Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Caveat Emptor ❯ Chapter V ( Chapter 5 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

A.N - I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this out. I will not bore you with excessive excuses, instead, I'll just get to the point and allow you to judge if it was (hopefully) worth the wait. I must dedicate this chapter to Stefy and Darkwing, who are the best tour guides around. They deserve my eternal gratitude for taking the time to personally show me around the sights and historical areas of Rome. The Colosseum was simply breath taking. Thanks so much guys! Now I can actually say that I completed one of my chapters of CE in Italy.

Chapter Five

He was standing on the edge of the courtyard, staring vacantly at the basket of firewood in his arms, completely detached. His expression was troubled; his brow creased with t he intensity of his musings, and his confusion palpable. It was as though he had allowed his thoughts to wander, and could now not recall what he had been doing.

Relena sighed. She was pleased to see that he had recovered physically so quickly. But she worried that he had been sent to work too soon.

The head of housekeeping had complained that he was belligerent and uncooperative. That he looked down on the other servants and refused to assimilate. That while he was completing the tasks set for him, he had an air of indifference and scorn. Relena had listened quietly to the woman's concerns, nodding gently but refusing her request to have the man moved.

“Please give him some more time. It has only been a week. He is confused and not a little angry I think. He just needs more time to find his place.”

Privately, however, Relena could not shake the feeling that she was not helping him. It was like sending a fine war horse to plough fields. He simply had that presence about him. She wanted to help him. The need was becoming more and more insistent and she could not explain why.

“Surely the day is too fair for such deep and gloomy thoughts?”

He had actually jumped, although the action was almost imperceptible, at the sound of her voice. Looking up quickly from the heavy basket of wood, his eyes narrowed when they met hers. He did not look away from her though, and her heart quickened. Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment she wished she had not disturbed him. He stood frozen for a moment longer, before bowing stiffly to her and turning to move away. She was disappointed that he was so quick to dismiss her, although she guessed that it wasn't really that surprising. After all…what did they have to talk about?

“Trowa tells me your name is Heero.”

The basket tumbled to the ground with a clatter, and he turned back to her in one abrupt movement. For a moment his features were vulnerable, almost youthful, but his mask of resentment quickly slid back into place.

“I don't know, My Lady. Is it? You seem to know more than I do.”

It was the first time she had heard him speak, save for the mumbled threat in the market, and she found herself mesmerized by the deep gravel of his voice. His tone was gruff, but his words were formed with an educated tongue. Her suspicions plagued her further at this small observation. Who was he?

“Well,” she continued softly, “I hope you will allow me to call you by that title. At least until you are a little more certain of your past.”

Something sparked in his eyes at her words, and his dark glare softened considerably. Did he regret his harsh manner? He ducked his head, breaking eye contact, and his shoulders visibly sagged.

“Why… Why are you doing this? Why didn't you just leave me there? What do you want? That Captain, Trowa, he looks at me like he expects something of me. Like he knows something but won't tell me. I don't want to know who I am. But I need to know.”

Relena stared at him, distressed that she was incapable of answering any of his questions. It was true, she had noticed herself the way the normally silent soldier watched the slave. And she could not deny that her curiosity was increasing as to what interest the captain had in the mysterious man. He had been so quick to offer his assistance, and then stayed involved in Heero's care right up until his sister had deemed him fit to leave the cell. At first she had believed his responsibility to her safety to be the sole reason for his involvement. But she could no longer dismiss the doubts that had been growing in her heart for some days now.

And Heero had noticed too.

“Can you… can you remember nothing? Nothing at all?”

He glowered at her, fists clenched at his sides, and he appeared to struggle against a rage of emotions that sought to control him. His jaw was clenched tightly, the rhythmical tic of muscle in his cheek betraying any attempt at stoicism. Moments passed, making it obvious that he had no intention of answering her.

“I'm sorry, Heero, but I have no answers to offer you. I do not understand why you have come to be here, only that I wish to help you, in any way that I can. I hope that you will at least remember that.”

