"I must admit that I hadn't expected you to be so willing to participate in my scheme," he said, in a discreet voice. "We last plotted together a lifetime ago."

Cozette's research informed her of the real motivation behind Marcus attention, a fact she would need to keep foremost in her mind so as to not fall under any illusions. She lightly gripped the inside of his arm and vowed to help him win over the Royalty from neighboring countries, to thereby increase their trade routes. The barricade would be lifted. Marcus's insane taxes would be gone.

She used her free hand to center the emerald necklace on her slender neck. "Marcus, I've always been willing to help you. It was you who stopped including me." She may be sweet, but never juvenile. Her intentions were clear. "I want to be a part of this. I want to be with you."

Marcus cleared his throat. Cozette found herself watching him as they walked toward the pavilion, now in the open summer air. If she tried, she could smell the salty sea air. She breathed in deeply and held her shoulders straight, allowing herself to wear the cloak of royalty. Cozette and Marcus looked every bit the part of king and queen.

Somewhere along the way their history became entangled in half-truths. Marcus never told her the entire truth about the affairs of Gemmes, the thing that once knit them together. Now she had to learn any information she had on Gemmes from the people closest to him.

In turn, Cozette silently continued her philanthropy to the best of her ability, feigning that she spent her personal gemstones on gowns and jewels, when in reality she siphoned it to the people of Gemmes. Marcus had created this divide and Cozette didn't understand why. Cozette did little to bridge the space between them.

"It is good to hear. You've become a bit ... soft. I haven't seen the girl who calculated and schemed with me for nearly eighteen years."

"Why do you say this now? You've refused to utter these simple words before this day." Cozette stunned herself at the boldness of her words, but she was desperate to understand.

Cozette stopped and faced her husband. Alone, they stood squarely in the center of the pavilion. An enormous golden welded structure, ensconced with thousands of oversized crystals. It sparkled dazzlingly in the sun filled sky, tilting across their faces.

"I've never been so...." he paused and looked at her, hesitating on a word. A word Cozette realized as soon as she asked.

"Desperate," she finished for him.

The truth hung suspended for a moment, but then it floated away, to the clouds. It didn't seem to matter as much as it might have before. The grief of the lost child Cozette loved and mourned for so many years faded away. Marcus taking this step, acknowledging, plainly, the divide, made it seem so much smaller. So much easier to cross.

It is this way with grief. It can divide as long as it is allowed. The passageway between two grieving souls can be bridged, if vulnerability is revealed. Cozette had always been willing. Marcus only now opened up in the fear of losing his hold on Gemmes.

Cozette cared not.

He looked at her, this woman he hardly knew, and Cozette allowed him to look deeper still. As far in as he wanted because she craved this touch, this intimacy. She still loved him, but it had grown into a visceral, unhinged love.

She kissed him.

And he kissed her back.

Under this pavilion Cozette gave into his lips, with the promise of a ball where they would dance and make merry. Where they would make believe.

Maybe there would be less pretending than either of them originally thought.

She let her mouth linger on his, bringing him nearer to her still. She believed herself capable of nurturing him into a gentle man, a man with place in his heart for her.

Caring not for his reason ... desperation or greed ... she only wanted something to love.

Looking in his eyes, she believed a speck of love flickered between them still as they stood underneath the crystals dancing off of one another, suspended in air.

Tristan North Montagne, Gemmes After a tortuous night of sleep due to the ridiculously tantalizing creature a mere two feet from where he lay he woke with a start.

He would find the diamond today.

He would prove Uncle Remy proud.

He would make Sophie fall in love with him.

They'd been awfully close last night. Though, perplexingly enough, he pulled back from her at the last minute, not letting their escapade result in the conclusion he usually sought.

Sophie scared him, of her power over him. She seemed utterly unaware of her tempting prowess. To make matters worse, she seemed oblivious to his restraint. She clearly enjoyed it, Tristan observed, but when he breathlessly whispered sweet nothings in her ear, she didn't murmur the similar sentiments back.

How rare to be more enchanted with another, than she with him.

It unnerved him.

It fueled him.

Uncle Remy would be peeved, to say the least. Tristan had so quickly let a stranger in on their soon-to-be wealth. Foolish, yes, but he couldn't resist. Besides, he rationalized, she would ultimately be his. In every possible way. It wasn't as if he had to force himself on her last night. She greedily took the first kiss.

