It was dark by the time Cleo left Jezio's room. Night has fallen and blanketed the hot dry heat, leaving the air now cool and misty. Cleo doesn't like the cold. It made her feel weak and dead. Like she couldn't fend for herself, because the icy chilly would consume her until she turns into an icicle. She would rather obliterate her Elemental power than to be turned into ice.

She wrinkles her nose. The streets of the Markets and bungalows are quiet, save for a few late night party goers. But she reached the wooden barricade without any hustle. She unties the white ribbon, before clambering up and dropping onto the other side, and tying it back again. Helhard is heavily guarded tonight — four inside and outside guards, as most appaling villagers uses the night to escape to steal from the Court. Cleo couldn't blame them, when is a better time? If not the night when most courtesans are dead in their slumbers and has no care for anything  until morning? She would of done it herself. Pity it's her job to punish those who crossed the line. It would be punishing herself really, if she were to cross the line herself; oh she would draw a lava-filled bath and drown herself into its riches of fiery acid liquid until the next morning she is laying in nothing but ash.

                                                        °°°

Cleo reaches her bed chambers, her weed-filled head causing her to pass it three times. Yet  she made sure to pass all night duty maids and guards by dissolving into the shadows and hiding behind marble pillars. She felt hungry. But to raise less questions and suspicion she'll have Jezio's cake as a late night supper.

She immediately closes her doors behind her, and rolls her neck.
She feels stiff for some reason, it is most likely the trek back from the Village to her Quarters. On her way to the privy, she starts undressing herself, her clothes forming a trail behind her like wet footsteps when entering a dry place. She ties up her hair right to the top of her head before standing in front of the mirror and seizes up at her sweaty body. Her skin was more golden tonight, her eyes a darker shade of sea green and her plump lips decided to look more red and puffy as if someone bruised her lips by kissing them too hard. She pouts before running her bath, filling it with all her scents and powders and oils, leaving the now empty receptacles discarded on the steps.

The bath isn't the best. The maids bath definitely surpasses her own. Hers was grim compared to the maids bewildering waters. How absurd, Cleo must be sure to ask the maid how she gets it right. She wonders how the maid is as she comes to think of her. Perhaps she is sick with the cold or the little girl was nervous when she was in the presence of the Elemental and froze up.

The bath envelopes her in a warm blanket of glory. Cleo just has to groan out. Her stiff muscles becomes relaxed as she lays back in the bath and she stretches her legs against the end of the bathtub — succumbing to the heat. There was definitely nothing better than a hot bath. She closes her eyes gently and immediately flashes of the pauper comes to her mind. The poor man screamed and screamed, thinking he would lose his life because of pointless coin he was about to snatch. Cleo was on the verge of killing the man, so close. So damn close. Yet she thought the better of it. She was no killer, she was better than that. So she used intelligence.

Her thigh begins to throb again, she lifts her leg and scratches it hard. The itch has become so much more potent she questioned whether her thigh was really necessary at this point. She groans. The goddamns itch doesn't stop. She raises herself up and pulls her thigh towards her chest. She frowns. Her thigh is bare of a bitten bug mark or anything of the sort. Her thigh is only red from how intensely she's been scratching it, but otherwise her thigh is completely lucid. Not a single scratch or scab or a bump of a pauple dots her skin.

Is her body taking her for a jest? Is she some sort of clown  to be made fun of?

She wrinkles her nose. She will go to the Rose compartment, in hopes of some healers  possessing some   cream for irritation. She exits the bath in the most dramatic way possible — getting up hard and splashing water all around the edges and onto the floor. She grabs the wiper from where it was lounging on the staircase and wraps it around  herself. She will not clean anything. The maids must dwell in her frustrations with her.

                                                          °°°

Cleo; in her nightgown of black silk with no sleeves — barely reaching her knee; trots towards the Rose Compartment, through  darkened corridors only lit by moonlight and braziers in between bouts. The Rose Compartment was situated in lower Court, where most courtesans do their daily work. It was very rare to come across someone with higher authority in the lower court, except if medical care was needed. Cleo is damn sure that her presence there will draw a lot of attention and Landon -—when he finds out—will ask her what has happened to her that she so badly needed to  seek a cream past midnight from the healers. She rolls her eyes at his over concern of her.

After greeting a few night shift guards and maids, Cleo reaches the Rose compartment which was rather bustling considering the time. She hears a few murmurs of, Oh its the Mistress, quickly quickly, she's here. No that's the wrong elixir!

The Rose compartment; the healers alcove of patients and products was a huge room, the size of a ballroom. The infirmary has a frontal interconnected anteroom in which patients are assessed and if needs be, sent to the sick room located behind the anteroom. It was the waiting room, yet Cleo; because of her rank always got helped first. It actually annoys the hell out of her. They always assume she needs urgent surgery whence coming, even if it is a simple scab or scratch and nothing serious at all.

