A/N: This is what happens when I listen to R&B half the night ;-)
It has been one month since the incident. Rachel tried to keep her distance from Larsa, but she seems to have a small problem with that: she can't stay away from him to save her life.
Rachel can't stay away from Larsa for five seconds. She is always on his heels, following him everywhere he goes. Be it a very important person's black tie wedding, or even a black tie dinner party, they are always together, in their dazzling attire, smiling all the while. In everyone's eyes, Larsa and Rachel are the perfect couple, the Envy of Archadia, as one might say.
All of the smiling in the world won't mask Rachel's pain. Behind the incredible smile lies an unhappy woman in denial. As far as Larsa goes, that conceited, egotistic, power-greedy trait is starting to show a hell of a lot more with each passing day. He has made a lot of people angry with him for his snide remarks and total disregard of others' feelings, earning him the title of asshole.
While at home, Larsa is slowly but surely starting to act more like Vayne and less of himself. An unfortunate chef was about to experience the wrath of an angry Solidor.
That night, Rachel and Larsa sat at a large dinner table. A large chandelier shone brightly in the elegant dining room. Rachel, dressed in her finest dinner attire, smiled brightly at her fiancé. Larsa didn't have a smile on his face; instead a frown spoiled his handsome features. He is not in a very smiley mood this evening.
"Larse, what is the matter?"
"Nothing," he replied bitterly. "Nothing is the matter."
Rachel backs off, fearful of pushing the issue. She continues fiddling with her cloth napkin. Larsa taps his fingers on the cherrywood table, waiting for the servants to bring their evening meal.
Just when Larsa is about to say something mean to the maid arranging flowers on the table, two butlers stroll into the dining room with platters on carts. One butler places a plate in front of Larsa, the other places another plate in front of Rachel.
"Dinner is served," a butler said cheerfully. They both remove the silver covers off of the fine china plates. Rachel starts to eat her shrimp scampi. Larsa is about to eat when he sees what is on his plate. He gestures to the butler in a come here fashion. He starts with his teeth clenched.
"Roland, were you informed about my allergy?"
He shakes his head. "Yes, I was, your Highness."
Larsa raises his voice. "THEN WHY IS THERE SHRIMP ON MY PLATE?!" His shouting startles Rachel and every person in the dining room. They all stop what they are doing.
"You all very well know I cannot have shellfish!!" He slams his fists on the table once, rattling flatware, crystal goblets, and anything breakable. He then quickly stands up, causing the chair to fall backwards.
"Bring that bungling ass Antoine here this instant! Be quick!"
A butler hastily runs out of the dining room to the kitchen. In a flash the chef is brought into the dining room where an angry Larsa is.
"You wanted to see me, your Highness?"
Larsa points to the plate of shrimp scampi. "Were you aware of my allergic reaction to seafood?"
"I—I was not aware, sir."
He gets into the chef's face. The elderly chef trembles with fear, scared of what may happen next.
"I believe not a word." With that, Larsa throws the plate of shrimp in the chef's face. He points to Yvonne, the maid who was arranging flowers. "You! Take my fiancée to her chambers! Make haste!"
"Let us leave, my Lady. I fear this may worsen." Rachel leaves with Yvonne.
Larsa, furious about the shrimp, still stands at the head of the table. Roland stares at him with fearful eyes.
"Don't just stand there like fools! Clean up this mess!" He snatches off the tablecloth; every piece of china and crystal fall to the floor and shatter into a million pieces. Flatware and flowers littered the floor. Larsa angrily shoves open the double doors, furiously walking out of the dining room and down the hall.
---------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, Rachel is getting ready for bed. Her long brown highlighted hair is pinned up in a tousled bun. Rachel's favorite nightdress, red, short, and barely fitting her, showed off her long legs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she paints her well-pedicured toenails. The sound of Larsa opening and closing the door makes Rachel look up. Saying nothing, she continues to paint her toenails as a valet helps Larsa undress in a separate room.
After a few minutes of taking off the heavy armor, Larsa is dressed in his bedclothes, a cream-colored robe and pants ensemble, with his initials embroidered into the breast of the robe. He lazily flops onto a chair.
"You can leave," he says, gesturing to him in a 'go away' wave of the hand. The valet bows and leaves, the sound of his footfalls follows the door opening and closing.
