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Description
She was a nice girl.
Nice curves and a nice face.
She was a nice person.
She didn't love him.

Before Jian opened his eyes he heard the subtle rustling of clothes. Elfin hands stroked his forehead and cheeks, touches as soft as the brushing of a feather carefully wiped his sleep away. Sweet lips whispered his name, so full of devotion. The young lord didn't react to the girl's efforts. If he did so she would smile at him. He couldn't stand her smile. The way the corners of her soft mouth bent upwards, little dimples appeared around them and her thin eyebrows rose repelled him. It was sort of discouraging to start the new day with a sting of guilt in his stomach. Yet it wasn't her smile he despised the most. It was her eyes, her dark eyes that just didn't show any emotion.
"My Lord, you must awake now. The servants just prepared your breakfast. Would you want it all to go to waste?" she sighed, a worried undertone in her singing voice. Just like every other day.
"I'm awake." He murmured before finally greeting the sunlight falling on his face. He always did the same in the morning. As soon as it was safe to say so, he told her that he was awake. He was awake and aware of his actions. To him it was like a rite they had to do. Every day she would wake him up and smile while he would get out of their bed and never look at her too much. Since he was raised to behave diplomatically, though, among women and men alike, he glanced over his shoulder and greeted her. "Good morning, Kavelle." He almost tripped over the name. To create such a foreign sound with his tongue gave him trouble every time. He was sure that he still wasn't pronouncing it correctly but she never pointed it out.
"Good morning, my Lord." She replied dutifully. For an instant he looked her in the eyes. Grinding his teeth Jian left the room. Empty. Empty and dark. She was a good actress but not good enough. Her eyes would always reveal her true feelings. The truth was: She didn't feel anything. She was just as empty as her gaze.
Disgusting.

"Good afternoon, Father." Jian bowed.
"Son."
"How is Mother?" the young man tried to fake a friendly smile. His eyes flickered to his wife. Her face was nothing but a lovely mask. She was better at it than him. With a frown he looked at the High Lord of the House again. Jian's father stroked his gray beard and seemed to think his answer through very thoroughly.
"Her state is worsening" he nodded to himself, satisfied with that statement. The hoarse voice of the old man never changed as the conversation went on, even though it was about his ill wife. Jian wondered if he someday had stumbled into a theater without noticing. He was surrounded by actors. And, even more disturbing, he had started to fake and pretend himself. This was probably a side effect of his occupation. All politicians were liars. His attention drifted away from the discussion about commerce, international relations and public images.
When had he become such a despicable person?
His thoughts wandered back to the day his parents introduced him to Kavelle Sinclair. He had been twenty at the time and she'd been no day older than fourteen. He had looked at her and seen a child. A desperate, terrified child. He could still hear his father's words that sentenced their future: "This is your new wife, my son. I'm sure she will bear you strong heirs."
Jian had nodded and accepted his lot without saying a thing. All papers had been signed already; there had been no point in fighting. The next week she had moved in at his place. The first months they rarely met, mainly because Jian had been busy smoothing the path for the future of his career. But there was another reason.  She had been nothing but a ghost in his halls back then. At night she used to sneak into the kitchen and eat because she had been too afraid of meeting him during the day. She had never slept in their joint bedroom and even when they met occasionally in the corridors she hadn't spoken a word. Jian had been fine with that. He wasn't interested in children. To him she was nothing but a reason for the hostile house not to start a war. That was the main cause of their marriage, after all. Yet, just two years later, his father began to urge him to start a family. Kavelle's daily maneuvers of avoiding him were already routine to Jian and he knew which halls she used. So one day he intercepted her on her way to the baths.
"Kavelle, we have to talk." He had said. He hadn't felt like her husband at all, more like her father. That thought had crept him out surprisingly much. Her eyes had been glistening back then; with tears but glistening nonetheless. He had asked her if she was willing to accompany him at night from that moment on. She had been sixteen and her body had lost all childlikeness. His wife had bowed and affirmed that she would do as he told her. Her shoulders had been trembling. Now he understood that she had been holding back her tears. He had deflowered her the same night. He couldn't even remember that night in detail but he knew that it had been the night the light in her eyes had died. Slowly he turned his head and looked at the young woman sitting next to him. She was talking to his father and didn't look at him. She smiled. Every time she smiled he felt a rather violent need to hit her surging trough his core. He chained it down once again and stared at the old man in front of him. Sometimes he felt like blaming him for everything. Hadn't it been his father who told him to marry the girl? Wasn't he the reason this young woman wouldn't be able to live the life she always pursued? Dark thoughts chased through his mind. If he just left tonight what would be the worst outcome?
Folding his hands in front of his mouth he muffled his cynic laughter. As if!
"It's time for me to leave." The High Lord grumbled now and rose from his chair awkwardly. The married couple opposite of him mirrored his action. They bowed in unison and without saying a word watched the old man leave.
"My Lord," Kavelle turned to Jian. "Shall I prepare everything for dinner?"
"Dinner?" A little confused he peeked out of the great window behind them. The dusk crawled over the horizon. A few stars twinkled in the distance while the silhouette of the moon began to clear in the dark sky. After some silent moments he nodded. "Yes, do that."
She smiled, he growled under his breath, and cast her eyes down. No second later she was gone. Jian was left alone in the big council's room. He always knew that he was living a lie… why did it bother him so much now? A low sigh passed his lips and then he slowly followed his wife.

