Chapter II

He had thought he was stronger.

He knew he was a good liar, but he could never have imagined that he was this skilled, this adept, so that even he would be deceived by his own silver tongue.

It scared him. What other fabrications had he fed himself? What other stories had he woven, and in his delusion, believed? And what lies would he put his faith in, in the future? What dangerous, dangerous lies?

The screen of his phone cheerfully lit up, abruptly interrupting his brooding like a ray of sunlight cutting through a storm-cloud of brooding. Setting down the warm china teacup, the raven-haired man picked up the slim device to read the waiting message.

The König would like to see you at 7:30 for dinner at Viande Rouge.

Would like to? It's not as if he had a choice; it would be foolish of him to reject Schneizel's summons. Though saying that he couldn't attend was beginning to sound favorable, as it became more and more clearer by the second that C.C. would also be there. Seated besides her husband, with a pompous, ill-disguised glower.

A hard look set in on his face, and he unintentionally gripped his phone till his knuckles paled to a deathly white. She would be there. Of course she would. There was no question about it, she was his fucking wife after all, not to mention the goddamn consigliore, it would be impossible for her not to be there.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling extremely tired. He was exhausted, fatigued, by all of this unexpected drama and emotion. The dinner in which he had, by some cruel twist of fate, been reunited with the woman who had once been the love of his life, had taken place two weeks ago. two weeks had passed since he had kissed her hand, just as he used to all of those years ago, and two weeks had passed since he had begun going out of his way just to avoid seeing her. Two weeks since his comfortable, peaceful life had been violently ravaged by his emotions, his emotions that had once been so manageable and disciplined, that were now running wild like heathens.

He knew it was all just a disguise. His mind had dwelled far too much in the past during these last weeks, and the vagrant feelings, the burning anger, had returned to consume him once more, to act as a concealment for his heart. His poor, broken heart.

It had never healed from that day, when she had left him. He had only pretended it had, built up walls around the fragments so that no one, especially himself, see how lethal her desertion had truly been. There was the suppression. And then there was the hatred. He couldn't forget the hatred now, could he? The hate that ate at him, that had motivated him, that had led him to the dirty, bloodthirsty underground world of shiny, civilized Pendragon.

Hatred for what she had done, for leaving him, for running away.

And hatred for himself.

Why?

Because he hadn't been good enough for her. Because in the end, she didn't think that he could protect her, didn't believe him when he told her that he would give her his life if need be. But the hatred was only one side of the coin, for on the other side lay the love.

Never once, out of the four years that had passed, had he stopped loving her. Had stopped missing her. He had always loved her, and he still continued to do so to this very day. He hated himself for it; why love someone who didn't give a rat's shit for him? She had left him for another man, a man with more money and power than him, so why… Why would he love a traitor? Why not forget her, leave her, and move on with his life?

Because he couldn't. He couldn't forget her. He had tried so hard with so many methods. He had tried drinking himself numb, but the alcohol, the alcohol only made memories of her stronger, more vivid, until she was lying right besides, smiling, whispering to him, telling him that she would always love him. And the drugs? Oh, the drugs were no better. Pot, meth, heroin, cocaine, LSD, ecstasy, nothing fucking worked. She would always be there, in his head, with her beautiful smile and a soothing whisper. Nothing worked. That is, nothing had worked until he had turned to the mafia. Or rather, nothing had worked until the mafia had recruited him. Anyhow, one way or other, he found himself in the thick of crime, or murder, of the feared and omnipotent Weiss Ritter, and he used it to his advantage.

He rose quickly, doggedly toiling away, with fierce determination. He made it a habit to gamble with Death, for, with her departure, he had nothing left, nothing to lose, and thus, he soon found himself at the top of the very pyramid he had once held great contempt for.

And now, here he was, 'invited' to have dinner with the very woman who had made him turn to all of the deadly vices that the city of Pendragon could offer.

How wonderful.

"Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Lamperouge?"

He opened his eyes to stare into a pair of concerned emerald irises. Momentarily bewildered, he frowned. Who…? He was a frequent patron of this particular teahouse to the point where most, if not all, of the employees knew him by face, but this woman, she… What was her name again?

"No, I'm fine, thank you for your concern… Shirley."

Ah, her name was Shirley. He remembered now; she was the ditzy one, the one who was always smiling even when she caught her foot on the most random things and tripped, which was often, seeing as how she was a bit on the clumsy side.

