The Madman and the Thief

By the time the Doctor returned, word had gotten around that a party was to be had and the whole city had decorated accordingly. In only an hour, every building was covered in colourful banners and streamers, confetti floated through the air, and everyone on the street had a smile on their face. No matter how drunk they already were.

It took him a while to squeeze through the throng to get back to the palace, since it seemed everyone wanted to dance with (and congratulate) the strange ambassador from a galaxy they’d never heard of. They’d never heard of it because Suara didn’t give a name to her queen. The congratulations kind of confused him, but the Doctor smiled and thanked them and made himself as scarce as possible.

The palace was even busier than before, Oslocians running to do their work. The Doctor simply watched and dodged as he sauntered back to the throne room. “Oh, Mister Smith!” the queen gushed when she noticed him. She was standing on a pedestal being pinned into a new gown by three of her servants, and Amy, decked in the height of fashion of the planet, sat nearby watching with a cup of nectar. “I’m so pleased to hear the happy news!”

“Are you?” he asked, nodding tentatively. “Well… yes! As am I.”

Suara skidded to a halt as she sprinted through one of the side doors to the throne room. She had hoped to catch the Doctor before he returned from the oasis, but had gotten sidetracked by her follow attendants insisting that she dress according to the recent development; she only happened to look helplessly out a window and spot the Doctor returning before she made her immediate escape from acting as her fellows’ living doll.

“Suara!” the queen snapped. “What have I said about pace in my palace?”

“Slow pace makes quick grace,” she replied breathlessly, wide eyes set on the bemused Doctor, whom she headed towards, “But oh, ma’am, I—”

“I understand that you are eager to see your betrothed,” she said lightly, scrutinizing her dressers, “But if you are to be engaged, you must have decorum.”

“Betrothed?” Amy exclaimed, sitting up straight.

The Doctor’s hearts began to pound as Suara slid her hand under his elbow. “I tried to warn you,” she whispered quickly, pasting on a smile, “Just go with it.”

“Yes, my dear,” the queen said to Amy with a smile, “On our planet a lady gives one of the blossoms from the oasis to propose to a man—” Amy’s eyes turned accusingly to Suara, “And if he accepts, they both gain white in their hair, a symbol of their climb on the social ladder.”

Now Amy included the Doctor in her look, but it changed to a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. “Oh really? Is that where you got off to earlier?”

Suara felt his double-pulse quickened beneath her fingertips. “It’s more of an engagement to being engaged, Missus Pond,” she covered quickly. Amy nodded, unconvinced. Well, at least the Doctor was having a good time with someone, she thought.

The next time the Doctor was able to pull Suara aside—literally, into a darkened alcove behind a statue—was just before the feast in the main dining hall, which was full of plush cushions, low tables, and dim lighting. A very romantic setting in honour of the recent wedding and even more recent engagement.

“Why didn’t you tell me it meant you’re engaged?” he hissed once they were out of view.

“I tried to!” she snapped back. “And you’re a Time Lord! You’re supposed to know everything!”

“Suara, where did you go?” a voice called from down the corridor.

“It’s a big universe, Suara, I can’t know everything.” The Doctor noticed that she flinched when he said her name. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” he contested, positive. The voice called again, closer this time, and Suara winced slightly. “See! You just did it again!”

She sighed in frustration. “Suara is the name I took… when I travelled here.” The Doctor frowned. That sounded like a lie. Catching his expression, Suara rolled her eyes. “If we’re pretending to be involved, I suppose you might as well know my real name.” She took a deep breath. “Ariadne Vanessia.”

He smiled, face lighting up. “Ariadne Vanessia! Lovely name. Beautiful name!”

Ariadne smiled devilishly. “Now you, Doctor.” His eyes widened comically. The voice of a fellow servant repeated her taken name and Ariadne jumped at how close the scuff of footsteps was. “Kiss me,” she whispered hastily.

“What?”

“They’re going to find us and will get suspicious if you don’t, so kiss me!” The footsteps continued to draw nearer, just out of hearing range, so she pulled the Doctor’s hands, threw them around her waist, and flung her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips against his.

Caught off guard, the Doctor flattened his hands against her back to keep from falling over, but tripped the few centimetres back into the wall nonetheless.

“Suar—oh!” Ariadne pulled away from the Doctor, putting on a look of surprise. Mela, one of Ariadne’s mates, looked just as surprised as the two people she discovered. “Suara! Canoodling on the job! Shame!” Then she grinned. “Come on, we have work to do.” She turned and returned down the hallways, leaving the “couple” to their goodbye.

“This would be a lot simpler if you hadn’t sonicked my hair red,” she commented, stepping out of the alcove and neatening her hair.

The Doctor cleared his throat, trying to blink away his stupor, and ran a hand through his fringe. “Um. Yes. Probably right.”

Ariadne looked the Doctor over. He seemed a good bloke, clever, dressed smart. She felt a pang of regret that she was exploiting him, but hopefully he would forgive her. She smiled and tipped his chin up with her index finger. “S’more adventurous this way, though.”

He watched her stride down the corridor, confident in her guise and mask. After a few seconds, he shook his head sharply. Those were not appropriate thoughts to be thinking about such a manipulative woman. A strange, fascinating, manipulative woman.