Bleeding Heart [a Red Queen fanfic]

chapter ten.

I'm all alone in the house today - Father had some business to attend to, and he brought Beckett with him, leaving me a note that promised they would be back by nightfall, with a scribbled part Beckett must've added, teasing me as he warns me not to get into trouble. As if I would leave the grounds and go wandering about in the Stilts. I nearly snort, crumpling the note into a ball in my hand as I descend the stairs, but as usual, my train of thought is diverted as Zavier appears at the bottom of the staircase.

He looks tired, as though he hasn't slept for the last several nights, with shadows under his eyes, and his inky black hair ruffled and messy. Despite it, he looks handsome as ever, momentarily stilling my heartbeat.

We lock eyes for a long, meaningful moment, as we've been doing so often over the past few days, before he ducks his head and murmurs, "Good morning, my lady."

"Good morning," I answer softly, trying to force away the silver blush rising to my cheeks.

I break our shared gaze and make my way past him, heading for the dining room, where I'll be having breakfast alone today. My skin prickles with the weight of his eyes, still watching me, and I find myself questioning for what feels like the thousandth time if it's possible he feels for me the way I do him. He must, if he's looking at me like that? Or perhaps it's for another reason, and I'm reading into it far too much-

My steadily growing whirlwind of confused thoughts breaks apart when I feel a pull on my skirt. Looking back over my shoulder, I see that the hem of my yellow-and-blue dress, patterned like a butterfly's wing, has caught on the stairway railing. I begin to bend down to pull it free, but suddenly, Zavier's hands are there, doing it for me with an unusual carefulness.

My cheeks heat again, and there's no hiding the blush this time. "Thank you."

He bows again, and when he looks up, he meets my eyes again, sending a delicious, electric jolt down my spine. Is that the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips? "It was nothing, my lady."

 —

Much later in the day, I sit in the living room, and heave a sigh as a maid pours tea into my cup before bustling out of the room. I didn't understand how Father could stand to stay here, rather than at home in our Archeon mansion. There was so little to do! I'd only been here days, and even with the books that I'd brought along, I was finding myself growing more and more bored by the moment. And without anyone else around apart from the servants, there's nothing to distract me either - no bickering and bantering with Beckett or walking and laughing with Lyra. Not even Mother to discuss court politics and gossip with, or a training room to practice my abilities. 

I sigh again, looking down at the letter I had received back from Lyra yesterday. She bemoaned my absence, but assured me that we would see each other again in just a week in Summerton. Then she moved on, stating that my being away had brought one good thing - she had started to spend more time with Jayce Viper, her secret crush, and as I wasn't there for her to train with, she'd convinced him to help her instead.

'Of course, he isn't anywhere near as good as you are, Bren,' she wrote, and I could practically hear her breezy tone of voice in her round, childlike handwriting. 'He's powerful, of course, but not as cunning as you. He still has yet to beat me. But not everyone can match up to the famed Brenna Nolle, can they?'

'Now, now, Lyra, that's no way to speak of your future husband,' I start to write back, smiling as I do. 'Have a little faith. Perhaps he's trying to prove his love by letting you win.'

I finish my letter and put it aside to put into an envelope and seal later, and let myself get lost in my head. Writing to Lyra had suddenly reminds me of a fond memory, of the time, shortly after we had both turned fifteen, when we had been left alone in her family's mansion one night, both her parents, aunts and uncles, and her few elder cousins off at a business meeting of some sort. Driven wild with boredom, Lyra had suddenly asked me, "Brenna, have you ever been drunk?"

Her question surprised me so that I nearly dropped my glass of water, but managed to hold myself together. At just barely past fifteen, the most alcohol I'd ever consumed was a few sips of champagne from my brother's glasses at the occasional parties I was allowed to attend with my family. Nowhere near enough to get even tipsy.

Lyra's eyes were gleaming when I said no, that familiar mischievous look that seemed to belong more on the faces of rascally children. Evidently, my friend had never grown out of that phase. "Neither have I," she said. "My family won't be back until after midnight."

Before I knew it, I was being lead down to the cellar, where her family kept all their wine. At first I was hesitant, but I gave in to Lyra's pleas and pestering eventually. We drank only small amounts at first, mocking wine-tasters by using slow, drawling voices and the first adjectives that came into our heads, but before long we had finished an entire bottle and half of another one and the room was starting to spin and I found it difficult to speak properly. I was stumbling as I got into the transport to return home, and woke up with the most terrible headache and feeling of nausea -I later learned this was called a hangover- the next morning. Thank the gods my parents were away that day, leaving Beckett to laugh at and look after me, or else I would have been punished severely. I had never had that much alcohol since, and had vowed to never get drunk again.

As the memory fades away, I find myself glancing in the direction of the kitchen, where a glass cabinet full of bottles of the finest, most expensive wine was proudly displayed.

Being drunk wasn't that bad...

Brenna, no, a voice whispers in my head, sounding a lot like the voice I usually used when faced with Lyra's countless schemes.

Why not? I'm eighteen years old, a lady of a High House, a daughter of a lord. If I'm old enough to compete to be a queen, I'm old enough to have a few drinks. As Beckett said, I should live a little.

I get up out of my chair and stroll towards the kitchen, but, as usual, I don't get far before Zavier once again appears in my path. 

    —   

ooh, this next chapter should be fun... i might even update it later this week or next week, just because i've finally figured out what exactly to do with it. (don't hold me to that promise though, you all know how good i am at updating)

thanks for all the lovely comments on the previous chapters and for supporting this story even though i've been struggling with updating so much, i love you guys a lot! also, i'll try to get the next chapter of the selection games finished and uploaded tomorrow. it's like halfway done, i've just been lacking the drive to do it. 

vote and comment please! i love you!