Author's Trollish Note: Buenos Dias, amigos, quid novo? (So? What do you all think about my majestic fan of colorful foreign languages? Staggering, no?)

Anyway, the usual little introduction to this beautiful chapter: it is the most romantic one in the story, I think, but well, I don't know much about romanticism (just imagine if I were romantic, my parents' reaction! Gosh, it's frightening! But then again, I am romantic: anyone read Anne of Green Gables? Well, my romanticism is really like hers. Aaanyway, little does it matter, if you want my personal opinion, which you probably don't. (No one in the entire universe would be thoughtless and audacious (and courageous and bold) to ask my opinion.).).) Oops, sorry about all those parenthesis. It looks muddled…but never mind: read, please, and Review. Just do it, and do not importunate me further. Oh, and you can also e-mail me. Don't worry, of course, I don't bite…eheheh…

Chapter Twenty One

Tamed

Arach spent a whole good fifteen minutes wondering what to do of the Prince's deal: the reasonable thing to do was to dress, after all, it cost her nothing, and she did want to know what had happened to Thunderion and the rest of his unfortunate team. However, to please the Prince after what he had done to her was strongly against all her self-respect and her mighty sense of revenge. The problem, though so simple for any reasonable person, seemed unbearably troublesome to Arach.

Finally, she decided against her pride, and stormed over to the ebony wardrobe, flinging the burnished, narrow door open and glaring at its luxurious, colorful contents. Roaming through the various clothing items, she finally tossed out a long dress with a deep black satin skirt, a plain black velvet bodice, and a red corset embroidered with black flowers. She kept her chemise and shift, tied a large, black lace petticoat doubled with silk not to itch the skin around her waist, pulled on the black dress, tightened the corset around her waist, and finally, slipped on black satin slippers. She gathered her hair back at the nape of her neck in a heavy, disheveled knot, stuffed a large black comb through it, and went to fling herself in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, which crackled loudly in the hearth and burned cheerfully. Outside, the dreary rain poured from the heavy autumn sky of sad tarnished silver, slashing against the closed window-panes, and making anyone, even Arach herself, feel relieved to be sitting on front of a good fire, in a soft, comfortable armchair.

Overwhelmed by boredom, with nothing else to do but curse the prince for inflicting idleness upon her, Arach inevitably ended by falling asleep, sprawling down so that her arm and head hung over one arm of her chair, forming a pathetic picture of desperate tiredness. She woke some two hours later, startled, and looked down at her lap: the prince, sitting on the floor, with his elbow on her armchair, had laid down his head on her knees, like a child seeking his mother's comfort, and it was the soft caress of his silky hair against her hand that had awaken her. With a cry, and regretting it immediately afterwards, she pushed him away, and stood up, hastily precipitating herself back form the chair and nearly tripping over the hem of her trailing skirt.

'Why didn't you wake me up?' she asked, reproachful but still too softly by her standards.

'Well,' said the Prince, in a very melancholic way, 'you do not storm and rage at me when you sleep. You just sigh, frown slightly, but your lips do not twist, and your hands remain peacefully where they are. Oh, yes, and I also can look at you properly. Without being hindered by your murderous glances and protective gestures.'

Arach, glaring at him, raised the neck of her black bodice higher.

'See?' said the Prince forlornly, dragging himself up on the place that was still warm form her body.

'You told me that if I dressed, properly, which I did, you would tell me what you did with Thunderion,' said Arach brusquely, accusingly, frowning down at him.

'You were not his mistress, were you?' asked the Prince, looking suddenly tense and dangerous, like a taut tiger ready to leap and tear it's prey's throat.

'I hope you're kidding,' said Arach, indignantly. Her reaction seemed to please him well enough; for he smiled smugly, his lips stretching slightly in this particular way of his, and gestured to the floor at his feet.

'Sit at my elbow, and I shall tell you all you want to know.'

'Sit at your elbow? You're way of beam, Prince,' Arach declared scornfully.

'Absolutely not,' replied the Prince, nonchalantly, 'but if you do not wish to sit at my elbow, you may sit anywhere else it pleases you.'

