The next day Philip made his way to Chaillot's registry to do a little research himself. But after scouring the birth registries and censuses he could find no sign of a green-jeweled witch from Chaillot born in the last fifty years who had not died either naturally or under "mysterious circumstances" that everyone knew had had something to do with Dorothea. Wondering if perhaps the jewel was faked somehow, he searched everywhere for a trace of a 'Sara Matthews' and found nothing. His triumph at this confirmation of his belief that the girl had been lying was short-lived as he realized that not hiring her on that basis meant that he was still without a Black Widow.

This left him then with the question of how to proceed. On the one hand, maybe the girl had her own reasons for lying about her identity. Alexandra had hidden her training as a Black Widow from the world to escape persecution; maybe this young woman had done the same. Perhaps being a green-jeweled witch had also forced her to go underground for a while for fear of being seen as too powerful, too much of a threat.

Of course, there was also the possibility that her intentions here were malign. He had no idea where she was actually from or what her real name was. There were certainly enough people out there willing to cut a few throats for a little more power and money. She could easily be one of those people, or even working for one of those people, just waiting for her opportunity to strike.

Certainly her behavior thus far had been less than reassuring. It wasn't her coarseness or her pluck, although he found those somewhat irritating. It was the way she had teased his senses, it was the feeling that she was not what she appeared to be. The more he reflected, the more he did not think it was a straight-out illusion spell. Her slightly androgynous features and defiant green eyes were all her own; they held too life-like expression to have been faked. It was something else hidden beneath the veil that surrounded her and it was killing him that every time he tried to place his finger on what exactly it was, his mind slid off of it like oil.

He didn't like her. He didn't trust her. He didn't want to hire her.

But he had made a promise and the girl might be his only hope at keeping it.

With a frustrated snarl, he slammed the registry closed and stormed back to the estate, muttering to himself about rocks and hard places the whole way.

.

.

It was a few days later that Martin returned with his report. Philip frowned as he recounted what sounded like a relatively dull life working in a tavern for minimum wages and doing little else for entertainment besides exercising.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. He had hoped that the girl would do something suspicious, something to draw attention to herself as an enemy so that he could justify refusing her the position. As far as he was concerned, the report did not confirm that she could be trusted still, in fact it left a great deal unanswered.

It occurred to him after a moment of silence that Martin had stopped talking. "Sorry, what was the last thing?" He asked, raising his head to see that the servant wore the look of someone who had just swallowed something unpleasant.

"I said there was one… notable fact I picked up."

Philip perked up. "What was it?"

"She visited the same place almost every day."

"Yes? Where?" He leaned forward. Maybe this was what he was looking for. If he could link her to some sort of conspirator…

"Deje's Red Moon House."

Philip blinked. "What? She's a whore?"

Martin shuffled. "It seems so. Times are tough, I guess she needed extra money?"

Philip raised an eyebrow. "You think? She certainly didn't dress like she was living on extra income did she?" He thought back to the worn and patched breeches and the way the soles of her shoes had clearly been coming apart. "Where is the money going?"

"I have no idea sir. I'm sorry if I have returned too soon, I just thought that you might prefer to hear back…" Martin's voice faltered as he shrank back, as if expecting punishment and Philip was sharply reminded that he had worked in Pruul before the scouring of the Blood.

"It's fine. I'll continue investigations from here. Thank you Martin, you can leave."

Relieved, the man fled the room and Philip swept out of his chair, reaching for a coat. It was time he paid Deje a little visit.

.

.

Deje was a robust woman with the hint of a ruddy complexion and a maternal disposition she shared with few. Fortunately, Philip was well-acquainted with this red moon house. He winced as he walked through the entrance hall, remembering the days when he would take out his frustrations and jealousy against Robert for having had Leland on the girls who worked here. Although it had been more than ten years since he had come here, Deje recognized him the moment he approached her.

"Hey there, sugar. Should probably let you know right now that your favorite quit years ago; don't think she's ever comin' back, but we can still see what we can do about- "

"Thank you." He cut her off. "But I'm here on business, not pleasure."

