Iris peered down at the pitiful sight of her father and three estranged stepbrothers, all clad in garish attire that made them stick out like sore thumbs. Only her step-sister, Margaret, appeared to have adapted to the life of luxury, her apparel markedly improved. A message came from the king and queen, delivered by her trembling viscount father, prompting the five of them to bow in unison. Though Iris sensed a weighty issue was afoot, she masked her emotions and silently acknowledged their obeisance.
As her father profusely thanked Sidrain for the lavish estate in the capital, Iris tuned out his words, the sound of his voice passing through one ear and out the other. It was a peculiar sensation, observing the man who once flew into a rage and subjected her to abuse now cower and grovel before Sidrain. It was as if she had discovered the magic formula she had so fervently clung to was flawed from the outset. He was not strong, nor did he possess the capability to harm her. He was simply old, and she was young, nothing more.
“My queen,” Sidrain addressed Iris, motioning for her to share her thoughts. With his hand resting on the armrest of her chair, he leaned in, whispering into her ear.
“Come on,” he urged, his intentions lost on her.
Iris was unable to discern what he wanted to convey. She raised her head, peering at him with icy blue eyes, her aura oozing with anger. Catching her expression, Sidrain could not help but smile. He preferred her ire over her silence any day.
Even from a distance, Sidrain sensed the penetrating gazes of Portwall and Mutarion trained upon him. As he looked up, both of them simultaneously shook their heads, conveying the message, “You must cease, Your Majesty.” The loyal support of Portwall and Mutarion never wavered, as they wholeheartedly supported Sidrain’s love. They knew that his happiness depended on the fulfillment of that love.
With their arms crossed, two men who had recently concluded a physical confrontation observed their brother embroiled in a love war. Regardless of their age or social standing, individuals in love were an enigmatic bunch, and their peculiar behavior was often confounding.
“Doing it like a fucking retard like that won’t work,” Portwall muttered, while Mutarion spat, “Why the fuck is he being such a little bitch?”
“All men are cunts in the end. That’s just how it is,” Portwall said.
Although Portwall and Mutarion shook their heads in disapproval, Sidrain remained undeterred. He longed for Iris to unleash her emotions and vent her fury on him.
You only give your trust to Elaine? Fine, then give me your anger, he thought,
The lovestruck man was beyond repair.
Sidrain cast a gentle gaze at Iris and inquired, “Are you not coming today?” With a profound debt to repay to the spirits, Iris rose from her seat. She had nothing to say to her father and step-siblings, who were never her family but rather her former owners. Angered by Sidrain’s mention of their broken connection, Iris spun around and laughed.
“No, I’m not,” Iris retorted before striding towards the door leading to the queen’s chambers. The onlookers in the hallway gaped in astonishment at her behavior. The king was an absolute ruler, and such blatant disrespect from the queen was unheard of. They anticipated the king roughly seizing her arm in front of the crowd, demanding an apology for her insolence. They even envisioned the queen humbly kneeling in contrition. Their apprehension mounted as they considered the possibility of Rosemary, the madwoman who previously scorned the king, returning to her impertinent ways.
Their expectations shattered when the king’s response was completely different from what they had anticipated. Despite being left behind, the king didn’t show any anger or frustration. Instead, he seemed to be concerned about the queen’s well-being and followed her to placate her. The onlookers were left with stunned expressions as they watched the closed door.
“Iris,” Sidrain said, surprise evident in his voice as he grabbed her arm. He held on tightly, but with care, knowing that she was upset and might lash out.
Despite his caution, Iris’s demeanor was fierce, and she seemed ready to break his arm without a second thought. She was truly angry.
“Are you angry, Iris?” Sidrene asked tentatively, his lips dry.
“Does it look like it?” she snapped back, her eyes blazing. This was no joking matter – Iris was genuinely livid.
“Iris, I need to talk to you,” Sidrain said, his voice trailing behind her.
“I’m not going to listen,” she said firmly, quickening her pace.
Despite her heels, she was determined to put some distance between her and Sidrain. She knew he was following her, but she refused to turn around.
“Iris.”
“What do you want me to say to those people?”
Iris’s eyes blazed with anger, causing Sidrain to hesitate. He couldn’t help but think that she looked both pretty and scary all at once. As he looked down at her, he couldn’t believe his own thoughts. How could he, the Dragon Killer and king of a nation, be scared of this small woman who could fit in his palm?
“What do you think you know about me and my family?” Iris asked.
Iris’s question left Sidrain momentarily speechless. She had a valid point. How could he, an outsider, evaluate the truth of the words Iris had written in her heart? He wasn’t Iris, and he couldn’t fully understand the turmoil she must have been feeling.
Iris looked up at him, her blue eyes piercing. She bit her lip, clearly still agitated.
“I don’t know what Sid would say if he were in my shoes,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “But those words aren’t my truth. They’re words you want to say, not mine.”
