Crimson Rain

by The God Slayer

Decades after the planet has finally known peace, through great sacrifice and struggle, something ancient and sinister stirs beneath the surface. A mad man rises with power the world thought was extinct and declares war on the planet, igniting a turn in history millenniums in the making.

12. Just like You

Notes: This is a return to a more Emma POV-heavy chapter. It comes at a crucial part of the story, so it needed to focus more on her and get a bit lengthy. Lastly, please remember that chapters often jump between time. I try to make this very clear with wording such as mentioning an event that happened later/earlier or repeating dialogue that had happened earlier/later, but if you are ever confused, remember that USUALLY a horizontal line means not only a major geographical change in POV, but in time as well, usually significant time jumps/swaps. It is used elsewhere to change POVs for minor changes like geography of course, but I usually make that very apparent.

Anyhow, I hope you guys enjoy the new version of the story so far!

Just Like You

They had wed a month and a half after he proposed to her. Cambyses was sure she would deny him, but she smiled and asked him what took him so long before embracing him. The wedding itself was a private affair, with only family and close friends attending. The lords of the land were at first furious that they had not been invited to the king's wedding, but eventually Edgar explained to them that Cambyses could not have others there if his sister could not be. It was enough for the lords, and they left the matter be, cooled by the emotion.

Cambyses was already the happiest he had been in a very long time, but when they returned to Figaro after their honeymoon, Cadence had cornered him in their large room with good news. He was dressing for the night when she appeared behind him.

"Cambyses...we need to speak."

He faced her as he adjusted his buttons, frowning. It was clear by her tone it was something serious. "Is something wrong?"

Her eyes held his, such a striking blue to them that it was unreal. "I...I am with child."

It was not what he expected to hear, whatsoever. He gaped stupidly at her. He...he was going to be a father? And now, of all times? During a war? He tried fruitlessly to string together words—to express the untold happiness, and also the nervousness—but nothing seemed to work. He just stared, wide eyed and mouth agape.

Finally it seemed too much for Cadence. Her face darkened in anger. "Would you say something, already?"

He swallowed back dumb words and said, "Are...are you sure?" The annoyed look in her eyes and the scoff was more than an indication of what she thought about that question. "I...I just want to be sure, before..."

"Of course I'm sure," she snapped. "I'm not an idiot, Cambyses. I am having your child."

"But we have only been married for a few weeks...people will talk."

"I do not care what others think," she said, and then frowned. "Do you?"

He smiled softly. "No...no I don't." he took her into his arms and held her in a hug. "Thank you...thank you."

She embraced him back, smiling. "Then I think we have people to tell, Camb."

At that, he peeled away from her, eyes wide once again. "We do, don't we..." he sighed. "I would rather not, but I know I have to."

She frowned. "Why wouldn't you want to tell your parents? Your family and friends?"

"It...it doesn't seem right," he mumbled. "Not when she's..."

"I see," Cadence said, looking away, saddened. "If that is how you feel Cambyses, than that is how you feel...but I think there should be one person you tell right now."

Cambyses looked at her with a small smile, thankful for the understanding. "I think you are right...thank you." he kissed her cheek. "I will return shortly." he took his robe and hurried out into the halls.

At this late of an hour, no one was at the chapel. The one cleric in the back that was cleaning bowed and left at his approach, closing the door behind him. The night air was chilling against his skin when he took a seat at the front of the pews. He looked up at the faceless statute and listened to the night for a long moment before he looked down at his hands and sighed.

"This is much harder than I thought it would be," he said quietly. "I don't know how you ever did this Emma, but I am trying. For you." he squeezed his hands together and took a deep breath. "I know my words cannot reach you where you are, but perhaps the gods will carry my greater meaning to you so you know we have not forgotten you. That I have not forgotten you." he felt so hopeless though. "There is so much I want to tell you...so much that I want to hear from you. Cadence and I, we were married, and now...now she tells me that she is with child. I'm to be a father, Emma, a father. And yet I'm gripped with paralyzing fear. How can I be a father when I couldn't even be a brother to you? I fear the failure that I am...I fear what I will cause with my stupidity. If you were here..." he chuckled. "If you were here, you would probably tell me to stop acting like an idiot." he wiped tears from his eyes. "I wish you were here," he whispered, almost on the verge of a cry. "I wish I had been the one father let go, that you were here safely with mother and father. I do not know the terrors you are experiencing there but I know I am to blame for it. If I had stayed here, out of father's way, none of this would have happened." finally he began to cry.

"I miss you, little sister. I miss you so much." he put his hands to his face, to hide from the world. To hide from the gods.

---

"Higher, now," Lucas said, almost gently, as he lifted her arms up and into a proper sword form. Her arms and legs were trembling fiercely, and he paused to steady her. "You must keep your arms bent, like this." he moved her arms back to the position she had faltered from. "Yes, now hold it for fifteen seconds, then you release and slide back into the neutral stance I showed you." when she made the shift, but exceptionally poorly, he frowned at her. "Your form is pathetic, Emma."

She kept her eyes down as she went back into a neutral standing position. "I'm sorry, Lucas..."

"I do not need your apologies," he told her, and she could hear the anger growing in that tone. "I just need you to learn your forms."

Emma tried to explain. "It...it's too difficult, I'm—"

"Enough," Lucas interrupted her, quickly, sounding more annoyed than before. "The forms I am teaching you have been taught to those half your age, and yet you wish to tell me that they are too difficult for you?"

She grasped pathetically at the correct words. "I'm sorry...it's my legs and arms, they...they are..."

His eyes held hers for a moment before he turned from her, crossing his arms behind his back as he paced a short line before her. His body was rigid, and his face contorted with great annoyance. Emma had come to understand his moods very quickly, and it was clear right now that she was not the sole cause of his agitation—and for that, she was thankful. However, she knew that at a drop of a hat, he could turn on her, and use her to release those emotions—whatever they might be. It sometimes meant violence, instances where he would hurt her with sudden cruelty, but most times it would end with a visit to his quarters, and all the shame in the world for her. It was rarer when he just wanted to sit with her, in quiet, and that was something she feared more than the other two. His silence could never be understood properly. It was always more dangerous.

"I am only trying to ready you," he explained, stopping just to look at her. "Our enemies are at our door steps, hungry from the taste of blood. If I do not prepare you to fight, to defend yourself, I will have failed you."

Emma looked back down at her feet, slightly red from the cold and the harsh stone floor. They are not my enemies, she thought weakly, watching as his pacing drew shorter and shorter. Finally he stopped, and crossed his arms. "Let us try it again..." he reached to help her retake the position, his hands like ice against her skin. "That's it, hold it Emma." through great pain and strength, she kept through the fifteen seconds. As soon as she was given the clear to drop the stance, she fell to her knees, trembling.

Lucas knelt beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder, gently. "You did well...but you must keep it up, three sets of twenty every day." when he saw the tears in her eyes, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, to catch them. "Why are you crying? I am only trying to help you, to better you." he brought her face up, so he could look into her eyes. "Do you not understand? I just want what is best for you."

"I...I know." He smiled, patiently, and she knew. She looked down. "Thank you Lucas..."

He lifted her face even further by her chin, smiling. "You will never know the depths of my adoration and love for you, my dear Emma." he brought her face closer, and kissed her lips. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and did not resist him. Finally, he let her go and ran his hand down her face to her throat. "You are the finest wine in all the world...the gods only know how it is I have won you." he got to his feet then and adjusted his loose blouse, as it had come undone in the exercises. "I have business to attend with father, but you will be left in capable enough hands until I return for you in an hour or so."

Emma frowned. "...who?"

His eyes blazed the clear message never to question unless asked to, but then that anger faded. "Why, my dear little brother of course. Father wants to instill in him some manliness, and it seems he thinks that only time with you can teach Eric to move out from under mother's skirts."

"Time...time with me?" she knew what he meant, but she was hoping...

"Whatever the little fool desires, of course," Lucas said, almost through a snarl. He was clearly not pleased with the idea of sharing her, not even with his brother. "He has no idea that he disgusts you, so do take some care with him...he is my little brother, after all." And then he stormed out of the room without another word.

Emma stayed at her spot on the floor for a long while, until her legs felt strong enough to bare her weight again, and then she went to wash off the sweat and feel of Lucas. She ran the water until it felt as if it seared her flesh, and then she tore out of her training attire and sat into the steamy depths of the basin. The water rose to her chin and she relaxed into the back of the basin, sighing. The heat seeped deep into her aching bones, relieving a major part of her pain. The sweet release of it drew her into a restful slumber quickly.

When she woke, it was due to a soft voice beckoning her. Her mind whirled from its rested state, confused.

"P-princess?"

Her eyes slowly opened and in front of her, standing awkwardly and crumbled inwardly, was the younger prince of Roskovo. His dark hair fell down his face to his shoulder just about in messy curls, obstructing a strangely round face and long nose and beautiful green eyes. She startled up straight, splashing water over the rim of the basin and onto the floor. Eric stepped back quickly to avoid the water, making a terrified squeak in the process.

How stupid of her! How could she have fallen asleep, now of all times?! Her thoughts raced to Lucas, and his inevitable anger. He will be so furious!

He glanced from the pool of water on the floor upwards towards her fleetingly before lowering them again, face as bright as a cherry. "I...I knocked a few times, but...but you didn't answer..."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, finding the strength to speak. She stood, wobbling, in the basin. He looked up, gasped sharply at the sight of her and then turned around, so his back was to her. "I...I didn't hear you, I swear."

Eric's voice came out as squeaks. "I believe you princess...you looked so tired...I shouldn't have woken you."

Emma reached for one of the towels beside the basin and wrapped herself in it, though she stared at his back the entire time. "What...what do you mean?"

His shoulders sagged. "I..." he hesitated. "I shouldn't have woken you, that's all."

"But..." she was so confused. "Lucas...he said that you...you and I..."

The young prince turned to her with such a ghastly expression, she shrunk back. "My brother said that?" he shook his head, and the frailness that had been there seemed to vanish entirely and instantly. "I do not care who he is, or who he thinks he is! I will never listen to him again! We had made a deal!"

Emma had no idea what was going on, but she knew that if this young prince did not do what Lucas and his father intended for him to do, their anger would be released on her instead. And she had managed to go two weeks without inciting Bertrand's fury and humiliation. She would do anything to never have to experience it again. Emma glanced fearfully at the large clock to the right of the door, feeling sick. Lucas said he would return within a few hours, and she had been out for one. There was no telling when he would come back.

"Please," she whispered, trembling now. "Please, just do whatever it is you want to, before he comes back."

Eric's eyes widened at that. "You...you want me to..."

Emma felt her stomach curl. Want? No! How could she want anything like that? No, she despised it, but she did not like what came of denying it. The cruelty, the additional humiliation...the pain. It was far easier, and far less painful, to comply. She had learned that slowly and painfully. "No," she cried, shaking her head. "But...but I don't matter."

There was an agreed upon silence then, with the grandfather clock's ticks reverberating loudly in the room. Until Eric shook his head. "That's not true...you matter, and what you want or don't want, matters. No one can take that away from you, not ever. Not my father and not my brother."

Emma looked him over quickly. She had always thought the boy was older than her back during the academy days, but now that she looked at him, she could only see a boy, a boy of her own age. He was a lanky sort, just barely meeting his brother's height, and had this youthy look to his eyes and hair. He dressed very differently than brother too, wearing paler clothes and sort you might see on a lordling's son, rather than a king's son.

How could such an evil be bottled up in such a harmless looking boy? Emma wanted to flee from the room, but fear kept her. All of the men in the family were monsters, so how could she expect differently from Eric just because he was younger?

It doesn't matter what I think or want... she thought as the quiet went on, awkwardly she was sure for him, but painfully for her. But if he would just hurry...

"I know," he said suddenly, his quiet voice sounding strangely strong in the little room. "It is my time with you...and I am allowed to pick whatever I want to do." she braced for the demands. "I want you to rest."

That surprised her. "W...what?"

"Lucas swore to me, alongside my father, that I would never have to hurt you or another soul again, and I will make them stick to that promise. And today, they told me I have free reign over you," that made her wince. "And I choose to let you rest."

Emma grew anxious. Was this some sort of trick? A test? A game? Bertrand often liked to play little games with her, enjoying the challenge of getting her to believe a lie or forcing her to participate in his strange fantasies. Whilst Lucas did not do these things, she had no reason to suspect Eric didn't follow in his father's foot steps. She took a step back, trembling. "Is...is this a t-t-test?"

He frowned. "A test?" he asked. "What do you mean by that?" but before she could even so much as move, he gasped, suddenly understanding. "You...you think I am..." he took a breath and took several steps back, his head drawn downward. "I...I understand why you would think that, given what I did to you—given what my father and brother continue to do to you." his voice was barely over a whisper. "But I won't ever hurt you...not ever again. I swear this upon my life...upon the lives of those I hold dear."

Emma did not believe him. Lucas had said that to her many times, that if she just did this or that, he would never hurt her again. She tried so many times, believing so many times, but it always ended up the same. At least Bertrand kept his word, despite it all. When she was told if she never brought up her life in Figaro or Thamasa around him or to him, he would not hurt her that "special way" again. It so far proved to be true, and since then she has not spoken a word of her prior life—unless he specifically ordered it.

"You...you are lying," she said, eyes glistening with tears. "Just...just do what you want and go, please. Before he comes back."

"I am not lying to you," he said suddenly, and very loudly. "I understand you do not trust me, and I don't expect you to, but I want to make your life here better if I can help it. I know mother has been trying to do so all on her own, and I let her...but no more. I will step in their way if I must, I will try." he took one step toward her, hesitated, and then took several more back. "Emma I...I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you. I know you have no reason to believe me, or to even accept my apology. I wouldn't want you to, as I do not deserve either, but I need you to know; I stay awake at night thinking about what I made you endure and I feel every ounce of that sick responsibility every day. I know I helped ruin your life, draw walls between you and your family, seed discontentment and fear...I understand perfectly if you hate me, if you wish me all sorts of pain and misery or death. I wish it upon myself." suddenly he bent to one knee and then to another and dipped his head.

Emma knew that if Lucas or Bertrand walked in on this, she would pay for it. Her tears started to stain her cheeks as she hurried forward to try and bring him to his feet. "Please...please, you can't!"

He yanked out of her hands and lowered himself until his forehead was pressed against the floor before her. "I must!" he shouted, and she was stunned to hear the cries in his tone. She took a step back, frowning. "I must!" he repeated, and this time the sob broke free and his cries could no longer be hid. "I have done unspeakable evils to you, just to save myself and my own loved ones! What human being could be so monstrous, so selfish?! I deserve nothing but misery and pain. If I could take the torture in your stead, I would!" he was trembling. "I'm so sorry Emma! I'm so sorry for everything!"

If this were not a test, it was some sort of trick to be sure. He would never hurt her again? How many times had she heard that? She had never seen this sort of tactic from his family before though, the begging and tears, so she was cautious. The extents Bertrand would go to...

"You..." he looked up at her, his own tears staining his cheeks. "You...you aren't going to h-h-hurt me?"

He moped away at his tears though they were quickly replaced, and looked at her through the messy bangs that fell over his eyes. "No...I am never going to hurt you again, no matter what they say or do to me. I swear it."

Emma was crying again too. No. This was not true. As soon as she believed in it, he would strike. Bertrand had made a sport of it, after all. "Yes you w-will. They...they always do."

"I promise you, on all that I hold dear, that I will never hurt you again."

Emma did not know what to do, to say, to feel. She had struggled since her assault in that manor, so many countless nightmares and such immense pain. There was a piece of her that had broken then, and stayed in that manor. It was hard to imagine moving passed even a fraction of that pain, and yet the idea that she could safely write Eric off her list of abusers was so tempting. She felt hot tears building rapidly in her eyes as the idea of it felt more real and real by the second.

She looked at him, feeling the weight of the decision pull and pull at her. His eyes were full of tears, and yet it was beyond that grief that she saw it—the fear. She could tell that fear was not of her, of her rejection, and suddenly Emma understood the expression the boy had back at the abandoned house, where it all started. He was terrified. Were his words true though? That he didn't want to hurt her, that he had done so to protect himself, or what's more, his mother? Was he as much of a victim as she was? Was he honest when he admitted to having done her a horrible crime and didn't expect forgiveness? And would he truly keep his promise not to hurt her?

It certainly made sense looking at him. He walked on eggshells, much like herself, around his brother and father. Walked with a hesitation or alertness one could only train into existence from constant torment. He jumped at his own brother's voice almost as much as she did, cowered in the corner in the way she wish she could do and managed to stay their anger better than she did. But then it hit her; he had been dealing with them longer than she has. She couldn't tell what he had been made to endure, but she could see it in his eyes; he slept with his demons, as she now did.

I just want to rest...even for a minute, she thought, letting her tears fall. She went to her knees before him slowly, keeping a tearful eye on him, and sniffed back a cry that threatened to break her courage. "D-did you mean it?" He looked at her, frowning. She pressed it. "That...that you wouldn't hurt me again?"

His eyes went wide and filled with tears, and then he said, "I have never meant anything more in my life." he let his tears fall, and Emma couldn't help but see a piece of herself in him. "I will never raise a hand to you again. I swear it."

The relief flooded over her with such power she could not help the sobs that wrecked her. "I...I believe you," she stammered through her cries. A piece of the painful weight on her heart started to lift. "I...I forgive you."

Eric lowered his head and began to sob.

•••••••••••

Lucas had left the room with a quiet rage. It was the end of his tolerance. Today would be the last day that he would step out of the way and allow others to take his woman as if she were nothing more than a common harlot.

It didn't matter though. Soon enough his father and even his little brother would learn that you could not force Emma's love, that her heart lied with only one. If his father continued to meddle between him and Emma, there would be consequences. I will not tolerate it, he seethed as the solar doors came into view a moment later. The two guards standing before it caught sight of him and shuffled out of the way quickly with what could only be described as fear. As he passed by, they bowed.

Lucas would have snapped at them any other day, but there were more important things to deal with. He threw the doors open, slamming them into the walls, and caught the attention of his father. He was at the table with Barkov, and was leaning over a large map toppled with various pieces. Whatever they had been discussing was quickly shut away.

Bertrand acknowledged him with a look, and then said, "Good, you are here, we can begin."

Lucas slammed the doors shut behind him and stormed toward the table. "No, we cannot, not until you have heard what I have to say."

Bertrand corked an eye brow at him, amused, and then dismissed Barkov from the room. When the general was gone, his father smiled at him. "Well then...speak up."

"I can no longer tolerate the way you have been trading her off, as if she is some whore," he snapped. "It will end—today!"

"You speak of the abomination?" he asked, and then laughed. "She has her uses, Lucas, and this is one of them."

"To be whored out, and for my brother of all people?" he asked. "What benefit does that bring you?"

"I could whore her out to the rest of Barkov's men, if it would please you more," he said, seating himself.

Lucas' patience finally ran thin. "Do not think to threaten me father," he watched his father's eyes narrow at him. "You would not be standing here today, with your victories, had I not sailed to Figaro to execute your plans. She would not be here, if I hadn't gone!"

"And what do you think that entitles you to?" he asked, resting his chin against his fist.

"To her!" he shouted.

"No," he smashed his hand onto the table. "You are entitled to nothing less I grant it to you. You went there on my order, and she warms your bed at night still because I allow it. You were but a tool to perform as the master pleased it, and you did that well, that is true, but it does not mean you hold some power over me, boy."

"It ends father," he insisted. "Today!"

Bertrand laughed and gestured to one of the free chairs. "And what of your dear brother, Lucas?"

It felt as if he would pop from the anger. "Find him a wench off the streets if getting him laid is so important to you, and for that matter, find them for the rest of your men. She is not to be traded around anymore, nor abused."

"Do not over play your hand, boy," he warned. "You would not have been to Figaro had I not put you there. You have found the taste of that abomination too appealing. It has clouded your mind."

"I am serious!"

"Fool!" he snarled, standing. "You do not command me around, boy! Now sit your ass down and listen to what I have to say!" he gestured to the chair again, and this time Lucas took it, keeping the rage in his expression as he did so. "Good. You have your mother's defiance sometimes, and it infuriates me to no end." he stepped away from the table and faced the wall behind him, where a large cloth map of Roskovo hung. "Tell me...what do you see in your brother?"

Unsure if this was some sort of trick question, Lucas frowned. "Is this a joke, father? He is a frightened child, who has lived only a cushioned existence."

"Cushioned..." Bertrand repeated quietly, before turning to look at him. "That isn't such a fitting word for what your brother has been made into. Those years of hiding behind his mother's skirts...it has poisoned him. I will not be here forever Lucas, one day I will pass from this life, leaving all to you and your brother."

"I am the heir," Lucas reminded him hotly. "I am the first born."

"If I thought your brother a better fit, he would have the title regardless of his age," Bertrand told him. "That isn't what the point of this is though."

"Then why have you given him Emma?"

Bertrand said, "Isn't it obvious? I am testing whether he has the mettle left in him to do what must be done. If he cannot do this, he is of no importance to us and our plans moving forward."

Lucas had not even thought of it like that. His father was always calculating...why hadn't he suspected this? And yet, what would become of his little brother when he undoubtedly failed the test? The way his father had worded it...

"And if he fails?" Lucas finally asked.

Bertrand laughed. "You mean when? Regardless, a father must try everything he can for a son. When he fails, it will be the final confirmation I need. He will remain behind in Roskovo when we push for Figaro."

What was he worrying about? Despite his father's numerous faults, he would never harm a harm on his own child. The bastards roaming around a plenty proved that, even should their mothers be of no importance. "You will have him stay behind?" Lucas asked. "With who, mother? Isn't that part of the problem?"

Bertrand shook his head. "The woman has already poisoned him. If a good tumble with the abomination cannot put a spine back into him, than the damage is irreversible. There will be no additional harm keeping him here with his mother."

It was better that way. His little brother was no warrior, no real man. If they brought him along, it would only risk their lives and the livelihood of their mission. "All good and well then," Lucas said. "But I will not leave here without getting you to back off of Emma."

"You are a persistent fool," Bertrand said, as he found his seat again. "Why does it bother you so much? She is nothing more than a whore, a tool to be used as we please, to throw aside when it has outlived its usefulness."

"She is not a play thing, not for you and not for anyone else," he snarled back. "She is a princess, and one I love! You cannot expect a man to stand aside as you allow every man to walk in and...and violate her! What sort of man would that make me, to allow such a thing? To have her when she's been used like some trash off the street?"

Bertrand started to laugh. "She is nothing, boy, born from nothing. An abomination! The product of a man lying with an animal, of all things! She was brought to this planet to serve, and only that. Do not let your fantasies cloud your judgement."

The anger he was desperately trying to conceal before his father was crumbling quickly. One scent of it and his father could turn his agitation toward Emma. To show his father he was angry, was one thing, even to argue with him, but there was an extent which Bertrand could not tolerate. "I cannot abide it any longer, father." he said after a few seconds of quiet, standing from his chair. "Today is the last time that it happens, do you hear me? I will let Eric play a man for the time being, but after this she is not to be touched—in any fashion."

Bertrand corked a brow. "Is that so?"

"What if it were mother? Would you allow it then?"

"Irrelevant. Your mother is a human. She is of more value than your creature, whose only value lies in what's between her legs and in her blood."

Lucas gritted his teeth. No. Do not rise to it. There will come a time when he regrets how he spoke of her... "You wouldn't tolerate it," Lucas continued, standing. "You know you wouldn't, if it were you standing here before your father, concerning the love of your life. You would unleash the hounds of hell."

"There is no point in arguing this," Bertrand leaned into his chair. "We will never agree on that thing's worth, and what should and shouldn't happen to her."

"All the same, I will not leave until we come to an understanding."

His father laughed, loudly. "That, I know." he gestured once again to the chair. When Lucas refused it, his father glared. "Sit your disobedient ass down and listen to what I have to say." reluctantly, Lucas reseated. "When we march on Figaro, you must not be distracted. This girl distracts you though, thoroughly. Do not let her into your head, at least not until we have conquered Figaro."

"We?" he snapped. "Why should I care if you have another throne to rule from? You can take Figaro without her."

Bertrand scoffed. "You think I have gone through all of this trouble to rule in some backwater heap?" the look of disgust on his face could not be properly described. "I am content with my lot here in Roskovo. I have never engineered this plan because I desired Edgar's seat of power, it is more than just taking his power from him."

Lucas frowned. "I don't understand...why are you so bent on Figaro if not to take its seat? What could this have all been about, if not to take from Edgar and hurt him?"

"You think that man cares more for his throne than his family?" he asked his son, patiently. "No...Edgar would trade away his throne if he thought it meant restoring his family."

Lucas had no time for these games. "Fine, but you still have not told me why you have done all of this just to walk away from Figaro."

"I will not walk away from it when we have taken it," he explained. "You will rule Figaro and her de jure territories, while I rule from Roskovo."

"You intend to give me Figaro?" Lucas didn't know what to say about that. He had been groomed for years thinking Figaro was his father's agenda, that everything else leading to it was just honey in his tea. Come to think of it, Lucas never truly understood why his father hated the Figaro family, Edgar in particular. His mother had once said there was deep bad blood between them, but his father had beaten her to a pulp and she never spoke of it again. "Why?"

"You are my son," he said simply, as if insulted by the question. "But there is much we must do before we can take Figaro."

"You have said it yourself father," Lucas said. "If we march our might on their south, they will break."

"They will bend," he corrected. "But the stock of Figaro, undoubtedly, is strong. They will not break until obliteration. If we march on their south, we will have the free run to their walls, but that is all."

"Then what do you propose?"

"You will not like it," he began. "but I have a proposal."

Knowing there was more left unsaid, he demanded, "You are hiding something. Tell me the part that I will not like."

"We use the girl."

It was so absurd he burst out into laughter. "Emma? You think she can take Figaro for you? Have you lost your mind father? She's a frail girl! What could she do?" his laughter did not deter the look on his father's face. "What, father? Are you going to make her stand at the walls and beg her father, is that it?" his laughter grew.

"Quiet, boy!" he snapped, and Lucas quieted, glaring. "There is immense power in her blood," Bertrand explained. "A power you could never imagine. A power her mother once had. A power that reshaped the face of this planet before."

When Lucas thought of trembling little Emma, soft eyes and gentle deposition, it was ludicrous to think anything but fear resigned in her. Yet it made sense, in some way. Why else would his father push so hard for years to obtain her? Why did she spend hours and hours undergoing tests and such at the labs? How had he been so thoroughly stupid to not have assumed it was something like this? He had heard the tales of magic, of the Espers, of the hybrid queen of Figaro...but the world knew that magic had died the day Kefka had been defeated. How was he to know it wasn't gone, but lived on in the form of a frail girl who barely stood higher than his mid-section?

"How do you know?" he asked after a moment, thinking.

"What do you think we have been conducting in the labs since the wretch has arrived?" Bertrand laughed. "You have been so distracted by her that you haven't even wondered what I have been doing with her?"

"I...I knew you were hurting her—"

"When I want to hurt her just to hurt her," he said. "I do not need to hide it. No...we have been in research of her and her blood, and Alveri has come so close to understanding her make up. Soon we will have that power for ourselves Lucas, and soon we will rule over the world, as is fit of us."

"Emma?" he asked again, still very much in doubt. "But...but how?"

Bertrand smirked. "You will see, but we will get to that in due time. Let us first discuss my proposal."

Lucas felt uncertain and a little nervous. His father had a very sick humor sometimes, and a very cruel temper. "Fine...you have my attention."

"If you will quietly and obediently allow me to use the girl until we have taken Figaro and disposed of the royal family, then I will grant her to you—entirely. She will be a free woman, and all yours."

"She is already mine, she is—"

"Let me finish," he snapped. "We cannot take Figaro without her son, this is a fact. In many ways."

"We do not need magic to topple Figaro."

"No," he agreed quietly. "But it would take men we do not have and resources we do not have otherwise. Regardless, it is not just for her power that I will need her."

"And what else could that be?"

"Her blood. We need a legal tie to the Figaro throne," he said. "Once we have conquered it and it lies in our hands, the people will not fully entertain our power unless a piece of the old lies with us."

It suddenly came to him what his father was suggesting. "And you want Emma to be that connection? She would never—"

"No, as she is now she would never agree to abdicate or any such," he agreed with a laugh. "But that is not our only way."

Lucas stared, flabbergasted, until at last it hit him. He felt sick to his stomach. "Marriage..."

Bertrand smiled. "Yes. Marriage."

"And you would marry her to get the throne..."

"Are you deaf, boy?" he echoed, serious, and then laughed. "Have you not heard a word that I have said to you? I do not desire Figaro or her throne! Why, then, would I degrade myself by marrying that abomination? It would be you!"

The idea of marriage to Emma had been on his mind for some time. He even brought it up to her before, numerous times. It was his assumption that his father would stand in the way of such a thing, so he never mentioned it before anyone else. "And you would allow me to marry her...someone you consider an abomination?"

"If gets us Figaro," he simply explained. "It will be tolerable, but you will of course have to find a secondary wife later. A proper human." Lucas would never, but he would tell his father whatever he had to. He nodded. "Then, are of an agreement? Marry the whore and let me use her until the war is concluded, and she will be yours, free from my...vices."

How can I deny this proposal? It would risk never getting her out... he felt a little hope, for a future where it was just him and Emma. He needed to be sure though. His father's deals were often trickery. "Before I agree to anything," he said, adjusting his stance to a straighter one. "I will add a few caveats."

Bertrand perked an eye brow, either annoyed or amused. "And what are they?"

"She will be free from your testing and your offers or whatever else you may use her for, for two days a week. She will spend them with me or how I please it."

"Fine. And?"

"You will allow her to worship again, and she will have a chapel built for her close by."

Bertrand tightened his jaw. "Is that all?"

"No," he said. "I want to make her with child."

That made his father shift uncomfortably, angrily, in his seat. "What?"

Lucas would not cave. "You heard me. I want a family with her father, and it will not wait the years for your war to end."

The king gritted his teeth. "If the whore is with child, I will not be able to use her. There could be no tests, no fighting...nothing."

"I want the chance to try," he said. "If she is with child before we land on Figaro soil, she will not be touched or put in harm's way. If she is not...then she will go."

Accept, Lucas thought, keeping his stare stern. Accept you fool!

Bertrand laughed and leaned back into his chair. "You have a deal, son, and it is swore upon by the old gods and our blood." he smiled. "Now...let's begin the day's work. There is much to do and with you now caught up, there is something I need help with."

•••••••••••

It took the princess some time before she resigned to the idea that she was safe, or so that was how Eric understood her demeanor. When she was convinced he would not touch her, or cause harm, she hesitantly went to lie back down. It was clear she was exhausted, for she was asleep almost as quickly as she had laid down. Eric knew it wasn't because she was relaxed around him, or that she completely trusted him on his word. He could feel she meant her forgiveness, but forgiveness was hard to give when you could not forget what was to be forgiven. No, what drew her to sleep was just the primal need to rest, and unable to resist it any longer, she was whisked off to momentary solitude.

While she slept, he busied himself with the tasks he knew his mother would have normally done. He went around cleaning up the room and removing things Emma needed from high up (the maids kept putting them up high) and placing them on dressers or their proper places. He swept and dusted, mopped the floor and changed out the candles, and even organized her little collection of puzzles and games. At the end of it, he still felt useless, that there was more for him to do. For him to show he was sorry.

Some of his mother's insights into the girl came to him then, and he had a guard come to the door. He gave the poor man a long list of foods and snacks and candies to gather, and then sent him on his way. It was pathetic, thinking he could buy absolute forgiveness and trust with food, but he was desperate. Desperate not to feel this sinking hatred and depression even for a minute. Could the princess give him that reprieve, if only for a minute? He hoped so, he hoped with all his heart.

When the guard finally returned, he wheeled in two carts with everything he could find. Eric thanked him and sent him back to his post, before pushing the carts further into the room. He began preparing them onto the main table in the room, currently decorated in a few unfinished puzzles, and went to work trying to keep the puzzles in their places and providing enough room for all of the food.

It took a few minutes, but he had most of it set up. He took a step back and smiled softly to himself. If anything, he hoped she'd at least like it.

There was a disturbance behind him, so he turned to see the source. The princess was sitting up very slowly, eyes narrowed tiredly in his general direction. She reached to rub at her eyes, smelling the air. "Is...is that food?"'

He smiled. "Yes. I had it brought up for you."

Her vision was clearing from her sleep now, and she looked at him shortly before looking at the table, very clearly surprised...or suspicious. "For...for me?" he nodded and side stepped out of the way, to gesture to the table. "You must be famished...the way that my brother and father neglect you. I do not know what you like to eat, so I had them bring up as much as they could. If there is something you would like...please, let me know."

Emma trembled on shaky legs when she got out of the bed and then slowly approached the table. She looked at him quickly, sizing up the situation, before sitting at the table. He took several steps back, to give her space, and smiled gently as she reached for some of the food. The first were flaky, warm, iced breads filled with cherries and blueberries, and then she went on for the typical breakfast foods. It astonished him to see a princess eat with such abandon, but he could see her. See how unbelievably thin she was. He knew his father would not let her eat unless necessary, preferring to be cruel even in that and Lucas... he shuddered. If I get more time with you, he thought, you will know some resemblance of peace.

