Glee 1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first Brittana fanfic. It's one of the story arcs I have for a book I've been writing since high school. Sadly, it's still a 300+page-WIP until now (8 years later). Enjoy!**

Santana nocked an arrow into her bow, as the huge buck stopped in its tracks, sniffing the air. This was her chance. She had been very careful not to wonder downwind where the deer might catch her scent, and now, after tracking it for three days she finally had it where she wanted.

She took a deep breath, forcing some calm into her hands which were trembling slightly, and tugged harder at her bowstring. She released it, the flight of the arrow emitting a satisfying _whoosh!_, and Santana smugly smiled.

However, before the arrow could find its mark, the deer bolted.

"Fuck!" she yelled in frustration, as the arrowhead buried itself in the trunk of a tree where the deer was seconds before. She looked around for the source of the disturbance when she saw a young woman running into the same direction as the deer. "May God strike you dead, you lit—"

The curse died on her lips when she noticed that the woman is not another hunter after her quarry, as she'd earlier suspected. The first thing she noticed, when her rage at losing her quarry dissipated somewhat, was the brand on the woman's shoulder. The brand resembled some sort of crest that she did not recognize—Santana deduced that she had to be a serf of some sort. She looked exhausted, and yet she kept on running, and Santana wondered what she's running from. She kept low, watching the woman through the gaps in the trees.

Thunderous hooves alerted her to the two men on horseback, hot on the woman's trail. The distance between them is closing, and Santana knows that nothing good would befall the woman should they catch up to her. She had to think fast, but she crouched, rooted to her spot behind a particularly large tree trunk, clutching her bow.

One of the men shouted something, and the woman risked a glance behind her in alarm, and Santana gasped at how beautiful she was despite the panicked expression on her face. She felt a surge of protectiveness over the woman, and she stood up on shaky legs, mind whirring frantically, thinking of what she could do. But then again, peasants like her had no business meddling in the affairs of masters and their slaves. And the woman was clearly a slave. A slave who somehow managed to escape.

She knows what kind of punishment awaits the woman. One she could not bear thinking about. No, it would do her no good to try and change what will inevitably happen. She listened intently, waiting for the sounds of pursuit to fade away in the distance so it wouldn't be her problem anymore.

But a scream—high-pitched and frantic—crumbled her resolve, and she broke into a run, without any inkling on what she might do. She just has to save the woman.

She was so intent in her goal that she did not see a gnarled root sticking out of the ground and blocking her path. With a strangled cry, she went flying, frantic screams of the woman ringing in her ears. She held out a hand to break her fall, to no avail, and all the wind was knocked out of her when she slammed into the ground chest-first.

She picked herself up gingerly, clutching at her side, trying to regain her breath while her head spun. She spotted her bow lying a short distance away, and she limped towards it, thankful that it did not snap in half.

Muffled screams brought her back. The sound of pursuit was thoroughly gone now, and with a pang of dread, she knew they had caught up to her. Nocking another arrow into her bow, she set off into the direction of the screams as fast as her limp would allow her.

Santana came into a clearing and spotted one of the men ripping off the woman's tunic, exposing her breasts, while holding a meaty hand to her mouth. She was trying vainly to fight him off, but the other man dug the pointy end of his sword upon her neck. Santana was near enough to see a trickle of blood oozing out of her neck, and hear her whimpers which the hand failed to muffle. Her heart began thudding wildly in her chest.

She shook with rage at what they were about to do and she raised her bow, eyes. She calmed herself so her hands would stop shaking and she'd be able to hit her target. She closed her eyes for a second, and opened them again, aiming for the man holding the sword, and releasing the string shortly after.

The arrow got him in the neck, and he fell with a cry.

The one holding the woman turned to look at his fallen comrade, and Santana wasted no time in sending one of her knives on its merry way into his back. He fell, and Santana broke into a run towards the woman, who looked dazed with a mixture of relief and horror as she stared at the bleeding, writhing men on the ground.

"A-are you alright?" she panted, as a particularly-sharp pain lanced into her side. _God, I must've broken something_.

The woman blinked at her and scrambled to cover herself up with the tatters of her clothing. Her blue eyes flicked to something behind Santana and they widened in alarm just as Santana felt something grab her leg and she came crashing down for the second time.

Before she had time to comprehend what had happened to her, one of the men was upon her, and his fist came barrelling down into her face. She tasted blood and blacked out for a second, and regained consciousness as his fist came crashing down again. He was yelling something, which Santana was too dizzy to comprehend, showering her face with a mixture of blood and spit. Santana fought to keep conscious as she inched her hand, which was trapped between them, into her belt, where she kept her arsenal of bladed weapons. But before she could draw one, the blows abruptly stopped.

The man was passed out on top of her, and she rolled him off. She got up, spat on the ground before she choked on her own blood.

"Are you alright?" she heard a timid voice ask her. She turned to look up at the young woman, holding a small bloodied rock apologetically. "Teeth intact?"

Her reply was caught in her throat when she saw how beautiful the woman really was. Her eyes were as blue as the sky, and Santana felt she could get lost with them. She could not reconcile the fact that this woman is a slave—a slave she had risked her life for. Looking at her, Santana knows it's worth it.

With a jolt, she remembered that she was asked a question, and she felt her tongue around her mouth, looking for gaps. She found none. She shook her head, suddenly unable to talk.

"I—I was afraid, he got you bad there," the woman said, looking teary-eyed with relief.

Then she noticed her state of undress and she felt heat creeping up her cheeks. Good thing with her complexion, the other woman would not notice her blush. "I'm fine, don't mind me. Uh, h-here."

She held out her cloak after unclasping it off one shoulder and the woman covered herself up gratefully.

"Th-thank you... for everything. I didn't expect... I, uh, I thought I was all alone, I thought they were going to get me for sure and...," her voice trailed off. "Thank you."

"It's n-nothing," Santana answered, wincing as the woman suddenly enveloped her in a hug. Her side hurt real badly. If she had doubts that she had broken something before, well, all of that was gone now. "I wouldn't be able to live with it had I not tried and save you."

"I couldn't thank you enough." She let go of Santana. "I'm Brittany."

**TBC.**

**This fic is unBeta'ed. Apologies for any grammatical errors/typos(English is not my first language). Thanks for reading! Please review! *smile***


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's the second part. I've been writing whenever I have free time, which isn't much, since I'm a graduating college student. Anyways, I try to update whenever I can.**

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"Th-that's a nice name," Santana replied, groaning as she tried to stand. "Santana by the way." She held out her hand, and Brittany took it after tucking a strand of fair hair behind her ear.

"I don't think I could thank you enough, Santana. I owe you my life."

"Nobody deserves to suffer such horrific fate. Why are these men after you anyway?"

Brittany chose not to answer, but her blue eyes flicked at her in concern, especially when her gaze lingered on the hand Santana clutched at her side. She made a move to lift Santana's shirt, but the latter snagged at her hand to stop her. Brittany doesn't seem to have any problems with invading her personal space. First the hug, and now this. Not that she minded in the least.

"I'm alright. A little clumsy, is all. Tripped on some branch." _In my haste to get to you, _her mind continued_._ She spat on the ground again. She had bitten her inner cheek really hard during the scuffle and she wondered how long it'll take until it stops bleeding. She stood up, and now when all the adrenaline was gone from her body, every inch of her screamed in protest. Brittany steadied her, and Santana had a closer look at her. Despite all the layers of grime and dirt on her skin, she could see that Brittany had very fair skin.

The cloak Brittany is wearing dipped down to reveal the swell of her breasts when she grabbed Santana's hip firmly to keep her from falling. Santana's head spun for another reason entirely, and she turned away, but not before feeling herself flush for the second instance that day.

Her eyes landed on the men lying on the ground. One of them so obviously dead after bleeding out through his jugular, and Santana could feel nothing but a sort of numbness within. It's not the first time she had killed a person (God knows she had to do what she had to survive), and looking at the blonde beside her, she'd gladly kill another hundred men if needed be.

She limped towards the body and pulled out the arrow from the man's neck, wiped the gore on the grass and tucked it into her quiver. Brittany looked troubled, mumbling something.

"H-he's dead, isn't he?"

Santana just nodded. She hobbled towards the other man and nudged him with the toe of her boot. He groaned. Automatically, Santana nocked an arrow into her bow and aimed, point-blank, into the man's forehead.

"No, please. No more killing," Brittany pleaded in a voice so soft Santana wouldn't have been able to hear it if she weren't hyper-aware of the other woman's presence.

"But he'll go after you. I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to kill you next time."

"He won't find me again. I'd make sure of that."

With a pang of sadness, Santana realized that they would inevitably have to part ways. She sighed and lowered her weapon. "Fine, but I'm not taking any chances." She took out some twine from the pouch on her belt, rolled the man over and began tying his hands behind his back. He groaned again, but Santana could see that he isn't getting up anytime soon. Brittany must have hit him harder than she had intended. She retrieved her knife and tucked it into her belt. She still wasn't satisfied, and bound his feet as well.

"There, he won't be going after anyone anytime soon." She dusted her hands, surveying her handiwork.

For good measure, she took all of his weapons and added them to her own. Then, she handed a finely-crafted knife to Brittany,(Santana felt it suited her: it has intricate carvings on the handle) but the other woman just shook her head.

"You've got to protect yourself somehow."

"But you're around. I think I'm safe," she said timidly.

Santana was taken aback. "Are you sure you're not afraid of me? I just killed a man."

"If you'd wanted me dead you wouldn't have gone after me."

"I know, but I could have... ulterior motives."

Brittany smiled at her as if she's being silly. Santana wondered how she could trust her so implicitly.

"I wouldn't send a young woman on her way without at least a weapon."

"I... Actually, I am lost." Brittany looked almost shy.

_Clearly_, Santana thought, hope blooming in her chest. So they weren't going to be parting ways anytime soon. "Where do you intend to go?"

"Uhh... the capital? I'm sorry to be such a bother but when I passed a certain village—Fallstile, I think—a man told me to keep on going South. He said it's about a fortnight's hike from there. But I dunno what the South is and he though for awhile then told me that I should keep the sun on my left shoulder, and after midday I had to keep it on my right. I did as he said, but when night came I had a problem. I assumed it would be the same if I kept the moon on my right, and now a fortnight had passed and I ended up here."

Santana stared at her uncomprehendingly, mouth open. She was torn between wanting to scold the girl and tell her that it doesn't work that way, and feeling sorry for her.

"Will's men caught up with me eventually, but—"

"I saved you. Right." Santana answered her mechanically, feeling a hint of trepidation in her chest. "And who is this Will?"

"Will Schuester."

"Will Schuester, the Baron of Thornville?" Brittany nodded. Panic starts setting in. "You're one of his serfs?" She remembered the brand on Brittany's shoulder.

"Uh, technically I am, but..."

Santana didn't bother to listen as the news sunk in. She had killed for a slave. A slave for one of the most powerful men in the Realm. A slave so important to him that he had sent some men a hundred leagues south in order to bring her back. Maybe, she wasn't simply a slave who performed menial work in the fields. Her fair skin could attest to that.

Santana is in deep trouble, she slowly realized.

TBC.

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**Apologies for any errors/typos. Still UnBeta'ed! Thanks for reading! Please leave a review**.


	3. Chapter 3

THE HUNTER AND THE SERF

CHAPTER THREE

When she was younger, Santana's father used to tell her tales of when he used to live as a serf in Schuesters' estate up North. He was born a slave; he even had a brass ring around his neck. It was not too loose as to have him take it off if he wished, nor too tight as to throttle him. It was soldered smoothly and solidly that it left no mark upon the metal collar, and therefore impossible to be removed. On it was inscribed: _Carlos of the Lopez kin, born thrall of the Schuesters_. Santana remembered that he had a brand on his shoulder as well, but he had covered it up with a tattoo when he escaped. He was able to remove the ring too, with the help of a blacksmith, and he kept the two halves of the ring in a wooden box underneath his bed.

Santana remembered her father telling him that the Schuesters weren't ruthless masters—not at all, but he longed to make something of his life. He doesn't want to go on serving another person for the whole of his wretched existence, and so he escaped. As far as Santana knew, Schuester never sent men after him. Carlos told her that maybe the Lord Schuester then, which was Will's father, thought that he'd come crawling back eventually. God knows how many slaves who'd tried to escape turned up weeks later, begging to be taken in. It was a cruel world outside the estate; Carlos suffered too many hardships, but he never turned back. And Santana was forever thankful for that. She couldn't imagine being owned by someone the moment she was born, as if she's some flea-ridden dog with even the collar to prove it. Even though she's barely scraping by, trying to make a living by hunting.

And as far as she could see, Brittany wasn't wearing any brass collar around her neck either.

"Are you really a serf of Schuester's? I don't get something here. You don't have a—" she gestured around her own neck. She was afraid that Brittany is a concubine of Schuester's, and she shuddered. _Now, that is even more troubling than she thought_. Concubines could be branded, couldn't they?

Brittany shook her head. "I wasn't born a thrall per se... uh, I just," her cheeks went pink. "I just... entertain him."

Santana's eyes went round. "Entertain. You entertain." She had visited enough taverns and whorehouses to know the implication. Being friends with Puck has introduced her to some of the Realm's most depraved practices.

Brittany blushed even more furiously. "No, no. Not like that, I just dance."

Santana was silent.

"Not with my tits out! If that's what you're thinking!" She bundled the cloak tighter around herself, thoroughly embarrassed.

Now it was Santana's turn to blush. She didn't think that she could be so transparent. "No, no. I was just... I didn't think Lords had slaves doing just that."

"They have money, and power. Of course, they could do as they please."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "So uh, about him," she pointed to the man lying on the grass a short distance away. "I really think we should kill him. He's going to be after my hide. I can't exactly blend in with the crowd, so to speak."

Santana knows that she is a member of a minority in the Realm. Her father used to tell her stories about her ancestors who were originally from a place called the Haunt in Fidelian across the Great Sea. A century ago, the Realm launched a campaign to invade the Fideli kingdom. They suffered huge losses in the process but managed to gain the Haunt, thereby giving them a foothold in the lands across the Great Sea. Some of the vanquished Fidelis were brought to the Realm as slaves. Santana's ancestors included.

"No please. I think it's enough violence for one day."

"Then I think I'll just go back tomorrow and finish him off," Santana answered with a wicked grin, and Brittany gave her a withering look. "I'm just being daft! Don't take me seriously!" she amended, wanting the look of disappointment on Brittany's face to vanish. She sighed internally. She had just met her, and here she was, putty in Brittany's hands. "Now, about their horses..."

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It did not take long for the stillness of the night to fall. Crickets began to chirp all around them and an owl hooted ominously in the distance. The moon came peering in and shone brightly upon the wooded landscape, lighting up the whole place like subdued sunlight. As the moonlight streamed through the trees, it shone upon a silent body of water.

They trailed the bank and came upon a fallen log used to bridge the narrow, stagnant river. She would very much like to have kept the horses, even just one. She knows she could get a good price for them, what with them being excellent thoroughbreds by the looks of it, but Brittany told her that having one would be suspect. She had a point, and so she had set them free with great reluctance. Also, she remembered that she had to cover their tracks so that the man won't be able to follow them. And with the horse leaving hoofprints all over the place, it just won't do.

She crossed the river, her gait unsteady, since her side still hurt like hell—as if she had a knife stuck between her ribs—but she managed to get to the other side without slipping.

"Are you sure you're fine? Could you at least let me have a look at it?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm alright. Nothing I can't handle. And what would a dancer know about broken bones and injuries?"

Brittany looked offended. Santana wanted to take it back. It's just that her injuries are making her more crabby than usual. "How about we call it a day and set up camp here?"

"Brittany, the town is a three-day walk from here. And with my limp, it's going to take even longer. We have to cover as much ground as we can in order to put more distance between us and Schuester's henchman."

"I know, but with the condition you're in..."

"I can manage. I cannot rest easy knowing that we're in the same vicinity as the man who tried to... you know," Santana sighed, continuing on. Brittany followed, watching her closely. She knows since she could feel her blue eyes burning holes into her side. She realized that maybe Brittany isn't staring at her injury at all, but at the squirrels hanging on her belt. Nah, Brittany wouldn't feign concern like that. Santana thinks she's one of the most guileless people she ever met.

After a moment, she said, "You know what, I think you're right. I think this is a good place to have dinner."

Brittany gathered some twigs while Santana dug a hole to make a fire. Afterwards she skewered a squirrel on a spit and roasted it. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she sunk her teeth into the delectable meat, even when she and Brittany had been snacking on berries earlier. After the tasty repast, Santana threw some dirt into the still-smouldering embers.

"No use painting a target on us. We're already vulnerable," she said, stomping it out with her boot for good measure.

"Santana, thank you," Brittany whispered, leaning against a large tree trunk.

"It's nothing, really," she said, sitting down carefully beside Brittany to avoid hurting her already injured side. The evening chill began to descend upon them and Santana rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Brittany noticed the action and unclasped her cloak.

"You've already injured yourself enough for me. I don't want you to catch fever as well."

Santana began to internally panic at sharing the cloak with Brittany. She was all but naked underneath, and the thought of those breasts rubbing up against her bare arms was almost too much.

"C'mon. This is your cloak anyway, and we could keep each other warm through the night..." she trailed off, probably realizing how suggestive she sounded.

"I, uh...," Santana began, her throat going dry.

"Not like that. I mean, just get in already," Brittany said, sounding embarrassed. Santana sidled up closer to her reluctantly, taking care not to make contact against Brittany's skin.

Their proximity was maddening and frustrating for Santana. Especially when Brittany wrapped her arms around her, taking care to do so gently so as not to aggravate her injury. Santana could feel Brittany's breasts pressing against her back and her head spun—in a good way, of course.

"You're all tense and stiff," Brittany whispered, and is it real, or did her voice just sound so husky to Santana? "Did I hurt you?"

"N-no, you didn't," Santana answered in a strangled voice. She wriggled out of Brittany's embrace. "Uh, tell you what, how about you go to sleep while I keep watch?"

Brittany looked at her curiously but did not press the issue. "I see." She pressed her lips tightly and slid down onto the ground. "Good night, Santana."

"Good night, Brittany."

xx

Santana could feel herself nodding off to sleep when she was jolted awake by a faint rustling behind her. She turned around to see Brittany getting up.

"I can't slueep," she mumbled apologetically, sitting down beside Santana. A gust of wind blew, sending a shiver down their spines. The forest creaked and moaned. Brittany moved closer to her. "I'm... I'm scared."

"Don't be, I'm right here," Santana said, hesitantly placing a hand on Brittany's shoulder to soothe her. Brittany leaned her head against her shoulder and Santana was surprised at how good they fit.

They sat like that in silence, with Santana rendered unable to move because she's just too comfortable.

"Did it hurt?" Santana asked.

"What?"

"When you were, uh... branded?" She heard Brittany's sharp intake of breath and she regretted asking. "It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I was just wondering."

"No, no, it's fine," Brittany said, then she thought for a moment. "I don't remember much, honestly. I was very young when... when it happened. I think I passed out the moment the brand came in contact with my skin."

Santana winced, trying to imagine how it must feel to be branded like cattle.

"How old were you?"

"I was five," Brittany sighed. "Other than that, EI wasn't treated like any other slave. I mean, yeah, I helped out some around the estate. But most of the time, Will kept me by his side. He gets frantic whenever I disappear. Which I tend to do. A lot. It just feels so good to... you know, just be. But I never get flogged for it though. Most of the other servants resented the way he treats me."

"He didn't... He wasn't grooming you to be his mistress, was he?" Santana could not resist asking.

Brittany did not answer.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to ... uh," Santana stuttered out, shuddering at the implication of Brittany's nonanswer.

"It's alright Santana. Let's go to sleep now?"

"Oh. Yeah, of course," she answered automatically, mentally kicking herself for being so tactless. She could feel Brittany withdrawing into herself.

They lay down together, and although Brittany draped an arm around her midsection, she did not offer to share her cloak anymore after seeing how uncomfortable it made Santana. She did not know if she should feel relieved since it lessened the palpable tension between them.

It did not take long for Brittany's breathing to even out, and Santana found herself snuggling closer to her comforting warmth, letting sleep claim her at last.

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Santana woke up shivering in the crisp morning air, missing Brittany's warmth. She tried to get up, but she hurt all over—the exertions of the previous day finally taking its toll on her. She paused, gathering strength until she managed to sit up. Her side hurt even worse.

Panic started uncoiling in her chest when she looked around unable to find Brittany.

"Brittany!" she called out.

Just then, a scream rend the air. It was unmistakably Brittany's.

**TBC.**

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**Thanks for reading! So, is it worth continuing? Please leave your thoughts in the review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed/favorited/alerted so far! I try really hard to be able to update everyday, and most of the time I overlook errors and such. If anyone is interested in becoming my Beta, please feel free to PM me.**

**And P.S.: Fondue for anyone who guesses where Balverine is from.**

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CHAPTER FOUR

Santana had accompanied her father on hunting trips to the forest ever since she could remember. Her mother left them when she was just three, so it was basically her and her father against the world. And when she was seventeen, there was one time she couldn't go with him because she'd been burning up with fever, he failed to return.

When she was strong enough, she searched the forest high and low for him, putting her tracking skills to good use—to no avail. It wasn't until a fortnight since his disappearance that she was able to find his rotten, gutted corpse.

Days before, there was a rumour going around the town of Lima that a Balverine is roaming the woods, sometimes even bravely venturing out into the farms and feeding on cattle. Neither she nor her father believed it at first, since they only knew the Balverine to be the stuff of legends and tales meant to scare children from staying out late. But her father's mangled body proved its existence. She'd heard about the ghastly details of how people usually find corpses after being attacked by a Balverine.

She buried her father in a clearing they used to frequent, swallowed up her tears and swore that she'll find that beast and kill it.

She never returned to Lima until a year after, when she was able to track the beast in its lair and managed to kill it in its wretched slumber.

This experience—living in the forest for a year—made Santana highly-attuned to her surroundings. She instantly knew where the screams were coming from. She quelled the rising panic in her chest and limped towards the direction of the scream.

She found Brittany hanging upside-down from her ankles and, she couldn't help it, she breathed a sigh of relief. She only got caught in one of Puckerman's traps. She knows because she'd suffered the misfortune of being caught in one herself a really long time ago. This relief was quickly replaced with rage. She's going to kill him when she finds him.

"S-santana, help me!" Brittany was struggling to cover herself up, which was incredibly difficult since she's working against gravity.

"Hang on, I'll figure something out."

She heard twigs snapping and whirled to her left. She saw Puck coming towards her, in his pine-green buckskin shirt and grey trousers.

"Lopez!" Puck said, looking her up and down and smirking at the bruises on her face. He was completely oblivious to Brittany struggling against her bindings. "What happened to you? You look like you've gone to the nine hells and were sent back. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Yeah you shouldn't be surprised. Even the Lords of Hell are going to fear my wrath if you don't release her!"

"Release her...wha-what? Oh my, I got something good, didn't I?" His jaw dropped at the sight before him, and Santana didn't like the way his eyes travelled all over the stretch of fair skin on Brittany's stomach. She only noticed it now, but boy, was the girl _toned_.

"Help me, please!"

Without missing a beat, she strode towards him, ignoring the pain shooting up her side with every step she took. She smacked him hard in the head and he yelped.

"Ow! You didn't have to do that!"

Within seconds, Brittany was freed and Puck couldn't keep his eyes off her. Santana had the urge to hit him again but she remembered how Brittany hated violence.

"Santana I'm so sorry, I had you worried," she said, nearly-crushing Santana's ribs with her embrace. Santana could only squeak in reply since the pain ratcheted up at least five notches. Brittany released her with an apologetic smile.

"I thought, Will's men got you again," Santana answered breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, I was just... I wanted to surprise you with breakfast, is all. For once I wanted to do things for you."

"No need to apologize, Britt. It's fine... everybody's fine, though a bit shaken up."

Brittany chuckled. "Yeah," she hugged Santana again, much more carefully this time, and Santana could feel her heart racing in tandem with Brittany's. Just as she was beginning to get comfortable in the embrace, Puck wolf-whistled.

She glared at him and let go of Brittany.

"What's up with you two, huh?" he whispered with a jerk of his head in Brittany's direction. "You don't want to tap this no more?" He pointed to himself.

"Gross, Puckerman! That was one time." She said to him in a low voice, "Hmm, how about you be a gentleman and give her your shirt. I don't want you ogling her goodies like what you've been doing the second you spotted her."

"What, like you haven't been doing since you found her?" he retorted. "How did you meet her anyway?"

Santana rolled her eyes in reply and chose not to answer.

Seeing that she won't budge, he reluctantly took off his shirt and handed it to her. "You owe me for that one, Lopez. That's genuine buckskin!"

Ignoring him, she handed the shirt to Brittany.

"Here, have this. It smells like a boar but that's Puckerman for you, so it can't be helped."

Brittany snorted and took the shirt gratefully nonetheless. Puck then took the opportunity to show off his defined physique.

"Ugh, Puckerman, leave her alone," she snapped, noticing the pink flush on Brittany's cheeks and the tips of her ears. "And go make a fire and die in it. Nah, kidding. Make some breakfast. You got to make it up to her somehow after she got caught in your trap."

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They parted ways with a shirtless Puckerman after enjoying a breakfast of roast pigeons.

Santana decided to make rounds with the snares she had set up before they continued on their way to Lima. One contained a weakly-struggling hare, and another a squirrel. Brittany turned away mournfully as she slit the hare's throat to put it out of its misery.

"All these times, how did you manage to survive in the forest if you don't like killing things?" Santana asked as she strapped the carcasses into her belt.

"I lived off on berries mostly. And sometimes, I caught fish with my bare hands. I learned how to do that back in Will's estate. He himself taught me."Brittany sighed. "He taught me a lot. Survival skills and whatnot. I bet he regrets that now."

For some reason, Santana could feel resentment brewing in her chest with how intimately Brittany addressed the Baron of Thornville; not Lord, nor Master, but by his first name.

"If you were treated so well there, then why did you leave?"

"I don't want to talk about that, Santana," she said evasively, not meeting Santana's eyes.

It's the first time Brittany had shied away from conversation and so Santana did not press it.

**TBC.**

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**Thanks for reading! Please leave a review! They make an author a happy, happy girl and inspires her to write more.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So a long-ish chapter for y'all. I just wanted to put this out as I have a Soil Mechanics and Engineering Management quiz in about 12 hours. (Double whammy!) Wish me luck?**

**Anyway, now we get to find out about Brittany's past. On to the story!**

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CHAPTER FIVE

Santana had been doing a good job of enduring the pain she's in, but by midafternoon, she's damn near collapsing. She was having difficulty breathing, and this, combined with the heat, was making her lightheaded.

Brittany was quick to notice this. "You want to rest awhile?"

Santana nodded, leaning heavily on a low-hanging bough. Her hands instinctively moved to her side and at the same instant, she felt soft hands prying them gently apart.

"Let me have a look," Brittany whispered. She carefully lifted her Santana's shirt and gasped at what she saw. "You've fractured some of your ribs. I should've gotten Karofsky off of you sooner. I'm sorry. I got so scared, and I don't want to hurt people."

She looked up to see Brittany biting her lip, looking apologetic, and Santana couldn't help but think it's cute despite the excruciating pain radiating from her side. "No, no. It's not your fault, nor uh, Karofsky's—" _Was that the henchman's name?_ "I had a nasty fall earlier yesterday, while I was running to get to you."

"If you hadn't come after me, you wouldn't—"

"Please stop blaming yourself, Brittany. I'll be alright." She forced a weak smile to reassure her.

"But it's all black and purple, Santana," Brittany said weakly, shuddering. "Couldn't we, I don't know, put some poultice on it or something? I'm pretty sure there are lots of herbs around this place that might do the trick."

Santana couldn't help but smile at Brittany fussing over her.

"Brittany, there isn't any other remedy for this but a couple of days' rest. I'll be fine and dandy not a week from now. I'm tough."

"Yeah, I could see that. I'd never seen anybody tackle Karofsky and walked away from it nearly unscathed."

Santana shrugged, and the little movement caused a pain so great she nearly bowled over. "Th-that's me. Lopezes are a tough bunch," she replied in a strangled voice.

Brittany placed her cloak down on the ground and motioned Santana to lie down, which the latter did so gratefully. "Some water? You look awfully dehydrated."

Santana licked her chapped lips—God, she must look as absolutely terrible as she felt—before Brittany unlaced the waterskin and pressed it gently to her mouth. She managed to empty it in a few gulps. Brittany grinned.

"I think I could hear the gurgle of a stream a little ways away from here. You want some more?"

"Please do me a favour and don't just randomly disappear this time."

"I'll promise I'll stay within your sights." She held out her pinkie and Santana looked at it questioningly. "A pinkie promise silly. It can't ever be broken."

"Oh. Right."

Brittany wrapped her pinkie around Santana's smaller one. "See? Now you need not worry."

True to her word, Brittany stayed within Santana's sight as she picked her way towards the stream, shooting flitting glances at her as she did so.

Santana couldn't help the warm feeling blooming in her chest.

* * *

Tonight was colder than the last, and so Santana agreed to have a fire burning. Santana was sure they had put quite a distance between them and Karofsky, especially since she did all that she can to cover their tracks. She even went so far as to make fake tracks in order to mislead him, should he be able to free himself from his bindings of course.

She and Brittany feasted on the hare from earlier. Their hungers sated and thirsts quenched, both of them lay down on the cloak, instinctively curling up against each other to keep themselves warm from the cold. Santana was shivering too much to care. Besides, Brittany wasn't so exposed this time. So that helped too.

"So, why does a..._ dancer_ like you, who is living a relatively well-off life back in Thornville, would want to leave it in exchange for an uncertain future in the capital?" Santana mused, feeling her skin buzz under Brittany's touch. "Trust me, I've been there, I've worked in the docks for some time. It's incredibly filthy. It's not a place where you'd want to stay—unless you lived in that humongous and incredibly-posh castle on top of the hill. Which will never happen. That's why I went back to Lima. With its thatched roof houses, and incredibly-noisy marketplace where you could buy really pretty trinkets and stuff... And the tavern, called New Directions. They serve this wicked ale. Incredibly good."Santana's voice took on a dreamy quality. "Nothing beats fresh air and wide meadows and this vast forest filled with game."

"Is Lima really as beautiful as you say?"

"I'm sure you're going to love... hey, you did not answer my question!"

Brittany giggled. "Have you lived in Lima all your life, besides your brief stint at the capital?"

"Pretty much. But I was born on this town down South, called Dayton. I dunno if you've heard of it, I doubt it's even on the map. Anyway, my mother left me and my father and he chose to move to Lima to forget, he said. He raised me here, and trained me to become a hunter. Fortunately, I turned out to be a daughter who loves the outdoors as much as he did, so...there." Santana sighed. "Now, would you mind answering my question now?"

"Is it alright if it's a really long answer, San?"

Santana felt a little flutter in her stomach at the nickname. "Well, sure. It's not like we're going anywhere, anyway." She placed a hand over Brittany's, which was resting on her stomach.

"Hmm..." Brittany took a deep breath and started telling her story.

* * *

_Five-year old Brittany was roughly woken up by her father. He was dressed to the nines, as her mother would say, except without his crown. He only ever wore his fancy clothes during special occasions, and as far as she could see, tonight wasn't anything special. They were supposed to be in bed. _

_She blinked uncomprehendingly up at him, and he picked her up, pressing a kiss on her brow with his bristly moustache. Brittany could feel the cool of his breastplate pressing against her thin nightclothes, sending a shiver down her spine. Just then, a resounding blast echoed outside the castle walls, and she instinctively burrowed herself against her father._

"_Baby, don't be afraid. Papa will do everything to protect you." He held out his pinkie and Brittany took it. "There, I promise to always protect you."_

"_Papa, what's happening?" she asked in a shaky voice._

_He did not answer, but merely carried her outside of her bedchamber. She could see that the castle was bustling in activity even in the darkness—servants milled about, knights went to and fro, clinging and clanging everywhere they went as they were given marching orders._

"_Papa, what's happening?" she asked again, wrapping her small arms tight around his neck._

"_Nothing's happening, my sweet. Everything will be alright when Papa sorts this out," he whispered. "Let's go find your Mama."_

_They found her, and she flung herself upon her father, crushing Brittany between them. "James, the insurgents! They've breached the wall!"_

_Her father mumbled something that Brittany did not understand, and she was unceremoniously handed to her mother, who started sobbing hysterically against her. Her father kissed her again before he disappeared into the darkness._

_Eventually, her mother calmed down sufficiently and tucked Brittany into bed beside her, singing her favourite lullabies. She fell asleep a little later, comforted by the promise of her father._

* * *

_She was woken up by a scream. She sat up in bed, and her surroundings were bathed in orange light coming from the fires burning outside. With a pang of dread, she found herself alone._

"_Mama? Mama?" she called out. No answer. The scream wasn't repeated again. Her heart began slamming in her chest. She jumped off the bed, and called out, "Papa!"_

_Tears started streaming down her face when the gravity of her situation sunk in. She ran out of her parents' bedchamber, calling out to them. _

_It was still dark in the castle, but everything was suffused in a blood-red hue. No more servants milling about, nor knights clinging-and-clanging their way around the palace this time. She wandered aimlessly, calling out for her parents, to no avail._

_Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind, her scream muffled by a huge hand covering most of her face. She struggled as hard and strong as her five-year-old frame could. All in vain of course. She tried biting down on the fingers, but his hand was encased in steel. It was too late for Brittany to have realized that, and she lost two of her front teeth in the attempt._

_She passed out from the pain._

* * *

_When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was how sore her mouth was. Especially the spots where two of her front teeth had been._

"_Aye, it will grow back, wee one. Those are just your baby teeth," a man she did not recognize said in a gruff voice. He removed his glove, which had steel plates woven unto the fingers._

_She looked around, unable to recognize her surroundings. She looked at herself. Where before she had been wearing her nightdress, now she wore nothing but rags and sackcloth that itched everywhere. The panic and fear she felt last night was nothing compared to the panic and fear she was feeling now. She realized she was in the back of a wagon, and when she saw the silhouette of the castle up on the hill getting smaller and smaller in the distance, she started to cry._

"_Papa! Papa!" she called out, standing up and proceeding to jump off the moving wagon. The man chuckled and grabbed her by the collar of the sackcloth she wore. "Take me back! Please, take me back to my papa!" She started to cry in earnest and with wild abandon. But there is no one there to hear her except the man and the driver. The latter did nothing but crack his whip at the horses to urge them to go faster._

_Brittany felt she was truly alone._

* * *

_They travelled for days and days, until she no longer could see the castle she once lived in. Brittany had tried running away several times, but she did not get far on her short legs which still had not lost their baby fat, and thus, she always got caught. The man with the steel-plated gloves would usually hit her until she passed out from crying too much. _

_Eventually, she gave up trying altogether. All she had for comfort is her father's promise to protect her. In her troubled slumber, she always dreamed about him coming for her, astride his mighty white stallion, ready to swing his sword at the man with the steel-plated gloves. And she'd wake up brimming with hope, until the sun would fall again with nary a sign of her father._

* * *

_Brittany lost count of the days she spent on the back of that wagon, until one day, they stopped at a very busy place. Grown men and women kept yelling at each other in accents Brittany could not understand. Without warning, the man with the steel-plated gloves placed manacles around her ankles and she was led to a small platform in the middle of the square._

_The unforgiving sun bore down upon her, and she was shortly joined by other children, most of them bigger than her, but shackled all the same. A man started speaking, and she chanced a glance upon the crowd, hoping against hope that her father is amongst those faces. But she found no one she knew._

_She started sobbing softly, praying to all the gods she knew, to save her and return her to her home. But nothing happened. _

"_A thousand Branic mints! Going, going, gone! Lord Schuester, you may now get your newly-purchased serf."_

_She was swaying on the spot, from a combination of despair, exhaustion and yearning for home, when she felt strong hands grip her. She looked up to see a man with curly brown hair and soft grey eyes along with a young man with a similar curly hair and a cleft chin._

_The young man bent down and removed her shackles._

"_C'mon, we're taking you home."_

**TBC.**

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**I still need a beta. Please PM me if interested. Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**I kinda had a hard time writing this chapter as I'm struggling from a wicked hangover (haha, drinking on a school night. But I gotta reward myself somehow after that bitch of a double quiz).**

**Anyways, hope this update answers some of your questions! And don't forget to review! It means a lot to me if you take your time doing that. **

**Enjoy!**

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CHAPTER SIX

_Brittany held on tight to the young man's hand as he led her into a waiting carriage. It resembled the royal carriage but a little shoddier and more worn. _

"_Are you going to take me back to my Papa?" she asked him. _

_The young man turned to look at his father, but the latter leant his head back against the cushions and started sleeping._

_She tugged at his sleeve. "Are you? Take me back to my Papa, please."_

_The young man sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair. Brittany thought they resembled a crow's nest—or more fittingly, broccoli, which she hated, but which her mother insisted on feeding her. But she's not going to say that of course. She needed him to bring her back—no use antagonizing him._

"_What's your name, little girl?"_

_Brittany bit her lip. She thought she'd kind of gotten used to people ignoring her, but actually, she'd not. It made her want to start crying again. "I'm Brittany," she answered. "Please, I want to go home."_

"_Well we are going home. I know you're going to like it there, Brittany. Such a beautiful name for a spritely little creature."_

_Brittany frowned. "I'm no sprite. I'm a child. I want my Papa. I want to go home!" she whined, tears starting up in earnest._

_The young man sighed again and tried to run a soothing hand across her back. "Tell you what, if you take a nap right now, I'll wake you up as soon as we get you home."_

"_Really? You'll do that?"_

_The young man smiled. "Mmh-hmm. Now be a good kid and go to sleep."_

"_You know where my Papa is?"_

_He nodded, and Brittany did as she was told—or tried too—even though it's too hot inside the carriage. But soon the rocking of the carriage did make her sleepy, and she fell fast asleep._

* * *

_When she woke up, she's nowhere near home at all. She found herself lying on top of a loft. It smelled of hay and cattle. And from what little moonlight filtering in through the slats in the wall, she could see that she's with some children she didn't recognize. They were all fast asleep, but Brittany scrambled away from them nonetheless. They all looked filthy and unwashed, and smelled as bad as they looked. But when Brittany looked down on herself, she found that she was no better than them after all._

_She was still clad in that itchy sackcloth, and she smelled funny too. She also noted that her once-downy hair was matted and sticky with sweat. She could feel warmth on the corners of her eyes, and she started crying again._

_She tried to convince herself that this was all a bad dream that she's going to wake up from very soon. But of course, it isn't._

* * *

_The next day, she was roused unceremoniously from sleep and herded roughly, along with the other children, towards the blacksmith—at least that's what she thought he was then, since he stood by the furnace and held a threatening metal object._

_They all looked around fearfully, huddling close together in the morning chill, though none of them noticed it. They were made to fall in line, and the first one was given a strip of leather to bite into before the man pressed the brand on his back, just below his left shoulder. He stifled his scream, but tears spilled out from his eyes, and Brittany would pity him had she not gagged at the smell of burning flesh—so unexpected and so real, and the gravity of her predicament sunk in. There was no escape._

_She tried calling out for her father under her breath, as if she'd be able to summon him, but soon it was her turn._

_She could see the red-hot brand sizzling in the furnace, as bits of flesh fell from it and dropped into the smouldering coal as though it were candle wax. She closed her eyes as the man lifted it off on gloved hands. But before it even made contact with her skin, she lost consciousness._

* * *

_The first thing she saw when she woke up were big blue eyes staring back at her. She scurried away from him, rubbing raw the still-throbbing wound on her shoulder and she cried out: both from the pain and the realization that everything had been real._

"_Hey, I'm Rory. Are you alright?" the boy said, moving closer to her and reaching out to touch her. Brittany flinched and shied further away, not knowing that she's too close to the edge of the loft. "Hey, watch it!" But too late, with a scream, Brittany fell the ten or so feet off the loft._

* * *

"_She's too much trouble!" a man bellowed, and it jostled Brittany from sleep. "How is she supposed to help out at the estate if her leg is like that?"_

_Brittany found herself lying on a cot, against some threadbare sheets. It was not at all like her bed back at the castle, but it was infinitely-better than sleeping on the loft or on a wagon's hard surface. At least her, she had a pillow, although it smelled a little musty._

"_Hush, Shannon, she will be fine. She's fortunate she landed on top of some hay and did not break anything. It's just really badly-sprained. When the swelling goes down, she'll be up and about in no time," said a woman as she gave an experimental press on Brittany's knee. She instinctively jerked her leg away._

"_Young master," she heard and she noticed the man—woman?—called Shannon straightening up by the doorway._

"_Is she alright?" _

_The woman by her bedside nodded. "Aye, my Lord. A little shaken up, but..."_

"_Good morning, Brittany," said the young man with the curly hair from yesterday. _

_Brittany felt her anger course through her chest. It burned so fierce that it brought tears to her eyes. He promised her that he's going to take her home yesterday! He promised!_

"_You said y-you're going to take me back to my Papa," she said without preamble, her throat constricted painfully as she fought against crying. _

_The woman's eyes widened. "Child, this is the young Lord Schuester you are talking to!" she admonished. "My Lord, I apologize on her behalf. The child doesn't know any better."_

"_It's fine." He motioned for them to leave. He sighed. "I did...but, this is your home now."_

"_No, this is not. Take me back please."_

_He was silent for a moment, and she remembered that she had not told him where she lived. That's it!_

"_I live in Kingsvale. Could you take me there? Please?"_

_He looked shocked. "Child, Kingsvale is three-hundred and fifty leagues south of here. You have any idea how far that is?"_

_Of course she had, she had spent countless nights on that back of that wagon to know that she was taken far, far away. "My Papa is the King."_

_There was a moment of silence until Will chuckled. Brittany felt furious. How could he not take her seriously?_

"_I am the King's daughter!" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I am Brittany Susan Elizabeth Heather Pierce, Heiress Apparent to the Throne of Kingsvale and the Branic dominions beyond the Great Sea, Princess of the Realm." She rattled off her royal styling like she had been taught._

"_Brittany, I know every girl dreams of being the princess, but this is taking it a bit too far."_

"_But, I am the princess!" She started crying in earnest now. Why would no one believe her? And then she remembered the necklace that her Papa gave her for her birthday. This has got to show him..._

_But she felt around her neck and couldn't find it. With a sinking feeling, she burrowed deeper against the cushions, all but giving up hope that she'll ever return to her home again._

* * *

_When her leg had healed sufficiently, she attempted to escape the first time. _Attempted_ being the key word here since she got as far as the main road before she collapsed. Shannon, whom she learned was a woman after all, found her and turned her in to Lord Schuester. He ordered her to be flogged, but his son—the young man with the broccoli hair called William—intervened. She was then assigned to work as his maid._

_She tried to escape again for several times after that, and each attempt was foiled. William just took her back, shaking his head wryly at her. She was never flogged._

* * *

_Two years later, she lost _ALL_ hope of her father coming to get her._

_She helped Meredith, an older maidservant, pack William's things as he is going to Kingsvale with his father. She begged to be taken with them—until she learned the reason why._

_They are travelling to Kingsvale for the Princess's seventh birthday. _The Princess's seventh birthday.

_She was stunned, but that was an understatement of the century._

_It is a Branic tradition to introduce the Heir or Heiress Apparent on their seventh birthday. She could not believe that everything was indeed taken from her._

"_Wh-what's the Princess's name?" she asked as she mechanically folded Will's dress shirts, feeling some sort of terrifying numbness,_

"_Quinn," Meredith answered. "Fitting, as she is going to be Queen someday."_

_Quinn? _

_She knew Quinn, and she hated her. She lived in the castle with them, seeing as she was also the child of her father by another woman: a royal bastard. And now, apparently, that royal bastard had gotten her grubby little hands on what's rightfully hers._

_But an even more terrifying thought wormed its way into her conscious. Had her Papa forgotten about her? Did he not love her anymore?_

_She felt her shoulders shake, as sobs broke out in her chest—because yes, she knew the answer._

* * *

_Fifteen years. That's how long it's been since that night she was forcibly taken from the comfortable confines of the palace at Kingsvale._

_Brittany had been picking out a bolt of cloth when she heard a conversation that piqued her interest._

"_I heard the King is ill...for a while now, at least. And he isn't recovering. We might have a new King or Queen soon."_

"_What King? You keep quiet! That's considered treason! The King has an heiress, so I wager there's going to be no problem about the transition."_

"_There have been rumours that she is a bastard."_

_Brittany looked up as she was inspecting a roll of royal blue Guisse cloth. _It's going to look good on Will_, she thought_. _She met one of the men's eyes and he turned red before the both of them hurried away._

_When she got home, she couldn't get her mind off the conversation she overheard. She asked Will if he's going to Kingsvale anytime soon._

_He shook his head. "I thought you were over that, Brittany." She could see something akin to pity in his eyes, and she turned away._

_She sighed. He never believed her, and he never would. _

_So she started planning on her escape. She wants to see her father before he died—if he indeed, is nearing his end—and remind him of the daughter he forgot about and the promise he broke. But if she looked deep into herself, she knew she still loved him despite having failed her._

_She started sneaking out a couple of potatoes and turnips and beets from the pantry, just enough to sustain her until she felt safe enough to venture into the next town where she'd be able to trade without triggering suspicion. _

_A week later, she left before daybreak and never looked back._

* * *

Santana gaped at her.

"I don't expect you to believe me, Santana, but I really, really have to go to Kingsvale," Brittany whispered.

Santana could not imagine someone she perceived to be guileless concocting such an elaborate lie, and she readily believed her. She nodded slowly. "O-of course. I think I could help you with that," she found herself saying.

The smile that lit up Brittany's features could rival the sun's blinding rays, and it was incredibly infectious. Santana felt the beginnings of a huge smile tug at the corners of her lips.

"You're really gonna do that, San? You're going to leave Lima and the meadows and the fresh air and the tavern called New Directions and this vast forest filled with game like you said, and go to the capital with me?"

Santana didn't expect Brittany to be paying so much attention to her rambling earlier, and for some reason, this made her incredibly happy.

Hell, she'd killed someone for this woman, and she'd gladly do that a hundred—even a thousand—times over, so she could not imagine saying no.

It must have shown on her face, since before she could say anything, she was wrapped in a bone-crushing hug. Knowing how ecstatic she had made Brittany numbed the pain on her side.

**TBC.**

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**Thanks for reading. Please leave a review! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry I wasn't able to update yesterday. All of my morning was spent on a meeting with my thesis adviser, and then I had a quiz the same day.**

**I really hope you like this chapter. Things are kinda **_**heating up **_**a bit. *insert Hemo's wink gif* That, and also a bit of a break from Britt's sad story.**

**Anyway, read on! Please don't forget to review.**

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CHAPTER SEVEN

This time, Santana woke up before Brittany.

She was hyper-aware of how intimately close they were this time. Apparently, they had huddled closer to each other during the coldest times of the night, if that was possible (God knows they were pretty much spooning last night, but now: Brittany's leg had slipped in between hers, and one of her hands had planted itself so dangerously and deliciously close to her breasts, and Santana couldn't help but think how compromising their position is). Their bonfire was entirely reduced to ashes now, and although the chill is obviously on its merry way deep into her bones, Santana couldn't help but feel so _warm_ inside—and outside. _Somewhere south_, she thought. And now the warmth is on her face too.

She had never been this close to someone. Well, she had her fair share of hook-ups and whatnot, but those were to satisfy a physical need. None of them were able to help her realize the depth of her emotional deprivation—if she could call it that—and now she's a little frightened with the way her thoughts are headed.

Santana Lopez never showed vulnerability, nor love, nor sappiness—and hell, Santana Lopez sure didn't cuddle. She didn't even allow herself to _feel_, and now she wondered how spending only two days with a certain blonde could begin to change all that.

_No, she's just really pretty_, she thought.

Gently, she prised off Brittany's hands and managed to wriggle herself out of Brittany's embrace altogether before she could embarrass herself with how she is, uh, _feeling_. She went to the stream and all but dunked herself in, in an effort to rid herself of this...whatever this is. She shook her head violently as she splashed water on her face.

She stood up, noting that the pain on her side was a lot more bearable now, and she gathered some twigs and a few small branches, and in no time at all, she had a fire burning. She skinned and gutted the squirrel and carefully roasted it, filling its gut with herbs she managed to find in order to add some flavour. Brittany woke up shortly after and Santana felt her heart clench at how adorable she looked as she blinked blearily around her surroundings.

