Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Julian smiled. It was not a smile that he displayed frequently, but a shadow of a once whole-heartedly smile, back in the days when his family was united and constant in the affection for one another. His father used to chuckle at his son's laborious attitude, reminding him of life's small pleasures.
"Son, taking a moment to breathe in deeply and forget about life's dour experiences is compulsory, if not the most fundamental. You cannot exhaust yourself, you have to preserve that beautiful mind of yours." He used to advise Julian's twelve year-old version.
The man eyeing his tailored suit in the mirror laughed ironically. His father had been a gift and a curse at the same time. He was a man of ardent authority, who could elevate each and every one of the people surrounding him. His presence required more than a simple attention, it demanded full avowal of his value and status. Men and women, poor individuals and wealthy noblemen, they were all hungry for his words and thirsty for his stories. People respected him irrevocably, bearing no form of dutiful restraint. It was lovely to witness his father receiving such admiration. Sadly though, Julian had never been able to offer his people the same mutual respect. He imposed himself, mainly because his self-preservation had been the pillar he clung onto permanently. The walls around his heart would never shatter, or even crack. They would remain unreachable, slipping through everyone's fingers, like the time that can never be revived again.
Julian's thoughts came to an end when he noticed Freya entering the room. Her features seemed weary, as if she hadn't been sleeping well. That evening was the Annual Royal Gala, an event he was compelled to attend, unlike his future wife, whose absence he had agreed upon. The reason for such a bizarre approval was the guests' libellous attitude. They would inquire about the arson, for the news were released the day before and he was obliged to disconnect any means of communication. His phone would have ceded at the amount of calls and demands for special interviews. Damn those prying knob heads!
"May I be of assistance?" Freya asked, eyeing him admiringly.
Julian turned around and shook his head in dismissal, closing the gap between them warily. His thumb touched her lips gently, making Freya quiver and lower her gaze. "Don't." He said, lifting her chin up to meet her eyes, two almond orbs that begged for clarification.
"Have you not been able to sleep?" He quizzed, furrowing his eyebrows.
Freya dismissed his hand, scrutinizing him in a deadly glare. "I am never able to sleep for more than two hours straight. Damn those night..." She stopped in mid-sentence, careful not to reveal the cause of her sleep-deprivation. Nightmares were a subject neither for conversation, nor for remembrance. They were shackles from which she escaped during the day and to which she returned every night.
Julian sighed, realizing one more time that he would never come to terms with her. Why he kept trying, he had no idea.
"Fine. I will met my informer at the Gala. He has not discovered much, however it is worthy of my attention. Try to behave while I am gone."
"Try not to be such a demanding tosser while you are away." She retorted, the curve of her lips disclosing her irony. Julian chuckled, glancing at the knot of his tie one more time before leaving.
Trying to distract her thoughts from the arson and the impetuous pressure that threatened her status, she descended the stairs in search for John. She hardly saw him the day before and strangely enough, she did feel a strong pull towards this man whose affliction was tearing her heart. Her desire to know his past was probably induced by his fatherly figure, one that Freya had neither encountered, nor dreamed about. Paternal presence was another sort of forbidden fruit, the kind of prohibited subject that she avoided at all costs. However, John's presence did not resemble the short and destructive connection with her biological father. The butler had no vice, no wrath, not a single intention to cause harm. He was pure in his own flawed way.
Like an unrecognizable shadow, John slipped through the door of the kitchen and greeted Freya, who smiled tenderly at the sight of his trembling arms holding a pile of documents. She approached him and extended her arm, reaching for half of the papers to ease John's burden.
"Thank you, milady."
Freya nodded, her eyes inquiring about the content of the documents. Noticing her curiosity, John answered knowingly. "These are files for your social and philanthropic activities. Each page contains basic information about individuals' issues and suggestions regarding methods of help."
"How were these people chosen?"
"Most of them simply completed a form."
