Louise and her small travelling party continue their return journey to Tristain Academy.
All the while, Fouquet, having recently escaped captivity, awaits her next set of instructions from one of Wardes' informants.
However, the master thief soon soon realizes that her next mission is not quite what she expected it to be.
Homebound
Louise eyes Michael with bewilderment as their travelling party stands by the opulent Halfway House's reception desk.
How can he possibly want a room of his own after what they almost experienced together before leaving Tristania?
After the way he kissed her so passionately, after the way he touched her so tenderly, after how he made me feel so alive and free...?
How dare he treat her like this?
"Michael, why do you want a separate room so badly?" Louise demands with a huff, her cheeks burning and her eyes narrowed on her lover.
Michael simply shrugs and cracks that idiot smirk of his.
"Hey, I meant nothing by it, Louise," he replies lightly, raising his hands in a surrender gesture before lowering them again to his sides. "I just thought it'd be better to have our own rooms for a night, so we can actually get a decent night's sleep."
"But why?" she presses, her voice a high-pitched whine. "I mean, I would much prefer-"
At this, Kirche steps forward and brings her coin purse out from the inside pocket of her cloak.
"Are you objecting because you cannot afford it, Louise?" Kirche poses with something of an impish smirk. "Here, let me pay for it," the Germanian noblewoman offers, opening out her coinporse and pouring out a small pile of gold for the receptionist. "Consider it a gift from me: a present for Michael's gallant deeds in Tristania."
Louise, however, remains rooted to the spot. Her cheeks burn with rage and her eyes are narrowed at Kirche.
"H-How dare you assume such a thing, von Zerbst?" the pinkette demands whilst holding her hands to her hips. "I am a Vallière, and I shall not accept your charity!"
Kirche simply titters gleefully and leans over, her smirk widening.
"...Is that because you would much prefer Michael all to yourself tonight, hmm?" the buxom redhead asks in a quiet, somewhat alluring manner.
"I- It isn't..."
Louise's words die on her lips. She then looks at Tabitha, who is staring at her with a cool, unreadable gaze. The pinkette then turns her gaze to Michael, who is watching her with a curious, raised brow and folded arms. Her heart pounds and her cheeks burn red-hot.
Seconds drag by with painful intensity, the familiar letting nothing slip with his stoic expression.
And, overwhelmed by his lovely green eyes, the mage looks at Kirche again.
...Who hasn't scrubbed the damnable, gleeful look from her face!
"I..." Louise struggles, trailing off as the heat in her cheeks intensifies. She then looks down at the floor and bites her lip. "N-Never mind..."
As the receptionist hands Kirche the keys to their rooms, Louise turns on a heel and snags Michael by the wrist. Then, with a huff, she drags him off toward the stairs, Kirche's teasing chuckles trailing off behind her.
"Come on," Louise orders, her voice a dulled hiss. "You and are going for a quick chat, you ungrateful dog..."
Michael, for the most part, remains silent and follows as a good familiar should. He does, however, offer Tabitha and Kirche a friendly nod and wave of his hand, before he and Louise step away.
The reception is filled with people of various shapes, sizes, and appearances: some are tall, others are short. Some are thin, others are fat. Yet, despite the differences, all are dressed in finery befitting those of noble stature. The sorts of people Louise could do to be as far away from as possible when having exchanges with a von Zerbst.
...Especially when talk of having Michael to herself just left the frustrating cow's lips!
Alas, spotting a small table with plush seats in the corner of the wide reception area, Louise leads Michael there.
The two then sit down, Louise's eyes fixed on her familiar and her arms crossed.
"What is the matter with you?!" the pink-haired mage wonders, her voice low and tinged with hurt. "After the way you've been so affectionate toward me in the past few days, why would you want to sleep in another room...? Are you so ungrateful as to find me, a woman of nobility, lacking...?"
Michael looks at Louise for a moment and then lets out a sigh, his expression neutral. Then, he reaches out and puts a hand on top of hers, squeezing lightly.
"Not a chance, Louise, I promise," he assures her, his voice gentle and his expression softening. "I just... want a decent night's sleep before we get back to the Academy," the blonde reasons, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand gently. "And I'm not trying to be mean or anything, I could just use a rest from the heavy stuff, that's all."
Louise's eyes narrow and her lips twist into a small scowl.
"Really? Is that all?" she asks, her voice sharp. Her expression softens, however, and she sighs.
"That's all, Louise, I cross my heart," Michael promises, his voice still gentle and soothing. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand once he's sure no one is looking. "That, and... just think for a sec, alright? Has there been a single night out of these past few where you girls hasn't been all over me?"
"Ugh," Louise grunts out, rolling her eyes. She then lets out a long sigh, her posture deflating a little as she looks up at Michael with a small, almost apologetic smile.
"You're right," the mage admits, her voice gentle. She then leans over and plants a small kiss on Michael's cheek, her lips brushing against the skin there as she does. "You are, though I'd prefer you weren't," she admits, her faint smile widening the smallest fraction. "Therefore, I apologize. It was wrong of me to question your motives like that."
"Apology accepted," Michael replies, a satisfied look spreading across his face. He leans back into his seat and then he chuckles. "Y'know, Louise... you can be pretty cute about this stuff sometimes. When you want to be, I mean."
Louise's cheeks burn red and her eyes widen, and she bites her lower lip, turning away from Michael's gaze.
"S-Shut up, stupid familiar...!"
Michael simply chuckles at this.
"You know," the dolt continues, his voice gaining a passionate edge and his eyes twinkling with mischief. He then takes her by the chin and turns her eyes to meet his. "I'm not against giving the sheathe another go once we're home." He leans over, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek. "Once it's just you and me... If you're still up for it, I mean."
Louise's cheeks heat beyond compare and her breaths quicken.
The mere notion of being stretched wide by her lover's thick broadsword as he thrusts deep inside her... Goddess, it is almost too much for her to handle!
"Of... of course, Michael!" she agrees, her voice a high-pitched squeak.
"Alright, cool. But for now, I think we should both just relax."
