Girl With The Golden Cat Eyes - 42 10

What do you mean?” Randol looked to her, his eye sharp. Eyes of a Prince who’d circled the political world. “She apart of our group.”

“That’s not it,” Mai said, meeting his eyes. “She isn’t any of our subjects, nor a slave. You can’t demand anything of her.”

“I am the leader of this–” Mai stood up and faced Randol.

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“You were the leader of this group,” Mai said resolutely. ” Since Fable’s End, we’ve all just been a small band of stragglers, held together by Cyril. If anything, Cyril should be the one calling the shots.”

Not to mention, Cyril was the Creator!

However, she kept this comment to herself. The Empire was a patchwork of religions that, so long as they paid tribute to the Emperor, were nearly out of this world in their beliefs. Randol believed only in the power of the country. Desmond believed in… Nothing. Mai believed in the one true Goddess; the Goddess that had created her people. The Goddess born of darkness and Light.

She believed in Cyril.

She had too.

Randol and Mai stared each other down – neither willing to step back. It took Desmond having to pull Mai away from his older brother for the tension to come down a notch.

“Look, why don’t you both just ask her?” Desmond asked with care. “And brother, she is right. We cannot control Cyril, nor order her around. She killed a dragon, for the love of all that is good, set aside your pride – please…”

Randol looked to his little brother. Mai watched Randol’s jaw flex as he bit back his retort. And she felt horrible about what she said. She knew how prideful Randol was, the stark differences between the man she loved and his brother had even manifested itself physically. Randol was an entire head taller than both of them. Far larger, and broad of shoulder. Desmond was skinny and frail compared to Randol.

And he stood between them because even she was too prideful to let this go.

She was strong as well, maybe as strong as Randol on a bad day. She didn’t know, because she had never fought him. And in this room, she may find out.

“I’m sorry,” Mai said. “I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”

There was a pause.

“I accept your apology.” Randol took a breath and stepped back before he sat back in his seat. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“I’ll ask her,” Randol said.

— ⊥ —

Mai led Randol into Cyril’s room, whereupon entering, though something… more naughty had been transpiring.

He heard Cyril moaning, and saying “That feels good…”. The things that’d lead one to believe that night time activities were being done during the day. Quite the bold move on her part he thought. That was until Mai rolled her eyes at him.

“Priscilla is just combing her hair.” Mai chuckled.

And when he turned the corner, it was indeed the case. Priscilla sat on the floor with Cyril laying on her back on the bed; dressed in a sapphire blue shoulderless dress. Cyril hung her head off the side of the bed, and Priscilla was there combing it with an elegantly carved bone comb. Cyril’s expression was one of complete bliss. Her snow-white hair cascaded down, and with it still wet from the bath, it shimmed like snow itself.

“Cyril,” Mai called out to her.

“Mmm.” Cyril acknowledged her without opening her eyes.

“Randol has something he’d like to ask you,” Mai said.

Priscilla shot them… What looked to be a territory glare. Though, Randol missed it entirely.

“Cyril, Lord Gulley – the man who governs this time – has requested we aid him with a certain problem,” Randol said.

He waited for her to ask about it, or just say anything. She remained silent though.

“I wanted to volunteer you to help him, however… ” Randol looked to Mai. “I’ve been told I had to ask you since you were not one of my subjects or men.”

No reply.

“I wanted to know if you’d be willing to help?” Randol asked.

“What’s the reward?” Cyril purred the words as the comb slid across her scalp.

It was such a wonderful feeling being pampered. At least, this is what she thought pampering was. Priscilla had offered to comb her hair on her own accord, and Cyril didn’t mind. Now, she wanted to know if she could keep this girl.

“There is no reward as of now,” Randol said.

“Pass,” Cyril said.

“Pass?” Randol repeated.

“Negative,” Cyril said. “Refused. Denied. Rejected. No way, Jose.”

“Why?” Randol asked, feeling awkward at being refused.

“Because requests from nobles mean trouble, and or a lot of work,” Cyril said. “Often than not, it’d be apart of the main quest. Thus, rewards should mandatory; at least in the sense that, with all that bullshit I’d have to deal with, it’d be worth it. Or at least, enough to make me not want to raze a country to the ground.”

“Have… You razed a country before?” Priscilla asked, her hand stilling.