Life in a Goblet (Diabolic Lovers fanfic) (Boyxboy)

Chapter 2

Sphinx and Zaire take great care in showing our guests their respective rooms. I follow the group from a distance, watching their small habits and quirks. I do like to watch people. Especially new subjects. My brothers are good entertainment, but I can easily predict their movements. So far, the only person to notice me is Miss Yui. Her constant backwards glances seem to somewhat irritate Ayato.

Upon reaching the second floor after leaving the eldest two at the floor above, he finally seems to lose his patience.

"Yui, what are you looking at?"

"That man... he keeps following us.."

Zaire glances back to meet my gaze, and a small smile flickers onto his face. He laughs lightly as his gaze goes to the pair.

"Do not fret over him. He's harmless, to an extent."

Laito glances back to see what all the commotion is about, and his acid green eyes meet my figure. A sly smirk curls at his lips, and I can practically see the gears churning behind that red hair.

"Who is he?"

Sphinx doesn't bother looking back, but answers anyways. Chances are, he probably knew I was there from the start. He can surprise me like that from time to time.

"Our half-brother, Dimitri. Very rarely is he ever home. It seems your arrival happened to coincide with his return. How long was this one, Zaire?"

"A week. He was in the gardens last night."

"Hmm... Awfully short for him. He's usually gone at least a month or two. No idea where he goes, and no one cares enough to find out."

Miss Yui seems to be confused, her eyebrows furrowed as she walks close to Ayato. Noticing this, Sphinx remains quiet. It only takes a few moments before her voice is heard again.

"You don't care for your family..?"

Zaire shakes his head slightly, blue eyes peering back at her.

"Quite the opposite. Our family is rather tightly knit, in the case of those who are not loyal to Mother. We do not care because he always returns, never with the slightest injury. The gardens are his core- his entire being. He cannot leave them for long."

My core, huh? True, my own life is hidden in this place, but that is not the reason I return. I return because I hold my family dear to me, and because of the garden. One might say that the flowers are my core themselves. But they're just my solace from the tepid aura of this place.

I turn, heading down another hallway. I've grown bored of their conversation. Besides being a human, Miss Yui isn't all that spectacular. She must've glanced back once again, as the last words I hear of the group are focused on me.

"He's gone..."

"He'll return soon enough. Always does."

I smile lightly to myself as my feet guide me to the northeast gardens. There are gardens on the opposite side of my tower, walled by Father's tower, too. But only Father and I go there. The northeast gardens are filled with all sorts of beautiful flowers, from tulips to roses, camellias to amaryllises. There's even a greenhouse vegetable garden. On the other hand, the hidden garden has plants so rare they're practically unheard of. Dawning lilies, moonlight lotuses, midsummer's roses, crystal jasmine. Things that require patience and endless care. Plants perfect for a vampire to grow.

I do love my garden.

Outside, it's not sunny, but it's not really raining either. The barrier around the house keeps the storm outside the property gates. But if you look hard enough in one direction, you can see the sheets of rain pouring down. The barrier was originally intended to keep out humans and other beasts. Now it's a shelter from the floods and storms, since the plants could be in great danger without it. Father once said that if the garden were to come to any harm, my wrath upon its destructor would strike terror in even the most stoic of beings.

I am far from a gentle person.

I spend the rest of the evening tending to various plants. The crocus required weeding, and the violets had caught a nasty bug while I was away. It was about the time that dinner was served when I finally got around to the roses. They required much of my attention. Pruning, checking for disease or bug invasion, their overall health. I have a habit of speaking to the garden whenever I'm working in it. Always in French. I think it's a beautiful language, and suits the flowers quite well.

After some debate, I decide to cut myself one of the deep purple roses to put in the vase I have in my room. To preserve it, a thin layer of frost covers it, invisible to the eye. It is powerful magic, a magic that neither I nor anyone else here controls. The garden has a conscience of its own, I believe, one that is wise and powerful.

It must hold so many secrets, just as I do.