Baby This Is Keke Palmer (Have A Good Day)

Oscar has wildly underestimated the size of Fiyero's camp. The battle meetings are top secret, but I've seen the map, I've seen the troops that are placed on the bleached horse hide that has been drawn on with the map of the Emerald City and its surrounding terrains. Crudely carved lines of wooden soldiers stand on the map, the bottoms marked with a "100". I count all of them, and I know that Fiyero has at least 7000 troops here. What Oscar hasn't accounted for, are the missives that also lay on the table: reports of replenishments from back home at Kiamo Ko, courtesy of his father in the thousands as well. I stare at the wooden militia, trying to make sense of what I'm going to tell Oscar, to make sense of how we could ever win this.

"Thinking of becoming a warlord?" Fiyero asks.

I jumped. He had a cat-like quality to him: lithe muscles, an innate curiosity, and a habit of sneaking up on people to scare them out of their skin. Maybe if he did that one more time he'd have a new hide for a map of the Emerald Palace. "I was just... you have so many things in here. How would you pack it up to move camp?"

Fiyero raises his brows, and stalks his way around the table. "Do I need to be worried about that?" he asks.

"What?" I reply.

"Maybe you really do know more than you're letting on. Maybe, dove-" He steps up to me, picking a piece of hair that seems to be out of place. "Maybe you are a spy."

I smile back at him. "Can't be a spy if you have no one to spy for." As far as he knew, I’d gotten stuck outside of the Emerald City when the siege happened. Nothing about a train wreck or anything else.

He smiles thinly, and though I think he doesn't believe it, I am grateful for once that I'm not a terrible liar. "That's the worst kind: the kind that can be bought for a penny."

He's so incredibly close to me that I have to slide along the table to get away from him. "I'm offended that you think that I would take money or be bought so cheaply,” I say.

"I want you to come with me while I make rounds," he says.

"Because you think I'm a spy?"

"Is a man not allowed to want the company of a pretty women?"

The cat-like distrust is on full display, head tilted to see if I’ll put up a fight. "You think I'm pretty?" I toss back, grabbing the gray cloak that he'd gotten me yesterday. It goes perfectly with the gray riding pants, and warm black woolen shirt they'd found in extra military provisions.

"Isn't it a universal truth?" he says.

"I once knew a girl from the Emerald City, and, my, were her eyes very pretty. She took me to bed, But by morning she fled, And isn't that such a pity."

I roll my eyes at him as I push open the flap of the tent. "You think I'll take you to bed?"

“You did sleep in my tent last night,” he replies, untethering his horse. He easily lifts me up onto the blue-black Animal which coughs and argues about carrying two people.

"You'll be fine," Fiyero says, pulling two sugar cubes from his pocket and giving them to the Horse. He hoists himself up, and pulls my back flush to his chest. I can smell the sweet orange of his Arjikian cologne. The smell of it almost sweeps out the deathly stench of the camp and takes my mind back to summertime in the Emerald City. The only thing I had to worry about during those months was how to waste all of the extra daylight after work and trying to pick the ripest fruit at the market.

"Aren't you worried about getting shot at?" I ask as he puts his knees into the Horse.

"Those Emerald archers couldn't hit a target if it was sitting still," he says. The woolen tunic and cloak feel almost unbearable as he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me fully against him. It's been only a few days, but this is the first moment I've truly fully missed the Wizard. I'm back in the decadent room of the Upland Manor, the warm skin of his chest against my cheek, his arms around me as we doze in and out of slumber. I hum in agreeance as I feel Fiyero's breath against my ear, trying to not to give away where I really am.

"Besides we have an archery team ahead of us," he says.

"All that, for little old me?" I say, letting my gaze unfocus on large fir that I think could have been the cousin of the one in the Emerald Ballroom. My mind races between the Wizard and the camp as we leave it, wondering in which of the tents they're hiding Fileah.

Fiyero laughed. "Are you trying to get me to reveal battle secrets?"

I watch a gray-uniformed man with cropped curly hair carry a stack of blankets into a large tent. My eyes are fixed on him until I can no longer see past Fiyero's shoulder. "You still think I'm a spy?" I ask.

"You act like one," Fiyero says, putting his knees into the Animal again to bring us to a trot, taking us further into the woods that line the emerald walls of the city. Rough hewn blocks of emerald that had never seen more than a deer or a squirrel in passing are now covered in graffiti from Winkie soldiers, epithets against Emerald City citizens. Most disturbing is a picture of the great Oz head, the eyes crossed out, blood pouring from the neck.

I turn to Fiyero, in the saddle, grabbing his hand so I don't fall. His eyes are the blue of a sky on a summer’s day, so hot that you can’t do anything but lay under it and wait until it dims. Was the ballroom in the palace that dark when we had danced that I hadn't noticed before? "How am I acting like a spy?" I ask.

Is that his hand on my cheek? His eyes flick up and down as he says, "Why else would a girl half as pretty show up in my camp? An awful nosy one too."

"I-" Any words I know have left my brain. It seems magnetic, the way my eyes shut as our lips meet. His tongue is just as smooth as his words are, sliding across my bottom lip and then into my mouth, sweet like honey.

He slowly pulls away, his eyes searching mine. "Maybe not," he says.

I pull him back in and kiss him again, trying to dispel any doubts. "Sorry," I say, trying to feign a lack of control.

"Don't be," he says.

We continue our ride along the wall, my stomach growing sicker with each step of his Horse. Between the kiss and the graffiti and not finding anything, I feel like curling up in the mud outside the gates to the camp.

"Can we stop?" I say. "I don't think I'm cut out for riding." We're passing a heap of trash filled with food that had been too rotten to serve and bones of chickens and geese and bits and ends of vegetables unfit for Arijikian hash.

"Feldspur," Fiyero chastises, "I told you to take it easy."

Feldspur grumbles back something, but I'm too busy trying to swing my leg over the moving Animal. I gasp for air as I hit the frozen ground. Decaying and wet leaves are the only thing that saves me from shattering all of my bones. The slime and slick of them sticks to my cheek as I pick myself up, gasping.

"I could have helped you," Fiyero says.

"N-No, I-" I stutter, brushing all of the detritus off, "I'm fine, really." Scanning the treeline, I quickly turn back to him.

"See something?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"What!?" I spit out some leaves that hadn't unstuck themselves from my lips. "It's your Horse. You were going too fast. I thought I was going to throw up. I can't get back on him, I'm sorry."

Feldspur whickers, but doesn't say anything.

Fiyero's eyes me with those summery eyes, but quickly turns away when I fake a dry heave. He says, "Just stay put. I'll-" He whistles and the scouts come. "Aras, please take our guest back to camp by foot? My lady, I'm sorry I..."

Feldspur takes him away quicker than we had trotted out here. Aras and his striped gelding are the only thing that is left with me, standing there in the clearing. I eye the trash heap and the bit of ribbon that's tied on a splintered pole that was probably driven too hard into the ground for a tent. It's barely visible beneath all of the trash, but I still snap my head back to Aras.

"Is there room for two on your horse, sir?" I ask.

"If Prince Fiyero says by foot, then we go by foot," Aras says, his words partially muffled by his soft leather helmet. "And I am no sir. We are all equal in the Vinkus, until proven otherwise in battle." He dismounts his gelding and starts heading back to camp.

"Even Fiyero?" I ask, trying to jog further ahead of him. It's no use. Aras's strides are long and pay no mind to mine: him walking and me jogging keeps us together.

"Prince Fiyero has helped unite the Vinkus and brings pride to the Arijikis wherever he goes," Aras says.

"The Emerald City is not the Vinkus,” I say.

"I don't understand," Aras says. We dip under the branches of a fir and soon the trash heap is out of sight.

"What honor does he win in avenging the death of Ambassador Humak?"

"There is little honor in winning the city of Emeralds. Its people are weak and hardly a challenge. But they must pay. A thousand of their lives are equal to one of ours."

I think back to Bruno. I think of Emily and Fileah and the Wizard. I think how all of us put up a fight in our own way. I think about how all of us have beaten the odds and it makes me want to punch him. "You don't know that. For all you know, you may be the weak ones."

Aras spits at that, but doesn't say anything. We travel all the way back to camp in silence.

"If we are the weak ones,” he says as the tents come into view, “then it will be a shame on all of us. It will be a shame that we couldn't defend ourselves and our land and brothers."

The wind cuts through my woolen cloak, and somehow deep down, I can't help but to agree with that.

________________________________________

As soon as Aras is called off to deal with a horse suffering from stubborn disobedience, I slip out of the camp. I wish I had a horse to take me back quicker, but any time gained would be lost in the raised suspicion and quicker retrieval. My feet slip on the wet leaves as I race through the forest, but I manage to stay upright. Branches smack across my face, leaving stings on my face as I race back to the trash heap. Was it left or right that I had turned to get here? Maybe... the other way. My hands shake as I know I'm making myself more lost. The fear of Fiyero finding me is great, but the fear of the Wizard invading a camp where he is so severely outnumbered is greater.

It must have been hours since I left camp, the loss of direction sinking my sense of hope like a stone. I smell something rotten that wrinkles my nose and I think about throwing up for real this time when I remember the rotting bones and vegetables. My legs drive me foward and soon I'm back at the trash heap, the ribbon tied tight to the spike.

"Oscar," I hiss. "Oscar, you're going to get yourself killed."

Tomathy uncovers himself from a pile of leaves. "You gonna kill me too?" he asks. He'd been laying on the forest floor all along, camouflaged not a few yards away from where I fell. A second shaking of leaves reveals Oscar in a brown cloak and suit, and I nearly bury him in the leaves again.

"Take it easy," he says, brushing leaves off of both me and him. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me see your wrist."

