-Chapter Fifteen-

In the days that followed my return to the castle, I kept mostly to myself. I left my room occasionally to walk the front courtyard, or to answer a few letters in the study, but I didn't do very much. Mostly, I remained confined to my chambers, dealing with my emotions and all that had happened in the past few days. At first, it had all been too much, but as each day passed, the weight on my heart eased, if only a little.

Reaver had taken up his duties at the factory once more, stating that his return would ensure the people that I was recovering. Even the staff had believed Reaver's lie that I had fallen victim to a mysterious fever, and that my own lady-in-waiting had even been afflicted. He had told everyone that she had not survived, and that seemed to satisfy their curiosity about her disappearance. How was it so easy for him to lie about the way people around him seemed to disappear? How could people accept his lies so readily?

I hadn't seen Reaver since the day I returned to the castle. I was still processing all I'd learned about him. When he came by, which was often, I always refused to see him. Part of me wanted to believe he was worried about me, but I knew that was just foolish.

Murphy had been entrusted with Hobson's duties since the old, despicable man was relieved of his job by Reaver. I wasn't sure of the exact details of Hobson's dismissal or Murphy's ascension into the job, but the young, stammering man was surprisingly adept at the keeping of the royal treasury. He seemed to have quite the mind for numbers and reasoning. He was all too eager to sit with me in the parlor and discuss the rapidly growing wealth of the kingdom. His nervous stammer had even reduced to slightly, and he'd even made eye-contact with me—something he'd never done in the past. Perhaps now that he was officially under my employ, he did not have to fear my husband's tempestuousness.

"T-today's schedule is p-pretty basic," Murphy said, flipping through a few sheets of parchment. "There is a portrait sitting sch-scheduled for this afternoon, but other than that, you are f-f-free to do as you wish."

"Another portrait?" I asked, exasperated. Sitting through the first portrait had been tiresome enough.

"R-Reaver has said that you refused him a wedding portrait," Murphy said. "He r-requests that you at least sit with him for one in honor of your birthday."

"In honor of my birthday?" I questioned. My birthday was a few weeks away, but I couldn't believe that this was for my benefit. Was this his way of forcing me to see him? What did he hope to gain by speaking to me? It would not change what he did or how I felt about it. It had been a betrayal, and I was not yet ready to face him and discuss the issue.

"Does he truly believe that I require so many portraits?" I breathed, trying to look unaffected.

"Well, m-my Queen, you have been inside of his m-mansion in Millfields, or don't you remember its d-décor?" Murphy asked, a glimmer of humor lighting up his blue eyes, but after a moment he looked serious once more. "He's s-said that if I am unable to conv-vince you..."

Of course he'd threatened Murphy. He knew that I wouldn't let any harm come to him. I sighed, rubbing my temples, and I nodded softly. I would have to bear this because I knew Reaver would not spare Murphy his cruelty. Reaver did not bluff.

"I will be there, I suppose," I sighed.

There was a soft rap on the door, and it opened. Anabelle, my newest lady-in-waiting entered, her warm smile seeming to brighten the room. She had proven to be a great support over the past few days. Though she did not know the full extent of my sadness, she knew that I had not simply been ill. She kept me company with conversation, encouragement, and she'd even taught me to properly play chess—though, she also taught me humility in totally decimating me every time I dared challenge her to a match.

Murphy's jaw hung loose, and he averted his eyes, returning them to the itinerary for the day. His face was a few shades more pink than it had been before Anabelle had entered the room, and I couldn't help but smirk at his reaction. As close as Murphy and Reaver had been in the past, I would have never thought that he would be interested in...well...women. Then again, Reaver had a wide variety in his tastes, why couldn't Murphy?

Anabelle was very pretty and had curves that made most men turn their heads. Her olive skin seemed to be perpetually kissed by the sun, and her wide, dark eyes seemed to be always filled with laughter. She offered Murphy her best smile, and she gave him a small curtsy before giving me one that was deeper and more formal.

"Your Majesty," She said to me, then her eyes turned towards Murphy. "Mister Murphy."

"G-g-g-ood day, Lady An-n-n-nabelle," He stammered, bowing hastily in return, dropping everything that he had clutched tightly in his arms. His wiry limbs seemed to tangle up in themselves as he scrambled to catch everything.

