Chapter 14: Thirteen

Voiture-Lit 1st Classe № 3 ﹠ 4

The connecting door swung shut behind Nightingale, muffling the clanging noise of the train to a low rumble. She tried to steady herself against the wooden doorframe, her head still spinning from their first encounter in two years. 

Oh yes, that was him alright. He’d changed—grown more reserved and aloof in the time that she was gone from his life. But he was still there, still the same old Hauptmann she’d known in the Evidenzbureau, still the hot-blooded raven who could charm the most cunning of swallows. To hell with the many names he crafted for himself—he would always be Fedya, her Fedya. 

She pressed her wet lips together. His taste still lingered in her mouth, the saltiness of his skin from where she’d kissed and sucked and nibbled her way down his torso. And the moment his restraints came free he had gone almost feral, the way he wanted her, needed her— 

The click of a door opening startled her. 

Nightingale had just barely enough time to drop her hands to her sides and act natural when the Wagon Lit conductor appeared at the other end of the hallway. 

“Mon bon mademoiselle.” He greeted her with a stiff bow. “Have you retrieved the luggage you were looking for?” 

She smiled and approached him. “Yes, dear Machel. I really have to thank you for your kindness.” Slipping the fourgon key into his breast pocket, she boldly laid her hand on his chest. His heartbeat steadily pounded into her palm. For a few seconds they stood silently, her eyes searching his gaze, his hand surreptitiously running over her waist. 

“Her Grace is missing from her compartment,” he finally spoke in a low voice. “I haven’t seen her anywhere else, so she should be in Her Highness’ room.” 

The look in his eyes told her he was hiding something else. Her lips curled up. Quietly she took his hand, placing it on her breast. Her nipples were still full and tender from her recent stimulation, and she made sure he was aware of them poking hard against the fabric of her dress. The heavy emotion flashing in his eyes thrilled her. 

“Tell me more,” she mouthed, her eyes urging him on. 

With a sudden jerk, her body was flushed against his. The smells of cologne and fine soap enveloped her senses. He might look and act like a stereotypical chivalrous gentleman—but the Conductor certainly had a way around women. But he wasn’t her man, no. She resisted his spell and tightened her iron grip around his hand, causing him to wince.

“Be a good boy,” she murmured. “And I’ll play with you next time.” 

“This concerns the royal family, mademoiselle,” he whispered next to her ear, hesitation laced in his terse voice. “Elles sont lesbiennes.” They are lesbians. 

Before she met Fedya, she would have probably been shocked by this revelation. But he had revealed the true identity of Saintess Rasputina earlier. Though she didn’t know how Xavier managed such a convincing disguise, she wasn’t the least surprised that a man would want to get in bed with the Crown Princess of the Aetherium Empire. 

She nodded her head curtly. “What about the other passengers?” 

“Nothing suspicious as far as I know. Lady Dragomirecki from the No. 5 is still causing many a headache for the staff,” the Conductor answered. “Other than the madame in the No. 4 berth…”

“You need not concern yourself with her,” Nightingale said, releasing his hand. “I’ll see you around, Conductor.”  

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“Dinner service will be ready in two hours, mademoiselle.” He adjusted his sleeve cuffs and walked off in the direction of the dining car. 

Her fingers clenched and unclenched, then she quickly smoothed down the front of her dress and entered her compartment. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the passing trees outside in a green and gold haze. Taking off her hat, she shook her proud locks of charcoal-grey hair free. 

“Sister, you’re back.” The girl sitting on the sofa barely gave her a glance as she flipped over a page of her book. Nightingale was sure she didn’t give her the key to her compartment, so Lord knows how she got in. “You stink.” 

Surprised, she brought her sleeve up to her nose and caught a faint note of her perfume. “I do?”

“Men,” the girl said, disgusted. “Two men, in fact. One familiar, one with the same stench as the man walking up and down the hallway every other hour or so.” 

“Sharp,” she commented with a wry smile. “I knew it was a good idea to invite you on board the Orient Express, Parthenope.” 

Her sister gave an uninterested ‘mhm’. “I don’t particularly associate myself with luxuries this extravagant, Florence. The only reason I didn’t leave this train at Lancashire is because I find the passengers worth my observation.” 

“And indeed they are,” Nightingale pointed out. “Especially the two ladies in the No. 1 and 2 berths. Have you met them yet?” 

“Princess Anastasia and Saintess Rasputina?” She let out an exhale that was almost a chuckle. “I did observe them in the dining car this morning. But they didn’t particularly catch my attention.”

“Who did, then?” 

Parthenope turned over to the next page noisily. “Go wash yourself first, I can’t bear that stench of yours.” 

“Tch, why are you acting like this is your own house…” She stopped and stared at the book in her possession. “Where did you get that book from?”

She ignored her completely, and with a disgruntled exhale, Nightingale undressed herself and turned on the shower. “FUCK! Why the fuck is it so cold?!” 

Parthenope’s slightly amused voice came from behind the door. “I used the bathroom earlier.” 

“Oh, that’s it—” she slammed the shower shut and stormed out of the bathroom dripping wet “—you’re coming in with me. Now.” 

“H-huh? W-w-wait, sister, my book! What do you think you’re doing?! NO—” Her scream was cut off by a torrent of ice-cold water Nightingale had aimed straight at her face. 

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