The Queen of Golden Flame

5. Christian

The last stragglers had staggered home hours ago and yet the lights remained dimly lit from the night's extravagant show.

It had become routine, naturally. The maintenance came in to tidy up the forgotten wine glasses and tipsy spills knocked onto the bright red carpet by drunk patrons, as they waited for the arrival of the regulars ready to enjoy their nights. But there was always one that remained, perched on the bar countertop, drink in his hand as he waited casually for someone to yell at him to 'put his dirty feet down.'

Most tourists thought he was a ghost, a phantom that flirted and danced till dawn, stealing people away into the darkest corners like a puppeteer with his marionette. After years of speculation, even he himself considered that maybe he was like a phantom. However, the regulars knew him by name. They'd talked to the ghostly figure and laughed with him like he was an old friend.

Christian swirled the contents of his wine glass lazily in his hand before raising it to his lips. He took a swig of the familiar tasting drink and balanced it on his knee when he was finished. Ankles crossed and back supported by the wall, he closed his eyes and listened to the swish of brooms and the murmur of low voices.

"Have you thought this through?" Bellamine's loudly elegant voice cut through his moment of peace. She'd dropped the lulling accent she normally displayed during her stage performances and returned to her aggressively posh one.

Christian opened his heavy eyes. Bellamine was nearing her late forties and looked just as she had when she was twenty. She was tall and broad and round-figured. Her hair was long and had darkened over the years from copper to a darkish red, her skin waxing, her makeup delicate, and her green eyes were as bright as ever.

She walked over to him with graceful strides and leaned against the lip of the stage, arms crossed over her chest, still dressed in her lilac satin robe. "I mean, genuinely? This was a quick decision. You didn't exactly take much time to think it through."

Christian watched the red wine spin in his glass before taking another long drink. He shrugged in a bored manner, blinking slowly. "I act on impulse."

Her laugh was abrupt and shrill, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "A woman you don't even know asks you suddenly to go on a life threatening mission in the middle of a war? I don't think that's a decision you make lightly, Christian."

He simply raised his eyebrows at her. "I do know her," he said, his words a little fuzzy around the edges. He glanced down at his glass and drained it in one. "She's the Queen of Marina. Everyone knows her."

Bellamine rolled her eyes. She averted her gaze, staring at the stage she'd stood on only hours prior. "I meant you didn't know her personally," she corrected and he could tell by the way her voice tapered off that she was holding back an insult. Christian couldn't blame her for that one. When she met his eyes again, he looked down at his glass as if it would magically fill itself.

She sighed as if his reluctance tired her and began to walk an aimless path around the maze of tables, occasionally running her fingers along the fabric of the white tablecloths. "How do you know her then? It's not like you're from Marina, or Juno for that matter. Why was she interested in you?"

Christian couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face. He leaned over the bar and grabbed a wine bottle, yanked the cork out with his teeth despite Bellamine's protests and poured himself another glass. "It's not like I have the cleanest record, darling."

The woman snatched the glass out of his hand and put it down on one of the tables. "Do you think I don't know that? If you had a clean record I would've never met you."

Christian made a move for the bottle but she picked that up as well and put it away like a mother trying to keep toxins from her child. And just like one, Christian flashed her a pouty face. "How rude."