Storme Family/Aila/AilaxOliver

A private Date

“I’m sure my accomplishments for earning an earldom still pale in comparison to Our Lady’s—Becoming a duchess when she was only twenty?” Oliver gazes into his cup, thinking, until he sampled one of Gideon’s apple slices. “She sets the standard for me. I can only hope to outperform her, though earning a higher title may take some time for me to do with all the other lords in the realm. Not to mention, she must be aiming to become a queen, and she’s only twenty-two.” He admits with genuine admiration hidden in his rolling accent.

Oliver looks over then back to the manservant, curiously having chosen to sit across from him. He could have told Gideon he wasn’t given permission to take a seat, for the fun of it, but that was too bothersome.

“Quite right you are Gideon agrees, though very little of what Oliver had said was actually right. Regardless of how incorrect his numbers were, the fact did remain that Aila had risen to heights not even the woman herself had expected at her young age.

So Oliver smirks instead, backtracking. “What is it that keeps Her Grace up at night? Thoughts of me I’m sure?” Oliver asks with his cocky surety. Yet, an ebb of concern stabs at his heart.

Gideon pauses, looking around the room. It seems quite obvious to him the things that must keep a person like Aila awake. It can be easy to forget that all the beauty and frivolity around them was not hers, not really. All of it had been here when she arrived, all of it would remain when she leaves...A bed for kings, a day bed for princesses, rugs hunted by dukes and paintings collected by Queens. Then there was the office itself, the duties she had to uphold, and even then there were still the things she took on outside of her duties, the guilds, the faith, the events.

He sighs, reminding himself it is not his job to educate this lad “Her Grace does not share the worries of her mind with commoners...But that is what I am sure it is. Worries.”

---

In return. The young lordling shrugs, not one who understands just yet the day to day worries of Her Grace’s mind. Whatever it is that troubles Aila, Oliver will just have to find out for himself.

“Hmm. How long have you been with the duchess now, my goodman Gideon? You’re always the one who is around her. Yet. You’re not sure as to hazard a guess?” His dusky green eyes stare back at Gideon, watchful and keen. Oliver has his doubts over the servant’s ignorance in any respect.

“I’ll tell you a secret. Gideon.” He waves a hand to shush the other. “—Between one faithful man of the duchess to another.” The corner of his lip twitches into a grin; youthful, daring, and ever mischievously boyish as Oliver enjoys playing into.

Oliver glances aside at the entrance to be sure they’re alone, and he turns back, shining his high beams on the older, skeptical man still.

“I plan to court our lovely Lady Aila properly.”

The young lord looked excited as he said it. Shoulders itching with anticipation. “I plan to be there at her side when she’s feeling weak. I shall be there when she’s alone. I will be the man she relies upon when she needs the strength. She and I aren’t just friends anymore. No. Things are changing now; for the better even. I don’t plan on letting her go, despite that she can be a bit of a brat.”

Oliver left behind his sprawling posture on the small sofa and leaned forward, suddenly looming in his height even while sitting.

“So.” Squaring up in his seat. Rolling his shoulders. Bratty demeanor erased. “If you know of anything I can do to ease the burdens Aila faces. You should let me know, as you will be seeing—a lot—of me in the duchess’s future.”

Gideon takes in this admission with a serious face that told nothing of the thoughts behind it. Oliver could square up and loom as much as he liked, he would need to sprout a few more chest hairs to intimidate this retainer. Instead of being cowed he appraises the man, wondering what had happened to instill such easy confidence in him that he would think to court Aila, his Aila.

A little tsk escapes Gideon as he finally lets out a sigh and sits back in the chair across from Oliver. Outside he can hear a familiar voice commanding guards nearby not to allow visitors into the wing. The owner of that voice was about to get a shock. Knowing their time together was ending he says to Oliver simply “I have been with Aila nearly three years and have found her to be a solitary creature. What thoughts burden her, I cannot know.

Yet from working in her household I can tell you that if you want to ease her burdens then you must remain an escape for her, My Lord. A courtship may not be wise to suggest.” A mysterious smile appears before he stands to greet Aila just as she arrives through her door stopping short to observe the two men waiting in her front room.

She is dressed in pale blue silks trimmed in white, her hair combed out that morning until it shone like gold and gathered atop her head in a twist of braids and twinkling pins that glittered atop her head as a crown. The look of surprise on her face is quickly wiped away as she resumed on her path confidently, commanding Gideon to “leave us” as she strides past the two of them and charges past into the bedchamber next door without sparing either a second look.

Watching the Duchess make her exit Gideon calls after her with “Yes, your Grace” but waits for her to shut the heavy door behind her before he bows to the Earl, waiting for his leave as well.

---

Oliver hadn’t stood up on purpose when Aila appeared, in fact he was grinning wider the moment he could hear her through the doors calling out orders in her ever so familiar, melodic soprano. There was something about her courtly demeanor and the strict rules she imposes on others, that made Oliver want to breach them, to tease her out of spite—At least here in private where he could get away with it.

So as soon as she entered the room, Gideon was forgotten and his attention immediately went to her. Dark eyes tracking her graceful stride like a keen-eyed lion hunting after a meal. He already knew what laid under the gown, and he could imagine it all clearly now still as she showed her backside to him, moving to her inner chambers.

And she was gone again, he stared wistfully after those dark timbers of the door a moment longer, and remembered the manservant was still there.

Oliver puts on his winsome smile, shining teeth and all. “It has already begun anyway, my goodman.” ...And at last, the Earl of Nascot nods his dismissal.

He waits just long enough for Gideon to leave, before looking back to the door the duchess had just escaped behind. Oliver guessed there was going to be a wait, as the woman was likely freshening up just for him. The thought made him smile, and he combs the non-existent stray strands of his pony tail and long bangs back into place. He had spent an hour washing and making sure everything was silky smooth just before he arrived, so there was little else he could do to prepare.

In the meantime, Oliver takes his lyre into hand and settles into what was apparently Aila’s favorite chair; feet kicked up over the armrests, and playing a few boisterous notes of a cheery song as he waits.

---

Behind that heavy door Aila stands covering her eyes with both hands as she takes some long, deep breaths away from the prying eyes of various people. Her life is teeming with staff, dominated by guards and just recently infiltrated by an Earl.

He had not been back here since that night, the night she had been so horrible to him and inadvertently left him to die at the foot of her bed; and since then she had invited him back for various reasons. It would be wrong to show him out now.

So instead she collected herself, walking steady to the vanity where her looking glass stared back at her frowning knowingly. She twirled some curls in her fingers, smoothing them down and stood back again still unhappy with what she saw- or perhaps it was how she felt.

The intrusion of the pinging of a harp in the other room softens the severe look on her face and she takes a few sure steps toward the door, opening it gingerly before telling him “you can come in now”.

No sooner then she had invited him she was gone, leaving the chamber to lead him instead to the room beside it. A room he had never been in before.

Aila’s chambers were not built for a single woman, but rather for a noble and their family. As such the two rooms Oliver had seen were just the start of a large span of rooms. Off of her chamber were things such as a bathing room, her wardrobe rooms, a writing room and a parlour. The parlour, intended for a Duke and his kin to relax at the end of the day was decorated as lavishly as the others, heavy covers pulled back from the windows and shutters thrown open as the first room had been. As such it is bright and breezy, revealing to him more of the Duchess’ personal life than even she might realize.

The Harpsichord she had spoken about sits in the center in the room, beyond its seats to lounge on and shelves of books Aila likes to read. Manuals about bows and archery, sappy love stories, poetry, books of music, books about manners, all the things she thought too personal to display in her study. It shows the evidence of the girl behind the meticulous duchess, a few bits of outfits, jewelry and hair pieces left out of place, ribbons left on tables, slippers kicked off on the rugs and a pile of sewing on a table that threatened to overflow onto the floor. Clearly her standards for herself are not as high as the ones she holds for others, in this private living room.

