『𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 ♕ 𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔』|| DT & Fairess

[Devils Temptation]

𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓
𝕀
Whether through bloody conflict or shrewd diplomacy, the Crown must maintain an overpowering ambition to grow the Empire and expand (its) powers.
𝕀𝕀
Through conquest, those acquired by the Empire no longer exist as rivals, nor allies, nor lessers - they are now subjects under the Crown.
𝕀𝕀𝕀
No cost is too great for maintaining the Empire, henceforth all done in the name of maintaining the Crown's power is divine and right.
𝕀𝕍
Throughout all the Empire, the King will remain the foremost authority if and only if they continue to uphold the Mandates.
𝕍
There shall be only one vessel-- one king whom will uphold the mandates of the crown.
​

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ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴋʏ ꜱɪʟᴠᴇʀ
0:00ㅇ──────── 2:45
▷​

Valstrom.

A name so famous... or perhaps infamous along the continents that not one single man, woman, or child above the age of five would not know of it.

Known as a tyrant by some, the vast majority of the continent had come to know him by another name.

The Progenitor.

Small and insignificant was his kingdom when he had first come into power, the minor prince of a set of petty, feudal states that were certainly destined to be washed away as nothing but an insignificant, archaic kingdom. Sitting at the very heart of the continent, the young Valstromite Kingdom was saddled on all sides by far more powerful states. Some, which held far greater military reserves and tactics, others which held wealth the likes of which the kingdom had never seen, while others yet still held influence and power over those around them to ensure that no one would dare to attempt crossing them. In no way had the young kingdom possessed any of those traits. None of the wisdoms of the arcanes, none of the martial tactics of hardened veterans, none of the wealth bestowed upon them by generations prior. Meager. Small. Insignificant. An insect to be crushed under the heel of whomever. Yet... through some stroke of leadership and wisdom, nearly as if divinely protected - the Kingdom refused to fall. Regardless of how significant the advantages were, or how unlikely it was for their victory, their King would always manage to carve the way to a future where the Valstromites would come to see the sun breaking over the horizon.

Whether through blood or diplomacy, the young Valstrom fearlessly overpowered all his adversaries, devouring their kingdoms and states one by one. For every addition to his growing kingdom, the blooming young Emperor would only serve to further grow the extent of his subjects... the breadth of knowledge and power in the Valstromite Kingdom. Within five years, all of the kingdom's neighbors would be conquered. Within twenty, the Valstromite Empire stretched to be one of the largest on the central continent. Within forty, the colossal Empire stretched from coast to coast, a set of rag-tag states and kingdoms conquered by the storm of the rising Valstromite Empire... and on his death bed, The Progenitor vowed one and only one thing -

Every heir of my bloodline shall inherit my ambition.

- and true to his words, every Emperor born to the bloodline after Emperor Valstrom the First had, in some way, served to expand his empire further... to cement its powers further. Some had come and gone as tyrants, other as great unifiers, and yet the end result had always been the same. The Empire that they left behind to their successors was ever-stronger than the one they inherited. Certainly, it seemed like the Sun would never truly set on the divinely ordained growth of the Valstromite Empire--

SNAP
​

With one clasp of his palm, a pair of hands would harshly slam close the book sitting in his hand. Plastered across the leather of the front cover was the title - 'Chronicles of History: Valstrom I to Valstrom III'. Silently, the well-dressed man would let out a muted scoff, planting the book down onto the dark-black wood of the nightstand against his thigh. One of his legs crossed over the other, giving slight creases to the pristine snow-white dress pants that matched his equally white vest and suit jacket. A tone even lighter, the snowy-white and well-groomed hair, led down to the handsome features of his sharper but smooth jawline and piercing amber hues. Around him, the ornate furnishing of velvet seats and rich mahogany wood would yank his attention away from the medieval history of the book he had left on the table. Modern, sleek designs contrasted with the gaudy, over the top paintings plastered around the meeting hall of the palace the man had come to call home. While it hadn't been nearly as antiquated as the royal palace, nor as regal - his residence was still certainly on par with something a royal might have expected. Of course... nothing less would do for the Prince of a nation, after all.

​

Prince Caius Lovel Valstrom.

Third in line for the throne - but that may as well have been guaranteeing that the young man would never rest upon it. Nearly eight years younger than the second oldest and ten from the eldest, the ripe age of twenty-three had more or less disqualified the young man from ever properly pursuing his birthright.

One hand came to rest within his felt pocket. A few more paces forward and he would be brought face to face with the splendorous sight of the city, viewed from nearly six floors high. An entire clear-glass window composed the wall facing out from the meeting hall and, with it, allowed easy access to a bird's eye view of the city. At one point, the city of Fyr had been little more than a humble town along a pasture. One or two intersections of rivers made the landscape fertile and rich - and yet within a span of what was, at most, a handful of decades it had been transformed to a city of towering buildings. Grays, blacks, and browns darted throughout the city, replacing the former boundless lush nature with a mechanical, rigid sense of structure.

Fyr. The City of Progress.

While it hadn't become the capital of the Valstrom Empire, with that honor still being bestowed on the royal capital Weslyn, Fyr had quickly become the center of all the pivotal routes into the Empire. It served equally as a cultural melting pot, as much as it did the financial trade artery of the Empire.

I wonder, dear ancestor...
What would you think - had you seen what your 'ambition' has become?
Pride?
...Or, maybe...

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Yanked out of his thoughts, gaze fell back to the door behind himself. The rich flow of his tone, firm but eloquent spoke out -

"Enter."

Soon after his command, the door would open and a mousy maid would make her way inside. Lowering her head, she averted her bespectacled gaze and freckled, mildly tanned skin from his gaze as if trying to further curl up into a ball away from his sight. "U-Um... your highness... I'm so sorry to interrupt you... but the guest you were told about is here..." Her tone was so docile that, had she spoken even a little lower it was as if her voice would've been drowned out entirely by the vast expanse of the hall behind her. Adorable to a fault, but not a particularly good servant. Precise, flowing movements had the hand settle out of Caius' pocket as he strode forward a few more steps amidst the sheer panic of the smaller woman, eliciting a small squeak and the attempt at a trembling, fumbling apology right before the warmth of his hand settled atop her head.

"Take one deep breath, Charlotte. I have assured you many times that you need not worry around me - so long as you do your tasks succinctly. Or... what is it...?" Rich, husky growls against the side of her ear would have the woman take another trembling step backwards - hand pressing against the center of his chest. "...Are you dealing with some sort of demon here?" Fleeting, light patters of her heart accelerated to thick, heavy thumps. This... this was why she loathed dealing with the young prince directly. Every single time she came to enter his chambers or address him - it felt as if she was being cornered by a wolf. A small, brief flush settled across her features and she lowered her head politely, breaking their gaze once more and shaking her head furiously. "No, my liege... of course not. A lowly servant like me can hardly spend look a man of your position in the eye... but regarding the guest --" Once more, she tried desperately to get herself out of this position.

Adorable.

It was so difficult not to tease something so sweet in front of him, but with how red she was going and how quickly she was speaking... the poor little maid would have hyperventilated had he continued on like that.

"Yes. Allow her into the room. See to it that she's well-tended. I'm sure our dear guest is quite tired from her travels... where was it that brother Millius is currently residing? At the royal palace? That's quite a ways away for our guest to travel, so ensure she is taken care of well." One wave of his hand had the maid darting out of the room after a brief courtesy and, with it, he strode back towards the seat to turn and face the city skyline once more.

It had been nothing more than a handful of days since the letter had arrived via his eldest brother, Millius. Although the much more innovative magical telegrams had begun to circulate in the Empire, Millius had been far from the technological-savvy sort. No, that title went to his second eldest - Julius. A gifted prodigy, both with the arcane arts and with his intelligence, he had come to embrace the rising tide of the magi-tech revolution that swept over the Valstrom Empire. Long gone were the days of candle-lit magic and colossal, insurmountable distances between an Empire that had grown inevitably too large. Airships, steam boats, railways... all had come to occupy parts of the industrializing Valstrom Empire - along with their far more brutal counterparts in the form of magical weaponry.

Of course, that alone may have been Millius' specialty. A tactile genius. Brutal but efficient, a man that had led his people to many victories... so much so that people had come to refer to him as the second coming of the Progenitor.

I wonder what it is that had him discard a servant...

Picking up the history book once more, he skimmed through the pages. His knuckle rested against his jawline with his elbow finding its perch on the right armrest of the seat. One leg would come to cross comfortably over the other and his impressive, six foot or so frame sat exuding the small hints of his confidence and dominance. Millius, just as the Progenitor had been assumed to be, was needlessly ambitious. For whatever pretty little ornament crossed his eye, whatever skilled artisan made his acquaintance if he so desired them, it was nigh-impossible to stop the eldest of the brothers from acquiring it.

So, for him to discard a servant just like that... it must have meant that whomever was coming to his room was flawed goods. Perhaps a woman that had lost her beauty. Perhaps a magician that had lost their technique. Perhaps a warrior who had lost their ferocity. Unneeded. Discarded. Displaced. There were many like that in the Empire and they were seldom ever offered a chance. Caius, more than anyone else, had come to recognize this... after all, even in the shoes of the prince it made little difference.

He was unneeded.

An extra by all accounts. Even the true spirit of the Progenitor flowed in his brother Millius... to the point that it hardly mattered if he held the conqueror's blood in his own veins. Yet, it was that exact lack of consideration that gave these individuals strength. After all, hardly anyone imagined fangs to snap down upon them from angles they wouldn't even dare to consider them from.

Another knock came at the door. Once more, he set the book down.

"Enter."

One glance cast towards the doorway, eager to take a sight of the supposed new maid he was so 'lovingly' gifted by his brother. Hastily, the maid that had shown her in had given another courtesy and bow before shutting the door behind the newcomers back and leaving her in the room with a man several years her junior - and yet lifetimes more powerful than she had been. Though there was no reason to, Caius rose from his seat to make his way over to the older woman. Even standing in front of her, he came to tower tall enough that the top of her head just about met the center of his chest. Broad, built shoulders had settled his body into a very eye-catching Y shape... enough that the smaller woman would not be able to see even a single inch past the young Valstrom.

"Your are now in the presence of Prince Caius Lovel Valstrom. Introduce yourself in your entirety, but before that... reaffirm your fealty to the crown its empire." One hand extended forward, not for a handshake, but to present the back of his broad palm to the woman in an expectant, familiar motion.

Regardless of whether or not she would have chosen to take it, however, he instead reached forward a little further to rest his thumb and index finger underneath her chin and lift her gaze to meet his own in proper. Eye contact, particularly between servants and royals was nothing short of taboo. How was she to look a man like him in the eyes? And yet, his brief gesture - shameless as it was, forced her to do exactly that. "Though, I suppose I'm not one for these types of drawn out traditions." Ducking his palm under her own, he lifted her right hand and just as soon as it reached his lips, he pressed a kiss against the back of her hand, much like how a gentleman may have asked a young lady to indulge with him in a dance or in company.

"Please, feel at ease. Sit down, talk at your own pace with me. Right now, in this room, it is only you and I." Releasing her hand, he took a few more steps towards his seat to once more lean back comfortably atop it. One leg crossed and his palms would come to fold over the top of his lap while he stared at the woman expectantly. Had it been some sort of test? Perhaps. Little was known about the third prince of the Valstroms... other than his relatively secretive lifestyle.

There was, after all, no reason to give him the benefit of the doubt that this was anything but some amusing game for him... after all, even his maid staff seemed thoroughly done with the seemingly mischievous young man. Perhaps she had been sent off to be his new toy.

Soon to be broken, just like all the others.

Of course, that handsome smile plastered across his features only seemed to relay that a notion like that was wrong. Warm and inviting, motioning her once more to sit on the seat across from him so that they could begin their introductions in proper...

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@Fairess

 

[Fairess]

Since leaving her little hamlet, Cicely had grown accustomed to one of two reactions — when, in fact, she was noticed at all amid the bustle of the kingdom's greater cities. There were the ladies of the palace, who had tittered away behind their satin gloves, eyes cutting her dress to ribbons. How very quaint, they murmured and tutted, I never knew his Highness had a taste for such old-fashioned relics. Then there were maids like the one who had greeted her at Caius' grand residence. With wide eyes and an irresistible smile, the woman had lit up like a mother seeing her little baby in a dress for the first time. How adorable you are! What lovely country charm you've brought to us!

Up until that point, Cicely had never cared much for how her clothes were styled. She'd grown up to the sound of her mother sighing, a wordless disappointment in the woman's eyes when lace, corsages, and ruffles couldn't cover Cicely's flaws. Well, perhaps it wasn't a flaw so much as a lack of that particular sort of beauty, the delicacy, rosy glow, and sweet effervescence that turned a plain woman into a gorgeous one. No one belittled Cicely's long, slender nose and delicate cheekbones, but they found nothing to compliment about her pale lips that so rarely smiled.

If Cicely had been her mother's only daughter, the woman might have tried harder to find that something she could brag about in her daughter's appearance. But then there was Rose, the embodiment of a summer blossom who had the sweetest green eyes that sparkled under just the right light. Their mother had always doted on Rose, insisting she'd be the one to marry well and see them out of destitution at last. Why tread upon their dreams of marriage and men when Cicely was far better suited to playing the role of provider for the lot of them?

Trouble was, she was no longer in the humble village of Bren. She hadn't even been the woman Prince Millius wanted, a desire based solely on physical appeal. Cicely had known this, had prepared herself for his inevitable disappointment, but his cold, utterly callous rejection had stung in a way she'd not known she could be hurt.

Utterly boring. Those imperious, gold-tinted eyes had said it all, even as the prince's mouth demanded answers from her. Why had the wrong sister been sent to him? Wasn't it a little too convenient that her sister should become disfigured so suddenly? Had Cicely done her own sister in, thinking that she could win over his affections instead?

If she hadn't been so careful planning the façade his guards had witnessed, she'd felt certain she would have been executed on the spot — or perhaps it was because he'd had a decent breakfast that day, or one of his other pets had put him in a good mood. Whatever the case, Prince Millius had wasted no time sending her away. She didn't even get to return home, instead forced to stand there and listen as he dictated the letter declaring her a gift to his younger brother. 'Let it not be said that I have neglected you, nor that I am an ungenerous man to my allies. She is sound of mind and in possession of a unique, perhaps even exotic countenance that should please you.'

She might very well regret not plucking up her shoe and tossing it at the man until the end of her days, but staying alive unfortunately had come first. There was nothing exotic about being a sensible woman of two and thirty years, and the idea of 'pleasing' a spoiled young buck made her stomach churn, but pragmatism had always been her strongest suit. If she hadn't been to Millius' taste, she certainly wouldn't be to Caius', and that meant she would be just as quickly dismissed. If she couldn't convince him to let her return home, she should at the very least be able to disappear among his servants and be left to her own devices.

Thus, she'd comforted herself by imagining everything she'd write Rose once things had settled down. She hadn't stepped foot on a train since she was but a child, and Rose had been too young to remember the experience. Somehow, she'd find the words to describe the towering buildings, the thick stench of smoke and burning mana that clung into the air. And then she'd remind Rose of how important it was to look after the very particular needs of her medicinal garden, and be certain to ask after Joel's son whose health always seemed to take a turn during the change of seasons they were approaching, and not to listen to their mother going on about new festival dresses because their smokehouse needed repairs and —

"Please, see yourself in. His Highness is eager to meet you." The kindly maid — Charlotte, was it? — had already knocked on the last pair of doors between them and the great house's resident wolf. All at once, the nervousness Cicely had kept at bay rushed in, needling across her skin like a frigid blast of air.

She did not smile, nervously or otherwise, when faced with the fair prince at last. Well, fair didn't quite do him justice. He was much taller than she'd expected, all long, graceful strides without the stiff formality of his brother. His clothing, too, was impeccably pristine, the smooth sheen of his coat promising a texture creamier than milk. Broad shoulders, a slender waist — his clothing was almost scandalously honest in the way it flattered and clung to him, and she wasn't quite able to avert her eyes.

Thankfully, politeness dictated that she wait to be addressed before speaking. He introduced himself with brusque formality, a bitterly familiar tone that made the corner of her lips quirk upward. How else could I have known whose grand presence I stand in, Your Highness, if you did not inform me yourself? Were there no trumpets and announcers you could have used to spare yourself the trouble?

Cicely did not consider herself especially graceful, but there was a certainty in her movement, stability reminiscent of a long willow branch in the curve of her neck as she started to curtsey. Her hand, however, didn't make it to his before he decided to help himself.

Her lips parted with soft surprise when he angled her chin upward, craning her neck until she was gazing right up into the caramelized gold of his eyes. In that moment, her own name eluded her. Something about the silk-clad smoothness of his fingers against her skin, the warmth of his grasp — it put the strangest image in her head, one where his thumb curled over her lip before he turned her head away, falling upon her neck with a murmur that who she was didn't actually matter at all.

Instead, she blinked as he plucked up her hand and kissed it, all easy smiles and genteel politeness. Perhaps it was her nerves, but his lips actually felt cool to the touch, enticingly soft as they brushed over her skin. He could surely catch the scent — that very green, floral aroma of a gardenia she'd dabbed on the inside of her wrists and a few other pulse points.

Precisely what reaction was he trying to provoke out of her? She knew her place was well below his station, that her age and features were no doubt unimpressive to a man who could say a word and have the kingdom's loveliest dancer at his doorstep. Was he well and truly so kind that he would treat any person of any background sweetly, or was he goading her into a false sense of security so he could entertain himself with her pitiful weeping when he soundly rejected her?

As he took his seat and gestured her to follow, she could already imagine it — that winsome smile hardening into a sarcastic smirk, that royal gaze sharpened into a volley of knives. Did you really think I would welcome you into my house as a lady? You, who isn't even worthy of kissing my shoes? Stop dirtying my furniture and make yourself useful to the scullery maids.

No, she decided, she wasn't going to give him satisfaction any which way. If he was going to dismiss 'tradition,' she would do the same. Cicely did not curtsey before she took her seat, her expression blatantly stern as she gazed back at him.

It was hard to think of all the ways in which she was his opposite — her long dress was far out of fashion, a touch worn despite the care she'd taken of it. Unlike the puffy skirts and sharp, tight bodices that seemed popular at the palace, she had only a chemise and corset beneath her dress, allowing the gown's silhouette to follow the natural shape of her body. She did not have that porcelain delicacy of the palace's bright beauties, the soft, fuller curves of her frame reminiscent of a vivacious vineyard nymph. She felt young, and the smoky eye makeup, thinly trimmed brows, and peony-tinted blush certainly catered to that image.

There was not, however, any denying her overt maturity. It was there in the harder lines of her nose and chin, as well as the relatively plain choice of a pale taupe for her gown. She did not dress to be seen, merely maintaining an image of passive elegance, almost as if she were already married. The only flounce she wore was on her sleeves, a cascade of lace that drooped down from her elbows in a graceful flutter of embroidered snowflakes.

All that left was a braided bun with a flicker of gold-tinted leaves to add some additional color to the warm brown tones of her hair. Everything carefully in place, nothing particularly memorable beyond a sense of comfort and contentment — that was Cicely Goldburrow.

'Feel at ease,' the prince had said, as if any normal creature could be while in his presence. Cicely, however, took to the challenge with vigor. Her posture was relaxed, and she even had the audacity to cross her own legs, one neatly draped over the other as she let her hands rest in her lap.

"Your hospitality is dearly appreciated, Your Highness." Her words were hollow, and she made no attempt to mask it. There was no smile, no maidenly fluttering as she glanced about. She'd spent far too much time in carriages for the past few weeks, all the bland, quick meals on the road quite miserable for a woman who loved the indulgence of a proper kitchen. Though she knew she was at the mercy of the royals, she was eager to come off as curt and unpleasant — at least in a way that wouldn't end up with her head separated from her body.

