"If you were looking to redecorate, you should have said so." The dry voice made Victoria look up from the chaos at her feet, to see a silhouette in the bright doorway. "I would have brought supplies," Pierce finished, waving a hand around the room to indicate the disarray.
Victoria narrowed her eyes in pretended annoyance, an expression that contrasted to the small smile tugging at her lips. She was stuck between the exasperation she'd felt so strongly until just a moment ago, and the relief she felt, knowing that Pierce could be relied on to help.
"You'd be so courteous as to bring me supplies to hide the evidence of your demise? You are a peerless gentleman." Her humourous yet genuinely frustrated tone drew Pierce into the room, his heeled riding boots sounding softly on the thick carpet of the room.
"My demise? It looks rather like you have plucked a few geese, Victoria," Pierce said, waving a hand at the snowdrift's worth of feathers littering the floor and furniture of the room. Normally, this was a tastefully decorated study, in soothing dark woods in graceful, clean lines, and deep green plush couches - perfect for reading. A large mahogany desk, with well-organized stacks of books and writing implements on its surface, was positioned near the fireplace, which was dark now in the summer.
"Interesting," Victoria replied, putting one hand upon her hip, "because - " She broke off speaking, as a tiny tan dog, dark ears flapping, burst from under the cover of white fluff, and jumped wildly into the air. Tiny puppy mouth open, and pink tongue flapping wildly, the little dog sailed through the air, trying gamely to catch one of the airborne feathers. Buffeted ahead of his nose, the feather danced away on the breeze of his own breath, and the dog fell with a scrabble, an oomph and a slight whimper to disappear back into the drift of feathers.
"Ah," Pierce began lamely, rocking back into his heels and putting his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. "I see you have met Scrub." He smiled, with only a hint of chagrin, employing what all the ladies of the court deemed his "devastating dimples". Dark hair, blue eyes rimmed with darker lashes, a genuinely funny and kind sense of humour - he was a bachelor of some reknown. The effect of his charm was somewhat dampened as a single feather floated in between their locked eyes, coming to rest gently on his nose.
"Yes, we have 'met'. Sadly, just after your little friend managed to make casualties of every pillow in the room. How did he even get in here, Pierce? Booth told me that you had left a surprise for me in the study." She narrowed her green eyes further, and jutting her pert chin out. This quiet study was her sanctuary. "I thought it was going to be a book, not a marauder!"
"Yes, well, I saw him today, and I just had to bring him for a visit. In my defense, he was asleep in his basket when I went to look for you." He shrugged, rueful, swiping at the feather on his nose and the ones that had joined it on the lapels of his closely-tailored jacket. "I swear, I was only gone for a few minutes."
She was about to reply when a bow wave disturbed the drift, showing that somewhere underneath the little puppy was continuing his quest. With quick hands, Victoria reached into the swirling mass and pulled out the puppy by his scruff, lifting him up to stare him in the eye.
"Listen, you," Victoria began sternly, shaking the puppy slightly to emphasize her words. "Puppies do not belong in studies ..." Her words trailed off, as the puppy stilled and looked at her with large, liquid eyes. The laughter and annoyance faded from her face, slowly replaced by a sense of wonder. She drew the puppy in, snuggling it to her neck, while Scrub wiggled his fluffy tail, licked her face and patted her gently with his oversized paws.
"Oh," she said softly. "Pierce, he is adorable." The last word was little more than a breath as joy spread across her face. She patted the dog's soft back, curling her shoulder and neck in to cuddle it further. Victoria made her way to one of the couches, absentmindedly clearing the feathers off with one hand, and sinking down, so she could lay the puppy down on her lap. Delighted, the puppy lay on its back, demanding attention, closing its eyes in bliss when the belly rubs began.
"Agreed," Pierce said quietly, looking steadily at the scene before him. Victoria's curling, irrepressible brown hair was caught up in a loose bun, and a few curls had come loose to brush her face. "I thought you would be an excellent match." He swept her an only slightly mocking bow. "I am merely a tool for destiny to use to bring you together."
It was true.
He was an instrument of fate, a desperately willing one. Destiny needed many tools to set things right, and this small dog, and Pierce himself, were a means to right a terrible wrong.
Victoria Eleanor Heatherstone, a minor country noble now, was destined to be Queen of Volornia, wife to the King. Her compassion, bravery and wisdom would lead Volornia into a Golden Age of peace, art and prosperity. Medicine and science would flourish under her gentle, thoughtful watch, and it would not be an exaggeration to say that the advances of Voloria would bring the whole world new light.
Even destiny can be thwarted, though. This was Pierce's second life as himself, a cycle repeating again. His first life had ended, in mud and blood, at the side of the road, holding Victoria's body, after she was cut down by the blackest of magics. That terrible early death was a perversion of the great plan of the Gods, a life snuffed out before her time.
This life, this reincarnation, was an intervention of divine powers, a chance to mend what had gone astray. Events could be restored and a Queen could have a second chance at her throne.
But only Pierce and the Gods knew it.