Pandora
♡
"Let's get this over with." I affirm to myself when we stand in front of a pair of heavy metal doors.The guard keeping watch pushes one of them open when I signal him that I'm ready to be confronted with the frenzy going on inside, yet still taking a barely noticeable step back when every laughing person pauses once my presence is taken note of. Even the many men holding a glass of beer, let the glass rest on their lips when they recognise my misfired form through the reflection of the glass. I knew this would happen, so I pay no heed to the girl retreating to the corned of my mind in disappointment.
Youthful sobs echoing in the distance when the doors behind her close, my vulnerability staying locked in with her. From behind a group of buff looking men, Adonis appears. A genuine smile contouring his face, and I excuse Eleanor when I step in.
"Pandora, you came!" The happiness in his voice seeming oddly mischievous.
"Of course I did!" It's not like you gave me a choice anyway. Ignoring a couple of glares thrown my way, I'm pleased that the majority of them overlook my presence.
"Where is Damian, I would like to have a word." I say looking around, but not spotting the platinum cropped cut anywhere.
"Oh, Damian? He's probably drowning his heart in alcohol somewhere or hooking up with a maid in the dorms upstairs." the casualty in his voice hinting that this is a regular occurrence.
"'Drown his heart,' how so?"
"Dunno, that's what the others always say. Heartbreak, apparently."
My mouth opening but making no attempts to agree, for I've never had the pleasure of experience the lovesickness phenomena.
"Anyways," he changes the subject in one fluent motion, "Let's get you a drink."
Ushering me to follow him to the bar where drinks are continuously being served, and glasses re-filled. He passes me a large glass of foaming beer, and from then on starts the endless drinking. One glass after the other, I silently enjoy the buzzing tipsiness making my cheeks glow golden.
Adonis ran off some time ago, and I don't care to find out where. I don't know how much time passes, minutes, seconds - who cares, but a moist warmth spreads on my lower back when a calloused hand rests on it. A face I've never encountered before smiling down at me the same way they used to. Will tonight be one of those nights again? But, I really don't want to though.
I turn my head, but whomever is in need of his weekly release doesn't give up and continues to near me. When he's chest touches my shoulder, my alarm bells go off in my head, overshadowing my drunk state. And just as my claws are about to grow in length and deadliness, I feel the lightest sense of comfort when someone pushes him away. The familiar woodsy scent radiating from her as she lets me lean into her, my face nuzzling her neck.
"Fuck off, Luke. She's off limits."
Words become letters, letters become syllables and syllables blends together until all I hear is the beating of her heart against the shell of my ear. Closing of all incoming noise until all I'm surrounded with is the reassuring thumping, the rest of the world being nothing more than a whisper in the background. Unfortunately, my peace doesn't last long, and a strong gush of wind makes me open my eyes to the coldness of the night. My feet dangle freely and I laugh at the funny picture we must portray. A drunk, dumb looking me dangling on the back of a probably pissed looking Ezra.
"Let go, I can walk." I pout against the back of her neck. Far too out of it to notice the warmth of her blush creeping up to ears and cheekbones.
"With all due respect, Pandora, you can barely stand on your feet." she answers, her grip on my legs too strong for me to fight against. Looking up, it comes to my attention how majestic the Palace looks from outside. The lights illuminating the place flying around like glowing worms in a meadow.
"I'm heavy."
Mother and the servants always nagged at me whenever a dress was too tight around the hips or chest. No matter how starved and fit I was before, once the marriage agreement between me and the Feather Clan was confirmed they started to serve me dishes I had never tasted before, as many as three times a day. My stomach was overwhelmed at first, leading me to throw up a couple of times a day. I got used to it over time, but then my body started to change. My breasts became large, my hips seem to have grown wider and my tight thicker. I didn't think much of it, not until men started to look at me and Mother started to nag that no man would want me looking like this.
"Don't be ridiculous, you barely weigh enough."
Passing the French door at the back of the West Wing, Ezra carries me until we reach my hall where she finally lets me get off her back.
"Do you want me to call for your maid?" She says with her hands on both sides of my shoulders to keep me from tumbling over. My eyes staring up at her half-open. I wish I looked like her. I don't know what it is about her specifically. It's just that the shiny black hair, the scarless skin, honest black eyes, the stern yet gentle expression she carries. All of it is just so...
