"You must be kidding me."

Alouette stares Harry down. He looks more threatening than usual in the odd light from the thunderstorm outside, but she's not going to let him scare her away. She's standing in front of the door to his rooms, her arms spread to block his way. "Does it look like I'm playing to you?"

A fleeting look of dismay passes through his eyes, but he schools his features back that neutral, mildly amused look of his so quickly that she's left to wonder if there ever was something different on his face at all. "I'm going to work." It's a simple, matter-of-fact statement. It makes Alouette want to move aside just to please him. Unfortunately for him, it also makes it all the more satisfying to disobey.

He should know better by now, Alouette thinks. Then, out loud, "No, you're not."

Harry takes a step forward. Alouette's hand shoots up to rest against his chest. The fabric of his black vest is unexpectedly soft under her fingers. It's elating to stand up to him while he's wearing a suit—it's impossible to forget who she's disobeying. It makes her feel more powerful. And, maybe, after the past couple of weeks, she wants to push him around a little just to see how far her influence over him goes. He made a great show of minimising it, but yesterday has made her realise she might still have some unplayed cards in her hand.

She looks up at him, gives him a smile and whispers, "You're not."

Part of her expects him to back down, but he rises to the challenge. "Neither Evie nor the doctor hold any power over me."

"That's why they're not here." Her fingers travel down his chest, to his stomach. It's her first time shamelessly staring at him with no fear of being caught by someone else since they got back to the Palace. She can't help but think he looks cute—her lead soldier, her apparition stepped out of a picture frame.

That earns her a moment of silence. The evaluating look is back on Harry's face. What a sight. He looks like trouble. "Do you truly intend to play this game?" There's a dark edge in his voice, now. Even the sky on the other side of the window seems darker.

The path of Alouette's hand stops. "I lied to you, held you at gunpoint multiple times, had you at my mercy for months. Do you truly think it's beyond me to defy you?"

Harry cocks his head. "This is... surprising," he admits through his teeth. "You're getting braver."

Her hand slides up again, and she hooks her finger around the first button of his vest, gently tugging him towards her. Her pull isn't strong enough to move him but he still follows, in an attempt to save the silver button from snapping off. "Maybe you're getting soft."

Harry looks at her, and she's suddenly all too aware of just how close he's standing to her, now. Pulling him closer wasn't her best idea. Her attraction to him is a simple matter of mathematics—it exponentially rises as the distance between them decreases. The derivative of this moment in time is the slope to her own demise, which gets steeper the closer he gets. Alouette is balancing on a thin thread woven from her own emotions and there's a precipice straight to the depths of hell at her back, and she's just a step away from falling fast below the zero. Harry could save her, ideally, but she has the distinct sensation clinging to him would do nothing but offer her a ticket to the scenic route to the exact same destination.

Harry's voice interrupts the train of her thoughts that's happily whistling away before it reaches the land of utter nonsense. "Or maybe you're getting arrogant."

Alouette laughs. "Pot, meet kettle."

He narrows his eyes. "You are getting arrogant. Where has your good behaviour gone?"

She nods, pensively. Her hand is still fiddling with that one first button of his. "You're right," she says, resigned. "I should go back to holding you at gunpoint. Things were funnier back then." She glances up and gives him a half-smile. "Too soon?"

"Now you're making me wish I'd held you at gunpoint more often. I feel like I've missed out."

"Oh, you have. Tough luck."

Harry hums. His fingers close around her wrist, and he's suddenly making her let go. "I'm still going to work." It comes so unexpected that Alouette nearly lets him move her aside.

Just as he walks past her, she grabs his arm and forces them into a spin so she's standing in front of him again. "You're not."

He sighs. "Alouette..." She can't tell if it's a concession or a warning. A moment later, she decides she doesn't care.

"I'm sorry." She pushes him backwards into the room. "I can't allow you to run yourself into the ground."

