By Midii Une
Ice glittered on the sharply
rising roofs of the palace, snowflakes hovered around the dark building, the
cold wind trying its best to breach the building’s defenses but the elements
were turned back as always by the impregnable stone and brick. Only human war machines had ever conquered
this castle that sat now peacefully aloof despite the weather before the frozen
river that reflected it’s grandeur like a huge mirror.
The shimmering, frost-kissed
windows were dark and lonely; the unearthly quiet of the little kingdom belied
the flurry of joyous and triumphant gaiety that had marked the wedding of its
beloved Princess Relena to her long-time love Heero Yuy. Now the newlyweds were departed to a secret
honeymoon hideaway and the palace was empty but for a few guests still stranded
by the late winter ice storm.
Beyond one window a small
light still shone and a young woman sat in an elegant heap of midnight blue
velvet on a white satin couch, ensconced like a forgotten jewel in a guest
suite in the fairy tale palace of Cinq.
Ebony-flecked white ermine fur bared her throat and revealed a flawless
expanse of smooth pale skin as she leaned her head on her arm tiredly and
continued to sit there watching the snow fall outside the lead-paned window in
a picturesque dance against the endlessly black night. The movement caused a waterfall of
moonlight-blonde hair to cascade around Dorothy’s tall, lithe figure.
With a languid movement she
shifted herself on the white satin and let herself fall back prone against the
cushions, her hair floating lightly around her for a moment before settling
around her shoulders again in a silken tangle.
Idly she wrapped a length around her finger and closed her eyes briefly,
traveling back in time in an instantaneous flash of nostalgia, back to a dark
and sheltered spot on Libra, an atmosphere rife with passion and promises--all
to be broken, promises she hadn’t been strong enough to keep.
Dorothy’s eyes snapped open,
pale violet gleaming between obstinately widespread lids as she stared at the
ceiling, sternly ordering the memories back to their cold marble crypt. All through this long horrible day of Relena
and Heero’s wedding, through all the pomp and ceremony and nearness to him she
had kept those treacherous thoughts in their proper place. Kept them there through everything; the
suspicious and protective glances of Noin, who regarded her as if she were an
evil sorceress intent on enchanting him away.
More poignant were the quizzical searching glances from the familiar
ice-blue eyes. She’d kept their contact brief, not trusting herself to remain
cordial in the face of his obvious contentment to have Noin by his side, her
hand clinging to his arm in a gesture or ownership and to Dorothy, of warning.
The young duchess laughed
suddenly, the sound crystal clear as a finely wrought silver bell. Noin had nothing to fear from her, not
anymore...
Lucrezia Noin had won in fair
combat, taken the prize she had not been able to hold on to. He had slipped from her grasp after only a
moment of being hers when her affections and loyalty to her family still
exerted a hold on her. A disastrous
hold. Her loyalty to Treize had not
saved him and it had cost her Milliardo’s trust . . .
With a violent growl of
frustration Dorothy leapt to her feet, her movements graceful and athletic as
she shed the velvet bridesmaid dress of Relena’s fantasy wedding and stepped on
the ermine collar as she kicked the elegant and expensive garment aside without
a second thought. She pulled a pair of
white knickers from the closet and yanked them on aggressively, wriggling in
place a little to make the snug trousers conform to the feminine curve of her
hips. She tossed her knee-length blonde
tresses aside as she pulled on the padded jacket so her long, nimble fingers
could fasten the many tiny jet buttons; they marched down the side of the pure
white fabric in a stark angle like a line of miniature soldiers on a snowy
battlefield.
Anyone peeking beyond their
ornately carved, highly varnished bedroom doors would have thought she was a
ghost as she moved quietly through the dark and silent halls, a vision in
spectral white with spider-web hair floating about her.
Crystal chandeliers lit the
palace’s small fencing sallé and gleamed off the polished wood of the maple
floor. Relena had restored the palace in every detail with Pagan’s help and the
pride of her ancient family had risen again with the building and evoking an
age-old feeling thought the building itself now dated only back to the Eve
Wars. Dorothy let her fingers trail along the satiny wood paneling as she eyed
the rich, silver weaponry that lined the walls and shone quietly in the light
like waiting gems, anticipating her touch.
