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Tightly Wound

Mr. White couldn't help but give off a light chuckle as Ms. Stroud struggled to lead him in the waltz. A smile even appeared on his face as he continued to lead Anna through the light dance. More heads began to turn their way as the crowd noticed the peculiar pairing. In all honesty, Robert preferred the fluttering rumors in the presence of Anna than the same type of spreading secrets in the company of Melva. As they turned about the room, Mr. White caught sight of Mr. Millberry. The chairman glared at Robert and Anna, reminding them of his requests. Stay away from each other. Their gazes pulled away from each other as the dance continued, but Robert couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed. After all, Mr. Millberry had requested two simple tasks. It appeared that when one task was met, the other task was nearly impossible to avoid. At least for Robert. He did not imagine Ms. Synder had any intentions to dance with Ms. Stroud that evening.


"We would be the center of either topic, Ms. Stroud," Robert replied for only Anna's ears as he slowly spun her around. He held his hand in the air to give her a point of center, then rested his other hand along her hip to guide her further. He smiled again when the turn had been complete, then followed through with the basic waltz steps. "Please do not waste your breath pretending to compliment me, Ms. Stroud," he spoke. "I know very well of my dancing capabilities." If there was anything Robert would ever brag about for himself, it would be of his dancing skills. He remembered practicing with his mother when he was much younger in their living room. Dancing had been like politics. He dreaded the idea, but once he had been exposed, he would never be able to live without it. Robert was never involved in dance lessons, like he had been with debate, but still enjoyed to practice. He had done so more often when he was younger. Now it was nearly impossible to find a moment to practice in solitude with the ever changing world of politics.


They had passed a group of laughing women, and Mr. White could feel Anna's muscles tighten. He shot a glare in their direction before they had passed them completely, ignoring the few women who waved to him and cooed, then turned his head back to look at Anna. The dance followed into another turn, then back to the basic steps once more. Given his knowledge on classic music, they still had the last two movements remaining, then both of their displeasure could end. "Let us also not waste our energy worrying about the automaton. I simply won't make it out alive if we do." he told her with a hint of jesting.
 
"Why do you assume I am pretending?" She had countered quietly when he attempted to dismiss her compliment even while boasting about his capabilities. The question had been clearly rhetorical, meant to make a point, and so he had not responded. The rejoinder felt more natural between them and helped her ease into the dance. He truly was excellent, making her wonder who he had danced with in the past. Surely it would have been a point of gossip if he had.


In any case, the dance itself was a pleasant process. Much like their work preparing for their audience with King Geoffrey, when their purposes aligned, they worked together beautifully. By now, she had abandoned her earlier desire to control the dance and instead followed his lead and only embellished where she could with minor motions. She felt elegant on the dance floor, and although it was difficult to believe, it seemed he was actually smiling, however minutely.


The chatter continued around them, and she caught Mr. Millberry's glare, along with a similar one from Miss Snyder. Anna decided to ignore all of it and enjoy the dance. They were often the topic of conversation; this was no different. Even if the rumors might malign her character, at least she could truthfully deny them with an untroubled heart.


Then he seemed to make a joke. "Let us also not waste our energy worrying about the automaton. I simply won't make it out alive if we do."


Anna's eyebrows rose as she tilted her head slightly while performing another turn at his direction. When she stepped closer to him again to resume the standard steps, she replied with a smile, "What shall we speak of, then, that poses no threat to your life?" They passed Melva Snyder again, who glared at Anna as they passed. Anna felt the heat of the woman's gaze but kept her focus on Robert until they were past. "Perhaps why that girl is so intent upon you, Mr. White? The situation must be desperate for you to turn to me for aid." Her smile remained in place as she teased gently.
 
Melva Synder watched as the waltz passed by her in discontent. The arcs of her thin eyebrows lowered, and her gaze locked onto Ms. Stroud. It was obvious to say the blonde woman was furious. White appeared on her knuckles, and her lips thinned from the tension in her make up covered face. "The little brat," she spoke to herself. "She suddenly thinks she can take away my Robert. We'll see about that." A servant passed by with a silver tray full of champagne, and without any thought, Melva daintily clasped her hand around one of the small beverages. She raised the glass to her lips, hoping it would wash away her growing self pity. The feeling only became worse as she observed the two senators smiling and talking with one another, and she raised her hand to her mouth to muffle a small whimper that also resulted from the same sight.


The smile from Robert's face disappeared briefly as Melva had been mentioned, but eventually came back when he noticed the teasing smile. "The situation is quite desperate, Ms. Stroud," he began. "However I cannot possibly imagine why someone like Ms. Synder would be so intent upon someone like me." This statement had been true. "And that is what makes this situation so desperate. Had the woman never been present, I could have been peacefully standing over there," he nodded, "And you could be out here, with someone, perhaps, more deserving." Robert easily led Anna into another spin, but another couple had carelessly stepped to close to them, and causing Robert to pull Anna closer to him in fear of someone tearing the skirt of her dress.


"Forgive me, senator White!" the gentleman called as the dance continued . Robert merely sent the other man a smirk, and readjusted their position so he and Anna were at a comfortable distance once more. During this process, he had not lost a single beat, and continued to waltz perfectly. Whatever false moves, if any, that had been created by Anna were easily fixed.
 
Her words had an immediate effect upon her dance partner. Not that anyone else would notice it, for he continued to lead her in the waltz without hesitation. But the expression that flitted across his features clearly communicated his feelings about Miss Snyder. She certainly had not expected - not for a moment - that Mr. White had romantic designs on the lovely Melva Snyder; especially not since the events after Miss Millberry's recital. Nevertheless, the sight of his grimace doused any possibility of a spark between him and the young ambitious blond Senator.


The smile that followed, however, was unexpected. She could not recall seeing Mr. White smile before they started working on the project together. Granted, they were usually arguing, but even in the halls of the Senate building he had always been so serious. Apparently he possessed a sense of humor, even if it was buried deep beneath his stalwart and methodical approach to all else. When he teased about her dancing with someone "more deserving", she quickly replied back with honest surprise, "Now who is wasting his breath with false compliments, Mr. White?"





Unlike his earlier jest, she was only half-teasing. Many men asked her to dance, but mostly for political discussion or an attempt to sway her opinion. The few who might think to court her were too young, or too old, or too insipid for her tastes. At first, it had been Sam's shadow that had cast them easily in unflattering light. Now that had lessened, but still she always caught a glimpse early on of their true opinion: that she should somehow be less - less vibrant, less driven, less opinionated, less ... herself - once she found a good match. It was ludicrous and infuriating enough to make her have long retired the notion of marrying again.


Even before she could complete her thought and barely before she had finished her question to Mr. White, Robert interrupted her spin to pull her close. She looked up at him curiously, her steps faltering only once in surprise before she quickly fell into line with his lead again. A glimmer of heat visited her cheeks, but luckily her dark complexion hid it well. The brief apology from another dancer shed light on what had prompted him to pull her close. Of course. It had not been an answer to her question. He had simply been saving her dress.


Which was humorous, given the incident a few days earlier. She thought of commenting about it but decided against it for both their sakes. Instead, she brought them back to the topic earlier at hand. She spied Miss Snyder still watching them, clearly upset and intent on Robert. "Forgive me for saying so, but you may need to be more direct in order to reacquire your coveted position against the wall. In my experience, young ambitious girls - especially ones as lovely and accustomed to getting their way as our dear Miss Snyder - interpret any subtle language as a challenge. You are always so careful in your wording. I believe some of that nuance may be wasted in this particular instance." The tempo changed as the waltz segued into its third movement, and they moved faster across the floor.
 
"No, not a comment," Robert corrected to answer Ms. Stroud's question after their near mishap had passed. "A state of fact." The third movement of the symphony arrived, causing the pace of the waltz to increase. His steps never faltered, but he continued to listen to Ms. Stroud as she made her statement. It had not been any news to Mr. White. He knew very well how the female mind worked, or so he thought. It would be fair to say he had a strong idea, given the questionable "Most Desirable Bachelor" title. Ms. Synder was not the only power hungry woman who had swooned over him countless times, but she was certainly the most noticed, while others were much more subtle in their actions.


"Being direct or indirect, Ms. Stroud, I am always at a loss," Robert sadly stated. He almost laughed to himself when he ran Anna's phrase through his head once more. Calling Melva lovely. Never would he have placed those two words in association. Robert didn't dare to share his thoughts with Anna, however, as they had passed her yet another time around the room. It shocked Mr. White that she hadn't been on the dance floor with some other gentleman, truly. He had expected for her to grab another partner to spark potential jealousy, or initiate some other devious plot. It made Robert realize how attached she truly must have been to him, and made his stomach curdle.


Suddenly the sound from the small pit band seized, and the dancers at the center of the room halted. People around the hall calmly clapped and cheered as the first dance had finished, then the crowd began to disperse. Many party guests searched for a new dance partner, some of them walked to the edge of the room to indulge on any of the left over appetizers, and Mr. White graciously bowed before Anna previous to leaving the dance floor to fetch his cane. Once the miniature staff had been properly placed back underneath his hold, his eyes drifted towards the wall, but his feet lead him towards a group of other politicians. Perhaps Anna would be right. A different approach would be necessary.


