-Chapter Five-

I gasped as Constance tugged on the laces to the corset. I'd gotten accustomed to going without one in the past few weeks, which made this chore all the more unpleasant. I groaned softly, and when Constance paused, I said, "Just get it over with. Please."

She continued to lace me inside the constrictive underclothes, and when she was finished, she patted me softly on the shoulder. Her hand was cool and comforting. "Come, Your Majesty. Let us do something with your hair."

She led me over to the vanity, where I sat stiffly before her, and she gathered up my hair in her fingers. "Your Majesty, if I may ask..." She started to comb through some of the knots and waves that had formed in the short amount of time it had been loose from its braid. "I realize that it is none of my business, but what precisely is happening with you and Mister Reaver?"

I chewed on my lip. That was a question that even I could not answer with full confidence that I wold be right. I wasn't fully sure of his intentions. "I'm not sure, Constance. He is not the most forward of men... when it comes to his intentions."

"I understand," She said as she ran her fingers soothingly through my hair. "He is, indeed, quite the mystery."

"I can only hope that, whatever it is, it doesn't affect Albion negatively," I sighed. He was vying for a title, running Bowerstone Industrial with an iron fist, and he was jeopardizing my nights and mornings. He wanted instant gratification in all aspects of life, and I wasn't sure what would happen if he found himself displeased. I had not yet experienced the ire of his full temper. I'd only ever seen glimpses of that blackness.

"I agree, Your Majesty," Constance concurred as she pulled my hair back away from my face. She deliberately let strands hang by my face in waving chestnut tendrils, but she secured my hair in an intricate braided style that would accommodate the crown I would be wearing for the portrait.

As she helped me into the large golden-yellow gown, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was swallowed whole by the garment, though it was a truly beautiful dress. It was good for portrait and ceremony, but it was very impractical for much else. I would have a difficult time moving around in it, but I expected that I would be seated or standing in one position for a good amount of time during the day.

I was adorned with golden jewelry encrusted with sapphires and rubies, representing the colors of Albion's flag, and I pulled a pair of white elbow-length gloves up on my arms. Now that I was thoroughly uncomfortable, I knew I was nearly ready. All I required was the crown, but that would need to be brought in from the safe in the treasury.

Constance and Hobson escorted me to the sitting room which had been set up for the portrait with fabrics of gold and white and a chaise lounge for me to sit on. I was thankful, for I didn't much feel like standing still for hours on end. Though, sitting still would probably prove to be equally as challenging.

The painter was a lively young man, not much older than I was, with wild ginger hair and a thin freckled face. His crystal blue eyes lit up when he saw me, and he strode across the room to bow elegantly before me. "Your Majesty, you are an absolute vision." He straightened from his bow, and he smiled widely. "I can only hope that I will be able to capture the depth of your exquisite beauty with my brush and colors."

"You are too kind," was all I could think to say.

"Your Majesty, this is Wesley Crane," Hobson introduced the pair of us. "He has done portraits for many of the nobles in Millfields, including Mister Reaver. I have heard nothing but praise regarding his work."

"It is such an honor to paint you, Your Majesty," Wesley continued on. "When I was offered the opportunity, I canceled all my other appointments. I want to devote my entire artistic attention solely on you."

The vigor with which he spoke reminded me much of Reaver. He seduced with his eyes while he smiled and charmed with his mouth. He was very good, but I had dealt with the master of such tricks. I gave him my most dazzling smile, and I folded my hands delicately before me. "I hope that I do not bore you, Mister Crane. I would hate for you to lose your inspiration because you must focus only on me."

"Perish the thought, My Queen," He said. "I am sure that we will find much to discuss as the process goes along." He escorted me toward the chaise lounge, and when I was seated, he went about walking around me and inspecting every single inch with much scrutiny. I didn't know if he was being forward or if he was simply doing his job. He held his hands out, and his eyebrows raised, "May I?" he was motioning towards my face, as if requesting to pose me.