Michael then draws his hands away and stands from his seat. As he does, Louise does follows with a still-thundering heart.
"Wait just a moment," she implores. She then grabs onto the familiar's shirt sleeve, stopping him from leaving.
The scruffy-haired blonde looks down at her, his eyes questioning.
"...Louise?"
The young Vallière chews on her bottom lip.
"...You're forbidden from unlocking your door tonight, Michael," she half-demands, half-begs, her grip on his sleeve tightening as her cheeks turn crimson. "O-Our initial agreement resumes from here onwards, also. S-So... you may only satisfy myself and Siesta unless I deem otherwise."
Michael looks at Louise with surprise for a second. Then, after giving her an awkward half-smile and letting out a soft sigh, he places his free hand on her cheek.
"Loud and clear, Princess," Michael replies with gentle understanding, stroking the skin of Louise's cheek with the pad of his thumb. His gaze is fixed on hers, his eyes soft and imploring, his expression warm and kind. "But that includes you too, you know," he adds with a small, playful chuckle.
Louise blushes again. Her heart skips a beat, and she looks up at Michael. She lets go of his sleeve, and then she gifts him an embarrassed but sweet hum in reply.
"B-But of course, you idiot...!" she follows with a nervous giggle. "A-and you'd better not try anything with Kirche, especially, or else I will make your life miserable...!" the Vallière adds in a threatening hiss.
At this, Michael leans close to whisper into Louise's ear. His breath tickles the skin on her neck, and his words are so soft that she has to strain her ears to hear them.
"...You mean like you did when we were last here?"
Flashes of the sinful acts she indulged while the four enjoyed themselves on the eve of arriving in Tristania flood Louise's mind.
...Perhaps most notable of these, she recalls, was her clinging to Kirche as though an innocent babe: The softness of her huge, tanned breasts, and the euphoria brought by suckling on her nipples.
Louise's eyes flutter and a dreamy look overtakes her at the thought.
"...Well, I-"
Then, her eyes snap wide. Her cheeks flush red and her heart begins to beat wildly, too.
"Y-Y-You... you vulgar, stupid, perverted dog...!"
Michael laughs softly and pats Louise's head, cracking another of his foolish smirks...!
"Keep your door locked up tight, too, 'kay Louise?"
He then turns on a heel and saunters off toward the reception desk
Louise's fists ball and her teeth grit.
"You... You..." she trails off with a frustrated whine. "Oh! Oh, I hate you...!" She fumes to herself.
"Michael! Don't you dare walk away after flustering me so!" Louise scolds somewhat bashfully.
The blonde, however, simply smiles and winks playfully at Louise.
"Better hurry up there, mistress, the butlers are already here for our bags."
And, just as Michael said, a small gaggle of well-dressed, suited men have already made their way into the lobby and have already begun collecting the luggage.
Louise's jaw hangs, her face turning scarlet with anger and her body trembling from sheer indignance at her familiar's dismissing her so casually. But, instead of shouting at Michael for being so frustratingly cocky, Louise simply huffs.
"Fine, I'll be right there, Idiot..."
...
Bags delivered to her suite and the door closed behind her by the valets, Louise lets out a long, exhausted sigh and looks over her room for the night.
The bedroom itself is quite large and opulent, and it contains a large four-poster bed. The floor is a dark wood with a large, intricately woven rug on top of it, with several small pieces of furniture arranged around the room.
The bed itself has an elegant, carved headboard with an embroidered duvet and matching pillowcases.
A large wardrobe is set into the far wall, and a vanity is set against the left side wall, next to a large, ornately decorated window. There's a door leading to an ensuite to her left and another door to the right leading to the suite's private balcony.
She then walks over to her bags that have been set by the side of the wardrobe and sits on the edge of her bed.
...And her thoughts drift back to Michael, as they always seem to these days.
As Louise loosens her bag's drawstring, her mind races with the possibilities of what could have happened last night.
She thinks of how Michael might have taken her, and how he would have pleasured her.
The young Vallière's cheeks burn and her heart skips a beat at the thought of the two of them lying in bed together, holding each other, kissing, making love.
The thought of being so close to Michael, to having him touch her, makes Louise shiver and her stomach tightens with desire. She licks her lips at the thought.
She then sighs and shakes her head, her small body positively trembling with want.
"Stupid maid, interrupting us like that..." she grumbles. "It would have been my first time..."
And, it is here that Louise's mind flashes to the sinful article slipped away in the smallest of her travel bags, the sheathe she and Michael would have used had their... passions not been brought to a grinding halt by a well-meaning servant.
Louise's cheeks turn scarlet as she dives into her bag.
"...I had better make sure that foolish butler didn't damage it whilst he carried my things," the pinkette declares aloud, trying to reassure herself, "protective box or no."
After a bit of searching, Louise finds the wooden box, which she opens up.
As she does, however, her eyes widen.
Inside the small, ornately crafted case, she only sees the velvet cushion upon which the glass jar is supposed to sit.
"W-What...? No... no, it was right here, where did it-?"
The petite mage then recalls placing it on the bedside table in a fit of panic after she and Michael swiftly dressed following the maid's interruption, to return the item to its box.
"..."
A cold chill runs up her spine and she freezes in place.
"Oh... no..." she whispers, her eyes widening and her breath quickening, her face turning a shade paler.
"I- I left it on the bedside table...! H-how could I have forgotten something so...?!" she asks herself in a frantic, panicked tone, her mind racing with a myriad of emotions and her body trembling from sheer anxiety. "How could I forget such a vital thing?!"
The pinkette, furious with herself, falls back against the sheets and throws an arm over her eyes. Then she lets out a long, drawn-out groan of dismay and anger.
"I'm so stupid...!"
She then pushes out a long, shuddering sigh and turns onto her side, staring into space and chewing her lip.
Getting another sheathe, especially when she is back in the far smaller, quainter Lenore, is not an option.
Discretion and secrecy between herself and the palace servants were all but assured while she attended Tristania Castle as a royal guest and. Doubly so as Henrietta's best friend.
Back in Tristain Academy, though, where she is held in high esteem as a nobleman's daughter, and the gossip mill's wheels are always churning?
