No time for talk, and so much to say.

Hands, rough and eager yanking off her veil, tossing it aside. Long graceful fingers swiftly unlacing her bodice, tugging it down to her hips. Those fingers trail over her breasts, and Lianne has a moment to gasp before lips slam violently claim hers again. She would be gentle if she gave a fuck. Let them see, let them wonder, she thinks savagely. Her back is slammed against the wall, a little too hard, and something tumbles off the top shelf of this closet that she's desperately trying to desecrate.

She pushes back just as hard, and whimpers, "Fuck me, fuck me senseless. We don't have much time." It's cliché but it's true. Lianne tries to pull down her dress, but it's far too difficult. One of the truly obscene number of pearls lovingly hand-stitched by her mother's favorite seamstress, pops off her dress, rolling away under a pile of rags. There'll be a lucky maid tomorrow, Lianne thinks before those beautiful, elegant, achingly perfect hands hike up her skirt to touch her where she most yearns to be touched.

Lianne cries out as her clit is tenderly circled, and fingers are forced into her mouth, quieting her moans. She can taste herself on them, and she quivers with desire.


"Gods I can't help it, you know I can't help it," Lianne hisses, and those lips she loves so twist into a smirk.

Lianne longs to take away that cocky smile, and she drops to her knees. Her lips brush over soft skin, silky hair, then finally she takes her lover in. Hands are twined in her hair, ripping the carefully twisted braids out of their pearl tipped pins in their ecstasy.

"Oh don't stop, please Lianne, don't stop!" The pleading sends a rush of heat through her body.

Suddenly stark light spills in, violating their dark intimacy.

King Jonathan IV is standing in the doorway, mouth agape as he takes in the clearly illuminated sight of his daughter, half naked and on her knees before another woman.

Before either Lianne or her father can act, Aleida shrieks and runs out, shoving past her king with a speed only true panic can bring on. Lianne feels a wave of hatred overtake her. This is the last moment we will ever have together, and now you've ruined it. She knows she ought to be ashamed or embarrassed, but she can only feel bitter contempt as she glares up into Jonathan's eyes, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

His face darkens, but he gives away none of his thoughts. He bends down and picks up Lianne's hastily discarded veil, and hands it to her.

"I came to let you know that the prince is here, so the ceremony will start in five minutes. I'll wait outside while you get dressed, then we'll walk down the aisle together. Just like we rehearsed." Her father's voice is quiet and steady, and Lianne wonders if he despises her as much as she does him.

"Of course. I'll be ready," she replies flatly.

It's the truth.