A/N: Hello all and welcome to chapter 12. Been busy this last month with me working a fuck ton on just about everything and everything, but hey, it'll clear up in the fall and winter a little bit.

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.

*Cutting the Strings*

Annabel quietly opened the door to her room, trying to make as little noise as possible. Jasper was still asleep, faint snores coming from his old mouth. The princess scoffed at the sight and crept into her more personal quarters, casting a quick glance outside. The black of night was slowly becoming a more indigo hue, meaning dawn was only a few hours away. There was still plenty of time to get some sleep before she had to properly wake up and go about her day.

She set her katana down, making sure to tuck it under her bed to prevent Jasper or her brother from seeing it. If either of them did, she would be bombarded by a swarm of furious questions and everything she was working so hard for would be thrown up in smoke. Everything would be lost to her and she could not stand the thought of that. Her pride would not let her wilt away into obscurity like another failed revolutionary. She was the princess of Albion, heir to the throne and a Hero.

The brunette took off her boots and set them next to her bed, undressing as quietly as she could. Left in her undergarments she crept into bed and pulled the covers over her head, a faint smirk of triumph forming on her soft lips. 'It feels nice to be consistently on the winning side. My goal draws ever nearer.'

Yet another decisive victory was in her hands. Bowerstone didn't know it, but one deed would be enough to sway them into following her and her alone. Like puppets on a string, she was bending them to her will.

The next morning Annabel woke up bright and early. She had gone to sleep only four or five hours ago but she never felt so well rested. Every muscle felt relaxed despite her activities from the previous night and she lifted her head from her soft comfortable pillow. One hand slipped out from underneath the thick blankets and it came to life with her fires. Her magic felt somewhat stronger than it did previously, perhaps from her using it as much as she had. Her powers grew by the day, making her into a formidable opponent in battle combined with her training. She could defeat any soldier in Logan's elite guard with little effort and was able to beat Walter, a heavily trained warrior, without even suffering a single scratch.

With this much power at the edge of her fingertips, there was very little that could possibly pose a threat to her now besides the king himself of course. Hero or not he was still a formidable enemy. She needed more. Not more power, oh no. She knew that if it came to it her own powers rivalled those of their departed mother. No, she needed a little more time to hone her craft and become the most deadly Hero in recent history, surpassing her mother and bringing in a new age for her land.

However, her will alone was not enough for such a monumental task. It was only through the labours of her supporters, their toils, that Albion would be transformed into the beautiful utopia it was meant to be. Not this land divided by hatred and fear, but united under the banner of power and assurance. They would have the confidence that they could defeat any enemy foreign or domestic, and she was going to be the one to lead them into that new age.

But first, she needed to overthrow her dear older brother. The longer she waited, the deeper Albion would be dragged into the mud. But her eagerness to usurp Logan's throne was tempered by her cautious nature. Acting hasty would make her prone to mistakes, mistakes that she could not afford to make if her dream was to become a reality.

Annabel let out a soft hum and swung her legs out of bed, stretching her arms high above her head. She could hear the quiet chirping of birds from outside and with one eye lazily blinked open the brunette woman walked across her chambers to her wardrobe. Contrary to what Jasper believed she did not need some snivelling old man to tell her what to wear for any kind of royal appointments. She imagined the day would be quite busy; once word of Nigel Ferret's death spread, Bowerstone's streets would be bustling with the kingdom's citizens. Businesses would be flooding with new customers and the business capital of Albion would be more alive than it had been in years. All of it was thanks to her and she would not soon let them forget her deeds.

She threw on her more casual attire, fitting on a short blue skirt and leggings with a white blouse. She could do without all the damn ruffles on the collar; it made her feel like one of the posh imbeciles who constantly faked their adoration and praise for her brother. She may have been royalty but she was not like them and never would be. Wealth and good fortune wouldn't dictate who she was, but rather it would be her actions.

When she was finished getting dressed the door to her quarters opened and Jasper walked in with a grandfatherly smile. "Ah, hello madam. I did not expect you to be awake at this hour." He was acting as if nothing had happened between the two of them recently. Was it all an act or was it genuine? Had she perhaps been too harsh? Did he really support her cause as he pretended to? So many questions swam in her mind and she steadied her nerves. Getting wound up over them would break her composure and leave her foaming at the mouth like those lunatics her brother had locked up in Ravenscar Keep. Oh yes, Annabel knew all about their family's dirty little secret.