Not so much...
Louise lets out an angry groan.
"Wonderful, Louise... Just wonderful..."
Fouquet is currently seated in the back room of a tavern located at the edge of Lenore. Her hood is pulled down over her face to conceal her features.
A mug of wine is on the table in front of her, and a half-empty bottle sits next to it. The room is lit only by the fire that crackles in the fireplace, and the thief's face is bathed in the dim orange light from the flames. She is waiting for one of the many agents that are under Viscount Wardes' employment and has been for almost an hour. She taps her finger impatiently on the tabletop.
As she does so, her thoughts turn to her narrow escape from Tristania's dungeons.
She shudders, and her stomach churns at the thought of being trapped there forever.
She then takes a deep drink from her mug and sighs, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes.
It is here that the barman, a tall, gruff man and an Albionian sympathiser, taps her shoulder.
"Yer room's ready for ye, ma'am," the balding, greying barman says, his voice deep and stony.
Fouquet, looking up from her table, bobs her head once. Then a second time.
"Thank you, sir."
The barman nods, and, as Fouquet finishes her mug, she heads upstairs. Once in her room, a simple peasant's accommodation with only the bare necessities, she removes her cloak and throws it on the bed.
She sits on the mattress, which is lumpy and uncomfortable. The springs creak beneath her as she leans back. She then kicks off her boots, which clatter across the wooden floor as they land by the foot of the bed.
Her head rests against the wall and she lets out a tired groan. She closes her eyes and tries to get some rest before her rendezvous with her contact.
As she does so, however, flashes of the brat students who bested her invade her thoughts.
Namely that pint-sized Vallière, and that fire-flinging commoner familiar of hers.
As she recalls the two, her heart begins to pound in her chest. Her breathing quickens, and her hands clench into fists.
Her eyes open and she stares up at the ceiling. She grits her teeth and growls, a deep guttural sound of anger, frustration, and hate.
"I'll get even with you two, I swear it," she vows to herself, her voice a short, venomous hiss.
Fouquet then sits upright. She looks out of the window and watches as the sun slowly sinks beneath the horizon, the sky turning an orange hue.
About an hour or so later, a knock at Fouquet's door pulls the thief's attention away from the window. She stands up and crosses the room, and opens the door. Outside a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman adorned in attire befitting a nun. A large brown cloak hangs from her shoulders, covering the black-and-white habit she wears underneath, and a silver crucifix hangs from her neck.
Fouquet's lips twist into a scowl at the sight of the nun.
"Lord Wardes sends his regards, Fouquet," the nun greets her with a bow of the head. "May I enter?"
Fouquet steps aside to allow the nun to step into her room and close the door behind her. The thief then turns to the nun with an unimpressed stare.
"And you are...?"
"My name matters not, Miss," the nun replies. "I am simply a servant of the true king, and an agent of Reconquista, just like you," she explains, her eyes fixed on Fouquet. "I have come to deliver your orders."
Fouquet, folding her arms, looks the nun up and down for a few moments longer.
The thief's gaze then drifts over to the door and she nods.
"Fine, whatever," she says. "Let's hear them."
"The plan has changed, thanks to meddling at the hands of those close to Henrietta," the nun explains, a note of annoyance about her. Then, pausing, she removes her cloak and folds it, placing the item on the room's simple bed. "Our informant within Tristania Castle has been compromised, and Felix the Swift narrowly avoided execution thanks to Lord Wardes' intervention."
The nun sighs and shakes her head, and her expression hardens. "We no longer have access to the information he provided."
Fouquet curses and clenches her fists, a low, angry growl rising in her throat.
"Those damn children are a constant thorn in our side..." the thief hisses.
Fouquet shakes her head again, closes her eyes, and takes a deep, calming breath.
"Meaning we are somewhat short on manpower?" she asks the nun, and her companion nods.
"Yes, you are correct," the nun replies with a nod. "Which brings me to your task, Fouquet," the nun continues. She reaches into the pouch slung around her shoulder and takes out a scroll of parchment. She unrolls the paper, and her expression becomes the smallest bit more serious.
"We require a new agent in Tristain Academy, one who will keep a close eye on the Vallière girl, her familiar, and any who would threaten our plans henceforth."
Fouquet raises an eyebrow and cocks her head.
"...Why Louise de la Vallière?" she poses, halfway scoffing. "...The girl is all but useless."
"You recall her strange power, no, the energy that demolished your golem familiar?" the nun asks.
Fouquet grimaces at the memory and closes her eyes, and she lets out a frustrated sigh.
"How could I forget? That tiny idiot girl was somehow capable of reducing my stone familiar into a pile of pebbles in seconds..."
"Precisely, then she is not so useless," the nun points out with a nod. "That power, we believe, is the void," she reveals, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "The Element with power steeped in legend: A power we believe she has..." the nun trails off and purses her lips in contemplation. "...As such, we cannot let her into the wrong hands."
At this, Fouquet drumbles, sits down at the small table by the bed, and folds her arms.
"And you plan to win the obnoxious runt over how, exactly? That brat has Henrietta's ear, and is protected constantly by that familiar of hers..."
The nun cracks a devilish smirk.
"By making use of a pawn, someone who will sow discourse between the two, and, given enough persuasion, hopefully, remove the threat her familiar presents us outright," the nun reasons, tapping the tip of the scroll. "Now, look here..."
Fouquet narrows her eyes on the scroll the maid presents to her. After unfolding the parchment, the thief looks at the sketched picture drawn onto it.
...And eyes widen with confusion at the person therein.
"Guiche de Gramont... that pompous boy who fancies himself a lady's man?"
"Yes, you are correct. He and Vallière's otherwordly protector have a... contentious history, according to my master's spies in the academy," the nun notes, looking down at Fouquet with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "We, or should I say, you, will use this to Reconquista's advantage."
Fouquet's brow raises, and her expression softens.
"Go on."
The nun's smile broadens. "The Gramont boy despises the man, Michael, for interfering in his courtship with a young lady, Miss Montmorency," the nun reveals, her voice baring a wicked edge. "She has since ended their relationship, and none of the idiot boy's attempts to woo her have proven successful. This has left him... frustrated, to put it lightly."
