Benedict'd pushed himself this evening. He still wasn't one hundred percent; sparring with Selm in his current condition might not have been the wisest thing. Good thing Sybil hadn't been watching them. Selm might have decided to show off.

The Prince, dripping with sweat, reached the door to his rooms. He'd planned to change, bathe, and have a good dinner.

Funny thing about plans, particularly best laid plans. Mice and men seemed to have a devil of a time with them.

The door to his rooms was unlocked.

He entered, hand on the hilt of his blade. No fire burned on the hearth. He stepped in to get a better look at his bedchamber through the open archway that separated it from the sitting area.

It'd been at least a month since Benedict had the opportunity to speak with Sonnet alone: Lord Karm was an exceedingly talented chaperone, and Sonnet didn't seem inclined to leave his shadow for very long. Well, and when she did, Sybil'd been her shadow. Or Lucan had been nearby.

Or maybe it was something else. Maybe she'd just been avoiding seeing him alone. Maybe. One could have gotten that impression.

One might get other impressions from the fact that she was sitting atop his dresser, as if she'd been waiting for him to return.

Lord Karm's being in residence had certainly affected her wardrobe. Even in the near dark, it was quite easy to mistake her for a fairy tale princess in the traditional sense of the word. Dainty. Delicate. Pappa's Precious Little Girl, even though the only mark of Karm on her was the black metal bird clipped to the scarlet ribbon around her throat. Her blue satin slippered feet dangled against the front of his dresser. The cane Finndo got her was leaned up against it.

Son of a gun, she did know how to pick locks after all.

Benedict lifted a brow at her. Just one, and just a little.

Sonnet tilted her head, as if to indicate the still partially open door.

Benedict glanced behind him, then gently shut the door, leaving the rooms dark once more. He murmured, "I see I need to invest in a better lock." He pads over to a lamp.

"It wasn't a bad one," Sonnet said. "Should I leave?"

A spark of light flared, then blossomed. A gentle glow spilled from the lamp Benedict'd lit. He shook his head. "No. It is all right. I was a bit ... startled, is all. I assume your father does not currently know your whereabouts." A small smile followed his words.

Sonnet looked up from the vague point in space she'd been studying. The light made the black metal at her throat glisten. "He wasn't around to be informed." Her mouth fell into a similar small smile. "I was tucked in early and told I needed more rest."

Benedict chuckled, a sound not often heard by anyone, and certainly not in recent weeks. "I would have offered my services to assist your recovery, but I'm not sure your father would have appreciated the efforts." He found a chair and settled into it, facing her.

Sonnet's little smile bent into a tiny frown. "You're soaked. You should change before you..." Her brows furrowed together when she looked toward the ceiling. Perhaps she was rebuking herself. The little 'hrrnm' noise that came from the back of her throat suggested as much anyway.

"Right," she said. "And likely not. I asked if he would like to take his practice with me, and well, he doesn't think I should be picking up a sword."

"Of course. When you are no longer under his protective gaze, come see me and we will see what we can do about getting you back into shape. In the meantime..." Benedict paused. "Why are you here?"

Sonnet found something about the ceiling interesting. Or at least she tilted her head at it. She was still frowning.

"A momentary fit of insanity," she said. "Maybe I've been around Sybil too long. I -- I thought that no one would find me here, and I could do some thinking. Correction, no one but you, but that's to be expected, isn't it?"

Benedict pursed his lips, as if considering something ... or remembering something. Then, quietly, he said, "I should think so. In any case, you are welcome here."

Sonnet looked down, and at him. She didn't say anything for a few moments. Then, it was a quiet "I'm sorry."

Benedict regarded her. "For what?"

She shrugged. "Ghenesh."

He frowned. "Why are you sorry?"

Sonnet spread her hands. She was likely going to say something on the order of 'you dumbass', but it was ... Benedict. She just took a deep breath. "Because I've been thinking about it and listening to some things that have been said, and I've gotten the idea that they took things out of things that were in the back of our heads and used them when they cast us into their dream world. Things we wouldn't act on if we were us."

Benedict smirked. "Sometimes you think too much." The way it said it was almost teasing. But this was Benedict, right? He sighed softly, then looked at her with that intense, penetrating hazel gaze of his. "Some of what you say has merit, but it happened and that cannot be changed. I will tell you, and you only, that I am not sorry it happened..." He trailed off, looking thoughtful again.

Sonnet shut her eyes. It took visible effort. The lamplight suggested much about her had grown very still. Even her breathing had slowed, or perhaps she was holding her breath. Her blue sprigged white muslin bodice did not move until she whispered, "Neither am I. And that is why I am sorry."

Benedict was still for another moment, then he rose from his chair. He approached the dresser, and stopped very near Sonnet's dangling legs to open a drawer. He rummaged through it.

She did not move. She'd had some practice in not moving. She was good at Just Being Still and Waiting.

He seemed to find what he was looking for after a moment, and he palmed it. His hazel gaze turned to her again as his other hand gently took one of hers and opened it, palm up between them.

Sonnet opened her eyes up into his gaze, glitter bright and blue as the moments of night left before dawn. Then she looked down, quick, to her hand and his. Her breath came back as a little flutter in the pit of her throat. Had she ever appeared so fragile before? Perhaps. But only in passing moments. This was real and here and now, and her blush could be felt even on the back of her hand.

