aamon paxley X o.c. • the duke and the runaway

03.

Duke Aamon Paxley ventured through the village after he visited the previous officers. His schedules were hectic but it was all the same thing he experienced since young and an honor of dukedom has done nothing but changed his ranks in the kingdom.

The ash grey-haired man observed the scenes outside of his carriage with his hand propped on the window sill and his chin leaned on his open palm. The village people didn't dare to approach them for they were filled with fear. Of course, he knew why.

Rumors that the House Paxley used dark magic has existed and circulated among men and women. To be honest, what they gossiped about is true. Ever since his father told him about the ruthless spell that was passed down to the family's direct descendants, the young man was skeptical about it. Afterwards, he opted to study and look into his family's history.

There was one particular thing that stood out to him and it is the prophecy of the dark mark. Whoever had the dark mark will serve as the vessel for the evil deity and their body will be controlled by it.

It was a relief that no one has yet possessed the curse. In fact, he wished that it wouldn't happen at all. Every single thing of the Paxley Family, the family and blood ties are everything to him. If that curse happen, it will be a sharp jab to the heart.

Suddenly, there was a commotion happening in the middle of the street that the carriage came to an abrupt stop. Aamon held a look of question and curiousity as he peeked from the window.

"This child stole my apples and he doesn't dare pay! Who are you to interfere me? A thief like him shall be brought to jail. If you are helping him, you must be his accomplice!" An angry fruit vendor yelled with an irked expression on his face while scowling at the golden brown-haired woman who was protecting the wounded child behind her.

The female scoffed, "Funny. Have you had any proof that I'm his accomplice? You just hit a child for goodness' sake! Look at him, he's bleeding! Why can't you be a civilized person and properly sort this out? Besides, I have returned the apples to you."

"Sir, should we stop them? They're blocking our path." The coachman said but Aamon held his hand and shook his head. He was interested to see this escalate, his attention particularly focused on this brave woman.

"As if I care! I work for a living and if this stupid child wants to have food, he should do some labor! His filthy hands stained my good produce!" The vendor retorted, his right hand grasping a rock and the other tried to grab the little boy from the woman. "Stop protecting him or I'll—"

"Or you'll what? You'll try to hit me?" She interrupted him whilst eyeing the rock in the vendor's sweaty hand.

"Have you considered that hurting other people is a crime that you can bring upon yourself?" She rebutted and snickered. "I would like to see you try because if you do lay a hand on me or this boy, there's a lot of people that can be our witness. And by the way," the woman unexpectedly made eye contact with the ash grey-haired man from the carriage.

Aamon suddenly felt a quick gush of warmth to which he faked a cough and avoided the eye contact with her. It was odd of him to do that.

Was he flustered?

But he did discerned those eyes so meticulously.

There were green irises that surrounded her tempestuous pupils, the sense of solace enveloped within them that Aamon wanted to swaddle himself in it. Its hues were composed of a spring grass shade and an olive tone that highlighted the edges of the main emerald color which reminded him of the nature's reawakening after a course of winter. The dark, contractile aperture in those orbs, however, were a bit varied in size, signifying its anosocria, arousing his meek interest.