When There's Darkness in Me (04)
Pairing: Titus Danforth x fem reader Word count: 9.8K Warnings: Not proofread, violence (this chapter has a hunt, so blood and injury mentions too), death, mention of parent's death/grief, brief mention of cancer, arranged marriage, vomit, substances mentioned, reader is going through it! A/N: Hi! Pretty much did an all nighter to finish this omg. I keep changing my mind about how I feel about this chapter haha. I really do hope you enjoy it and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments and reblogs are appreciated! I obviously don't condone what happens here, hunt/eat the rich instead <3 Dividers: by @/strangergraphics Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6
The oh so generous Chester Danforth was allowing a dinner for the High Council and a single night of sleep to allow the High Council members to be well rested and adjusted after travel and timezone differences. You were in a very delightful mood when the sleek vehicle stopped in front of the main building on the Danforth estate.
Barely any conversation had filled the journey for your family, you weren’t talking much to your father for what felt like a long list of reasons that he was only adding to, your brother was pretty displeased and your father had now decided you were a brat. That both of his children were. You’d been told earlier in the week that it was surprising you’d somehow caught Titus Danforth’s interest and Chester Danforth’s approval. That went onto the list.
You're led to a room by a white, stocky middle aged brunette woman that you don’t know the name of. She didn’t introduce herself and she looks completely apathetic to any pleasantries or your existence. At least where you’ll be staying is close to your family, your brother is in the room next to yours and your father is staying further down the hall. You step into another larger room, unbeknownst to you, Titus had made sure you were placed in what he saw as the nicest of the nice guest rooms. There’s a large window, it brings in enough light and there’s a bay window to sit in. That was something Titus had considered for you, not that you’d have a lot of time for reading with the weekend’s events. But he knew from your spot in the study here that you frequented over the years that you liked windows, rooms with light and views of trees. Something he’d noticed in your home too.
After everyone is in the sitting room, Titus looked at your family for a moment and without a word he placed his hand on the small of your back, you gasped a little and tilted your head, his touch was soft but firm and he quietly guided you away from your family and towards the far corner of the room. When his shoulders nearly brushed the deep green wallpaper, he faced you, his hand lingered on the soft fabric hugging your back and then moved to hold your hand in the both of his, swallowing them up and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles in a motion that soothed him more than he could ever express with words.
“Hi,” he says quietly as he looks down at your hand.
The Danforth’s estate feels more haunting than ever, something you don’t want to ponder on but it’s hard not to feel like its cloak of shadows and blood is entangling around you. Especially not with Titus’s rough hands holding yours, you can feel other eyes focused on you too. You hate attention, if this estate was going to try consuming you, it should at least have the grace to do so in a way to protect you from the eyes of the other High Council members. But of course, it won’t.
“Hello,” you whisper back quietly, watching his face, spotting the slight dimple coming out of hiding when he gives a small smile at hearing your voice.
“We haven’t had a chance to sit down since-”
“The contract?” You cut him off and he looks up from your hand to meet your eyes, being pulled out of his moment of peace at the bitterness that’s found its way into your tone. His eyes almost look hurt, his forehead furrows but he nods.
“Yes.” He says after a moment and clears his throat, wishing you wouldn’t refer to it as a contract. Sure, there’s a contract but he wants you to think of it as something real, not just that single word that makes it feel so clinical and detached. “I’d like us to talk about it all, just us.”
Your eyes stay focused on him, he’s a man with intimidating eye contact yet right now he’s looking at you in every way he can without having to look into your irises, your pretty irises he’s too scared to gaze into.
“That’s… reasonable,” you mumble after a moment and look down. It was. And you didn’t want to be a bitch right now, but you were more than pissed off still over Chester Danforth scheduling a High Council hunt on the anniversary of your mother’s death, a woman who had been accidentally killed in the hunt, another piece of collateral for the High Council to chew, spit out and forget. You were cycling through anger, disgust, and sorrow at rates that shouldn’t be possible, but grief since you were a child had taught you that nothing was impossible or logical when it came to loss.
“Really?” His voice was softer and almost sounded surprised. With how tense you were and how you’d been the last time he saw you, part of him was expecting you to snap in some way and his heart had been struggling with the anticipation of you rejecting him in anyway.
“Just not today, tomorrow, or overmorrow,” you say a little firmly.
He meets your eyes again and smirks a little. “Of course you know that word, it’s so fucking archaic.”
“I’m serious. Extremely.” You look at his hazel eyes, they look a little darker today.
“Extremely? But you’re here for the weekend already-”
“Yes, again, another problem your father created with ruining this weekend.” You sigh and roll your eyes, you’re not going to chew his ear off over this.
“Oh?” His eyes narrow a little and his grasp on your hand becomes firmer.
“Maybe next week or the following, lunch or something. I don’t want to think tonight.” You admit earnestly and his gaze softens, taking the crumb you’re offering.
“Okay.” He nods and after a moment asks, “is it the hunt?”
After a moment you give a slight nod, yes it is because of the hunt but he doesn’t know what aspect of the hunt it is that’s upsetting. Titus, the man you’re to marry, does understand maternal loss, you do know that, but they’re very different contexts. It also doesn’t mean that you want to stand here and try to have a heart to heart about it with him, it feels wrong, he’s the man that has loved the hunts since he could join in on them.
Titus nods as he watches you, he gives your hand a light squeeze and rubs his thumb over each of your knuckles in a swirling motion that he hopes you’ll find soothing. “Nothing will happen to you, I’ll watch or you can hunt with me.”
