Author's Note: Thank you everyone for your patience! I went on vacation for a week :) But I'm back and feeling refreshed, so expect at least one more chapter this week :)

Usagi

The table was long and heavy, made of pure gold much like everything else in the castle.

If you stared at it too long, it was almost gaudy. All the dishes laid before me were the same vibrant gold, almost too heavy to be functional. I had been studying them for the better part of what felt like an eternity, letting my eyes rove the grooved, decorated ridges of the plate in front of me.

Rubeus had instructed me to wait in the dining room for Dimande, and when I inquired whether he was going to eat with us, he laughed.

"No," he cackled. "I'd rather not."

So I sat alone, perched atop a chair that was more like a throne, anxiously folding the black napkin that had been placed on the table over and over again in my hands. My mind was still swimming with all that I had seen—and all that I had heard—but I was trying to maintain my composure. When Dimande came down to join me, I wanted to be clear eyed and sharp, ready to ask the right questions.

He promised me he would tell me why I was here. I didn't want the opportunity to escape me.

Dimande sauntered into the dining hall with a grandeur that made me pause. He was always one for theatrics, and it seemed as though his time in the River of Souls had not changed that. He was still wearing his all-black outfit that hugged him in all the right ways. The buttons coming undone enough to expose his hard chest. I swallowed and tried not to notice it.

I did not have a wandering eye by any means, but sometimes—even if Mamo and I were walking hand-in-hand—a beautiful man or woman would pass and I couldn't help but look at them for just a second too long. My stomach would flutter with excitement and I would quickly whip my head back forward as if I hadn't been looking at all.

It wasn't that I wanted them in that way, it was more that the gravitational pull of some people was so powerful it sucked you in. Beauty is something I find impossible to ignore.

He grabbed the chair at the other end of the table—a good six or seven feet from me—and inspected it. His eyes grazed over the placemats and the array of bowls and plates, and he shook his head.

"This just won't do," he said softly.

Confused, I cocked my head. As soon as I did, he pointed his finger and the chair rattled against the floor and table. The stiffness of the precious metal bended and bobbed against nothing. The arms of the chair perked and creaked, waking up from a long slumber of being inanimate. Its spine stretched and the chair was hoisted slowly into the air.

The dishes, too, started glistening, a knowing sheen glowing across their brassiness. Thrumming across the table, they bucked against it with a tick. They rotated on the tabletop and took flight, weaving into the air as if dancing around the chair. Loop after loop they flitted high above the table, floating aimlessly as if they were on some sort of string. They made their way closer to me and I braced myself, clasping my hands over my eyes to avert myself from an embarrassing disaster.

But I heard no crash. I peeked out from and the dishes were drifting down, as was the chair, falling like soft snow in the stillness of winter. With every movement, they glided with increasing fluidity.

Gently they fell and landed perfectly in step to my right: First the chair, then each plate and bowl, followed by a smattering of spoons and forks. The last was the gold goblet that touched down right in its perfect place, and it spun just slightly clockwise so the jewel adorning the front was in line with the chair.

Dimande smiled and made his way down the table, and when he arrived at his new place, the chair scooted out and he took his seat.

"Like my trick?"

I was breathless. Was he the one controlling the enchantments of this castle?

"How did you do that?" I asked, my eyes wide. A feline-like grin curled on his lips, his purple eyes pierced me like a dagger. He let out a low laugh.

"When I was brought back to life, so was my magic," he said calmly. "Though, it's not as potent as it once was."

His tongue flicked over the word "potent" almost as if it stung. He outstretched his hand and ran it across the lip of the gold goblet. A crystal decanter on the table lifted then, too, pouring a wine as scarlet as blood into the cup. When it was done, I swore I saw it bow to him.

He brought the cup to his lips and slowly drank. Pink and full, they consumed the wine with a delicate urgency—the need to taste, the desire to forget. I watched as he ran his thumb across the jewel on the cup, tracing its convex surface gently and thoroughly.

When he placed the cup down, I realized I had been blushing.

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation to dine," he said coolly. "I've been worried about you."

"Worried?" I laughed. "If you're so worried about me, why won't you let me go?"

