The Servant Of Chaos (WIP-New Part Every Monday/Friday)

Chapter V | Part 1

 Synthia poured the hot tea into the cups of both men seating at her table. Caleb stared warily at the blond in front of him, his face a mask of stone.

The injured boy had woken up an hour before midday and had begged for a drink before discussing anything with his hosts. Synthia had reluctantly complied.

"What's your name again?" Caleb casually swirled his tea.

"Tyler," The blond answered. "Tyler Ashborn."

"Ashborn?" Synthia raised her eyebrows. She stopped for a second and then sat down. "I don't mean to pry, but isn't that a plebeian family name?"

Caleb sighed and cursed with his green eyes. "Yes, miss. My family has been one of servants for generations, serving the biggest and wealthiest in this kingdom."

"So that's what you were doing at the party?" Caleb asked, leaning forward on the table. "You were waiting?"

"I was actually a valet, but yes. I am a servant of Fenris Manor."

He eyed Synthia as she did him. His gaze went from the waves of her hair to her face, eyeing her aesthetic features. He stopped a second too long at her lips and continued down her neck. He seemed to touch Synthia with his sight, going down her neck to her shoulders, running over her collarbone with sensual slowness. Then his eyes darted to her sleeves, running down her slim biceps and jumping to her chest, centering on her breast, making out the cur–

Caleb coughed, incredibly uncomfortable with the obvious display of interest that the servant was expressing.

Synthia, even though she half-heartedly wanted to enjoy being explored with his eyes, was too broken down to appreciate the attraction. His eyes, his hair, his rosy pale skin. Every feature was too similar to Jazmine not to hit the nerve.

"Now, I've got a question for you." Caleb derailed the topic.

"Hit me." 

"What?" Caleb tilted his head in a mix of confusion and disgust, noticing the sexual entail of that request.

Tyler, instead, rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Ask me the question." He explained.

"Why were you so adamant about not calling the police? Have you got something to hide?"

Tyler's face went a dangerous shade of grey. He grimaced.

"Why should I tell you?"

"We'll go to the police ourselves if you don't," Synthia said, adding something for the first time to the conversation.

Tyler sighed. "I'm only seventeen."

"So am I. What is that supposed to mean?" Caleb added.

"Well, if you insist." He looked at Synthia. "Get comfortable, love. I'm about to tell you my whole story if that's what it takes for you to trust me."

"I was brought into this world one foggy October the 22nd of 1783. The revolution and freedom were bleeding through the nation, but the bridge between the rich and poor was wider than ever before. So while the upstate families rejoiced in the luxuries of freedom, the lower-class ones suffered from the change.

"My mother served for the Washingtons' country state, in West Virginia. My father had worked as a sailor for a British fishing ship, but once the English were defeated in battle, he was forced to begin working as a suffering butler for one of the Jeffersons' homes.

"Thus, I was born into a life of economic struggle and debt. In the search for a better life, my parents moved North, establishing a few miles West from here. Ever since I've been condemned to a life of serving the wealthy few who watch the poor as the scoundrels of society.