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

08.

Worry and fear rose within him as the rain heavily poured from the dark clouds sailing above Aberleen.

Aamon swiftly traverse from the structure of the academy until the main foyer of the castle. He wracked his brain, formulating a plan that can save his brother's life.

He knew that once everyone discovered the curse of the prophecy being imprinted on his good-for-nothing brother, they might go after him and exterminate him out of existence. The chestnut haired man living with the dark mark in their household was, without a doubt, a sword of Damocles hanging above House Paxley. The duke didn't want to kill his brother but he wanted to protect him.

Furthermore, he needed to find the root of this curse and its cure in order to cease the series of tragedies confined within their family for years.

Aamon roused himself from his internal reverie when he heard quick footsteps resonating before him and he found a familiar golden brown-haired attendant and there were foot-size puddles behind her, meaning that she had just arrived. He approached to take a good look at her as he caught her attention.

"Seraphima? Are you alright?" He questioned her, the concern in his eyes were veiled with his aura of authority that she didn't notice his true emotion.

The woman in front of him nodded as she said, "This is nothing, sir." But as soon as she said that, the items she was holding have slipped from her embrace. She quickly kneeled on her knees to gather the fallen objects and he did the same. She opened her mouth to refuse his aid but he spoke first, "Let me help you."

"Oh. I— thank you." She meekly uttered.

If any other servants saw this, it would be a surprise to them for the duke they've known would never stoop down to help someone from lower ranks like them. But this woman was different from them. As he picked up the contents of the basket and the fabrics, he secretly took glimpses of her.

Her maid uniform was wrinkled with its soaked apron against its dark blue material, the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her white headband that she sported around her head was removed. It showcased the way her golden brown hair messily framing the shape of her face, small rivulets of water seeped from her follicles, trickling down her cold skin. Her eyes were half-lidded with her long, pretty lashes in display.

She reminded him of the glowing moonflowers that were showered by the light rain.

Both of them stood up and she made a move to take the things from him but he refused. She blinked at him in slight confusion, the male finding her action quite endearing. "Let me have those, Duke Paxley."

"I'll carry this for the meantime," he told her and she shook her head at him in hesitantion. Seraph came upon him whilst trying to snatch the things from his hold but he shortly dodged her, an amused smile slowly etched into his face.

Upon seeing the tiny curve of his lips, she instinctively mimicked his expression, her green orbs turning into half-crescents. He caused her to feel a comfortable warmth with her chest.

For some reason, the duke was so kind today. Her fellow attendants told her of how superior he is and that he barely interacted with servants like them. He is a proud heir of the duchy and he is one of the feared members of the House Paxley. But Seraphima studied him in a different light; he seemed like a forbearing and an affectionate character beneath his slight standoffish exterior. Well, when she first approached him back then, he was a bit uptight 'til he casted her his subtle smile.

"Alright. You offered," she stated and he hummed in response, following behind her as they walked together.

Silence enveloped between them as they stayed uncommunicative, relishing each other's presence. The two of them listened to the sounds of their rhythmic synchronization of their footsteps and the distant sound of rain outside the castle.