The Sixth

Darlin watches the study’s door shut with a click. She draws a shuddered breath, feeling something encroach from the back of her mind. It’s strange and familiar, unwanted as it is inevitable. Her eyes press shut in an attempt to force it back, but when she reopens them, Darlin finds herself standing before a vase of blue irises.

Fear drops her heart into her stomach. Her sharp and short breaths are poured into a shrill, “NO!” as she crumples to her knees before the flowers. 

Darlin drags her nails over her scalp as if wanting to include her hands in the search for the gap in her memory. “…No… no, no, no…!” There’s nothing. 

As bizarre as a day with no sun, or a house without floors, there is no recollection of the time between Flora’s exit, and now.

A single drop splatters on the floor, then another, and another. Strength and will drain from Darlin’s bones with every tear until she’s left laying on the floor. “Why… No, no, no, no, no, no! I d-don’t… I-I ruined everything…!”

The last time such a lapse overcame her, she got her hands on the aphrodisiac that drove Heinrich slay her in their matrimonial bed.

Such was the case when she poisoned the wine in her fifth life. 

Darlin chews her bottom lip raw, unable to fathom how one’s own mind can betray them so. “It’s over…” There’s no telling what she’s gone and done this time. “N-no… it c-c-can’t… not… not yet. …It’s over…?” A lifeless chuckle falls past her lips as she mourns, There’s always next time. 

It is the same tragic story of her existence— so much toiling and not a single fruit.

Darlin is broken, just intact enough to contain her vilest of natures, but under pressure her fissures widen. Something evil crawls out.

No doubt someone will come to discipline her— maybe even arrest her? Should I kill myself?

There’s a knock on the door and Darlin finds this odd. Do officers normally knock when coming to make an arrest? 

“My Lady, it’s Collette.”

When no answer comes, Collette knocks again. That’s weird. Other servants said they saw Darlin headed for her room.

Is she sleeping? “…No way.” Darlin doesn’t take midday naps. That busy little bee is at work from the moment she wakes to the second she rests. 

Collette knocks a few more times, harder each time she goes unanswered. Seeing no other choice, she lets herself in with a, “Pardon me.”

Her eyes trace left and right before finding the unexpected sight of Darlin curled up on the floor.

“My Lady!” Collette runs over, but before she can lift Darlin into her arms, she grabs Collette by the shoulders.

“You!” Darlin’s eyes are crazed with excitement. They dart all over the maid’s face, lips curling up in a rush of glee. “I-I almost forgot… I- I still… I have you!”

Darlin’s mind instantly gets to work spinning instructions for Collette, but when she opens her mouth, a sad hiccup comes out. 

The knot in her head melts away, and her body would not stop shaking. The only stable thought she could hold onto was amazement towards such oscillating relief.  

Collette blinks till the shock eases away. She had barely left her wits end when Darlin slumps against her, tethering between disjointed laughter and whimpers. 

She’s not sane. Collette realizes as she looks down at Darlin’s quivering body. She could barely recognize the perfect noblewoman she’s known up until this moment 

Her hands are hesitant, and when they did embrace Darlin, it’s a hug full of awkwardness.

Collette only becomes more lost when Darlin goes dead silent and stiff as a board. 

Scrambling for a way forward, Collette blabbers, “U-Umm, H-His Highness sent you another letter…”

“His… Highness…” Darlin’s scratchy voice had just a tinge of questioning. 

Mention of Ludovik is enough to trigger her into pushing away from Collette.

There was no stiffness or vulnerability as Darlin gracefully stands straight and smooths stray strands off her face. The only evidence of her earlier weakness are the tear streaks under her eyes, and her unhealthily pale complexion.

The sight leaves the maid discomforted. Is that normal? Ludovik, her master, is a man true to his emotions and wholly justified in them as he is someone with the capability to get whatever he wants. 

In fact, isn’t everyone true to themselves? 

Having once been a noble herself, Collette is used to seeing emotions sheltered under smiles and compliments, but Darlin’s is no mere sheltering. 

She is perfect, blindingly so, and yet Collette could not help thinking Darlin is choking behind her own mask. 

“Would you run a bath for me?” Darlin asks.

