Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead.

My Queen is my own, and so is this story.

A/N: I absolutely LOVE Reaver, since I first met him back in Fable II, and have always wanted to write a story with him. Having just purchased (and beaten) the 3rd installment of this wonderful game, and yet again being dissappointed by not being able to marry my evil little deviant, I have decided to finally get on that! Reviews are welcome, and will help me decide if I should continue!

Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters.

Do you

Do you really enjoy living a life that's so hateful?

Cause there's a hole where you soul should be

You're losing control of it

And it's really distasteful

Fuck You ~ Lily Allen

"Ah Reaver. To what do I owe this tremendous displeasure."

The words from the Queen of Albion's lips drip with distaste and mistrust, her honey brown eyes falling down upon the finely dressed man bowing before her. As if you can really call it that. The man merely bends at the hip slightly, his emerald eyes snapping back and forth between the two heavily armed guards at her side.

Reaver is an obnoxious, self-absorbed, heartless crook. But one thing he is not, is stupid. This the Queen knows quite well.

"Such harsh words from such a lovely woman, my delicious Queen. I am hurt, truly." Reaver flashes the Queen a devilish smirk, knowing full well its affect on that of the fairer sex. The Queen remains unfazed, a bored sigh escaping her ruby red lips.

This is a scene that plays out numerous times in the throne room of castle. Reaver will come, brandishing gifts and sweet words, attempting to hide the sadistic propositions made to his most pure-hearted Queen. It is a fruitless effort, as Reaver is fully aware, but he does so love to annoy Her Majesty.

"I must say, that outfit suits you very well my dear. Cut in all the right places," His eyes roam shamelessly down the Hero Queen's exposed neck, "Why, I swear I can almost make out the faintest hint of a nip-"

"Reaver!" The Queen's gloved fist comes down hard upon the armrests of her throne, the guard's surrounding her snapping into attention. She quickly regains control however, waving them off with a limp hand, leaning back into her seat and sighing once more at the insufferable man.

"Oh my sweet, I merely jest." Reaver taps his black cane lightly against the marbled floor, the noise ringing throughout the spacious room, "I come with the most wonderful of ideas. I really think you will be quite pleased."

Reaver claps his hands together emphatically, only increasing the Queens discomfort. She knows full well what Reaver's "ideas" usually involve. Sex, murder, alcohol, or some kind of sick combination of the three, possibly more. None seem even remotely agreeable to her at the moment. The Darkness will soon fall upon her Albion like a thick fog. Her people look to their rebel Queen for an answer, an answer she is not sure she could give them. A savior she is not quite sure she can be.

She is more than willing to die trying however.

"What is it this time Reaver? Would you like me to allow you to enslave the rabbits running among Bowerstone? Create a bunny-sweat shop to increase productivity with free labor? One that, ironically enough, would produce little toy animals for the children to pester mummy and daddy for?"

"Oh, you do so sound like your mother when you are sarcastic with me, my little minx." Reaver smiles wide, knowing full well how curious the Queen grows whenever he brings her mother into the equation. She does not quite understand the full extent of his unnatural long lifespan, only that he has indeed lived for much longer than typical humanity will allow. Apparently, the legend of the great Pirate King was not in the list of appropriate tales from the previous Queen's book of bedtime stories. A thought that both enrages and annoys Reaver to no end.

"As thrilling as that intriguing idea of yours sounds, business is not why I decided to bless you with my presence this day."

"Then it is pleasure that drives you, am I correct?"

"Ah my Queen, you know me too well. I have killed many for just that same feat, though, I am not so foolish to try and attempt that now." Reaver once again glances to the many guards, though he is quite sure he could dispatch each one with just the twitch of the hand, his trusted .48 Dragonslayer still strapped loyally to his hip. Fighting them off just seems like such a dull idea at the moment, his mind far to preoccupied with thoughts of frivolity and fun.

Reaver slowly, but confidently, begins to make his way up the steps leading to the Queen's throne, her expression still unchanging despite his daring movements to approach her uninvited. As said before, the Queen knows full well the extent of Reaver's trickery, none which involve hurting her in any way.

"As I recall, it has been five months to the day that you valiantly triumphed over our previous King, your most delectable derriere having taken over your sibling's on the throne." The Queen is no fool for Reaver's shameless flattery. Even still, she allows him to continue uninterrupted, despite the many nervous stares her guards throw her way as Reaver grows even closer.