Fouquet's lips twist into a cruel, knowing smirk of her own. This trite affair did not escape her while she served as Osmond's secretary.
"...Oh yes, of this I am well aware," the thief notes, her tone mocking and her expression full of malice. "Word had it before my departure - if the students I overheard were correct - that Miss Montmorency fell for Vallière's familiar during the whole foolish affair, as well."
The nun chuckles gleefully at this.
Then, folding and setting down the parchment on the table, she places a hand on the thief's shoulder. "Even better," the well-endowed blonde remarks, devious delight alive in her eyes. "Given enough time, and some careful manipulation on our part, we will have the perfect weapon against the Vallière girl and her friends."
The nun's expression darkens somewhat and her eyes glint with intrigue. "And, to this end... our master would have you seduce the Gramont boy, Fouquet."
The master thief's heart kicks in her chest at this sudden development, and her eyes widen. She then blinks and raises a brow.
"...Seduce?" she utters with unease.
The nun nods and lets out a heated, almost alluring hum.
"Quite," she confirms, an evil sneer twisting her lips. "It will not be hard to do so, the boy is a nobleman, and the heir to a powerful house. You need only appeal to his sense of pride, and his... baser instincts as a man."
Fouquet scoffs and looks at the nun and a small frown forms on her face.
"...You're no nun, considering this suggestion," she asserts, folding her arms over her ample bosom and cocking an eyebrow. "So, why not tell me who you really are?"
The nun chuckles somewhat coldly.
"It's of little importance," the woman replies. She then reaches into her pocket and takes out a handful of gold and silver coins, which clink together as she pours them out on the table before the thief. "But... if you really must know, I'm actually a whore, a Tristanian sailor's unwanted love child: A sinner that owes her life to Lord Wardes."
Fouquet blinks, taken aback by the woman's candidness.
"...That explains a lot."
"I am sure," the nun remarks with a shrug. She then smiles and, having finished presenting the thief with coinage, leans in close, her warm breath brushing over Fouquet's ear. "And, knowing much of others from a glance as I do, something about you shines clearly as day, Matilda de Saxe-Gotha..."
Fouquet freezes at the use of her birth name and she blinks.
"What are you on about?" the thief demands in a terse whisper.
A small chuckle escapes the nuns plump, rosy lips.
"...You haven't been touched by another for a very, very long time," she seeks to presume, her voice a soft, alluring purr that makes Fouquet's skin tingle, "and I think that is why this plan will succeed."
The nun's fingers trail up the thief's shoulder, along her neck, and then come to rest on the woman's cheek.
"Lest you wish to see the cobwebs betwixt your legs grow even thicker," the blonde adds with an almost pitying smirk.
At this, Fouquet, her cheeks burning and her eyes wide with disbelief and rage, swats the nun's hand aside and she scowls.
"...I am perfectly satisfied, I'll have you know...!"
"Oh, really?" the nun wonders, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She then places a hand on her comrades shoulder, her games renewed and a mean-spirited glint in her eye. "Pray tell then, Miss Matilda... how old are you?"
The thief's scowl deepening, she grits her teeth and glares at the nun.
This is as bad as the time that old relic Osmond mocked her for being a spinster...!
"...I'm twenty-six, so what?"
"Hmm, yes," the nun says with a nod, and a low, thoughtful hum escapes her. "So, in other words... you're not getting any younger," the busty blonde points out, a note of concern in her voice. She then lets out an amused laugh. "Which is why I, were I in your shoes, would take what I could get."
Fouquet's eyes hone with razor sharpness and her jaw tightens.
"I'll not let some young upstart plough me...!"
"Oh yes you will," the nun replies with a nod of her head, her expression growing more serious and her tone firmer. "Because our master decrees your cooperation, and..." the blonde woman continues, her catty smirk returning, "...a good tumble will go miles in curing that uptight attitude of yours."
Fouquet's cheeks burn with hellfire and her fists clench. She wants to curse, to shout at this damned whore masquerading as a nun.
...Yet, at the same time, the thief cannot help but acknowledge the woman's point.
A small part of Fouquet, deep down, wants nothing more than to feel the touch of a man again, to feel the rush of pleasure coursing through her veins.
The woman sighs and closes her eyes, her shoulders relaxing. She then looks at the nun and, lets out a defeated groan, and nods once somewhat stiffly.
"Very well then, fine, it's has been quite some time, as you say." Fouquet then folds her arms and looks at the woman her lips twisting into a small frown. "...I'll seduce the boy," she concedes with a somewhat pained exhale, "if you're sure my doing so is necessary..."
"Believe me, Matilda," the blonde woman replies, her hand reaching up to gently caress Fouquet's cheek. "It is."
"..."
The two women then exchange a look of understanding
Fouquet then smiles for a brief moment before her lips drop into a tense frown.
"...As you wish. How am I supposed to go about this, then?"
"The finger details are with the barman downstairs, but I will summarise," the nun begins anew, "you will change your appearance and pose as a saleswoman in a nearby bookshop, down the road from the Charming Fairy Inn," the blonde instructs, easing back from Fouquet and folding her arms.
"...Lord Guiche is known to frequent this shop on occasion, and it is here you will make your move."
The nun's expression heats, becoming sultry and intense.
"Make him yours, Matilda, make him yearn for you, make him desperate and needy..." she decrees, her voice laced with warmth and her smile widening as her gaze shifts back to the parchment on the table. "And, once you do, have him confide in you about everything that transpires concerning Vallière and her familiar. Then with enough time, we can get rid of that troublesome man. With him gone... his mistress will be open to Lord Wardes' influence."
Fouquet nods and her gaze darkens, her eyes narrowing into a determined stare.
"...Consider it done."
The nun hums with satisfaction and leans in closer to Fouquet.
"Excellent. Do not fail, Matilda, and do be creative with your disguise, also. We don't need anyone recognising you," the woman warns. She then chuckles, turns on a heel, and begins for the door.