"Morning," she said in a voice made raspy by sleep.

"Well good morning to you, too," Santana answered, and Brittany grinned at her.

She remembered how she acquiesced last night, and she felt an odd combination of nervous excitement at the prospect of their adventure together. And then this was a slight feeling of foreboding but she quickly brushed it off—or rather, Brittany's smile did_, because if somebody smiled at you like Brittany did, you couldn't possibly have any dark or sad thoughts lingering in your head_. _God, what is with me?_

"I...uh, breakfast?" she added lamely, remembering with a flash of shame, the inappropriate thoughts that had ran—well, still running if she's honest (_because, God, how would she be able to concentrate with Puck's shirt hanging off loosely on Brittany's frame—the collar dipped down real low to expose a lone freckle on the swell of her breast)—_through her head.

They ate their meal in relative silence, with Santana averting her eyes because she feels like she might spontaneously combust if her eyes lingered on Brittany too long.

"Hey, are you blushing?"

And now, she's called out on it too, Santana thought with chagrin. Brittany's voice was teasing, sort of mocking, and Santana had a feeling that she knows what she's doing. She poked at her side and Santana over-exaggerated the sudden jolt of pain to avoid answering Brittany's question.

"Oh, my God! I'm sorry! I forgot!"

"'S fine," she gasped out, pretending to be out of breath from the pain. Brittany seemed to buy it because she went back to eating, and Santana did the same.

When they were done, Santana nearly choked as she took a drink from her waterskin when Brittany asked if she wants to go and take a bath in the stream. She was already undoing the strings on Puck's shirt. Santana swallowed quickly enough to avoid a really awkward coughing fit and tried to regain her bearings.

Sure enough, there was a mischievous glint in Brittany's eyes and Santana felt herself drawn into those seemingly-endless pools that it took a moment before she rediscovered her tongue and remembered how to use it.

"I, uh, I don't think we should do it together. I mean somebody could randomly attack us—"

"Mmh-hmm. Two naked girls, you mean..."Brittany trailed off suggestively, her voice an octave lower and her blue eyes a shade darker.

"W-which is why someone needs to stand guard by the bank while the other did their...stuff." _C'mon, be more obvious Santana_, she chided herself.

"Alright," Brittany drawled, undoing the last of the knots so that the shirt fell open at the centre, and Santana had to work hard to keep her mouth from falling open. Brittany sure does enjoy making her squirm.

She followed Brittany and sat down on the grassy bank, facing away from the blonde. She heard the telltale rustling of clothing being dropped and Santana focused all her attention on stringing her bow, and not on staring and thinking about Brittany being naked only a few yards from her.

She heard a splash. "C'mon Santana! It feels really good!"

"I'll go in later. You never know," she called back, amazed at herself at sounding so composed. She sneaked a glance and saw Brittany, naked as the day she was born, frolicking in the water, and it loosened her grip on the string, and with a _twang!_ it struck her hard on the cheek.

She hissed in pain. _Serves you right, you pervert!_

* * *

Lima is a charming little town that is slowly blossoming into a city.

Situated on the foot of the great Barrow mountains, it boasts of fertile soil well-suited for farming. Irrigation is made possible by the river Quayle, which traces its headwaters several thousand feet into the mountains. The river bisects Lima and is the main thoroughfare aside from rough trails and roads accessible by horse or by foot.

When Brittany and Santana arrived, the quaint little town was just waking up. Stalls in the marketplace were still closed, though the few that were open had merchants still stacking up their wares for display. Some recognized Santana and they exchanged a few pleasantries before they moved on. A couple of drunks were lying passed out on the dirt, some sprawled on crates of produce, and Santana chuckled as she spied an old man nudging one of them awake with his cane. The drunk just groaned in response and slept on. Brittany saw this too and giggled (_which Santana now thinks is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world_).

Roosters crowed, and wives filed out of their huts in order to have a fire burning so they could get breakfasts in order. The scent of breakfast cooking filled the air—granted it was nothing but gruel—but Santana couldn't help but feel comforted because she's home. She led Brittany across the town, and had to tear her away from picking up a duckling and running off with it ("But she's so cute, San," she said, and Santana could feel a tug at her heartstrings: both at the nickname and the really adorable way Brittany is eyeing said creature), with an angry housewife at their heels.

At last, they reached their destination—an old, ramshackle building with a faded sign that said _New Directions_. She was quickly ushered in by Rachel Berry, with a hug thrown in. Santana was quick to push her off however: firstly because her side still hurt, and secondly, she just doesn't like Rachel Berry.

"Oh Santana, I missed you!"

"Can it, Berry, I've only been gone a few days. And we'll have the usual." She sat down on a stool by the worn counter, and Brittany did the same.

She noticed the red welt on Santana's cheek, caused by a bowstringing process gone awry. "Aww, Santana, what happened to this?" She reached out a hand to touch it, but Santana was quick to snag at her hand.

"Honestly, I have half a mind to stick my knives into your tiny, midget frame the way you like sticking your humongous nose in my business. And I needs to get my eats on, so you better start working on that," Santana said, snapping her fingers for emphasis.

"Charming, Santana, as always," she said, and with a huff, turned away from her and hollered something into the kitchens. Within a second, she was back, and Santana heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Oh, and who would this be?" her huge, manic eyes finally found Brittany as a barmaid laid their bowls of porridge in front of them.

"I'm Brittany."

"Well, since Santana had been so gracious in introducing us—" Santana shot her a glare. "I'm Rachel. Rachel Berry. My dads own this tavern, so I am privy to the comings and goings of people, and I haven't seen you before. Where are you from?"

Brittany shot Santana a look. "I, uh, actually—"

"Look here, dwarf, why don't you go annoy somebody else and leave us to eat in peace?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, and thankfully, before she could respond to Santana, the door to the tavern opened and Rachel bustled over to the newcomers.

* * *

After breakfast, Santana led Brittany to her house which stood on the edge of Lima—into a disreputable neighbourhood called Lima Heights. Most of the residents were former slaves who managed to escape from their masters, very much like Santana's father. Some of the men eyed Brittany with a lecherous glint in their eyes, but knowing that she's with Santana, they knew better than to attempt something.

Santana took off her belt, which had become too heavy after the addition of Karofsky's arsenal, and hung it on the wall, along with her bow. She kicked off her boots and collapsed on her bedroll, ignoring the pain on her side.

She was exhausted after staying up most of the night due to a sexual-frustration-induced-insomnia. It didn't help that Brittany was spooning her like the previous night. She thought about relieving herself a little ways away, but when she moved to get up, Brittany just clung on tighter. And so, she just grit her teeth and prayed to whoever god was listening for sleep to come.

She heard Brittany drop down beside her, and as she'd expected, the blonde wrapped herself around Santana before she could utter a squeak of protest—if she could.

* * *

It was already dark when Santana woke up because of a loud banging on her front door.

"Santana!" It was Rachel Berry.

"God, what could she want this time?" she asked herself aloud, as she reluctantly got up, cradling her head as the sudden motion caused her to see stars. Brittany slept on, oblivious.

"Santana!" she called more urgently, and Santana started walking very slowly just to spite her because everybody knows that Rachel Berry had a penchant for dramatics.

"What do you want?" she all but spat in the face of the smaller woman.

But Rachel looked white and frantic, and Santana, conscious thought coming back to her, suddenly found it odd that Rachel managed to venture bravely into Lima Heights.

"Santana... there's a man after you. He's been asking around in the tavern, harassing people. He looks really angry." Rachel shuddered.

"Wh-what? What man?"

"Huge, bear-like. He says he's looking for the Fideli she-dog with a blonde woman in tow. Uh, his words, not mine." Santana felt afraid enough to not be offended. "Santana, he's furious. He beat up one of the lodgers when he couldn't tell him about your whereabouts."

Oh my God. _Karofsky_.

"Shit. Shit," Santana mumbled under her breath. "Thanks for the warning, Rachel. But Britt and I have to disappear now."

**TBC.**

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts on the chapter! **


	8. Chapter 8

**I meant to have this out sooner but I got bitten by a plot bunny so I currently have a one-shot in the works. According to my estimates, around 10k words (I've written around 2k but a lot needs to happen). I'll post it as soon as I'm done. It's Brittana, of course.**

**Teehee, on with the story! Please review!**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"Santana, what did you do this time?"

"It's not something I did! It's something I _didn't_ do!"

Rachel looked fearful when she noticed the men outside looking at her weirdly. Santana didn't want to compromise her safety so she ushered her inside. _Even if they were staring at her because of the ludicrous outfit she wore_. Santana had a sudden desire to march up to the _New Directions_ and set fire to Rachel's wardrobe had the situation not been so urgent.

"Should've killed the bastard," Santana muttered under her breath. She was surprised that this remark gained no response from the smaller woman, and she turned to find her staring at Brittany's sleeping form, looking shocked. At least Brittany was wearing clothes this time. Rachel nearly fainted the first time she saw another woman—in the nude—lounging on Santana's bed. Santana remembered her running outside, her cheeks flaming, mumbling about being traumatized and scarred for life only to run back in when some men from the Heights nearly mugged her. _Good times_, Santana thought, chuckling.

"It's because of her, isn't it?" Rachel asked, rounding on her. Santana ignored her as she buckled her belt-slash-arsenal around her waist. She felt instantly comforted by their weight. "Santana, you did not steal another man's wife again, did you?"

"Berry, that was one time. And that woman was all over me. It's not my fault!"

She remembered being chased from the _New Directions _by a very furious husband wielding a machete after he caught his wife and Santana going at it on the bed he was renting for himself and his wife. She was literally half-dressed but she managed to escape into the forest where she found Puck, and both of them had a right laugh about it.

But, alas, this is no time for reminiscing some of the most hilarious consequences of her conquests. Karofsky is probably on his way here now, since Santana is quite well-known in Lima, so somebody's sure to crack soon.

"Alright," Rachel slowly said as she watched Santana pack the few clothes she owned into a hemp rucksack. "Where do you plan to go now?"

"I don't know, Berry," she answered. She'll be going back to Kingsvale, where she'd worked before, but Rachel doesn't need to know that. At least she'd be free of an annoying dwarf who likes to talk too much. This thought wasn't without a bit of fondness though, (And oh God, did she just imply to herself that she'll miss Rachel _fucking_ Berry?). "Just far from here."

With alarm, she noticed that Rachel's brown eyes are glimmering with tears threatening to fall. _I don't have time for this_, she thought, sighing. She ignored Rachel when she heard a loud sniff, proceeding instead to rouse Brittany from sleep.

"Britt, we've got to leave. Karofsky's in town already," she said the moment Brittany opened her eyes. They were so blue and beautiful, and she couldn't help but stare in awe.

Brittany sat up, her spine rigid. Santana left her to regain her bearings and strode over to Rachel who was hastily wiping at her eyes.

"I can't believe I'm saying this Santana, but I think I'm going to miss your caustic words and boorish behaviour," she said thickly. _Such a drama queen as always_, Santana thought.

"Well, yeah, same goes I guess," she replied with a shrug. "Anyway, Berry, it's not like I'm never going back. You'll have your favourite daily dish of Santana Lopez insults soon enough." She smiled sarcastically at her.

"Ha ha, very funny." Rachel made a face, but she helped Santana in folding her cloak nonetheless. Brittany emerged from the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Britt, don't be ridiculous, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I've dragged you into _my _mess." She looked really sad.

Santana shrugged. "Well, it kinda turned into my mess when I attacked them I suppose," she replied in a low voice.

Rachel, who was observing them nearby, looked troubled. But Santana was thankful she did not say anything. Brittany just nodded wanly.

Santana turned to Rachel. "Berry, can I ask you a favour?"

"Wh-what is it?" She looked taken aback to be addressed.

"Berry, we're going to need a horse. I know you keep some in the stables behind the inn. But I prefer yours. I don't want to have any trouble with Misters Berry. Don't worry, she'll be returned to you."

"What? Not Barbra, no." She firmly shook her head.

"Look, I know we get on each other's nerves most of the time—and to be honest, you get on mine a lot more frequently. But _Rachel_, we need that." That was probably the first time she had called Rachel by her first name. "I mean her, we need her." She hastily amended. Rachel treats Barbra as if she were a person, and she desperately wants to get on her good side.

"Couldn't you just board the ferry to wherever you're going? I could easily arrange for Trent to give you a safe passage. I know you don't have that kind of money."

"Alright, hold up, I'm going to let that go this time since I really need you. But Rach, you don't understand. The less people involved, the better. I don't want more people getting in trouble because of us. You're already in deeper shit than you realize."

Rachel gasped. "What do you mean?"

"Berry, that man who's after my ass—well, mine and Britt's—he's one of Schuester's men."

"Schuester, as in the Lord Schuester?"

Brittany nodded gravely. "We're really sorry to get you involved, Rachel."

* * *

They somehow managed to sneak back into town without bumping into Karofsky, and thankfully, he was gone from the tavern. Santana didn't know whether it boded well for them. He could very well be on his way to her hut in Lima Heights and they had just missed him for a few minutes.

Rachel watched, anxiously biting her fingernails as Santana saddled and bridled Barbra the horse. She was a fine specimen: jet black save for a strip of white running down from between her eyes up to the tip of her leathery nose.

"Santana, be gentle," Rachel chided as Barbra let out a whinny of protest when Santana forced the bit into the horse's humongous mouth.

"I'm trying my best!"

"She's a gift for my sweet sixteenth," she said miserably to Brittany. "And now I'm letting Santana manhandle her so roughly. Barbra must hate me now. I'm a bad mistress, and now I'm handing her over to somebody who's a lot worse. Barbra will be better off served as a delicacy."

"Watch it Berry," she snapped. "Or I might force this bit into your mouth instead. And boy, I sure won't try to be gentle."

"San, be nice," Brittany said.

Santana did not say anything more and Rachel let out a nervous chuckle. "Looks like Barbra isn't the only one who's whipped huh."

Santana opened her mouth to protest but a glare from Brittany cut her off. She didn't want to know why, but she didn't want to incur Brittany's displeasure.

When everything was ready, she reluctantly gave in to Rachel's embrace. Afterwards, almost a quarter of an hour was spent on Rachel giving her beloved Barbra a tearful and messy goodbye. Santana could only roll her eyes at the display.

"She's named after the great Barbra the Gypsy. One of the greatest female bards in Branic history. I came to see her perform once, in Kingsvale," Rachel said, blowing her nose, obviously upset. "It was the other gift I received for my sweet sixteenth."

"Yes, and you're projecting your feelings for that person into a horse. Into a horse, Berry! Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

"I think she meant 'thanks', Rachel. Don't worry, I'll take good care of her."

Rachel pulled Brittany in an embrace. "Thank you for understanding." She glared at Santana over Brittany's shoulder.

They climbed onto Barbra's back, and Rachel reluctantly handed the riding crop to Santana, but then changed her mind and gave it to Brittany instead.

"Brittany, I've only known you for a few hours but I've come to trust you more than I trust this other woman here," she said, earning a dirty look from Santana.

They rode away, Rachel looking on mournfully, waving half-heartedly.

* * *

It was daybreak when Santana deemed that they had gone sufficiently far enough to stop for a rest. They found a meadow with no single soul in sight.

Brittany freed the horse from its bridle, but picketed it to a nearby tree as it grazed contentedly. Santana watched her go about doing the task with ease, and she deduced that it must be one of her duties at the estate. She was extremely gentle with animals, Santana noted with admiration.

Brittany skipped over to her and plopped down on the grass. Santana tore off a piece of bread from the loaf she was munching and handed it over to her. Brittany took it gratefully.

"Aren't you mad at me?" she asked timidly.

"Why? I don't have any reason to be."

"Well, I know how much you love living in Lima, but now you were forced to leave." Brittany chewed on her bread, looking sadly into the direction where they came from. "I'm pretty sure news about you killing Azimio had started spreading like wildfire."

Santana hadn't thought about that. But oh well, what's done is done and she could do nothing to change the past. And frankly, she had no intention of doing so. She did not regret any of it, even if it caused her a few cracked ribs (which thankfully only occasionally hurt now).

"That's fine, I never really tried to fit in in Lima anyway. I basically live in the forest. And besides, if we did not leave, who knows how long it's going to take before the townspeople are going to be all up on my door with pitchforks and torches. I killed a baron's man, basically defying his authority."

"Still, I changed your life—turned it upside down—and certainly not for the better."

"Relax Brittany. Going after you was a choice I made, alright?" She smiled up at the blonde. "I wouldn't be able to sleep at night had I cast you into that horrific fate and tried not to intervene. Besides, I've wanted to do something with my life. Before, it's just hunting, selling whatever I managed to catch, and then I go spend the rest of my earnings on wagers and booze. It's a whole wash-rinse-repeat process, and frankly, it's tiring. I only realized that now. It's nice to have some goal to look forward to, you know? And right now, my goal is to getting you home."

Brittany stayed silent, but she took Santana's hand and pressed her lips reverently on her knuckles. Santana didn't know what to think of this. One thing is for sure though, she wants Brittany's lips somewhere else other than her hand. She suddenly felt warmth creeping up her cheeks.

"Wh-what...I... I guess, uh, it's in my blood after all. Lopezes usually aren't contented sitting on their ass, waiting to die in one place. We just can't seem to settle down you know?" she rambled nervously, trying to distract herself from the pang of loss she felt when Brittany's lips were gone from her skin.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning against Santana.

"I, uh, well... You're welcome, I suppose."

* * *

They hadn't seen anyone besides a caravan carrying produce from the nearby town of Argyll Glade, and the driver waved in acknowledgment. They still felt safe enough to stick to the main roads, but Santana knew that a messenger is on its way to each of the towns along the way about a murderer at large, containing her description. Azimio wasn't the first person she had killed, but surely he was her first kill on which there were witnesses.

There weren't a lot of Fidelis who weren't living as slaves in the mainland, and Santana knew they have to be extra careful. She isn't exactly forgettable.

"I should have just let you kill him," Brittany whispered miserably.

"I don't think that's going to change anything. Two bodies wearing Schuester's livery found in the forest. And then a strange blonde woman suddenly turns up in Lima with me. Someone's going to put two and two together. Besides, we should stop thinking about what we should have done. There's no use wallowing in regret."

Brittany sighed. "Alright."

They lapsed into silence, watching the colours of sunset explode into the sky as Barbra plodded on. The western sky is filled with wispy clouds lined with orange and pink. It looked like an enormous canvas painted on by a monstrous yet skilful hand.

The night insects have awakened, so that the road being flanked by trees on both sides, buzzed with the unmistakable sound of crickets rubbing their wings together. A coyote howled in the distance, and the hounds of the forest answered with a frenzied barking.

Santana felt Brittany tremble behind her.

"Aww, don't be scared," she said.

* * *

Later that night, as Santana busied herself with the fire, she heard Brittany scream. She came running, and it turned out that she came upon a snake. Santana killed it with a single blow from her machete, but Brittany was now loathe to spend the night on the ground.

Santana had no choice but to strap both of them into a sturdy-looking bough. She did not tell Brittany that snakes—especially phytons—spend most of their time up in trees too.

And there, lying squished against Brittany, Santana thought there's nowhere else she'd rather be. Brittany nuzzled into her neck, and yes, it did take some getting-used to in order to ignore that _feeling_ pooling between her legs, but both of them fell into a comfortable sleep, wrapped up in each other's warmth.

**TBC.**

* * *

**I kinda have mixed feelings about this chapter. Tell me what you think in the review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Edited this to add a little something at the end of the chapter.**

**Apologies I hadn't updated in nearly two days. I had a lot of work to do, especially the first chapter of my thesis, which is due this week. And then I had to write various programs for my other subject. Also, I would've finished this sooner but I've had to cut a huge chunk from this chapter since I realized it doesn't help in moving the plot forward nor in character development.**

**And with that, on with the story. Please review!**

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**CHAPTER NINE**

The distance between Argyll Glade and Halifax, a large, sprawling city just west of the coast was only twelve leagues. It was not a great distance but all of those thirty-six miles were a rocky, mountainous terrain seldom taken by even the bravest men. Most people preferred to take a boat from the seaside town of Siren Coast; that way, it was also faster.

But Brittany and Santana lacked the money to do so. So they have to do it the hard way.

A few miles off the Glade, where the land begins to rise steeply, the Pass of the Ancients cuts into the breast of a mountain. The sight was daunting, for it rises, unbroken, a ribbon-like trail in its narrow breadth, bordered by cliffs hundreds of fathoms deep. It would be best not to look down from them, for they would incur a slight, tingling sensation at the soles of the feet.

Santana was thankful Barbra didn't seem to be afraid of heights. The animal was sure-footed and level-headed. Not even the sudden flight of birds emerging from the trees could faze her.

It's a different story with Brittany though. Her arms were wrapped around Santana's middle, and her incredibly tight hold is making it pretty impossible to breath. Her ribs hurt, but at least it's tolerable.

There were various species of plants clinging desperately to the jagged edges of the rock-face, and a few animals living in the crevices. Santana could swear she saw one dart out from the safety of its hole, and she was tempted to shoot it. She hadn't used her bow in ages, and she's itching to.

* * *

It was dark when Santana found them a wide stance and decided that this would be the best place to pass the night so far, dozens of yards from the steep sides of the Pass so that even when Barbra happened to be startled (which was highly-unlikely, but whatever), she would not drag them down to a gruesome death.

Santana also scouted the nearby territory to ensure their safety, since poisonous insects and fierce animals abound in the remotest of places.

When she returned, she was pleasantly surprised to find a pewter pot with a cheery fire underneath. Brittany smiled at her, proud of herself.

"What's cooking?" she asked.

"Some workman's stew you're sure to like." A delicious smell wafted from the pot and Santana felt and heard her stomach growl. Brittany giggled. "Oooh, someone's hungry! Don't worry; it's going to be done in a moment."

When it was ready, both of them all but inhaled the food.

"You're a good cook, huh. I'll grow fat if you keep cooking for us."

"I wouldn't mind. You look like you could use some fat anyway, you're too skinny."

"Says the girl whose shirt is hanging so loosely on her frame," Santana countered with a roll of her eyes.

"Are you implying that I look frail?" Brittany replied, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she put her bowl down.

Without warning, she attacked Santana, and they came crashing into the dirt—Brittany on top. Santana was winded, but Brittany did not relent, and pretty soon it devolved into a full-blown tickle fight. It hurt her side a little, but hearing Brittany laugh was a balm to her aches, and Santana found herself laughing as well. Eventually, they stopped, both of them looking into each other's eyes, their faces so close that Santana was sure she was cross-eyed. Brittany's catlike eyes were so mesmerizing.

Santana had the sudden desire to kiss her.

"Say it," Brittany said quietly.

Santana gasped. _Can she read minds?_ "S-say what?"

"Say I don't look frail. Do I look frail to you?" It was only then that she noticed that Brittany had her forearm braced against Santana's throat. She wouldn't have been able to kiss her even if she tried.

She did not know whether to be relieved or frustrated. "I, uh, no, you don't. Uh, a-absolutely... you're not... you're not frail."

Brittany smirked and pulled herself up, "Thought so." She stood up and brushed dirt off her clothes.

_What just happened?_ Santana asked herself, still trying to collect her wits as she lay on the dirt.

* * *

The next two days passed uneventfully.

On the third day, they were making their way down the mountains. The trail was rough, quite unseen for Nature had began reclaiming the bald earth that had been used by humans for a long time. Long disuse had allowed several kinds of plants to grow: some trees that are beginning to mature, and others a few saplings that impede their passing somewhat.

"How many days 'til we reach Halifax?" Brittany asked, slapping at herself since mosquitoes and gnats seemed to be attacking every visible piece of skin they could find. They were walking now. It would do no good to keep riding Barbra until she drops dead.

"I don't know. Two, or probably three." She replied, wiping her brow.

They were quiet afterwards, as they are running low on water. They had taken to drinking from leaves early in the morning. Santana had collected quite a sufficient amount, but they had to ration until they find a stream or creek or even a pond.

It was ironic, even if they were in a forest, it was stifling hot, and Santana felt like crawling across the forest floor. Her tongue felt thick and she wanted nothing but to steal a sip from her waterskin.

She and Brittany were very tired and nearly-dead by the end of the day, but thankfully, they came upon a creek. Both of them jumped into the water in the best of spirits.

They would have liked to stay there for as long as they could, but Santana didn't want to risk either of them catching a cold. They were both highly-uncomfortable enough to add that to their list of woes.

* * *

They were running low on supplies. This shouldn't be alarming, but when Santana checked the snares she had set up early the next morning, she managed to find not one creature. This struck her as odd. She'd been here, a long time ago, and this particular forest was brimming with game.

And then she remembered. In the creek, there isn't a single frog around, so that those pernicious, bloodsucking insects kept them awake half the night. She's got a bad feeling about this, and she knew that they had to get moving soon,

But first, breakfast. Brittany was still sleeping, but she didn't mind. The blonde looked so peaceful as she slumbered on comfortably against the cloak they were using as a mat. The mosquitoes had stopped attacking them—the morning chill briefly preventing them from doing so.

She gathered some logs and piled them into the pit he had made the night before. Soon she had a fire started and she placed a pot over it containing water and a few choice guava leaves. That would do for tea. She would have wanted to have some fish for supper, but when she ventured into the creek, she found nothing.

As she waited for the tea to boil, she decided to scout the area for some rotting logs in which he could get some grubs. She was lucky to find a felled tree nearby and she gathered the squirming creatures then stuffed them into a pouch. She already had a crude fishing rod fashioned from an oak yesterday, and she thought that maybe she would have a better luck catching fish downstream.

When she returned, she found Brittany tending to the fire, all the while stifling a huge yawn. She took out the lone wooden cup they had and poured some after it had begun to boil. Wordlessly, she handed it to Brittany.

"Do you think my Papa would still be able to recognize me?" Brittany asked, taking a sip and passing it to Santana.

Santana did not know how to answer that. With a jolt, she realized that they don't even have a solid plan for when they reach Kingsvale. How could they hope to be admitted to the King's presence, when they both looked like country bumpkins who don't know any better? They don't even have nice clothes. Or would they be even be allowed to see the King, now that he's seriously ill?

She'll figure something out when the time comes that she has to.

"Well... you're his daughter so I guess he'd be able to feel something, no?"

Brittany looked saddened by this answer. "I don't... I don't have anything. Not even the necklace he gave me. All I have are memories and the knowledge that I am indeed his daughter."

"You have me," Santana mumbled before she could stop herself. She hoped Brittany didn't catch it.

Brittany's face lit up. "Well, yeah, I have you too. You were the only one who believed in me."

Santana didn't know why she did. For all she knew, Brittany was an ordinary slave who had delusions of grandeur, and who has somehow led her into a wild-goose chase. _No, Brittany wouldn't lie about this_. Besides, she's kind of itching for some adventure. "There's one thing that bothers me though. Why didn't he search for you?"

Santana had heard about the siege in Kingsvale. She recalled that she was nine or ten at that time, and the Realm was rife with rumours that the attack succeeded. But King James persevered through it even though he lost his wife. But she heard nothing about him losing his child.

Brittany shrugged, and the pain that flashed across her angelic features made Santana regret asking that question.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. For years I've wondered about that, too."

* * *

The city of Halifax is so heavily-populated that Santana felt safe enough to go with Brittany in order to replenish their dwindling supplies. She knew they couldn't depend on just the forest for their food, as evidenced by the lack of game.

They got a little lucky downstream though, and she and Brittany managed to catch plenty of fish. Santana felt confident enough that she'd be able to get a good price for them. With the money, she thought she'd be able to satisfy her craving for fruits. Looking around all the stalls is already making her mouth water.

She was shocked, however, with the way Brittany conducted her business. With a simple bat of eyelash, and a little coy hand to the shoulder of the trader, Brittany managed to get a good deal for the fish. Santana was in awe.

When she trades, it was all business. She did not expect that a little flirting could go a long way. The trader must have paid double for Brittany's wares. He bought Santana's too, and with the money, they were able to buy a basket of fruits with plenty left over.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Santana asked, holding her money pouch.

Brittany just shrugged, smirking mischievously. "I'm a natural."

"You like, hypnotized him or something. Are you a witch?" And then it dawned on her. Brittany was well aware of how attractive she is so she kept on teasing Santana. It's not fair. If she thought about it a little harder, she was in Brittany's spell as well.

Brittany winked at her. _Winked!_ Life is so not fair. Santana was sure that people like her don't blush, but she was certain also that she just did at that moment.

They passed by a tavern with a sign that said _Aural Intensity_. Santana could hear the faint strains of a ballad being sung inside.

"What do you say we go in and have an ale?"

Santana was only too eager to nod.

Inside was hot and steamy, and it reeked of sweat and blood. Santana suspected that there was a recent brawl. She pushed past the bodies by the door, when suddenly, she felt Brittany stiffen beside her.

"Well, well," said a silky voice. "Look who's here. Santana Lopez, and my dearest, Brittany Pierce."

"T-terri del Monico?" Santana gasped.

**TBC.**

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **

**I have a lot of ideas next chapter, and maybe, there might be a ratings change soon.**

**Please leave a review, and do tell me if you feel that the story is sorta draggy? I can't say since I don't have a beta.**

**Also I try to edit this as much as I could but sometimes I still fail to spot some errors. Apologies for that.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry for the delay! This chapter had to be rewritten 3 times until I realized that I had to have an outline since my ideas are all over the place.**

**Anyway, I think y'all are gonna like this chapter.**

**Enjoy, and please review! : )**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

"For the record, Santana, it's _Lady _Terri del Monico," she huffed.

"Well you sure didn't sound like a lady when you were screwing Puckerman's brains out," Santana said with a smirk. Brittany looked squeamish at the thought. "I should know, you asked me to stand guard by the door. And afterwards, you gave us both a generous payment of—"

"Alright! Alright, you can shut up now!" she all but yelled, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "And you? What are you doing here?" She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I think I know! You finally escaped to chase after you delusions of grandeur, huh?"

Santana was instinctively annoyed. "Don't talk to her like that," she said through gritted teeth.

"I wonder what she had to do to convince you, Santana. For a clever girl, you sure have a knack for getting yourself in trouble," she tutted and crossed her arms. Santana wanted to hit her. "Didn't you know—" she lowered her voice. "I could have you both hanged if I wanted to? I trust that you're well aware of the law."

They nodded. "But you're not going to do that, are you?" Santana hoped that she's not going to turn them in to the City Watch—she couldn't tell because Terri is crazy. But then again, if it came to that, she would do everything to try and fight her way out.

"Uh-huh, you're in luck. Since I like you Santana, I'm not going to do that. And you—" she jabbed a finger at Brittany, who only glared stolidly in return, "—though I like you even less, really—you're one of my least favourite people in the Realm, second only to that milkmaid, Emma Pillsbury—I'm not going to do anything. At least Will's eyes would no longer stray from me to you. There's one less competition to worry about. You're not my problem anymore, so what can I say? Good riddance." Terri rolled her eyes. "Some dancer, my ass," she mumbled.

"Are you implying something?" Santana asked, taking a threatening step forward. She was torn between being morbidly curious about whatever was between Brittany and Will—if there's any—and this state of blissful ignorance. Terri visibly cowered after her eyes flicked to the assortment of weapons on Santana's belt.

"Let it go, San," Brittany said, holding out her hand to stop Santana.

"I did not wish to imply anything... Just that, I think, Will has some kind of a... I don't know, a certain fondness... or obsession for some of his slaves—especially performers—er, young ones, yeah—and yeah, it seems inappropriate," Terri stumbled out, cheeks pink. "But I love him so, so I guess I'm willing to overlook that... troubling aspect of his personality. Brittany was his favourite by far, along with this girl called Harmony and Finn. No idea what he sees in him; boy was real clumsy and like he was literally born with two left feet. And you know what, it seems like he spends more time with him than with me!" she wailed, mournful and indignant at the same time.

Santana glanced at Brittany and saw her nodding. But her eyes looked like they lost their light for a moment, and then they only looked sad. She did not know if she felt relieved. Will sounds like a shady character. Santana isn't sure if she wanted to learn more about him.

"So," Terri clapped her hands together. "Everything fine? Both your drinks are on me. I get to celebrate today since Brittany is finally out of Will's—soon-to-be-mine's—hair."

_Terri's still crazy alright_, Santana thought.

* * *

Terri put down her cards. "I don't want to play with you two anymore. You bore me," she huffed, taking a generous swig of ale. Santana knew it was because she had already lost a thousand and two-hundred mints to her.

"I don't care, we'll keep playing. Right, Britts?" Brittany giggled when Santana glanced at her. She had undone the top three buttons on her shirt, claiming it was too hot, and Santana couldn't stop her eyes from fixing themselves on the valley between her breasts.

"Yes, of course," she answered, giggling some more when she noticed where Santana's eyes lingered.

"And frankly, I feel like such a third wheel," Terri added, standing up and making her way to another table. Santana swallowed awkwardly.

She and Brittany played some more, until Santana noticed that Brittany was looking more and more troubled.

"What is bothering you, Britt?"

Brittany sighed. "It's just, don't you think Barbra is getting lonely out there? I promised Rachel I'm going to take care of her, and that includes her emotional well-being as well."

Santana had to resist the urge to roll her eyes and blurt out _'Oh please, who cares about Berry?'_ if she didn't find Brittany's concern so adorable. She felt a pang of guilt just thinking about saying that. Well, they did leave Barbra tethered somewhere in the woods.

"So, do you want to head out now?"

Brittany nodded. They stood up to leave when—

"You cheated!" a man bellowed, and their heads whipped around to find a burly man standing over Terri looking utterly enraged.

"Have you no respect? I am the Lady Terri del Monico of—"

She was abruptly cut off when the man pulled out a dagger and plunged it deep into the wooden table. "Give me back my money!"

Terri's guard, an enormous wall of a man, sprung to his feet but was immediately grabbed by three of the man's cronies.

Brittany grabbed Santana's arm to stop her from leaping into action. "But Britt—"

"I've won these fair and square," Terri said defiantly, obstinately defending her earnings. She even tucked the burlap bag deep into the folds of her dress. _For God's sake, it's only a couple thousand mints_, Santana thought. This is going to get ugly.

This action enraged the man further, and he grabbed Terri with his huge, meaty hands, effectively strangling her.

Santana broke free from Brittany's grasp, and she heard Brittany call out her name right before she landed a punch to the man's jaw. The impact travelled from her fist up her arm and into her shoulder, and Santana felt faint from the pain, but he dropped Terri.

Within seconds, as Santana was still recovering, chaos erupted.

"YOU DON'T DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO A LADY!" somebody yelled, and began attacking the man. His cronies fought back, and one of them saw her about to slink away from the fight (_because Brittany hates violence; she only did that because she doesn't want Terri's blood on her conscience_). He ran towards her with a ferocious yell.

Santana saw his fist about to hit her squarely in the face, and she ducked instinctively, only to bang her chin against the edge of the table. Dizzy from the pain, she threw out her fists wildly, and caught him in the stomach, and he was momentarily winded. Without giving him a chance to recover, she kneed him in the gut and he fell unconscious.

She was about to leave run back towards Brittany when somebody hit her on the shin with something and she lost balance.

"How dare you, you bitch!" It was the man from earlier, his face covered in blood, his nose broken. Santana's mind was able to register all this before he gave her a swift kick to the head with his heavy hobnail boots.

Santana thought she heard Brittany scream before everything went black.

* * *

The first thing she felt was that she was lying on something soft. It felt extremely comfortable, and she burrowed against the pillows. This only ever happened when she managed to hook up with some of the lodgers at the _New Directions_—which wasn't all that often.

_Wait, there's something wrong. _If she recalled correctly, they had left Lima ages ago.

She opened her eyes and found that she was in a dimly-lit room. She tried to move and felt extremely sore everywhere. Groaning, she managed to turn her head to find Brittany sitting by her bedside—_bedside?_—and keeping vigil, her face fraught with worry.

"Hey," she said weakly.

"Oh San," she whimpered. She made a move as if to hug her, but suddenly remembered Santana's injuries, and settled for touching Santana soothingly instead. "I was so worried. So, so worried."

"I'm alright, Britt," she replied, putting her hand over Brittany's.

"He wouldn't stop kicking you San. It felt like hours before Terri's guard managed to pull him away." Her lower lip trembled at the recollection. Brittany looked even more endearing, and Santana couldn't help but feel her heart soar at the thought of Brittany fearing for her life. "And then, I thought you had died." Her blue eyes teared up at the thought, and Santana reached over to wipe her tears with her thumb without hesitation.

"I'm fine. I'm used to that. I've been into lots of fights. I'm really tough, if you haven't noticed."

"I did. I know you're tough, but you're not immortal."

"Well, yeah, but just imagine... toughie Santana Lopez, killed in a bar brawl? After everything I'd been through. All of Lima will laugh at me. I have a reputation to uphold you know."

"Oh, now you're being arrogant," Brittany said, an eyebrow raised, but smiling nonetheless.

"Honey, I'm just stating facts," Santana said cockily.

Brittany pulled a face.

"I'll probably be walking around with a black eye for a few days. Probably two black eyes."

"I could imagine. You're going to be so cute. Like a little panda," Brittany said dreamily, smiling innocently.

"Hey, I'm not little! And what in the nine hells is a panda?"

"You haven't seen one?" Brittany looked amused. "I hear they come from the north of Fidelian. Will's got one back in Thornville. It's a cute little bear-like creature with two black spots over its eyes."

"I wouldn't associate being cute with a bear!" Santana said, horrified. She had a few close calls with some bears who strayed too far South.

"But they are. They only ever eat bamboo leaves. And once a week, Will forces us—me, Finn, Harmony and Rory, that is—to drink panda hair tea. He says it improves vocal performance and keeps us healthy."

"What, you sing too?" Santana didn't think Brittany could even be more perfect in her eyes.

"Sometimes." She said, but did not offer anything more. "You want to eat something?"

"No, no. I'm good Britt, thanks for asking."

Brittany stood up and grabbed a washcloth from the basin on the nightstand. "Terri wishes to thank you for what you did. She says that if you need anything she'll gladly provide it except for...uh," Santana looked over at Brittany to find that the tips of her ears had turned red. "Uh, you know—that—because she says she's not that into that."

Santana burst out laughing, (as if she'd want to hook up with Terri!) and pain lanced at her side. It was now back in full force, and it made her recoil. Puffs of laughter devolved into groans.

"Santana, are you alright?"

She could only nod. The pain dissipated a bit when Brittany pressed the washcloth over the fresh bruises on her face. It seemed like her body was responding to her touch.

"Some of your cuts are still bleeding." She peered closely at her and Santana gasped at their proximity. Her heart began racing wildly. She could count the number of her eyelashes if she so wished—as well as the freckles on her nose, and, something that she took notice for the first time: the freckle near Brittany's upper lip too. She ached to kiss it.

She didn't know where it came from, but she felt a surge of bravado.

Heart beating twice as fast as it normally should, she asked in a hoarse voice, "I have a wish...but it's for you."

"Santana, unlike Terri, I don't condone violence, so I don't think I'd be obligated to—"

"Canikissyoubritt?" It tumbled out of her mouth in a rush, and now that she had made it known, she wanted to bolt. Her stomach felt queasy and she felt like throwing up, and she did not know whether it was from everything she had drunk earlier or because of nerves. But Brittany was hovering atop her, and her mouth fell open as a blush blossomed on her cheeks. "S-sorry. Don't mind—"

"Santana, I'd love to kiss you," she said quietly. "I had wanted to kiss you ever since you saved me from Azimio and Karofsky."

_What?_

Santana stared at her, uncomprehending. Brittany was saying something, but it's not making sense. _Ever since they met she—_

Brittany's warm hands cupped her jaw and brought her face closer to Santana's.

The moment their lips touched, Santana stopped thinking, and just started feeling. She was aware of every sensation: the softness of Brittany's lips; her smell: something like grass and fields and ale and something so _Brittany_ oozing out of every pore; Brittany's hesitation and eventual relaxation into the kiss; and the gentleness at which she pressed her lips against Santana's.

Santana didn't want this moment to end.

**TBC.**

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review : )**

**I think we shall finally see Kingsvale next chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

**So sorry for the delay! I had to finish the first chapter of my thesis, and then I was sick for like, half a day. Nothing serious, my stomach felt a little off, is all. Anyway, good news is, this is the longest chapter yet! **

**Enjoy reading and please leave a review!**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Santana felt pleasantly lightheaded as the kiss got more heated. One of her hands came up to tangle on Brittany's blonde hair, as she ran the tip of her tongue against Brittany's upper lip. Brittany opened her mouth a little, and tentatively brushed her tongue against hers, and now, the feeling between Santana's legs evolved into some sort of a pulsing ache. She squeezed her legs together but it made it worse.

Aching for more contact, she pulled Brittany closer until she was half on top. Brittany braced herself with her forearms on either side of Santana, all too aware of the injuries she had sustained.

Suddenly, she became aware of a coppery taste in her mouth, and Brittany did too, since she stopped kissing Santana back. She pulled away abruptly and gasped in horror.

"San, your nose is bleeding!" She immediately hastened to the nightstand in order to get the washcloth.

Santana lay on the bed, slightly breathless and furious at her own body for killing the mood. She roughly swiped at her nose and winced in pain.

"Don't do that, San," Brittany admonished her gently then proceeded to carefully wipe the blood on Santana's nose, her touch feather-light. Brittany seemed too cool and collected even after their kiss, and a troubling thought crossed her mind. _Maybe she thinks I'm disgusting._ "You're so cute and small and adorable... being all vulnerable like this. Not that I liked that you got beaten up of course, but I think I like... taking care of you."

Santana couldn't help but smile, and in a flash, her insecurities were banished.

"How about kissing me? Did you like it?"

Brittany nodded enthusiastically.

"I'd very much like to kiss you again, but I don't want to trigger another nosebleed. You were barely able to feel it the first time, you might choke on your own blood next and then I'd end up making out with a corpse, which is, eww, seriously wrong on so many levels." She cringed at her thoughts. "I mean, I did make out with a bronze statue once, something Will had installed in his garden—she's got really cold lips. Although now that I think about it, I think I had one too many cups of wine so Finn was able to persuade me because he thought seeing two girls make out—granted the other one was a statue—would be hot. I hate Finn. He told everyone about it the next day and they wouldn't let me live it down." She tapped her chin with her finger and looked deep in thought. Santana had no idea what to say. It was quite a lot to take in but she found Brittany even more...fascinating.

"I wonder why he didn't ask Harmony. She's kinda pretty and we kissed behind the barn once, because she was scared she's going to grow old without ever kissing anybody and she told me it's to prepare for when we get boys. Anyways, she's a decent kisser. She's one of the few people who know that kissing is different from eating, you know?"

Santana snorted but took care not to laugh so as not to aggravate the pain in her side.

"I know right? I've had similar unfortunate experiences," she chimed in. Brittany grinned.

* * *

The next morning, Santana woke to the sunlight spearing her eyelids. But the rest of her was cold. She groaned in disappointment when she realized that Brittany was gone.

She sat up, and she swore she felt her joints creak. Everything was sore, and not in the way she would have liked it to be.

Just as she swung her legs off to the side of the bed—really slowly and torturously—the door swung open and in came Brittany with a piece of bread and a hot bowl of porridge. Her face lit up when she saw that Santana was already awake, and Santana matched her smile.

However, it faltered when Terri also strode into the room.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" she sputtered, scowling. She would very much like to have breakfast with Brittany alone.

"Good morning to you too, Santana," Terri answered sarcastically. "Honestly, I was expecting a much...warmer reception since I'm going to play genie here, so you might want to get on my good side. Another thing, you look absolutely terrible. You look like my pet raccoon."

"Last time I checked, the reason I was sporting these bruises which, as you so nicely put it, makes me look like a raccoon was because I got too busy literally saving your neck."

"No, Santana, you look like an adorable little panda," Brittany said putting down the tray on the nightstand. Then she turned to Terri, her face thunderous. "If I had known you're going to mock her like this, I would have dragged her out last night and not have her interfere. After all, we were leaving when we heard your pathetic girlish shriek!" Brittany said angrily.

"Oooh, caustic. So unlike you, sweet Britt-Britt. And for the record, I did not shriek last night."

"Doesn't matter," Brittany huffed. It's the first time Santana had seen her like this. Angry Brittany was even more hot.

"I see Santana is rubbing off on you, huh," Terri observed, sitting down on a stool.

"Not yet," Brittany mumbled, cheeks going pink. It took a moment for Santana to figure out what she meant. "I mean, we can't, as of now, her ribs still has to—"

"Alright! Shut up! You're already traumatizing the children I'm going to have with Will!" She put her hands over her ears.

"What a prude!" Santana scoffed. Brittany handed her the bowl of porridge and she quickly dug in gratefully.

"Anyway, before I was so _rudely_ received here, I had every intention to thank you Santana, for saving my life. And like I told Brittany, you can ask me for anything, and I'd gladly provide. Of course, with the exception of—"

"Hold up, what possessed you to think that I'm even thinking of that?" Brittany made a small gagging noise. "Now that you ask, I'm thinking about: a horse, some gold—" She ticked these off on her fingers. "—a couple of decent dresses, and a letter, with your seal, for us to get an immediate audience with the King."

"Santana, I don't have much sway in the court. And besides, what makes you think that you'd even be allowed to see him? He's terribly ill, from what I hear."

"Well, at least that it would be better if we were kind of...endorsed by an aristocrat," she shrugged.

"They're going to think I'm crazy," she sighed theatrically.

"Well, I'm sure they already do," Santana retorted. Brittany chuckled. "You're like the only _Lady _who hangs out in seedy joints such as these."

"Santana, may I remind you that I own these 'seedy joints'?" Terri rolled her eyes. "Fine. I promised, didn't I? I'll do what I can."

Finally, she left, allowing them to eat in peace.

* * *

True to her word, Terri provided them everything Santana thought they needed. Brittany decided that they are to leave the next morning, giving Santana even more time to recover.

The next day dawned in a resplendent manner, and though Brittany and Santana shivered underneath their cloaks against the morning chill, the blaze of colours in the eastern sky was a great sight to see. The pink and scarlet conflagration moved steadily westward, and the inky blackness of the western horizon dissolved into a deep, indigo hue.

They hurried into the stables. At least it was relatively warmer there compared outside. Santana was surprised to see Barbra there.

"Me and Trevor—Terri's guard—went to get her while you were sleeping. I guess I'll be taking her. You'll have—," Brittany thought for a moment, narrowing her eyes in thought. "Prancer? I forgot."

Santana warily approached the huge chestnut who kept tossing its head. When she was close enough, she reached out to touch his nose, and without warning, he reared. Santana took a step back but lost her balance, and she landed on her behind.

"Fuck, is that woman trying to kill me?" she groaned, massaging her hip as if it would keep the pain from radiating into her side. "Why would she give me a feisty horse?"

Brittany was quick to ease the agitated animal. "Easy now, boy," she kept mumbling over and over.

"Fuck it, I'll be taking Barbra," she said, getting to her feet.

Prancer was quick to warm up to Brittany. She just had that skill when it came to animals, it seemed. Once their bags were strapped, and everything was ready, they set off southward.

* * *

They had their first close call three days later, in a sleepy little town called Elfir.

Santana had forgotten that she (and Puck) had cheated people out of their winnings on card games, and thus, a lot of them was out for her blood. She hadn't expected that she would be recognized—or that the news about her murder of Azimio would reach this place—either way, she found herself running as fast as she could despite the throbbing pain on her side.

Fortunately, she was able to find Brittany quickly, who is currently using her feminine wiles to cheat another hapless trader, but she was able to finish the transaction before she was whisked away by Santana—the Town Watch and several townspeople hot on their heels.

Quickly, they jumped into their horses and left their pursuers in the dust, riding into the sunset and laughing their heads off.

Santana would only acknowledge how afraid she felt later, when they were about to sleep. Brittany pressed her lips lovingly to Santana's in order to reassure her. And although she throbbed with the need for more, she knew she should just wait.

* * *

After Elfir, Santana decided that they would no longer take their chances in small towns. Whenever a run is to be made, especially trading, it would be Brittany who would do it. They need to trade since they need all the money they could get. They couldn't just spend the night in the woods if they wanted—there aren't many woodlands for miles around from Kingsvale—and thus, they'd be forced to stay at inns. Terri gave them some gold (which Brittany tried sinking her teeth into since she claims she doesn't trust Terri; anyway, it turned out to be real) but Santana knows that it won't last forever. Perhaps they'll need it for bribes so that they'd be able to see the King.

