Member
Location: Almack’s
After carefully setting Mrs. Wyndham down, Fyror straightened back up to his full height and stepped aside to allow Millicent to work unimpeded. From where he stood, he could not see Millicent’s face so he could not fully gauge her thoughts or feelings. However, the obvious tension in her demeanor indicated she was likely under a fair amount of physical and mental strain. She was staying strong, admirably so, but he had a feeling it would not last. He was worried about how she would be when the pain of all she had suffered inevitably came crashing down upon her. Regardless, he would stay here, by her side, letting his presence comfort her and strengthen her.
He watched with sadness in his eyes as Millicent diligently tended to her stepmother’s wound, using the torn slip of her dress as a bandage of sorts to stave off the bleeding. The intense pain ultimately caused Mrs. Wyndham to fall unconscious. His heart hurt as Emma wailed and Millicent reassured her stepsister in an uncharacteristically frozen voice. He took a small step back to give Millicent space as she stood up and turned to him. His soft gaze immediately sought out hers. When she thanked him, he felt that he did not truly deserve such heartfelt gratitude. He still felt guilty for ever leaving her side. If he had stayed with her, perhaps Jane would not be dead, Mrs. Wyndham would not be gravelly injured, and Millicent and Emma would not be hurt and forever traumatized. Who’s to say he could have changed fate? He supposed one could only hope.
Fyror followed Millicent’s gaze to Thalken, the strange man he had seen earlier whom he assumed had beheaded the Ryne. He cannot recall ever seeing the man before today. The man was certainly not someone he could have easily forgotten, with his dark clothes, cold eyes, and overall menacing demeanor. He tensed as Millicent addressed Thalken, and he fought the urge to step closer to her in an unnecessarily protective manner. He was completely taken aback by what she said, his breath hitching slightly in his throat. The Ryne had been her mother?! His gaze immediately went to the beheaded Soulless that was a mere few feet away. His brows furrowed deeply as his attention returned to her. He felt her pain like a stab to the heart, and he wanted more than anything to take her into his arms and comfort her. Perhaps God thought kindly of him as he was granted just that. He barely took note of the coldness that cut through him as his attention was focused on Millicent as she collapsed. He easily caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her slender frame. “Shhh, I’m here. You’re safe now,” he reassured her softly as she began to cry. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms in a comforting manner as he held her against his muscular chest.
The tears continued to fall and more freely once Fyror gave her the needed strength to remain on her feet. Leaning against his strong frame and letting him keep her knees from buckling beneath her. The Soulless seemed to be evacuating the area as quickly as they came in but Millicent didn't notice. All she could feel was the warmth of Fyror's arms and the only thing she could hear was the beating of his heart beneath his chest. She was not used to being this close to a man, much less balling her eyes out. Such things were not typical with Millicent. She would usually keep her distance. Afraid someone might mistake a simple gesture as her doing anything shameful. Never wanting to give the appearance that she would do anything to cause the tons gums to flap. Right then that thought didn't even cross her mind, all she could think of was the image of her mother trying to kill her and the black stare on her mothers face as Catherine's head rolled across the ground to her feet.
Emma was still hysterical but Millicent couldn't even hear that. Nothing was getting through, not even Fyror's words of comfort. It wasn't until she heard a moan from the ground did anything outside of her own despair even register. Her eyes open and she glanced down to see her step mother coming back into consciousnesses. The ton outside was still frantic, inside it was still hell. A round and pudgy man finally fighting his way outside. He stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on the scene, he looked like he had just stepped out of hell. Then he saw Elizabeth and his look changed. It was as if a light switch had gone off and he rushed to her side, as quickly as he could on portly legs. "I'm Dr. Graham," was all he said as he got to examining her. After a minute he looked around. "We need to get her to Westminster Hospital, this place is not safe," he stated. "You there, give me a hand," he shouted, waving towards a man standing behind Fyror and Millicent, coming around the corner from the southern side of the balcony. It was Rutherford and he was throwing daggers with his eyes as he glared towards Millicent, his vest and coat covered in blood and his sword in his hand.
Fyror could not deny that he liked the feeling of Millicent in his arms, with her cheek pressed against his chest. However, he wished it was under better circumstances. In the moment, he thought not about how he had never been this close to a woman or how this could be deemed inappropriate, particularly given that she was engaged. All he felt was his overwhelming desire to protect and comfort this woman, and for once he let down his guards and gave into the desire wholeheartedly. His hands went from her arms to rub her back comfortingly. His heart ached at seeing her so upset and listening to her cry, her tears dampening his red coat. He wished he could somehow take away her pain and suffering and bear it for her. “I am here for you, always,” he whispered to her, his breath tickling the hairs on her head.
