Banshee Boyfriend: Fitzhugh (complete)

My father is a general, quite a powerful one. Some even say he could be the next king if he wanted to, but despite his influence, I believe him to be quite lazy. I’m sure at one point he was ambitious and worked hard, but he has become more interested in keeping hold of the leashes he wields than gaining any more power. He enjoys comfort, and most of what makes him a reckoning force now is his reputation.

My mother, too, has grown used to the easy life. She does not fear what is beyond her door like the rest of the world does. War is a common thing now, and most people are struggling to make ends meet. Food is being rationed in some parts. And yet my mother will whine when the cake is not frosted the way she likes. 

Yes, I benefit from this lifestyle too. I don’t have to live in fear, I don’t starve, and I don’t have to suffer at all. What happens to me is not like what happens beyond the gates of my home. Since I am a general’s daughter, I have been entertaining suitors since I was thirteen, which is an absolute nightmare to me. My father will bring in men who can keep him in comfort, who will wear one of his leashes.

I’ve learned a trick to deal with his suitors - I don’t speak to them, not a word at all the time they are in my presence. I sit there, like a doll. For a while they talk about themselves, whatever they like. But when I give no praise or reply, things grow quiet. They sit in silence, caught in the grasp of my dark brown eyes. I make no expression, no sign of approval or disapproval. Everything they see in me is a mirror reflection back on themselves.  Eventually they leave, lest they unravel. Despite this, I still have suitors.

There’s a story going around about a death scream on battlefields. Just before battles are to start, a scream rings out loud enough for both sides to hear. There is silence, and then the scream will rattle the world. The scream always precedes great casualty, not just the usual death toll of war, but something worse. The last time it was heard was at a camp full of the wounded, but no one was near death. Then the scream was heard, and a few days later the entire camp was on death’s door. Something ravaged the wounded and the staff alike. They were all gone by week’s end.

The death scream particularly troubles my father. It’s becoming a threat to him. People are afraid to hear it, and more reluctant to follow battle plans. He’s brought in new advisors and a political propagandist to combat the influx of fear.

One evening, while the house sleeps, I sneak down from my chambers into the parlor to pour myself a drink. Lately I’ve sought libations to help me sleep - not a good habit, but one I have a predilection for thanks to my mother. I set my candle aside, only to realize there is a man sitting in the chair next to the liquor cabinet. I nearly jump out of my skin when he chuckles.

“I didn’t realize you would be coming. I would have dressed for the occasion.” The man laughs. It’s the political advisor my father brought in, Fitzhugh Rothschild. He’s a former soldier turned strategist, as well as the creator of the new war slogan, ‘the scream of victory’. He is extremely beautiful, quite possibly one of the most handsome men I’ve ever come across. He’s very tall and has lithe, with willowy limbs and fine sharp features. His pale eyes stand out against his tan skin, and his long dark hair hangs freely around his bare shoulders and chest. He only has on pants now, from what I can tell.

“You’re not getting drunk on the job, are you, Mr. Rothschild?” I open the liquor cabinet despite his presence and reach inside.

“Are you, Lady Ozoro?” His eyes scan over me in my nightgown. 

I pull out the bottle of my choosing and lay aside the glass stopper. “Is this how you think of your remarkable slogans?”

“You find my slogan offensive?” I hate to admit how charming his smile is. “I worked very, very hard on that.”

“A scream of victory.” I toss the bottle back, not fooling with any sort of glass. “I’m sure the children fighting this war will find it very evocative.”

His dark eyes look over me, but not in a way that the suitors I have faced for ages do. He’s looking for something rather than at it. He eventually looks into my eyes, and his pale green ones send a shiver down my spine. “Your father makes it very easy to be lazy here. I’m sure you’re aware of that.” He stands up from the chair, moving his hair away from his body, and sticks his own hand into the cabinet to take out a bottle.

“My father prefers the easiest path in most things.” I sit down while Fitzhugh refills his glass. 

“Oh, how awful for you,” he mocks.

I glare at him through the dim light of the candle and see him smiling at me. I roll my eyes and lean back in the chair.

“Poor little rich girl,” Fitzhugh singsongs as he comes to sit across from me. “Sneaking drinks when no one is looking. Are you bored?” He tilts his head back, and that cascade of dark hair falls over his shoulder again.

