The clicking of heels sounded on the stone floor, the soft fabric of a long dress swishing against hard stone. Queen Gisella strode quickly down the hall, flickering light illuminating her pursed lips and drawn expression. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, the rest tumbling down her back in idle curls, giving her a more severe look than when it would flow freely around her face.

Her jaw was clenched along with her fists as she clicked her heels sharply against the stone floor as she walked. Her face was as stone, much like the floor upon which she walked. Queen Gisella was mad.

Her plan had been planned out in every detail. There was no possible way anything could have gone awry. She’d hired mercenaries, given them supplies, money, everything they would need, and yet still they were not at the castle. It had been how long? Five days, six? More? A week should have been plenty of time for them to accomplish their mission.

There were four men. You’d think that would be enough to handle such a simple thing. In her mind, there was no reason that they should not already have arrived, delivering to her the item she’d sent them to retrieve.

She smiled at that. Item. It was a good word. Many would probably argue it was not the right word to use, but to her it fit perfectly. An item. She’d sent them to acquire… an item.

Reaching a door, she pushed it open, hardly even pausing. A large room lay behind it, well lit unlike the halls she’d been walking through. On one side of the room was a large bed, covered with blankets and pillows. Around it ran curtains of red velvet material, hanging heavily from the bar upon which they were hung. In it’s current state, the bed looked more like a nest than a bed. Albeit a nest with curtains drawn about it, but a nest nonetheless. But that’s not where Gisella was headed.

She instead strode across the room and over to a tall dresser filled with drawers of various items of ambiguous worth. Stopping in front of it, she pulled open a drawer roughly, her anger showing clearly. Inside the drawer lay a single item. Much more gentle now, she reached in and picked it up carefully.

It was an ornate hand mirror. Swirling patterns edged the oval piece of glass in the center, the dark metal shining in the light from the chandelier overhead. The handle fit her hand perfectly, and out of reflex she flexed her fingers around it. It was as if it was made for her.

She pushed the drawer closed silently and walked to the nest like bed, taking a seat on the edge. Her thin fingers ran along the edge of the mirror, and she murmured something unintelligible, her eyes fluttering halfway closed.

The mirror began to glow with a dull golden light. The metal surrounding the glass soon began to shine, golden rays shooting out from it. It looked almost like a small sun in her hand. The mirror soon grew warm in the queen’s hands, the metal heating up as the the rays became more intense.

Soon, the warmth was almost unbearable, as was the light, and Gisella shifted her hands on it. If something didn’t happen soon, she was bound to be burned. She didn’t dare put the mirror down, for if she did then the magic would immediately drain out. She would have to wait.

Fortunately, it was only a few moments later and the mirror’s glow died down. She heard faint cursing coming from the mirror. Finally, a face appeared in the mirror, a face that didn’t belong to her.

The face belonged to a man, steel grey eyes glaring at her. His head was shaved bald, as was his face, leaving only his eyebrows to show his dark hair color. As the light shifted, a scar on the top of his head shone pink for a brief moment before the light once again shifted off of it.

She smiled at the man. “Hello, Ivan. You kept me waiting.” Her voice dripped with barely concealed anger. The nerve of the man was tremendous.

The man’s jaw worked for a moment. “I apologize, my lady. I was busy.”

“Busy with what, might I ask?” What was more important than answering to her?

He cleared his throat. “I was in a crowd. I couldn’t be seen speaking with you in the middle of the marketplace.”

“A marketplace?” she exclaimed. “What in heaven’s name are you doing in a town?” In her agitation, she stood and began to pace. They should be nowhere but at the castle, and especially not at a marketplace. In a town.

“Calm down,” Ivan said. “We have our reasons-” He was cut off as Gisella spoke again.

“You could have been seen!” Her words came out in a harsh hiss. “Where are you?”

“In a town, halfway through Pommern.”

“Pommern? You should be in Omsk by now!”

“There were complications, my lady. We could not-”

Again she cut him off. “Complications? Of what kind? I supplied you, I gave you every possible thing you could need. What sort of ‘complications’ could you have come across?”

