Author's Note: Question… how do I only get three reviews but 10+ people who put this story on their alerts list? Please… review…. Even if it is something negative. I'm always looking to better my writing, you know. ALL feedback helps!

If you had to guess, how much time passed between the start to the end of the game? A week? A month? Nearly a year? It couldn't have been too short… after all, the characters all develop deep trust within each other- that doesn't happen in a day. For this stories purpose, I'm going to say it took six months. :)

P.S. This chapter is one of the few that could constitute as Rated Mature.

( M A S Q U E R A D E )

Chapter Two: The Scapegoat

One Year Six Months Before Vayne's Defeat

She sat dejectedly on the thin, wiry bed that screeched every time she moved. Her whole body ached from her intense rigidness, but she still kept perfect posture with her back straight and ankles crossed. Even now, as a forgotten Princess, she remembered all of her charm lessons. Her etiquette hadn't failed her, not even after over a year of hiding underground with her company, and she doubted it would ever fail her. Whatever happened to her, she would always have such useless skills.

Her room was one of the better ones, and it was no prize itself. It was the size that her closet had been in the castle: room enough for one tiny bed, a dresser, and a moldy wooden table. She stood from her bed and approached the table. Instantly did the smell of timber decay begin to crawl up her nostrils. She was used to it by now, and as she reached the table, she grabbed the pitcher filled with water that sat on the floor. She poured the water into the glass basin that rested on the center of the table, ignoring the rusty color of the liquid. Then, after setting the pitcher aside, she scooped some of the dirty water into her palms and splashed it across her weary face. The lukewarm water did little to revive her of her lost happiness, and she raised her head to stare at herself in the mirror on the wall.

The mirror was cracked in several places, and she was able to witness not one but several unhappy reflections of herself. She tried to smile, to at least appear joyful, but she had completely forgotten how to smile.

A knock sounded on the closed metal door. The noise echoed throughout her bedroom and rattled inside her head. Hastily, she wiped the filthy water from her face with the backs of her hands and strided over to the door. Opening it, she was greeted by the stern face of her personal and most trusted knight and friend: Vossler York Azelas.

She sighed, already feeling a sense of relief. She had been cooped up in her lonely little room for hours, with nothing to do or say to anyone. Vossler always came by around midnight, and she knew his intentions that night were the same as always:

"Amalia," he greeted her with a smirk and nod. He stepped forward with his right foot, reaching a hand out to her. "Shall we go?"

She didn't hesitate as she accepted his outstretched hand. "Indeed. And what shall we wager tonight?"

He led her from her room, dropping his hand from hers and allowing her to clasp onto the crook of his bent arm. "Gil, perhaps? Possibly a bar of soap?"

Without a smile or change of tone, she teased him: "Then I hope luck favors you this night, for you are in dire need of soap."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as they continued their way through the dimly lit sewers. He knew her well enough by now to know that even though she looked and sounded thoroughly serious, she was in fact joking. Yet he was not one for smiles either, and so he solemnly nodded his head. "That, I do."

They reached their destination- a large open corridor where the ceiling towered fifty feet above their heads. In the midst of the room lay several long bench tables, some still with old food scattered across them. Ashe and Vossler were in the mess hall that they had created for the underground Resistance. Here, the some few hundred members would gather for gruel in the morning, fish crackers in the afternoon, and soup with some form of meat in the evening. While they did have allies in the upper world, it was difficult for food to reach them. The Empire had eyes everywhere.

Ten gruff men were seated around one of the tables, their backs hunched as they counted out their gil and scanned over their cards. Ashe dropped Vossler's arm and moved to the right side of the table, and he the left. She sat down slowly next to Castor Domincat, a former Captain in Dalmasca's army. Castor was nearing forty years of age. His black hair was laced with streaks of silver and his tired face worn with lines from his long years in battle.

Castor, along with Vossler, were the only two people that knew she still lived. That "Amalia" was in reality Ashelia, the rightful heir to a lost kingdom.

