Chapter 31 - A False Burial, Part 02

Quinn arrives in the city centers safely with Ana in her arms, sleeping still, all but healed from most of her artificial wounds by magical and mundane means in Quinn's employ.

Knowing full well her destination, she drags her foot by force, ignoring the whispers of conscience in her head and heart as she makes her way through the paved and slick pathway straight to the capital's palace.

There, two house guards greet her. "I am the snake which your prince employs to poison this one," she answers them with a gritted hiss, impatient and insulted by their polearms, her control weakened by emotions too turbulent to mask.

They're silent for a long time, almost losing their life to Quinn's blade before they finally nod at shout for the parapet to be raised, allowing her entrance with the both of them following her front and behind, sandwiching her in between.

As the news of their arrival travels through the château, it begins to wake up with each step they take. Lamps that have been shut, once more burn alight with magic; kitchen that has been left cold now moves to warm themselves in preparation for an esteemed guest.

And the crown prince and his aids, obviously has been asleep a moment, entered the prepared meeting room with Quinn following in tow—after making her wait nearly an hour—leaving the two guards behind closed doors before they initiate their conversation.

She puts Ana down on one of the large sofas in the room, far away from the center of their discussion to make sure no stupid ideas enter their mind. Just to ensure such a thing further, she starts the negotiation. "Well! I've brought you your price, Crown Prince." Hoping it will give her some semblance of control over the topic at hand.

"You indeed have brought us our fair spoil, Snake," he answers, the royal pronoun grating on her ears, something that she endures with an easy smile as she waits for him to continue, the question evident from his frown: "But still, we are confused about one simple thing."

"Then I shall endeavor to answer you to the best of my ability! My king," she replied, the voice dripping with mockery and clear ridicule that plainly bothers the crown prince.

Trying his best to ignore her tone, "Our order is clear, the task we have charged you with are obvious. So why, pray tell, is she still alive, Snake?" he calmly asked, the inquiry fair.

From any other employer of hers, for any other assignment, she would've answered honestly with a light sarcasm. However, spoken by the man that almost led her to ruin, the very same that forces her to murder a woman most undeserving of such a fate; Quinn can't help but feel vile vitriol rises to her throat.

Before she can even stop herself, her smile turns sharp as her lips part. "Why are you?" Spitting venom to her opponent. "Still alive, I mean! Can you answer that question?" Dead serious and unflinching.

At the force of her sentence, they retreat, as if she just condemns them to an execution.

After a moment, the leader of the group—the crown prince—finally manages to gather enough courage to speak again. It took him a few false starts until he squeaks out: "Excuse me?" Tinged in fear still.

Which, like freshwater, doused Quinn's anger, turning it into something far easier to control. Her smile became playful once more as she raises her brow. "Excuse you?" she asks, her tone mocking. "I don't believe I am. of a higher position than you are, my king. But if it will help you calm down. Then, by all means! You're excused."

The joke in her words have their intended effect, relaxing the taut shoulders of her opponent into what they originally are. Understanding this to be a sign that he can repeat the same question, the crown prince does so, which again cause sourness to enter Quinn's expression.

Though, she finally answers him. "To interrogate!" she begins. "Torment." The remark sounds hollow to her own ears. "And kill." With the last one she must push out of her throat with disgust for everyone in the room beside Ana.

Clear that they find her response unsatisfactory, Quinn raises a finger to stop them from cutting her off. "Now! I understand, you asked me to merely killed her, that's what you wanted, but that's not what your cause need, boy."

"And who are you to claim your ken greater of our need than our counsel?"

"I am the Butcher of Winterpond! The Architect of Blackfort's Fall! The Bane of Delarosa! You know me, that's why you hire me. You know the impregnable I penetrate, the innocents I murder, the efficiency by which I depose of those that stands in my way. I deliver to my clients their needs, not their wants."

Her sentence hangs heavy in the air before she finally sits down, letting the group considers her words, but she knows she already won. There's no surprise in her face once the crown prince asks for a clarification.

"And how will you deliver us the aid we need, then, Snake?"

"By interrogation, to extract all information from her before her eventual demise," she explains. "Though, she must not be tortured." Adding the last part in a hurry as she realizes the implication of her statement.

"Oh? Why not? Is that not a valid and effective method of inquisition?"

"People will confess anything under duress, my king," Quinn half-lie smoothly with a confident smile, forcing the young prince to concede the point.

"And her death?" he asked next.

The question creases her temple with worry for a moment before she once again takes full control. "By my hand, at the start of your first engagement with the enemy. We kill her in front of them, destroying their morale," she suggests, the cruelty cuts open her own heart.

Finally satisfied, the crown prince nods, ending their conversation by ordering a guard to deliver Ana to a prison cell while he personally accompanies Quinn to a lavish guest room in the palace, freshly prepared to what the crown prince assume was her liking.

Quinn doesn't contest it as she lies down upon the bed, staring at the ceiling with clear disinterest, her mind wanders, and it wanders deep into the castle; to a cold and damp prison cell she imagines they will put the woman in.

Her breath grew heavy as her head replay what she has done to Ana for the sake of a promise to a filthy noble who hates her, something that she has grown accustomed to until she met her.

She looks at Quinn so gently, even at the end of their relationship, when Quinn has carved open her flesh with unforgiving precision, the anger that burns in her eyes was never directed at Quinn.

It almost made her believe herself deserving of another chance at love. Something she has surely squandered now, leaving her nothing but destitute and alone; as she was, as she is, as she will always be.

She was never much of a blessing to the people around her, her existence a misfortune and a plague to all that care for her. That's why her father died, that's why she was stabbed twice in the back by the person she loves.

That's why she—"I don't know whether or not I love you, Quinn," a familiar voice cuts her off. "I never experience a romantic love before, not once in my life." Forcing her to sit and look around, finding Ana talking to her past self with such a beautiful smile on her face.

She speaks them in a lilting tone, contrasting her usual monotone. "So, it would be dishonest of me to claim to love you when the feeling deep inside of me is a mere infatuation." Her declaration was sincere. "But I would like to learn more. To see—no, apologies—to confirm that what I feel for you are indeed love, romantic in its nature." And gentle.

She picks her words carefully as she studies Quinn's face, considerate of her feelings and are more than open to accept them. It causes a hunger to rise within her, a craving she can only fulfill by extending a hand and reach out to touch her cheek, changing the scenery.

They're sitting on their bed—in Ana's chamber now. Ana closes her eyes as Quinn caress her face, enjoying the smoothness of her porcelain white skin and the coarseness of her scars.

Quinn always thinks it strangely suits the woman who wears her heart so openly on her sleeve, terrifying and kind both. It makes her vulnerable to Quinn's knowing eye, yet stout and enduring all the same.

In worship, Quinn kisses her digits, trailing them upwards as she whispers her name in prayers. And answering them, Ana hugs her firmly and delicately, stroking her hair in the silence where they're both tired.

As tears makes their way down her face, the memory fades into her determined blue eyes, two sapphires that shines by reflected lights.

If there's comfort to be had, it's that Quinn will forever be haunted by those orbs for the rest of her days, the least she deserves for murdering the most divine of soul.