Ana was breathless from her meeting with Quinn, she suspects it was because of more reason than just the weather. The way the woman hugs her, her body coils around her in a measure protective and comforting both.

She doesn't know sitting on another woman's lap—no—sitting on Quinn's lap can overwhelm her so. They've done nothing but touching each other through their clothing, too conscious of the sickness that will bite them both should they try for anything more, yet here she is; still a mess.

If she doesn't have a meeting this morning with the representative of the Mutilated Hand, she would've courted her to come back to her chamber to continue their little escapade. Alas, here she is, alone and shivering from the ghost of pleasure; not part of hers are affected by the cold.

Sighing at the memory one last time, she makes a beeline for the bathhouse. After all, Quinn is hers and she was already invited to return to her bed tonight. There will be enough time to continue where they left off later.

With that in mind, she sinks into the bathtub, allowing the warm water to evaporate all thinking but business from her head. Though, not even they can stop a small smile from forming on her lips as one thought echo: Quinn's my girlfriend.

It puts a spring to her walks, a lightness to her usually stern voice; the kind of abnormality that attracts attention from her colleagues who dare not questions her, despite the fact that she hopes they do.

This demeanor stays with her until the scheduled meeting, where she met the man the majority only knew as the Crownsplitter. He was tall and intimidating with the many scars that litter his body.

However, his voice was polite and soft. When he shakes Ana's hand, he does so gently, clearly minding the strength of his own muscles.

There he introduces himself as King, chuckling when he mistakes the small smile that plays on Ana's lips was because of the irony of his name and not the fact that Ana can imagine Quinn's laugh from said irony.

The pleasantries done; King begins the details of their partnership in earnest. It mentions how they shall operate and cooperate, what kind of help they can each ask from each other and so many more negotiations of power and concessions.

All things Ana is used to, arguments of politics that she loathes to perform but has mastered for the sake of her own works.

Creases were smoothed over, words are made firmer, and promises are translated into two written documents; signed each with signatures, blood, and then the official seal of their respective organizations.

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Only when all of this is done does King move on to a topic he seems to be keen on during their lunch together in Ana's office. "I saw you returning with Quinn at dawn, Matriarch." His voice's light, but there's no joke in his face.

"I do," Ana answers neutral but honest.

"Is there something going on between you two?"

"There is something going on between us, yes."

"I see," the man replied with an obvious bait. It was clear from his tone that he knew more, he just wanted Ana to be the one who asked for the information instead of the one who told her.

"Why? Is there something wrong?"

At her question, the man gave a mysterious smile. "You sure you want to know?"

"Yes." Ana nods.

"Well, we have a sneaking suspicion that she slithers here under the order of the crown prince."

"To kill you, Matriarch."

Ana was silent, the revelation causing a war to rage on her mind. She believes Quinn capable of doing such a thing, but why would she get close to me if I were indeed her job? To blind me into a sense of security perhaps, but she already succeeded in doing so. Why not finish the job with a knife, then? Why does she touch me so softly under the duvet? Why kiss me so kindly on the lips? Why whispers words of worships to my ears? Why—?

"Rumors, of course," King cuts her train of thought. "We have no proof of such a thing at the moment, beside the fact that she's looking for information about you before coming here." And grants some sort of assurance.

Accompanied with those words. "I see." The war in Ana's mind has been won by the side that loves and long to be loved. "Unsubstantiated claim, then?" Ana asks, seeking confirmation for her bias.

As if realizing that, the man answers in a wry smile as he stands. "If that's how you want to take it, Matriarch." Bowing his head in respect. "Thank you for the lunch, and the meeting. I will send the tentative agreement to the others so that they may vote on it. Good day." And walking out, leaving Ana deep in thought.

She knew it was impolite to not reply, but the thing the man has said has placed doubt in her; soured the mood she rarely feels. The smile no longer plays in her lips, and the lightness in her voice has been replaced by something heavy and foreboding.

Throughout the rest of the shortening day, Ana was back to her old self, and her colleagues don't know whether to be thankful about such a thing or not.

When dusk finally falls, she rushes through all of her routine beside the prayer. Instead, the prayer changes. She still asks for the safety and happiness of all that she cares about, of course.

But, also for answers, for truths she believes has been hidden from her.

Only after that does she returns to her chamber to find Quinn already waiting for her in a nightgown, sitting tastefully on her bed; something Ana has never seen her in before. It was clear to Ana that Quinn wanted to surprise her, hoping to continue their dalliance.

Unfortunately, Ana has lost the mood. Tinged with guilt, "May we do nothing but sleep together tonight?" she asked, her eyes locked with the woman, watching her expression carefully.

"Ana?" she calls out, walking closer to Ana. "Are you all right?" Stroking her cheek.

"I am," Ana answers firmly. "I just have the need to sleep with you tonight."

"Then, I will be more than glad to oblige," she replied with a chaste kiss, leading Ana to slumber.

In her arms, with her face buried upon her face, Ana can hear the thrum of her heart; and feel... happy.

With that happiness she falls asleep and dreams of clouds and feathers, of daggers and murders.