"Are you sure? Would you like another cup of tea? I know one that helps with migraines, it's imported all the way from Cambodia, and we just got a new shipment this morn—"

"No. I'm quite alright, thank you."

"Oh… Well," she smiled brightly at him, "would like you some macaroons then, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"Maybe next time."

He returned her smile, and Shirley blushed, suddenly bashful and self-conscious of her rather dreary uniform. She had changed her hairstyle yesterday, and she hoped it looked okay. She had had it cut to her shoulders after she had heard a rumor that the handsome client favored women with shorter hair. Did it look bad? Or, or was it obvious that she cut it for him? Oh, it would be so embarrassing if it was, because then it would mean that he knew how much she—

"… Shirley?"

"Yes, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"… When does your shift end?"

"My shift?" She blinked, confused. Why did he want to know when her shift ended? It… Wait a second. Wait a second, wait a second, wait a second! This couldn't… He wasn't going to… Was what was about to happen what she thought was going to happen?

"U-um, my shift ends at around 3:45…"

"Shirley, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

"D-dinner?" Her cheeks grew warm. Dinner with Mr. Lamperouge? As in… As in a dinner date? The raven-haired man gave her a small, embarrassed smile, as he replied, "It seems I've been invited to a small dinner party, but I'll be the only person there without a partner. Would you care to be my date?"

"I…"

"I wouldn't have anyone else with me there," he said. "I won't take no for an answer."

What. A. Lie. Won't take no for an answer? If she declined, he'd simply move on to the next waitress, the next woman, who wandered his way. And they always did, like moths to a light. And he'd ask each and every one of them until one of them said yes. He didn't really care who it was that went with him. If she didn't have a dress, he'd buy one for her. If she didn't like him, he'd seduce her. It didn't matter who, so long as it was a woman he could tolerate.

And Shirley… Shirley, he knew his mask could tolerate.

"I… I don't…"

"You're not going to make me go to a dinner party all by myself, are you? I would enjoy it so much more if you would only be there, by my side."

She gulped.

"Of… Of course. Of cour— Yes. Um, yes, I will. Go with you, I mean."

"Marvelous. Where do you live? I'll come by at around 6:45."

"I live on the corner of 49th Street and 7th Avenue in Washington Hei—"

"Here's my number." He handed her a cloth napkin with his phone number inked into the pristine fabric. "Why don't you text me? Or call. Whichever one you're most comfortable with."

"O-okay."

With a gracious smile, he rose, and the young woman nearly stumbled backwards, surprised by the enormous height difference between them.

"I'll see you tonight then."

"Oh, um, Mr. Lamperouge? What type of dinner party is it? I… I don't want to wear the wrong thing."

"Whatever you wear will be perfect, Shirley. You're stunning in everything."

"O-oh, okay."

"Oh, and Shirley?"

"Yes?"

"Your haircut is lovely. Accents the beauty of your eyes."

Her cheeks flushed a dark red as she mumbled a bashful thank you to the man's back. As he left, several of the female employees rushed up to flank the doors and bow in unison.

"Please come again, Mr. Lamperouge."

"Ladies."

The second the door swung shut behind him and the entourage dissipated, Shirley collapsed into the comfortable seat her darling prince had just vacated.

Her heart was racing, and her cheeks were so warm, oh God, and she must look an absolute mess from being so flustered but he had asked her out so what did it matter, he had asked her out! Was this… Were they in a relationship now? Was that it? Was she his girlfriend now? Or… Or was she not? It was all so confusing, and… And, and, it— He had noticed her haircut and thought it was beautiful! He thought she was beautiful! It was like a dream come true, it was— This wasn't a dream, was it? Was it?

"Georgie!"

"Shirley, why are you sitting there? Are you sick? Do you need to go home?"

"Georgie, that wasn't a dream, was it? He really asked me out for dinner, right?"

"He? Who's he? I don't understand what you're…" A look of realization dawned on her friend's face. "No… He didn't… Did he?!"

"Georgie, he asked me out!"

"Holy— Come here, we're going to the locker room!"

As Shirley and her flatmate dashed to the sanctum of gossip, the love-struck young woman couldn't help but let out a tiny squeal.

It had finally happened! Her wish had finally been granted!

"Oh Georgie, you have to help me find the perfect dress!"

