Title: The Myth of Innocence
Author: Catalina Royce
Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books,
Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made
and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Rating: R
"Earl and Countess Delacroix and their children Lady Adaline Delacroix, and Lord Jonathon Delacroix!"
The butler-cum-steward scuttled out of the path of the nobles. His masters were very progressive – they believed in having someone answer the door for them. He also announced the guests, as well as ran the household. However, they would not forgive him the mistake of running into one of their guests.
There was an odd silence around the room, and then the nobles broke out in frantic whispers. They were talking, the butler surmised, of the pale young witch; Lady Adaline Delacroix.
She was very beautiful, the whispers said. However, although her family were the most pure-blooded known, she was the product of a by-blow with a muggle. She was tainted. She wasn't allowed to use a wand – ever. When she was first born, there had been some debate as to whether or not to allow this mudblood to practise magic with a wand. After all, she was from a powerful family.
But Queen Maeve had interrupted the debate, and stated what everyone knew – a mudblood's magic was naturally defective. So it had been decided – Adaline would not be allowed to practise magic.
Her family had stood by her through all of this, and she was accepted into polite society. It was such a shame, the whispers said, that poor Adaline was also insane.
She stood now, alone and proud, eyes surveying the room like a queen who saw no one fit to acknowledge. She was a redhead, her complexion pale – as if she'd spent most of her life indoors. She was petite, and fragile, looking like she could snap if a person laid a hand on her. Her dress was made of a deep green velvet, with silver embroidery on the hem, and an under dress of pale cream. Her hair was up in a cluster of curls, and her face was frozen in a dignified expression.
She held no illusions of who she was and what they thought of her. She knew exactly what they'd been whispering.
Adaline turned away, just as the butler called out, "Lord Thom Montague."
She vaguely registered the commotion his name brought to the nobles – perhaps he was another mudblood? But, no. This commotion was of the welcoming kind. He was one of them.
Adaline shuddered. She was tired of this life. The nobles had nothing to do but war with each other. They used magic to kill and maim and harm. They hated her, and the feeling was mutual.
Sometimes she wondered if she was as fragile as she felt.
Adaline walked toward the banquet, ignoring the clatter behind her as they rushed to Lord Thom's side. She looked toward the platters, smiling slightly as she took some pheasant. Adaline had mastered her magic as much as she could. She could call upon her magic at will now. She didn't need a wand, but, oh, how she yearned for the privilege. To be accepted as one of them would be...magical.
The redhead turned and glanced around her. Her family was in the middle of the throng, smiling and laughing. And she was on the outer edges of their existence.
They didn't understand her. She was fragile, and delicate, like a flower. They didn't understand how easy it would be to crush her, how far they'd already gotten. Sometimes she wondered why she hadn't just thrown herself out of a tower, and then she'd realise yet again why not: she was waiting for her prince to save her.
Her mother beckoned her over, smiling and chatting animatedly. It seemed she'd remembered her duty – to introduce all the family, not just the ones they wanted.
"This is my daughter, Adaline." Adaline waited for her mother to finish her spiel – Adaline's achievements, her skills, her ability to manage a household.
It never came. Instead, the pompous warlord simply asked, "Oh, and this is the mudblood, isn't she? I suppose I could find her a husband in one of my servants."
The crowd around her laughed. Adaline turned and left the room, knowing that if she didn't control herself, she could kill that man without meaning to.
She made her way to the solar above the hall. The women used it to sew, but at a feast such as this, there would be no sewing; the light was bad and the women were otherwise occupied. Confident in the knowledge that no one would be there, Adaline entered the room and unleashed her fury on the furniture. The chairs snapped, the table groaned and creaked as it slowly gave way to some invisible pressure.
Content, Adaline smiled, glancing towards the window in the wall. Horror rushed through her as she saw the silhouette of a man near the window. She gasped and rushed over to him, dropping on her knees.
"My lord, please. Please. Don't tell them." She looked fearfully toward the door, then back up at the man, who she could now identify as Lord Thom. "They'd kill me if they knew."
He bent down some and hooked his hands underneath her arms, pulling her up to stand. He looked hard at her, and sat her down on the bench near the window. Her magic hadn't touched that, instead focussing on the things nearby to her.
"If they knew...what?"