"I’m fine," I say, shrugging out of his grasp. "They tied me up, but I’m okay now." I roll my shoulders, still feeling the strain.

His eyes go wide and he sits up immediately. “I was talking about the fall from… They tied you up?” He picks over me again, searching for any wound. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch myself. Kidnapping women and children wasn't enough for him, he had to…"

The guilt sits like acid in my stomach, creeping up my throat until the words come out, "Fiyero was the one who untied me."

The Wizard frowns at that, cupping my face in his hands as he tilts it back and forth. "How'd you escape?" he asks. "We heard you getting escorted back to camp. That jerk really that bad of a rider?"

I want to throw up all over again. As the Wizard tilts my head to examine my neck I remember the feel of Fiyero's lips on mine, soft and petallike the way I kissed him back to gain his trust. The thought of him holding me so close is enough that I shrug out of the Wizard's grasp and stand up. "I'm fine," I say.

Tomathy brushes the remainder of the leaves off of me. "We don't got much time. Did you find the Grimmerie?"

"No," I say, offering a hand up to the Wizard. "If he's got it, it's locked up tight somewhere." He takes my hand and the acid is creeping up my throat again as he towers over me. I don't brush the leaves from him. "I didn't see Fileah either."

"Oz, help them," Tomathy breathes. I know he is thinking the same thing as me, but neither of us dares to speak it into existence.

"I need that Grimmerie," Oscar says. "Lord knows what they'll do with it and if I get it to Morrible she might be able to try again. Those Winkies... I've only been to Kiamo Ko once and I don't ever want to go back again. It's evil there, to the core."

"Oscar," Tomathy interrupts, "she needs to get back."

My stomach wrings itself out like a wet rag at the thought of going back to camp, at the thought of staying in Fiyero's tent again. He's going to assume that I want to sleep with him and then what will I do? I have to keep up the act.

It must be written on my face because Oscar hugs me tight, my face buried in the tweed of his jacket, his cloak wrapped around me. His hands smooth my hair, his lips kissing the top of my head where my braid and his ribbon once intertwined together. He tips my chin up to find sobs that slowly hitch one breath and then another until he lets me go.

"I'm coming back for you tomorrow, doll," he says. "We'll take the camp and get you out."

"You can't," I sniffle. "He's got you outnumbered seven to five with more on the way."

"Then we'll just get you out," Tomathy says. "We only need the Grimmerie."

"Didn't you hear me?" I say. "He's got you outnumber-"

"I do not care," the Wizard says, "I will not put you through this."

"Get the Grimmerie and meet us by the western hole in the perimeter by noon," Tomathy says. "There's not a lot of trees there, so you'll have to be quick about it. Now,are you going to pull yourself together, or do I need to smack some sense into you? It’s your duty — as an Emerald citizen."

Loud clapping of dry palms smacking against each other in quick succession and his jovial, singsong voice bounces off the walls of his grand bedroom, abruptly startling you awake.

"Rise and shinnnnne, for tooo-day is a new daaaay and a new beee-ginning..." the Wizard sings, his vocals pitching and drawn out, impossible to ignore.

You'd been having a strange, borderline nightmarish dream of home back in Kansas where the farm animals had staged a revolt, oddly gaining the ability to speak. The chickens gathered at your feet with complaints about not getting high quality feed, shrieking, and tiny pitchforks in their sharp talons jabbed furiously. Horrified, you tried backing up, but your back hit the side of the barn and you were trapped between plywood and the crazy birds...

Stirring, you try to forget the disturbing dream, and rub at your eyes, squinting in the bright diffused light at him approaching the bed, arms outstretched dramatically.

He's already fully dressed in his embellished suit, and you wonder what time it is, but more so why exactly he's acting awfully cheerful for just another day.

"How's the little lady? My sweet sleeping beauty?"

You blush, covering your face with a big green plush pillow as he bends over, clearly aiming for a kiss.

"Ugh, no, please, I probably have morning breath," you grumble embarrassingly, and he chuckles.

Hands pry the pillow off your face and despite your protest, he leans in but goes for a peck on the forehead instead. It feels like a father would do to his child. This thought makes your stomach squirm in a feeling best described as comfortably uncomfortable.

"Welcome to another gloriosky day in Oz my dear!" he exclaims, too loudly.

"What's happening today?" You can't hide the apprehension in your voice, and it doesn't help when his warm brown eyes widen and his smile dips a bit before he plasters on a forced calm expression instead.

"Today? Uh, today is what's happening as it does every day! But it's a new fresh day, isn't that miraculous!"

Rolling your eyes at his corniness, you sit up and he starts to pull the sheets down. You squeak, yanking them back as you're wearing nothing but your birthday suit.

"Sweet Oz! What the hell do you think you're doing?! Close the curtains!"

He laughs, a wonderfully diabolical sound emulating deep from his chest.

"'Sweet Oz', indeed. I see you've picked up a popular phrase around here. Funny how this land rubs off on us all, hmm."

"I should get dressed," you mumble, ignoring him, but he places a large hand down on your lap.

"You act like I haven't seen you utterly indecent before, like you weren't just buck-naked last night, fucking me."

You swallow and now that he's brought attention to it, you do feel especially sore and awfully achy in-between your legs. Your limbs feel made of wobbly jelly and your back is too stiff. The lovemaking had been very passionate but also lustfully frantically aggressive even for him, like the kind of love soldiers give before they're sent away to war, not knowing if they'll ever see their lover again.

Anxiety prickles in your gut and it grumbles back in annoyance.

"Hungry?" he asks, lifting eyebrows.

"It is high past noon, after all." He lifts his hand and backs off, watching you carefully as you slip out of the sheets, wincing.

"Can you please close the curtains?"

"No one can see," he counters, but after a moment he crosses the room and quickly shoves them together, blocking the streaming daylight.

You sigh in relief, loosening up and stretching, hearing a few joints pop and crack. A yawn comes next before you tiredly pick your pale green flouncy nightgown off the floor, pulling it over your head to cover up.

"I'm going off to use the washroom," you announce to him, and he hums, nodding distractingly as he's fiddling with one of his green bottles on the side table.

Still uncertain and wary about whatever could be going on, at least in his head, you shuffle off to the bathing chambers and he doesn't follow, giving privacy. Usually, there's a maid around to assist, but not today. It's quiet and peaceful as you undress in front of the expansive mirror, reflecting your entire appearance. You're almost ashamed of how much of a hot mess you are: unkept messy hair, blotchy cheeks, puffy eyes, and numerous dark hickeys dotting both sides of your neck.

Your head pounds as if hungover and you try to remember how much of the elixir you drank last night. Why was it the shade of green anyway? What was it, precisely? He would never tell you.

Back home in Kansas, a neighbor's kid had once told you a person's skin could turn orange from eating too many carrots and as an impressionable young child, it had haunted you, to the chagrin of your mother who nearly had to force feed you the root vegetable for years.

Paranoid now, you scrutinize your skin color, thinking there might be a faint green hue. It's stupid. Drinks don't turn folks a color. You take a deep breath, stepping away from the mocking mirror. Maybe a bubble bath will help wash away the insecurities and sinful reminders of the night before.

But even the soap and bubbles are dyed verdant, and it's as if you're bathing in the very essence of him and this city. You throw your head back on the rim of the tub and moan softly to the high ceiling as hot water soothes your sore muscles, seeping into your pores. You spend a while bathing and relaxing, grateful for the serenity.

********

When you're finally dried off and dressed, you creep out into the hall, planning on heading to the dining hall to get some late lunch, but a babble of voices ahead make you halt. You dive and duck behind a pillar to hide when you immediately recognize the owners to them.

"When can I, uh, expect you to join us tomorrow?" The Wizard, tone low and serious.

"As soon as possible if there are no delays." Madame Morrible, voice icy and impatient.

"Well, huh, not too soon because I'd like a chance to bond with the girl first, get her to know me a little bit and-"

"What about that whore of yours? Has she been removed?" Morrible interrupts shrilly.

"Ah, uh, no. I was planning to dispose of her today."

"She should have been gone weeks ago; we're about out of time, Oscar. You need to deal with her immediately."

"I know, I know, but golly. What if it's safer to keep her here? She knows too much already, we can't risk her blabbing to the Munchkins about who I am, what we've done, all-"

"She'll just get in the way if she stays and you don't need distractions. You've had your fun with her and now it's time for her to go. I'm sure you can function properly without her, yes?"

"Well of course, yes, but she has no idea... She's not equipped for this land, she doesn't know the anything of Oz outside these walls, this city..."

"I'm sure she'll find a way to survive and if she's learned anything from you at all, she'll thrive."

"What are you implying?" he asks nervously.

"She's a bit plain for a harlot, but she can use her bodily sensual services, can she not?" Morrible quips and Oscar gasps.

"My lady will not be prostituted! No, no, I won't have that! She's not even that kind of girl, this isn't like the traveling circus. She's still pretty inexperienced, she'd be ripped apart out there if she tried! Ack, the very thought of any men laying their grubby hands on her makes me sick."

"You've grown too attached to this foreign farm girl and frankly I don't see what you see in her."

"We have a real connection! She recognized, she remembered me from when I was a carnie and came all this way looking for me. She was in such a state of distress, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't - didn't know how - to send her back! Besides, this is the most fun I've had in twenty years..." His voice is warmly pleading, begging, but Morrible cuts through it like a knife into melting butter.

"We've had this discussion before, and it remains the same conclusion: She is nothing special and a waste of resources. You need to do what's best for you, for us... for the sake of all of Oz."

"Are you, uh, jealous of my affections for her, perchance?"

Morrible scoffed vociferously.

"Don't be ridiculous and flatter yourself. This has nothing to do with that. I did this for you, like with everything else."

