The Begotten Fiend

Chapter 7: The Baron’s Daughter

A myriad of voices resonated through the room, scattered yet coordinated. Amongst them was Nash, stammering to himself.

He was curled up against the far end of the ballroom, supported by the wall. Despite being far from the crowd of people dancing and chatting, he still would catch glimpses of conversations, a sort of longing filling him.

For a while, he’d thought of searching for Seraphine again, but as the scene flashed before him--of her dancing, another man in her arms, he decided it best to keep in solitude.

’Damn it,’ he thought to himself, gritting his teeth. ’I’m such an idiot.’

He closed his eyes, then looked down to the floor. Soon after, tears followed, coming in just a pair before exploding into a full-blown breakdown.

It was an ugly cry. He began coughing, muttering words too incomprehensible to be considered English.

His eyes burned, the pain so deep that he didn’t even bother to wipe them. His stammering grew so intense that his throat was dry, cracking from all the coughing and murmuring.

His phlegm went red, yet even that didn’t phase him, nor compel him to stop.

"What’s got you feeling so under the weather?" someone asked, stern and straight-forward.

Nash hid his face in his chest, wiping away the tears before looking up.

It was a girl. Not Seraphine, nor anyone he thought he could put a name on.

"What?" Nash looked around the room, taking note of how there was nobody else in the vicinity. But still, doubt filled his mind. "Are you talking to me?"

The girl laughed, hands to her chest. "Oh, you thought I was talking to you? Nah, I was asking the wall behind you."

Nash looked forward towards her absent-mindedly before letting a stifled chuckle escape him.

"So, how can I help you?" he asked, pushing off the floor to bring himself to his feet.

Smiling, she crossed her arms. "Help me? Well, it’s the lover’s dance, and a girl’s talking to you. Surely, you can’t be that dense."

Nash didn’t say anything. Instead, he teared up again, although he hid it well.

"Although, by the look of things, perhaps you were dumped?" The girl tapped her feet, moving with a quiet impatience. "But that’s no matter. If you got rejected, then treat this as a way to get back at her. But I’m getting my dance." freēwēbηovel.c૦m

"Why would you do that for me?" Nash asked, one eyebrow raised.

She leaned towards Nash--close, too close. He felt as the warmth of her flesh, the blush of her cheeks bled into his own, like a radiator. His cheeks went red. Her mouth was right next to his ear. "It’s not for you. Look over there."

She pointed her finger in a certain direction, guiding Nash’s attention. There, Nash saw it.

"That’s my father, Duke Tristan," Nash answered.

The girl backed up, continuing eye contact with Nash. "No, silly. The man next to him."

Squinting through the dark, Nash just barely made them out. It was a tall man--far taller than Tristan. He was talking to Tristan, and quite vehemently.

The two of them seemed to be in intense discussion.

However, that’s not what threw off Nash.

Within the man exuded an immeasurable power, like it were only barely contained, wishing to escape like a wild chained beast clawing at its cage.

Frankly, it was unpleasant for Nash.

"That’s my father, Wilheim. You may know him for his potatoes. He’s a Baron, owning a large portion of farm land.

Thing is, he’s kind of forcing me to take someone’s hand, and you just so happened to cross by me. So I need you to take this dance."

Playing with his chin, Nash hummed to himself. Just then, he came to an epiphany. He nodded. "Sure, then..." He looked at the girl, stumbling for words.

She took notice. "The name’s Lysandra, but my friends call me Lysa." Then, with a simple bow, she stepped back--close to the crowd.

There, she waved at Nash, welcoming him to follow.

Hesitant, Nash closed his eyes. Images of Seraphine played before him--of her smile, her gleaming energy, even the way that she talked.

It all hit him at the same time, but then as he saw the girl before him, eager to take his hand, Nash swiped at the air--as if that would dispel Seraphine’s face from his mind.

Lysandra reached her hand out, smiling. Nash happily returned the gesture, clasping hers.

Her hands were soft like a pillow. Nash had to consciously make the choice to restrain his strength. Beneath that was the vast heat oozing from her hands into his own.

’Warm,’ Nash thought. ’Incredibly warm.’

