by J. E. Keep
“Major, why are we actually out here?” It was the question that had been burning inside her ever since they left. She knew they weren’t out here to hassle peasants, but she hadn’t been able to make a lot of sense of what they were actually seeking.
There was a moment’s delay, but then he said, “We’re after the noble that tried to assassinate the Queen.” Stated so simply, as if it were no big deal, but it was a rather earth-shattering thing to hear. A noble tried to assassinate the Queen? And they were the ones after the failed killer?
Liena’sa’s throat went dry, and panic started to fill her. It was one thing to understand that everyone she knew was fodder, dead to The Eternal War. To know that the monarchy was crumbling and simply a front for the paper pushers
But to find out that the rebels had gone so far, and that distrust and contempt ran so deep that it affected the nobles was something she was unprepared to deal with.
“Major,” she breathed out.
He peered sidelong at her then back to the road ahead. “Don’t let it get to you, Lieutenant.” His voice was so steady and firm, always in control. “The bureaucrats fear the loss of the monarchy because then everyone would know they’re in charge, and they’d be accountable. But frankly, I don’t think it’d make a difference. And besides, without those noble freeloaders, there’d probably be more for the front.” He had a dark sense of humour, but he added on, “Our only concern right now is finding this noble on the run.”
“Right.” She nodded, and sanity returned to her. She trusted the man, in as much as she could or would trust anyone. “Do we know what he looks like? Any friends or relatives? Groups or associations?”
“She,” he corrected her and smirked just a bit. “That’s right. We’re after a little princess. Enjoy this mission, Lien,” he said with more familiarity than he was prone to, “not often we get a chance to chase down and put some smug noble’s face into the mud.” He chuckled, so very uncharacteristically.
Chapter 3 – The Nobles
The whole of the United Empire was limping along on a starvation diet, yet one could never tell judging by the opulence of the Queen’s soiree. The extravagant hall — so cavernous with its marble columns stretched nearly to the heavens — was brightened with thousands of candles and lamps, lit and strung up by the palace’s servants.
Throughout the ancient building were arrayed the remaining nobles of the realm, the aristocrats of an ailing empire, dressed in their finest and putting on airs while the world outside suffered. There, in their isolated halls, was the one place where true, feigned ignorance of the world beyond could be maintained absolutely.
Dressed in a trim, well-tailored black suit, which so closely mirrored the officer’s uniform he once bore, was Samei Ellefor. The tall and striking Duke was known for making an understated look appear ostentatious just with sheer subtlety and his overbearing presence. He was lord of the most powerful noble family in the realm, and his high collar and trim dark hair complemented a severe face.
Duke Samei Ellefor fancied himself a cunning powerbroker, yet that evening he was slightly troubled. The approach of the Department of Finance’s Chancellor, Iztira, did not improve his disposition. The stark woman was a bureaucrat, through and through; a devotee of the state yet someone he would rather not have present at all. Though affairs of the nation were what they were, and she herself held a not insignificant influence on events despite her austerity.
Dressed in a slinky black dress that hugged her pregnant form, with long, glossy black hair, she gave a muted smile.
“Duke Ellefor,” she said with courtly respect. “Congratulations on the marriage of your daughter to the Duke of Rensford. That marks quite the achievement. The union of two of the realms most powerful houses, ending countless generations of rivalry.”
With drink in hand, Samei shifted in his knee-high military fashion boots.
“And congratulations to you on yet again providing for the state,” he said, paying not a glance to her pregnant belly. “My, I swear I never see you in any other state but gravid,” he managed to slight even as he complimented.
She laughed, the sound a bit grating.
“Well, hopefully your daughter will be in the same position before long. She’s at her peak, after all.” Iztira’s hair fell in waves over her shoulder and she lifted her glass. “In fact, I haven’t seen the young lady at all tonight. Perhaps that is what she’s working on now?”
