ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

“You serve such, don’t you?” Zephyr asked, his tone laced with unfiltered curiosity. He was close, he felt it. Close to solving the mystery of the prince’s death. All he needed were answers; answers to what happened before he transmigrated, answers to what the guards might have seen, and most of all, answers to who had done it. This was only the second he had sought answers so much; he viciously loathed the thought of experiencing death again. Painful and scary and dark; he hated all it brought—the darkness most especially. 

He silently placed his hand on the tiny, leather belt-pouch hidden under his cloak, where he had kept the mysterious paper he found in his tightly shut palm, upon his transmigration. His heart raced in dire anticipation; once, twice, thrice, if Rose had not spoken up, the bellowing drums of his heart might have made it free from the cage of his chest.

“We do, Your Grace,” she gave voice. It was a little quivered; the situation had now clutched her tightly at the throat, and she had begun to think the same as her king and his advisor: “how could guards have been served such a wine?” 

The thought of losing her business left a bitter taste in her mouth. She once hated it, but now she had grown too close to it, so much it had become her life. 

The pounding of Zephyr’s heart quieted to a slow stop as a soft unnoticeable smile crept upon his face. An inch closer, he sighed as the darkness of death that he felt looming over him faded instantly.

Flynn then rose to his feet. “A word with your girls if you might,” he said, his eyes layered with a glint of fierce determination. 

Rose watched him for a short moment. She had noticed, right from the moment his hands felt her shoulders; he had changed. He was no longer the young lord she had met that night. Deep beneath those silent eyes layered with determination she felt was for the benefit of his king, was something hidden—something kept deep in the dark, like the moon concealed beneath thick, grey blankets of clouds. What had happened to him? What had changed him ever so greatly? 

She sauntered up from the sturdy wooden chair she sat on, softly shaking her mind free from its questions. “Have your seat, young lord. I shall return with the one who was in their service.” With nothing short of flowery grace, she bowed and turned to leave the room.

“Close, aren’t we?” Zephyr directed his voice to the only person left with him. 

“Yes, my king.” Flynn sat back on the cushion. “But if I may be allowed a question. Why not leave it all to me? Why come down from the castle to trouble yourself with the death of two guards?”

Silence appeared momentarily, and for a short moment, Zephyr thought to undo the lock on his lips, he thought to tell Flynn everything; how he was not of this world, the paper he had found, and why he bothered with the guards so much, but a voice, one enlivened with fiery rage, spat quickly: Don’t! Do not tell him! Do not tell him!! It bellowed, stinging him with a sharp, brief headache, and as well, wrenching the king from embracing seemingly, profound stupidity.

“Yes, they are guards,” Zephyr replied, taking heed of the voice, “but my guards. I’m sure you don’t expect me to sit peacefully in the castle when their death means a threat to my life exists, or is there some other way you see it?” 

Before Flynn could utter a word of reply, Madame Rose returned with a copper-skinned girl and plunged herself calmly back onto the wooden chair of discomfort, while the girl who stood beside her, wearing a rough, tousled hair of brown on her head, which fell over her shoulders, and washed in a sleeveless gown of the same colour, searched the floor with her eyes, all the while daring not to raise it, nor feed it with a glance of the men sitting before her. Her palms placed upon each other beneath her belly shivered slightly; whatever her madame had told her stained her with fear.

“She served them, my lords. Both at table and bed,” Madame Rose affirmed. “If anyone, she would know it all.” 

“What have you told her?” Zephyr asked, taking notice of the quiet shivers of the girl’s palms.

“Nothing more than the two guards she served were dead, and that two lords had arrived to question her for it.” 

Lords…? She didn’t tell the girl who I was then…

Zephyr turned his stare back to the girl and studied her keenly for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. Fear, he could smell it. The displeasing stench it had. He knew what it felt like—his past life had made sure of that. After all, only one who had experienced it could have so much familiarity with it, and he wanted such displeasing countenance for no one, even a serving whore. 

“What’s your name?” He asked.

The girl painted with a skin of copper replied as her eyes remained searching the floor, and her fingers bit into each other aggressively, “Cicily, my lord.” Her mouth quavered.

“Do not be afraid, Cicily. You’re in no trouble,” he said with a smile. “Raise your head.” 

“...As you wish my lord.” Slowly, her eyes left its watch of the floor and rose to the warm, gleaming smile of Zephyr. As she saw, it almost felt as though she could relieve herself of the fear that gripped her, but a single glance at the intense and watchful gaze of the other seated lord, assured the fear remained. Soft, his face was, but it lacked the warmth the other had. His was soft and cold—icy cold. 

“I-I only served what she ordered, my lords!” Cicily panicked, her eyes darting about their faces. Zephyr’s intent to calm her had ended in failure. Her fear was great now, too great to be contained. 

“She?” Flynn’s eyebrows twitched bemusedly, as he sharply took notice of a slight detail in Cicily’s words.

Someone else was there…? Zephyr’s gaze furrowed, his mind reining in to notice as well.

“What do you mean she?” He asked, taking a quick glance at the curious face of Madame Rose before returning it to the girl.

“Speak,” Flynn blurted. For him, the silence had gone on for far too long already, and it filled him with nothing short of impatience. 

Cicily shrieked mildly and took the reply out of her mouth as fast as she could, “The guards didn’t order the wine, my lords. Someone else did…

“A lady.”