Bearing freshly washed and stitched garments, Kirvi, Christopher and Logie arrived in Aurora just as dawn broke over the rocky mountaintops. Before anyone could leave their homes and catch them, they hurried into the city and crawled into the loft, setting their old clothes aside before climbing up into the makeshift bed.
"Doesn't your mother mind you staying out here with me?" Christopher asked abruptly as he helped his goat onto the bed beside them.
Kirvi glanced back at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Well," he began, pulling off the coat Jasper had forced on him despite his protests that he was staying in a desert, "I mean, you've spent a couple nights out here with me. If I had wandered off to some lady's house when I was your age, my parents would have certainly forced me back home. Of course, my parents were both dead when I was your age, and Logan really didn't care what I did, and Walter and Jasper had no say… which is probably why I'm such a bad kid," he finished jokingly. "But in all serious, it seems… odd. Improper."
"I can leave if you wish it of me."
"I don't! No, no, that's not what I mean, not in the slightest. I don't want you to leave, I just… never mind." He sighed and smiled at her, his face pleasantly free of the brown stubble. "Forget I even said anything."
Kirvi smiled sweetly. "All right. Have you any adventures in mind today?"
"Not really. I'm still a little worn out from last night. Want to just stay inside?"
Hearing the hopeful tone to his funny accent, she nodded. "Of course. I do not mind. Ben knows where to find us if there is any word on Walter, and my mother can easily come back here if she needs our help. Nobody will care so much if we take the day off."
Christopher grinned then, making happiness well up inside her. He neatly folded up the coat and draped it over the edge of the loft, then kicked off his boots, letting them thud to the storehouse below. Dressed only in simple grey trousers and a beautifully lined silk shirt, he looked every part the prince he was. Kirvi bit back a smile as she admired him. He could make any outfit look regal, from the plain cotton of the desert to his fancy tunics and polished boots from Albion.
He settled back on the bed, and at his encouragement, Kirvi cuddled up beside him, using his arm as a pillow. Logie whined and curled up on their legs, and Kirvi realized for the first time just how heavy the stupid goatdog was. Once they were all settled, Christopher sighed and rested his head on hers.
"You know, I actually quite like Aurora. Despite all the problems, it's quite peaceful."
"Peaceful?" Kirvi snorted. "You are in the wrong place if you think this is peaceful."
"Well, this is peaceful," he murmured, gesturing vaguely with his hands. "Just lying here with you and Logie. You make it easy to forget about Logan and Walter and the revolution. Thank you for that."
"You're welcome."
Christopher shifted so they faced each other, tips of their noses touching. His wrinkled cutely, and Kirvi giggled. "You're a lot of fun, Kirvi. If I'm going to be honest, when Ben first told me that we were coming to Aurora, I didn't think I'd come to like anybody as much as I like you. Thought you'd all be heathen devils or something just as absurd."
"Why?"
"Probably from the stories Reaver told me and Logan when we were boys. He really does like Albion over other places, that fellow. But Aurora is beautiful, and so are her people." His lips pulled up into a smile, and Kirvi felt a ripple of goose bumps wash over her skin.
"Flatterer," she managed to breathe, her voice raspy and lost.
Christopher chuckled; it was so quiet, she felt it rumble through his chest into hers rather than hear it. "Maybe."
—
Ben found Christopher long before Logie could sniff him out and give away his cover. The darling prince was sitting on the sand in the city, his back against a stall wall, his faithful border collie seated between his knees, tongue lolling out and drooling dog spit on the dirt in front of his master.
With fresh cuts and bruises and new clothes from Albion, Ben would bet his left nut that Christopher had recently been at the Sanctuary.
"Chris!" he called, just loud enough for the prince to hear.
Christopher perked up, a smile stretching across his face as he spotted the captain. "Hey, Ben. Any news on Walter?"
"Not since I last told you. Everyone's staying optimistic, though." Ben trekked the last of the distance between them and seated himself on the hard-packed street beside his friend. Shielding his eyes from the unrelenting sun beating down on them, Ben frowned and gave Christopher a long stare. "You look bloody happy for someone who's been through the shit you've been through," he remarked blandly.
Christopher jerked as if Ben had startled him. "What do you mean?"
