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CW: Sexual Content

Chapter 104: A Matter of Trust

Sex (if you will pardon the pun) was fucking delightful.

From that first whirlwind kiss in the broken chapel on the outskirts of Zeltennia to his teeth in her neck in a library after a Council meeting to her teeth in his on the balcony outside of a ball she had no interest in; from the feeling of his cock growing hard in her hand beneath the shade of a tree in the forest as he gasped into her ear, to his fingers buried in her and making her ache with warm pleasure in the wine cellar of Bethla Garrison-

To late one night, with the guards carefully dispatched on other errands across the castle, and her naked body pressed against his in the Viscount's empty quarters, the fire crackling in the fireplace as his lips sent electricity dancing out from her nipple and his fingers traced paths of gentle fire in her hair.

He looked up at her, and she looked down at him, and their eyes locked, and she had never seen those dark eyes look so young, or so vulnerable.

"Ovelia-" he started, with something like pain in his voice, and something like desperation.

"What I can do," Ovelia whispered back. "I will."

She drew him to her, then bit his shoulder to keep from crying out with surprised delight.

Her senses, her desires, her world itself had all acquired this new dimension, a depth she'd never been aware of that she now could not unsee. It was a little like when she'd first started to learn proper magic from Simon: her will alone could weave something new in the world, project new shapes, new powers, new forces. She'd never felt this powerful in her life. She'd never felt this alive.

"Your Majesty?" the Baron Bolminas intoned, while she dreamed as he droned. "Do I have your full attention?"

"You have exactly as much of my attention as you deserve," Ovelia replied. "If you wish for more, then earn it."

Her anger had dimmed this last month, though it had not diminished. If she did not storm through Zeltennia as she once had, she also did not keep too firm a leash on her tongue. It was a hard thing to put her finger on, but it seemed to her that she had found just the right balance. She no longer had to suffer fools quite the way she once had. When she did, it was for a purpose.

"You are impressive, cousin," Goltanna said, chuckling as they shared a glass of wine late one evening in his quarters. "The Baron's face, my word!"

"I was too cruel, wasn't I?" Ovelia replied, trying and failing to look ashamed. "Forgive me, cousin, but he seems to delight in being boring!"

Goltanna laughed harder. "A double-edged sword, I'm afraid. He has a head for facts and figures like no one I've ever met. He can recite the status of our granaries from memory."

"Really?"

"Ask him sometime." Goltanna sighed, running one hand down his mustache. "But he is also a Baron, and entitled to a modicum of respect. We need all the help we can get."

"How goes the War?"

Goltanna's face stiffened. "We continue to fight to make the usurper Larg-"

"Cousin, please." She put a hand on his. "Perhaps you think you are sparing my feelings, but when I sense you trying to soften news for my sake, it just makes me worry more. Every shadow looks twice as fearsome in the candelight."

He snorted. "And a gift with words, besides. You are impressive indeed, cousin."

"It must run in our blood," Ovelia said, squeezing his hand.

Goltanna smiled, just for a moment. Then the smile faded, and he looked truly old for the first time since Ovelia had known him. "To be honest," he murmured. "I...perhaps it is myself I am protecting. Elmdor's death..."

"I know," Ovelia said softly. "You were friends, weren't you?"

Goltanna nodded. "Perhaps as close as I have ever been with anyone. I love Cid, but he has always been my subordinate. The Marquis is one of the only men whose station equaled my own, and..." He sighed. "I helped him when he first came to power! His father died during the 50 Years' War, set off a struggle for succession in Limberry that cost us twenty years of gains in Ordallia...and he was brilliant!" His eyes glistened. "We would have lost the whole war then, if he were not so charismatic, so kind...and now...if he could see them at war again...!" He finished his wine in one swig.

"We lost a great man," Ovelia said, patting Goltanna's calloused hand.

"A great man," murmured Goltanna. "A great general. And two-thirds of the Limberry army." He buried his face in his hand. "The Elmdors are dead. The Thadolfas are dead. Grimms, too. And whatever's happened to the Grand Duke and the Khamja, we've no hope of reinforcement from Fovoham."

"I heard something about that," Ovelia said. "Riovanes Castle was attacked?"

"It's uncertain," grunted Goltanna. "Could just be an explosion in the armory...but there are rumors of monsters, strange magics...even that heretic Beoulve." He sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"No, I suppose it doesn't." She squeezed Goltanna's hand, to mask her annoyance. "We'll figure something out, cousin. We'll see that the Marquis' death does not go unavenged."

