This Gothic World
Chapter 3

Irene

It was high time for her to leave and Irene was ready. She wore the palazzo pants and dress shirt loosely accentuating her hourglass figure. It was something Irene had always loved to do.

In the matter of today, it was something of an occasion. She was to be sent to the Royal Palace at Arcane City. However, instead of it being an honor, the truth was further from it.

“You ready miss?”

Irene nodded at the coachman as he hauled her inside the caged carriage heading towards the Castle. The coachman was nice enough, Irene thought since he had been gentle and caring towards her.

It was duly noted by her, whoever seemed nice to her were either trying to break her heart or trying to make her live a life of misery by controlling her every aspect. Sad truth was Irene had no clue what category this man fell into.

As the journey began Irene recalled Temperance’s exact words for her duty.

“Infiltrate the castle. Find the King, kill him and, bring the King’s blood to me.”

Exactly. Very precise and very particular. Lovely knowing you Temperance Methuselah.

Irene smiled ruefully as the rhyme made her feel minimally better about her current situation. Nevertheless, there was no point in avoiding the truth. She was going to murder a human being and all because—of what?

Because her father was forcing her; because her sister would die otherwise; because it would be the last time Irene would let any other family member go;

No way was she going to let Halona die at the hands of the grotesque nitwits her parents were. Again it was a blessing she was having some time to herself. Otherwise, she’d bite their heads.

But was it truly what she wanted? Really now, would she truly bite their head off if she could?

Irene hadn’t a clue. She wouldn’t know if it came to hit her in the head somewhere. Sad truth was she despite their abuse she loved them. She was taught from a young age to worship them.

Now it hurt to actually find out they were not the type of people she had previously worshipped. The images clashed and made it very difficult for her to accept the facts and appreciate the differences.

At least, she knew she completely hated Temperance. But, Nora Methuselah, she was an enigma of the ultimate kind and Irene hoped to find out about her more.

So far, she seemed to be trustworthy. And Irene hoped she’d keep her trust safe by keeping Halona alive.

Just a glimpse of a black robe and green eyes were all she saw. Then screaming and crying and batting at the guards, a human was dragged away from the dungeons. Irene recognized the screams. “Reen—

Moss Green eyes...just like Alina…

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Irene chanted and chanted until she could no longer stand the bumping and it rocked her to a state of semi-sleep as she drifted off out of her mind.

Everything was set. Irene woke up just before she was to be dropped off at the Castle. It’s imposing black stone walls were all she could see once inside. The carriage rocked and rolled to a stop and before she knew it, Irene was dragged off forcefully from the carriage’s cage along with other girls dressed similarly to her.

They were all lined up in the courtyard and held correct positions as the slave master of the castle inspected them for any injuries or deformities. Irene held her eyes low as her mind growled.

It was this scrutiny she had been a victim of since a very young age. She remembered the times her neighbors and friends scrutinized her for her looks and her meek nature.

She might have been meek but no way was she ever not bold at the times that counted. She was still thinking of their faces when a leather baton touched her chin and lifted her gaze to meet icy grey eyes of the slave master.

“You’re a rare one. Old magus blood, I presume.”

Irene felt disgust creep into her soul as every tendril in her body wanted to smite this man’s crooked grin off his face. She wasn’t sure how long she had to look until the man finally backed away and started to talk with some other black cloaked individuals.

All the while, Irene felt her skin crawl as magic thrummed in her veins waiting to be released.

Calm down…it’s nothing…magic doesn’t exist…only God can use magic to transport us to the valley of Death in Hel…

Irene chided herself as she observed from bated lashes the slave master coming up towards her eagerly with a slight grin in his face.

“Come with me, slave.”

He bunched her hair behind her head with one hand and practically dragged her from the courtyard. It hurt and Irene could taste bile in her mouth. Nothing was going to make her forget these experiences.

The man dragged her up towards a black iron door which opened to a stairwell. He dragged her body with excess force as Irene stumbled through the steps. It was painful to resist and for Irene’s case why would she want to resist.

After all, she had come for this treatment. After all, her father had sent her for this treatment. Typical Temperance Methuselah with his humiliations of her caste and societal life.

Irene went along without a word as the man slowly dragged her up towards a small attic where he finally released her and closed the door. Irene’s breath caught in her throat as tears of anger coursed through her cheeks.

