Fresh Suspicions
Varbridge Palace, Ember's Rock, Saprea
Desyrae and her company made the three day journey south only to find out that when they arrived, the High King wasn't with the assembly of people who anticipated her arrival. As insulting as it was, Desyrae took that as a small mercy. His wife Queen Irene was the one who spoke on his behalf and welcomed her warmly.
One could imagine her surprise when the High King disrupted her game of cards and demanded to be let inside her chambers. Desyrae's heart thrashed in her chest and her face blanched. The persistent demands of the King yelling rendered Desyrae motionless.
"The princess is sleeping, Your Majesty," piped Cerise, stiffening in her seat. She always chose the armchair that showed off her best angles depending on the lighting, and Saprea had plenty of light.
"I kindly ask you to rouse her then," said the King.
The following silence was almost impregnable.
Desyrae knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on her. She got up and opened the door for the High King. Her ladies set down their playing cards and followed her warily.
He motioned to the maid and Desyrae's ladies for them to leave.
Reluctantly, the girls bowed and gave Desyrae one last reassuring smile before Augustus shut the door behind them. He waited for the last echoes of footfall to fade before speaking.
"I hope you find your rooms to your satisfaction."
"Oui, Votre Majesté," she mumbled.
Augustus chuckled. "Common tongue when it pleases you. Nierish when you choose to hide. You have nothing to fear from me, Desyrae. I hope you find your rooms to your satisfaction but they are temporary. You will be moved to the Queen's suite shortly after the wedding."
She nodded.
The High King was charming. Desyrae usually liked when people smiled back genuinely, but his smile was riddled with total arrogance. He was intimidating but wore a friendly façade. He could tell her that up was down and she'd listen just because he seemed so sure of himself. But there was something in the way he looked at her, like he was doing more than just taking in her presence. Just like that, his face began to look like a mask controlled to have a particular effect on her.
Yet, she still bowed to him and showed him her respect. Tauntingly, he stalked towards the bowing girl before halting as he towered above her. "You look just like your sister when she was your age."
Desyrae was caught off guard. It was decided that his words were a deliberate slap in the face.
"What a cruel thing to say, Your Majesty," Desyrae said.
The King's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "No, gods be cursed. It was a compliment."
"Don't ever speak of my sister," Desyrae said firmly, glaring into his eyes only to be mocked.
His grin faltered. "And it seems that you have her character too," he continued.
"You know nothing of her character and you have no right to speak of her. You hurt her."
"Apart from the unfortunate events that tore your sister away, you have nothing to fear from me," he said.
But there was nothing more uncomfortable than a person with emotions that don't match the situation. He consistently looked amused at her unease, even without the grin. His calculated glare never wavered, studying the princess's face for any sign of admission. But not in her words and not in her face. He preyed on her primal fears, searching for a way to surpass the locks that bound her thoughts.
"Tell me, Desyrae, are you prepared to perform your task?"
She swallowed, brows furrowing in confusion. She could barely keep her voice from quivering. "Task?"
"Yes." His eyes ran over her body from bottom to top until they settled on her eyes. He smiled like a guilty child being caught stealing candy and heedlessly took a lock of her hair that rested over her shoulder, twirling it between his fingers. He tucked it behind her ear as he said, "the task of producing heirs."
Her mouth dried. "What?"
He leaned closer so his lips lightly grazed her ear, sending a nerve-racking chill down her spine. "It's something very dire to this kingdom. Your job is to simply give us Valicios heirs. But I think you are shrewd enough to have already known that."
Her eyes turn to slits. "I am not going to become the Queen so my only job is to put my ovaries on the table for your son every now and then. I have ambitions."
King Augustus grinned widely. "Don't we all? If you do not perform your duty then your position at court is unclear and there will be no need for you."
"I can make myself indispensable in more ways than others. There are more than just bearing children." She fanned his face away but he caught her wrist and squeezed it.
"You sound like her. Desdemona. As a matter of fact, she resided in this room while she was at court. Many things happened in this room. She learned her lesson after being resilient to my demands."
