Richer Than Gold
Emilia pushed the door closed with her foot, both her hands occupied with the unwieldy canvass bag balanced against her chest. It was rather dark in the front hall, but she could hear movement coming from the back office, a small sliver of light crawling out from under the closed door.
Tilting her head, she started towards the room, hoisting the bag up against her again. She could hear something thunk to the floor, and muffled muttering from within.
"Daddy's sad." a quiet voice called from the sitting room as she passed by.
Taking pause, Emilia looked in at her daughter, who was crouched by the fireplace, poking at the near-dead embers with a poker. She turned, going in and dropping the bag on one of the settee chairs. "Sad, my darling?"
The girl nodded, looking up at her mother. "Very, very sad."
Emilia frowned. "Is that why you're sitting her in the dark?"
Adalyn sniffed, and nodded again.
"Well. We can't have that, now can we." Moving to the fireplace, Emilia picked up a few pieces of wood and placed them against the glowing embers. "Now. You see that that gets nice and toasty. I'll go speak to your father. Then we can all have some tea, hmm?"
The girl nodded again. "Yes, mother."
With a small nod and a smile, Emilia stood, brushing her hands against her long coat as she headed back to the office. "Mr. Ritter," she lifted a hand to knock, lightly. "I'm coming in."
Wilden Ritter DeMarcus didn't look up. "Didn't hear you get back, love." he murmured, shoving a roll of packed bullets in to a rucksack.
Emilia closed the door behind her. "It didn't take as long as I thought it might. Though I may have overvalued the price we'll be able to get..." Trailing, she watched him. "Going out?"
"Mm." He nodded, more to himself than to her. "Can't have you be the only one providing for us. I'm the man of this..." He stopped before saying the word. What were they?
"Wilden." She took a step towards him.
His shoulders tightened, just barely, in all the places she could see. "I won't be gone long."
"Just long enough, hm?" There was something hidden behind her words. Just back behind where he couldn't quite reach.
He turned to look at her, and she took a very short step back.
"Wilden..."
"...I have a son." It was very quiet. "Had. Had a son."
She stood, watching him for a long moment, her eyes just dark enough to hide that something from him. Exhaling, she laced her hands behind her back lightly. "Willoughby?"
He nodded, still looking at her with those eyes.
She finally looked down, just slightly, as if to see if she had forgotten to wipe her shoes upon entering the house. "Will you go to her, then?"
He stood, with enough contained violence that she took another step back, to the door. "God damn it, Emilia." Turning from her, his fingers curled, before he snatched up a small map and compass that were sitting on the desk in front of him and threw them into the rucksack.
"Shall I presume the answer, Mr. Ritter...?" Her voice had quieted a bit.
"There's nothing to bloody go back to." he said, a touch harsh. Leaning his hands on the desk, he stared at the wood. The pen and ink, and paper that still remained blank. As if he had anything to say.
She took a small step from the door. "How...?"
"I don't know. I... thought I was careful, but." A soft chuckle. "I've thought the same in the past, I suppose. ...apparently she only met him once, in a dream of sorts, when she was - after they killed her. The Dream Master was going to make her some deal... Something." Something. He wasn't quite sure why she hadn't...
"I'm--"
"Don't." he closed his eyes, bending over the desk a bit, though his voice remained low and steady. "Don't say you're bloody sorry. Not about this."
She was quiet a moment, then said, instead, "You could go back to her. If you want a child... with her."
"I don't." It was a touch strained, but only for a moment. "I left her, lovey, if you remember correctly." He turned to face the woman again, eyes dark as storm-beaten earth. "I left her for you."
Something pulled at Emilia's lips. "...more's the pity, I suppose."
His hands were on her too fast for her to react properly, fingers digging in slightly at her shoulders. "Why do you think I chose you? Hmm? For our child? For sport? For pity?"
A small shudder ran through her, but she met his eyes as she replied, "I thought it was out of love." Something grew, behind her words, but she continued, "Because you loved her enough that you didn't want to hurt her."
His features twisted a little, hands loosening against Emilia's shoulders. "You always thought me more noble than I am."
She shook her head, pulling back from him, though she didn't put much distance between them. Close enough that she could smell the faint tang of sweat on him, mixed with the spiced cologne he sometimes used, and the natural scent, that something not quite identifiable, but undeniable. "I know exactly what you are, Wilden Ritter DeMarcus. You're not a good man. But you aren't as bad as you think." A hint softer, she added, "You aren't your father."
"No." He watched her. "He was the poorest rich man I've known. But I am his son. So I suppose that makes me a pauper with a quick hand."
She frowned, that something hidden peeking out a bit more from the depths of her eyes. "You were never untrue to her. Were you?"
Half sneering, he closed his eyes. "I suppose we weren't together long enough for that."
"Maybe not. Though you warned her..."
Pain broke over his features. "Not that it made a difference. Infidelity means precious little to a childless mother."
"You warned her," she pressed, "And she didn't care."
"She would have."
"Perhaps. " She watched him. "Is that why you chose me?"
Ritter looked up to the woman standing before him. "Emilia..." His jaw clenched slightly. "You already know what I am, though, right?"
"I do. That's why I'm here."
"Is it, then..."
"We've been at this sport for too long to give it up now, Wilden."
He sighed, something in his shoulders shaking. "Maybe I'm getting too old for games."
"Maybe so..." She looked away again. "So then. Will the pauper go to his princess?" She kept her gaze away from him. "You know that you could make her happy."
"Only for a little while." He said, flatly. "And, even so... It's probably best that--" He smiled, bitter. "Perhaps the game has been playing me for some time now."
Her expression matched his. "As it does."
"So then. I guess it's my fate. I'd rather be poor, even if I play the high hand. I've never been that good at the high life. Better off in the trenches. No princesses could last for long there."
She stepped a touch closer. Close enough that he could smell the saddle oil that had rubbed off on her, and the faint floral scent of her hair, sweet and soft - always a contradiction to her nature. Well.. perhaps. "Wilden. I am sorry." She lifted a hand to his cheek.
He closed his eyes. "So am I, love..." His hands went to her shoulders again, and her other hand slipped around him as he bowed his head into her shoulder, voice thick. "God, I am..."
She held him closer, and he hid his face against her neck, a few hard shuddered racking through him. Her voice was quiet. "I'll pack your provisions."
"No..." He murmured, against her skin. "No."
She closed her eyes, nodding once. There were things that made a man richer than gold, at the end of it all.