Summary: Taking Zoe to the costume ball does not go as planned.
Drake swirled the last of his whiskey, eyeing the amber liquid as it splashed against the sides of crystal tumbler, wondering just how much of it he needed to consume to forget…
To forget about the night before and Zoe and what they’d done. To forget about the electrifying panic he’d woken up to when he found his college girlfriend lying naked next to him and the horrific sensation of wondering just how far things had gone last night before they’d both passed out. Not as far as she’d hoped, her eyes told him and he couldn’t deny the rush of relief that had followed.
–
A splash of water to his face after rolling out of bed that morning provided a clarity about the night before. She’d blown him and he’d eaten her out.
Nothing else.
The thought of that made him shudder as Zoe’s pornographic moans echoed again in his mind, the scrape of her teeth on his cock and her fingers in his hair as she pulled him closer to her folds while he could only move his fingers and tongue faster, hoping it would be over soon. Thankfully as soon as Zoe hit her high with a loud screech, she seemed to pass out immediately, too drunk to continue.
If they’d gone all the way… Drake shuddered again now, he didn’t want to think about that.
His mind didn’t allow him to sleep that night, guilt and shame swirling on an endless loop until morning finally arrived and he rolled out of bed, hoping he put it all behind him when Zoe’s eyes snapped open. Her hazel irises, surprisingly clear despite the early hour, remained trained on him as he paused mid way through dressing himself, alarm streaking through.
Why did he feel guilty for sneaking out? Surely she didn’t expect him to stay right?
When she didn’t speak, he continued to dress himself and just as he was tugging his denim shirt over his shoulders, he had heard her voice.
‘So I’ll see you tonight?’
Drake froze. His back was to her, but he could feel her eyes trained steadily on him.
Tonight?
‘The costume ball shenanigan you promised to take me for… You invited me to come along remember?’ Her voice held a note of underlying expectation bordering on disappointment and for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to say no.
Drake had forced his face into a smile and turned around to face her, eyes running over her naked body under the sheets. ‘Sure. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
Zoe’s lips curved into a tantalising smile. ‘You fucking know it.’
–
He couldn’t explain it but somehow when he was getting dressed that evening, the box that held his grandmother’s ring fell from where he’d tucked it into his top drawer, spilling its only content across the floor. As he bent to pick it up, memories of her flooded through his mind again as the metal band burned into his skin when he touched it. It was almost as if the ring itself knew it was in the wrong place.
This would always be Elizabeth’s ring… whether she wanted it or not, it would always be a part of her.
He ran his fingers over the three diamonds set in gold, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling as the painful memories resurfaced. For a moment he marvelled how she did it. Elizabeth wasn’t even here but she still commanded such a presence in his mind.
Tonight would be his first appearance back at court without her. He didn’t want to do it, to go back and face the sneering nobles and nosy press without her to steady him, to reassure him with that calming smile of hers that immediately settled his nerves that it was going to be okay, whatever it was they’d go through it together…
Drake’s watch beeped, indicating it was time to go. He didn’t want to go but he’d made a promise, a stupid heat of a moment decision but if he had to do this, he wanted to have a piece of Elizabeth with him and tucking the box into his pocket, he steeled his nerves and strode out, praying this night would be mercifully short.
–
Gripping his glass tighter, Drake now fought the urge to take that ring out again, to feel the coolness of the metal in his hands again, just to reassure himself that it was still there, that the last part of her was still with him.
She should be here, his heart whispered.
But she’s not, his mind answered. I just wish I’d-
Someone calling his name brought him out of his thoughts and he glanced up to see Maxwell approaching, a haunted look on his face.
‘Drake buddy, am I glad to see you..’
His face immediately creased into a frown. ‘Don’t you have a dance floor to be tearing up Beaumont?’
Maxwell’s usually sunny demeanour had evaporated. ‘I think I’ll hang out with you for a second.’
Drake lifted a brow at the very uncharacteristic statement. ‘What happened?’
Maxwell shifted uncomfortably, obviously debating with himself. ‘Nothing… its nothing.’
‘Maxwell…’ His tone held a warning now.
