A/N: I was hoping to get this out much faster than I have, so I apologize. Thank you for reading and thank you to Era of Apollo for your kind words, I really do appreciate you for taking the time to read this!
It was early morning, the sunlight bouncing off the tops of the dried grass, warm save for the refreshing breeze that passed through her hair, cooling the back of her neck as she sat with her legs stretched out before her, her hands in her lap, hunched over slightly, forgetting decorum within this small sanctum of reprieve. The field seemed to stretch on forever, tall and golden, swallowed in the distance by the rising sun. A weight shifted and resettled against her back, making her hunch forward a little further, not uncomfortably so. She smiled as she felt the back of their held head settle against her own, relaxing her body in turn.
"Sometimes I still cannot believe the trouble I have gotten myself into."
There was no response, only the feel of their breathing, a comfort in itself.
"I'm unsure of what I've stumbled upon but I don't believe I'll ever see you again."
"Is this your analysis or are you feeling sorry for yourself?"
There was no need to lie, not to him; he would recognize it for what it was in an instant.
"Both." She sighed, long and exhausted.
"Not everything can be anticipated. You're in an environment in which you are rendered powerless. Sometimes the only thing you can do is bid your time and do whatever is necessary to survive."
"That seems remarkably cowardly…"
"I disagree. Sometimes people become comfortable when they believe they've already won. It is then, in their perceived triumph, that they relinquish their weaknesses."
His advice was sound, inspiring. She was beginning to feel a small granule of hope, the more she mulled it over. Her back was warming with his body heat and she did not wish to leave it.
"Why is it your heart seeks my council rather than your husbands?"
Her breath came out as a shudder, the weight of her response heavy," I fear I have no space within his own heart. I cannot help but wonder if my absence affords him the life he wishes he could lead."
It sounded so pitiable, even to her own ears but it was honest and if there was anyone should could ever divulge every thought and feeling to, it would be him.
"Take heart, my girl. He might surprise you yet," her father murmured, his voice and form fading.
She awoke then, tears streaming from her eyes.
It was night.
It was quiet.
But she felt a little less helpless and warmed inside by the small sense of comfort the dream had evoked.
There was a dull roar that resounded in the background, its echo's hours old as more than half the night had passed, and the desert rains were heavy against the buried fortress. She now sat on a cold stone step upon the grand staircase in front of the main hall in the dark, a small blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the words from the phantom within her dream resembling her father circling listlessly about her mind.
Her bare feet welcomed the coolness from the stone beneath them, soothing, as thunder rumbled above, long and low before it dissipated and the song of the storm drummed on. Relaxing into the lull of the night, movement within her peripheral vision caught her attention and she angled her head in order to see the lord of the residence with his hand on the edge of the balcony above and aloft, his other hand at his temple.
She went unnoticed as he walked along the hall in the dark, stopping to a wall to press his head against it, causing her to tilt her head in curiosity. For a moment, it almost looked as if he was trying to grind his skull into the structure. Straining to crane her neck to keep him in her view began to inflame the muscles in her back so she called out to him.
"Are you alright? "She asked, not with any concern in her voice.
He did not jump but the way his body stilled concealed that he had been unaware he had not been alone. Turning to her, an eyebrow raised in question, whether at her posture, her state of undress, the late hour, or possibly all three, she did not know.
"Are you unwell?"
"N-…Yes…, "his words were halting and spoken from restrained pain.
She was a little taken aback he had even admitted as much. He walked to the edge of the balcony, peering down at her, "What are you doing?"
"I couldn't sleep," she answered plainly.
"Hnn…"
He walked along the balustrade until he reached the opening to the wide stone stairs, peering down at her momentarily before his features shifted, as if coming to a decision, and began making his way down them until he reached her. He settled on the cold floor of the step next to her, a space of a foot between them, the storm above becoming monotonous. With his elbows on his thighs, he rested his head within his hands.
"You have a headache, "she observed quietly, "and pain relievers do not help."
He lifted his head in surprise before he winced once more.