Freya frowned, her forehead creasing pensively. "People who need help the most rarely ask for it. That means a lot of the people to whom you are referring are taking advantage of our availability to aid them."
John handed her a glass of water as she licked her lips. It was not thirst, but contempt, and Freya thanked him nonetheless.
"Your assumptions are correct..." The butler continued. "... but I have no right to intervene in the Duke's decisions. He is the one whose approval is needed."
Freya snarled disdainfully, the grip on her glass tightening. Damn that self-absorbed arsehole! She inwardly groaned, conscious of Julian's ability to twist her nerves and push her over the edge. Such a terrible effect should not have existed, but unfortunately, it did, increasing every time he revealed his possessiveness.
"If I am to deal with this issues, I believe I also have a freedom of choice. Therefore, it will be me who decides the veracity of the files."
"Oh, milady, how much I would like for my grand-daughter to behave like you when she grows up." A contemplative mood settled in, making Freya see the loving grandfather underneath all those layers of submission.
Realization hit her with an intensity that almost overthrown her. John had not seen his niece for a while. How long ago? She wondered, extending her thoughts as a meaningful question.
"Two years."
"Please tell me it is not milord's fault." She pleaded, already foreshadowing his answer.
He nodded, trying to defend his master, even though the grief in his eyes did not match his words. Freya closed the gap between them, lacing her hands around John's neck. Surprised, more like astonished, the butler tried to undo her hug, thinking of the impropriety of her action. Freya, however, could not care less about the social standards. He was a man who has been suffering from a heart-breaking yearning and she was simply someone longing to help him.
Realizing milady's grip will not loosen up anytime soon, he succumbed into her arms, damping her attire with grievous tears. She patted his back, compiling every possibility of reuniting him with his family. When his tears dried and his cries turned silent, he stared deeply into her eyes, gratitude filling his commonly-almond orbs. Silence still casting a shadow over him, Freya decided to speak up, as the lack of conversation was quite uncomfortable.
"I would like to come with you to visit your grand-daughter. It is only seven P.M. and I reckon there is not going to be much traffic."
John sniffed and wiped his nose with the hem of his shirt, a quite impolite gesture, however Freya thought of it as completely insignificant. She waited for him to respond, but no words escaped his whimpering mouth. He was in a state of awe that Freya mildly comprehended, blaming her sudden empathy for such a mute attitude. After a couple seconds of utter silence, John finally answered her proposal.
"Milady, it is quite far away. It would be sane and fair for me to mention that we will fail to get back in time for the master's arrival."
"Then late we shall be." Freya proclaimed, nodding for herself as an image of Julian's wrath flickered before her eyes. Meeting his enraged glare was certainly not a pleasurable sight, but she would take that risk, for the butler's happiness seemed more important than a compulsory conduct.
John bowed down in front of her, whispering what must have been a dozen "Thank you". Freya found herself slightly irritated, due to his clearly-forced politeness, but she brushed off her negativity and told him to ignite her car. John obeyed silently, and in less than fifteen minutes, they were on the road, heading towards a small village called Brokeville. Hearing other people's stories made Freya forget her own, and that was the best oblivion she could obtain - even if it did not last long enough. Therefore, she invited John to talk about her grand-daughter, much to his delight.
"My lovely Sophia is currently ten years old and I am not praising her, but she is indeed one of a kind." Freya smiled at the cliché, but although she despised patterns, when it came to love, they were oddly acceptable.
"She loves reading, mostly because I have told her about the immense library of the Duchy. She had promised to learn the art of reading, as she cheerfully describes it, so that I could let her see the library. Little does she know, that my master forbids any family encounters among his employees, inside the Duchy. However, I am different, cursed would suit the term better, as I take care of his business on a more intricate level and am forced to be present at all costs." He finished his rather dreary confession, forcefully gripping the steering wheel.
Freya found herself one more time on the verge of pulling her hair out and blaming her obnoxious future husband for the uncommon state she was in. She was neither impulsive, nor easily enraged - until he met him, a man who required the preservation of every ounce of sanity; a man whose lack of empathy had no boundaries whatsoever.