It’s an offer that comes from what he thinks is a tender place, he’s still rubbing your knuckles. You look down at his hand before back at him, your eyes are a little glassy from the urge to shed the tears you’ve been repressing. You don’t want to hunt by his side, you want to scream at Chester Danforth, then your father and not have to do this shit this weekend.
“I… appreciate the thought but no, thank you. I can’t. I have to hunt with my brother.” You stumble a little over your words and he nods, knowing that this was what you were going to say all along. “I need a minute, sorry.” You whisper and your insides feel like breaking, something that makes its way into your voice unfortunately.
Titus squeezes your hand one more time, lifting it to give a soft peck to the back of it and then releases your hand like it’s bones made of delicate porcelain. Your stomach twists at knowing that others have seen this, you’ve always hated the way your skin feels when there’s multiple eyes looking at you. Titus commands attention and despite this room being large, it’s still only four walls with a group of opportunists lacking spines and souls.
You step away slightly and try to move like a shadow, out of sight and out of mind, as you make your way to be a fixture at your brother’s side. His eyes flick from your father’s face to yours for a moment and you nod. You look down at the dark carpet on the floor and bite your lip to stifle any sorrow from escaping out of you.
Wan Chen Xing came over, she looked at you with a smile that always felt more earnest than the ones worn at these gatherings but it started to slip as she looked over you. The worry lines on her flawless skin became pronounced on her face as she looked at you, her silence doing nothing to hide the look of stilted sympathy in her eyes as she watched you. “What’s… happening there?”
The words were carefully chosen, not too confrontational, perfectly vague and still painfully pointed with the look of pity she wore. “Hmm?” It was all you could come up with as you did your best to look at her but also avoided holding her brown eyes for a true moment. Your voice was quiet and carefully composed but you really didn’t want to invite questions or unwanted commentary. This fate of yours was already sealed and this all felt secondary to what your mind was fixated on. Your mother.
“Titus.” She said after a moment, watching your posture carefully, you answered with a small shrug and moved your arm to discreetly hold yourself a little tightly. Hopefully to anyone else it would be like maybe you were just a bit cold, but if you kept yourself together maybe you’d be able to stop your guts and every other organ of yours from spilling out. Her eyes stayed on you and she said your name calmly but with a twinge of sympathy. “That’s… That’s a death sentence.”
She’d made it clear that she thought the Danforths were particularly twisted than other families and you knew her opinion was lowest of Titus in particular. You weren’t ignorant to the fact that her conscience was probably a bit cleaner and her morals a bit sounder than other High Council members but this wasn’t what you needed right now. Because again, Mr Le Bail’s approval had already been given like the most valuable gift. There wasn’t a way out. Again, this wasn’t the top of your priorities either.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you whisper with a sigh and then look away towards your brother.
She looks at you, the sympathy coming out more and that just makes you feel nauseous, she gives a slight nod. Maybe the understanding is there of your reality, hands tied but at least the binding is pretty and there’s all one could want on the other side of marital vows. “Okay. But be careful, he won’t.” Is what she says as she watches you like you’re a lamb being led to the slaughter. A goat for another sacrifice. You step closer to your brother and try to further avoid any eyes that land on you.
After a dinner you’d barely been able to touch, you’d at least been sat next to your brother and unsurprisingly not far from Titus, you felt a little more like yourself and that there were less eyes locked on your every move and microexpression. Of course there was still one pair of eyes that were burnt into your every step and gesture, that was something you knew you’d have to live with.
In the sitting room, you see Daniel Le Domas leaning against a wall nursing a drink in his hand, Emilie isn’t too far from him but he’s treating the amber liquid like it’s more interesting than anything she could be rambling about.
“Should you even be drinking the night before the hunt?” Your voice comes out softer than it probably has in days as you step closer to him.
His presence is always more tolerable than most in the High Council, something that you don’t see changing anytime soon. Daniel’s harboured a disenchantment with the system since his youth, it makes talking to him easier in all honesty. His dry humour and wit is easy to sit with, especially now when you’re in a bad mood and feel like crumbling into the aged and expensive floorboards and being sucked into a black hole sitting under them. His way of being and talking will either help lighten your mood or it’ll mean he’s not an explosive if you’re going to come out more dry or blunt.
“Actually, that’s more than reason enough for me.” He says before taking a swig of the drink.
Your nose scrunches a little as you watch him drink and hear the light slosh of liquid and a slight clink, once he’s swallowed you take the clear glass from his hand, careful not to spill any of the liquid and do something that might make a Danforth maid’s life a bit harder in the morning. “Thanks.” You say while holding the glass in one hand while looking at him.
“That’s just cold,” he looks at you as you hold the glass, his eyes are surprised at your move but he’s not going to question it, if anything he’d offer you a refill.
“Shut up, I’m taking one for the team.” You lift his glass up and finish the drink, schooling your face to keep its mask of neutrality up as the amber liquid burns the back of your throat and almost scratches. You probably haven’t had enough fluids today with the journey, that and keeping the sobs down that want to crawl out and torture you, isn’t helping. Daniel snorts and shakes his head with a little chuckle as you place the glass down with a soft clink onto wood. You don’t search for a coaster, you normally would but screw Chester Danforth and every piece of his furniture.
