Chapter 2

Treasures

I have loved the stars too fondly

To be fearful of the night.

~Sarah Williams

"Don't speak and walk softly," Stayne cautioned Casiphia as they entered the castle. Much to her surprise, he gallantly offered her his arm, and led her through gray marble hallways, past soaring red pillars, at last down a stone-flagged hallway into parts of the castle that lay dusty and shadowed. The drawing of a key from his sleeve, the turning of a lock stiff with age, and they were inside a chamber that held centuries worth of art no longer in favor by the castle's mistress. The room was lit only by the sun streaming through a pair of water-streaked French doors, and there in the shadows were furniture and paintings and jewels the like of which Casiphia had never seen, even in her explorations of the palace at Marmoreal.

Stayne led her around the room, pointing out items he found to be of especial interest. As he spoke, Casiphia found herself distracted by his nearness in a way that both alarmed and delighted her. She commented on paintings and carved chairs, yes, but she also kept notice of his waves of dark hair and the line of his back beneath his cloak.

Eventually they had made their way around the chamber, and Stayne slid to the floor, leaning his back against a dusty, velvet-covered divan, taking Casiphia's hand to draw her down beside him.

"So here you are, in the enemy camp," he said.

"It would seem so. It is more beautiful here than I expected, from all that I have heard about this Court."

"How fares life in Marmoreal in these sad days?"

"In all honesty, it is as though we live under a shadow. There is a feeling that circumstances are going to continue to worsen until something unspeakable happens, and all we can do is wait. Our Queen is still kind, but wears an air of sadness and concern. And you--what is it that keeps you here? Do you love the power you hold? Is it loyalty to your Queen?"

"It is gratifying to indulge the, let us say, lesser angels of my nature. But mostly I serve the Queen because I love her. Or I did. I don't know. " He sighed and dropped his head back against the divan. "She wasn't always like this, you know. I've known her for many years, and she was always impulsive and demanding, but the sweeter side of her nature was more apparent. I think perhaps I stay in her employ because she needs one person near her that she can trust. Her courtiers are worthless in that regard, and her guards stay with her only from fear.

"Realize that the Queen is not quite as bad as she seems. She's not a prize, mind you, but there aren't nearly as many executions as one would suspect--her attention span is short, and she often forgets whom she's lost her temper at. The Guards secretly release most of her prisoners, and the Executioner spends most his time playing chess with the Cook, for what it's worth.

"The worst part is that I still know Underland would be better off in so many ways under the rule of her sister. Sometimes I think I'm ready to leave Iracebeth and throw my lot in with Mirana. And then I remember how many years I've known her and how close we once were, and I can't bring myself to abandon her."

Casiphia sighed. "I know Mirana worries about her sister. I've heard her ask how Iracebeth is faring, and I know she is concerned that some sort of growth in her head is causing her to behave irrationally. To be honest, I think she could be rather adorable if she were sweeter." She darted a look about the room. "Is it safe to be talking about this? Is it safe to be talking to you?"

"Milady, no one in this castle would dare to cross me, and believe me, I've borne all of this alone for too many years. Speaking of it now is a tremendous relief."

Feeling impetuous and suddenly brave, Casiphia put her hand upon Stayne's arm and turned him to face her. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable, hers gray and wondering. And then she pressed a quick kiss upon his lips and drew back to see his reaction.

Which was sudden and startling. He grasped both her wrists and pulled her to him, murmuring, "Is this really what you want?"

She managed to nod as his face drew close to hers, and then she was drowning in a kiss the like of which she had never known. His tongue probed and teased, and her lips opened to welcome it in. Then he was biting at her neck, her earlobes, her collarbone. She thought her knees might collapse beneath her, and threw her arms about his neck tightly to hold herself upright.

Then they were falling onto the divan, and Ilosovic began undoing her gown, moving with care but also astonishing rapidity, and soon her robes were gleaming faintly against the marble floor. He removed his own garments with the same haste as she watched from her prone position, and leaned back over her, his dark waves of hair brushing her shoulders. She could not help but gasp as he gripped her wrists again and pinned her to the divan, exploring her body with his eyes, and then with his mouth. He released her wrists as he drove into her, and she plunged one hand into his hair, the other gripping his shoulder so tightly that the half-moon marks of her nails were still visible hours later.

Shivers rippled through her body, emanating from every spot where they touched. Their bodies grew slick with perspiration, and Casiphia wondered if she would stop breathing before they reached climax. And then, with an explosion of breath, she realized that, in fact, she had.

In a tangle of limbs, they slumped, spent, to the divan. Casiphia traced the line of Stayne's scars gently down the side of his face, softly touching his heart-shaped eye patch, looking steadily into his remaining eye. They stayed like this, soundlessly, until sleep overcame them, and they slipped into interior worlds where the other could not follow.

It was late afternoon when the harsh toll of a bell awoke them, thick golden sunlight sprawling across the floor, dust motes spiraling lazily in its beams. Stayne was instantly awake, hastily assembling his garments and weaponry while Casiphia blinked in astonishment at her surroundings. So it hadn't been a dream…

"It is dangerous for either of us to be caught here," he said, buckling his scabbard about his waist. "Go, go, you must. I will make sure the drawbridge is open." As he flung the French doors open wide and began to push Casiphia through, he reached for her once more and crushed a kiss upon her lips. "Now run!"

And run she did, skirting the rosebushes and topiaries, boots pounding against the cobblestones. So busy was her mind with the unexpected events of the afternoon that she barely noticed the thorn that caught at her forearm, or the spot of blood suddenly blooming crimson across the white satin of her skirts.