"Of course! After all, who am I? You know what, Shirley? This is a special night, and you're going to need all of the time you can get to look perfect for your date! I'll see if Agatha and Kallen are willing to trade shifts with us. I'll be right back. Oh my God, Shirley, I can't believe it!"

She wanted to dance, or jump up and down. So she settled for tightly hugging herself, quietly screaming out of euphoria.

It was finally happening!

Her date with Mr. Lamperouge!

. . .

"Dinner with him? Again?"

"Does it upset you, seeing Lelouch?"

"… I just don't understand why I have to be there," she lied.

"Ah, well, this will be the last dinner, my love."

"And then I suppose it'll be lunch next time?" she questioned testily. Her husband merely chuckled, unfazed by the acid in his wife's voice, and patiently replied, "No, no, I give you my word. This will be the lat of these types of appointments."

She said nothing, wary of him. Her spouse must have realized, for he asked not unkindly, "Have I ever broken a promise?"

"… No." C.C. sighed. It was true. Schneizel was a man of his word, though he often twisted the meaning of what he had said so that he could get his way. He was a cunning man in that respect, a cunning, dangerous man, not someone to be trifled with. "What time are you going to pick me up?"

"7:00. But Cecaniah, my love."

"Yes?"

"Kanon Maldini will be chauffeuring you. I'm afraid I have a little business in the lower East side, and I fear I won't be able to take you myself. However, Kanon is a respectable gentleman, and I trust him, so there's no need to worry."

"I wasn't," she said flatly.

"That's my girl. I'm afraid I have to go now, but I will see you later this evening."

"Of course."

"Take care, my love."

The emerald-haired woman returned the handset back to its home on the traditional gilded telephone, numb with… With what? What emotions did she have left, in her battered soul? She had cried herself dry of feeling that night. She had come home, her hand burning with his kiss, her heart shattered all over again, and had taken a shower. A nice, hot shower, with a tropical steam enveloping the room. And as she had stood underneath the warm torrent, she allowed for her tears to fall, to mingle with the water before swirling down the drain. When she stepped out, when she had finished, she was wrinkled, as if she had prematurely aged several decades. Funny how she felt as if she prematurely aged for several centuries, with how void and impassive she felt.

She had been a woman of emotion once. Once, she had laughed and cried and felt anger and love and a myriad of other human emotions. But that had been long ago, when she had loved him. When they had been together, when they had been naïve and had sat underneath the stars together, whispering grand plans to one another, plans where they would be together for an eternity. A long time had passed since then, and many things had changed. Many, many things.

"Sayoko."

"Yes, Madame?" Her maid looked up expectantly, ready to execute her beloved mistress's orders.

"Do you know where the Atelier Versace gown is? The coral one I bought when I visited Paris last week."

"I believe they're in Madame's closet. Shall I also retrieve the Caresse d'orchidées par Cartier earrings?"

"The pink gold ones. With the matching necklace."

"Yes, of course, Madame. And what of the shoes?"

She froze.

The shoes?

The shoes… The shoes, the shoes that she'll wear to accompany her dress and jewelry, the shoes… The…

"… The ones… The ones that came in the day before yesterday."

"Yes, Madame."

As her maid purposefully made her way into the enormous closet, C.C. gripped the edge of her vanity table with trembling hands. Frightened tears sprung into her eyes, and she exhaled with a shudder. Why had she just…?

She had to change it, she had to wear different shoes, she had to, it was necessary, if sh didn't, then everything she had worked towards would be lost, and—

"For a man, Mr. Lamperouge has excellent fashion sense. And it also seems as if he's done his research; these shoes are the precise style Madame favors."

She looked up with wide, shell-shocked eyes at the gleaming pair of golden platform stilettos. They were expensive, designer. Of the latest season and fashion. They went well with her chosen dress, she liked them, and she would have gladly worn them, if only they weren't…

If only they weren't cursed.

For the moment she put those on, the moment she walked out with them, she'd be admitting the very truth she had been running from for all of those years.

For the moment she slipped them onto her feet, she'd be acknowledging how she still loved him.

And she couldn't have that.

"… Sayoko."

"Yes, Madame?"

"… Get me the Jimmy Choo stilettos instead. The blacks ones from London."

"Right away, Madame."