Bile rose up her throat but she suppressed the urge to vomit.
"Why are you telling me this?"
His grip tightened. "So the thoughts of what might have happened to her can linger in your small brain. Take this as your only warning. You don't want to meet the same consequences as that girl."
Her jaw tightened in response, calculating her enemy. "Remove your god-forsaken hands off of me." She swatted his hand away, but then his grip caught her neck. His hand began to heat her flesh. She felt the wall stop her from escaping. "You are not a king!"
"I am more. I am the High King and you will do as I command you to do if you want to marry my son's crown."
"Any other threats, Your Majesty?" she spoke hollowly.
"I'll leave you with this parting thought. If my son fails to impregnate you, I'll finish the job myself."
Desyrae was being given a tour of Varbridge by Cassius—which was very much needed since all she'd seen upon her arrival was the route from the entrance to her bedroom.
Cassius wasn't particularly interested in giving her the grand tour of the palais, but he did so anyways because his mother insisted that they'd become well acquainted that way. But the girl was infuriating, in the best way possible. She didn't speak much, only when spoken to. Cassius learned rather quickly Desyrae Talone was not one akin to the frivolity and sleepy leisure of Varbridge. Cassius found this amusing, she was so unlike the others. Seemed only fitting, all things considered.
He turned around, noting that the sound of Desyrae's footfall stopped echoing behind him. His face was smoothed over in a blank façade. He was incredibly bored. He spun on his heel and took long, impatient strides towards Desyrae, who entered the library that they were only meant to observe.
"Desyrae?"
The room fell silent as he scoured the rows of bookshelves and looked behind columns. He called her name again.
Desyrae was inching backward, keeping her eye on a door that led to another room. That's where she saw the figure emerge from. It called her name.
Cassius turned around and they both cluelessly waltzed into each other. Startled, she spun around.
"Come, please. We haven't been to the conservatory yet," he said, looking away and suggesting they walk somewhere else.
Desyrae was made instantly uncomfortable by the flatness in his voice.
He sensed her discomfort. "Something wrong?" Cassius questioned. Then he declared, "Something is wrong."
"I saw someone following us."
"It must be our shadows. We are walking in the light. That is how shadows are formed." His tone signaled—no, required—an end to the idle conversation, but Desyrae threw caution to the winds and decided to pursue the topic anyway.
"What if it's your father?" She asked in a deliberately blithe voice.
A solemnly pained look crossed his face. "You're scared of him."
"No, I'm not. I'm wary of him," she corrected.
Cassius controlled his expression, failing to push down the resentment towards his father pooling deep within his stomach. "No, you have every right to be scared. He's not well versed in etiquette."
As much as she could agree with him, she did not like to indulge in self-pity. Cassius's face filled with concern. Unwanted, pitying concern. He reached out to touch her in some reassuring way, but she misinterpreted this action, assuming that he was just like his father.
She lifted the skirts of her dress and unsheathed a dagger from her garter, now lifting it up to his neck. She slammed his back into the wall.
Cassius's tone of reply was condescending in the extreme. "Ow."
"I don't want your pity, Valicios," she spat; an inkling of a smile playing on her face. A spray of saliva exited, landing on Cassius.
"Is that for me, love? You don't just think we could get along for an hour. Are you repulsed by me that much?" Cassius asked, feeling a bit hurt.
"I'm repulsed by any son of Augustus Valicios."
"Never make the mistake of thinking I'm like my father," Cassius warned.
"I don't care."
He scoffed. "So what? You plan to kill me in broad daylight?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you come closer, Desyrae?" he taunted.
Her jaw tightened in response, calculating her enemy.
He scoffed. "Come on, now. Don't tell me you are afraid to actually kill me."
"Don't underestimate me," she challenged.
"Kill me then," he challenged as well.
She wasn't one to bluff. She could've had the cold blade drag across his collarbone drawing warm blood. She could've pressed it further down towards his chest.
"Now, would you mind letting me go?"
