Inheritance

Chapter 38: Pulse

Pollyanna felt a twinge of shame and guilt at his expression and then turned her back on him with heavy breathing and tried to control her anger as she walked further away from him.

I hate women like that. I hate them. She thought to herself.

Eory followed her and grabbed her wrist. "Wait! Pollyanna—we were making friends, why did you--?"

She spun around and only just barely managed to say in an even voice, "we were not making friends. We were being jeered at and being made a spectacle of! Grow up, Eory. Can't you tell when people are insulting you and making a mockery of what you consider to be kindness?"

Eory frowned deeply and realized the one thing he never wanted her to say to him was 'grow up'. It was as if she was confirming that he was too foolish and too young for her; it confirmed that she was looking for qualities that she thought he didn't possess.

But he didn't let it get to him.

Show her you're an adult. Show her you can play at her level. Taylor encouraged him.

"A dress is a silly thing to be upset over, don't you think? You're the one being a little childish and vain." Eory retorted.

The ancient warrior's blood boiled with rage at the insinuation that she, of all the women, was vain and childish. She growled audibly and her muscles tensed in fury.

They were silent for a time as Pollyanna calmed herself down. With a deep breath, she managed to resist punching her charge in the face.

I can't even remember the last time I considered disobeying orders. This brat pisses me off.

"I'm not angry about the dress, I'm angry that you just take abuse like that!" Pollyanna replied.

Eory took her by surprise and looked her up and down with the same passionate eyes Fjorn had so long ago and, without her permission, her knees felt weak.

"You look beautiful. It doesn't matter what you're wearing." Eory assured her and ignored her statement of denial.

There was another brief block of silence between them; but in a moment, Pollyanna regained her sense of self and crossed her arms bitterly.

Eory held out a hand. "Why don't we ignore the others for a moment and have a dance. Just the two of us?"

Pollyanna snorted. "Why don't you dance with a girl your own age—perhaps from the nursery?"

Eory tried not to take it to heart, but it bit into his confidence greatly.

And that sweet and uncertain side to him emerged. Pollyanna uncrossed her arms and her muscles loosened when she saw this dip in his confidence. And suddenly, she wanted to dance with him very much.

She sighed. "Fine, we can dance."

His face lit up and he placed one hand on her lower back and linked his free hand with hers.

There was an intense absence of noise in her mind as she had nowhere to look but his eyes as he gradually brought her closer to the other nobles on the dance floor and led her about in a rhythmic pattern.

Despite all her years of being alive, she had never learned how to dance, but it wasn't difficult to just follow his lead, and there was something soothing about giving over control to someone else.

His fingers were warm when they were linked with hers—as warm as her cheeks felt from being in such close proximity to him—and her lower back felt secure under his surprisingly firm grasp.

Her eyes widened as the ball seemed to melt away before her eyes and her already quickened pulse seemed to speed up even more.

The warm, yellow light from the torches and the tile of the ball was replaced by the dark shade of moonlight in a torchless room. The noisy room, filled with chatter and music was replaced with heavy breathing, and the pleasant smell of fire and sweets dissolved into the scent of fresh, night air from open windows.

She felt warm, strong fingers tracing the side of her face; she felt smooth, flawless skin under her hands.

"What's wrong, beautiful?" Fjorn asked her as he sat up and gently moved her hair which was disheveled from their passions behind her ear.

She wanted to say something, but her lips seemed forcibly sealed, and so she said nothing at all. Instead she just enjoyed his deep kisses and let him push her down as she began to relax again.

But the kisses became something sick and suffocating and she struggled beneath him—not because she wanted him to stop, but because she desperately wanted to say something.

She found her voice between kisses and begged him in a monotone voice over and over again, "please, just love me the way I love you."

"Please just love me—"

"Please just—"

Please.

Please.

Please.

And Pollyanna shoved Fjorn off her, but it was Eory who stumbled backwards as the ball came back into full focus.

She breathed heavily as Eory stared at her in fearful suspense and her heart was stabbed with a sharp pain for even grazing her master.

Pollyanna murmured sincerely to him after a moment, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Eory nodded a little hesitantly.

In a moment he replied to her earlier question, "when you're in the room there's no way I could possibly look at other women my age."

All the nobles in the ball were looking at them—and especially Pollyanna—but in a moment went back to dancing.

Pollyanna hoped she didn't ruin his chances with the king by making a scene and vowed to herself to behave for the rest of the night until the king made his intentions known.