Oath of Steel

29 |A Fine Gentlewoman|

Many eyes followed the two Apostles at their departure from the Interior Garden, with the 4th Apostles mind still in foreign land.

Too many things, too little time to sort them out one by one, with her usual impeccable ways she would have resolved things like this in a matter of days, saying a week already once would have been considered as a low blow against her pride.

And yet even what once had seemed so secure had turned volatile like a dandelion lost in the wind, it's petals at the mercy of the higher currents that lifted them over the clouds.

Rosalynde looked upwards on last time, towards the glass dome built over the interior gardens to withstand the biting cold, the light refractions blinding her eyes as if gifting her of its last gift. Another, and last warning she was probably going to receive that day.

She lowered her gaze soon after that, not wanting to see that core- wrecking view any more her reddish checks slowly turning back to their original cream-like colour. She held the urge to pinch them slightly after passing before a full-length mirror. If she had not been walking till now, she too would have started doubting about her heart, still apparently beating changed inside her chest.

It looked like death itself had decided to accompany her back inside, but it was not the afterlife she was trying so hard to escape, no.

She already had a partner escorting her around, and tugging her arm free of his gasp, she turned around to watch him better. Ten days had passed, a whole week and a half since their last encounter.

Something had changed too, not in what she had to admit was an impeccable dressing style, his dark trench coat the colour of obsidian hiding underneath the manually dyed leather, his refined shirt closed by heavy handcuffs at the sleeve ends and small, round, golden buttons, and pants held up with a midnight belt with golden refinements to make other around him gloat the riches they knew they did not possess.

He looked less curated than his usual self, his usual effortless good-looking hair completely combed backwards, hairstyle she rarely had seen him use since their first meeting months ago.

The Smiling Dame raised an amused brow when he lost the way he bumped against a tray full of pasties a maid had carelessly left unattended, a few chocolate delicacies falling on the ground, others on his polished shoes.

She suppressed a sly laugher, tugging him to go forward and not bother in making a scene, without the maid around it would have been difficult administer the punishment she already had come up with – oh well, other occasions would have surely come up for her to experiment with.

She led him to her office room, praying that Pharah had not left the previous occasion go waste to slip away and not get caught by nor the serving staff and the shadow of the King of Cards.

"Explain yourself," she said, moving past her desk, hiding the bin with the broken fountainpen away from his prying eyes.

His grey eye wondered the room, taking in as many details as he could. "You won't serve me tea this time? I feel offended, Silver" he said politely, crossing his legs after leisurely finding himself falling on the couch.

Her smile widened at his words, taking out from a drawer a small cotton bag before throwing it at him.

Catching it with ease he eyed her suspiciously. "Poisoning me in your office doesn't sound like a smart choice," he said, tasting the bag before prying it open with thumb and index.

"If I were to poison you. I would hide your body under my desk and then throw it out of the window with a rope tied around your neck to make it look as if you'd grown bored of life," she explained it step by step, methodically omitting out the most gruesome details she'd come up with time to occult a fresh corpse.