He was vain. He was beyond arrogant. And, his pride would be his downfall. Ilona vowed in her heart she would see it done before her last breathe in this life. He preyed upon the weak, the ignorant to feed his ego and appease himself. He liked to be adored, even if he knew it was purchased. She had been conquered but she would not be won over to him or his way of dealing with her people. His threat to impregnate her still hovered over her like the darkest of clouds. Ilona guessed he was the sort of man who was not above having guards hold her down while he raped her. After all, she was nothing but a shiny prize that could easily be tarnished and broken. Wasn't she?<br/><br/>Her eyes betrayed her inner intentions as he mocked her further before her own people. This man knew no level of dignity whatsoever. In her grief, she had not the foresight to simply deny him what he wanted. This charade was exactly what he'd hope for and she discovered he was quite the talented actor. It was this thought that had her sneering at him as they grabbed hold of her and dragged her away. Some of the lace of her sleeves tore as she tried to jerk free, telling them she was more than capable to walk on her own. They gave her no option and so she eventually aided them in their duty to carrying her away from the horrid stage that would torment her sleep for years to come.<br/><br/>Ilona was tossed into the royal chambers. They were her father's and her parents had chosen to be unconventional and share them. Love... she scoffed the idea as if it were a unicorn, something no one could believe in. Her grief had not yet caught up to her for the anger was so strong. Her eyes glanced frantically around before she went straight for the door to demand to be let out. No amount of pounding or yelling got her anywhere so she merely turned to peer at the furnishings she was so familiar with. She moved over to her father's desk and rapidly read any correspondence there. The letter of reply from Aerill had been cordial, misleading and she tore at it with a scream of rage. Tossing them to the ground, both hands went to the surface of the desk and she cleared with with a swipe of her arms. Next, the chair was tossed to the side and still she continued on. It was the grief finally pulling through, tearing down the walls until she found herself sinking to her feet and clinging to a wall as the sobs took over. Each one shook her body violently and her eyes burned with tears that still would not come. It was as if he had seared their ducts away with the blade that had severed her father's head.<br/><br/>She looked a mess. Torn lace. Messy hair. Expression that aged her greatly with her grief. When she was finally able to be quiet again, she rose to her feet and moved over to the only unbroken decanter of wine left standing. Foregoing propriety, she took the stopper off and simply drank from the crystal itself. What did she care? Her life was over because her life was worth nothing. She hadn't forgotten his little piece of honey, sickeningly sweet as it was spoken that she might rule while he moved to conquer the next nation. It was a lie, of course. Everything had been a damn lie. Ilona proceeded to empty the vessel of its contents to get drunk.<br/><br/>The sun had started to set, the witching hour now in full force. She wished she still had her nanny around, the old fortune teller, to curse the man she'd once thought brilliant until she'd met him. All those weeks ago under the banner of protection. She stole into the shadows as they crossed the vast chamber, watching how they played upon the paintings along the walls and could not help but begin planning. Ilona reached between the mattress of her parents' bed, seeking a blade or anything that could save her. There was nothing, which told her they'd searched prior to letting her within.<br/><br/>At the sound of noise outside, footsteps of approach that did not sound like those guarding her, Ilona stole back into the dark places knowing fully well they would not serve her to hide. Still, she could hear her heartbeat loudly in her ears as she felt the chill that ran down her spine.<i>Please, let it not be him. I beg you... not him. </i>It seemed the gods truly had forsaken her this day for the door burst open with him waltzing in to slam it shut. She held her breath feeling truly trapped as she watched him falter about in the dim lighting. She had snuffed out all the lights save one. Her last hope, she had mockingly called it when she spared it. No one would spare her.<br/><br/>He was frighteningly handsome and it pained her to admit it. The way the candle lit played across his now rugged face and his body even now left no fault to be found. She nearly panicked when his eyes finally fell onto her outline and walked towards her. The bed stood in the middle of the room away from all walls and so, she simply moved behind it to avoid him, just as he had guessed. Ilona would not suffer his touch, if she could help it. He satisfied himself with a few words and the need to remove half his clothing. Try as she might, she could not look away, gazing over the story written along his body in the form of scars. This was the hope the candle brought her. Someone(s) had gotten up close enough to harm him.<br/><br/>Still, he stalked her and before long she found herself backing up into a trap. She felt the cold of stone at her back and knew she was now doomed. Ilona had thought him drunk but the closer he drew near, the clearer his speech became. Did he ever know truth? Must he always parade himself as a lie? Mere fuel for her loathing of him. Even if her eyes drank in the sight of his motions. He knew he was beautiful, knew it as well as he knew what he would do next. It was left for her to guess when he mentioned her brother. How had he known? Her heart lunged in her chest before pulling down into a sinking feeling. "You lie!" she hissed at him. She had begun to slide along the wall but he was too calculating and had followed. Soon, she would have no where to go. "You murdered all my brothers today in the square." Her lie nearly sounded convincing in an attempt to keep him at bay.<br/><br/>It was no good and he went so far as to bargain for her clothing. He would tear them off her, his promise not to take her held no merit with her. She was certain of it even as her arms crossed tightly before her to hug herself. All it did was lift her breasts firmly against the portion of lace that had remained in tact. Her skirts were dirty but not harmed. She simply looked like she'd conducted a tantrum, for that was precisely what earlier had been. It was then she hiccuped and her eyes widened as her hand rose to cover her mouth. She felt the pain as her chest convulsed and constricted as another one escaped her lips again. Her cheeks went red and she looked away from him, embarrassed.