"I say, Mr. White, I've never seen you dance like that before," the conversation had started. Mr. White grabbed a thin glass from a passing tray, and continued to remain in the company of the other gentleman. Melva could be spotted in the distance, and he could feel her gaze tugging at him, but he payed no attention. The woman's presence could be felt for just a moment longer, and then it suddenly disappeared.


Melva eventually found herself searching the crowd for the ungracious brat that dared to take away her dream spouse. This action, of course, had been performed with grace. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Cuttling! I am terribly sorry for bumping into you. May I get by?" and so on so forth. She started to mumble to herself as her mission remained in complete. A grimace crossed her face as she continued to push her way through the crowd. "You would think with that terrible green and all of those fake butterflies in her hair she would be a sore thumb in a place like this," she said only loud enough for herself to hear. Suddenly she spotted her target, and let out a loud gasp. "Oh, pardon me, Mr. Hayward. I spot a friend in the distance, you don't mind if I get by, do you?" And with that, the chase was on.
 
To Anna’s surprise, disappointment visited her at the end of the dance. The exercise had been far more pleasant than she had feared when she had opted to “rescue” Robert. Not only had they managed to keep the conversation civil, it had actually been ... enjoyable. Who would have guessed that Mr. White was such a good dancer? She curtseyed to him as he bowed to her, then they went their separate ways, which meant returning to the politics and social games of the Cotillion. Anna did so with her typical grace, but with a moment of hesitation. The dance had been an unexpected reprieve, thus she had to don her usual social armor once again.


She avoided dwelling on the implications of how she had not considered that armor necessary while dancing with Mr. White by immersing herself in the conversation of the day.


A few people asked about the dance with subtle and even direct implications that she was conspiring with the monarchists. She deemed the idea laughable and moved the conversation along, then continued to move through the crowd. Mr. Matthew Emerick bent her ear briefly on the topic of airship regulations. She rebuffed Mr. Ferguson attempts to gather information about the King’s upcoming announcement and any connection to the closing of the Library. Then she encountered Mrs. Latta proudly displaying her pregnant belly in a lovely gown of powder blue. Anna congratulated her again on the pending birth and wished her well, then excused herself to visit the ladies’ lavatory.


It still affected her at the oddest times, after all these years. Many times she could see another expectant mother or a woman with a babe in her arms and smile wistfully at them. Other times, her latent grief would revisit her with such keenness it would steal her breath away. Tonight, Mrs. Latta, through no fault of her own, had triggered the latter reaction.


The powder room was presently empty, offering Anna a modicum of privacy. She preemptively blotted away the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes with a tissue and splashed water on her face. The running water must have covered the sound of the door opening, for when she dried her face off, she noticed Miss Melva Snyder standing beside her, the young woman’s pale and slender arms folded over her chest.


“How dare you, Ms. Stroud? Do you think I am blind to what you are doing?” The poor girl’s face had turned so red, she looked ready to pop.


Anna blinked and set the towel aside, turning to face Miss Snyder with an admittedly impatient sigh. “I fear I am ignorant as to what I might have done to offend you, my dear Miss Snyder. Whatever it is, could it possibly wait until tomorrow?” Her attempt to follow the request up with a smile was lackluster, but she did what she could despite her heavy heart. “I am not feeling well at the moment,” she added, hoping that the admission might tip the scales in her favor.


It did not.


Melva shook her head, causing her pinned-up ringlet golden curls to sway behind her head. “It cannot wait. You have no place dancing with Mr. White, putting your... your... hands on him.” She looked down at Anna’s dress and hands as if she were a dirty urchin attempting to pick her pocket.


This surprised her so much that Anna visibly started, but she recovered quickly. “First of all, young lady, you have no right dictating my ‘place’.” The word itself rankled Anna. She had been born among the influential in Aneorian society, but most people of color were not so fortunate. “A senator should be more cognizant of her wording if she aspires to earn the respect of other Senate leaders.” Melva opened her mouth to interject, but Anna cut her off, taking a small step toward the younger woman. “Secondly, what possible standing do you imagine you have with Mr. White after the incident at Miss Millberry’s recital?”


Melva straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin so she might look down her nose at the older, darker-skinned senator. “I ... He and I have had... a connection. And you are attempting to ruin it!”


This time, Anna’s mouth hung open for a moment in shock. This girl actually believed that she had been seducing Robert White.


Miss Snyder jumped on the brief lull in conversation, pressing her point. “Admittedly, he is subtle in his expression of affection...”


“Subtle? --”


Melva pressed on despite the interjection, “That only reflects his gentlemanly qualities. And I will not have some ...” she looked at the decorative butterflies in Anna’s hair with narrowed eyes. “Decorated elder leader distracting him from what a man of his caliber so obviously deserves.”


Behind Melva, two other women had entered the room and now stood exchanging glances after hearing the last part of the exchange. Anna shook her head, repeating incredulously, “What a man of his caliber deserves?” She took a deep breath, mindful of the newly arrived audience. When she spoke next, it was with measured patience. “You are incorrect in all of your assumptions about me, Miss Snyder. But since you are clearly incapable of understanding the most basic of messages, I will attempt to explain this in terms you mightunderstand. Mr. White is a gentleman, which is why he has not been overtly rude to you. Yet a young lady of standing is best to learn the nuanced language of a gentleman’s rebuke if she wishes not to embarrass herself.” Melva had begun to turn colors again and had dropped her hands to her sides to clench them into fists. She started blowing puffs of air over her heart-shaped lips, but Anna continued to speak in an attempt to finish and leave before the younger woman exploded. “If your ‘efforts’ after the recital are any indication, you have crossed the line from subtle flirtation to desperation. I beg you, for your own sake, to desist before you embarrass yourself further.”


The women by the door gasped and began whispering. Anna glanced at them and sighed, recognizing that she had allowed her previous upset to infect her approach with the young Miss Snyder. She began to move toward the door, surprised that Melva had not replied. As she passed the younger woman, Miss Snyder reached for her, clawing at her face and neck. Anna shrieked as she attempted to dodge the attack and fend the blonde off. After a minute-long inelegant jumble of limbs punctuated by unladylike interjections, Anna was successful with the help of the other women present, who stepped forward to restrain Miss Snyder. The brief, undignified scuffle left Anna with a scratch on her neck and Melva holding a metal butterfly in hand along with several strands of Anna’s hair.


One of the other women looked at Anna. “Go on, Senator. We will see to Miss Snyder.” As if prompted by the prospect of losing her target, Melva surged forward, only to be dragged backwards by the other women again.


Anna, flustered, nodded to them and thanked them before exiting the lavatory. She straightened her hair and dress as best she could before moving quickly through the room, pausing only for necessary conversations before she left for her airship. No doubt there would be talk of the incident tomorrow, so she planted what seeds she could with allies, politely playing off the scratch on her neck and the state of her hair as “a testimony to the volatile nature of immature infatuation”. She did not directly disparage Miss Synder, nor confirm rumors that had begun to circulate. Instead, she ensured she would be perceived as the dignified woman she was, beset upon by the unstable Miss Snyder.


She had only intended to speak to the girl and stop the foolishness that had so upset Mr. White. As it turned out, this particular incident might destroy Miss Snyder’s political career. Try as she might, Anna could not find it in her to pity the girl. She had brought it on herself, and did not deserve to be in the Senate if she was so unbalanced.


Robert could thank her later.
 
"Mr. White, are you feeling well?" a gentleman asked as he turned his head to face the tall senator. Mr. White had been watching Ms. Stroud in the distance as she headed off to the powder room; Miss Synder not too far behind. He slowly raised his glass to his lips and took a small sip before answering, his gaze still in the direction where the two ladies had left.


"Yes, I am quite all right, thank you," he gently smiled as he placed his attention back to the group, then continued to listen upon their conversation. For a while the content of their dialogue had been very straightforward. How the family was doing, what the latest trends were, minor issues in politics and so on so forth. Then the topics had switched onto more serious affairs, mainly targeting the King's announcement. Robert did his best to remain secretive about the topic, and wove his way around as many questions as possible.


"All right, tell us then, Mr. White. Why is it, after all these years, you chose to dance with Ms. Stroud?" the question was directly asked Mr. Abbey. It had been an interesting turn from the previous subject, and rather sudden. Robert took a brief moment to absorb the inquiry, then quickly formulated a witty response, but someone else spoke before he had the chance to open his mouth.


"Isn't it obvious?" At those three words, Mr. White's heart rate jumped. What could this other gentleman know about the obvious? Melva Synder had tried for years and years to seduce Mr. White, only to come to failure with each attempt. Both of them acted upon desperation. She wanted a spouse that had money and fame, and he wanted solitary confinement. Robert continued to wonder what this young gentleman knew about his position with Miss Synder and Ms. Stroud. Before the speaker continued, he lowered his voice and pulled closer into the group. "They're conspiring to unite the monarchist and anarchist political parties. I bet that's why Chairman Millberry gave you the hairy look, too." he winked towards Mr. White. The gentleman bore a proud grin, as if he solved the world's greatest mystery.