She sits at the narrow seat by her instrument not facing the keys but facing the door as Oliver approaches at last instead, sizing him up without much shame about it. The summer was doing him well, he looked strong and healthy after a bit of sun and his easy smiles and confident strut was enough to lift anyone's spirits. Suddenly she was glad she had invited him so freely before “You’ve finally come to see me. I assume you wish to play?” She of course is referring to the instruments, but the quirk of her eyebrow may make one wonder. “What ever were you speaking to Gideon about I hope he did not offend you”

---

“Oh. Your servant was an absolute perfection of etiquette. I’ve no complaint what’s so ever with him.” He answers in his smoothly rolling accent, slowly enunciating a few of the syllables just so Aila and her barbaric ears could understand the nuances of his dwilish tongue, and his eyes scan over the room. Messy, but with an order to it only the shameless owner of it all could understand.

“That is good” She replies in almost a whisper.

He could find marks all around the room that show Aila’s hidden depth, the great care she puts in the things important to her. Oliver cocks an eyebrow, teasingly, as if he knew how embarrassing it might be for him to see all her personal effects. Even as he looked around, he wondered if he had seen it the last time he visited, he could barely remember patches of that night he rushed through the palace, feverish.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten what you said about us playing together.” Oliver’s eyes shine with mirth, following his grin, “I’ve actually been looking forward to seeing if you’re just as good as a harpsichord player as you are at tormenting children to sled with you.”

Showing he’s at the ready, he gestures his gold-painted lyre tucked under his elbow; flavored with its gaudy sky blue dragons that wrap around its curves like fantastical eels.

His voice turns suddenly grave as he faces her directly, grave and grim. Aila regards him only with suspicion.

“But there’s something I think we better get out of the way first…”

In a few steps Oliver crosses the room in long, powerful strides; suddenly swooping in, and bending down to her stool to steal a hot-blooded kiss. Taking it all, her warm breath, sweet scent, and delightful taste, like a drowning man craving for life-giving air. His hand slides into her hair, fiercely grabbing at a large tuft to make her arch her lips up to meet his own. His need is unstoppable, and he doesn’t let up until he’s forced to break away for a breath.

“I’ve missed you…” Oliver hovers close gasping, with his fist closed on one of the duchess’s braids. He stares into Aila’s eyes with his lop-sided grin to match.

Aila tries to remain in control as the younger man strides toward her so quickly, with a hunger in his eyes that she cannot ignore. He makes her feel small even when he kneels before her in the room that used to be all hers. Oliver is here now, seeing her things, kissing her as he pleased, touching her as he pleased...even her precious hair, her crowning glory, her pride itself. His want is enough to make her want back - and she does, kissing him with equal ferocity until he pulls away, still gripping her hair.

He says he misses her, and it is apparent in the way he kisses her, and keeps his hold onto her as if he is afraid she will run away. For a long moment she studies his face and decides how she should repay him for his treatment.

“I’ve missed you too, yet you took too long to answer my summon” her words are hard, but her smile is playful amusement. “I am a Duchess do you not know what that means?” Acidic words, but a gentle touch as she runs a hand across the smoothness of his clean-shaven cheek

“Unfortunately my newfound duties had me busy a hundred miles away, even for an esteemed, beautiful duchess such as yourself.”

Oliver smiles now, straightening up again to his full height, but he tugs on Aila’s braids to force her to crane her neck up to meet his gaze. Each touch and caress proved to be a test to stretch the bounds of this new level of relationship between Duchess and Earl, every moment felt like to Oliver he was exploring something untouched.

“Much too far for comfort, I agree, but those witless peasants and incompetent scribes won’t be able to tax themselves properly now without help? Will they?”

Aila is leering at him threateningly, yet speaks gentle words “Certainly not. I can tell you have been learning.”

He finally releases his possessive hold over Aila’s hair and goes back to tuning the strings of the lyre, head cocked to the side listening with a practiced ear for the perfect pitches for each plucked chord. It takes just a moment and the looming warrior-courtier, in all his preened finery, nods satisfied. “This will do.” Oliver mumbles to himself.

His eyebrow cocks again as he looks to see Aila watching him expectantly, her waiting beauty makes him grin wide, as it always does; and Oliver promptly sits down on the bench next to her with a quickness enough to be almost rude; which for Oliver usually tends to be on purpose. He playfully bumps her hips with his and sits close enough to rub shoulders.

She feels the quality of the fabric that made up his outfit against her bare shoulder, it brings goosebumps prickling up her arms as they settle together on the little bench. She doesn't mind his quickness to sit beside her, and bumps him back onto his half of the bench with her boney elbows.

“Now, your Grace.” Oliver says with his puffed up courtly pride. “I believe it’s time I make up for all these dreadfully long, few days that I spent away from you. Shall we begin?”

Her instrument is a rather large harpsichord with two rows of keys built primarily of cypress wood, heavy, smoothed to perfection and ornate with delicately painted details on every visible surface. When Aila bends forward to lift the cover it reveals rows of glimmering brass strings all in place and tuned by the most skilled tuner in the lands naturally. The keys themselves are wood as well, a brighter almost white spruce polished to a mirror-like finish to favor the delicate lady’s fingers.

“Keep up” Aila prompts, glancing down at the keys as takes the proper posture and places one hand at the ready, the other remains resting in her lap. Before them is sheet music already laid out on thick expensive paper, the song Aila has been practicing was written by a Caligan composer. It’s name harkens back to summers past, and the memories therein.

It begins slowly, with delicate strokes of the keys the room is filled with the sweetness of brass being plucked by tiny fingers within the wooden body and echoing forward. Keeping time with a gentle tap of her foot the first page is nearly done before she adds her second hand to the keyboard and the two are in harmony following the music along in a way that shows she did practice; but not too much. All the same she is the picture of confidence even as she hits a -somewhat sour- note and simply laughs it off before asking softly “Do you know it?” prompting him to join in.

Oliver hadn’t been quite paying attention to the music, his attention was solely fixated on the dance of her hands across the keys, then it would travel past her lithe arms up to the silent focused expression on her face. He blinked in surprise when he realized Aila had stopped and was looking at him.

“I am not familiar with the exact movement of the song, but I believe I heard enough to be your accompanist.” He says confidently, meeting her challenging eyes. Her look spoke enough to make him want to rise to her expectations.

And truthfully he did have an ear for it, Oliver began slowly plucking his lyre in a complement to the song that had resounded throughout the room just a moment ago. Testing at first. One string played too high, then another too low, and then as Aila’s fingers joined in on the harpsichord once more, Oliver was able to follow with his lover leading. His lyre eased out a harmony of chords to fill the background, as Aila’s skillful keying told the main story of the blissful summertime notes.

His years of playing the lyre and hiding the embarrassing skill from his father had come to fruition at last. He fantasized as a teenager playing for a Queen, but he could settle for a Duchess. Oliver turns to look at her, between the notes singing in the air, to flash a quick smile of his white teeth before looking back to his own instrument.

Shoulder to shoulder, smiling at eachother intermittently, with a growing pile of papers on the floor beside Aila as she pulls out favorite song after favorite song to play with him. This is how Gideon found them hours later, still very much enjoying their time together though it had slowly turned from less playing and more idle chatting as the afternoon turned to evening.

As the young Lord reaches around his mistress to playfully slam a key as part of some punchline, he interrupts amid Aila’s laughter with “your Grace” Continuing after the Duchess had whirled around with “My Lord” addressing Oliver too.