Her fingers closed over the elegant French grip of a foil that had
apparently seen much use. A favorite
weapon of some ancient Peacecraft and perhaps even one Prince Milliardo had
chosen himself when practicing here as a child.
She tightened her hand on the
grip almost tenderly, walking reverently backward until her feet reached the
copper strip on the floor and she lunged with the sword, slashing the thin
metal switch through the air until it cut through the thick stillness of the
long-unused room with a satisfying whistle.
Dorothy advanced then on her imaginary opponent unconsciously recalling
the lessons of the impromptu tutor of her youth.
“Be patient,” that smooth,
cool voice intoned huskily, the barest trace of youth lingering in its
masculine tones. “Keep your movements
small or you’ll open yourself to attack.”
That idyllic summer on
grandfather’s estate the year she had been 10, the year Treize’s friend from
the Lake Victoria Academy had appeared outside her window like a prince from a
fairy tale, firing her little girl dreams with a debonair touch of his lips to
a rose as he met her gaze one balmy morning.
Milliardo took her seriously, showing grave interest in the solemn,
intense child she had been. The summer
that had bound their fates, one to the other, herself and Treize and Milliardo.
. .
Dorothy ducked, spun and
dodged spearing her unseen opponent with suddenness and contained ferocity that
sparked approval in the man who watched from the shadows.
She whirled at the sound of
polite applause, the type one might hear at the opera were there ever to be an
audience of one at a performance. Pain
slashed her spirit for she had indeed heard that Treize had ordered private
performances by his favorite Viennese company during the war to help clear his
mind, to distract his thoughts from war with a little beauty. Almost she feared her audience might be her
dead cousin but as her eyes scanned the corners of the room she spotted the
Prince of Cinq himself watching her boldly from the doorway. Recovering herself quickly Dorothy let her
eyes roam over his attire, the clinging breeches that took her breath away, the
soft and faded cotton T-shirt that had once been red that bared his
sleekly-muscled arms to her view.
With a deft tongue the
Lightning Count spoke first, much to her consternation although she carefully
schooled her face to hide her thoughts.
“You looked so lovely today
Dorothy. And yet I can’t decide even
now if I prefer you in court elegance to your present attire. I would have told
you so earlier if you hadn’t been avoiding me so. Has the Duchess of Dermail lost her famed Catalonia courage,”
Milliardo queried, his eyes studying her as she had so recently studied
him.
Dorothy wondered at the game
he was playing even as a tart response rose to her lips.
“I only wished to spare Noin
further angst, she was as nervous as a high-strung filly today Milliardo,” she
said in an even tone. “I can’t imagine
that it is myself that rouses that anxiety in her?”
“You know perfectly well it
is,” the tall blonde sighed, his soldier’s posture slouching a bit beneath the
weight of her words.
“Then hadn’t you best get
back to bed and soothe her down? People
would talk to see a husband wandering the halls at night, unable to sleep and
presumably unable to find anything else to do with his beautiful wife,” she
retorted smugly.
“Hold your tongue Dorothy,”
Milliardo said lightly, rising to her provocative banter, lifting his head and
squaring his shoulders. “Noin has
nothing to do with my wanderings. It’s
being back here that’s keeping me awake.
I am a Peacecraft but I no longer belong in this place. Now that Relena is well and truly married to
that Gundam pilot I’ll never have need to step foot in this place again.”
But even as he spoke the
words Dorothy could see what they cost him and the deep love for his palace and
kingdom that Cinq’s rightful monarch still held close in his heart.
There was a waiting silence
between them before he turned from her and repeated her action of admiring the
weapons displayed on the warm wood of the sallé walls. His fingers closed on the hilt of a favorite
weapon and he pressed a panel, opening a hidden door in the wall that held an
array of masks. He tossed one to
Dorothy without a word before hiding his face behind the tightly woven black
screen.
