Auron

My heart races and a smile spreads across my face as my black steed makes our way through the trail between my estate and the smaller neighboring one. I’ve been planning this morning’s trip to Betha’s house for weeks.

I run my fingers over the coffee-colored saddle bag—warm from the early morning sun–to ensure it is still secure.

It holds a picnic breakfast with all the trimmings, from fresh baked bread to newly-picked blueberries and aged cheeses. The scent of the raspberry muffins wafting my way is delectable.

Everything I need to have the conversation I want to have with Betha. I picture running my fingers through her long, wavy red hair, and in my revelry, I almost forget to duck when my horse trots under a low hanging maple branch.

“Careful, Andreas!” I say as I run my hand along the horse’s neck. He whinnies in in reply to my gentle touch. I love this magnificent beast, but I caution him, “We have to make it there in one piece if I’m to find out whether she cares for me as much as I do her.”

I’m certain of the answer, but this morning’s breakfast will confirm it.

I tug at the reins and get my steed moving once more.

The sun is out and warm, but not too much so. A light breeze caresses my cheek almost as if Aphrodite herself were telling me love was in my future. That thought brings a smile to my face.

My chest tightens in anticipation as Betha’s modest estate comes into view. If we were to marry, she would gain stature, but I could easily see the two of us living here. It’s beautiful land with oaks and pines and ash trees—magical even with the hills rolling in the background.

Perfection.

Our kids might have red or blond hair, but they would surely end up with green eyes. The running joke between us is who has the brighter green eyes. I always let her “win” the argument though, because otherwise she pouts, and I cannot bear to see her even frown.

After I approach the mansion, I bring Andreas to a halt and dismount. It’s as still as a pond in summer, except for the nervous-looking stablehand who rushes to help take of my reliable friend. I pull a carrot from a side pouch for Andreas before he’s led away to the stables. I catch a glimpse of Betha’s mare as the stablehand opens the door.

On any other morning, I might have sent a message beforehand to Betha that I’m coming, but today should be a surprise. I pat the black leather pouch at my waist and find the intricately carved jewelry box with a ring of two doves intertwined. Aphrodite would be pleased.

Another piece of perfection. This is the ring I will use to promise myself to her.

I knock, but no one answers. Odd. I know Betha doesn’t have the same status as my family, but there’s usually someone to open the door. If staff was unavailable, Betha never was too conceited to not open the door herself. Her mare whinnies from the stable, and a second horse calls out in response to the first, but it isn’t Andreas.

“Betha?” I put my hand to the glass and peer into the window. No one is at the table, and there is no sign of breakfast having been served. At least that’s good.

I gently turn the door handle, but it’s locked. Odd. Betha has no reason to worry for her safety, though I suppose it isn’t a bad idea if she is alone.

I lift the handle and jiggle it, a trick she showed me months ago. Then I push against the oak planks and the door opens. I call out a little louder, “Betha?”

Still no response.

I enter. No sign of trouble. My smile broadens as I hear her moving around in the bedroom. Being the first one to greet her in the morning is an honor I always cherish.

A deep male voice laughs, and I stop in my tracks.

My heart moves to my throat, and I can’t even call out her name. The pounding in my chest drowns out what the man says, but Betha giggles in response and says, “You scoundrel!”

That is what she calls me.

I tap the dagger sheathed on my thigh and approach the bedroom door like a wildcat ready to pounce. Breathing deep, I turn the door handle, its metal like liquid fire against my fingers.

I lean against the heavy green door, and it gives way. The scene in front of me is one I will never be able to unsee.

The two of them are wrapped up in each other, their skin only covered by the finest of sheets. Betha screams.

The man tightens the linens around Betha and extricates himself. “Who the hell do you think you are, barging into a woman’s private quarters unannounced?” He wraps a second blanket about his waist and eyes his own blade on the table nearby.

Betha holds tightly to the man. “Dolion, he shouldn’t be here.”

