A/N: Sorry for the hiatus. College happened haha. I promise that we're very very close to something interesting (i hope!). And those who actually waited, thank you so much! And SORRY! :D

Glasses shattered everywhere as sweet juices of peach flooded the cracks of the stone floor. It flowed down to the foyer's edge. Nobles and villagers stared in bewilderment as a blue-haired elf ascended from the ground, gown horribly drenched in sweet fruit juice.

"How unfortunate of me…."

A small brunette came rushing to her with a huge cloth in hand. Hopping from left to right, avoiding the shattered glass pieces, she reached and crouched, quickly draping the cloth on top of her flat head. If this wasn't the most peculiar scene to witness in your life, you must've been living in Albion. From a distance, two maids could be seen shaking their heads in dismay. The people around them stared. "Maybe you shouldn't take charge of the peach juice, Llyr,"

The blue-haired tiled her head, eyes shimmering with tears. "B-b-but if I can't even take care of the juices," She clapped her face to her palms and started bawling out, shoulders shaking with each weep. Knees thumping loudly against the stone, she dropped to the ground. "Then, I can't take care of anything!" Tears ran down her red cheeks as the brunette's breath hitched, thinking her knees had been punctured by the glass pieces. "I'm a failure!" Her friend cringed to hear her high-pitched cries, yet again. This must've been the tenth time that week.

Coming to contact with her back was a large hand. At first, she thought it was Rathty and her usual back rubs. Rathty figured that the best way to stop Llyr from her awful crying was with pats and rubs. She had tried many methods. So far, this was the best. But this hand was far too large to be that of Rathty's unless she had undergone a sudden growth spurt. A large man with thick black hair crouched and brought Llyr's head up with a slight grip on her chin. Llyr hiccupped between sobs.

"M-M-Mark Antony," she stammered and sniffed. His dark eyes swept from left to right, examining Llyr's petite body. Still eyeing her silently, he unclasped his cape by the buttons and raveled it on her back. Huge, it's furry ends dropped heavily onto the dirty ground. "T-The cape, my lord. It will be dirty," Llyr quickly stood to her feet, almost tripping on her heels in the process. But the cape was still too long for her to prevent it from touching the floor. Llyr bowed apologetically. "Thank you, my lord. B-but… "

"Fear not," he whispered. Then, his eyes averted to the many tables behind him. He searched for the Emperor and found him smartly leaning against a wooden chair, along with the rest of the group. He turned back to the sniffing elf. "I must go," He took a step back and smiled reassuringly. Llyr fluttered her eyes, blushing. "Be careful,"

As he trotted his way back to the table, shifting through crowds and narrow gaps, being careful to not topple people down with his brawns. He smirked to himself. "Thank god. That cape was bloody hot,"

A chair screeched its way as Mark Antony tugged it from beneath the table. He sat; content to have given away the abominable thick cape. Before he came to the group however, he was quick enough to catch a few plates of pie for almost everyone. He passed it around.

"Oh!" Morgan exclaimed, clapping her fingertips in joy. She pointed at her plate. "This!"

"It's your favourite," Octavia said and took a bite from her plate. Morgan pouted. "Let's share,"

"Nu-uh," the green-haired uttered and stuck her arms up to form a cross. "You're going to finish the whole-" Not a moment after that, she found her pie fully devoured. The group gaped.

Grabbing the plate, Octavia gave it to her assistant. "We want more," she nonchalantly said. Mark silently took the plate and dashed through the crowd again to get more pie, sighing deeply.

When he was well deep inside the gathering, the Emperor laughed. "You are truly cruel, dear cousin," he giggled as he took small nips of the pie. He chewed on his first serve, squinting. Slowly, he got accustomed to the taste. Apple and beef pie, it was. Again, if that was the least weird thing to have tasted, you must have been living in Albion. He swallowed with difficulty. "Are you still bitter with that man?"

"Even more now that someone has assigned him to be my helping hand," She leaned back and crossed her arms.

Morgan took a while to check on her friend's expressionless face. She blinked. "Why are you bitter with Antony?" she asked. "Did something happen between you two?"

Octavia groaned and turned to lean closer to her aunt. Giggling hysterically was Nero who took bigger scoops of the pie.

Morgan furrowed her brows in confusion. She opened her mouth to question but Mark returned with even more plates of pie. He handed one to Octavia first and left the rest in the middle for seconds. The blonde sat up straight and started munching on the pie.

"Oh," Mark voiced as he took a plate for himself. "I have placed all of your research material from the library to your room, milady," Octavia shot a glare at him. "We have discussed about that part, haven't we, milady?"

She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Antony," she replied. Then, she narrowed her eyes, realizing something odd. "Hold on. Were you- Wait,"

Atia chomped noiselessly as her gaze shifted from her niece to her assistant, back and forth. Somehow, she had a hunch as to what her niece was about to ask. More to her pleasure, being right behind Octavia, she was given the chance to secretly read the King's lips just a moment ago. You were beautiful, she thought. This young lady was definitely her sister's daughter- deliberately making her past lover leave the table to simply clear her mind of complicated things. However, being Mark Antony, he wasn't easily crossed or annoyed.

Octavia slowly covered her mouth. Muffled behind her fingers, she asked, "Were you the one who brought me back to my chamber?"

