A/N: Hello all. This is Suils Saifir here! I can't access my account so I'm uploading this on our joint account.

Yes this is M rated. Le Gasp. Thanks to Jav-chan for betaing and pushing me to write things out of my comfort zone. This has notions of unsavoury things, some people are slightly OOC, whispers of Allen bashing (what's new ^^) and scenes of a sexual nature. So don't flame if you're shocked. This is M rated.

With that, enjoy and please comment. Inspires me to write the second and final part quicker. :D

In The Shadows

She sat there on his lap. His hands on her bare thighs.

But she wasn't bare. Not yet. Not just yet.

Not that it mattered. Her nightdress bunched around her hips, scarcely keeping her modest. But how could she be modest when she sat on the King's lap in a nightdress? His fingers tracing invisible designs on her skin. Making her feel so very warm. So very wrong.

Her shoulders were cold. The neck of her nightgown had been stretched beyond all repair. And he had laid his tongue on her skin. Trailed kisses along her collarbone, his teeth scraping the curve of her neck.

But the windows were closed. Curtains drawn tightly shut. A fire roared against her back. That too was exposed, half the ties of her nightgown had been opened. Only a few candles had been left alight. She had extinguished most. She didn't want to see.

She had to feel, how could she not? But she didn't want to see. To look at him. To watch his expressions as he…as he removed her clothing. As he touched her. He didn't even know her name. She didn't even want this. It was all for…all for her own good.

"Stand up for me." Her nails dug into his bare forearms, shocked by his words. The only words she had heard since coming into the room. She had barely heard his command to go to him as her hand lingered on the wooden doorknob.

She had felt numb standing before him in her nightgown. His gaze on her barely covered body, appraising her as if she were in a brothel, lounging in a chair by the fire. Was this a common occurrence for him?

He was so calm, unmoved even. She didn't know how she had managed not to tremble. Why did it have to be so shameful? Did he feel nothing?

"Please, stand up." His bare fingers trailed down to her knees, the honey coloured skin contrasting with her pale skin. She would rather look at his hands than meet his gaze. But she managed it, slowly moving off the chair, feeling a lot colder than she did first entering the room. He had kept her warm, pulling her flush against him.

She stumbled but it wasn't just the loss of contact, it was the recollection of what was happening, what was about to happen.

The first time she laid eyes on him, she was far more interested in the man at his side. She curtseyed to the Fanelian King and managed to pleasantly murmur that it was such a great honour for him to visit their lowly home. Allen drunkenly laughed and she bypassed the garnet eyes that rolled with annoyance. Her critical gaze fell on the silent man.

The maids directed Allen and their foreign companion to rooms whilst she aided the silent man up to his room, wondering just how she had become both prisoner and jailer in her own home. Such few blessings to count, how bittersweet it was to be grateful he stayed silent. She knew others raved, screamed, lashed out. He did nothing.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression. Triumphant, curious, lustful. She wanted it to be finished, quickly. But she knew he wouldn't let that happen. His twisted sense of integrity. How honourable was it to do what he was? To touch her? Hold her only doors away from…

He made her bite her lip as he stood, moving so she almost leaned against him. Keeping her eyes tightly shut as his hands skimmed over her sides, along her hips, down to the hem of her nightgown before sliding his hands up underneath and hooking his fingers over the only security she had from him. He heard her gasp as his calloused hands trailed down her sensitive skin, pulling with it her dignity, torturing her with a kiss to her jaw, making her feel him pant against her skin in anticipation.

His mouth trailed a set of modest kisses down the neckline of her shift as he bent, his hands moving lower, trailing behind her knees and letting the garment drop to the floor. Her eyes flew open involuntarily, whimpering as his hand slid over the back of her nightgown again to pull her flush against his hard planes, locking her in place.

She shook her head, as if he would pay any attention, his focus firmly on her face, his free hand tracing her cheekbones, the curve of her ear, down her jaw to her neck. Her hands balled against his shirt but she didn't move further, praying he would find a speck of decency.

