What happens when the Kingdom of Euncia's harlot, Symphony dies and her daughter takes her throne? In short, a hell of a lot. In a world where only the rulers of Euncia have magic, what does it mean when the King meets Drucilla, Symphony's daughter...
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|Drucilla V. Henthorn|
"Miss Henthron?" A cavernous voice called from the door of my humble cottage.
"I'm not available right now! Come back in an hour, so sorry." I responded, fumbling around to find a decently fitting robe. Finding my silk crimson red robe, draping it over my naked body, and tying the string of the robe.
"Miss Henthorn, I'm not a normal client." The voice corresponded as I groaned, laying my body weight against the wooden door as I rubbed my temples, in an attempt to soothe the pounding headache ringing through my noggin. I lifted one hand away, aiming to rest it on the door as it began to spark every so slightly. A quick flame of light flashed from my fingertips.
God, I hate being hungover. Even though it had slowly become only a headache and a slight blur to my vision. It sucked, especially with these stupid hallucinations. Only royalty has powers, it was impossible for me to not be a delusion to some decree.
Unlike my fake powers, the very real knocking at my door continued.
"I have a deal for you. One that can save you from his life, the life your mother led. But, I need you to open the door." The voice grew relentless as I squandered the idea of letting them in.
"What if they kill me?" I conversed with myself.
"Worse. what if they rape me."
"Okay, fair play. But, they could be trying to help you. Your mother just passed, and people pity you. Use that." I truly am a genius, what can I say?
I giggled to myself as I unlocked the six locks leading up to my rigid door, leaving the three chains on as I creaked the door open with a slutty smirk.
"Holy fuck.." I gasped, my eyes slowly scanning the sensual man presented in front of me.
His caramel skin was saturated with a dewy appeal cast by the early morning sun. The man stood perfectly chiseled as if he was meant to be some sort of God. Perfectly organized in his attire, not messy or dirty, unlike the other men from this area. His abs stood through his white button up his strong arms almost bulging, almost as if he was permanently flexing. His chiseled jaw and his sad attempt at a peach fuzz only added to the endless appeal. As muscular as he was, it wasn't too much or too little. He looked as if he was perfect for hugging, picking you up, and twirling you like you were the lightest toy in the world. His bright emerald green eyes clawed me in. His silky black hair lay in a messy careless bun.
"May I come in, Drucilla?" The man asked as he swallowed, rocking on his heels with his hands set in his pockets.
"Depends." I shot, squinting my eyes to meet his intimidating ones.
"On?"
"How'd you learn my name, hot stuff."
"Ah. Well, when you market yourself off as a harlot, your name runs through the streets." The man pounced back as I smirked, unlocking the door, resting my dominant hand on the doorknob as the tall man walked by me, his head barely missing the doorframe.
