Author's Note: I have surprised myself. I actually finished a chapter in less than a month from my last posting. Okay, barely. lol But still, I am glad to have brought you a chapter sooner than later. Autumn and all its spices, scents, and spooks have given me an extra oomph in writing this story. And with that, the mysterious element is sure to build in each chapter! My intention is to have chapter ten posted on Halloween the day I posted the first chapter of Troubled Waters almost one year ago. Hopefully, that goal can come to fruition!
As always, thank you to everyone for reading and those who have left kind and encouraging reviews. :) This story has been just for pure enjoyment and I'm glad to share it with others. Now, onto chapter nine!
Disclaimer: The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, Funimation, and J.C. Staff. Any original characters belong to me.
Troubled Waters
Chapter 9
Impressions
The sun's dim morning rays graced the tips of the Ralteague royal garden.
The castle held its sleeping tenants while the garden chirped with singing crickets, leaves kissed by misty dew. Dressed, Derek made his way out into the dim ghostly light. He strolled to the outskirts of the garden, his boots sloshing against the wettened grass and slimy rotting mushrooms, above where a small waterfall burbled and drowned embedded ebony stones. Carpeted wildflowers, that grew in fertile loamy soil, huddled themselves along a crumbled stone wall blanketed with moss, that bordered the royal's property from the hollow woods beyond.
The temperature had dropped significantly that month, reminding him of the urgency to pick what he could before the frost killed the last of summer's blooms. He grabbed two handfuls of mixed flowers, cutting them low across the base of the stems. There, he tied a piece of burlap around the bunch, pulling the ends to make a bow.
If he must go court a princess of Seyruun, then he might as well make his trip worthwhile. That night, Derek decided to leave early the next morning for Seyruun's capital. All he needed was a few spare hours to search for the girl in the woods. He wanted to see her again, even if it was just for a minute. Meeting someone so genuine by first glance was a rare specimen. By his own impression, she was the kind of woman who smiled with her eyes, and that their blue-tinted kindness brightened all the forgotten goodness in the world without her needing to say a single word. But reading her eyes was not enough.
He knew nothing could come of his peaked interest. Still, if he knew her name or where she worked or lived, perhaps he would be given a semblance of peace. It was a dangerous decision. Mostly because if he discovered how wonderful he perceived her to be, then there was a chance he'd fail to make it to the Seyruun palace.
Derek pulled out a tiny scarlet velvet box from the inside pocket of his cape. He opened the lid. The princess cut diamond glistened against the smattering of sunlight, its gold band freshly polished. Presenting a ring as a gift to the princess seemed too impromptu. Too fast, too desperate. But Henry maintained girls liked jewelry, especially ones that held a promise. Derek ran his fingers over the edges of the diamond. If he gave her the ring, there was no turning back.
"Who is she? Unless I'm mistaken and those flowers are meant for the princess."
Derek closed the box, alerted by the feminine voice. He sighed at the all-too-familiar presence. He wished she wouldn't watch over him so closely. He wasn't a little boy anymore.
"It's just a gesture of thanks, Mother. That's all," he said, rising to his feet and face her.
Derek's mother, Helena, stood amongst the fog, her starlight hair shimmering against the mist engulfing her face. She examined her youngest son and could not resist grinning at the tousled posy of flowers in his strong hold. She released a soft laugh, gingerly taking the flowers from him and rearranged them in a much neater fashion. Dew dripped from the petals as she tugged and straightened limp stray stems. Then, as she examined her finished work, her smile shrank.
"Where did you meet her?" she asked. "If it's serious then you should at least—"
"I've learned my lesson, Mother. I won't make the same mistake twice."
As he took the flowers from her grasp, she fidgeted with her hands. She brushed back a strand of hair, staring out into the abyss. The lines around her eyes were more than from age but from a husband's domineering control. Every instance she met her son's eyes, she feared he would one day display similar physical fatigue.
"Derek?" Helena called out. He gave her his attention and she continued. "Please, don't do this just because your father—"
"This isn't about Father." The prince kept his distance, curling his hand inwardly to himself. "I have a duty to Ralteague. These last few weeks have given me a chance to think this over. It's… a practical decision. An alliance with Seyruun would strengthen our nation. I could give our people more than Father or Peyton would ever vanquish over. If the military has taught me anything, it's the need to sacrifice my own happiness for others' wellbeing. And I intend to uphold my honor."
Helena saw through this chivalrous playwright of nobility. Her eyes full of grief as if she had lost something so dear and precious to her and saw a shadow of its remnants. She mustered the strength to smile, placing her hands atop his toned shoulders. She felt the tight tension of constricted muscles streaming down to his forearms. "You don't need to prove any of that by marrying Philionel's daughter. I know what's in your heart."
One hand moved to the side of his face, motherly fingers running over his cheek. Derek knew her efforts were only to comfort and console, but he wanted nothing to do with them. He was a man now, and he knew she could no longer shelter him from the forever brewing storm. He needed to make the storm dissipate and this was the only way how.
He grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled it down. "I should go."
