Chapter 10

  Can't See A Thing

  If you wanted to leave after what happened… I don’t blame you, Belle.

  Adrian’s words from yesterday fill me with an emotion I can’t quite grasp. Am I uncertain on the meaning of what he said or with the way he said it?

  The softness of his voice, quiet as a whisper, still lingers. My ear tingles with an unfamiliar sensation. I rub it away. Can't let myself get caught up in meaningless things. I focus on pushing a trolley full of snacks, cutlery, tea cups and tea packets.

  Today’s breakfast is baked scones and almond cookies in the top compartment, a bottle of liquid medicine and a flask of hangover soup in the bottom compartment.

  Within no time, I’m back in front of the two looming doors leading to the Duke’s room. Last night, the Duke had drank himself to sleep. Thankfully, it appears he slept soundly. Though, knowing that he still chose alcohol despite his son finally returning home gives me mixed feelings.

  As I'm about to knock, the sound of glass shattering forces me to a halt. I tense, my legs stiffening as a loud, domineering voice explodes through the thin walls.

  “Didn’t I tell you to leave already!” growls the Duke.

  Another crash.

  “What reason have you returned other than to mock me? Are you happy now that you see me a weak and a pitiful bastard?”

  “Trust me. There is no one who wants to leave more than me,” says a man with a low, steady voice.

  Adrian. He’s inside.

  My arms move faster than I can think to stop them. The door splits open with a screeeeech, and two pairs of scarlet eyes turn flip in my direction. I clutch the handle of the trolley tightly, sweat forming in the center of my palm.

  The Duke is hunched over on a couch, panting heavily. He's leaning forward with his one arm, resting on an empty table, its contents now splattered on the floor in pieces. Adrian stands perfectly still, which doesn't look as intimidating with his mouth agape.

  "What is this?" The Duke snarls.

  "T-tea and breakfast, Your Grace." I don't mean to stutter, but the Duke's furrowed eyebrows and sharp glare has me instinctively take two steps back. The urgent desire to retreat only intensifies as he gets up from the couch.

  The Duke slithers around the coffee table, glowering at me, "Do you not have ears and eyes, you dim-witted rat? Who told you to come parading in whenever you wish—"

  Adrian interjects, standing between me and the Duke before he can approach any further.

  “You promised to hear me out, I trust you won't go back on your word now." Adrian positions himself directly in front of me. Except for his mouth, his face is unchanging. He's calm. Like before, that moment in time, the past that I'll never forget, not to the day I die.

  Thump. Thump.

  A sound all too familiar resurfaces, booming in my ear. This time, however, it comes from within my chest.

  "Just let me finish, and we'll be out of your hair."

  "Hah!" The Duke scoffs, "Did you say, 'we'?" He slaps his knee, laughing as if his son had just came up with the most brilliant joke. "Oh, how could I forget—your childhood sweetheart, isn't that right?"

  My body stiffens as the Duke stares me up and down, a newfound look of interest—but mostly, disgust—in his eyes.

  "Will you allow me to talk for just a second, Father—"

  “Who said you could call me that?” The beast snaps back. Irritated, he kicks the leg of a small stool. The pitiful one-legged table shakes violently before succumbing to its fate, collapsing to the floor with the candle on it.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Unfortunately, the candle was lit, and a spark forms on the rug. I rush forward in the wink of an eye and quickly stomp out the creeping flames before you could even spot the orange from the yellow. Although it was lightning fast, there's no doubt they saw it—the fire.

  The room dims, along with the already sour mood. It doesn't help that the Duke often keeps his curtains closed.

  Adrian had not moved, a seemingly stunned expression breaking his rather stoic expression. He quickly breaks out of it, though, and grabs me back behind him.

  “Have you already lost all your magic?” Adrian suddenly asks, interrupting the silence. “The butler says you need a maid to light your candles?”

  That would be me.

  The Duke looks down at the floor—the black, ashen spot on the rug where I had just stomped on. He huffs loudly before responding, “What does it matter to you?”

  “Stop drinking. It drains your mana,” Adrian says. Though his tone is straightforward and perhaps even indifferent, there is a subtle sense of wariness in it. Like a boy pleading his dad. His face doesn't change, but I see warmth in his eyes. My heart sinks.