Anabelle hurried forward to help him gather up his possessions, her warm eyes smiling to him as she handed him a bundle of papers. "Here you are, sir."

"M-m-much obliged, My Lady," he returned, his face a deeper shade of scarlet. He swept a hand through his wavy blonde hair, trying to put himself to rights. He looked toward me with wide blue eyes, and he said. "Excuse me, Your M-majesty. His G-g-g-grace has requested my presence at the factory once I have given you y-y-your schedule. I r-r-r-really must be off."

"Thank you, Murphy," I offered with a soft smile. "You may go."

As he left the room, he gave another quick glance to Anabelle, who followed him with her eyes every step of the way.

"Well," I said with a bit of laughter in my voice. "It seems you have an admirer."

Anabelle merely shook her head, her face still fixed into a smile. She wrung her hands together in front of her, and she stepped forward.

"Oh, and it seems the feeling is mutual," I pointed out, raising a brow gently.

"He seems to be a truly humble and sweet man," She said. "Though, I wonder what His Grace has done to him to make him so unbelievably skittish." She almost always referred to Reaver with the utmost disdain, and frankly, that relieved me. I did not want another scandal. It was refreshing to see a woman so immune to his charms. I only wish I had been as strong.

"I wonder," I remarked.

"Speaking of your husband," she sighed, changing the subject abruptly. "He has informed me that a dress for the portrait this afternoon will be on its way shortly. He accosted me in the hallway this morning as he was leaving for Industrial."

"Did he behave?" I questioned. Anabelle had told me how he'd flirted with her in the past, even before we had been married. Her refusal must irk him terribly, and that brought me a tiny bit of petty pleasure.

"Surprisingly yes," She said in disbelief, crossing the room and eying the chess set that was set up in the corner. "Now, how would you like to pass the time until your dreadful appointment?"

"Hopefully winning a game of chess," I said with a smirk. "I've been practicing with Murphy. I think I've gotten better...or Murphy is a terrible strategist."

She smiled, and I wasn't sure if it was from the mention of Murphy or at the prospect of annihilating me once more at her game of choice. "Alright, then. Let's see how you've improved."

-Reaver-

I reclined against the soft chaise in my office. I was still so very distracted, as I had been for nearly a week. I had foolishly believed that Keira's return would simply solve my foul mood, but I found that it was even blacker than before. Perhaps it was the fact that she still refused to see me. We'd spoken at length the night of her return, but since then, she had all but banished me from her presence.

I now had to rely on Murphy for inklings of what my wife may be doing in now that she had submitted me to marital exile, but he assured me that she seemed to be in a better state. I was still not satisfied. The very fact that she told me she did not want me near her made me crave her presence all the more. No woman had ever dared to dismiss me in such a definite way.

My eyelids drooped lazily, and I jerked them open again. My Dark Seal weighed heavy on my soul now that my time of tribute was near—only a few weeks away. It always grew heavier the closer my little appointment grew. I'd had arrangements to send Murphy off to escort my chosen tribute, but now there were various reasons why I would need to go personally this year. Not only did Murphy have new, more important duties to attend to, but I found myself curious to find out just what had driven my shadowy friends to seek out my wife. There had to be some sort of motive there, but I still was not completely sure what it could be.

There was less work to be done at the factory than usual, as Page had proven to be a very resourceful and meticulous worker. Part of me had to commend her for her work despite my every effort to make her life difficult, yet the bigger part of me still loathed her and all she stood for. Her determination to be "compassionate" was a weakness. A sharp mind should never waste itself on the plight of the downtrodden but search for a way to look forward. It was a shame that she was so stubborn in her humanitarianism.

I had finished all of the work that had piled up in the time of my absence in a few short hours. Any other man might have given up work once he'd become King-Consort, but as much as I craved the title, I knew that I would be terribly bored lounging about the castle all day. In my centuries of existence, my attention span had become rather short. I had been driven nearly to distraction in the time that Keira was missing, and that was but a few short days. I simply could not imagine lounging around the palace day and night without a thing to do.