"I would love to hear about his business someday. I am pledging to you that I will not remain submissive, John. My gender or my marital status should not alter my implication in politics. I am neither a fool, nor a person whose mind can be manipulated. I could tear down his arguments one by one, if only he would allow me to do so. But no, I need not his approval." She shook her head vehemently, her fists to her sides, her jaw clenched. "I would not accept such a dismal attitude."
Her speech strangled John's words in such an imperative way that he remained silent for the rest of the trip. When they finally arrived, it was almost nine P.M and the moon became their loyal witness. What was she witnessing anyway? Perhaps a vow to hinder any form of dictatorial demeanour - or simply a sudden rebellion whose taste was sweet in Freya's mouth.
Apparently, John's family lived in a ground-levelled building, just like Freya's house. Her mouth was slightly agape when she entered the house and was embraced by a warm atmosphere. Her knees weakened at the sight of John's daughter and niece hugging him with all their might. Tears and laughter collided in an explosion of unfeigned affection, and Freya, although content of her tremendous aid, felt her heart cracking, as if it were a shattered glass after a tempest. She should not have been envious, but the green eyed monster settled in with a force she had never encountered before. She had never been pampered with such a heartfelt love, despite her mother's best intentions.
She bit her lower lip in a shallow attempt to hold back her own tears, but failed miserably. Being engulfed by the exciting news of John's arrival, his family ignored her completely, which was understandable, yet painful as the burning sensation of fire. She retreated a few steps, her back hitting the cold surface of the wall. The heat radiating from her pores antagonized the icy feeling of the gypsum. She envisioned her mother with bloody hands, sweat sticking her messy hair to the grazed skin of her scalp. Freya had no clue why such a horrid memory would unearth itself in the midst of the family encounter. She shook her head wildly, trying to focus on a beautiful memory in order to escape the waterfall of tears. After a couple of seconds, in which her mind oddly travelled to her dance with Julian, she steadied her breath and unclenched her fists.
Subsequently, John turned to face her, Sophia and her mother retreating to the kitchen. Noticing the dry tears on his mistress's rounded cheeks, he came by her side, his eyes questioning her state.
"I am fine, John. I am thinking about you spending the night with your family. How does that sound?" Freya inquired, forcing a smile on her rosy plump lips.
He was taken aback, and he refused her proposal, although his eyes were practically begging for more time with his niece.
"You need not worry about your master. I will take care of the impediment, but you will return first thing in the morning. Understood?"
John placed a soft grateful kiss on her hand, to which Freya gave a heartfelt smile. Sophia's mother returned and gasped, almost falling on her knees apologetically.
"I am sorry, I must have introduced myself! I was too preoccupied with my father, I am so sorry!"
A few minutes too late, aren't you?
"No problem. I was leaving, actually." She turned on her heels, but Sophia's question spun her around. "You are the Duchess, right?"
"Not yet." Freya smiled at the sight of the blonde girl holding a cupcake.
"When you will be, can you bring me a book from the big library grandpa told me about?" Sophia advanced, her steps small, but sturdy. Both John and her mother scolded her for such an improper question, but Freya dismissed their discontent, bringing herself to Sophia's level.
"I will be honoured to!" She exclaimed, tenderly cupping the little girl's cheeks.
Sophia giggled, her cheeks catching a rosy tint. "Thank you!" She said, handing Freya her cupcake. How could a child be so pure? She inwardly asked, stroking Sophia's blonde curls.
"I must go now. John, remember my condition, alright? Good night to all of you, it has been such a pleasure!" The whole family greeted her, slightly bowing as a sign of respect. She returned to her car, started the engine, and drove back to the Duchy, where an enraged Julian would be waiting for her.
Facing his wrath, although she did want to behave strongly, felt like a stinging burden. She neglected his orders, not once questioning the consequences that would occur. In that moment, when the breeze of the cold night fanned against her skin, she finally realized the monster she had brought into light. The monster in a tailored suit.