After that?

Santana didn't want to think about the future yet: what would happen to her should Brittany be welcomed back to the palace with open arms. No, she would not sully the moments spent in Brittany's company worrying about the unknown.

* * *

"San, wake up," Brittany said, shaking her.

She groaned in response, but did not open her eyes.

"San, wake up!" she said with more urgency. There was excitement in Brittany's voice, and Santana knew she couldn't refuse her if she tried so she cracked open an eye blearily. Brittany leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on the lips. And in a split-second, Santana was wide awake.

"What's it about, Britt-Britt?" She moved to kiss her, but Brittany shied away, looking troubled.

"There's a kitten trapped up there," she pointed to the leafy canopy over their heads. "I have no idea how it got there but it's asking for help, San." She pouted, and Santana just about melted. Indeed, if she strained her ears enough, she could hear a faint mewling.

"Alright." She got up and looked skyward. She could make out a fuzzy shape and two green eyes staring right at her.

Without hesitation, she started climbing.

"Be careful, San."

It was about two weeks since the bar brawl, so Santana had healed enough not to have any difficulty. As she neared the kitten though, enough to reach out a hand to take, she felt the branch beneath her right feet gave way, and she scrambled for purchase, holding on to another branch for dear life.

Unfortunately, the noise scared the kitten away and it climbed further up and out of reach.

"Damn you, you worthless ball of fur!" she cursed under her breath, manoeuvring herself into a more stable position. She pulled herself up and grabbed the kitten before it could escape.

Without warning, it sunk its little claws into the skin between her thumb and index finger and it took literally _everything_ not to hurl the little asshole into its death.

"You fucking know how to climb trees, you should fucking know how to get back down."

The kitten hissed threateningly, and even spat at her, and Santana nearly left it there, but she remembered how Brittany had pouted and it softened her heart somewhat.

She jumped down from the lowest branch, and handed the malicious, piece of—

"It's so cute!" Brittany squealed, and Santana's thoughts were abruptly cut off. It was incredibly adorable how Brittany found everything cute, even furry spawns of the Lord of Hells. She held out the kitten towards Santana, and it hissed and spat at her.

"Hey, I was the one who saved you!" she said indignantly, but Brittany just giggled and pulled the kitten against her chest.

* * *

That night, Brittany was still busy cooing over the _damned __thing_ as Santana tended the fire morosely. She didn't even get a kiss after she handed that thing over to her!

"San, I'm going to name him Lord Tubbington. Is that alright?"

She just nodded.

"Hey, San."

"Yes," she answered flatly. "It's a nice name."

They ate in silence—or rather, Santana did, since Brittany was giggling and laughing to herself as the _thing_ swiped at the bits of meat she was feeding_ it_.

When they went to bed, instead of cuddling to Santana like she usually did, Brittany had the _thing_ nestled against her chest.

Santana began plotting ways on how to get rid of that damned _Lord Tubbington_.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Sorry, I broke my word, Kingsvale will be next chapter. I am really sure of that. **

**Thanks for reading! Please leave me your thoughts on the chapter on the box below.**


	12. Chapter 12

**As you may have noticed, the rating has been changed to M.**

**So... Read on, I suppose? ; )**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Santana gazed forlornly in the distance where Kingsvale is now very visible. She was atop a large craggy piece of granite, about thirty feet tall, spanning almost seventeen feet wide. She sat on the edge, her booted feet hanging off into space as she stared at the horizon, looking miserable. This was where she had her first glimpse of the capital. She had felt nothing but exhilaration then, but now, she couldn't avoid the feeling of melancholy that had swept over her.

Although she had promised herself that she'd be happy for Brittany's sake, she couldn't help but withdraw herself from the blonde. Whatever would happen at Kingsvale, Santana was sure that Brittany would be fine for she belonged there. Santana on the other hand—

She had spent enough time living with the more undesirable crowd to know that criminals in the city somewhat managed to coexist peacefully with the responsible citizens. And she's a criminal. There was a warrant out for her arrest, and although she was pretty sure that she could count on the friends she had made there a while back, she couldn't drag Brittany into that kind of life. She had suffered enough hardships to last a lifetime, Santana was sure. It's time she got back what she truly deserved.

Yes, they really would have to part ways. It pained her so much just thinking about it.

They hadn't discussed anything about their relationship. Brittany seemed content to just go with the flow. Sure, they kiss, and are always there for each other, but for how long?

Brittany was a Princess of the Realm. She'd be obligated to marry somebody who's highborn like herself.

Santana wasn't. Worse, she's a girl.

Although the Realm recognizes and accepts unions of the same gender, nobles—especially those belonging to the Royal family—are mandated by law to produce Heirs. If they can't, then they would have to give up everything. Santana can't have Brittany doing that.

And why is she even thinking about that? It's not like they had confessed their love for each other or anything. Liking somebody is still a long way from loving somebody.

But Santana was slowly realizing now that she may have started falling for Brittany.

* * *

"There you are," Brittany whispered, placing her hands on Santana's shoulders and nuzzling into her neck. "I've been looking all over the place for you. Good thing Lord Tubbington told me you came up here."

"He's talking now, huh?" She felt sad and miserable and confused and it all coalesced into irritation, which edged her tone. She didn't think she could ever be angry with Brittany.

"Ooh, someone's grumpy," Brittany observed, sounding amused. She pressed her lips against her nape and Santana shivered involuntarily. _It just feels so damn good. _"I told him to stop attacking you. But you know how it is with cats. It goes in one ear and out the other."

Santana was burning with questions regarding... _this_. But Brittany was doing something to her neck that makes it hard to remember what even a question is. She alternated between sucking and nipping at the skin there, and it wasn't long before Santana's arousal was piqued.

She turned around and met Brittany's lips in a searing kiss. The blonde gave a surprised yelp when Santana bit down hard on her lower lip, but she was quick to reciprocate, matching Santana's energy with her own. They kissed some more, tongues brushing together in an intimate dance, until the need for air came up. They broke away reluctantly and briefly, and Santana only had time to gulp down air once before Brittany captured her lips again.

She was surprised when she felt Brittany's wandering hands on her stomach, stroking at the skin there. _How did she get all my buttons undone?_ She was torn between wanting Brittany's hands to wander lower or higher. It turned out to be the latter, and Santana couldn't help but moan when she started massaging the mounds of flesh.

"You like this, San?" Brittany husked, pulling away for awhile to watch the expression on Santana's face. Her eyes were hooded and dark with lust.

Without warning, her head dropped down and she trailed wet kisses from Santana's neck down to her collarbone, and if she thought that she's going mad from pleasure then, all coherent thoughts ceased when Brittany's lips wrapped around a hard nipple and started sucking.

"Oh, God. Fuck," she gasped out, pulling Brittany's head closer.

Brittany's other hand drifted lower and started unbuckling her belt, and Santana felt the first stirrings of panic. _It's that time of the month_.

"B-britt," she managed to say, snagging at the blonde's hand. "I-I'm on rags."

Brittany let go of her nipple with an audible pop to look up at her with a sheepish smile. "Oh."

"Er—yeah."

"But, we can still do this right?"

She kissed Santana again, and it was sloppy—all teeth and tongue—and intense at the same time. She pushed Brittany down into the ground and started the assault on her neck. Brittany's skin was tinged with the scent of sweat and grass and honeysuckle, and it was an intoxicating combination. Santana found the spot just behind her ear that made Brittany cry out.

Just then, an unwelcome smell—the smell of something burning—drifted up to them, and Brittany gently pushed against her.

"Hang on, I-I'll have to go check on supper."

Santana reluctantly watched her go, but she flashed a coy smile over her shoulder before she climbed down. Santana started buttoning up her shirt. Maybe it was for the best that they hadn't done the deed. They still have a lot to talk about regarding this relationship—if it can be called that.

Santana shook her head, chuckling at herself. If older Santana could see her now, perhaps she'd get smacked upside in the head for not getting it on with the girl when she'd had the chance. The older Santana wouldn't have cared if she has to eat a charred supper. The older Santana didn't do feelings and stuff. She just fucked, and she fucked hard.

But Santana was pretty sure she's changed now, and it took a certain blonde to do that.

* * *

Santana woke up to find Lord Tubbington's claws embedded on her forearm. She cried out and pulled her arm away, cradling it to her chest. She spotted the feline hissing and spitting at her, but before she could retaliate, the demonic animal scampered away into the bushes.

"When I get my hands on you, I swear—Brittany?"

She looked around, but was unable to find her. Their horses, Prancer and Barbra were still tethered nearby, so Brittany didn't venture into town without her knowing.

She was pretty sure Brittany was just nearby, but she also realized that maybe, now is her chance to finally rid herself of the damned pest. She could make it look like that the _thing_ just wandered off and got lost. It's feral anyway. Thanking the heavens for her luck, she stood up and searched the bushes, calling for Lord Tubbington.

"Here, puss, come out now," she called out, warily peering into the bushes since you never know with that _thing_—it just might jump out with the intent to claw her face off this time. "Come out, come out, puss."

She found it huddled in a dark corner, and she grabbed it. The kitten put up a struggle, but Santana was quite immune to his claws now.

"This is the last time you're—"

"Santana, what are you doing?" came Brittany's voice. Santana instinctively trembled in her boots. Brittany sounded stern—and dangerous.

"Uh, nothing?" she blurted out, smiling sheepishly while hiding the hand holding the _thing_ behind her back. It kept on struggling futilely, and Santana had to endure the pain.

The _thing_ let out a sharp and pained meow. Brittany dropped the bucket she was holding—_where did she get that?_—with a thump and some of the contents spilled on the ground. She noticed it contained milk. Brittany had no doubt stolen into a nearby farm and milked one of their cows. She's got balls, that woman.

"Is that Lord Tubbington?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Uh, yeah. We were just...bonding."

She reluctantly handed the kitten over and it burrowed into Brittany's chest, and Santana could swear it shot her a dirty look.

"What an angel," Brittany cooed. "I got some milk for you."

_What in the nine hells?_

Santana had half a mind to tell Brittany that the _thing_ she considers an angel nearly mutilated her arm, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn't have it in her to spoil the adorable scene playing out before her eyes, but God, how she wished she were Lord Tubbington instead.

"Don't mind San, she's just jealous," Brittany whispered, kissing the top of the _thing_'s head.

"I'm not."

"Yes you are." Brittany smiled and kissed her as well. It was a peck but it sure made Santana's mood a thousand times lighter.

* * *

The Halloran Fields, a flat expanse of meadows between Kingsvale and Fentonwood seemed endless although they had been riding at full speed for the past hour or so, with the intent of reaching the city before nightfall.

The first few structures came into view, and they were like the houses back in Lima: thatched roof cabins with holes on their flimsy walls. Naked children flitted about, playing rough games—pulling hairs off each other's heads; biting arms; kicking legs—and all other violent horseplay while soaking up the last of the daylight.

They slowed their steeds to a walk as they entered the massive city, and children paused to gape at them. They clipped-clopped their way into the narrow dirt road, pockmarked with puddles containing fetid water. There were damp ruts all over where several merchant wagons had passed, carrying much-needed goods into the inner city.

Santana glanced at Brittany, and saw that her blue eyes were fixed on the towering structure in the centre of the city, which seemed like a beacon amidst the dirt and the filth.

"Home," she said. "I never thought I'd see Kingsvale again." She turned to Santana, blue eyes shining with tears.

Santana thought, with bittersweet certainty, that now, as their journey drew to a close, she and Brittany would have to say goodbye to each other soon.

* * *

The deeper they went into the city, the cleaner it became—or just relatively cleaner. The dirt road was gone now, replaced by a wide, cobbled road. Here, stone buildings rose out of the ground in clusters, but the stench of waste still permeated the air and Santana had to wrinkle her nose.

There were smaller and narrower roads here and there, leading to the cramped living quarters of the city-dwellers. They didn't venture more but Santana knew that they were as ramshackle as the thatched roof cabins they had passed along the way.

Brittany was taking in everything with wide-eyed fascination. She probably didn't even notice the odour of piss and excrement.

Santana dropped her gaze and just watched Barbra walk. Looking at Brittany made her want to cry, and the feeling in her chest is getting heavier and heavier.

* * *

"Santana Lopez! So good to see you!" Mercedes Jones squealed as she and Brittany entered the inn called _The Troubletones_. They briefly hugged, and the darker woman turned to Brittany.

"Cedes, this is Brittany. Brittany, Mercedes."

Mercedes hugged Brittany as well. "Nice to meet you."

"So, what brings you here?"

"It's a long story," Santana answered, sitting down on a stool, exhausted.

"Oh, do spill."

"Maybe later. I'm parched," she sighed.

Mercedes's eyes flitted from the both of them and she gave Santana a meaningful look. Santana just shrugged. She had no idea herself.

"Alright. You're all clammed up. Nothing but a good flagon of wine to loosen your tongue."

Mercedes snapped her fingers and a barmaid hurried over to serve them. Santana greedily gulped down her wine.

"Business is doing great, huh," Brittany observed, although not half the tables were filled.

Mercedes gave her a funny look but decided to play along. "You could say that."

Suddenly, a young woman draped her arms across Santana's shoulders and purred into her ear, "Hey, Sannie... nice to see you again. Looking for a good time, Lespez?"

Santana was too shocked and embarrassed to respond. Brittany was glaring at the woman.

"Go back to work, Helga," Mercedes said sharply.

Helga was undeterred. "We could meet up later when my shift ends, what do you say?"

"No, I'm... good."

"You're not. You were a devil in the sheets the last—"

"Can't you understand that she already said no?" It was Brittany, who was getting to her feet. If looks could kill, Santana was certain that Helga would have dropped dead.

"You didn't tell me you already had someone." She huffed and left.

After that, she and Brittany chatted easily with Mercedes. They told her everything they had been through so far, even Brittany's story. Santana didn't expect Mercedes to believe, but she did. She promised them that she'll talk to one of her friends inside the palace, called Samuel, and she'll see what she could do.

* * *

"Brittany, can I ask you something?"

They were cuddling on the bed (the _thing_ curled up at their feet, but nevertheless Santana had Brittany to herself so she isn't complaining), when Santana finally mustered enough courage to ask Brittany about them.

"Mmh-hmm? What about?"

"Are we... is there an 'us'?"

"What do you mean? Of course, there's an 'us', silly. We've been travelling together for days. I wasn't travelling alone, and you weren't travelling alone either."

"No, I meant—," she sighed, unable to find the right words. "Britt, I think—" she swallowed. Brittany shifted her position so that she lay facing Santana. She nodded, urging her to go on. "What will happen when your father takes you back?"

"I'll be Princess again, I guess."

"But... how about... how about us?" She wanted to keep the desperation and sadness and fear of losing Brittany in her voice but it edged out anyway, and she could feel her throat constrict. _Get a hold of yourself, Lopez_.

Brittany smiled. "Of course, you're coming to live in the castle with me," she answered as if it was the most obvious thing.

"Britt—I, you don't understand. I'm nothing but a peasant, and a murderer at that. We're only lucky no one at the City Watch has spotted me yet."

"Well," Brittany started tracing shapes on Santana's arm. "You had to murder him in order to save me. I'm sure Papa will understand. He wouldn't throw you into the dungeons, I promise."

"But...you don't understand, I—"

Brittany silenced her with a kiss. "Santana, we're going to be fine."

"Britt, do you love me?" she finally blurted out.

"San, you have no idea how much I've grown to love you," she whispered.

Santana felt her heart stop in a very pleasant way. She couldn't believe it. "Really?" was all she could say as she felt tears come into her eyes.

Brittany nodded. "I love you, Santana Lopez, and I had no idea what you're so afraid of. You're trembling all over."

"Well, it's just that... I'm really happy," she sniffed. "I love you too, Britts."

**TBC.**

* * *

**Got bitten by the plut (plot + smut) bunny at last! What do you think?**

**Another thing, this story is about to end, but depending on reader response, I may be persuaded to write a sequel. So, you know what to do: just leave me a review ; )**


	13. Chapter 13

**So sorry for the delay! I was so busy with school, but I try to write whenever I can. Anyway, the upside is that this chapter is longer than usual (yeah, longest I've ever written!). This story will only run for 2 more chapters, and after that, I'll immediately start working on the sequel. **

**Thanks for the faves/alerts/reviews so far and keep 'em coming! **

**Now, on with the story...**

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Santana didn't know it was possible to feel this happy.

She woke up to Brittany's blue eyes so close to her own, and she didn't waste any time in closing the gap between them. They must've spent what seemed like hours trading kisses—long and slow and lazy kisses—on that cramped bed, until Lord Tubbington crept between them and pried them apart with a well-placed claw to Santana's back.

With a yelp, Santana fell out of bed. Brittany just giggled and held out a hand to help her up, and if she didn't look so adorable, Santana would have grabbed that _thing_ and hurled it out the window. Cats land on all fours anyway. And with that demonic furball (whose purpose in life seemed to be tormenting her), she wouldn't be even surprised if it could sprout bat-like wings.

Brittany gently nudged Lord Tubbington away, and he reluctantly jumped down into the floor, his tail swishing irritably. Santana would have wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but Brittany instantly grabbed her and stuck her own tongue down Santana's throat. _Now that is more like it_, Santana thought as she eagerly returned Brittany's fierce kisses.

Even now, as they were having breakfast with Mercedes, she couldn't keep the giddy smile off her face.

"So, I've talked to Sam," Mercedes said by way of opening, coughing meaningfully in order to break up the heated eye-fucking going on between her and Brittany. If Santana wasn't on rags, she would have dragged Brittany upstairs and let the blonde fuck her senseless.

_Wait, what?_

Santana Lopez didn't let anyone top her.

She felt heat creeping up her cheeks when her mind retorted,_ With Brittany, I wouldn't mind_.

"I'm sorry, Sam, who?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Samuel. He's Captain of the Guards. He dropped by this morning and he kind of owes me a favour, so... Anyway, he said he'll be able to help you. You got a letter from Lady del Monico, right? I just told him the Lady sent you. Not necessarily accurate but—"

She was cut off when Brittany suddenly engulfed her in a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you, Mercedes!"

"Why, you're very welcome, Brittany," she answered, patting the blonde's back awkwardly. "But, maybe you should let go now, I kind of need to breathe?"

"Oh, I'm sorry."

So this is it. They are really going to the Palace.

Santana couldn't help but feel sad and afraid in a way. But then she remembered Brittany's promise and declaration of love, and she knew, no matter what, that they are going to be fine.

* * *

Agony.

That was the state Santana was in right now. _Pure, unrelenting agony_.

She wondered how noblewomen could stand doing this to themselves. The corset was too tight, and she had a hard time breathing. Terri mentioned that it was made from whalebone and she couldn't avoid thinking that they might stab her right in the gut and she'd die a gruesome death even before they reach the Palace. Not to mention, her breasts threatened to spill over the top. She had no idea they were this big. She kept tugging her dress upward self-consciously.

And the lace!

She wanted to set fire to all the looms in Ross which are in-charge of producing these damned things. She itched everywhere and it was driving her crazy. She couldn't help but gape at Brittany, who was calmly braiding her hair with a serene smile on her face.

"You look so pretty, San," Brittany murmured, watching Santana struggle from the corner of her eye.

"Pretty? I look like some cheap clown prostitute flaunting her wares on the filthy streets of Halifax!" she snapped, looking herself over in the mirror and grimacing in disgust.

Brittany strode towards her and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She placed her chin on Santana's shoulder and caught her eyes in the mirror. "No, you don't. You don't give yourself enough credit, San. You look absolutely gorgeous."

"You don't have to lie through your teeth you know," she replied, scowling.

Brittany chuckled. "I'm not lying." She playfully bit Santana's earlobe, inadvertently sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "You should wear dresses more often. They suit you very well." She picked some lint off Santana's shoulder. "You look like a princess."

Santana sighed. "You sure you're not saying that just to make me feel better?"

"I don't. Look, if you don't believe me, I'll go ahead and call 'Cedes," Brittany said, smirking.

Santana was mortified at the thought. Mercedes would surely give her a hard time about this. She could already imagine her saying: "_I never thought I'd live to see this! The great Santana Lopez in a freakin' dress!_ _Praise!_"

Turned out she was right.

It was a good thing business was incredibly slow in the mornings, since the moment she appeared downstairs, cowering behind Brittany, she could see the range of emotions that flashed across Mercedes's face. First was shock, then confusion, and finally, barely-concealed amusement.

In the end, she just burst out laughing. Santana just glowered at her.

_The things I do for love_, Santana thought miserably.

* * *

Her only consolation was that she and Brittany didn't have to ride across the city looking like this.

She was pleasantly surprised when a carriage stopped by just in front of the inn.

Mercedes just gave her a withering look. "What? You don't think important people don't come to stay at the _The Troubletones_?"

Right on cue, the sign bearing the inn's name dropped to the ground, nearly decapitating a clueless passer-by. Santana had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing, and one look at Brittany told her that she's struggling with the same problem.

Mercedes just pursed her lips and sighed. "Shane! Fix the damn signage!" Then she turned to the two of them. "What are you two waiting for? Get in."

* * *

The sight of the Palace never failed to amaze Santana.

It stood on a hill—a towering white marble monstrosity. The shiny marble reflected sunlight like a beacon, catching the eyes of weary travellers far and wide. At the foot of the hill were forbidding, thirty-foot walls with watchtowers at the corners. The watchtowers were crawling with guards, eyeing the city with disdain. She couldn't help but wonder how the rebels managed to breach that fifteen years ago and succeeded in slaughtering the King's wife and taking Brittany away.

Santana was dismayed to find the thickening crowd that stood between them and the gates of the Palace. Like Santana and Brittany, there were dressed in their finest clothes. But unlike them, they were sweating buckets in the midday sun.

"A lot of people are seeking an audience with the Princess. They think she's weak-willed, and thus she would be more lenient with their wishes, but they're wrong. Sam tells me she's quite ruthless," Mercedes said, peering into the curtains.

"She is. From what little I could remember," Brittany murmured sullenly. Santana could tell that she's beginning to get worried on how this day might turn out. She instinctively laced her fingers with Brittany's in an effort to soothe her.

Mercedes smiled knowingly at them.

"How are we supposed to get past them?" Santana asked, in an effort to draw Mercedes's attention away from their interlinked hands.

"No worries, Sam said we'll go through the supply gates at the back. He'll be waiting for us there."

They circled around the mass of people, and Santana noticed that a few of them were getting violent—not only were they in a verbal tussle with the guards, but some were flinging vile things towards the gates. She saw some of the guards running for cover. She slammed the carriage window shut.

Eventually, they slowed down and stopped.

Mercedes was the first one out, and the two of them were quick to follow. Santana saw Mercedes talking with a tall, blonde knight in armour in hushed whispers. His mouth was so big, and Santana's eyes couldn't help but be drawn to it. All of a sudden, Brittany suddenly leapt up and tackled the knight in a hug. He was caught off-guard, and so were Santana and Mercedes.

"Sammie!"

"I—yeah, but who are you?" he asked, frowning, as he gently set her down.

"It's me, Brittany! Don't you remember?" Sam just stared at her as if she were mad.

"Th-they know each other?" Mercedes asked Santana.

"Well, Brittany used to live here," Santana sighed. Brittany was still trying to convince him. "And I'm sure, with lips that big, she won't be able to forget him."

"...and when you tried kissing Quinn up there in the gardens, she ran away and you were caned by your Papa. Don't you remember?" Brittany was nearly in tears and Santana was getting increasingly annoyed. The moment Brittany starts crying, she would rip him to pieces.

"I... I do remember that. H-how—I—how do you know that?"

"Sam, it's a long story. I'm sure there'll be lots of time for that later. Brittany just has to see her father," Mercedes answered for her.

Sam was visibly struggling with himself. "But... The King is really ill. He won't be seeing anyone anytime soon." Santana knew he still can't bring himself to believe that Brittany is the long-lost daughter of the King.

"Look here, Fish Lips, Brittany was kidnapped during the siege, fifteen years ago. She had spent three-quarters of her life as somebody's slave. If you add anymore to the misery she had suffered by doing what you are currently doing, I will end you."

Sam smiled humourlessly at her. "I'm pretty sure I could take you on, Fideli."

Mercedes and Brittany immediately grabbed each of Santana's arms before she could launch herself at Sam. "Don't try me!" she sputtered.

"Sam, just let them see the King," Mercedes said in a strained voice. "Or, I'll... I'll withhold that _thing_ you want most." Despite her anger, Santana burst out laughing.

He reddened and sighed, looking resigned. "Fine. But the best I could do is to let you see the Princess. And see if she grants..." He sighed again. "'Cedes, you could vouch for them right? You sure they wouldn't be pulling a stunt at the throne room? An assassination perhaps?"

"As if anyone could touch the—oh." Mercedes was cut off when she happened to glance at Brittany. "No, they won't. And looking at Brittany, you wouldn't expect her to even have the ability to hurt a fly."

"Yeah, I'm not worried about her, I'm worried about—" He cast his eyes warily at Santana, who was still weakly struggling against Mercedes and Brittany.

"I just want to see my Papa," Brittany said.

"Alright, alright," he mumbled, looking away. He still didn't believe her. "If you do anything, the Princess could have you thrown in the dungeons in a second. Are we clear?"

* * *

Her Royal Highness, Lucille Quinn Judith Dianna, Heiress Apparent to the Throne of Kingsvale and the Branic Dominions beyond the Great Sea, Princess of the Realm, sat on a small, albeit equally luxurious chair below her Father's throne. Her advisers, called Magistrates sat beside her, three on each side.

She was dressed in a floor length dress, the colour of pine, and her legs were crossed primly in front of her, and she was delicately running a hand down the goblet of water which rested on one of the armrests.

The moment they entered the throne room, right behind Samuel Evans, Captain of the Guards, her hazel eyes turned to them. Her gaze hardened when they settled on Brittany.

* * *

_It all started when she was three._

_She was too young to remember all the details, but this particular memory stuck with her all throughout her life. This took place right before everything changed._

_She and Brittany were playing with the dolls their father had brought home from Ross, when suddenly; Brittany was whisked away by their mother, taking all their dolls with her. She had no idea why—her three-year-old mind could not understand things such as hatred and malice—and all she knew that day was that all her toys were gone. She started crying and with wild abandon, until her father picked her up and carried her to the gardens where they watched butterflies flit about, and her tears stopped._

_During the days and the weeks that followed, she slowly noticed that her dynamic with her sister had changed for good._

_When before both of them sat on their father's lap whenever he held an audience in the throne room, now it was only Brittany. She was unceremoniously handed over to her Nana, with her foul breath and her wrinkled face (not that she had anything against old people, but they remind her of trees for some reason, and they terrify her—especially when lightning flashes and they cast monstrous silhouettes against her bedroom window). It didn't help at all that she liked to sing along with whatever the minstrel is playing on his lute, and Quinn had to endure hours of her Nana's vile breath washing over her face._

_When before, she and Brittany slept side by side on the huge bed in the bedchamber just beside their parents', now she was relegated to a much smaller bedchamber downstairs which she had to share with Nana. Brittany no longer played with her too, and during the few times that she did, their mother would immediately swoop in and snatch her away. She took to playing with Cook's boy instead, a blonde little boy who goes by the name of Sam._

_But playing with him was very different from playing with Brittany. All he seemed to care about were swords and fights, and he even brought Quinn with him to spy on the pages during their training. She's always tired and dirty by the end of the day, and her dress ruined. She missed Brittany terribly._

_Finally, she couldn't take her loneliness anymore, so when Brittany sat down with her to play with dolls again, after they made sure their mother was gone, she asked her why she is avoiding her._

_Brittany had looked confused at first and Quinn had to repeat the question._

"_Mama says you're not my sister," she answered with a small shrug._

_Quinn's four-year-old mind could not understand. Of course they were sisters. They were both daughters of the King. They had known each other ever since they were able to remember anything._

_Nevertheless, she was too stunned to respond, and Brittany did not seem keen on elaborating, so she just ignored it and they went on playing—blissfully uninterrupted this time._

_Another year went by, and Quinn was getting used to being treated second to Brittany. But it was during the first of their lessons that it finally sunk in._

_Their tutor had addressed Brittany as Heiress Apparent, and her royal styling took forever to say, but when it came to Quinn, it was a simple:_

"_Her Royal Highness, Lucille Quinn Judith Dianna, Princess of the Realm."_

_She couldn't help but wonder why. Both she and Brittany had four first names each. But she knew she was better than Brittany in every way. Granted Brittany was a few moons older, but still, Quinn was a lot smarter and prettier. She could sing better too. She didn't know why life is so unfair._

_Eventually she found out that she wasn't Brittany's sister. She was born to another woman (a nun from an abbey in Ross, which she only learned during her late teens), and everything suddenly made sense._

_She started ignoring Brittany from that day on, but the other blonde was evidently too dense to notice. And when Brittany celebrated her fifth birthday, their Papa gave her a really pretty necklace as a gift. He said it was an heirloom from his grandmother._

_Brittany wondered aloud if it could produce bolts of cloth (since it's a loom—silent heir), earning confused looks from their parents and Quinn couldn't help but snicker cruelly. _

_During her birthday, she in turn received a jewelled comb from their father, but she couldn't help but burn with jealousy since Brittany's gift was infinitely better than hers. She hurled it as hard as she could where it struck Brittany on the nose (haha, take that!), and it immediately started bleeding._

_From then on, whenever neither of their parents nor their Nana was looking, she would take the opportunity to hit Brittany. She couldn't help but feel incredibly happy whenever Brittany would open that huge maw of hers and start bawling. Brittany may be older, but she's the bigger baby. However, she'd feel a twinge of guilt later as she went to bed; since Brittany never told anyone that it was Quinn who was making her cry. Eventually, it would be Brittany who would start avoiding her of her own volition and Quinn grew even sadder, since her day just wasn't complete without any contact with her sister—whether hurtful or otherwise._

_Until that fateful night._

_She was roughly awakened by a blast outside the Palace. Instinctively, she reached for Brittany beside her (as what either of them was wont to do after being awakened by a terrifying nightmare), found none, and remembered that they hadn't slept side by side since they were three._

_With a frightened whimper, she jumped out of bed and tried waking up her Nana, but as old as she is, she just slept through the sounds of commotion outside. She briefly wondered if she had died during her sleep, but the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the stench of her breath told her otherwise. _

_Knowing no one is coming to get her, she crept out of the room with the intent of snuggling closer to Brittany, because she's just so scared. But the sight outside her chamber was even more terrifying; she thought she'd woken up in one of the Hells because everything was so red. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was only caused by the fires burning outside._

"_Britt, I'm sorry, I wouldn't hurt you no more," she mumbled as she slowly made her way up the stairs. A draft of wind blew and it went right through the thin nightdress she wore, sending her teeth a-chattering. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a scream. Quickly, she ducked behind an enormous vase and warily peered into the deserted corridor. _

"_Mama? Mama!" she heard Brittany's shaky voice call out into the darkness. Quinn realized she's just as frightened as she is, and even though they had started hating each other, she couldn't help but feel some sort of protectiveness over her sister. "Papa!"_

_Quinn saw a small silhouette—Brittany—emerging from their parents' bedchamber. From what little light filtering through the windows, she could see tears streaming down her face. Quinn's heart went out to her, and she was about to emerge from behind the vase when a huge man—a giant, came up behind Brittany and grabbed her. Quinn had to bite her lip until it bled to keep from screaming._

_She saw Brittany struggle with all her might and she really, really wanted to help her, but what could she do? She's still tiny, and barely even five. _

_Quinn didn't know what happened next, but Brittany suddenly went limp._

* * *

"Quinn, it's me. It's me Brittany," she said without preamble. Sam stood beside them mouth agape, while Santana watched the Princess's face. Her features were inscrutably hard and unreadable.

An eternity seemed to pass, until the Princess stood up. "Leave us," she said to her Magistrates. If they were shocked at Brittany's sudden arrival and declaration, they were doing a good job of not showing it. Her guards also filed out of the room quietly. "You too, Evans."

"B-but, Your Majesty—" Sam started to protest, glancing at Santana.

"Leave." Her tone left no room for argument. "That includes you, Fideli." She pointed harshly at Santana. "And shut the door."

Santana wanted to contest her orders, but then she realized that this time, she had done all she can and it was now up to Brittany to face her past.

Sam opened his mouth to argue but thought the better of it, and then he motioned to Santana to follow him. Afterwards, the great oaken doors were laboriously shut.

"So it's true then?" he asked her in a low voice.

Santana nodded. From the periphery of her vision, she could see a man briskly walking towards them, quickly followed by several others all wearing the colours of the City Watch—a sickly yellow and royal blue. Her instincts were telling her to bolt now, and she cast a tentative glance at the windows, but realized that it would be a bad idea. She'd probably break something again, and she wouldn't be able to outrun them. The Palace was crawling with guards anyway, and she couldn't fight her way out of that one. She had to live all her weapons back at the inn, for obvious reasons.

Sam stepped up in front of her, perplexed as to why the City Watch is on his turf.

"We have received word of a murderer on the loose, and that she is currently in Kingsvale. Worse, she had managed somehow to make her way into the Palace," the man read from a scroll. He looked up and look at her straight in the eye. "Santana Lopez, you are accused of the murder of Azimio Adams, and the attempted killing of David Karofsky, both thralls in the service of Lord William Schuester, the Baron of Thornville." He looked up. Sam cast a wary glance at her. "Do you deny the accusation?"

Santana just shook her head and two of them strode up towards her and grabbed each of her arms. She didn't resist.

_So this is how it ends. At least, I gave Brittany her happy ending_, she thought miserably, resigning herself to her fate as they fastened manacles on her wrists.

**TBC.**

* * *

**You'll probs hate me for this, but I don't think I can update before Saturday. I have two quizzes coming up: Steel and Concrete Design. Anyway, leave me your thoughts on the chapter on the box below. Salamat! (Thank you in Filipino)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hooray! An update! Well, my quizzes had been postponed for next week, and I can't just leave you guys hanging, so I decided to write my little heart out and here it is: Chapter 14.**

**But before that, I'd like to inform you that I decided not to write a sequel to this anymore...but! I am continuing this story. It won't be ending after two chapters, or any time soon. I did some thinking and realized that the sequel is basically just a continuation of this storyline and I'd still be using third-person limited POV of various characters (mainly Brittana obviously), so nothing new there. And, some seemingly-minor details in the previous chapters would be very relevant in the continuing storyline so why bother splitting it right? Hope I'm making sense here lol.**

**And with that out of the way, hope you enjoy this chapter and tell me what you think!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"You think it would be this easy? You think you could just traipse back here and ruin everything?" Quinn said, narrowing her steely eyes. Brittany couldn't help but feel scared. She wished Santana was here beside her. "You think you could just march in and take everything from me? Take everything I've worked hard for so that Papa would deem me worthy of his Crown?"

"Quinn... it's not that. I don't... I just want to see our father," she said in a small voice. Although she was a little taller than Quinn, she couldn't help but feel cowed. Quinn's presence was just that strong.

"Yes, and then... and then, we'd be like we're five again. We're five and then I'll be back to being a simple Princess of the Realm while you go on and become Heiress Apparent again. You don't think he'd give back what had been yours before?" She sneered. "You know what Brittany, you may think you were born for the throne of Kingsvale, but that doesn't mean you were destined to have it. That doesn't mean... that you deserve it."

"No. I'm not after that. I can't... I'm not smart enough." She felt like bursting into tears. She instinctively looked to her left for Santana's comforting brown eyes but felt an almost physical ache when she found none.

Quinn smirked. "Glad you know that. I mean, look at you, how are you supposed—"

"Quinn, please. I just want to see him." She swallowed the painful lump in her throat that is threatening a sob. Why is she making this so hard for her? "I'm not after the throne, or the crown, I just want to have this chance of seeing him again."

She remembered the feel of his bristly moustache against her brow, and the cool metal of his breastplate pressing against her legs, and his pinkie wrapped tightly around her own. She didn't want those memories to be the last that she remembered of her father.

She had a lot of questions too, but she didn't mind if he won't be able to answer them. She still loved him as a daughter should.

Quinn sighed, and Brittany saw a tiny shift in her expression.

Maybe she was just waiting for Brittany to say those words. And those words rang true. She didn't want to have anything to do with the affairs of the Realm. She could go back to Lima with Santana and live the rest of her days in the forest and she would be so happy. She had given up being a Princess so many years ago, and now it was only the news of her father's illness that compelled her to come back here and perhaps see him for one last time. At least, maybe he could rest more easily knowing his daughter is in good hands.

She was only realizing it now, but the days she spent travelling across the Realm with Santana were the happiest days of her life. She had never felt so secure and so protected, and she felt like she could do that forever, as long as she was with that woman. The woman she loves.

Thinking these thoughts, she couldn't help but feel a small smile tugging up the corners of her lips. Quinn looked at her strangely, but she didn't care.

Quinn finally relented, and with a grudging "Alright," she led her through a secret passageway that led to their father's bedchamber.

* * *

_James Edward Theodore Pierce, the Prince of Kingsvale, Protector of the Branics and Lord of the Realm, stood tall over his opponent: a young Fideli woman, preparing to give the coup de grace even though in his heart it pained him so. She was so young and she got caught up in affairs that could cost her her life._

_His First Soldier, a formidable woman by the name of Sue Sylvester, knowing how much he hated violence, had warned him to stay away from the fighting and let her deal with it instead. But James, ever stubborn, picked up his sword and rode into battle to help quell the rebellion. It was his duty to protect his family after all, now that the peace in his home was threatened and the rebels are on his turf. _

_Most of the rebels were Fidelis, funded by some groups (some of them Branics themselves, promised, no doubt, with huge amounts of money) lobbying for the Realm to give up its hold over the Haunt: a rich territory which formerly belonged to the Kingdom of Fidelian. It was a vast and strategic trading port in the East, not to mention that the mountains held rich deposits of gold and silver, so no wonder they want to do everything they can to win it back. The Realm's most battle-hardened soldiers were sent there in order to keep the Fidelis off the border._

_And now, apparently, they thought laying siege to the Palace would give them what they want. _

_He raised his sword and prepared to strike, and the woman held out her arms in front of her face, and he realized how helpless she was. He couldn't just kill her. He put down his sword, the woman still waiting for the blow that wouldn't come, and sighed._

"_Go," he said. The woman looked up at him uncomprehendingly, but did not lower her arms. "Go!" He said more forcefully, and the woman gasped before scampering away._

_He stood alone in the darkness, as fires burned around him and his people scrambled to put them out, and as battle raged on, the sound of steel against steel ringing in the air. He wondered if he did the right thing in letting that woman go._

_This question was answered a few hours later as he stormed into the Palace. _

_The hallway was littered with bodies, and he started to feel the heavy weight of foreboding pressing against his chest._

"_No. No," he murmured, looking lost as he saw the Kingsguards slumped against their posts by the doors, their throats slit. "No. Please, God, no."_

_He hastened towards the staircase and was met by a little blonde girl who came out of hiding from behind an enormous vase, crying in relief. She attached herself to his leg, wincing suddenly as her cheek made contact with the coldness of his greaves. _

"_Bri—Quinn!" he cried, picking her up. She was trembling all over and she buried her face in his neck, sobbing softly. "It's alright, Papa's here."_

_With mounting dread, he strode towards the bedchamber he shared with his wife. The Kingsguard he had posted lay dead a short distance away from the doorway. This one had foam coming out of his mouth. Poisoned. Heart racing wildly, he stepped into the threshold and found the bed empty._

_An unpleasant numbness overcame him. It couldn't be._

"_Quinn, where's your sister?" he asked her, forcing the small child to look at him. Quinn shut her eyes, tears spilling out even through closed lids, obviously traumatized by what had happened. "Where is she?"_

_Quinn just shook her head and he suddenly wanted to hit her. _No, that would be wrong. She's just a child, it's not her fault. _He shuddered at how his thoughts had suddenly taken a violent turn._

* * *

_He refused to believe it when he found the body of his dead wife minutes later. Quinn saw it too and passed out from the shock in his arms. _

_She was bludgeoned to death from the looks of it—her head reduced to a mess of gore and bloody pulp—but her body was intact. She wore the same dress he saw her last, and the same rings, and the same necklace, and the same bracelets. _

"_No," was all he could say. _

_It was still all he could say when Sue Sylvester showed him Brittany's bloodied nightdress and the necklace he gave her for her fifth birthday a couple of hours later. They couldn't find the body, she said, but it was obvious what was left unsaid._

_He couldn't believe he had lost his family. They were gone. Everything was gone. All he had was this little girl who was sleeping in his arms—a bastard daughter, an accident, a child he didn't ask for._

* * *

Brittany took a tentative step into the room. Quinn thankfully didn't feel necessary to intrude into their reunion, and she stayed by the doorway, but Brittany could feel her gaze burning a hole into her back.

She took several shaky steps towards the enormous four-poster bed. There, covered in sheets of purple, lay a frail figure with a scraggly, unkempt beard. He was a far cry from the man she remembered—one who stood tall and proud in his shining armour and it brought tears to her eyes.

She dropped to her knees by the bedside and took his pale hand which was so frighteningly skeletal, and pressed her lips to it.

"Papa, it's me," she murmured, unable to keep the tears at bay, and she started sobbing into his hand.

* * *

He was pulled from the last vestiges of his dream.

He had been dreaming about a lot lately. Especially about the past as he lay in his bedchamber, waiting for Death to come.

He slowly opened his eyes, and his lids seemed to creak after being shut for so long. He suddenly became aware of a warm wetness in his hand, and he saw a young woman looking up at him through her tears.

He'd know those eyes anywhere. He thought he'd never see them again in his lifetime. His daughter bore the eyes of the woman he loved most in the world—the woman who was taken from him that fateful night. He thought he'd never see those eyes again, and now he wondered if he had died and gone to where dead people go. But the sensation of her holding his hand was so real. His daughter.

"Brittany."

* * *

He said her name. He remembered her. She almost couldn't believe it, and before she knew it, she was weeping for joy.

Colour somewhat returned to his cheeks, and Brittany saw that he was weeping too—fat tears leaking out of his grey eyes and into his thinning beard. He tried to sit up but failed, and Brittany just took him in her arms and held him. He smelled familiar, even after all these years, although there is the unmistakable and unwelcome scent of illness present.

"I knew this day would come," he whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. "I'd never given up hope that I'd see you again."

There were a lot she wanted to say, but she felt like there were too few words to say it with, so she just held on tight for as long as she could, her embrace conveying everything she is unable to say.

Her father pulled away and surveyed her, smiling through his haze of tears. "Brittany," he said, the syllables rolling smoothly off his tongue as if he'd waited for years to say it again, relishing the moment when he finally did. "Brittany... oh, how I've waited for this day!"

Afterwards, he was seized with a coughing fit so strong; it shook his already frail and vulnerable frame. Brittany scrambled to pour him a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on the nightstand. He took it gratefully.

She was a mess of emotions. He was really ill, and it was only just sinking in, and she was afraid he'd die soon after they had been reunited. A fresh sob burst forth, and this seemed to communicate her fears to him.

"Hush, Brittany, we have all the time in the world now," he said, offering a small smile.

She wanted to tell him a lot of things but she didn't know what would be proper to say. Fifteen years could turn family into a complete stranger, she thought wistfully.

"Papa, why didn't you look for me?" was the first thing that tumbled out of her mouth.

Pain flashed across his features, and he looked crushed at the memory. "I'm sorry I didn't search hard enough." He tried sitting up again, and Brittany helped him, bracing pillows behind him so he wouldn't have any difficulty maintaining this posture. "While you were being taken far away using back roads and such, I was searching the nearby villages, following some leads which led to nothing! Eventually, the Magistrates were able to convince me to stop the search, as it is putting the Realm further in jeopardy without a King who could focus on running his country... but I did not once believe that you were dead!" He teared up in regret at what he failed to do in the past. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

"Papa, it's alright. It's alright," was all she could say as he comforted him, instantly regretting that she had asked.

They sat like that for hours, and Brittany told him what had become of her after she was taken. When she mentioned that she was sold as a slave to the Baron of Thornville, his grey eyes seemed to turn to stone, and from then on, he seemed not to be listening to her anymore.

Eventually, he used up all his reserves of strength and he seemed to be fighting to stay awake. Brittany sensed that he was afraid he wouldn't wake up again. She urged him to go back to sleep.

"This is real, right?" he asked her. Brittany just nodded. She felt like asking him the same question, but she had tried pinching her arm to know that this was real and that was good enough for her.

Her father smiled and closed his eyes contentedly.

* * *

"Where's Santana?" she asked Sam, who stood stoically beside Quinn, his gauntleted hand on the hilt of his sword.

"She was arrested by the City Watch," he informed her gravely, and Brittany felt her heart sink and terror wormed its way into her chest.

* * *

She was led down into the dungeons, and one of the Watchmen gave her shoulder a forceful shove, and since her feet were in shackles, she nearly lost her balance on the steep and slippery steps. She whirled around furiously.

"Watch it, gnome!" The manacles were heavy and they cut painfully into her wrists, and she wanted to bash their heads with it.

"Fideli bitch would do better to keep her maw shut," the Watchman chuckled, his vice-like grip on her arm tightening even more. "We would've liked to fuck you before we let you rot in your cell because for a Fideli dog, you're quite good-looking, but we don't do animals."

The rest of the Watchmen burst out in raucous laughter.

"I'm sure other prisoners here wouldn't care less though." They laughed again.

Santana could feel her fury building inside her. But then, a foreign feeling is fighting for a spot in her chest too: fear. _They could do whatever they want with her_.

As they passed the rows of cells, the prisoners hooted and stuck out their hands between the bars. One caught her sleeve and refused to let go until he managed to tear off the fabric of her dress. She shrank away and kept her head down, carefully avoiding the puddles of undoubtedly something vile. She felt like crying, but kept her face impassive. She didn't want them to see how afraid she was.

"It seems to be the she-dog's lucky day. There happens to be an empty cell right here," one of the Watchmen said in a gruff voice and Santana couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips.

She was suddenly thrown into the cell, and since her hands were bound behind her back and her feet shackled, there was nothing to break her fall, so she did all she could to keep from face-planting the dank stone floor and losing a couple of teeth in the process. Her shoulder absorbed most of the impact, and she grunted in pain as all the wind was knocked out of her. The hard corset seemed to cut through skin and bone, making it harder to gulp down precious lungfuls of air, and she passed out.

* * *

She awoke with her feet chained to a pillar. She was lying in some damp hay and this, along with the lace in her dress, made her itch all over. Thankfully, her manacles were gone, but when she tried using her left arm in order to loosen the ribbons on her dress a little so that she could breathe properly, her shoulder exploded in pain and she was left trying to muster herself.

Her shoulder, side and knee ached horribly, and panting with effort, she sat up and leaned her forehead against her knees.

She could not think of a way out of this predicament. The City Watch of Kingsvale was famously known for forgetting about the prisoners they kept in their dungeons. She looked up and around her, trying not to gag at the rank smell of piss and excrement that hung low and thick in the air.

It was dark where she was, and the only lighting came from the flickering torch mounted on a bracket on the adjacent wall. It was eerily silent too, save for the rhythmic clanging farther down the dungeon.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to be somewhere else. Maybe this was all just a nightmare. But when she opened them again her surroundings were the same, and she nearly gave in to the sob that was trying to break free from her chest until she thought of Brittany.

_God, she must be so worried right now_, she thought. She looked around, searching for some sort of escape. But the dungeons seemed to be hewn from solid rock, and it had no openings whatsoever. Well, what did she expect? The term _rotting in the dungeons_ wouldn't have come into being if one could escape from this prison.

The hopelessness of her situation sunk in and she finally gave in to the tears that came relentless and unbidden.

* * *

Santana was still crying, oblivious to the hoots and the whistles and the catcalls that have began anew in the adjacent cell. A soft, familiar voice called out to her, and she found herself looking into Brittany's worried face. She had dropped down to her knees in front of Santana's cell, not caring whether she's kneeling on some puddle.

She hastily wiped her tears away and hastened towards her, as far as her chains would allow.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked, and despite the situation, her spirits were lifted by Brittany's presence. She looked up to see Sam standing behind her, glaring at the other prisoners, with his hand held threateningly over his sword. When he turned to her however, he grimaced in distaste.

