"Closer, My Darling"
Authors Note:Hello, my lovelies. If you're anything like me, you won't read an in-progress story if it has anything less than 5 chapters. There's absolutely nothing worse than falling in love with a good story, only to have it so cruelly ripped away from you when there is no longer a 'next chapter'. I will of course not presume to assume that my story is quite as fabulous as others, but I assure you I am working my hardest. I realize that perhaps the story line is rather cliché if you will, but you know what they say. Stick to the classics. The last chapter left a sour taste in my mouth, so I stand by my word of making it likely to change unless, of course, the good people should disagree.
"Tortuous one, debauchery won
The attention of Emperors, Princes and Tsars
For the toll of her kiss, no soul could dismiss
The advance of her throne from afar"
The Queen stared despairingly down at auric embellished letter that had been placed upon her study desk. The scarlet wax seal was unmistakeable. Two extravagant R's placed back to back around an industrial gear cog. She gently picked up the letter and flipped it around to the back side. In gold fluidic lettering, it read "Reaver Industries". She felt a drop in her stomach as she read the words over and over. She had been absolutely dreading this day since the events that took place in the court. Reaver may be a swollen-headed ego maniac, but he seemed entirely too efficient when it came his own wants and needs, and it would seem that this party he wished to throw in her honor was quite high on his priority list. She knew it was only a matter of time before he contacted her to set up the details.
Reaver did seem to take any excuse he could get to throw some excessively ostentatious ball. It seemed his life consisted entirely of parties, depravity, murder and various unmentionable hedonistic vices. She would never understand where he found the time to run one of the most unbelievably successful booming industries in the history of Albion between his sexual conquests and his pleasure seeking lifestyle. The man had more money than he could physically spend in a lifetime, and he loved to show it all off in the most grandiose way possible.
She gently lifted the letter from her desk, searching her mind for any reason at all to ignore it and possibly throw it into the fire place. Yet, she knew better. This party was the key to restocking the national treasury, and enriching the lives and morale of her subjects. However, this did not make her dread the contents any less. Lifting the letter opener from the drawer, she penetrated the wax seal and maneuvered the knife carefully up and down the crease of the envelope.
Lifting the letter from the opulent envelope, she braced herself for the contents within. She steadily unfolded the thick piece of parchment, quickly viewing the contents, scanning the paragraphs without truly reading them. Only after several moments of preparing herself, she was able to bring herself to view it.
"My dearest monarch,
I cannot tell you how absolutely delighted I am to have the privilege of hosting the celebratory coronation in your honor, however late it may be. Our most celebrated Queen deserves a lavishly palatial initiation, as is traditional of the Albion Court. It would be quite the scandal if such duties were neglected, would it not?
I have taken the liberty upon myself to arrange most of the details myself which I hope shall be most to your liking. However there are a few minor speculations which I could use your person preference to decide, not to mention a few discriminating details which I can only assume you would wish to partake in. It is, after all, a party that I wish to be most to your liking. As I have stated many times, I only aim to please, your Majesty.
It would be most humbling to behold your radiant presence in my manor in Millfield at your earliest convenience. Most preferably the night of the reception of this letter. I assure you that my manor is more than elated at the thought of being graced by the presence of Her Highness, and shall be ready at your earliest convenience.
I pray that I may be honored with the gift your your presence most instantaneously. A visit from Her Majesty is, after all, an occurrence to be celebrated. I anxiously await your reply and arrival .
My most sincere thoughts,
-Lord Reaver."
The majority of the letter had been written in fine black ink using what seemed to be an old fashioned quill, but his gaudy signature had been signed in what appeared to be molten gold, and took up a good quarter of the page remaining. It reflected the light so sharply that it almost hurt Seraphina's eyes to look upon it.
The Queen made an audible groan. Only Reaver was narcissistic enough to sign his name in melted down precious metals. It seemed that only he had the audacity to request, neigh, demand her presence on his own whim. It was customary that when you came to seek audience with the crown that you came to the crown on its own time. Reaver however preferred the opposite, as he made quite clear in his letter. He didn't even seem to have the good grace to request that she join him, or ask what time would be most convenient for her. He expected her to come on his beck and call, and most notably on his own terms.
The most frustrating part was that she was obligated to oblige him, no matter how absurd his requests. If she refused, he would no doubt once again hold the treasury (or lack thereof) at ransom, making some passive snide comment about the 'decrepit state of national funds'. It positively riled her to have to bend to his will, burning a pit in her stomach that couldn't quite be named as anything other than absolute disgust. No one else in the kingdom had the self important cheek to attempt to make demands of a monarch, yet it seemed that the one man who did was also the one man who had the status and ability to do so. This put a nasty taste in her mouth, and left the Queen in an ill humor.
She sat down at her desk, scanning her drawers angrily for parchment and a quill. She was absolutely dreading writing this reply, knowing full well what she must write and how she must write it. More specifically, she must accept his invitation politely. Worst of all, she had to actually keep her word. She got the feeling it meant little to nothing to Reaver either way, so it only hurt her own cause if she refused to show. She took a deep sigh as she flattened the paper against the hard oak wood of her desk. Pressing the quill to the paper, she began to write, resisting the urge to cringe as she did so.
