by VJ Dunraven
He shook his head. The Prince should know it was forbidden for a Royal of his position to get involved with a Tainted! European Royals like him never wasted their time with breeds below their standing. Doesn't he realize the implication of his actions?
He got out of the SUV and slammed the door forcefully, biting out a curse at the simple logic that occurred to him.
Of course, the Prince knows! What else could his intentions be? Everyone knew of his conquests! He's playing Elizabeth just like all the other girls!
Vexed, he threw his keys on the table as he went inside the house. He took out a can of drink from the fridge and leaned against the kitchen island, savoring the aromatic liquid slowly.
He thought about his ward. Young, fresh-faced, innocent, and yes—, quite beautiful. Who could blame the Prince for noticing her? He himself couldn't deny his attraction when he first saw her in class and at the dining hall. Wasn't that the real reason he asked her to ride with him to and from school?
Now, now, Gunther, he smiled, you know the rules. You can't fall in love on the job, especially if she's the job!
Well—, maybe after, he capitulated. It would be appropriate to pursue her then, since Descendants like him have the freedom to choose their mates—, except from the European Royal variety, of course.
He ambled to the living room with his drink and sprawled on the couch, staring at his reflection on the blank TV screen. The beautifully chiseled countenance of an archangel looked back at him, adored by many ladies regardless of rank. Even Elizabeth wasn't immune to his seraphic charm that never failed to convey the impression that he was a gentleman of fine bearing who could do no harm.
His eyes smoldered to a sherry red. What would she think if she knew that in the battlefield, he was the dreaded fearsome assassin christened by the enemy as ... The Angel of Death?
He sighed, knowing his hands were tied. He'll just have to carry on with the charade, stand aside, keep his feelings for himself, and let the Prince break her heart.
For now.
The thought made him wince in disgust as he guzzled the last of his drink, suddenly feeling powerless to protect Elizabeth. He must be very careful. Most of all, he must watch himself.
Back at the yellow cottage, Elizabeth's mother entered through the back door, carrying a load of drinks from the depot.
“Mom? Is that you?” She heard Elizabeth running down the stairs.
“Yes!” She opened the fridge to restock it with their supply.
“What took you so long?” Her daughter asked behind her.
“I had to wait in line.” She glanced over her shoulder and tossed the wig and large hat she wore on the table, to keep herself from being recognized. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” Elizabeth reddened, combing the tousled black curls on the wig with her fingers. Her daughter had gotten used to seeing her wear a variety of wigs over the years whenever they went out in public, and accepted the accessory as part of her eccentric taste in fashion. “S-someone came by to visit me.”
“Oh?” Mom paused from her task. “A boy?”
Elizabeth nodded and she noticed the sparkle in her eyes.
“Someone special?” The deepening bloom on her daughter's cheeks was enough for her to guess her feelings. “Care to tell me his name?” she persisted, though she already knew.
“William.”
“Do you like him?” Mom tried not to sound too eager.
Elizabeth bit her lip and nodded.
Mom went to her and gave her a big hug. “Well, I'm happy for you. Maybe you can introduce him to me sometime.”
Several minutes later, she spied her daughter through her partly open bedroom door, staring with a dreamy smile at a solitary white rose in a bud vase on her bedside table.
This is the way it should be, she thought to herself. And just like that, all the sacrifices she made for the past seventeen years felt absolutely worth it.
That night, Prince William leaned on his elbows on the wrought iron railing of the balcony, overlooking the gardens of his mansion. His lips curved up, as he thought about his visit with Elizabeth before sunrise. Everything had gone well, thanks to Sophia and his cousins for straightening him out. But now, he needed to straighten out another matter by himself.
Earlier, he'd summoned one of the guards to inform Catherine to meet him in an hour, and that time had come.
This won't be easy, he sighed, thinking about what he had to say. Catherine's feelings for him were as clear as day, in spite of the fact that he had shown no interest in a serious relationship. However, he must deal with her once and for all.
At the townhouse across the courtyard from Prince William's mansion, Catherine stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had taken extra care with her appearance. Wearing a form-fitting, low-cut cobalt blue dress that made her black hair and stunning eyes the color of sunset, stand out.
She smiled at the beautiful girl who looked back at her. Since she received the Prince's summons, her insides had been whirling.
Would he take her out tonight? Desire to share his bed with her after a long dry spell? Or perhaps ... ask the one question she'd waited for all this time?
She tickled with anticipation at the thought, absently stroking her bare ring finger.
Then with a deep breath, she made her way to her waiting Prince.
Chapter 29
Prince William and Lady Catherine
Prince William pushed himself away from the railing and turned, as soon as Catherine materialized under the arch of the open double glass doors leading to the balcony.
“William,” she said in a husky voice, slowing her pace to a graceful sashay.
“Hello, Catherine.” He slipped his hands in his pockets, watching her glide towards him. She truly was a beautiful creature, with a fine visage fit for a Queen. Royals and Highborn males from every continent pursued her, but for reasons he couldn't comprehend, she had set her sights firmly on him.
