Annabel sat alone in her room, scratching absentmindedly in her diary. She wanted to write, but did not have the words, or the strength to write about what had happened that day. She felt like being alone, a feeling that did not drift over the Princess often. It was only in times of severe pain that she did not value company, or at least certain company.
After a few minutes, she heard the swift, sharp knock at her door that she knew was her butler.
“Yes, Jasper?”
“May I come in?” He asked politely.
With an audible sigh Annabel agreed, not in a very good mood. She always made an effort to be as kind as possible to her servants, but today was not a good day.
“There’s a man here to see you, about industrial work and alliances now that the king is dead.”
“Send him up.”
The butler looked a little taken aback.
“T-to your chamber?”
“I’ve had men in my chamber before, Jasper.”
The butler’s eyes widened slightly and he let out a little embarrassed gasp.
“I know, just, this one...”
“What about him?”
“He’s not exactly the same type as, er, Elliot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not as... nice.”
“And...?”
“The type to take advantage of people.”
The hero ran a finger down the polished silver melee sword she had on a stand in her windowsill.
“I can take care of myself.”
“He’s a sharpshooter.”
She opened her desk and removed her pistol, setting it down again on the hard wood with a clunk.
“A really, really good one.”
Annabel let out an exasperated sigh.
“Would you just send him up?!” she said, her tone much darker than it normally was.
Of course, Jasper understood, as the queen had just lost her brother. She was normally so kind and understanding, that one day like this would not make too much of a difference.
“As you wish.”
He left, and she heard the noises of an opening door and greetings drift up the stairs. Annabel walked around her room, gathering up things that could be put away and straightening up. After about two minutes, she heard the rap of a cane against her door and a smooth, low voice floated in.
“Princess?”
Annabel turned around and strutted towards the door, opening it to see a man dressed extremely well. He had thick black hair that floated out from under his top hat, and a heart-shaped mark on his cheek. He held a cane in his gloved hand, but it was obviously not used for walking issues, as he looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He had high cheekbones and a charmingly devious smile painted on his face.
“Who do I have the pleasure of inviting in tonight?” she asked, watching him lean on the doorframe.
“My name, dear monarch, is Reaver.”
“Welcome, Reaver. I have heard that you came to discuss the industry.”
“Yes.”
He entered her room, propping his cane against the wall and pacing in front of the fireplace.
“You see, my princess, the workers are unhappy. They claim that the wages are too low, and the work too difficult. I have come to talk about a solution with you, as Logan was never one for negotiation.”
She nodded, sitting down on the edge of her canopy bed.
“Have you considered lowering the work day, even by as little as a half hour, or giving longer breaks? Even a little more leniency will go a long way, if you don’t want to lose any of their work time.”
Reaver nodded slightly, pausing his circling to think.
“I think that would help, but the issue is still the wages. I obviously don’t prefer to pay them any less. Although, no matter what, they will always want more.”
“You could raise them a little bit. Even though they want more, you are their employer and you decide the pay. I am not saying to pay them nothing, but you do not have to give them all of your gold.”
The man walked over to her with gliding steps, sitting down next to her.
“You’re a very smart woman, Annabel.”
“Thank you.” She said, blushing slightly as he looked down at her.
“I think you’ll make a magnificent Queen. We could be allies, you know. We could see more of each other.”
Reaver brushed the bangs that always hung in Annabel’s face out of the way.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
Annabel blushed, looking up at the handsome scoundrel.
He traced his finger along under her chin, gently. Reaver leaned in even more, so he was inches away from the heroine’s lips.
“Do I have your permission, my princess?” Reaver asked, his voice almost lower and more smooth than before.
Annabel’s head raced. She felt as though she was spinning in circles, something she never experienced with Elliot by her side. She nodded slowly, her warm, brown eyes caught up in Reaver’s dark ones. She wished the contact would never break.
Reaver slowly pressed his lips to the princess’s, his hand resting softly on the side of her face. Immediately after he started, he realized he never wanted to stop. Reaver had had many women, and men for that matter, but this was something utterly different. This was not the pure lust he felt with the others, nor was it for personal gain. Reaver simply kissed her because he wanted to. A tiny flicker of hope lit up in his heart at the prospect of what this could be. Was it... love? He asked himself, about the rush he felt with a woman he had never spoken to before. Eventually, Reaver begrudgingly pulled away.
Annabel was aglow, smiling at him. For some reason, this kiss meant more than those she had given to Elliot, and this was so foreign to her.
“Sweet Albion” she muttered under her breath, starstruck.
Reaver chuckled lightly at her, staring down at her in admiration.
“There is more where that came from.”
He leaned down to kiss her again, which turned into another, and another. All business plans were pushed to the wayside as love, or fate, or destiny took over. All either could think about was the other. Eventually, Reaver left, a little less proper than when he came.
Annabel threw on her pajamas, and smoothed out the covers, sitting on top of her bed. Just as she picked up her book, Walter opened the door.
“We know what goes on behind closed doors.” He said with a wink.