The nun's fingers close around the handle, but she pauses.
She then looks over her shoulder and gives the thief a wistful look.
"Oh, and, some advice, while you're at it..."
Fouquet, standing from her seat, turns to face the blonde and raises a curious brow.
"Hm? Yes, what is it?" she asks.
"Have the Gramont boy bring you books concerning magical familiars, should the opportunity arise," the nun instructs with seriousness as her eyes narrow on the thief. "They will prove useful in helping us remove that bothersome Guardian from the picture... if the little lordling proves incapable of doing so himself."
The nun then opens the door, steps outside, and closes it behind her.
Fouquet, now left to herself, turns to the window and stares into the night sky. Her mind races with a multitude of thoughts and possibilities.
Then, she lets out an exhausted sigh and falls back on her bed.
Her gaze then shifts back to the coins on her bedside table, and she reaches out, picking one up.
Then, forcing a shallow chuckle, the thief examines it for a moment and then pockets it in her cloak.
"To think I've been reduced to this..."
It is late afternoon, the sun high in the sky and the air cool as our coach pulls to a stop at the Lenore carriage station. As before, the town bustles around us and folks are busy with everyday tasks.
As the coach stops, the driver - an old man named Gerard, a kind-hearted and friendly fellow who took the last-minute booking happily - opens the doors to allow us off the vehicle. He bows with that Tristanian politeness and tips his cap. I follow up with a grateful smile.
"Thanks, Gerard," I tell him.
"No, no, thank you for the good company, young man," Gerard follows up, "and don't worry, those two lassies squabbling didn't dampen my spirits none." He looks between Louise and Kirche, the latter of whom is still riling up her pink-haired rival, and belts out a gleeful belly laugh.
I'm glad it's funny for one of us. It gets pretty old when you deal with it near enough everytime these two go anywhere together.
That said, I offer the guy an apologetic look for his trouble.
"Yeah, sorry about them," I mutter, frowning softly, "they're kinda bad for it."
As Gerard laughs, I take one of his outstretched hands and disembark the coach, and I help each of the girls down in turn. The three girls each thank the coach driver and step a few paces back while he and I unload the bags from the roof rack.
Then, once they're down, I look to Louise, who has finally stopped taking Kirche's bait, and give her shoulder a gentle pat.
The girl, her wavy pink hair flowing in the afternoon breeze, looks at me. Then she nods and offers small smile of thanks.
"Okay, that's the bags down," I say, jabbing a thumb back over my shoulder. I look back at the driver and offer him a thumbs up. "Thanks again, Gerard, you're a good guy."
Gerard returns my gesture and tips his cap a second time.
"A pleasure, lad, a pleasure."
With that, Gerard hops back up onto the front of his coach, snaps his reins and pulls away from the curb with a clatter of horseshoes and a rumble of wheels.
We wave to the man, who waves back, and, with a clatter, he turns a corner and disappears into the hustle and bustle of Lenore.
With Gerard gone, the Four of us turn to face each other. As I reach down and pick up Louise's bags in one hand and mine in the other, the pink-haired girl clears her throat.
"You can put those down, Michael," she tells me, and I blink at her in confusion.
The petite mage glances over to Tabitha, who offers up a small nod of acknowledgement.
"Hmm? Yes, Louise?" Blue questions, raising a brow.
Louise, folding her arms behind her back and straightening to stand up a bit taller, offers up the smallest of smiles.
"Finding a runner will be far easier, don't you think?"
Tabitha nods and turns to Louise, giving her a nod of acknowledgement. The blue-eyed mage's eyes flicker briefly to the bag slung over my shoulder and to the one I have gripped in my hand.
"I think so, yes," the bluenette agrees with a small dip of her head.
I crank a brow upward, a touch confused.
"...A runner?"
Kirche, stepping up beside me and leaning in close, explains with a smirk.
"A messenger, Michael, dear," she tells me, chuckling as if I said something silly. "Don't tell me that your world doesn't have runners...?"
Opting to avoid a conversation involving just loading bags into a car, or everyday people carrying bags themselves, I just shake my head.
"Nope, can't say we do," I answer with a shake of my head.
"Anyway," Louise cuts in, her tone a little sharp because of Kirche's closeness to me right now, "...if we find a runner to deliver a note for us, we can send for Siesta."
On the same page, I snap my fingers and hum approvingly.
"Oh, yeah, good."
Louise nods, then turns to Tabitha, and I can't help but notice a little bit of excitement on the bluenette's usually stoic features.
"...I'll search one out," she volunteers. "It will not take long."
Tabitha steps off to one side, away from the carriage stop, and loses herself in a crowd of nearby commoners.
...
A young lad having been sent off a good half an hour ago to fetch Siesta, I wait with my companions and our bags. We sit around a large wooden table together, outside a tavern. The barkeep was kind enough to have us kick around for a while once Kirche flashed some leg and bought a round for us all.
"You only got that round so cheaply because you flashed him, Kirche...!" Louise damn-near hisses, slamming a palm against the table.
Humming teasingly, Kirche winks at my mistress.
"...At least I have assets to flash, Louise."
"H-How dare you...?! I-I have decent enough breasts...!"
Shaking my head, I lower my gaze to my mug of rum. I then look over my reflection for a quick second and take a quick, hard swig.
Oh yeah, this right here's a good burn. I'm getting used to Tristanian spirits-
"Miss Vallière, Michael, I'm here...!"
Hearing Siesta's chipper, sunshine voice for the first time in a good few days fills me with a good, strong glow. A kind of warm and comforting feeling washes over me.
I set my rum down, alive with eagerness, and get up from my spot. Then I turn to the approaching maid with a wave and a wide grin.
"Hey there, love! How have you coped without us, hmm?"
The maid beams at my greeting, and my heart somersaults my chest at the sight of that gorgeous, adoring look she always has for me. Then, Siesta, not holding back for a moment, rushes on over and tackles me with a warm, tight embrace. Her arms snake around my waist, she nuzzles her cheek against my chest, and a long, contented sigh escapes the curvy lass.