Collette wordlessly obeys, her movements robotic as she fills the tub and lays out cosmetics. It took a little longer as she kept stealing glances at Darlin. 

What a strange woman. Collette wished she’d hugged her for a little longer. 

Darlin expected a quick wash not an entire soak, but as her body sinks under the steaming water and Collette tends to her white locks, she realizes this is exactly what she needs. What a competent maid…

Hearing her low moan, Collette puffs out her chest. “Comfortable?”

“Yes… If I knew it would feel this good, I would have done it earlier…”

Darlin’s eyes flutter shut until something tickles the place between her breasts. “Lady’s mantle?” She hadn’t noticed her bath was full of them, nor the grassy aroma they fill her bathroom with. 

“They are from His Highness.” Collette beamingly informs her, “In Glodia they are a staple for potpourri.”

Darlin doubts Ludovik sent them to her as a mere souvenir, no matter how much she may or may not want that to be the case.

Her slim fingers play over the water’s surface. Prince Ludovik… He rattles her. Why does he do it? Why does she let him? 

Does he do it deliberately? Does Ludovik take pleasure in knowing she pours over his letters and that the lines stalk her through her days?

He has no way of knowing this, obviously, still Darlin fishes for reason to face him with her heart girded. I’m supposed to be manipulating him! She glares at her reflection in the mirror until something blue catches her eyes. Unconsciously, her frown relaxes.

More and more, Darlin fears facing Ludovik. In spite of, she finds it isn’t a totally adverse sort of fear. 

With Collette’s dexterous aid, Darlin is fitted into a nightgown and tucked into bed. “Do you need anything else, my Lady? How about some tea?” 

Darlin rejects the offer with a shake of her head. She isn’t so shameless as to ask more of someone who’s put up with her craziness, then carefully tended to her. “Maybe later. You should go rest now.” Collette even saw the wounds on her stomach and professionally controlled her expression. Darlin was extremely grateful. 

Collette places the letter on Darlin’s bedside and makes her exit.

The fog in Darlin’s mind had thinned, but her previous wails did leave a headache as a parting gift.

Her predicament be damned, the gears in her mind start spinning again, thoughts slinking back in. 

The time between Flora’s exit and Darlin arriving at her room was too short time for Darlin to do anything too heinous without drawing attention. At the very least, she acts with some discretion even when she isn’t in total control of herself. 

Also, just as Collette interfered when Darlin was confined, she wouldn’t have been so calm if Darlin were in any danger. 

Finally, Darlin breathes easy… somewhat. There is still the matter of Ludovik’s letter, which she is aware she is trying to avoid. The thought of it made the ache worse, but Darlin suspected her thoughts will remain heavy until she reads it. 

~

To my Lady, Darlin Rayne,

Have you been well? Did you like the lady’s mantles? The state of Glodia is beautiful and so overrun with them you can smell the fragrance with every breath. 

I intended to send you fresh ones, but preserving them until the point of delivery is too conspicuous and so I hope you’ll find contentment with dried ones.

I’m indebted to you for the information you provided. By the time you’re reading this, I will have seized the home of Count Robledo, though no one will hear of it until it’s too late.

Can you imagine the uproar it will cause when I return with the Count and his family as my prisoners?

The ledger was exactly where you said it would be and is now safely in my possession. If you’ve been anxious I hope this knowledge will help put your mind at ease.

By the way, I realize I’ve sent you flowers twice now but neglected to ask what your favorite is.

I hope to learn more about you when we finally meet. Are you as anxious as I am?

Excitedly yours,

Ludovik Von Taivaria

~

That’s all it takes to draw a blissful sigh out of Darlin. 

She reads the letter over with a giggle. He seemed so boyish when he asked about the flowers. How could he be certain she liked the smell of lady’s mantle? “What if I were allergic?” Darlin chuckles aloud. 

Would Ludovik stammer and sputter apologies if his gift were ill received? What a sight that would be.

“Are you as anxious as I am?” Probably even more.

Darlin had at least seen him a handful of times through her lifetimes, but knows next to nothing about Ludovik Von Taivaria, and his letters make him all the more puzzling.

When the Isle of Yalia, long time Vassal Kingdom of Taivaria, was invaded and seized by the Zuthast Kingdom, Prince Ludovik volunteered for battle at the young age of thirteen.