A knock on the door interrupted my contemplation, and I pushed myself from my seat on the lounge. I gave myself a glance in the gilt-framed mirror and I adjusted the state of disarray that was my hair. The door opened, and I looked over my shoulder to see that Page was entering the office with fat stack of parchment burdening her arms.

"You realize that the protocol for knocking is that one waits for a response before entering a room, yes?" I questioned, curling a lip in distaste.

"Oh stop whining, Reaver," she muttered, her eyes rolling slightly. "I can't see how Keira puts up with it. It's not very endearing."

"Neither is being a cunt," I said curtly, putting my hands on my hips. My temperament was teetering on the edge of anger, and my hand had a habit of moving hastily to my pistol under such circumstances.

"Is that the best insult you can come up with?" She snorted with laughter as she dropped the stack onto my desk.

I shrugged my shoulders gently, "Brevity is the soul of wit, dear Page."

"With an insult like that it seems like your wit has become rather...impotent" She said, crossing her arms over her ample bosom, as she often did in my presence. Perhaps she meant to hinder my view of them, but she failed—actually pushing them up into a more exposed position. I found myself so distracted by her breasts that I didn't bother retorting to her baiting. So many days without a woman's attention made even Page a viable option for dalliance, but I restrained myself. Stooping so low would only degrade me.

I took a seat behind my desk, and I looked at the papers she'd just deposited. Pulling them toward me, I returned my gaze to her eyes. "What are these?"

"They're deeds to various mines and plots of land in Aurora," she told me. "You realize I'm not your secretary? I'm your—"

"Liaison to the people," I interrupted her. "What is a secretary but a liaison between myself and everyone else? Now scurry off, and tell one of those useless oafs out there to bring me my coffee. I've gone all morning without it."

"Oh, poor thing," She sneered. "How ever could you manage without your morning coffee?"

I narrowed my eyes at her, my hand creeping dangerously close to the holster at my hip. "You would be wise not to bite the hand that feeds you because that hand is a lot quicker than you will ever be. Now go. If my coffee is not in front of me in ten minutes...well...I am positive that whatever happens will not be pleasant."

"You are a miserable excuse for a human being , Reaver," Page scoffed, her posture stiffening and her lips pursing.

"Miserable I am most certainly not," I laughed. "What do I have to be miserable about? I am The King, after all."

"You are no king, Reaver," She said. "You're simply married to The Queen."

"I think you must refresh yourself on the definition of King, dearie," I told her, my rich voice ringing as sweet as a bell. "Now, whoever is to bring me my coffee has only nine minutes to make it and bring it to me. You'd better be sure to let someone know hastily."

She whirled around, storming out of the room in a brood. She slammed the door behind her, and I couldn't help but laugh at the state she was in. Perhaps my mood would be salvaged after a nice, hot cup of coffee.

I pulled out my pocket watch, glancing at the elaborately decorated face. The arms pointed at ten and five, and I smirked. I had only a few short hours before I would have Keira as my captive audience. I would have to share her with Wesley for a short time, but he was easily ignored. How could she possibly pay him any mind when I would be so very close?

I flipped through the various documents and contracts that Page had brought before me. She had left a little note on the front, informing me that the documents require only my signature in key places, but I was not satisfied. I would have to read everything for myself. Over the years, I had developed a quick, accurate eye for words, and in a short time, I was able to find quite a few discrepancies that I did not find acceptable. I would have to have someone redraft the whole thing.

As the door flung open, a nervous-looking young woman entered the room with a tray. She huffed and puffed as she hurried toward me. Amazingly, not a drop of my coffee was spilled when she set the tray on the desk. She gave a stiff curtsy, her eyes never meeting with mine, and she turned around to exit the room as swiftly as she'd entered.

I glanced to my watch, and I saw that she'd made it within the time limit I had allocated. My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I smirked a little. It was good to know that good, old fashioned intimidation still worked in some circumstances. With my wife, I would have to take a different approach. I picked up my cup, and I sipped at the dark, fragrant drink as I returned my attention to my work.

-Keira-

As Anabelle pulled the garment from its box, her eyes widened, and she struggled to suppress a look of shock. The dress was a deep scarlet made from the softest-looking velvet. While I usually wouldn't pick a velvet gown for lingering heat of the dying summer, it was a beautiful garment, and it was simply for the occasion of the portrait.

