The Criswell's Curse

“Milord, Edward has returned.” A servant entered the study room, interrupting the meeting between Terrel and the second prince, Donovan Virden.

“Has he now?” The nobleman grinned from ear to ear. “Well, if you excuse me, Your Highness, I have some business to attend.”

The prince knew exactly what the hobbies of the eldest son of the Wharton’s were. He had seen it many times before. The way he flirted with the maids in the palace, the nights he left the royal grounds just to roam into the nightlife of the capital. He was a very predictable man, with predictable desires. Donovan didn’t approve of his behavior, but men like him were easier to control, easier to use.

“As you wish.” Was all the prince said, as his fingers passed through the pages of the book, completely unbothered.

Terrel hastily bobbed his head and exited the room, almost running through the halls with excitement. He was truly a child, not knowing when to stop, how to behave. All he saw was himself and his weird narcissistic fetishes.

Minutes later, Donovan placed the book on his lap and opened the curtains, observing the entrance of his palace. His dark, caramel hair looked almost like a shiny piece of copper, blending in perfectly with his hazelnut eyes. His thin body and long lashes, alongside his soft lines, made him seem far younger than he truly was.

Two floors down, Terrel had arrived at the gates just to be greeted by his servant, soaking in sweat. Edward kept averting his eyes, unable to face his lord.

“I assume everything went smoothly?” Completely neglecting the figure his underling was in, the noble’s attention remained locked in the carriage. The maid from his fiancé stood inside, dressed just like Ophelia. When executed properly, revenge was truly sweet.

The servant gulped. “Well, milord... there was a problem, you see...”

Reactively, Terrel dashed towards the carriage. Edward almost immediately grabbed his torso, forcing the guards from the palace to point their swords at the servant.

“Milord, don’t...!”

“You dare...!?” In one swing, the man fell onto the floor. It had been done. He was doomed.

The sound of the carriage door being opened echoed and then ivy fell onto the floor, some being swept away by the wind. Everything grew silent. No one knew what to say. Terrel banged the door so hard the horses became startled, forcing a guard to calm them down.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself, Edward!” His eyes were tainted with anger as he tried to conceal the desire to beat up his servant into a pulp. Terrel knew this guy had always been faithful to him, as loyal as a dog. So how could such a thing happen?

“Lady Ophelia appeared and demanded Ivy back... I tried to explain, but she knew everything...” The servant quickly kneeled, feeling the pressure from his master’s gaze. “Somehow, she knew Duke Wharton hadn’t approved this exchange... I... I didn’t know what else to do...!”

Terrel clenched his fists. “How did she catch up with you in the first place!? She’s a woman for God’s sake!”

“She rode a horse, milord...” Edward sunk his sweaty forehead on the floor feeling the dirt attach itself onto his skin, praying to remain alive, praying for some kind of mercy. “I’m terribly sorry. Please forgive me, milord!”

How could that woman know? Terrel tried to understand how she had predicted the situation, how she reacted so quickly. Was she truly as naïve as the rumors painted her to be? How could she have learned horseback riding on her estate? Her father would’ve never allowed it. Then how...?

“So, she is rebelling is it...” He mumbled, feeling a strange sense of ecstasy pass through him. Somehow, he enjoyed it. Seeing her fight, only made him desire her more, to want to consume her faster. “The little sheep is attempting to play the wolf’s part, uh...”

Terrel clicked his tongue, pushing his short hair back. Everything he did had been prepared, calculated to the brim of perfection. And yet, she slipped through his fingers as if they had been soaked in butter.

“Milord... she sent you a message as well...” Edward rose his head, forehead tainted in white, courtesy of the dirt laying on the ground.

“What did she say?”

“Lady Ophelia said she is eager to meet you and the friendly guard from the palace again... Do you think she knows?”

Almost immediately, Terrel grabbed the man by the collar, pulling him closer to him. Edward could smell the intense fragrance of cigarettes in his breath.

“Remember where you are.” The noble let him go, allowing him to messily get back on his feet. “Be careful of your words.”

“Yes, milord.”

As he was about to bob his head down, his master’s fist found his way onto the servant’s cheek. An intense pain traveled through the man’s muscles as he dropped onto the dirt. His eyes widened in complete shock.

“Never try to stop me again, Edward.” Displeased, Terrel glanced at the carriage one more time. “Clean that shit up.”

And with that, he turned around and left, heading back to the palace. As he walked to Donovan’s study room, his mind ran wild with unanswered questions about that girl. He knew she was her father’s puppet, and yet she continued to go against his will. She didn’t seem to be as dumb as he initially thought.

The plan was rather simple. Pay the guards to take her to that specific room and lock the door. Once Terrel was done with his meeting, he would visit her and do whatever his heart wished for. And yet, she escaped. It was only when he saw the cuts and the state of her dress that he comprehended she had been crazy enough to jump down two fucking floors.

Even then, the fear in her soul was something he had yet to see in a lady’s eyes.

Disgust? Yes.

Horror? Too many to count. But he hadn’t even touched her so, how could she be so afraid?

Something must’ve happened. He grinned, satisfied with the conclusion his pitiful brain had reached.

The guards froze once Terrel’s hand rose and his feet stopped walking. “It seems I must send word to an old acquaintance.”

As he changed paths, heading back to his temporary chambers in Donovan’s palace, a hint of annoyance kept on pestering him. He hated women like her, women that fought his wishes. Ophelia was one of them, going against the true nature of women, going against him, the man in this relationship.

I just need to teach her properly... do what her father clearly didn’t. He grinned, already setting up another plan in his mind.

While all of this happened, Donovan, the second prince, watched the scenario unfold from above. He had seen everything, Terrel’s frustrated expression, the punch on his servant and the vines coming from inside the carriage. Curiosity rung from within as he had found the whole situation far too amusing.

Who could’ve gone against the Wharton’s first son? Someone with power for sure, but why?

Questions roamed his mind until there was a knock on the large, dark wooden door. Quickly, he pushed the curtain back, rose from his comfortable seat and headed towards the entrance. Only one person would visit him.

“Her Royal Highness is here to see you.”

“Let her in.” And with that, the door opened, the maids left, and Donovan remained in the room with his mother.