I nodded softly, and when his hands touched me, the fingers of his hands were rough from work, but his grip was delicate as he tilted my head about, trying to find the correct angle to capture. He settled on turning me slightly to my left side, and my face turned softly toward his canvas.

"Your eyes are striking, Your Majesty," He commented. "They will be quite a challenge to capture." He beamed. "I love a challenge."

"Yes, such eyes will translate beautifully onto canvas, will they not?" said Reaver's voice as he entered the room.

I glanced backward to see that he had returned to the castle with a small dark-haired woman with skin like porcelain. I recognized her as The Duke of Brightwall's second wife, Penelope Goulding. Her eyes were like emeralds, and her mouth was thick and luscious. I hadn't officially met her, for she'd married Goulding during my time away from the castle, but she had shown her face at court once or twice in her husband's stead.

"Mister Reaver," said Wesley giving Reaver a broad grin. His eyes flicked up and down the tall industrialist, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I trust you have been well, Wesley," Reaver said in a velvet-soft voice, his mouth tugging up into a smirk.

Oh gods. The room was now full of people that Reaver had slept with, and I was one of them. I folded my hands in my lap, and I stayed in my stiff posture. I wondered how many others knew the situation. Reaver, of course—and he looked pleased as punch—but I couldn't be sure of Lady Penelope's thoughts, nor those of Wesley's. I wondered if it was obvious that Reaver and I had been intimate. I hoped not. That was something I was not yet ready for people to know. I wasn't sure if I would ever be read for people to know.

"Your Majesty," Reaver said coming to my side and kneeling down. Even as he knelt before me, I had to look up slightly to see into his eyes. "I have brought the Duchess to speak with you of what she has revealed to me."

"Thank you very much, Reaver," I said. "Though, are you sure that we can discuss such things so openly?" I glanced about to see that Penelope had taken up flirtatious conversation with Wesley, who reciprocated avidly. I returned my gaze to him once more, and I saw that he was smirking.

"I believe that those present will have no time to do much," Reaver said, his voice barely above a murmur. "If Goulding is to be here this afternoon, I believe this whole process will move along expediently." He moistened his lips slowly, deliberately. "Honestly, I can say that I trust that Wesley will be discreet, for he would never sully his chances at becoming The Queen's artist on retainer, now would he?"

I exhaled, and I closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn't be sure what Wesley would or wouldn't do. I had only just met the man. I was still rather nervous about the whole ordeal. Reaver's ministrations in the study earlier in the morning had temporarily relieved me, but I was a bundle of nerves once more.

"I must say, Your Majesty," Reaver said. "You simply look lovely in nearly every color. I have never much cared for yellow unless we are discussing gold, but it suits you, my little sunbeam." He whispered his term of endearment, grinning madly. He rose from his crouching position, and he moved toward the Duchess once more. "Penelope, pet, I'd like to introduce you formally to Her Majesty, Queen Keira."

She curtsied, and she said, "It is an honor, Your Majesty. I have heard so many wonderful things about you from all corners of Albion, and I have been lucky enough to have witnessed your benevolence firsthand in court."

Reaver had pulled a chair for Penelope to sit just outside of Wesley's frame. He seated her in it, and he went to fetch one of his own. He was acting like quite the gentleman, but I couldn't help but wonder for whom he showed off this behavior. Was this for my benefit or Penelope's? He took his seat, and he crossed one leg over the other, glancing back to Wesley, "I am sure The Queen is ready when you are."

Wesley nodded, and he took his place behind the easel. "Do try to stay still, Your Majesty. I will try to capture your body until your crown has been delivered. Is that alright?"

"Yes," I said. I had to look at Penelope through the corner of my eye. "Reaver has told me that you have evidence of your husband's alleged treason."

"Yes," She said, her silken voice practiced and confident. "I have documents in which he has tried to contact others nobles of Millfields with threats of ruining your reign, Your Majesty. He has actively plotted to try to overthrow Reaver from his place at the helm of Industrial because he knew that it would throw Albion into a state of disarray. He wants to make you look like an inept ruler, which I am confidant that you are not."

"Why didn't you come to me directly with these accusations?" I asked her. "Why did you go through Reaver?"