"I am Cicely, the eldest daughter of the late Baron Leon Goldburrow. My family is honored to serve our country, and whatever service you should deem fit to ask of me I will perform to the best of my ability. That is what I promised His Highness, and now that loyalty is yours to do with as you see fit."

 

[Devils Temptation]

Femininity.

Traditionalist values, though gradually beginning to be eroded with the advent of industrialization, were still rampant throughout the Empire. There were certain ways a woman was to dress and speak. There were certain mannerisms she must uphold. There are certain gestures she must avoid. All of these qualities boiled down to creating the picture of an ideal woman. An epitome of grace and beauty... this notion of something known as 'desirable' by all men. Now, take all of those values, and toss them haphazardly around and one would arrive at the woman sitting in front of Caius. A small twinge of his lips attempted to hold back the smug, crooked grin that threatened to break on his expression. Certainly, she was gorgeous. A full, shapely frame with eye-catching hips that swayed just right whenever she walked. Slender, dainty legs that were neither too short nor too long matched the equally as slender nature of her waist - most certainly held in place by a corset or a bodice. Doing so would only accentuate her chest further, three regions that always seemed to dominate the glances of men.

...And yet, the only place the man's amber eyes settled on were her own.

Firm, unrelenting stares buried into her own and that 'polite' smile continued to remain plastered across Caius' face as if he was more than welcoming the absolutely rancid mannerisms of how she took his hospitality. Dearly appreciated, as if there was any more hollow of a way to say those words. With a tilt of his head, his chin would raise up a little further as if the man were looking down at her. From that milder, warmer grin instead blossomed something darker. A small stretch to the corners of his cheeks, showed something significantly more smug. In many ways, it was a reaction completely unsuited to how she was acting. A crass reply. A passing comment. Gossip reminding her of what an ill-fitted brute she was.

Some country rat that had, somehow, skittered her away into the gilded halls of royalty. No matter how much she seemed to prod him towards that conclusion, it was hardly one the man seemed to dig his fangs into.

That is what I promised His Highness, and now that loyalty is yours to do with as you see fit.
​

"Hollow. Allegiance is not something so readily given to one undeserving of it - and in this moment, you know little of my character." Shifting his posture, he instead folded his left leg over his right and came to lean on the side of his palm, elbow crooked to press against the arm-rest. One free hand would reach forward to grasp the stem of the wine glass, maroon-hued flued swirling back and forth in the cup as he brought it right in front of his eye and stared at her mildly diluted figure behind the glass. Whether it was just a passing indulgence or if he was implying something with his gesture was something that was yet to be seen... after a few moments of staring her down, he brought the glass to his lips before drowning the savory fluid down and breathing a soft, breathy sigh. Delectable.

"But, you will learn. My brother readily discarded you, so there must be some flaw with your character - but I hardly believe in the notion that someone is damaged goods because of their quirks and imperfections." Amused as his expressions were at her attempts to throw him off - his amber gaze grew firm and unrelenting. A moment of seriousness descended across his handsome, eye-catching features in a way that brutally reminded anyone sitting in front of him or otherwise. There was no mistake to be made, he was the son of royalty. A prince. A potential Emperor. Filling his own glass once more with a grip on the wine bottle sitting on the nightstand, he poured her a brief glass as well before offering it to the maid and giving her glass a small little clink to cheer to... something. It was hard to say what, he was not a man so easily read.

"You're quite the charming woman. Have you been told that? A little homely, certainly... and a fair bit haughty, however... I will conquer you. Make no mistake about that, Cicely. Perhaps if you kept your head down, acting as that mousy maid Charlotte had - you would've been just a passing whim. But this? Very much a challenge. One that I am happy to take." Another soft chuckle, every single one of his laughs flowed like hot honey against her ear. Smooth, but so addictive to listen to as they carried that rich, husky timbre of his voice along with them. Casual as the words were... the content of them had been anything but casual.

What had that been?

A declaration of war?

The way he looked at her wasn't quite... right. It was a look the older Cicely should have been familiar with, but not one that was ever aimed at her. That glint in his eyes, the deliberate sweep of his stare, the sheer body language that gradually shifted, broadening shoulders and spread thighs to accentuate the clear dominance in his room... it wasn't too uncommon for her to find a man looking over Rose, her little sister, in much of the same way that Caius was looking at her in that moment. After all, compared to her pretty little prize of a sister, she was nothing but the grown, aged home keeper. Useful in her capacity for domestic tasks, but certainly not a pretty sight to keep by one's side.

"Ahem. Excuse my forwardness, Cecily. It's certainly quite improper for a younger man to speak that way to an older woman, no? Here. Let us cheer to something a little more boring. Let me see..." Cupping his chin, he would mull over it for a moment or two, though he already knew what he was going to say.

"Cheers to your adorably pitiful attempt to evade me. Short-lived as it may be, it was quite the spirited attempt!" CLINK. How petty... with that broad, handsome grin of his he even seemed halfway serious in cheersing to something so nonsensical. In many ways, it was another challenge to her. Bringing the wine glass back to his lips, he tilted it back as he drank though that broad grin hardly faltered from his face. Firm, confident, and overwhelmingly dominant in his position with her. It was hard to say whether or not she had just signed herself away to be a plaything for a younger man in that fiery little spirit of hers.

Whatever the case was...

He was clearly immensely amused by it.

 

[Fairess]

Cicely lost the first battle between them, her gaze faltering under the unwavering authority of his. She dipped her chin, hands curling into the humble fabric of her skirt. She could disagree with his take on allegiance, insist upon his brother's inability to see any true value in people, and outright declare how ridiculous any notion of conquering was, but quite what would that achieve? In a battle between a mouse and a lion, the concept of right and wrong simply didn't matter. No matter how angrily, how righteously the mouse might squeak, it would promptly stop the moment it was snapped up between the lion's jaws. Rightness through might — that had ever been the way of the crown.

If she got upset, he'd be amused. If she insulted him, he'd have ample reason to punish her. If she played nice, whining and apologizing, he'd simply take advantage of the opportunity to oppress her even more with his ego. She ran through her paltry options for action in her head, struggling through the fog of a tired mind and a sore body. What she wanted was warm soup and a soft bed, not a dressing down by some young buck whose singular pleasure was to contradict her.

Homely and haughty, was that not the worst combination of traits for a lowly noble like her to possess? Arrogance had to be earned, just like the prince in front of her. Wealth, courtliness, power — given that he was in possession of all such things, condescension was his natural right.

Part of her was already willing to cave. He was nice to look at, and the wine was… well. She accepted the glass he offered with surprising gumption, given that they seemed to be more or less toasting his inevitable victory over her. Rather than acknowledging his intentions at all, she gazed down into her glass, allowing herself a moment to simply enjoy its aroma. Fine wine was not at all a commodity in Bren, and she wasn't going to waste such a rich, sour-sweet temptation by being sore over words.

First there was a touch of violet, the softest note of vanilla, but then it shifted into something spicier and dark, mint with warm, earthy traces of smoked cherrywood. It was indulgent but not overwhelming, a delicate balance brought to divinity with the final detail of its texture. The wine was liquid silk on her tongue, and even after she swallowed, it left a hazy trail down the long path of her throat, a little tingling sweetness to taunt her every breath.

Was it really so bad an idea, playing nice with this odd royal? She'd heard stories of Prince Millius' lovers, gorgeous women who had all the best wine, food, and silks they could ever want. It wasn't a far stretch to imagine Caius having similar indulgences — did a little gap of age make his obvious interest any different? She could easily imagine how lovely it would feel to curl up in his lap, giggling as his long fingers spidered up the lacing at the back of her dress.

No. Absolutely not. Cicely straightened in her seat and allowed her lips to curl into a frown. The longer Caius went on, the more he reminded her of a diamond-encrusted pin, a stunning sight that was nonetheless eager to jab straight through the fabric of her bodice, pricking again and again until the wearer finally had the sense to tear it off.

Older woman. Adorably pitiful. The pale blue of her eyes hardened, and once again, the prince effortlessly won another battle. Did he want her to bite? She'd gladly oblige.

"Flattered though I am by your own spirited attempts, Your Highness, my dull, insipid nature insists that I warn you of wasted effort. There is no beauty I possess, no sharpness of wit nor fluttering maidenhood I could entertain with that would not be far superseded by a worthier conquest." She lifted her glass to her lips, then paused, gaze narrowing as she ignored her gut and let the bitter words flow. "Then again, if you do not see the lasting charm of kind and gentle women who have served you long enough to know your character, perhaps your judgment would indeed benefit from a sensible word of advice."

 

[Devils Temptation]

I warn you of wasted effort.
​

Wasted effort.

What an amusing way to describe his interest in her. For as much as she bared her fangs back, though they came in the form of softer, measured gestures - no more flashier than the smoothing out of the wrinkles on her dress or taking her sweeter time indulging in his wine - Caius found that there was a certain charm to the woman from the very start. Significantly more mature than the maids that skittered about his residence for tasks like entertaining guests and making themselves seen, but not heard... and yet significantly younger than the more seasoned on his maid staff whom kept the entire operation going with their rich knowledge and expertise of topics all the way from cooking recipes to common ailments. Cicely, in an odd way, occupied a mid region between measured experience and beauty - a woman that, in some ways, had neither.

Or, rather, in Caius' opinion --

A woman that had both those qualities.

that would not be far superseded by a worthier conquest.
​

"Is that what you told my brother for him to discard you, Cicely? No. I doubt it. Something so half-hearted would hardly make that man loosen his claws. I wonder... all it really takes is some research into you to deduce why you were removed from service. But, it's quite ungentlemanly for a man to look into a woman's history, hm?" Caius gauged her reaction after his words, amber gaze settled onto her features to pick up on the slightest twitch of her jaw or lips that might've insinuated he hit the nail on the head. Largely, the only things he had heard about Cicely had been that she was some village girl that his brother had picked up as a passing fancy. A tale as old as time, honestly. Millius, a man with far too much power, simply took what he found delectable. No matter what inconveniences it caused or whom he hurt - those matters hardly mattered to the descendant of a conqueror.

Greedily, they sought to devour and take all that they could.

perhaps your judgment would indeed benefit from a sensible word of advice
​

Another soft, amused smirk came to plaster across his handsome features at the tail end of her words. Up until that point, nothing but pessimistic, self-loathing words of her own value had served as her deterrent from the young man in front of her. Now? Now, it seemed like even this homely, haughty little maid had a pair of fangs herself. Simply the presence of Millius, when she had been in servitude to him, was enough to dissuade anyone from speaking that rashly to him. Had she done to Millius what she did to Caius... her head would no longer be on her shoulders within the next few moments. It begged the question of why, when she let her gaze settle on her own, the only thing she saw was the pure, unbridled amusement of his smile plastered right across his features? That handsome stretch at the curves of his cheek, accentuating his sharper jawline and exposing those equally pearly teeth.

"Wonderful. It seems like we are on the same page then, no? I will be in your care from now on, Cicely." ...What? What had he been talking about? It was nearly as if they were having two different conversations at the same time. "After all, you did say I would surely benefit from your mature expertise, Cicely. Thank you in advance for deciding to impart your likely countless of years of wisdom to this inexperienced, vain royal." An amusing woman, to say the least, but he doubted he needed to know all that much from her in the first place. Just as a lion's place was to lead the pride, a honeybee simply followed the orders and directives of her monarch. More than likely, there was nothing Cicely could offer him but a few sharp words and some time-weathered wisdom.

"Now then, the terms of your employment... I am sure you had something similar in your presence with Millius, no?" Over in the older brother's court, the man hardly ever wanted Cicely in his sight. After all, she had blocked him from his true prize. Instead, the terms of her employment had been set up by her senior staff who made sure she hardly ever sullied Millius' mood by having her stray into his view. Even still, he eventually discarded her. There was no place in his court for something he did not choose to put there. In fact, the maid should have been lucky relocation was how he chose to deal with that issue and not something more cutthroat.

"You'll be paid by the day. Five imperial gold and two imperial silver for each day. You may choose to hold it on your own, or I may hold it in my treasury for safe-keeping and you may withdraw as much as you so like at your leisure." It had been more than twice what Millius had chosen to give her as her salary, not to mention the difficulty associated with actually getting the payments was difficult. As if the man was coaxing her to just quit her job and vanish entirely from his sight. Not only had Caius assured her that he would not harm her profits, he also made sure that it was well over a livable wage and that it would be kept safe for whenever she so required it.

"As for your schedule, you will be on the maid staff around the clock but I will only mandate you work for a third of your day. The rest is entirely up to your leisure. Please enjoy the city, or tend to your own tasks as you see fit. Additionally, should you require a vacation within reason, perhaps to see your family - I will allow it so long as you come to speak to me first." Confident, alluring words coaxed her into an increasingly sweeter deal, but... it was strange. Too strange. A livable wage, coupled with reasonable hours and more important than that, a consideration for the notion that she was, in fact, a human and not his own personal belonging. Had he said the word, she would be nothing. An insignificant speck on the ground easily crushed by the whims of the crown. Perhaps this too was simply a play, to make her believe something else about the quality of his character.

Rising from his seat, he would approach the glass-clad windows overlooking the city of Fyr.

"As for your tasks, you will operate as my personal attendant and all the responsibilities that may come with it. Largely, I expect the time you are working to be spent with me. Now... come here." One motion over his shoulder would coax her to join him by the window overlooking the city. "Cicely, what do you see when you look at this city?" It hadn't been a question with any proper answer, undoubtedly. Perhaps a philosophical one. Beneath her gaze, the bodies of the people were so small they appeared nearly like ants. Industrialized, towering buildings blocked out her horizon for about as far as she could see and every inch of the city exuded a sort of urgency to it as if the people flowing around was the blood in the arteries of Fyr. It was a city so thoroughly unlike others on the continent.

 

[Fairess]

She hated it when he said her name. It was far too familiar to be polite — not that her petty title dictated any level of respect from him — but there was also… something else. That sparkling, velvety voice of his was like a ripple on the deadest of nights at sea, moonlight beguiling the darkness right up until the slight movement suggested something sinister beneath the waves. His words should have been soothing, but just when it seemed he well and truly meant nothing but generosity, he'd find exactly the right words to poke straight under her skin. Half-hearted. Countless years of experience.

Would it take her attempting to strangle him before he'd finally relent that she was being honest in her desire not to be anywhere near him?

No, she decided, he'd laugh at her delicate fingers, so easily drowned in his, and insist that she at least squeeze like she meant it. In the very same thought, she found herself cornered again by his unpleasant magnetism, forced to wonder how it would feel to slip her hands under the satiny fabric of his shirt. Smooth, perfect skin with vigorous masculinity thrumming just underneath it — who wouldn't want to explore it?

Perhaps it was for the best that he hadn't poured her a deeper cup of wine. She couldn't stop drinking it, addicted to the rich flavor and the way its warmth lingered on the full length of her tongue. The best she could do was pause long enough to answer when he asked about her history. Perhaps surprisingly, she found nothing particularly alarming about his curiosity. The position of a prince's maid was not one taken lightly, and it made plenty of sense that his brother hadn't been forthcoming in the details. Of course the brute couldn't write, 'I didn't get the sister I wanted to bed, and this other one is too old and too boring. Alas, I don't have the two bits of sense needed to figure out what to do with her because I'm already spoiled with too many servants.'

"I was doomed never to appease the bright sun of our kingdom from the beginning, if you can believe it." Something had changed in Cicely's voice, a warmth and mellow bite reminiscent of cherry merlot dripping through the dry pedantism she'd tested him with. It was far too dangerous to grow casual with a royal, and yet it was all Caius invited with those enticing smiles.

"Actually, regardless of what I tell you, I expect that you will follow up on another source. I would surely insult your intelligence if I did not. What you will find either way is surely dull. His Highness wanted my sister. My sister fell ill and was in no state to answer his… needs, so I offered myself in her place. Now I am here." She felt no need to add any further detail, knowing the barren ground her salty tears would fall on.

It didn't matter that Rose had been utterly devastated by the thought of leaving her husband and children, or that Cicely had buried the ugly ache she felt every time she thought of her carefully cultivated garden. Years of crossbreeding stronger and heartier plants — and then there was her comfortable kitchen where everything was just right, and the corner where she could focus on tatting lace while her mother gossiped with the neighbors, and that perfect light of leaf-shadowed morning sun from her window that was a delight to read under. Silver-haired princes with gazes of gold had absolutely no place in her sensible existence.

What reaction he did manage to squeeze out of her was, even to her own surprise, the simplest phrasing of in your care. A woman of her persuasion did not take such words lightly. He could see it in the way her expression softened, lips pursed with the sort of worry only a 'responsible' older sister could embody.

But it only lasted a moment before that dry wariness took hold again. Was it not ironic that he should speak of her looking after him when it was him detailing her salary, working hours, and duties? He was being far too generous and far too kind, so of course she couldn't take his words at face value. She was not so winsome that he was already devoted to her comfort, nor did any creature with Valstrom blood feel the need to negotiate with lower beings. He wanted something from her, was waiting for her to present a crack just large enough for him to slip through. Was he buttering her up, hoping she'd give him information he could leverage over his brother? What did he know of her that she didn't seem to know of herself? Precisely what made her worth Imperial gold?

Cicely was on the brink of asking quite how he expected her to be a personal assistant of any value when she had no such training when he suddenly pivoted. The way he juxtaposed such an order against so random a question — was that how he meant to gauge her worthiness for such a role?

She suppressed a groan as she stood up from her seat; he'd surely never let the matter of her age go if she started creaking about like an old woman. The trouble was, so much time on the road had left her stiff, everything from the small of her back to the length of her thighs sore from being bumped about. Thankfully, His Highness seemed more preoccupied with the view from the window, leaving her to make her way over in peace.

Gods, but she was too tired for such questions. Did he want praise for the incredible development of his city, all those shiny bits and bobs glittering wherever the smoke didn't manage to drown them out? The safe answer was naturally to flatter the view. And yet…

Cicely had the distinct impression that wasn't the answer he wanted. If he was of a mind to get rid of her because she was rude, she'd already given him plenty of rope to do so. What was one more honest jab?

"Oh, Your Highness, what I see is the will of the Empire incarnate. Arisen from dust and turned to gold through conquest, are we not as a people made so much greater by the divine blood that has delivered us from ignorance and brought us into a new age of grand prosperity? What are those smokey stacks of stone and iron if not your hand itself reaching up toward the heavens as if to overtake them?" Cicely delivered the words with pomp, only to pout when she glanced down at her cup and found it empty.

"I must be a dull, truly ignorant creature indeed to see it all and miss home. Mountains that bloom with more shades of red, green, and orange than there are words to describe, hidden grottos with trickling streams where there is naught but the sound of rustling grass and your own thoughts — what charm does any land have when it is not entirely taken over with the magnificence of mankind?"

 

[Devils Temptation]

For as much narrowly disguised spite as his companion held in her voice - one fairly confirmed sentiment had settled in his mind. Perhaps not the conclusion she had been steering him towards, but as he peered out at the towering buildings of Fyr, Caius had thought... ultimately, I am not the one she is upset with. Regardless of how the maid chose to bare her fangs at him, it was ultimately not he who plucked her out of her quaint village life. It was not he who discarded her. It was not Caius who had mandated that those simple, delicate pleasures that she had chosen to savor over the glamorous, flashier lifestyle of the affluent, be so cruelly ripped from her hands. No matter how much Cicely's tone carried that bitter ash-flavored vitriol to his ears, he found himself largely unbothered by it. Another noble whom hardly gave a single damn about the gripes of a commoner.

After all... all he needed to do was throw a speck of his wealth at them and they would surely quiet down.

