CHAPTER II: Gene Erissson Stellamire

[Trigger Warning: Violence]

ALXINFIELD, Year 079 Y.D.

The Venningham manor boils on Alxinfield, the capital of the empire, in narrow streets, noisy taverns, and, mostly, in every maiden's boudoir. A huge, hundred-year-old mansion in clay-tiled roof, refurbished in the lavishness of French windows and stone balustrades on balconies.

There are gardens and intricate statue fountains in the wide courtyard. An exterior alone, enough to assert the wealth of the Valquistine family. For most, a glance is all they can feed to their yearning to home in such luxury, but for the children of noble descents in marriageable ages, it is greatly coveted. Not only the house but also the future heir of the household, General Ilayan.

None of the recent tea gatherings would fail to mention his name, his bravery far spread even to Alxinfield, a city of roughly twelve days away from Gedeva. In their mouths, he is a young gentleman of handsome feats, unwavering courage, and a future pillar of the realm's military prowess. With the princes, either too young or already married a main wife, he is the daydream of the ladies and seith's fickle hearts, a perfect husband for their desired marriage. The same husband in Erin's mind.

It is already midmorning, yet his son has not yet returned for lunch. For almost an hour, his feet circle around the estate, on several outbuildings of stables and small houses, settled for the household's servants and mounts. When he found no one, he strode east, behind the mansion, at the edge of the gates, sprawled by tall, springy pampas grasses, and cypress. Only to be stunned again by the artificial lake rounded in turquoise, quartz, and humming feather reeds. Subconsciously, a certain person revisits his thoughts.

Ilayan.

Many would reckon him fortunate, blessed by Khie'lal, diety of seiths, for he had entered the door of the young general and bore him a healthy, fetching son. Yet, none regards him more than that, for although he had enjoyed the edge of marital association, he is far beneath the nobles by virtue of his birth, a son of merchant origins, unqualified to be the main consort, not even a title.

And he is fully aware of that.

Although Ilayan is not a person of promiscuity nor greedy for power, he is bound by his duty to the posterity of their bloodline and the stability of the house, like every other nobleman. Sooner, he will marry a wife or a consort to manage the household and bear legitimate descendants.

Ilayan is also young, only twenty-one, and during their fruitful interactions three years ago, he is an active, vigorous lover. There can be a possibility of him fancying a virtuous and erudite person of an esteemed family, or use marriage for reasons of politics and surname. And he, a mere concubine had no right to interfere. Therefore, he had long prepared for those days to come, even before making the choice to be with Ilayan.

He only wished for a companionship of a husband, and a good father to their son. He cannot ask for more, nor he is in a position to, for a gentleman's sincere love is not a desire that lowborns like him can dare to muse. More than his own, he prays for Ilayan, his gliding lips, carefree laughter, and for his eyes to sparkle with light, like how it was before every time his mother took him to race in a pony.

"Dad," a snivel disrupts his daze. He looks at the tender, white hand clinging to his trouser and draws a breath.

His son, Laya, always came here to play, much after knowing that the mighty father he never met deemed the place his secret escape. He is full of admiration for Ilayan, an idol he regards, aspiring to be the same soldier when he grows up. And Erin praises him for that.

"There, darling," he squats, embracing the knee-high child. "Did your cousins bully you again?" There is distress in his tone.

"It's aunt!' he wails, revealing the bluish bruise under his left rib hidden by a patched linen tunic.

Erin's eyebrows sink as his round purple eyes widen.

"All better now, don't worry, Dad is here." He caresses the child's back, letting his tears cascade on his shoulder.

"Dad it hurts," he whimpers.

"Sweeting, don't cry anymore," he coaxes, wiping the trickling droplets from his bulging cheeks. Laya is a stubborn, headstrong child, who will not break even to the physical bullying of his older cousins. Yet, now he is grieving.

