Desire and
All the sweet pulsing aches
And gentle hurtings
That were you,
Are gone into the sullen dark.
Now in the night you come unsmiling
To lie with me
A dull, cold, rigid bayonet
On my hot-swollen, throbbing soul.

- Killed Paive - July 8 - 1918 by Ernest Hemingway

Chapter 1 - Always Faithful

-x-

Her legs, strong, slender, and scarred, were helplessly entwined with his. His tanned skin contrasted so beautifully, yet so repulsively, with her own pale coloring. He touched with greed that was selfless and fire that was cold, scouring hungrily over her flesh. He left no place untasted or untouched, no place left untainted by the darkness of the sin that was self-indulgence. His erotic groans, her gentle sighs of his name, did not hesitate to slip from bruised lips, the sounds of pleasure resonating through the walls of that dirty, little shack. The smell of wine and sweat combined to assault their heightened senses. Her hands were tangled in his gruff blonde hair, his calloused palms caressed her sides and back and chest. His steady thrusts did not miss a beat, only quickened with their hearts as the point of rapture neared. Then, both laid breathless on their backs, upon a thin mattress stuffed with straw. Their bare chests heaved as they gasped for much needed air. In the dim glow of a lone lantern that swung from the sealing, a thin film of sweat born from fiery passion made their skin gleam. Laying there beside the soldier that night in a very short-lived state of ecstasy, Raine, the Queen of Albion, wondered where things had gone so wrong.

-x-

Elliot was a fine man; a very genuine and kind man. One whose compassion saw no boundaries... and whose boundaries were never overstepped. He shone with a gentle spirit; one that complimented his affectionate exterior and echoed his selflessness. He was solicitous towards those who treated him well, and sympathetic towards those who did him wrong. He had a zealousness for helping people, like no one Raine had ever known. A fine man, indeed. And someday he would make a fine King. It was a fact that was undebatable. He and Raine were the most envied of all the couples in Albion. Elliot loved Raine. And Raine sincerely loved him back.

However...

Elliot was naive. In many ways, he was still the innocent, unchanged, young lad Raine had met years ago. The same child she had played with in the gardens until the sun went to sleep, the same boy who'd crept up to her room when the moon rose in place. The same young man whose life she had chose before those of the demonstration leaders... It seemed so long ago. She had been like him as well, once. But she could hardly remember the girl she had once been.

The Revolution had changed more than Albion, it had changed her, though no one may have noticed it to the degree she felt it. It had forced hardships upon her, given her experiences she'd rather not speak of, burdens she wouldn't wish upon anyone. She had grown up, and left the ever-young Elliot, with all his boyish charm, choking on the dust of her trail. His love was innocent, blameless and pure in nature. It fed her own love and ate her heart away at the same time.

It often seemed Elliot was more her moral barometer than her swain. Someone shining in white, who she would look at and know she could never resemble again. And that fact was wearing on her, as it had been ever since the pair reunited in the cesspools.

Raine needed someone who could share the encumbrances she now carried. Someone who was capable of relating to her trials, to having the blood of thousands of people, innocent or otherwise, dripping from her hands, someone who could understand the responsibility of her unwarranted gifts and her undesired duty to use them. It had taken her too long to realize that, and there was no escaping it now.

-x-

The day she'd usurped her brother's throne had been one of much rejoicing indeed, but it was not until the next evening that a grand ball had been held at the castle to celebrate her coronation. While Hobbeson had been the one to come to her with the request, Raine had a suspicion that a certain over-industrious business tycoon was behind such a party. In the year or so she'd spent away from castle life, she had become rather withdrawn and unsocial, so she had originally rejected the idea. But Hobbeson persisted, "But, your majesty. Surely you wouldn't want the populace to think you do not hold your own triumph as cause for celebration, do you?"

Raine replied with contemplative silence before sighing heavily with a rather vexed expression "Very well, throw your party. But don't expect me to attend."

Ah, but she was there. Of course it was an hour after the party had begun that she finally showed up, but she was there at least, gliding down the stairs in her blue, royal dress to grace her visitants with her presence. She kept her eyes peeled for the fop that called himself Reaver, not sure if she did or did not wish to see him. To her surprise, she didn't spot him, a fact that didn't change for the rest of the night. While she instantly became quizzical of such an out of character move from him, she excused the thought and decided he'd probably found some lovely group of gentlepeople to spend the evening with. In one of my rooms, Raine thought bitterly with a disgusted shudder. It was for the best, she supposed, as she hadn't seen him since he had ruthlessly attempted to kill her, and then frankly invited her into his bed along with Page. Of course, he hadn't recognized who she was for the mask at the time. But their latest encounter would make their next meeting all the more awkward. Besides, she was in no mood for his antics tonight after the trying couple of days she'd just had.