Tristan smiled as he pulled on his shoes and quickly rolled his blankets. He wanted to get moving this morning. The anticipation of the hunt swept through him as he methodically began to repack his bag. He folded the sweater he'd worn to bed tightly and pushed it to the bottom of his bag, before beginning on Sophie's. He'd packed it yesterday at the Auberge, helping her condense her items, yet she had managed to get her items strewn about the bunkhouse within hours. Women always seemed capable of this, Tristan thought shaking his head.

He looked at Sophie, and just one glance sidetracked him from the task at hand. Her lips pouted in her sleep, her dark hair a mess of tangles. He wanted to strum his fingers though the tendrils, push her hair away, and kiss her neck.

Shaking the thoughts away, he knew it was slightly creepy to watch her sleep anyhow, and instead continued to pack their bags.

His hand brushed against a box he didn't remember bringing. He pulled out the black box, and opened it curiously.

He gasped, seeing the eight-sided diamond, the seventh tresor he searched for.

He took it out of the box silently, wanting to be certain. He inhaled, beholding the prized diamond, and also the lost ring of Gemmes.

The fabled ring, supposedly lost generations ago by the Queen of Gemmes, in the woods, was also the crystal-clear diamond the size of a plum, clear as glass, the link to the future, the jewel of the past. He had memorized the words from the Lore of the Cavern and it silently slipped off his tongue as he accepted what he held.

He had the sixth, solitary thing, he sought.

He looked at Sophie, considering her, and he became vulnerable, scared. What was this wild creature doing here, with him, with the diamond?

His gut churned as the truth dawned on him.

"Sophie," he said, his voice forcibly even. "Wake up." He shook her arm. She stirred.

"Ugh. Let me sleep," she whined, shrugging him off.

"No, I need to talk to you. Now."

"Be a doll and give me a few more minutes." She pushed his arm away, burrowing herself under the blankets.

Tristan had no time for her games, and in exasperation raised his voice.

"I need to talk to you. Now. About this!" He shoved the box in her face, his anger flaring.

Sophie sat up annoyed, but her eyes grew wide in a flash, and she grabbed the diamond from him.

"Oh Hedge, what are you doing, shuffling through my things?" she asked accusingly.

"Me? You are questioning me? You are the spy. The informant. The cheat," he said pointing his finger at her.

"I am none of those things." She glared at him.

"Then explain why you have the sixth gemstone, but agreed to come with me to the Montagne to look for the very thing you possess!" he shouted, outraged at her dismissal.

"Don't accuse me of being a liar! I didn't know I had it until last night!"

"You expect me to believe that?" He stopped inches from her face.

"I don't care what you believe. It was a present from Henri, when he proposed, the night I left the Vallee." Sophie glowered at him, as she pushed him away at his shoulders.

"You are a poor girl, from a poor town, yet your beau had the most lucrative stone in Gemmes? Impossible to believe."

"Give it a rest, would you? I'm not attempting to prove myself to you. Henri had it, before you did so be mad at him. I work for no one. Wouldn't even want to. If you don't trust me, fine. I'll go."

Tristan looked at her heatedly. He wanted to be angry, livid, and irate, but the idea of her leaving caused his chest to ache, his face numb. He needed her like he had needed to breathe.

More than anything.

"It is a bit of a coincidence, you'll give me that, right?" Tristan asked.

Sophie jerked her shoulders back and gave a sharp laugh.

"It is quite a fluke," she agreed.

"You expect me to believe you had it, unknowingly?"

"Are you sure it's the precise gem?" she asked. "It has a band attached."

Tristan explained the queen's lost ring that had vanished years ago in the woods. How powerful it made this particular stone.

"Are you going to steal the diamond and kick me out then?" Sophie questioned him.

"I can't let you go."

Tristan knew what little choice he had. He couldn't let Sophie leave; it wasn't a choice, especially now that she knew where the other gems were located. He had impulsively shown her where they were hidden. He'd practically already given away everything he and Uncle Remy sought. Such a reckless fool.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked demurely, her gown falling off her shoulder, seductively.

Tristan realized she acted coy on purpose. He didn't care.

"Kiss me. Prove your innocence," he requested.

"This may be the one time in my life I am innocent."

"I'm counting on it."

Tristan pulled her to him, and they kissed like they had the night before. The tension of the morning melting as Sophie wrapped her arms around his waist, falling into him.

In that moment, as much as he craved the diamond, he wanted her more.