"Incredibly obvious," Robert blandly replied. "I'm afraid you have us figured out." Mr. White knew it wasn't good to lie, but it was much easier than explaining the truth. A lot less nerve wrecking, too. His words probably would have stood, were it not for his expression. Robert raised his glass once more to finish the rest of his drink as he eyed the men around him. They may have been oblivious to the actual circumstances he had faced, but it was obvious to them that they were not convinced with his attempt to lie.


"Is there..... is there something more we should know, Mr. White?" it had been asked as directly as the previous question, but in a lower voice. The other men had also been interested to know more, but did not express their curiosity as vibrantly.


"No," Mr. White plainly said. "The things you should know are not contained within this conversation," he gave a brief pause. "It's what you want to know, and I am afraid I am not allowed to disclose that information to you." By this time, Mr. White had enough socialization, and excused himself from the group.


"Mr. White usually doesn't speak among the crowd," a man noted.


"Aye, let a lone dance," another replied.


"He seems to have changed quite a lot in one evening," another gentleman spoke as he finished his drink.


"It's all rather odd," the liberal speaker added. "I like it a lot better when he just stands near the walls."





Mr. White had long departed by the last section of the men's conversation, and was all ready heading towards the door. A dark flash of green whizzed by him, and he suddenly recognized it as Ms. Stroud leaving for her airship. His observation had been delayed so much so, he didn't even have a chance to question her cluttered assembly in his own mind. Another sudden movement in the distance caught his eye, and Robert easily recognized it as the Chairman. As usual, Mr. White felt like he was a sitting duck. He knew there would be something the Chairman would criticize him for, but he also knew there would be no relief if he swam away. Somewhat patiently, he waited for Mr. Millberry to make his way over.


"Mr. White, what in the King's name was that!" the Chairman roared, giving no consideration to the guests around them.


"Please, Mr. Millberry, allow me to explain," Robert sighed, trying his best to calm the red faced man before him.


"I specifically asked you two, stay away from one another," Mr. Millberry interupted. " Don't you see each other enough during the day all ready?!" Mr. White opened his mouth to speak, but another set of blistering words boomed from Mr. Millberry. "You have the entire senate believing there is some conspiracy to merge the two senate parties. Are you insane?!"





Slowly, Robert took in a slow, deep breath, though he was not the one who was riled. "Believe me, Chairman Millberry, I wish that was the case."


"Go on, explain yourself then!" Robert subtly rolled his eyes, then leaned his head closer to the Chairman's. He removed his hat and placed it by the side of his face, and quietly began to explain the recently passed events. Others began to swarm around Robert and Chairman Millberry, but once they realized it had been the Mr. White and the Chairman Millberry, they quickly dispersed. A few short moments had passed until Mr. White finally lowered his cap and gently placed it back upon his head. It made him feel better that Mr. Millberry at least understood what his predicament had been between the three women earlier that evening, but Mr. Millberry held no remorse for his monarchist. The Chairman departed Robert's company, and went back to escort his wife and daughter.


It had been quickly decided in Robert's mind it would be best to leave the social gathering and spend the rest of the evening at home. He exited Raymund Hall without muttering a single goodbye, and headed straight for his carriage. Once inside, he removed his cap again, and placed it in upon his lap. The carriage slowly started to move, then eventually rolled at an even pace. Mr. White calmly admired the sunset through the small window, then noticed a familiar shape in the distance. Initially he had not been positive the object he observed had been what he believed it to be, but his assumptions were only made clearer as he pressed his head closer to the window. The sight of Ms. Stroud's airship had distracted him from the view of sunset. His eyes gently rested on the floating craft until it disappeared from sight behind a tall building. He waited a moment longer to see if it would reappear once more after the building had passed, but the ship did not arrive as he had wished. Slowly, he turned back to face the front of the carriage, and remained in such position for the remaining duration of the ride home.
 
Chapter VII

The doors to the East stateroom swung open violently, banging against the walls and scattering servants.


Prince Harold Roghan had returned from his expedition and had been searching the palace for the last thirty minutes. He had not even changed out of his travel clothes, a far more regal outfit than he would usually have donned. His normally handsome features scowled now as he scoured the palace - his home - for his father’s favorite adviser. He grabbed the arm of a young portly blonde maid who was fleeing with the rest of the staff in the wake of the princes’ displeasure. While he did not hurt her, he held her firmly in place so she could not disappear as so many of the servants had been doing. “Where is he?!”


The poor girl blinked, looking up at the tall prince with a mixture of disbelief and fear (plus no small amount of longing; even angry, the dark-haired, blue-eyed prince was easy on the eyes). “H-H-who, Your Majesty? The King?”


Prince Harold shook his head, loosening his grip without letting the girl go. His jaw twitched as he fought to keep his temper in check, and his voice was strained with the effort of speaking gently. “No, my dear. Lord McCallister. I must speak with my father’s advisor. Do you know where he is?”


The girl nodded slowly, although her eyes darted to one side of the stateroom. “Yes. Or... I think so. I last saw him in his office, Your Highness. Have you looked for him there?”


The prince’s jaw muscle twitched again before he released the maid. “Thank you. You are dismissed.” He had been to McCallister’s office - twice - on similar advice. He was becoming increasingly certain the man was purposefully avoiding him; and that he had the staff working with him. The last revelation was increasingly disturbing.


He stalked off toward his private quarters, ignoring the feel of eyes on him as he did so.


Two hours later, he had bathed and - as surreptitiously as he could - made his way to McCallister’s office. He made no point of alerting the palace staff to his presence or informing them of his purpose. When one steward asked if he had found Lord McCallister, he smiled and replied, “Yes, thank you.” Suddenly the staff along the path to McCallister’s office seemed less anxious. He did not knock on the advisor’s door, but rather opened it without warning.


And there he was. The greasy-haired man whom the prince was coming to believe intended to ruin the nation, although he did not yet understand how or why. “Good afternoon, Douglas. I trust you are recovered after your errands?”


Douglas McCallister looked up from behind his desk. If he was startled by the prince’s entrance, the only sign was a brief lift of his slender eyebrows. He set his pen down carefully on the blotter on his desk, protecting whatever document he had been working on from an accidental drip or smudge of ink. With a sad smile, he addressed the prince. “Your Majesty.” He stood up slowly, bowing his head in respect as he did so. “What an unexpected pleasure.” As he straightened his posture to his full height of 5’8”, he looked inquisitively at the prince as he adjusted a brass bracelet on his wrist. “Were you looking for me earlier?”


Harold shut the door behind him and resisted the urge to hit the man, settling on the satisfaction of looking down at him due to the natural difference in their heights. “Yes. It seems my timing was unfortunate. I am glad to have caught you.” He paused briefly, meeting the other man’s eyes before continuing. “What in God’s name are you doing?”


Lord McCallister feigned confusion. “What do you mean, Your Highness? I was only penning letters --”


“You know exactly what I mean. Convincing my father to send me off to ‘make the royal presence felt at the outer districts for moral’. Meanwhile, in my absence, there is some discovery of new technology, and already - within a month - there will be an announcement to the people?” McCallister opened his mouth to speak, but he prince stepped forward and cut him off. “My father trusts you.” He looked Douglas up and down with obvious contempt. “I know not why, but he does. I do not. Consider this official notice that if anything should happen to my father, I will hold you directly responsible.”


The prince turned to go, but McCallister spoke before his hand touched the door. “I am offended that you think so ill of me, My Prince. I live only to serve. I hope one day, despite our differences, you will be able to believe that.”


When Harold opened the door, he turned back to glance at the adviser and his honeyed words. The look of composed satisfaction on McCallister’s thin lips turned his stomach. He walked away from the adviser's office, more certain than ever that he could not let McCallister poison his father any further against him. He would do whatever he must to stay close.
 
Once the Prince had departed his office, McCallister turned back and placed his attention onto the documents he was previously working on. It seemed that the papers before the King's adviser related to some form of foreign affair, though it couldn't be certain at this stage of the document's development. Vigorously the short, skinny man continued to write until he no longer felt the desire to work, and gently placed the pen back down upon the desk as he did before; cautious not to spoil the fresh paper with unwanted blotches and smears of ink. Even after the long session, the document was still far from complete. McCallister let out a sigh as his eyes skimmed over his work through the round spectacles that sat upon his high bridged nose. He quickly turned away from the desk and began to exit his private quarters. Looking upon the stack of papers only reminded him of the remaining portion of work that needed to be done.


With quick strides, his flat feet carried him through the long corridors for an evening jaunt about the castle, and he admired the way the evening light shined throughout the stone architecture. Though the frail, thin man was all ready tired, he found it necessary to make the leisurely stroll. Otherwise McCallister would have found it difficult to rest that night. Every so often he would break pace to pause before one of the windows and glance upon the horizon. During one of these particular pauses, he spotted a floating airship making its descend. The adviser's brown eyes squinted as he continued to look upon the horizon, and he began to contemplate.


