The Begotten Fiend

Chapter 5: The Girl He Couldn’t Kiss

Nash sat atop a large bed decorated with dozens of colors and embroideries.

A shadow loomed over him--encompassing his bedroom and the vast mountains that peeked through his windows.

Sighing, he turned to his side, covering his face with a pillow.

Though none could see, his eyes went wet with tears. Furious, he screamed into his pillow, wrestling with it as if it were a beast.

"Did you say something?" someone called out, coming from his door. It was Seraphine, fiddling with his fingers.

Using the pillow as a handkerchief, Nash quickly rubbed his eyes free of any tears and looked at her. "Seraphine..." He breathed. "You know what I say about entering into my room, unannounced?"

"Yes, and I apologize, but the ceremony..." Seraphine sighed, then lowered herself to his sheets, taking a seat beside him. "Sorry. Let’s talk about what happened earlier."

Nash nudged her in the side with his hand, propping himself up with his other arm. "Don’t even think about it. I was just on edge from losing, and felt sorry."

Seraphine’s face brightened, like a weight had been lifted. She patted Nash on the shoulder. "Good. But still, I want you to know that I would never wish you sorrow. While it is a... relief that I don’t have to compete with you, I would have much preferred if you’d obtained what you wanted."

"What I wanted...?" Nash asked, half to her, half to himself. But he shook his head. "Well, if I’m going to be honest, while I trained to be the Duke of Borne, there are more important things in life. And a recent ’conversation’ I’ve had with someone has only offered me more motivation."

Seraphine was gleaming. "That’s great, Nash! So I take it that you’d be up for some food then?"

"Food?"

"As I told you before, the ceremony is beginning. The banquet has already started, and to be frank, the food doesn’t taste the same with all those old guys in your ear, talking about "husband this," and "husband that."

Nash let out a light chuckle--much to his surprise.

He fully pushed himself perpendicular to his legs, revealing a thin stream of saliva on his chin, likely from his nap.

"You’ve got a little something there," Seraphine commented, laughing.

Nash tapped his chin, realizing the dilemma. He, too, began to laugh.

They both entered into a fit, laughing uncontrollably. Finally, Nash stopped, looking down at where he was.

Without realizing it, they were separated by mere inches.

Instinctively, Nash pushed his hands into his bed to shuffle away from her, but a firm grip along his elbow stopped him.

Seraphine stopped him, cheeks bloody red. "Wait," she begged, inching her face closer to his.

Nash exposed his teeth, fingers shaking. For just a moment, his gaze stopped on Seraphine’s face.

That was when he saw it.

Her hair was even fairer in the dusk of the room. The edges of her cheek were so lush--so picturesque. Even worse was the plumpness of her lips, wet and red.

He’d been enamored. Without intention, he found his head inching towards hers as well.

Wishing for the moment to last forever, he closed his eyes. He didn’t care what people would say or how they’d act.

He wanted her.

But, just as such thoughts crossed his mind, thousands of other ones did.

Whispers of detestation from the masses. Gazes of disappointment from his father. Words of failure from his brother.

He saw it all, simultaneously--forming a horrible flame of self-hatred that burned his chest, consuming his heart and mind.

Instantly, he pushed Seraphine away, pointing towards the door. "I... think you should go. I’ll follow after you momentarily."

Confused, Seraphine continued staring at Nash hoping he would say anything else, but after a few seconds of silence, she got up and approached the door.

Right before she left, she looked back at him just once. "Don’t bother."

Thud!

She slammed the door behind her, leaving just him in silence.

Nash winced to himself, perhaps at the interaction, or perhaps even himself. But he didn’t stay defeated forever.

He got up, moving to his left. There stood a window dresser--a mirror at its center.

Looking intently into his reflection, it didn’t get any better. His face was still just as rough, uneven, and disorderly.

Although something in particular stood out.

"A gray hair?" he said to himself, noticing the thing sticking up against his entirely black hair. But then he inspected it more closely. "No, it’s white."

Fumbling with it, Nash sighed. "Another thing that makes me undesirable."

With that, he left the room, making his way down one of the numerous hallways that constituted the estate of Borne.

It was all the same. Decorated with many grooves that formed stories, and the occasional portrait. Most were his father, a few were his brother, yet none were of him.

It wasn’t news, but on this day in particular, it stung more deeply.

"Ah, the second man of the day," someone said, coming from just in front of him.

It was a huge lounge--the ballroom of the estate, which was normally empty. But for days of celebration, such as this one, it was the perfect area.

"Hah, very funny, Cylrid, but even that’s a little too much for someone like him," another person responded. It was Illias, dressed in an elaborate scheme of white.

A white suit, a white vest, and nice white dress pants. It blended nicely with his pale skin and blond hair.

"Yeah, yeah, gloat in all your glory," Nash remarked. "But don’t think that just because you’ve earned the title of Duke means that I’m gonna lose to you."

Illias sneered, raising his arms. "See, my brother’s a man of jokes! At least he has something going for him!"

A wave of laughs washed over Nash, his only response being grit teeth and stifled shaking.

It’d been a crowd of over 20 individuals, all hovering around the man of the hour, the soon-to-be Duke, Illias.

And, even worse, the hundreds of other highly acclaimed folks who stood in all areas of the ballroom had heard Illias’ brazen remark, all joining in on the laughter.

