Chapter Four
Past, Present
Constance sat uncomfortably in her seat. She was aware of the heavy silence that settled between Darien and her. Playing with her fan, she looked around, noticing the red roses intertwined with the green hedges.
It was the middle of the afternoon. The clouds floated in the blue sky and covered the sun from time-to-time. Outside in the open area of the castle's garden, she sat in a chair, opposite of Darien, with only a round, white table separating the two.
The butler served more tea in her cup. She smiled and took a sip, smelling the heavy aroma of sweet cinnamon. Even after all these years, Darien still remembered her favorite tea.
"Why have you come here?"
He broke the silence at last.
Constance brought the teacup to rest, wanting her hands free. It would be quite obvious with the teacup in her hands how much she trembled in his presence. She wanted to hide her fear from him and appear calm.
Those dark blue eyes hauntingly brought the past to her mind. She could never escape from it. Darien was her past she longed to forget.
"You're ignoring my question," he then said, bringing her back into reality.
She smiled and lowered her head. "I wanted to see you."
"And your reason is?"
"Your father is sick. He begs you to come to his side."
Darien chuckled and looked away from her. He threw a leg over the other and folded his hands together on top of his knee. With dark clothing, he shined with a corrupted beauty. The red ruby necklace—a gift she gave to him as a child—rested against his chest, mockingly.
Her hands yearn to rip it from his flesh and smash it against the marble tiles. It would save him from his wicked fate—no, it would save all of them from their wicked fate. But Darien was no fool. Even if she destroyed it, their tie to Hades will hold.
Darien gave him something far more valuable.
Constance had no idea what.
"I'll see him before his death."
Surprised at his answer, she paid attention to his face. He looked at her with a smile that nearly brought a tear to her eye. It had been years since he last smiled at her as affectionately as he did now. She only blamed herself for corrupting him when young.
"You made your mother proud," she told him.
Her happiness was short-lived when he said, "I'm only going to complete your last request."
His sweet smile vanished, and in its place the image of evil stood in front of her. She trembled and looked away. She felt his eyes resting on hers, and then took a glance to confirm the feeling. Indeed he stared at her with a smirk playing across his handsome features.
Constance took a bundle of her yellow dress in her hands and squeezed.
Like her image, her son possessed her face. Black hair mimicked hers, all the way down to the same trait of eyes. His stark lips belonged to his father, Cepheus, however. Even his straight nose belonged to her husband.
But he was almost the exact replica of her. Denying it would be ridiculous.
Even the corruption he possessed belonged to her. All for a silly whim of affection, she corrupted her son for revenge. Hurting Cepheus became her main joy. And she knew that he loved Darien more than anything.
So she turned Darien's love into hate, and made him the man he was today. Cepheus never knew her involvement to her son's corruption. Even as death came creeping behind the door, he still did not know.
Forgiveness never felt so overwhelming. It had been twenty-three-years. She should have stopped him before it went out of control. But, like Cepheus, her weakness was her son. Harming him would be killing her.
Twenty-eight-years-old, her son was handsome as she took a fleeting glance. If only she had the strength to embrace him, she would have rocked him in her lap, as she did when he was a babe, and chanted softly in his ear, "Forgive me. Forgive me."
She could only dream. Her son found her revolting.
Darien uncrossed his legs and stood from his seat. Back straight, hands behind his back, he took a couple of steps forward, and grabbed a rose from the hedge. The thorns prickled his fingers. He showed no sign of discomfort.
He wrapped his hand around the stem and snapped it from its captive.
The butler behind her took in a breath, merging his waft of fear with her own.
Darien strode toward her and handed her the bloody rose. Her hand trembled when she reached for it. Taking the rose in her hands, he leaned forward and trapped her in her seat when he placed his hands on each side of her chair.
Her body froze. Breathing became difficult. Up close, she felt the evil attack her guilty soul.
Then, he leaned toward her ear, and said, "Let that be my promise to you that I will finish what you have started."
And he sealed his vow with a peck on her cheek.
xx
It had been simple at first.
Sofia had left the room to fetch a batch of fresh tea to Serena's plea. It was her excuse to escape from the maid's eye. When the bedroom door had closed, Serena had jumped out of bed, paced for a moment, and slipped out of her room, undetected.