"I thought for sure that he'd send you a scrap of cloth and say that would be it," she marveled, a hint of humor in her held the dress up high to allow me to capture it as a whole.

It looked as if it would cling to my body tightly in the bodice, but the skirt flowed loosely outward. Other than that, it was rather plain with a few gold embellishments around the low-scooping bust-line, but it was the cut of the dress that made it so alluring.

Anabelle assisted me in dressing, and I found that the dress fit me perfectly as did most gifts of clothing that Reaver had bestowed upon me in the past, though he'd never officially measured me. I supposed he had a very good eye for this sort of thing. I sat down, opting for a simple golden locket and matching earrings.

"You're quiet," Anabelle noted. "Are you nervous?"

The question caught me a little off guard. "Why would I be nervous?"

"Because you haven't seen him in nearly a week, Your Majesty," She said bluntly, swooping my hair out of my face and running a brush through it. "I do not know the extent of what happened, but from what I know of you, it must not have been good."

I pressed my lips tightly together as she started to work my hair into an elaborate braided bun. I exhaled, and I saw that her eyes watched me in the mirror, waiting for my reply. I folded my hands in my lap, and my eyes , "Reaver has been...unfaithful."

"Is that so surprising, Your Majesty?" She asked tenderly. "He has been known to be quite the hedonist. It isn't as if this was a union of love, right?"

I was silent, and I opened my eyes again.

A knowing look crossed her features, and she averted her gaze from mine in the mirror. She said nothing, but she worked silently at my hair until it was perfectly arranged.

When Anabelle and I entered the room allotted for the sitting, I saw that we were the last to arrive. Reaver was seated across from Murphy and Wesley, each of them enjoying a drink. When Murphy's eyes caught sight of us, he bolted upright from his seat to bow to me, and he gave a swift, genial nod in Anabelle's direction.

Anabelle, taking her sweet time, made her way to him, offering him her hand, which he took and kissed.

My husband and the painter were also on their feet, but it was Wesley who reached me first, taking my hand and kissing the back of it tenderly. Reaver's face went sour momentarily, but when Wesley released me, he moved to my side. He took both of my hands in his, and he offered me a smile of excitement. He was dressed in a suit of all black save for his deep red shirt, which I'm sure would look very nice with the dress that I wore.

"Well, my darling wife, it is very refreshing to see you looking so well," He said. "You're lovely, especially after fighting off such a nasty fever for nearly a week solid." He brought a hand up to stroke the side of my face, but he turned his eyes toward Wesley. "She wouldn't have me near her, the dear. What if I, too, had fallen ill? Where would Albion have been then?"

His touch was tender, and it made my stomach leap forward, but I drew away hastily. I turned my eyes about the room to see that Anabelle had taken to speaking quietly to Murphy, whose face was slightly more composed in her presence. The pair stood near the double doors leading to the garden, inching closer as the moments passed. Anabelle's eyes flicked up to me momentarily, and she shot me a broad, dazzling smile.

"If I may be so bold, Your Majesty, ou look even more radiant than ever," Wesley put in, his mouth turning up into a flirtatious grin. "It will be quite the task to capture such breathtaking beauty, but I believe that I am up to it."

"Now, my friend," Reaver said, putting his arm around Wesley's shoulders and leading him toward his easel. "I am more than confident in your abilities to capture my beautiful wife and myself, so let us begin, shall we?"

Nodding, Wesley started to set up his supplies, and Reaver made his way toward me once more.

His hand on my back sent a chill through my body, and I turned to face him. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, and it felt more taunting than affectionate. Perhaps he was taunting me because he knew I was still upset with him but would not cause a scene in such company, or perhaps he was taunting Wesley by parading me in front of him like some sort of trophy.

I said nothing as we moved toward the area that had been designated for the painting. I glanced around, seeing that there was nowhere to sit, I could only assume that we would be standing for this portrait.

"I'm terribly sorry about the standing for hours on end," Wesley said, his bright eyes apologetic. "The height difference is quite difficult to work around, and your husband did insist on standing for this portrait. Let me know if you get too tired, and we will take as many breaks as needed, Your Majesty." He smiled at me as wide as he could.