Even so, she carried herself with an air of confidence as if she hadn't sentenced her brother to death or learned of Albion's doom only hours before. She'd ate and drank, laughed and danced, mingled with the commoners and nobles alike. For about an hour the world seemed to be getting back to normal, despite everything that wasn't normal in her life at the moment. But then she'd overheard two nobles, gossiping as they always did.

"Well, if you ask me, its a good thing he's dead. No one needs him around to influence the Queen's decisions. Albion will heal faster without him." One of them had told the other, sticking her nose in the air, voice dripping with contempt for the deceased tyrant.

Logan's execution had occurred early that day, but due to the shock of the news he had delivered just before his death, the weight of the situation hadn't hit Raine until just then. Memories began to flood her mind of her older brother, the times he held her when she was scared, made her laugh when she was sad, and soothed her when she was upset. The times he'd protected her from all the awful things in the world.

She had killed her own brother.

And it was a very heavy load to take on so suddenly. So, the Queen succumbed to her emotions. She ran briskly away from the crowd, from the liveliness of the ballroom. Tears pricked the chocolate eyes hiding behind tresses of chestnut hair that had fallen from where they were cleverly woven into a bun. A rapid staccato of boot heels clicking against the castle floor followed the blur of her regal gown as servants and guests alike ducked out of the distraught Queen's way. She was far too gone to even take heed that they were there. She just ran, and did not stop until she reached the gardens. There, she fell to her knees before his statue.

Her arms folded over his white-rock boots, her damp eyes buried in the crook of her elbow, her nose pressed against the cold surface of the stone. She stayed there, weeping his name and crying for some sign, just a bit of evidence, anything that would lead her to believe he forgave her for her heinous crime. Kinslayer... Her own brother, her only blood relative left in this world, dead by her hand! She had never felt so guilty, so alone.

She wasn't sure how long she'd remained that way, nor how many people had seen her, before she felt a warm hand gripping her shoulder tightly but tenderly. With a startled gasp, she turned abruptly and shifted her gaze up to find soft, blue eyes looking down upon her with pity. A sad but comforting smile framed by blonde sideburns was offered to her.

"Captain Finn, I-" For once, she was speechless in the presence of the soldier she'd become fairly acquainted with. Though she considered him to be one among her strongest allies, she did not think their relationship went past being comrades. So for him to witness her in such a state of emotional vulnerability was quite unsuitable. She imagined she was quite a sight now with tears streaming down her red-splotched face, hair in a mess and grass and dirt smudged on her blue gown from where she'd collapsed in the grass

"I...didn't hear you come up." She managed to choke the words out as she shrugged away from the hand on her shoulder, denying herself the comfort of human commiseration, and stood to begin straightening her dress.

"No, I wouldn't think so...since I've been standing just over there since you came out and all..." He stated with more confidence to his grin than Raine wanted to see at that moment, as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to where he had stood unnoticed moments ago.

"Oh..." She sniffed, her face taking on an even more flushed color as her eyes set upon the direction of his signal, to a bench placed a few yards away from where Raine had blindly fallen to her knees. "Great." She said sarcastically, wiping the last tears away and in the process dampening the fingers of her black leather gloves.

"Aye." He said with amusement before his tone took on an almost reluctant hopefulness at his next question. "Do you..want to tell me what-"

"No." Raine answered a bit too quickly, not even bothering to look at him as she continued to fumble with the creases in her attire.

He was silent for a while, long enough for Raine's eyes to flicker back to him with question for the sudden quietude. Her brow furrowed in slight agitation when she looked up to find him staring intently at the statue of her late brother. "Miss him, do you?" Came his simple words, oblivious to their husky tone. The concerned smile had fled from his lips, and a crease had formed between his brows as they knotted together over cerulean orbs that once sparkled with a gentle sympathy for his Queen and comrade but now had dimmed to a near brooding sadness.