"And boy do I appreciate it. But, well, because if I get rid of her... you might be free?" He pauses and you hate to imagine what he might be doing. Giving her a sly grin? Stroking her arm? Kissing the back of her hand? Whatever it is, a faint laugh is produced from the sorceress. You've never heard that from her before.

"You know... Like the old times?" he purrs seductively, and you clench your fists in your lap, the bones of your knuckles straining against skin.

The laughter gradually dies off and you would bet she's shaking her head disapprovingly as the next words are spoken, starting off as sweetly humored and ending in sheer scolding.

"You haven't changed a bit all these years; still as devilishly charming as ever. I would say I admire your stamina, but I don't when it is misplaced and a hindrance to our plans. You're not much better than some of those sexed up failing students at Shiz. Focus, Oscar."

"I am, but a man can have his cake and eat it too, can't he?"

"We shall see how well that works out for you."

There's an abrupt loud clop-clop of heels driving into the flooring as Morrible presumably turns and begins to walk away.

"Just make sure the whore is gone by the end of the day, no exceptions. Tomorrow has to be perfect, Elphaba Thropp is expecting only the best," she calls back to him in warning.

Her footsteps fade one piercing thud at a time, and you slowly stand up, peering around the pillar. The Wizard has his hands jammed in his pockets and muttering to himself.

"More like you, Madame, are expecting the best as you always do. Yet I cannot ever please you in the ways I would like... What in the blazes am I supposed to do?"

You flatten back against the cool marble column, trying to remain calm, but hot wet tears are brimming in your eyes. You blink then away, not willing to go to pieces now. He deserves a piece of your mind first.

Steeling your strength, as this is "Oz the Great and Powerful" after all, more importantly, the man you've been loving for months now, the man who'd rescued you and was now treating you as trash to be thrown out...

You can't take it anymore.

Striding out from your hiding spot, you holler angrily from several feet down the hall.

"YOU NO-GOOD, TWO-FACED BASTARD!"

To say the Wizard is shocked would be an understatement. His face is a priceless expression of utter baffled horror, and he staggers backwards, nearly stumbling over his own feet as you barrel towards him, not even controlling how raised your voice is. Part of you wishes Morrible is still in earshot.

"I MAY BE A JUST A DIRTY COUNTRY GIRL, BUT I AIN'T GONNA STAND BY AND LET YOU AND YOUR OLD FLAME CALL ME A WORTHLESS WHORE BEHIND MY BACK! SAY IT TO MY FUCKIN' FACE, YOU ABSOLUTE COWARD!"

You reach Oscar and pummel your fists into his vested chest before he can stop you, but after a few seconds you hiss and pull away, shaking your fist as your knuckles sting in pain. One of his vest's stupid shiny metal trinkets on its chain hit squarely on the bone and you swear a string of cuss words that would've made your mother blanch.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, concern creasing his face, but you aren't touched by it in the slightest.

"Of course I'm hurt, jerk!"

"Oh, yes I know, but your hand? I didn't mean-" He reaches out, not offended (or just ignoring) that not only you've disrespected him, but cursed profusely in the presence of The Wizard of Oz himself. Anyone else would be getting their ass whooped right about now, if they were lucky and not thrown in prison or killed.

"Keep your filthy hands off me!" You recoil, jerking away as if he's a poisonous snake, and his face falls like a curtain.

"I'm sorry, but I told you all about this, remember? I was arranging for you to be sent away for your safety!"

"You forgot to phrase it as me being just a disposable whore. And I shouldn't even be called such a thing as a whore because you don't pay me to fuck you anyhow! Why don't you just say slut?!"

He cringes, appearing truly apologetic, but who knows? You can't trust him, no one can - except for his precious Madame Morrible that he lets pull his heartstrings, among others.

"Darlin', let's discuss this later, I've gotta-"

"NO! Don't brush me off!"

He glances over your head where human guards are approaching quickly, their footsteps just now registering to your ears. Perhaps punishment was coming after all. You yelp as they grab you roughly from behind, Oscar's face twisting in floundering regret as he watches you get manhandled.

"How can you - do th-this...?!" Your voice falters as you succumb to the guards' strong grips and he has the audacity to avert his eyes as they drag you away.

********

You're taken to your own bedroom and shoved with force inside, and then the heavy door slams with a resounding thud, locking you in alone.

You glance to the glass window, half a mind to break out and try to shimmy down the side of the palace wall, which probably wouldn't end very well. If he wants you to leave so badly, maybe you should even though you have nothing to go off with.

But then your attention draws to two decent sized suitcases at the foot of the carefully made bed and you pop them open, revealing one trunk full of clothes. There's rolled stacks of bills tucked in-between the socks, enough money to last quite a while, assuming that Oz was financially similar to America's economy.

You swallow hard, almost taking back your statement about him never paying you a dime. He did pay you, in personal affection and letting you live here with his luxuries, and now he's willing to give you a generous chunk of savings to get by.

He'd obviously planned to send you away promptly today, but you just found out before you were supposed to. You should have seen it coming and expected it, but a different kind of fury - a type that's the opposite of the prior one that just urged you to run away with spite - rolling through your body contradicts this.

You don't want to leave, not on these terms. You won't take this rejection slapped with misplaced kindness.

Damn Oscar Diggs. Or maybe you no longer have the privilege of using that name, so he's just the impersonal Wizard? No matter. The saddest part is if he thinks he's doing right or wrong here, it hurts regardless.

With a sigh of despair, you sink down on the edge of the plush bed, letting those dammed up tears break containment and flood out. You cry a river, grateful for the couple of handkerchiefs that had been tucked on top of your clothes in one of the trunks. It has his stupid "OZ" moniker on it, but it feels justifying staining it with copious amounts of snot and salt water.

By the time the door opens again, you're in the worst dejected, defeated, and sour mood you've ever been in.

The Wizard quietly shuts the door behind him, and he stands awkwardly for a minute, assessing you with a deep frown and sadness in those once charming hazel eyes. You felt like such an utter fool to love him... Morrible was right, you were waste here who would be better off wandering Oz without him. But the thought of strangers, particularly unknown men, out there makes your stomach curdle in unease. But you'd journeyed through parts of Oz before to reach the Emerald City and no one had made you feel unsafe and in danger, so maybe you could again... There was always Munchkinland; perhaps there was a way back home from there.

The Wizard clears his throat, but you don't look up. You can't bring yourself to face him.

"Uhhh, this was-wasn't how I wanted things to end up, you know."

"I never asked for this," you bite out quietly.

"Do you think I did?" he snaps with the same biting coldness and crunch of a mid-winter's morning.

"I should have never come here. It was a mistake."

He huffs loudly in anger, reminding you of a disgruntled steer.

"You're damn lucky I decided to keep you in the first place. To house, feed, and even love a stranger from fucking Kansas! And yet here you sit, ungrateful when all I'm trying to do is help you!" His voice grows in intensity, and you realize you've never seen him this mad at you before. It's like facing his giant mechanical head all over again, surrounded by flaring fire, heat licking the air.

"Y-You think throwing me out helps? I-I want nothing more than to be with you!" You hate the way your voice wavers, sabotaging your desired strength.

"YOU CAN'T! WE CAN'T STAY TOGETHER!" he bellows back, every word a punch to the gut.

"Then why don't you just kill me since I'm nothing to you anymore? Or I never really was?" you choke out, not completely meaning the killing part, but he's alarmed.

At once, the Wizard lurches forward, dropping to his knees in front you and taking both your hands in his large encompassing ones.

"No, no, no! How could you even conceive of such a horrid thought?" he gasps but part of you honestly can't tell if this is an assumed act and he's just toying with you, trying to seem innocent.

"I may be something of a scoundrel, but I would never want you dead for no reason when all you've ever done is please me."

"Then... but why do you want to get rid of m-me?" It's pathetic how broken and exhausted this sentence is said. You don't want to sound so wretched, to make it all worse.

"I truly don't, we've had a lot of fun these past several months, and you've healed my loneliness. I've come to care quite a lot for you. But..." he trails off as you slide off the edge of the bed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into the crook of his neck.

"Oh, darling," he grunts, embracing back.

You inhale his spiced musky scent deeply, wishing you could never leave this position. It's perfect this way, the pain warped into cathartic.

"I love you, Oscar," you confess, and he squeezes back in affirmation.

"I love you to the moon and back, sweetheart. And that's an awfully long way."

"Don't make me leave then, it's too long a trip."

He chuckles, rumbling in his chest like distant thunder.

"Don't you miss your family back home?" he asks softly, all humor evaporated.

Your fingers dig into his back like talons, and you sniffle once, eyes leaking a little.

"If they're still left there. That tornado was massive and was wiping out everythin'."

"Yeah, uh, you've been crying and moaning in your sleep about it lately," he mentions uncomfortably, and you unlatch your arms, pulling back to look at him.

"Really? I did have an awful dream this morning before you woke me, not about the twister, but farm animals speaking and coming after me. Chickens with pitchforks, can you believe it?"

"Huh, that's, uhh, that's unusual." He laughs, but it sounds very forced and nervous.

"Hmm, maybe we should lay off on the elixir for you, I know it can be prone to giving one strange feverish dreams and visions, I would kno-" He halts his sentence as your stomach gurgles very audibly. He glances down, then around the room in astonishment.

"Gosh, did no one bring you any food?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head.

He snaps his fingers, the loud pop echoing in the room.

"Drat! I asked them too, that's unacceptable."

"It's okay."

"No, it's certainly not. No wonder you're so cranky." He lifts you off his lap and gets up. You start to follow, but he pushes you down.

"Stay here, I'll bring a plate up."