“Little Tight-Tight is staring.” He says with a little tired mock in his voice as his eyes look at Titus across the room for a second before looking back at you. You didn’t say anything or glance over, although you’re sure Titus would be very displeased with hearing someone call him that. He’d probably punch Daniel, you have little doubt of that in all honesty. “Oh yeah, that reminds me, did Chester reprimand you for the last meeting?” Daniel looks at you carefully now, there’s a playfulness there but a glimpse of earnestness. The closest he’ll let in.
“No, not a word. But this whole hunt feels like a punishment.” You whisper shyly as you look down at your shoes. You silently hope that Chester Danforth will never perceive you again, that you could dance through life without ever seeing his particular set of pale blue eyes or hearing his voice, but you know that’s not going to happen.
“Wow.” It’s more than a fair enough word here. Chester has had many dealt with for far less.
“Wow, indeed.” You lean against the wall more and look at him out of the corner of your eye, tilting your head. “I hate when they make us stand around and pretend to like each other.”
It’s an admission you probably shouldn’t make, but it slips out. Your nerves and irritation are growing louder. Daniel laughs. “I couldn’t agree more but… are you saying you don’t like me? I thought we were friends? That’s pretty fucking brutal, I just shared my drink with you” His voice takes on a playful tease and you roll your eyes.
“You’re much more pleasant to talk to than Bill Wilkinson, congratulations.” You whisper with a slight chuckle. It feels like it’s been awhile since you’ve had one of those.
“Low bar.” He says and looks at his sister for a moment, there’s white powder dusted over her face, he rolls her eyes and then looks back at you.
“Is Charity hunting?” You ask after a moment, his wife with a heart of ice is elegantly nursing her own champagne flute, her blunt bob tipping as she nods while talking to Ignacio.
“Yes,” Daniel says and looks down with a sorrowful expression, he goes to sip from his drink but then remembers his hands are empty. You scrunch your nose up and your eyes narrow slightly at his words, it wasn’t compulsory for her as in-law and that made it so much more fucked up. “I know,” he whispers with a sigh.
This was how it worked, the eldest generation completely desensitised courtesy of the power and wealth Mr Le Bail bestowed upon them and then a next generation of various degrees of fucked up. A childhood with the High Council cult had led to Alex Le Domas cutting himself off from his family and practically going no contact, leaving Daniel Le Domas so traumatised he now self medicates. His wife Charity had happily walked into this life, her coldness made her a perfect fit, you didn’t think Daniel cared for her at all and that this made it easier, that if she’d pulled the wrong card it would’ve been okay to him. Then there was the fucked up degree of Chester Danforth raising killers with an education more violent and blood spilling than any other family’s education tenfold. Their curriculum hadn’t included guilt, you were sure of that as you’d seen Ursula’s smirk with a firearm and the ease of Titus swinging a pickaxe.
Titus is watching across the room, his eyes rarely leaving you as he’s standing with Ursula and listening to Tony Le Domas rattle on about everything under the sun that he does not give a shit about. At least that’s how it feels to him as the conversation drags on and on. Something sharp twists in Titus as he sees you stand next to and talk to Daniel Le Domas, he almost wants to storm over when he sees you take Daniel’s glass and then drink from it. What the actual fuck? He sees red for a moment and as he keeps his hands in his pockets to stop himself from doing anything, he feels deeply uncomfortable.
Titus swirls the facts and thoughts around in his head as Ursula does all the heavy lifting of listening and responding to Tony. You’re engaged to Titus and he considers you far too demure and elegant to be interested in a married man. Especially if the married man is Daniel Le Domas of all people. You’re not that type. His jaw clenches as these thoughts race around his head, he wishes Tony would shut up more than anything and that Ursula would stop asking him things and trying to drag him back into the conversation.
Eventually he just walks off, he doesn’t bother excusing himself from the conversation, after all, Titus had already decided that his manners are reserved solely for you. Ursula rolls her eyes and looks at Tony who just pauses for a moment before he continues talking. Titus gets a drink for himself and then when he sees you leave the sitting room, probably for the restroom because you haven’t said anything to your brother, he follows.
“Hiding?” He asks as he comes closer to your side, you gasp a little at the surprise of him popping up but you hide it away as your pounding heart recovers from the fright.
“No, I wouldn’t want to get lost.” You whisper as you keep walking slowly, avoiding his hazel hawk gaze.
“Soon that won’t even be a thought in your head, you’ll know the estate like the back of your hand. There’s a lot to know.” He answers as he tilts his head to watch you.
No words come out as you still walk, your mind is chewing on his words. He’s right. You know there will be a wedding and then cohabitation will follow naturally afterwards but it’s the first time the thought really comes to you of living together with him. Of the bed you’ve slept in the last few words not being the one you’ll be in in a few months time, that your life will change so much to accommodate this arrangement. That you will be in his world, that it is expected of you to fully uproot yourself and hope you can be successfully replanted here into the Danforth’s slice of Rhode Island. No true care given to your homelife, what of work you wonder? But you can’t let yourself think about that right now, there is already way too much going on.
“Will you wear it?” He then asks after a moment seeing how you’re so in your head right now, his voice is so quiet and you barely hear the words, it takes a moment for them to pull you out of your daze and then to process them.
Your head whips to look at him. “What?”
“The ring-”
Your eyes widen and you feel your cheeks heat up as soon as he says it. You want to delay this a little longer. “Titus, we said we’d talk about this all next week or- just not now, please.”
Titus looks at you, he swallows, his eyes saddening like a heartbroken sparrow. Then after a moment he asks. “And Le Domas?”
