A/N: This is a revised version of the last chapter posted before I placed this story on a short, well-needed hiatus. I was able to rethink things, and I feel nice and refreshed after a good bit of a break! I hope you enjoy!

-Chapter Eight-

I dismissed Reaver's maids because, honestly, I didn't want to deal with anyone more than I really had to. They were chatty, giggly and generally bothersome to me. I needed time to myself. Time to contemplate all that had happened.

The moment I slipped into the hot water, I felt relief. I reclined to rest against the the back of the tub and reveled in the feel of the bath. I exhaled, and I closed my eyes. The day before had been one that I could easily label one of my worst. I had been having a lot of 'worst days' lately. I brought my hands up to my face, rubbing my leaking eyes.

The boy with the mercenaries had been an unnecessary casualty of that scuffle. He was likely just a son or brother of one of the other mercenaries. I'd never really come across an unarmed man with those groups. It just wasn't done. I sank my head underwater, and I felt like screaming. Too many deaths, and they had all been on my hands.

Timothy Goulding's death had been necessary. He was a traitor. He plotted my assassination. He had disrespected me, but had I done precisely what he wanted? Did he want to use his own death to prove my corruption? I shook my head gently. His sense of self-preservation had to be better than that, to have lasted this long.

I emerged from the water, and I pulled in a breath of cool, refreshing air. I gripped the cloth that hung conveniently on the side of the tub, and I dunked it into the water. I washed my face, my shoulder, my legs, and anything else that needed it. I was mentally exhausted, but my body felt refreshed, if only a little sore. The ragged hole in my heart ached for all of the misfortune that had befallen the people in my path, but at the same time I didn't know why I mourned. Had they been innocent? Hadn't they deserved it? Perhaps I was mourning myself, the hardening of my heart. That was something I'd never intended. I couldn't let myself become so cold, but was it already happening?

When the water started to cool, I finished up by rinsing my hair of any mud or blood that may have clung to it. I pushed myself from the tub, and I grabbed the nearby towel, drying myself. My hair would take a long time to dry, so I patted it off, and I quickly threw it into a braid, not wanting to fuss over it.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing over the garment that had been laid out for me. It was a long, flowing icy blue dress that did not require extensive undergarments. I dressed myself slowly, thankful for the uncomplicated design of the dress. It did have a rather low neckline, but I could forgive that little flaw. I moved to observe myself in the mirror. My breasts were unbound and moved freely as I walked, which I was sure my host would appreciate, though I didn't want to attract much of his attention.

I could tell from the way Penelope had treated Reaver, she seemed to believe she had a claim in his future. Who was I to obstruct a woman whose first husband I had just executed? She would undoubtedly wait the appropriate amount of time in her mourning attire, then put herself back into society. She would be free to court Reaver, then.

I ran my hands over my face. My skin was in impeccable shape. I looked better than I had in weeks. Maybe I had gained some much needed rest during my overnight convalescence. I was still on the pale side, but I no longer had dark rings of insomnia and stress around my eyes.

I heard a slow knock at the door, and I gave myself a final glance in the mirror before going to answer it. I pulled the door open, and I saw Reaver standing there, looking slightly crestfallen. His eyes moved down my body, as always, but he very quickly found my eyes.

"I have received some rather distressing news, my dear," he sighed, his mouth pressed into a tight line across his face. "It seems Penelope Goulding has thrown herself from her balcony. She...did not survive."

I stepped backward into the room, and I looked him up and down. He looked genuinely disturbed about the piece of news. I closed the door behind him. This piece of news was truly surprising. From the way Penelope had acted, I thought perhaps she was putting on a show for me, but maybe she'd truly cared for Timothy. I couldn't see how, but it was not my place to judge. "I see. I am sorry. I know that you were more than friends."

"It is a pity," said Reaver as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "She assured me that she would be able to handle the consequences of bringing Timothy's treachery to your attention., but it seems that it was all too much for her."

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"News travels fast among such quick-tongued nobles," He said. "I received notes from nearly all of my neighbors regarding the tragedy."

I felt a pang of guilt in my heart. Penelope's death was yet another weight on my shoulders. I sighed, and I turned away from Reaver. "Again, I am sorry for your loss, Reaver. I feel as if this is somehow my fault."

"This is her husband's fault," Reaver said, a cool edge to his voice. "She would never have been driven to end herself had he kept his mouth shut and kept his intentions pure. It was the shame he brought that killed her, not his passing." He slid an arm around my waist, drawing me close. He exhaled sadly, his hand trailing softly down my arm.