“What is it?” She snaps at him, standing from the narrow bench to collect the pile of papers thrown carelessly onto the floor. “Let me guess”

Gideon stands looking unamused, both hands held behind his back at attention like before waiting for whatever line she had for him today.

“Food?”

There is no will to play with her today, he stands aside from the door “Yes Your Grace.”

“We shall take it on the terrace” she commands flatly, carrying her armload of papers to a bookshelf where she tapped them straight before leaving them there. With her back turned to him Gideon is looking at Oliver, eyebrows raised until Aila turns back around and his servant's smile returns in full. Oliver just shrugs back looking pleased over something.

“Yes your Grace”

The sound of the door outside the room shutting prompts her to relax again “Gid means well” she offers to Oliver, making a very rare concession for her manservant. “He knew my father as a boy, there is some sense of duty there I cannot fault”. She begins to lead the way to the large archway leading outdoors just outside her parlour. There are plants, a table with some chairs, and the evidence in one corner of -some bird- in the form of some bones and feathers from various midnight snacks. There is a secure stone railing, fit for battle as well as leisure which looks out over where the sea had once been. Where salty winds had made this a wild and chilly place to stand a few years ago now was just a pleasant breeze and blazing sun.

“It would have been foolish of me to think I could have you all to myself. The only way I knew I could see you alone today, past all the sycophants and courtiers, was to sneak in and ruin your schedule on purpose.” Oliver hums low at Aila's side, the smile could be heard in his voice, and with a movement that bespoke a natural grace, he links his elbow intimately with hers. The space between them could never be too far apart. Each time he rubs his shoulder with Aila’s, he feels a spark of excitement.

Along the way, his eyes scan over the rest of their sun-washed balcony, until they reach the railing, and the Earl of Nascot wonders for a moment where the everpresent gyrfalcon could be hiding.

He turns back to Aila with an interested expression. As Oliver stares he notices a stray lock of hair, and takes it upon himself to brush it back behind her ear, “You know come to think of it, you haven’t told me much of your own family either. I would very much like to know what grandiose beginnings the Divine duchess of Perdan hails from. There are no other angry family members I will have to watch out for and duel to earn the right for your hand?” Oliver curves one of his peasant-cowing eyebrows at her in waiting amusement.

Aila bats away his fingers before replying somewhat sharply “I do not speak of it often because it is not a pleasant subject.”

Instantly she regrets this, and turns away from the view back to him “You have no one to worry about when it comes to my family”. She admits, sounding sorry as she is just now realizing he hadn’t asked anything offensive of her. People's families are not usually painful subjects, afterall “They are either dead or dead to me.”

Some serving girls stop in the doorway and bow to them both before placing some trays on the heavy stone table nearby. This was no formal dinner or fine chef-prepared spread, instead he got a glimpse at the sort of thing she ate when she was alone. A heavy silver tray held a collection of things, slivers of fine cheeses, a few fluffy rolls of fresh bread, a dish of butter but the main dish was a simple salad. A bed of sweetgrass, parsley, sage, rosemary, mint and spinach in a heavy bowl topped with plums cut into bites. That then was sprinkled with scallions and leeks cut into tiny slivers, some dollops of a tarte raspberry dressing with candied nuts and violet flowers sprinkled over as a finishing touch.

When they are left alone Aila motions to the table for him to sit with her, already reluctantly explaining “My father died when I was a teenager, you already know about my mother. The rest are inconsequential as I said before, they are dead to me.”

Oliver stares at Aila for a few moments before he’s spurred to move to the table. He managed to steer them into an awkward subject he realizes, and now Oliver has to break the sudden frigid frost that was creeping over the duchess with one of his dashing smiles.

“You’re telling me the only thing I should worry about is your father’s ghost to come haunt me if I ever do you wrong?” The young lord jokes as he joins Aila at the table overlooking the city, sliding into one of the ornately carved chairs of old oak. “It’s a good thing I could never do anything to insult you.“

He would never let any awkwardness touch him, Oliver immediately spears a plum slice from the salad banquet with a fork, and raises it up to Aila’s lips.

“And…” Oliver continues speaking light-heartedly, “I do remember you mentioning your mother was an embodiment of a vengeful wraith herself. You must meet my own sometime for comparison, even if she’s on an entirely different continent at the moment... You would like her much better I’m sure. She has a love for gardens and would probably start sobbing if she saw how beautiful the ones in the palace here are.”

A frown takes him over. Giving their laid out dishes a slightly contemptuous glance. “She also prefers dinners with no meat in them.”

Aila takes the fork from him and eats the plum off of it before handing it back, to his annoyance, making note of the frown on his lips and stating blithely “You are not pleased” while wrestling with the statement about her fathers ghost. Surely if her fathers ghost had any ability to influence her he would have appeared to chase off the aged diplomats who she always seems to get entangled with. “Some folk consider cheese a meat” she offers with a sarcastic helpfulness, clearly not too concerned with his liking for dinner. She continues picking at the leafy bowl mostly aiming for the sweetest morsels.

“Now that you are a landed Lord is it not proper for you to bring your dear parents here? If only for a visit. “ She resists stating what she would do if her father were still alive, the fine houses she would buy him or the household staff she would give him but finds it more painful to speak of than any joke ought to be. “If you climb in rank as you seem so determined to do, it would do well to have supporters around you.”

“Are you not my biggest supporter already?” He asks with faux severity, his eyebrows rising up at Aila, before feigning interest with his salad again, and picks out just a few of the green leaves for nibbling. The slices of cheese at least satisfies some of his appetite.

He shrugs as he takes another small bite of cheese. “I’m not sure if I would like to bring them here to stay overlong. Having the freedom to do what I please in my own lands, is exhilarating, and not to mention the absence of my father’s milk-curdling glare hovering over my shoulder is a lovely experience.”

Aila can tell he is not happy, but as he talks about his parents she cannot help but smile at him amusedly. He likes his freedom, and dislikes his father...She remembers the story about his Lyre playing and submits “You are right, I would not like to meet him either”

“Is this what you usually eat?” Oliver then asks after a pause, trying not to let himself look too disappointed in the lunch. “Not that I mind.” He fibs, “I never try to eat anything too heavy in the middle of the day.” But a few slices of chicken breast wouldn’t hurt…

“Ehm no, like most people I eat different things every day” she replies with a saucy smile. “You look like” she stalls on the words disappointed child and replaces it kindly with “like I’ve let you down”.

Oliver is delighted he managed to get Aila to smile again, “Please. Every moment I get to steal you away from the rest of the court is the exact opposite of a disappointment.” But he does cock his head to the side, and Oliver’s meaningful gaze drifts between the table spread and the duchess.

“Although…” His voice purrs. “Perhaps I would like to put my hands on something far more delectable soon.”

He assures her with sweet words but she can see a different sort of hunger rising from him, one that had been there since his arrival but ignored by her teasingly. She had sat beside him for half the afternoon playing with him, brushing shoulders and sharing brief smiles and touches. She supposed the salad was the final insult, and it is bittersweet as she knows soon their fun will end. An internal debate had been raging with her for the entire visit that day, but it was now under the weight of his lusty gaze that she knew it could go no farther as things were now.

Confidence and smug approval fade at this realization and the Duchess’s shoulders relax in a huff as she admits “Oliver, we need to talk about some things before we move on to dessert”

Oliver leans forward in his seat. It seemed the tone of the conversation was changing, and now he was curious over whatever was brewing inside the fidgeting duchess. He nods in understanding, putting his fork down and rests his hands across the tabletop.

