How To Fall From Grace [MxM]

Step 8: Fall into despair

It never stopped hurting.

Frey's chest stung as he walked down the stairs, but as always he wouldn't show it. He refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt to hear what was being said behind his back. Instead he put on a beaming smile that would put a saint to shame before entering the large parlour.

One, two, four, he counted as his gaze swept the nearby area. Four people had turned to whisper as soon as he'd entered the room, and more of them followed that example the further inside he walked. Did they think they were discreet?

His pleasant grin remained steadfast as he greeted a group of gentlemen from Wyrmdon with a nod. They nodded back of course, but Frey still knew what they would say to each other as soon as he'd turned his back. Even after a year, that's all they could talk about whenever they spotted him.

He received a glass of wine, masking a sigh of relief by bringing it to his lips. He'd already had two of them right before leaving his room as preparation for what he guaranteed would be a nightmarish evening, but he doubted it would be enough. After some consideration he wondered if it would have been for the best to not attend the party after all. Problem was, it was hosted by Damien, and Frey was expected to be there.

So he sat down on a chair near the window, adjusting his seat so the right side of him faced away from the crowd, successfully blocking the view of his scar and disfigured ear.

Not that it seemed to keep gossip at bay.

Of course, his ear's misfortune wasn't the only piece of gossip going around as soon as his name was mentioned. The West Kerilia scandal had caused more than one huge dent in his reputation, despite Frey having been more or less a victim of it rather than someone to blame. The fact that he was related to the late tyrant of a town chief over there had been more than enough.

He greeted another group of self contented lords passing by with the same dashing smile as before. They showed appropriate manners by nodding back, but didn't stop to talk, instead hurrying further away while one mumbled something to the other.

Frey had tried to convince himself it didn't bother him. That he was used to it, but still downed his glass without a trace of the grimace he wished to make.

"Oh, Lord Clausson." A thin woman only a year or two older than Frey walked up to him, and he rose from his chair. "How are you this evening?"

"Just splendid," Frey lied, like most of the time. "And I'm happy to see you, Lady Brimble. How is the family?"

"They're quite well, thank you. It's a shame my husband couldn't be here tonight." Her gaze drifted towards Frey's right and he pursed his lips. They really couldn't keep their eyes off, could they? Not that they ever had, but prior to the incident it had been because of his stunning looks. Not because of half an ear and an unfortunately large scar across his cheek.

There was a line though, and Frey wouldn't let such obvious, inappropriate gawking slide quite so easily.

"Lady Brimble, is something wrong?" His next smile was an endearing one, but the barely-subtle hostility in his voice made the lady's gaze snap back to his eyes again with a flustered look.

"Oh, no, of course not!" She shook her head and Frey's smile widened so his nose crinkled.

"Splendid."

He turned to walk away, dropping the smile instantly as he did and headed for the hallway, not without grabbing another glass of wine. He was so tired of it. A glance in any direction revealed people eyeing him as he walked by, and their expressions said it all.

The poor Lord Clausson, not only did his father somehow leave him disfigured but he also left him without wealth to inherit.

He exited the mansion and walked through the garden to get some fresh air. His legs suddenly seemed heavier for some reason, and his breaths were painfully visible as puffs of smoke in the cold air.