It was an impossible prayer she realized as his teeth nipped against her bare shoulder. She flinched, biting her lip and hissing in shock as his warm, large hands cradled her hips. He walked backwards again, to sit on the chair once more and pulled her forward and onto his lap again. Her hand shot out to grab the back of the engulfing armchair as her hips met his.

She felt a trickle of blood as her teeth sank into her lip, barely able to stop her cry as his mouth covered a sliver of skin and kissed it so hard, so forcefully that her spine arched involuntarily. The firm, taut planes of his chest met her curves and she shivered, hating herself for reacting to him.

It was no longer a question of him. But others too. How often had she wished, waited for attention, affection and been left lying in a cold bed with her tears as company.

It had been so long.

The second time they met she had expected him. Allen was a regular fixture at their household so it made sense that his visitor at Fort Castello would in all probability join him for their weekly supper. Luckily the gods had given her the grace of having her husband in a fit state to entertain. Even Allen was a great deal more jovial.

As a dutiful wife, she kept her comments to a minimum and let her husband partake of the vino as he wished. Meeting the King's gaze as they ate, her only thought was that Yukari would be a great deal more dazzled by the Royal company than she. She even waved the trio off happily as they went off to the local tavern for a quick drink.

Alcohol didn't bother her. She had seen her aunt fall victim to her husband's drunken temper, but her husband was almost childlike when inebriated, so gentle and loving. It was by far preferable to anything else. The maids were used to her joining them in the kitchen, washing the dishes and cutlery for some sort of peace.

She couldn't curse the young women for going to bed, it was already a late hour. And she, if anyone deserved the right to feel safe in her own home surely?

It was merely surprise she felt as she heard the heavy kitchen door open and saw the King enter. He was silent and she felt unsure of how to enquire after him and his companions. Allen on too many occasions had accused her of smothering her spouse, fussing over a perfectly capable man. The idiot needed a slap for all his blindness to the truth.

The King had spoken instead, terrifying her in seconds with such a casual comment, "It must be painful, wife to your husband, and yet second to another." She had prayed in the fraying silence that he was mistaken, that he meant something else. Something other than the awful truth.

Her terror made her such an easy target. He calmly stepped towards her, standing before her, with demon's eyes as he spoke, "How awful for you. How lonely." His hand stretched out to touch her and she moved before he could reach. She should have seen it then, realized just what she had done. But her sight fell short.

Keeping her distance and wishing she could reach the door before him, she failed as he muttered with deceitful calm, "A mystic would have seen it."

There was no room for discomfort. His hand, so heavy and warm, pressing against her back, just bordering on indecent. Not that propriety had any place between them. With only a thin nightgown keeping her from infidelity and the glint of her wedding band, she felt his lips brush her chin. Her eyes shut tight once more as his tongue tasted the trail of dried blood, moving higher to soothe her lip.

She transcended panic as she turned her face away, lowering her gaze so her hair slid to cover her traitorous expression. He didn't show any anger, too lost in what was to come, his mouth moving to her neck again, this curve yet to feel the pleasurable attention of his lips and tongue. She gasped once more as his hand slid up her back, moving over the material to her bare skin, again arching against him.

A whimper escaped her as his hand threaded in her hair, pulling gently so she tilted her head back, offering her neck to him. It was instinctive, to steady herself that she placed a hand on his bare arm, the other on his clothed shoulder, her grip tightening as he marked her as his, caressing skin that had been neglected for so long.

This time she kept her eyes open, his eyeline matching hers, meeting her emerald, clouded, guilty gaze. Every emotion running through her stalled at his expression. It wasn't exultant or smug. There was contentment in his eyes. And it frightened her more than leaving her comatose husband to stray from their bed.

His fingers were so nimble, so swift as he dragged the torn, slack neckline of her nightgown off her shoulders, leaving her even more vulnerable to him. She let his hand reach up, tearing her eyes from his to watch as his tanned, calloused hand curved round a part of her that surely belonged to her husband and him alone. It was shock that made her recoil and grip his wrist as tightly as she could.

She could sense for the first time he wasn't pushing her. Not that it raised him any further in her view. There couldn't be any respect for him after this. If this was his way of being kind then he truly was despicable. But then so was she.

Their third encounter was only worse. And her husband, lost in the middle of it all.

