Vivian had lost him. There, right before her eyes, Philip played his unmistakable charm on a young aristocrat. She was young, and far more radiant than Vivian. Vivian glowed, but not in the same innocent way that the girl did. The light that came from Vi was powerful, and even dark. She was a matured woman, having a radiance that foretold her entire life story within a look.

Her eyes sparkled in the chandler’s rays as they bobbed over the crowd, trying not to stare at Philip. She thought she knew exactly what he was doing, it was all part of the game. A nervous lump formed in her throat as her attention became more intensive on her past lover and the young woman.

Part of her wanted to leave her little post and create a scene. Another part of her wanted to remain secure, reigning in her position; remaining the most powerful woman. Although her face and words were gracefully continuing conversation with the aristocrats, her mind and eyes were distracted. She couldn’t help herself, all she could focus on, all she could see was Philip and the woman on the ballroom floor. A beat of jealously pulsed through her, though she would readily deny it. No lady would admit feelings of jealousy, especially for someone she isn’t supposed to have feelings for at all.

After realizing many aristocrats had taken their leave, observing the Queens lack of attention, Vivian tried to suppress her negative feelings. Needing a distraction, and wanting nothing more than that distraction to be her husband, she turned her pale face toward Marcus. As if on cue and without warning her husband was gone, flying into the pool of the rich and beautiful. With her hair falling into place, Vi’s deep eyes trailed Marcus, her mouth slightly agape. Where on earth was he going?

Then, without much movement in the ballroom, Vivian’s vicious eyes spotted Isobel. Though the woman’s pathway was different than Marcus’, Vivian knew all too well that the woman was going to meet. The Queen was aware, she had always been aware of the affair, but never had she felt such hatred toward Isobel. Vivian had always felt safe in her position, often reassured that Marcus would never really fall in love with another woman. But tonight, with the haste and sheer joy that Marcus projected on his way out, Vivian knew that he loved Isobel and that she would soon lose him too.

Suddenly, she felt ill. She was standing alone, magnified by the lights that shone down on her; pale and losing more color. A certain anger was boiling inside of her, her mind struggled for sanity as the room began to circle around her. She was crumpling, falling from her high place within seconds.

Vivian needed to leave, before things escalated. Surely, this would be top of the rumor mill tomorrow. The Bennett family was falling apart. The Queen was weak; unable to keep a level head at the dinner. Quickly, with glossy eyes, Vivian stumbled down from the front stage. She avoided all eyes and friendly mouths as she tried to find the nearest exit. With her head down, eyes wide, and fingers laced in an anxious manner, she made her way through the crowd. She tried to avoid him, but with the circumstances and large number of people, Vivian brushed past Philip. The electricity she had once felt next to him, the love she had once absorbed was now stale and bitter.

Without any words, and no expectation of a reaction, Vivian excused herself in a narrow hallway. It was unused, and entirely uninvolved with the party, in fact it wasn’t even decorated. Once the door closed behind her the noise of the event was muffled. The silence buzzed in her mind as Vivian leaned her face against the cool wall. Just a few moments. That’s all she needed. That’s all she prayed she needed.

---

Marcus had pressed against the wall with his eyes closed as he attempted to clear his mind by continuing to trace an index finger around the rim of his glass. He kicked himself mentally, regretting having left Vivian's side so abruptly; she certainly would be upset by that. A cool breeze blew across the balcony, ruffling his hair and carrying the heavy scent of his cologne through the air. The High King's eyes snapped open as another scent reached him, one that he easily identified as Isobel's.

Seeing her closer up, Marcus's blue eyes widened subtly, though it was a great enough change for Isobel to realize it. Gingerly, with semi- shaky hands, he laid his champagne glass down on the edge of the balcony, still staring at Isobel. If one had asked him which woman he thought was more attractive that night, Isobel or Vivian, he most certainly wouldn't be able to answer. Or, maybe he would, but he was smart enough to know that questions like that would bring about talk of a scandal and, then again, there was already enough talk of scandal around here.

Isobel slowly took her place beside him, approaching him with her sultry, slow walk that seemed much more like a prowl or a stalk than a simple gait. It was these small things that made Mark's mistress absolutely irresistable. Leaning slightly against the corner so she was looking directly at him, Isobel sipped from her champagne glass slowly. His head turned to the side, trying to show some strength instead of weakness, though it miserably failed. In fact, his quick turn of the head probably did show more weakness than anything. Mentally, he cursed himself for doing it and glanced back. As he faced his mistress, Marcus felt her fingertips slowly brushing against his cheek. His eyes closed subconciously in pleasure and a slight smile crossed his face. Her hands were so smooth, so loving. His eyes flickered back open again and he met her gaze, fighting to hold it.

"How are you enjoying the party?" Her words were thick with a false innocence but a sultry tone that caused Mark to gently press his tongue against his cheek, holding back a soft moan of pleasure. Clearing his throat, he slowly placed both hands into his pockets and glanced around the balcony.

"It is...alright," he replied, pausing as if he were choosing the correct word for the situation. A smirk crossed his lips and Marcus chuckled gently. "It certainly became much more interesting once you arrived, my love." He leaned closer to her, lowering his face so he was mere inches from her. His breath, smelling pungently of cigar smoke and alcohol, came out slowly in soft, lusty breaths. "Thank you for the glass of red wine, by the way." Gingerly, Marcus rested a hand on her waist, which was exposed on one side by the opening in the dress she wore.