"You've got a big stupid grin on your face, Chris. Thought you'd maybe noticed," he said sarcastically. "It being on your face and all. And you're all red, but I doubt that's a flush from the sun."
The prince's smirk was far too wolfish for the sweet Hero boy Ben had first met, trembling and shitting in his pants while he fought off hollow men in Mourningwood. Something was definitely up.
"Can you keep a secret if I tell you, Ben?"
"Depends on the secret."
"Well, I'm not telling you then. You can't tell a soul. Not Walter, Jasper, Page, Sabine—anybody."
"In case you haven't noticed, Princey-pie, Page and I haven't exactly hit it off yet, and I never can find Sabine, and when am I ever going to talk to Jasper if he's hiding away in his Sanctuary all day and night? Also, Walter's out like a light. Tell me?" Ben put on his sweetest, most charming and adorable face, dimples and all, that usually got him anything and everything he wanted from somebody, whether it was information, a game of cards, or a good lay.
But Christopher was still wary. His eyes narrowed, and Ben sighed, dropping the smile.
"All right. I cave. I promise I won't tell a soul. Not even your pretty Auroran girl, who is suspiciously absent, I might add."
Christopher took Ben's outstretched hand. That was it. A promise was a promise; they shook on it, and nobody could say Ben Finn wasn't a man of his word. Christopher's secret would stay a secret with him.
The prince leaned in, and Ben perked up, excited. "I did it," Christopher whispered.
Ben's brows dropped. "Did what?"
"I snogged her."
It took a moment to register in his brain, but when it did, Ben groaned. "Oh, grand. Tell me when you've done more than kiss a foreigner, Chris."
"Well, it came bloody close, Ben," the prince snapped back, still smirking, but his face grew an even darker red. Well, well. "Kind of hard to keep one's mind on the fact that one is trying to save the world from one's evil brother when there's a sexy foreigner straddling one's hips in a provocative manner not befitting a girl of her age. Also," he added, a little less lustily, "Logie thought she was hurting me and bit her to make her stop, so… there was an end to that. She's still at her house, helping her mother take care of the children."
Ben chuckled and rubbed Logie's head. The dog whined in ecstasy and tried to lick Ben's hand. "Good boy, Logie," he said in your typical I'm-talking-baby-to-a-bloody-dog voice. "Good boy, stopping the scary lady from hurting your pretty princey. A prince," he said, regular tone, with a glance at Christopher's beet-red cheeks, "who is apparently thinking with the wrong head."
"Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same, Ben. You've told me all about your past in Bloodstone."
"No, I wouldn't do the same—I'd have kicked the dog away and finished the job, but you're too much of a—Kirvi!" he shouted, halting himself just in time to see her emerge from her nearby house dressed in Albion finery. "Fancy meeting you here!"
Her elegant black brows tugged together—he doubted she had ever heard that particular phrase before—but she ignored him and strode up to them, barefoot as usual. "Good afternoon, Ben," she greeted, tucking her knee-length skirt around her legs and sitting next to them. As discreetly as he could bear, Ben leaned in and gave her a quick once-over.
He held back a laugh in a wheeze, garnering a heated glare from his future king. "Did somebody try to throttle you, Kirvi?" he asked, his voice trembling.
Kirvi frowned at him, not understanding. Her fingers lifted to her neck; she glanced at Christopher, then back at Ben, and realization crossed her face in a sudden thunderstorm of shock. "Oh. Um. No. I'm… I'm afraid not, Ben…"
"Fuck off, bugger," Christopher hissed, neatly kicking Ben's chest so he fell back on the dirt with a thump that knocked the breath out of his lungs.
Heroes apparently kicked harder than necessary, even if unaware of it.
Taking his as his cue to leave, Ben hauled himself to his feet and gave Kirvi an elaborate bow. "A pleasure, as always, milady. I'll go check on Walter." She nodded and turned to pet Logie, and once her gaze was averted, Ben caught Christopher's eye, winked, and made a rude gesture toward Kirvi before turning his back on them and making his way back up the stairs to the Auroran temple.
—
Peering into a mirror supplied by Christopher after a brief trip to his Sanctuary, Kirvi gently prodded one of the marks on her neck. "My mother was asking why I looked like a bruised fruit," she said slowly, her fingertip poking at the already-dark bruise.
