A Slippery Slope (closed)

Sexual_Muse

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Closed for LitShark

It was an uncommonly clear day this morning and in the nearly cloudless sky flew a crow sized falcon with a white body and rusty reddish brown set of wings. Its cry pierced the open skies as it dove to the ground, wings tucked tight to its body. It broke through a cloud and spun effortlessly before opening its wings, slipping into an opening between two branches on the poorer outskirts of the capital.

Two years ago Rohana had entered the capital onboard an airship looking for a place new and exciting. More importantly a place that didn’t know her. She had gotten sloppy in the last city and as much as she loved the crispy sparkling aqua coastlines, she had outstayed her welcome.

Darren, the only friend she had risked keeping was in more ways than one her mentor and patron, had been her ticket to the capital. She didn’t know what he did to afford him a life luxurious enough for his own airship and she had never asked. It was one of the reasons their friendship last as long as it had. It was always his harsh seasoned voice her conscious chose to lecture her in. Always telling her to be careful, to watch out for herself and to keep out of trouble but the last time she had seen him there had been no parting words of caution.

“I believe this will be the last time we will see each other my darling.”

The words halted Ro in her tracks midway down the plank. She had at the ready the long ago agreed upon remarks to his father like warnings but they dies like broken promises inside her. “Darren?” Her voice soft and more unsure and childlike than she realized.

He looked down at her through his violet tinted glasses a sad and faraway look in his eyes. “I won’t be coming back. To this place. And because of that to you.” His tone of voice took on a kinder tone and he hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’ll require payment this time, this last time.”

There was nothing Ro owned, nothing that she could give him as payment and Darren knew that. It lead her to believe that it was her he wanted as payment. He had never in all the years she had known him to be a man like many others. He never once moved towards her like an animal in heat. There was a small part of her ideal image of their friendship that darkened and splintered. But if this was his want after all this time it was the least she could give him for all his help, for his friendship and his care. With footstep normally silent and light, she walked towards him.

The smile that played at Darren’s lips was unreadable and it too spoke of a change between them. “Rohana,” Her name was spoken with such care as he gathered her in his arms. Words that was followed by pain, sharp, brief and gone before a comment about it could be made. The gasp from Ro sounded longer than the life of the pain and when she pulled back to look up on him the smile of unknown origins had been replace with something more like him. “Be careful, watch out for yourself and stay out of trouble.”

But where she should reply, there was nothing but a frown. “I would have-“ She started but was cut off.

“I know, but I got what I wanted.”

“Fair winds to you my only friend.” It was as much of a farewell as Ro could muster and with a final look over her shoulder she silently bid farewell to the only stable thing in her like before stepping into the mad rush at the busy airdock.

All the while Darren watched with hooded eyes as the young girl faded from his sight as a deep rusty feather spun slowly in his hand.

Ro swung down from the tree landing in the middle of a mud puddle. It had collected overnight and the sound of the splashing water brought fourth another memory, one that she wanted to visit even less than her parting with Darren. “What to do with myself today.” She sing sang as she started out towards the capital. Fun had led to the Iron Barrows but now it was time to return to the real fun, the kind of fun that could only, would only be in company of trouble. From one of the few manors on this side of the gates Ro helped herself to an apple and like so many days before Ro began her day at the docks listening to the coming and goings of the capital, the news as to what came in by water or air, the new arrivals and sudden departures.

The flesh of the apple was gone by the time Ro met with the water’s edge. It seemed it was too early of a day for the news to be ripe, all was still sleeping and quite. Passing a horse and cart Ro fed the apple core to the horse and helped herself to a seat in the back of the cart filled with roughly spun fabrics. The driver took little notice of her or what notice there was he ignored, calling a sharp order to the horse before the crack of the whip moved the four legged creature on its way. Ro didn’t know what the day held in waiting for her but it was bound be something good, she could just feel it in her bones.
 