Emma ate with quiet, and kept glancing over at him, as if to make sure he was still away—that he was not nearing to hurt her. Eric stepped even further away, but she didn't notice. When it seemed that she was done eating—having finished off the last piece of juicy ham—she started hiccupping, causing Eric to giggle suddenly, and very loudly. Emma faced him, cheeks red and looking as if she saw a ghost. He immediately recognized unease, fear, and clamped his mouth shut.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "I...I just thought it was..." he sighed and gestured toward her, which caused her to flinch. She's still scared of me, he thought, and not even finding it surprising. It was only natural. "If you would like more food, please, take as much as you want. If there's something else you would like, anything at all, you just have to ask and—"

It surprised him how quickly she responded to that, "Sherra."

He gaped. "...you want my mother?" how did he not expect this? Bertrand had separated the two of them days ago, as punishment most people suspected, but Eric knew a part of his father wanted to be sure his mother was being safe so late in her pregnancy. He couldn't imagine how Emma felt, being separated from the only other person she knew. How alone she must be feeling right now, he realized pitifully.

"Is...is she okay?" Emma mumbled, and he noticed the tears. The isolation and fear.

Eric felt so terrible. "Yes, she's okay. She's under lock and key, but she is being well cared for. Johl visits often, to check on her health and progress."

"Can...may I s-s-see her?"

Hesitantly, Eric looked away. "I don't think I have the power to grant that..." he could hear her gentle cries and couldn't look at her. "I'm so sorry..."

"C-can you tell her that...that I'm sorry?" she asked after a moment, and he sharply glanced up.

"What could you be sorry for?" he asked quietly.

Emma did not answer, but her tears continued. He knew what she was meaning now, and it pained him. He had heard of all the things she was being made to do, some an evil she would never be able to escape from, others a violation she would never recover from, but he couldn't understand how she would think any of it was her fault. It was coercion through fear and abuse, it was rape and torture. Even his brother had called her treatment by their father, and his agents, torture rather than "conditioning". Of course, his brother didn't realize what he did fell along those lines too.

She breaks further and further every day and yet she still finds the strength to continue every day... he watched her tearful face. What drives you? Where does all of your strength come from? "Alright," he said, catching her attention. "I will tell her, but you should know mother will just send me back here to tell you to stop your nonsense—that you have nothing to apologize for."

Sniffling, she reached to wipe at her nose, frowning. "...do...do you promise?"

He nodded. "I promise to tell her, I promise." that seemed to put her at ease, thankfully. I see what you mean now mother, he thought, watching as the princess quietly went back to the food set aside for her. While she was distracted with her food, he went back to her shelf, where he had neatly stored all of her things earlier. He remembered his mother mentioning that Emma enjoyed board games and puzzles, so maybe he could further distract her from her troubles with it.

He picked out a few games, chess and checkers and some weird game with red and blue pole-like humanoid figures. Then he gathered up an unopened puzzle, just in case, and quietly walked back to the table. He was sure to stand aside and gently raise his voice to get her attention.

"I was wondering," he said, holding out the games so she could see. "If you would like to show me how to play any of these?" her brows furrowed, and he quickly added, "You do not have to do anything you don't want to do Emma, not even this."

She chewed her lip in thought and then sat aside the fork in her hand. "...okay. I...I will show you." she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and then cautiously got up to sit cross legged on the floor just beside the table. Eric smiled a little. She was not willing to clear away her food or mess it seemed. The floor it was. He sat the collection beside her and took a seat opposite of her, staying a good measure away. He watched the slow and deliberate moves she made to bring the board games nearer and set them up, each side by side. He knew them all by name of course, but he had never played them before. It would be interesting, but mostly he hoped it would cheer her up. Even if by a little.

She set them all up with incredible speed and exactness that it astonished him. The first was the game of the chess, and next to it checkers and going further down the line, leitzure and then a game called Harpy's Gather. When she was done, she looked at him shyly, or perhaps it was fear. "Which...which one?"

Realizing she would not take the initiative, he pointed to checkers and she said, "That's called c-checkers..." she pointed to the discs, which she had set on the dark squares. "You can only m-move onto other dark squares, and move d-diagonally and..." the explanation went on for a few minutes, and he was even given demonstrations, and amusingly, the black pieces first. It did not take long for him to lose.

He laughed and leaned back. "What a game...we do not have this here natively. I've heard of it, but I've never seen it before, or even seen people play it." his mother must have had it made, or shipped in. "What about this one?"

Emma reached for one of the figures on the game set at the end of the line. "Harpy's G-gather. You play as o-one of four characters. You have to reach the center of the board f-first, using any trick available."

That did sound interesting. He pointed to the next one. "Leitzure," she said, sounding very Kohlingen in her accent. "It's a game of patience and planning. Each player has an uneven set of pawns, known as soldiers. One attacks and the other defends or escapes. The defender starts near the center, in a cross formation, sheltering the king piece. The attackers start on each side of the board in fours, touching the cross of defenders. If the king can manage to the empty fields on the edge of the board, the defender wins. If the attacker captures the king, they win."

"How do you move? Or attack?"

"Any piece can move in a straight line, just not diagonally. You can't pass over another piece either, and to capture you must surround another piece on two opposite sides." she explained softly. "The i-interesting part about it, is that the board's rules change if the castle where the king is, that is the c-center, if it is not occupied by the king piece. I...I have a book for the full set of rules," she looked under the box and then in it, and then frowned. "Somewhere."

He chuckled. "Okay...what about this one?" the last game. Chess.

That seemed to spark something in her. She said, "It's called chess. It's a very—very complicated game of s-strategy," she stammered. For the next hour and a half she went over the rules, some simple things at first to get the game going, but kept stopping the game to explain more and more and more. When he tried to change a move, she stopped him and told him that since he removed his hand from the piece, he cannot change it. He forced himself to remember that rule, because he often tried to change moves. By the end of their session, he still wasn't entirely sure what he could and couldn't do, and could just barely remember a few of the pieces' names, or some of the moves she had shown him.

She beat him every time, and by the last few games she was even smiling. A little.

"Gods, you're not gonna take it easy on me, are you?"

Her smile brightened and she went to reset the pieces, turning the board around so he was the black set. He was aghast. Again?! She really enjoys this one, he thought. "You want to play again?"

Her cheeks reddened and she looked away. "If...if that is okay?"

"Of course. One more game." And, yet again, she seemed to be distracted from her situation. He smiled and moved his piece.

•••••••••••

It infuriated Lucas to see the rooms in which Emma had been forced into, where she was treated so terribly. It didn't help to know why she was being made to endure such things. She had power in her veins and it should be used, but not through methods like this. His father had always told him that disobedient women must be taught, but the method of how you did it mattered just as much as doing it. None of what he was hearing, or seeing, fell along that definition.

I have been foolish, he thought, as his father talked and gestured around the main lab, explaining the serum process they have been working on. I should have known her abuse was this severe. Soon we will not have to deal with him or his experiments. We will be free.

His father kept walking forward, demonstrating what each and every room and tool was used for...how it was used. Each step sickened him. This was in no way conditioning. This was torture. Finally they stopped in a round, dark room. At the center of the room laid a long table. The surrounding area was destroyed, unnaturally so. Lucas looked at his father for an explanation.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Bertrand smirked. "The results of your little abomination."

Lucas inspected the damage. The ground had been shredded and liquidized. "No human could do this."

"Of course not," he agreed. "And no human did."

"Emma," he said quietly, staring at the mess in both fear and awe. The little thing that stood barely as high as his chest had done this? The girl who trembled in the wind, who cried for everything? It was comical, and yet he knew there was always something about her that drew him to her beyond her pretty face and gentle deposition. Something fierce. Something raw and angry and hateful. A piece of her that was like him. Why hadn't he seen it before? Her sparks of anger, of defiance. Ill becoming in a woman, of course, but the clear sign of what she was, deep inside?

And I let him treat her like this, he thought angrily, looking away from the scene to the other equipment in the room. One of many, he was sure, used to torture her. Why hadn't I questioned what he was doing before? Why did I let this go on without knowing why? He knew that if he did not phrase himself well with his next words, he could anger his father, which in turn he would turn toward Emma.

"Tell me father...why do you need to hurt her?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, stepping toward a table and running his hand down the metal. "I do so to impose something of value into her. Respect. Obedience. Worth." he scoffed at the dirt on his hands and crossed his arms behind his back. "I also do so because it is the only way to draw out her power."

Lucas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Alveri has informed me that in order for her to change, to transform, she must needs experience untold pain."

"And you trust that lunatic?" he snapped. "Why would you do something so stupid?"

"Simple, really. His professor was one of the scientists that helmed the project within the Empire. He took notes of the Espers and their treatment, and what made them finally turn to magicite." he smiled. "He knows better than anyone else on this planet how to get her to change."

"What he did to the espers was nothing short of murder," Lucas said. "You expect to murder her?"

"She will not die. It will not come to that, to get her power."

"How do you know?" he demanded, furiously. "What if he takes it too far and kills her?!"

"I know because of the girl's bitch of a mother," he answered him, calmly. "Oh, don't give me that stupid look boy. If the girl is of Esper blood, how do you think she got it? Her mother, of course."

"But her mother's magic died, that's what has been said. She's no longer anything but human."

"That's true."

"Then how?"

"Even still, the blood of her people pours through her veins. Magic had died, that is true, but that doesn't take away from what she is. It only means she cannot channel magic."

Lucas glanced at the equipment again, feeling uneasy for what this all meant for Emma. "I...I don't understand. How then does that help you with Emma?"

"The story of the queen's transformation is well known. They were fool to speak it plainly before others, even more fool not to kill those who had seen her when she had." Bertrand took a few steps away from him, toward a large glass tube filled with shimmering black liquid. "The screeching banshee," he said quietly. "A tremendous power streaking across the skies."

"I'm not following..."

Bertrand turned half way to face him, smiling. "Simply put, boy...she had transformed." he faced the tube again, smiling. "And what caused her to transform?" he laughed. "The pain of her reality. Pain had made her change." finally he reached up to touch the surface of the tube. "And pain is what the girl will get until she shows her worth."

"And...and you think this—" Lucas gestured to the equipment. "—is the same sort of pain the mother endured?" he laughed. "You have lost it. You trust a lunatic to guide your scientific developments and then trust in this delusion that pain is her only method of transforming! You are insane! Have you ever thought that Emma cannot transform as her mother could, that her diluted blood makes it impossible? Or have you even considered that she could transform with anything other than pain? You torture her for nothing!"

Bertrand turned to him, amused. "I will show you what she can do Lucas. I am close to unleashing her potential. It does not matter if you do not believe in its effectiveness, but it is real. And when she brings about the destruction of the Figaro crown...then you will know the power she holds just inches beneath the surface."

"You are mad!"

Bertrand laughed. "Alright. Prove to me there is another way." he gestured to the doors. "Go on. Shower your affections on that worthless cunt and see if it brings you that power. I will be waiting to hear your success story." Lucas did not move, glaring angrily back at his father. "What is it? Do you perhaps know my methods are the only way forward?"

"You told me that a hard hand was only meant to stir women onto a correct path," he said, barely able to contain his anger. "Our superiority lied in our ability to restrain ourselves, something women lacked. And yet you stand here and try to justify your lack of against a girl." he scoffed. "You made me think you were bringing her here to better her obedience, that she was just too far gone, that she needed a harder hand than most...but that isn't so, is it father? Emma's will cannot be broken and you are just now realizing that, aren't you?" his father's eyes darkened.

"Careful with what you say next boy..."

"She's not her brother and she's not her mother," he said, smiling. "Control is out of your reach. Emma will always be defiant, always. You have failed."

"You think to test me?" he demanded. "I have the girl at the cusp of change. If there has been any delay, it has been harboring affection for you to the point that I disregard my own judgement. You think I have been cruel to her thus far? You do not know the extents of what I can do, what I desire to do. I have held myself back for you, and you spit in my face for it."

"If your means were to ever work," Lucas said. "She would obey now. She doesn't though. Your tactics are meritless."

"You would have her this way then? This disobedience curl?"

"I would have her obey, but I wouldn't have her go through this shit for nothing. Your methods may work on lesser women, but this girl is no lesser."

Bertrand laughed. "I see...you think my tactics just won't work on her." he suppressed a bright smile. "If that is how you feel...how about we make a little bet?"

Lucas did not like the sound of this. He had one too many deals with his father already to tolerate. He raised a brow. "What sort of bet?"

"If I can make her obey," he said. "You will give up your earlier caveat of having her carry your seed. At least during the war."

Nothing would be worth the ground he had secured with her, or their potential future together. Nothing at all. He shook his head. "No. Nothing will take you from our deal father. She will be mine and she will bare my fruit." he began to leave the room when his father called out, on the verge of laughter.

"We shall see about that."

Lucas could not believe how far his father had fallen, to degrade himself with the likes of Alveri. To have forgotten his greatness in the likes of that man's shadow. It disgusted him. Even if women were fragile, willful creatures that needed correction, surely there was a limit to what you did? He felt sick. Emma was defiant, that was true, more defiant than any woman he had ever met before. The willfulness in her was incredible, endearing almost and would have been respectful in a man, but he knew she would crack eventually through his guiding hand alone. It worried him what went on in that lab. What if that was the reason she would not break to him? There was nothing left for her to respect from him when his father tortured her day in and day out.

She just needs more time, he thought pitifully. She will bend. She will learn. I know she will. First he just needed to ensure that she had the space and time to flourish. That meant keeping his father at bay, and the likes of his brother away to. There was already an improvement in her now that she had been banished from seeing Sherra. She had become far more cooperative and fought him less when it came to their love making or spending time together. She was almost there, that model of perfection. She just needed one more little shove.

When he arrived at their room—having moved her to live with him instead of alone weeks ago, when Sherra had been forbidden from seeing her—he stopped and prepared his control over what he was to see. The love of his life sleeping with his little brother. The thought of it nearly killed him. One day...one day we will not be like this. We will be free. We will be with each other.

He entered the room. The first thing he heard was his little brother's laughing voice and then the sweet sound of Emma explaining something. When he turned the corner into the larger space of the room, he froze mid-step. They were gathered around the floor beside the table, leaning over a board game. His surprise shifted quickly to anger. And a seething jealousy, for he had never seen her so at ease with him. So...carefree.

"What is the meaning of this?!" he snarled, startling the two. He watched as Emma backed away from Eric and the board game so quickly she nearly fell backwards. Eric stood, not as quickly as his chess friend, but not quick enough.

"Lucas," he glanced at the clock and then back at him. "You are interrupting our time."

"I asked you a question!" he snapped.

"I'm..." he hesitated. "I'm spending my time with her, how I please it."

Lucas turned his eyes from him to the girl in question, whom sat in her place, trembling. Her beautiful eyes wide with terror. He shoved passed his brother and came to stand before her, eyes narrowed. "You can sit here and give him what you deny me, is that it?"

She gaped and stammered, "I...I don't know what you—"

"Is it because of father?" he asked, interrupting her. "Do you scorn me to get revenge on him, is that it?"

"W-w-what? No...No I don't...I don't know..."

"Then tell me!" he demanded, feeling his anger spilling over. "Why can you give my brother this side of you and yet you fight me tooth and nail for even a scrap of it?!"

"Enough Lucas!" Eric shouted. "You heard father. This is my time and you will not hurt her for whatever it is I have made her do!"

And that was it. Lucas kept his eyes on her. "Is that the truth of it, then? Did he make you do this?" her eyes widened, clearly not understanding. "Is this a farce, to appease him?"

"...n-no?" she mumbled, not really understanding what she had done by saying it. Not until he struck her with the back of his hand. Eric shouted and launched toward him, to keep him off of her, but he was no match for his brother and his ox like strength. Lucas shoved him back and then brought Emma to her feet by her hair.

"I give you everything, every ounce of my love and strength!" he howled at the top of his lungs, tears in his eyes. "I hang on every word you speak and drown in your eyes, and yet you turn aside my passion!" he yanked her head back and she screamed, clawing desperately at his hands, to free herself. "You are everything to me, everything! Are you so wanton that you will take your pleasures with anyone, is that it?" he shook her and she cried. "Answer me, gods damn it!"

"Damn it Lucas, she doesn't understand what you want! Are you so far gone you can't see that?!"

Lucas looked back at his brother sharply and then back at her. The way she was looking at him... he scoffed and let her go. She crumbled to the floor at his feet and covered her head. "You are right...she's unable to understand." he called in guards then, thinking on his father's words from earlier with disgust. Disgust that he had been so right. "What will she understand then?" he asked, not expecting an answer as he knelt beside her. He reached to touch her face and frowned. "You will never understand the pain you cause me until you have to experience it yourself. That is how you learn, isn't it?" he brushed his hand down her wet cheek and then stood. "Take her to my father."

Eric tried to step between the guards and Emma. "No, you can't do this! This is my time, father said—"

"I do not care what he fucking said!" Lucas snarled, shoving him back and out of the way of the soldiers. "I have no master. No one!" Emma went kicking and screaming, but Lucas ignored her. "The only way she will ever understand how painful it is when she scorns me, how she turns to everyone but me, is to make her be the thing others turn to. I will turn her away to make her understand how it feels to turn me away."

"You can't do this Lucas! She cannot control how she feels! She doesn't love you!"

That was the last straw. Lucas turned and punched his brother. "Do not ever speak for her again!" and then he turned to the guards. "You be sure to tell my father to treat her—" he looked at her beautiful, tear stricken eyes. "—with the same compassion she bestows me."

•••••••••••

Emma was thrown at his feet, hard. Pain seared through her body but she dared not to raise a voice over it, to incur further wrath. When she looked up, she saw Bertrand staring at her with surprised, angry eyes. He was still sitting in his chair. They were in his solar. He rose immediately, brows furrowing. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, lips curling into a snarl.

One of the soldiers pushed her down again and said, "His Grace the prince ordered us to take her to you. He said you must teach her the same compassion she bestows him."

Bertrand's eyes brightened humorously and then he moved around from the table and approached her. "Is that so?" he came to stand beside her. "What have you done you worthless whore to set him off?" he knelt and held her face up, so he could see her eyes. "You are a fool to cross the only one here to protect you." he stood again. "Bring her to the labs. We have much work to do."

Emma tried not to cry, to resist. Bertrand was going to hurt her, there was no doubt about that, but she knew that she could potentially walk away from it if she did nothing to irate him any further. She reeled on what she could have done that ultimately set Lucas off. He told me to spend the day with him, she thought, terrified, as the lab doors came into view. I don't understand! No matter what I do, it is never enough!

"Inside, quickly now," Bertrand snarled at the soldiers. They dragged her into the roomer quicker and sat her on one of the long tables. He waited until the soldiers latched her into the table and rolled it up right. Then he approached, smiling. He ran a finger down her cheek. "You are without a doubt a beautiful creature...a trap for weak men. A pit in which those who fall in are unable to escape." he traced his finger up her jawline to her ear. "It is the beautiful that is often the most monstrous."

Emma closed her eyes against her tears. I'm sorry, she thought pleadingly. Please...I'm so sorry.

He stepped away and said, "You will have one chance." she opened her eyes to look at him. "Renounce Figaro. Renounce your love for that...man." her eyes widened. "If you do so, you can leave this place unharmed." she knew who he meant. How could she abandon that feeling? She knew she couldn't. Sherra's words on just saying what he needed came back to her, but even so, how could she put something so untrue into the world? To give up the very last thing she possessed?

I want to see you again, she thought, thinking of Alexander and his smile, of how warm his presence was beside her. I won't give him up. Not for anyone. Tearfully she looked away from Bertrand. "Your answer then?" he chuckled. "So be it." he snapped his fingers and a soldier walked up with a tray. Emma turned to eye it fearfully. There were several scalpels and knives and weird looking tools. "Do they scare you?" he asked, lifting one of the tools up, inspecting it. Emma forced herself to look away. "No," he said, laughing. "That will not do. You must look upon the fruit of your disobedience."

One of the soldiers hurried to the table and forced her head forward, to look at Bertrand. She fought him only for a minute before giving in. Bertrand picked one of the scalpels and leaned in, pressing the blade to a spot behind her ear. With his mouth near her ear, he whispered, "Enjoy this sound, for it will be your last." and then he cut her deep. Emma's scream reverberated in the room. The horrific sound of it caused the soldier to let her go and stumble back. The lights flickered about as her wails continued, though not a soul seemed to notice it, too fixated on her. When Bertrand drew the blade back, Emma lounged forward, sobbing. Blood poured angrily down her neck, soaking her shirt.

Everything was drawing in close around her. The darkness creeping in and in. She couldn't keep her eyes open.

"...take...and tell...Lu..."

She tried to listen, to hear Bertrand's words, but it was impossible.

"...yes, but..."

Alveri? That was his voice, she knew it. She blinked, losing the battle to stay awake. Her thoughts went wild. She thought of her mother and her gentle touch and soft voice with all her lovely lullabies, to her brothers teasing her relentlessly and wanting that back even if it had hurt. She thought of the nights her father had tucked her into her bed and read her adventures of pirates and old kings of Figaro. She thought of Relm and Gau, with little Arra sitting between them as they read a book. She thought lastly of Alexander; of that warm touch and those eyes that seemed to search a dark corner of her that she kept from others.

She closed her eyes for only a second, but was swept away.

•••••••••••

Lucas was sitting in their room at their little table, anxious, when the soldiers entered without permission. Lucas rose, furious, but stopped when he saw the princess dangling between them, head down and blood pouring down her neck. All reason left him. Lucas raced forward and shoved the soldiers back to take Emma in his arms. He turned her around, heart racing, and moved the bloody hair out of the way, to find what was the cause. When he saw the condition of her left ear, he felt sick to his stomach. He would have vomited if he had not been holding her. He pressed her against his chest, feeling horrible for what he had caused. Tears burned in his eyes when he turned to the guards.

"Get Johl!" when they hesitated, he snarled. "Now!" they scurried off quickly. When they were gone, he brought Emma up into his arms, carefully, and made his way toward their bed. He laid her flat and then lifted her head with pillows, not entirely sure what to do. He tore one of the spare shawls off the edge of the bed and pressed it to her ear, with as much force as he dared. She cried hoarsely and flinched, but did not otherwise move. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "I...I should not have allowed this to happen. I should not have lost my anger with you like this!" his pity was shadowed by anger. "You made me do this though...why must you make me do these things?" but she could not answer him and he leaned his head down, to press it against her forehead. "Why..."

"I'm here!" Johl howled as he hurried into the room, carrying a large medical bag. He was sweating and was pale. He dropped his stuff at the foot of the bed and rushed over to move Lucas aside. When he moved aside the shawl, he gasped. With great gentleness, he inspected the wound. "Gods..." he mumbled. "What...what did you do to her?"

Lucas frowned and looked away. "It...it was father, not me."

Johl scoffed and went for his bag. He sat it on the bed and and dug through it. "Your father...of course." he had stressed that last part, and Lucas knew he was poking at him for it. Insinuating that proclaimed love meant nothing. "Gods...there is nothing I can do. The ear is lost."

"What?" Lucas frowned. "No, that cannot be. Inspect her again!"

"He damaged her ear beyond repair. He damaged one of the most crucial elements of the middle ear. It is hopeless. All I can do is try to prevent pain or infection."

Lucas snarled, "You do not know if it is hopeless!"

Johl ignored him and began working on the girl. "Hold on Emma, hold on."

The quiet that settled in the room remained undisturbed for an hour as Johl worked. The only sound that came and went was the clang of tools or shuffling, or Emma's gentled whines of pain. Lucas had become nervous watching, so he sat down and waited as patiently as he could. When Johl had finally finished, stepping back as he wiped his hands on a cloth, he was shaking his head. Lucas rose, stumbling a little

"Will she be okay?"

Johl looked at him, not even trying to hide his contempt. "And what do you mean by 'okay'?" he asked sharply. "Will she live?" he shook his head. "Yes...your majesty. She will live, but she will forever be deaf in that ear." he knelt to grab his bag and looked at the prince again. "Come get me if she starts to get a fever, or when she wakes." he started to leave, but Lucas stopped him.

"I didn't know," he said after the man, feeling pitiful and angry with himself. Johl shook his head again and left the room without a word. Alone, Lucas turned his eyes towards their bed, where Emma's pale figure rested uncomfortably. I didn't know, he thought, defeated. I wouldn't have...I...I wouldn't have allowed it. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, taking her hand. "I will not let him go so far with you ever again...if we could just hold out, we could be free. You could be free." he kissed her knuckles and then tucked her into her blankets. "Give me just a little time."

•••••••••••

What woke her wasn't the ringing noise, or the dryness of her throat. No. It was the unimaginable pain in her ear. She woke breathing hard and sweating, and crying. Even with her head against a pillow it felt as if she was carving into the back of her head with a sharp stone. She cried loudly as the memories came back to her of what Bertrand had done to her. She reached up, hands trembling and feeling the room spinning around her, and felt something soft and a little scratchy beneath her fingers. Whatever it was, it was wet to the touch. She drew her hand away and froze at the sight of blood.

It was not of her imagination, of her nightmares. Bertrand had taken her hearing from her. What was there left for her to fight for? They had banished Sherra from seeing her, and Emma didn't even know why. They had taken her peace alone away from her, banishing her from walking the gardens or the libraries or the temporary chapel Sherra had constructed for her. They had thrown her back to scraps for food and drink. Reduced to a servant of murder and deceit and carnal appetites. She was nothing. A broken and useless chess piece on a board of checkers.

I tried, she thought, the ringing in her ear becoming unbearable and the spinning room around her nauseating her. I tried Sherra!

"Emma?" The sound of his voice was muffled, but she knew him by it anyhow. Lucas. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing him, and even then, the room still spun around her. "Gods, you are awake. Please, tell me if you can hear me?" it was difficult to hear. Whatever was wrapped around her had was thick, and he was standing a little at an angle to her left side. I hate you! She thought bitterly. I hate you so much! "I'm...I'm sorry for my part in what happened to you." he said quietly. "I did not know what he would do to you but...but you have to understand." he sounded frustrated, angry even. "You made me do it. You were defiant and...and rude...but I promise you I will not let him do anything like that to you again."

That had struck something inside her. Something like that again? Emma felt sick to her stomach. That was right. Bertrand could do whatever he wanted to her, Lucas even, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. If she angered them, there was only pain and loss, but what more could she do to avoid that anger? She thought she was obeying Lucas by obeying Eric. She thought she was obeying Bertrand by obeying Lucas. She did not fight them anymore when they took her to their rooms, she did not fight them anymore when she beat and killed for them...what more was there? Would her next slip cost her something else, or cost her Sherra? No. She could not let that happen. She could not protect herself, or her family back in Figaro, but she could do whatever she had to to keep the woman safe. To keep her last connection safe.

Anything at all.

Resolved, she squeezed her eyes against her tears.

---

The ship they had originally charted for their journey drew back their contract when they learned of their destination, and the war ensuing there. Robert had not expected the agreement to start off this horribly.

Alexander had pleaded with the captain for the three days they were docked in Nikeah, but the man returned their coin, apologized and went on his way. There wasn't another captain willing to take them for the next four days, each laughing off the existence of Roskovo or spitting at them for trying to take them into war-infested waters.

Robert was convinced that they ought steal a ship, but that was not something Alexander wanted to bring on themselves. They spent three more days searching for a ship for sale, and finally happened upon an elderly man who was looking to get rid of his caravel. The sails were damaged beyond use, and there were a few holes that needed to be patched up, but in a few more days—and far more gil—they had patched it up to be fit for the sea. Then it was just a matter of supplies. Alexander gave Robert enough gil to cover it and sent him on his way, while Alexander went about procuring a modern map. By the next day, they had set sail.

On the third day of sailing, Alexander was standing at the helm, hands on the wheel, when Robert came above deck. He was rolling rope. "I have been thinking," he said as he joined Alex at the helm. "This girl that you love—"

"Emma," Alexander interjected.

Robert continued on. "—The princess, right. You love her, yes?" Alex nodded. "Why did you let her go, if you loved her so?"

Alexander gripped the wheel. "I...I didn't have a choice."

Robert leaned against the railing of the ship and frowned. "And you didn't know she was to be traded?"

"No, of course not," he snapped. "No one knew...unless that bastard knew he would from the start. He didn't say a word to anyone."

"And what does the king have to say about it?"

"He claims he had no choice."

"Did he?"

"Did he what?"

"Did he have a choice, of course." Alexander furrowed his brows, getting angry. "Do not look at me like that. I am simply trying to understand the situation, that is all."

Alexander scoffed. "I'm sure he had a choice. He made the wrong one."

"And that wrong choice was saving them both?" he asked quietly.

Alexander's fury snapped. He turned to his friend, knuckles whitening on the wheel. "Yes, the wrong choice! She is his youngest! She should have been his priority."

"You ask a parent to pick between two children when they could save them both," Robert explained. "You are imposing yourself into a situation you have no means of truly understanding."

"So, you agree with him?"

Robert shrugged. "Yes and no. I don't know what I would have done in his place, but I do think it is more complicated than you are willing to admit." Alex mumbled a swear. "Fine, fine. We will avoid this discussion." he laughed when he saw Alexander's annoyed expression. "I mean it, I'll drop it." when the awkward silence seemed too much to bare, Robert said, "Alright then. Tell me of the girl. What is so special about her?"

That cheered him right up, it seemed. "What isn't special about her?" he smiled. "She's got this fiery temper and yet she's as sweet and quiet as a chapel mouse. And smarter than most people I know, too. And stubborn! Gods is she stubborn!"

Robert laughed. "Oh?"

"And gods..." his eyes seemed far off, lost in memory. "Her eyes and her smile...I don't care if the whole world couldn't see her beauty. To me she is the most beautiful girl in all the world."

"I mean no offense my friend, but you often see beauty in all women, even if there ought not be any."

Alexander chuckled. "That is because all women are beautiful. I cannot help that." he adjusted them to the wind a bit. "Emma though...she's not pretty in the same way as her mother, or Cadence, that's true, but she's beautiful in her own way all the same."

"This is the same girl with the green hair and pointed ears, yes?"

Alexander looked at him sharply. "What of it?"

"Ah ah, I'm not meaning to insult," Robert offered quickly. "It is just...I have heard rumors of this girl Alexander. It seems a bit unrealistic the world sees her as ugly and she not actually be. They said she looks like a monster, like some sort of..."

"She's no monster!" he snarled. "She's just as human as anyone else, she's just..." he looked away. "...she looks a lot like the espers, in some regards. And people do not deal well with difference. They still insult the queen behind her back, and regard her like some sort of accursed beast, but what sane person could see the queen and think her ugly? Their differences are what drives people to insult, that's all. Emma's differences are exactly why she is beautiful though."

"With pointed ears and such?" he asked, to be sure.

"I wouldn't dream of her any other way," Alexander said with a gentle smile. "You will see, when we have rescued her. You will see."

Robert watched his friend doubtfully, but could not argue it further when he saw how strongly his eyes portrayed that love.

---

Emma reached up to touch at the bandage wrapped tightly around her left ear. It felt a little moist. When she pulled her hand away, it was stained in blood. A slight pain lingered from where she touched, numbed almost entirely by the pain medication Johl had given her just an hour earlier. Emma stared at the bloody fingers for a long moment before glancing up towards the clock at the other end of the room. It's pendulum hypnotized her utterly as she thought, and the loud noise it made that had brought her a small comfort during her time in Roskovo, was dulled in response to losing hearing in her left ear.

Her thoughts kept racing back to denying Bertrand, to her stupidity. I never should have, she watched the seconds arm tick. I never should have... she felt something trickling down her neck, and reached up to rub at it. More blood. She rubbed it against her white blouse, and listened to the buzzing noise in her left ear. I'm so stupid...! She wished with all of her might she could go back to that moment, and give in to his demands. One of the few thing she still had in this country was the ability to listen to musicians, to Sherra's soft lullabies at night. She knew immediately that Bertrand had not taken both ears because he needed her to be able to hear him. I never should have, she thought again, tearfully. But I had to...

The doors opened then, startling her. In waltzed Bertrand and Lucas, almost side by side. Emma was so drained, so tired, she just laid down and closed her eyes. If they had more to take from her, she wished they would just get it all done quickly. They had beaten her, raped her and humiliated her, and now they have begun to take even her sense of hearing. They would never know the unmistakable misery of losing it. What else could they do to her? Death would be a release, and Bertrand had already shown he cared enough about Sherra that his threats to kill her were just that—threats. It filled her with a sense of relief, and acceptance. With Sherra and the baby safe, Emma could let the end come without a regret.

Bertrand spoke first. "Get up, you worthless whore. You have somewhere to be." Emma sighed. They told her nothing of this, but she wasn't surprised. Another torture session perhaps, or maybe he would take her and then his son, or maybe just another round of injections. It made no matter to her anymore. "I said to get up!" he howled, furiously.

"Father," Lucas' voice cut in. He sounded annoyed. "She is still in recovery from the other day...it can wait."

"I do not care if she is missing a limb," he snarled. "When I order something to be done, it is to be done!" there was a loud scuffle, and then she heard him again. "Get the cunt up and ready. I will be awaiting you in the solar." and then she heard his stomping, and the door slam shut. A quiet followed then, and then the gentle steps of Lucas.