"My father is the same, "she explained, years of experience dictating she keep her voice low," His reading and research strains his eyes."
"And what does your dear father to do alleviate his malady?"
"Ah…" Hilda considered, looking about her person before settling on her idea. Gesturing to her lap, she scooted further from him, "Rest your head here."
"Whatever for?"
"My aunt always administered a massage for my father. It circulates blood flow and relaxes the tension within the muscles."
"Would this not be better done in a bedroom?"
Which was the very reason she had come to this solution, not wanting to be alone within him in her chambers ever again.
"I do not intend to labor over you for hours, this will be but a quick thing," She pointed back to her lap, waiting.
With a little hesitation, he eased himself down, turning and laying her head per her demand, his fingers slipping over one another as he rested his hands below his chest. With all her garments missing but her nightgown, he could feel the heat of her thighs through the thin material.
"You really are rather small."
She clicked her tongue in reproach, shifting the blanket on her shoulders so that it wouldn't slip.
"And this is damned uncomfortable." The contrast of her body heat to the cold of the stone step beneath his back was not a compliment to contrast.
She momentarily toyed with the thought of using his posture of imbalance to fling him down below, but perished it quickly enough lest a smile overcome her face. She blew into her hands to warm them before touching the sulking man, his hair cascading about them both, soft and light despite the breadths of it.
She was just about to bring her fingertips to his temples before he spoke again.
"It benefits you none to do this."
He would think that way. It was in his nature to be so suspicious, she was learning.
"As it benefits me none if anything severe would to happen to your person. I cannot navigate myself off this continent as much as I wish it. If I am to be returned home, it would be due to your generosity or that I am found. So, for now, please hush and simply be grateful, lest I change my mind."
She placed the tips of her fingers to his flesh and deftly began massaging, easing and coaxing his features into one devoid of pain, his shoulders suddenly relaxing as he gave under her ministrations. After several minutes, she changed her focus and slipped her fingers within his hair, massaging the scalp, eliciting a sigh from him as she did so.
She almost paused at the sound, looking back to his face to realize his eyes had become closed, her face warming slightly at the wonder at how easily he could charm someone. His breathing evened out and the lines from his forehead and beneath his eyes smoothed away, the delicately drawn henna on his lids fully visible, even in the dark.
Her fingers worked beneath his hair, the silver wisps slipping over her knuckles as she worked into his scalp, making sure not to entangle herself within it.
"Is it helping any?"
"Immensely," he sounded grateful for once.
"Did your mother never do this for you?"
His body stilled and she silently cursed herself. It was increasingly difficult to steer their conversations to "safe" ground as she never knew what was considered "prying" and what he was more than happy to converse about.
"I do not have a mother."
The words were cryptic but it didn't matter. Even when he was speaking jovially, that aura of hate was always lurking beneath the surface, quick to lash out whenever given the chance, whether by his control or not, she was unsure. He didn't give her a chance to change the subject or appeal further before he decided to poke into her wounds.
"Do you do this for your husband?"
"Yes, on some occasions, I have."
"Do you miss him?"
"…I do."
"Do you believe he misses you?"
"I- "
The contents of her dream resurfaced.
Sometimes people become comfortable when they believe they've already won. It is then, in their perceived triumph, that they relinquish their weaknesses.
"I fear that perhaps my absence has given him something he has longed for," she said quietly.
She felt claws clutching into her heart to say it and her pride shook to reveal to this man her inner feelings but dream or no dream, she believed her father's words were sound advice.
His body relaxed once more and her feelings turned from hurt to interest.
She could hear the mean grin in his voice.
"Whatever would you do if you're right? I imagine your nasty little trick would have him reconsider chasing after you."
His eyes opened then, looking up at her, "You're a clever woman, and prettier than most. Why is it that you cannot keep his interest?"
How easy it would be to move backwards to watch his pretty skull crack into the stone beneath them.
"From what I've heard, all his escapades are all with your run of the mill common girls. Plain little Mary's that cannot be discerned from the next, not like you, Hilda."
