Love from, Hell

Malcolm was sitting at the desk in his bedroom, bent and pouring over a long scroll of paper.

‘Illic es three simplex sceptrum ensequor.’ He murmured to himself as he wrote. Still looking at his writing, he reached out sideways and picked up one of the metal darts that lay in a row at the edge of his desk. Malcolm rolled the dart between his long fingers then looked up at the well punctured dart board across his room. He narrowed his eyes then whipped the dart at the opposing wall. Fifteen points. Malcolm turned his attention back to his essay calmly.

‘Unus, sententia vadum non rapio,’ he muttered.

There came an ominous three knocks on the great wooden doors. Malcolm picked up another dart, fingered it, then flung it at the dart board. There was more knocking, faster and persistent.

“Go away,” he said as though talking to someone that was already in the room. Malcolm picked up his pen and began to write.

‘Duos, sentential vadum existo-’

“Malcolm, open this door. Receive your visitors,” Adrienne’s voice penetrated the room sharply.

Malcolm threw down his pen and went to the door. He unlocked and opened it. His mother entered the room and was followed by two others, Dasia and Jevon. Malcolm went back to his desk.

“Good afternoon your highness,” Dasia’s seductive voice purred politely.

“Yes afternoon, majesty,” Jevon added with his own masculine charm.

‘Fidelus ut-’ Malcolm muttered.

“Malcolm,” Adrienne chastised.

He looked up from his essay. “Jevon, Dasia,” he acknowledged, nodding at them respectively. “... Mother,” he added, eying Adrienne and then looked down again.

“May I ask what you are writing my prince?” Dasia asked, lowering her dark eyelashes.

“Latin essay,” he said, making brief eye contact. He and the lady Dasia both had pale skin and dark hair; angular, attractive features and perfect teeth. And yet they were nothing alike.

“Latin? A little useless isn’t it my league? A dead language…” Jevon said, smiling. Malcolm looked up at the clear young man. ‘Clear’- light hair, translucent skin and watery fish blue eyes and prominent incisors in his smile.

“I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss unproductive activities,” Malcolm told the group, strategically moving away from the dig.

“We came here to discuss the banquet after the bill signing this coming Friday,” Adrienne said directly.

Malcolm looked down at his essay and picked up his pen. “I stand corrected,” he muttered.

“Malcolm,” Adrienne chastised again.

Malcolm looked up, his eyes bright. “And I’m sure you came in hopes that I would invite you to sit on the counsel,” Malcolm said to Jevon and then looked at Dasia. “And you that I might ask to be your escort at the banquet,” Malcolm stood and inclined his head in a gesture of polite rejection to the lady, although was not at all apologetic.

Dasia’s hard emerald eyes bore deeply into his.

"I'm confident there's a host of young men who'd… kill to have the chance to escort you to a banquet," Malcolm said to her and then looked away at Jevon. “And I’m sure you can find someone more influential than me in the counsel to get you in. I know you have a talent for that,” Malcolm said, standing eye to eye with the youth so close to his age.

“More influential than you, high prince?” Jevon raised an eyebrow, his words cutting.

Malcolm stepped back. “You are both excused,” he bowed slightly.

Jevon bowed fully at the waist. “Highness,” he said, then swept from the room.

“Until next time,” Dasia murmured, following her flirtatious routine, eyes scorching.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Malcolm recited, a smile on his lips.

Dasia inclined her head with her curtsy then glided away. Malcolm’s slight smile evaporated and he glared at his mother. He shut his bedroom door with an echoing thud and went to his desk.

“What’s this about you not going to the banquet?” Adrienne demanded, though was not surprised.

“Why would I go? To lie to stupid chairmen about how great the bill is and talk about all the things that I’ll never do when I’m king?” Malcolm asked sarcastically as he picked up his pen. ‘-thy uxor.’

“Is there anything about your life that you don’t loathe?” Adrienne asked dramatically.

“Oh Lord, mother,” Malcolm moaned. He looked up at her and they locked eye lines.

“If you’ll pardon the expression,” They said in unison. Malcolm’s bemused smile was genuine as he looked down at his essay.

“But really Malcolm you will not be so hasty with Lady Dasia-” Adrienne persisted.

Malcolm closed his eyes and groaned quietly to his paper.

“She is well educated and would make an obedient and loyal wife,” Adrienne went on.

Malcolm looked at her even more witheringly than her husband had. “You’re describing a dog, not a wife. Though there’s no argument here that she’s a-”

“Malcolm!”

“Mother I’ve had enough. Please leave,” Malcolm commanded, picking up his darts and standing up. He threw one aggressively at the dart board.

Adrienne went to her son and put her hands on his shoulders. “Please my son,” she murmured and leaned her forehead against his neck.

“What would make you happy?” she whispered.

Malcolm tensed his jaw. “I don’t know,” he said stiffly, the hair on his neck standing up as he felt his mother’s breath on his skin.

“We’ve done all we can… I’ll give you anything…” Adrienne said and touched the side of his face.

Malcolm closed his eyes and turned his head away from her hand. He went and sat down at his desk. “Please leave,” he requested.

Adrienne dropped her hands to her sides. “Maybe you should go away for a time,” she mused, sounding closer to normal.

Malcolm looked at her. “Away?”

“Above. In the world,” Adrienne explained.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, hiding most of his shock otherwise. “The king would never permit it,” he said conversationally- making the fact a seemingly small obstacle.

“He’s desperate to see you well Malcolm. As am I,” Adrienne said.

Desperate or insane? Malcolm wondered.

“Can I leave tonight?” he asked quietly, staring intently at his mother.

Adrienne stared back at him. “... yes Malcolm,” she replied then left his room, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Malcolm picked up his pen.

‘Three, sentential vadum veneration they abbas quod matris’- Thou shalt obey thy father and mother. Malcolm brushed the paper aside and it floated off the desk to the ground.