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knittastically · 5 years

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A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 22

First of all I hope you have all had a lovely Holiday in which ever way you chose and I wish you all a Happy, Peaceful, Healthy New Year for 2019.

I love to read your comments and if you could reblog that would be fantastic and much appreciated

If you would like to be added to or removed from my readers list just let me know and I will oblige. :)

As for this chapter there's just a liiiiiiitle bit of smut.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

You can also find all chapters here on AO3

Raymond’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, I smile and press my lips against his skin as I do his arms tighten around me a little more. He did not so much invite me into his bed, rather he gave a silent crie de coeur and I could not refuse him. Within moments of pulling me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my temple he is drifting to sleep. I can't blame him, He's exhausted and in pain but selfishly a tiny little piece of my heart feels slighted that he chooses to close his eyes and do no more than press a single kiss to my temple.

Sleep may have come easily to Raymond but not to me. My mind whirls with what I saw as approached the stairs, each time I close my eyes I see Théo and Ghislane and wonder what they are to each other. I had once loved him Théo Fontaine, even though there were times when he treated me ill but best not to dwell on that and I am certain now that he never loved me. Deep down have always known that his whispered words of love and affection were nothing more than a sop thrown to me.

He was always a little ruthless, predatory even, now he appears more so and something about him sets my nerves on edge. Looking back, everything about our time together now seems a sham. Could the gossip about his wife be true, did he really murder her? I recall the expression on his face, when he realised I’d seen him and it was feral, I don’t doubt that he could have done it. Bile rises in my throat and I shiver as I wonder should I tell him about the child?

“No, it isn’t your business you bastard, you gave up any right to know when you walked away and abandoned me for a rich wife at court.”

My eyelids feel heavy. The gentle sound of Raymond’s breathing and the hissing of the rain is lulling me to sleep and I curl closer to him. All the while, as I have laid wrapped around him he has stroked his hand gently back and forth along my leg from thigh to knee as if it soothes him somehow. But as I rest my left hand against his chest, he moves his hand to lay it over mine. Raymond seems to sense my disquiet and tightens his other arm around me. I feel his warm breath as he mutters something against my hair. Drifting into sleep I realise what he has said.

*“Tu es ma vie, mon amour, mon cœur.ʺ*

It is not only Isabé who has noticed Théo and Ghislane, Eleanor has missed nothing. Without hesitating she weaves her way through the chattering crowd and towards the King. Philip is engaged in conversation but he sees her, gives the slightest nod of his head and the moment he is alone she steps towards him and curtsies. As she speaks quietly to him his expression hardly changes but his eyes grow hard and cold. “I will await you in my chamber Madame, best we discuss this in a more private setting.”

Théo watches her closely and shudders, Eleanor Forrestier is a dangerous bitch. Sweeping a quick glance around the room he catches sight of Ghislane in the shadows beneath the arcade, she nods to him the moment he catches her eye. When he looks back Eleanor has disappeared, melted away into the crush of people and the king is striding towards his chamber deep in conversation with the Baron.

Fontaine motions a page over to fill his wine cup then, strolls leisurely around the Hall, sharing a joke here, a laugh there, dropping in and out of conversations. Though beneath his veneer of affable good humour, he is as taut as a bow string.

By way of small rooms and narrow corridors known only to those who live within the Chateau, Eleanor has made her way to The King’s chamber. This visit may not be a Grand Progress for Philip but nevertheless the King is the King and his door is guarded by two well-armed soldiers. There is no bar though to Eleanor Forrestier, they know who she is and as one guard salutes her the other steps aside and pushes open the door. If she is surprised to see the Baron she doesn’t show it.

Philip has made this room his own, when he travels he doesn’t travel lightly even on a “private” visit such as this. The furnishings have been replaced with his own trappings. Folding seats, a throne like chair, linens, red and gold hangings and even a bed which can be taken apart for travelling. All are painted in bright blue and rich red, accented in gold. His own wine cups and ewers are set on the table, a gilded, jewelled reliquary and small but ornate crucifix are set on the larger of his personal travelling chests. Yes the King’s possessions reflect his power, wealth and status but Eleanor finds them overpowering, gaudy, and to her eye a little tasteless. They make the room feel even more oppressive in this sultry weather.

Philip himself pours wine for Eleanor and hands her the cup, there are no servants present though she is certain he has someone closeted behind the door to the adjoining room.

“So Gauthier, do I take it you approve of Raymonds choice of wife?”

Gauthier de Merville glances across to Eleanor, he has always liked her, admired her even and this must be at least a little painful for her, yet she smiles at him over the rim of her wine cup.

“I doubt anything I could say on the subject would carry any weight with my son Majesty, he is a grown man and knows his own mind best, though if I’m honest I think despite her confidence Isabé might not prove a match for him.” He stares pointedly at Eleanor she glances from Philip to Gauthier and back to Philip and laughs.

"Monseigneur, I’m sure Isabè will prove to be a most suitable wife for Raymond, whereas I, most definitely would not that. She already has his measure and will never be a simpering little wife.” Eleanor takes a sip of her wine. “More than that she will give him give some stability and be a fixed point in his life. It’s what he needs and it is something I can’t provide, as you well know it doesn’t sit well with our particular profession.”

“As wise as ever Eleanor” Philip smiles she nods her head in acknowledgement. Both men know very well what that little speech has cost her and for few moments there is a regretful silence hanging in the air.

“Now with respect Majesty, I think we should turn to more important matters.” It is rare for Eleanor to show her true feelings but neither Philip nor Gauthier miss the catch in her voice

"So, Eleanor, tell us, what is your opinion?” Philip is always is direct. “Do you fear for Raymond’s safety?”

“Yes, and also for Isabé’s. Guillaume is back in the fold and is no longer a problem. Geoffrey Maçon is gone but those two are a real force. If what we know is true then they have a wide network. I’m sure you are already aware that information about your troop movements to the South have already made the ears of the renegades.”

Philip nods and smiles at his well-informed agent.

"Indeed Eleanor and sensibly Ramon of Toulouse has already joined us and helps to keep us well appraised, he values his own safety too highly to defy the Church but his Nephew Trencavel, is another matter and he is holding fast against His Holiness.”

The Baron snorts “Trenceval always was and always will be a fucking fool.”

“We are all fools at one time or another Monseigneur” Eleanor’s retort is sharp” “If you really want my honest opinion, I think his Holiness is the biggest fool of all. If his Church can’t stand a little competition from the Cathars then so be it”. She shrugs “This has been rumbling for years why he doesn’t he just let it pass, who are they harming?”

Philip is a devout man but nonetheless he admires Eleanor’s stand, he is even a little amused by it and tries to supress a smile.

“Have a care Eleanor.” The Baron’s voice rumbles around the room. “Heresy is a serious matter, should anyone outside these walls hear your words, it is likely you will be arraigned and executed.”

She raises her eyebrows and smiles sweetly. “Baron, you and I both know that a charge of Heresy would simply be one more entry at the end of a very long list of my transgressions and possibly not the worst.”

Studying both men closely she addresses the King.

“What are you not telling me Sire?

“I think this is mostly your story Gauthier.” Philip yields to the Baron.

"As you wish Sire”

Frowning, Eleanor looks from one to the other as Gauthier de Merville takes a swallow of wine.

“Eleanor you may or may not know that Théo Fontaine and Ghislane Bérenger are Mother and son.

“I did not know” Her voice is calm and she hides it very well that she is furious with herself for that gap in her knowledge.

“That information was known to me,” Philp smiles at her, “And to Gauthier, Individually each of them is dangerous.” Philip shakes his head “Together they could well prove lethal”

“It was also known to my darling Marguerite, God rest her.” Gauthier cuts in. Eleanor smiles, it is not often the Baron refers to his late wife, let alone in such affectionate terms, even after almost 30 years he still feels the pain of her loss more deeply than most people imagine.

“Ghislane’s husband was Luc Roussel one of my best men, possibly the best. Fierce, brave and I thought loyal, he rose high and fast. My trust in him was unfounded and I had him executed when he was found to be passing information to our enemies, not just in Ireland but elsewhere. Rather than lay the charge of treason against him he was tried and convicted on charges of looting and murder. He never revealed anything to us and went to his death laughing.”

Eleanor twists the stem of her cup between long fingers, a tingle runs down her spine and she is uneasy.

“I assume the lesser charge was to try draw out any other agents, or to give them false security?”

“Both”. Philip and Gauthier answer together.

“And was Ghislane one of those other agents?”

Now that the king is seated, Gauthier follows suit, he takes a swallow of wine. “There was no evidence against her.”

“Simply because you could not discover any Monseigneur does not mean....”

Gaulthier cuts her off sharply. “Nothing was discovered because at the time there was nothing to discover Madame Forrestier.”

“Your pardon Monseigneur.” Eleanor bows her head and yields to him as he continues. “Ghislane damned near lost her mind at Luc’s death and became too ill to serve in her new position as Marguerite’s companion. I arranged for her to be lodged at the convent where they could care for her. When the child was born she wouldn’t nurse him, didn’t even want to look at him and so he was fostered out to the Fontaines to be brought up by them. She was in a poor, ravaged state of mind for some time and for her own reasons has always maintained she never had children.”

“How fortunate Monseigneur, forgive me, but that kind of madness can be feigned and she could easily have given up her child to the Fontaine’s knowing that he would be cared for and she would have easy access. A child can be a hindrance to someone like Ghislane”

Eleanor and Gauthier hold each other’s look and Eleanor could kick herself for having said that aloud, she and Ghislane are two sides of the same coin but she could never give up her daughter.

“Has Nicolette ever been a hindrance to you Eleanor?” As soon as the words leave his lips the Baron regrets it.

“I believe you can answer that for yourself Monseigneur.” Eleanor narrows her eyes at him for a moment then returns to the matter in hand.

“But why bring Ghislane back here?

“I felt I owed her something, in spite of what Luc had done so why not bring her here to take up the post she had been offered, especially as Marguerite was most unwell.

“Why did she take up her Maiden name of Bérenger?”

“I have no idea, perhaps she thought people would assume she wanted nothing more to do with the name of Roussel. I admit to having being deceived by that conniving bitch but it was only much later the extent of her treachery was discovered though it was decided that she should be allowed to live.”

“Why? Surely it would have been a very simple matter Monseigneur.”

"Because I forbade it.” At the sound of Philip’s soft, silky voice Eleanor turns to her King.

“She had been the one in complete control, not only of Luc, but of many others. Her network of contacts and agents was impressive in fact second to none and it was certainly in our own interests to recruit her as a double agent.” “We gave her just enough accurate details to make her seem credible. But for some time her information seems to have been either outdated, false or at the least tenuous.” As he looks down at the floor Gauthier suddenly feels very old.”

“So Sire, on a whim you allowed her to continue passing information resulting in the needless deaths of our own men.”

An expression of anger passes across Philip’s face, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared.