Ravenscar Keep was a massive prison on an island to the south of Albion's mainland, used to house the most dangerous enemies of the crown. However, Annabel knew that it also housed plenty of people Logan just didn't like or annoyed him. Guarded by the best of his elite soldiers, it was supposed to be impossible to break out of. Plenty of those prisoners would love nothing more than to see Logan fall, especially the most dangerous prisoners the keep housed.

The most dangerous prisoners in Ravenscar Keep's dark walls were the brilliant inventor Professor Faraday, the mad alchemist Mary Godwin, and of course the former general of the royal army, General Turner.

The general was the most intriguing of them all to her. Both of them shared a common goal, but whereas Turner wanted the monarchy overthrown and the castle burned to the ground, Annabel wanted the throne for herself so she could forge Albion into what it was meant to be. A powerful nation that even the greatest armies would fear going up against.

"Jasper, I have a question for you," she said, glancing over her shoulder at her butler.

"Of course, madam. What's troubling you?" her butler asked.

Annabel straightened up and faced him properly, her dark eyes burrowing into his. "Would it be possible for you to let me gain access to Ravenscar Keep? Don't look so surprised; I know damn well what it is, despite my brother's attempts to keep it a secret from me."

Jasper bowed his head. "I do not think I can authorise it, my dear. It is well within your right to know, but the king did not tell you about the keep out of fear. He fears you will be slaughtered there."

The princess curled her lip in frustration. Why did everyone insist that she was a weak little girl who could not handle herself? She was a Hero dammit, not some delicate maiden. She'd never allow herself to be ravaged by some pathetic inmates; they would have their throats slit before they could even lay a finger on her.

"I'm not a helpless little lamb surrounded by wolves, Jasper," she said with a growl. "My powers have grown stronger and I can beat any of my brother's soldiers in combat. Yet he insists on treating me like some sort of damn child."

"I know how capable you are, Annabel," Jasper admitted. "You have the potential to rival the Hero of Oakvale in terms of power. But he doesn't see you as a Hero. He sees you as his little sister. Perhaps he always will until you do something to change his views."

Annabel let her anger at her brother die down; there was no need to vent her frustration on Jasper, after all. "So what you are essentially saying is that I need to do something to impress my brother." 'What would make him see that I'm not incapable of defending myself?'

The idea hit her and she resisted smiling. An assassination attempt on his life would be perfect. All she needed was someone who was willing to die by her hand after attempting to murder Logan. She was sure she could find someone willing to do the deed in Bowerstone's seedier districts; his approval ratings were at an all time low in the industrial sector and many of the residents would love nothing more than to strangle Logan with their own hands. The only catch was that she had to make it look genuine and not carefully thought out. She didn't want it coming back to her.

'Ah yes. I stop an assassination attempt and that alone will be enough to convince my brother that I am fully on his side. He will begin to doubt his judgment and it will begin to break him.' She clicked her tongue slowly and turned around so her butler wouldn't be able to see the glimmer in her eyes. "Thank you, Jasper. If you can, please clear out my agenda for the rest of the evening. I have business to attend to."

"As you wish. I'll see to it at once." Jasper bowed his head and scurried off to begin cleaning up her chambers. With him gone, Annabel could finally breathe a little easier. By Skorm it was difficult putting up this innocent air around someone who spent every minute of every day tending to her needs. Well, most of them at least. She did have Elliot for the time being to quell her more intimate urges.

Her magic came to life once more and she hummed. 'By the time my brother finds out about even the royal butler helping me, it will be too late. Everything he built and tended to so delicately will collapse around him. It will be burned to the ground until nothing but ashes remain.'

She had work to do now.

Reaver hummed merrily in his extravagant office, glancing briefly at the several pieces of parchment that currently littered the large oak desk. A bottle of brandy was clenched tightly in his hand and he poured himself another glass. Having a nice drink to wash down an expensive and delicious meal was always refreshing, no matter how many times he did it. The bonus side effect was that the alcohol burning his throat drove back the painful memories of his youth. Memories of a weak pathetic boy so very terrified of death. Reaver killed him. He was weak and a coward. He did what needed to be done to move on. Destroy any ties to his previous life and rise from its ashes.

As he removed the bottle he thought of just how lovely the princess's lips felt on his. He hadn't had a kiss that raw in centuries; not since he was sleeping with Penelope and Ursula. Pity the wench set his bloody house on fire and murdered Andrew. Such a sweet and gentle boy, but too much of a heavy sleeper.

He didn't like to admit that he of all people had been beaten in anything, but the princess got him exactly where she wanted him. Annabel left him wanting more while she was more than content to tease him with a mere sample. Oh how he longed to pin her to his bed and ravage her like a filthy animal, hearing her wanton moans as he ploughed into her. He'd teach her a lesson about being a saucy little minx. Though perhaps that's what she wanted.

