In a body much too numb to be her own, the hero watched her mother rush toward her, face pale, clutching her housecoat tight to her frame.
“Oh, sweetie.” First a touch to the livid bruise on her cheek, and then another to the wound on her shoulder, her arm. “What h—”
“Dad sent in more reinforcements than I expected tonight.” A wince as her mother attended to her shoulder injury, with antiseptic and Band-Aid she couldn’t recall her fetching. Must be the concussion. “It took me a little longer than usual to fend them all off.”
Meaning: she’d absolutely gotten her ass handed to her. It was a miracle the mask hadn’t torn off, exposing her identity to her father—otherwise known as the city’s most infamous villain.
Although, there was a moment when—
“I can’t take this.”
The hero looked up. Her mother’s eyes had gone glassy, hands suspended halfway through dressing up her once-bloodied arm.
“You know I can’t take watching the both of you go at it like this. I can barely handle deceiving your father every d—”
The hero scoffed. “You seemed to handle deceiving the world for the entire time you were married just fine.”
Harsh words, but harsh didn’t always mean untrue. When the hero had found out her parents had been colluding in covering her father’s identity, she’d been shocked. All those crimes, the carnage and the bloodshed, and her mousy, kindhearted mother hadn’t turned him in once. In fact, she’d helped him. Helped him uphold the guise of their picket-fence family, him a lawyer and her a nurse, him a doting husband and her his loving wife.
And to an extent, the hero couldn’t even tell where the guise began. She’d had a childhood like no other. Her father at her first tournament and her mother at her school meetings. Summers on the coast and surprise birthday parties never to be forgotten. She was the perfect combination of them: her mother’s heart-shaped face and her father’s left-sided dimple, her wit and his goofiness.
But not their selfishness. Never their selfishness.
At some point during her reverie her mother had drawn back, wearing a hurt that, somehow, still managed to make the hero feel guilty. “That’s not fair.”
Because, in the end, her mother was just a victim.
“You know I played along so that you’d have the best life,” said her mother.
Forced into her father’s schemes on discovering his murky history by accident. Forced into keeping her daughter’s secret from her husband, that she was the hero he so passionately wanted to eradicate.
“So that you wouldn’t be forced to live without a father.”
The hero yanked her arm back from her mother’s gentle fingers.
“Really, Mom?” The onset of anger was as spontaneous as it was deadly. “Not for his golden parachute? Not because you couldn’t give up all his blood money?”
Silence like static. Or maybe it was the rematerializing headache.
The hero’s nails dug into her palms. Yes, she was angry. Enraged, furious, disbelieving of the fact that she should hail from the very thing she’d taken it upon herself to liberate the city from. Still she couldn’t bring herself to add the fuel to the fire, because her mother was little more than a pawn in her father’s game, and because her mother was her mother. It was as much her duty to rescue her as it was to rescue the rest of the city’s denizens, complicit though her mother had been in all the time her father—her father, the villain, the damned, despicable villain—had exacted his horrific crimes.
Complicit but innocent. She hadn’t had a choice. She’d been scared.
I forgive her, I forgive her, I forgive her . . .
Ring!
Her mother had yet to speak. When the hero braved her next glance, it was to her mother sucking in a deep breath, summoning her composure, and answering her phone. “Hi, honey.”
Dad.
“I’m still—no, I haven’t seen her yet . . . I don’t think so . . . Yes, I . . .” Then a pause. “What? What do you mean that she’s—slow down, please.”
Now her mother was looking frightened. The hero tensed up.
“What do you mean, you saw her face? Are you sure it wasn’t just a trick of the eye?”
Shit.
That slip. One of his lackeys had gotten so close to snatching her mask clean off. Had he succeeded? No, but maybe he’d gotten just close enough that—
“It can’t be,” her mother gasped. Even in knowing decade-long lies had made a perfect actress of her mother, the hero couldn’t help being impressed by the show she was putting on. Then again, the fear was likely far less orchestrated this time. “Our sweet little girl. What . . . what are you going to do?”
A second. Two. Thirty. A minute.
The hero’s heart started pounding too fast for a proper assessment.
The hero tugged at her mother’s sleeve. Her eyes begged the question her lips could not form, whether her father was listening or not.
Right then, her mother ended the call. Her expression, the paragon of terrified, told the hero all she needed to know.
The protagonist flicks her dark fan with a white dove chain dangling on the edge. Her eyes observes the antagonist's move while he talks with different ladies on the other side of the ballroom. She cannot believe that her very own rival who tried to kill her yesterday was here, enjoying the party with an annoying smirk dancing dangerously on their red lips.
They are in the middle of the enormous banquet. The king hosted it after the birth of the new crown prince of the empire, and they are sure that some houses are already planning to choose who to support. Since there are currently two princes at this moment and the other one is a son of the concubine. She speculates the houses against the king would support the concubine's child and use them for their own malicious goal.
