damsel in distress

Chapter 7

We reach the castle safely, have a cup of tea and enjoy the view of Azov mountains from my living room, browse some catalogued drawings from some modiste who I have never heard of, and proceed to order (Daphne choose nine, and I don’t have enough money) while having some biscuits and enjoying sunset. Adam stands behind the couch, mute and content with playing a statue.

Nothing has happened. Everything is perfectly fine. Nothing out of place, no strange sounds, no teleporting to places, and absolutely nothing so typically out of place. Except that everyone is hell bent on asserting the fact that Daphne is indeed my childhood best friend and I share absolutely everything with her.

Now she, Daphne Jounsbury, has an utterly different account of what sort of person I am. To my absolute chagrin, everyone seems to believe her testimony on me, rather than what I have to say for myself.

"What a dream it is to be with you again," she sighs, "now I just wish to be married to your brother so we can be together forever. Help me take a look at these wedding gowns now.”

I poke a finger on her temple and push her head away from my shoulder. Adam’s presence in the room is unnerving. "So your dream is to marry my brother to be with me?"

She slaps my hand away and snuggles into my neck further. "And Sir Adam hasn't yet responded to your confession?"

She believes that I harbour feelings for Sir Adam, my brother's third in command and best friend.

I never told a soul about my feelings. And there is only a limit to where I can pretend. Especially with him standing so close and all that mind forces me to think is of his broad, sharp shoulders. It is scandalous and improper. "No," I say, merely for the sake of keeping the conversation alive.

"Then, do you like Sir Cassian?"

Sir Cassian thinks of women as something similar to horses he has tamed, or battles he has won. I am sure he has sired a couple of bastards by now, considering how frequently he beds a new girl. But just to spite Adam and Daphne, I find myself saying, "he is of good heart. But why are you here?"

Adam coughs loudly.

Daphne pulls away from me as if I have burned her. "Why of course, to marry Tayash. And when  can I expect news of you and Sir Adam?"

It is now my turn to cough. The temperature of the room seems to have gone up exponentially. "Do you know what my brother looks like?"

Instead of Adam, I choose to focus on my friend. Daphne is pretty. Her light hazel eyes sparkle like the surface of a sunlit sea and her red hair is impeccably held in an impossibly intricate hairdo (which Baroness Viola could never copy, she only knows one pitiful style). Everything about her, from the manners of her speech to her dresses, directly prints the image of a refined noble lady in my mind.

However, her obsession with my brother seems a little too out of hand. Dare I say she can't hide it as well as I do.

"Yes!" She says, gazing into the distant sunset. "He is tall, with broad shoulders and such fair skin. And his blue eyes and golden hair, he is such a spectacle to see."

At this point, I am debating two choices. Either scream at her, have her kicked out and then suffer the consequences of insulting a noble lady from God knows which house or just stay put and enjoy sugar glazed biscuits. “Lady Jounsbury,” I begin, “does my brother love you then?”

“Of course he does! Who else does he love if not me? He brought me a bunch of roses from his mother’s special garden on my very first birthday. We are soulmates!”

“Oh.” If it was that, then my mother must have gifted her the bouquet of roses. Making matches at birth is not very uncommon, but I highly doubt that five year old Tayash would have understood what red roses mean. “Did you decide on a dress yet?”