“I do not act on whims Madame Forrestier, and as for needless, I think of it as sacrificing the few for the many.”

“Oh the hubris of Kings.”

Eleanor thinks as she shakes her head and anger burns in her, she itches to slap her Sovereign for his arrogance in playing with the lives of his agents and soldiers.

“Are you telling me that this has been going on for almost thirty years, God men are such fools.”

Philip does not react to Gauthiers anguished voice when he grinds out “I am inclined to agree with you on that point Eleanor, I am certain she murdered Marguerite.”

Eleanor gasps out loud.

“It could never be proven, Marguerite was in such pain with her illness that it needed a strong draught to dull it, who can tell whether it was enough to end her life?”

Gauthier’s face pales at the memory, his hand trembles as he lifts the wine cup to his lips.

“I believe in my heart she was responsible, I believe it was revenge for the death of Luc and I think that apart from anything else her mind never fully healed and it is failing again, I fear for all of my family.” He smiles at Eleanor, “That of course includes you my dear” he takes hold of her hand and raises it to his lips.

“What of Theo, what is his purpose?” She frowns up at the Baron but it is Philip who answers.

“He is driven by ambition and revenge in equal measure he wants to be near the throne to work against it and I have no doubt he intends to make suffer anyone involved in his father’s execution.”

“Well stepping into Maçon’s shoes has certainly secured his advancement.”

“Indeed Madame, and to have him close is preferable to keeping him at arm’s length, as for you Gauthier I should keep a close watch on Ghislane, and take steps to safeguard your granddaughter and your daughter-in-law, they could prove easy targets.

Before the Baron can answer, one thump rattles the heavy door, it swings inwards and the Guard begins to announce Théo Fontaine

“Imbecile, I am His Majesty’s Envoy, he knows who I am.”

As he strides in the guard scowls at his back. Théo presents himself to the King, then turns to the others with a smile that makes him look like a benevolent bat.

“Monseigneur Baron, he extends his hand and grudgingly the Baron takes it.

“Fontaine.” Gauthier’s greeting is cold enough to freeze the pizzle off a bull.

“Théo, welcome." Eleanor crosses to greet him, a wonderful if fake smile plastered on her face. “It is an age since we saw each other and the first time since you arrived that I have had the chance to properly welcome you.” She holds out her hand, he clasps it and smiles a tight little smile.

“As beautiful as ever Eleanor.” Then as he stoops to kiss each cheek whispers.

“Is really your place to welcome me to the Chateau Eleanor, you are no longer Raymond’s Mistress so you hold no authority but I will accept your good wishes.”

The smile sets on Eleanor’s face as she answers quietly “Indeed that is true enough, however I am still the Mother of his child and I know he would defend me had he cause to do so.” It is a threat and though politely put Théo understands completely. Blanche say she knew when I was happy as a child because when I slept I lay on my back. Always with my left arm shoved up under the pillow, my right hand resting on my stomach. It follows then that I am happy.

I don’t want Raymond to know that I’m awake yet. He lays on his uninjured side with his left arm under the pillow and hand curled gently around mine. His right arm is draped across me, long calloused fingers gently tracing swirling patterns on my right hip. Our feet and legs are tangled together and I feel content to lie here in the warmth of the early morning.

There is a hint of a laugh in the warm breath that ghosts against my ear as soft words roll out.

"I know you're awake Isabe."

I lie still and don’t answer.

The hairs of his beard tickle my skin as he brushes gentle kisses along my ear ending in a nip to the lobe. A shiver runs through me and the smallest purring sound lodges in my throat as I turn my head towards him and slowly open one eye.

“How could you tell?”

“By your breathing, the sound and rhythm of it, by the way your breasts rise and fall.” His blue eyes are dark, hot, full of mischief and desire.

“You are talking nonsense!” Suddenly I am aware of the warmth of his skin where it presses against mine and feel heat rising in my cheeks.

“Oh I have been very thorough in my study Isabé, in fact I would say it verges on the scholarly.” He smirks like a naughty schoolboy and as he shifts and slides down the bed a little his grin broadens. Through half opened eyes I watch him as he dips his head, deliberately grazing his beard against the pale skin of my right breast.

“For instance I believe this one is a little larger than the other.”

I stare down wide eyed now and mesmerised as he licks at his lips then latches them onto me. My mouth drops open and a little mewl of surprise squeaks out. He does not nip, scrape or bite but lazily licks his tongue around and over my nipple coaxing it to hardness, before one last flick and a whisper of warm breath over the damp skin.

Sharp and sweet an ache shoots straight down me and stalls between my thighs. Without taking his eyes from mine he slowly strokes his right hand up over my belly and ribs and cups it around my right breast. The lightest brush of his thumb over the already tightening tip sends another jolt through me, my thighs tighten of their own accord, my skin tingles and raises into gooseflesh.

He is certainly not Theo, for I could have said “no” to Raymond and he would have stopped, I'm certain of it.

"But I hadn’t wanted him to stop, you I couldn’t pretend otherwise."

Nonetheless, I try to convince the both of us that I am annoyed and so I swat him smartly across the back of his head.

“You Sieur Raymond are very forward!”

His roar of laughter bounces from the walls.

“Isabé, I swear to God you are the only woman on Earth I know who could say that and mean it, whilst lying naked in my bed"

He shifts and winces.

“It still pains you?”

“Not so much now.”

“You idiot.” I rest my hand against his face and stroke his beard. “You should have woken me, I would have mixed you something to ease it.” He presses his lips against my palm.

“There was no need.” Lids close over blue eyes, dark lashes flutter against his cheeks for a moment, he sounds almost embarrassed and he flushes a little as he speaks again. “Thank you Isabé for having the courage to stay with me.” As he tightens his arms around me he frowns.

“Mon Coeur, your poor face, am I to blame for that?”

His lips are gentle against my cheek.

“You couldn’t help it, I told you it was an accident.”

“You did? I don’t remember that.” He whispers “but then I rarely remember” there is a sad resignation in his voice.

“I take it there’s a bruise?”

He looks down at me with a rueful smile. “Yes a large one it’s a very pretty shade of purple and you have a lump the size of a sparrow’s egg.”

“Well no doubt it will be a sickly shade of green come Saturday. I only hope my veil will hide it.”

There is laughter in his voice again. “So you have decided to marry me?”

“Yes and I only hope I don’t come to regret it.” I begin to laugh. “What a pair we make, I am naked in your bed and you are as bare arsed as the day you were born. Tongues will surely wag, not that I care one way or the other.”

I shuffle higher up onto the pillows and Raymond hitches up beside me settling on his side, head propped in his hand. He reaches across to tuck strands of hair behind my ear and there is a sober look on his face.

"Let me clean the cut for you?”

“There really is no need Raymond, I can tend to it later.”

“Stubborn as ever.” He presses another gentle kiss to the cut. “Do you really not care what anyone might think of you for staying with me?”

“No one’s opinion of me has ever mattered overmuch.”

“Not even mine?” He grins at me again and as his eyes lock onto mine he strokes his fingers along my shoulder leaving burning trails on my skin, I stare straight back at him.

“No, not even yours, why should it? After all you don’t really know me” He seems more than a little taken aback at that, as if he expects me to simper and solicit his approval, if does is then he will have a long damned wait. His voice is subdued when he answers.

“I know enough of you Isabé, to know you are brave, clever, strong minded to the point of wilfulness and you are kind.”

It is my turn to laugh.

“You make me sound like a candidate for a nunnery, though I doubt I’d last very long, I’d certainly spend more time doing penance than anything else.”

He snorts, “Hellfire, Henri, would have to pay through the nose for them to take you, I doubt they’d even consider you without the promise of a vast acreage and half your body weight in gold.”

“Wretch.”

I catch him unawares and with one quick push overbalance him, as he falls he wraps his arms tight around me holding me to him and as he lands on his back I am sprawled across him our faces almost touching. Warm skin settles against warm skin and I can feel the beat of his heart, it is certainly faster than before.

“Full marks for effort Mon Coeur but none for execution, always make sure you know the strength and skill of your adversary.”

"Bastard.”

He threads the fingers of his left hand into my hair and my oath is lost in his sweet kiss as he pulls me even closer. I feel his other hand slide down over my backside and under my thigh hitching it up.

“You do know I love you Isabé?” His voice is no more than a whisper.

Mischief is in my mind, I wiggle out of his arms and boldly straddle his thighs.

“You’ve already said as much to me but love is a convenient little word Raymond, people use it when they mean it of course they do, but they also use it to get something they want. In all honesty I can’t say I love you.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“But I will concede that I have grown to like you and you are a very handsome man, the scars on your face and body do nothing to change that.”

I lean forward a little and slide my hands up his thighs, making sure my thumbs brush the edge of the dark thatch of hair and slide along between thigh and hip. His swelling cock twitches and a hiss of breath escapes him.

I slide my hands down and then back up his thighs. Suddenly I freeze and hold my breath, shocked by my own bold and reckless behaviour, aware of the heat and muscle of his thighs beneath me, conscious of our nakedness. Nevertheless as I look down at him I am unable to stop myself licking at my lips and when I look back up at him his eyes are burning hot.

Now I feel daring, fearless a delicious sense of wantonness surges through me. “I know you want me Raymond.” My voice slides out throaty and low.

“Yes my darling of course I do, can’t you tell” he winks, laughs and glances down at himself “I want you as much as you want me and you do want me Isabé, I can feel your heat and wetness against my thighs.” His voice is like warm honey, at the sound of it the heat flares through my body again and the ache between my thighs is almost painful but it is such a sweet pain. I stare down at him and gnaw at my lower lip to stop myself from smiling.

“Dear God in Heaven, Théo Fontaine falls very short of Raymond in every way.”

Emboldened again I brush the back of my hand up the soft skin of his cock then trail just one index finger back down the thick vein. His head tilts back his breath sighs out slowly and as I stroke him gently he grabs at my hips.” Tilting forward I slide my hands up to his chest his nipples harden at my touch, he growls as I rake them with my nails and shivers when drop forward to swirl my tongue around each one in turn. As I lick at the hollow of his throat I taste the saltiness of his skin and the low throaty noise Raymond gives out sounds like the purring of a large cat.

“Isabé, you know that if you stand too close to a fire you are like to get burned and believe me girl I can and will burn you.” I shudder at his words even though his voice is soft and his hands are gentle as he strokes my back and hair, quietly he adds. “But never, ever, fear me Isabé never.”

His beard tickles my lips as I kiss his chin. “I know yours can be a hard life Raymond, your work for the King makes you an assassin, spy, soldier and all of these put you in danger. Doubtless this won’t be the only time you return home wounded, but when you left me to go to Paris, you left me burning for you.” His eyes darken a little, there is a feral look in them and I hesitate for a moment.

