He was beneath her, her thin dress offering little protection from the cold and even less from his warmth. She had never felt a body this close, the intimacy was unsettling. The realization that he could feel her too made her blush. His heart pounded against his ribs, a rapid drumbeat that belied his calm expression, and hers, not as noticeable, was seemingly matching his rhythm, as if giving him a run for his money. She blushed harder, feeling tiny between his arms. His breathing, initially quick, was now slowing to a more relaxed rhythm. He's a loud big beast! Disgusting! Who is him anyway?
"You're supposed to be dead," she hissed, and immediately tried to wrench herself free. "Let me go, obscene bastard!"
He held her firmly, his grip surprisingly gentle, yet unyielding. "Calm down," he said, the amusement that had flickered in his eyes replaced by a look of severity and preoccupation. "You're safe now." He repeated the words, as if trying to convince himself as much as her.
"Safe?" she spat, her eyes blazing. "I'm a prisoner! You stole my power! You ruined my life!"
He chuckled, a low, dismissive sound.
"I ruined your life? Alright, let's go back then. I'm sure there's another old bastard waiting to marry you," he said, his eyes meeting hers, a challenge in their depths. "Is that what you want? To be a political tool for your father? At least I have the decency to respect you, unlike that man you were marrying. He would be doing things to you right now, scandalous things, and he wouldn't care about your opinion or your pride. You'd kill him eventually, painfully, yes, but until that moment, he would have used you until you couldn't look at your reflection in the mirror out of rage, and shame."
"What do you know, lesser man?" she countered, her voice laced with contempt. "You have no clue of the powers you're dealing with!"
"No clue? Really?" He smirked, his lips curling into a knowing grin. "Give me some credit. I have you, and they have a dead corpse."
Elle's eyes narrowed, her gaze hardening. "You think this is a game, don't you?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "You think you can just walk in and take what you want? You have no idea what you've unleashed."
"Unleashed?" Lucian echoed, his smirk widening. "I'd say I've reined you in quite effectively. You're powerless, Elle. A beautiful, furious bird with clipped wings… though it wasn't me who truly clipped your wings." He paused, his eyes scanning her face, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "You do know what they do with beautiful, furious birds, don't you? They cage them."
A shiver, unwelcome and unexpected, ran down Elle's spine. She hated the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to see through her carefully constructed walls. She hated the way his words, though laced with mockery, held a kernel of truth. She was powerless, stripped of her key, reduced to a fragile, vulnerable human. And he, this enigmatic man who had defied her whole world and stolen her away, held all the cards.
"You're wrong," she said, in a whisper, though she wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. "I will never be caged."
He shifted his weight, the movement fluid, and suddenly, he was no longer beneath her. He was on top of her, his gaze intense, his expression devoid of amusement, his body weight, all on her, "What now?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He looked at her intensely, no more grinning, no more joking, as if saying he was serious now. Elle tightened her body, instinctively. "You're trapped. I can do anything I want to you. Yes, even obscene things... Maybe more than obscene things, and you can't stop me. What will you do, my precious bird?"
The air crackled with tension, the silence broken only by the hum of the ship. Elle's heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the stillness. She stared up at him, her eyes blazing with a mix of fear, defiance, and a flicker of something else she refused to acknowledge.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, the threat of a kiss and something even more despicable hanging heavy in the air. Elle's breath caught, her body tensed, anticipating the violation. Just as their lips were about to touch, Lucian abruptly pulled back, a cold, almost pitying expression on his face.
"This world is not fair... It never will be…" he said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. He then got up, and moved away from her, leaving her laying on the cold surface, the space between them suddenly vast.
Elle's mind reeled, a whirlwind of confusion and suppressed anger. Why did he…? She couldn't decipher his actions, his words. One moment he was a predator, the next, a detached observer. It was as if he was battling an internal conflict, a war waged within the depths of his soul.
She watched him, her eyes narrowed, her body still tense as she stood up. What game are you playing? she thought, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She was at his mercy, that was his message, wasn't it?
He focused on the console, controlling the ship. Elle had never seen this interphase before, it looked alien and beyond any knowledge she had about ships. He kept tapping keys, precise and efficient, his attention on the glowing displays. He seemed oblivious to her presence, lost in the intricate workings of the vessel. But Elle knew better. He was well aware of her, studying her, trying to decipher her reactions.
