The first thing Jaythen did when he awoke the next morning was go to Avalyn's room to check on her—praying she did not die overnight. His relief spilled over in tenfold when he saw a servant carrying a tray of food meant for her. He commanded them to let him take it—even though his stomach was rumbling with its own need for food, and he knew that she would hardly touch hers.
She was still asleep. He placed the tray on a stand next to her bed and cleared his throat, to see if she would respond to noise. After a moment one of her bright green eyes opened tiredly and regarded him.
He sighed with more reprieve than he knew to have—"I've brought your breakfast."
"Thank you," she said after a moment of comprehending his words. She tenderly sat herself up and to his surprise reached for a scone and consumed it as though he would take it away. He watched in amazement as she cleared the entire platter in less than five minutes, it was the most he had ever seen her eat.
"What happened to you?" he asked indignantly, "Why did you leave?"
She paused in mid-bite of an apple, "I was intending to return, and I just wanted to go outside."
"It was raining though," Jaythen pointed out, not believing her.
"That doesn't matter, I should go out everyday," she said, continuing to eat but then realized what she had said and grew self-conscious.
"Why?"
She didn't answer him, just finished the fruit she was eating. He was surprised she didn't admit that she was planning on running away. It seemed the only plausible reason she should be missing for a whole day—she had even admitted to considering it the first evening she had come there.
"So what happened to you then? You returned with blood all over you."
"I was attacked…"
He raised his brows for her to continue. She sighed and lowered her eyes to her hands, "I don't remember anything else."
He could see that she was lying, for if a human had attacked her, they surely would have taken her amulet or her engagement ring—which both were still on her. If it were an animal, she would very well remember. He couldn't understand what or whom she was trying to protect by not revealing the truth. He stopped trying to pry her but finally asked the most imperative question, "Are you alright?"
She wiped the remnants of food off her fingers on the midsection of her nightdress. She winced, "I should be fine, I feel fine."
He nodded, although he noticed her pained expression. He gathered up the tray, taking his leave but paused, reminded of something important.
"My father has died."
Her eyes flew onto him with a sudden surprise, as though she thought it would have never happened. "Then I can go."
"Well I would prefer that you rest, and recover from whatever has happened to you."
She nodded, although it was with a forced agreement. She seemed eager to leave, which hurt him—he would even call her ungrateful after all that he had done for her. When they had first met, she had said she didn't want to be who she was, and yet she would be going back to that as soon as she took leave—he didn't understand her.
Since she was resting, she did not leave the Castle to outside. She had tried to the next day, when she was feeling stronger—as she had healed remarkably fast—but he did not let her and she became angry and irate toward him.
Even if she wanted to go outside, he wouldn't let her go unaccompanied since of what happened the last time. Castle guards reported that she often hurried ahead on her walks in order to lose them—but they would always find her and she would return to the castle more annoyed than when she had started out.
In two days time, the young lord, the countess, her nephew and the entire court of Wendbury mourned at the funeral of the Count. He was buried in the gated off part of the graveyard where Jaythen's grandfather and great-grandfather were buried—the past Counts of Wendbury.
The Countess cried, but her tears were hidden behind a black-laced veil. Jaythen held his hands clasped in front of him and carefully listened to the eulogy given by the high priest—noting some of the praise was a pure fabrication, when the words used in the mourning speech were words such as 'honest', 'true', and 'noble'. His father was a grand Count, but often used foul behavior to get his way.
Jaythen frowned, wondering if it was a common, reused, eulogy for rulers, to make them look the best in death, far better than they were in life. He wondered if those words would be used on him, at his funeral—whenever that may be.
Avalyn wore a black gown; it was one that used to belong to the Countess. Devlin had made it many years ago for her for his aunt, Treffula's funeral. Avalyn was not paying attention in the least to what the priest was saying. She was scanning the woods nearby—seeming to look for a way out. He closed the space between them and grasped her hand—for a number of reasons. He silently was begging her to stay, he was maintaining the pretense that they were betrothed, and unknowingly he was seeking comfort, for his father did die—and he would miss him—no matter how little they had known about one another.
Because she wasn't allowed outside by herself, Avalyn's demeanor turned from quiet to frustrated at everyone. She attended meals regularly but was unpleasant to the dismay of his family. She often ignored them altogether or when she had to acknowledge his cousin it was with pure ice.
"What is that?" she asked sharply, seeing he carried the vial of blood around his neck,
"A trophy of my kill," he replied haughtily.
"What kill?"
"The dragon that was in the forest."