‘Its really nothing Drake,’ his friend assured him, trying and failing to cover his uneasiness. ‘Zoe.. uh..’
‘What did she do?’ He immediately searched the room over Maxwell’s shoulder for what was possibly the biggest flimsiest pinkest dress he had ever seen in his life.
Zoe’d arrived that night in a plastic confection concoction with skirts that must have expanded out at least three feet from her waist, shimmering with giant globs of tacky glitter, it had rustled together loudly as she clambered into his car. As she attempted to manoeuvre herself in the passenger seat, the sheer volume of fabric got lodged in the doorway and she strained against the opening, barely able to balance on her knock-off designer shoes that even he could tell were fake. Her strained grunt of effort broke him out of his trance and with an almighty pull from Drake who was instantly regretting ever decision he’d ever made, she finally made it into the car, skirts and all.
Maxwell began hesitantly in a shaky voice, ‘She ah.. we were dancing right… then she pulled me into a tiny alcove thing and ask me to…’ He lowered his voice, almost scared to continue. ‘Fuck me daddy.’
Drake sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Where is she?’
‘Over by the bar.’
‘…lady like you shouldn’t be left alone on such a splendid night.’ The oily voice of Duke Richards as he leaned down to talk into Zoe’s ears could be heard over the volume of the ball as Drake approached.
Zoe was just knocking back the last of her champagne, swaying slightly as she threw her head back, leaning into the Duke’s touch a little more, as his hand slid meaningfully down her side.
‘Whaddya propose, my good sir?’ She giggled back, obviously tipsy, her hand in turn wandering over his slight paunch to where his trousers were precariously fastened.
‘Sorry I believe she’s already promised the next dance to me,’ Drake interjected, fighting to keep his voice even as the last of the whiskey burned in his throat, deftly manoeuvring Zoe out of the older Duke’s grasp.
‘Ahh Mr Walker….’ His beady black eyes fixed on him, not even bothering to hide the disdain. ‘I think Lady Zoe was perfectly fine where she was.’
Drake gritted his teeth, forcing an even tone when he replied. ’That may be true but Lady Zoe is my date tonight and I would like to take an opportunity to dance with her.’
Duke Richards’ disdainful expression morphed into something more condescending as he raised his voice intentionally, attracting the attention of the people closest to their little trio. ‘Of course… though one might wonder what happens to women you call your dates… Tell me Mr Walker where might the delightful Duchess Elizabeth be tonight?’
Drake could not stop himself from clenching his fists — he barely heard Zoe’s confused reply of ‘who’s Elizabeth?’ — as blood rushed in his ears, more than ready to knock this smug bastard back whatever hole he came from. Perhaps the only thing holding him back were the curious eyes of the small crowd that gathered around them, breath held to see what his response would be, like bloodhounds sniffing out the scent of a fight. The older duke’s eyes glinted in amusement as Drake grappled with his inner conflict.
Glaring at the taller man, he forced his anger down and flexed his hands, taking a deep breath.
‘It is very kind of you to ask, Your Grace, but as we are all well aware, Duchess Elizabeth is taking some personal time to be with her family.’
Before his adversary could speak, Drake stalked off towards the dance floor, practically dragging Zoe after him until they were in the on the opposite side of the dance floor and he guided her hands into the starting position for the Cordonian waltz.
‘What the fuck Drake?’ She squealed loudly in annoyance, gaining the attention of more guests to his chagrin. ‘What are you making me do?’
‘We’re going to dance now,’ he told her carefully, still annoyed and talking to her as if she was a child. ‘When I step forward, you step back got it? We’ll start out slow and I’ll teach you the rest as we go.’
She nodded vaguely, her disinterested look making him doubt if she was capable of following his lead. But with too many eyes on them and the band striking up the first notes of the waltz, it was too late to change his mind. Drake almost shook his head in disbelief at his endeavour: He never thought he’d be the one teaching someone the steps at a big fancy ball…
If only the Drake from one year ago could see me now…
He nodded to Zoe indicating to do as he’d instructed but she mistimed the step and he ended up stepping on her ridiculously high hot pink shoes, earning a loud yelp of pain from her. Zoe’s arms felt heavy in his, her body wooden as he attempted to lead them across the floor, barely managing to hit the steps and after a particularly bad blunder, they bumped into a nearby couples, earning a glare of annoyance.