"I hope you understand, Senator, that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you and your friends will not win," he spoke darkly to himself. "Don't even begin to think I don't know what you're up to. I know your kind." Suddenly his expression shifted, almost as if he was lamenting about something, but it quickly pushed itself back into a deep grimace as he continued his thoughts. "Things might look good for you, Senator," he snarled. "But they're beginning to look a lot better for me."


"McCallister," a familiar, deep voice interrupted, and caused the adviser to turn around. Naturally, the skinny man bowed before the elder, royal representative. "What are you doing about the castle at this hour? Shouldn't you be resting? It has been quite a long day," the King spoke with concern.


"My dear King," McCallister spoke as he rose from his bow. "I was simply taking an evening stroll and admiring the view. I am tired, yes, but I find glancing upon the lovely nation allows me to settle easier. Wouldn't you agree, your majesty?"





The King wore a gentle smile as he listened to his adviser. "Yes, quite agreeable, McCallister." Then his expression shifted as he suddenly remembered something. "Harold, my son, he came to me today. He mentioned that he spoke with you upon his early arrival. I hope everything is all right, McCallister."


"Of course, your majesty," McCallister replied, though probably too quickly. "The young lad had been concerned about you, and wished to express such matters with me," he recovered with a smile. "It is rather late, your majesty. It must be time for you to retire. After all, there is a lot of work ahead of us! Why, the day of the speech at the market square is quickly approaching!"


"You are too thoughtful," the King genuinely smiled. "I shall see that I receive my proper rest. Good night, McCallister."


"Sleep well, your majesty." McCallister bowed to the King once more, then the two men departed the area and headed off their separate ways.


"Get up, get up, get up!" a mother shrieked as she threw the covers off of her slumbering children. "Come on, you lazy hogs, get up!" The two children groaned and whined from the sudden interruption, and did their best to cover their eyes from the saturated light that filtered through the small window of their room. "Get up!" the mother shrieked again. "If we want to even lay a single eye on the King, we need to hurry. Come on, hurry up now. I've all ready made you breakfast." The woman went about the room, pulling apart the curtains to allow more light to shine through. "Oh, shoot," she muttered to herself as she quickly peeked outside. The sky was all ready a fresh, bright blue, and people fluttered across the street to make their way to the market square. "You'll have to eat your breakfast on the way if we want to be there on time. Oh darn," she swore once more, then continued to drive her family out of the house.


This had been the common routine for several other families. Mothers, fathers, fans of the senate, fans of the monarchy, of Senator White, of Senator Stroud, rushed through their morning customs from the excitement that rose from the market square event. The King was to arrive later that morning to address the public about the recent technology discovery from the library, and as usual, Robert and Anna were expected to be present. It seemed that the community was enthusiastic to see His Royal Highness more than anything, but there were still the few who were concerned about the library, and what would become of the newly revealed information. Citizens of all ages swarmed towards the center of the event. Women dragged along their children as they complained and struggled, completely apathetic to the importance of the presentation that was about to take place, or forced their equally callous husbands to come for company.


Senator White watched from the back of the stage as the large assembly before him continued to grow. His jacket for this particular event was dark, navy blue, and brought out the color of his eyes. His vest was made of black silk, and was lightly decorated blue accents. The chain of his pocket watch drooped from the right, front jacket pocket as usual, and the cherry wood cane obediently sat beneath his grip. In some ways, he was nervous, though there really wasn't anything he should be worried about. The King had accepted their presentation from the past, so there was no new factor of danger that threatened them. But something still picked at Robert, and it bothered him further that he couldn't place a finger on it. People waved and hollered as they spotted him in the corner, attempting to catch his attention. His eyes shifted over to view the eager fans, then slowly continued to roll over the rest of the crowd.


Suddenly something else had caught their attention, and the multitude of heads turned to the sky. Mr. White tilted his head back, and spotted what had awed the excited crowd. The royal family decided to arrive by airship, and they had been making their descent by the nearest docking station. They would finish their journey towards the market square by carriage. Females swooned and squealed as they spotted the young and charming Prince, and the crowd cheered and roared as they set their eyes upon the King. The carriage rolled along the path that lead towards the market square, then took a turn behind the vast platform for the King and Prince to exit away from the public eye. Mr. White still stood upon the stage, and lightly paced about. The speech would begin in no less than an hour, according to his pocket watch. He let out a deep sigh as he watched the second hand tick, tick, tick, around the face of the clock.


This action only raised the level of his own anxiety.
 
The Market Square sat almost exactly in the center of Silchester. On the average day, merchants and shoppers lined the open marketplace, providing both shopping and a crossroad ample access to the various sections of the city to those who could not afford an airship. Today, however, it was packed with people of all kinds. Aristocrats and servants stood shoulder-to-shoulder in hopes of seeing the King. Many children sat on their father’s shoulders or stood precariously on walls. Several entrepreneurial shopkeepers had rented out their porches and rooftops, some at a high premium. This resulted in some crowded rooftops while others featured only a few well-dressed onlookers.


Amidst the throng of people, a wall of the King’s Guard had cordoned off the stage, forming a crimson and black barrier the crowd avoided. Anna had landed early, intending to beat Robert to the stage for once. Unfortunately, Chief Engineer Clint Harper had apparently conceived the same idea and waylaid her before she could reach the platform.


“Ms. Stroud!” The thin, grey-haired man paused to look over her burgundy dress with brass-colored accents and her hat with matching plumage. “I am glad I caught you.”


She paused and took a slow, steadying breath before smiling at him as she folded her gloved hands in front of her. “Chief Engineer Harper. I was hoping to speak with you as well.”


Clint Harper’s eyebrows shot upward before a crease visited his brow. “Is that so?” He did not sound pleased at the prospect.


Anna nodded. “While this is a momentous occasion for us all - and I do hope you believe we represented the Engineers’ valuable contributions accurately in our audience with the King - I cannot not help but wonder how the second prototype was loaded onto the ship without our knowledge.” She made a soft clicking sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “It concerns me greatly, Mr. Harper. While the King is pleased today, we would not want him displeased with our lack of security precautions in the future.” She paused briefly for effect before meeting his eyes. “Would we?”


Mr. Harper shook his head, glad to agree with the thin veneer of words at face value. “I share your concern, Ms. Stroud, of course.”


His easy agreement with her confirmed her suspicions about the Chief Engineer’s involvement in those particular arrangements. Maintaining her smile (which failed to reach her eyes), she prompted him, “Did you have another matter to discuss?”


The grey-haired man cleared his throat and shook his head, suddenly interested in the crowd. “No, no. I simply wanted to congratulate you. Both you and Mr. White, of course. Rumors may be circulating, but pay them no mind, my dear. You should both be proud of your exemplary work.”


This time it was Anna’s expression that indicated momentary surprise. “I have found the best method of dispelling unfounded rumors is to shine the light on the truth of the matter, Mr. Harper. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I see Mr. Millberry. I will join you on the platform at the appointed time.”


“Yes, yes. Of course, Ms. Stroud.” His smile reminded her of a viper’s, only with less charm.


She did, in fact, visit with Mr. Millberry. The Chairman remained displeased about the dance at the Cotillion and some of the rumors it inspired. Anna promised him - yet again - to do her best to dispel the rumors, and reminded him that the King’s announcement should provide adequate distraction for anyone seeking new information. This seemed to (barely) satisfy him. After making the rounds amongst a few other political figures, Anna climbed the steps onto the stage where Mr. White was pacing.


She smiled as she saw him staring at his watch. “While most people move faster when inspired by that impressive glare, I am afraid time is still impervious to your scowling,” she teased softly. She took a slow breath, looking over the crowd and to the curtain where the dignitaries - including the King - would be joining them shortly. “We will have time for continued puzzles later, R- Mr. White.” She flushed slightly at almost using his given name. While they were back from the crowd, the King’s Guard might hear it and spread rumors. Perhaps that was why she adopted a firmer tone as she added, “Try to enjoy the moment, if you are able.”


At that moment, the King stepped through the curtain onto the stage, accompanied by two guards and Lord McCallister not far behind. A loud cheer emanated from the crowd, and banners waved. A moment later, the prince stepped onto the stage, and the cheering grew louder and noticeably more high-pitched. Anna smiled at the dreams of youthful girls, although she had to admit Prince Harold was handsome. Even she gazed upon him a little longer than necessary - and was surprised when he glanced her way and flashed a warm smile that made her blush. She immediately looked forward, clearing her throat as she clapped along with the crowd.
 