"You seem awfully upset about this, Reaver," I said, turning around to face him.

"I am not without emotion, Your Majesty," he said. "I feel sadness and joy just as any other man. It simply takes more to penetrate the surface." He cupped my face. "Penelope's death is a great tragedy, and I feel its weight, as you do."

I exhaled. It was as if I were an open book, but he was an old, dusty volume, kept guard under lock and key. I couldn't tell if his words were genuine or if his reaction was just an elaborate plot to tempt me into his bed once more.

"I will not pretend that I loved her or that I love you, but if one of you had to be taken from me, I am relieved it was not you." He paused for a moment, and a soft smirk fixed itself on his face. "Penelope could not possibly compare to you."

My heart pounded in my throat, and I found myself having to tear my eyes from his. Things had gotten very intimate a little too quickly. I took a deliberate step backward, but I didn't pull from his grip. I just needed to put distance between our bodies, to quell the heat that was building rapidly within me.

He released me, and he motioned toward the door. "Come, my dear. We should have a bite to eat before deciding if you are well enough for travel."

"Trying to rid yourself of me already, Reaver?" I asked as we stepped out into the hallway.

"There are certain advantages to having you so near," He said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I am in no hurry to see you leave."

We once again shared the small intimate table that had been set up for our lunch a few days prior. I was ravenous, as I realized that I hadn't given myself a chance to eat the day before. Though, I ate my food as regally as I possibly could. Everything was delicious and fresh, and I found myself taking seconds of everything.

Reaver's appetite seemed to be as hearty as my own, though he didn't compliment everything as I did. He paid the cooks, and he expected perfection every time he sat at the table, I was sure. He had sent Murphy off to show my guards where they could sit and eat, so we were alone as we ate.

"I realize I've said this a few times," I started before I took a long sip of my water. "But thank you, Reaver. For everything."

He brought small toast point to his mouth, taking a bite, and he shrugged, as if he hadn't saved my life and nursed me back to health. He took a deep sip from his chalice, and he exhaled. "It is no problem, my dear. Though, I daresay you owe me a drink or two. I had planned on getting properly sloshed in celebration of my new lands and title."

"From the looks of that glass and bottle this morning, you got properly sloshed regardless," I chuckled as I dabbed my lips with my napkin. I lay it gently across my lap once more, and I pushed my plate away, finally sated.

He, too, pushed away his food, and he smiled. "It is not nearly as fun for one to drink alone, you must know."

"I wouldn't know," I said. "I've never had the pleasure."

"It is no pleasure," he said. "Especially when one thrives on social interaction, as I do. I've had many years to drink by myself, and I have grown tired of it."

"You talk as if you're some old soul that has lived forever," I giggled, sipping from my water again.

"Perhaps I am an old soul," He said, lifting his napkin from his lap and laying it across the table. "I believe that it is said that a man can live forever through his actions. I am sure I've made quite an impression on Albion in my years."

"I guess you have," I said, also discarding my napkin. I rose from my seat, followed closely by Reaver, who came immediately to my side. He took my arm and laced it gently through his.

"How do you feel, Your Majesty?" He asked as he led me in the direction of the foyer. "Is it too much to hope that you are still weak and convalescing and that you must stay with me another day?"

"I believe that I will be able to return to Bowerstone today," I said. I wasn't sure how to reply to him, so I'd settled on the truth. "I do not want to be a burden on you or your staff, especially after news of a close friend's death."

"You are no burden," He said, leading me toward the stairs. "As I've said, your company is exponentially better than most others." He unlaced his arm from mine and took my hand instead. Turning me to face him, he said, "You are-"

The sound of boots falling against the marble interrupted him, and I turned to see that my guards were lining up around the room, keeping a fast eye on Reaver and myself.

"Perhaps it would be best if I departed for Bowerstone soon," I said. "There is still much to do concerning your...ah..promotion." I withdrew my hand from his, and I clasped them behind my back.

"Well, as long as you will be thinking of me in the time we are apart," He said, his voice dropping to a more sultry tone. He gave me a wink, and he snapped his fingers.

Murphy appeared seemingly from thin air, and he was approaching Reaver rapidly, his breathing heavy. "Y-Yes, Master Reaver?" He huffed, and when he saw me, he threw himself into a deep bow.

"Have a carriage prepared for The Queen and myself," Reaver said. "I have factory business that needs to be seen to."

"Yes, s-sir," He said. "Your Majesty." He bowed once more in my direction, and he scurried off again.

"I thought we would be spending time apart," I said, a soft grin spreading on my lips.

