 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
"Devon and Damien"Chapter 6: Act 1
Letting himself flow freely into the crowd, Devon continued to watch Joanna from a distance, avoiding making eye contact with her at all costs. Even though he had barely seen her in half a decade, his heart still ached as though he had been engaged to her yesterday. For years he had tried to suppress this feeling within him, but to no avail. “What are you doing out so far from the prize?” Faddon questioned, placing his hand on Devon’s shoulder. “You act as though you were a boy watching his unapproachable crush. I would that you passed such habits half your lifetime ago, my friend.” “Not so easy, I’m afraid,” Devon said, not once breaking his gaze from Joanna. The two paused, and Faddon shared in Devon’s gaze. Joanna was bowing to many extravagantly dressed members of the social elite, greeting them as they entered through the main hall. Many had passed by Devon by this time – a time more than enough for him to have already greeted half of the attendants already in the banquet hall. “She’s like a dream, Faddon. She’s like a spirit of a loved one lost before time can remember, returning only to unwillingly torment those she left behind.” Faddon sighed. “You are becoming mad with your appetite, my friend. I am as well, but both are quite different. You may stand here and greet the walls as they crumble, but I shall make fine work of the feast that has been prepared.” With this, Faddon moved ahead of Devon and turned. “Excuse my leave, General,” he said with a wink and a smirk, quickly dashing through the sea of bodies to the meal within. “I suppose it can’t hurt to… Yes… I suppose.” Devon slowly marched through the main hall, proceeding to the banquet hall, wherein lied the main gathering. But before he could get there, he had to get through Joanna. With the crowds pushing and shoving all the way, Devon found himself vying for a position he did not desire. If Joanna were even to be searching for him, she may not have found him until after the guards had retrieved his shattered body, trampled beneath the feet of a hundred noblemen. “Painstakingly I left, and against impossible odds I return it seems,” Devon muttered. Looking ahead, Devon made out Faddon laughing heartily, holding Joanna’s hand, patting it as he became reacquainted with an old friend. He turned and began to walk away, but hesitated, turning back once more to point in Devon’s direction. Joanna turned and locked eyes with Devon, as Faddon scurried away laughing. “A blight on his cheerfulness,” Devon grumbled. Joanna, in the meantime, had become fixated on Devon, and the two had yet to break their gaze. Finally approaching his old love, Devon bowed, being the first to break their entwining stare. “My lady,” he greeted, bowing before his princess. “Your hair smells as an entire world of roses to me now. I am enchanted before you.” Joanna smiled and placed her hand on Devon’s bowed shoulder, pressing forward to signal him to stand. “Such words from the love that escaped a kingdom, Devon. I pray they are light-hearted.” “Perhaps. If you will excuse me,” he said, nodding his head in respect. Faddon stood to greet him. “Now that was naught but a prick to the heart, I imagine?” “Certainly not a sword, Faddon, but still a mistake. I have said far too much of my feelings.” “Why do you say that?” “She is engaged to Prince Jerrod now. Soon they will unite the two great kingdoms and bring peace to the earth once more.” “Possibly… but what of her?” Devon tore his sight from Faddon and faced the back of the banquet hall, where the royal family sat. “Please don’t open up old wounds. Not now.” Faddon faced the same direction, taking notice of a clean-shaven, black-haired man in his twenties. He was certainly not of Hessea’s royal line, but he sat with them and was dressed in a like manner. “Prince Jerrod! I should think he would not attend this ceremony now.” “Why not?” “Rumors spread from my homeland of a military grouping at Boria’s sides, facing a possible oncoming threat from across the Glowing Sea. I assumed he would himself be there.” “Rumors are half-truths. He may very well know of something that I do not… much as before.” “None of that!” Faddon quietly shouted, giving a powerful and foreboding glance in Devon’s direction. “It’s behind you.” “Yes… Yes, you’re right. For her sake.”Introductions frequented the great hall, which encompassed such a space as to hold a thousand men. Many old