THE LOUD ROAR of laughing men swarmed them as they walked into the tavern. The lights were brighter in the pub, with men and woman draped across every visible table in various costumes.
Ferra's golden eyes went wide at the boisterous atmosphere and she unconsciously took hold of Esabel's hand.
The Princess stilled at her grip and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Ferra caught on the soft sound and quickly withdrew her hand. She folded her arms, looking at anywhere but Esabel. The other beautiful young woman only prayed her brother didn't notice the little sparks growing between her and their friend.
A man said something funny from a table and another loud roar filled the pub. A few men sent glances their way, moving over the girls appealing forms. Esabel quickly looked behind for her brother.
He wasn't behind.
He had followed them into the tavern but it was like he had just disappeared.
Esabel turned back to the men who seemed to have gone quiet.
The bar turned silent as everyone's eyes fell to them—even the women. A couple of men stood with flirty eyes and began to take steps towards them. Esabel heard Ferra hiss from her side and quickly grabbed the girl's hand.
"Not again," she whispered.
Where the hell had Marsil gone off to?
They were totally capable of protecting themselves but these were drunken men who didn't give a swine's behind about honor or royalty. As long as it wore a skirt, they stared.
The man at the head of the approaching group was bald and stocky, and was about two steps away when he abruptly stopped.
Esabel was still clenching tight to Ferra's hand to stop her from shifting, even as she plotted the fastest way to get them out from the now quiet tavern.
But the man just stilled...
The beautiful Princess followed the men's wide eyes to directly behind them.
...and there was Marsil rising from the shadows of a darkened corner.
His silver mask bore no emotion, the dark hollows hiding the fright of his colorless eyes. He took his place behind both women, towering head high over every male in the place.
The entire tavern immediately recognized him as the mysterious gladiator who had bested Vandal the Titan on the sands to become the new Champion of Calipsos.
Esabel watched with a smirk as the group of men who were formerly approaching nearly pissed their pants. They quickly made awkward bows and hurriedly disappeared in various directions.
The watching men and women peeled their eyes away from the tall, handsome warrior to focus once more on the ale before them. Soon enough, the banter restarted and the people drank away, dispersing the previous silence.
The young women turned to Marsil.
"I have secured a table for us," said the Prince.
Esabel frowned.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"That's all you're going to say?" Esabel fired. "You just vanished, leaving us to these hedonists. Ferra nearly turned... AGAIN... and you just—"
Marsil stopped her anxious words with both hands to her shoulders. He leaned down until she could see his eyes through the twin hollows of his mask.
"I'm sorry. I wanted you to feel free, not caged. I know there's a reason you didn't allow the guards to follow us out of the castle..."
He looked deeply into her eyes and Esabel wanted nothing more than to push away the damned mask and kiss him. His gaze moved between her and Ferra as he continued.
"...and I will never EVER leave the both of you. Besides, you both could easily take on those clammy-ass perverts."
Esabel smiled then.
Marsil was everything calm and brilliant. He could be funny too. She discovered she loved his dark side, because it was who he was. His nature was the Night. She didn't want to him to change per se; she just wanted him to want her.
Fuck honor! she cursed inwardly. It was the only thing holding him back from giving in to the sizzling attraction between the both of them.
His gaze went to Ferra by her side.
"You okay?"
The Amber-eyed beauty gave a small nod and Marsil turned back, moving into the shadows once more. The girls followed behind.
They arrived at a dark corner—infact, the darkest booth in the tavern. Only a few candles dotted the area. It was a small distance away from the rumbly crowd.
"Perfect spot for you, huh?" Esabel joked as they took their seats, her brother on her right and Ferra on her left.
"I can get us a different table if you wish it," Marsil said, quick in his reply.
The Princess was fast to assuage his worry.
"No, I'm just kidding. I like it here, secluded. Besides, I'd rather be here than with those rowdy bunch."
As if on cue, a loud rumble of laughter droned to their corner. The barkeep walked over: a slender brown-eyed girl with legs for ages.
