"Closer, My Darling"
Authors Note: Going for a two chapter night. I must hope it is to your satisfactory. I've re-read it more times that I can count, but still have a seriously intense dislike for this chapter for one reason or another, and it seems almost ironic that it took by far the longest to write. However, despite my various attempts at fixing it, it was either learn to live with it or start the chapter over entirely. I didn't really have a genuinely set direction for this story, and I think this chapter sets the temporary direction in a peculiar way. It took a long while to write and correct and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I hope you will be.
(When I uploaded this chapter, the text went absolutely haywire. Please forgive any oddities. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I'm working on fixing it promptly.)
'I can do it you gently
I can do it with an animal's grace
I can do it with precision
I can do it with gourmet taste
But either way
Either way, either way
I wanna kill you
I wanna blow you...
Away. '
'I will strangle him, I swear to Avo I will strangle him with my own hands.' She thought venomously about her treacherous butler. Reaver's cool, gloved fingers gripped her own lightly as he led her up the cold marble staircase. She suppressed her racing heart with each step. Their footsteps echoed off the manor walls, dread ringing in her being with every loud clack of their footsteps. She absolutely despised the thought of being inebriated around Reaver, more or less because she was afraid her true opinion of him might slip and cause a 'national catastrophe', but she knew she could not face an evening with Reaver sober.
He led her down various hallways and past several doors, each one blending in more than the last. After numerous moments of maneuvering through his large mansion, she found herself wondering how a single person's house could be quite so large. It was all too much like a labyrinth for her liking. Why would anyone of their right mind place a dining room so far into a mansion?
He finally stopped before another androgynous door, waiting several seconds to open the door for her to build climax. His crisp glove slowly closing in around the knob, and eventually opening it for her, bowing for her as she entered. She stepped into the room, absolutely taken aback by its magnificence. The polished mahogany table beheld a lovely white opalescent table cloth with two crimson candles embellishing the middle of it. The walls were painted brick with a few panelings of carved Oak wood around the edges with a lit fire place gracing the corner of the room. A few expensive paintings of various scenic places were strung across the walls and a few decorative items and small marbleized statues were placed strategically across the room. A costly scarlet rug that matched her ensemble lay beneath the table, delicately embroidered with patterns of ebony thread.
The room was too dimly lit for her distinct comfort despite the grandeur crystal chandelier that hung feet above the table, but it was extravagant none the less. She found herself longing for a room like this in her own castle. Her azure eyes gluttonously drinking in every aspect of the chamber as she once again bit her lip. Unbeknownst to her, Reaver was tentatively watching her reaction. His eyes narrowed with pleasure as he noted her glistening eyes. He took the time to take in her reception before speaking.
"I take that everything is to your liking, your Majesty? I took extra care for you. I assure you, no expense was spared." He purred. Not even his tone could break her enchantment. She glanced around in wonder at the room, bewitched by the delicate allure. He grabbed her arm gently and led her to the head of the table as she shook her entrancement, calmly remembering who's house she was envying.
He couldn't help but smile to himself. Most royals had a taste for the finer things in life. He also noted that she had been denying herself those things for the sake of her people. She had afforded herself no fine dresses or decorations in her quarter since she had taken the throne. Reaver had made sure that when this room was well acquainted to her royal style, yet also well out of her reach. He sat down only after she had been seated for several moments.
"Yes, yes, it is indeed nice." Her voice was stern and stoic once again. She seemed to have broken the trance and her deep eyes were fixated on his, her stare never bending to his own. He did so love a challenge. It would have been so boring if she had been broken due to mere material objects. He found himself beaming again in spite of her.
"I'm happy to hear it, your Majesty. Do you find the comforts to your liking? I would be more than happy to call upon of the servants to suit your finer needs." He cocked his head once again.
"No, no I'm quite pleased with them. My only desire is for the bottle I was promised." She did her best to put on an apathetic face. This only deepened Reaver's infatuation.
"Of course, your Highness." He clapped his hands. In a matter of seconds, a servant appeared at the door. "Our finest Cabernet, maintenant." The servant made a quivering yet deep bow.