"Do not mind his prattle," he urged her, and she could feel him near. Smell him near. He smelled so much of spice it made her sick. "You have nothing to fear. It is not the intention to hurt you today."

There it was. Today. She opened her eyes and looked at him. The green shade of his eyes looked black in the poorly lit room. "Do not give me that look...I have warned you time and time again that my father does not tolerate disobedience. No one is safe from it, not even his children. You were the fool to ignore that warning and foolish still to ignore it when you were already in a precarious situation." he shook his head. Emma would have laughed at him, had she not feared it. This was not the sole work of Bertrand, but it seemed like Lucas had forgotten he sent her there to be punished. "You must needs patience. It will not be much longer until we are free of him."

We... she repeated to herself, watching his face until she could bare it no more. Are we...a we? she wondered pitifully.

"I would rather not further irritate him," Lucas continued, reaching for her arm. "Come now, get up and I will help you get dressed."

Emma had found a smidgen of courage to ask for Sherra. She hadn't seen the woman in almost three weeks now, and was greatly worried. But she knew bringing that up right now would only serve to anger Lucas, and that courage vanished. She let him take her arm and drag her out of bed. Her legs felt weak beneath her, and she collapsed into his arms, the room rapidly spinning about her. Lucas steadied her and then helped her to a chair, before he began rummaging through her drawers for something for her to wear.

He pulled out a long piece dress, laced and as pure white as a snowflake and laid it before her on the bed. "Your hair," he muttered at the sight of her, and then turned for her brush set aside on the dresser. He gestured for her to lean back into the chair and then he undid the medical wrap around her head. It took only a minute or two, and then he dropped the bloodied rags to the floor at her feet. Her eyes drew to it like snow soaking blood.

The chill of the air against her ear hurt. She could feel the wet of the blood, and the hair that stuck to it and the stitches. It irritated just as much as it hurt. She wanted to reach up and prod at it, anything to stop the itch and pain. Lucas began brushing her hair then, and for a moment the strange gentle motion he displayed made her relax and think of her time in Thamasa and of her mother. But it all came back to her immediately, and she opened her eyes to stare at the dark walls that made up her room. This was not home, he was not her mother...she was not safe.

"There," his voice called over her shoulder, softly. "You will wear it down today...it is a special day, after all."

Emma turned her head ever so slightly when she heard him move away, to look into the mirror to her right. Her hair fell down her back in curls, its length far longer than she ever grew it out before Roskovo. It fit strangely around her face, so strangely she could not recognize herself in the reflection. She lifted a hand up hesitantly and brushed the hair out of the way of her damaged ear. The scar was nasty and went down her throat, and was still red and bleeding. The stitches had been done crudely, as neither Johl or Alveri had been available to tend to her immediately after the "procedure", at least not until it was too late. She pressed her fingers against it, winching against the pain, eyes locked on her reflection's eyes. Blood started to flow steadily from the wound, and down her hand.

Lucas turned around and when he saw it, he shouted and tore her arm away from her head. "What the hell are you doing?!" he forced her head to the side and checked the wound. It was opened, and bleeding profusely. He took her by the back of her neck and forced her to look at him. "Have you lost your mind?! You were told not to touch it!"

Emma looked away.

Lucas snarled and let her go. "Do not touch it again." he turned and dug through the drawers for an aid kit. Sherra always kept them near. He found one, and told her to sit still. She bit against her tongue as he poured alcohol over her ear and then began sewing it anew. She bunched her eyes closed against tears. No...do not cry. This is nothing. There could always be something worse...always. She thought of losing Sherra then, and felt fear dig into her stomach. She hadn't seen Sherra in so long, it felt as if years had gone by. There is something always worse...

When he was through, he sat aside the kit and pressed a piece of gauze to the newly stitched area and then used medical tape to keep it to her. Then he let her hair fall back over her ear and knelt to kiss the side of her face. "There...you are as beautiful as ever now." He took her hands then and helped her to her feet. The loss to her left ear was immense beyond losing her ability to hear. She found standing incredibly difficult the days following her "procedure", as if all balance had been robbed from her. It was as if she were constantly fighting her own body to stand. It was just so now, and her wobbling nature strangely did not infuriate him. "Give yourself time...it will heal and you will have learned your new balance." he told her, and there was pity in his tone. He reached up to cup her face in his hands. "It will not be much longer now...please, hold out for me. For us." he kissed her lips for a long moment and then leaned away. "Come...we mustn't be late."

Emma was permitted only five minutes to dress, which would have been impossible without aide. Lucas helped her out of her clothes and into her new dress, and even found a pair of white dress shoes for her. It was never comfortable for her to wear shoes, but she had lost the strength to complain about it long ago. She stared down at the pure white shoes as they walked. Lucas' arm was wrapped tightly around her, just under her arm, so as to keep her straight and near.

"We are here," he whispered, as the sight of the solar came into view. "Remember...today you must obey. He is not in the mood to be trifled with. If you must disobey him, do so tomorrow, just not today." Emma wondered what could be so important that, today of all days, Bertrand's anger worried Lucas. He pressed her tighter to him. "If you can remember that...it will be a good day."

Two guards opened the door for them and promptly closed it after them. The only other people inside of the room was Bertrand and an elderly man, dressed in a long black robe with a strange hat atop his head. He held a large tome in his arms, and looked at her from under bushy brows. He looked displeased, but for what reason, she could not tell.

Bertrand stood rigid alongside the elderly man, arms crossed behind him and head held high. He looked upon them with annoyance, as if they were nothing more than ants beneath his feet. They approached slowly. Bertrand's brows furrowed. "What delayed you so?" he was furious. Without letting it be known through tone or expression, it was clear.

Lucas met his father's coolness with his own. "Her injury needed tending to again, father. It makes no matter if we are tardy a few minutes."

"Do not think to tell me what is of importance," he snarled. "I expect my demands to be met as they were given."

"Of course father," Lucas allowed, making it well known he was placating him. Bertrand's face burned red. "We shall be more aware of your demands next time."

Emma was painfully aware she was between the two's countless bouts, but only this time, she had been brought there by their order. "You have a tongue on you today, boy," he said, straightening, and calming himself from the edge of his anger. "No matter...it shall be dealt with in due time." he turned his eyes to Emma then, and she looked down. "As for you, abomination..." he walked over and brought her face up by her chin. "Today you will leave the shadow of Figaro behind you."

Emma furrowed her brows at him, letting her anger and hatred seep into her look. He laughed. "You may squirm beneath that hybrid skin of yours and hate me to your core, but you are weak and pathetic. You will take your beatings and your misery and your shame, and you will latch onto it like the worthless whore that you are because you," he squeezed, and she stiffened. "are nothing more than the product of a tainted union. You crave whatever attention you can get." he let her go, and turned away from her, aware that her eyes glared holes into the back of him. "Today though, you may prove to be useful yet, despite all of your other short comings. And you should hope that you do, because your continued failures in the lab have begun to infuriate me beyond reason."

"Let us be on with it already," Lucas snapped. "She needs her rest."

Emma eyed the room suspiciously. What were they planning? She felt sick thinking of the possibilities.

Bertrand laughed. "So be it..." he gestured for him, and Lucas started to lead Emma forward. For half a second she planted her feet firmly down to keep him from moving her, but then remembered her beatings, her lessons, and loosened enough for his pushing to move her. Bertrand smiled at her, mockingly. "You are dressed for the part, at least." he issued the elderly man forward, and the man limped forward.

"Is everything set then?" he asked through a trembling voice, blinking slowly.

Lucas answered. "Yes, it is set."

"Good...good. You, stand here." he pointed for Lucas. "And move her just beside you, like so. Yes, yes, perfect. And you..." the elderly man hesitated over his slip. "Your majesty, you may stand wherever it pleases you."

Emma glanced around the room, becoming increasingly suspicious, and afraid. Bertrand took a spot a foot or so behind his son, a cruel smile cracking his face. What is he planning? she forced herself to look forward, at the old man, whom began to open the large tome he had with him.

"It is well that we have our witness," the old man had said, without looking up. "We may start whenever you desire."

Emma furrowed her brows and glanced at Lucas. She knew asking him what was going on would very well itch his temper, and even that of his father's, but the not knowing was beginning to sicken her. She found the courage, somewhere. "What...what is happening?"

Lucas smiled at her, in an almost endearing way. "We have discussed this before, many times. It is only right that we get this over with now, to pave way for our future."

"Our...our future?" she asked.

Bertrand sneered. "We cannot very well stand atop the ruins of Figaro as the rightful rulers, that is without issue, if we are not connected lawfully."

Lawfully? she repeated, still not understanding, not until she saw Lucas uncover a rather expensive piece of jewelry. A ruby ring. The realization of what it meant hit her hard, and froze the words and fear in her stomach. Marriage! When had they discussed anything like this before?! She looked away, heart racing, eyes filling with tears. It was no matter what she wanted at the end of the day, though. Try as she might to tell them she wanted no part of it, they made the decisions, and resistance meant pain. Suffering.

Lucas took her hand and then made her look at him. "You have nothing to worry over, my Emma," he said softly. "We are only doing what is in our future, uniting as we ought have months ago, as the gods and law ordain it. I cannot be the king of Figaro without you by my side, as my wife—as my queen—and I wouldn't desire it without you."

This wasn't right. Alexander was the only person she envisioned herself marrying, but now that was gone, burnt and blown away in the wind like ash. And yet, even if it was out of reach now, that was what she wanted so completely it hurt. But if she rejected Lucas here, it meant more pain. It could mean never seeing Sherra again, or worse, causing her harm.

He noticed the shift in her demeanor and frowned. "Will you marry me, my lovely Emma?" his hand gripped hers hard, very much telling her the right answer without saying the words.

I'm sorry, she thought, thinking of Alexander. I'm sorry. "Y-yes."

Lucas smiled and laughed, and then he took her into a tight embrace. "You will make a great queen for me," he whispered into her ear before kissing the side of her face. "Let us join then." he turned to the elderly man and ushered him to go on. The elderly man cleared his throat and began to read from the tome.

"Then by the power gifted to me by the gods, let us come here to witness the—"

"I do not have all day," Bertrand interjected. "Move it along."

The man paled and cleared his throat again. "Do you grand prince take this young woman as your wife, to love her and protect her through any manner of health and societal standing?"

Lucas's handsome smile only brightened. "I do."

"And do you take the young prince to be your husband, to love him and serve him through any manner of health and societal standing?" all eyes went to her. Emma's heart was racing.

They are just words, she thought, looking at Lucas' eyes. They are only words. She took a shallow breath. "I...I do."

"Then under the watchful eyes of the gods, I proclaim you husband and wife. The rings." Lucas fumbled to put the ring on her finger. The elderly man nodded and looked at Lucas. "You may kiss your wife, grand prince." Emma was pulled almost desperately against Lucas and then he hurriedly took her mouth with his, as if he were afraid she would suddenly disappear. When he ran his hand down her back and pressed her against him, she tightened her hands at her side, restraining herself from reacting. To keep herself from shoving him away.

"Enough," Bertrand snarled. "Hurry it along. The faster you have her, the faster we can get back to our work."

Lucas glared at his father before taking both of her hands in his. "Come with me now, Emma." she hesitated only a second before she gave in and followed him.

The walk back to their room was excruciating. All of the soldiers and castle staff turned and watched them as they went, most of them not saying or doing anything else beyond that. It was clear by their expressions they knew what happened, and something told her that they had been expecting it. When they cleared the first hall, that's when she heard their whispers. The whispers of their jubilation for the wedding and others annoyed that their prince could degrade himself to her. There were men and women whispering that she was a whore of Figaro, a monster, and although Emma had recently come to understand what "whore" and "harlot" meant, she was still not sure why she was a monster. The word of course was not something she was confused about, but...why?

They say it every chance they get, she thought, watching the floor as they went. I wish they would tell me...why am I a monster? Her thoughts went back to Figaro, and the choice of words by the council and those soldiers who had supposedly witnessed her murders. They called me a monster too. Something seemed to fall into place. Is that why she had been treated so differently all her life, because she was some sort of monster? Could it have been the real reason she was taken to Thamasa, to hide her away? She almost reached up to touch her ears. How had she missed it? The kids who had teased her and insulted her, and played cruel tricks on her...they had been right all along and her parents liars. Did they just pluck her out of a monsters nest and decided to pass her off as their own? If so, why?

If I'm not human, if I am a monster... she felt ready to cry. And now, I am a slave. I am less than what I was then, and I am worth less than nothing now. She closed her eyes. Is there something less than nothing?

When they arrived at their room, Lucas opened the door for her with a bright smile. "I had the staff work while we were out," he said, and she didn't understand until she stepped into the room. It had been cleaned thoroughly—normally, it was her job—and the room left in a scenty smoke of cedar and roses. The bed had been made, and red petals had been placed all over them. On the night stand beside the bed, a bowl of fruit covered in chocolate, with a large bottle of wine and two class cups.

Emma struggled fruitlessly against her rising fear. She knew what this meant, what he wanted. What he expected. "I made sure that they did not bring us strawberries," he explained as he guided her in. "And the wine I had picked specifically for you. It is a sweet wine, not so potent as most. A wine I'm sure will not knock you over." he looked at her, expecting something, and she gasped.

"Uh..." she chided herself for her stupidity in her delay. "Thank y-you Lucas...it is..." she looked at the bed dreadfully. "It is...w-wonderful."

"That is not all," he said enthusiastically, dragging her forward. "I had the maids draw you a bath, just the way that you like it. You may wash before we begin." What a shame now that the solitude and peace of baths were taken from her. She nodded and mumbled more thanks. "Go on then. I will fix a few things here while you wash." she hesitated but went toward the bath.

Inside the room, she quietly discarded her dress and not certain if he would be upset with her if she just laid it about, she hung it over the back of a chair and then stepped into the water. It was warm, but not the way she had liked it. That made her almost laugh. So, there were still things he did not pry out of Sherra, that he did not know about her. One secret she could keep. She sunk lower into the water and washed herself.

After about five or so minutes, the door opened and in came Lucas. Emma knew better than to shrink from his sight. Whenever she had, his temper would snap immediately. She stiffened though, wondering what this could be now. He smiled at her. "How do you like the bath, my love?"

She swallowed, nervous. "It...it is perfect, thank you."

He laughed. "That is good to hear." the silence extended only for a few seconds. He said, "I think it would be within my rights now to join you, wouldn't you say?" Emma was certain she had turned white all over, but thankfully he hadn't noticed. "My father would join my mother's baths, long ago, before it all. A pinnacle of a relationship, perhaps?" unsure of what to say, or if she should say anything at all, she simply looked at him. "Perfect. I will help you wash, too." he quickly tore out of his clothes and Emma looked away, the sight of his body nauseating. After a moment, he joined her in the water, opposite of her. "This is a shockingly hot bath, my love." he relaxed into the waters, leaning against the back of the basin. "Doesn't it hurt?" She shook her head. "Well..." he sighed. "I suppose it isn't too hot, just a little uncomfortable."

Do what you want and go, she thought fearfully, just wanting this one moment to herself before he would force himself on her out there, for a time she lost count of. She was sick and exhausted, and just wanted this horrific and humiliating day to be over with. The silence came again and not sure if he wanted her to do something, she just decided to continuing washing. When she got to trying to wash her back, he noticed how awkward it was for her and stopped her by reaching for her arm.

"Here, let me help you with that," he took the scrubbing cloth from her hands, gently, and then gestured for her to turn around. She did as she as bid, trembling, cold, despite the heat of the water. He noticed that, too. "You are shivering," he said, alarmed. "Do not worry, we will be out of this bath and into some warmth soon enough." he began washing her and Emma, despite herself, starting having trouble staying awake. The quiet and the feel of the cloth was a luring distraction. No, she told herself, stay awake. Be aware.

After he was done, he asked if she needed help with anything else and despite her saying no, he did so anyway. He helped wash her hair, lathering gently, and then he handed the cloth over, smiling. The insinuation was clear. She took it hesitantly and began washing him. There wasn't a lick of a scar on his entire body. A well oiled, sun-bathed muscled body. The body of a privileged prince, who had never faced a hardship beyond the toils of family. A perfectly sculptured body, hiding a monster beneath.

When she was through, he turned to face her and laughed. "You have the most gentle hands I have ever felt." Emma knew he had dozens and dozens of women before her, and she knew most of them were probably not willing lovers. Every soldier, even Betrand, made it a point of sharing the long list with her. As if she could care what Lucas did and with whom. She wished he would stick with those women, though she felt bad for wishing him on another. "I feel..." he paused a second. "I feel at peace when you are near, when you touch me." he explained softly, and Emma just quietly observed him. "I have never felt that peace before you." he took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "You are my peace."

Emma did not like that.

"Well," he said, standing out of the water. "Let us get dried off before we catch our cold." he helped her out of the water and then helped to towel her off. He took such great care sometimes with handling her that it greatly terrified and confused her. One moment he would touch her as if she were a glass doll, like a curious and frightened child, but within seconds he would be handling her as roughly as he could, as if she were nothing more than a sack of rocks. His moods were like a flag in the wind—always changing on some unexplainable whim. It was like trying to juggle while on her head to keep in front of those moods.

"There," he whispered, holding the towel back. Her body was goose-prickled from the cold of the room, and her hair still a little damp. The towel had not been enough to dry her entire person completely. He tossed it into the bin beside the chairs and smiled. "You are the most lovely thing I have ever laid eyes on...do you know that?" he reached up to softly touch the sides of her breasts. She stiffened. "I wish I had known you before it all...I wish I had taken you with me, that night." he was referring to the manor, she knew. "I wanted to, you know, take you with me but..." he shook his head. "My father would have killed you, I'm sure of it."

I wish he would kill me, she thought, keeping her expression as dead-pan as she could.

"He will not stand between us for much longer," he said. "He will not stand before us, at all. We will soon have our own land, our own right of rule...we will have our life together." he brushed his hand up her body to her face. "You just need to be patient, and I promise you, everything will change." She said nothing. "Well..." he stepped back and gestured to the door. "Let us go." Emma paused only a second, thinking of her nudeness, before moving.

What was she thinking? Why would she get dressed when what was to come would just have her undress? It would at least save her some time, time she hopped she could save for sleep. How exhausted she was day to day now, after training and physical therapy, was beginning to ruin her. If she was not afraid of overdoing it and being sent to unspecified rest by Lucas, she would have pushed herself to death long ago. But she couldn't, not with his watchful gaze or those of his hounds, sent to watch and protect her when she wasn't with him or in the labs, or with Bertrand.

When they were within the main room, what Lucas had done while she waited had been candles set about. Emma waited patiently while he lit the candles in the room and turned off the main light source. When he was through, he helped her towards the bed.

Emma stopped him when he ushered her to lie down. "Lucas, please...I..." she hesitated. What could she say to convince him to let her just sleep? He had never before, so why did she think now would be any different? He looked at her. "W-what if we d-did this later?"

"Is there a specific reason?" he asked. He was not yet angry, but she had to be careful.

"I'm...I'm not feeling well."

Lucas frowned at her and crossed his arms. "I understand what this is about..." she waited for the onslaught, but he only reached for her hands. "You are angry with me." she stared, not sure how to proceed with that. "I know how this has happened was not very romantic, that you wanted a ceremony to cherish. It was rude of me to not consider that, but I had to. It was the only way to begin getting you out from under my father's thumb. I promise you that when we have finished with this war, you will have that proper ceremony. We will re-do our vows, in a chapel and before a cleric...however you want it."

Emma gaped. He thought she was upset about that? She was mere seconds from laughing, and bit her lower lip to keep from spitting something she would regret at him. In the end, she supposed it didn't matter why he thought she didn't want this tonight, so long as they could put it off. She would let him have his delusions. She nodded, almost desperately.

"I understand," he said quietly. "I promise things will change. You just need to be patient." he took her hand again. "Let me take your mind off of all of that though." he brought her close to him. "Let me help you unwind." and then he leaned down and took her mouth with his.

Emma just stood there, still as stone. No, she supposed nothing could really ever save her from him.

•••••••••••

It had been nearly five weeks since she last saw the princess, and it took everything in her power not to see the girl despite Bertrand's orders. She knew that if she had forced the matter, Emma would pay instead of her. In all things as it ever was, Sherra was powerless.

She paced her room. Please gods, let her be well...let them not hurt her. She paused and glanced towards the wall that used to connect her room to the princesses with longing. Even though the princess was not hers by blood, she had come to love her with all her heart as if she were. It was with a great miracle that she had given Bertrand two sons first, for she knew that if she hadn't, the girls would have either been killed or sent away. In many ways, she hoped the next would be a boy too, because she could not stand the idea of what may happen to her child if it were a girl. Emma would be the closest thing she would ever have to a daughter.

She closed her eyes and went to sit down, exhausted. I...I should have done something long ago, she thought. When she arrived, I should have...I should have... she cried and covered her eyes. I'm so sorry Emma. I'm sorry for everything.

A knock on the door made her startle to her feet. "Who...who is it?"

"It is Johl," he said. She hurried over to let him in, closing the door quickly behind him.

"Johl! Oh, it's been so long!" she took him into a hug momentarily. "Please, you must tell me about her!"

"In a minute," he said. "Come sit down and let me check over you, please." begrudgingly, she allowed him to walk her over to her chair and inspect her. He asked her routine questions about any pain or whatnot, then checked her blood pressure and so on and on. When he was through and digging through his bag for the supplements, she asked him again about the princess. "She is as well as you could hope for her situation," he said, setting her supplements down on the table. "She..." he hesitated. "The last time that I saw her, she had been recovering from..."

Her brows furrowed. "...from what?"

Johl looked away. "Bertrand, he...he lost his temper." he took a breath. "He had damaged her hearing."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"He performed a rudimentary surgery, if you could even call it that, to strip her of her hearing. I'm afraid it is permanent."

"She's...she's deaf?" she asked, crying.

He shook his head. "Not entirely, for what good could a slave be if it cannot hear? No, he only did it to one ear, but it's likely he'll do it again if she upsets him to that degree again."

She shook her head. "Every time I think he cannot overstep his evil, he does something like this." she sighed. "Oh Johl, I wish I could help her. I wish I could take her far away from here."

"In due time," he mumbled. "For now, you are your own priority."

"How can I think about myself in a situation like this?"

Johl frowned at her. "Because you are pregnant Sherra, and that child needs you far more than Emma does right now. I'm sorry Emma is going through this, I truly am, but there is nothing you can do about that. Not right now. You can however keep yourself in check concerning your own life and that of your unborn child."

For a long moment she considered his words. He was right, in many ways. Emma, albeit in pain, was not in a situation that would result in her death—not at least when Bertrand viewed her as valuable. Her unborn child, however, was at heightened risk. It hurt to think that she had to abandon even a little worry and thought or whatnot for Emma. It hurt and disgusted her. Why couldn't she do so for both of them? She started to cry. "I'm sorry Johl...I can't disregard her, even for a little time. I just can't."

He exhaled sharply. "I cannot force you, but you must understand the risks." she nodded. "Then in that case, there are two things you should know as well. Firstly, I have been giving her the pills in your absence," for that, Sherra was thankfully. "Secondly..." he cleared his throat. "Emma has...that is to say...Lucas has married her."

Her eyes widened. "What? No...no, you are mistaken!"

"It happened the other night," he explained softly. "There was no true consent of course, but regardless, they have wed."

Trembling, she collapsed fully into her seat, realizing then a large part of her husband's grand plan and feeling stupid for not having seen it from the start. A connection to the Figaro throne, through the princess. There was no singular plan of power and destruction, but a plan to wipe out Figaro's royalty and claim the land through Emma. Breaking, she started to cry. Johl reached to take her into an embrace.

---

It was early morning when the cool air kissed his skin, stirring him from his slumber. He carefully sat up, aware acutely of his dear princess resting peacefully beside him. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he sat and watched her for a long time. It always astonished him when he looked at her how beautiful she was. From the gentle beauty of her face, to her little nose and her cheek bones, and even the minty green of her hair and those faint freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, scarcely able to be discerned. There were many that had called her ugly—he had seen to their pain back during his academy days—and even some here in Roskovo, but he knew the rest of the world was blind. That the rest of the world didn't deserve her. He would keep her with him, and keep her safe.

Lucas reached to gently caress her, moving gently from her face to her exposed upper body. The scars that ran across her were a painful memory of her disobedience. He wished it didn't have to be, but he knew they would remind her never to disobey them again. You are learning, and that is all that can be said. You are stubborn and willful, so we allot you more time to change, but gods it will happen one way or another.

She trembled suddenly, cold, and he reached to pull the blanket up more. "I will light a fire," he said, shifting the blankets out of the way when he heard her whines. He stopped, and looked at her. Her brows were furrowed and the tone of her voice was one of stress. And that's when he heard it, her pleas for her mother, before she settled back, though she still looked in pain. "Quiet now," he whispered, brushing his hand across her forehead, soothingly. He understood her desire, in many ways. Sometimes he would wonder if exterminating her family was the right thing to do, but then he would remember what the family had done to his. That in order for him and Emma to live without obstruction was to eliminate the royal line of Figaro. "You are safe here," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "You are safe with me." when she seemingly settled, he finally got up to restock the fire and poke it back to hearty life.

When he returned, about to re-enter their bed, he paused. Emma was crying in her sleep again, mumbling incoherently. That is, until she said his name. "Alex..." she mumbled between shaky breaths, settling once more, though fitfully. All at once the happiness within Lucas vaporized. His thoughts burned, of her and having her, to teach her a lesson for her cruelty, and then of murdering Alexander and of placing a pillow even over her face. His temper snapped.

No. He couldn't be sure of what this meant, not yet. Calm yourself, he thought angrily. Calm yourself and wait...

•••••••••••

Emma woke to the smell of food.

Groggily she peeled her eyes open and winced against the light of the morning streaming through the windows. She reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes and slowly sat up. The ringing in her ear seemed always so bad in the morning, and she wasn't sure why. She pressed a hand against her ear, hoping to dull the noise, but only caused herself pain.

"Good. You are awake." she turned her head toward the sound of his voice and saw him wheeling in a cart topped with food. The look in his eyes was hard to discern, but he sounded different. "Are you hungry?" he asked, stopping the cart beside the bed. She was, in fact, and very much so. She knew better than to accept "gifts" from Lucas and his father though. It was better to be forced to take them than to take them out right, because then they couldn't say she had asked for it or accepted it on her own. That was often how Bertrand tricked her. So, she shook her head. Her stomach betrayed her immediately though.

"Of course you are," he said, almost mechanically. He removed the tops from the plates, revealing ham and eggs and other such things. "Eat up, we have a long day ahead of us."

Emma regarded him quietly, nervous. He seemed...calmer. Was this change of mood the result of their wedding? Was this a slow look into a more manageable person? She hesitantly reached for the food and began eating. He sat down beside her and watched her, without a word. Those imposing, dark eyes reflecting nothing for her to do guess work about. It was almost as if he wasn't there.

It wasn't even five minutes into the meal that he began to speak. "Tell me...did you sleep well?"

She looked a him and sat aside her fork, the nervousness growing in her heart. "I...I don't know." the real answer would not have pleased him, which was that she rarely slept well. It was made worse ever since her ear. The ringing kept her up, well that and the pain. When she did fall asleep, it was only for a few hours, and it was filled with nightmares. "I...I guess."

He smiled, slowly. "Is that so?" he reached to take her hand. There was no affection in this touch, and even Emma could feel that. She drew her hand back, frightened. The smile on his face grew forced, and dark. "You are my wife now Emma, am I not allowed to touch you even now?" his voice was tensed. Angry. Emma knew she was trembling, but she could not stop it. The air in the room had grown heavy from his shift. It always did, when her captors grew angry. It was as if she could feel every ounce of it, and it made the beatings and pleasures they did to her after all the worse, because she knew it was about to happen and couldn't do a thing about it.

She tried to desperately salvaged his calmer mood. "I'm s-sorry, I was...I was just s-scared."

His eyes grew more intense. "Of me?"

A mistake. She tried to quickly backtrack. "N-n-no, I just...I don't know I...I get af-afriad sometimes."

"You are lying to me," he said. "And I hate it when you lie to me."

"N-no, please, I'm sorry Lucas, I am. I'm sorry!"

He looked away, exhaling loudly, his brows furrowed. "Fine," he looked back at her. "Then prove to me that I do not frighten you, and that you love me. Do so, and I will never question it again." Her eyes widened. How was she to prove that? Sherra had been wrong after all. The words were not enough. She gaped stupidly, trying to think. "I will take that as a no."

"No!" she cried. "I...I just don't know...w-w-what you want."

"I want you to make me believe that you love me," he said simply, growing even angrier. "I want you to smile when you see me. I want you to do things a woman would for someone she loves. I want you to think of me when I am gone, to miss me. I want you to dream of me at night because you love me so." his expression grew sharply into that anger. "I want you to want me, as you had in that manor."

She knew the words could be said without meaning, that she could say them here and now and not abandon her truer feelings, but it wouldn't be worth it if it didn't convince him. She knew she had to try though. "I do," she mumbled, fighting tears, which she knew would give her away immediately. "I...I do love you." the words said felt as if someone had dug a knife deep into her chest.

"Those are but empty words," he snarled. "You think I am blind? That I am stupid?" he demanded. "I can hear you at night, when you call out his name." at her alarm, he sneered. "You want him more than you want me."

"I...I can't h-help w-w-what I dream." she said, defensively. The more they demanded of her, the more impossible it became. Now she had to stop her dreams?

His eyes shot to her then, and his face was red. "Then prove to me that you love me, despite it all!"

It was her turn to feel frustrated, and angry, despite her knowing how stupid it was to release that emotion on him. The dangers of it. "I...I don't know what more you want, Lucas!" he reached out suddenly and took her arm, his grip like steel.

"I want you to make love to me." her eyes widened. "I want you to desire me the way that you desire that man and my father."

"I...I..." breathing suddenly became very difficult.

Impatiently, he tightened his grip and she squirmed. "You have never had to before," he said, taking her hand. "I will help you figure it out, if that is your issue." and then he forced her hand on himself and she violently pulled away from him, shaking. The look on him though was not of surprise. No, it was clear he anticipated every move she had made, even that she would ultimately deny him. He had wanted this, for some reason, she could see that. The color in his face returned to normal. "So be it." and without another word, he pulled her toward him. In the process, the cart was knocked over, spilling food and drink everywhere.

Emma cried and kicked, trying very hard to free herself, afraid. "You have brought this upon yourself!" he howled as he pinned her to the bed. "You who wantonly spreads her legs for any man willing!"

"Get off me!" she cried, wrestling fruitlessly against his greater strength. "Get off!"

Lucas laughed. "What is this show of disobedience?" he held her down with greater strength, and when it started to hurt, Emma knew he was doing that on purpose. "You have not fought me like this in so long!" the tone of his voice was almost happy. "Is this what you like then?" he asked. "Do you like it when I hurt you? Is that what you want me to do to you?"

"I hate you!" she cried, struggling. "I hate you!"

"No," he said. "No you don't, because that's not who you are. You are incapable of it, that dreadful feeling of contempt. You are just confused, broken inside...you need control. You need help." he leaned down to kiss her, roughly, and pulled away when she bit his lips. Blood dripped steadily down his chin, but instead of striking her or yelling, he was laughing. "You are like an animal inside..." he let her go and got off the bed. "And that's where our similarities begin, that raging beast within us."

Emma sat up, trembling. "I'm...I'm nothing like you!"

"We shall see." he whistled, loudly. Even with her reduced hearing, it hurt. Soldiers poured into the room. "Bring her to my father, and await me there." he watched as the soldiers tore her from the bed. "And Emma..." the soldiers stopped her beside him. He reached to trace her face with his hand, delicately. "One way or another, I will rid you of your demons." and then he turned his head, and the soldiers dragged her out of the room.

•••••••••••

Emma was flung forward, landing hard on her elbows. The soldiers quickly withdrew several steps as their king lifted himself out of his chair, furious. "I do not recall asking for this whore," he snarled.

"His Grace demanded she be brought before you, your majesty." one of the soldiers said, hurrying forward to shove Emma back to the ground when she tried to shift off her elbows. "We were told to inform you to await his arrival."

That did little to soothe his anger. Bertrand's face went red all over. "And who does he think he commands around, his whelp of a brother?"

Just then the doors opened and the prince in question strolled in, dressed cleanly in a black doublet and trousers, enriched with red thread and silvery tones. His hair had been combed back neatly, and shone under the glistening light above them. His face was calm, but when he turned his eyes to her, Emma knew. He was more than displeased. He was furious. And he hadn't been furious with her in so long, and this felt far more dangerous.

"You needn't worry father," Lucas said, coming to stand some feet away from her. The way he did not look at her now... it made her skin crawl. "I was not attempting to order you about. I should know better than that." that calmed the king's fury, even if by a little. "It was more a request."

Bertrand's eyes narrowed. "And what is this request?"

Emma couldn't breathe. She looked at the prince—the man she had been forced to marry—and pleaded. He would not look at her though. Whatever mercy her pleas might have gotten her before fell now upon deaf ears. She would be subjected to Bertrand's unnatural fury, and she would lose something more. "You are not correct on many things father, and I will make it my personal mission to always point out where you fail, but I have come to realize one thing you have told me that was, in fact, truth." now he looked at her, and the rage in his green eyes burned like a fire. "And that is that a woman ought know her place."