Most fathers in his position did not prize their children highly, not beyond the material gain they could get for them. After all, Duke Samei Ellefor had gotten a Queen’s ransom for his daughter, Caprice.
Yet the Chancellor of the Exchequer knew exactly how to dig a knife into him with her words. His daughter was a prized possession. And he gave up no possessions lightly.
“She is just in the powder room, doubtlessly,” he replied and took a sip of his drink as he peered about.
“Ah, I see. She still needs to look her best, I suppose. It does no one any good to let themselves go.” Iztira smiled placidly and sipped her sparkling drink. She opened her mouth to speak once more before her blue eyes spotted something in the crowd. “Well, speaking of...”
Iztira’s gaze lingered long on the proud young woman with her brown hair pulled into a painful looking updo, careful curls tumbling down along her temples and the nape of her neck. She was dressed in an elaborate red gown, her black necklace snaking between her pushed-up cleavage.
“Daddy.” She smiled as she joined the two of them, Caprice curtseying towards the bureaucrat. “And you, Chancellor.”
Samei took her arm in his.
“Ah, there you are, my sweet child. The Chancellor here was just enquiring about your new marriage,” he said with as little sound of interest as possible. “Reading about it in the broadsheets just isn’t enough for her. She has to enquire personally about our family’s affairs.”
“Well, I can hardly blame her,” Caprice said with a tight-lipped smile. “After all, there’s certainly nothing else of interest happening around here. Oh, and look, you’re pregnant again. Or still.” Iztira returned the look of barely hidden disdain.
“It’s one of the many duties I fulfill to keep this country strong and stable. I do hope you’ll soon be following in my path.” The woman glanced around, her brows knitting. “Yet I haven’t seen your husband anywhere. He paid so much for you yet leaves you to your father for such auspicious occasions?”
“Well, he’s quite busy.” Caprice’s eyes narrowed. “And my father has many friends here he’d like to see.” “Oh, of course, dear. It’s just so nice to see a father stand by his daughter after receiving payment,” Iztira bit back.
Duke Ellefor’s hand tightened on his glass. “Leave it to an accountant to speak of marriage in such crass terms.” The bitterness edged into his voice just slightly. “I do wonder, are these children of yours you keep popping out all part of your tally sheet? Do you have a number value printed on each one, Chancellor?” He squeezed his daughter’s arm inconspicuously.
She smiled, the first warm smile of the evening. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with using tally sheets to plan for inevitabilities. Surely you knew your daughter’s worth the moment you saw those sweet little eyes.”
Caprice’s gaze narrowed, but she quickly looked up at her father.
“She has to focus on such things, father. When you’re a glorified whore, surely that’s where your focus needs to be, and is why she’s so skilled at her job.” She looked back at the Chancellor. “Who’s the father for this one, anyways?”
The barbs had gone well beyond subtle, and reining his daughter into his side, he said, “You’ll have to excuse us, Chancellor. My daughter’s mind is on her new family. Another time.” He began to lead Caprice away.
It wasn’t, however, until they were out of earshot and had rounded a column that he turned his dark gaze upon his daughter. “My my,” he tutted in such a blasé manner. “Your tongue could cut diamond
s tonight, my child.”
Though, of course, he knew exactly why she was so on edge.
“I still don’t understand why I have to be here, talking to that overstuffed woman,” she huffed, her eyes like daggers. “We’ve better things to be doing this evening, and drinking,” she gazed at his glass, “will not help.”
“Watch your tongue,” he insisted with her more harshly, that reprimand for her having the nerve to boss him around the first chance he’d given her, even after the harsh public display with the Chancellor. The glare faded rather abruptly, however, and he spoke to her in muted tones. “You know very well we have no choice. We couldn’t very well turn down an invitation from the Queen herself. Not after what had happened with the assassination attempt.”
Though between them both they knew it was more about what had happened in the privacy of their own affairs.
She pouted for a brief moment before sighing dramatically.
