Brycen

I watch as Lord Tyron leaves with Jordyn. They do not behave as two heart sick lovers would, save for the way she gazed at him when he entered, longingly, wishful. He on the other hand looked completely caught off guard.

So it was either one of two reason, either he just absolutely forgot about their meeting, which would be a discredit to him given the pains she took to make it here on time, or she was here for a completely different reasons and simply used him to cover it up.

My bet was on the latter, partially due to how quickly she seemed to sober upon seeing him. She seemed sharp, present and magically managed to stop slurring her words. Lady Jordyn Mirielle Rosenberg, what are you up to?

I return to my rooms, package still exactly as I left it. I pry the damn thing open with a wrench and pliers, not bothering with the lock. I blur as a fit of rage engulfs me. The damn box is empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You want to host a party? Here?" My mother asks perplexed. "Another one so soon after Nekros Moreal?"

She sits in the enormous drawing room, sipping her afternoon tea. For a moment, my mother looked more lavish than the queen herself in the extravagantly decorated room. I strongly opposed the idea of the walls painted in the gold hue, encrusted with paintings of gods and angelic beings, but in the end, it was my mother's decision to do with it as she pleased.

"Yes, I was barely even present for that one" I say "Besides, Weylan and I will leave soon, so why not have one more gathering before we leave?"

"I have no objections son, only I don't know if it is wise given the current state of Korinth. Ever since the general and Lord Trowe arrived, there has been, well a kind of heaviness to the air. Like a rather negative premonition."

"Don't be ridiculous mother. Lord Trowe has just brought the burden of his soon to be ravaged country with him but that is not our burden to bear." She may have been right but, this was still Korinth and Korinth was known for its lavish balls and parties. How we had an endless number of holidays and unnecessary reasons to indulge ourselves. Not exactly something to be proud of, but alas we were a rich country and we maintained an appearance.

My mother sighs, " Very well, but nothing over the top. We're already spending a fortune on your sister's wedding"

"Absolutely, I'll have everything planned"

The following morning was cold and damp as I wake to the sound of pouring rain outside the estate. I am aware of the party I am hosting this evening yet, I just sit in the armchair by the window, watching the sky, grey with heavy clouds and bolts of lightning. Today couldn't be a worse day for a party but I had no choice in the matter.

A few weeks ago I learned of a meeting that is to take place tonight between Weylan and one of his conspirators for the throne. I learnt the news through a letter I was able to implicate and decode since it was I who gave Weylan the idea to use a cipher months ago. However, since I was unable to extract the exact location of their meeting, I decided to have a party, one Weylan couldn't possibly refuse and to my delight I implicated another letter informing the recipient to meet him here.

I already had the servants prepare in advance and informed them I will be indisposed until this evening. In truth, I did not have the energy to leave the estate, even to go somewhere far away for some peace. So I stayed cooped up in my rooms, for today was a day of sorrow.

I went to my bookshelf and pulled out a worn book, one I have read many times. It was our favourite, mine and Sherrians'. I used to read it to her on nights when she could not fall asleep. I pull out an envelope, the last letter she'd written before she died was to me, one year ago today.

When Sherri died, I felt as though a small part of me died with her. The part of me that was unselfish and empathetic as she was. Sherri was my lover for a year and half. We were to be engaged when her father returned from his travels but she died before that.

Sherri was unlike most women our age. Where most women were lively and energetic, basking in the glory of their youth, she had been introspective and melancholic. Amplified by the passing of her sister and mother due to the plague that had run rampant in her side of the continent, leaving only her and her father who she barely saw due to his constant travelling.

I met her at court one day when her father was gifted lands by the King after the plague had wiped out many noblemen whose properties were then ripe for the taking. She was soft and gentle. Our affair initially began as a distraction. She only wanted comfort from her despair and I only wanted to forget Jordyn. But somewhere during the time spent laying bare our souls to one another, I came to care for her, to empathize with her and she, I.

There was beauty in her brokenness, a depth and maturity that grew within. She was the warmth of a fire on a bitter winter night. She was beauty and suffering, comfort and grief.

I stare now at the letter she left me. I knew what she would have written. Before the end, I knew how she truly felt when she was first diagnosed with scarlet fever. And I also knew she hated herself for it, thought herself selfish for feeling the way she did.

As often as I still thought of her, I always avoided the image of her the last time I saw her. If I could, I would peel it from my mind and burn it for there was a peace about her, like she knew all along and had just accepted her fate, embraced it even. I knew she had been lonely but I suppose I just never understood how deep the loneliness ran, enough to break the soul apparently. And yet, some small part of me had hoped that she would find me worth fighting for, worth living for.