GYMNOPÉDIE

Chapter 44

            He was wrong.

The first time he heard about his task, Rosier remained silent, he couldn't move let alone speak, his throat was set in flames. He had swore his loyalty to the dark Lord, and loyalty was a sacred thing for the House of Rosier. If anyone would be in his way from abiding his task he wouldn't hesitate to kill them, too.

          Since the first time he touched a dagger Rosier knew he was born a soldier. A pitiless reaper whose rake never missed but he didn't expect that Regulus would the big stone blocking his way.

Evan recalled his admiration for the Irish girl when they were younger. Their feeling was the same curious, sibling-like, toying around with obsidian blades, arrows, and royals etiquette. Now that time flies, he loathed the witch over changing Regulus's attitude—she made Black seemed entirely foreign to Rosier, and he didn't like it.

           It wasn't supposed to be like that, Rosier tried, he wished to return the old-Regulus he knew using a dark curse. The french wished it tore them apart and saved Regulus from unnecessary crap of sweet nothings and heartbreak but love was such a powerful magic that he could never tear.

         "My decision is final," answered the boy as he ran a fingertip carefully on the edges of his styled hair. Silver eyes darted up and down, started from his well-polished shoes up to his trousers, his fitted jacket was gleaming dark, raven feathers, with a sheen layer of satin that fitted his figure almost too perfectly. His mannerism weighed the embodiment and screamed the name the Noble House of Black.

          More pronounced—his knuckles were pallid, tinged olive, no longer had the bruises from his usual temperament issues, or the burnt from acidic potions chemicals. His face held no amusement, almost bored, he had seen himself dressed like this countless of time. His lips sealed as he studied his reflection. Habitually, Black appeared deadly, unwelcoming, that evening he was void night sky. A perfect dark canvas.

The corner of his lips twitched, smirking as he buttoned the jacket and spoke. "I'm staying with her for a week. All set."

        "What about your parents?" inquired Evan, his tone was entirely unpleasant. Eyebrows furrowed as he queried. "Are you staying in Isle of Glass, then?"

        "I sent them a letter the other day, I'm sure my father can explain it to my mother. And no—Gemma wished to go somewhere else." replied the boy, face vacant of expression as he watched Rosier chugged empty his flask aggressively—almost as if he was angered by his answer. His lips curved upward at that, though he didn't want to pay that much mind.

          "What if the Dark Lord calls for you?"

          The silence was loud at Evan's question. Black stilled for a moment before he arched his eyebrows. "I'm sure he won't, besides wasn't it you, who spent loads amount of time in that Mansion. You are his golden boy, are you not?" queried Black, Evan tore his gaze away with defiance. "If one of us will receive a task, it should be you, Rosier. I do not foresee the dark Lord needing an Alchemist just yet."

         "You are moronic, Regulus." Evan's chuckle was a drunken type, he almost choked on his own breath with his carmine face and tired-eyes. "You should hear yourself right now, you are an imbibed clown over a girl—" he paused, mumbling gibberish in french as he tore his gaze away. Regulus arched an eyebrow watching him from the corner of his eyes. "Over a witch that you can't trust—Goddamit, Black . . . you're sickening."

         "I don't need your opinion on this matter." spat Regulus, silver irises narrowed at the drunk boy, angered by his ramble. Black stirred to the side and flicked his wand to shut a medium backpack he had packed for the journey, placing it on the side of his four-poster bed then shut the curtain. "I am legally allowed to do anything I want, even to leave my house if I wish to, I'm 17 this Solstice, Evs."