The Chimera

I was trying to fit this story into seven chapters but it's just not possible. If I kept this chapter as I planned it originally, it would have ended up with ten thousand words and you guys would have to wait another week. But that wouldn't have been fair. So, here is the first half of chapter four. Enjoy!

Note: Smut up ahead (no pun intended).

Four: A Proposal

Edward dreams of brilliant scarlet and dark dusty crimson. He floats through clouds of honey and the sun is a golden orb above his head. The light it casts turns into strings of silk when they hit him. The thin, soft threads twirl in his outstretched hands and weaves into a crown. He places it atop Emmett's dark curls, watching his dimples deepen as he grins. But then Emmett's eyes turn black, and his face slims into Jasper's. He's wearing a red robe falling off his shoulders, and his inky bloodlust eyes shine as he lunges, fangs glistening, and jaw unhinged. His long claws reach for Edward's neck.

The Princeling wakes gasping. He half rises from his bed but is gently pushed down again. The red in Edward's eyes dissipate and there is nothing but black for a second. Jasper's face looms out from the darkness, brown eyes narrowed under furrowed brows, his nose inches from Edward's.

"You were groaning in your sleep again." His voice is barely a whisper.

"Shouldn't have woken him." Riley's voice comes from the side, sounding upset. "You should never wake someone from a nightmare, or else it'll come true."

Jasper straightens and looks back in the direction of the chamberboy with an annoyed tick in his jaw.

He had been at his post by the door when Edward slept, with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and his lips pressed into a line. Edward has never felt unsafe in his own bed, but he has also never felt safer than tonight.

Riley comes into sight with a lamp in hand, fussing with the pillows and sheets, throwing curious glances in the direction of the berserker.

"Riley." Edward eases himself onto his elbows. "Fetch me some water."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

Edwards sits up slowly, raising one hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammering violently inside his rib cage. Jasper regards him with watchful eyes and a guarded expression. When Edward's other hand brushes his, he glances down but doesn't flinch away. He allows Edward to thread their fingers together.

"Water, Your Grace." Riley returns with a goblet in one hand and a small glass jar in the other. "Sandalwood oil will help you sleep, Your Grace."

Edward leans back against his pillows tiredly. Riley hovers. "Should I call the old doctor Billy to unknot your nerves, Your Grace?"

Edward shakes his head weakly. "Go back to sleep, Riley. Come find me in the morning."

Riley bows and dims the lamp, setting it on the bedside table next to the sandalwood oil. He casts one last look at Jasper before closing the door behind him.

Edward closes his eyes, feeling sleep's lull again. He doesn't untangle his fingers from Jasper's. He is not quite ready to be alone. The berserker takes a deep breath and brushes his thumb against the side of Edward's hand. "I can do that if you want."

"Do what?" Edward opens his eyes to find Jasper staring. There is heat in his gaze under that careful composure.

"Unknot," Jasper answers simply. He picks up Edward's limp wrist with both hands and works his thumbs up the forearm. His fingers are strong but controlled, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply and lingers where it's sore. He kneads up Edward's arm, slowing at the joint of the shoulder to dig into the tense muscles there. Edward hisses, half from pleasure, half from pain. Jasper reaches over to the nightstand and dips two fingers in the glass jar. He brushes the oil lightly up the side of Edward's neck to his jaw.

Edward sighs, letting himself relax, and closes his eyes again. He feels Jasper shift down the bed before warm, oil slicked thumbs trace the outline of his sole and massage from his heel to his toes. Something hot ignites and curls in his abdomen. The pleasure bubbles like a pot left too long on the stove, and threatens to spill.

Deft hands move up to the ankles and around the back to the calves. They coax two soft moans from Edward's half closed lips. He flushes at the sounds of his own voice. It could be either the sensual thoughts inspired by that or the strong hands that are now sliding above his knees which makes his abdomen tighten and a sweet throbbing creep up the inside of his legs.

Jasper is kneeling on the bed now, bending to nudge at the straining tendons on Edward's thighs, willing them to release and loosen. His honey blonde hair is tucked behind his ears, he is chewing his lip in concentration, and Edward watches as his broad shoulders hunched, supple muscles sliding under the thin tunic. This is perhaps the most captivating sight Edward has ever seen in his eighteen years. This beautiful creature is in his bed, and, to his chagrin, he doesn't know what to do about it. The pull of fatigue dissipates as Edward feels familiar tingles shoot down his spine. He is breathing hard, seeing stars, and there is an aching hardness straining against the strings of his trousers.

