Despite the fact that an odd sort of friendship had developed between Claire and her rather young new ‘husband’ that night, she still had to mentally remind herself that even though she had gained his trust, her trusting him with her own secret was still not something that she could fully do.

After all, keeping their very existence a secret from any unbound mortals was the first and foremost law all Kindred were expected to uphold. And if any mortal were to discover what they truly were, that mortal would either have to be killed or compelled. And for a Toreador, that choice was hardly ever even a choice at all. As much as she hated forcing her will on others, it was still much preferred to the other alternative.

Eliot finally drifted off to sleep next to her, at nearly two that morning, both still clad in only their underthings, even after the servants came to collect the now soiled bedding and replace it. Claire took a long moment to decide how exactly to deal with sharing his chambers with him for the coming days. It was true that she could just slip out of a window, and his life, and none would even notice her absence until she was long gone, but some part of her didn’t want to let him down.

It wasn’t that she had started to enjoy their ruse, not hardly. But she had begun to feel some sort of concern toward him and wanted to help him survive the bigotry and unfairness that his own family was the main source of in his life. She liked him, simple as that. She somehow surprised herself with that thought, all things considered.

Claire looked down at where he now slept beside her. She reminded herself that any friendship, especially one this new and already buried inside another deceit, would not be likely to survive coming face to face with the truth of the supernatural. That fact was quite apparent in a world where the unexplainable was equally looked upon as either ridiculous fiction or deadly superstition.

On that reminder, she leaned down toward him as he slept, whispering “you will not allow any others to enter this room tomorrow while the sun is high in the sky, nor will you open a single curtain to let that sun in while I sleep” she issued the eerie command next to his ear. Eliot’s only reaction was a slight murmur, and nothing more.

Hoping she wouldn’t regret ever agreeing to staying there at all, Claire sighed softly as she pushed herself up from the bed, heading silently toward the privy. There she took another moment to close the door and began to concentrate.

Lemuel? Claire attempted to push her voice into his mind. She hoped that being in the very same city now, and the fact that he was probably quite worried about her having failed to meet him that night would mean that it would be easier to reach him with those psychic abilities that were far, far inferior to his own.

Claire? Lemuel responded fairly quickly. I was just sending out more of my people to try and locate you. What happened?

Claire tried to find some way to even begin the story of her night, and knew that none could possibly make sense to anyone, let alone a Kindred four centuries removed from his humanity and blessed with all the same duties that Sean had been cursed with for a much shorter time.

I got somewhat sidetracked, but I’m fine, for now. I just may not be able to meet with you for a few more days until I take care of some other things here, she attempted apologetically.

Your first night in the country and you already have ‘things’ to take care of? His surprise at that statement was obvious.

A really rather long story of mistaken identity that will likely take a few more days to resolve. But it involves human royalty here in your country, if you can believe that, she added, having trouble believing that part of the story herself. She had thought her days of mingling with human royalty were long past by now.

The emperor? Lemuel couldn’t help being more curious then.

His son, actually. I’m helping him with a rather delicate matter, she decided on.

I thought the prince imperial was only a boy of nine, Lemuel questioned, obviously more aware of the happenings of his own country’s human government than she had been upon her arrival that night.

Claire braced herself another moment as she looked at the closed door of the privy that Eliot slept soundly on the other side of. His other son, she offered.

The bastard, I assume you mean? Lemuel returned, attempting to make sense of a story he was only receiving a tiny portion of.

You know him? Claire responded with her own interest in possibly finding out more about this new husband of hers, fabricated as their marriage may have been.

Well, I know of him at any rate. His existence came quite publicly to light when doctors told our dear emperor that the prince imperial may not see his twelfth birthday even, Lemuel informed.

Claire looked down sadly. It was true that she was at least aware of Eliot having a younger, legitimate, as well as sickly brother. But she had not met the boy that evening, nor did she know exactly how sick the boy truly was. That fact alone made it quite possible that Eliot would someday have to take up the crown, and she had gotten the distinct impression that that was something he had no interest in. Much like her actual husband’s own lack of interest in the crown he had now been graced with.

That was when Lemuel’s thoughts broke into her psyche again, Eternity is rather boring, so any gossip is welcomed, so I must ask, what exactly is this delicate matter that your helping our Emperor’s illegitimate son with?