She wanted to say it. Wanted to tell someone her secret. But she couldn't trust him, and years of lying and treachery prevented her. She couldn't tell him. Adaline bit her lip, shaking her head sadly. I can't. She begged silently. I can't. Just understand. I can't.
"If they knew..that you had tamed your magic? That you seemed to be as able as I to perform magic? That mudbloods weren't defective?"
She nodded, still not game to say anything. Perhaps it was just a shock to him. Perhaps that was the reason he hadn't told everyone yet.
"I won't tell. I promise." He looked at her in the moonlight. It was a quarter moon, and dark, but the light gleamed off her hair. Her eyes were brown, but in this light, they looked to have flecks of grey in them. She was so pale, and unblemished. "So pretty," he whispered. She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes, eyes disbelieving. He wondered what it would be like to be so shunned from everything that a few kind words from a stranger could put that expression into her eyes. "So wise." He murmured, his hands resting on hers.
She drew away, not trusting him. "My family would disagree with you."
"I know." He admitted baldly. His lips sank into a smile. His eyes were still roaming over her; taking in her defects, she knew. All of them had done it before, and they would do it again. It just hurt that he, who knew her biggest secret, would do the same. "In fact," he went on, "it is common knowledge that your family considers you insane. Society has treated you as such.
"Are you insane?" He asked, curiously. She didn't seem insane. She acted just like every other wellborn woman; only she had the courage and the discipline to master her magic without help.
His question seemed to echo previous thoughts. "No. I'm not insane." She didn't go into the details, didn't mention that her family had spread the rumour to cover for their social lapse.
He smiled at her answer. "Well then. Adaline Delacroix. I have a proposal for you." He watched as her face, previously so open, froze. Expression was completely wiped from her, and all that was left was a haughty shell. He realised that she'd misinterpreted his words; she thought he was going to make her his mistress. She'd have been taught her entire life that that was the best she could hope for, probably. Regardless, he went on. "You are the first witch I've met that has such dedication. You are wise, and powerful to be able to control raw magic. You are beautiful. And tomorrow, I will ask your father for permission to marry you." Her beautiful face didn't move. It was still locked in a coldness that was unnatural for such fire. "Say something." He demanded. She should be jumping around, excited. She should be flattered by such an offer. This was a once in a lifetime offer for her.
"How dare you? You think it's funny to me that no one will ever want me as a wife? That I'm defective? That I," she didn't finish, instead breaking off and burying her face in her hands. He couldn't tell if she was crying or if she was just trying to control her anger; neither was desirable.
"Lady Adaline, I promise you. I want to marry you. Wedding gown, ceremony. Everything."
She looked up; doubtful. "Really?"
"Yes." It was a hasty decision, but right nonetheless. He knew it. Besides, he'd made a snap decision, and they'd never steered him wrong. It was a gift of his.
"Why?" She snapped out, eyes hardening. She'd spent her life being called a mudblood, being teased, tormented, by his kind. Just because he said a few kind words to her didn't mean that she was going to collapse into his arms and weep fitfully in gratitude.
His eyes bugged. "Because I want to."
"Because you want to be a rebel? To be the one who breaks the norm? Because you want to be, Lord forbid, nice? So that everyone will fawn over you with your pity for me, and marvel at how you let me become something to much more than I was expected to be?" She was ranting now, letting out all her troubles and vexations in one long stream of consciousness. "I'll tell you something, milord. I don't need your pity. I've spent my entire life fighting against the prejudices of other people, and I've learnt how to become completely independent."
He dismissed her scorn with his own. "I don't feel pity for you. I feel pity for the women in the ballroom. They have no freedom. They live under the thumb of their fathers, and come to these balls to find husbands, and in turn live under the rule of them. You have so much freedom. Nobody restricts where you go. They-"
"They all have wands."
He paused a minute, and she realised how much she'd just revealed. "If you marry me, Adaline, I'll let you use mine when no one is there. You deserve a wand."
She loved him then. More than anything she'd ever wanted, she'd wanted to be accepted. And he just had.
"And what about the flowers? Do you think white? Perhaps Lilies?"
Adaline roused herself enough to listen to her mother. "Not Lilies. They make me ill." She went back to her sewing, beginning to feel like she was trapped in the room. She couldn't stand any more of the wedding arrangements. Adaline stood up, letting her embroidery clatter to the floor, and muttered, "I must go for a walk."
