She'd seen them the other day, Miranda the willing target for Orlando to miss and then get. They probably thought they were alone, so late and not even on set; in the warehouse where practice targets have been moved when a storm caught the whole crew by surprise.
She'd seen them then but she's watching them now in that forest, wondering if Miranda is second best for Orlando the way Orlando is second best for Miranda. Everybody knows that Viggo had all the first dibs on Mir he could have ever wanted - only Cate knows why Viggo's done nothing.
It's been a really long time for Cate but that role and Mir's open smile and the agreeable, supple disposition of all of her; it all tastes of possibility, teases at Cate's old habits - makes her want to be terrible and beautiful as the dawn again, want to take and to bend, want to rule.
So she waits, for the elf to be finished and zipping his jeans again, for the afterglow to fade a bit.
She waits, and she checks for that certain gleam of greed she's seen before in the maiden's eyes.
She waits, until the unforgettable tempo for it comes back to her in a rush and she swoops in to pin with hips and glare and hands all in flawless succession, then bends, and bites, and claims.
Lothlorien has never been more fragrant than herenow, real flower scents and Miranda's breath of surrender a glorious alchemy of rebirth that Cate absorbs in total wonder.
A little rush of breeze in the tall trees around hisses a perfect yesss.