Brittany wasted no time in taking both her hands on her own, and the sudden jolt caused pain to shoot up her shoulder, and she flinched. "Santana, are you alright?"Brittany asked, her lower lip quivering as if she was about to cry. "They didn't do anything to you, did they?" She looked almost green at the thought.

Santana was quick to reassure her. "No, Britt. Don't worry." She forced a smile. "How did it go with your father?"

The blonde sighed. "Santana, could you please stop thinking about me for a moment and think about yourself?" She looked dangerously near tears. "We have to get you out of here. I'll... I'll work something out with my father. He's King, he'll be able to do anything."

Santana knew what that would entail. It would essentially be the King putting himself above the law, and for a Fideli, no less! That would be highly controversial and it might trigger something they wouldn't be prepared for.

"No, Britt, you can't do that," she said, and although it felt like she was driving a knife deep into her own chest, she continued, "I committed a crime, so it's only right that I face the consequences—"

"A crime you committed in order to save me!"

"You should not get your father involved in this, Britt," she said curtly. The Fideli-Branic relations were already hanging at a precarious balance, what with the siege years ago. Fidelis were always treated as second-class citizens, and if Brittany somehow managed to make her father pull this stunt (which she doubt would happen), it would only serve to anger the populace. It could trigger a civil war. No, Santana was in this alone.

"Santana, I'll do whatever it takes to get you out of here." There was an air of finality in her voice and Santana's shoulders slumped in defeat. She knew she could do nothing to dissuade Brittany when she set her mind on something. "Hang in there, alright?" Brittany smiled hopefully at her.

Santana smiled back.

Brittany leaned forward and pressed her face against the bars and beckoned her closer. Santana tried to but she was at the limits of her chains. She shook her head sadly.

Brittany was undeterred. With a shy glance at Sam, who had turned away respectfully, she pressed her index and middle fingers to her lips and brought them to Santana's own.

"I love you," she murmured, and Santana couldn't help but smile—sincerely this time.

"I love you too, Brittany."

"I'm sorry my hands were quite rough," she mumbled.

"Oh, they're fine," she answered with a chuckle, already feeling better.

They sat there, trading hand-to-lip kisses and giggling to themselves, until they had to stop when Sam looked at them strangely. Brittany contented herself with blowing a kiss.

"We'll be alright, San."

And Santana knew they would be. Brittany's optimism was contagious, and she didn't know what she did with her life in order to deserve a girl like her.

**TBC.**

* * *

**I'm sorry there isn't much Brittana in this chapter but no worries, I'll make it up to you. Thanks for reading and please review! You don't know how much it makes writing this fic worthwhile when I receive feedback from you, wonderful readers.**


	15. Chapter 15

**So I wrote this while taking breaks from writing a 25-page Management report due Tuesday. I had to interview 2 managers from a specific company (I was assigned to a bank), and then write a report based on that. Minimum number of pages was 25. It's mind-numbingly boring. Idk why we have this subject. It wasn't even related to engineering since we have another one, Construction mgt., and that one's totally related.**

**Anyway, sorry for the rant. I hope this chapter wasn't too choppy. Enjoy reading and please leave a review!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

When Brittany left with that big-lipped knight Mercedes was doing the dirty with, Santana sank back into despair. Brittany seemed to have taken that burst of optimism with her, since Santana could now feel the pall of her dreary circumstance almost physically descend upon her.

The loaf of bread and the jug of orange juice that Brittany had brought her was the only physical reminder that the blonde had been here. She tucked it into her chest, for there was no doubt that there are mice waiting to pounce on her precious provisions. She leaned against the wall, taking care to keep the weight off her left shoulder. It still hurt, but now it was only a faint throbbing, and therefore tolerable. The walls were damp and lined with a thin cushion of moss. She didn't mind—she had her fair share of sleeping in the forest where lichens and moss and mushrooms abound—but what she did mind was the acrid stench of human waste. Scowling in disgust, she cast her gaze to the grimy bucket that sat on the corner of her cell, its filthy appearance further emphasized by the shadows cast by the flickering torchlight. She shuddered.

She just closed her eyes and imagined she were somewhere else. She hadn't expected that her noble act would lead to this, but then again, given the choice to do everything over, she would not change any of it, except, perhaps sparing Karofsky's life. And then of course, she'd bury the bodies this time around.

She sat there, imagining what could have been, until she got too sad, and then took refuge in slumber.

* * *

Quinn didn't know how she felt about her sister's return. She watched her from the huge windows of her bedchamber, walking across the courtyard with a squirming bundle in her arms and Sam at her heels. She looked miserable and close to tears.

Maybe there was something between her and the Fideli woman she had brought with her. Quinn frowned. When Sam told her that the Fideli had been arrested, she couldn't forget how Brittany paled. Maybe she did not know that she had been running around the Realm with a murderer. Quinn was thankful that the City Watch had been doing their job. Who knows what would have happened should the Fideli been allowed to roam free around the Palace. She shuddered, recalling the siege fifteen years ago.

A short while later, Brittany vanished from her sight and she realized that they must have entered the Palace. She drew the drapes back and sat down on her bed, then remembered to check on the progress of her servants.

Brittany had been welcomed back with open arms by their father. He was even the one who ordered the servants to ready her bedchamber—which had stayed unoccupied and undisturbed all these years, and thus it had accumulated an amount of dust so thick one could plant onions—and that Quinn personally supervise. He also asked Quinn to send a pidgytross to Thornville in order to summon Lord Schuester as soon as possible. Pidgytrosses are specially-bred messenger birds with the wingspan of an albatross and the homing instincts of a pigeon. She wondered why her father was looking to summon the Baron.

Her father had also mentioned that Brittany's belated Presentation, which was usually done when a prince or princess turns seven, will be to take place a fortnight from now. One would not think he was ill by the way he energetically fired off orders. But then again, maybe it was his jubilation at his daughter's return that was fuelling him.

A very tiny part of her—the one with the cherished memories from when she was three, before everything began to change, was happy at her sister's return. And then, there was the part that resented it. But for the most part, she felt threatened and afraid for the change that would surely come, even though Brittany had expressed no desire or interest in the throne.

However, their father's wishes were a different matter entirely.

Although he had named her his Heiress, he had yet to put that on his Will. And ultimately, that was what Quinn was worried about the most. All her hard work: the rigid attentiveness she had paid her lessons, and the dedication with which she honed her skills (whether it be in music, horse riding, archery, debates and politics, and even swordsmanship) to be deemed as the worthy Heiress—she could not imagine that all of that would be for naught just because she was a bastard and Brittany was the legitimate daughter. She sighed. No use worrying about the future that is yet to be determined. She stood up and put on her icy veneer, not intending to clue in anyone as to how shaken she really was.

The servants were still hard at work, and when they saw Quinn standing by the doorway, they all hastened changing the sheets. _Typical_, she thought with a sneer. She crossed her arms across her chest and observed them until they were done.

Suddenly, she felt something tugging at the hem of her dress and she jumped away, kicking at the contemptible creature which had its claws out and was hissing and spitting at her. Brittany swiftly took it in her arms, looking apologetic.

"Hi Quinn, this is Lord Tubbington," she said by way of introduction, and Quinn remembered one time when they were younger and Brittany had brought home a toad she found on the pond in the gardens. Its leathery skin was filled with warts and extremely dirty, and she had named it Earl Wartington. Their Nana was horrified and ordered it thrown away and Brittany threw a crying fit of epic proportions. She couldn't help the smile that formed in her lips, because Brittany was still adorable, still fascinated with small animals no matter how hideous they are and still her sister, even though she was just about ready to hate her.

"Well, hello there," she said softly, giving a little wave. The kitten looked at her warily but did not hiss at her. She turned to Brittany. "Where have you been? Papa had been searching for you when he awoke, but he's gone back to sleep now." She resented it a little, but it wasn't surprising. Her father wouldn't want Brittany out of the Palace anytime soon.

Brittany looked down. "I went to see Santana," she said in a quiet voice. _Oh, the Fideli_. "Quinn, is there any way you could—" She worried her lip between her teeth, another childhood habit she never outgrew, "—uh, free someone from the City Dungeons?"

Quinn thought she must have misheard. Surely she isn't talking about the Fideli. Didn't she know that Fidelis were the ones responsible for the siege fifteen years ago that eventually led her to being taken away?

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I need to help Santana. She was arrested."

"Yes, that much I gathered. But why would I want to do that?" She laughed humourlessly. "Brittany, were you suffering from some sort of mental illness? Has that Fideli cast a wicked spell on you? Why would you even think about helping one, and a murderer at that?"

"Santana isn't a murderer," Brittany said, her eyes boring dangerously on Quinn's. The kitten growled, mimicking Brittany, and Quinn shrank away a little.

"Then Samuel must be deaf then. If I recall correctly, he said she did not even bother denying the accusation." She tilted her head up defiantly.

"Yes, I mean, she did what she had to do in order to save me. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be back here."

Quinn clenched her jaw. Some part of her, the one who was feeling seriously threatened now, wanted to let the Fideli rot in jail. For all she knew, she might even be one of the rebels and is plotting another invasion attempt by seducing sweet, dense, doesn't-know-any-better Brittany.

"So she is a murderer."

"No, you don't understand, Quinn. She didn't kill him in cold blood. They were after me and, who knows what could have happened had she not intervened?"

"Brittany, even if I were Queen, I cannot do what you're asking me to. I can't just change the law in favour of...well, that's not exactly in our favour, is it?" She arched an eyebrow. "You know how much bad blood there is between Branics and Fidelis. They are responsible for the siege, for God's sake! Weren't you traumatized enough? You even want to keep one as your pet?"

"Quinn, San's different." She took a deep breath. "She's a really good person. She _saved _me. She didn't have to but she did."

Quinn brought a hand to her temple. "I'll have to think about that." She sighed. "Don't go asking Papa either. I'll work something out." God knows her father won't refuse Brittany anything. And before they knew it, they have a revolt on their hands. None of their people would be pleased about a monarch putting himself above the law and going out of his way to favour a Fideli.

* * *

Santana was being shaken gently awake. For a while, she wondered where she was, as being gentle wasn't something she'd associate with the City Watch. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, she was met with the sight of her dark and dank cell and a familiar head of blonde hair.

Before she could react, Brittany's lips were upon hers, and she reciprocated eagerly. She was shocked that Brittany was inside her cell, but she wasn't about to ask.

Finally, they had to break the kiss in order to be able to breathe.

"I've missed you."

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Santana asked, running a hand through her hair in order to somewhat improve her appearance. She pulled out bits of hay and grimaced in disgust. She was aware that she stank—bad. She was suddenly ashamed of herself. Brittany looked fresh out of a bath and she was clad in a clean shirt and trousers.

"I brought you a change of clothes," she said cheerily, holding out Santana's rucksack. "I know that corset is killing you."

She took it gratefully and Brittany motioned for her to turn around so she could undo the laces. She heard Brittany gasp when she saw her bare shoulder.

"Honey, what happened?" Santana hissed in pain when she felt the pad of Brittany's finger come in contact with the raw skin there. Besides her shoulder being dislocated, or perhaps broken, she was also wounded. _Great._

"That happened when they threw me here," she mumbled. "Don't worry about it."

It was a welcome relief when Brittany was able to undo all the laces. Santana had forgotten how it was to breathe normally.

"Here, I'll cover you up as you change," Brittany said, glancing outside the cell where Sam stood guard, his back to them. She threw a cloak over Santana's shoulder and Santana gingerly wriggled out of her dress, keeping her movements minimal in order to avoid hurting herself further.

"What are you doing here, Britt?" she asked, when she had finished changing into her usual, huntsman clothing which consist of a sleeveless shirt made from cowhide, loose trousers and her beloved boots.

"Well, I couldn't let you suffer alone. It was because of me that you were here."

"Britt," Santana sighed. "When will you stop blaming yourself?"

Brittany just shrugged. "I can't sleep on that big bed knowing you have too content yourself with snuggling up in this itchy pile of hay."She scrunched her nose. "I remember one time, we were climbing trees and then I stumbled upon a nest of hairy caterpillars—," she shuddered, "—seriously there was like a weird caterpillar coven hanging out on those leaves, and some of them fell off and landed on me and Finn. And they itched like mad, so we stripped ourselves and jumped right into the pond, and we have these welts, and for the rest of the day, we kept scratching at ourselves and Will had to ask what the problem was. I mean, that experience was kinda similar to sleeping on a pile of hay but that was waaaay worse..."

She was touched. "You don't deserve this, Britt."

"Neither do you. Can we please stop talking about that and just, I don't know, concentrate on the fact that I'm here?" Her blue eyes flickered down to Santana's lips. "And yeah, I also brought a blanket." She laid it over the cold stone floor, and guided Santana gently down on it. She hovered over Santana,

"B-britt, what about Sam?" She pushed herself up on her elbows, momentarily forgetting about her injury. She winced in pain and fell back down.

"He can enjoy the show," Brittany answered with a smirk, warm breath washing over her face. She leaned forward and kissed Santana, and as she deepened the kiss, Santana closed her eyes, concentrating on steadying her beating heart and enjoying the feel of soft lips against her own.

"Y-you don't mind that he sees us like this?" she asked, putting a hand against Brittany's chest. Brittany's heart matched hers beat for beat. The blonde just shook her head. "Really, you have no qualms about—"

Brittany just giggled, and caught Santana's lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard. Santana yelped and pulled away, but Brittany was quick, and she pressed her lips hard against hers. A gentle swipe of her tongue soothed her throbbing lip. She smiled into the kiss and hissed, "That's what you get for being so talkie."

"Talkie's not a word," Santana retorted with a roll of her eyes.

With a coy shrug, Brittany dove right in and started sucking on that spot behind her ear that made Santana gasp. It felt so good, but she was suddenly self-conscious again.

"B-britt, I taste so bad, and I stink."

"That's all right," Brittany mumbled, nipping and sucking at the skin there, and Santana's eyes rolled to the back of her head. "I've eaten way worse things."

She slapped Brittany playfully against the shoulder, embarrassed.

"I'm kidding," Brittany murmured, kissing her again.

* * *

Santana woke up tangled in Brittany's arms. Since her cell was underground, and she was slowly losing her concept of time. The woman sleeping against her was the only thing that's keeping her from spiralling back into despair.

She carefully watched her expression as she slept. Even sleeping in this dingy cell, there was a serene cast on Brittany's features. Her mouth hung open slightly, and she was snoring softly. Santana couldn't resist, and she pressed a tender kiss against Brittany's temple, her lips brushing against wisps of Brittany's fair hair.

Brittany looked like an angel, and this tranquillity brought tears to her eyes somewhat. _Great, Santana Lopez is becoming a sap._ Brittany didn't have to do any of this for her. She deserved to be back in the Palace, where she truly belonged.

Santana started to doze off again, just snuggling more comfortably into Brittany's warmth, when they were rudely awakened by a Watchman.

"Some nobles ain't right in the head, I could see," he said, unlocking her cell and placing a bowl of food unceremoniously down onto the filthy stone floor. Some of the contents spilled over.

"Hey, you watch what you're saying," Sam quickly said, eyes narrowing at the sentry.

"Just an observation, Kingsguard," he answered sharply, looking at Sam's uniform in contempt. "I mean who would even want to spend a night here? And with a Fideli dog, no less. I can't but fear for the future of the Realm." His lip curled in disgust at the sight of Brittany against Santana. "And they's sleeping with their kind too, huh?"

"Shut your mouth or I'll run you through with my sword," Sam growled.

The Watchman scoffed and left, purposefully bumping against Sam's shoulder, but the knight just let it go.

"I'm sorry," Santana said.

"Not a problem. The King tasked me with the job of seeing to it that the Princess is safe." He turned his back again.

Brittany slowly awakened a short while later and kissed Santana.

"San, I'm hungry," she murmured.

Santana quickly took the bread out of the rucksack and she didn't realize she was hungry too until both of them were gobbling up as much as they could.

"So I was talking to Quinn, regarding this... situation."

"What? Britt, no." She had an incredibly bad feeling that a deal made with Quinn would be comparable to a deal made with the Lord of Hells. "I'll find a way out of this." Even though she had no idea how.

Brittany thought for a moment. "No, you can't. Quinn's smart, she'll know what to do. She said she'd think of something."

"But, Britt—"

"Just trust her, alright? She's my sister, she wouldn't let me down."

"The only way I could get out of this, is when the Baron decides to drop the charges. Which I don't see happening. Granted, I did that to save you, but I could have done that without having to kill anyone."

"You didn't mean to kill Azimio."

"I did," she sighed. "I was so angry, Britt. I can't believe those men would try and take advantage of you like that."

Brittany smiled sadly at her. "We'll be fine, San. Let's just trust Quinn."

"I'm sure she'd want something in exchange."

"Well, she's Heiress, what else could she want?"

"But you're the rightful Heiress!"

Brittany shrugged. "San, I don't think I'd make an awesome Queen. Quinn'd do a much better job than me, I mean, she'd been preparing for this her whole life while I was spending my days dancing for Will. What do I know about politics, and baronies and stuff? I'm not after that you know. I just wanted to see my father. That was my goal in coming here."

"You don't give yourself much credit."

"That's true anyway." She took Santana's hand and linked pinkies with her. "I promise to get you out of here as soon as possible."

* * *

Brittany had left hours ago, and Santana could do nothing but take comfort in their moments spent together. Brittany would have liked to stay longer, but Sam gently reminded her that the King might be getting worried. He had no idea that his daughter was hanging out in the City Dungeons.

"Lopez," the Watchman who had shoved her yesterday—or was it the other day? She had no idea—rattled the bars of her cell to get her attention. "It's your lucky day. The Baron of Thornville orders your appearance before him."

"What?"

He entered her cell and freed her feet from being chained to the pillar then fastened manacles on her wrists. He was rough and Santana cried out in pain as he tugged at her arms.

"You're being sent off to Thornville." He rubbed his hands, surveying his handiwork. "For your trial. I'm sure they'd find you guilty anyway, so I dunno why they bother with that."

Santana's heart sank at the realization just as she was paraded across the dungeons to the jeers and catcalls of the inmates.

**TBC.**

* * *

**I'm sorry if I'm being quite a tease, but I can't have Brittana's first sexytime take place in a stinking cell. As always, please review! I love reading your feedback, and constructive criticism is much appreciated. : )**

**Apologies for typos, grammatical errors and the like, as I don't have a Beta.**


	16. Chapter 16

**In honour of acing the Concrete Design quiz I had earlier today and receiving a wanky number of reviews, I decided to update before I hit the bed.**

**So, read on and enjoy!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Santana was practically blind as she was dragged back into the harsh daylight. She stood there, hands bound behind her back and trying to muster the pain on her shoulder, blinking in order to let her eyes readjust.

"Thought you'd get off scot-free, huh?" a voice hissed in her ear as a fist hammered solidly into her gut, and she doubled over, knees buckling beneath her. "Thought you're tough?"

She looked up at her attacker, only to receive a solid hook on her left jaw. She fell, trying to regain her breath in the dirt as she struggled to let the agony pass. She could only wonder what she did to deserve this. And then remembered. _Karofsky_.

After a moment, she felt strong hands grip her shoulder, and she cried out in pain when her broken shoulder was roughly manhandled. She swayed slightly as she stood, glaring at Karofsky's bear-like visage.

"Don't kill her. Plenty of time for that after her trial," a red-headed Watchman with a mullet chastised him.

"I'm gonna make you suffer, you bitch," he said through tightly-clenched teeth, visibly restraining himself from hitting her again.

She spat on his face, and the other Watchmen were quick to hold him back and he had to content himself with spewing curses at her.

"That doesn't give you a license to do anything either," Ginger Mullet said to her, leading her away from the struggling Karofsky.

She was hauled off into a wagon, vision obscured by a curtain of blood oozing out from a cut on her eyebrow. She must have hit something when she fell.

Soon, they got moving on the road to Thornville, and she was trying her best not to think of Brittany so her spirits wouldn't sink lower than before. But as always, her thoughts strayed and lingered on the blonde, and the possibility that she might not see her again.

* * *

"What do you mean she's no longer here?" Brittany demanded, panic rising in her chest. She had only gone back to the castle a few hours prior so that her father would not worry, and also to fetch some food for Santana and now, this Watchman is telling her that she was gone? She turned to Sam, who just shrugged tiredly.

The Watchman pulled out a huge leather-bound book—the words _Prison Log_ embossed in faded gold letters across the cover—and put it down wearily on the worn table. He turned to the final page, and a perplexed look overcame his face.

"Uh, Your Grace, uh," he stammered, a finger poised on the chicken scrawl across the parchment. It dawned on her that the sentry couldn't read.

"Hand that over," she said in a firm voice. Sam strode forward and lifted it for her. Her eyes were quickly drawn to the final entry.

_Lopez, Santana – en route to Thornville as per behest of the Baron, Lord William Schuester. Watchmen dispatched: Nelson, R. And Grant, J._

Brittany felt her stomach drop.

* * *

"I'm not afraid," Quinn said, looking around at the gardens which consist of rarities. Most of the flowers were imported from the East, in Fidelian, and they were carefully tended to by only the most skilled gardeners.

Duke Arthur Abrams of Ricafort—although she had always called him Artie—sniggered from his chair. He only had one leg for the other was gravely injured during a nasty hunting accident and the wound had been left to fester, thus inciting an infection which led to its amputation. It was replaced with a carefully-crafted wooden leg, although he still hobbled around with a cane.

"Yes, you are," he countered. During times like this, she hated how well he knew her because he was her best friend. But then, she was also lucky because he was the man she was set to marry. "Although, you say there might be something between her and this Fideli peasant—Santana—am I right?"

She delicately picked a blue rose, carefully avoiding its thorns, and brought it to her nose. The fragrance was otherworldly.

"I think my sister may be in-love with her. Papa woke up last night looking for her, and I had to make up an excuse for her absence. She spent the night in the dungeons." She shuddered at the prospect.

"Your sister's got it bad," he said, sounding amused. "Well, you know the law: Queens or Kings can't have spouses of the same gender. It was mandated by Branic law that their unions must be open to fertility. And besides, you're going to make the best Queen the Realm has ever known."

"I have no need for your flattery." She mussed his brown hair playfully.

"What? 'Tis true," he said with a shrug. "I'm guessing she's back in the dungeons now?"

"As usual," she sighed and sat down on his lap. "You know what, I've been having dreams about the siege happening again. And it's because of that peasant."

"Aww, seeing your sister again just brings up memories of the past. And Quinn, that's too racist. My family have had very loyal Fideli servants over the years and not one of them had committed a transgression."

"They are responsible for the siege that happened fifteen years ago. Who's to say they aren't biding their time waiting for the right moment to strike? And now, one of them has wormed their way into my sister's heart."

"But she did say the peasant rescued her, didn't she? And apparently, the peasant had no idea your sister was the long-lost Princess whom we all thought to be dead."

"I... well." She fell silent, thinking that she had been too harsh in passing judgment on the Fideli. "But you can't be too careful, Artie."

"That's how I know you'd make a good Queen. You anticipate every possibility, especially grim ones. But Quinn, maybe sometimes we could tone down the negativity, eh?"

She thought for a moment. She did not even react when Artie pressed his lips to her temple. She was not in the mood. "Brittany wants me to free her. She was arrested for killing one of Lord Schuester's thralls. Well, she had to kill him in order to help my sister. In Brittany's words, they came so close to defiling her had Santana not arrived in the nick of time."

"What are you waiting for? I think you owe her that."

"Does that negate the crime? The thralls didn't know that Brittany was the Princess either."

"Quinn, in any other circumstance, if a commoner even thought of doing that to a Princess, they'd be hanged before they knew it."

"But, I trust that you're aware of how people think. All they'd see is a ruling in favour of a Fideli."

"It's your biases that are getting in the way. That Fideli selflessly saved your sister." He frowned. "I know how to make it quite acceptable. Have the Baron drop the charge, and everybody wins."

* * *

"Quinn, they're moving her!" Brittany stormed into her bedchamber in tears. "She's no longer there when I came, and I was told that they're taking her to Thornville for her trial!"

Quinn put down her quill. She was in the process of writing to Lord Schuester as per Artie's suggestion. She was trying to word it carefully, as the King's relations with the Barons are already tenuous—what with the vastness of the Realm—and she cannot afford to offend Lord Schuester, especially since his barony encompasses most of the Northern reaches of the Realm. It was her grandfather's fault that the King's power had weakened somewhat and became quite concentrated in the South, but her thoughts were cut off when Brittany sought refuge in her arms.

"Brittany, I'm doing all I can."

"Can you stop them?" Brittany sobbed. "Quinn, they might do something to her!"

"They won't. She's a Fideli, most of them are loathe to touch her," she said, and that's true. She awkwardly patted Brittany on the back, wincing when she felt the scar tissue of Brittany's brand. She couldn't imagine suffering as Brittany had suffered in living more than half her life as a slave.

"Are you sure about that?"

Quinn nodded. "Trust me. And now I'm getting Lord Schuester to drop all the charges against her."

"Really?"

"Mmh-hmm. I'm writing him a letter now, in fact. Just trust me, alright?"

"I do, I trust you, Quinn." She let go and cast her gaze down, looking shy. "It's them I don't trust. I mean, do you think they'd even feed her? And what if she's cold, will they give her a blanket? Would they beat her up randomly when they feel like it?"

"Hush, Britt, you're only punishing yourself by thinking about those things. I'm sure she'll be fine. Let's tone down the negativity?" she said, mimicking Artie's words earlier. She wiped the tears off her sister's face. "Tell you what, before this rose dries up and wilts," she said, taking the blue rose she had picked earlier that was lying on her desk and giving it to her. "Santana will be out of trouble."

Brittany's face lit up in a smile and she took it.

* * *

Brittany tossed and turned on the bed.

She couldn't stop thinking about Santana. She turned to the window and stared at the moon, wondering if Santana was seeing the same moon and thinking about her as well. She missed her familiar warmth, and the comfort and safety that being with her evokes. With a jolt, she realized that this was the first time they'd be spending a night without each other. Not even Lord Tubbington snuggling into her chest could help fill the emptiness she felt.

Her throat began to hurt, and she realized she was crying again. She couldn't help but wonder if Santana was safe. Alive, yes—there was no doubt that they have to keep her alive for her trial somehow. She wished her love could just encase Santana like a cocoon and keep her safe.

_No, Santana's tough_, her mind argued. _She'd know how to protect herself._

That was the only thing she held on to as she drifted off to an uneasy sleep plagued with bad dreams.

* * *

It had been three days and still no reply from Will.

Quinn kept reassuring her but it did nothing to quench her worries. It did not help that when she looked at the blue rose lying on her nightstand, its petals were already turning an unhealthy shade of brown at the edges. She averted her gaze. The sight of the flower was only adding to her worries.

She sat on her bed, pulling a string which Lord Tubbington kept chasing in order to distract herself when finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She felt like it's time she did something.

She stood up and burst into the throne room where Quinn ruled in their father's stead, with the kitten at her heels. Luckily, Quinn was just listening to a bard singing some tune. The bard's triangular eyebrows and extremely polished hair-do did not escape her attention even when her whole being was wracked with worry.

Quinn, sensing the impending tears, immediately stood up and ushered her somewhere more private. Brittany hated herself for being so weak, but she just can't stand the thought of not knowing Santana's fate.

"Could you send someone to stop them? I'm sure Will wouldn't refuse you anyway. You're Princess Regent after all," she said in a shaky voice, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat.

Quinn sighed wearily, and Brittany immediately felt bad for pressuring her. "It's out of my hands now, Britt. Maybe tomorrow, we'll receive word of Schuester's reply."

She didn't know if she could stand another day of hoping for something and getting nothing.

"Your Santana will be fine, Britt. She managed to get you back here, didn't she?"

They went back to the throne room where she sat beside Quinn, and they listened to the bard, but her thoughts were far away.

After a while, she left and went to _The Troubletones_ to see Mercedes.

* * *

She was extremely agitated the next day. There was still no reply from Will and her blue rose had wilted.

She's having these weird visions about Santana getting hurt, and being starved and being left in the cold. It took everything not to do anything all day but to wait.

Finally, it was dark. The Palace had fallen asleep many hours before, but Brittany anxiously waited for total silence before she threw off the covers and tiptoed out of her room, Santana's belt slash arsenal secure on her waist.

She hurried past Quinn's room, where the light of her lamp filtered out in the gap between her door and the floor.

She did not know Lord Tubbington had followed her until a piercing meow alerted her to his presence. She had a plan but she hadn't planned for this. She hadn't planned on him waking up half the Palace. This was probably the first time she felt irritated with the kitten.

Without thinking further, she grabbed him and stuffed him into one of the enormous vases lining up the darkened hallway. His meows echoed hollowly, but they were muffled somewhat.

"I'm really sorry about this, Lord Tubbs," she mumbled as she placed the cover on top of the vase. She was sure he'd still be able to breathe. The vase had a couple of holes near the top.

Miraculously, she made it into the stables without encountering a single living soul. Well, she did, but she managed to remain unseen. She crept past the stablemaster who was snoring loudly atop a pile of hay, an empty bottle of liquor dangling limply from his hand, until she came unto where Barbra was kept.

She bridled and saddled her as silently as she could, and the horse, seemingly understanding the need for stealth, obliged without protest. She silently led her out of the stables and pulled a hood over her head.

Luckily, she had taken to observing the couriers coming to and fro from the Palace so she knew how to slip past the sentries by the gates with a furtive, "Message to the City Watch. Urgent." The sentries were either too sleepy to pay attention or this was routine for them. Either way, she was going so it's not like she was going to wreak havoc in the Palace.

Immediately, she urged Barbra into a gallop towards _The Troubletones_, where Santana's friends from her days of working in the docks would be waiting. They are going to stage her rescue.

* * *

Quinn was startled awake from a loud and piercing meow that echoed across the Palace. Great, she had fallen asleep reading on her desk. Again.

She rolled her neck to ease the stiffened joints from her uncomfortable position. She stretched and yawned, folding the book and started to drag herself to bed.

_Meow!_

She stood up. Now Brittany had let her kitten wander around the palace. She'll have a word with her sister tomorrow. She might throw the animal out if she found that it had soiled the carpets that lined the hallway, or God forbid, ruined the paintings and the tapestries. Goodness knows how much cats love to scratch and destroy things. It was why she didn't keep pets.

_Meow!_

The animal sounded weird now, as if it's coming from a jar. Now, if that animal crapped on one of those precious vases—

She hurried out of her room, and sure enough, the pathetic mews were coming from one of the vases. She gingerly lifted the lid and stuffed her arm inside, then immediately yelped in pain as the animal attached itself into her arms. She nearly threw it away, and sure enough, it was Brittany's kitten.

She looked behind her and found Brittany's door ajar.

_Weird_, she thought. The kitten couldn't possibly have opened the door alone.

She peered inside, and her suspicions were confirmed, and everything made sense. Brittany hadn't bothered her about Schuester's reply all day, or even asked her to have the Kingsguards go after the Watchmen and Santana.

Brittany's bed was empty.

Brittany chose to go after them herself.

**TBC.**

* * *

**A cup of coffee and four hours later, and I'm done. It's 3 am here right now. Not a problem since my classes for today aren't 'til 6 in the evening. Whatta schedule.**

**And I love feedback. That's the only thing that makes writing this worthwhile. When I wake up in the morning I immediately check if there are new reviews. It feels like opening presents on Christmas day. Lol. So, please review! : )**


	17. Chapter 17

**Heya. Updating again since classes were suspended, so I had lots of time to write. The weather here in my country was simply atrocious!**

**Anyway, we'll have the missing days from Santana's POV. I purposefully did not show them last chapter since it would flow better when included in this chapter, and that left some of you wondering. So here they are. **

**Read on and please review!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

"You sure you know the route?" Brittany asked the freckled brunette leading them, whose name seemed to elude her at this moment. He had a great axe strapped to his back and he looked threatening but Mercedes assured her that he was a gentle and kind man. The rest of their party which consist of two other very tough-looking girls, were silent, half-asleep atop their saddles as they rode out of Kingsvale in the early hours of the morning.

It was chilly, and Brittany wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. She sorely missed Santana. She was still worried, but at least, she was doing something about it now, instead of idly waiting in the Palace for the letter that never came.

"Aye, sure do, Your Highness," he answered, slowing his horse down so Brittany caught up with him. "I was one of their number once, and I have ferried many a prisoner for their trials in their respective baronies."

"What made you leave? What was your name again?"

"Audric Stanley, Your Highness," he replied bashfully, keeping his eyes downcast. Brittany could see a faint blush on his freckled cheeks. "Let's just say, I'd fallen into disgrace after a botched arrest. They de-cloaked me, and having no idea what else to do for a living since I was mostly raised on violence—in other words, I was trained from childhood to become a Watchman—I took to becoming a thug. I'd have liked to enlist in the army, but my dishonourable discharge from the Watch prevented me from doing so."

"Oh. That's sad," she observed.

"Aye, but I've moved on."

"How did you meet Santana by the way?"

"Well, we used to rule the docks; me, Lauren—," he jerked his head behind them to indicate the huge woman who was dozing on her horse, "—and a few others that is. We were making a living by thieving, y'see. Usually, nothing big, just a crate of produce here and there, or some wines if we're lucky. And then we sell 'em again for much lower prices. We weren't so much as pestilence to the traders as we are a nuisance. Anyroads, one night we realized we were able to get less and less, and I received news that a few people were casing some shipments ere we arrive," he said. He spoke out of the side of his mouth so it was a sort of a struggle for Brittany to be able to understand him.

"And those few people turned out to be Santana's group." Brittany was shocked by this. She had thought Santana had made honest living in the docks of Kingsvale. "A scuffle broke out, and we were nearly apprehended by the City Watch. After that night, we parted, and they always manage to beat us whenever a new shipment would arrive. Eventually, Santana offered collaboration between my group and theirs. We had to grudgingly accept, otherwise we'd starve. I thought about betraying her and murdering her in slumber, but she managed to win over most of my original group. Santana was always true to her word and she gave us our due. So after a time, we became friends. I was saddened when she and Puck suddenly left to go back to Lima."

"Why did they leave?" For some reason, it didn't seem to be that Santana simply missed Lima's wide meadows and vast forests.

Audric furrowed his brow. "Unclear circumstances, Your Highness, but they left as though the Lord of Hells were at their heels."

That heightened her suspicion, but Santana's past wasn't the pressing issue here. She had to get the woman to safety first.

"If you don't mind my asking, Your Highness, Santana must be important to you, no?" he asked in a lowered voice, glancing surreptitiously behind them.

It was Brittany's turn to be shy. "Yes. She's... I love her," she blurted out in a hushed whisper that Audric caught anyway, and it felt good to tell someone. She hadn't even told Quinn, but she's certain her sister already knew.

"Lucky lass," Audric mused.

* * *

It was nightfall, and Santana was weak from hunger and the pain she was in. Her hands were still bound, and she was strapped to a tree as the Watchmen and Karofsky made supper. The scent of something cooking made her mouth water.

"It is true, eh? Brittany's the princess?" Karofsky asked, munching on an apple. He crouched down in front of her, no doubt to gloat at her situation.

She ignored him. Her jaw was sore, and her lip was split. But thankfully, her teeth were still intact this time. She had trouble seeing from her swollen left eye, though mercifully, the cut on her brow had stopped bleeding.

"Too bad, you're not. And you still have to answer for your crimes. Peasants like you should have known better than to meddle in affairs of barons and their slaves," he growled, and Santana would have very much like to hit him. "Maybe you're regretting it now. Brittany's an ungrateful bitch, you see. Where was she now, with her team of knights? Nowhere, right? She could do nothing to save you, nor would she ever."

Now, this last part hit too close to what she was feeling right now. They were well away from Kingsvale, and still no sign of Brittany or the Kingsguards in hot pursuit. No, it was probably Quinn who was stopping Brittany from going after her.

"You know what, grizzly, I came damn near close to killing you but she stopped me," she mumbled, barely opening her mouth. It hurt like hell.

Karofsky chuckled. "You're an idiot then if you think that would stop me from bringing you to Lord Schuester's justice just because you spared me because of some blonde bimbo's word—"

"Don't talk about her like that."

"What? I can say whatever I want about her. Princess or not, I don't give a flying fuck. For me, she's just Brittany. Always had been. She's too stupid—"

He was cut off when her booted foot went flying straight into his jaw. And damn, it felt so nice when she felt something crack. Probably one of his teeth—or some.

"You fucking cunt!" he bellowed furiously, blindly swinging his fists, blood coming out of his mouth. Santana was quick this time, and his knuckles met nothing but the hard tree trunk. He yelped like the wounded animal that he was, and she scampered away.

"You should know better than to mess with me, I'm from Lima Heights," she said, smirking cockily.

"Hey, hey!" the Watchmen noticed them at last and one of them ran over to restrain Karofsky.

"Stop provoking him, Lopez," Ginger Mullet hissed in her ear.

"I did not!" she said hotly. "He was the one who sat down in front of me and started spewing crap!"

"Either way, just stay away from him or ignore him, alright? I can't have your blood on my hands," he said, looking resigned.

She rolled her eyes and slumped down on the ground, suddenly weak. The high brought from the adrenaline rush was quickly gone, and all her aches, pains and exhaustion piled up on her. "At least he'd know to stay the hell away from me next time." She sighed. "Maybe you should put him in manacles too. It's unfair." She gestured to her bound hands.

Ginger Mullet just chuckled good-naturedly. "By the way, the name's Rick. But they call me The Stick."

"I wasn't asking," she snapped.

"Somebody's got a temper, huh."

"How in the hells did you think I ended up here if not for my temper?"

"I heard you rescued a slave. Noble, might I add."

Santana looked away at the reminder of Brittany. She wondered if she'll ever see her again.

"Unfortunately, the law is law," he said wistfully. "Look, if I were in your situation, I wouldn't have bothered. Got some serious balls there, huh."

Santana shrugged. "I suppose."

"For that, I respect you." Rick smiled at her. "Here, you must be hungry. Just don't tell anyone." He handed her a loaf of bread and smiled conspiratorially at her, and Santana wolfed the bread down gratefully. It was gone in mere seconds and her stomach was still aching for more.

* * *

Rick the Stick gave in and finally tied Karofsky up—to the latter's protests. Karofsky was throwing murderous glares at Santana the whole time the three of them (with the exception of Santana, of course) were having supper. He explained to the other Watchman named Jim that he wasn't taking any chances.

Now, the three men snored on, and Santana was left alone with her thoughts.

She curled up into herself, her body yearning for Brittany's familiar warmth. Her only consolation was that Brittany was safe in the Palace, and she had Lord Tubbington to stave off her loneliness. When she thought of the cat, there was no resentment now, but some weird sort of fondness even though he seemed bent on maiming her. At least, he'll give Brittany a reason to smile even when she was gone from her life.

Because that's what this was, she thought with a sense of inevitability. The moment they reach Thornville, she'd hang. Karofsky would surely attest to her guilt.

Her only regret in life was not meeting Brittany sooner.

* * *

It rained the next day as they were traversing Halloran Fields. Needless to say, the wagon wheels were caught in the mud, and they had no choice but to abandon it. Also, the lone mule pulling the wagon accidentally injured itself in a fissure, and Jim grudgingly killed it as a final act of mercy, for he can't stand to leave it to die in the Fields. Rick mentioned that they'd be getting a new one in one of the towns they'd pass along the way.

They had no choice but to shoulder their packs and soldier on in the pouring rain. Santana, being their prisoner, was given the heaviest of packs, which mostly contained root crops. She carried it on her uninjured shoulder, but it didn't take long for it to start hurting as well. Nevertheless, the coldness was like balm to her injuries, numbing them a little. Granted, she lagged behind the most, but Rick still made sure that she didn't take it as an opportunity to escape. He guided her gently, aware of her injuries and the fact that she was going through the path half-blind.

She wanted to beat up Karofsky, but Jim and Rick were careful to keep them separated now—a lesson learned the hard way yesterday when Karofsky lost one of his front teeth.

At long last they found refuge in the woods, and even though they still plodded on in the mud, at least the leafy shade somewhat shielded them from the searing raindrops.

Eventually, they came upon a firmer ground as Santana was on the verge of collapse. She hadn't eaten anything but the bread that Rick had secretly given her last night, and hunger was gnawing at her insides. Her vision swam, and she steadied herself by leaning heavily against a tree.

Rick, noticing her condition, asked them to stop for a while. Jim protested, and Karofsky had a triumphant smirk on his face which seemed to say: _Thought you're tough, Lopez?_

"Well, unless you had plans on carrying her, then we'd gladly proceed."

Jim had no option but to reluctantly oblige.

Santana didn't think it was possible for a Branic Watchman like him to show compassion upon a prisoner—much less a Fideli prisoner. When she asked him later that night, he said that one of his grandparents was Fideli too.

* * *

The days melted into each other until Santana had lost track of time. She was given a very limited ration of food and water, and she was almost used to the hunger. She missed hunting though, and whenever she saw a squirrel moving across the branches of trees above them, she kept reaching for her bow by instinct, but her heart sank with the reality of her situation each time, upon realizing that her wrists were still bound and she carried no bow.

To cheer herself up a bit, she would imagine that Brittany was walking beside her like they used to back in the forests of Lima. It made her seem desperate, but that was the only way she'd be able to keep her sanity.

However, she couldn't help but entertain the possibility that Brittany might never see her again. Or even if she did, Santana would already be a dead body hanging from the gallows in Thornville.

She could imagine seeing Brittany's heartbroken face at the sight of her corpse, and she shuddered at how vivid her imagination was.

* * *

It was five days since she had sent the letter using one of the fastest birds kept in their aviary, and of course, Lord Schuester's reply would come when Brittany couldn't take it anymore and had already decided to do things her way.

Quinn held the missive in her hands, with the declaration that he, indeed, was dropping all the charges against Santana, and he too, was relinquishing his claims on Brittany as his slave. He also mentioned that he was coming to Kingsvale immediately in order to clear his name because the King suspects that he had something to do with the siege and Brittany's kidnapping fifteen years ago.

She thought Schuester was being too defensive, but the King had sent summons days prior.

She had immediately dispatched Sam and a couple other Kingsguards to go after her sister. And now, she was getting increasingly worried as the sun was already setting and there was still no sign of them.

She hoped they caught up with her sister before it was too late.

Something brushed against her leg and she instinctively flinched, only to find Brittany's kitten looking up at her with its huge green eyes. She wanted to hate it—the scratches on her arms were still fresh and they stung a bit—but it looked so small and pathetic and her heart softened at the sight of the tiny creature.

"I know. I'm worried about her, too," she sighed.

* * *

Santana awoke to the sounds of clamour around her. She reacted by instinct, scampering away from the sounds of clashing steel and taking refuge in the thicket that bordered the clearing upon which they made camp. She discerned Karofsky's burly figure in the shadows, caught in a swordfight with a figure on horseback.

_Bandits_, she thought, trying to flee undetected, ignoring the way the brambles pricked and tore at her skin. She was absolutely helpless for she had no use of her hands.

Just then, she heard a familiar voice amidst the scuffle, and she stopped in her tracks.

"Santana!"

Was she hallucinating because of hunger? Or was that really Brittany?

She turned back, and saw a flash of silver, missing her neck by a mere inch. The arrow buried itself into the ground just behind her.

"Santana, where are—" Brittany's calls were cut off by her scream and Santana heard a dull thud. It was unmistakable now. She'd know the sound of her voice everywhere.

Somebody was cursing heavily, and then there was the sickening sound of a blade hacking into flesh. A scream again, and somebody fell. She could not tell if it was a man or a woman.

_No, no, oh God, no._

"Brittany!" she yelled. She squinted in the darkness as best as she could and tripped over their sacks of supplies. She lost her balance and fell, narrowly missing the pit which had still-smouldering embers.

"San, I'm right here!" Brittany's voice was coming somewhere from her right, and she turned her head in time as a horse whinnied in fright and reared. Santana dragged herself in haste and the horse's hooves planted itself to where her head was mere seconds before.

Heart racing wildly, she tried to stand, but her efforts were in vain. Somebody grabbed her and bodily lifted her to her feet.

"It's me, Lespez," said a familiar voice—one that sounded as if he was chewing something.

"Audric?" she cried in relief, but it turned into a scream of pain when he unceremoniously tugged at her arms and hacked at her manacles with an axe—his weapon of choice. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he had aimed badly, but relief surged through her when her hands came free. Audric led her away with a sharp tug at her arm, and Santana nearly blacked out in pain.

"Careful with the shoulder," she gasped out and Audric mumbled an apology.

"The Fideli is getting away!" Karofsky was yelling, and she saw him charging towards them, holding his sword up and ready to swing in a mighty arc.

"Audric, here!" Brittany shouted, and Santana saw her silhouette atop her horse, holding out her hand. Audric half-carried her and threw her into the saddle right behind Brittany just as Karofsky caught up to him.

Fortunately, Audric was able to parry his blow, as the sound of steel clashed against steel and Santana was able to breathe as the horse broke into a brisk canter.

"Wh-what about them, Britt?" She couldn't believe that the blonde went after her herself, and the relief made her feel faint. She feared that this was just a dream she might wake up soon, but the residue of pain on her shoulder told her otherwise. Her chest felt like it might burst with gratitude.

"They'll catch up," Brittany said breathlessly. Santana wrapped her arms around her middle, and felt the familiar array of her own weapons on Brittany's belt. She sank into familiarity. "The plan was to get you and get away as fast as we could. No killing, if we could help it, but they engaged us first."

"We're all right!" another familiar voice called out. Was that The Mack?

"Lauren here!"

"Audric!"

Hooves thundered behind them, and Santana turned to see, in the faint moonlight filtering through the gaps in the forested canopy, the welcome sight of three other riders. She could see the satisfied smirk on the Mack's face, as well as flecks of—_was that blood?_

"B-britt, how did you manage this?" She still couldn't believe that she was literally snatched from the jaws of doom.

Brittany just turned to her and flashed her a secret smile behind her shoulder.

**TBC.**

* * *

**Reunited at last! Tell me what you think via the reviews!**


	18. Chapter 18

**So sorry for the delay. I'm graduating in a couple of months and things just got so busy at uni.**

**Thanks for all the faves/alerts/reviews. They keep me going so please keep 'em coming!**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

They rode away hard and fast even though none of the Watchmen or Karofsky gave chase.

Santana's initial jubilation at being freed and seeing Brittany again gave way to apprehension. She realized that she was still running from the law, and this just piled on another charge—perhaps an even worse one—since this time, the Kingsvale City Watch was involved. Brittany may have meant well, but she had made everything worse. Still, she could not blame her.

Eventually, they slowed down as they approached a rise made slippery by previous days' rains, and Brittany must have noticed Santana's silence.

"Are you alright there, San?" Brittany asked, turning to her. She let go of the reins and placed her hands over Santana's which were around her middle and gently stroked them with her thumb. Santana couldn't help but be comforted by the gesture, especially when she saw Brittany's bright blue eyes looking into hers, her gaze full of hope and happiness and free of worries currently plaguing her chest.

She just nodded and Brittany leaned into her then tilted her head to kiss her on the cheek, along with a whispered "I love you". Santana couldn't help the giddy smile that bloomed on her face, and it calmed her apprehensions somewhat.

Later, as the darkness of the night faded away to make way for dawn, they found a suitable ground with which to camp. There was a river fifty feet below them, its flow swift and strong as it zigzagged its way down the slopes to provide irrigation for the fields and farmlands in the fringes of Fentonwood.

Brittany dismounted, all smiles and looking extremely happy, and Santana tried to match that by not thinking of what the consequences will be. She gently helped Santana off the saddle, and when both her feet were safely on the ground, she still refused to let go of Santana's hands, as if afraid she might wander somewhere.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, breath hot on Santana's ear. The husk in her voice held the promise of something.

"Me too," Santana answered, pressing a quick kiss on her lips. Brittany returned it enthusiastically, and Santana felt a little bit of pressure on her shoulder as Brittany started to lead her away from the others, who were just climbing down their saddles as well.

"Tana!" The Mack shouted and they broke apart abruptly. She turned her head to see the brunette hobbling towards her, a nasty gash on her calf and a huge grin on her face. She quickly engulfed Santana in an embrace, and Santana did not miss the quick flash of annoyance on Brittany's face. Santana winced but easily recovered. She had built up quite a tolerance for pain, after the ordeal she had gone through.

"That looks... horrible. Are you alright?" she asked, staring at Mack's gaping and still-bleeding wound.