Her mother and assistants looked on sadly. When Adaline was out of earshot, one of the assistants voiced her opinion. "It's such a pity the poor girl is insane."
She walked through the garden below, picking a white rose from one of the bushes. She held it up and smelt it, disappointed to realise it wasn't perfumed. A voice whispered to her from the shadows. "It doesn't smell as good as you."
Her face lit up with joy. She whirled around and leapt to hug him, uncaring of the proprieties. She loved him, more than anything she'd ever wanted. Originally, she hadn't known whether she loved him because he accepted her, or if she truly loved him. She believed it to be the latter, but she'd never know, because he'd never reject her. He'd had the opportunity, and he hadn't. He didn't hate her because of her breeding. In fact, he seemed to like her more. And although he was charismatic and handsome, he was smart. He didn't need to rely on his good looks alone.
He hugged her back, burying his face in her hair. She felt so protected, like he'd never break her. She was so safe with him. She looked up to find his powerful grey eyes smoky with an emotion she couldn't place. The look perturbed her. She licked her lips, smiling nervously up at him. He grinned at her, then his gaze rested on her mouth.
"Quickly. You must return to the wedding preparations with your mother." He whispered, then pushed her off in that direction.
She left, puzzling over the expression she'd seen in his eyes.
As soon as he closed the door, she knew exactly what was coming.
She'd entered his room for the same reason; she knew exactly what they were going to do. She hadn't seen him for days, and she, much as she hated it, was completely insecure as to whether or not he still loved her. Perhaps it was the poison her brother had been spilling into her ears, telling her that her beloved fiancé didn't love her. She knew now he had been trying to destroy her happiness.
He kissed her tenderly, slowly. She melted into him, feeling the heat of his body seep through her layers of fabric. She wondered perhaps if this was what love was about, this physical feeling of needing to be with him. For surely this was everlasting, eternal.
He dragged her down to lie on the floor beneath them, and she didn't care about anything, even the fact that she was consummating the marriage before the ceremony. She loved him, and wasn't that enough to excuse what they did?
His lips found her pulse. His tongue darted out, caressing her pale skin and she looked at him. He was so beautiful, so smart, and best of all, he was hers. She still didn't understand why he'd chose her three months ago, but she was going to marry this man.
She could feel his breath against her skin. She was more than happy now that the fashions today required a low bodice. His hand stroked the outside of her thigh through her dresses and petticoats. She wanted him to continue, to move inwards, to touch that central core of her that was throbbing...
Instead his hand moved down to the bottom of her skirts. So this was why the servant girls were so happy to lift their skirts for men. This feeling of wanting was so intense. His hand reached her thigh and he kissed her again. It was like opium. She felt like she was drifting and dreaming, but at the same time her body was humming with joy.
His hand touched her, and she almost cried out. He grinned at her, his face so boyish and eager, then kissed her again. She loved it, revelled in it. Didn't even notice his moving until he thrust inside her, breaking the small membrane that was her protection. That was her innocence. She screamed into his mouth, the pain racking her.
It started ebb and she closed her eyes tight, tears still quivering on the edge of her eyes. Thom looked down at her, his eyes dark with regret, then kissed her cheeks and whispered promises in her ear.
Slowly she came around, beginning to become excited about this caring man and his words. He told her about how he felt inside her, how she was so hot and tight, how she could send him over the edge just by squeezing those muscles inside her.
The thought intrigued her, and she did so, surprised to find how good it felt. All of a sudden she felt the need to move, to ease this ache inside of her. Thom looked at her and realised this, his eyes alight with satisfaction. He started to move, to thrust into her.
She whimpered as the world started to spin around her. She was the centre of the universe. Then the universe splintered before her eyes.
Life had never been easy for her. The redhead twirled a flower around in her hand, watching as the yellow petals spun together in a colourful wheel. In fact, she mused as she frowned, using her magic to slowly turn the flower black, she hadn't had it easy at all. Her family had been awfully judgmental of her, not understanding the delicate madness inside of her. And it was delicate. She was like this flower. Delicate. Fragile, like lace made out of spider webs.
She was happy with him, yes. And he'd truely made her come out of her shell when others were around. But...