I grimace at him, then scoff. “Yes.”

“What can you do around here besides drink?” he sniffs. “Aside from scaring off suitors, as I am told.”

“It’s not hard.”

“How so?” He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “What do you do?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Nothing. What? You just sit there? You don’t talk?”

“I stare at them, silent as an angel.” I smirk a bit and set my bottle aside. “It takes most a long time to realize I have done none of the speaking, but soon they come to realize that silence is all they’re going to have.”

He licks the corner of his mouth. “You don’t even try to get anything out of them? No money? Jewels? No dresses?” 

I nod. “I don’t need them. I would rather see them go away angry than take anything of value.”

Fitzhugh laughs and raises his glass. “Congratulations on your enterprise, Lady Ozoro.”

This becomes a regular occurrence. Fitzhugh and I share drinks in the dark of night while the rest of the house is asleep, share stories, and challenge one another. I find myself drawn to his beauty, his cunning mouth, his beautiful long hair. I know I am a fool, but beauty like his is hard to come by in this world.

“You remain silent around suitors, correct?” he asks me.

I don’t even look up from my glass. “I give them the stone treatment, yes. Why do you ask?”

Fitzhugh’s smile perks up. “You talk to me. I was just curious.”

“You’re not a suitor, or at least I hope you aren’t.” I set my glass aside. “You’re just a guy I found sitting alone in the dark.”

“Perhaps I wanted you to find me that way, Lady Ozoro.” He tilts his head to the side, letting his hair shift and fall from its perch on his shoulder. 

“I don’t doubt you being so devious. But what on earth would you be plotting?” I move closer to him, staring him dead-on. 

He turns his head, still smiling that wry smile. “Every plot begins in the dark, Lady Ozoro.” He slips his fingers under my chin. “You should know that by now.”

I kiss him one evening as the full moon illuminates the room. He is a talented kisser, and I find myself on my back beneath him. His hands undo the buttons of my nightgown, and his warm mouth sinks over the dark peaks of my breasts.

“You’ve done this before,” I say breathlessly.

He chuckles, lifting his head from my tit. “I would tell you how, but I am afraid it would make your head spin.” He grasps my breasts with both hands, kneading them gently.

“Are you a whore, Mr. Rothschild?” I chide him.

“Yes!” he answers exuberantly. He leans down again, kissing me before moving his lips down my neck. “You smell divine, and your skin is so soft.” He drags his tongue down to my breasts again, nursing on them.

“Tell me,” I moan. 

“About what?” He opens the rest of my nightgown so I am laid bare beneath him. His fingers stroke up and down the center of my chest, to my belly. His pale eyes focus on me while his bottom lip gleams with saliva.

“Tell me about being a whore.” I stretch and pose for him, seeing his smile grow.

Fitzhugh leans down. “Well, if you must know, it’s such fun. I’ve had many women and men, all of them offering their own special pleasure.”

“Men?” I bite my lip in surprise. “What’s that like?”

He grins wickedly at me. “I can show you right now what it’s like.”

I run my fingers through his hair and tangle it around my fingers. “You’ve wanted me in this position since the beginning, haven’t you?”

“That’s what I always want.” He takes my legs, cupping the back of my knees. “To fuck, to know pleasure, to feel the body of a great woman wrapped around me.” He looks down and grins, seeing my fmound. His fingers trace me, finding my engorged clit waiting for his touch. “Didn’t you only see me for my pretty face, too?”

I bite my lip as his fingertips swirl around me. “That’s all you're good for.”

He sucks in a breath between his clenched teeth. “You have no idea how right you are, Lady Ozoro.” He kisses me again, sinking his mouth around mine. His tongue slips between my lips, and I suck on it. His fingers push inside, coax my honey to spill from inside me.

“Fitz,” I moan into his ear.

“Ozoro,” he echoes back. “I don’t want you to remain bored, my dear. Let me entertain you from here on out.”

From then on, Fitzhugh and I maintain a strange friendship. He sneaks away from meetings with my father, and we meet behind the garden. He comes into my room and dons my corsets or heels. I am inexplicably drawn to him, and I crave him constantly.