  Worry.

  That's something I did not expect. Although, I could have. After all, what child could ever stop looking out for their parent, no matter how much one changes in the future? The memory of a once loving family remains forever, lingering shamelessly.

  “I don’t need it, this mana,” replies the Duke. “This fire… it’s a curse. A shame I can’t give whatever’s left of it to you, then perhaps you could finish what you started."

  "Fa—"

  "DON'T CALL ME THAT!" The Duke roars, stomping his feet. The room rumbles.

  Pa-Klinck!

  From behind, a small metal object, a pin or something of that similar nature, drops to the floor with the tiniest of clattering noises. I don't turn around.

  The silence between the two is deafening; I hear Adrian suck in his breath.

  "I..." Adrian's voice falters.

  "Would you like to try again?" The Duke asks, his voice deceivingly innocent.

  Adrian does not respond, but his boots flinch on the hardwood. He shuffes uncomfortably, facing his broken father. Their last encounter had been one of pain, betrayal, and bitter rejection. It left them as enemies, split apart by the same power that used to unite the two.

  “That’s…” Adrian breathes slowly. He eventually regains composure and says, “The royal family sent out invitations for the upcoming royal ball,” he announces.

  The Duke grunts. I can hear the grimace on his face.

  “Of course,” Adrian resumes, “You need not be present.”

  The Duke slams his fist on a table.

  “So, what do you want from me? Why the hell did you come barging in here for?” The Duke scoffs, "just to mock me, really?"

  "N-"

  "You really do take me as nothing more than an old fool, huh?" He growls, but suddenly bursts into laughter, "Hah! Well, I know you must feel sorry for my pathetic appearance—why don't you scurry off and leave this old lunatic alone."

  "That's not it, Fa—... Duke, I never meant to—"

  "Leave it. I don't need your pity," The Duke spits.

  Adrian sighs, “Just think of me as the messenger, that's all. I suppose I believed it uncourteous to not inform you, that is all…”

  The couch squeaks as the Duke falls back into the cushions. I unfreeze, silently breathing out a sigh. My knuckles relax, stained white from clenching too tightly for much too long.

  Adrian turns around and starts walking out, but not without grabbing my wrist. Tightening his grip, he pulls me out the room with him. All the while, keeping my body close and blocking me from the Duke’s view. Without another word, we're out and the door slams shut behind us.

  “Lord Adrian?”

  He continues to walk, rushing me along. His arm, outstretched backwards, pulls me like a boy tugging along his doll.

  A seconds pass without a single response, and I decide it's better to just let myself be dragged. The firm grip on my wrist tells me resisting would only lead to wasted effort. Instead, I linger on the pointed ears poking out from the back of his head, an almond beige against his sandy blond hair.

  If he were to turn around, would I recognize him?

  We walk down the long hallway, up the staircase, and past two very confused servants. I look down for the most part, staring at our hands, interlocked with each other. We stop at a room I recognize as his study and Adrian finally lets go. He pushes open his door and walks in. I wait where I was left, letting the door close in front of me.

  Guess he just wanted me out of the Duke's room.

  I linger for a moment, lifting my palm to the flat surface of the wooden door. How ridiculous. I feel like some lovesick fool, unable to part.

  Suddenly, the door whisks open, swept inwards.

  The air pressure shifts dramatically and my body loses balance. I feel my legs buckle beneath me and I plummet forward. My head crashes into something hard, but I don’t fall. Something else wraps around my waist and back.

  “Bella?” I hear Adrian mutter. "Why didn't you come in?"

  His gentle voice, a sharp contrast from the tone he used to speak with his father, tickles my ear. His warm breath tugs on the fringe on my forehead. My nose picks up the scent of hyacinth and autumn leaves. The chest, though firm as steel, leans back slightly as if to cushion my head.

  I look up and meet his eyes. An enchanting shade of ruby red, the deep void of black in its center seems to pull me closer, deeper into its gaze. If I stare long enough, what would I see? They bore into me with an intensity that makes me hold my breath, yet I can't look away.

  It's funny. Now that I think of it. Back then, you could say he was easy. Simple. I could read Adrian Rutherford like a book. But now, standing toe-to-toe, with his face right in front of mine, I can't see a thing.