She breathed a sigh of relief as the danger passed. Once more calm and collected, her panic turned to anger. What was wrong with her? Still loved him? Who? Lelouch Lamperouge? What bullshit was she trying to— She didn't love him. She might have once, in the past, but that's what it was. The past. It was behind her, and now, right now, Cecaniah Corabelle didn't love anyone or any man. It would be in her best interest if she were to forget what once was, and focus on what presently was. It was the only way she could continue bearing with her existence, by avoiding the truth like the coward she was.

"Sayoko."

"Yes?"

"Sayoko, I want you to…"

Throw away the shoes. Throw them away. Sayoko, I want you to throw away the shoes from Mr. Lamperouge. It wasn't a long sentence, nor a complex one, and just seconds before, she had promised herself that she would focus on the here and now, so why… Why would it not leave her lips? It was right there, dangling on the tip of her tongue, and it… It just wouldn't…

"What is it, Madame? Did you change your mind about the shoes? Shall I take out the golden heels?"

"… No. No, I… No."

"Would you like to have your bath drawn while I lay out your clothes?"

"… Yes, thank you," quietly replied the young woman.

"Very good, Madame."

As the maids bustled around her, helping their mistress prepare for her outing, C.C. studied her reflection. She looked like she always did; calm, collected, poised. How deceitful she was, with her mask and excuses. She was nothing but lies. A woman woven from falsehoods and deception.

"Madame, the bath has been prepared."

"… Thank you, Sayoko. All of you may go rest for the remainder of the evening."

"Thank you very much, Madame Corabelle. Please have a wonderful evening full of entertainment."

The corners of her lips lighted up slightly, though her smile didn't reach her weary golden eyes. As the faithful Japanese woman slipped out after the other faceless maids, she wryly thought, 'Oh, it will be an evening of entertainment, though whether I'll have a wonderful time is…Questionable at best.'

As the emerald-haired woman undressed in the sanctity of the bathroom, she couldn't help but let her eyes wander to an ugly scar just underneath her left breast.

"Ceci!"

His voice, colored with concern and love, echoed in her head. The pet name he had had for her, the name that only he was allowed to call her, rang throughout her, shaking her to her very core as she stared at the one and only blemish ruining her perfect body.

And as she stood there, frozen in time, Venus vowed to herself that, though she presently felt this tempest of confusion and fear and love and denial, the moment she left the boundaries of her sanctuary, of her haven, of her home… The moment she left, she would return to the persona of a witch. Of an unfeeling, heartless witch.

It was the only way.

For all their sakes.

. . .

"Shirley, there's something you need to know about… Myself."

"Yes?"

She nervously fingered the hem of her white-mini dress. She hoped she looked alright. The dress wasn't of the newest fashion, but what did it matter? Right? Oh, who was she kidding? She was a waitress for heaven's sake, and even if it was at a high-class, VIP tearoom, her salary couldn't pay for the costly living expenses in the city and a designer dress of the latest trends. Not that anyone would notice anyways. It was four seasons ago, she'd be fine. Or that was what Georgie had told her, anyhow. She prayed that her friend was right.

"Shirley, do you know what it is that I do for a living?"

"Um… Business of some sort?"

"Business…" He smiled, obviously amused by her answer. Why? Was what she had said wrong? He was a businessman, wasn't he? He was always dressed in suits, and drove nice cars, so everyone had just automatically assumed that he was a CEO of some sort who liked to drink tea. But if he wasn't a CEO, then what was he? He must earn a six-figure salary in the least, right?

"Shirley, are you familiar with the Weiss Ritter?"

Her smile slid off of her face. Oh, he couldn't… He… It was a joke. This was a joke, a prank on his part, wasn't it? He couldn't actually… He… But he was such a gentleman, he was so kind and cordial, he wasn't anything like so murderous convicts, those gangsters with their tattoos and guns and drugs, it— He couldn't be serious.

"… Who are you in the Weiss Ritter? Are you… Are you an important person?" she whispered. The traffic light turned green, and they crossed the intersection before he answered her question.

"I am the capobastone."

She wanted to faint. It couldn't be possible, Mr. Lamperouge was such a gentleman, he was like a prince out of a fairy tale, he couldn't… But apparently, her fairy tale prince killed and intimidated people for a living. Apparently, her fairy tale prince was a murderer.

"Does it frighten you? That I'm a criminal."

She didn't know what to say, so she chose to remain silent.

