One Night With The King

Chapter 2 - The Suffering of Sacrifice

The ramblings of her rebellious peers, however constant and disapproving of her decision they were, did not phase the young rebel leader for even a mere second. She did not need their scrutiny on this; she knew what she was doing, or at least that's what she had convinced herself of. But sometimes, one simply had to convince themselves of something. Page had become a master in this skill. Her job called for it. She could show no second thoughts, could never second guess themselves lest her rebels start to lose what already flimsy faith they had left in her. Being the decidedly small, ineffective group they were already, she could not afford to loose anymore. It was hard to trust people when they were rebels, never knowing if the man beside you is a hardcore maverick...or a hired assassin.

Soon after she received the letter, her attempts to hide it were shot when one of her men discovered it in her room. What Kidd had been doing snooping around her personal belongings in the first place, she had no idea. But she was never given a chance to ask nor scold him for it. At first he was greatly amused by the notion, even laughing aloud at it in his ponderous chuckle. But after learning his superior planned to except the invitation he was sightly angered and severely disappointed. The message spread like a wildfire through the rebel camp, all of its inhabitants having a similar reaction to Kidd's.

Most of them felt deceived by such news, complaining to her saying that the man would never hold his end of the bargain up. This, she knew well, was a likely possibility. Of the few promises Logan had made in his time as king, he had failed to keep and broke more of them than what sat comfortable with the people. But she would always respond to those who stood against her choice, stating that she had to at least try...for Albion.

And while they were thrilled by the prospect of freedom, they were saddened by what their beloved leader would have to go through to obtain such a fine thing. Being who they were, rebels, they knew the pain of sacrifice well. They all claimed they knew how she felt. But they'd no idea... She herself had no idea. But she knew one thing: the sufferings of their sacrifices were hardly able to stand beside what Page feared was in store for her...

-x-

By some miracle, such a delicious scandal managed to stay within the walls of the rebel camp alone. So the day she emerged from the sewers, heavy brown cloak concealing her identity well, she was surprised to find that her wanted posters contained no obscene comments about the whole ordeal. Her dirty dreads had been shoved in to the usual headband and tucked under the cloak. She still wore her everyday clothing, but the cape covered all of it. People did give her a few odd looks here and there, but she was certain that was only due to the fact she looked rather foreboding with her dark attire masking nearly every inch of her being. But she wanted to keep this a secret as much as possible now. If not for the king's honor, than for her own. Realistically, he had no honor left, so it did not matter to her. But she knew herself to have some and would not have him compromising it for her.

Standing by the (surprisingly open) gates of the massive fortress, she glanced up the dark, snaking path until her eyes reached the jagged silhouette of Bowerstone Castle, its many windows lit with yellow like the angry eyes of some feral, beautiful beast that could stalk all. The elaborate structure appeared almost as foreboding as she did. It seemed to strike something into her heart. Something that hadn't been struck before when she had glanced at the castle. She'd even gone inside it many a time, before she had become a wanted woman, to plea for fairer treatment. It had gotten neither her people nor her anything except for the King to take notice in her body alone. She had seen the way he looked at her at their first encounter. That first contact had been years ago, but the feeling of intrusion and violation she had received when his dark, hungry eyes scoured over her body had not faded the many times it was preform in later rendezvouses. It seemed as though that was how he greeted her. Though she'd never come face to face with the industrialist, she doubted Logan's glances were as bad as a once-over from Reaver, as she had heard it said from both men and women alike that his was always accompanied by a noticeable smirk and an entirely inappropriate suggestion followed by even more inappropriate actions. The king's were not as forthcoming, but rather secluded as if he was at least trying to conceal such libido and he never did act upon the urges.

Of course, she had toyed with the idea of using his attraction to her for her own advantage... But she'd been a much stronger, much less desperate woman than she was now and refused herself to stooping lower than a common harlot, so each time she would play his lustful looks off, classifying them as a trick of the light and paying no further heed to them (which unfortunately only caused their intensity to increase with curiosity). Needless to say, times had changed severely since then. While she still held a lot of fire, she was not a strong as she used to be, and her desperation had only increased. Which was why she ended up here on the outskirts of the castle grounds.

The climb up the small mountain the castle sat on proved to be a rather treacherous one, and she had begun to rethink her decision not to use a carriage. By the time she reached the main courtyard, dusk was coming to an end and as the half-blind moon rose, an odd fog settling over the castle as if the brume and fume that blocked the sun out during the day had settled upon the scene for a rest until it would begin its ascension the next morn. And she shuddered to think in that same morn, she'd be waking up in a bed that was not her own...

