AN: Hi, wonderful people! *Yawn* This chapter was playing hard to get, I like how it turned out in the end, but it took some time to write it out. It's a bit slow the first half (but it offers more backstory, don't like speeding up and rushing. :/), but then it picks up unexpectedly *read to find some Zachary treat*. Mwuahaha.

As always, thank you for your support, guys! I really love you!

And, if you like it, maybe leave some love?

Take care, everyone! This hamster's gotta catch some Zzz's.

It was early in the morning when Margo woke up.

Still captive on the borders of dreamland, the girl stretched her arms languidly and turned her face from the wall against her bed. With eyes closed, she could feel the gentle warmth of the sun caressing her skin.

Opening her mouth, an odd mix of a groan and a yawn was heard. Despite being unwilling to get up, duty called. Today was her turn for the first shift at the tavern. Luckily, last night's rest was enough to bring what little sanity she still possessed back. Although, she was pretty certain she would be at her wits' end again after the inn's newly returned owner, Madame Percy, talked her ear off. No wonder Mr. Percy had turned deaf young. The fates had taken pity upon the poor man.

Casting her comfortable bed one last longing filled glance, Margo stood up and started getting dressed into her uniform. Feeling a gentle breeze caressing uncovered skin when tying her dress' corset, she turned around to inspect why. The white lace curtains of her chambers were dancing gently in the wind. The window was left slightly ajar.

She frowned. She did not remember opening it. Given her tendency to sleep wrapped up in the comforter, any source of cold was most unwelcome.

Oh, well, much stranger things have happened to me. No need  to fret over this...unless the bloody creature was the cause! Then again, why did it visit me? Why am I still alive? It was much too early in the day to be plagued by such questions, she usually reserved this for late at night when her mind roamed free with crazy scenarios.

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting the gloomy thoughts. Soon, Thomas happy freckled face greeted her.

"May I come in, Margo?"

"Given you're already in the room, the question seems a bit pointless, munchkin."

Thomas rolled his blue eyes adorably, entering anyway. Alright, she would admit it–he had taken up that habit from her. But she could never pull off eye-rolling that cutely.

Kneeling to his level, Margo carresed her brother's wavy locks gently. "Why are you up at such an hour, sweetheart? Nana said she'd start practicing French with you around mid day. You can still catch some sleep."

Thomas lowered his eyes and mumbled something unintelligible.  Then, he tried again, this time louder:

"I wanted to see how you are...after last night. I know father had," the little boy scrunched up his nose and continued, "another one of  his 'meetings'".

Margo pursed her lips. She did not know what to tell her little brother. Even the precious naivety of his childhood could not completely hide that something was wrong in their home. However, all her efforts to hide him from the painful truth, her fight to maintain his innocence and keep him from the clutch of father's vices could not be in vain.

"Indeed he had, Thomas. Just his friends paying him a visit, nothing to worry about," she tried keeping her voice tone light on purpose. A sudden flash of intense indigo eyes crossed her thoughts, making her voice waver a bit at the end and her heart beat increase traitorously. A change of subject was needed.

"Anyway, how are the geometry lessons from the book I gave you last week coming along?"

"Uhh, Margo!" Thomas did not waste any more time, disappearing in a cloud of bouncy toffee-coloured curls down the stairs. A playful grin appeared on her face–she knew bringing mathematics up would do the trick. Still, a pang of guilt shot though her. As a poor substitute for the truth, she would make sure to bring him extra chocolate cakes back from the tavern. They were her brother's favourite after all.

......................................

The town was still waking up from its peaceful slumber when she arrived, drowsy merchants setting up their stands with overflowing delicious fruits and vegetables. Among them, hidden near a forgotten alley, stood her beloved boutique. It was the place where her mother and little Margo used to come to have their measures taken for new dresses. Fond memories painted the shop in the warmth of better times–perhaps that was why she found herself always returning. This time no longer as a customer, of course.