It was easy to assume that about a man so young and cocky, with more wealth and power than any man his age would have known what to do with... but the reality was much more cutthroat than that. Cicely knew little of how her anger paled in comparison to what he possessed in his heart. With his back turned to her, his amber hues grew increasingly more critical and harsh. Narrowed eyes led way into those furrowed brows while glancing upon the accumulation of so much power in one place. One may have looked upon these lands and exclaimed - 'Look! Look at how beautiful it is that the might of the Valstomites could create such a beautiful display of engineering and technology in the heart of the continent!' - while failing to understand how many countless lives and blood-stained ground that was marched upon just to get to this point. Even now, with several hundreds of thousands crushed under the weight of the cement, forgotten as the losers of history, there were millions more that sat under the weight of that word that had come synonymous with the most favorable trait in the Valstrom Empire.

Ambition.

What a lovely thing to idolize, even more so when one saw only the outcomes and not the path taken to get there in the first place.

Oh, Your Highness, what I see is the will of the Empire incarnate.
​

"I suppose age does make one's sight weak." How polite. Rather than the curve of his lips settling into that handsome grin, or the brief wrinkles along the edges of his eyes that showed he was smiling without ever having his mouth move... a harsher grimace settled across his features at her answer. One that, quite clearly, he did not like hearing. "You would do excellent as a court herald. Have you considered it? The way you announce spout edicts and splurge out these fanciful depictions of something far more rancid is, honestly, quite stunning. An incredible talent, in fact." Again, had her mind shut off and she simply listened to the compliments - that was the only way Cicely would have been able to take them as compliments when they were quite clearly blatant insults. Pompous, flowery words that held little to their content aside from serving to embellish.

I must be a dull, truly ignorant creature indeed to see it all and miss home.
​

"..." Those words had finally managed to silence the man that, otherwise, looked to run rampant with his smoother, honey-rich words. Similarly furrowed brows led way into those gold-hued eyes glazing over with a conflict of emotions. Something turbulent, something nostalgic, but inevitably out of place on the face of a man that, up until that point, shielded any and all of his expressions from her. Only amusement and brief irritation were flavors that Cicely would have pulled from him and even those looked more as if they were a mask than they were reality. One deep inhale would have his gaze clear once more and with it, he took a step backwards to grasp at the neck of the wine bottle and pour himself another cup. Of course, he had offered his companion a refill as well if she so desired it.

"You should start with that next time." Another pause. Stories about the vibrant nature of her hometown, dewdrops on the glistening petals following rainfall were, much like Cicely's other homely qualites, ignored. Simple and dull, an interest that required a fair bit of nuance was one that was all too easy to pass over. Even the prince's somewhat dry words seemed to indicate that he had very little interest in those 'shades of red, green, and orange.' Yet, before those pursed lips of hers could bite back a response to the man, he spoke once again.

ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴɪᴏᴜꜱ
0:00ㅇ──────── 3:08
▷​

"Tell me about it. Your home. Contrary to appearances, I too had grown up on the countryside along with my... mother." A brief pause in the mention of the woman that raised him would have that similarly difficult appearance settle across his face. This time around, he was all too adept at swiping it off. A tilt of the wineglass backwards would have the maroon, rich grape flavor rush past his lips and down his mouth to drown out those intrusive, unpleasant thoughts which lingered in his head.

"It was a lovely place. Particularly during autumn, when the vibrant greens grew auburn and red to make the canopy look like firelights had been dancing between the branches. If I had one complaint, at least as a boy, regarding the passage of the seasons... it would have been how I so dearly missed the wildflowers in the winter." Caius had spent many hours within court refining and perfecting the capability to put on what he referred to as a 'royal's face'. Soft, refined, eloquent features that displayed nothing but grace and wit. An expression that handed a doll to the people, one that they could idolize and fawn over for their beauty and stability.

Those softer smiles that came to rest across his features, perhaps some quirked in amusement, had been exactly that. A disingenuous expression to hide what he had truly felt in that moment.

As he spoke about those orchards of orange or those pink-purple lilies that sprouted just on the tail end of autumn, the line of his lips dug deeper against the corners of his cheek for an expression all too warm and fuzzy. A reminder that, he too, was just a young man.

"Well, Cicely? Will you share those fleeting, dull pleasures with me that the others seem to simply gloss over as boring trinkets and anecdotes? I am plenty sure that, young and inexperienced of a man as I might be, your wisdom and stories would help tremendously in reminding me of how pleasurable some of those duller things can be." Tilting his head back, the faint hint of an all too amused smirk would accompany his brief wink and the light clink of his wine glass against her own. He had been referring to stories of her home and younger years when he had mentioned duller experiences... hadn't he?

Whatever his true intention had been, he turned to face forward once more and with it, took one more sip of wine whilst sweeping his gaze over the breadth of Fyr.

Whether she chose to speak was, ultimately, her decision. Caius had no intention of forcing her to say anything she hadn't wished to... but a tiny part in his heart had wished that he could listen to her speak. Not with that clear disdain she had of him, but a much more indulgent desire to hear her softer, lightly deeper yet still feminine tone reminisce about something that he had also longed for. A simpler, sweeter time.

 

[Fairess]

Of all things, Cicely found herself fighting the urge to poke His Imperial Highness in the ribs. He absolutely knew where her sore spot was, unrelentingly targeting it, and yet she couldn't quite shrug off the barb as easily as she would have liked. That she was far beyond the typical age of marriage and courtship was a fact she'd never had particular trouble living with. Time stopped for no one, and she had very few positives to say about the few eligible men of Bren. What continued to irk her was the insistent reminders when standing next to a perfect princely specimen. She had no desire to be desired, and yet even she was growing increasingly unable to deny that part of her wouldn't mind being desired by him.

It's purely physical, she told herself, nothing at all to be embarrassed about. A woman twice her age would have found those fine, graceful lines of his face attractive. He had that timeless handsomeness, an almost seraphic beauty only heightened by the soft white tones of his clothing. The girl inside her wanted to unfasten his coat and snuggle inside it with him, all the while whining about how miserable the last few days had been and how dearly she wanted to snuggle into some blankets rather than entertain him with some boring retelling of Ben.

Unfortunately, she didn't have the luxury of getting away with such things. If she had Rose's beauty and sweetness, perhaps then…

No, Cicely had always needed to be the practical one. When their food was running low in the midst of winter, she didn't get to wring her hands and wail over the mistreatment of her uncle. All that precious energy had to be spent on what in the world she could put together to come up with dinner for Rose and her mother. It was becoming increasingly clear to Cicely that His Highness had sore spots of his own, a surprising dislike for the propaganda of the Empire and an all-too-familiar hardness tempered by a wealth of desires thwarted by pragmatism.

And then there was the fact that she was now utterly dependent on his whims. If she put aside her own discomfort, it was a promising sign that he wanted her to keep talking at all. Sharing a fondness for the countryside and more innocent days was decent common ground, even if he offset it all with a cheeky wink.

When he looked at her like that, even when it was but a glance away from his view of the window, she was prone to think up absolute nonsense. Suddenly she recalled that he'd dictated near everything about her employment except where she was meant to reside. He clearly thought of her as simply another servant, a personal assistant, and yet her mind flickered toward the absurd reality where she was meant to share his bed instead.

She at least saved herself the embarrassment of blushing. The warmth of her cheeks was owed solely to the wine, which she took another healthy mouthful off. Rather than flattering him with longing stares or maidenly giggles, Cicely sighed and turned away from him, seeming to find one of the paintings of more interest than the view below. One arm curled comfortably around herself while she gave her wine an indulgent swirl.

"Your Highness, if you have also experienced the allure of the southern countryside, then you know as well as I do that words fall utterly short of the experience itself. No description can carry the pure indulgence of grapes and apples so ripe that you can practically taste their juice in the air. The quietude of a mountainside where not another soul stands, the thoughts that touch your mind when you are well and truly alone, miles away from any other sentient creature… you in particular seem like you would enjoy such an indulgence, if I may be so bold. What better thing could I say than encouraging you to see it all for yourself?" Cicely took another deep sip of the wine, her lips widening into a proper smile as the sweet aroma lingered on her tongue.

"We're toward the end of harvest season. Everyone gets excited about the pumpkins in particular. Everything I learned about how to cook them I learned from Miss Clover — she refused to be called by any other name, silly though it was. My mother, on the other hand, has never borne the indignity of standing before a stovetop. I can scarcely imagine a more boring place for so auspicious a soul as yourself, Your Highness, but then I suspect you've never enjoyed the satisfying sizzle of butter melting on a pan. Feeling the purity of entropy beneath your fingertips, smelling the spice of fresh peppers and onions rising from the steam… it warms you in a way few other things can." She couldn't help but feel that she was rambling, but the wine was still tingling on her tongue and a strange excitement was welling up inside her.

"When I was a child, I went into the woods quite often… one time my sister and I happened upon a patch of wild strawberries. They were so very sweet with just the right touch of tartness to them — oh, and the juiciness… you'd swear it all but exploded on your tongue." Her smile was warm enough to reach her eyes as she gazed into a scene far, far away.

"And you may think to yourself that strawberries are strawberries, and the real sweetness of the berries remains only in my memory. But there's something more to it, Your Highness. The locals call it terrior, the quality of the soil, the air, the water… all the little things that make that particular patch of berries everything they are. The perfect mixture of sweetness and tartness is not like any other crop in the kingdom. You could import every strawberry you like, pay for the most premium berries, and you still wouldn't have what a couple of peasant girls on the outskirts of Bren had." She let out yet another sigh, practically deflating against the wall. "Home… though it's a stone and wood cottage like any other… it's like that to me."

 

[Devils Temptation]

The young prince hardly cared for those demure, embarrassed reactions from his companion. What was a single blush to a man who could make a sea of flushed pinks and reds with just with his presence? Even if she held her heart close to her chest, refusing to allow anyone even the slightest insight into those indulgent, deeper thoughts - he would not press her. Setting down the wine glass onto the table, he would come to cross his broader arms over his chest and press his attention to the horizon. Clearly, she hadn't been willing to entertain him much so, at the very least, he'd grace her with something at least a little standoffish. Being petty without outright malicious was, after all, a talent required in the courts. Yet, once she started to speak, like thawing ice the tightness crossed over his chest would soothe and grow lax before falling to his side.

She spoke of the allure of the southern countryside. Flavors of fruits so ripe and fresh that they were bursting with juices, or the serene peace that lingered only in places miles away from the growing industrialization of the Empire. For every passing word to leave her lips, his head hung a little lower and he grew gradually more solemn. It was just the warmth of her voice and the way she hummed over each and every little detail that kept the darker cloud from settling over his thoughts. "And? If I asked you to take me to your hometown, would you see to it that a selfish, indulgent request like that from a young prince was fulfilled? I did say that I was in your care." A difficult question, to say the least. She should have known full well that it was hardly a freedom that he had - to go where he pleased, particularly to some backwater with no protection. Just his movements alone would cause an avalanche of logistics.

"Haha. Merely a joke, but I suppose a man can fantasize, no?" Picking up his wine glass one more, he brought it to his lips with another slow, languished sip. The more she spoke, the further his mood seemed to pick up. Insignificant, dull words to any other man seemed to make his gaze sparkle a little further, turning the honey into his eyes into softer glimmers of gold. Pumpkins, Miss Clover, her mother. Followed by an all too descript, perhaps even intentional portrayal of the stovetop. "Quiet, you... you know full well there is hardly any man that can resist the allure of a good hand-cooked meal." Gentle as his gesture was, she felt the lightest hint of pressure against the back of her shoulder as he gave a petty little swipe of his own to hers. Soft, as to not disrupt the wine in her hands, but firm enough to show her that she had most certainly triggered his appetite... in a variety of ways.

Longing for her home. Or for the scent of that stovetop. Or perhaps it was the chance to leave as he pleased and go where he wanted.

It was hard to say.

"You seem like a very loving sister. I admire that. I can't particularly say I have a similar relationship with my brothers, but that was most certainly inevitable." Another twirl of his wine glass, gaze settling on the darker maroon hues. A little too dark to be the shade of strawberries, but he couldn't help but fantasize a little bit about them. Ripe as they might've been, he had a feeling he would prefer them a little more on the mature end. "You don't particularly strike me as the mischievous sort, Cicely... in which case, you certainly have your work cut out for you." Now, what had that meant? Whether as a threat or a playful jaunt, that was for her to figure out. From what little she had heard about the prince, there was nothing in particular that seemed to out him as a troublemaker... though arriving at his residence did shed some doubt on that notion.

Terroir.

A word all too foreign to his ears, but it was hardly one that seemed to offend him. No, instead he openly accepted all these newer experiences she would hand to him, one by one, with that all too sweet excitement-laced tone of hers. "What a lovely notion... people are like that too, don't you think? All of us tend to be an accumulation of everything that comes before us and that which we grow up around. You, I can certainly liken to the sweetness of a well-aged apple - mellowing that tart, sour taste of a riper fruit with something sweet and mellow... then certainly, I must be something akin to an unripened peach. Appealing in fragrance, but all too green to properly sink your teeth into." Or, perhaps, a more succinct comparison would be something like a water lily. Suffocating, predatory plants that people would only see the beauty of once they drowned out all others trying to survive underneath them.

Of course, Cicely hardly needed to know about that side just yet... perhaps she would never be exposed to it either. After all, how could he do something so heinous to such a homely little maid?

"That being said... as much as we can dote over the fantasies of that warm sun-kissed countryside, Fyr is inevitably quite the cold place. I expect you to dress appropriately, Cecily." Setting the wine glass down, he shed his suit jacket briefly. Underneath the thicker chords of his pronounced bicep stretched at the hints of his white dress shirt clad in that tight, form-fitting vest. A few steps forward and she found the chill of the room beaten off of her immediately with his ornate, rich fabric descending down on her from behind. A coat that was likely many times her salary... there was no telling how far in debt she might have fallen if she ruined it.

Had it been another threat?

"I did say I was in your care, but that can hardly be the case if you let yourself catch a cold... don't you think?" Right against her ear, he was close enough she could feel his breath and the deep, rich timbre of his honey-sweet, husky voice. Along his jacket had been the lingering scent of a regal cologne, a scent wholly unfamiliar to the natural aromas that Cicely more than likely found herself surrounded with whilst growing up.

"Now then... as lovely as meeting you has been, and as much as I'd like to indulge a little longer..." Dipping a hand into the pocket of his vest, he pulled out a pocket watch. Glistening silver, just like his hair. A snap open revealed the slowly ticking minute and second hand. "...I am on quite the tight schedule. I trust you have no complaints with terms of your employment? In which case... I expect to see you by my bedside--" What had he just said? A sly, playful grin flashed over his shoulder. "--in the morning, of course, to assist me in starting my day. Dismissed." Oh, he knew what he was doing. Clearly her supposed age was a terrible deterrent to his interest in her. Rather than tell her to return his jacket, he just turned on his heel and prepared to leave the room just like that.

 

[Fairess]

Was it the wine, or had the room actually started to feel warmer? Even as she'd let her tongue loose, Cicely had known she'd regret opening up. Her concerns had moved further from the prince pulling a fast one on her to simply embarrassing herself. More than the sour-sweet addiction of the wine, the way he let her drone on, a touch playful, a touch empathetic — it made her want to talk more about anything and everything. She couldn't recall the last time she'd described cooking or an outing in the woods that wasn't met with a dull 'uh-huh' or 'lovely.'

Perhaps at some point, everything had become so much the same there hadn't been anything new to add into the mix. Without Miss Clover, she had no one to discuss alchemical formulas with, and the women her age were far too busy raising children and complaining about the performance of their husbands to engage in enthusiastic discussions over prose and nature walks. And then there were the few eligible men, some old and widowed, some determined bachelors closer to her age, who were much more interested in feeling her mouth out rather than contemplating what came out of it.

Once again, it seemed she'd unwittingly given Caius another victory. Why was he talking so casually to his servant? Why had he brought up conquering her, of all things? The threat still bounced around in her head, always making her wonder what he meant seriously and what was merely him toying with her.

Whatever thoughts she may have had about regaining composure and taking some modicum of control over the conversation, however, were lost the moment his coat fell over her shoulders.

It was such a simple thing! Why, she could have argued it was entirely unnecessary, too. But it was also so much more than an empty chivalric gesture. The heat clinging to the buttery-soft lining of his coat was his warmth, the stoop of his tall figure over her a reminder of just how easy it would be for him to pounce, to wrap his arms around her and claim her any which way he wanted. A strange tremble ran up her spine, the skin under her dress tingling as the residual warmth from his coat mingled with hers.

"I did say I was in your care, but that can hardly be the case if you let yourself catch a cold... don't you think?" His words might as well have been the poetry of a lover with a bleeding heart — it was that caressing, relentlessly seductive voice that went straight through her ear and down into places it had absolutely no right being in. Her very bones became pudding, not capable of the slightest movement while every last nerve in her body lit up like a struck match.

When he glanced back over his shoulder, it wasn't a maiden's fluttering, uncertain fidgeting he found. Cicely knew exactly what she was experiencing, and it was the first time, the very first time! That wasn't his to have, to pettily enjoy like one of his many fine wines. He was not the first crush of a thirty-something virgin, she did not want to be at his bedside later that evening, and she did not have any intention whatsoever of surrendering.

A bright, much-too-passionate red dusted over her cheekbones and spread over her nose, those long, serious lines she liked to think of as being so distinct and severe. It made the blue of her eyes even softer, like a hint of sunlight over a very shy, overcast sky.

She didn't speak, didn't curtsey, didn't breathe until he turned and went through the door.

"Miss Cicely! Are you alright?" Charlotte stepped into the room only moments after Caius left, eyes wide as she took in the sagging figure who appeared to be on the cusp of dropping her glass. All that country charm was drowned in perfect white and the wintry, nigh ethereal scent of a prince's cologne.

"I'm fine." Cicely waved her fellow maid off, one hand wandering to her cheek while the other brought the last of her wine close so she could polish it off in one sweep. "Ah, but thank you. I should… I should probably… go unpack my things."

"Of course, Miss Cicely. I would be happy to show you to your room." Charlotte glanced over Cicely for a long moment, but the latter was relieved not to have any further questions directed her way. They both understood that the third prince was a force of nature all his own to deal with, and that was enough.

Outside the meeting room, the palace was impressive as ever. Cicely had no comparison for the tall, elegant hallways, each with metallic accents and impossibly large windows made possible through Fyr's achievements in modern architecture. She should have been content to merely drink it all in, but a certain concern had crawled into her head the moment Caius had put his lips on her.

"Charlotte… if I may call you that? I realize the question is personal, but given his Highness's, er, eclectic behavior this evening, I must ask… does he usually make advances on the palace servants?"

Immediately, the maid blushed. "Did he…? Oh no, I don't wish to p-pry! What I mean is, no, His Highness has only been kind to me. I-In the platonic sense, of course! Just about all of us, the manservants included, have found a comfortable place here in Fyr because of him."

Well, that didn't sound right at all. Cicely's brow furrowed, but she was eager to change the topic once the answer was clear. "I see. He told me that I am to be his personal assistant, but I confess I'm uncertain what that means. I am not, I am ashamed to say, particularly experienced in such a line of work."

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it! His Highness is very patient." The maid's visible relief was not, oddly enough, particularly reassuring. "I've served as his personal assistant for some time now. I'd be happy to walk you through the routine."

During the long walk to her room, Cicely was inundated with far too many details than her wine-muddled mind could possibly hold onto, much though she tried. The short of it, at least, was simple — she was to wake the prince in the morning, assist him dressing as needed, and would be responsible for seeing to his meals and any other tasks he'd need throughout the day. It sounded a great deal like being a glorified kitchen cart with the added benefit of an alarm bell, but how could she complain? The money would see her family through a very comfortable winter.