"What a naughty girl you are...coming to the ball dressed up like this," he teased, "tsking" gently with a clucking sound. "Purposely trying to overwhelm me." He chuckled softly. "You're just so...seductive." He pulled away slowly and took a step back as if waiting for her to make the next move.

Marcus cleared his throat, and placed his hands in his pockets. He made no effort to return her attentions with a gesture of his own. So, carefully, Isobel dropped her hand from his cheek, trailing it down his neck and allowing it to come to rest at the top of his chest, so her fingers were covering his collar bone and the rest of her hand was nestled in the slight dip between his shoulder and the swell of his pectoral muscles.

"It is...alright." His words were casual, yet carefully chosen.

Isobel tilted her head slightly, in a flirtatious yet questioning gesture. Marcus smiled at her before chucking softly.

"It certainly became much more interesting once you arrived, my love." He was very close to her now, so close she could feel his warm breath on her face. It was the familiar cigar smell that she had become so familiar with, but laced with something else, another heady scent, alcohol.

"Thank you for the glass of red wine, by the way," his voice was breathy as the words left his lips. He brought a hand to her waist, cupping the exposed skin with his gentle fingers. She felt her body instantly respond, her position altering subtly to arch round his hand. It was an involuntary movement, but it was also one of possession. Her body reacted to him, like it was hers to react to. The toned muscles in her abdomen tightened, a light electric sensation running down the skin he touched.

But, despite her body's reaction, she was still able to keep her tone beautifully even and controlled. Her voice was sweet and smooth and dripped from her tongue like syrup from a spoon. "It was my pleasure..."

"What a naughty girl you are...coming to the ball dressed up like this. Purposely trying to overwhelm me," he scaled teasingly.

Isobel giggled softly, her laugh thick with temptation. She rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly in a playful gesture, a smile playing on her rouged lips.

"You're just so...seductive."

Marcus pulled back slowly, taking a single step from her so he was back, leaning against the wall once more.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Isobel told him, blue eyes sparkling with false innocence. Her tone was soft and pure, but there was a husky undertone to her words, darkening the innocence ever so slightly.

She took a step towards him, the movement almost predatory. Without taking her eyes off Marcus, Isobel reached out and picked up the glass of champagne she'd set down on the wall. She lifted the slim glass to her lips and took a sip, allowing the cool bubbles to flow across her tongue and down her throat. Then she replaced the glass. Her movements had been completely fluid and beautifully executed, without a mistake or blip. She'd kept her eyes on Marcus the entire time, creating an atmosphere he couldn't break. But now she was ready to control the situation.

She took another step towards him so they were stood close together. Then, she stretched out a hand, running it through Marcus' hair, before winding her fingers in so she had a hold on him. She used this grip to pull his face towards hers. They got closer and closer, and Isobel's intentions seemed almost certain. But when his face was just millimetres from hers, their lips just brushing at the very edge, Isobel froze. She blinked, tilting her held slightly towards the floor, looking up at him through her thick lashes.

"Maybe we shouldn't..." she teased, her voice almost an inaudible murmur. "I wouldn't want you to get into trouble..."

---

The girl before Philip stared at his outstretched hand, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' shape of surprise.

"Is that... For me?" she asked, glancing behind her quickly, as if she were looking for someone else Philip could be speaking to. He knew her type immediately. She was the daughter of an aristocrat who believed their daughter should remain the perfect lady forever. She was probably an only child, or her siblings were much older than her. She'd clearly never been to one of these parties before. In fact, she'd probably only been brought tonight because her father could think of nowhere else to send her.

"Of course," Philip smiled at her charmingly, revealing his pearly white teeth in a beautiful smile. He was going to charm this girl until she didn't even know what her own name was.

He could feel Vivian's eyes on him, but he refused to turn around and meet her gaze, even acknowledge he cared. This was her fault. She'd know full well that he was standing right there and could hear every word she'd spoken to her husband. She'd led Philip on, let him think she might still love him and maybe there was a chance for them still. But it was just a lie, and Vivian had known that all along.

"Oh, thank you," the girl stammered, remembering her manners over her surprise.

"It was my pleasure," Philip replied, setting the glass in her hand.

"Um..." she stared at him like a rabbit caught in headlights. Normally, a woman who dwelled in these social circles would know to respond with some clever, flirtatious response. But, instead, this woman panicked and said all in a rush, "I'm Violet LaCroix. That's my daddy. He owned LaCroix energies. We lived on the West Coast." Her words tumbled out quickly, as if she was simply trying to fill the silence, rather than being comfortable in it like most who knew this well were. Vivian would know, Philip thought bitterly.

"Philip," he responded simply, forcing Vivian from his mind and painting another lovely smile on his lips. He lifted his glass, almost as if he were toasting, yet he had nothing to toast. Thankfully, Violet caught on and clinked her glass against his. Then she took a sip. Her lovely face contorted into a look of disgust as the liquid met her tongue and tumbled down her throat. Evidently, this was her first taste of champagne... Under any other circumstances, Philip probably would've laughed and joked with her. He remembered the first time Vivian had given him champagne. He'd detested it. But it had grown on him since. But he couldn't bring himself to laugh. Not tonight. Everything she did and said only made it all the more brutally obvious that she wasn't Vivian, and no woman could ever be a substitute for her.

Suddenly, he felt a brush against his arm and out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of unmistakable red hair. And in that moment, his actions were no longer his own.

"I... Um... Excuse me," he told Violet hurriedly, excusing himself before turning back to follow Vivian, as she disappeared out of a door across the other side of the room. There was something wrong, he could tell that just by the way she walked, the way she'd felt when she touched him.