He strides out, returning a few minutes later with water and a gold plate filled to the brim with several fancy stuffed sandwiches. It makes you salivate as he hands it to you with a fretful expression.

"Here, I'm so sorry about that, it is not my intention at all to starve you."

You eagerly take the plate in your lap, not caring to be prim and proper about consumption when you shovel in a sandwich and gulp water from a sliver chalice. He stands and watches in amused satisfaction as you demolish the food in no time and then set the empty plate aside, sighing happily.

"Thank you," you tell him with reverenced earnest.

The Wizard nods in acknowledgement and then there's a lull of stuffy silence. You pick at loose thread on a corner of the bedsheets, swallowing.

"If I, uh, if I let you stay, you must promise to st-stay hidden," he suddenly declares, slightly awkward in delivery.

"Of course," you reply at once, hope soaring into your chest, making your heart swell.

"You mustn't let Madame Morrible or Elphaba see you," he continues, stern.

"I won't." You hesitant and then go ahead with the question because it's been bugging you.

"Who is this Elphaba exactly? She's powerful like Morrible?"

The Wizard crosses his arms tight to his chest, working his jaw a bit.

"Well... apparently she has a load of potential - sorcery, yes - that could be mighty useful for me in keeping with ruling Oz and gaining power over our enemies. But she needs to be trained to serve and to enhance but also control her power, there's something Morrible hopes she can do and-"

There's a sharp rapping on the door that interrupts him, and you jump, glancing as the door bursts open, a red-faced mustached guard dragging in a monkey who is holding a satchel in its paws.

"Urgent mail call, your Ozness," the guard announces, and Oscar stands up, swiping the envelope from the monkey.

"It's from Munchkinland." He frowns, ripping the wax seal off and tugging out the contents, a single half page letter.

There's a tense minute as he reads and when his eyes leave the page, he looks to the mustached man and monkey first, then to you.

"It's news of Governor Thropp's death. He just died of a heart attack," the Wizard says, slightly aghast. He then addresses the guard.

"Am I the first to know of this?"

"Yes, sir."

"What does it mean?" you ask.

"It means the bastard's dead, what else?!" the Wizard exclaims, and you raise an eyebrow at mostly an absence of remorse.

He shoes the guard and monkey out before turning to you, speaking rapidly.

"I've been trying to annex that breadbasket country for years... The Yellow Brick Road construction hit a snag, but with leadership in flux now, it'll be easier to take full advantage." He rubs his mustache, a scheming glint in his eyes you don't particularly enjoy.

More power. Just what he needs.

You sigh, falling back on the bed with an exaggerated flump!

"Oh, what's the matter now?" Oscar asks, obviously irritable.

"Things are changing, aren't they? You wanted to send me there, but now the governor's dead and there could be political upheaval! They won't want anything to do with me, especially if I came from you and you're trying to take over their land."

"True, that's a point there. Well, you're getting your wish after all, darling." He walks to the bed and looms over your body before swiftly placing his hands down on either side of your head, trapping you between the sheets and his handsome face.

"You get to stay, my little lady... And we'll just find a way to keep our secret from Morrible, understand?"

Something about his tone makes you gulp; this isn't the goofy playful man anymore. This is Oz the Great and Terrible demanding obedience or else.

"Yes, sir."

"That's my girl." His tongue flicks out for a second, wetting his lips, before his spreads a smile.

There's a frothing hunger splashing at his toothy grin and your breath hitches as his index fingers caresses the left side of your neck, touching the barely fading hickey marks. Another good reason to hide away, you can't imagine Morrible or some outsider like that magical college girl seeing this.

"Gee, I wonder who left all these?" he breathes and the heated coil in your lower regions unwinds slightly.

"A man, I think," you reply in a whisper, and he winks, cradling your cheek.

"Will you forgive an old fool's folly? For almost throwing away the happiest part of his life?"

"What about Morrible?"

He withdraws, uneasy, but quickly recovers.

"Ah! Uh, an unavoidable co-conspirator and companion. We may have had a tryst years ago, but she's not too interested in physical pleasures anymore." He waves a hand as if letting bygones be bygones, but you're still bothered.

"You must love me and only me or I will leave after all. Remember, I don't belong here."

"You do now. Besides, you could never bring yourself to abandon the life I've provided," he retorts smugly, clearly thinking you're bluffing.

"If it comes to it, you give me no choice. I may not have magic, but I have my free will even if you lock me up. I don't have to love you, I could just pretend."

"Now you're the one threatening me? We'll make a politician out of you yet with that attitude." He smirks, unable to resist as he goes down, hands all over your clothes

"We can't do this now..." you gasp, distracted by the spurt of lust.

"I may do whatever I please, including enjoying my lady. And don't you want me to make it up to you? After all, that snafu of sending you out has nearly resolved itself and as long as you stay hidden tomorrow, we're in the clear. If you will?"

"If you love me then yes, all I want is nothing more than to be with you."

"That's what I thought." He gets a pondering expression, eyebrows pinching together.

"But perhaps you are right. We'll wait to celebrate... But I don't know when. I'll be accommodating the girl tomorrow and there will be plans to roll out, hands to shake, blueprints to complete, orders to designate..." He sighs dramatically and for a minute, his old age truly shows.

"You're too drunk with power, it's not healthy."

"I didn't used to be, but these things grow on a man. You know..." He waggles his finger in the air, drawing a circle, before landing it on your chest, right where your heartbeat is.

"You know why we connect so well? You're the first person I've known in twenty odd years that wasn't born a citizen of Oz; you come from the heartland of humble corn fed hicks just as I did and understand how confusing but fantastical this whole world is." He pauses and a wistful sadness seeps in the creases of his face.

"You know I always wanted a family of my own, but traveling wouldn't allow."

You nod, he's alluded to this many times. Always longed to be a father...

"Part of me wishes we'd crossed paths earlier in life or you hadn't been born so soon because we could have fallen in love the old fashioned way and had ourselves a nice farmhouse and fucked until the cows came home, and I would've given us a big family to raise... We could have had a whole, uh, brood of Diggs children running around causing chaos."

You swallow, not too sure about the "big family" part, but the way he phrases his pipedream makes it seem oddly rather idyllic and for a moment you can see a murky vision of yourself on a porch swing with him, babe in lap as a few older children chase and shriek after a smattering of chickens in the yard. Oscar with one arm on the tiny child, another arm around you, the scuff of his thin mustache bristles brushing your cheek as he kisses lovingly, working his way to your lips... That was the way country life would've been if everything was normal, right?

"That sounds just a bit simpler than being a ruler," you answer him softly. He rigs up a half smile and a glint of mischief flashes in his chocolate eyes.

"But I'm not a simple man, am I? I wasn't born to be a farmer; I was destined for more than that... The sense of being a salesman, the allure of the stage show magic was much too strong. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was real here, not just sleight of hand tricks and palmistry and crystal balls and all that bullshit."

He digs in the pocket of his pants for a moment and then holds up a single gold coin, one of his many.

"See this? Now you don't." With a flick of his wrist and an open palm three seconds later, the coin's gone.

"Kids used to love that trick at the fairs, especially the tykes. That and the ol' 'got your nose', though anybody could do that." He pretends to grab your own nose, and you scrunch your face, eliciting a giggle.

"Now... Where did that coin end up?" He gives an even more mischievous look and then his hand is down between your legs and you gasp as he feels intrusively into your panties.

"Ah-ha!" He procures the coin from what feels like partly between your moist folds, making you flush.

He flips it in the air once, it lands down on his palm with a light smack, gleaming gold. He chuckles once at your expression, which must be infuriatingly amusing.

"It never gets tiring, seeing people's reactions. God, that sure makes me happy."

"That was a very dirty trick, though!" you point out scandalously, but not able to hide the grin spreading.

"Yes, uh, that one's reserved for special ladies." He winks again and then pulls you up and onto his lap, straddling you to his front. You can feel his half hard cock under his trousers and smile, shaking your head.

There has to be something more in that green elixir. Most men his age can't have this level of a sex drive, right? You just had a strenuous round last night and he's aiming for more satisfaction less than twenty-four hours later. You feel his hands trailing down your lower back until he has a tight grip on your ass, and he leans in, threatening to plant another neck hickey. His teeth graze along the fragile skin of your neck, winding upward to your earlobe and he growls playfully in your ear.

"You sound like a tiger," you tell him with an amused snort, struggling to not to let him rip your clothes off right here and now. Being on a bed doesn't help these urges.

He cocks his head, flicks his tongue out once across his lips, and then gets a very devious expression.

"A tiger you say... Or how about a lion? I am feeling as if I could devour you whole." He snarls and lets out a smooth rumbling purr just like a real house cat before rubbing your ass and carefully nibbling your earlobe.

He withdraws suddenly, arm snaking out from behind you and he holds up a single digit.

"Hold on, lions can't purr. Have you ever seen one in the flesh? I think we should get a pet cub; it'll give you something to care for."

"But they're dangerous!"

"Not when they're whipped into submission," he points out flatly and you frown.

"That's a harsh term, isn't it? But, my dear, they're absolute beasts who cannot ever truly be trained, you must get them young to make an impact," he justifies.

"Can't we just get a normal kitty cat instead?"

He rubs the dark patch of facial hair under his lower lip, lips twitching.

"I shall consider it if it would make you happy. Please, please forgive me for my terrible actions and words earlier," he pleads, cradling your cheek.

"I'll consider it, your Ozness," you shoot back teasingly, but in all honesty, you are caving in. He does seem truly sorry and there's so much relief in not having to leave the palace.

Oscar pats your head and then grunts, adjusting you off his lap with sheer abruptness.

