Casia stretched her body out in the comfortable bathtub, luxuriating in the privilege she'd machinated. She dipped her head backward till it was almost completely submerged in the warm water, scrubbing her scalp and shoulder-length brown hair.

Being the favorite of a high-ranking guard came with many perks. Casia's favorite perks included her mostly private room and a shared bathroom down the hall with running water which was something most of the City's citizens didn't even get access to. She raised her head out of the water and shifted to lean on the rounded back of the tub. The best part of the bathroom was the bath—the luxury of soaking in warm water and not just standing out under the overhead rain system to get clean.

Being claimed as a favorite by the guard Bertrand was something she wrought. She'd watched the guard's dynamics while pretending to ogle them and make them think she was interested in them. She'd found the guards liked when she asked them about their personal lives and showed sympathy for the troubles they faced. By this point, she knew every man and woman's life story, and she could get a smile out of even the meanest of the guards.

She shuddered to think how Loyd had almost gotten his greasy hands on her. The thought of his wide-eyed smiles and leers sent a shiver down her spine. He'd told her how his wife just happened to die falling down the stairs, but he hadn't looked particularly mournful about it. And she'd seen him torturing Dishonored. Kyle, the guard in charge of her sister's prisoner unit, was often the one who ended Loyd's fun.

She was glad she'd made friends with Kyle early. The man looked gruff and unapproachable with his fresh cut across his face, but her curiosity as a young Dishonored had gotten the best of her. She'd asked him how he'd gotten the scar. The story involved a training incident with his unit in the King's army and finding himself transferred to the Dishonored hell hole, where they gave him an easy job escorting Dishonored to work for a poor Most Honored family, the Konjack house. Her dead father's friends.

She'd talked to Mother's disgusting, Dishonored pet Jordan, who they'd been thrown in a cell with, and he'd talked to some people, and then Liv got assigned to Kyle's unit.

Her sister truly was narrow-minded and naive. She never listened to anyone's advice about how to get along in the Dishonored world. She walked around in her own cloud of anger, too dense to realize that her troubles were caused by herself. Casia had done her best though, just as Father had asked. She'd forgiven Liv for being stupid, headstrong, foolhardy, and conceited. She'd gotten her assigned to a cozy job where she wouldn't be able to get into trouble. She'd even get to see her old betrothed, unlike Casia.

Casia grimaced and rubbed at her skin. Everyone was just a stepping stone to getting back to her proper place. Things like learning that Bertrand didn't actually like women and was working hard to keep his relationship with Nicolas a secret. Same-sex relationships weren't technically taboo, but Bertrand had confessed that he'd seen another couple face discrimination from the other guards. She could see guards like Garmond would be especially against it. Garmond, who was the guard that woke up her family unit with kicks if they weren't fast enough, seemed to lead a lot of the social ridicule around. He liked to make fun of guards who weren't "strong" or were "womanly".

Her help made it easier for Nicolas and Bertrand. After a couple of quiet conversations in hidden corners to convince him she could help, Bertrand pretended to be possessive and demanded she be his and his alone. He'd given her a room and, so far, everything she'd asked for.

She chuckled to herself as she stepped out of the bathtub onto the towel lying on the cement floor and started towling her hair. Teaching him to pretend interest in her had been quite hilarious. He seemed to latch onto the idea of a trait he should like, and that was when he'd started obsessing over her hair. He constantly bemoaned how short Nicolas kept his curly blond hair, which might be why hair was such an easy trait for him to latch onto. It was his intervention that prevented her hair from being shaved short and allowed her to grow her hair long enough to have chin length ringlets.

As she carefully scrunched her ringlets, she hoped her beloved betrothed, James, would appreciate her new hairstyle - she stopped that thought and took a deep breath. She wasn't actually betrothed to him anymore. Even all these years later, the thought felt like a little knife mincing up her mind. She hadn't seen him since the day he'd watched her father's trial with his angelic blue eyes staring at her most of the trial. Accusing her.

But today was the day -her chance to see him again! She twisted one of her curls with a finger. Had he grown a beard? She hoped not. He had an angular face that deserved every inch of it to be seen. He looked like the painting with angels in her family's dining room. Well, it wasn't theirs anymore. But even now she could remember the way the mural looked with their golden blond locks holding lyres and huge white wings spreading from their backs.

James' hair would look nice like that. Was his blonde hair still short, or had he grown it out? She remembered him telling her he would grow it long like the angels for her.

She put on her new underclothes before pulling the black dress of castle staff over her head and buttoning up the collar buttons. She looked like an old matron in this outfit, but it was better than the rag she normally had to wear.

She grabbed her Dishonoed rag and returned to her room, her bare feet padding softly against the smooth stone floor. She turned the handle on her room's metal door and pushed it open to the sight of Bertrand and Nicolas springing apart. Luckily they were fully clothed this time.

She stepped in and closed the door. "So, if anyone notices Nicolas walking out of the room, are we supposed to be a threesome?"