Slowly his grievous glance turned towards Anna as she spoke to him. His glare had never intended to speed the natural pace of time, in fact there really had never been an intention behind his previous action. Perhaps it was to help him grasp a sense of reality, though ever changing. Calmly he snapped the time device shut, then turned his attention to the crowd before them. Their excitement never seemed to stop. Men and women alike screamed and waved at the senators upon the stage, feeling that their lives would be complete if their favorite politician passed a single scan over them. It was probably the only moment in Robert's life he ever witnessed the rich and the poor in such close proximity to one another. In most situations, the poor would be standing over there, and the rich would be sitting over there. There was a strange sense of unification that covered the community before him, Robert was unsure how to feel. The thought both lifted and saddened his spirit. It was magnificent to see that people were able to ignore one another's differences, but slightly tragic that only an event as large as this one would bring such consolidation.


The noise level that emitted from the crowd suddenly erupted, and almost startled Mr. White. The King entered the stage, followed my his most trusted adviser, and then his son, Harold. Mr. White noticed Ms. Stroud eyeing the Prince, and he couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Some could say there weren't many differences between the Prince and Senator White. In retrospect, both were tall, handsome in their own way, blue eyed, rich, and intelligent. There only larger difference between the two men was royalty, something Harold possessed that Robert lacked. Mr. White knew very well there were many other differences between the other young man and himself, for example, Robert had been unfortunate enough to inherit his father's quickly graying hair. Mr. White stood in his position, and looked to the King as he soaked the loud cheers and applause. When it pleased him, the King raised his hand to silence the audience, still wearing a glowing grin as he began his address.


"First, I must express my honest gratitude to be among the citizens of Aneora." The King looked over his people, and the crowd reacted with a short round of cheers. "It pleases me to share the news I have for you today, which had been personally presented to me just several days ago. As many of you are all ready aware of, Silchester's Rossin-Sussex Memorial Repository for Public Erudition was closed due to an unexpected series of events. This left many, including myself, concerned." Nods of approval rippled through the sea of people as the King continued his speech. "The Senate was given the situation to review, and the final conclusion was to gather a fine team of minds to examine the potentially fatal information. These noble souls stand among us today as I share these crucial words with you." This caused the crowd to begin to stir. "Chief Executive Clint Harper, and his team of Blackcastle Engineers," the King began to introduce. A stage light flickered on to draw the attention towards Mr. Harper and the small group of representatives that stood by him. The gentlemen politely waved and smiled as the audience gave a round of applause.


A few more words were exchanged from the King about the Engineers, and their gracious efforts towards the project. Though Clint tried his best to hide his boastfulness as the King complemented him and his team of men. "These men have done extraordinary work to aid the project, and your very own senators," the King finished. A burst of energy seemed to surge through the crowd with the mentions of the politicians. "Chief monarchist, Robert White." The crowd exploded as the light switched from the Blackcastle Engineers onto the tall senator. He bowed deeply, causing the volume of applause to increase, and also hiding his bland expression. The King turned slightly to place his attention on the monarchist, and gave a gentle clap, then continued.


"Chief anarchist, Anna Stroud."
 
The cheering shifted as Anna Stroud was introduced. The volume did not increase tremendously, but the nature of the cheering did. Where the gentry generally favored Robert’s monarchist positions, Anna had the love of the everyday people; and those people knew no shame when it came to making noise. In addition to clapping boisterously, they whistled, yelped, hooted, stomped their feet, and tried to out-do each other in their yelling. Anna’s smile grew warm as she looked over the crowd, waving briefly and holding up her index and middle finger of her right hand with the fingers crossed. It was a sign conceived by the workers but adopted and popularized by her late husband, symbolizing the desire for a unified Aneora where the workers had a voice in the government.


Anna rarely appeared in large crowds. Her forte lay in one-on-one dealings with power brokers and influencing small circles of aristocrats. She did not speak to the public like Sam had; she had not addressed them in years. Instead, she addressed the Senate. Apparently, this did not hurt her standing with the people. They remembered her - or Sam through her, which suited her just as well. Her eyes were bright as she looked over the crowd and let their cheering wash over her, ironically sharing thoughts with Robert about the metaphor the mixture of classes might represent in a perfect world.


As blissfully flattering as the attention was, today was not about her. Before she angered the king, she turned to face his position and dipped her head in deference to King Geoffrey. The crowd quieted at her signal, and the King ceased his polite clapping for her to continue addressing the gathered people.


The mass of people made it difficult to navigate. Maxwell Caffrey Sheean had arrived early, but not too early, or so he had thought. When the crowd applauded Mr. White, he tried to edge forward, receiving condescending looks from the gentry and dirty looks from mothers with young children. But when the King named Ms. Stroud, the energy of the crowd’s response provided his opening. The number of raised hands and jumping children following their parents’ lead opened avenues previously closed to him. He slipped into a pocket by the stage. It had a poor view of the king, but he did not care about that. He could see Anna Stroud clearly from this vantage point.


The King was speaking. “They have examined the contents of a room lost to time and discovered a piece of history. In today’s modern age, mechanical wonders set us apart. Their work is ongoing, but what they have shown me is marvelous indeed, and will set Aneora apart from the world.” He paused for brief applause and a few hoots from the rooftops of one building. “The designs contained therein were the work of a man once condemned. Elijah --”


Maxwell felt his anxiety building. Was he too late? Had the King learned too much? He could not alter his course, though. He said the work was ongoing. And the hooting from the rooftops had caught the attention of the guards. (Unbeknownst to him and most of the crowd, those on stage could see the rather inebriated man swinging a bottle around in apparent enthusiastic agreement with the king. Or just because he was drunk.) This was Max’s chance. He pulled his prize pistol from his jacket. He had loaded it earlier - a dangerous risk, but the only one he could take - and now cocked the gun with expert speed before lifting it to aimed carefully at Anna Stroud’s heart before firing.


The stylized key on the side of the gun shone brightly in the sun before the miniature explosion sent the crowd scattering. The King’s personal guard moved quickly to shield him while the King’s Guard turned to Max’s position. He tucked the still-hot pistol into his jacket and ran with the fleeing crowd. As he ran, he prayed fervently that his shot had been true and would save Aneora.
 
Robert watched from afar as the crowd praised Ms. Stroud with a set of cheers and stomps. They had been as excited about her as they were about him. He knew her crowd differed from his, however. She had gathered the attention of the common person, Robert only looked for those he deemed worthy. Robert didn't like the attention gathered from people who liked the way he dressed, eager to know what his life was like, or liked him purely because he was a high ranked politician. He certainly didn't care about other peoples' lives or what they looked like. There needed to be that sense of security that his adorers held the same interest as he did for the government.


Politics was not a game to him, like it had been to some, and it was not to say that Ms. Stroud thought of it as so. They simply lived in different political styles that one another; different being an understatement. Suddenly the crowd before them raised their hands with crossed fingers to support the unified utopia they longed for. Robert, the King, and his royal subjects remained in their standing positions. It wouldn't be like them to praise such actions. The workers did have a voice in the government, perhaps just not as strong as they wished it to be. The monarchy felt no need to expand their freedom, afraid it would cause unwanted chaos like so many other things.


A peculiar movement among the people suddenly caught Robert's eye. His gaze shifted over to the odd gesture, then his eyebrows folded. While the rest of the crowd lowered their arms from expressing their symbol of peace, a mysterious figure seemed to be moving his own limb in the opposite direction. Robert mentally questioned the figure's actions. Was this man about to protest? Start a revolution? Now? In front of the King?


No, he was about to do far worse.


Swiftly the hidden object which the secluded figure held was revealed, and by the time the surprise had settled in Mr. White, the King's personal guards were all ready ushering His Royal Highness off the stage. Then it became clear to Robert. The King had not been the aggressor's target. Anna stood near by, distracted by the commotion from the rooftops, completely oblivious to the fact that the barrel of the man's weapon pointed straight at her chest. This had all occurred within a fraction of a second, and Robert's head spun around as mayhem ensued upon the stage. Without thinking, Mr. White forcefully moved his body to shove Anna away from her standing position. Then he heard a bang.


High shrills and loud yells of horror exploded from the crowd, and the people below began to quickly disperse. Robert still stood on the stage, his body leaning over the cherry wood cane and his white glove hand pressed long his side. His eyes watered as he glanced down to look upon the damage. A dark stain was all ready apparent on the blue leather jacket, and was continuing its growth onto his white gloved hand. A team of guards rushed over to the injured senator to aid him off the stage. He pushed them away with the blood soiled glove as best he could, and sent a pain filled scowl. "Get her out of here," he gritted through his discomfort. They refused to listen, and resumed their attempt to help. "Get her out of here!" he demanded a second time, his face had turned red, though not quite the vibrant shade of his mitt.
 
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Anna had been entranced by the dance of a drunken man when someone shoved her from behind, knocking her to the stage. She yelped as she tumbled downward, stepping on the hem of her skirt and hearing a brief rip of the fabric on the hem just as the gunshot went off. Whirling around, she looked for her assailant and the gunman simultaneously. Surprisingly, Robert had been the one to knock her down. Anger and frustration rose up before reason kicked in. He would never attack her without a logical purpose.


Then she saw the spot of crimson blossoming on his chest. “Help him!” she ordered, pointing one of the guards toward Robert’s position. She didn’t have time to consider what had happened. All she knew was that he was shot. Shot! Two guards flanked her as well as four other guards attempted to usher Mr. White off the stage.