She left her cousin in his office, and strolled casually back to her own quarters (steady of step even as her head spun). There were no guards at the door, and when pushed the apartment open and closed the door behind her, strong arms caught her from behind—one across her shoulders, the other just below her breasts.

"You took too long," Delita's husky voice whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear.

"Forgive me for not being as useless as you," she answered, trailing one finger along the side of his neck.

"I can think of at least one good use for me."

She felt him stiff against her back, and almost reached for him. Slowly, deliberately, she pushed him off of her, and turned to face him. "I can think of more uses than that."

He was grinning as she turned, but his grin faded as their eyes met. He sighed. "All business, then?"

"Business before pleasure," she replied softly.

"Sounds a bit like prostitution."

"I suppose I am technically paying you for your services."

He laughed. She smiled, but did not laugh with him, and his face grew solemn. "What?"

"Was Ramza at Rivoanes?"

Delita hesitated. "I don't know."

"No?"

"No," Delita said. "I sent a friend to see if he's alright, but I've yet to get word."

"Do you know what happened at Riovanes?"

Another moment's hesitation on Delita, and Ovelia felt her desire for him dim a little further, and her anger climb a little higher. All this time, and he was still keeping his own counsel. Keeping secrets.

Perhaps he sensed her anger, for he looked suddenly guilty, and stepped towards her. "If I knew, I promise I would tell you," he said. "And when I know, so will you."

He put his hands on his shoulders, and stared into her eyes, and she couldn't describe what she saw looking up at him, only that it was like looking up into the night sky and feeling yourself swallowed by that infinity, and when she leaned up to kiss him she felt herself freefalling up into the stars and laughing as she went.

Days later, there was a knock upon her door, and Ovelia, writing a soothing letter to one of the few Limberry nobles not fighting in the burgeoning civil war, called out, "Enter!"

The door did not open at once. A coarse voice cleared their throat before they spoke; "Your Majesty, I do not wish to disturb you-"

She had heard the voice only a handful of times over the last few years, but she recognized it at once. "Count Orlandeau!" Ovelia exclaimed. "Please, enter! It's the least a man of your station is due."

"I appreciate your courtesy, your Majesty," the Count replied, though the door remained unopened. "But I am not the only guest this afternoon. My son, Olan Durai-"

"Any member of House Orlandeau needs not stand on ceremony!" Ovelia insisted, though the back of her neck prickled with unease. "Enter at once!"

The door burst open. Olan Durai strode in, sketching a graceful bow without once breaking his step. "You do us too much credit, your Majesty," he said, his red/brown eyes glittering like fireflies.

"And you are too bold by half, Olan!" his father reprimanded, following behind him. He fell to one knee as soon as he entered. "Your Majesty-"

"I asked you not to stand on ceremony, Count Orlandeau," Ovelia huffed, placing her quill back in its inkwell. "I hope you do not intend to disobey your queen."

She smiled, and Orlandeau's cracked lips, framed neatly by his trim, silvered beard, smiled back. The expression softened his lined faced. She had not had much occasion to speak with the Count, but he'd made an excellent impression in their few meetings.

"I may be too bold by half, your Majesty," Olan said, with another bow. "But you are more gracious still."

Again, Ovelia's neck prickled with unease. If her few meetings with the Count had left a good impression, her few encounters with Olan Durai were rather more mixed. He was respectful, attentive, intelligent...and altogether dangerous. It was the way those eyes looked at you: not hungry, exactly, but consuming, drinking in every inch of you, making connections with nothing but the smallest detail. They burned just as brightly as Delita's did, but unlike Delita, he hadn't earned her trust.

"You've returned from the field?" she asked.

She was gratified to see Olan was surprised. "You...knew of my mission?" he asked.

"I knew you were reconnoitering behind the Hokuten battlelines," she replied. "Alone?"

He shook his head. "Me and my squad."

Her eyebrows arched. "How did you manage to get so many men behind enemy lines?"

"Our offensive a few months ago, your Majesty," Count Orlandeau said. "When the Hokuten overextended in the north, the Marquis moved to flank them-"

"While my squad moved along the mountains, and cut through the break in the lines," Olan said.

"And how did you get back?" Ovelia asked.

"That part was easy," Olan replied. "There are no battle lines anymore."

