Chapter 9

1950, Vienna

Lena pushed the bile down as his hand slid a little lower than what was considered decent for such a public setting.

"Monsieur!" She smiled and scolded him in French with faux modesty. The key was to be loose enough to inspire such actions but to project enough modesty to show that nothing more would happen without significant persuasion. Men were more likely to let information slip when they were off-balanced, and Lena was very good at making men off-balanced.

In response to her sultry French, of which he understood nothing—he being some mid-ranked officer of the local regime Little King suspected of having sensitive intel—he moved his hand up her back a fraction of an inch to show compliance while not-so-subtly pulling her closer, making his own wishes clear. Lena was spared from having to issue further warnings by the approach of another soldier. He leaned in close to the Officer and spoke in German. It was a simple, nonsensical greeting, but it was evident that he didn't want to say more around her. Lena made sure to keep her look innocent and naïve as she snuggled into the Officer. Her tactic worked as she knew it would.

"Speak freely," the Officer said in his native tongue, while his hand slid down her back once more. "She's just a dumb French broad."

Lena kept her smile. "Monsieur, eef your friend wants a taste, 'e will 'ave to wait 'is turn." She kept her accent thick and heavy.

"Madame, there will be no sharing tonight."

"Oui," she said. Then she continued in French with her most seductive smile. "You smell like a pig and you make me sick."

The Officer grinned and roughly pulled her even closer so that his lower region was flush against hers. "Hurry this along, Klaus. I have pressing matters to attend to."

Lena laid her head on the Officer's chest while her hand traced lazy patterns on the back of his neck. The Soldier cast a wary eye towards her before delivering his message in German—which Lena was not supposed to understand. The Officer swore and pulled back; Lena made sure her eyes displayed a sense of longing from the withdrawal.

"Madame, I need…" He began in French but it was clear he was struggling to continue. Finally, he settled for their common English tongue. "Leave. I must leave."

"Monsieur, no. Stay wiz me." She had to put up some fight to sell her sincerity.

"I would but I really must leave. It is worse for you I think; oh, the things I would do to that body…" He sucked in a breath as his eyes raked over her form. "But duty calls."

As he walked off, Lena made sure she looked forlorn and disappointed for as long as necessary. Then she turned to look for Little King. He was across the room and at first she passed over him; he was dancing with a blonde made of nothing but legs. Lena felt a knot twist and coil tightly in her stomach at the sight. He looked up, caught Lena's gaze, and left the leggy blonde in an instant. Lena turned and walked away. They met in a secluded hall outside.

"What have you learned?" he asked, leaning against the wall casually.

Lena found it hard to talk due to the knot that had worked its way up to her throat; surely it was a remnant from her proximity to the Officer because what else could it be? She swallowed and forced it down.

"It is as you suspected," she said. He nodded. "They move tomorrow."

"Then our people must move tonight. I'll inform Daniels. How…how are you?"

Lena shrugged. "Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Strucker was groping you."

"It doesn't matter. It's nothing a glass of wine won't wash away. Now, if that is all, I have a glass calling my name." She turned to walk back inside.

"Ileana, wait," Edmund stopped her. "About Celeste, I…"

"Who?" Lena turned around looking confused. Edmund was sure she had seen her.

"Celeste, the girl I was dancing with…"

"Oh. You mean the one with nothing but legs, a dress that was too tight for public decency, and the cheap hair? What of her?" The knot was suddenly back in full force. Strange, Lena thought; washing the Officer away would require something stronger than wine.

"It was nothing," Edmund said looking at Lena curiously. "She was just a cover. It wouldn't have gone anywhere."

"I believe the loo would have been far enough for her to have covered you."

One side of Edmund's mouth quirked up; he thought he knew what this was about now. "There's no need to be jealous."

"I'm not!" she said quickly. "But you…you know she was a *puttana, right? She would have said anything to have you for the night. I should know."

"You are not a puttana, Ileana, and it wouldn't have mattered what she said. It wouldn't have worked on me."

"Unlikely," Lena said, looking off to the side and unable to meet his eyes. Then she added softly, "She was beautiful."

"She's not my type."

"Too tall for you, Little King?" Her eyes snapped back to his.

"Too blonde," Edmund replied.