Arach went to unceremoniously plonk herself down into the armchair opposite his, curling herself deep in the soft cushions, and glaring at him through rebel strand of unruly sable hair.

'So?' she said curtly, imperiously.

'So what?' enquired the Prince, smiling amiably.

'What did you do with Thunderion?'

'I threw him into the dungeons. I wanted him hanged, of course, but we did not possess enough evidences against him. A clever, careful young man. His only mistake was to trust someone I trust.'

The Prince stopped, dutifully waiting for the next question.

'What about, the other ones? The Sylfaere guy, for example.'

The Prince, genially, cheerfully, recited: 'Lord Sylfaere was hanged two days ago. His corpse was enshrouded in silk, entombed in ebony, and buried in the Fields of High Victory, not far from the Dark Cathedral.'

Arach gaped at him.

'Hanged? You hanged Sylfaere?'

'I did most certainly,' said merrily the Prince, grinning at her, 'and I invited this dear Countess Eeliria at the execution.'

Arach stared at him in utter disbelief and shock. She who had killed so many people cold-bloodedly, she found it beyond any ruthlessness to hang a rebel.

'Under what pretext did you hang him, then?' she asked, her voice slightly shaking.

'He was a great master in the trade of Skyhigh, which is illegal, as you probably know. I had always had enough evidences to accuse him. Of course, given that I am the only greatest Skyhigh Master-of-Trade before him.'

Skyhigh, the greatest and most lethal drug known in the whole world, was strictly forbidden in every island. Even the Alchematorians themselves were not allowed to use it. And now, she learned that the very Emperor of the island was one of the master traders of this drug. Arach hovered between the admiration and the disgust, with the admiration, an awed, reverent admiration, quickly taking over the disgust.

'Oh…oh…right then,' said Arach, unsteadily, 'and…um, what about, whatsername? The Eeliria woman?'

'My mistress!' said triumphantly the Prince.

He looked closely at Arach's face, waiting for her reaction, which was absolutely not the one he had been hoping for. She jumped up from her seat, and said, joyfully, with a sort of pathetic hope:

'But then, you don't need me anymore, do you? You have Eeliria, who is so pretty and graceful and feminine and willing—'

She made bouncily for the door.

'It was a real pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Highness. I'm taking myself off.'

The door was locked. Arach, with a fatalistic sigh, tossed herself back in her chair, the Prince smiling up dazzlingly at her.

'Very well then,' she said, with a queenly violent gesture of her hand, 'and what about Sthenn?'

'Whom?' the Prince said sharply, straightening abruptly and narrowing his striking eyes.

'Oh,' said Arach, thinking quickly: if the prince didn't know about the arch-thief, then the latter was probably safe and sound. Arach, smirking evilly, said: 'Oh, no one.'

'Never mind then,' said the Prince, waving aside the subject and ruining her hopes to anger him into doing something, 'I must talk to you about some visits I have received.'

'No concern of mine,' said Arach, dismissively.

'Indeed. Great concerns of yours. Three men came; two yesterday, and one this morning. All three were looking for one person: I young girl named Arachna, Assassin and Apprentice Alchematorian from StonePort.'

He observed her face as she paled considerably, and bit down her lips till scarlet pearls of blood appeared.

'What did you tell them?' she asked, in a tight voice.

'I asked them who they were. Two of them are hunters, paid by a certain Lord Drymarchon to capture you. The other one was a messenger form one of the Lords of GreenLands. Someone called Lord Araneus.'

'He!' cried Arach violently, 'Does he think I forgot? Oh no no no! Indeed not!'

She reported her blazing eyes back to the Prince, who was staring at her narrowly.

'Did he have a message? What did he say?'

The Prince's emerald eyes darkened.

'He did not want to tell me. I told him I was the Emperor, but I cannot do anything of him, given that he is from GreenLands. So I told him I did not know anyone of your name, and he went away. The same happened with the two hunters.'

'Was one of those hunters called something like Hawkke?' asked Arach, tensely, gripping the chair's arm so hard her knuckles went even whiter.