As Derek's finger released their firm grasp, Helena extended her previously captured hand. She withdrew it silently with shaky eyes, watching him trek back to the castle.
"So soon?" She took a few steps forward, keeping pace despite her long heavy skirts. "The sun has barely risen." She gestured to the congested muted blanket above.
Derek wrapped and pulled his wool scarf closer to his neck. "I'm taking into account any possible delays along the way." He picked up his speed, steps ahead of her. "I will be back in a month."
"But Derek—"
"I will be fine, Mother." He turned back, witnessing the failure of his words. Her doubtful expression remained unchanged. He walked back to her, taking her limp hands into his. He gave a small smile. "I wish you wouldn't worry so much."
His too quick smile deepened her concerns. Being the first to hold him in her arms, to have watched him grow up and recognize all his little quirks, to view the moments where joy broke out in uncontainable laughter, to comfort him when tears were unstoppable— Nothing Derek said or did could be concealed furtively from his mother's instinctual suspicions.
"It's my job to worry," she eventually said, her fingers wrapping around his like a mother fox's tail shielding her kits from the cold.
Derek replied with affirming hold before letting go. "Let your worries occupy somewhere needed."
High above the grounds, King Henry stood before his study window. Henry watched his son mount his horse and dash beyond the castle gates, the two morphing into a moving blur by the distortion of the condensation spilling from the fogged glass. When Derek became nothing more than a speck, the king turned to the silent presence, standing in the shadows, as if hiding from the break of sunlight peaking its way into the room.
"Follow him. But be discreet," Henry ordered. "I have yet to let him in on our arrangement. You see my youngest, he holds immense promise— but he has yet to fully learn."
The mysterious figure nodded.
"I will make him knowledgeable once the book is in my possession. And when he has secured Princess Amelia. Until then, I trust you can manage its retrieval on your own without interference?"
A peak of a violet iris popped out among the darkness. "I can assure you, your highness if I am known for anything, it is my discretion of secrets."
That morning, Zelgadis got dressed in the official royal garbs Ernoldous had laid out for him.
His eyes scanned every inch of his reflection from his standing mirror, adjusting the detailed silver stitched sleeves and collar of his shirt with tight tugs. His duties were to escort Amelia to the throne room, where the suitors were to be formally introduced. Knowing Lina and Gourry all too well, the pair was mostly likely chowing down breakfast in the dining hall, while Phil surveyed any last-minute details of the palace. As for Vonzelle, he had yet to make a confirmed sighting of her. Not that he was dying to know her whereabouts. She was the last person he would willingly seek out.
The pace of the castle had calmed down severely, as if the servants, cooks, and guards, could sit and breathe knowing all preparations were met by their designated deadline. They were probably glad to get it over with. On the contrary, Zelgadis's nerves had plighted him hours before this very day. He knew, however, his dread was not as heavily cloaked as Amelia's. Nor was he ever tactful at hiding his disdain. He supposed royalty was trained to set aside their severe displeasure of pointless polite conversation and mind-numbing negotiations.
Zelgadis leaned back with one foot resting upon the wall. He exhaled and arched his head. If he was relieved about one thing, it was that Amelia permitted his presence during her meeting with that Prince Derek. He surprised himself when he came out and directly told her his concerns. Being direct, generally about most anything, was never out of character for Zelgadis. But being forthright about his feelings, regardless of the implications— he hoped she hadn't read into anything. This was nothing more than an act of protocol. Of keeping her chastity and safety secure.
After all, Phil had divulged in the prince's exceptional looks. Zelgadis had personally seen him in the hall— all right, perhaps he didn't really get a good look at him. More like a glance while he passed on by. He wasn't really paying any heed. But from what he recalled, the prince wasn't sporting bushy brows or an overgrown mustache, so he supposed his good grooming exceeded beyond what Phil thought was acceptable for his own self.
And besides the sudden desire to court, there was the matter with the land agreement. The entire plot drenched in tyranny. This 'request' was all a charade to get Amelia alone. But someone could only manipulate her so far with their appearance alone. If the manipulator were a seasoned expert, he'd use faux pas charisma traipsing over sincere authenticity. Zelgadis's imagination manifested a fuzzy remembrance of this Prince Derek lounging on a sofa. Strategically enclosing in on Amelia's space, saying something 'smooth' about her 'dazzling eyes' all while cleverly working in the land negotiations. The kind of corny line and sweep of an arm across the back of the sofa that would make a girl blush.
But he would be there. So, no 'dazzling eyes' remarks would dare to be breathed.
Two steady knocks resonated from Zelgadis's door. He glanced over his shoulder. Amelia's handmaiden must have finished dressing her early. He hastened to smooth out the subtle wrinkles of his shirt.
"Come in," he said.
"Mister Greywords."
The weathered dignified voice left him frozen, midway through one last sweeping gesture of his garbs. When Zelgadis turned his face tightened. Oh, great.
"What?" he asked flatly.
Lady Vonzelle, standing astute with her cane, looked less than thrilled and he equaled her expression in return. "Do an old woman a favor and spare her a few minutes of your time."