Iris peered down at the pitiful sight of her father and three estranged stepbrothers, all clad in garish attire that made them stick out like sore thumbs. Only her step-sister, Margaret, appeared to have adapted to the life of luxury, her apparel markedly improved. A message came from the king and queen, delivered by her trembling viscount father, prompting the five of them to bow in unison. Though Iris sensed a weighty issue was afoot, she masked her emotions and silently acknowledged their obeisance.
As her father profusely thanked Sidrain for the lavish estate in the capital, Iris tuned out his words, the sound of his voice passing through one ear and out the other. It was a peculiar sensation, observing the man who once flew into a rage and subjected her to abuse now cower and grovel before Sidrain. It was as if she had discovered the magic formula she had so fervently clung to was flawed from the outset. He was not strong, nor did he possess the capability to harm her. He was simply old, and she was young, nothing more.
“My queen,” Sidrain addressed Iris, motioning for her to share her thoughts. With his hand resting on the armrest of her chair, he leaned in, whispering into her ear.
“Come on,” he urged, his intentions lost on her.
Iris was unable to discern what he wanted to convey. She raised her head, peering at him with icy blue eyes, her aura oozing with anger. Catching her expression, Sidrain could not help but smile. He preferred her ire over her silence any day.
Even from a distance, Sidrain sensed the penetrating gazes of Portwall and Mutarion trained upon him. As he looked up, both of them simultaneously shook their heads, conveying the message, “You must cease, Your Majesty.” The loyal support of Portwall and Mutarion never wavered, as they wholeheartedly supported Sidrain’s love. They knew that his happiness depended on the fulfillment of that love.
With their arms crossed, two men who had recently concluded a physical confrontation observed their brother embroiled in a love war. Regardless of their age or social standing, individuals in love were an enigmatic bunch, and their peculiar behavior was often confounding.
“Doing it like a fucking retard like that won’t work,” Portwall muttered, while Mutarion spat, “Why the fuck is he being such a little bitch?”
“All men are cunts in the end. That’s just how it is,” Portwall said.
Although Portwall and Mutarion shook their heads in disapproval, Sidrain remained undeterred. He longed for Iris to unleash her emotions and vent her fury on him.
You only give your trust to Elaine? Fine, then give me your anger, he thought,
The lovestruck man was beyond repair.
Sidrain cast a gentle gaze at Iris and inquired, “Are you not coming today?” With a profound debt to repay to the spirits, Iris rose from her seat. She had nothing to say to her father and step-siblings, who were never her family but rather her former owners. Angered by Sidrain’s mention of their broken connection, Iris spun around and laughed.
“No, I’m not,” Iris retorted before striding towards the door leading to the queen’s chambers. The onlookers in the hallway gaped in astonishment at her behavior. The king was an absolute ruler, and such blatant disrespect from the queen was unheard of. They anticipated the king roughly seizing her arm in front of the crowd, demanding an apology for her insolence. They even envisioned the queen humbly kneeling in contrition. Their apprehension mounted as they considered the possibility of Rosemary, the madwoman who previously scorned the king, returning to her impertinent ways.
Their expectations shattered when the king’s response was completely different from what they had anticipated. Despite being left behind, the king didn’t show any anger or frustration. Instead, he seemed to be concerned about the queen’s well-being and followed her to placate her. The onlookers were left with stunned expressions as they watched the closed door.
“Iris,” Sidrain said, surprise evident in his voice as he grabbed her arm. He held on tightly, but with care, knowing that she was upset and might lash out.
Despite his caution, Iris’s demeanor was fierce, and she seemed ready to break his arm without a second thought. She was truly angry.
“Are you angry, Iris?” Sidrene asked tentatively, his lips dry.
“Does it look like it?” she snapped back, her eyes blazing. This was no joking matter – Iris was genuinely livid.
“Iris, I need to talk to you,” Sidrain said, his voice trailing behind her.
“I’m not going to listen,” she said firmly, quickening her pace.
Despite her heels, she was determined to put some distance between her and Sidrain. She knew he was following her, but she refused to turn around.
“Iris.”
“What do you want me to say to those people?”
Iris’s eyes blazed with anger, causing Sidrain to hesitate. He couldn’t help but think that she looked both pretty and scary all at once. As he looked down at her, he couldn’t believe his own thoughts. How could he, the Dragon Killer and king of a nation, be scared of this small woman who could fit in his palm?
“What do you think you know about me and my family?” Iris asked.
Iris’s question left Sidrain momentarily speechless. She had a valid point. How could he, an outsider, evaluate the truth of the words Iris had written in her heart? He wasn’t Iris, and he couldn’t fully understand the turmoil she must have been feeling.
Iris looked up at him, her blue eyes piercing. She bit her lip, clearly still agitated.
“I don’t know what Sid would say if he were in my shoes,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “But those words aren’t my truth. They’re words you want to say, not mine.”