Christopher chuckled. "We call them hickeys in Albion. Some kids think it's a sign of sexual prowess."
She turned back, setting the mirror down on her lap, to see him leaning against the wall of the loft, arm slung casually over his raised knee, his dark eyes on her with a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sexual prowess?" she repeated flatly. "I do not think so. I think this just means you sucked on my neck for too long." She lifted the mirror again and winced as she turned her head, admiring the thick ring of bruises looping around her flesh like a necklace.
"Well, there's that too. I had one on my forehead when I was a boy."
"Your forehead?" She dropped the mirror outright this time, crawling on her knees to sit opposite him.
"Yes. Right in the middle. Some crazy noble girl attacked me and tackled me to the ground when we were about five or six. Had a bit of a crush on me, I think. Anyways, I had no idea it was there until Dad's friend Reaver pointed it out when he came to the castle later that day, and he flicked it; Logan thought that was hysterical, and every time he saw me for the next fortnight, he made a point of flicking my forehead as hard as he could."
"What happened to the girl?"
"Oh, next time I saw her, she apologized, with her father holding her shoulder and my father glaring them down the whole time." He smiled lopsidedly and scratched the back of his neck. "Nicest man I've ever met, my father, but he had a good knack for terrifying people when he needed to. I think it may have come with the job of being king. Moral of the story: don't get a hickey on your forehead, because people will take advantage of it to hurt you."
There was a desperate bark from the chicken coop outside; after biting Kirvi's leg, Logie had been put on probation, and Christopher had left him outside rather than bring him into the storehouse or onto the loft.
"He sounds upset," Kirvi mentioned, peering out one of the windows to see the goatdog pacing restlessly about the coop.
"He'll live. He knows not to bite."
Kirvi arched her brows, and a sudden deep blush coated his cheeks. "Perhaps he learned from example," she said, smirking. It was adorable the way his face turned so red when he was embarrassed. It was a rare occasion when an Auroran blushed so dark.
"Ah," he chuckled awkwardly and rubbed his hand over his face. "Maybe he did. Sorry. By the way. Got a little carried away there… with everything."
"Do not apologize. You did nothing wrong." She leaned against him with a sigh. "Tell me a story about your Albion."
Christopher cleared his throat and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "A story? Sure. This is one that my father and Reaver were overjoyed in telling us—although, their versions differed greatly, since Reaver always made a point of having the bad guy win and rule the world, and my father… didn't. Anyways. Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there existed three powerful entities, hailing from the place known only as the Void. These three entities were known collectively as the Court. One, the weakest of the three, was called the Knight of Blades. The second was the Jack of Blades, and the most powerful and terrible of the three was the Queen of Blades. Long ago, the Court left their dark home in the Void and came to Albion, demanding that the people bow down and worship them as gods, and pledge their undying obedience. The people denied this request. The Court was furious. Using power man can only dream of wielding, they scorched Albion until the black of the smoke blocked out the sun, and the earth was crumbling and dead.
"Again, the Court brought their demands upon the people. And again, they were refused. In their fury, the Court lifted the sea and brought it down upon the world, flooding her wounds with odious waters. Disaster struck Albion again and again, and for the final time, the Court asked obedience and promised peace upon the land and her people. However, when they were refused once again, they bent the minds of all who lived in Albion and rent them insane. And finally the people bowed to the will of the Court.
"Years passed and the Court ruled Albion without challenge. Until one day, one brave man called William Black, bearing the legendary Sword of Aeons, ascended to the highest peak of Albion's mountains. He demanded battle with the Court, shouting to the heavens that should he win, the people would be freed.
"The first to accept his challenge was the Knight of Blades. Weak as he was, the Knight was quickly slain by Black and his holy blade. Next came the Jack. Although the Jack was infinitely more powerful than the Knight, he too was brought down by the Sword of Aeons, however through manipulation of will and spirit, his soul was not destroyed as had been the Knight's; the Jack's spirit remained locked in his demonic mask, to remain there for years to come.
"The Queen, under a terrible rage that her Court had been destroyed by a mere mortal man, accepted Black's challenge. Their battle lasted for weeks upon weeks; their blades and fury carved valleys and formed mountains as the endless war waged on. But despite the awesome power of the Queen of Blades, she too was brought to her knees by William Black and the Sword of Aeons, and the Court no longer held sway over Albion.
