The Criswell's Curse

Some hours had passed, and Ophelia was now doing what she did most afternoons: playing a chess game in Mace’s study room. The chocolate hair on the boy danced as a chill breeze flew from the outside, courtesy of the half opened large window that led to the large balcony.

“Checkmate.” He smiled proudly after placing his horse in its rightful position to end the game. “How come you never win, Ophelia?”

“It seems I have yet too much to learn from you, My Lord.” Her polite stance made Mace let out a sigh. “But congratulations on your win.”

He had been trying his hardest to make her feel comfortable, to allow the distance between them to be shortened, but the noble maiden’s heart remained locked away, preventing anyone from entering. No matter the situation, she remained cordial, calm and graceful, always unattached to anything that surrounded her being.

Mace had seen with his own two eyes such truth. Her emotions were rather scarce, barely showing any interest in anything that most ladies would and, the only occasion where her pretty mask fell was at the mention of his brother’s name. It seemed like the rumors of his behavior had already reach her, probably worrying her soul far more than before – when she laid alongside the naiveness of the unknown.

“Mace. Congratulations, Mace.” He pouted, displeased by her answer. “Call me Mace when we’re alone, please. It’s a personal request.”

“As you wish, My... Mace.” She mumbled his name rather awkwardly, forcing him to chuckle.

Ophelia’s power as a noble lady of the Criswell’s didn’t particularly interest him. Rather, he pitied her, as he was well aware of his brother’s tendencies. His father still believed they were rumors, as none had come forward, but as the middle brother, he had seen it. The maids who suddenly quit their jobs, the times his brother arrived completely wasted, unrecognizable, completely lost to the liquor. Mace still wished he could change his brother, turn him into a decent human being, but deep down he knew that, not even a miracle, would cure Terrel’s egocentrism.

“Mace... the day I arrived, were there any new maids entering the mansion?”

He glanced at Ophelia, slightly puzzled, as his hands placed the chess pieces in their rightful positions, preparing the board for another game. “There were.”

“Who were they? Do you know?” She leaned her torso forward, eager to know his answer, forcing him to blush slightly.

His brown eyes then focused on her, attempting to distract themselves of the cleavage trapping her chest, of the shimmering of the sun on her moist lips. “Why do you want to know?”

In life, people’s actions were bound by the decisions they make, whether they turned into accomplishments or regrets; only time would tell. A gut feeling told her this was a trap, another one of Mace’s tricks, but without risks, there couldn’t be a reward. She knew lies wouldn’t work as he somehow saw straight through her - the boy was far too cunning.

Seeing the childish act wasn’t cutting it, Ophelia returned to her graceful self, displaying that numbness that she often showed. “I think Duke Criswell sent a maid to spy on me.”

He frowned, losing himself in a deep thought. “That’s something your father would do indeed. Olivia and Ivy, those two might be who you’re searching for. The rest of the maids have been with our family for months, some even for years.”

Ophelia’s brows merged into a thin line. Of course, Olivia had to be one of them. Everything fit: her failed persuasion attempt, her overly friendliness, her naiveness. She was the perfect actress for a spy. Even then, the maiden couldn’t be hasty. Ivy was quiet, always minding her own business, observing everyone from afar. Didn’t her role fit the bill as well?

Mace’s attention focused on the chess pieces, now all moved to their original positions. “But tell me, why do you think your father has planted spies in here?”

The boy’s voice had a tone she’d never heard before, far more stern, slightly authoritarian, faintly mischievous. Momentarily, Ophelia considered he should be the one to heir the duchy instead of his older brother.

But she couldn’t expose her game. These people might like her, but feelings change far too easily. Love and hate were two sides of the same coin, flipping far too quickly alongside the shifting of the seasons who were always bound to follow.

“He would be a fool if he didn’t, wouldn’t you agree?” Her words made Mace’s expression stiffen further. The environment had grown rather heavy as all in the household knew of the tense relationship between the members of her family.

So far, Ophelia had no proof of her father’s influence on the estate; however, the presence of an assassin changed everything. Only some days ago had she cut off contact with the Criswell’s but no letters had arrived and yet, a murderer had already infiltrated the premises. Wasn’t that too much of a coincidence? It was clear someone had warned the Duke about her decision.

“Indeed... but that isn’t all, is it?” Mace grinned, pressuring the girl slightly.

Ophelia simply smiled, grabbed the chess piece symbolizing the white queen, and pushed her down, forcing it to fall straight onto the carpeted floor. He observed her, surprised at her sly metaphor.

Should I investigate this matter further...? He thought, understanding the message loud and clear. Someone in this mansion was after her life, but what could he truly do about it? He held no power, no connections, no loyalty from the servants except from the nanny who had raised him. All of them had vouched their lives to his father, a man who would turn this house around and probably have Ophelia killed accidentally by doing so.

“How about another game, My Lord?” Trying to relive the mood, and ending the conversation, the girl picked up the chess piece and moved a small pawn to the frontline. “I assure you; I will win.”

Mace smirked, knowing he couldn’t force her to open up her heart to him so easily. “So, I hope.”