"Filth." The man was whispering in an angry saddened tone, close, a warm breath against her ear, the cold blade biting into her skin. Mouser was not struggling, just digging her claws deeper into his wrist, lacerating the flesh to the bone, eyes darting around, looking for a way out. As busy as the Palace was there were still shadowy spots where few looked... that nook was one of them. "You were pure yet you allowed a demon to take you." Not human she reasoned once again, not struggling, breathing slowly. A human would already have lost all semblance of grip because of the mauled flesh and nerves, not to mention blood loss. First of all she needed to break away, have a clear look of the assailant and no blade immediately threatening her life.
Mouser went limp, with a sudden sharpness, unbalancing him, dead weight, the fabric of the dress bunching while she slumped, making the man struggle, trying to take a firmer hold of her. Usually ladies went stiff before swooning. She used the lack of tension to break free, letting go of the bloodied wrist, slapping it, and by default the rapier, away, crouching, freed, pulling the skirt a bit to kick at the shins, hopping back, praying her heel didn't get caught on the skirt's trim as she stood.
A white haired man with purple eyes wearing a white suit, the colour slightly darkened, more greyish than white, like sooth stained snow, smelling of burnt feathers and decay. She showed her fangs, instinctively, a blinding hatred that was not hers coursing through her, having fished out the black knife from her cleavage the blade opened. It had been the easiest weapon to reach. He seemed surprised and then angered. A zealot's fire burned in his eyes. She had seen their ilk in several shapes and walks of life. The one he most closely resembled was a priest, a few years back who went to brothels and claimed all was sin while abusing the women there. She had heard that he had burned down the house after locking chits and patrons inside, claiming that was the only way to purify their stained bodies and black souls. It had been in Irish territory and the boyo's predecessor and the trigger happy O'Donnell hadn't taken it lightly. The fire had almost killed two children of a noble house that enjoyed the Queen's favour.
"Corrupted child." The man said, staring her down, whipping the blade to the right.
Mouser huffed, changing knife hands, reaching the bloodied and torn glove to her lips, gripping the fabric with a fang, pulling it off. The blood had the same repellent scent, overripe, rotten... And having been called much worse and with a lot more creative spins to the assessments over the course of her life Mouser was actually more interested on a few facts of that little attempt to take any kind of offense.
So let's see how far we can rile him with my perceived filthiness she thought.
He was not a Grim Reaper nor a Demon.
And if those existed...
"I was born of a whore and an adulterous man." The glove fell to the floor. Purple eyes followed, the blade pointed towards her unwavering. She repeated the process with the other. Her claws hadn't receded yet, easily double in size and as sharp as her blades. She felt suddenly hungry with all the souls flaring around and homicidal just because that man was standing there. While creating an attitude of nonchalance she was still keeping the small blade trained on the twitchy man. He was hesitating? Maybe the crowd a few feet away was giving him pause. She knew he was strong... so why hadn't she been dispatched already? "I am a thief, a murderer and a liar by choice and profession. When was I ever pure?"
The man moved fast, aiming for her chest. Mouser defended, deflected, stepping back, twirling, noticing his back was now towards the crowd, gripping the skirt with her free hand, yanking it up to step around. The black knife was keeping the rapier at bay, locked near the handle in a tense standstill at neck height. Her left hand had been quick enough after letting go of the fabric, holding one of the daggers, pressing it against his crotch.
Next time instead of the ridiculous petticoat she would use weapons to stuff that idiotic pouf on the skirt and be utterly uncaring about dropping the damnable piece of fabric.
"I could purify you, all this world..." He was saying in a soft voice, covering his insanity with a pleasant demeanour, trying to show her that was right... It was a familiar tone in such a different voice... grateful girls are thankful and do as they are told. Mouser's eyes narrowed, his soul flickering, different. It was… bitter, oily, putrid, reeking of a corruption that she had no name for. "Once your master is dead and his demon chained… get rid of the unclean, unwanted, barren."
Mouser eye widened in clear recognition, pressing the dagger harder. That gave him pause. Not a memory of a past. That was recent, that was a tower of dead girls and a dark place of twisted logic and a master that cared nothing for those who served him, discarding loyalty with ease and scorn.
"Get rid of you." She snarled with hatred, mirroring her words.
The clicking gears of a gun being cocked gave her a bit of pause, her grip on the knife trembling.
Interlopers could get hurt...
The man glance back, his expression murderous.