Jasper's hands slip under the hem of the short linen pants and his thumbs dig into the sensitive skin on the very inside of Edward's thighs.

Edward arches up.

His breath is coming in ragged gasps as he tries to form a coherent thought. Jasper is his guard, sworn to serve him in the battlefield – and perhaps off it as well? No. That was what Caius had done, and it wasn't right. But did Jasper do this with Caius? He must have or else how would his movements be so practiced and brimming with intention? Difference is Edward hasn't cast any lust magic upon the berserker. He grits his teeth and brings himself to meet Jasper's eyes.

The berserker pauses, hands hesitant. Edward thinks of how he offered his help, and how he slid his long fingers into the mouth of the oil jar and ghosted over Edward's skin in that intimate gesture. If Jacob doesn't want it, he'll surely show it. He'll go rigid like he did with Caius. He'll hang his head and refuse to make eye contact.

Jasper is doing the very opposite right now. He has positioned himself between Edward's legs and he is waiting nervously. The set of his shoulders is almost impatient.

Edward warily brings one palm up against Jasper's face, liking the way those silky tresses feel between his fingers. Jasper's eyes are the color of midnight in the dimness of the room, but the fire in them lights up the orbs like embers, sending a delicious burn down Edward's body with their every flicker.

"Jasper."

The flame that erupts in those dark eyes at his voice is all the answer Edward needs. He tips his head and presses their lips together with a moan.

Jasper sucks at him, hot breath scalding his skin, and wet tongue lapping at him, urging his lips open. Jasper's hands are everyone all at once. He makes quick work of the lacing of Edward's pants. His oiled fingers waste no time in enveloping Edward's hardness. He brushes his thumb over the head and renders Edward into a shuddering, whining mess. His lips trail heated kisses down Edward's jaw and down the side of his neck.

Jasper settles between his legs, pulling his knees open and tugs the pants down to his ankles. Those strong fingers stroke him rhythmically, and he bucks into those calloused hands, wrapping his legs around the slim waist. Jasper pushes Edward's tunic up to his neck and kisses down the centre of his chest. One hand finds the hard nub of Edward's nipple and circles over it, making Edward clutch at his bedding, twisting his neck to muffle his groan in his pillow. Jasper's other hand remains clasped around Edward's manhood, making him like he'd melt if those fingers let go.

Edward writhes, mouth open, eyes squeezed tight, and trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. He thinks he can't take anymore; he thinks he is about to burst into a million quivering pieces. Then Jasper's soft lips latch onto the head of his cock.

Edward never imagined he can make the kind of sound he hears, rumbling out from the deepest part of him. It's a wanton, whorish cry. It's like what he has heard hundreds of times over in the brothels Emmett frequents, only more lewd. He sticks his fist in his mouth, trying to stifle the moans. But Jasper's thumb is circling his nipple, sending waves of pleasure to the pit of his abdomen, the berserker's tongue is sliding teasingly up the underside of his shaft, and there is an oil-slicked digit that is pressing against a spot between his buttocks that makes his legs turn into jelly.

Then Jasper swallows him whole, glistening lips stretching over the base of Edward's member, and the finger slides up between the buttocks and sinks into his opening. It hurts for a second before Jasper stroking something that makes Edward arch of the bed, thrashing. He spills his seed into Jasper's throat, and the berserker gulps down every last drop.

Edward lies shaking with the aftershocks as Jasper reaches over to push his hair back from his face. It is such a casual motion, so quick but so tender, it makes Edward's chest ache.

He has never imagined he could be this close to a person, or feel this possessive. He wants nothing more than to taste every one of those jagged scars and run his tongue over the very same places Jasper had kissed on him. He wants Jasper to experience the same deliriousness and ride atop the same waves of pleasure.

He wraps his fingers around Jasper's arm and pulls him down, finding his lips again.

Jasper leans away, stiffening. "No," he croaks, "I swallowed–"

Edward silences him with a kiss. He can taste the bitterness of his own seed when he runs his tongue over Jasper's teeth, but he doesn't mind.