"Don't mind that. One of the Watchmen got me. But you know me, I'm tough," the Mack answered with a confident smirk.

"Still... that needs to be seen to."

"I got it."

"Zizes!" She turned to see the larger woman striding over her, swinging a bottle of clear liquid.

"Lopez," she said, adjusting her spectacles.

She grabbed Santana and tackled her into a one-armed hug, nearly strangling her. Brittany pulled her away in alarm.

"It's been ages. How have you been?" Lauren said. "Where's Puckerman?"

"I've been better. And to answer your question, he's back in Lima. I didn't think you still want him, huh."

"Oh, I don't. Puck's a wuss. He ran screaming after I caught him hooking up with a dimwit barmaid. I don't need that kind of man in my life. He can't handle this," she pointed to herself and Brittany couldn't help but snicker beside her. "To be honest, Lopez, I never thought you'd ever be caught in a tangle with the City Watch. Well, the Kingsvale City Watch, no less. I'd have pegged Puckerman to be more of the type."

"Well, I doubt Puck would have the guts to go after a slave being chased by her owner's men," the Mack chimed in.

"Her Highness wasn't just a slave."

Santana walked up to him and he engulfed her in a gentle bear hug, aware of her broken shoulder, which still throbbed in pain somewhat. She mumbled thanks, to which Audric replied, "Anytime," with a fond look at her. Then with a jerk of his head, he gave her a soft push towards Brittany as if to say '_Go be with your woman'_.

"What did I tell you about formalities, Aud? I'm not used to it and I doubt I'll ever would. And besides, it's only just the five of us; we don't have to stick to the protocol," Brittany said, possessively putting a hand on the small of her back after sweetly smiling at Audric.

"It's not common that we get to spend a day, or a few days in the midst of royalty, Your Highness. So allow me to make the most of it."

Brittany giggled. "I told you, Brittany would do just fine."

Audric just smiled bashfully. "Let me prepare your bedrolls, Your Highness, you must be exhausted. You too, Santana."

"Now, let's get that gash cleaned up," Lauren said, dragging the Mack away, to the latter's protest.

"Plenty of time to catch up later in the morning, after we're all rested and stuff. Let's leave the two lovebirds in their sweet little reunion." The Mack scowled but followed Lauren nonetheless.

"Thank you, Brittany." Santana mumbled as the Mack screamed when Lauren doused her wound with soomething.

"This is nothing, San."

She had no idea how Brittany got her old friends to risk their lives in this mission. But then again, knowing Brittany and her blue puppy eyes with the soul-crushing pout to go with it, nobody with a heart could really refuse Brittany anything.

* * *

It was cloudy out and the sky looked like it might rain later that day, but even then, the chill of the early morning was completely banished.

Santana and Brittany had woken up before the rest of their party, who were still snoring in their bedrolls. Brittany would very much like to continue the fierce making out that they had started last night before they were so ungraciously interrupted by The Mack, but Audric gave off a sudden and loud snore that startled both of them.

"Maybe later," Santana sheepishly said. Unlike Brittany, she wasn't up for giving anyone a free show.

It also occurred to her that they woke up cuddling together, and Santana thanked her lucky stars that no one woke up before they did or else they are going to give her a hard time about it. They knew her—or rather, they knew the _old_ Santana. And _old_ Santana surely didn't cuddle.

But when Brittany smiled at her, and the way her fair hair shone in the sunlight—which was struggling to shine through its grey curtain of clouds—and made her look like an angel, Santana decided it didn't matter. Being labelled a sap and a softie be damned, she loved this girl even with all her flaws, even when she tended to live in the moment and not think about the consequences of her actions. And she sure did love cuddling with her. They just fit so nicely together.

Santana later decided to borrow Mack's bow since she sorely missed hunting (Santana realized that she was the one who had nearly killed her last night, if not for her amazing reflexes), even though the latter was out cold after she polished off the bottle of liquor that Lauren had used in order to disinfect her wound. But Brittany apparently had other plans.

The blonde had tied a dagger into a long piece of wood using some twine, and she told Santana that she'd like to go fishing. Ever since they met, Santana had the inability to say no to her, which is why they found themselves forging a path down the steep slope into the river below.

Santana went first, testing whether the crude rocks that jutted out of the cliff face could hold her while bracing herself on the vegetation that stubbornly grew on the packed, rocky earth. It was a little slippery, but thankfully her boots provided good traction.

However, she nearly lost her footing when she was startled by the sound of oncoming hooves.

She saw the familiar red and black cloak of the Kingsguards, as well as what little of the sunlight glinting against the breastplates of the quad of knights on horseback, with Sam in the lead. They traced the course of the river and slowed when they noticed the two of them scrambling down the slope.

Sam and the three others immediately dismounted and they bowed their heads in deference as Brittany cautiously approached them, her boots making squelching sounds in the mud.

"Your Highness, glad to see that you are safe," Sam said, the relief clear in his voice, although Santana wasn't used to the way he was so stiff and formal in the presence of his fellow knights. "Her Highness the Princess Regent, request that you return to the Palace immediately." He raised his head and his brow furrowed when he saw Santana.

"I will. We're just going to catch some fish for supper," Brittany replied, smiling brightly as she showed Sam the crude harpoon she had made. "It's a long ride back to Kingsvale, and our horses need rest."

He smiled a little but it looked strained. "I was instructed to leave two knights in your command to ensure your safety."

"I have Santana and Audric. I think I'm safe enough." She shrugged. "But what about you? Won't you be returning to the Palace with us?"

"We have...further instructions, Your Highness," he answered evasively. He nodded to two of the knights—one a stringy-haired fellow with a weird look on his face, and the other, a nervous-looking yet burly hulk of a man who was clearly new to the Kingsguards—and Santana thought that Audric could take them on easy. Not that she was looking for a fight with them, but they just looked so...wimpy.

"Right," Brittany slowly said, nodding. "Thanks, Sam."

"We must be going now, Your Highness." He bowed again, then turned to the two and whispered something to them. Santana glared at them over his shoulder, and they glared defiantly at her in return.

After a while, Sam and the other knight with him climbed into their horses and with a final bow and a salute to Brittany, they set off northward.

The two knights looked unsure with themselves, as if their minds couldn't grasp the fact that this was the other Princess who had been lost for so long she was believed to be dead. Well, she sure as hell didn't look like one right now. Brittany had on a dirty shirt that was too big for her and even dirtier trousers. If anything, she looked more like a peasant—and not a well-dressed peasant at that. Maybe the knights were thinking that their Captain Evans had made some mistake.

Brittany did not seem to be paying them the least bit of attention as she took off her boots and waded into the water. She looked like an excited child and Santana couldn't resist joining in.

However, she didn't want prying eyes on their time together after being reunited. Apparently, Brittany became aware of their unwelcome presence too, and she walked up to the bank.

"We've got companions up there," she said, pointing to where she and Santana had come from. "It would be better if you stand guard for them as all three of them were still asleep."

"Aye, Your Highness," they mumbled and mounted their horses, looking around for another way up the cliff.

"Good riddance," Santana muttered when they disappeared into the trees.

"We don't even need them. You kept me safe even when it's just the two of us travelling to Kingsvale," Brittany murmured, tugging at the collar of Santana's shirt and pulling her into the water. Santana instantly shivered as the water soaked into her clothes and boots. Of course, Brittany did not even give her time to prepare herself.

"Well, but that was before people knew you were a princess."

"Pssh. They don't know yet. My Presentation isn't until after two weeks." Brittany's blue eyes scanned the water which was crystal-clear, and the rocks on the shallow bed glittered like tiny stars in the sunlight. She waded deeper, until the water was up to her waist.

"Well, still..." She shrugged, then started unlacing her boots and removing them even though it was too late—but she couldn't just ruin good leather. "Does Quinn know you went after me?"

Brittany looked up at her sheepishly. "She didn't. But I guess she knows now."

"Britt, you're aware that you attacked the Watch right?"

"Mmh-hmm," she nodded, and with a sudden movement, lunged quickly into the water, but failed to catch anything. It was obvious from the disappointment on her face, but she was still apparently oblivious about the repercussions that her actions might have. Santana felt frustration building up in her chest.

She loved being free as much as the next person, but she still wasn't free now. Physically, she was, but her name still had the charges attached to it, and she had no idea how she could change that.

"And attacking the Watch constitutes a criminal offense," she sighed out, resigned. She didn't think it was possible to be irritated or even mildly-angry at Brittany but her anxieties were getting the better of her.

Brittany looked at her, creasing her brow in thought. "Well, you didn't attack them. We did. And it was dark. They could just easily blame it on... bandits."

"But you weren't being subtle about it. You were yelling my name, Britts. They know that you came for me."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." She couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"My bad," she dropped her head to her hand and looked up at Santana, a hangdog expression on her face. "But San, it was just so dark, and..." she trailed off and sighed. "Anyway, Quinn is getting Will to drop the charges."

"And she couldn't send a team of knights with you—"

"San, she had no idea. I just sneaked out of the Palace since it had been ages since she had sent a letter but Will isn't replying. I think he wasn't interested in setting you free, so desperate times call for desperate measures, and I was just so worried about you San, I kept thinking that I've stalled for as long as I could and I couldn't just leave you to suffer and leave your fate in the hands of the nobles who were too selfish to pay attention to people other than themselves. I've tried asking Quinn, but she wanted to go for diplomacy, and just wait for Will's reply, but that just wouldn't do it for me."

"Well, what's done is done I guess. And I'm sure those knights would be after the Watchmen left alive from your attack last night."

Brittany looked shocked and distressed and Santana immediately regretted the words that came out of her mouth. "But we didn't kill them for a reason. Nobody needs to die, although now that I think of it, Lauren may have severely injured somebody last night."

"I don't know, Britt. But Karofsky knows about you, and you did say Quinn is quite ruthless, so I'm certain she won't take any chances about the Watchmen reaching the town and reporting about what happened. Not with the Princess involved."

"God, I was so stupid." Her blue eyes were glimmering with unshed tears, and Santana mentally gave herself a hard kick for upsetting her. But her temper got the better of her as always.

"You're not, Britt. You just... forgot to think about what the consequences might be."

"Hence, stupid," she said gloomily. "But I didn't expect it to be so dark last night. The plan was to ride into your camp and grab you quickly, then disappear. I think the Mack made the mistake in grabbing somebody else; not that I was blaming her since that was supposed to be my job, but they just won't let me. And they quickly engaged us and I had no idea where were you so I had to yell—"

"I get it, Britt. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off on you. I'm sure everything will be alright."

"But those poor Watchmen won't be."

"Well, we could do nothing about that now, could we?" Santana said, sorry for even opening this pouch of grubs in the first place.

* * *

They were resting languidly on the grassy bank, letting the sun dry off their clothing. It had broken free of the clouds at last, and the forest was now awash in bright sunlight. A breeze blew, gently tickling the undersides of their feet and numbing their toes even further.

Brittany instinctively drifted closer to Santana.

"I love this," she murmured, happiness and contentment leaking out of her voice, and Santana shared the same sentiment. She nodded and pressed her lips on the top of Brittany's head which was resting against her chest.

Brittany raised her head, and with a coy smirk, her lips were suddenly on Santana's. Santana immediately melted into her arms, as a block of butter would after being left under the desert sun, and she returned her kisses together with her embrace.

Her skin buzzed when she caressed the patch of skin that showed between the damp shirt and trousers that Brittany was wearing. This seemed to goad the blonde further, and Brittany placed one hand on Santana's knee, while the other underneath her head as she crushed her lips against Santana's.

The moment Brittany pulled away, Santana could only gasp as she continued down, trailing wet kisses down her neck as Brittany moved her hand up to where it was warmer—her thigh. When she cupped Santana through her trousers however, Santana stopped breathing for a moment, and when Brittany started moving her hand as she sucked at her collarbone, no doubt marking her, Santana thought she'd just about died.

She had no idea how much she wanted this, so she definitely wasn't in control at how her body was reacting.

"There you are—oh! Ow! Fuck—"

They pulled away from each other to see Audric lost his footing and his mad scramble for purchase on the slippery slope—to no avail.

_Serves you right for interrupting_, Santana thought as he landed in a heap at the bottom, groaning in agony.

Brittany just sighed and shrugged, her expression sour and her skin flushed. Santana felt like murdering Audric, but Brittany got to her feet and pulled Santana up as well in order to check on their friend.

* * *

When they returned to Kingsvale, they had to part with Audric, Lauren and the Mack at _The Troubletones_. Brittany would have liked to invite them over to the Palace for dinner, but the three of them were aware of the transgression they committed, so needless to say they would hardly be welcome. Even Brittany was still unsure of how Quinn would react upon their return.

They were immediately ushered to the Palace and into a stony-faced Quinn's presence. Her lip curled in disgust at the sorry and filthy state of Brittany's attire.

Then, without warning, she slapped Brittany hard across the face.

**TBC.**

* * *

**Whew! Had quite a hard time writing this chapter. **

**Apologies for any mistakes, I'm my beta too. Please leave a review!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Yay! Hit 50k words!**

**This chapter is dedicated to all those who have reviewed so far. Seriously, without your feedback, I wouldn't be inspired to continue this. Thanks a lot!**

**Thanks also to those who favourited and alerted this story. Hope y'all enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

From the periphery of her vision, even as she clutched at her rapidly-reddening cheek, Brittany saw Santana tense and lunge at Quinn. She quickly held out a hand to stop her, catching her at her midsection. Santana bounced back a little with an 'Oof!' but recovered quickly, glowering at Quinn.

"You don't—how dare you hit her—"Santana sputtered furiously.

"San," she said, warningly, and thankfully, she didn't try to attack Quinn again, who had fixed her lover a cold, unflinching stare. She half-expected Kingsguards to swoop in on them, but then she remembered that Quinn had ordered them to leave. She cast her gaze down and moved in front of Santana, quickly finding her hand and holding it tight.

She flinched and shrank back when a piece of parchment was shoved right under her nose. Reluctantly, she looked up and instinctively trembled in fear at the look on her sister's face. She was unprepared at the fury swirling in those hazel eyes.

"That's Will dropping the charges! Had you waited, even for just a day—" Quinn was breathing hard, visibly trying to control herself. "Don't you realize that you got yourself and Santana in even bigger trouble?" She looked dismayed. Santana stroked her arm comfortingly. "And for naught."

"I—Quinn—" she began as she took the parchment and started to read Will's scrawl, which was no easy feat, and she was ashamed of her impulsivity. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sure you are, after everything's said and done." Quinn sighed, her shoulders slumping down in defeat. "The Kingsguards aren't executioners, Brittany, but I had to send them after the Watchmen. To clean up after your mess. We can't risk them reaching the next town and reporting about what happened." She shook her head sadly. "Do you realize the gravity of what you did now?" The anger in Quinn's eyes melted into mere disappointment.

She nodded guiltily. Santana had explained it to her, but it was only now that it started to sink in. "I'm sorry." She turned to Santana seeking comfort and assurance in her bright eyes and strong arms, and she found both as she drifted closer to the smaller woman. Santana hesitantly held her, and Quinn averted her eyes at the display. "Has Sam and the other knight returned yet?" She was now greatly worried. If something happened to either of those Kingsguards, she wouldn't be able to stop blaming herself. They wouldn't have needed to leave if she hadn't.

"Not yet." She turned to the huge windows, as if willing them to appear in the courtyard. "By the way, you have to see Papa. He's looking for you, and he's upset that you haven't visited him in days."

"Does he know—"

To her relief, Quinn shook her head. "I had to make up some excuse which he thankfully bought."

"Can I bring San with me? She's the one responsible for me being here after all."

"Britt—" Santana started to protest, but Quinn's eyes softened. Brittany was surprised at how quick her mood changed.

"Not a problem. Papa has expressed the desire to meet her too."

Brittany glanced at Santana to find that her expression had turned shy.

"Quinn... thank you, and I'm sorry for putting you in that position where you had to send Sam and..." she trailed off.

Quinn sighed and nodded. "It's alright, Britt. I had to do what I had to do." She felt guilty again as this seemed to echo what Santana had said after she had killed Azimio. "But please, don't ever do anything like that again. Promise me."

She smiled at her sister and held out her pinkie. Like Santana, Quinn looked perplexed, but held up her own nonetheless. Brittany hooked them together. "I promise. I'm sorry again Quinn."

Quinn looked away. "I'm sorry too... for hitting you." She heaved a sigh. "I was just so worried that you've gotten yourself killed, or worse—oh!"

She was startled when Brittany wrapped her arms around her. At first, Quinn was stiff as a board, but eventually, she settled on patting Brittany's back awkwardly. Brittany suddenly realized how dirty she was (and she's fairly certain she stank to high heavens), and she pulled away abruptly, embarrassed. If Quinn noticed how rank she smelled, her training was rigid enough for it not to show on her fine features.

However—

"Before you see Papa, let's get you both changed first. He might not be able to recognise you, what with how you were—" Quinn narrowed her eyes.

Brittany couldn't resist smelling her armpits, and afterwards, she scrunched her nose. She stank, alright. Quinn allowed a smile to break through her icy veneer.

"Please no dresses this time," Santana whispered pleadingly.

"But you look so gorgeous in them, San." Santana scowled. "I'm just kidding, alright?" She quickly kissed her on the temple and conveyed her wishes to Quinn, who immediately summoned a maid to attend to them.

* * *

Brittany mentally-braced herself as they entered her father's bedchamber. She wasn't used to seeing him so weak and so frail and so feeble, not when her last memory of him—though faded and worn through the years, but still sometimes, it comes rushing back in full force when she thought hard enough—was of a proud and dashing man who stood tall and straight and ready for battle.

He was awake, and he looked different this time. Not bad different. Good different.

His formerly pale-as-death cheeks had regained some of their colour, and he seemed to have gained a little weight. His grey eyes, whence before a little hazy and cloudy, were bright and alert.

"Papa," she said, rushing up to him with a huge grin on her face. She tugged on Santana's hand and led her towards her father. "Papa, this is—"

Before she could continue, her father sat up so fast, his eyes wild and fixed on something to her right. It took a moment for her to realize that he was looking right at Santana, his expression a mixture of fear, shock, and fury.

"You!" he blurted out before the exertion caused him to start coughing, but he groped underneath his pillows for something, and when he had recovered enough, Brittany was shocked when he was pointing an ornate dagger at Santana.

* * *

He remembered her.

He remembered standing over her fifteen years ago—as the stench of charred wood and bloodshed drifted over to them, and as the sounds of battle rang in the darkness. He remembered how she had put up her hands in defence, and how the sword had felt heavy in his hand, and how the act he was about to do felt heavy in his heart.

He remembered regretting ever letting her go that night after she came upon the dead body of his wife and after his First Soldier handed him Brittany's blood-spattered clothing.

And now she was here. _With his daughter—holding her hand_.

He pointed his dagger at her, his pent-up fury making his hand shake as he did, because she had the nerve to be here, after what she had done—what her kind had done—to his family all those years ago.

And now, he would do what he had failed to do fifteen years ago.

He tried to get up, his dagger still aimed and his daughter looked alarmed. The Fideli woman looked as if she wanted to bolt, but Brittany was holding her in place.

"Get away from my daughter. Guards!" he yelled even though his throat felt raw, and even speaking louder than a whisper was utter torture.

"Papa, no—what? This is Santana!" His daughter looked to be near tears, her blue eyes—blue eyes which were the same as those of the woman she loved—glimmering.

He did not understand, all he knew is as if he was being hurled back into the past in order to rectify his mistakes—this was his chance. He swung his legs off the bed, but when he tried to put weight on them, they wouldn't accept it and he dropped back into the bed.

His daughter inched away from him, confusion written all over her face.

Knights of the Kingsguards rushed in, clad in their red-and-black cloaks, and he motioned towards the Fideli.

"Papa, what is happening? No! Don't touch her!" Brittany alternated between distress and anger, and she's covering the Fideli with her body, and of course his knights wouldn't dare touch his daughter.

They stood there in his bedchamber, waiting for orders, their eyes trained warily on the Fideli. Brittany faced them defiantly, her eyes pleading with him.

"Papa, this is Santana! She was the one who saved me!"

* * *

Her father had always told Santana when she was growing up, that she bore an uncanny resemblance to her mother. She remembered how sometimes she'd catch him looking wistfully at her, a faraway look in his eyes, and then he'd shake his head to clear the illusion. She knew he missed her mother—still loved her perhaps, since he never pursued another woman again but just focused on raising Santana.

She had no memories of what she looked like (three was too young to remember), but she did remember a lot of begging and pleading, and when she was older and this fractured memories started making sense, she asked him why her mother abandoned them. He refused to answer each time. And she never did find out until the day he died.

All she knew about her was that her name was Maribel and she looked like Santana.

Well, that was all she knew until now.

"You looked just like her," the King had said, contrite. He had put away the finely-wrought blade with which he had threatened her. "I am sorry I mistook you for her. But all my memories of that night were so clear and vivid as if they had occurred yesterday. Try as I might, I cannot forget. That was the night I lost everything, save for Quinn. I even lost my faith. I kept asking the Person above, why They did that, when all I showed was compassion for my enemy?"

Was it possible that it was her mother's life that the King had spared? She shuddered at the possibility of her mother's involvement in the siege—if she was involved, indeed.

Thankfully, the possibility didn't seem to bother Brittany, who was currently playing with Lord Tubbington.

Even then, the chances were still slim. Her mother might not even be alive today. Anyway, she had no idea, and she had no interest in trying to find her. She was fine by herself all these years. That's not going to change now, right?

Even better, she had Brittany.

Brittany, who was willing to risk everything for her: a mere peasant. Although she was happy about this fact (and she's equally ready to risk everything for her as well), she could not deny the fact that it was greatly concerning. She could not imagine how she would fare if she learned that something had happened to Brittany when she tried to rescue her—something which turned out not to necessary. She was forever thankful everything was fine. Well, certainly not for the Watchmen, especially Rick, and she quite liked him. But there was nothing she could do to reverse the past.

For a while, she stood there with an amused look on her face, watching Brittany run around the room in circles, the kitten at her heels, threatening to shimmy up her dress. It makes her wonder if the thing was part-canine. Then again, with its propensity to growl at anyone who gets cross with Brittany, like Quinn (which Brittany had told her about), or even if you happened to be Santana, it might as well be.

"San, come join us!" the blonde called out to her, giggling as she scrambled up the bed, where the kitten followed suit, its little claws getting caught in the sheets. Brittany disentangled him and held him close, even going so far as kissing him on the nose. "I missed you, Tubbs."

"What about me? Didn't you miss me?" Santana said, indignant, and she walked over to the bed although wary of the kitten which was eyeing her suspiciously.

"Don't be silly, San, I did." She pulled Santana into the bed and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. Naturally, Santana wanted more. She climbed into bed and tried to deepen the kiss, which Brittany reciprocated eagerly. But the infernal animal was quick to react, sinking its claws in her forearm. She yelped in pain.

Santana grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, to Brittany's protests. "San, don't—be gentle!"

"This is alright, Britt, this is how mother cats carry off their kittens!" she said, appalled at the blood oozing out of the little punctures on her forearm. "Can I get rid of this buzzkill? Just for once?" She stood up and headed for the door, but Brittany stopped her.

"No, San, let me." She held out her hands for Lord Tubbington, and Santana unwillingly handed the struggling feline to her.

Brittany rose out of bed, murmuring something into the kitten's hairy ears. Then she gently let him out of the room and dragged the heavy door closed. Santana could still hear him mewing pathetically, and she saw Brittany's expression soften.

_Ugh, the manipulative furball_, she thought.

But Brittany seemed to steel herself and walked away from the door.

"Now, where were we?" she asked, grabbing Santana.

* * *

Santana looked at her expectantly, and Brittany felt incredibly nervous. She had never done this before, and although she had initiated their previous encounters, she had never expected that they would really continue. But now, it seemed inevitable.

She glanced once more at the closed door, where Lord Tubbington is still calling out to her, at the bed, and then back at Santana, whose expression had withered into disappointment.

She quickly wiped that away with a kiss that took even her breath away. Santana's lips were so soft, and she wondered why she didn't kiss her more often. Santana's hands gripped her waist, and her touch sent a pleasant warmth into her stomach, from where it slowly crept lower.

They kissed tenderly at first, and she failed to notice that Santana was leading her towards the bed, and the energy began to rise, and heat smote her insides. She tentatively pushed her tongue through her slightly-parted lips, and found hers eager to meet her own. The warmth intensified, and it started pooling lower.

Santana's lips left hers, and she was lifting fair hair and kissing her neck. It sent odd tingles down her spine, and when she started sucking on a spot just behind her ear, Brittany gasped and felt her knees buckle underneath her. She felt her bottom hit the mattress, and Santana found her lips again and kissed her, this time with such ferocity that she was shocked. She had some trouble keeping up, but eventually they managed to establish a certain rhythm.

She wrapped her arms around the smaller woman, sinking her nails into the soft leather of the tunic she was wearing, revelling in the sensation of kissing Santana.

Santana gently pushed her down into the sheets, and she pulled away for a while to gaze into her. Brittany could see her brown eyes shining with love and devotion.

"I love you, Brittany Susan Elizabeth Heather Pierce," she whispered reverently.

Her eyes widened when Santana's knee accidentally brushed at the juncture between her legs, and she realized that that was where the heat was coming from. She knew she was blushing. It felt different: good different. Her hips unconsciously canted upwards, seeking pressure for she was aching with need and Santana noticed this. She smirked, and her dark eyes took on an even darker shade.

"San, please?" she said in a small voice.

Santana kissed her again, and she bit down hard on the smaller woman's soft lips in order to communi—

"Oh!"

Her thoughts were cut off when Santana pushed her skirt up to her waist, and one of her hands had travelled down to where she needed it the most. One of her fingers brushed tentatively against her overly-sensitive core, and Brittany's hips bucked. She couldn't help the whimpering sound that escaped her lips, something that Santana was quick to remedy, by pushing her lips against hers.

She felt Santana's slightly calloused palm on her breast, kneading and stroking and rolling the sensitive bud between her fingers, and Brittany felt like she was going mad with pleasure. She moaned into Santana's mouth and the latter started rubbing circles into the tight bundle of nerves between her legs.

Brittany felt her eyes roll to the back of her head, and she was gasping and panting as a foreign feeling kept growing inside her. It felt incredibly good, and she felt like she might explode. It built up relentlessly, and she was seeing stars, and all she knew was that she was close, and still getting closer—

And then she was falling, falling into the endless pit of pleasure, and she was floating at the same time, and it just felt so good, so blissful, and no words would be equivalent to how she was feeling right now.

Santana tenderly guided her down, her fingers still stroking her lazily, and when the last of the aftershocks were gone, she stopped and pressed her lips to hers.

"That was..." Brittany gasped out, bringing up a hand to cup Santana's jaw.

"I know," Santana murmured knowingly.

* * *

Santana shot another arrow straight into the centre of a target twenty yards away. Brittany clapped her hands and jumped up beside her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She was conscious of the soldiers' stares burning into them, but Brittany's enthusiasm quickly eased that.

"You're still so good, San," she said, and when Santana looked at her, it was as if Brittany literally glowed. The memories of last night came rushing back, and they both averted their gazes, suddenly shy.

"Wow," said a sardonic voice.

Both of them whirled around abruptly to find an imposing blonde woman with short hair, in full armour, her red and white cloak billowing behind her in the breeze. Her narrowed eyes were fixed on the target, upon which three arrows were clustered in the red circle.

"I never thought I'd say this to a despicable, traitorous mongrel such as you—" Santana nearly drew another arrow from her quiver in order to shoot this woman, but Brittany stilled her hand, and the woman continued, unperturbed. "—but you are a great shot. You could be an asset for the Quiver, the Branic army's legion of archers, provided of course, you're willing to shoot your Fideli littermates—"

Brittany glared at her. "That's mean and incredibly racist!"

"First Soldier Sue Sylvester, Your Highness, and I apologize for that." She gave a little bow and smirked. "Consider my offer, kiddo. I've no doubt you'll go far, with eyes and an aim like yours." She patted Santana's shoulder. "And perhaps you'd want another bow—" Her eyes drifted down to the weapon Santana held in her hand, her lip curling into something similar to pity and derision. "—just go to the Armoury tell them the First Soldier sent you, although you're with the Princess, so I doubt you're going to have a problem."

Santana just nodded.

"Now, I have to go. We soldiers are dumping Palace rubbish along the streets of Kingsvale. Gives the scum of society something to do, don't you think? They sort through garbage, obtain anything salvageable..." She trailed off and surveyed them, waiting for a response, but they could only gape at her. "What? Why are you both giving me that look? We haven't got a war to fight right now. My soldiers are well-trained, and disciplined, so if something comes up, we're ready to meet 'em head-on. Nobody could withstand the hurricane that is Sue Sylvester." She sneered menacingly.

However, her expression sobered somewhat when a young man ran up to her, clutching a rolled up piece of parchment with a wax seal. With a nod at them, she swiftly walked away into the direction of the Palace, an urgency in her step.

"She's weird," Brittany observed.

"Insane," Santana added, sighing at the pitiable state of her bow. It was showing its age, but this was a gift from her father. He had wrought this himself, and it was still usable, so there was no reason to replace this.

She drew another arrow from the quiver on her hip, relaxed her right arm as she pulled the string taut with her left arm, aimed and released it. The arrow found its mark, displacing one of the first three, which dropped to the grass.

"You should join the Quiver, San. You have so much potential."

She lowered her bow and turned to Brittany. "I don't know, Britt," she sighed, feeling torn. Sylvester's offer was tempting, but— "I was thinking of joining the Kingsguards actually. To better protect you with."

"You did a great job of protecting me and getting me here, so I wonder why you weren't cloaked yet. I'm gonna go tell Sam when I see him."

"Aww, aren't you sweet?"

Brittany shrugged. "It's true. I feel the safest when I'm with you."

"Really? It seems like trouble's always after me though. Like Terri said."

"Either way, I know you're tough and I know you won't ever let something bad happen to me," she answered simply, stroking Santana's cheek with her fingernail.

The way Brittany said it, the utter trust in her words and in her eyes, tugged at Santana's heartstrings.

"'Course I won't, Britt. I love you."

"I love you too, San."

And in the middle of the range, in plain sight of all the soldiers and knights and servants and people that keep the Palace running, Brittany kissed her passionately. She melted into her arms, her bow forgotten, dropping softly to the grass.

The entire world melted away and it seemed that it was just the two of them.

* * *

Evans and Menger, the other knight who had gone with him, returned the next day. Evans looked grave and exhausted, and the reluctance with which he had carried out what she had ordered was reflected on his countenance. Still, that needed to be done.

_If only Brittany hadn't been so blinded by love for that woman_, she mused.

Sometimes she wondered why she had bothered cleaning up after her sister, but the truth is, she was just afraid for her father (and she still has that tiny part of her—yes, that part of her that's steadily growing—that still loved her sister). She didn't think he'd be able to handle the heartache of losing his daughter less than a month after she had returned. At her sister's return, his condition had improved greatly, so that his physician was greatly pleased.

By all means, she knew she was ready for the throne even if her father passed on unexpectedly, but currently there are disturbing missives coming from the Haunt across the Great Sea, about the Fidelis trying to win back their former territory, and she was still slightly unsure on the course of action should they try to invade the region and the Realm be dragged into war. She still needed his advice on that. Recently, they had sent off a shipload of Northern soldiers in order to provide added security to the region.

Other than the siege fifteen years ago, the reign of her father was relatively peaceful. Sure, there were little skirmishes and revolts here and there—which Kingdom doesn't have that?—but the soldiers of the Realm were able to quell them easily. Most of them were small-scale uprising against their respective Barons, but nothing major.

So far, the one that was bothering her now was the situation at the Haunt, and right now, she hoped that their forces there were enough to counter the Fideli offensive.

She gazed out of the window and into the range, where Santana Lopez stood, bow poised and arm cocked, aiming into the target. A split-second later, her sister was all over the Fideli after she hit the target. They looked so good together, and she couldn't find it in her to regret what she had done—pressuring Will Schuester to drop the charges, and eventually sending Sam after the Watchmen when her sister acted on impulse—in order to keep them together. Artie was right, she owed Santana as much. She suddenly missed him.

But he was back in Ricafort, tending to the affairs of his estate.

She watched them—and there was something different about them. Both of them looked incredibly happy. Well, they were usually happy together, but now it was even more so. She saw Sue approach them, saw the thundercloud that passed over her sister's features. Sue was being Sue as usual. After a while, somebody ran up to the soldier, and she disappeared.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the tall figure of First Soldier Sue Sylvester appear on the threshold. She nearly gasped because she was so quick. She looked concerned—a rare instance since she usually appeared composed and in control—something which is needed, seeing as she is in command of all the able-bodied men in the Branic Army (which includes the Barons themselves or their sons during times of war), save for the Kingsguards (which are under the authority of the King himself).

"Your Highness, a word please, with you and the Lord King?" she asked, and Quinn noticed that she had a parchment in a death grip.

Quinn couldn't help but dread whatever that may contain.

Wordlessly, she led Sylvester into the direction of her father's bedchamber.

* * *

**What if I told you that this is the last chapter?**

**Brittana are so far okay, and happy, and together. And they finally had their first time. So is it okay if I tag this as complete? **

**Nah, kidding. This fic won't be done soon. : )**

**Thanks for reading, and apologies for any grammatical errors/typos. As always, reviews make my day! The more you review, the quicker I get the next chapter done (yes, I am bribing you). So what are y'all waiting for? Tell me what you think in the box below.**


	20. Chapter 20

**So I'm experimenting with Britt's POV. Please tell me what you think!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

"I don't think we could go on ignoring this," the King said furiously. "They massacred a couple hundred helpless Branics—" He dissolved into a coughing fit, and Quinn was quick to soothe him by giving him a glass of water and running a hand up and down his back. He took deep, steadying breaths, and started reading the message from the Commander of the Haunt. "_From an eyewitness account: 'The town of Hirkwood lay in ruins by daybreak. The dead, soldiers and civilians alike, littered the streets and Fidelis were all over the place, searching the smoking rubble for still useful things and valuable loot.' The witness was one of the eight fortunate souls who managed to escape the slaughter_. _As of now, we haven't been able to gain access into the town; for it had fallen into Fideli hands and they were guarding it ferociously. We are conserving our forces, as we fear that this was the first domino to fall. However, be assured that we are doing all we can in order to prevent their advance into our territory._"

"From what I recall, Your Highnesses, Hirkwood is under the command of Jon Abrams—the Duke of Ricafort's uncle," Sue clarified, looking at Quinn. "Fine soldier, excellent strategist. I had the pleasure of working with him when we had dealt with the bandit attacks in the West. I wonder what went wrong."

"So, do we send more soldiers across the Great Sea?" Quinn asked, looking at her father, whose brow was still creased in thought.

If it were up to her, she would order a recall of their forces in the Haunt and not risk anymore bloodshed and loss of innocent lives like what had recently occurred. It was proving too costly to hold on to that territory across the Sea, despite it being rich in resources. It had been the reason why her father's consort had been killed and Brittany taken away after all.

"Your Highness, if you would allow it, I would like to take command of our forces in the Haunt." Then out of the side of her mouth, she muttered, "Figgins is obviously doing a mediocre job. This is why I don't trust Crescent People."

"No. You are staying here, Sue. We will go for diplomacy," her father said. "The Branics have had the Haunt for a hundred and twenty-one years now. We couldn't let go of it now. We couldn't go rushing blindly into war either, so we must exhaust all other alternatives before—"

"Your Highness, may I remind you that the siege that occurred fifteen years ago—"

"First Soldier, that wasn't an attack by the Fideli kingdom itself. Otherwise, we'd have waged war long ago. That was a coordinated attack by a few rebel groups active in the Realm which have remained loyal to Fidelian, made possible by some dastardly traitors within your ranks."

Quinn remembered the brutal execution of about half a dozen soldiers in her youth. Her father had made her watch after he had bitterly accepted that Quinn was indeed all he had left and thus, he needed to start preparing her for the throne. He had told her that one of them had been his friend since childhood, and he was loathe to end his friend's life, but being the Lord of the Realm, it was up to him to make tough decisions for the good of the many.

"I am aware, Your Highness, but those dogs—"

Quinn glared at the soldier, cutting her off. "I think we could send Ambassador Hummel, and then see if we could make some concessions in order to appease them. He's young, he's smart, and he's a charmer."

Her father looked approvingly at her. She knew how much he hated violence too.

She was all for avoiding bloodshed if she could. She was wracked by a pang of guilt when she remembered how she had ordered Evans to go after the Watchmen. Then again, she had to make hard decisions, precisely because she is in a position of power. She had been taught that.

Sue looked enraged, her nostrils flaring. "With all due respect, Your Highnesses, I don't think that would be smart. Pretty soon, they'd be asking for more and then they would be chewing us off the land."

"I think we'll deal with that when it comes to that, aren't we, Papa?"

Her father nodded. "We won't lose the port, Sue. We have seasoned troops stationed there. But we'll muster the troops all the same." He turned to Quinn. "Send missives to all the barons that we are going to need fighting men." She nodded determinedly. "If they force our hand, then we show them our might."

"Now that's more like it," Sue happily said, smirking.

* * *

Santana woke up when Lord Tubbington started scratching at the sheets that hung off the edge of the bed. She glared at it, and it froze, giving her a pointed look. After a while, it hissed threateningly, but Santana couldn't find it in her to be annoyed. Not when she felt so content and so happy here in Brittany's arms. _Take that, you damnable feline_, she thought, smirking.

Brittany's fair hair was all over her face, smelling so pleasantly of honeysuckle and something so _Brittany_, and her nose was squished against Santana's neck, breath warm and welcome. They lay flush against each other, every inch of them touching—warm skin against warm skin. Santana could not think of anything better to wake up to. Nothing could get between them, not even Lord Tubbington who skulked off and perched himself on Brittany's desk, staring hard at Santana with its bright green eyes—no doubt planning something. You just never know with that evil cat. His tail swished back and forth, and back and forth, and the motion was mesmerizing, until Santana noticed the evidence of their activities the previous night strewn around the room.

She couldn't help but feel like blushing up to the roots of her hair as she recalled what went down last night.

Brittany had eagerly returned the favour of the night before, and Santana was embarrassed at how quickly she came. Brittany hadn't even needed to stick a finger in: one moment they were kissing each other so fiercely like there's no tomorrow and then they were naked and Brittany's hand was _down there_, and then Santana was seeing white, moaning obscene things and grasping at the sheets. And when she came down from her high, shame overcame her, although Brittany did not understand what the big deal was.

That was when she shyly admitted to Santana that she had been virgin until the night before, and Santana had apologized so profusely because hell, she didn't even take the time to undress them both properly and she thought Brittany's first time should be special.

"Of course it was special. It was with you, San," she had said, tenderly stroking her cheek.

When Santana had recovered enough from the powerful orgasm that shook her to her core, she made love with Brittany very slowly and intimately, reverently running her lips up and down the other girl's body until she was reduced to a quivering mess in the sheets, her body covered with a slight sheen of sweat and taut with anticipation.

And when she pressed her lips into that spot between her legs covered with a tuft of blonde hair, Brittany started making these sounds and Santana felt like coming again then and there. She mustered herself enough and loved Brittany with her tongue, until she fell off the edge with Santana's name on her lips.

When Santana climbed back up, Brittany kissed her tenderly, gasping in surprise when she tasted herself on Santana's lips and tried to insist that she do the same to her although her eyes were starting to drift close. Eventually, exhaustion overcame her, and they fell asleep curled up into each other.

Santana could feel the stirrings of arousal at these recollections, and she started kissing Brittany awake. Her blue eyes opened, and a faint rosy mist appeared on her milky white skin when she realised the state of their undress and what Santana was currently doing and where it was certainly headed.

"Morning to you, too," she murmured into Santana's lips, returning her kisses with fervour.

Before long, both of them were panting and moaning at each other.

Lord Tubbington meowed disapprovingly and turned away, busying himself at watching birds take flight outside the window and clicking his jaws at them.

Needless to say, they were late for breakfast. However, Quinn didn't even notice them arrive as she pushed the greens around in her plate, her mind elsewhere.

* * *

Santana stood behind Brittany, steadying her arm as she gripped the bow and prepared to shoot.

"Just relax, Britt," she whispered, but it had the opposite effect. Santana's breath ghosting in her ear sent a shiver down her spine and she couldn't help but giggle. Consequently, her bow arm shook, and she lowered it, afraid she might suddenly release the arrow and hit something she wasn't supposed to, like the soldiers for example.

"I can't relax if you were so close to me like that," she chided Santana, before turning quickly to kiss her on the cheek.

"But how were you supposed to learn how to hold a bow properly?"

Santana had a point. "Maybe I'll just...ask one of the Quiver to teach me, I won't be able to learn anything because all I could think about whenever you're near is that it must be nice to drag you into that... behind that building over there—" she pointed to a wooden structure built close to the walls of the Palace, and lowered her voice, "—and fuck you senseless."

Santana visibly swallowed.

It was true, ever since they had taken the next step into their relationship, Brittany couldn't think about anything else. It was so new to her, and it was incredibly thrilling and exciting. She had never known that another person could make her feel so good. Sharing herself with Santana was addicting. Santana was addicting.

She let her eyes travel down towards those plump lips she loved to kiss.

"Britt, we—uh," Santana stuttered out, wiping a hand at her brow and smiling uncertainly as Brittany placed a wet kiss on the corner of her mouth.

Just then, Sam passed them by. Brittany remembered to ask him about Santana joining the Kingsguards so she went after him. Santana was left standing there, gaping at her.

"Hey, Sam," she said, all smiles and sunny disposition. He looked up slowly then stood raptly at attention when he noticed who was before him.

"Your Highness!" he gasped. "What can I do for you?"

Brittany furrowed her brow. She wasn't used to these formalities. She was glad Santana just called her by her name (her name and its variations were all beautiful, and Santana calling her 'Britts' was her favourite) and she thought it would be awkward if Santana would suddenly blurt out 'Your Highness!' in the throes of passion. Her name sounded even better when moaned out, the syllables dragged out so it sounded like 'Britt-uuuuuh-ny' the way Santana did last night.

Brittany could feel herself blush up to the tips of her ears before she realized that Sam had asked her a question.

"I—uh," she stammered, trying to ignore the odd tingles from the special place between her legs—from where Santana had ran her tongue up and down and had sucked and... Sam. She's talking to Sam. She shook her head to clear it and smiled sheepishly at him. She was suddenly afraid he was able to read minds like Lord Tubbington. "You don't know how to read minds, can you?"

Sam gave her an odd look. "No, Your Highness."

"Just checking," she mumbled, and then smiled again. What was she supposed to ask him again? _Oh, right, Santana_. "Uh, is it possible for Santana to join the Kingsguards?"

As if on cue, Santana appeared by her side, after she had picked up the bow and arrows Brittany had dropped when she jogged up to Sam.

"Aye, of course, Your Highness."

She narrowed her eyes and looked at the woman beside her. Santana looked so tough and gorgeous at the same time. Her tan arms were well-defined, and Brittany knows her stomach was incredibly-toned. She had the physique of a fighter. She felt so lucky to have this woman.

She is a great person inside and out. It made her reach out a hand to wrap possessively around Santana's waist.

"She wouldn't need fourteen years of training right? Because then, she'd be wrinkly and old, and she won't be able to fight anymore because her joints would ache whenever it gets cold—"

"Hey, hey!" Santana protested.

"I'm kidding. Santana already knows how to use a bow and knives. She's deadly with knives. She'd be your squire, yes? She can't be a page, since she's a person. I don't get that actually, only books have pages right? Does that mean knights are books? Since they have pages—" She furrowed her brow and tapped her chin. It didn't make sense, but whatever. "Although a pageboy haircut would suit you mighty fine I think?" She peered at Santana, narrowing her eyes as she imagined her with said haircut.

"I already have—of course, Your Highness, I'm certain I could take on another squire."

Santana looked down, abashed.

Brittany jumped up and caught the knight in a hug. "Thank you, Sam."

"N-not a problem, Your Highness," he replied with a smile. Then he turned to Santana, "Training grounds tomorrow, at the crack of dawn."

"This is it. I'll be a Kingsguard," Santana said, awed.

"You want this, right?"

"'Course Britt, I do!"

"Good, 'cause I don't want to feel like I made the choice for you. I mean, Sue offered you to join the Quiver—"

Santana silenced her with a kiss. "I told you. I want this. Thanks Britt."

* * *

Today she woke up alone with no one but Lord Tubbington to keep her company. He was sleeping; purring contentedly against her chest, but he isn't warm enough, or soft enough, and... She missed Santana. She groped around in the sheets for her just to make sure, but her side of the bed was disappointingly empty.

She grew sad thinking about Santana.

Last night, Santana had held off on sweet lady kisses, afraid that she might be too worn out and sore to attend the start of her training the next day. Brittany said she would be contented with just making out though she knew that once she got going she won't be able to resist, and she's going to have her way with Santana either way. She must have seen through her lie immediately since she resolutely refused, and even when Brittany pouted as hard as she could (her top lip had disappeared completely), Santana still said no.

She turned away and started sulking on her side of the bed, but eventually she got cold and so she cuddled up to Santana. She rewarded her with a chaste kiss and nothing more. It was disappointing, but still better than nothing, and she got to hold Santana anyway so it was fine—sort of.

And now she woke up, but she couldn't bring herself to enjoy the morning, not when yesterday was so spectacular.

She went down for breakfast with Quinn, and her sister frowned, not used to seeing her alone ever since she returned to the Palace with Santana.

"Where's your Fideli?"

"Training," she mumbled sullenly.

"Kingsguards?"

"Uh-huh." She stabbed her fork at the strips of meat on her plate, then brought them to her mouth, chewing mechanically.

Quinn said nothing more after that, and she saw that her sister was busy writing something. She was always writing, or reading, and Brittany wondered if she ever was bored. But she did not ask.

After breakfast she couldn't find anything to do but play with Lord Tubbington. However she saw him running around the Palace chasing something she couldn't see—probably a mouse—and she thought about hanging out at the training grounds. But she was a little irritated at Santana, and she won't give her any more satisfaction of seeing her crack like she had done last night. Santana should know how upset she was.

Eventually, she settled on going on a ride in the City, to pay Mercedes and Audric and the others a visit.

She went down to the stables, and as she did so, she passed by the training grounds, but she kept her head resolutely forward even when Santana spotted her and called out to her. She ignored her. She didn't even have the decency to wake her up this morning and tell her that she'll be off to training. She knew she's probably being childish but Santana should get this. (Although she did strain her eyeballs trying to look at Santana by the corner of her eye, and her ladylove was clad in a padded, wooden armour and wielding a wooden stick and sweating in the sun, and she's even more beautiful, and Brittany stopped looking because she just _might_ run up to her.)

She hastened into the stables, and the stable master hurriedly saddled Barbra for her. The animal seemed agitated, and she frowned. There was something in her eyes, and she realized that perhaps, the animal missed Rachel. Rachel must be so worried right now. They had promised that they are going to return Barbra, and it's been a more than a month and they haven't. Maybe a visit to Lima is in order soon. She ran a hand up and down the white stripe on Barbra's nose in order to suit her.

She made a mental note to ask Quinn if she could go visit Lima for a while (with Santana of course) as soon as she returned from her trip to the City.

"Your Highness," Sam said appearing at the threshold. "Are you going to the City? You can't leave without a guard. I'll be sending Tybalt. He'll just tail you to uh, make sure you don't run into some trouble."

"Thanks Sam."

* * *

She glanced behind her, and sure enough, there was Tybalt the Kingsguard trailing after her. He kept a respectful distance in order to allow her to go about her business, but not so far as to impede his progress when she might need his help.

She meandered around the marketplace, looking at the wares on display. Nobody seemed to recognize her, as she was dressed not in a princess garb but in a simple leather tunic, trousers and boots. Also, she hadn't had her Presentation yet so perhaps that contributed to her anonymity. She breathed a sigh at this freedom and wondered how long she'd be able to enjoy this.

She had no interest in running a kingdom, for she knew she lacked the proper facilities to do so. Whatever Santana said, it doesn't change the fact that she knew nothing about politics and stuff and therefore could do nothing.

Several purchases later (which included a ball of yarn and a tiny collar for Lord Tubbington, a small sack of sugary treats, a bag of bagels for Santana as some sort of a peace offering for snubbing her earlier, along with a bull testicle—she had no idea why she bought it; oh right, she remembered, she took pity on the old woman selling it), she started to make her way towards _The Troubletones_ in order get something to eat and drink. Her throat was so parched and she chided herself for not bringing a waterskin.