Without a moment’s notice, Lysandra moved her feet. It was slow, methodical. Exactly like the music playing in the ballroom.

She moved her left foot back, then right foot. Then her right foot to her right, then her left foot.

Repeatedly, this shuffle moved the two, and at first, Nash found himself playing a hard game of catch up.

His left foot clashed with Lysandra’s right, his hip bumped in Lysandra’s, and eventually he found himself several steps behind her.

Shaking, Nash looked up at her. He expected any level of disappointment, anger, or both.

"Calm down, Nash," Lysandra said. She looked directly into Nash’s eyes, enveloped in a light warmth that was indescribable. "If you move so stiffly, then it ruins the whole dance. Just go with the flow."

Nash took a deep breath, loosening his jaw. He felt as that dissipated to the rest of his body, creating a wave of relaxation.

Then he synchronized with Lysandra’s movements.

The two pranced through the hall, hastening their movement.

Left foot to the back, right foot to the back. Right foot to the right, left foot to the right. Then they would take the reverse movements.

As the moment grew stronger and stronger, so too did their pace. They’d started moving so fast that their shoes clacked loudly--far more than any other in the hall.

And that attracted attention.

Eyes soon fell upon them--too many to count, but Nash didn’t care.

Not now.

Time stopped. Nash’s heart thumped with a wild exhilaration, beating against his ribcase.

He felt as his body ’lifted up,’ so caught in the moment that any sensation of weight or momentum was lost on him. No, in this moment, space and time meant nothing to him.

Then he looked into her eyes. They were a resounding purple.

Beneath the allure of the new girl he met, he saw it. Deep red hair, a nicely shaped, round face, and teeth as white as the moon.

This girl--Lysandra--evoked a new feeling in him. Something different than Seraphine, but Nash couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

But as the two pranced throughout the halls, Nash could only help but notice one particular gaze. Seraphine, standing in her lonesome.

Her face was lower than he’d ever seen it--as if Seraphine had witnessed a family member die, but not even that threw Nash off.

No, he wanted this moment to last, and he wouldn’t let someone so half-baked ruin it.

Looking once more into Lysandra, Nash smiled. "Y-you... there’s something about you that’s just too irresistible."

Lysandra nodded. "I know."

The lights were dimmed, the air filled with less than half of the excitement than had been present just minutes before.

As the sound of slow music was replaced with scattered footprints, all headed for the door, Nash looked to his right.

Lysandra stood by his side, holding onto his elbow.

At first, he scratched his head, hesitant to ask if she needed to go leave, but as he watched her attention fixed on two figures talking--unaffected by the crowd of people leaving, he decided against it.

"Hold on. I’ll be right back," Lysandra said, letting go of Nash.

He nodded. "Okay, I’ll be waiting right here."

She turned, then made her way to the two figure: Tristan and Wilhelm, still in deep conversation.

Standing by himself, Nash tapped his feet. ’Man, such a nice girl.’

He felt a dangerous smile creep onto his face, followed by strong, warm thumps in his chest. His heart fluttered, his feet danced.

Immediately, the warm feeling inside of him went cold. There stood Seraphine, hands on her hips. "So, this is what you do when I take my eyes off of you?"

"I-" Nash raised his finger for a quick retort, but he was cut off.

"Oh, I see! That’s why you shut me out when I confessed to me. You were already seeing someone. Well, leave it to you to leave out such important details to your childhood friend."

"That’s not-"

"For that matter, you’ve seemed busier than usual these days. Must be fun, running off with a lady while leading me on. Do you feel good about yourself?"

"Shut up!" The whole room went red. Or, rather, Nash’s face did. He stomped once on the ground, stealing Seraphine’s attention. "I’ve only just met this girl today, and it was simply for a dance. Regardless, that’s none of your business. I saw you."

Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "Saw me doing what?"

"Oh, don’t go acting stupid. I saw you dancing with that guy from earlier. Not only that, you seemed to be enjoying it quite a bit." The expression on Nash’s face was haughty, intentionally so.

But that didn’t faze Seraphine. "Are you serious? Nash, you understand the pressure my father puts on me for things like this, you know this."