He could guess at where the subject was leading. “I suppose we should… Especially now that I am an Earl. Some things have changed.” His lips curve into a small smile. The future was looking quite hopeful for him indeed.

As he leans forward again and lays his hands across the table she moves in to rest both of her hands on his, looking him in the eye as she does. As if on cue Luna lands on the railing beside them, big claws tapping on the stone as she turns to look at the two.Aila has nothing to give her, like Oliver Luna was disappointed with the meal on the table.

Aila continues, choosing her words carefully as she rubs her thumbs over his hands, she knows that wording this right was only half of the battle. “Some time soon the realm will be made aware of something that you deserve to know first.” She is all straight faced and determined, serious and unabashed but inside dread coils inside her like a snake.

“Duke Kenneth and I have begun a courtship” She stops for half a heartbeat there, stayed by her own fears; But goes on to offer quickly “He knows about you and I, he does not care” before Oliver can interrupt her.

---

Oliver blinks. Not able to respond to what she just unloaded on him for several long seconds. His face hardens, and Aila would be able to feel his hands tensing up under her fingers. Not that he’s able to move them away. His fists ball up, and he’s stuck frozen, reeling from all the implications he had just heard. Almost like the floor was suddenly taken out from under him, and his stomach plummets into that abyss.

“What?” He looks up after what felt like a century. Voice all detached and emotion severed. “Duke Kenneth? You’re courting?” Oliver asks looking hard into Aila’s eyes, his sharp brows furrowing downward.

“What about us then? Was I not going to be given a chance? I thought this...” He can barely think of what to say next. His mind was scrambled, his tongue feeling like lead, and the normally suave lordling did his best to stay calm. It wasn’t that he was betrayed, not that was what truly is happening, but it sure did feel like a stab to his heart.

“I thought this… That we were courting.” Oliver stares down back at his hands again on the table. It did hurt his pride. “You picked him over me then?”

Aila has never been a gentle woman, she guffaws at his outrage and bluntly states “You made no such offer.” with a bit of an accusatory tone. His fists are balled up under her hands, she pulls away and lays them in her lap defensively. She can see his pain and it pains her too, she fights her natural urge to roar something cruel at him in response, her hopes that he really had just wanted to be her friend were slipping away- and she fears this is something she won’t be able to fix.

“I can tell you are upset, I would not have let it go this far if I thought you had anything like a courtship in mind. It did not seem that way.”

The cruel laugh made Oliver grimace, confirming whatever choice she must have made. “The idea of it is that funny to you? What I thought?” And now Oliver stands up from the table. His nails dig into his palms. He bristles defensively after all her callous treatment of him so now. “I came here because of how your letters spoke of how much you wanted me here, after all the flirts, and now…”

His princely nose crinkles up in a snarl. “Now you’re saying you did not care for any of that? I’m to be cast aside?” He looks at her straight on, ignoring the distressed chirps of the falcon in the corner as it must have viewed what looked like its two parents arguing. “I came here today to ask you if you wanted to make our relationship here...” Oliver gestures vaguely at the air to his side, encompassing the balcony. “-Make us official to the realm.”

“Everything I wrote is true” She spits back, unaccustomed to allowing anyone to speak to her in such tones as his, but he gets every benefit from her- she does feel very guilty. “You are my friend, you always said it!”

Aila had made herself feel silly, and finally stands from the little table abandoning her dinner in favor of pacing with her arms crossed. “Why do you think I put Lori up to seducing you? I had a fear that you wanted more and you dashed that fear. If you had shown any sort of indication of wanting /me/ alone we would not be here. I cannot wait forever.”

She relents, but does not apologize “I thought we were just having fun.”

Watching her had softened Oliver’s expression somewhat, duchess’s obvious anxiety gave a pang of dismay in his chest. He didn’t like the lack of control he had in this situation, and he still had to hope.

Oliver strode around the table in quick, long strides. Eliminating the distance and the barriers between them both and following his natural inclination to stay close to this heady woman. Her moment of vulnerability made him move faster than he realized what he was even doing; and then Oliver reached out, gently grasping her by her sides, just above her hips. He had to be sure to make Aila to look at him.

His gaze was direct and heavy. Oliver openly drank in the entirety of her face, every contour, indentation, and strand of hair and it made his heart squeeze.

“Aila.” He says again, more gently now than before. “I do want you… Those three days we had together in Isadril were amazing, they were everything I could have ever hoped for, and I promised you I would come to stay with you again, here in your own chambers… So here I am now. To fulfill everything I dreamt of doing with you.”

Daring. He slowly lifts up a hand to caress the smoothness of her cheek, and he smiles openly despite how vulnerable it makes him feel. “What choice will you make now Aila? Deep down, inside… You must have always known what my intentions were.” Oliver pauses to let his words sink in, or to draw up another surge of courage, and it’s with a quiet intensity he finally says, “Court with me now Aila, and I promise days; weeks; months and years of enjoyment for you.”

Then he remembers what Gideon told him just earlier that day. A hint that he didn’t quite understand until just now, “I promise I will strike away the gloom that keeps you up during all the dark, lonesome hours of the night. You will never again have to suffer those gnawing fears that grow in your heart when you’re stuck awake and shivering in your bed.” His Laststar Smirk suggests he’s easily confident he can manage these things, “For I’ll be there for you Aila, giving you something no other man can—All of my love.”

Being gentle is not working with him, she should have known it would not; they are more similar then they are different and she is not known for taking no for an answer either. “There is much you do not understand, Oliver” she feels a sense of deja vu, has she said this to him before?

She makes no move to remove his hands, but her own rise to rest in the crook of his arm as he stands there holding her. “You do not understand me yet” she submits “I am a woman with varied tastes, you are a delight like the sweets I love so much but Kenneth is a cornucopia. I do not want your love Oliver, you so easily would have traded that fickle affection on a tumble with my dearest sister.” She looks him in the eye steadfast in her conviction in this.

“You are younger than your years Oliver and I will happily ride you as I would the finest stallion in my stables. It is out of affection I have told you of my courtship. You have an opportunity to remain the stallion in my stable. You can ride the finest mare in Perdan. But our love will remain that of friends who tup... not lovers.

I am not sure I could ever love you Oliver, not as a husband, but you yet excite me. I yet enjoy the sweetness of your delights.

Now show me all is well and strip.”

So Oliver wraps his arms around Aila tighter, one going around to yank on the back of her braids, tilting her face up to meet his once more, kissing her deeply. His need was great, he couldn’t help but indulge a little with what she was offering to him. Oliver would take her right there on the table, and be commanded like the fool he was.

After what felt like a great length of blissful, and nauseating time. Oliver gently, but firmly pushes Aila back by her shoulders, breaking off the woman’s groping advances over his chest; his collar was already partly undone.

“I’m sorry Aila.” The young lord says, meeting her eyes. He draws a tantalizing thumb over her lips, thinking of his choice for one final moment—Just a breath of time. “I can’t. This man… This simple sweet. Who can’t compare to the amazing, spectacular and bountiful depths of greater dukes… Will need some time to think.”

He slowly tries to untangle himself from the embrace and turns away from her. It grated Oliver, now that he said it outloud. To be placed underfoot as such, and it disgusted him to be easily drawn in. Now that he knows what Aila thinks of him. The gentle fondness that was on his face before was replaced with regret and unease. He shrugs and tugs on his shirt to put it back into place.

“And you should know what happened with Lorelai was before all this time we spent together, because after that night, I made my choice to stay with you.” He explains gently, then looks across over the balcony, pausing for a moment, “Perhaps we can be friends still, but… If you decide to stay with the Duke, and the day comes it ends between you two. I might not be around to be his replacement either.”