Marcus Palace Royale, Gemmes Drake sent him a missive early in the morning, saying they needed to meet, now. Marcus grunted as he read the parchment, and handed it back to his butler. He hadn't intended to begin his day this way. Not with yesterday being so unexpected. So surprising.

Cozette had kissed him under the pavilion, and remembering the moment caused his chest to swell. Happiness, he thought with surprise, not knowing the last time he felt this way. Maybe the woman he longed for was still buried somewhere, wanting to be found. Perhaps he hadn't known where to look.

He hoped to start the day with Cozette, perhaps inviting her to join him for breakfast with a chance to discuss the various Royal families who already had written back with keen responses for their ball. Drake suggested declaring the day of the ball a national holiday, a way to garner support from the miners. They were the ones who would be required to work harder and more often if a treaty passed between the countries. Garnering the miner's compliance was essential.

That breakfast conversation would have to wait. Drake didn't send messages like this if it wasn't of vital importance. He trusted Drake not to waste his time. Besides, Drake would enjoy hearing of Cozette and his rekindling. Old friends were good for things like that.

He walked to his quarters, trying to think what could possibly be on Drake's mind. His fleet had begun refurbishments in preparation, albeit prematurely, for the new trade routes. The King's Legion consisted of soldiers who patrolled the borders, to insure nothing breached the kingdom. This wasn't the time for problems to arise. The time to gain more power for Gemmes beckoned the king, not fight for the power already secured!

"Your Majesty, so sorry to start your day in this manner, but it is of utmost importance," Drake began.

"What is it that can't wait until breakfast is served?" he grumbled, taking a pain au chocolat from the tray a servant placed on a wooden table, carved intricately with the crest of Gemmes.

A legendary gem, found by the first man who declared this country the land of Gemmes, formed the crest. A diamond that, although for centuries resided on the reigning queen's hand, had been missing for over a hundred years. The crest remained the same; only the stone had become lost in the ruble of an evolving country. A country now thriving from the work of the miner's hand. The miners were paid jaspers for their grueling days' work, while they found for the king all his onyx and emerald, and more precious stones than that. Yet they reaped none of the rewards.

Before, in the country of Gemmes, if someone found a jewel, it was theirs for the taking. The kings in Marcus's family line had changed all of that. They created a commerce based on cravings for more, supported by glorified servants ... miners.

The two men sat on deep leather chairs in the sitting area. They had spent many evenings in this room, smoking fine cigars, drinking deep red vin from carafes. Their conversation ran deep; these men avoided few topics. Marcus held but one secret from this man. One secret from everyone.

"I received word from the Commander of the Legion," Drake began. Only then did Marcus realize that his Advisor lost his semblance of cool as a nervous tap of his foot and incessant popping of his knuckles gained ground. "The boy, the Gem Tracker, they think he found the sixth stone. The eight-sided diamond."

Drake pointed at the carved table before them, where steaming pastries were piled high a silver platter, much too full for these two men. The diamond seemed three dimensional, engraved so finely. They stared at the eight-sided silhouette.

"And this has been confirmed? Seen with the commander's own eyes?"

"Not exactly, My Lord. An informant saw the boy, Tristan, leave the Montagne after one day. The informant, Damian wasn't able to follow him because he had an ... injury, from the Tracker apparently, that left him unable to travel by foot."

"The commander? Where? Why didn't he go to the Montagne?"

"He wasn't in the North. No one has quite taken this whole legend seriously. You included, if I might add, but once he received word from Damien, a rider came here straightaway. He travelled through the night."

"Where's the Tracker now?" Marcus questioned, his voice rising.

"We aren't quite clear on his whereabouts."

Drake cleared his throat and didn't meet the king's eyes. Marcus wouldn't take too kindly to the tresor hunter having gone missing. Marcus remained quiet, brows furrowed, listening intently to Drake.

"We know he's travelling on foot. Some people mentioned a girl with him at the Auberge he had stayed, but apparently the rumor is he's always with one young thing or another."

Marcus stuffed the rest of the croissant in his mouth, thinking, focused. Intent.

"What does this mean for us?" Marcus asked coolly. "We have enough to deal with! The ball, the trade routes, are all more pressing than some insipid boy!"

"Actually, it means that if the Tresor de L'espoir is real, and Tristan finds it, life as we know it is over. The ball, the trade routes. It will no longer be you who other countries will be interested in; all focus will be on this boy."

Drake spoke with precision, as if he practiced this speech for hours before meeting with the king, likely he had. He had as much at stake as anyone if the king lost his grip on the throne.