Doyle Wolsheim sat opposite the crowned prince Petyr Gillian with a gloved finger hovering on the smooth top of his black, polished, marble bishop, observing the board-state thoughtfully. He calculated the prince’s next potential moves—if he moved his pawn to block the bishop, Doyle could move his queen into the void left and threaten for game—if he moved his knight to take the bishop, Doyle’s knight could threaten for checkmate in four moves. He considered several such scenarios in the few moments before removing his finger from the bishop.

“Check,” Doyle said casually, taking up the gold-leafed, crystal glass beside the board and drank from the finely aged Scotch that the prince always kept in his study.

“Has it ever crossed your mind that you might erode some of the favor I show you by beating me at this game every time we play?” Petyr asked, his tone playful but his face was scrunched up to the side of his face, demonstrating his sincere displeasure at losing again.

“You wanted to play chess,” Doyle shrugged, “we could do something else if you’d prefer.”

“No, I mean—most of the officials would let me win, given my status…” Petyr complained, carelessly moving his knight out of position to capture Doyle’s bishop.

“I’ve known you too long to be afraid of you, Petyr.”

“All the more tragic that you don’t respect me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s a game we’re playing—a strategy game. Would you be able to respect me as your elected Justicar and military adviser if you could best me at a game of strategy?” Doyle answered, moving his queen across the board to once more threaten Petyr’s king, “check.”

“Great, so you’re a strategic genius—wonderful. How do you know I couldn’t find another strategic genius who would have the sense to let me win?” Petyr replied, finishing his glass of Scotch and moving his bishop carelessly into position to threaten Doyle’s queen, “everything isn’t a test of your worth and value. There comes a time to show humility and deference to those you respect.”

“You’re wrong,” Doyle answered quickly, reaching for his piece as soon as Petyr released his, the game was already over—Petyr had played right into Doyle’s attack, “everything is a test, it’s only the ones that the rules don’t apply to that stop keeping score. Checkmate.”

Petyr seethed, gathering his hands into fists and swiping the collection of captured, black marble pieces on his side of the table onto the ground where they clattered across the marble floor. Doyle just looked over at the expensive chess pieces on the ground, then back to Petyr. He finished his drink and pushed back his chair casually.

“Wait!” Petyr demanded, still seething with rage and red in the face, “no more free passes. I want a real report from you this time. What’s the status on the organized crime problem in the slums? People are accusing my family of corruption and I demand to know what’s being done about it.”

“Crime rates are down in all sectors and still declining,” Doyle answered evenly, gathering his olive colored, military coat from the back of his chair and folding it over his arm, “it’s been six months since the last instance of foreign aggression in the state and all fronts abroad report declines in resistance. Those that stood against you have fallen and those who agreed with them are vanishing rapidly. All of the circumstances under my supervision have only improved since my appointment. Frankly, your majesty, I think that you ought to increase my wages.”

Petyr stood with his mouth agape for a moment, he was checkmated again. The crime-rate was at an all-time low and foreign incursions were all ahead of schedule, Doyle wanted to give his report but would have been over-reaching to follow it with a demand for wage increases—but by baiting Petyr to demand the report himself, he was able to slip the gentle demand in without seeming to have thought about it before now.

“Of course, Doyle…” Petyr was calming, staring back at the board as he could no longer stand the scrutiny of his old friend’s glare, “you know that I, above all others, value your work. Thanks, as always for your loyalty and service.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to ensuring that you stay safe, up here in your ivory tower,” Doyle smirked, reaching across the table to gently push over Petyr’s white marble king piece before placing his hat back on his head and turning to leave.

*-*-*

“You need to slow down,” Doyle hissed sharply at Hank Styr, the de facto leader of the Pocket Square crime syndicate, “the royals are getting anxious, the wars are dying down and now they’re looking inward for new foes. I need to be able to show them that things are getting quieter.”

“And wha’? I’m suppose to starve meself while them lot check down your trousers?” Hank answered indignantly while he rode beside Doyle through the Red District, “I just got a fresh shipment of China white, I’m suppose to wha’, not sell it?”