Jasper grunts against him, and he feels the berserker's bulge against his thigh. He dares to slip a shaking hand into the waistband of Jasper's breeches and runs his fingertip along the smooth skin of the hardness there, feeling it twitch at his touch. He drags his canines along the sensitive parts of Jasper's lower lip. When they finally break apart for breath, Edward can feel his own lips are swollen. "Jasper?" His voice comes out like a gush of air.

"Hmm." Jasper's entire frame trembles when Edward grips his shaft and strokes it slowly.

"Jasper." Edward strokes him the only way he knows – like how he strokes himself. He finds himself captivated by the moist, supple head, and the smooth skin that stretches under his fingers as the member hardens.

Edward slides down Jasper's long body, kissing all the way. Jasper seizes his wrists and pulls him up. "No," he says roughly. "That is a whore's trick, not befitting of a prince."

Edward reaches down and strokes him hard and fast, and hears him choke on his own breath. "You did it."

"Y-yes."

"I want to do it."

"No." Jasper sounds pained. He presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Edward's mouth. The prince turns his head slightly and takes Jasper's tongue into his mouth.

Jasper's hands move up and down his back, thumbs rubbing in rhythmic circles, and strong fingertips digging into his muscles. The arms encircling him tighten as he strokes faster. His other arm goes around Jasper's neck and his fingers tangle in the honey hair.

Jasper moans into Edward's mouth as he shakes in orgasm. Edward holds him until he stops trembling. He lets out an unsteady breath against Edward's forehead. Edward tucks his head in the crook of Jasper's neck, breathing him in. He isn't sure what he'll find in Jasper's eyes right now, and isn't ready to look. He hopes to find his own wonder and amazement mirrored in those brown orbs, but he fears he may see duty-bound determination or that vacant empty gaze makes Jasper look as if his mind is far from here.

He drifts into dreamless sleep with the kneading fingers in his back dancing over tense muscles. He resolves to look Jasper in the eyes tomorrow morning. He'll know what it all means then.

xxx

The Volturi emissaries arrived at dawn. They sauntered into the palace in their riding clothes still dusty from the road and boots wet from the morning dew in the grass. They demanded an audience with the King before they even alighted from their horses, stating they have urgent matters to attend to. The Volturi diplomat Felix strutted into the throne room with a woman in tow. She is apparently the most beautiful woman Riley has ever seen. He told Edward this when he shook the Princeling awake. The image of her in his head is enough to make him miss a button on Edward's blouse.

The Princeling waves away his stammered apologies. "Hush. Don't wake Jasper."

The berserker is sleeping with his arms thrown over his face and his long legs tangled in the sheets.

"I don't think he'll wake easily today, Your Grace," Riley says dryly. "Last night was perhaps too strenuous for him."

Edward feels heat rising in his cheeks. He glances at his chamberboy from the corner of his eye. "My brother has better not hear about this."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Riley turns to snatch Edward's silk-lined court cloak off a nearby chair. "Although, if Prince Emmett knew, there would be no more cajoling and teasing about Edward the Pure."

"Riley." Edward glares at him in annoyance. "Just bite your tongue for once, by gods."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

When Edward arrives at the throne room, King Carlisle has already shut himself inside with the Volturi party. The gold armoured guards at the doors tell him the King asked not to be disturbed, not even by his sons.

Edward feels a sense of foreboding settling on his shoulders at the sight of those grand doors shut tight. He glances down the corridor. "Where is my brother?" He asks the guards.

"We haven't been able to find him this morning."

Edward snorts. "Did you check the gardens?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the guard replies quickly, "we have men looking there now."

Edward nods and decides to wait back in his rooms. He tries to tell himself that the decision has nothing to do with the picture of Jasper's reclined figure atop his sheets in his mind's eye. However, whatever plans he has for a languid morning in bed is quickly dashed. Just as he begins to turn away, the double doors ease open, and the guards snap into attention, halting his steps.

Felix is indeed accompanied by a beautiful woman. She has the distinct Volturi features of fair hair and pale skin. Her golden tresses fall in soft ripples to the small of her back. Her eyes are so deeply blue that they look almost violet. She glides through the doors with the elegance and bearing of that marks her as one of noble upraising. She would have been lovelier if she smiled, but her pink lips are pursed and her eyes turn hard when they catch sight of Edward.