Drake’s resolve crumbled as he realised belatedly that Zoe was far too intoxicated to perform even the simplest of instructions. She could see it too, how his face fell in disappointment when she stepped on his toes for the umpteenth time.
‘Drake I-‘
‘Forget it,’ he told her bitterly as he broke out of the waltz hold. ‘This was a crap idea anyway.’
Ignoring her cries of protest, he stalked away leaving Zoe on the dance floor, the gawking nobles parting like the Red Sea before him as they turned to whisper loudly amoungst themselves.
Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea?
He didn’t stop until his feet had taken him outside the very walls of the palace itself and he stood on the driveway, hot tears welled in his eyes and he brushed them away angrily.
Was he ever going to be able to move on? Why wasn’t anything working? Why couldn’t he just —
Frustration and hopelessness built in him, the feelings built and built until reaching boiling point at an alarming rate and just when he couldn’t take it anymore, muscles poised to release everything into a tense shout of —
‘Drake?’
Zoe’s wobbly voice stung his ears as her high heels clacked loudly against the tiles steps. ‘Drake I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fuck up… I-I can do better,’ her voice was breaking now as she staggered up to him, hiccupping loudly before continuing. ‘Let’s try that again. I just need a bit of practice, I can do this,’ she pleaded desperately but he ignored her.
‘You can’t Zoe,’ he snapped harshly, barely looking at her. ‘You just can’t okay?!’
Her hazel eyes welled with tears. ‘Y-yes I can Drake, just give me a chance I promise I wi— ‘
‘Forget it Zoe. This was a mistake…’ Drake sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the entire night pressing on his chest until he found himself fighting to breathe. ‘You’re not — ‘ He caught himself before he could finish but the damage had been done and she stiffened as if he’s struck her.
‘I’m not her,’ Zoe stated flatly, suddenly sounding very sober. ‘I’m not Elizabeth.’
Drake gasped as she mentioned her name but Zoe cut him off before he could get a word in, her voice growing shriller and shriller. ‘Just fucking say it. I’m not her and I never will be. I’ll never be good enough for you and I’ll never live up to that precious duchess of yours.’
Anger flared up in him but he pushed it down. ‘Shut up Zoe you’re drunk. Don’t make a scene.’
‘I’m not fucking drunk,’ she spat venomously. ‘You’ve changed Drake Walker you’ve become just like those fucking bastards you so proudly claim to hate. Using people for your own end then throwing them away when you’re done with them!’
‘Zoe.’ His tone held a warning as he glared at her, livid. ‘I’m gonna call you a cab. You’re drunk and I’m sending you home.’
‘I wasn’t drunk Drake!’ She exclaimed loudly. ‘I knew exactly what was happening last night. I was okay to pretend, to fool myself into thinking that you could actually like me but you never fucking could!’
‘What the fu— ‘ Drake was bewildered beyond belief as he fumbled in his pockets for his phone, belatedly realising he’d left it on the table inside. ‘What the hell are you talking about Zoe? Shut up I’m calling a cab now.’
‘I could see it in your eyes Drake,’ Zoe continued to yell. ‘Every time you kissed me and touched me you were thinking of her. You didn’t mention her name but I know you were comparing me to her, remembering what she felt like when you were with me! You wanted her instead of me!’
Mascara was dribbling down her cheeks in ugly black lines as tears gushed but she continued anyway. ‘ That’s why I pretended I was too drunk to continue last night! Because you still love her! I’m not the one you want Drake…’ Zoe took a shaky breath. ‘And I never will be.’
He was stunned into silence, her words slicing deep, burning white hot as they whipped painfully across the open plain of his soul. His breath came in heavy pants like hers did as they stared at each other and in her eyes he could see only hurt and truth reflected back at him. Everything Zoe had said was right, he hadused her he was ashamed to admit, taken advantage of what she was willing to give just for a temporary pleasure..