The instant he entered the deserted corridor, save for he and Vivian, he spotted her, She was leant against the wall. face pressed against it. Philip knew he said he wouldn't go back to her. That she'd lost her chance with him and he no longer cared what she did. But the sight of her, so broken, and the thought in his mind that his actions tonight may be responsible for her pain was unbearable. He was at her side in seconds.

"Vivian?" he asked softly, his voice caring and gentle, with no malice whatsoever. He reached out a hand and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. But his warm hand carried on, across her scalp, stroking down the length of her hair. The gesture was kind and loving. There was no ulterior motive to it, with only the intention of comforting her. When his hand reached the end of her hair, he raised it up again to her cheek where he rested it, cupping her face and stroking it gently with his thumb.

She was not alone, in fact she had never been alone. The moment she found support from the wall was the moment that Philip entered the corridor. Her eyes started at his sleek black shoes, vicious and hurt. She didn’t want to look directly in his face, though his actions were petty compared to Marcus’ she could not channel her angry energy elsewhere.

Vivian didn’t want to quarrel with him, yet she didn’t want to be comforted by him. She didn’t want to give in, she didn’t want to be taken care of, but she wanted to desperately to be loved. Her blue orbs remained pointed toward the ground, knowing that if she looked into his eyes, the ones she had been enchanted by, she would cry. Her hands were rubbing together in a nervous manner as she felt Philip inch toward her. Soon, as his lovely voice has suggested, he was trying to comfort her.

A small pucker of her lips disappeared as she looked up at him, she mustn’t get mad at him. Her anger would only make things worse. He was upset with her, she knew that, but now he was reaching out her. And she needed to take his hand this time, as much as she wanted to deny the feelings.

Calm. Instead of getting boiled up, his touch was actually cooling her down. It was unlike anyone else, he had the remarkable ability of civilizing dear Vivian’s temper. She didn’t not smile, nor did she frown when she made eye contact. Vivian felt very little at all, it was like a hollowing in her stomach and it only grew with time. A loneliness engulfed her; yes, she had physical affection but she was never sure. Vivian was never sure who she belonged to, Marcus or Philip.

They say that if who fall in love twice, choose the second. But had she really fallen in love with Marcus. Or had she just fallen in love with the idea of him? Fallen in love with his power, his desire, and the authority that he gave her? Vivian no longer knew how to answer these questions. Maybe it didn’t even matter.

A pale hand, shaking with anxiety, slid up to Philip’s. She then closed the gap between them in an embrace, wrapping herself within him. Words flowed out of her like a gust of wind, and she couldn’t stop them. “Please, don’t leave me.” she whispered, gently pressing her face into the crook of his neck. In that instance she wasn’t sure what she really meant, but in time she would realize.

Vivian looked at him with a completely blank expression, leaving Philip utterly unable to distinguish what she might be feeling. He had known Vivian for a number of years, and in he had spent some of that time intimately with her. He would contest, if required, that he knew her better than anyone else does or ever had done, certainly better than her husband did. But not even he could pick what she was thinking off her perfectly composed face.

Suddenly, her trembling hand met his, pressed against her face. For a second, Philip was afraid she might push him away. He was going to be distanced from her again, like he had been over and over. But, to his amazement, she didn't. Her face fell to his neck and her body was pressed against his in an embrace. He folded his arms round her, holding her.

“Please, don’t leave me.” Her voice was just a whisper, and if he had been any further from her he would've missed it. Her sweet voice trembled across the notes with a vulnerability that was rare to Vivian.

Philip was overcome with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Vivian," he told her gently. How could he have wanted to intentionally hurt this woman? How could he have thought that another, just a girl who paled out of existence in comparison to the woman who stood before him, could possibly replace Vivian in his life? He could never have with her what he had with the Queen. How could he have anyone else when this women had been the sole focus of his life for so long? He'd devoted everything he had to her, and in that moment of madness, spurred on by worthless, misplaced jealously, he'd thought he could give that all up for someone who was nothing when set beside Vivian.

Suddenly, without thought, Philip pulled back. He slipped a gentle hand under her chin, using it to tilt her face up towards his. Then, he lowered his own face to her level, and pressed his lips against hers. His kiss was without remorse or regret. It was forceful, but not nastily so. It was nostalgic, yes, in the way he'd expected it to be. But it also held something else. Something new, something fresh. There was something there that hadn't been there in his memories. And he hoped with everything he had that it was hope and potential, and not the bitter sting of a cruel mistake.

Vulnerable. Vivian was completely exposed. Naked; her emotions overpowering her sense. She did not like being in such a position, especially now. Though she heard the genuine words come from Philip’s mouth, a sense of suspicion lingered in the back of her mind. Her mixed emotions about both Marcus and Philip were channeling into one. How could she trust him? Not only ten minutes ago he had no other intentions than to see her in pain.

The soft words he spoke so simply made Vivian’s deep eyes close, taking in his embrace through other senses. She wanted to believe him, she really did, but Vivian was afraid that a simple apology from Philip was not enough to mend her. He was only part of the issue, and even though she had not realized that she desperately needed him, she could not be fixed so simply. A tinge of annoyance was growing in her, a miserable, power obsessed annoyance.

