A/N: I'm just getting back into the swing of writing publishable material. This is probably the second last chapter. The final chapter won't be far behind. Whether or not I connect my bits and pieces for a sequel and publish them depend on whether or not you want me to. I'm really thankful for those of you who've stuck with me this long.

Act II Part X
Something Lost, Nothing Gained

Sparrow grasped the knocker firmly, hesitating slightly, mustering her resolve before she actually knocked – how long she'd been standing on the front step, she had no clue. The sound of the brass making contact with the mahogany resounded strongly off of the walls behind it, loud enough for the queen herself to hear the echo. She barely had time to catch the breath that caught in her throat before the door was answer by a man with a bird's nose and beady eyes to match. He made a show of brushing off his finely tailored uniform before showing the cloaked woman in.

The place was much more different than she had imagined it – definitely a step up from Bloodstone Manor, and less flashy than the now singed estate in Millfields. Gentle pastels covered the walls, which were accented by the watercolour scenery that adorned them, framed in a gentler, finished mahogany that of the doors. The greatest splash of colours lied within the greenery that spotted the long hallway. For a second, she pondered the possibility that she had come to wrong address, until a gorgeous man-boy who wore a much new, flashier version of the uniform the butler had, with hair kissed by fire and the twinkle of youth in his eyes. He was quite pretty; Sparrow could tell why his master had chosen him.

"This way to the mastah, madam," he said, making a gesture of grander toward the length of the hallway. The hint of speech impediment that she caught must have been a fabrication of her own imagination. "I'm Bawwy, by the way, mastah Weavah's head boy." No, it was certainly there. Typical – she knew how much Reaver loved his little boys.

Barry led her to the end of the hall. Sparrow couldn't help but be reminded of a similar journey she made as a child, after her summon from lord Lucien, and the long trek she made down the dimly lit hallway of Fairfax Castle, the place she now called home. The thought of what she found at the end of the hallway then plagued her mind, making each step more difficult. She remembered when Lucien shot her sister and stopped dead in her tracks, reaching around her waist just to make sure the pistol was in its holster. Barry, too, paused and looked back at her, urging her on with a nod of his head. Sparrow shook hers and continued.

Finally, the long walk came to its end and the two were faced with a white door. Barry stepped forth and knocked thrice. They waited for what seemed to Sparrow like an eternity before a muffled voice invited them in. Barry held the door open for her and nearly closed it on her behind, disappearing from sight. Sparrow wasted no time in approaching the figure bent over his desk scribbling down a storm. "I want to know what you did," she said calmly.

Reaver stopped, set down his writing utensil, and pushed aside his parchment. "I can tell you went to see them. I can smell it on did they tell you?"

"They said, 'It comes too early.' I want to know what they mean. What did you do?"

He turned his chair around, folding his hands over his lap and raising an eyebrow. "They mean exactly what they say, my dear. The Shadow Court doesn't mess around."

The queen huffed, running her fingers through her chocolate locks. "I know that you know that I know. I didn't come here to play games, Reaver." She took a deep breath, pulling back the hood of her cloak so as to get a better look at him. She was finally able noticed the scruff on his jaw, the stains on his shirt, and that his usually well groomed hair was a greasy mess. His once brilliant eyes now reminded her of the Albion's coastal waters – a muted, foggy green. The sorry sight filled her with a sense of justness. "I came here to hear you say it."

"Say what? I cannot possibly fathom what it is you have the desire left to hear from me, ma chère. You know how you ladies confuse me."

"I just want…" She stopped herself, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. Her hand moved to her abdomen, as she often found it did without much thought of late. So many things came to mind regarding things she wanted to hear from Reaver, but there was only one reason as to why she was actually here. "I want you to tell me that you put darkness into me, and I want to know why."

Reaver cracked a smile. He stood up and place a hand on her shoulder, running it down the length of her arm while the other stroked her pale cheek, thumbing the single tear that rolled down from here watery eyes. She refused to move or make a sound, not wishing to give him the satisfaction. "Do you wish I'd done it myself? You know that the two of us have had a troubled past, and your womb is prime real-estate. I had to ask them to lend a helping hand. We could have a go now, though, if you so desire."

Sparrow blinked rapidly, trying to rid herself of the tears clouding her vision, taking in a sharp breath. "I don't understand why."

"Why not?" he offered, shrugging, a soft chuckle resounding in the depths of him. She felt the movement in his chest as a result, the vibration a sort of calming feeling – one she missed. It felt like nights spent drinking fine wine and being fed expensive chocolates, with whispers of sweet nothings, his chest the only pillow she needed, his voice the only thing she needed to hear. She closed her eyes tightly, letting out a long, shaky breath, unable to meet his gaze. His hand found a place on her hips, his very touch summoning a forgotten yet familiar disgust deep in her stomach. "You do owe me, after all, with what you and your little brat did to my mansion."

"I have no doubt that you will find yourself at home in Albion again soon," she said softly. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him an arm's length away. "But not in my lifetime. Not if you wish to live out the extent of your own." She turned her back to him, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. "You won't have to wait too long, I'm sure."

A new smile spread across Reaver's face. Not his usual malicious grin, but the mischievous smirk of youth. "You feel them too, then? The winds of change? The metal monsters fast approach, our dream of true industrialization will become reality. And, with that, a change in leadership. I do hope you've made arrangements."

Holding back the rising anger, Sparrow decided it best for her to show herself out.