Then, one evening my father tells me Fitzhugh has asked for my hand in marriage, and that he chose to accept it. I’m getting too old, he says, and I need to get married now. He doesn’t want to wait any more, and so Fitzhugh is to be my husband.

“I don’t want to marry you,” I say to Fitzhugh that night.

He’s lying naked in my bed, wearing my favorite bustier and lace hose. “I don’t want to marry you either.”

“Then why ask my father for my hand?” I scoff. I climb in bed with him. 

Fitzhugh sits up to kiss me. “You and I make a great pair.” He strokes his hands down my shoulders and licks my lips. “If I am going to be married to anyone, it may as well be you.”

I take his cock into my hand, stroking it slowly. He breathes deeply against my neck and buries his moans there. I bite my lip, feeling him surge in my palm. “So, this would be a marriage only for appearances?”

“I suppose,” he pants. “But I’m sure you and I could get along swimmingly.”

I look him in the eye and frown. “There’s a reason you want this. Isn’t there?”

He cups my cheek in his palm. “There’s a reason you want it too, Ozoro.” He sweeps his thumb over my bottom lip, then presses his thumb against my tongue. “I don’t mind giving it to you if you give me what I want. You and I will work together from here on out.”

I squeeze the base of his cock, and he hisses. Looking into my eyes, he smirks back. He releases my tongue and kisses me. “Are you going to continue being a whore?” I ask him.

“Of course,” he purrs. “But, you will be my favorite. How does that sound?”

I straddle his lap and take him inside me. “I don’t care,” I moan. “Just tell me, what is it you want?”

Fitzhugh sighs and wraps his hands around my waist. “Right now, I already have it.” He looks me in the eye, his expression sharp as a knife. “I want to take your father’s place,” he whispers to me. 

“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” I moan.

“Do you care?” He rolls his hips, moving deeper inside me.

I kiss him, unable to control my urges. As I pull back, my head is swimming. “Who are you?” I pant.

“I’m trouble.” He throws me down onto the bed, rocking his hips hard and pummeling me into the pillows. I forget to think of anything except his prowess and beauty.

The wedding is an event to remember. No expense is enough to show off for my parents. Fitzhugh and I play the part of a happily married couple. I am blushing, demure and beautiful, while Fitzhugh is handsome, strong and devoted. That evening, when our honeymoon is to commence at the family chateau near the ocean, Fitzhugh has arranged for some of his friends to join us as well. He celebrates exuberantly, and I get to watch. He wears my garters and hose, smiling at me while bent over the bed.

I come and sit down beside him, watching the burly man behind him take him roughly. “Having fun, husband?”

“Oh, dear wife,” he gasps in pleasure, “this is the happiest night of my life.”

I look at the man behind him, recognizing him as one of the king’s nephews. He had been a highly decorated soldier once, but was called back to the palace for some rather vague injury. “How’s your uncle?” I ask him.

“Don’t speak to him, wife,” Fitzhugh moans. “He’s not here for talking.” he sits up, kissing me while still being driven into. “Don’t worry about anything here. Find someone and have your own fun.”

I return his kisses, then gaze around the room. There are so many bodies sprawled everywhere, it’s almost as bad as one of my father’s battles. I take my new husband’s advice, finding an orc of substantial merit and taking him as mine for the night.

Come morning, I’m in bed alone with my husband. He sleeps close beside me, his hair spilled out around him. I suppose I can get used to this. I never wanted to marry to begin with, but if I have someone who feels the same as I do, then perhaps I can survive it. 

“What has you up thinking so early?” he yawns as he stirs. “Did you not enjoy your new friend last night?” 

I sit up in bed and look down at him. “You still haven’t told me who you are. I only know you wish to hold the same power my father does.”

“Does it matter?” Fitz poses in bed, stretching out his arms and legs. “We’re married.”

I frown down at him. “Just don’t hurt my father.”

Fitzhugh sits up and kisses my shoulder. “I won’t,” he whispers into my ear.

A few days later, he’s gone with his caravan of friends. I don’t mind really. In fact, I am looking forward to having the chateau to myself. I have no one to perform for, no mother to judge how I look, no father to feign interest in. I can walk around with my hair as I please, unencumbered by skirts and corsets and shoes. The chateau is empty, save for a very meager staff. I write him letters, if only to keep up the appearance of a doting wife. He never sends anything back, but writing keeps me busy. It helps me to figure out my days when I can see them written down on pages. Even if he doesn’t read them, they are at least some comfort to me.