acquaintances did not recognize Devon in his rugged state, and still fewer wished to speak to him: most of the attendees were of high breeding, and suspecting him of being a lowly commoner. While the king loved the common man, most of his political entourage did not adhere to the same philosophy. At one point in the later evening, Prince Jerrod, the future husband of Joanna, approached Devon to shake his hand. “Welcome, old friend,” he said. “You disguise your majesty in such tattered cloths.” “They service me well enough,” Devon replied, putting on a false smile. “They are better made than some of your own finer garments, I am certain.” “A shame they are wasted on such a noble yet lesser-enterprising venture as smithing, my friend.” “A shame indeed, I am sure.” With this the two departed, and would not see one another until a great number of days and weeks had passed.“Devon!” cried a voice later on into the night. “Please, sit at my side!” It was the king of Hessea, Faleaon himself. He had grown to love Devon as a son in latter years, and would have found a way to increase Devon’s rank if it were possible, aside from handing the throne itself over to him. “I would that you be at my side during the toast!” “If that is your wish, sire,” Devon said, bowing. “Perhaps afterwards we may have a more gratifying discussion?” Devon had yet to have the time to meet with the king, as hundreds of others were already speaking with him for most of the evening. “Of course, my old First General!” the king said, prodding Devon as if he were a mischievous child. “But for now,” be began, suddenly raising his voice for the entire audience to hear, “let us sit and welcome my son, Nathan, my first-born, to the table!” Suddenly, the event became far more organized, with everyone taking a seat at one of the hundreds of tables scattered throughout the massive banquet hall. One large, elongated table stretched down the middle of the room. At the northern end of this table sat one-half of the royal family: Nathan, Joram, Joanna, and Prince Jerrod, an honorary family member. At the southern end sat Devon, with King Faleaon and some other members of much smaller kingdoms from the outer lands of Hessea. The hall became silent as Nathan, the king’s first-born son, who was three years Devon’s elder, suddenly became the only man standing. Holding up his cup, full of the finest wine in all of Hessea or Boria, he began to speak on behalf of his twin siblings. “At the age of ten was I blessed with two of the greatest treasures I, my father, or this world could ever dream of coming into possession of. Two great gems appeared that day, each shining more brilliantly with each passing year, adding to their beauty and refinery as this wine I hold in my hand.” Some laughed at this, as Nathan made himself known for his love of wine. “So speaks the vine worker!” one man shouted from the back. Many laughed for a moment, to which Nathan rolled his eyes and continued. “It enriches my soul to have you both by my side, Joram and Joanna. I could ask for no greater inheritance from my late mother than the both of you. Even in her passing I still see her grace in you, Joanna; and her authority in you, Joram. Assuredly, even with Hessea itself as my birthright, it is no more than a – ” Nathan paused for a moment and began to look very sad, as if he had just realized something horrible. Many near him suddenly began to stand, while others not so close merely wondered at why he had stopped. The glass in Nathan’s hand fell as his arm grew limp, and his body began to sink. Suddenly, Joanna screamed as her brother fell onto the table in front of her, with a small arrow lodged in the back of his head. “Assassin!” Devon said, leaping to his feet and drawing his revolver. “Assassin! To arms!” shouted the guards, drawing their blades and rapidly flinging themselves to the exits. “He shall not escape!” “Faddon! The rafters! Find their exits!” Devon shouted. “Of course!” he replied, quickly dashing off as if he were still under the command of First General Devon Tristam. Devon looked behind him, where the king had collapsed onto all fours, weeping. He cringed in rage for the loss of an old friend, and locked his sight on Joanna, who had laid her body across that of her fallen brother’s, pounding the table and screaming for her loss. Prince Jerrod was placing his hands on her shoulders, attempting to comfort his future wife. Devon felt a great well of anger stir within him. “What… just happened here?” |