Ovelia frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

There was a moment of silence. Both men were staring steadily at her, yet somehow she got the impression they were exchanging glances. She felt a pang of envy, then: there was such palpable trust between the Count and his adopted son. Had she ever had that with anyone?

Agrias. Alma.

Not Delita?

Her heart twisted in her chest. She allowed no sign of that strange pain to reach her face.

"My father and I are loyal men of Zeltennia," Olan said, after the silence had stretched. "Faithful servants of Duke Goltanna and the rightful Queen of Ivalice for whom he fights." His eyes glittered like dark stars. "We would be remiss if we did not make sure our leaders had the most complete information with which to make their weighty decisions, no?"

Her neck prickled again, but she gave him the most sincere, forthright look she could manage. "Your fealty is not in doubt, Olan Durai."

"You are too kind, your Majesty." He bowed his head. "When Ser Heiral asked us to brief you, I did wonder-"

"Ser Heiral sent you?"

"Sent is a strong word, your Majesty," the Count put in, from behind his son. "Ser Heiral suggested you could use a more..." He trailed off, visibly searching for the polite thing to say.

"A more thorough briefing than your duties usually allow," Olan put in, and his father nodded gratefully. "To make sure you fully appreciate the decisive moment ahead of us."

The prickling on her neck was different this time, deeper, like cold electricity crackling up through her scalp and down through her skin, tingling beneath her skin. "You believe the war nears its end?"

"The war has taken a heavy toll on both sides, your Majesty," the Count said, stepping forward so he stood side by side with his son. "You were not privy to these discussions—understandably, given your exhaustion in the aftermath of your arrival at Bethla Garrison—but there was a reason we struck at the Lion's Den almost as soon as we declared war. The Hokuten have always outnumbered us: in any war of attrition, they have a much greater potential to outmaneuver our forces. In arms, supplies, and defenses, we match or exceed them...in numbers, never."

Ovelia nodded slowly. "And now we have lost Limberry."

"On top of the casualties from the war thus far," the Count agreed. "Our joint offensive a few months ago was our last, best attempt to break the Hokuten lines and bring a decisive end to this conflict. With the Marquis' death..." The Count shook his head. "Your Majesty, the Nanten no longer have the strength to defend our territory."

A deep cold in Ovelia's guts. "So the Hokuten will break through soon?"

"No, your Majesty," Olan put in. "They're just as exhausted as we are." He patted his father on the shoulder. "My father's attack on Duguera Pass bought me space to get behind the Hokuten lines, but it was much easier than we suspected it would be. Refugees crowd the main roads: the armies are barely fed, much less the major cities. We may still be outnumbered, but the Hokuten do not have the room to outmaneuver us."

"If there was ever a time to see if our enemies might seek peace, your Majesty," the Count said. "It would be now."

Ovelia hesitated. She was still in the dark as to the full scale of the Church's plan, much less Delita's, but she knew it counted on the ongoing war.

"With respect, Count Orlandeau," she said, adding a little frost to her voice. "You ask me to make peace with the men who tried to assassinate me."

"With respect, your Majesty," the Count replied. "For all you have faced in your life, I did not oppose peace with the Ordallians."

She felt her eyebrows rise again. "You are bold, Count."

"I am desperate, your Majesty." The grief in his voice shocked her. "I cannot stand to see Ivalice bleed itself to death."

He seemed about to say more, but Olan put a hand upon his shoulder. "Forgive my father his impertinence, your Majesty," Olan said. "We merely wished to make sure you had the best information possible with which to decide the fate of your kingdom."

Ovelia nodded. "Your courage, your conviction, and your loyalty are all appreciated."

Olan bowed more deeply than before. "Thank you, your Majesty. I know you have reason to fear disloyalty, after the betrayals you have faced." He paused. "Ah, that reminds me. I had a most peculiar encounter in my travels through Hokuten lands. Do you recall the young mercenary who joined your guard before the assassins arrived? Ramza Lugria?"

There was nothing cold about the shock that spread through Ovelia's spine then: it was white-hot, blazing with fear, so she tasted metal in her mouth. What did Olan know? Why were these two men here?

She let no sign of that electric adrenaline show on her face: instead she furrowed her brow. "Ramza, Ramza..." she repeated, as though searching her memories. Her mind raced frantically for the best lie. "Ah, yes. Blonde man? Rather taciturn? He seemed a good deal more polite than his employer..."