Raine sighed, hung her head in defeat for confirmation of his question, not wishing to spoil the solemn moment with her predictably shaky tone. She did not need to ask why he'd taken on the sudden change in character, for she knew why already. He was as torn, as overwrought with guilt as she was, though not for the same person of course. He'd had no great love for the King. While his influence was key in her decision to execute Logan, he also held no real responsibility for the King's death, and Raine did not hold him to any either. No...his sadness was directed at the death of another: Major Swift.

Despite everyone's attempts to convince him that there was nothing he could've done to stop it, he still felt as though he was partially at fault for the death of Major Swift, a man who had been more like a father to him than his true one had ever thought to be. Raine supposed him seeing her so hysterical over a situation so similar (in the sense that both deaths were a result of this damned Revolution) to his own had brought back the temporarily overlooked notion of Swift's death. At this, she felt another pang of guilt and dropped her gaze to the grass but said nothing, so more moments passed them by in a now bitter silence.

"Raine..." He breathed, and she noted it was the first time he'd ever called her by anything other than a title, mockingly or not. "If there's ever a reason you need me, my door's always open." He said. Raine looked up, knew the contents of that proposal went far deeper than anything he stated, and found herself considering. There was no kindness left to his tone, only an offering to which they would both benefit. For he was lonely, too, and needed comfort just as badly.

Ben was of the few people who were aware that what her and Elliot shared was special but conflicting at the same time. Because of this the soldier also knew Elliot couldn't offer her solace for anything that tormented her, because he'd never experienced true torment himself, whereas Ben had remained by her side nearly the entire time. Not to mention, he had undergone plenty of his own trials before even meeting her. In addition, while Elliot wouldn't mean to hurt Raine, he would surely have something to say about Logan's death. Raine knew Ben wasn't exactly the man she needed, and she certainly did not love him. But... He could understand her struggles now better than Elliot could, that much was definitely true...

Before she could reply, she felt his lips graze her own. The kiss had been chaste and respectful, more similar to one that could be shared between close family members. But it was warm and inviting, and apparently successful, as she gradually desiring more with every step he then continued to take from her.

In the youth of that evening, she'd excused the whole thing and instead resorted to looking for comfort elsewhere, drowning herself in her cups as she jested and chortled and made bawdy jokes with Walter and her other soldiers as if it was any other day. She ignored it and pretended not to hear when some nobles whispered of how it did not become a Lady Queen to drink with the common rabble that were her soldiers. She silently thought of how it did not become a Lady Queen to do many of the things she had done.

She managed to forget Ben's allure for the time being. But towards the hour of midnight and into the earliest of morn, when the guests slowly began to disappear from the castle, she was overcome by that terrible feeling of loneliness again.

She recalled being a child again, staying up late with Logan and sneaking out of bed whenever her parents would host a ball to spy upon the events. They'd always had such a laugh observing the drunken guests stumbling like idiots around the castle. Her eyes, then so innocent, would flitter from the elegant dresses or suits of the nobles. And her cheeks would blush whenever she saw some of the guests behaving more rambunctiously. Never unseen among these people was the great Reaver. She could remember watching him on those nights. His charisma had no comparison, and a large flock of beautiful people, men and women alike, followed his every move. He was the most "rambunctious" of all. Logan would always laugh at her blush before hugging her tight and lightly kissing her on the head. Come on, he would say. Mother would be cross if she knew you were watching this. He warned her, but by the time of the next party, she always convinced him to go spy with her again. And he always agreed.

He'd been older than her by a good ten years, but Raine was the only playmate he'd ever known. She'd had Elliot who was of a closer age to her, of course, and perhaps that was why her older brother had taken a disliking to the boy from the start, mere jealousy. She could relate. When Logan came of a suitable age for betrothal and pretty, young women began to visit the castle more often, she felt those same pangs of envy when his attentions were stolen from her for a time. He was never gone long. He had always denied those women. Marriage wasn't for him; not yet, at least, he would say. Then they would steal away to the gardens, and he would wrestle around in the grass and flowers with her, content to pretend that he was still a child, that their only living parent was not slowly dying of an unknown sickness, and that the Crown would not fall to him sooner than it should. But even after he was King, in those years before he'd grown bitter, he would take time out of his day to see her, play with her, teach her tricks with a sword, or tell her stories about his adventures.

She couldn't have asked for a better brother. Even in his cruelty of the past four years, he had only been trying to protect Albion. Protect her. To think of such things only worsened her feeling of guilt, and strengthened her need for some comfort.