Bertrand laughed. "I see." he looked over at her then. "Time and time again, you are brought before me girl. You disobey and you fight, and what is that worth to you?" he laughed. "You have broken your only means of defense twice now...it is almost as if you want to be hurt."

Lucas interrupted quickly. "Do not make the mistake of misunderstanding me, father. You are to teach her, and that is all. You will not harm her as you had in the last demonstration, do you understand me?" when Bertrand smiled, he repeated himself angrily. "I will not be pushed on this."

"Aye," the allowed, looking back at Emma. "You have my word. She won't leave my side with any permanent disfigurements such as before." the soldiers were on her immediately, dragging her away. Emma kicked and cried and pleaded. When they reached the door, Lucas ordered them to stop for a moment. When he was near, he sneered down at her.

"You have brought this upon yourself," he said. "You may come back to me when you have forgotten him."

•••••••••••

They had dragged her all the way to the little room that had long since been designated as her "corrections room", though the more fitting term would have been torture. They tossed her at the foot of the same old table they usually attached her to, and awaited their king's orders.

Bertrand entered the room but half a moment later, arms crossed behind his back and eyes calm. He took one look at her and said, "It must not be said that I am not a merciful man," he gestured to her, causing her to flinch away. "If you would be abandon your past, if you would but renounce Figaro, you may leave this room without ever feeling any pain." he gestured then for the men to lift her up. When she was on her feet he drew closer. "For once in your miserable existence girl, do as you are told. Be smart."

Emma knew. Even if she had said the words, even if she swore herself to him, there would never be an end to her pain. It was just his way of making her do something she swore she wouldn't—something he knew she wouldn't do unless under extraneous circumstances. There was no solace in giving in to him for this, nothing at all. So she looked away.

He chuckled. "You react in the very manner I suspected you would." he stepped away. "You have certainly proved yourself a more difficult person to break than your brother...take some measure of greatness in that, beast, for there has been no person to stand before me and not break." Emma closed her eyes, determined to show him his words meant nothing to her. "All men break though," he continued, sounding more amused with each word. "And the tainted offspring of monster and man will not make a difference to that. I have grown to understand you in so many ways through our visits here." he laughed then, chilling her to her bone. "In particular, what makes you hurt inside rather than just outside. It was a tedious thing to find, but what joy when I did discover it."

At that, Bertrand turned to the guards. "Set her up, and be quick about it." when they moved to lift Emma to the table, he stopped him. "No, not there." that finally made her look at him, frightfully. "The one in the back." the soldiers moved without a word, dragging her to the far back of the room, toward some contraption covered in a dusty old cover. When they revealed the strange contraption below—some strange table with extending features and a large pulley nearer the back—Emma tried to tear out of their hands. "Ah, ah, none of that now," Bertrand said, laughing. "You will love our new little toy."

The men lifted her to the strange object's surface and held her down as another went around the table to latch her arms and legs into the extending pieces. The extending pieces themselves were two separate pieces, held together by chain, as if it could reach even further if the chain was unraveled. The chains reached down and wound around to the back, to this tower like piece which ate the chain and spat it back up into a giant double wheel.

When she was set into place, Bertrand said, "I told my son that I would keep myself in check, that you would not leave me mutilated in the same capacity as I had before," he smirked. "I am a man of my word." and then nodded to the soldiers. With a loud crank, the men began twisting the wheels. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then the chains grew shorter and shorter and she felt the pressure from them pulling her arms and legs down and down. Emma gritted her teeth against the rising pain and pressed her head back into the platform, trying very hard to ignore the sensation of what felt like her skin and bone tearing from her body. The men continued to wheel though, slowly, the creaking of the wood and clanking of chain the only sound in the room until at last the pain was too much to bare. She started screaming.

The men hesitated, but one look from their king and they began again, slower than before due to his hand gesture. Her wails grew and grew, and blood poured down the table from where the metal was tearing into her wrists and ankles. Only then did Bertrand motion them to stop. At once, the men let go of the wheels, and they sped back wards, loosening the chains immediately. Emma's cries stifled at the release of pressure, but she hung forward sobbing.

Bertrand quietly inspected her, eyes lit with amusement. She could barely think, the pain was so bad. "I do not think that will be enough for you." he lifted her face roughly, so that he could look her in the eyes. "And I know you know it isn't enough. I will give you this...you are much stronger in will than your brother could ever hope to be." he squeezed her face by her cheeks, brows furrowing. "I detest willful whores." he let her go, and told the soldiers to lift the restraints higher. They did so without debate, lifting them to her shins and forearms. When the moved away, Bertrand stopped them. "No...expand them." The soldiers looked at each other, alarmed, but did as they were told. They unfolded the metal clasp and expanded them so they stretched down her entire legs and arms. "Good." he took a second to inspect how secure they were, smiling when he found it pleasing, and then stepped back. "I would offer you another chance to spare yourself, but we both know you would spit in my face and...well...truth be told, I want to see you squirm." Emma took a wheezing breath, struggling to speak, and exhausted herself in doing so. He chuckled and told the men to begin again, using the second dial set.

The pressure started to build up again. Emma tried fruitlessly to see what was happening, but keeping her eyes open was proving to be too much. Her mind was racing wild, slipping and slipping. When the pain came back, encompassing the entirety of her legs and arms now, she squirmed pathetically inside her binds and began howling in pain. Bertrand did not stop. He ordered for more pressure, and the men moved the dial one slot up and began wheeling again.

Her thoughts were making no sense to her now. There was only the pain. This unbelievable force that stole every whim of her attention. A burning which refused to go out. There was just a piece of her, in the back of her lost and frantic mind, that could plea pathetically for it to stop but her body was acting independently of her mind. It struggled uselessly against the restraints and her mouth refused to obey her, to beg him to stop—to give him anything he wanted.

It was only when the snapping noise came and went that the pressure stopped and she hung there so broken and in so much pain coherent thought, or noise, was incapable of her to achieve. In the back of her mind, the voice was stirring, and Emma wanted to give up everything to her. To let her take this pain instead.

She passed out.

---

Lucas had busied himself with nothing in particular, but he found pacing about to be a ninny thing to do. So he decided to clear up their room. It did not take long for the activity to severely impede his patience or snap his temper, and so he quit.

This will be enough, he thought, staring at their bed, remembering the gentleness of her skin, the softness in her eyes and the smell of her. The way her smile drove his heart into his stomach, even should she never mean the smiles for him. How she deserved nothing more than gentleness. He closed his eyes, angrily. No. I must be strong. She must not behave like that. She must learn.

The doors open then and he spun around, smiling, relieved that she was finally back, but stood gaping when he saw two soldiers dragging her in by her elbows. Her arms and legs were bleeding, and looked grotesque. One of the soldiers was pale and refused to look at anything in particular, and the other was crying. Lucas felt fear erupt inside of him, and then anger. "What have you done to her?!" he howled, moving to her.

"Please, your grace, you mustn't touch her, she's—"

When he took her by the arm, she gave an ear piercing scream and the soldiers let her go. She hit the floor with another cry and everyone took several steps away, even Lucas. The soldier that had spoken hesitantly went to lift her back up, taking extreme caution. Even with that caution, she started to cry. He lifted her up so that she rested in his arms, to give her limbs a reprieve. It was then that Lucas saw the true condition of her arms and legs. They were bruising so bad that most her arms and legs were purple and black, and parts of the skinned welled up so thoroughly it was if tiny apples were springing up beneath her skin. Her legs though...they were in a way that made even his stomach churl. He swallowed back bile, disgusted not only with what he was seeing, but with the realization that yet again his temper had done this to her, even if it had been his father that actually punished her.

"S...set her on the bed," he said quietly, watching. The soldier complied. "Gently, gently!" he snarled when the soldier accidentally brushed her arm against the edge of the mattress. When the girl was set down, whimpering pitifully, Lucas asked them to fetch Johl. The soldiers fled as quickly as they could.

While they were searching for the doctor, Lucas tried his hardest to make her more comfortable, but every slight tough sent her squirming and howling in pain. He gave up after a minute or two, and stood aside watching her writhe incoherently. He glanced over her legs again, sick. Her legs were swollen now, and red and purple. "Emma..." he whispered. "I...I..." his fumbling got interrupted then, as Johl charged into the room, panting. In his arms was a large leather bag, pack full to bursting. The doctor gave him one look before searching for the princess.

When his eyes saw her state, they filled with tears. "Gods...what have you done...?"

Lucas felt angered by that, and guilty. "I didn't do anything to her, my father did!"

"Yes," Johl snarled. "And I'm sure you did everything in your power to stop it." and that had caused the young prince to gap stupidly as the doctor rushed to the princess' side to inspect her. "Gods be good, this is abhorrent. It it is evil."

"Is...is there anything you can do for her?" Lucas asked quietly.

Quickly, Johl turned to glare at him. "You have no idea what your father has done...it will be a miracle if she can stand up on her own after this. Do you see this?" he gestured angerly to her legs "Her tibiae have been broken! Gods help her if they were shattered!"

"So there is nothing you can do?" he all but cried.

Johl ignored him and went for his bag, grumbling quietly to himself. He took out a vial of something purple and carefully lifted the girl's head up to ladle some of the liquid into her mouth. It took a long moment to get enough of the concoction to her, as she struggled and sputtered, but after several minutes, she began to settle. If only by a little. When Lucas pressed him on what it was, he explained it was a very powerful form of pain medication. The best that he had on hand. Even still, Lucas could see the misery on his wife's face.

"I will need to inspect the injuries..." he said, gently feeling her legs. "...I do not think there is a way I can set her legs, but I will make sure of it before I abandon that hope. If it comes to the worst case scenario, I will need to do extensive surgery and amend the fractures with plating and such." he reached up to brush a soothing hand over her forehead. "You must be strong Emma...I will rid you of this pain soon enough." he glanced over to the grand prince, scowling. "I will need your help. This will not be easy, or pretty."

Lucas slowly made his way over. "Hold the leg here," Johl instructed, showing him the best that he could. "When I say, hold it firm and I will set the leg. She will scream. Unbearably so. But you must not let go. No matter what happens, do not let go. Do you understand?" Lucas nodded and took her leg. Johl put something hard in the princess' mouth and then went back to the leg. "Hold." and then, much quicker than Lucas had expected it, Johl set one of her legs. The screams that followed almost made him let go but he held on. "The other one, the other one," the doctor grumbled, hurrying to the other side. "Hold!" and as soon as he did so, Johl set her last leg. Lucas squeezed his eyes shut against the sounds she made and waited as the doctor explained he needed to move to her arms next.

When the last had been set, Emma screamed so painfully, and so loudly, it sounded as if something tore in her throat. And then she was out again. The good doctor gently went to check her and when he was certain she was well, he went back to her legs. He used a disinfecting solution to gently wash her legs and arms. Without the blood coating her limbs, Lucas could see the true extent of her injuries. The way her flesh was purpling and yellowing and red. That beautiful skin he loved to touch marred. He felt sick.

After he had finished cleaning her and giving her liquid medication for the pain and such, Johl tiredly began to wipe his hands into a towel. His face was hallow, pale. Distraught. Lucas knew by the man's eyes that he felt Lucas was directly responsible for this. That hatred was forming anew in the doctor's heart for him. How could he get Johl, or anyone else for that matter, to understand his position? Emma had defied him, time and time again. Disrespected him and even openly sought the affections of another man. It was unacceptable behavior, behavior no other woman would be tolerated to have. He had been merciful beforehand, choosing to punish her as physically little as he could. And it had brought this situation down upon his head.

"I have done all that I can for her in this state. As far as I could evaluate, her limbs were settable, but the condition was..." he struggled for an appropriate word. "...dire. I—I could have been wrong. I could have made a mistake..." he was struggling not to cry, Lucas realized. "F-for that I will need to check on her regularly. And it will be best that s-she remain sedated until I can judge it further."

"You are hiding something from me."

Johl glared. "Fine. If you must know, what you and your father have done to her this time around is irreversible. Even if I do all that I can for her, even if I can get her to walk again, it will never be the same for her. That is assuming she lives through this. And I now have to live with the fact that this isn't the end of her torment, that if she displeases you or your father again even in the slightest fashion, she will be subjected to this evil again and again, until one day she perishes. I have to live with the realization that I am keeping her alive to experience this hell!"

"I'm trying my best," Lucas snarled. "You have no idea what position I am in when it comes to her! The defiance, the way she—"

"Enough!" Johl stopped him there. "I have heard enough from you. I may be forced to clean up after your tirades and your abuse, but I am not obligated to sit here and listen to you, or grant you absolution!"

"You have no right to talk to me like—"

Johl gestured to the princess, never removing his eyes. "Look at her Lucas. Look at her and try to explain how that is love." and then without another word, he began to gather his things and leave. Lucas glanced back at the broken girl on his bed. He knew without a doubt that his father had done something inexcusable, that he had overstepped, but there was still a part of him that believed Emma deserved it. And whenever he saw her in pain, whenever he felt that way, there was always something that was angry with himself. He wasn't sure why.

"Wait..." he said quietly. Johl paused by the door. "I...I will accept mother seeing her again."

That caused the doctor to glare suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

They made eye contact. "If you would prefer I rescind it, I will."

"No, no, I am just...surprised." and, mechanically, he added. "Thank you. I will inform your mother immediately."

The doctor almost fled from the room, and Lucas knew he was heading directly for his mother. With the restriction removed, she would undoubtedly come see the princess as quickly as she could. There was little time between them. He went to sit beside her, too afraid to take her hand in his and sat, listening to her quieted and painful breathing. "You mustn't deny me or father anymore." he whispered into the room, knowing she could not hear, but frustrated that it was something she just could never grasp. "It isn't permissible behavior for women here. You must learn...but...but this time, I swear, no more of this. I swear it upon my life."

After several minutes had gone by, the doors to the room opened and his mother came rushing in, tears burning in her eyes. Lucas stood and stepped out of her way, and watched with some strange emotion in his heart as she knelt to wrap her arms around the slumbering girl and cry. That emotion boiled within. That fear for her...that love. He turned his eyes away, finding it difficult to watch his mother. Had she ever truly loved him the way she now loved Emma?

"It will be alright," Sherra whispered to the girl. "I promise, everything will be alright now." and, surprising him, she turned to him and said, "Thank you for letting me see her, Lucas. Thank you."

That caught him off guard. He fumbled under her gaze and then scoffed. "She has learned her lesson, after all. I am not one to linger on a punishment when it is no longer necessary." the way she turned away from him filled him with even more anger and regret. "I will make it known to the guards that you are permitted to see her now. If you are met with resistance, let me know." he made his way to the door, stopping to look back at the door, before stomping away.

•••••••••••

Emma could not remember anything when she first woke. Everything came to her as a blur, everything but the sharp and unimaginable pain in her arms and legs. When she opened her eyes and saw the worried face of Sherra beside her, that pain had vanished instantly for the moment she had cried in relief. In happiness. How long had they been apart? How long had she feared the woman's safety? How long had she dreamed of that small comfort of a friendly face?

The woman had taken her into as much of a hug as possible in her current condition and cried with her. The pain came back relatively quick, when the distract worn itself out, and Emma's sobs were no longer from relief and joy, but misery and fear. She had never felt something so horrible before, and in so many ways, it was worse than losing her ears. It felt as if she could almost feel every bone in her limbs stretching out of her skin and melting at the same time. The skin on her felt too heavy and itched and burned.

Emma wasn't even sure if the words she was saying made any coherent sense, if they were just the mushed up words of pain. Sherra seemed to understand regardless though, and soothed her with gentle touches and poured something foul tasting into her mouth. Emma's eyes grew too heavy to hold open within seconds, and she had been out again.

When she woke again, the pain somehow seemed even worse. Sherra was there to sooth her and put her back to sleep almost immediately. Emma had tried to speak, but nothing seemed to come from her lips but haggard sobs.

This continued for a time that slipped passed Emma's understanding. In and out she went, and each was accompanied by a pain that drilled into her very soul. When the time came that she woke and was not immediately sedated or was too wired off her pain to do so herself, Sherra helped her to eat. The food was tasteless and practically liquid, but somehow Emma felt as if she hadn't eaten for days, so she ate as much as what was on hand. Content with that only, she had drifted away all on her own, the aching in her bones accompanying her the entire journey.

It felt as if she were gone only seconds, with each waking accompanied by the same pain and confusion, but eventually she came to realize days were going by and she had barely seen any of it. This realization came to her on of her wakings, when she next saw Sherra. She was dressed in a very loose dress, with her hair up and her eyes sunken into black rings. Emma had felt so terrible. She knew immediately that the woman had once against stayed by her side, for days at the very least, with little to no regard for her own health and safety, and that of her unborn child.

She could not stand it. She closed her eyes and cried. "Why?" she asked, stammering, tears burning down her cheeks. "W-why did y-you come here?"

Sherra smiled gently at her then and sat down beside the bed. "No, do not cry Emma." she reached to brush her hand gently across her forehead. "You are like family to me. I will never abandon you, not when you need me, not when I can help." she soothed away the girl's tears. "Hush now, you have done nothing wrong. I stayed because I wanted to."

"But—"

"No," she insisted, hard but not mean. "I stayed because I wanted to, because I love you. I know you have lived such a hard life Emma, one where you have continuously felt a burden and unloved, but with me you will never have to feel that way again. I am not your mother and I am sure she loves you with all her heart and you her, but if you would like...I would love to accept you as my own."

Emma knew she was referencing the marriage, and felt sickness accompany the pain in her bones. Was this the one good thing that could come from her marriage to Lucas? This official link of kinship? To have Sherra as a mother and her baby as family, despite the burden and disgrace of Lucas has a husband? Well, it certainly didn't matter now. She was married to him and there was no reverting that. It was the grace of some god or such that gave her this one benefit in this new turmoil.

The guilt of wanting that one piece of good, to have Sherra be that someone to her, made her cry further. What kind of daughter was she, to accept this when her mother...well, she supposed she didn't know at all if her mother cared. Her father was a different thing altogether, that was a certainty. He had given her to these people after all, but if her mother cared, where was she? Why hadn't her family come to save her? Why had nothing come of her trade?

I am nothing to them, she thought pitifully. I never meant anything to them. She closed her eyes against her tears, her shame and anger and grief. What more was there for her to consider then? Her family did not want her back, so she would make the best family she could out of what she had. She opened her eyes and looked at Sherra, sniffling. "I...I w-w-would like that."

---

Things had escalated so quickly, and in the most unnerving ways, that Johl often found himself staring at walls in disbelief. How had he gotten here? How had the gods seen fit to throw him into this situation working until exhaustion nearly killed him for Imperialistic goals, and forcing him to experiment on innocent people and mere children? To watch as little girls were beaten and raped and misused? To see it first hand every day in the form of the sweet little princess of Figaro? Worse yet...why had the gods allowed his sister to be taken by the lunatic Bertrand? What had either of them done to deserve any of this?

He sat aside his vials and looked across the lab towards where Alveri was cleaning spilled samples, grumbling angrily to himself. The vials had been new blood samples from the princess, ones they had taken just that morning after giving her the newly concocted injections. They couldn't even wait for her to recover first. The girl had cried and cried. The misery that poor thing had to endure non-stop in part came from him. I can no longer say I have done no wrong, he thought, almost in a detached manner. The oaths he had made to harm no soul, to research only for the benefit of humanity, had run straight into a wall. I am just as guilty as Alveri or Bertrand, or even Lucas. I do nothing to help, only to hurt. He sighed and looked back at his samples, brows furrowed. And yet, what could he do? And if there were something he could do, how could he put his sister in jeopardy by denying the mad king of Roskovo?

Alveri's high pitched laughter woke him from his thoughts. "Why must you make that noise?" he asked, turning his chair to face the deranged scientist. The man was grinned practically from ear-to-ear. It alarmed him. Johl sat up, tensely. "What is it?"

"A most incredible change!"

Johl had enough of the vagueness. He got up and hurried over, gently moving the man out of the way of the microscope to peer at what excited the man so clearly. The blood sample loaded into the microscope was unlike anything he had seen. He leaned away and checked the name on the sample: Emma Figaro. He looked again. It was almost reminiscent of... "No..." he gaped, eyes widening and stepping back. "This...this is impossible!" this had not been their intention! What had they done?

Alveri chuckled. "It seems to be very much possible, my friend."

"This was not our objective!"

"On the contrary," Alveri said, smiling. "Our goal was to impose control. I would say we have done just that, with an added bonus."

"But...but she's already...she's a..."

"Some part Esper?" Alveri asked, eying him. "Yes, but you have read and heard the tales of the oh so mighty Returners' use of the Esper shards, haven't you?"

"T-the magicite, yes. What does this have to do with the princess' situation?"

"How different is this really to what they had done? Were they not imparting part of the dead Esper into themselves? I see no reason why the hybrid didn't do so either, and she seemed to live perfectly well despite the fact. So well, in fact, she created us this magnificent specimen to test on."

Johl gritted his teeth. "Do not speak of her like that. She is just a child, Alveri."

"Listen to me, my friend," Alveri looked at him then, eyes uncharacteristically focused. "The most significant achievements of humanity often came off the back of less dignified means. The Empire had created a thriving utopia with its undoubtedly questionable research, but the lives of the Imperials had become easier. They lived with power which heated the homes of even the most poor. Fresh water pumped into their homes. Means of transportation, which ultimately led them to greater opportunities. There is no doubt what we do here to that girl is wrong, I am in no delusions about that. I am however willing to stain my hands of it if it means I can help ascend humanity to even greater heights."

The fury that surged within Johl nearly made him knock the bastard out of his seat. "And what heights do you think experimenting on a child will bring you and humanity? We have gained unparalleled technological advancement from the Empire. We still possess their knowledge, in fact. So what could you possibly achieve here with the girl?"

"An artificial means of infinite power, for one thing." he said simply. "Imagine a world Johl in which we do not have to have factories producing toxic chemicals and smog. A world in which all of our power is produced off the infinite energy of magic."

It took him only a second to understand the greater implication of Alveri's utopian world. And it disgusted him. "You know what you are suggesting, Alveri."

"Aye, I do," he said with a small chirp.

"You plan on mass-producing individuals of magical prowess to force them into means of energy generation for humanity?! It is slavery and...and diabolical!"

"They would not be alive to call it slavery, Johl," he explained with a smile. "You know where our samples come from. The source is damaged, and thus they cannot be used in the manner that I desire. However, if we could create a more enhanced version of them, like with the girl? We could have shards that never run out. It would take just a few thousand at first to power cities like Vector. Just a few thousand! Why do you refuse to weigh the benefits against the evils? If the world were plagued by a deadly disease and the only means of concocting a cure lied within that girl's blood—and death, there on—would you deny the world that cure because it piggy backed off one child? Would you earnestly weight one against millions?"

"There is no disease to cure," he argued angrily. "You are talking about crafting and killing people for energy, for a comfort!"

Alveri raised a finger, to interject. "Ah, but see, that's where you would be wrong. They would not be human. They could not possibly be considered a 'person'."

"Are you so gone that you don't think that girl is human?"

Frowning, the scientist leaned back into his chair. "Whether or not she is irrelevant in the end. I will make a product from her which is not human. An exploitable creation of infinite energy." he chuckled. "Regardless, even if I were to agree using her in such a manner is unethical, it wouldn't matter. The king has grand plans for her completely separate from my own."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come now," he said, resting his head against the chair's head rest. "You really don't know?" with that, he made a startled expression. "You don't. How charming. Why do you think he married her to his son?"

"For a claim on the Figaro crown..."

"Oh...is that all?" he asked frowning. "Why would a man whom craves power beyond else stop so short?"

"What are you implying, Alveri?"

"Think on it for a moment, my friend," he tapped his head. "How do you continue to grow powerful off one, exhaustible source of power? How do you create an army from one?"

The realization of the man's implication hit him hard. They were going to use Emma for a breeding sow, for their weapons. The marriage had served one purpose, but there were several others playing in the background. He had been right from the start, when he had given Sherra the pills. The end scheme for the girl was reproduction. Her children would be used no better than she, if not even worse. Johl could only stare, disgusted and terrified now of what the real implications of what he was helping to do here would have on the world. Alveri was not sound of mind, that was clear, but his maniac delusions coupled with Bertrand's deranged craving for power and domination would ultimately lead to the downfall of the planet.

"...in fact," Alveri had still been talking. "The grand prince as informed me he is trying to get her with child now. He has informed me that if her body can create and sustain life during her current testing and obligations, the king agreed that he will forgo all experimentations until she has birthed the child. I pressed on the matter and it came to my knowledge that he's being so persistent about it now because he's actively trying to get her spared from it all." he giggled. "Of course, that would not ultimately do for his majesty's plans for the near future, but he has confided in me that a potential new source of power...of evidence she can breed this power? That is far more thrilling, for both of us."

Johl gripped his hands tightly at his side. So...it had already begun. He wanted to laugh at them knowing no life could ever start in Emma when she was being given her pills-pills which were ordinary in every looking way. A silent joke, and a great mercy for the girl.

He was afraid to ask, but he knew he had to. To know what he needed to do now, as for the last month Bertrand had demanded he spend more time in the labs, to perfect the serum. "And," he said, catching the mad scientists' attention. "...has the prince told you yet if that has been successful?"

He chuckled. "Heavens, no. If he knew she were with child, he would have come to me to confirm it to his father and cease her being here in the labs or the same such in her own chambers. I imagine though that it won't take long, the way he's taken the husbandly duty to heart."

That had made him even sicker. The princess was barely able to move since her torture two and a half months ago, and yet the prince of Roskovo still made an effort to rape her, almost every night even. And so long as it didn't cause ever-lasting harm or prevent her from being tested upon, Bertrand encouraged it, and even started joining in on it himself, though he never spilled his seed in the girl. He would not create an abomination, and in that he was very vocal.

Johl had listened to the queen's distress, to her grief, and held her in her moments of feeling useless. Johl could not imagine being violated like that and not even being able to move, to fight back, though he supposed in the end it was better for her health. If she couldn't resist, she wouldn't be hurt further. Now though, Johl understood why the prince had been more thorough about it lately. He was trying to get her out of the experiments, even if it meant hurting her to get her there.

"If that is the case," Johl began, holding his anxiety in check. "you will need to bring her additional vitamins and supplements. If she is not with child, she will be soon, and it will benefit her given her Sand Fever to be properly sustained in her deficiencies. I will package the correct supplies for you to bring to her, for your next sampling."

"Oh, fine, I suppose that will be a good idea." Alveri went back to his work, smiling over his microscope.

With the man heavily distracted, Johl went about gathering the supplies. If the pills he had given Sherra did not work or ran out, and he supposed it might, it was within Emma's benefit to make sure she were healthy enough to sustain a life growing in her. Alveri had confirmed a week ago that she was anemic now, and that had worried Johl utterly. If she were to be pregnant now... No, he thought as he gathered up the necessary pills and such. No. I must not think that way. One step at a time. I will do something...I must! When he was through, he let Alveri know where he put the container of supplies and told the man he needed to head to his lab to gather a few instruments. The mad scientist didn't question him, so Johl hurried away.

When he was free of the lab and its exterior halls, he made his way towards his personal lab. Once there, he dug through some of the smaller boxes hidden on the lower shelfs, near the back. When he came across a rather small box, he tore it free and hurried to the other side of the shelves. He opened it, checked the contents inside—a large stack of black and white photos—and then wrapped it in a leather and tied it shut. He did not dare to bring Sherra into this, for if he were caught, it would be the death any who were involved. And Johl knew that that sort of betrayal would not be something Bertrand could tolerate, not even from his wife.

He hid the box within his lab coat, grabbed the things he lied about needing just in case he got stopped and then hurried out of the labs. He pressed his way down the halls into the main section of the castle and then out the other side towards the large kitchens and storage rooms. Inside, he walked passed the women cleaning and the men moving about heavy boxes of new foods and such, towards the back room.

It was the main part of the kitchen, where the chefs worked tirelessly. At the far back of the room, squatting before a giant barrel of potatoes, was a scrawny looking fellow. He was peeling the potatoes, and had already filled one barrels worth. His skin hung to him like wet paper. He would do nicely. Johl approached and cleared his throat. "Sir?" the man didn't realize he was being talked to until Johl gently prodded him with his foot. The man startled and looked up at him.

"Ah, yes my lord?"

Johl ignored the that, and said, "What is your name?"

The man frowned. "Pidgin, my lord."

Johl glanced about the kitchen; not a soul was watching. He looked back at the man. "Stand up Pidgin, and go into the lard room. Wait for me there. Do not leave." the man gawked, but when Johl glared, the man hurried away. To be certain he was not being watched, or to not draw attention to himself, Johl waited outside of the kitchen for nearly half an hour and then made his way to the lard room. The man Pidgin was waiting inside, cowering practically behind stacks of grain. When he saw Johl, he leapt up and threw himself at his feet.

"Please my lord, I ain't did nothing wrong in all me life!"

"Of course not," Johl said, kneeling to help the man up. "I am here to set you free of this place."

The man gawked. "W-w-what? Is that for true, my lord? For true?"

"Yes, yes, it is, and I am no lord, so you must stop that." the man nodded obediently. "I will help you escape Roskovo, but you must do me one favor if I do."

"A favor, sir?" he asked, frowning. "If it risks me life, I ain't eager, sir."

"The only risk you need do is leaving itself," Johl explained. "All that I need you to do is deliver a box to someone."

Pidgin nodded. "Oh, sure, certainly sir, certainly. Who be the man I bring it to?"

"To the king of Figaro," he said quietly, watching the man's eyes widened. "In fact...if you escape, Figaro will be the safest place you could ever go to. Bertrand will be unable to send hunting parties after you, or mercenaries. You will be free, and Figaro will help keep you that way."

"And...and the way out?"

"There is a passage beneath the outer library. If you follow it straight through, taking no turns, it will lead you to the mountains. From there, you will find a dirt road that leads west towards the ocean. Along the coast line, you will move south. Until you reach Crestov. When you arrive, tell anyone who stops you that you need to speak with the man in charge of Figaro's host. You will be brought to the leader. Tell him that you have escaped Roskovo, and you have to get to Figaro to speak with the king. If you are questioned on why...tell them about the box. Have them see it, if they need to. Once they do, they will without a doubt take you back to Figaro. To safety."

"Is...is that all, sir?"

"No," Johl admitted. "Once you are brought before the king and you give him the box, you must tell him that the princess is being experimented on. You must not forget this."

Pidgin nodded eagerly. "Of course sir, of course. It is as good as written, sir."

"Good. Do not leave until midnight. You will find the box awaiting you at the end of the passage, in a wooden box." he turned to leave, and then looked back at the man. "Do not disappoint me. You have agreed and I will hold you to it now. Do not test me."

The man frowned. "I'm as good as gone sir, oh I promise it, I do."

Johl knew he had to trust that this man would do as asked, that he would not risk his life but anywhere Figaro, and finally left the lard room. There was a great anxiety in him now. If he were caught, he would die, but what was worse...so would his sister. He knew though that if he did not do anything now, everything would be lost. The princess, Sherra and even his sister.

Please gods...let him reach Figaro. Let this all end!

---

Cambyses had spent the weeks following his wife's news overseeing the military expansions and campaigns. They had constructed three more ships in that time and one airship was nearing completion, though it would need extensive testing to be certain it was capable of long flight. Cambyses had ordered a dozen, with grand schemes involving them in mind. For that he would need to call together his council that evening to go over the plans, but for now he went to check on the progress of construction groups.

When he finished checking the progress, he made his way to the solar, where he hoped his council was already gathered. However, when he arrived, it was only Hals and a strange looking fellow, whom stood scrawny and pale. He was covered from head to toe in dirt, and his clothes were practically tattered on his body. Cambyses frowned as he shut the door behind him.

"Hals..." he looked at the fellow again, anxious. "Who is this and why have you brought him here?"

Hals cleared his throat and gestured for the fellow to seat himself, and then he said, "Your Majesty, he arrived by ship half a fortnight ago at the southern naval base."

"And?"

"Your Majesty he..." he cleared his throat and glanced at the man quickly. "He claims that he escaped from Roskovo."

Cambyses turned to the man sharply, eyes wide. "Is that true?" at the man's hesitation, Cambyses' temper snapped. "Well, speak up man!"

The man fidgeted under Camb's stare and said, "I...I were in Roskovo, your grace, I were." he gulped, hard. Nervous. "A kitchen aide, yer grace, set up on potatoes, always peelin' and—"

"Get on with it," Hals mumbled.

The man paled. "Me name's Pidgin, yer grace, and a man c-c-came for me one evening, he did. He told me about some passage, helped me to leave, only..." the man paused only a second, and then continued with, "only he had me do a favor too. He said bring the box to the king of Figaro. I did sir, oh I brought it to ye sir."

"Box?" Cambyses repeated, frowning. Hals took a box off the table near him and held it out to him.

"He had this on him when the men stopped him at Crestov. Suon decided it best not to look inside and to send him our way, given the implications of it."

Cambyses took the box. It was about a foot long and nearly that in width. It was heavy, made of faded wood and smelled slightly of copper from the pieces attached to the lip of the box. "What is inside?" he asked them both, but not a one of them had an answer. The man, Pidgin, shook his head wildly and Hals offered a grumble. Cambyses sat it down gently and undid the little twist lock at the front. If there were some sort of explosive inside, he really was testing his luck. He threw it open and quickly stepped back, but nothing happened.