Both of us look in our twenties, but this man is the opposite of me in every other way. Where I have shoulder-length blond hair, Dolion has short black hair. Where I am muscular and trim, this man is pudgy and carries extra weight. What could she see in him?

Dolion stands up straight. Almost a half-foot shorter than me. His clothes—in a pile near the bed—are of fine quality cloth in rich colors.

At least Betha has the decency to not mess around with the staff, yet clearly she’s not the woman of caliber and class I had supposed her to be. “The real question is why you were in bed with a woman I have been seeing for quite a while.”

Betha cries. “Don’t believe him, Dolion. Auron Bozzelli has never been more to me than an escort when my parents insisted because of my age. He means nothing to me.”

Nothing but an escort? That arrow pierces my heart, and my lungs collapse.

“I have been faithful to you for all eight months we have been together., Dolion. I swear.”

Eight months? Betha and I have only been together six. That’s a second arrow, and I can feel the crack in my heart run its length. “Why, Betha? Why would you do this to me? To us?”

“There was never an us, Auron.” The third one lets loose, and my chest explodes in agony.

Dolion looks between Betha and me, his face red with anger. Raising my fist to defend myself, I debate whether to hit the man.

But he turns his back to me. “You’ve been seeing both of us? Or are there more?” More? That thought had not even occurred to me.

Betha gathers the sheets about her. I touch the box in my pocket. It is not Aphrodite I would summon in this moment but Athena or the Fates. Instead of doves, I would choose an owl or a broken thread. I consider for a moment calling out to the goddess of war or the Fates, but I cannot bring myself to do it.

I’m disgusted, but I would not choose to bring harm to her, even though my own heart is shattered.

“You are the only one for me, Dolion.” My stomach churns as her deceit continues.

Dolion looks at me, his brown eyes wide in disbelief, and my anger for him drains. The pain in them probably mirrors my own.

My fists drop to my sides. “Dolion, if you want her, you can have her. I will not fight you for her.”

“Auron, have you and Betha been together long?”

“Six months.”

“She told me she has been faithful, but more than once, I have wondered where she has gone off to. Her excuses were always thin.”

I pause, debating how much to fuel this fire. I decide to be honest, for that would be enough to earn the ire of any man. “She would tell me that she needed solitude and would—”

“Head to the springs?” Dolion finishes my sentence for me. “That’s what she would tell me.”

I lean over and throw Dolion his beige trousers, turning my back to give him a moment. “Yes. Or the lady’s tavern in town.”

“No! Dolion, don’t leave,” Betha screeches, standing and rushing to Dolion. She runs her fingers along his neckline.

Dolion’s voice goes flat and emotionless. “You may keep the gift I brought you, Betha. I wouldn’t want something back I gave in good faith, especially not a gift sullied by something so ugly.”

Betha tightens the linens about her and tries to wrap her arms around the pudgy man. He grabs her wrists and gently extracts himself from her attempted embrace. “No, darling. We are through.”

Numbness spreads through my broken heart, and I find the resolve to turn to walk away. I have nothing left to say to her.

Shaking hands wrap around my waist, and I stumble against the door frame as Betha’s desperate clinging unbalances me.

She cries again, though the tears feel manufactured at best. “Auron, I’m sorry. We can make this work. I shouldn’t have said those things. Please don’t leave.”

“Let go, Betha. We’re done.”

She slowly removes her hands from me, and I check my waist to make sure the leather pouch is still there. She doesn’t deserve the doves.

Dolion has donned his blouse and carries his boots. “Auron, I am sorry I have caused you harm. I did not know.” His eyes are open and sincere, so I extend my hand and he grips my forearm in his.

Tears stream down Betha’s face, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. She slams her hand down on the top of her dresser, and several things rattle.

“Let’s go, Auron.” Dolion motions for the door, and I follow without hesitation.

“You both think you are better than me? You both deserve to be alone with the way you treat a woman!” Betha screams as we make our way to exit the house. “Mark my words, both of you. You’ll be sorry. The gods and goddesses will punish you both!”