Villainus || Folkelore

Bonus Scene

Eight years prior to the Villainus prologue

Father was in a bad mood again. He generally was, but today was worse than usual.

I sigh, sinking my black and blue body into the hot water. My breathing slows as my muscles relax. Leaning against the back of the tub, I stretch out. The rest of the night is mine. No missions or training. Just me.

A pounding on the door startles me, and I jump out of the water, throwing on a robe on my way to answer it. Peeking out, I meet Father's eyes and straighten.

"Sir?"

"There's a ball tonight I need you to attend," he demands, and turns to leave.

"What? Where? If it's Lord Kenmore's—"

"It's not Kenmore's. The young Sclian Prince is turning of age tonight. He's only a few years older than you. He'd make a good match."

My stomach drops. Oh. A Prince.

"Yes, sir."

I slip back into my room, leaning against the door. A night of socializing instead of a quiet night to myself. Making my way to my closet, I tug open the doors and wander through the dresses. I finally stop and pull out a white with gold detailing on the bodice and sleeves. It's innocently flirty, and one Father would approve of. Slipping it over my head, I thank the Shamans I hadn't washed my hair yet. In a few moments, everything is ready and I make my way to the front hall.

Father is waiting for me there, and he gives me a once over. With a nod, he opens a door to the carriage waiting in Scle. I've never understood why he insists I take a carriage to balls instead of opening a door to the front gates. But I learned long ago never to question Father. I still have the scar from the last — and only — time I did.

He motions me through the door, shutting it quickly behind me. Letting out a quiet sigh of relief I slip into the carriage. The drive to the Sclian Palace is short and uneventful. Just how I like it. I take the time to prepare myself for a snobby night.

Show enough interest in the Prince that if Father asks around — and he will — it looks like I tried my very best to woo him but that he just wasn't interested.

The driver raps on the door, and I push it open. Gazing at the looming castle before me, I slip into my character. The carriage drives off without me, and I make my way up the tall steps.

The guard at the door asks for my invitation, and I hand it to him as I stroll through. Pausing at the top of the stairway into the ballroom, I survey the room for this Prince I'm supposed to seduce.

My eyes lock on a head of lush brown hair on which rests a brilliant golden crown. As I watch, he laughs. His head tosses back, and my throat goes dry. This is the young Prince? He looks more man than boy. If he's turning of age, he must be barely twenty. That's five years my senior. What was Father thinking? He must have plenty of better options.

Still, I force myself down the steps and into the throng surrounding him. Pushing my way through the crowd, I meet the most beautiful amethyst eyes.

Deimos. Helsante blessed this man. The view from above is nothing compared to this. With his chiseled features and stunning eyes, he could woo whomever he'd like. Yet, for whatever reason, he's moving towards me. At least this will make my job easier.

He stops in front of me, taking a moment to look me up and down. I've been trained to keep my cool undercover for years and somehow the heat in his eyes still manages to make me blush.

Grinning at me, he offers a hand. "May I have this dance, m'lady?"

"I'm not much of a dancer..." I breathe. Goodness, what has he done to me? Placing my hand in his, I follow him onto the dance floor.

He chuckles. "I get the feeling you're better than you let on," he counters, pulling me into his arms closer than expected.

My eyes narrow, and I push away. His lips twitch with amusement, but the music starts before he can add anything. We separate for our individual parts, and I get along fine. I really wasn't being coy when I said I wasn't much of a dancer. Father didn't see it as necessary in my training as fighting and eavesdropping.

When we rejoin, the Prince leans in to whisper, "You are a wonderful dancer."

I snort before remembering where I am and who I'm with. Shoot. "Forgive me, Your Highness."

"For what exactly?" His eyes twinkle with amusement. I'm almost positive he knows.

"What do you think?"

"Oh it could be anything." He sends me into a spin, and it's a few moments before we come together again. "It's possible you've stolen something from the Palace and are so in awe of my being that you felt constrained to admit it." As part of the dance, he circles me, and my heart beats unnaturally at the look in his eye. "Or, perhaps you messed up a part of the dance but that doesn't appear to have happened."

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes, and it's only because then I would have another thing to apologize for. "I meant my misconduct."

"In what way exactly?" He's playing with me. I narrow my eyes and show him precisely who he's dealing with.

"On closer examination, I believe my apology was unnecessary. You are the one who should be apologizing for misconduct," my comment is perfectly timed as he pulls me almost flush against him and my breath catches at the end.

His eyes drop to my lips, and they subconsciously part. "Misconduct you say?"

I can't seem to answer. Luckily, the dance ends, and I drop into a low bow. Spinning on my heel, I move towards the open balcony off the ballroom. A rough hand gently takes my elbow, escorting me to the hall. The Prince releases me the second we're out of view.

"Your Highness—"

"Demetrius," he interrupts, and my eyes widen.

"Absolutely not."

Raising an eyebrow, he leans an arm against the wall next to me. "You do know who you're speaking with, right?"

I tilt my head, glowering at him. "Which is it? Call you by your first name or flaunt your title?"

"Why can't it be both?" He asks with a cocky grin.

"Why me?"

He straightens, his face going serious. "You're not like other girls."

"Really? I couldn't notice," I deadpan.

"I'm serious! One second you're insulting me and the next you're- you're bowing with obeisance. Who are you?"

I ignore him and saunter back towards the ballroom, but he's ahead of me in a few large bounds and backs me up against a wall.

"Your Highness—"

"I told you not to call me that," he growls, dropping his hand above me on the wall.

I give him my fiercest glare. "And I'm not going to have my head on some spike because you insist I call you Demetrius! Now let me go."

"Say it again," he murmurs, leaning in closer.

"What let me go?"

He tilts his head, a warning in his eyes. "No my name."

"And what if I refuse?"

"I could have your head on a spike."

My eyes go cold. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," he challenges with a smirk.

"Let me go, Prince Demetrius. There, I said it."

His other hand moves to rest on the wall by my other ear. My fingers twitch to pull out my knives, but that will surely get me killed. "Are you always this stubborn?" Demetrius growls.

"Yes."

He studied me for a second, before moving away and motioning to the ballroom doors. "After you, Lady..."

I pull open the door, glancing over my shoulder as I answer, "Octavia."

Then I'm gone.