Chapter Two:
He sat alone in the back of the chapel. "Leaving behind a grieving husband and child. We must comfort them." The High Chancellor was droning on and on about Simon's one true love-- Lady Eleanor. It was painful to watch and listen to.
He watched her family, the husband and child up in the front of chapel. It was first time he saw either of them. Sir Peter was a frightening looking man, tall, muscular with broad shoulders. Next to him sat the child. But oh! She wasn't a child. She was more a woman.
He had envisioned her to be a girl from what Eleanor had told him of her daughter. But there she was. 15 years old with long black hair and a striking shape.. Perhaps it was the striking resembles to her mother that drew Simon to her but as soon as he saw her, he knew, he would have her. Just as he had her mother. Only this time it would be legal..
Simon's former mistresses lay in her mahogany tomb. The casket was open. The woman inside looked nothing like the young, free spirited beauty he had a wild hot affair with. Instead she looked old and stern.
As the ceremony came to a close the daughter, her name was Ella Simon recalled, was required to close the casket so it could be taken to burial. The casket closed with a deafening CLICK and the girl stood there, starting at the coffin. She looked so miserable. And then, tears erupted. Her wails echoed in the chapel.
Maybe she was a child.. he considered. He watched her embrace the merchant and got to his feet. Simon wanted to leave before the crowds so no one would know he was there. As Simon reached the door, Ella tore past him.
Simon watched her as she tripped on the way down the stairs and quickly returned to her feet, tears streaking down her face. He chuckled, this was too easy. Simon followed slowly at a good distance. She headed for the graveyard and Simon saw her dive into the closure of the Willow Tree. She was crying rather loudly. Simon felt tears forming in his eyes as he realized his Eleanor was gone forever.
He tried to divert his attentions from his wet face by looking around at the tombstones. Duke Simon of Bumblefuck, it read. Simon gasped. It was his- -Char's tomb, rather. He had tried to avoid this place for two years. It figured fate would bring him here.
Simon stared down at the stone. He was bemused about what to say to him. What where you suppose to say to the spirit of the man you murdered? He felt Char's spirit at the stone and knew something needed to be said.
Hello, you lucky bitch, thanks for everything. He prayed silently. Simon heard a muffled cried behind me. Ahh. the maiden emerges from the privacy of her tree. He could feel her watching as he reviewed the tombstone, with his feet slightly apart. He wondered what she thought of his tawny curls and swarthy skin. Did she notice the sprinkling of freckles across his nose? It was surprising on such a dark face.
He smiled at her, "Cousin of mine," Simon said, as he gestured at the tombstone. "Never liked him," That was an understatement. "Cousin of mine never liked him, so I killed him," Simon imagined himself saying to the desolate girl. "I liked you mother," I had an affair with her, Simon thought again. She was good in bed.
The girl was moving away from him. Simon closed in. She's running. I have to make the first move, "You can call me Char." Oh that was stupid boy! Yeah, use the same pickup line on the daughter. Simon felt a wave a disgust at himself. "Everyone else does," Nice save. not!
More silence on her part, "My father does too," I added. Why did I add that? Simon wondered . It was completely unnecessary. Maybe.I just want to prove Char and I have something in common, Simon thought profoundly.
"Thank you," she said. Finally, she speaks.
"Thank you Char," he corrected. Simon stared at her. She really did look so much like her mother, "Your mother use to make me laugh. Once at a banquet, Chancellor Thomas was making a speech. While he talked, your mother moved her napkin around. I saw it before your father crumpled it up. She had arranged the edge in the shape of the chancellor's profile, with the mouth open and chin stuck out. It would have looked exactly like him if he were the color of a blue napkin. I had to leave with out dinner so I could go outside and laugh." And screw your mom.
What? Where did those unnecessary lies come from? Sir Peter was nowhere near Frell at that time of year.
We chattered some more. Simon couldn't recall anything more of the conversation. It was quiet pointless. He made up some lies about how he knew so much about her. Something about her cook and his. Simon knew he was winning her over, just like her mother.
He didn't dare attempt to attend the ceremony at the late Lady Eleanor's house. It would be too painful.
Instead, he went back home to the castle. Life can be dull sometimes. He did have one joy in the world and that was hunting. It gave him such a rush to kill something so much smaller and weaker and know he had the control over it's life and death. It's pain. He liked control. He preferred having the control, holding the whip. Having the key to the lock. Knowing he was better and more powerful. And more handsome, with his chiseled jaw and craggy features.
But of course, no one ever caught on. They preferred to think of their prince as a peaceful man of good breeding who liked his tea and crumpets. If only they really knew, thought Simon.
