Maka was awoken by the sensation of someone touching her arm, and she jerked upright, yanking herself away from whoever was trying to touch her. Her dream still clouded her mind, and for a moment all she could think of was that she had to hurry, hurry, hurry.
One of her handmaidens, Tsugumi, jerked back as well, alarmed. "My-my Lady, I'm so sorry, I did not mean to startle you."
Maka blinked at her for a moment, and then let her shoulders drop as she took a deep breath. "Do not apologise, you are not at fault. I had a strange dream, that's all." But even as she said it, she forgot what it was about.
Tsugumi inched a little closer. "Are you alright, my Lady? Do you want us to fetch a doctor?"
"No, no, I'm fine, thank you," she replied, shaking her head. She smiled a little and added, "Good morning, by the way."
Her handmaidens quickly returned the greeting with a little bow, with Tsugumi bowing the lowest. They helped her up, and then began to bustle about to help her dress.
"My Lady," the youngest of the three, Meme, said suddenly, as Tsugumi tied the strings of her third shirt. "What is this?"
Maka turned and looked at what Meme had clasped in her hand. It was silver and round, with an intricate design on its face.
She stared at it in surprise, mind totally blank for any explanation, face burning slightly under the gazes of her handmaidens, who had stopped moving entirely to stare at both her and the strange object.
The memory rushed back and she pinked shamefully at having forgotten it. "It is a gift from my father, from when he went to one of the port cities for Lord Death. It's from the far west," she explained. "It's one of their clocks, though it doesn't work anymore, since it was damaged on the way here. He gave it to me before he over-powered Lord Mosquito."
"O-oh, apologies, my Lady," Meme stammered, placing the gift on a side table and bowing low.
Maka smiled slightly and returned to being dressed, ignoring the little hiss of "how could you forget that Meme, that's always been with our Lady" from Tsugumi.
Before she left her room to join her father for breakfast, she snatched up the pocket clock and hid it amongst her sleeves. She knew she always left it in her room normally, but for some reason she felt that she needed to have it with her today. Urgency flooded through her at the thought of leaving it, and calmness was regained once it was in her hands.
Her handmaidens saw, but did not question her. They never questioned her. She would never get used to being a daimyo's daughter.
Breakfast with her father was a quiet affair, as it had been since he had usurped the Mosquito family and taken control of their lands and forces to further Lord Death and his clan's power. The responsibility was a noticeable burden to her father; she saw it both in his stooped shoulders and greying hair, and in the company he sought in the evening to distract him.
That his number of women had driven away her mother before his rise in favour with Lord Death had been a point of conflict between Maka and her father for a long time. It stretched the silence between them to painful lengths.
She felt his gift hidden between the folds of her kimono, where she had slipped it from her sleeve when she had taken her seat.
Once their breakfast had been eaten, her father left to tend to his duties, and Maka waited till he left before he rose to tend to her own—to play nice with the women of the local commanders and look pretty—the pocket clock tucked back up her sleeve to give her comfort.
As she left the room, her handmaidens walking behind her, she caught sight of a young man with long, soft, white hair standing to the side. She caught his eye and felt her heart speed up, though she did her best to tamp down her blush and remain neutral faced.
She nodded her head in acknowledgment of him, and he turned and bowed low to her, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
"Lady Albarn," he murmured.
"Evans," she said gently. "Good morning sir."
Before he could answer, she walked on, handmaidens behind her, and with him undoubtedly following in the shadows.
Soul Evans had come to her family as a young boy, though three years older than herself, when her father was gaining favour with Lord Death and looked set to become one of his most prized subordinates. He brought a message with him from his father, an influential man who had thus far remained neutral in the land wars. Lord Evans offered his second son as a warrior for the Albarn family, to fight for honour and glory in their name, and to put in a good word for them to Lord Death.
Soul had been trained in the art of the samurai and when Maka had turned fourteen, and her father's power becoming apparent, he was made her body guard. She had disliked him at first, disliked the very idea that she needed him to protect her—she had done a fairly good job of keeping herself alive till then, given how many enemies her father had a habit of making, even when not under the order of Lord Death.
But then Soul had done something unexpected. He had pledged his allegiance and blade to her and her alone. She was his master and there was nothing he would not do to keep her safe, entirely willing to lay down his own life for her.
At the time it had shocked everyone at the time (though her father had to admit he was pleased the youth had taken his role so seriously, though Soul's dedication had spurned him to talk to her about appropriate matches and marriages, though he had very little room to talk about appropriateness), but many years later, it now worried her.