There was also the added benefit of a cozy, private room. Unpacking should have been a simple affair, but the exhaustion coupled with the unfamiliarity of everything made the whole process a slog. She'd grown so accustomed to her kitchen, her shelves and supplies, and had even considered leaving anything at all related to alchemy behind.

In the end, however, she hadn't been able to give it up. She had a small, pot-sized cauldron inscribed with silvery runes — the little cast iron heater by the window had a sufficiently flat surface, and could probably boil a decent amount of water. Her scant supplies and tools could simply stay inside their box, which could be secreted away under the bed with relative safety. Over time, she'd surely find a better hidey-hole for her little hobby.

Beyond her clothes, there was little else she'd brought along. There were a few precious books — one laced with pressed flowers – a bit of unfinished needlework, some oils, creams, and tinctures she'd anticipated for the cold of the North, and even some specially infused spices and teas had been brought along. There was no single piece of jewelry, only a few wooden hair pins. And that was her life, all contained within a few luggage boxes.

She'd grown so used to having her list of chores before finishing the night, settling into her room with a bit of candlelight to squeeze in just a little bit of journaling. There'd been the sound of crickets, the air full of Autumn, and nothing but the darkness of the forest outside the window. Though one could certainly call the palace quiet, the glow from the city outside never seemed to cease.

Well, there was at lest one particularly nice comfort of the palace, and that was the wonderfully modern plumbing flush with hot water. She was able to take a lovely bath, braid her freshly washed hair, and fall into bed with no more thoughts beyond getting as much sleep as possible.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Even so, morning came too soon. Cicely had always been an early riser out of habit, but the tiredness from the entirety of several days in strange, uncomfortable places still clung to her. She freshened herself up with some lavender-infused water, coiled her hair into a proper bun, and found herself staring down the new uniform meant to define the rest of her life.

Truth be told, the garb of the palace maids was nothing to turn one's nose up at. The fabric was of a high quality, the petticoats frilly with lace. She hadn't worn black since the passing of her father, but had to admit the color did indeed flatter her figure. Long sleeves, crisp white cuffs, a ruffled skirt with lace trimmings — rose would have loved it. The long apron and frilly headband were simple enough, but then there was… well.

There was the silk stockings. She hadn't worn such finery since her childhood years, back when the Goldburrow name still meant something. The smooth, perfectly thin fabric had the unfortunate effect of making her feel more exposed than had she worn nothing at all on her legs, but she couldn't deny the luxuriousness of it. Add to it the tight, lacy garters and heeled shoes and she may as well have been a princess.

Granted, a princess probably would have had a little more grace walking down the hallway. Unaccustomed to such shoes, she had to be walked through the proper posturing by Charlotte, who also found it appropriate to lay down even more details for the day ahead.

"We're always sure to wake well before his Highness, of course. It's important to light the hearth and get the room warm, then I open up the curtains and bring in the wash basin with warm water and a fresh towel. If he needs anything from you after you wake him, he'll let you know." Charlotte was an odd mixture of concern and joy, much too bright for such an early hour.

That selfsame maid was also eager to dismiss herself as soon as they reached His Highness's door. Cicely sighed, bracing herself for the worst before opening the door. All she could hope was that Caius wasn't one of those bachelors who liked to sleep without any clothes.

 

[Devils Temptation]

Mornings were always meticulous and rigid for the young prince.

Not one routine out of place, not one second extra spent in bed. Anything wasted on his end would inevitably come back to take away from the time he could have spent doing something useful. Just like every other day, Caius had woken up close to seven in the morning. A mere hour after the entirety of his maid staff would be up themselves - though Cicely hardly had to be by his room by then... something he hadn't quite taken note of, given how Charlotte was extra-attentive. Instead, her shift had begun at eight. In that hour it took Cicely to arrive at his bedroom. Caius' routine consisted of washing his face briefly in the morning, on his own - of course, before picking out his outfit for the day. While he had no doubt that Millius had every portion of his day attended to, there was hardly any need for it when it came to a prince as low-ranked as him. An Emperor hardly had time for menial tasks, all his energy must have been devoted to running his Empire and his ambition.

In a way, another shackle.

Caius gaze glanced over the tailor-fit white dress shirts. Each and every single one was made with the most pristine weave, enough to hug on every ridge of his frame. In front of him, his wardrobe spanned the size of a small room. Each outfit came with its own occasion, all tailored to his body. Vests, suits, ties, trousers... he needed something easy to move in for today. Grasping along, the hangars, he set out his outfit for the day and went to work dressing himself.

CLICK.

Midway through putting his shirt on, the sound of someone making their way into his room, unannounced, would have him turning on his heel with an arch of his brow. Sure enough, the one coming in hadn't been Charlotte... but his new personal attendant, Cicely. In front of her, the half-unbuttoned sight of the prince's shirt would expose ridges of powerful, well-built muscle. Each and every single one seemed built off of regular training and conditioning, undoubtedly through martial practice and other princely activities. Carves along his abdomen reached down a little further along his waist, nestling out a notable V-line for her gaze to travel on all the way down to the fit of his stark-black dress pants. Unzipped, of course, to expose the tighter outline of his undergarments nestled below. For a few moments, the two would just stare at each other in silence.

"...Do you usually enter rooms without knocking? In fact, you're a little early too. One moment." Buttoning down the rest of his shirt, a grasp at the buckles of his trousers would raise it up higher to settle the line of his shirt underneath his belt. A slide of the zip up along with a few more notches and buttons had everything tucked away properly. A few more swipes along his cuffs had the rest of the runaway buttons slipped in properly and as soon as everything was in order he leaned over to grab the tie resting on top of the vest that was folded over his bed. Turning back to Cicely, the young man offered it to the maid. Silk black, with a small dark red pattern running down the side. "While yes, normally, you can come to do your earlier duties - it's ultimately not mandated. I find my maids appreciate getting their beauty sleep." One hand reached forward, resting against Cicely's cheek to give it a small little knead with his thumb. "Hm. Seems softer than yesterday... or perhaps it was hard to tell with how red your face was." Bold-faced lie.

She didn't know any better, did she?

Caius dipped his head a little lower, presenting it to the maid in front of him. Since he had just woken up likely not even a full hour ago - his usually well combed hair had been lightly messy and disheveled. Softer, silverish locks spilled out in every direction. Particularly, there was a notable ruffle on the back with his bedhead. "Assassinating me with a tie knot may not work too well, so please tie carefully. This is one thing I will mandate for you every morning." For as taunting and playful as his words had been, one hand followed her own. A grip to her wrist and over her palm would guide her through the motion of doing his tie properly. A tilt of his collar up and a readjustment of the length of the tie so she could easily tie one end over the other. Even had she not known the knot meticulously, his fingertips above her own would help her lace the two together, right before tucking the tip back over and tightening it around his collar just right.

In doing so, it brought the young woman all too close to her master. Enough that the warmer splash of his breath could be felt against her ear on occasion.

"Huh. You're surprisingly good with your hands, Cicely." Momentary surprise would lead way into that broad, charismatic grin of his. Genuinely impressed, but also all too playful - as if the mouse had been cast back into the cat's play pen. "Now then... some ground rules. The next time you enter my room without knocking, I exercise the opportunity to punish you thoroughly. That being said..." Grasping his black vest off the bed, he slid it over his body and went to buttoning it. Caius back was turned to her in that moment but she could catch the hints of a smile plastered across the edges of her cheek. A slow, subtle gnawing tension had already fell into the room from the moment she had opened the room unannounced.

"...perhaps you are due for some disciplining. How do I look?" Turning around, one hand came to tuck into the side of his vest and he stood shoulders broad and posture straight. Handsome was certainly an understatement, he wore each and every single one of his outfits with radiating confidence. The question was, largely, rhetorical. A few strides forward would bring the young man in front of Cicely once more and with it, a hand came to rest on her hip. Firmer tightness would curl those broader fingers against the swell of her rear, plucking her up and off her feet before dropping her onto the edge of the bed and, with it, he came to sit down right next to her.

"Mm... what to do with you, what to do with you..." His husky, softer hum against her ear from the side had his hand dangerously close to traveling up her inner thigh... but for that time being his index finger just continued to tap against her palm. "...some lashings, maybe? Perhaps I'll force this beautiful, older maid to get down on her hands and knees to apologize? Something sadistic, surely..." A cup of his chin. Of course, she would have already known from Charlotte's words that he never punished like that... but the firmness of his words and the all too domineering aura spilled off by him seemed to indicate that sadistic punishment was an inevitability.

"...oh, I know! You have a day off tomorrow, do you not? There's this rather lovely meadow on the outskirts of Fyr, but unfortunately I cannot go without the supervision of a more mature escort that would most certainly be able to reign me back. That may be your punishment. Now then... shall we start the day?" Just as soon as that heavy air settled over, it vanished entirely. One more polite smile had Caius' expression return back to his usual façade and with it, he stood to his full height before offering his hand to Cicely. Charming. Polite. But this flower had his thorns. Clearly he was just a little annoyed at her sudden entry into his room.

 

[Fairess]

Cicely had started the day with such confidence — how hard could it be, pandering to a spoiled nobleman? Whatever pedantic tasks he set her to would be no more intense than the labor she'd spent her whole life doing. Herbs were best harvested early in the day, long before the sun sapped them of their flavorful oils. Then there was the washing and gardening, looking after the chickens and tending the modest orchard all throughout the day. Nighttime had become the few hours that were truly hers, where she could brew her concoctions under the light of the moon and write her notes by candlelight.

What she quickly learned, however, was that she'd greatly underestimated the softspoken Charlotte. Timing and a sense of protocol were two of the most important traits a servant could have, and before the day had even started, she'd managed to ruin both.

The silence upon her entering unannounced was positively crushing. Her immediate instinct was to apologize and flee out the door, but her pride kept her firmly rooted to the ground. She was his maid, and more than that, several years older. Tending to men in various states of disarray had been one of many less desirable aspects of playing village doctor — what did it matter if Caius was half-dressed or naked altogether?

And yet she couldn't help but look, wide blue eyes wandering down his exposed chest. She'd seen her share of brawny farmers and hunters, but Caius was something altogether different. He had the muscle, clearly, but it had been toned into something more refined. Like his cologne, his carefully tailored clothes, everything about him had that something extra, a crisp meticulousness that bordered on perfection.

One moment. Of course he was utterly nonplussed, smooth as a rich coffee roast. She did catch the undertone of something a little sharper hiding under the pleasantness of his voice, however. It probably wasn't the best time to explain her intention to be nonintrusive, or any other such excuse. Even a pampered prince deserved the time he needed to compose himself.

She'd averted her gaze and turned away from him, only to find herself cornered with his tie in her hands. A new sort of dread poured into her stomach as yet another incompetency came to the fore — she'd never tied a tie in her life. Before she could contemplate precisely how to explain herself, however, the white fox of a man was already closing in once again. She simply couldn't keep up with him, at one moment silenced by awkwardness and the next by an unfamiliar tightness in her throat.

And so it turned out that his first greeting of the morning was a soft, squishy whimper. The way he probed at her cheek, as though testing the ripeness of a cherry, made her want to do everything from biting his thumb to tugging his neck down for a kiss. Everything she felt about him was messy, embarrassment, frustration, and desire all tangled up together. Where was Cicely the old maid, the unfeeling, always objective hen of the house?

"I — " But the protest never made it past her lips. He was already leaning closer, too close! Their eyes met and the words evaporated from her tongue, leaving her with a senseless, open mouth while he joked about assassination of all things! She had a quip all about how ridiculous he was being, but that, too, came out as an incomprehensible wheeze when he took hold of her wrist and started guiding her along the process of handling his tie.

She tried her best to focus on the movements, committing to memory the odd twist and folds that turned into a proper knot. Unfortunately, the memory of his bare chest was still too fresh, that frosted cologne of his filling her head with thoughts of naked skin and shared warmth. His breath certainly didn't help, either, playful and ticklish as his remarks against her ear. It was a wonder she didn't — no, her fingers were definitely trembling, a familiar warmth bleeding up into her nose.

Did he mean to mock her by complimenting her handiwork? Cicely certainly wanted to believe that hours spent on lace and needlework had rendered her hands quite steady, but all of her best qualities seemed to simply evaporate when confronted with Caius. Patience, efficiency, matronly warmth – the more he handled her, the more she felt like a flustered little maid, not the modestly proud head of the Goldburrow residence.

If she let him continue on like that, she'd lose her sense of stability entirely. Whatever game he was playing to entertain himself, it came at her expense and —

"...perhaps you are due for some disciplining. How do I look?" That particular line from Caius seized her full attention. Her body reflexively stiffened, his little shift in topic not nearly enough to dispel the tension. Indeed, it only brought more of her focus toward his tall, intimidating frame, perfectly complimented by the sleek, silky darkness of his vest.

"I — you — w-wait!" Cicely took a few steps back, but it was nowhere near enough to distance herself from his advance. Hadn't he only just laid down the ground rules? Could she truly be blamed for acting casually around him when it was him who had established the precedent? There had to be at least a hundred good reasons for him not to lay a finger on her, but she had no idea which one would sway him. More than that, however…

His brother's gaze had held a particular emptiness where empathy should have been, like he wasn't looking at a fellow human being so much as a cow or a hen or some other useful livestock. When Millius had threatened punishment for keeping her sister from him, she'd felt cold and clammy, desperate to find exactly the right words to convince him of her innocence. On the complete other end with no less intensity was Caius, who saw a 'beautiful' woman comparable to a juicy apple. When he advanced on her, her knees went weak with a very different sort of panic. What did he, third prince of the Empire and fellow country enthusiast, want to do to her? Would it hurt? Would it hurt in a good way?

Well, part of that question was answered almost immediately. The squeeze of his hand around her backside left absolutely nothing to the imagination — the fine fabric of her uniform and the soft petticoat beneath it might as well have been water for all it concealed against such a firm grasp. Hers was a full figure ripe with maturity, providing plenty of plush to squeeze before his fingers prodded against the firm muscle beneath it. Digging that deeply, there was no doubt he could feel the thin line of her panties under the skirt, a flirty little band of lace whose lip caught against the tension of his fingertips.

"Caius, please!" There it was, his name dragged straight out of her throat in a bright, humiliatingly tight squeal. Her knee jerked upwards, the inside of her leg pressing up against the outside of his until he maneuvered them both to sit on the edge of his bed.

Her heart was beating so loudly it seemed impossible he couldn't hear it too. She was hyperaware of his thigh pressed right up against hers, his lips so close to her ear she could practically feel the satin of them on her skin. While he pondered aloud, toying with possibilities that should have terrified her, she stared down at her lap and bit back any whimpering. Even when she was entirely cornered and at his mercy, he still found ways to tease her further, every tap of his finger against her hand a reminder of where else it could be in that moment.

Why was it, in the middle of him positively melting her into a puddle of mousy submissiveness, that he decided to bring up visiting a meadow? Of course he left it all off with a 'may be,' leaving her to contemplate exactly what else her punishment may consist of and exactly when he'd decide to inflict it.

Damn it all! Her fingers clenched at her apron, her head bowed forward. How was it that they hadn't started into the morning and she'd already lost an entire day for herself? Was he going to claim every free hour left during her evenings, too?

It was difficult to think of a worse position from which to begin things the way she had hoped to. Last night, he'd asked for something he'd been equally certain she wouldn't be able to give him. A little escape to her homeland was indeed absurd — she wasn't one of those mages positively overflowing with arcane energy, the kind of legend who could translocate or conjure up illusions with a snap of her fingers. Even one more versed in such strange abilities like herself wasn't certain such things were possible, never having infiltrated the tight circles of magical practitioners.

And yet, she'd started to convince herself that it would be worth it, somehow, to prove Caius wrong. She had no idea how she could give him something so simple and yet so difficult, but she'd squeeze water from stone before. One simply had to start one small step at a time, and with that in mind, she'd requested a favor from Charlotte. If she couldn't take Caius off to the South, she could still take him to his own hearth and show him a little of that countryside brand of magic.

Now, faced with her bumbling mistake, she could already imagine the prince's further annoyance with her hubris. Perhaps she'd ask for the lashings – they would most assuredly hurt, but at least they'd be done with quickly.

There was no choice, of course, but to accept his hand. Rather than standing up, however, she hesitated, cupping her hand under his as she leaned forward. This was a different sort of kiss from the usual royal greeting — her lips lingered, shy and affectionate as she spoke into his palm. "Please allow me a proper apology at the very least, Your Highness. I'm sorry for my thoughtlessness. It won't happen again."

She swallowed, her gaze finally flickering up toward his. "Perhaps you may still be willing to accompany me to the kitchen?"

 

[Devils Temptation]

Minor. Insignificant, even. Had Charlotte done the same thing Cicely had, Caius would have taken great pleasure in simply teasing her about it for a day or two before forgetting the incident entirely, except to bring it up when it was most inconvenient for his personal maid. So why was it that he seemed so harsh on Cicely? Well...

That, of course, was because it was Cicely.

That rich hint of frustration in her brow, combined with the redder tint of her cheeks and the purse of her lips was, arguably, as sweet a meal as a man could possibly ask for. Had she simply taken his hand and nodded - flustered in that all too sweet manner - he had zero doubt that this would have turned out exactly as how it may have with Charlotte. Instead, the warmth of her lips across the back of his palm had his expression warp mildly. Furrowed brows met those nervous eyes and with it, the smile would drop from his expression entirely. Her lips were soft. All too soft. Experience with women was all too common with royalty. Any and every woman he could possibly desire was for his taking - all except for those who his elder brothers instead chose for themselves. Yet, it was this homely, haughty little maid that managed to make a small flutter hit his core.

The kiss wasn't particularly noteworthy, it was the expression she wore while giving it. Shy, anxious, but inevitably dripping with a hint of affection that made him want to crack the façade of his mask to grace her gaze with a far more genuine, pearly grin... but he choked it back. "Ah - there isn't any need for that. As much as I jest, the mistake wasn't all that--" The offer would make him swallow the words before they came out as she offered to take him to the kitchen. A small hint of surprise colored his otherwise passive expression. An arched brow, followed by a small little squeeze to her palm before the tighter grip around her wrist would bring her to stand in front of him once more.

"Has anyone told you that you're an incredibly strange woman? There is this saying... bluebirds fly with bluebirds, blackbirds with blackbirds. There is a place and crowd for certain individuals with their specific qualifications to be... economic and social strata, if you will. A noble most certainly isn't someone that should be in the kitchens." Kitchens were, after all, place that were meant for exclusive use by laborers. It was no place for someone meant to be at the dining table, enjoying the labors of whatever cook had strung together a meal for them. In fact, it almost seemed like he was gearing up to lecture her once more for such a crass request. "Naturally, it's somewhere I most certainly would not belong and likely am not even permitted to go by way of my position... therefore -

we should most certainly go because it sounds quite amusing."

Had she blinked for even a moment to miss what he had said in that moment, the way his stern expression immediately melted to a hint of mischief, would have almost made it seem like he swapped from talking about two entirely different topics. Maids and cooks were meant to be in the kitchen. Not royalty.

That exact social contract made him all too eager to mildly inconvenience his hard-working staff in the sweetest of ways. A small little tease, at most, but he would hardly do anything more than that.

"However... I should emphasize this to you once more, though I do believe it was implied the first time we met." Twisting his fingertips along the edge of her wrist, he dipped it underneath her own and once more brought her hand forward to himself. As shy and sweet as her affection was, the warmth of his lips against the back of her hand was firm and deliberate. Had she worked up the courage to look forward, she would even see his amber gaze locked with her own as he nestled one firm kiss against the back of her hand. "It should be a gentleman's job to invite a lady to an excursion, no? Do not kiss the back of my hand any longer. I reserve that as my right to invite you out to be subject to my whims, Cicely." While the majority of his words and even expression were entirely serious, a small little tease about his whims near the end would work to soothe over the conversation finally and with it - his hand finally dropped down from her own to turn and head for the doorway.

