Daevarran sat, fingers tented as he lost himself in thought. The hearty breakfast piled high on a plate went ignored and he had pointedly pushed it aside where it was not in his view. The turmoil in his stomach left him with little appetite and he reached out for a third time to slowly spin the cigarette on the cedar tabletop. Old habits called to him, purring into his ear how much better he had felt in his days of addiction; how relaxed. Glancing to the far door of the dining room, Daevarran exhaled heavily through his nose. The cigarette he had indulged in the day before had not been simple tobacco as this one was.
His meticulous nature caused his fingers to leave the rolled temptation and set the matches he had found into a neat little row. Five matches left in his old case, red-tipped and begging to be lit. Glancing to the brightening windows of the room, he pressed his lips into a grim line. The plan had been so elegant to begin with. Though his brother was ever eager to be head of House, he was often willing to do anything Daevarran asked when it came to adding to their fortune or reputation. This was meant to add to both, though Baydon has his doubts about the reputation or honor that would come from being associated with the Red Whore of Silvermoon.
How odd it was for Daevarran to care so quickly for a woman who had brought ruin upon herself. He had little love for commoners or nobility associated with scandals and shame. Why then, had he felt genuine compassion for a woman that was widely known to be a lying, vicious harlot? Plucking up the cigarette, he set it between his lips and struck a match to light it. The first silky plume of smoke from the rich tobacco filled his mouth and he held it there, sliding over his tongue and caressing his taste buds until an unhappy grunt sent it curling out into the dining room air. It did not satisfy his craving like thistle did.
Tapping a bit of ash onto the corner of the table, he leaned back in the sturdy chair to attempt to enjoy his smoke. Grey curls and spirals drifted around him as he searched for a solution to his new problem. How to proceed… Ill intent had brought him to introduce himself to the heir-apparent of House Severidan, but the drug-induced haze of lust had led him to much deeper things. He had not lied about his mother or her decent into madness that was largely due to masking every emotion for the sake of keeping up appearances. He saw a lot of that in Faetrix. He saw a lot of that in himself. Really, every true noble that played along with the games of high society used such methods. It did not help that the thin frame of the red headed temptress was exactly his preference. Daevarran had, had enough of the thick-bottomed, ample bosomed women that had begun to replace the majority of the Sin’dorei ladies. His eyes slipped closed as the cloud of smoke became thick around him, the cigarette nearly at its end.
“Smoking, brother?” Even without opening his eyes, Daevarran recognized the reproach in his younger sibling’s words. As always, his expression was decidedly neutral. He prided his ability to keep his cool and lock away any seething anger to reserve for a later attack, when it would really matter. His only reply was to blow his mouthful of smoke toward the voice, eyes remaining closed as he held in a sigh.
“I heard news of you,” Baydon chuckled. He could hear the younger man picking at his breakfast for the best parts. The elf was chewing when he spoke again. And he called smoking a disgusting habit. “You shared drink with the whore and sought to protect her from an assassin. Very clever. Is it true to sought her out afterwards? If you sealed the deal so quickly…”
Hearing Faetrix called a whore bothered him now. As he had told the heiress, he was no bleeding heart. Why did he desire to come to her defense? “We exchanged words,” Daevarran stated, crushing the cigarette butt into the food to ward off Baydon’s snacking. “Honestly, your delight in such gossip is in poor taste. I might worry I have a younger sister.”
Baydon’s jaw tensed and it wasn’t hard to tell when he was upset. The ambitious little lord had much to learn. “Maybe I will take it upon myself to marry first and produce a son. There must be a wealthy eligible woman who is pretty and lacking a lifetime of shame and embarrassment.”
The anger flared in Daevarran again, but he was the picture of calm as he opened his eyes to regard the darker haired Sin’dorei. “You may do as you wish, but remember to tread carefully. You just told me of your plan, little brother.” He waved the idiot away and watched him go off in a huff. What would Baydon say to know that very little money came with Faetrix? Wealth had been their first goal and any attention to their House name, however controversial, was still attention. He recalled how the delicate woman had appeared, her mask slipping away for the briefest of moments to reveal to him her true nature. Daevarran wanted that elusive, rare treasure and he would be hard pressed to share it. The raw emotion she displayed could be a trick, even a clever trap. He had considered such things.
Now, more than anything, Daevarran desired to banish the loneliness he had witnessed deep down inside of the Red Whore of Silvermoon’s heart, and to make her a whore no longer.