'Hawke?' said the Prince thoughtfully, 'No. One was called Tilence, the other Avalon.'

Arach sprawled back in her chair, thinking about the deal she had made with Requin: would the pirate keep his promise and try to hinder Hawkke if he came to cross the Wreck Sea to come and get her back from StonePort? Arach reflected that even if he didn't want to do it, his rage of wanting Arach for himself would push the pirate to stop the hunter, in spite of himself. But at the same time, it may be that Requin would miss Hawkke, and let him pass without knowing it. But then again, she was safe, there, in the depths of the Emperor's palace, with himself as her guardian. And for the first time, and against all her will to hate him, she felt glad to be there.

'What,' the Prince said, shrewdly, 'what are you thinking about, that your eyes may be so narrowed as to be only slits of black in your white face?'

'Oh, I was thinking about…someone I knew.'

'And loved?'

'And hated.'

'You comfort me by saying this. I don't think I could bear it if you had loved anyone in your life,' the Prince said, in tones frightening because both tender and hard.

'Ha!' cried Arach, exultantly, 'And don't you think I too could have loved someone? Just because I can't love you, doesn't mean I can't love anyone else.'

The Prince shot up from his armchair, and ducked sharply at her, seizing both her wrists, and saying, leaning his head on one side, and with his green eyes filled with such grief and pain it startled her:

'What did you say?'

Arach raised her arms, trying to free her hands form his grasp, but he rose at the time, and then he slammed her wrists together, and into the back on the chair, lowering his face close to hers.

'Tell me you lied. Tell me you only said this to anger me into releasing you.'

'No, I will certainly not,' she said, defiantly, exultantly, glad to finally be the one ruling, 'come on now, what are you going to do?'

'You know,' he said quietly, 'you strive to convince me and yourself—though mostly yourself—that you do not love me. But you had the occasion to kill me, didn't you? My dagger into your fist, and yet you did not strike. Why?'

Arach bit her lip, and raised dark eyes that had lost most of their fierce triumph to his own breathtaking green ones.

'Won't tell you.' she said, 'Let me go.'

He let go of her wrists, and she slowly rubbed them, frowning and regarding him with frightened accusation.

'You lie to yourself as much as you lie to me. And you cannot blind yourself as you cannot blind me.'

'You talk about things you don't have a clue about,' she hissed, half-nervous, half-bold.

'Just cease talking nonsense. I am tired of eternally encountering stupidity and obstinacy.'

'Ha!' Arach exclaimed, rising so that he was forced to take a step away from her, 'going to beat me, are you?'

'No…' he started.

'You already did your worst with me! You'll never be able to get what you want, and you know it! You are the only one beyond stupid and obstinate—'

Cutting her through, he kissed her, hard upon the lips. It succeeded in silencing her, and she was so startled by the sudden attack that she stepped back in her turn, and fell heavily back into the chair.

'Do you know that people have been executed for such insolence as yours?'

'Oh indeed, your Highness,' said Arach, her lip curling as she sneered, 'if I were to be killed each time I lack politeness towards a rascal like you—'

Again, he silenced her, but this time by slamming his palm over her lips, imposing upon her a forced silence she would not tolerate. Shaking her head, she freed her mouth form his hand, and cried:

'You have nothing else but your might and rank, and when you wear down those two weapons, you are entirely inoffensive, as well as defenseless!'

She rose, triumphant, jubilant:

'Come on, your Highness! What do you say about this!' she tossed at him.

'I say that you too, like me, have probably some weak points. I also say that I intend to find them, and exploit them. I say that as you seem so rebel and hostile today, I shall withdraw, and shall seek comfort in the arms of my willing mistress. An unwilling mistress is very delightful and amusing, but one gets wearied by her constant sneers and snarls.'

He made towards the door, serenely, majestically. Arach, indignant, yelled:

'Unwilling mistress?' and he laughed out loud, opened the door, and was out, without replying or adding anything else.