But smoothly, almost fluidly, Philip had her face in his loose fingers. All negative feelings had virtually vanished in the intimacy they shared. It was all too familiar, the way that she exhausted breath upon his lips, the way he breathed her in before kissing her. It was a long awaited moment, and an actions she had not expected. Not tonight, not just meters from a party full of aristocrats. The status that she had built her entire life toward no longer mattered. A spark of joy lit her mind as her lips gently then suddenly pressed against Philip’s. A since of youth and the old world overwhelmed her. The desire she had once felt when they were years younger was rekindling.

Instinctively she drew closer to him. Her right hand traced it’s way to Philip’s neck, tousling the base of his hair a bit. The other hand was palm down under his suit jack, against the white shirt, her fingers slowly retracting. Her eyes were closed in a dull paradise as she kissed Philip back. Though her mind was constantly sending alarms of warning she continued her heart's desires.

She usually didn’t think of much when she was so intertwined with another but her mind was constantly flashing images and promises to Marcus. Without warning, she suddenly wondered if her actions were a reflection of her husband’s current actions. The thought made her sick. After one last lustful kiss, Vivian pulled herself away from Philip. A nearly unpleasant expression was painted across her pale face. Vi was so torn. Even her happiness, her love with Philip, was surrounded with bitterness.

Her eyes tried to communicate to him. Not everything was okay. She wanted this, but she was undeniably loyal to the King. Her right hand dropped to cling to his suit jacket, then her head bowed in both embarrassment and regret.

Embarrassment for the way she had treated Philip, embarrassment for the way she was now betraying her husband. Regret for once loving Philip, regret for marrying Marcus. She wanted to beg for forgiveness. She wanted to beg for Philip, to explain how she felt, but for the first time the Queen was lost for words.

Atlas made his way around the room; his thoughts were still on Chrys instead of what he should be focusing on. The young man cracked a smile out of nowhere remembering her joke say said about Atlas taking a break form the sky. Although, now that he had a moment to think about it, Chrys was way too intelligent to be hired as simple extra hand. This made her more if a mystery to the young security tech, and therefore much more desirable in his eyes. He glanced once more around the room searching for his most recent desire but with no such luck.

He didn't waste anymore time as he made his was towards the head of security, Edwin. His heart began to race, the young man could hear it beating in his ears. Yet, despite his anxiety he appeared calm on the outside. This is no different than bluffing your hand at a game of high-stakes poker He reassured himself. Except that the stake in this game is life or death. Atlas was many things but a murder was not one of them, not yet at least.

Everything was setup and ready, Atlas just needed to convince Edwin to return to his office and find the "gift" left for him. The security technician didn't want to be seen with his victim any more than necessary. He needed it to look like the old man left on his own accord. Atlas walked to the side of the old man and waited for him to be finish speaking with a few guest before placing his hand on Edwin's shoulder. "Sir, It seems the someone has left you a gift in your office. A bottle of champagne from the looks of it. The cameras didn't get a good look of who delivered it. Do you want me to dispose of it?" Atlas spoke in a hushed manner, not wanting anyone else to hear.

"Nonsense boy, I shall retrieve it at once. the entire party must indulge." Edwin slurred, apparently already enjoying a few drinks on his own. Upon hearing this a slight panic struck the heart of of the would-be assassin. "Perhaps it would be wise to taste the bottle yourself. If the sparkling wine is poor in quality then you might be insulting our honored guest by offering them such a drink." Atlas watched as Edwin soaked in the words. A sense of relief came to Atlas as The older gentleman confirmed. "Perhaps." He said waving atlas off like a servant who was no longer needed. "If you will excuse me." He addressed the small crowd and he headed off towards his office.

Atlas watched carefully as his boss left the ball room. The young man knew he needed to prevent the bottle from getting to the hand of other people by what ever means necessary. He waited a few moment before following Edwin out into the hallway. Atlas kept his distance as he continued to follow Edwin to his office, waiting until the man walked in to shut the door and lock him inside. He didn't have much time to go down to his room and doctor the tapes so he hastily made his way through the mansion.

Once he arrived, Atlas quickly went to work looping recordings of empty hall ways and overlaying them to make it look like the Head of Security was alone. Once he got to the point of real time, his heart stopped. The door to Edwin's office was opened. How the hell is that possible?. Atlas quickly ran out of his room back to the party as fast as he could, only slowing down once he turned the last corner to avoid suspicion. As the young man arrived in the crowded ball room, he began frantically looking around for his victim.

---

The way her body reacted to his touch brought a faint smirk to Marcus's lips. Her reaction was certainly what he had been hoping for. But, as her hand trailed down his neck and settled right at the small depression near his clavicle, he shuddered involuntarily, too. How long had it been since Vivian had touched him like this in such a genuine manner? He truly could not remember. Hell, it could have been weeks or months, or even a day ago. In this moment, right now, all he could focus on was the closing space between his body and her body, the feeling of her body heat radiating off of her perfect figure. Even as she shuddered under his touch, he voice stayed thick and sultry as per usual.

His step back placed his against the wall in a casual position with one half of his mouth turned upwards in a smirk that seemed almost too cocky, even for a man wielding the power he had. As he had hoped, she slowly took a step toward him.

"I don't know what you're talking about"," she purred, her cerulean eyes flashing with innocence that he knew was fake and, yet, still found extremely attractive each and every time. She had a way of twisting the way she spoke to make even the sweetest term of endearment sound like a dark tease. A gentle sigh passed through Marcus's lips as he let his mind wander for a moment or two before he noticed Isobel lifting her champagne glass.