"I thought perhaps you would enjoy my company as I would enjoy yours," He said. "I take pleasure in traveling with others."

The carriage came to a halt, and the footmen immediately opened the doors for Reaver and myself. Reaver stepped out first, swatting the footman out of the way to offer me his hand as I left the carriage. He allowed me to take my hand back, and he followed me toward the entrance where Hobson was waiting for me.

"Your Majesty!" Hobson exclaimed. "It is such a tremendous relief to see you safe! Thank you, Mister Reaver, for assuring that our beloved monarch would come back to us!"

I almost cocked a brow at Hobson, but I figured he was groveling to make up for the huge mistake he'd revealed the day before. I merely ignored him as I walked by, and Reaver followed closely. I glanced over my shoulder to find that his eyes were fixed on the swaying of my hips. "I thought you had important business in Industrial today, Reaver?"

"None so important that would prevent me from seeing you safely to bed," He replied, his eyes tearing away from my backside, filled with a deliberate heat. "You need your rest, Your Majesty. You've been through quite the ordeal."

I snorted softly with laughter as I took to the stairs.

"Your Majesty!" Hobson gasped, coming up to join me. "I must tell you that people have been asking about Mister Reaver's new title, and you've also received many letters of concern. Word has traveled fast of your heroic efforts against that band of mercenaries"

"If you would reply to those letters, assuring my safety and well-being, I would be grateful, Hobson," I said, giving him a task that would keep him away for a good while.

"Of course, Your Majesty. I daresay a few of these well-wishers cold be potential suitors. How would you have me reply to the young gentlemen? He questioned.

"You know," Reaver said, exhaling. "I believe that The Queen has more important matters to see to, Hobson. Scurry off, old man, and she will request you when you are needed." He shooed Hobson away.

Hobson bowed softly, and he retreated.

Reaver's reaction to the mention of suitors had me curious, and I eyed him momentarily.

Reaver reached to grab my hand. "Your Majesty, may I have a few moments with you in private?" His face read business, but his eyes were unreadable.

"Of course," I said with a short nod. I could only assume that he hoped to seduce me, but he didn't have that carnal glint in his eyes that I'd come to anticipate.

He strode ahead of me, already knowing the way to my bedroom, and he held the door open for me as we entered. He tipped his hat to the guards that stood watch, silently asking them to be sure that we will not be disturbed, and he closed the door behind him. He moved to set his hat down in the seat of a wingback chair, and he exhaled. He looked preoccupied, almost worried. He laced his fingers together, and he turned toward the freshly built fire. His eyes were fixed on the budding orange flames, and his mouth was set tightly.

"What is it, Reaver?" I asked, moving closer. I put a hand on his shoulder, and the tension in his body seemed to loosen.

He turned to look at me, his mouth relaxing and his eyes finding mine. "It is nothing, my dear. I merely..." He sighed, closing his eyes. "I feel overwhelmed. That is all."

"Overwhelmed?" I asked, but I then nodded. "I understand overwhelmed, Reaver."

"I imagine that you do," He said, bringing a hand up to cup my face. "I cannot imagine the weight that you carry...alone, at that." There was a tenderness to his voice that I'd never witnessed before. He wasn't putting on a show for the people at court. He wasn't trying to persuade me. He was speaking with me. He felt vulnerable, almost.

"Yes," was all I could say to that. It was so very true.

"I imagine that the people will be clamoring in the streets for a royal wedding soon enough. As Hobson mentioned, there are undoubtedly man suitors that would vie for your attentions."

My eyebrows knitted together, and I tried to find the emotion in his eyes, but I couldn't place it. I put a hand over his, and I asked, "And that would upset you?"

"I don't claim to have any investment in your future, Keira," He sighed. "But you must realize that I regard you with the utmost respect and admiration. For a man incapable of love...to capture my attention...that is quite a feat on your part."

"Incapable of love?" I asked. "That can't be true. No one is incapable..."

"It is a fact, my dear," He said, cutting me off. "I've grown weary of such frivolous emotions. Love inspires passion, just as anger inspires hate. Why not skip the unnecessary steps and simply aspire to be passionate?" He stroked my face. "Love is fleeting and fickle. It dies when the natural weakness of its creators comes to show its ugly little head. You have experienced the death of love, have you not?"

"The last man I loved gave his life the day I fled the castle," I said. "Logan killed Elliot. The love did not die before that, nor do I think it would have had things been different."

"It was his weakness, his despicable nobility that killed your love, dear one. Not Logan," He said. "If that boy cared for you, he would never have offered himself up as a martyr."