"Of course, Lord Reaver." The shaky servant managed to squeal before promptly running off. He spied the unmistakeable face of worry on Seraphina's face as she watched the servant boy scramble off.
"I see that your demeanor has not only managed to strike fear into the hearts of the court attendees, but that of your house staff as well?" She spoke nonchalantly, yet the look of concern on her face was recognizable. He grinned, challenging her,
"I do not know what you're implying, your Majesty. My staff is quite happy with their servitude. After all, who wouldn't be pleased to serve the beloved Hero Queen of Albion?" His voice was amiable enough, but the parody was heavy underneath his sentiment. She just looked sharply to the side and exhaled, no doubt a subdued attempt to roll her eyes. He gave her a cheeky smile, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.
A few moments passed before the servant returned with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. The crimson contents of the glass lazily sloshed against the sides of the container as he carried it toward the table. He uncorked the bottle and began to pour a glass for Reaver. The industrial lord's eyes ignited in anger.
"And just what do you think you are doing?" He arched his perfected black eyebrow. A shiver of fear ran down the poor servants spine.
"P...Pouring you a drink, my Lord." He stammered. His eyes rampantly searched for any wrongdoing, scanning the table and any other immediate surroundings.
"Don't you think it would be prompt for her Majesty to be served first? She is, after all, a guest of most high priority." He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table as he gave the boy an unyielding stare. The small boy gulped, and fretted to find a sufficient excuse.
"Of course, Lord Reaver. It was a simple mistake. I'm so used to serving you first..." The boy fumbled the bottle quickly over to the Queen and quickly poured her a glass. She sent him a look of sympathy as he did so, not wanting to know what awaited him when she left the premises.
"That's much better, my dear boy! Now that the Queen has had her glass filled, you should feel free to leave the bottle." Reaver's voice was pleasant enough, but he was fooling no one. The boy set the bottle down on the table and left with a look of utter terror on his face, and Queen Seraphina watched him feeling nothing short of regret, wishing to help him.
"Now my dear, shall we get onto the finer details?" He lifted the glass to his lips, taking the venomous liquid in.
"Yes, yes I suppose we should." She cautiously lifted her own glass, drinking in the alcohol. It stained her lips a delectable ruby red. She sent an innocent glance his way frowning as her eyes met his once more and immediately lifted the chalice again, downing it it two graceful swallows. He felt a devilish grin overtake his face. It was like watching an angel partake in debauchery of his own accord. He could think of no greater pleasure in life.
"My dear, have you ever heard the saying that there is absolutely nothing attractive about a woman who can handle her alcohol?" He swiveled his own glass between his fingers. He took a small sip from his gauntlet, never lifting his eyes from her cerulean ones from across the table.
"The better question seems to be do I seem like a woman who cares?" She removed her stare from his own, heavily eying the bottle that rested in between them. She reached a graceful arm toward it, grasping it with her delicate fingers and pouring promptly into her glass. She placed the bottle close to her, and sent Reaver a distinguished look from across the table.
'How delightful! A power play! Her Majesty never disappoints.' He lowered his head, giving her a small devious smile.
"I myself disagree with that saying. I find nothing more attractive than a woman that can handle her alcohol. Nothing else except, a woman that can handle my own." His grin deepened, and the candlelight projected shadows underneath his darkened eyes. She continued to stare him down in a silent battle of the wills, her eyes unrelenting as she took two more deep swigs of her wine glass, leaving it nearly empty. The hint seemed to fly just over her head.
'Glorious, absolutely glorious. She's playing the game, just as I knew she would. How unfortunate that she's neglected the guidelines.' He felt his 'hard' work paying off. He had sent many a sleuth experienced bard and other inconspicuous moral-lacking citizens to spy on her throughout her misadventures as Rebel Queen of Albion. He had seemed to know quite before anyone else that she would soon behold the royal throne. One statement that seemed consistently reported was her all too recent visits to local taverns. Her Majesty was indeed a wondrous alcohol connoisseur. She spent many of her free nights carousing the taverns with her companions, building up the tolerance of a Hero. That's why he had taken special care to make sure that this alcohol was tailored to her distinct liking.