“We’re going to be here all night. Who knows what could happen in our absence.” Her eyes went back to the party, scanning over the crowd as she fixed her ruby dress and pushed up her large breasts further. “I do like this, though,” she admitted, watching the necklace fall deeper into the dark crevice. “I’d like another one in gold and black.”
Those piercing, dark eyes of his followed her hand movement, and he watched her fondle the fabulously expensive necklace.
“Gods dammit, girl,” he muttered and took another sip of drink, tearing his eyes from his daughter’s chest. “You’re a maddening child,” he half-heartedly reprimanded, for his daughter had always been his one weakness. “We have to put on a show of normality. I assume you realize what rides on that, hmm?”
“You’re the one being indecent. I’m just fixing myself up to go face the crowds. Besides, you’re my father, you’re the one who has to be normal and responsible.” Caprice’s full lips pulled into a dark smile, her brown eyes staring at him beneath her heavy lashes. “I’m just capricious. Isn’t that what you always said when I was a child?”
Almost without realizing it, he’d reached up and took hold of one of her curls, fondling it between his thumb and fingers.
“Never was a more appropriate name given to a child,” he mused. Though as he met her gaze he let the silky strands drop. “Be on your best behaviour, child.” He glanced around then leaned in, his voice a husky murmur for her ears only. “After tonight, you’ll be a widow. A very rich and powerful one at that.”
As he pulled back, his gaze on hers, she felt his hand trail down, the backs of his fingers stroking her arm and grazing her breast.
She swatted him away as she squared her shoulders.
“Then I suppose we’re off to apologize to that wicked wench,” she said in her rich, honeyed voice. “Besides, maybe we can use her later. If she only cares for money, and we have a lot of money, she might be useful one day.”
He sized her up again and brushed down her shoulders and arms, this time nothing but official and serious as he made sure she was ready to mingle once more.
“I wouldn’t waste your energy, child. That woman is a bureaucrat. And nothing more.” He extended his arm to her again in a fatherly manner, looking as formal as his stiff military attire warranted.
“We have higher aims anyhow,” he said with a self-assured half smile.
Chapter 4 – The Rebels
The blonde noble was clad in leather. It clung to her large breasts, her big hips, but it was so different than the regal wear she was used to. Even dressed as a peasant, she couldn’t chance going to a town, or even a farmhouse. She was still too close to the capital, and she knew she simply had to keep walking.
The leather’s shade of brown helped the curvaceous young woman blend into the forest and the brush a bit better. Her skin was fair, almost white, and she kept her hair long and back in a band. Her bangs skirted her dark eyebrows as she stumbled through the woods.
The assassin wasn’t trained in such rugged conditions, and she cursed herself as she snapped a twig. She was exhausted from being on the run, and there was no reprieve in sight.
And she hadn’t even succeeded in her mission.
For that reason she doubted her contact would be waiting for her at the meet-up spot. After all, the plan was for her to succeed and give the rebels a chance at overturning the crumbling state leadership. Without that success she was likely just another spoiled young noblewoman who lashed out ineffectually.
When night fell and she was forced to set up camp in the woods again, she deflated. Her supplies were enough — she hoped — to take her to the meet-up spot, but beyond that? She had no idea what she’d do. The leather kept out most of the chill of night as she bundled up in the sleeping bag she toted with her, but worries were inescapable. She’d make the meet-up site sometime before lunch tomorrow, a little later than she should’ve due to her unfamiliarity with the wilds. After that...
Sleep had overtaken her worries at some point, exhaustion of having trekked through the woods for two days straight beating all else. Though awaking to the crackle of fire and the night still in full swing was not what she expected.
“Morning, m’lady,” came the smooth, charming words, though she knew there was some derision there for the title. Immediately her eyes darted open to the sight of a tan man before her, a long machete-like blade near her throat.
