authors note: w o ah remember when i said I'd have it up by a week? haha sorry.

School started up again, my birthday passed, and i realised I actually don't know what I'm doing with this story; I didn't really have the plot worked out and I wished i incorporated a few more factors into the first two chapters rip. I have quite a bit of it worked out, so I should be fine to work it from there. Half of it wasn't proofread because I am really tired the time it was written and uploaded.


She had a knife pressed to his throat, her foot pressing deeply into his bleeding bullet wound, and she was smiling, tracing the blade around his neck teasingly. She pulled back and slipped it under his shirt, just over his heart, and she laughed. In that moment he knew she had lost it, she was gone and so was he- how pathetic for the strongest Legion soldier to die silently in an alleyway. He felt it cut through his flesh, searing pain, and he shut his eyes, welcoming the peace that would come. He would see them again. He was ready to see them again.

But he didn't. There was only blackness, and there was a voice whispering to him. Not a voice, his voice. It crept up from behind and he felt cold hands on his shoulders, sliding across his chest. He wanted to grab those intruding hands and yank them away, but he couldn't move. Then it stepped out in front of him, enunciating the words more clearly. "Petra."

He jolted awake in a cold sweat, his legs crossed and leaning against the back of an armchair. The sun was peaking over the horizon, lighting up the guest room at the Gavin Manor in all its pompous glory. The bed was on the other side of the room, the biggest, most luxurious bed Levi had ever seen, complete with snow-white sheets and enough pillows for an entire village.

He opted to sleep in the chair instead, his hand hovering near his pocket where he kept his knife. He tensed his thigh, reassuring himself it was still there. Just a bad dream.

Rising from the armchair, he stretched out his limbs, working away the knots of tension in his shoulders and back, and headed into the bathroom. Like everything in the manor, it was impeccably clean; the basin and tub were gleaming, the gold gilding on the faucets was polished, the paintings on the wall, framed with silver and studded with tiny gemstones, were free of any speck of dust. Levi's lip curled slightly. How much money would you have to have to waste it on something as stupid as embellished frames?

He splashed cold water on his face, rubbing the sleep and sweat from his eyes, cupping water from the tap and gulping it down. His was parched, as if he had been screaming his throat raw. "Fucking nightmares," he grumbled. It was the shit-head's fault. They'd only gotten worse since it had started hanging around. He glowered at it in the reflection of the mirror.

Petra. What did his shadow have anything to do with his companion? In fact, why did she have one? He'd never seen anyone else with one; and if he'd ever thought about it, a noble widow wouldn't have been the first person that spring to mind. Even if she was a masterful killer.

He sighed. He was creating more questions instead of answers on a subject he didn't even entirely understand himself. It wouldn't help anyone.

Relieving himself, he returned to the main room. Despite it being it being overly furnished, there was nothing to do. There were a few books stacked on the tables, but they were thick tomes with long, complicated words and depressing morals that he couldn't be fucked trying to pick apart.

The glint of a music box caught his eye, nestled on the mantle among other ornaments. It was small and compact and decorated with the most exquisite embroidery, the type of useless item that would fetch a high price in the marketplace, enough to eat for a week, and for a moment his fingers itched to grab it, to shove it up his shirt and high-tail it out the nearest window as fast as he could. He curled his fingers into tight fists and reminded himself it wouldn't be a good idea to steal from his…partner.

There was a timid knock on the door. A young, meek-faced maid poked her face around the door shyly. "Good morning, Mr Ackerman. Lady Ral would like to know if you would care to accompany her at breakfast."

"Is she really that lonely?" He said passively, pulling his coat on. Taken aback, the maid fiddled with the ties on her apron, unsure of what to say to her mistresses rude houseguest. "Er...well, it could be arranged to have breakfast delivered-"

"Tell your mistress I will be there in a minute." Levi interrupted boredly. Nodding, she shut the door quietly behind her and her footsteps faded away. He tensed his leg, feeling the familiar cool press of another blade against his flesh, concealed in his boot, and nodded to himself. He flung open the door and set off towards the dining room. The little maid had returned, awkwardly leading the way and holding the door open for him respectfully.