Harry lets out another sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I understand your concerns, but you needn't worry about my wellbeing." His switch to a more formal speech is so sudden it takes Alouette aback. It feels rehearsed, and she doesn't know what to make of it. "I won't let it affect the stability of our deal, nor my actions on the matter. You must understand I know where my limits lie."

"Are you planning to use your authority over me?" she asks quietly. She forces him to take yet another step back with a hand on his chest. He hits the couch and falls back against it. She puts a knee on the cushion, trapping him against her. "You shouldn't."

Harry's eyes narrow. "Are you threatening me?"

She grabs the knot of his tie and pulls his face closer to hers. "You shouldn't, because it would be unfair of you," she whispers into his ear.

"Unfair?"

"It's your fault if I care about you so much." She straddles him. "If I want you to be well, if I want you at all..."

"I doubt anyone would consider me to be at fault for any of it." There's a tentative edge in his voice, a whisper of something unknown and thrilling that sends warmth through Alouette's spine.

She lets go of his tie. "You're right, they wouldn't," she concedes. Then, with a little smile, "But I know you better than that, don't I? The callous, insensitive charade might work on them, but I know..."

Harry's gaze darkens. "What do you know?"

"I know you understand feelings better than you let on. I know you know how to use them to your advantage. And I know that, if I care about you so much now, it's because you allowed it to happen, maybe also wanted it to happen—"

A smile curves his lips, too dark to be considered bright, too bright to be considered dark. "I must admit I'm impressed, my Lark."

"Yes, so..." Alouette's finger traces a line up the side of Harry's throat. "Take responsibility." Past his jaw, grazing his bottom lip. "And if you ask nicely, I'll make it worth your while."

"Is that so?"

She leans into him. "You'll have to stay in and find out."

He smiles. "Alouette, you are dangerous." His fingers curl around the back of her neck. They're so cold that she shivers. "And you don't know the half of it," he murmurs against her mouth. He kisses her, slowly. His other hand squeezes her thigh, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but hard enough for her to feel it.

Alouette chuckles into the kiss and hooks her fingers around the knot of his tie, tugging it lightly. "Does it mean I can take this off, then?"

Harry's lips press against her jawline, his breath hits her cheek. "Yes."

She undoes the knot and puts the tie aside, pressing a kiss to his temple and nuzzling his cheek. He turns his head and captures her lips in an open-mouthed, heated kiss. Alouette's heart feels like it might jump out of her chest. His fingers press down her back, as if he can't get enough of the feel of her in his arms. His breath quickens, and if she could hear his heartbeat, she has no doubt she'd hear it match hers. She presses her hips on his, and a low hum leaves his lips. Again, a voice in her mind thinks. She strives to hear him make that sound again—that sound and a thousand more—because it means he's letting his defences down, letting her in again. But she knows how to bide her time.

Her hand brushes down Harry's chest and pauses on the first button of his vest. "Can I take this off too?" she murmurs into the kiss.

"Take it off." He props his foot on the edge of the couch, and Alouette has no doubt he'll use the leverage to turn them around so she's laying below him.

"Ah." She reaches behind herself and pushes his knee down again with a hand. "That's not what we agreed upon."

"What did we agree upon?" he muses.

"That you'd be a good boy and not go to work."

There's a surprised glint in Harry's eyes. "And?"

"And do you know what good boys do?" She raises his chin with a hand and presses a kiss to his lips. "They do what I say. What do you say?"

"You said you'd make it worth my while, didn't you?" His mouth grazes Alouette's neck. "Then I'll make it worth yours, too."

She smiles. "Glad we agree." She finishes unbuttoning his vest, and he pulls his back off the leather cushions of the couch to allow her to take it off. Alouette looks down at him. She's still straddling him, and that gives her a few extra inches above him. He's such a sight from this angle—one she's certain not many people have been granted. It makes her feel special. She lifts his chin with her hand again and kisses his cheekbone, just below the eye, then his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Her hand finds the first button of his white dress shirt. "And this, can I take this off too?"

Harry's nose brushes against Alouette's ear as he whispers, "You can take it all off."

