A/N: Hello al and welcome to chapter six. Last chapter we got some nice smut and now we follow up with more serious stuff. Like I mentioned, do not expect an Elliot/Princess pairing. Nope. No way. Kill him every chance I get for a reason 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.

*Seize*

After Annabel had finished washing up from her activities with Elliot earlier, she had chosen to adorn a simple skirt and leggings. Instead of the usual colours of white and light blue, she had them taken to Jasper so he could properly administer a vial of black dye to them. The princess stood proudly in front of the large ornate mirror in her bedroom, admiring the way she looked. The menacing vibe that rolled off her in waves would serve her well in getting the people of the kingdom to obey her. 'Emptier than the Void itself, yet with a certain elegance to it. How fitting.'

Logan of course wouldn't approve of her change in attire, but she did not care what he thought. The court would listen to her whether it be out of respect or out of fear and eventually she'd take what was hers. 'All in due time. First, I have to make sure that Reaver already started spreading the rumours of Logan's rambling amongst the nobles. Once that starts, everything will fall in place. It'll be a marvellous symphony of mutiny and chaos. Logan will be devastated to see his precious Albion stripped from him by me.'

Annabel let out a chuckle and smoothed out her skirt. She had her aristocrat makeup already prepared for her courtesy of Jasper and started to apply it, taking a few extra minutes to add the black heart on her left cheek. Once it was applied she gave her reflection a curt nod of approval. 'That ought to do it.'

She turned around at the sound of a light knock on her door and she heard the booming voice of the royal chef. "Your majesty, it's me. Everything has been prepared for the king. Do you wish to serve it yourself or rather have one of the servants do it for you?"

Annabel pursed her lips, thinking hard. While it would give her great pleasure to see Logan cough and drown in a puddle of his own vomit after she gave him the meal prepared for him, she knew that the accusations of her deliberately poisoning him would spread throughout the castle like a wildfire and potentially derail her plans. 'No. It's best for someone else to do it and make him think there is a plot against him amongst the staff. I hate to lose such good pawns this early, but it is a necessary sacrifice. Better for someone else to draw his attention rather than me at the moment.'

"Have a servant bring it up to him," she ordered. "He is likely resting in his quarters." If this went the way she thought it would, then Logan would of course start his investigation not amongst the servants, but rather in the kitchens. The cook would inevitably meet his end via an execution, but he probably already knew that when he agreed to help her and was more than happy to sacrifice himself for Albion's rightful ruler.

"As you command, my lady. I shall see to it at once," the cook replied. She heard his soft footsteps leave and she grinned savagely. 'I almost wish I was able to see Logan's face when he takes that first bite and the poison starts to work on him. It's a pity I cannot do anything directly for now besides swindle and persuade people to join my cause. But the rewards of being patient are worth it.'

The princess didn't have any more court appearances scheduled for the day and she wouldn't be training her swordsmanship with Sir Walter Beck until tomorrow morning. He was another one who would be invaluable to her cause. If anyone would follow her into the depths of the Void without question, it was him.

Sir Walter was once a soldier serving under her mother when she was the queen of Albion. He was vital in her campaign to unite the land under one banner and was instrumental in the victory over the pirate forces of Bloodstone during the siege of the city. He may have retired from the military now, but he was very much still a capable warrior and one who had pledged his loyalty to her when Queen Sparrow had finally succumbed to old age. Walter was a tough old bastard and one who only listened to her. 'He shouldn't take much persuading. But I will only make moves to get him to follow through once he hears about Logan's supposed insane ramblings. He'll end up supporting me in the end.'

Walter was loyal almost to a fault. Once the man made a promise, he kept it no matter what. It was a perfect weapon for her to utilise in her attempt of staging a coup. Not using him in her scheme would be a terrible waste of an invaluable resource. The only real issue was feigning ignorance of the situation when he confronted her about the rumours of her treason. 'Not that it will be particularly difficult. I am more than accustomed to wearing a mask to conceal my true desires. Either way, Walter will find himself as more than a pawn.'

Her rather rapid progress of gaining supporters would undoubtedly decline for a few weeks, though it would be a farce only to make sure Logan didn't get proof of her activities. She didn't want him to be able to prove what she was doing. If she was caught, she'd be swiftly tried and sentenced to death. 'Logan is the biggest obstacle, but I cannot challenge him directly. Not yet. Brightwall and Millfields may be in my hands, but the capital city is not. Once I have Bowerstone firmly secured under my thumb, I will strike against him. If it comes down to swords, then so be it.'

