Chapter 2
There were moments where there were details that he really should’ve thought through.
Like kidnapping a princess.
And making sure that said princess stayed inside of the hideout that was around 30 minutes away from the palace.
In retrospect, Preminger was somewhat surprised his plan was actually in full swing!
However, there were the aforementioned downsides.
Such as trying to keep her alive… despite the various urges he had to simply get rid of her the good old fashioned way.
And what did he have to show for his troubles? A migraine prone head, an exhausted mind, and a lighter wallet.
Perhaps it was already high time to launch the next step of his plan and get one step closer to that beautiful, beautiful crown!
He had stolen, no, gained the entirety of gold from the royal mines without fail.
Check.
He succeeded in cancelling the wedding to King Dominick just as he hoped.
Check.
He had Julian on his side in a shaky and tentative friendship, all on a whim of a thought, and within barely a day, need he add.
Check.
Now, he had to ‘rescue’ the princess…
That part was more of a work in progress at the moment, really. It really would solve all of his problems if he had her out of the picture. But in truth, he realistically wouldn’t bear it.
Not because he had any moral code, mind you. More so because he didn’t wish to get his hands dirty or risk any godly anger, just on the possibility that He was real.
But would it truly be such a crime if he did? Yes, it would, he reasoned with himself. It would be in cold blood, the whole works and nine yards of complete moral depravity. It certainly would be a crime.
“I command you to let me go!”
… would it though?
Personal self questioning aside, he couldn’t help but be amused at how the princess seemed to stay under the notion that she was in control. She could shriek out commands all she wanted, he himself wasn’t going to move an inch.
That was a trait that he could never understand or even grasp in all his years. How is it that these royal types always thought they have the world around their dainty fingers?
Granted, he himself wished to become one, but he certainly wasn’t the type to command. Berating and degrading people for the slightest mistake was more of his cup of tea, really.
A sharp round of kicks startled him from his pondering thoughts.
“Whoever you are, you will face…”
Her baseless threats became white noise to Preminger as he leaned on the wall nearby. It wasn’t even that entertaining to pester her or hear her pleas. It was getting repetitive, frankly.
Three days could only give him so much. He reran the metaphorical checklist in his and the conclusions were the same as ever.
He didn’t need to marry Anneliese to get to his much desired end. If he was honest, he would be lying if he said that he was looking forward to anything of the sort.
“And… Why are you doing this? What is there to gain? Is it even worth it? There’s…”
And just as he was pulled out of his reverie, he promptly returned back to it, asking himself many things.
Maybe there was truth in her questions… Was it even worth it?
He could run off with all the gold he had taken from the kingdom. He was as rich as a king…
Literally!
He could find some land, buy it, maybe even make it into his own little kingdom.
But he already spent years, two to be exact, on this plan so he unfortunately had to continue.
Did he really, though?
It nearly hurt him to admit it but… Erwin Preminger found himself on the cusp of simply abandoning this plot.
The fun, the reward, the… drive, it was beginning to drain. And what on Earth could he do?
‘ You could let her go free. She barely knows her way back with the way she’s never left the palace.’
That was a thought… not only just in the literal sense, of course.
He furrowed his brow, beginning to see a golden opportunity. A… little shift, he would say.
‘Perhaps the wolves would get to her first or even the cliffs. And technically, it was the forces of nature that led to her possible untimely end.’
Yes, yes, yes!
Nevermind those small needless doubts! He batted those away. On with the plan, just as scheduled!
A nasty smirk grew on his face and as he opened his mouth to quietly announce the spontaneous change of plans to those simpletons, he glared.
Those dunces were asleep!
Oh well, less trouble for him. He was going to count it as the blessing that it was.
With the poor excuse of parchment he found and the blackened nub of a stick used to light a pipe, he wrote down a little note.
It was simple enough to understand. He doubted that even those with intelligence as dismal as Nick and Nacks’ could blunder it!
When satisfied, he straightened his back, getting ready to leave when a glint caught his eye.
A ring.
A gold ring left on the rickety table with a single pink gem in the centre.
From the farthest distance, anyone with two eyes could tell that it was the princess’s ring.
And just like that, everything was perfectly in place.
He was seeing the story playing out in his head; the runaway princess met a frightful end in the mines, or cliffs, or whatever (the place didn’t really matter, as long as she was dead!), and her royal ring was all that was left behind as proof.
It was a jewel that could not be faked, any replica would be dull beside it no matter the craftsmanship.
He truly was brilliant, wasn’t he?
He left the hovel with a jovial aire to his feet as he mounted the horse, making his way back to the palace.
Feeling drunk on satisfaction, just for the sake of it, while on that thirty minute journey back, he ran through the plan.
Had the entirety of the royal gold in his possession; the wedding’s cancellation was a success; Julian was his to play with… the implications were open for any form of interpretation, really.
He just had to add Anneliese’s own terribly unhappy end to that.
Through the wide expanse of the Western Forest of the kingdom, the birds flew away from their posts on the branches as an eerie cackle echoed deep in the silence of night.
It was safe to say that Preminger had it all down to a clean, nice, and perfect end.
Oh, how brilliant he was, it was almost as if that small moment of hesitation to push forward had never happened!
There was a direct emphasis on that ‘almost’ in a itty bitty teensy weensy part of himself, a sliver of himself, his conscience.
He could nearly feel the stirrings of it, twitching within him with its bothersome morality and whatnot.
