The Criswell's Curse

Bradley Trace arrived at the ball earlier than most guests. He wished to be the first to catch Ophelia’s mysterious eyes; however, after several hours, she was still nowhere to be seen.

Was I wrong? Considering the girl’s personality, he was almost fully certain she would attend, especially since her sister was here.

But it was only when the announcer’s voice echoed through the room, that his soul was awakened, separated from its unwavering thoughts. “Lord Mace Wharton and Lady Ophelia Criswell.”

His chest tightened, butterflies flew on his stomach, anxiety made his heart rate increase.

She was here. He was right.

In a couple of large steps, he dashed towards the stairs but froze in place, a sharp pain piercing his chest. Mace Wharton, Terrel’s younger brother, escorted her with a hidden glimmer behind his eyes.

He gritted his teeth, completely infuriated at the situation. Since that man was stuck in the palace, she should’ve come alone, and yet, here she was, strutting down the stairs with her doting brother-in-law. Even then, his attention didn’t sway, not even when the crowd finished gathering at the end of the stairs, intrigued with the youngest daughter of the Criswell’s lineage first apparition.

The room finally woke up, giving birth to countless gossip from the envious and lustful nobles around. Bradley sympathized with Mace’s disgusted expression, since he couldn’t control his hatred towards the pigs surrounding them either.

Desire, lust, greed.

Every word that left their mouths was one of these emotions. A sudden sense of satisfaction flew through his body as he imagined the pigs with their tongues cut off and their eyes gouged out. They dared to look at what was his, after all.

Noticing Ophelia talking to her sister, his fiancée, at the center of the room, he was quick to act, seizing the opportunity for himself even knowing all attention would befall on him.

If it weren’t for this fucking brat... Was the thought roaming through his mind when Mace intervened, again. And so those two danced. Too closely to one another, a tad too intensely for his liking.

Understanding Terrel’s brother would turn into a leech, not letting go of his target, he knew a plan was in order. It was only when he noticed three vassals of his house, chatting a tad bit too joyfully, that an idea came to mind. “Hello gentlemen.”

“Lord Bradley... what a surprise...” The trio hiccupped repeatedly, courtesy of the several glasses of wine on the table beside them, now completely void of contents. “What brings you... to our... humble presence?”

“Haven’t you heard? Duke Wharton is searching for a partner in the mines... I simply thought you might be interested.”

“A partner… you say?” One of them reflected. “What for?”

“Indeed... I heard it’s to create cheaper tools for the miners to use. Isn’t that right in your area of expertise?” His words were complete lies, yet no one would perceive them as so when they heard them.

“We should… talk to him then... yes... A wise choice... indeed.” Words struggled to come out of their bodies, but greed was a perfect fuel, especially when the rum had enough influence in a man’s mind.

The music ended and, once his vassals took the Wharton’s boy away, he quickly made his presence known. With all eyes on her, Ophelia couldn’t refuse.

A pleasant tune echoed through the room; however, his prey didn’t dare to look at him. She was playing hard to get. Forcefully, Bradley pulled her close to his chest, right hand gripping her waist. Her beautiful crystal eyes became fiery and, as the orchestra became louder, the dance floor turned into a battlefield with two noble soldiers. Only at the climax of the song did Bradley gain the upper ground. With a hefty spin, Ophelia’s body fell right onto his arm. He smiled, pleased.

The room clapped loudly, almost euphorically, after witnessing such talent. The young lambs observed the whole dance in a daze, imagining themselves in that girl’s shoes.

How I wished that was me... They thought.

They were both rather breathless, tired from fighting in a physical war, without weapons or words. As he lifted her body up, a slight hint of blush painted her pale cheeks. Someone was mad.

“Would you join me for a walk in the garden?”

Strangely, Ophelia carried a pleased expression on her face, almost as if she hadn’t been utterly defeated moments prior. It was only when it was too late that he understood why. “I’m so tired... I’m afraid you need to find a new partner for the upcoming dance, My Lord.”

Her loud voice was enough to give an opening to all the maidens, who eagerly waited for an opportunity.

“Lord Bradley, please allow me...!” A brunette with a suffocating perfume was the first.

“I am a wonderful dancer, My Lord. You won’t be disappointed!” A blonde girl quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to her voluptuous breasts.

“No, I am better!” A third woman joined the fight.

It barely took a minute for Bradley to be surrounded by women who craved his attention as Ophelia simply observed the situation from afar, a mocking expression on her face.

He couldn’t believe how slithery she was. The nobleman already saw her as a unique individual, but he never thought she’d be this cunning, so endearing, so... ruthless. Her heart remained hidden, not allowing anyone to pry further, not even the best bachelor in the kingdom.

“Leave.” Without realizing, his emerald eyes glared coldly at the bunch of flies surrounding him. Their faces turned pale; their eyes widened. It was only then that he understood his mask had accidentally slipped. “I am terribly sorry, my ladies. I am unwell… please give me a moment.”

His charming smile and carefully created naiveness made everything turn back to normal as such icy treatment had been merely part of the observer’s imagination. After dancing with a handful of lucky maidens, he left the ball under the excuse of a mild cold.