Page 16 of A Crown Without Mercy

“Calista told me there’s another female whose company you hold.”

“I’m allowed to have a life outside of this manor. Not everything is your business.”

“You and your sisters are my business. What’s her name?”

Sylvana glared at him, refusing to reply.

“I want a name.”

“Enough! I don’t need to tolerate you intruding on every aspect of my life. My god, you are as bad as father.”

Alaric looked around and realized the cart wasn’t with her, either. “Where’s the cart?”

Shit!Think, think,she told herself. “I left it with Muriel. I’ll fetch it tomorrow.”

“Muriel?”

“Yes, the same Muriel you have a thing for.”

Alaric dismissed the snarky remark. “At least I know your ‘friend’s’ name now, but why did you leave it?”

“Alaric, this is the last question I will answer. The staff was busy preparing for Tobias’s mating ceremony, and they didn’t have time to unload it. It was getting so late I decided it would be better to leave it.”

After a few moments of silence, Alaric spoke up. “We fare well and the amount you make isn’t worth the time or effort. I don’t want you making any more deliveries.”

“A few extra denarius in one’s pocket is never a bad thing. And since you’re in the mood for questions, why don’t you tell me what father is really doing?”

“I already explained as much as you need to know,” he stated firmly.

“Suit yourself. I’ll ask around next time I make a delivery.”

“You’ll do no such thing. It’s clan business, and you’ll keep your nose out of it and your mouth shut.”

“And I expect you tokeep your noseout of my personal business.”

Sylvana awoke the following morning just as the sun had risen, feeling as if she had not slept at all. She sat up, reached for her emerald-green, satin robe, and loosely tied it around her waist before getting out of bed and walking to the other side of her chamber. She stood on the varicolored, hand sewn, cotton rug and swirled her hands over the copper tub her mother had commissioned. As the hot water rose from the bottom, she reached for a jar sitting on top of a large washstand heavy with ornamentation, and a black marble top. She then poured the fresh petals into the water, stepped into the tub, and slid her body down the curved back. With each deep breath, she smelled the calming aroma of lavender, being carried by the steam moving serenely around her upper body.

The entire world seemed to be ablaze under the rays of the mid-morning sun and, despite the heat, a large crowd had gathered in the market. Sylvana stopped to look at a basket filled with an assortment of fresh flowers and then looked up at her mother, Myrine, who was protectively holding her hand to keep from being dragged into the bustling crowd. Her long, auburn locks glistened in the sun and flowed over her shoulders, and her crisp green eyes were gleaming with an unearthly quality above her concave cheekbones when she smiled back.

“Come, love. If you dally any longer, we will be here until the sun goes down,” Myrine said.

As they continued down the dirt road, an old man stepped before them. “I have something special for the bairn.”

Sylvana stared back at the stranger; his face was timeworn and wrinkled and he struggled to kneel, as if life had gotten the better of him. His clothes were ragged, soiled, and torn along the seams in places and his face was wrinkled and scarred, and partially obscured behind his long, gray, unkempt hair. However, his time-worn, brown eyes and smile were soft and friendly, in contrast to the rest of his appearance. He held out his hand and a sun-kissed pinkish-yellow ball, covered in a layer of fuzz, sat in his palm, resting gently against his gnarled fingers and knotted joints.

“Would you like one? I picked it from the Acherons orchard myself,” he said with a crooked smile.

Sylvana cocked her small head to the side as if amused, and let out a giddy chuckle.

“I’m Laster. What is your name?” he asked as he pushed the peach toward her.

“Sylvana Asc—” Before she could finish her sentence, she felt the sting of her tooth as it stabbed her bottom lip when her mother hastily cupped her palm over her mouth.

Sylvana looked up, and her mother’s eyes were ablaze with warning, and she looked panic stricken. Her heart drummed against her small chest, and even though she was only seven years old, she understood the gravity of her careless words.

“My daughter shouldn’t be speaking to strangers.” She nodded to the old man and hurriedly walked away, pulling Sylvana with.

“Sylvana, how many times do I have to tell you? You can never speak your sired name,” she scolded in a harsh, hushed tone.

---