‘I thought you were different Drake,’ she finally spoke up, her voice broken and quieter now. ‘I thought you were my friend…’
‘Zoe…’
Without thinking, he reached for her but she twisted out of his reach, wrapped her own arms around her protectively against the cold. Drake had never felt more like scum as she fixed her hollow gaze on him.
‘I’m going now,’ Zoe announced forlornly. ‘I’m going and you won’t ever have to hear from me again. You don’t have to say anything.. Actually please don’t…’
They waited in a thick silence until her Dryve arrived and in a flurry of pink skirts Zoe disappeared out of his life just as quickly as she’d appeared.
Feeling more miserable than ever, Drake gazed helplessly as the tail light of the car disappeared beyond the palace gates before dropping his head into his hands, allowing a few hot tears to escape him. How long am I going to go on like this? In this endless pattern of mistake after mistake? His mind went to the only stable source of reason he knew and he picked himself off the palace stairs, heading back into the ball room.
Things between him and Liam had been tense to put it mildly, he’d mostly smoothened things over with the rest of the gang but ever since Elizabeth had left they’d barely spoken two words to each other. In truth, he’d missed his best friend, missed his company, his dependable voice of reason that never failed him all the years they’d known each other. This was the longest he could remember them going without speaking and a part of him still shrunk away at the thought of approaching the King of Cordonia but in his heart, Drake knew it was time to mend things with his best friend.
He scanned the crowd intently for Liam’s tall figure and blonde hair and frowned when he couldn’t pick him out.
‘Maxwell have you seen Liam?’ He grabbed his friend’s shoulder as eh walked past. ‘I really need to talk to him..’
The younger Beaumont brother’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. ‘Dude didn’t you hear the announcement earlier? Liam’s not here.’
Drake blinked in surprise. ‘What?’
‘Nah man. When the King Father opened the ball, he mentioned that Liam was away on business or something…’ Maxwell searched his face carefully. ‘You really didn’t know?’
Drake was stunned into silence for the second time that night. The Costume ball was a major event to rally the nobility in the wake of the attackers’ arrest, just the kind of event that Liam would have to attend to show support for his people so for him to be absent was decidedly… uncharacteristic.
He couldn’t help but wonder what was so urgent just as something struck him.
It couldn’t be Elizabeth could it?
Before the thought could even be completed, Drake was already shaking his head. Fight or not, surely Liam would have told him if something was wrong on her end… right?
Still figuring out how to process this information, he headed towards the bar in need of a stiff drink and while lost in thought accidentally bumped into a costumed hooded figure, his shoulder swinging painfully despite having healed weeks ago.
’Sor-’ Drake began to apologise before making eye contact with the face under the hood. ‘Neville?!’
The Earl of the Cormery Isle threw back his black cloak off his head with a flourish, gaining the intended gasps of shock from the ball-goers nearest to them as he fixed his spiteful gaze on Drake.
‘That’s Lord Vancoeur to you,’ he spat, voice loud and harsh. ‘I shouldn’t expect much from the commoner scum you are.’
Drake felt the blood boiling in his veins as he settled his eyes on the man who was indirectly responsible for Elizabeth’s accident. If this bastard and his father hadn’t sprung that surprise press conference on them, she wouldn’t have had that panic attack and she wouldn’t have ran out onto that cursed balcony and had that accident. If it wasn’t for that, she might still be —
The other man eyed him with amusement, almost as though he could hear Drake’s thoughts out loud. His anger skyrocketed to boiling point, wanting nothing more than the punch that smug smile off his rodent-like face. The tension rippled off the pair of them in waves while as a small crowd gathered around the two men, suddenly in rapt attention but Drake ignored them.
‘Well Lord Vancoeur would you care to tell us all where the hell you and that slime bag you call your father have been hiding? It’s been weeks since Richmond’s accident. Where the fuck have you been?’
‘Pah! I don’t have to explain myself to you of all people,’ Neville barked venomously. ‘And you will not blame me or my father for your heedless mistake. It was not me that lead Her Grace to her demise!’
