The Criswell's Curse

“Master, you should calm down... this is not the time nor the place...” Aiden intervened, hiding Bradley’s cake covered fist with a large handkerchief. “There are too many witnesses.”

As the young nobleman calmed down his intense urge to kill, Ophelia straightened her body, regained her graceful stance, and politely smiled. “Of course, I am well aware of my standing, My Lord.”

Terrel looked at her, his mind now filled with disappointment. He enjoyed seeing the fear in her eyes, the fury, the wish to retaliate - and yet, here she was, acting all-mighty, untouchable. It was annoying.

How could she consider herself better than him? She was a woman; a creature created to provide pleasure and continue the lineage; God had said so himself.

Ophelia cleaned the blood from her lip with her fingers before placing her right hand on his cheek, passing through his skin softly. She smirked seductively. “Do you perhaps, like chess, My Lord?”

Seeing her eyes involved in pure greed and a strange type of lust made him gulp. For her age, her figure had truly matured, her skin was fair, her curves not overly voluptuous but perfectly arranged for her body type. Two pearly like breasts popped out from her purple dress and her lips were soft, too soft. Terrel wanted to steal her away, to prevent anyone else from seeing her, to smell her, to touch her. She was his, and his alone.

This feeling was overwhelming. He wished to be the only one to appreciate such beauty, even if that meant to incarcerate her somewhere far away, in another realm, another world, another dimension. His soul was so fixated on the girl before him that the figures surrounding them, innocent nobles, became sinful beings, creatures born from Blasphemy; enemies who wished to take her away.

“Yes...” His voice was calm as his head swung back and forth. A strange pleasure tingled through his skin when her fingers began lowering, reaching for his neck.

In a moment of pleasure and ecstasy, Terrel’s grip loosened, allowing Ophelia to quickly pull her hand while placing some distance between them. She grinned. “Then you must know the most important piece is the queen... she is the only one who protects the king, after all... I’m sure... you don’t want to lose yours so soon, right?”

Terrel clenched his fists, furrowed down his eyebrows, sharpened his eyes. She had played him. “Do you take me for a fool!?”

His voice was loud, echoing through the garden as he yelled anger-driven words. Gossip then floated, yet again. But this time, no one attempted to conceal it. Everyone could hear their words, their judgements on the man standing before them.

“Look at that... what a disgrace...!” A feminine voice from the back spoke loudly, intervening on the girl’s behalf.

“Poor child... being married to that monster...!” A man somewhere in the front row said to his peers, causing them to agree.

It wasn’t long until there was a mutual agreement between the present nobles: Terrel was a beast, attempting to hurt a frail, innocent girl at plain sight. What monster would do that?

Even then, Terrel’s attention wasn’t focused on the words of the world. His attention was solely on Ophelia, on the sentences expelled from her body.

“Of course not. How could I consider such a profane act?” She sarcastically replied.

“Who do you think you are, Ophelia!?” Her mockery only made his emotions burst, his voice to grow louder.

It was only when she glared at him coldly, her voice serene as a Blistering day. “Lord Terrel, we are yet to be wed. Don’t forget your status.”

He gritted his teeth. This slut dared to give him orders? Who did she think she was?

The noble man could sense it, the overgrowing disdain from his companions, the girl’s superiority towards him. She looked down at him, as if he were a mere lump on the road, something useless, unworthy of her concern.

“You little...!” Terrel rose, his arm back, preparing to swing it with all his strength. She was bound to learn how to respect her husband, one way of another.

“My Lord, you must remember where you stand... do you truly wish to stain the Wharton’s image?”

As his hand was about to hit Ophelia’s cheek, it stopped, just a few centimeters away. The girl hadn’t even flinched. She continued to glare at him, in her grace, in her invulnerable stance. Frustrated, he closed his hand as it trembled slightly, pulling it back to his torso.

“Wise decision.” She commented, approaching him slightly. When she got close enough, she mumbled onto his ear. “Do behave, darling. I wouldn’t want people to think the heir to the Wharton’s is a beast driven by urges, would you?”

Ophelia back away again, a winning smile on her lips. She was right and Terrel knew it. He was the heir, but that title could easily shift onto his brothers if his father seemed fit. If a scandal were to happen, what would Edgar think? He could easily give the title to Mace, or worse, give him Ophelia as a prize trophy.

Annoyed but without being able to utter another word, he forced a smile and left, followed by his younger brothers, who stood only some meters behind him.