He took no greater pleasure than watching her eyes begin to glisten with inebriation in the light. He reveled in her venerability. She was so used to her incredible tolerance that she seemed to neglect just how much she was drinking, pouring glass after glass, no doubt in an attempt to wear his patience down. It was only when she had taken several more deep sips from her chalice that he broke the silence and initiated their meeting, blissfully watching her guarded wall fall away.
"So, my dear, I was thinking that you and I should wear matching ensembles." He said pointedly. He intertwined his hands with each other on top of the table, resting his chin lazily upon them.
"You are kidding right? Oh my Avo, please tell me you are kidding." Seraphina scoffed, hiding her head in her hands. "This was the urgent message you called me here for? This was so important that you demanded my presence?" She laughed out loud, the curled loose strands of hair shook with her. He simply smiled pleasantly, silently amused at her less-than-queenly demeanor.
"Your majesty, you know how important these frivolous matters are to the court. It would be an absolute scandal if the queen were left unattended at a ball. We must make all appearances seem official." His voice was unwavering, although the both of them knew that every word out of his mouth was a lie. He counted on this. She sat in astonishment for a moment, her lush mouth slightly agape. Her glazed oceanic eyes narrowed on his golden ones once again and she let out a vicious laugh.
"You, Reaver, are beyond absolutely delusional if you think for one bloody second that I will stay here for this nonsense." She rose from her seat, once again reaching for her chalice on the table, taking a large swig from it and successfully emptying another glass. Blood red liquid dripped slightly from her mouth, which she promptly licked away. Reaver's eyes narrowed. "I am the Queen of Albion, and I have important matters to attend to. Much more important than what to wear to a damnable party." She began to make her way toward the door, only succeeding in fumbling over her own feet. He let out a chuckle of his own and he rose to offer her his hand. A look of intense uneasiness came over her face and her eyes widened in realization.
"What have you done to this wine? What have you done?" She demanded as he lifted her up by her waist. "Don't touch me!" She tried to push him away, but he only pulled her closer, her face only inches from his as his stare bore down into hers. She recoiled, pulling into herself.
"It would appear, your Majesty, that you have had one too many." He brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. She turned her head viciously away from him. This only seemed to fuel his desire. "Such a lovely face you have, my dear. Such milky skin, and I dare say those beautiful eyes of yours could tame a balverine on his worst night." His voice was honey sweet and sultry. "My, if I would have known that the little tyke of Logan's would have turned out to be such a notorious beauty, I myself might have stepped in." She pushed herself fiercely away from him, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled it past his shoulder in tango-like position, her body forcefully closer to his and he held tightly to her wrist "Now, now, your Highness, calm yourself. There's nothing more unattractive than a lush."He arched his eyebrow and silently reeled at her futile attempts to push him away.
"This is treason, Reaver. I demand you release me at once!" She struggled her wrists against his grasp. He only dawned a mischievous smile. He loved it when they were feisty.
"As you wish, your Majesty." He relinquished his grip from her body, and she fell to the wooden floor, betrayed by her own weight. He couldn't help but laugh aloud at her distress. He keeled over, using his cane as a counterweight, his malicious laughter echoing up toward the ceiling. He waited a few moments to look at her no doubt priceless faceless facial expression. When he finally brought himself to bring his eyes toward hers, he was not disappointed. Her face was rile with fury, her eyes positively dancing with rage. Her lip twitched with delicious hatred.
'Come to me, little one.' He lowered his face, taunting her, readying himself for the inevitable assault. She lunged at him, knocking him over on his hind side. His tall ivory hat was sent carelessly across the room. Pinning him to the floor beneath them, she gracefully pulled a dagger from her hip and placed it to his throat. Her every feature drunk with wine and rage as she prodded his skin with the knife. He could once again only bear a defiant grin.
"Oh, my Queen. I am disappointed. I figured that the rebel queen of Albion would be able to at the very least be able to successfully subdue a man!" He let out a chuckle, watching her aggravation reach a peak. She shoved the dagger an inch closer to his exposed throat.
"Really? It seems like you're quite subdued. An inch further and this dagger would penetrate your jugular, and you would bleed to death before me and I dare say that I would enjoy it." Her face drenched in maliciousness.