Her mouth opened as if to scream, the sound beginning to rise before she swallowed it back. It was all a dream. It had to be. She blinked her eyes free of the groggy sleep, but still the darkened vision of the man remained, her body pumped full of adrenaline. Her blade was near, but not near enough, and she didn’t dare move.
“I don’t have anything!” she said, her tiredness making her think it was a simple bandit attack until she realized he had said her title, and she deflated back into the hard ground. Her entire body felt stiff, and her clear blue eyes glistened in the fire light.
“That much is obvious,” he responded, and as her eyes adjusted she watched the enshrouded man come slowly into focus. He was strikingly handsome, and too much so for a normal human, though the thick mane of golden-blonde hair kept his elven ears partially hidden. He was dressed much as she was. Dark leathers, though his were more ragged and worn, patched up. The suit fit snugly to his body, showing off a lean but fit physique.
He was no lordling, and the scar that crossed one of his eyes and another on his chin — the only blemishes on his otherwise flawless features — attested that he hadn’t known a soft life like her aristocratic associates.
“I did my best,” she pleaded, but she knew she had choked. That one, little miscalculation, that one second of hesitation; it was all she had to do to fail.
“Please! They’re going to kill me if they find me. I need to escape!”
His own golden bangs dipped a bit over half his face, partially hiding the scar over his eye, but not quite. His emerald eyes were such a strong shade of shimmering green they stood out even in the dark, faced away from the fire, and she knew then he had to have elven blood in him.
For all his masculine beauty though, he studied her in silence a while, scrutinizing her.
“With your failure went a lot of planning. A lot of wasted sacrifice by people who could spare no more. Lives were lost in your failure,” he chastised her in such a calm, cool demeanor, though she could tell emotions smoldered beneath thanks to a life of political maneuverings in the capital. He cared for the lives he spoke of.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to shed them.
“I have blood on my hands, but if you kill me, then it’s all for naught. I can still be of use to you now!”
The noblewoman was not used to begging, or pleading, with anyone. For anything. She was proud, but with a blade so close to her throat, her pride had dripped away to be replaced only with a desire to live.
It didn’t seem to upset him though, or throw him off. He kept his position so tight, so rigid. Never budged.
“The Bucketheads are f
ollowing you, aren’t they?” he said, referring to the special forces guards — the Landed Knights — that carried out the will of the state. They were so named because they were always fashioned with steel helms, regardless of the fact that they rarely saw the front line and real soldiers there often went without helmets at all due to shortages. “Did they catch you after the botched assassination and offer you some deal? Or were you always playing us?”
“If they caught me, I’d be dead!” she pleaded, her body so stiff beneath the blanket. She wanted to jump up, to flee from the calculating elf, but that blade was so near to her throat. “I haven’t sold you out. I just fucked up. I made a mistake.”
Those piercing emerald eyes of his seemed to bore through her. There was no softness to them as he stared across at her, bent down upon one knee, the knife extended and motionless. It seemed as if he’d never take her word until finally he moved that blade an inch away from her neck.
“You were slow getting here,” he stated plainly. “Word got here of the failure over a day ago, and I sent the rest of the group on. No need to sacrifice their lives on a fruitless attempt at revolution now that you’ve failed. So if the bucketheads are following you — knowingly or not — they’ll only get one new head to mount at most.”
“Terrific,” she said bitterly, her eyes narrowed. “And it took me longer to get here because I’m a pampered fucking noble, remember? Even if I am trying — and failing — to help, that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly used to fleeing through the forest in these rags.”
At her words his eyes dipped lower to her outfit — and the curvaceous form it hid — though instead of feeling titillated he just curled a corner of his lips in distaste. She realized then that his leather outfit was in far worse shape than hers, the contrast so stark as to make the quality of her wear seem lavish by comparison.
“Sorry, hun,” he said with mock compassion as he lowered the blade towards his side. “Shame you failed. With the Queen gone we would’ve had a good shot at upturning the tables and making people’s lives a little better.”