Behind us, Louise growls like an angry little cat and I see her eyes narrow on us from the corner of my vision.
I choose to ignore her though and focus the entirety of my attention on Siesta.
"...I'm Much better now that I'm back with you..." my precious maid utters, her words muffled by my clothes. A faint, satisfied whine escaping her lips after a good couple of seconds cuddling me. "...Oh, Michael, I missed you so much...!"
The maid's arms squeeze a bit more tightly around me, and she buries her face against my chest.
"Missed you too, girl, missed you too," I reassure her with a soft chuckle. I pull Siesta in closer and gently kiss her forehead, earning me a sweet giggle.
"So, did you enjoy your family time?" I follow up as a whisper into her ear.
Siesta's smile grows and her cheeks flush an even brighter shade of scarlet.
"Yes, yes, I very much so...!" she confirms with an enthusiastic nod. She lets out a small giggle, then looks me over, and her eyes widen. "My cousin Jessica and I had a proper catch up for the first time in so long. And, oh my goodness... How I would love to introduce you to my uncle Scar-"
"Siesta...!" Louise damn near barks, her voice shrill with irritation. "I am sure that we are all very happy that you are reunited with my familiar, but..." She clears her throat, folds her arms, and lets out a huffy, annoyed sigh. "You're here for our bags, remember...?"
Tabitha, beside her, shoots me an unimpressed stare and quietly sips from her wine glass. A cold jab from our shared bond slugs me me as she does, too.
At this, I let go of Siesta and the two of us share something of a sheepish glance.
Then, after tidying her creased uniform and stepping back from me, Siesta bows for Louise with some serious Tristanian respect.
"Oh, of course, Miss!" the servant exclaims with a touch of formality. She then takes Louise's bags in her arms, and mine, too. "I'll take the lead, shall I...?" she offers.
The pinkette, after taking another drink of her wine and finishing it, stands up. Then she turns and gestures back in the direction of the academy and gives a single, steely nod.
"...That would be wise, yes."
Siesta, ever eager to please, smiles brightly and bobs her head a couple of times, and I offer the woman my thanks with a pat on the shoulder. With our belongings in tow, the maid begins for the academy, her heels tapping on the cobbled street as she goes.
Louise and Tabitha, the latter of whom carries her bag over her shoulder, follow.
And, Kirche, slinging her bag over her shoulder, falls in next to me with a playful purr.
"Michael, dear...?" she begins with a touch of hesitation as though she wants to say something more.
I look over to the busty mage and give her a curious look. Kirche, after taking a deep breath, smirks wickedly at me.
"Hmm? Yeah?"
The redhead, raising a hand to her mouth and chuckling, glances Siesta's way. Eyes fixed on her for a good few moments. She then hums deeply, and then her gaze flickers back to me. Her expression is unreadable for a few moments before it changes to something playful and knowing.
"...Things have progressed between you two since her rescue from Mott's estate, haven't they, hmm...?" Kirche poses, her tone heated and her eyes glinting with a matching intensity. Her lips then widen into a full-blown toothy grin for a second, and she chuckles to herself again. "Oh, how I relish such competition...!"
I let out a nervous laugh and start on my way, doing my best to keep at the back of the pack.
"Long story, Kirche," I reply with a second, equally nervous laugh.
"I'm all ears, darling," the Germanian purrs, nudging my side. Then, with a quick movement, the girl's arm snakes around my shoulders and she leans in closer to me. Her lips press against my cheek in a gentle kiss, her warm, moist lips brushing against my flesh. Then, with an alluring titter, the well-stacked beauty leans away.
"...Don't keep a lady waiting now..."
Louise, hearing the exchange between the two of us, lets out a growl of annoyance and glances back over her shoulder at us.
And, honestly not wanting to piss Princess off anymore, I let out a sigh and shake my head.
"You're a smart girl, Kirche," I whisper, giving her a sidelong look of my own, "you already know."
Kirche hums again and, quite content with my explanation, pats me on the shoulder.
"You're a naughty, naughty boy, Michael DeSliva," the redhead utters sensually.
And, eager to finish this little exchange of ours with an edge, I crack a smirk of my own.
"Takes one to know one, Kirche."
Kirche folds her arms behind her back and winks, and then she steps away from me to join the others.
I watch as she, Louise and Tabitha walk on with Siesta.
Then I let out a deep exhale, running a hand through my blonde locks as the four women in my life continue up the cobblestone through Lenore's main square. Their forms begin to disappear amidst the crowds of commoners going about their business.
"...You're pretty deep deep now, Mikey," I tell myself with something of a limp laugh. Folding my arms behind my back, I keep on walking. "Pretty damned deep."
...
It is early morning the next day and I lie awake in my bed, the warm, soft body of Siesta curled against my own, and my arm wrapped loosely around the woman's curvy hips.
With the early morning sun pouring in from the windows, the maid is deep in her slumber, the woman's face tucked against my neck. Siesta's arm is also draped over my chest and she lets out a soft moan as her eyes slowly crack open. Then, with a lazy smile, the woman's dark blue eyes flicker up and lock with mine.
I, smiling right back at her, lean forward to give the girl a tender kiss on the cheek, my hand running up the curve of her spine to settle on her shoulders.
Siesta shivers beneath my touch, then closes her eyes again, and snuggles even closer to me. She presses the warmth of her body against my own and kisses me softly on my collarbone. Our breathing synchronizes, slow and steady, her slender figure rising and falling against my chest. The sensation of her breasts pressing against me sends a rush of longing and affection coursing through my veins.
"Someone's missed me," I utter, mindful of our slumbering mistress in the four-poster bed at our side.
The maid giggles and pulls me even closer to her, a faint sound of affirmation escaping her lips.
"Oh my, yes..." Siesta replies, her voice barely above a whisper.
We remain entangled in one another's arms for several minutes, simply savouring each other's presence.
Suddenly, Siesta breaks the silence with a soft hum.
"...Michael, did you do something to upset Miss Louise...?"
"Hmm...?"
"Well, she must have refused to sleep beside you for some reason last night," Siesta continues.
