Shackles of Intrigue
When one resides in a place of great prominence and wields great power, one can expect oneself to be constantly embroiled without the intrigues that take place. Political intrigues have various motives, ranging from increase in power to the invasion of another country. Various tools are used in the process as well. Love and lust are common ones whenever females are involved. Murder and assassination are easier ways that get rid of both the witness and the obstruction, creating a clear path for the conspirator to walk towards his goal.
Whatever the case, one must always watch one's back. In a dark corridor, someone may just be lurking with a dagger in hand, ready to plunge it into another's back...
"One two three four…" The instructor tapped his feet, clapping his hands as he counted the beats. "Spin and twirl! Spin and twirl! Spin and…alas! Mademoiselle has failed once again…tant pis!"
What? Marisa gritted her teeth in a controlled fury. All she did was land slightly off-balance to the right, and he called that a failure? What about those attempts at the start of the lesson? What were those dance steps called then? Elephant ballet? Besides, the long swishing skirt of her robe would cover her feet, and no one would be able to see her messed-up footsteps.
"Mademoiselle looks tired…perhaps Mademoiselle would like a rest?" Gallantly, he took her hand and escorted her to the soft couch at the corner of the room. He poured a crystal glass of water and handed it to her with an exquisite bow.
She was uncomfortable with this display of outright chivalry and gallantry. It was weird…Taking a thoughtful sip of the water, she scrutinized her dance instructor critically.
He was tall and lean, with certainly a very good figure. His long straight black hair fell down in a smooth cascade of shiny locks, almost like a shimmering ebony waterfall. His eyes were twin pools of darkness, the kind that a woman could easily lose and drown herself in. His complexion was darker than hers, but still relatively pale, perhaps even creamy. His nose was shaped to perfection and free from all freckles and other blemishes. When he smiled, his ruby lips parted to reveal perfectly white and pristine pearly teeth.
When he was concentrating on dancing, his fringe, a short but silky-looking lock of hair, would fall over and loosely cover his right eye. He would then toss his head in a smooth move, flipping the hair to the side.
She had nearly finished her water.
He was like perfection itself, but in her opinion, he seemed a little too perfect, almost like a marble statue came to life, something unrealistic and imaginary, similar to a character from one of the fantasies. And the way he moved, although incredibly graceful and smooth, was…somewhat gay.
She choked painfully on her water and coughed. She certainly did not have any issues with people with varying sexual orientations. It was just that this particular dance instructor was a little too effeminate in his ways.
He was patting her back lightly, coaxing her to drink slowly, that they had plenty of time to wait for her to recover.
"Mademoiselle, you are très charmante," he purred, slowly rubbing her back. "Please drink slowly, we do not wish for such une belle femme to meet mishap over drinking water."
As politely as she could, she thanked him, after shifting away from his hand on her back. This man was certainly making her very uncomfortable.
"Would mademoiselle resume previous dancing lesson?" He took her hand and gestured to the marble floor of the ballroom. "We still have beaucoup to cover, and Mademoiselle needs to practice more."
He snapped his fingers, signaling the start of the lesson. Reclaiming her hand in his, he positioned his other hand on her waist, holding it in a slightly uncomfortable grip. "Ready Mademoiselle? And here we go…"
The dance was a gavotte, with a light springing step and a fast rhythm. Speed was one of the only things she was ever acquainted with in her life, and she soon caught on the dance, despite the ridiculous dress and the instructor's iron grip on her waist.
"Oui, oui! Mademoiselle is a natural at this!" He cried happily, prancing around the ballroom, dragging her along with him. She tried to smile a little, but his hold on her waist was making her feel rather constricted. It reminded her of one of those venomous inventions called the corset.
By the end of the dance, her feet hurt, her waist hurt, her head hurt, and she lounging as gracefully as she could on the couch catching her breath, while he waltzed around the ballroom by himself excitedly, performing a solo, all the while chanting something in his native tongue.
One thing she was glad of was that his hand was no longer on her waist like a clamp. Finally, her blood circulation could return to normal. For a moment there on the ballroom she was worried that she would faint due to lack of blood in the bottom half of her body. Had he been clamping her artery or something? She moaned as she gently rubbed her aching waist.
"Does Mademoiselle hurt around the waist? C'est possible after a fast dance if one is a beginner at dancing…" While she was agonizing over her injuries sustained, he had silently crept over and sat himself next to her. "Does Mademoiselle need a massage around her waist? I am well-skilled in the arts of massage…" Without waiting for her consent, he had begun rolling up his sleeves, dark eyes glittering.
"It's alright," she hurriedly rose to place a same distance between the two of them. Never would she ever allow him to massage any part of her, even if she was so sore she could barely walk. The horrors of the previous dance had showed her quite enough. "I-"
She was abruptly pulled down, back onto the couch. A hand circled tightly around her waist, and her arms were swiftly pinned above her head, her legs pinned down onto the couch firmly.
She looked at him, shocked and horrified. A few strands of his loose black hair was caressing his face, and one of his hands was stroking her cheek.
"Mademoiselle, tu es très belle," he purred softly. There was a dangerous seductive tone in his voice. His dark eyes were glazed, reflecting a shiny sheen that promised wickedness and unspoken things. He reminded her of a hunter, a strong dangerous predator. "Indeed, it has been longtemps since I met a woman that has aroused such…strong emotions in me…"
He was leaning over her, his warm breath tickling the bare skin of her neck. She struggled, but to no avail. In speed, she had the upper hand, but in strength, she was weak. And she had been caught off-guards. Never would she have imagined that he, a mere dance instructor, would do something so outrageous on the grounds of his employers.
She opened her mouth to cry for help, but was quickly muffled by his hand covering her mouth.