"There's preparations to be made for tomorrow, I must ensure every bit of my machinery and displays are in perfect order, so I must unfortunately go. But I'll join you for dinner, and you deserve to eat as much as you want in apology for earlier." He jumps sprightly to his feet and energetically springs to exit, hesitating only for a fraction in the doorframe.

"I'll see you tonight, little lady."

********

Late that evening, after you've unpacked your belongings since you're sticking around, The Wizard invites you to spend the night in his bed and you cuddle under the covers, watching him pace back and forth in the middle of the room, muttering under his breath, too fast for you to correctly make out what he's speaking. His movements are jerky and reminiscent of a marionette, twitching and guided by an invisible force. Maybe there is one, involuntary. Could Morrible be capable of that kind of dark magic? Like the elixir, you'll likely never know if there's a secret to it or not. Just smoke and mirrors, never a clear reason to why anything happens.

Your mouth stretches into a wide yawn, and you spread out, relishing in the silky sheets. His bed is more comfortable than yours with more pillows that let you feel as if you're among puffy clouds.

Oscar doesn't offer any drinks tonight even for himself; he's too preoccupied.

You're in a cozy half-asleep state when he finally joins you in the bed, having removed his outer fabrics to be just in a white undershirt and boxers. There's nervous anticipation radiating off him, keeping him awake, but serious tiredness in the bags under his eyes.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" you ask drowsily, though it's an unnecessary question.

"Yes... Can you tell? Mostly because I'm trying to figure out a way to pull my pitch off just right. To sell to the Thropp girl she belongs here with me and Morrible says she's gullible but strong-willed and determinedly emotional, a volatile combination if not anything gets out of control. I want to ease into things with her, see just how much power she could hold. And on top of it, I have to keep you completely out of sight, so I ask you remain in your room for the entire day, got it?" he rambles out in a rush the pace of a babbling brook.

"Sure."

He spreads his legs and moves you so you're lying in-between them. He pets your hair, sighing softly.

"Good."

Silence lapses and there's not even a hint of sex tonight, just cuddling for once and him humming an unknown lullaby as the night moves slow as molasses eventually towards tomorrow. You pass out shortly to the sound his steady breathing and the weight of his arms encircling your body.

********

The next day, The Wizard isn't there to wake you. No one is. It's empty in his bedroom, but someone been in to open the drapes halfway and crack the window; you can hear birds chirping and twittering noisily outside. There's also a fresh vase of flowers - a dozen red roses that smell decadent - on the table that weren't there last night.

You leave to the bathing chambers and complete your morning routine before returning to your room, feeling encroaching boredom. He wouldn't mind if you go to the library, would he? There were no books left to read in your room.

You wander out down the long corridors, surprised at the lack of guards, human or monkey. The one you do see hardly bats an eye; after all, you're just The Wizard's pet who's not going anywhere.

A moving flash of green catches your peripheral, a tall figure who could only be one man, rushing off towards the throne room. You have never seen the behind the scenes of his operation and curiosity peaks, despite this would be denying his orders. You want to see what this Elphaba Thropp is all about and are just as intrigued as him to witness any strong magic capabilities.

You silently slip through the ropey curtains.

He's up at the control panel, hunched over the panels and levers. When there's faint footsteps from outside, he perks up, hand cranking a wheel.

"Okay, okay, here we go..." he mutters to himself as the gears churn, and he lifts the speaker to his mouth.

Outside, the giant mechanical head groans to life and introduces itself before imploring.

"Who are you... and why do you seek me?" it hisses out menacingly.

You hear muffled voices, one particularly high pitched and female, the other female as well, but more muted.

"Elphie, say something."

"What am I supposed-"

"Anything! Say something."

"Say something..." the Wizard echoes into the mouthpiece and you stifle a laugh into your fist.

You see confusion in his expression as he's working to process who the two voices could belong to.

"My name is Elphaba Thropp and-"

He startles a little, hand slipping on the lever and the machine grinds to a halt just as it did when you met it. You watch as he gathers himself and then slips out from behind the curtain and you strain to hear as he greets the visitors.

"Elphaba Thropp? I didn't know it was you. You know, when I'm back there I can't make out people's faces... Uh, it's so great to meet-"

There's a pregnant pause and you wonder what he's doing before he speaks again.

"So great to meet you. Uh, hang on."

You stand up and creep over past the control panel and to the curtains, pressing your ear against it to hear better.

There's a quick exchange and then one of the girls - clearly not Miss Thropp - introduces herself as "Glinda" but he butchers it, misspeaking as "Belinda".

Before long, you hear him say "wait 'till you see this" and there's the quickening clop of his tap shoes, and before you can move out of the way, he's barging in the control room.

"Now, just hold on and I'll show-oah - OHH, good sakes!" He gasps, clutching his chest when he sees you, stopping dead in his tracks and nearly crashing into a part of the ropey curtain.

"Is everything alright, your Ozness?" the perky sounding Glinda calls out in confusion some distance away.

The Wizard catches his breath and then quickly calls back as nonchalant as he can manage.

"Oh, yes, everything's fine! Someone-thing just went a tad haywire, so just give me a minute and I'll be with you very shortly! Two shakes of a cat's tail, I promise!"

He roughly grabs your shoulders and steers you aside, plunking you down at the base of the stairwell.

"What in the name of Oz are you doing in here?!" he breathes in a frantic whisper.

"I was curious, I'm sorry, I-"

"Curiosity doesn't begin to cut it! I asked you to stay in your room! I thought I could trust you to be a good girl about all this."

"I'm not your child," you retort back, whisper-shouting.

"Then don't act like one." He glances over his shoulder anxiously and then bops your nose lightly with his finger.

"I will deal with you young lady later, but for now, stay put in here and don't make a single sound," he orders angrily.

"I won't," you whisper back, and he gives a you-damn-well-better dangerous glare.

He dashes back out from behind the curtains, cheerily addressing the girls as if nothing happened.

"Sorry about that. Follow me this way, ladies!"

You hear them walk off and sink down to the floor, cheeks flushed with guilty heat.

The Wizard proceeds to show the girls around his miniature set, and you feel a pang when listening to him about his sentiment of longing to be a father. It's just all part of his pitch, isn't it?

********

There's a chill to the air when Madame Morrible shows up just as his performance ends, her footfalls resoundingly loud and foreboding.

Everything escalates and spirals out of control rather fast from there when the Grimmerie book is brought out and Elphaba attempts a spell, which backfires on the lead monkey guard, Chistery.

Terrified, you grip the curtains and stare at Chistery howling and writhing on the floor with his new set of conjured unnatural wings. You want to rush out to the Wizard and hold onto him tight, but you can't, it's too dangerous and you aren't supposed to expose yourself.

But when it comes to light the Wizard is using Animals to his advantage and Elphaba loudly rejects his plan and makes a run for it, leaving a scared and stressed Glinda behind, who is taken care of immediately by Morrible ordering her to go get her friend, you can't help it.

"Oz, what's going on?! Are we in danger? What's going to happen to Elphaba?!" you yell, bursting out from your hiding spot into the large room, earning a stunned and furious gaze from Morrible and bewildered overwhelming disapproval from him.

"Sweetheart, please-" he starts, but Morrible intercedes, her tone livid as she rounds on him.

"How is SHE still here? You promised to rid of this useless whore yesterday! I regret ever conjuring the tornado that whipped up this random Kansian and dumped her here in the first place."

"What?!" you gasp, head reeling from this sudden realization.

"Oscar, you were so depressed and lonely, and I was bored to death of your bellyaching. We agreed it was just a fun arrangement at the time, but you've grown so attached to her, it disappoints me. Now look at the mess we're in and she's just another unnecessary piece on our plate to deal with. Aren't you proud of yourself?" Morrible asks dryly.

He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water and Morrible scoffs in disgust, turning back to you. She takes a half step forward, hand raised and poised in strike, as if she's two seconds away from slapping your face. You recoil, eyes darting to Oscar as he lunges forward and attaches his hand into your wrist, tugging you away.

"Excuse us, Madame."

He takes you once again behind the curtains, disappearing from the scene. The disturbed ropes swing loosely behind as he drags you up the staircase, huffing and muttering indistinctly. When you reach the platform where the control panel is, he whirls about, livid.

"Do you need to get your ears checked? Because you just can't seem to listen to a darn fucking word I say!" he exclaims furiously, gregariously shaking your arm.

"What is going on? And why didn't you tell me that me coming here was Morrible's fault? That I was just supposed to be a floozy? Was this a set up all along? How long have you been pullin' my leg!?" you demand, retching your hand from his grasp before he yanks your arm out its socket.

"A disaster, that's what's going on! Morrible just couldn't keep her damn mouth shut. But never mind that. This situation apart from you isn't how I wanted things to go, but one must adapt to the circumstances. Elphaba knows too much and has made herself an enemy of the state that I must dispose of."

You don't miss the intentional emphasis on that term that infuriated you to tears yesterday, and you know what he's implying.

Elphaba Thropp is going to join her governor father in death.

Distracted, you bite your lip, not sure what to make of this. Yes, the girl was dangerous with a spell book, but she had a cause that wasn't evil. She just wanted to help the Animals and expose the Wizard of Oz as a fraud. And what's Glinda's role in all this? She seems bonded to the green girl as some kind emotional support person, deeper than just a friendly peer.

"Okay, but what about Morrible? She's ready to put my own head on a pike!" you exclaim in panic, and he snorts.

"Forget it. She doesn't think highly enough of you to warrant a such a spectacle as a public execution, so don't worry."

Uncertain whether to be offended or not by that, you plow ahead with your questioning.

"What are you doing? Can I help? Maybe this is all a misunderstanding, maybe we can reason with Elphaba, there has to be another way, right?"

He ignores you, lifting up the mouthpiece connecting to his mechanical head and barking orders to his guards standing outside in the throne room.