His eyes didn't leave hers, and Lena had never felt anything like the intensity behind them before. Her breath caught in her throat. The knot in her stomach twisted into something unfamiliar. She couldn't move and she couldn't look away. Slowly, Edmund pushed himself off the wall and stepped towards her. He was closing the distance between them when his eyes caught sight of something over her shoulder. He swore.

"What is it?"

"No! Don't turn around," he said, quickly grabbing her shoulders. "The other soldier, the one that approached you and Strucker."

"Klaus?"

"He's coming this way. He can't see you talking to me; it will blow our cover. We need…"

Edmund was cut off by Lena suddenly kissing him. She spun them around so that she was pressed against the wall, his body flush against hers concealing her entirely from view. They did not kiss with the reckless fumbling of beginners but with the practiced ease of old lovers.

Edmund found it difficult to breathe when Lena finally pulled back. His heart was thumping, his mind racing with thought, with memories. His hands clung to the silk dress about her waist; hers were on his chest, surely she could feel how his heart beat wildly for her. He wanted more. He needed more. One kiss would not satiate him, but…she wasn't ready for that yet. She wasn't ready to know.

"He's gone," she said. Her voice was a breathy whisper and she seemed unable to look at him once again.

So she had not been completely unaffected by their kiss? But she couldn't know what it meant to him. She couldn't know all the years he'd been waiting for this, how he searched for her, how he longed for the day when he would be hers.

"We should move before he returns. It is unwise to risk such a close encounter again," she said.

She couldn't know how he loved her. Not yet.

"You are right," Edmund swallowed. He let her go and stepped back. "I think we have gleaned all we can tonight. I will take you back to the hotel, and then I will touch base with Daniels."

"It will save time if we go to Daniels together."

"NO," he said with more sharpness than intended. "No, I…after this close encounter, we should be together as little as possible. And, besides, you don't like Daniels."

Lena could not refute what he had said, but she couldn't help wondering if there was another reason why he suddenly didn't want her around. Without any suggestion to prove otherwise, she assumed it so he could sneak off to find the leggy blonde afterward. Lena wasn't sure why that irritated her so much.

Narnia

Lena pulled the shawl around her shoulders as she stepped out into the garden. Unlike the abnormally warm day the week prior, this one held the bite of approaching winter. That did not keep Edmund from what had become a near-daily routine. He would find Meri in the morning and they'd spend time in the music room, or on the training grounds, or riding horses, whichever Meri preferred and weather permitted. Then, later in the afternoon, he and Sara would go on some wild adventure together; after which, he and Lena would talk.

Lena wasn't sure what the adventure was this time, but when she found them Edmund was flat on his back on the cold stone while Sara stood over him. Lena smiled at seeing the joy on Sara's face, and when Sara saw her, that joy expanded.

"Mamma!" Sara ran to her, Lena bent down to meet her.

"Oh, Sarina, mi amore. What happened to your dress? And your hands are filthy."

Sara giggled. "I toll' Eddie you wouldn't wike it. But he says that some time dresses get dirty in battle."

Lena's eyes flashed over to Edmund who had propped himself up on his elbows; he was grinning.

"He also said to say 'I wove you' an' all would be forgiven," Sara continued.

Edmund shrugged.

"Ah," Lena said. "Three words I cannot fight." Then she kissed Sara's forehead. "And what were you fighting in battle to get so dirty?"

"The ebil Sara-bus!" Sara pointed excitedly to a corner were Nalsa was "caged" by a ring of dirt. The Wolf sat stoically on her hindquarters.

"A Cerberus? Well, you must have been terribly frightened."

"Princesses don't get fight-end, Mamma!"

"Oh? Well then, you must be the bravest little Princess I have ever known. But even brave little Princesses must eat, and Cook has something very tempting brewing in the kitchen. I smell roast and potatoes, and…"

"Apples? I wan' apples!"

"Hmm, I think so, but first, what must we do?"

Sara bit her lip in thought and Lena had to point it out. "Oh," Sara giggled. "Wash our hands!"

"Yes, wash our hands, and you must change your dress too. Bea, will you please go with Sara to find Meri and see that all this is done?"

"Of course, Lady Ileana. This way, little pup." Since Edmund's return from his Western excursion, Lena was under a much less watchful eye, at least of the obvious sort; Lena suspected it was in accommodation of her unease around the Narnians. As a result, Bea often attended to Sara and, on occasion, Meri. The Hound made it as far as the door with Sara before Sara turned around and ran back. She ran first to Lena and threw her arms around her leg.