He blinked at her, a myriad of unknown emotions flashing rapidly across his unguarded features. For a moment, she almost thought he meant to tell her something, to share something with her. But after the briefest pause, he simply turned sharply and strode away, leaving both Relena and the upturned basket in his wake…

“Perhaps if you just slept with him, it would get this silly infatuation out of your system.”

Relena flushed deeply, realising that Dorothy had caught her staring at the handsome slave who was clearing leaves away in the gardens outside. Swivelling back towards her guest, her action was so abrupt that her goblet of wine tipped in her hand and splashed a large crimson puddle on the marble floor. Hilde tutted softly and reached across to blot away the spill. The other woman gave a wicked chuckle.

“Well, at least you don't deny it, my Lady.” She paused a moment, taking in Relena's dark blush, appearing almost surprised. “But you mustn't be ashamed, Lady Relena. We are, of course, creatures of passion. He is a slave, your slave, and it is quite within your right to use him as you best desire.”

Relena stared at her, unable to mask her open astonishment.

“Surely you cannot mean… You wouldn't… You HAVEN'T…”

Now Dorothy really was amazed. Relena waited to be graced with the other woman's usual sarcastic tongue, but instead, her face only reflected pity.

“My Lady,” Dorothy spoke slowly, almost as if she would a child, “This is the way of things. Perhaps you will be lucky, and your brother will choose you a husband to your… satisfaction. But I highly doubt it. So you will find that you will seek fulfilment from other sources. It is most common, and quite acceptable, I assure you.”

“But… but … surely there must be some element of love, Dorothy. That is why we do it, isn't it? How would your future husband feel, knowing that you spend time with another?”

Dorothy laughed, the sound loud and unsettling. Hilde glanced quickly between the two women, a soft frown hinting that she did not perhaps agree entirely with the Lady's opinion. Dorothy seemed to take a moment to contain herself, before her features became smooth and sombre.

“Love and marriage are not at all related, Lady Relena. Neither is lust. You feel lust for your mysterious slave, but it is not love. And love has no place in an arranged marriage, which you can be assured, yours will be. Save love for your children.”

Relena felt shaken by her blunt and bitter words. She could not believe that her new friend could truly feel this way.

“But, Dorothy, I am sure that when your turn comes, your Grandfather will choose a fine match.”

Raising a sceptical eyebrow at her, Dorothy shook her head slowly.

“But didn't you know, my Lady? The choice has already been made. Very recently in fact. I am to marry Senator Winner. Your Cousin.”

Relena gasped, shocked by the news. But why had Quatre not told her? Why had he kept such important news from her?

“It will be a strong union.” Dorothy continued, shrugging her shoulders, “Love really has little to do with it.”

Relena stared at her, saddened at her friends' indifference and sure that she caught an underlying wistful note in her voice. Glancing surreptitiously back across the courtyard, she wished there were someone who could help her to identify the tangle of emotions she now felt.

******

The sun felt good on his back, a pleasant change from the stifling heat of the kitchens. Most of the servants had been given leave to rest from the mid-afternoon heat, but he had been instructed to sweep the expansive courtyard, the head of housekeeping's apparent attempt at punishment. She didn't like him, and the feeling was mutual. He resented taking orders from the withered old bat, his subconscious informing him that he was above such mundane and pitiable tasks. He didn't mind this time however, it simply gave him an excuse to be away from the other palace staff, allowing him to try and sift through the confusing jumble of thoughts and recurring dreams.

The soldier, Trowa, had appeared in more than one, and in such a way that made him familiar… stirring a confusing fusion of emotions. And another… faceless but always with the same shock of blonde hair… in his dreams he could call him by name, but could not carry it with him when he awoke.

But now she had begun to find her way into his dreams, pressing aside scenes of death, and war. He could not deny that her presence had been a welcome relief, his former dreams leaving him with a morbid trepidation of what kind of man he had been to only dream of such misery. But the dreams also disheartened him, a subtle warning that he was developing feelings for the unattainable. Even if, when, he regained his memories, he doubted his former persona was in any way worthy of the sister of Caesar.

