The little girl leads me by the ends of my dress through the halls of the mansion. I realise that she refuses to answer questions and touch my hand when I offer. Instead we walk side by side. She shows me her drawings; on the walls, in the hidden alcoves where the maids (or I bet Rider) cannot erase her portraits of flowers and rivers and people. The house is silent, the guards have resumed their night shifts, some are replaced by new men who are awake during the late hours. She guides me to a room; a simple white door with a name plastered in every color: Blue.
"Is...is this your name?" I ask quietly, the same tone I used the first day I saw her. This time she does not run, instead she nods and closes the door behind us. Toys and paints, fake swords and princess dresses. A room made for a child. A room made for good dreams and happy memories. She sits near a poorly built house with wooden dolls inside of it. She doesn't seem to care one is missing an arm, or the other is missing an eye. She smiles, and my heart warms immensely. I wonder if this is what it would've felt like to have a little sister, to grow up having a little child in the house no matter how annoying or persistent. I sit next to her, curiosity a flame in my body.
"How old are you, Blue?"
She takes her finger and draws two circles, repeatedly. I realise quickly that this is her way of communication; she answers through code and it is your choice to observe and decode. "Eight years old. How long have you been here?" A shrug of her tiny shoulders as she hands me her doll. I know she isn't from this Kingdom. People of Lyth have tones of brown and chestnut. Eyes as round as marbles. Hers are almond shaped; piercing, dangerous even for a little girl. No, her skin is pale, eyes a depth of emotion I'm afraid to dive into. "You're not from here are you?" A shake of her head confirms my answer. She hands me another doll.
She stops for a moment, looks at me but hesitantly, as if not looking at me at all. She points to me. My heart. The embodiment of who I am. "You want to know my name?" A curt nod.
I smile and think of the nicknames Kat has given me throughout the years. I lean forward carefully, she mimics my actions. "I can't tell you my name, but I'll give you a special name to call me." Her eyes light up with that, expectant. "You can call me sunny."
She stares at my cheeks, my dress, my hair. Not my eyes, never my eyes. She searches for something and when she finds it, she does not hand it to me but she drops it near my feet. A sunflower; dying and pale without warmth or hydration. A sunflower without the sun. I smile regardless, because it's one of the best things a stranger has ever given to me. Kat was never one to buy gifts, she never knew what to get me. She learned throughout the years though, birthday gifts consisted of foods and oversized clothes and hunting weapons. Not that I didn't like hunting, but flowers were better.
She resumes playing like the conversation didn't happen and I can't help but want to hold her, a familial protective aura surrounding my heart. Why is she here? What is a child doing in a General's home? I haven't seen the other Generals or what surrounds them in their daily lives but I'm pretty sure they'd have more guards and less children. What is the Red General trying to do?
An hour passes quickly, I can tell from the way the room lights with hues of vibrant orange and pink. Then I hear it. A melodious calm overtakes the room, like a living aura guiding me towards its origin. "Do you hear that?" I ask Blue. She simply nods. She must be used to hearing it then. I hand her the dolls and exit the room, promising her to be back soon.
I follow the tune down two corridors, the stream of sound growing brighter, the echoes; louder. A violin. It sounds different from the ones used during the festivals. It is crisp and new and calming in a way I've never heard. The song wraps around my heart and squeezes, painting images before my eyes. They blur into one, a flash of memories I've buried so deep I'd forgotten they'd existed. The notes come to a decrescendo, erasing the pictures before me. Beyond the images lay a silver entwined brown door. It's cracked open, and a figure blurs behind it. I step in, no longer caring for my actions.
His back is turned to me, the beautiful instrument held in one hand, stick in another, hanging limply. He stares out of the window, I hadn't realised it started raining. The room is now dark from the blackened clouds, silence hangs like an old friend.
"That was beautiful." I breathe. He spins around instantly, a blush forming on his cheeks. He played until sweat coated his face and neck. Until his hair stuck up messily as if he'd just woken up. "Beautiful." I repeat, albeit unintentionally.