What people expected to be an empty show of bravery by the Emperor’s illegitimate son turned into the legend of the Empire’s greatest warrior.

At fourteen, Ludovik shot an arrow between the eyes of the Zuthast General and slit the Deputy’s throat.

At seventeen he assumed control of the Taivarian army when an injury put the original General into a coma. 

The very next year Ludovik decimated the Zuthast army, executed their Crown Prince in front of the survivors, and sent them back with the Prince’s head.

And year after that he led an army into Zuthast and slew their royal family and nobility, forcing them into the role of a Vassal Kingdom to avoid being completely removed from the world map. 

Ludovik’s nickname is “Ares”— The Wrath.

Yet he chose to stay in a small place like Yalia, pretending to fend off Zuthast insurgents. Darlin, nor anyone for that matter, understood Ludovik’s reasoning.

Had Ludovik returned after his conquests, he would have been the center of Taivaria, easily ascending to the role of Crown Prince. 

In staying away, the heat around Ludovik’s accomplishments died down, and Prince Lionel went about building his forces. If not for Princess Astoria, Prince Lionel would be the Crown Prince by now.

Ludovik did, however, return once a year to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday. 

When she closes her eyes, Darlin can effortlessly recall his visage. 

Ludovik stands head and shoulders above everyone around him and sports a broad build. His physique is intimidating, and at the same time his unforgettable handsomeness and confident bearing are a lure. 

Darlin recalls his skin being the color of dark coffee, just like the Emperor’s, hair an untamable mane of shoulder length, obsidian curls. His eyes are a cruelly seductive silver. 

Well, reading his letter, one would never think of him as an almighty warlord.

Ludovik is quite honest. He informs her of his movements but also writes whatever comes to mind with no implicitness. His words are a splatter of his emotions, creating a charm that’s hard to resist.

A mild scent wafts up to Darlin’s nose, and when she leans close to confirm the aroma, she winds up laughing till tears come to her eyes. 

Of course the letter is scented with lady’s mantle! He must be so proud of himself. She imagines. How cute of the warlord, does the feared Ares have other traits just as endearing?

His confidence has no issues, of that she is certain. His two letters contain lines like; “if you are reading this” and “by the time you’re reading this” as if he wants to show off how nothing is outside the realm of his machinations. 

It should be worth no more than an eye roll, but Darlin unknowingly smiles ear to ear.

She snuggles under her covers, laying on her side to read Ludovik’s letter like a story book until she drifts into a dreamless sleep were nothing but the mild, grassy smell of lady’s mantle can reach her. 

*****

On the other hand, Count Louis Robledo squirms in his sleep.

Even in his dreams that fateful day plays graphically in his mind.

They came over the horizon, completely conspicuous in their black cloaks but not seeming to give a damn. 

Louis so happened to be at the city gates for an inspection when he saw the horizon bleed black over the lands.

His instincts screamed and before he knew it, Louis was yelling orders at the soldiers to take a defensive stance— around the walls with swords and shields, and atop them wielding crossbows. 

It had to be done, and he couldn’t explain why for the life of him. 

The man who lead them was shrouded in a violet cloak pinned with a black pearl. He raised his hand and the army behind him halts not a second later. Their demeanor did not give off any regard for Louis’ soldiers, but for their commander alone.

One of the soldiers alighted his horse and went on bended knee to receive something the commander took out from underneath his cloak, then strode forth and held it up to the city walls.

Through the telescope, Louis observed a golden token of a dragon clutching lightening bolts in one claw, its long tail ensnaring the sun, and immediately began screaming new orders;

“LOWER YOUR WEAPONS! LOWER YOUR WEAPONS, YOU FOOLS! AND OPEN THOSE GATES!”

Louis snagged the nearest horse and rode out with one thought, whoever commands such a large battalion and wields an imperial seal is certainly worth an acquaintanceship. Let’s see those bastard Fritzs look down on me now! 

Yet, it wasn’t the soldiers’ crossed spears that stopped Louis from approaching.

The air around the army’s commander seemed to burn with energy. Though his eyes were covered, Louis could feel a gaze so sharp and cold it might as well be a frozen knife digging into his bones. 

The fibers of Louis’ being quivered, and when the stranger said, “We require lodging.” he knew he wasn’t being requested.

