Alpha's Divine Commandments

chapter 7

None of this is fair. Not from the time I wake till my head hits the pillow. Ever since I snuck off for a slight detour, I've had the same Royal Guard ass following me around, watching me, stalking from afar, or escorting me here and there. Magret's little spy, I named him. As a 'Lady' of the South idea of addressing a guard by their name is reckless and rebellious.

Blah Blah Blah rules and regulations. Don't stray from your partner, leave without permission, stand two feet apart, die from suffocation when changing. Here I thought my mother was ruthless.

I haven't left the room for a day and a half, my loving babysitter standing right outside, knocking every hour. Under supervision, just in case, I slip away again. Lilyan, on the other hand, has kept my mind occupied. Filling me in on all the news surrounding our beloved Royal Bloodline. Something has been rattling their son's nerves. He's attempted to break into the West wing twice now. It has Magret, and the other women convinced one of us is his mate. You can hear him snarling, threatening his father in refusal to follow the tradition.

Being separated from others has its perks. I'm free to spend my time lounging and unbothered to maintain a prestigious appearance. Blowing the baby hairs from my line of sight, my morning bed head laid over my pillow and down the sides of the bed. The vibrant curls coiling around my index finger as I ponder such thoughts.

Lifting my body from the mattress into a seated position, gazing around the room. Lilyan was yet to return, so it felt rather empty. No matter how grand the room, I missed my bedchamber. And my mother's morning panic encouraged me to greet the day. As if on cue, a knock from the door. "I'm still here, don't warn the howlers to arrange a search party just yet." Snickering, I fall back down onto the bed. I never understood the overbearing requirement of protecting the Southern girls. Might be the breeding or superstition we produce the strongest pups. I shrug, twiddling my thumbs for the next hour, watching the clock hand move around the roman numerals.

Another knock follows. "Still here," I call out, leaving the bed properly. Wondering over to the rose gold vanity. Taking a seat, staring at the train wreck giving me daggers. Copying my mother's tone, "Eden Mercie, look at this mess. Must you always sleep without hair ties," it was comforting to imagine her words and presence. I untangle my locks, parting it into sections, running my fingertips through it. I copy my mother's updo, keeping it loosely in place.

The door opening slightly, Lilyan slipping in and bracing her back against it to close it. "Eden. open the window," She huffs out of breath. Confused slightly, I wander towards the window, parting the two frames till they open outwards. A gentle breeze rushing through, blowing the drapes slightly. "Can you hear it?" She smiles, coming to stand beside me. An array of people gathering before an open glass dome. A well-dressed woman sat in front of a snow-white grand piano, her fingers lightly pressing the keys. She plays the gentle melody ear-catching, triggering the total silence from the crowd. My mouth opens slightly, gasping at the flowing sound drifting our way. A man came out from behind the woman. Holding a walnut wooden violin to his chest, resting his chin on the base. He joins in slowly, the strings brushing against the neck of the instrument. The pair of them crafting a masterpiece note by note. Lilyan sways her upper body back and forth along to the sad piece. The pair of them shutting their eyes as the music picks up its pace. The rhythm caused a few souls in the crowd to tear up.

We watch and listen as the sound slowly drifts low, then to an end. The pair who played looking back and forth at each other emotionally. The woman was breathtaking, her eyes watering as the Man cradled her cheek lovingly. "It's Cinea, it has to be," I turn to Lilyan, confirming my suspicions with a nod.

 "My mother taught me the same piece of music three years ago," she replies, shrugging her shoulders.

"As did mine," I chuckle, finishing my sentence.