Zelgadis stared at her before turning back to the mirror. "I don't believe I would be agreeable company to converse with," he countered, fidgeting with the collar again.
"If I wanted agreeable company I would seek elsewhere. There's an important matter in which I must discuss with you."
Zelgadis peered at his clock. It was twenty-five minutes to noon. "It'll have to wait. I need to escort Amelia to the throne room."
He had only taken two steps before Vonzelle invited herself in. She shut the door. "I'm certain Amelia knows where the throne room is located."
Why did it feel like he was a cornered mouse, ready to be attacked, bludgeoned, and swallowed by an upper handed cat? Zelgadis observed the scrutinizing of Vonzelle's icy eyes as she slowly scanned every inch of his bedroom. What she disapproved of Zelgadis could not tell. In any case, she'd find something to comment on, despite its nitpicky quality.
"Make it fast," he said.
She remained standing in front of the door, placing both her hands over the Cepheid head of her staff. "Philionel tells me you are a great benefit to my family. Despite your sometimes, infrequent presence within the palace. How long would you say have you been employed? Counting only the months you are present."
He paused for a moment. "A year and a half."
"I trust that you keep a close eye on my granddaughter?"
"Only in the parameters a bodyguard should," he answered carefully.
He followed her trail over to the patio doors. She kept her back to him, as if the lack of eye contact concealed the true purpose behind her presence. "My granddaughter speaks very highly of you. She tells me you've done several services for our kingdom. She manages to squeeze you in on every conversation she can. Oh, I doubt she does this on purpose. It's almost as if it comes— naturally to her." Her lips crept with a wily smile. Then, they slipped back into line. "Though I must admit, I find her dewy-eyed accolades to be hopelessly sensationalized."
Zelgadis shrugged. "I wouldn't argue that."
It was true. Amelia tended to use flowery language when her feelings and the forces behind her passion, got carried away. Not that it meant anything serious perse. She exemplified her flowery words about justice, peace, equality, love… Not just him.
"How long do you intend on keeping your position?" Vonzelle suddenly asked.
Another pause followed. Zelgadis crinkled his brow. He wasn't sure what to make of her questioning, but by the sound of the foreboding edge to her tone, he knew it was headed nowhere good.
"What answer would you like to hear?" he instead offered.
Vonzelle met his gaze and wrinkled her nose as if a horrid odor has seeped its ways into the walls. "As you very well know, my granddaughter will be engaged soon. And as her bodyguard, you will be present but distantly involved with not only her but her future family. Can you keep your personal and professional relationship separate?"
"What's it to you?" Zelgadis fired back. "I don't see why foretelling my relationship with Amelia is of any immediate concern."
He retraced the last four weeks back, revisiting the scant encounters he shared with the marchioness. Had he said something to ignite this sudden line of questioning? He couldn't recall any implications that would make someone pause in need of deep reflection. Until now. Zelgadis winced inwardly. He hadn't meant to state him having a relationship with Amelia. He meant friendship. Then again, he often didn't think much of friendship and even more very rarely used the word to describe his aimable interactions with the few people who tolerated his existence.
In any case, Vonzelle appeared less than assured. "I don't appreciate your game, Mister Greywords," she said acridly. The dignified melody of her voice rippled with a cringing note, as if a mistaken key played to startle the ears. Her frown deepened. "I've tried to be delicate about the matter, despite its disagreeable nature. See if you can understand this: my granddaughter is not the royal bedspread and I strictly advise you to remember such."
Zelgadis's jaw dropped. He silently questioned what he heard, his mind playing her last sentence on repetition. He felt the helpless paralysis of its potent punch to his knotted stomach. When he regained mental order, words, at last verbalized. "Excuse me—"
"Don't make me repeat myself, young man. I know all and see all."
He felt a profuse heat creep and infiltrate his cheeks. He stopped himself before stammering, to process the preposterous and equally off-color claim the marchioness had made against him. How could she even think that? Better yet, what did he do to make her think that? Had Amelia said something? To make such a bold indelicate statement, without any legitimate verification said more about Vonzelle than either of them.
"I have no idea what you're referring to," was all he could say.
The wrinkles about her cold eyes, woven like intricate spider webs exuded their presence as she narrowed her gaze. "Don't take me for a fool, Mister Greywords. I saw my granddaughter leave your rooms last night. Her hair all tousled, carrying not only her shoes but her unlaced corset." She snorted, looking away. "I can only imagine whose fingers did the untying."
Zelgadis's eyebrows furrowed. "Now look!—"
"I command these late-night dalliances will cease henceforth. And that includes any salacious poetry readings—"
"Salacious?" he echoed. A hand graced his tight temples, rubbing them with a baffling headshake. "You've completely misinterpreted what you saw—"
"I was afraid of her attachment becoming too serious." Vonzelle sighed. Her chin jutted into the air with a visible shudder, as if she stumbled upon a decaying body. "It's a hideous subject to divulge into, but these unsavory acts are more common among young ladies than most assume. Even someone as innocent as Amelia can fall prey to the temptations of the flesh. As her grandmother, I will not have her reputation sullied and her body impregnated by a damaged mercenary who has no intention of marrying her nor is acceptable company to begin with."