However, she found the way blocked with a crowd of people. She tried to turn around but her progress was arrested when more and more townspeople were coming her way, so she just resolved to wait. She grabbed one of the bagels and started eating, but even though they smelled great (and tasted great for sure), they were like parchment on her mouth.

She stopped eating and bounced about in her saddle, waiting impatiently for the people to part.

However, she heard it before she saw it: the steady clip-clop of horses' hooves signalling the arrival of someone important.

And then there it was, a very familiar carriage—which somewhat resembled the royal carriage though a little shoddier and more worn—with Will Schuester, Baron of Thornville peering out of the small window. He caught her eyes for a moment, and her breath was caught in her throat. Recognition flashed on his face and his eyes remained on her even as the carriage had long passed her on its way to the Palace.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Thanks for reading and I'd really appreciate it if you review!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry for the long-ass delay. A lot of personal stuff came up, along with the exams. The upside is this is the longest chapter so far.**

**Enjoy reading and tell me what you think!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"_If the Princess wanted some lower-class rutting, she could at least retain some of her self-respect and go for a man_."

"_All those years living as a slave must have addled her view on things but I'd be happy to re-orientate her_."

That had been the last straw.

The words echoed in her mind, even as she gently wiped the bruises on her face. Her hands shook again as white-hot fury burned fiercely through her, threatening to consume her again even as what she last recalled was the sorry sight of the man who had uttered those words in a crumpled and bloody heap at her feet.

She knew she shouldn't have let her temper get the better of her, but she had been doing her best to ignore their jibes by keeping to herself. The digs at her, she could take—she had her fair share of that in Lima—but when they got started on Brittany, their lips curled maliciously whenever the words 'princess' rolled off their tongues, she knew she couldn't take it anymore. It's not like she failed to warn them, she did, but they just jeered and snickered some more.

Next she found herself charging towards the man, and when he was on the ground, she started pummelling him with her fists viciously without giving him any chance to retaliate. He did manage to hit her in the face several times but Santana was in such a fury that she was unstoppable. Nobody tried to pull her off of him until his face was a bloody mess, mostly because they were too stunned or too afraid to react (and she's secretly glad that yes, she still had it).

She had walked away from the fight with her head held high, and her fellow squires were either looking on in admiration or in contempt. She didn't care either way.

The swordsmaster just shook his head ruefully at her. She knew she isn't coming back to train for Kingsguards, nor would she be allowed. Her temper was too volatile.

"You know what? Fuck you! Fuck all of you!" she had yelled, taking off her padded armour and the weights strapped to her forearms and legs and throwing it down in the dirt. Little dirt clouds rose up in a puff and nobody said anything. She wasn't proud of that, she was realizing now, but she sure was proud when she hobbled off the grounds and made her way into the castle to find Brittany.

Only to find her gone.

She firmly shut her eyes, mustering herself, willing calm into her being because she might just go ahead and break something. Even Lord Tubbington was looking warily at her from his perch by the windowsill as if afraid she might suddenly go off.

She tiredly sat down on the bed, her heart clenching at the thought of disappointed blue eyes gazing back to her.

She had failed. An on the first day, no less.

* * *

Brittany quickly turned back and followed the carriage on its way to the castle, her mind chanting a steady stream of _'What in the nine hells is he doing here?'_ although she very rarely swore. She wondered briefly if he is going to take her back, but no, that's not going to happen.

Traders hastened out of her way as she thundered across the narrow side streets of Kingsvale, barely missing running over a naked child and she slowed down a bit, fear gripping her heart. Behind her, Tybalt was following more closely now, ready for anything should she encounter a mishap. Eventually, he drew level with her.

"Are you alright, Your Majesty?"

She nodded, still shaken that she nearly murdered a young boy, and the hand holding the reins shook a little and the dryness on her throat increased. "Uh, just a little thirsty," she answered.

Without hesitation Tybalt handed her his waterskin and she greedily gulped it down.

They continued on their way back to the Palace, reaching it just as she saw Will climbing out of his carriage. He spotted her once more and his gaze snapped to hers and held it. She furrowed her brow, but he just nodded gravely and was ushered in by one of the Kingsguards.

She was tempted to follow him, and she wondered if her father is going to punish him. But she knew Will had done nothing wrong to her—well, not knowingly anyway or yeah, some of it knowingly, she had to concede—and hoped her father won't be too harsh on him.

* * *

"Santana what happened?" Brittany gasped. She quickly ran over, tripping over Lord Tubbington who gave a pained meow, to where Santana was seated on the bed, looking glum.

"It's nothing, Britt," she answered evasively, not meeting Brittany's eyes.

"Who did this? Did Will do this?"

"What? Will? No, no. I was... I got into a fight, that's all." Santana looked at her, confused, and her eyes were narrowed at the mention of Brittany's former _owner_. "Why? Is Will here?"

Brittany nodded morosely but she did not elaborate. "What happened to you?" she asked, reaching out a hand to gingerly touch the cut on her lip.

"I... Suffice to say that I'm no longer eligible for training," she answered sheepishly.

"What?"

"I lost my temper." Brittany did not need to know the real reason. "It was all my fault, Britt."

"What exactly happened?"

"My temper, Britt. That's what happened," she snapped, sharper than she had intended and Brittany immediately looked wounded. "Sorry."

She flinched when Brittany took her hand and realized that she had taken the skin off her knuckles when she destroyed that man's visage. "My God, San."

"That's nothing."

Brittany brushed her lips against the raw skin of her knuckles, and without hesitation, tore off a strip of cloth from the shirt she wore underneath her tunic and lovingly wrapped them around Santana's maimed hand.

"At least you didn't break your hand," she mumbled, patting Santana's hand gently.

Santana couldn't help but smile at this simple statement.

"You're right I didn't."

"I'm sorry for snubbing you earlier," Brittany said sheepishly, reaching into her bag for something which she promptly handed to Santana. "Consider it as a peace offering." It was wrapped in a thin cloth and it felt weirdly soft and cold. Santana nearly dropped it but all the same, she gingerly unwrapped it to uncover a shrivelled brown thing which smelled odd.

"Britt, what's this?"

Brittany squinted at it, looking perplexed herself. "Oh! That's a bull testicle, San."

It dropped to the floor with a wet plop. Lord Tubbington sprung towards it with a meow and sniffed it, shying away instantly. She looked up at Brittany and the latter picked him up.

"Ugh, what was that for?"

Brittany shrugged and flashed her an embarrassed grin. "Sorry. That wasn't supposed to be—uh—" She rummaged into her bag once more and gave Santana a bag of bagels which were still warm. "Here." Lord Tubbington threatened to swipe it off her hands but Santana managed to keep it away from him.

They ate in silence, Santana muttering a shy thanks and she resolved to make it up to the blonde tonight.

However, Brittany clearly had other plans, for no sooner had they finished eating when Lord Tubbington dropped down to the floor with a dull thud, and Brittany's lips were upon hers, kissing her so fiercely and tenderly at the same time. Santana still winced involuntarily when Brittany nipped at her split lip, albeit gently, but when clothes started ending up on the floor, she forgot about her injuries and she wondered why she ever thought about waiting for tonight when right now is just perfectly fine.

* * *

"So, Lord Schuester is here?" Santana asked after their midday tryst and both of them were wrapped up in each other. She felt the blonde stiffen a bit in her arms. "What's he doing here?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," she said looking up to Santana from where she had rested her head against the smaller woman's chest. "And to answer your other question, I had no idea."

"What if he came here to take you back, Britt? What if he still refuses to believe—"

"Don't be silly, San. He can't do that anymore. We're safe here. I'm safe here. There are Kingsguards around, and Quinn, and most of all, you." She punctuated her sentence with a light squeeze on Santana's breast that made her gasp.

But Santana sobered herself up enough. She was tired and sore from both the fight and the mind-blowing sex and she wasn't up for another round so soon.

Santana sighed. "Was he... did he ever do anything bad to you?" she finally asked. "You said you were privileged than most of his slaves—"

"What? Did you mean like—" Brittany didn't finish the question but she shuddered. Santana nodded. "No, of course not. Did I ever give off that vibe? He was quite nice to us, although, I admit, I'm a little uncomfortable around him. Well, most of us were—and by us, I mean, Rory, Harmony and Finn. Well, with the exception of Finn of course. He liked hero-worshipped Will."

"Why does he make you uncomfortable?"

"He likes to see us bathe, for instance," Brittany said, blushing to the tips of her ears as her lip curled in disgust. "Slaves bathe in a communal cleaning trough you see, and once I spotted him spying on me and Harmony, and..."

"But he didn't do anything though, did he?" Santana asked, her fists starting to shake as if they sensed they were about to be used again.

"God, no. Rory told me he caught him spying on him too." Brittany snuggled closer to her, drawing patterns distractedly on her stomach.

"He's one sick fucker," Santana said through clenched teeth. "What else?"

"Nothing else," Brittany said, her hand sliding down and cupping her so suddenly. "Could we stop talking about him?"

She started moving her hand and Santana had no choice but to agree.

* * *

Lord Schuester's visit, prompted by summons of the King in order to have him explain himself whether he was involved in any way with Brittany's kidnapping fifteen years ago. Though Quinn knew that whether he was involved nobody in their right mind would confess to such a crime, and if he denied, there was no way they could prove it. But she couldn't deny the truth in his words when he vehemently denied all the King's accusations and that he had unknowingly purchased the Princess from the slave traders in the North.

It was then that he dropped some information valuable to them. He said some of the northern Barons were refusing to recognize her authority as Heiress Apparent. Quinn was shocked, and he looked meaningfully at her. There it was—the threat of a civil war. And with the problem at the Haunt, the future certainly didn't seem good.

"We can't fight a war on two fronts, should it come to that," her father said.

Lord Schuester reassured him of his loyalty to the Crown and that his northern soldiers were at his disposal.

Quinn was too stunned to say anything. She could not pay attention even when her father voiced his scepticism, saying that he'd wait to hear about it from the Eyes first—the King's spies—but Schuester told him that those were still under development. As of now, the King had no legitimate Heir in their eyes, and should anything happen to him; war would inevitably break out within the Realm.

Her status as a royal bastard was an open secret across the kingdom (well at least, on the aristocracy, but nobody wanted to acknowledge that fact just yet, well, until now), and she's genuinely afraid.

Couldn't they see how capable she is even if she was illegitimate? All her life she had devoted it to learning the ropes so that she would be a successful monarch when the day came that she ascended the throne of Kingsvale. Would they rather go for someone who knew nothing about politics and had spent all their life in a provincial estate, dancing for a provincial Lord—simply because they were the daughter of the King's consort?

She felt a flash of resentment towards her sister, but it was gone in an instant when she realized that she can't have the throne either way unless she denounces her love for that Fideli _woman_. That Fideli _woman_ who was proving to be a thorn on Quinn's side. Seriously, the hardest decisions she ever had to make were the ones regarding that woman.

She still felt guilty about her orders to the Kingsguards—that was a hard decision too—but with the new problems cropping up every now and then and with alarming frequency (coincidentally, they started pouring in somewhat when her sister had returned, and she wondered if her sister was _jinxed_, or maybe that _woman_, but quickly snuffed out the thought and its implications), the guilt had been dulled somewhat. She had now filed it away and classified as part of her duties as future Queen.

A status that is being challenged now.

"I know that, Pa," Quinn sighed.

"It seems like I have to name Brittany as Heiress Apparent," her father stated, his grey eyes grave and apologetic.

Quinn felt cold all over. This was her worst fear, and coming from her father's lips, it felt like he had driven his finely-crafted knife deep into her chest and twisted and twisted and _twisted_. It felt like betrayal.

"No," was all she could say, stumbling back a step in her disbelief.

"But she was born for this, Quinn. You knew that—"

Quinn gritted her teeth. It was taking all her willpower not to break down in front of her father. After all these years, after devoting all her whole life trying to be the daughter he wanted and not thought of as merely an accident, she couldn't believe her father didn't trust her. She had kept up with everything—hell, she was even better than her tutors when it came to political debates which they liked to engaged in every now and then, and she'd like to think she was a good strategist too—and now, _now_, the reins were being handed off to Brittany. Brittany who clearly had no interest, who knew nothing about the Kingdom—

She ran out of her father's bedchamber in tears.

* * *

She continued running the Kingdom in her father's stead, and she knew she was doing a damn fine job of it: making decisive choices, doling out harsh punishments whenever the situation called for it, and trying not to think that this would be over soon, and she might be forced to leave the castle in shame for being a royal bastard.

Brittany came up to her later after Schuester's visit, and she tried very hard to keep the bitterness and anger off her voice because Brittany had nothing to do with it. She was just lucky to be legitimately highborn.

"Is this about your precious Fideli?" she snapped.

Brittany nodded; looking like Quinn kicked Lord Tubbington judging by the hurt expression on her face.

Santana Lopez.

Quinn clenched her jaw. Ever since that woman came into the Palace and had seamlessly integrated herself into all their lives (obviously because she was the main reason Brittany was even here), everything had gone to hell for Quinn. She knows it's not right but it felt so damn good to pin the blame onto someone other than herself—or her dearly-departed mother who was a nun but then made the mistake of spreading her legs for a King.

But then when Brittany told her that Santana got into a fight with one of the squires because she was merely defending her honour, Quinn softened a bit. But a small part of her wanted to chide her sister for bringing this upon herself by falling in-love with—

She didn't finish the thought as an idea occurred to her.

She called Sam over to deal with the problem, personally assigning him to train Santana Lopez for the Kingsguards and to punish the erring squire as well for besmirching her sister's name.

Because well, if Santana Lopez could be blamed for this fuckery, then she may as well use her to achieve what she wanted as well.

Granted she had to shut down a part of herself, but Brittany wouldn't have cared either way, so nobody loses.

* * *

She was shocked to find her father gazing out of the window, his knuckles white around the knob of his cane upon which he was leaning heavily.

"Papa, what are you doing? You should be in bed!" she gasped, quickly striding towards him in order to help him back to the sheets. An admonishment for his nurse is at the tip of her tongue until she remembered the reason why she came here.

"I'm perfectly fine, Lucille," he growled, and Quinn's hazel eyes snapped to whatever he was staring at out of the window. "I've been steadily growing stronger now."

He was looking at Brittany and her pet, who were walking across the courtyard hand in hand, his brow furrowed. It looked like they were on their way to the range as Lopez was carrying her bow as well.

Quinn felt a surge of something similar to guilt at what she was about to say, but he had a right to know. He was their father after all.

She was stalling, wracking her brain to phrase it properly without seeming like she was scheming to invalidate Brittany's claim to the throne as well but her father beat her to the punch.

"Something between them?" he asked, his steely grey eyes fixed on her, and his beard twitched in disgust as he turned back to the window where, as if on cue, Brittany kissed Santana's cheek. Nobody seemed to mind them, doubtless because Lopez had made an example of the squire.

Quinn just nodded. At least the burden of telling him was taken off her shoulders.

"Are they in-love?"

"I—," she hesitated. With the way Brittany had gone after her—that was confirmation enough. However, she settled for, "I can't possibly know that, Papa."

He nodded several times. "Well, a Queen can't have a spouse of the same gender. We could easily change that. It's not like they were married anyway, and a Princess's duty is to her people first. Emotions and love are secondary. After her Presentation, lots of noblemen would be clamouring for her hand in marriage. The King of Fidelian might even want her..." he trailed off, and for the second time that day, Quinn felt numbing cold wash over her being.

She knew now that her fate was sealed.

* * *

"I knew it; I shouldn't have assigned you to train with them. Should've looked after you myself," Sam mumbled, sighing as he surveyed the cuts and bruises on her face and her bandaged hands.

Santana just shrugged. She was tired of having to explain why she went off after their bigoted asses.

And she didn't need to. Sam had seen the damage on the man's face, and he'd be fortunate to find somebody willing to marry him despite his disfigurement.

"Saddle my horse. And yours too. We're going on a ride," he said. "We're to check on my farm, and I have to start training you, too."

She picked up the heavy saddles and started on her task, trying not to think of woman whom she had left alone in bed once more. With her tousled golden hair and garbled sleep-talking, Santana found it quite hard to leave. She pressed a kiss to Brittany's forehead to soothe her and Santana wanted nothing more than to go back in there and snuggle up to her.

But it was hard when the animal balked at her foreign handler, and Santana had to recall how Brittany would calm the panicked animal. Eventually she managed to succeed with her task, and Sam chuckled.

"My other squire got kicked in the gut the first time I asked him to saddle my horse. It's nice to see that she had been quite taken with you."

Santana cringed, and then indignation rose within her. "And you didn't think it would be alright to warn me... sir?" she said, grudgingly adding the honorific 'sir' at the end because it was part of the protocol.

"I knew you'd do fine, Lopez," he said, grinning and she was somewhat tempted to hit him so that his lips would be even bigger than they already are.

She rolled her eyes then set about saddling her own horse.

"A fortnight from now would be Her Highness Princess Brittany's Presentation—"

"I am aware... sir," she said, grateful that at least Barbra was calm this time. She had no intention of adding any more to her current list of extensive injuries. Her side had started hurting again after the exertions of yesterday.

"That's not all. There would be a tourney. Knights from all over the Realm would come and show off their prowess at the Halloran Fields," he continued, the excitement evident in his voice. "I am getting back at Sylvester for the stunt she pulled on me the last time."

Santana's jaw dropped. That woman was like..._ancient_. She had no idea she still competed in tourneys.

"I know. That woman seriously is not of this world." He led his steed out of the stables and Santana followed him. "C'mon let's start your training immediately as you'll be my second."

Santana's jaw dropped once more. "What? But I can't... I'm more of a... of a hunter. You know, with a bow and an arrow. I've never swung a sword in my life, save for that wooden stick yesterday. If it can be called such."

"You'll learn," Sam said.

"Where's your other squire?"

"Well, you beat him up pretty badly yesterday."

* * *

_Captain Samuel Evans is a relentless master_, was all Santana could think about as she tried not to drop dead from her ten-mile run around the knight's farm in Fentonwood. It may or may not be the farm from which Brittany had stolen the bucket of milk which she had fed Lord Tubbington when they were on the way to Kingsvale.

She had vomited thrice already, and she wasn't about to make a fool of herself the fourth time especially now that Brittany, along with Sam, trailed behind her on horseback. She had weights strapped to her legs and forearms like on the first day of her botched training, coupled with a heavy claymore slung across her back and pouches hanging on her belt filled with many small boulders.

"Go, San!" Brittany said, and the sound of her voice infused some much-needed strength to her already failing legs. She had dropped by for a visit after she had begged off of her lessons for a day in order to spy on Santana's training. She was totally taking lessons now, as her father had mentioned that she will be crowned Heiress Apparent on her Presentation, in order to settle the rumours about a lack of a worthy Heiress since Quinn was not a legitimate daughter.

Brittany had adamantly refused because she knew what it might mean for them and though Santana was secretly glad that she had no interest in ruling the Realm, she couldn't help but feel guilty for her selfish desires.

"You'll learn, Brittany. You're my daughter, you were born for this," the King had said firmly.

"But what about Quinn?"

"I already told you, she can't rule. There was already unrest in the north, and you're the legitimate heir. We can't risk a war right now, now that the situation in the Haunt is becoming alarming. Why would you turn your back on your destiny?"

Brittany started crying. "This isn't my destiny, Papa. Santana is."

Santana remembered how a vein on the King's temple had twitched but he was silent afterward. He beckoned Brittany closer and whispered something in her ear, and her face immediately cleared. She shot a reassuring smile at Santana and that was that.

Santana couldn't help but feel that their relationship would have to end some time in the future, when Brittany would marry somebody highborn like herself and produce a healthy, legitimate Heir or Heiress for the throne. She was thinking of just disappearing and going back to Lima—doubtless, she was going to break both their hearts but it would be easier for them in the long run.

But Brittany was happy right now—well not exactly, since she kept on begging Sam to stop when Santana started limping—and Santana didn't want to destroy that. Her father must have said something to satisfy her, but for how long, Santana did not know.

Sometimes she wanted to curse at herself for setting herself up for the inevitable heartbreak by falling for the blonde, since Brittany didn't belong with her obviously. But a disarming smile from the woman would lighten everything up, and it would serve to strengthen Santana's love for her.

"You can do it!" she cheered, urging her on.

Santana glanced behind her and Brittany looked like an angel with the way the sun behind her framed her fair hair nicely—sort of like a halo.

* * *

Quinn looked around at the preparations for her sister's Presentation the next day. The atmosphere was festive, and the Palace was bedecked with the colours of House Pierce—red, black and white—so different from what she was feeling right now. Well, maybe black would be the appropriate colour for her tomorrow since tomorrow would be the death of everything she had worked for all her life.

"Lucille," she heard her father's voice and jumped a little. Usually the tap-tap of his cane would signal his approach, but she was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she failed to notice it. "Consider this as your final duty in your brief stint as Princess Regent."

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. After all these years, he never accepted her. That was clear now.

"We cannot risk a war of succession. I don't want anything to happen to either of you should the time comes when I leave this world. We are doing this to keep the peace. You don't want bloodshed right?"

She nodded.

"For what it's worth, I knew you'd have made a great Queen."

* * *

The metal was hot from repeatedly running it across the whetstone. Santana blew on it and touched the edge, wincing at both the heat and the sudden, razor-thin cut it had induced on her finger. A droplet of blood slid across the blade and she gently wiped it with a rag. Satisfied that she could see her reflection on the blade, she sheathed it and laid it out to where the rest of Sam's weapons rested.

As a squire, it was her duty to clean her knight's armour and shield and ensure that his blades were whetted, especially for the tourney tomorrow.

They were camped out at the Halloran Fields where the tourney is to take place tomorrow, where other knights from across the Realm were lodged—tents erected in an orderly fashion in the various colours of their Lords.

Santana's tent, which she shared with Sam and because of that it was partitioned—her area significantly smaller than Sam's of course—was a vibrant red and black. The sun was setting and the sun's dying rays filtered through the fabric, and everything was awash in vermillion, making her eyes hurt.

Santana stepped out of the tent and was quickly engulfed by a shock of blonde hair blowing in the breeze and the scent of honeysuckle.

"Britt, what are you doing here?"

"Aren't you happy to see me?" she pouted.

"I am. But... it's your Presentation tomorrow? You can't just disappear! And what if something happens to you?"

"I'm surrounded by knights of course nothing would happen to me, silly. And there's you, San, my hot squire girlfriend. Of course, you won't let anything happen to me."

"Does Quinn know you're here?"

Brittany's face fell at the mention of her sister, but she nodded anyway. "She's really sad, San."

Santana wanted to say that she was sad too, and that her insecurities about being lowborn were catching up to her once more. Doubtless, Brittany was sure to catch the eye of a nobleman or two or possibly all of them in her Presentation tomorrow. And many of them would pursue her relentlessly until she caved from the pressure brought about by her father and her status in the Realm—

"I told Papa I don't want this. But then I had an idea. What if, I'll be Queen, but then I'll be like her puppet—Quinn's puppet that is, because I really have no idea what to do and my lessons get all mixed up in my head. They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and yes I'm quite an old person, I'm twenty summers old, so perhaps it's the same thing?"

"You're not old Britt," Santana chided her gently.

"So what do you think of my idea? Being Quinn's puppet? That way, we rule together and she won't be sad anymore."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "I think that would be alright. Just tell your father."

Brittany nodded enthusiastically then leaned closer.

"Meanwhile, I have another idea. Seeing you in armour is hot, by the way," she husked.

"It's not an armour, Britts, it's called chainmail."

"Whatever, I think it would be hotter if that's on the floor."

She pushed Santana inside the tent and Santana decided to forget about the now-more-than-ever uncertain future. _Even for just one night._

**TBC.**

* * *

**Rest assured that Brittana will be endgame in this story. Just trust me, okay? **

**P.S. A little confession: when I started this story I absolutely had no idea how it's going to go. I just had this image of Santana, in a forest and then Brittany running for her life, and so I ran with that image. I was just experimenting on whether it will get a good enough response that would inspire me to continue, and yay, it did. Yea I did base it off on an old fic I've written, which I haven't finished 'til now, but now this story has grown on its own and has become so vastly different save for the names of the places in it, and I was surprised that some pieces fell into place even though I hadn't intended them to. No worries, I have the ending and the rest of the story pretty much planned out now.**

**Tl;dr : Your reviews inspired me to write this even though I had no idea where I was going in the beginning. So, keep 'em coming!**

**P.S.S. Check out my other story, Glee Club on Cracked (if you haven't already)! **

**Thanks for reading.**


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

Brittany was barely able to get some sleep when she was roused again at an ungodly hour. It was still so dark, and for a while she wondered if she was still back in the tent with Santana. She reached out a hand to Santana's side of the bed and came up disappointingly empty.

Blinking off the desire to return to bed and snuggle deep into the sheets, she was unceremoniously dragged off to a bath. She shivered as she lowered herself into the tub and her maid scrubbed off layers of dust and grime which came from her brief excursion to the Fields where the tourney for her Presentation will be held.

Afterwards, she was dressed and even when standing, she managed to catch a few winks of sleep, and only when she felt the sharp corset cutting into her ribcage did she feel herself come awake entirely. She was led into the entrance of the throne room in stony silence, accompanied by Quinn who served as her Herald for the Presentation. A Presentation is traditionally done in the seventh year of the Heiress apparent to avoid Baronial opposition should the King die.

Her sister did not meet her eyes, and she felt awful. She had no interest in the position, but her father was adamant that she be crowned as Heiress Apparent or else risk civil war. It would do no good that currently they were at odds with Fidelian.

She had last talked with Quinn two days ago, and she said that she did understand, and both of them were merely tasked to fulfil their duties to the Realm. Brittany knew that eyes could never lie, and even through the impassive expression on Quinn's face, she could see, in those pretty hazel orbs, that her sister was mourning the ruin of everything she had worked for all her life. Brittany reached for her hand, but Quinn shied away, and she could see that her sister was swallowing against the desire to cry.

"I'm sorry," she murmured hopelessly.

Drums sounded, and Brittany looked up to see her father, in full armour, just the way she remembered when she was five, seated on his throne, flanked by his six Magistrates and the Herald and the First Soldier standing in front. There was a smaller throne below him, one where Brittany would sit after she had taken the vows. He beckoned her with a small nod, and the two Kingsguards in front of her led the Approach. Behind her is another Kingsguard carrying a standard bearing the coat of arms of House Pierce.

"Order arms," First Soldier Sue Sylvester said in a firm voice and the Approach came to a stop at the same time as the drummer stopped playing the marching cadence.

"Who dares approach the Throne of Kingsvale?" the Herald, a tall young man with a face resembling a weasel asked. She was quite caught up in this observation and was berating herself for being quite mean that it took her a few moments later to answer.

"It is I, Brittany Susan Elizabeth Heather, born to House Pierce, Heiress Apparent to the Throne of Kingsvale and the Branic dominions beyond the Great Sea, Princess of the Realm," she finished off with a little bow.

Quinn cleared her throat and started to say haltingly, "Let it be known to all the Lands that she who lays claim to the Throne is the... is the true and rightful heiress." Brittany could see just how much this pained Quinn, and she reached for her sister's hand again. Quinn didn't shy away this time.

"By what right do you lay claim to the Throne?" the Herald asked.

"By the Will of the Lands, virtue of rank, the grace of destiny... and—," Quinn stammered, looking a little stricken now. Brittany saw the corner of their father's moustache twitch in silent warning as he glared at Quinn, and she squeezed her sister's hand in a gesture of comfort. "—and nobility of birth, the Princess Brittany hereby lays claim to the throne of Kingsvale."

"Is Her Majesty willing to take her vows?"

She hesitated, but her father nodded at her again, a little more forcefully this time. "I am willing."

"Then, draw near and receive your crown."

Brittany tentatively took a step forward, and she glanced at Quinn. She saw anguish reflected in those eyes. Slowly, she sat down on her throne, and the Herald placed the crown on top of her head. It was heavy, and she kept her neck straight, afraid to embarrass herself in front of the whole court assembled in the throne room. She nearly gasped in surprise at the sheer amount of people inside, and instead focused on Quinn's face so as to quell her nervousness.

But this only served to make her feel as though a heavy brick of guilt was dropped into her stomach.

She heard footsteps behind her, but she did not dare turn her head, and her father came into view. He looked imposing, showing no sign of the illness that ailed him for quite a long time save for a slight unevenness in his gait. He drew a sword from his baldric and balanced it on top of his palms, motioning for Brittany to put her hand on it too.

"Do you, Brittany Susan Elizabeth Heather, my firstborn daughter and rightful heir, swear to govern and represent the Populace according to the mandates of Branic Law?"

"I do swear, Your Majesty."

"Do you swear to uphold and enforce the Law, and dispense justice that is tempered with mercy but still according to what is right and lawful?

"I do swear, Your Majesty."

"Do you swear to protect and defend the People against forces—be it within the confines of the Realm or without—that threaten the peace in the Realm?"

"I do swear, Your Majesty."

Her father returned the sword into its sheath and placed his hands on top of her head. Brittany would have liked to lower her head, but the crown felt awkwardly balanced.

"I now crown you, Brittany Susan Elizabeth Heather, blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh, as my successor to the Throne of Kingsvale and all the Lands under the Branic Crown."

The sound of applause bounced off the cavernous walls of the throne room, and it wasn't long before her ears were ringing and she was feeling kind of dizzy. There was a blur of scarlet and she saw Quinn run out of the hall, her hand clasped over her mouth.

Brittany looked up to see her father shaking her head imperceptibly. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder, and this silent message of 'She's going to be alright' did nothing to rid her of the feeling that she had somehow robbed her sister off of what is hers.

* * *

"You were listed as his second," the man informed her gravely. "C'mon, saddle up and put on your armour. His Majesty should not be kept waiting."

Why of all days must they not be able to find Captain Samuel Evans? It's like he disappeared into thin air.

She peered into the door which was open a crack, and sure enough, the other champion was there in the pitch, looking mighty and threatening in his huge black war-horse, even from this distance. The horse was stamping its hoof in the dirt impatiently, and the knight seemed impatient as well as the sun beat down on his newly-cast armour. It still somewhat reflected the fires of the furnace upon which it had been cast.

She turned her gaze up into the stands where Brittany, Quinn and their father, the King sat. Brittany looked even more beautiful with that crown on top of her fair hair. Even from this distance, she could see Brittany's worried blue eyes scanning the crowd for her. It hit her—she had no idea that Santana would be competing.

"C'mon now," the man said his voice tinged with annoyance. He jerked his head to where Sam's armour was laid out. Santana eyed it with trepidation.

"B-but I was barely in training!"

"All the more entertainment for His Majesty."

"But I am told he doesn't even like violence."

"Violence against Fidelis, I'm sure he does. After all, he ordered the massacre of the Fideli community in Dayton right after the siege. I wager you're too young to know about that. You may have never been born yet. Anyroads, a tourney on an Heiress's Presentation is a time-honoured Branic tradition."

"I'm twenty-five summers old," she mumbled stonily. She didn't know about that. "But—"

"The King should not be kept waiting," he said more firmly this time. She could see some glee in his eyes since he knew that he was sending her to a certain death and she wanted to clobber him with the mace that was lying around but thought the better of it.

Santana sighed, trying to muster the fear that was rapidly-growing in her chest. She had only been training for two weeks, and most of her experience in jousting came from practicing on the stationary quintain. Obviously Sam had never expected himself to disappear either. She wondered what had happened to her knight. She had been sent into a stupor by Brittany that she failed to notice whether he had returned to their tent last night or not.

The man sighed and helped her into her armour since her hands were shaking too badly for her to do anything.

"Naught to worry, usually nobody dies in a joust," he muttered, relenting at the look of fear on her face.

"Is it true? He ordered the Dayton massacre?" she asked him. She was born in Dayton, but she and her father had fled following her mother's abandonment.

He nodded gravely. "Aye. But could you blame the King?"

She did not say anything more.

After a few moments, she was dressed in her jousting best. She wore a mantle in the colours of the Kingsguards—a fiery red with black lining. It had the coat of arms of House Pierce on the right shoulder. It belonged to Sam of course, since she wasn't one of the Kingsguards yet, and although a little too big, she could move just fine. Underneath she had her hauberk—a shirt made of interlinked chain rings which reached past her thigh. Over the hauberk, she had her breastplate which always surprised her with regards to its weight; it looked really heavy, but it seemed to weigh only a few stones. Splints of metal jointed upon each other protected the lower part of her leg and sollerets covered her feet, completing her armour.

On her girdle hung a sword as well as a double-edged dagger, and she pressed her gauntleted hand against the hilt, trying to take comfort in the coolness of the metal.

"Don't forget this," the man said, handing her her helmet, complete with a visor to obscure and protect her face. She put it on and everything felt more real. This is it.

He led her out of the tent to where her steed stood—a magnificent white charger—already saddled and tossing its head proudly. She climbed atop the saddle and tried to look as large and threatening as her adversary despite her significantly smaller and obviously feminine frame.

The man escorted her to her post at the other extremity of the pitch with a gentle tug on the charger's reins, all the while keeping her eyes on Brittany. She could see her squinting against the daylight with her blue eyes trained on her. She held a red, black and white streamer in her hands which fluttered in the gentle breeze.

Her valet pressed the heavy lance on her unfeeling fingers.

The other champion was clad in sable armour with the large Abrams coat of arms—those who ruled the vast western territories of Ricafort—embroidered in the centre of his mantle.

She cast her eyes on the sea of faces in the lists, and most of the crowd looked agog. She huffed and puffed, steadying her grip on the lance. The horn was blown, and the charger, no doubt conditioned for these events, darted quickly from its post, leaving Santana stunned.

Before she knew it, there was a massive crunch as their lances struck, and the recoil travelled up her arm as the weapons both shivered. The spectators saw her recoil, and Brittany was full on frowning now, tugging on the sleeve of Quinn's dress. Her opponent's steed began pacing proudly around the enclosure, giving her a chance to recover from the stunning blow.

Both the champions returned to their posts and she was handed a fresh lance. The first one had a crack at the tip, and therefore it was rendered unusable. The second horn was blown, and both of them sprung into position in the centre of the pitch.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd when the two champions collided again: the black knight's lance found the centre of Santana's shield and she changed her aim at the moment of encounter, instead aiming her lance into her opponent's helm.

She felt a sharp pain at her side at the same time as her adversary was rendered senseless, falling off his horse. He was hurled to the ground and his helm fell off to reveal his face with blood flowing from his nose. He was declared vanquished.

Santana did not put up a show of her horse but instead jumped off the saddle in order to see if the other knight was alright. She was stunned at her victory. She knew this was just a sport and she did not want to have his blood on her hands.

The knight was pulled up reluctantly in a sitting position by his second, and the blood was quickly wiped off his face. Santana noticed that he still had his lance in a death grip and the tip was a little bloodied. But she thought nothing of it. She was more worried about accidentally killing another person in front of a crowd.

"Is he alright?" she asked, and all heads turned to her, apparently surprised that she was a woman.

She was surprised that his skin was the same shade as her own.

The knight nodded, holding a rag up his nose as he fumbled with the waterskin in his hands.

"You were good with that lance, aye," he mumbled thickly, looking up at her in admiration.

"You were good too. Look," she said, showing him her escutcheon with a large dent in the middle. Her head suddenly spun, and stars danced in her vision, so she shook her head to clear it.

The injured knight smiled at her, and she recoiled at the blood staining his teeth. "I thought it missed."

"Well, it... didn't," Santana said, suddenly feeling weak. She swayed on the spot then collapsed.

* * *

The moment the Kingsguard rode into the enclosure, Brittany felt that something was amiss. She looked around the lists, trying to find Santana holding a fresh lance for Sam (she knew about this, since back at Thornville, Will organized tourneys for northern knights), and felt her heart rate quicken when she couldn't.

She squinted at the scarlet rider, and he did seem smaller, his grip on the lance slightly skewed.

Or, her mind amended, _her_.

Her fears were confirmed when her father muttered, "That isn't Samuel. I trained the boy myself. He wasn't left-handed as far as I know."

"Papa, I think that's—" But before she could continue and ask her father to put a stop to the joust, the sound of steel crashing against steel exploded in the field and she turned her horrified eyes into the pitch. The Kingsguard—Santana—was obviously reeling at the contact, and when they returned to their posts, she breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that the joust was over.

However it turned out to be premature when the two champions rode towards each other again. Everything happened so fast, and the crowd jeered when the black knight was unhorsed, his helmet falling away in the dirt to reveal his bloody face. Brittany gasped, but inside, she was secretly grateful that it wasn't the Kingsguard (Santana).

The horn was blown and the joust was over.

The Kingsguard dismounted and hurried over to her vanquished foe. A few moments later, the red-clad knight dropped into the dirt and without hesitation, Brittany jumped off the stands—dress, crown and all—and hastened to the fallen champion.

"Santana!" she screamed, falling on her knees. She fumbled with the clasps on her helmet and sure enough, it revealed the pale face of the girl she loved. She gently shook her and lightly slapped her on her cheeks that were drained of colour, to no avail.

The physician, a surly-faced old man dressed in his best, seemed to take forever to arrive, and Brittany was in tears. She did not care that she was making a spectacle of herself in front of everyone, and that her father was glaring disapprovingly at her from the stands—all she was worried about was Santana, who was still not responding.

The physician lifted the red mantle that Santana wore and Brittany gasped at the sight of blood leaking out of the hole in Santana's breastplate.

* * *

Santana woke up to Brittany's face hovering over her own. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had spent the better part of her day crying.

"Britt," she croaked, reaching up to touch her face. She had vague memories of Sam's disappearance, the joust, and then winning, and nothing. She tried to sit up, but Brittany pressed a hand against her shoulder. That was when she noticed a sharp pain at her side, just below her right breast. She suddenly became aware that she was naked from the waist up, save for the bandages.

Brittany's tears started anew, and she wiped them with the pad of her thumb.

"I'm just so relieved that you're alive," she sobbed, leaning forward to pepper Santana's face with kisses. Santana caught her lips in a gentle kiss to reassure her.

"'Course I am. I'm tough, remember?" She tucked a strand of fair hair behind Brittany's ear.

"You always say that. And I'm afraid when the day comes that your toughness won't be enough."

"Then, we'll make sure that day won't come," she answered, lacing her fingers with Brittany's.

Brittany roughly wiped her face with the back of her hand and Santana saw anger in her blue eyes. "They took Sam so you'd be forced to compete. They were hoping your inexperience at a joust would get you killed."

Now she was intrigued. "Who are 'they', Britt?"

"The squire you beat up during your training and five of his cronies. They're flogged and are in the dungeons now. Papa wanted them killed—he and Sam are close you see, but you know how I hate violence and I don't want anyone killed so I pleaded on their behalf. Hope you're not mad."

"That's alright. What about Captain Evans? What happened to him?"

"They beat him up and left him unconscious. They apparently thought he was killed and so they dumped him on some abandoned field on the outskirts of Fentonwood."

They were silent after that, and Brittany climbed into bed with her. She lay her head on Santana's shoulder and started drawing patterns on her arm. It was then that Santana looked around the room when she noticed the assortments of various jewellery and expensive things laid out on the table.

"Are those heirlooms?" she asked.

She felt Brittany shake her head.

"They were gifts from the Barons."

Santana knew it was only normal, but for some reason, she couldn't help the feeling of foreboding that crept into her being and made the room colder even though Brittany was right beside her.

She realized now the responsibility that Brittany's new position as Heiress Apparent entailed, and even though she managed to rise through the ranks of the Kingsguards, it would not change the fact that she was nothing but a commoner. And of a different—hated—race at that.

The gap between her and Brittany, though physically non-existent as of this moment, couldn't have been any farther. Someday she'll undoubtedly be forced to choose between her love and her duty to the Realm.

"What are you thinking, San?" she asked, looking up at her.

It took a moment before she forced a false cheer into her voice. "Nothing. I just love being here with you."

It was true, but she did not know how long it would last.

Brittany seemed to have seen through her lie, because she frowned a bit, but smiled. "Me too. I love you. Always."

And her blue eyes held the truth behind them.

"I love you too."

* * *

**TBC. **

**Apologies for any mistakes and the relative shortness of this chapter.**

**Thanks for reading. I also updated my other story, Glee Club on Cracked. Check it out. As always, PLEASE REVIEW. :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**I know, guys. I'm disappointed in me too. But I was so busy with schoolwork and last weekend was very eventful (the only reason I was able to update GCC was because by the time weekend rolled around, I had written about 85% of the chapter). Sorry for the delay. Anyway, I took to writing this even while in class, just so I could update so I won't feel so guilty.**

**That said, here's chapter 23. Enjoy!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

James Pierce looked around the Great Hall, his eyebrows knitted together. Brittany's absence was glaring, and most of the other nobles who weren't too drunk had noticed. He was angry enough that she had made such a spectacle in the tourney earlier, and he couldn't help but overhear the mutterings it had stirred among their ranks, some of which had been not so graciously relayed to him by some of his Magistrates.

He spotted Quinn standing off to the side, talking with the Duke of Ricafort. The Duke knew about her lineage a long time ago, and still it did not stop him from asking for her hand in marriage. James knew their upcoming nuptials were close, and he was glad that his daughter had a good man to take care of her. Still, he knew her heart lay with ruling the kingdom as well, but alas, that cannot be for it would tear the kingdom asunder. He knew Quinn was more than capable of running the Kingdom, but since her legitimacy is questionable, it would not stop the Barons from laying claim on the throne as well.

It was something they cannot afford right now, what with the situation overseas becoming direr every moment. They are going for an appeasement policy, but if that didn't work out, they'd have to go to war and for that, he needed Baronial cooperation in order to stop the threat of a Fideli invasion.

Brittany's Presentation couldn't have come at a better time.

After she was coronated that morning, the Barons had all sworn fealty, thus affirming their allegiance to him. He knew days earlier—from information volunteered by Lord Schuester and verified by his spies, called the Eyes—that some of them were indeed plotting to take the throne for themselves should he happen to pass on. Alas, Brittany's return and his recovery from illness thwarted whatever treasonous plans they have. His bloodline's hold on the throne is secure.

His musings were interrupted when widower Duke Motta of Ross, arguably the richest man in the Realm, approached him. His daughter—Sweetpea? Sugar?—trailed after him.

"Good to see you in fine health, my Lord King," he said, taking his hand in a firm grip. His daughter curtsied. "Where is Her Highness? I'd be pleased to make her acquaintance, and I'm certain my daughter Sugar would be glad to meet her as well."

He knew it was only a matter of time before the nobles would come courting. James couldn't help but curl his lip in disgust at the blatant intent in the Duke's grey eyes. The Duke is almost as old as he is, but that aside, politically he would be a good match for his daughter, he thought rather guiltily.

"She, uh, she retired to his bedchambers early, my Lord. She hasn't been feeling well lately."

"Aye, must be the heat, Your Majesty. She had been so caught up in the joust earlier, no?"

James felt his face heat up at the mention of the joust. "She is just a very caring girl. She hates violence. She had been so worried about her knight that she had forgotten herself. As you know, she had spent three-quarters of her life away from here—she must've forgotten the customs and such—" he sighed, angry at Brittany for putting him in a position where he had to justify her actions.

"Your Majesty, I understand very well." He clasped his hands together and James breathed a sigh of relief when he changed the subject; talking about politics and the threat of war—doubtless more comfortable topics of conversation, and James nodded along.

When a young man took Sugar's hand and led her to the centre of the Great Hall amongst other dancing couples, he felt angry at his errant daughter again. She could be here right now, catching the eyes of eligible nobles from the Realm, but instead she chose to spend it with that _woman_.

When another Baron approached him, James steeled himself to answer the questions regarding his daughter's absence from her own feast.

* * *

Brittany woke up alone. The realization sent her springing off the bed and sending Lord Tubbington flying as well as daylight filtered serenely through the curtains.

"San?" she called out into the silent, empty room.

Her maid, hearing that she was awake, bustled into the room. It had been weeks since she had been assigned a maid and she was still getting used to the idea of someone doing everything for her. With a greeting which she only managed to return furtively because she was worried about Santana—_there is no way she could've gone back into training, is there?—_her maid went to her wardrobe in order to prepare a change of clothes for her.

She changed from her sleepwear into a powder blue dress and, taking one look at the mirror in order to ensure that she looked presentable, the maid led her towards the dining hall, but she wasn't hungry, and the odd feeling in her stomach was due to her worry about Santana.

She turned to the maid and didn't miss the shift in her expression when she asked, "Have you seen Santana?" She felt her anger flare up. What is wrong with loving another woman? In the Barony of Snowspear in the Far North, she heard of two baronesses who lived together and nobody batted an eyelash.

"She was summoned by His Majesty, the King, Your Highness."

She couldn't help but be filled with dread at the thought of Santana alone with her father, especially after what had transpired yesterday and her subsequent absence at the feast.

* * *

"You ride well, huh? Never thought you'd win against Rutherford. He's one of the most formidable knights of the Realm."

Santana looked up, startled that the King addressed her. She was roused abruptly from sleep very early in the morning and was told that the King had summoned her. She only had enough time to press a hasty kiss on Brittany's brow and wash the sleep off her face with a cruel bowlful of ice-cold water until she had to put on her squire garb and was hurriedly led to the King's presence. The exertion started up the pain in her fresh wound and she had to bite her inner cheek to keep from crying out and to keep her breathing regular.

The King did not even bother to look at her when she showed up, only motioning her to follow him with a flick of his hand. His steps were quick and sure, even with his slight limp, and Santana had trouble keeping up. She could feel an unpleasant stickiness at her side, and she was certain that her wound had started bleeding again. They went to the gardens, with the King muttering something to the flowers.

"My wife's garden," he had muttered by way of explanation, and then was lost in his own world once more. Santana wondered why he had bothered to take her with him if he was going to ignore her the whole time.

Needless to say, she spent the better part of the next two hours, as the sun started its daily trek across the sky, working very hard to endure the pain radiating from her side. Because of the heat, she started to sweat, and it made it even worse. The bandage felt soaked through and when she sneaked a hand under the tunic she wore, it came away smudged with red and reeking of the familiar metallic scent of blood. The King didn't notice, or if he did, he chose to ignore it.

With a jolt, she suddenly remembered that she had been asked a question.

"I... certainly did not expect it, Your Majesty," she answered in a tight voice, her voice betraying her current predicament. "I was only in... training for two weeks."

"I am aware." He stopped and looked at her and Santana turned her gaze down. "You're no knight yet you have sharp instincts. I know luck had played a great part in your victory but still that could not discount the fact that the decision you made in a split-second had turned the tide in your favour, albeit at some cost." His grey eyes flicked to her side and Santana instinctively hid her bloodstained hand behind her back.

"I am flattered, Your Majes—"

"But your victory in a joust doesn't change the fact that everything had changed now. In particular, starting yesterday."

Santana knew where this discussion was headed. Although she had been thinking about it even before she and Brittany had reached Kingsvale, here faced with the cold hard truth with the King sneering at her face—didn't make it any less painful and real.

"Where are you from again? And what is your lineage?"

"Uh, my father was a hunter, and I had taken the same occupation as well, Your Majesty." She refrained from mentioning that her father was a former slave of the Schuester's. There was no need for her to sully the King's view of her even more. "I was born in Dayton, but I grew up in Lima." She also didn't mention her mother, as she had a pretty good idea of what she was up to after she just up and left them for good, based on the King's story as well.

"A hunter," the King whispered. "Have you no land of your own to till?"

Santana shook her head. "I was out hunting when I saw Brittany." She knew fate brought them together. Usually she could have some great catch in a day—two days, tops—but this time it took her three days just to track down a buck. The delay threw them into each other's paths, and to where they were now.

"I understand that she had spent more than half her life living amongst—or rather living as a commoner—and that it has blurred the lines for her a lot, but she has my blood flowing in her veins. She is highborn, and she's meant for someone who is highborn as well," the King said, baring his teeth at her in scorn and disgust. "I trust that you're aware of the Law regarding monarchs and their would-be spouse?"

Santana shrank away. Somehow, this was more painful than the physical pain she was currently experiencing right now.

"I expect a change of living arrangements. You are to stay in the soldiers' quarters, as you should, Fideli. People are already talking after the stunt my daughter pulled yesterday." He narrowed his eyes. "All that for a squire? And a woman at that. I am not about to have my daughter, the Heiress Apparent to become the laughingstock of the Realm!"