“That day I would have let you fuck me against that wall out there with the whole Chateau watching us and I would have felt no shame.” His hands grab at me and he digs his fingers hard into the flesh of my backside. There is no innocence in my kiss, it is savage and he gives back the same in return but winces as I rake his lip hard between my teeth. He digs his fingers in even harder

“Bitch you’ve drawn blood” he licks at the inside of his mouth.

Sitting up quickly I slide back onto his thighs, curl my fingers lightly around him and stroke gently up and down barely touching his skin.

“No Théo Fontiane does not measure up in anyway at all.”

“Sweet Christ Woman.” he grabs at my other hand lacing his fingers between mine.

“Raymond your leaving I can bear, any woman who weds a soldier must learn to do that but believe me when I say that if you ever, for whatever reason, lay with a whore again you had best make sure she leaves no marks on you because I swear by the Holy Mother, I shall geld you. The only woman who has the right to mark you is me.”

There is his smirk again but his eyes blow wide and dark with anticipation as I hover over him and make as if to kiss his chest. When sink my teeth hard into his left breast he yelps with surprise but simply strokes at my hair as I suck and bite the livid mark into his flesh the mark I know he wants me to make. I lick at the bruise, touch my lips to it, blow my breath over the almost broken skin.

“You should heed your own advice in future Raymond and make sure you know your adversary.”

Swiftly I scramble from the bed and keeping well out of his reach, snatching up my shift to pull it on quickly then I worm and wriggle into my dress, and gather up my veil, hose and shoes. Raymond has made no attempt to hinder me but I can feel his eyes on me, when I glance at him my heart thuds.

“Stay.” His voice is thick, almost pleading, and his eyes gentle. “Isabé, for God’s sake.” he stretches out his hand to me and looks down. Even beneath the sheet he has pulled over himself, his arousal is still clearly visible.

“I have work to do Raymond or have you not heard there is to be a wedding on Saturday? I nod at the sheet covering him. “You could try tying a knot in that it might help.” He shoots me an evil look then his lips curve into a smile and he raises his left brow. “Saturday, cannot come soon enough for me Isabé but remember, there are many hours between now and then.”

I understand him completely and I’m certain he has seen both longing and lust in my expression before I turn away from him.

It would be so easy to return to his bed but without another word or look I leave quickly, closing the door quietly behind me. Something has eased around my heart, and I race back to my own chamber before I change my mind. *”You are my life, my love, my heart.”*

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daebakinc · 7 years

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We Make the Kingdom - Pt 15

Image by silverdagger865

Pairing: Yongguk x OC Genre: Fantasy, with Angst and Smut to come Summary: After a vampire attack leaves you almost dead, you are rescued by a group of werelions, powers long thought to be extinct. Upon discovering the same magic flows in your blood, you join their fight against encroaching vampires and another, very human monster, to save the kingdom. A/N: I’m really sorry this is late when I promised it’d be posted this weekend! This chapter is just so dense and so important I couldn’t mess it up. Sorry again for the delay! Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , 8, 9(M), 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16(M), 17, 18, Final

Himchan and the others only ever gave you the barest details of their time in the Capitol. Yongguk would never speak of it. You only asked once. The deep scars inflicted by whip and brand that cover his back in defiance of your were healing abilities told you enough to not press the issue.

The tale is far worse than you could have imagined.

Unsurprisingly, each band of weres elect their alphas to tell their stories before Lady Kim and the State Council. They make a contrasting trio as they stand side by side on the vacant dais. Hyunwoo in his pristine royal uniform that strains against his broad chest, and Yongguk and Junmyeon in torn common clothes that seem to barely restrain the wild animals still prowling behind their eyes. Yongguk taps his fingers against his thigh in impatience at losing time that could be spent preparing for Lamia’s arrival, but he has studied the law. He knows if it is to go in the right direction, it cannot always do so in haste, like an old man with failing vision trying to locate the correct book from his library.

Junmyeon begins after sharing questioning looks at his taciturn counterparts. Yongguk and Hyunwoo add their voices only to offer particulars that Junmyeon forgot or did not personally undergo. There is very little the king did not subject them to. Your hearts twists and your hands curl into trembling fists. How can Junmyeon so calmly describe each time they were beaten, each time they were forced to watch each other punished, each time they were subjected to inhumane acts designed to break their spirits? Your sole consolation is observing faces of the counselors grow darker with anger and disgust.

Junmyeon breaks off after telling of Yifan’s murder to steady the quiver in his voice and for the second time, Hyunwoo looks at him.

Hyunwoo keeps his voice low, but the chamber was designed to carry sound. “We did not betray Yifan,” he says. Although there is no change of expression on his face, something in his voice begs for the other alpha to believe him. “Yifan came to us and we concealed him in our barracks, but a patrol found him when he was with his mother. The king made us to watch him be tortured and killed. To the end, Yifan did reveal that we helped him. We will always be thankful for his courage.”

Junmyeon nods after recovering from surprise and quickly begins speaking again, but not before exchanging a look of what appears to be the beginning of understanding. Yongguk keeps his eyes on the alpha bear, considering his unflinching gaze. Instinctively, you know Hyunwoo is telling the truth. You hope Yongguk can sense the same. A blood grudge long held is difficult to abandon, but if ever one needs to be reconciled, it is the one that divides the weres.

Your attention wanes as the patches of sun slide across the wooden floors and your feet start to ache. You notice Lady Kim motion a servant over and whisper something in his ear. Automatically cautious, you follow him with your eyes until he ducks behind a tapestry, temporarily distracted from the alphas. A few minutes later, the servant reappears with several others, bearing stools that they set out before you. The first servant helps Hyosung onto the foremost seat.

He then approaches you, consciously oblivious to the dozens of scowls shooting in his direction. “My lady, your chair.” He motions to the stool just behind Hyosung and extends his hand to you.

Jongup swipes your uncertain hand out of reach of the servant. “I will take her, thank you,” he growls, sounding anything but grateful.

When you gratefully sit down and look at the dais again, Yongguk’s eyes are on you. You smile faintly, half to assure him everything is fine and half to encourage him. To the Council, he undoubtedly seems nobly stoic, but they misread his discomfort at being the focus of so many gazes. At least his time before the Council is nearly complete as Junmyeon is now on Lamia’s infiltration of the palace and her bargain with the king.

Lady Kim stands after his voice dissipates from the air, hoarse now that he is finished with his narration. “Thank you, Sir Kim. You have given this Council much to contemplate and discuss. It is distressing that such events and loss of life have been ongoing within the kingdom under our very noses for so long. I swear the crimes against you all will be fully and diligently investigated when there is time, which I know we do not currently possess. Goddess willing, we will. Before we progress, I have one question for you, Sir weres: How did you know this apparition was the Queen Lamia aside from her word?”

“Only one of us has personally encountered her aside from this instance,” Junmyeon admits tentatively, glancing at Yongguk.

“Who?”

Yongguk catches your eye and raises an eyebrow. He knows you aren’t particularly at ease here, so he will not expose you without your leave. You give your permission with a nod. These officials need to hear a first-hand account of Lamia to prove yourselves.

Yongguk takes over from Junmyeon with a shuffle forward. “It was one of my lions. Lamia knew what she was when her vampires attacked the village and tried to turn her. Thankfully, her were-blood is strong and Lamia’s test did not succeed.”

You keep your eyes on Yongguk as you feel many gazes turn toward you, the only woman in the midst of the male weres. Trying your hardest not to fidget under their scrutiny as you are painfully aware of your ragged state. Muddied boots, dirt stained pants hem, hair loose in disarray, while they sit without a seam out of place.

“Rise, lady lioness, please,” Lady Kim says. How these Capitol people keep their careful masks to conceal their thoughts is beyond you. “Your name?”

“Ness.”

“And your family name?”

You almost casually shrug before you catch yourself. Clasping your hands to limit your impulse to move as you speak, you reply, “None. I have no memories of my life before Lamia massacred my village. Even the name I go by is not truly my own; the other lions gave it to me.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” the older woman responds politely. You actually believe she means it from the way she meets your eyes. “Can you tell us what occurred on that night or would you prefer a companion of yours to?”

“No one speaks for me but myself, Grand Minister.”

A glimmer of respect comes into Lady Kim’s eyes. “Proceed then.”

You tell them everything you remember and more. Sometimes your words tumble together when you let yourself look away from the calm attentiveness of Lady Kim’s face and into the sea of officials, but for the most part, you speak well. You speak of the chaos of the raid, the screams and the blood and the destruction. You speak of Lamia’s paralyzing power, her poisonous beauty and her contempt for human life. You speak of your discovery of her name in the annals of the weres who came before you, their warnings and false victory.

By the time your mind is empty of more to say, your tongue is heavy and your cloth belt wrinkled more than before from your fingers knotting in it. You sink back down on to your stool in relief that your part is done when Lady Kim gestures for you to do so.

She remains silent, gazing out the window but clearly noticing none of the clouds and birds outside them. The other council members talk amongst themselves in hushed tones. If you tried, you could listen, but you do not. The excitement and strain of the day gnawing at your remaining reserves of strength, already depleted by lack of sleep and food. Adrenaline only lasts but for so long. The bears remain erect in their seats, ever the alert guardians, but many of the wolves and lions’ shoulders and eyes sag under the same weight as yours. Only pride and the need to listen keeps you all upright.

Lady Kim stands again, bringing all voices to a hush with her simple movement. With her bearing, she could have been an empress in another life. “Fellow council members, I believe we can agree by all that has been demonstrated thus far that the Princess spoke the truth. The vampires have returned, but so have their mortal enemies and our saviors of old, the weres. They stand before and have given witness. Do any still doubt their claims’ legitimacy?”

No one raises a hand.

“Acknowledged. We are now at war, councilors. We are short on time, but it will be a short war. We will live, or we will perish. We all know our history. There is no surrender with these creatures. There is no mercy.

“We will send for our generals and advisors immediately, but it will take time to gather everyone. When they arrive, we will begin planning our defense. Meanwhile,” Lady Kim turns her keen eyes to the floor where you all sit, “Princess Hyosung, we will listen to your testimony. Some piece of information your spies gathered may prove invaluable. However, I believe the weres could use a short reprieve before we continue to seek their guidance. I assume there are rooms we may provide for them to rest and refresh themselves?”

“Yes. Of course.” The princess immediately stands, already beckoning a servant forward. “I believe the vacant apartments near my compound will suffice. I will send for them to be prepared. They should be ready by the time the weres arrive.”

Yongguk shakes his head. “I would prefer to remain here, Your Majesty.”

Hyunwoo and Junmyeon nod in agreement, causing a rumble of consensus from the weres. Regardless of animal form, you are united in this: where your alphas go, you go. When they stay, you stay, regardless of how you feel.

“Go.” Yongguk steps down from the dais to speak to you all without projecting his voice. “Himchan, you may stay if you wish, but the rest of you, go to the princess’ apartments. You will need all your strength, mental and physical, when it comes time to prepare and fight. Recuperate while you can so you are of the utmost use,” he says when you all begin talking over each other in protest.

