Tiger's Scar

Tiger's Scar: Chapter Three

The next day was the Ritual, and she spent the whole of the day in bathing, purifying herself, and dressing. Her long auburn hair was bound back in a loose braid, but her customary dagger that attached to the bottom of the braid was not in place, for the night's event. Her bangs were curled slightly. She was assisted in her dressing by the help of her giggling servants, into a long formal gown that echoed a tiger's fur.

The front was white, over her stomach, and chest, and it narrowed into the bottom of a diamond, at the juncture of her legs, and it swelled into a shape the same as the top of a heart over her breasts. The sides and back were orange and black striped and the whole thing was tied off with a giant bow, the ends of which were meant to resemble a tiger's tail, again, black and orange, to match the dress. The neck of the gown sat just so along her collar bone, and it molded perfectly to the shape of her body.

Xeta hated it. She couldn't fight if she needed to, which, of course, was the point. This was supposed to be the one day when all the Council joined together, and went into the deepest of their secret caves, deep beneath the earth where no one would dare intrude. Not even the Colvent family knew where this place was located. For Damien had never been permitted there, in their most sacred of areas.

And the whole idea made Xeta nuts. She didn't want to go to some stupid party, and commune with the balance of nature or whatever shite happened at this thing, every year. She wanted to tear out of here and go stalk her prey. Now she was an adult, she'd finally be permitted to go after that Solestine creep on her own.

At last, the arrangements for the night were completed. With an irritable growl, she grabbed her tiger-headed Staff, and headed out of her chambers, to find Adrial waiting for her. He was clad in green and gold, with an emerald-colored cobra head, jaws wide, over his head and shoulders. Though his alternate form was a black mamba, not a cobra, it was the traditional regalia for his office, and he wore it well, much though she hated to admit it. On his right hand, sat a golden ring, a cobra coiled about his finger, positioned as though in the middle of striking. In his other hand, he held a staff fashioned in the form of a golden cobra.

In her opinion, the ancients had overdone the ceremonial regalia, but then again, the whole damned council was entirely too hide-bound and old-fashioned anyway.

With a slick smile, Adrial took her hand and led her down the hall.

X

Later that night, as the whole Council danced and caroused, the main business of the Ritual complete, Xeta sat, lump-like, in a velvet chair. Her glass of wine sat off to the side, mostly untouched. She hadn't had much but evidently couldn't hold it. Adrial came over and took her hand.

"Would you care for some more wine, my pet?" He asked with a charming smile. All evening he had been at her side, the perfect date, fetching her drinks, and guiding her through the requisite dances.

Xeta looked up at him and wobbled in her seat as the room began to spin. She shook her head but made herself ill in the process. " -' M, not your pet, 'Drial. and no, thank you. I- I'm not feeling well... I think I've had enough."

"Poor Princess. Had too much?" He smirked at her. "But, you speak fairly enough. Come. You don't look well at all, I shall escort you home, and back to the safe and loving care of Zephthease." He drew on her hand, and she popped out of her seat and fell into his waiting arms. He didn't look it, but he was strong, or perhaps she was simply that weak and pliable from the effects of the wine.

She took a few unstable steps and then staggered. Clutching his arm for stability, she nodded stiffly. "Sure... 'Don't know what's wrong with me. I'm..." She broke off with a stifled yawn, and shook her head, feeling dizzy.

"Sleepy?" He asked, and chuckled at her drunken nod. "'Tis perfectly natural. Don't worry. You'll be all right. I'll take good care of you, I promise. My Beauty."

As the carpeted floor of the Ritual Chamber rushed at her, she felt strong arms encircle her, one hand beneath her upper back, one arm curled beneath her knees. She heard a masculine voice make excuses for her, and then murmur soothing words into her hair. But she was too far gone to understand what was said, all she knew was that she was grateful to the enclosing blackness, for it washed away all fear, that would otherwise have been present at such appalling weakness and disorientation. Before too long, she relaxed into the strong arms and welcoming blackness, and she slept, her head cradled against Adrial's upper arm.

As he walked her through a gilt hallway, he smiled and murmured lovingly to the unconscious beauty he held in his arms. Never before had he seen her so fragile and weak. He liked it. He wanted her to depend upon him more often. He leaned down and brushed his lips against the silken flesh of her temple, tenderly brushing a strand of auburn hair away.

"Soon, my pet. Soon."