* * *

Brittany spotted them in the gardens. Santana looked pale and distressed, and she hastened over to them. Santana was undoubtedly sad last night, and now she was looking even more miserable. Worse, she looked to be in pain as well.

She stomped over to her father and caught the tail-end of his words.

"...not about to have my daughter, the Heiress Apparent to become the laughingstock of the Realm!"

"Don't talk to her like that!" she said hotly, stepping in front of Santana and glaring at her father with as much defiance as she could muster. Her father didn't say anything, and so she just grabbed Santana and took her away. As she did so, she did not miss the tiny whimper of pain that escaped Santana's lips.

She gasped when she saw the dark stain on Santana's tunic. Santana was obviously finding it difficult to stay on her feet, so she draped Santana's arm over her shoulder and half-carried her back to her bedchamber.

What she saw there nearly made her drop Santana. She gently lowered a half-unconscious Santana into the bed and stalked towards the errant servant.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped at the maid, whose eyes widened in shock and fear at Brittany towering over her.

The maid had been collecting Santana's things and dropping them unceremoniously into a sack.

"The Lord King's orders, Your Highness," the maid timidly answered, but Brittany held out her hand for the sack and the servant reluctantly handed it over to her.

"Please leave now," she said coldly. The maid hurried out of her bedchamber without a word.

Santana had sunk into a pain-induced stupor and Brittany undressed her. She flinched at the sight of Santana's thoroughly-soaked bandages and gently, lovingly peeled them off. The wound looked a little worse than yesterday, and she tenderly cleaned it then applied the balm at the edges of the puncture as the physician had prescribed, watching for Santana's reaction. She groaned at the touch of Brittany's fingertip.

"It's alright, San," she murmured.

Afterwards, when she had fixed Santana up as best she could, she held her as if she were fragile, wishing her embrace could soothe the wounds no doubt wrought by her father's vicious words.

"It's alright. I love you, and I'm here. Always."

* * *

Ever since Santana had been ordered to stay with the soldiers in their quarters, a sprawling stone building by the training grounds, Brittany rarely got to see her. No amount of pleading, grovelling and bargaining with her father could change his mind, and Brittany stewed in silent rebellion. Worse, rigid Palace routine—which she had to abide to by now after she was crowned Heiress apparent—prevented her from doing so.

In the morning, she had her lessons with Mistress Hagberg, a portly old woman who had a perpetual scowl on her face. Brittany felt rather guilty because she knew she isn't the world's best student and she was probably contributing to Mistress Hagberg's wrinkles. But could she be blamed if the lessons failed to hold her interest? All she ended up doodling over and over on her piece of parchment was Santana's name. She was so worried about her because her wound had not healed yet—as the stab wound was quite deep—but she was certain Santana had been forced back into training.

Her only consolation was the assurance that she was being seen to by their father's personal physician no less and that was after she had begged and pleaded with her father.

During the afternoons, she was made to sit beside her father as he conducted audience in the throne room, and as usual, her mind kept drifting off outside to where a beautiful, dark-haired woman stood, probably sweating in the afternoon sun as she shot arrow after arrow into a target many yards away.

Sometimes her father would pass on a question to her and she could only gape cluelessly at him, and the expression on his face would nearly send her to tears. She wanted to yell at him and tell him that this wasn't what she wanted, that she wasn't made for this but his glare was enough to make her swallow up the rebellious protests bubbling up in her throat.

In the evening, the three of them—Brittany, Quinn and their father—would sit down for dinner and afterwards, he would immediately retire to his bedchamber. Quinn would do the same, and on their first night apart, Brittany thought that she was free to do as she wished. But unfortunately, her father had expressly forbidden her from leaving the Palace during the night, and instead ordered her to do some reading on her lessons. He had posted additional Kingsguards for her for good measure.

For days she tried and failed to charm her guards into letting her out at night, and by the third day, she was fed up. She was missing Santana so badly that it had put her in a foul mood and had her constantly blowing up at everyone even though it wasn't her nature. Even Miss Hagberg had to end their lessons early.

On the fourth day, she studied the walls of the Palace, particularly the one right below her window, under the guise of taking a stroll with her maid and a Kingsguard that was assigned to keep an eye on her at all times. She spotted Lord Tubbington—now an adolescent cat—scrambling down the ivy growing on the walls, and she realized that her problem was solved.

* * *

"Britt, what are you doing here?" Santana whispered after Brittany took her hand off her mouth in order to stop her from screaming in shock and waking the whole barracks. She cast a glance at her roommate's sleeping form. Thankfully, she stayed asleep.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" Santana could almost hear the pout in her voice and she felt her heart clench. God, she had missed this woman.

"'Course I am, Britt," she replied, and the tears came unbidden. To muffle her sobs, she buried her face into Brittany's neck, drinking in her familiar scent of honeysuckle and whatever it is that smelled so, so Brittany.

"Good. Me too. I'm sorry it took me so long to see you. I missed you so much!"

Santana did not ask what kept her because she knew it would only make her angrier at the King than she already was, and even more frustrated at her fate of being lowborn. Their future didn't look good either, but she had resolved to live in the moment. And now that Brittany's here again, in her arms, she cast her worries aside and concentrated on feeling.

"God, I missed you too. You don't know how much." She clung to the taller woman desperately, wincing when Brittany adjusted her hands and brushed a bit forcefully against her injury.

"I know how much. Like missing a fortnight's worth of meals much," Brittany said cheekily.

"Same," she said, chuckling.

"How are you feeling, San?"

"I'm alright, Britt. Just... tired. But now that you're here... I feel contented."

"Hmm?"

"It's like, you're magic, and every ache disappears, and I feel so light, and ... loved." She ran her fingers to where she knew Brittany's cheek would be, in the darkness, and she felt Brittany press a chaste kiss on her fingers. "My lips are right here Britt," she said in a low voice, and Brittany was only too glad to comply.

They lay like that, against each other, soaking up this precious few hours they could squeeze in before they're back to the disparate lives they were leading at the Palace.

"How's Lord Tubbington by the way? Does that little...kitten miss—"

She was suddenly rendered speechless and breathless when Brittany crashed her lips against hers in a searing kiss, and Santana felt warmth pooling below her stomach. Her hands involuntarily and purposely wrapped themselves around Brittany's narrow waist.

"What was that for?" she gasped out when Brittany pulled away. She could make out Brittany grinning at her in the dark, her teeth catching what little light managed to filter into the cramped room.

"You didn't like it?"

"Why, yes, of course, I did, and I won't be opposed for another."

Brittany kissed her again, this time more urgent and bursting with need.

"That was the first time you called Lord Tubbs by name. And you're so sweet, asking about him and all."

Santana snorted. "And here I am, thinking that a way to a girl's heart is through anywhere other than her pussy."

"That's inappropriate, San!" Brittany said indignantly, and Santana could tell that she's blushing.

"It sounds inappropriate but in your case it's not."

"I know. I get it." She huffed. "Now, you mentioned that you feel loved when I'm here. How about I actually make you feel loved?"

"That's a capital idea, Britt."

And Santana had to work very hard to stay silent throughout that night, and through the nights that followed.

* * *

Quinn blanched at the idea of accompanying her sister to some backwater town in the north. Not that she had any problem rubbing elbows with the provincial folk, but this was like adding insult to the injury.

"Am I my sister's keeper now?" she asked, rounding on her father who was unfazed. "Am I to be her lady-in-waiting?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lucille. Of course not. Consider this as some sort of immersion."

Quinn scoffed at that. "Immersion? It's not as if I have a chance in the nine hells of ever sitting on the throne. Why do I have to immerse myself in the plight of the people I'm not even going to be responsible for?"

She very rarely swore and she was doing these now partly to spite her father but mostly because she was still frustrated by the turn of events, even after two moons have passed since Brittany's Presentation. But if she was being honest with herself, she wasn't angry with Brittany in the least. If she was angry at someone or something, perhaps it would be Fate—for giving her something that isn't meant to be hers in the first place and then withdrawing it just after she had proven to herself and to everyone else that she deserved it.

"She said she had to visit a friend. One who'd helped her get back here—besides that damned _woman_ who, by the way, she had insisted on taking with her."

"You want me to keep an eye on them? You could easily separate them, have the Fideli stay here and continue her training. She's still a squire, yes?"

"Yes, Samuel's squire. And where Samuel goes, his squire goes too. Samuel is the only Kingsguard I trust with my daughter's life. And yes—" he grudgingly admitted, "—that Fideli too." Quinn could see her father's internal struggle. "You have to admit that she did keep your sister alive. Brittany had regaled me with tales of their journey here."

"Then you could easily forbid her from going into this visit—whatever this is."

"She has her reasons. She said she had to return someone's horse. You know your sister, she's a little daft, but it's quite...endearing."

Quinn knew that Brittany wasn't very bright. Days before, her old tutor, Mistress Hagberg had confided in her about how hard it is to teach Brittany her lessons. Under normal circumstances, she would be afraid to speak ill of royalty, but she had known Quinn for so long and had become so familiar with her that Quinn even considered them to be friends. Nevertheless, she merely advised her to cut her sister some slack. The poor woman merely pinched her lips together.

"Alright," she sighed out, resigned. But she couldn't resist adding: "But you're aware that they're still seeing each other, right?"

Her father's expression darkened at this. She knew he had posted additional guards outside her bedchamber to ensure that she stays inside the Palace every night but she managed to evade them every time. Quinn had a sneaking suspicion that because Brittany spent so much time with the nocturnal creature she considers her pet, then some of those feline abilities must have rubbed off on her. It was silly, but then what could be the explanation? One time, she had even caught Brittany sneaking back to her bedchamber looking tired, but with that dopey grin plastered on her face. She remembered that it was the same day that Mistress Hagberg had complained to her about Brittany's apparent disinterest in her lessons.

"I am barely tolerating her as it is, and I have half a mind to throw that filthy woman into the dungeons and have her flogged for having the audacity to carry on that kind of relationship with my daughter. But I do not want to alienate Brittany. For now, I'm letting her have all the fun before I pull the rug out from underneath her and remind her of her duty to this Kingdom. She'll be married off soon, I know it. She had to be."

Quinn flinched at her father's callousness, but then again, that was the cold, hard truth for royalty like them. They marry not for love, but for the good of the many. At least she was lucky she was assured that Artie was a good and kind man, and most importantly, they love each other.

She felt sorry for her sister—and for Santana as well.

* * *

She was supposed to keep them apart: sneer at Santana and put her in her place, but because she knew what Fate—or rather, her father had in store for them, she let them be.

They had been casting each other longing glances throughout the time they've spent cooped up in the carriage that would take them to the harbour. Brittany squirmed in her seat beside her, aching for some physical contact with her lover who sat not three feet in front of her, but unable to do so because of their seating arrangement. And now, here on the ship bound for the northern seaside town of Siren Coast, she decided to take the hint.

With a furtive nod at Sam, she strode out of the cabin, the knight at her heels. Brittany briefly caught her eye and mouthed thanks. She was barely able to close the door when she heard the unmistakable sound of lips crashing together and Quinn felt her face heat up but she knew she was doing the right thing.

* * *

Brittany noticed that Santana wasn't returning her kisses as enthusiastically as she should. She broke away and pulled herself up on her elbows and gazed down at Santana. The latter's eyes were closed and her brow was furrowed, as if in great pain.

"San, are you alright?" she asked, putting a hand on Santana's forehead. She felt normal, but she was a bit pale. Santana suddenly shot up and nearly bumped her forehead against Brittany's nose, looking as if she was about to be sick. "Oh God, are you seasick?"

Santana nodded furiously.

"Don't, that'll make it worse." She gently lowered Santana back into the bed and wrapped her arms around her. "Feel better?"

"'Course, Britt," Santana mumbled weakly, forcing a smile. "It's actually my first time on a ship."

"Just imagine we're lying on a hammock," she said, remembering the time she accidentally came upon a snake and how it had reared back ferociously, its hood fanned out, ready to attack; and how Santana had fearlessly hacked it with a machete. "Like the time you strapped us both into a tree because I was so afraid of sleeping on the ground after I had a near-death experience with a snake."

"Oh yeah, you're right, Britt. 'Tis similar to that," Santana replied, nuzzling into her chest. She pressed a kiss on top of her head.

"You need a bath, baby. You're starting to smell," she teased and Santana drew back self-consciously. "I'm kidding!" She pulled Santana back into her and held her tight until they both began to drift off to sleep.

"We'll be alright, Britt, won't we?" Santana muttered quietly, and Brittany wondered if she was already dreaming. Brittany nodded against her nonetheless and fell asleep with the person she loved most in her arms.

* * *

Ambassador Kurt Hummel, clad in immaculate red robes, strode into the throne room. James Pierce was nervously anticipating the message he might bring from his recent mission to Fidelian, but he held nothing—not even the roll of parchment he was expecting—in his hands.

Instead he bowed deeply and announced in that unnaturally, high-pitched voice of his's:

"Your Majesty, the Lord King, may I present to you, His Royal Highness, Joseph David, Heir of Isafdar and Prince of Fidelian."

A long-haired young man wearing a low-hanging tunic and sandals entered and James was taken aback at his appearance the more he looked at him. He was fair-skinned enough to pass off as Branic, and he couldn't help the feeling that he had seen him before. His chest was exposed to reveal some script in another language inked into the skin there, and something glinted at the edge of his nose which he later realized was a ring.

"Your Majesty, just call me Joe, your worthy servant," he said with a disarming smile, and then he bowed deeply just like Kurt did before him. His voice was tinged with the littlest bit of an accent.

His shock robbed him of speech and he just stared at Joe, mouth agape. And then he slowly realized... the young man who had invited Duke Motta's daughter to dance the night of Brittany's Presentation.

"You...," he began, but closed his mouth when he noticed the roll of parchment that Joe held in his hands.

"A message from my father, Your Majesty," Joe said, handing it to him.

He quickly broke the wax seal and his eyes were drawn to the last paragraph.

_If you would give my son leave to court your daughter, Brittany, with the hope of unifying our two Kingdoms through marriage, in the future, it would please me to no end. I think it is about time that we stop fighting with each other and start to consider..._

He stopped reading and looked up at Joe, who bowed respectfully again.

Well, what could he lose?

* * *

**The end is near. Reviews are welcome and much appreciated (who knows, they might make me update sooner since they're a source of inspiration, ngl).**


	24. Chapter 24

**So if you follow me on tumblr (link on my profile), I released a sneak peek of this chapter. However, I decided to cut that scene and save it for next chapter.**

**I hope I haven't lost readers since I'm taking quite a while to update now as I've been pretty busy lately.**

**As always, enjoy and I'd absolutely love it if you tell me what you think via review!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

"Why are you being good to us?" she had to yell a bit in order to be heard above the breeze blowing across the deck of the ship.

Though she was the last person to assume duplicity about a person, Brittany still couldn't resist asking Quinn about this whole setup.

She knew her father had sent Quinn with them in order to keep an eye on her and Santana, but instead of doing her job, as she had expected her to (she and Santana would figure out ways to sneak out anyway), Quinn was being surprisingly lenient. This reeked of something fishy according to Santana, and it didn't make much sense for Brittany because Quinn always smelled so good even though she hadn't bathed for days.

Quinn's eyes darted towards her at the question, and she seemed to be thinking her answer over before she reached into the pocket of the loose trousers she wore and held out a missive. Brittany recognized the seal of House Pierce stamped into the broken wax. Brittany took it in her unfeeling fingers, her chest already suffused with dread.

She took the time to admire her father's loopy handwriting before her brain was able to overcome her disbelief and thus properly decipher the message.

She was well aware of the Law.

But it was only now that Mistress Hagberg's lessons started to sink in.

She knew royal marriages were mostly about strengthening political alliances or establishing new ones. She knew that royal marriages were between persons of different genders. She knew that royal marriages were supposed to be open to fertility.

But her father had reassured her that she had nothing to worry about—that she would not be traded like cattle just to secure their hold on the Throne—that she merely had to do this in order to unify the people of the Realm.

That was the reason why she acquiesced to being crowned Apparent in the first place: to prevent a civil war from breaking out.

How wrong she was. And how stupidly trusting.

Because she is to be given to the Prince of Fidelian in exchange for keeping the peace.

She clenched her jaw, furious at her father's betrayal. She felt like she was five again, baking under the unforgiving sun, displayed in the square for people to bid upon. She never expected she would go through something like that again, because this was exactly like that. Her father was basically selling her in order to stop the Fidelis from chewing them out the territory that didn't even belong to them in the first place.

She crumpled the letter and threw it away, letting the wind carry it far, far away until it was lost into the vast blue of the sea.

"Doing that doesn't make the words in it any less true," Quinn said quietly and Brittany, though not one for violence, felt like punching her in the face. Her sister must have seen this on her face, because she recoiled slightly. "I know how you must feel." Quinn tentatively reached out to her.

"No, you don't!" she snapped, turned on her heel and walked away.

* * *

Santana was becoming increasingly worried. She was sure that she and Sam had searched every inch of the ship for Brittany, to no avail. And when she came, or rather stumbled into the room, relief washed over Santana. This relief was short-lived however, when she noticed the anguish etched into Brittany's usually serene face.

"God, Brittany, where've you—" Santana started to ask but her words were lost when Brittany crashed her mouth into hers in a kiss that's sure to bruise. "Britt, wait—"

Their clothes were ending up on the floor faster than her mind could comprehend, and within seconds, Santana felt her back sink into the mattress and Brittany's warm weight settle on top of her. Although she was reduced into a panting, gasping mess, this felt off somehow. Like they shouldn't be doing this.

"Britt, what's the—problem?" she gasped out, at last managing to still the blonde's hand, which was roughly palming at her breasts that it hurt quite a bit.

Brittany's answer was to kiss her, a bit sloppy at that, all teeth and tongue, and Santana tried to match her rhythm at the same time swearing to herself that she won't let herself be distracted from the issue at hand. After a while, when Santana felt a warm wetness that isn't supposed to be on either of their faces, she realized that something was very wrong.

"Are you crying?"

Brittany tucked her head underneath Santana's chin, soaking up the bare skin of her collarbone and quietly sobbed.

"Honey, what's wrong? Did your sister do anything?"

A shake of the head. Santana pressed her lips on top of her head and ran her fingers through Brittany's fair hair.

"Please tell me what's wrong," she pleaded but Brittany was still crying silently against her. She could feel the cruel reality catching up to them now. And although the bubble of security in her relationship with Brittany had long ago burst for Santana (even before the King had talked to her), it was heartbreaking to see Brittany like this—now that she was realizing the extent of her obligation as Heiress Apparent.

"San, we'll be fine no matter what happens, won't we?" Brittany asked, seeking reassurance which Santana unfortunately cannot give. She just clung on to Brittany tighter; pressing her against her chest, wishing this action would be enough for her. For both of them.

But it wasn't.

* * *

It was a splendid morning: business was brisk since there seemed to be a larger amount of traders passing through Lima more than usual, and Rachel hadn't had the chance to have breakfast, much less sit down all morning. But she felt no hunger. If anything she was actually elated that their business was doing well again after suffering some kind of a drought for several moons when no one save for a lone lodger came by each week. It also didn't help that Santana just up and left—for good it seemed, for she was their supplier of the finest fresh meat, and Noah, though he could provide the same quality of meats as well, wasn't as reliable as Santana. So for a while, even their sought-after stew had disappeared from the tavern's menu and they lost a couple of customers.

From sunrise until a couple of hours before noon, she was running around the inn, entertaining lodgers and catering to their demands. One of her fathers had never left the kitchen, and he was sweating all over from manning the stoves, but nevertheless he kept a steady supply of warm food for hungry and weary travellers.

So when a team of four fine horses stopped by in front of the _New Directions, _she thought nothing of it, and was excited at the prospect of more customers despite her exhaustion. She fixed herself as best she could since, judging from the looks of their fine beasts, these people were of high stature. She tucked a wayward strand of brown hair behind her ear and stretched her lips into a big smile that showed off her pearly whites.

However upon closer inspection, it seemed that two of the riders and one of the horses looked familiar—so familiar in fact that Rachel did a double-take.

It was definitely a fine specimen of the equine persuasion: a proud black mare with a lone white stripe running down from between its brown eyes up to the tip of its leathery nose. Could it be—

"Barbra?" Rachel gasped out as she hurried out of the tavern. Her jaw hung open at the sight of her beloved animal. She thought she would never see her again since she knew better than to trust Santana. But here is Barbra, in the flesh, looking as magnificent as ever. "Oh, Barbra! It's you!"

"Why, hello to you too, midget," said a familiar voice, and she looked up to see Santana holding Barbra's reins.

"S-Santana! What a surprise!"

"Yea, you didn't think Barbra would find her way back alone, did you?" Santana gracefully climbed off the saddle, handed the reins to her and helped Brittany off the saddle. Before she knew it, she was being swept up into a fierce hug by the taller woman.

"It's so good to see you again Rach!" Brittany squealed and set her down carefully. "I wanted to take Barbra but Santana said she wanted to spite you—I don't get why she'd want to roast you, though, you look far from delicious, and you're like, really tiny—so I took Prancer instead, but I promise San didn't do anything to harm Barbra though."

Rachel was frowning now. Apparently, Santana hated her enough that she'd like to cook her—

"Uhm, I suppose she didn't mean that she wanted to have me roasted on a spit, Brittany. She just meant that she wanted to get a rise out of me."

The blonde tapped her temple with her finger self-consciously and sheepishly smiled. "Yea. Maybe you could say that."

She turned to the others who had dismounted as well. One of them a very pretty blonde woman and the other a fair-haired man whose lips seemed to have gotten acquainted with the wrong end of a bee. The woman looked vaguely familiar. Rachel knew she had seen her before. Her face would be hard to forget, what with those arresting hazel eyes...

"And who could this—oh my God," It clicked. She had seen her when she and her fathers went to see Barbra the Gypsy on Kingsvale for her sixteenth birthday. "The Prince—"Before she could blurt it out in the middle of a street in Lima, Santana had her calloused hand over her mouth.

"We're incognito, and if my suspicions are correct that your vocabulary is indeed bigger than you, then I think you know what I mean," Santana hissed dangerously.

She nodded fiercely and Santana let go. Santana's hand smelled like the stables and she couldn't help but sputter as she rubbed furiously at her mouth in order to get the unpleasant taste of hay off.

"Just call me Quinn. You're Rachel Berry, right?" She held out a hand with a small smile, although her hazel eyes looked hard, like stones, and betrayed no emotion. Rachel hesitantly took it and nodded. She remembered that she was in the presence of royalty so she made a small curtsy, one she remembered being thought to do when she was really young. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Mistress Berry, I'm Samuel Evans," said the blonde man with a brief nod. Then he added in a lowered voice, "Captain of the Kingsguards." She did not miss the slight threat in his voice if she ever were to try anything. But of course she wouldn't.

She turned to Santana who had grabbed the reins of their mounts and was taking them into the stables.

"So it's true?" she whispered.

"That's right. Brittany's the Heiress so you better prepare a sumptuous feast fit for the future Queen." She looked delighted to be ordering her around. Well, Santana had always been obnoxious but now, even more so.

Everything was a whirl after that. She got them settled into the finest rooms in the _New Directions _and even got her father to cook his specialty though—which was something short of a miracle since he kept looking out the small window in the kitchens and gazing awestruck at the Princesses.

* * *

Later that night, Rachel regaled them and the whole inn, with an amazing and heart-warming performance. Brittany was cuddling into her the whole time, and although Santana had seen Quinn casting sidelong glances at them, she didn't say anything. This was one of the moments which Santana wished she had the ability to freeze time for, and she revelled in the feeling. It almost made her forget that something is off with their dynamic lately.

Pretty soon, they started drinking, which had Rachel cackling and even Quinn cracking a smile as Brittany narrated the first time Lord Tubbs had nearly sent Santana to her death.

"I swear that cat had a personal vendetta against me," Santana said, taking a giant swig off her ale.

Quinn daintily sipped hers and grimaced at the taste, but she forced it down anyway. Brittany was having her mug refilled in alarming frequency, and Santana could already see that she flush rising in her skin as her gaze became steadily unfocused. Even then, she continued telling stories of her pet's various shenanigans, and thwarted Puck as he lamely attempted to crack a couple of pussy jokes.

As the night wore on though, Brittany suddenly climbed up the table and started gyrating her hips to the music that floated off a minstrel's lute as Rachel's ingénue, a pretty brown-haired girl called Marley Rose sang on the centre stage. Santana had remarked that her last name sounded like a hooker's, and an enormous woman bussing the tables not far from them had fixed her a glare so sharp that she quailed in her seat. Rachel surreptitiously informed her that the woman was Marley's mother, and Puck burst out laughing, unable to believe it too.

Brittany's dancing caught the attention of everyone in the tavern, and soon she started to unbutton her shirt. Santana climbed up as well, intending to pull her down and put her to bed but the crowd jeered. Eventually, with a combination of force and some sweet talking, Brittany obeyed her. But she was still trying to take off her shirt, claiming it was too hot.

"I'll take her upstairs," Quinn said. Santana got up too, in order to soothe Brittany and coax her into a more peaceful state of mind, but Quinn nodded imperceptibly at her as if to say, _I got this_, and Santana didn't push it.

"So, you are _banging_ the Princess. Apparently, gloriously," Puck said with a smirk after he was sure that Sam had followed Quinn up the stairs.

"Stop being such a sleaze, Noah."

"Stop being such a fucking prude, Berry. So tell me Lespez, how's the lady in bed? Is she as good as she looked?" He looked dreamily into space and Santana had half a mind to punch him, but she lacked the energy. "Hot damn! How did you always get so lucky with the ladies? We're basically cast from the same mould, though I have the _manlier_ charm, but no such luck for me."

"I don't think she is lucky. Seeing as Brittany is the Heiress Apparent. They can't stay together."

"Yea Berry thanks for reminding her. Please go away, you're making Lespez all teary and shit I might actually grow woman-parts just listening to her sniff. I missed my girl here. Oh, and while you're at it, fetch us another keg of ale," Rachel stood up with a huff and Puck chuckled. He turned to Santana and wiggled his eyebrows. "So, spill."

"There's nothing to spill," she lied, sighing. "And even if there is, I won't do that. Brittany is too decent a person for you to fantasize over."

"What? Don't tell me you didn't try to tap that? Sucks ass because the old you would have spilled the beans in five seconds, tops."

"Don't push it, Noah," she growled, and he scowled at her use of his given name.

"Trouble in paradise? I could help you with that."

"You just don't get it do you?" she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him, her hands balling into fists. "I am literally three seconds away from giving you a concussion in an attempt to knock some sense into that weird growth on your neck that you call your head."

"I actually have two heads, Santana," he retorted cockily, pointing to his groin. and then going wide-eyed as he realized something. "Oh fuck, you're actually in-love aren't you?"

Santana slapped her palm across her forehead. "Why am I ever friends with you?" she muttered under her breath.

Puck stood up and held out his arm. "Wanna go outside and talk about it? I promise I'm going to try hard and be... I won't try to be me, I promise."

She looked up and saw the sincerity in his brown eyes. Santana picked up their mugs and followed him outside.

The crisp autumn air chilled her to the bones, and she wrapped her cloak tighter around herself.

"So what's the deal between you two, huh? I mean, besides the obvious, you know sappy shit like—" Santana cast him a withering look. "Sorry, uhm. What's going to happen now? She seemed sad, didn't she? Something which she tried to drown in booze."

"Oh yea I forgot, you're some kind of expert regarding women's feelings."

She remembered the night Brittany returned to their cabin looking miserable, and that look didn't suit her at all. That profound sadness on her face drove home the fact that their future was bleak.

"I'm actually surprised your hysterical and weepy alter-ego didn't show herself tonight considering—oh!"

Before she could stop it, the tears were falling.

She wept for the future she couldn't have with Brittany.

* * *

"You've been so quiet all day," Santana observed, frowning at Brittany. "Well, not just today but since that night you disappeared on the ship. What's the problem?"

Brittany merely shrugged as they picked their way to Santana's old hut in Lima Heights. She claimed she wanted to get away from Quinn for a while. Santana shared the same sentiments. Every time Quinn turned her hazel eyes towards them, she couldn't help but feel judged. She couldn't help but feel that Quinn is taking some twisted delight into their current predicament—letting them enjoy everything while it lasted and Santana couldn't bear to face the facts whether it would happen sooner or later.

But she resolved to keep this from Brittany. However, it seemed that Brittany was catching onto it as well, as she had been pretty distant lately. And even when they made love, it seemed tinged with a desperation and sadness that she couldn't quite place—that it bordered on being impersonal—and it was so unusual for Brittany.

And last night. Santana didn't even want to think too much about Brittany making a spectacle of herself last night—had she always been like that when she gets drunk? Well, to be fair, that was the first time Brittany had been really drunk without needing to take care of someone, like the last time Santana got beat up because she insisted on being the hero and saving Terri's ass. Nevertheless, Santana knew that a talk between them is due very soon.

She sighed. She didn't want to think about what Rachel had said.

She placed a hand on the small of Brittany's back and even through the shirt she wore, she could feel that the blonde's muscles were knotted in tension. As it was for the past few days.

They reached her hut and Santana gasped at how quickly it had deteriorated into a dilapidated condition. Well perhaps it was because Karofsky had no doubt turned the place inside out in search for them. Her little vegetable patch was trampled upon and her plants lay withered and dead in the dirt save for the hardy vine which took over. She and Brittany sidestepped the door and the way it hung on only one hinge could attest to how furious Karofsky was the night they managed to evade him.

They stepped inside and Santana saw Brittany scrunch her nose at the smell. She looked adorable and Santana longed to kiss her, but she managed to reign in her desire since she resolved that they have a talk first.

The house smelled musty, the air inside stale and Santana cast a horrified look at her bedroll, which was now a speckled with green spots and looked grossly soggy. She righted an upturned bench and Brittany sat down on it.

"You sure you want to stay here?" she asked the blonde as she tried to drive away the mosquitoes that came rushing into the abandoned hut after sensing the arrival of two human-sized packets of blood. "We could take a walk in the forest. I wanted to check up on my snares anyway."

"But those were set up moons ago."

"I know. Other hunters probably stripped them clean, or even took them since I make real fine snares, but you never know. Maybe if we're lucky, we get to roast a squirrel on a spit again, like way before—" _we reached Kingsvale and everything became so complicated and now the future of the Realm rests on your shoulders_, she wanted to continue, but she could see the sadness—the wistfulness, and a tinge of regret—in Brittany's blue eyes and she couldn't bring herself to say it. "—like old times," she said after a beat, forcing herself to smile. Brittany smiled too, and for now, that was enough.

They left, and Santana looked back at her old house. She couldn't shake the feeling that this was the last time that she would be here.

* * *

They picked their way into the woods, and as they crossed a small stream which fed off of the river that bisected Lima, the housewives doing their laundry by the bank called out to her.

"Lopez! Where you been these days?"

Santana shrugged. "Uhm, just... around."

"That's a pretty blonde with you. Care to tell us her name? Ready to settle down at last?" Santana shot Brittany an apologetic look but the blonde just smiled.

"Uh, her name's Britt. Brittany."

"Like the Heiress Apparent's?"

"Uh, yeah," she timidly replied, squeezing Brittany's hand. The King had only agreed to let Brittany go on this trip if they would be incognito. Sam isn't even allowed to wear his mantle with the Kingsguards crest on it, although underneath his tunic, he was heavily-armed. Santana concealed an arsenal under her deceptively-ordinary clothes too. "We've got to get going now. It was good to see all of you again."

One of them turned to Brittany with a conspiratorial, albeit toothless, smile. "You must be an exceptionally special girl since you were able to tame Santana Lopez."

Brittany turned pink and smiled proudly, then continued on their way. They called out to them again but Santana paid them no mind.

It turned out that they were lucky though. Even though Santana's snares had been left to the mercy of the elements for quite some time, it still yielded some catch. One contained a squirrel which was still trying to free itself despite bleeding considerably from the injury it sustained while the others had a hare and a rare stone marten. Santana sniffed them first to make sure they weren't dead for too long then proceeded to skin and gut the carcasses.

Brittany took on the task of gathering some twigs in order to distract herself from Santana's grisly task, but Santana didn't miss the way she flinched when she happened to glance at the spread-out carcasses which Santana was skewering on some sharpened sticks.

As Brittany got started with the fire, Santana couldn't help but think back on what the woman back at the stream had said—about her settling down. If Brittany had been anything other than a Princess of the Realm, Santana would have been content hunting for a living for all their days. She would have gladly settled down and abandoned her old ways.

Well she had abandoned her old ways, hadn't she?

If only they had met in another lifetime...

She stared, entranced, as the light from the tiny, flickering flame among the smouldering twigs framed her admirable profile very nicely. It was nearly sunset, and Santana wouldn't be opposed to spending the night here, if only she could have Brittany to herself alone for one more day. Just one more, because she had a gut feeling that this trip to Lima is some sort of a reprieve for something that would inevitably happen.

It was stupid. But she knew she was usually right about these things. And that knowledge was enough to cast a pall over things and taint her interactions with Brittany.

But she was becoming quite distant, wasn't she? Like she was withdrawing herself but still desperately trying to hold on. It didn't make much sense to Santana. Not to mention Quinn's leniency. She seemed to even be encouraging them to spend time alone together. Something sure didn't add up.

"What are you thinking about?"

Santana jumped at Brittany's sudden inquiry, and she realized that the blonde had coaxed a roaring fire into existence. She gently placed the spits into the flame, avoiding eye contact. Something felt really off between them and Santana resolved to find out about that now.

"Nothing," was all that came out of her mouth even if she meant to say, _"Everything."_ She thought back to the night they spent at _The Troubletones _before they went to the Palace and Brittany had told her that everything would be fine. Try as she might to hold on to that memory and that promise, she couldn't deny the fact that everything was changed now. Everything was subject to change—she should have known that and shouldn't have gotten herself in too deep.

"San," Brittany stopped poking at the fire and turned her full attention towards Santana. "Don't you think it would be nice if we just stayed here?"

It took a moment before Santana could answer. "Here? In the forest?"

Brittany nodded enthusiastically, although she slapped her hands across her bare arms in order to stave off blood-sucking insects that even the fire couldn't keep away. Santana unclasped her cloak and draped it across Brittany's shoulders.

"Here. In Lima. Anywhere, actually, as long as I'm with you." Brittany swallowed, as if bracing herself for something. Santana drew closer to her. "Back on the ship, Quinn received a letter which she showed me. It says... it says that the prince of Fidelian wants my hand in marriage in order to... in order to unite both the Kingdoms." Her features crumpled and her voice broke. "I can't...we can't go back to Kingsvale San."

She crashed into Santana's arms, and her hands automatically went around the blonde in an effort to provide comfort.

For a long time, Santana thought she was prepared for her death. She knew the dangers of the life she had chosen to lead: she could easily fall prey to larger predators—or outlaws—roaming the woods, or she could get bitten by a venomous snake, or she could injure herself from a nasty fall and left paralyzed in the middle of the forest, only to starve or die of exposure. She had prepared herself, and God knows she'd had a lot of close calls in the past, so a brush with death should be nothing new to her, but still when she could see that bear rushing towards her, fangs and claws bared, there was still that moment—right after she had resolved to accept her fate that she'd die by a grisly death via bear mauling—that she decides she still wanted to live after all, and the realization that it was still possible would come rushing at her. She had everything to live for, and she had to fight to accomplish that.

What she was experiencing now was similar. She thought she had accepted it. She thought she had accepted the fact that her relationship with Brittany wasn't going to last forever no matter how much they wanted it both to be, but now every inch of her being is urging her to fight for their love, and not let anything come between them, consequences be damned.

* * *

Easier said than done, of course.

They stayed in Lima for two days before Quinn told them that they would be on their way back to Kingsvale the next day. She fixed Brittany a look that signified they had come to some sort of an understanding. Brittany hung her head as Quinn left the room.

"We could stay here, San," she whispered timidly, looking up at her with a forlorn expression. "But I realized that it we do, then they'd go after us. Well, you especially, and I don't want to put you in danger."

Santana took a deep breath. "Another reason we can't do that is because people depend on you, Brittany. You don't just live for yourself, or for me, as flattering as that is, but you live for them."

"I'm not smart enough to rule, I've told Papa a hundred times. And the people don't depend on me. It's my father who depends on me to stop a war he isn't willing to fight even though he's got all the resources at his disposal. I wish we hadn't gone to Kingsvale. It turned out that isn't home after all." She pressed her palm against Santana's beating heart. "It turned out home is right here. With you."

Santana had nothing to say to that, and she bit her lip as she felt warmth at the corners of her eyes.

"I don't want to marry anyone else San. Just you."

Brittany was looking at her with so much trust and so much hope, and Santana was saying the words before she could stop herself.

"Then I suppose we'll figure something out. I promise."

* * *

That last night spent in Lima was enough to sustain the both of them.

A talk with her father was the first thing on Brittany's mind when they set foot on the Kingsvale harbour. And when she sneaked out that evening in order to spend the night with Santana at the barracks, she looked so happy that she was positively glowing.

"Papa showed me the letter that the other King sent, and he wasn't forcing his son on me. He was just _hoping_. And you know what sometimes happen with hopes." She smiled mischievously at Santana. Her enthusiasm was contagious and Santana felt the corners of her mouth being tugged upwards as well.

"What, Britt-britt?"

"Well, hopes get crushed. Papa said I'm not obliged to marry him if I didn't like him. Well, duh. There's only one person I like, and that's you."

Brittany realized she had nothing to be sad about after all and she thought that perhaps Quinn just showed her the letter back at the ship in order to make her miserable. _Bitch_, she thought, clenching her jaw. If Quinn hadn't done that, then her short vacation at Lima with Santana would have been a tad more enjoyable.

"Have you met him, Britt?"

"Who?"

"The Prince?"

"Oh, right, yea. He looks weird." Brittany scrunched her nose at the memory of their meeting this morning. She thought the Prince was actually a girl since he had long hair—hair which seemed like he had forgotten to brush in years so they were all matted together like gross ragged strings. However, he had hair in his armpits sticking out so that ruled out the possibility that the Prince was indeed a girl. "He looks like a cavewoman. Oh no, a caveman. He even walks around barefoot." Santana chuckled. "Don't they have cobblers in Fidelian?"

"I've never been there Britt. But I guess they have."

"Well the Prince must be really poor then if he can't afford any decent shoes. What if he isn't really the Prince and he's just trying to dupe my father?" She frowned. Now that's a possibility.

Her father had promised her that he wouldn't force her into marriage with him—he even held up his pinkie, and Brittany trusted him, although he did seem to have a bad track record regarding his promises.

"I don't think so. But it's good to hear that your father won't make you do anything you didn't want to," Santana said, but something in her tone suggested that she believed otherwise. However, Brittany refused to delve deeper into that.

"We'll be fine won't we, San?"

"Yea, Britt-britt," Santana answered after a momentary hesitation.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll have ch25 out soon. That would be a pretty intense chapter.**


	25. Chapter 25A

**I'm so sorry for the atrocious wait! I really am, but I had a horrific struggle with writer's block and a shitload of schoolwork, along with a loss of inspiration following The Breakup, so there...**

**Anyway, here's the update, and I'd love you forever if you review and share your thoughts on the chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

"Britt," Santana said, gently shaking Brittany awake. The blonde just mumbled something and pressed herself harder against Santana's back, her breath tickling the tiny hairs on her neck. The feel of her breasts sent heat pooling low in Santana's stomach.

_Why must Brittany make this so hard every time?_ She thought, but she felt a smile tug up the corners of her lips nevertheless. She pried Brittany's hands loose which were locked together around her left hand and is pressing against her chest, but Brittany fought against it. Even in sleep, she never wanted to let Santana go. But with a quick glance out of the window and the faint lightening in the eastern horizon, Santana knew that they would both get in trouble if Brittany kept this up.

"Britt, I know you're awake. You have to get up now and return to the castle," she murmured and Brittany groaned. It sounded adorable and Santana tugged at their locked hands and pressed a gentle kiss to Brittany's knuckles.

"Turn 'round San, and kiss me."

"I would if you'd get up," she said cheekily.

With a huff and a rustle in the sheets, she felt Brittany get up beside her and then she pulled on Santana's shoulder so that she was lying on her back. She had that predatory look on her face and Santana smirked up at her.

"Oh, hey there."

"Hi," Brittany whispered, her breath ghosting across Santana's face as her curtain of blonde hair fell over them. She was just so absolutely beautiful, and Santana almost couldn't believe that Brittany was hers. "It's really rude to stare you know, but since it's you, I—"

Santana pulled her down and crashed their lips against each other. Brittany was caught off-guard at first, but she eagerly reciprocated after a few heated moments and pretty soon, she began tugging insistently on Santana's clothes with an urgent whimper and a barely-stifled moan. Santana would have entertained her advances if not for her alarm at the fading darkness.

"Britt," she started saying in the sternest voice she could muster but Brittany's wandering hands were quickly shutting down her thought processes. "You have to... uhh. Britt!" She gasped as Brittany slid her hand down her pants, the blonde giggling at her evident arousal. She took a deep breath and mustered enough willpower to stop Brittany in her ministrations. She managed to snag at her lover's wrist and Brittany looked up at her, pouting in disappointment.

"You have to go." Santana jerked her head towards the window where the faint dawn light streamed in, soaking everything in a bluish hue.

She turned to Brittany again and her eyes were like chips of ice which held fire. Yes, Santana was aware that her metaphors weren't making much sense, but Brittany's eyes were even more gorgeous in this light.

With reluctance, Brittany rolled off of her and sat up in bed. Santana quickly followed and pressed her lips against Brittany's bare shoulder.

"I don't understand you. You want me to go but you're making it extremely hard for me to do so," Brittany sighed out sadly looking out the window. In the distance, the Palace is already waking up and slaves and servants were ambling across the grass, carrying things in preparation for another day.

"I'm sorry," Santana mumbled, chastised. Brittany stood up and gave Santana a chaste kiss, pulling away quickly before all her self-control left her. She grinned at Santana and patted her on the shoulder.

"I'll see you tonight. Take care, San." She bundled her cloak around herself and Santana dolefully watched her go. She was left sitting there, quickly missing Brittany. After a while she stood up and got dressed.

* * *

The darkness was still sufficient to cloak her movements, and Brittany cautiously climbed up the ivy-covered wall leading up to her bedchamber. After doing this countless of times before, she had every foothold and handhold memorized, and after a few moments, she was pulling herself up her window.

However, as soon as she had swung her leg over the sill and was safely inside, she froze.

"P-papa?" Her father was sitting on the edge of her bed, his expression unreadable as he turned his slate-grey eyes towards her.

Brittany shrank at his cold stare and she backed away towards the window. Lord Tubbington jumped off the bed and perched himself on the windowsill. She turned to glare at him. _Really, Tubbs?_

"Do not force my hand, Brittany," he said, straightening up. There was a dangerous edge in his voice and Brittany shivered, but not from the chill of the morning air. "I want you to stop seeing that woman."

"You can't do that," she said automatically.

Her father smiled coldly at her. "Oh I could." He stepped towards her, but Brittany would not allow herself to be intimidated so she brought herself up to full height and tried to appear stubborn and unyielding but still, her father was a full head taller than her. "You know that bandit raids are a perennial problem in the West, and technically, that woman is a soldier of the Realm. I could easily send her there."

"You can't do that," she said again, but it came out weak. _Of course, he is King, he can do what he wanted_, a voice echoed in the back of her head, and her heart sank at the thought. But she knew she couldn't show weakness in front of her father when he's being like this, and she looked fiercely up at him. She took a deep breath. "You can't do that. You can't make me stop seeing her!"

He looked away from her intense gaze, considering. When he turned to her again, his face had softened but his eyes did not lose their edge. Brittany didn't know what to believe about him anymore. Lowering her gaze, she tried to step past him in order to curl up on the covers in an effort to get a few hours of sleep before she had to get up again, but he grabbed her arm.

"Brittany. All I ask is you don't embarrass me in front of the Prince. I don't want word of you cavorting with your guard to reach his ears."

"Santana isn't my guard," she snapped, then winced as her father glowered at her. "Yet."

"Trust me, speculation is running amuck after that stunt during the joust. Most of the nobles are wondering why your concern for your knight is so utter... a knight who turned out to be a woman," he said through gritted teeth. He sighed, deflating. "Just, please... be in your best behaviour while the Prince is here. Stop sneaking out at night. Not only is it unbecoming of a lady of your stature, but it's also dangerous."

He went past her and peered over the window, his eyebrows knitting together as he eyed the sheer drop into the grass below.

"Feline behaviour must be rubbing off on you, huh," he said, chuckling. Brittany was surprised at the change in his mood and she could only gape. "No, seriously, Brittany, stop doing this."

"I just wanted to see Santana," she mumbled in a small voice.

Her father sighed again. "Regarding, that—uh, Santana, I admit I was too harsh. Probably from a combination of being up all night and..." he trailed off, looking away. "Alright, fine. You can see her. You can do whatever you want with her, but—"

Brittany couldn't believe what she was hearing, until he held up a finger and waved it in front of her face.

"But only after the Prince had gone back to Fidelian. For now, you have to keep him happy."

There was finality in his words and Brittany frowned. She wondered how long he would be here or whatever 'keeping him happy' entailed. Maybe she would dance for him like she used to do so for Will, but those tasks were for slaves, right?

But instead of voicing out her questions, she just nodded and her father looked pleased.

* * *

Brittany stepped out of the Palace doors and she was the most beautiful thing Santana had ever seen. She had on a dress the colour of sunshine, and with her fair hair, Santana had to make sure that the sun did not make its way down from the sky and wrapped itself around the Princess.

However, her chest tightened and she felt the white-hot surge of anger when she saw the greasy-haired scumbag step out of the Palace doors as well.

Brittany's description failed to do him justice. He looked even worse in person, even from this distance, and Santana couldn't help but curl her lip in disgust. Indeed, Brittany had every reason to think that he might be a young man who is only trying to dupe her father.

He immediately offered his hand to Brittany, and she was taken aback at this gesture, but she quickly recovered and smiled (though, it looked to Santana that her smile was strained), then promptly took it. She fixed the Prince a glare, as if the sheer force of her look would keep his hands off of Brittany.

Her gaze followed them as they took off in the direction of the gardens, and she had half a mind to follow them, all the while craning her neck at the pair.

But the next thing she knew, all the wind was knocked out of her as the things she was carrying (she had been assigned to get five sets of padded armour from the armoury) exploded all around her and she was sprawled on the ground.

"You watch where you're going, fucking dog," the soldier spat on the ground near her head and Santana shot up to her feet so fast and swung her arm at his jaw. Caught off-guard, her fist connected, and damn it felt good to have a target for her anger. The soldier howled in fury and in pain and blindly swung his fist, and Santana was momentarily disoriented when he caught her on the temple.

She swayed on the spot, but still had enough presence of mind to dart away, but she hadn't gotten very far when she tripped over her boots and landed on her behind.

He charged after her, and only then did Santana realize how much bigger he was—how his muscles bulged against the sweaty shirt he wore and how his corded arms ended in huge fists that could easily bash her face in. But never the one to back down from a fight (and yes, she couldn't help the feeling of exhilaration from the rush of adrenaline), she determinedly faced him. She ducked when he tried to catch her again with a right hook to the jaw. Her survival instincts kicked in, along with the murky mixture of rage and jealousy at seeing the Prince with her beloved, and her fist came flying with surprising strength.

She felt his nose give a satisfying crack and he bellowed in pain.

Soldiers rushed to separate them, and it took three men to stop Santana from leaping back into action and finishing the job—Lima Heights style. The man's nose was bent and bleeding profusely as he thickly muttered curses under his breath, but he shrugged off the men holding him and stalked off. Santana allowed her anger to deflate and when she looked up, she saw Sue Sylvester shaking her head at her.

"Your uncontrollable temper will get you into some very real trouble someday," she said. And when Santana passed her by, she hissed, "And I doubt even the Princess could get you out of that mess."

Santana ignored her and shuffled away.

* * *

Joe reminded her of a dog.

Brittany couldn't place it, but every time she saw him, she kind of half-expected him to bark in greeting. She had no idea where that came from, but maybe, she isn't entirely far-off in her assumption, since when Lord Tubbington first saw him, he shrank away and hid under her skirt. He curled himself around her ankle and she could feel him trembling all over as he gave one of his rare pathetic mewls.

