(13x Featured, Award Winner)
She is ruthless. She is scorned. And her blood? The darkest shade of blue.
***
When Queen Aravena basically life-threatens Gunderson, an evil merchant, to find the best warrior candidate in just a day, she doesn't know h...
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Aravena
The room was nothing like I had expected.
It was a grand two-story library with a spiral staircase on our left and a big black wooden table on our right.
Even with the gold-rim edge and wide length, the dark table was bare. It was as though someone had brought that furniture just now. However, the worn-out golden leather of a chair told a different story.
A lit fireplace on the right of the table brought golden warmth while the large open glass ceiling on the top flushed the dark room with an ethereal white glow of the moon. It was such a contradicting beauty that blended well together.
The floor was white marble. Walls were just a bunch of golden shelves huddled together with books piled in them in a neat mess.
I smirked.
Not an organized person, huh, Donnovan?
However, that only meant finding information here would be a lot more trouble now.
Good thing that I was quite a determined person, though.
I looked at Valendard who was busy taking in the room.
And, I had such a faithful, devoted person to help me through this.
"Let us split up, Valendard. You take the table. I, these shelves," I leaned closer to him and spoke in a low voice.
Valendard offered a nod and turned around to walk but he stopped and looked at me over his shoulder.
His gray eyes softened a notch and he opened his mouth to say something but pressed his lips tight.
I frowned. "What?"
Valendard shook his in response and smiled before striding away. His heavy boot echoed on the polished marble.
What did he want to say?
I suppressed a sigh and turned around to the closest shelf on my left.
We worked in silence for the next couple of minutes. The only noise that occupied the room was of rustling papers and thudding boots of ours.
Soothing smell of ink and old books calmed my nerves as the memory of the near-death experience gradually vapored from my mind.
I did not know about Valendard, though.
A frown marred my features, thinking how much it must have been affecting him.
Valendard might have been a warrior, he might have been an expert in not talking about what he felt. However, his man pride could not hide the evident struggle to not crumble under the mental pressure.
I could see it in his eyes.
He had never killed a soul before, for goodness' sake!
I breathed out and closed my eyes to erase the thoughts.