“Keep your goddamn voice down,” Doyle hissed, snatching his associate by the collar and pulling him closer, startling his horse, “move the product and keep the girls working, but no more theft—not right now. That product is worth five hundred heists, the last thing we need is some cutpurse with a big mouth to sink the whole operation. No burglary, no larceny, no petty theft, no extorting from businesses and absolutely no street lifts. Not one pocket gets turned until you’ve moved every particle of that junk.”

“Just wha’ are me an’ the lads to do then, if’n we’s out a’ the liftin’ an’ stealin’ game?”

“Push junk, you daft fool!” Doyle shoved Hank by the shoulder back into the saddle, causing his mare to shake out her mane, “that’s all the Pocket Squares are into now, selling girls and pushing junk, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, sell girls, push junk—I got it already.”

“Nothing else. Be smart about it too, and for god’s sake, keep the girls happy. Push the junk on ‘em if you need to,” Doyle sat up straight in his saddle and tugged on the hem of his immaculately embroidered vest, “get out of here now, don’t make me come down here to talk to you about this again.”

Doyle clicked his tongue and squeezed his horse with his thighs, riding out ahead of Hank’s displeased mare. He hoped that Hank had gotten the message, but he needed to trust that his associates could do as instructed. Hank could pass for smart when he had to, and as long as he kept following Doyle’s instructions to the letter, he’d seem smart too. At least in three moves or less.

Doyle nodded at the driver of a cart, heading the opposite direction as he was. As they passed, Doyle noticed a young, fair-haired woman that he didn’t recognize. She seemed to be stowing away in the driver’s cart full of fabrics.

“Whoa,” Doyle said evenly, reigning back his horse and stopping his gait rather abruptly, “sir, did you know that you’re carrying a young woman in your cart?”

It seemed the right thing, to alert the driver that he was towing more than just cloth, besides which his afternoon with the prince had him eager to make examples of some criminals that didn’t work for him directly.

“A what, is it?” the elderly driver asked, turning his head and reigning back on his horse.

Doyle’s horse turned steeply to block the back of the cart, leaning forward as Doyle stared down at the girl, “a young woman, quite lovely to look at, no harm if you know her. Are you this man’s passenger, young lady?”

Girls who looked like her didn’t often happen to frequent this neighborhood unless they were working, and it made Doyle uneasy to think that a girl like this might be working in his territory without his knowledge.
 
The man who took notice of Ro wasn’t the sort she expected. He wasn’t a drunkard or a married man out looking for a bed warmer, no, he was a man of power. Handsome in a strictly official kind of way that would have excited her if power in anyway moved her. In the saddle upon his horse he loomed above her, impossible to miss as he spoke over her, about her. Unconcerned Ro greeted the horse with a friendly pat on his nose, a gesture that seemed to surprise the animal. “Silly pony.” She cooed lightly pushing the horse’s head back to give her room to slip under and around him. Her true destination was still another three streets down but this was well enough and would give her a chance to stretch her legs out.

The gentleman upon the horse spoke about her as if she had been a hidden stowaway. Ro crinkled her brow and looked back at her perch on the end of the cart. Even with the bolts of fabric the piled in the cart it only met her midback, as she well knew for she had used its comfort as a rest for most of the ride taking great care to not harm the wares. And with the driver’s added height upon the box seat she would have been an easy sight to behold had at any moment he simple look back, which she was sure he had at one point or another. Furthermore had he any qualms about his additional rider she would have addressed the matter in person as the problem arose, which it had not.