One hand briefly swiped over his shirt and tie, ensuring both were lacking any sort of blemish or wrinkles. As soon as his appearance had been just as pristine as humanely possible, a glance over his shoulder had him give another smirk back in her direction.

"Though I certainly would not fault you if you grew cold feet. You're quite good at talking, perhaps not so much at acting. Perhaps I will fumble my way into the kitchen regardless and say it was your idea instead." Malicious, to say the least - it would have most certainly earned her at least a stern talking to from the more senior maids, though what they were doing most certainly would have done that instead. Knowing full well that she likely would have not backed down from him in that moment, he would wait for her to scurry forward and lead the way down to the kitchens. While she likely hadn't been down there just yet, Charlotte had given her a breakdown of the manor that they were in. There were two kitchens, a smaller one at the center floor meant for last minute preparations and presentation while the main one resided in the cellar, away from anyone's wandering gaze.

Caius, despite never having headed down there himself, knew the directions intimately. A few minutes of walking would have landed them directly in the hearth-clad and brick lined kitchen of the manor.

​

"S-Sir? You can't -- ah... I mean, what are you doing down there?!" Immediately upon entering, one of the maids would squeak up in a panic as she locked eyes with the towering figure of Caius trailing just near Cicely. Immediately, she tried to rush to hide the mess in front o f her - a set of dishes that were particularly annoying to scrub clean, to which he would just raise one hand in front of himself as if telling her to be at ease.

"Now, now... kitchens are meant for messes. Don't fuss. Unfortunately, my new attendant is quite weak to my advances, so I managed to convince her to let me down here... surely you'll oblige?" One hand came to rest on top of Cicely's head next to himself. Caius' words would make the smaller maid in front of the two go mildly red in the cheeks before a single bashful nod had her scurrying off to deal with something else in the kitchen. He certainly hadn't sold Cicely away but... the wording he came up with almost certainly would lead to heavy gossip circulating around the manor about what he was really doing to her. Nothing for the moment, but the maids of the manor didn't know that - did they?

"I'm sure you have something riveting to show me. Go ahead, Cicely. I'm watching very intently. Just know that my vest alone is worth two years of your salary, so if you dirty me - I will use it as an excuse to most certainly abuse just how 'weak' you really are to my advances. Surely you'll understand? A man needs payment for his belongings being damaged..." That all too Chesire grin that descended over his features was met with a brief graze of his palm against the side of her cheek, thumb carding over her jawline in languished swipes. "...just a joke, of course. Now then... show me whatever it is you brought me down here for."

Just a joke.

Or so he claimed.

Caius would, soon after his words, turn to lean back against the side of the table next to the stove to watch her with a surprisingly curious stare. Genuine curiosity at that, not quite like how a noble marveled at the harsher lifestyle of a peasant washing their clothes in the stream or river - clearly he expected something from Cicely that would warrant her bringing him down here and he was all too eager to eat out of her hand in that moment.

 

[Fairess]

Did Caius ever play fair? Even when he was helping her up off the bed, the result was standing far too close to him. While he held her fast, returning her kiss with one of his own, the frill of her skirt brushed up against his trousers. It would have been easy to seize that moment, to lean in the rest of the way and steal his lips with her own. The gesture would be horrifyingly brazen, but he hadn't given her reason to think he'd respond cruelly just yet. No, what truly held her back from such a ridiculous indulgence was the thought of seeing no surprise or delight at all, as if he'd been kissed by a hundred fair ladies already and found nothing at all to set her apart.

'Incredibly strange,' then, was a far better outcome. It actually brought a smile to her face despite his teasing and would-be lecture. He should never have agreed to go to the kitchen and she knew it, but that was the wonder of little miracles — this much-too-perfect prince of the north actually had enough curiosity to bite. In that moment, she was much too willing to forgive him for every irritation, every remark angled perfectly to mock her age.

After all, how often did she get to share the little secrets of her world with anyone? When was the last time she'd wanted anyone to know them?

"As you like, Your Highness. I shall only plant my lips where you deem them fit to be." Cicely flashed a wry smile of her own, her voice sweet with the mellowness of a ripe peach. Having won her prize, it seemed excitement was quick to overtake her nervousness. "After all, I am still something of a bumbling country maid with much to learn. Who can say when I'll know my place?"

She didn't like brushing past Caius, nor walking in front of him — it brought a little too much attention to her posture and made her heeled shoes feel all the more awkward. Beyond being unfamiliar, she could swear the awful things had a habit of arching the small of her back, which in turn… well. She was far too mature to be running about with a perky rear, which was much too conveniently done up with the floppy bow of her apron. Add to all that the fact that the whole ensemble belonged to Caius' house, and therefore to him by proxy, was it any wonder she felt more than little vulnerable?

Unfortunately, that feeling threatened to stay when Caius introduced them both to the unlucky kitchen maid. Cicely started to pout but could do nothing to shake off the light, yet nevertheless condescending pressure of his hand on her head. Between her inadvertent confession to Charlotte and Caius' breezy implications there and then, the gossip was certain to catch up with her soon. What had the new maid, old and old-fashioned both, done to win such attention from him so quickly?

She'd certainly have no answer for them, being utterly frustrated and confounded by his affection as well.

Indeed, the casual flirtatiousness of his fingers along her cheek was all it took to make her tense with anticipation yet again. Wasn't it just moments ago when he'd grasped her, muttering hotly in her ear about what he might do to her? The threat had lost some of its edge; she had the feeling more and more that he liked to say such things because of its obvious effect on her. Not fear, necessarily, but that odd mix of anxiousness and indulgence she'd felt at the possibility of becoming one of Millius' concubines. To be shackled, seduced, doted upon — the fantasy certainly had its appeal, at least before being exposed to the prince's callousness.

Caius had the wicked tendency to fuel such a fantasy in an entirely different direction, genteel but sharp enough to tease the sort of excitement that could melt straight through her sensibilities. What, precisely, would he make Cicely do to earn the equivalent of his vest?

Something was different this time around, however. They were no longer in the pristine hallways or one of the prince's private rooms. The kitchen was a primal place by contrast, its hearth warmed by centuries of ancient traditions ranging from the butchering of meat to the churning of cream. The air was thick with spiced ham, dried herbs, and freshly baked bread, raw fire flickering away under one of the stovetops. This, Cicely decided, was her domain. She could plant her feet a little more firmly on the rougher stone floor, be more certain of where she belonged within the cozy space.

"Did you forget what I told you last night, Your Highness?" Cicely stepped over to a nearby countertop, where she was pleased to find a spread of ingredients she'd requested from Charlotte the night before. There was no hesitation as she undid the buttons of her crisp little cuffs before rolling up the sleeves and digging out some flour. "If you could be satisfied with the mere sight of the countryside, I'd have recommended visiting an art gallery. Some things simply have to be experienced, not merely watched. Didn't you say kitchens are meant for messes?"

She lofted a brow, mirroring a certain someone's patronizing expression of wry surprise. "As for your handsome, very expensive vest, you must surely realize where you've ended up. The knives, the scathingly hot pan, and worst of all?" Cicely pointed down toward the stove, where kindling already awaited. "If you were to handle the firewood yourself and get a splinter, can you even imagine the pain, the bother? I daresay, Your Highness, a very removable stain is the least of your problems now."

Yes, Cicely knew she was toying with fire. Any woman with sense would never talk to the prince in such a way, but then exactly what sort of prince would have followed her into the kitchen? She'd told him a little of her home, of her love for the hearth, and if he'd come so far, what was the point if she didn't take him the rest of the way?

And yet she continued on as if he were a scullery maid's spoiled apprentice, the little mouse she'd turned into at his bedside quite forgotten. To her bowl of flour she added a pinch of salt, some water, and just a little pork lard. When kneaded together, the mixture started to form pale, pillowy soft dough in her hands. "In the north, I hear that bread is much more common than tortillas. Have you ever had one before? It's really quite simple."

As quickly as she'd picked up the dough, Cicely put it down, allowing it a moment to rest. Plucking up a small green pepper, she turned to smile at Caius and held it up, gesturing for him to come closer with her opposite hand. "This, on the other hand? Dangerous. One thing I learned from your brother's palace… well, at the risk of insult, I must confess that his palate seemed quite bland. No fish, nothing spicy, nothing with a strong enough flavor to cause a scene at dinner. I'll give you that it's a sensible enough way to go about meals, but… well. Do you have similar tastes?"

Cicely turned back around, reaching over the counter to take up a knife. "You have my pity if so. The tingling, cheeky burn of a pepper is so much more enticing to the senses." Her fingers were deft indeed as they started slicing, promptly deseeding the little pepper before slicing it into pieces. Whether he was inclined to tolerate her or not, it seemed she was set on starting right into breakfast.

 

[Devils Temptation]

Did you forget what I told you last night, Your Highness?
​

"Rather difficult to ignore you when you open your mouth, my dear Cicely." Mousy as she was, that seeming 'insult' hadn't been nearly as thorny as it may have come off as. He adored her voice. Subtly deeper than the far younger maids that skittered about the castle. Smooth, like cream, albeit perhaps a little plain. Something like that had come to encompass the sort of woman that Cicely Goldburrow had been. It was certainly a poorly held secret that the man had some sort of soft spot for her, if it hadn't already been abundantly clear by the way his gaze followed after her every little gesture and movement as if she were stringing together a mesmerizing, intricate spell. It was just flour. A roll of the sleeves. A mention of her all too drab home, despite knowing full well that it was something most nobles would simply scoff over.

Most nobles.

Though... those handsome features would sour gradually at the mention of art. Furrowed brow, with a brief grimace nestling across his mouth. "As the rather uncultured third prince of my line - I must say... art isn't something I particularly enjoy. Contemporary art in particular. It's a little too..." Pretentious. Rather, he knew full well the value of a skilled artist... but he had no interest in hanging up more of those gaudy pictures that were made by those who had long since lost any hint of passion in their craft and simply defaulted to the heftiest chunk of gold they could gain from something they claimed had some sort of deep, intricate value.

As for your handsome, very expensive vest--​

"I assure you, it isn't the vest that is the handsome aspect here." Blunt as ever, though he knew full well what she was doing by mocking him. One hand ducked underneath her palm, index and middle finger stroking over the daintier digit of her ring finger seemingly just by chance. "You will find that I am plenty capable of handling a little pain, though I suppose the bigger issue is seeing my poor personal maid fainting from an all too pesky splinter." Not one chance in Hell that a woman like Cicely would do anything but give a brief, annoyed grimace at a splinter. As surprisingly soft as her hands had been, they had some wear to them that made them distinctly more rough than that of a noblewoman's palm. The sort of grip that had been seasoned and hardened with proper work, rather than one that had grown supple and lax through simply sitting around.

In the north, I hear that bread is much more common than tortillas.​

Bread. Tortillas. To a man like him, they made no real difference. Minor differences in peasant nutrition when his own palette only had the finest of what could be imported from around the Empire. More than that, the sort of enthusiasm she brought to the oddly basic topic was what had caught his eye the most. So much so that when presented with that pepper, a poorly stifled smirk had the man lean a little closer - reaching, but not for the pepper. Rather, his hand came to rest right against the side of her cheek. In the same motion, his other palm tightened against the back of the hand that held her knife - just to make sure that the knife would not cut down on something while he preoccupied her attention. One press closer had his body warmly lock against her own, enough to feel the all too satisfying heat of his powerful, chiseled musculature against her all too soft, womanly frame.

Do you have similar tastes?​

"I wonder... though I believe this rather haughty maid should have the answer to that herself. After all... I clearly contrast with my brother's preference in at least one way." As he spoke, his gaze remained glued onto her own... right before gradually traveling down her body. All the way from the curl of her softer brunette locks down to the smooth, milky pale curve of her neck and down her shoulders to her chest. Her waist, along her navel, and then down to her hips and thighs had been the last sweep of his shameless stare, right before it flipped back up towards her gaze once more with a 'polite' smile plastering itself across his expression.

Clearly and blatantly contrasted with his brother's preference in at least one way.

"That being said..." Straightening his posture, he would wipe that domineering glint off his face and toss a more passive glare over his shoulder at the fact that they were being watched now. An all too annoyed looking minister had been hanging in the stairwell - staring holes into the back of Cicely's head with his beadier eyes. From how long he had been down in the heated kitchen, a faint hint of sweat had even started to accumulate along his balder head and tinted his skin in a pastel red tone. Such a shame. One hand would motion over his shoulder, waving the minister off with a gesture that indicated Caius had noticed them and would be with them... soon.

"I've all but exhausted the free time I've had this morning just watching you lecture me. This was enlightening, but let us not do it again." A turn on his heel had that colder aura settle atop him once again... and he let those words sink in, as if she had simply wasted her time trying to give him something that he hadn't valued. With how much he had pulled this trick on her, maybe she had even wizened up at this point to know something - his reactions hadn't lied. They hardly ever did.

A glance over his shoulder betrayed some hints of that handsome smile that was most likely across his lips. "...this little 'gift' you've given me has come with the unfortunate side effect of making me horribly famished. In a variety of ways." One last trail of his fingertips down her arm would have his whispered, deeper and growl-laced voice fading off with a heartier laughter. "Haha. Carry on, Cicely. Please bring the breakfast to the gardens after, it is where I tend to do most of my morning work." At that point, there was likely still no indication to Cicely what 'work' implied, as if a third prince like him had no responsibilities to worry of. He had no throne to chase, no role to campaign for... so what could he possibly be doing that would make him so busy? With a readjustment of his hand over his tie, he would return to the stairwell once more and just like that... he was out of her sight just as briefly as he had managed to capture her attention.

Irritating.

Subtle as it was, it did leak off of him in those last moments he had to leave - as if he wanted to remain right by her side through the entire process and yet coolly played it off instead by bantering with the older maid.

 

[Fairess]

Quite what had happened to the sacred serenity of her 'territory?' Her hand holding the knife trembled as Caius stepped away, leaving her abashedly red-faced and open-mouthed for the umpteenth time. No matter what they talked about, no matter how confidently she stepped into an encounter with him, he effortlessly found ways to press her more and more brazenly. She felt like a deer being hounded by a wolf, its teeth rasping at her hide, every nip leaving her weaker and slower until he inevitably went straight for the neck. If a person could call whatever strangeness was between them a hunt, even she had to admit escape was further away than ever before.

What made the whole encounter worse was the fact that she had no one to blame but herself. She'd wanted to do something kind, but there had been more to the tortillas and sliced vegetables than that. To feel the dough in his hands, to hear as much as feel the aromatic sizzle of the pan when onion was seared atop it, to eat straight from the hearth when everything was at its warmest, freshest peak — that was the sort of 'country' warmth his estate lacked.

While Caius undoubtedly had far more talented chefs and an exotic palate that made flour tortillas a laughable 'luxury,' she'd seen far worse at his brother's estate. By the time a meal was fancily plated, garnished, fussed over, carted to the table, delayed with even more formalities, announcements, and precautions, it was a sad, lukewarm affair if indeed any warmth was left. In many ways, it wasn't unlike the art His Highness didn't seem to enjoy, far more form than substance. What made farm fare so enticing was the simplicity of it, fresh ingredients crushed into submission and served up with flavors that had matured through several generations of homemade chefs.

In the end, however, she'd been a little too greedy. It was, perhaps, a little fair that Caius should call the whole experience a lecture, and that indulging her had apparently interfered with his oh-so-important schedule, but Cicely had the distinct impression she was being baited once again. What would he do if she actually did toss one of the raw eggs right at the back of his head?

Oh, she could picture it quite clearly, one of those snowy brows aloft whilst his gaze went from cool to bitterly freezing when he turned 'round to face her. The minister at the stairs would be shocked to his very core, but as for Cicely? Perhaps it was too soon for such thoughts, as the mere memory of his gaze bearing down her bodice and even lower still had her positively tingling. Why did the thought of seeing his anger squarely directed at her make her uncomfortably warm?

She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with where his hand had been earlier that morning and promptly returned to her work still awaiting on the countertop. 'Horribly famished in a variety of ways' was still burning in her ears, but that was all the more reason not to give him any further reaction. No, she wasn't going to think about the firmness of his thighs against hers, nor how she'd gasped when he'd all but pinned her up against the counter, casually looming over her with indulgent, stroking fingertips. Caius' parting remarks were met with a murmured, half-hearted apology for having taken his time and the callous assurance that his breakfast would be delivered as he wished.

---

Cooking without Caius proved to be a far more taxing experience. The second he was out of the kitchen, one of the senior maids was right on top of her, huffing over 'unsupervised cooking,' 'highly unprofessional behavior,' and 'an utter lack of speed and precision.' She couldn't chop the pico de gallo fast enough, and certainly not while being interrogated over her every action with Caius that morning. Every little gesture, from whipping and cooking the eggs to arranging the plate was watched as though she might add a pinch of poison at any moment.

In fact, the woman quite nearly lost it when Cicely reached for cinnamon after brewing the coffee, chastising her over the 'unnecessary indulgence' and citing very firmly that his highness had a preference for tea. When Cicely had then stated his highness wouldn't be harmed by branching out just a bit, that was the last straw.

So it was that Cicely was all but marched to the gardens, the breakfast tray scarcely balanced in her arms as she tried to keep pace with the maid who guided her. Though a tad rushed, she was confident that the creamy, scrambled eggs with just a touch of creamy cheddar would do the trick. They were accompanied by freshly made tortillas, after all, along with a medley of freshly chopped onions, tomatoes, cilantro, peppers, and a squeeze of lime. Out of spite, she'd included the jalapeno seeds in the mix as well, and the anticipation of seeing the prince's face red for once would be worth him banishing her from the kitchen, if she wasn't already.

There was also some still-piping hot frijoles de la olla, earthy fried beans with freshly crumbled cheese on top. The finishing touch would have been the coffee, but she had to make do with straight black tea, strong and bitter even to her own nose. The one thing she could appreciate with all the fussing was the fact that Caius was minimalistic even in his table arrangements — rather than going all-out with flowers, napkin swans, and doilies, only the basic utensils and a single, pristinely folded napkin were laid out and lectured harshly into Cicely's skull.

In an ideal world, Caius wouldn't have arrived at the gardens quite yet, and she'd have time to process the stress of her morning activities before preparing herself for whatever Caius needed from her next. If she'd learned anything from her time at the city proper, however, it was that nothing ever turned out ideally.

 

[Devils Temptation]

Despite how the world seemed to be all too eager to sabotage the maid at any turn, this time around she found her plans undisturbed. When she arrived to the garden, it was still completely vacant of any individuals whatsoever. Carved and well-kempt marble slabs marked the pathway for her to follow. To either her right or left were meticulous, hefty bushes of flowers so vibrant and distinct that they demanded a person's proper attention. Vibrant orchids, softer roses, the gradient hue of hydrangeas -- it had all been only one component of something far more stunning. Sitting at the center of the garden had been a pristine white fountain, likely carved of the same marble of the path below. Within it was crystal clear water spilling out freely and saddled next to it had been a table and a few set of seats set out underneath a gazebo. Though the garden had been indoors, the entirety of the ceiling above was of a distinctly clear glass which bathed the entire garden in the rays of warmer sunshine - angled just right to make sure that all the life within that space flourished.

