Page 20 of The Ballad of a Bard

H e was already in bed when she emerged, shifting in her thin nightgown that she usually slept in. It wasn’t anything fancy, nor was the charcoal trousers and beige shirt he wore. Crimson let her red hair down from the swept up bun she’d kept it in all day, running her fingers through the ends to prevent any knots.

West was on the left side, as if he’d seen where she slept and allowed her to keep her respective side. It was dark now, not even a slice of dusk to be seen from the windows. The curtains were all shut, the lights all doused. He must have done it when she was changing.

West cleared his throat as Crimson tugged the covers back and settled in, dragging them over her form as she laid her head down on the ivory pillow. He was facing her, his long lashes dipped low as he avoided eye contact.

“Goodnight then, Crimson.” He muttered before laying his forearm over his sight and letting out a deep breath. “Sleep well.”

“Sweet dreams.” She uttered back, bringing her knees up. Warmth immediately settled into her as the cool fabric of the sheets dispersed.

“I don’t,” He said, “Have dreams, that is.”

She blinked, taken aback at his statement. “How can you not have dreams? Everyone has dreams, even Saints.”

His chest rose and expanded as he inhaled. “I don’t see a point in them. Not when they’re filled with melancholic things such as love, which never lasts.”

His words whipped through her like a cat o’nine tails. They tore through her soul, shattering her to oblivion and beyond. She let the sadness wash over her, a flash of disappointment following soon after.

“I see.”

West uncovered his face, finding her. “It’s nothing to be sad about, Heartstrings. It’s just the unfortunate part of being a full-blooded Saint. I don’t want to fall in love, to watch the person who owns my heart fade away over time. Because I’ll live forever, because I’ll never die, I can’t afford myself a reason to get hurt like that.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip as she began to twist her cranberry hair. “But, there are more components to a relationship, other than love.”

“You mean like sex?”

The word jolted her system awake.

Sleep would be impossible now.

“Yes.”

Crimson heard his steady breathing as he responded. “I’ve had sex with plenty of mortals before. I just cut it off before it becomes anything too serious. I can’t get tangled up with emotions, with vulnerable feelings that might be the death of me.”

“That’s a terrible way to live.” Crimson said in horror. She couldn’t imagine only limiting herself to the barest, most basic, primal need instead of the wonderful feelings that surrounded it. It sounded like another version of death; morbid and sad.

His tone cut clear across the room. “Well, at least I would be living.”

“You’re not, though. You’re living a half life, at best.” She argued and he visibly flinched, but she went on. “ Love is one of the most powerful things on earth, one of the strongest emotions. Look at my father, he’s living proof of that. He embodied the heart and all the insane feelings tangled up within it. Love isn’t a curse, it’s a gift. One that I think you should let yourself experience, at least once in this life.”

He didn’t answer.

Crimson knew she’d crossed a line.

Here she was, a girl not even in her thirties and he was an immortal Saint. Even if she bore some of the eternal blood in her veins, he was a god compared to her. And yet she was trying to tell him what to do.

“I’m sorry, West.” She sighed, turning over to try to see his expression. She could make out the panels of his face, but his eyes were too dark, too far to see the stars. “I shouldn’t be the one giving you advice. Especially not after all you’ve done for Cobalt and I. If you don’t want love, then you don’t want it. End of the story.”

He shifted, rolling onto his back.

Away from her.

“Of course I want it, Crimson. But it’s not something that I can have.” West was staring directly up at the ceiling, his glittering eyes wide open as he contemplated her sentence.

“What do you mea-”

He cut her off, flipping over until his back was towards her. “Go to sleep, Crimson. ”

Even with the arrow of regret and shame that embedded itself into her gut, she did. And when she woke in the morning, he wasn’t there.

But something else was.

A note, folded into a perfect triangle.

Crimson tucked the last strand of her hair into the braided crown that she managed to complete as she eyed the piece of parchment. It didn’t seem like something West would do, or leave behind and as she unscrambled it, her suspicions were confirmed. Because this wasn’t something that West would ever do, regardless of if he was mad at her or not.

But it was far worse.

Her heart leapt into her throat, clogging her up and startling her as she read over the note again, making sure she’d seen it properly the first time.

She had.

The scrawl was elegant, honed to perfection with each curving letter and lopping scribble. There was no name with it, only an initial and she had no idea who it could have been from.

I know you’re looking for Heartache.

So am I.

Find him for me, otherwise your brother, Cobalt, will never see another dawn.

The same threat applies to this; tell anyone about this, and you’ll regret it.

C

Crimson crumpled the note, her fingers trembling. She couldn’t find a solid thought in her head as she covered her mouth with a hand. Things like this weren’t to be taken lightly. The black ink seeped into her brain, permanently forging a place there. A knock on the door sounded and it nearly scared her out of her pale skin.