The dreams were haunting her again. They were pounding through her brain, ignoring all her pleas for mercy, just as the madness inside ignored her family's pleas for reason. How could she know reason? She'd never known reason. Only magic, only the odd things that seemed to happen when she was upset. That was her only reason. The knowledge that she could kill, without meaning to. That was the only reason that she hadn't plunged into the Kingdom of Dreams long before now.
There was a crunching sound behind her – a boot hitting dry grass. The man crouched down beside her, staring at the flower. She let out a whisper of a sigh, unhappy that she – being of dirty muggle blood – would never know the honour of a wand to use her magic. Unhappy also, that these feelings of jealousy towards her beloved could only be repressed, not forgotten.
But it was the day of her wedding, and her beloved had come to find her. He was everything she wanted in life. He could interpret every whisper, every sigh. Every moan, laugh, grumble and whimper she let out, he could interpret. "You shouldn't be here." Her voice was quiet, in deference to the pain in her head that the dreams had caused.
He sensed instinctively what the reason was, and kept his voice quiet too. "Why not?"
She almost wept at the question. Every minute apart was death for her, and he was asking her to abandon her family's wishes yet again. She was no saint, just a woman with a love so great that only murder could destroy it. "Tradition." The excuse was exactly that. An excuse.
"Tradition? It is traditional to keep your virginity, and yet, you are tainted before marriage."
The headaches were rising again. A rush of heat flared up her cheeks, shamed that he would even mention that. It was the reason her family had been so judgmental. It was the reason for this marriage. And it was the reason for the headaches. She didn't know how they were linked, but these headaches had started just after...that night. "By you."
"Yes." He didn't need to acknowledge anymore than that, instead crouching down beside her in a gesture of compassion. He'd been angry, she knew. She'd probably missed the wedding. It didn't matter. Marriage was forever, and her time as a single woman was coming to an end. Her time as a maiden had already ended. "You're bleeding."
"I know." Two simple words that melted the anger from his face. He knew what had happened. He understood her. Understood her like no one else on Earth. He was so gorgeous. So handsome. And he knew her better than she knew herself.
"Why?"
"It helped the pain. "
The man sighed. She'd been in one of her trances, obviously. She wouldn't have hurt herself otherwise. It was normal for her to have these. . .periods of lust, to want to hurt herself. He couldn't stop them; he could only support her when she fell. He alone knew the reasons for these headaches, and they were worrisome to say the least.
"Do you think," she began, "that I'll live to be one hundred?"
No. He didn't.
His reply was serious, his voice affectionate and determined. "I'll make sure your soul will live to be one thousand."
She smiled at him, unknowingly crushing the flower in her hand. "I know, Thom. You promised me."
"I keep my promises."
Her mother broke her the news.
Adaline wouldn't believe her at first, then looked in wonder at the rest of her family. Her family. The ones supposed to protect her and love her. How was this love? Denying her the man she loved? She'd given her heart and soul – her innocence – to him. And now they denied her his presence.
"Where is he?" She asked quietly.
It was her mother that answered. Her beautiful, heartless mother, who preferred to say that her daughter was insane than face the scandal of actually accepting her as a person. "He has left, Adaline. Abandoned you to us. He does not want you."
"Did he say this?"
"No." replied her father, arrogant in his certainty. "He did not need to."
The fragility inside her snapped. When her parents had decreed that because she had missed the ceremony, she could not be married to Thom, she had endured, with Thom's promises inside her. But now her family were telling her that the man she loved had left her..forever. Had abandoned her to her family.
She couldn't believe it, yet it was all so true. He had left her. Forever.
Author's Note: Okay, yes, I did cop out. I was struggling with this chapter so much, and there were already 3,000 words, so I just gave up and decided that I couldn't tell the whole story of these two in one chapter. It just isn't possible.
On another note, Absinthe has given me a wonderful idea. In this and every future chapter of The Myth of Innocence there will be at least one 'please'. Spot the please, review and tell me, and the first person to spot ten 'please's will have a guest character of her [or his] choice in either this fic, or one of my up and coming stories. Of course, if you want to barter for my affection, all you need to do is review.
Much credit for this chapter goes to my new and wonderful beta, Nicole. She's a lifesaver.
Finally, it's my belief that prejudice against muggles and 'mudbloods' didn't come from nowhere -- it wasn't just some irrational though someone had. I think that at some point, it was accepted as society's norm: A Mudblood was inferior. And the time I'm writing in is that period.
As always, read, review, and constructive criticism is always welcome.