THE DUCHESS;

EVERYBODY'S LOOKING FOR SOMETHING

Terrifying commode magic behind her and potential buzzkill before her, the Duchess breathed only a moment of relief. Like herself, the pirate lord had had a reputation for keeping her secrets close to her chest, including appearance. Distinguishing marks like scars were only easier to identify later if they had been seen. And yet, here was Croe, completely vulnerable and trusting of a god who had always seemed to the Duchess as a bit of a loose cannon. She certainly hadn’t been his only conquest, and the Duchess shamed the pirate lord for how far she’d fallen in her defenses. No one, nobody, was trustworthy enough for this.

When she spoke, the words were also less harsh than she expected them to be. Sure there was a hint of hoarseness so early in the morning, but Duchess could feel her spine tighten at the compassion. Of course, why the sun god wouldn’t be up with the sun seemed odd to her, but the apparently laziness was not endearing the Duchess to the Spanish original in any way. She sat beside Croe, still reading her. Angela must have been the child she’d grabbed from the room in the castle. Or some servant here, though why Mallos would be aware of the sleep schedules of his staff seemed to rule out that possibility.

She sighed, and looked at Croe’s hands, following her ink-stained arms up to her eyes and smiled softly. “No,” she said with a chuckle, “nothing like that. Never. Just,” she paused, her face holding its false softness as she tried to find an excuse that might suffice. “Just not sleeping well, with everything…” The Duchess trailed off and looked out the window. It wasn’t so early that staff weren’t beginning their day. “You go back to sleep,” she said, taking the ex-convict’s hand. “Get some rest. I’m going to go get some air and clear my head.” The Duchess rose then and, hoping it might seem in character for the original fairy, kissed “her lover” on the forehead before turning to go.

She stopped though, and turned back. There were worse ways to permanently tie both a traitor and an interfering god up in ropes than the idea that had occurred to her.

“Marry me,” she said suddenly. “Seriously, Croe, marry me. I can’t risk losing you too.”

How sweet it was that recent events left the god open to attacks, from outside and within. Settle him down with a little wife and his little girl and tie them all up in a pretty bow. If Croe returned to reclaim out what the Duchess was now deciding to annex from her, she would have the repercussions come down on Mallos as well. Both would be at the mercy of the other. A well trained face gave nothing no part of her cognition away. Only the hope and openness the question required.