But he eased away, sheathing the sword, regaining a more controlled look, straightening.
"We do not want to make a scene do we?" Charlotte said sweetly, smiling while her ivory and gold embellished gun was pressed against the back of his head even as he moved through those gestures. She was wearing a dress made of purple velvet and silk, the hat tilted on her head without a care, hair curled. And behind the perfectly sweet doll appearance was the ruthlessness she had learned. While Mouser had always been the one at ease with blood and taking a life, doing the knife work as some said in the streets, Charlotte preferred the indirect way, a bit too squeamish in those early days.
"Unclean whore…" The man spat out, disappearing quickly into the crowd. Either he did not want to create a scene or deemed them not worthy of his time, neither to talk nor to kill. Or had another goal in mind that forced him to avoid an execution he was so clearly craving.
Charlotte slipped the gun into her reticule, looking smug. Mouser smiled slightly, noticing that the farther away he got the quicker her demonic traits returned to their camouflaged state.
"You're loving the fact that you are paying back all the times I did that for you on the streets." All the rescues from thieves, rapists, kidnappers, men that wanted revenge for some of Mrs. Packard's petty schemes…
"Quite." Charlotte preened and snapped her fingers, her manservant walking into view, picking up Mouser's gloves and notepad, returning it to her, bowing with a pleasant smile on his square jawed face. "Come. We'll go to the powder room to talk in peace." Mouser hid her weapons once more, concealing the carefully, following Charlotte who was giving orders. "Thomas… Warn the boys. I want information about that man and I want it before sundown." The guard left, taking the bloodied and torn gloves with him. They walked out of the nook into the sunny display areas of the Crystal Palace, mingling with the crowd.
"What do you want?" Mouser asked in amusement, dragging her words, smiling with narrowed eyes.
"I saw the necklace you gave to Grell. I want emeralds for that info." Charlotte adjusted her sleeves elegantly, pouting playfully. She greeted some of the passerby's, glared at others. Men who were involved with her or had been in the past shivered and veered away. Some politely tipped their hats. Women who knew glared back. Those who did not envied her clothes.
"We're magpies." Mouser said in regards of the sparkle obsession, chuckling. Charlotte laughed, stopping, waiting for the manservant in a formal suit to open the door, gesturing Mouser to walk in first.
The powder room was for the ladies to relax, gossip and fix their outfits. It was a light pink and decorated with flowers and overwrought mirrors. Maids walked about, ready to help if it was required. Ladies paraded their colourful dresses. Some scolded their children. Gossiping stopped when Charlotte walked in, replaced by either awe or revulsion, restarting when she sat down on one of the armchairs. Mouser occupied the one in front of her with a sigh of relief. The corset had loosened somewhat, letting her breathe a bit more easily.
"Who was he?" Charlotte cut to the chase, assuming a more business-like stance. A maid served tea, a floral blend with oolong, its scent soft and feminine. The china cups were simple, resembling a lily. They took their cups and saucers and waited till she was away.
"I do not know exactly." Mouser opened the notepad after placing the cup on the low table, scribbling. "But from what he said I'm sure he was the one behind that kidnapping case I told you about."
"The dolls?" Mouser nodded. "And he had the gall to call us filth." Charlotte's hand fisted, glaring. Anything with little girls hit a smidge too close to their scars. But moving on…
"We're about as clean as a chimney sweeper after a factory run." Mouser noted.
"True." Charlotte chuckled, discarding the past just as easily. "There is something else, isn't there?"
"I'm seeing way too many people that look similar and have white hair and purple eyes… and are linked to Phantomhive cases… Can you in your search see if he had any link to a place called Houndsworth?"
"Why?" Charlotte sipped the tea. "There is your little chit." She pointed out as a bejewelled Indian woman walked by haughtily, self assured in her fashionable clothes and clearly valuable ornaments, knowing her exotic appearance would make the others talk.
"Not really my issue for the moment." Mouser sighed, following with her eyes, casually, as if only checking the other female's fashion choices. "For now I'll say twin." Mouser frowned, returning to the more pressing issue. "I'm finding it odd that he went after me when he had previously shown interest in killing the boyo…" And then he finished nothing even though his strength was clearly greater.
"Why is that?" Her friend supplied conversationally.
"If the Houdsworth connection appears I will say it was because he ruined a cunt's plans. And later because he obliterated the dollhouse." Mouser shook her head, intertwining fingers. "And the boyo's vulnerable today. Sebastian is with the chefs, I'm here, the servants are with Soma and he didn't even bring a gun… I suppose that being with Lau and RanMao might keep some away."