He leaves her breathless and wanting, something the precious Duchess was not used to nor did she like in any capacity. The look on her face is not a forgiving one as he pulls away from her and covers himself up again. She does the same, lifting the seams of the silky blue bodice up on her chest with one hand as he mentions Lorelai and stares out over the scenery below. She feels she knows he is lying, but stays silent as he explains his position.

It is sensible, but Aila does not like being told she cannot both have her cake and eat it so there is still no smile or forgiveness for him. Instead she just nods stiffly and wanders away from him continuing the fix where he had tugged at her fine outfit. “I understand” Are the words from her, quiet and holding back a torrent of things, complaints, a scoff, maybe even an apology. As he leaves her alone on the blustery balcony she looks to the falcon still sitting there on the rail staring at her, and sits back down with a sigh.

Everything Changes

Summer had begun to shift to autumn, the bright summer flowers that had been growing in pots outside of every window in the palace had begun to lose their petals and trees in the gardens below had already begun their shift of colors. It was a season with many reminders for Aila, a lot of pleasant memories of hunts and parties, trips North to see the forests of Karbala, trips west to see the Prophet before snow came…

This Autumn would be different, with the realm in tatters and her own body disabled she had felt more helpless than ever sitting behind her desk with nothing but letters to protect herself with. Coming so close to losing everything had created a madness in her, she nearly never slept, refused to eat most things for fear of tampering, and spent most of her days with a cup of wine in hand. An arrow had penetrated her armor in the battle leaving her leg skewered, an injury which they told her might take months to heal fully.

Sitting, always sitting and always surrounded by ladies she was more irritated than usual and the maidens who cleaned her, dressed her, styled her hair, helped her from room to room and brought her everything she needed all walked with a fear in them. Afraid to speak, afraid to drop something or create a noise too loud for the Duchess who seemed always to be far deep in thought even as they went through the long unpleasant process of changing her bandages.

Though she was tired, pale and thoroughly miserable she remained dressed in the finery she was used to, a light silk dress to enjoy the last warm days of Autumn trapped in her chambers, her shortened hair already having grown to her shoulders in the weeks she had Oliver chop it off. She sat in a comfortable chair in her sitting room, near the windows to let the breeze through and surrounded as usual by the women she terrorized. One sat nearby reading from a book to the others, all of whom seemed interested except for Aila who stared intensely out the windows into the sky beyond, as usual obstinately ignoring the efforts of her staff to cheer her.

As the protracted peace of the Autumn day dragged on; a muffled thump can be heard from the otherside of the window, followed immediately by a short and barely audible curse. In another moment, a large shadow envelops the room and races across the chamber as a dark form flashes by each of the windows. It hits the outside wall again on the other end of the chamber; then more slowly, the penduluming figure swings back into sight.

A scowling, disheveled Earl Oliver comes into view next to one of the window panes, riding on a length of rope with his feet in a stirrup fashioned at the end of it. Not quite dressed for any kind of climbing or mountaineering at all in his fashionably aqua dyed clothes of court. But noticing his own messy reflection after the nearly disastrous fall, Oliver shakes out his hair and quickly palms it down with extreme care.

Unfortunately the window was closed, and it was the wrong one, Oliver glances back up and shoots a vague gesture at an unseen person who was presumably in on the operations of this plan. Slowly. Oliver and his rope swings towards the duchess’s own window. He passes by the wall and appears again planting a foot to stop himself on the brick, while hanging precariously with just one hand on the rope and saluting the duchess with the other; grinning his white, mischievous smirk—seemingly without a care for the 50ft drop below.

He had long prepared his greeting in advance, eyes twinkling. But more breathless perhaps than he had practiced...

“I heard from a song bird that there was a princess trapped in a tower somewhere, and on wing and wind, I came to rescue her from her sorrowful day. Unfortunately for me, I will have to settle for a lonely duchess instead.”

The sound of half a dozen handmaidens shrieking makes Aila jump in her seat, and groan in pain from the jolt in her leg as the women around her rushed, some to cover the Duchess’ bare leg and others to find guards. Her healer, the smartest of the bunch, stands in the corner with a loaded crossbow before the Duchess hollers annoyedly “Everyone shut the up! SHUT the HELL up!” Her shrill command stalls everyone in the room, and with a blanket draped over her legs she shook her head at Oliver as he delivered his line, showing signs of smiling when he nearly called her a princess and scowling twice as much when he took it back.

“Get out” She says to Oliver, but as she turns her head to the girls in the room they begin retreating, realizing that it was them she wanted to get out.

The healer with the crossbow lingered behind, setting the weapon down to watch the scene unfold. She is younger than Aila with a full figure and dirty blonde hair tied back neatly. Watery blue eyes pleaded the truth “My lady..” She interrupts, clearly more comfortable with Aila than any of the others. “Will you be alright alone with him?”

“I am not afraid-of anyone” Aila says, somewhat bitingly.

Oliver makes his way through the open window with the practiced comfortability of a man who had gone on too many midnight trysts up castle towers; or out them in quick getaways. He smiles insufferably, nodding, ignoring the commotion his unexpected entrance has caused, and the duchess’s more than usual scathing tongue being unleashed on the attendants earns her a cocked eyebrow.

While the Earl settled in, the rope he climbed down on began to snake up again through the open air.

The healer begins to leave, eyeing the Earl cautiously before finally leaving them alone in the Duchess’ private rooms.

“Trying to be cute?” She finally asks Oliver, arms folded as she peered across the room from her pillowed chair.

He dusts himself off now on the right side of the window, watching the healer with a mischievous weasley smile in return for the wariness. Knowing Aila was noting his every movement, Oliver’s gaze sticks to the eye-catching natural sway of the healer’s hips as she turns to leave the room. Eyes watching the door for a moment too long before returning his attention to Aila.

“Hmm?” Oliver hums distractedly at her, though his smiling eyes belie his attempts to tease the duchess. “Oh. I could never be cute when you’re nearby, it’s too hard to compete for the attention of the room with your airs—my dear enchantress.”

One might not have been able to guess how he meant the word ‘airs’ from Oliver’s playfulness.

He walks closer through the room now, navigating by end tables, sofas, and all the half finished stitchings, books or other such things the ladies were busy with. His fingers trail idly on the furniture.

When he’s suitably close, but not hovering on top of the duchess, Oliver comes to a halt several feet away from her and unabashedly eyeing Aila up and down at her condition. Oliver stood tall at ease in his role as a lord, wearing his fine blue tights and shirts for this meeting.

There was a poignant pause as Oliver waited to see if Aila would leave her seat to greet him when he was in front of her, or perhaps even jump joyfully into his arms. One of his eyebrows curved up expectantly, apparently unaware or just ignoring the current state of her leg.

Alone with him she does not have to play the role of commanding Duchess, but even so his words leave her visibly agitated, thinking at once that he is mocking her. Defiantly Aila reaches down to the floor and retrieves a crutch stored there before pushing the blanket off her lap. It reveal a summer skirt hiked up to her knee, her left calf lashed in bandages and cinched into a brace carved of wood. Aila uses the crutch only somewhat gracefully to get to her feet, letting her skirt fall into place as she did..

There was no hope of jumping anywhere, but there was a weak attempt to draw him into an embrace, while simultaneously provoking him with “You are cute, you would be a lot less cute with an arrow in your arse…You’re lucky my guards did not kill you. My healer was ready to.”

It was good that Aila rose, quite literally, to the challenge of Oliver’s gaze, and stepped towards him with her signature fiery eyes. For each defiant step towards him, and every haughty look that Aila held, confirmed for him that the duchess’s spirit remained the same. Even after everything that had happened to her on the battlefield she will battle with him for pride.