Fitzhugh is gone for several weeks, and in that time, another scream is heard. This time, it happens near the Elysium bridge, a huge structure that the King commissioned when he took the throne. It was built with towers to hold prisoners, as well as executions. I consider it a haunted place. So many deaths have happened there, so many lives ended in the rapids below the bridge. I don’t understand how people can see it as a place of celebration when the nooks and crannies of the cobblestones are stained with blood.

The day the scream is heard is the day before the King is set to visit, to oversee a series of executions of enemy soldiers from the Headless tribes. There’s widespread panic about it. The scream has never been heard in such a place. It had always been on battlefields, hospital camps, places where death could be expected. But not in the city, especially not when the King himself is due to arrive. The King’s advisors tell him it’s too dangerous, but he doesn’t believe in the scream. He believes in that slogan my father has spread, that Fitzhugh created. ‘The scream of victory’.  The King understood it as a blessing for his visit. He’s just excited to witness the executions.

The army of the Headless comes in like a wave to rescue their comrades, throwing our soldiers left and right off the bridge. The king is very nearly rescued, but then bombs are detonated. The bridge is destroyed, the king is assassinated, and the scream has proved it’s not for victory. The scream foretells death.

I feel relieved when Fitzhugh returns home. I rush to meet him at the door when I see his carriage coming up the road. I never expected to run to meet someone like this, but I need him now. I’m frightened and, to my shock, he gives me comfort. I throw my arms around him, surprising him as well.

“My, my, a loving hug from my wife? Who ever heard of such a thing?” He embraces me back, burying his face in my hair. “First letters, now this. I’m a very lucky man.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” I pull back from him, looking into his face. I touch his cheek and he smiles affectionately at me. “I was so worried.”

“What for?” He tosses his hat aside.

“The King is dead,” I say breathlessly to Fitzhugh as we walk down the hall.

He takes off his coat, throwing it aside carelessly.  “How dreadful. And he had no heirs,” Fitzhugh tuts. “I suppose his nephew will be too busy to play with me anymore.”

“The one who was here on our wedding night?” I stand up as he continues to undress. “Is he the heir now?”

“I suppose so!” Fitzhugh takes one of my robes and puts it on. “I’m so tired, wife. Come cuddle me while I rest.”

I watch him suspiciously. “Did you know about this?”

He lies down on the bed, resting his arm over his eyes. He sighs heavily. “What makes you think that?”

I crawl onto the bed and smooth his hair aside. “Did you?” I play with the silky locks between my fingers, gently tugging until he looks up at me. His pale eyes are so lovely, but he’s looking for something again.

Fitzhugh places his hand against my cheek, holding it tenderly. “Ozoro, you must have so many ideas in that pretty head of yours.” He smiles softly, giving me a sweet kiss. “What do you think I am, my wife?”

I lean in closer to him. “Husband, I have been asking you that since the day I met you. But you won’t tell me.”

“I don’t think you would believe me.” He sighs and his hand slips away, falling back onto the pillow. “So why share at all?” He yawns sleepily and closes his eyes, letting his cheek fall onto the silk pillow. 

“Because the King is dead, and the new one has been intimate with you.” I lie down beside him with a heavy sigh. “I would like to know if I sleep with death at night.”

Fitzhugh chuckles. “Oh, trust me, you would know.”

A few days later, the chateau is once again filled with people, but unlike our wedding night the air is serious. Even the sea is gray that afternoon. I see men in their uniforms with their eyes focused. Fitzhugh speaks of the scream as an omen, something he laughed at back at my father’s place. The very slogan he created is now brandished like a prayer.

That evening, I find him in the dark alone, much like the first night we met. He’s naked, his hair draped all around his form. I stand before him, and he barely looks at me. “Do not ask me questions tonight, dear wife,” he sighs heavily. “I am exhausted with thought for today.”

“I can tell. I have never seen you behave in such a way.” I tilt my head to the side. “How do you explain yourself?”

He looks up at me and reaches out a hand. “I could use a friend, dear wife.”