A few steps away, Junmyeon and Hyunwoo are also surrounded by their men, whispering, arguing, while the Council waits.

“We can rest when you do. We do not want to miss anything,” Youngjae counters instantly.

“Or leave you alone,” you add. On the surface, the danger may have temporarily been eliminated, but like a sudden thunderstorm in the summer, it could return without warning.

“I will report all the proceedings back to you later,” Yongguk promises, raising his hands to stop your words, “and I will be safe. The king cannot summon anyone from wherever the bears are holding him, and magical harm is impossible. I will come as soon as the princess is done. Go. Please.”

You share a look with the others. Ultimately, none of you can deny Yongguk anything for your love and devotion to him. So, with reluctance, you all submit to his wish.

When the maid slides open the door of polished wood and paper so fresh you can still smell the pulp it came from and bows aside, you cannot cross the threshold.

“This cannot be mine,” you murmur. You look at the servant, sure the poor woman made a mistake. She’s been sending you so many curious looks, maybe she took a wrong turn after she showed the other lions to theirs one hall down. Word of what conspired in the council chamber has no doubt reached every corner of this palace.

“It is, my lady,” the servant replies demurely. “The Princess Hyosung specifically chose it for you and your lord. Is it not satisfactory? I can find another that is more to your taste if you so wish.”

“It is not… unsatisfactory. It is just much more than I am used to.” You don’t correct her on your lack of title or Yongguk being your ‘lord.’ The room demands too much of your attention to do so.

Wooden paneling, the tranquil ashy brown of camphor, covers three of the walls with one holding a single, wide window that is latched tight against winter’s chill. The fourth wall is plaster and covered with a painting of a plum tree in full bloom, its limbs graceful despite their dark gnarled bark and surrounded by sunrise-kissed blossoms that flutter and pirouette on the invisible wind the unknown artist captured forever. A vase of chrysanthemums warms the room with their spicy scent, as if trying to soften the priceless sumptuousness.

Each piece of furniture is a perfect melding of simplicity and luxury, plain lines embellished with embedded gold and silver cut into elaborate shapes. Calligraphy of a courtly poem flow down the wheat-colored silk of a folding screen that offers its privacy in the corner. The thick burgundy silk blankets on the low bed in the center of the room, its bedposts carved into opening rosebuds, barely cover the overstuffed mattress.

Your shared bedroom at the keep seems like a beggar’s derelict hovel, but you suddenly wish you were there rather than here. You don’t dare step in the room for fear of sullying it with your grubbiness.

“The Princess insisted esteemed guests such as yourselves receive only the best.” The maid gives you another look over before offering, “May I bring you fresh clothes, my lady? And perhaps warm water for a bath.”

Eagerness flutters in your stomach. To let water steep your bones in heat and to wear clothes not stiff with days of wear sound like a dream. The heated floor tickles your feet in invitation to step inside and finally lower your guard. Most of the way. “If it isn’t too much trouble…”

“Right away, my lady. I will return shortly.”

It is a wonder that such humble items as soap and fresh clothes can make a person feel human again. Yet the ones you used were anything but. The soap was smooth and heavily scented with perfume, and the fine, cool silk skirt and jacket that brush your skin is so supple it makes your modest cotton clothes feel rough in comparison.

Your fingers trace the meticulously embroidered suns on the blanket. It’s finer work, more expensive material, than any you would have ever encountered in your lifetime if your life had continued without interruption. But you are not one to linger on such things. You return your eyes to the door. The jewels a maid stuck in your hair tinkle against their gold pins when you move your head.

The servants have come and gone, their tongues silent but for asking after your needs even though their eyes search for hundreds of answers to share amongst the servant halls. They left a generous bowl of fruit and a hot pot of tea on the long delicate table that sits in front of the bed, but you are waiting for Yongguk before you touch it, even though your stomach grumbles in displeasure at your choice. But the steam has long stopped lazily drifting towards the ceiling and no one else has knocked at your door. Not even the other lions have appeared.

They are safe, you can feel that. Better than safe. Though the underlying tension of waiting to act still trickles through each of you, there is also a peaceful restfulness you have not felt since leaving the keep. The calm before the breaking of the storm.

A soft rap on your door brings your thoughts back.

“Come in,” you call as you stand, thinking it is the servant again or maybe one of your friends come to look in on you. You step back in surprise when instead three of the bears step inside. You identify the tallest in the back as one of the bears from the Cage. His sleeves do not quite hide the healing pink skin at his wrists from the shackles.

Although none have Hyunwoo’s bulk, they still carry the same intimidating air of strength that’s synonymous with the bears. Yet they are the picture of subdued. Their hands are clasped politely in front of them, their shoulders slightly hunched forward, eyes not quite meeting yours. You could almost call them shy.

Unsure of their errand, you slowly say, “I’m sorry, but Yongguk is still with the princess.”

The one from the Cage elbows the bear in front. You recognize him as the bear who had been behind you on the way to the dungeon, who had so regretted being the cause for his friends’ sentence in the Cage. “We know. We came with the intention of calling on you, my lady.”

“Is it true you survived a bite from the queen vampire herself?” the instigator blurts out.

“Seokwon, your manners! I’m sorry,” the first bear says to you. “He’s still young and we have not interacted with many people outside of our group since we came to the Capitol.”

“And we’ve never seen a female were before,” the other adds, openly examining you, but his gaze holds none of the king’s leering, only innocent interest.

“Minkyun!”

Instead of taking offense, you chuckle. These three almost remind you of Himchan with Junhong and Daehyun with their interplay, immediately warming you to them. “I’m very sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I am very much like any other woman in the kingdom.”

“Except you’re a lion and can fight,” Seokwon says.

“I do apologize, Lady Ness.” Their spokesman sends a glare at the others. “We should have introduced ourselves open our entry. I am Kwangji. This is Choi Seokwon and this is Park Minkyun.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Recalling dusty etiquette to save you from your uncertainty of what to do next, you gesture to the set table. “Would you like to join me? The tea is cold, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Kwangji says, bowing slightly at the waist. The others mimic him before Minkyun rushes to the wall to grab the sitting pillows that lean there.

“I prefer Ness, please,” you tell them. “I am not a lady. Oh, thank you.” You smile at Minkyun when he places a pillow in front of you first. The smile he sends you back is blinding.

“Ness then.” Kwangji settles on the pillow Minkyun brought him. When you reach for the pot to pour, he quickly slides his hands beneath yours. “Please, allow me. You must still be tired from your journey.”

“I am rested enough,” you object, but he is already pouring the tea. You notice Minkyun eyeing an apple, so you take it and pass it to him. You pass persimmons to the others. “You have undergone as much as us. I am glad you are recovering from your time in the Cage, Seokwon.”

Seokwon’s fingers don’t pause picking off the persimmons’ leaves, but a wave of guilt passes over Kwangji’s face that he quickly squelches.

“I have been inside for longer,” Seokwon says as if it is nothing. “This time wasn’t so bad. The Princess snuck us food every day. I thought it was just because she felt sorry for us. Who knew Changkyun was her spy.”

“No one. That the point of a spy.” Minkyun laughs and shoves Seokwon’s shoulder. From your seat, you can tell that playful push would have sent a normal person skidding across the room, but Seokwon barely rocks in place. He looks to you again. “Are you as strong as the other lions? The king didn’t allow us to mix when we trained, but we got to watch sometimes. Jongup was so strong I think he could defeat one of us with very little trouble, wasn’t he, Kwangji?”

“They would all be formidable opponents,” his friend replies. “We are lucky to not be their enemies.”

You accept a cup of tea from Kwangji. “Jongup is even stronger now and certainly our best warrior. I’m not quite as powerful, but I am faster, which is of great use against vampires because I can follow their movements more accurately while I am a lioness. I can pounce and shift to drive a stake through their heart whereas the others generally have to shift back and forth more to wear down the vampire before going for their heart. We can kill them by beheading them with our bites, but vampire blood tastes horrible. Like ashes and rancid meat, so we prefer not to.”

Minkyun chokes on his mouthful of apple when he tries to speak without swallowing. Kwangji pounds his back and the instant he can breathe, he uses his first gulp of air to say, “We read each of the reports Yongguk sent. Hoseok stole them after the king read them, but what’s it really like fighting vampires? Are they really that fast and wild? We’ve only practiced on each other.”

Your smile fades a fraction of a degree. Not because of his questions, but because of the revelation that dawns on you. These men, all the bears, are untested against vampires. The wolves and lions have years of skirmishes to aid them in the upcoming battle, but the bears, none. Their strength is obviously formidable, but will that be enough to see them through?

You realize your guests are waiting for your reply, Kwangji concealing his enthusiasm better than the others. Your worries can wait until they can be properly addressed. Now is not the time for such dark thoughts when a flood of them loom just out of sight. Reviving your smile, you take a sip of tea and deliberately relax into your pillow for a very lengthy conversation.

The opening door’s thud against the wall that interrupts your conversation causes all of you to jump. For the first time you notice your shadows lying thick on the floor. You were previously too deep in conversation to notice that lanterns now provide your light instead of the sun. Yongguk stills in the doorway as a servant moves out of sight. His mouth holds a dark frown and his eyes thunder, but his mind is not here. Princess Hyosung must have revealed more troubling information on the king’s treachery. The bears hurriedly climb to their feet. Seokwon and Minkyun imperceptibly shift closer to Kwangji, suddenly nervous eyes glancing between the two of you as if Yongguk will strike them for being in your room.

“Sir Bang,” Kwangji greets respectfully, bowing again while Seokwon and Minkyun follow suite.

Yongguk blinks at them before inclining his head in acknowledgement. “You are Hyunwoo’s weres?”

“Yes, my lord. We will take our leave so we do not disturb you.” Kwangji turns to you. “Thank you for sparing time to speak with us. Excuse us, my la- Ness.”

“Of course.” You smile at them again. They were nothing but charming and polite during your time with them. You can easily see them becoming your friends, and friends with the other weres if they can discard their misplaced bitterness. “Goodbye.”

Once the door closes, you round on Yongguk with a glare. “There was no need to scare them like that, Yongguk. They were just curious about us.”

Your words seem to bring Yongguk back to himself. He looks at the door that just closed behind the bears. “I apologize. I did not do it on purpose.”

Because you know it is true, you do not comment further. Instead, you step around the table to move closer to him. “What did the princess say?”

“I will tell you everything later. She has invited us to dinner with her within the hour.” His mouth pushes upwards in a small smile as he turns to you. “And Himchan told me I am not allowed to go as I currently appear under any condition. They are bringing a bath and some new clothes for me.”

“Good.” Glad that the lines on his forehead are temporarily banished, you jokingly warn, “Just be careful. I had to repeatedly fight off the maids who brought mine. They wanted to put makeup of all things on me. They only relented when I let them arrange my hair.”