Cicely would have about thirty minutes or so of time to prepare for the arrival of the prince, and when he came - it was in his usual nature. Not announced with the overly high extravagance of trumpets or an entourage, but in silent steps that stopped right behind Cicely to peek over her shoulder at whether or not she had been finished with her preparations. "I am honestly shocked that the maid staff even allowed you to make this at all. I suppose I do have some sway in this manor still, hm?" Had she whipped around to meet the young man properly, rather than the well-dressed sight of his usual physique she was met with something much more casual. No tie. No suit. Just a single white dress shirt with the sleeves curled up. A pair of dress pants below would have his belt still tucked around his waist and the shirt tucked into that - but mostly? He had been formal. Incredibly so. A pair of suspender slacks kept the svelte black fabric of his trousers up just right towards his thighs. Hints of his chiseled chest and forearms were blatantly visible in the loose way he was dressed. Even his hair had been tucked and tied back, sparing her the sight of his wispier, silk-like strands that were oftentimes gelled to stay in place.

"Open." Wasting little time, he grasped at the fork at the table, carving a morsel out of the meal she had made out of him and presenting it to her mouth. One hand remained in his pocket, the other waiting expectantly for her to oblige to his request. "I have to make sure it isn't poisoned, of course. Don't be such a brat - it's rather unbecoming of a woman of your maturity." Cupping her jawline with an affectionate stroke, he popped the fork into her mouth to force her to try at least a bite. Soon after, he would rub the fork off with his napkin. On occasion his gaze traced in her direction as if she would just flop dead in the next moment... but seeing as how she wasn't writhing in pain on the floor he would just give an amused smirk and would finally take his seat at the table. Tucked under his arm had been a set of documents which he laid far enough away from the meal as to not get any smudges on the paperwork.

"...You didn't bring two cups. That's rather sloppy of you, Cicely. Next time, make sure you bring enough for the both of us." Settling back comfortably in his seat, one of his legs would cross over the other and he would give a motion of his hand for the maid to sit down next to him. Quietly, he would start on his meal - to which she might've noticed something startling. His lack of reaction. While he leisurely chewed on what she had presented to him, there was a starling lack of his face going red, or even much of a reaction at all to the taste or flavor she had surely packed to the brim in the food.

Had she missed something?

Halfway through the meal, he would breathe a deep sigh and pause, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

"Cicely. Come here." Surely, she would be punished now. It had taken a while, but the heat likely kicked in and the bizarre medley of flavors that were so utterly unlike the Empire's usual palette was a guarantee to annoy him. It had, after all, done the exact same to his brother. Easily, it had been one of the biggest reasons that she had been let go. Her food was, according to him, nothing more than slop fit only for pigs and peasants to eat. Julius hardly made a distinction between the two regardless.

Once she had leaned a little closer, coming to a stop in front of him, he would cup her hands with a sudden squeeze.

"Have you considered getting married? Perhaps to the wealthy prince of a nation? How young are you permitting your husband to be? In fact, I may have the suitable bachelor for you --" Theatrics. Even if the glint in his amber eyes was incredibly serious, the content of his words and what he was alluding to were quite blatant. Whatever nerves had built up that he would despise her cooking were shattered with those few words and he would finally breathe an amused smile across that handsome face of his. "--my plot to steal... ahem... inherit your family recipes aside, there is one thing that you failed at rather miserably." Ladling his index finger around the handle of the cup, he presented the strange black concoction to her. "This is terrible. Please don't take offense to this, but are you not well-versed in making drinks? If so, I can place another maid on duty for that." It hadn't been that - not as much as it had been that she was stopped from making what she actually wanted and settled for something blatantly worse.

"...Well, no matter. At the end of the day, you are the one that presented this to me. Come." Another motion, this time with his index finger. Patting his lap, he would wait expectantly. His half-eaten meal was guided to the side and he would pick up the document on the top along with a pen to write atop it while waiting for her to... to what?

"Hm? Did I stutter...? On my lap. Now." In broad daylight, as if he lacked shame entirely - denying him here would almost certainly simply lead to a harsher punishment... if this was even a punishment at all. It could have just been another way for him to bury the poor maid underneath his thumb and remind her, yet again, that she was completely and utterly at the young man's mercy.

 

[Fairess]

The garden within the manor really was a world unto itself. Unlike the city outside, where smog was prone to gather and choke out the air, the hothouse was filled with warmth and the perfume of a thousand different blossoms. Some of the flowers she recognized, but there were a great many she did not. The mere sight of plants she'd not yet catalogued filled her with a sense of excitement she hadn't felt in a very long time. It seemed like an age ago when Miss Clover had led her into the ancient herb garden for the first time, pointing out a patch of sweet cicely and inviting her to lean closer for a sniff.

"Cicely is a very fitting name for you, my dear. It's a deliciously sweet herb, but it also has a certain darkness to it. Can you smell that? Woody and sour like black licorice, isn't it?"

Needless to say, Cicely was immediately distracted. She set Caius' breakfast tray atop the awaiting table and then promptly abandoned it, stepping toward a bed of hydrangeas. The blossoms were impressive, huge puffs of blue, white and lavender all mixed together. One particular bloom was just the right shade of cerulean, a depth of blue that matched the vibrancy of the sky right after the passing of a storm — a sight that made her invariably think of home.

She was sorely tempted to pluck the flower out from the patch, but doing so would have undoubtedly earned her some arbitrary punishment. It was enough just to breathe in its perfume, to let her lips touch the satiny softness of the blossom's many petals.

The soil had more to say about the garden, too. She could sense it the same way she could smell the blossoms, a richness to the soil that made her think of the thick, ancient soil of a riverbed. She suspected the dirt for the garden had come from somewhere close to Fyr's riverbanks, the mulch atop it sourced from drier, pine-tinted orchards no doubt further up the nearby mountains and away from the city proper. When mixed altogether, it was easy to tell that the garden was altogether young, brimming with the promise of its ancient, river-bound roots.

Under the care of a proper hedge witch, Cicely could imagine the garden taking on similar special qualities to Miss Clover's. She'd spent so long tending that ancient patch that she'd never actually considered what it might be like to have land of her very own, a fresh canvas touched only by her magic-tainted fingertips.

Would Caius give her a corner of his magnificent little garden if she asked for it? He was certainly eccentric enough to agree, but he was also not the type to ask for nothing in return. Of course he'd want to know what she intended with it, too, and any particularly suspicious plants born of witchcraft would no doubt be reported to him. Honestly, why even consider such nonsense when her full intention was to return home as soon as what was reasonably possible?

She couldn't let herself get carried away with the garden, either. Caius surely would arrive any minute, and the senior maid had gone on and on about properly setting the table. The plate for the main dish could be no more than an inch away from the edge of the table, the cutlery had to be double-checked for any marks and buffed with a spare napkin, and the tea had to have its own host of carefully arranged additives, including sugar, cream, and honey. Any negligence on her part would surely be punishable.

Cicely was in the middle of debating whether or not the handle of the spoon was in line with the pair of breakfast knives when, out of nowhere, Caius' voice found her right ear. Her shoulders jumped, elbows clasping against her sides as she squeaked in surprise. She didn't dare turn around, not until he reached past her to pluck up his fork and bid, no, ordered her to open her mouth.

Don't be such a brat, he'd said, as if she were an unkept child throwing a tantrum at his table! Of course he followed it up with another jab at her age, only to pluck up her chin as if she were a thirsty little flower about to be blessed with water. What she hated the most, however, was how automatically her body seemed to obey him. There was no thought or hesitation — he stroked her chin, angled her upward as if positioning her for a kiss, and her lips parted for him.

Her first instinct was to cover her mouth, but he'd mentioned the possibility of poison and that meant he had to see her chew and swallow to be certain. Truth be told, she scarcely tasted the mix of eggs, vegetables, and beans, her wide, righteously offended gaze drowned under Caius' brazen amusement. He actually had the gall to smirk at her, as if he'd expected her to have the stupidity and courage to try to poison him, only to be disappointed that she did not. Never before had she wanted to attack a man so very much! She wanted to wipe that awful smugness off his face by pinching those perfect cheeks of his, or perhaps tug at those silvery strands of hair tinted gold by the sunlight. He was also in prime position for her to dig her heel into his foot, but alas, he moved right along as if nothing had happened.

Indeed, he sat down with the most casual sort of grace, all while chastising her over not having brought a cup along for herself. She glared down at him, lips trembling with anger she simply couldn't give voice to. It was almost sweet, expecting a maid of all people to share a pot of tea with him, but it was far more ridiculous than anything else.

Cicely knew perfectly well that a maid was meant to be neither seen nor heard. She ought to be standing away from the table, bowing and apologizing for every little mistake His Highness perceived. Instead, he gestured for her to sit at the table as if she were his guest, not the servant he'd chastised.

Deep breaths. Chin up. Cicely swept up her skirts and sat down as he wished, eyes steadily fixed on the table in front of her. After all that trouble, she'd forgotten all about the spicy peppers she'd added to the breakfast medley. A humble jalapeno, after all, was among the milder sorts of spices, and one she was so acclimated to it didn't bother her at all. Short of being punished, there was no reason to care about his opinion of her food, and given his fussy nature, she was certain he'd find something to complain about.

But he was quiet. Not a word passed between them as the silverware quietly clinked. She furtively glanced at him every now and then, but his face betrayed nothing except those immaculate table manners of his. Even the arc of the fork in his hand was refined, those long fingers ever precise and steady.

Though he hid his reaction well enough, however, there were some tell-tale details that didn't escape Cicely's gaze. For centuries, the women of her village had mixed hot peppers with cocoa butter and applied the balm to their lips. The butter kept their lips smooth, but it was the tingle of peppers that plumped one's lips and turned them red. The effect on Caius was subtle, but she knew those lips of his too well already. At the very least, they were a touch redder, and perhaps more enticing than they ought to be.

Finally, he set down his fork and bid her closer — again, as if she were his pet rather than a proper servant. She let out a dramatic sigh and stood from her chair, bracing herself for another biting tease.

Of course he still surprised her all the same. Cicely's tired gaze widened into shock when he brought up marriage of all things, carrying on like a sailor ensorcelled by a siren. Surprise, however, was quickly overtaken by a pragmatic sullenness — did he really think he could charm her with such absurd notions? It had to be another insult wrapped up in a compliment. No matter how wantonly warm those eyes of his became, she'd never buy the notion of him being sincere. Whether he found her attractive or not was besides the point; a man of his station would never condescend to marrying a maid wearing the uniform of his house.

No, she much preferred his distaste for the tea, a concept which was easily understood and grounded solidly in the reality they both lived in. Before Cicely could apologize yet again and make some attempt at explaining herself, however, Caius went right back to being ridiculous.

He wanted her on his lap? The very idea made that indecent, never-to-be-named part of her prickle with dangerous temptation. Her gaze went to his thighs, the sleek outline of his legs prominent underneath the dark finery of his pants, and promptly darted away again.

Absolutely not. Cicely bristled, in the midst of taking a full step backward when he made the order again, this time far too firmly to be taken as anything other than a direct order. It wasn't that she found the idea unpleasant — indeed, the silky-soft warmth of his coat had been addictive, and that was just a coat — but the simple truth was that she'd never been so casually handled by a man before, and she didn't know how to actually… how did one clamber on top of a gentleman's lap, anyway?

It was as simple as sitting, surely, except this was Caius' lap. She couldn't very well mount him from the front, spreading her thighs over him like a brazen strumpet. If she were to prop her back up against his chest, that would put far too much of herself between him and his work. Perhaps if she sat herself perpendicular to him? With her back to the arm of his chair and her legs spilling over the side of his, that would be the least obtrusive, right? She just had to… had to…

Cicely swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and grasped Caius' shoulder before sweeping her skirt up and plopping herself down onto his thigh. What he really deserved was a scolding ten times over, but all that anger over his endless, niggling teases became terribly confused when she was confronted with the panicked closeness of his, well, everything. She couldn't help but fidget, those cursed, slippery maids' stockings unable to find any proper purchase against his thigh.

"Your H-Highness, I don't find this at all comfortable!" Cicely, despite all her 'maturity,' was a floundering, pouty mess in the careless scoop of his arm. "Your jokes are in particularly bad taste this morning, too. I have no intention of marrying anyone ever, much less a tyrant like yourself, and it's no less unreasonable for you to find fault with the tea! Black tea is among the most classic of breakfast beverages, and you cannot convince me that it was brewed incorrectly. If you tell me what you like, I'll be certain to bring it to you the next time — along with enough poison to kill a horse."

 

[Devils Temptation]

Your H-Highness, I don't find this at all comfortable!​

"Strange, Cicely. I don't quite remember asking you how you felt about this." All of her writhing and awkward leaning had her at the constant threat of sliding off the edge of his lap - likely into an unceremonious fall that would flip her skirt over her backside. However, that humiliation wouldn't have quite hit her. One snug, muscular arm around her slender waist would readjust her to sit crosswise against both his thighs. Her rear would settle comfortably along his right thigh, legs draping off the edge of his left. Despite her floundering, there was little resistance to be had against her far larger and stronger companion - so much so that she had long since stopped slipping along his lap and instead remained securely in place, not taking into any consideration the likely multitude of shudders and writhes she might've forced the way of the prince.
And, just as if it was the most normal routine, his free right arm would reach forward to pick up the pen. Briefly the prince would split the pile of papers, bringing one right in front of him to start scribbling away at something or other. Nothing there seemed to be anything noteworthy, the occasional decree or request... letters addressed to the royal family. Most of it had been pointless junk, the sort of paperwork that his brother would have surely regulated to someone else while he went about his day.

Your jokes are in particularly bad taste this morning, too.​

"I see. So then would you say, with your exceptional humor, that they are significantly worse or better compared to my jokes from yesterday? Surely since you must make your opinion known, you surely have a strong one based upon that?" Another light tap of his pen across the paper, followed by a readjustment of Cicely to shift her a little further off the side. Not to move her out of the way, of course. Instead he nestled his chin right atop her now presented hair in front of him like some sort of over glorified pedestal. Occasional shifts of her fidgeting rear were met with a similar readjustment underneath her - placing her in just the right position to ache from embarrassment at that all too shameless prince that was underneath her.

I have no intention of marrying anyone ever, much less a tyrant like yourself​

"Oh, please. The third prince of any nation is harmless and thoroughly devoid of power. I most certainly am not a tyrant. It's rather insulting that you take my honest pursuit of you as a joke of all things! Now, I'll be forced to retreat to my chambers all teary-eyed at your heartless treatment of... me..." Trailing off briefly from his theatrics, his brow would furrow at the sight of the next sheet on the pile. Deftly, he folded the paperwork in two and set it to the very bottom of the pile. An invitation to a ball commemorating the creation of a new high-rise. The city government had been pestering him for a while to show up, but he hardly had interest in any of the nobility and affluent families that paraded around Fyre. Not to mention, there was a larger issue in attending... one that he would bury to the back of his mind as soon as she had let out those last few words.

I'll be certain to bring it to you the next time — along with enough poison to kill a horse.​

CLANK

A single, rough shove was all she felt before the much warmer fabric adorning the top of his thighs had been replaced, instead, by the colder marble-top of the counter in front of him. Caius had shifted her onto the edge of the table in front of him, hand firmly burying down under the fabric of her skirt to plant down firmly atop her thigh underneath. Behind him, the chair had fallen backwards onto the ground by the suddenness of his lurch forward. Faint hints of his fingertips could be felt in that narrow patch of skin not covered by the lace trim atop her stockings. Had she thought he was close before, now - there hadn't been a single moment of space between them. The prince's towering physique would smother her chest against his own, hand curled around her narrow waist to keep her snug against his figure and her lips mere moments away from his own. Clearly her last few words were a mistake, judging by that annoyed grimace, pursed lips and glaring amber eyes burying onto her own.

"Cicely." Husky and deep, that honey-rich voice growled against her ear with the way her name sounded just right coming from his lips. "Had I ordered you to warm my bed - do you think you would have any right to refuse? What do you think might happen to you if you do?" Slow, steady strokes of his palm underneath her skirt would bury those lightly rough, masculine palms against a bare patch of her upper thigh. That arm around her waist would pull back to Caius side. A reach of his index finger and thumb would cup her chin up, raising it just enough to bring her in the right position for him to steal a kiss... or to bear his fangs down on her neck with how much he had suddenly decided to be some sort of wolf.

"So then explain to me again... knowing what I've put in your head... how exactly am I a tyrant? For you to be so comfortable as to threaten me with assassination - how is it that I'm even a tenth as merciless as you make me out to be? Tell me." A trace of his index finger nestled over top one of her shoulders, drawing a line from her shoulder blade over the softer portion of her neck. One, single circular carve from one edge of her throat to the other edge. "Your head is, after all, still on your shoulders even after threatening the Royal Family. Surely... a tyrant cannot accept a mouthy, uppity little commoner daring to threaten her own sovereign, now can he?" The stern, serious expression on his face seemed to insinuate that she had made a grievous error in talking so casually to him - but what struck her next would have entirely wiped away that tense, frightening air with something that was a little more uncomfortable in... other ways.

Spice, mint, the faint hint of black tea.

A press forward had locked his lips against her own.

Caius' hand slid up her hair from behind, preventing her from pulling back and giving a brief, light tug to tilt her head enough so their lips could mesh just right against each other. Slighter hints of those redder lips carried forward the taste of her cooking into her own mouth - rich and addictive when combined with the prince's natural taste. A playful, brief swipe of his tongue over her own would wet the connection resulting in an audible, wet smack as he pulled back to take a languished, deep breath right in front of her.

"Be a dear and save our dirty-talking for the bedroom, yes? It would be a shame if someone misunderstood how you flirt with me, Cicely. I'm not quite ready to part with my homely little personal maid that I am, most certainly, not trying to court into my bedroom at all." Softer hints of his deeper tone would whisper against her ear from the side. Sweeps of Caius' palm would slide down her front, slipping her outfit free of the creases and wrinkles forced upon it by his rough treatment. Both hands tucked onto either side of her shapely hips, lifting her off the edge of the counter with complete ease - as if she was utterly weightless. Setting her right down onto her feet he would take a step back and finally flash that familiar, handsome smile as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had transpired between the two of them mere moments prior.

"Now. Your response?" Pressing his foot backwards, the young prince would snap down on the leg of the chair to push it upright once more before sitting back down and crossing one leg over his knee while staring up at her expectantly. Certainly... the option to be even brattier was there but...

Maybe it wasn't in her best interest after all.

 

[Fairess]

Cicely's place atop His Highness' lap had the predictable but no less embarrassing effect of making her feel quite small. There was the physical part of it, the way she curled up quite so comfortably against his chest, head bowed under the weight of his chin. And then there was the emotional aspect, too, how childish and unnerving it felt to be so easily squished into the nook of his arm. At such moments, she was less of a disillusioned old maid and more of a squeaky mouse that didn't know how to escape the grasp of his fingers.

Complaining and fidgeting naturally had no effect on his blasé mood, at least not at first. She had a few precious moments to peek down at his work, which to her was anything but boring. There on the desk was the correspondence of the most important people within the Empire, and even a request as simple as repairing a road or equipping a new group of scouts was bigger news than anything her village tended to hear about through the course of an entire year. Had she behaved like a proper lap cushion, she might even have stolen a longer glance over one of the documents Caius clearly didn't feel like addressing in the moment, but alas — it wasn't long before her own tongue caught up with her.

It wasn't the sudden shift in Caius' grip that surprised her so much as it was the sound of his chair banging to the ground. Cicely flinched, but there was nowhere for her to shelter herself from the prince's wrath. Could it really be called wrath, though?

As stern as Caius' grasp on her was, the way he touched her was alarming in ways that didn't make her scared for her life. Indeed, when her skirt was bunched up around her waist, thighs spread wide to accommodate Caius standing brazenly between them, her panic wasn't directed toward the security of her own neck so much as it was the closeness of those long, demanding fingers to the creamy white of her exposed panties. They came awfully, terribly close, squeezing the vulnerable plush of her thighs until she was certain he'd left bright pink marks on her skin. It didn't really hurt, but it did make her squirm and whimper like a noblewoman in the throes of getting kidnapped.