He wants something, she thought, her mind racing. But what?
A sudden shudder went down her spine, the cold biting through her thin dress and the lingering warmth of his touch, making her gasp. He stopped, noticing her discomfort and, with a sigh, turned around, their eyes met again.
"You're cold," he said, his voice gruff. "Here." He gave her his fur coat and a pair of boots he produced out of nowhere, draped it over her shoulders, and helped her into the boots instead of her high heels. "Welcome to the Cassandra, princess."
She felt like a kid with oversized clothing, the fur was massive, covering her from head to toe, its warmth a welcome relief, but it didn't dull the sharp ache in her chest. She still hated him, hated the way he made her feel so vulnerable, so exposed. This doesn't change anything, she repeated to herself.
"Why is this ship so cold anyway?" She let out, annoyed, in a more confident and natural tone. "And where are we going?"
He smirked, amused, taking his time to answer. She clicked her tongue.
"Neo Switzerland," he replied.
Suddenly, a window materialized in the air. An image appeared, a stern-faced woman in a suit.
"Lucian, are you there? The remaining members of the Spanish royal family have been safely relocated. Your distraction of Arthur Devereux's daughter proved invaluable. We are in your debt."
Elle's eyes widened. His name is Lucian. And he was distracting her?
"Five hundred ingots of gold have been deposited to your name," the woman said.
Lucian tapped a key on the holographic keyboard. "Thank you," he said, the communication ended, and the holographic window vanished.
Elle's mind reeled. He was a mercenary, an agent, working for someone else. And he had been using her, manipulating her, all along. No! That couldn't be. He wasn't there when she had unleashed her spheres of plasma upon the royal family members, he had always arrived later.
"That's a lie! You never arrived on time to save any of them! I vaporized them myself!" She let out. Those deaths had been an accomplishment for her, the success of her missions, if they were still alive it meant that she had failed. My father will never tolerate failure.
"They indeed lived," he said. "I got them safe while you covered everything with those very loud and visually striking explosions you like so much."
Elle gasped. No, no, this can't be! No…
"You're lying!" She yelled, walking closer to him, forcing him to look at her while getting a glimpse of what had him so busy. On the screen he was looking at were displayed ships of her father, the distance to them growing more and more. "You lie!"
"I don't," he smirked, leaned closer and kissed the tip of her nose, barely a brush from his lips before coiling back. "But yeah… your father won the war. The French Empire is now a thing."
"No..." Elle breathed, the word escaping her lips like a wounded bird. "No, that's not true. You're lying."
Lucian merely smirked, his silence a confirmation of her worst fears. The truth slammed into her, a tidal wave of denial and despair. She had failed. She had failed her father, failed her mission, failed herself.
Her fury erupted, a raw, primal scream that tore through the tense silence of the ship. Her hand lashed out, a blur of motion that connected with Lucian's cheek in a resounding crack.
He didn't flinch, didn't even raise a hand to defend himself. The impact of her slap didn't leave a mark on his tanned skin.
Elle stood frozen, her chest heaving, her hand tingling from the impact. She glared at him, her eyes blazing with defiance, and a hint of fear. She had struck him, challenged his authority in the most primal way possible and Lucian's gaze remained steady and unwavering. Cold. The air crackled with tension, the temperature in the small space seeming to drop several degrees, and she felt dwarfed to those profound autumn eyes.
Elle instinctively took a step back, her voice rising in a desperate crescendo. "You're lying!" she yelled, her voice cracking with the effort of recovering her composure. "You couldn't have saved them! It's not true! I would never fail my father! Never!"
Her words echoed through the ship, a desperate plea against the crushing weight of reality. She was losing control, the carefully constructed walls of her pride crumbling around her.
Lucian watched her, his expression unreadable. He didn't speak, didn't move. He simply observed her, his silence fueling her panic.
Suddenly, he reached out, his hand catching her wrist. Elle flinched, her eyes widening in fear. But instead of hurting her, he gently led her to a cabinet built into the wall, opened it, and retrieved a small, dark bottle. With a practiced hand, he poured a few drops of its contents onto her palm. The liquid was cool and soothing, and Elle felt a tingling sensation as it spread across her skin. The redness and sting from the slap quickly subsided, replaced by a pleasant warmth.
"There," he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "Wouldn't want you hurting that pretty little hand."