"What I find most peculiar, is that there has been no party to celebrate your victory! Why, even the miscreants in the streets have had their celebrations." Reaver's lean frame now towers over the Queen, her warm eyes watching him with every ounce of skepticism.

"They are not miscreants Reaver. They are my people, my subjects. Just as you are."

Reaver scoffs at the notion of being equal to any of those urchins that inhabited the city, let alone the idea of belonging to anyone. He runs a gloved hand through his perfectly styled hair, summoning up a charming smile despite the burning distaste growing beneath it.

"Well then, you will agree with me then that they…deserve to see their Queen have some fun! Lighten the mood a bit. All this business with darkness and evil is becoming quite dull."

The young Queen raises a finger to her lips, contemplating the situation now thrown before her feet. While she finds Reaver's manner insulting, both to herself and her subjects, she cannot disagree with the observation that they all do deserve some moments of levity. What would be the purpose of saving this land if all it's people have lost hope? It will be hope, after all, that helps her dispel The Darkness in the end.

The Queen raises from her throne, the guards surrounding her all snapping into attention. Her beautifully painted face regards the man standing only a foot away, her chin raised to meet his smoldering glare.

"Alright Reaver, I submit. You shall have your party." The Queen moves to shake Reaver's hand, but the industrial tyrant has other plans in mind. He snatches her hand, lifting it up to his lips and kissing lightly against her knuckles.

Even the great Hero of Albion cannot fight the rose tint now rushing across her cheeks. Reaver's bold moves are both surprising and unwanted, yet somewhat refreshing. Since her coronation, the Queen has felt like some sort of glass doll, too fragile to touch, too rare to approach. A stark contrast to the time spent as a rebel princess and warrior. It is almost alien to her to simply feel as a woman receiving affectionate attention from a handsome man.

A cheshire grin forms across Reaver's lips, his sly eyes peeking down at the blushing Queen from beneath his towering top hat. He leans down slightly to her level, his voice dropping low and hushed so only his intended target will hear the words leaving his cursed lips.

"You will not regret this, my dear."

The Queen rolls her eyes lazily, shifting slightly back to regard the sickeningly perfect man.

"Highly doubtful."

Reaver's haunting laugh echoes around the room, giving each one of the stoic guards a fright. The tattooed heart right beneath his eye pinches slightly as he casts the Queen one more of his trademark grins, once again "bowing" before her.

"It will be great my Queen, do not fret." He turns to make his leave with his white tailored jacket flowing elegantly in his wake, "My servants will be in touch! Once I nail down all the details and such. Oh, and do be a dear and wear something red, that is my favorite after all. We will look so ravishing in red, I think."

"We?" The word rings in the Queen's ears like a sour note, her chestnut hair falling onto her shoulder as her head tilts to the side ever so slightly. Reaver spins on his heels, his grin growing even wider, if possible.

"Of course! It just simply will not do for you to arrive un-escorted, my sweet. Nor, for me to allow any man to be seen with such stunning beauty, but myself." Reaver turns once more, leaving the Queen stunned into silence.

"And please, do not be late, we will have to prepare an entrance after all. Ta!"

The giant doors to the throne room slam shut before the Queen can utter a single syllable. She falls back into the throne silently with her head falling into her hands to cradle her buzzing mind. A million thoughts seem to run rampant thoughout her head. Surely, her crown will soon burst from the pressure.

"Timothy, that is your name?" She calls out to the guard nearest her. He is a frail thing, but courageous to the bone. The Queen had always taken note to keep him close, not so much for her protection, but his own. All those years in comfort on the throne have done little to diminish her skill with a weapon.

Timothy nervously glances to his Queen, clicking his heels and saluting with respect.

"Alert Jasper to send word to the royal tailor. Tell them both to meet me in my quarters at noon."

"Yes, your majesty."

The young guard hides his smile as he turns from the Queen. The kingdom does so love when their Queen dresses in her finest. None more so than the guards that inhabit and guard the castle. Many a night would each dream of a romantic encounter with their unmarried Queen. Foolish dreams, but satisfying none the less.

The Queen is far too preoccupied to notice the knowing smirks or playful nudges that pass throughout her royal guard. A single thought surfaces, much more troubling than all the rest.

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