Four Suits (Book 1)

Day 39-10: Pawn

DAY 39-10: PAWN

   "Tragic ends suit us."

   As the music settles, and their feet slow to match the tempo, Valentina's whisper tickles Avel's ears. Claps ensue, onlookers marvelling their etiquette and dance, at the edge of their seats for the final act of the ceremony.

   "Both of our hands are stained in an inordinate amount of blood," she adds. "Fate was set to catch up to us anyway."

   "Those we've killed, we've killed for the sake of our kingdom. To get stronger."

   "Or so Mother believes. It goes without saying the other suits, and the rest of Annadia, possess deviating perspectives of affection and bloodlust. Our double-edged love... possibly only a Heart can fully comprehend it."

   "Once she'd dead, Her Majesty's ideal will be realized!" A cheer rings out from the crowd.

   "Slaughter her already, Your Highness Avelious! Colour her dress a bewitching red!"

   "Her Highness is so, so fortunate she can serve our kingdom this beautifully!"

   The callous whispers that punctuate the limpid notes are relentless. And as the music quiets, they grow louder and louder.

Hearts can't bring themselves mourn. Whether it be for their companions, or their loved ones.

   They kill in the name of their deranged 'affection,' but that's simply what they've come to believe testified their love most. They've long forgotten the 'affection' that made them weak. The gentleness and kindness that caused others to step all over them; abuse their love.

   There are two sides of a heart. The pretty and ugly; the innocent and foul; the humble and vain. It's the frail who are taken advantage of. The ones with warmth, compassion, and vulnerability.

   That's why the Queen had them forsake it.

   That's why, above the other suits who continue to cling to their morality, they're indestructible.

   "I have to be," Avel says, loud enough for those in his vicinity to overhear, "else, what other reason have I lived the life I did?"

"To meet me!"

The shout originates from the massive doors that fling open without reservation. At the entrance hovers a girl he can't fully wrap his head around. Primarily because the last time they'd crossed paths, she'd been an asset to his mother's ghastly wall.

Her long, dark curls flap in the wind generated from the forceful slam of the doors. Her sloven and battered appearance, the lacerations, bruises and cuts littering every inch of her skin—not to mention the crooked, unruly stitches sewn haphazardly around the centre of her neck to keep it connected—dampen when compared to the menacing scowl coating her features.

As he stands, stock-still, burning under her undulating stare, he half-wonders if he's hallucinating. That is, until she charges past the gawking crowd and up to him in a vortex of wrath.

"Avel Hestia! Do you have any idea how much shit I've gone through these last few days because of you? I lost my head! I died! Well, I'm alive! But having it severed still hurt like a bitch!"

Valentina is knocked out of the way. She plants her bare feet inches in front of him.

"My d— Leda— you're—"

Lips curled up and growling, nostrils flaring, she pays his stuttering no mind. "Orian was nearly boiled, chopped up, and served as a dish by lunatic chefs. If Hadey hadn't gotten pissed by their unsanitary practices and knocked them out—which was an extremely badass scene by the way, my love for her has grown—we'd have been goners. Ro's all right, but Nixon turned into some unexpected side villain, like we're in some damn video game."