From what he had gathered from their conversations about him, Annabel needed someone to compete with her for dominance in the bedroom. Elliot was far too privileged and soft for a fiery woman like her. Maybe that was another reason why she enlisted his help in making sure the boy was murdered.

He really wished his assassin would hurry up and make it to Bowerstone already. It had been quite a few days since he left Bloodstone's harbour and since then he had heard no word from him. Reaver was not a patient man at heart; his Heroic blood craved the action of good old fashioned gunfight. Pity he didn't have any competition remaining in the world. He saw to that matter personally.

When he was building his renown as the finest shot in all of Albion, he was visited by the master marksman Wicker. The man had come to him with a proposal to see who was truly the greatest gunslinger, proposing the two of them have a friendly duel to settle the ridiculous rumours. Reaver's response was to shoot him in the head. Wicker was fast on the draw, no doubt about it. But Reaver was the king of pirates and the old fool didn't anticipate his reaction speed. The only one who was able to match that dexterity was the late queen Sparrow. Often times during their arguments they would each draw their weapon; Sparrow a finely crafted katana and Reaver his favoured Dragonstomper .48. Despite tensions between them never fully dying down, neither of them made the move on the other. Yet he often wondered if her blade would meet his heart before his bullet reached her. He doubted it, however when it came to dealing with Sparrow, it was best to be cautious rather than a fool. He knew what the woman was capable of even in her old age.

He had no reason to doubt that Annabel possessed the same sort of potential. He had yet to see how she handled a firearm, but he knew that she was still remarkably skilled in swordsmanship and her magical capabilities. Killing off Nigel Ferret and his crew was proof enough that she was not one to be trifled with.

It was a pity to see such a useful pawn go, but he had long outlived his minor usefulness. Ferret was good for keeping the people of Bowerstone living in fear and resenting the king, but once Reaver ignited the fire in Annabel's ambitions, he simply had to go. He was no longer a resource but rather an obstacle. And like any other obstacle, he had to be removed. Starting a bloody coup was a messy business after all and someone of Reaver's stature could not afford to be associated with a criminal like Ferret. It wouldn't do well for his image. With Ferret lying dead in the basement of his filthy corner, Bowerstone was Annabel's for the taking.

He had seen to the matter personally, by visiting several major businesses and telling the owners of her deeds. When they learned that the princess of all people had successfully put an end to one of the major criminal enterprises in all of Albion, they were unable to keep themselves from singing her praise. All of it was well earned if one asked him; even if she was a Hero she was greatly outnumbered and sometimes numbers can overwhelm even the most powerful of warriors. But she showed the strength of her resolve and slaughtered every single one of them like they were helpless lambs. The poor bastards didn't stand a chance against someone like her.

Reaver let out a groan of frustration, a noise he didn't often make. He only did it when other people were being tedious and downright irritating. At the pressing moment, his damn contact from Bloodstone was being one of those things. He was assured by the leader of The Society that the assassin would be in Albion within three days. It was nearing the end of the third day and patience was never his strongest virtue despite being several hundred years old.

He had been in contact with The Society for about two centuries now. Leaders had come and gone but he was always a steady source of income for the guild of assassins who were always deadly in their line of work. As they were so fond of saying whenever one needed someone murdered, they were swift bringers of death to beggar or king. No one was safe from them. However, they never did like to get personal. They were, in every sense, professional assassins. They did the job however the client wanted it.

Reaver was considering sending another letter to Mr. Blank expressing his disapproval when the pirate king heard soft footsteps briskly approaching his office. He didn't even bat an eye when the man in black entered, a single steel katana dangling from his back. "You must be Master Reaver. Mr. Blank always spoke fondly of you."

"Yes, I'm sure he has." Reaver poured himself and the assassin a glass of brandy, offering it to him. "Care for a drink?"

"No thank you," he politely declined, shaking his head. "I never like to drink on the job. Mr. Blank was rather mum on the details of the contract, so I wish to ask what they are."

"Your target is a noble boy in the castle, Elliot," Reaver answered. "You won't be able to mistake him for anyone else. He follows the princess everywhere like an obedient little dog. How you kill him is up to you entirely. The only request is for you to make it look like an accident."

"Understood sir. I shall see to it at your earliest convenience." The assassin left as quickly as he entered and Reaver smacked his lips.

Annabel would get her wish granted, and he would soon get his.

A/N: Sorry it took much longer than usual to get out. Work and life have been a bitch to me.

A Lovestruck A2#5371