Sullied? Impregnated? And she chided Amelia for having an overactive imagination! Zelgadis could not comprehend what was happening, what he and Amelia were being accused so wrongfully of. It was bad enough Vonzelle had the gall to accuse him based on vague and surmisable concocted judgments, but to slander her own granddaughter— Zelgadis's fist tightened at his side. If she truly knew Amelia as she so claimed to have, then she'd think to reconsider her blazoned allegations.
But Zelgadis remained doubtful. Listening to reason was out of the question. Vonzelle's renitent might have done its duty to upbraid gossipmongering maids, but she was in for a rude awakening if she thought she could slay his indomitable spirit.
"Lady Vonzelle, you have not only lambasted Amelia's character but your impression of her is nothing but false," he said hotly.
Vonzelle simply cocked an eyebrow. "And yours is accurate?"
"Not even close!"
"I know your kind, Mister Greywords," she said with a dyslogistic curled lip. "The 'brooding misunderstood' swordsman. I don't see what it does for young women but somehow, your type holds some sort of— dangerous charm."
He stood by and observed her decrepit fingers glide over his strewn-out sketches upon his table. If her intent was to identify a partial nude of Amelia she'd be sorely disappointed.
"I'm not anyone's 'type'," he snapped, closing in on her space. She stepped back with an outward humph! as he collected his personal drawings tapping them against the tabletop into a neat stack. "You have no right to reach any of these conclusions given you don't have an ounce of proof. If anyone's guilty of anything, it's your snooping and conspiracy theories that will come back to harm people."
"You are an unpleasant man, Mister Greywords," she said.
Now detoured from snooping through his private drawings, her attention fell onto a much more tantalizing recognizable love token. Zelgadis jumped at this, but his hand failed to be as quick as hers. She snatched it with a conceited smile.
Damn.
"You cannot seriously believe you could ever be with her," Vonzelle hissed, gesturing Amelia's bracelet assertively between her wrinkled vised fingers. "What could you possibly have to offer her that a nobleman couldn't? You are not only a commoner but you're a—"
"I know what I've been turned into," Zelgadis growled. "I don't need the reminder."
"On the contrary, I believe you do. It's remarkably simple to understand; You and my granddaughter are each cut from a different cloth. You are far from king material, Mister Greywords. Seyruun needs a leader of political prowess, nobility, and lineage. You're nothing but a vagabond, thief, and mercenary with no title or upstanding family relations. Yes, I understand Philionel granted you a knighthood— and normally, that would be an acceptable honor, however, given your track record you are the exception to that rule."
Zelgadis's chimeric form made pain a secondary feeling. Something present but not altogether strong enough to recognize. In that moment, pain, a dull piercing ache which had lain dormant (for the exception of infliction by a stronger adversary in battle) manifested. He wanted to blame the tension in his jaw from clenching his teeth so tight. But he knew that wasn't it. He didn't want her words to get to him. For her words to crawl under his skin and raven the marrow of his masked confidence to where only his deepest insecurities lay bare and exposed to the beastly air of societal punishment.
Well, he wouldn't let her know. He would not permit her to witness the sting of her flagrant allegations. He grappled onto his festering hate for classism, for backhanded politics, for insipid men with deep pockets, and privileged women who claim to have seen the entire world yet know little to nothing of its everyday inhabitants.
Prepared to strike back, he fell short as the marchioness confiscated Amelia's bracelet into one of the pockets of her dress.
"You have no right to take that!" he shouted, lunging forward.
"Oh yes I do," Vonzelle argued, standing with shoulders back as they closed in on each other's space. For such a short woman, an opponent with formidable height did not strike fear into her.
"Could you imagine if these trysts were to become open to the public, to the suitors no doubt? With this bracelet as her favor? You would sully my granddaughter's entire reputation. Everything she has worked for.
"Senseless," she muttered under her breath. "Utterly senseless. Her time should not be spent romping in bed with a man who may decide to up and leave simply out of wanderlust."
Yes, he was well versed in marauding noblemen's treasures and ransacking forgotten temples. Writing decrees, socializing with the upper class… he hardly stomached small social gatherings he attended with Amelia. But what did that matter? The last time he checked, he hadn't asked to be suitor. Yet, the agitation persisted. Vonzelle behaved as if he was the embodiment of evil; reckless, careless, heartless. As if he sought out pleasure in the ruination of Amelia's life present and future.
Zelgadis's sheltered eye twitched beneath his wiry bangs. "I don't see myself asking to be thrown into the running."
"Which is more reason you save whatever dignity you have left and resign quietly."
Now she had gone too far. He gaped, his eyes sharp and narrowed on the source of his appalment. "Are you threatening me?" His voice rose an octave. "You have no grounds to—"
"Don't think you can intimidate me with that rehearsed glower of yours, Mister Greywords," she interceded, matching his intimidating stare. "I could tell Philionel what I saw, but based on his meritorious praise, his perception of you is just as skewed as my granddaughter's. Not only that, but the suitors will be here at any moment. The last thing we need is for your clandestine meetings to be advertised before someone who will highly likely join the family."