From where Ro was standing the uptight official was making more of this then it was. With a roll of her eyes she headed to the front of the cart and as she passed by the driver spared him a wink and a kind smile. At the horse she paused whispered some words for his ears only and showed him empty hands faced palm up. The horse turned his head with what freedom he had and nosed the empty air, sorting his displeasure. Ro chuckled and smiled wide and with a flourish and some slight of hand, turned her hand over and around in a cupping motion. “My friend.” She grinned seeing the cart horse’s ears perk up as Ro revealed a fist sized apple which he greedily bit into taking more than half of it in his mouth with his first bite. “Slowly.” Ro cautioned softly making no effort to take the apple away when he devoured what was left in his second bite.

“Gooday gentlemen.” Ro bowed her head and dipped and swayed her hip in a dance like curtsy, addressing the med for the first time before turning to leave. The matter of her riding in the cart was over and done with in her mind as she was no longer in the cart and her trade had been accepted as ways of payment leaving nothing for her to stand about all day for. So what questions the man upon the horse had left no longer involved her.
 
The young woman who’d been riding in the textile merchant’s cart was truly a rare beauty—Doyle had noticed it from the moment he laid eyes on her, but to see her in motion was another thing all together. She moved like one with perfect knowledge and control over her limbs and a keen spacial awareness that few possessed, there was a kind of fluid confidence in her movements that could only come from intense practice and necessity. This was a rare and dangerous sort of woman, her looks and fluid movements told Doyle this explicitly, for someone like her to be in a neighborhood like this meant that she’d come here for a purpose.

She produced an apple and fed it to the cart horse, effectively resolving the issue of her passage and leaving Doyle with no defensible cause to detain her, but he still desired to know more about her. One as beautiful as her wandering through the slums wasn’t likely an accident. She may have been some politician’s prized mistress or perhaps a new or aspiring whore for one of the many brothels that operated with near carte blanche under Doyle’s supervision. Prostitution was viewed by most of those in power as a necessary evil—necessary because most politicians themselves wanted a good whore from time to time, when their spouses proved difficult.

“Excuse my curtness earlier, miss,” Doyle addressed her from the saddle still, leading his horse to match her stride as she moved deeper into the slums, “I am charged with upholding law and order in this area and it’s rare for me to encounter gentlefolk that I don’t recognize around here. Especially one as… memorable as yourself. I’m called Justicar Wolsheim, but you may call me Doyle if you prefer. Might I inquire as to your name, miss?”

Doyle’s strong stallion named simply “Law” had already taken a unique liking to this new female who’d touched him so familiarly, and as Doyle matched her pace down the street Law sniffed curiously at the young woman’s shoulder.

“If you’re in search of work, I might be able to help you. What brings you to our fair city?”
 
“Miss…” Ro snickered under her breath at the continued attention of the man upon the horse. “And it’s a good thing for it, that could have turned into a situation indeed.” She smiled politely only barely hiding the fact that she was teasing the man. “Memorable as myself?” At that Ro stopped and turned her full attention to the man. “Does my hair look that amazing today? Gosh I was worried about it with this humidity.” She laughed flashing a bright overly played smile. “But if a fine man such as yourself, Justicar Wolsheim, can find a mere whip of a thing like me memorable then it’s bound to be a day indeed.” Again she gave the man a curtsy and moved on with her day.

He didn’t seem to feel the same way about her dismissive secondary curtsy and yet again kept pace with her as she made her way down the road to the next street over. The horse was at least was adorable and sniffed at Ro’s shoulder with a promised of friendship. Or beggary. Unable to leave a horse wanting, especially after witnessing a snacking of another horse Ro paused in her steps and the horse followed in suit. Justicar Wolsheim at this point was talking again but she ignored it in favor of the dark brown eyes looking at her hopefully.

“Okay but this is the last one that I have and I was planning on saving it for later…” Ro sighed reaching into the folds of her skirt for her last apple. “Now don’t go telling everyone that I’m such a softy or I’ll be in the thick of it.” She lectured handing over the vibrantly red fruit. The law horse didn’t eat it any slower than the cart horse and in two bites and less than a minute later the apple was old news. “Here.” Ro smiled running a soft hand down the horse’s face to tickle his nose. “Be off with you now.” She pushed him away and tried for the, what, third time down the road.