“I am serious, Fitzhugh. This meeting today was not the sort of congratulatory pat on the back you had with my father. You fed him compliments and assurances, when today you put on an act of dread. I don’t believe either.” I lean down, putting my hands on either arm of the chair. I lower myself to eye level with him. “You told me once that plots come from darkness, and that’s when I knew you were up to something. You knew I was bored, and you knew I would play along. You were right about me. Tell me if I am right about you.”

He smiles. “No questions asked. You are a good wife. I won’t have to lie when I say you’re obedient.” He kisses me and brushes his fingertips against my cheek. “My mother would adore you.”

“I met your mother.”

He grunts as he sits up. “You met a person.” He takes his glass and finishes off the liquid inside. “My family would not have been allowed in your home, so I didn’t invite them. They are the ones your father was hell-bent on pushing aside when he was aiming for the comfortable chair he rests in now.”

“The throne of the Headless,” I murmur.

He stands, and I swear his skin seems white in the shadows. “My father, my mother, my other mothers, and my brothers - we are all descended from the Headless.” He scoops his hair away from his face. “My family and I have been working to pay them all back.”

The throne of the Headless is a way of describing the tribes of monsters that live in the kingdom. They are said to be descended from the Headless Horsemen of old. My father, indeed, pushed back the tribes of Headless to gain their land and resources. The tribes are scattered now, and no longer have what they once did.

I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you chose me to get back at my father. I suppose I was as good as dead.”

“Oh, goodness no. I like you. I wouldn’t kill you. It’s better to have you and piss your father off than kill you, anyway. This is years of torture. Imagine if we had a child!” He throws his head back and laughs.

“But my father doesn't know. You don’t even look...” I stop myself. 

The way he looks then is soft and demure, almost frail. “My mother used to wail at the oddest of times,” he murmurs. “She would let out a cry and hide herself. But we could still hear her screaming through the halls, my brothers and I.” He reaches out, and I am certain his skin has turned white. “She never wanted us to know what it meant.”

“Banshee,” I whisper.

He presses his white finger against my lips. When he steps closer to me, I can see his eyes are black and hollow. His jaw is stretched, and his mouth looks crooked and wide. His long hair coils around his arm and tickles the sides of my face.

“Still not asking questions, wife.” His voice is an echo in the mountains. It rings, both quiet as a mouse and loud as cathedral bells. 

“You’re the scream,” I say with certainty.

He kisses my forehead. “Ozoro, I did not give you credit.”

I step back from him, looking him over. His limbs look longer, his back hunched. He’s still beautiful, just strange. “How very nice to meet you.”

He chuckles. “Not afraid?”

“More pissed off than anything.” I cross my arms against my chest. “You could have told me.”

“I regret telling you now.” He sits back down in the chair. “But I am exhausted.” 

“You’re plotting a coup, I am certain.” I sit down across from him. “But you will keep your promise not to hurt my father.”

“I have to. You’re my darling bride.” He sighs heavily. “I never planned to harm him. Only to destroy him.”

“Ruining his reputation may be a good start, as I’m sure that’s what you’re doing.” I watch his hair float around him like a ghost. “I mean, here I am.”

Fitzhugh looks aside. “With his friend the King dead, and my friend the King taking his place, it won’t be long. I didn’t even need you, but for some reason, Ozoro, I wanted you.”

I raise my brows. “That’s a surprise.”

“You’re telling me.” He smiles. “It was when you told me you treated your suitors with silence. I liked you then.”

“I know.”

“You’re such a smart, beautiful woman, I am lucky to be in your presence.” He lifts his head again and holds his hand out to me. “Can you forgive my plots?”

I take his hand, and he pulls me into his arms. “I think I can muster it.”

He strokes his fingers through the tight curls of my hair and down the nape of my neck. I know I like him too, that I want to be here with him, but I won’t tell him that. He’ll have to earn all my sweet confessions later.

Fitzhugh takes me further north, where he has a home in the mountains. He shares it with his brothers, one older and one younger. Fitzhugh’s family is an odd one - it started with his father, a mortal man, who married three women of Headless descent. His first wife was a bicorn, his second a banshee - Fitzhugh’s mother - and the third a fairy. Fitzhugh comes here to hold banquets for select people the new king suspects of treason and spying. It’s Fitzhugh’s job to find out the truth, getting them drunk and pulling it from them with his charm.