But that, that was something that he would not deign to acknowledge, recognize, see, or even entertain as a notion of any kind.
No, no, no, he was stellar, as was his plan, and anything else that had to do with him… because of course it did.
Yes.
Of course…
Julian Arnault found himself in the oddest situation.
That being the fact that he was in an odd camaraderie with Preminger, a man he thought was backhanded and… well, odd , to be frank.
And the problem lied with the realisation that…
He was not bothered by it at all. At least, not completely.
Naturally, he did have some reserved feelings of heedfulness when he was in standing distance from the man, but he always was left more confused than before.
Confusion was seldom something Julian felt. And he did not like it one bit.
It was a rushing river of conflicting thoughts fighting against what his eyes clearly saw, all mixing together to create a tangled up knot of that very same confusion in his chest.
He sat in the garden, idly watching the newborn flower blossoms sway with the gentle breeze that gasped on by. His critical gaze tried to distract him with an influx of details about the flowers, a poor attempt to soothe his whirling mind.
He used to find the pink roses mesmerising, just like the young woman who loved them.
But looking at them now was only causing him to feel something like oily bile cover the plushness of his throat.
Painful was the understatement of the year, really.
It was…
Julian couldn’t find the words to describe it. Truthfully, he didn’t want to. Doing so would be admitting that… that… Well, that Preminger was right!
He still had the right to not trust the man, but this reality of the life he was living was only pouring more salt than needed on his tender wounds.
He needed a distraction. Something to busy himself with.
Obviously, that distraction couldn’t be alcohol, Julian was never keen on ale or anything close to it.
Nor could it be anything like gambling.
Maybe distractions were the wrong course for him to take.
Julian had to find something, anything, hell he’d even take-
“Seems that someone is deep in their studies,” an amused voice lilted. A shadow loomed over him, casting an overarching shade over Julian. He lifted his head, sighing in some sense of relief when he saw that it was Preminger.
Of course it was.
Who else would it be?
He ran his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. “Yes, I suppose you would call it that-”
He paused when he noticed the violet clad man sit beside him with a flair and a sly smile curling on his lips.
“Not so deep that you were pulled out of it,” Preminger teased before tutting at Julian’s hair.
He risked a glance at the man’s fingers, how they twitched to touch his wayward strands of hair. He found it peculiar, to put it nicely. But what could he do? The man was obviously going to do whatever he pleased.
And that was frightening.
It was frightening how Julian did not wish to push back against that fact. That in truth, he was willing to let it pass.
It wasn’t lost on him how different he was than before. But there wasn’t that overbearing and searing guilt floating within him anymore.
No, no, not even close. It was like a… apathetic acceptance. He only now had vague vignettes when it came to his infatuation with Anneliese.
Perhaps, it wasn’t even love. It was just infatuation, then.
Just that.
Nothing more.
Nice.
Simple.
And to the bitter point.
Warm fingers traced his brow, pulling him from his thoughts gently.
“You were frowning,” Preminger murmured. “Wrinkles won’t do, especially for a lad like you,” he then snickered, his head tossed back with levity.
The other thing that Julian had begun to take notice of was that as he was growing to be indifferent towards roses, his sights began to be allured towards lilacs.
He could feel his attention pique at the flower’s unparalleled scent.
It would rush at him in pulsing waves of pure sugar and honey. It was thick with that tone of simple sweetness that it dared to cloy his senses.
Syringa Vulgaris.
The common lilac.
But, it didn’t seem so common, really. Why, what other flower could there be that had that precise shade of purple inking its petals?
Oh, it was beautiful and-
Oh, no.
He began to think back on wherever he could’ve picked up this… this interest.
Who had been the one to wear that sickeningly sweet scent?
Preminger.
Oh, Good God.
“And now, you seem to have gone mute,” the white haired man mused, gently prodding at Julian’s arm.
“No, no, pardon, I was simply thinking,” Julian whispered, head turned away from the man. He didn’t wish to look at him. A part was fearful of what his heart would do if he did.
If he met those amber eyes and found relish vibrating his every nerve.
If he leaned in and nuzzled his neck into the man’s meticulously coiffed hair.
If he dared.
That was just… unnatural, unheard of. Him? With another- No, no, he could hardly finish the thought.
But was it really so disgusting? He had never… tried something like that. But he couldn’t risk it. Why would he at all?
It didn't help matters either that there was the possibility that Preminger didn’t feel any emotion that had a strain of what Julian felt.
“Thinking? I would suggest that you stop to find something more worthwhile.”
That smirk. Why hadn’t he noticed its glow before?
“And what would that be?” Julian asked, more out of the need to than genuine curiosity.
“What would you say, my dear Julian,” the man began, rising from the stone bench, wrapping his fingers around Julian, “to a stroll through the village?”
Julian had followed the tug and found himself shockingly close to the man.
Their lips were mere inches apart, so close that they were practically breathing the same breath.
He was close enough, even, to see that Preminger’s hair was powdered, not even a wig in any sense of the word.
His gaze was tugged to the man’s lips, lips that seemed so plush and warm.
A clearing of a throat had him blinking.
“Oh! Right, right,” he said, shaking himself from those off putting thoughts. “Yes, I would like that,” he said slowly.
He hated, he loathed, he abhorred the way that bright grin had his palms grow sweaty and his body feel pliant.
But it was so frightening.
Frightening that…
That the very same Julian Arnault was not mad at that rush of life thrumming through his bones at all.
Oh, Good God.