“Perhaps some exercise will
help us both to sleep,” he said, by way of a challenge. “En garde.”
He bowed to her gracefully
before flourishing his sword and Dorothy bent in a deep, graceful curtsy before
donning her mask and mimicking his flourish with a touch of her own athletic
artistry.
The little room sang with the
click of steel on steel as they moved together almost as in a dance, feet
sliding to and fro effortlessly on the copper mat, their breathing deep and
intense.
As they sparred Dorothy’s
heart swelled with long-forgotten happiness and her movements became automatic
and instinctive as her mind sought frantically to reason why and how she had
lost this man’s love. This perfect man
who had sacrificed himself to end all wars in a blaze of glory.
A night on Libra, her hands
stealing over his shoulders as he sat in the darkness, straight as a soldier
should be over the rough green wool of his long military coat. Her fingers played with the linen cravat but
he made no move, no sound. And then,..
“Did you truly mean it
Dorothy?” His voice suddenly whispering in the intimacy of darkness.
“Yes, I want to always be
with you, I’ll stay with you to the end,’’ she whispered, her voice reverent in
the darkness as she looked down on his silver-gilt hair. She was shivering
slightly as he gently grasped her arm in his slender fingers and raised her
wrist to his lips, kissing the delicate skin tenderly. His seeking mouth moved to her palm and slid
along to her fingers until he took one into his mouth making her gasp as she
felt the suction.
There was such sadness in his eyes and an emotion she couldn’t
quite place reflected in the crystal pure depths the color of water from a cold
spring on a winter day. She remembered
the look in his eyes as he held her on his lap, his gaze probing and gauging
her trustworthiness, the depths of her love.
Finding what he wanted he’d held her close, his fingers tenderly
stroking her long blonde tresses… oh dear God…the look in his eyes when she
tried to stop him from firing the beam canon at Treize. The love, the desire, the hate, the disgust
. . . oh Zechs, Milliardo…
He saw his opening and a
slight smirk formed on his thin, sensual lips and he lunged toward her slashing
the blade into her shoulder, shocked that she made no move to parry his blow.
Her movements slowed as the
pain of the hit shattered the bittersweet memories like a fragile pane of glass
and she finally stopped altogether, dropping to her knees. The clatter of her sword sounded on the
metal strip and she pushed off her mask gasping and raising her hands to stem
the pain that seemed to pierce her heart.
Milliardo looked aghast, sick
inside that he had hurt her in a friendly contest, where had her mind been he
wondered dully, stupidly before heat flooded his fair-skinned cheeks when he
tossed aside his own mask and knelt beside her on the floor. His fingers sought the tiny jet buttons and
flew over them parting the white jacket to reveal the angry purple and red
bruise forming on her shoulder. Heat
seemed to rise from the livid marks on her pale white flesh and his cool
fingers reached to gently examine the injury.
He looked up into her face expecting to see tears of pain, shock but
found her looking only pale and stunned as if she had been awoken too soon from
a dream. His fingers moved over her
skin again in soothing circles with the lightest pressure as he bent his head
close over her chest as if examining the injury.
The cool fingers caressed her
skin, both soothing and electrifying her shattered senses as he leaned closer,
his long, fair hair falling forward and mingling with hers in a swirl of pale
golden threads. Her whole being
trembled in a timeless moment where his lips hovered over hers hesitantly and
his hand explored and tested the voluptuous swell of her breast. She heard the sharp catch in his breathing
and felt the fingers of his other hand caressing the inside of her wrist, skin
that still tingled from the memory of the first touch of his lips on same spot
so long ago in outer space.
Tentatively Dorothy moved
unwilling to break the spell and let her fingers slide over his lean forearms,
the muscles taut from supporting himself in his sitting position beside her on
the cold metal of the floor. Her touch
seemed to melt his restraint, the heat of his skin beneath her fingers causing
the same reaction in her and their lips crashed together in a hungry kiss. Dorothy found herself flat on the back,
hidden between the curtains of his long blonde locks and tangled in a less than
elegant flurry of impatient arms and legs straining desperately for
closeness. So different from how it had
been in space, slow and unhurried and weightless. She had never dreamed how it
would feel to have him upon her, to feel the satisfaction of his weight
grinding her into the unforgiving floor.