She undoes the first button, then the second, then the third. She's about halfway through when she realises that what she's doing is the very near equivalent of unwrapping him like a present. Her cheeks grow intensely hot. She hesitates for a moment on the next button, then leaves it alone and crashes her mouth against his. He lets out a gasp when she pushes her body against his, pressing his back into the couch harder, and bites on her lower lip lightly. His grip tightens around her thighs, and Alouette's thoughts swim. Every inch of her body is pressed against his, and it's still not enough. She needs him closer—close enough that she can feel his heartbeat as distinctly as if it were hers.

She undoes the last few buttons in a rush. He's wearing nothing underneath, and she breaks away from the kiss just to press her mouth to his neck, his just-freed collarbones, his bare chest. Her hand travels down her stomach, and he jolts. She puts just enough distance between them to discover she pressed her palm on the new scars on his abdomen. They're still red, and large enough to make her blink quickly as the memories from that night rush back to her. She hisses through her teeth—just a moment, and they're gone. "Does it hurt?" she whispers.

Harry shakes his head. "Just sensitive. Come here." He pulls her into a kiss by her neck. The tension in Alouette's back fades away as she melts into the kiss. Now new memories come to her, from before everything fell apart. The time she spent with Harry at her mother's apartment in Dacran, the joy she felt, the things they did. Warmth spreads through her. They haven't done anything since then. She barely noticed back then because of all the things that were going on, but now she feels it, that void between them, her desperate need to reach past it and pull Harry closer.

"Sensitive," she breathes out, breaking away from the kiss. She gets off Harry and offers him a hand.

He frowns. "What are you doing?"

She takes his hand and pulls him off the couch. Her hands slip under the fabric of the dress shirt he's still wearing and down his arms as she slips it off his shoulders. She stands on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his ear. "You'll be in pain later if we stay on the couch."

"Alouette..."

She gives him a mischievous smile and pulls him away by the arm. "Fortunately, your bedroom is just so close."

"Oh, Lark."

She walks backwards into his room. Her hands itch with the need to hold him again. If she must indeed go to hell, the scenic route seems the best one anyway.

She turns them around and makes him sit at the end of his bed. The lights are off and the room is grey, and the constant tap-tap of rain on glass fills the air around them. She parts his legs and kneels between them, pulling him down into a kiss again. Her hands wander down his waist, down his stomach, lower lower lower—

Harry's mouth parts in an inaudible gasp. Alouette smiles against his lips, pressing gently against him again. This slow type of torture is beside the point by now, but she'd be lying if she said she doesn't enjoy it anyway. She pulls away from the kiss, but Harry's head follows hers and he pulls her into yet another one.

Her hand rises to the button of his trousers. "This as well?" she murmurs against him, a smile in her voice. "Can I take this off too?"

"Lark."

Alouette shrugs. "Well, I don't know, maybe you think it's too forward of me..."

"Lark."

She smiles. "Say yes." She peppers his neck with kisses, on that spot right under his jawline. "Or no, I mean, whatever you feel like..."

Harry's arms wrap around hers, and he pulls her into him. "Yes."

She lets out a faint chuckle. He's hers, now. "Now say please."

He stills for a moment. "We're not playing this game again."

Alouette smiles and undoes the button. She pulls down the zip. Slowly, she traces over him with her thumb, up and down, and back again. His breath falters. "Please," she repeats, biting his earlobe, "my queen." She's playing so dirty. She'd feel bad, if it weren't so entertaining.

Harry's hands sneak under her shirt. He pulls her into him, and there's little room to move at this point. "Don't tease me," he says lowly.

"I see." Alouette frees herself from his hold and stands up. "You won't be moved easily, will you?"

He frowns, and she takes a couple of steps back, giving him just enough time to worry she might leave. She stops and gives him a winning smile.