Yongguk looks at you again, finally seeing you for the first time since he opened the door. His face softens further as his eyes seem to absorb every bit of you. He closes the small distance between you, rests his hands on your shoulders, and kisses your forehead. “You are so beautiful, my love.”

Your cheeks heat at the comment and you bury your face in his neck. He could call you that every day for a hundred years and it would still make your heart jump every time. “I feel ridiculous. It’s these clothes.”

“No. You could wear a ragged rice sack and still be the most gorgeous woman in the entire kingdom to me.”

Another knock on the door interrupts your reply, but you do not mind. In this case as in many others, Himchan is correct. Before Yongguk goes anywhere, he is in need of a bath.

Your hand tightens around Yongguk’s in anticipation as a servant leads you further into the princess’ compound to her banquet hall. A wave of greetings and approving calls from your friends come the instant you round the last corner. Each looks princely in new clothes and scrubbed faces, weariness’ grip banished to the very edges of their faces. The bears hover in the back, though not completely separate, and you notice some of them exchanging small words with a few of the wolves. Yixing and Minhyuk are even laughing at some joke between the two.

Dressed in a new morning glory pink gown, Princess Hyosung smiles at the both of you. “Welcome, friends. I presume your clothes and lodgings are more than acceptable?” Hyosung asks. Her barely masked worry scours any doubt her words are sincere. “If there is anything not to your taste, you need only tell me.”

“I believe we are all more than well satisfied, Princess,” Junmyeon replies, not turning around to see the wave of agreeing nods. “Thank you.”

“I’m still hungry,” you catch Daehyun mutter.

The princess’ hearing is better than you give her credit for. “I will remedy that soon, Master Jung. I have called for a feast to help you all regain your strength.” As she turns to the doors and grasps the handles, she adds, “I did invite a few additional guests to join us, but I do not think you will be opposed.”

Hyosung leaves no time to reply, flinging open the doors. The room beyond is smaller, cozier, than the Council chamber, with six large tables laden with overflowing platters of every kind of food imaginable and two open fires providing light and warmth against the night’s chill that tries to creep through the walls. A large group of older, well-dressed men and women huddle near the tables’ feet, murmuring amongst themselves.

The rest of the weres go stiff like dogs catching a scent. The other group’s voices trail off as its members turn and stare back, faces freezing in shock. You glance between the two, trying to understand the sudden change when a woman breaks from the crowd.

Arms outstretched and cheeks wet, she runs straight for Junhong. He catches her up in his arms and buries his face in her shoulder, tears wracking his whole body as he hunches over the woman. As if a spell is broken, the two groups come together like two waves, crashing and scattering, happy exclamations and sobs equally resounding against the walls. Yongguk drops your hand and vanishes among the crowd so swiftly you hardly have time to notice he’s gone.

Suddenly, you see the similarities in their faces, their bodies, their mannerisms. These are your friends’ families. You cannot blame Yongguk for abandoning you. He hasn’t seen his parents in five years, has barely had word of their well-being.

As you watch the reunions, you shrink back into the threshold, into the shadows. Happy though you are for your friends, you have the immediate feeling that you do not belong. You do not have a family who was waiting for you, worrying about you, to now cover your face in kissed and clasp you close to their hearts. The abrupt stab of loneliness drives your feet backwards. You should leave your friends to reconnect with their families in their own private world. You are out of place. There may still be some food left in your room to bribe your growling stomach with.

You turn to escape, but someone grabs your elbow. It’s Hyosung.

“Where are you going, Lady Ness?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “If you left something in your room, I can have it fetched for you.”

Your mind scrambles for some reasonable excuse. “I-”

“Ness? Ness! Come here,” Yongguk pushes his way through the throng to you, the widest smile you’ve ever seen on his face even though the rims of his eyes are red and the wet paths of tears still mark his cheeks. He holds out his hand excitedly. “I want you to meet my parents.”

“But wouldn’t you-”

Yongguk does not give you time to finish, dragging you into the room with its warmth and tearful laughter.

His parents had followed him and wait on the edge of the throng, but you would have recognized them instantly. Yongguk inherited most of his features from his mother, but there are echoes of his father’s face in his and their bearing is the same.

Yongguk doesn’t release your hand when he comes to a stop in front of them, “Father, Mother, may I present my partner, Ness.”

“It is an honor to meet you.” You bow your head and attempt to curtsy, but Yongguk’s mother catches you by the shoulders and hugs you to her.

“Thank you for looking after our son,” she whispers in your ear. She pulls away with a smile, her eyes not missing the way Yongguk son clasps your hand so tightly and watches for their approval of you as anxiously as you.

“You are mistaken. It is he who cared for me; I owe him my life many times over,” you are quick to tell them. “I should thank you for raising such an admirable son.”

“We could only train the flowers, it is the quality of the seeds that determines the bloom,” his father answers, but the pride he takes in Yongguk is obvious.

Yongguk’s face suddenly falls in somberness. He is thinking of the siblings his parents are probably expecting to appear soon. You squeeze his hand in support. You understand his reluctance to crush their hope and ruin a golden meeting, but there is no possible manner to avoid it.

“Has the princess told you about… about-”

He stops to clear his throat to press on, but his mother reaches out for his other hand. Her smile becomes sad as she softly says, “We know. We knew a long time ago.”

“How?” Yongguk asks, stunned.

She gestures to the other parents. “We began asking questions when none of you returned in the first two years after you were taken. The king explained your studies were almost through and he would send a ship to bring you all home, but when the time came, he told us the ship capsized in a storm. No survivors. We mourned for you all as lost without even being able to properly bury your bodies.” Two tears trickle from the corners of her eyes as she touches Yongguk’s cheek. “But the Goddess gave us back one child. We must be thankful for each small blessing.”

Yongguk closes his eyes with a shaky sigh. Like his father, he holds back his tears. Opening his eyes again, he cautiously asks, “And you know what I- we are?”

Both of his parents nod.

“The Princess told us everything when she brought us here yesterday,” his father says. He suddenly appears older with regret at failing to protect his children years ago. “We would have done anything to spare you if we had known why the king called us to the Capitol.”

Again, Yongguk hesitates, and while his question does not surprise you, it breaks your heart nonetheless. “You are not afraid of me? … Disgusted?”

“My son, we will always be proud of you. To have a were in our family is a great distinction, and one who has comported himself so admirably in service of the greater good is the greatest honor to our family.”

You can feel some of the burdens fall from Yongguk’s body like a heavy pack he’s carried for the past five years. His parents’ unconditional acceptance graces him with a long-denied peace he probably never realized he sought, one not even your love could provide.

“Honored guests,” Hyosung’s voice unexpectedly rises above the hum of conversation, waiting to have everyone’s attention before continuing, “please, take your seats. Alphas and your esteemed families, please grace my table and sit with me.”

They do as she asks, but people continue to move between the tables as if unable to sit still in the face of such a fortunate occasion. The other lions find you as well, introducing their parents to you and Yongguk. The swirl of faces and voices overwhelms you, as does the staggering affection your friends’ parents offer you solely based on their sons’ love of you. They know next to nothing about you, but they accept as readily as if you were a daughter.

You do not speak unless spoken to while you eat, preferring to simply observe. Your mouth molds into a soft smile as you watch mothers constantly touching their child with tender hands, showering them with the love and company they were denied for years, fathers clapping their sons on the back with pride and slipping the choice pieces of food onto their plates.

These are families. A connection of love and loyalty that finds light and joy in darkness and tragedy and endures all hardships through the shared strength of its members. You may have lost your birth family, but the lions became your new family. Then the wolves. Now, by extension, their families have become yours, as will the bears.

This is what you will fight for in one day. A fight you cannot and will not lose.

Previous Part

Kingdom Map, The Keep Map, Weres scale, Were Guide

#yongguk scenarios #bap scenarios #kpopwritingnet #kpop scenarios #bap #yongguk #b.a.p

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bohememe · 5 years

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“One of the most beautiful gifts in the world is the gift of encouragement. When someone encourages you, that person helps you over a threshold you might otherwise never have crossed on your own.” . ↟john o’donohue It’s real strange being in this mind of mine sometimes. I’m a very introverted person who needs and thrives in her alone time, yet I have a huge compassion and all the time in the world for people who are willing to be honest about their struggles. It’s almost as if I believe my energy is sacred enough to withhold until just the right amount is properly needed, and honestly, I think anyone could benefit from thinking about it in that way. Although I’m so grateful for not having to go through a lot of what our ancestors had to, I also realize the excess of wasted energy in our culture and society. Case and point, having to keep up with social media sometimes feels like a huge waste in energy. That is until I get unbelievable amounts of feedback from you guys that I touched on a subject you were already feeling and seeking direction on. That’s that divine energy hard at work. The “seek and you shall find” energy. The “ask the universe and it will give it to you” energy. I don’t claim to be special in that regard. My secret is that I just remain open to the possibility that my positive light has a purpose on this earth. This puts my subconscious eagle eye to work, constantly scouting the grasslands of disrupted energy, looking for anyone who may need more encouragement. Light. Maybe you caught my rant in my story yesterday about mental disorders. Maybe you didn’t (it’s that pop-up content yo), but if this is your first time finding me on social media, welcome home. You’re safe here amongst the wolves and lionesses. I’d love to hear from you. Tell me something good. . #fineartportrait #sonyalphafemale #advancedselfie (at My Own Little World) https://www.instagram.com/p/BugwuEPAaAE/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=plh5v7mskjlm

#fineartportrait #sonyalphafemale #advancedselfie

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morgane-cassidy-blog · 6 years

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Portfolio: Short story - Midnight Harvest

Eventually, I think it will belong to a series of stories as a sort of prologue or opening sequence. For now it can stand well enough on its own.

Ekun spotted the Reaper the moment she crossed the threshold of the lounge. Her black robes were spotless, her hands clean and empty, and yet he could practically smell the sharp, iron tang of blood wafting inside in her wake. Had he been a shepherd dog, his hackles would have risen, his ears flattened, his chest resonated with a bone-deep growl as he showed his teeth at the preying lioness. But Ekun was no shepherd, no dog, and he kept quiet and motionless as she prowled through the lounge, waving between frozen patrons and waiters.

They’d all fallen silent within moments of her entry, tense and immobile, shaking in their seats or trying to fade in the shadows, looking at her from the corners of their eyes when they didn’t divert their gaze entirely. It was an illogical and useless instinct; refusing to look at the lion never made it go away.

Had he dared to make a sound, Ekun would have snorted at the ludicrousness of his own metaphor. Reapers were to lions what cobras were to common earthworms: not related in the slightest, and all the more dangerous for it. And contrary to the big wild cats of his birth land, Ekun knew that Reapers never went after cattle.

When she turned her dark gold eyes on him, his breath froze in his lungs, threatening to choke him.

“Greetings, kamarei.”

Reapers rarely spoke to their preys except to list their crimes, and Ekun forced himself to breath. It came out in a wheeze and he clenched his teeth against it, humiliated and furious and scared shitless.

