The day after both of the knights left was the day that she was forced back into a dress and asked to perfect her smile. Her father had beckoned her out of the room without a choice, his voice stern as he ordered her handmaiden to make her look like she hadn't been through complete hell the past few days. The older lady had almost dragged her in the bathtub and left her for a long while to soak in the scalding water. Her heart felt equivalently heavy to that of her arms as she lacked the muscle she'd built up before the Elrics had come.
When her hands were pruned, the skin crinkled at the masses of water, the handmaiden returned. The harsh look in her eyes escalated as the woman handed her a bar of lavender soap. Alyvia couldn't help but ask—the woman that had been close to her before the knights had arrived now seemed to hate her with all her heart. "Why do you hate me?" She asked, her voice nothing but a weak croak as the older girl dumped a tub of steaming water over her head, her eyes narrowed at the question. There was a long, long moment of silence, before the handmaiden sighed and turned the other way.
"I do not hate you, my dear." She began drying off her hands with a towel as heated water slowly began to cool. Alyvia shifted uncomfortably, waiting for an explanation with her eyes focusing on the three long braids done down the lady's back. The silence returned before the woman cleared her throat. "I hate everything you stand for. You're a mischievous girl with a depressed counter-personality. You let yourself shine too easily. A lady must always be proper, especially around guests, instead of letting herself crackle to pieces within minutes." With a sharp gaze glared her way, Alyvia caught the vibrant sky blue eyes of her supposed friend, the guilt filling her chest faster than anything she'd ever felt. There was nothing she could say back to that; she was deadpanned and left to the abrupt silence once more. The handmaiden sighed and left her alone to continue her bath while she searched for some rather conservative clothing.
Another annoying factor about the Elrics' departure was that she had to deal with Claude alone. He was a bachelor in waiting, but he was still of lowborn birth. His appetite was that of a thousand starving kings, eating away most of the food the servants set out on the table before anyone in her family could even begin to reach for the foods. Her fever broken and her appetite largely returned, she found it difficult to sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night because her stomach was empty, when the cook's daughter slept soundly in the chair to keep any rats away from the breads.
Claude was handsome when he cleaned up. He had deep brown hair that looked like the waves of the finest chocolates and sweets she could buy from the lady in town. He had plump lips that didn't overdo themselves on the grid of puffy nor thin. His chestnut colored eyes were full of comfort and warmth, while his humor was off of the charts for any other guests she'd known. He had an uncanny ability to make her smile even though he was a constant reminder of her idiot mistake. And he was easy to talk to; as a lowborn, he didn't expect her to be prim and proper all of the time and liked to speak with ease.
But alongside of his happy go lucky attitude was a man who was scarred beyond repair. He had a photographic memory, it seemed, because whenever they saw each other in the hallways as she appeared from her stupid sewing lessons or the bread kneading lectures, he would almost get down on his knees and thank her for all her assistance. She figured if she asked him to that he would even get so low that her toes would feel the heat of his breath as he kissed the ground she walked on. It was different around her family or handmaiden; when they were nearby he saw her as nothing more as a woman.
Tea time on the second day after the Elrics' departure she swore she was going to die. The previous night full of nightmares had kept her awake until the first rays of dawn shone in her window and scattered their rainbow colors throughout the bedroom. Nightmares, such as the gleam in the man's eyes as he ripped the very dress she wore off of her body and laughed as she was bore naked in front of him. The laughter of the men as they circled around the rich little noble, helpless and as virgin as a babe in the city. She'd woken in a cold sweat with dark rims around her eyes that she swore no amount of makeup could hide.
Her mind had almost been fully cleared from the thought of those terrible dreams as she sipped the steaming jasmine tea, her eyes slowly shutting for a hope of sleep every once and a while. She wasn't surprised when he found her in the sunroom and had his own amount of red wine in a flash the size of her hand. "May I join you?" He asked as she watched him stand in front of the table. Desperate to stay awake and smiling, she agreed and followed him with her eyes as he moved to sit down in the chair beside her.