"Then, I should be more compelling." She slides her hands up her sides slowly, tauntingly. When she reaches the hem of her shirt, she takes it off in one single move. The next to go is her sweatpants, and now she's standing in front of him in only her underwear. "Should this go as well?" she asks him, playing with the shoulder strap of her bra. "So many options, I don't know which to choose." Harry's eyes are burning into hers now, a silent challenge. Then, "Ah, right." The clasp is in the front. She undoes it and lets the bra fall to the ground slowly. She strides towards him and sinks to her knees again. "Where were we?"

He stares her down for a long moment. She traces his thighs with the tips of her fingers, her mouth so close to his they're breathing the same air. Her hands slide up and she grabs hold of him. He jolts.

"Please, my queen," she breathes against his mouth. "It can't be that hard, can it?"

He sends her a sharp glare. He reaches out for her before she can expect it. Her chest is pushed up against his as he pulls her into him, his grip on her hips. "Please, my sweet." His hands slide down her lower back and into her underwear. Alouette gasps in surprise at the proprietary touch, but then the corners of her lips turn up.

"I'll take it. See, I told you it wasn't hard." Her fingers hook around the band of his underwear and the one of his trousers at once. He lifts his hips from the bed to allow her to slide them down his legs, and they join her clothes on the floor.

Her nose brushes against his as she kisses his bottom lip, her hand sliding down his stomach to return the touch. He gasps against her mouth, and she wonders how long he'll let her have her way for before deciding to take over—not that he has a long track record of doing so, anyway. The longer she spends around him, the more she realises he likes to let go, more than once in a while. To let someone else take the lead—what a foreign concept it must be in his day-to-day life.

"How about you move back?" she asks him, gently pushing his chest. "There's a lot of space behind you."

He shifts back up the mattress, and she gets on the bed as well. She leaves an incandescent kiss on his mouth as she leads him to lie his head on the pillow, climbing on top of him. Her mouth draws a path down his jaw and neck, his necklace swings above his chest as she kisses that spot between his collarbones. She takes her time showing her appreciation for his body with kisses and gentle swipes of her tongue as she slowly makes her way down, lower.

He gasps when her mouth lands on him. The back of his hand flies to his mouth just a second too late, and Alouette doesn't miss the sound. She traces little circles on his hip with the tip of her finger, as if that could make it any less intense. He tries to keep quiet, she knows he does, but little, faint sounds escape him here and there. His hand still hasn't left his mouth, the other is gripping the blanket. His stomach rises and falls quickly with his every rushed breath, and it's so rewarding to know she's the reason behind his loss of composure.

Though it's still not enough. She traces him with her tongue and his body shudders, his jaw clenching to keep any sound from leaving his mouth. His breath is falling out of him in broken, hurried gasps. She puts her hand on his abdomen, his muscles tighten under it. She does it again, and this time he can't keep a faint curse from slipping past his lips.

"Let me see you," she whispers against him, and with some reluctance he moves away the hand hiding his face from her. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted, and he looks just so pretty.

He folds one knee and pushes his head back into the pillow when she teases him again, biting his pointer finger hard. "Lark, I can't—"

Alouette leaves a kiss on his inner thigh, that he's just so kindly bared for her. His breath falters, so she kisses it again, this time a little closer to his knee. His eyes snap open. His gaze is forest wild, his hair a mess because of the amount of times she's run her fingers through it. And to think he looked so tidy just a little while ago.

She comes up the mattress and captures his mouth in a kiss. His hand trembles slightly against her hip as her tongue delves into his mouth. She traces the line of his jaw soothingly, gasping lightly when he grips her thigh.

"Let me touch you," Harry begs into the kiss, fingers playing with the band of her underwear. "I need to feel you."

Alouette muses over it for a long moment. "Have you been good enough for me to deserve it? I wonder..."

"Lark, please."

She lets out a faint laugh. "You can."

He lets out a relieved sigh, and pulls her into him. His fingers slide past her underwear with ease. She gasps when he teases her gently, and he pulls her into a kiss. "Can't believe you're all mine," he murmurs, his voice hot with lust. "How did I get so lucky? I've been thinking of all the things I could do to you for months."