“Greetings, Lady.” Miraculously enough, his voice didn’t waver.

She walked to the counter, her gait loose and unhurried, her hands still empty, nowhere near any of her visible weapons. Of course, she probably had a hundred knives and needles hidden in her sleeves, so this didn’t mean much.

He thought again of the lioness stalking her frozen prey, circling it, patient and confident, knowing it couldn’t get away.

Looking at her face, however, he doubted the accuracy of his analogy. Her blood didn’t hail from Eurenica like his own; under her tattoos, she had the naturally tanned skin and sharp cheekbones common across most of the Altarian North, and her golden eyes and long, pointed ears spoke of even stranger origins. He’d never met one of the forest spirits made flesh who prowled the great northern woodlands, as they rarely came this far south, but he knew of them.

There wasn’t any lion so far north. Ekun had heard of nebulous panthers hunting in the morning fog, of black matagots crying at sundown, but most naturalists agreed that wolves were the true carnivorous kings of the northern lands. Wouldn’t it be more correct, then, more appropriate, to compare this particular Reaper to a predator she would be more familiar with?

Strange, the useless things that came to your mind when you were about to die.

She stopped at the edge of the counter and looked at him for a short moment that seemed to stretch for much longer. She was slightly taller than him, which was no small feat, and he entertained no illusion regarding her ability to kill him with her bare hands. It was curiously freeing, to know that your chances of escaping alive were slim to none. That there was no point in fighting the inevitable. It was almost… relaxing.

Ekun felt light-headed, oddly serene. He’d been so tired for such a long time.

“Do you have Levensaft?” She asked, finally taking her eyes off him to look at the shelves he was standing in front of. “Word is on the street that you are the only one who carries it this side of the Dawn.”

It took him a while to process the question. He blinked, then blinked again. “Wh -- what?”

She raised an eyebrow and he blinked again, off-kilter and disoriented. “Levensaft,” she repeated slowly. “Sap of Life. Sylvan Water. Boreal Spirit. Wat...”

Annoyance shook him from his confused daze, and he snapped, “Yes, I do have Levensaft. Svarthundberg, Castelle de la Sorgine or Silverzauver?”

This time, both eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline and… Ekun almost recoiled, because that expression, right then, gone in a spark, had looked disturbingly like a pleased smile.

He’d never seen a Reaper smile before. It was terrifying.

“Four fingers of Castelle,” she said, pushing a silvery coin toward him with a long tattooed finger.

This… really wasn’t going like he’d thought it would when she’d turned her attention on him. For one, he was still standing, still breathing, still alive. But however disconcerted he felt over his continued state of existence, he’d been a barkeep long enough for his work ethic to win over his bewilderment. “Four, seven or fifteen years of age?”

Again with the impressed eyebrows, but a sudden scraping sound interrupted her reply and Ekun barely had time to shift his eyes to the left that she was already across the room. He didn’t flinch when he heard Hadriella Severina cried out, angry and scared, before she was thrown to the ground like a rag doll. He didn’t flinch when her knife was kicked from her hand with a sickening crack, and neither did he when the Reaper knelt on her back and pulled on her elaborate bun to expose her face.

He did flinch when Severina’s husband tried to lunge out for her with a battle cry, but he was quickly restrained by the other patrons. Felicios was an old gladiator, massive and strong and arrogant, but a nerve-pinch dispensed by quick fingers did the job. Severina started to sob and plead when he crumbled on the ground, her beautiful face distorted and wet with tears.

The Reaper hadn’t even looked at Felicios. Maybe she’d trusted in her audience to keep him from interfering with a Reaper’s harvest; more than likely, she’d felt confident that she could neutralize him if he’d reached her.

Luckily for him, he hadn’t.

“Hadriella Karenisa Severina,” the Reaper called in a toneless voice, “You have been convicted of many crimes, by many courts on both side of the Dawn, but none more foul, more monstrous, more inexpiable, than the abaitting, kidnapping, enslavement and trade of children. On your orders, many of those children were starved, beaten, tortured and raped, and then sold like cattle, amongst other atrocities that were carried on your order or by your own hands.”

Ekun had never seen a Reaper lose their shit quite this thoroughly before. Her voice was still toneless, even, her macabre recitation audible by all in the complete silence who’d fallen over the room; her hands didn’t shake, nor did the rest of her, and yet violence was coming off her in waves, barely leashed and about to slip its collar.

“You should have been quartered and tortured accordingly to your crimes,” the Reaper reminded Severina, “But I was the one to find you, and I always carry my executions quickly and cleanly… however tempted I may be to make an exception for you.”

Without further comment, she moved her hands on each sides of Severina’s jaw and twisted. The sound of her neck snapping made several persons cringe and whimper, but Ekun wasn’t one of them.

He’d known that Severina and Felicios had their hands in several illicit trades, but he’d never suspected anything quite this wrong, this depraved, this evil. When had he become this blind and deaf, too mired in his own misery to spot the signs?

Surely, there must have been signs.

Ekun looked at Felicios’ still crumpled form through narrowed eyes, then at the rest of the lounge’s patrons. Amongst them, who had known? Who had said nothing? Who had participated?

He didn’t realize he was speaking aloud until several patrons tried to bolt at the same time. Most of them attempted to rush past the Reaper and toward the door, but another opted to try and go directly through the bay window―the stupid cretin crashed against the checkered iron reinforcements and fell back down, bleeding and concussed. One down.

Trusting the Reaper to take care of the thugs running for the door, Ekun lunged to the right and intercepted Severina’s and Felicios' children as they tried to run in direction of the kitchen. If Ekun hadn’t been there, maybe they would have managed to escape the distracted Reaper… for a time. But he was there, between them and the kitchen, and they didn’t go further than the counter.

Felicia was crying and screaming hysterically, throwing herself on the ground when her brother let go of her wrist to better fight against Ekun. But Felicianos was young and slow, unused to defend himself with his own fists, and was quickly knocked out. Shaking his hand, Ekun eyed the hysteric pile of skirts crumbled at his feet and decided to simply keep an eye on her. The girl was only thirteen, and he sincerely hoped she’d had nothing to do with her parents’ sordid dealings.

Meanwhile, the Reaper had managed to subdue the other potential fugitives and gave Ekun a sharp, grateful nod. He swallowed, feeling exposed and nauseous, and nodded back.

Then he looked on, grim and cold, as the Reaper slowly went through her fallen harvest. She lifted their heads, one after the other, to take a look at their faces and their soul. Most of them, she killed after reciting their crimes and announcing their sentence, snapping their neck with practiced ease. Felicia wasn’t the only patron who’d broken down and started crying by then, and a disconnected part of Ekun wondered if any of them would ever come back to the lounge. His boss was going to be furious, and this, more than anything else, made him irrationally angry.

He’d never pretended to be a particularly good or selfless man. Not in a long time.

By the time the Reaper broke Felicios’ neck and sent his soul to join his wife’s in Hell, only three of his thugs had been left alive, kept frozen by glowing runes traced upon their chest. Maybe their crimes weren’t worth a Reaper’s time; maybe they hadn’t been convicted by a court yet. In any case, they wouldn’t die today.

After she finished her business with their father, the Reaper rose gracefully to her feet and walked toward Ekun and the teenagers he’d kept from fleeing. She looked at Felicianos, unconscious, and Felica, still crying in a heap on the floor, and sighed. “That’s the worst part of my job.”

Ekun blinked. He’d never known a Reaper to sound quite this tired.

Then the night patrol finally arrived, trooping through the door, and he had other things to worry about.

~*~

Later, much later, after he’d talked himself hoarse several times, with the guards, with his patrons, with his neighbours, he finally managed to close the door on a rapidly emptying street. It was long past curfew, and once they’d gotten over their shock, the guards had started herding curious passersby home.

Ekun didn’t jump when he turned around, but it was a close call. He’d thought the Reaper long gone, maybe to the casern with the guards, but there she was. Sitting at the bar, she was still surrounded by an aura of anger and sadness, like a grey cloud hanging over her head. It was a disconcerting scene, but Ekun was too tired and heartsick to be surprised by much of anything right then.

He dragged his feet behind the bar, where his fingers instinctively reached for a bottle of Castelle de la Sorgine and his favorite flask of rum. He handed the whole bottle of Sap-of-Life to the Reaper, who looked at it blankly for a moment before accepting it. She twisted the cap off with her sharp-nailed fingers and closed her eyes, inhaling its strong woodsy, sweet smell as it escaped the bottle.

“That’s the fifteen years old bottle, isn’t it?”

He hummed an affirmation, too busy taking a long sip from his flask to answer more clearly. The rum was dark, deep and spicy, just the right amount of sweet, and its heat gradually seeped into his veins and started warming him up. It wasn’t a cold night, but he felt tired and old, down to his bones―and ridiculous, because he knew perfectly that twenty-five years of age wasn’t old.

“I am too tired to appreciate that properly,” the Reaper grumbled, which didn’t stop her from taking a long swallow from her bottle. “It is such a waste.”

Ekun wasn’t sure she was only talking about the liquor any longer, but he couldn’t mobilize the will to care, nor the energy to fetch her a cheaper drink.

“I thought you were coming for me,” he confessed several minutes later, a good portion of his flask already gone. The Reaper was already halfway through her bottle, which was all kinds of terrifying, and only just starting to get calmer, less vibrantly furious.

“I was,” she answered after a while. “But not to kill you.”

He raised an eyebrow, now sufficiently warmed up to feel intrigued.

“I was not there for them,” she said, not exactly answering his question, but since he’d also wanted to know about that… “This is not my harvesting field. I am not from around here.”

“Never would have suspected,” Ekun drawled.

She waved a hand, not even irritated by the interruption. “I did not know they would be there; I did not even see them until the bitch bolted. I wasn’t there for them,” she repeated, in a lower voice.

But she’d found them nonetheless, and did what needed to be done.

“Tough luck.”

She hummed. “Indeed.” Then she looked at him, her eyes sharpening a bit despite liquor and weariness. “I can come back tomorrow, when you will have had time to sleep.”

Ekun snorted. “If you think I’m going to sleep anywhere near peacefully after tonight, you’re delusional. Out with it, Lady Reaper.”

She didn’t protest the ridiculous appellation, even seemed dispassionately amused by it. “I need your help. With a hunt.”

She sipped again from her bottle, rolling the liquor in her mouth with a thoughtful expression. Ekun had never exchanged more than three words with a Reaper before; he wondered if they were all like this, surprisingly human under their grim, stoic, merciless masks. Somehow, he doubted it.

“Information?” He asked.

Some bar keepers were terrible gossips, it was true, but the Reaper was out of luck with Ekun. He was there to serve alcohol, not to chat.

He told her as much.

She looked amused. “Not exactly the kind of information I’m searching for, Your Highness.”

He was very careful not to freeze or drop his flask, however pointless the deception. She already knew: there was no speculation in her eyes, only a calm, curious insight.