"Ti amo, Mamma!"

"Ti amo, Topa."

Then Sara ran for Edmund. She threw her arms around his neck and toppled him to the ground. "Ti amo, Eddie!"

There was a sharp intake of breath on Lena's part and a pause on Edmund's before he replied. "Ti amo, Sara."

Lena could not look at Edmund immediately afterward for fear of crying, so she turned her attention to his guard. Using her foot she swept away some of the dirt and released her.

"It was good of you to go along with Sara's imaginings, Nalsa," she said.

"I saw no harm in it, Lady Ileana. Her threat level was negligible," the Wolf replied.

"All the same." Lena adjusted her shawl once more before turning back to Edmund. "And you, I hope she wasn't too rough on you."

"Not at all. She is a true delight."

"Yes, well, she will wear you out if you let her. I would hate for her to be the reason you shirk your duties as a king."

"Bah." He waved off her worries and sat up. "Pete is more than capable of covering for me, and besides, Narnia is at peace. Rabadash is confined in Calormen. The Archen court is rejoicing in the return of their lost prince. The Giants have been tamed, and the winds do not make for optimum sailing this time of year so there is little chance of an invasion from the sea."

"Well, it sounds like you have the threat assessments well in hand." She held out her hand to help him up.

Edmund smirked. "I see what you did there." He went to take her hand, but she pulled it back at the last minute.

"Don't even think of pulling me down with you."

"Me? I would never!"

Lena scoffed. "Yeah, I've heard that too many times to believe it again." She held her hand back out. He considered it for a moment before accepting and pulling himself up.

"It's no fun if you know it's coming," he reasoned.

They stood toe-to-toe for a minute, hands still clasped, and eyes locked on each other. Lena could see his laughter reflected in his eyes, and she felt a familiar coiling in her stomach. She pushed the longing down and freed her hand from his.

"You should get cleaned up too," she said, adjusting her shawl. "Your sister would have my head if you showed up at dinner like that."

"I think it more likely she'd take mine. My sisters are too fond of you."

"This is true."

He huffed.

"But don't take it too hard though. People generally like me more."

"Humility: a fine quality to have," he teased as they began walking.

"It was my job to make people like me, and I usually had a very short time frame in which to perform. Cuore was the more logical tactician behind the scenes who organized and relayed the information."

"What exactly did we do for the Crown?"

"We…" Lena paused. She was uncertain how much she should tell him and of exactly how to tell him. "We acquired information that wasn't readily available. Men are easily distracted by a woman with a pretty face." She said something more in French.

"I'm not sure what you just said, but would I be correct in assuming that it was something along the lines of 'distracted men are more likely to let information slip when they believe the woman they're with cannot understand their language?'"

"Oui. In simpler terms, most men are idiots."

"Most men cannot fathom a woman being as smart or as capable as them."

"Like I said, most men are idiots."

Edmund smiled. "I do find it hard to believe, though, that I would be so willing to let you dangle yourself before other men like live bait, especially if I knew of your history with the Telmarine Lords."

"You weren't willing, not at all. In fact, it was a common argument between us. You had several opportunities to pass me to another handler, but you wouldn't. And your superiors didn't care how we got the information so long as we got it, and we always did. So…sometimes I danced with the men, I flirted with them, I allowed a groping hand once or twice, but I rarely kissed them and I never slept with them. My history with the Telmarines is what made me so good. I was able to read the men easily; I knew how much persuasion would be required or how little; Cuore saw to all the rest."

"Still, it seems like too high a risk. What if one of them wanted too much?"

Lena swallowed back the panic and fear that suddenly came to mind as she recalled the look in Little King's eye just before he launched himself at the Polkovnik. She pushed down the image of his bloodied and beaten body afterward and of the bloody knife in her hands. She absentmindedly rubbed her arms as though the Polkovnik's bruises had left a permanent mark on her. She fought against the rush of emotions as she remembered her first night with Little King in the Ukraine, or of the bliss that came whenever he'd whisper "Ti amo, luce mia." And she failed to stop the tear that fell.

"Ileana?"

"There was risk," she said, her voice shaking. "And sometimes it may have seemed too great, but the reward was greater still. The reward…was Cuore."

*Translations

Puttana: whore