She removed her hands from his head, unsure of how to respond to his malicious teasing.
"Or is it that you cannot execute a proper seduction?"
"My favors are not so cheap like those-"
"Not at all, "he cut her off, his hand quick in the air to grasp one of her own, bringing it down to the side of his face as he watched her," I'm confident that if you exerted only a little effort, you would have him enslaved."
Her anger paused, his words piquing her interest.
"How so?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Have him do this for you, "he gestured up at her, "a massage. Just as we are now. Place him in a position where his movements are limited by your commands."
"Am I to bat my lashes and giggle?"
"You're a serious woman, Hilda. Be serious."
And then the grin was replaced with intent as his eyes locked onto hers, turning his face to her hand, his tongue flicking out across the pulse in her wrist, the action making her jump in surprise, but he held on to her hand firmly.
Smoothly, he brought a fingertip to his lips, licking before bringing it to his mouth, his teeth latching onto the small thing, sinking into the flesh softly but deep.
She shivered.
All at once, he released her and rose, his hand falling on her shoulder as he bent down, looking into her bewildered face, "And he would be but all yours to control within your bed. Take that lesson as payment for your remedy. "
Leaving her swiftly, he was gone but in a moment. She reflected upon his demonstration, unable to move quite yet.
She imagined Cid's eyes clouded with lust, begging her, craving her, asking for permission…
Her cheeks flushed and she stood, turning to make her way to her own chambers, admonishing herself all while indulging in the fantasies the mage had encouraged her to evoke.
With a flourish of the quill, he signed his name upon three separate sheets of paper, the only thing beautiful about his handwriting. It was the very first word he had ever learned to write and in his younger years, he had painstakingly poured as much effort into this one task as he had with his secondary level spells at the time, recognition of his identity, imprinting a part of himself in the small way that an adolescent could.
Handwriting and the skills of penmanship had not been amongst the lessons given to him by his master, all resources of data were input and received through holographic projectors, monitors, and digital keys, only the occasional printed books housed reverently here and there, echoes of a time long gone. Upon Gaia there were more Terran books than Garland owned, housed within the ghosts of leftover structures hidden among the other continents from the previously failed assimilation. It had been on Gaia where he had learned to "write" and relay information accordingly.
Amongst the letters were instructions for his plant in Dali, another checking in with King and the review of his accounts, and the last for Beatrix to expect his return in two weeks time. Sealing all three letters, he signaled to his puppet to hand the missives off to a moogle.
He wondered at the world wide stretch of Mognet and how yet the populace of the Mist Continent had allowed themselves to be so ignorant of the majority of the world they resided in. Despite the lack of sentient creatures among the rest of the lands, there were still so many wonders and secrets hidden within its geography that had they been properly explored and analyzed, Gaia would have had a fighting chance against Garland's machinations. There were clues aplenty hidden among the planet, had they been more aggressive, the Iifa tree would have been snuffed out long ago, dissipating the Mist and its influence upon the people within it and the Guardians silenced, the passage to Terra blocked and barred from inciting destruction once more.
Despite the content of his letters, moogles were by far the best couriers, not only for their speed and efficient system, but they were secretive creatures by nature. Despite their guilty pleasure of gossiping, they were steadfast about the protection of their messages in general. The scarecrow like thing left, leaving the genome alone to his thoughts.
He reflected on his early days in Gaia, his many observations and self-coaching in the way of imitation and mimicry, the effort he expended in removing his accent from his words and adapting to another one altogether, choosing one spoken among the privileged set, as if he too was born amongst them, a cultured thing. Men and women alike had called him "pretty" and in no time, he was being invited into their homes, a special guest that amused with simple displayed spells within a parlor, a well read gentlemen that could enliven a room of scholars, and a courtesan within several exclusive beds that garnered him information by the tons. It was through such networking that he had met King and the two of them would conspire amongst the lot of them.
