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The blue rose, p.1
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       The Blue Rose, p.1

           Seoran Worg
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The Blue Rose

  The Blue Rose

  Seoran Worg

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Seoran Worg

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition: May, 2017

  Lady Carla Koell

  606 V.Y. (Varrian Year)

  I walk briskly, up to the winding stair to his room. After all of my life waiting, I have enough of it. I am done being ignored.

  I am his fiancée, aren’t I?

  I get that at thirteen years old; I am too young to his nineteen years. Surely, now at eighteen, I am not a child anymore. He should take a notice on me, but he isn’t. Well, if he isn’t going to, then he should break our betrothal formally. That’s it. I am done waiting.

  The day is young still, but my servant told me that he just arrived. It is better to strike the enemy when he is unaware, like Master Sain often told us, the disciples.

  Finally, I stop just outside his room, staring at the oaken door, steeling myself. I hope Prince Rhys, the heir of the Varr Empire, is not inside with my fiancé, Lord Sean Worg. I know that my fiancé is an important man, the prince’s right hand man and the leader of Worg clan.

  I bring my hand to the door, and knock it softly. I pause and wait for a while, but no answer. I knock the door again, louder this time.

  “Come in,” he shouts offhandedly with deep, clear voice.

  I open the door; it squeaks softly, and rattled my nerve once again. I straighten my back and I keep my resolve. I enter the room with confident that I don’t really feel.

  The room is the same size as my room in Blue Tower. But here, the furniture is sparse, only a bed, a book shelf, a table, and four chairs.

  I know he rarely use this room. He is always busy doing the prince or emperor errand. He only come back here to attend the Blessed’s tournament and select an apprentice, and then off again to only Gods know where.

  I walk with sure steps, further inside. I see his broad back and his shoulder length black hair. He stands unmoving, facing the window, looking the brightening sky outside. I wonder, what is he thinking now? His new lover? I quell back my annoyance at that thought.

  “My lord,” I say with fake sweetness, trying my hardest to mask my anger and hurt. It is not done for a lady to be graceless.

  He turns his back swiftly. He seems taken aback seeing me here instead of a servant.

  But he quickly composes himself, and then he gives me a customary bow.

  He looks more rugged and tired than two months ago, before he went outside the city to chase outlaws in main land.

  My betrothed is not as handsome as the prince, I know that for sure. His features are too strong and bold. And it is not as flawless as the royal, but I do find him handsome and charming in his own way.

  “My lady, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he says after straightened his tall frame.

  I smile briefly at him. Many men admire my smile, and I feel the need to charm him, make him see what he is going to lose.

  “I heard tales of your valor, my lord. It’s all disciples are talking about these days,” I say sweetly, locking his gaze. “Well, I compelled to see you. I am still your fiancé, am I not?”

  He narrows his pale brown eyes, “Yes, of course, my lady. You’re fiancé of Worg’s chief. And he is I, as I recall,” he says with mock apology.

  I see that I am correct, he loathes this betrothal. But his honor forces him to keep it.

  I feel a tug in my heart. I shouldn’t feel hurt by it. It is just a great disappointment that makes me sad. He is the constant presence of my life as far as I remember. All lessons and graces I learnt these years is for him so I won’t be an embarrassment when I finally become his wife. That was what my parent said. And stupidly, I always want to please them and him.

  “You like this farce no more than I then?” I hold his gaze, and I see a flicker of something I cannot name in his eyes.

  After a long silent, he says, “What do you want, my lady?”

  I keep my back rigid. “What is Lady Raina Koell to you?” I pause, looking at his expression, but I can see nothing there. “I heard she will be your apprentice,” I say nonchalantly. And I hope my face won’t betray me.

  “She’s one of the many that catch my eyes. I’ll be honored to be her master. But it not settled yet.”

  Master? I want to laugh. I know the two of you want more than that. I see the way Raina looks at him. She is not even trying to be subtle about it.

  Every disciple in Varran Castle has to be an apprentice in order to be fully recognized as a Blessed Warrior. But it is uncommon for a master to take apprentice from the opposite sex.

  I clench my fist and say, “If that so, you should break our betrothal first. Otherwise, I’ll be a laughing stock. When you traipse across the country with your lover, I don’t want people pity.” I do try, but I can’t help the bitterness in my voice.

  “Be careful, my lady. I won’t have it if you slander the lady name,” he says in chilling voice.

  I feel another stab of pain in my heart, and keep my gaze unflinching under his hard stare. It seems he really loves her.

  It is no use to fight a losing war so it is time to give up.

  I nod. “My apologize,” I say, and our gaze still locked, “You should tell my father, my lord. And please be gentle with him. Tell him sweet lie if you will… He does hope to be your father in law in truth,” I add softly, and then, I bow slightly and taking my leave. I turn my back, without waiting his answer.

  “What about you, my lady?” he asks me in his oddly soft voice.

  I stop in my track, turning my back and look at him in the eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I want, isn’t it?”

  My pride won’t let me marry a man who in love with another. Even it means disgrace to be a jilted fiancé so be it.

  For a moment, we stay silent, and then I turn my back again and walking away.

  It’s truly over now. I try my best to ward off the tightness in my chest.
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