“What do you do if they affirm the king’s beliefs?” I ask.

“You might hear me scream,” he says with a smile, and takes my hand. “Come now, let’s find our chambers.”

He takes me to a room where the furniture has been built to suit the surrounding space. The bed rises from the center of the room with curtains depending from the ceiling to drape around it, and the top of the curtains frame a massive work of stained glass. 

“We might be here for a while, dear wife. I hope you can find something to enjoy here.” He tosses his hat and jacket aside, eager to get out of his form-fitting uniform.

“I’m sure there are ways to pass the time here.” I look around the room, inspecting the bureau and wardrobe. They curve to fit snugly along the wall, but the doors and drawers all open easily. 

Fitzhugh undresses completely, walking around the room naked. “You’ll have more time with me. But perhaps that’s not what you would want.”

I give him a cheeky smile. “Don’t you have supposed traitors to entertain? How will you ever find the time to spend with me?”

He sits on the edge of the bed. “There could be days between traitors where I will be free to do as I want.” He pats the bed beside him. “We are married, why not enjoy it?”

“Is this a marriage? I thought it was a sham.” I stand before him, looking over his naked form. 

“Come now, Lady Ozoro.” He lays back and poses on the silk for me. “I like you. How many married folk can say that?”

I hike up my skirts and climb into bed. Fitzhugh helps me undress, removing the layers, the corset, kissing my skin and the marks left behind. “You smell divine.”

“We’ve been traveling all day. I don’t know how that is possible.” I take my hair down from the protective silk and fluff it out. “My back is killing me, and my thighs are sore.”

“Let me rub them.” He presses his chest against my back and bites my neck. 

I lean back against him. “You only have one thing on your mind.”

His laugh in my ear is a wicked thing. “I have so much on it, usually, that when I get to dust that shelf off it’s a relief.” He pulls me into his lap and spreads my thighs. “You and I have so much fun.”

I bite my lip as his fingers trail down my body. They rub my mound, pulling the hair there. I lean against his chest, inhaling sharply as his fingers plunge deeper. “We do,” I moan.

Fitzhugh kisses my neck and shoulder. “I promised to keep you my favorite. It hasn’t been hard to do.” He dips his fingers inside me,spreading them to open me and stir me to a froth. “I’ve found such comfort with you, Lady Ozoro.”

“Are you trying to make me confess to something too?” I giggle and lay my head back on his shoulder. 

He kisses my cheek. “It would be nice to hear you say I am your favorite.”

I sit up and away from him, and look into those pale eyes before lowering again. I kiss his belly, his thighs, and I drag my tongue down his shaft. He moans, arching his hips for me. I take him into my mouth, bobbing my head gently.

“Lady Ozoro,” he breathes. “You could have just said so.”

I moan against him, raking my hands up his body. He feels stiff and heavy against my tongue, a feeling I have come to enjoy. I pull up, suckling the tip before I release him with a pop. “Of course you’re my favorite,” I scoff. “You fool.” I stroke him, rubbing his glans against my breast.

Fitzhugh sighs. “I like the praise, that’s all.”

I throw him down onto the bed and mount him, taking what’s mine. His fingers dig into my hips, the harder the better. The more I make him moan, the more I enjoy myself. I have come to enjoy the feeling of him being near me, not just when we indulge. I lie down beside him, and I find myself comforted by his presence. He may be quite thin compared to me, but he makes me feel safe. 

“Now we have earned a bath,” he chuckles.

I huff. “Lie here a while. It feels nice.”

He wraps his arm around me and rubs my shoulder. “I’ll need your help, Ozoro,” he murmurs. 

“What do you mean?”

“I need you to help me when they arrive. You’re good at finding secrets. Having you help me would make it so much easier.”

“You’re asking this now?”

“I kept chickening out of it!” He sits up and smiles at me. “You and I make a fantastic team. If we work together, I’m sure it’ll be easier to find out what I need.”

“I’m not some spy like you,” I grumble. “I’m just a woman.”

His eyes narrow at me. “I figured a woman would understand.” He comes close, pressing his forehead against mine. “You’re not ‘just’ anything, Ozoro. You don’t understand the power you hold. Let me show you.” He stands up and goes to his luggage stacked in the corner. From inside, he takes out a bundle of letters.