His master may disapprove of his methods, even deeming them illogical, but he doubted any of his creations could accomplish what he himself had done. And it was only the beginning. He wouldn't have to always be like this, in the service of others, always smiling, placating, reliable, and pleasing. In but the upcoming months ahead, he would soon be his own master, a ruler among worlds. He could taste his creator's demise; liken it to the smog and ash of hellfire. Him along with others. Only those he decided worthy would remain within his new domain.
Sighing into the room, he thought to his current plans, deciding it best to settle down before he got too excited. They would be leaving for Condie Petie in over a week. He thought it might be best to leave the airship out of view from the small town, unsure as to people living within it, whether they could be useful to him later or something he should be weary of. Hilda didn't cower before him like a frightened thing but it was obvious that she now understood her place, leading him to believe she would give him no troublers upon their excursion. Leaning back into his chair, his head facing the ceiling, he closed his eyes, opting for a short rest before deciding on preparations for the trip.
Readjusting a slipping pin from her hair, Hilda stopped at the strange sight within the main hall, perplexed. Two black mages were peering down at a third that was sitting upon the floor, hunched over with its back turned to her, a jerking movement within its right shoulder, heavy and unsteady.
This was the most interactive she had ever seen them be with one another, their awareness amongst their own only seen in the form of transferring of tasks. Such a simple thing and yet so far removed from their "norm". Making to move forward, her body halted at the sound that met her ears.
A voice.
She knew they could speak, had seen it albeit never heard it. This relinquished secret was more than she could bear, her feet carrying her toward the one sitting on the floor, boggled by what he could possibly be doing that would take the interest of his brothers and set his mouth in motion.
When she was upon them, the two standing did not even bother to acknowledge her presence, so absorbed were they in the actions of the mage sitting down below, his feet thrown out before him, his focus on the thing within his lap.
Like being doused in ice cold water, she couldn't stop the shudder that danced upon her spine, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. Letter's had been tossed asunder on the floor and within the mage's lap was a convulsing creature, a moogle, crimson blood bubbling from its mouth, gargling incoherently, struggling to relieve itself of its captor. The mage held it by the throat with one thick gloved hand, it's other crashing down against its skull in a heavy, clumsy "pet", muttering the same word over and over as it cradled the poor thing in its lap.
"Pretty…."
"Turn it loose!" she cried out, the command loud and horrified," You're killing him!"
As if snapping out of the trance they had been in, the other two turned to look at her, but neither made any move to stop their sibling. She lunged for his arm, trying with all her might to stop him from hitting the creature again, "I said let go. Let go now!"
With a quick shove, she was sent crashing into the stone beneath her, hitting her head against the cold surface, crying out. The other two men watched in open curiosity at the play of events before them, still and quiet, their eyes wide with wonder.
Quickly making to stand, she turned back to the sitting black mage, moving once more to save the little thing from his grasp, her head pulsing. She whispered Break, the words rushing from her lips, watching thankfully as the short man stilled, and running around his body to pull the creature away from his person. Reaching toward his lap, she suddenly gasped, strong fingers wrapping about her throat, shoving her backwards and onto her backside, her weak spell broken in an instant. Something flickering and dangerous sparked between his fingers were her neck had been but a moment before, pointing toward her, her eyes widening in realization of the spell forming there.
A hand clasped upon the inside of her arm, lifting her from the floor, pulling her behind them in one quick speedy motion, shielding her with their body. Kuja. Her hands unconsciously pulled at the fabric at his back, standing on tip toes to wearily peer over his armored shoulder at the danger before them, clearly shook.
The black mage stood at the new threat before him, the moogle lifeless, its body hanging limply by its neck within it hand. His eyes turned to crescents, menacing, as his spell strengthened in the face of his master. The other mages backed away, still watching but not partaking in the anarchy before them.
"What is happening?!" she demanded quietly.
The silver head in front her turned slightly in her direction but said nothing, keeping his eyes on the danger before them.
With a cast the likes she had never seen before, the fire's intensity grew in seconds, the level something she had only heard as stories of times gone by. With ferocity, it hurled a whirlwind of flames at the two of them, a blazing inferno, so hot even sound could not escape its destructive prowess.