When Mrs. Wyndham moaned, apparently regaining consciousness, he let out a small sigh and turned his head to look at the woman. The sound also seemed to rouse Millicent from her current misery. A man grabbed his attention as he quickly came over to them, stating that he was a doctor. Instead of feeling relief, suspicion weighed on him. Where did this man come from, and how did he so conveniently show up now? When the man began waving someone else over, Fyror’s gaze snapped over to the approaching individual. His blood ran cold at who he saw: Lord Rutherford, Millicent’s fiancé. The realization that he was holding another man’s woman in a seemingly intimate way came crashing down on him. He was just about to jerk away from Millicent as quickly as he could when he remembered that she was still unsteady on her feet. He lessened his contact with her to where it was just enough to keep her upright as he apprehensively watched Lord Rutherford approach them.
Millicent leaned against Fyror, trying to stem the tide of tears but it was of no use. Even while she looked down at Elizabeth she still couldn't stop. Feeling Fyrors arms encircling her she clung to him tighter, hoping it was a nightmare. It was but it was not one that she would awaken from. She took comfort in his embrace but it was short lived. As soon as it was there she could feel it subsiding. Her eyes coming up, gazing up to him through blood shot eyes and damp cheeks. Why was he letting her go right then? Not fully but enough to where she could feel it lessening. Then she heard a throat clear and fear shot through her. "I will take my fiance," Rutherford hissed as he sheathed his blade. Milli's eyes darting over towards her fiance, her head lowering. Suddenly feeling shame for being in another man's arms, or was it shame that she was about to leave those very arms? Arms of a warm caring man for those of a cold tyrant?
At that moment Millicent wondered if she could really go through with this. It seemed her reasons for agreeing to marry Rutherford were waning, as was her resolve. Her dearest sister Jane was dead, her step mother seemed to be on that path. If Elizabeth passed, she could cry off the agreement and keep her honor. Emma would not longer be in danger, would she? No one to force either of them to marry Rutherford. Surly she would be damned for thinking such, that it would be a blessing twice over to lose two mothers in a single night. Shame fully took her then, feeling like a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. No, she had to follow through. No matter what. If only to save her own soul at this point, penance for evening thinking the passing of another would do well to keep her happy. Millicent felt like a monster just then, pushing herself away from Fyror, even if reluctantly. Millicent seemed to turn to stone as Rutherford took her arm and pulled her over to him. "She is mine," Rutherford said in a flat voice as he eyed Fyror.
"Would someone help me move this woman?" the doctor called out.
Fyror’s heart cried out in protest of returning Millicent to the wretched Lord Rutherford, but his honor was too great to keep her from her fiancé. He knew it wasn’t his place to meddle in their affairs; however, that knowledge alone did not settle the storm of emotions brewing within. His jaw clenched as he used all his willpower to remove his grip from Millicent and let Lord Rutherford take her. He averted his gaze from her, instead fully meeting her fiancé’s gaze. There was an intensity in his eyes, almost menacing. He straightened further, his chest broadening and muscles tensing. He took on a demeanor that was as authoritative as his rank of captain in the British infantry would require, and his gaze pierced through Lord Rutherford. “Where were you when her sister was murdered, her stepmother impaled, and she was attacked, all of which was done by a Ryne that used to be her beloved mother? This is the same Ryne that was then beheaded before her eyes. I know she is yours, and I do not intend to take her from you for myself. If you truly do care for Ms. Wyndham, you will treat her with the respect she deserves and her safety will be your number one priority. And I warn you when I say that I will hold you wholly responsible for it,” Fyror states deadly serious, an edge clearly heard in his voice. He held Lord Rutherford’s gaze long enough for his words to sink in before turning to help the doctor move Mrs. Wyndham.
Tightening his grip on Millicent's arm Rutherford looked coldly at Fyror. "Where I was is none of your concern. A Lord does not answer to a lowly such as yourself," he stated brazenly with all the ego of many Lords. Millicent was not sure how to take what Fyror was saying yet she knew exactly how to take the words that came out of Rutherfords lips next. "What ever pain befalls her from this point on, rest assured, it was brought about because of you," he hissed. Millicent felt her stomach knotting. "Come Millicent, we are leaving," he said moving to pull her away.