Cleo makes her way to the anteroom and the glass doors are swung open as Cleo stood before them. The nurses who were whispering initially has scuttled away and out of sight. She enters the room which gives way to a cabin room, with a desk filled with papers against one mint-coloured wall, and a sick crib against the other. Various plants and flowers dots the room, enriching the room with fresh scents and colour. Cleo liked the desert rose flourishing besides the miniature water fountain with gerbera daisies floating atop it. No wonder it's called the Rose Compartment. There  were roses everywhere.

"Miss?" Asks a rather frightful nurse. Her wide brown eyes is roaming her body from head to toe, observing her for any  injuries. In her green dress Cleo must admit that she was a pretty young thing. Her pitch black hair tumbles in curls around her waist, a lovely thick curl causing her to feel  a zilch of jealousy go down her spine. Her own damns hair refuses to curl at all, instead it decided to be pin straight.

"Miss? Is everything alright? Do you have a migraine?" She squeaks again. Even her voice was adorable. Fucking hell.

"No. My thigh is irritated, I can't stop scratching."

The girl, who was first busy fixing pills and potions on the desk, looks down at Cleo's thigh. After seeing no mark etching her skin she looks back up at her with a frown fitting her soft face.

"It just happened." Cleo gives as an answer.

The girl rubs her hands over the front of her dress, "Oh no fret Miss, I will call milady Genevieve in. She knows more than I do, I'm still very new to this. Have a seat on the bed she will be with you now." The girl then turns around and goes to the back of the anteroom where a doorway led to the sickroom.

Cleo takes her seat and glances down at her thigh; the itch has lessened but there is still a slight throb. What could ever heal that? She hopes her thigh won't need to be dissected, seeing her own blood and bone is one way to scare her like hell. Then again seeing others that way brought some sort of satisfaction within her. Call her cold-hearted. Evil. Heartless. Cruel. She doesn't care.

A few minutes go by before the back rooms door opens presenting who Cleo assumes is Lady Genevieve. Oh! It's her. Lady Genevieve is the highest class healer with the foremost and finest work in the entire City. She was a true gem, having saved countless amounts of lives, catching babies, performing surgeries, even ameriolating those close to death; as well as creating fine healing remedies and cures that has saved many lives', on the brink of death.

Despite her now old age, she still stood strong and worked to her utmost best— which Cleo and her cold soul admired from afar. Genevieve has insisted to Landon that she teach more young women, for future purposes once she is not there. She didn't want a man to do such an errand as the last one she had—crushed healing potions in his hand because he was grasping it too hard— destroying a huge amount of life-saving dosages of healing potions. She called them nervous-wrecks. They couldn't handle their labour with care and gentle hands unlike those of a woman. Which is why Genevieve has an entire set of women trailing her back and roaming about in the Rose Compartment.

Cleo didn't mind. Sometimes men are a pain in the ass anyway.

"Miss, apologies, the ward is a mess!" Genevieve hurries to Cleo in her green gown matching all the other nurses but she has a green rope circling her waist. Ropes representing her power in Court. Green was always healers. Blue was guards. Cleo forgot the others. She didn't really care. But she had black, which she never wore.

Genevieve brings along a silver tray —  filled with a variety of medical instruments —gauzes, ointments, pills, herbs, decoction— a scarlet one, reminding her of phlitres. Perhaps Genevieve had a romantic healing in mind for tonight.

Cleo sighs in relief. No scalpels or silver scissors lay on the tray. The last thing she wanted was for Lady Genevieve to open her up like a simple sweet wrapper.

"So what is happening here Miss?" Genevieve's wrinkled face assesses Cleo's thigh with deep concentration, seen by the furrows in her greyish skin on her forehead.

Cleo tells her about how it's throbbing in irritation although there has been no gouges.

Genevieve hums in response before asking, "When has it started?" Still looking down. She places a calloused hand atop her thigh moving it around. Callouses. From years and years of assuaging.

When I  inhaled weeds with Jezio. She nearly responds. Genevieve couldn't under any circumstances know about Cleo's doings. She wouldn't hear the end of it. Snorting and inhaling any unknown substance is foreign to the body, it not only affects the body physically, but also your mind. A self-destruct button one could name any sort of  dire drug. Cleo refrains from rolling her eyes at Lady Genevieve's would-be accusation.

"Right after sundown." Not a lie. A brilliant response. Cleo puffs her chest at what a quick-witted response she gave.

Genevieve hums again, "And what is the irritation exactly? Scratchiness? Burns? Sta-"

"Scratchy." Cleo kicks in.

Genevieve frowns. Not in the least affected by Cleo's abrupt response, "Interesting." She says more to herself  than to Cleo.

Her green eyes look tired. Cleo suddenly feels guilty for entering at such a cumbersome time.

"I'm sure it'll go away. You seem quite busy. I'll come another time perhaps?"