As usual, he was putting up a fight. He kept yelling about getting “her” out of here.


It was clear - to Anna, if no one else - that he would not accept assistance until he thought he had been heard, and he would fight despite his injury. She pushed her way through the guards to his side, holding his gaze and speaking firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until you are safe. We go together, or not at all.” It was yet another in their long line of negotiations, but the bright sheen to her eyes might have betrayed how much this one mattered to her. She knew enough to be relieved at the bright color of the blood on his glove. Dark blood meant organ damage. Yet he needed medical attention immediately. She pressed her hand over his, holding his hand in place against his wound as she anticipated his argument. “We go together,” she said gently, nodding slowly while holding his gaze, trying to will him into compliance while ignoring the panicked sounds of the crowd.


The only time she looked away was the briefest of glances to one of the guards. “Go.” The guards were all too happy to comply, carrying him off the stage toward a nearby building, all the while with Anna at his side.
 
Robert grunted as the guards began to carry him off the stage. The pain in his side became too unbearable, and caused the grip on his cane to loosen, then the empty hand tightened back into a fist. His cane helplessly stumbled onto the wood of the stage, clanking and teetering from side to side until it calmed, then rolled away on its side. More yells of pure pain escaped Mr. White as they continued to carry him to safety. Admittedly, it was not an easy job. Even with Anna at his side, it was still required to have at least four other strong men to simply lift him. The group shuffled to the back of the stage as quickly as they could, then continued their awkward march towards the nearest medical center.


The stain held a relentless nature, and though it was at a much slower rate, proceeded to expand. The glove on Mr. White's left hand had turned completely red at this point, while the other remained perfectly clean. Every breath he took was shallow and quicker than usual, and sent more jolts of excruciating pain through his chest and torso. The healthy peach that was normally present in his skin bleached to an unnatural white, adding a rather grim tone to his distressed expression. Robert turned his head towards Anna as best he could, his eyes blinked, and small tear was pushed from the corner of his eye, then trailed along his cheek.


One of the carriers lost their balance, causing the rest of the group to barely loose control over Robert's body. Another loud yell emitted from his throat when he nearly rolled onto the ground from their hold.


"We have to get a carriage. He's not going to make it if we continue like this," one of the men said urgently during their brief pause. Once the other man regained a hold of Robert, they continued to shuffle.


"No, that'll only agitate his condition. The ride will be too rough, we have to keep going. The building is just past here," another protested. There had been no time to argue. The men pressed on, praying they would be able to salvage the life of their beloved senator. Carriage ride or not, Robert felt there would be no success. He could physically feel his soul slipping away from him. His shallow breathing slowed, and still gave off a great deal of pain. The great stain on his jacket turned the color of the fabric a deep purple, much like the outfit he wore for the King's presentation. His attempt to maintain the glare between Anna were beginning to fail, and so were his efforts to remain consciousness.
 
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Anna kept pace with the group of guards, attempting to keep pressure on the wound. It was not an easy task. She winced at every cry of pain that escaped him, but did her best to maintain eye contact with him. Wiping away a tear only once, she eventually gathered her skirt and pressed the fabric to the wound as his grip began to falter.


By this time, she was aware of the fact that the bullet within him had been meant for her. Yet she could not dwell on that fact yet, for fear that she would completely lose her composure. When his gaze started to wander, she gripped his other hand, squeezing it tightly. "Stay with me, Mr. White," she commanded, "Do you want them to believe you have decided, at the last hour, to convert to the evils of the anarchist viewpoint?"


His lack of response terrified her.


Finally they reached the medical center. The guards placed him as gently as possible on a table, then focused on getting a physician and securing the area.


Anna stayed with him, feeling lost as she continued to put pressure on the wound. "Do not leave me, Robert," she whispered as tears finally spilled onto her cheeks. "Don't you dare." She wanted to rail at him. Why had he pushed her out of the way? Irrationally, she thought of how she would be blamed, and he would be martyred. Then she instantly hated herself for the thought.


The tears flowing freely now, she added, "You need to live so you can explain in detail why I should have seen this attack coming."


When the physician arrived, she was ordered out of the room, but lingered nearby, offering her blood if it should help him.


Robert awoke in a bed in a sunlit room. Fresh flowers lined the edges of the room, each more extravagant than the last. Yet only a simple bouquet of sunflowers rested on the bedside table along with a pitcher of water and a glass.


Anna sat in a chair nearby in a simple light blue dress, her eyes closed and a book resting in her lap.
 
Gradually the faint sunlight played along his eyes as he regained his consciousness. He had lost it just before reaching the physician, despite Anna's reassuring words. The ceiling above him seemed unfamiliar, and the the bed sheets did not smell of his own. For a while, Robert assumed he had been placed in one of the care units at the hospital, but his environment was much too sanctuary like. Hospitals were full of the sick and dying, he would have been able to hear them through the walls, and there would most likely have been medical aids nearby, not some strange figure wearing a light blue dress. Robert only caught a quick glance of the other body that accompanied him as he tilted his eyes forward, then felt the harsh strain, and they clicked back into a relaxed position.


Slowly he raised on arm from his side to place the palm on his hand onto his chest, and realized that he had been completely shirtless, aside from the bandage taped over his wound that was nearly the size of his own hand. He also realized that he was alive, and it eliminated the possibility that he was located in a room somewhere in heaven. With his hand still over his chest, he turned his head to the side, and noticed the sunflowers, pitcher of water and the small glass. He had to squint his eyes to ward off the light, though faint, still intense to his newly awakening gaze. Then he acknowledged the silhouettes of the other bouquets of flowers that lined the perimeter of the room, and truly became curious.


"Where in blazes am I?" he directed towards the sitting figure once the focus in his vision began to improve, and the hand on his chest fell back to his side. The words did not hold as much gusto as they would have, should he be in perfect health. Instead they were low, and melted together, almost as if he were mumbling. His head turned back to the middle position, as if he were trying to look at the person he was trying to speak with. It was a minor gesture, really. Robert would have been able to complete much more weren't it for his injured condition. More questions started to generate, and he mindlessly began to ask them, whether the person beside him knew what he was talking about. "What in God's name happened to me? How long have I been asleep?" he continued to mutter. The thought of Anna suddenly came across, but he filtered himself, and skipped to his next, burning question.


"Who are you?"
 
The past three days had been chaos. The physician had operated on Mr. White, removing the bullet and patching up his affected flesh as best they could. Miraculously, the bullet had missed major organs, but Robert had lost a lot of blood. Anna had donated blood through a transfusion, and a guard had done the same after her.


Lord McCallister had arrived at the medical center that evening to ask after Mr. White on behalf of the king. His interest seemed superficial at best, and he was very interested in the fact that Anna had remained to watch over the monarchist leader. Anna dismissed him as quickly as she could. The physicians seemed to defer to her about Mr. White’s care, which was precisely why he was currently in one of her guest rooms that overlooked the gardens. Nurses had performed much of the care for him: changing the dressing on his wounds, monitoring his vitals, etc. But she had been the one to watch over him, bringing her work into the room when possible, but largely resting herself and attempting to curtail the spread of rumors.


Mr. Millberry was not pleased, but she did not have the time or energy to dispel every rumor; it would have to wait until Robert was better. The physicians had told her that his recovery was likely but not assured; he needed rest, and might wake in a day or a week.


Long days had often ended with her sleeping in the chair in his room. Or napping, which was what she had been doing when Mr. White woke. She heard his voice and initially thought it was part of a dream. That would explain why they ran together. Then she realized that he was moving, although mercifully the motion was minute. She looked down at her book, closing it and setting it aside before she stood and moved to the side of the bed.


The sight of him without his shirt should have made her blush. It had at the medical center, but by this point, she was over the embarrassment. He was hurt, and the wound needed regular attention. The physicians had said he might be disoriented when he woke and that she should not push him. It was easier said than done. “It’s Anna.” There was a beat before she added belatedly, “Stroud,” as she poured him a glass of water from the pitcher. “You are in my home. I hope you will not be too upset at the scandal of staying with an anarchist; I thought you would prefer waking in a guest room to the hospital.”


Sitting carefully on the side of the bed, she offered him the water. They had him propped up on pillows, but he would still need to sit up to drink. “Go slowly now.” As he decided whether to brave the process of sitting up, she searched his face. Her own features betrayed her recent lack of sleep: there were circles under her eyes and a weariness in her bearing. “How much do you remember?”
 
"That doesn't quite answer all of my questions," Robert managed to speak in one breath, but this seemed to push some of his physical limits, and he went into a brief coughing fit. He forced his eyes open to clearly see the details of Anna's face, and sighed. "You look," he paused to catch more breath to prevent another series of horrid coughs, "dreadful." It would have been obvious to anyone, Robert knew there were no forms of trickery being placed upon his vision, Ms. Stroud was greatly sleep deprived. Of course, Robert's words had been ironic. Had he been able to look at himself, he might have considered withdrawing his previous phrase.