Almost two hours later, she stepped out of her car, gulping nervously as she walked the aisle towards the entrance of the Duchy. Her eyes met a bleak silhouette and she instantly stopped, her muscles refusing to obey. The musky scent of Julian's cologne filled her nostrils and she knew she was doomed. Although the moon shone brightly, his body remained in the shadows, as if light itself avoided him. As he approached her, the contour of his chiseled body was outlined even more abominably, prickles of fear roaming down Freya's spine. A steel grip caged her arm, jerking her body inside the building. The pressure of Julian's hand was painful, but it could not have bruised her. Or could have? Freya's mind was unable to respond anymore, as her lungs failed to comply.
Reaching Julian's room, he tossed her unto the bed and towered over her menacingly. A solitary tear escaped, but Freya bit her lip to hinder her emotional state. Julian noticed her quivering, but he felt no emotion, for his wrath engulfed him completely. How could she have been so insubordinate? Her lips were now swollen from the pressure of her teeth grazing the trembling flesh of her mouth. Julian's scrutiny never left her face. Her pulse quickened and the Duke could see her carotid throbbing relentlessly. He released his grip, his hand unknotting his tie.
"What can you say in your defence?" He inquired, his tone cold and harsh like a knife's blade.
Freya gasped for air, but she responded in an unusual calm voice, probably caused by the adrenaline rushing through her veins. "Do not hurt John. That is all I am asking for."
Julian laughed humourlessly, towering over her one more time. "After what you have done, you still have the imprudence to request something? You must be deluded!" He yelled, pointing his finger towards her.
"Maybe I am. However, I am taking full responsibility and am asking, even begging you to leave John alone. He has no fault, it is me you should be punishing."
Julian's thumb touched her chin, bringing it inches away from his face. "Is this what you want? To be punished because of a low-life?"
"He is not a low-life, he just wanted to see his family. You cannot steal his right just because you need his utter submission. He would obey even without you crushing his every ounce of humanity."
Such a woman must have been a chimera. She would have accepted any punishment, just to defend a man whose status was far underneath her own. Was she reckless or simply loyal to a noble cause? Julian found himself unable to answer the question, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. However, to Freya, he still seemed dark and somber.
"Before going to your school, you told me you would not want to be indebted to me. Well, you do not have a choice. In exchange for his safety, you ought to accept anything that I will be asking you to do. Do you understand?" He gritted his teeth, hissing like a predator.
She nodded. He felt the appetite to punish her, but there was a much stronger desire capturing his mind. He wanted to test her, he wanted to know how far she can go to protect her principles and everyone's freedom of choice.
"I will inform you about the arson tomorrow."
"Can we discuss it now?" Freya asked, her voice soft like the feathery breeze of summer.
"No!" A single word held the power of an entire speech, dimming Freya's retort to silence. "Just go to sleep!" He growled, pointing towards the bed. He left the room, his presence somehow still lingering. Freya heaved, feeling her body go numb under the pressure of the engulfing fatigue. She succumbed in the silk sheets of the king-sized bed, not bothering to undress.
Her mind drifted away to the moment of her mother's death. She witnessed it at such a raw age, and it still shattered her heart into infinite pieces of grief and solitude. The same vision of Anna's crimson hands encompassed her mind, but it went much farther, making Freya's sleepy body pant and gasp for air. Her mother, her utterly beautiful mother, leaving trails of blood drops on her way to the asylum window. Drops that smelled like iron, a stinging scent of rust, as if dozens of humid pipes were cast away between the four white walls of her room. The little Freya wanted to scream, to beg for help, but no words left her quaking lips. She stared at her mother, her small arms resting numbly to her sides, her knees like molten limbs. She could have yelled, but she did not. She killed her.