She stood, shoving the note under the sheets and swatting at an annoying fly that flew about the room as she walked to the doors and opened them.

“Hello, Crimson.” Empress Osira stood tall and mighty before her, even if she was slightly shorter. A lace gown of cream and lavender hung off her curvy form, tucking into certain spots that made her waist appear tiny. Gems of pale amethyst clung to the bottom, the neckline, the sleeves as she beamed at her.

There were four servants alongside her, their arms full of various boxes and colourful garments, bags filled with what seemed to be glittering pieces of stars and heeled shoes.

“May we come in?” She asked and Crimson didn’t know what to say or do, so she just widened the door and let them all enter the apartments.

“Your- Osira, may I ask what you’re doing here?” She fumbled over the title, finding the Empress’s first name to not feel as decadent as the woman herself. There was no crown, circlet or diadem atop her saffron hair, but there was no need for one. “I’m sure you have a busy schedule, with many things that take priority over a visit.”

Osira waved her hand in the air in clear dismissal. “Nonsense. Most of it is sitting in a rather uncomfortably large chair anyways. Having you here allows me to engage in some much required, and overdue fun.” The maids set the boxes along every surface imaginable, finding more and more things to put down.

“What are all of these?” Crimson pondered out loud in wonderment. The servants removed the lids to half of the shoe boxes, revealing some of the most complex footwear that she’d ever seen.

Heels, with intricate bottoms to hold them up. Flats with ribbons nearly as tall as she was. Sandals with actual stones embedded in the place of studs. The dresses came next, unsheathed from garment bags to protect them. It was like a misty rainbow exploded inside the chamber because she could spot every single shade imaginable.

There, on West’s desk- a gown of peach. Pine leaves climbed up from the hem, as if they grew from the gown itself and wanted to attach themselves to the most silky fabric ever to be found. On the couch, lay a sparkling raiment of olive, with red roses all along the neckline that would create the illusion of a walking flower. Beside the bed, a stunning slip of silver that looked like it wasn’t enough to be called a dress.

There were more, too.

Osira found a place beside her on the bed, leaning over as if the two of them were the best of friends and nothing but as she whispered, “Am I correct in assuming that you have nothing to wear to the ball?”

“Yes.” She said sheepishly as she continued to find new pieces to be mesmerised by. “I didn’t exactly have anything suited for an event of that grandeur.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, lovely girl! I planned for this when lovely North told me where he found you! I hate those stupid gates.” She added quickly with a reassuring pat to her shoulder. “It’s my goal to completely vanquish them by the end of this year. But as for the ball, I had a few gowns that were doing nothing but just sitting in my wardrobe!” Osira motioned for the servants to file out, and they did one by one. “And I always yearned for a daughter of my own.”

“I can’t accept one, that’s too much generosity.” Crimson stood up, feeling overwhelmed. There was so much to look at, so much to feel, so much crowded inside her head .

Not to mention, the note that left her swarming.

“You can and you will.” The Empress brought her back before her, turning her shoulders until they were equally flat towards the other. “So let’s begin.”

West wasn’t in the mood for swords or sparring with steel today. Not after Crimson’s words still haunted him, refusing to let him be or give up. They were a constant reminder of why he hated being immortal.

In truth, he wanted love more than anything else.

But unless it was with another full-blooded Saint, it would kill him in the end. Physically, breaking his heart until there was nothing left. Muse was beautiful, but he could never endeavour to start something there. They were just too different. And Dream fancied the other sex, which left him with nothing considering he preferred females in his bed, in his heart.

Damien, who he was boxing against, nearly bashed his head in with a linen-wrapped fist. “You’re not on your best game today, Cap. Anything the matter?”

His older brother, Thalias watched from his spot against the wall. Only two years apart, and both Steele siblings were notorious for their combat skills. Two of the only three people who were ever able to win against Prince Altivar in the ring, himself included.

They both bore the same skin tone, but that was where their similarities stopped. Where Thalias’s shoulder length hair was a honey blond with eyes that looked like fresh grass, Damien kept his medium brown hair to his skull, and his eyes were like oak. They varied in height as well, a couple inches towards Thalias. But Damien made up for it in his size.

“Nothing that you need to worry about.” West shook his head, trying to clear his mind and toss his focus back into the fight.

His first round had been with Rook, knocking the male straight into the stones and resulting in a split lip that sent him to the healing ward. Thalias had been next, almost succeeding in a win until the very last second, where West sidestepped him, surprising him and falling out of the circular ring.

Now it was Damien, who kept him on his toes.

He’d been out here for three hours now, avoiding her. He wasn’t upset with her for what she said, but it had hit harder than he expected something like that to. She had no clue how hard it was to live for centuries, to watch and observe humans whilst being unable to experience all their parts of life for himself.