“I missed you.” She laid her palms on his chest, looking up at him with her heart in her eyes, affection visibly written on her lovely face.
He swallowed the compunction rising in his throat. Just how the hell does one make it bearable to break a girl's heart? He might have carelessly done so in the past, but those were just brief liaisons with no strings attached.
With Catherine, it was different. She was persistent and ardent, never discouraged by his impassiveness. Her loyalty baffled him, sticking around for decades, waiting and hoping for him to reciprocate her feelings without complaint. Ah, it makes it all the more difficult to hurt such a devoted friend—, which is all she was, and all she would ever be to him.
“Are we going somewhere?” she asked with unconcealed enthusiasm in her voice, deftly fixing his shirt collar.
Prince William dragged in a lungful of air and shook his head. “No. We have to talk.”
“What did you want to talk about?” Her eyes took on a soft luminous glow, smiling expectantly at him.
He heard her thoughts as audibly as if she'd spoken them aloud. She had misconstrued his intentions tonight! He squeezed his eyes for a second and cursed himself. Son of the devil! —She thought he was going to propose! He felt inundated by a wave of self-reproach, wishing he could've made the purpose of his summons clearer. He now realized, the best way to make things easier was to be honest and forthright.
“Catherine,” he began, and then cleared his throat. “You know I'm fond of you and enjoy your company.”
She nodded with a big smile.
He sobered, aware that he would hurt her worse than he'd anticipated, but he must press on.
“You're a beautiful and wonderful girl, and I'm glad to have you as a friend.” He watched the blush spread on her face and felt nauseous with what he needed to say next.
“Why thank you,” she replied, oblivious to his predicament. “That's very sweet of you.”
He forced a half-smile and looked away, mentally shuffling for the right words t
o say. He wasn't any good at this, but damn it all, he must at least try to do it kindly.
“Somewhere out there, an equally wonderful guy awaits you,” he hastened to make his point, seeing her puzzled expression. “Someone who deserves you.”
“W-what do you mean?” she asked in earnest.
He braced himself to deal the inevitable final blow. “I sincerely wish I could offer you more, but—.” He riveted his gaze on her, determined not to falter. “I'm not the one for you, Catherine. It's best if we remained ... just friends.” There. He said it. It's done.
She stared at him blankly at first, followed by disbelief as the words sank in. He saw the light in her eyes fade away, replaced by a fresh spring of glittering tears. Abruptly, she turned her back to him, walking in a daze towards the balustrade, bracing one hand against it to support herself, and covering her mouth to stifle her sobs with the other.
Prince William dragged his fingers through his hair and waited for her to say something. When minutes passed and she didn't, he took a few steps towards her, but she held up a hand and whirled to face him. Hurt and anger marred her countenance.
“After all this time,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “you just want to be friends.”
“Catherine—”
“How dare you!” she snarled, eyes blazing. “You strung me around for five decades, showed me off like a trophy girlfriend and slept in my bed, William! Does that sound like just a friend to you?”
“You knew I couldn't promise you anything more than that,” he replied grimly, “I have always told you what I—”
“You used me!” she cut him off, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You led me to believe you cared for me, you selfish, unfeeling bastard!”
“Watch it.” He jabbed a warning forefinger towards her. “You know none of that is true. I never used you, nor treated you unkindly! And yes, I do care for you, but only as a friend, nothing more!” He slashed a hand in the air.
“How could you do this to me?” she cried. “I did everything to make you love me! You knew I loved you and you never once asked me to stay away. How could you make me think there was something between us?”
His temper rose to a dangerous degree. He was mad at her for saddling him with her baseless delusion that they had some kind of a committed relationship, yet he was angrier at himself for condoning her behavior over the years, consequently giving her false hope.
Somehow, he knew it would eventually lead up to this point, but he procrastinated, avoiding confrontation. Catherine may have been presumptuous in snaring him, but he was partly to blame. Indeed, the time has come to finally end this.
“Stop lying to yourself.” He narrowed his eyes and muttered an oath under his breath, unable to quell his frustration. “You were well aware I regarded you the same way I did my other lady-friends. You knew exactly where you stood, but you were in denial, clinging to some fantasy of your own making.” Her astonished, wounded gaze made him pause, but he willed himself to tell the truth that he very well knew would crush her.
“Listen to me, Catherine,” he said in a deep, somber voice. “I don't love you. I never wanted to marry you.”
His scathing words rendered her speechless. She blinked repeatedly, as if waking herself from a bad dream. Then without warning, she flung herself to him, gripping the lapels of his jacket in desperation.
“William! Don't do this,” she sputtered between sobs. “Isn't fifty years of devotion enough to please you? Couldn't you love me even just a little? I'll do everything to make you happy, I'll—”
He hushed her with elegant fingers poised between them and steeled himself from the guilt of inflicting such pain to someone who did nothing, but adore the very ground he walked on.
“I'm sorry, Catherine.” He removed her hands from his lapels and gently set her apart from him.
“N-no ... no—!” She grappled at his sleeves, refusing to let him go. “William, please! I want to be with you. I need you.”