That he would sacrifice himself for her, willingly and without thought, was not doubted, for he had proved himself in the aftermath of Mosquito's loss of power, when a snake from the Gorgon family had sent someone for revenge. He had taken a hit for her without blinking and had barely survived, having lost lots of blood and gained a vicious scar across his chest.
He was as loyal as any man could ever be to his master. But that was entirely the problem.
His lips were soft against the back of her hand, and she did her best not to shiver. Soul's eyes were a deep red as they stared up into hers reverently, with an intensity that made a thrill go down her spine.
All she could think of was that she was glad she had fulfilled her duties for the day in the morning, leaving her afternoon mostly free for herself.
"Maka," he murmured, stroking her palm with his thumb, bringing her back to herself, at least a little.
"I'm trying to read," she breathed, unable to look away from his gaze, ignoring the scroll in her lap.
His lips tilted up to reveal his jagged teeth in a teasing smile. "Only trying?"
She felt her cheeks pink and she huffed, while he laughed lowly. He kissed her knuckles, cradling her hand in both of his and she felt her stomach drop and twist warmly.
She wanted him to kiss her properly. She wanted him to take her into his arms and hold her. She wanted to hold him in return, hold him and never let go. But…
She glanced at the open windows and the closed door she knew at least one of her handmaidens was waiting behind, to give her privacy and to act as look out. It was too open, it was not safe, anyone could discover them and then everything would be over.
But when she looked back at him, watching her with an adoration she could not fathom, she desperately wanted to forget it all: her father, their positions, the whole world!
"Soul," she whispered and cupped his cheek with her free hand. She wanted to lean forward and press her lips to his, to pull him on top of her, to push him back and climb on top of him, to feel every part of his being. She wanted—
Tsugumi coughed outside the door and Soul pulled back so he was sitting against the wall, rearranging his features into what could only be described as calm and watchful. Maka turned her attention back to her reading and silently thanked her pale make-up for hiding her heated face. The places her lips had touched her hand burned her.
Her handmaiden walked in with a tray laden with a teas set, followed shortly by Meme who brought a table over to rest the tray. As Tsugumi set her load down, Maka could see her father walk by the door behind her. He saw her looking and smiled slightly, but she looked away, putting on a show of indifference. She thought she heard him sigh as he walked on, but she could not be sure.
Tsugumi and Meme remained with her until evening dinner, serving and watching her read. It was an unusual past time for a lady of her status, she knew, but she would not be ignorant.
Soul stayed seated against the wall, and she could feel his eyes on her, as always.
The next morning, at breakfast, with Maka once again hiding the pocket clock amongst the folds of her kimono as she loathed to part with it, her father broke their habit of silence with: "There is someone I wish for you to meet, Maka."
She blinked for a moment in surprise, before setting her rice bowl and chopsticks. "Who?"
She was even more surprised when her father turned so he could face her and not his table.
"You know that Lord Death has a son, yes?" he asked.
She felt her chest clench painfully as she knew what he must be thinking. "Yes, you have mentioned him many times," she said, trying to remain calm and dignified, even as she felt her heart begin to shatter.
He squirmed a little as he sat there and it made her feel a little better, but then he steeled himself. "Lord Death thinks it would be a good idea if you two met and…got along, you understand."
"Papa—"
He held up a hand and she bit her tongue in order to stop her words from spilling out of her mouth as they rose thick and fast in her throat.
He swallowed and continued, "He—and I—think it would be good for our families and for our cause if you two married. But I give you the same choice Lord Death will give his son. You can meet and see for yourselves if you are matched."
She turned her head away so could gaze at the door, where she knew Soul was standing outside, presumably able to hear all that was being said. Her father had said she had a choice, but she knew that in reality, she did not really.
Family came first, above all else.
"I assume you will invite them here," she said softly, hands clenching in her lap, hard enough for her nails to dig into her palms.
Her father was quiet for a moment before he answered, "Yes. I will send the invitation today."
She sucked in a deep breath. "Then I suppose we will see if the young Lord Death and I are compatible." Though that hardly mattered. They had to be compatible.
She saw her father relax from the corner of her eyes as he turned back to his food.
"Indeed we will," he murmured before continuing to eat in silence.
Maka however had lost her appetite. Her hand found the gift he had given her amongst her kimono and brushed her thumb over its design, hoping to draw comfort from it.
Family came first.
Soul kissed her hard, arms tight around her waist as she sat in his lap. His tongue was hot against hers and shivers ran freely down her spine as he bit her bottom lip gently. She breathed his name into his mouth and he clutched at her harder. Her fingers tangled in his long, white hair and tugged slightly; she felt his body react under hers as he hummed approval.
