Chapter Forty-Seven: The Night The Raven Lost Its Wings I
1616 Words
Rheyes Kerhid Norvig Yarez
Rheyes pulled open the door to his room in his capital villa, and to his surprise, the woman who was supposed to be present, correction, the woman who laid lifeless there for more than two days, was not there.
His sheets were rumpled, messy, a telltale sign that his maids did not grace his quarters.
‘If the maids did not change her garments or assign her a new room…where the hell is she?’
“Stanley!”
Rheyes yelled over the slamming of the door, but the halls were as quiet as they were dark.
“Stanley!”
He called again, but still, no answer.
A sudden realisation dawned on him.
Stanley only liked two things, eating and chatting pointlessly. Where but the kitchen could he get both?
Hurriedly, he stormed down the halls and the stairs to the servants’ quarters, where behind a door sounded abhorrently loud laughter.
He swung the door open, hoping that if he caught them in the act, they would at least maintain enough dignity to feel ashamed.
That wasn’t the case.
The evergreen-eyed and raven-haired girl had her feet dangling in the air from the counter, in her hand opened wine, and on her lips its crimson trail.
Stanley was seated in a stool lower than her position, telling her what had to be his rendition of last year’s hunting season drama, his, of late, favourite story to share. His broad smile fell slowly.
“I-I can explain-,”
“Save it.”
He answered curtly then pointed to the dark-haired beauty.
“You, let’s go.”
“Go?...where are you taking me?”
She drawled sexily, not in any way a hostage should.
“We need to talk; I trust you have been fed?”
“Yes, but you can still feed me; I won’t say no.”
His eyes examined her heart-shaped face, the way massive dark curls fell beautifully around her face right till her voluptuous chest.
His manhood stirred because…yes...he would like nothing more than to stuff her mouth with his fullness so that she cannot retort in such a manner again.
But she was the drunk one, not him.
He should have neither reason nor excuse to encourage her behaviour.
“Right.”
He said curtly in a way that would make her feel awkward at her forwardness if at all she was flirting with him.
‘She is flirting with me, isn’t she?’
“Stanley, prepare the horses for Kranis; we leave tomorrow evening.”
“Then I can do the preparations in the morning, can't I, boss?”
“Yes, but I want you to do them now.”
Stanley’s mouth turned into a fine line; he much resembled a toddler about to throw a fit.
“FFFiiine! His highness needs the stables cleaned; he wants his shoes polished, his grass-fed, so old Stanley has to bust his back, c***k his knuckles and do the work! It’s always work! Work! Work! Day in, day out! Old Stanley doesn’t even have children because of all this work…!”
Stanley went on with his theatrics up the halls, eliciting stifled laughter from those who heard him.
It was hard to imagine how merciless a knight he was.
After the noise dimmed down, he turned to the countess.
“Lead the way.”
She said softly, not even an ounce of protest on her lips.
*
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*
Arusei Evergreen.
“I saved you.”
Rheyes Norvig, the first prince, said as soon as we entered the room I was in before.
“Wow, no foreplay?”
Rheyes, who was in front of me, turned sharply to face me.
Again the vein at the side of his jaw twitched.
“You have my thanks.”
I said then, c****d my head to the side and smiled.
“I don’t want your gratitude, Countess. I want answers.”
“Aww, but that is all I have?”
I stalked to the end of the room, as far from his impatient gaze as possible.
“Whatever shall we do?”
I grazed the gold curtains that, under the scrutinising gaze of the sun, much matched his eyes.
He used to be the big bad wolf.
The man I feared, perhaps only less than Étienne did because I still considered him a two-dimensional character.
One who could kill me.
‘Can he?’
‘No…If he does, I might go back to Étienne’s palace…and redo the past two days all over again!’
“Haaah…fuck.”
“Excuse me?”
He asked sharply, a deep frown leading his rough but handsome face.