We clear our throats at the same time. The once friendly silence turning into a formal greeting. "You're not supposed to be on this side of the mansion. I thought Rider made that clear."
"I have no idea where Rider is. The last time I saw him, Kay had him engrossed in a drinking game." I take a step forward, analyzing the room. It's a small study overlooking the garden. Clean, crisp, cool air threads through the books and the curtains. It's homey. "Blue brought me here."
He looks at me incredulously. If I thought his jaw could open wider I wouldn't be shocked if it hit the floor. "What?" I ask, annoyed. "Can't the girl be friends with me?"
He catches on to my piqued tone and places his violin gently on the desk. "No. It's not that." He stands on the opposite side of the room. It hit me then. He's never not on guard when we are in the same room. Never too close. Never too relaxed. It made me simultaneously satisfied and aggrieved. "Blue has never told anyone her name."
"Really? Then..."
"She told me, two years ago when I found her. Only me. I've told the others but she doesn't like it when they call her by her name."
"Found her? What do you mean?"
He folds his sleeves up, flexing his hands and wrists. I can't help but stare at the toned arms that suffocate under the sleeves of his shirt, the way his veins ache to have a finger glide along their rigidity. "There was a raid on the south coast near Purh Port. It was my last mission before I became General. There were men selling guns and drugs and..." He didn't need to finish the sentence. He clears his throat, "Blue was one of them. She was six at the time. Barely knew how to read or spell or even talk. She was merely a hollow shell trying to survive this world."
"You took her in." A statement. He nods.
"She was the youngest out of the group. The others went to orphanages but I took her in, yes. Those men...they were some of the only men I enjoyed executing." His eyes grow dark, distant. I do not doubt he hesitated to execute the sick bastards. He stands and saunters over to me. I can feel his invisible armor raise. Always on guard. "Back at the port, when the cult leader told us that there are no villains or heroes, I believed him." Two steps closer. "You may consider me a villain for killing those men, but Blue is alive today because of it."
"I never said you were the villain."
"You think it."
"Just because I disagree with your stature doesn't mean I think you're the villain in our story. I'm simply stating that not every 'good man' does good. Same goes for the opposite. What we deem good and bad is none but a perspective of those who were here to write the rules."
He pauses for a bit. His finger traces his lip, staring over my shoulder just as a flash encases his features. "Then what do you think I am?" The tips of his boots touch mine. I can feel the heat radiating off of him, practically reaching out and touching my skin.
"Why do you care what I think?"
He stares at me contemplatively, eyes lidded as he raises his head but keeps his contact. "I can tell you. You think I'm a person who let prisoners roam my home. It's important you remember that all Generals have prisoners in their homes, some kept on leashes by their choice."
"So is that how you see me? As a thing to be kept on a leash?"
I didn't think he could get any closer but I feel his breath fanning my face, strands of my hair tickle the back of my neck. "I said their choice. I am simply reminding you of your place. Every General has their reason. None is the same. One sees a leash, another sees...chance."
"What are their reasons?"
"I cannot speak for them, but I know the Red Tiger happens to be very forgiving. She gives second chances to those who deserve it." He glances down for a moment, a split moment. I smell it then. The feint scent of alcohol on his tongue.
"Then what's yours?"
"It is not for you to know."
"Then why tell me that?"
He goes silent and straightens. His eyes flutter once. Twice. He does not respond for some seconds, the silence a palpable exhale of a held breath.
Eager to break through, I say, "Are you drunk, General?"
"Barely."
"Is that why you spout nonsense? Why you remind me that you have a leash around my neck?"
He steps forward, his leg brushing mine for an instant. I am forced to take a step back before I am flush against him, my back hitting the bookshelf. "I think we both know who holds the leash here."
My brain is a puddle of confusion and foreign emotions. The heat that emanates from both our bodies is something I cannot describe with words. I don't understand why it's happening, it seems illogical for my body to respond this way especially since this man just told me there's an invisible leash around my neck. I lose myself for a moment, the boldness dissipating into nothingness. I can't look at him, although I know he's boring holes into my face right now.