She had fallen asleep, waiting for the sound of his horse, waiting for him to return, but she woke up cold and filled with panic. The groomsman insisted on attending, murmuring many aggravating comments about dangerous places for women. Her husband hadn't come home, did his gender keep him safe?

It was only fuel for the fire as the man knew every place to knock, some doors were answered by name. And none knew. No one had seen him. Any chance of divine help passed her by with a cruel breeze, she had no way of knowing if her husband was alive or dead.

They returned to the house and the groomsman had gathered the labourers and male household staff to search for him. The maids brought her countless cups of useless tea. Any panic over an arrogant monarch's veiled threat evaporated at the dizzying fear she was soon to be a widow.

It was hours later. It felt like days. But they returned.

A crowd of people entered, Allen and the Asturian Queen among them. And her husband. It almost felt like a funeral procession, she barely knew who entered, only catching sight of her spouse's deathly expression. The guests certainly seemed that way, the Queen grave and still as she examined a man who had been found floating in the harbour an hour before.

The Queen remained for another day, waiting for the Lord Évora to awake. He did so slowly, reaching for her hand and waking her into terror, believing his ghost was saying farewell. Her shriek woke the entire house, but made her husband laugh with such levity that she cried.

Even though she looked away, she could picture his gaze, setting her stomach alight at the image as her fingers slid over his and moulded his hand to her breast. It was his groan this time, pushing her to lose her morals, to give into him. To pretend that it was acceptable. That it was intended to be this way.

A second later she forgot about whose morals or what her morals even were as his firm hand flexed over skin that hadn't been touched like that in an awfully long time. The feel of his laboured breath on her bare cleavage did nothing to help her feverish state. He touched her as if he was afraid she would push him away. But something in her had changed.

His slow, curious touch was so very different to what she knew, and barely at that. She had never seen her husband's expression whenever they had gone to bed together. It was always too dark and she usually kept her eyes shut. But with the man before her, she couldn't keep herself from staring at him, revelling in his rapturous expression.

An arm curled round her back, pulling her even closer so her hips dug right against his. His want for her was overpowering but she found herself lost in the feeling of her bare breasts crushed against his rough tunic. She wanted to feel his skin against her own. It was wrong but it was necessary, that she knew. So she followed the small voice that told her to participate actively.

A rough moan escaped his tight lips, his eyes flickering back up to meet hers as she slid a hand under his tunic, captivated by his taut skin that seemed to tense as her fingers explored. Her carriage of thought collapsed completely as she felt something tug on the most sensitive part of her breast. Her nails scored up his chest, feeling his tongue and teeth lavish her state of arousal so desperately that she gasped out his given name.

Cold sweat trickled down her back in shock and horror at what she had let herself do, at how wanton she had become. Forgetting just why she was doing this, allowing herself to be taken by a man that was not her husband. And to cry out his name. The Fanelian King's name as if they were lovers. As if it were a common thing to be sat on his lap, barely dressed and allowing herself to be seduced only rooms away from her husband.

"I think he's lonely." Her husband whispered in her ear as they stood in their front porch accepting guests. Lord Gaddes de Évora was celebrating three decades of life. So he had decided—pushed by Allen, she thought—to celebrate in a style far more lavish than she was accustomed to. So lavish that the debauched crowd that rarely strayed from Pallas were gracing their humble home with their appearance.

She was terrified.

The opulence antagonized her and the attitude of many guests set her teeth on edge, her palms itching for a slap. Many of the guests, so called friends and relatives of Gaddes had never before visited their home. Their sniffy, appraising expressions only pushed her to feel even further on edge. More so than the upper class cacophony of Pallas, she was terrified of the men her husband had kept away from, for over three months.

Once again Allen was playing ignorant and angelic, daring to flirt with the Asturian Queen as best he could without attracting the inebriated King's attention. Millerna seemed amused by the cat and mouse routine which apparently she had been a great deal more involved in before her marriage. Then again, her husband or supposed ex-lover hadn't had a vice so terrible as her husband's.