"There are no clandestine meetings to be advertised!" he, at last, boomed, throwing his hands up into the air. "And on top of that, you're kidding yourself if you honestly think Amelia will marry one of your handpicked inbred simpletons. So long as Amelia opposes, Phil won't allow an arranged marriage. If you haven't noticed, Phil actually cares about his daughter's feelings. Her happiness is what matters to him."
"You, silly boy," Vonzelle hissed. "And here I didn't take you for a complete fool. I know Philionel is unconventional in most respects, but he is a decent and honorable ruler. He knows ultimately, in the end, the kingdom and its people must come first. He won't permit her to dilly-dally much longer."
At that, her face broke out into a smile, an all-knowing smile that mocked and promised another thorough tongue-lashing. Well, Zelgadis wasn't going to endure anymore.
"You know what? Fine." His hands fell, slapping at his sides. He scoffed. "Think whatever you want. There's no use reasoning with someone who's made it their life mission to seek out the worst in everyone who isn't of 'pedigree' quality."
He stormed over to the door, swinging it wide open with another one of his classic glowers. "Now, will you kindly get out of my room before you do find a reason to have me sacked?"
By the rhythmic single taps of his blue finger against the doorknob, it took Vonzelle all but five taps for her to retire their quarreling for another day. She inhaled noticeably through her puffed nostrils, strutting with her chin high in the air. He was ready to slam the door then and there until she froze in the middle of the doorway.
She must have noticed the piqued sincerity into Zelgadis's threat, or she was finished vilifying him because her voice fell quiet. Yet, still controlled. "By the time this visitation is over, Mister Greywords, Amelia will be engaged. And so, my final warning is quite simple; remember your place."
The crowds gathered in dense clusters along the streets of the white magic capital.
A multitude of bombastic cheers, side conversations, and children dancing between strangers' legs, hopping from place to place to see beyond their towering counterparts, initiated the most anticipated arrivals of the year. Word had spread like wildfire throughout the white magic capital. So much so, storefronts, taverns, and homes were abandoned just to take a glimpse at the very suitor who potentially could be their next king. The invigorated crowd of waving hands amplified once the carriages came into view. Engraved carvings of gold, silver, and bronze glistened along the carriage sides. Pairs of regal draft horses decorated in polished bridals galloped their passengers to the palace gates. Now everybody knew the princess's impending engagement was a reality in the making. It would be of no surprise if high bets were placed as to which lucky suitor would become their future king.
The carriages yielded in a straight line before the palace entrance. Well-dressed men stepped out of their vehicles simultaneously, earning oohs and awes from the servants peeking behind doorways. One by one, they were ushered into the throne room, where the royal announcer and his trusty trumpet, presented each bachelor to Phil and Amelia. They sat in their towering rectangular thrones, while Vonzelle, sat beside her granddaughter in a smaller, but just as decorated and intricately carved chair. Above them draped a silk blue canopy, pinned to the sides to view the royals in their designated thrones. In the center of the room shone a nine-antler chandelier embodied with glimmering crystals and warm lit candles, creating streaks of elegant shadows upon the ceiling.
Zelgadis, Lina, and Gourry sat along the righthand side as spectators. Lina murmured comments into Zelgadis and Gourry's ears regarding the gifts the gentlemen towed in. The gifts were of little concern to Zelgadis. He kept his focus on Amelia, regardless of Vonzelle's casual peering from the corner of his eye. His thoughts festered with irritation, observing the expectation of her to rise for each suitor, receive a kiss on the hand, make polite exchanges, and then accept whatever frivolous gift they perceived she'd fawn over. She had done this four times in a row. He only assumed how relieved she would be for the fifth and final introduction.
Before the clock struck noon, all but one suitor arrived.
Waiting, with patience steadily wavering, they remained seated in the throne room. The awkward silence of the new company etched its way into everyone's jittery hand and intensifying sighs. Outside, the evoked blustering winds kept the most attention. The barren tree branches swung back and forth like shackling bones and shrubs shuddered and wept leaves like mourning lovers. The dull shade of blue above became muddled as dark charcoal shadows filtered out the autumn sunlight.
A suitor dug into his pant pocket, flipping open a pocket watch. "It seems Prince Derek is running late," Viscount Manston grumbled, clicking the device shut.
The viscount made himself at home on his chair; One arm perched itself on the back of the chair, revealing the pulled button threads across his snug jacket. He caressed his two furry chins out of boredom, before running the same hand on top of his baren sweaty head, surrounded by shrubs of slicked hair on each side.
"Looks like he'll be caught in the windstorm," Lord Tatum commented, his seat closest to the window. By the earl's feet lay a lean streamline wolfhound, whose long-feathered tail was comparable to his master's dishwater blonde low hanging ponytail.
"Perhaps he has been blown away," Lord Savill chortled, amusing himself as he fidgeted with the jeweled rings adorning each finger. The sides of his face were lawned with thick blunt sideburns, matching the earthy brushed caterpillars perched above his bright emerald eyes.
