Enchantment of the Miss

Chapter 4

Our country, like the others, has its own social stratification. The royalties, the richest and the most powerful, resides in the City of Abram located in the east most harbors. The elites, the middle class, live in the House of Ad'l Un, standing at the foot of the mountain, just across the forest. We—the commoners, the ordinary people, live in towns away from the royalties and elites.

I was born and raised in the town of Selah, a town known for its fertile land. With a population of a little over one thousand three hundred people, it is surrounded by wide farms and rice fields that can produce food more than enough for its people. I live in the outskirt, a little far from the other houses but this is the most decent place I can afford. I am lucky enough that strawberries naturally grow in my backyard.

I wiped my sweat before carrying the basket of newly harvested strawberries inside the house. It's been two days since Romeo accompanied me home and it's been two days since my life went back to normal. I've been busy harvesting strawberries these past days. I already sold the first batch yesterday at the town market. Today, I received a letter from the house of Ad'l Un asking for a delivery of strawberries. I'm sending them tomorrow.

My house is just a small room without any partitions. At the middle is a small wooden table with two chairs. I have a small sink for my kitchen wares and other things. I have a dirty kitchen outside. My sleeping quarter is upstairs, in the attic. The only way is the ladder at the corner.

I placed the basket on my wooden table and went to the cupboard to get a glass of water. I took a deep breath and looked out the small window.

I wonder how he is. My left foot is a lot better now but his arm must still be really painful.

"These are not yet ripe,"

I smirked. That's what he would say if he's here. I drank my glass of water before turning back to the table. I froze.

Alezzander is leaning on my table and rummaging through the basket of strawberries.

"Why did you harvest them? They are all unripe," he frowned.

He's in his travelling clothes. The first two button of his white polo is open and his dark blue pants are tucked on his black knee-high boots. He still looks so dashing.

"What are you doing here?" My voice came a little too high-pitched. I cleared my throat. I didn't want to sound so excited.

"I came to visit you," he answered nonchalantly.

"How did you get here?"

"Through the door," he continued inspecting the strawberries. "Oh. This one's almost ripe," he held out a reddish strawberry and popped it in his mouth.

"You have to wash it first," I hissed.

He just shrugged. "Bitter sweet," he commented. He raised a box wrapped in red cloth and placed it beside the basket, "Here."

"What's that," I frowned.

"A present," he answered. He stood straight and looked around my house. "You live here alone?"

"Yeah," I answered and walk towards the table. "My parents died when I was twelve. Technically, I lived alone since then."

"This is a little far from the other houses,"

"It's cheaper,"

He walked around and noticed the three books lying on my small shelf.

"You read?" he picked one and opened it.

"Not much," I answered. "Books are a little expensive. I had to find someone to exchange with to have a new one."

I watched him as he walks around. My house looked cramp with his tall stature and built. He looks so out of place in here.

He turned to me. "How did your parents die?"

I bit my lower lip. "Slave hunt."

He averted his gaze and I saw his jaws clench.

"It must have been hard growing up alone," he continued walking around my house, inspecting the few things I have.

I shrugged. "I got used to it."

"It would have been easier to be a prostitute," he walked towards me.

I raised an eyebrow. I know I'm poor but that's a little harsh. He's right though. Since I turned seventeen, I've been constantly offered those kinds of job from the neighboring towns. Some men even started harassing me.

"Thanks for suggesting. Maybe I can consider that," I mocked.

I gasped when he reached out his hand to push my strayed hair away from face. I fought the urge to walk back. I don't want him to see how affected I am.

"I won't allow anyone to touch you,"

My throat went dry at the seriousness of his voice. It was a sound of possessiveness.

"How sure are you that no one ever did?"

I intended that to be a joke to change the mood but my voice came out as a whisper. The look in his eyes changed. It was as if what I said ignited a fire in him. His gaze burned. It burned through me. His face came closer. I want to look away but his spell held my gaze. I can't move. Heck! I can't even breathe.

"No one ever touched you," I shivered when he whispered in my ear. His breathing felt ticklish and the hairs on my nape are already standing up. "No one got close. You. Are. Mine. Giselle. "

... You are mine...

I gasped. That seems to have undone his spell because my anger suddenly surged up. I gasped for air which brought my nerves back to life. I hate people who are saying I am theirs. I hate people claiming ownership over me. I am not a commodity to be owned. I am a free citizen. I cannot let him, no matter how handsome he is, to disrespect me like this. I pushed him as hard as I could but I was the one who was pushed back.

"I own myself!" I shouted at him. "I am not your courtesan. Don't treat me like a prostitute."

He stared at me blankly, like he is still contemplating on why I am suddenly bursting in anger. Then, his eyes glimmered with amusement. A playful smile appeared on his lips and I felt more insulted.

"You're cute," he blurted out.

I turned red in anger. "I am not trying to be cute!"

"But I find you cute," he shrugged. He stood straight and crossed his arms. "Damn. I want to marry you already," he said to himself, loud enough for me to hear.

"I will never marry you!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. I pointed at the door. "Leave!"

He smirked and just shrugged my outrage. Instead of going out, he pulled a chair and sat infront of my table. "It's almost dinner. It's only customary to let me stay, right?"

I gaped at him. I am breathing heavily from being so frustrated.

"How can you be so conceited?!" I yelled in disbelief.

He smiled smugly. "I am your guest remember?"

I opened my mouth but didn't say anything. I'm speechless. How can he be this... unbearable? I took a deep breath.

I want to kill him. I want to kill him. I want to grill him for dinner. I want to bury him alive. I want to make him a fertilizer for my strawberries. I want to --- Darn! Chill, Giselle. You don't want to die early.

I covered my face with my hands and took another deep breath to calm myself.

Mom, Dad, what have I ever done wrong?