Nash clutched his shoulders, forcing a smile. "Well, aren’t you funny?"

Illias didn’t move, still smiling from his previous joke. "Oh, I know, brother. That goes without saying."

Not too keen on feeding into Illias’ ego any more than he already has, Nash turned his attention elsewhere--to an assortment of food and drink lined atop tables as far as the ballpark stretched.

He searched out one in particular, which had a bowl containing wrapped sweets.

Examining the wrapper, Nash removed it, revealing a small, brown sphere.

"It’s chocolate," he heard, the voice coming from just to his right. Another man, big and round. "My favorite."

Nash nodded. "Hey, Bertrud." It was a familiar face. A man who hung around the House of Borne quite frequently, whom he’d known since early childhood, it was a nostalgic one. "Yeah, I’ve heard of it, but never really tried it for myself."

There was a momentary silence, and Bertrud continued. "So, how ya’ feeling, kid?"

"Quite well, actually. This seems to be quite the party." Nash gestured to the vast ballroom where hundreds of men and women stood. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

They’d each been in formal wear, showing off the varying levels of wealth that existed in such a room. The perfect place for the commencement of a Duke.

"I mean, put together, the people here could fund a kingdom," Nash joked. Bertrud chuckled, although his expression hadn’t lightened any.

"That’s not what I mean," Bertrud said.

Nash returned Bertrud’s solemnity. "If you want me to be perfectly honest, I’m not really okay. I’m forced to be at a place that constantly reminds me of my loss--where my depraved brother can receive his congratulations, in a room full of people who don’t care about me." Bertrud was straight-faced, but didn’t break eye contact once. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I understand." Bertrud let out a quick breath, crossing his arms. "But don’t you see that for all that this is, a congratulations is not it?"

Nash tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"As you said, with all the wealth that exists here, they could fund a kingdom--no, ten, all at once. But do you really believe that that’s simply to congratulate the rise of a duke?"

"Well, what else could it be?"

"Think about it. At best, you have a few earls here. The rest are all viscounts and barons. To them, this is the coming of a new great power. With such a great occasion, they would want to get ahead and build new connections with someone in such a high place. And in this instance, that someone would be your brother."

Still confused, Nash rested his hand on the table, using it as a prop. "I get that, but what does that have to do with me?"

"It has everything to do with you, idiot," Bertrud answered. "Imagine the pressure--hundreds of powerful men, all trying to gain your favor. The choices you would have to make. Not to mention, the necessary knowledge of who they don’t like, what type of business each one does, even just thinking about it, my head gets fuzzy."

Nash let out a little ’ah,’ putting his fingers to his chin. "So you’re saying that even something like this isn’t stress-free for Illias?"

"Correct. Now, tell me, do you think as the man you are, you would be able to juggle with all that responsibility?"

Nash snuck a glance at Illias. He was speaking to an entire crowd of people, observing the way they spoke, and taking time to think of responses. "No," he said, lowering his face.

Bertrud grinned, patting Nash’s arm. "Good, at least you know. So don’t feel so down in the dumps. Losing out on the seat isn’t as big a loss as you think it is. Gives you more room to be... you." Bertrud turned to Illias just once, then back at Nash. "And don’t think that Illias’ antagonization is so cut and dry either. Although I’m sure you’ll understand when you’re older."

With that, Bertrud took his leave, giving a light bow before turning in the opposite direction.

"Hey, what did you mean by that!" Nash called out, but Bertrud had already faded into the crowd.

And so, Nash was left in his own thoughts. He ate a few more of the sweets before approaching the long wave of people.

At first, he thought of finding Seraphine, but between the crowd and the constant talking, he realized quickly that that would prove much more difficult than he’d anticipated.

He wandered through the crowd, aimless, sneaking a snack here and there. He’d thought of striking up conversation with familiar faces, but others would get to them first like vipers.

Things continued like this until he noticed it.

The faces. People glaring at him with venomous reproach.

The vibrant talking soon turned gloomy, with gossip and insults being hurled at him endlessly.

[Hey, isn’t that the illegitimate child?]

[I hear that he’s not even of the House of Borne.]

[My, isn’t that a rough-looking kid.]

Nash clawed at his face, his ears, biting his teeth against the wild talk. Groaning, he looked left and right with closed eyes--almost falling to the floor.

’It’s this again. Just because I’m not of the main house, I’m subjected to such horrible treatment,’ he thought, with more hatred than he’d care to admit.

"Nash." A voice cut through the gloom, stabbing straight into Nash’s head.

Nash looked up. "Father," he said.

"You must offer your address," Tristan insisted, waving his hand back--towards the end of the ballroom where the stage was.

Nash looked all around him. The room was half-silent, the remaining talk mere murmurs. Everybody’s attention had been directed straight at the two.

"You never told me about this..." Nash whispered, but Tristan had already turned around, directing Nash to follow.

The two made their way to the stage, where a single staircase allowed entry at the top. Nash took it, still searching for the words he wanted to say.

Eventually, he’d made his way to the center of the stage, where a magic device stood. It was a stick with an interesting club at the end.

A voice amplification device.

Grabbing it, Nash sat silent for a few seconds, then spoke. "Ahem. Hello, everybody."