Oliver wouldn’t insult Aila by being too gentle and fawning over her injuries.

His eyes danced alight with pleasure at finally seeing Aila. Briefly forgetting the wound, Oliver could only stare to drink in her proud features; and before he knew it, there was a momentum that pushed him forward as he embraced her. Supporting her weight off her crutch enough for his strength to take her in.

There was a deep familiarity with how he molded to her, even now with Aila’s weakened state, and Oliver kissed her fully as if the past month without her brought the Earl towards the brink of starvation.

When he broke off the kiss, he laughed with his arms firmly wrapped around Aila’s waist.

“You need not worry about your guards, my sweetheart.” Oliver lifted a hand to caress her hair, grinning. “I’ve already come to an understanding with the captain of your guard, not to mention I tend to play cards with him every Sunday just about whenever I’m in the city.”

His tone turns playful again, half-teasing, “Your healer… I will have to work on her affection next.”

Of course his mind eventually drifts to the state of the rest of Aila’s body, as he drank in her presence from hair to toe; his eyes linger over the leg she limped on.

It did not matter for Oliver if her skirt hid the healing wound, they were alone. He looked back up to meet her eyes; while, rather unashamedly bold, he hitches up the front of her skirt to reveal it all again, and brings his hand delicately over the smooth surface of the wooden brace held there.

“And how are you?” He asks her with deep meaning, genuine. Oliver watched her closely to catch the truth that would be in her gaze.

An embrace was just what she needed after so many days left alone with only silly handmaidens to cheer her in her big dour chambers. She lets him kiss her, returning his hunger with just a tinge of a smile behind her kiss as she admired his passion, feeling he truly must have missed her. This time she laughs at his joke, patting his chest playfully as he mentions her young healer and looking away as he stooped to inspect her leg. The brace was made of fine oak and carved by an expert hand, smooth as silk and straight as an arrow. It took much of the weight off her calf, but had to be lashed so tightly it was a constant battle for the healers each time they changed her dressings.

As Oliver asks how she has been her expression is bleak, her frown returns and she leans back heavy on her crutch again instead of him. “I am happy, I got what I wanted.” though she did not have the look of a happy woman. Her summery complexion had been robbed by weeks of pain and fever, and days long stretches of refusing food from the kitchens left her looking ill. She had never suffered a wound like this and combined with the horror of being called a traitor it had taken a heavy toll.

There was a twinge of worry that ran through Oliver after seeing how the duchess seemed to reel from his question, and he noted how her pallor seemed to whiten even worse. The concern was apparent on his face.

Aila reaches for his hand, and explains some of her worries as he helps her sit back on the seat behind her, leaving room for him to join her. “I just hope it is not too late to undo what has been done.”

He allows her, quite happily of course, to pull him down onto the cushions with her; where Oliver sinks in at her side wrapping a snug arm around Aila’s shoulders. It had always felt like there was a puzzle piece fitting perfectly right in that moment, whenever the haughty woman opened enough to allow intimacy.

Oliver plays with her hair as he continues the conversation, staring at it; staring at her. “You shouldn’t feel any regret over what happened Aila.” He growls gently, hoping he can encourage her spirit. There was no need to speak up with them so close. “This was for the best of the realm after all, but unfortunately not every noble will see your worth the way I do.”

His thumb traces a line along her jaw, and he uses it to tug her chin back towards him.

“I can’t think of nobody better to become the next Queen of the realm; not on the entire continent in fact. Anyone who can’t see that is just a blind idiot.” Then a smirk begins to creep up over the corner of his mouth, mirthful.

Aila had leaned into Oliver’s embrace with a weary sigh, letting out a low moan as he pets her hair and encourages her with kind words, and a warning. She simply smiles at the idea of him trying to warn /her/ of something, pulling her chin away from his fingers right up until that mirthful smile appeared, where she preemptively jerked out of his grip knowing he was about to get cheeky.

“Unless of course, you would rather have me become the next King. And then I will finally have the excuse to take over your chambers here for myself.”

In her mind now, a threat, she steadies herself and purses her lips at him waiting for the punchline with a merciless glare on her face.

“If I’m nice, maybe I’ll let you share them sometimes.” He teases. Trying to rile. “I’ll keep Luna for myself though, she’s a good bird.”

The mention of Luna sends her crashing back purposefully heavily back against him “Luna is getting old” Aila sighs, coaxing his arm back around his in an uncharacteristically insecure gesture. “Do you...Know where she gets her name?”

Oliver began to wonder if the duchess had lost so much weight, now thrown on top with his growing pile of worries over her health; as the difference was stark compared to the last time he had been with her. At least Oliver was able to send word to her staff in advance he would be dining in these chambers for supper; which of course meant he invited himself to stay as usual.

He could play along for now, there on the sofa with her, even though the bony woman’s rib cage was an uncomfortable thing to feel under his firm embrace.

“Luna?” Oliver replied, smirking. “I figured you decided to name her after the Moon, in an uncharacteristic need for romantic poeticism.”

His arm squeezes around her. Enjoying himself immensely on that sofa. “I find it much more likely someone named her for you instead, much like the case for your latest horse that I remember…”

“Yes, my darling Quick Chalcedony Sprint, how glad I am that she was not a war horse. If I had lost her in Aix as well…” She shudders, literally, in his arms as she thinks of that battle in Aix. Her first and only wound, the way she had roared in pain when the arrow slipped through her leg as if she wore no armor at all.

The more Oliver Squeezes her to him, the further she sinks, happily into an embrace which she had needed so badly over the last weeks. “Well you are right. I did not name her.

Like with many of my friends, when I met Luna Tempest we were enemies. She sent me a beautiful young Falcon of Evora, trained to take commands and fierce in her attacks...and named her Luna. So every time I tried to use the bird I would be saying her name, Luna, Luna.” She scoffs, it was really quite a good tactic.

“I wrote and said that she was delicious, but send more so I can share next time.” Aila chuckles quietly, remembering the humor of her teenage years. “I had no idea that she would become one of my closest friends, for nearly a decade now. And Luna, the falcon I mean, she has been with me just as long. Oliver grins along with Aila’s reminiscing; with his feet kicked up on the table before them, and sprawling on the sofa with the infamously bristling duchess, he could easily imagine Aila doing what she did best to toy with people.

“We have all changed so much since then. If you met me at nineteen I don’t know what you might have thought. I feel as if I am not even the same person. Luna is a constant, she reminds me that I am.” She is waxing poetic, eyes shut and squashed into his warm embrace- and it takes a few long seconds for her to admit “I think the poppy is getting to me.”

The grin was beginning to look more devilishly mischievous on him. “Perhaps it’s a good thing we were never enemies first anyway, and I thought you were already nineteen when I met you?” Oliver asks sweetly, coaxing innocence, as his hands roam the duchess’s body down to her thin waist.

“Stop-” Aila pleads, sensing what is coming next and bracing herself for the pain to come.

His encircled arms pulled Aila daintily right into his lap giving her a knowing look as he placed her- straddled sideways to Oliver as her braced leg had to stretch out. She is visibly relieved by his gentleness and embraces him with arms around his neck. At least here it would be easier to snatch kisses from her as Oliver smirks much more hungrily than before.

He takes his chance for another kiss, filled with earnest desire, his lips enwrapped with the scent of the mint leaves.

“From everything I had seen,” Oliver’s voice begins to growl in a dangerously promising tone - just a breath away from her lips. “Heard… tasted, and even felt.” His adventurous hand falls further down her backside where it has found ardent triumphs many times before. “You could find the youngest, sweetest, ever-possible maiden in the kingdom—and you would still be found the most beautiful and desirable woman in the room; the kingdom’s greatest heart-breaker.”