Larsa gets up from his seat and sits behind Rachel. He starts to massage her shoulders, making Rachel stop painting her toenails. She puts the bottle of nail polish onto the nightstand. She closes her eyes and smiles. His strong hands felt excellent on her skin, loosening the knots in her muscles.
"I apologize for startling you earlier this evening."
"I understood why you were angry," she says.
He takes off his robe and tosses it onto the floor. He starts to kiss Rachel's neck, continuing the massage.
"I hope you can forgive me in the near future, for what I have done to you." He turns out the light on the nightstand.
Rachel tried to forget the rape last month. It was pointless and very degrading. She found it very hard to forgive Larsa, but between the kisses on her neck and the feel of his hands on her skin, she is quick to forgive and forget at once.
"Of course I will forgive you."
Still kissing her strawberry scented neck, Larsa slides his hands down her shoulders, taking the spaghetti straps of her nightdress with them, exposing her breasts. Cupping a breast in his hand and sliding his arm around her slender waist, he gently pulls her closer to his muscular body, fervently kissing her neck, running his tongue from her collarbone to her ear.
Rachel turns around and kisses him with passion. Larsa ardently kisses her back, tongue and all. He lays her onto the bed, kissing his way down her neck, between her breasts and her stomach, all the way down to her red, lacy underwear. Larsa slides his thumbs under the straps of her panties, sliding them off of her lower body, leaving her nude. Larsa looks at her and lifts her leg, holding it by the ankle, slowly licking the sole of her foot, tracing the deep arc of her foot with the tip of his tongue. To Rachel, Larsa looked very sexy in the silver moonlight, his raven-black hair covered his left eye, his muscular definition silhouetted against the dark room. He lets her leg flop lazily onto the bed. Larsa slides off his pajama pants, letting them fall around his legs. He kicks them aside and slowly climbs on top of Rachel. Larsa easily inserts his manhood inside of her; he slides his hands onto the sheets, grabbing them with each thrust.
His strong thrusts make Rachel moan and dig her nails into his back. They change position. This time, Rachel is on top. She slides her hands on Larsa's chest, slowly riding him, her blonde streaked hair falls into her girlish face. Her eyes are closed, enjoying the pleasure of herself being on top. Larsa places his large hands around her petite waist and pulls her closer, thrusting deeper inside her, making her moan a little louder.
Approaching climax, Rachel picks up speed. She digs her nails into his chest and throws her head back, her long hair cascades down her back. His full lips are in a pout; sweat glistens on the both of them.
"Don't…stop," moans Rachel.
"I won't…" Larsa says breathlessly.
Rachel breathed heavily. The temperature in the room felt hotter than usual. She looks directly at Larsa, her brown eyes lock onto his gray eyes. Her dark eyes have the look of passion in them, eerily hypnotizing in a way. Almost as if someone cut them out of her head---
"Aah!"
That instantly took Larsa out of his daydream. Gods she felt wonderful on top of him. The way she grinds her lower body onto his, the feel of her soft hands on his chest, the sound of her heavy breathing, the swell of her breasts in his hands, her pouty lips, her sensual moans. Rachel is truly a beautiful woman: nice girl in the daytime, seductive vixen at night. They both can feel themselves coming closer to an orgasm.
Rachel receives Larsa's seed and collapses on top of him, breathing heavily. Larsa gently rubs her back until she fell asleep. Listening to her rhythmic breathing, he remained awake, staring at the strange shadows on the walls created by branches of trees and ivy.
Larsa thought he saw someone standing in the corner of the room, smiling at him, eyes glowing an eerie golden-green.
He writes it off as his overactive imagination, and nods off to sleep.
The figure in the corner floats to the sleeping Larsa and Rachel, and looks at them for a moment. A white-gloved hand gently brushes Larsa's hair out of his eyes, and then fades into the night.
It wasn't his imagination after all.
------------------------------------------
Sunshine peeked through the blinds, creating lines on Rachel's face.
"Rise and shine, my Lady! We've got big plans today!" Mai said happily while opening the blinds, letting in all of that radiant sunshine. Rachel pulls the comforter over her nude body and sits up.
"Where's Larsa?" she sleepily asks.
"He's downstairs with Gabranth," she says brightly.
Rachel felt a harsh, cold chill run down her spine, making her shudder quickly.
"Why did you shudder, my Lady?"
"Oh! Um…because it's still a little chilly in here," she lied. "Larsa kept the window opened half the night---"
Mai knows Rachel is lying. "It wasn't opened when I came in here, my Lady." Sensing something isn't right; Mai looks at Rachel's body language. "Rachel, is there something wrong?"