He passed Hals one suspicious look before nearing the box again. Inside, there was a giant stack of some sort of paper product, black with white borders around it. He reached to take the stack, and felt the smooth surface and knew immediately what they were. "Photos," he said, alarmed. He slipped them out of the string that kept them bundled and faced down, and pulled up the first image. His heart sunk and tears burned in his eyes.

The girl sitting in the photo on a gurney was his sister. The photos had been taken in black and white, and the motion of her kicking her feet had blurred it comically, but it was, without a doubt, his baby sister. There was a gawky man behind her near a set of tables, but his back was to the camera, so everything but his wild hair and back was hidden. With trembling hands, he flipped the next photo. Another of her in a lab, though this time she were standing up right, rigid, with her arms extended out and her eyes squeezed shut. On each wrist was a black disk tied to a string. A weight, perhaps? She looked exhausted, strained.

The tears finally began to fall down his cheeks. Hals noticed the tears and asked, "What is it?"

Cambyses swallowed back a cry and looked at the man. "They...they are photos of...of Emma."

Hals gasped. "Could it truly be?" he hurried over to look at the photos, and gaped stupidly. "Gods! It is the princess! How though? How has..." he stopped and turned to Pidgin, who had begun to fidget again. Hals snarled and took the man by the collar of his shirt and held him up off his feet. "Speak you Roskovo dog! Where did you get these?!"

Pidgin gave an alarmed cry and tried to pry his hands away. "From the fellow, sir, the fellow who did free me! He gave me the box!"

"Why?!" he shook the man. "Speak!"

"I...I don't...he just said to give it to the king, sir, I swears it! He knew t-t-the princess though, he did!"

Cambyses turned sharply to the man, trying very hard to remain calm. "Who was this man you met?"

"A f-f-fellow working for his ungoodliness the king," Pidgin said, shaking, meaning Bertrand. That had been clear. "A doctor, he were, always comin' and goin' in the kitchen. I thoughts sirs it were 'bout the food, see, but he was always watching us."

Hals dropped the man to his feet and looked back at his king. Cambyses beckoned for the man to continue, but when he looked confused, he snapped. "Tell us more of Roskovo, of course! What was this man's job, to care for my sister? What of the king, and the princes? What is the news of Roskovo man, speak up before I lose the last of my patience!"

For the next hour, the poor man tried his best to recant what he could of what he knew about Roskovo. It was all mostly gossip and news any commoner might know of a royal family through work of the kitchens or fields or such, but there were pieces of information that alarmed Cambyses greatly. This doctor, by the name of Johl, was the personal physician of his sister and—as Pidgin explained—has been caring for the girl's extensive injuries for months now. That was all the man knew though, and once he had finished his story, Cambyses had Hals take the man away and feed and house him.

The words still lingered with him long after the two left the solar though.

Extensive injuries.

He looked back at the stack of photos he hadn't even scratched the surface of and felt the sick resting in his stomach again. What was so surprising to him? He knew what Bertrand and his sons would do to his sister, the unmeasurable torture and violations. Yet having it confirmed without a shadow of a doubt had weakened him. He was, after all, responsible for it all. He had gone to fight a war he wasn't ready for and then he had given information on his sister—information that would ultimately be used to break her—so that he could be spared. What sort of man was he? What sort of brother? I should have died there...I should have let him kill me to spare her. He closed his eyes against his tears, took several long and shaky breaths, before he went back to the stack of photos.

He sat down near the table and began going through the photos slowly. There were photos of her in recovery, lounging quietly on a bed, battered from head to toe in bruises and cuts and such. Others were she was in what he could only assume mid-exercise, from the strange forms she had taken. Others came and went that brought relieved smiles to his face, where she was sitting beneath a window engrossed in some book, with towers all around of her other literature. Some in which she were fixing puzzles or playing chess, even if it was by herself. And alarming photos too, which filled him with unease and fear and relief all at once. Those such photos left some of the more demanding questions in his mind, the ones in which she were sitting with or standing by some strange woman...looking oddly pleased? No, perhaps at ease?

Cambyses leaned back into his chair and turned his gaze towards the roof, thinking. He knew this was, without a doubt, a treasure trove of information regarding his sister's well being and what she might be enduring but he also knew that this changed everything. And that he would need to bring this to his parents. How could he though? To bring something so sickening to his parents, to let them know that their daughter was in fact being beaten and tortured, and possibly more?

No...they deserve to know, whatever it is. She is their daughter. They would want to know. He sighed. He would have to show them, but he didn't have to show them the worst of it. He went back to the photos, digging out the truly painful photos and setting them aside. It took a lot out of the stack, but there was no need to subject them to seeing her just after beatings or the like. His mother, in particular.

How do I even begin this? He leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, exhausted.

---

It had only been little over a month but Lucas could not see full recovery within Emma's future. She was as bed ridden as one could be. Whenever she was awake, she was in tears over the pain, though Lucas suspected shadowing the pain was grief. Depression. He could not fault her for the turmoil in her heart. His father had gone so far over the edge that Lucas had to fight himself over the notion of killing the bastard.

Lucas knew he couldn't care for her own his own, not when he had responsibilities outside of his marriage. To account for the time he could not be there, he had to find ways to convince his father to allow Sherra complete authorization to be with the girl, whenever she so desired it, and as long as he purposely needed her. He knew it would be a momentous task to convince his father just so soon after backing down on the restriction itself, but it had to be tried. It took three days, but eventually his father had caved. Now his mother spent almost all day with the girl again.

In the time that he had gathered for himself and his wife, he was mostly spent it caring for her. He would carry her to her baths and wash her, help her dress, give her medications when Sherra or Johl were not able to, read to her and even tried to get her to play her board games with him, but that had proved fruitless. The eyes that he had fallen in love with, such vibrant and endearing eyes, had become pools of despair. Pale of their prior splendor. The only thing she responded to was his mother, but he couldn't really bring her to fault for that. Not after what she had endured.

Soon though, little into the first month, his father had started coming around and demanding his pleasures from her. The first time that it had happened, Lucas had walked in on it. Her cries of pain nearly drove Lucas to kill his father, but he knew where a stupid decision like that would lead him, and ultimately Emma. His father made thousands of enemies almost daily, but it was impossible to say he did not have his loyal subjects. Barkov, for one. If something were to happen to Bertrand, those loyal hounds would stir hell—and wouldn't care if it caught the innocent in its wake.

Instead, he did the best that he could to keep him away, or to hurry its end. At first it was mostly trying to soothe her from those painful encounters, to distract her, but when it kept happening, Lucas knew. There was only one real way his wife would ever get out of this situation, and that was the contract he had made with his father. If she were to become pregnant, she would be spared.

Which meant he had to discuss it with her, to explain what he had to do. It came to be one evening, after his mother had left and the girl drew back into her quiet shell. She just sat there staring at the roof, her breathing gentle and rhythmic.

"Emma?" he called quietly from his seat beside the bed. Her eyes did not move. "I need you to listen to me..." when she did not respond or look at him, he placed more emphasis on his tone. "Please." he did not want to sound angry with her, but when she got like this, the only way to make her obey was to make her think she were going to get hit. It worked. She turned her eyes to him, and they looked so pathetic. "We need to talk."

"...why?" she asked after a moment.

"It is about my father," that made her tense up. "Do not worry. He isn't coming around today, he has busied himself with a project." that made her relax immediately into the bed. "We both know that he will be back again though. You know this, don't you?" her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, I know how...how he takes you," he hesitated. The thought of walking in on his father forcing himself on her, in this state, to purposely hurt her...it was enough to drive him to his limits. "I don't want you to experience that either."

She frowned at him. "W-w-why do you then?"

His eyes widened. "What? I don't let him do anything."

Her eyes held his for a second before moving away. There was anger in them, and that had been very clear to him. He gripped his hands against the bed frame, trying to control his temper. No. She was right. He was allowing this to happen to her, in fear of what could happen. How did she not know why he feared stepping in? How he feared for her? She was all that mattered to him. He wouldn't risk her in any capacity without knowing he could protect her. And he knew he couldn't, not right now.

"I understand why you are upset with me," he grumbled, biting back his short temper. "I know you are disappointed, and in pain." she sighed. "That is why I have...I have decided to let you know of the way this all stops." finally, she turned to him, her attention very clearly caught. "First, you must understand something crucial. Although my father is a tyrant, among other things, one cannot say he is not a man of his word. Once it has been given, he does not break it. It is why it is so important to make sure you know what it is he is promising...with that said, I managed to get him to agree on how you could leave this torment."

Her brows furrowed. "...how?"

He frowned, and said, "You must become with child." her eyes widened. "I know. The thought of carrying another man's seed is troubling, but if it gets you out of this, how could you deny it? With my father taking you, and if I were to try, the odds of success will increase and you will be out of this—"

Tears started to burn in her eyes. "No."

"Emma, be reasonable—"

"No!"

That brought a quiet into the room, one that he was not willing to unsettle just yet. To have her speak to him like that was infuriating, but he had to remain calm. He had to remain understanding. This was unspeakable for her, he knew it. "If you refuse, you will be beaten and raped and tortured endlessly. Do you not understand that? If you want to leave those damns labs and my father behind and all his torments, you must consider it. Any man's child will do, even...even my father's." that had made him sick to even suggest it, to have their first child be...no. All that mattered was getting her safe for now. The rest could be dealt with later. "When...when he takes his pleasures with you, just try to—"

"I said no!" she howled and then winced when the movement had brought on pain.

"Then you accept this fate of yours, to endure under my father's cruelty and pleasures? Is that what you desire?" he asked, voice raising. There was anger building in her eyes, and a part of him respected that. It was what drew him to her, in some part. Behind that gentle disposition, that beautiful smile, lied an anger that he himself harbored. This intense fire that could consume everything it touches. "Are you angry? Good. That's what you will deal with if you deny this here and now, for the rest of your life, for whatever remains of it. Do you want it to spill over to Sherra instead, is that it?"

That calmed the raging fire in her heart immediately. "W-what?"

Lucas knew he had to press harder. "If you cannot appease him in his sense of power, he will lose interest with you. That may as well be good for you in your own perspective, but without you, he will turn to Sherra again. Is that what you want?"

She started to cry. "No..."

"Then unless you can give him the power he thinks resides in you," he stood. "You need to appease him elsewhere. A child to tie Figaro to him will make him forget your other failures completely." when she hesitated, he reached to touch her hand. "If you do this Emma, I swear I will keep Sherra safe. I swear it."

The tears in her eyes bubbled over and her lips quivered. "H-h-how can I t-trust you?"

"I love you, despite what you think of me. I would do anything within my power to keep you safe. Doubt what you will of me, but do not ever doubt that of me." he gripped her hand. "If it is for you, I would break the world." sensing that she would not say anything, and knowing she wouldn't if she felt like she had no real choice, he said, "If it is not something you want to do, we will not do it. I will not force you in this. It is your decision."

She closed her eyes. He knew who she was thinking of, and where. It gnawed at him to know that no matter what she would always think of another man, to yearn for him and a place that never wanted her, but he could come back to that later. For now, all he had to concentrate on was getting her to agree that her only salvation, and in turn Sherra's in light of her failures, was to bear the Roskovo crown fruit. A legal tie to Figaro. Something that could never be questioned.

For once, he thought, staring intensely at her. Abandon your infuriating stubbornness. Save yourself. Think of yourself. A part of him was selfish about it though. In part he wanted her to be safe, certainly, but he wanted to be the one to help her bear her first child, to share something so profound and intimate with her. To forever lock that bastard she thought of out of something unchangeable. To stain her in her family's eyes forever, so that she could find no solace but with him. Because he knew, somewhere, there were pieces of her heart that stayed loyal to those who didn't deserve it. Accept, he thought, feeling anxious. Please gods, make her accept.

She faced him then. "P-promise me..." he sat up straight, heart racing. "Promise me you w-w-will protect her, no matter what."

Lucas pressed a hand to his chest. "You have my word, and once given, it cannot be broken."

Her tears continued down her cheeks even as she said, "...okay."

•••••••••••

Sherra found leaving Emma to be too much to bare. When she left, she knew what her son and husband had in store for her. If it weren't the experimentation that continued even still despite her injuries, they were forcing themselves on her. Sherra had tried to talk to Emma about it once, after her son had left the room, but the girl would just cry or just look away, as if she couldn't bare to look at Sherra. There was something about that which sunk her into anxiety and grief.

Today, after leaving the girl behind, she tried to distract herself from it, to reduce the stress even a little. It felt wrong to try and forget her, but she hoped that Emma would understand. By then the hour had come that she were to meet with Johl, but the man was late. It didn't help her anxiety at all. She busied herself by cleaning the room, which unfortunately meant only dusting or making the bed—as bending over to sweep or such had nearly become impossible for her.

Exhausted, she found her spot in her sofa running along the window and laid her head back into the pillows. Since she had been allowed to see the girl freely again, she was permitted to re-take her room just one door down from the girl, as Lucas had decided to share her room rather than move her to his. In some part of Sherra, she wondered if he did it for her comfort or if he just didn't want her in his personal space. With him, she supposed she would never really know.

A knock on her door drew her attention then. She struggled up to her feet, pressing a hand to her swelling stomach, and wobbled towards the door. When she opened it, she was greeted by Johl, though his face seemed shallow in exhaustion and wear. "Oh, Johl, there you are. Heavens!"

Johl glanced at her quickly and then shook his head. "Come, sit down, you shouldn't be up so much right now."

"Oh but Johl, I've only just stood up..."

"Do not argue with your physician," he grumbled, forcing her back into her seat. "Now, let me..." he began to look her over, brows furrowed and an occasional click of his tongue coming and going. "And how have you been feeling?" he aske, digging through his bags. "Any pain?"

Sherra shook her head, but then sighed and nodded. "There's just been a bit, really."

"How so?"

"It's mostly when I have been up all day with..." she hesitated. "With Emma."

His eyes focused on her with understanding. "I see."

"Do not say it," Sherra almost snapped. "I will not stop seeing her, I won't."

"Calm down, calm down," he soothed her from that agitation by laying a hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't dream of trying to demand you see her less. And I would know better than to try." he offered a small chuckle to that before sitting down beside her. "That actually is one of the reasons I have come to see you today."

Sherra's brows furrowed worriedly. "What do you mean? Is she okay?"

"She's as well as one could be in her situation," he said. "There is something else, something crucial, that I must speak with you about." he reached to take her hand, eyes gentled with some unsaid understanding. "There is no easy way to say this but the prince and the king, they...they intend to..." he hesitated. "They intend to have Emma create life."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"They have their own reasons," he explained. "Bertrand would rather it wait until the war is concluded, but seeks it in the end for power. And Lucas...the way I understand it, he got his father to agree that should she become with child before we march on Figaro, she can be left out of the torture and experiments. In this way, now, he's trying to spare her that but ultimately he just wants to start what he believes is a family with her."

Sherra began to cry. So, their precautions to this point hadn't been for nothing. "We can't let that happen!"

Johl frowned. "Sherra...Bertrand has given his word that should she become pregnant, at all, she will be spared her torment. You know he never goes back on his word." she began to cry. "We need to discuss whether or not the benefit of a child out weighs the overall problem of her having a child."

"If she were to become pregnant, she would be stuck Johl. She would never be able to escape them."

"And if she were to experience anything like that last torture again, she will die. It is increasingly getting worse, Sherra. It is even a miracle she has survived this long. If the extent of having her carry their seed is a reminder of them, what difference is there to right now? She cannot escape them. She sees them every day. She has to endure them every day. At least with a child, she will not be beaten down, tortured or continuously..." it was clear he did not want to say the word.

She let her tears fall. "I cannot be the one to decide this for her, I cannot."

"Firstly, if you tell her what we can do, it could be forced out of her one way or another. She would be punished, if not killed, and then it would turn to you Sherra. Lastly...why would you need to tell her?" he asked. When she looked at him funnily, he frowned. "Emma agreed to bearing them a child."

That made her sit up, alarmed. "What? Why would she..." she paused, as understanding gripped her. Who was she to judge the girl, to question her desires? If Emma wanted to avoid torture and experimentation through bearing Bertrand or his son's children, who was Sherra to deny her that respite? Although Sherra knew she could not argue it or try and change the girl's opinion, she cried. For she knew, no matter what, the poor princess was going to lose.

Johl reached over to bring her into a hug, and they remained like that for some time.

---

Cambyses glanced down at the box in his hand, feeling apprehensive yet again. His parents were just inside his father's study, where they took their evenings off to relax and to think. It had been so long since they had done that together, ever since they came back to Figaro. His mother was furious. Well, as about as furious as she could get. Cambyses had never seen it before in her, that anger she was trying so very desperately to keep in check. It made him realize, in many ways, how alike Emma was to their mother.

He cleared his throat and took several deep breaths before entering the room. His mother looked up and greeted him first, with that warm smile she always had when it came to her children. "Cambyses, dear...what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Cadence?" he had just left her actually, having told her what came into his possession. She had cried, both out of joy and grief. Just as he expected would happen here, with his parents.

"I'll return to her shortly. I actually need to talk to you both about something that happened the other day." His father finally looked up from the documents on his table. He had been spending almost every day with Hals on improving what they could of their defenses and offenses, and other plans and such. It was the only way that he was going to feel helpful, and so Camb allowed it.

"What could be so important you need disturb your own down time?"

Cambyses sat the box down on the table before them. "Something exceptionally important," he tapped the box a few times, nervous. "There is no easy way of saying this, but I do not want you two to have some sort of attack."

His mother sat up, alarmed. "What's going on? Is Cadence and the baby alright?"

"Yes mother, they are fine, this is..." he sighed. "...this is different."

Edgar frowned. "Sit and tell us what the matter is, son."

Cambyses slid the box toward his mother. She would benefit greatly from seeing it first, he knew, even if there would come grief and misery from what it showed. "The other day, I returned to the solar and found Hals waiting there with a stranger. We spoke at length. The stranger had escaped from Roskovo." that made his parents both go rigid. "A man within the castle supposedly helped him to escape, on condition the man do a favor in return."

"What favor?" his mother asked, very reluctantly.

"To bring that box to me." at once, his parents' eyes went to it, fearfully. "Now, you must listen to what I have to say before you open that box. What is inside is going to be painful to see, but there will also come some sort of...ease. A relief. Hope." he hesitated. "But that will not eclipse the pain. If you are certain you are capable of bearing those things, you should look inside the box."

Terra shook her head. "Tell me what is in it. I will not open it otherwise."

"Mother—"+

"Tell us," Edgar cut him off, a little sharply. "Spare your mother something she'd rather not see Cambyses. She has the right to know what this is about, if it is the things you said it was."

Cambyses frowned. "You do. That's true. I just hoped that if the pain is too much, it would have been better you didn't know if you decided not to open the box." he looked at his father squarely, and then turned his eyes to his mother. "Inside the box are photos of...of Emma." Edgar had shot out of his seat immediately, and his mother took the box with such quickness it startled him. "Mother, pay heed to what I said—" but she had already opened it, and took the stack of photos out.

Edgar hurriedly got to a spot beside his wife and tried to see the pictures, but it was at an angle. Suddenly Terra started to cry and tremble. Edgar asked her to show him several times, but she could not hear him. Not right now. "Terra, gods! Let me see!" Terra relented the strength she had and Edgar took the stack, eyes widening at the sight of his daughter. "Gods..." Terra covered her eyes and began to sob. Cambyses neared and looked down over his father's shoulder at the picture.

It was of Emma sitting on a wooden chair beneath a billowing tree, sunlight dotting her. What was out of the normal were the grotesque bruises across her face and peaking out from her sleeveless sun-dress. Despite it all, there she was, sitting with a small smile on beside that strange woman.

Cambyses glanced at his mother and reached to place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry mother...I really am."

Edgar swallowed back his own cries and flipped the image. They began to get calmer in tone, little scenes of her lounging or reading. Peaceful. The only indication of pain about her formed as scars. Cambyses had been sure to remove the nastier ones. If he felt his father could take it, he would show them to him later. But he wasn't sure that it could ever be. "She lives," he muttered, tears burning in his eyes. "My little girl lives..." when Terra would not look, Edgar held a tamer photo out to her. "Terra, look my love, look."

Terra eyed it quickly and shook her head. "No...I can't."

"But Terra—"

She stood, trembling. "You do not understand! You will never understand!" and then she stormed out of the room in tears. When she was gone, Edgar sighed and looked down at the photos.

"I knew I should not have brought them to her attention," Cambyses muttered. "She's broken..."

"No," Edgar mumbled. "She just needs time." he sat the stack of photos on the table and leaned his head into his hands. "I have done not only my daughter a great injustice, but that of my wife."

"Don't speak like that...mother knows you had no choice."

"Of course she does," he said. "She knows I had to do it, but that's not the problem."

"Father..."

Edgar sighed and got up. "No. It is alright. I must pay for my sins." he took the photos. "I'll go talk to your mother."

When his father reached the door, Cambyses stopped him and said, "I'm sorry." Edgar just quietly left.

---

The ocean still crept out wide before them. They were well beyond their second month at sea now. Alexander was certain that his friend had no idea where he was going, but each time he pressed him for more information, the man would lash out at him like a viper. One evening though, Alex could not take it anymore and cornered him to demand what was going on.

Robert was not pleased to be questioned about it, but he answered. "The sea surrounding Roskovo is held by two major forces right now; the Roskovian navy and that of the Figaro navy. I am taking us through a route that leads to the northern coastal cities. We will have far less trouble there, where the merchants still come in and out. If your objective is to avoid Roskovian dogs intercepting you and killing you, then this is the way we go. If your objective is to avoid Figaro loyalists from turning you back or even dragging you back, then this is the way we go. Do you have more questions, or might I get back to sailing?"

Not willing to risk breaking the man's temper, or even making him turn back, Alexander reluctantly let the man be alone.

Eight days after that, the first sight of land came to be. Alexander ran to the bow of the ship and hoisted himself up on the railing, so that he could see better. The looming, sharp shape of the coast line and its nearby mountains made for a dramatic shift in the horizon. Just barely, he could make out three or four ships. Finally, after so long, he began to feel hope.

Robert shouted for him to come down and over. Alex hurried back to side. "Listen, we are merchants. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do not speak unless spoken to, and if you are, speak as little as you can. If you are required to give a history, stick as close to the truth as you can, leaving out only the stuff they cannot know. For example, if they ask you your name, you say Alexander. But you give a false surname. If they ask you where you are from, you answer as closely to the truth as you can. This is the only way to form a believable lie."

Alexander nodded. "I understand."

"Good. This will be dangerous. If we are caught, the Roskovian military will execute us."

He brushed a hand against his throat. "Then we will just have to be extra cautious."

Robert laughed. "I never thought that we could do something even more stupid and dangerous than breaking into a royal garden to commit a robbery, but look where we are now..." he laughed again. "Alright. We are going to approach the harbor within the hour. Go below and move our supplies to the mid-door. We are going to spin a story that our supplies had to be used because we got lost."

"Are you sure that will work?"

Robert gestured to him and than himself. "Look at us. We're practically skin and bone right now. They'll believe it, provided we sell it well. Now hurry, we do not have enough time to dawdle about here."

Alexander did as he was bid. He went below deck and hauled everything they had into the cargo room, just below the mid-doors. He was sure to align them in some sort of official capacity, so that it didn't look like they had just been brought there. When the hour reached them, he had finished his task and tiredly made his way back up to the deck. Robert had taken them into the harbor with great expertise and was nearing a place to take port.

Three men stood on the docks awaiting them.

Alexander felt the nerves in his body burn. "How are we going to prove we are merchants?" Robert simply passed him a look that clearly said be quiet and drew anchor once they were in place. Four men came aboard almost immediately. Alexander tried to be calm, to stay out of their line of sight. Robert greeted them with a bright, trained smile.

"We do not recognize this vessel," one of the men said, his accent thick. "Where is it that you hail from, traveler?"

"We've sailed from Albrook sir, with deliveries intended for the southern outlying islands."

"Intended?" the man asked.

"Halfway through our journey, we were beset by pirates along the Black Waters." Robert explained quietly, putting so much energy in the lie even Alex was beginning to believe it. "They took most of our cargo. If it wasn't for their captain, we wouldn't have been left any food to sustain us."

Accursed brigands!" the man snarled. "You are the third this month. Gods befall those pitiful excuses of humans!" to add onto his effect, he spat. "We have no means of apprehending the pirates, and for that I am terribly sorry, but if you do not have the means to pay for your docking..."

Robert nodded solemnly. "The days are trying, we understand. Everyone must make a profit, for their families."

"I truly am sorry, sirs. If it were up to me, these sorts of circumstances would be met differently, but the king you see...he has been awfully strict on policy."

Alexander tried not to let the mention of the vile man disturb his outer person. Robert sighed, and nodded again. "My colleague and I understand. If it weren't the pirates, I'm afraid our business would have met another grim fate. It seems as if the gods battle us daily to survive."

"The lot of us deserve a break," the man agreed with the general tone with a frown. "I can check with the local merchants, if you would like, see if they have any food supplies to spare you so that you might make it ashore somewhere else."

"Gods be good, do not let us be a bother for some other poor sort," Robert said. "Our vessel is still in such fine shape, with just one breach which we had sealed immediately. If the gods would have it, we would like to just sell it and settle our debts back at Albrook. Of course, that is if the law should find that pleasing? We could certainly provide whatever taxes or such that need be paid for it."

"You are not the first to be cast aside and needing to sell. It is a rough business to put oneself in, a very unforgiving mistress. If you should like to sell your vessel, you might wish to visit the Harbor Master. I can grant you a special document to permit twelve hours upon shore, but you must be escorted by our town militia. If you find that pleasing...?"

Robert heaved with such relief, he reached over to pat the man gingerly on the shoulder. "Gods be praised, you would be saving our necks. My friend here must return to his lady, you see, she is with child and a lonely heart. It would break her spirit if he were to wilt away at sea."

The man laughed. "Women are our fragile burden, but a gracious one at the very least." he paused to write something upon parchment. "Show this to two men awaiting off the ship. They will escort you about."

Robert accepted it with a warm smile and bowed his head graciously to the men. "You are most kind, my good friends."

The man waved him aside. "Please, please...we all must help each other out."

When it was settled, Robert masterfully lead them off the ship. Alexander was so surprised he hadn't a word to say. Robert had successfully lied their way not only onto land, but found them a means of money in which to continue their journey towards the capitol.

As they followed the two militiamen into the town, he prodded his friend with his elbow. "I do not know how you learned to lie so convincingly Robert, but I am impressed. I was ready to burst my way through and run off. In fact, this stunt made our Veldt one look like child's play."

Robert smiled thinly. "I have always told you I know my way around the mind," he whispered. "Now listen to me carefully, this is where our story begins."

"What do you mean?"

"We are wayward merchants, Alex," he explained. "A ship's sale will not grant us the money to return to Albrook aboard any sea-faring vessel."

"I'm not following. What does that matter? We don't intend to leave."

"Of course not," he almost snapped. "But they need to believe that's our intent—to return one day."

Alexander oh'd, and then asked, "What does that serve us though, them believing?"

Robert chuckled. "A further means into the country unobstructed, of course. You are Eldrick Straom from now on. Do not forget it. Forge a history for him, but keep it close enough to the truth that you never forget it or a slip won't cost you your life."

"Why another persona?"

"In due time. Until we are alone, continue your silence unless directly spoken to. When you are, speak as little as possible and offer as little as possible. A mystery is less suspicious than a running mouth."

Alexander chuckled. "I will trust you on this then, Robert."

"Good. We will survive this yet then." he paused and then said, "And do not call me that anymore."

"And what should I call you?"

Robert seemed hesitant from speaking, but softly said, "Firion Alm."

Alexander watched the way his friend's face contorted and knew immediately there was something wrong. "Robert..." His friend pressed him a seething look and he corrected himself quickly. "Firion, I'm sorry, it's just...how are you so..." what was the right word to explain this? To put into a question?

Robert shook his head. "I will explain later." their escort was a few steps ahead, gesturing at a building with great annoyance. "We are here. Remember my warning. I'll get us out of here as quickly as I can."

Alexander sighed and glanced back where they had come from, worriedly, before hurrying to catch up with his friend.

---

"Cambyses, you cannot keep avoiding it any further."

He looked up from his work towards his wife, standing at the doorway, showing the earlier signs of her pregnancy profoundly. He sighed. "You should be resting."

Her intense eyes narrowed at him. She would never like that pestering. "I told you I am fine. Now, stop avoiding it."

"It?" he said, leaning back into his chair. "It being what, exactly?"

She crossed her arms, very much annoyed. "Do not play games with me, Cambyses. Have you talked to them about your plans concerning the Veldt?"

Cambyses sighed. "No. I haven't. My father is already over extending himself by throwing himself into working with Setzer and my advisors full time. I will not bother him with something I haven't even thought out entirely."

"What is there more to think about?" she asked him, voice edging towards anger. "You know your sister is alive. You know that she's being tortured. Isn't that enough?"

"That's not what I meant, Cadence!" he snapped. "Of course that's enough to make me want to go, to save her! What happened the last time I just rushed into something, though? It brought on this entire situation! If I rush forward with just vengeance and rescue on mind, it will cloud my judgement. What if I arrive at Roskovo and...and Bertrand executes her? What will I do then?"

"You cannot refuse to act on fear something worse could happen," she told him. "While you do, she remains there, tortured. Besides, you already told your parents you intended to hasten the war efforts. Your father is even working to help with that. Are you going to back track on that all, tell them that you changed your mind?"

"Of course not," he grumbled, looking away. "I...I just don't want to be responsible for worsening my sister's life yet again."

Cadence's temper finally bent. "And you think that instead of trying, it is better to let her stew than risk worsening her lot?"

"That's not exactly what I meant—"

"Then fight for your sister!"

He hadn't heard this kind of anger and disappointment in Cadence in a very long time. It startled him...and unnerved him. Every time she got like this, he could only see her mother's piercing eyes burn him. That scolding look which felt like ice to be under. "It's complicated Cadence..."

"No, it really isn't." she crossed her arms. "We know that you made mistakes Cambyses, everyone does. Do you think that your sister will hold you accountable for what has happened, is that?" it felt as if someone dug a knife into his chest. He winced and she unfolded her arms, alarmed. "You do. Cambyses, your sister loves you, with all of her heart. Why would she think this is your fault?"

"I betrayed her Cadence. If I had not done that..."

"What do you think would have happened?" she asked. "Do you think that lunatic would have abandoned his interest in her and your family? Don't be ridiculous! He would have found a way to get his hands on her. This isn't your fault!" she went to him then and sat beside him to take his hands in hers. "Look at me Camb...look at me." slowly, he turned his eyes to her. "Your sister could never hold you at fault for this. You know it."

Tearfully, he said, "Of course I know that, but it...it doesn't stop the fear. The nightmares. This unmanageable pain. This guilt."

Cadence frowned and reached out to touch his face. "Don't you think Emma deserves the chance to tell you whether or not she forgives you?" He let his tears fall and took his wife into a hug. She soothed him the best that she could. "Everything will be alright Camb." she held him even tighter. "It will be alright. It will."

---

The days had gone by very slowly for Emma. When she was awake, it was almost a constant shift between lucidity while drugged for her pains, and confusion when she wasn't. The pain would be so great it took every inch of mental space from her. The room would spin and her skin would melt, and she could almost feel the bones beneath her skin shifting and creaking. It was unbearable. Lucas and Sherra tried their hardest to keep her soothed from her pain, but sometimes, they couldn't medically. Emma could only take the medications once every six hours, and it lasted usually about three hours.

In those few hours between pain and ease, Emma spent them twisting fitfully in her bed, biting back sobs, too afraid to voice them or incur Bertrand's wrath. Lucas tried any means of reducing her pain, along with Sherra of course. They tried herbal drinks, natural plant based powders and pills and even tried putting her to sleep. That only made her squirm painfully in her sleep.

And when she was awake, and drugged, the time was spent either undergoing more experimentation from Alveri and Johl in the form of dozens of needles and such, or listening to Lucas discuss their plans for the future—though sometimes she drowned him out and could never really remember everything he talked to her about. When he questioned her about it later, thankfully her medical state removed any anger it might have ordinarily given him. He was understanding instead, and to Emma's fury, very gentle and patient with her. It disgusted her to think that, to know he was being kind to her despite everything he ever did to her, but it was a truth she could not avoid. And making matters worse...she was thankful for it.

When it came to their arrangement, she tried to get it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. She would just lay there and stare at the roof, praying every night that this time—that this humiliation—might be the last, at least for a few months, but life never grew within her. And Lucas, and Bertrand, really tried their hardest to make it happen. Almost every night. Emma didn't know which to pray for to be the father. It felt wrong to think one could be better than the other. They couldn't. They were both monsters, but some days she weighed which was more a beast than the other. It would constantly switch between the two.

On this particular day, she was lying down listening to Lucas read one of the many books Sherra had gotten her. His voice was monotone and every character in the book sounded cold and calculating. The story had blurred as background noise to her one hour in. Her mind focused on the pale, crumbling stone roof of their room, wondering when each individual stone would eventually give away or how old the newer blocks were, or counting them and never succeeding.