"There's plenty of time to talk about that," his eyes dragged to two large doors to his left. They opened and in came a slew of serving carts stacked high with various dishes. "Let us eat first."

For the next half hour, we made small talk over a menagerie of foods, each one more delectable than the last. Everything in the castle seemed to be alive: From the silverware to the curtains on the window, Dimande's magic had everything teeming with an unnatural energy. We kept our conversations polite. He asked me how I liked the castle, I responded fine. I asked him how the glowing lights in the castle worked, he gave a vague answer.

We were both clearly avoiding the greater conversation to be had, waiting for our chance to actually discuss something without the pleasantries of a meal. It was agony.

When the plates cleared themselves, I finally found the courage to ask.

"Why have you brought me here Dimande?"

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and placed it on the table, smoothing its black fabric against the gold surface. His face was no longer playful, as it had been for the majority of our meal, instead it looked sunken and serious. His eyes did not meet mine.

"Rubeus told you about the River of Souls." This was not a question. He somehow knew what Rubeus had said about the River of Souls, about how they had found one another there. My mind replayed our stroll through the garden. What was it Rubeus had said? That I shouldn't assume Dimande was doing something bad? I prayed he was right.

"Yes," I confirmed, my voice steady. He nodded his head.

"It's true," he said soberly. "Rubeus and I were in the River of Souls. We were floating there after we died many years ago. That is, until a few weeks ago."

"What happened?"

He slouched in his chair and raised his leg, placing his right ankle on top of his left knee and cradling his head in his hand almost as if he were exasperated. "When you're a soul, you still know yourself. You still understand the things in which you've done. You just can't go back and change them."

I straightened. What did he mean by that?

"We were separated from the others," he continued. "And in order for us to find our way back to one another, we needed help."

"Do you mean your brother? And Esmeraude?"

"Yes," he nodded. "And the rest of the Black Moon Clan. I met a man in the river who said he could help me, as long as I helped him."

I tried to recall what I could remember about Wiseman. The circumstances seemed oddly familiar: A desperate prince trying to do right by his family and his followers; a strange man lurking in the shadows. The things Dimande did were not ignorable offenses: Shrouding a city in black magic and threatening to hurt countless people are often unforgivable things.

Somehow, though, I was starting to see the glimmer of light in him.

But could Dimande be fooled twice? Wiseman portrayed himself as nothing more than a mystic sent to help Dimande out of the "goodness" of his heart, when in reality he was a form of Chaos. Dimande had to be more suspicious of this new, unnamed foe, right?

"And what did he want in return?" I asked cautiously, knowing what the answer was.

Dimande stared at me, his eyes crushing in a possessiveness that sent a shiver down my spine.

"He wanted the silver millennium crystal."

"To take it from me?" I asked.

"No," Dimande said. "For you to use it on his behalf."

Dimande had always been forthright with me about that aspect of our arrangement. But naively, I figured that he needed the crystal to do deeper magic. I figured he would take it from me. I was not anticipating that his plan involved forcing me to work for someone else—a stranger that I'd never met before. It was presumptuous to assume I would allow any sort of plan like that to happen.

Rage seethed into me, and I felt oddly hurt. It stung like a quick whip—white hot and deep, searing me in a way that I had never felt before. My heart twisted and I was filled with an uncharacteristic hollowness. I did not want him to betray me. And yet, I was merely a conduit to him. My skin prickled with anger.

"So you agreed to get it for him?" My hands clenched into fists and I tried to stop myself from shaking. "To capture me and to take it from me?"

"Don't be so quick to cast judgement," his voice was soft, almost as if he could feel the indignation boiling through my blood. "I told him I knew who had it, and that I might be able to help him use some of its power, but believe me when I say it was never part of my plan to simply use it and discard you."

Discard. I didn't like that word.

"And what does he want with it?" I tried easing my shoulders, but I could still feel the tenseness running through me. I had to remain calm. As much as I wanted to scream and shout at him, or to possibly lash out with a strike of my hand, I couldn't let Dimande see how much this was affecting me. Escaping here unscathed meant I had to keep my cool.

He let out a little laugh and then grabbed his cup of wine. He sighed, took a long sip, and then placed it back down to the table. All the while, his eyes never left me.

"What do all men want with power, Usagi?"