Now, wanting to return to her room, she could not deny that she was lost. The castle was immense; it held too many doors to count. It was like a maze, the exact replica of the labyrinth, but only smaller.
She stopped next to a high window and crossed her arms. Outside, even with the labyrinth as the main view, the world seemed cold. Although the sun was shining, and the clouds moved gradually, the world seemed colorless, dead.
It represented heavily of her misery.
She moved her eyes to a side and stopped when she noticed Darien.
He approached the hedge and ripped the rose with his bare hand. She watched him, memorized by how simple he took an elegant flower and claimed it as his own. Just as he did to her, only with threats and promises that forced her father to let her go.
She stared in the distance and rubbed her palm against her arm, soothing away her sadness.
The past consumed her mind of her first meeting with Darien.
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"Serena!"
She awoke with a start. On the floor, her back pressed against the wall, she noticed her father's study room to a side, and then realized she had fallen asleep. She rushed to her feet and stretched when she felt a tension in her lower back.
Walking across the hallway, she entered the parlour and found her mother rushing through the front door. With a deep sigh, her mother quickly walked toward her.
"Serena, I need your help. Sophie is busy in the kitchen with Charles, and Abigail is attending the animals. Pin the clothes on the wire."
She handed her daughter the pins and wiped her hands against her apron. Moving past her, she headed up the stairs, searching for her husband.
Serena took the task with a groan.
Although middle class, her mother refused to live like the rest of society. She been raised in a poor home, and had done every chore on her own. Her father, Kenji, being a sales clerk, had turned her mother's world upside down when she entered the middle class society.
It had been strange for her. People—maids and butlers—were doing her work. She had felt out-of-place, and she had hated it. She had taught Serena everything that she had learned when she was young—in case something happened to them.
Through the open field, Serena stepped out on the porch and moved across the grass toward the clothesline. With the pins in her apron, she grabbed a white bed sheet and pinned it on the line.
Ahead of her, in the vast distance, the castle of Cornelia shined. She could see the tip of the castle from where she stood, admiring the majestic view. Her brother, Sammy, lived there with his wife and daughter. How she longed to go there and meet the different people. Her father, however, did not allow her to visit.
Twenty-two-years-old, Serena still could not comprehend her father's action. It would be the perfect time, although she was late, to find a man to marry. But her father kept her trapped in the house, not wanting her to go.
She bended over and grabbed another sheet. It became a routine, grabbing and pinning sheets. Lost in her own thoughts, she did not hear the gentle steps approaching behind. But she then noticed the black shadow that crossed her view and looked toward the owner.
In a dark cape, the man hid his eyes. The tunic he wore was white and split from his neck to his pectoral, giving her a glimpse to his lean, muscular chest. Around his neck, a black-chained, ruby necklace rested above his scarred chest, of where his heart lay. He wore black breeches with round-pointed boots.
Curious of the man, Serena turned her head a little, and caught a glimpse of his eye. They were blue, a rather dark shade of blue, with dark lashes.
"May I help you?" she asked.
His lips spread into a smile, but not a word emitted.
She asked a different question, "Are you lost?"
His silence made her heart race in fear.
She then saw her father creep from behind, placing his blade against the man's throat.
"Leave!"
For the first time hearing her father speak in a harsh tone frightened her. Her eyes flicked from the man to her father, and back again. And then in a blink of an eye, the man moved, his cape jerking to a side. The clash of swords cut through the air in sparks. Serena moved back, amazed that her father had kept up with the man's fast agility, but still he was slow.
Swipe. Duck. Swipe again. The man parried and dashed, swiping his sword and cutting through flesh. Serena screamed when she saw her father's blood. In the background, her mother stood, watching in horror at the violent display of swords clashing against each other.
Then he swiped the blade from underneath her father's sword. It flew in the air and landed on the grass somewhere. Her father held in a breath, the enemy's sword pressed against his neck.
Serena looked toward the disarmed sword and made a move.
"Stop." She froze on hearing the man's silent, but firm tone. "Move and I will slice his throat."
She listened to his demand, in fear that he would kill her father in one swipe of his blade.
Then, with a humorous tone, the stranger said, "That was a thrill."