In her present state, her swordsmanship still needed some work. True, she could last for a long time against a seasoned soldier like Walter, but that wasn't enough. Prior to his expedition to Aurora, Logan had been rather adventurous, going off to new places and improving his skill with the blade as he went. He very rarely drew his cutlass nowadays, but he was still a formidable swordsman, having spent years honing his craft. Perhaps it was due to his lack of magical power that he chose to pursue swordsmanship the way he did.

Despite them both being the children of the late Hero queen, Sparrow, Logan had not inherited their mother's remarkable powers whilst Annabel had. If one hadn't known that Sparrow only had one spouse through her reign, they'd assume that she had an affair with another man. It seemed as though the gift of her blood had not passed down to him.

'Albion needs me. A Hero. One who isn't afraid of anything and will not cower in their chambers at the slightest hint of an outside threat. Samarkand's diplomats will know that Albion has a queen who is not to be trifled with.' Her hand clenched into a firm fist, fighting back the surge of magic that once again longed to be unleashed.

She eased herself onto her bed and propped her feet up, plucking a book from a nearby bookshelf. It was one she had read many times before, about the Triumvirate. The Triumvirate was a trio of three Heroes representing skill, will, and strength. The Hero of Strength was a remarkably large man whose equally large sword cut a bloody swath through his foes. The Hero of Skill possessed unmatched accuracy, though according to the note at the bottom of the page Reaver disagreed. The strongest of them all was the Hero of Will, who could command every element of magic and was capable of summoning entire storms to destroy anything that got in their way.

Before they died they each created three talismans. One was a magical gauntlet that would enable the wearer to command the powers of the Old Kingdom. The second, a pistol that would never miss. The third, a sword from the time of the Old Kingdom that would wreak havoc on anyone its deadly blade touched.

The sword had been lost nearly a century ago; the last known whereabouts of it were the distant lands of Eastern Samarkand's mountains. The pistol, hidden in an ancient tomb in the Auroran deserts. The gauntlet was hidden in the vaults of Bowerstone Manor.

However, Bowerstone Manor no longer existed; it had been burned to the ground by the Albion Witchspotters nearly five hundred years ago during their execution of Lady Grey. In its place Castle Fairfax was built, now renamed Bowerstone Castle. It was ludicrous to think that the vault had survived the blaze, but the gauntlet wasn't any ordinary magical artefact. It could very well still be buried in the castle right now.

'That can wait until tomorrow. For now I should get some rest and see if my efforts will bear fruit.' Annabel closed the book and pulled the thick blanket over her body.

The coup was only just beginning.

Reaver entered his manor in Millfields and was greeted by his loyal servant Barry Hatch. "'ello Master Reaver! Welcome home! There is a roast duck waitin' for you in the dinin' hall!"

'Roast duck? Dear me. One would think that I am hosting some sort of private party.' The Hero of Skill's lips curved into a thin smirk. "I will take it in my study. Lots of important business to attend to, I'm afraid."

"Of course!" Barry bowed at the waist respectfully. "Do you require any assistance in carrying it up?"

"That would be quite wonderful." Reaver patted his pockets for a bottle of brandy he had secretly stolen from King Logan's private stash and fished it out. The cork popped out easily and he took a long pull from it, smacking his lips. The king may be a paranoid bastard who wasn't fit to rule, but one couldn't deny that he had great taste in alcohol.

Reaver passed by a few servants under his care and they stepped aside to let him pass. One of them was polishing a golden statue of himself and he was pleased to see that their work was thorough. Not a single speck of dust was on it; they knew better than to do the job poorly. He withheld their wages for a week the last time someone didn't properly clean it and the one responsible was forced to endure his Wheel of Misfortune.

The wheel was a rather simple device. He spun, his victims died, and his guests enjoyed. It was a riot. The last victim couldn't even make it past the bloody hobbes. Pity, too. Such a sweet boy, but terrible with a sword. He reminded Reaver a little bit of Andrew. Andrew was a sweet and kind lad, but a heavy sleeper who met his doom when one of Reaver's other lovers grew jealous and set the bloody house on fire two hundred fifty years ago. If only he wasn't such a heavy sleeper.

The pirate king ascended the stairs leading to his study and opened it, revealing a beautiful interior filled with the most luxurious furniture one could purchase. Most of it was spoils from his raids as a pirate, including the desk.

He took a seat and started to fill out the necessary paperwork for tomorrow, which included some autograph requests from a few admirers of his. One he knew personally, a particularly stubborn lass by the name of Benjamina. She had once shown up at his mansion and demanded that he sign a part of her body in a rather vulgar way. He had never in his life met anyone who wanted his name imprinted on their backside as much as her. It was quite crude, but also amusing to think that this woman would proudly walk around Bowerstone Market with his name firmly imprinted on her rear end. Her bedroom prowess, however, left a lot to be desired.