After their first conversation in the courtyard, or at least their first conversation that did not include him threatening her, Heero had tried to avoid their paths crossing again. But the Gods seemed to be working against him. And now he was growing more and more accustomed to her soft smiles and gentle voice. Each day they would pass each other, and she would enquire after his health, showing interest in his well being. He had been surprised at first, not expecting her kindness, particularly after he had slighted her.

But it soon became obvious that this was a curtesy she bestowed on each and everyone she spoke to, no matter what their station. The confusing thrill he got when he thought she had singled him out, soon faded when he realised this was not the case and he had felt his heart sink, despite himself. What disturbed him even more was the almost childish jealousy that plagued him whenever he saw her speaking to others, particularly men. He couldn't understand what was coming over him.

And then… last night… Heero shook his head with frustration, still mortified by what he had done. Brushing his arm across his sweating brow, he cursed softly at the memory of the previous evenings events.

The moon gave her pale skin an almost ethereal glow, casting aside shadow and gloom. He had stood unnoticed, for some time, watching her as she watched the evening sky. He wondered what she was thinking, what could have roused her from her rest and brought her to this ledge so late at night. With her legs tucked beneath her and her long hair pulled back in a sleepers braid, she looked vulnerable and pure, startling Heero with an overwhelming desire to protect her.

“Rather than simply skulking in the shadows, Heero, you could always join me. I would be most grateful of the company.”

Heero stumbled away from his position against the wall, surprised that she had been aware of him all along. She had not turned to acknowledge him when she had spoken, but her soft voice still carried clearly across the hushed alcove. He liked the way she said his name. It rolled off her tongue like an endearment, the sound caressing his senses. He still had no idea if the name was really even his, but hearing it from her lips, he doubted he could ever answer to another title.

Despite the nagging voice in the back of his head, warning him against it, he found himself stepping silently towards her and perching beside her on the marble outcropping. He knew he must have looked awkward, his back ramrod straight and his jaw clenched tight. But if she noticed, she made no mention of it, merely smiling gently.

“Are you normally up so late, Heero? I've noticed that you do more than your fair share of work, so you must be tired?”

Heero blinked at her with surprise, startled that she had noticed what he had been doing. The thought made his heart give an unsettling skip, and he swiftly forced back a wave of longing. Relena was simply demonstrating the conscientiousness that was in her nature. He was a fool to read too deeply into it.

“I couldn't sleep.” His mouth was dry, and his voice sounded foreign to his ears. He didn't want to tell her the truth. That he had been awoken, as he was awoken every night, drenched with sweat and every nerve of his being screaming from the terror of his dreams.

She smiled enigmatically at him, so sedate and serene. Her features were smooth, betraying little, but her eyes emanated her sorrow. She fixed him with her gaze, and Heero found himself unable to look away. It was as though she was staring straight into his soul, and the sensation left him shaken.

“No,” she murmured, “I don't suppose you could.” She sighed softly, turning back to the tapestry of stars. “The God's truly were magnanimous to grace us with such beauty, don't you agree Heero?”

He nodded dumbly in reply, although his gaze never left her upturned features. Magnanimous? Or malicious? Heero wondered briefly, not for the first time, what he had done to incur the God's torture. He felt hesitant, uncertain in her company. Part of him wanted to relax and savour the moment alone with her, pretend that the invisible barrier created by their class no longer existed. But a larger part refused to allow him to lower his guard, lest she see his desire and mistake it for weakness. He wanted her. That thought alone both stimulated and terrified him. He needed to get as far away from her as he could.

But somehow he knew… she had already become his reason for being.

“It's fascinating, don't you think,” she continued, “To listen to all the different theories about the heavens. From the scholars, the priests, or even we mere mortals. When I was small, my nurse told me that the stars were the souls of our past emperors and heroes of Rome. And when they had completed their labours on earth, they had left the burden of their bodies and returned to take their place amongst the Gods.”

She turned to look at him, obviously waiting to see if he would offer his opinion.

“Aristotle believed that the Body and the soul are unified in the same way that wax and an impression stamped on it are unified. That the soul is the perfect expression or realization of a natural body.”

