The Criswell's Curse

“Lady Catherine has arrived, Your Highness.” Aldrich stated on the other side of the door.

“Let her in.” As his words flew, the woman entered the room.

Someone probably imbued the aromatic scent of cinnamon in her long and voluptuous light magenta dress. Her curly hair cascaded down, mimicking a chocolate fountain; however, the abnormal amount of make-up in her skin made her seem far younger than she truly was. A cunning fox masquerading as a noble.

“Glory upon the royal family who guides and provides.” Her hands caught the hem of the skirt, pulling a golden silk attached to the bottom upwards. “Your Highness, I am truly honored for your invitation.”

Her almond-shaped green eyes looked far more exhausted than usual, as if she had spent an entire week awake; however, her cherry-colored lips were glossy, provocative, just as debutants use them. Catherine was in her mid-forties, but her charm could easily make any man’s heart skip a beat.

“Leave us.”

Once the servants exited the room, Aldrich included, Catherine sat on the divan across the room. “This is the first time you’ve invited me to your study, Your Highness. Have I, perhaps, truly taken your heart captive?”

Her teasing words gave her enough time to analyze the space closely. Books rested on the floor, messily, without class, and a bunch of papers rose on the desk. From the titles, it seemed like prince Blake had been doing his homework on the noble families and their activities.

“What did you mean by that?” Blake sat down right in front of her. Of course, he wasn’t referring to her provocation.

“You’re no fun, you know?” Her hands opened the bright red fan she carried on a small pouch, forcing the grin on her lips to be covered. The prince’s bluntness did not surprise her, in fact, that was one of his many charms.

Catherine was from a fallen noble house who had, miraculously, regained its prestige after Edith, her elder sister, became a concubine for the current king, achieving the ranking of royal consort* in just a handful of months. This was one of the mysteries within high society since no one could find any explication and, the unlucky who found any clues, miraculously disappeared, without a trace.

Being older, she knew what type of man Blake was. The noble lady had him in his little finger, twirling around as she wished; however, the same went for the prince, whose power over her was far too grand, far too opposing.

Lust and Hate. Their relationship was unusual for sure, like two delusional partners in crime, who were too centered in their ideals to see the bigger picture.

“You see Prince, some rumors are floating around... do you know Ophelia Criswell?” Catherine placed her hands right on top of her knees, smiling strangely politely.

“I know her sister.” He frowned, feeling like the lady was keeping the information for too long. “Isn’t that girl the cursed child of the Criswell’s? Wasn’t she stuck in the mansion because of an illness?”

“Everyone knows about Lilith’s tragic death and how her illness passed to her daughter, but did you know... Ophelia seems to be quite fine.” Catherine’s eyes turned into two upside down moons, pleased with the feeling of trapping Blake’s interest in her sticky webs. “She is even to wed Terrel Wharton when she comes of age...”

“Get to the point, Catherine.”

“Fine, fine... the young girl was in my ball yesterday and it was quite a sight to see... the maiden refused the Trace’s advances publicly.” At her words, Blake’s eyes widened. “In fact, she managed to put him in a very... sophisticated situation.”

The prince couldn’t believe the woman’s words. A 15-year-old, who had lived in a mansion all her life, refused the advances from the most wanted bachelor? She even trapped him? And it was not any noble, no. The Trace’s, the wealthiest, most cunning and worst family in the kingdom. What exactly was going on?

Whenever the crown placed the Trace’s back against the wall, they would cut the supply of their granaries, leave most of the lower classes to their demise. Starvation, chaos and then false propaganda, stating the crown was to blame for their misery.

Even now, their influence continued to grow. Carlyle kept on investing in many businesses, especially in other noble’s territories. That was the first step in his plan to monopolize the entire market in the kingdom.

“And that’s not all. Our little flower appears to be more interested in a Marquess son than in the Angel.” Noticing Blake’s impatience, she continued. “Layton Verne, that cowardly kid, is now on good terms with her, or so it seems.”

Marquess Verne. Another man whose influence the crown could not ignore. They made their living off shady businesses, making fortunes selling illegal items and using their port city to pass them inside the kingdom. They were aristocrats, having only achieved the title two generations ago, but their influence was not to be ignored.

“Catherine, are you telling me that a girl who has lived fifteen years in seclusion has her hands around Bradley and Layton?”

“Indeed, Your Grace, but that isn’t all, by far!” At this point, the noble lady’s eyes became tainted with excitement as the pleasure of adrenaline flew through her veins. “The girl hates her family so much she threatened to kill her sister with a broken champagne glass...! Isn’t that genius?”

This woman was special. She had a keen eye for different things, for unique humans, she called them. Catherine loved to see bizarre flowers bloom to their full potential and, as far as she could see, Ophelia was a rose waiting to be nurtured into greatness. The Black Rose was the nickname that voyaged through the nobles, courtesy of her unknown gardener, of course.

The prince was too stunned to speak. He knew her words usually rung true, but wasn’t this all a bit too much? Only a handful of people knew Catherine had thousands of eyes working under her, lurking in the shadows, learning all the noble’s dirty deeds. An information network ready to expose secrets with the click of a finger.

“If you’re lying...”

“I am not.” Her face grew stern. “That girl is a natural disaster waiting to happen if not tamed properly, Your Grace.”

“So, what do you suggest we do? Lock her up? Kill her?” None of these pleased Blake’s heart.

“Marry her. She would be a magnificent piece to use against the nobles and I assure you, she will please your tastes.” Catherine smirked, seeing the troubled expression on her partner’s face.

“Is that a certainty?” His haughty glare made the noble woman sigh. He knew his decisions carried extra weight so none could be taken with a faint heart, and he didn’t wish to get married, not when there were too many uncertainties lingering around.

She shook her head. “I can’t say that is it yet.”

“I take I will be the first to know.” Catherine grinned, seeing how relaxed the prince had become. “Now leave.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

In just a couple of moments, the noble lady exited the room, leaving only the intense smell of cinnamon behind as a souvenir. He got up and headed towards the large window, pushing the curtains to the side. Sun rays shun from above, enlightening the written words on the paper sheets resting on his desk.

“Ophelia Criswell...” Unconsciously, Blake mumbled her name.

He couldn’t help being curious about such a woman. Somehow, she had tied down three different houses as if they had become bewitched. But Catherine was right. If these relationships were true, Ophelia could become a powerful social weapon for the chosen one.

His mind was restless. Someone had added a new card into the game, an unpredictable, appealing, captivating new card; just like the Joker, whose existence itself made some players shudder.

“Let’s watch for now...” Seeing Catherine leave the front gate, the prince closed the curtains, sealing away the warmth of the sun outside.

*The King’s Harem was divided into four categories: Queen; Royal Consorts; Royal Concubines; Ladies of the King.