His words drew a gasp of horror from the crowd, many of whom were watching the interaction like spectators at a tennis match. Neville grinned wickedly, turning to them with a flourish of his cape, relishing in the attention of all.
‘Lord Neville what is the meaning of this?’ Queen Regina demanded as the crowd parted to reveal her and the King Father approaching the commotion.
‘Your Majesties, please accept my humblest apologies for interrupting your evening,’ Neville bowed low, looking the picture of humility. ‘But I cannot, in good faith, bring myself to stay silent when the wrong doings towards the lovely Duchess Elizabeth remain hidden.’
‘We appreciate your pursuit of the truth, Lord Neville but is this rea— ‘ The queen began but Constantine interrupted her with an authoritative hand.
‘Let the Earl speak Regina,’ he declared, pulling himself to his full height.
‘Thank you King Father.’ Neville’s wicked grin was back as he bowed again and stepped up onto the raised dais.
‘My lords and ladies, I regret to be the one to tell you that your illustrious hero, Drake Walker seems to have conveniently left out a few choice details about his beloved fiancee’s accident.
Did he tell you that he brought her onto that balcony in the first place despite the Marquess’ explicit caution?
Did he tell you he was the one that antagonised her, goaded her, provoked your sweet duchess into such a fit that made her stomp on the fragile floor of the balcony leading to its collapse and her demise?’
The filthy bastard is spinning lies. Drake’s nails dug painfully into his calloused palms as anger boiled in his veins. He made to lunge towards the earl but the strong hands of Bastien and Mara held him back, as the head of security muttered a quick order into his ear piece. Temporarily restrained, he threw his rival a glare so venomous some members of the crowd actually stepped back but received a smug smile in return.
‘Tell us!’ Someone cried out from the crowd.
‘Lord Neville do enlighten us!’ another voice — Duke Richards’ — cried out and the sentiment gained traction, building and building until the entire ballroom was filled with shouts of ‘TELL US! TELL US!’
Bastien and his team attempted to subdue the people pressing agains the dais on all angles but even their authority was lost on the frenzied crowds, flocked forwards eagerly.
Shooting a smug smile over his shoulder at Drake, Neville raising his hands for silence dramatically, the crowd immediately fell silent, hanging on to his every word.
‘Despite what he has miserably attempted to convince you, Drake Walker is no better than the commoner scum he brought as a date to the ball tonight. While you might know him as our beloved King Liam’s best friend and fiercest protector, I regret to tell you my good people, your hero is not as pure as he is made out to be. In fact I have it on good authority that he is willing to do anything to further his station, including taking a bullet for the woman he claims to love all the while concealing the fact that he cheated on her!’
A ripple of shock filtered through the crowd and a few ladies clutched their throats dramatically. Drake felt the eyes of the nobles on him, many of whom were in “traditional Cordonian marriages”, their gazes cold with disgust and horror. Any loyalty these people may have shown to him once had vanished. It was like all his years at court as an outsider, hiding on the fringes, came flooding back with ten times the force, every backhanded comment, every insult reflected in their eyes which were all too ready to condemn him with the same message: you will never be one of us.
‘Tell us now Mr Walker, isn’t that the reason why Elizabeth left?’ Neville asked mockingly and it took all Drake’s willpower to keep himself from doing anything stupid.
‘You fucking know its not,’ He spat back but the earl was already turning back to the crowd.
‘My lords and ladies do you not think that it is strange that His Majesty would not be here tonight? On this important night, the Costume Ball, a chance to shed the ordinary layers we don each day for something merrier, to unify us all in the wake of the horrific attack a few months ago. One must wonder what could possibly draw our King’s attention away from this paramount event… Or’
Neville paused for a moment, looking out at the crowd.’ Should I say who?’
At once the ball goers caught onto the implication he was making and a rush of whispering filled the ballroom as rapid suspicious and empty conclusions were drawn.
‘Lord Neville, surely you did not come here to create strife for our guests,’ Regina’s tone was loaded, her meaning clear but the earl easily sidestepped it, his face turning apologetic.