Vonzelle's wrinkles tightened from each corner of her lip. "I apologize on behalf of the prince's tardiness."
With pursed lips, she tried to keep her impatience at bay. Distractions about the throne room, however, only worsened her diminishing tolerance. If it was not Mister Gabriev's fluttering eyelids or premature yawns it was Lord Tatum's dog, who he brought along without as much as asking, heavily panting with droplets of saliva seeping from the crevasses of his pointed canines.
She scrunched her nose, holding back a moan of disgust. Instead, her eyes swiveled like sharpened daggers onto her son-in-law. Phil merely shrugged at her and when she gestured for him to come over to her in which he obeyed.
"Philionel," she whispered. "I do not see the purpose in waiting for someone who fails to respect the basic guidelines of social decency."
"This isn't typical of him, Mother," Phil assured, near her ear. "Usually the boy is very timely. Arrives early most of the time."
"Well, today isn't his lucky day," she remarked, tapping her fingers against the armrest of the chair.
"I have an idea!" A suddenly lively Count Savill commanded attention in the grandiose room, slamming his oxblood shoes against the floor. The acoustic's echo bounced off the thick impenetrable walls. "To pass the time, why don't we all play a game? I know! Let's take turns and guess how much longer the prince intends to leave us in suspense. I'll start and say— another half an hour." He turned to the occupied chair next to him. "How about you, Viscount Manston?"
"You are bad, Count Savill," Viscount Manston chuckled.
"Well, I don't mind waiting," Lord Tatum smiled. He glanced about the room with bright eyes and a quirk of his thin womanly lips, acknowledging all present parties. "It gives us all a chance to get to know each other."
A smarmy smirk merged from the corner of Count Savill's lip. "Yes. Perhaps we'll exchange addresses and become pen pals by the time this visitation is over."
"I don't see a reason to complain when we have such pleasant company before us."
All heads swiveled to the outspoken Lord Esmour Bardolf, who appeared content by the presence of Amelia and her grandmother. It was the first time that morning Vonzelle smiled genuinely during her entire visitation. Of course, it was expected of her to beam a pink shade of pride at her forever approved candidate.
Lord Bardolf's skin radiated a shade only the sun's beating rays could bestow, adorned with what looked like three noticeable discolored scaley birthmarks. One of the pied blotches enveloped his right cheekbone, extending over to the bottom lobe of his ear. The second dotted his chin bone, the other scattered into speckles below his left eye. Dark auburn ringlets fell along the sides of his heart-shaped face. His nose dove into a long-crooked slope with a visible kink near the tip and his eyes were as deep and stormy as tidal waves. If it hadn't been for his title as duke, Vonzelle wouldn't have even considered him a candidate by looks alone.
Viscount Manston folded his arms across his chest. "Pleasant company or not, my Lord, I do not appreciate waiting for a meal."
"Neither do I," Lina mumbled to herself. Her attention ventured over towards Amelia, who sat with forced posture, yet her eyes told of bubbling anxiety. Lina frowned. "Poor, Amelia." She turned to scan each suitor. She curled a lip. "These are the guys she has to choose from for a husband? Pretty slim pickings if you ask me."
"Well, I know who'd you choose, Lina," Gourry said, joining in on her musing thoughts.
She made a face, turning to him. "What are you talking about, Gourry?"
"You'd pick Prince whatshisface. The guy you whistled at."
"You mean the guy you whistled at," she corrected, poking her index finger into his firm chest. "After all, he thinks it was you."
Gourry blanched, stiff in his chair. "Oh, no! I forgot about that!"
"Will you two stop it, please?" Zelgadis groaned, his arms folded close to his chest.
He tapped his index finger along his opposite upper arm, his eyes subtly peering to Amelia then to the window before him. As he peeked, he noticed Amelia subtly shimmy the bustier of her dress up to where only the peak of her cleavage expressed itself near her collarbone. He then heard an oily snicker. As he looked forward, he found Lord Manston's engaged eyes in Amelia's direction, smirking. Zelgadis gripped the seat of his chair. It took all his inner strength to keep his mouth shut, grinding his teeth together. Swine like Lord Manston gave men a bad name.
And sitting among swine like Lord Manston and waiting for another squealing hankering swine made the event more intolerable. Zelgadis never endorsed the hoopla people made for higher society. In particular, having to sit by and wait for deluded preeminent noblemen as if he had nothing else better to do. And to make matters worse, while he sat with potential usurper's abound, only fifteen feet of separation kept Zelgadis from wanting to strangle the posh cow whose determination to rid him from the castle was as spirituous as his hunt for his cure.
Zelgadis did his best to make little eye contact as possible. Her dedication to see him packing gave her ample opportunity by any means necessary. He needed to be careful. A twitch of the mouth or a crease in the brow in her slightest direction could have provided credence to her conjured story. If he wished to come out on the other side without losing residency or teeth from a confrontation with explosive Phil no doubt, Zelgadis decided to stomach through the charade of suitors. He'd focus solely on his position, standing by quietly and guarding Amelia. If the necessity arose for a moment of privacy, he'd have to be sneaky. And he hated to have to do so. But Vonzelle made herself a formidable adversary. Proof or not, her words could do damage to his title and trust with Phil. When the opportunity shone a path of light his way, he'd explain Vonzelle's radical conclusions to Amelia. And eventually, Phil too. Even if both conversations left him with flushed cheeks and broken sentences.