Alouette lets out a moan at his touch. Her body is flaming hot, warmth is coursing up and down her spine, and all she can think of is all the places of her body his hands are touching, the feeling of him lying below her, the one of her thighs straddling him. Her hips jut forward when his touch unexpectedly deepens. Her senses max out, and she can only make out bits and pieces of the words he breathes in her ear as he makes quick work of her, his arm around her waist to keep her from pushing back against his hand.

"Such a good girl." Alouette has to tighten her jaw to keep an awful sound from leaving her mouth when his touch leaves her just a moment too early. She still hasn't decided whether the way he enjoys teasing her is absolutely maddening, or quite the opposite. Knowing him, it's probably both at the same time. He's a man made of oxymorons.

Excitement is pulsing insistently with the blood in her veins, a rush that gives to her head and makes her feel feather-light and sky-high. "Where is it?" she whispers. Harry's teasing has left her feeling light-headed and wanting.

He lifts an eyebrow. "I'd usually say in my underwear, but it's currently on the floor instead of on me."

Alouette's head drops to his shoulder as a surprised laugh shakes her shoulders. "I meant..."

Harry's hand grazes the top of her head. "So demanding." Her face grows hot, and he chuckles. "Behind the mirror in the bathroom."

She frowns. "In the bathroom...?"

"Believe it or not, I don't usually get laid in my bedroom."

"Why not?"

He shrugs. "My quarters are private." He pats her hip. "Be quick, and lose your lingerie while you're at it."

Alouette scurries off the bed and in the other room. It takes her a moment to realise how to open the mirror, but after a few tries she manages to slide it to the side and access the cabinet behind it. It's emptier than she thought—there's only some makeup and makeup remover, a few bathroom appliances, a brand of sleeping pills, a forgotten ring, and at last what she's looking for.

She takes one of the small packets and goes back in the bedroom. She stops in the doorframe and makes a show of taking off her lingerie while holding the packet between her lips. She unceremoniously throws her underwear on the other side of the room and gets on the bed again.

Harry is laughing quietly, now. He welcomes her into his arms and frees her lips before pressing a kiss to her mouth. He takes a long moment to run his hands all over her body with that teasing edge mixed with curiosity that's undeniably him. His presence is all around Alouette, and she thinks she just might fly up into the ether if he wasn't holding her so close. He's on top of her now; the pressure of his body on hers is delicious. She's suddenly struck again by the weeks that have passed since that couple of days in Dacran. Too long, too little time to actually process it all.

Harry's fingers trace her cheek. "Look at me." He sounds breathless, and her eyes find his. His mouth hovers above hers as he fits between her thighs, adjusting his weight so he isn't leaning on her too heavily. "This all right?"

Alouette nods furiously and pulls him into a kiss, her fingers tangling in his dark hair. He smiles against her lips, closing the distance between their bodies. She lets out a gasp, that he drowns with another kiss.

"Still all right?" he murmurs, the warmth of his breath hits her skin with a tingle.

"Worrying this much is unlike you," she breathes back. She experimentally runs her hands over his shoulder blades, up into his hair, tugging gently and earning a low hum from him. "Come here."

He presses light kisses to her mouth as he finds his pace; every place on her body he touches is run through by electricity, a tingle like stardust spreading warmth through her. Alouette's fingers dig into the muscles of his back, and his breath shudders. She doesn't remember the room being this hot before—her descent to hell seems to be happening much quicker than she'd expected, the cold of autumn already left behind.

His eyes are green against a sky of magenta and cobalt blue, his curls tickle her cheek when he lowers his head to leave a kiss on her neck. Her face feels so warm, like she's in flames, like she's about to explode, a supernova in the middle of a dark and cold universe. It seems impossible to think they get to be here today, rain pattering against the floor-to-ceiling window, basking in each other's warmth after everything they've been through together in the past few weeks. It's unlike everything she's ever experienced—because so is he. He's turned her world upside down—in a matter of weeks her north and south twirled and swapped places, crashed and burned, and now all that's left is Harry.