'Lord Reaver,
I have received your letter. I'll arrive at your manor this evening at 7:30. I'm afraid I won't be able to stay long, as I have royal matters to which I must attend. I must ask that we make this meeting as quick as possible. As I have said, I have important matters that require my presence.
Queen Seraphina of Albion'
The letter was short, to the point and borderline rude, but it was all she could bring herself to write without going further into detail about the depths of her hatred for him. Severe irritation formed a pit in her stomach as she placed the letter carefully into the envelope, and exited her study. As always, Hobson was waiting just outside the double mahogany doors, carefully examining the intricate molding on the wood paneled hallways.
"Hobson, I need this letter sealed and delivered to Lord Reaver's mansion immediately. It's high priority, and contains confirmation of an appointment I have this evening. I shall also need a carriage prepared at 7 this evening, ready to travel to Millfield." She handed him the letter, and vicariously tried to shift the responsibility to him. A malicious grin overtook Hobson's snake-like features as he took the letter from her.
"A letter to Lord Reaver? Carriage to the Millfields? Would this happen to be a social call?" He was doing a very poor job of hiding his implication of scandal. She wasn't sure what made her feel more queasy. His implications, or his suggestive smile which gave her an all too revealing look at his yellowed and decaying teeth. She swallowed a small amount of stomach acid, making a mental note to search for a new butler when time allowed.
"I regret to inform you that it is indeed not a social call. Lord Reaver has offered to make a generous donation to the castle treasury, and in turn would like to celebrate the occasion. He claims that he would like all of the details to be to my distinct liking. He requested my presence for a brief time to simply overview the details. Nothing social of the sort." Animosity lightly coated her words. Much to her dismay, his smile didn't even so much as flinch at her words. He simply shook his head in faux disappointment and clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"Such a shame. Lord Reaver seems like such a suitable young gentleman. Not to mention, vastly wealthy. If I might be so bold as to say, if I found myself in your position, I myself might consider slightly more than a business call with the young Lord." His smile crept even wider with every word, and reached a peak when he saw the way the Queen was staring at him in absolute disbelief at what he had just said. He seemed all too pleased with her reaction, and it set her on edge.
"It is too bold, Hobson. I don't recall your job description being royal matchmaker, and I hardly find a butler qualified in matters of love, especially with that vile man." Her words were venomous. The butler only arched his bushy silver eyebrow.
"No one said absolutely anything about love, your Majesty." He turned on his heel and was gone before she even had the wits to reply. She sat in shock for several seconds, disbelief rang in her head at what he had just insinuated. It was safe to say that she was no longer hungry.
Seraphina tapped her hands anxiously on her desk. Outside her window, she could see the scarlet golden rays of the sun slowly fighting the violent and indigo colors of the night for dominance and losing. It was dusk, and the sun was slowly making its way behind the Mistpeak mountains. Soon, it would be time for her to make the trip she had been dreading all day. She knew she needed to get up and ready herself for the journey, but her legs felt like lead and she couldn't bring herself to move.
Instead, she traced her fingertips along the embellished edge of her desk, killing time she knew she didn't have. For a few moments, she heavily considered taking one of her spare 'slow time' potions, just to give herself a few more moments to prepare herself for this. Reaver was the absolute last person in all of Albion who she wanted to spend any amount of civil time with, yet he had once again found a way to worm his way into her schedule. She moved her hands to her forehead, rubbing her index finger slowly across the milky warm skin on her face. For a moment, she missed being a rebellion leader. At least then it would have been mildly acceptable for her to swing a sword at his pompous neck.
Finally dragging herself up from the chair, she made her way to the royal dress chambers, her legs feeling heavier and heavier with each step. She dragged her hands across the fine silks and fabrics of her multitude of royal dresses. He halfheartedly pulled a few out, looking them over without ever actually considering them. She bit her tongue, rolling her eyes at the thought of showing up to Reaver's mansion in full royal dress. She knew all too well that he would take this as some twisted form of flattery. That was something she desperately wanted to avoid, even more so now after her and Hobson's disturbing conversation that had taken place several hours prior.
She turned instead to her riding clothes, and various other less formal wares. The thought put a small smile on her face, rolling up Reaver's enormous driveway to his multimillion gold mansion in nothing but standard riding wear. The thought of his mildly disgusted face brought her a sense of joy. However, she knew that being the Queen of a nation had it's drawbacks. She couldn't be seen on the road, let alone conducting official business, in riding wear. However, if there was one thing Seraphina prided herself on, it was her talent of being able to do completely as she pleased without technically breaking any rules.
She picked a fine pair of black leather riding pants with ebony plated boots to compliment. She also settled on a plain off the shoulder white silk shirt with tied wrist length sleeves to go under an embroidered crimson riding corset. It may not have been the finest or even the most appropriate wear for a business meeting, but no one could argue that it wasn't finely made or expensive. It had been a gift from a tailor in Brightwall, and had been delivered shortly after the had taken the throne. She didn't want to know just how many hours he had spent embroidering it, or how expensive the materials had been to make it. She had no doubt that it was one of the finest things to come out of his shop. She had many dresses that were worth more monetarily, but the gifts that she received from her people were held more dear to her.
