The Last Song of a Pure Water

Chapter 3

𓄼 AERYLLAVICIANA 𓄹

“Lavicia?” Ian narrows his eyes the moment he sees my neck crook over the door. I notice his jaw clenches before it loosens again.

          I bow before I make my way further into his study room. My steps slow into a halt when my feet press on the uneven rug placed over the white tiles. The walls are a complete contrast to the floor but despite that, the room is bright. It's illuminated by the sunlight that is allowed to pass the windows thanks to the tied dark blue curtains.

          My gaze sweeps over towards the piles of papers on his desk. One where the black ink is smudged all over them. Then I notice the crumpled papers from the corner of my eye at the edge of his desk. All the papers visible in my field of vision right now—they look like letters. And for whatever reason, he doesn't like what he wrote. Hence why he keeps on writing more. He’s probably going to do that until he's satisfied.

          I can't help but wonder what kind of letters they are, what it's about and to whom he's writing them to. Though I’m not dense enough to know that I shouldn't be asking about it, not when I could clearly see how terrible of a mood he's currently in.

          That mood of his must've been caused by the meeting that apparently didn't go well. Makes sense. Because I saw how hard he had prepared for it for days.

          He clears his throat, making me meet a pair of eyes exactly like mine. “I had just received the news that the carriage had been repaired right before you arrived, Lavicia.”

          Right. I couldn't take the carriage earlier because of the damaged door; the reason why I had to walk to the bookstore.

          “I was about to send the carriage to pick you up but it seems I’m a step late,” he flashes an apologetic smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. One which I return with a polite one.

          I waste no time as I hand him the book he had asked for to which he takes before he nods in acknowledgement. My eyes are glued on him as I watch him flip the book over, checking the covers out, the title, before he skims through the contents. Then he nods once again, a sign that he's satisfied.

          An audible thud is heard when he closes the book and sets it down on his deck. He puts both of his palms on it and leans forward slightly, all while his sharp gaze is locked on me and it's rather uncomfortable. He’s studying me, and he does this often. And each time, I always feel anxious.

          “Go back to your room and rest,” he commands in which I quickly bow before turning on my heel to leave. I don't want to be there for even a second longer. Not when he's in the mood.

          While I love his attention, Ian is scary. He's nice and gentle but if you tick him off—I would hate to imagine what would happen. I’ve seen him go red once and I definitely don't want to trigger that state of his ever again.

          I wouldn't want to have him hate me. After all, he's the only one who provides me with the warmth and affection of a family in this house, the only one who actually pays attention to me.

          I also don't bother to tell him about the thugs I had encountered earlier that day. Because the outcome would just be disappointing.

          I’ve done it before; told my family. None of them bought what I said, not when they saw me come back home completely unscathed. I lied for attention, they said.

          While it's completely natural for a noble to have their own knight, I don't have one. Because I’m an outcast, the ugly duckling of the Rivera family.

          But that's alright. I have Ian. He believed me, always will. I don't need a knight when I have Ian to protect me. I have Ian to do that but… it's not enough.

          Each time a mishap happens, he's never been with me. It always happens without him around; the reason I had to seek protection from a cruel, ruthless demon.

          I come across another family member; Ian’s sister, Ivy, while I'm on my way to my room and for some reason, the glare she gives me this time is sharper than before. The sneer on her face tells me that I’m not supposed to be here.

          Before I could even greet her, she had stormed off into her older brother's study room. Perhaps to voice her complaints and dislikes about me. Same old thing.

          Her footsteps that once filled the hallway fades away once she reaches her destination. My eyes linger on the closed door for a moment, wondering what could be happening behind it before I, too, then make my own way towards my destination.