The galloping sound of trotting horses shook the carriage as they stepped on every stone they passed on the dirt road back to the manor. The view outside the glass windows were a blur of white and a graying brown, the color of naked branches and snow which replaced the fallen leaves of autumn.
Aina's gaze became still — her pale eyes were glued to the blurring motion outside the window. Only the gallop of each horse was heard while the devouring silence grew between the three people sitting inside. Neither of them dared to speak, not daring to break the unspoken vow of silence.
Her own mind was rampant of the illness she had been fearing for a while now. Her mother had died of it but she never realized it would have been passed on to her. The details of her mother's disease were kept from her, and she couldn't remember all the details from it.
She only remembered the smell of rotting wood, the fish-like iron scent of blood, and the sight of her mother slowly withering away.
Now, she could only recall the shadows of a smile, bright grey eyes, and the smell of wildflowers blooming in the front yard of their home. And when she dreams, she sees her mother in the kitchen, humming a song of her people, and a far off look in her eyes — when she looks closely enough, she sees the shadows of the Sun God in the grayness of her irises, a semblance of the creator that Lanza worshipped.
"...an upcoming ball in the Capital" Aina's head turns to the direction of the baritone voice, Lorian. He sat still in front of her, his black coat carefully draped over his shoulders and his cane laid on the seat beside him.
The carriage rattled as he continued to speak. Aina found his words unneeded and she wanted more than nothing for him to keep his mouth shut, but the Duke seemed intent on boring her at the moment.
"Father-in-law will be attending with his children — I assumed he told you all about it, Ciana?" her name sounded bitter in his tongue. Aina knew her lack of attention on him was triggering.
As such for a narcissist.
"Yes" she answered, neutral in her tone. She deliberately turns her head to the blur of motion outside the golden-rimmed windows of the carriage.
Aina doesn't see the flicker of annoyance from Lorian. "As such, the Winter Ball is supposedly in celebration of the top harvest this year, but everyone knows it's just a facade for the announcing of Lady Leianna and His Highness' wedding"
At that, Aina turns to Lorian, and he seemed to be surprised by how easily he caught her attention.
"Wedding?" Aina froze on her seat. She looks at the man in front of her, and he eyes her with a certain quietness and silence in his stare that it almost made her nervous.
If only she wasn't too shocked with the news that befell her. Lorian raises his hand to fix his tie, swinging it left and right like the weight of perfection suddenly suffocated him. Though, she highly doubts it.
"Haven't you heard? They are to announce the wedding during the Winter Ball" he doesn't seem to believe that she wasn't aware of it
Aina's shoulders slump forward, and she feels suffocation overcoming her whole being once again, a feeling similar to the one she had inside the dingy clinic inside a dark alley.
No one told me, she thought. Of course, she had already been informed of the upcoming engagement. However, the wedding? It was too sudden. She doesn't know exactly why the Imperial family was moving the wedding at an earlier date than what was planned. Last she heard, the wedding was in Spring, because the Duke requested it.
And also because Leianna was fond of Spring.
She loved flowers more than anything else.
A sour feeling overcomes her as she turns away from Lorian in deep thought. Suddenly, she sees her sister getting married in the chilling air of Winter. It doesn't suit her at all.
"They're moving the wedding?" Aina blinks away from the window to Lorian. "Isn't it a bit hasty?" she asked, uncaring how it might've sounded to the man.
"Careful with your tongue, Ciana. Anyone might think you are doubting the Emperor's decisions" he warned, but Aina could hardly care. They weren't in Zhenya, their Emperor is not mad.
Aina glared upon realizing he was mocking her. What did she expect? She already knew that she could never have a proper conversation with Lorian. She gathers her anger, however, and doesn't let it show. She straightens her back once more as she looks at the blur outside the snow-rimmed window of the carriage.
"Yes, they are moving the wedding to January instead of Spring" there was a hint of annoyance in his voice that anyone could have missed. But she heard it loud and clear.
She turns to him just in time to see a passing wave of irritation in his green irises. "Then…that means -"
"Our own engagement shall be moved in February" he cuts her off, but it didn't diminish the waves of joy that hugged her chest in a hopeful embrace. She could see how Lorian became even more irritated when he rested his jaw on his hand. Aina could barely contain her satisfaction.
"I see" she says, though with how Lorian was staring at her like a preying beast, she realizes that he might have noticed the waves of happiness radiating off of her.
Lorian didn't say anything for a while, and she was left in her own mind to celebrate the small achievement from the fact that her engagement was going to be delayed. And more so, the wedding. It gave hope that some things in her life can be good, even if it was only a slight delay to the impending doom that is her engagement.
Still, it was better than nothing at all.
The bumpy carriage came to a stop in front of a large staircase that led to the entrance of the grand manor. Without Aina even realizing it, they were home. The doors of the carriage opened, and as is custom, Lorian came down first. Next, her. She sees a gloved hand being offered, but she ignores it, and steps down on her own.
In her periphery, she sees Lorian's hand turning to a fist.
"Quite in high spirits, are we? Do you abhor the idea of marrying me that bad?" her bliss was cut short at the sound of his grating voice. She turns her heel, careful not to slip on the wet and snow-filled path of their manor.
When she met his eyes, she glared. "You abhor me just the same" as she spoke, warm puffs of air came from her lips. "Why? Does it bother you that a woman is capable of not begging for your hand in marriage?" She doesn't know where she got the courage to speak like that, especially in the presence of her maid, but after her quick trip to that dark alley, she finds herself caring less and less.
Lorian was visibly surprised at her response. He quickly controls his expression, however. "Well, I guess it is only a slight delay" he says, and that perfect smile he always had was quickly forming on his lips.
"In the end, we'll still be married" he spoke pointedly, like he told her nothing but the truth.
Aina feels a tightening in her chest. A defiant storm swirling under her skin — suddenly, she thinks of her disease, an unnamed illness, with the sole purpose of taking her life, similar to a killer with purpose. She doesn't choose to speak against Lorian, or deny that they were to be married — she doesn't even know if she will survive to that point.
Because the illness that killed her mother is more than capable of doing just the same to her.
Something must have shown in her expression, because the next thing that Lorian said to her was, "Do you hate the thought of it that much?"
Aina doesn't answer, and she turns away to avoid his discerning gaze. She was finding herself to be less and less interested in her reality, and even less interested in the man sitting before her. When his other hand lifted to transfer his cane from one hand to another, she flinched, backing away almost immediately, and the attempt to flee didn't go unnoticed by Duke Fremont.
"You -" whatever he might have wanted to say was cut by a servant who came to greet them.
"Lady Ciana, you are back" Thomas was climbing down the steps, carefully slow in his strides against the slippery stone steps of the staircase. "Right in time for supper" he added as he offered his hand to assist her in climbing to which she graciously took.
She swallows dryly under the observing gaze that Lorian had on her hand now placed on top of the butler's.
Aina walks up the stairs with Thomas, and she tries to ignore the piercing eyes of the man behind them, who might or might not have noticed it.
And she tries to forget the dull ache that throbbed emptily inside her chest, a bearing mark of her mother's legacy.
The destined death from a curse she inherited.
.
.
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