She sat alone at the long dining table, the right of the empty head chair. There was a mountain of food stretched out in front of her, enough toast and eggs and bacon and delicacies he didn't know to feed an army. Servants filtered in and out, juggling more platters piled high with even more food. She only nibbled at a piece of toast, sipping from a mug. The maid ushered him into a chair opposite her, and Lady- Petra, he reminded himself- smiled at him. "Good morning, Levi." She said pleasantly, reaching for the butter knife. Levi grunted in acknowledgement, taking in her appearance. She was definitely dressed more conservatively than last night; her navy blue dress laced across the front of her chest, exposing her delicate collarbone but nothing more. Her bright hair was pulled back into a braided crown, drawing attention to her glittery earrings and matching necklace. His eyes were drawn to the column of her slender neck, (instinctively, of course) and there are small bumps on her skin, raised, angry-coloured marks concealed by powder. Scars. There are ten tiny crescent scars on her neck, cut deep into her flesh; he can tell by the way she'd caked on more makeup there, the excess powder not entirely wiped away. It's the unmistakable marks of someone wrapping their hands around her throat, and he wondered how tough her opponents are; and how tough she is for escaping alive.

"Levi?" Petra said, blinking at him. He refocused on her face. "Are you hungry?"

His stomach growled, answering her question, and he cursed inwardly. Petra slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her giggles, and waved her hand. "Help yourself. If there's anything you want in particular, I can call over the servants."

Levi surveyed the enormous amount of food before him and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how you stay so trim if you eat this much food every morning for breakfast."

"It's not all for me. My husband and I- he would always have guests over. He liked to entertain them," Petra explained. "Show off his wealth and all. Now that he's gone…" She stared at a large painting hanging on the wall behind the head chair, taking a breath, and the meek maid from before rushed forward with a napkin. Accepting it graciously, Petra smiled at her and glanced back to Levi. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."

His dark eyes flitted to the painting. Petra stood beside a man, her hand on his shoulder, looking solemnly at the artist. The man was sitting on a chair, his hands folded in his lap. He was tall, almost Petra's height despite the seating arrangements, with neatly parted brown hair, stern eyes, and a pronounced nose. His mouth was tugged down into a frown, the creases in his forehead proving his displeasure at whatever was happening.

"He looks constipated." Levi said.

Clank!

The maid dropped to her knees, scrabbling for the silver platter that had bounced across the marble floor. Petra winced at the noise, and the maid stammered out a hasty apology, sneaking horrified looks at Levi from the corner of her eye. A few, quiet soothing words later from Petra, she retreated from the room, bowing her head.

Petra rested her elbows on the table. Levi regarded her blandly and she shot him a disapproving look. "Could you at least….try to refrain from such comments?"

"Lying is for manipulative idiots."

"Being gentler with the truth would help. Although, we can agree on something. That's reassuring." She said lightly, eyeing the figure behind him. "We can agree on quite a few things, actually."

Saying nothing in response, the pair lapsed into silence. He reached for a slice of toast and a fried egg, wolfing it down. It had been a while since he had a proper meal, and goddamn it he was going to make the most of what he had now.

While he ate, he didn't notice Petra pouring another mug. Wordlessly, she pushed it towards him after he polished off his third slice of toast. He peered at the brown liquid, inhaling the familiar scent of coffee. His eyes flicked up to Petra, who raised an eyebrow at him quizzically. Tentatively, he raised the cup to his lips, took a sip, and almost choked on the onslaught of sweetness in his mouth.

Petra jumped slightly in surprise. "Is something wrong?"

Coughing, he forced it down his throat. Too much sugar, milk, cream, whatever; he couldn't even taste the usual bitterness of standard coffee.

"It's too sweet." He told her, setting it down. "Your servants add far too much sugar."

"I made it." Petra said simply, a hint of amusement flashing over her soft features. "You drink it black?"

He nodded, and Petra leaned back in her chair. "I'll keep that in mind."

Levi opened his mouth, a scathing reply on the tip of his tongue as to why she had to be so fucking cryptic, when a soft tinkling noise echoed throughout the airy room. The maid stood at the door with a silver bell. "The carriage has arrived to take you to the palace, Madam." She informed. Petra patted her mouth with a napkin and stood, motioning Levi to stand as well. "Thank you, Eliza."