"There among the trees, Zelden could see..." Lucas' voice drifted off and Emma hadn't even noticed, not until he spoke up. "...are you not listening to me, Emma?" that made her pull her attention abruptly from the ceiling to him. His long face was shadowed under the fading sunrise from the windows beside him.

Emma sighed. "I'm sorry..." hopefully he would assume an excuse for her, and relieve her from his potential annoyance.

He closed the book sharply, but not angrily. "That is fine. You are probably exhausted. We will continue it tomorrow." he sat the book down the table beside him and stood. "I will have the chef bring something suitable around, and then we can conclude the night and I'll mix your medications for you." Emma stopped trying to show him acknowledgement with nodding, it hurt too much. Lucas didn't care that in this instance she didn't do it. Eye contact or a simple grumble or something was enough for him right now. "I will see you shortly then, my love." he knelt and kissed her forehead, and then promptly went for the door.

Emma felt a chill go through her as the recognition of who was approaching in the hallway hit her. The intense saffron, oranges and cardamom. She tensed so quickly, so suddenly, it made her cry in pain. Lucas turned immediately, startled, and then the door opened and in came Bertrand. For a moment Lucas hesitated on what to do; return to her or keep his father at bay.

"Good. I see that you are both still present." part of his "greetings" were always meant as an insulting joke for her. He crossed his arms and smirked at his son, standing a foot or so away from him. "Do not hurt yourself boy. I'm not here for pleasure."

Emma glanced worriedly from Bertrand to Lucas. If this wasn't about his 'pleasures', it meant something far worse. She mentally went over the things he could be here for. There wasn't a lot on the list. There was his pleasures, which he took every other night and then there were the experiment days when he would accompany Alveri and Johl during injections or tests, though she still wasn't sure what they were testing. Beyond that, he would like to randomly drop in to insult and joke about her directly to her, or terrorize her with threats and demeaning comments.

Let him go quickly, she begged the gods. Please...

Lucas was not in the mood. "Then if you are not here for your time with Emma, you can leave."

Bertrand laughed. "Is that so?" he turned his eyes to Emma then, and she felt as if a vice had been placed on her heart. "I am here for the girl."

"Why?" Lucas asked.

"Why?" Bertrand turned his eyes away from Emma to his son. "I've come to demonstrate how much our little bird has learned in her cage, of course. Do you remember our last conversation, little abomination?"

"Now isn't the time for your bullshit," Lucas snapped. "She hasn't gone under your insane reformation father, now leave."

It was becoming very hard to breathe. Emma knew what was going to happen. The pressure in the room always changed when one of them were angry. It was like a heat would surround her and squeeze her throat. And she knew that Lucas trying to intervene between them would only mean more pain for her whenever Bertrand would eventually get his way. In those instances he would mock her about her "knight in shining armor" failing her before hurting her most intensely than he would have otherwise.

She prayed that he would just stop, that he would just let Bertrand have his way, but the fear kept her mouth closed. It could be much worse for her if herself tried to worm out of whatever was going to happen.

"Well, let us put it to a test then, hmm?" he began to walk toward her, but Lucas stopped him. "Step aside son. Do not test me right now."

"She needs her rest father," he said. "You can do whatever this is later."

Bertrand scoffed and shoved his son out of the way and went to the end of the bed. Emma reedified herself for the onslaught. "Prove to me you are learning your place, girl. Tell us who it is that you love."

Emma's eyes quickly went to Lucas and then back to him. She understood just fine what he wanted from her, even if it had not been brought up before. The thought of going back to that room, to that contraption, to feel all of that pain again. It was unbearable. She would give him anything if it meant avoiding that room again. She tried to speak but the nervousness and fear she felt made the words come out in a unintelligible mess. Ordinarily, the screw up would have made Bertrand laugh and joke, but it only infuriated him now.

"I couldn't understand a damn thing you said!"

"Father, enough!" Lucas put a hand on his shoulder. "She's tired and in pain, let her rest."

Bertrand shoved his arm away and looked at her. "Speak up girl and answer the damn question. I am not in the mood to try and discern your idiotic babble." at her hesitation, the last of his patience snapped. He charged over and slapped her. Lucas hurried to him and tried to hold her back. "Answer me!"

"That's enough, gods damn it! Stay away from her!"

"I will stop as soon as the bitch answers me, boy!" he turned his hard, angry gaze back to Emma. "Tell us who you love."

Emma's tears burned in her eyes, and the speed in which she tried to correct her mistake—to appease him—disgusted her. "I...I l-l-love Lucas." his brows furrowed and she desperately thought of what she said wrong, and then realized. "I...I love Lucas and B-Bertrand."

The man smiled. "And who is Alexander?"

I'm sorry, she thought. I'm so sorry. "He's no one."

He reached to grip her arm, hard, and she gave a cry. "What did we discuss during our last visit, girl?"

She corrected herself quickly. "He's m-my past."

"And what is he now?" he asked next, still gripping with the same strength.

Her eyes widened. She couldn't remember. She had been so tired. He squeezed harder and she sputtered. "Forgotten!" when he released her, she closed her eyes against the pain. Bertrand was laughing now, but Lucas was furious and was demanding he leave immediately.

"There! You have seen the reformation you so crave, now leave her to her rest!"

Bertrand laughed again. "Oh. You think this changes anything? You think obeying me out of fear means she's reformed?" he whistled, and several soldiers hurried into the room, looking anxious. Lucas tensed, hands tightening into fists. "This means nothing. She is still that disobedient, stubborn little bitch she was the day she arrived here. I will have her change, by gods, will I have broken her down to nothing so that I might rebuild her into something. Something powerful!"

"Listen to yourself!" Lucas howled, gesturing to her. "You sound insane! She's giving you exactly what you want! She's changed!"

"No," Bertrand snarled. "She's a smart little bitch. She knows what to say to keep me from losing it. It won't mean a god damn thing until she feels it, until there is nothing else in her but the desire to appease us."

"You're demented!"

"You still doubt me," he chuckled. "That is all well and good. I did not expect you to understand the scope of what we have before us, but I will demonstrate the extent of what she's able to do once she has been broken in."

Emma began to cry loudly as the soldiers neared. "I'm sorry," she cried pathetically. "Forgive me...please!" the soldiers took her up by her arms and began to drag her towards Bertrand. Lucas charged them immediately and tried to pry her out of their hands, but one of the soldiers took to holding him back.

"Let her go, gods damn it! She's in no condition for this!"

All at once, the noises in the room drew still when a terrified and confused female voice broke through. "W-what's going on?" Emma tried to hold her head high enough to see, even though she knew it was Sherra by the smell. When she saw the woman being guided forcefully, but gently, into the room by two soldiers her heart sank. She couldn't believe it. No. How could this be? How?! She was doing everything they wanted, everything they asked for! Why were they doing this, why?!

When their eyes met, Emma tried so very hard to pull away from the soldiers, to stand—to help her—but her body could not respond to her desires. Instead, she looked at Bertrand with tears in her eyes. "P-p-please, don't h-hurt her because of m-me!"

Bertrand snorted and slapped her to quiet her. "You will speak when spoken to, you whore!"

Lucas shoved one of the soldiers away and tried to take her into his arms, but another soldier hurried up to hold him back. "Father, tell your men to unhand me this instance!"

"Oh, do be quiet boy and let your father explain," he gestured for the soldier to drag him back. He then turned to his wife. "When are you due, woman?"

Sherra looked nervously from the princess to her husband. "I don't see where—"

He then turned to his son, ignoring her. "I will show you that today will be the last day the abomination fights against authority. I will have broken her so completely that anything you desire of her, she will give you." Lucas' eyes widened. "You only need to give me a chance to prove it, here and now."

"Lucas, do not help him!" Sherra cried, and at Bertrand's order, one of the soldiers went to cover her mouth.

Emma watched as the young prince glanced her over quickly before nodding to his father. "You have only one chance. If you fail here, you do not come back, not until she has healed."

The mad king laughed. "You have yourself a deal." he then turned and came to stand before Emma, brows furrowed, eyes dark and menacing. "You have given your brother a thorough fooling resisting me as far as you have, but as with all things, they break. I only needed to find the right pressure point for you, as I have had to do with all before you. It is true...you are tougher than your brother and many others, but what made cracking you open tough was not that you are strong. Gods knows that couldn't be true, with how pathetic and small you are, no. It was your stubbornness. Your ignorance. They shielded you from every trick of mine, but they will not do so any longer." he reached to grab her head and hold her still, to look at him. "Transform."

Her eyes widened. This again? What was he talking about? "I...I don't..."

It did little to calm him. He drew his hand tight around her throat and then threw her to the floor. Every inch of her screamed in pain from it. Her elbows and knees felt ready to burst, and her legs limp and throbbing. She began to cry. Bertrand did not relent though. He pressed a boot to her right elbow and pushed as hard as he could without snapping the bone further.

"I said transform, you useless cunt!" Emma's scream was so loud, so piercing, it burned her eyes and throat. Lucas had enough. He shoved his father off of her and then knelt beside her, to bring her gently into his arms. Emma could barely keep her thoughts straight, to concentrate on him and Bertrand, to hear the commands, to avoid what was to come the best that she could. But everything was spinning, every thought was on her pain. The arms that held her gripped so hard the bones protested, but she was so disorientated she couldn't beg him to let her go, to stop. To make it all stop.

But he could not hear her thoughts. She would be stuck in this vicious pain until they were done with her.

•••••••••••

"Gather your men and leave, at once!" Lucas howled, holding Emma as close to him as he could. She was squirming and mumbling incoherently, tears streaming down her face. "I said leave!" he insisted, when not a one of them began to leave.

"Look at what this whore has done to you," Bertrand said, gesturing to him and Emma both. "She has entwined you so thoroughly with that spot between her legs you cannot see the light of day anymore."

He was doing everything in his power to refrain from doing something that would get Emma hurt further, or worse, killed. It was so difficult though. Looking at his father right now only burned his hatred and inflamed his desire to tear his throat out of him. "If you do not leave this damn room, you will regret it!" with all the care in the world he could muster, and all the gentleness that could come with it, he laid Emma down beside him and stood. "I will not tolerate another hand laid against her, father. I will not. You have gone too far. You are behaving like...like some..." the words escaped him. This behavior was extreme. In all his years of seeing how his father dealt with his enemies, or with women, never had he seen the cruelty he has seen pitted against Emma on any other.

"I do what I must." he said simply.

"What is it about her that infuriates you so, father?!" he demanded. "She is just a little girl! Is your ego so fragile her defiance breaks you, is that it?"

"Enough!" his father snarled, pushing him aside. "I will make you realize this creature's potential, one way or another." he gestured to his men to take Lucas and then approached the girl lying on the floor with fury burning in his eyes. "Transform, you pitiful little thing, or I will burn it out of you." but all she could do was tremble and cry, a pathetic little thing on the floor, broken and lost. The words that crept from her mouth during her state made no sense, but the depth of her pain was something Lucas was sure even Bertrand could clearly discern.

"You must see that she cannot understand you right now! Let her rest for gods' sake!"

His father ignored him though and ordered a soldier to lift her up. The man did so reluctantly, and cringed when he lifted her and she gave a dry, throaty cry of pain. Bertrand took a vase from a nearby table and tore the flowers from it and then faced Emma. He splashed it into her face and she sputtered and tried to lift her head, to look at him. It was clear she was trying to pay attention, to give Bertrand what he wanted, but it was difficult. "I have shown great restraint when it comes to you," Bertrand snarled, reaching to grip her face and hold her gaze to his. "I could have cut you to pieces. I could have left you so immobile you couldn't even relieve yourself without help. I could do so much more to you, and yet I do not. You reward that mercy of mine with this insolent behavior and it ends tonight. If you will not transform for me, perhaps you will do so for someone you love?"

He let her go and turned to Sherra. He grabbed the woman by her hair and dragged her toward Emma. Lucas fought against his captors when his father drew a dagger from his belt and pressed it to Sherra's throat, eyes burning as they held onto the crippled exile of Figaro. "If you do not transform here and now, I will have no need of you. And I will be furious. Furious enough to carve the child out of this worthless whore's body and feed it to our hounds."

Emma tried to hold his gaze, to speak, but kept closing her eyes against the pain, distracted. Lucas knew she was too gone to know what was going on, at least not fully. Even if she were capable of doing whatever it was his father wanted, Emma wouldn't be able to in that state. He fought again, but his captors held on firm. "Look at her father, she cannot understand you! This can wait until the morning, at the very least! When she is capable!"

"Nonsense!" he snarled. "She understands me. That's one of the reasons she's so disobedient, that wily cunning of hers." he pressed the dagger to Sherra's throat a bit more. "She knows exactly what is happening around her, don't you little abomination?" her intangible mumble was his answer, but he laughed. "So be it. You will have her corpse!" he pressed the dagger to Sherra's throat even further, drawing blood.

Emma's howling cry pierced the room. The walls and ground shook tremendously beneath them and the lights began to flicker. Before anyone could even move a muscle, the space between them all grew hot and then exploded. The force of the explosion threw them all back. Lucas hit the wall hard and dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for the air that had been knocked out of him. His father and his mother had been thrown, though even in this confusion, his father had managed to cradle her fall. It had all been a show for Emma, but the poor girl did not realize it.

The heat in the room was becoming unbearable. His throat dried so fast, so painfully, he began coughing. He drew his eyes up and saw Emma jerking about roughly on the floor. Her skin was on fire, burning away into fur. Her arms were bent beside her, fingers clawed almost in protest. Her wails continued, getting hoarser and more pained every second. Another explosion came then, and her body began changing. Her limbs grew, the noises they made as they twisted and bent sickened him, and what was once pale skin was now blackened fur with angry, crimson tones. Two horns, roughly the size of his forearm, grew out of her head, as black as soot. She shed tears of blood as her purple-blue eyes burned away into coppery coins.

The pressure in the room died away then and she was rising to her feet, steaming rolling off her fur and smoke coming from her mouth and nostrils. Lucas could only stare, horrified. She turned her eyes to him. For half a heart beat, he recognized them, could see Emma in them, but when she fly toward him with inhuman speed, snarling like some beast, what he saw was nothing like the girl he had fallen in love with. This was an unholy demon. A fury unleashed.

Her claws reached his throat within just a second or two, but when he felt the claws touch his throat, his father was quick to order her to stop. Somehow, the fiercesome creature holding his life in her hands stopped, though her face contorted angrily, painfully. The claws still remained at his throat, a mere inch away from spilling his blood. She growled and in her eyes, he could only see blood lust.

"I said stop!" Bertrand shouted, standing as he helped Sherra back to her feet. Just when it seemed as if she were in control, she snarled and pressed her claws to his throat. He felt blood trickle down his throat even as his father gave the order again, this time with a deeper tone. "Stop!" and just like that, she seemed to be frozen in place. It was her snarls that revealed to Lucas the struggle she was giving to disobey. "Step away from him. Now!" She struggled fruitlessly at first but then stepped away a foot or so, breathing hard.

Bertrand laughed, almost hysterically. "Incredible! Come here, beast!" Emma's body trembled against the order, but ultimately she went to him. He gestured to the ground by his feet. "Bow." without so much as a struggle as before, she complied and prostrated herself before him. "Look at me, you abomination." she lifted her head to do as she was told, and everyone in the room could see the blood pouring from her eyes.

It was enough to break Lucas from his fear, his trance. He rubbed a hand at his throat and drew himself from his pathetic state to near his father. "What is the meaning of this?! What have you done to her?!"

"I only awoke what was within her," Bertrand answered, with a small smile. "It has taken me so very long, but at last, her power is in my control."

"This..." he glanced down at the beastly creature that had once been the bright-eyed girl of his dreams and shivered. "This is what you wanted? To turn her into this...this thing?"

"This is the power of her mother and her mother's people," Bertrand said. "A power with almost no limits. It just took more than breaking her to make her transform. The injections weren't working until her first transformation, but even then, we couldn't get her to get back into that state. She was just too stupid, too stubborn, for my methods to work."

Lucas turned his eyes back to the girl bowing before his father and his eyes widened at the realization of what his father was inferring. The torture—the means of severe pain to force a change—wasn't working on Emma because she did not care for her own welfare. They could have continued for years and it wouldn't have changed, since she held no value in herself. The catalyst for her change was an object of her affection needing her help, or seeing her in danger causing such fear it prompted something in her. And that had been Sherra.

"Sherra..." he whispered, almost sadly.

Bertrand smiled. "Yes. And now that she has transformed, the serum is coursing through her blood. We have more control over her than what magicite offered to its hosts. Might we see where that control takes us, son?"

The woman in question tearfully jerked free of her husband's arms and went to Emma. She wrapped her arms around the girl and quickly pulled away in a gasp, having been burned. "Emma, my dear girl...I'm so sorry!" she cried.

"Oh, stop your sniffling woman," Bertrand snapped his fingers and had soldiers bring Sherra back to her feet. "Take her to her room and see to it that she doesn't leave it until I have called for her. Lucas and I have business to conclude here."

"Bertrand, please! This is madness! You have won, just let her rest! I beg of you!" She tore from the hands of the soldiers and practically flung herself to his feet, hands cupped, as if she were praying to him. "I beg of you, let her rest. Let this day end, please!"

Lucas knew his mother was right, and it angered him to actually agree with her. This had gone on for far too long. The point had been made. They clearly broke Emma. This had no reason to continue on other than to be unnecessarily cruel. "Father, she's right. You have proven yourself already. Let her rest now."

"I will tell you when I am through here," he snapped at them, shoving Sherra away from him a bit. "Get this woman out of my sight. Now." the soldiers went forward and started to drag her out of the room. The entire way through she was crying and screaming for Bertrand to listen to her, but the man never removed his eyes from the bowing creature at his feet. He knelt and lifted her face further, so he could look her over. Her eyes blazed angrily at him. "That's it. Show me your fury. It will not do you any good anymore, but it will bring me to good spirits nonetheless."

Lucas stepped forward. "Father, please, I'm asking you as a son. Let her rest now."

His father stood and looked at him. "Do you not understand, boy? She is ours now. She is without disobedience."

Lucas knew not to question that. How could manipulation like this come to true obedience? It had to be something she actually felt, not what she was compelled to do without resistance. It wasn't the same. His father was going insane. "I'm sure of it father, but regardless, she is not in any state to maintain this any longer. Would you risk your new found rule with her by letting her perish, or weaken further?" if there was a way to reason with him, he had to try and find it.

It was all for nothing though, as everything he said went in one ear and out the other. "We should have a demonstration of her obedience," he said, smiling as he turned back to Emma, still bowing pathetically in her place. "I should think a toss or two between us ought to reveal how far this has changed her."

It was very clear to Lucas what his father was insinuating. To share her with others was already something he could barely tolerate, but to share her together... it was the most revolting thing his father had ever suggested, or desired. This was not how this would go! "No."

Bertrand's eyes betrayed the cool of his face. "No? Have you lost all your desire for this little beast, then?"

"I will not share her with you like she's some whore," he snarled. "You have had your fun and your little prize. I want you to leave us alone...now."

His father chuckled and then smiled, thinly. "If that is what you want, my dear son, I will go. I should hate to think I'm leaving without my dues, though." he gestured to Emma. "You will test your little abomination's obedience or I will strip her skin to the bone."

Furious, and yet knowing his father did not make empty threats, he tightened his jaw and said, "Fine. I will. Now you can leave."

"Oh, no," he wiggled a finger at him, amused. "I do not trust you. You do so now, so I may witness it, or I will test the girl myself."

Gods damn it, he thought. You will pay for this one day, you old bastard. "Fine."

"Good!" he took several steps back and corked his eye brows. "Go on then. Tell her to leave this insulting state behind first. I will not stomach seeing her like this a moment longer."

Lucas went to her side then and knelt. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked at him with eyes that shone like copper coins. Blood still stained her cheeks where they ran as tears. It was hard to discern much of the girl he loved behind those eyes, but even if they had changed, it was impossible not to see that same sort of fear and pain in them as Emma's bright eyes usually had.

"You can let go Emma," he whispered. Those eyes only stared back at him. Bertrand chuckled behind him, amused. Right. It had to come as a command. "Let go of your state now, Emma." with what he could only describe as pain over coming her, she squeezed her eyes shut and trembled. It was as if her body was in auto, and not knowing how to actually do it herself was causing her pain. Within a few seconds of struggle, her body began to steam away back to pale skin. To that timid girl of beauty, and those bright eyes and lovely lips he adored with every fiber of his being. She collapsed, exhausted and still in pain from her injuries, but he caught her in his arms. "It is okay. I have you now." he soothed her for a long moment, rocking her until her cries became quiet and the fierce trembling broke to what felt more like shivers.

It was clear to Lucas that his father had reached lengths he was not comfortable with, and that it would only get worse. The girl that he loved, that he swore to protect, would continue to suffer. It didn't matter if he knew that there were times in which Emma needed a hard hand to guide her, or that sometimes she needed to be shown what was best for her. It only mattered that his father had now taken things way too far, and he couldn't let it continue. He had to do something, anything, to stop it. Or at least, lessen it.

"I will not be kept," his father snapped from behind him.

Lucas would have turned and tore his throat out had he not feared the repercussions of his loyalists. Instead, he gently lifted Emma to his arms and looked down at her disgruntled expression with a frown. "I will be as gentle as I can," he whispered to her, though he was certain she had not heard him when she moaned painfully from the tight clutch he had on her. "I promise you." but he knew once he would give her the orders his father wanted of him, there would only be pain for her. And it filled him with dread.

He laid her on the bed and gripped her cold, little hand. "I'm sorry..." and then he whispered the commands.

•••••••••••

For just a moment, the world came to a stop around her. She could feel this uncontrollable rage deep within her heart, this power so great she had feared it greatly. A fear that out-shadowed the fear she harbored for Bertrand. It was if something tore within her; all she could think of was causing pain, to see it happen to others. It felt as if her blood was boiling within her, and in an instance, she was not in control of her anger anymore. Something had wrestled it from her grasp, and she could see through eyes that were no longer hers as she nearly spilt Lucas' life out of his puny little body. And, for once, the fear of it was washed away by pleasure. This was not her voice, no. This was her. And she was so close to ending her tormenters that her heart sung.

As quickly as it had been, it was over. She could hear the whispers of a man breaking into her mind, and it took her only second to recognize who it was. Bertrand. She could feel the reigns of control slipping out of this new power's hands, and far away from her own. This burning fire which had momentarily brought her euphoria turned to the pain of ice. She watched as her hand moved away from his delicate throat with terror. What was happening? She didn't want that, and she knew this power hadn't either, and yet the hand moved all the same.

No! She wanted to cry, to scream until her lungs burst. Go back! Go back! She wanted Lucas to hurt the way that she had, until she could make him breathe his last breath. Her body betrayed her though, and soon she was kneeling at Bertrand's feet. Emma was screaming inside, but her body would not react. Get up, get up! But her body remained rigid, like stone.

His words burned in her head like fire. She screamed again but nothing came of it. "Look at me, you abomination." and every inch of her moved immediately to do as he bid. He touched her face, and she could do nothing more than keep his stare.

As they talked around her, a pressure in her head began to build, and the pain was immense. What had he done to her? What was this? Why had her body fought her so? And...what happened to her? This alien power, this rising anger and lust for pain, was nothing she ever had experienced before. And it only began today, when they were about to hurt Sherra. It felt so much like that of her lost voice, but amplified so intensely, she knew it was her. And only her. And yet mirrored, she could feel something else there. Almost like another person, just out of reach, and they too lost control of her—their—body.

Time seemed to be slipping out of understanding. It was if she washed away into a deep sleep and woke, every few seconds or so. Everything was blurring, the line between her and the other part of her.

"You can let go Emma," something in her would not let her look away from him, it was if she were stone. His eyes held hers, the softest she had seen then in so long. "Let go of your state now, Emma." everything began to burn within her. The pain of it was unbearable. She wanted to hold on, to whatever this strange power was, this sense of being so aware, but it was like water running through her hands. Her head began to pound fiercely, and within seconds her body writhed before all her energy left her. The sensation, that beloved power, was gone. All that was left to her now was that very human pain in her limbs and her head, this complete and utter weakness she had hated since she was old enough to understand just how fragile she was.

She sunk to the floor, but he had caught her, and tried to soothe away her pain. There was nothing in the world that could take this away from her. It felt as if her bones were expanding beneath her skin and then sharply contracting, over and over again. Eventually, her body and mind grew too exhausted, and she could do nothing more than whine pitifully. She could hear Bertrand, and knew what it was he was demanding, but she could not find the energy to divide between her pain and her fear.

"I will be as gentle as I can," he whispered to her, his embrace feeling like an vice grip on her. "I promise." She whined again, and he loosened the hold to lie her down. "I'm sorry..." and then put his lips to her ear and whispered.

---

"And how many do we have in reserve?"

Hals shifted uncomfortably on his feet and cleared his throat. "We have seven thousand, your Majesty."

"Seven thousand..." he whispered, staring down at the campaign map with great focus. "I cannot hold Figaro with seven thousand. I cannot take Roskovo with seven thousand holding the line here!"

"No," Hals agreed quietly.

Cambyses slammed his hands hard onto the table. "I cannot free my sister with seven thousand!"

Across the table, from where she stood, Celes shook her head. "The bulk of our military remains in Roskovo. We must consider how best to spend our energy, our resources. Do we maintain Roskovian land, or do we return them to Figaro and bolster defenses? We are already stretched thin with our navy divided between our seas and that of Thamasa. We cannot do this for much longer."

"I'm afraid General Chere is right, my king. We must decide and commit, or we will run ourselves thin 'ere long."

Cambyses could not decide this right now. All of the loss of life for a war across the sea...how could he tell those men, and their surviving families, that they died for nothing? They fought to secure that land, to better help their nation, for the effort of rescuing their princess. If he ordered the men back, it would have meant that land drank their blood for nothing.

I have seven thousand left to defend Figaro, he thought angrily. I will do what I must. Bertrand will have blood, but it will be his and his kin. "No. We do not pull them from their posts." he stood straight. "I want conscripts to be sent out."

Hals was alarmed. "Your Majesty...we have already run conscripts twice—"

"I am not senile, Hals. I know what we did. I am telling you to do it again."

"I think what Hals is trying to tell you is that if we do this again, we are likely to create an issue on home soil we are not ready for."

Cambyses looked at Celes squarely. "I want the conscripts. I do not care how you get them. Pay them double or triple...I do not care. Convince them it is too sweet a deal to disregard."

"Can the royal coffers afford such promises?" Celes asked, angrily. "You must think this through—"

"I have told you what to do. I want it done!" he snapped. "If gil is the issue, I will pry it from Bertrand's kingdom. If he lacks even that, I will carve land out of his country and give it to every man who serves. I want this done. And I want it done now."

Celes uncomfortably crossed her arms and nodded. "I will have it done then." she said her goodbyes shortly and was on her way. Hals went about the task of clearing up the documents and what not strewn across the table. Cambyses felt a bit embarrassed for the out burst, but it both infuriated him and weakened him as a king to be questioned so openly and continuously. Would they have done the same with his father? No. Cambyses was certain they wouldn't. Because they had no cause to. He closed his eyes against his shame and pity. I have shown them numerous times I am not yet ready for this position on my own. Their counsel will save me...it will save Figaro.

"Hals..." the man looked at him. "I am sorry for snapping at you like that. Please, forgive me and if you would not mind, could you share my apology with Celes?"

He nodded. "Of course. We understand the pressure laid on your shoulders, we knew it meant nothing."

"Thank you. I must speak with my mother and father." he gave the map one last look, and then folded it. "On the morrow, we will continue this discussion. I do hope to hear good news, for once." with that, Cambyses departed as quickly as he could. He knew his mother and father tried to exhaust the day quickly now, and would be retiring to their chambers soon. It was the only way, he thought, that his mother could deal day to day. To forget life as best as she could manage. It was of course no way to live, and Cambyses grew afraid, but it was all that she could do and he could not take it from her.

He caught his mother first.

She was sitting quietly in the back of their quarters, mulling over the photos of her daughter, while his father sat beside her, staring at one image in particular. It was the first time he had seen his mother looking through them. It stopped him only for a minute. "Mother...father..."

Terra was the last between them to look up from the photos. Her eyes were reddened. She had been crying. She wiped at them quickly, as if ashamed to be seen like that, and sat the photos down. "Cambyses dear...w-what are you doing here?"

"Do you not have a meeting?" his father asked, equally confused.

He sighed and went to take a seat opposite of them. "I just left. I...I have something I must discuss with you both."

"Of course," his father said, gesturing for him to continue. "We are here to listen."

His mother held his gaze, and he couldn't help but feel disappointment in that stare. Though it was ridiculous to think his mother, of all people, could feel that way. It was were his sister got that kindness from, after all. "This is about Roskovo."

That made her eyes widened, but it was his father that spoke first. "What about it?"

"I...I have been considering ways we might bolster Figaro's defenses so that we might be able to return full force to Roskovo." he paused. If he were to sell this plan, he would need them both to feel the oppressive weight of defeat otherwise. "As we are now...we do not have the strength to return to Roskovo, let alone to continue our efforts there."

Terra's eyes started to water up. "You...no. No." she stood up, but his father took her arm to steer her back into her seat. "Let go of me Edgar, I will not hear this!"

"Terra my love, please, let the boy continue..."

Reluctantly she sat back down, though she crossed her arms and glared at him. Cambyses reached to loosen the collar of his shirt. It was as if Emma were glaring back at him right now. "You do not need to fret mother. I have sat down and thought about how I can achieve it, despite what little we have. As father might have already told you, were are split in three ways right now; the bulk of our navy is currently in Thamasan waters defending them, more than half of our ground forces remain in Roskovo and meager eleven thousand remain on Figaro soil—which seven of that stationed within Figaro walls. We are at our limit."

"You are telling me reasons why you cannot go back to Roskovo...where is this plan you speak of?"

"You need to understand the gravity of our situation," he spoke gently. "As we are now, we will fail. It may not be tomorrow or within the month, but it is coming. It is only a matter of time. If I hold Roskovo, Bertrand can push toward Figaro and there will be nothing to stop him. If I leave Roskovo to bolster up Figaro, Bertrand regains profitable and tactically advanced positions again that I may not be able to re-take should we eventually return to Roskovo. He is many things mother, but a fool is not one of them. He will have doubled, maybe even tripled, defenses and positions."

"And what is your solution?" his father asked after a moment.

Cambyses sighed and sat up straight. "The Veldt."

Terra frowned. "We have already been through this. They cannot offer us an alliance, let alone replenish our strength with their own."

"Your mother is right," Edgar said. "It is not within their way. Alliance falls to kin first, and those who have become kin through centuries of friendship. It is their way of weeding out risk."

"Yes...that is their way," he agreed. "But that is the way of the old. In five months time, who will sit upon the Veldtic throne?" it took a moment, but his father's eyes widened.

"Qudin..."

"Yes, Qudin," Cambyses said. "And unlike most of his brothers, and his father or uncles, Qudin has shown more interest in the world and alliances that sit outside their own. He has always said he was committed to Figaro...and was it not that long ago that his oldest helped Figaro? Helped mother? There is a desire of change amongst them, but it will take a leader that can will it forward."

"And...and you think Qudin would break tradition to craft an alliance with us?" Terra asked. "Why...why would the Veldt allow a man so open to change to become their ruler?"

"His rulership is set in stone mother. He could scream from the roof tops he desires to change all of Veldt, and there won't be a thing they could do. A Seventh Son is not only of religious significance to them, but cultural. It has been written thoroughly into their laws, even. It is only a matter of time until Qudin takes his father's place."

"And why would he offer to help us, then?"

"I have not yet discussed it with him," he admitted. "I have, however, sent word to our ambassador in Veldt to convey the desire for a meeting. If he agrees, I will explain to him my idea...my hopes."

"He has no reason to agree," Edgar offered. "There is no profit in securing Figaro right now."

Cambyses cleared his throat. This is where it was going to be very difficult in getting them to agree... "As it is now, there is little profit for Qudin, that is true."

The way he worded it seemed to click with his mother. Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean by 'as it is now', Cambyses?"

"You will not like it but I see no other course..."

"You will not speak another word of this," she demanded, standing. Her eyes were dark with anger.

Edgar glanced between them. "What in heavens is she talking about, son?"

"The only way to secure an alliance with Qudin in the circumstance that he cannot offer one outside of family would be to make him family." his father shook his head, understanding now. "You cannot disregard this offer so quickly. We would be have sufficient means of returning to Roskovo, of rescuing Emma."

"At what cost?" he demanded. "Your sister?!"

"You act as if he would not be kind to her, as if he wouldn't love her," he said. "Father, you know how smitten he is with Emma. He would be good for her...to her!"

"I'm sure he is a saint," Edgar snarled. "But she wouldn't love him."

"Is love really necessary all of the time?" he asked them.

Terra's temper was shot. "It was important for you though, wasn't it?" He hadn't expected such fury from his mother. He looked at her, startled. "Do not look at me like that, young man. You are telling us you are planning to trade our daughter's hand in marriage to a man she doesn't know while she's stuck thousands of miles away enduring pain you can't even begin to fathom. If you didn't expect fury on our end, and displeasure, you were fooling yourself. We will not allow our daughter to be traded yet again."