Relena looked at him in surprise, her eyes widening briefly. He swallowed, shaken at the information that had just crossed his lips. He had barely even spoken them aloud, but she had heard him none the less. He could not even fathom how he knew such a thing, or why he had suddenly remembered it now of all times. He was uncertain if he even knew what the words meant. She smiled at him, so soft and beatific, and he wished he could see what was going through her mind.

“'The mind remains throughout a unity: and it is absurd to speak of it, as desiring with one part and feeling anger with another. Sense perception is a faculty of receiving the forms of outward objects independently of the matter of which they are composed, just as the wax takes on the figure of the seal without the gold or other metal of which the seal is composed. As the subject of impression, perception involves a movement and a kind of qualitative change; but perception is not merely a passive or receptive affection. It in turn acts, and, distinguishingbetween the qualities of outward things, becomes "a movement of the soul through the medium of the body.'”

Her words were formal and stilted, making it obvious that she was merely quoting from her studies. Pausing, she watched him meditatively. “I find it doubtful that they gave you much time for self education in the slave camps Heero. But do you agree with him? Surely you must have some thoughts of your own?”

She leaned closer, lifting a hand to his cheek with a nonchalance reserved for close acquaintances. His skin prickled beneath her touch, and he found himself bound by her graces. “Whoever you are, Heero, you fascinate me. You have many secrets, don't you? I want to help you, even if you refuse it. But you also confuse me, excite me.”

She was silent for a moment, emotions playing on her face that Heero could not begin to interpret. “Are you aware that Aristotle also argued that the ability to regulate our desires is not instinctive, but learned and is the outcome of both teaching and practice? And that if we regulate our desires either too much or too little, that we then create problems? What trouble will I endure if I do not accept my desires, Heero? Even if I'm not yet sure what they are?”

She gazed at him, the question hanging, unanswered in the air between them. Her eyes searched his own, refusing to allow him to look away. Instead, they pressed away every iota of self doubt and confusion.

And then his sense of restraint deserted him, and he acted completely on impulse, with no idea what had propelled him to press his mouth to hers. For a fleeting moment he waited for her to push him away, slap him, and call the guards. But then he was lost in the taste of her, his mind reeling with the realisation that she was responding, her soft lips moving receptively beneath his assault. No more than a whisper, her sigh of contentment broke through his clouded conscience, only moments before he sought to draw her to him and deepen their embrace.

What was he doing? Mortified, he grasped her shoulders, pushing her away. He drew a laboured breath, physically shaken by the euphoria of her touch. She blinked up at him, visibly as affected as he. Her pupils were dilated, almost drowning out the pale blue of her irises, and her breast heaved with her excitement. What had he done?

Stepping back from her so quickly that he stumbled in his haste, he mumbled his apologies while refusing to meet her gaze. Spinning abruptly on his heel, he dashed away from her, part of him expecting her to call him back.

But her plea never came.

******

Relena was silent and thoughtful, in another world entirely as Hilde ran the comb through her wet hair. Dorothy had left hours ago, but her words still troubled her. Was it possible to find contentment in a marriage when there was no love? Could love perhaps come later? And what if it didn't? She thought of Heero, his image seemingly etched permanently in her mind of late. She had little understanding of romantic love, but she suspected that the stirring of emotions she felt when they were together and even apart were unlike any she had ever felt for anyone else. Society would never allow them to be together, but how could she allow herself to be betrothed to another if her heart had already been lost?

She sighed, chastising herself at her own presumptuousness. It was foolish to think that Heero felt even remotely the same way, not that she really knew yet if the feelings were exactly as she suspected. Perhaps Dorothy was right. It was lust and nothing more. She could not deny that her body craved his. But in her heart she could not help but think there was more to these emotions than pure base animal instinct.

“Am I truly so naïve to hope for love?”

The question was purely rhetorical, not even really meant to be spoken aloud, so Relena was a little startled by her maid's soft chuckle.