You look at him, tilting your head and you frown slightly. “Daniel? What of him?” There’s some irritation creeping back into your voice now. The gentleness that was crawling out slowly after seeing his sad expression already wants to retire over this conversation turn.
“Yes, Daniel Le Domas.” His voice is firm, speaking like boulders pressing against your temples.
“I’ve met him, yes. What is this, Titus?” You look at him tiredly. He notices the slight scrunch in your nose, how your beautiful lips pout, he knows they’ll be soft when he kisses you. Just not now.
“What were you talking about? You drank from his glass.”
“I needed it more, and I might need another if you keep going,” You whisper. Titus frowns at you.
“Are you anxious for the hunt?” It comes out quickly as he looks at you.
“It’s complicated-”
“You don’t have to worry, it’ll be fine, you’ll be safe, I promise,” Titus’s voice is uncharacteristically soft as he tries to reassure you on something he doesn’t understand. You just chew your lip and don’t say anything, what can you say? “I’m going to look after you and watch, you’re living and that’s final.”
“It’s not… It’s not about that.” You sigh and rub your forehead. “Just, goodnight, Titus.”
Before he can get another poor but well intentioned word in you walk off quickly and make it to the room you’ve been assigned. Sleep isn’t your friend this evening, you knew she wouldn’t be. So you curl up on the plush bed with a headboard that looks older than your family’s involvement with Mr Le Bail and cry. You cry for hours, you cry over every moment that your mother should’ve had, everything she should’ve been able to give you guidance over. You think about how every year you buy another bottle of the eau de parfum she’d spray on her wrists and neck, how you sometimes will just sniff it as it sits on your vanity or how you’ll spray it on a scarf of hers that now sits on your neck. How you’d panicked once and looked into fragrance manufacturers, met a perfumer in Europe so you knew you’d never have to worry if her signature scent was discontinued. How one year you gave a bottle to your brother and you both cried, never speaking of it except for when one day he asked if he’d be able to get another just in case. That some days when he was sad he’d use it like a room spray to try and keep a ghost of the feeling of her being around, how you’d said yes and told him you’d done the same on many days that felt colder than the thermostat said it was.
Tears spill over how she didn’t get to hear you play music as you grew, how you’d never get to sit and listen to her play the harp again, over how you won’t be able to hear her input on your wedding gowns, that you never got to see her with a single grey hair. Let alone the chance she’ll never get to grow old.
The next day starts off quickly and you go through the motions, grief weighing your heart down more than should feel medically possible, it’s a blur of a day that you feel yourself slipping in and out of. It’s hard to be present and you do your best to function on autopilot.
Chester Danforth announces that the prey is a former associate of the Danforths, someone slimy, you barely catch his name, Seymour, and any of the details that Chester shares with you all before the hunt will commence. It’s better this way you think, the less you know the better, the easier it will be. Ignorance truly is bliss you think. You avoid your father like the plague, only occasionally looking over at your brother.
Neither of you comment on the bags from poor sleep under the other’s eyes, or how there’s a slight puffiness in your eyes and unshed tears glistening in certain lights. It’s what the sunglasses are for, which you both wear despite the time of day. Evening approaches quicker than you’d like and your stomach does flips as you think of the long night ahead of you and how you’re far too far away to be able to visit your mother’s resting place. That on its own makes you feel like throwing up.
In the middle of the lineup outside, stands the Danforth twins, waiting, Ursula smiles and Titus’s face is more stoic but he’s watching you in his periphery. Francesca stands on the other side of them with a ridiculous looking firearm, further back is Wan Cheng Fu, who you are sure Chen Xing tried to bargain him out of this hunt. The Rajans are on the opposite side of you and then the Le Domas trio of fucked; Emilie, Daniel, and Charity. Only one of them will enjoy this.
As the janky music plays and a terrified Seymour who has barely had enough time to process what the Lawyer has said, runs to try and hide. You’re all waiting with weapons and in your ‘hunting attire’. Your brother and you wear non-rustling fabrics and water resistant steel toe cap boots, perfect for tracking in shallow water and if a boost for a kick is needed. There’s more than enough knives stored throughout your body and you hate this time of waiting, you stand next to your brother with the perfectly composed mask that you’ve mastered throughout your lifetime of restraint and hiding, the sunglasses on to hide anyone clueing on to any of the tears you’ve shed today. Each minute of the song playing is painful, but it only adds to the pit of dread in your stomach of the hunt approaching and nothing being safe.
There was nothing predictable about the hunt and that haunted you on a day like today. These hunts like this, that were supposedly more informal and not from a wedding, were interesting in how they played out. Sometimes rules were bent and reinvented, today Chester had decided to ban the infamous Danforth golf carts, saying that they made things too easy and that the hunters needed to work for it. You had wondered if this was something done just to add more of a thrill to the more bloodthirsty members and to drag it out for the victim running around like a headless chicken. You didn’t know or care but what it meant was that this would be more of a trek, especially to get to the treeline which was undoubtedly where you were heading.
When the music stops you see the Danforths quickly running, Charity trying to lead her in-laws who drift with disinterest in actually participating in the hunt. Your brother looks at you and blinks ‘trees’ in Morse code and you nod, the pair of you jogging and ignoring whatever it is the others are doing. You couldn’t care less. Hiding in the trees means you have a chance of a successful hunt but also that you’re further away from the shenanigans of other hunters, which is a pretty big selling point to the fresh air of the forest of trees waiting for you. No matter how smart the prey is, and most of them aren’t, they go for the trees far more times than not. It makes sense, it’s probably what you’d do if you were in their shoes, it’s just that they don’t know how much of a death trap they’re in.