And that was just the half of it. While one of his hands kept her thigh pinned to the table, the other yanked her forward, arching her back and pressing her so close that her breasts were squeezed up against his chest. Every warm, gasping breath from her only served to rub her bodice up against his shirt.

The way he held her, glaring down at her as if she were cockroach that'd just bitten the inside of his leg, should have felt quite terrifying. Unfortunately, her blood was running too hot, sudden desire urging her to hold him just as tightly. She wanted to feel his hand in all the places it shouldn't be, thoroughly violating everything underneath her uniform. Desire widened the black depths of her pupils, and he was so close he could surely see every vein of gold caught in the molten viridescence of her eyes.

It was hard to focus on his words, particularly when his voice alone was determined to melt her from the inside out. The threat of being forced to 'warm his bed' was quite lost on her — he could have demanded it the night before and she would have gone along willingly. He knew that, didn't he? He had to know. She could have answered that he had purposefully egged on her mouthy, uppity little commoner habits. If he really liked her the way he said he did, then —

And then he kissed her. It wasn't the first time she'd been kissed, but whatever memories she might have had around the subject were promptly incinerated with the silken warmth of Caius' lips. He didn't leave any room for her to escape and she liked that, inadvertently smiling as her lips parted wider for him. Where he was demanding and firm, she was generous and soft, the subtle, lingering spice of the kitchen on her lips quickly overwhelmed by the flavor of his. Even his tongue could do no wrong, earning himself a moan from Cicely as she trembled and leaned forward, desperate not to let him go even as he began to pull back.

The prim, cold way he casually smoothed over her dress was a form of torture she was unfamiliar with. It was far, far too soon to stop, the sudden lack of passion in those once-demanding hands almost painful. How could he leave her burning like that, straight-faced and suddenly back to being nothing more than polite?

Cicely had no idea what to say. One moment she'd been pinned to the table, and the next she was standing in front of him like nothing had happened. Her mouth opened and closed, hands clasped over her chest as she tried to regain her breath — and her head. The woman's knees were weak, too, a rather unhelpful state of affairs that ultimately made her lean back on the table for support. Slowly, her gaze narrowed, anger filling up the space left by her dwindling excitement.

Was this his idea of a punishment? It was certainly effective, though it only left her with more doubts. If she were to reject him there and then, telling him she didn't want any more such attentions and that he would indeed be the worst sort of tyrant to force any further intimacy, would he leave her alone? Despite his teasing and his mockery, he hadn't yet forced her into any position she hadn't wanted to be in. Maybe, if she had the will and the sensibility, she could convince him to let her play the role she'd wanted to from the beginning. If she could just go back to being invisible, spoken to only when needed, none of the complicated, worrisome feelings she had for him would go any further.

But he wasn't playing fair! Every instinct in her body was telling her to throw herself back into his lap and apologize for the insults. She wanted to take his perfect face in her hands and kiss him until he relented to taking her to his bed right then and there.

"Oh, now you let me respond." Cicely couldn't bear to look at him, far more bashfulness than sarcasm. Slowly, she slunk toward the floor until she was kneeling quite shamelessly on it, palms flat on her thighs. The whole of her face still had a bright flush of pink, the color extending down her neck until it disappeared under the collar of her dress.

In the end, however, he proved impossible to resist. Still on the floor, Cicely leaned forward, clasping her hands over the top of his leg. Her lips found his knee, pressing a kiss there before she rested her chin atop it and finally gazed up at Caius.

"I suppose I did misspeak, Your Highness. To render someone helpless and conquer them entirely with the force of your own charms doesn't make you a tyrant so much as it seems to make you my tyrant." Cicely sighed, unhooking one of her hands so she could stroke her fingers down the strong line of his shin. "As for the consequences of denying or threatening you? Master Caius, you know as well as I do that not a word I say could stop you from seizing what you want. If what you want, however, is something that can only be given and not taken, I suppose I could be more graceful in delivering it. So."

Cicely tilted her head, resting her cheek against his knee while flashing her sweetest, most maidenly smile. "May I sit quietly on your lap, or do I need to beg His Highness for the privilege?"

 

[Devils Temptation]

Oh, now you let me respond.​

"Shouldn't you be thanking me? That mouth of yours gets you into far too much trouble for your own good." Deeper ambers glanced down, hoping to catch a glance of those all too bashful gaze. While she had entered his domain with fiery indignation, nothing had been quite as thrilling as the way she had been forced to eat her every word. It had been that exact flare that had made the all too sadistic streak in the young prince feel sated once she submit to the younger man further and further with every action. Kneeling forward, in the perfect position for him to force her to fall into a further level of shamelessness. One hand on the back of her head was all he needed to put that mouth of hers to good use, though instead one hand ducked underneath her chin to caress along the side of her jawline with leisurely strokes of his thumb.

Amusing, the way she could barely show him even that scrap of affection without looking as if she would faint from the blood rushing to her cheeks. Certainly, they had to do something about her laughably poor attempt to hide her clear affection. There had been no need to hide. In fact, a mouthy albeit affectionate maid that constantly cozied up to his side would have been all too preferable over a foolish one that constantly made passes at the prince about wanting to see him buried.

To render someone helpless and conquer them entirely with the force of your own charms...
it seems to make you my tyrant.​

Ah.

She really was so... incredibly intoxicating.

Had she known what those words did to him? The way she emphasized that soft little tint of possessiveness before tyrant, or how she fully slipped into that blatant flirtation back towards him. Those ranked below him were easy to crack. Head down, nodding to whatever he had said without an ounce of resistance... but at that point they had long since lost their autonomy. Cicely had been far from it. Even in moments like those, it had felt less akin to a powerless maid offering herself up and more like a lady offering her hand to a gentleman at the ball. That, alone, made him desire her in ways he could scarcely describe. It was a mercy to her, that the only reaction he gave was a small, amused chuckle in that deeper tone of his - because it had been only an ounce of the utter surge of desires that those few words pushed him to do. Tucking a hand underneath her own, he guided her to a standing position once more. Modest and gentlemanly, hand around her palm without bothering to grasp against the abundant space along her hips and rear.

Plenty to grab.

Plenty to taunt her with.

Plenty of ways to corner her and remind her she was beneath him.

But not yet. After all, she would be so much sweeter when she caved on her own volition, knowing full well that he had won her over.

May I sit quietly on your lap, or do I need to beg His Highness for the privilege?
​

"You know as well as I do that you have no chance of sitting quietly atop my lap... and do you honestly think I would have it that way?" One step forward would nestle his palm onto either edge of her cheeks. This time around, it hadn't been sudden. It was slow and deliberate, allowing her to take in every inch of his sharper features as those lips closed in on her. It allowed her to chance to lean forward, to prepare herself... or to just let the prince take her like the brewing storm he was. When their lips met, this time it was a drawn out, intimate lock of their mouths. Briefly wet, leaning into the warmth of her softer lips for a moment or two longer than a far more brief chaste - the type of kiss that assured her she had stoked her 'tyrant's appetite with the way she spoke. Pulling back, his hand settled down onto her own to guide her back to the seat. Rather than watching her fumble atop him once more, he guided her atop himself in a way of his own choosing. One forearm nestled along the side of her thigh, lifting her up and resting her atop his lap, legs splayed off along the right end of his thighs. One arm came to rest around her waist and rather than the more modest way he sat before - she felt another shift.

Both of his legs leaned up, planting atop the edge of the marble-clad countertop in an all too indulgent position. This time around, Caius hardly hesitated before curling one hand along Cicely's head to guide her hair to rest against his chest. Comfortably clinging to him, even when the slightest lean back would have them both fumble out of the seat unceremoniously, he would restart his work. An entire mountain of work - politics and theatrics, the monotony of which would make most men lose their focus within a mere few minutes of operating.

But not him.

Every piece of paper on that pile had the same disciplined response to it, the same breadth of attention.

"It's oftentimes the case that nobility like myself that isn't quite necessary for inheritance ends up as something akin to a lord. Ruling over a smaller portion of territory with a closer eye, but not necessarily a tighter grip than the Emperor himself. I must say, though... it's a shame. I truly do love the city of Fyre and it's people. The problems this city faces hurt me as much as they do the people. And yet..." Folding a piece of paper, he tapped it on the edge of the counter with a small sigh. "...it's always the same. Invitations for extravagant events and meetings. As if I'm above needing to intervene in executive decisions about this city and its people. I suppose in a sense I am. The newer royalty of this country - they have no need to care about the commoners of this country. Your kind is simply there to bolster our power and influence." Words that sounded familiar but not right would leave Caius' mouth. In fact, the maid atop his lap had surely heard those words in some variation from the man's brother, Julius... except that man had been thoroughly serious in every last word he had said.

Caius, on the other hand...

"Rather disgraceful, is it not? You may be commoners, but you are my commoners. My citizens. My people. Everything in this Empire and all that bow to it are mine. It's only right that I see to it that those I consider my own are well taken care of in every regard. That is true ambition. Wouldn't you agree, Cicely? In that regard... I must apologize. This mischievous young prince is planning to break at least a few rules to achieve his goals. I trust that you'll take good care of me and support me when I do?" Tucking a palm against her cheek, gave a leisurely stroke - leaning in just a slight hint closer so the warmer mint mixed with the faint hint of spice from his warmer breath spilled across her features. "...Though, the first of those goals is a rather indulgent one. Be a good girl and come to my bedroom later tonight, understood? We clearly have some... unresolved tensions to deal with." Stroking a handful of her hair behind her ear, he would blatantly proposition the commoner woman atop his lap, but it should have been clear at that point.

Caius was not like his brother in any regard.

Young or not, the youngest of the princes also seemed to be, strangest of all, the greediest out of the three.

 

[Fairess]

Slowly but surely, Cicely had come to understand Charlotte's fear of Caius. It wasn't that he was cruel, rough with the serving staff, or despotically selfish in the way his brother was. No, the trauma inflicted by the third prince of the Empire was simple to describe in other ways.

He was utterly incomprehensible.

One moment Caius could be the image of divine rulership, a seraphic creature whose alluring smile alone could make a nun renounce her vows. In the next moment, he could tower over her like the shadow of some foretold, wintry doom whose same smile could freeze a poor, beating heart in an instant. Whether it was sarcasm, genteel charm, or that low, smoldering tone of his, he found a way to complicate any impression that might leave a person certain of his feelings.

Well, except for perhaps that second kiss. That, she was sure, was a reward for the use of her own charms. Wait. No. Cicely was quick to remind herself that she had no such charms, and certainly no interest whatsoever in engaging with any sort of courtship nonsense. She'd said something rude, he'd reacted to it quite strongly, and she was simply playing nice because he could have her head chopped off. He'd more than made his point that he could force himself on her if he wanted to, and her response had been to show him that it wasn't nearly as terrifying a prospect as he seemed to make it out to be. Yes, surely that was the message communicated — all that frivolous blushing, flustering, and trembling under his hands was nothing more than a shallow, physical reaction.

Indeed, the way her lips parted long before he was close enough to kiss her, that nervous little flutter of her lashes before she closed her eyes, surrendering once again without even a hint of hesitation — that was just her body talking. His own physical features could stand to communicate a lot less, too: the silent, suckling suggestions those lips of his made were enough to stir her up so hotly she felt a desperate need to douse herself with a half-frozen bucket of water.

But no, her destiny was to be swept up in his lap again like an oversized bouquet of fresh roses. She might never admit it, but she was already fond of how cozily his arm wrapped around her. If she didn't know him better, the gentle way he cradled her head against him would have been devastatingly sweet — instead, she found it annoyingly condescending. Wasn't he supposed to be off somewhere, letting some pretty, young princess swoon in his arms while he wooed her with poetry?

It wasn't so bad, though, being Caius' lap cushion. Once her heart had a moment to calm down, she found she rather liked the soothing rhythm of his breathing, that gentle rise and fall of his chest. It certainly beat standing silently and uncomfortably off to the side, waiting on his every need should he sneeze or drop his pen. In fact, she found herself surprised — there she was, sitting in the largest, most beautiful conservatory she'd ever set foot in, and she was actually content to laze about in the prince's lap instead of wandering amid all that inviting greenery.

The sunlight was warm, his cologne was a cuddly sort of pleasant and clean, and if she didn't contemplate the bizarre fact that she was being seduced by a prince miles away from the home she'd never considered leaving, it would be far too easy to nod off into a late morning nap. Ultimately, however, he was right — when he started going on about Fyre, commoners, and caring for everyone, she couldn't help but snort with the matronly condescension only an old maid and a well-worn hedge witch could possess. Of course she had to speak her mind, and she would have launched right into a proper dressing down if it wasn't for that little twist of topics toward the end.

Be a good girl and come to my bedroom later tonight, understood?

Oh, Caius was most certainly cheating. His face was far too close when he made the brazen request, that warm, indulgent amber of his gaze drowning out just about everything else. Cicely squirmed, nuzzling her cheek deeper into his shirt as if she could burrow a hiding spot there. She even used his own hand to shield herself, grasping him by the wrist and pressing his knuckles up against her lips.

Sleeping with the prince wasn't a big deal. It wasn't! She was well past the age of marriage, of silly fantasies over fancy weddings and a storybook courtship. Physical intimacy was just as fleeting as physical attraction — once he'd had his taste of her, his curiosity and the thrill of the pursuit would dull faster than a well-used kitchen knife. Wouldn't it be the same for her? After her first time with a man, the excitement, romance, and mystery of such frivolous fantasies would be put to bed, too. Someday she'd get to brag all about how her cooking had won over the heart of a prince for one thrilling, delightful evening.

But it was still her first time. After having saved herself for so long, was it really all that strange for her to feel put-off by it happening so fast, so casually? A hundred different thoughts went through her head all at once, wondering about what she ought to do and all she hadn't yet done. Perhaps that was why her response was quite so numb.

"I… I-I don't have anything to wear!" Cicely regretted the words as soon as she spoke them, let down by her once-useful sense of practicality. She backtracked as quickly as she could, promptly angling her head away from him so she could address a hanging pot some distance away.

"And more importantly, Your Highness, I think your perspective is — in the kindest way I can put it — a little bit sheltered. Caring for you ought to include a helpful dose of honesty, and so I will be honest: you taking good care of everyone in the Empire is a little bit… well. It sounds a touch sanctimonious. Have you ever been to the southern villages during the hunger gap? The hunger gap after a year's bad harvest? Men, women, children, walking around as little more than bones — gods, the mere sight of Coniston would have terrified you. It's abandoned now, by the way, but you still hear the townsfolk gossip about hearing groans and curses when the wind is particularly strong from the west." Cicely shook her head, finally switching her gaze back to him.

"All your brothers seem to do is pick fights with their neighbors if they're not already fighting each other. The grand competitions, duels, parties, showcases, skirmishes — and yet they can't even keep bandits off the roads after robbing farmers blind with taxes. I'm not so prideful as to think I have the influence of a prince, but the fact of the matter is that I can keep hawks and foxes from Mr. Panshaw's chicken coop. When he awakes every morning to collect eggs for breakfast, do you really think the oh-so-important Valstroms are on his mind?"

 

[Devils Temptation]

I… I-I don't have anything to wear!​

It was a remarkably poor choice of words. So much so that Caius' palm hurried to his mouth to stifle that shit-eating smirk that came to rest across his features. It had never been a good look to make abundant enemies, even if trampling under those inferior to a person was a god-given right to the nobility. With her, most of that decency seemed to fly out the window. There had been no lack of perfect little places to sneak in a smug comeback. A raise of his brow, a quirk of his lips, the light hum of his husky, deeper tone in a sing-song sort of tease that she could likely finish before it even left his lips in the first place.

"Should I even grace your fumbling with a response? If you want to be that petty, getting you tailor-fit lingerie for the evening is about as easy as snapping my fingers. Look at me when I talk to you." For as playfully sweet as his first few words had been, like a whip cracking down - his next few sharpened. A grasp of his index finger and thumb would cup her chin up, forcing her to lock eyes with him properly when she spoke. Minor as it was, and as much as she could go on and on about her lack of charm, there were a few things that he had come to find dearly charming about her.

Cicely lacked the vibrant flashiness of a young princess - silken, well-kempt hair managed through painstakingly copious effort or bright, doe-like eyes only blessed to those that were buried in a mixture equal parts innocence and ignorance. A woman like her had been on the field for long enough that those feather-soft charms only belonging on someone who had barely tasted anything of what life had to offer had almost entirely faded from her. Her hands had seen the roughness of work. Her tone had sharpened in a bitter, jaded way. The way she had carried herself had melted off from a constant damsel exuding femininity to one that knew full well that she had no interest in competing in places where she couldn't.

And so she didn't.

He loved her 'helpful dose of honesty' all the same.

"Sheltered. It's not quite the right word to use here. Something like 'delusional' would be better. You're surprisingly meek now that I've cornered you, Cicely. Have you noticed?" After his warning, choosing to tear into him yet again was beyond foolish. Caius would happily tear into this uppity little maid on his lap on the spot if she ran her mouth again. "What you say is true. There's not one single man or woman in the world who can shoulder all the issues of one country. Famine is a horrid sight, to say the least - but it's far from the only problem in this country. While you seem to love taunting me on my youth - you should know full well. I've seen plenty, Cicely. The sight of skin on bones. The scent of charred flesh. The begging of a someone bound to execution until their vocal chords tear. Do you think it's something anyone wants to see? No. It's much easier to ignore it." Pausing for a moment, his words fell off near the end. Hazier eyes led to a brief, somewhat uncomfortable pause.

"You're mistaken if you think I do this for anyone's thanks. People could call me a tyrant - the utter scum of the earth - I doubt it would change anything on my outlook." Running his hand over her apron, he smoothened it out before sitting up and setting Cicely to rest atop the seat that he once took. It still had his lingering warmth, even a faint hint of his scent... though maybe that part had just been clinging to the maid that was, more or less, all over him.

"If those that struggle beneath me have no one willing to listen to them, there's only a certain amount of abuse anyone will take before snapping. Insignificant and small as it may be and though I have no right to the throne... I have no intention of ignoring the state of my country. These are still my people. This Empire itself, so long as one of my brothers does not take the throne, I will treat as if it will become my very own. I don't tolerate others harming something I consider precious to myself." As he spoke, the young prince would straighten out the sheets of paper into one unified stack before lightly tapping the top of Cicely's head with the pile.

"Now, that's more than enough rambling from a young man that clearly is too disillusioned. I'm sure you have no interest of dying on this hill with me. Fleeting pleasures are far more indulgent, hm? Feel free to take the rest of the day off to do what you must - though I'm looking forward to you holding up your end of the promise." The brief tilt of his head was met with a blatant wink, lips sliding into that handsome grin while he tried, at least to the best of his effort, to sweep everything he had just said under the rug.

The rambling of an overly ambitious young prince.

Turning on his heel to head back inside, the smile fell off his expression. At the end of the day, he doubted Cicely would have been much different in that regard. As lucrative as a prince was, at the end of the day there was little merit to cozying up to the third in line to anything. Just as he had said, it made little difference to him either way. Not once had he spoken a lie.

This kingdom was his for the taking. The people of this kingdom were his to take care of. Naturally, that meant he would not tolerate any suffering they endured. Cicely could take his words as the ravings of a lunatic - but that was just fine by him as well. The moment that he had set his eyes on the maid and declared her his, he had no intentions of letting her leave him.