"Not even if it means her own safety?!"

"What part of this don't you understand?" Edgar demanded. "What would it mean to her should we finally rescue her only to stand in her way and tell her whom she will marry? What do you think she would feel, going from the torment of her captors, directly into the hands of a man she doesn't know, away from her family and the man she actually loves?"

"It would mean she's alive!"

"You would call that living?" he asked, standing now. "Would you also call what she endures now as 'living'?"

"What? Of course not! The two are completely different situations!"

"You have heard our answer," Terra told him. "We will not have this. If you cannot receive Qudin's support without your sister, we will not have it. I will go to Roskovo myself and free her. I will not trade her. I will not have it happen again!" and with that, she stormed out of the room with all the fury she could display. When she slammed the door shut behind her, Edgar jumped.

"Father..." Cambyses whispered. "Surely you understand that this is our only way?"

"You are asking me to decide her fate again," he explained. "I won't do it. I won't be part of something that frees her but ultimately places her into another form of slavery."

"How do you think we will win our war then, without the Veldt?"

"You just need to find another way to convince Qudin," Edgar said, moving around from the table. He placed a hand on Cambyses' shoulder. "I know you can. I have faith in you. Your mother has faith in you but most of all...your sister has faith in you." he patted Camb's shoulder before exiting the room.

Cambyses leaned back into his chair and dangled his head over the back of the chair, to stare at the roof. How am I supposed to convince a prince to abandon centuries worth of tradition for nothing but friendship...?

---

It had been half a day since that encounter, but every time she closed her eyes, it burned in her mind fresh. The way her body moved on its own, the way she tried so hard to deny him but couldn't... she had never felt something like that before, so powerless. All means of decision, of denial, had fled her. Though in her mind she screamed and cried and said no, her body did nothing more than what was asked of her. She touched Lucas how he wanted to be touched and kissed him how he wanted to be kissed...she had given herself to him without even wanting to give herself to him. All while he watched from the other side of the room.

She felt nothing but shame and hate, and it was all for herself. What had she done? Why hadn't she fought back? Why didn't she scream no? Why had she given him everything he asked for? She closed her eyes against her tears. Everything Bertrand had told her, every insult, had been true. If she hadn't wanted it...why didn't she resist? What was wrong with her?

Somewhere in the room someone moved something. Emma knew who it was—Lucas was still asleep beside her after all—but she could not bring herself to face the woman that had cared for her all this time. The shame. The guilt. The fear. The hate. She tightened her eyes, wishing now more than ever she had died in that manor. This was torture unlike any she thought possible. This was death walking.

Sherra drew closer and Emma began to cry. No...go away. Please...please...

"Emma...?" her voice was quiet, gentle. Loving. "Sweet girl, wake up...wake up now." a soft, warm hand touched her face, trying to will her to open her eyes. "You must open your eyes, love. You must." Emma did as she was bid, but her tears came with greater force.

Sherra frowned and shook her head. "No...do not cry. This is not your fault. This was out of your control." she reached to help her up, and that brought pain anew through her entire being. She gave a hoarse cry of pain before she could control herself, and that stirred Lucas awake.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, annoyed. "Mother? What are you..." he seemed to recollect what had transpired and sat up further, more alert. He turned his eyes to the girl beside him and offered a look that border lined grief. "Emma, I...I..."

Sherra shook her head at him. "Since you are awake, you can make yourself useful. Help me get her up. We are to get her clean and ready, for Johl is coming by later to put her in casts." Lucas hurried out of bed, though it was uncertain he did so because his mother ordered it or because he agreed. "Here Emma...this will hurt, but only for a minute or two. You must be brave and strong. Can you do that?" Emma didn't know what she could be anymore. There wasn't a her to begin with anymore. "That's it...careful Lucas, careful!" she snapped when the prince had grabbed at her arms with more force than she could bare. Her whimper threw him even further off guard.

"I'm sorry," he offered, though his tone was short, as if he were annoyed. "Let her go mother and I will do it. It's much easier without you in the way." Sherra scoffed, but stepped away. It was clear two people fussing about the crippled girl was in deed a hassle. With a quick and fluid motion, Lucas had Emma in his arms. The initial pain of being touched came as sharply as they thought it would, but after a moment to adjust in his arms, it subdued to a persistent throb.

"I have the basin readied for her. Bring her in slowly. I do not want quick movement to hurt her..."

Lucas grumbled his acknowledgements and even mumbled about how he knew that already, and carried her away. Emma could not bring herself to look at him, to look at a man she hated with all her being and know what she had done to him.

"That's right, set her down there...carefully though, Lucas! Gods! She's hurt, don't you understand that?!"

He had slipped a little when lying her down into the water. She had hit her shoulder and winced from the pain. He snarled back. "It was an accident!"

"Just leave us be. I need to—"

"I'm not leaving you here with her alone," he said.

"So you will take even this away from her?" she asked him, and the room quiet. Emma struggled to stay above the water, using her elbows. The pain was becoming unbearable, but she dared not cry out. She did not want Lucas to stay. She didn't even want Sherra around.

"I'm not taking anything away from her."

"Is that honestly what you tell yourself?!"

"You have no idea what you are talking about!"

"If you would just open your—" her sentence was cut off by the sharp splash of Emma sinking under the water. Her elbows had given in, and now all she could feel was weightlessness. A sort of...comfort. All of the despair in her heart began to ebb away, into a blackness that seemed so familiar. This wasn't so bad...no. Not bad at all.

Suddenly someone yanked her hard out of the water and her lungs burned for the air that it had been robbed of. Emma felt that fleeting quiet and calm rush away from her like wind to fire. The emptiness of her existence crushed at her again. It was Lucas, though Sherra was just over his shoulder, pale with fright and worry. "Gods!" he gasped, checking her for breathing, even though it was clear she was. "What were you thinking! Why didn't you just lift yourself up!"

Sherra smacked the back of his head. "She couldn't!"

That seemed to reach him more than anything. He looked back at her and Emma could not stomach it, not right now. She turned her eyes away, afraid even they too would betray her as the rest of her had. His eyes softened though and he gently laid her down so her back was against the basin. "Of course..." he stood and then cleared his throat. "You best be careful with her mother. Should I find even a hair astray..."

"Do not threaten me, young man!" she snapped. "As if I would ever hurt her. Now leave!" he grumbled something under his breath before stomping out of the room. When he was gone, Sherra knelt beside the basin and reached to take Emma's hand. "He's gone now, my love, he's gone. You do not have to speak. I'll have you washed up and we will clean and patch your injuries, and then you can go lie down and sleep all you want. If that's what you want..."

Emma could not find the strength to talk to her. She just kept her eyes away, on anything but her. Sherra let out a quiet sigh and then proceeded to help her wash up. When they were through there, she drained the basin and then dried Emma off the best she could from within the basin. The woman was quiet the entire time, and Emma knew it was for her benefit. The noise didn't matter though. The quiet would give her time to remember, but the noise would make her think of it regardless. There was no escape for her.

When Sherra had dried her off and carefully worked her into a very loose night gown that came together at the front, she went out to get the prince. It was, after all, impossible for Sherra to lift her out of basin. When Lucas was back, he was far more careful than he was before. He carried her back into the main room and laid her atop the freshly made bed. The linens were heavily burdened with soap and exotic spices, the later part of a perfume Lucas loved to spray his belongings with. The smell was unbearable for Emma, so sharp that it burned, but she had no room to argue. And if she did now...she was afraid of what he would make her do out of anger.

"You must rest," he told her, tucking the blankets in around her. "You needn't worry about my father...I have him on a short leash for now. You rest as long as you need." before he left he kissed her forehead. Sherra joined her a moment later and sat beside her.

"For once, he is right." she reached over to brush hair out of Emma's face. "You need your rest. You do not need to worry about Bertrand for now. Your...your transformation has lifted his spirits. He will not come to demand of you, not right now." she brushed her hand soothingly down her hair. "Close your eyes my love...close them." Emma couldn't fight back the exhaustion. Though she had just woke, this new exhaustion came of the mind, and the reprieve of it was the most gracious thing she could have had right then. She closed her eyes and for a fleeting moment between lucidity and her dreams, there was nothing, nothing but the thought of how comforting being under the water was...

•••••••••••

Eric paced quietly about his room, nervous and afraid. He stopped and glanced at the ticking clock at the end of his room. It was almost six. An order had come up to his room that morning that he would attend the family dinner at the great hall. It had been months since anyone ate together like that...not since the princess had come to them. Whatever could it be that his father needed him there, of all people?

I can't offer anyone anything, he thought pitifully, remembering his uselessness when it came to the princess and his brother. The more recent failure hurt the most. It had only been a month since the princess transformed. A month since a truer hell was awoken. In that time, he hadn't seen the princess, except for a fleeting moment at the door way when he arrived with a tray of things his mother requested. She had been lying helplessly in her bed, staring at the roof without any of the brightness she had displayed before. He tried to speak, to say hello, but the look on her face and the urgency in his mother's movements told him this was not the time for pleasantries and probably wouldn't be for a very long time.

It was not a surprise what had transpired, either. Eric had been told the purpose of his father's experimentation on the princess a few days after Lucas had been told. He thought it was impossible, the ability to control another human being so completely, but when news raced through the castle that the princess had not only transformed into a "terrifying black and red demon" the king had bent her to his will easily. It didn't take long for his father to practically announce to the castle that he would enjoying her in different ways now, and it would take an idiot not to realize what he meant.

What am I doing... he sat down and held his head. I'm whining over my lot when she's being...being... the words were too difficult for him to even think. No. He was sure that Emma would have told him her suffering didn't erase his own, that was the sort of person she was, but how could he feel any differently? His pain felt minuscule to the depth of hers. He would take a thousand beatings from his father if it meant avoiding even a quarter of what she endured. I'm useless! I am not a man...I am not a prince...I am a coward. A shadow!

A knock on his door drew his attention. He hurried to his feet and tried to will away the panic on his face before he opened the door. A soldier. "Your father demands your presence at the dinner table, my prince." Eric had little more than a minute to grab his evening coat before the soldier grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into action. "Before you upset him, young lord." and that was that.

When they made it to the great hall, Eric wasn't sure what he expected. But when he stepped in and saw his family seated neatly and ghostly figure of the princess one seat away from his mother, his heart dropped. Whatever this was, it was not good. She could barely sit up straight and her expression was twisted in agony. His mother kept leaning over to help the princess readjust herself more comfortably in her large, cushioned seat but it wasn't helping much at all.

Bertrand gestured for him to sit and while he scrambled to a free seat, the continued struggles of his mother helping the princess annoyed the man. He slammed his hand down on the table with burning eyes.

"Enough, gods damn it!" Sherra glared at him before quietly fixing the seat up again and leaning back into her own. "Do not give me that look, woman. You should be glad that thing isn't eating where the dogs do."

Lucas' hand tightened around a knife on the table before immediately relenting. "Do not forget yourself father. She is family now. My wife. She will sit with us whether you like it or not."

Bertrand laughed and looked at his son with an amused smile. "I could also fuck her right here on the table, whether you like it or not. We all can't do what we please when we please it...can we?" it was a test, one that Eric's brother caught immediately and settled back into his quiet. It meant Emma would be harmed if he rebelled any further. The girl being at the table was by his grace and his alone, not because others wanted it or demanded it.

Eric passed a long look across the table at the girl in question. Her left arm was still in a hard brace, and the other in a loose sling. Her hair hung down her face flat and lifeless, and her eyes that had shone bright like stars were now dull. The dark rings around them were far more pronounced, and Eric could only understand why. How difficult might sleep be for her now...but he hoped she could hold on. To maintain that strength of hers. Because he knew his father and brother taking pleasures with her or forcing her to do it with them was not the end of this new found control. There would be ruin for her, death and ruin, and only her strength might carry her through it.

"Why have you called us here?" Lucas asked after a moment.

"Why, to announce to you our future endeavors of course." he slowly put aside his fork and folded his napkin before continuing. "With the beast's transformation in hand at last, moving forward is much easier. She will undergo her injections, but they will be monthly now. To replace her days within the labs, she will be sent to the training grounds once more."

"She's in no condition to endure more," Lucas snarled, and his mother echoed the same thoughts.

"I am not a fool, I can see the bitch is useless right now," he waved aside their worries. "Once she has recovered, she will be made to train. There will be no room to argue this. She will be modeled into the most perfect weapon, one way or another. If you continue to irate me about it, I'll push the boundaries of it to something you won't enjoy." he cleared his throat and took up his eating utensils as if nothing had happened, and smiled. "Now, let us eat."

Eric nervously watched the girl across him the entire dinner. She did not move to eat on her own, she did not look at another person, and she did not speak. Her eyes remained downward, sullen, broken. Alone. His mother tried to get her to eat, to help her, but she would not budge from her state. Lucas even tried, coming over to rub her back and whisper to her, but she did not listen. It was finally enough for his father, for he slammed his hand on the table and demanded she eat her food.

Eric was horrified when the unclear command made her try to feed herself. Sherra started to her feet and was screaming for Bertrand to order her to stop, but he just laughed and laughed. Lucas snarled and whispered a counter-command to her, and only then did she stop. Tears ran down her face from the pain of it, but she did not speak a word. She did not cry. Eric knew then...the strength in her was unreal.

"Come...I'll help you eat in our room," Lucas whispered, guiding her to her feet. She wobbled and wobbled and nearly fell, so he took her into his arms. "I have you."

"No," Bertrand said simply, still eating. "I must speak with you and your mother. Your brother will take her to your room."

Eric stiffened. This didn't sound good, especially not with how easily his brother became jealous. "Father, I...I don't think I should..."

"I did not ask you what you thought, boy!" he gestured him along. "Do as you are told."

Reluctantly Lucas passed Emma to Eric when he rounded the table. She wasn't heavy at all, he realized when she was put into his arms. Sherra had gotten up to kiss the girl's cheeks and promise her she would come by later, but Eric wasn't even sure if she were listening. Once his mother sat back down, he gently made his way out of the great hall. Try as he might though, every step down stairs or up stairs, jostled her painfully.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly into the halls as he walked. "I'll try to be more gentle." but as he learned, it was near impossible. By the time he made it back her room, she was trembling and crying silently. "We're here," he told her as he stumbled for the door knob, hoping he didn't drop her. Inside, he deposited her as softly as he could into her bed. After a moment of standing beside her bed, awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "Would...would you like some help to eat, Emma?" when she didn't answer, he grew even more worried. "Please, I...I don't know what they have made you do—" that made her eyes close. "—but I understand it must have been..." he didn't know the right word. Nothing seemed to ever fit for her. "I'm so sorry, Emma. I really am."

Someone knocked on the door, and it frightened him. He startled and cringed, expecting his brother to barge in and start screaming, but only a gentler voice called through the door. "Hello? Sherra, are you there? I've come with the medical—" Johl! Thank the gods! By then, Eric ran to the door and let the man in. He was equally surprised to see the young prince there. "Eric, but...where is..." his eyes roamed the room, and caught that they were the only two there, besides the girl. He took a breath. "No matter, we have work to do. You may help me." he hurried into the room and sat his medical bag down at the side of the bed, and gently placed a hand upon Emma's forehead. His examination was thorough and to Eric's surprise, so gentle he caused no harm to the girl. He checked her ears and eyes, her mouth and nose, and worked his way down, checking her chest and abdomen, before settling on her limbs.

"Will...will she be alright?" he squeaked after what seemed like hours.

Johl's eyes were hidden under furrowed brows. "Yes," he said. "I have never seen such...such remarkable recovery."

That confused him, but he did not speak on it. Instead, he asked, "Will she be able to walk, then?"

"I'm certain she will be capable of it, yes. She is recovering at unprecedented speed." he nodded. "To what degree though, I do not yet know. She could very well heal completely given her unique heritage, or she may not recover fully at all. Now her arms...her arms are a much harsher case." he brushed hair from her face and he might as well have not been there, the way she ignored him. Ignored them. "I will do what I can for you though princess, I swear it."

And yet, there she laid, quiet. Staring through them to nothing. Johl frowned at her state but said nothing as he gathered his things and recovered a phial of something pale red. "This will be for your comforts, at night. I will instruct Sherra and Lucas to put a drop or two into your water before sleep. It should help you rest." but again, she said and did nothing. With that, he made his way to the door, but Eric stopped him.

"Doctor, what...what is wrong with her?"

The doctor looked at him squarely, brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"She's..." he brought his tone quieter. "She's not eating or speaking, or...or anything."

Johl gave him a sad shake of his head. "The mental trauma she has endured since coming here would have broken anyone else much sooner."

That alarmed him. "So, she's...she's broken?" he whispered that part even more, somehow ashamed for saying it. Johl shook his head.

"I don't know the answer to that Eric. I only know a child was made to endure unimaginable pain and has been continuously raped and tortured, and ridiculed. And now?" he turned his eyes pitifully towards the princess. "Now she has nothing, not even the gods given right to will. To decide. To accept or deny. They have taken everything from her. What would that do to you?" the doctor left after that, without so much as another word, leaving Eric to stand there like a fool.

What would that have done to me? He thought, turning to look at the princess with more pity and shame. He knew he wouldn't have made it after the first month. He was a coward. A weakling. He ran out of the room then, tears in his eyes, afraid to be so close to someone he had helped bring to this pain.

•••••••••••

In the month that followed, Lucas had tried his hardest to distract his wife from her pains and to rip her from her mind. He tried everything. He brought her all sorts of foods, though most of it was not what she loved back in Figaro (pancakes were not a thing in Roskovo after all, though he did order the chefs to try it), but she would not eat unless he ordered her too. He brought her all sorts of musical boxes, even from other countries, but she would not listen to them unless he ordered her too. He bought her dozens of new books, from educational to fantasy, but she would not read or listen if he did not order it. She simply would not do more than she needed, and nothing else unless ordered.

Lucas tried to bring Sherra around more and more, but with her just a month away from delivery now, she had been ordered to stay near the king. Even though he had failed, Lucas just had this feeling that not even it would stir her from her state.

In that time, her recovery had quickened and quickened. Soon, he was able to help her to her feet and she was able to stand, though she was not very stable. Her arms were a lot worse, and although they had come out of their hard casts and slings, she struggled to use them with any sort of ease and efficiency. Lucas knew though that even if she could not use her limbs as she had before, his father would not care. He would throw her to her training. So one evening Lucas sat down and spoke with his wife.

"You are healing exponentially quickly," he told her quietly. "You may not have full use of her arms, or your legs, but it will be enough for my father that you can stand and move them. He will want you in training when he finds out." her eyes moved to him, sullen. "I know you are not ready...I know it will be much longer than he will grant before you feel fit...so," he took her hand and she didn't even so much as tug it away. "I want you to lie." Her brows furrowed a little. "I know, but in this case it is necessary my love. If he finds out how fit you are now, I cannot stop him. Whenever Johl comes around or my father, you must make them believe you are not as healed as you are." but she did not answer him. He frowned. "Did you hear me? Answer the question, Emma."

The command set in quickly. "Yes." she said, and he forgot just how easily he had to speak now that she took orders as immediately as she discerned them.

He sighed. It was nice to hear her voice, but not in that way. "I'm sorry, I forgot to word myself away from orders." but there was nothing in her eyes, nothing at all, not even disbelief or anger. Just an empty stare. "I'll try to do better, my love." he leaned over to kiss her forehead. "but I need you to know if you will do as I have said."

"...okay."

It was the first time she had spoken—of her own will—since that night she had been ordered to make love to him. A great sense of relief flooded through him and he laughed. "It is wonderful to hear your voice again, my love." but that only seemed to darken her mood further. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, and something ached in him. He stood, though he did so slowly, reluctantly. "I will let you rest then. Just...just remember what I said and consider it." he left her there then, looking back and feeling a little angry that she did not even say goodbye, or even look at him.

•••••••••••

"This is becoming unacceptable."

Lucas looked up from his seat at the table, away from the campaign map that had been worked over all morning. His father was pacing angrily at the other side, brows furrowed, face red. "Whether you find it acceptable is besides the point...if you wanted her in working order, you should have had more control."

His father turned to him with a savage look. "I did what was necessary. Regardless, you have been given a woman who would do anything you ask her to, and you still complain." he chuckled. "I would be disappointed if I were surprised."

"I did not need you to turn her into a mindless puppet," Lucas said, trying to control his rising temper. "She was perfect the way she was. You might have had to force her to tell you she loves you, or to touch you—" that twisted his face further into anger. "—but between us, there was nothing but equal wanting. You have ruined her mind."

"You are such a fool," Bertrand said, smiling. "You really do believe that whore feels for you how you feel for her."

Lucas gripped his hand down hard on the arm of his chair, teeth gritting. "You do not get to speak of her like that."

"That's what she is though," he continued. "A whore. And it was you that made her into such."

"That's a lie!" he snarled, standing. "I did no such thing!"

"Didn't you?" he asked, crossing his arms. "I recall how you first had her. You ravaged her, as your ought, but you also had others debase her."

"That...that was different!"

"Different?" he asked, laughing. "How so? The average whore is at least paid for her time on her back, but you fucked her and left her to be a thing of pleasure for others. If that is not making her into a whore, what else could?"

"I did what you ordered me to do! I didn't want to do it!"

Bertrand burst out into laughter. "I didn't order you to do a thing you didn't want to do, boy." he said. "You knew then what she was, but you let the taste of her confuse you, and now you've convinced yourself she isn't anything but a whore, an abomination." he smiled, thinly. "She is quite the lay, though. I could see how lesser men fall for her wiles."

Lucas punched the table so hard the contents on the map fell over and his knuckles bleed. "I said you are not to speak of her like that!"

"And why shouldn't I?" he dared. "She is here, she lives, by my grace. You married her by my grace. She is my property. I will speak of her as I will."

"When you command her to do things, that isn't the same as her desiring it herself," he told his father. "You try your hardest to make her into a whore, but she's not. She's repulsed by you."

That made his father pause and look squarely at him. "Is that so? You think she's repulsed by me?" he laughed and unwound his arms. "It's a pity how far you have fallen...so, you think she's in love with you? Is that it?"

Lucas held his stare. "I know she is."

"I see...of course." he approached the table and mindlessly twisted a campaign token between his fingers. "The whore has fallen for her master. I'm sure you are right." something seemed off by the way he had said it though. "I will drop it. For now."

"Good," he sat back down, breathing hard still, annoyed.

"I will wish to conduct my own review of her health though," he said after a moment. "It has been long enough and I am through waiting. I want to know what power lies within her grasp and I want to know now."

"She cannot even stand on her own, father," he told him, hoping in the back of his mind that Emma could pull off the lie long enough for her to actually fully recover. "It can wait until then."

Bertrand laughed and shook his head. "Well, if she is not to be of use to me in that way, I will want some use out of her." he turned away from the table and went for the door. "You will have her brought to my quarters tonight when you are through with her. And Lucas?" he held his father's gaze, knowing his own reflected his hatred. "Do not think to test me." and then he was gone.

When the doors closed behind his father, Lucas screamed at the top of his lungs and threw everything off the table, breath ripping from him in heavy puffs. I'll fucking kill you! He thought, straining to hold his anger back. I will!

•••••••••••

"Who does he think he is?!" Emma watched him furiously pace the room, face red and voice scratching from the sheer intensity of his voice. "To demand these things of me! To demand them of what isn't his!"

Thirty eight...thirty nine...forty... she was counting how many turns he made in a given minute, back and forth from the door to the hall to the door leading to their basin room. She had gotten further than that before, she thought, but she kept misplacing her position whenever he really distracted her. "I have given him his victories! Where would he be without me?!" He turned to pace another line, and Emma counted again. Forty one...forty two... and then he stopped and faced her, brows furrowed over his emerald eyes. "Are you not listening to me?"

She lost count and focused her eyes on him. That had been one of the orders he gave easily, the "look at me when I ask you a question" demand. Even though it unnerved her. Even though it made her skin crawl. Even though eye contact had never been easy. He wanted it. And whatever he wanted, he got. "...yes Lucas."

He turned his eyes from her and toward the open window. The breeze of the late day blew in, peaceful and lovely, but it might as well have been the frigid cold the way he snarled and stormed over to slam the windows shut. Even with only one working ear, the sound of it was enough to make her grimace. He did not notice. "Then tell me! Why does he push himself so? Why does he come after my wife?!"

His wife. His. Always his. Emma kept her gaze on him, back to where he was pacing before. "Is my mother not warming the fool's bed, is that it? She is as worthless as ever!"

She prepared an interjection in her mind, one of fury and righteousness, but then pressed her lips together. No. She had to remember what he could do now...what she could. If she appeased him...maybe...just maybe he wouldn't make her do it again. Or anything like it. If she could just pretend...forever... "I ought to slit his throat," he snarled, back at the basin room door, and then walking back to the doors to their room. "I ought to watch him slither on the floor and beg for his life...!"

You are too much a coward, she thought, watching him carefully. I am too.

"Emma, my darling wife!" he turned to her suddenly and took her hands up in his. The change of pace was becoming dramatically common now, these hot then cold moments. Emma was terrified of them, but she knew that if she just kept her attention on him, or made it seem as if she had, it would ebb away like a wave. "If I gave you the order...I wonder...could you?"

That alarmed her. "I..." she couldn't even hear this! What was he thinking?! If Bertrand asked...if he demanded...there would be no lying to him! And she knew that it would not be Lucas that would face the brunt of that vicious anger. "...no." she hoped her lie would stretch a thousand miles to him, make him fill in blanks and not question. His eyes widened and he leaned away.

"No...of course not...I could not risk you like that. I should be the one to kill the bastard..." he reached up to brush his rough hand against her cheek. "...then you and I shall be together forever, never to be divided again." he withdrew his hand and then sighed. "I talk of our future without even asking you what you would like." he shook his head. "I need to be more considerate of you. We are husband and wife now, prince and princess...father and mother, soon." Emma felt her stomach tightening into knots. "What do you see in our future?"

Do not lie, do not lie, do not lie, she told herself, thinking of death, of escape. "I...I see us." You fool! You never lie to him, never! Never!

He smiled though. "I do as well. I see you with my sons in your arms, and they are handsome." there was no room for women in his life. One was enough. She found mercy in that lack of desire from him though, for he could not subject any daughter to his cruelty. She knew, of course, that no one could control what they had, but Emma hoped that when it happened, all she had were sons. All so she did not have to watch girls be abused, either by Lucas or his father, or by any other man they would certainly be sold to when they reached a suitable age. Bertrand had already threatened to make slaves of her daughters for her insolence. She believed him.

"...and you will your hands quite full," he laughed, and Emma realized she had not been paying attention. Her heart started to race. "Wouldn't you agree?"

She knew there was only way out of this. "I...I'm sorry Lucas, I didn't...I didn't hear you."

He laughed again. "That is well. I have talked your ears off for some time, haven't I? You are probably exhausted." he stood. "I shall let you have your rest. It is the least I can do before tonight." he made his way to the door, leaving Emma confused. What did he mean, 'the least he could do'? What had he done that he needed to allow this? She frowned.

"L-Lucas?" he paused, and turned to look at her. "What...what do you mean?"

He frowned. "It is only for a few hours Emma, I promise."

"What is?" His eyes softened and Emma knew. She knew immediately, and tears burned in her eyes. "No..."

"Emma, I'm sorry, I cannot control him...not yet." he came back over to take her hands again. "You just need to tolerate it for just a little longer. I am so close. So close. I will not be able to do it before we invade Figaro though—" what?! Invade Figaro? She was feeling sicker and sicker by the minute. "—so I need you to do your part. If you can just..." he struggled on how best to say it. "...you just need to bare a child, it doesn't matter whose, so long as you have it. He has sworn to keep you from harm then, even at his own hand. That would keep you safe, safe until I could break us from his claws."

Isn't that what she had been trying all of this time?! Why did he say it like it was her fault, as if she could control it?! She would do it, if she could! "I'm t-t-trying," she squeaked, crying. "P-please Lucas, d-don't make me go."

His eyes held hers, firm. "I am not making you go, nor do I want you to go. I am just as powerless to stop it, as much as it pains me to admit it. If I try, he will hurt you Emma and as painful as it has been for you so far, you cannot imagine what he has been holding back. You need to go. You need to. Please him and he will not question whether you are too hurt to continue with his plans."

"He will know," she cried. "Please Lucas, please...don't make me go!"

His eyes narrowed and he stood. "I will help how I can. If you are incapable of selling the lie yourself, and I do not blame you if that should be, then I will help you." he brushed loose hair from her face and then leaned in to whisper into her ear. "I demand you to fake your injuries to my father." and then, before pulling away, he kissed her cheek. "You will be fine." and then he practically stormed out of the room, as if he had reason to be upset over this.

Emma watched him leave, feeling the hatred she had for him gnaw even deeper.

•••••••••••

There was something about the way she looked at him when he spoke to her, especially when he gave her orders, that gave him such satisfaction. Those eyes that reflected back her father, even though they were mismatched and just as much of an abomination as the rest of her. Those defiant, willful and arrogant eyes. It did burn something within him though to make her do things she didn't want to do, to know that she was screaming within for it to stop and yet unable to stop moving as he demanded. It was a whole different experience than simply taking her by force. It was almost like a game, and oh what a fun game it was.

And now she sat there before him, defiant only in that gaze, quiet as a mouse unless he demanded otherwise. Bertrand circled her slowly, watching her. The seat he had provided for her lacked any support for her back, so she was trembling from the attempt to stay upright on it. It amused him to no end. He paused and reached to lay his hand on the curve of her exposed shoulder. He had planned to order her to undress as soon as she appeared, but she had come to him in a...pleasant way. A loose blouse that hung heavily off of one of her shoulders, exposing her to her collar bone. His wife's choosing, no doubt, so as to avoid too much weight and annoyance on her injured body. Beneath that, she wore a very loose fitting pair of trousers, which had been hemmed to be shorter. It was certainly handed down to her by his wife from one of his sons.

He ran his hand down her arm, soft and lustful, and she stiffened. "Whenever I see you," he whispered, leaning down to her ear. "I wonder how it is that I contain myself." he wanted her there and now, but he knew the game wasn't as fun if he didn't run it out as long as he could. To make her afraid. To make her anxious. He lifted his hand to brush long, curly hair from her shoulders and then knelt to kiss her pale skin. It was warm and tasted of honey. He hmm'd quietly and lowered his lips and tongue to the round of her shoulder. He moved his left hand around her and under her blouse, taking her breast in his hand. "My little abomination," he whispered into her shoulder, moving his lips back up to her neck. "Say that you want me," he ordered, squeezing her breast as roughly as he could.

Without hesitation she spoke, "I want you."

He smiled. It didn't matter if she didn't even want him, it only mattered that he could make her say it or make it feel as if she did. He twisted her nipple and she grimaced. "Now now," he twisted again and she tried to hush a cry of pain. It only made him want her more. "Say it again, this time with meaning."

"I want you," she said again but to his ears, it sounded no different. A limitation to his control. He could make her say or do anything, but ultimately, he could not truly make her feel something and reflect in her words. It irritated him some, but in the end, getting her to do it regardless hurt her enough to make it no matter.

He scuffed and let her go, to put both hands on her shoulders. "Hmm...I'm just not believing it." he squeezed her shoulders, until she stiffened and leaned away from him. It was one of the many reasons he enjoyed this control, for no matter how much she fought inside, her body was a slave not only to him, but to her biological reaction. To grimace when there was pain or to cry when sad (and he loved to let her cry), and even when her body betrayed her to show pleasure. It was half of the fun for him, and almost all of where he got his pleasures from. "Do you want me inside you, little abomination?"

His answer were only tears.

This was the only downside to his new power. The only way he could get her to comply was to be careful with his words. To make sure she understood it as a command. It was difficult enough to think it and get her to hear it, but he was working on that. One day soon he wouldn't even have to speak the words, he would just have to think it, and there she would be. Ready for him.

Bertrand leaned forward again, grazing his lips to her ear. "Tell me you want me inside you."

The tears running down her face excited him so much. "I want you inside me."

He chuckled and stepped away, toward the large bed before them. The chair she sat on was only three or four feet away from the end of the bed, placed in front of it. He sat down on the edge, facing her. The look in her eyes. How he adored it. He smiled. "Stand up." whatever hesitation she displayed following the command was clearly due to her body. Her legs shook beneath her and he watched for a moment, amused, until he gestured. "Take your blouse off." She struggled to do it, but managed after a few seconds.

She was a shapely thing, if only a bit thin, with little pert breasts and a wide hips, though certainly not as wide as he preferred them. Her shoulders were dainty, just like her hands and feet. Her face was a bit strange in its roundish but square features, with a soft chin and mid-high cheek bones that aligned perfectly. Her lips were down-turned and pale, and her eyes...two undoubtedly beautiful eyes of mis-matched color. Her left eye was blue, so much like her father's, and the right eye a purple so bright it seemed a jewel rested there instead. Even the freckles across her face were a pleasing sight. But perhaps the part of her that he desired so much, thought over the most, was her hair. Soft and beautiful, even should it be a color more fitting a beast than a woman.