She starts towards him. The anger in her gait takes Edward by surprise. She raises one dainty finger and jabs it in his direction. "That monster shouldn't be permitted in the presence of polite company, much less in court," she says in a harsh tone.

Edward raises one eyebrow, too taken aback to be offended. It takes him a minute to see that she is looking past him, glaring daggers at something behind.

He turns to find Jasper with one foot raised in mid-step, frozen like a deer caught in lantern lights. He has a frightened look etched onto his face that Edward doesn't like to see.

Edward turns back to face the Volturi woman. "I see no polite company here."

Those flashing violet eyes snap to him and narrow in contempt. "He's the deserting berserker."

"He didn't desert." Edward pulls at the trim on his cloak in annoyance, rolling his eyes. "He was captured.

"He's a traitor," she hisses, "and a beast. He is hideous and repulsive." She turns to Felix. "Remove the brute from my sight."

Edward crosses his arms. "You have no authority here," he says coldly. "Besides, you are surely mistaken. Jasper looks like he could be your brother."

The look that crosses the Volturi woman's face at that gives Edward an immense sense of satisfaction.

At this moment, King Carlisle appears at Felix's side, flanked by two aged generals who often advised him alongside Edward. He takes in the scene with one quick sweep of his piercing blue eyes.

He motions his son forward with a flick of his hand. "Come. You know Felix, of course, and this is Lady Rosalie, a duchess of Volturia and His Excellency Aro's beloved niece." He turns to her. "This is my son, Edward."

The duchess clamps her jaw shut and wipes the animosity from her features, but her gaze is no less icy. Felix catches her elbow in a vice grip and she grimaces slightly. "Lady Rosalie is fatigued from the long journey. Please do not take offense, Your Grace."

King Carlisle smiles humorlessly down at the diplomat. "Of course not."

Edward, however, is feeling less forgiving. "Perhaps she should retire to her room for the rest of the day," he suggests.

Felix dips into a small bow and proceeds to steer the duchess backwards down the corridor. "Yes, I will ensure that she does, Your Grace."

Edward stands there with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face until the Volturi disappear around a corner. He lets out a huff of breath, irked by the entire exchange. He is at least glad to see that Jasper has recovered from the sight of the duchess. The berserker sidles up to Edward and gives him an unreadable look.

The King stares in the direction the emissaries disappeared for a moment, brows furrowed in thought, before turning to his son. He claps Edward on the shoulder and pulls him along as he strolls back into the throne room. The guards follow at the King's heel, and Jasper falls in step behind Edward.

"Do you know how the strongest bonds are formed between kings, Edward?"

"Through marriage, of course," Edward replies automatically. Ah, that must be why Aro sent his ill-tempered niece across the borders. Edward shakes his head. "Hmph. She is captivating to the eyes," he admits, "but I doubt it will be enough to turn Emmett from his womanizing. Plus," he adds wryly off the amused look the King gives him, "Emmett has had a bad bout of romance with a Volturi girl once. I don't think he'd be easily persuaded to try again."

King Carlisle meets Edward's gaze steadily. "There is no need to persuade Emmett into anything. My heir will wed her."

Edward stops in his tracks so suddenly that Jasper almost walks into him. "You haven't decided on an heir," he reminds his father, feeling his blood turning cold in his veins.

"I have." The King replies simply, his hand slipping from Edward's shoulder.

Edward's mouth is inexplicably dry. "Emmett would be a better match."

"You were saying the opposite mere moments ago," the King reminds him quietly. "My heir will wed her. You will wed her."

Edward takes a small step back, shaking his head furiously. "I will not."

He has never seen the King lose his calm, not when the Queen was forty hours into labour and Alice still wouldn't budge, not when Emmett came home crying from a hunting trip afraid that he had sired a child with a barmaid, not even when the Caius broke through the borderlands the first time years ago and marched halfway to the capital. Yet, at this moment, as King Carlisle's blue eyes bore into Edward, the prince can feel the fraying shreds of his composure snap. "You have a duty to your people, Edward. You will do as you are told."

Edward's heart is pounding in his throat and at his ears all at once. "I will not. I do not like her."