"You see, it's entirely too easy to deflect." He stated quickly. A slight look of confusion came over her face seconds before he swept her away. He overpowered her hand, wrapping his own around her wrist and slammed her dagger wielding limb against the floor. She cried out in pain as the knife skidded away across the wooden surface.
He then proceeded to roll on top of her, using her own weight as a counter and easily shifting positions and straddling her. He grabbed both of her wrists with his own and pinned them above her head, using his free hand to grab his Dragonstomper from his holster and placed it carefully above her cleavage. He placed his knee on her abdomen, successfully pinning her legs beneath his weight. His sadism was apparent as he donned a look of joy watching her squirm and struggle beneath him. She bit and scratched, but her mild attacks never came to fruition.
"Struggle all you wish, your Majesty, but this position is inescapable." He placed his face close to her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her neck. He detected the softest scent of fear and rage, and it only pushed him further.
"Get off of me now! Or I shall have you beheaded!" She kicked and struggled bearing her teeth in primal rage.
"My dear Queen, if you were going to have me beheaded, you would have done it ages ago." He pulled himself from his fantasy reluctantly. "Although I assure you that I mean you no harm. Calm yourself, my dear. It was only a bit of fun. I do say I couldn't resist. It's so rare that I meet a warrior with a fire to meet my own." He pulled the pistol from her chest and in one graceful movement pulled himself from her and was standing once more. He slid his pistol back into the sheath at his side and offered her a hand. Her look was one of absolute puzzlement as she stared up at him from the floor. Her trembling fingers took his gloved ones and he easily pulled her up.
"What just happened?" She placed her hand to her forehead as she leaned against the table. She eyed the wine suspiciously again, knowing full well that something was off. Reaver took note of her concern.
"It's Aurorian, my dear. Stronger than in our own little continent, and much more expensive." He picked up the bottle and took a hearty swig, confident and pleased with himself. "I suppose I should have warned you before you dug in, but you seemed so happy to partake in it, and that's such a rare sight these days. I simply could not bring myself to destroy it."
He ran his hands through his charcoal locks, smoothing the few hairs that had been knocked out of place. She heaved a sigh and sat back down on her chair. She bit her lip and kneaded her fingertips into her temples once more. Her mind was swimming with the alcohol and slight shame as well. She had never been so easily defeated in a skirmish. She was formulating something to say, and he was on pins and needles waiting to hear it.
"I don't know what the hell just happened here, Reaver, but I do know one thing. You are, without a doubt, the most underhanded and despicable man in all of Albion. I detest everything about you. You make my skin crawl and frankly it makes me sick to be around you. If you want something, do me the favor of simply asking. It minimizes the time I have to spend in your presence. I'm tired of this gratuitous facade." Her voice was calm and assured. His mouth widened in a cruel smile.
"You wound me so, your Majesty!" He placed his hands dramatically over his heart, leaning back ever so slightly. She exhaled, shaking her head toward the floor. He picked up his empty wine glass from the table. "But I'm afraid you are stuck with me." His voice deepened. "You see, this city couldn't function without me, and you know it. I dare say that it would fall apart in my absence. Without me, your little kingdom would crumble." He crushed the glass gauntlet in his hand, shattering it and allowing the pieces to fall to the floor. The loud noise made her jump with surprise. She stared at the shards on the floor, and then back to Reaver. His eyes darkened but the brutal smile still took hold of his face as began to move toward her. Fear momentarily shook her senses as she lifted herself from the chair in silence, still stunned at his sudden act of aggression.
"This wretched place needs me, just as much as it needed you. You need me as well. Who else would refill that pathetic excuse for a treasury? Who else could so efficiently run my industry?" His footsteps echoed suspensefully off the floor as he made his way toward her. He carelessly brushed the remaining glass from his glove. He stopped just inches short of her, and she could feel the warmth of his body hitting her own.
"Let's not pretend this isn't the truth, mon minet. We must learn to co-exist, or one of us shall surely face destruction." His florescent pupils shined dangerously in the firelight. He raised his hand and caressed her pale face, lightly grabbing her chin and cheek affectionately. "And let's be honest, little one. I've lived through multiple monarchs. I dare say you've only lived through one." His voice was taunting.