Ivan sighed, and Gisella scowled as she saw him raise a hand to rub his forehead in clear exasperation. He thought he was exasperated? She’d give him something to be exasperated about.

“If you would just let me finish, I’d tell you.” Gisella opened her mouth to speak again, but Ivan raised a hand. “Our cart - the one you yourself supplied us with, if you remember - broke a wheel. With only two horses, there were complications. We’ve been having to walk, my lady.”

She suspected he’d only added the last two words to appease her. She could feel her teeth clenching together dangerously. Closing her eyes briefly, she drew in a long breath and then exhaled. It would do her no good to get upset. She needed to think rationally.

A thought struck her, and her eyes flew open, bright with suppressed rage.

“But what,” she began, emphasizing the ‘what’, “are you doing in a town?” Her voice fell like icicles from a roof.

Ivan cleared his throat, hesitating. “We thought we would try to get another cart. We could move faster that way. Five people and two horses doesn’t make for very fast travel.”

Gisella narrowed her eyes. For some reason, his words rang false to her ears. It made no sense to her why he would lie, though. He knew what would happen if he did.

She nodded, pretending to be placated. As she watched, tension left the man’s body in clear relief, and she resisted narrowing her eyes again. He was lying.

“Very well, then. But whatever else happens, if you aren’t here with the girl within two days,” she began. Then she paused, a wicked smile stretching across her features. “Well, I’m sure you know what will happen. I’ve given you long enough. Count yourself lucky I’m in a good mood today.”

Of course, that was a lie. She wasn’t in a good mood that day. And the key reason for her bad mood was staring at her with an unreadable face. He was lucky, she’d give him that. How long he would remain lucky depended on how much she liked him.

Ivan only nodded, his face composed. Carefully composed, in her opinion. Surely he must be more rattled than he looked.

“Of course, my lady,” he said after a moment. “You will have her, and within the two days. I assure you of it.”

Gisella smiled. “Of course you will. Good man.” As she opened her mouth to add something, Ivan’s head whipped around to look over his shoulder. His thick brows knitted together, causing the most disruption to his features she had yet seen. His face was nearly always smooth, composed. To see that interrupted was intriguing to her. He looked human, suddenly.

“What is it?” she said after waiting a moment. He still had not turned to look at her again, and she was beginning to feel agitated.

His eyes remained focussed on whatever else was happening, however. She could hear a scuffle and a shout, and silently she cursed the mirror’s limitations. It could only hear within a certain range, and thus the sound of what was happening in the background kept cutting out.

“Ivan! Come quick!” came a rough shout. It was the smoke damaged voice of Boris, and immediately her ears perked up.

The mirror was soon forgotten, hanging by Ivan’s side, and Ivan strode over to Boris quickly. From the mirror’s angle, she could make out Boris’s legs from the belt down, and nothing of Ivan. Boris’s boots were covered in layer of dust and dirt, lending credence to the claim that they had been walking.

“What is it?” Ivan’s voice sounded annoyed.

“Just…” Boris’s voice trailed off, and his feet scuffed the dirt as he walked over. “What’s that?”

The mirror turned, and suddenly Ivan’s face filled it again. Then it was stuffed into darkness, and she could see nothing. Muffled sounds made it to her ears, though, and she listened closely.

“Never mind that. What were you saying before?” It was Ivan.

Boris’s voice was further away, though, and she couldn’t make out what he said in return. The only words she caught were ‘girl’ and ‘hair’. The connection between those words was lost on her. What about a girl’s hair could be so important?

“What?” Ivan’s voice was surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “You’re sure?”

This time she could hear Boris when he said, “I’m sure. It wasn’t just me. Now come on, quick!”

The conversation ended as running footsteps took over, pounding against the dirt. Gisella scowled and swept a hand across the darkened glass, ending the connection. She tossed the mirror onto her bed and squeezed her eyes shut, dragging her hands down her face roughly. She hated it when people lied to her. And Ivan was lying.

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A/N Oh my gosh, this chapter needs major editing. I wrote it a while ago >.< Oh well. Hopefully you enjoyed it despite the first several paragraphs of confusion :P As usual, vote, comment, tell me things. And this time... pie for you if you comment! xD Everyone loves pie. Penguin out.