The King sighs. "That was an unfortunate first meeting, I'll concede to that. But you will see differently after the feast in the morrow."

"I will not." The bull-headed edge in his own voice makes Edward feels like he is a child again, running from his mother's rooms, whipping through the palace halls in a burst of rebellious fury.

King Carlisle puts a reassuring hand on his arm. "Speak to her tomorrow night, Edward, and find that she will make you a good queen."

Edward shakes his hand off angrily. The King gives him a quelling look before turning away. Edward glares at his back, fuming. His head is already buzzing with all the arguments he can make and all the excuses he could say, but the King is clearly in no mood for a debate today. When Edward turns he finds his own dark expression mirrored in Jasper's face as those brown eyes narrow in the direction of the King's retreating back.

Emmett chooses this moment to reappear. Edward would recognize the sound of his heavy footfalls anywhere. He bursts into the throne room, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and dew-damp boots squeaking on the marble floors. Edward frowns. "Where have you been?" It's a question he doesn't need to ask. He could take a pretty good guess.

Emmett has a big smile stretching from ear to ear. "I saw the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on in the gardens this morning."

Edward shakes his head. "Of course you did."

His sardonic tone is lost on Emmett. "She shone brighter than the sun," he says in a dreamy voice.

Edward presses two fingers to his temple, feeling a headache coming on. His brother's glee is only aggravating his misery. "Emmett."

His brother finally registers the look on his face. "What happened?"

Edward doesn't want to tell him. Somehow saying it aloud makes it feel real, like it will seal his fate. He fears the image of himself at the altar, with Rosalie's hand in his, bound my magic in marriage eternal. Emmett will find out from someone else anyway. "You missed the Volturi emissaries," he says instead.

Emmett shrugs. "It's just dumb old Felix. I'm not regretful."

"It wasn't just Felix," Edward replies lightly as he starts towards the door. "I think you might regret it."

He leaves Emmett in the throne room and heads towards the royal archive library. He surmises that King Carlisle wants to use the marriage as the groundwork for a new treaty. Perhaps, with a Volturi queen on the throne, Caius would be less inclined to march his men over the border. Edward would be more inclined to think this is a great idea if he isn't the groom. He is disinterested in the convention of marriage, apathetic towards the creation of heirs, and wholly adverse to the notion of spending eternity with Rosalie of Volturia.

Edward wishes he stayed in bed with Jasper this morning. He wishes they were out in the borderlands still, alone in his tent under the midnight sky and listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the oiled canvas. He takes comfort in the sound of Jasper's light footsteps close behind him as he enters the library. He'll find a way out of the marriage. He always finds a way.

Jasper looks up at the towering shelves filled with rolls upon rolls of scrolls. There is a pink blush on his cheeks and a slight swelling of his lips that Edward likes to imagine is from the night before. His clever brown eyes take in the lay of the room with interest, but when they return to rest on Edward's face, those eyes become troubled.

The specks in that chestnut brown are gold like the leaves in autumn. Suddenly, he remembers how those eyes look in the dark, like forest caught on fire.

Edward forgets what he wanted to say. He gesticulates vaguely, scrambling for something – anything. "Can you– do you– do you read?"

Jasper's expression is closed. "Yes."

Edward takes a seat at the wooden reading table. "There is a record of Volturi treaties, would you find it for me?"

Jasper doesn't move.

Edward looks over to the shelves then back at the berserker. "Jasper?"

"I thought they came for me, but they came for you instead." Jasper's voice is thick. Edward hears the tremble in it and feels his heart skip a beat. Jasper's eyes flash darkly. "I don't trust her."

Edward looks down at the wood grains on the table. "It doesn't matter," he says flippantly, trying to put on an air of bravado. He doesn't want Jasper to fear anything. Caius is locked in the dungeons, the campaign is over, and no Volturi duchess is allowed to make the berserker feel inhuman.

"I've heard of her," Jasper says urgently. "Aro does not value her. Beloved niece?" Jasper snorts. "Aro loves no one but himself. There is a trick in her being here. This marriage will be a farce."

Edward's shoulders sink, feeling more tired than he has ever felt in six months of camping in the trees and chasing Caius through the valleys. "Defying the King's direct order is treason," he says simply.

Jasper looks frustrated. "Shouldn't the eldest son be heir?"

