Author's Note: I'm pretty sure that, to date, this is my favorite chapter of this story. I positively adore everything about it, from the description to the interaction. That may be a bit narcissistic, but I'm not afraid to give myself a hearty pat on the back when I think I've done well. In other news, there should actually be an actual anatomical term for the backs of someone's knees. Enjoy!
"Intimate Inmates"
Some days later, Balthier and Drenne arrived in Mirane. Though the territory itself was small, Rinae's palace was, by most standards, enormous. While being escorted through the many winding halls, Balthier lost count of the amount of bedrooms and washrooms there were. Even along the ground level, there were more than three dining rooms and at least two ballrooms. The foyer itself was a small wonder, with white marble and jade being the theme, offset by winding pillars and hanging tapestries and lined by spades of imperial guards. Balthier was, for one of the first times in his life, daunted.
Balthier was taken from Drenne and escorted to a room at the very end of the west wing, and he assumed that Drenne's was to be at the tip of the east wing. "A mite possessive, don't you think?" Balthier ventured to ask a guard, who responded by nudging him in the back with his sword's hilt. Balthier also observed that Rinae's guards were much more reserved than those of even Judge Ghis.
Practically shoved into his room, he heard it slam behind him, followed by the resounding click of at least half a dozen locks. Sighing, he took in his surroundings: the room was large and lavish without being gaudy. The only windows apparent were small slits in the wall, letting in only the tiniest slivers of mid-evening light.
Approaching them and glancing out, he saw the palace grounds and marveled at how they contrasted the rest of Mirane. While Rinae's palace and its surroundings were lush and luxurious with towering willow trees and rows upon rows of finely cultivated rose bushes, the rest of Mirane was clearly barely thriving. The climate wasn't particularly warm or cold, but the ground nonetheless was barren with only sparse protrusions of grass or greenery. The capital city was nice enough, with most of the foliage long exterminated in favor of looming metallic buildings, but the outskirts were parched and arid. In comparison, the deserts surrounding Rabanastre were like a circling oasis.
"Hardly a benevolent ruler," Balthier muttered. His head jerked up when he heard the door groan open and a slight figure slip through.
"One hour," an imperial barked, shutting the door forcefully. Drenne leered into the finely carved mahogany for a moment, glaring daggers through the wood. She then turned to Balthier and smiled.
"I dare say your room is bigger than mine," she mused.
"And what a sin that would be," he said, humoring her.
She heaved a sigh, falling back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling. Even the ceiling was expertly decorated, with painted depictions of Gods and humes on it. She found the religious theme rather boring. "I suppose I shan't be seeing you much after this."
"Really?" he ventured, sarcastic. "But Rinae seems to adore having you in the company of other men."
She propped her head up on the palm of her hand, grinning. "Oh, yes. He simply loves to share."
Balthier rolled his eyes, taking a seat on a plush chair near a writing desk. "I'm positively torn. I can't decide whether to steal half the things in this room, or burn them just to get a rise out of him."
Drenne chuckled. "I'd recommend neither. You'd never make it out of this palace alive." With that remark, the mood became somber. Drenne spoke again, her tone wistful, "What happened to your partner?"
Balthier's eyebrows rose curiously. "Hm?"
She lay back, arms behind her head. "You don't pirate alone, I'm positive. So why, then, were you in Sysril unaccompanied?"
He shrugged. "After the theatrics between Archadia and Dalmasca, she preferred to stay in Rabanastre for a short vacation. If you ask me, staying on land for any longer than required is no manner of vacation."
She didn't seem to hear the last part. "You travel with a woman? A paramour, perhaps?"
This time, it was Balthier's turn to laugh. "Hardly. We're partners in pirating and nothing more. Why?" he asked, his tone one of great entertainment. "Be you jealous?"
"Oh, insatiably," she drawled, rolling her eyes. "Still, I'd like to know these things. That way I may send her my condolences for when she learns you've been whisked away by a mysterious and," she paused, sitting up and looking at him sinfully, "incredibly beautiful woman."
"Have I?" he wondered, looking about. "Where is she?"
"Oh, aren't you a clever one?" said Drenne, grinning.
"No, really," Balthier continued. "I should like to meet her."
Silkily, Drenne rose from the bed and walked towards him, making a particular display of swinging her hips just so. "Then meet her you shall," she whispered, before silencing his retort with a kiss. She leaned into the chair, knees on either side of his, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt him grin against her lips as his hands snaked around her waist and tugged at the hem of her shirt.
Balthier, without breaking contact, rose from the chair with her legs wrapped around his waist. Stumbling towards the bed, they both fell in a tangle of arms and legs when the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Drenne's hands wandered down his chest and around, fingers seeking the laces that kept his vest together. Balthier's lips traveled from her mouth to the nape of her neck, hungrily and expertly. Smirking, Drenne released a moan.
Finally having grown impatient, she growled and snapped the lacing of his vest. Balthier looked up. "Well, thank you for that."
"Anytime," she purred, weaving a hand through his hair and pulling him into another passionate kiss. Drenne reached a hand around to pull off his vest when a rapping sounded at the door.
"Time to go!" a richly accented voice called.
Drenne sighed in exasperation. "You must be joking!" she called back, still in a rather comprising position beneath Balthier. "It's not even been an hour!" As a response, both Drenne and Balthier heard the first of the locks come undone. "Damn," she muttered. Balthier stood and straightened his vest before extending a hand and helping her to her feet.
"Most inopportune," he said, his lips cocked in the slightest hint of a smile.
She nudged him. "By some twist of fate, you're constantly avoiding my advances." Her lips settled in a fake pout. "I'm beginning to think you don't like me."
"Wherever would you get that notion?"
Halting their conversation, the door flung open. Drenne's arms fell limp at her sides as the guards came to escort her out. "Now, really," she said to them, "you interrupted our deep and meaningful conversation about the existence of religion and afterlife."
Balthier chuckled but was silenced by the echoing sound of the door as it closed, followed by the clicks of multiple locks imprisoning him once again. Suddenly he felt as if the rest of his stay would not be so eventful, or enjoyable.
