You may return to work now. As you are all aware, I am a very generous man and likely to start handing out prizes right away." He began to brandish his pistol about in a threatening manner and the crowd dispersed in a hurry, no one else wanting to invoke the wrath of the Hero of Skill. They had already seen what fate held for those who dared to oppose him or call him unjust. "Go! Shoo! Be off with you! Chop chop!"
With the demonstration taken care of, he fired his pistol at a homeless man who had taken to relieving himself into the city's canals. He hit the man in the back of the foot and he howled in agony, hopping up and down in a comedic way and producing a fit of giggles from two passing women who just happened to walk by and notice. It was quite an amusing display to watch as he attempted to nurse his bleeding foot while his filthy trousers were around his ankles and his lower anatomy was on full display to the public.
The beggar lost his balance and tumbled into the canal with a loud splash, adding more insult to injury, and the snickers from the two women turned into outright laughter. Both women nearly fell to the ground, clutching their sides and letting their baskets laden with food clatter to the ground. Tears of mirth fell down their cheeks as they pointed and jeered at the man and Reaver bowed gracefully from his perch. "You are welcome, my dears."
"Oh, Master Reaver!" The women began to swoon and they hurried over to him, their stares wide and pleading. "Will you be so kind as to let us have an autograph? We're such fans of your work!"
Reaver smirked and tipped his tall hat. "And why wouldn't you be? I mean, I'm me after all. I'm afraid I don't have any spare bits of parchment on me at the moment, but, how would you like to come back here in less than four hours time? I'm sure I can make it both your while." 'I may not be able to shag the princess for awhile, but that doesn't mean I'm not able to have my own fun.'
If there was one thing he enjoyed more that shooting annoying little upstarts apart from starting a rebellion, it was bedding the fairer sex. He didn't mind sleeping with anyone if he was honest with himself, but the added risk of impregnating women made it all the more thrilling. Of course, no one yet had come forward claiming they were now bearing his children, but he supposed that problem would be remedied very shortly if he managed to have his way and bed the princess.
The thought of not only helping her overthrow her brother but also bedding her made him shiver in anticipation. He'd give up all the drink in the world if just once he could have Annabel with her creamy thighs spread open inviting him to take her in the most ruthless of ways. He could only imagine the ways she'd scream his name and beg for more. He wasn't known as a plunderer of fine goods for nothing.
Both women blushed furiously at the underlying implications and they shared a giggle. "Oh, that would be absolutely wonderful. To get a chance to experience your finesse in the flesh is a dream come true."
"Then I will see you at that time. Until then, my dears. I'm afraid urgent business calls." Reaver tipped his hat in farewell and left the two women swooning beneath him, heading back downstairs. The clangs of mallets and other tools thundered in his ears, telling him his workers were in fact hard at work. It seemed as though his earlier words about prizes awaiting the most deserving workers motivated them to work a little harder. Not that he had any intention of actually following through with his words. He had only said that to make an example of what fate would befall those who dared to oppose him and to make them shut their bloody squawking.
Reaver exited the factory and frowned. An icy cold rain had begun to fall and he adjusted his hat to cover the rest of his hair to prevent it from getting soaked. Times like these he really wished he had a carriage at his beck and call. It would make travelling in this drivel a lot more bearable.
With an annoyed huff leaving his lips he continued to trudge through the city, passing by startled onlookers and leaving a crowd of swooning women in his wake. He did notice that several beggars shied away from him. They already knew from past altercations that he would not let a single gold coin leave his coffers.
The rain was accompanied by a chilly wind and he was thankful he had long since built up a resistance to cold weather. Being the ruler of Bloodstone taught him a lot about dressing properly for the occasion. High winds off the sea often made the city colder than its neighbouring swamp of Wraithmarsh. He was glad that his expensive white coat was lined with the finest furs one could purchase. Just because he was used to the bloody cold didn't mean he had to like it.
He was thankful that it was only a short walk to the castle. After ten minutes of strolling through the capital's industrial quarter he was already walking up the front steps of the castle. A pair of nobles sat underneath an alcove, bickering amongst each other over the raising prices of alcohol. He didn't pay them any mind. They weren't his concern.
A guard stood dutifully at the entrance to the castle and he snapped off a crisp salute. "Master Reaver. Her highness is expecting you in the throne room."
"Her?" Reaver's eyebrow rose in curiosity. "Is the king not present?" 'Has she already made her move so suddenly?' If she had, then Reaver had to give her a lot more credit than he initially did. He assumed she would lie low and then strike, not act now.
"No, he is," the soldier answered. "However, I think you'll find the guards around here will only take their orders from the princess herself now. Especially after she made an example of Private Daniels earlier today."
'This is a very interesting development. The princess already has the soldiers in the castle at her beck and call. Smart move, Annabel. Having them on your side is vital.' Reaver's lips curved upwards.
Oh, this would be very fun to watch unfold.
A/N: And that does it for chapter three. Tell me what you think if you can, people. I want to get some feedback :P
A Lovestruck A2#5371