The fresh scent of Kataifa filled the bustling air of the imperial kitchen- (a syrup drizzled pastry) As Lucas swirled around, his fingers gave subtle gestures as the servants tilted their heads in reply. "Come on! do your work!"
Servants carried around things*
Lucas then made his way to the lady's area. he then pushed opened the magnificent latch--His hands were folded behind his back as the woman chattered away.
Come on girls!!! what are you all doing talking and laughing?
They simultaneously look at each other then rolled their eyes at him. Some giggled to on another--Making his eyes narrow.
"What are murmuring about?" Come on girls, you are all testing my patience... He sighed. His eyes then fell to Eleanor who seemed to be folding a pile of sheets.
Her hands moved in a low unrhythmic manner, her eyes were elsewhere. Lucas then tiptoed his way to her, standing behind her back: Cough* Cough*
(Eleanor jolted up, she then quickly clasped her palm, her eyes falling to the floor*)
Eh...his eyes went to the pile of clothes, messy--as if it was done by an infant. He sighed and shot her a look. Well, at least this one does something...
"Go to the market for we will have a festivity arranged tonight"
Now standing in the market, Eleanor's eyes darted around the crowded streets of Byzantium. Her eyebrows held a soft frown as her hands blocked the ray of sun escaping through her fingers.
Flop* Flop* Flop* She walked then stopped Infront of a vendor. After that she departed. Her hands clutched around the things.
"Festivity...?" she gazed at the market and the people, the air around her suggested something else--"Didn't seem like it"
Though soon she returned to palace gates. The guards let her in--She then went in the imperial kitchen.
The head chef working there was an elderly man, "Thankyou daughter" he murmured, warmly. Something about his voice made her feel hope--She then smiled graciously.
What is the festivity...? I heard Lucas say it...
Eleanor's eyes widened--"You are not aware?" she asked as he then shook his head. She then left the place, her eyebrows furrowing.
-----
The night fell--Yet the palace stayed the same, no glamorous lights-- instead it looked calm as if a storm was about to come.
Eleanor petronella walked, her nimble frame casted her soft silhouette on the cobblestone embedded floor. The scent of lavender clung to her light blue robe.
Her eyes darted along the wide opened windows; her lips were a natural pout. Master Flaytus hadn't met her, nor talked to her.
Her eyes fell, "what has she done?" only he was there... yet now, even he was ignoring her. She gritted her lips as she then came closer to his room--Just as Eleanor was about to pass by
--(kissing sound*) her heart dropped. As she then turned to the door--It was ajar--As if for her to look.
There inside--Master Flaytus stood, his arms snaking around a women's waist--His face inched closer to her as he then pressed his lips against her. Unbearably slow. The woman replied back in the same manner, she was a beauty and he had known it.
His honey-drunk eyes watched her. His fingers then traced the curve of her jaw, eyes holding something far beyond as he gazed at her dirty-blonde locks. Her scent was alluring yet unfamiliar--Creating a hollow nothingness in his heart.
--Because he ached for something else... his eyes then flickered and met the pressing gaze of Eleanor--He watched how her breath hitched, how she froze in that same place.
His eyes then returned to the woman Infront of him, without a care he deepened the kiss. Clasping the woman's hands as he placed it on his chest.
Heat rushed to Eleanor's cheek as her eyes slightly widened, she then fled. Her vision blurring in the process as tears flowed down her face.
She was angry--not at him but at herself. Who...was...she...anyway? Why does she feel the need to care?
I'm not his wife... she collapsed to the ground as her palms dug the wool. Not a consort...but a mere prisoner of war...
He was torturing her--and she had known it. Separating her from her husband, from her land--"
What is it that you want...?" her teeth clenched.
Though the voice of Dominic played out in her mind:
He is the prince of the holy Byzantine empire and the commander. His words were final, his actions...? the reflection of his intellect...
Yet why does it hurt when he did this...?
Eleanor panted and cried in little hiccups* her weary eyes then fell to the floor.
He had to choose to bury her...all she can do now was to abide by his decision.
--Meanwhile in the room, master Flaytus sat at his study. His eyes were too keen on focusing on the yellow tinted paper Infront. His hands moved with precise attention. He let out pausing sighs as he clutched the quill.
It then slipped off his fingers as he then arched is back and head. Eyes darting the ceiling. His heart clenched, he had hurt her...
He had... hurt her... his jaw then tightened with regret, gaze darkening with something he couldn't. Yet wasn't she the one who broke him...?
The alluring scent of the other women had disappeared as if it never existed--Or at least that wasn't in Flaytus's head. Wasn't his focus.
He had imagined Eleanor in her place, how her eyes faintly resembled her, how desperate he had been. He was the master--Yet Eleanor ruled his heart, knowingly or unknowingly.
She will admit it...
Even if I had to break her again and again...