THE BLOOD ON GABRIELS TONGUE WAS RELIGIOUS. The chewing of his tongue, lips and cheeks in quiet anxiety, was exhaustingly repetitive. The pain, the physical pain, the only tangible pain he could call by name, was a weak distraction.
"I can promise nothing." Mr Richards, a rather stern looking older man with a pale mustache over his upper lip and an accusing brow, admitted quietly taking a slow thoughtful sip of his wine.
He'd been his fathers closest confidant, his childhood best friend. His brother really. Which made him easy prey. He'd make the perfect benefactor for his mother Constance to skewer her talons into and suck dry.
It was Gabriel's task to set the trap. Or rather he'd found out the hardest way, it was in best interest to be the bait.
"Of course, not." She chuckled, her eyes glistening in the candle light as she swirled her own wine. "I wouldn't want to burden you."
The young boy found these conversations always almost ached too much to hear. His mother and her formidable acting, and the poor unbeknownst tragic fool of an opponent without a chance in helł. He starred straight ahead at nothing as seemingly sensible Mr. Richards took quite a big bite of the bait. Or rather his grief did.
His glossy jade eyes widened and flashed at the Gabriel, darting back and fourth in their sockets as he fought and failed to withhold his tears. "That's absurd, Hectors son could never be a burden to me!" He croaked, slamming a clenched fist down on the table, his voice tight and wobbling with emotion.
The tables finery seemed to jump as if startled and Constance was pleased with herself.
If only for a moment.
Unfortunate for the young servant girl tending to the wine, she'd been mid-pour when Sir Richards wine glass too bounced away, making her miss the cup by a few mere inches. Inches wide enough for the blood red wine to pool together and spill into the guest lap, inches wide enough to slip between the cracks of Constance's facade.
The curling edge of her lip seemed to twitch and not at having fought of a slip of laughter. No, it was ill-hidden cruelty in the hard reflection of her eyes.
The air had thickened to the likes of dark clouds, tense enough to see lightening striking above their heads, a brutal storm brewing. The small frame of the guilty servant was fearfully inflated with what must've felt like her last breath. Awaiting a reaction.
In surprise Sir Richards had stopped speaking, though he hardly seemed angry. Quite the opposite, the accident, caused partially on his behalf, had allowed him to cool and regain previously lost composure. "Think nothing of it, m'dear." He dismissed her, patting gingerly at his suite with his lace kerchief.
She looked ready to dart, but turned back to face Constance. Still awaiting a reaction. Her shoulders stiff with the weight of fear.
Gabriel couldn't tell if the sight of the servant girl near tears or the sight of his mother genuinely grinning made him more ill. The servant girl, the one who'd stood in the woods, softly glowing in the sunlight with roses for Nox and his heart in her hands, it wounded him to see her so—so human. So downcast and fearful. And of his monstrous step-mother no less.
Seeing her there, at the whims of Constances anger twisted a nob in his chest, or rather a knife. It was almost like watching himself in the shadow of her fear. Just how many times had he knelt before her quivering, awaiting some brutal punishment for the mere accident of existing?
Besides skin-to-skin contact, he'd never much cared to voice his objections to her abuses. He merely tucked them away as if disregarding them in distaste. She'd give no validation to his sufferings at her hand, nor he. And in somewhat twisted way that's what kept him alive.
But this...this bothered him. This bore a need to protect the girl, by distracting his mother.
He sighed, calmly picking back up his fork and forced down another bite of his lamb. "I choose you as my mate."
"What?" Mr Richards, his son and Constance all seemed to blink in sync.
Gabriel sat down his fork back down before looking up, his eyes boring into strawberry blonde boy across from him. "I choose you as my school mate, our fathers were school mates, after all."
"Indeed." Mr Richards chuckled happily, relaxing a bit in his chair as he raised his glass for another drink. Proud of himself having accomplished securing his son a school mate.
School mates were important in Salt-Lake academy, as they'd been in several other elite private schools. It would mean Levi would have someone to look after him while all alone, miles and miles away from home for months at a time. If he were sick, lonely or forced into isolation due to his gentle disposition Gabriel would be there through it all. Not to mention Gabriel was well known to be a young prodigy, there wouldn't even been need to hire a separate tutor.
All in all it felt good to know that his son would be ok.
Levi looking very much like a cherub angel with the apples of his cheeks darkened with a prominent blush. He tried to look at anything other than the dark haired boy staring expressionless at him but failed. Instead he smiled widely, unable to help the joy he felt at feeling chosen.
"Very well!" Constance clapped her hands together, rejoicing in that sing song voice she only ever used upon getting her way. She was indeed very much pleased at having secured her lifestyle that required a bit of wealth.
"Crows for life?" Quipped young Richards, eyebrows risen in question, along with a small pinky.
Gabriel shook his head 'no', instead placing his right hand over his heart. "Crows in death."
The elder Mr Richards laughter echoed through the darkness of the night.
It was such a sweet melodic bell, unknowingly heralding the beginning of his very own hell.
(A/N: thanks for all the support this story has been getting lately! See you guys tomorrow.)
