𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐒
❝ They're the French Kissers,
that's what they do.
They will lure you in
and then they'll kill you
with a kiss. ❞
━ in which the leader of the french kissers
...
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The road to Arrow House in Warwickshire was easy to find but difficult to travel, much like the way to hell, Rose imagined. With a road full of potholes and bumps and the rain hitting hard on the gravel and the metal of the car, the journey became tolerable only by Nicolas' presence by her side.
They didn't call it a right hand for nothing; it was because without him she felt incomplete, as if her hand had been amputated and the only thing she could feel from then on was its absence.
"Did you bring the knife with you?" Nicolas asked as he let his stare wander over the fields of the English countryside. There was not a single hue of blue in the sky that day, the clouds a sunless color from which hefty, thick drops fell upon green meadows, the same way a painter splashes grey, dramatic strokes upon a canvas. Nicolas didn't usually give much thought to the supernatural, but those flat, plain colors and the sick state in which nature seemed to be immersed in that morning did not bode well for Rose, and what did not bode well for Rose, didn't bode well for him.
"It's in my garter," Rose nodded, keeping her eyes on the road ahead, her hands grasping the wheel like so many before her had grasped helms on their way to unknown land. There was a part of her that wanted to explore, and another that needed to conquer, but to step on Thomas Shelby's land with such pretensions was foolish; history hardly knew a man more unexplored or unconquered than him. This could be a venture she might not come back from, she knew that, and yet she couldn't help but drive further. Because when a land calls you, whether it's a promised or a damned one, you answer. And Thomas might just be the damnedest of them all.
"And the gun?"
"No, I did not bring a gun, Nicolas, his son is three years old, for God's sake. Nothing is going to happen, so you needn't worry, it's not good for your skin."
Nicolas rolled his eyes, and it was as if the wind had sneaked inside the car to make brown leaves fly. "Just because he's been polite with you so far doesn't mean he always will. Aren't you underestimating the danger he is?"
"I thought you had finally agreed to this, what's with the change of heart?"
"Believe me, my heart's the same," Nicolas argued, his voice serious and steady like water that freezes in the beginning of winter and has to wait an entire season to finally flow. "And yes, I agree that it's a good opportunity to keep an eye on Thomas, find out what he's up to."