She rolls them around so she's on top of him. He looks up at her, head on the pillow, tracing lines of stardust up her thighs. "I was wondering when you'd take over," he murmurs, a half-smile on his lips. His chest is rising and falling quickly, and Alouette bends over him to press kisses to his collarbones as she welcomes him again.

"I told you I don't want you to get hurt, I'm doing this for you." She tries to sound nonchalant, but her breath is too fast, her voice too affected, but it's better that way, because his eyes are like stars of darkness when he looks up at her.

"Oh, of course." His hand slides up her stomach, to her chest, and she lets out a whine in anticipation. Then, an idea strikes her and she takes his wrists and pins them above his head. Her body is hot all over and her muscles are starting to hurt with the strain, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but him and them together.

She slams her mouth against his as everything speeds up, their breaths, their movements, the swirl of everything in her mind that's stealing her soul away. The kiss is intense, and it rips a moan out of Harry's throat. She leans part of her weight on his wrists, suddenly feeling like she might collapse on top of him. It's all getting too much; her mind is on the verge of collapsing because of the storm of sensations coming over her.

"Fuck, Lark," he gasps out, just as crumbling as her. She lets go of his wrists and rests her hands on his stomach, her energy a last burning flicker inside her. He props himself up and his hand goes to her hip. His grip is strong, but not harsh. He meets her motions, kissing and biting the spot where the side of her throat meets her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around his neck, steadying herself. "Just like that, my Lark, come on."

She's breathless; pleasure is a wave rising just below her with alarming speed. He keeps kindling her with panting, hurried sentences, his mouth against her ear, her body too hot in his arms, his even hotter in hers. His face is flushed and hers feels hot, his hair is sticking to his forehead. Stardust is everywhere—in her mind, lightning on their skin, hovering in the air around them.

"Come on, Lark." The words come out so broken that she knows that must be it. He reaches between them, and she's overcome.

The wave crashes and so does she. She shatters into him as if he were the shore with a gasped breath, and he lets out a faint curse, shuddering against her. They collapse onto each other, and it's only by sheer force of will that they don't fall down on the bed.

Alouette doesn't know how long they stay like that, it could've been hours or minutes when she feels Harry's light touch on her back. She looks up and presses a kiss to his jaw, his nose brushes her ear when he turns his face towards her.

"You win," he murmurs, his voice lower and softer than usual. "I'm not going to work."

Alouette lets out a faint chuckle. "I've always known I can be quite compelling." Her muscles scream in protest when she moves to lie beside him.

Harry looks at her over his shoulder, he's still propped up on one arm. "Quite compelling, she says." He turns to the window. The rain hasn't stopped falling, from where Alouette is lying she can see the highlighter green line the city draws on his jaw. The bedroom lights aren't on and the thunderstorm has worsened over the past few minutes, and now the shadows their bodies paint on the mattress and walls are stretching long. She feels like time has stopped, suspended in a dream. Everything feels too real and not real at all at the same time.

Harry runs his fingers through his dark hair and lies down on the bed as well. He turns to her; his eyes are dark in the dim illumination, Northfair a multicoloured line tracing his bare shoulder and arm. After a moment, he reaches forward and grazes her cheek with the back of his hand pensively. She closes her eyes as he brushes their lips in a feather-like kiss.

"I'm losing my mind," he admits in a whisper against her mouth. "What will I do...?"

Alouette's breath quickens imperceptibly. That thought that has haunted her for the past several months comes back to her mind.

There will be no going back.

For the first time, she doesn't take it as a warning.

•     •     •

Two days later, Harry is sitting in his studio, sipping bourbon from a glass full by one third. He's spent the past couple of days thinking, planning and regrouping, and now he knows what to do. He's let himself be carried by other people's choices for far too long. He doesn't trust the Revolution and doesn't like how closely they got entangled with the matters of the Palace, even though they signed a deal. After all, deals are nothing more than signatures on a piece of paper—it's so easy to go against them.

There's more to come, he can't settle now. It would be a mistake.