"We know RanMao."
"That we do."
Mouser joined her group in the area that had been prepared as a stage and kitchen when the blonde announcer was starting the formalities. The owners of the participants were gathered, most of them beaming with anticipation and pride for persevering even through the devastating attacks that had been perpetrated against their coffeehouses. From the list she remembered it there were quite a few dropouts. The thief stood next to the boyo adjusting her skirts with a light flick of the wrist, picking up the notepad and fountain pen, opening the page where she had been placing random thoughts, sighing, making sure no sign of the quick scuffle was showing. Apart from the missing gloves everything seemed to be unstained and in place.
"You're late." The boyo complained, cane tapping with impatience as she scanned the crowd, looking for the white haired menace amongst the ladies exotic hats and the tall top hats around them.
"And I am sorry." Mouser answered with a small, quiet smile, looking at him. "But you do have a notion of how hard it is to walk in this thing?" She swivelled her hips for emphasis before looking towards the stage where the theatrics moved on. It was the same joyous man that had overseen the Ice Sculpture Contest in the Frost Fayre.
"Now today's judges are... a Palace Chef who will know no compromises in taste, Chef Higharm, a Tax Collector currently serving in India Mr. Carter and Viscount Druitt who has a great love for arts and food." The female portion of the crowd exploded in giggles, whispers and fanned harder. Mouser stiffened, raising the pad to chest level, covering her exposed cleavage. Ciel shivered, uncomfortable. "And these are today's contestants. Persian Tabb Company's Chef Tarpin, Dormitory Vill Company's Chef Lach, Dahlia Company's Chef Rickman, Lippcilin's Chef Wollest, Harold West Company's Chef Agni and the butler Sebastian from the Funtom Company." He stopped, pausing for a moment, looking back, in doubt and maybe a bit of awareness. "Butler?"
"Yes. I am no chef. I am one hell of a butler." Sebastian answered smiling pleasantly with a light bow.
The announcer just smiled, covering the break in the rhythm and continued, turning to the crowd.
"With this group of contestants it will be an exciting contest and we can expect some delicious curry. Let the contest begin!" There was some polite clapping as the cooks began their tasks.
"I guess we just sit back and wait for the curry." Lau said, keeping RanMao in a hug.
"Can't you wait silently?" The boyo complained, tapping with his cane, looking around, gauging reactions.
The crowd seemed to be fascinated by Agni's skill, adding to West's smug smile, dramatically announcing that that was Kali's right hand, the sure sign of an easy victory. Although a fair share of the awe also went to Sebastian's fast, confident movements. The spices began to scent the air, almost dizzying.
"Looks like we won't lose easily..." The boyo said, changing his opinion once more about what were his desires as the contest's outcome.
"What a bully..." Lau noticed too, chuckling.
Mouser smiled in agreement and scanned the crowd, uneasily, still feeling rather uncomfortable. But even stretching her senses she was not being able to catch that repulsive soul and scent again. And walking around with bloodied clothes would be rather noticeable. She shook her head, giving up. If he wanted to attack then he would. Just come and play with us she though.
"What is he doing?" There was a bit of shock going around in surprise as the chocolate was added, the brand clearly visible. As expected people were not convinced. Except the children. They immediately drifted towards that and started asking for chocolate. The Funtom Company might see a bit more sales in that day and throughout the next weeks, even more than the standard Christmas numbers... Christmas... she had made some purchases but... what exactly would she give a demon? As she told Grell over the tea the duo of fashionistas had dragged her to have, the Grim Reaper had it easy if she wanted to give Sebastian a present. Just put some souls in a box with a pretty bow, like one would give candy.
"As expected of Funtom, a company that makes toys and sweets. It's surely a way of advertise." But despite that comment by West, one voice in the crowd, Agni seemed concerned as he reached for something that had a salty sea scent, hidden under the workstation till then, pulling out a blue lobster much to the shock of the crowd. Such a thing was rare and reserved for the noble and rich.
"That... is a blue lobster... A Royal Blue Lobster... a creature only found in the clear sea waters off the coast of Britain and France." Druitt was in awe and stood dramatically to let everyone know it, and distinguish how splendid such a thing was. "The colour is only comparable to the famous Chartres Blue... splendid like a beautiful lady wearing a blue evening dress. And under that beautiful shell is a firm body that fascinates people with its delicate sweetness."