The two men looked at her like she had sprouted a pair of wings on her own back. She sighed. Why did people need so much guidance in the art of subterfuge? She dropped her rags and walked over to them until she was standing just in front of Nicolas, examining his rigid posture. "If so, you are going to need to practice being openly affectionate toward me. You'd think you were one of those trees in the park with the way you act right now."

His eyebrows narrowed, "Hey! I'm following the training we received to be guards. A good guard shows no emotion and does not allow attachment - "

She leaned forward and tapped her finger on his lips, making him take a step back. "Yes, Yes. Do not let your bedroom habits show. You've been careful to keep them hidden, but the question is, what if we are caught, hmm?"

She raised her eyebrows, questioning his resolve. He stood his ground glaring at her. She smiled and lowered her eyebrows, fluttering her lashes as she took another step toward him. He took a step back as she put a finger on the bottom of his chin, her eyes staring into his wide brown ones. She'd broken that angry glare of his, and now she could see his fear. His concern that she would get even closer.

"You see, no one would believe you right now," she dropped her hand, happy to have proven her point.

"She's right," Bertrand's deep smooth voice came from her right. "She made me practice public affection and open possessiveness for this facade. It's worked well," he paused, his eyes resting on his lover. "Nicolas, it's not a bad idea to be prepared if we get caught. I'll leave you here for now. You have until the bell rings."

Nicolas looked at her and his lips curled in disgust before he turned back to Bertrand. "You'd leave me here with the queen of whispers?" He asked.

That was an interesting mantle he'd just settled on her shoulders. She liked it. It would fit her even more was she was the Queen standing behind James' throne.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Bertrand sighed and stepped in close to Nicolas, his hand reaching toward the other man's cheek.

Casia looked away and went over to the bed, focusing on making it rather than their goodbyes. She tried to give the two as much privacy as she could, but it was quite difficult when they used her room all the time.

She heard the door and looked over to see Bertrand leaving and Nicolas glaring at her. "You know I don't like you," he informed her. "If we get caught it will be because of you." His voice sounded so whiny.

"Yes, I know you blame me for your missed time with your beloved, but I saved you. Garmond was muttering things about Bertrand never taking a woman to his room. He was even starting to follow Bertrand around. I'm fairly certain Garmond had hoped to replace Bertrand, but my stepping in helped squash the rumors. If you want to risk everything, feel free to keep being angry at me. Otherwise, you need to learn to hide that fear of yours better," Casia said, walking away from the bed and toward the angry-looking Nicolas.

"I'm not afraid of you," He stated, squaring his shoulders.

"Hmm, maybe not of me directly, but you fear touching a woman. Did someone hurt you in the past?" She asked.

"No. I just - I - I don't know. It feels wrong. Icky." He glared down at her. "I'm warning you now, I'm not as much a softy as Bertrand is."

Casia sighed and shook her head. "No need to get defensive. I've told you a million times I don't desire either of you and I'm not here to get between you," her lips curled into a smile. "What I desire is comfort. To live in a comfortable room with the protection of a possessive man who won't let anyone else touch me. To work a cozy job where I don't have to worry about being filthy and mistreated. I have those things right now, and my only worry is that I could lose them all. So do me the favor of at least thinking about good reasons for coming out of the room where Bertrand's prized mistress resides."

Nicolas lifted his chin and went to sit on the end of the bed. "I just won't get caught. I haven't been yet."

Casia rolled her eyes and followed him. "Look, it's barely worked so far. I caught you two. Either think something up or take my suggestion and learn to pretend like you at least somewhat like me." She sat on the bed beside him. "And look on the bright side. If we are considered a threesome, you don't have to keep your relationship secret anymore since polyamorous relationships are perfectly acceptable as long as at least one member of the relationship is of the opposite sex."

He kicked the bottom of the bed. "Stupid, weird requirements. Why does it matter if everyone in the relationship is of the same sex versus having one person be of the opposite sex?"

"Babies," Casia stated. She laughed at Nicolas's shocked expression. "Look, this is a closed city. You have to keep everyone at least replacing themselves, or the city depopulates, and eventually, humanity dies out. Same-sex couples can't replace themselves," she'd thought about this subject a fair amount.

"But the city is overpopulated as is! Why the heck would you want more mouths to feed?" Nicolas voiced the typical DIshonored Guard mantra that made them take out dissenters without a worry.

"Because it isn't. It's populated perfectly. Just enough mouths that people dying doing dangerous or awful jobs isn't a concern. A healthy disrespect for human life allows those who hold power in the city to stay in power. Imagine if the population declined. If every life was valuable and people weren't disposable resources. Killing off dissenters wouldn't be viable. You would have to work with them to keep the city running. But with the current numbers, someone voices their unhappiness, and bang," she lifted her hand like a finger gun and pretended to shoot it at the wall. "They're gone and out of your way. The best way to rule through fear is to take away the value of a human life."