Ben had left the castle sometime earlier that night and returned to his shack in Bowerstone Industrial...but Raine perhaps had indulged in a bit more wine than she should have. Perhaps a lot more... In fact, she could hardly see straight walking out of the castle. On her way out of the front courtyard, she felt herself bump into something, or someone - she wasn't sure which. But she didn't care, and pushed past whatever was blocking her without a thought. She was vaguely aware of a familiar voice asking where she was going. But she couldn't find it in her to respond, or even look back to see who it was.

With the wine now singing in her veins, she failed to notice the pair of smoldering, umber hues watching her, nor did she hear the distinguished, light tap of a cane following her down the path away from the castle. Before her dissipated mind knew it, she was knocking roughly on the door of Ben's meek little dwelling on the outskirts of Industrial. He answered the door with a fair amount of surprise, but it was apparent by the smell he was just as intoxicated as she was. And in her right mind, she would have been surprised that he'd not already taken a whore that night.

All she needed to do was look at him for him to understand why she was there. They'd wasted no time with words, giving in to their desire before the door even began to close. In a drunken stupor coupled by the hypnotism received from each other, both were unsuccessful in noticing the pair of smirking, green eyes that glimpsed their lips meeting just before the door shut.

That night, Ben kept her from thoughts of murder and from her brother's bittersweet memory. But when she awoke the morning after, with naked arms wrapped tightly around her and an untrimmed chest hugging the curve of her spine, she was overwhelmed with the regret that was thrusted upon her. It had been a night to remember no doubt, but now she found herself struggling to do so. What the hell had she been thinking? Indeed, nothing at all. Did anyone else know? What would Elliot say if he found out? All she knew was that she'd made quite a mistake.

Oh, Raine, what have you done?

A/N - Hey, all. First off, thanks a MILLION for even bothering to read this! I know I said it was Reaver x Princess, but it does start out sort of as Princess x Ben and mentions Princess x Elliot. But, don't you worry, I value my life far too much to risk not putting Reaver in a story... Well, again thanks for reading. If you could leave a review and tell me what you liked and didn't like, it would be GREATLY appreciated! Although, I ask that you refrain from being too mean, of course... I'm a tender soul. ^_^

Gentle Hurtings

"Where there is love, there is pain."

-a Spanish proverb.

Chapter 1 - Always Faithful

-x-

Her legs, strong, slender, and scarred, were helplessly entwined with his. His tanned skin contrasted so beautifully, yet so repulsively, with her own pale coloring. He touched with greed that was selfless and fire that was cold, scouring hungrily over her flesh. He left no place untasted or untouched, no place left untainted by the darkness of the sin that was self-indulgence. His erotic groans, her gentle sighs of his name, did not hesitate to slip from bruised lips, the sounds of pleasure resonating through the walls of that dirty, little shack. The smell of wine and sweat combined to assault their heightened senses. Her hands were tangled in his gruff blonde hair, his calloused palms caressed her sides and back and chest. His steady thrusts did not miss a beat, only quickened with their hearts as the point of rapture neared. Then, both laid breathless on their backs, upon a thin mattress stuffed with straw. Their bare chests heaved as they gasped for much needed air. In the dim glow of a lone lantern that swung from the sealing, a thin film of sweat born from fiery passion made their skin gleam. Laying there beside the soldier that night in a very short-lived state of ecstasy, Raine, the Queen of Albion, wondered where things had gone so wrong.

-x-

Elliot was a fine man; a very genuine and kind man. One whose compassion saw no boundaries... and whose boundaries were never overstepped. He shone with a gentle spirit; one that complimented his affectionate exterior and echoed his selflessness. He was solicitous towards those who treated him well, and sympathetic towards those who did him wrong. He had a zealousness for helping people, like no one Raine had ever known. A fine man, indeed. And someday he would make a fine King. It was a fact that was undebatable. He and Raine were the most envied of all the couples in Albion. Elliot loved Raine. And Raine sincerely loved him back.

However...

Elliot was naive. In many ways, he was still the innocent, unchanged, young lad Raine had met years ago. The same child she had played with in the gardens until the sun went to sleep, the same boy who'd crept up to her room when the moon rose in place. The same young man whose life she had chose before those of the demonstration leaders... It seemed so long ago. She had been like him as well, once. But she could hardly remember the girl she had once been.

