The Knight, The Angel Without Wings

The next day, Victor reads through more paperwork, Ron is standing beside him, but he is shooting Victor side-eye glances every now and then.

"Are you going to speak?" Victor asked, "Or are you going to continue to look at me like this?"

Ron hurriedly looks away, clearing his throat and clenching his hands behind his back.

"Will you be seeing him?" Ron asked. "The prisoner?"

Victor sighs, taking off his thin black glasses and throwing them on his desk, massaging his temples before finally speaking. His eyes wander to the glass sitting on a thin piece of white parlichment paper, the condensation seeping through the cool liquid in the glass. 

"And if I am?" Victor asked.

Ron bites his lip, letting out a huff in frustration.

"Excuse me for my words, Your Highness." Ron said, "but I do hope you know when the rest of the family arrive back from their affairs, they will not be pleased to hear that their youngest is making weird relations with one of the kingdoms most high profile enemies-."

"He's not that bad," Victor said, causing Ron to roll his eyes, "plus are we definite that's the evil Venice? Certain? He doesn't act like it-."

"And so what?" Ron said, huffing in annoyance, "He must be acting all goodie-two-shoes for his trial coming up-."

"When will that be?" Venice said, flipping through a document. "The trail?"

"Koven and the knights are working behind the scenes to seek more witnesses, evidence, and to make sure Venice's deeds are finished," Ron said, "so as much as I wish soon, it'll probably take around a month, if even that."

Victor pauses, tapping his desk before looking up, watching as the clock hits 12.

"I see," Victor said, "noted, now I shall be off."

Ron growls, rolling his eyes as he watches Victor shoot up from his desk and crack his back and fingers, rolling his neck before he rearranges his cuffs, fixes his hair, and heads out his office door.

...

This time, Venice is still in his corner, his food barely touched, but he's holding himself in the coat Victor gave him yesterday, his eyes focused on the wall beside him as he leans on the cold, hard stone. 

"Venice," Victor softly calls, walking within the cell, sparing a glare behind his back at the knight guard nervously waiting by the prison door. Victor watches as Venice turns his head, his handsome face morphing from tired to a small, kind smile. Victor feels his heart slightly hammer in his chest, an odd feeling he isn't use to, caused by just seeing someone. 

"Venice," Victor calls again, this time finding a comfortable spot on the ground and sitting down near Venice, watching Venice as he silently watches Victor, "you haven't eaten." Venice said.

Venice looks down at his untouched food, looking between the untouched food and Victor before he softly grunts.

"You must eat," Venice said, eyeing the gross looking plate in disgust. "Maybe not that, but if you starve yourself, you won't survive until the trial."

Venice flinches, clutching the coat on his back with white knuckles. Victor watches the action, sighing as he pinches his nose. 

"I'll bring food next time." Victor said. "If I bring you food, you mustn't refuse it, understand?"

Venice looks up in surprise before he nods his head, smiling so kindly at Victor that Victor almost shivers with an unknown desire, a feeling so unfamiliar and strong it almost pushes himself back.

"They said the trial won't be for another few weeks." Victor said, "Did you know?"

Venice shakes his head; Victor nods in response. 

"Are you afraid?" Victor asked. Venice meets eyes with Victor, his gaze tired, yet strangely kind.

Venice softly smiles at Victor, and it sends another set of shivers down Victor's spine.

...

"You've been often busy lately." Brielle said, lifting her tea cup in her hands and taking a sip of the hot tea, softly gulping down the dark, sweet liquid. "What is your business lately?"

Victor sighs, rolling his eyes as he holds his cheek in his palm, boredly watching the glistening lake to his side. Brielle requested that they take tea at some open lake, absorbing the hot sun on their skin and basking in its heat. Victor already hates the idea of sun in general, his family line of quarter blood-sucking demons already makes going outside in the sun hard, but that's a family secret, one that only besides him family lineage, his closet ally, Ron, knows.

Speaking of Ron--the bastard is happily walking with Brielle's small annoyance of a dog, skipping in glee as the small puppy happily runs in the vast field--sick.

"I have affairs to attend to due to my father's absence," Victor calmly said, sipping his cup of tea. "I often keep my pointless meetings with you occurring. There is no need to prey into my business."

"I'm in a good mood today, so I will hold my tongue," Brielle said, "but prince or not, watch your tongue with me. I am not like any other whore. I will get my pay back if you beseech me."

Victor rolls his eyes, barely interested in putting up a fight. He looks to his plate of barely touched treats and garnishes, clearing his throat and waving to a near maid.

"What time is it?" Victor asked the maid. The young maid scurries closer to his side, lifting up the small teapot to pour more into his shallow tea cup, but Victor raises his hand, stopping the maid. 

"I have business to attend to this afternoon," Victor said, "Please wrap these up." 

Victor stands up, dusting his dark slacks off and fixing his black corset, sliding his arms through his dark jacket and fixing his collar. Brielle looks up, frowning, watching as Victor doesn't even bat her an eyelash as he begins to walk away.

"W-what happen our lunch date?" Brielle asked, standing up and bawling her fist, "Where are you going?!"

Victor doesn't even spar her a glance, walking away with his pale hands tucked in his pockets.