“Everyone has a hidden desire to love and be loved, My Lady. It is those who attempt to deny that desire that are naïve. It is a fool indeed who tries to stifle their hearts true wish, and you are certainly not a fool. My husband always said that the heart will always overrule the head when it comes to the things that truly matter.”

Relena swivelled in her seat, her eyes wide with surprise. “You're married, Hilde?” She blushed, realising just how little she knew about the woman who waited on her beck and call. “Where… where is he?”

“He's waiting for me.” Her reply was soft, wistful, and Relena instantly felt contrite, sorry that she had brought up a subject that obviously caused the other grief. Hilde sighed, yet her voice was steady as she continued, “Duo was one of our villages' best warriors, and he died with honour, fighting Caesar's conquering army.”

Relena gasped softly, grasping Hilde's hand with concern. “Oh! I'm so sorry!” she whispered, her eyes tearing at the realisation that she was somehow, even if indirectly, responsible for not only Hilde's enslavement but also the death of Hilde's love. “Would you tell me about him?”

It was Hilde's turn to blush, and she gazed down at the comb that was clutched in her free hand. Setting it down, she lifted her fingers to brush self consciously at her short hair. The action was curiously intimate, as if she remembered a similar action from her beloved. Watching her, Relena realised that she was glimpsing someone that truly understood love.

“I was promised to Duo before either of us was even born.” Hilde smiled at the memory, pausing in recollection. “My father is… was… the Laird of our village. Our father's were best friends, had grown up together, hunted together and fought together. It was a wish deep in both their hearts, that their children would unite the two families.

Of course… neither of us was too excited by the idea. My first real memory of Duo was when he pulled the head off my doll when I was four. Things didn't improve from there.” Hilde laughed; the sound warming to Relena's heart. Hilde leant forward, her voice lowering as she continued her tale.

“We were so competitive, about EVERYTHING. I was such a reckless child, revelling in the games more suited to the boys, something many of the boys in the village resented. Especially Duo. Like all boys, he believed that girls were trouble. And they certainly had no place playing sword games or sports. But I was the Lairds daughter, and I never let him forget it.”

Relena smiled broadly, laughing at the image of a younger Hilde wreaking havoc amongst the boys' games. Hilde grinned back at her, enjoying sharing memories that were so special to her.

“For years we fought, bickered, called each other terrible names. And when I turned twelve, my father sent me to my aunt, to learn to be a… lady. My mother, you see, died a short time after my birth, and my father feared that by staying with him, I was missing out on the upbringing that would help me to become a suitable wife and mother. Of course, I think the day I sent Duo home with a black eye after a somewhat hostile quarrel had some influence on my father's decision.”

“Yes,” Relena giggled, “That would have been rather… unladylike.”

“I hated it… at first. And then, I came to like my aunt's company. The first year passed very slowly. I thought I would never meet the standards that my mother's sister expected of me. I was a disaster in the kitchen. My attempts at weaving and stitching were a nightmare. I realised that, while I had been running around with the boys and playing in the dirt, other girls my age had been learning the skills of providing for a family. I had been dreadfully spoiled.

It was half way through my second year that my aunt mentioned that I was betrothed. My father had made mention of it in the past, but I had thought him to be in jest. That he surely could not expect me to marry that loud, arrogant, and pigheaded boy. I was horrified. I had until I was fifteen… less than a year and a half of freedom. Less than a year and a half to change my father's mind.

I begged him relentlessly, whenever he visited, to allow me to choose my own husband. Anyone but Duo. My father had married my mother for love. How could he refuse his only daughter the same thing? But he would not be swayed. Time passed quickly, as it seems to with the approach of impending doom. I hoped that perhaps Duo would also be against the union and that he could prove more convincing. But my aunt informed me that he had accepted our engagement, and that the honour of his family would not allow him to break it. Duo was also two years older than I, already seventeen, and it was expected that he should be married. At this news, I hated him even more.”

Hilde shook her head, sighing at her own foolishness, and Relena waited eagerly to hear what turn of events had provoked the woman's change of heart.