She starts slowly. "I saw a side of Larsa I have never seen before," she explains. "The way he reacted to shrimp on his plate, how he gets violently enraged when someone insults his bloodline…when he raped me in the bridal room. I fear him; yet, I can't stay away from him. I'm drawn to him. What's wrong with me?"
Mai sits on the edge of the bed. "I haven't the slightest idea, my Lady. I mean he is the man you're going to marry in a few months. Maybe it's love. I haven't a clue. Now let's get you dressed."
Grabbing a short pink bathrobe off of the bathroom door hook, she wraps it around Rachel's body. "It will be fine, I promise."
"I sure hope so," she says while putting on the bathrobe. Before going into the bathroom to take a shower, Rachel remembers Mai saying something about plans. "Didn't you say something about plans, Mai?"
"Plans?"
"Yes. You said something about plans a few minutes ago."
"Oh! Lord Larsa will be throwing a party in the Butterfly Room tonight. I heard it's going to be a 'big deal', if you get what I mean."
Rachel raises one eyebrow and says playfully: "Wealthy pigs and bigwigs. Typical guests." She goes into the bathroom and locks the door.
"I'll be here if you need anything!"
------------------------------------------
Larsa sat at the drawing room's desk, examining the dagger as he talked to Basch.
"So, Gabranth, will you be joining me at my social gathering tonight?"
"No, my Lord. Not this time."
"And may I ask why?"
"I'm not in a partying mood," Basch said crankily.
Larsa looks up at him. He knew what that meant. "A companion is not required, Gabranth," he says upon getting out of his seat. "Yourself will be enough, I'm sure."
He scoffs. "I'd better be off. See you this evening, my Lord."
"The same to you, Gabranth."
As Basch walks out into the living room, he bumps into Rachel.
"Good morning, my Lady."
"As well, Gabranth," she says in her normal cheery voice. "How are you?"
He smiles, showing off a picture perfect smile. "The same as usual."
"Um…sorry about bumping into you."
"It's fine, really. Don't worry about it."
Rachel shifts her weight to one foot. She feels nervous about asking Basch a certain question.
"May I ask you an honest question?"
"Yes you may."
"Does---does it seem Larsa has been acting strange lately?"
Basch shakes his head. "No. Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?"
Rachel sighs. "Because…he got very angry last night. I've never seen him that angry before."
"Why did he become angered?"
"One of the cooks had no idea about Larsa's allergy to seafood, so he took out his anger on him and the butler. I did not see anything else after that, but I did hear a loud crash."
"Larsa snatched off the tablecloth."
"How did you know that?"
Basch smiles guiltily. "I…kind of heard about it…from a…source."
"A source?" Rachel smiles. "That 'source' wouldn't happen to be Mai, wouldn't it?"
He chuckles. "Yeah."
"I know whom I'm not telling a secret to."
Rachel felt butterflies in her stomach. She couldn't discern whether it was fear of Larsa seeing her talking to Basch or the tight kimono sash around her naturally petite waist. The red and gold kimono she is wearing is one of her favorite outfits. She already knew Larsa loved to see that on her----and so did Basch. She wondered how he looked so young, despite his forty-four years of age.
Basch offers his arm to her. "Shall we get something in our growling stomachs, my Lady?"
"Yes we shall," says Rachel upon sliding her arm through his. "And could you call me by my given name?"
"Of course, Rachel." The both of them walk down the hallway.
Standing in the shadows at the top of the winding staircase, Larsa watched their every move and heard every word. His gloved hands tightly gripped the banister. His hair over his left eye created a menacing shadow on his face. Larsa's full lips are in a cold, bitter scowl.
"Helen, could you come here for a moment?" Larsa asks without taking his eyes off of the floor below him.
"Yes, sir?"
"Could you ready my 'unique' armor for the party tonight? It is a very special occasion."
She looks at Larsa with big hazel orbs of surprise. Helen knows which armor he is referring to.
"Yes, sir." She quickly bows her head and walks away.
He continues to stare at the same spot Rachel and Basch were standing. He has a little something up his sleeve for the both of them.
"You just don't get it, my sweet," he says darkly. "You'll get it when I slit the judge's throat while you watch helplessly, tied to a chair, awaiting your turn."
Larsa is changing, slowly but surely, into his late brother.