Chapter 9: A Lively Art

The quill in Chief Conor's hand trembled on the paper as if divining something imminent that would be disastrous enough. "Here is your oath sentence. Sign it." He delivered the page to Celeste and to his wonder, the girl didn't even flinch once meeting his metallic gaze. In case, she didn't know, she should know that a Prince breaking a crucial rule of a kingdom wouldn't cost her anything less.

Reluctant, Celeste gazed down the bold letters on the off-white texture. There were sentences she couldn't read or even guess. Recognizing some alphabets and words didn't encourage her to persist as it would take a few days or perhaps a week for her to comprehend the whole thing.

Illiteracy hit her in the hardest and harshest way even after believing... it was not a child's fault if she or he lacks anything. It's the parents who are at fault to leave their children in nothingness and offer only agony when they should be living at their fullest.

"I can help if it's THAT hard." Tristan voiced catching the sight of her sweaty hand that was almost moistening the thick paper.

"I am just a trainee, not finalized yet. Is it THAT necessary and worthy of your help?" asked Celeste. A dumb question.

Holding her fearless eyes in his, he nodded. "Soon enough, it will be necessary and totally worthy of my help. Hence, ask for my help if it's required to sign the paper."

"It's not." She refused to accept any help which would become a strong weapon against her later. "Since I still believe I am brave and take this courage, only I can help myself.. not anyone else."

He looked away, eyes darkening. "Well then."

Conor slid a quill in her direction. After sinking it in the inkwell, Celeste lay the paper on the desk and he confirmed the spot to be signed. She derided herself as she held the quill there and her hands began shaking while she wrote the first alphabet. Thanks to Riggs and Amelia who educated her to sign besides the list of limited words, for whom she was able to sign the damn paper.

"Shall we, lady?" Conor rose but at Tristan's calmest hiss, his eyes dilated. "Woah, should I congratulate you? Because it seems like, our Prince will be your trainer."

Awe ate at Celeste as she noticed Tristan's lips quirked up in a subtle sneer. "Seal on that."

Conor thrust his thumb into the blade of the quill cutter and it immediately started bleeding. Celeste gasped when he pressed that thumb on his lips and painted them with blood. "Sealed, Milord." Then he flexed the thumb, unharmed, and smirked as if it didn't bleed while the blood streamed down his lower lip to the chin.

What the heck was that! Celeste's mind shrieked, however, she was just too shocked to utter those words until her awe was pulled out by Tristan's voice.

"Let's go." He held her wrist and dragged her out of the cabin. It was the second time he had touched her, and it was still cold–so cold she shivered.

Inside the room they entered together were silver flakes, weapons, woods, mirrors, blood everywhere on the walls and floor with fire pits at corners. The dull smoke was spreading a spooky incense in every niche. Three domestic servants who were fastening ropes around a beast on the torture rack turned around and bent their heads, honoring the Prince.

The beast... on the rack stiffened Celeste on the place. It was bruised, bleeding, and looked dangerous with its nasty teeth, piercing eyes. Red eyes! Her heart throbbed fast. Those were the eyes she encountered in the hallway earlier.

"This..." Her throat closed.

"Milord! This faerie was penalized in the last full moon... while changing its form." The assistant warden who stood beside a trainee spoke.

Tristan felt the hand he was holding onto had been trembling. "You lied." Exhaling sharply, he mumbled and abandoned her hand. "You said you are brave."

She met his icy stare and breathed hard. Holy hell. Anyone would be stunned by such an amazing view. This guy was so.. goddamned hot. But no, she shouldn't think about it... not now. Shaking her head, she snapped. "What I saw a while ago..."

"Was this faerie's eyes?" He asked and as she nodded, he continued. "That was your eyes, betraying you. Don't believe what you always see and hear. It was just an illusion a while ago."

She couldn't solely assimilate his words. "But.. you saw it too." The next moment, she noticed the servants lunged away and two trainees with sharp swords who were waiting behind them took the position.

A whistle and they threw the blades onto those two tied wings of the fae. Blood dripped everywhere as the faerie cried out loud. Torture–people here would call it trivial torture.

When Tristan stumbled out of the room, Celeste followed him without having her eyes parted from that bedeviled fae until the door was closed. While they walked into the hallway, Tristan folded the sleeves of his coat. "Skills?" His cold voice seemed scantily soft echoing against the walls.

Celeste met his pace and flexed her fingers one by one as she let out. "Hunting, archery, karate, horse riding and I am good with swords too."

His steps halted and his lips parted. He tilted his head to her side in surprise to note if she was really being sincere. A woman with various skills was something foreign to him. Probably because he was not in touch with many or perhaps she was the only one.

"Let's start it with swords."

Outside the dungeon, Tristan told two maids to escort and prepare Celeste in the swordroom of the Windslor Castle which required a five-minute walk to its main door on the first floor.

"Someone is very busy."

Hearing upon the familiar voice, he turned around and encountered his little brother, reaching him holding two goblets in his hand.

"Your brother is a responsible person." Tristan retorted as he grabbed a goblet that Trevor offered.

Trevor smirked. "Indeed. Was it the new trainee?" His brother nodded and his smirk broadened. "She is a bit tacky but fine."

"Well. Is she?" Tristan took a sip of the wine and looked over his own shoulder taking a glimpse of the woman he met last night. All the time, she was looking around for her best friend, Amelia who was invited to the dining room of the castle. Celeste didn't have a single clue, yet was confidently rummaging which played a sneer across his lips.

Tristan continued staring. How could someone be so confident about herself?

Those messy hair tied in a ponytail, that tight vintage corset of hers, and the way she walked so fearlessly were nothing less than a lively art.

It was her–a woman who indisputably would be worth his time. Even if it feels hard sometimes, he will make sure that it's only her.