“Work?” As much as she had tried to ignore the lingering lawman his words weren’t mute to her ears and she turned to him only when it seemed he wasn’t going away. “What work could a Justicar offer?” Not that she was interested but it was curious, was it within the job description of a Justicar to employ the workless of the city? If it was they had a job she was sure no one wanted and if that was the case Ro felt sudden pity for the man. With a sigh Ro decided to cut Justicar Wolsheim some slack and once again stopped in her journey. “The adventure today is the children’s ward as the winds are holding its secrets close.” It was the reason for the moment at least but after two years of drifting about the city he could hardly mean her original reason to her arrival to the capital.

“If you could,” Ro started a hand at her neck as she fainted a pain. “If you have any intention of continuing this talk could you come off your horse, the look up is giving me an ache.” It was a simple request and Ro followed it with a kindly smile.
 
Doyle’s mouth pursed up when he realized that he was being mocked, it wasn’t the sort of behavior he was used to tolerating from anyone, but this girl, somehow made her mirthful derision seem almost playful, her beauty was her protection from men such as him. He grudgingly dismounted and led Law by his reigns, walking beside the beautiful girl.

“Now, now, you mistake my meaning, mi—“ Doyle caught himself and avoided calling her miss again, “I suppose I’ll call you young lady, as you have me at a disadvantage, knowing my name without revealing yours. What I mean to say is that while I may not yet have the pleasure of knowing every beauty in the city, I do have the distinction of recognizing a thing out of place, and you, my dear are of a finer… quality than most others that you’ll find around this neighborhood, and for this reason I would desire to know you.”

When the lovely stranger mentioned the children’s ward, Doyle nodded meaningfully and turned back toward the road—a volunteer, he surmised. She was, as he’d first assumed, a child of exquisite breeding and culture, seeking only to appease her own guilt at her lifestyle by helping the less fortunate, there was no harm in that—truly a win-win for everyone.

“Ah, a volunteer, are you? That’s wonderful, and in that case I’ll not detain you a second longer. It’s admirable work that, and you should be proud of yourself for serving the community,” Doyle smiled, tipping his ornate uniform hat to her, “I thank you for your time, miss—er, young lady. Take care, and if you need anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask for me, and bobby or constable ought to know how to get in touch with me.”

At this, Doyle climbed back astride Law and reigned him back in the other direction, squeezing his thighs together and speeding through the crowd in the other direction. He thought that it might be a good thing to call on this young woman again some time, perhaps in a more suitable form of courtship. He rode off now toward the city gates where he was to meet a very important contact with a very important delivery from lands far to the East.
 
Ro’s jaw slacked and hung there for a fraction of a second, he got off his horse. He really got off his horse. For some reason she had it in her mind that he wasn’t the sort of man to get off his high horse for any reason, yet here he stood shoulder to shoulder with her. She had posed the request more as a reason for him to baulk and leave, figuring her to be too much trouble. How wrong she was.

“Quite right, you are at a disadvantage.” She agreed with a real twinkle in her eye as she made a point of not giving her name. The way he accented the word quality would have been rude but the set of his face said he meant it as pure fact and not as a proposition, well other than to know her. “I am quite the puzzle.” Ro warned with a wink. “Some have claimed I am unsolvable and I strive to keep it so.” The life that she lead, the laws that she skirted, bent and danced upon made it vital for her to keep her secrets close. And if she could manage it everything else about her known person unknown as well. Information was power and she vowed never to under someone’s power again.

Doyle’s dismissive attitude to her answer about the children’s ward was odd. Here he was just moments ago expressing his desire to know her yet at the first question answered he was satisfied and on his way. If she had only know that all it took was a simple answer to keep him moving she would have answered his much sooner. It was something to keep in mind should she ever see him again.