It didn't help that he always followed her around like a lost puppy. Even during her lessons, he dutifully sat in the room with her, watching her with his dog-like eyes that sometimes, she couldn't help a shiver run down her spine.

Mistress Hagberg wrapped up her lessons early today with a despairing sigh. She had a hard time understanding everything and sometimes she couldn't help but be angry at her father for forcing her into a position she knew she isn't capable of handling. She had mentioned this to Santana.

"_Britt, stop saying that about yourself, alright?" she had said, tucking strands of fair hair behind her ear. Her brown eyes were so soft even in the pale shafts of moonlight which served as their illumination, and Brittany couldn't help but smile. _

"_It's not true. You're not stupid. You just aren't used to everything. Trust me, even if I were to suddenly take lessons from Hagberg, I don't think I'd be able to learn everything right away. Not to mention everything must be so boring. Learning takes time, Britt. Just be patient." Santana had punctuated this with a smile and a kiss, and Brittany was glad because with Santana, nothing else mattered. She allowed herself to get lost in the kiss._

But that was ages ago.

She wanted to ask Santana how long she thought it would take for her to learn anything, but the lessons so far, just goes inside one ear and out the other, and she was losing hope in herself. Maybe she was stupid after all.

She wanted to see her so badly, but after her father caught her sneaking back to her room, she was forbidden. He had posted a guard below her window, in addition to the ones posted at her door. Brittany tried not to feel like a prisoner and she was only willing to put up with this arrangement until the Prince left for home. She wished it was soon though.

When she stood up to leave the room, with Mistress Hagberg shaking her old wrinkly head at her and scowling, Joe slammed the book shut he was reading as he waited for herb and stood up also.

"Must you always do that?" she said, trying not to jump as he started walking beside her.

"Do what?"

"That. Follow me around. You're worse than Lord Tubbington." She stopped herself from adding, "At least Tubbs totally gives me quality time with Santana."

"Well, I—" he stammered, taken aback. "Who's Lord Tubbington?"

"My cat," she answered curtly. Said cat emerged behind a vase with strips of what looked like fabric caught in his claws and Brittany shook her head at him. "I hope whatever you destroyed this time wasn't totally irreparable. You know how Quinn had thrown a fit last time." When he saw Joe, Lord Tubbington slunk away, looking fearful. Brittany scooped him up and he was quick to hide his face on her chest.

"You talk to your cat?"

"Well, cats have feelings too. And they could totally understand me. It's the same thing when my father talks to my mother's flowers."

Joe frowned and Brittany stared up at him and at her cat then tilted her head as a thought occurred to her. "He's afraid of you. Are you, like, going to cook him or something?" she asked suspiciously. Cavemen wouldn't pass up a fat feline like Lord Tubbington right?

"Of course not, Brittany, why would I do that?" He looked disgusted at the prospect and Brittany raised her eyebrows.

"Fair enough. But are you a dog?"

"Am I a what?"

Brittany had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Joe should get his ears checked or something. Or probably, his hair was preventing sounds from properly reaching his ears.

"Well, you know about the inherent enmity between dogs and cats. Tubbs looks really scared of you."

"I—I don't know," he said slowly and then his eyes widened at what he said, so he hastily amended, "Of course, I'm not a dog, Brittany."

She shrugged. "Just checking."

She strode past him, Lord Tubbington in her arms and Joe had to redouble his pace to catch up to her. He still looked perplexed though.

* * *

In order to boast of the Realm's lush greeneries and rich wildlife, the King will be taking the Prince of Fidelian on a hunting trip in the forests of Rhineston, about fifty leagues northwest of Kingsvale.

That was the reason why the Kingsguards were standing in attention in the courtyard, shivering in the frigid early morning air. This, despite being in their thick and resplendent mantles (well, Santana's was a generic cloak the colour of cobwebs), as they waited for the royals. Soon the sunlight drove the mists away as the sun steadily climbed into the magnificent autumn sky.

Sam had told her that it had been the King's tradition every year before winter set in, until illness and old age set in. But now, he seemed determined on impressing the Prince—a fact that set Santana's teeth on edge. It didn't help that seeing Brittany was a rare treat nowadays, since she seemed to always be hanging in the arm of that royal scumbag.

When they did see each other though, Brittany was quick to drag her into whatever secluded nook she was able to find during her endless strolls with that git who could certainly use multiple baths, and kiss her senseless. Santana wasn't complaining but Brittany still kept on assuring her that this sneaking off would only be until the Prince leaves for Fidelian.

She doubted it, but Brittany's enthusiasm was contagious, and she did not have it in her to dampen that. She was still torn whether she wanted to detach herself from Brittany so it would hurt a lot less when the time comes that she'd be married off to somebody that her father deemed 'worthy' in his eyes. But every time they see each other, it just makes her fall in love with Brittany even more.

It did not stop Santana from wishing that their furtive meetings should last longer, but she'd take what she could get.

From where she stood with the Kingsguards and their squires, she could make out Brittany all bundled up and no doubt looking disoriented.

Santana had to resist the urge to run towards her and help her mount the steps up the carriage, and even though she had her maid for that now, the Prince immediately took her hand and helped her up. Santana's chest tightened again, and her only relief was the flash of annoyance on Brittany's face. _Or was she just seeing what she wished to see?_

Sam sympathetically squeezed her arm as Brittany disappeared inside, closely followed by Quinn and her betrothed, the Duke of Ricafort. The Prince climbed in after them and now Santana had clenched her fists in order to calm herself.

* * *

Santana was awakened by a yell.

"Bandits!"

She took a moment to gather her bearings and shake off the last vestiges of sleep, grateful that she remembered to cut the ropes which she had used to strap herself into the tree before jumping into action. She leapt off the tree and rushed into the sounds of battle, sword drawn.

In the shadows, she spotted the King's enormous mountain of a guard, Spencer the Highlander, usher him off to safety, and instead of rushing into the fight, she hastened towards the tent that Brittany shared with Quinn.

"Britt," she called out, peering inside. Her stomach dropped when she did not find anyone, but reasoned with herself that other Kingsguards had probably taken her to safety first, just as they had done with the King. "That's it," she muttered to herself to calm her frantically beating heart.

She backed out of the tent slowly and was immediately dragged into action.

The savage outlaws bore upon them like fierce black flies, and though the Kingsguards were massively outnumbered by at least three to one, their foes lacked skill. However, about ten paces in front of her, she saw Sam fall and two outlaws rushing towards him. She quickly dispatched her engagement and sprinted to his aid to meet the outlaws going in for the kill.

She swung her sword and one of the bandits was caught off-guard. Santana got him in the neck and blood geysered out and the man fell dead. The other, enraged at what she had done, raised his sword and quickly brought it down. Santana expected the blade to cut into her flesh, but she heard the ring of steel against steel.

She looked up and saw that Sam parried the attack meant for her, and acting on instinct, she thrust her sword into the outlaw's belly. However, the latter was undeterred, and the injury only served to make him angrier, but Sam quickly elbowed him in the face. He was about to give him the final blow, but the man was quicker, and Santana screamed when she saw his dagger pierce his side.

With a cry, Sam fell. The thug, instead of finishing his job, ran off into the darkness. Santana was torn between staying behind for Sam and running after him, but after a split-second decision, she chose to drag Sam away from the fighting.

"I'm alright, Santana," he said through clenched teeth. He was literally lying through his teeth as his blood-spattered face was crumpled up in agony.

"No, you're not," Santana said as she patiently stemmed the flow with pieces of cloth from the packet on her waist.

"Thank you," Sam said, managing a strained smile even though the bleeding still hadn't stopped.

Fighting eventually died down, as the rest of the outlaws fled after they had detached themselves from their separate engagements. Several of the Kingsguards gave chase while the rest guarded the perimeter and dragged the bodies away-except for the Kingsguard Menger, whom she observed, had no intention of letting his captive go because he had pinned him against a tree with his horse lying dead nearby.

Santana squinted into the misty darkness for the royals but couldn't find any of them. She reassured herself that wherever the King may be as of this moment, Brittany was safe with him,

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop him in time, sir," she murmured, cringing at the extent of the damage done to him.

"'S alright. Part of the job. I don't know how you managed it in the joust. The other guards told me you were able to walk it off for a while."

She did not say anything, and Sam gasped and shut his eyes as a pang of pain seized him.

"It's deeper than I thought." Sam peered down into his wound using what little illumination the crescent moon offered. "But it's nothing fatal."

Santana frowned, trying not to look incredulous.

"Trust me, I'd make an easy recovery."

Just then, Menger had wrestled his captive to the ground, and he was snarling at the Kingsguard in a language Santana could not understand as he clawed at Menger's powerful hand on his throat.

"Stop it! You're killing him!" Santana bellowed, running towards them when she started seeing the whites of the bandit's eyes as he struggled to get air into his lungs. The ridiculousness of her outburst wasn't lost on her since not a few moments ago, she had killed a man and had watched in fascination as his spray of blood arched off into the darkness.

At once, Menger let go of him, chuckling as he did so, and he wriggled free, massaging his throat. Menger shot her a glare and quickly tied him up instead and spat on his face, but the captive did not say anything understandable to them. Just mutterings in that strange tongue.

Other Kingsguards had returned, their faces grim and sombre after their grisly task, their weapons and armour sticky with blood. Santana fixed Sam up as best as she could and he shot her a grateful smile as he staggered to his feet and insisted that she guide him back to his post before all hell broke loose.

"But, you must rest, sir."

"I'm fine, I assure you, it's just a mere scratch." He winced. "Either way, I won't be able to sleep. Hurts a bit."

The entire camp was on edge and all the Kingsguards paired off and stood on the edge of the clearing, swords drawn and weapons ready as they peered through the gaps in the trees. The Hunt was no more and by daybreak, they'd all soon be on their way back to Kingsvale.

Eventually, all the excitement died down.

The King was escorted back into the camp, along with Quinn and the Duke of Ricafort. Santana's heart started racing wildly in her chest as she looked around for Brittany but was unable to find her. She hadn't seen Brittany after she had retired to her tent, and had completely missed him in the chaos of the attack. She just assumed that she was with her father.

Quinn came out of her tent again, the Duke hot on her heels as fast as his wooden leg would carry him, and went to her father's. Santana watched with trepidation as they conferred with each other and through the firelight that blazed in the camp, she saw the King stiffen in apprehension. He quickly beckoned Spencer, who hurried off and broke whatever it was to the Kingsguards nearest him.

Santana hurried over to them, ignoring Sam's questions.

"Brittany," Quinn said, grabbing her arm. "She's gone. Along with the Prince."

* * *

**This was only the first half of chapter since it ended up being longer than what I had initially planned, and thus it was taking a bit longer to write. So I decided to update now rather than wait for the whole thing to finish. Just so you know, I'm currently on a semestral break (for 2 weeks) so I have all the time to write now. I just need the motivation as I'm kinda running low on that front. So please review.**

**If all goes well, and I feel motivated enough I might be able to put up the second part tomorrow.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	26. Chapter 25B

**Brittany was dreaming she was five again and that she was woken up by her father. He immediately took her in his arms and the coolness of his breastplate sent a stinging ache to her bare legs.**

She flinched when she heard a blast outside and it seemed to shake the whole Palace to its foundations. She could hear unintelligible shouts as knights shouted marching orders and she shut her eyes and quickly buried her face into her father's neck. He whispered reassurances onto her hair—and they were tired, tired words that did nothing but curl her insides in resentment whenever she remembered the words he had uttered,

She wanted to say, "Please don't leave me with Mama," in order to stave off the inevitable, but instead, what came out of her mouth was a feeble, "Papa, what's happening?"

_No. Not again._

_Please wake up._

She didn't want to live through this anymore.

"Nothing's happening, my sweet. Everything will be alright when Papa sorts this out," he whispered, and only now did she realize how much he lacked confidence when he said those things, as if he was also desperately trying to convince himself.

Her surroundings swam in her vision, and a haze fell over everything as her father carried her in the direction of his bedchamber.

Brittany wrenched herself from this nightmare and woke up in cold sweat, blinking rapidly as she tried to calm her frantically-beating heart.

However, the unintelligible shouts were very real. And they were coming from outside.

She threw the blankets off her and carefully stepped over Quinn and Artie, still soundly sleeping, their figures entwined underneath Artie's heavy cloak. She felt a stab of jealousy because the two of them could be as open about their relationship as they were.

She peered out of the tent and squinted into the darkness. Their serene camp had erupted into a pandemonium of fighting and slaughter. She shrank back, not knowing what to do, fear already seizing her heart because Santana was out there. Looking around for something she could use as a weapon, she spotted Artie's sword that was leaning against the canvas beside his wooden leg. She averted her eyes from the weird-looking appendage and instead focused on the sword. It looked decorative more than anything, what with the ornate carving on the pommel of the wire-wrapped hilt, but still better than nothing. She swung the baldric over her shoulder and shoved her feet into boots then set out.

She jumped when she heard the thud of a body following an inhuman shriek, and this was more frightening than she realized. This was decidedly different than the time she had rescued Santana from the clutches of the City Watch. Everything was confusing and she just wanted to find Santana and run away from this chaos. She kept low, but kept an eye out for Santana's small figure, Artie's sword held in front of her, but the thin blade hardly looked threatening.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled around in a panic, a scream caught in her throat.

In her shock, she nearly ran him through with her sword.

"Brittany! It's me!" It was Joe. He grabbed her hand and she flinched. "Let's go!"

"Go where?"

"Somewhere safe! It's a massacre out here!" He pulled her to him as something swished past her. A scream quickly followed and she turned, horrified, at the man whose head was impaled by the spear. She felt bile creep up her throat at the gruesome spectacle and was morbidly transfixed as the man twitched a few times before laying still. She felt weak and she dropped Artie's sword as she put a hand up her mouth.

Joe mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and dragged her away. She concentrated on not spilling the contents of her stomach as they moved away from the camp. She wanted to turn back and stay because she knew Santana would come for her and it was probably more dangerous out here, but Joe had a firm grip on her arm that her fingers were starting to go numb.

"Let's go back!"

"Brittany, it isn't safe there," he said forcefully.

But it's not safe out here either, wherever this was.

Rhineston, she recalled. But it lay in the western reaches of the Kingdom which has always been plagued by bandit raids, she also recalled Mistress Hagberg telling her, so this was kind of expected. She wondered why of all times could she now remember her lessons.

"But we have guards, they'd protect us—"

"No, they can't! There are lots of them! We must escape while we still can—"

"But... Santana," she tried to pull away but Joe would not let her go.

Santana was no doubt caught up in the fighting as the rest of the Kingsguards and their squires—not that there were many of them—and for all she knew, Santana

"I promise we'll come back once things—"

"You're a coward! Let me go!" She dug her nails into Joe's forearm but his grip tightened even more and she unwillingly followed him as he waded deeper into the wood. She half-wished she hadn't dropped Artie's sword. But it was stupid of her not to have remembered to pick it back up.

The sounds of the commotion at the camp faded as they went farther. She tried not to think about something bad happening to Santana but the image of the impaled soldier and how he twitched in his death throes kept coming back. She suppressed a shudder.

She had to go back. She had to find Santana. Hell, Santana should have been looking for her now. She glanced at the direction where they came from but could only see the very faint outlines of their tents.

She struggled against Joe's hold, and with a snarl of irritation (he did sound like a dog), he forcibly carried her and hitched her over his shoulder. She pummelled his back with her fists, but Joe was undeterred. Now, Brittany was afraid.

"Santana!" she called out helplessly, tears burning her eyes. "Put me down, you coward!" She punctuated each word with a blow, but Joe's muscles were hard as rocks and she was even more afraid. Maybe he wasn't fully human, she thought with an absurd combination of fear and astonishment.

"Don't do that! You'll give us away! I swear we're going back once things calm down a bit!"

"Santana! Help me!"

With reluctance he put her down and Brittany was about to dash away, but Joe's fingers were locked on her arm. Brittany tried to bite down his fingers when he clamped a hand to her mouth—to no avail.

"Brittany, listen," he said, panting slightly at the exertion. "I promise I won't hurt you. We're going to hide out for a while, and then we'll come back once things are alright again. Understand—"

A shaft of moonlight fell over his eyes and she saw the sincerity in them before they widened in alarm. He swiftly took something out of his belt and lunged. She heard a cry behind her, impossibly near, and felt a something warm splatter her neck. She was terrified to find out what it was and she just stood stiffly facing Joe, whose mouth was hanging open.

There was the unmistakable sound of a body dropping to the ground with a heavy thud. She turned her head slowly and had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming when she saw a man, dressed in what could only be described as rags, a dagger stuck to his neck. In the moonlight, she could still see blood spurting from the wound.

They heard a faint rustling nearby and Joe grabbed her again and they dove under the brush.

"Damien!" an unfamiliar voice called out. And then, "Shit!"

He had found the body. She could see his hulking form illuminated by the moonlight slipping through the canopy.

More rustling. This one really close to where they were hiding, with Joe's clammy hand still covering her mouth. She could feel him shaking against her, and Brittany tried to suppress a whimper but it slipped out anyway. And before Joe whisked her away, she saw more figures appear, threatening to hem them in.

They ran. Away from the camp and much, much deeper into the woods as the man called out to the others. She closely followed Joe, mimicking his footsteps as best as she could to avoid tripping over gnarled tree roots and getting her feet tangled in the undergrowth.

Before long, the undergrowth was thinning and the ground beneath their feet had gone from being padded with leaves into being loose and covered with rocks. She could feel their jagged edges cutting into the thin soles of her boots, and she stopped, doubled over as she tried to catch her breath.

"Joe! They're g—"

Her words were cut off with a scream as an arrow whizzed by her ear and planted itself on a nearby tree. She was rooted to the spot, and if not for Joe's forceful tug on her arm, the second arrow would have surely found her back.

They came upon some sort of a gorge, and though Brittany could not see how deep it was in the moonlight, she swiftly scrambled down the gorge without hesitation, maintaining her precarious balance by sheer speed.

"Brittany! Wait!" Joe whispered loudly, and he showered her with small rocks as he started to climb down after her.

She groped around frantically for handholds, and she felt the sharp rocks slicing into her palm. She bit her lip hard and tried to endure the pain, but soon, her hands were slippery with blood. She tried to reach for a hardy plant growing in a small chasm in order to steady herself, and she felt her weight shift forward. She leant back, but she overcompensated, and she started to slide down out of control.

She swallowed back a scream as her ankle was caught between two rocks jutting out of the earth, but her body continued falling forward, and her ankle started to twist painfully. With a last-minute manoeuvring, it came free and it sent her flying into the air.

"Brittany!" was all she heard before she hit the bottom of the gorge, and everything went black.

* * *

The King cried out in anguish, but to Santana everything was so silent, and her world bled away at the edges. She saw Spencer talking with the King again, who looked furious, but his features softened in understanding after a beat.

Santana stared uncomprehendingly at Quinn. She looked distressed, and she was shaking her.

_Brittany... she's gone. Along with the Prince._

Quinn's nasally voice was playing in a loop in her mind and she could hear nothing else.

_Brittany... she's gone. Along with the Prince._

Quinn opened her mouth again, but Santana couldn't hear anything. An image appeared in her mind: she remembered how the man she had slashed with her sword had bled out at her feet and suddenly, she felt nauseous. She blinked rapidly as stars danced in her vision. Quinn was frowning now, and she took to slapping her lightly.

It took forever before the tapping sensation of Quinn's fingers reached her brain and she sucked in a breath.

"Santana."

"What—"

_Brittany... she's gone. Along with the Prince._

It started to sink in, and Santana immediately sprang into action as Spencer the Highlander's spoke up, his voice booming.

"We're searching for them come morning," he said with finality. "We could do naught at the moment and it would be perilous if we don't stick together. Nobody knows how many of them are still out there, and we'd all be prime target for an ambush."

"Fuck, no!" she snapped heatedly, stomping towards where she knew Sam's charger was tethered. Her horse was a slow palfrey, whereupon most of Sam's belongings were loaded. The Kingsguards all turned their eyes towards her, some of them chuckling maliciously.

"Lopez," the Duke of Ricafort's knight called Rutherford grabbed her by the shoulder. "I could assure you that those brigands didn't take them. Went after 'em myself," he gestured to his bloody armour and the nasty-looking gash on his right arm. "They're probably out there somewhere by themselves. Hiding."

"But what if those thugs found her first?" She didn't care for the Prince. He could die a slow death by exposure and bear-mauling for all she cared. She grabbed a torch from another squire and he gaped at her but did nothing to stop her.

Rutherford frowned but shook his head, denying the possibility. "Besides, you won't be able to do anything in this darkness. Like the Highlander said, we'd all be riding off into slaughter especially if we separate."

She scowled but prepared to mount the horse. Sam limped towards her, shaking his head. He wordlessly conferred with Rutherford, who just shrugged and left.

"Lopez, listen alright? There's no use sticking your neck out there. It'll only be a few hours before daybreak. It would be useless to search for them in this darkness. There are still bandits out there and if anything, this lull had given them the perfect opportunity to set up an ambush. And if the Kingsguards leave, they might attack again. Let's just pray to the Person above that wherever they are, they are safe."

But Santana wasn't listening to him anymore. She could hear Spencer's deep voice as he talked with the King.

"...came to get Their Highnesses but Her Highness wasn't there anymore. I thought Evans got to her first and had taken her somewhere safe."

Sam turned to the King, "Your Majesty, I had every intention of getting the Princesses to safety but three outlaws engaged me in combat—"

The King held up a hand to stop him. "Enough," he mumbled tiredly, visibly deflating. Sam was apologizing but the King brushed him off.

Seeing that Sam's attention was engaged elsewhere, Santana jumped into the saddle and rode away into the darkness, ignoring everyone's protests.

* * *

Brittany awoke to find herself lying on something soft and warm. Her head pulsated with a dull pain, like it had a heart instead of her brain, which would probably make sense since she always had a hard time understanding things as she usually went with how she felt. She brought up a hand to her forehead and was surprised to find it swathed in what seemed like Joe's torn shirt. It felt warm and sticky and she tentatively pressed a finger to it, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

She tried to remember what happened but all she had were fragmented memories of dreaming she was five again... and then the man who was impaled... and running. And then the fall.

She tried to sit up and cried out as her muscles protested. She bent her knee and tried to push against the ground but screamed as a very sharp pain lanced from her ankle. She was horrified to see that it had swollen into the size of a grapefruit, and was an angry-looking purple.

She heard the crunch of someone's boots against the rocks and she gasped when she saw Joe's head peek into the entrance of the... she looked around. She was inside what looked like a cave.

"Brittany! Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly, crawling inside. He looked like a caveman with streaks of grime and dirt on his cheeks and Brittany had to stop herself from laughing. He hardly looked like the Prince that he was.

"I... I am. I was just. Where are we? What happened?"

He sighed and shuffled beside her. He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger then tilted her head to the side.

"Does this hurt?"

She shook her head, but the motion sent everything spinning and she had to bite back the nausea that suddenly rose in her stomach.

He checked her bandages and sighed again.

"I'm sorry Brittany. It's my fault. I couldn't remember the way. I tried to go back the way we came but it was so dark last night... not to mention the walls of the gorge are inclined very steeply and it was impossible to climb back up."

"I led us down here," she said timidly.

He shrugged and grinned. "Guess we'll have to wait to be found, eh?"

If there's anyone who is capable of finding them, it's Santana. She's sure of it. She wished it was soon though. Her headache is growing worse.

She found him staring at her with a small smile on his face, and she suddenly felt self-conscious.

She closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her again.

* * *

Dawn had broken but it did little to ease the gloom in the woods.

A few hours prior, three bandits jumped her. But all her years hunting had sharpened her instincts, and she quickly dispatched them, but not without injury. Her shoulder had been torn open when she accidentally lowered her guard. It throbbed painfully but it was dull compared to the raging worry in her chest.

The spectre of death cast a heavy pall over everything and Santana tried to banish morbid thoughts about Brittany's fate. She hoped against hope that Brittany was just hiding out and had decided to wait it out until morning before returning to their camp.

She came upon a clearing and called out for Brittany but there was no reply. She jumped at the sudden screech and the flapping of wings as a startled bird flew by. She squinted into the gap in the leafy canopy overhead, trying to identify what kind of bird it was, and fear gripped her heart when she realized it was a crow.

"No, God, no, please," she whimpered, tugging on the reins of Sam's charger as she set off in the direction of the crow.

* * *

Brittany woke up with her throat burning. She tried to swallow, but there was nothing to swallow. There was barely any spit in her mouth. She opened her eyes and tried to raise her head, but the slight movement caused her vision to swim.

With the light pouring into their cave, she deduced that it must be noon. The light was expounding her headache, and she shut her eyes against the pain. But her head still felt like it was going to split in half, the pounding increasing in volume until she couldn't take it anymore, and a groan escaped her lips.

She nearly sat up when she felt something called being brought to her lips, and then, life-giving water was trickling down her throat. She opened her eyes a bit and saw Joe's worried face as he slowly tipped his waterskin to her lips. It was a welcome relief, and her headache lessened somewhat.

"Thank you," she croaked after the pain had subsided enough and she was able to speak again.

Joe just smiled.

"My father wanted me to marry you, you know," he said, after a while. Brittany said nothing. She had no intention of marrying him of course, and she knew he probably had some noblewoman awaiting his return in Fidelian. "And staying here?" He gently took her hand and brought it to his lips. Brittany flinched at the foreign touch. "It made me realize that I wanted to marry you too."

He had that look in his eyes that Santana occasionally had—that half-lidded gaze which seemed to take her all in—but he isn't Santana. And seeing that look on someone else's face was all kinds of wrong.

She felt afraid, and helpless.

She wished Santana would find them soon.

* * *

She kept going westward and the crow disappeared as it descended upon what seemed to be a gorge.

She jumped off her steed and looked around for something to tether her to. She spotted a sapling and swiftly picketed the beast and warily peered down into the ravine.

Sure enough, she found a murder of crows gathered upon something at the bottom. She was almost scared to see what or who it might be, but a small part of her was sickly hoping it was the body of the Prince.

She carefully climbed down and one of the crows turned to look at her as she inadvertently rained pebbles upon them, tilting its head to the side before calling out with a shrill "Kowww!" She instinctively braced herself should it choose to attack, but it was busy devouring whatever it is on the rocks, its beak stained red.

She cautiously searched for handholds, not daring to move until she was sure that everything was steady as she still had about fifty yards to go. She noted some of the rocks had blood on them and she automatically avoided them. She slid down the scree at the foot of the gorge and narrowed her eyes at the crows, her sword out.

One of them called out again and flapped its wings then flew away. A hairy arm with fair skin came into view, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

_Probably an unfortunate traveller_, she thought, but upon closer inspection of her surroundings, she saw something dark on some rocks a few yards away from the body. It looked like a piece of leather.

Her heart jumped to her throat when she saw that it was a boot. A boot belonging to a woman.

Brittany.

She nearly threw up when she saw some blood on the rocks.

* * *

He grabbed her chin again, a little more forcefully this time, and looked straight into her with that _look_. Brittany's heart was racing and she felt absolutely helpless. She desperately groped around for something—a rock, a pebble, a twig, anything—as he moved closer.

"What? We'll be married anyway, so better start learning now," he said huskily, and the fine hairs on the back of her head stood up on end. "I'm not going to hurt you, Britt. I promise."

Even her name on his lips felt so, so wrong. She whimpered and shrank away.

* * *

She heard whimpers coming from somewhere to her left, and Santana frantically looked around in the fading daylight for the source of the sound.

In despair, she called out, "Brittany!"

"Santana!" was the terrified answer.

Like an arrow zoning in on the centre of a target no matter how far away, her eyes found a small recess tucked behind several huge boulders. She broke into a run and nearly bashed her forehead on the cave's low entrance.

She found the greasy-haired _animal_ kissing Brittany forcefully as his arms held her own still and stopped her from fighting back.

Rage leapt into her, and swinging her sword with the strength she knew not where it came from, she ran towards him and swung. Joe screamed, and rolled off Brittany, gasping for breath. There was blood everywhere and Santana dropped her sword and took Brittany in her arms.

However, Joe tackled her with surprising strength, and they rolled away from Brittany, struggling in the dirt. Joe swiftly gained the upper hand with his newfound superhuman strength.

She twisted against Joe's deadly embrace, struggling to free herself as he held a dagger against her neck, and she could feel his blood soaking her. She briefly caught Brittany's eyes. The blonde was full-on crying now, and Santana was so angry.

_How dare he—_

She felt his dagger slip as it cut across her palm and nick her neck, and with a superhuman burst of effort, she managed to throw him off her and gain the upper hand in their struggle. She grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it in his face. He howled and frantically rubbed at his eyes. Trying to regain her breath, she scampered away and caught a glimpse of Brittany staggering to her feet with a rock in her hand advancing warily towards Joe who had gotten to his feet and coming after her. Joe wasn't aware of Brittany, and her mind flashed back to the time when Karofsky was pinning her to the ground when all of a sudden he went limp—

"No!" she yelled. "Britt, don't!"

But it was too late. Brittany slammed the rock into Joe's skull with all the force she could muster and it made a sickening sound, similar to crushing an overripe fruit, and Joe's eyes rolled to the back of his head. His knees crumpled beneath him and he dropped to the ground.

Santana took the bloodied boulder from Brittany and cast it into the ground at their feet, whereupon Brittany ran into her arms, sobbing. She grabbed fistfuls of Santana's shirt and buried her face into her chest.

"It's alright," was all she could say. Brittany was shaking—every inch of her quaking uncontrollably, depending on Santana to keep her together. "I got you. I'm here. It's alright."

She cautiously peered at Joe's prone and immobile form, her heart racing in her chest as her eyes frantically sought signs that he was still alive—signs like the gentle rise and fall of his stomach or even a flutter of movement.

But there was none.

* * *

**Adios, Joe!**

**Thanks for reading! Please review! :)**


	27. Chapter 26A

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

"It's alright, I've got you," Santana repeated over and over.

Brittany was shaking so badly, and it wasn't long before her legs gave way beneath her. Santana sank down into the dirt with her, simply holding Brittany as she buried her face against the folds of Santana's cloak, soaking it with her tears. Santana surreptitiously wiped her cut palm on the shirt she wore to avoid getting some blood on Brittany, hissing as the torn skin came in contact with the rough fabric.

"I can't believe I killed Joe," Brittany said, her voice thick and muffled. Santana's heart shattered at how broken she sounded. "I didn't mean to. I thought it was just like how I immobilized Karofsky... b-but..."

"It's alright, Britt. He deserved it," she mumbled.

She felt Brittany nod slowly against her. "He deserved it," she repeated.

Brittany looked up for a moment, her blue eyes shiny with tears and Santana crashed her lips against hers, feeling Brittany's sharp intake of breath at the gesture. It was irrational, it seemed inappropriate—what with Joe's rapidly-cooling corpse lying a few yards from them—but Santana felt an odd notion of possessiveness that he was the last person to kiss Brittany.

"I'm sorry," she said after they pulled away from each other. Brittany just shook her head and tucked her head underneath Santana's chin, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman. Santana could feel Brittany's heartbeat pulsating through the shirt she wore in a steady, regular rhythm, one of the few things which remained constant even as everything fell apart around them.

They didn't know how long they sat like that, in silence heavy with something neither could describe, until Brittany spoke up. In all honesty, Santana wouldn't have minded if they had sat like that for all eternity, just to keep things from slipping further from their grasp, but alas.

"I wish we'd stayed in Lima," Brittany said quietly. "I wish we hadn't gone back with Quinn. Then none of this would've happened. I wish I'd just stayed in the forest with you where you found me. I wish—" Her voice cracked and fresh tears leaked out of her eyes, and Santana felt an almost physical pain at the regret and sadness bleeding out of her. Brittany hastily wiped at her face, wincing when she accidentally pressed her hand against the bandages wrapped around her forehead.

"This is all my fault San. All of it. I've ruined your life, I... you had to kill Azimio for me and then, Karofsky went after—"

Santana silenced her with the gentle press of a finger against cracked lips.

"Britt, stop it. None of this is your fault alright? You did what you hade to do." Her eyes briefly darted towards the bloodied boulder and then to Joe's body. Blood had pooled beneath him, thick and dark, coating the dirt like spilled ink. Santana turned back to Brittany, swallowing against the feeling that she wanted to be sick at any moment.

"I did what I had to do," she murmured. Santana kissed her again, soft and gentle and brief—a whisper of a kiss.

Brittany sniffed and gathered her top lip into her mouth, willing her tears away.

"Let's go away San. I mean it," Brittany said, her face hardening in resolve. She pulled away from Santana and gingerly staggered to her feet, putting weight on her broken ankle testily. Santana quickly got up and placed her hands around Brittany's midsection to steady her.

"W-we'll just leave him here?" Santana blurted out, she was confused and the world felt like it was spinning under her feet. Her eyes were drawn to the corpse, transfixed in morbid fascination, and she quickly sought out Brittany's blue eyes to rid her vision of the gruesome spectacle.

Brittany turned her face away, gazing longingly at the cave entrance and into the falling darkness. She swallowed and fixed Santana a hard glare. "Santana, we must leave." Her voice burned with urgency and she took hold of Santana's arms with surprising strength. "We have to get away before the Kingsguards find us. Please."

After she was rid of all the anger and the fury asking that Joe's blood be spilt, all that was left was a murky mixture of confusion and grief at their current predicament. What his death meant was starting to sink in, and now that Brittany didn't seem to need comforting anymore, her brain was sluggishly trying to piece together her next course of action. She found herself nodding slowly to Brittany's suggestion.

"The Kingsguards... right," she said slowly. A brief look at Joe's corpse and she didn't want to know what would happen should the Kingsguards happen to find them here. Her mind whirred with bleak possibilities. She glanced at Brittany—at her swollen ankle, then at her bandaged forehead—and she quickly pulled Brittany's arm over her shoulder. However she cried out when Brittany's hand brushed against her torn shoulder.

"God, San, what happened to you?" She stared at the caked blood, concern etched over her features.

"That's nothing, Britt. I was just startled, is all," she quickly replied, swinging Brittany's arm and taking her weight on, all the while swallowing against the sharp jab of pain. "You can walk?" she asked, her voice strained. Brittany nodded against her.

They took a few tentative steps together, and Santana could tell that walking was too much strain for Brittany's swollen ankle. She glanced at the blonde and she could see that she was blinking back tears.

"Here, let me carry you," she said, bending down so Brittany could climb over her back.

"No San, I can walk," Brittany said, her voice unyielding.

She looked pleadingly up at the blonde. "Britt, we won't get anywhere if you—"

She held up a hand, stiffening instinctively, straining her ears for the unmistakable thunder of hooves in the distance. Brittany narrowed her eyes worriedly, clasping her hands together as she huddled closer to Santana.

They were coming closer, but not as fast as Santana was expecting.

She cast a look at Brittany and saw naked fear in her blue eyes, and she couldn't bear to look. She let go of her for a moment and peered outside.

From the looks of it, the Kingsguards were scouring the sides of the gorge for any recesses and hiding places conveniently situated therein. She could see some of them clambering over rocks and calling out to them, silhouetted in the dying sunlight.

A sudden wind swept over the ravine and Santana shivered just as a crow took flight, crying out ominously. She felt Brittany snake her arms around her waist and tuck her chin onto her uninjured shoulder, but the action was far from comforting to her. After a beat, Santana pulled away and flipped their positions, this time, Santana taking Brittany in her arms and holding her tight.

There was the cold feeling of dread in her chest, smiting every hope and cloaking everything in foreboding.

"No matter what happens," she whispered. Brittany started crying again. "Remember that whatever I do, I'm doing for you. You know I love you, Britt. Always."

She kissed the top of Brittany's head—the sweet honeysuckle scent of her bath was mostly gone, replaced by the scent of jarring reality: blood, sweat and earth—and Santana's heart dropped as if there was an anchor attached to it.

"I love you," she murmured into her hair, and came to a decision.

They stepped out of the cave, Santana easily overcoming Brittany's reluctance as she repeatedly shook her head against Santana's chest and futilely beat her with her fists.

Like a death knell, the steady canter of horses echoed hollowly across the gorge, getting closer and closer.

* * *

"Brittany!" her father called out. He looked about ready to jump off his horse and Brittany feared that he might injure himself. He halted his steed with a sharp tug on the reins, raising a cloud of dust and spraying rocks everywhere. He quickly dismounted, his quad of Kingsguards following suit. "I'm so glad you're safe!"

All the air was squeezed out of her as Santana yielded her into her father's arms. He let go after a moment, tears at the corners of his eyes. He kissed her on the forehead, taking care to do so gently as he was well-aware of her injury.

A shadow suddenly fell over them and she saw Spencer's hulking form trudge up to Santana from the corner of her eye. Wind billowed out his thick cloak behind him, and add that to his features that were permanently set in a grimace, so much that a trench seemed to have formed between his eyes where his bushy eyebrows were always in a deep frown, the effect was menacing.

"I saw Evans' charger tethered some ways up here and I was worried for a moment. Luckily, Menger was competent enough to find a route wherein we could circle around and climb down this gorge without incurring injury to the beasts. Still has to raise my hand in salute to you. Ever so reliable, Lopez," she heard him whisper, and then add in a much-lowered voice, "The King is right in trusting you. Though it is evident that it is a trust given grudgingly." He shot Santana a pointed look and she just stared up at him defiantly.

Brittany was about to leap up to Santana's defence, but her father spoke to her. Santana remained eerily silent, as if she was bracing for something.

"Where is Joe? Isn't he with you?" His relief over finding her was quickly replaced with worry.

She wanted to retreat into the cave, and she wanted to smack herself for not having the foresight to even hide the body. But she knew that both of them were loath to touch him, and if only she could will his body to disappear, right this moment, she would. She frightfully looked to Santana, and her father's lip curled in suspicion.

To her horror, a pair of Kingsguards bearing torches strode past them and into the cave, and she couldn't help the small noise of panic that escaped her throat. She quickly looked around, at her father's face that had suddenly gone ashen with the dreaded confirmation of his worst fears at her nonanswer—she did not know it was possible to see that kind of pallor on a living person, she thought absurdly, Joe's sunken face swimming, unbidden and unwelcome, in the forefront of her mind—then at Spencer, who roughly shouldered Santana out of the way. She felt alarm shoot through her, and her heart start beating a mile a minute when she did not even respond.

_Santana could fight her way out of this, right?_ She thought in despair, silently pleading with her lover, whose body had gone as taut as a bowstring pulled tight, her gaze fixed solidly forward. Of course, they wouldn't hurt her father, but Santana had it in her to incapacitate four Kingsguards...right?

She felt dizzy as she considered the odds. She wished she had picked up the boulder she had used on Joe to aid in the fight—should Santana decide they would.

Behind them, one of the Kingsguards gave a cry, and Brittany was rooted to the spot in fear and dread, and her father's face was drained of all colour.

"Papa, it was an accident, I swear it wasn't meant to happen," she blurted out, words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. She didn't even realize she was crying until she felt warmth streaming down her cheeks.

"What do you mean?" her father asked her slowly, dreading her answer. She could see him recoil as he drew back from her, shaking his head.

"I didn't mean to—"

Spencer rushed out of the cave, roaring, "It's the prince, Your Majesty! The prince is dead!"

She felt more than saw Santana jerk in sudden movement, and then, Spencer bellowed in hurt or in fury or both. Spencer's blood gushed freely out of the cut on his arm and dripped over the rocks like melted candle wax. She glimpsed a flash of silver and a scream was ripped out of her throat as Spencer pulled his broadsword out of the scabbard slung on his back. Santana had her sword out, the edge stained red, and she was staring determinedly at Spencer as they circled each other. She wanted to run towards her to protect her, despite her swollen ankle which throbbed with every slight movement she made, but her father held her fast.

"Stop him, Papa! Please!"

She grabbed at his cloak, but her father was just staring at the two, his jaw hanging open.

And everything happened so fast, and suddenly, there was blood everywhere as Spencer struck Santana so that she dropped her sword and went down on her knees. And Brittany was screaming and screaming as Spencer held Santana's neck in a death grip, her eyes nearly popping out and her face quickly turning blue as he squeezed the life out of her. She broke free of her father's grip and sprinted towards Santana, but pain shot up from her ankle, so swift and sudden it caught her off guard, and she fell face-down onto the ground, hard.

Her vision swam, and in the edge of her daze, she saw a knight wearing the colours of House Ricafort rushing towards Spencer and Santana. She heard them struggle like animals, and when she lifted her head, she saw Santana on the ground, curled up on herself as she coughed and gasped for breath, something dark staining the ground beneath her. Brittany wanted to crawl up to her and cradle her in her arms, but everything was becoming too blurry and suddenly all she wanted to do is to sleep.

* * *

"Where's Santana?" she asked hoarsely when she woke up to find Quinn and her father sitting by her bedside. _Bedside?_

She sat up so quickly that her head spun, but still she was able to recognize where she was: back in her bedroom in Kingsvale.

"The physician said you sustained a concussion—"

"Where is Santana?" she asked, enunciating her words carefully. But they came out angry and panicked, which is what she was feeling now. It felt something like a lead weight pressing against her, like that one time she woke up to find Lord Tubbington sitting on her chest, but this time, with none of his warm, comforting weight. Quinn looked away and refused to meet her eyes. "Where is she?"

Her father took a deep breath and looked mournfully at her. "She has been promptly dealt with, Brittany," he said vaguely and Brittany wanted to say she didn't hear him, but the thought of having to hear those words again—

_Promptly dealt with_.

What could that even mean?

She refused to think about it, refused to discern their meaning, because it can't mean what she was thinking it meant, right?

A lump formed in her throat, hard and painful, and from the corner of her eye she spotted Spencer's hulking form on her doorway, his arm bandaged. He had cuts and bruises on his weather-beaten face and she couldn't stop herself from smirking, because, yes, it was Santana who had undoubtedly done that to him.

And when she thought of Santana, she felt her thoughts hurtling towards the place she was trying to avoid, like a mine cart veering off the tracks and out of control, into that black void in the back of her mind where she kept all the grim and nightmarish thoughts that should never be thought about: like Lord Tubbington dying, or God forbid, Santana dying.

But there it was.

Spencer's presence said as much, and the way he crossed his arms smugly as if taunting her.

Her mind conjured up frightening images of Santana lying in the dirt, her face bruised and battered, beaten to a bloody pulp by Spencer, and it clenched her heart painfully.

_She has been promptly dealt with, Brittany_.

Fury swirled within her, hot and uncontrollable, gathering like a storm, and she leapt out of bed and launched herself towards her father, who could only squeak in surprise as his chair tipped backwards because of their combined weight.

And when he was down, momentarily disoriented because the back of his head hit the stone floor with a jarring thud, she clawed at his face, at his eyes, and she didn't care as long as she drew blood. Somebody was screaming, and when her mind had caught up with her body, she realized it was her after all. She felt strong arms grab her under her arms and pull her away from her father, and she struggled mightily, though she was still weak and sore.

She twisted around to see that it was Spencer who had pulled her away and she stopped struggling, knowing it was a losing battle. It did nothing to quell the fury in her chest though, if anything, it made it burn all the more.

Her father stood up and straightened his clothes. He sported a split lip and several scratches on his cheek.

"You and that woman are never meant to be together. You should have seen that coming a mile off, and it should never have come to this," he said sadly.

Brittany nearly lunged at him again, but Spencer was holding her tight, his large hands wrapped around her arm that it restricted blood flow, and she did the only thing she could think of, she spat at him.

Her father just brushed it off and strode out of the room.

She screamed after him and didn't even try to rein in her temper. It helped to be angry. It distracted her from the gruesome imagery skirting the edges of her mind—of Santana lying half-dead somewhere, or Santana dead with her corpse displayed on a gibbet—

But when Spencer let go of her and sat her on the bed, she was left with Quinn, the rage bled out of her and she felt like a wrung-out rag: too exhausted to fight, or to cry or to think about morbid possibilities. She gratefully collapsed into Quinn's arms but instead of comfort, she was reminded that they were nothing like Santana's, which were strong and comforting and oozed assurance.

_Santana can't be dead_, a small voice within her spoke up. She might be going mad with grief or stress after everything that had transpired. _If she were dead, I'd have known. _She could feel that Santana is somewhere and still alive.

"She's in the dungeons and she's going to be executed tomorrow," Quinn said, as if she had read her mind.

After her heart felt like it leapt triumphantly out of her ribcage at the confirmation that Santana was indeed alive, she considered the other half of Quinn's sentence.

"Please tell me you're lying," she said, her mind immediately going into denial, indisposed to comprehend because of so many truths that were hard to face.

"What she committed was regicide, and you know what this means for the already tenuous relationship we have with Fidelian, Brittany. Tomorrow or the day after, we could go to war. Either way, war is inevitable. And now we're not receiving any reports from The Haunt. It's alarming." Quinn's hazel eyes were suffused with worry, and she took a deep breath and Brittany steeled herself against what she might say. "Santana Lopez is to be executed tomorrow, in the most brutal fashion. I was present when her judgment was read in court."

Brittany just felt empty and numb. She couldn't believe this is happening.

It was a while before she found her voice.

"Quinn, she didn't do it. It was I who killed him."

Quinn looked stunned for a moment then her expression morphed into disbelief. "You're not saying this just to get—"

"No, Quinn. I was the one who struck him with a boulder," she said forcefully.

"But, the King's pronouncement is irrevocable—"

"Then we must get executed together," she said bravely.

"Don't be ridiculous, Papa wouldn't let that happen." Quinn laughed nervously.

"But he should! If he can't free Santana, then I'd die with her! I was the one who killed Joe, Quinn. Santana took the blame, but it was I. I murdered him. And he deserved it."

Quinn stared at her, her face once again an inscrutable mask as she weighed in on her words.

"Quinn, Santana is innocent! If we can't get her out of the dungeons then I _must _die with her tomorrow. You said Papa wouldn't retract his pronouncement? It's just because he just wanted to feel vindicated. Santana's execution wouldn't change anything. You said we're going to war either way, right? So what does saving one innocent life matter?" She screwed up her features and conveyed as much determination as she could. She is willing to die with Santana—that much she knew. Screw everything else.

Quinn sighed.

"Please, Quinn, we have to get her out." She was about to get down on her knees and beg when Quinn turned to her again and narrowed her eyes in thought. Brittany could almost see the metaphorical cogs in her mind at work.

* * *

Santana could hardly move.

Everything hurt, and every movement sent something like needles lancing into her flesh, and she shivered in the frigid darkness of her cell. She turned her head to stop breathing in the dank stench on the dingy, stone-flagged floor of the dungeon. The motion sent a sharp pain that cut across her neck and across her stomach, where Spencer had nicked her with his sword, but thankfully not deep enough to gut her. She gasped, inadvertently inhaling bits of hay which made her body curl in on itself as she coughed. And _everything_ just hurt. Her head hurt, her wounds hurt, her heart hurt, and she felt like dying.

Dying sure sounded like a welcome relief, but then she remembered blue eyes swimming with tears and she just can't... She cannot let Brittany suffer such heartache.

When the pain became much more tolerable, she opened her eyes—or tried to open, since both of them were nearly swollen shut—and blinked against the harsh orange glow of the torchlight filtering through the bars of her cell. She could see her breath coming up in clouds, further obscuring her hampered vision and it reminded her of the mists hanging low on the forest as she desperately searched for Brittany...

_But this is the end isn't it?_ As much as it pained her to admit it to herself.

Her body is steadily growing numb from the cold, and sleep is calling out to her, coaxing her in its embrace, but she fought against it, as she did with the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes.

She did her best. She tried to fight their way out of the predicament they found themselves in, but Spencer proved to be too formidable a foe for her. Not surprising, since the King wouldn't trust him with his life if he weren't a skilful and competent knight.

And of course, when that didn't work out, she did what she had to do.

She took the fall.

Even if Brittany hadn't brained him with that damned boulder, Santana reasoned that Joe would have died of his wound anyway. She had struck him hard and deep she was sure her blade had grazed his lung.

She regretted nothing.

She could not find it in herself to be guilty.

The bastard deserved it—he certainly deserved every inch of Santana's blade that had sank into his flesh—after forcing himself on a helpless and not to mention, injured Brittany. Even if this meant that she would be...

She didn't dare finish her thoughts.

All she wanted right now is to see Brittany again, even if it's the last.

* * *

**This is just the first part of the chapter. Will post the other half as soon as I could. Please review!**


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Glee, Adventure, Romance