“My father spoke of my future husband with pride, telling me how he had grown to be a handsome man who was already proving his merit in battle. He doubted any man in the Highlands could best Duo with a sword, and his seat on a horse was widely admired. I would roll my eyes at each word of praise, refusing to be impressed by a man who ever remained the Bain of my existence.

So, a week before my fifteenth birthday, a week before the village would celebrate our wedding, Father sent warriors to escort me home. I never dreamed he'd send Duo himself. But he was… so different from my memories.” Hilde smiled, a soft and private smile, pausing for a moment before she continued. “It wasn't so much that he had grown in height, which of course he had. Nor was it the way that he had become so broad and strong. His hair was even longer than I remembered, and he wore it back in a long braid. His face was so serious, almost dangerous, and he had looked at me on that spring morning with an intensity I could not begin to explain. It was his eyes. It only took one look into those violet eyes, and I knew that I could never refuse him.

I tried to. Believe me, I tried. He made me ride back with him, pressed against his chest with no apparent escape. I didn't want him to know that I enjoyed his embrace, so I struggled, argued, hissed and scratched like a wild cat. All he did was laugh at me. He pretended to ignore it, until I bit him. Then he threw me in a nearby stream, roaring his head off with amusement while I cursed and yelled with the ferocity of any man. And then he told me he'd missed me. And then he kissed me. And I… stopped fighting.

At the wedding banquet, Father told me that Duo had asked, no begged, for permission to come and fetch me. That he had spoken of nothing else but my return for weeks prior. That Father had given my husband leave of his betrothal commitment over a year before, and that Duo had adamantly declined. I had never known that for all those years, the bickering, teasing and fighting had only been the childish demonstration of affection. And, on looking back, I believe I had been the same.

For the years that followed, I had never known such happiness. I could never have imagined having such a kind and loving husband, and he became the centre of my existence. There was nothing I would not do for him, nor him for me. Even when he left the village with the other warriors in times of conflict, it never crossed my mind that he would not return. We were intended, we had been fated by the Gods, we would never be parted. But the Gods had other plans it seems.”

Hilde paused for a moment, her gaze fixed in her lap and Relena realised that her friend was struggling to remain composed. Her hands trembled, and Relena reached forward to take them in her own. Hilde smiled tentatively, before continuing her story.

“I remember so clearly the day the surviving men returned to us. And he was not amongst them. One of them said they had seen him struck from his horse. That there was no way he could have survived. That the Roman soldiers had driven them into retreat, and they could not retrieve any of the dead or wounded. That I should grieve him and move on.

But I simply couldn't. There was no possible way I could leave him, alive or dead, alone on that battle field.”

Relena paled at the realisation of what Hilde was about to tell her, knowing before the words had even been spoken just what the other woman had foolishly done.

“I waited until the early hours before dawn to sneak from the village. I know now that I was foolhardy and unprepared. I acted completely on impulse and emotion but I truly believed that I could make my way to where the battle was fought… and find him.”

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Relena brushed at the moisture forming in her eyes. She felt awed to have met such a strong and determined woman. It broke her heart to think that she had lost everything… even her freedom.

“I rode for days, resting little, frantic to find him, not knowing if I even travelled in the right direction. I tried to remember the lessons from father, his skill of tracking, and it was with only some error of course that I finally came across the decaying and bloodied soil. I searched through the rotting corpses, the sun and carrion birds making the features of the dead unrecognisable. There were countless fresh footprints, and many of the dead had been removed of anything seemingly valuable, indicating that scavengers had already been there before me. But I could find no sign of Duo. Not until…”

This time her grief was palpable, the previously contained tears breaking bounds to wash over her cheeks. Her breathing was laboured, and Relena had to strain to understand when the other woman's Celtic drawl became thicker with her anguish.

“He was such a magnificent animal. The finest in our village. Duo raised and broke him himself, and he was his pride and joy. He had named him Deathscythe, and his coat was as black as…” Hilde coughed back a sob; her eyes squeezed shut against her memories. “He was crumpled in a heap, the fatal wound in his chest large and gaping. He had fallen forward, so his beautiful head was bent beneath him… but I knew it was him. The braids… I had braided ribbon into his heavy mane… for luck; I always did it for luck… They were still there… And I knew.”