“You kept the letters I sent you?” 

He clutches them to his chest. “How could I not? A letter is a precious thing.” He comes back to the bed and lays his head in my lap.

I run my fingers through his hair as he unwraps the leather band around the letters. “I thought that when you never wrote back, you didn’t care.”

“I didn’t write back because I knew I would bleed my heart all over the page, and if someone got ahold of that correspondence, I would be in danger.” He takes out a letter, one with a well-worn envelope. “This one is what made me realize that you were something more than even you realized.” He clears his throat as he prepares to read it. “My friend and husband...” He stops and looks up at me. “Love that.” He snaps the page and starts again. “My friend and husband, it has been a few weeks since you left our marriage bed. I’ve changed the sheets, and yet your memory remains. Not because of the acts we’ve performed, but because of the wine stain you made when you thought wine in bed was a good idea. It wasn’t. The only good idea with wine is to use it to find the truth. Wine brings out the nature of people, and my dearest husband, your true nature is a moron. Your friend and wife, Ozoro.”

I furrow my brow. “What at all in that letter makes you think I have any power?”

“It’s your idea,” he laughs. “Using wine to bring out one’s nature. It’s what gave me this eccentric little plot to begin with. Wine and sex show a person’s values.” He rises back up and looks me directly in the eye. “Ozoro, my lovely wife, together we can find the truth, and we can bring justice to my people.”

“I’m not a spy,” I say with a shake of my head. “What makes you think I can do what you do?”

He cups my face between both palms. “You’re frightening, Ozoro. You easily intimidate. But you’re also very soft and sweet. You can charm people. You’re absolutely perfect.” His kiss pulls me close and he wraps me up in his arms. 

Several nights later, the first set of supposed traitors comes to the house. I know him, actually - he had been a suitor of mine years ago. The other is an advisor who once worked with my father, and I know how he is on wine already. The reason he left my father’s employ was because I stabbed his foot with my heel when he got a little too close for comfort. Suddenly, I don’t feel so bad working with my husband.

I pull Fitzhugh aside and tell him this. The ex-suitor has blathered on and on about his education and how he had been top of his class, but somehow he barely knows how to read. The advisor is a lush and will drink anything placed in front of him, and will sleep with anything with a pulse.

Fitzhugh kisses me in triumph. “I would like to formally thank you in bed tonight,” he grins. “You’re an absolute treasure trove.”

“You’re lucky I’ve dealt with my father and his business all my life.” I pat the top of his head. “Come now, let’s go.”

The evening starts out slow, as both men seem hesitant to be here. Fitzhugh impresses them with food and wine, eventually getting them to warm up enough to talk.

“I’m surprised to see you married, Lady Ozoro.” The ex-suitor has started to prattle. He’s been going on and on for a while now, and I can tell from the look in Fitzhugh’s eye that there's not enough wine in the world to make him enjoy this man. I look at him, already anticipating what he’s going to say. “Really? What makes you say that?”

The ex-suitor smirks at Fitzhugh. “No offense to our host, but when we met, you were quite the frigid bitch.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Maybe there was a reason for that.”

“Of course!” He’s forcefully holding back his laughter. “And the reason is quite simple: you’re a woman!” He laughs, and the advisor chuckles. Fitzhugh just smirks.

“How would you know, my lord? From the sound of it, not one woman would come near you.” He busts out in a mocking chortle then shakes his head. 

The ex-suitor goes silent, sipping away at his wine. 

“You insult my wife. What’s going to stop you from insulting our king, hmm?”

“King,” the advisor scoffs.

Fitzhugh gets an amused look in his eye. “You don’t sound enthused, sir.”

“Our king died.” he jabs his finger onto the table. “The one who sits on that throne is no more deserving of it than any of us sitting here at this table. He’s a Headless sympathizer.” 

“You find fault with that?” Fitzhugh asks.

“There’s a reason the tribes were disbanded, and a reason we kept them from reforming on what was once their land.” The advisor sips his wine.

Under the table I take hold of Fitzhugh’s hand, giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze. 

“Have some more wine. Maybe it will make you fun to talk to,” Fitzhugh says with a convincing laugh.

