The Winter Sun

Chapter 11

Lach stood frozen as the Lord's eyes bore into him. If there was one person he hadn't wanted to not bump into, it was Lord Harrington.

Something red sparkled on the Lord's yellow jacket, and Lach's eyes widened. One of the appetizers had found its way to the velvet fabric and was still sliding down. Lord Harrington's chin tucked in as he followed the horrified look of Lach.

He paused, taking it in, and pearls formed on the stableman's forehead.

Lord Harrington snapped his head up, his features stretching and his lips twitching with the promise of the Sun God's wrath upon Lach.

Lach reached out, ready to wipe away the sinful accident "Lord Harrington-"

"Do not even think of touching me with your filthy hands! You, fatherless son!" The words slashed through him like a sword. The Lord stepped backward, away from Lach's fingers as if they contained all the world's illness. As if he was impure.

Lach's hand paused mid-air as the Lord drew his sharpened sword and spewed, "That's what happens when you are raised by a scumbag thief of a father." He wiped away his jacket with the help of an aghast Lady Harrington, spreading the red stain on his jacket and his face.

Lach's mind drew blank. The words cut deep, and blood leaked to the floor and mixed with the messed up food. "Your mother will work until death to pay for this jacket!" He spat, pushing his wife's hand away, giving Lach that final slash.

Lach's blood turned hot. So hot his whole body boiled like a forgotten pot on scalding fire. "What did you say?" he hissed.

The Lord's eyes widened so much they threatened to pop off their socket. "You dare to answer back?!" He pointed a finger at the tremoring young man.

Lord Harrington's sheer fury lured a circle of guests around them.

"How can a servant talk back like that?" A woman whispered behind a fan.

"Is that how Ornuv servants behave? Shameful." Another one added, fueling Lach's boiling pot.

He knew it. He knew it. He shouldn't have accepted it. These people were all the same. All the same.

Lady Harrington huffed, fanning herself. "Darling, I am going to faint."

But the Lord wasn't done dragging Lach into the mud. A blaze flickered in his eyes. "People like you who don't pay their debts should be on the streets, imploring for breadcrumbs like rats." The crowd gasped, their eyes scrutinizing Lach. His skin prickled, and he wished to disappear into the deep night and never return. "You, your mother, and your brother will spend Winter in the cold streets like the rats you are."

Blood pumped so hard Lach could hear it pulsating in his ears. His grips tightened around the plate, drawing white on his knuckles. "You can't do that after all my father had done for you," he managed through clenched teeth.

Lord Harrington scoffed. "What had he done besides being a thief?!"

The plate tremored. "He was not a thief!" Lach's voice blasted through the crowd, and the musicians stilled their instruments as the music slowly died.

Now it seemed like a thousand pairs of eyes were scrutinizing him.

The Princess snapped her head to the side. "Oh, Sun God," she drawled out as her eyes widened.

"What's going on?" Lily asked, searching in the crowd.

The King stopped mid-conversation with his First Hand, Lord Virwan.

Commander's Zarkus eyes scanned the crowd before they narrowed upon seeing the stableman.

Lord Harrington's eyes narrowed before his thin, crusty lips moved slowly, articulating every word. "He. Deserved. What. Happened. To. Him."