I shift my gaze over to Princess and catch her still sleeping peacefully in the massive four-poster bed at our side. Her dainty form is concealed beneath her blanket, and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest tells me that she's sleeping soundly.
"It's classic Louise, really," I explain to Siesta, trying my best to keep my voice low, "...the girl got mad because I asked for a room of my own on the return from Tristania."
I continue with a weak smile. "And Kirche being Kirche, well... she stopped Louise from complaining by flat out paying for the room. Louise was fine at first, but she got a little snippy again yesterday."
As the words leave my lips, Siesta pulls her body from mine and sits upright beside me, peering down at me with a quizzical stare.
"I mean, you know how it is when those two lock horns," I remark with a dry chuckle.
Siesta shakes her head, her hair gently framing her face as she does.
"Oh, absolutely, though you have me wondering, Michael..." she mutters. Leaning forward, the maid brushes aside a few loose strands of hair that have fallen across her eyes. Siesta then gazes back down at me, her eyes searching and a trace of concern lingering on her features.
"...Why did you want a separate room from Miss Louise?"
Feeling my cheeks growing hotter under the intensity of her inquisitive stare, I drop my eyes down and release a short, almost exhale.
Guess it's about time I come clean about shit in Tristania, especially since Louise hasn't since our return home.
"Because things... escalated quite a bit while we were away, and not just between Louise and I," I tell her, keeping my voice hushed and low.
I lift my head to meet Siesta's gaze again, hoping to convey the sincerity behind my words.
"...Louise, Tabitha, Kirche and I... ended up sharing a room at this inn on the way to Tristania, The Halfway House, because there were no other vacancies," I explain. My cheeks burn as the memories resurface within me. "And, long story short... things happened, between all of us... together."
Siesta's eyes widen, a clear indication of surprise and curiosity flickering within them. "And..." She trails off, encouraging me to continue.
After drawing in a shaky breath, I continue as calmly as I'm able:
"It started with Louise and I kissing in the study, then Kirche and Tabitha stepped in and... basically pushed the rest into happening," I explain, my words emerging softly and deliberately. "Kirche... well, she persuaded Tabitha to show her feelings for me and one thing led to another," I confess.
Siesta listens intently, her eyes trained on me as she takes in each word spoken. Her expression shifts slightly, indicating a mixture of astonishment and a hint of intrigue. After a moment of taking in my admission, Siesta leans in closer, her eyes glinting with... something I can't read.
She raises an eyebrow, her gaze firm and her interest clear. Her voice drops to match mine volume and her following words are tinged with caution.
"...What sort of things, Michael...?" Siesta inquires, her words hanging in the air between us, laced with curiosity.
I draw in a breath and exhale slowly, gathering myself before I answer.
"...Do you really want me to spell it out for you?" I respond. I try my best to keep the volume of my voice down to not awaken Louise. My cheeks are flushed with a mix of heat and embarrassment, a reflection of the intimacy the four of us shared that night.
Siesta nods, her expression remaining steady, though a hint of something I cannot decipher lingers in her deep blue eyes.
"All right then..."
My heart rate accelerates as memories from that evening flood back to me - a dizzying swirl of sensations, emotions, and desires that still linger in the deepest corners of my mind.
"Lots of foreplay, kissing, too," I begin, my voice wavering slightly under the weight of the memories. "It was all quite... hot and heavy."
I can't help but pause, taking in the weight of what had transpired that evening.
"There was no outright sex, though," I eventually clarify after a good, long moment.
Siesta, the tension about her shoulders easing a bit, leans closer still, her breath warm on my skin and the soft scent of her shampoo tickling my senses.
"...Did you enjoy it?" she asks, her voice a whisper. Siesta's words are tinged with a mix of vulnerability and a genuine curiosity that resonates deeply within me. Her tone just now carried a blend of hopefulness and a touch of insecurity, as though she's hoping for a very specific answer.
As I meet her gaze, a surge of emotions rushes through me - a tangled mix of affection, longing, and a hint of unease. I take in her presence, her deep, expressive eyes and the soft curve of her lips, and push out a small, tense breath.
I can't hide the truth from Siesta, and I know that she'll see right through me if I try.
"...Of course I did." My response is nothing but honest, even though the admission is heavy and a touch uncomfortable. The room seems to close in around us as I let those words hang in the air, their weight almost crushing. I see a glint of sadness in Siesta's eyes, and my heart clenches. I hesitate for a moment before continuing. "...And... if it's worth anything, Siesta..."
My heart pounds, the echo resonating in my chest, as I muster the courage to utter my next words.
"...It doesn't change how special you are to me, not one bit..."
Siesta's gaze softens slightly at this admission. Her eyes search mine for a brief moment before her expression transforms into something gentle and tender. A flicker of warmth and understanding dances across her face as she leans in, closing the gap between us with a slow, deliberate movement. The air between us feels charged and almost electric.
Siesta's lips find mine, their touch a mix of sweetness and desire that ignites something deep within me.
The kiss is soft, yet full of emotion, and it lingers, sending a wave of warmth coursing through my veins. As our lips part, she remains close, our breaths intermingling.
"...I was afraid to tell you," I admit in a whisper, "and I know Louise was, too." My words are barely audible, and the weight of them hangs heavily in the space between us.
Siesta, her face mere inches from my own and her gaze unwavering, nods softly. A look of understanding is etched into her features.
And, my heart practically screaming at me to remain as truthful and honest as I'm being right now, I reach out and cup her face in one hand, my gaze locking onto hers with certainty. "Siesta, listen to me, okay...?"
Siesta's cheeks grow pink at this intimate gesture, her eyes widening slightly, her breath catching in her throat.
Her eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and fragility as I continue. "...I'm really grateful for the peace of mind and companionship Tabitha and Kirche gave while Louise and I were away, but..."
Against my will and every shred of my being, my eyes dampen. The sudden surge of emotion catches me off-guard, but I refuse to let it deter me. With a determined resolve, I push forward, allowing the truth to flow from my lips. "...They don't compare to you in some ways, they really don't."
My voice cracks slightly under the weight of my words.