I try, glancing up a bit, only to see how close he really is to me, his chest rising and falling at a more rapid rate now. I can't tell how intoxicated he is. Then he opens his mouth and I have a very vague idea, "I saved your life because you have use to me. You are nothing special. Remember that while you are here."
All skies are clear, my senses returning to me in a rush. I snap my head to glare at him and huff indignantly. Tip toeing to reach his height, barely, I grit my teeth, "You seem to think I give a shit."
He simply smirks, shoving one hand into his pocket and the other into his mussed locks of brown. He heads for the door, "The feast is on Saturday. You are allowed to attend lest you decide to behave like your usual self."
I stay silent as I watch him leave, his slight stumble giving him away. I realise my hand is on the side of my thigh, fingers searching for a hilt of a dagger. My instincts and anger have kicked in without my realising. I suddenly feel the urge to ransack this house to look for my dagger; the first thing Kat gave to me when I joined. A token of protection, a momentum in her own way.
I wait for a while, standing in the darkness of the room before heading into the hallway. The night shrouds the house in darkness, a welcoming silence hums through the walls and touches the pads of my fingers. I smirk; the perfect setting. Rider is nowhere to be seen, which arouses a suspicious awareness in me. If he catches me I'd be locked in the dingy cell once more, and that will surely do me no good.
I creep along the hallway, the lingering scent of alcohol stronger outside of the room. I was never allowed on this side of the house, maybe because the General's room lay on the end; golden double doors with black handles and insignias engraved like waves throughout the wood. An exact replica of mine. I wonder why that is.
I place my hand on the doorknobs, leaning in with my ears perked. The distant sound of water tells me the General is busy and, looking behind for good measure, I enter his room.
Black and blue. The General is obsessed with black and blue. The hue of the blue makes no sense; a dazzling summer sky against the starless dead of night. The trims along the walls are black, along with the rug near his bed and the outline of his window frame overlooking the garden. Other than that, everything else is a shade of blue that corresponds with an item. I'm not sure why it shocks me, I expected maybe a deer head or some kind of animal carcass on his floor. Maybe I even expected everything to be in a deep shade of red. Hell, I expected blood framing his window. It seems...ordinary. A room I would design for myself. His bed is made, as if it hadn't been touched in forever. Near it stands a bedside table. My heart jolts in my chest. I try the handle and steadily, like touching a smooth blade, it responds to my pull. Pictures, keys, files and other miscellaneous items lay scattered in the drawer.
It is the only one that is full, the others are empty. I sort through hastily, pushing the childishly drawn pictures aside along with actual portraits of people I have no time to analyse. My eyes catch on a glint of shining metal, my heart lunges. I hold the hilt tightly, examining the blade. It's mine; the K on the end of the hilt tells me so. Behind the dagger, a flash of black and white enters my vision. A well drawn portrait of a boy, perhaps thirteen . His smile exceeds the dull colours, shining gold and silver and yellow and orange. Something foreign stabs my in my heart, strong nostalgia clouding my mind. I feel like I know this child, but the dust and scratches covering his face makes it hard to place him and it irritates me to the point I'm standing there until the water shuts off. I close the drawer quickly and spin around, only to be met with the end of a silver tipped sword held right between my eyes. On the other end a fuming Rider stands, grey eyes a darker shade than usual and all the fury held in them is pointed at me.
"I knew you were good for nothing. I have no idea why he even took you out of that cell." He growls. The bathroom door opens.
"I am of his assistance. The General knows that."
"The General can be delusional and a little too forgiving at times." His eyes swipe to the door, the man of question surely now stands there in confusion as to what is going on. "It happened many times before. Hence the reason I'm his second hand." His gaze darts back to me, eyes darkening in a greedy way. "I undo those mistakes."
"Someone mind telling me what's going on? Didn't I just speak with you?" A subtle calm in his voice, masking the long forgotten partial drunkenness and anger most likely brewing behind it.
"Your little experiment is stealing from you. I do my job right General, and I say we hand her over to the Royal Cells. The time for question is over."