"Honestly, he got to you before I could, My Queen," She continued on, shooting Reaver a sideways glance. "It has only been a week since I've discovered my husband's intentions, and I thought that perhaps with the aftermath of the latest battle, you would be far too busy to receive guests or business of this sort."

"I am terribly sorry, my dear," Reaver said, patting Penelope gently on the knee. "I simply could not sit idly by while someone slandered and threatened our dear monarch in such a way."

"I fear he may have plotted more than mere slander, Your Majesty," Penelope said, her voice taking on a solemn tone. "He had some rather shady figures by the estate recently, and I believe he meant you, or those you care about, harm."
Those I cared about. I almost scoffed at the idea. The last of my loved ones were my dog, and Jasper, who was safely tucked away in The Sanctuary. I highly doubted that a man would go through such great pains to assassinate a dog. I drew in a breath, and I gulped softly. "Do you have proof of this?"

"I do," She said. "A letter from one of the men. Would you like for me to read it aloud?"

"Please."

She cleared her throat, and she straightened, searching through her stack of incriminating documents for the proper one. "Goulding—Your gold has been well spent on guns and powder. The attempt will go through one month from this date—it was dated five days ago-" She added in. "The Queen's guards will take some time to infiltrate, but I have men that will be able to do it. -B."

"And you have waited to bring this to anyone's attention?" I asked, almost breaking my pose. "You should have taken it to The Captain of the Guard."

"I realize my mistake, Your Majesty," Penelope said sadly. "I needed time to investigate my husband's true intentions, and I thought perhaps a month would give plenty of time to investigate and then bring this to your attention. You do realize that with my husband, I too could be labeled as a traitor in the eyes of others. I did not want to bring this to you unless I was sure."

"Foolish," I found myself saying. It suddenly made sense. If Goulding had successfully had me killed, he would have been next in line for the throne, seeing as I had no children or relatives. I had no idea the man had such ambition nor a want for the throne. I clenched my jaw, but tried to soften it, not wanting Wesley to catch me as a cross and severe queen.

"Indeed," Reaver said. "I hadn't known of this bit of information. If I had, I would have taken action myself. I could not let any harm come to you, My Queen." He looked decidedly at Penelope. "Your Grace, I believe that with this development, your husband will not be granted the mercy you had hoped."

Reaver was correct. I couldn't let such crimes stand as they were. He couldn't simply be stripped of his title and put in exile. I did not relish the thought of putting an old man before a firing squad. Perhaps he could spend the rest of his years in Traitor's Keep. I would need to see the documents with my own eyes in order to make my a level-headed decision. I would need time, but it didn't seem I had much of it on this day.

"I can only hope," Penelope sighed. "I do not wish to see my poor, dear Timothy...I cannot even imagine." She put a hand over her face. She was very obviously putting on an act for my benefit. She must not have known that I knew much better than to believe her portrayal of the frantic wife. She probably had no idea that I knew the extent of her and Reaver's affiliation.

Reaver, almost rolling his eyes at her onslaught of emotion, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and he passed it to her. His eyes found mine, and he restrained the grin that threatened to spread across his mouth. It was very clear that he found the whole situation amusing. At least someone did.

Penelope dabbed her phantom tears, and she nodded, sniffing slightly. "Thank you, sir. I cannot stress how much of a comfort you have been to me in these trying times."

"If I may ask, Penelope," I said informally. "What do you hope to gain from this? As you have said, being the wife of a traitor will not reflect well on you."

"I merely wish to be of service to My Queen," She breathed softly. "That is all." She patted her cheeks gently. "I can only hope that you will show me the mercy that you may not be able to show my husband."

She had to have some sort of plan regarding her future. I almost asked, but the door creaked terribly as it opened swiftly.

"Your Majesty," said Hobson breathlessly, entering the room with my crown on a cushion. "I am terribly sorry about the delay. There was an issue in the ledger that required my immediate attention."

I wondered what that could mean. "And?"