He carries him, saunters forward the water reflecting the fuchsia sacred lotus flowers' bloom. A time before there was no sign of life in the stagnant, brooding lake, only, after he married Ilayan, they would take pleasure in embellishing it with fluvial lotuses. Three efflorescence had passed since then, yet he witnessed all of them without the hand holding his left, back when he was damped, carrying a handful of green, smooth stems in his right.

"Your father, he used to plant these lotuses with me before. When he comes back, we will view the flowers with him," he smiles, trying to soothe and divert Laya's mood, for he knows, that more than any topic, his son likes to talk about his father the most.

"My aunt said that father doesn't love me and he will marry other people when he comes back and have new children with them?" he bawls, clutching around Erin's neck. "Does my father dislike me, dad?"

His question startles Erin. Although Venningham is a dream to most unmarried, like other noble's backyard, there are also undercurrents. The Valquistines are proud of their nobility, unwilling to even share a roof with servants and aids. Even the untitled concubines had to fight for favor just to room in an extravagant chamber of linenfold paneling and canopy bed. The tension for the patriarch's position also remains dreadfully subtle, like a stone held in a far stretched slingshot. Although Ilayan's feats had secured his position, Admiral Leonard, Ilayan's half older brother—for all his good looks and devilish charms especially to the ladies of the capital—is an ambitious, arrogant man. With Ilayan out of reach, he—an insignificant concubine—and Laya became the victims of his frustrated lancing. Yet, all of it he bore in silence.

For the young descendants of the family, he is tolerant and considerate. Now, that woman, Lady Sariah, who she claims to be the future lady of the Valquistine household, only by the virtue of her marriage to the Admiral, even started to act unscrupulously.

He gently blows his watery hazel eyes, exactly resembling Ilayan's, yet much immature.

"Why won't he?" he says, touching Laya's red nose. "You are the loveliest child in Alexin, and you are his blood. He loves you," he teases.

"Is that true?" sniffling, he eyes Erin with a vivid desperate yearning for affirmation.

"Yes, you are his little general. When he returns, he will punish those bad guys and teach you how to ride a handsome stallion."

Laya giggles, completely forgetting to brood for his injustices. "Yes, my father is very strong!"

After singing Laya to sleep, Erin collects his long hair in a flowery steel hairpin. Wearing a plain white robe held by an azure belt, he marches to the mansion's main entrance. The tall wooden double door, guarded by two men in mail shirts, excludes the sight of the wide great hall tiled in marble flooring, rich hangings, and trendy tapestries.

"Unauthorized people cannot enter the hall," the bearded guard stops him.

"I am here for the Lady Sariah, I am Lord Ilayan's concubine."

"Leave this instance or we will drag you for trespassing!" he roared, startling Erin.

"Sire, I am not here for malicious reasons," he tries to reason.

Lady Sariah, who is the subject of Erin's intent, watches him afar in her velvet dress and glistening pieces of stoned jewelry—necklaces, rings, and bracelets—in a balcony, with her retinues shielding her away from the piercing sun. Some hold a big peach umbrella, and some are carrying her refreshments. Her thin, sharp brows rise, a sneer in her contemptuous eyes. She covers the disgust in her slim lips with a bamboo fan of butterfly imprints.

"That lowly seith! He thinks he'll be of any value just because of the General's upcoming return. Wishful thinking," she mocks.

"What do you plan to do with him my Lady?" her personal servant asks.

"Let the guards drag him away and punish him through fifteen lashes," she says. After the maid exits, the view on the entrance change, the guards started dragging Erin to the persecution hall, while he tries to desperately reason with them. Yet, there is no fear in his straight stance despite his futile and forceless struggle, not even forcing the guards to exert an effort. He is still gentle in words, like a lotus petal in rippling waters.

"Pathetic," she snorts.

In her mind, she is thinking deeply. Ilayan is about to return and her position in the household will be in jeopardy. She is in edges these days, and now, she had betrayed her graceful bearing and became agitated the moment she saw Laya's careless smile—which resembles Ilayan's—during her daily stroll in the gardens.

'The lady of this house will only be me!'

---End of Chapter---

-noir_alois-