To prove his encouraging words, Oliver squeezes Aila’s chest closer to his, finding her languid in all the places she had ought to be, and he rains more kisses down on the waxing poetic duchess. Searching with his delicate fingers; grabbing; playfully teasing, and bouts of soft promising whispers.

The fervor between the young earl and the duchess went on for some time pressed close together, Oliver slips from the duchess’s soft lips to catch a breath, and his eyes roam from the bare skin around her collar bone, and up to her eyes; his were dark and enamored.

“You don’t mind I’ve already told your chefs I’ll be staying for supper, do you? I even managed to snag something large on the roads here…” His question about supper does not phase her anymore, she lets the comments slip by and instead sadly notes “I wish I could go hunting with you” in an uncommonly self-pitying moment. Her kisses are replaced with a sulking pout while she asks“What did you get?” spurring him on to tell her more details about the day. “Another big ugy bear, a giant boar…? And where on the road.”

Seemingly ignoring his desire for her she waits for his reply with her forehead pressed lightly to his, eyes downcast and it is left to him to decide if the poppy she mentioned earlier was the culprit, or something else.

The chance for boasting could not be passed by in Oliver’s view, the chance to show off excited him as much as flirting—though he did enjoy the chance to nuzzle with Aila for a moment more during the woman’s uncommonly affectionate mood; and to Oliver, he believed he was just that charming. His ego was certainly soaring up.

Oliver leaned back to gloat and indulge the duchess, his eyes took on a faraway look while his arms were still wrapped snug about her.

“We were passing through Bescanon on the last leg of the journey from Nascot to here—and I pressed my horse as hard as I dared to reach you quickly of course,” He scoffs as an aside, “As I usually do. Obviously.” Then continues on, “Just as we were passing by all the endless wheat fields covering all those hills in the riverlands, a small flock of turkeys broke out of the brush and into our path, led by just about the largest gobbler you’ve ever seen.”

He went on to glorify the parts of the adrenaline-fueled race; much of the story maybe seeming too good to be quite true; about how he harried the turkeys on horseback, expertly equipping his riding bow just in time to knock an arrow and shoot the large gobbler at 100 meters (It might have been 20), right when it tried to escape into the air.

Oliver grinned confidently all throughout as if it would have taken a demi-god to achieve all he did to take down a single turkey. Perhaps he thought he was one. He was cocky enough and enjoyed having a duchess in his lap. A Duchess who smiled and gasped at the right moments, with a true appreciation for the sport more than the prize. Still, she seemed tired and perhaps far away at moments, often switching from lying motionless on his shoulder and staring straight into his eyes as he spoke. -- Eventually after his story-telling something in the back of Oliver’s mind finally registers, after being obscured by all the pomp, he gives Aila a quick once-over glance, and he asks again, “Are you alright to stay up, Aila? Or is something else the matter? You’ve seemed a little different today… Besides the obvious.” He gestures towards her healing injury.

Could he really be so oblivious to what she had embarked upon? Aila frowns only slightly to have to think of a way to explain without feeling as though she is betraying herself, and takes a long tense moment to answer. “I lead a movement to have a monarch removed. Not even someone I hate, even if it is the right thing it is difficult to…” She struggles to find the word, fading off and laying back onto his shoulder again.

“I also had a meeting with Octavian- Duke of CHAOS…” She sighs at the name. “He gave me gifts. Have you ever had Ikriff young Oliver?”

A frown forms over his face, he doesn’t approve. “Ah. You still meet with that man, even after how terribly he addresses you? You’re better served resting in more charming company I think.”

Oliver’s next grin, and squeeze around Aila’s waist suggests just what company he’s thinking of.

“And no.” He continued slowly, and curious where the woman was headed. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried this herb of yours—I’ve heard of it before obviously.”

“He does treat me terribly” She agrees sadly, reaching to the side table beside him for an ornate box. Placing it on her lap she opens the lid carefully and reveals an old wooden pipe along with some green herb ground up in a little vessel. “This is it.” She snaps the lid shut again and looks for his reaction, looking somewhat smug to know about something he does not.

“Good for pain, but makes me tired...Yet we know that the best thing for my sleep is you”

As soon as Oliver spots the well worn pipe sitting in its special velvet-lined container, his sharp eyebrows shoot up over his scalp in exaggerated surprise. “My my… Aila…” His voice is light-hearted as he begins to scold her.

Suddenly there’s a shift in Oliver. It starts out small, nearly indistinguishable through a crooked twitch over his lips; his eyes begin alight in a familiar deviousness, and an inner turmoil arises to arrest control of the earl’s cheeks.

It was becoming too much for him, “So that is your…” He chokes back a laugh. Gods. Oliver had to stop looking at Aila’s so haughty expression, or else he was going to... “Pffbt!- I’m sorry!” Daring not to breathe, or else it’d grow worse, his complexion was growing cherry red forcing a strange flush to wash over the earl’s features; and even his eyes began to water.

Looking away did little good, the image was still stuck in his mind, and one final look at the serious—but perplexed duchess on his lap sent him over, “Pff-Bahahaha! Your face! Oh gods!”

It was finally out and Oliver couldn’t help but reel in his seat, filling the room with his choking hitching laughter. He knew in the back of his mind he shouldn’t be in hysterics right in front of her, but that only made his laugh grow worse. “I’m sorry-” Oliver tries to say on an inhale, “I’m sorry. It’s just.” Then another racking fit went through him; an odd change for the normally soft-spoken and well composed Earl.

“When I think of you smoking, with that thing sticking out of your- Pfftb...Face.” Oliver struggles, though the fit had to die down eventually; in between trying not to look too long at Aila, or her special little box. “I think of my old grandpa. I see you sitting in a rocking chair. Just rocking along, grouching, scowling, and complaining about, ‘Servants these days!’ Haha!”

Laughing in her face, Aila winces against every heave of laughter despite his apologies for doing it. By the time he is done she is struggling out of his arms and demanding “Put. Me. Down!” and squirming out of his grasp back to get to her original seat. “I do not know why I should suffer your foolishness anymore Oliver” she snarls bitingly, snatching for the case he had laughed at so cruelly despite the shooting pains it sent up her leg and back from her angry retreat.

The pipe inside was important to her, and looked the same as any man from young to old she knew. The idea that he must have known where it had come from and laughed so rudely at it makes her cheeks flush with outrage, and she regrets ever letting him see it with his unworthy eyes.

Her final dagger is one he will be used to by now, when all else fails throw an insult “And your laugh is like a donkey's bray!”

“Oh Aila. Aila, come on.” Oliver tried to call her back after squirming right out of his grip, and he was still giggly especially after her donkey comment. From how the duchess was setting her shoulders, Oliver knew she was being her usual proud self again. “Please. I just wanted to laugh with you a little bit.”

He knew he had to warm her up to get back into Aila’s good graces for the moment, Oliver scooted a little closer to his lover; who was clutching to her special box tight, and Oliver reached out to try and embrace her again.

“It has been too long since we were able to talk together. You know I’ve missed you, and you know I never mean to insult you. It has been too long since I’ve seen your beautiful smile, or even hear your splendidly wonderful, sunny- and very much - Non-Donkey-like laugh.” Oliver smiles at her coaxingly and he places his hand over hers on the box.

“What did you want to talk about?” His eyes alight on hers.

“I was going to offer you some, but i’ve changed my mind” she sneers obstinately and turns away from his embrace, only slightly warmed by his many fine compliments. “I don’t think you could handle it anyway…” she continues bitingly but does not remove herself from his embrace.

