Eudora

The King’s 60th birthday. Gold dripped from the chandeliers and caught in every smile. Wine flowed as rivers and goblets crashed together, over and over. Silk banners of six decades of glory burned bright under the magic lanterns. Dancers spun until the floor shook. Drums roared until teeth rattled. For one night, the kingdom chose to forget. Merchants toasted lower taxes with mouths full of roast. Children stole pastries and dared each other to touch a guard's swords. Old soldiers wept and called him 'father' loud enough for the gods to hear. They believed this peace would outlive them all. Courtiers pressed closer, perfumes thick, rings flashing as they offered praise. Priests poured wine over the altar and called it a blessing. The lanterns above the throne pulsed warm, like a heartbeat. And behind the throne, where no servant was meant to stand, a sealed letter spun to him, grasping his attention. No official seal. The wax was still warm. Too warm. It pulsed. Not like breathing. Like trying to get out. Etched into it was a bloodied warning, a threat that came rather too late. The king’s fingers brushed it open. His eyes skimmed through as he read the first part: "The debt of sixty years must be paid." Terror overwhelmed the King as he turned to show his wife the letter. But only burnt ash lay on his palms; the letter had blackened and disappeared into thin air. The hall didn’t go quiet. It got louder. Laughter, music, drums, all of it peaked at once, like the world was trying to drown something. A chilling sensation slid across his neck. It didn’t feel like air. It felt more like fingers and something darker. The lights flickered, then died completely, and turned back on a few seconds later. The king’s blood went cold. No one else noticed. They were too busy cheering. --- The Palace boomed with people, children running here and there, holding balloons and candles, giggling to themselves about how funny the circus master looked. Servants were everywhere, trying to put things out for the King's Birthday. The gardeners tripled their speed in trimming and arranging the flowers. Dancers rehearsed as if their life depended on it. The singers, including Eudora, had already concluded their practice; all they had to do was wait for their turn. Soon enough, the Ballroom began taking shape, but someone was left behind. 'Allow me to relieve you of this burden, Madame,' said a voice that couldn't be mistaken. A crown-steady tone, like moonlight over a drawn sword. The voice rang through her eardrums, forcing her to turn back. Eudora glanced over her shoulders and caught sight of him; nope, she wasn't mistaken. It was Vynn Cassier Warrick, crowned Prince of Zuria. He extended his hand to help relieve her shoulders, but Eudora wouldn't budge. Vynn stood there bathed by sunlight as if the sky had sworn loyalty. His long silver hair scattered carelessly over his face. His emerald green eyes shone like they could devour anything in sight. A smile so difficult to ignore, accompanied by the flutter of his long lashes, swept across his face when Eudora's eyes finally met his. Vynn carried himself like royalty made flesh—towering and muscular, with a jawline as clean as an autocrat's decree. His skin glistened like an unsheathed sword beaten by the sun. 'If heartbreak was human,' she muttered, rolling her eyes and resuming her journey. Eudora had a very dangerous ability that enabled her to read a person upon first encounter. Vynn's broad shoulders and silver hair reeked of pride, so she knew she definitely wasn't going to get herself involved with someone like him. He fit the perfect description of playboys you'd read about in books; tall, rich and handsome. Vynn's outstretched arm hung in the air, refusing to lower itself; he stood there in utter disgrace. Unable to ascertain the fact that his kindness had just been rejected. No female servant had ever refused an offer from him; they would always say 'thank you' and squirm at how handsome he was. It fueled his ego. But who was she? How dare a common servant refuse an offer from the Crowned Prince? Had he stooped so low only to get rejected? 'Ahemmmm, Your Majesty. We have more pressing matters to attend to. The Ballroom needs your presence quite immediately, sir,' came his bodyguard, Adolphus, gesturing towards the Palace. Disgust boiled within Vynn's bones as he watched Eudora walk away. 'Who is this female servant, Adolphus?' Vynn asked sternly. 'Your Majesty, that female servant really shouldn't be of concern to —' 'Answer me,' he shouted, causing people to stare. Adolphus, knowing how hot-tempered Vynn was, gave in to his demands. 'Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive me. That is Eudora Cyrus. One and only daughter born to Jaber Cyrus, the Palace treasurer, and Elowyn Cyrus, the Palace baker. She was schooled at the Palace Institute of Learning and just graduated last year. She is nineteen years of age and has a clean reputation before all. Nothing of much concern, my Lord. 