You don’t know how long it is that the two of you are jogging to the treeline and time feels distorted as you look around and try gaging the night sky that becomes more hidden the closer you get to the trees wanting to hide you away.
When a small eternity has passed and your heart settles a little, and the trees start to hide you, you give your brother a small hug as a reminder that you both have the other, that this is insane and cruel but that your mother isn’t fully gone because the other exists. It’s something you’ll always hold onto, you’d do anything for that, for the only true piece of family you have still breathing. He gives you a small smile and nods, you nod back and you walk further into the trees slowly.
Trailing a couple of steps behind your brother, you hold the hilt of one of your knives tightly in your hand and watch him. His eyes are focused on the surroundings looking for tracks, he’d always been good at tracking, it was a skill part of your unconventional education, a private tutor and thick books as you’d go on these hikes, practicing tracking animals, people, and how to obscure your own tracks from anyone in pursuit of you. It had seemed strange at the time but been useful for this part of your lives. You weren’t terrible, you were more than competent and good at it but he was better than you, it came so easily to him. He whispers the names of the trees and bushes you walk past and you nod, looking around for any other signs of human life but there’s not much to see, yet.
After a couple of minutes he sees a fallen pine branch, he gives it to you without a word and you know what to do. You start to use the branch to brush out some of the tracks the two of you have made and to try and mimic the natural landscape the best you can. Occasionally sprinkling leaves and checking that you haven’t disturbed moss or twigs in an obvious way to a watchful eye. It’s a comfortable pattern that you two fall into silently although you know it’s unlikely that many of the other hunters are doing much tracking. You’re sure Viraj Rahan is clever enough to know how to track but it’s unlikely he’ll be coming out this way anytime soon, he seemed to stay close to the main Danforth buildings and you imagined that would be his plan unless he sprinted after the prey into the treeline. But you know for a fact that Titus and Ursula would have an eye for detail when it comes to this, they’d be capable at the very least, if not very gifted trackers.
But you were still doing your best to avoid Titus Danforth’s eyes, so you had kept your eyes on your brother and done your best to avoid paying any attention to which direction the Danforth twins were heading. Your mind didn’t have space for them in your mind, you scrunched your face up at the thought of the family you’d be bound to soon enough.
Ursula frowns at her brother while holding her crossbow close to her body as if it’s a natural extension of herself. “Where are you going?”
“They’re headed to the trees.” Titus’s voice is too calm, no gruffness or amusement in his face, he’s not talking about the running lamb with desperate eyes.
“You want to be a guard dog today, Titus?” Her voice is mocking as she looks at him with an annoyed yet amused smirk.
“Sure.” Titus speaks casually as he walks towards the trees, he’s strong, always has been and has an inhuman level of stamina.
He can easily participate in the hunt, win, and make sure that you’re perfectly safe. This is something he’d decided on long ago and it makes perfect sense to him.
“Why are you so whipped? It’s… Weird. It’s weird, Ti.” Ursula says as she walks closer to him to try and look at his expression that feels so different to her brother.
“Well, Urs, she’s going to be a mother to Danforth children one day and maybe that’ll help our father leave you alone for a minute. So be a little grateful and help look after your sister-in-law or kindly, shut the fuck up.” Titus doesn’t watch her reaction, something he’d maybe usually try to delight in but he starts to walk away.
Ursula is horrified at this, she frowns at him, quickly steps closer with her short legs and slaps his face. Titus glares at her, his cheek reddening from her hand and then storms off. He has no interest in Ursula’s words, she watches his back for a moment.
“You’re not married yet, so she’s not my sister-in-law.” Ursula says bitterly which he ignores but she follows his path, holding her chin up high. Titus continues to ignore her, holding the pickaxe with ease.
There’s a particularly large tree trunk towards the edge of the Danforth’s woods that you and your brother are leaning against. You’d allowed yourself to share a whispered conversation of your mother, trying to avoid bringing up that you were doing the exact thing she had been doing when she’d been killed. It was haunting every step you both took and each sob you muffled was adding up to a heartbreaking number.
There was a small creek you’d both come across but you hadn’t bothered sticking with it, it was quite shallow and still relatively open in the density of the trees. Your brother and you had decided that hiding away was the best option. You’d been out here for a few hours and fortunately, you were yet to catch sight of another hunter, so you both gave yourself permission to sit with this reprieve and let it wash over you both as nothing, when grief was still sitting with you both, comfortable in the shadows of night.
Then before you knew it, your brother whispered to you, mentioning the eerie silence and his hand gestured to the disturbed moss and then his hand lifted in the direction you’d both soon follow. You both walked carefully, pacing yourselves out a little and you held your knife closer as you walked behind your brother. After all, you’d follow him anywhere.
Titus looks around, he’s trying to spot anything, blood smothered or speckled over tree trunks, remnants in the leaves of torn clothing, footprints trekked into the ground. There isn’t any from their victim and none from you or your brother. He furrows his brow, frowning and then looks at Ursula. “They’re covering their tracks.”
“Seymour? I thought he’d be too scared shitless to think of that, if he even knows how.” Ursula looks around, holding her crossbow comfortably as she steps to the side and does a sweep. She looks almost bored at how this has gone on for as long as it has. But Titus shakes his head and says your name.