Even the way she sipped her champagne, slowly and coolly, made her seductive. Marcus pressed his palms up against the cold stone walls, still holding her gaze. She placed the glass down almost as gracefully as she had lifted it, keeping eye contact the entire time. To look at the High King himself with such intensity was truly an honor in itself. He'd only let his wife and siblings do so before. Even callgirls were forced to look to the side unless told otherwise.

She took another step toward him so they were once again close enough to exchange warmth. So intimate for being in the dark corner of a balcony. He expected this teasing to go on longer but, before he knew it, her hand was running through his thick, brown locks, sending shudders along his scalp and spine. Her expected her to simply let go at the end but she twisted her slender fingers into his hair and pulled his face close to hers in an intimate manner.

Marcus pursed his lips slightly, expecting her to bring him in for a kiss. Even as she stopped, it took him a few heartbeats to realize she had frozen where she was with their lips just brushing together. She looked downward slightly and then glanced back up at him through thick eyelashes, causing his heart the beat a little quicker. "Maybe we shouldn't...I wouldn't want you to get in trouble..."

He hand brushed against her waist again but, this time, he suddenly wrapped his entire forearm around her slim waist and pulled her in tightly, pressing her body against his, yet still keeping their lips brushing together. Marcus moved his lips back and forth a few times, simply grazing his lips against hers before he smirked and placed a kiss softly and passionately against them.

"Who would I be in trouble with?" he questioned after pulling away, yet leaving their lips hovering less than a millimeter away. "My wife? Hell...she's probably too damn busy with that son of hers." Again, he pressed her lips against hers and raised his other hand to place against her cheek gently, caressing the soft, tanned flesh.

Vivian's reaction only encouraged Philip. As she moved a hand to his neck, brushing past his hair, her other hand was slipped under his jacket, only a thin shirt between her gentle, familiar fingers and his bare chest. He could feel her lips on his, responding to what he was offering, pulling him closer. There was nothing he wanted more than for the whole world to disappear around them, leaving only them in existence. He wanted to stay like this forever, slowly remembering more and more of how it felt to be with her. He wanted to rid her of her lovely dress, and allow her to do the same with his clothes. He wanted her, right now, in this corridor. Even if it meant tearing apart the whole world and everything they'd built, it would be worth it to have Vivian once more.

This was all Philip had ever wanted. Vivian was the only reason he was here. She was what was holding him to this place, to this world. His life revolved around her, with the sole goal of reclaiming her. But, this time, he wanted to truly have all of her, rather than just snippets when she thought no one else was watching. But this kiss said everything for Philip. It was like he'd finally been allowed a drink of water, after years spent dying of dehydration in the desert. It was everything he wanted, all his hopes and dreams in a single moment. He was finally where he wanted to be, after all this time. Inside his head, he could only think of the now. He'd spent so long going over in his mind what it would be like when he finally received solid proof from Vivian that she still wanted them. He'd planned out how they would be, how he would take them away, how he would build a future for them. But this moment was simply erasing it because it no longer mattered. Whatever he wanted and planned was now irrelevant, because the only thing he needed was her. He was willing to do exactly as she wanted and allow her to decide their future. As long as it was with her, that was enough for Philip.

Suddenly, with no warning or cause, Vivian pulled back. Philip stared straight into her disgusted eyes, his own wide with surprise and horror over what had just happened. Surprise that she'd returned the kiss, horror than she'd then ended it. She dropped her head, refusing to meet his eye. But she did not say a word.

Philip felt his throat tighten with worry over what had just happened. Suddenly, he was more vulnerable than he'd ever been. He may be higher up in the world and the hierarchy of society than he had been when they'd first kissed, but he felt weaker than ever.

He slid a hand to her cheek, using it to gently lift her face so he could look in her eyes. "Vivian? I though- Please- I didn't-" he struggled to find the right words. No phrase seemed good enough for her, or to truly express what he wanted to say. So he simply went with, "What's wrong, Vivian? Why?" His tone was full of anxiety and desperation. He needed her answer. He had to hear, one way or another. Every moment she remained silent, he felt the worry in his mind squirm deeper and deeper, attacking every thought he'd ever had for the beautiful red head, the only woman he'd ever really loved.

Isobel allowed herself to be pulled towards Marcus as his entire forearm wrapped around her waist, touching her bare skin through the gap in her dress at her waist. He pressed her body against his and Isobel had to fight her impulses in order to remain still. Desire swept her body, causing her to want to have him right here. Her breathing hitched as he brought his face ever so slightly closer to hers, just grazing her lips. Then he smirked, before placing a soft, passionate kiss on her full, red lips. Isobel kissed him back, unable to resist the temptation.

Marcus pulled back slightly, still only millimetres away, "Who would I be in trouble with?" He paused. "My wife? Hell...she's probably too damn busy with that son of hers."

He pressed another kiss to her lips, raising his hand to her cheek, gently caressing the curve of her cheekbone. Isobel responded, pressing another, deeper, more insistent kiss to his lips before pulling back so she could meet his eye. She nodded, tilting her head slightly on its side, giving him an understanding look.

"How frustrating that must be for a man like you... A man so powerful, with such wonderful looks," Isobel said softly, her tone genuine, but words carefully chosen. "And how embarrassing, too. To have a wife who flaunts her indiscretions so shamelessly. I can't imagine how infuriating that would be for you..." Isobel was speaking slowly, making sure she put exactly the correct emphasis into each word.