"Pretty!" I smile, letting my head rest against the wall behind me for support. I'm so exhausted, I realise then, so incomprehensibly exhausted. And then, again, I smile when I feel the nice softness of warm lips pressing against mine. Softly at first, then more determined, they move against mine, that move lazily with them. I go with the flow of the moment when one of the hands that grabbed my face into the kiss, moves downwards to firmly grab my breast. The soft moan I let out gives her enough space to deepen the kiss. Soon, we find ourselves entangled in with one another in the middle of the hallway. Tongues stroking, hands roaming. The feel of her hand groping my behind makes me grind against her to feel more.
More touched.
More wanted.
More.
When her other hand disappears under my dress to fondle with my underwear, I gain enough confidence to dare touch her like she touches me. And she freezes. Her tongue and hands retracting to look build some space between us and look down. I frown in confusion, my head cleared up from any after effect of the alcohol that worked magic on me until now. In the heat of the moment, my impatient made me forget to hold back like I normally would. Different times. Different people. Same mistake. Backing up a bit further, I breath out to slow down my heart-rate and growing excitement. My clawed fingers hiding behind my back.
"It's late," I speak soberly, "You should go." Sensing the walls rebuilding around me, she tries to approach me again, but I'm already at my door and more than ready for this horrible day to be over.
"Pandora-"
"Ezra, it's okay, really. I need to rest, so you go back and enjoy the rest of the night." Without another exchange, I find refuge within the lonesomeness of my room. Walking towards my vanity, I frown when seeing my messy reflection. The bird nest that was once braided neatly to one side, the fading blush on my cheeks and puffiness of my eyes make me a sight to behold. It was a mistake, that catastrophe that took place a second ago. I shouldn't have crossed that line with her without thinking about the consequences it'll have for the future. I let out a long breath and finally change into my nightgown. I went there to lift up my mood, yet I feel more than ever.
I need sleep. And let the sky fall on the next person to disturb me. With that in mind I lift the fluffy covers of my oasis. A streak of orange sunlight falling upon them makes me smile in reassurance.
It's dawn.
The time where all that happened the day before evaporates into the chances of a new day. The peace while the mortal realm slowly wakes up. My sleep pushed to the back of my mind, I stride to the balcony, and sit on the balustrade. My feet hanging high above the ground, the presence of Sol somehow manages to make me feel less alone than before. He's by now well used to my silent company, since sitting at the edge of the balustrade of my balcony back at home is something I've done countless times before. Younger me used to be petrified, at first, of looking down to notice how far she was from everything and everyone.
She would love to sit outside the balcony of her chambers on rainy days. The sound of pouring rain overshadowing her cries. And the storm of droplets falling in waterfalls over her would make her feel less lonely, as if the Gods feel for her the way no one else did. As if they could hear her silent cries, and feel the taste of her tears in the saltiness of the sea. As if they knew that one of their children was succumbing to the darkness lingering. They gave her the world to wry with, they gave her a home.
And so I sit, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of daybreak. Unfortunately for me, by the time the orange in the sky has made place for a softer shade of pink, my peace is disturbed by the very unwanted shadows of the voyeur who seems to love to creep up on me.
"Are you here to push me over the edge?" I ask, not looking away from Sol as he slowly rises from the horizon. The shadows behind me nearing the balcony, until they disperse under the sun.
"Not today."
"Then cease the mysterious-man act and come sit next to me. I'm in deer need of company."
"And I'm the ideal image you have of company?" The mocking tone at which he speaks approaches me, until I feel his presence at the right side of me. The distance between us enough for me to bare with him for now.
"You're the only one who doesn't fear me." I say, and I would be a terrible liar if I didn't admit that it feels somewhat agreeable, to have someone converse with you. Even if it's with a man who'll most likely end with his heart in my hand.
"That's because there's nothing to fear about you, Precious." The joking manner at which he speak suggesting that he genuinely finds the idea of him fearing me funny.
"How so?"
"Do you think the tiger fears his cousin the cat?"
"No?" I rather ask, looking up to him for the first time. Under the morning sun, his skin somehow looks more lively. The sickening paleness of if evened out to a light shade of ivory. The dark under his eyes gone, his eyes clear with rest. His dark locks messy as if he just got out of bed and didn't even bother to comb them.
"Why do you think that is, they're both from the same family after all?" he speaks as I observe him, the tips of his fangs poking out from the in-between of his dark lips.
"Because even a tiger knows that a single one of his teeth can easily overshadow all of the cat's claws."
"Exactly!" he pokes my side with his clawed index finger, making me almost fall over the edge.
"Are you mad, I could have fallen!" I curse him out, sliding with my feet back on the trusted marble of my balcony.