“No. The cameras showed them coming this way, there should’ve been footprints.” Titus says it seriously as he waves his hand dismissively, gesturing to the set of footprints they’ve left behind and the lack of prints in front of them, he then steps forward a few steps and joins his sister in doing a sweep of their surroundings.
The frown is still sculpted into his face as he tries to look for any other clues or the sound of your soft voice. But there’s nothing. He knew you were clever and he should be filled with a sense of pride that the person he’ll be calling his wife in the future is this good, that you actually know how to track and have this degree of stealth on your side. It should and it does to a degree but he can’t fully appreciate it as he’s now annoyed about how he can’t be nosey and you’ve made his unofficial job harder now. He promises himself that he’ll tell you later how clever you are and how he honestly finds it hot, but first he has to find you and make sure you’re alright and then win the hunt. Priorities.
Titus pulls his phone out again with one hand and looks at the cameras, there’s cameras hidden in some of the trees of course, something that had to be installed for purposes like this. It takes awhile before he finds footage of one camera capturing you and your brother making your way through, he sees you holding a branch and how you move it, move around to hide your footprints and his eyes widen at how clever his wife is. Yes, he knows it’s not official yet, that you’re not even wearing the engagement ring he always has on him, yet. But you’ll be married soon and he already thinks of you as his wife.
He scoffs a little and then Ursula quickly steps over and looks at his phone screen, she watches you hide yourself in the forest so stealthily, her eyebrows raise and she keeps looking at the screen, avoiding Titus. “Huh, she’s more clever than I expected.”
“Of course she is. She’s absolutely brilliant.” Titus nods, they’re the truest words he’s spoken today. He puts his phone back into his pocket and sighs, trying to orientate himself with the cameras and where you must’ve been and where you’re now heading.
It’s dark and there’s still a quietness that feels too unnatural, even in the dead of night in the middle of an isolated forest. Your brother and you keep walking as silently as your bodies and shoes will let you. There’s an ache in your body at how long this has been going on for and how your body is carrying so much sadness and pain.
But you don’t say a word of this aloud, not as you walk. You don’t need to burden your brother while he’s dealing with the same pain you are, you can see he’s doing his best to pretend this all isn’t bothering him as much as it’s bothering you. Somebody needs to keep the front of strength up and he’s decided it’ll be him so you have some small internal reprieve, you’re grateful but you can’t help but be plagued with the last memories of your mother. The announcement of her death in the middle of a hunt that she was never meant to be touched in, she was a hunter not prey. Yet she’d been impaled so swiftly and there was no hope for her, no chance of a medical intervention good enough to piece your mother back together whole and have her come into your room in the morning and greet you with a hug.
There’s a snap of twigs and your head whips to see a flash of a desperate man, pleading for his life and no longer seeing reason because why would somebody being hunted for sport by billionaires find any logic in their reality? You see him go for your brother, clearly not having seen you as you had been trailing a few metres behind your brother, the darkness and your clothes concealing you from his sight in the dark.
Seymour, a name you can barely recall, tackles your brother to the ground, more twigs snap and leaves crunch to fill the air along with your brother’s pained and shocked gasp. At first, Seymour tries to claw at your brother’s face, almost an attempt at gouging his eyes out but realises that’s too difficult as your brother tries to push him off and bite at his hand. Seymour screams out and then puts his hands down to choke your brother. There’s some blood, obviously he bit the victim well enough, so blood now coats Seymour’s hand and his neck.
For a brief second pain and fear explodes in you, you vividly remember that night of your mother kissing your forehead, tucking you in as a nanny stayed with you and your brother, she had then gone outside to compete in a hunt with your father. You and your brother were too young to compete or fully understand the true depth of loss that the hunts offered, even though your education was already consisting of weapons training and human anatomy to know the worst places to direct a blow. All supplementary to the intensive private education you spent hours in each day, in order to be as close to the best of the best as you could be.
When she didn’t come back in the morning and the nanny was tasked with telling you and your brother of her tragic fate. Your father had decided that was what was best, something you’d never be able to truly comprehend or forgive. But you didn’t have the home where you could voice that, no matter how old you became.
The loss of your mother left an aching hole in every part of your life, you felt it everywhere. No matter what you did or who you were with, her smile was missing in every photo and every memory was missing the sound of her voice. It was a large shadow over you, you couldn’t even imagine the shadow that would hang over you if your brother was gone too. And to lose him in a hunt so young and the same weekend as your mother, you’d never recover, you would no longer be human. You would be an empty husk of all that once was.
There’s a world of pain that flashes between your eyes in the short second that you witness this but it feels like an eternity long horror film you’re trapped in. You hand immediately raises and the knife flies through the air and hits him, you aim for the neck of Seymour, the blade sinks right into the carotid artery, as you’d tried to remember and visualise the anatomy books and diagrams of your childhood. Your brother loudly gasps and sits up, clutching his throat for a moment as you watch Seymour start to fall back, his hands shaking, unsure of what to do with the blade protruding from him.
You step closer like it’s second nature, you grab the hilt and push the blade in deeper, shimmy it to make sure there’s permanent damage he won’t be able to come back from and then pull the blade out so that the blood loss worsens at the loss of a plug. He’s too weak to fight you off, you don’t even bother kicking him or trying to make it worse beyond that. You place the knife away and in doing so, it gets more blood on your hands.