"Stay behind me," Kuja commanded, his arm thrown out as an impenetrable shield, much like a wall, constructed itself from his fingers, meeting the flames in the nick of time, and the sound of the clash was deafening. Reaching within itself, another spell was quickly being summoned forth by the angry form before them, but her captor never hesitated.
So close together, she could hear the words on his lips, the spell unfamiliar, but the aftermath the stuff of nightmares.
"Flare Star…"
Out of her peripheral vision, she watched as the other two mages fled. She felt a surge of magic the likes of which she had never heard of, the buildup buffering her skirts and it raced around them and accumulated to a choking degree, building and pulling until like fireworks, energy shot off in all directions before succumbing to one another again, orbs of concentrated matter encircling the lone prey, creating a vacuum for the blast. Unable to take her eyes away, she watched as the rage of the spell overtook him, shook him, his body nothing but a ragdoll as the blasts exploded against him again and again, and until there was nothing left but wisps of cloth. Even the moogle's body had been disintegrated along with its torturer. She gasped when the air returned to the room, everything culminating rapidly and violently. Her head fell forward against the tall man, clenching her eyes shut as she buried her face in his hair, trembling.
What was that?!
"Are you alright?"
She nodded jerkily, her eyes still closed, her body like lead. It did not want to move on her command.
"Was he malfunctioning?"
She opened her eyes, lifting herself to look at the back of his head.
"Malfunctioning?! He was a living organism, not a machine, he-"
"What was that thing he was holding?" he cut her off, his voice sounding disinterested but she could hear the undertone of something else lurking beneath his words.
"A m-moogle," she stuttered, afraid and little girl-like, "He was "petting" it. Or trying to."
She could see the discomfort within him in the way he rolled his shoulders, signaling for her to release him. Letting go, she stepped back and her knees buckled. He turned and caught her, his arm around her waist, her hands grasping onto what she could to steady herself. His eyes moved back and forth between hers, her emotions clear on her face, undisguised.
"He's gone now. What are you so afraid of?"
You.
She dared not say it aloud. It was the first time she had witnessed a proper display a magic from him since he had healed her on their first encounter. She had long suspected he had been capable of the unimaginable, of being able to produce both white and black magic, a feat not even mentioned in fairytales. But what she had seen here would haunt her in all her days to come, she was certain of it.
What a fool she had been. A terrible, unknowing little fool. She never had a chance of besting a being such as him. What power! And Alexander help those who ever dared to come across him.
An acquaintance and guest to all the best houses! And not a one had any idea the supernova that was contained in one beautiful, clever, scarily frightening vessel. How did one come across such strength? And where was the need? What was an armada to a spell the likes of which she had just seen? Her head was spinning.
"Hilda?"
He shook her slightly in question, the strength leaving her in waves.
"I would ask you what is happening but I know you will not answer," her voice came out weak, "So if I might impose and ask that you help me to my room, I need to lie down." Never had she asked such a thing of him but she knew she would never make it back on her own and she would not ask the other residences of the palace as the fear she had always had for them had intensified to another magnitude.
Hoisting her up smoothly, he complied silently, slipping another arm under her knees as he climbed the main stairs. He had deposited her gentleman-like into her bed when they reached her room, promising a delivery of refreshments from one of the "servants". He watched her, the seconds ticking by before he left, his mind becoming obviously occupied with something more important than her wellbeing. She shuddered once the door closed, brining her hands to her eyes, wanting to scream eternally. She couldn't despair in hopelessness but she swore this place, this man, would swallow her whole.
Sometimes the only thing you can do is bid your time and do whatever is necessary to survive.
And that was all she could do.
Survive…
It took her over a day to calm her panic, repeating the content of her dream like a mantra. Spending the day staring at maps of the outer continent, she retired for the evening into one of the sitting rooms. What started out as a game of solitaire turned into a game of whist as her "host" had happened upon her, taking a seat and joining her at her invitation. Entertainment was hard to come by and she was weary of the dark nature of her thoughts in her long hours.