The Revolution had changed more than Albion, it had changed her, though no one may have noticed it to the degree she felt it. It had forced hardships upon her, given her experiences she'd rather not speak of, burdens she wouldn't wish upon anyone. She had grown up, and left the ever-young Elliot, with all his boyish charm, choking on the dust of her trail. His love was innocent, blameless and pure in nature. It fed her own love and ate her heart away at the same time.

It often seemed Elliot was more her moral barometer than her swain. Someone shining in white, who she would look at and know she could never resemble again. And that fact was wearing on her, as it had been ever since the pair reunited in the cesspools.

Raine needed someone who could share the encumbrances she now carried. Someone who was capable of relating to her trials, to having the blood of thousands of people, innocent or otherwise, dripping from her hands, someone who could understand the responsibility of her unwarranted gifts and her undesired duty to use them. It had taken her too long to realize that, and there was no escaping it now.

-x-

The day she'd usurped her brother's throne had been one of much rejoicing indeed, but it was not until the next evening that a grand ball had been held at the castle to celebrate her coronation. While Hobbeson had been the one to come to her with the request, Raine had a suspicion that a certain over-industrious business tycoon was behind such a party. In the year or so she'd spent away from castle life, she had become rather withdrawn and unsocial, so she had originally rejected the idea. But Hobbeson persisted, "But, your majesty. Surely you wouldn't want the populace to think you do not hold your own triumph as cause for celebration, do you?"

Raine replied with contemplative silence before sighing heavily with a rather vexed expression "Very well, throw your party. But don't expect me to attend."

Ah, but she was there. Of course it was an hour after the party had begun that she finally showed up, but she was there at least, gliding down the stairs in her blue, royal dress to grace her visitants with her presence. She kept her eyes peeled for the fop that called himself Reaver, not sure if she did or did not wish to see him. To her surprise, she didn't spot him, a fact that didn't change for the rest of the night. While she instantly became quizzical of such an out of character move from him, she excused the thought and decided he'd probably found some lovely group of gentlepeople to spend the evening with. In one of my rooms, Raine thought bitterly with a disgusted shudder. It was for the best, she supposed, as she hadn't seen him since he had ruthlessly attempted to kill her, and then frankly invited her into his bed along with Page. Of course, he hadn't recognized who she was for the mask at the time. But their latest encounter would make their next meeting all the more awkward. Besides, she was in no mood for his antics tonight after the trying couple of days she'd just had.

Even so, she carried herself with an air of confidence as if she hadn't sentenced her brother to death or learned of Albion's doom only hours before. She'd ate and drank, laughed and danced, mingled with the commoners and nobles alike. For about an hour the world seemed to be getting back to normal, despite everything that wasn't normal in her life at the moment. But then she'd overheard two nobles, gossiping as they always did.

"Well, if you ask me, its a good thing he's dead. No one needs him around to influence the Queen's decisions. Albion will heal faster without him." One of them had told the other, sticking her nose in the air, voice dripping with contempt for the deceased tyrant.

Logan's execution had occurred early that day, but due to the shock of the news he had delivered just before his death, the weight of the situation hadn't hit Raine until just then. Memories began to flood her mind of her older brother, the times he held her when she was scared, made her laugh when she was sad, and soothed her when she was upset. The times he'd protected her from all the awful things in the world.

She had killed her own brother.

And it was a very heavy load to take on so suddenly. So, the Queen succumbed to her emotions. She ran briskly away from the crowd, from the liveliness of the ballroom. Tears pricked the chocolate eyes hiding behind tresses of chestnut hair that had fallen from where they were cleverly woven into a bun. A rapid staccato of boot heels clicking against the castle floor followed the blur of her regal gown as servants and guests alike ducked out of the distraught Queen's way. She was far too gone to even take heed that they were there. She just ran, and did not stop until she reached the gardens. There, she fell to her knees before his statue.

Her arms folded over his white-rock boots, her damp eyes buried in the crook of her elbow, her nose pressed against the cold surface of the stone. She stayed there, weeping his name and crying for some sign, just a bit of evidence, anything that would lead her to believe he forgave her for her heinous crime. Kinslayer... Her own brother, her only blood relative left in this world, dead by her hand! She had never felt so guilty, so alone.

She wasn't sure how long she'd remained that way, nor how many people had seen her, before she felt a warm hand gripping her shoulder tightly but tenderly. With a startled gasp, she turned abruptly and shifted her gaze up to find soft, blue eyes looking down upon her with pity. A sad but comforting smile framed by blonde sideburns was offered to her.