Deje's eyes narrowed. "Is that so? What can I do for you, Prince?"

"I want information on one of your employees."

The woman crossed her arms and drew herself up. She may not have worn jewels, but damn she could be imposing nonetheless.

"And what employee might that be?"

"Sara Matthews."

She stared at him for a long moment and Philip held his breath, suddenly fearing that she might refuse or throw him out. He needed to know but Hell's fire, he didn't want to have to hurt the woman…

Then she guffawed, doubling over with peals of laughter as she slapped her knee.

Philip stepped back and sniffed indignantly, waiting for the fit to pass.

"Sugar you won't find any whore by that name here."

"I have sources that placed her here."

"She's not one of my girls." Deje wiped tears from her eyes as she continued to laugh. "She just comes here to visit her brother." She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh Mother Night boy, that was a good one." The laughter finally died out.

"Her brother is a whore?"

The guffawing resumed, much to Philip's annoyance.

When at last she could breathe again, Deje replied with a sparkle in her eye, "No, he's a chef here." She gave Philip a sly smile though as she added, "Although I would happily give him a job as a whore. He would make more money; he tends to be rather popular already with the gentlemen…"

Philip ignored this, his curiosity piqued by the potential for information from a relative although he realized he should proceed with caution. If the girl wore the green and no one had heard of her, who knew about the boy. "Does he wear any jewels?" He probed.

"Jewels?" Deje shook her head. "Nah, he knows some basic craft but he doesn't wear any jewels-"

Philip exhaled in relief.

"-just like his sister."

He immediately tensed again. So. Deje didn't know that the girl wore any jewels. Suspicion mounted as he thanked her for her help and asked if he could possibly visit with the boy for a few moments.

Deje shrugged. "Sure thing, but you know how chefs are."

No, he had no idea how chefs were. He wondered what she meant by that.

"Don't get in their way in there. There's a reason they tell you 'if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen'."

Ah. Well he was a green-jeweled prince and the current ruler of Chaillot. Surely he would have no problems dealing with a few cooks.

He quickly discovered his mistake as the moment he entered the double swinging doors, a man carrying a platter of what looked like roasted duck yelled at him for being in the way and practically shoved him to the side as he burst out of the kitchen. Philip blinked, shocked at the lack of respect but the man was long gone before he had had time to register the insult, much less reprimand him for it. He turned back to the rest of kitchen with a frown, expecting to have to ask about Sara's brother.

Then he spotted a young man off in the corner, neatly arranging pineapple slices around the edges of a grilled salmon. The same androgynous features that had marked his sister's countenance had a slightly more masculine edge to them on him but only just and that was perhaps only an illusion created by the fact that he wore his hair cropped shorter, allowing only a few creeping fringes to peek out beneath the white hat that indicated his rank.

Something twinged at the edge of Philip's senses but he could not quite place the feeling so for the time being he shoved it aside and made his way over, twisting past bellowing cooks and alarmingly high flames as flambéed deserts were prepared. When at last he reached the boy, feeling as though he had just passed some trial or test of courage, he cleared his throat loudly to get his attention. It may have been the din produced by the rest of the kitchen, or maybe it was that he was incredibly absorbed in his work, or maybe it was merely insolence, but the young man gave no indication that he heard anything.

Irked, Philip coughed loudly with still no luck. At last he gave up and tapped the young man's shoulder.

The boy jerked and nearly sent the plate flying off of the counter as he spun around. Philip reacted immediately, using craft to push it back to where it had been even as the boy gave him a skittish look.

"Are you Sara Matthews's brother?" He asked coldly.

The boy hesitated, wide-eyed and looking more like a cornered rabbit than an imposing chef, then nodded.

"What's your name?" Philip scanned the boy but saw no sign of a jewel. He did however notice that there seemed to be an almost… fog around him. Something was hidden here. He frowned at the realization and at the frustration of not quite being able to see through the fog surrounding the boy.

"L-Lorin."