"I feel queasy..." Mouser whispered softly. Ciel groaned, nodding.
West smiled smugly, raving on and on about Agni's skills and the high quality of the main ingredient.
"This is bad... we are going to lose the competition." Soma said suddenly as the time neared its end, staring at some sort of dough Sebastian was balling.
"How so?" Ciel asked softly, frowning, looking away from the stage.
"It's true that Ciel's butler's curry is the real thing." Soma said looking at the dough doubtfully. "But only the curry is perfect. The problem is the naan." He shook his head, not explaining more, eyes closed. "One week to master the art of making curry it was too short..." Soma said morosely, shaking his head.
"Time's up." The announcer shouted after maybe half an hour. "Now to invite the judges to the stage."
It went surprisingly similar to the tastings at home, starting with the criticism of the use of curry powder to unbalanced spices, lack or overpowering flavours and the pressing issue of the substance. The judges were merciless, even Druitt despite all his flamboyant behaviour. Then again if the result was for the Queen to enjoy some high standards were surely in action.
It soon was Agni's turn.
Soma's khansama was looking very different from the cheery man from only a week ago, glum and sombre while placing his curry in front of the judge panel, taking the silvery dome away, revealing the lobster, pale steaming rice and a ring of colourful curries.
"My curry... Blue Lobster and seven types of curry. An imperial feast." Agni said loudly enough to be heard but without any spark to his voice.
"A whole homard bleu with red, yellow and green curries... what kind of delicacy is this?" The Palace Chef was suitable impressed but he had been the harshest so far in every critic.
"I made a variety, each with its level of spiciness and flavour so you can sample each to your liking." Agni explained. "All the curries were made to go perfectly with the lobster."
"Seven authentic curries made by an Indian and served with a homard bleu... such extravagancy..." The Palace Chef tried it, pausing, eyes growing wide. "It's delicious." Soon he composed himself. "The meat is suitably springy and a subtle flavour lingers after, permeating the entire mouth."
"And it's sweet, and spicy and rough... each a facet of what curry is... and all accomplished without compromising the flavour of the lobster." The Tax collector praised it next after a few bites, each coated a different colour.
And Druitt was not about to be left behind.
"Like the beautiful lady, unexpectedly met with seven precious stones enhancing her beauty..." He announced, flipping the blond fringe away from his blushing face. "A gold brooch shaped like a dove, a bracelet made of sapphires and pears, a garnet necklace, a cameo medal and a diamond and emerald ring on her exquisite finger... by you my heart has been stolen. Simply amazing. This is the best curry." He declared after all the theatrics, continuing with his metaphor. Ladies swooned. A lot of them most likely made a note to buy more jewellery. Mouser kept her face still, lips grimacing in distaste. His prattling was harmful.
"Many thanks for your praises." Agni answered humbly, eyes closed, pained.
"So has the winner been decided?" The announcer said excitedly, praising the competitive spirit, involving the crowd into the moment, turning towards Sebastian. "Last to the stage is the Funtom Company."
"This is my curry." He announced, placing the plate down, removing the dome to reveal a smooth oval of pale dough. It was met with silence, the tree judges were left staring, confused.
"This... is... what is this thing?" The Chef asked, blinking slowly, breaking the silence. Sebastian moved, pulling a pan of oil and its fire, dipping the dough in it with a pair of long tongues, calmly despite the confusion voiced around him. "What are you trying to pull?"
"Deep fried?"
"Ciel! What in heavens is your butler doing?" Soma said, eyes wide, confused.
"Is he trying to make a doughnut?" Bard gripped his hat, worriedly, chomping on his cigarette.
"It's ready." Sebastian pulled out a golden brown orb, putting each on its plate, perfectly centred before placing it once again in front of the judges. "This is our Company's curry." He announced again watching the confused reactions of both crowd and judges.
"But where is the curry?" The Chef was still confused.
"Wait a moment... the curry from the inside..." Druitt noticed, cutting through the crust.
"This is the curry our company proudly presents to you. The curry bread." Sebastian was smiling faintly, mockingly. Mouser shook her head. Crafty... Novelties even if they were not good sold quickly just because they had never been seen before. Even if no one ever bough them again the profit had been made.
"What in the name... I have never seen that kind of curry before..." Soma was whispering, staring.