The sound of pouring water reached his ears, and he turned his to look upon the offered glass of water. His desire to hydrate himself was strong, though his energy was at a minimum, so he began to straighten himself against the headboard. A quick, prod of pain spread through his chest as he continued to rise, making him stop, then finally came to a fully sitting position once the pain had disappeared. He leaned his body against the pillows and fine woodwork, finding it surreal that it had drained so much of his available strength just to sit up. During this process, Ms. Stroud asked him a question. In all honesty, Robert didn't remember much at all. One moment he was standing on the platform beside Anna, followed by a moment of excruciating pain, and now here he was. In Anna's, Ms. Stroud's, the anarchist's guest bedroom.


Robert briefly took a moment to contemplate over the actions he had taken in his life to deserve his current fate. It really didn't add up. Gradually his hand lifted to touch the bottom of the glass, then he guided the drink towards his lips, and slowly began to poor the refreshing water into his mouth. The water began to coat his parched throat, and the feeling was sensational. Perhaps it had been a little too much. Robert raised the glass more with the feeling he couldn't consume the beverage fast enough, but water began to roll down his chin and overwhelm him. He pulled the glass away from his lips as he started to cough and choke. Water spurted from his mouth onto his chest and bed sheets. He carefully wiped away as much water as he could from his face with his free hand, and gave the glass back to Ms. Stroud.


"I remember a lot of things, Ms. Stroud," he gently spoke as he leaned his head against the headboard again. "How much is nearly impossible to calculate." His speech broke as he started to cough again from the over watering, but quickly calmed. "I can try and tell you what I remember, however, if that is what you wish." Robert's words were still long and slow, and did not carry the usual, condescending tone, even though that appeared to be the inflection he tried to convey.
 
Anna smiled despite the affront to her appearance. His insultingly direct nature remained, which somehow reassured her that he was going to be okay. Watching him attempt to drink the water, however, was a painful experience. She reached for the glass as he took in too much. “You need to go slowly,” she chided gently as she took the glass away and fetched a towel bedside the bed, offering it to him.


By then he had resumed his lean against the headboard. His words were true to his nature, but his less-than-vibrant tone concerned her, as did the cough that made her wince. The thought of coughing with the stitches in his side made her ache. “Conserve your energy.” She sat straighter and smoothed out her skirt. While she wondered if he remembered what she had said at his bedside at the hospital, there was no delicate way to broach the subject, so she let it alone. “I will attempt to answer other questions you may be contemplating. Then you should rest.


“The King’s address was nearly three days ago. You were shot, tended to, and have been asleep since then. The assailant has not been found, although the King’s Guard has detained several people for questioning. The general assumption is that it was a failed attempt on the King’s life.” She paused, frowning. “I, personally, do not believe that to be true.” She cleared her throat and swallowed before continuing. She gestured around the room, speaking in a more factual manner similar to her speech patterns when articulating points on the Senate floor. “Flowers and well-wishes have been coming in regularly.” Annoyance crept into her tone as she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Although I suspect some of them are more curious about your stay in my home than about your condition. Miss Snyder has been particularly insistent about visiting you. I have Andrei working on a perimeter defense system,” she joked, although it came across more lackluster in execution than she intended.


Looking at him, she adopted a more serious tone. “Lord McCallister came to check on you after the incident. He said that the King was concerned for you.” The statements so far were largely factual, allowing her to keep a safe emotional distance. Bolstered by that success, she met his eyes again. “Mr. Millberry is not pleased with me for looking after you, but I will deal with him later if need be.”


Once she met his eyes again, however, the combination of her fatigue and her relief at seeing him conscious conspired to erode her detached façade. “And you, Mr. White, are...” she shook her head before continuing with an obvious attempt to keep her tone level and eyes dry, “You are to rest. The physicians say you are fortunate to have survived.” She crossed her far arm over her stomach, gripping the opposite elbow and surreptitiously squeezing the small bruise she had developed where they had drawn blood for the transfusion. The minor discomfort would help keep her focused and level.
 
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The sudden flow of information seemed to strain Mr. White's thoughts. She had barely spoken all but three phrases, and simply trying to gather their meaning considerably drained his energy. He found it easier to raise his right arm than his left, though he still felt a pang of discomfort. His hand slowly pushed through his head of hair, which had loosened from it's confined formation, and fell in its natural, wavy texture. The palm of his hand briefly scraped over the surface of his cheek, and Robert instantly knew it had been way overdue for a shave. Robert remembered nothing of the King's speech. It seemed like the past few days before that had even been a blur. He tried to understand, but every effort he made seemed to fail him.


The lids of Robert's eyes fought between their cognizant and resting position. A mild frustration started to grown inside him. It had not been towards Anna, the King, McCallister, Chairman Millberry, Melva or anyone else for that matter. His frustration seemed to be directed at himself. It was understandable in his condition that his quick and witty thinking would not be up to par, but for some peculiar reason this level of comprehension did not reach Mr. White, which only frustrated him even further. He still tried to recall the details of the event that happened just those few days ago, and still came to a blank. It was even hard for him to remember the last moment he spent with Anna.


More questions began to make their way through his mind, but they quickly seized from the fatigue he was beginning to experience, and his mind settled on the quickest assumptions. Some whacked out anarchist thought it would be smart to bring their weapon to the speech Anna had described. During the King's speech, when the gun went off, it had been made for either the King or Robert to weaken the monarchist party. Anna had been standing beside him, so she would have seen the bullet before he did, and ran. The crowd had been so large, it was difficult for the guards to confidently identify the culprit. This confirmed her statement about McCallister's delivery of the King's concern, Mr. Millberry's displeasure, and the raging, scandalous rumors.


There had been, however, one question that he could not resist to ask. "Why are you doing this?" he paused. "You could have left me," he took a breath before continuing through his droning voice, "I could be my poor self in a sickly hospital bed, and you wouldn't have me as the burden over your shoulders." Then another thought started to process. "When you look at me now, who do you see?" His eyes were lazy, but he tried his best to keep their gaze. It took him a moment to realize that his statement might not have been too clear, so he followed it up with another, direct question. "Am I me, or am I Sam?" He gave another pause before adding his final note. "Forgive me for saying so."
 
Anna feared that she had spoken too quickly, assumed too much. Robert looked disoriented and a little angry. (Although, admittedly, his features seemed to convey a little anger by default.) Pressing her thumb against the bruise on the inside of her elbow helped to give her strength. He needed to rest; maybe he would listen to that reason.


Of course, he would not.


Instead, he asked her a question that caught her by surprise. Why was she helping him? Clearly he did not remember everything from the Market Square. Had she hurt his chances of recovery by disclosing information he should have remembered on his own? Should she lie now? The doctor had provided her instructions, but they seemed blurry in memory. She had thought about the question several times over the last few days and would like to believe that she would have offered him help even if she had not suspected she had been the reason for his injury. The truth, however, lay at the heart of her dilemma: she could not say what she would have done if he had been shot for some other reason, for he had almost certainly saved her life.


Anna had just decided to tell him a half-truth when he posed his second question, emphasizing his delirium. "'Burden' is a relative term," she began with a weary smile before he spoke again. She tilted her head, trying to decipher his meaning.


Then he mentioned Sam, and she felt - quite literally - like she had been punched in the gut. Visibly flinching, she squeezed her elbow too tight and pressed her lips together in reaction to the pain both physical and emotional. Her gaze held his for a long moment, absorbing his apology and attempting to excuse him in light of all that had transpired. "Is that what you think?" she whispered. "That all men are interchangeable? That a widow's perspective has blinded me to the truth of what - and who - is right in front of me?" She shook her head, struggling to keep her voice level.


"You are not well, Mr. White. Thus I accept your apology." She looked away from him to the window, gazing at her garden. The sight helped to calm her nerves slightly. "To answer your question, I am seeing to your care because I could not, in good conscience, leave a good man I have worked so closely with to wake in such a state surrounded by strangers." When she met his gaze again, tears and determination mixed her in eyes. "But please hear me on this: you are not Sam. I see you clearly, Robert."


What did she see, though? A handsome man who infuriated her? The man who had saved her life? The one who managed to insult her without even trying? Someone who had joined with her in a cause he disagreed with, because it was the right thing to do? The Monarchist leader who would probably prefer she retired from politics and his life?


She held his gaze for a long moment seeking the answer to her internal question before there was a knock on the door. Visibly starting at the sound, she looked to the door then back to him, clearing her throat again. "That will be the nurse, come to change your dressing." Standing, she adopted her more typical smile while looking down at him with a slightly softer expression. "Try not to frighten her too badly. I will check in on you soon." After taking one step toward the door, she looked down at the foot of the bed as she spoke to him over her shoulder. "And please try to rest."
 