"Captain Finn, I-" For once, she was speechless in the presence of the soldier she'd become fairly acquainted with. Though she considered him to be one among her strongest allies, she did not think their relationship went past being comrades. So for him to witness her in such a state of emotional vulnerability was quite unsuitable. She imagined she was quite a sight now with tears streaming down her red-splotched face, hair in a mess and grass and dirt smudged on her blue gown from where she'd collapsed in the grass

"I...didn't hear you come up." She managed to choke the words out as she shrugged away from the hand on her shoulder, denying herself the comfort of human commiseration, and stood to begin straightening her dress.

"No, I wouldn't think so...since I've been standing just over there since you came out and all..." He stated with more confidence to his grin than Raine wanted to see at that moment, as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to where he had stood unnoticed moments ago.

"Oh..." She sniffed, her face taking on an even more flushed color as her eyes set upon the direction of his signal, to a bench placed a few yards away from where Raine had blindly fallen to her knees. "Great." She said sarcastically, wiping the last tears away and in the process dampening the fingers of her black leather gloves.

"Aye." He said with amusement before his tone took on an almost reluctant hopefulness at his next question. "Do you..want to tell me what-"

"No." Raine answered a bit too quickly, not even bothering to look at him as she continued to fumble with the creases in her attire.

He was silent for a while, long enough for Raine's eyes to flicker back to him with question for the sudden quietude. Her brow furrowed in slight agitation when she looked up to find him staring intently at the statue of her late brother. "Miss him, do you?" Came his simple words, oblivious to their husky tone. The concerned smile had fled from his lips, and a crease had formed between his brows as they knotted together over cerulean orbs that once sparkled with a gentle sympathy for his Queen and comrade but now had dimmed to a near brooding sadness.

Raine sighed, hung her head in defeat for confirmation of his question, not wishing to spoil the solemn moment with her predictably shaky tone. She did not need to ask why he'd taken on the sudden change in character, for she knew why already. He was as torn, as overwrought with guilt as she was, though not for the same person of course. He'd had no great love for the King. While his influence was key in her decision to execute Logan, he also held no real responsibility for the King's death, and Raine did not hold him to any either. No...his sadness was directed at the death of another: Major Swift.

Despite everyone's attempts to convince him that there was nothing he could've done to stop it, he still felt as though he was partially at fault for the death of Major Swift, a man who had been more like a father to him than his true one had ever thought to be. Raine supposed him seeing her so hysterical over a situation so similar (in the sense that both deaths were a result of this damned Revolution) to his own had brought back the temporarily overlooked notion of Swift's death. At this, she felt another pang of guilt and dropped her gaze to the grass but said nothing, so more moments passed them by in a now bitter silence.

"Raine..." He breathed, and she noted it was the first time he'd ever called her by anything other than a title, mockingly or not. "If there's ever a reason you need me, my door's always open." He said. Raine looked up, knew the contents of that proposal went far deeper than anything he stated, and found herself considering. There was no kindness left to his tone, only an offering to which they would both benefit. For he was lonely, too, and needed comfort just as badly.

Ben was of the few people who were aware that what her and Elliot shared was special but conflicting at the same time. Because of this the soldier also knew Elliot couldn't offer her solace for anything that tormented her, because he'd never experienced true torment himself, whereas Ben had remained by her side nearly the entire time. Not to mention, he had undergone plenty of his own trials before even meeting her. In addition, while Elliot wouldn't mean to hurt Raine, he would surely have something to say about Logan's death. Raine knew Ben wasn't exactly the man she needed, and she certainly did not love him. But... He could understand her struggles now better than Elliot could, that much was definitely true...

Before she could reply, she felt his lips graze her own. The kiss had been chaste and respectful, more similar to one that could be shared between close family members. But it was warm and inviting, and apparently successful, as she gradually desiring more with every step he then continued to take from her.

In the youth of that evening, she'd excused the whole thing and instead resorted to looking for comfort elsewhere, drowning herself in her cups as she jested and chortled and made bawdy jokes with Walter and her other soldiers as if it was any other day. She ignored it and pretended not to hear when some nobles whispered of how it did not become a Lady Queen to drink with the common rabble that were her soldiers. She silently thought of how it did not become a Lady Queen to do many of the things she had done.

