Astraea

If You Love Us Do We Not Love Back?

If you prick us do we not bleed?
If you tickle us do we not laugh?
If you poison us do we not die?
And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
~William Shakespeare

* * *

Camilla woke gradually, her senses muddled and her thoughts confused. Glancing to her right, she caught sight of the young, sleeping king beside her, and slowly her memories of the passionate night before came back in vivid shots, like caffeine. The king. Marcellus. Her brother's murderer and her chance for justice lying vulnerable and open in her arms, taunting her.

It had been three months since her first arrival in the palace, and it had taken only so long for her to win the king's heart and snag his kingdom's favor at the same time. He had asked her to marry him the night before. Of course, like the conniving doer of justice she was, Camilla said yes. She glanced at her hand upon the white covers and smiled, catching the light on the diamond ring encircling her left ring finger.

Marcellus stirred, and Camilla placed her hand on his back. Even asleep, he was attractive, his golden hair catching the sunlight like Camilla's ring, his lips slightly parted and so enticing. It hadn't been hard to pretend to love him, though Camilla feared if she had been forced to play this dangerous game any longer, it would not have been a lie anymore. Being beside this new king everyday since her decision to destroy him, he had shown her his true colors. And Camilla could not have been more wrong about a person as she had been about Marcellus.

He was nothing like his father had been--sick, savage, and sadistic in his view of life, especially that of those who were not him. King Cassius had been a cruel ruler, and Camilla knew he deserved--more than his son--to have his throat slit by her. But she refused to allow herself to think that way. Excessive mercy softened you to people's wiles and hardened you against deserving justice to be dealt, but always held back.

And yet . . . her heart was far more forgiving than her resolve. Especially when she looked at the young king sleeping beside her each night. Am I . . . In love? Camilla asked herself incredulously. Is this what love feels like? That burning sensation akin to the feeling I had when I wanted to snap his neck a few months back? I feel like I'm being torn apart.

Camilla's brother and his death--her entire campaign for justice--had strayed further and further from her mind with every passing day. Her sword she kept hidden, the sign of blessing fromAstraea. Her brother's justice was so close--so tangible, she could almost grasp it in the hands she always seemed to find clenched in fists nowadays. Her day would come, as Marcellus' were ending.

Camilla was startled back to reality as the young king beside her let out a sigh and pulled her closer beneath the sheets. He buried his face into the nape of her neck, and Camilla tried not to sigh herself at the feeling of his cool breath on her skin. Her hands went up to his hair and she stroked him gently, smiling at how weak she made this boy, this soul corrupted by the shedding of innocent blood, and how powerless she could make him with the slight touch of her skin against his.

Seeing him there, lying so closely beside her, Camilla realized how easily she could kill Marcellus in the privacy of his sleeping quarters right then and there, all vulnerable and completely at her mercy. Camilla's muscles twitched with longing and she grit her teeth, evading her gaze from the writing desk where the sword was hidden. She tugged on his hair harder as she resisted the urge to snap his neck, and he moaned softly. Rolling on top of her and keeping his lips on her neck, Marcellus buried his hands into her own hair.

Camilla unclenched her jaw and bit her lip as she allowed her hands to drop from Marcellus' head and slip softly over his broad shoulders and back. Her thoughts flew everywhere but avoided registering the boy above her kissing her neck. And she refused to feel guilty.

Camilla thought about her brother, how much he would have to say about her method of retribution and how much he would have disapproved. You can't toy with emotions like that, Camilla. It's utterly heartless, and you're too lovely a girl to be heartless towards anything or anyone, he would probably say, shaking his head and frowning, though he could never stay mad at his sister for too long, and she would soon be graced by one of his perfect smiles.

Marcellus' kisses grew more insistent, and Camilla felt the greatest urge to drown out her emotions and reset her priorities. And how else would she do that but by kissing the man she was prepared to murder until all other intrusive thoughts disappeared from her head?

Grabbing him by his shoulders, Camilla flipped Marcellus over, straddling his waist and piling her long, dark hair atop her head with a single, gold pin. He smiled sleepily at her though he was becoming more alert, licking his lips thoughtfully as Camilla pressed her body against his in the most inappropriate fashion. His grip on her hips tightened as he let out a strained laugh. Camilla smiled, determined get Marcellus to kiss her hard enough for her to forget who she was kissing and only why she was kissing him.

Justice.

Retribution for a wrong caused by his family against hers.

But not revenge.

This . . . was different, somehow. But it did not matter; she had no one to justify herself to except the goddess who had sent her on her mission with a blessing.

A cool breeze danced through the bedroom chambers and Camilla was reminded of Astraea. She made a silent prayer of thanks to the goddess for being at her side for so long. Justice seemed to favor her still. She was not doing any of this because Marcellus was a pretty boy with a pretty crown. Well, maybe it was a significant reason, but it most certainly was not the only reason. Camilla still felt the call for justice and she was convinced that this was the way to get it--enticements doled out little by little, until she held all of Marcellus's secrets, love, and trust in the palm of her hands, where he would see her crush them as easily as they had been given.

Marcellus pulled her down upon him and Camilla pressed her lips against his chest. His heartbeat was rising and his breathing hitched as he slid his hands over her body.

One kiss to remind her of her brother's love.

Camilla's own heartbeat was rising, though it was not because of Marcellus. She moved her lips to his neck, kissing him softly and smiling as he pulled her impossibly closer.

Another kiss to remind her of her brother's pain.

Camilla closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his own, kissing him hard in an attempt to forget how much her heart wanted to resist her soul's cry for justice. Forget this boy, her deepest, darkest desires hissed at her. Remember only the pain he caused you.

His lips parted against hers and Camilla closed her eyes, tears stinging the inside of her eyelids and trickling down her cheeks, like the libations she had poured for her brother, as she permitted Marcellus to flip them over once more and press his body into hers. She tugged at his lower lip and allowed the memory of her brother's hanging to replay in her mind, her adrenaline rising each time she remembered it, and her resolve cementing itself in her mind once again. She kissed him hard on the mouth, allowing herself to melt into his embrace.

A last kiss to remind her of her brother's justice, soon to be delivered from above.

Camilla sighed, feeling her purpose in the palace once again being straightened out. She wasn't there for Marcellus, though it was a beautiful pleasure and a nearly inescapable, almost acceptable, distraction. She only wanted her brother at peace. And it seemed she needed it beaten into her body and soul--in more ways than one--by the man who had allowed her brother's death.