"Ah non, I can't have Mademoiselle alerting everyone can I?" His breath warmed her cheek, causing a sense of revulsion and repulsion to stir within her. He noticed her frown and smiled. "I promise Mademoiselle that she will never regret this, and she will remerci me for this later…"
She struggled harder, her eyes wide with horror and terror. The man was utterly vile, despicable and perverse, an angel masking a devil on the inside! As he brushed a line of kisses along her jawline, she shivered in undisguised disgust. Her screams were almost making her hoarse, but all that came out were muffled cries, inaudible even to herself.
"But of course, if Mademoiselle is vraiment unwilling…" he nodded and smiled. "We could always trade…information instead…"
The word 'information' came out of his mouth as a chilling whisper. She shivered in spite of himself. "You mean…"
"Political details," he hissed. "It would be a trade, information for your safety. What do you say…Madeimoselle would tell me where the where the scrolls of the political treaties between Jehanna and Renais are and I will leave Mademoiselle alone, untouched and pristine like the petite clean princess Mademoiselle is. Do we have a deal?"
She weighed her options carefully as she narrowed her eyes at her assailant. In their current position, he had the upper hand, and any wrong move on her part would only make her situation more perilous. If only she had her sword with her right now…
She opened her eyes and nodded once.
He leant away from her, although he still kept a tight grip on her limbs. He released the hand clamping her mouth and nudged her sharply, urging her to speak.
She grimaced as she took a deep breath. "The truth is, the treaties between Jehanna and Renais were already destroyed in the fire of the palace two decades ago, and thus the treaty between Jehanna and Renais had already been dissolved during that time."
His countenance turned pale. "C'est impossible!" he cried, his grip on her slackening in shock and horror. "My master…he told me…the treaty…liar!"
That one second when his grip slackened was all that she needed to smash her bent elbow into his abdomen hard, making him double over in pain. Following up her first blow with a series of merciless kicks to his shins and abdomen, she freed herself from his clutches and picked herself up from the couch, distancing herself away from him.
Pulling two daggers from his sleeves, he advanced towards her swiftly. Glancing around the room for a potential weapon to defend herself, she grabbed a large ornamental fan from the table and held it in front of her like a sword.
He laughed derisively, jeering at her choice of weapon, then slashed mercilessly at her. Turning, she whirled out of the way as the daggers slashed through where she had just stood a moment ago. He hurled himself upon her like a crazed tiger, jet black hair flying behind him, daggers outstretched.
Deftly, she blocked the two daggers with the fan. The bamboo of the frame hit metal, but it was sturdy and did not bear a single scratch. Sharply, she rapped the fan down hard upon his knuckles, causing him to drop his daggers and clutch his hands in pain. Eyes glittering with black hatred and blind fury, he slipped several throwing knives from the interior of his sleeve and threw them towards her.
Opening the fan in one fluid stroke, she deflected the two of the throwing knives thrown at her. Crouching down, she managed to avoid one of the other, which crashed into a large porcelain vase behind her. The last she managed to catch between her index finger and her middle finger. With a flick, she threw the knife back to its owner, forcing him to duck so as to duck the knife, which eventually hit a painting and ripped a hole in the canvas.
Carefully steering clear of the sharp pieces of smashed pottery on the ground, she waved the fan rapidly, defecting the shower of poison-tip needles her assailant sent with a flick of his wrist. Seizing one of the fallen daggers, she took careful aim at his throat.
The door opened with a slam, revealing a flustered-looking Joshua holding his sword. "What-"
With a sharp toss, she sent the dagger flying back to its master, the tip piercing through the hollow of his throat.
"-happened…" Joshua stared in bewilderment and shock at the dying man giving his last moans on the floor, her disheveled appearance and the destruction of the room.
She threw the dagger onto the floor. "That man, he was a spy posed as a dance instructor," she looked coldly at the fresh corpse on the floor. She still recalled how he had looked so smug and revolting a short while ago. "He threatened me, and he wanted to know about the treaty between Jehanna and Renais."
"Did you tell him anything?" Joshua crouched down beside the dead man, frowning.
She shook her head. "No."
Nodding, Joshua opened the man's robes. On the chest of the late dance instructor alias spy, there was a crest with the Grado coat of arms tattooed upon the flesh. Sighing, Joshua instructed a servant to call his mother, then turned to her. "Thank you," he smiled gently. "Did he hurt you anywhere?"
Silently rubbing her sore wrists behind her back, she shook her head. She did not exactly want him to know what had transpired between her and the spy of Grado. Seeing that she was still clutching the bamboo fan, she threw it onto the ground.
Her keen nose for danger detected a political upheaval amongst the six countries. Yet, she was helplessly trapped in the middle, in the centre of the political intrigue where a turned back warranted a fatal stab.
Shivering, she returned to her room, walking the around the corpse in the middle of the floor. She had had enough trouble in one day.
Phew, that was one long single story development! Haha, the background of the story and the conflict is gradually being introduced, and it will serve as the backdrop for most of the scenes.
I made Marisa remove her daggers and shamshir, cos most normal people don't bring them to dance, do they? And I think Marisa is still pretty normal, despite her supernatural skills and beauty and aloofness. (She's awesome :D) Well, the fan part was a little inpromptu, I think it worked out alright? Haha, Marisa will be so cool using a fan as a weapon. Picture Marisa in a long flowing robe (like FE7 Karla's but more covered up) of peach silk, waving a white fan with plum blossoms drawn on them in the Chinese style. She'll be so grogeous and utterly graceful! ~~~~ Haha, she's my favourite female character.
Okay, next chapter, they'll be less explosive danger (there'll still be danger), but it'll be a sweet, heart warming chapter. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and my rambling and thanks for reading!
Cheerios, snowylavendermist