ISABELLA MERCER
------
Prologue
"You know I love you, don't you?"
The man lying languidly on the bed next to her lowered the book he'd been reading and raised an eyebrow in question. The couple had never been ones for outward, spoken displays of affections; more fond of action that words. The sporadic, quiet question would have been well received in most relationships - perhaps even expected - but this was quite the exception.
"Isabella."
Isabella sighed as she turned and saw that his grey eyes were boring into her; silent yet questioning, accusing. She turned away and pinched the bridge of her nose, wrinkling her forehead in quiet frustration.
"What's going on?" He asked, his tone cool and clipped, as though he knew he wouldn't like the answer.
The two had been, morally, at loggerheads since they began their relationship. Although they were in the same house, perhaps the most important of their values disagreed. War was coming, and the two lovers desperately disagreed upon which side of the war they should stand. For the longest time, the topic had been avoided, brushed under the carpet and forgotten about. They could at least pretend that it wasn't happening; that the battle wasn't coming and that they could live in the imaginary state of peace they'd conjured for themselves. But the suspension of reality was quickly becoming an impossibility, and they both knew it.
"I can't stand with you." Replied Isabella, simply and yet with an underlying tone of anguish, as though she had to force the words from her throat. She raised her head to meet his eyes again, and saw a rather uncommon flash of emotion. Care? Love? Sadness? Anger? She couldn't quite tell. Maybe it was all of those emotions squashed into one fleeting glance.
He wanted to ask why, but he already knew. He wanted to beg with her to stay with him, but both his pride and the realisation that she was very unlikely to change her mind, made him refrain.
"I know."
"I know." Isabella repeated softly, as though she were wishing he hadn't said those words. As though he'd been able to magically conjure a solution for their heartfelt dilemma. "And you wont-"
"No." He replied, equally as softly, yet firm. He'd never been so unsure of himself, and that was clear in his voice. "He'd find me. I'm already in too deep-"
"I know."
He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them, mildly surprised to find his sly, stone-hearted companion eyeing himself with watery eyes, as though trying to commit his image to memory. It was moments like this, moments where they both realised that they cared for each other more deeply than they'd ever thought they'd be able to care for another, that the situation became most tragic.
"I love you." He said surely, and Isabella's eyes flashed as the words she'd never heard - knew, but never heard - escaped from his perfectly sculpted mouth. He hated the spoken word; he felt it meant nothing in comparison to action, but he was equally uncertain as to whether he would have the opportunity to ever say the words again. "And I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She replied, swallowing thickly to attempt to remove the emotion held in her throat. "Just- can you-"
Isabella paused; a million and one possibilities flooding through her mind of the things that could happen, would happen, and would never happen. She swallowed again.
"Just don't die. Please."
He exhaled heavily, and said nothing. He was cunning and sly, mean and aristocratic; it was probably common knowledge that he wasn't the most honest of men, but in all the time he had known her, he had never lied to Isabella. Neither of them had spoken the words out loud, but as soon as the conversation had started, he knew that this was probably the last time they would be together.
Instead, he took the book from his lap and placed it on the table next to the bed, before turning back to her and opening his arms only slightly.
"Come."
Isabella slid across the bed and into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her torso and hers around his neck. They were silent for a moment, just looking at one another - appreciating the feel of each other's warmth and the comfort they provided each other - before their lips touched. They kissed slowly, tentatively at first, before it progressed to fevered desperation. Isabella's hands grasped his hair tightly, almost painfully, as though he were going to evaporate into thin air, and he gripped her hips in a similar way. As they parted for air, he immediately moved his mouth to her neck, and Isabella felt her heart stop as he kissed her racing pulse. She quickly found herself with just enough breath in her lungs to speak his name - the name of her anchor, her lover, and then man that was soon to be nothing but a distant memory.
"Lucius..."
