Cruel Mercy~ Matthew Fairchild {2}

One

Amelia sat at a table in the Hell Ruelle, listening intently as Lucie explained the plot of The Beautiful Cordelia in excruciating detail.

But then she caught Cordelia's eye from across the room. She was shaking her head profusely, trying to signal for help.

Amelia stood up, determined to save her friend. "I'm going to go get her," she told Anna, who nodded.

She waltzed up to Cordelia's side, gently taking ahold of her friend's wrist. "Deepest apologies, ma'am," she cooed, "but I'm afraid we must go. Lots of fun to be had, I'm sure you understand."

The faerie woman nodded somberly. "Of course. Forgive the intrusion."

Amelia turned away, her hand still clutching Cordelia's wrist. But as she began to walk, Cordelia did not move to join her.

"Cordelia," she whispered urgently. "We need to go."

"Yes," the redhead replied breathlessly, falling into step with Amelia. "That would be best."

Amelia led Cordelia to the table, and Lucie and Anna greeted them with a cheer. They offered Cordelia a glass of champagne, which she accepted after a moment's hesitation.

For a few moments, the red headed girl didn't speak, her eyes unfocused as she took a sip from her flute.

"Cordelia, are you alright?" Amelia said, laying her hand on her friend's shoulder. Cordelia didn't respond, too busy in her own thoughts to pay any kind to the outside world.

"Daisy!" Anna said. "Do pay attention. We're fussing over you."

Lucie, however, was hung up in her own activities. "Hurrah!" she cried in delight, before returning to ignoring her cider and her friends completely, alternating instead between scribbling furiously in a notebook and staring into the distance as if looking into a world only she could see.

"Did the light of inspiration hit you, pet?" Cordelia asked.

"There is so much material here," Lucie replied, waving her ink-stained hands for emphasis. "Did you see Malcolm Fade over there? I adore his coat. Oh, I've decided that rather than being a dashing naval officer, Lord Kincaid should be an artist whose work was banned in London, so he fled to Paris, where he makes the beautiful Cordelia his muse and is welcomed into all the best salons—"

"What happened to the Duke of Blankshire?" said Cordelia. "I thought fictional Cordelia was about to become a duchess."

"Oh, He died."

"This sounds like quite a tragic novel," said Anna, admiring the way her champagne glass reflected the light.

"Oh, it's not," said Lucie. "I didn't want fictional Cordelia to be tied to only one man. I wanted her to have adventures."

"Not quite the sentiment one might hope for on the eve of a wedding," said Anna, "but I applaud it nonetheless. Though one hopes that you will continue having adventures even after being married, Daisy." Her blue eyes sparkled as she lifted her glass in a toast.

Amelia grinned as she raised her own glass, bringing it against Anna's and taking a small sip.

Lucie hoisted her mug. "To the end of freedom! To the beginning of a joyous captivity!"

"Nonsense," Anna said. "A woman's wedding is her liberation, Luce."

"And how is that?" asked Cordelia.

"An unmarried lady," said Anna, "is perceived by society as being in a temporary state of not being married, and in hopes of becoming married at any moment. A married woman, on the other hand, can flirt with whomever she wants, without damaging her reputation. She can travel freely. To and from my flat, for instance."