I had never thought of it that way. Maybe Reaver was right. Had Elliot truly loved me if he'd chosen death over a life with me? The rioting people he saved had been violent. They'd hurt people. I paused myself, thinking that the rationalizing in my mind sounded a fair bit like my older brother's voice.

"I cannot simply harden my heart," I said, drawing away. "It is not in me."

"It should be" He said. "I have seen you die little by little every day since you've put the crown on your head. Do not let the best of you die, Keira. Lock yourself away before the hemorrhaging of your heart causes any more damage. You will end up like poor Penelope if you do not take action now, darling. I could not bear it." He tucked a loose lock of hair from my the side of my face, and he turned, releasing me.

This conversation was rapidly becoming deeper than either of us intended. It was almost a revelation, but he was still so very guarded. Part of me was intrigued, drawn in. I wanted to get to the root of his words, know their meaning.

"This is not my point," he said, heaving a breath and crossing his arms over his chest. "What I am trying to say is that if you were to marry someone, do not pick a man for love alone. Love is notorious for taking root in the weakest of people. Albion is in need of the strongest of the strong. The most skilled rulers."

"Then what do you suggest, Reaver?" I asked. "Marry the first man to propose marriage?"

"I hardly think that I am in the right position to give you that sort of advice," he said. "I was merely telling you what was weighing heavy on my mind." He turned to capture me in his arms. "I would much prefer to veer away from such conversation, personally."

"Reaver, if you want to say something, then say it," I sighed.

"I think I have run out of words, dear. If I wanted to do something, would you wish for me to do it?" He asked, cocking a brow and offering me a playful, almost shark-like grin.

The moment his mouth came into contact with mine, my body melted against his. I slipped my arms around his waist. My body and my mind were in two separate places. Reaver's words had struck me deeply, and I was trying to contemplate them, but his body was so very aggressive in its assault of mine. I couldn't focus. I felt him lift me from my feet and carry me toward the bed. I drew from his mouth as he set me down, and I looked up to him.

His eyes were alight with passion and a little bit of playfulness as he reached down to pull the boots from my feet. He kicked off his own shoes, and he shed his black coat. The red waist-coat beneath was off within moments, and he eyed me, giving me a silent instruction.

I undid the sash to my dress, and I pulled the fabric over my head. My braid hindered things, so I loosened it, and let my hair fall in wild waves about my shoulders. I unrolled the stockings off of my legs, finding that his eyes were thoroughly interested in the slow reveal of my skin. As I discarded them, he was shimmying out of his tight pants. I discarded my underpants, and I beckoned him toward me.

He obeyed, his mouth overtaking mine, and he parted my thighs, settling his body between them. While I worked at pushing his shirt off of his shoulders, he slipped a hand up my chemise, pushing it up my ribs. His fingers brushed the fresh scar gently, but they moved further up toward their destination. His hips pressed tighter against mine, the swelling bulge beneath his underclothes pressing against my bare heat.

I trembled beneath his touch, and I groaned against his mouth. I slipped my legs around him, driving him closer, and creating a finer, more definite friction. This time, he groaned, and he moved his mouth to my shoulder, where he lay a few fervid kisses before he blindly reached a hand to the side of the bed. His hips rocked steadily against mine as he searched quickly through his pockets one-handedly.

I reached between us, wrapping my fingers around him through the fabric of his underthings. After he sighed with pleasure, he drew back, giving the pair of us room to continue our tasks. He found the condom, and I dipped my hand beneath the waistband of his only remaining clothes. He caught my hand, and he shook his head.

"Do not make me wait, darling," he breathed, as he quickly shoved his underclothes down off of his hips. He took his stiffened length in his hand to roll the protection down over it, and he pushed me back against the pillows.

He drove himself fully into me in a brilliant moment of pleasure that left us both panting. I cupped his face, pulling it toward mine, and he once again set to reaching beneath my chemise to tease the sensitized skin up my ribs and toward my breast. I could feel his lips turn upward in our kiss, and he pushed himself slowly in and out of me, delighting me with each movement.

Our bodies had become more attuned to each other. We moved together, knowing precisely how the other liked to be touched. The effect was astonishing. It came so easily, now. My hips arched upward to meet with his with every thrust, and my body coiled tightly around him.

I gripped his hair firmly, pulling him from my mouth, and I gave him a smirk. I asked breathlessly, "So this is what you would prefer over a nice, heart-felt chat?"

His lips drew upward, his brilliant smile now on display. "Any day, darling."

A/N: The lemon in this scene was slightly inspired by an amazing piece of art by Zil-Foxxxil on Deviantart. ^_^