"Guards! There's a fugitive loose in the palace... Find her... and bring her to me."

When the Wizard whips around to you, his face is calmly focused, and it unnerves you how ready he is for complete warfare against a single girl.

"Want to be useful and do the right thing for once today? Go after the blonde girl and bring her to me. We can use her as leverage against Elphaba, which speaking of - if you happen to see her, don't approach, wait for the guards. She's extremely dangerous and will attack if provoked. Here, take these for restraining her friend." He tosses a heavy pair of dark metal handcuffs to you, which would've hit you in the chest if not for lightning reflexes.

"Go!" he urges, ushering you down the stairs and back out to the main floor.

As you race off down the corridor, you can't help but feel flabbergasted and frightened at how this was all playing out. There's no room to digest what Morrible admitted and what this means for your relationship with the Wizard, so your brain shoves the confusion and hurt into a box. You'll deal with that later.

You shriek as a crazed flying monkey bursts through a glass window and clumsily crashes off down the hall, and then as you round a corner, you scream as you smash right into a small waif of a person with radiant locks of blonde hair.

It's Glinda.

"Who are you?!" she gasps, spinning around in a 360, momentarily dazed.

You heave to catch your breath, keeping your hands behind your back, hiding the handcuffs.

"I-I'm... with the Wizard," you tell her cautiously.

"Oh, well I could've figured that!" she exclaims, and you're confused for a moment as she points emphatically at your front.

"You have the monogram of Oz right here on your collar."

"Oh, right, I guess I do." You laugh nervously and she cocks her head, trying to figure out why you're even here talking to her. Interrupting her mission to find her friend.

"Did he send you? I hope you're not a guard; you don't look like one. Are you a servant or something?"

You grimace, thinking bitterly:

No, I'm just his stupid slut here to capture you against your will.

"No, um, I-"

Glinda stares at you intensely, her brain trying to work you out. This is what the Wizard would he want, isn't it? Stalling. But time is ticking; she's already flighty and her attention won't last much longer as she needs to get to her friend.

"You know, it's really not important who I am, um-"

"I have to go find Elphie before they hurt her! Please." She spontaneously grabs your shoulders and shakes you frantically back and forth. For such a tiny overly feminine person, she has quite a fiery amount of strength to her.

"You MUST convince him she's not going to hurt anyone. She made a scandalacious mistake but doesn't deserve to be hunted down like some Animal! Please, make him listen! I just need to get her to say sorry and we'll be FINE!" Glinda's voice reaches hysterical levels and as you stare at her wide huge brown doe eyes, you realize you don't have the heart (or lack thereof) to apprehend her by chaining her wrists together and dragging her back to the man.

"I'm so sorry about all this. Go find your friend and get the heck out of here!" you tell her before stepping away and bolting back the way you came.

You tremble as Morrible's cruel voice booms from speakers above, pronouncing Elphaba Thropp as a Wicked Witch and to hunt her down. It's too late to talk sense.

Dread swirls in your stomach when you reach the Wizard empty handed. He is unsurprisingly disappointed and snatches the handcuffs out of your hands, tossing them aside with a clunk to the floor.

"I didn't find her," you lie and his jaw clenches, but he doesn't detect the fib.

"Alright, alright. Stay with me then, it's safer." He catches your wrist and intertwines his fingers through yours, locking hands.

"Hey. I know you're upset about me and well, everything, but I still love you, okay? I love your guts. If you let go of me now, consider it the last thing you'll do," he threatens and you nod once, gripping back harder.

It's good to feel wanted, at least not in the bad way that Elphaba currently is.

********

Morrible storms back in just as all the lights in the palace explode, the electrical power blown out by an invisible energy force.

"They're at the high tower," she reports, and the Wizard drags you out down the winding corridors.

"Look!" you shout, pointing with your free hand to the broken windows and the sky outside where rampaging monkeys have gone, flying in circles.

A cloaked figure is on a broom, somehow flying in the air without wings, as guards stare up helplessly, brandishing swords, guns at their belts.

"Why don't they just shoot her down?" you ask, feeling terrible.

"No... This is what we can work with," he replies, his eyes scanning the sky.

"What's that mean?"

"Let her think she's free for now, she's weaponized herself so the people of Oz will be afraid and look to me for guidance. She's given me the perfect ascent without even realizing it. Selfish, stupid girl."

"But what if she tells people the truth and forms an army?" Your hand is getting sweaty in his grip. None of this is right, but like a trainwreck, you certainly can't stop nor can you look away.

"Not in the city, she won't. Everyone here is very loyal to me. No, she'll find a hiding spot somewhere unincorporated, I suppose, and if she's lucky, only a few will be sympathetic to her self-imposed plight. She's not the type to rally folks together and-" he breaks off as Elphaba does a battle cry in the sky, and a chill crawls down your spine.

The Wizard's hold on your hand slacks and you're momentarily forgotten as he drops his hand and moves forward, staring up in awe and fear as the green girl zooms away into the sunset.

She's made her choice, you think sadly but with reverence as you watch the billowing cloak of black against the setting sun and painted clouds.

Like I've made mine.

You glance at the Wizard, standing dumbstruck in the same position and you walk slowly over to him, taking his palm in yours, his dry hand wicking the moisture away. It takes a moment, but he squeezes in return.

When the commotion has died down and the witch has flown far away from the palace, leaving damage in her wake, you briefly see her friend Glinda with Morrible, embracing the older woman with streaming tears. By the embrace, you can't help but assume she has wanted this affection for a long time and Morrible isn't the right person, but someone Glinda has desperately latched to. She might mean as much as the Wizard means to you, minus the sexual aspect.

Everyone's made a choice today, you muse somberly as the Wizard guides you inside.

********

The palace goes on lockdown, guards trawling every inch of the perimeter all through the night.

"I should've tied you to the bed first thing in the morning and maybe we wouldn't be in so much of a pickle," the Wizard muses tiredly to you in his bedroom.

"Elphaba Thropp's rebellion is hardly my fault, mister!"

He shakes his head, distracted with his own jitteriness, pacing once more back and forth across the room, wearing a groove in the flooring.

"Come here," he barks suddenly and it's not a request.

You rise off the bed and move to meet him when he grabs ahold and spins you around so your back is flush to his chest. His breath is hot and ticklish in your right ear, voice husky and laced with frustrated lust.

"You were an awfully naughty girl today... I should punish you... Teach you something about listening to your elders, to not be in places you're not supposed to... How'd you like it if I stripped you naked and made you parade around the palace, huh? Would that make you feel good? Do you want to be called my slut? Would that make you feel wanted?"

"No," you breathe as his hand cups one of your breasts, groping generously.

"Should give you a spanking if I was so bold..."

You gulp as his other hand winds up your skirt and finds its way to your ass, hovering an inch above your panties.

"Hmm? Would that make you feel bad? Would you take the consequences? What can I do to prove this wasn't all some game I was playing?"

His fingers slip the panties down and there's a audible riiipp as he stretches them too far with a sharp yank, and the ruined fabric falls in a shimmy down your legs to land around your ankles.

"I'll take whatever you give me, your Ozness." Saying that makes bile rise in your throat, especially after today.

Slap.

You wince as his palm connects to the firm tender flesh of your bottom and he holds you still, arm snaked around your middle.

"Ooh, it stings, doesn't it? When you don't get your way? Believe me, I know. I know."

Slap.

"You shouldn't lie to me, my dear."

Cold fear crystallizes your veins, and you freeze, certain he knows you bullshitted about not finding Glinda and bringing her to him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to-"

"Offend me? That's wise..."

Your brain reels in confusion, trying to unlock whatever he's on about. Not getting Glinda back would insult him? Would it make him feel inadequate for not being able to obtain the witches? Were you offensive to have around?

Slap.

The spank jolts you out of theorizing and his breath is hot against your neck.

"Not everyone appreciates what I have to offer, it baffles me, but I understand. Elphaba Thropp is one such girl who is not enamored by my gifts and premise, clearly. But you... I expected better." Cold disappointment laces his tone and the spank that follows it sinks home the feeling that, at this moment, you are very lowly in his eyes.

"I made a mistake, I know, it'll-"

"Hush." He grunts and another slap hits your rear, making you chomp down on your bottom lip.

"I won't take apologies or excuses, missy."

Slap!

"Please, I beg of you-"

"Oh, begging now, are we? Begging to stay with me even if it means I hurt you?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Yes, I want-"

His hand leaves the target zone and drifts up your spine briefly before backing down and out, proceeding to make quick work of removing the skirt.

"Sweetheart, you don't know what you want other than my attention, that's pretty damn clear."

Well, you can't deny that.

"And now look at that, you're butt naked and here I am giving you my full attention. Lucky you." He sighs dramatically, as if this whole ordeal is a great chore.

"Gotta give the woman what she wants, I suppose." He pokes your ribs playfully and you wriggle, not sure whether to laugh or cry at this point.

"I should punish you further but considering the circumstances and how much of a day it's been, I shan't." His hand, however, goes down and spanks your ass once more, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm away. There's sure to be a lasting red mark down there by now.

"I'm... n-not your child," you manage to blurt out, breathless without dignity.

"Well, if I have to take on the role of acting daddy, I will if it keeps you in line." He huffs, wrapping an arm possessively around your midriff and catching you to reel you back into him.

You hate how your cunt clenches at those words, especially "daddy". It's wrong, it's perverted, but it also feels so... right for him. The father of Oz, the father of all you desire...

"No, I'm good," you rebuff, but the words betray your true feelings.

"You won't be the one to determine that."

He means it too, if how he handled the situation with Elphaba (now the labeled Wicked Witch) is anything to go by.

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl."