He was one of the only people close to her that smiled and showed real emotion, and she adored that about him. He too had lost everything, but somehow found it in himself to be humorous. Even now, as she took her seat on the wobbly bench, he grinned wickedly at her.

"Gentlemen," he called out, causing all gruffing from the other men to cease. "We have a woman in our presence. Let's control ourselves tonight, understood?"

A low sound of grumbles floated up above the table, and Castor winked at his Princess. Vossler and Castor were thought to be in charge of the Resistance, and everyone followed their orders.

But Ashe had other plans. She reached into the pocket of her pink skirt and pulled out a handful of gil. She tossed it onto the table before her.

"No," she said fiercely. "Do not behave any differently."

They all knew Amalia. They knew she was one of the guys. Once said had approved of their slander, they continued up again, but this time Ashe along with them. She demanded one of them slide her down a cup of ale, and she heartily drank from it as she was dealt out some cards.

The group met once a week at midnight, where they played several rounds of cards before eventually passing out from their drink. Ashe, who had built up quite an alcoholic tolerance in the last year, would drink along side them. But instead of sleeping on the floor around the table, Vossler or Castor would escort her back to her room.

Truth be told, her meeting with these men was the one time during the week she felt the slightest tingle of pleasure. Usually, she kept to herself and reminisced of days long gone with her dear Rasler. She was mad at her deceased husband- mad that he had gone and died and abandoned her in such a cruel world, all alone with nobody to love her.

That was what she missed most; his love for her. The only person who ever truly loved me is dead and gone, she thought miserably. And nobody will ever love me again.

She already knew that tonight would be a lonely night. She would not be having fun.

"Amalia," came Castor's voice, yanking her out of her self pity. All eyes were upon her. "It is your turn."

She shook herself, then picked and threw two cards down onto the table. The dealer slid two new cards over to her, and she quickly retrieved them. Luck appeared to favor her.

The game continued slowly and almost painfully for Ashe. Her mind and heart were elsewhere, and she had to fight to keep concentration. She won the first three hands but lost the next four. Still, she had made more money than anyone else in the group and took it all for herself. She was the poorest of any of them, having had to leave every gil behind when she had fled the castle a year ago.

One by one, like flies, the men were beginning to drop out of their seats and collapse to the stone floor. She asked one of her two knights to lead her back to her room. Castor had drank much and was having a hard time seeing straight, so Vossler agreed to take her.

Even Ashe- the Queen of Solitude- was quieter than normal on this night. By the time they reached her bedroom door, Vossler was eyeing her with hushed concern. She opened her door and stepped inside. As she mumbled out a goodnight and attempted to close him out, Vossler stuck his steel plated boot between the frame and the door, preventing her from shutting the door.

"Amalia," he said with a tilt of his head. "What is troubling you?"

I am simply going through the motions without feeling like this fight- the Resistance- will succeed.

Not once had she cried since Rasler's funeral. But now, standing in the doorway with Vossler's tender eyes probing at hers, she could feel her throat constricting and her eyes beginning to water. She screamed at herself inside, begging herself not to release such feelings. He noticed her anguish, and promptly pushed the door open with his arm and forced himself into her room. Shutting the door behind him, he reached out and grabbed onto her hands, pulling her into him. She rested her head onto his chest, her eyes half-closed as she willed herself not to weep.

Locking his arms around her lower back, Vossler rested his chin on the top of her head. "Majesty, do not fear. You are safe here, I promise you of this."

He was her personal knight and her most trusted friend. She knew that if she cried in front of anyone, it would be him.

"Oh, Vossler," she managed to sob. "I cannot take this anymore. I have no feelings. I am completely void of all emotions, good and bad. How could this have happened? How could I have ended up in so poor of a state? Why can I not feel?"

He reached up with his right hand and stroked the back of her soft, blonde hair. "You are not free of all your character, my Lady. Look at you now-" he released her hair and used his hand to touch under her chin, drawing her face up so she could look at him, "-You are clearly with emotion. You are strong, Lady Ashe, the most valiant and capable woman I have ever known. That is why you feel so emotionless; it is merely your strongest self coming through."