Maka pulled away from his kiss to trail her mouth down his jaw and neck, shivering each time he breathed into her ear. His hands roamed over her bottom, pulling her closer to his heat and hardness.
Then, his grip changed as he cradled her against him and began to lower them both to her mat, laying her down with him hovering over her. He stared at her for a moment before leaning down to kiss her tenderly, leaving her light-headed and with a fluttering heart.
"Maka," he whispered, pressing his weight against her and sending warmth radiating through her.
She stroked his face and brushed her fingers through his hair. "I love you," she murmured.
He nuzzled into her neck and said into her ear, "I love you too. Always and forever."
Her heart ached at his declaration, knowing that they could never truly have each-other's love when their stations were so different. If he had been born a first son and stayed away from the blade, they might have had a chance. But with their situation as it was, nothing could be done. Her father would kill him if he was found with her like this.
Thoughts of her father brought her to think of his gift, the pocket clock. It was set beside her mat, as she had become increasingly attached to it, and now she had the sudden urge to show it to him.
It was foolish and irrational, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to show it to him. The urge welled up in unexpectedly, and she was reminded of the dream she had had two nights before, the one of urgency and time.
"Soul," she breathed as he kissed down her neck and towards her chest, softly and without leaving a mark.
Something in her voice must have worried him, because he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.
She stroked his face again and pulled him back up so she could kiss him chastely. "There's something I—"
He hushed her quickly and kissed her. "Don't, Maka," he murmured, pressing little kisses all over her face. "Not now. Please."
She scrunched up her face in confusion. "What?"
He sighed and pressed his face into her neck again, running his hands up and down her sides as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. "I know, I heard you and your father talking about it. Lord Death's son."
Her heart stuttered and her earlier aching returned with a vengeance. She pressed her face into his hair and closed her eyes, to memorize his warmth and smell as much as possible. She was about to tell him that was not what she had been going to talk about, but he spoke first.
"Even if you marry him, even if you…you stop loving me, even if we are separated, I will never stop loving you." He pulled back and brushed her hair from her eyes. His gaze was full of adoration and longing, and he took a shaky breath before he continued, "I will follow you wherever you go if you'll let me, even into death. You own my blade, body, and soul; and even if I can't hold you, I never wish to be parted from you."
Her eyes stung with tears as her heart broke for him. All thought of the stupid little pocket clock was gone. Instead all she could think about was the man above her, ready to worship and protect her no matter what the cost.
She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the hard ridge of the scar he had received from the assassin sent by the Gorgons. His mark of honour and sacrifice and dedication.
"I know," she whispered, as a tear fell, though he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. "But I will never stop loving you either."
He swooped down to kiss her, and soon their lips tasted salty with their tears but they did not let go of each other. Instead they shed their last remaining clothes and held onto each other tightly, moving as one and becoming one.
And though she knew he would not, could not be there when she woke up, for fear of what her father would do, she was glad to fall asleep in his arms, safe in her love of him for at least one more night.
Maka was awoken by her materialisation in a large room with a faceless man. For a long moment she was petrified and yelled out for her Soul to help her. But when the faceless man welcomed her, her memories returned and her fear started to train away.
But as it vanished, overwhelming sadness took its place. The Soul she had just known loved her more than anything in the world, and the Maka she had just been had loved him just as much in return. But they could not be, and even if deep down she knew she was not that Maka and the Soul she was chasing was not that Soul, she felt the tears well up as if they were.
She fell to her knees, still in the nightwear of sixteenth century Japan, and felt the sobs come despite her best efforts.
"How is this fair?" she asked in a croak once the sobs started to die down to leave her sniffling and rubbing her wet face. "Why are we doing this? Why us?"
The faceless man watched her in silence for a moment before speaking. "Because love transcends time, and finding it is half the challenge. Keeping it is the other half. If you were not meant to be, if you were both not up to the challenge, you would not be here."
"Love never lasts," she said, but even she knew her words were empty.
"Think back to where you just were," the faceless man said. "Do you really think the love you and the other watch owner just had won't last?"
She sniffled and rose to her feet, rubbing the last few tears from her eyes and under her nose with the back of her hand. "It couldn't in that time."
"And that is just one time, just one life. I just said, if it was not meant to be in your time, you wouldn't be on this quest. If that one love in that one time was supposed to be the one, would you be on this quest now?" He sighed. "The only way is forward. You know this. It is the only way you can return home."
She sniffled again, before taking a deep breath and rolling her shoulders back. "OK," she said finally. "Where to next?"
The faceless man gestured to the worn dress and apron perched on one of the mannequins. "Industrial late eighteenth century Scotland."