Several days before, Ophelia was still unconscious, not showing any signs of waking up. On the other hand, the effects of the poison had been almost completely healed, causing her complexion to appear even fairer than it ever was. Because of such beauty, gossip among the servants rapidly grew to the point male servants wished to catch a glimpse of such greatness, always failing miserably in their quest while the women had nicknamed her after the children’s fairy tale, The Sleeping Beauty.
“I’m afraid I cannot let you enter, My Lord.” Bradley’s voice was bitter enough to cause all the surrounding servants to slither away from the corridors, fearful of what would soon come to pass.
With Ophelia’s body completely healed, experiencing no fevers nor convulsions, word reached the Wharton’s estate, causing her loving fiancé to claim his so-called prize. “Bradley! She is my wife. I have the right to take her!”
You filthy life form... you should be thankful for the air you breathe. The blonde man thought as his rude competition pointed a disgusting finger at his face. Such action merely caused the hidden side of the angel to switch, forcing Bradley to conceal it with all his strength, knowing fully well where he stood. If it weren’t for such powerful will, Terrel would be lucky if a broken finger was all he got from such pointless confrontation.
“Your wife?” Bradley snorted and looked down, as the man was slightly shorter than him. “When was your wedding held? And please justify why the prestige house of Trace wasn’t invited to such grand event?”
“She will soon become my wife, so these are mere formalities.” Terrel gritted his teeth, fingers passing through a thick layer of oil in his dirty hair. Clearly, he’d done quite an effort this week, all because of the strong preoccupation for his beloved, no doubt. “Nevertheless, as her fiancé, it is my job to care for her in dire times, but I can only do so in my estate.”
The angel smiled, causing a shiver to run through the man’s spine. “Lord Terrel, are you perhaps implying that His Grace has passed? Some have been charged with treason for less.”
Like a slithery snake, the bastard merely grinned, knowing the perfect comeback. “Of course not, My Lord. I wouldn’t dare, but we know death comes to all and I will be the one carrying the Duke’s legacy.”
Avarice, greed and craving locked his desires into place, merging his logic into a lustful mess, which was easily defeated by a handful of coherent words; however, such reality didn’t seem to bother him as he’d prioritize his emotions over social etiquette. That was why, even though Bradley glared down at him intensely, ready to separate his head from his disgusting body, he appeared unfazed, only observing the ultimate goal: the unconscious woman behind the door, the perfect pawn for his needs.
“Indeed... in some cases, death even comes earlier than others. Isn’t it such a shame?”
“Is that a threat?” Finally, some sense dawned on him, causing his resolve to shiver.
They may be both the sons of Dukes, each with their own extensive power, but even without comparing the two duchies, Bradley had the social upper hand, being invited in the most high-class circles peasants could only dream of observing from afar. If it came to it, society would never take his side.
“A threat? How could I think of something so treacherous, Lord Terrel... but it is always wise to remember one’s place.” Bradley’s charming yet frosty smile caused his competitor’s body to shake, his fists to clench until the knuckles paled.
Anxiously, his attention travelled through the entrance door, glimpsing the remaining two guardians. Ivy, the woman whose blood should belong to him and the slave he’d heard so much about, the platinum-haired boy. Even though the kid was from lower birth, his stance was threatening enough to make the noble think twice before approaching - a smarter, wiser choice.
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With no other way out, his attention fell on the maid, who still appeared rather fearful of his presence. With a sleek smile stretched across his lips, he approached. “Ivy, come here.”
Attempting to keep her composure straight and knowing she couldn’t ignore a request from the first son of her employer, she walked towards him, stopping right in front of his dominant figure. “What can I help you with, milord?”
The maids talked among themselves so his deeds didn’t go by unnoticed as the youngest, freshest catches, were always gifted to the young Lord, right under the nose of everyone with real power. Duke Wharton, due to his already old age, locked himself in his room focusing on keeping his businesses afloat, giving the remaining of his influence to his sons: one acted as the socialite while the other acted in his name whenever he went, with whatever he did. No one could escape his grasp nor his interest, at least, until Ophelia had intervened, like a God-send envoy from the higher realms.
“I’m certain you and I can come to an agreement...” His hand fell on her shoulder, pressuring her with his overwhelming presence. The moment Terrel’s lips passed by her ear, his putrefying hot breath drowning in her neck caused her to shudder. “If you don’t wish to please your master, such can be arranged; all you must do is allow me passage. If you don’t, I’m afraid a frail ivy like yourself will carry my seeds.”
Ivy’s eyes widened as her figure walked a few steps back, wavering. That wretched man wanted her to betray the only person who actually cared about her, who stood up for her, and for what? To protect the sole precious thing a woman possessed.
Bradley’s arm stretched in front of Jade’s figure at the precise moment he was about to intervene; however, this was a decision the woman needed to make for herself. What was more precious to her? A woman’s virtue or loyalty?
“I’m sorry, milord. I cannot aid you with your request.” Reactively she bobbed her head and turned around, but the nobleman grabbed her wrist forcefully. The woman shuddered, gasping in pain from his tight grasp, feeling most of the circulation in her hand to be shut down mercilessly.
“You dare disobey my commands!? You ingrate...!”
“Lord Terrel, I’m afraid if you continue to speak you won’t have any more seeds to give.” Bradley commented, causing Terrel to glimpse at them. The platinum-haired boy glared at him with such an intense hatred that if it weren’t for the arm in front of him, preventing his body from darting forward, his rage wouldn’t be contained.
The brunette snorted, letting go of his grip on the young maid. “I’m sure you know what this action means, Lord Bradley.”
With his typical, charming smile, the angel simply observed him walk away like the filthy dog he was, running with the tail between his legs, unable to do anything decent without his father’s aid. As servants passed through him, his arms pushed them away as they were merely the receptors of his accumulated frustration. The Trace’s and the Wharton’s had never been great friends but, after this, their relationship was bound to turn sour beyond repair.
A loud sound echoed in the corridor, as Ivy fell straight onto the wooden floor, tears slipping through her cheeks at a rapid pace, reality sinking in. She’d been holding her composure until now, hoping to not lose face against such a threat. “Thank you...”
“I didn’t do this for you.” Bradley’s arm lowered, causing Jade to hastily head towards the woman, helping her regain some composure. “If you are done crying, go wash her body. It’s hot today, and she’s probably filled with sweat... we don’t want her fever to rise again.”
“Yes, milord.” With two powerful thrusts in her dress, she shoved away the dust and walked down the stairs, ready to grab a bucket filled with lukewarm water.
Jade looked at the noble, who appeared unbothered by his own insensitivity. “Don’t you know pity?”
“Oh? Dogs can talk?” Bradley commented, attempting to shake the resolve of the man standing before him. His figure approached the slave, hands grabbing the thin collar surrounding his neck. “Look at you, a slave who knows pride; aren’t you a lucky one? Don’t deceive yourself with fantasies. You are far below her station.”
And, at that moment, no answer could escape his lips, as he knew all the words the nobleman had said were true. He was but a slave, with a life that he didn’t even own, bought off to someone else by a handful of gold coins. In the social hierarchy, even animals had more rights than him, yet, deep down, a shred of hope still remained.