Eliza scuttled from the room. Petra glided over to the reflection in a nearby window, tucking stray hairs away, smoothing creases from her dress. She flicked her gaze to Levi who dithered behind her, picking a piece of dry skin of his finger, and spun around. Staring pointedly at his jacket as if she just noticed it, she shook her head. "You'll have to change. Even if you are under my charge, they won't allow you in the palace dressed like that."

Levi gripped the hem of his coat protectively. Isabel had swiped it for him one Christmas from an old man selling second-hand clothing. Farlan later stitched up the tears and holes with grey thread too light for the black fabric. It was a tatty old thing that should've been disposed of long ago, but it was from his friends and he'd be damned to let it go now.

Sensing his hesitation, Petra's eyes softened a tad. "It will be safe here. I'll lock it in my personal closet."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but he knew she could see reluctant agreement written all over his face. Slipping it off and folding it neatly, he passed it off to Petra, who smiled warmly at him. He didn't return the sentiment.

She darted out into the hallway and returned less than a minute later, his coat gone and a posh black blazer draped over her arms. "This was my husband's," Petra said. "It might be...big, but it should suffice." She eyed the grit and stains on his white shirt apprehensively, and he thanked whatever deity that might be listening that his pants fabric was dark. He slung it over his shoulders. The inner lining was as soft as a feather, warmer than any number of blankets he wrapped around himself during winter, but he wanted to throw it off and burn it in the nearest fireplace.

There was a bulge in a pocket on the inside of the jacket and he fished out a short, wide, white piece of linen. Petra glanced up from where she was shrugging on a shawl. "That's a cravat." She said at his confused expression. "It belongs to my friend. Here, you don't have to wear-"

"How the fuck do you put this on?" He wrapped it around his neck, tucking it into the collar of his shirt and folding the edges down. Petra muffled a giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth, and he glared at her. Before he could tell her to shut up, she was suddenly before him, her hands on the cravat, her fingers brushing over the exposed skin of his neck. The urge to twitch away was maddening; she could wrap those slender, smooth fingers that were currently were tucking that piece of fabric so carefully around his throat and cut off his oxygen, so why wasn't he doing it already?

You know why, that shitty voice sneered. His eyes fell on the shine of her strawberry blonde hair, the gleaming hairpin securing her bun together, then travelled down to her smooth brow and hazel eyes, creased in concentration. Her breath ghosted over his skin, a strangely pleasant feeling, and her hands stopped, resting on his shoulders lightly. "All done." She whispered. His hands came to rest on hers, still clinging to his shoulders. With a firm shove, he pushed her away, avoiding her eyes. "We're keeping the carriage waiting." He muttered. She teetered back slightly, regaining her balance quick enough for him to see the hurt flash over her face.

"Madam! The footmen have finished packing the carriage. They're just waiting for your word."

Petra cleared her throat, snapping her gaze away from Levi. "Yes, of course. Come." She said, icily polite and moving to the door, her footsteps slightly heavier than before. Staring at the back of Petra Ral, his partner and, oh right, a recent widow, he forced himself to mentally run over all the details of their mission and tried to ignore the lingering feeling of her soft hands under his fingertips.


Petra was unusually silent during the carriage ride, he noted. The air between them was thick with unspoken words that she didn't bother saying, which he was thankful for.

The carriage travelled smoothly along the even roads of Sina, the pedestrians keeping to the sides of the road calmly without causing a fuss. Levi surveyed them from behind the lace curtain, noting the quality of everyone's clothes and the fat purses and bags hanging loosely from their shoulders, and twitched the curtain shut with a sneer. "Do they really think the Military Brigade will protect them?" He said aloud. Petra, seated opposite him, looked at him curiously for the first time as he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "They trust the Brigade with everything. And they're off fucking around-"

"You can't speak like that." Petra interrupted, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes boredly. "You'll be cast out of the palace before Historia steps out of her chambers."

"What, are nobles too weak willed to handle a bit of profanity?"

"They command respect. So respect them. Nobles are a lot of disgusting pigs, but they can destroy you without leaving their bedside." Petra spat.

