Martyred Soul

Chapter 13

Part Two

two months later

I stand with Saraya in the middle of town. To others, we seem like strangers making small talk while we choose which color towel will best suit our bathrooms. However, we might as well be strangling each other with the pieces of cloth instead.

Saraya appears to be a mild-tempered housewife, with her shining chestnut hair pulled back into a plain bun and stunning frame covered with a light green dress. Although the color embodies the feeling of spring grass and trees, its formless shape dulls Saraya's beauty.

However, I feel like winter—cold, treading on ice.

I am not afraid of her deadly eyes, though, and how ravenous they look. I have nothing to be afraid for. She won't kill me here, not without an explanation first.

"My little boy, Brett, tells me that you live in the palace with the Prince. Is that true, Miss Seben?"

I run my and over a powder blue towel, feeling how soft and fluffy it is. Saraya is like sandpaper in comparison. "Yes ma'am. I do." Too late do I realize that powder blue is the color of the Royal Family.

"And how do they treat you there?" She moves onto an orange towel, unfolding it. Orange...the color the Revolutionaries chose as their own. "Do you enjoy the company?"

"Oh, they are quite nice. The King is very hospitable." I still haven't seen him yet, or Simeon's mother, for that matter.

I lift my head to smile at Saraya. To insure to her of my sarcasm. I will always hate the King.

Saraya smiles back, but her eyes assess me and try to cut through my pretense. "Is that so?"

"Oh, yes ma'am. However, it does get stifling at times. You know, all of the politics and gossip." I allow a laugh.

"And your job in the castle? If I may be so bold."

"It's a very informative job. Too extensive to go into detail now." I glance around at the people nearby.

"You must be very well-trusted then." She raises her eyebrows.

"We wouldn't want information to fall into the wrong ears, now would we, ma'am?"

"Of course not, Miss Seben." Saraya picks up a blood red towel. "Well, if you ever want company outside of the palace, you may always come to my home for dinner. I am sure that it will not be as grand as your new quarters, but nonetheless." Her eyes snap to mine and hold them. I cannot look away. Her fury is too powerful. My breath catches in my throat. Panic rises in my chest. She may not be able to kill me here, but if she craves my blood she will find a way. "I will be sorely offended if you do not come soon."

It's a threat, a warning, a promise.

I can't make myself talk, or breathe. All I hear is the rapid beating of my heart.

Finally she releases me, and I bow my head to hide my anxiety. Just like in the old days; she has turned me into a fool. I stand where I am until she has paid for her towel and walks away.

By the time I return to the castle, I am a mess.

What is this? I am Burelle Seben. I am the force to be reckoned with. So why does Saraya always inflict doubt, panic, and a sense of incompetence in my mind?