Heir to the Fallen Throne

✰✦✰ Chapter 2 ✰✦✰

We spent the next hour chatting with each other, Thomais chiming in every now and then but evidently still annoyed that Sarinne nearly started another fight.

   Eventually, I was fully drunk and ready to laugh at a person breathing. Tomorrow, I would ache with regret. For now, I would relish in the freedom Sparks gave me in the midst of my grief.

   "Ready to go?" Sarinne asked me as she picked up my jacket from the floor.

   I smiled. "You're actually the best person ever," was my answer.

   Sarinne chuckled but helped me stand upright.

   As soon as my shoes hit the grass, the cold air caressed my cheeks. I grabbed my coat from Sarinne's arms and wrapped it around myself.

   "Isn't it a little late to be walking home by yourselves?"

   I almost tripped over my own feet in my haste to turn around. 

   Sarinne followed, the two of us finding the voice in a very tall human form—in front of us stood a boy with golden hair and shimmering, emerald eyes that made me sure all he was born for was trouble. He didn't even have to smirk for me to know it. He wore a pair of brown trousers, fitting with the vest that was buttoned just above a plain linen, white shirt. He had green gloves on and filthy umber boots.

   He really was undeniably handsome, but in a wicked sort of way. A way that warned girls to stay far, far away from him, because his beauty was far more threatening and dangerous than any physical weapon.

   Sarinne scowled. "Just ignore him. He's probably just one of the drunks that stalk this pub daily."

   "But he's rather attractive. Wouldn't even mind if he was a drunk, homeless moron."

   Sarinne blinked at me, horrified. "Just walk, Sof."

   I nodded, agreeing since I was too cold and tired and drunk for an argument—I desperately wanted to slip under the covers of my bed.

   "I'm only observing the obvious. . ." I mumbled.

   "I'm not a drunk, Miss Astor. Simply a man who's been asked to take great care of you."

   Fury oozed from Sarinne. "How do you know my name?" I watched as she grabbed a hold of her dagger. One minute, she was next to me; the next she was inches from slitting his white throat.

   "Must we bother with the dramatics?" I moaned. "I'd much rather drown than have to stand here another second and watch you flirt, Rinne—"

   "Shut up, Sofia."

  "This is flirting?" the blonde man asked me, arching a brow. His indifference with his life being one press away from being ended perplexed me.

   I yawned. "Her way of flirting. She likes weapons—"

   "Shut up, Sof!" Sarinne repeated firmly, staring at me like I'd committed a crime.

   I raised my arms in defence and dropped onto the ground beneath me, too tired to stand anymore.

   "How do you know my name?" Sarinne interrogated.

   The man glanced between us. "You weren't exactly quiet inside, you know? Pub fights usually aren't."

   "Fair," I murmured.

   Sarinne shot me another look. She asked him, "Who are you?"

   "Jacks Zacrus," he replied calmly, his green eyes fixated on Sarinne. And for once, she seemed at ease as well. And Sarinne was never at ease. "I've not come for you, Miss Astor." His gaze turned to mine and I was instantly hypnotised. "I came for Scarlett Solaris."