"Would you believe me if I promised you that I would never hurt you? Or allow anyone else to hurt you?"

"… Mr. Lamperouge, I—"

"Please. Call me Lelouch."

"… Lelouch, I…" She evaded his eyes, unsure of what to do and what to say.

"If you feel that you're uncomfortable n my presence, then you may leave. You haven obligation to stay with me. I don't want you to feel threatened, or that you have to be with me in order to live."

Shirley chewed on her lip. Oh… Oh, oh, oh, what to do, what to do, what was she going to do? Everything told her to put as much distance between the raven-haired man and herself, but… But there was just something so irresistible about him, and she was in love with him too, and didn't being in love with someone mean accepting them for who they were just as theyw ere and loving them all the same? Didn't it?

"… My father told me once not to judge people by what they do for a living, but by who they are. I'm…" She hesitated. Was she really okay with this? He was a criminal; he had murdered people, he had taken others' lives with his hand… But then she remembered his forgiving smile when she botched up his orders, or the hand he offered her whenever she tripped, and it just…

"I'm willing to give you a chance to prove how right my father was."

"Thank you for being so open-minded."

She nodded solemnly. This was it. She had decided to give him a chance, and she couldn't go back on what she had promised. She only prayed that she hadn't made the wrong decision by blindly trusting in him. But he had promised that he would protect her, and from what she had seen, Lelouch Lamperouge seemed like a man of his word.

Just wait till Georgie heard about this. How surprised she would be, hearing how their good-natured and considerate fairytale prince was actually a dark warlock.

How surprised she would be…

Shirley knew she was.

. . .

What was this?

A young woman, with wide, innocent emerald eyes, and ginger hair cut to her shoulders, sat across from C.C. She was dressed in a white dress that, though it was from four season ago, exuded purity. In fact, everything about this woman simply radiated naïveté. It was astounding; how could an individuals give off such an ingenuous aura? And where had Lelouch dug her up from?

"Shirley, this is Schneizel el Britannia, the capofamiglia of the Weiss Ritter, and his beautiful wife, Mrs.—"

"Cecaniah Corabelle," she cut in. A hint of disdainfulness made her voice flinty, and she grew impatient with herself. What was wrong with her? Was she jealous right now? Jealous? Of this woman, who didn't own a private jet, or more diamonds than she cared for, or any of the luxuries and riches she possessed? Why would she be jealous? This woman had nothing compared to her, absolutely nothing. So why was she feeling this way at the sight of the other woman draped over his arm?

"What a gift you bestow upon me, Lelouch. I never, in my wildest dreams, would have thought that I would be dining with two of Pendragon's most stunning women. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fenette."

Flashing her a blinding smile, Schneizel brought her hand to his lips, effectively leaving Shirley dazed by her fortune that brought her to dine with three of the most glamorous people in all of Pendragon. She wasn't used to this much charm, this much glitz, it was… It was like it was straight out of a movie, a movie where a prince rescued his princess, his one true love, and now, the prince and the princess were at a ball, meeting other royal and dignitaries and such… What a dream. It nearly made her forget that they were all really members of the most feared mafia syndicate in the entire nation, and possibly, hemisphere.

"Shall we begin? I'm sure the executive chef here was prepared a delectable and cultured dinner for us, as he always does."

"Yes, of course," smiled Lelouch. He glanced at the emerald-haired woman, who had apparently decided to ignore him again. Not that he cared. It wasn't as if he had purposefully brought Shirley to make her jealous. Of course not. How infantile would that be?

. . .

Shirley felt incredibly uncomfortable. She felt so underdressed, especially compared to the bewitching and stylish woman seated across from her, and she wasn't used to such fine dining. She was more to serving it than eating it. Not to mention how everyone was acting as if they had grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs since their birth. They probably had grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs, but it was just… There was such a wide berth between her and everyone else, but that wasn't what was making her so nervous.

It was the palpable tension between Lelouch and Mrs. Corabelle. Shirley didn't know why, but there was so much electricity crackling between the two, despite them not having looked at each other even once… She felt desperately out of place. She… She needed a break, she needed reprieve. And what more, she needed it now.

"U-um, I'll be right back, Lelouch, I just… I just have to go to the bathroom, it'll be really quick, excuse me."

