Siren

Siren - Chapter 37

The last few days had been busy in the castle. Sumoia was abuzz with rumors. Some said that the prince had killed his previous bride in order to marry royalty, others said the king had banished her from the kingdom. Those were the kinder rumors. The more grotesque ones suggested the king had her locked up, being tortured for taking the prince’s virginity.

Mallach had spent most of his time lounging around the more private chambers of the castle, far away from the prying eyes of the public. His hair had been shorn close to his head, the unruly curls gone and done away with. He was dressed in a fine vest of dark green velvet, a crisp white shirt underneath with long sleeves, brown leather pants and black boots. He ran his hand over his head, his short hair eliciting prickling sensations against his palm.

A knock at the door startled him, and he jumped.

“Enter.” He grunted.

The door swung open and in came Octavious. The door slammed shut. Nothing was heard except the tromping of his boots on the stoned floor.

“I have to say,” he began, his arms crossed, “that I did not expect this of you. Not at all.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mallach, sitting up.

“This!” he cried, his hands swinging wide about him. “This chaos, this utter… horse shit, as you once put it.”

Mallach gaped.

“Are you saying you actually wanted me to marry Clara?”

Octavious sputtered.

“Well, I… no, I mean…” Mallach stood up as another knock at the door called for his attention. It was the king, a grin on his face. “Yes, alright, bloody hell, yes!” Octavious yelled. “You should have married her, blast and damn! I got used to having the girl around. She was like the daughter I never had.”

“And what do you know?” snarled the king. “You’re not royalty, never will be after that comment.”

“Fiat on you.” Spat back Octavious. “I thought better of you, boy. I guess I was wrong.” Octavious left without another word.

Mallach looked after him, and the king swore he saw tears in his sons eyes.

“Pay him no mind. He’s an old fool.”

“Yes,” replied Mallach, “he is. He knows nothing.”

“Come now. We have much to do today, including choosing you a royal bride.” He smacked Mallach on the back, pushing him out the door and closing it behind him.

Jupiter was summoned back into the room forty minutes later. He’d been sitting outside on a fairly wobbly chair. Moving it back and forth was the only thing that had given him any sort of enjoyment while waiting.

He’d opened the door slowly, the sun now risen, the entire room a fiery orange.

It illuminated Clara’s figure, just as he’d seen her the day he helped her with her corset. The outfit had looked ridiculous, he’d admitted to himself, but as he saw it on her, his jaw dropped open.

It showed her every curve, the accentuated roundness of her wide hips, her breasts, her shoulders and her legs. Gone were the dark circles under her eyes, how, he didn’t know, neither did he care. Her eyelids were buffeted with sea green colorings, makeup, he gathered, and her eyelashes were darker and longer than usual. She seemed to sparkle with the early sun, and as he came closer, he realized that Cora had rubbed silver fish scales over her cheeks, legs, and arms. They were small, he realized, they must have been ground at some point.