Chapter 15 Chapter Fifteen
Rule number fifteen: Never ever underestimate your opponent~ Lillyan Elyort.
Lillyan
My feet are itchy as I sit on the edge of the bed, irritable and all sweaty. I’m angry at everything and everyone, and just earlier on, I snapped at a maid, and I felt so bad about it. I chased after her to offer my apology, but she kept on giving me apologetic bows and saying, “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Please, don’t beg me. The Alphas will kill me,” again and again until I thought I’d go mad.
I’m still seething from the way the fight with Xander ended. They let me go after I fought with him, but I didn’t hurt him the way I wanted to. As I left the throne room, I saw the harsh glint in the triplets’ eyes, and I knew my stay at Blackmoon was on its way to becoming a terrible one. But did I care? Not a single bit. Fighting with three strong men? That’s nothing compared to what I’ve been through. I raise you killing your father and getting exiled by your brothers. See? Incomparable. The nightmares are consistent now, and it’s a week since that episode at the throne room. A week since Xavier tried to humble me before his subjects and well, it didn’t go well. The nerve of him to try such rubbish with a divinity. My back cracks a bit as I lean down and I’m reminded of how much I want to swim. It’s a luxury I enjoyed in my planet, though with the powers of a goddess. Now, I’m a mortal, and I don’t know if I can try and get into water again. I almost drowned that day too. Shit.
I’m desperately seeking an outlet for my anger, just someone to pour my annoyance on. I don’t see it happening. I can’t possibly go and seek out another maid, yell at her and apologize afterwards. But I’ll very much like to seek out any of the triplets, provoke them to anger, just to enjoy the rage on their face, then fight. Someone knocks at the door, and I adjust my position, taking a battle-ready stance. It’s not any of the triplets. I know, because I can’t sense them. It’s an inexplainable feeling, but whenever they’re close by, I can make out their individual scent.
A pretty maid pokes her head in, and flushes at the sight of me. I look down at my clothes, and wave my hand to cancel her discomfort. I am half-naked. Literally. In my planet, I don’t usually bother with much clothes. What’s its purpose, when I’d usually get a fuck partner or two before the day runs out? It’s pretty convenient to wear a flimsy outfit, lean over and take it from behind, or better still, go down on your partner without having to take off your many clothes. The habit stuck and now, the idea of wearing many clothes annoys me. But the triplets religiously have them delivered everyday, irking me to no end.
The maid walks in, a large tray in hand and her head bowed. Her hair is parked up in pretty coils that reminds me of the female servants in my planet. She still doesn’t look at me, and I give up trying to make her do so.
“Thank you,” I say, as she places the tray on the bedside table. She whirls around, momentarily forgetting her earlier awkwardness. She’s obviously startled, and her eyes are wide. I’m taken aback by her reaction. Surely, I didn’t say anything wrong?
“Please, do not thank me,” she begs in a meek voice. “Servants should be seen not heard, serve and not expect accolades. We live to serve the lords of the pack,” she hesitates. “And their guests.”
Her words are boring, to be honest, but I’m irritated by them. What does she mean by ‘live to serve the lords of the pack?’ It’s nonsense, and I tell her so. She falls to her knees, and only then do I realize how grave it is. I rush forward to pull her to her feet, but she plants her knees firmly to the ground.
“Please,” she pleads, her eyes going red. “Please, promise you won’t thank me or any other servant, ever again. You don’t know how dangerous it is.” She sniffles.
“I promise not to.” I swear. She finally rises to her feet. Stunned and going weak by her reaction to a simple word of thanks, I go over to sit on the bed.
“If I thank you or any other servant, what will happen?” I ask.
She swallows visibly, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell.” She responds, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the ground.
I assume my no-nonsense tone. “I am the guest of your Alphas, and you’ll accord me with such respect,” I say authoritatively, knowing fully well that I hate the triplets. But how’s she going to know that? None the wiser.
She panics, and tries to kneel once more. I snap in a stern tone.
“I forbid you from kneeling again!” I say. She freezes.
“Forgive me,” she mutters.
“Now, tell me. What happens if a servant receives a word of thanks?” I question.
She doesn’t meet my gaze. “They’re beheaded in front of the pack.” She replies.
I almost choke on my spittle. What in the barbaric action was that?
“That shouldn’t–”
“I beg to take my leave now.” The girl says, and scampers out. But I spot the tears that runs down her face as she races away.
I sit down quietly on the bed for a long time, and I snap out of my head. I push the disturbing discovery to the back of my mind, and forces my brain to begin thinking of ways to deal with the triplets. I think hard, and unable to come up with a plausible plan, I groan and decide to eat first and think later. Just then, it clicks in my mind.
Food!
Goodness, I’m getting slow. I should’ve thought of it sooner.
As a goddess, and daughter of divinity, I’ve been trained on ways of poison and their antidotes. I know which plants can create the deadliest poison and which can kill slowly.
I spring up, and head for the door, all thoughts of eating forgotten. I’m going to poison one of the triplets, and I’m going to do it now. Once one of them is dead, the pack will be thrown into chaos, and I’ll be free to run away unnoticed. Three years is a short time to fall in love with someone. The black sky forbid that it’s any of them. I can see my brothers sneering at me.
“Sorry, Lillyan. You didn’t follow the instructions. You’re not in love with this man.” Qylier would say.
I find the forest unnoticed, and hurry in. I can make the poison without needing to concoct it, slip down to the royal kitchen and find a way to put it in their food.
…
The voices are nearer, and I plaster myself to the wall not daring to breathe. I’m in a dark corner of the kitchen, and the servants are milling about. In my hand, clasped tightly is a bottle of an odorless and deadly poison, which would leave no traces. My chance comes thirty minutes later, just as I’m beginning to get tired of standing.
The servants all go out to receive instructions from the head cook, and I rush over to the tray of food that looks elaborate. I don’t particularly care which of the triplets gets poisoned. Any of them will do. I pour in two drops, slip the bottle into my shirt’s pocket and sneak out unnoticed.
“Time to wait for a death,” I grin to myself.