His mistake of assuming she was a volunteer was incorrect but she didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. He seemed so proud to have so easily figured her out that pointing out otherwise seemed almost cruel. “I do what I can.” Ro smiled instead placing a delicate hand over her heart. “Those poor children.” She frowned. Why did he have to know that in trade for reading and writing lessons they supplied her with things they overheard or saw? Because the sad truth was that they were the overlooked and ignored with the ability to go places where others could not and that made then an asset. That she treated them fairly and offered them a better chance at their luck of the draw only made those who were regulars to her lesson all the more loyal to her. But again all information Doyle wasn’t privileged to know.

“I shall.” Ro promised knowing full well that there would never be a time in her life that she would willingly seek him out. No it was better that they part ways and see keep an eye out so they might never meet again. As she watched him ride off her final thoughts on their meeting was of Law, the horse and what a sweet animal he was.

At the next corner Ro parted with one of her few coins and purchased a large hot loft of sweet honey and oat bread. It wasn’t but a mouthful for the number of children that showed for her classes but it was a treat nevertheless that they children appreciated.

“Sister Mary.”

The elderly nun sighed before turning around to greet Ro. “Now remember you promised me no tales that’ll have the children swinging from the rafters.” Sister Mary lectured, her long owlish face wrinkled into a deep frown. “Had every one of them howling like animals.” She went on shaking her head. “For days!”

“Okay." She submitted without a fight. "No more Tarzan.” Ro promised with a barely hidden smile.

“Good.” Sister Mary smiled. “What will it be today? A gospel?” She asked hopeful.

“Pirates!” Ro crackled sprinting just out of Sister Mary’s swinging cane.

“Oh you!” She cried out to the fleeting back of the young woman that was both a blessing and a curse.

Little did Ro know that late last night she had done something that would put a wrinkle in Doyle's day as a special package that he had been waiting on had been tampered with. Much to the pleasure of the Commissioner of Goods and Trade.
 
It was a manageable ride from the slums over to the Industry District which shared the docks with Lower Harbor district. Tall, brick smokestacks belched thick, black smoke day and night, young foundlings milled about, covered in soot and many looking poised to fall over from exhaustion—the cost of doing business, as Petyr was so fond of saying about his administration’s lax child-labor laws. It was a cultivated skill to see the way ahead without really seeing the downtrodden workers around him, there was nothing Doyle could do to help them anyway.

Doyle rode his mount all the way out onto the docks, waiting for the ship he’d commissioned to return to its designated slip. He’d had a bad feeling about this delivery since he parted company with the lovely blonde who refused to give him a name to call her. A foul, sick feeling like something was just bound to go wrong. When he saw Frank’s face, standing at the bow, Doyle knew his bad feeling was correct again.

“Before you say anything!” Frank called from the approaching vessel, tossing out the first of the lines for Doyle to secure, “they’re not lost, destroyed or stolen.”

“They’re not here, either. Are they?” Doyle asked sternly, feeling his blood pressure spike as he tugged hard on the docking line.

“They were seized.”

“Seized?! By who?”

“Whom.”

“What?!?”

“You said, by who, but it should actually be seized by whom… it doesn’t matter.”

For a moment, Doyle stood there awestruck. How could he have let someone so utterly incompetent be in charge of such a vital part of his operation going forward? How could anyone be so socially inept that Frank thought now—this moment where two-and a half kilos of uncut heroin that Doyle had already paid for in full was turning out to be missing—now was the perfect time to correct his grammar? The boat crept a little nearer and Doyle reached out to grab his associate by his shirtcollar and yank him over the rail, onto the dock. After one solid punch bloodied Frank’s nose, Doyle dragged him across the dock and hammered one of the large, orange buoys against his head hard. As the boat continued to slide into the dock, the buoy quickly pinned Frank’s head between itself and the dock. In almost no time, the pressure was building, causing the grainy wood of the dock to cut into the side of Frank’s face. Frank was screaming now, so Doyle screamed louder.

”Whom—the—fuck—has—my—drugs!?!?”