"Well let's have a taste." The Palace Chef began, taking a piece. "It explodes in your mouth... the crispy exterior, the soft interior texture combined with that sticky curry creates several layers of heavenly taste." He gave his appraisal with shock and pleasure in his voice, staring down at the plate.
"And the fantastic curry on the inside... ingenious and fragrant, blended together so that when you slice that crust a heavenly scent spills out. And the generous chunks of chicken... really. A perfect creation." The Tax Collector talked next, digging into the curry with undisguised gluttony.
"The young girl at the ball that makes me want to love her tenderly." Druitt stood suddenly, still holding the fork, arms opened, voice resonating with emotion. "The mischievous mockingbird singing like a child in daytime but in the evening shows her true colours... the heartstring-pulling smile behind your mask... I really want to... hold you tightly in my arms." He sat back down, coughing slightly and regaining his panache. Mouser glanced at the side, noticing a shivering Ciel next to her. So the prattling was claiming its next victim. "Fresh innovation and undoubted quality. This really is the Funton revolutionary curry."
"I thank you for your praise." Sebastian bowed softly.
"Now the time you have been waiting for: the tasting." The announcer took over while the judges retreated. "Please help yourselves to whatever curry catches your fancy." He said to the crowd amicably, gesturing towards the tables that had been placed with samples of each of the curries, making the nobles and bourgeois scatter around, pick what pleased them and regrouping into gossiping rings. The chefs were taken to the back so they could not walk around, fixing their curries with stray spices like demented pixies. The judges were talking, the hum of their voices dim and broken by so many other sounds. But it was clear enough, especially in contrast with the gloomy silence in the cook's room.
"They are torn." Mouser whispered placing a little piece of lobster and green curry in her mouth, watching the area blankly. It was very good. Her hunger had been stirred by the previous encounter and seeing all the praise that Agni's curry had received and the fact that she had never had lobster… Another bite with golden curry. No wonder they smuggled those things at such shocking prices… "It is really between Sebastian and Agni."
"Aren't you being treacherous eating that?" Ciel asked coldly, teasingly.
"It's good." She shrugged. "You want some?" She tried the bright red curry on the ring around the lobster, feeling fire on her tongue. She hissed between pursed lips, sighing, feeling like she could let out a little fire tongue. Rough and biting, leaving a sweet aftertaste. Wonderful.
"I dislike spicy foods." The boyo said coldly, huffing, checking the amount of people that tried Sebastian's curry or went immediately after the delicate promise of the lobster.
"Wimpy." Mouser teased.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." The announcer came back to the stage, commanding attention. The excited buzz of the crowd started once again as they flocked back, murmuring, comparing the tastes they sampled. The Royal Warrant at stake made the whole contest something extremely exciting for the beau monde. The chefs were back on the platform as were the judges, the prize displayed, a small statuette, more symbolic than anything. What they truly desired was the paperwork.
West was humming with anticipation a few steps away from them the cane he held moving like a pendulum.
The prince was nervously twisting his scarf.
The boyo was as cold as ever, staring.
"After much debate... the winner of this curry show is..." Pause for dramatic effect. "Harold West Company and Funton Company. A tie..." The announcement was unexpected, creating a sudden silence of disbelief. Amongst the shocked faces, the anticipation, the gasps of the crowd a slithering sound caught Mouser's attention, making her turn sharply, hands sliding inside her sleeves, grasping the daggers. A whip was curled around the prize, pulling it towards a man clad in a white uniform and a riding mask. She relaxed a fraction. He carried the insignias of the crown, the same she had grown used to see in the letters the Queen sent to the boyo.
"Please wait." He said in a calm voice as the crowd jumped away, frightened, opening a ring around the new arrival. "The victor..." the sound of hooves echoed, the horse that appeared behind him knocking him to the ground with a loud thud. A kindly but regal looking old lady in a riding dress was pulling the reins, calming the animal.
"Who is that funky old gran?" Bard whispered, adjusting his beaten leather cap.
"That is..." Lau began carefully, hand touching his chin, thoughtfully.
Mouser shook her head, looking around sharply. She had seen that face in paintings, right next to the patronesses, used to fool the rich ladies into believing Mrs. Packard followed the Queen's doctrine. But what if the boyo hadn't been the target of that white haired not-human? What if his goal had been to reach higher? He said purify the world...
"Your Majesty!" The boyo was recovered enough to talk, taking his hat off as sign of respect, walking towards the fidgety horse. And that woman ruled a very large chunk of said world... "Why have you come here?"