Later that evening, Fitzhugh and I are both assured that the ex-suitor is just an idiot, wrapped up in politics he doesn’t understand. If anything, he’s an unsuspecting scapegoat. But the advisor is different - he holds resentment towards the new order, and the new king’s sympathy to the line of the Headless.

Fitzhugh takes me to bed and kisses me. “I’ll return to you later. For now, I want you to stay here. Lock the door, and don’t let anyone in. Got it?”

I place my hands on his biceps. “What are you going to do?” 

He kisses me, hard and passionate, it’s the kind of kiss that makes me levitate off the ground. He reluctantly pulls back. “My job. I’ll return later.”

I lock the door behind him and undress for the night. As I lie in bed, I am roused by a ghastly scream that comes through every crack and fissure in the walls. It bleeds out like smoke, filling my head until my thoughts seem choked. I hold pillows around my head until it ceases, and then there is a pounding at the bedroom door. The ex-suitor is screaming in panic, begging for entrance.

“It’s here! The scream is here! My lady!” He sounds like he is sobbing.

I know the origin of the scream, though; it belongs to my husband. He knows when death is near, and he wouldn’t scream for any other reason. Perhaps he did do it on purpose to punish the ex-suitor for his comments at dinner.

“I didn’t hear anything,” I shout back. “Go to bed, sir, or sleep before the fire if you wet it.” I lie back down in bed while he continues to blubber and pound at the door.

Later that evening, the ghostly visage of my husband comes through the door. His pale white skin and hollow eyes give me pause, but I relax as he locks the door. “That moron is asleep out there,” he scoffs.

“He’s been crying out there ever since you screamed.” I pull back the blankets. “What on earth did you do?”

He sneers. “I didn’t get to do shit. That poor fool died of a heart attack when I screamed. I fucking ruined it.” He climbs into bed beside me and lies down, and I curl up close beside him. “I at least went through his things, found some papers.” He rolls over onto his side. “Maybe I shouldn’t have screamed. I could have gotten more from him.”

“Why did you?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “To thank you.”

I kiss him, laying him back in bed and climbing on top of him.

“Not like this,” he whispers. “Let me change for you.”

I place my hand over his mouth. “I want you like this. Just as you are, the real you,” I whisper. I drag my hand down his chest and kiss him again, lovingly. “I never would have expected you to want to hide yourself.”

He pants softly, rubbing his hands up and down my legs. “I didn’t want to frighten you. I know who I am, but I also know I am much more beautiful in my other visage.”

“That’s not why I like you.” I say sternly. “Not now, anyway. That face may have worked when we first met, but now there is so much to you I enjoy besides that face.” I smile at him. “I still think you’re beautiful, even now.”

He swallows hard and takes several deep breaths. “Lady Ozoro, you’re going to make me blush.”

I rock myself against him, feeling him becoming aroused. His body warms to the touch, and his hair winds itself around my wrists and legs. His cock has taken on new dimensions as well - it’s more curved than before, with a slender hood that tapers down into thick ridges. I can feel him deeper inside me, and I can feel more of him. His sharp fingers dig into my hips, urging me to move faster and harder. 

He and I move as one that night, not just urging each other over the edge, but willingly climbing to fall together. His body and my body have no beginning or end - rather, we are complete, a full circle. His touch is mine, mine is his. I have never felt so perfectly entwined with someone before. It’s frightening and breathtaking, but I cannot stop from wanting this feeling. I never want it to end. I never want to let go. 

In the morning, he is still wrapped around me, his hair holding me like his arms. He pale body stands out against my skin. I smile to myself, and as he stirs I turn and look into his eyes.

“When did we fall in love?” he asks softly.

I kiss him. “It doesn’t matter.”

He lies back down, and I place my head upon his chest. His breath is slow and even, but I know his mind is churning away.

“I’ve never been in love,” he says suddenly. “I never wanted to.”

“That’s funny,” I yawn.

“I’m serious, Ozoro. What have you done to me?” He sits us up so he can look into my eyes. “You do love me too, right?”

I smile at him, starting to giggle. “I do.”

Fitzhugh smirks. “Why are you laughing?” 

“Not sure. But it is funny, don’t you think?” I place a soft kiss on his cheek. “We agreed this wasn’t going to end up this way, and yet, here we are.”

Fitzhugh brushes his fingers against my face with a smile I had never seen before. “You know what? I’m not mad about it.”