There’s now blood on your face, jacket and hands. You watch as Seymour very quickly dies and then rush over to your brother, he’s shocked but looks at you, all the pain in his face is at what you have just had to do and not for his injury, which seems superficial but you help him up, not acknowledging the blood that feels sticky on your skin, you’re only concern is getting him checked.
You would do anything for your brother.
The Lawyer has announced that the hunt is over and that you were the victor of this match. You don’t care or listen as the other families return to the Danforth viewing room, some of them watch an odd angle of the kill from a Danforth tree camera.
You’re in a sick bay with your brother as a Danforth doctor checks over your brother, you stand there nervously and watch, the walls are unusually pale and dull for a Danforth room and it makes it all so disorienting and just wrong. You’re still in a state of shock as you watch your brother and your mind is fixated on him being alive, he is alive, alive, alive, you keep repeating the thought to yourself as some soothing affirmation. But it does little to calm you. You don’t let the doctor come near you. Your sole focus is on your brother and so should the doctor’s be.
This doctor, a middle aged man confirms that he’s fine, there will be some bruising but it is fortunately superficial. You nod and help your brother to the room next to yours, you help him take a sleeping pill he’s been given and you stand awkwardly in the room as you wait for him to fall asleep. In his drowsy state he cries quietly and doesn’t say a word about his bloodied little sister. Once he’s asleep you take a deep inhale and then leave the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible before storming down the stairs and into the viewing room.
Your eyes land on your father and you give him the filthiest glare you can manage, his face is frozen like he’s glitching. He isn’t sure whether to be satisfied that you did well in the hunt or to be horrified that you did not clean yourself up before coming down and barging in.
Titus’s eyes widened as he saw you, he’d had some fear when seeing the footage, at how close Seymour had gotten to you and your brother, of course he’d been worried something awful could’ve happened. But there was a strong sense of pride at knowing that you’d won, you’d been so quick. As soon as Seymour was a threat to your brother you barely hesitated, the knife immediately went flying with deadly precision and seeing you like this… Titus plans to tell you one day how much he enjoyed it.
You don’t acknowledge your father beyond a glare, a silent scream brewing in you at how he’s disrespected your mother’s memory and how your brother was almost killed because of it. But your eyes land on Chester, you see him look at you, his bored expression becomes a smile and in that moment you finally, fully land on the decision that you most definitely do hate Chester Danforth with every bit of your soul, regardless of Mr Le Bail’s claim on it.
“We-” he starts and you do the thing you’ve been told you should never do when the High Seat speaks to you, you cut him off.
“It was so generous of you to commemorate a tragedy with another hunt today, to show my appreciation of your generosity and sympathies, I have a gift for you.” You pull the bloodied knife out of where it had been concealed and drop it onto the table he’s sitting at, right in front of him.
Chester’s eyes widen slightly as he looks down at the knife, his mouth opens slightly and your father looks like he’s going to combust but you pay him no mind. You give Chester a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and then walk out before he can even have a chance to respond.
Grief seems to take away all the shyness that usually prohibits you from existing in the world that you think you’re meant to. It’s perfect for how your father wants you to exist though. You practically sprint up the stairs and into your room, your muscles ache and you don’t think you have the strength to do so but you need to disappear.
Slamming the door to the bedroom you’re staying in is the most tempting thing in the world but you don’t, only because you worry about the noise being so loud it would wake your brother. You can’t be seen like this right now and especially not by him.
You close the door silently and then walk to ensuite, you tug the shoes with dirt and mud on them off as quickly as you can. Next you peel off each layer of clothing in a rush and throw them in the rubbish bin you find in there, you wouldn’t care if they were torn in the process, you don’t want to feel them on your skin ever again. It’s your best effort to avoid seeing your reflection in the mirror, something you can’t stomach right now as you turn the shower on and wait a few seconds for the water to heat up.
Sobs start to choke you until you let them spill out more freely as you just stand under the warm water of the shower head and let the water drown out the noise of your cries. You keep thinking about your mother and then your brother, how you almost lost him and how that was the worst thing that could happen to you. How similar their fates almost were and yet how they ended so differently, you were able to stop your brother from becoming another chapter ending too soon like your mother’s story. It’s overwhelming and you barely think of Seymour.
The thought that you just killed a man barely registers in your head as you then frantically scrub at your skin while sobbing. Then you’re slapped with the strange reminder that you did just kill someone to save your brother’s life and only feelings of grief have been consuming and nauseating you, not guilt. That inspires some guilt then but for the wrong reasons. Guilt feels wrong in your mouth, it sits like nausea in your stomach and before you know it, your hands are bracing yourself against the shower wall as you start to vomit up your guilt and sob.
There’s not enough soap in the world to make you feel clean and human again. It’ll just have to sit in you next to the hole left from your mother.
The Lawyer’s startling blue eyes are always filled with an impossible level of joy, it’s unnerving and always creates an eerie contradiction to the words he’ll say on behalf of Mr Le Bail. He starts to walk away from the viewing room, he’s done for the time being, he gives a slight nod to Titus who looks at him.
Titus’s eyes narrow, his voice comes out as firm and commanding as ever. “Wait.”
“Yes?” The Lawyer responds in that ever chipper voice as his unnatural blue eyes look at Titus patiently.
“This hunt is the anniversary of something pertaining to the High Council?”
The Lawyer doesn’t need to think, his answer is immediate. “Yes.”
“What is this the anniversary of?” He looks the Lawyer, his words measured.