He resembled a lumberjack; if only his build weren’t twice as massive as theirs. Still, much could be said about the deepness of his voice.
Each time he spoke, I felt my eyes edge on fluttering shut, just so that the shivers down my spine would settle.
“I did not mean that for you to hear...it’s just…my predicament. Please, ignore that.”
I responded, then sat where he gestured.
“The painter, what did you say to him?”
“Painter.”
I c****d my head to the side.
“Gildoff.”
He answered, then his large hands wrapped around the edge of the opposite seat to mine, ready to settle opposite me.
I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t keep from gnawing at my bottom lip.
‘I wonder if you can break me... tear me open and leave me bare…just so the hollowness in my chest would vanish.’
*
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*
Rheyes Kerhid.
She was unreadable.
Granted, the room’s lighting did not help; he could not take advantage of the fact that he was the monster of the imperial family; she did not fear him enough for that to be of benefit.
Funny, the last time he felt this way, he was before the calm oceanic eyes of his younger half-brother’s fiancée.
She was scared of him, it was evident in her mannerisms, but he admired that she tried to look beyond that, to his ‘goodness’ or whatever she insisted existed in him enough to calm herself.
Still, rather than her fragility that much made him feel overly protective over her, the woman before him felt like a beast.
As though she would devour him if he made the wrong move in their entanglement.
‘Poor Étienne…’
Suddenly, he realised why his brother had ceased to secure his engagement.
“I know him.”
She answered finally.
“Of course you do. You…”
‘ Hmm…How should I phrase it…?’
“What did you say to him to make him go back to the east?”
“That he was an artist devoured by his craft.”
She answered as though she did not think much of the question or what he would do with the information provided.
“Hmm…he left? What a surprise.”
“Why are you surprised.”
“Don’t worry.”
“How did you know he was staying at that inn.”
“Coincidence?”
“Hah! Seriously, Countess…try not to test my patience.”
“You think yourself the only impatient one?”
Rheyes purposefully turned his gaze to his sword.
“What are you going to do? Kill me? With that massive thing? Go ahead.”
She stood from her seat then walked to where his large black and well-gemmed sword rested.
A frown creased his brows heavily.
“What are you-,”
“I am getting it for you, Mr Impatinet.”
At her retort, he felt his lips rise to a sneer.
The countess pulled the sword from its standing position, and as expected…
Clang!
“Oof that-,”
His massive sword fell heavily to the ground.
“That’s heavy…you should uh…you should put a disclaimer on it.”
“Many would use their head to understand that any amalgamate of tungsten, gold and dragon scales will be heavy.”
She took a moment to catch her breath.
“Okay,…bragging aside. You get the point. That’s not the way to get information out of me.”
“…you owe me.”
“Hence my easy answer to your first question.”
A rapturous eruption of her laughter followed.
“Did you, did you think that I would answer because you asked? That I would volunteer information out of gratitude?”
The musical laughter seeped sharply from her face.
“Isn’t that childish? I’d rather you slay me right here and now.”
“….”
“….”
“You are drunk.”
None has ever spoken in such a manner to him before, so Rheyes thought it wise to excuse her, for both her frank speech and damaging Sheila, his beloved sword.
“On grape juice?”
“Grape juice?”
“Your knight said I shouldn’t drink; I insisted I should, so he fed me juice in a wine bottle just to shut me up.”
That did sound like Stanley.
“I can get you wine.”
The physicians thought she would remain laid comatose even after no trace of poison was found in her blood. But what should he care if there were repercussions to her drinking after her unexplained fainting for two days?
“No, I’m over that.”
The Countess stood upright.
“I want something better.”
Her standing caused a shift in the room’s power dynamic that greatly displeased him.
So he joined her.
“Like what?”
“For every question you want me to answer, if I do not ask you a question in return, you take off a piece of your clothing.”
“What?!”
She smiled.
'Indeed…'
'Poor Étienne.'
- Writer