Again, it shot through me. The betrayal. The duplicity. My stomach tightened and I choked down the lump forming in my throat. He was still bowing to evil. How could he be so irresponsible? Especially after everything he had already lost.

"How could you fall for something like that again?" My voice quivered. "Just another evil man using you—using me—for their own selfish reasons."

"So what if it's selfish?" He said, rising from the table in exasperation. He gripped the back of the chair, then released it to begin pacing. I sat there in silence watching him. Each furtive step he took was dripping in pain, almost as if he was considering running away. He pulled his arms up, letting them rest at the back of his neck as his fingers interlaced with his beautiful strands of hair.

His broad chest rose and fell with steady, calming breaths. Finally, he turned to look at me. His face was searching for something in mine.

"I am finally trying to right a wrong, Usagi," he said. "I am trying to be a better man."

"You can't be a better man if you're still engaging with evil." Now I was standing, my feet instinctively heading toward him. "How do you know this person's true intentions? How do you know this isn't going to blow up in your face?"

He bridged the gap between us and placed his hand on the table. He was leaning into me, looking down into my eyes.

"I don't know that, but I have to try."

All I could see was desperation battering his soul, churning like a darkened sea. His brow contorted and he tried to hide his face from me. Dimande had made many mistakes in his life and it was clear he was trying to do something to fix those, but he seemed so lost. Pain emanated from his body as if he could only hold back the floodgates for so long, and my heart gave way. He was a broken man who wanted to be whole again, but the only way he knew to do it was to turn to evil.

I fought my instinct to reach out in comfort, to run my hands across his face and bring him in closer to try and heal him. It's what I would do with any of my friends. But the thought of doing it to him seemed wildly inappropriate. My chest tightened and my breathing became heavy. As we stood there motionless, I was so aware of him and how big his body was. Nearly a whole foot taller than me, his shoulders ran like the ridge of a powerful mountain. My fingers ached in my own hand and an insatiable heat bloomed in my stomach. His mere presence was like a euphoric drug. When I looked up, he was staring down at me underneath heady eyes inviting me to drink him in.

The image of Mamoru popped into my mind. Desire was replaced by shame, and I drew back. The movement was so sudden it took him off guard, and he shifted away and stood up straight.

I took in two deep breaths to steady myself and tried to hide the flood of red that had rushed to my face.

"It's wrong." Was I talking about Dimande's plan, or something else entirely? His nostrils flared.

"What would you have me do? Aren't you the one constantly proselytizing about the power of love?" He reached out his hands and grabbed mine, pulling me in closer once again. "This is my redemption. I was the one who led my people astray. I was the one who caused the deaths of my brother, and of Rubeus and Esmeraude. It is I who looks in the mirror each morning ramshackled with guilt."

I believed him.

"Then you can find another way."

"This is the only way," he said quietly. "I finally use my influence to revive my brother—a brother who I have so wronged, one who I am desperate to try and reunite with—and yet that isn't a good enough plight for you."

I blinked. The pity I felt for him was drying up, replaced by a bit of annoyance. If he wanted to win my sympathy, this was surely not the way. I pulled my hands out of his and stepped back.

"If you have to side with evil to accomplish it, then yes." I tried my best to hide my frustration.

"The end justifies the means, Usagi." He was getting louder. "You think you're so much more pious than I—that you're pure of heart through and through. But don't look me in the eyes and tell me that you've never had the desire to draw blood, that every decision you've made has always been of pure heart."

"I have never felt like that," I said. "Not once in my life have I—"

"You're human," he interrupted. "Jealousy and vengeance and hatred are human emotions. Don't lie to me that you've never felt it."

Of course I had felt those things, but I had never let them blind my fight against evil. Had I?

"There has to be another way to revive your brother," I offered, desperate to steer him away from this plan. "What about Queen Serenity? I'm sure she would hear you out."

"She is nothing but a snake," he said, his words like venom. "I have heard through the River of Souls what she has done. Anyone associated with the Black Moon Clan was cast out years ago, forced to be exiles once more. We are banned from Crystal Tokyo, she shows no mercy for us. She is always prattling off about the healing powers of love, and yet she won't extend that courtesy to my people who were led astray by an evil wizard. I was good once, Usagi. I was good and kind. I had a pure heart. But I was deceived. I am but a man—an imperfect one—and all of my devotion to the crown was apparently worth nothing."