"No," she stated with ice in her voice. Rutherford gave her a warning look. Her strength wavering. "I must go with my mother," she stammered out. Rutherford eyed Elizabeth and then Emma.
"Your sister is in better shape than you, let her. You have things to tend to." Millicent began to shake her head and tried to stand her ground but a voice, so weak broke into the scene.
"Milli, go, you know what has to be done," Elizabeth said as lay there. The doctor telling her to keep quiet, that she mustn't strain herself. Millicent looked hopelessly towards her step mother but nodded in compliance. Her sister saying she would stay with their mother through the tears. There was nothing left in Millicent to argue, defeated. It was her penance... Rutherford tightened his grip even more before snatching Millicent and dragging her away.
"Remember, the pain you are about to feel is because of him," Rutherford growled into Millicent's ear as they rounded the corner.
If Lord Rutherford’s words were meant to frighten him, they did not have their intended effect. No, the man’s words only angered him. His jaw clenched tightly, and his hands were held in fists at his sides. However, he refused to let the man get on his nerves to the point that he did something foolish. This was a dangerous game he was now playing, and Millicent was in the middle of the line of fire. He did not want her with that wretched man, but he also did not want her to pay the price if he failed. He had to let her go, at least for now. Fyror did not look back at them as they left, knowing it would only break his resolve. He took a deep, calming breath before walking over to Dr. Graham who was by Mrs. Wyndham’s side.
Location: Almack’s
“Maybe I’m not the person everyone thinks I am.”
“Maybe I’m not the person everyone thinks I am.”
Thalken remained vigilant, his piercing gaze carefully watching his surroundings and taking in more than his demeanor gave away. His muscles were tensed in anticipation, and his hand flexed and unflexed around the hilt of his sabre. He was like a predator awaiting its prey and that small window of opportunity to go in for the kill. His prey were the Soulless, and he felt that he could relish in this hunt without any regrets. Just then, two Soulless charged out onto the balcony. His eyes darkened and his pulse quickened in response. He spun his sabre in his hand, and he took a few steps forward, ready to take them on. Oddly enough though, the Soulless took no mind of the easy pickings around them but instead continued running away, heading towards the gardens. His head tilted slightly to the side in confusion at this sudden change of events. He also felt an odd pang of disappointment at being denied the opportunity to hunt them. What could have possibly scared them off? Surely, nothing good.
His ever-intense gaze swung back over to Fyror and Millicent. His cold expression remained unchanged as Millicent addressed him, and his demeanor gave no clear indication of his surprise and how speechless he truly felt. He simply blinked after he heard how grateful she was for what he had done. He had gruesomely beheaded the Ryne that had once been her mother, and yet she was thankful? Despite the torn look on her face and the trembling coldness in her voice, she seemed to mean what she said. He could not form any words to respond, so he just stood there for a moment, unabashedly staring at her even after she had since looked away. He was not at all accustomed to being thanked for anything he had done, certainly not for taking a life. Usually he was just handed money and that was thanks enough. He knew in his heart that he should not take Millicent up on her offer as his father would only bring the Wyndham family more pain. And since he did not know what to do or say, he just turned away and walked off.
The cold hit him soon after, and while his mind was not otherwise occupied, a realization dawned on him. His twin sister Thalcona had never followed him out of the ballroom. She is still in there, alive or—No. She cannot be dead. She is too skilled a warrior and too quick on her feet to have been killed. “Dammit,” he muttered. He took off at a jog towards the entrance to the ballroom, his sabre still in his hand. Seeing as the Soulless were rapidly leaving the premise, things inside were beginning to calm down. The operative word is beginning, as fist fights were still brewing. The idiots were acting as if the threat was each other rather than the Soulless. He shook his head. Sometimes he never really understood the ton, let alone had any desire to.
Thalken carefully looked around for his sister, eventually finding her partially hidden underneath the banister that overlooked the ballroom. He jogged over to her, letting out a small whistle to get her attention. Thalcona’s head swung over to look in his direction, and her eyes narrowed when she spotted him. “Where the hell were you?!” she hissed at him as he approached. Despite her harsh tone, he could still see the relief in her eyes at seeing that he was safe.
“Killing a Ryne. That’s what I was doing,” he retorted with a hint of smugness in his normally cold voice.
“Well rub it in, why don’t you?” she remarked sarcastically, as she gave him a halfhearted stink eye. He smirked as he walked up alongside her. He let out a small sigh and leaned against the banister.