There's a knock on the door.

Harry puts down the glass. "Come in," he instructs. If it was Alouette, he'd be sitting up straighter, making himself more presentable, hiding that glass—not that she knows what it means, anyway. She could guess, however. That could be incredibly dangerous.

The door opens and Jackson steps inside. "Have you called for me, sir?"

Jackson, the most loyal of his guards. Harry has no doubt he'd cut off his arm for him, if only he asked. That type of devotion is alarming and impossible to understand, for him, but he can't deny it makes Jackson incredibly useful to him.

"Come in and close the door." The tip of his finger traces the rim of the crystal glass one, two, three times. The shard of white light slicing through the studio thins and disappears as the door is shut again. He raises his gaze; Jackson is standing a few steps in front of him, his arms crossed. "What do you think of our allies?"

Jackson makes a face. "The boy is annoying. He's unprofessional, and he's getting suspiciously close to Bryce. The girl, well..."

"I'm not asking about the girl." Then, "Haldings doesn't concern me. In fact, I find him remarkably interesting."

"How so?"

"He's quick. He's quite smart, too, about half of the time. He thinks with his own head." Harry taps the armrest pensively. "I want him."

Jackson halts. "Sir?"

"I know his kind—his only loyalty lies in his morals. Do you know what that means?" Harry finishes the leftover whiskey in the glass and stands up. "It means Ezra Larson will have him only as long as he keeps lying to him. But it's only a matter of time. I will have him soon."

"What do you plan on doing with him?"

Harry pours some more alcohol in his glass. Not bourbon, this time. He never strays from his rule—one for every step closer to hell his soul takes. Not one more. Not one less. He takes a sip, considering his question for a long moment. His schemes are dominoes in line, and the answer is nearly a hundred away. It wouldn't be wise to share it just yet. Jackson will wait, as he always does, and he'll follow his every order without requesting an explanation, as he always does. "Send out two of our spies," he instructs him. "Keep an eye on the situation from afar. I want to know everything the Revolution does in Greenside when they don't think we're looking." If Alouette found out he's having the Palace keep an eye on the Revolution... He doesn't dare finish the thought.

"Very well, sir," Jackson replies with a nod. "Anything else?"

Harry takes another sip. It burns down his throat—it's been months since he drank alcohol. "How about her, Jackson?"

Jackson stops breathing. With a glance over his shoulder, Harry sees he's completely stilled, like a marble statue in the middle of his studio. Harry has always found the old world neoclassicism relatively pleasing to the eye, but Jackson's reaction seems over the top nonetheless.

"Pardon?" he stutters out.

"In Dacran," Harry continues. "You should ask her to come to the Palace."

Jackson starts breathing again when he realises they aren't talking about his situation with Evie—which is not a secret to Harry, though he suspects Jackson may think it is. Not that it has a reason to be. The relations between his trusted subjects are one of the few things he doesn't care about, as long as they don't give him a reason to care about them. He can be a man of many interests when someone gets on his bad side.

"It will be dangerous for Ms. K—"

"Get her to come here," Harry interrupts him. "They're getting close, she's not safe anymore, and I need an ally." Before it all comes crashing down. It's remarkable how long people can walk on the edge of the precipice before acknowledging the danger they're in. Like a foggy day on a cliff—you don't realise you're about to die until you step on air and are already falling.

Jackson nods. "As you wish."

Harry puts down the glass and leans back against the table. "Have you discovered anything?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Until you do, nothing gets out."

"Of course, sir."

"You're dismissed."

Jackson nods politely and leaves the studio.

Harry lets out a sigh as soon as he's gone. This might be the riskiest endeavour he's ever taken on—too much depends on too many people. His enemies are closing in, and he has too much to lose, too much he wants to protect.

He's not worrying just yet, though. He'll win, in the end. He always does.

Sorry for the wait! I won't make you wait this long next time, I promise. I hope this chapter was enough for you to forgive me, and I also hope you liked it! Thank you so much for sticking around x
Miki