FAST PASS
Brandon trailed behind Ragaleon from a distance, observing him.
"I heard two of your wives had a chess battle, and Jazell won." Brandon said, breaking the silence.
"Racheal allowed Jazell to win." Ragaleon sounded the least bothered.
"What makes you think that? Brandon inched closer.
"Women are complicated, Brandon. I guess you will understand that when you get married." Ragaleon's nonchalant voice echoed.
"I don't plan on doing that anytime soon." Brandon said with disdain.
"What do you think about my wives? Ragaleon dared to ask. The long black royal outfit Ragaleon wore made him sinfully handsome; his black shoulder-length hair matched his brown eyes, and his broad and masculine frame made him towering.
He was tall, had lean fingers, and had the most enchanting voice a lady would want her man to have.
"That is an inappropriate question, my king." Brandon was careful not to anger him.
"It is a command, not a request. I would have had your head hanged on a spike immediately, but then your sister Jazell will be on my neck." Ragaleon, he said finally, walking through a door leading to a courtyard.
They took their seat in the open air; the palm trees and colorful flowers made the environment serene.
"Well, I can start by commenting on your wisdom; each woman you married has a key role. They all come from powerful kingdoms."
"Try telling me something I don't know, Brandon." Ragaleon sounded unbothered.
Brandon didn't know what Ragaleon wanted to hear.
"What do you want to hear, my king? Brandon arched his brows.
"Don't bore me to death, Brandon. When I asked you what you think about my wives, I wanted to know what you have to say about their physical features." Ragaleon said, pouring himself a wine.
A rivulet of sweat broke on Brandon's face as he shifted uncomfortably on his chair.
"They are all beautiful… I mean, you made a good choice." Brandon swallowed a lump in his throat.
"I picked Racheal not because of her physical features, but because she is skilled in swordsmanship. Not many princesses know how to ride a horse, talk less of fighting." Ragaleon sipped from his wine.
"I heard they call her the queen of wisdom." Brandon commented, then poured himself a glass of wine.
"Your sister is unpredictable…" Ragaleon peered into Brandon's eyes.
"Jazell? She has always been like that; she is also cunning, her words always have deep meaning, and she is a very unhappy woman." Brandon's eyes looked distant.
"How did you survive growing up with her? Ragaleon sipped from his wine.
"We rarely saw each other or even talked; she was always busy. She was supposed to be the crown queen of Vandamonth, but then you came along and made her your second wife." Brandon gulped down the whole content in the glass, then dropped it on the table.
"And your father, greedy King Jarob, he agreed to make a woman take over his empire? Ragaleon placed the glass of wine he was drinking on the table.
"Is that what you people call him? Greedy King Jarob, not bad. He is selfish, a cruel and vile man. Always unhappy, always wanting more; to make things worse, he got married to a narcissist, my mother, Kora." Brandon's eyes trailed ahead.
"You must have had a horrible childhood." Not that Ragaleon cares; he couldn't relate.
"More like a scary childhood, always living in fear of the unknown. My father has so many enemies; if I were to be kidnapped one day, he would probably forget he ever had a son named Brandon.
My mother didn't care about us; she was always after herself. Jazell was the only person that took care of me, but she never got emotionally attached. So that if a day came where she would have to choose between herself and me, she would choose herself without having any guilt." Brandon poured himself more wine.
"Do you think I made a rash decision by putting Katie to death? Ragaleon suddenly pops up with the question.
"Why do I have a feeling that this was the very reason you bought me here in the first place, to ask me this question?" Brandon smirked, but soon read a leering glare on Ragaleon's face.
"You are becoming more bold as days pass by." He said, crossing his legs lazily.
"Katie deserved what she got, but then again, sending her body to her kingdom sends a wrong message. You should be preparing for a war; the kingdom of Canna would avenge their daughter." Brandon said calmly.
"I sent them the body of their daughter; they should be grateful. I planned on chopping her into bits and pieces and then setting her remains on fire. I wanted to watch her burn to ashes and hear her scream…" Ragaleon's eyes became cold.
"You sent her body to her parents so that they would perform her final rites and bury her in her hometown. You were benevolent enough, but that still doesn't stop the impending war." Brandon interceded.
"I will be keeping my eyes on my wives, but I need more eyes, and that's where you come in. Watch their every move. Who they meet, the people they converse with…" Ragaleon paused.
"You had better go and get yourself a woman. If you don't plan on having one, then I will cut off your manhood because it will have no use." Ragaleon threatened, and Brandon choked on the wine he was drinking.
He gazed at Ragaleon with dread…
"You are not called the scorpion for nothing."
...…..
Micah pinned up her black hair into a bun, her hazel eyes battering as she wore the worn-out plain gown on the mattress in the room.
She shoved her feet into a pair of sandals at the corner of the small room, then made her way out of the room. Once she got to a particular part of the small house, she tried to tiptoe across the room without making any noise.
"Micah?
An old man with a shaky voice called out; she halted in her step and slowly dropped her leg, which was halfway raised in the air.
"Father." She called out and then made her way towards the room instead.
"Micah, you don't have to go; stay, my child." The old man's voice was shaky. The sun coming out of the wooden window radiated on his grey hair.
"No, Father…," came Micah's sonorous voice, piercing the air.
Her voice was like the harp of musical instruments, slow but sharp, sending tingling vibrations whenever she talked.
"I must go, Father. We have nothing to eat. It is my responsibility to take care of you and my sister Berth; I have to go." She said, trying to convince the old man as she sat next to him on the small bed.
The old man was covered with a blanket from his feet up to his chest.
He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. He was afraid something would happen to his daughter; he feared the worst.
"I fear for your life, dear; I don't want to lose you the way I lost your mother. She left one day and never returned." The old man's voice was laced with worry.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Father; I promise I will return to you." Micah said, stroking his grey hair.
The old man wanted to save his daughters, to protect them with everything he had, but how was he supposed to do that when he was getting weak by the day? His immune system was weak, and he could hardly move a muscle.
"Then I shall come with you; I am feeling better." The old man tried to sit up but coughed violently.
"Don't move, Father." Micah quickly positioned a pillow behind his back and made him lie down.
"Father, you are too weak; you can't go anywhere until you are feeling better. I promise to return back by noon." Micah said, glancing through the window, it was very early in the morning.
"Be careful, my dear; don't venture too far from the farm. Take Berth along with you, and make sure to be back before sunset." He cautioned her, and Micah nodded curtly.
"I will, Father. If you need anything, remember to ring the bell. Mrs. Crimmon will send her son Tyre to call me from the farm."
She said, pointing at a rope by the side of the bed connected to a bell outside the house. It was a small thing she invented due to the fact that her father was getting weaker by the day, and he could no longer scream out their names if he needed anything.
There was a rope hanging on the wall close to the bed; the rope was long and connected to a small bell outside. If the old man rang the bell, their neighbor Tyre, a small boy living next to them, would come running in.
It was a genius idea, and it worked perfectly. When the old man needed anything, all he had to do was tug at the bell, and it would ring loudly, and then they would come running.
With that, Micah kisses the old man on his forehead and quickly makes her way through the door. She increased her steps as she wiped a tear tugging at the corner of her eyes. The old man's days on earth were numbered, and she knew it. Was she also going to lose him the way she lost her mother?
As she made her way to where she might find her sister Berth, Micah shut her eyes and muttered…
"Good Lord, I beg of you, take care of my father; I am not ready to be an orphan."