"It has been rectified, Your Majesty," He said. "I will explain it when your company has taken their leave. I doubt this is something you wish to discuss publicly." He strode toward me, and he held the crown out to me.

I took it, and I placed it on my head. The weight of it was not as terrible as it had been when I'd first been crowned. Hobson's mention of the ledger brought more worry upon me, but I had to focus on one issue at a time. "Reaver, have you anything else to add to this?"

"My Queen, if I may, I would like to remain for the Duke's visit," Reaver said. "I do not trust that man not to harm you."

I didn't believe Timothy Goulding could harm me physically even if he wished. He was a thin, brittle-looking man, but he had sharp, wise eyes. His mind had been his greatest strength, my mother had always told me. She once said, 'Timothy Goulding does not have enemies very long. His wit puts a quick end to them.' I only wondered whose wit would ultimately outweigh the others'; Reaver's or Goulding's.

"If that is your wish," I said.

"I do not believe I will be present, Your Majesty," Penelope said, striking up more tears. "I could never bear to see my beloved husband taken away by guards or...or..." She wept openly, covering her face with Reaver's handkerchief once more. She rose, and Reaver stood as well. "If I may, Your Majesty, I think I will be leaving."

"Leave those documents," I said. "I wish to look at them myself."

She nodded, her blubbering coming to a crescendo as she forked the documents over.

"I will escort you to your carriage, Your Grace," Reaver said courteously to Penelope.

"Thank you, sir," She said, reeling in her wailing. She drew in a breath, a soft smile spreading on her face. "You are too, too kind."

"Oh, I am not sure I would use that label," Reaver chuckled. "Though, I will accept the compliment."

As the pair left the room, I felt relieved and disturbed all at once. It wasn't quite jealousy that I felt toward his relationship with Penelope Goulding. It was shock that he would involve himself with such and insufferable, blubbering woman. She was a great beauty, but that was undoubtedly the extent of her draw on men. I didn't believe he would extend his patience to her much longer. Once she'd served his purpose, he'd likely toss her aside. I was probably in for a similar fate, but at least I saw it coming. It was obvious that poor Penelope did not.

"My," Wesley sighed from behind his easel. "That was tense, Your Majesty."

I laughed softly. "It is not yet over."

"You will surely handle it beautifully," he offered, peeking around the corner, his mouth set in a reassuring smile.

I certainly hoped so.

A little over an hour after the Duchess and Reaver had left, Wesley took his first break, and so did I. I inspected each document that Penelope had produced with as much scrutiny as I could. Everything seemed legitimate. It was all so very incriminating, though I still had my doubts. I wished I had more time to deliberate, but the time was coming swiftly for the Duke's arrival.

I paced around the room, the weight and bulk of the dress not as bad as I had thought it would be. I stretched my legs, and I walked to the window, seeing that it had started to drizzle again. I sighed. I could only hope that the abysmal weather would die down, but I knew better than that. The rain would turn icy, and eventually, we would have snow. I preferred snow to rain. At least the snow covered the land in a beautiful blanket of white. Rain merely created mud. Though I doubted that those that lived well below my comfortable means held the same regard for the icy weather.

"Your Majesty," Reaver said, announcing his return. "I hope that you will pardon the delay. I was...tied up."

I could only imagine, but I didn't ask. I merely raised my eyebrows and nodded softly. The gnaw of hunger hit my stomach, and I wondered when Wesley would be through for the day. I couldn't possibly eat a meal wearing this dress. If the appointment went on much longer, I would have to skip a meal altogether. Goulding was due to arrive any time.

"You are awfully silent," Reaver said, crossing the room to join me at the window. He lowered his voice as he leaned toward me. "You are not jealous of Penelope are you? The girl is beautiful, but she is not much more than that."

"Why would I be jealous?" I asked, turning toward him. I tilted my head softly to the side, trying to look demure and unknowing.

He merely gave me a smirk.

"Is she in love with you?" A smile crept across my face. "She certainly basked in your attention."

"If she has not yet fallen for me, I am sure she will one day," He said, pulling a sterling cigarette case from his pocket. He offered the case out to me, but I shook my head. I'd never been fond of the things. He lit himself one, and he took a deep drag off of it. "It is inevitable."