“Customs officers! Oh God, don’t kill me! It was customs officers! Ahhh fuck! I’m dying! You’ll kill me! Ahhhh!!!”

At just the last second before the buoy expanded more and burst Frank’s head like a ripe zit, Doyle slid the buoy out from between the boat and Frank, lifting him onto the dock and tossing the buoy further down.

“Don’t ever correct me again, understand? Next time I will kill you, you worthless, book-smart fuck. Straighten yourself up, you’re coming with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’ve got to go bribe a commissioner now. How the FUCK did he know you were coming?”
 
Ro was quite pleased with herself as she gathered up her book and picked up scrap pieces of paper, chalk and boards along with the random assortment of writing tools. The children had loved the few chapters she had started about the lost again boy, moored on an island visited by pirates. After that she had taught them a playful if not a bit crush, song of the sea. A raised eyebrow from Sister Many had Ro quieting the children as lesson began.

“Ro!” Pigeon squeaked as he ran carrying a box nearly as long as he was over his head with great difficulty. “For you.” He panted setting the simple brown box down with a thud.

The dark red color of the ribbon gave the sender away and Ro shook her head with pitied amusement.

Ludovic Gordon 16th Duke of Huntsly was if nothing else persistent. She had been his target for some time and much to his frustrations a leery prey to all advancements. In his mid-thirties Vic wasn’t one to be over looked, wither because his noble blood, wealth or handsome figure yet Ro took great delight as denying his attempts at courtship. At first he figured she was just playing hard to get but after a year with little more than a toe in the door Vic was beginning to feel her rejections wilt his ego. As a bachelor and more importantly only heir to the third richest family in the realm none had ever said no to Vic before, left alone for a year. Which may have been the reason for Vic’s obsession.

The moment Ro opened the box she knew she was in trouble. It was bound to happen but she hadn’t expected to be hit this hard. Inside was a dress, custom made like all the many before it, but this one spoke- no, sang to Rohana as she slipped it from its box, a letter handwritten on heavy parchment fluttering to the floor.

Pigeon always one to please was quick on the jump and snatched up the piece of paper before the other kids, sticking his tongue out in triumph as his eyes studied the hard edged lettering.

Ro sighed with girlish pleasure, a hand caressing the silken pink fabric and heavy studded diamond designs. She had never been the type of girl to fancy pink in any of its shades but this dress made her a believer.

“Give it here Pigeon!” Snapped Magnus ripping the letter from the younger boy’s grip.

The tone of aggression broke Ro of her spell and she looked up to break up what could easily turn into a fight. “Magnus, if you please.” She smiled holding her hand out. Magnus smiled, front two teeth missing and eagerly handed the paper over. “Thank you Magnus.” Ro acknowledged turning to Pigeon to extend the same thanks so he wouldn’t feel forgotten. ‘Tonight there is a ball in honor of my birthday. You shall be my guest. The carriage will pick you up at the East Gate at six. , I shan’t take no for an answer’ Ro read to herself.

“What’s it wrote?” Pipped Flora a shy girl of seven.

Ro sighed and tossed the dress back into the box with only the slighted bit of a broken heart. She would return this as she had everything else Vic had ever sent her. “It says he’s full of himself and bound for disappointment.”

Flora looked confused and a hushed muffled wave rippled around the room. A chill ran down Ro’s back and she spun on her heel expecting trouble. It was just a bad.

“I thought that would be your reply.” Vic sighed with a wave of his hand. “It always is. That’s why I’ve dragged myself down here.”

Like shadows running from the sun the children tucked themselves away and like that were out of sight and gone. Leaving Ro alone with the Duke.

“You shouldn’t have bothered.” Ro smiled picking up the dress box and shoving it into Vic’s arms. “I have plans tonight.”

“Ro…” Vic sighed again, he was a man defeated and at a loss at what to do next. “Please.” His eyes pleaded. “There, look you have me begging a woman whose family name till this day is unknown.”

