Peace Maker - Chapter 207

Boris sat there staring up into nothingness for a moment before he let out a long sigh. The more he thought, the more he was left confused and the more his mind filled with Dominic. There was one more thought that he couldn’t figure out along with ‘attachment.’

Why was he relieved?

‘When I had figured out it wasn’t death… why was I relieved when I thought it was just an injury?’ he thought to himself as he stood up from his seat and looked at the grandfather clock. 6:53.

He had spent 30 minutes in this state, pondering, confused, thinking about him. Dominic. But yet he still had no answers.

He began to walk toward the coat hanger and picked up his cloak, throwing it over its shoulder and tying the ropes right below his neck. He had about an hour till his meeting at 7:50 pm. He had time for more thinking. He walked towards the door and pulled it open stepping out into the hallway.

It was the same as before.

The white walls with gold intricate linings and come pictures on the walls. Everything was restored to its original state. Everything was put back to where it was a year ago where they waited for the prince to return. That was the way Boris liked it to be. In a state where nothing had happened, like the world was in a pause while they waited for the true ruler to return.

It was by his command afterall. A command he himself didn’t understand when he had made it.

He walked down the hallway, taking turns and turns through the halls. It was a different feeling now than before when he was at Dominic’s side. Every maid he ran into now, every noble he saw, and every council member or guard that he would see would bow and regard him. He was being acknowledged by them but he could still feel it. The undertone of animosity when he passed some nobles, the undertone of being watched when he passed the guards, and distrust when he passed the maid and workers.

He was in their environment, he was a part of them but didn’t fit in no matter how hard he pressed himself into the puzzle.

He hated it.

That’s why he needed everything to go back to normal. That’s why he never craved this position. Because the position was never his and even if it were to be in his clutches, would never be for him. ‘Is that part of my attachment to him?’ Boris thought to himself as he nodded slightly as some passing servants. ‘Because I’m holding something that’s his?….’ Boris thought to himself as he walked past a mirror.

He stopped and gazed into it for a moment as the outfit he wore and then continued his walk to a large painting that was held in the hallway of Dominic. He looked up at the emerald eyes, his golden gaze running over every feature. He looked away and continued his walk. ‘They didn’t capture his face well.’ he thought.

… or was it because he was trusted by Dominic to hold something that isn’t his?

He walked down another hall and continued walking until he reached the entrance to the prisons. He locked eyes with the guards that stood in front of the door and they stepped aside. He could feel their eyes, watching him as he pulled out the key to open the doors. They were always watching, it never changed. He hoped it never will.

“Head Council will be coming here in 40 minutes or so to take me back to meeting,” Boris announced as he opened the door. He looked down at a guard, his eye locking with his with a cold gaze. “Let him in when he does.” The guards shook their heads and Boris began his way into the tunnel behind the door.

He looked forward at the broad space in front of him. He remembered this place, he remembered the catastrophe that had happened that day too. And strangely, the first memory that came to mind when he thought of that day was Dominic crying tragically on the cold bloodied floors as he yelled out his father’s name.

That was a year ago. ‘The first day in the castle and seemingly the last.’

Boris paused. ‘Seemingly the last?’ he thought to himself as he continued his walk, ‘why did I say it was seemingly the last?’ he walked to the end of the room and looked down the flight of stairs.

It hadn’t occurred to him how much his thinking had changed until he started walking down the steps. He remembered what he was thinking when he had walked out of here on the first day. How placid he was, unfeeling, stoic by the situation that was going on and regretting the fact that he had saved Dominic.

He stepped down to another step.

Now he didn’t want to even think about Dominic being dead.

He had remembered thinking about how he should have run away. How he shouldn’t have stopped, how she shouldn’t have allowed himself to be sold in the first place.

He walked onto another step.

Now he was holding on to one of the highest positions in the empire, second to the King and third to the Emperor.

He walked past the first floor of the jails in which all the cells laid empty. He remembered wanting to be in one of those cells. Locked behind those bars so he could rot and die without being associated with the royal name. To die in alliance with his people.

He began to walk down another flight of stairs at the end of the room.

Now he was attached to the Prince.

He walked past another room of jail cells and then down the flight of stairs at the end of it. Then down another and another until he reached the floor he was heading towards. He looked down the room and glanced at the guard that stayed sitting on a little stool watching over the room, directing her to go up to the floor above.

He walked towards the last cell on the floor and glanced at the body and sat hunched over in the corner of the cell, shivering, frozen. But alive.

Before he wanted to run away from this place. To leave, kill the nobles, to tarnish those that made his life living hell and the life of the people that were close to him on the streets. Before he wanted to burn down the castle, or to burn down himself before he was forced to stay in it. Before he wanted to kill Dominic.

Boris stood in front of the cell and looked down at the shivering body. His golden eyes gleamed.

Now he wanted to kill the one that had hurt him. The one that had hurt Dominic.

“You,” he called out, his voice clear and stern, cutting into the thick silence and cold in the room. “Wake up.”

He looked down at the seemingly lifeless ball, his eyes showing no grain of emotion when he watched it shudder weakly. He knew she could hear. He knew she had stirred.

“I only have a little bit of time so don’t waste it before I cut off your food for today,” Boris called out once again.

His words laid in the air for a moment before a voice weakly chuckled at his remark, the little ball moving as a face turned to face Boris, the body moving to follow. Long black hair that draped the figure like a cloak, deep, sunken violet voids that peered at her target with a blank gaze, and a thin fragile figure dressed in a beautiful clean pink gown.

“Just kill me,” the voice whispered, its volume so low it could barely be heard. Its strength was so weak that it faltered. “Food isn’t a necessity. Death is.”

Boris cocked his head to the side and peered into the eyes of the trembling figure, his eyes stoic and unmoved. “The more you ask, the less I give. But the less you ask of, the more I give,” Boris replied, his head straightening. He looked down at the dress that the figure wore and looked back up into its eyes. “Do you like the dress?”

The figure stared at him blankly, its trembling lips refusing to give an answer.

“It’ll be yellow tomorrow,” Boris continued, “then blue… then white… then lilac. A whole wardrobe just for you.”

“Shut up,” the figure snapped, her violet voids looking up into Boris’ eyes. “Do you enjoy playing with me? I know you’re here for something so spit it out.”

Boris nodded his head. He turned around and picked up the stool that the guard had sat on, dragging it over to the figure’s cell. “What’s going to happen next?” he asked, to which the thin frame frowned.

“What?”

“After the war, what’s going to happen to the kingdom and the troops?” Boris pressed, his golden rays laying on the figure with such an undodgeable power that the figure trembled.

“Are you worried about what’s going to happen out there?’ the figure asked, a smirk crossing their face. “Worried about the little prince and his life? I’m sure they’re overwhelmed, your supply of people running low perhaps? Or is the death count high?”

Boris cocked his head to the side, a scoff leaving his lips. “You don’t know do you?” he muttered, to which the figure shuddered.. “They lost,” he smirked, “You lost the war, Claudia.”