 

[Fairess]

He'd given her those condescending, 'that's adorably foolish' looks before, but that particular smirk when she'd brought up lingerie was especially… well. On the one hand, she wanted to reach up and pinch his cheeks until they turned red, and on the other, she desperately wanted to curl up even tighter against him so she could bury her face in his shirt. For once, she'd actually tried to squirm away from his hand, but just as always, his fingers found easy purchase and she was forced to lock eyes with his unrelenting stare.

Why was it she couldn't even say the word, 'lingerie,' in the presence of a young royal whelp like him? Perhaps it was because the thought of herself very nearly naked and sprawled out over his bed was enough to make her break into a frantic sweat.

None of this strange, gooey tension inside of her was helped by the way he stood up and sat her down, always without a modicum of effort, as though she were a doll in his arms. Caius was a larger than life figure even when they were standing on equal ground, and now she found herself drowned in the shadow he cast as he loomed over her. How could she help but feel childish? His concerns were for the people of his Empire — of course he'd seen ugly things. She wanted to call his desires naïve, or perhaps even dangerously misled, but what did she really know about his court and his responsibilities?

Out in the fringes of the kingdom, it was easy to think of the royal family and their politics as little more than gossip. Despite being so far below the nobility, the humble villagers were in many ways above such petty affairs. Who cared if some political prisoner was executed? What did it matter if some count's wife was poisoned? The only thing they cared about was having enough left over after taxes to make the harvest last through winter.

Perhaps 'delusional' really was the best word to describe a prince who ran an empire of steel, yet spoke of protecting even the lowest, most downtrodden people of his country. A prince had no need to explain himself to a lowly servant, and yet his sincerity was so sternly apparent she couldn't help but believe him. He may not have said it exactly, but Caius Lovel Valstrom seemed to be on a mission to claim and reshape his birthright, all for the sake of creating a better world for his people.

What could she even begin to say when confronted by a royal's fully realized sense of noblesse oblige? Against her own deeply ingrained sense of pragmatism, she found herself in awe. Or, well, perhaps it also had something to do with the warm, unfiltered light of the greenhouse reflecting off the silvery strands of his hair like an ephemeral halo. Those smug, sultry lips, that shamelessly flirtatious warmth in his amber gaze, the elegant lines of his face, so aristocratic and authoritative in equal measure — he was handsome enough to make even her struggle for words. Men like him, she decided, should not be allowed to smile, much less wink!

"For what it's worth, your Highness…" Cicely found her voice again when he turned away, no doubt off to rush into some other meeting with a vassal instead of a proper lunch. "I told you I would perform any service you asked of me. Whether it's in your bed or for the sake of the people you want to protect, I won't neglect my promise."

---

Indeed, as promised, Cicely was given the rest of her day to prepare for something that seemed oddly close to a wedding night. It was cruel of Caius, she decided, to have brought up such a request so soon instead of waiting to pounce on her when the evening arrived. Why, he could have even taken her right there in the greenhouse! Would anyone even bat an eye if the prince was a few minutes late to yet another meeting?

But no, like some bride caught up in an arranged marriage, she found herself aching over thoughts she hadn't entertained since, well, before Rose had married. Even for her, there had been a time when she'd first begun to fantasize over boys and elegant ceremonies. No matter how many times she told herself that there was nothing formal between her and Caius, that she was little more than a casual lover to entertain him, she couldn't deny the wealth of emotions brought on by the inevitability of being intimate with him.

For her, there was a country-esque traditionalism that had grown even more stubborn over the years, a sense that when she finally gave up her virginity, it would be in a special way for a special man at a special time. It didn't matter that she'd only just met Caius – what mattered was the simple fact that she was giving herself to him, making herself even more vulnerable to the strange, almost intoxicating sensations he already took such satisfaction teasing out from her.

If he'd just taken that from her, she could have processed such thoughts after the fact rather than agonizing over what it meant to consent to his advances. It was no longer enough just to let him take whatever he pleased, no. There was a whole other step that felt demeaning and exciting at the same time: like the doomed bride of a tyrant, what choice did she have but to prepare and present herself in a dignified, enticing manner at his bedside? Somewhere, she was certain, Caius was conducting his business in the palace and grinning like the wicked fiend he was because he knew, he had to know that her every thought was desperately circling around how to please him.

Had he already had a taste of other women? A man with his looks and personality? She thought back to the invitation he'd put aside and had to wonder at how many parties he'd attended. How many ladies of status and wealth threw themselves at him on a monthly basis? He may have been the third prince of his family, but he was still a prince — a devastatingly handsome, charismatic, surprisingly cuddly prince.

And then there was Cicely, a mature, matronly creature who wanted nothing to do with politics or marriageable men. It was fortunate that another maid was sent off to help her — dear, always sweet and understanding Charlotte.

As it turned out, Caius had been serious about the whole lingerie affair, and that meant going off to a proper seamstress. She couldn't recall having been personally fitted for anything since she was a girl, and there was a bit of excitement she couldn't deny when getting a proper look of Fyr's bustling streets during the day. The high-end shop Charlotte had in mind was the stuff of a young woman's wet dream, gorgeous braziers and intricate teddies made from lace, satin, and strings of pearls.

Naturally, the seamstress was excited in the extreme to know every detail about how the prince himself was involved. No matter how many times the woman assured Charlotte that all of it would stay private, of course, Cicely had no doubt that rumors would be spreading rampantly soon enough.

Why should that matter? His brother had plenty of mistresses, and if she herself had been younger and prettier, then —

"Tsk. I'm not sure how to put this, Miss Cicely, but your figure…" The seamstress held up both her hands as if she were grappling a large ball. "You have the hips of a countrywoman mother."

All at once, Cicely's face was red, her voice jumping to a tight pitch she only used when her mother complained about having such a 'homely' spread for dinner. "I beg your pardon?"

Charlotte chimed in immediately, tugging the tight clasp of Cicely's brazier closed. "Don't' take it too close to heart, Miss Cicely! What she surely means is that her shop typically serves Fyr's aristocracy. They, uhm… tend to have a different build. But this looks great on you! It just needs some adjustments, is all."

"Ah." Cicely bit down the bitter taste in her mouth and smiled through the dig of her panties trying to squeeze their way into her "motherly" derrière. She knew exactly the sort of ladies Charlotte was talking about — young, delicately thin, poised and precious little princesses — exactly the type of women Caius ought to be pursuing.

"Not to worry!" The seamstress beamed, stepping about Cicely to examine her latest piece. "I can make adjustments to this one and have it to the palace by the evening. For the full assortment of requested pieces, however, I think it would be best to draft new designs. It will take some time, but I'm certain you'll be pleased with the results — as well as his Highness, no doubt!"

Of course the woman would go straight for the upsell. Cicely reminded herself to be grateful, but the thought having to try on even more tight, stringy ensembles ever again was simply exhausting. She didn't want to know what Caius would think, or what little adjustments he might prefer, or what he thought about her body in any sort of lace at all.

Even after Cicely left the awful shop, she could still feel the friction of tight straps and strained silk on her skin. Though Charlotte had been irreplaceably soothing, there remained a suffocating air of awkwardness between the two of them all the same. They walked in relative quiet at first, Charlotte all polite smiles before Cicely couldn't help but confront all the unspoken tension.

"It's bizarre, isn't it? Someone like me coming from nowhere, and his Highness deciding to… you know… all of this, and so soon! I don't know what's going through that man's head." Cicely huffed, arms folded tightly against herself as they walked.

Charlotte gave Cicely an odd look, surprise, concern, and confusion on her pretty face. "It, uhm, I suppose it is a bit sudden. Master Caius is very generous, but also… admittedly… very intimidating at times. Er, most of the time. You don't seem afraid, though, Miss Cicely. That's what I find a bit… I mean, if I may say, odd."

That made Cicely smile. "Well, at least you put it more politely – I've heard far worse than 'odd.' Do you think he's toying with me? Suppose I go through all these motions, certain I'm about to be ravished, and all he says is that he wanted a glass of milk before bed?"

Of course the younger maid blushed. "O-Oh, surely not! It's impossible to read Master Caius' thoughts, but I've never seen him be cruel to a lady – even some of the more impolite ones that have visited the palace in the past. I'm sure he wouldn't play with your feelings, Miss Cicely."

"Really, Charlotte, you can just call me Cicely. He doesn't strike me as an insincere man, either, but if I'm being honest, it would make me feel better if he was." Cicely sighed and shook her head. "The trouble with him being serious… I mean… it must be obvious, right? I don't want to be someone's mistress, to fall in love and open myself to all the danger and misery that would bring. Beyond getting tossed aside the moment he decides to get serious with a proper wife, just think about it! The kind of people who would assume I know more about him than I actually do, or who think I could gain them his favor just by being close to him."

"Oh no, M-Cicely, the palace isn't like that at all! I can't think of a person among us who hasn't been given a second chance by his Highness. We're… we're a lot more like a family who has found shelter under his care. He does keep himself distant, but it's not like those stories you hear about his brothers' palaces. It wasn't so long ago when one of Prince Millius' mistresses was imprisoned after being accused of poisoning one of his other mistresses." Charlotte dropped her voice lower, eyes surprisingly tinged with something close to anger. "Some of the serving staff also said the murdered mistress was with child."

Cicely felt her own back go stiff with a sudden, unwarranted little shock of fear. Her time at Millius' palace had been relatively short, but what might have happened if Rose had ended up there instead? Sweet-tempered, innocent, gentle Rose – how would she have dealt with such nasty politics? Even Cicely, who had been soundly rejected by Millius, had also been subject to the mocking, hostile glares and insults of the mistresses who lived more than comfortably in his palace.

"Well, that's… quite awful. I – " Cicely suddenly stopped in her tracks. The shop they happened to be passing by had a display of antiques and second-hand dresses that were embarrassingly familiar. Was it, perhaps, one of many places where Southerners like her pawned off all their things to fund their assimilation into Fyr's manufacturing districts?

Something about the lacy, off-the-shoulder ruffle of one of the dresses gave her a pang of nostalgia strong enough to root her to the spot. It couldn't be more than a few weeks before all the neighboring villages would get together in town to host a harvest gala. After the majority of crops had been harvested, bottled, dried, and painstakingly processed, families could finally take a break from all the hard work to indulge in each other's success. She'd always complained about having to attend the dances – really, the only sort of men who accosted her for a dance were fathers and brothers instructed to take pity on her, or the less fortunate (and much less charming) gentleman desperate for the company of any woman at all.

Standing there on the streets of Fyr, however, Cicely was suddenly overtaken by a craving for spiced pumpkin and smoked peppers that nearly overwhelmed her. She'd been so busy trying to adapt to one prince, then the other, that she'd quite neglected to think of home at all. The sound of Rose's excited chatter, her little niece's laughter as the tiny thing bounced on her knee — goodness, it was all so painfully far away in that moment.

"Did… Did you want some new dresses as well, Cicely? Master Caius didn't mention anything about additional clothes, but if you really want, I could —"

"No, no! It's nothing like that at all. But thank you, Charlotte. Really." Cicely cleared her throat, annoyed that there was moisture clinging to the corners of her eyes. "I was just thinking, actually, that his Highness has given me a very generous token of his… er… appreciation for me, and I'd feel quite awkward joining him empty-handed."

Charlotte followed Cicely's gaze back to the display of antiques, no small amount of confusion on her face. What, after all, could a man like Caius possibly want from a smattering of antiques?

Cicely merely smiled and led both of them into the shop. It smelled of dust and dried floral satchels, the weight of memory heavy on each little bauble. Cicely ignored the dresses, doilies, and a full smattering of antique oil lamps before coming across her apparent desire — a selection of small, ornate boxes. She carefully sifted through the lot, not quite content until she came across a slender white box with gold-tinted edges.

"One thing I'll say for his Highness is that he seems to bring out something quite… nostalgic in me. There's an old tradition my parents engaged in when they married — it was one of the few things I was able to keep when my father passed away. I'm not sure why it came to mind, but you see, they wrote one another letters they exchanged on their wedding night. They weren't allowed to open them until their anniversary a year later, and… well." Cicely's smile softened as she traced the edges of the box, cracking the lid open to peer inside.

"I don't know how long I'll hold his attention, but I think it would help quiet my mind if I wrote to the man I'll know better a year from now." Cicely nodded to herself, apparently quite certain about the whole affair before she headed off to the shop's assistant to make her purchase.

Charlotte, for her part, found the affair to be very sweet, and the tone of their conversation was lighter on their slow walk back to the palace. There was time to marvel at the airships as they passed overhead, and for Charlotte to point out her favorite shops and cafes she indulged in during her time off work. Caius' servants may not have been royals, but they seemed to enjoy some of the finer things in life, like popular pastry shops and outlets for silk stockings. If a person saved up enough for a ticket, they could even travel to entirely disparate parts of the Empire in a matter of days instead of weeks.

Her mind was tempted toward wandering home once again, but she had to be more practical once they were back at the palace. First there was dinner (along with a bit of side-eye when Cicely's breakfast 'shenanigans' came up), then the very long process of preparing herself for a night with a prince.

It wasn't enough just to bathe, of course. Her skin had to soak in water mixed with lavender, honey, and milk until it was softer than the day she was born, her hair brushed and treated and brushed again until it had a sheen as smooth as melted chocolate. For all her years of helping her mother and her sister with what could only be called 'beauty chores,' she'd never lavished herself with such attention. There was simply nothing else to be done, nothing that would ease her mind better than finding something to occupy her hands with.

Her nails were buffed, her cheeks (and indeed, even her backside) powdered, and by the time her new 'outfit' was delivered, even Charlotte did a double-take.

"O-Oh my! You, in that, like this is… I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare!"

Cicely chuckled as a bashful sort of warmth found her cheeks. "It's fine, Charlotte. If anything, I could very much use the confidence right now. Everything seems to be in order, so that just leaves… his Highness. Has he retired to his room for the evening?"

Thankfully — or perhaps unfortunately — it wasn't long after that before Cicely was knocking at Caius' door, her little box tucked under one arm.

 

[Devils Temptation]

For as indulgent as Cicely's time had been, the man she was to be meeting had been far from enjoying his afternoon. In her presence, all she would see was largely irrelevant paperwork. Invitations, exhibitions, auctions - all meant to bleed some prestige or wealth out of his pockets. When Caius retired to his room, returning to his desk - the pile had been cut in half and the only remaining pieces had a quality much more sinister than the pointless garbage that usually streamed into his mail. Formal requests for assistances, requests for dealing with prisoners, requests for asylum. It was work that normally streamed to some insignificant court magistrate - or, at the highest, the governor. So why had he possessed paperwork like that? Simple. He was the one man in the entirety of the City of Fyre that had the power to overturn the decision of even the largest court systems. Had it been fair? No. Of course not. But that was a power distinctly attributed to only royalty. He was the last chance of many, and it was for that exact reason that he buried himself in work for the next few hours.

...

Until that knock at the door had come.

The early morning hours had long since faded into the evening. Only the candlelit light on his desk illuminated the room, for a moment he raised his head in the direction of the noise. Who...? He had asked not to be disturbed. It was only then that he realized what time it had been. This late already? A pair of suspender slacks had adorned his front, Caius having changed since their meeting in the garden to something far less flashy. A pair of trousers held up by the suspenders, both sleeves of his dress shirt curled up to expose hints of his forearm. Along his desk the neat stack of paperwork had announced that he had made a sizable distance on his original work but... there was always more to do. He could always send her away as well. It was obvious she hadn't been all that interested in his little 'game' of conquest with her.

Even as the more rational part of his brain told him to stop playing these petty charades with her, another part would guide him towards the door to open it up and right then and there was the figure of Cicely, looking far more beautiful than she ever had before any time since they had met. For a moment, silence lingered between them. Widened eyes would stare her down, starting at the glistening locks of her smooth, softer hair. As if savoring every last inch, his gaze swept down along her feminine expression, long lashes and doe-like eyes. Every hint of her skin had a similar sort of sheen that hadn't usually been on it... despite the fact that he felt as if she had been plenty youthful in her own way.

Compared to her, his appearance was a little... embarrassing, to say the least.

As if their positions had been reversed, it was instead Caius who wore a far more rustic appearance to himself as if he would hardly be out of place on the fields and as if Cicely would hardly be out of place at a fancy, extravagant party. Lightly disheveled, ivory hair would cast a few strands over his gaze, though those strands would be hastily slung back with a hand through his hair, revealing his sharper blue gaze once more. "Well this is rather embarrassing. I suppose I should be the first one to admit that I hardly expected you to come so..." Once more, his gaze swept over her. Distinctly unlike a respectful gaze that was simply admiring her. No, the way he stared at her was a little more like... a wolf drooling over a delectable morsel. That sharper gaze would soften soon after into his usual polite gaze and smile and with it, he would offer Cicely his palm.

"Please, come in. It's rather cold tonight. As hearty of a woman as you are, no one is immortal." Nestling his hand over her own, he guided the maid into his room and closed the door behind the two of them. In that motion that brought him forward, one hand curled atop her forehead, tucking her hair back and out of the way right before he could plant a kiss right against the center of her forehead. "...You do look incredibly beautiful though. I'm a little ashamed to not meet you with something on par, admittedly I thought you were going to turn my offer down with something mouthy like - 'A man who cannot appreciate the raw charm of a Southern woman is far too spoiled!' " Holding his index finger up, he mimicked her tone with that broader, smug grin plastered across his features. A cover up, largely, to hide the fact that he could hardly tear his eyes off of her in that moment.

Strange...

Had he not been tired a few moments ago? No, tired was an understatement. He had been exhausted. Enough to drop dead on the spot, passed out for at least a few hours at his desk so why was he so much more vibrant in her presence? Something about Cicely brought it out. Both a younger sort of energy that wanted to tease at her, but also a faint hint of virility that coaxed him to show a little more strength and forwardness in the presence of a woman he quite clearly enjoyed.

Silently, he would circle around her just once before his hands came to rest on her hips from behind and a lean forward had her back locking to his muscular, firm chest. That squeeze along her shapely thighs had been far from polite, it was blatantly lecherous. "It really is a crime to have hips like these and be forced to hide them, hm? That maid outfit does nothing for your body, gorgeous as it is on you..." Warm, husky words hummed against her ear. The slow trace of his lips along her jawline and over her neck would have him guiding her step by step forward - all up until that 'gentlemanly' façade would slip away entirely. A grasp of her wrist had him forcefully spinning her on her heel and with a shove down, pinning her onto the bed underneath him. One knee between her thighs and another against the side of her hips to lock her in place underneath him. Both palms grasped at her slender wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of her head.

"Why?" A single word. A question. One that was far too vague to answer properly, however. And so, he clarified.

"Why did you come to my room tonight? And save me the obvious answer of 'I told you to'. You had a chance to leave. To not play into my games. So why are you playing into them? There's really only one thing I can think of..." That she both wanted to play - and that she thought that she could beat him at his own game. Both ideas were equally as infuriating, but the second one set him on fire in ways that he couldn't even begin to describe. Shoving his knee further up between her thighs, the hand on her right wrist pulled off to caress over her cheek with this thumb. That sharper glare would soften just a little, and with it, he would lean close enough that their lips very nearly brushed against one another.

"...I really will make you fall hopelessly in love with me if you continue like this, you know? I'm not a man to be trifled with. Just know that. I don't plan on letting you escape from me tonight, Cicely." And, with that, Caius' lips nestled against her own. A chaste, brief kiss at first. It was a promise of what was to come later, ending with the light tug of his teeth along her lower lip and a playful little growl rolling against her ear. "That being said... it's certainly no good to dig into your meal haphazardly and I am a hopeless romantic. I hope your lips won't get too raw tonight, Cicely. Now... what is this?" In pinning her down to the bed, the prince had slipped the box out of Cicely's grip and placed it neatly onto the edge of the bed next to them - something that he had motioned to after what he had just done to her.