"Kavelle? May I ask you something?" he didn't look up from his rice bowl. His expensive chopsticks scraped over the red ceramic.
"Of course, my Lord." She chirped. She was sitting far away from him, almost at the other end of the table. She probably didn't even notice it but he knew she was keeping a certain distance from him during the day. He couldn't say that it made extraordinarily sad.
"Kavelle, are you happy?"
"M-My Lord?" Her stutter was enough of an answer but he wanted her to speak the words.
"Tell me." He demanded, again without raising his head. "Be honest. I won't think less of you no matter what you say."
She didn't respond. He waited a minute and then another.
"Are you scared?"
"No, my Lord." She whispered.  With a dark expression he met her shocked gaze. "Then, why aren't you answering?"
Instead of giving an explanation she pushed her chair back and jumped to her feet. With hasty fingers she collected the dishes and practically fled into the kitchen. The black haired man glared at the white tablecloth in front of him and his silver eyes almost burnt holes into the silky fabric. He would sleep alone tonight. His body stiffened at once. He didn't want to be alone. He stood up and grabbed his coat. Without telling anyone where he was going he left.
The eyes locked on the pavement beneath his shoes he ran away from that loveless, artificial hellhole he called his home. Throwing a golden coin up in the air and catching it with the same hand he made a decision. He wasn't loved by anyone, not by his father and not by his wife. He would buy some love tonight.
Love was cheap these days…

Description
She was a nice girl.
Nice curves and a nice face.
She was a nice person.
She didn't love him.

Before Jian opened his eyes he heard the subtle rustling of clothes. Elfin hands stroked his forehead and cheeks, touches as soft as the brushing of a feather carefully wiped his sleep away. Sweet lips whispered his name, so full of devotion. The young lord didn't react to the girl's efforts. If he did so she would smile at him. He couldn't stand her smile. The way the corners of her soft mouth bent upwards, little dimples appeared around them and her thin eyebrows rose repelled him. It was sort of discouraging to start the new day with a sting of guilt in his stomach. Yet it wasn't her smile he despised the most. It was her eyes, her dark eyes that just didn't show any emotion.
"My Lord, you must awake now. The servants just prepared your breakfast. Would you want it all to go to waste?" she sighed, a worried undertone in her singing voice. Just like every other day.
"I'm awake." He murmured before finally greeting the sunlight falling on his face. He always did the same in the morning. As soon as it was safe to say so, he told her that he was awake. He was awake and aware of his actions. To him it was like a rite they had to do. Every day she would wake him up and smile while he would get out of their bed and never look at her too much. Since he was raised to behave diplomatically, though, among women and men alike, he glanced over his shoulder and greeted her. "Good morning, Kavelle." He almost tripped over the name. To create such a foreign sound with his tongue gave him trouble every time. He was sure that he still wasn't pronouncing it correctly but she never pointed it out.
"Good morning, my Lord." She replied dutifully. For an instant he looked her in the eyes. Grinding his teeth Jian left the room. Empty. Empty and dark. She was a good actress but not good enough. Her eyes would always reveal her true feelings. The truth was: She didn't feel anything. She was just as empty as her gaze.
Disgusting.

