Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this story; they all belong to Richelle Mead.

Chapter One

Entry 1: Eugenie

Impressions. Playful was the kindest word she could think of to describe him. She didn't like to refer to him as cruel, though he sometimes came close. She knew how he, liked to break the monotony of his depressingly submissive subjects by messing with them. Perhaps he thought her an amusing new toy. She'd show him soon that she was here to play him. Though perhaps he'd like that.

Tea Party. She'd strode pseudo-confidently towards the handsome and oddly bored looking King at the head of the long; crowded table. He had a Peter Pan-esque air about his tousled red-gold hair, and laughing green eyes. Eugenie remembered her struggle for composure that day as she silently studied his aristocratic features. If he'd noticed her discomfort when he challenged- no invited her to stay for dinner, he hadn't mentioned it. She'd been surprised, and oddly gratified.
Soon, she realised that he'd obviously guessed her having to sit through a raucous gentry dinner party would be punishing enough. They certainly weren't shy when it came to shows of public affection in this world. She wasn't a prude soul, and after her exhibitionistic antics with Kiyo, she was even less shy as of late, but she was getting sick of averting her eyes.

Suitors. Her tutor and her friend. Powerful though he was, sometimes she forgot of his title, and his responsibilities. He was a King, with a King's pride. She shouldn't have been surprised at his expression when she announced her relationship with Kiyo, but she hadn't been expecting his audible displeasure when he revealed that he knew who Kiyo was.

"He's a…Kitsune."

Not exactly a derogatory tone of voice, but she heard superiority in it nonetheless. Or he knew something less than honourable about him that she didn't. She wasn't about to take the bait.
She knew enough about royalty in general to know that naturally, Kiyo fell below Dorian in terms of society. She wasn't stupid. But the knowledge that Kiyo was lower simply as a species wasn't quite as cutting as hearing it in Dorian's voice. Distasteful before he'd even given it a thought, like being so snooty just came naturally to him. Sovereigns were all alike, she concluded.

Comparison. Sitting on a bench, reeling, in the corridor she'd found pleasingly far from the Ball she'd just fled, she was surprised, and grateful when Dorian appeared out of nowhere beside her, even more so when she realised he was not there to ridicule her. She was distracted momentarily from her heartbreak over the truth about Maiwenn and Kiyo's past, by the sudden light that appeared in Dorian's eyes as she grumbled to him about it all.

Revelations. After the Ball, Eugenie realised something about herself. She wasn't over her fear of Gentry, not nearly as much as she's thought, not even close. Being around Dorian so much, being on edge around him, but in an odd way, being completely comfortable near him, she'd misinterpreted her own reactions as closure. She still feared what he was, that had become evident while she was kissing him. She'd frozen, and hated herself for it.
What surprised her more was how understanding he'd been.
She wanted him, that she couldn't deny, his beauty, quirks and intelligence were all desirable traits, but it was his blood that frightened her. Remembering what he was all too quickly, and she'd withdrawn, instinctively. Cursing mentally, she looked up to see his gentle smile. She'd expected impatience, perhaps mocking, but he'd simply accepted it.
She'd also realised something about Dorian. Her very brief worry about his reaction caused her to remember. He had feelings. The sudden relief she'd felt that he hadn't been hurt, or angry at her for using him for her own rather petty reasons or her sudden impromptu rejection was the first time she'd even considered his feelings. Perhaps the revelation that Gentry could be hurt like humans was another step towards no longer fearing them.

Frustrations. She sighed resignedly, as he backed off, frustration mingling with the desire in his expression. She wanted to pull him to her, kiss him again, but something was holding her back. He told her to spend the night in his bed, and left his room before she could stop him. Furious with herself, her guilty thoughts attacked her. What, she could allow herself to be tied up, and blindfolded, and left at the complete mercy of this man, but she couldn't go to bed with him?
Perhaps that particular anomaly could provide her with a solution…