He sat alone in the back of the chapel. "Leaving behind a grieving husband and child. We must comfort them." The High Chancellor was droning on and on about Simon's one true love-- Lady Eleanor. It was painful to watch and listen to.
He watched her family, the husband and child up in the front of chapel. It was first time he saw either of them. Sir Peter was a frightening looking man, tall, muscular with broad shoulders. Next to him sat the child. But oh! She wasn't a child. She was more a woman.
He had envisioned her to be a girl from what Eleanor had told him of her daughter. But there she was. 15 years old with long black hair and a striking shape.. Perhaps it was the striking resembles to her mother that drew Simon to her but as soon as he saw her, he knew, he would have her. Just as he had her mother. Only this time it would be legal..
Simon's former mistresses lay in her mahogany tomb. The casket was open. The woman inside looked nothing like the young, free spirited beauty he had a wild hot affair with. Instead she looked old and stern.
As the ceremony came to a close the daughter, her name was Ella Simon recalled, was required to close the casket so it could be taken to burial. The casket closed with a deafening CLICK and the girl stood there, starting at the coffin. She looked so miserable. And then, tears erupted. Her wails echoed in the chapel.
Maybe she was a child.. he considered. He watched her embrace the merchant and got to his feet. Simon wanted to leave before the crowds so no one would know he was there. As Simon reached the door, Ella tore past him.
Simon watched her as she tripped on the way down the stairs and quickly returned to her feet, tears streaking down her face. He chuckled, this was too easy. Simon followed slowly at a good distance. She headed for the graveyard and Simon saw her dive into the closure of the Willow Tree. She was crying rather loudly. Simon felt tears forming in his eyes as he realized his Eleanor was gone forever.
He tried to divert his attentions from his wet face by looking around at the tombstones. Duke Simon of Bumblefuck, it read. Simon gasped. It was his- -Char's tomb, rather. He had tried to avoid this place for two years. It figured fate would bring him here.
Simon stared down at the stone. He was bemused about what to say to him. What where you suppose to say to the spirit of the man you murdered? He felt Char's spirit at the stone and knew something needed to be said.
Hello, you lucky bitch, thanks for everything. He prayed silently. Simon heard a muffled cried behind me. Ahh. the maiden emerges from the privacy of her tree. He could feel her watching as he reviewed the tombstone, with his feet slightly apart. He wondered what she thought of his tawny curls and swarthy skin. Did she notice the sprinkling of freckles across his nose? It was surprising on such a dark face.
He smiled at her, "Cousin of mine," Simon said, as he gestured at the tombstone. "Never liked him," That was an understatement. "Cousin of mine never liked him, so I killed him," Simon imagined himself saying to the desolate girl. "I liked you mother," I had an affair with her, Simon thought again. She was good in bed.
The girl was moving away from him. Simon closed in. She's running. I have to make the first move, "You can call me Char." Oh that was stupid boy! Yeah, use the same pickup line on the daughter. Simon felt a wave a disgust at himself. "Everyone else does," Nice save. not!
More silence on her part, "My father does too," I added. Why did I add that? Simon wondered . It was completely unnecessary. Maybe.I just want to prove Char and I have something in common, Simon thought profoundly.
"Thank you," she said. Finally, she speaks.
"Thank you Char," he corrected. Simon stared at her. She really did look so much like her mother, "Your mother use to make me laugh. Once at a banquet, Chancellor Thomas was making a speech. While he talked, your mother moved her napkin around. I saw it before your father crumpled it up. She had arranged the edge in the shape of the chancellor's profile, with the mouth open and chin stuck out. It would have looked exactly like him if he were the color of a blue napkin. I had to leave with out dinner so I could go outside and laugh." And screw your mom.
What? Where did those unnecessary lies come from? Sir Peter was nowhere near Frell at that time of year.
We chattered some more. Simon couldn't recall anything more of the conversation. It was quiet pointless. He made up some lies about how he knew so much about her. Something about her cook and his. Simon knew he was winning her over, just like her mother.
He didn't dare attempt to attend the ceremony at the late Lady Eleanor's house. It would be too painful.
Instead, he went back home to the castle. Life can be dull sometimes. He did have one joy in the world and that was hunting. It gave him such a rush to kill something so much smaller and weaker and know he had the control over it's life and death. It's pain. He liked control. He preferred having the control, holding the whip. Having the key to the lock. Knowing he was better and more powerful. And more handsome, with his chiseled jaw and craggy features.
But of course, no one ever caught on. They preferred to think of their prince as a peaceful man of good breeding who liked his tea and crumpets. If only they really knew, thought Simon.