“Whatever you want,” he told her, voice as flat and cold as he could make it, “you won’t get it if you call me by that title again.”

The Reaper stared at him for half a minute, blank-faced, before inclining her head. “My apologies. What form of address would you prefer, in that case?”

He took a deep breath to calm himself, letting it out slowly and evenly. “Ekun. Because that is my name,” he added, daring her to contradict him.

She only nodded. “That is fair, Ekun. In light of your reaction, however, I fear that my questions may… distress you.”

He glowered over his flask. “I’m not fragile.” He took a sip before gesturing in her direction with his free hand. “Go ahead.”

“Very well.” She straightened up, finally getting down to business. “What do you know about the man who stole your mother’s shield?”

Talk about getting straight to the point. Ekun swallowed his mouthful of rum, resisting the impulse to slam the flask on the counter. To his dismay, his hands were shaking.

“Both more and less than I wish I did,” he said, before looking at the Reaper: her narrow, tattooed face, her scarred hands.

His own long hunt for revenge, years ago, had yielded next to no results. He’d finally abandoned his quest in the city of Callestane, two hours of camelops riding away from the medium-sized village he now lived in. He couldn’t stand to go home, or even to another Eurenican country where people looked or spoke like him. The disgrace was easier to bear while surrounded by a foreign culture.

But Ekun wasn’t a Reaper.

“What do you want to know, exactly?”

She smiled, but there was no humour, no joy in the expression. Only white, sharp teeth. “Everything.”

He nodded, drank again, then started talking.

Please tell me what you thought about it in the comments =D

#short stories #midnight harvest #the reaper #portfolio #concordia university

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bookcalanthedaily · 2 years

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a lioness amongst the wolves au: 8/???

"It’s good to see Ciri act like herself again, after the horrors of Cintra...” “It’s good to see you both in good health. You’ve recovered well, too, Calanthe.”

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bookcalanthedaily · 2 years

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some more zelda, @suresaint‘s wonderful oc! taking care of calanthe after she got wounded during the battle of marnadal, a scene from our rp thread.

#queen calanthe #calanthe of cintra #calanthe #calanthe fiona riannon #witcher oc #the witcher oc #friends ocs #suresaint #the witcher #the witcher 3 #the witcher 3 edit #the witcher 3 mods #tw3edit #tw3 wild hunt #wiedzmin #wiedźmin #witcher #story ; a lioness amongst the wolves

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bookcalanthedaily · 11 months

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okay friends. i feel like i really need to focus on one story/project before i do anything else so... help a girl out. again.

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bookcalanthedaily · 2 years

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okay so all of my projects, so I don’t forget, are: - make your own destiny; hiatus, almost finished. - make your own destiny 2: hiatus. - awaken what lays dormant: hiatus until i create new outfit for calanthe. - breaker of the empire: slowly updating as inspiration strikes. - lioness amongst wolves: slowly updating as inspiration strikes. - bring back what was lost: freshly started, gonna be updated regularly - a different kind of wish: not started yet, a calalt-based story.

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bookcalanthedaily · 2 years

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a lioness amongst the wolves au: 3/???

"You and the child can stay here as long as you need to, Calanthe.” “I feel like a rat, hiding in these mountains while my people fight in my name.” “But think of Ciri. This is the safest place for her.”

#calanthe #calanthe of cintra #queen calanthe #calanthe fiona riannon #the witcher #the witcher 3 #the witcher 3 mod #the witcher 3 au #vesemir #witcher vesemir #tw3 #tw3edit #wiedzmin #wiedźmin #alternate universe #the witcher 3 alternate universe #the witcher au #story ; a lioness amongst the wolves

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bookcalanthedaily · 2 years

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A LIONESS AMONGST THE WOLVES - Intro.

Ciri...? How did you do that? I... I don’t know! I’m so sorry, grandmama, I..! Shhh... Listen to me. You’re safe from war, but not for long. Run north, don’t look back. Find Lyria. I won’t leave you!! You must! Otherwise, we will both die, do you understand? I’ll bring help! Ciri... Just go... I’ll come back. I promise..! Ciri... A castle!! I see a castle!! I’ll bring help, grandmama! I promise!

#story ; a lioness amongst the wolves #My writing #i won't actually throw that into the modding tags i don't think lmao

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knittastically · 6 years

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A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 14

As always thank you for reading, I love to read your comments and if you could reblog that would be fantastic.

Warning: Mention of miscarriage and death of a newborn

Jehanne is grumpy, I can tell it just from the look on her face and she frowns at me as I walk past her to escort Blanche from the Chateau. As Blanche turns to say goodbye she leans in and drops a kiss to my cheek, I stiffen slightly for I am not completely reconciled with her and she knows it.

“Shall I see you on Sunday Isabé?”

“I expect so, I will be at Mass with the Baron”

“When does Raymond return?”

I am losing patience, I can’t stand this forced, polite conversation, I don’t like myself for it but the wound of her not telling me who she really is has cut me deep.

“I have no idea”, I shrug “it will doubtless be when the King gives him leave to come home” My voice is flat and clipped.

Blanche’s smile never drops, her voice never wavers and she fixes a smile on her face. “I am sure he will be home as soon as he can Isabé.” She takes hold of my hands but I pull them away after only a brief moment.

“I must go, there is much to do and we have spent a long time talking with each other, Jehanne is waiting.”

She is being dismissed by her own daughter but she holds herself in check and gives little away, though her eyes are a little glassy.

“I understand my dear, I won’t keep you any longer”

She nods “Until Sunday then” and makes her way down to the steps, to where Julot waits for her to help her up into the saddle. Does she look up at me and wave, I have no idea for I am already back in the hall.

“You, look like shit Isabé” Jehanne stands hands on hips and stares at me with a sour look on her face.

“Hmmph, and you have a face like an Alaunt chewing a wasp.” I spit back at her.

Laughing she links her arm through mine and pulls me against her side “It will all come right about you know she is the same woman that raised you, what difference does it make what name she goes by she has always loved you.”

“You have clearly been talking to the Baron, he said almost the same”

“He is right, you should reconcile yourself, for fear it eats away at you; so are you going to tell me about it or not”

“This is what I like about you Jehanne” I waggle a finger at her. “Straight to the point, as always you just jump in with your big feet and ask”

“I see no virtue in waiting to hear a third hand tale” she winks “which would doubtless be wrong”

“Well if you really want to know I will tell you as we clean, it’s nothing very interesting really”

We make for the chamber next to mine, it looks like it has been used as a storage room for years and before we can begin every stick of furniture, every pot, chest and tapestry needs to be hauled into the corridor. It is so damned hot that we are sweating and lathered like draught horses in minutes.

“So who is your father Isabé” Jehanne’s voice is bright with excitement and curiosity.

“Oh that is the one thing Blanche was careful not to tell me, no matter how often I asked she evaded or even flatly refused to tell me”

“But for God’s sake why would she not tell you?

“All she said was that he had made her promise not to and he would tell me himself when he felt the time was right” I sling a chipped jug out onto an old mattress, my aim is good but there is too much force, it bounces onto the floor and shatters. I cannot even be bothered to swear, just roll my eyes and hiss breath out in a long sigh.

“So I may never know” I could feel the tears ready to fall and I dash them away with the back of my hand.

Without another word I start to push at one of three remaining chests, trying to move it towards the door, Jehanne shakes her head at me and comes to help. Grunting and groaning we shove and heave them into the corridor.

“Isabé, sit down for a moment, sit and talk with me” I lean back against the cool wall and let myself slide down to the floor. Jehanne follows suit and sits close, our arms touch. For a moment I just hug my knees to my chest and then it all spills out.

Their meeting in ’87, a pretty farmer’s daughter and the youngest son of a wealthy official. A love affair cut short when, as was the way, he was packed off to a life of celibacy, obedience and prayer at Jumièges Abbey. His swift move from postulant to Junior and then his appointment as Cellarer was remarkable, no doubt his family’s generous gifts to the Abbey of both land and money eased his path and gave the Abbot reason to keep him. Though by all accounts he was a handful and often kicked against the goads of authority.

I give an unladylike sniff and let loose a hiccoughing laugh.

Jehanne hugs me closer, “So he was troublesome and rebellious” She smirks at me.

“Hmmm, it seems he was always at odds with his superiors” I grin back at her, “He didn’t stay a Black Monk for too long.”

“Then you must be your father’s daughter, I can see where both your obstinacy and sense of justice come from!”

She gives a false yelp and feigns hurt, as I smack her arm but she is laughing at me and of course she is right. I continue the tale of how he came back to Rouen to find that Blanche had left to go and stay with her Sister and Brother in Law, Marielle and Thomas Pelletier. That he had no time to search for her as he had taken service with the Baron and joined the ranks of his company, all of them seemingly hell bent on getting themselves killed in a Holy War. Already under orders to leave the soldiers were ready to move out, he had no option but to go.

“But surely he was not a fighter, not a soldier” Jehanne frowns at me.

“Oh, it seems he never gave up his training and practiced in secret but of course he was found out, another mark against him.”

I manage a weak smile, then shiver a little and squeeze at Jehanne’s hand.

“Isabé, please, if you don’t wish to tell me more then don’t, I know I am a nosy baggage but I have no wish to see you in distress.”

Burning tears prick my eyes and now I begin to feel some remorse for how I have behaved to Blanche. “It did not end well Jehanne.”

I lean into my friend as she slides her arm about my shoulders.

“Marielle was overjoyed, she too was expecting their first child and was glad of the help, it did not matter to her that Blanche was not married and it seemed she was settled and safe. The birth was hard and the child survived for only a few hours but Thomas named her Ève, and at least she was baptized, but Marielle was so very weak and only lived for a few more days. Blanche is sure that she gave up on life, that she died of a broken heart as much as much as the fever.”

The tears start again, I let them fall fast and hot as I remember the pain and heartache of losing my own child so early, that poor scrap of life. Jehanne understands for she was there, my dearest friend, who helped me, a naïve girl who did not really know what was happening.

I think on how harrowing it must be, to carry a Child all that time only to see it lose the fight to survive and I wonder if there is there a God?

I push on, stuttering out my words with a ragged, uneven breath, telling of how Thomas was good to us at first, letting us stay on after I was born and that he doted on me until something evil worked into his brain and he sought solace in wine, more so after the anniversary of their deaths. To him Blanche was responsible, she had not done enough, had not been vigilant enough. He called her a whore and a slut and wondered how he could have allowed such a lecherous bitch take care of his beloved Marielle.”

Jehanne gasps in her breath. “The Arsehole, the bastard” what was he thinking?” She hisses between her teeth then strokes at my hair and makes soothing noises.

“We could not stay, not when he started to become free with his fists or his belt. Blanche was in fear for our safety and the only place she could think to go was Madame Bouvier’s. One night when Thomas passed out again from too much wine, she bundled up only what she could carry, though she made sure to take some coin and he was so drunk he did not even realise she was rifling through the coin pouch on his belt.”