All heads turned by the sound of squeaky hinges from the throne room doors. Phil's manservant, Edward, stepped into the room. All sat on the edge of their seats, eyes locked onto Edward as he ventured over to the crown prince. He gave a dutiful bow before his ruler and adjusted his throat. "Prince Derek has arrived, your highness."
"Thank you, Edward." Phil beamed a confident smile at Vonzelle. "See Mother, he made it on time!"
She huffed, unimpressed. "Yes, and with three minutes to spare."
"It's about time he showed up," Lina said, louder than she intended. Her voice quieted. "I mean, he lives the closest to Seyruun. You'd think he would have been the first one to arrive."
Gourry's eyebrow rose. "You're that anxious to see him?"
"Don't be stupid," she glared. "I'm just as curious as everyone else. That's all."
The royal announcer took position for what he hoped would be the fifth and final time for the day. He blew his trumpet and proceeded. "Presenting his royal majesty, Prince Derek Uttam Benedict Ackerley, of Ralteague. Son of his royal highness King Henry and Queen Helena Ackerley!"
Every seat was abandoned, standing at attention for the prince. Sets of anticipating eyes locked onto the opening set of sturdy adorned doors. The prince waltzed in with a militaristic gate and precision. By his slightly disheveled appearance and roughly smoothed out hair, it appeared he rode on horseback combating the escalating winds and their allies of pugnaciously swaying trees.
Amelia braced herself, but as the prince came into focus, she found herself unprepared. She instantly gaped, her facial muscles slacked, and her eyes wide. It's him! The man from the woods!
The same crimson cap, the same black leather riding boots, the same distinguished strong chin, the same warm hazel irises…She thought her eyes were deceiving her, but a few blinks verified it was indeed him. The man, now known as the prince of Ralteague, was the very one she aided and if she was going to be honest with herself, cast as one of the dashing heroes in her guilty pleasure novels.
"Close your mouth, Amelia," Vonzelle admonished in a harsh whisper.
But she could not. Instead, she brought a hand to cover her gaping mouth. Her visible chest heaved, pearls rattling together in waves upon her rising and falling breasts. Her hand slowly withdrew into a softly curled fist, falling to her side. She felt foolish for not recognizing him in the woods. Had he done the same? He did not behave as if he knew of her. Was their last encounter so long ago that they had forgotten what had transpired when they were children? She pressed herself to think harder, to replay the foggy memories of the Ralteague royal family's visitation. She could not recall why hot tears engulfed her eyes. But she believed, the prince had to be the boy. The boy with flowers.
Anxious flittering eyes fixed themselves onto the prince. She rose on the tips of her heels as if to get his attention, waiting for him to follow with a similar reaction. When he met her gaze, she caught a flashing glimpse of dilated bewildered pupils. He kept the rest of his face intact, his lips evenly lined and his posture stoic and controlled. Still, Amelia could feel the silent tension, entwined, communally between an understanding of sudden comprehension.
Immediately keened, Zelgadis exchanged his attention between the prince and then to Amelia. He frowned with a pinched expression at Amelia's strange reaction. What on earth made her gape at this Prince Derek's presence? Had his Grecian qualities left her paralyzed in heightened physical admiration? He squelched the thought. No. Amelia wouldn't have been taken by him in mere seconds. So, what was it then?
"Prince Derek," Phil acknowledged with a nod. "Thank you for coming."
The crown prince's rumbling voice broke Derek free from his trance. He turned to Phil and bowed. "Crown Prince Philionel, my humblest apologies for running late."
"There is no need to apologize," Phil replied, motioning for him to rise. "I can see our weather has reared its ugly head. I understand you ride horseback. I hope your journey here wasn't too hazardous."
"On the contrary, I prefer the open air. Carriages are for frail old—"
Derek stopped himself short. From the corner of his eye, he witnessed the start of dripping resentment from his majesty's mother-in-law's blister-inducing glare. "Not for everyone," he finished awkwardly.
"I see you did not come empty-handed," Phil observed.
Behind the prince, Edward brought in a small stack of three neatly wrapped packages. Derek took them from the man, thanking him. He then focused back onto Phil. "Uh, yes. A gift for you and the Marchioness, your majesty."
He dipped his head out of respectful formality, handing the crown prince two out of three offerings. As Phil passed one to Amelia to give to Vonzelle, the marchioness scrutinized the silk ribbon and evenly creased edges of the paper.
"A gift for me?" she asked blatantly. "Why? You most certainly aren't courting me!"
Her outward constricting remark ensued a chorus of chuckles from the rivaling suitors. Their arbitrary eyes and viperous whispers circled behind the prince like a pack of ravenous wolves.