She knew she had to say her piece now. The King had presented her with such a perfect opportunity to unseat Vivian that she couldn't just let it pass her by. She had to try and at least plant the seed of doubt in the King's mind, for her to carefully cultivate over time and watch flourish. But, in the same way, the last thing she wanted to do was offend or insult the King. She could not afford to fall out of favour with him. Not when her position was still so precarious. She chose her words with great care, presenting them with grace and purpose. She remained controlled and collected. She leaned in a little to brush a kiss against the crook of his neck, in order to warm him for her next statement.

"Leave her, Marcus," she said softly. It was not an order. In fact, the way she'd said it made it sound more like a request that would be a personal favour to her, or a question. But she also kept the sultry, seductive undertone to her voice, attempting to use the allure of sex to win him over.

As if to emphasise this point, she then leant in again, pressing a kiss filled with passion and temptation to his lips. This kiss was longer than any of the previous ones, and there was nothing chaste about it.

"I can give you what you want, what you need," she told him, placing emphasis on the word 'need'. As the word left her mouth, she raised a hand to his face and ran a finger across his bottom lip slowly, teasing him. "Vivian will never love you like I can. She can't be Queen when she's so consumed in her love for someone else. I can, Marcus. I can be your Queen," she told him with conviction.

She met his eyes then with her own, looking deep into them. She'd gone further than she'd ever intended to with her appeal, and now his reaction worried her. She could be cast from this house for what she'd just said, should Marcus choose to. But she did not allow her concern to show on her face. Her expression did not waver, nor did it crack. She maintained the perfect combination between seductive temptress and tenacious Queen.

---

Marcus stood where he was, lips pursed for a few moments more even as Isobel pulled away. In a few heartbeats, however, he'd regained his composure a bit remorsefully and gazed back into her eyes with his light blue ones. He head cocked innocently, even though Marcus knew for a fact she was far from "innocent". Still, it created an effect he couldn't help but notice. And the way she looked at him, giving him a look that seemed to cry, "it's alright, I understand," made his heart flutter ever so slightly in his rib cage.

"How frustrating that must be for a man like you...a man so powerful, with such wonderful looks. And how embarrassing, too. To have a wife who flaunts her indiscretions so shamelessly. I can't imagine how infuriating that would be for you..." Isobel had such a way with words. If there was anyone in this world who even stood a chance rivaling his powers of charisma and manipulation, it would certainly be Isobel. In the state he was in, Marc didn't even think deeply into her last statement. It was a rare state for the High King, so preoccupied so as to not carefully evaluate the emphasis on the syllables, the word choice, or the tone in her voice. Had he been more sober or had he not been so aroused, he could have easily been able to detect the underlying messages in her statement and, yet, he simply couldn't. Nuzzling closer to her for a moment and brushing his lips against her earlobe, he whispered gently.

"It is extremely frustrating," he agreed, laughing softly in a breathy manner afterwards. "It is as if she wishes for the entire manor to pursue her..." As he pulled away, Isobel gently brushed her lips against the crook of his neck, kissing the tanned flesh gently, effectively causing Marcus to let his guard down a bit further, tilting his neck ever so slightly as if hoping she'd kiss him again.

"Leave her, Marcus," she murmured gently against the flesh. Marcus grew a bit tense. Leave her? No, he could not have possibly heard that. Leave her? Why would Isobel suggest such a thing? No...no, it must have been a misunderstanding. Besides, she wouldn't dare suggest such a thing, would she? Regardless, her tone was sultry, endearing, and down right sexy. It was nearly impossible for him to worry about such things as misheard words with Isobel brushing kisses against his neck. He went lax again, breathing in deeply and letting out the breath slowly between parted lips.

Isobel pressed her lips to his, fiery passion between them as her lips met his. It was a long, deep kiss and Marc certainly couldn't help moaning lightly in response to it. Gently, he rested a hand on the small of her back, hoping that would keep the kiss going. It didn't, however. "I can give you what you want, what you need." Marcus blinked a bit in surprise, taken aback. That certainly wasn't a coincidence. Was his mistress really suggesting he leave his wife? His Vivian? Sure, things had not been going very well between the two...but there was time for reconciliation, right? Regardless, he couldn't just leave the woman. It didn't work like that. As a child, he'd had to go through his father's countless divorces. Paperwork, lawyers, press coverage, and money. It was such a huge event when an important person split from a significant other and it certainly wouldn't be missed by his subjects.

And yet, his concerns slowly faded away, one by one, as his tempting mistress continued on in the same, alluring tone. Her finger ran along his bottom lip slowly, which he pouted slightly subconsciously. "Vivian will never love you like I can. She can't be Queen when she's so consumed in her love for someone else. I can, Marcus. I can be your Queen." Her words certainly hit home, striking the chords she wanted, arousing the emotions she wanted. Suddenly, the High King, the world's most confident man, the leader of the new world, was filled with emotions he hadn't felt in years: doubt, worry, self-consciousness, and a great wave of concern.

Marcus stepped backward slightly, his brow furrowed subtly as he pressed his lips together. His blue eyes, once so fierce and sparking with charisma, looked like those of a boy who was dazed and discombobulated. Could she really not love him? She was always spending time with Phillip, never truly spending time with him anymore. But, she was his wife and she was his Queen. She wouldn't lie to him, that just wasn't like Vivian at all. But the seeds of doubt were planted and sowed. They'd worked their way into his clever, clever mind and they had begun to work. Marc looked off to the side for a moment, collecting himself before he looked back at Isobel. So tempting, so alluring, so seductive...oh Lord, what was he doing? He couldn't possibly think of leaving Vivian, right? Emotions ran wild in his mind, his heart sped up and Marcus started to nervously wring his hands.