"Lauren?" Philip raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that usually a girl's name?"

The boy winced and it struck Philip that he had just probed an old wound.

Too annoyed and suspicious to feel apologetic just now, he pressed on. "Your sister is a green-jeweled witch." He didn't like that queer look that suddenly appeared in the boy's eye. "Yet I can find no trace of her in any of the registries. Could you possibly explain why that might be?"

Lorin shifted uncomfortably.

Before Philip could extract an answer from him though a screech from a few feet away distracted them both. A flambé had apparently gone wrong and a young cook, probably a new one, had accidentally caught his sleeve on fire. A fellow employee reacted quickly, smothering the flames with a towel, but not before flames had engulfed the youth's arm. Philip stared in horror as the towel was pulled back to reveal charred flesh beneath. He was confused when suddenly half the kitchen looked his way. Then he saw the hesitant look Lorin threw him before he bit his bottom lip and rushed toward the youth. Philip numbly followed him, maneuvering so that he could see what was going on as the boy's back had blocked it from view.

The spell itself that Lorin immediately began to weave around the blacked skin was nothing that unusual actually. Nothing any healer couldn't do.

Any healer…

The room spun as Philip suddenly felt the fog around Lorin lift, or perhaps he had just finally gotten past it far enough to see what it had been hiding.

He was a healer.

Mother night.

He was a queen.

No, he must be mistaken. Males weren't Queens. They couldn't be. Only women were Queens.

Yet…

Lorin rocked back away from the young man, letting Philip catch sight of the arm, now red and blistered but indisputably whole once more. He gave the youth a wan smile and told him not to put any unnecessary strain on the arm for the next few days. One chef led the grateful boy away as another yelled at the rest of them to get back to work. Lorin hesitated a moment before taking a few wobbly steps back toward his station. Philip caught him, taking firm grasp of his upper arm and dragging him away from the kitchen and into an enclosed courtyard despite feeble protests on the boy's part the entire way.

After checking the yard for any sign of possible listeners and throwing up a green shield to prevent any, he rounded on Lorin feeling a flash of anger tinged with regret as the young man flinched.

"Is this some kind of trick?"

"W-what?"

"The healing." Your psychic scent… "It's not exactly something men generally have an aptitude for is it? How did you learn to do that?"

Lorin took a step back. "I dunno. I just… watched other healers here and kind of… figured it out."

Philip's head reeled. "That's not possible."

The young man looked flustered and wrung his hat between his hands as he bit his lower lip again.

"You're a Queen." Philip added flatly.

The boy's expression shifted from flustered to horrified and he gaped at Philip before snapping his jaw shut and hardening his gaze. "No I'm not."

"Boy, I have met a lot of Queens in my lifetime and I know their scent, their auras."

Lorin's hard gaze faltered and Philip's senses tingled with the desire to protect, much to his own surprise. Suddenly he remembered the fog that had surrounded Sara as well.

"Your sister… she's one too isn't she?"

The queer look reappeared in Lorin's eyes. "No. She isn't a Queen." He answered softly.

"You wouldn't just be trying to lie about that too would you?"

He quickly shook his head. "No, really." He took a deep breath. "I-I am. But she's not. Honestly." His eyes pleaded with Philip to believe him.

He's willing to take the fall to protect her. Philip realized, feeling slightly sick. Still, this left so many questions.

"But… how?"

"I don't know." Lorin looked away in pain.

Without thinking, Philip took a step forward then stopped himself. He looked so forlorn…

"You've never had any kind of formal training though have you?"

Lorin shook his head wordlessly. "Males aren't Queens. Males aren't trained that way." He answered, almost mechanically.

But what if…

A thought struck Philip. "You must wear jewels right?"

Lorin gripped the hat more forcefully.

"Green? Like your sister?"

The young man wouldn't look him in the eye.

Philip tried to probe the aura around him, seeking some sign how deep a well of power might reside in that shuddering frame of his. When he reached the green, there was an answering twinge of power in him, but it wasn't all there was. Something darker lay beneath him…

"What. Jewels. Do. You. Wear?" He demanded through clenched teeth, half afraid of the answer.