He surveyed her for a second; her hands had tightened in her lap and she was unusually stiff. Then, she exhaled and tugged her sleeves down. Levi didn't miss the obvious contempt in her voice; for him or for some nobles, he didn't know.

"You've never associated with nobles?" Petra asked him. He knew she already had the answer, and he blew a puff of air from his nose. "Couldn't find the time to visit Sina when I was slitting throats."

Petra jerked in her seat and twisted around to look through the tiny window at the driver, visibly relaxing when the clacking of the horses hooves were too loud to hear anything. "We won't last a day if you don't know common courtesy among Sina's nobles."

"I can handle-"

"I don't doubt your capabilities as a soldier," Petra said quickly. "To be put on a task like this...you've got to be good. But that means nothing if you can't listen to what I'm going to say. Trust me."

She leaned forward pleadingly. The carriage was cramped, and he could count all the tiny freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.

"Fine," He said slowly. "What do I have to do?"

She decided that he only had to know the rules around addressing other nobles, ("Keep to yourself during mealtimes and no-one will notice if you're using the wrong utensil,") and rattled off a whole list of rules he didn't think a single person could remember. He nodded at times in response, but despite Petra's insistence that he listen, he felt himself zoning out of what she was saying. The lull of her soft voice was oddly soothing, and he mentally slapped himself for thinking such a thing, focusing all his concentration on what she was actually saying. "Always look them in the eye before you bow. Your right arm goes in front, on your stomach, and your left arm goes behind your back. Don't bow too low. Make sure you are standing behind me, on an angle, so they can see you. They always speak first; you don't speak unless directly spoken to. Refer to all men as 'sir.' I'll tell you if the woman is a lady or a countess; there's a difference and God save you if you get it wrong.

"Don't ever deny a noble, no matter what they ask you. The only exception is if they physically attack you, but this is unlikely; most of them can't even lift a teaspoon. Don't swear, they'll take it as a great offence."

"Well, fuck." Levi said automatically. Petra rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Levi."

"Why aren't you offended by this?" He enquired boredly, although he was secretly intrigued. Petra Ral had broken through every stereotype he had set for nobility, from her gentle, soft voice to her witty tongue. Petra shrugged. "I'm not weak hearted."

"You don't say."

"They're just words. The village boys would always swear at each other, trying to show off how manly and powerful they were." She bit her lip, but he could see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, her eyes crinkling as if she remembered a fond memory. Levi's brow furrowed in confusion. "Your parents let you play with village children? I didn't think nobility did that."

"They don't." Petra said immediately. Levi glanced at her curiously.

Petra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Suddenly the detailing on the cushions over his shoulder was the most interesting thing in the world. "I mean, most don't. My parents were quite relaxed about who I made friends with." She corrected herself.

Turning to the window, she avoided his eyes, making it clear she didn't want to to continue any conversation. Her mix-up was odd, Levi thought, but it was her business. He wouldn't pry; that wasn't his job. As long as they both kept to themselves, they would get along just fine.

The carriage slowed to a steady stop. A footman held open the door, taking Petra's outstretched hand and helping her down. Levi rebuffed his with a scathing expression.

With a swish of her full skirts, Petra moved in front of him, throwing him a subtle look over his shoulder as she was curtsied to by palace guards. Scowling inwardly, he reluctantly crossed his hands behind him and stepped away from Petra slightly, casting his watchful gaze over their surroundings as if looking for anything that would attack her. He stared up at the palace, his voice stuck in his throat as he took in the sheer grandness of it all, from the hundreds of window sills to the spiralling turrets nestled between clouds. Everything was so large, far bigger than Petra's manor, bigger than anything he'd been used to. He sealed his gaping mouth shut firmly, nodding silently to Petra's introduction to the guards when she gestured to him. The guards nodded in return, marching off after consulting Petra's name on a list. The footmen bustled around them, unloading cases and boxes by the dozen, and in the hustle and bustle of it all, Petra brushed past him, her mouth tilted up to his hair, lips barely moving.

"One last thing," She murmured under her breath. "Mention our shadows to anyone, and we'll be goners before sunrise."