Jaythen rolled his eyes.
Her stare turned to daggers, "You did not kill a dragon."
He looked taken aback but then only smirked at her like she was just a silly, unimportant girl, "I surely did because I haven't heard it since."
Avalyn's eyes flew to Jaythen in a frown, faulting him for something of which he did not know about. He just raised his brow innocently and with curiosity with a piece of roast half way in his mouth before swallowing. She ate heartily to his Mother's pleasure but never stayed for conversation and excused herself as soon as her courses were eaten.
Jaythen often had to avoid his mother because he knew she was going to complain about Avalyn's behavior—which was slowly separating the charade that they were a happy couple and that she was a noble. The wedding was only in two days, and Avalyn was still there. He didn't want to marry her but he also did not want her to leave and he was at a complete loss of what to do—knowing she would leave anyway because he had promised her that she could.
She often stayed locked in her room, which didn't help matters because he couldn't talk to her, to ask her what was the matter. The servants who observed her couldn't report more than she was constantly aggravated and short-tempered.
He sat on his bed one afternoon, reading more of Nicolette's notes, as they gave him a pleasurable feeling and for a moment his memory would feel euphoric—until he remembered what had happened and he would have to distract reality and read another. A vicious cycle it was but he had nothing better to do.
Suddenly, the door to his room swung open and he hurriedly stuffed his the notes under his pillow as Avalyn swiftly charged him, falling into him roughly and grabbing the front of his shirt in her fists. A wild desperation was blazing through her features and he did not know how to respond—he was too shocked, and didn't even have time to if he could. She was livid as she pushed him back against the headboard with a violence and strength he didn't suspect her to have. His head hit the wood and her face was inches away.
"You will let me leave this castle. You will let me leave it now and you will not follow me, or so God help me I will tear everybody down in my path."
"But…"
She jerked him forward and pushed him back again, "I will return. I just need some time to myself, can you give me that much?"
He didn't know what to say, or how to fight against her. Her shrill, dangerous, tone and actions were not to be contested with so he meekly nodded. She sighed with huff and let him go, quickly leaving as soon she had entered.
He was so caught off guard at what she had done—acting like he was keeping her in a cage as if she were an animal. He took the crumpled notes from under his pillow and smoothed them out; realizing part of one had torn from the jagged action of hiding them. It was only the afternoon, and he doubted she would be attacked again in broad daylight and that thought eased him a bit. Still, he was concerned about her behavior and needed to tell her not to think of him as cruel captor because the only reason he kept her from leaving was to keep her safe—because he cared about her—although after what she had just done, it made him begin to think that she cared not for him at all.
To his relief she was present at dinner but she was quiet and did not give any indication of her earlier actions. She hardly touched her food—back to a meager appetite when she had eaten all of her food for the few meals before.
"I want to apologize if I have been short with any of you," she said as they ate.
Jaythen and his family stopped eating and looked at her.
She hesitantly picked up a spoon and dipped it in her bowl of soup, "I was temperamental."
"Apology accepted," the Countess was the first to speak, sounding rather impressed that the girl could take fault for her moods—something the Countess herself, was too proud to do.
"Aye," Halden nodded in agreement but still there was a hint of loathing in Avalyn's features toward him. She looked to Jaythen but he did not say anything, still wondering about the hostility he had witnessed earlier that day.
The queen ordered her son and nephew to the solar after dinner, not inviting Avalyn—for the reading of the Count's will. Jaythen already knew what he would inherit—he had been told for as long as he could remember.
"After your wedding, you shall ascend into your Father's position—you will be the Count of Wendbury." His mother explained, holding the parchment spread in front of her face.
"What will that make you?"
She lowered the document slightly, so only her eyes were visible and he could see she was frowning, "Former Countess of Wendbury, since the day after next your wife will take my title."
Jaythen had forgotten it was so soon. His stomach gave a nervous turn but he finished hearing what was left to his cousin and the few allies of the Count while he ruled. Of course a generous sum would go to Nicolette's father—the King, as a tithing for the kept prestige of their held lands and titles.
He excused himself from the solar then, and when he stepped into the hallway he saw that the girl with green eyes was waiting for him and she was less than pleased—obviously she had heard their conversations inside the other room.
"What?"
"You know what."
When he didn't acknowledge what she wanted him to so she whirled around with an impatient huff—she was obviously done with pretending, playing his game, and with the young lord himself. She bustled away from him, through the rest of the corridor that led to the great hall, and took a last glance at him over her shoulder before saying, "Farewell."