Edward gives him a dreary smile. "My father has never been one to follow conventions."

Jasper stares at him. "So you'll marry her?"

"If he names me heir I will have no choice." Edward cannot bear to hold Jasper's gaze anymore. He looks away. "Your people are a fearsome enemy that I would like to see become a formidable ally instead."

"Aro wants your land." Jasper's voice is harsh. "He'll take off the King's head to get it if he has to…and yours too."

Edward head snaps up sharply. "You know this?"

"I heard them," Jasper's tone is bitter. "I head when they thought I was asleep."

Edward's heart shatters right about then. He finds himself reaching out for Jasper's hand before his mind gives the command. He holds Jasper's calloused fingers and runs his thumb over the trailing end of a scar on the back of his wrist. Jasper leans down, Edward closes his eyes, and they meet in the middle.

The kiss is soft and tender. Edward almost forgets to breathe.

"Jasper," he sighs, lips brushing against the berserker's, "I must do my duty."

Jasper pulls away and all semblance of emotion is wiped from his face. "For the good of the kingdom." His voice is hollow.

"No," Edward whispers, "not like how Caius says it. He thinks of himself as the kingdom and he cares only for his own good." He holds Jasper's gaze in his and wills him to understand, hand pressed against his heart, and his emerald eyes pleading. "I am not doing this for me."

"You shouldn't be doing it at all." Jasper looks away. His teeth are clenched tightly, grinding out his words in terse, rough syllables, and his brows are furrowed in what looks like pain.

Edward stares at him. "I don't understand."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," comes the curt reply. Jasper's eyelashes sweep downward as he looks down at the floor. "I forget my place." He turns to leave.

Edward rises from his chair. "Sit with me," he implores, cringing inwardly at the way that sounds.

"I must report to the barracks." Jasper takes his leave without waiting for the reply. He walks away back stiff, shoulders high, and white-knuckled fists pressing unnaturally to his sides.

Edward gets a familiar sinking feeling in his stomach. It reminds him of when Emmett gets upset at him. He knows the course his brother takes, first anger, then harsh words, followed by silence. His response is silence in kind, patiently waiting for the glowers to fade, and the furious stomping to cease. In a week's time Emmett usually settles, having taken out his frustration out of a sparring dummy or a painted target, and Edward can try to reason with him again.

But Jasper didn't shout, he didn't turn red in the face, or punch holes into walls. He didn't give any obvious indication that he is upset at all. Perhaps he isn't. Perhaps Edward is just being overly sensitive, due to the night before. Maybe this is the awkwardness in the morning-after that should be expected.

Edward gives himself a small shake and proceeds to pull long rolled lengths of dusty scrolls from atop the shelves. He tells himself nothing is wrong, he tells himself that Jasper will find him when he is finished at the barracks.

Where night falls there is no trace of Jasper. Edward goes to bed watching the wall, waiting for the flicker of a familiar shadow. It doesn't come.

When his eyelids grow heavy and there is still no sign of Jasper, Edward begins to think perhaps he has made a mistake.

He wakes again in the night, sweating and breathing hard, with lingering visions of bloodied bodies seared into the inside of his eyelids. He grabs at the darkness, thinking he'd find cool skin, soft hair, or calloused fingers. Instead, he finds a bedraggled Riley, staring at him with bleary eyes. He sends the chamberboy away and lies staring up at the ceiling until the sky lightens.

Edward dresses quietly without calling Riley. He sneaks out a servants' side door in the dim light of the dawning sun, and disappears into the morning mist. He wanders through the gardens and crosses High Street, ducking into the hood of his cloak and slouching uncharacteristically. He soon finds himself upon the dirt grounds of the barracks.

To his surprise, two of Emmett's retainers greet him at the gate.

"My brother is here?" he asks them.

"His Grace is in the midst of sparring practice," they reply.

Edward follows their direction into the large yard in the middle of the compound. There are colorful archery targets along the wall and various effigies of straw-men donned in the black and red of the Volturi.

The yard is empty except for the far corner where the hulking figure of Emmett is railing against Jasper, who dodges every strike and blow with lightning quick steps and dancer-like twists. Jasper is holding a long spear in one hand and with the way he moves it looks as if it is an extension of his arm. He spins out of the way of Emmett's wooden broadsword, crouching on his knees, then darts forward like a snake in the grass. Edward knows these sparring props are blunted, but he still winces when the point of Jasper's spear connects with Emmett's chest, right over his heart.