She sighed, meeting his dark eyes. She could hear the truth in his words, but found that she couldn't bring herself to believe them. After all, her personality had gone half circle during these last months. She had gone from smiling and pretending to feeling utterly numb.

She wanted to be loved again. She wanted to stop sleepwalking through her life.

She kept her eyes locked deeply onto his.

"I just want to feel again, Vossler," she breathed out smoothly, her eyes dropping to his lips. She realized their faces were a mere three inches apart, and tilted her head slightly to the right. She begged him, "Please, Vossler, teach me how to live again."

For a long moment he held her in his arms without responding, and she knew that he could feel her gaze hot on his lips. Quietly and slowly, he lowered his face towards hers and she allowed him to graze her mouth with his. He was hesitant at first, but when her eyes fluttered closed he took the signal to continue his explorations.

His lips were rough yet warm, and Ashe engaged herself in the kiss, moving her hands from his chest to his back, where she pulled him even closer into her. She knew she was completely lost in her grief and self pity and that Vossler was a scapegoat to these terrible feelings, but she didn't care. At the moment, he was her light in the dark and she would use his affections to feel again, even if just for a second.

His tongue invaded her mouth, probing around and pushing so far in that she nearly choked. He released her chin and slid his hands down the center of her spine, causing her to shiver from the chills the sensation created. Vossler felt her response and pushed her away from the closed door and towards her miserable little bed, all the while never breaking the deepening kiss.

Make me feel.

His hands examined each curve and crevice of her body, touching and sliding over her exposed skin. She moaned deeply and sank her teeth gently into his lower lip, an action that seemed to drive him insane. All at once his intentions traveled from gentle and tender to aggressive and desperate. He grabbed at her skirt, fumbling with her belt as he pushed her onto her bed. She fell freely, enjoying the brief euphoria that was created when she bounced onto the mattress.

He sandwiched her between himself and the bed, grabbing roughly at her breasts and driving her head hard into the bed as he kissed her ferociously. Ashe felt blinded by the desire and speed in which things were moving.

She was almost nineteen years old and had been physical with Rasler only a handful of times. Vossler, she knew, had been with dozens of women, and so he was quick in stripping off her clothes and his own.

He pulled her legs up above his waist. Barely taking the time to look at her porcelain skin and admire her nude beauty, he slipped himself inside of her.

Make me feel alive again.

There was a sigh of relief from both of them once he was fully within her. Feeling almost nervous, Ashe could barely move, and so Vossler took the lead. He kissed down her throat and breasts as he moved inside her. Breathing heavy, he nudged her legs and she moved them up higher, granting him greater and deeper access to her nether parts. He attempted to look her in the eyes, but the idea that this was more than just a physical connection frightened her.

She trusted Vossler entirely; she knew he would never do anything to hurt her or her chances of regaining the throne. However, she didn't want to realize that she was intimate with him. Looking into his eyes while he thrusted into her would only solidify the fact that she was weak enough to resort to having sex with a thirty-one year old man in order to feel some kind of emotion. She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight, focusing on the physical pleasure as well as the mental.

Finally, I can feel.

It was over nearly as hurriedly as it began, and he was completely relaxed as he lay on top of her. His deadweight made her feel small and insignificant beneath him, and when she finally reopened her eyes she was once again back in her former dilemma- she was without emotion.

"Ashelia," he whispered out her name, placing his head on her chest. He used his right hand to caress the bare flesh on her side, and it comforted her slightly.

"Thank you," she replied, the words barely escaping her throat. "Vossler."

Through his body I can truly experience some form of sensation.

Still, she vaguely understood that she had used him for her own pleasure. She needed his loyalty, and he thought she truly desired him. She felt as if she had taken a drug: she had felt pleasant for a time, but once the feeling was gone she felt far worse than if nothing had happened at all.

She bit her lip to prevent the tears that threatened to fall, and closed her eyes once again.