She could see her words worming their way through Nicolas's stubborn brain.

The bell tolled. "That's my call for work. Think it over and let me know what you decide," Casia stood and left.

In the hallway, she saw several other women and a few guards walking toward the exit. Through one of the narrow windows, she could see down into the courtyard below where the regular Dishonored were lined up in their rags for work. As a member of the King's Dishonored, she no longer joined those raggedy ranks.

She made her way to the room where a young-looking guard was waiting to escort the castle staff to their work.

Only the most submissive and willing Dishonored were given the privilege of this job. Looking around at the bored faces of her future coworkers, she realized that particular rumor wasn't quite true. Those who stood in the room with her were willing to do anything to make their own lives better. Shila in the corner, was said to be one of the many women who stayed in the commander's room. In fact, all four women whom the commander was currently seeing were there. The woman he'd recently dismissed wasn't in this gathering.

Every person in this room was a well-known informant. They would turn on each other in the time it took to cut off a head.

A man close to her own age with smooth dark black hair about the length of her small hand stared at her, brown eyes peering out from under his bangs while picking at his nails. He leaned against the wall, his eyes still locked on her. Did he know her? Everyone else seemed to be making sure not to look at her.

She moved right, just to the side of the doorway, and pretended to fiddle with her black dress.

"Casia, the Most Honored Dishonored, the Queen of Whispers, has joined our cohort," a smooth deep voice oozed from in front of her. She looked up to see the man who'd been standing against the wall in front of her. "I thought you'd come over seeing my interest, but instead you chose to try and avoid me. How curious. What does the Queen of Whispers have to hide from a simple man such as myself."

Simple. Hah. Casia knew better. No one gathered in this room was simple. This sly man was most certainly some sort of informant. "I don't know how I earned such a grand nickname. I clearly do not know all the whispers since I do not recognize you, good sir."

He smiled, his upturned lips exposing smile lines she hadn't noticed before. Most women would call him handsome, except she considered no man handsome save James, her King. "I feel slighted not to be known by the lady who seems to know everyone. I'm curious as to why your own inquisitiveness did not bring you over to me then."

She leaned close to him, waiting for him to step back, but he held his ground. She smirked at his stoic refusal to move and slightly changed her forward movement to the right side so her lips almost brushed his ear. "Why would it? I knew you couldn't resist me from the moment you saw me," she whispered. She shifted, pulling her head back and resting up against the wall with a smirk.

He shook as he laughed. "You have beaten me in the game of temptation. It would be a discourtesy not to introduce myself to such a confident lady. I am Antonio," he said, bowing like a nobleman might to a lady when asking for a dance.

She recognized the name. "The shadow man?" The name was given to the Dishonored man who was rumored to live in every shadow waiting for juicy information to sell to the Dishonored Prison commander.

"The one and only. Unfortunately, I can't evade the light here, but everyone here is cut from similar cloth, aren't we?" he brought his head close, just as she had done a moment before. "My gorgeous little tiger who sleeps alone while two men sleep in her bed," he whispered.

He knew even her secrets. What did he want from her? She could see everyone in the room was glancing at her.

"I don't begrudge you your comforts. If you're one of us, we wouldn't want you to be lost in the mud of the courtyard anyway," he stepped back so his brown eyes were staring into hers. "So will you join our network, sweet Queen, or will we have to banish you?" his voice was loud, filling the room.

All the eyes in the room were staring at her.

"What would you have me do if I joined your network?" she asked. She needed this position. She would do anything to see James again.

"All you have to do is tell me the things you hear and do during the day when I come to you," he made it sound so simple.

The rumors that he was in every shadow made more sense. "And when will you come to hear my day's stories?"

He ran his fingers over her hair, his grin still mocking her for thinking she knew something about everyone. "At night, when your toys are gone," he whispered in his deep voice that felt like warm water washing over her.

She wouldn't let this man drown her. "I look forward to our meetings then."

The tension left the room as the people in it started chatting with each other. Antonio moved next to her to lean on the wall. "And now we wait for all the little rats to scurry away. Once they are gone, the Commander himself comes to walk with us to work. Since we don't officially exist, we can't let the rest of the City see us, can we?" he stated.

He seemed quite relaxed, slouched against the wall next to her, but his eyes roamed the room looking at people's mouths. "Can you lip-read?" He asked.

"Not very well," she admitted, "but my ears are very sensitive and can distinguish between multiple conversations."

He shrugged, "Something to add to our midnight rendezvous."

He would teach her lip reading? That sounded quite useful for ensuring her life stayed exactly the way she wanted it to. "I look forward to it," she said.

He chuckled but didn't respond.

The door opened again, silencing the chatting. This time, a tall man with graying red hair and a starched black uniform with gold accents walked in. The commander.

The others walked toward the door silently lining up in two columns. Casia walked all the way to the back, aware of what her place as the newcomer should be. Antonio surprised her by following her and lining up next to her.