Taking a deep breath in vain attempt to calm herself, she marched through the gardens towards the main doors. The place was crawling with guards, and she felt all of their eyes on her, even heard a few clicks as they cocked their rifles in anticipation. Admittedly, it must've looked a bit odd, seeing a hooded figure stumbling onto the castle's dark grounds inconspicuously. Still, she reached an unseen hand to her equally invisible pistol which was holstered to her side, receiving instant comfort from the way it felt in her hand. That comfort was short lived as she found herself staring face to face with the thick, dark wood of two great doors standing tall side by side. She looked up at the grand scale of the stone wall and swallowed hard. Of all the windows scene on the magnificent structure, she was sure Logan's room held the least amount them. Not only did he strike her as a man who hated any ray of sunshiney hope, his somewhat pale complexion seemed to say he did not get much exposure to sunlight. The sun barely shown on such a cursed place anyways, though she didn't think that was the gist of it.

Raising a fist to the door, she gave three swift knocks, none too soft. A few seconds ticked by and a guard came to the door. It swayed slightly open, old hinges creaking in protest. The guards voice was gruff, heavy and stern as he inquired about her business here at such an unseemly hour. Glancing up at the large clock above the doorway, she guessed the king did not receive many visitors during the darker hours of the day. The place was scary all the time as it loomed over the city and no one liked to venture to it, even in the brightest hour of the day. But at night it seemed to grow oddly...sinister, as if haunted by a soul tortured in life.

Sighing, she spoke up in as proper a tone as she could muster as she looked back into the guards eyes and said she wished to call an audience the king, and that he had been expecting her. The guard gave her a quizzical look, stating that he hadn't been informed of any visitors coming...but in the end, he let her in.

When asked if she could be searched for any weapons, she practically hissed at the man. "What?" At which he replied with an apology and an excuse that it was the "king's orders". As he did this, he reached a hand out as if to remove the hood of her cloak to see her face. She jerked away, her back facing the stairs. "Do not touch me!" She hissed once more. Normally, she would have allowed herself to be checked, but she was resistant now because she actually carried one. On top of that, she was certain she was going to get enough touching tonight and wanted no part in it until she simply had to. As she spoke, she accidentally allowed her slum-born accent to show a bit too vividly. This angered the guard - the Royal Guard, as it were - that a mere peasant had the nerve to speak to him in such a way. He growled at her almost as viciously as she had to him, calling her rude names and telling her he'd teach her a lesson about manners. He grabbed her wrist and before she knew it, a great force had thrown her to the ground, stomach facing the floor. At the same time, her hood had flown back off her head. But she hardly had the time to adjust it. Instead, she looked over her shoulder and up at the guard who was standing over her, gun pointing directly at her. "Is your king really stupid enough to think I'd carry weapons into his castle?" She all but snarled in a low threatening tone and stood abruptly. Defiantly, she knocked his gun off aim as she made the terrible mistake of reaching for her own pistol. The material of her cloak that had once covered it was gone, exposing the firearm to all who had eyes.

"I suppose he is." Came a man's sonorous voice from behind her. Her scowl faded into a tense, blank expression and her eyes grew large. The voice was close behind her. So close she could practically feel the warmth of the breath given from his previous statement as it blew across the nape of her neck, the shorter strands of stray hair tickling the sensitive area of skin underneath. As he continued to speak, she sensed the pistol sliding from the holster on her hip. Rather uncharacteristically of her, she made no protest as she heard the ticking sound as it was uncocked. "Though some would argue on whether or not stupid is the correct word." The voice continued, and she took a moment to marinate in it for she had not heard it in quite some time. Dulcet, velvety and resonate...like a sensual river. But also harsh and hollow-sounding, brooding like a sad and presaging song just like she remembered it. And at the same time there was a huskiness with a hint of foreign rasping and drawling that made her wonder if he had been drinking. Inhaling, she sensed the faintest redolence of an expensive wine or something of the sort. She watched as her pistol flew from behind her, tossed to the guard who caught it with fumbling difficulty. He was staring bug-eyed at the man behind her, trying to stammer an explanation for his rash actions with fear evident on his face as he continued the mumbling of words that seemed to fall over themselves. By the way he gladly bounced off a moment later, she guessed he had been silently dismissed by little more than a brusque inclination of the head from the man behind her. Though several servants lined the halls, they were alone now, for none of his staff would even look the man in the eye or dare to listen to a conversation he held unless he was addressing them. It was not the respect subjects should hold for their monarch what drove them to act like such, but rather it was the fear they held for a tyrant.

Slowly and reluctantly, she turned around.

Logan...

Thanks for reviewing, the three of you awesome people who did last chapter. It's good to know I'm not just writing for thin air, and that makes me happy. Sorry none of the chapters have been entirely…exciting. They should start picking up next chapter which I hope to get to you by next week at least, if you're even still with me by then...

Mood: Tired!
Listening to: Sometime Around Midnight - Airborne Toxic