He let her stand there so he could admire her, but after a minute she nearly collapsed. She took hold of the chair to balance herself. He scowled. "Stand back up." she did as she was told, and this time the tears crept gently down her cheeks. "Come here." she approached quickly and he stopped her just a few inches from him. "Remove the rest of your clothes." when she was standing before him completely nude, he reached to brush his knuckles down the curve of her waist down her outer thigh. She was shivering now, and he found that all too pleasing, but he did suppose it was time. It wouldn't do if she were to catch a cold, anyhow, if only because that would delay her training and injections. "Fine." he stood and brought her close to him. "Undress me." her hands went to deftly begin undressing him.

When she was done, he bent down to take her lips with his. They were unresponsive. He would change that. He wrapped his arm around her and lifted her off the ground. "Play coy as long as you can then," he whispered, turning her and lying her flat against the end of the bed. "I know you want me, despite all your pretenses." He leaned over her and began messaging her neck with his tongue, suckling and biting. The tenseness in her enflamed him. How great was it that he could make her do these things and how she hated every second of it. He pulled away, moving his lips down her chest until he sucked on a nipple. "Hmm," he moaned, moving his hand down to the spot between her legs. He looked up at her. "Tell me girl...do you hate me?"

"Yes," she said, without hesitation.

He smiled. That made it so much better. "Tell me then how much you hate me."

Her tear stricken eyes were not looking at him. "I wish you would d-die. I wish I c-c-could hurt you. I wish I could m-make you suffer."

"And tell me, do you hate Lucas?"

"I do."

He considered that. It came to no surprise to him. It was clear to anyone who looked that she despised them all. All except Sherra. The way her eyes burned when she looked at them. It was part of the reason he found her irresistible. He wanted to drink in all of that hate and disgust and pain, until he was drunk. He wanted to have her in every way he could think of and make her submit to his every pleasure, until she was nothing but the whore he knew she was. Until he could bring her every humiliation to her father and watch him break to know what had been done to his daughter.

"You still fawn over the other one," it wasn't a question. "Whyever do you think any man will have you now, when we have had you in every way possible?" indirect question. He sighed, annoyed. "Answer my question."

"He loves me," she answered quietly. There was no doubt in her words. She truly believed the man she had left behind would love her, no matter the condition she was in.

"And you believe that, don't you? That he would have you no matter what?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "You are so naïve. No man would debase himself with another man's whore, let alone one that is an abomination to mankind. You have been ruined girl. Ruined. You are my property. My little whore. Why should your beloved want to have my used property?" she wasn't looking at him, but he demanded she did. Those beautiful eyes turned to him, enraged. "Answer me."

"I don't know."

Now this was proving to be amusing. "So you don't know why he would want you as you are now but you believe that he will regardless?" he laughed, heartily, lifting himself off of her. "You truly are an idiot, girl." he took her by the arm and pulled her up to her feet. "If you truly believe he will have you however I leave you, then let's make this fun. I'll debase as much as I can and—and this is where it falls to fate—if your beloved Alexander comes to rescue you and still, somehow, finds himself attracted to you, then you will have prove me wrong." he put a mocking hand over his heart. "It will mean love really does last." he leaned forward, brows furrowed just enough to let her know he was annoyed. "I will have fun breaking you in a completely different way." he then walked passed her to the left side of the bed and glanced back at her. He laughed. "Do not think yourself out of this so soon, girl." he sat on the bed. "Come...show me how much I can get out of you."

---

"You are surprised they were not supportive of it?"

Cambyses glanced up from his documents to look at his wife, sitting on the edge of their bed. She had that 'I told you so' expression. "Quite frankly, yes, I thought they would do whatever they had to in order to end this war and bring their daughter back home, but it honestly doesn't matter what they approve of."

"And to you, doing whatever they had to, includes trading their daughter's hand in marriage to a total stranger?" there was amusement in her voice. He sighed. "I'm sure they are just being witless ninnies about it. Why should they care if their daughter is traded for an alliance?"

He turned bright red. "Cadence..."

"What?" she asked, smiling.

"It is bad enough I am endlessly chided by your mother, can I escape it in my wife?"

She giggled and leaned back onto her hands. "Why not? If my husband can be ridiculous, I should be able to tease him about it a little."

"I'm being ridiculous?" he rolled his eyes, exaggerating it so she would know he was mostly teasing her back. "I'm trying to get my sister back and I cannot do that without more gil and more men. The Veldt is the only source of both on this planet not within Figaro or the Crown."

"Cambyses—"

"Why is it such a problem?" he cut her off, a bit hotly. "It isn't like Qudin would hurt her. He would cherish her. She would be a queen! There would be untold riches to support her every desire, be it from her adoration of literature down to her inability to stop eating sweets. She would be loved. She would live a good life." he sighed and shook his head. "I...I just don't get it."

"Why is it so difficult for you to understand?" she asked quietly and he looked back at her, frowning. "Cambyses...would you have accepted being married to someone else?"

"What? No...of course not."

"Then why is it okay for you to decide these things for your sister? Is it just because she is a woman, is that why it doesn't matter what she wants or feels?"

"What?!" he gasped. "Of course not! It is about the situation!"

"And what is this situation?"

"She will need someone to take care of her," he said. "She is still a sickly girl. She is not..." he hesitated. "She is not normal, Cadence. She will never be normal. And now, when I get her back...do you really think she will return to us as she was?"

Her eyes widened. "No...I don't suspect she will be as she was."

"Then you understand—"

"No, I don't," she cut him off a bit sharply. "She may not return to us as she was. She may return to us broken beyond help, but that doesn't mean we take away from her the decision of whom she loves and whom to marry. I will not be part of that. Your parents will not either. And, to be frank, I will not let you do it."

"Then how do you suspect I secure an alliance with the Veldt?"

"I do not know."

"Then how am I to rescue my sister?"

"I do not know that either, Camb."

He shook his head. "No one does..." he stood. "That is why I need to do what's right, even if the decision is difficult. If we had the Veldt behind us...do you not understand? If I were not so divided, I could win this war, but not knowing about Roskovo brought ruin to us. We are divided between three nations, with peace keeping forces in other territory we haven't lost yet. I do not have the means to win this war, not in this circumstance. If we had the Veldt though, we could wash over Roskovo like a wave. There would be nothing they could do but wait for their demise."

"Sometimes there is more than victory," she said.

"Not when my sister's rescue heavily depends on victory."

She sighed. "Then what will you do? They will fight you against this with all their power and I won't help you out even an ounce."

Cambyses wasn't sure. He knew his parents could delay any decision he made, as parents. They could invite the court between them and although in the end Cambyses knew he would win, that ultimately the power to decide his sister's life laid in his hands, the conflict it would create between him and his parents would not only cost him precious time, but his parents as well. It was obvious that if he went through with this, his parents would never speak with him again. On one hand, he understood, but as a king...as a brother...he would have his sister back however he could get it. To hear that annoying know-it-all giggle just before she corrected you...to see her go beet red at each and every tease...to make up for all the harm he had caused her since she was old enough to know it.

He felt tears burning in his eyes and before he could do anything, Cadence was up and holding him. She smoothed her hand down his hair. "Oh Cambyses...everything will be alright, I just know it. You will save her. You will keep Figaro safe. You only need to believe in yourself, as your sister does."

"There's no point to any of this if I lose family," he cried. "I...I can't lose my sister, Cadence. I cannot."

She held him tighter. "And you won't. She will return to us, one way or another. You will not lose her."

After a long moment, he pulled away from her and rubbed the tears from his eyes. "Then I must get to work..."

"Camb..."

He gave her an unsure smile. "Do not worry. I will not push this arranged marriage. I...I think I found another way to secure the Veldt's alliance. I can only hope the gods will see it to fruition."

---

It would do more harm for her if she cried. And she wanted to cry. She wanted to hide and cry until there was nothing left to her but her tears, but she knew what that would get her. She knew how great it would please Bertrand to see her cry, to know just how much he got to her, just how much his commands broke her. So she did not. She laid there beneath him until the world numbed around her and her thoughts rotated only around death. His death, or her death. She would smile if she could see him die, but she would still be surrounded by monsters. Lucas and the king's loyalists, the ones he threatened her about so much. No. His death would be a small reprieve. Her death though...how sweet that would taste. To no longer wake up so terrified and alone, so afraid of her own body and mind. Now that would bring everlasting peace.

What of Sherra though? Her thoughts would drift there and she was unable to think of what to do. She did not remember the supposed transformation she had undergone before, but Lucas and Sherra were quick to tell her it did in fact happen. She had been made to transform several times after that, but the memories slipped through her fingers like water. All she knew was that that day had started her downfall, that since then, there was no resisting them.

I am broken.

She felt his hot breath on the side of her face and closed her eyes.

I am nothing.

She could feel his arm still possessively wrapped around her waist.

What am I now?

Emma turned her head away from him then, the smell of alcohol on his breath unbearable to her. He grumbled and pulled her closer to him, and she winced from the pain of her arm being pressed against him. Oh how she missed the voice now more than ever, in these moments where she was stuck and wishing with all her might to be elsewhere. To know someone else understood this pain, to have someone to share in this pain with, to talk with...but her voice had abandoned her. Just like everyone else had. It was impossible to hold the tears back now. They crept slowly at first, quiet as the pain in her, but soon they flowed steadily and she she could not help that it began to shake her.

I'm sorry, she thought. Please...please come back to me...you are all that I have left...come back. But there was no answer, only the piercing silence.

Bertrand stirred just enough to roll away from her, disturbed by the motion and noise, but not enough to wake. Was this her lot in life? Was this truly what she deserved? To be used as if she were nothing? What had she done to deserve it? All her life there was only pain and loneliness, confusion and fear. Did she wrong someone, and forget? Or had she wronged someone in a past life? The gods wouldn't punish her for someone else...would they?

Why did she think she had the right to judge the gods? If they saw fit to punish her like this, this was deserved. This was righteous. This was holy. Her pain had been earned. She closed her eyes and laid there quietly, in pain, until somehow her exhaustion brought her to sleep.

She woke some time later to someone shaking her, and rather violently. She stirred, mostly annoyed, and opened her eyes. Bertrand. She felt even more exhausted. What more could he want now?

"Get up," he snarled, grabbing her by her arm to peel her up. "Do not make me repeat myself!" she pushed herself up the best that she could. "Now be a good girl and start me a bath." she moved too slowly for him, so he shoved her off the bed and to her knees. "I said now!" a tingle of that pain in her head throbbed, the echo of his command there. She got to her feet, again too slowly for his liking, and he shoved her back to her knees. She gave a painful cry. "Why is your only worth when you are on your back? Get up now!"

There it was. The command. Fiery pain shot through her and even though she thought of denying him—or making him crumble under the knowledge that he could do everything he wanted save control her thoughts—but her body rose mechanically, erasing the pleasure of knowing her thoughts, at least, were her own. He was throwing a fit behind her as she walked to the basin room.

"Worthless cunt, I should..." she could not hear him as she entered the other room, his words lost behind thick cobbled walls and her lessened hearing. I am worth what he makes me worth, she thought dry.

When she had his basin filled, the command had run its course. She just stood there, feeling the pain begin to form in her legs, unsure of what to do or else risk another tantrum from the mad king. After what seemed like hours, he strolled into the room, as naked as he had been the night prior. She looked away. "At least I can squeeze some worth out of you outside of a bed, little abomination." he said, walking into the water. She was not sure if the temperature was right, and feared his reaction if it wasn't, but he sighed comfortably and sat down until the water reached his chest. "Well," he said after a long moment. "Do not just stand there like some fool. Come and wash me." her feet moved quicker than she could even think to say no. When she reached around the basin, he stopped her. "No." she hesitated, unsure. "With me girl."

When she moved, she felt sick that it hadn't been because of a command. She hesitated when she realized it though, and he glared at her. "Must we play this game, girl? You know I could make you do anything I want, anything at all, and you must make me phrase my demands so that it reaches you?" he chuckled. "Stubborn until the last." he motioned. "Come into the water girl and wash me." The pain twitched through her, and she was obeying again. He laughed and closed his eyes, resting his head against the rim of the basin. "Even the most stubborn of mules can be broken, though."

She scrubbed him for ten minutes before he reached a hand out to stop her. "Enough, enough," he grumbled. "You are not very gentle with it at all, are you?" Emma wanted to spit on him, but she knew better. The quiet was not something he missed. He looked at her and smiled. "Yes...those eyes. That anger. What a fire it sets within me." he relaxed further and stretched his arms around the rim of the basin. "I have grown curious...what is going on in that head of yours?" She furrowed her eyes, confused. "Tell me what you are thinking."

"I want you to drown."

He smiled. "What do you think of when you are with my son?"

"I want him to die," she said.

"And I bet you would like to be the one to kill us both." he seemed amused by that. "Do not think so much on the impossible girl. My son and I are here to stay, and you will serve us until you take your very last breath." he slid a little lower until his head rested more comfortable on the basin. "Entertain me girl...what of your life in Figaro?" It wasn't a demand, so she just sat there, glaring. He chuckled again. "Oh, fine...I suppose the morning is growing rather old." he stood then and waded over to the end of the basin tub. "Come girl, dry me off. We have quite a day ahead of us."

•••••••••••

Emma followed just a few steps behind Bertrand, as quietly as she could. Every step brought pain to her legs and up to her spine and shoulders. They walked on and on, without even a minute of rest for her. Despite the pain, she could not cry out, nor could she beg for them to stop. They went through dozens of rooms—which she was never allowed in—and up and down the castle floors for several hours. She was made to stand outside, shivering and teeth chattering, as she had only been allowed to dress in what she had come to him in the night before. The cold was getting worse by the day, and only the royal chambers were ever heated. She could not stand stepping outside of the warm rooms.

Just a little longer, she thought, staring down at her reddening toes with great exhaustion. Then I can rest... she yawned and reached up carefully to rub tears from her eyes. There was a flurry of muffled noises behind the door and although she was not trying to pay attention to it, she could make out two male voices shouting. She recognized Bertrand's voice, but not the other voice that crept through only has a rough tone.

All of the sudden, the door opened and a tall, wide shouldered man all but stomped out a foot or so. Emma only looked toward him when he turned to her and scoffed. "So you are the abomination he speaks of," he scoffed. "You look nothing more than a child." She stayed quiet, unsure of how to respond to the stranger. He frowned. "You are as insolent as he said, though." and without first telling her to follow, he reached out and took her by her arm—making her bite down on her tongue to keep from crying out—and dragged her into the room.

Bertrand was standing at the opposite side of the room, behind a short table. Three other men stood around him, all men of the military. Emma did not recognize a single person there, except for the king. Bertrand narrowed his eyes at her when the stranger practically flung her into the table. She grimaced and reached out to hold where her arm had hit the edge.

"My council is disbelieving," he said, and it took Emma only a second to realize he was talking to her. Uneasily she glanced around the room at the faces. The shortest man there, with cropped black hair and big eyes of brown stared at her with disgust. The tall and thin one, with a head shaved and shined to reflection, kept his eyes on something on the table. The fatter one had just sat down, brushing stringy brown hair out of his face. "You will demonstrate your half-breed talents for us all."

"My...my what?"

The wide-shouldered man behind her reached out to squeeze her by the neck. She squirmed painfully under his hard hand. "You will do as your king bid you, girl!"

Bertrand smiled but waved him off. "Easy Barkov; in this it cannot be helped." he found his seat at last. "The abomination has no idea what she is. Her beast of a mother never told her, and her father would rather believe his wife and daughter average. She will not transform of her own will...she is incapable."

Barkov's fingers were digging into her neck. "Then how should we proceed, your grace?"

"I will force it," he motioned for Barkov to step back. He took several, long steps back. "Good..." he stood again, and the expression he wore was dark and angry. "Emma—" she recoiled at the sound of her name coming from his voice. "—you will demonstrate your talents for the room. Transform girl."

She still did not understand this transformation thing, but she could remember. Remember everything; how she could not control herself, how she had been mere seconds from ending her terror under her captor's hands...remember doing what Lucas had asked of her without so much of a word of complaint. The fear. The humiliation. The anger. It was all there, beneath her mind, always there.

The start of his command drew upon her like a knife to her spine. She fell to her knees and gripped at her head as the pain seared up her spine and to her head. It felt as if her limbs were twisting around beneath her skin and as if fire burned behind her eyes.

What...what is happening to me?!

Her screams came then, enriched in pain. She was vaguely aware of the men in the room stiffening in fear. "Araaaaaaaaagh!" she fell to the floor, hands turning red-hot and burning through the stone floor with ease. There was something familiar about this pain-about this terror in her mind. The flashes of her memory drew her further and further out of her own body. Men, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. Men being flung through the air. A hallway of them, lying at her feet, frozen in a state of her.

No...no... The memory was gone now, replaced by a radiating anger. A familiar anger. She knew this feeling. It was almost like her voice, yet something seemed different about it. There were no whispers accompanying this rising anger and sickening feeling, there was only the feeling. And the pain. She closed her eyes against the pain rising in her back, and cried out. Her hands began to shift, growing long and thin and clawed. The skin began to burn away, replaced by this reddish-black fur.

Bertrand's voice cut through the turmoil. "Do not fight it, you insolent cow! I order you to comply!"

And that command had stolen from her whatever it was that was keeping her suspended in that pain. With a shudder, she collapsed to her knees and hands. A strange sensation began to build in her. She could feel something strange all around her, warm and yet terrifying. The scents smelled sharper and sounds hammered louder and clearer in her ears. She could hear from them both! What...what is... her eyes focused again through the tears, and she could see her hands. The hands of a beast. What... she sat up and brought her hands out of the stone.

"Is it not what I told you?" Bertrand said, but she was barely paying attention. "This is her transformation. Her power. With her at our disposal, there is no one left to stand against us."

"What...what in the gods' name is that beast?!" Barkov demanded, unsheathing his sword. The other men followed suit quickly, equally as frightened.

"Put away your weapons, you fools!" Bertrand demanded. "This is the princess of Figaro's real nature."

Barkov did not put away his weapon. "That is no child! That...that is a monster!"

A monster? She could not turn her eyes away from her hands. The words of the council came to her then. A monster... everything was starting to make sense. She was never a human...she was never a princess of Figaro. Tears burned in her eyes and she closed them, lowering her hands to her lap. Why...why am I here...

"Stand up, girl!" Her body obeyed immediately but now there was naught a piece of her that cared. "Show me your magicks, girl. Go on." but she could only stare back at him. His brows furrowed. "Use magic!" the men around the room watched uneasily, confused. "What is the meaning of..." his eyes widened and then he laughed. "Oh yes...the limitations of my control."

Your majesty?" Barkov questioned from his spot. "Should I put this thing down?"

"No..." he smirked. "She only needs a bit of directing." his eyes held hers. "Use a spell to light the hearth, girl." at first she did not move, but half a second later, she turned mechanically toward the unlit hearth at the far end of the room and lifted a hand toward it.

What is this feeling? she thought as something ancient and powerful rose to her stomach. It was terrifying and yet...peaceful. Her hand glowed for half a heart beat, and then a stream of fire poured out of her palm and toward the hearth. The force of it smashing into the stone wall around it shook the room before it started to bounce off and shoot off behind her. The men gasped and ducked to cover, though Bertrand and Barkov stood as still as stone. The fire raged on, searing the stone until it began to melt and drip to the ground.

Bertrand's laughter could scarcely be discerned through the roar of the fire. "That is enough! Stop it!" And at once, it came to an immediate stop. The fire still raged on for several long seconds before disappearing, leaving a charred and melted landscape. One of the men at the table dropped to his knees, eyes wide and full of tears. The others uneasily made distance between them.

Emma did not understand. How did she do that? Was that...magic? How could that be though? Magic had died off, when Kefka fell and the magicite vanished? Isn't that what the Returners said? What her parents told her? And yet, what else could it have been? There was no weapon made now capable of doing something like that...at least, not by creation of her father—and he led the world in that regard. No. It was unavoidable. She had used magic.

Her thoughts went to what Bertrand had been doing to her, all of the experiments, and knew that had been the cause of her new magical talent. To what she was made into—rather, revealed to be—a monster. She looked at her hands, feeling tears burn anew in her eyes. I am a plight...

"Do you understand now?" Bertrand asked the men gathered in the room. "What do you gentlemen see?"

Barkov did not take his eyes off her, the disgust plain to see in that gaze. "I see an abomination like no other...but I understand. This power could level Figaro."

"If we can truly control it," another man said quietly, still very much afraid.

"There is no if about it, Hruntig. There is no fight left to her."

"Are we really to debase ourselves using a monster to conquer?" the last man asked, disgusted. "How does that make us any different from Figaro?"

Bertrand laughed. "What lesser men have done should not concern us, Jorly. The power laid within the Empire's grasp and they squandered it. Even Edgar had that power beside him, and he squandered it. They were too afraid to do what was required. They were too afraid to do as what was divine of them. Man has no master but himself."

"But Figaro—"

"If I must burn Figaro to the ground using its own princess, this monster, I will do so!" Bertrand snarled. "There is nothing we are not allowed. I am meant to rule and I will do whatever is required to achieve it."

Jorly lowered his eyes. "Of course, your majesty."

"Then...what is our next course of action?" Barkov asked after the quiet lingered for a moment or two.

Somehow, Emma could feel Bertrand's sense of urgency and his joy. It made her sick. "You are to take this abomination to the training yards," he said. "And you will train her until she can perform her magicks perfectly." Emma glanced up from her hands and looked at him, knowing the hate she felt burned in her eyes. He smiled at her. "You will be my weapon, girl, whether you like it not. You will be my weapon."

---

They rode for a month, and still there was more ahead of them. They had initially left the port city after just a few days, and walked north-east wards for several days. When they happened upon a detachment of Roskovian soldiers at a dingy village, Robert pulled him aside and told him they were to join their ranks. At first Alexander thought he was crazy and was furious by the suggestion, but when it was explained that all soldiers report to the capitol for training, he agreed. If there was any place in this forsaken country Emma could be held, it would surely be the capitol...right?

Now they had been marching that entire time with the detachment. The captain of it was a square faced fellow of early age, and was thankfully dumb enough to not question why two random men wanted to join the military out of nowhere. The days went on, and Alex kept fearing that question would come up. It never did.

When they reached the mountains at last, half into the second month, Alexander was exhausted. More than he had ever been before. Robert never seemed to grow tired though. Every morning he was up even before the rest of the detachment and was the first to offer to be the look out. Alexander tried to keep up, but it was as if the man operated on another plane of reality. On the third week, he had only energy enough to walk with the men and even then, it was a struggle. They slept four hours a night, and everyone was expected to be rotated into the guard duty at night. The only thing the group did that he excelled at was manual labor, having already gotten used to heavy lifting and such from his time working for his father.

One night, as they laid out beneath the stars, Alexander glanced over at his friend. He already seemed fast asleep, but he had something on his mind that he needed to talk about. "Are you awake?" he whispered, and after a second his friend peeled one eye open to look at him. "You have been to the capitol, right?" Robert nodded. "How close are we?"

"A month's march, if we keep our pace," he answered just as quietly. "That is if their direct path leads to the capitol..."

Alexander sat up, alarmed. "What? You mean they could go someplace else?"

Robert frowned. "Of course."

He felt fear freeze him, and then anger. "...you...you said that..." was this all for nothing?! He spent these weeks marching for nothing?! "how could you..."

Robert gestured for him to be quiet, a bit angrily, and then said, "The girl will be in the capitol. You need to get there. This is how we get there, without suspicion."

"How does this help me?" he demanded through a hiss. "We spend months following this lot of fools around, and she just sits there?"

Robert waved him aside and closed his eyes. "If you are so sure storming the capitol is your best bet at getting your girl back...go on. Keep heading west over the mountains. You'll get there eventually. And when you do, they will fill you full of arrows, if they don't slice you down first." when he hesitated, Robert sighed. "Well? Are you leaving? If not, you must not question my direction again. I promised you I would bring you to the castle and get you through the walls, safely and undetected, but only if you obey my every order and decision. If that is not something you are willing to do anymore..." he nudged his head a little. "...head west."

That sunk him out of his anger quickly. He lowered himself back to the cool grass, but the pain and fear did not relent its hold on him. He felt tears burning in his eyes. "...do you promise?" he asked after a moment, knowing the sob crept into his words. "Do you promise we will get there?"

Robert finally looked at him and frowned. "I don't make promises I can't keep, my friend. I will get you to your girl, one way or another."

Alexander let the tears roll down his cheeks quietly for a long moment and then took a staggering breath. "Okay." he stared after the twinkling lights in the sky and felt that pain worsen in him. That loneliness that has hounded him since Emma's departure for Roskovo grow. The love choked him. I will come for you Emma and I will bring you home...I swear it. Even if I must perish to do so. I promise!

---

"Again!"

Emma felt every fiber of her being burn at the shift of her body. They called it a transformation. Emma wasn't sure if the word fit. It was as if her entire body undid itself and then painfully tried to find a new way to fit together. Every part of it was painful and confusing. Every part of it felt...unnatural. She had no idea why she thought that, when it was obvious they had changed her into this monster with their experiments, but somehow she thought it. Every day since it first happened. And here and now, during these days of training, it crept into her head more often.

"Hold!" she held her transformation, feeling the exhaust rapidly grow. This was one of the reasons why they were training her. They had tested her and found she could only hold it for several minutes. That was nowhere near what Bertrand wanted. It needed to change. Today, she had been at it for hours. First she had held it for ten minutes and then dropped to her knees in exhaustion, back to her human state. Then she was ordered from there to go in and out, faster and faster. It now felt as if there was but a drop of energy left in her.

Her legs began to buckle. No...no...do not make him angry! "Release!" with a puff of breath, she released her transformation and nearly crumbled back to the floor had it not been for the chair beside her. She used it to hold herself up unless she had the energy to keep on her own two feet. Today, right then, she did not have the energy. "Again!" Emma had learned early on not to fight the transformation. Somehow it made things worse if she tried, and so much more painful. She went back into her monstrous state within seconds, the delay getting longer and longer. "Hold!" but she could not. It slipped from her hands like water and then she was back again...almost normal.

"I said hold, you useless beast!"

She glanced up at the man standing at the other end of the room, breathing hard. Barkov had taken over her training since that day in Bertrand's office. No other man there would dare take the position. She was too terrifying. Oh, Barkov still feared her—she could tell—but for him, it was something he could undo if he just strengthened himself. And the strange part was that by the day he grew less wary of her. "Do not look at me! Get back up and transform!"

She sighed and pulled herself back to her legs. This exhaustion only aggravated her injuries even further. She stood only for a few seconds before crumbling again. Barkov's annoyed grumble echoed about the empty training hall.

"It cannot be helped," another voice called out, from somewhere. Emma could only hear it because it spoke through some sort of device built into the walls. It made whoever was speaking echo powerfully and loudly through out the entire area. She pinched her eyes a bit, a headache starting from the burst of noise. "She is too exhausted. She has gone on long enough for the day." now Emma recognized the voice. Alveri. "Have your men escort her back to her husband. We will start again tomorrow."

Barkov grumbled again. "No, tomorrow is her therapy." he did not sound pleased by that, but Johl had told them that if they intend for her to walk and be of use outside her transformed state, she would need this strengthening exercise. Vigorously. Bertrand did not argue. He wanted her to be able to at least move to him on demand without difficulty. "After that though..."

Emma sat where she had dropped and lowered her head, taking deep breaths. Yes...some rest...that's what she needed. She hadn't meant to close her eyes and doze off, but within seconds, she had.

When she woke next, it was because soldiers had roughly pulled her up to her feet. She grimaced but dared not say a word. Barkov was gone now. The soldiers practically dragged her back her quarters, though it did not feel as if they meant her any harm. When she was left in her room, she found no energy to crawl to her bed, so she laid down on the cold stone and closed her eyes. It was not for her though, that sleep, for someone barged into the room.

"There you are...what in gods name are you doing lying about the floor?" She sighed. Lucas. "You ought to be in bed. You will catch a cold like this..." he helped her to her feet and toward their bed. "Gods, you are freezing! Get into some blankets and I will have some warm tea brought to you." oh how she hated tea. "You are an hour later than normal." she froze. No. This was not her fault! "I will speak with Barkov and remind him on his session length. You are not fit to be out of bed for that long."

Lucas left her then, without another word. Emma knew he would be back. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but just as she was about to be swept away to her dreams, Lucas re-entered the room. He held a tray with a tea pot on it and two class cups. "I have already mixed in your medication and your supplements, but I was unsure if you would like sugar or honey added to your tea." he sat it on the stand beside the bed and looked at her. "Do you want it plain?"

She sighed again and shook her head. She just had to hurry through this, and then sleep. Yes. Sleep. He smiled and poured in honey, a generous amount, and then carefully handed the steaming class to her. Her hands shook and she was sure she was just mere seconds from spilling, but the heat in her hands did feel nice... no, she reprimanded herself. There is no good here! He noticed her weakness and helped to bring it to her lips.

It tasted as awful as she thought it would.

When she did not drink more than a sip or two, he frowned. "No. You must drink it all." he pressed the cup back to her lips. "You must. It is good for you." without arguing, she drank it all. It sent a chill through her spine from the disgusting taste. He laughed. "Sometimes you act like such a child..." he put the cup back down on the tray and took her hand.

No. Please just go so I can rest...please...

"I have something I wanted to talk to you about." he gripped her hand. "It is about my mother."

That got her attention immediately. She hadn't seen Sherra since she had changed into her monster form the first time. She tried to sit up but he gently pressed her back into the pillows. "No, don't rise. She is fine. I promised you she would be, didn't I?" he sighed. "I'm bringing her up because three days ago, she had given birth."

Fear gripped her. If Sherra was okay... "Is...is the baby okay?"

He smiled. "Yes, of course." she sighed, relieved, and he said, "I have a new little brother." A brother? She thought, feeling horror grip her, and grief. Sherra had prayed and prayed for a girl. No...it is better she doesn't, she realized, looking away from Lucas. If it were a girl, there would only be pain... "Are you unhappy about that?" he asked her, though he did not sound angry or annoyed.

It did not take a command for her to tell the truth. "No, I'm not."

"You didn't looked too pleased. Are you sure?"

Emma dared a look at him and then looked away again. "I—I just want to see them, that's all."

"Well, that could be arranged. I think it sufficient that the danger of you being near her is all but gone. The child has already come, after all."

She frowned. "I can see her?"

Lucas got up then and quietly walked to the other side of the room, where one of the windows were. He peered out into the darkening sky with a deep frown. Emma did not like the look in his eyes. What did she do wrong recently that could upset him? It dawned on her with a cold sweat. There was yet a child between them. Was that why he was bringing Sherra up? Not because he wanted to share the news, but because he was upset? She knew there was no getting out of this if he were, and meekly asked, "Are...are you upset with me?"

He suddenly turned to look at her, brows furrowed, though in confusion. "Why should I be upset with you? You haven't done a thing wrong."

"You...you are upset though?" it was daring, but she had to be sure.

He smiled a little, more tiredly than she had ever seen on him. "Yes, but not with you. With myself." she blinked, unsure of where this was going. "I often think on the day I had lost my control, my temper. My inability to control myself brought you immense pain, over and over again, but the day I had given you to my father and he took your hearing from you is the worst of them. I feel sick when I think about it."

She sat there quietly and suddenly he hurried to her, dropping to his knees beside the bed. He took her hand again. "If you could just forgive me for my part in you losing your hearing...oh please my sweet wife, I would do anything for your absolution."

She blinked. What?! Why did he think she would ever give him... her thoughts stopped there though. If he wanted to, he could easily demand it from her. Was this a test? If she denied him, would he lash out? I won't make him angry, she thought fearfully. Never again. "I...I forgive you, Lucas."

He smiled brightly and leaned over to kiss her lips. "Thank you my beautiful wife, thank you!" he kissed her again and again, and not even her stiffness could dispel his pleasure. "You have made me so happy!" he hurried his way to the door, a bright smile on his face. "And I have just the gift for you! I shall see my father and convince him to let you see Sherra again. I'm sure he will grant me such."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

He laughed. "I would do anything for you!" he said. "You are my wife, after all." that ruined the happy news for her, but she was determined not to let it show on her face. "You know my love...you and I..." he took a breath and then smiled even brighter. "I always knew we would be together, but how pleased am I that you and I are so similar." and then he left, with just as much jubilation as he had displayed seconds before.

Emma stared after him, feeling the weight of his words press on her.

That's right, she thought, unable to turn her eyes away. We are monsters alike...

---

Firstly, let me say this chapter—and probably chapter 3, 4 and 5—are probably so far the most crucial remakes of the story. It captures pivotal moments for many of the characters, especially Emma, and sets up important ground work for later. It was a lot of fun to revisit the chapters and characters, and capture them in what I think is a more "positive" light. I hope you guys liked it! Secondly, just so it is clear, the torture Emma had endured is a stapedectomy. Bertrand knew how important it was to Emma to hear music and did so mostly to be cruel. Due to this botched surgery—as the later chapters showed—Emma's hearing is destroyed on her left side completely. Thirdly, yes, when Emma thought of the water, it was her contemplation of suicide. Lastly, concerning the huge addition to the chapter; it plays an important role later on in the story. I thought it important to dig this in earlier, because Bertrand's goal is to destroy the Figaro line, and to do that he needs Emma's legal ties.

Anyhow...thank you for your continued support! I truly do hope you like the story, and thank you with all my heart for taking the time to read my stuff!

Song Title: Three Days Grace's Just Like You.