"Well, of course not. Why would I?—" He paused, wincing to himself at his choice of words. He swallowed, trying again. "I mean, not that you're not attractive— It's just you're—"
"May I remind you I'm extremely married, young man," Vonzelle warned, as if seriously in danger of being pursued by a man young enough to be her grandson.
The laughter returned for an encore. Derek sighed deeply through his mouth. "Yes, well…." He adjusted his throat for another time.
"What is this said gift?" Vonzelle cut to the chase, sighing in exhaustion by the mere entertainment of his fumbling words.
"It's a book on Elmekia antiques." When Derek received no response but a blank cold stare, he expanded. "Prince Philionel mentioned you like Elmekia antiques."
"And I did," Phil concurred. He spared the prince from any further embarrassment, ordering Edward to place both he and Vonzelle's gifts to the side. "Thank you for your thoughtfulness. Now, I'd like you to meet my Amelia."
With one motion of his hand, Amelia rose for her father, leaving her seat. She stood before the prince; hands clasped together with an even but surprisingly bright smile gracing her face. Her cobalt eyes glistened a similar shimmer as her modest crown.
"It's an honor to see you again, Princess Amelia." Derek simply bowed before her with no attempt to kiss her hand. At least he was aware to avoid any sort of nauseating clichés.
Amelia curtseyed in return. "And to you as well, Prince Derek."
"I understand our memories of each other must be foggy, so I hope to become reacquainted with you during my stay," he said, rising to his full height.
"I would like the same," she agreed, keeping a reserved essence about her.
"If your father finds it acceptable, I have a gift for you as well, Princess."
Phil nodded, permitting the nobleman to proceed with his generous offering. She undid the ribbon with ease, tearing off the paper to find a gift incomparable to the gem-encrusted jewelry she received an hour earlier.
"I was under the impression that you enjoyed reading," Derek said, watching with mild uncertainty. "I don't know how fascinated you are with plants, but I thought perhaps a book on herbal benefits for healing might aid in your white magic capabilities."
Amelia skimmed through the pages, her fingers running down a list of ingredients for what looked like useful remedies. She smiled to herself, closing the book and holding it close to her chest. He thought of her. Unknowingly that she and the healer in the woods were one in the same. Evidently, she had left an impression on him. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She felt herself startled by the induced reaction, calling for rational to calm herself. Then, she wondered. If this book on herbal medicine was intended for the girl in the woods, then what was her original gift?
"I appreciate your thoughtfulness. It will be put to good use. Thank you," she said, pushing the question back in her mind.
He cast an equally genuine smile, falling silent as if lost in a lighthearted trance. It didn't take long for his formal self to click back into gear, reminding himself of one more favor, tucked inside his satchel. "Oh, and these are for you." He presented her with the hand-cut cluster of wildflowers, though their condition was of lesser quality than of that morning. "I apologize. They're a little disheveled from the journey—"
"They're lovely," Amelia assured, her fingers rummaging and sensing the various textures and colors of the aromatic blooms. "Much better than anything from the hothouse. And I like the touch of the bow too.
"Mister Edward?" she called, turning to Phil's manservant. The older man approached. "Would you please give these flowers to Miss Luella? I would like her to put them in my room. On my vanity, so I can see them. Thank you."
Zelgadis's lips tightened, though desperately crying to burst from the seams and gawk. Phil described the prince as structured and determined. Here, he was riddled with nerves. Zelgadis could thank Vonzelle for morphing him into a tongue-tied meek mess. She had a way of disabling even the most reticent individual. He had learned that all too well this morning.
Even so, this Prince Derek still managed to have the upper hand. Well, Zelgadis mused, if he had thoughtfully planned this meet and greet, which Zelgadis was almost positive he did, he was doing a bang-up job. The other noblemen traveled down the cliché route of expensive chocolates and glistening statement earrings. Here, this Prince Derek considered who Amelia was as a person, her interests, her pursuits… Could he have come to this conclusion based on the one playdate years ago? Zelgadis shook his head. There had to be more to the story.
What was this guy's angle anyhow? Could he truly be an oddball amongst a sea of habitually shallow dignitaries? Or was there indeed something up his sleeve? Was he really taken with Amelia or was it just the abandoned throne directly behind her that activated his charming mask?
Or was he simply looking for a reason not to trust the prince?
"Wow, the prince is really making a good impression on Amelia. More so than the others," Lina whispered, cuffing her hand for only Gourry and Zelgadis to hear. "And here I thought he was going to come in with his own parade of servants carrying jewels for her. I wonder what she makes of all this."
Zelgadis cast a glare to the back of the prince's head. For once, he didn't know how to answer.
A/N Continued: Thank you for reading all the way through! Now, onto the luncheon and ball! I knew in this chapter I wanted to include the confrontation between Zelgadis and Vonzelle before the suitors arrived, to further propel his impending motivation and perhaps his albeit, stubborn acknowledgment regarding his feelings for Amelia. I'm excited to see where his intentions and thoughts will lead me in chapter ten. And Amelia's too!
Until then, I send my best wishes. Stay safe and healthy everyone! :)