The man removed his black cloak and revealed his grey worn out tunic. Irene was just about ready to spring to action when he came closer to her and slapped her face sending her falling on the floor.

“Did I hurt you, my sweet?”

His voice was sugary as Irene tasted rusty blood in her mouth. She kept her gaze low while trying to stand up but the slave master beat her to it. Irene shrieked as he pulled on her hair tight and tears of humiliation poured out of her eyes.

“See here, princess, I will not stand any disobedience. You are to never look up at anyone unless you are told to. Got it?”

Irene whimpered.

“Got it?!” he shouted as Irene felt fear and humiliation course through her soul. Irene nodded and he threw her to the ground as she tried to scramble away from his touch. His hands were greasy and his touch sent shivers of unpleasantness through her as she tried desperately to forget how it felt to be close to him.

“Get up.” His voice boomed as Irene slowed her breathing and managed to stand despite the pain in her jawline and her torn up lip. She stood in front of him and lowered her gaze completely as his eyes inspected her stance. Slouched, meek, and humble were the things which she wanted to project and she hoped she had done a good job unless he—

“You smell nice,” His hands crawled through her neck snaking into her hair as he put his mouth to her ears. Irene felt magic flare up inside her as God tried to provide her power for defense.

She was sure he would try to take advantage of her but she knew well he would never succeed. So what if he tried to cop a feel? She’d break his neck the next time he would come near her.

Sad truth, none of it was true. Nothing she said or wanted to do were true. She was—delusional as Nana would call it—

His mouth trailed down to her exposed pulse and she felt wetness as he licked it. Her breathing stopped as fear gripped her and magic started to pulse through her veins. Any closer and—

“Hey! Is she ready yet?”

As if lightning had struck, the slave master receded from her as Irene gasped. She did not look up to see who it was but thanked God profusely in her mind and spoke divine word thanks to him in a whisper as the slave master left her alone and went outside to greet with whomever it was.

In a bit, he came inside and handed her some clothes as she stared at them with a meek stance, he huffed out a command for her to change and left the room.

Irene breathed out a sigh of relief as her hands fumbled with the clothes. She quickly saw what the clothes were. A palazzo pant, a tight top exposing her neckline somewhat and a cloak with a blazing green fire brooch, the insignia of the royals; Irene decided to not wait a second and put them on as quickly as she could.

She felt safe in them because they were black and concealed her voluptuous curves quite nicely while maintaining a sophisticated edge. A thought struck her then; she would never receive such pristine clothing unless she was—

“Come out, you bitch!”

The crude words woke her from her musings as Irene meekly followed outside after the slave master deliberately opened the door and put his slimy hand on her back. If she was not here for a false pretense she’d definitely break the man’s skull with her hands; but she only walked silently.

Three days…three freaking days had gone by and no sign of the King. What had her life come to? She was supposed to kill him three days ago.

Not that she wanted to or anything but still. She was supposed to do it. Otherwise…

Not thinking.

Irene focused on peeling the potatoes smoothly. In the past three days, her hands had done nothing but slice potatoes. Potatoes here…peelies there…nothing in the world was anything if it hadn’t some potato in it.

Hell, even her eyes were looking like potatoes now which was not funny. What the heck? Why was she always peeling potatoes?

At least she wasn’t being forced to sleep with the King…

Other girls would take it as good luck. But not her; after all, she was here to kill the miserable bastard, no offense.

Irene looked at the murky water and saw her face. The obsidian eyes were looking rather wishy washy today. She was desperate, dammit!

“Lunch time!”

The bell rang throughout the servant’s quarters and the kitchens as she dropped the peeled potato into the murky depths and went ahead to the depths of Hel which was the servant’s quarters.

The food was abominable as always…the monotony was catching up with Irene fairly quickly…

She filled her bowl with barely cooked rye soup and last week’s potatoes. Her nose didn’t even take notice of the god awful smell. She just chugged it in like it was her lifeline and then moved on.

“Have you heard the King’s server has just died!”

Irene’s ears perked up as she concealed herself immediately. The maids were pressing the King’s laundry. Irene spoke divine words to quickly enhance her senses and went near to better learn the conversation. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Yeah, she died just today.”