They embedded the throne in gold like the golden hair of the king and the crown prince. Tables covered the hall, and they gathered musicians on the side of the throne. The musicians are playing their hearts out, and beautiful melodies rang to their ears. Soft and nothing is off-pitch like you always expect from musician prodigies.
She stepped forward to the servant, her silky white dress flowing behind her back as she gave them a gorgeous smile. Her eyes switch between the glass of liquid and her rival, who is talking to a lady. Her heart clenches as she watches them laughing, his smile never leaving his lips, then she grasps the lady’s hand and kisses it. Is it okay if she says she wants to slap that woman in the face right now, and take his hand?
Oh, she doesn't love him. She hates him. Of course, her hatred is the source of fire inside her. Was it a lie?
She strolled to the nearest table and puts her elbow to it and holds her chin. There is no way she’ll just observe him like he is an entity of the god. Probably, if she puts her mind into it, but for now. Too impossible.
A beautiful woman who swooned every man in the country with her own beauty is what the people of this country call her. Yet she can’t even swoon at the only man who wants to kill her. Instead of kidnapping her and locking her behind a cottage in the woods, never showing her beauty to the world. The antagonist wants her dead, and drips of blood leave her lifeless body as he relishes every moment of her left anguish towards him. He doesn’t want her or her body, but he yearns for her screams of help and pleads to stop.
Such a sadistic behind a pretty face. The protagonist grabs a glass of champagne, the bubbly water burning her throat as she takes a sip. Still looking at the antagonist with hatred in her shimmering diamond eyes, behind that diamond is hot fuelling fury yet to be extinguished. She flinches and wanders her eyes to a random person when he glances in her direction.
And she saw the Duke of House Pentagon stroking their curvy and well-kept mustache and bit their lips, trying to seduce her. For god’s sake, there are many people to look at in this enormous ballroom, but her eyes betray her and glances at the worst man possible. The duke excuses himself to the people talking around him, and he walked to where she is. She must be paranoid. He can’t be planning to talk to her, right?
Her feet stepped backward while she tries to think of potential routes to escape this encounter. A hand touches her shoulder, and a sturdy structure or perhaps body met her back. She turned her head and saw him.
“Need my help?” he asked, and his dark pupils met her glowing ones. She nods without even thinking about anything as a new song plays. A smirk curled up on his lips and the duke stared at them with a disgusted expression on his face. He turned with a sound of a huff, making the antagonist puff out a low laugh from what he witnessed. She narrowed her eyes and pushed him, not enough to make him stumble to the floor, which she’ll be glad about.
“Not a thank you, princess?” the antagonist sneered. If someone could pay her a treasure of gold to punch him in front of this crowd, then she’ll not hesitate and do it. That annoying smile on his face is enough for her to feel rage erupt from her chest. When will that smirk even go away? Such a bastard.
“No, thanks,” she replied, but it surprised her after he offered his hand to her for a dance. Reject him, reject him, is what she wants to do. But the crowd staring at her with those dark eyes pressures her to take his hand and let him take her in the middle of the banquet for a dance. By this time, all she wants is to be swallowed deep in the ground because there is nothing to fight for if her own pride is shattered merely in his hands.
They curtsy, and he guided her hands to his shoulder, then grabs her waist gently. The waltz started playing as they began dancing to the music. The desperation to step on his foot was high enough that she could compare it to the tree behind their backyard. Please trip, please trip, is what she is whispering in her mind while he gave him a smile. Is that a way of saying, ‘that’ll never happen?’.
“Darling, don’t look at me like that. Is this perhaps your grudge from yesterday?” the antagonist said, leaning near to her ears. Every woman would faint if a handsome person did this to them. However, this gorgeous and angel-looking guy tried to kill her yesterday, so no thanks.
“Perhaps,” he twirled her and snatched her waist to his grasp. Not letting her far away and be stolen by another man in this routine. Her dress flows with her curves and her hair dances in the air. Giving the both of them an alluring image from the audience, yet they don’t know that these two are spitting fire to each other. Like dragons playing on fire.
“Still cannot accept that your daddy wants you dead?”
“You are lying,”
“I fail none of my mission, so take this like I am helping…” he paused, a hint of amusement twinkled in his eyes after she stepped on his foot with eyes glaring daggers at him. “Darling, you see everyone in this room is dying tonight…”
“So?”
“The reason? Because your cool daddy wants your head. Really selfish, don’t you think?” he gripped her shoulder, both of them stopped dancing while the audience stares at them, confused.
“Be a good girl and grab the knife in my breast pocket…” Screams echoed in the air as people falls one by one. The once peaceful ceremony was now in total commotion as he whispered in her ears, “Kill him, and all of this will be over.”
“How can I trust you?” she raises her eyebrow as she takes out the knife from his pocket. She throws it in the air and catches it in the holder, the tip of the knife pointed near his neck.
“Easy. I won’t accept any assassination task for you for a year. A sweet deal, isn’t it? Everyone wants you dead.” his hand goes to his neck and pretended like slashing it, and he winked. It is indeed a sweet deal. As they say, every cheese can attract the mouse. She obeyed.
