Vivian Kathleen Bennett's Story

By the time Isobel swept into the ballroom, it was already brimming with aristocrats, influential people and those of wealth. There was a buzz as they chattered amongst themselves about the more inconsequential matters in life. Isobel was not considered particularly influential within the household. She wasn't married to Marcus or related to either royals, and she had no real duty to people or job to perform. But, people still turned to look when she entered.

When she'd returned from Marcus' room she'd taken some time to herself, simply to reflect on what had happened and enjoy the consequential feelings that came with it. But as the sensation wore of, she found herself coming round to analysing her performance. She scrutinised everything, from what she wore, the control she'd had, the tone she'd used, the way she used the assets she'd been given to illicit the response she wanted. She based her judgement on the reaction she received, carefully calculating how, next time, she would be certain to give even more, be even more perfect. Maybe, then, one day, she'd be where Vivian was. She wanted the woman's power. Vivian didn't deserve the place she'd ended up. The woman was weak, she could give Marcus what he wanted, what he needed. But Isobel, she could. She deserved that throne. It was hers, and she was going to get it, no matter the cost.

After taking time with her thoughts, Isobel had prepared herself for the evening. She'd selected a red dress that was certain to draw attention. It bordered on inappropriate for the type of function she was attending, but Isobel didn't mind, in fact she liked it. She loved eyes on her and attention, especially Marcus'. She knew Marcus wouldn't be able to take his eyes of her with all the flesh on display. And she hoped it would be he who would take it off her later that night. But the dress would infuriate Vivian, which was also another plus. She hated to have her perfect façade appear any less than flawless, and to have her dressed up like that would not only steal away everyone, including her husband's, attention, but appear as if she couldn't control those who lived under her rule. It would create whispers, and hopefully unseat the undeserving First Lady. Her make-up was fairly heavy but not drastic. The only real stand out feature were her lips, which had been coated in a scarlet lipstick to perfectly match the colour of her dress. Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and still curly at the ends.

As Isobel entered the room, she accepted the glass of champagne she was offered by a waitress and took a long sip before surveying the scene she'd entered. Her eyes quickly crossed all the guests, to the front, where Vivian and Marcus stood. Marcus pulled away from his wife, saying something to her before scanning the room. Vivian caught his eye, giving him a slow, seductive smile. She pulled a strand of hair from her ponytail over her shoulder, twirling it absent-mindedly around her finger as she watched him.

Even if Isobel had been blind, she would've known Marcus' eyes were on her. The way they bore into her, filled with such power, yet such lust and a sense of want, so carnal, that Isobel had never seen so intensely in another man. For a second, she simply looked at him, their eyes sharing more than words ever could. With Marcus and she, it was not about words. Their relationship had always been carved from actions and movements and expressions. Though he was able to charm and seduce her with beautiful lines from old world literature and compliments, they were simply an overlay to the physicality of their relationship.

Suddenly, Marcus coughed slightly, turning his attention from her for a moment. He quickly spoke to the aristocrats surrounding him, before glancing back at her. He drained the champagne, and left the group, coming towards her. Isobel watched with delight as his hand left his wife's form. He was choosing her over Vivian. Not that Vivian deserved the attention. But Marcus didn't even excuse himself to her, he just left, in such a hurry to get to her. Isobel felt a triumphant smile dance at the corner of her lips, but allowed it to fall away without fully realising itself. She was still playing a part. Marcus' eyes were still on her. She was the beautiful, sultry mistress. She teased him and tempted him, but they did not share emotions or feelings. She was not his wife, and he did not want the problems that came with that status.

Marcus got closer to her, and as he reached her she though for a moment, based on the look in his eye, that he was going to stop and rip her clothes from her right there. But instead, he carried on walking straight past her. The closer he got, the less he looked at her. But when he was right beside her, eyes fixed somewhere else entirely, his hand brushed gently against hers. There was a moment of fire, fire that leapt between them as he touch her. She smooth skin on his finger tips that came as a result of never having to lift a finger for himself all his life, brushing the back of her hand and down her fingers before finally slipping off her.

"Follow me," Marcus' lovely voice was just a murmur, barely audible to her and unheard by anyone else. Isobel watched him go, winding his way through the crowds and dismissing any who tried to speak with him. In her head she slowly counted five seconds, using the tempo of the music to make sure she was counting at the right speed. Each second was agonisingly long, and on five she immediately followed him. She watched him slip through a door to the outside, onto one of the quietest balconies. Isobel made sure to take a different path through the crowd than the High King had, so it wouldn't be so obvious to spectators. It wasn't as if their relationship was a secret, most knew that the King had a mistress. But Isobel was intelligent and discreet enough to know that these affairs shouldn't be aired in public or highlighted.

As stepped out onto the balcony the cool night air washed over her skin, but she was already so hot that she barely felt it. She crossed the short distance between them to where Marcus was, leaning against a dark corner, fingering his champagne glass. As she reached him, she took her place, leaning next to him. using the curve of the corner so she could still look directly at his face from this angle. She took a sip from her still half full champagne glass, allowing the liquid to wash over her tongue and slip down her throat. She then set it down in a crevice of the wall and used her now free hand to reach out and brush his cheek with her fingertips.

"How are you enjoying the party?" she asked softly, her voice smooth and full of false innocence, knowing that dancing around the question instead of addressing the real reason he'd brought her out here would only cause the desire that flickered in his eyes to ignite further.

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 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.

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.

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.