The second the young woman fled from her seat and towards her oasis, all motion ceased at the table. There was no chewing, no forks being lifted to mouths, no knives slicing the tender meat. Schneizel was gone, having excused himself to take an important phone call five minutes prior to Shirley's escape, leaving the witch and the warlock alone. As they sat by themselves, there was no movement whatsoever, as the pair hung suspended in time, completely frozen with shock at being completely alone. That is, there was no movement, until she spoke.

"What are you trying to get at?"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're asking, Mrs. Corabelle." He set down his silverware before slowly leaning back into his chair. Her golden irises flickered up to meet his for the first time that evening as she said in a low voice, "That woman. Who is she?"

"Why? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous? Who do you think you're speaking to right now?" She smiled coldly, incredulous with his jabs. How dare he make such an accusation?

"An envious witch who's too proud to admit her true feelings. That's who I think I'm speaking to. Or am I wrong?"

She stared at him, furious. How dare he— He knew nothing. He knew nothing; what she did to get here, how she got here, what she sacrificed to keep him safe, to keep him alive… He knew absolutely nothing. But of course he knew nothing, he was the blind little boy, and she was the all-knowing goddess. She must be patient with him. For all of their sakes, she reminded herself.

For all of their sakes.

"I was just curious," she hissed, "Mr. Lamperouge, if there was any reason you brought Miss Fenette with you. You didn't bring her for our last dinner, and I don't believe my husband has told me anything about you being in a relationship."

"Your husband hasn't told you about my being in a relationship?"

"Oh, he speaks of you," she replied amiably, plastering an adoring smile on her lips at the mention of her spouse. "Often, I might add."

Schneizel talked about him? With C.C.? What would he have to share with his wife about him?

"He likes you, my husband… Though, for the life of me, I can't understand why."

"And why is that?"

"You see… He doesn't know you as well as I do." Her eyes flickered up to him, goading him to take the bait. He knew that it was a trap, but he was seeing red right now, and it just— Fuck reason.

"What makes you say that you know me better than he does?" he asked. "Have you been with me at all during the last week? No, you haven't. But your husband, I've accompanied him on various trips to accomplish various tasks, and I believe it would be in the right to say that your husband, whom you can't understand, knows me better than you do. Than you ever will."

The insufferable man, the mere insolence. C.C. glared at him, the uncouth bastard as he spoke in a low, angry voice.

"So I suggest that you—"

"What's wrong?"

Man and woman turned to Shirley, who had returned, having stayed in the powder room for as long as etiquette would allow her. She stared at the way Mrs. Corabelle was gripping the neck of her wine glass, with her polished and manicured nails digging into her palm, her knuckles whitened a bony pallor, and then the dangerous glint in Lelouch's eyes, the look of an irate man who was nearly ready to upturn a table at the next wrong look sent his way. What exactly had happened when she had left?

"Is… Is everything alright?" she cautiously asked.

"Everything is fine," her date replied in an uncharacteristically tight voice. But she didn't believe him; it was clear to anyone that everything was not fine, that everything was the opposite of fine. She wasn't stupid; she could tell when two people had been in the midst of an argument. But an argument about what? What could possibly make these two level-headed, high-born people lose their tempers?

"I… This doesn't have anything to do with—"

"Lelouch."

"Yes?"

The raven-haired man looked up at his superior, who had returned from his phone call.

"It seems we're wanted at the Square. A few of our associates wish to conference with us on an urgent matter."

"I understand." The raven-haired man rose from his seat as Schneizel directed his attention to his wife.

"Cecaniah love, I apologize. I really hate to cut these dinner parties short, but… Business is business, and it comes first. You understand, don't you, my love?"

"Of course I do," she intoned. "Of course."

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead before saying, "Kanon will take you home. Miss Fenette, Mr. Maldini will also escort you home."

"Oh, I can't possibly—"

"Please. It would be foolish and rude of me to allow such a beautiful young woman to wander the city streets after nightfall."

"I… I don't want to cause any trouble… And—"

"On the contrary, Miss Fenette," interrupted C.C., "I'd like to get to know you better. I think we'll make good friends in the future, and I'd hate to lose a kind person such as yourself to the city."

"O-oh… Okay then, if you insist, then I suppose… I suppose it would be alright."

"Excellent. Now, Lelouch. We must hurry, my friend, lest we make our partners impatient."

