His dark voice trails down her spine, lighting a path of desire that renders her breathless. "If only I were in a position of no consequence."
Alia's breath wavers when the pad of his thumb slowly glides across her bottom lip.
"Then I could give in...
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"Error is not a fault of our knowledge, but a mistake of our judgment giving assent to that which is not true." - John Locke
•
30 minutes pass by and still, Alia can't seem to get Bertraim out of her mind.
Golden furniture gleams as she wipes them down for the tenth time - to say she is bored is an understatement. To be cleaning the room of the man she despises all the while picturing herself slicing his throat makes the female smile to herself, her expression hidden from the others occupying the bedroom.
Is there something wrong with me?
Killing used to be normal in the Lycanthrope Kingdom, it was a way of punishment and the determinant of Title challenges, but now it's just used by Bertraim's Warriors of the Throne for he uses them to execute his cruelty on the innocent.
Blonde hair temporarily blocks her vision and she tucks the strand behind her ear, momentarily surprised at the sight. Wearing a wig is something she'll no longer have to worry about in a few hours time as she'll either be dead or miles away from this place. She hopes for the latter. Her scent would be all over the crime scene, which is unavoidable, so that means Alia would have to lead her trackers to the idea that she was dead. And she has it all planned out perfectly.
A few days prior, she had slipped a note into her Uncle Darian's bedroom, in the pocket of a jacket she had bought him a few years ago. It was too small for him now, but he still kept it. The placement is discreet enough that if people came looking through the house, they wouldn't find it.
Smiling softly at a memory of her adamant Uncle telling her that the jacket still fits him, Alia begins to find her self saddening. She hopes he does find the letter because the thought of him grieving her loss was already hurting her.
The note details her plan to fake her death, Darian would be the only Commander who would recognise her scent, so him being unaware would cause unnecessary pain and suffering, which is the last thing she wants.
After her 'death' she would cover herself in dirt and mud, masking her scent until she was able to carefully return back home. At that point it wouldn't matter if Darian had read the note or not.
A few more minutes pass and Alia has finally had enough, she'll be damned if she has to clean one more thing in this godforsaken bedroom. Grabbing her trolley, she swiftly makes her way out of the room and the others pay her no mind as they scrub away, continuing their poorly paid duties.
She digs into her tunic pocket and pulls out her timetable along with the map of the castle. The dining room is next and it's to be cleaned twenty minutes from now, meaning there's someone using it - she hopes it's Bertraim.