Nash’s face twitched, unsure of what to say. But he shook it off, stepping forward to assert his ground. "Oh, get off it. If it’s as you say, then a dance doesn’t mean all that much. If you can do it, what’s wrong if I allow myself some fun as well?"

"That’s not the issue!" Seraphine yelled, stepping just inches into Nash’s face. "What I did was just that--a dance. But you, the way you look at her, and her at you... how you guys are locked at the hip. It’s clear what you’re doing."

Seraphine had gotten so close that each word was a puff of air brushing against Nash’s face.

Typically, Nash would’ve found himself fumbling for words just being in Seraphine’s presence, but he face was as red as a tomato. His lips quivered, his teeth grated.

With balled fists, Nash stepped back, pointing directly at Lysandra, who’d been in deep conversation with her father and Tristan. Although, it seemed that Lysandra had been watching the entire scene unfold.

"Look, Seraphine, you see that girl there? She’s prettier--"

He stopped. He knew what he was doing was wrong.

But some rotten, ugly part of him wished for her to hear to words... to hurt.

"--and guess what? She’s not so rotten and controlling like you. Is it so wrong that I find myself more infatuated with her than--"

Fwack!

Like paint, red spread through Nash’s cheek. Seraphine’s hand was still in the air, equally red from the mighty slap she just gave him.

"Gh-ghh..." Stuttering, Nash held onto his cheek. He furrowed his brows, but upon one last look at Seraphine, he felt something within him drop.

"Don’t even bother talking to me. We’re done," Seraphine said once, walking off.

Despite the anger that tainted her face so obviously, her movements were still full of the grace that reeled Nash in to begin with.

"Seraphine... no, Sera... please, don’t go..." Nash begged, though it was so quiet that even he knew that she wouldn’t hear him.

His legs went limp--his torso dropping, but Lysandra caught him.

With both arms, she pulled his weight up, wrapping her left arm around his shoulder. "Hey, Nash," she said, grabbing his attention. His face didn’t change. "Don’t even think about her. We’ve the rest of the night to ourselves, and certainly plenty of time to learn about each other."

Weakly, Nash nodded his head, searching for Seraphine one last time. He caught the end of her dress, disappearing behind the door.

He absent-mindedly looked down at the floor. His eyes went wet. It felt like a dam was about to collapse, unleashing emotions even he was unsure he’d had until now.

But he withheld.

Meager and without words, He turned to Lysandra who’d been smiling at him the whole time. He scanned her hair once more--long, red, and luscious. Her cheeks were bright, not pale, but certainly not pink. Just bright.

He felt blood rush to his face, aimed for his cheeks. He embraced the warmth.

"Do you think you’d want to head to your room?" Lysandra asked.

The question was a clean slice to the warm emotions enveloping Nash. "My room? But this is a three-day event, all of those in attendance should have their own quarters?"

Lysandra shook her head. "My, aren’t you oblivious."

Thinking for a few moments, Nash widened his mouth with a little ’ah’ before immediately becoming even more blush with emotion than he’d been either.

’Wait, so is this the day that I get laid?

No way, no way, no way, no way.

I always thought it’d be to Seraphine, but I suppose this isn’t so bad either.’

Nash nodded, too scared to talk or confirm his suspicions. He simply moved forward, following the others in exiting the ballroom.

He trekked through the hallways, his mind still caught on the events that transpired. But each time his expression fell, Lysandra was there hug him even more tightly, smiling at him with all her brilliance.

They didn’t say a single word to each other, creating an immensely awkward silence.

Multiple times, Nash opened his mouth hoping to start conversation, but a flutter in his stomach kept him from finding the words.

Eventually, the two made it to the entrance to his quarters.

"Gonna let me in?" Lysandra asked.

Instantly, Nash opened the door, allowing her in.

And there they were, the two of them standing in the middle of his bedroom.

Lysandra eyed the room top to bottom, not uttering a sound.

It was a silence that only made the awkwardness worse.

"So, how is it--" Before Nash could finished, he was pushed to his bed. "Wh-wh!?"

He looked left to right like a pigeon, stumbling.

"Take your clothes off," Lysandra ordered, laying on top of him.