“I have missed you too, I’ve missed a lot of things. So much is happening and I can only sit here surrounded by” she searches for a word to describe her handmaidens but comes up with only “Idiots. Writing letters while they tell me not to ‘fret’.”

She sits up, about to launch into a rant “Fret, fret, if one more person accuses me of it ill scream. I do not fret I agonize, over plans, over details and letters, and I need those around me to give me ideas not - not-.” Much like the donkey she had accused him of being she kicks the expensive table covered in cups of relaxing teas and poetry books with one deft kick of her good leg. Delicate cups shatter on the rugs covering the stones of the floor but Aila doesn't seem to care at all, instead leering around the room with disdain ”and I do not want to be laughed at!”

“I just know...how things look” Aila closes her eyes again, smoothing already perfect hair back into place, nose up in air again though clearly not feeling better for her outburst “Nevermind them. I haven't got to explain myself to anyone.”

Oliver blinks in surprise at where the shattered battlefield of tea cups lie in ruin across the floor, and he takes a quick glance over towards the door adjoining the next room wondering if anyone else had heard. When he looked back at Aila, the slender blonde seemed to have calmed down somewhat in his embrace once more; to his eyes, seemingly pretending as though nothing had happened.

Now Oliver knew what role he was there to play with a simmering and fuming duchess right before him, also likely that she knew as well; and that she knew that Oliver knew that she knew.

The moment of silence dragged on between them as the earl waited to hear whatever more she had to vent; and when it was obvious nothing more was coming from the duchess, he lifted his hands across Aila’s back right towards the well-known pressure points between the shoulder blades and spine. Oliver’s fingers press in firmly to knead the tension away Aila was holding tight and bottled in her muscles.

While his fingers worked determinedly into the expensive silk covering Aila’s back, Oliver whispered soothingly next to her ear, “I know you do not have to explain yourself to anyone Aila, let alone me… I already know just how perfect you are. No one in their right mind could ever fault the bold lioness and her command.” His minted breath brushes over her neck, making her gasp.

The duchess Storme could likely already tell the smug smirk present on Oliver’s lips, as it could be heard in his gentle accent flowing right next to her ear; it was the look she knew he usually had when his green eyes sparked, like a forest afire, on her body.

“I’m not here to allow you to think about anything else, Aila.” It was almost a command; as his thumb found bare skin over Aila’s neck, and kneaded gently over. “The beautiful duchess of Perdan need not worry about the mewling of the lesser idiots that bark and beg at her feet, for a moment’s attention.”

“It’s fortunate for you. I already know the best way for any wise and clever perfect duchess to relax.”

It was clear where Oliver’s plans were lying, it was a tradition for men to begin with a massage the world over, and he knew that she knew already, his ego wasn’t quite that large when it came to his charm. Nor could he hide the changes in his own body. His hands eventually change course to hang over the collar of Aila’s gown; and his long fingers begin to tug it down over soft shoulder and hearty breast.

This was what she had wanted since seeing him, not his terrible jokes or cocky bluster- Just compliments, hungry kisses, the sensation of his hands on her body. “Not here” Aila’s commands are never implied, hands steadying his as they tugged at a dress far too expensive for such brutish treatment. He got stronger all the time since they had met, had matured in many ways but remained as eager as a teenager when it came to her. Feeling that eagerness pressed against her always gave Aila a mind to send him away disappointed. It was a singular pleasure of hers to have that power of a man but still, she did not deny him and instead wrapped both arms tight around his neck. She really had meant it when she said she had missed him; it was true that she had not slept much without the help of tinctures since Aix.

“Carry me to my bed…”.She is expectantly waiting, her severe expression undermined by fingers gently pulling his braid loose behind his back. Still, Aila warns him nervously “We’ll have to be careful” readying for him to lift her.Her injured leg would be an issue for a long time yet, so working around it would have to happen sooner or later. To say she was not scared that he would hurt her in the process however would be a lie.

“Oh?” Oliver asked with a tease and dutifully scooped Aila into his arms, as commanded, the effort was as though the pouty-faced blonde was no more than a featherweight. But he did steal another kiss, before he risked saying more—“Be careful? I thought you wanted me to treat you no differently than before?”

He flashed a quick, white impish smirk next to Aila’s face; and together, Oliver led them away from the messy sofa and the broken field of fine teaware on the floor as a remembrance of their meeting. “If the great huntress of Perdan’s endless forests can’t handle this beast alone. Then perhaps that healer woman of yours could assist? She must quite nimble with her hands—”

Oliver worked a thick oaken door with his foot open just enough for him to kick it all the way open before carrying Aila on through, “-As I’m sure you can attest, you’ve had plenty of experience with her so far… What was her name again?”

The familiar challenge in his voice rose up again, egging Aila on to rise up to the bait, or bite him. Either way for Oliver, he grinned as if he was a fool dancing with fire torches in his hands. “We could always make her watch too.”

“Her name is Colette” Aila answers with a dull tone, just clinging onto his neck, nervous that he would bump her leg with some of his flashy moves but so far she remained safe. “Do you like her?” She asks, eyes on the bed hoping he would soon put her down safely.

“She is young, big watery blue eyes; quiet as a mouse. Skilled at her work, makes a hefty wage; I know because I pay it” As he lays her gently on the feathertop of her massive bed she visibly relaxes, pulling herself up to the center somewhat clumsily- staring him down once she was ready. “Not a mere commoner, either. A minor Lady of some...Stupid silly something I don’t remember so it likely does not matter. Demure, pious, obedient....” Aila settles down on her back, staring up at the ornate stitching covering the canopy of her massive bed “You’re getting older every day, so if any of that appeals to you I suggest we not torment her.”

“Colette is a fine name…” Oliver commented with musingly, and then he scowled with mock offense when he heard the rest.. “And I wouldn’t say I am -that- old yet my sweet. I have many more years of raiding the bedrooms of lonely duchesses ahead of me - before I even begin to tire.”

His hands went to work in the ritual the earl had gone through many times oft before, relieving Aila of her slippers first, Oliver began to undress her upon the outrageously sized mattress-top. His movements were efficient, knowing, as the duchess fell more and more to his touch; in the place of mysticism that two exploring young and fumbling lovers would have, were instead experienced artisans in their element.

“But. If you insist,” Oliver chatted along as he unbuttoned his shirt, having discarded his jacket and throwing it all into a forgotten mess on the floor. He climbed onto the bed next, prowling like a hunting cat until he was mounted over Aila, only a few intimate breaths away from her face. Grinning as ever there was another joke. “We could leave her alone this time, it’s interesting you would be so considerate for that one.”

"Perhaps I just want you to myself?"

He kissed her again, his hands pinning her own against the mattress, mindful of her awkward immobilized leg while doing so, and the length of his hair that Aila had unbraided a minute ago fell free and shaded his face. Then he went lower and lower, almost reluctant at first to leave her lips, yet his next service in the name of the duchess had to begin.

Oliver surprises her with his care, not a bump or nudge in the wrong direction caused her any pain even as he climbed on top of her. He had refused to bring in the other woman and to her it was a relief perhaps he was not as bored with his crippled, grumpy Duchess as he first implied. The heat of his lips on her skin confirmed this further, his eagerness to serve her even moreso.

As her lips drift from hers a gentle hand clutches the mane of dark hair at the nape of his neck, guiding him back to her lips. “I do not want you to serve, stay here and kiss me” her words are a whisper, but he will know better than to dismiss them. A thinly veiled warning, combined with the arching of her back, coaxing him closer still.

In the back of her mind she knew this election could see her banned from her homeland, or worse...It could be her last time as a Duchess with the power Oliver found so alluring…”After tonight everything will be different.”