She managed to forget Ben's allure for the time being. But towards the hour of midnight and into the earliest of morn, when the guests slowly began to disappear from the castle, she was overcome by that terrible feeling of loneliness again.

She recalled being a child again, staying up late with Logan and sneaking out of bed whenever her parents would host a ball to spy upon the events. They'd always had such a laugh observing the drunken guests stumbling like idiots around the castle. Her eyes, then so innocent, would flitter from the elegant dresses or suits of the nobles. And her cheeks would blush whenever she saw some of the guests behaving more rambunctiously. Never unseen among these people was the great Reaver. She could remember watching him on those nights. His charisma had no comparison, and a large flock of beautiful people, men and women alike, followed his every move. He was the most "rambunctious" of all. Logan would always laugh at her blush before hugging her tight and lightly kissing her on the head. Come on, he would say. Mother would be cross if she knew you were watching this. He warned her, but by the time of the next party, she always convinced him to go spy with her again. And he always agreed.

He'd been older than her by a good ten years, but Raine was the only playmate he'd ever known. She'd had Elliot who was of a closer age to her, of course, and perhaps that was why her older brother had taken a disliking to the boy from the start, mere jealousy. She could relate. When Logan came of a suitable age for betrothal and pretty, young women began to visit the castle more often, she felt those same pangs of envy when his attentions were stolen from her for a time. He was never gone long. He had always denied those women. Marriage wasn't for him; not yet, at least, he would say. Then they would steal away to the gardens, and he would wrestle around in the grass and flowers with her, content to pretend that he was still a child, that their only living parent was not slowly dying of an unknown sickness, and that the Crown would not fall to him sooner than it should. But even after he was King, in those years before he'd grown bitter, he would take time out of his day to see her, play with her, teach her tricks with a sword, or tell her stories about his adventures.

She couldn't have asked for a better brother. Even in his cruelty of the past four years, he had only been trying to protect Albion. Protect her. To think of such things only worsened her feeling of guilt, and strengthened her need for some comfort.

Ben had left the castle sometime earlier that night and returned to his shack in Bowerstone Industrial...but Raine perhaps had indulged in a bit more wine than she should have. Perhaps a lot more... In fact, she could hardly see straight walking out of the castle. On her way out of the front courtyard, she felt herself bump into something, or someone - she wasn't sure which. But she didn't care, and pushed past whatever was blocking her without a thought. She was vaguely aware of a familiar voice asking where she was going. But she couldn't find it in her to respond, or even look back to see who it was.

With the wine now singing in her veins, she failed to notice the pair of smoldering, umber hues watching her, nor did she hear the distinguished, light tap of a cane following her down the path away from the castle. Before her dissipated mind knew it, she was knocking roughly on the door of Ben's meek little dwelling on the outskirts of Industrial. He answered the door with a fair amount of surprise, but it was apparent by the smell he was just as intoxicated as she was. And in her right mind, she would have been surprised that he'd not already taken a whore that night.

All she needed to do was look at him for him to understand why she was there. They'd wasted no time with words, giving in to their desire before the door even began to close. In a drunken stupor coupled by the hypnotism received from each other, both were unsuccessful in noticing the pair of smirking, green eyes that glimpsed their lips meeting just before the door shut.

That night, Ben kept her from thoughts of murder and from her brother's bittersweet memory. But when she awoke the morning after, with naked arms wrapped tightly around her and an untrimmed chest hugging the curve of her spine, she was overwhelmed with the regret that was thrusted upon her. It had been a night to remember no doubt, but now she found herself struggling to do so. What the hell had she been thinking? Indeed, nothing at all. Did anyone else know? What would Elliot say if he found out? All she knew was that she'd made quite a mistake.

Oh, Raine, what have you done?

{A/N - Hey, all. First off, I'd thanks a MILLION for even bothering to read this! I know I said it was Reaver x Princess, but it does start out sort of as Princess x Ben and mentions Princess x Elliot. But, don't you worry, I value my life far too much to risk not putting Reaver in a story... Well, again thanks for reading. If you could leave a review and tell me what you liked or didn't like, it would be GREATLY appreciated! Although, I ask that you refrain from being too mean, of course... I'm a tender soul. ^_^}

*Disclaimer - I don't own the characters or the world used in this story nor the poem that it is inspired by, nor do I seek to gain a profit from them, so calm yoself ._.