In his dreams, the nobleman sees shadows bouncing off bloodied walls, hears blades slicing through air, only for the sound to turn gross and squelchy, intermingled with a scream, a plea for mercy. 

Phantom burns pattern his skin, a reminder of the ropes that bound him and his family during the massacre. 

Their subjugation was mercy of the most sadistic kind. Were they free, would they even have the presence of mind to run? And if they did, would escape be possible? 

When every person in the room was downed, a soldier stood straight and barked, “ATTENTION!”

The others quickly fell into position, facing each another in two, perfect lines on either side of the parlor’s doors.

Not a moment after, the man in violet sends the doors flying with a kick. 

This time, his face was revealed, one so handsome the entire Robledo family momentarily forgot what sort of situation they were in. 

His bright, silver eyes glided left and right, lips drawing into a feral grin. “What fun you’ve all had.”

When his eyes fell on Louis, the Count’s shaking started anew. Monster! He could barely breathe, finding more death and suffering in the man’s eyes than the one in his home. 

Whatever pleadings Louis wanted to give were lost, any hope to strike a deal crushed under the man’s heels as he approached Louis and took a seat placed down by one of the soldiers.

“I don’t know you, and I don’t care to know the name of weaklings.” He started, “Still, I will endue you for a final time with my identity. I am Ludovik Von Taivaria.”

Louis shot up with a wail.

He swallowed gulps of stale air until his heart no longer felt like it would burst, then dragged his right hand down his face while reaching for the service bell with the left.

Something felt off, and after his memories set in Louis let out a most wretched cry. 

He’d lost all his servants the same way he lost his right hand.

Louis’ scream did not escape the confines of the underground dungeon, which Ludovik thought fortunate for the trafficker while watching the freed slaves gorge themselves on the Count’s food.

They’d probably devour him and his offsprings if I allowed it. They didn’t even care about the blood on the floor and walls, more concerned with filling their stomachs. 

Ludovik tried to occupy himself with reading the ledger, but that only held his attention for the time it took him to breeze through the pages. Two minutes.

With that he now has every name, signature, and amount recorded, and even begins planning what steps will benefit Darlin the most when his eyes pin a young girl in place.

The girl, who’d been reaching to tug his sleeve, freezes. She looks ready to run, yet bravely raises her skinny arms to offer a loaf of bread.

Ludovik looks between the bread and the child. Such an offering would enrage him should it come from anyone but a child— “Is that supposed to be for me?”

The other slaves stop eating in favor of observing how the famed warlord will react.

The girl bobs her head and Ludovik scoffs. “Pathetic.” He withholds his strength before flicking her forehead. “You dare to proffer me when you are barely the size of a boar, child? Away with you.”

Even though he sent her away, the one who leaves the room is Ludovik.

The newly freed slaves thought he was showing a roundabout concern for the child and their thoughts of him became of gratitude, admiration, worship

“Blaise,”

The Knights who followed Ludovik out flinch when a slender man in a white fox mask strolls between them and makes his way to Ludovik’s side. 

He bows. “Your orders?”

“Find and secure.”

Blaise receives the ledger with a nod. “As you wish.”

The moment he turns a corner, the Knights no longer feel his presence. 

“Rafa,”

A Knight with a garish scar spanning diagonally down his nose to the corner of his lips steps out from the rest. “At your command, Your Highness.”

“Separate the slaves— men, women, children. I also want to know who are criminals, foreigners, or kidnapped.”

“Understood.” Rafa bows. He returns to the dining room, while the Prince heads down to the dungeons with the ones remaining in his escort.

The once enchanted gate pathetically hangs off a hinge, as it’s been since Ludovik tore it off its frame. 

The air is grimy and all sorts of foul, making Ludovik despise Louis for having him step foot on such tarnished ground.

“Your Highness! Please, great and undefeated hero of Taivaria, have mercy!” Countess Katrina Robledo throws herself against the bars of the cell.

Ludovik smirks. “You would sell your own kind then beg to save your life?”

Katrina’s tears pour like a broken dam, but Ludovik sees it wasn’t out of regret or shame, just the fear of repercussions.