"Yes, well, that would be a mark of his upbringing," Olan said. "His real name is Ramza Beoulve."

The lightning crashed again, with force enough to split her spine in two. Rather than fight the feeling, she let it show on her face: fear, confusion, disbelief. "No..." she repeated. "Alma Beoulve's brother? Why wouldn't he..." She trailed off, and this time let the full weight of her fear cross her face. "Hold on a moment. The heretic Beoulve?"

"Alleged heretic." It was the Count who spoke this time, though he would not meet Ovelia's eyes.

"Didn't he kill Cardinal Delacroix?" Ovelia asked, and then her eyes widened. "Wait. Olan, you...you met this man?"

"I did, your Majesty."

"And you reported this to the Church, yes?"

Fear in Olan's eyes, and Ovelia felt a flicker of gratification in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know what game he was playing her, but he needed to know better than to take her surprise for granted.

"Would that I could, your Majesty," Olan said at last. "But I was on a covert mission, and I feared that doing my duty to the Church might betray my duty to you."

Ovelia furrowed her brow, and gave him a careful once-over. She wanted to look every inch the monarch deciding what was to be done with a difficult subject (not exactly far from the truth), but it also bought her time to think. Olan was probing around the events that had brought her to Bethla Garrison: there was a reason he'd asked about Ramza's position as one of her guards. But she didn't know why.

"Did he have some part in Louveria's plot against me?" she asked at last, and let a little sorrow creep into her voice. "I...was friends with Alma Beoulve, but I know her brothers rank highly in the Hokuten..."

"I am uncertain, your Majesty," Olan replied. "We were both traveling in secret during wartime, so he was not quick to confess anything to me..." He hesitated again. "But for what it's, I met him on the border of Lesalia and Fovoham..."

Ovelia did not have to fake, conceal, or channel any of her feelings now. "You don't mean..." Ovelia began. "Do you believe he is responsible for the fall of Riovanes?"

"The pattern does seem strange, your Majesty," Olan agreed. "Lionel is torn to pieces, and Ramza is declared the heretic responsible: the Grand Duke's castle falls, after I meet the man heading into Fovoham." He paused thoughtfully. "Though I wonder how such things could be possible? In both cases he was severely outnumbered, and up against warriors of no small caliber."

She was not supposed to know what had become of Ramza after Delita had kidnapped her from Orbonne, so she could not speak to his prowess. Carefully, she said, "Well...a heretic Beoulve is still a Beoulve, I suppose. His family may be traitors and heretics-" her heart panged as she said it. "-but that does not mean they lack talent."

"But what if there is something more than talent at play, your Majesty?" Olan asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What if there are powers here we do not understand?" Olan asked. "More expansive in scope and sophistication even then the treacherous schemes of the usurper Louveria?"

"I'm sorry, I'm still not following-"

"There are powers in this world, your Majesty," the Count said. "Powers that seem like childrens' stories, until you see them for yourself." His hand reached for a pouch upon his waist in a way that Ovelia found faintly familiar, and she realized why as he drew it out. It was exactly the same way the Cardinal had reached into his robes to pull out his Scorpio Stone. She was not disappointed: when the Count withdrew his hand, he held a stone as orange as the setting sun. Though it did not glow with quite the same radiance as the Cardinal's had, it still seemed lit from within, as though the Count held a twinkling star in his hand. Emblazoned on the front, burning slightly brighter than the rest of the crystalline Stone, were the hanging scales of Libra.

"A Zodiac Stone?" Ovelia whispered.
"One of the dearest treasures of House Orlandeau, your Majesty" the Count said. "And one rarely shared with anyone outside the family."

She wasn't trying to hide her feelings anymore. She didn't know what to feel. The sturdy walls she'd built around her few fond memories of a time before her coronation were crumbling. The orange stone before her eyes seemed to flicker red with the memory of Scorpio.

"Why did you come here?"

No one answered the question for a long time. Ovelia was barely aware she'd asked it.

"We are men of Zeltennia, your Majesty," the Count said. "But above all else, we are men of Ivalice. As you are our Queen, we came to petition you. Please. If this war can be ended. End it."

"And the Stone?" Ovelia asked.

"You were raised among the high luminaries of the Glabados Church, your Majesty," Olan said. "We need not tell you what the Stones signify, or the weight they carry among the people of our kingdom. And we believe these Stones mean something else, as well."

"What?"