Claire had a feeling that Lemuel would require more of an explanation, though providing it was easier said than done. She had trouble understanding why she would have even agreed to the ruse at all, all things considered, so making another understand why would probably be just as tricky.

She took another moment and decided to just spill the truth. She was sure any more lies, especially to someone like Lemuel, would not help in any way. His father was trying to force him to marry a woman he had no interest in being bound to for the rest of his life. So I’m pretending to be his actual lover to help him avoid that.

Pretending to be his lover? Lemuel returned with obvious skepticism.

Like I said; a long story, Claire sighed.

Lemuel then allowed a smile, though it was one she couldn’t see, and a story I’ll definitely be looking to hear the rest of, he stated, Claire almost able to hear him smirking. Do contact me again when you’re done with such a strange task. Bonsoir Claire.

As he broke off that psychic connection, Claire couldn’t help a slight sigh of relief that he did not press for any further explanation, though she was sure that would happen in the future. He had actually said as much. With another sigh, she finally returned to their bed for the night, hoping that the days ahead would not be filled with any more unexpectedness, of any kind.

When Eliot woke the next morning, at a little past nine a.m., it was to the rude awakening of a knock at the door of his chambers. He groaned as he tried to talk himself into opening his eyes after pushing a few now disheveled black curls away from them as well.

“Revenez plus tard!” he called through the door with a voice raw from his recent slumber. He then remembered that he was not alone in the bed, and quickly glanced over at where Claire seemed to be sleeping very soundly, having thankfully not been disturbed by either the knock, or his rather annoyed response to it.

As the servant’s footsteps departed, he rubbed sleep from his eyes with another shake of his head, and another glance toward where Claire remained in her deep uninterrupted slumber, her body still barely hidden beneath that sheer dressing gown.

When he realized another fact about his own state that morning, he silently cursed himself and his nineteen year old male body, a rather nice body though it was. He then couldn’t help his mind immediately wandering back to the extremely strange evening he had spent with that rather strange girl in the bed beside him. The very thought of a girl being in bed next to him, let alone in a bed in his father’s palace, under the pretense of being his wife... it was all just too, too strange; the only word he could come up with to describe any of it. Especially the part of the evening that his current physical state couldn’t help replaying that morning.

He sighed with annoyance at himself as he carefully, quietly, and awkwardly pushed up off the bed, for more reasons than just hoping not to disturb Claire. He then just as awkwardly made his way to the privy before she did wake and easily noted his current source of annoyance. It was true that they had had a rather sexually charged evening, without even touching one another, but taking the chance of her noting his arousal at all, that was just a little more awkwardness than he could handle at that early hour.

It was several minutes later that he returned from the privy, looking slightly flushed, but at least less awkward as he moved across the room to locate the clothing that he had dropped to the floor before Claire’s rather complimentary enactment of their alleged bedding ceremony. As angry as he still was about his father insisting on such, he at least could be sure that the witnesses chosen to be in the room with them the previous night would have a bit more respect for him now, thanks completely to that extremely convincing performance of hers.

He couldn’t help a small smile at the thought, as they had all long held certain ‘suspicions’ about Eliot’s proclivities, and Claire had done quite well to help put those suspicions to bed in only a matter of minutes, pun intended.

As he slid into his trousers, he couldn’t help looking back at where she still lay across the bed, her scant apparel doing nothing to hide the reasons why she had managed to wrack up a count of nearly a dozen lovers in her life. He let his eyes move over her once more as he absently slid into his shirt again as well. His mind then began replaying another part of their night together. Specifically, the part where she had assured him that she was in no way capable of bearing children.

Eliot bit his lip slightly as he slowly buttoned his shirt, trying to remember what he did truly feel about the female gender before he made himself force the idea of ever being with a woman at all firmly out of his head, nearly a decade earlier. He had done so just as he was entering puberty and came to know exactly who his father was, and what that meant.

Somehow having met this strange woman, in the even more unexpected way in which he did meet her, and now knowing the things he did manage to learn about her in only one evening; all of those things combined to make him suddenly start questioning who he had always told himself he was. He had even made a conscious effort to be that person, all the while also having to pretend he wasn’t. And now, due in large part to finding a woman who he could be this comfortable with and this close to and this trusting with, and after only one night in her presence? Added to that, knowing his main fear of intimacy with any woman at all was not a fear at all with her; he couldn’t help now finding himself in the midst of a major identity crisis right at that moment.