“I… I was blinded! Forgive me, please!” Ah, how she wished she could have a go at Vincent Fritz, That wicked snake! his words were like honey, minimizing the risk by centering their minds on the gain. 

The profit had been good, but now Katrina wants no more than to set their treasury on fire. “Ahhh! Oh gods above, spare us…! I- I’m a mother,” she said, gesturing to her son and daughter, “please, can’t you spare me on account of that? Whatever will become of these children whose lives are ruined on account of their father’s misdeeds?”

“WHAT?” Louis snarls from this corner of the prison. “Katrina, you don’t intend to push this on me, do you?!”

The Countess only spares him a glare before returning her placating eyes to Ludovik. “Your Highness, I am but an ornament in my husband’s home. My husband’s temper is wildly known, but…” She pauses to sputter sobs and hiccups, “but no one knows how violent he turns when drunk! I chose my children’s safety over others’, but I am no criminal!”

“KATRINA, YOU WENCH!” Louis looked ready to throttle his wife with his one good hand.

Cyril Robledo shares a look with his sister before they tearfully fall into each other’s embrace.

“Our poor mother went through so much for us…!” Arlette whimpers into her brother’s shoulder.

“Though not to the extent of those you have freed, please consider we are also victims of our father’s evil and judge fairly, Your Highness!”

“Ba… BASTARDS!” Louis attacks his son with a kick to the ribs and grabs his daughter by the hair.

With a cry, Katrina throws herself into the fray to protect her children.

Ludovik watches with folded arms. …This is hardly entertaining. He does love a fight, but when the fighters squabble and smack like chickens it’s just an insult to his attention. 

Still, there is one thing that amuses him. “”Judge fairly”?”

Ludovik’s voice cut through all accusations and lies.

“Y-Yes, of course, Your Highness!” Shoving his mother off, Cyril shuffles towards Ludovik on his knees. “We have sinned in our inability to stop our father, but we are still—“

As Cyril spoke, Ludovik’s lips continued to stretch till they formed an inhuman smile that showed off his gums and unnaturally sharp teeth, but no goodnatured humor.

“”Judge fairly”.” The Prince repeats.

Cyril’s jaw was locked in a slack twitch, flowery defenses withering on his tongue.

Ludovik feasts on that expression. “I could leave you here and let you starve to death… the last time I did that… one managed to survive by cannibalizing the rest, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” A Knight answers, “He lived by rationing the bodies even after they began to decay.”

“Ah, I remember! I remember!” Ludovik cackles. “Then he died of infection!”

“Indeed. One of the prisoners he ate was diseased.”

Cyril’s throat went dry. They’re talking so casually about such a thing…? He started to hyperventilate, his sweaty hands slipping off the bars. How? How do you negotiate with something that isn’t human?

Arlette skitters into a corner and hugs her knees to her chest, while Katrina and Louis unconsciously put everything aside and hold onto each other. 

“I can set this place on fire and watch it come down on your heads.” Ludovik continues, “I can cut your limbs off and let you shuffle on all fours for the rest of your lives. I can test how many whips it takes to rend the flesh off your bones. I can—“

“Your Highness!” The Knights had been hesitating to speak, but also knew the longer their Prince speculates, the closer he comes to actualizing. “We have to return them to the capital… at least for a witness statement.”

“…Witness…” Louis shoves his wife off to bask in the thin light peeking through dark clouds. “Your Highness, let me testify! I will—!”

Arlette pushes her father aside, retelling, “The Duke of Fritz propositioned us four years ago and—!” but is interrupted when Cyril drags her down by the skirt. 

“NO! No, h-he threatened us— Yes, we had no choice!”

Katrina forces her way between Cyril and the bars. “I know where—!”

“”the ledger is”?” It was Ludovik’s turn to cut in, and he was mighty smug while watching the hope fall off the Robledos. “Poor, stupid, little things,” he cooes, “your whole life hinged on that insipid magic defense and now it’s gone…” 

The Robledos finally had nothing to say. If Ludovik really had that book in his hands, then their witness statements aren’t really necessary either, and, He knows… Sweating enough to rain on the floor, Louis falls to his knees. He knows— He knew we were involved even before he came here…

He raised his head, smiling weakly up at Ludovik’s ghastly excitement. I see… He came down here… for a laugh.