Reaver chuckled heartily, "Oh, I would not worry about my dear Keira's stamina, Mister Crane. She has proven herself to be quite capable of enduring long hours of activity." I could feel his hand close around my arm tenderly just before he added, "On the battlefield, of course." He pulled me toward him, my head tucking nearly perfectly beneath his chin.

"That will be lovely," Wesley commented, now observing us with an artist's scrutinizing eye. "Now, Reaver, if you could just put an arm around her, perhaps?"

"Gladly," Reaver's voice smoldered, and he slipped an arm around my waist. He pulled me back against his body. His fingers splayed possessively across the flat plane of my stomach, but they were tender, teasing me with the softest of caresses.

A shiver worked its way through me, and I exhaled, now feeling slightly frustrated. He was definitely testing the limits of my tolerance. I straightened, and I found myself looking for Murphy and Anabelle.

They had left the room, and I nearly groaned in disappointment. Reaver and I were alone, save for Wesley, but he was now intently focused on observing the way in which we were posed and working at capturing us on canvas.

"You have not asked how I have fared in the days we have been separated," Reaver said, sounding decidedly offended. His free hand stealthily traced the curve of my backside, causing my body to tense and melt all at once.

"I know you well enough to believe that you would tell me regardless of whether I wanted to know or not," I quipped, trying to feign a sense of fortitude.

Laughter rumbled in his chest, and his grip around me tightened. "Oh, my dear, what a sharp tongue you have. I had forgotten how much your use of it amuses me."

I blinked softly, and I looked up to see that Wesley was grinning at Reaver's comment, and I cleared my throat. "We both know that you have an affinity for many tongues...not only mine."

Wesley snorted softly from behind his canvas, and I knew that he was holding back laughter.

"That very well may be, but it is your tongue that interests me right now," Reaver murmured quietly. He pushed his hips into me, and I could feel the bulge of his manhood against the small of my back. "This little portrait was not scheduled because I felt we needed to pose together. We both know that I need another picture of myself like a drowning man needs a glass of water."

My heart caught in my throat, I tried to look a little more composed and remind myself of the reason I'd been avoiding him for the past days. He'd betrayed my trust—however misplaced that trust was. "You scheduled a portrait because..?"

"I have tried in vain to commandeer a little of your time in the past days, but it seemed this was the only way to capture your undivided attention," He said, his hand sliding down the back of my thigh.

I managed to pull my leg away from his touch while still maintaining our pose, and I moistened my lips. "What was it that you wanted to do with that time? Surely you could have found someone else to-?"

"Is it so difficult to believe that I simply wished to see you?" He asked in a hushed tone. "I am still your husband, and I am certainly entitled to take up a small wedge of your time."

"I was not ready to see you, and I am not ready to talk about this," I said quietly. "Now, can we just get through this without any more conversation? I've had enough."

I could see Wesley's eyes peeking curiously around the canvas, trying to decode the meaning of our terse argument, but he when he saw that I was looking, he returned to his work.

A long while passed where nothing was said. Reaver continued to tease me with soft caresses of my stomach, and every once in a while, he would press his unwavering arousal against me. His breathing was deep and steady, but from the way he shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, I could tell that his will was waning.

"I thought perhaps we could take supper together tonight..." He whispered as he leaned against my ear. His hot breath ghosted across the lobe, and he squeezed me gently in his grip. "Then, we can talk...or not talk. It matters not to me. So long as you are close...perhaps closer."

My pulse throbbed in my veins, and I drew in a shaky breath. I found myself wishing that Anabelle and Murphy had stuck around to help ease the tension between Reaver and myself. I suddenly remembered that there was another person in the room, and he would make the perfect escape from Reaver's advances.

"Wesley," I said loudly. "How have you fared since the last time you were here at the castle? I hope that you have kept busy."

He glanced around the canvas to give me a broad smile. "Very busy, Your Majesty, but it is always an honor to rush to cater to your every artistic need." His laughter was soft, but his eyes were fixed boldly on mine.

Reaver's grip on me tightened, and I could feel his posture tense. He said nothing, but the way he pressed me tighter into his body spoke volumes.

"Perhaps I should not have waited so long to have another portrait made," I said, tilting my chin up a little and offering him a small, genial smile. "I so enjoyed your company during our sittings."