With a smile and a promise to call later to Shirley, Lelouch followed Schneizel out of the restaurant. He felt uneasy leaving her along with C.C. He didn't know why the witch wanted to be alone with his date, but he didn't put it past her to try and find out the real reason he had brought her along to dinner. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. It wasn't as if he was going to be running into the witch often, so what did it matter?

. . .

"There's something I would like to discuss with you, Lelouch, before we meet our associates."

He turned away from the window he had been gazing out of to look to Schneizel. The blonde man seemed to be carefully choosing how to announce what was to come.

"As you know, the Hóng Hè have been a nuisance to us for some time now. They've been having what they insist are demonstrations of their power and strength. I have been tolerant with them; the Chinese mafia are not adversaries who are easily taken down, even by the Weiss Ritter, and should be dealt with in the most tactful manner possible. Therefore, it is unfortunate that," Schneizel frowned. "my patience for their demonstrations have begun to wane as of late."

"What will we do?"

"Nothing yet. We don't want any more casualties. However."

There was the word. However. There was always a however, and Lelouch had been listening for it. Now here it was, out in the open. He braced himself.

"However, in the event that war should be declared between the Hóng Hè and the Weiss Ritter, Lelouch, there is an extremely key role that you, and you alone, must fulfill."

He took a quiet sip of his wine, and the raven-haired man patiently waited.

"I need you to serve as guardian."

"For who?"

"For my wife."

He immediately stiffened.

"The Hóng Hè have been foolish; with their demonstrations, they show the enemy their power, yes, but also their attack styles. Patterns have arisen, Lelouch, and it is evident that if we go to war with the Hóng Hè, the first person who will be targeted—"

"—is your wife."

"I cannot have my wife endangered because of men who know no restraint. I refuse to allow her to be put in such a position. Thus, I need you to guard her."

"… What would my role entail?" God fucking damn it, he— How much more did Fate want from him? Hadn't they had enough? He had screamed and cried and fallen to the depths of Tartarus, and still, it wasn't enough for them. Why? What else did he have to give them? His life?

"Be with her at all times. Accompany her wherever she goes, be it a boutique in the Upper West Side, or the streets of Tokyo. Be with her, and protect her from the Hóng Hè. Keep harm from befalling her. Guard her."

He stared out of the car's window and at the blurred scenery whipping by. He wanted to laugh. He nearly did, when he saw how serious Schneizel was. Protect C.C.? What was this, some television sit-com? Because things like this never happened in real life, coincidences didn't pile up like this, and this amount of drama almost never swamped someone. Not like this. Never like this.

"If you must, Lelouch, see this as a… A license for freedom. A license that ensures that you live. You won't have to be on the battlefield, on the front lines. There'll be next to no life-threatening situations, except, perhaps, for the occasional shopping excursion."

He smiled tightly. "Is Mrs. Corabelle aware of my new responsibilities?"

"Not yet. But she will come to know in due time. Let us hope, in the mean time, that there will be no need for her to find out."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Lelouch. I say this, not as the head of the Weiss Ritter, of your brotherhood, but as a man. As a husband."

"How can I say no to the man whom I owe my life to?"

Schneizel smiled. "Ah, here we are." The door opened, and the two men stepped out into the deserted plaza.

"Schneizel el Britannia. I thought you wouldn't show your face. I was just about to send for you, but there you were, coming down the street, on your white stallion. How are you, my friend?"

"Well, thank you. Zero, this is Lelouch Lamperouge, the gifted young man I spoke to you about. Lelouch, this is Zero, the leader of the Black Knights who are, not only associates of the Weiss Ritter, but trusted friends."

As the two shook hands, Lelouch couldn't help but smile wryly at his superior's silvery words. Friends? What friends? There were no such things as friends when it came to the mafia. Betrayal was inevitable; it was merely a matter of time until the Black Knights would turn their backs on the Weiss Ritter as they desperately scuffled for more power. Just as the Hóng Hè had done.

That was simply the way the crime world worked. Men were treacherous, and the women… The women were lethal.

Schneizel had told him that he would be safer than most of the members of their brotherhood, but Lelouch only laughed at him. Safe? Him, alone, with Cecaniah Corabelle, the woman who had crushed his heart and nearly robbed him of his sanity, safe?

Pray, he counseled, pray that the heavens have laughed their fill and that they spare you, for if they have not… If they've not, and war is declared, you shall most certainly end up in a pool of your own blood.