"We may both be mortals, Precious. But why would I fear you, a monster, when I'm an even greater one?" The mocking tone he keeps up with me affects me far more than he should. And I try to change the subject in a very clumsy attempt.
"What's up with the 'Precious', anyway. I have a name and a title, you know?"
"I'm aware, but I don't remember you giving me either of those." he smile smugly, and I bite my lip to keep myself from snapping at him. The chill morning breeze sending a shiver down my spine that causes my nipples to harden, and I consciously cross my arms over my chest, before walking back in my room. Him following me closely behind, like a lost puppy.
"It's Princess Pandora."
"Princess, huh?" He pretends to be deep in thought for a solid minute, his clawed index finger tapping against his chin.
"No," he dramatically announces, "No will do Your Grace, I think I'll keep it to 'Precious'." My hands clench in fists to hide my growing claws from showing, and the stinging feeling of punctured skin manages to wake up my other half.
"Your turn. I gave you my name. It's only fair you give me yours."
The crazed smile never leaving his face.
"The people here call me Ciaran."
"Ciaran?" I repeat doubtfully, surprising myself for expecting something else.
"What? Doesn't the name suit me?" He acts hurt, his pupils seeming to dilate a little bit more each time I blink.
"It's not that, I guess I expected something more.."
"Scary?"
"No. I mean, I suppose. I'm not sure, just not-"
"Ciaran." he finishes for me.
"Yes." I think. Very much aware that the sun is up, and Eleanor could knock on my door at any minute now.
"Then, Precious, what name do you think would suit me?" He asks, his tone sharpened and daring me to play my next move. I mirror his previous movement, and tap my index finger against my chin in pretence.
"Bastard." I say in confidence, almost regretting it instantly when his pupils retract to the needle-thin width of when I first met him. His claws on my neck, mine on his heart. I fight against my heartbeat that threatened to accelerate. His head falls forward, the longer strands of hair keeping me from seeing how his face consorts from one of wonder to one of genuine amusement. A face-splitting smile, becoming a row of soft chuckles that evil into a full blown laughter. Raising his head back up, I surmise myself when my mouth muscles want to join him, and I can't help but secretly, very lightly, smile at the funny sound coming from the depths of his chest.
"I knew it was the right thing to do." He breathes once calmed down.
"What was?"
"Letting you live." He manages to say before a knock on the door interrupts him, making me look at the door that hides Eleanor behind it. And by the time I want to tell him to scram, he's already gone.
I knew it was the wrong thing to do, I tell myself while she's hastily preparing me for breakfast, to not have killed him that night.
"Are you sure you had any decent sleep last night?" Eleanor asks for the uncountable time since we left for breakfast when I struggle to keep in another yawn. My very-unwanted encounter with Sir Ciaran only added on the fatigue that was already weighing heavy on my eyelids. Another slow blink reminding me of my unacceptable failure in getting rid him out of my entourage before he became too much of a bother, yet instead we've exchanged names. The late introduction telling me enough about his intentions to pester me further, until I give him the excuse of killing me by snapping at him. Which, by the way, will never happen. Not the way he wants to, at least. I've been trained to maintain posture and silence in even the most torturous situations. There's no way an overly talkative bastard will succeed in breaking me in the span of a couple of days. As if it would be of any help, I slow down my pace once we make a turn, the doors of the dining hall coming into sight. Desperately trying to push back the inevitable hurt that'll wash over me once I'm confronted with the well-known sneers and glares my other half gets directed at her every time she makes an appearance. And quite frankly, both she and I are becoming sick of it. All faces appearing in front of me, look at me in disgust and patheticness. Nonetheless, that is of no matter. I'm not here to make friends or enemies
As long as my people are safe from harm.
The rest is for later, if there'll be a 'later' to begin with.
"I'll prepare you some tea for when you get back." My dear maid suggests with kind smile when she notices my hesitation to open the doors of the dining hall, my eyes helplessly staring into the cracks of brown oak, recognition the designs engraved in them in an attempt to procrastinate. Let's get this over with, I look down patting my dress silk, turning towards Eleanor one last time, before pushing the doors open.
"That would be very nice, thank you." And I don't wait for her retreating back to be out of sight before facing my meal heads on, tasting repugnance for the first time on the tip of my tongue at the thought of their warm buns.