His conversation started off light—mentions of the weather and how the storm couldn't have been a bigger blessing, news from the south lands as the tension began rising (this made Alyvia wonder how the knights were doing, but his jumpy conversation passed before she could interject)—before it grew more serious. "I don't think I can say thank you enough. It's just…impossible to express how thankful I truly am. I would have kissed you for saving me if they hadn't started attacking you."
"Oh," She said as his expression changed once more. Outside, the clouds seemed to be forming on the horizon, just over the tips of the mountains. She figured another drastic late summer storm was on its way to break more of the trees surrounding the castle. Nervous butterflies formed through in her stomach. "It really wasn't anything."
"You were so brave to offer your life for mine." She hadn't even thought that she would have to deal with this because she never thought that they wouldn't be having a conversation. Still, she smiled at him and nodded. "Tell me. How did you manage to escape so tragic nightmares? Or do they still plague you as your sleep like they do me? Do you still here the drunken ramble as they tore off your clothes? Do you still see the anger in the multitude of their eyes? Do you still see it? Do you?" The more in depth the conversation grew, the louder his voice got, to where she was cowering in fear in her chair, desperate to ignore the rushing back memories.
"That's enough." She heard Mason's voice echo through the sunroom and nearly gasped in relief. "Leave us with our sister." Without so much as an inclination that he'd heard her older brother, Claude turned on his heel, gulping down the red wine as he disappeared out of the room. For a minute, Alyvia sat completely frozen in fear, unable to move until all three of her brothers flooded around her, their eyes of varying color all portraying the vivid fear they felt for her. Hunter nearly slipped as he tried to sit down across the table, which usually would have made her laugh if she hadn't been in the worst mood ever. Mason remained standing while Jon slid into the seat that Claude had abandoned, his hand finding hers and squeezing it weakly. "I can't believe Father wants to marry you off to that drunken bastard." He blurted.
"Mason!" Jon snapped as she asked, "He wants to marry me off?" Fear once more erupted through her every part, her fingers shaking at the thought of marrying a drunk like Claude or her father. She knew that once he was drunk enough, Claude would forget she'd saved him-or he blatantly wouldn't care, and she was frightened to see him like that. A tense moment of silence kept to her brother's furious glares towards the other, the scowls on their faces exploding like wildfire. Jon's hand continued to squeeze hers, harder and harder until she nearly cried out in pain.
When she did, Mason lunged at the opportunity. "You didn't believe that Father wouldn't tell her, did you? She's his priceless gem but even for a lowborn, Claude has access to a lot of money in his land. Father wants to be a good lord, Jon, he's not like you. You want what's best for the family while our insult of a paternal figure wants to sell us off for riches."
"He does not!" Jon snarled, letting go of her hand. "And if he did, who's to say that Alyvia would even go through with the marriage?"
"I'm not going through with the marriage if it requires marrying a drunken bastard!"
"Alyvia!"
"So what, I cursed! I curse all of the time but you idiots are never around to hear it!"
"I'm telling Father!"
"Oh, like our drunken excuse for a father cares that his daughter let the word bastard slip past his lips!"
Alyvia's fists were clenched, her chair knocked over in the weak stance she called firm. Hunter's brown eyes met hers, his lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. Though he was two years older than her, he was the most innocent of them all. When he wasn't copying Mason, he was actually reliable and sweet, but only when their brother wasn't around. Mason, who's tawny gaze was cruel and deceptive, and mischievous most of all, looked absolutely enraged with her outburst, while Jon seemed astounded by her loose lips.
She gulped in surprise as the boys' gazes all fell on her once more. "I don't want to talk about marriage anymore." She blurted, storming out of the sunroom and through the kitchen. She wouldn't be forced into marriage like her mother, nor would she marry a drunk. Alyvia tugged out the clip that held her hair in place and threw it down, storming up the stairs and reaching her bedroom where she could sob in peace.