To Bewitch a Devil

171 No one should leave

Quickly, Zavian swung open the door, looking left and right. He stepped out for a bit and scanned the surroundings. No secrets had been let out during their talk. Neera was thankful for that at least, and who has a death wish to listen in on the King’s private conversation?

Zavian came back, and beckoned to Neera at the threshold with an outstretched hand, “Come, let’s go to my chambers. This place isn’t safe.”

“Was someone there?” Neera took his hand and let him lead the way to his wing.

“No. But I felt someone’s presence.”

At that, a tingle passed through Neera, enacting a shiver. Zavian felt it, and he looked her way. She saw it then, the way his eyelids were half opened, and the hand he cupped to his forehead to prevent the intensity of the lights from both the sun and the crystalline chandeliers hanging from the passageway. For a demon to get tired, especially Zavian, means days of exhaustion.

“We should get you some chamomile tea,” Neera said.

Zavian held her back. “Trust me, Neera, the minute I hit that bed, I’d be gone in a second.”

So every concern, question, and further explanation of the state of the humans were tucked away until he could get his bearing. When the doors to her chambers opened, Zavian, true to his words, collapsed with a tired sigh and his breathing soon evened out into a dreamless sleep.

….

.....

Penelope could hear the whispers trail after her, light like a wake of dust for a few days, until it stormed behind her like a tornado. It followed her, pinning on her, finding her when she thought she was safe behind doors, and that was not even the worst of it.

Turns out Phoebe had more supporters, maids clamoring to be on the good side of the gossip monger. They stood like soldiers behind Phoebe, their gazes hard, their coldness sharp. Although their fragile loyalty broke when Phoebe wasn’t around, and Penelope had often heard the mocking of their “Queen”, maids laughing after work hours of how Phoebe was nothing but all bark and no bite.

But even the most they could do was whisper. As much as Penelope had to admit, it was from the perceived thought—no, not thought — the truth that had hardened like steel, about her being a part of the train of women, Azriel found joy in bedding. So because of her “association” with the General, there was a limit to how much they could attack her.

Penelope also realized she had a newfound habit; teeth gritting. There is only so much one can ignore on a daily basis, and she made sure there was no incident that would require even more fuel to their fire of rumors. So if Azriel needed a bath, she would make sure she wasn’t one of the maids entering the room to do it. His sheets needed changing? Of course, there were other maids up to the task. The sound of Azriel’s horse signifying his return? Surely, that was of the least concern of hers.

But why did she miss him in some way? Penelope wanted to slap herself so hard some days, something harder than what she had given Phoebe.

A maid stepped into the maid chambers and paused upon seeing her. Penelope ignored her and continued folding her clothes.

“The Master wants to see us all,” the maid announced.

Penelope looked back, and the maid was already leaving before she had the chance to ask the reason why. She set her hair into a bun, twisting it and locking it into a thick roll at the nape of her neck. Apprehension locked in her stomach, and she paid it no mind as she exited and joined the others heading into the courtyard.

“I heard he wants to replace us all”, a dark-haired maid whispered to another as they skittered past her.

“Did you know Master is angry with us? I really hope we won’t be punished for it”, another maid, with palms pressed together as if in prayers, muttered to the two maids flanking her side.

Penelope tuned out the other speculations and tried to be as invisible as she could in the crowd. It was easy. They were all uniformed, and her hair color was not exactly as unique as Neera’s silver head of hair.

Neera... she missed her.

The General walked in, his subordinates in tow, and silence fell like a scythe, cutting the noise into nothingness. The General looked quite different from the man who would tease and flirt without shame, his face carved with authority, stance straight like the warrior he was. Azriel carefully looked at his workers, eyes skimming through faces until they landed on Penelope’s.

Penelope looked away.

“I know you all have certain tasks to get to, so I will make this quick,” Azriel began. Everyone waited, and he continued, “No human is allowed outside the walls of this castle, if there is an urgent need for something, inform my men here,” he flourished his hands to his subordinates, and their backs straightened, eyes cast over everyone’s head. “This is for your safety and your safety alone. A direct breach of this order will attract punishment.”

Murmurs rose and fell like tides in the ocean. A shaky raise of a hand in the crowd turned everyone’s direction to the maid — a short, reserved woman.

“May we ask why my Lord?” She voiced out after permission from the General.

“Let’s just say we don’t hope you find out,” Azriel replied.

The murmurs raised now, everyone speaking over the other. Penelope caught snippets of speculations here and there, all of which were too contrasting from the other. A hand tapped her, and it was a maid, large owl-like eyes frightened.

“I heard there is a human-eating demon out there,” the lady said. “How true is that?” she asked Pen and Pen blinked; she had not heard anything about that. She was as oblivious as everyone else.

“I… have no idea.”

“If anyone should know, wouldn’t it be you?”

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