"I-I-." Oh God, now he was stammering. He'd never stammered, never. Marcus sighed slowly, hoping the breath would calm him, more or less. It did- for a while, at least. The High King shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a lighter and cigarette, lighting the latter of the two and placing it between his parted lips. A long drag gave him a few moments to think of a response and the time nearly doubled as he blew the smoke upward in a thin, steady stream.

Marcus's free hand was pushed through his hair slowly as he formulated his response. "Isobel...I-I can't just leave her." He paused. That was too harsh. "...I mean, you are so very, very dear to me, love. But, if I divorce her, legal battles will start...I'll lose money, a lot of money. The p-pre-nups guarantee her a decent amount of cash." He took another drag and held the cigarette at his side before stepping back to Isobel. "Do...you really think she does not love me anymore?" His brow had knit again in concern as he raised one eyebrow and placed his cigarette-free hand on her waist.

Isobel held her ground, watching him carefully. And, for just a moment, she picked out something new and unfamiliar in his usually confident veneer. It was almost... Doubt. Although, in what, Isobel didn't know. And that worried her. What if it was doubt in her? Doubt in her motivations and love? But she did not allow that fear to show. Marcu may be being overwhelmed by his emotions, but she could not afford to be. This needed to be executed perfectly. And, even if she couldn't persuade Marcus to leave poisonous Vivian this time, at least she'd sown the seeds of doubt. And she would continue to whisper in his ear when he was most receptive to her. And, eventually, he would be hers. This was her right, her destiny. Vivian was too caught up in emotion to be an effective queen, but Isobel was not. This was all she'd ever wanted. She wanted it much more than Vivian, who'd just slipped into this life. She didn't need it the way Isobel did. And eventually, Isobel would tumble Vivian from her throne, even if it killed her.

The mistress felt Marcus step away from her and glance away for a moment, before his eyes found hers once more. He began to wring his hands.

"I-I-," he stammered. And, for the slightest second, Isobel felt concern flush her features. It was soon banished, but her heart continued to flutter in her chest like the wings of a trapped butterfly. Marcus delved a hand into his pocket, drawing out a lighter and cigarette. He lit it, slipping it between his lips before dragging in a breath. Isobel breathed deeply and he blew smoke into the air around her, taking in its scent. She adored the smell of cigarette smoke, unlike most others. She'd frequently considered taking up the habit herself, but dismissed it for fear of ruining her looks. But right now, she wished she had that vice to fall back on in times of stress. Instead, she pulled in a lungful of the familiar, tobacco-scented air, feeling it wind through her lungs. It was comforting. Partly, because the smell of tobacco was so akin to Marcus and the time she spent with him, seducing him and teasing. That was what she truly craved in life.

"Isobel...I-I can't just leave her." Now Isobel was worried. Maybe all his concern had been with her and not Vivian? Maybe he thought her mad for suggesting such a thing. Maybe he didn't even want her at all. She took a step towards him, intending to return to seduction; a forte in which she felt completely safe.

But, instead, Marcus continued."...I mean, you are so very, very dear to me, love. But, if I divorce her, legal battles will start...I'll lose money, a lot of money. The p-pre-nups guarantee her a decent amount of cash." He paused, taking another drag on the cigarette before closing the gap between them once more. "Do...you really think she does not love me anymore?" A hand fell to her waist and unreserved concern coloured his expression.

Isobel did not answer instantly. She knew she needed to be careful about her next words. She was stood directly in front of Marcus and reached her arms up over his shoulders to loop them round his neck.

"Marcus, I cannot speak for Vivian, but... I've seen her with that 'son'..." she took a breath, preparing to weave a carefully constructed lie. "I didn't want to tell you, Marcus. But I can't stand by and watch her humiliate you. People around the mansion are already beginning to talk."

She allowed her words to hang in the air for a few moments. Isobel left one arm around his neck, and dropped the other to his cheek, brushing her fingers over his warm skin.

I saw her with Philip, in your very own bedroom. In your bed," the brunette finished softly.

Of course, she'd seen nothing of the sort. And while she didn't doubt that Vivian had had some romantic interaction with the boy since he'd arrived here, she hadn't actually seen it herself. And the servants did whisper, but they always did. But none of this was Isobel's concern. Marcus was already consumed with the idea that Vivian may no longer love him, her lie would not be scrutinised, nor would he doubt her truthfulness. After all, she was his lovely mistress.

But soon, she would be Queen.

A battle internalized within her. Both her loyalties were fighting. A duty to be faithful to her current husband billowed over her conscious as a longing to rekindle this pure love she felt for her past lover itched in her throat. The lose of words made a stir of panic stretch inside of her, and soon her toes and fingers felt the weight of her tired heart.

She could not just leave the King. To run away in lustful action with Philip would be most unwise. Vi didn’t doubt the power that her husband possessed and the means he would extrapolate to find his queen. If she were to run, Marcus would quickly follow. No one would believe that she would wish to flee from such an extravagant life. The assumption would be that she was kidnapped by Philip. Surely, she would not just leave the king.

And even if she were to do it the right way, would she be happy living the rest of her life in his shadow? Divorce was common before the war, but now it was a rare a occurrence. Marriage was both a pledge of devotion and a business deal. If Marcus and Vivian were to separate, her name would be the highlight of the aristocrat mockery. There would be no mercy for the woman, she was married to the most powerful man in the world. Only scandal or sheer madness would remove any other woman from her position. She would be disbanded from the rich and royal, Vivian would have to learn to live in a world she knew nothing of.

