Page 47 of The Ballad of a Bard

He didn’t answer.

Crimson knew she’d crossed a line.

Here she was, a girl not even in her thirties and he was an immortal Saint. Even if she bore some of the eternal blood in her veins, he was a god compared to her. And yet she was trying to tell him what to do.

“I’m sorry, West.” She sighed, turning over to try to see his expression. She could make out the panels of his face, but his eyes were too dark, too far to see the stars. “I shouldn’t be the one giving you advice. Especially not after all you’ve done for Cobalt and I. If you don’t want love, then you don’t want it. End of the story.”

He shifted, rolling onto his back.

Away from her.

“Of course Iwantit, Crimson. But it’s not something that I can have.” West was staring directly up at the ceiling, his glittering eyes wide open as he contemplated her sentence.

“What do you mea-”

He cut her off, flipping over until his back was towards her. “Go to sleep, Crimson.”

Even with the arrow of regret and shame that embedded itself into her gut, she did. And when she woke in the morning, he wasn’t there.

But something else was.

A note, folded into a perfect triangle.

Crimson tucked the last strand of her hair into the braided crown that she managed to complete as she eyed the piece of parchment. It didn’t seem like something West would do, or leave behind and as she unscrambled it, her suspicions were confirmed. Because this wasn’t something that West would ever do, regardless of if he was mad at her or not.

But it was far worse.

Her heart leapt into her throat, clogging her up and startling her as she read over the note again, making sure she’d seen it properly the first time.

She had.

The scrawl was elegant, honed to perfection with each curving letter and lopping scribble. There was no name with it, only an initial and she had no idea who it could have been from.

I know you’re looking for Heartache.

So am I.

Find him for me, otherwise your brother, Cobalt, will never see another dawn.

The same threat applies to this; tell anyone about this, and you’ll regret it.

C

Crimson crumpled the note, her fingers trembling. She couldn’t find a solid thought in her head as she covered her mouth with a hand. Things like this weren’t to be taken lightly. The black ink seeped into her brain, permanently forging a place there. Aknock on the door sounded and it nearly scared her out of her pale skin.

She stood, shoving the note under the sheets and swatting at an annoying fly that flew about the room as she walked to the doors and opened them.

“Hello, Crimson.” Empress Osira stood tall and mighty before her, even if she was slightly shorter. A lace gown of cream and lavender hung off her curvy form, tucking into certain spots that made her waist appear tiny. Gems of pale amethyst clung to the bottom, the neckline, the sleeves as she beamed at her.

There were four servants alongside her, their arms full of various boxes and colourful garments, bags filled with what seemed to be glittering pieces of stars and heeled shoes.

“May we come in?” She asked and Crimson didn’t know what to say or do, so she just widened the door and let them all enter the apartments.

“Your- Osira, may I ask what you’re doing here?” She fumbled over the title, finding the Empress’s first name to not feel as decadent as the woman herself. There was no crown, circlet or diadem atop her saffron hair, but there was no need for one. “I’m sure you have a busy schedule, with many things that take priority over a visit.”

Osira waved her hand in the air in clear dismissal. “Nonsense. Most of it is sitting in a rather uncomfortably large chair anyways. Having you here allows me to engage in some much required, and overdue fun.” The maids set the boxes along every surface imaginable, finding more and more things to put down.

“What are all of these?” Crimson pondered out loud in wonderment. The servants removed the lids to half of the shoe boxes, revealing some of the most complex footwear that she’d ever seen.

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