Walking in, I'm met with shushing voices, halting their conversations as soon as they catch sight of me. From where I'm standing, I recognise the significant widening of Candice's eyes, her body going frigate. The dilating of Sir Aries's pupils, who's sitting closely by her side at the left half of the table. I don't falter in my steps when the King, who's sitting at the head of the table, pauses mid-sentence when he sees me, the unknown man seated at the opposite side of my place not bothering to look at me. With his back turned towards me, I don't see his face until I sit down, and am confronted with a pair of cerulean eyes. A breath passes between us, before my neutral expression falters in recognition.
Mouth slightly agape.
Eyebrows furrowed.
The man's face, on the other hand, lighting up in a blindingly innocent smile, making my fisted hands tense under the table. The sickening paleness of his skin tone is smoothed out into a warm sandy colour. His eye colour may have dimmed in luminosity, and his pupils may be humanly round, but that sharp gaze hasn't lost any of its intensity. Different eyes, different face, but any doubts about who he might be vanishes when his silver plumb lips smile in that ever-so wicked manner.
"Bastard?"
The idea that he really, for one second, thought that a Concealing Spell would prevent me from recognising him adding an accusing tone to my name for him.
"Missed me, Precious?" He admits in delight, completely ignoring the shocked yelp coming from the other side of the table. I would've checked on Candice, wouldn't it be at the price of losing the staring contest Sir Ciaran initiates the moment our gazes cross over. Only when the King coughs awkwardly, his attempt to break us off clear when he does is again a futile moment later, do I look away.
"The only thing I miss are my claws on your throat." I jest sweetly, cutting a piece of the deliciously looking steamy fluffy pancake. Unfortunately, sweet foods can only be enjoyed in the presence of a sweet atmosphere, yet the bitterness here makes me almost lose my appetite. Almost. To make me miss such délice, unforgivable.
"I knew you had a thing for choking," He cajoles, long strands of hair falling over his ear when he tilts his head slightly, "Well, apart from -"
"Don't!" I misstep, letting my mask slip and showing my discomfort for an instant, before recollecting myself.
Don't react, she whispers within the walls of my mind, that's exactly what he wants.
"You to have met already?"
The King's question remains unanswered for the time it takes me to swallow the content of my mouth, the bastard's eyes meticulously staring at my lips and following the bobbing of my throat. As if staring hard enough would let him taste it. Never. These pancakes are mine, and mine only.
"We haven't." I discern as composed as possible. But of course, the snake senses my miserable attempt to cover the subject under the rug, and taps his index finger rhythmically on the table before saying loud and clearly, making sure that even the Royal Cook would hear it all from the kitchens.
"Oh, we certainly have! Although I must admit my surprise when she jumped me ready to devour me whole wouldn't I have stopped her." He smirks, and the itching of her claws scraping against the back of my mind becomes grander and grander until all I can concentrate on is the image of his throat ripped out, my claws black with his blood.
"Yes, however I must say, Your Highness," I turn to the King, expanding our game board, "you never told me your subordinates found pleasure in sneaking up on guests residing at the palace." Taking a sip of orange juice from the silver cup, I shrug my shoulders innocently before licking my upper lips clean in one swipe. All but much aware of my opponent's stare. I didn't have the habit of licking my lips clean, in the past, but back when I was sixteen Jonathan ridiculed me in front of the entire table when whiskers of milk drew a moustache on my upper lips. For months, the maids whispered 'Pussy' behind my back wherever I walked around in the palace, and I guess the memory did leave some traces of awareness that are quite...stubborn to reflect in my habit of always making sure that my lips are clean after every drink or bite.
"You wound me Princess, but then again," He sways his knife in the air tentevally in front of me, remainders of beacon grease making the silver even more shimmery against the incoming sunlight, "my King never told me about the peculiar habits of out dear guest."
He wouldn't.
"Imagine my shock when I found out our Princess has the habits of a nudist." I'm going to kill him, the thought taunting me to the point where I let her play with the predator in front of us. My frown easing up, the pursing of my lips relaxing until their back to the velvety red Eleanor painted them. The amusement in his eyes twinkling in impishness when I smile dirtily. The lingering taste of maple syrup in my mouth only making my words more luscious.
"I'm relieved I wasn't the only one feeling this way. After all, I never imagined that you had a voyeur sneaking around in other people's chambers, at night."
He laughs, then. And even though I've heard him laugh before, the chill running down my spine whenever he lets out those deep chuckles refuses to appease. How could laughter be so void of anything, I think while watching him, not aware that my surroundings have turned their gaze towards me, their eyes wide in wonder. We continue to eat in silence afterwards, each bite tasteless and hard to swallow. He ruined my sleep, and now my breakfast.
What more is to come?