The Emperor and Morgan had no clue as to what they were talking about. Flabbergasted, they decided to wash down the sweet and savory pie with red wine. Atia suddenly choked and aggressively coughed, tapping her chest. Quickly taking her glass of chilled water, Octavia brought the tip to her lips. At least, she wasn't the only one who favored water over wine. Her aunt swallowed down the water, with huge gulps.

"Atia, are you all right?" the blonde hurriedly queried.

"Y-yes," she wheezed, cracking a smile. "P-perfectly fine,"

Silence.

Antony turned his attention back to the young noble. He rested his elbows on the table. "I must apologize, milady. I couldn't hear what you asked,"

Octavia shook her head. "It was nothing important," she muttered in a low voice. She reached for her glass to have a sip but she had found it empty. Right, she thought. Atia had to swig that down when her throat suddenly clogged on pie. Octavia leisurely looked to her assistant. Without a word, Mark seized her glass and left the table to get some water, sighing exasperatedly again.

Out of the blue, Rhiannon came back with a group of unknown faces. They were women, giggling behind clasped hands and muttering behind each other. Some were visibly fanning themselves with loud sighs. She slumped herself into the seat beside the Emperor. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," she panted and bowed to Nero. "These ladies had requested a dance with you,"

Nero raised his brows once at them. They gasped and giggled, taking a few steps back from the blond man. When he stood to his feet, their pupils dilated to see his towering figure. Broad shoulders slung two burly arms. What made it all the more dashing was the fact that his hips were much thinner than his waist, framing a sharp stature. "Let's see," He pointed his finger and poked one of the woman's nose. "Looks like you would be the first,"

If she weren't in front of hundreds, that woman would have surely swooned straight away. But her guts kept her upright. Shortly, the ladies left, crowding around Nero as though they were ants that had found the hunkiest strawberry they've ever seen. Octavia rolled her eyes.

"So how are you, Rhiannon?" Atia politely asked and nicely placed her hand on top of the brunette's. She softly tightened the grip. Rhiannon blushed, remembering her experience just moments ago.

"Very well, milady," she replied. "Now that I think I've danced all night with Arawn,"

"I'm glad," Atia snickered. "I… was beginning to worry,"

Rhiannon giggled, oblivious to Atia's insinuation, and turned to Morgan. "How was dancing with the Emperor?"

The tomboy turned to the blonde with a sly smile. "Nothing as spectacular as the King. How was it?"

"Fine," Octavia replied calmly. Her heart raced.

"Would you want to dance again?" Morgan said, nearing her. "With Mark Antony perhaps?" Octavia felt her jaw clench. Rhiannon voiced a confused tone while Atia silently looked over to her niece.

"Not in a million years," Octavia said. "How about you? You two were very close back in the pathway to the stage," She smiled, trying to hide a jolt of annoyance. She couldn't explain why. Just asking about that man made her blood boil. So teasing her friend who had been mocking her seemed to be the most natural response. "Perhaps, you like him?"

The tomboy's face flushed. The noble couldn't tell whether it was because of the huge gulp of wine she had just taken or her simple question. Either way, she hoped that the subject would just drop. Actually, she wished that her assistant were well near the table so that the topic would never be surfaced ever again. "No," Morgan uttered in a low voice. "I'm married, remember? Besides, he's married,"

Octavia paused with widening eyes. Atia's shoulders tensed, looking back and forth from Rhiannon and her niece. "Oh…" the young blonde simply replied, surprised. She turned to her aunt and her voice came down to a whisper. "Cleopatra?"

Atia nodded.

Octavia's trembling hands started to rub her arms as her lips pursed, tensing her pale face. "That woman sends shivers to my spine," she said sinisterly and acted completely natural when Mark Antony returned with a full bottle of clean water. They looked at each other. Silent. The fair head cleared her throat. "So, Antony, was it you who brought me back to my chamber, earlier this morning?"

The man averted his dark eyes with a confused look. Thick black hair framed his sharp facial features. He pinched his chin. "No," he voiced softly.

Everyone at the table, except Atia, of course, couldn't stop sending the blonde and her assistant perplexed looks, demanding them to explain themselves. However, they knew that this was a private matter. The blonde was too comfortable with the man- it was unusual even though she had stayed here for a few mere months. She was normally physically repulsed with men. Even with Morgan, she tended to keep a fair distance and her speech semi-formal. But this was too casual and they knew it. Mark continued. "I was simply asked to bring it back to your chamber,"

"By whom?"

Not a moment after, the Emperor returned with his arms spread on top of two shoulders. "My!" he exclaimed and winked to one of the women. "How much beauty can a single Albion woman possess? I wonder with all my heart," He sat down, offering a goblet of wine to one of them. Trailing behind him was Arthur, taking a seat beside the nudging Morgan, sweat dripping from every direction his hair could dampen.

Octavia waited for a response from Mark but his attention was caught up in the two rulers' arrival, who have obviously had a wonderful waltz around the foyer. She thought for a moment. Was it Atia? She and Nero had been a pair doing their research with the villagers. Certainly, it couldn't be Nero, could it? She ignored the thought.

She turned to the King. He panted, shoulders drooping onto the chair, and as though he sensed it, he shifted his gaze from the Emperor to his cousin, heavy breathing dying down quite fast. His lips curved to that of a wary smile. His eyes averted to the dance and back to her, silently beckoning her to dance with him once again. But Octavia knew all too well that he had his energy totally drained. So, without a word, she shook her head.

Her lips moved, mouthing without a voice. "Thank you," After a pause, remembering his mute comment,"-Your Majesty,"