Elle stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of confusion. He had healed her. He was a paradox, a man of contradictions, and she couldn't decipher his true intentions. The act making her shift her thoughts completely away from duty and her father.
After that, he showed her the cabin where she would sleep, the bathroom, the dinning room. The ship was big, clearly not meant for just one person. He also reminded her that the ship was hermetically sealed, so she just couldn't get out. Then he gave her some food that she had never seen and left her alone, free to do whatever she wanted, explore the ship, or get weapons if she wanted as if he wasn't afraid of it. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen and kept it hidden under her fur coat. Then spent the rest of the day exploring the ship, the library was particularly interesting because it contained real books of paper. She picked one about ancient myths and the history of the death of religion, from which the ceremony of marriage had remained, and she learned that the so-called religion everyone once followed in primitive ages was but a combination of rituals of many previous cultures, absorbed and copied. She couldn't believe that people had once believed in such things, least that they had used them as some sort of code that dictated their lives. It was ridiculous. Luckily, the Roman emperors had put an end to all religions at some point. She wondered if such history was here too.
When she felt hungry she went to the kitchen and looked for some food. She cautiously tried to find something to eat herself, ignoring the meal he had served her previously. She found a cream-like substance in a fridge, it smelled sweet and when she tried it, it was cold and very tasty. She had never tried anything that delicious. No, something like this didn't exist in the world. She grabbed a generous portion of it and went to ask him what it was.
The door to the bridge opened. She came in, and for a moment, he didn't even notice her. The volume was high, a cacophony of sound enveloping everything, and the bridge was bathed in an almost oppressive darkness, the only light emanating from the giant holographic screen where a battle was being displayed. A movie? She thought, but nothing displayed on the screen looked familiar to the current productions she had knowledge of.
The protagonist was in a chaotic battlefield, he and his soldiers locked in a desperate struggle against some sort of winged giant that was unleashing bolts of lightning, fire, and even darkness towards them. Many soldiers were falling, visibly trying to swarm the giant. Then, the protagonist Quantum shifted. This can't be real, she thought. He was suddenly next to the giant, running while shooting at him, and simultaneously dropping small rods of steel creating a perimeter on the ground around the creature. Then, after dropping the last, he did the impossible. Her ice cream fell over the metallic surface. The protagonist charged towards the giant at the same time; the creature roared and tried to catch him, eventually succeeding, and she saw how the lenses of the camera cracked slightly due to the pressure and understood that this was no movie. The protagonist opened a portal, like hers, but this was instantaneous, and bigger, and from it appeared an object at unbelievable speed, but she didn't see what happened because the protagonist had teleported again and now was high above the clouds, looking at the ground beneath him, where the light of a powerful explosion just appeared. The protagonist teleported and was back on the ground, the corpse of the giant, pierced by a large rod of metal visible in the distance and the soldiers were celebrating its death.
"Lucian, Lucian… Are you there? Lucan didn't make it," the robotic voice informed. Elle heard the glass cracking, the bottle in his hand crushed. The video ended. Lucian, his expression a mask of ancient fury, threw the remains of the bottle away with such force that made Elle's heart skip a beat and she jumped back as the eyes of violence itself met her, finally noticing her intrusion. He's going to kill me, she thought.
And then, something strange happened. The mask of fury melted away, replaced by a flicker of something almost… tender. "Ah, I see you found the ice cream," he said, his voice now calm and gentle. "Do you like it?" His eyes went to the floor, to the portion that had fallen. "Don't be sad, we'll get you more."
Elle's mind reeled, a chaotic whirlwind of disbelief and denial. What in the abyss was that? she thought, her eyes narrowed, searching his face for any lingering trace of the fury she'd just witnessed. The transformation was too abrupt, too complete. One moment, he was a creature of ancient wrath, the next, a picture of serene calm. She couldn't deny the sudden, unsettling shift in his demeanor, the way his anger had evaporated at the mere sight of her. But she refused to acknowledge the insidious thought that crept into her mind, refused to admit that she, in some inexplicable way, might have the power to soothe him. It's a trick, she told herself, her pride a shield against the unsettling truth. He's playing me, manipulating my senses, trying to break me down with these calculated shifts in emotion. The idea that she could have any effect on him, any power over his volatile moods, was a dangerous thought, a weakness she couldn't afford.
"Ice cream…" She muttered, fascinated by the puzzle he was… for an instant.