"I will not fall to you, Reaver. I can promise you that." She stared back at him with an equal intensity, grabbing his roaming hand and shoving it back toward him fiercely. He grinned playfully once again.
"I wouldn't have it any other way, my sweet. I do so love when the monarchy beholds such possession." He turned from her and paced back to the table and shifted the conversation. "Seeing your present condition concerns me. You will indeed be in for one hell of a morning tomorrow, that wine brings a vicious morning-after. You will need your rest, and frankly, I find you a repulsive drunk." He could help but to throw in an insult as he picked up his trademark hat and brushed imaginary dirt off of it, placing it carefully back onto his head. "I believe I can handle the arrangements from here, so long as you are willing to cooperate with my arrangements, of course." His voice was innocent and his features lightened once again. She momentarily glanced at him, wondering just how he could switch moods so rampantly. She considered anonymously sending him some complimentary bi-polar medication.
"Do what you will, Reaver. I will comply with your outfits. Although I have no clue as to why in your right mind you would still want to throw a ball in my honor after tonight." It was a genuine question. He simply smiled with faux kindness.
"Your Highness, you take everything far too seriously. It's all in good fun, wouldn't you say? Monarchs who are too official ruin all the pleasure. I may speak for myself, but I had a rather great time at dinner." He leaned lazily back on his cane.
"Dinner? We didn't even eat." Her voice was slightly quizzical as she stared at the empty table.
"Would you like to?" He arched his eyebrow at her once more.
"Absolutely not. I must be going." She stated quickly, heading for the door before he could make another offering.
"I'll have a servant call your carriage and show you the way to the door." He fell back into his seat. "Remember your Majesty, lots of water and bed rest. You are going to feel like absolute hell tomorrow." He sent her a sideways smirk. "I'll send a letter with the information your way when I configure it." He turned away from her, focusing on some unknown thing around the room as he waved his hand dismissively at her. "Ta!"
She couldn't even bring herself to be offended at his dismissive gesture. She simply wanted to go home, more than anything in the world. She hadn't even fully heard his goodbye before she slammed the dining room door. She waited just outside the room for the servant to escort her to her carriage. She had never been more thankful to be on the way home in her life, and she did her absolute best to not think about returning here. It was inevitable, but she would be damned if she would think on it this night.
Another faceless servant scurried quickly down to meet her at the dining room doorway. She didn't greet him or exchange any pleasantries, she simply awaited instruction toward the exit. It was several seconds before she noticed his lack of speech or movement, and looked up. She recognized him as the small, tired servant that had held the door for them. His face was one of concern and borderline apprehension.
"What is it, child?" Even she could discern the weariness in her voice.
"I mean no offense, your Majesty, but are you quite alright? Your hair is disheveled, and your shirt is torn." He pointed to a small place on her collar where a small tear was forming.
"I'm quite alright, but thank you for your concern." She tapped her foot nervously, offering him a small smile.
"Oh, Reginald?" A melodic voice called from behind the door. Seraphina visibly flinched, as did the one called Reginald.
"Y..yes, m'lord?" Reginald leaned close to the door.
"Send me that servant boy, the one who brought my dear guest and I the wine. I do believe we have unfinished business." Reavers voice was perfectly pleasant, but the looks that made their way onto the faces of both the Queen and Reginald were not.
"Right away, Lord Reaver." Reginald instinctively grabbed the Queen's hand, leading her through the corridors quickly. He left her at the front door, muttering something about her carriage waiting in front and how nice it was to have such royal company. No doubt lines that had been rehearsed. She offered him a tentative smile as she closed the french styled doors behind her, although she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. This was a house of horror. Her heart felt for both Reginald and the small servant boy. At least she got to leave this awful place, but they were stuck here like the poor damned souls of purgatory.
She pounded her boots on the marble steps out toward the entrance way where she could see her carriage awaiting like a gift from the gods. She began to run, feeling like if she didn't reach the gate in a matter of seconds, that she would be locked in here too. As she finally reached the mansion gate, she could have sworn that she heard the echoing sound of a gunshot ripple through the silent midnight air.