Dorothy held her breath as he rose off of her momentarily to push her
jacket back farther and she trembled uncontrollably as she felt his lips in
tender, healing kisses on the bruise he had left on the ivory skin of her
shoulder.
This seemed much more real
and primitive than their encounter in space, the slow grace of their
lovemaking, the dreamlike quality of being alone in that silent void, hair
floating around them as if they were not human but more like angels of justice
bent on punishing Earth for it’s warlike history. But she had fallen, she hadn’t been able to make the final
sacrifice and she had driven him from her with her betrayal in the Libra
control room after promising to support him in everything. Was she now at last forgiven?
Dorothy closed her eyes and
arched her body against the tall figure of the man who covered her, whose
tender lips stoked a fire in the center of her being that was spreading rapidly
out to the very ends of her fingertips.
She moaned softly, encouragingly as she felt the skillful fingers slide
down her taut stomach and linger indecisively at the waistband of her fencing
trousers.
The little moan pierced the
haze of Milliardo’s sudden passion, reality crashing down on him like the
remains of Libra as he destroyed the enormous battle ship before it could reach
earth. Dorothy had been in his thoughts
then as he expected to meet death, but so had one other and it had been to her
that he had pledged to return if he lived through the battle.
The fingers stopped their
movement and for a second she was left in breathless anticipation as she felt
his hand move slowly over her skin in a final, apologetic caress and felt his
nose nudging softly at the skin behind her ear and his lips trailing softly down
her neck before he rose from her.
Stubbornly she lay there,
hope lingering that he would take her in his arms once again, finish what he’d
started and fan the flames of passion he’d lit in her body. She could feel his eyes on her, sense pity
in his stare and the thought of that pity forced her eyes open and she sat up,
gingerly pulling the ends of her jacket together and tossing her hair back over
her shoulders.
“Touché, a skillful blow and
right on mark,” she managed, pleased that her voice sounded cool and detached
as she touched her fingers to the bruise that swelled over her heart.
“You were distracted I can’t
take any pride in it, will you go another round with me,” he offered politely,
his voice also cool and perfectly in check.
“No, I’m tired and you should
get back to Noin. She has always
believed in you the most, I met her once at Treize’s grave. I asked her why she never left flowers for
you, she knew even then you would return.
She never gave up.”
She peeked at him beneath her
long black lashes, he still reclined there on the floor, one long arm propped
casually on a knee as he stared at a spot on the wall above her head. Finally he spoke.
“We’ll be returning to Mars
soon. I cannot stay upon the Earth
long, it is a pleasure I have forfeited.
But she is more than willing to share my exile.”
He lifted her hand to his
lips but she steeled herself against feeling, he looked as if he would speak
but she bowed her head and refused to meet his eyes. She wasn’t that strong and she didn’t want to be forced into a
maudlin farewell. It was enough, he had
forgiven her but he still could not be hers, he was tied by love and honor
elsewhere. Despite the ache of unanswered
passion she cherished the fact that he would not take advantage of her weakness,
would not love her and leave her.
Milliardo watched her walk
away, memorizing the graceful movements he would never see again. As he turned to replace the weapons on the
wall, his eye caught something small and round glittering in the crystal-faceted
light. It was one of the tiny black jet
buttons from her jacket, he bent slowly to retrieve it and held it tight in his
hand before pressing his lips to it as he had once touched them to a rose and
smiled to a little girl who stood on a balcony in the morning sunlight. He tucked the little button in his pocket
and went back up the stairs of his childhood home for the last time.
She lingered in the shadowy
hallway, watching him climb the stairs and disappear into the darkness. She had loved him but as she watched him go
her heart lightened, she was not of the temperament to give herself over to his
suffering and she would not stand for his self-imposed exile. He’d given her a final gift, one he could
never give Noin—freedom. He would always have a corner of her heart and she
knew a part of her forever lingered in his.
The End