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It had not been Robert's intentions to emotionally bruise Anna. He only meant for the inquire to gain an understanding of her genuine and unnecessary hospitality. In hindsight, however, that was exactly what he believed. They both were not well. Robert viewed the situation as a traumatic trigger to the tragedy that still lived in Anna's past. The only logical reason he could come up with, for the time being, was that his current condition reminded Anna of her late husband, and she felt that if she could aid Mr. White during his recovery, she would be able to find a sense of closure for herself. Rethinking his reasoning, it seemed rather melodramatic, but any other reasons that came to mind looked even more so.


He would have shared his thoughts with Ms. Stroud, but then someone came to the door, and gave a gentle knock. Both of their heads turned to the source of the noise, Robert's moving at a much more gradual pace than Anna's, then Anna revealed their guest before the door could even open. It wouldn't be such a difficult task for Mr. White to oblige to either of Anna's requests. He couldn't say anyone would find him too terrifying in his current state. True, he would probably need to bathe and shave to rid of any repulsive odors and fine tune his grooming, but apart from those factors there wasn't another sharp edge on the injured senator to fear. His wit and intelligence were drowned in fatigue, which would make it easier for Robert to complete Ms. Stroud's second request.


"Oh, he's finally awake, mistress!" the nurse marveled with bright, wide, green eyes and a toothy smile. "Oh, this is all very exciting, isn't it, mistress?" she continued to enthuse, and calmly walked over the side of his bed. A quick grimace jolted onto her face when she saw the awful state Mr. White had been in, but washed away when she turned her attention back to the more important task. "Well, it is awfully wonderful to meet you, Senator White," she chattered as she began to fix his bandages. She knew very well that most of the conversations she started with her patients would go without reply, but she still enjoyed it, possibly because it drew out the bitter taste of nurse work. "Ms. Stroud has been very kind, hasn't she? After all the trouble you've gotten into." Robert's gaze fell upon Ms. Stroud once more before she departed the guest room, whether she noticed his glance or not. Then he patiently listened to the young nurse beside him speak at unbelievable amounts before she finally finished her work, and went back into the main part of the house to report to Anna.


Mr. White's room had turned dark, and the window opened to a star filled sky. Robert opened his eyes in a confused state, it was not like him to suddenly awaken in the middle of the night. Then he quickly realized something was incredibly different, and felt an ache in his back and chest. The comfortable bed that been provided to him was no longer beneath him, but beside him. A loud groan uncontrollably escaped his mouth as he tried to move himself from the floor. He felt an unpleasant stretching feeling present underneath the bandage, and wondered if he had damaged the stitches during his fall. It was certainly not like Mr. White to abruptly fall from his slumber. Perhaps he was not adjusted to the custom of sleeping in odd places. His eyes wildly looked about in the darkened area, searching for anything he could grab onto for support.
 
After leaving Robert in the nurse's capable hands, Anna attempted to distract herself with work. While the events at the market square had severely disrupted her life, the rest of the world barely paused to notice. There were Senate issues to resolve, although fortunately these were kept to a minimum out of respect for Robert's absence.


The Blackcastle Engineers continued their work, forcing her to choose between monitoring them and watching over Robert. Now that he had awoken his life was in less peril, but she still chose not to leave him for long at this point. She returned to her room to review reports about the Engineer's latest work and fell asleep. When she awoke in the late afternoon, she washed and changed, then allowed herself a short walk in her gardens before heading inside to check on Robert. Andrei waited for her near the doors to the house.


"Anna," he said, looking her over critically. The implication of his intonation was clear: she still looked haggard. Knowing for a fact the rest and bath had improved her appearance, she wondered what he saw now that made his grimace. She smiled at him and nodded, which he took as signal to continue. "You sent word that you want to speak with my sister?"


She nodded and began waking. "It is not overly urgent, but yes, within the next few days."


Andrei hesitated, adjusting his hat as he glanced at the floor. But he fell into step with Anna as she moved through the house. "Do you think that's wise?" He turned to look at her, concern creating lines normally absent from his face. "You need your rest and," he paused briefly to adjust his hat again, "many eyes are on your home at the moment due to Mr. White's presence."


Anna nodded again and placed a hand on his arm as they walked to reassure him. "I know, but the world has not stopped spinning. Do not be concerned, my friend. I believe I would enjoy Cecilia's bright company in light of recent events, and I will cast the invitation and visit in the light of a simple social call should the need arise. I have asked to see others similarly." The others were not nearly as welcome as Cecilia, but Anna would do her best to prevent them from learning of their visits' less coveted status. She released Andrei's arm and continued walking toward the guest quarters. "I can send a note directly if you wish..."


The pilot shook his head, answering a little too quickly. "No." His shoulders lifted and fell again as he sighed, realizing where they were headed. "You're going to watch over him again tonight?"


The question was laced with nearly as much concern as for his sister. Anna stopped to face her friend directly, waiting until a staff member passed before speaking. "Yes, I am. Why does it seem you do not approve?"


"It is not my place to approve or disapprove. I am simply concerned for my friend." His tone was level until he pointedly reminded her, "The nurses will care for him."


Anna smiled in return, hoping her tone was more reassuring. "They have and they will. Yet I still feel no small amount of responsibility, given … everything." When Andrei frowned, she chucked weakly. "I hear you, though. And I appreciate your concern. I will be asleep in my own bed soon enough. He is nearly out of the woods. The physicians say it will take time, but that his awakening is a good sign."


Andrei smiled at that, although it failed to reach his eyes. He wished her well and promised to speak to Cecilia before watching Anna continue down the hall.


As soon as he was certain she could no longer see him, the smile faded from his face.

~ * ^ * ~

​



The guest room was dark, although a limited amount of moonlight filtered through the windows. The sleep she had procured earlier conspired against her attempts to rest much further. Thus she found herself exploring thoughts that only visited her at night, perhaps colored by the man who slept only a few feet away from her chair.


She remembered Sam, his love of life and infectious smile. He has been a walking dichotomy: so forceful in speaking out for others, yet so gentle and kind in addressing her and with children. He tried to see the best in everyone, but had little tolerance for those with closed minds.


What would he have thought of her partnership with Robert? The thought was not new, but it seemed more poignant in a dark room where the infamous Robert White convalesced. A month ago, her answer to the question would have been exceptionally terse. Now her mind wandered down paths and tangents in an attempt to answer the query.


In the midst of this contemplation, Robert was restless. He had been since she came into the room, prompting her to wonder if it was the pain, the noise of her entrance, or even her presence that disturbed his slumber.


Then, without warning, he fell out of the bed. It startled her so that she sat paralyzed for a moment, unsure of whether to assist herself or get a nurse. Then he groaned and instinct drew her to his side.


Conscious of his wounded side, she took his hand and guided it to the nightstand. Taking his other arm, she draped it around her shoulders. "Lean on me," she whispered. Then, "Slowly now," as she helped him back to the bed.
 
"Blasted, Anna, get off of me," he bitterly mumbled as he struggled, but by the time he was able to speak he had all ready been lifted back onto the bed. He leaned against the headboard to regain control over his breathing, then slowly turned his head to face her with a berating gaze. Robert still did not understand why Ms. Stroud had been aiding him. It seemed out of nature. Even as he began to recall the past events, the pieces weren't fitting together quite yet. The most recent incident he remembered before the King's speech was the dance at the Cotillion, though nothing more. He did not remember the way the Chairman chided him, how his wife placed him under the pressure to dance with another partner, or how Miss Synder eyed them as they waltzed, it was just the dance.


Robert continued to look at Anna as he recalled a small fraction of the affair that took place in the market square. It was really about the dream he had been experiencing before he took his fall, but he was certain the two related. The crowd covered the market square, main street, rooftops, and then some. In his dream, he could hear them screaming stomping, but Robert couldn't tell what for. The platform had been absent from his dream, only the sea of raving townspeople. He also didn't understand why this one particular character stuck out to him. The man had been among the crowd upon the rooftops, lower class, and drunk. He danced and swung around his beverage as he serenaded to himself among his company. Robert broke his train of thought, shook his head and took a deep sigh. Maybe the added alcoholic had been a side effect from his condition. The idea was not surprising, but he couldn't grasp why this man had been so prominent in his dream.


Gently he raised his hand to place his palm against his bandages to detect any damage. The spot had been sore, but not further disturbances had been caused during his fall. For that he was relieved. Quickly he pulled his hand away to prevent unwanted agitations. He quickly contemplated over his thoughts for a second time, but this only bothered him further, so he felt he would need to share his reflections to gain a sense of clarity.


"I still do not understand why you are doing this, Ms. Stroud," he began, adopting a tone of formality. "Had something happened during the Cotillion that brought this sense of responsibility upon you?" he asked as he began to breach his topic. "All I can recall is waltzing with you for an unthinkable reason, but if there is something my memory is leaving out I wish you would be so kind enough to enlighten me." He spoke many words, but his mind and body were still tired. Gaining his sense of wit, he realized, would only be the beginning process of his recuperation. "Actually, don't," he said, shaking his head. "My mind is not well, as you stated before. It must be playing tricks on me." Robert's mind couldn't even fathom why he would attend the Cotillion, clearly his reasoning was not quite up to par. The idea it had been due to the Chairman never crossed his mind.
 
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