"Not nearly as much I enjoyed yours, Your Majesty. I could listen to your stories for hours. Your voice is just so..." he trailed off, chewing softly on his lower lip, completely ignoring Reaver, who was now gripping me intensely. "Melodic. I could listen to you speak about anything, I am sure." His voice was now low and almost seductive.

I could feel the rush of blood to my cheeks, and a wider, more genuine smile tugged at my lips.

"I think," Reaver said sharply, "that we have stood here long enough." He released me suddenly, and he stepped toward the canvas. His face was edged with a flush of anger, and he looked to Wesley. "May I have a few moments to speak privately with my wife before you pack up and leave?"

Wesley, looking suddenly flabbergasted, nodded, and he hurried out of the room. He didn't hesitate or argue because it was obvious he knew Reaver well enough to realize that one did not want to linger while he was in a foul mood.

Turning toward me, Reaver grasped me tightly by the arms. "Just what was that little display, hmm?"

"It was innocent conversation," I said, my gaze tilting up to meet with his.

"Innocent," he spat, his eyes turning to dark, angry slits. "You preach fidelity on one day, and flirt shamelessly with the first man to walk by on another. You are anything but innocent. You cannot lie to me about this, Keira." My name left his mouth with such anger and disdain that I nearly recoiled.

"Maybe you should have thought about the consequences of your debauchery," I spat, jerking away from him. "It isn't as if you have been faithful to me, even after my return. You've probably found another little trollop around the castle by now."

His brow furrowed, as if my statement had truly caught him off guard.

"Do you truly believe me to be so callous?" he questioned through tight lips, taking a hold of me once more. "so blind to what has happened in the past week—to what it all could mean?"

"Yes," I said simply. I wasn't even sure what my deal with The Shadow Court changed between us, but to Reaver, it seemed to mean something.

"There has been no one else," Reaver snarled, a dark tone in his voice. He released me, and he spun on heel to head toward the door. His hand flung outward, and he shoved Wesley's easel sharply, and it toppled to the ground, along with the paints and brushes he'd only just started to work with. He exited the room, the door slamming behind him, and I jumped.

I couldn't bring myself to truly believe that Reaver had been faithful over the past few days. What could have possibly changed him so profoundly that he would simply stop? If his words were true, what were his motives? Did he truly wish to have normal marriage, or was he simply acting with caution until the whole situation blew over?

I moved across toward the over-turned easel, and I lifted the canvas. The parts that were painted had been smudged and smeared. The work was clearly ruined, but what Wesley had managed to capture in the sketchy beginnings of his painting was Reaver's possessive hold on me and the sheer heat of his gaze, which was turned down to me. I inhaled, and I set the canvas back down.

My nerves were raw, and my head was aching, now. I crossed my arms over my chest, and I found myself looking down to the painting again. He'd been jealous of Wesley.

Hadn't he gotten enough out of me yet? He'd attained his title, his glory, his place in the monarchy. What more could he possibly desire? I knew that asking myself these questions did no good, but I still found myself hesitant to confront him again. I felt like a broken record, repeatedly bringing up his infidelity, but it was always on my mind, eating away at my remaining strands of sanity. I tried to swallow the growing lump in my throat, but I couldn't seem to shake it.

Deep down, I knew why this affected me so profoundly, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. I didn't want to say the words aloud because it would make it real. If it was real, then I was truly a fool—more naïve and weak than a queen should be.

No. I couldn't admit to it. It wasn't real. It was just my lingering sadness getting the better of me. I had to push this from my mind and move on no matter how heartbroken and downtrodden I felt, no matter how devastating the past months had been. If I was to stay sane, I would have to overcome this.

A/N: I know this one took a while to get out, but I had a lot going on. I hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a review to let me know what you think! I thrive on the feedback. GIMMIE!

On another note, I'd like to thank my awesome betareader, angelacm, for all she's done to shove me along as I struggled with this chapter. If not for her, it might have taken EVEN LONGER to get out!

I also would like to give a shout-out to the ladies over at Alternative Albion for giving this a read and giving opinions! Much appreciated!

Thanks for reading, and I will have more out as soon as I can write it!