Olan shook his head. "My information here is incomplete. But I would bet my life they share some part in the story of Lionel, of Riovanes...and of Ramza Beoulve." Again, his eyes glittered like stars.

Ovelia lifted her gaze away from the Stone to meet his glittering eyes. She tried to take the measure of the man. Holding something back (she suspected that Olan Durai rarely laid all his cards upon a table, however much he trusted you). But he looked an awful lot like his father. The same earnest sincerity. The same need.

"Men of Zeltennia," she repeated. "Men of the Nanten. But men of Ivalice, first and foremost." She stepped forwards, and put a hand on either man's shoulder. "You do us all proud. Should you find something, come to me directly."

The count and son fell to their knees, with her hands still on their shoulders. "Thank you, your Majesty," Count Orlandeau whispered. "You have put my mind at ease."

Ovelia almost laughed, but her thoughts were racing too fast to let her feel much humor. Her mind still clamored hours later, as she paced the spacious grounds of Zeltennia with the squat bulk of the castle behind her, heading unerringly for the abandoned chapel she loved so much, concealed within its little thicket of woods. She was not surprised to find Delita within, sitting on the dusty steps near the pulpit with a book in his hand.

"How are you?" he asked, without looking up.

She shook her head. "Why did you send them to me?"

Delita looked up. "I didn't."

"Don't play games with me."

"I didn't," Delita repeated. "They wanted to talk you anyways. I gave them an excuse." He closed his book gently. "All I told them was you wanted a more complete picture of the war. Was I wrong?"

"Count Orlandeau has a Stone."

Delita nodded. "Libra."

"You knew?"

Delita shrugged. "The Church knew. It amounts to the same thing."

"They don't intend to let him keep it."

Delita laughed grimly. "No more than they intend to let Ramza keep his."

"So why-"

"A more complete picture of the war," Delita repeated, and added, "A more complete picture than most can possibly have."

The door creaked open behind her. She turned her head to find Valerie Amfra, blue eyes flashing beneath a severe blonde ponytail, her loose clothes flapping dramatically about her with every movement.

"How have you been, Val?" Ovelia asked

"Busy," she grunted. She strode past Ovelia with only a cursory glance. After the conversation with Orlandeau and Olan, she found the lack of deference oddly refreshing.

"They've parted ways," Val said.

Delita nodded, though his face looked quite pale (it was easy to tell when he was nervous: the rest of his skin got so white that the burn on his cheek stood out much less). "We'll have the captain meet them directly-"

"We?" repeated Val, with a sardonic twist to her voice.

"What captain?" Ovelia asked.

Delita and Val looked at her, then at each other. Ovelia felt a flicker of annoyance. "By all means, take your time!"

Delita smiled slightly, and strode towards her. "Your Majesty, I had the great pleasure to speak with Duke Goltanna this afternoon, while you were busy with other matters. He was touched by your concern for him, and your sympathy in his grief. He was so touched, in fact, that he remembered a little-used royal retreat on the Neveleska Archipelago. It's fallen into some disrepair, but he thought it might offer you a bit of comfort in these chaotic days, while he strengthens the Nanten in preparation for what he hopes will be the war's decisive battle."

Ovelia felt unbalanced, her thoughts still rushing along behind the Count's pleas and Olan's suspicions. What did she need a royal retreat for?

Into the silence, Valerie cleared her throat, and said, "I understand that the Queen may be reluctant to remove herself from the heart of power in such a trying time, but Ser Heiral and I are determined to let her relax in comfort, so she may be ready to act as her kingdom needs. We're even seeking a company of entertainers, much wanted all across Ivalice."

Ovelia nodded slowly. "In many quarters by many people, I'm sure."

Val and Delita nodded. "Ser Heiral will take charge of your guard," Valerie continued. "While I make arrangements to bring the entertainers to you."

"So long as we can reward those entertainers handsomely," Ovelia said.

"My thoughts exactly, your Majesty," Delita said, bowing his head.

Ovelia smiled, and turned to leave, and almost fell over. Her legs were weak with giddiness. If she understood Val and Delita right...

Was she really going to get to see her friends again?

Hope, need, fear, all flashed within her like lightning on the horizon. But she took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, and rose to her full height. She might be a puppet queen, but she was still a queen, and there were matters to attend to, and much to consider. Business before pleasure, as she'd told Delita before.

But when she left the chapel, she couldn't fight the giddy grin twitching its way across her face.