"Good afternoon, Father." Jian bowed.
"Son."
"How is Mother?" the young man tried to fake a friendly smile. His eyes flickered to his wife. Her face was nothing but a lovely mask. She was better at it than him. With a frown he looked at the High Lord of the House again. Jian's father stroked his gray beard and seemed to think his answer through very thoroughly.
"Her state is worsening" he nodded to himself, satisfied with that statement. The hoarse voice of the old man never changed as the conversation went on, even though it was about his ill wife. Jian wondered if he someday had stumbled into a theater without noticing. He was surrounded by actors. And, even more disturbing, he had started to fake and pretend himself. This was probably a side effect of his occupation. All politicians were liars. His attention drifted away from the discussion about commerce, international relations and public images.
When had he become such a despicable person?
His thoughts wandered back to the day his parents introduced him to Kavelle Sinclair. He had been twenty at the time and she'd been no day older than fourteen. He had looked at her and seen a child. A desperate, terrified child. He could still hear his father's words that sentenced their future: "This is your new wife, my son. I'm sure she will bear you strong heirs."
Jian had nodded and accepted his lot without saying a thing. All papers had been signed already; there had been no point in fighting. The next week she had moved in at his place. The first months they rarely met, mainly because Jian had been busy smoothing the path for the future of his career. But there was another reason.  She had been nothing but a ghost in his halls back then. At night she used to sneak into the kitchen and eat because she had been too afraid of meeting him during the day. She had never slept in their joint bedroom and even when they met occasionally in the corridors she hadn't spoken a word. Jian had been fine with that. He wasn't interested in children. To him she was nothing but a reason for the hostile house not to start a war. That was the main cause of their marriage, after all. Yet, just two years later, his father began to urge him to start a family. Kavelle's daily maneuvers of avoiding him were already routine to Jian and he knew which halls she used. So one day he intercepted her on her way to the baths.
"Kavelle, we have to talk." He had said. He hadn't felt like her husband at all, more like her father. That thought had crept him out surprisingly much. Her eyes had been glistening back then; with tears but glistening nonetheless. He had asked her if she was willing to accompany him at night from that moment on. She had been sixteen and her body had lost all childlikeness. His wife had bowed and affirmed that she would do as he told her. Her shoulders had been trembling. Now he understood that she had been holding back her tears. He had deflowered her the same night. He couldn't even remember that night in detail but he knew that it had been the night the light in her eyes had died. Slowly he turned his head and looked at the young woman sitting next to him. She was talking to his father and didn't look at him. She smiled. Every time she smiled he felt a rather violent need to hit her surging trough his core. He chained it down once again and stared at the old man in front of him. Sometimes he felt like blaming him for everything. Hadn't it been his father who told him to marry the girl? Wasn't he the reason this young woman wouldn't be able to live the life she always pursued? Dark thoughts chased through his mind. If he just left tonight what would be the worst outcome?
Folding his hands in front of his mouth he muffled his cynic laughter. As if!
"It's time for me to leave." The High Lord grumbled now and rose from his chair awkwardly. The married couple opposite of him mirrored his action. They bowed in unison and without saying a word watched the old man leave.
"My Lord," Kavelle turned to Jian. "Shall I prepare everything for dinner?"
"Dinner?" A little confused he peeked out of the great window behind them. The dusk crawled over the horizon. A few stars twinkled in the distance while the silhouette of the moon began to clear in the dark sky. After some silent moments he nodded. "Yes, do that."
She smiled, he growled under his breath, and cast her eyes down. No second later she was gone. Jian was left alone in the big council's room. He always knew that he was living a lie… why did it bother him so much now? A low sigh passed his lips and then he slowly followed his wife.

"Kavelle? May I ask you something?" he didn't look up from his rice bowl. His expensive chopsticks scraped over the red ceramic.
"Of course, my Lord." She chirped. She was sitting far away from him, almost at the other end of the table. She probably didn't even notice it but he knew she was keeping a certain distance from him during the day. He couldn't say that it made extraordinarily sad.
"Kavelle, are you happy?"
"M-My Lord?" Her stutter was enough of an answer but he wanted her to speak the words.
"Tell me." He demanded, again without raising his head. "Be honest. I won't think less of you no matter what you say."
She didn't respond. He waited a minute and then another.
"Are you scared?"
"No, my Lord." She whispered.  With a dark expression he met her shocked gaze. "Then, why aren't you answering?"
Instead of giving an explanation she pushed her chair back and jumped to her feet. With hasty fingers she collected the dishes and practically fled into the kitchen. The black haired man glared at the white tablecloth in front of him and his silver eyes almost burnt holes into the silky fabric. He would sleep alone tonight. His body stiffened at once. He didn't want to be alone. He stood up and grabbed his coat. Without telling anyone where he was going he left.
The eyes locked on the pavement beneath his shoes he ran away from that loveless, artificial hellhole he called his home. Throwing a golden coin up in the air and catching it with the same hand he made a decision. He wasn't loved by anyone, not by his father and not by his wife. He would buy some love tonight.
Love was cheap these days…