Last Born Of The Desdemona

Chapter 41: Chapter 41: A feeling still unnamed

Chapter 41 – A feeling still unnamed

A bolt of golden lightning struck inside a dimly lit alley just behind Isolde’s Pavilion. Anesthesia and Emrys appeared out of that crackling, sizzling discharge, their faces somber.

Without a word, Emrys leaned his back against the wall, head tilted upward, thoughts churning restlessly inside him.

Anesthesia looked at him and stayed quiet. She knew his current state. Emrys was not someone who lost to people his own age. Even those at Imbued Self rank had fallen to him despite him being Mortal Self.

So one could only guess what this defeat was costing him, even one that had only been possible because of Cassius’s cheating.

At the thought of that white-haired, red-eyed man, Anesthesia’s face twisted into a ferocious scowl.

”I don’t like him, Em.” She snarled, stepping forward until her body was an inch from Emrys. ”And I want to make him pay.”

”It will happen. With honour and glory.” Emrys said, lowering his blue eyes to find hers. ”But first, we need to throw out everything we thought we knew about Desdemona. All of it was false, Thesia. All of it, except that insufferable attitude.”

His eyes hardened. ”But Cassius Desdemona is not a mindless spoiled child. You saw him. He used you to break my focus.”

”All so my sister could win.” Anesthesia added, eyes narrowing. ”Which means he knew perfectly well you were faster than Isolde. And not only that.” Her lips twisted. ”He knows you well enough to predict your reaction to him getting close to me.”

Emrys smiled without humour. ”That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He dragged his left hand down his face. ”And not just me, you too, Thesia. He provoked you into this game easily. He even got you to match his bet with your ring because he was doing the same.”

Anesthesia grimaced and pressed her head to his chest. ”Ugh, don’t make me relive it. I’m going to be sick, Em. The bastard’s tongue knew exactly how to pull me out of character.”

”He sure does.” Emrys managed a small smile. ”Which means we are not the only ones gathering information on our opponents.” He continued. ”We already knew that, but until now, none of them had been this accurate about us. When and where did we slip, Thesia? I don’t like this feeling.”

”Tell me about it.” She sighed, grumbling, then raised her head to meet his eyes. ”Cassius goes on the list of people to watch closely.”

She decided. ”And given that insufferable behaviour, he goes to the top.”

Emrys arched an eyebrow. ”Above Raven and his sister Esmeray? I was going to put him below Klaus and Keisha. Hm, maybe Natalia too.”

”No.” Anesthesia shook her head. ”Klaus is easy to read and predict; he is arrogant, loves to show off. Keisha’s nature is obvious too: too shy, too good for her own good, despite the talent. Natalia is dangerous only when she loses control.”

”What about the other Tier Two and Tier Three heirs?”

”Not as annoying as Cassius.” She said. ”Even the Prince — Raven, who is ironically Cassius’s uncle despite the same age — isn’t as much of a problem.”

Emrys’s eyes went cold instantly. ”Because he likes you.”

Anesthesia smiled plainly at his jealousy and pressed her whole body against him. ”So what? You are the one I love, Emrys Stormblessed. The Prince’s feelings for me are just a tool to get us what we want, to get stronger and gain influence.”

”I still don’t like it, Thesia.”

”I know.” She whispered, and kissed him softly. ”I know, Em. But bear it for now. He isn’t touching me or anything else. I am yours and yours alone.”

Emrys looked into her eyes and found nothing there but devotion, love, ambition and iron determination.

Anesthesia was truly one of a kind.

And he had to admit it, he was lucky to have her. Whatever others said about her, whatever they called her...

”I trust you.”

...she was the woman he loved most and would do anything for. No question about it.

Anesthesia smiled, then the smile stiffened. ”Ah... my ring.” She said, remembering what she had left inside it. Especially her—!

”Here.” Emrys said with a quiet smile, holding out a black token in his left hand, engraved with a red scythe. ”I only had time to grab this when I took the ring from you. Is that eno—!”

He didn’t finish. Anesthesia launched herself at him, kissing him with fervent, overwhelming love.

”I love you so much, Em!” She squealed against his lips, refusing to let them go. ”This is more than enough!”

She couldn’t lose that token. It was her path to higher standing and the dream she was chasing.

Emrys laughed and returned the kiss, matching her entirely. It didn’t take long before they reluctantly separated, a thread of saliva following.

Anesthesia was still on him, legs wrapped around his waist, Emrys’s left hand under her to keep her steady, her arms around his neck.

”More than enough.” She repeated, breathing ragged, face flushed. ”And now, Em, am very eager to meet Cassius again. This time prepared.”

”We will be.” Emrys nodded, then he arched an eyebrow, something occurring to him. ”Don’t you think... Desdemona actually loves Isolde?”

”Huh?” Anesthesia blinked, something obvious suddenly hitting her.

”You saw him.” Emrys continued. ”He did all of that for Isolde.”

”There is no way.” Anesthesia shook her head. ”How could anyone love Isolde?”