She looked at him, eyes dark and storming underneath her long eyelashes. "Not until we set parameters..." Cassius's breath began playing with her nerves. The tender brush of his lips against her neck distracted her as he seduced her. Slowly, he kissed the area as if he were testing her. Teasing her.
His hand clumped a handful of hair and the kisses became harder and more urgent. Another hand slid around her waist and pulled her close to his body. Involuntary gasps of pleasure parted Desyrae's lips, betraying her circumspection.
He knew that once he kissed her neck her resistance would crumble. After just a few delicate touches from his warm lips, her hands started to do his bidding. They fell down to his back as her head swam, all previous thoughts stopping in their tracks. He easily slid his fingers down her skin to reach for the dagger that she held at his neck. He forcefully pinned her back to the wall, holding her dagger to her chest.
Her heart began to beat rapidly and drummed in her chest. Foolish. She never stopped him when he put his lips on her neck.
"Hmm," he hummed against her skin. "If I had known that was all it took to get you like this I would've let you use that dagger on me sooner. And what was all that talk about wanting nothing to do with me? Here I was, thinking that you were repulsed by me, but I believe it's the exact opposite."
"The first rule is that you will not touch me without permission."
"Of course. But I don't remember you giving me the same courtesy," he chuckled.
"Or I will kill you once I get that crown," she hissed, recomposing herself with what little dignity she had left.
"Kill me?" He mused. "How poetic."
"Yes. I will kill you and your father."
He rolled his eyes and played along. "If that's the case, I'd like to be buried far away from him. But since you will be a Valicios by law, there will be no murdering while I have you under guard. You will be my wife and you will be loyal to me, so if I die then I'll make sure you will to. I do not need an enemy loitering in my home. Do you understand?"
The figure she had seen before reappeared.
Desyrae wrapped a hand around Cassius's wrist, sending a pulse of electricity through his body that was enough to make him recoil. He yelped as he shook his hand. She ran to the end of the corridor and followed the woman's flowing dress.
The woman was very white and ran like an acrobat.
Cassius called after Desyrae while cursing her. She didn't spare a glance at him as she ran. Strangely enough, with every step she took closer to the woman, the lights flickered. They burned out and kicked on again so brightly that they whined in their bulbs. The surge was too strong and Desyrae knew for a fact it wasn't her doing.
One by one, they popped and it rained shattering glass on the polished floor.
Behind her, Cassius was dodging the bulbs as they wailed apart. "Must I send for the guards?"
Desyrae ran into an eerie antechamber that was dimly lit with candles. It was empty.
"These are private chambers. There is a reason why we avoided—" Cassius's eyes widened, fixed on the woman before them.
In the corner of the room, she was there, skulking. It was Desdemona's walking corpse. She was curved, tall, flush-faced, and hauntingly beautiful. Her torso was littered with dry and fresh blood that stained the nightdress she last wore before she died.
The color of her eyes was drained to a foggy mist that covered her pupils and irises. She looked like Desyrae, only ghostly and pained. Her hair was in a pulled back crown. Her ends were purple which crept to her roots.
She was as silent as a whisper, dancing through the air.
Desdemona's pale, inert arm extended to her sister with the palm up. She had cuts on them, imprints of her nails that dug into her skin. They were deep cuts on an unfinished canvas.
"Come, ma sœurette. Let me explain." Her voice was that of a shrill lullaby.
Desyrae would've held her hand had Cassius not grabbed her wrist and pushed her out of the haunted room.
Cassius was familiar with Ambrosio's ghost, but Desdemona's ghost was not as refined. She was materialized into her last living appearance.
Desyrae's breath intake shortened. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Cassius said, for he didn't know how to explain it.
"Fucking liar! Do not tell me that it was nothing because if that was your damned brother you wouldn't be saying that, would you?"
Cassius's eyes darkened at the mention of his brother. "I think you should get ready for the ball. There is a gown waiting in your chambers. You know your way by now," he said abruptly, leaving her alone with another haunting chill crawling on her skin.