"Oh Miss no not at all. I will have to call in another healer... Uh my sister that is. I shall let her know prior tonight, and she should be here in the morning. But for now I shall give you these ginger pieces, to add in your tea. It helps eases the pain." She hands Cleo a small  rolled-in cloth, smelling of fresh ginger. Cleo knows there was a sort of drug or crushed herbs inside the ginger meant to be dissolved in tea, and for Cleo to consume.

Cleo thanks her after taking the ginger and slides off the edge of the bed, her barefeet landing swiftly on the cool tiles.

"Apologies for no help from me Miss, but my sister is sure to help you." Genevieve bows down low, before giving Cleo a warm smile.

Cleo doesn't know who her sister was or why the highest ranking healer couldn't help but her, but Cleo didn't push it. It wasn't her main concern at the moment.

"How are the patients?" Cleo asks instead.

Genevieve's thick brown hair with streaks of silver in them has fallen partially out of her bun. Which tells Cleo the old woman has been busy all day and must be tiresome.

Genevieve flattens her hand over her hair, realizing Cleo has been gawking at her attire. It was clear that shame washed over the woman's face. Cleo regrets looking her up and down.

"They're coping well Miss. Although one of your maids has been complaining about constantly feeling cold."

"She told me yes. Is she alright?"

Genevieve nods her head not one inch of concern etched onto her features, "Just a little cold Miss. Nothing that can't be seen to."

Cleo nods, "Thank you Genevieve. I'll be back for your sister then."

"Yes Miss of course. Your health comes first. I will send word as soon she sets foot in the Compartment."

Cleo stops herself from arguing with Genevieve about whose lives mattered the most, as in the end it will all drop down back to her.

Cleo bids her leave and makes her way back to her chambers.

                                                       °°°

Before entering her room, she hears someone clearing their throat.

"Madam?"

Who the fuck calls her madam?

With her hand on the doorknob to her chambers, she turns her head to the source of the voice. The brazier-lit pale wainscoting corridor shows someone lurking in the shadows. It is the shadow of a man. A big man.

He steps closer in the light giving Cleo a full image of the man. He was young. Handsome. Awfully ruggedly handsome. Light brown locks tumbles down into his mossy green eyes. And his pink lips stands firm and plush. His chiseled jawline is what makes him so damn handsome as well as his exceedingly wide and broad shoulders —with full ropes of heavy muscles. And he was tall. Cleo liked tall.

"And you are?" Cleo stands before him too. Her breath hitches at the sight of him. What lecherousness has Landon brought in today? Was she to have a prostitute?

"I am Kaleb Drannon. The new appointed King of the Guard. I sincerely apologize for the hour that which I come and meet you. But you weren't in your chambers this afternoon. Landon said you were angry. So you ignored everyone." He says this honestly. Cleo can see it in the firm set of his delicious lips. His gaze sweeps over her in a warm caress and she refrains from tugging up her night dress.

"The new Captian of the Guard?"

"New King Miss. There is a difference. But yes I am. Did no one tell you Miss?" He suddenly looks innocent.

To her King or Captian meant the bloody same.

Cleo's mind flies with the last conversations she has had with Landon. She doesn't recall anything to do with a new King of the Guard. Not that she had a problem with the new one. Hell who was the first one? But having a new one? This has never happened before in Cleo's life. This is utterly new. What has happened to the first one? She will need to speak to Landon in the morrow about this.

"No. They didn't. Welcome I suppose." Cleo crosses her arms over her chest and roams him once again. A blue rope circles his waist. Meaning someone has given it to him already and she never knew about it. She tries to not show her belligerence. So things have been going on. Without her.

Kaleb nods, "I bid your leave Madam. We shall introduce ourselves properly in the morning. Well later, it's already morning." He chuckles.

That sound brings music to her ears and sends tendrils of hot fire shooting throughout her body. Especially her core. She won't be  surprised if she spews lava right before him from her fingertips. In an act of sensual enjoyment.

Those locks in his eyes bothers her. A lot.

"Yes." She says as she  reaches up on her tiptoes and brushes those locks out of his precious eyes, causing the hot man to freeze. She feels his body stilling. She also feels his heat transferring to her through his clothing. The corridor has gone so quiet that she could hear  the fast pace of his heart. She enjoys his heat. His hot furnace contrasts the chilly night air.

She moves back when he doesn't reply.

She left the poor King of the Guard speechless.

"Kaleb?"

He swallows, his darkened eyes locks with hers, "Yes Madam?"

Kaleb looks scared as hell. Although he doesn't shake like the normal guards, which impresses  Cleo to the extent that she is more than likely to keep him. However the  fear is still evident in his eyes. She will get used to him. And him to her.

She once again rises up on her toes and grasps her hand tightly onto his chin, "It's Miss."

Cleo left him then and truts back to her chambers.

King of the Guard.
Imagine.

She'll love to change that to King of her heart.