"I just wanted my dagger." I fight, my eyes still focused on the edge of the sword, breathing halted should it aggravate him. One of the many rules we learn is to never underestimate the man that holds the sword. I know when I cannot win. And right now the opponent before me is aching for a reason to plunge the sword into me.
"For what reason would you need one? You're in the protection of a General, there is only one purpose for which you'd want it." He accuses, his knuckles a stark contrast to the black of his hilt.
"You saw what happened at the port. I was defenceless."
"Yet you managed to save the both of us." The General comes into view and my docile instincts kick in. His towel hangs low around his waist and I'm not sure why it affects me differently now but I find my breathing a lot harder to manage than the previous times I've seen him shirtless. "The sword is a mere extension of your body. You are the first weapon, the sword is the second."
"It is protection nonetheless." I can't look at him and speak, so I glare at Rider instead. "I fear I'm not protected even in this house."
He drops the sword and steps closer, then before I can adjust, in one swift movement he detaches the dagger from my hand and holds it against my neck. He easily towers me, I think he might tower the General if he were to stand next to him. I'd never expect for him to move so swiftly and for me not to realise his intention before it is already done. I now see why he was assigned to me. He could kill me before I could blink.
My dagger is against my throat, a trickle of blood slides down my chest. I glare at him, biting my tongue and clenching my fists in fear that he may slit my throat.
"The only thing you may need protection from is me." He growls under his breath for only me to hear. A shiver snakes across my skin.
"Rider."
In one fluid movement, Rider is now walking towards the General. The dagger flips in the air and the hilt lands in the latter's hand. Rider casts an accusatory glance at the General, then he leaves the room.
I inhale deeply, part choking on the air that rushes into my lungs. The General twirls my dagger in his hand, although it looks several times smaller in his. Like a simple butter knife.
"Rider means well. He's the best second hand I've ever had." He stalks over to me, and with every step the towel shifts like water against the plane of his torso. From this distance I make out three jagged scars, all random and most likely from three different circumstances, etched along the sides of his toned, tight stomach. "But I understand the need to feel protected. Regardless of if you truly are, or not."
He lifts his hand high into the air, the silver glinting in the lamplight. My eyes trace the length of his side, the subtle curve of his waist. I blink hard and refocus. Clearly there is some kind of essence in this room that is driving me crazy.
"If you can get it from me, you can have it."
I scoff at that, eyes staring up through narrowed brows. "This isn't a game."
"I never said it was."
We stare for what feels like a lifetime. A hunter trapping it's prey. I decide that the emptiness against my thigh is worth more than a stupid little game of his. I lunge for it. He simply steps out of the way, juggling the dagger inbetween hands.
I kick into his kneecap. He dodges, and mimics my move, aiming for my shin. When it connects, I kneel on one knee and sweep with my other foot. I catch him behind his ankle, but not enough for him to lose balance. When I right myself, I feign a hook and to my advantage, he falls for it. Almost. I strike straight with my left, fingers curled in and palm aiming for his diaphragm. He drops the dagger from his left hand, letting it clatter on the floor before wrapping his hand around my wrist, spinning me until my arm is pinned painfully behind my back and my chest is against the wall, the handles of the dresser digging into my collarbone. He leans down, towel shifting against the back of my legs. I think the air is colder than I realise with how hard I shiver.
"I stated this once, and it's the last time I'll say it considering you have no regard for your own life; do not forget your place. Go back to your room. Leave the dagger here. If I catch you in my room again, I'll have Rider make your life's decisions from here on out. Am I clear?" His voice sounds sultry in my ears, although I'm well aware he's masking a thicker anger behind it. The scent of mint and whisky wrapping around my head like a band, and pulling taut. I nod, albeit hesitantantly, completely engulfed in his body heat that fuels the inner fire that burns brightly in anger and restraint. This is wrong. I know it is wrong. But for some reason I don't want him to release my hand.
Less than three minutes later, I'm escorted by Rider to my room; the General's eyes are on me every step of the way, searing holes into my skin. Not a word has been said but I can feel his unadulterated hatred bleeding from his pores. Then I am shut in my room for the next two days.