Benedict placed a key into her open hand, calloused fingers brushing lightly across her skin as he curled her fingers over the cool metal.

She blinked slowly. She lifted her face. The question she wanted to ask was written all over it.

Benedict murmured, "So you don't have to break in next time if you wish to think." He brushed one of her cheeks lightly.

"That could be dangerous," Sonnet whispered. A smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. "What if I start thinking too much?"

A glint of amusement appeared in Benedict's eyes. "Then I suppose I'll have to distract you."

Fragile faded as Sonnet's smile grew, but ... not entirely. Her expression, even though it was opening up, was still a bit guarded. "Or throw me out," she murmured. She glanced down again. "I suppose I should find a chain for this or something. Keep it tucked away."

Benedict's lips lifted at the corners. "Do that. As I said, you are welcome any time." He mused a moment, idly. "I wonder how long it will take Lucan to find out."

Sonnet's head moved some, even though for now she looked only at the key in her hand. Her cheek rested lightly against his hand. "Not very long. Especially if I hide it from him. He gets suspicious when I don't tell him anything."

"Would he tell your father?"

"And," Sonnet said. "He has very interesting ways of getting eve..."

She shook her head. "No. He would not. But if he finds out about this from anyone other than me, and I will not speak of it will him, he may tell one of your brothers. Or both."

Sonnet looked up again. "Perhaps you should keep the key," she blurted. "I would not wish your reputation to be sullied."

Benedict snorted, softly. "I have a reputation other than a deadly, overly angry Prince?" His look was wry, but also a bit bitter. "There is naught to be sullied on my end. Though I'm sure the gossip would be quite ... juicy. The key is yours."

Sonnet's smile faded away.

"You are to be wed to the daughter of a man whom I believe you respect," she said, quietly. "A girl who has suffered a great tragedy. I know her not. I suspect, however..."

"...no." Sonnet shook her head. "Take the key back. I should not be here. I should not be here at all." She released the key and moved to slide off the dresser.

Benedict let the key go. It landed on the rug beneath the dresser, its metallic ring heavily muffled by the good brown and gold wool. He caught Sonnet's hand and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her.

Sonnet's feet still did not touch the floor. They weren't given the opportunity to reach the rug. She was suspended more or less in his sweaty embrace, though a substantial quantity of her skirts were still draped atop the dresser. She weighed a little more than he remembered, thanks to the splint on her right leg, and all of the material she was wearing -- but just a little more. She was just as soft and warm, and her silken hair was just as fragrant.

"Urmph," she muttered.

Benedict sat her down on her feet, gently, and then released her. "Your father will be checking on you soon," he said. His voice was rock-steady, but his gaze wasn't. For one brief moment, Sonnet saw the true Benedict, devoid of masks or the ever-present well of anger that seemed to sustain him.

He pressed his lips against her forehead, and turned away. It might have been a trick of the shadows, but something that looked like moisture glittered at the corners of his eyes.

Sonnet didn't do anything for a few moments.

She took Benedict's nearest hand and brought it to her lips. She placed one kiss there, light, before she released it, collected her cane, and started for the door. "When there is nothing else you care about," she whispered. "Find me."

Benedict's answer was soft, but it carried to the door, "I will."

Sonnet looked at the closed door. She wiped her face on her now damp sleeve. Then she departed.

/Click/.

Benedict settled back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. One lone tear escaped to trickle down his cheek which he brusquely brushed away. How long had it been since he last cried? That time when he was still but a boy and he had excitedly broken in on one of father's meetings to show him a new trick he had learned with a sword. This was during one of father's brief stays at the castle during his childhood. He smiled grimly at the memory. Father had been in one of his moods and was not amused, severely upbraiding Benedict for his breach in protocol. Benedict threw one of his tantrums which only earned him an even more severe reprimand.

Reality set back in. Damn her, he thought. Damn her and her logic. The problem was, she was right. He wasn't concerned with Alyra. Mistresses were common among the nobility. There were even rumors of his father having a few. And Alyra, well...Benedict didn't think he would be begrudged a mistress under those circumstances as long as it was kept discreet. But what would Logan think? Benedict respected the man. He held Logan in higher esteem than the rest of his family combined, and though he wasn't personally responsible for the tragedy that befell Alyra, he still felt guilty. He wouldn't want to do anything to hurt her, or Logan. But if Alyra were out of the way...no. That was not an option, no matter how he felt for Sonnet. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

Still, something eased in him. Ever since his experience at Eagle's Peak he had been more distant, yet more surly. Some measure of hope had been unravelled within him and perhaps stripped away the last of his childhood dreams leaving a bitter, bleak shell that not even the majestic green forests of Homewood could hope to soothe. The anger that had fueled him might have eventually overwhelmed him given enough time, and he might have turned out akin to Lord Karm. But for now, that would not be the case.

Someone cared.

With that act of reminding Benedict of Alyra and Logan, Sonnet showed Benedict that she truly cared. Or that's how Benedict interpreted it, anyway. And with that act, the lost measure of hope had been restored. Ironic was the fact that it was a Karm who had been the catalyst.

Benedict shook his head and sighed, a slight chill coming over him. He was still damp from the evening's activities. Slowly he rose and moved back to the dresser for some dry clothes, fingers lightly brushing the surface where Sonnet had placed herself. One day, he thought to himself. One day.