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