Edward's hands come together automatically, his applause rings through the yard.

Jasper looks over and drops his spear. Edward feels his own smile freezing at the sight of Jasper standing stiffly, face closed off and expressionless. Edward lowers his hands to his side. The butterflies that began to flutter in his abdomen at the first sight of Jasper suddenly turn into wasps.

Emmett stalks over, swinging his sparring sword up to rest across his shoulder. "He's weak, he's slow. His defence needs work," he says gruffly.

Edward gives Jasper a small forced grin and turns to glare at his brother. "He seems perfectly capable of defending against you."

Emmett glowers. "That's not good enough."

Edward shakes his head. "There's a feast tonight with the Volturi emissaries. Don't be late," he says, raising his voice. He can see Jasper in his periphery, stowing his sparring equipment away.

"Have you met her?"

There's something in the tone of Emmett's voice that draws Edward's attention from Jasper. He scans his brother's face. Sometimes, even when Emmett isn't smiling the shadows of his dimples still give him that cheery, playful look that is so distinctive to him. Today, even those shadows are nowhere to be found.

"Who?" Edward asks.

Emmett's voice drops when he replies. "The duchess."

"Yes." Edward doesn't see where this is going, and the solemn look in Emmett's dark eyes is scaring him.

"And?"

Edward makes a face and waves his hands dismissively. "She seems a touch high-strung, and hot headed too. She snapped at Jasper when he gave her no offence."

Emmett lowers his sword into the dirt ground and rests his folded hands on the hilt. "And?"

"And…" Edward thinks for a moment. "She is harsh in her look and frigid in her demeanour. I can't place if she's resents us or if she's just miserable."

"She's beautiful," Emmett bursts out. "She is like a goddess who has come into flesh. No painter can capture her likeness. She has eyes like violets, and the grace of a queen."

It's Edward's turn to stare back at him blankly. "And?"

Emmett's brows knit together as a fierce scowl twist his handsome features. "And all you can talk about is how unhappy she seems?" he snarls. "You can't appreciate her. You have no sympathy. She's been carted off to a foreign land to be married off to a child upon the orders of her uncle. Of course she's miserable."

Edward snorts, taking offense at the accusation in Emmett's tone. "You've had a very quick change of heart."

"What?" Emmett demands impatiently.

"What happened to the girl from yesterday who outshone the sun?" Edward sneers coldly.

Emmett narrows his eyes, giving Edward a very black look with the corner of his lips turning decidedly downwards. "That was her," he replies tersely.

Edward stares at him.

After a beat, Emmett drops his gaze and turns, stomping off. Edward watches his retreating figure with interest. This is an unexpected turn of events. Perhaps he can use this to his advantage. But, he reminds himself, this isn't war. Emmett is his stubborn brother who will be much harder to manipulate than the wooden shoulders on his leather maps.

He'll deal with that later, he more pressing matters at the moment.

But when he turns back to where Jasper was a minute ago, the berserker is no longer there. Edward wanders through the barracks for the rest of the morning. Jasper is nowhere to be found.

Maybe it didn't mean anything to him.

Edward hunkers down in the shadows of the barrack's bunk house and watch as the men begin to go about their first duty of the day. He doesn't see them really. His gaze focuses in the space between when he is and where they hurry about, strapping on armours and running small knives over their bristly chins.

Maybe for Jasper, putting his lips on intimate places is part of his service to his liege lord, like massaging away knots, or standing guard while Edward slept.

Edward remembers how Jasper groaned against his ear when the prince sucks on the dip between his shoulder and his neck. It was so quiet that if it wasn't for the breath brushing along Edward's skin and raising goosebumps in its wake he wouldn't have heard it. He remembers those soft kisses and nipping teeth against sensitive skin. Maybe those moments weren't special. Maybe they didn't make Jasper's heart beat against his chest, threatening to break out of his skin, maybe they didn't make him lose his breath and go weak at the knees – even though it made Edward feel all of those things.

Edward pulls his hood up over his head as he heads out, back up High Street.

Maybe he is mistaken in more ways than one.

xxx

Next chapter will be called Trophy.