But she had spent the night trying to seem happy and as light-hearted a wife was expected to be. She couldn't hover around her husband all night, not when his cousin Yukari kept dragging her to corners to gossip. Other ladies would instigate conversations and as hostess she had to seem delighted at the overflow of company.

The mix of Pallas' finest gentlemen and ladies alongside the city's most depraved characters oddly and sickeningly mixed rather easily. Lady Fassa danced with a landlord of dilapidated accommodation by the harbour, places her husband visited at night. The pair however seemed to interact as if the repulsive man was part of the aristocracy himself. But that didn't bother her as much as it could have. Instead she had been trying her best to keep an eye on the Fanelian King without being noticed.

Clearly she hadn't succeeded very well with the man concerned as he appeared from the crowd, took her hand and kissed it before asking her to dance.

Her eyes snapped immediately to her husband, desperately hoping he would see and call her over. But her stomach churned as she could only see an empty chair. Whatever the man gripping her hand could say or do, she feared a worse fate lay before her husband.

"You didn't see me coming?"

It was all for him, she reminded herself, screaming at herself not to cry. She could not let the manipulative bastard before her take any further advantage than he already had, than he was about to.

She didn't care that he had stopped. That he sat in silence, as if respectfully waiting for her. He was in no way respectable. He deserved no bow or curtsey under her household. No admiration from her husband for what the King had asked of her. Was taking from her.

"Tell me your name." He murmured in such a quiet tone, but even that made her flinch at the sudden noise. Looking away from him once more, she let her hair shield her face, shivering as it slid over bare, wet skin. It was made worse as he sighed in frustration, only making the sensitive skin react almost painfully, her teeth biting back a gasp, her spine stiffening to prevent a shudder.

But she arched against him, and sighed at the feel of the coarse material once more against her nakedness. "Please," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. She felt a smidgen of resolve return to her, not faltering at his attempt at seduction. She wouldn't let him—

"I want to know your name. I beg of you." His words carried a weight with them that sent panic fluttering to her stomach. It only angered her further that the nervous tension only heightened her keening need.

Why couldn't he have been brutal? Consented or not she would never be happy with the act that still loomed before her. If he took her by force, without a care to her needs or senses, then she would be able to nurse the feeling it wasn't her fault. But the heat between her thighs, the feeling of appreciation that her undergarments had been removed only frightened her more.

She loved her husband. Truly she cared for him like no other. This sudden knowledge frightened her. The tingles of pleasure and other sensations she had never…her marital life hadn't…

The Fanelian King could turn her into a quivering mess, amidst her dread, her disgust and his utter lack of morals. A headache would be there in the morning she knew. It would be the least of her problems. "Please, tell me your name."

She shook her head, why did he suddenly have the need to know her given name. It wasn't important. He was merely using her because there weren't any whorehouses nearby the Évora estates. Why did he want to know? Surely it was better if he didn't know. She didn't want him to know.

She was trapped.

Whatever she had imagined the night she had fled from the kitchen, her stomach violently lurching as she raced up the stairs, she had never thought she would be so terrified. Bile rose in her throat as he stopped in the middle of the ballroom. Adjusting his grip on her hand he took another step closer and slid his second, startlingly large hand around her waist. It was appropriate where it rested on her back, but even with the folds of silk and his leather gloves, she couldn't hide her panic at how near he was.

But she surprised herself, feeling something brewing under the fear she had repressed in the months leading up to her husband's birthday celebrations. It could no longer linger at the back of her mind. Standing before him and slowly guided by him in refined circles round other waltzing couples, she felt anger wash over her many insecurities.

That first night he had expressed his knowledge of her husband's excursions, she had sat up looking out at the fields her husband owned, wondering when the King would go to his Asturian counterpart and inform him of Lord Évora's habits. If he did, then even Allen would be of no use. Not that the blonde idiot had done much to help either of them.

Casting an attempted nonchalant glance to where she had last seen her husband, she inhaled wearily at the absence of him in an armchair. She couldn't begrudge him invitations to whomever he wished. They were wed for four years and he was six years older, in what way could she demand or forbid the entrance of the men who led him astray? Common sense had no place in their marriage.

