CHAPTER 8
The rain poured down the panes of glass set in the windows of the parlor. A fire roared in the grate, for whatever warmth that would bring to Zechs Merquise. It was more a sign of his present mood. He sat in a velvet apolstered chair, leaning back in a relaxed position, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes his eyes dark and stormy as he brooded over the night's events.
The door opened. Through it came the figure of his master.
"Treize-" He was stopped by a light kiss from the object of his wrath. Zechs flushed in anger and glared at his lover as he crossed the room. " 'Just my serving man'? 'Sadly, he was born mute'?"
Khushrenada laughed. "Really, Zechs. You take everything much too seriously. Another one of your faults, but not to worry, with enough time and training you will no longer have anything to marr your perfection." Walking to the cabinet where he kept liquor captive, Treize found a key and liberated a bottle of cognac and two glasses. "Honestly, you must have seen that as the act that it was."
"I didn't." His face was grim.
"All in good time you will see what I am working for. But patience is the key, my Milliard. Our patience will be rewarded with the ultimate fulfillment of my plans and a place where you and I can stay forever in peace, until then my plans will remain shadowed lest it become necissary to tell you."
The cognac was poured into intricately etched crystal glasses and offered to the blonde who took the glass without speaking.
/Treize, what are you hiding from me?/ He brought the crystal to his lips, the cool liquid flowing through his mouth and down his throat, an action more of habit than necessity.
They were silent for many seconds--master leaning on the mantle, apprentice in the chair--both staring into the dancing flames as if searching for the answers to lost questions amoung them. Blue eyes met and came to an understanding. The duke nodded and turned back to the fire.
Outside, the rain poured down and the storm raged around the castle, the wind howled fiercely in the trees. But inside all was silent. As though even the storm was afraid to disturb the sanctitiy of this place. The chimes of the old grandfather clock in the great hall echoed midnight through the deserted corridors. And deep into the night did they stay there, seemingly unaware of the chaos that raged outside the windows, until long after the flames had died and there was no longer anything left but soft piles of ashes in the grate.
The rain poured down the panes of glass set in the windows of the parlor. A fire roared in the grate, for whatever warmth that would bring to Zechs Merquise. It was more a sign of his present mood. He sat in a velvet apolstered chair, leaning back in a relaxed position, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes his eyes dark and stormy as he brooded over the night's events.
The door opened. Through it came the figure of his master.
"Treize-" He was stopped by a light kiss from the object of his wrath. Zechs flushed in anger and glared at his lover as he crossed the room. " 'Just my serving man'? 'Sadly, he was born mute'?"
Khushrenada laughed. "Really, Zechs. You take everything much too seriously. Another one of your faults, but not to worry, with enough time and training you will no longer have anything to marr your perfection." Walking to the cabinet where he kept liquor captive, Treize found a key and liberated a bottle of cognac and two glasses. "Honestly, you must have seen that as the act that it was."
"I didn't." His face was grim.
"All in good time you will see what I am working for. But patience is the key, my Milliard. Our patience will be rewarded with the ultimate fulfillment of my plans and a place where you and I can stay forever in peace, until then my plans will remain shadowed lest it become necissary to tell you."
The cognac was poured into intricately etched crystal glasses and offered to the blonde who took the glass without speaking.
/Treize, what are you hiding from me?/ He brought the crystal to his lips, the cool liquid flowing through his mouth and down his throat, an action more of habit than necessity.
They were silent for many seconds--master leaning on the mantle, apprentice in the chair--both staring into the dancing flames as if searching for the answers to lost questions amoung them. Blue eyes met and came to an understanding. The duke nodded and turned back to the fire.
Outside, the rain poured down and the storm raged around the castle, the wind howled fiercely in the trees. But inside all was silent. As though even the storm was afraid to disturb the sanctitiy of this place. The chimes of the old grandfather clock in the great hall echoed midnight through the deserted corridors. And deep into the night did they stay there, seemingly unaware of the chaos that raged outside the windows, until long after the flames had died and there was no longer anything left but soft piles of ashes in the grate.