He shook his head and wordlessly pried her fingers off, nimbly pushing her aside.
“William—, I love you. Please—,” Catherine reached for him repeatedly, tears streaming from her pleading eyes. “Please don't go, don't leave—”
Swiftly, he caught her wrists and latched them securely with his hands, preventing any more advances. “Are you really in love with me, Catherine?” He fastened a severe silver gaze on her. “Or is it my rank that enamors you?”
She abruptly stilled—, startled, as if he'd slapped her out of her hysteria.
”I’m sorry,” he repeated with finality, lowering her wrists firmly to her sides before releasing them.
She watched in stunned silence as he took a step back and turned, striding briskly across the balcony, the sound of his boots clicking on the marble floor echoing in the growing distance that separated them. Then, right before he reached the arched doorway to the main house, he heard her say, “There's someone else—, isn't it?” followed by a long, shaky indrawn breath and a small sob.
He kept his pace, eyes fixed straight ahead, as he approached the double doors. “It doesn't make any difference.” He deliberately trivialized her inquisition with a dismissive wave of his hand.
A moment of calm passed before she responded.
“I was right,” she said with sudden clarity. “You are in love with someone else.”
Prince William stopped in his tracks beneath the stone arch and looked slightly over his shoulder, purposely keeping his back to her. He wished things had gone better than they had, and regretted the fact that in order for him to do this, he must lose a long-time friend.
“Goodbye, Catherine,” he forged in a detached, diplomatic tone, and continued to walk away without a backward glance.
Chapter 30
Social Hierarchy Class:
The Descendants
Elizabeth glanced at Chad, as she sat in the front row between Ben and Lela in Social Hierarchy class. He had taken his preferred seat at the back of the classroom, politely declining her offer to join them.
Mr. Clark walked into the room. “Okay, everyone, settle down, settle down.” He waved a hand at the students still milling about and chatting. “Today, we shall discuss the Descendants. Does anyone know anything about this type of breed?”
Carlos raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Guerrero?”
“Descendants are the offspring of two immortal parents?”
“That's right.” Mr. Clark turned to the board and wrote Immortal M + Immortal F = Descendant. “Now, does anybody have an idea of their ancestry?”
A short silence ensued.
“Come—, give me your best guess,” Mr. Clark prodded, sweeping the room with the whiteboard marker in hand.
Chad raised his pen.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Alistair would know, of course.” Mr. Clark smiled. “Will you please enlighten your classmates?”
“Glad to oblige, sir,” Chad replied. “Our breed comes from royal ancestry.”
An astonished chorus of ohs sounded from the class.
“Surprising, isn't it?” Mr. Clark looked around. “But it's true. Descendants are distant relatives of Royals from the fifth generation and onwards.”
“But Sir—,” Bart Hammerstein interrupted. “Whatever happened to the generations before the fifth?”
“The first and second generations are still considered Royals and the third and fourth generations are Nobility. However, we will discuss more on that once we touch on the Royal breed. Now, aside from Mr. Alistair, who can tell me about the two kinds of Descendants?”
Elizabeth raised her hand.
“Yes, Miss Hamilton?”
“The Defenders and the Academics?”
“Correct!” Mr. Clark drew an arrow pointing downwards beneath the word Descendant on the board, and wrote Defenders + Academics under it. “Can anyone tell us about each kind? Yes?” He pointed the marker at Lela.
“Academics are the thinkers and innovators who study science and
technology, while Defenders are the protectors, gifted with physical prowess and valiance. They are trained in armed combat and later join the Royal Army.”
“Very good, Miss Ikeda! I can see you've done your research. Nevertheless, to add to that, Academics go to the same campus as the Defenders, but are segregated in a different department called The Scholastic Foundation. Their curriculum is centered on discovery, innovation, and invention.
“In our society, Academics comprise our educators, inventors, scientists, politicians, etcetera. Please do not confuse their role with the Tainted who comprise our workforce. Academics are excellent at theory, while the Tainted are skillful at application. However, both breeds work synergistically. For example, in building a structure, the Academic would be the architect while the Tainted would be the project manager or someone in a position to enforce the specifications. Questions? None? Now, let's move on to the Defenders. Mr. Alistair?” Mr. Clark motioned for Chad to come to the front.
Chad wove through the chairs and stood next to Mr. Clark.
“Now if anyone is wondering how Academics and Defenders are distinguished, here is a good visual aid.” Mr. Clark straightened to his full height so the class could see the physical difference between them.
Next to Chad, who was easily over six feet tall, Mr. Clark was shorter by several inches and his physique was average compared to Chad's broad, well-developed form. Chad's eyes were also a sharper shade of red than Mr. Clark's.
“If there's anyone in this class who can't tell an Academic apart from a Defender, then I would seriously recommend an eye doctor,” Mr. Clark said.
“Ben can't!” Carlos hollered. “He thinks Chad is eye-candy!”
A burst of laughter filled the room.
“Shut up, Carlos!” Ben bonked his head with an oversized pink-feathered pen.
“What?” Carlos ducked as Ben threatened to hit him again. “I just heard you say yum-yum!”