Freya woke up feeling strangled by an invisible force, her pulse throbbing as the cold sweat glided down her spine. Her breath caught in her throat, her hands quivered and her lips trembled. She tried to raise up from the bed, but her knees betrayed her, making her fall in a load thump. She was unable to lift herself up, as if lead shackles were gluing her to the ground. Freya turned, her palms touching the icy fabric of the carpet. She crawled to the bathroom and tried to reach the end of the sink, but her vision turned pitch-black and she drifted into unconsciousness, hitting the hard surface of the toilet on her way to utter nothing.
During her nightmare, or more likely her flashback, Julian sat in his office, drawing absent-minded circles over the scotch glass he was holding. He could not picture such a vehement refusal to subdue to certain standards. He was aware of the burden that inherently settled in when becoming part of the royal family, but he had been in the same position and yet he managed to conform to his duty. Why couldn't she? Maybe because she still has that fire of justice, whereas you are stuck with the ashes of a once burning flame. Julian answered to himself, slamming the glass on the wooden surface of his office. Could she reignite that passion to defend his principles? Did he even have them anymore? He was never a man of self-doubt, but in those moments, all he could think of was the wide range of injustice he had agreed upon so far.
"Why do you hold such an effect on me, you winsome creature?" His thoughts slipped away in the overwhelming countenance. Hearing those words made Julian cringe, for he was not used to explicitly admit something so intricate. Especially when a deliciously curved woman was involved. Snap out of it, you weakling! He scolded himself, drops of sweat covering his forehead as his brows furrowed in frustration.
He stood up from his wood-carved chair and left the room hastily, not because he was eager to return to her, but because his office was filled with emotions he could not deal with. Not then, not ever. Reaching his room, their room, he noticed the bed sheets crumpled on the floor and no sign of Freya. He should not have panicked, but he knew that her rebellious attitude could extend to leaving the Duchy for good. He turned around to call for John, but hearing a soft moan from the bathroom stopped him in his tracks. Consequently, he entered the bathroom and his breath instantly caught in his throat. A feeble Freya was desperately trying to hold onto the sink and raise up. Dry stains of blood were painting a part of her forehead, and her nails looked chipped, as if she lodged her fingers into something hard.
She was still unaware of his presence, as her weary back faced him. She could not believe what had happened, and if Julian ever found out, he could hold that against her. He was a strenuous man, whose words she remembered effortlessly. I can hurt you so subtly that you will fail to notice. She hated the distress, the weakness, the sleepless nights, herself. Everything.
Julian approached her silently, no sound reverberating as his steps made contact with the sandstone. His touch had to be light and feathery, or else she would refuse his help as she always did. His hand caressed her shoulder, as he turned her around in the mildest of manners. God, let this work. He cupped her face in between his thumb and his index, his eyes meeting hers into a collision of emotions. Grief and pain on one hand, and concern on the other. Jasper and topaz, soil and sky. They held each other's gaze, as if Julian was awaiting her approval. It was written all over her chagrined face, the desire, the need to make the pain disappear.
He picked her up bridal style, exited the bathroom and tenderly placed her on the remaining silk sheets. As her slightly trembling hands grasped his shirt, she could feel the tension melting away and the pressure on her ribcage easing up. Freya was mesmerized as he grabbed a wet cloth and cleaned her wound. It was crystal-clear that he was restraining, for his usual truculent mien was caged under self-imposed gentleness. After the stains of blood vanished, his eyes travelled down her exhausted body, examining other possible bruises. There were none. He silently thanked God and motioned her to slip under the new blanket he has retrieved from a side drawer.
She surrendered, but the prospect of Anna seizing her dreams one more time terrified her to any extent. Just like the day her mother died, she could not find her words. She remained silent, praying that for once, she could spend the night undisturbed. The odds were nevertheless fortunate, for Julian decided to guard her sleep. Not once had he uttered a word, but his silence valued much more. He slid under the sheets and held her tightly, quivering in delight every time she shifted under his touch.
Eventually, they both fell asleep, realizing that nothing would ever be the same again.