"What is the scope of your relationship with Artania?"
"Could we perhaps make this a little more fair by exchanging answers for questions in turn?" She looked to her cards, appraising them.
"No. But I will reward you with one answer to a question if you can best me at this game." He took a card from his set and placed it on the table.
"How magnanimous of you. Done, I accept. As for your current question, it's nothing as exciting or perhaps as perverse as you might wish it to be."
"Which means?"
"He is my best friend," she supplied simply, assessing his move.
"And you've never thought to-"
"Of course not!" she sniffed primly," Not all women are like your Treno doxies. Although we've clearly exposed my failures within my marriage bed, it does not mean I would turn an eye to another." Her tone was bitter and annoyed.
"I don't think that is the issue you have with your husband. Your traits are such that you master anything you are taught skillfully in. Your Artania has taught you much, perhaps there is one more lesson he would have endeavored to teach you had you asked."
"Are your thoughts naturally perverted or do you just like to make me uncomfortable?"
"Both! And I won't charge for that answer." His voice was sing-song, amused.
"And your father and aunt. Are they not together?" His eyebrow rose, pausing in his move," They sound quite close and given the intimacy in which she is administering massages, it would be a marvel if they are withholding themselves."
"You really are a lecher for gossip. You've clearly enjoyed the talk in too many parties."
"I won't deny it."
She sighed, giving in, trying to not lose the game to his distraction.
"Although I doubt one has ever told the other, they are very much in love with one another. I imagine they abstain from their feelings because my aunt looks so much like my mother that perhaps she wonders who it is my father is looking to whereas my father fears betraying my mother."
"But it's not unnatural for a widow to remarry, much less take a lover."
"Indeed, but my aunt is not just any woman, she's my father's wife's younger sister."
"Ah!" He nodded his understanding. He thought about it, his fingers resting on his chin," It could be awfully romantic in a certain setting."
She laughed at that despite herself," Yes, I could see how it could."
"And were they to eventually succumb to their desires, you would not mind?" He looked thoughtful, not teasing, his cards in one hand, his other hand overlapping it as he rested his chin atop them, his elbows at the table.
She watched him, marveling at the strangely relaxed atmosphere that she was unaccustomed to.
"No, not at all. I don't remember my mother. And my aunt has always been there for my father and I. I simply wish for their mutual happiness should they take that step."
He sat back, still watching her, the game forgotten for a time.
"I usually find such proclamations repugnant and boring. You can clearly read the superior attitude in those that fake maturity in order to curry favor. But you really mean it."
"I love them." She shrugged, not knowing how to be any clearer.
"Indeed…"
It was spoken so plainly, without an ulterior motives or conditions.
"So even though she isn't your mother, there is still a biological connection that keeps you close." He murmured thoughtfully, his voice becoming quiet.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Something in the ease in which she said it took him aback. She wasn't even looking at him but at her cards but her brows was knit into a frown.
"My relationship with my loved ones is simply a result of the environment in which I was raised in. It is through my interactions with them through the years that I have chosen to love them in the manner that I do."
"Chosen? But you just said you are the product of their cultivation."
That got her attention. Flicking her eyes up, she noticed she had his full attention, a feat she was sure she had never accomplished before. He was extremely interested in what she had to say.
"The way in which I speak, the foods that I'm accustomed to, and some of the habits that I keep are cultivated through my upbringing, however if I was simply a cut-out of my father's and aunt's image, wouldn't I just be nothing more than a clone? I am myself. An individual. I can just as easily choose whom I love as I can envision their demise. I have cousins aplenty that I often fantasized cutting ties with in the most immature way possible as a child, blood or not. My father and aunt did not pass on my sense of love and loyalty, they earned it."
His mouth parted slightly and she laid her last card down.
"And the game is mine, sir. My reward?"
He blinked several times, coming out of the trance he was under, looking to the table to see she had indeed bested him. So drawn in by what she was saying he never even noticed her clever work right under his nose.