Vic as gentle as he seemed and he was, collected things of beauty and the moment Ro gave into him she would be just another collection piece to him and she was worth more than that. “I’ve given you more in names than any before you.”

“To what end?” Vic huffed. “An island with no life but ruins and a history long lost, forgotten or worse? All dead ends.” His voice raised in tone, a sign of his frustration. “I could order it.” He tried using his nobility.

Ro simply raised her eyebrow in defiance. “What command do you have over me that you could order me?”

There was too much truth to that so Vic changed tactics. “Then I shall make you my wife.”

“You are promised to a dignitaries’ virgin daughter.” Ro countered with a sassy smile. She could play this game all day if he wanted.

Vic frowned and hung his head. For a man of his size the gesture made him look so small and sad. “Gift me this night, my birthday night and I shall leave you alone for the rest of time. Give me nothing in body, mind or soul but your company and I will treasure it for the rest of my days.” He said at last, playing his last and only card.

Ro took a deep breath and thought about Vic’s offer. It was tempting but there was much to weigh in on. Ro lived her life in the background, keeping herself from any and all means of attention. It was all about the balance of being pretty enough to charm herself out of trouble but bland enough to not be recalled in memory. Attending Vic’s ball would draw more attention then was safe but then again his weekly visits to the slums were starting to draw just as much attention. And if she went, he would stop his pursuit of her ending more ties then not. It still felt like a bad idea but in the end falling to his needs in this one instant felt like the better of two evils.

“Six at the East Gate.” Ro agreed with a weak smile.

For a long moment Vic merely blinked at Ro, puzzled by her words until suddenly… “Yes, six at the East Gate.” He nodded gingerly handing back the box.

Ro rolled her eyes and literally shoved Vic from the children’s ward. She had a bad feeling about this but what was said was already done, she wasn’t the sort to go back on her word.

“What am I going to do with my hair?” She said at last once Vic was one his horse and out of sight.

-----------------------

Ro made the carriage wait almost half an hour before she showed up. Not that it had taken her that long to get ready but because her nerves wouldn’t settle down.

“Evening M’lady.” The driver greeted opening the door for Ro as she neared the carriage, saying nothing about her being late.

“What’s that?” Ro paused halfway into the carriage when something sitting in the middle of the plush bench seat caught her eye.

The driver peered around Ro before smile. “It’s a masked ball.”

Maybe that was for the best, Ro thought as she fixed the ties around her updo. It would give her something to hide behind, not that the mask provided much to hide behind.

The carriage ride from the gate to Vic’s house was smooth if not rushed by some measure. All in all it was pleasant, the handoff from the driver to the valet less so. He seemed to know who Ro was and lead her up the stairs of the magnificent manor estate to the massive gilded double French doors. They were twice the height of the tallest man she could have imagined and were stained a dark brown with golden ivy decorating the framework. To say that Ro was impressed was an understatement and that was just the outside. The valet handed her over to another man just inside of the door who walked her to across the huge entry way to another equally impressing set of doors and another manservant. This went on for each room until she reached the grand hall.

“Rohana Elbain, Mistress of the Vales.”

It was a title, a name and history that Darren had built up for her to use in times of need and it felt strange to hear it shouted from the top of the marble staircase over a room large enough to house a large village, filled with the finery of the capital. Rumor had it that the Prince was even going to pay a visit to his cousin sometime during the night, but that was only rumor.

Nerves only again gripped Ro in an icy hold as she descended the stairs head held high. As nervous as she felt she was trained well enough not to show it and after a quick glance over the majority of the party goes bushed her off as one of them but not nearly important enough to be spared another look.

“Rohana.” Vic looked every inch of his title of Duke and had Ro been a weaker woman she might have admit that he was a handsome man.

With the elegance of a practiced Lady, Ro curtsied and bowed her head. “Duke Huntsly.”

“Come!” Vic smiled doing away with formality as he spun her around the room introducing her to every manner of lady and gentleman.
 
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