"So that is your plan?" I asked. "You are going to assume The Duke of Millfields' life—his title, his wife, all to sire children that he couldn't? To replace his legacy with your own?"
"Hmm," He hummed, rubbing his chin and letting the cigarette dangle from his lips. "I am not sure about all of the obligations that go with that scenario, my dear."

"The marriage or the children?" I chuckled.

He merely remained silent, puffing on the cigarette a little more.

I glanced out the window once more, and I saw a large, grand carriage entering through the gates. It was most definitely Timothy Goulding's carriage, as his crest—a raven clutching a scroll—was emblazoned on the doors. I held my stomach, and I glanced to Wesley. "I'm afraid that I must attend to this duty in the throne room, Wesley. We will have to continue this another time."

"Yes, Your Majesty, of course," He said, bowing. "I will need to gather my things, but we have made great progress today. It will, one day, be a beautiful portrait of a beautiful woman."

Reaver frowned at Wesley's flirtations, but he returned his attention to me. "Do you plan to change out of that rather...sizable garment?" His eyes moved down to the massive skirt "I daresay it will not allow you to fit your most exquisite, yet hidden, derriere into that throne of yours. I volunteer my services in changing your apparel quickly."

"I don't believe there is time, Reaver," I said. "Grab the documents, Reaver. We will need them."

"Yes," Reaver confirmed. "I suppose we will."

I turned, hurrying across the room, trying not to trip on the massive skirts. As I passed the canvas, I glanced to Wesley's progress. The portrait had started in a series of outlines in black. I was a hollow figure—a mass of dull dark lines. I didn't quite know how quickly he would have progressed but I thought there would have been more to it than that. I returned my attention to the task at hand. I lifted the hem of my dress, walking as swiftly as I could into the hallway. A group of guards trailed quickly behind me, and Reaver caught up with ease, clutching the stack of documents.

"Are you intending to greet him?" Reaver asked, his long legs allowing him to keep up with my hurried pace without seeming strained.

"No," I said. "He will be brought before me in the throne room, like any other criminal." The words felt foreign coming out of my mouth, and the tone with which I spoke did not sound like me at all. It was cold, dark, and I could see that it brought a smile to Reaver's face.

I tried to tame the churning of my stomach. I no longer had an appetite. I was all nerves. Guards threw the doors to the throne room open as I approached. I tried to gather my thoughts. I would have to be level-headed and fair no matter what was said, no matter who was in the wrong. I could not take this lightly. He was a faithful servant of the crown for nearly 50 years. This was a delicate matter. Hopefully I would get at the root of what had caused this treachery. I approached my throne, and I stood before it, turning toward the door.

"Your Majesty," Hobson bumbled as he scurried within. "His Grace, Duke Timothy Goulding of Millfields."

I closed my eyes, and I swallowed the budding lump in my throat. Just breathe. You can do this. You faced Logan and judged him, though that probably isn't the best example... My breath picked up. You will surely be able to judge some rotten old codger that obviously wants you dead. This isn't a betrayal to your mother. He's the one that's betrayed her, and you. You can do this, Keira.

No matter how much I told myself this would be okay, I knew deep down that this decision could impact the rest of my reign; the rest of my life. The people would see what The Queen of Albion does to those who betray her personally, and I did not want to be painted a tyrant like Logan or labeled a pushover. I'd bent enough to demonstrate my benevolence to my people. I had to be the balance between light and dark today. I would have to make this decision without council from anyone else. I would not let Reaver's presence influence my decision. I was sure I could do that, but I was still intimidated, to say the least.

A/N: Okay, so I'd like to thank those who have been leaving me reviews. It's always nice to see that people are enjoying reading this as much as I have been enjoying myself while writing it. I have big plans for the upcoming chapters. I have been writing away furiously because I've been so excited to get it out. I hope you enjoyed, and as always, do not be afraid to leave me a review to let me know what you think. If you enjoy this, and you have not already favorited/followed it, please do!