After a long moment of silence during which Philip expected him to refuse to answer, leaving him to wonder what he could actually do to the boy to get a response, Lorin reached up to unbutton the color of his white uniform and pulled out a thin gold chain. Philip held his breath as it slid slowly out of the fabric, nearly choking as the sunlight caught a red glint.

Hell's fire. The boy had to be the most powerful person in Chaillot at the moment and here he was working as a lowly cook at a Red Moon House.

"Where the hell did you come from?"

"What?" Lorin finally looked up at him, baffled.

"You and your sister. Where are you from?"

"We're from Chaillot" He replied immediately.

"Then why are there no records of either of you?"

Lorin shuffled backward slightly, his eyes trained on his feet. "We erased them." His voice was little more than a whisper.

"Why?" Philip regretted the question immediately. It was easy to guess why someone would want to hide a pair of dark-jeweled twins under Dorothea's reign, especially if one of them was this unique.

But Dorothea didn't rule anymore. Things were different now and he wondered…

Chaillot need Black Widows.

Chaillot needed a Queen.

Mother Night, he was desperate that he would even consider what he was about to do.

"You'll need training then."

Lorin's head snapped up. "What?"

"To be a proper Queen. You'll need training."

Lorin stared him dumbfounded. "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Females are Queens, I'm not-"

Philip snapped. "Dammit boy, don't you understand?" He slammed a fist into the courtyard wall, hating the way Lorin jumped back in fear. "The territory is falling apart, crime and poverty are taking over and there is no one, no one, outside of Chaillot would the people would accept."

Comprehension began to dawn on the boy.

"You want me to rule Chaillot?" he squeaked.

"Yes." Philip insisted. "You wear the red, you have a natural gift for healing, you could do it. All you need is to be taught proper court protocol."

Lorin stared at him as if he had grown another head and Philip decided to try a different route.

"Listen, you love Chaillot, don't you?" He soothed, recalling what he himself had learned of Queens and their attachment to the land.

Lorin nodded reluctantly.

"Don't you want to help it?"

Another hesitant nod.

"This is how you could."

He chewed his lower lip, eyes clouded with worry.

"Besides," Philip added. "Being a Queen is part of who you are. It's not going to change. Wouldn't you rather stop hiding it and learn instead how to use it?"

Lorin nodded sadly, leaving to Philip's imagination how much he must have suffered, remaining hidden for as long as he had been.

"But who would be willing to train me?" He questioned meekly.

Philip had been wondering the same thing, but he thought he might have an answer. "I think I know of a court that would take you." He replied slowly, his heart aching as the boy gave him a hopeful look. "I'll see what I can do and come let you know as soon as possible?"

Lorin thought it over. "I don't want to leave Sara." He whispered.

She doesn't want to leave you either. Philip realized, remembering her hesitation at his suggestion that she leave for training as well.

He coughed nervously. "I actually was going to write to the same court to ask for Black Widow training for her. If they accept, you could both go."

Lorin's eyes widened.

"If that happens, will you do it?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Okay."

Philip's heart soared. Chaillot finally had a Queen, or at least it would soon!

The wind picked up as he bade the boy farewell and watched him carefully tuck the red jewel back beneath his uniform and return to the doors to the kitchen. As he opened them, the wind picked up, blowing his psychic scent directly at Philip.

Every sense in him roared to life.

Mine.

He stumbled over the thought. He had heard of princes sensing when a Queen "belonged" to them, and had heard that it was how they often chose their first circles but he had never experienced it before. It was a shock, a jolt, a need to be near, a need to protect.

He watched the door swing closed, fighting the urge to follow him back inside.

Mine. He thought once more.

.

Author's Note: I just want to mention right now that this isn't going to turn into guy on guy. :P Philip's not sexually attracted to Lorin, he's just attached to him as his Queen, so if yaoi is what you're hoping for, this isn't the story for you, sorry.