Angrily, she flung herself on the bed and lay there, face plunged into the deep white pillows, arms lying at her side. Finally, she turned around to breathe, and looking up at the dark red company of her bed, she heaved a sigh, reflecting what he had said, and feeling more and more worried about what she was feeling, growing as she reluctantly tried to pierce the shadows of her complicated, labyrinthine heart, more and more angry.

She was plunged deeply into difficult, muddled thoughts, her mind very misty, when the door opened. Arach sharply sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. A maid, dressed in a dark golden dress and carrying a heavy wooden tray laid with food, came in. At the sight of Arach, she quickly lowered thick long blond lashes to her plump cheek, and hastily pulled down the tray upon the ebony table between the two armchairs Arach and the Prince had occupied several minutes earlier.

'How did you get in, then?' asked Arach, rudely.

'My Lady, I got in by the door.'

'The door? Did you have the key, girl?' said Arach, and the maid thought that she was really cheeky, calling her girl, even though she was probably several years younger.

'My Lady, it was unlocked.'

'Never!' cried Arach, indignantly.

She jumped off the bed, and ran for the door, but the maid hastily interposed herself between her and her goal.

'My Lady, the Emperor ordered that you may not come out of your room. He said you were very ill disposed and that your body needing to refresh before he might—'

'The lout!' yelled Arach.

She stared down at the girl, and then sneered:

'Ooh, and how are you going to stop me from going out?'

'My Lady, I will not hinder you. The Black and White Knight shall.'

'Who?' said Arach carelessly, deliberately striding to the door and flinging it open.

Leaning against the threshold, a young man dressed entirely in black and white, with his pale silver-blond hair gleaming silkily over his shoulders, and his green-blue eyes glittering like semi-precious gems, Double-Game stood, smiling down at her a smug smile.

'Oh!' cried Arach, disgust engraved in each single feature of her pale face, 'You!'

'Me, Assassin. And you do not look very pleased to see me too, I might add.'

'Pleased to see you! When you have betrayed your friend to a man, and then a man to your friend! Double-Game!'

'Ah…I presume the Prince told you, then.'

'Oh yeah, he did! He hanged Sylfaere! And, he jailed Thunderion! And—'

She stopped, and said, eagerly:

'And what about the Arch-Thief from the Bridges? What happened with him?'

Double-Game laughed with evident amusement.

'The thief! He did what any thief would have done! He broke into Thunderion's strongbox, and stole all his money. He was clever; an opportunist.'

'Ooh, yeah,' Arach retorded venomously, 'Better be an opportunist than a double traitor, don't you think?'

'Better be a double traitor than an assassin,' said Double-Game maliciously.

'How can you say that? Assassins don't betray no one! They are loyal, and never finish by turning their blade against the ones who paid them!'

'Indeed not. That would be even worst than a traitor.'

'I hope you're kidding!' exclaimed Arach, 'Free-won trust is far more precious than money, and you can't deny it, traitor and monster that you are—now, let me pass.'

'And betray my friend?' said Double-Game in mock indignation.

'Don't play the innocent. I hate you, and I'll probably end by killing you, so don't abuse too much of your luck.'

Arach tried to push him away from her path, but he stood firm, unmoving and silent. Wrathfully, she grabbed his arm, and pinched it viciously, but he wore a chain-mail, and the attack left him totally unharmed. Arach then went for boldness, and she ducked, making a grab for the long, slender dagger that hung at his hip. And as she closed her hand tightly over the hilt, Double-Game's own hand came to close tightly over her wrist.

'Would you dare?' he whispered, his eyes so bright they seem to burn her through to her very soul.

'I would; you know I would,' she replied through clenched teeth.

He sharply took her hand away from his dagger, and dragged her in the room.

'Mayflower, you may withdraw.'

The maid hurriedly scurried away, and he added:

'Do not close the door. I am going.'

He turned back to the struggling girl in front of him, smiled down at her, and released her, then backed away slowly, keeping his aqua-marina eye on her as he slowly reached for the door.

'To our next meeting, sweet little Assassin,' he said quietly, and was out of the room.

