Page 48 of The Ballad of a Bard

Heels, with intricate bottoms to hold them up. Flats withribbons nearly as tall as she was. Sandals with actual stones embedded in the place of studs. The dresses came next, unsheathed from garment bags to protect them. It was like a misty rainbow exploded inside the chamber because she could spot every single shade imaginable.

There, on West’s desk- a gown of peach. Pine leaves climbed up from the hem, as if they grew from the gown itself and wanted to attach themselves to the most silky fabric ever to be found. On the couch, lay a sparkling raiment of olive, with red roses all along the neckline that would create the illusion of a walking flower. Beside the bed, a stunning slip of silver that looked like it wasn’t enough to be called a dress.

There were more, too.

Osira found a place beside her on the bed, leaning over as if the two of them were the best of friends and nothing but as she whispered, “Am I correct in assuming that you have nothing to wear to the ball?”

“Yes.” She said sheepishly as she continued to find new pieces to be mesmerised by. “I didn’t exactly have anything suited for an event of that grandeur.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, lovely girl! I planned for this when lovely North told me where he found you! I hate those stupid gates.” She added quickly with a reassuring pat to her shoulder. “It’s my goal to completely vanquish them by the end of this year. But as for the ball, I had a few gowns that were doing nothing but just sitting in my wardrobe!” Osira motioned for the servants to file out, and they did one by one. “And I always yearned for a daughter of my own.”

“I can’t accept one, that’s too much generosity.” Crimson stood up, feeling overwhelmed. There was so much to look at, so much to feel, so much crowded inside her head.

Not to mention, the note that left her swarming.

“You can and you will.” The Empress brought her back before her, turning her shoulders until they were equally flat towards the other. “So let’s begin.”

West wasn’t in the mood for swords or sparring with steel today. Not after Crimson’s words still haunted him, refusing to let him be or give up. They were a constant reminder of why he hated being immortal.

In truth, he wanted love more than anything else.

But unless it was with another full-blooded Saint, it would kill him in the end. Physically, breaking his heart until there was nothing left. Muse was beautiful, but he could never endeavour to start something there. They were just too different. And Dream fancied the other sex, which left him with nothing considering he preferred females in his bed, in his heart.

Damien, who he was boxing against, nearly bashed his head in with a linen-wrapped fist. “You’re not on your best game today, Cap. Anything the matter?”

His older brother, Thalias watched from his spot against the wall. Only two years apart, and both Steele siblings were notorious for their combat skills. Two of the only three people who were ever able to win against Prince Altivar in the ring, himself included.

They both bore the same skin tone, but that was where their similarities stopped. Where Thalias’s shoulder length hair was a honey blond with eyes that looked like fresh grass, Damien kept his medium brown hair to his skull, and his eyes were like oak. They varied in height as well, a couple inches towards Thalias.But Damien made up for it in his size.

“Nothing that you need to worry about.” West shook his head, trying to clear his mind and toss his focus back into the fight.

His first round had been with Rook, knocking the male straight into the stones and resulting in a split lip that sent him to the healing ward. Thalias had been next, almost succeeding in a win until the very last second, where West sidestepped him, surprising him and falling out of the circular ring.

Now it was Damien, who kept him on his toes.

He’d been out here for three hours now, avoiding her. He wasn’t upset with her for what she said, but it had hit harder than he expected something like that to. She had no clue how hard it was to live for centuries, to watch and observe humans whilst being unable to experience all their parts of life for himself.

Twenty

When he appeared back to their shared room, he found her pacing back and forth in his corner office. There was something crumpled up in her hands, firmly grasped between her fingers. He paused, quietly closing the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

Crimson stopped and rotated towards him. Her pretty features mulled something over, and it seemed for a moment as if she wouldn’t tell him whatever it was. But then she approached him silently and held out her arm. He took the withered parchment out and unfolded it from the mashed ball she’d shaped it into. It was slightly damp, as if her nerves were uncontrollable. He didn’t mind as he strode for his desk and set it flat on the counter. West smoothed each corner out, one by one, until he could see what was plainly written.

A threat.

He froze, rereading it.

And again.

And again.

“Who sent this to you?” He asked, glancing towards her. She crossed her arms over her chest, in a defensive position.

“I don’t know. It was here when I woke up this morning, with no name or anything to indicate who could have sent it. Other than the initial.” She pointed towards the bottom of the page and he took another look at it. “Could whoever this is, really hurt my brother?”

Fear laced her voice, concern painted her features and worry struck his heart with a well-placed jab as he took another look at the note. There was a wish to console her, to wrap his arms around her and hold her as she relaxed. He wished he could tell her that he knew who the note had come from, to ease her concerned mind.

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