The Begotten Fiend

Chapter 6: Court Of Vultures

The crowd fell silent. Looking around, Nash felt a deep, dark pit form in his stomach.

He didn’t know what to say. He searched for words--any, but he came up empty-handed.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he glanced at Tristan, who’d been smiling the entire time.

’Damn you,’ Nash cursed internally.

Haphazardly, Nash gripped the microphone harder. "I just wanted to thank everyone for coming here in commemoration of my brother’s soon-to-be ownership of the House."

Hoping that some would clap, the halls were still filled with a drawn out, awkward silence. Nash cleared his throat. "Um... so, how’s the food serving everybody?"

The silence got too awkward to bear. In that moment, the only thing Nash wanted was drop the microphone and berate his father,

But he withheld, steeling his nerves. Instead, he thought to himself. Of him, his brother. Of things he wouldn’t normally be honest about.

"I’m going to be honest. I know how everyone looks at me--how much they look down on me. So I’m not going to stand up here and act like you guys will take this speech seriously.

But I have some things to get off my chest."

The entire crowd fell into a burst of curious murmurs and worried faces. With a raised brow, Tristan’s gaze burrowed into Nash like a laser. Nash coughed once.

"As I’m sure you all know, Illias and I are brothers. But not just any pair of brothers. We’re twins.

That meant that, from a very young age, there was a level of competition between us. After all, we were the only twins to be born in a Duke’s house since the founding of Laronia.

And only one could own it.

While nobody could see it, my brother worked incredibly hard. Rarely would I see him in the dining commons for dinner--for he was out, honing his skills, and he would be out training for hours in the mornings.

To be frank, it always felt like I was playing a game of catch up.

He was more talented and hard working than me."

Nash looked at Illias once, who’d been listening intently the entire time. His expression wasn’t clear, but Nash felt, even if he’d been imagining it, that Illias was smirking ever so slightly.

He took the mic once more. "But I was okay with that.

After all, I’d only known my mother in early childhood, but even then it was increasingly obvious that she was only a mistress.

My connection to this House is through only my father. Illias is more pure-blooded than me, and more apt for the position.

And that’s okay.

I think in recent times, I’ve learned that things don’t always have to be about competition. That some of the things we want so dearly that we’d risk our lives aren’t as great as we make them out to be.

And for that, I’m grateful. Most of all, that I have a brother of whom I can work with to make a better House.

So what do you say? Should we get this party started?"

Nash pumped his fist in the air. There was a cold stillness.

Caught in between the awkward glances of the nobles, Nash shuddered. He took a step back, as if to escape the microphone, but there was a small sound.

A single clap. Then two. Then five.

Soon, the room erupted into clapping and roaring, earning the noble’s unyielding acceptance.

Nash smiled, using the crowd’s sound as an excuse to step down and off the balcony.

Eventually, he became part of that same crowd, and within it, several individuals gave him their accepting smiles, and thumbs up. freewebnøvel.com

He could feel something in his chest--thumping in resonance with the constant ache he’d felt before. It was warm, fuzzy. A foreign sensation.

Then, the sound of someone clearing their voice resounded. It came from the same microphone Nash had been speaking into.

His father, Tristan, was the source. "Now that my son has given his address, what say we step up this ceremony? I think it’s time we begin the Lover’s Court."

Even more voices roared, more female than male. Nash understood what this was, and he wasn’t particularly excited.

"Now will be your time to reach out for a partner--any--to join you in dance. Use this as a moment of grace, fulfilling Laronia tradition."

Suddenly, the lights dimmed slightly, the ambience fell quiet, and slow, heartfelt music filled in in its stead.

Quieted questions sprung from the crowd, all fitting the occasion.

[Would you be so kind as to take my hand?]

[You wouldn’t happen to be free, would you?]

[How does a dance sound?]

And thus came the Lover’s Court.

Nash scratched his head. ’What do I do?’

He made out a girl in her lonesome, with long hair and a cute, slim figure.

Before he’d even managed five steps, a man had already taken her hand.

To another woman he fixed his attention, and the same thing.

Repeatedly he sought out someone, and each time, it ended with the same result.

’Damn, these guys are like vultures,’

He crossed his shoulders, allowing himself to dip into deep thought. It was only a few moments before a face flashed in his mind. One he knew well.

"Ah," he blurted out loud, rummaging through the crowd. "Seraphine," he called out.

He’d made his way halfway through the ballroom and back before he caught the faintest glimpse of her hair. Although its dark brown was a widely common color, he would never mistake her for someone else.

"Seraphine!" he called out once more, pushing through the crowd with such ferocity that he’d earned some angry expressions.

But he didn’t care.

Just as he got within arm’s distance of her, he saw something he’d hoped he would never see.

It was definitely her, but she was in arms with another man.

Slowly, her and the man moved back and forth with their hands held between each other.

She’d only caught a quick glimpse of Nash, but by the time she noticed, he’d already walked away.