"I found the thrill lacking," her father replied.
"But you appeared pleased," the man argued.
Her father scoffed. "I kept envisioning your head on the ground."
"But it would've been your head instead." The man dug the blade closer to his neck, drawing blood.
"No doubt it would be."
"The bunny comes with me."
"The lion would have to outrun the hunter to keep her."
"But the lion already put the hunter in place unless—" The stranger took a glance behind him, meeting her mother's eyes. "—the rest of his kin wish for a fight."
Her father glanced at her. "I cannot let her go."
"She is yours no more."
"She would die with you!"
The stranger took a step back, the sword still pointing at her father's face. Serena glanced between the two, pondering what she had to do with this. She wanted to ask. Her curiosity demanded it. But she remained silent as the truth became to reveal itself.
"She'll be my wife."
Serena took a step forward, almost demanding what the stranger had met.
But he clarified it all with five little words, "Your deal made her mine."
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xx
Serena was knocked out of her memory when she heard a noise nearby. She followed it instinctively and noticed to the hallway on her left that a guard had pinned a maid to the wall. She hid behind the wall, watching as the man attacked her neck with kisses, and slid his hand underneath her dress.
The maid whispered, "Please, stop."
He said, roughly enough for Serena to hear, "You are a whore. Sex is your pleasure and my release."
"Please, stop." The maid appeared uncomfortable and tried in vain to push him away.
He ignored her desperation and pulled down a sleeve, exposing her right nipple to the air before he devoured it with his lips. The maid cried, and tugged Serena's heart with her despair. She moved forward, wanting to free the maid from the evil man, but her wrist got caught by a firm palm.
Serena was dragged and placed against a different wall. Away from the guard and maid, she could not rush back to them, not when Lady Raye stood in front of her with a riding crop in her hand. Dressed with a flimsy white blouse tucked in high breeches, she pointed the riding crop in her face, anger evidently taking away her pretty features.
"Do not interfere."
"That woman did not want him. She needs help. I must return," she explained, hoping for Raye to see reason. She did not. Or she refused to.
"You forget her class."
"I do not care about her class."
Lady Raye approached closer, trapping her between the wall and her. "And what do you care about?"
"Everything—down to the good of humanity."
Lady Raye laughed. "You lie."
"I never lie."
"You lie now."
Serena stomped her foot like a child throwing a tantrum with balled fists. "You do not know me."
"Oh, we are playing that game now of who knows who the most."
"How can you have no heart toward the situation?"
Lady Raye pushed back a lock of her hair behind her ear. "How can you say that I do not?"
For a few seconds Serena felt paralyzed to move. In Raye's eyes, she saw hatred, but not toward her, rather on something else. It was uncomfortable to stand in her presence. That waft of hatred had softened her anger into a small fits of shivers.
Serena was afraid of her. But her fear would not stop her from doing what was right.
Then, hearing her name—no doubt Sofia—she pulled away from the wall and searched for her maid. As for the situation, there was nothing she could do. By the time she made her way toward their spot, they would've already left.
xx
Lady Raye watched as Serena walked rigidly toward the voice of her maid. It was for the best that she did not interfere—not when her husband dealt with the guard.
Footsteps tapped against the marble floors. Slow in their approach, the person languidly made their way toward her.
Raye did not need to turn around to confirm who it was. The moment they—or he—stood behind her, she noticed his familiar black gloves to his white sleeve before the unfamiliar sight of blood dripped from his wrist hug her stomach.
"Finished," he whispered in her ear.
She relaxed in his arms and turned her face to meet his.
With his blond messy fringe, Jadeite was a tall, light-skinned man. Blood spots splattered against his handsome face. On his right shoulder, a bloody handprint laid. The guard must have tried to fight back. It was hard to tell.
He looked at her with his light colored-eyes, admiring her. Love did not exist between them—or so she thought. At times she would like to believe that she loved him. But he did not. Attraction held his interest in the end.
Being married to him would have never happened if she did not mess up with the ritual. No, her mind screamed, she should have never done the ritual in the first place and use her first love as a sacrifice. The image of fire emerged in her mind. She could see the flames lick the walls and boil her love's flesh into black and red.