You writhe a bit, feeling seeping wetness on your folds and he must sense it too, for Oscar dips a finger in-between your thighs and briefly taps your damp entrance.

"Wet already? I guess spanking you wasn't the punishment I was intending."

"It still hurts," you whine out and he chortles darkly.

"Of course it does darling, that's life isn't it?"

He presses against you, and you can feel his hard-on against your back, his own budding wetness warm and sticky on skin.

"Will you take me?" he asks in a low voice, surprisingly tender and gentle.

One would presume the question a trick, a folly to make one feel the illusion of a choice; he is Oz the Great and Terrible after all. There is no questioning under his regime, there isn't anyone stopping him from getting what he wants. He must please himself first and foremost at the expense of others. A hunter in the grass, locked on his hapless prey that is aware that if it flees, it means a gamble for its own life.

But the man holding you to his chest with a ready cock that could break into you so easily is perfectly still, patiently awaiting an answer. There is no obvious threat behind his words, no cloak and dagger, or at least you chose to believe so. Oscar is not a good man, but he is not a monster.

"I'd like that," you whisper out, and the next actions that swiftly follow are seamless and nearly effortless.

It feels completely natural to conform to his larger body, to let his cockhead burrow past your folds and move with the steady thrust of hips, body grinding into your own at a passionate but forgiving pace. Even his grunts are rhythmic, only broken with pauses for breath and speech is when his otherwise fluid motions get sloppy. But you're too busy chasing an earth shaking orgasm to take much notice. Oscar's voice is gruff and needy at the side of your head as he carries the weight of holding you and himself upright to keep from collapsing to the floor and fucking right there. Standing up is a different kind of stamina.

"I... I should-should've given you a baby, it would give m-me an excuse to never let you go... Still can, in fact. Want one? A kid? I-I don't know, no-not at my age, I know, but fuck I... I can't pull out every single time," he pants, thrusts getting more frantic by the second and you erupt in euphoria as he hits the sweet spot, cock curved at just the right angle.

"Morrible will murder us both, we can't, what will people think..." you moan out, seeing twinkly stars as your head is thrown back in ecasty.

"I know, I know... But the thought is too tempting. I could be a real daddy for once..."

"I thought you already were mine," you gasp out and at this he groans, unable to conjure an answer as his cum splashes your cunt, cock promptly dragging out and dribbling hot thick streams down your thighs.

You feel like melting in his embrace from behind, legs going to jelly and he props you up, but he's faltering as well, all his energy drained.

"Buh-Bed," he stutters out, struggling to catch his breath.

You lumber forward with him until you reach the bed and fall face down into the cool satin emerald sheets, a second later the bed creaks and sinks with his weight beside you.

You doze off almost immediately, not even minding gooey fluid mess among tangled legs. There's the heady smell of sex and for once no elixir or whiskey accompanies it. It is raw, organic, and primal... and it feels awfully right.

********

When you awake sometime later with no recollection of the time, the room is unchanged; the candles still lit a glow, the sheets crumpled. But the Wizard is gone. For a moment, you stupidly panic, afraid Elphaba the Wicked Witch has somehow flown back and did away with him in revenge. Likely he would be too weak to fight her, or he had to flee.

"Oz... Oscar?" you croak out, clutching your chest as your heart hammers.

There's a rustling to your left and his voice comes, muffled, from the walk-in closet.

"I'm here, darling. Just getting my shoes on."

After a minute, he shuffles out with a bemused expression.

"Hey... Uh, you look like you've seen a ghost. Did I miss something?"

You sigh in relief, lowering your hand and falling back down to roll over, cocooning yourself within the satin sheets that reek of him.

"I thought you'd left or been captured, I dunno."

"I'm not leaving you. Ever," he replies, much more serious than you'd expect.

You peek up at him from the bed as he wanders over to the windows of his bedroom, pushing the drapes open a crack.

He looks out, brow furrowed in uncertainty, and you hear him faintly mumble to himself.

"Eyes on the sky, keep an eye westward..."

Then he shuts the drapes closed and steps back, humming a tune you don't know. He's half undressed in his trousers, fly open, and white undershirt with his green tap shoes.

"Do you want to dance?" he proposes excitedly, seemingly out of the blue. He's never asked to dance before. You swear sometimes his mood swings like a weathervane.

"Uh, I can square dance," you offer with a shrug and cheeky grin. He waves a hand dismissively, going to put a record on the gramophone. The melodic music comes out crackly before steadying to a mostly nice smooth sound.

"Nah, this is different than that. A slow dance, a waltz if you will." He beckons you to get up off the bed and then points excitedly to his shoes.

"C'mon, let's dance. Step right up."

You approach him, not sure why butterflies buck up in your belly. He looms before you and takes your hands in his, lifting you up so your feet in their stockings are on top of his shoes.

"You ever dance like this before?"

"No," you reply with a shake of your head as he guides your hands to his waist.

"Just follow my lead."

You sway with him in tandem for a while and then he lifts you up off his shoes and sets you on the floor, and he guides you around in a gentle fluid movement. When he dips you back briefly before finishing, delight oozes from his pores.

"Thank you for obliging me in a dance."

"Why haven't we done it before?"

"You never asked. Now, back to bed."

You smile, floating over onto the sheets once more with a yawn and he joins after removing his shoes and dropping his trousers to the floor. He picks a rose out from the vase next to the bed, the thorns all stripped from the stem, and twirls it around playfully, lightly tapping you on the nose with it.

"A pretty flower for a pretty girl." But then he violently plucks the petals off and scattering them all over the sheets, decorating the satin with splotches of red. He turns to you, eyes alight manically.

"Hey, I'm glad I didn't send you away after all! Can you imagine you, a foreigner, from the Emerald Palace sent by me landing in Munchkinland just hours after their own governor dies and said governor's daughter flies into a rage - not just figuratively - and is now a threat to all of Oz? They'd think I set this up and you'd be caught in the crosshairs of speculation! Thank goodness you convinced me not to get rid of you, by golly."

You stiffen, scowling.

"Am I really nothing more than just a political ploy and pleasure toy for you, Oz?"

"Nice rhyming, sweetheart. You are a carnal delight, but no, not a political tool. I love you too much for that."

"Do you really?"

"Don't make me have to show you." He groans, rolling over so he's on top of your body, bracing his arms against the headboard. His face is worn and exhausted, remnant of the day.

"Don't kill yourself now."

"If loving you is the last I get to do with my sorry life, I will take it." He grins but gets off and collapses down beside you, giving up. His arm reaches out, stretching to reflexively retrieve a glass medicine bottle of elixir from the bedside table.

"Fuck," he mumbles as his fingers brush it clumsily and it crashes to the floor.

"Do you want me to get that?"

"No, no, I got it," he mutters, crawling out of bed with a few more cuss words. When he pops back up and into bed, he takes a generous swig from the remarkably unbroken bottle.

"Want any?" he asks, but you shake your head in refusal.

You still don't exactly trust the stuff and tonight's enjoyable as it is without needing to be tipsy.

"More for me," he concludes, sipping more.

His Adam's apple bobs with each ingestion, and he sets the bottle aside after a bit, fixing his attention back on you. His eyes are more focused than you'd expect, not dreamy with drunkenness, and you wonder if it's possible he's built a tolerance to it. Or perhaps it just hasn't kicked in yet.

"Come here, my beauty." He encircles you in a full body embrace, the musk of his body engulfing. He must have washed up in the time you were unconscious, for his face smells of soap as he nuzzles his nose affectionately against the crook of your neck.

"Y'know, there may come a time we may have to leave this place for good... The Emerald City, that is. I hope to reign Oz until the end of my days of course, but with everything off kilter in the air because of earlier, and those girls utterly destroying my balloon, I have to plan ahead." He scoffs, mustache hairs tickling your skin as he shakes his head back and forth in obvious disgust.

"I'll get a new one fashioned up." He rolls you over to face him, worry causing deep wrinkles in his forehead.

"And, hey, what Morrible said earlier? I should've told you, I'm sorry. It was selfish, but I mean every word when I say you really are the best that could've landed on my doorstep. I don't regret it a thing and I value you, so if you don't want to be my, uh, plaything and call this all off, I understand."

"No, I don't. Just don't leave me out of the loop from now on."

He nods slowly, thinking.

"Hey... If something bad were to happen, would you come with me? Escape and leave Oz? Go back to the Midwest if we can?"

"Yes," you reply, stroking his grey hairs.

Relief floods his face, and you almost think he's about to cry before he kisses you on the lips briefly.

"I knew I could count on you, my dear. I apologize for every stupid sentence I've uttered this past twenty-four hours. Maybe it's not too late for us."

"Second chances?"

"You bet."

You snuggle contentedly into his chest, the light layer of fair hairs a comforting texture grounding you to him.

"When you asked me earlier about if I missed home... Well, I only miss it if you ain't there."

"You mean it?" he asks, anxious for any insincerity.

Funny, for a man who's built his entire empire on a decent amount of deceit. When it comes to the matters of his heart though, he merits no lies from his lover. Oscar wants to feel wanted, that is certain, and there's no tricks and sleight of hand in that.

"Cross my heart."

He presses his lips to your head, holding you snugly.

"I'm afraid you have mine until I die. I promise to never pull a stunt on making you leave again. From now on, you go where I go, even if that's by wayward balloon... I'll keep you as safe as I can. Understand?"

"I do."

"Thank you." He pauses, giving a sleepy wink.

"Goodnight, my little lady. Sweet dreams this time."