It was only worse being guided round the ballroom with a man who acted as her own personal torment, keeping her from seeking out her husband. And this very man knew just exactly what she was afraid of. Even Gaddes didn't know of her mystic background. He knew of her parents but he had no idea of her seeing capabilities. Not that she was strong enough to see clearly.

Otherwise she would have…

The mocking smile on the King's face was the closest thing she had to a confidant. He knew that despite her inability, she craved for knowledge of her husband, praying for him to return to her, to the rightful path. But that her sight could only show her intentions, not deeds. And her husband had been embroiled in his vice long before they had met and married.

"You seem worried my Lady. Is something troubling you?" His concerned tone was nothing more than a mockery and she met the King's gaze evenly, not showing a speck of anger or spite as she replied, "I am well thank you Your Majesty. It is kind of you to ask."

Living with her husband, she had learned to fend off unwanted questions, suspicious onlookers with a gesture or her tone. Watching as the King's gaze abruptly left hers she found herself regaining some semblance of inner calm. She was certain she had gained ground. All she needed now was to keep her husband in sight. And stay out of the King's.

Even his thumb was calloused. From swordplay and practice of such martial arts she surmised, but she couldn't keep herself from pressing her breast into his grasp as his thumb circled the sensitive peak almost lazily. She kept her gaze on the shadows the fire projected, not wanting to see what his gaze offered. It was ridiculous but he felt almost familiar. His touch, his gestures so relaxed as though this was not the first.

And that thought alone made her shift in discomfort melding with the tingles down her back and across her skin.

"Mitsuru?" He asked, breaking her chain of hazy thoughts, confusing her as to what his question was. She shook her head a second later recalling he wanted to know her name. She wouldn't tell him. It wasn't his place to know. No matter what she was doing, how many gods she was angering, tarnishing herself and her husband, her name was not his to take.

Glancing to the curtains and back to his shoulder she saw him shake with apparent laughter before he moved his lips up to the curve of her neck. "Kaoru?" His breath so close to her skin only made her close her eyes again. It was all so wrong. It wasn't meant to be like this. In any way.

A startled cry escaped her as his mouth descended on a spot just below her collarbone, not even her husband had discovered. She shuddered, hating herself for the comparison and how her traitorous hand slid into his wild jet black hair, keeping his attention on her skin. As if in a trance she let her other hand slide down his tunic—so rough for one so regal—across his broad, strong chest to a set of strings pulled together, lacing the garment up. Her breath came in slow pants, clinging to any crumb of sanity, but her fingers curled against the cords and pulled harshly, opening his tunic and giving her a greater view of his skin.

His mouth moved up, placing slow but harsh kisses against her bare skin, then down and back up the line of her throat to her chin. "Naoko?" he muttered, his lips sweeping the tilt of her chin as his taunting gaze met her feverish one. She didn't even shake her head, too focused on the sudden awareness that the hand on her breast had moved.

Back on her thigh, his fingers slid up and down, his mouth so close to hers kept her from looking down. Not that she needed to witness any confirmation of the pulse throbbing between her legs that begged for attention. Only worse was the smile she felt his lips twist into against her chin, his breath against her skin. He would never kiss her. She wouldn't…just wouldn't allow it.

She jumped as his fingers slipped under her excuse of a nightgown and stroked the inside of her thigh. Her undergarment, crumpled on the floor at his feet and her thighs either side of his own only added to his advantage. Any self-recrimination fell silent as he moved again, losing her to their circumstances as she failed to breathe.

"Your husband is being watched closely by Allen and his band of misfits my Lady, you have nothing to fear." The King's words made her stare at his impassive gaze and it took everything to stop her from wrenching out of his grip, or slapping him for his impertinence. King of Fanelia or not, he had absolutely no clue what her husband had done, what his friends had put her through.

The man carefully guiding her through steps she had no interest in was completely unaware of how many nights she had been alone. He could never comprehend how many times she had waited for news of the worst sort. Even the servants had taken on an accepting air, as if expectant of their Master's death at any time. But the last four months had been a new beginning. For all of them.

