Elora Van Eck | Kaz Brekker

THREE | BANCROFT

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e l o r a

SEEMINGLY, time had stopped running and the dreadful moment was meant to never pass. It was an odd thing – time. The one thing not to be controlled by any soul. Even if one decided to move the hands of the clock, the only thing to change would be the time management of everyone stealing a glance at that one clock, which would be ruined due to a singular's want for the hours to pass. Time would not change. It was even stranger when the minutes would not pass at all because you surely knew that you sat there for twenty minutes and not just five. Nonetheless, one must accept that it was only your inner time that seemed to be out of it.

He kept babbling and did not seem to stop anytime soon. Chin held high and back straightened for him to appear a few centimeters taller. His brown locks were neatly slicked back and now and then, a hand would run through the oily strands. His voice held depth to it, a rasp as well but to Elora's ears it sounded like the clicking of shoes on a tile floor – a sound so annoyingly present, it brought blood to boil.

Elora wondered if this was his way of charming women. The hair, the clothes, the posture, and the constant bragging. She doubted that anyone would kneel at those words, giving themselves away entirely. But who was she to know the thoughts of other women? She had never actually spoken to many. A few, though those few were significantly different from what she expected to be viewed as typical.

An hour had already passed, and time was nearing the second. And all the minutes that could have been filled with laughter and interesting topics, were wasted as Elora kept listening to the boy as he babbled on end. The brunet bragged about his fortune, continuously. About his family's estate that lay in east Kerch. "It is not even comparable to this ordinary place you call home," he disgraced, grey eyes swaying around the living room. The corners of his mouth curved in a glint of disgust, but the girl did not care. Elora would never go as far as to call the house she lived in her home, but how was that stranger supposed to know?

He kept babbling. About how his father had officiated as a close guard of the Ravkan King in his early days before he retired from the position to take over the business after the death of the head of the family.

Elora gave her best efforts to stay attentive, despite her lack of interest in the topics picked by the stranger only. She picked up a porcelain cup and enjoyed a sip of tea. Her eyes trained onto the brunet as she studied his movements. If anything, the fact him to be a human being was the most interesting in all the moments she had sat there on that sofa with Flynn Bancroft, that was his name, – son to Bernhard and Lydia Bancroft. The bloodline was known to belong to the wealthiest in all Kerch. Mostly the invention of gunpowder that lay in his early family tree gifted the name its reputation. That seemed to be his singular personality trait also.

A slight shift of position caught her attention every other moment and her sight would fly to the other side of the room, if only for a millisecond. Jan and Wylan sat there in utter silence, staring. They did not speak to each other, nor averted their eyes from the scenario. Elora felt quite uncomfortable to be so intensely watched by not only her brother who seemed to be present for his own amusement only but by her father whose piercing blue eyes pinched her every nerve like a silver dagger made of Grisha steel. It brought her to shift nervous, for he watched her way of handling her guest. After all, he needed Elora to try at least.

Jan Van Eck had connections throughout the entirety of Kerch and not only that but much further. He kept inviting young men to meet his daughter in hopes she would marry someone respectable to keep the Van Eck business upright and hold onto their fortune closely, keeping it safe with sharp teeth and slicing claws. Elora had no other option than to follow her father's wishes in partaking in the trysts. Her father would not force her to marry just anyone, she thought. Only she had to meet them, that was Jan's one condition – for her to conversate and get to know those strangers if only a little bit.