It is safe to say that Agnes did not expect any grand gestures of affection from her fiancée when she had agreed to the royal engagement, for entirely selfish reasons barring royal responsibilities, but this unadulterated animosity towards her was totally uncalled for.
To hell with all her expectations of having a fairytale romance. Even Princess Blondilocks and Prince Super Charming did not have that rough of a start— and that's saying something because Princess Blondilocks had slept with Prince Super Charming's brother, Prince Charming, to get his attention and make him jealous.
But nevermind that because Agnes' own fairytale was at risk of being extinguished before the flickers of its first spark reach anyone's eyes.
How demented.
Zephyr had charged at her like a madman and caged her against a wall, one hand choking her neck and the other locking her wrists.
Nevertheless, she preferred it over deceptive kisses, candied pleasantries and ingenuous promises.
Her breath hitches in her throat, silver eyes blowing wide in proportion to the suddenness of the situation. There is a hint of fear freckled in her frowning brows and Zephyr enjoys the erratic movement of her heaving chest wholeheartedly.
He holds her eyes with his flaring mocha ones, focused without a hint of hesitation.
"Who are you and what do you want from us?!" He bursts into a question.
Agnes is surprised, yes, but she is also bewildered by the familiarity in those dark orbs staring back in her light ones. The passion that flared within them, like burning dry leaves on a summer evening, was inciting.
Inviting Agnes to stare deeper into them. As if she looked harder then she would find some hidden ancient civilization within.
They were oddly enchanting. Bad timing.
"Speak or I will choke you, right this instant!" His clear voice breaks through her reverie, making her blink in his face. He pulls harder at her wrists and her boney shoulders press harder into the wall.
It hurts.
She winces at the pain, trying to wring her hands out of his grip. He grabs them tighter, probably leaving bruises, eyes never leaving her panting form.
Well, if he can disregard royal etiquettes and be unapologetically rude to her, then two can play at this game. Agnes has lived enough to tolerate a bratty prince throwing a temper tantrum to express his dominance in the room.
"T-try me then, go ahead you little toes-sucker, leave some marks!" Agnes spits out in a vile tone, all gratefulness of sugar coated words leaving her system.
Now was Zephyr's turn to be caught off guard. Once again, his mocha eyes don't know where to look at anymore. Unfocused, he searches her face for the familiar look of fragility in her dainty face.
But it was gone. Replaced by silver eyes, focused in his, glaring back and clenched teeth seething at him.
His dark eyebrows furrow together and the grip on her neck loosens a bit.
This was different than he expected.
Agnes breathes in a satisfied smile after witnessing the look of bafflement on her to-be-betrothed's face.
Who was she?
"What did you just—"
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?! She is the Grand Duke's granddaughter!! Let go of her!!" Clover hurls himself into the conversation, tugging on Zephyr's leather jacket sleeves and pulling his hand away from Agnes' neck.
When Clover successfully detaches Zephyr's leech of a form away from small and flushed body, Agnes propells into a coughing fit. Greedily breathing in air.
"Leave me be!" Zephyr snaps at his best friend, who does anything but. Zephyr makes a move to pounce again but Clover wraps his arms around Zephyr's broad torso and pulls him further back.
"Go treat your squirrel! It was hurt! Remember?" Clover reminds hastily, panting warm breaths against Zephyr's crimson tipped ears.
Zephyr had forgotten all about the squirrel. He was too consumed into the moment of vengeance. Lord, this woman was irksome!
Her feet buckle and she falls to the ground, clutching the plaid periwinkle dress over her chest and trying to regain her breathing. Her pale neck flushes a bright crimson and do her wrists. Nevertheless, she exhales with her heaving chest, "Yeah, you better scram." Her jaw is clenched when she stares at the restrained form of Zephyr in a challenge.
The brunette rages.
"Oh? Like you have been doing ever since you foetus days?! Wouldn't you know all about scramming," Zephyr mocks, petty with his words, as he stares her small form down.
Agnes narrows her eyes at his smug face, clenching her hands into fists. She stumbles while standing up but stands tall with her shoulders squared and arms crossed against her chest.
"What mental gymnastics did you force your brain into for reaching that conclusion, huh? At least I'm not a withering pitiful leaf with a dead mouth in my mother's presence," Agnes snaps, back leaning against the wall now.
Zephyr's temper flares. How dare this woman makes assumptions about him without knowing even a trickle of truth?! The brunette twists his arms out of Clover's grip and paces towards Agnes.
Punch.
The thud resounds.
Agnes' breath momentarily hitches for Zephyr had punched the tiled wall just beside her ear. Her heartbeat escalates with her raging adrenaline.
"I dare you to say it again, you little vermin," Zephyr breathes in her face, hands caging her head between his chest and the wall. Space ceasing into non-existence between them. He looks down at her as if she were something more useless than cat excretions.
Zephyr's erratically heaving chest is eye-level to Agnes. She grinds her teeth hard before bunching the fabric of her dress in her fists and looks up into his eyes.
Then, she knees Zephyr in the balls.
"Beg for it."
Princess Agnes Raqs all but spits her words out as Zephyr groans, doubling over in pain with his hands over his crotch. Protecting what was already hurt in the next of his line.
Clover runs to a curled Zephyr's aide as Agnes struts her way up the tiled staircase, making her way to the train of waiting maids.
"Woman's deranged! I tell you. Absolutely demented!" Clover exclaims with ill-timed scoffs, trying to pick up Zephyr's squirming figure from the floor. He tries grabbing the brunette by his arm but fails to pick him up. "Get up mate! Princes don't loiter where the shoes do."
Zephyr, having lost the excuse of a conversation as well as his dignity, shouts out loud, "I HATE MY BETROTHED TO BE!"
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