"What can I get you?" she said, her eyes pinned directly on Marsil.
"We'll start with the ale," Esabel put in before the Prince could say anything.
The barkeep didn't even glance her way.
"Hellooo!!!" Esabel glowered.
The barkeep finally looked her way.
"I said we'll start with the ale."
Obviously the girl didn't know she was the princess, else she'd be scrambling away to get her order. This was one of the few times she missed using her royal heritage.
"Sure," the girl said, walking away.
Esabel noticed she added a sway to her hips, no doubt to get Marsil's attention. She looked to her brother but his gaze was already turned away.
Esabel smiled at the Barkeep's naïvete.
The Vampire Prince was cold as ice. It came with his nature. She had spent many weeks with him and he was only starting to speak more than a few words to her.
Marsil lifted his hand to his face, pulling away his mask, and her eyes shifted to him. He dropped the mask on the wooden table and lifted his eyes to them.
Esabel flushed mildly. Ferra turned red as a berry.
No matter the number of times she had seen her brother, naked and all, he still made her heart race. She couldn't stop staring at him. He was too beautiful a man. The fact was that he wasn't, but it only made him more appealing; with his silver eyes and hair like the smooth fur of a white bear—the palest kind.
She didn't know she'd been moving close until her pink lips was an inch away from his.
Marsil didn't move. He remain rigid, staring into her beautiful blue eyes. He clenched his fist on the table.
The Princess was so close he could see the flutter of her blond lashes. Her scent and her body; a scent he wanted to drown in; a body he wanted to sink into so hard until neither of them could move.
From the corner of his eyes, he spied Ferra watching with aroused eyes. It made him wonder if she liked seeing him with his sister. Ferra on the other hand didn't particularly like the way she was feeling.
As she watched Esabel lean with her forehead touched to Marsil, she felt a warm feeling spread over her skin.
Like that day in his room...
She wanted to watch. She wanted to see how far they would go...
Would they kiss? Would they moan and pant into each other? Would they loose themselves to the pulsing desire?
These thoughts were utterly wanton—some would even say perverse, but deep in her heart, it was what she wanted.
Marsil's hand moved to Esabel hair and he fisted the luxurious golden waves.
FUCK HONOR AND DUTY! he mused.
He was just about to close the inch between his and Esabel's lips when the Barkeep abruptly returned, jarring them apart.
Marsil nearly went on his knees to the Pantheon. He had been 'this' close to breaking his honor.
Inwardly, he knew Esabel; with all her golden hair, pouting pink lips, curvy body, and sharp tongue would be his undoing. There was only so much a man could take. But he was grateful for the Barkeep's arrival.
At least he got to cool off. Even for a moment...
Ferra went busy with her nails; not wanting to admit the fact that she'd been aroused by watching them. Esabel on the other hand was furious.
"Fuck!" she frowned at the Barkeep.
"Excuse me!" the maiden said.
"Just drop the fucking ale and leave," Esabel said, fire in her eyes.
The Barkeep dropped a full jug of frothing liqueur and three filled goblets but didn't leave. She looked to Marsil who had his head lowered to hide out his eyes.
The brown-eyed wench assumed it to be shyness and lifted her skirt a bit, flashing a white thigh.
"Should you need anything else, Lord Silverheel," she began with a seductive smile. "...I'm here to—"
"By the gods! Get the fuck out!" Esabel screamed.
It was in the young woman's authority that the Barkeep immediately recognized her as the one and only Princess of Syveria.
The poor lass paled and stumbled as she hurriedly scrambled away. At her exit, only silence remained at the booth. Both Marsil, Esabel and Ferra knew exactly what they had felt.
They all reached for their cups of ale at the same time, downing the wine in one drink.
Then they lowered the cups, looking to one another. Only a moment passed before they were all chuckling and laughing—Marsil included.
They were still grinning awkwardly when a shadow settled itself before them, at the opposite end of the table. In the warm light of the candles, it was a man.
A young man with a shocking neck tattoo...