"Hello everyone." Queen Victoria seemed surprised to see him but smiled pleasantly, taking of the ridding goggles. The surprise seemed mutual within the crowd, everyone scrambling to curtsy or show respect.
"I am done talking but it seems her majesty has something to say." The man under the horse's hoof said, straightening a bit, getting up slowly to help the Queen dismount.
"Thank you John." Victoria said pleasantly, adjusting her attire with a few pats, looking around, eyes clear. "This curry show was indeed exciting." She appraised, walking towards the stage, the crowd parting in awe, accompanied by bows and whispers of awe. "The fragrance permeating the air reminds me of the curry me and Albert shared in White Island..." She opened a pocket watch, stopping for a moment, staring lovingly into it before crumpling to the floor, sobbing, surprising everyone. "Oh Albert..."
"Majesty please pull yourself together..." Her aide was immediately by her side, trying to comfort the Queen, pulling out a hand puppet in the likeness of the deceased king, using a deeper voice, making it move. "I want to eat curry with you also..." The puppet said, seemingly bringing some comfort to the Queen.
"Her Majesty seems to be a rather complex character..." Lau appraised softly, smiling as the show continued.
"Don't talk like that." The boyo intervened. He also looked slightly mystified but was not going to say anything against the woman he owed loyalty to.
"As I received an invitation to be one of the contest's judges I get one vote do I not?" The Queen dabbed at her moist eyes with a delicate handkerchief, coughing politely to settle her emotions before announcing in a pleasant but powerful voice, uttering the words that would break the tie. "I have chosen... Funtom Company's butler, Sebastian." She took the prize from her aide's hands, walking towards Sebastian, gifting him with the statuette, smiling. "This is for you."
Angi was silent in his shock.
West was loud and angry, rushing towards the Queen.
"Why?"He demanded, close to whining. "How can the curry we made loose to a doughnut stuffed with curry." It was a derisive question while still trying to boost his worth. Still it was quite out of place to demand explanations from the Queen.
"Please look over there." The Monarch deigned to answer despite the tone. "Do you see?" Happy children carrying the curry bread. Sad children being scolded for spilling the colourful curries and staining their fancy gowns. "Funton's curry requires no utensils and can be consumed by anyone. It is a method that takes the children into account." The Queen answered softly, looking at her people with care. "Everyone is happy. The rich, the poor, the adults the children. As equals. That is the quintessential idea for Britain as the new century approaches. I highly approve of Funtom taking into account our future, the children." She turned and opened her arms, smiling, announcing loudly her verdict. "Thus the victor is Funtom Company."
"How can this be?" West was mumbling, dejected, fallen to his knees.
Mouser smirked and glanced at Agni's shock, trying to see what would he do next.
"Nice work Sebastian!" Bard cheered.
"Typical of him..." Meyrin whispered, blushing a bit.
"You should try some too Young Master..." Finny turned to the boyo, offering one of the breads.
The boyo just groaned without taking it, glancing at the stage, eye narrowed, trying to gauge where the idea had come from.
"Congratulations chef Sebastian. Could I have a few words?" The announcer picked up on cue, turning to Sebastian.
"I am no chef. I am one hell of a butler." The demon answered with a smile.
It didn't take long now for the crowd to disperse, the contest over, the prize given and the whole exhibit still offering exotic sights and baubles. Some other events were also starting, taking the attention away from the previous happenings.
"I... Lost..." Agni was still shocked, dumbfounded. The terms of his agreement had not been met, which meant all his efforts had been lost, turned to smoke. Speaking of smoke... Mouser frowned, tapping her heel. No reticule, no cigarettes, no authorization to smoke in there for that matter.
"Mr. Agni, wasn't it?" The Queen approached the Indian softly, smiling, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Your curry's flavour did not lose. It was also a curry I would like to enjoy at the White Tower." The reasons for her choice had been derived not from personal taste but from the reasons that should concern the head of the empire.
"I am not worthy of such words..." Agni bowed humbly
"The Royal Warrant..." West was mumbling, in utter shock, having his dreams ripped away from his grasp.
"My Lord..." A female voice rose suddenly, an Indian woman running towards West, expensive fabric fluttering around her as she moved, a whiff of exclusive perfume, jewels clattering softly, melodiously, a sad, worried look on her face.
"Meena?" Soma said suddenly, a happy disbelief in his voice, recognizing her, eyes wide in relief and hope.