Surely the King could tell that if her husband was caught in the grip of his vicious mistress before all these delightful people, he would lose everything. It was the same concept the King's own threat hung upon. If Gaddes was found, he would be stripped of every title. The possibility of prison or execution for his habit turned her blood to ice and it because extremely hard to appear engaging to a man she would sooner push off a cliff.

"Does he hurt you?" Jolted from her macabre thoughts, she met the powerful man's gaze and balked a second time at what apparently looked like worry. Or concern. Was he mocking her? He could see how precarious everything was for her, not only because of her husband but for her own life too. So how could he possibility find amusement in taunting her?

Clearly the Fanelian King was depraved enough to find amusement in others' pain. "Does he?" His voice, a whisper against her ear made her grip his shoulder tightly in anger, annoyed only further when he showed no sign of pain. Or even a recoil. His gaze was steady and unerring in its concentration on her.

It was so hard to conceal her hatred of this man, not having any sensible or acceptable reason. How could she say he had approached her inappropriately. That he knew of her husband's terrible secret and her own. That she was terrified of the next time he would do so. She shook her head a fraction and hissed, "He doesn't and it's none of your business what my husband does."

"It is his business what you do my lady. He should be there to protect you from false gentlemen."

There was no room for self hatred or any complex ideas as his fingers slid into the untouched curls between her thighs, shielded by her nightgown. No sound came from her paralyzed throat, every focus in her body on a part of her that had been devoid of attention for so long. His touches were fleeting, teasing, coaxing her to react. "Your name, my Lady."

She heard his words, despite the haze surrounding her. The glow he cultivated almost extravagantly. Her hips moved, desperate for further attention and she whispered his name once more, defiantly, her cheek against a patch of skin bared along his shoulder. "Van." Her eyes rolled back as he finally reached the place she desired, then growled as his fingers slid back down her thigh.

His soft, mocking laugh angered her, but she was too lost to think of just why their actions were so wrong. "Tell me your name." He nipped her earlobe, moving against her, pressing his clothed chest to her bare skin, setting her hips to push forwards in need. She looked at him then, the need clear in his eyes, no doubt mirrored in hers. But she wouldn't tell him. She wouldn't.

She let her hand move of its own accord this time without surprise. Gripping his wrist tightly once more she pushed his hand forward, demanding wordlessly. He responded slowly and it was barely a touch but she moaned, her head rolling back at the feeling of some attention to her slick folds. "Hi…hi…Hitomi," she managed to whisper against his neck, pressing her mouth against his tanned skin to stop from crying out.

The next cry escaped her, his mouth on her neck and his fingers igniting a spark that had been cold for so long. She was too lost to care, her only focus on his wonderful, wonderful fingers. Never had she been happier that the man she straddled had worked so hard with weapons. The callouses only made her shudder deeper, pressing her weight further onto his legs. A distant echo in her mind recalled her husband had calloused hands too. But never had he…had he…

And the heat. She wanted her nightgown off her. The sheen on her back flickered hot and cold as she rolled her hips against his. He growled in response, shifting his centre to meet hers, throwing her forwards in pleasure. Her face an inch from his, she sighed as he rocked against her once more, her name rumbling from his chest.

"Hitomi."

A voice cried out somewhere that she should be struggling or keeping as still and unresponsive as possible. But she was lost in movement and pleasure she was yet to discover. She was caught in a haze, led into depravity by such sinful eyes. He murmured her name once more. "Hitomi," and she stilled. She had heard her name in such a way before. On her husband's lips. Not in the throes of what she used to think of as passion.

But he too had been in a haze, not want or need. He had called out her name, desperate for her. She had thought so wrongly. It had been the only time he had spoken after stumbling back from the backwater dens.

Tears slid down her face at the horror of just how far she had led herself into temptation. The King was too shocked by the sudden twist of emotion as she stumbled out of his besieged embrace, hastily adjusting her improper state. She turned to the door, throwing on her dressing gown, to cover everything and shut the door behind her. Shock pounded through her body, making her reckless, not bothering to see if anyone had opened their door to see her leave the King's room.

Even in the empty corridor she was sure she could hear him call her.

"Hitomi."

A/N: What do you think her husband's vice is? Previews goes to those who guess correctly! Thanks again!

Sina xx