to tame a beast

Prequel : To Tame a Beast (06)

"Shh." He holds his index finger to what would be his lips if he wasn't wearing the black mask that hides half of his face.

Yet there's no mistaking who those molten ruby eyes belong to.

***

As handsome as Dion Agriche is, he's still a man that belongs to one of the most ruthless families in the empire. I should shove him away, put a distance between us yet my body completely freezes up. Whether it's because of the way his midnight hair seems to brush against his forehead softly yet glaringly contrast against his crimson gaze or because he could pull out that same dagger he showed me yesterday and slice my throat with it effortlessly—I don't know.

Yet where does the line of fascination ends and obsession begins?

A heartbeat later, men in mauve capes bearing the overturned lions and two crossed swords in between entered my line of view. The sharp breath I inhaled is involuntary as I feel my stomach drop.

'They got here faster than I expected.'

"They started pouring into Kingspond Street with horses." Dion's voice brushes my ears; the heart rushing to my face is almost instantaneous.

Kingspond Street is on the opposite side of where Summerstein, the Gastors' mansion is. Either way, we're cornered and it's a matter of time until they spot me.

"So I thought that must be why the Lady of Gastor failed to inform me of her absence this morning." There's a hint of playfulness when he speaks again.

Yet my reaction is the opposite. A gasp falls off my lips, my gaze that's cast down to avoid my emerald eyes from possibly being recognized by one of the nights, lift themselves up to meet Dion's.

"I have a very good reason for that, Luzak—my brother—!" I start but stop myself.

As if on cue, two knights, one a young lad with blond hair and blue eyes—his white and mauve attire rather than black and mauve tells me that he's a squire—while the other seems to be a full knight in charge of his training.

Dion swiftly steps to the side so that his back is on them, his tall stature completely shielding me away from their view.

"Excuse me, sir. We're looking for a woman with blond or black hair and green eyes, do you happen to see her walk by?" A strict voice hits the air.

I feel every muscle in my body tense, even more so when the raven strands of the wig I have on, fall over my shoulders.

No. They absolutely can't see me—

My eyes meet Dion's for the briefest second and yet it feels as though he understood I'm trying to say without so much as a word being spoken. Like an open book, he flips my pages and studies each curve of words meticulously.

"No. I'm afraid not." He simply says, throwing his gaze over his shoulder without even turning around.

At the same time, his strong arm pulls me closer to him, as though telling me to hide my face by burying it in his wide, muscular chest.

And I do just that, albeit burning with heat and a little flustered at the amount of physical contact we've had for the past five minutes.

"Your companion doesn't happen to know, does she?" The older knight insists.

If I lifted my head right now, I would possibly see him trying to peer over Dion's shoulder to have a glimpse of me.

I fake a cough, making sure it sounds feeble and delicate and in no position to speak for myself.

"As you can see, my companion is ill. She can barely stand on her own without my help, I doubt she'd have the luxury to look out for some runaway noble." Dion replies, his voice taking on a more threatening tone, as if to say 'don't push it.'

It doesn't take a genius to understand what he meant.

This is the capital. People tend to keep to themselves and Dion, in more than one way, passes as a mercenary—the kind of people the imperial order themselves tend to avoid.

Even if they'd suspect that it's me, they wouldn't be able to do anything unless they got Marcos, the second-in-command of the Gastors' Knight Order, or Luzak himself to come.

But by then, Dion and I should be long gone.

Luzak should know when to give up.