“She should have taken the whole purse from that shit”

I Shake my head at her,” No she would not do that she took only what she felt was her due”

“Remember” I rest my cheek atop my knees and look across at her. “His heart was broken and it seemed that his mind was following.”

She snorts at me and her eyes flash with anger, “Don’t you dare, don’t you damned well dare make excuses for him Isabé”

I ignore her, for I never heard Blanche speak ill of him.

Recounting how with a sling across her body to carry me, Blanche walked away from that place, pausing only to say a prayer at the grave of Marielle and Ève. I tell more the story before I can forget the things Blanche has told me, the nights sleeping in barns or even in the open, that she begged rides on carts when she could and for a while joined with a group of nuns, then later walked with Pilgrims heading here to Rouen to seek a blessing at the Cathedral before they set off to Santiago. There were always plenty of people on the road and it seems that on the journey back here, I became Isabé Pelletier her niece, child of her late sister.

The pain in my head has worsened, like an ever beating drum the thumping sensation is relentless, and my eyes are gritty and sore.

“Isabé, you look so weary, stop now, tell me the rest later hein”

“I think I shall burst if I don’t tell someone whilst it is fresh in my mind and who better than you my friend,” I smile broadly at her “My sister”

I see a flush settle on her cheeks, “Don’t be so silly Isabé.”

“Truly Jehanne, you are like a sister to me” Her blush deepens and she shakes her head.

“But you survived Isabé”

“Indeed, Madame Bouvier confirmed Blanche’s story to whoever asked and no matter what anyone thought in private, no one challenged her to her face. It was she that told Blanche my Father had left to fight in the Holy War”

“When Hénri returned from fighting, Blanche helped to care for him, I think he had always held a place in his heart for her, twice he proposed marriage, and twice she refused. Finally she told him she was waiting for my father’s return but when he heard the name, he had to break the news to her that he had seen him fall on the battlefield and that although he had watched his body carried away he was sure he had not survived.”

“Poor, poor Blanche” I sigh, “to hear such news after waiting so long, it must have felt like a blow.”

Tears are still not far away and my voice cracks, “Yes a short love affair, but I know now that he was the only man she truly loved, indeed still loves, Hénri knows it too.”

“But your father is alive is he not?”

“Oh yes and somewhere in Rouen, he returned many months after the other survivors and found Blanche married and already pregnant with Guillaume.”

“Sweet Mary Mother of God, he must have hated her for that.

“No, No Jehanne it seems that in spite of being rebellious he is also a very forgiving and practical man, for that matter so is Hénri and he never forbade my father the right to visit Blanche or me, though I have no memory of anyone in particular, we had so many visitors once we moved to the Manor.”

“Do you know why he returned so long after the others?”

“Blanche would not say, it seems that is histale to tell.”

I hear the bitter note in my voice, I can’t help it for I fear that I shall never know the truth of it.

Jehanne scrambles to her feet and reaches down to clasp my hand, standing quickly I grow dizzy and sway a little as everything goes black.

“Isabé what is it, are you well?

“Just a little light headed”

“For God’s sake when did you last eat, I know you had nothing before you went to the Mason’s yard”

As I frown at her I think back.

“I don’t know, yesterday perhaps, yes, yesterday, midday.”

“Idiot, all this upset and upheaval, the cleaning, Raymond going to Paris and not least Blanche”

“That’s why I forgot with all this shit happening” I snap back at her, “Christ, you’re not my mother, so don’t speak to me as if you are.” I stare wide eye at her and bite at my bottom lip as I realise the stupidity of what I have just said.

“Jehanne I...” She cut’s me off, but she smiling.”

“Kitchen, Now!” She bellows at me. “I will carry on here”

“Alright, Alright I’m going, I need to speak with Fournier anyway”

Jehanne rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then leans forward to kiss my cheek.

“You will need to be fit for Raymond coming home, he will want a wife who can match his energy and from what I have seen so far he has plenty of that” She winks and leers at me “Now go”

I make my way down the stairs and across to the screens passage. A blast of hot air hits me as I enter the kitchens, in the centre of the room the Seneschal stands straight as a spear and whilst everyone else wilts in the heat he seems indifferent to it.

Shorter than Fournier by at least a foot, the Chef stands toe to toe with him and cranes his neck. He is clearly agitated, though with all the noise I can’t hear what he is saying. I smile for what he lacks in height the smaller man makes up for in build, his ruddy, sweaty face is contorted into an angry mask and as he speaks he waves his arms around. This would hardly matter were it not for the fact that he clutches a large knife in his right fist and in his left, a cleaver, both of which seem to swipe perilously close to the Seneschal.

Fournier stands as calm as if he were being addressed by a venerable old Aunt, when he speaks it seems to infuriate Chef all the more, until finally he quietens, gives a curt nod and stomps off to another part of his domain.

The Seneschal misses nothing, he knows I’m there, I saw him slide a sideways look at me as I entered the kitchen and he strides across and bids me good morning.

“Good Day to you Monsieur Fournier, if you have time I should like to speak with you about the wedding” I smile up at him. “I may be the Bride but I know nothing of the arrangements and as Sieur Raymond has been called to Paris not even the date is settled.”

“Of course I have time Mam’selle, but it is just Fournier.”

I nod my head and notice his grey eyes are almost silver in this light.

“First though if I may, I should like some food, I have been so busy that I have not eaten since midday yesterday”

“We must set that to rights Mam’selle , what can I have brought for you?”

“I must admit I have no real appetite some cheese and bread will suffice”

He waves a kitchen maid over and speaks in a low voice, as she scurries away he guides me across the kitchen to where a large table and two chairs are wedged in a corner.

“Mam’selle my office.”

“Forgive me, but I should have thought that as Seneschal you would have your own private office”

“Oh indeed I do, close by the Baron’s quarters, but this is convenient for the day to day business of the Chateau and everyone knows where to find me. The other is for more private matters with the Baron or Sieur Raymond, besides I like the bustle and the noise in here.”

He gestures towards the chair nearest to me “Please, sit” He waits until I do before he settles into the other.

The dark wood of the table is battered and ink stained, on it an earthenware jug, two beakers, ink pot, quills and four neat stacks of parchment sheets arranged in front of him. Each, one weighted down by some object, an unusually shaped and coloured stone, a small wooden box, a carved stone hand missing two fingers, and on one, what looks to be the remains of a child’s toy, battered and broken now but unmistakeably a small wooden horse. Something about that discarded toy strikes at my heart, it makes me feel desperately sad.

Taking two sheets of parchment from the stack beneath the stone hand and one from each of the others, he runs a long finger down the columns of words and figures on each sheet and reads out each item. His attention to detail is impressive.

As he speaks my food is brought across, so much for bread and cheese, I widen my eyes and smile at him. A dish of peaches, fresh young cheese and warm bread, a dish of honey, thick slices of ham, a dish of almonds with spices, enough for three at least.

I pull some bread, spread it thickly with the cheese and drizzle it with a little honey then sink my teeth into the soft, sweet, salty, tangy whiteness. “Delicious, thank you” “My pleasure” He leans back in his chair “So Mam’selle as you see everything is well underway.” His smile is broad and generous. “Whatever supplies we cannot provide for ourselves will be brought in, they will begin to arrive tomorrow, though of course it will be only be those items which will not perish in this heat. The rest we can arrange when.” he smiles across at me “When Sieur Raymond advises me of the date”

“I understand perfectly Fournier” and I smile back in sympathy “I too should be delighted to know exactly when he has decided drag me before the Priest.” I am rewarded by a rumble of laughter and his eyes glitter “Indeed Mam’selle, indeed! Though I am given to understand that the Archbishop will conduct your wedding at the Cathedral. As for quests the number is already at,” he rifles through his lists “One hundred and fifty three and should His Majesty deign to grace us with his presence, the number will increase markedly” I gasp, “His Majesty?” my voice is no more than a squeak. Fournier pours wine into a beaker and passes it to me, my fingers tremble as I raise it to my lips to take a sip. “Sieur Raymond is held in very high regard by the King, so personally, I think it is more likely than not that he will attend.”

“Then thank goodness we have started to clean the Chateau.” I sip at my wine and watch him from under my lashes as he rearranges the sheets of parchment.

“I think you will be a good friend Fournier, another ally”

We sit in silence as I eat, enjoying the delicious, simple food.

“I must go Fournier, thank you for the food and for what you have told me” I rise to leave and he accompanies me to the screens passage.

“Should there be anything else you need Mam’selle, you know where to find me”

I smile up at him, “Oh you have everything well in hand, I don’t think for one moment I shall need to trouble you much at all”

He nods, smiles “As you wish Mam’selle but you are most welcome here at any time and I have some ideas for the feast that you may like to hear, I was” he chooses his word “I was discussing them with DuFour as you as you arrived.”

“Yes I saw, is he always so excitable?”

“Oh sometimes far worse but,” he taps the side of his nose “Humbert DuFour is a master of his craft, he is an artist, the King has tried to entice him away more than once.

“He really is that good?”

“Oh indeed and I know he would be delighted if you would come and taste some of the wonderful dishes he is creating for your special day.”

I look across to where Chef DuFour is working, rapt in concentration, his brow deeply furrowed

“I will not disturb him now, but would you tell him please that it would be my pleasure?”

“Of course Mam’selle, though I fear it will make him even more unbearable, God help us” His laugh rumbles up again.

“Thank you for your time Fournier, for everything.”

“It is what I do” He shrugs and bids me good day.

There is a brightness to Fournier’s eyes, a soft indulgent smile on his lips and as Isabé walks away he smiles and whispers.

“How could I not do this for my own Daughter?”

Raymond and his Captain Mathieu Descoteaux ride side by side. A Sadness works deep into Raymond, sadness and disappointment, that Guillame of all people should be working against him, it has cut his heart.

“Keep your eyes on him when I cannot Mathieu, I hope I may yet save him if he is not in too deep” Mathieu gives him a searching look, Raymond nods, for if Guillaume cannot be pulled from this mire there is only one solution “If needs be then he must die, either at my hand or yours Descoteaux”

“Understood Sieur, Understood.” And with a nod the Captain reins away to ride a horses length behind his lord.

Raymond, pulls a corner of Isabé’s veil from his tunic. It is a little grubby now but still carries her scent of roses and he breathes it in, then unseen, he presses the cloth against his lips before tucking it away again.

“Sweet Christ all I want is not to have to do this shit anymore, to be home with you in my arms”

He closes his eyes for a moment, smiles and whispers her name.

**To reach the position of Cellarer as a Benedictine Fournier would have had to serve a much longer period than he did. From Postulant to Novice and Junior could have taken at least 4 years if not longer. So I’m taking licence here and using the premise that family would have gifted the Abbey a substantial sum of money or land and that would have “eased” his progress. I have tried to keep other timelines correctly fitted, but hey my sandpit my rules.

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