Hilde visibly shook herself, opening her eyes again and glancing apologetically at Relena.

“I guess I must have fainted. The smell, the fatigue… Deathscythe… It was too much I suppose…”

Her words were interrupted, smothered against Relena's hair. Hilde stiffened in her embrace at first, surprised by her Lady's impulsive behaviour, before allowing herself to relax into her comforting grasp. They stood together in a companionable silence, Hilde hiccupping through the last of her tears while Relena whispered her sympathy and sorrow. Hugging her close, Relena wished there was some way she could ease her friend's grief but knew there was none.

“Never take each day you are given for granted, My Lady. Each moment we have is such a precious gift.” Looking up, Hilde spoke earnestly. “I treasure every moment Duo and I had together, and I would never change anything if I had the chance…”

She paused, perhaps weighing up her next words. “You should tell him, My Lady. It may seem impossible to you… it is not something your brother would approve… but there is something there between you. You know I'm right. Who can know what will become of it. But you must tell him anyway. There can be no greater regret in life, than to have felt love and let it pass you by.”

Relena blushed scarlet at Hilde's words, embarrassed that the woman found her so transparent but also a little relieved that she had found a confidant. She was quiet for a moment, unable to resist asking the question that had tantalized her so much of late.

“Hilde… what… what's it like?”

Hilde's eyes widened a little, surprised at the question but not really shocked. She grinned conspiratorially.

“Well, My Lady…”

******

Milliardo pushed the pile of parchment aside, sighing with frustration. Damn the Senate and their constant squabbling. He felt like he did nothing anymore but bury himself in mountains of red tape and act as mediator to a group of greedy old men. Glancing towards the large arched windows, he could see the sun was already beginning to make its' evening trek towards the horizon. It would not be long until servants came to light the candles. Another day had been wasted, cooped up in his chambers. At least dusk would bring some relief from the days' stifling heat.

Stooping back over another tiresome Senate report, he did not trouble himself to look up at the sound of footsteps. He was, however, drawn away by the sound of an abnormally harried Pagan.

“My deepest regrets, My Lord, but messengers from Egypt have arrived and have resisted all attempts to be turned away. They say they bear a gift from their Queen that requires your most immediate attention.”

Milliardo stared at his advisor with astonishment. He doubted anyone had ever managed to override the older man in all the years he had served at the Palace. What the hell did the woman want that was so urgent? He swore mutely to himself, swearing that when their paths finally crossed, he would put her soundly in her place. Who did she think she was?

“Fine,” the Emperor sighed, giving a wave of his hand. “Send them in.”

He was not in the least prepared for the small procession that appeared before him. A thin, poised, young man led them, followed immediately by four large, ebony skinned natives. Between them, the large men carried a sizeable wooden crate, although their movements were slow and deliberate, and they set the box down with the care that suggested its' contents were of extreme frailty. They positioned the crate so the long side faced him, and moved as though awaiting permission to reveal what was inside.

“My Lord, Caesar,” the messenger began, bowing low, “I come to you at my Queen's bidding, and present to you this gift.”

This was obviously the signal for the slaves, who were quick to pry away the lid and sides of the box. Stepping away again quickly, they waited in silence for the Emperor's response.

By any standard, the craftsmanship on the engraved stone was exceptional, and the cloth that covered the cushions was in no doubt of being of the most exquisite spun silk. But Milliardo saw none of this. He was, instead, transfixed by the figure that lay across the chaise lounge, draped with the feline elegance of the cats her people worshipped. Her robes were spun gold, the fine fabric clinging to every inch of her lithe form, and she was decorated with a myriad of gold bracelets and necklaces. Her black, braided wig fell just flush of her shoulders, and an elaborate band of gold crowned her. Staring back at him, her eyes betrayed nothing, and it was clear to him that she would not bend easily to his will.

“May I present to you, Lucreizia - Queen of Egypt.”

******