Despite the cold air bitting her skin and ruffling her hair, Margo took her time to admire the endless rows of colourful scarves gracing the front of the shop. It was a true visual delight.  Angora wool, finest silk and velvet of all nuances of the rainbow could be purchased here. Her attention was currently captivated by a lovely baby blue scarf, oriental motifs carefully embroidered at its edges. It made the fashion enthusiast side in Margo sigh with longing.

"...and then I told him, next time you make a proposal, make sure the inheritance is in your name."

Her admiring daze was interrupted by a high pitched voice. Charlotte Burrit. Once a pleasant companion to share laughs with in her teenage years and now a cold acquaintance, at best. Dressed to impress as usual, Charlotte was parading herself on the main street of the market, hand in hand with one of her empty-headed minions.

Noticing her gaze, Charlotte raised a perfect blonde eyebrow as if to reprimand Margo for staring. Uh, like being a gold-digger is a trait to be envious about...

Margo turned around anyway. She was going to arrive early at the tavern, but it was better than the present company.

...................................

As expected, no sooner had she crossed the threshold of the inn than Madame Percy's overly powdered face and loud nasal voice greeted her. She was not sure which of the attributes was grating more on her senses.

"Margo, child, you're finally gracing me with your presence! I believed that old rat Fredor finally snatched my workers away. But you wouldn't abandon me like that, would you Margo?" opening her mouth to reply, her response was muffled by the inn mistress trudging on "You do know my frail health would not survive that, look at this place. It's falling apart. There's only so much delicate me can do."

In her early fifties and equipped with a sturdy frame capable of lifting heavy sacks of flour like nothing and physically throwing vagrants out of her precious tavern, both facts personally witnessed by Margo, the girl doubted Madame Percy's health was anything but perfect. Her theatrics, on the other hand, needed polishing.

"Your fragility is an ever present concern in my mind, Madame Percy. You know I have your best interest at heart," commented Margo. Too bad her sarcasm was lost on her interlocutor.

Madame Percy smiled. "Now, now, dear, enough chit-chat and more work. There's a fine gentleman waiting for you to serve him. "

"We already have a customer? The tavern just opened..."

"Yes, indeed. The lad was waiting at the door when I arrived to open up the inn. He must be a drunkard," Madame Percy shook her head slightly, "It's always the handsome ones hiding a dirty secret. I wish I had known this in my glory years..."

Before Margo rushed towards the serving area to avoid more so-called tales wisdom, she was stopped by Madame' Percy. Her next words made her wish she had not.

"And, dear, be sure to be polite to him, wouldn't hurt to smile a little. We don't get a lot of his posh kind around here. Don't make me use my bad boys," the mature woman boasted, thrusting her generous bosom upwards." The older woman then proceeded to whisper conspiratorially to the now beet-red girl. "They are my secret weapon when my lemon tart fails."

Demonic creature from the cemetery, please take me now.

Incoherently stammering something, she rushed to the waiting customer. Little did she know that her wish would be granted sooner than expected. Still blushing, Margo arrived at the occupied table without glancing up at the client. First mistake.

"Good morning, sir. What may I get you today?"

"I do not reckon your menu offers what I truly desire," a low masculine voice echoed. That voice! It could only be...

"You!" exclaimed Margo, snapping her gaze to the now standing Lord Frost. The soft up curve of his lips showed he was not bothered by her rude greeting. On the contrary, his eyes gleamed with an inner glow that only happiness could give.

"Lady Margo," he breathily greeted, inclining his head while keeping his eyes on her. Her name on his lips...seemed downright sinful when softly whispered like he did. The infuriating man made it sound like they were two lovers resting after a bout of lovemaking instead of customer and waitress in a dingy tavern.

Oh heavens, where did that bloody thought come from?

To her dismay, the man still looked as good as she had imagined him the other night. She had valiantly resisted thinking about him, but now that he was in front of her, she was at a loss of words. She need to remember her previous annoyance with him for his sexist ways at the dinner. The way he ordered her to her room like a child. The way he most likely emptied father of his coins.

Her vexation was back. That she could handle perfectly, unlike whatever strange attraction she had for Frost.

"What are you doing here?" her tone was perhaps a bit brusque.

