WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 4

Evangeline

Jaymes, Lucas's adolescent brother, poises tense in the hall, back straight as a crowbar and shoulders clenched stressfully tight. Straightaway following Mare's parting, the boy migrated back to my other cousins, his character seemingly indifferent to the interaction. I've never been particularly close with any of my brethren, still, I know Jaymes better than to assume his emotions, based upon a mere facade. When he confronted Mare, it was obvious he only spoke the truth, nothing more, nothing less. The hatred that he expelled with his voice made it clear of his bottled-up feelings toward the girl. I cannot blame him, I'd react no different if the little lighting girl's existence caused my brother's death. And what scares me the most, is that the happening continues to be a possibility.

Nearly a year ago, I observed the young magnetron crash to his knees so hard he assuredly skinned them. That was the day in which the family was made aware of Lucas's impending execution. I swear Jaymes could've wept for hours if not for the Sentinels that dragged him out of the square, away from the public eye. Not for the boy's dignity, though; Maven wouldn't wish for such a situation so early embarking his rule.

"One day I'll kill that bitch, I pledge it," he growls, gritting his teeth together.

"There's a line, I'm sure you know," I can't help but call out. "I do believe you'll die of old age before you get your chance." Not to mention the fact that she'd get him first. Afterall, he hasn't yet grown a tendril of facial hair, very much on the far border of transforming into a man.

Whatever Jaymes mutters next doesn't register, as I turn back to face Elane. A phantom of a smirk rests, her lips curled upward. Her glorious red hair, in essence, glows in the morning incandesce. We don't dare flirt, not out in the open, but I can generate a good guess as to what words she forces to stay put in her mouth. Most likely a remark as to how my retorts are unmatched.

Months prior, we made the stupid flub of not being careful as to where and when we rendezvoused, and the damn servants were tossed a new juicy piece of gossip. Those maids devour private information like wolves do meat. Soon later, Maven called Elane a whore with in front of his entire court. Elane and I have both exhaustingly learned from that experience, and now take great measures to keep our relationship quiet.

She draws her lips apart as if to say something, but Cal storms up to me, his eyes weary.

"Ah, Evangeline. So glad I was able to find you so quickly." The tiredness of his pupils doesn't carry over to his voice, the tone drowning in counterfeited mirth. In no circumstance could his associating with me cause him pleasure. And by no means do I find joy around him. Tiberias serves as a constant reminder of my fate, just as I do to him. Ironic, how we're one another's torturers, with no control for otherwise.

"What do you need, Tiberias?" I douse my question with gallons of sweetener.

"My grandmother and your father would enjoy discussing marriage preparations with us. Be so kind as to join me?" Such fabrication, carefully choosing his every tongue movement. Before the Scarlet Guard, before Mare Barrow, my rare chats with him didn't involve the same strict properness that now garnishes him.

"Happily." Not bothering to allow him to lead me, I glance back at Elane to bid goodbye, then fall ahead of him in step. Thoughts of wedlock make my blood curdle, bile threatening to climb itself into my mouth.

Softly, I listen to the tune of flamemaker bracelets scrape metal on metal. Purely by the din, I instantly identify the types of material used to craft the bands. A combination of platinum, titanium-

"What?" Cal snaps, concentrating on my watching of him.

I crack a sneer before responding. "Nervous?" I raise an eyebrow.