"You mean the world to me, Siesta, so much that it scares me sometimes." I hold her gaze, allowing her to see the depth of sincerity in my eyes. "And, the last thing I'd want to do is to lose that."
A warm tear escapes, rolling down her cheek and tracing a delicate line on her smooth skin.
And through all of this, Siesta holds herself steady and still, her eyes never leaving mine. She takes a long, shaky breath and, with a delicate touch, brushes the tear from her cheek.
"Michael..." she breathes. Her voice is barely above a whisper, and her lonesome word is tinged with a mix of gratitude, adoration, and warmth. A small, precious smile graces her lips. "...Oh, Michael..."
And, with an almost hesitant motion, Siesta leans forward, her arms encircling me in an embrace that is both gentle and fierce.
"...So long as you are honest with me like this, I will never, ever leave you." Siesta's words are a tender promise. Her breath tickles my ear as she whispers. Then she pulls back and gazes deeply into my eyes. "...I love you, dearly, and I owe my life to you and Miss Louise."
Her declaration hangs in the air between us, carrying with it the weight of her emotions and the depth of her affection. Siesta's eyes, gleaming with sincerity, bore into mine and leave me trembling. She then leans in closer and places a tender kiss on my forehead.
"...You're one in a million, girl, seriously," I utter, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart feels like it's bursting with admiration for the truly awesome young lady in front of me. I lean in to press a soft, affectionate kiss on Siesta's forehead. "I love you, too."
Siesta's cheeks flush, and her eyes glisten with a mix of joy and affection. She leans forward and gently rests her head against my shoulder, her warm breath tickling my neck.
Behind us, sheets rustle and a zombie-like groan breaks the silence.
I feel Siesta's grip tighten around me, and her eyes snap shut as her breath catches in her chest.
"...What are you two whispering about down there? It's a quarter-past four..." Louise's sleepy voice drifts from behind us. I can feel her presence drawing nearer as she speaks, the bed creaking beneath her slight weight. "...You're lucky I don't throw you both out into the hall..."
Then, her voice still heavy with drowsiness, Princess lets out a yawn.
Siesta, her hand gripping mine even tighter, pulls back from me and glances back over her shoulder at Princess.
Before she can say anything, though, I chime in.
"Morning, Louise," I greet my little mistress.
Louise, her long pink locks a dishevelled mess and her nightgown crinkled, sits upright and rubs her eyes. She looks at the pocket watch on her bedside table, then back at us. She then lets out a huffy sigh.
"Morning, idiot," Louise greets me with a note of exasperation. "Now, be a good familiar and explain to me what's going on."
I glance at Siesta and, after taking a deep breath and feeling a knot in my chest, push ahead.
"...I told her about Halfway House, Louise, about all of it..." I confess quietly and cautiously, the words seeming to echo off the walls of the room for a good few seconds.
The pinkette's eyes widen at this revelation and her cheeks flush with heat, her usual pale skin taking on a deep crimson note.
"...And, well..." I continue. "Things are all right, we talked it out." I give a weak, half-hearted smile. "Siesta knows everything and, even though I got a bit emotional with myself, everything's fine."
Louise's eyes drop down to the floor and she fidgets, her fingers tapping against the covers, and a mixture of relief and unease flickers across her features.
"...Oh, I... I see," Louise murmurs, her voice barely audible. Then, with a soft shake of her head, the pinkette turns to face Siesta. Her expression is filled with worry. "...Well, I trust what Michael told you will stay between us, yes?"
Siesta, giving Louise a firm nod, responds. "...Yes, Miss Louise."
Louise then turns back to me and provides a small, barely visible nod of her head.
"...Thank you, Michael."
I offer Louise a small, somewhat hesitant smile.
"All good, Louise, it's all good."
Louise returns my smile, her eyes shining with relief and uncertainty. She lets out a long breath, then pushes herself up off the bed. She smooths her nightgown and then kneels to our level.
"Siesta..." she says, her voice carrying a hint of sternness to it.
The dark-haired servant, who is still holding my hand, nods for our mistress.
"Yes, Miss Louise...?" the girl replies with an anxious undertone.
Louise, leaning nearer, cups Siesta's cheek with her dainty left hand. Here, her face pinkening and a look of anxiousness about her, the mage gifts the servant a firm yet gentle nod.
"I appreciate your discretion… and know that you will always have a place beside Michael and I," Louise utters, her words gentle yet reassuring.
Siesta's eyes widen a bit at Louise's kind words, and she nods again.
"Of course, Miss Louise, thank you."
Humming her acknowledgement, Louise then leans in and plants a quick, gentle kiss on the corner of the maid's lips. Then, with a swift motion, she turns to me and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is tender and hesitant, a silent reassurance passing between us.
As she breaks away, Louise gives my hand a soft squeeze, her cheeks flushing a soft scarlet shade. She then stands up, her nightgown swishing around her as she moves, and climbs back into bed.
"Now, both of you return to sleep," the petite mage decrees, crawling back under the covers and turning her back on us. "Especially you, Siesta, you'll be escorting me to Lenore tomorrow."
The maid, her cheeks still flushed from Louise's kiss, nods and mumbles a quiet 'yes' in response. She then turns to face me and, in a similar fashion to Louise, squeezes my hand.
"And if I'm awoken again by chatter, or heaven forbid, smacking lips..." Louise adds, her voice carrying a hint of a growl, "...then Michael is sleeping in the servant's quarters until Friday."
Siesta, giggling under her breath, leans close to my ear and whispers. "...It's fine, Michael, you can share Marteau's room if that happens." Her breath is warm against my skin, her words playful, and my heart skips a beat as her soft laughter echoes in my ear.
I chuckle, too, and shake my head, my hand coming to rest on Siesta's thigh as she pulls me into a brief, affectionate hug.
"Appreciate it, sweetheart."
With that, Siesta settles back onto the mattress beside me and pulls the covers up to our shoulders with her free hand. Her other hand rises to rest on my chest, just above my heart, and her eyes flutter closed. As I wrap an arm around her, her warmth envelops me and my eyes fall shut too.
Home sweet home.
To be continued...
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