His tone is calm, you wouldn’t think he was talking about anything particularly troubling, his expression and tone have the same cadence he’d use for talking about the weather of a particularly pleasant spring day. He says the name of your mother first. “It’s the anniversary of the hunt she accidentally passed in.” The Lawyer watches Titus for a moment and then nods with a small, polite smile. It would seem jarring to almost anyone in the world but Titus is not ordinary, so he watches the Lawyer leave and no protest comes from him.
Once the sound of the Lawyer’s footsteps disappear, disgust and rage fills Titus and mixes with his blood, flowing through every vein in his body. It all makes so much more sense to him now, he didn’t witness it but he remembers when your mother had been killed. He wouldn’t say it to you for obvious reasons, but her death was one of many, an accident in one of countless hunts so the date had never branded itself into his mind but now it would. Titus remembers how the news spread, how you and your brother’s life had been shattered, just like how his mother’s cancer would shatter him and Ursula.
He starts to walk away, there’s no way he can sit in his father’s presence right now, it’s clear that this was some kind of test that he and Ursula once again, didn’t realise was happening. It was only a test for you this time, not them. He’s sure you passed, passed with flying colours, you killed Seymour and he’s watched the footage more times than he’d admit, it was a close call and you did good.
You delivering the bloodied murder weapon as a gift to his father was perfect. Titus is proud of that defiance, spite, and wit. It’s the very least of what his father deserves and Titus is sure it’s said one thing very loudly to every single person in that room, you are more than worthy of the Danforth name.
In the den near his room there had been a dozen bouquets of flowers already prepared just in case, he stands there to look at them. Titus’s gut told him you were the type of person who would like flowers, he thought maybe it might be something to get you to smile, that maybe he’d even try to be romantic, give you some flowers and then slide his mother’s ring onto your soft finger. He’d save the ring for another day, even to his frayed logic, it would be insensitive to try doing that with you today of all days.
A floral rainbow of various hues and blooms sits in front of him, it was then that an unlikely candidate he hadn’t truly considered stood out to him, white lilies. Flowers of death, funeral flowers, that’s how Ursula would always refer to them whenever she saw them at events that she would point out as a poor thematic choice due to whatever mood their hosts were meant to inspire. He had thought they were elegant on their own, but on a weekend when you have been forced to go through another form of hell, having scars of grief prodded and picked at, maybe a recognition of that same loss would mean something to you. That as a gesture it would be more thoughtful and validating than orchids, peonies, roses, or hydrangeas ever could.
It’s not long after coming out of the shower in the ensuite that you hear a knock on your door, you’ve barely dried yourself properly and brushed your teeth, you still feel sick. You rush to get rid of the towel and quickly put on the soft, silky pajamas you’d packed. They cover you up plenty so you don’t have to worry about being extra exposed to whoever it is, it’s probably only your father waiting to scold you.
The blood has been scrubbed off of you, you’re clean, you keep trying to repeat that even though your brain keeps telling you you’re still dirty and you can still feel the stickiness of blood clinging to your skin, it isn’t there. And the metallic smell is still clinging to you. Before you can spook yourself with a look in the mirror or let out an audible sob, you take a shaky breath and your bare feet pad closer to the bedroom door.
When you open the door, you’re surprised to see Titus standing there, even more so with him holding a large bouquet of white lilies. Funeral flowers. You look at him quietly with wide eyes and Titus has never seen you like this, your eyes are puffy and he can tell you’ve been crying, there’s still unshed tears sitting in your eyes and lashes. He can tell you’ve just showered, there’s some droplets of water visible on your skin and there’s a slight visible dampness near your hairline on your face too. It breaks his heart to see you like this.
“I’m sorry.”
“Pardon?” It’s a soft whisper he barely hears, he instinctively leans in a little to try and catch your words better.
“I’m sorry, for all of this,” Titus says with a sigh. “I didn’t know this was the anniversary of your mother’s death. I’m so sorry. This was beyond cruel of my father, I… I can only imagine how difficult this was.” He speaks earnestly as he looks at you, your eyes water more and you just give him a slight nod.
“I wanted to give you flowers… And I thought of the lilies…”
“Mourning flowers…” You whisper and rub your eye.
“Yes…” He nods and gives you a small smile. “Do you hate it? I understand if you do, I have others… But I thought this would be-”
“It’s nice,” you whisper. “It’s very nice, thank you.” You whisper.
“Maybe one day we can talk about our mothers together.” Titus says softly and you nod, he nods back and then he delicately passes the flowers to you which you take with one hand, he squeezes your other hand lightly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear right now but tonight, you were exceptional. You looked after your family.” He squeezes the hand gently again and then goes to leave.
You watch him, you think it’s the first time he’s taken your hand and not tried to make it linger, he didn’t raise your hand to his lips to kiss it like he always does. He doesn’t want to bombard you right now, especially knowing the turmoil of your grief and scare with your brother, so he does best to show his care but not crowd you.
“Titus?” You whisper hesitantly and he stops and looks at you.
“Yes?”He nods as his hazel eyes look at you.
“Thank you, really.” You whisper and then lean over to give his pale cheek a soft kiss before stepping back, his cheeks have flushed a rosy pink and he gives you a smile. “Goodnight, Titus.”
“Goodnight,” he smiles at the soft kiss and how shy that whisper was. You were utterly perfect. He then watches as you step back with the flowers and close the door.
Next Part
Four chapters and finally a cheek kiss 🤭 it was almost a forehead kiss! Am I doing the slow burn???
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