'Nothing of much concern, you say; the daughter of a mere Palace baker insults me, and it is nothing to you? You were appointed my bodyguard for a reason, Adolphus, and that reason is to protect me whilst ensuring my dignity as first heir is not mocked. But look at you now, trying to downplay the matter,' Vynn retorted as the anger finally grew up to his eyes. 'Your Majesty, please think not of the female servant. The beautiful damsel simply didn't want to taint your reputation by inspiring rumors that the Prince had fallen in love with a mere servant, ' Adolphus calmly replied, hoping that strategy would work on him. Having had his ego pumped to the full, Vynn placidly replied, 'Don't call her beautiful, for she is not. ' 'Yes, Your Majesty, I shall speak of her no more. This way, please, the circus manager wishes to speak to you,' Adolphus voiced, glad Vynn had relaxed a little. Deep down, his mind wrestled with him for she was indeed beautiful. Her waist-length burgundy hair and fair, pampered skin made her look as if she fell straight out of a fairy tale. Her hazel eyes had their way of bewitching the onlooker, making him or her vulnerable to whatever words came out of her pink and soft lips. It is quite difficult to describe what he felt when he first caught sight of her struggling under the weight of the load. He felt the pull to claim her as a treasure and the oath to pamper her, but his heart did not know which hunger to satisfy. Eudora was still poles away from the Palace and on the edge of breaking down from the load. She now regretted turning down Vynn's offer back then. He wasn't bad-looking after all. She could recall her heart skipping a beat when they locked eyes. She simply didn't want to look cheap before him. But at what cost? 'My lady, why have you burdened yourself so much?' demanded a voice from behind. She rolled her eyes and continued her voyage. For a split second, though, she thought the voice sounded different, warm and coaxing like honey being poured over a sore. It was either Vynn had eaten his ego or a different man entirely. Eudora looked back and found herself unable to fathom the reality of the male deity she had just seen. A beautiful, tall, dark-skinned man with jet-black curly hair stood behind her. Her mind tangled in thoughts. She had never seen such a man in her entire nineteen years of existence. His brown eyes found their home in hers. His sharp, pointed nose and a gentle scar that ran across his face made him even more appealing. His refined bow made her heart flutter unnecessarily. Eudora's heart thumped loudly and almost fell out of its cage. He looked unreal. Rather unnaturally perfect. His shadow seemed to stretch in a different direction; she found this strange but had to convince herself that she was imagining things. Amidst her fantasy, she felt her load becoming lighter. She snapped back to reality and saw him already in front of her. Eudora quickly ran and caught up to him; her mind still in a daze. After dropping off the baskets, he turned to Eudora and said, 'I am Fersus Davoine.' Adding a little bow. 'And you are?' He asked, taking hold of her hand. Her tiny fingers enveloped by his large hands made him blush a little. 'Eudora Cyrus, sir, ' she blurted out whimsically, clearly avoiding eye contact. 'Pleasure to meet you, Eudora,' he said, gently placing a kiss on the back of her palm. Eudora's face instantly burned deep red, even her nose crimsoned with her. She ran off embarrassed, silently praying she wouldn't trip on her way out. An enticing smirk ran across Fersus' face as he watched her retreating figure. She had already gone past the Ballroom when an old blind beggar at the Fountain whispered to her, 'Poor child, even the dead have begun following you. Eudora jumped around, but saw no one. 'It must have been my imagination, ' she muttered, trying to calm herself. Vynn had just concluded arrangements with the decorator when he looked down and saw Eudora running away. 'Who was she running from?' He thought. Straining his eyes further, he caught sight of Fersus; his long, elegant coat wasn't one to be mistaken. Vynn froze; his brain ran amok in fear. He immediately dipped his trembling fingers in his pocket, but his emerald green eyes darkened. He had seen this man at his Grandfather's funeral ten years ago. The unsettling problem was that Fersus hadn't changed; his charming, sinister smile sent chills down his spine. Not a day older. Not a wrinkle more. The aura Fersus carried with him was questionable. Fersus soon disappeared into a sea of guests. Vynn was about to set out to find him when the music began. He seated himself in his seat, pondering what had just happened. Even during the party, his thoughts were everywhere until a scream forced him back to reality.