The Death of a Bachelor

Chapter Eighteen

The moment he arrived at the castle, Kieran marched, his long legs moving in strides though the various halls and stairs, and headed straight for Luke's private study chambers, in which he knew he was.

A guard stood opposite the doors to the chambers, looking forward and holding his spear like a statue. The only movement he made was a bow to the General as he approached, and wasted no time in knocking or seeking permission to enter. He pushed the doors open with both hands and strode in, thundering the question,

"What's the emergency?"

And stopped when he saw the Prince seated comfortably in one of the sofas by the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other as he read a book. Looking up at Kieran, he grinned, showing off the depth of his dimples and casually said,
"Oh, there you are! Your speed is impeccable as always, Kieran!"

Kieran glared at Luke and crossed his arms over his chest. "Something tells me you were exaggerating in your message."

"Oh. He wasn't, General!" A new baritone sang from above, and Kieran shut his eyes painfully, silently hoping that the irritating sound did not belong to who he thought it belonged to.

The study chambers were quite large, with a lounge side to the right, the desk and mini-library to the left. There was a wooden staircase in the middle of either side that led to an open floor. This had a bed chamber to the right (above the lounge) and more bookshelves to the left. (above the mini library) This floor was fenced in by a wooden balustrade stretching round and only splitting at the staircase.

A man was leaning over the banister on the left side, grinning down at them.

Begrudgingly, Kieran studied the man as he very eagerly trotted from where he stood to the staircase, clad in some sort of black jumpsuit with a low V neck, showing a bit of smooth chest hair against pale white skin. The jumpsuit had long sleeves, and the bottoms of the trousers were puffy, fastened at the ankles. A wide piece of red cloth was wrapped and secured around his midriff like a waist band, the remaining two strips of material left to hang down from the knot at his hip.

He wore crystal shaped earrings that dangled from his lobes and black poulaine shoes. His coal black hair was styled into curls at the flat top of his head, the rest of it in a fade shave at the sides. He had faint hairs above his upper lip that would soon form a moustache with time.

He pranced his way over to Kieran, who was watching him with a steady, somewhat spiteful look in his eyes, the cyan in them inching closer to a dark green.

"Rafa." His voice mirrored the look in his eyes, and a manic grin crossed the newcomer's face.

"It is I!" He proclaimed in response, raising his arms up in an extravagant gesture to emphasize his presence. The kohl lining his caramel coloured eyes brought out their brightness, and the mischief as he studied Kieran like he was spiced roast beef.

"Oh those eyes, General Kieran." His voice was raspy as he spoke through clenched teeth. "Skenthre, they wield so much spite, so much malice for me." His grin stretched in a way that should have been labelled psychotic. "I love it!"

"What are you doing here, Rafa?" Kieran was straight to the point.

If there was anyone who ruffled his feathers and nearly brought him to the brink of insanity, it was Rafa Thysir Zamlthat, a lord from J'bel.

Rafa never visited on leisure. Him and the Prince were acquaintances, yes, but their relationship was an "I'll do this and you'll owe me" kind of relationship, meant to borrow and return favors. Kieran had always found it unhealthy, but Luke could not cut ties with Rafa, since he was a valuable asset; being an influential lord of higher nobility in J'bel, and he was well favoured by its Queen.