She paid attention to the present when Jadeite pecked her lips.
"Shall we return to our room? You promised me a reward."
His arousal was clear in his eyes.
She cupped his cheek, and he whispered against her lips, "I like silk."
xx
Constance had departed back to his father's side, taking with her a letter that he had written for his father. She appeared distraught with her sudden leave. But she did not voice her troubled mind, and followed his every word.
She was afraid, sad, and even worried. But she was mostly afraid of the son she created.
Darien despised her weakness.
Left alone, Darien wandered around the hallways, plucking out each thorn from his right hand. The pain did not bother him. He dealt with worse. The scar on his chest was proof of that.
Turning back to the garden, he stopped when he watched his wife near the roses, touching the soft petals with her long, slender fingers. Behind her, Sofia stood, watching her every movement.
He silently padded toward the open land and took a seat in his chair. Sofia noticed his approach and opened her mouth to speak, but he hushed her with a finger to his lips.
Serena hummed a tune he was not familiar with. Turning her head a little, he noticed on the back of her neck the golden crescent moon, the mark of Hera.
Darien leaned in his seat and crossed the leg over the other.
Kenji made a beautiful daughter.
As he watched Serena crouch and touch the rose petals, he closed his eyes for a moment and became lost in his memories.
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Darien took in a deep breath and examined the man in front of him. He pathetically cried and begged for his wife to not die. Struck in the middle of her abdomen, she clutched the hilt of the blade with her bloody hands and looked toward her husband.
She pleaded him to leave but he refused.
The war raged on a distance away. Darien had followed them, suspecting them as Cornelia troops. Instead, he saw a common man and his wife traveling back home before a lone Elysium warrior appeared from behind the bushes and surprised them.
The old man was swift. He had blocked and had swiped his blade, being a worthy opponent to the warrior. But his age had cost him to lose when the warrior had ducked and had kicked at his legs. He had tumbled to the ground, back smacking against the dirt in a loud thud.
The warrior was about to deliver the final blow but his wife had intervened and had gotten stabbed in the stomach. In a rage of fury, the man had struck the warrior before he could pull out his blade from his wife.
Darien watched as he cried for Hera, and then he directed his plea toward the God of the Underworld. Fascinating, Darien thought, how he departed from his god to ask from another.
The ruby necklace pulsed against his chest.
He knew what that meant. Lord Hades demanded a deal with the human.
Darien walked toward the couple. He purposely stepped on a twig, gaining the immediate attention of the old man. He frantically looked around him, searching for his blade, when he found it a foot away from him.
The man was at a disadvantage.
"You are fortunate. Hades has heard your plea."
The man appeared confused.
"What will you offer in exchange for your wife's life?"
"What do you want?" the old man asked. Desperation was in his tone. His wife's life was slipping in seconds. There was no time to question the young king if he held the truth.
"What do you have to offer?"
"I will offer anything."
Darien stopped next to the dying woman and stared straight into the man's face. "Yes, you would, but the question is what."
The woman coughed out blood, her life slipping to the underworld. She looked at her husband, pleading once more, "Kenji, please." She coughed more blood. "Go home to Serena."
Kenji trembled when he noticed her face grimly pale.
"Give me your daughter."
Kenji looked at him, horrified at the suggestion. Darien smirked.
"Give me your daughter, and we have a deal."
Perhaps, it was the desperation. Perhaps, it was the fear of being alone. Either way, Kenji did not hesitate to say, "Deal."
Like the Cheshire cat, Darien grinned.
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xx
Darien broke out of his reverie.
He looked toward Serena and watched as she sat on the ground, staring at the blue sky. He never imagined that Kenji's daughter would be beautiful. At first, he would have handed the girl to someone else if she was young in age. Or he would have sent her to Lunar if she was an older woman.
But he never thought that he would have wanted her as a wife.
That pure innocent soul—how it drove him mad. He wanted to tear it apart. He wanted to test her innocence and see how far she would go to stay pure. She definitely cared for others too much. But in a matter of months, she would end up like the rest of them, corrupted in every way.
Still Darien applauded her. Six months went by, and she still did not break.
He would make sure that she would. It was time to give in to his wife's plea.
Then, she turned her head, and their eyes met.