"You betrayed her," I said. "Of course she would do what she did."

"It was a necessary evil," he responded flatly. "If you thought someone was manipulating you, would you not try and fight against it? Is that not what you're doing now?"

I shuddered. What a bastard he was for turning this on me. Of course I was going to fight against him right now. He had shown me time and time again what kind of darkness he was capable of, and once again had kidnapped me to use for his own devices.

Whatever sympathy I had for him dried up. I was done trying to help someone who was unwilling to do the right thing.

"You're an evil man," I said in disgust. "You will always be an evil man."

"Would you like me more if I was like your boyfriend?" He smiled, his lips curling deviously as he bared his teeth. "Wholesome and good?"

Mamo. My heart skipped a beat thinking of him again. Why had I broken up with him? Was this my punishment for running away from something good? Dimande must've caught my hesitation. He let out a roaring laugh.

"Trouble in paradise?" His smile grew even more wicked. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"Mamoru is twice the man you'll ever be," I spit back.

"That might be so, but don't lie to me about what you feel," he said. "You like to think the world is so black and white—good and bad—and now you're starting to realize that maybe it isn't."

He moved around me, vulture-like and hungry, his eyes cascading up and down as if he were inspecting a specimen.

"Let me guess," he pursed his lips. "The perfect boyfriend isn't so perfect? Everyone moved on and left you behind? You feel as if you're drifting against the nothingness and are longing to feel?"

"It's not like that," I said unconvincingly.

"Oh?"

"He is perfect," I retorted. "He is smart and kind and loyal-"

"All good things—for a dog," Dimande laughed.

"He and I are destined for each other," I felt my cheeks flare. I swallowed hard. "We chose the path of good and love. We chose the path of justice. He will always stand by me no matter what."

"Is that why you stormed out of his apartment so late at night?"

Shock gripped me. He saw that? But how? How did he…

"I was waiting for the perfect moment to capture you," he purred, as if reading my mind. "I couldn't help but overhear."

"That was private!" I shouted. My heart was beating in my chest and anxiety rippled through me. I felt violated and disgusted. He had known this whole time.

"It was," he said matter-of-factly. "But it shows how much you and I can relate. Clearly you can see that even good men are flawed. I am a man, just as he is, who let something get in the way of what he truly desires. The difference between him and I, though, is that I won't squander this opportunity to right a wrong—I will take what I want."

My head was spinning. The air in the room was so heavy I felt like I was drowning. Slowly, my stomach churned, and I could feel the reverberation of my emotions clawing at me: Sadness, confusion, anger. They were burning in me as strong as a wildfire, each emotion a different color flame licking my rib cage.

"I'm sure he came after me, eventually." I said it as if I was trying to get myself to believe it. "I know he did."

"But even so," Dimande's voice was low, "That was after how many times of taking you for granted?"

He grabbed my hands once more, but I was too weak to push him away. His pale hands cupped over mine and he used his thumbs to rub gently across my knuckles.

"I just need you to help me right a wrong," he whispered, his lips painstakingly close to mine. "I don't want to use you only to discard you. I will protect you if you agree to help me."

Part of me wanted to relent. If Dimande truly did want to make things right, there had to be a way to do it. Maybe I could meet with this strange man, see what his desires were, assess how much of a foe he would become if left to his own devices. Or perhaps I could find a way to do it on my own: Appeal to Queen Serenity or find a way to use my power to help them in this century.

But something pulled me back. Dimande was not a man I could trust, and when he held me close like this, it made my entire body ache. I could give him what he wanted, but at what cost?

"I'll never give you the crystal."

His shoulders rolled and his posture curved. He released my hands but his eyes never left mine. Behind them was a deep hurt, one compounded by years of false hope and betrayals. What was worse was the regret that I felt. I couldn't give him the crystal, I knew I couldn't, but a small part of me wanted to.

He stepped away from me, casting his gaze downward and turned his back. As he walked toward the door, his fingers traced the edge of the cold table, stopping as he did at the head seat. Without looking at me, he spoke.

"Fine," he said. "But don't say I didn't warn you."