He scoffed in annoyance when he saw yet another request from a publisher in Brightwall pleading to let them produce another run of his scandalous autobiography. 'Not bloody likely. I do not need my reputation sullied by these imbeciles.' He was a respectable businessman after all and would not take the risk just for another to gain riches. If they wanted to have more gold in their pocket, perhaps they ought to learn from him and take to becoming a skilled pirate. Or just be born into it from the beginning.

He took another pull from his bottle of brandy, thinking of how far the princess had come in such a short amount of time. She already had Brightwall and the castle soldiers at her beck and call; now all she needed was the support of the capital. The nobles would come around in time if rumours about her treason surfaced.

Reaver realized with a start that she was counting on it; she knew that he wouldn't be able to keep such juicy gossip to himself and would consequently spread the word as subtly as he could. 'You know me a little too well, dear. All part of your brilliant plan to make Logan more and more paranoid so the people themselves begin clamouring for you to take the throne. To think that I, Reaver, have a hand in starting a coup. Logan could accuse me of it, for sure, but he wouldn't have any proof. It would make him seem more like a madman and the princess as the rightful ruler. Annabel, you are one very clever girl. I owe you a lot more credit than I initially gave you.'

She was quite an interesting catch indeed. If he knew her like he thought he did, the princess would inevitably wed him to keep him close to her side as a valuable ally. It would also serve as a display of power to remind her subjects that they now had a Hero on the throne. 'Oh the horrified look on that snotty little boy Elliot's face when Annabel and I exchange vows will be glorious to behold. One ought to make a painting out of it.'

Reaver knew very well that Annabel was not a pure virgin like her brother thought. She had in fact indulged in the act of sex many times, mostly with Elliot, but if the rumour was to be believed she had also bedded a rather attractive girl named Candace after dealing with the castle steward Alastair. Good riddance too; the man smelled like a bloody sewer.

The servants were positively buzzing with excitement at the news of Alastair's death, glad to know that someone had heard their cries and acted accordingly. However, if questioned, none of them would tell Logan the truth about the princess being the one to murder the drunkard. They'd tell him it was an unfortunate accident in which the steward tripped over his own chamber pot and fell into a blaze. His corpse did have horrible burns on it so no one would suspect otherwise, though Logan would keep a closer eye on Annabel. Yet another thing she was gambling on.

'You want Logan to keep a closer eye on you. You'll feign loyalty to him while he goes mad trying to figure out your plans to overthrow him. You naughty girl; I'm beginning to like you more and more.' The king would be devastated at this betrayal and it would possibly break him, but Reaver knew the princess didn't care about their bond anymore. All she cared about now was taking her rightful spot on the throne.

"Master Reaver?" Barry knocked on the door and clumsily opened it, carrying an ornate plate with several slices of roast duck on it. "I have your supper."

"Ah, thank you." Reaver finished signing an autograph for another one of his admirers and looked up, pushing aside some unimportant papers to make room. "Thank you Barry. Now run along and make sure those bloody peasants polish that statue perfectly. I want to see my face shining in it by morning."

"As you command." Barry bowed and left Reaver alone in his study.

Reaver cut off a slice of meat and popped it into his mouth, chewing. It was cooked to perfection; duck by nature was a little greasier than chicken was, but not as fatty as mutton. It held a certain elegance despite it being greasy and he took another bite of the savoury meat. 'Having charisma as well as riches means that anyone can live like royalty. Those who are missing one will find themselves as being nothing like sheep herded to slaughter.'

He also made sure to reward his servants appropriately. When they performed their tasks to the letter in a timely manner and without complaint, he would occasionally slide a little extra gold their way as compensation. One could not say he wasn't a fair and generous man. That said, he was careful in how he administered their pay. Too much and they would take the money and leave. Too little and they'd go on strike only to be made an example of. As much of a thrill as it gave him, he couldn't go around shooting his staff for mere laughs.

Reaver finished his meal in a hurry. It was beginning to get rather late in the day and he wanted to finish his paperwork before the sun fully set. If there was one downside to being a successful businessman, it was that he didn't have terribly reliable servants who could competently read and write. As a result, he had to fill out every piece of parchment himself. A little annoyance but if everything went as he thought it would in the coming weeks, he'd have an entire castle full of competent servants for him to dump the burden on.

"Why the bloody hell does Oakfield's sculptor want me to do a nude pose for the entire village to see? BARRY! Why didn't you toss this into the bloody fire!? Don't you ignore me, you snivelling hobbe-loving mutt! I know you opened this!"

Maybe he wouldn't dump everything on his new servants after all.

A/N: If there's one thing I love doing more than lewding the fuck out of the princess, it's having Reaver rant about idiots XD. Seriously, he's endless entertainment.

A Lovestruck A2#5371