"The real question here that needs an answer is what my fiancee is doing in this god-forsaken place," Lord Frost replied, his violet gaze starting to burn.

"Oh really, where is the lucky lady then? I don't see her." She hoped her sarcasm was clear enough to hide the frustrating tiny pang in her heart at the mention of his engagement.

He smirked, sidestepping the table between them and closing the distance. "That is because she is right here. You are, little one," he murmured while letting his hands skim softly over her cheek. He was so close that Margo could feel his minty breath caressing her skin as well.

Then, the meaning of his words finally sank in her mind. She pushed herself away, her voice reaching an uncomfortably pitched note, her own ears ringing. "I'm your fiancee? How much did you have to drink, Frost?" She did not even realise she dropped his nobiliary title in her aggravation.

His face, once open with delight and contentment, now closed into an impenetrable mask. "Let us take this into a more private place, little one," he did not allow her to object, moving them both towards the back door of the tavern. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Madame Percy's robust frame perilously perched on a tiny chair, squinting her eyes at them. Had she not been so mad, Margo would have laughed at the sight.

Then, the back door closed with finality, leaving her all alone with her so-called fiancee. She trained her eyes on him, expecting an explanation for the aberration he had just said.

"Yesterday, as you know so well, your father had a gambling meeting. Yesterday your father lost his entire fortune, at least the very little he had," he sighed as if disgusted.

Margo's knees shook. He. Lost. Everything? She was going to be sick. How would she repair her father's mistake this time? How would she protect Thomas now?

Warm powerful arms embraced her, his hands slowly massaging her back in soft circles to calm her down. To her shame, it was actually working. "I don't want his money, little one. Your father agreed to offering his blessing for our union in exchange for me clearing his debt. We are to be married, Margo." Lord Frost's visage was finally peaceful for the first time she had ever seen it. It was like he was floating on cloud nine of happiness.

However, Margo felt the complete opposite. It was like standing on quick sand, trying in vain to escape your misfortunes, only to be sunk back. Her rapidly losing control soon transformed into rage. Blinding white rage. She snatched herself roughly from his gentle grasp.

"How dare you?"she cried out, letting her fury unleash. "Do you think nowadays is still the Dark Ages where you can just buy a person's fate? I am my own person, I have rights! I decide whomever I want to marry, if at all. I would never want to spend the rest my life with such a controlling beast like you! You mean nothing to me."

Second mistake.

While at the beginning of her outburst, Lord Frost looked willing to listen and amuse her, her last words seemed to have triggered something within him. Something primal and untameable. Something frighteningly dark. His already impressive frame seemed to grow in size, while his indigo eyes electrified her with the insanity growing inside them.

In the blink of an eye, Zachary pinned her forcefully to him, her back pressed intimately to his wide chest. His muscled arms shackled tightly around her, leaving no room for space. He was breathing heavily, his growls seeming to erupt from the very centre of his body. One of his hands had fingers digging in her waist, while the other clutched a white peace of paper.

He tremblingly raised the document to her eye-level. Putting his mouth behind her left ear, the timbre of his voice sent shiver down Margo's spine.

"This is the act through which your dear father signed your life away," he rumbled darkly. Reading it quickly, Margo realised it was the truth. At the bottom of the paper, near an elegantly written signature of Lord Zachary Frost's name, was her father's sloppy one. Betrayal cut through her bitterly. After all he had done, Margo still had a small glimmer of hope that her last living parent would recover. Now, that light was forever extinguished.

Not vanquishing his possessive hold on her, Zachary delicately swept away one errant tear that she had unconsciously shed in the wake of this morbid discovery. His sweet actions were at contradiction with his following damning words:

"Little Margo, even according to this century's law, the daughter belongs to the father until she either weds or dies. Upon marriage, the woman becomes the sole possession of her husband." Trailing his lips to her hair, he inhaled deeply.

Suddenly, he took her soft earlobe in his mouth, biting gently, his tongue then laving away any hurt. Margo shuddered. Reluctantly letting go, he purred seductively: "I will be a good husband, my sweet."