“Who will serve the King tonight then?”

“The King refuses to eat anything.”

Uh-huh

Irene couldn’t help her curiosity but it seemed everything was going south quickly.

Or North…One never argued with fate or God’s will…

She shrugged and moved along and again lost herself into the depths of the murky waters while peeling potatoes. Her hands worked on endlessly as she thought of the entire situation.

The King refuses to eat anything.

“You!”

Jumping out of her skin, Irene barely stopped her scream and stood up with her eyes dilating at the presence of the slave master. She immediately lowered her gaze and gave a small curtsy as the slave master’s oily hands grabbed onto her hair and pulled her into the hallway.

Irene said nothing as she suffered in silence and dragged her barely there consciousness to follow through with the situation. Dragged into the open like a mutt…

Musings aside, Irene was barely able to contain her raging magic while she observed she was being dragged towards a grand room and then was flung inside like trash.

Don’t burst. Don’t burst.

Breathing slowly, Irene gracefully stood up from her position and then a violent raging crash along with curses made her flinch.

“What have you done? Why have you brought this filthy—

“She isn’t filthy. It’s her coloring, Aunt.”

Irene was fearful of looking up. She had no wish to make a quarrel but if it broke out she knew what she’d do.

Break her neck and stab the slave master’s eyes.

It almost brought a smile to her face as she listened in on aunt and nephew bickering like children. It was fascinating to see the dynamic between them despite her willingness to be anywhere away from them.

“So, you’re telling me, you bonehead, found this Ancient magus blooded bitch and have never informed me about it?”

Any higher and her voice would crack glass. The slobbering slave master’s stuttering made Irene grin per reflex and it was odd to suddenly feel liberated by this old hag of a woman.

“Y—yes Aunt.”

“Well, good then. Off you go!” She dismissed him like a schoolchild before turning towards Irene in full form. The slave master grumbled and then was on his way out with a bang. As the door closed behind him Irene felt herself relax inside and then there it was.

“Look up, bitch.”

Her words were crude but Irene obeyed despite her disgust. Nothing made her falter anymore and it was surprising how quickly she had taken to behaving like a powerful entity of sorts.

“Well, you certainly are magus blood.”

Her voice was slithering and slobbering like a snake. Irene flinched inside but outside she remained strong as stone. The woman looked her up and down and then circled her. The whole time Irene felt her heart throbbed like it would burst anytime.

Finally, the woman stood before her and stopped to bore her gaze into hers.

“Here’s the thing. You have to clean up after the King, serve him, please him, and do anything for him forever from now.”

Irene returned the gaze unflinchingly as her insides riled up like crazy. It was gnawing her down and was it not for the sinister curve of smile lighting up the woman’s face Irene would’ve thought she was going to die.

“You’ll do.”

It was yet another day of monotony. Irene was just about to go to bed after the back breaking work of following the King around and carrying his stuff and serving him amongst other things when she found it.

“I must be seeing things.”

No you’re not.

She denied it but her body followed instinct and slowly crouched on the floor to pick the small wrinkled but freshly cut piece of a digit. It had a small dot at the tip and before anything Irene’s hand went to cover her mouth.

Halona.

The tears were relentless as she wiped at them with aggressive hands. “No. No. No. No…”

There was no denying it.

Reen.

Halona’s screams resonated within Irene as she stared blankly up at the small pigeon’s hole to meet beady eyes and a caw. A small note was on the pillow.

Irene picked it up mutely as her hands fumbled with it to finally meet the inscriptions.

Get it done or she dies.

Skin crawling Irene felt she shuddered as another rush of tears came in with waves of despair. There was no choice. There was no choice but to do it.

Irene stared at the note. As her tears fell, the characters flooded and before she knew it her hands crumbled the note before she took off of her quarters and crept slowly towards the end of the hall and into the Royal Chambers.

She was after all the Royal servant thus no one stopped her when she went inside and slowly crept into the room. The door held the same two swords it always held. Her hands took one down in one hand while she fisted the digit of her sister on the other.

No choice.

She slowly crept towards the bedroom and saw the sleeping King…his eyes closed in sleep…silent…peaceful…

No choice.

Irene held her breath and inched closer, her blade raised.

No choice.

She closed her eyes and her blade swung forth.

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