17
Jza breathed in Tarquin's scent as she found herself at loss for words. She pulled herself away and saw the opponent was listless, quite utterly dead. She had to force herself to look away.
Tarquin did not even pause to examine his prey's dead body. He swiftly moved on leaving the gruesome scene behind. He said not a word while he walked towards their common resting chambers while his companion could not formulate any words. There was an uneasy silence cast around them. Jza belatedly noticed the splatter of blood resting on her captor's face.
"The weather is forecasted to be clear for the ball in a week's time," Tarquin said, as he placed on his bed.
"The weather?" Jza found her voice, "Are we not going to discuss what just happened?"
"That was politics," The brown haired man replied nonchalantly. He examined his appearance in a mirror and pulled out a handkerchief to clean up stray specks of blood.
"I have seen a fair bit of politics in my life and this is not how I have ever seen it being done," Jza continued incredulously.
"Not when you have to snatch a throne," Tarquin displayed his pristine teeth mirthlessly, "There were quite a few bastards left behind."
"What an odious man. How could a king make no effort to plan what happens after his demise. He should have known his heir the day they were born."
"And you think King Samuel knows what to do with his dozen daughters?" Tarquin argued.
"He has a plan, I'm sure of it!" Jza said decisively although remembering her father reminded of her sisters' folly. It seems her father would have to revise his will considering he had a traitor in his bloodline. She just had to find out who.
Tarquin continued his ablutions, clearing up his handsome face from the unsightly red covering it up. He started untangling the shirt's knots at his throat in preparation to change his outfit and Jza broke her gaze away from his form. She reached out for her notebook from her side table to distract herself.
The man whose presence she was ignoring entered her vision from her left and made himself comfortable on his side of the bed. Jza clenched her teeth in frustration but continued to pretend she was reading her notes as the feather mattress moved under his weight.
She made an effort to at least try and read her own dates for the Ball's deadlines when she felt herself being watched. Completely forgetting she was deliberately ignoring the man she looked to her left and instantly regretted it.
Tarquin was lying on his side with a hand under his head just staring at her. She could have noted his newly laundered clothes still untied or his wet hair but none of the changes could compete with the sheer power of his gaze.
Jza felt her cheeks and ears heat up as her hands fumbled with the pages. She looked away, blinking furiously. His face contained no particular emotion, just a narrowed eyed focus on her.
A hundred things scrambled through her brain; words, emotions, insults but none reached her tongue and before she could gather her thoughts the brown haired man furiously sat up from his reclining position and got to his feet. He gave her one last consuming look as if he intended to devour her with his eyes and walked out of the room with fists at his sides.
Jza clenched her knees through her dress and wondered how without saying a word he managed to leave her so flustered and distraught.
____________
The day of the ball was upon them and Jza could see the tension in the air. The staff looked as grim as if they were to be massacred by the end of the day. The food was already prepared beyond expectations and halls swept every hour or so to keep the dust at bay. She knew nothing of how the guests were being hosted since her only responsibly was to organise a Barbarian Ball of incredible standards.
The entire week of preparations had been entirely devoid of Tarquin. It was not entirely strange for her to lose track of his whereabouts but she knew he was keeping his distance. He had sent his bilingual men to help her order about the staff which she gladly accepted.
Jza found something nondescript from her wardrobe. She looked more a servant than a guest which was her quest. Her maid was troubled by her refusal to dress in what was sent to her rooms by her Lord but she had not been able to persuade her charge.
In the ballroom the captive girl stood near the servant's hidden pathway as the Somerlian guests started arriving. They were welcomed with Barbarian music and garlands.
The host had wandered in wearing his military outfit after the curious guests had settled in. The Somerlians greeted him with bows and reverence but Jza could sense their disdain for the strangeness of the ball.
If the soldiers and harem girls hadn't created a visual palette of their county then the folks at the ball certainly did. They were all pale with light hair and eyes. There were a scant few variations in the midst but Tarquin was the most visibly different. It was clear he was mixed. His narrow, almond shaped eyes, the high cheekbones and his hair gave away the open secret.
The Somerlians were a sour looking bunch. They were gaudily dressed with heaps upon heaps of fabric and jewels. It was not just the men but the women who were covered in layers of powder and perfumes.Jza had assumed her sisters were masters of indulgence but she was wrong. Their sense of fashion was frugal and sensible compared to these tarts.
Jza wondered if the families were pleased their daughters were being introduced to a man with impure blood. The Somerlians would never mix their blood with any other race but it seemed power was everything because she saw eager mothers push their daughters to the forefront.
Tarquin turned and twirled with the young girls who looked at him with wide eyed curiousity as they stumbled in the foreign dance. Some looked eager to be in his presence while some looked bashful.
The meal after the dances was plentiful and the Somerlians consumed in a fast pace with little pause. They were not in anyway slowed down by the strange Barbarian spices and recipes.
Wine was pouring when Tarquin's roving eye caught hers. She knashed her teeth in frustration.
She chose the coward's path and entered the servant's corridor on her right. She hoped he would not be foolish enough to follow her but she was wrong.
"You look like my matron. Did you forget the outfit I chose for you?" Tarquin's words slurred. Jza was instantly on edge because no matter how much spirits he consumed he never lost his composure. She turned around to face him.
"I have to make sure this ball moves smoothly. I have no time to play dress up," She answered with fraying impatience.
"You would have looked charming with your hair running down your back. It was a pretty dress," He noted, trying to look bored but failed.
"Now, you sound like my governess," She answered.
Tarquin laughed leaving her completely astonished. It seemed her assumptions were correct. He had indeed consumed far too many spirits because his inhibitions were running far too low.
"How much liquor have you consumed? You should have left some for your guests." Her voice echoed in the narrow passageway. She could barely make out his face in the dim light.
"Enough to tell you that even in that outfit you tempt me more than you'd like," Tarquin's voice was almost too low and gravelly to be heard.
"Have you gone mad? This is hardly the time and place to make such a ... declaration," The girl hissed, taking one step back while the man took one step forward. She looked away with a grimace.
"Am I that terrible you won't even deign to look at me?" Tarquin continued with the strange tone of voice.
"You destroyed my land, my home, everything! You underestimate my sense of honour to throw everything away for a handsome face," she replied venomously.
"Oh, believe me, I know of it. It is my only impediment. If you would only let me-"
Jza slapped him with all the pain and fury that consumed her being and marched away furiously, leaving him standing against the wall. He did nothing to stop her.
Her assumptions had been correct. His intentions towards her were as clear as the sun in the morning sky. He was the beast she had always knew he was. What did he think of her to acquiesce to his demands just because he was not unpleasant to look at.
She was so furious if she had the strength she would rip down a tapestry on the way out of the hidden corridor.
What was to be done she wondered in despair. She needed to plan her escape. She needed that key that nestled near his heart. The importance of which eluded him so complely.
But first she needed to find those letters her sisters had written to him. She needed to relay to her father what was being done behind his back.