"Peace settled over Albion. People thrived and the land rebuilt, and all seemed well. William Black and his legendary sword vanished into history, never to be heard from again.
"Until one fateful day, a bandit attack on a peaceful hamlet turned into something more. A young boy, son of a famous warrior, was the prey of a dark evil spreading seeds of malice across Albion. His village was slaughtered, his father murdered before his eyes, and his sister and mother disappeared. Orphaned and alone, the boy grew to become a powerful and recognized Hero throughout the land, known to history as the Hero of Oakvale. As he found his blinded sister and began a journey of cleansing the world of evil, the horrible truth came to light.
"Although the world believed the Court destroyed by William Black, this was not true. Throughout the ages, the Jack of Blades had retained immortality by trapping souls in his mask and devouring their life-force into his own. It was he who had hunted the Hero of Oakvale and begun the attack on Albion once more.
"He hungered for the blade that struck him down and destroyed the Court so effortlessly: the Jack sought the Sword of Aeons' power for his own.
"And through the blood of an ancient kingdom, he found it. The blood of the first Archon ran through the veins of the Hero and his family, and by slaughtering Scarlet Robe, the warrior mother of the Hero, the Jack held the Sword once more after hundreds of years of searching. Through the Jack of Blades and the Sword of Aeons, the Court once again ruled Albion."
Kirvi bit her lip and nudged Christopher. "Is that it? What happened to the Hero of Oakvale and his sister? Did the Jack win for good?"
He smiled and gave a little laugh. "Well, here's where it gets a little confusing. The way Reaver always told it, the Hero of Oakvale slew his sister and the Jack and took the Sword of Aeons for his own, and became Albion's next tyrant, so the Court truly won, since his soul was corrupted beyond repair. My father told it a little differently; he said that after destroying the Jack, the Hero destroyed the Sword of Aeons and let his sister live, and all was peaceful. Judging by the fact that nobody's frolicking around Albion with an ancient legendary sword, proclaiming themselves to be the newest incarnation of Jack of Blades, my father's version was the right one, if it's all true history and not just a bedtime story. So there you have it. A story about Albion."
"It is very interesting. Do you think it is real?" she asked hopefully.
"That would rather neat if it was. I mean, everyone knows that William Black was the first Archon, so why shouldn't it be? And the Hero of Oakvale is in textbooks… yes, I think it's real," he concluded softly. "As real as anything we see here; as real as you and me." At a loud, pleading bark, he added bitterly, "And that stupid dog."
Kirvi giggled and gazed out the window at the clear blue sky and golden mountain ranges in the far distance. "Is Albion beautiful?"
"Very. Not Bowerstone and Brightwall and other big cities, but when you go out into the country… there are these people who live in Mourningwood, and they live in tune with nature and the spirit of the forest. I really admire them. I hope you see it one day," he murmured wistfully.
"So do I." Kirvi leaned on her elbow and gave him a long stare. "Take me with you when you go back?"
Christopher's brows drew together and he sighed, brushing a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "I would love to. I'll bring it up with Ben and Walter once he wakes up."
Kirvi smiled and lightly touched the side of his face. "Good." His lips twitched up into a slight smile, and her heart skipped several beats as she remembered what he started only hours before. She had never been kissed before—let alone in such a manner as he did. It had been so easy, so natural, to go along with the flow of movement.
Feeling the same tug as before, she bent down and lightly pressed her mouth into his. Soft and supple, his lips opened to the kiss and as his hands came up behind her to pull her in closer, a bolt of lightning desire shot down her spine, making her hair all stand on end and her skin tingle. His hand moved down her back, lightly pressing the cool silk against her body, and a gentle nudge brought her forward, leaning into him as if a magnetic force pulled them together. As one hand held her body closer, the other entwined in her hair, and he made a soft noise deep in his throat that made heat spread throughout her limbs.
Perhaps it was a Hero thing, the way he made her body react by simply touching her. Perhaps he was working his will on her.
As he pulled her tighter into him and he dug his hips into hers and she could feel him against her, whole and wanting, and his tongue flicked out against her lips, lightly tasting, she decided that even if he was using will on her, she never wanted it to end.