Truly, somewhere inside of her stone facade a deep love overpowered her greed for status and wealth. Her eyes kept focused on a button situated in the center of his white shirt; her fingers close to the line of connectors, frozen in time. Philip’s words stammered for meaning as Vivian’s heart sank deeper. After a moment, Philip’s words structured themselves into question. His deep voice filled with concern and doubt as he spoke, “What’s wrong, Vivian? Why?”

Her feelings ready to express themselves, but her mind ready to wrap those feelings up and hide them; Vivian’s mouth hung open. Her eyes trailed up his suit jacket until they reached Philip’s, no Danny’s, blue eyes. A roar from the party seeped through the door and her nervous eyes darted toward the door for a moment before looking upon her Danny once again.

“I- I can’t love you Philip.” Her voice was strangely steady as she corrected herself. She had said the wrong thing. “No. I do- I love you. I’ve always loved you.” She was too afraid to remove herself from the comfort of her royal life, from the power that she possessed. As she spoke, her words grew stronger and her emotions clouded her vision. “I can’t love you like this, you know that. I’m buried in guilt and paranoia. Every moment with you is pure joy, and I feel as if I’m living in a world of good, rather than the world of hatred and corruption that I’ve helped create... God, to think of what Marcus would do. He would take no pity on you, and no sympathy for me. He would kill you!”

By the end Vivian’s hand was fisted around a lump of his white shirt, wrinkling it. A tear streamed down her face as she swallowed down the catch in her throat, then took in a deep breath of air, taking in the aroma that Philip possessed. Vivian wanted so badly to just go back to the party and stand with her husband on the stand and pretend that all was well.

Marcus certainly was unable to say what was coming over him. He had never been this self-conscious or doubtful before in his entire life. There was certainly never a doubt in his mind that things would turn out well, that he was doing what was right and smart and correct. This entire conversation, however, had turned the world's leader into a stammering, spluttering mess within just minutes. Isobel's arms slowly looped around his neck, drawing her face closer to his as Marc slowly lowered his cigarette down by his side. The hand on her waist moved up and down slowly, brushing his calloused flesh against her smooth, gentle skin. This close proximity between their two bodies allowed him to sigh gently, as if that would help him overcome these unspoken feelings that he couldn't truly put to words. Isobel had paused, staying silent after his previous question for a few moments before finally speaking.

"Marcus, I cannot speak for Vivian, but... I've seen her with that 'son'..." she murmured. Again, Isobel paused to take a breath. Had Marcus been at the top of his game or, had he not been completely off set by these sudden emotions, maybe he would have detected the pause and questioned it. But, of course, he was buzzed, he was confused, he was worried. Therefore, the carefully constructed lies of his mistress simply flew right over top his head without him even thinking twice. "I didn't want to tell you, Marcus. But I can't stand by and watch her humiliate you. People around the mansion are already beginning to talk." Marcus's jaw clenched subtly and his eyes widened slightly at her words. No, God damn it, no. It couldn't be. Vivian wouldn't. She was his wife, she was expected to love him, to be there for him...to be faithful. His thoughts, extremely hypocritical, seemed only to be the truth to him. Granted, that was all his mother ever was to his father-- a figure to stand there and be gorgeous. But, then again, Vivian was far more than that. She was charming, stunning, charismatic, intelligent. Hell, she was quite a match for Marcus.

"T-that...that doesn't sound like Vivian at all," he murmured, dumbstruck. "But..." He trailed off as Isobel dropped one hand to stoke his cheeks, warm with the flushing he'd done. Marcus pressed his cheek against her hand softly, the contour of his cheek fitting into her hand as he closed his eyes briefly and then snapped them open again at her next words.

"I saw her with Philip, in your very own bedroom. In your bed." Who knew that just two statements, thirteen words, could bring a world crashing down? His stomach dropped, he could feel a bile rising, his face paled, his hand retracted from Isobel's waist. What was becoming of his world, his perfectly constructed little utopia that sat right in the center of his palm? It was crashing down around him, it was crumbling...and there was nothing he could do. The cigarette dropped from his hand, landing against the lovely tile of the balcony and rolling to a stop at his feet. Marcus's mouth opened, closed again, opened again, and closed once more. He was speechless, literally. What the hell could he say in response to this news?

And who knew what his wife was up to now without him there? She could be in his bedroom again with her son, doing unspeakable things. And now, the term "son" made his stomach churn and his fists clench. How could he have overlooked it? How could he have been so stupid, so unobservant. He knew he didn't like that boy when he first saw him and now...now, he knew why.

Marcus cleared his throat and, in a broken voice, whispered an apology and excused himself.

The walk inside was one of shame and disgrace. A few people hurried toward him, intent on speaking with him, but he simply shrugged them off and said he had important matters to attend to. It was a shocking sight, frightening to a few who knew Marcus only as the fearless, strong leader he usually was. On his to the stand, he grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it quickly in just a few sips. The empty glass was replaced on a tray and he picked up another one as the empty stand came into view.

"That bitch," he snapped, taking his original place with the champagne glass tightly gripped in his hand, though softly enough that it wouldn't shatter. In a painfully slow manner, he raised the glass to his lips and sipped it. Subconsciously, his entire frame shook slightly in a mixture of uneasiness and rage.

The High King himself was, more or less, a shadow of the man he was in the beginning of the evening. Any semblance of a sane man had been shattered minutes ago, out on the balcony with that innocent mistress of his.