"Very well. Ask your question."
"With no consequences?" An eyebrow rose.
He met her eyes and despite the teasing note in her voice, her features were serious. He stared for a few minutes before inclining his head in agreement.
"Are you an orphan?"
His eyes slid closed, unsure of whether to laugh or curse her. He was sure she had thought her question safe enough; merely a yes or no would suffice in any normal case. But for him it brought a tidal wave of information that he did not know how to relay. He was a skilled liar, he was proud of that fact. But she was a politician, cleverer than most, and he wondered if she would detect anything amiss if he tried to conceal the truth with a falsehood. It should matter not either way, but he had played the game as an equal and had intended to reward her properly.
However, once all was said and done, there would be nothing she could do to stop him once everything was set into motion, should he choose to release her. But he always thought it best to keep his cards close to himself, as it were, lest his plans go awry.
He opted for an explanation as close to the truth as he would divulge without giving anything away.
"No, I am not an orphan nor do I have parents."
She stared back at him, but didn't press further. He realized he was waiting for it too, his shoulders stiff in anticipation.
"Alright," she said slowly, nodding, her eye's roving over him, making him shift uncomfortably.
"What?"
"Hmm…With all the fantastical things I've experienced within these two months combined with your flair for the dramatic, I'm half convinced you might just tell me you're something otherworldly altogether."
He stilled, knowing she didn't realize how close to home she had just hit, but surprised none the less.
"Either way, it's a pity. I was thinking you probably looked like your mother."
He felt a sudden sharp prick his chest, a feeling he had no name for, making him feel conflicted.
"Any why would you make that assumption?"
She couldn't help but to roll her eyes," Come now, don't make me say it. I am certain you've heard it excessively in as many years as you've been breathing!"
"What?" he ground out, finding it hard to take control of the twist in the conversation and the strange and uncomfortable way it was making him feel.
"You're prepossessing. And you know it. You're not unaccustomed to being the center of an admirer's gaze." She looked disgusted to say it, shuffling the cards to set another game.
He blinked, her response not taking the direction he had anticipated.
He laughed, whether genuinely, she was unsure, but his shoulders shook from the exuberance of it. She eyed him wearily; his mood swings a thing of nightmares.
But all seemed alright as he resumed their new game, a small twist at the corner of his lips as they carried on in silence.
After a quarter of an hour passed, shifting cards accordingly, he struck up conversation once more.
"All this talk of mother's as of late…why have you not had any children yourself?"
There was no barb in his words, merely a query.
She paused briefly in her move before setting a card down, a mixture of guilt and shame creeping upon her," I do not cycle regularly. My physician advised that I might grow out of the condition but I never have."
"Truly? Then what does the Regent intend to do about an heir?"
His questions hinted at a fear she had locked within her for several years, something haunting and lurking, always in the back of her mind. She dreaded a day when a discarded mistress set foot within her domain, holding the product of her husband's betrayal, an offering of a future and hope Hilda had failed to give. She wouldn't be able to bear it. The violent pain, the utter humiliation, the absolute love that would be in her husbands' eyes for a child begotten by another. She would never be able to breathe again.
"One will be chosen, inducting them into the family register. Whether they are a child or an adult, we will know only when we decide and when we feel it is right, "she recited the promise made between Cid and herself.
Setting his hand down, the room quiet, he captured her gaze, gesturing to his win," It is my game this round, Hilda."
She nodded in agreement, reshuffling in turn.
"Your question, sir?"
A solitary trunk was packed and loaded onto her husband's airship and her nerves were set ablaze. Her mind battled back and forth between the relief of reprieve from her incarceration to the fear of her upcoming betrayal to her husband. And in full circle, she wondered at the opportunity to travel to a new land she had never even heard of to the worry of what the discovering of the unknown had brought upon her these last few months.
Travelling to this town called Condie Petie, she prayed she would make it back safely.
A/N: Now on to tweak chapter eight now and then I can move along with chapter ten. Thank you everyone for putting up with my crazy revision project!