”Ah, well,” Emrys smiled thinly, recalling the reaction of his Innate around both Cassius and Isolde.

”I think they suit each other quite well.”

”No way, Em! Impossible!”

”Hahah, who cares anyway, Thesia? Come on, we need to train.”

”No! Let’s talk about how impossible it is for anyone to be romantically involved with Isolde!”

”Alright. But in the training room.”

Anesthesia hissed in irritation as Emrys carried her off anyway.

...

Isolde was still staring at the purple ring in her hand. She hadn’t even thought to look inside it yet, she was far too stunned by everything that had just happened.

For the first time in her life, for the first time since her little sister was born... she had won against her.

A win only made possible because of cheating, yes. But just like Cassius, Isolde didn’t give a damn about how they won.

What mattered was: the victory was hers. The victory...was theirs.

At that, she shifted her eyes toward Cassius who was still grumbling under his breath, hand pressed to his cheek, complaining about how she had dared to slap him after his glorious sacrifice for their victory.

Isolde found herself smiling. A smile so simple, so genuine, so unguarded, that the moment Cassius saw it, he went completely still. He was frozen, as if standing before the greatest thing heaven and earth had ever made.

Then pure panic.

He frantically pulled out his purple Runic Phone and took a picture of her before the moment could pass.

”Oh, Queen’s blessing.” He breathed, staring at the photo. ”Damn yes! This is my wallpaper!”

He smiled like a child seeing his hero in the flesh, then shot a glance at Isolde whose face had gone red, lips twitching.

”You know what?” He gave her a magnanimous look. ”I forgive you for the slap. Just give me another one of those. I’ll make a whole album.”

”Can you stop?” Isolde hissed, snapping her head away, suddenly too embarrassed to look at him. ”Or do you want another slap?”

”What about a kiss this time?”

”Fuck you, Cassius.”

”Aye. Right back at you, darling.”

Isolde stifled a chuckle. Her heart felt something completely different from what it usually did.

If she had held any doubts about Cassius’s intentions or feelings toward her, the events with Anesthesia and Emrys had dissolved every last trace of them.

Now she knew. She dangerously and hopelessly knew that someone in this world had willingly chosen her over her sister.

Someone had seen her and accepted her in a way even her own parents never had.

Her stomach churned as something began to bloom from deep inside her chest, spreading slowly through her whole body.

’He chose me.’ Isolde thought one last time, before turning her attention back to him.

Cassius was standing at the edge of the clear-water pond, his back to her. Then as if sensing her eyes, he turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder.

He smiled. Isolde cursed inwardly as her heart nearly clawed its way out of her chest.

’He is so beautiful!’

”How about we celebrate your first, and certainly not your last, victory?” He pulled two cigarettes from his pocket, stretching one toward her. ”Some smoky cloud with a view, shall we?”

”Smoking?” Isolde exclaimed, walking toward him. ”Why smoking?”

”To make new memories.” He answered. ”So that whenever you feel like smoking, you will remember this day.”

He winked. ”The day you won against your sister and your childhood friend.”

Isolde stopped instinctively, her body trembled. She looked at him with wide eyes, lips quivering as emotions flooded inside her like seawater rushing into an empty pit.

She was being overwhelmed, overwhelmed by whatever she was feeling and still refused to name. Not knowing what to do, she ducked her head, tears creeping to the edges of her eyes, threatening to fall.

Cassius watched with fond eyes and said nothing, hand still outstretched.

Isolde continued walking, reached him, and took the cigarette, her head still lowered.

Cassius put one to his lips and lit it with a flicker of crimson flame. Then he turned toward her, saw her waiting, and chuckled.

He put one hand under her chin and gently raised her head, finding eyes shimmering with tears and emotions few would ever understand.

But Cassius did.

And he respected her silence about it. His lips curled up, and lit the cigarette at her lips.

The two of them then smoked side by side, watching the yellow sun slowly crawl back to sleep, the soft breeze rustling their clothes.

No words were exchanged. Yet Cassius understood everything when Isolde took a small step closer, their skin brushing.

That day, something shifted inside Isolde Amaris. A whole new feeling she hadn’t expected to feel again began to sprout from inside her wounded heart — and it felt more precious than the first time, because this time the man behind it had acknowledged her, seen her, and not looked away.

He had accepted her. Helped her get her first real win.

He had loved her in a way she had never believed herself worthy of being loved.

So she said nothing, and smoked with him, not fully realising that from that day onward, smoking was no longer an act of rebellion or desperate solitude against her family.

Smoking had become a sacred act of celebration.

And so, without quite knowing it, Isolde Amaris decided she would only smoke for victories and only with one particular...

”Will I not get my kiss?”

”Can you not read the mood?”

...perverted person.

”God forbid a man wants something wet on his cheek.”

”Say one more word, bastard, and I will give you a wet feeling you will never forget.”

”Oh, don’t—!”

”Shut up!”

’How rude.’

And so the second day came to an end.

—End of Chapter 41—