She heard a key scrape in the lock, shouted a simple shout of rage, and went for her food. She devoured her salted meat, her vegetable soup, her soft bread, her creamy cheese and her dried fruits, and then drank the acid apple juice slowly, sprawling back in the armchair and enjoying a moment of sheer, reluctant delight as she was aware of the whipping rain pouring down against the windows, and the warm fire in the hearth, and her gentle dress satiny soft against her skin.

She finished drinking slowly, then slammed the bottle down back on the table, and went for a book. When she was younger, Snakehiss had often encouraged her to read; he told her that to read was to know, and that someone that couldn't enjoy a book properly was doomed to fall and never rise again. Taking a book from the thick wooden mantel piece, she opened it: Song of the Downfall, by Thane Quelimclaron. Everybody knew him; he was popular, as the greatest poet and philosopher of all times. Arach had never read anything by it, but when she was still at Spider's Web, she had often spent evenings slumbering at Snakehiss's chair's foot, listening as he read in his brusque, yet smooth way particular to him. Arach, absorbing herself in her thoughts, soon forgot the book, and sank so deep into her memories and cogitation that she jumped when the book slipped from her hand to fell with a soft noise on to the rushes under the chair in which she was sitting. Realizing that her neck ached, she went to the bed to lie down lazily, at the same time as reproaching herself for growing soft. She then made her peace by thinking that after all, it was the Prince who was imposing this forced indolence over her—she fell asleep.

She woke up at the sound of the slashing rain outside mingled with the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, and smiled sleepily, feeling more comfortable and good than she had done in her whole life. She shifted slightly under covers someone had pulled over her, and suddenly, she realized that her head was not lying on a soft pillow—but on a firm, warm chest which rose and lowered at a steady, slow rhythm. Sitting up, she turned around, crimson flushing at her cheeks and lips, as she beheld the Prince, lying beside her on the bed, his head sinking back in the pillows, his eyes shut, his face quiet and pale, his hair silky black over the white of the pillow. One hand was lying over his torso, the other arm had been curled around her shoulders. Arach slammed her hand over her mouth, and edged away from the warm, welcoming arms, feeling mortified.

She reached the edge of the large bed, and carefully pulled her legs down, and was about to stand up when she felt drawn back into the gentle embrace—so loving, so different from the cruel kisses he had first given her. She made to move way, but he whispered:

'Don't take away form me the only thing I have…'

And she let herself go beside him, laying her cheek against the beating warmth of his heart, and closing her eyes. Yes, she thought, he was right; he had nothing else but his love for her.

'And Eeliria...?' she asked, not really meaning it.

He didn't answer, just shifted to his side, so that she was facing him, and pulled her closer, burying his face into her white neck, and painfully tightening his arms around her body. She snuggled up to him, sighing, and thought, against her whole mind and brain: 'how I love him,' and so did she.

Author's Impressively Impudent After-Note: Here we go: I've just finished Chapter Twenty-One, and I'll stop here. Three chapter's alright, I guess, and I'll go on writing the other ones. If I am not too lazy, I hope the next time I can I'll at least give you 22, 23 and 24.

Aaaanyway...What did you think about this chapter? Please review. Personally, I found it very lovely, very romantic. But, of course, I don't care about what I think—yes, I care more about what you think than what I think, so don't you think you should think about it? If you thought about it you would think that I thought well by not thinking…(Ink, again. Sorry everyone.) Just review.

Post Memoris: Oh yeah, I just wanted to give you news about my Personality Facets, for those who are interested: Bob's back, but he had his left arm eaten off by a shark while in his trip to the Caribbean. He thinks it gives him a very male, very heroic air, so he isn't too upset, thank god. Sharpe's escaped from the attic, and is gone away too, so now, without Minotaur or Sharpe, it is a bit empty, but also, Trice is back from jail, and she doesn't stop fighting with Colonel, because he spends his days polishing his badges and weapons while she does all the dusting…Anyway: Ink's in the hospital: she thought it would be very entertaining to dance semi-naked at moonlight in the garden—what she hadn't noticed was that it had rained all day…Amethyst is in a ghoulish mood, she just wrote a poem about the garnet-gold gleam of blood, etc etc…well, that's all I wanted to say. See you all, and please please please review…