After donning her new attire (and spending many minutes thanking Avo that this particular outfit didn't require a servant to help lace), she walked into the bathroom, stopping in front of the floor length mirror to examine her aesthetics. This was another aspect she missed dearly about simply being a princess. She used to be able to dress more for comfort than she did for court, and it was perfectly acceptable for her to throw her hair back in a braid. However, when she became Queen, all of that seemed to change. Her servants would fret over the slightest knots in her long black hair, or bring her packs of frozen vegetables for her sleep deprived and swollen eyelids as if the kingdom itself depended upon it.
Her eyelids were indeed slightly swollen, her iced blue eyes ringed slightly red around the pupil. Her royal servants and Hobson himself would have a fit if she left the castle looking like "a common madam". She grabbed handfuls of her thick obsidian locks and twisted it into a messy bun on top of her head, placing pins in random places to hold it in place. To make it look a tad more regal, she pulled a black dahlia attached to a pin and placed it delicately into her hair on the lower left side.
She pulled a few loose strands down from her bun and took the heating rod from the counter, grasping it firmly in her gauntlet. She sent a spark of energy into the small metallic rod, heating it just enough so that she could wrap the small strands around it, successfully curling them. She continued to prod and pull at her hair until she was satisfied. Not too official looking, and certainly nothing that would impress, but enough done that no one could chastise her.
She took her small black coal liner and drew her typical wings off the top edges of her eyelids, and pulled at her lashes with a small mascara wand. No one could accuse her of being overly precise. For the final touch, she settled on a lighter pink lip rouge. She glanced at her reflection, turning her head slightly from side to side, and then decided that she was satisfied. It was perfectly casual, yet not quite lazy. She looked presentable, but certainly not regal. She was also rather pleased with her outfit. It was wayward and offhand, but not deficient in any manner. All things considered, it was an ensemble fit for a queen. Perhaps a rebel queen, but a queen no less. Not to mention, she liked to think that scarlet was her color.
Seraphina let out a heavy sigh as she glanced once more out the window. It was almost fully dark, the stars glistening in the sky like diamonds strewn across a velvet blanket. All things considered, it would have been a lovely night if the situation didn't stand as it was. Her carriage would be arriving soon to carry her to Millfields and she felt a churning in her gut like the calm before the storm. This was, after all, only the beginning. She could only imagine what her night would be like on the evening of the party in question. She put the thought out of her mind promptly. One night at a time, she told herself.
She put away a few lackluster items before leaving her wardrobe chambers. She carried herself down the halls, avoiding the glances of various castle service members. Word seemed to spread fast, not without the help of Hobson she had no doubt. The maids blushed and sent looks of envy, while the men furrowed their brow in what seemed like concern. She stifled an urge to roll her eyes. Why must it always be scandal in this castle? It frustrated her immensely that everyone automatically put their minds in the worst place possible. Many of them had been present during her 'civil conversation' with Reaver, and yet they still allowed their mind to drift.
To a point, she understood however. Reaver had a less-than-polished reputation amongst the men and women of Albion. In fact, he was known as a downright deviant. She couldn't blame them for questioning the motives of Lord Reaver when the Queen began spending time, be it forced or not, with him. Reaver was a man known to get his way through underhanded means as she knew all too well. He was, after all, holding a large treasury donation over her head to be able to throw this ridiculous ball of his.
She made her way down the grand stair case where, to her intense aggravation, Hobson was waiting for her with the same devious smile that he had only hours before.
"Does it pain you so to wear that same facial expression for hours at a time simply to annoy me?" She bit her lip in vexation, a slight metallic taste flooding her mouth.
"I do not know what you're talking about, your Majesty." He brushed her comment off. "I shall say that I do find your choice of clothes rather peculiar, however. Planning on riding, are we?" He placed extra exaggeration on his last sentence. The comment was innocent enough, but she knew Hobson, and nothing that came out of his mouth was innocent.
"I found no point in wearing a dress to this sort of meeting. I felt that I should dress comfortably seeing as this entire situation is uncomfortable enough." She glanced out the windows, biding her time and praying her carriage driver would hurry.
"Well I say, your Majesty. How very forthright of you." He chuckled lightly. She rolled her eyes at him once again. That man could find sexual implications in the most simple of conversations, and frankly, she was tiring of his company.
"Please go tell my carriage driver that I'm ready to depart. The sooner the better." She turned away from him, focusing her attention on a small speck of dirt that was floating through the air a few feet away from her.
"Yes, your Majesty. I will make sure that he gets you to your destination safe and sound. Once you arrive at Lord Reaver's mansion, I am most certain that he will take excellent care of you." Just like that, he scurried off like a rat. Seraphina felt an overwhelming urge to smash her head against the paneling on the wall. Anything at all to get herself out of this mess. As if the situation wasn't cumbersome enough, she now had to deal with the suggestive and inappropriate commentary of her overstepping butler. She wondered if anyone would notice if he went on vacation. Preferably to a bandit camp.
This night could not be over quickly enough.