The baker was kind enough to send me off on his flour cart headed south with enough bread to feed both me and Albert, some scrawny kid from the Shiz guard. He said he was 18 but looked all of 16 with a more bald than sparse, blond mustache across his top lip. Oscar arranged for both: Ronan, the baker, was some sort of secret brother, and Albert was redesigned as a hitchhiker in case anyone got the wrong idea about kidnapping or assaulting me in between Frottica and the Emerald City. We exchanged cheek kisses in the street — the ever-loving father sending his daughter off to Shiz to get better medical care for her injured wrist — before he placed me in the empty wagon with Albert.

Before pulling away from the second kiss pressed to my cheek, he whispered, "Don't worry, okay? I'm coming down with the troops from Shiz. We'll… we’ll meet you on the third day, alright? I'll have eyes on the place the entire time. If something goes south, I'm gonna get you out of there."

As I trudge down the last bit of dirt road — Albert had made sure that I stuck to the plan and was dropped a mile off from the camp's entrance to not appear suspicious — I can't help but worry. Branches broken from trees had been sharpened into pikes and bundled together to form a jagged barricade meant to kill any kind of horse-mounted assault. The horses would have already had a difficult time, considering the barricades are atop a pair of ten foot-high hills that were separated just enough for four horses to ride abreast through the gap between them. I'd almost think that the Winkies had built them themselves if they weren’t covered in a winter-dulled green grass that looked succulent with the dew from the hill's enormous shadow.

In this gap, two Winkie guardsmen stand, overwhelmed by plain and brutal dark gray military coats and caps. If I never have to see another uniform ever again… They yell something at me, but I can't hear them.

I continue my trudging towards the entrance, ignoring them. I'm nearly there when one guard marches to meet me and within 10 feet draws his sword.

"On your knees," he says, holding the slightly curved blade in one hand.

Ever a sensible person, I grimace as I kneel, green velvet to dirt path. Poor Galinda would have a heart attack if she could see the way I was treating the clothes I had borrowed from her.

"Don't you know what the word 'Halt' means?" he asks. The steel is pointed at my chin now.

"I said, 'I couldn't hear you,'" I retort. "I'm here to see Fiyero."

"You and the rest of the Emerald Army. You're a greenie, that's plain to see," he says, lifting my chin with the cold metal of the blade.

"Yeah. Still here to see Fiyero. He knows me."

"Probably wants to kill you," the guard offers, sliding the steel closer to my throat. "Maybe I should save him the time and do him the favor now."

"You'd kill his lover? I'm sure that'll go over well," I say.

"He's engaged," the guard offers back. The blade is now in full line with my neck and, if he wanted to, he could knock my head clean off.

My tongue wets chapped lips, and I pray that it doesn't tie itself into knots. "What Fiyero does at Kiamo Ko is none of my business," I say. Hot breath steams the air in front of me and briefly fogs the silver sword. "But I know he won't be happy if you kill me. He’s not the type to let that go. Eye for an eye."

The steel edge lingers on the delicate skin of my neck. The edge is so thin that I might not be able to tell it was there if my beating pulse didn’t leap against it with every beat. He lowers it and wrenches me up with a rough grip on my bicep. "I'm taking you prisoner. Arms behind your back."

Steam puffs out of me in relief at having the sword removed. I'll gladly let this asshole cadet manhandle me if it means I get to keep my head on my shoulders. He does manhandle me, roughly wrapping the worst possible rope — truly it feels as if it were made of the scrubbing pads that I used to use when stains wouldn't come out of clothes or carpets — around my wrists and all the way up to my elbows. I have to bite the inside of my lip to prevent myself from snarking about him worrying that a lady could overtake him.

We walk, me stumbling without the use of my arms to keep me balanced, to the gate. The guards exchange something in Arjikian, and my captor pushes me past the gates. I try to relax what muscles I have left to relax in my bindings.

The inside of the camp is firstly muddy. Whatever lush greenery had covered this meadow before they came had been demolished into an earthy and sucking dark brown. Khaki tents the size of small rooms have been set up all throughout the enclave, pennants of blue with golden hooked patterns topping them. They droop lifeless, windless. That is the second most notable thing about the camp: the unaired stench. There is the smell of animals, horses most likely, but also a sweeter, more disgusting smell that runs its fleshless fingers up my spine: death.

I hold my breath as the guard shoves me through the camp. My boots have to be pulled free from the muck with each step, my legs shaking from the effort. Eventually, it evens out, but we make a turn at a tent that has red splatters decorating the flap of the entryway. The inside of the tent smells better — clean linen and only a slight lingering smell of animals — and it is a lot warmer than the common grounds. I'd pull my cape around me for more warmth, but it’s trapped behind my bound arms. The same bindings do not help me recover when the guard shoves me onto the dirt floor.

"Don't think about moving," he says with a warning finger. "If you leave, I'll cut your hands off. I don't care what love affair you have."

I lay there on my side, trying to wiggle into an upright position. The guard leaves, so I stick out my tongue at him as the tent flap closes. If he'd seen it, he probably would have suggested cutting out my tongue too with that stupid sword of his.

He may have said he'd cut my hands off if I tried to escape, but I wasn't planning to let myself starve and die if they happened to forget about me. Best to try and at least sit up. It feels like it's been an hour of wriggling when Fiyero walks in.

"Serjos, didn't say he'd caught me a pretty little fish," Fiyero says, smile bright even in the dimness of the tent. "Lovers, is it? I thought we were pretty cozy on the dance floor, but I can't remember ever doing the horizontal tango with you. One doesn’t forget something like that." His eyes rake over my bound body on the last sentence.

"It's the only way I could get them to let me in," I say, trying to push myself up once more. My shoulder hits the ground again and Fiyero laughs.

"Don't you have a palace full of warmth and food?" he asks.

"Sometimes we do dumb things when we panic," I say. "I fled the city and next thing I know the gates were shut and here you are."

"Here I am," he agrees with a smirk.

"I was trying to survive on food I could steal from medics, but I can't do it anymore. I haven't slept in days because my stomach won't shut up, and I think I broke my wrist when I tried killing a squirrel." I flip over to show him whatever little he can see of my bandages through the ropes.

"Sweet Oz! Your hands are purple," he says, stooping to loosen the bindings. "I really need to have a talk with Serjos about proper prisoner detainment."

I hadn't realized just how numb my hands were until Fiyero loosened the bindings and I can feel them getting warmer, thousands of tiny needles stabbing my fingers to chastise me for having bound them.

"You might want to see if you could talk to him about cutting bits of people off while you're at it," I offer.

Fiyero scoffs at that. "He's all bark and no bite. You don't have to worry about him."

I eye him suspiciously, trying to rub away the feeling of pins stabbing my hands. "You try having a sword to your neck and see how you feel about it."

"Why are you here?" he asks, dropping the temperature in the tent by 10 degrees.

"A warm meal would be nice," I laugh. Those perfect white teeth don't bear a smile, so I stop laughing.

"This is an active war zone. There's plenty of passing merchants along the road. You could have easily found your way to Munchkinland with one of them."

The real reason that I’m back is unspeakable, of course. I hadn't told him about Fileah that night at the Lurlinemas ball, so he has no reason to suspect that I'm here to find her or any of the other hostages that they've taken.

"Would you believe me if I had told you that you were the first kind person I'd met in that palace in over ten years?" I ask. "I don't trust people. It’s a habit of the workplace. But then… you…" I tug my cloak around me, averting my gaze in what should be a "girly way that makes the boys go crazy" as Galinda had told me.

Fiyero touches a hand to my shoulder. "I saw what he did at the party. We all did." The pause suffocates the tent as I feel him staring through my skin. "Has he hurt you? You can tell me. You don't ever have to see him again."

I burst into tears, hiding my face in my hands. Fiyero, the doting prince, presses me into a hug, shushing me and stroking my dust coated hair. His jacket is equally dusty, but I press a wet cheek into his shoulder. I can smell the smoke of campfires on him mixed with sweat.

"Let's get something in you, okay?" he says. "Hunger doesn’t look good on you." He gathers me up with himself and pulls my cloak tighter around me, keeping me pressed to him until I stop crying. As soon as the sobs stop shaking my body, he pulls the hood up for the cloak, saying, "There, no one will see your tears. Let's go to my tent. Have you ever had Arjiki hash?"

"No," I sniffle.

"I think you'll like it," he says, brushing his thumb over my wet and shadowed cheek.

We walk arm in arm. Arjiki soldier eyes follow us as we trek across the muddy ground. Would Fiyero really take a lover? The Wizard and General Minkus had expressed doubts about the plan, considering he was engaged already. These soldiers know that, and yet Fiyero does not seem to have a problem walking past them with me on his arm. The rumor that I was his lover would have spread by now, so he has to know the implications.

"Don't look at them, and they won't look at you," he whispers as we crossed a path in front of a roaring campfire.

"I don't think they're looking at me," I say. "I think they're looking at you."

"Trust me, they're not. I'm not much to look at anyway."

I'm grateful for the hood because I roll my eyes hard.

His tent is wonderfully decorated in navies and golds, with deeply dyed rugs covering the ground. Steamer trunks are stuffed in the corners, and a makeshift battle table of a thin wooden board and trestles has been set up to take up one half of the tent. A sleeping area with a linen cot takes up the other. I sit down on the cot, lowering my hood as Fiyero quickly dips out and then back in with a serving of heavily seasoned potatoes and meat.

"Here, eat," he says, offering me the plate.

I take the plate from him and wolf it down. I hadn't eaten since last night in order to better sell the lie. "Thank you," I say, gasping for breath in between licking the fork clean of the earthy and spiced sauce.

"Can I get you some more?" he asks, reaching for the plate.

I shy away from him, looking at the dusty ground, untainted by rain or thousands of trampling feet and hooves. "Oh... I don't know if I should. Do you have any water?"

"Hey," he says, tipping my chin up. "I'll get you anything you want. You're my guest, alright?"