‘I do apologise Queen Mother. It was never my intention,’ He gave her an oily smile and a shallow bow. ’Surely you cannot begrudge a man for simply wondering about the calibre of woman that has risen to power in our small nation. Duchess Elizabeth has betwixt’d the hearts and minds of our people so effortlessly during the social season and was once a promising candidate for the Queenship.’
However in our time of greatest need, she seems to have vanished. Surely I am not the only one who finds it difficult to readily accept a woman who was so eager to take from our country during prosperity and equally eager to abandon it in times of strife..’
The whispering began again, as many of the nobles latched into the meaning and Drake felt his hackles rise again defensively, the blood roaring in his head. I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.
Without missing a beat, Neville continued, ‘Perhaps it is for the best that Ms Richmond is no longer with us. With her knowledge and experience of governance, I shudder to think how many cues she might have taken from her country’s democratic leaders… Her American temperament may have won her the hearts of our nation, our king and one of her most devoted servants but one might wonder the reason why she chose to remain in Cordonia this long…’
A subtle shift of his eyes towards the pair of thrones sitting atop the dais was enough to deliver his meaning and as the crowd grew restless. ‘And the lengths she might have gone to achieve her goals.’
Something in Drake exploded now. ‘Don’t you fucking talk about her that way you bastard!’
‘Or what?’ Neville turned, fixing his yellowish snake eyes on him. A biting response was on the tip of Drake’s tongue but Bastien’s fingers dug purposely into his skin. Stubbornly he replied anyway.
‘Anyone who knows Richmond, knows that she had more passion and heart than any of us here! She loved this country so much and she wasn’t even born here. But I guess when you don’t have a damn heart ‘noble’ breeding and etiquette are all you’ve got to cling to…’
That got the crowd’s attention as they tittered amoungst themselves as they pondered on the veracity of his words. No matter what lies Neville was weaving, no one could deny the truth about Elizabeth and her devotion to. And as he felt the crowd turn slightly towards his favour, it brought Drake a small sense of satisfaction to see Neville’s face flush bright red with anger.
‘I have tolerated his insults long enough!’ His voice was shriller when he spoke, fishing inside his ugly blazer for a moment to retrieve a white glove, throwing it down at Drake’s feet.
‘I demand you meet me in a duel!’
Drake’s anger glowed white hot but he managed to keep his voice even. ‘I accept.’
–
On the lawn outside the palace, Drake eyed his opponent grimly as Neville executed a few practice strokes against the air, obviously showing off for the crowds who had gathered to watch the match. No matter how he tried to fight it, the sensation of apprehension grew with every slash of the razor sharp blade and he forced himself to tear his eyes back to wear Bastien was finishing up strapping his shoulder.
‘You should have never agreed to this,’ the bodyguard berated him again, tucking in the end of the bandage. ‘You’re just as stubborn and bullheaded as your father, you know that?’
Drake nodded. ‘I do. Any advice?’
The older man paused, sizing up the earl with a calculating look. ‘Lord Neville is skilled but his weakness is his ego. If you’re patient enough, you can goad him into slipping up and making a mistake.’
‘Guess I should thank Liam for all those mock duels we had as a kid, huh?’ Drake tried for a smile as he slipped his shirt back on.
‘More like, guess you should thank me for teaching you two how not to accidentally behead yourselves,’ Bastien scoffed before pausing for a moment. ‘And Drake?’
‘Yeah?’
His eyes softened a little but his meaning was clear when he spoke. ‘When you’re out there… It always helps to remember your reason for doing this in the first place.’
Drake nodded in return, suddenly finding it hard to swallow. ‘Thanks Bas.’
As soon as the head of security stepped away, a concerned Hana and Maxwell immediately surround him, their worried looks darting nervously between him and Neville.
‘You’re the toughest person I know Drake,’ Maxwell burst out, seeming like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. ‘You’ve got this.’
Drake couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. ‘What? No jokes about how you’ll be filming the entire thing from the sidelines?’
Instead of a light-hearted response, Maxwell’s voice had never been more serious. ‘Just win and I’ll broadcast your victory on every form of social media I can get my hands on.’
He nodded once, feeling doubt flicker back in again. If even the ever-excitable Maxwell was serious about this…
Next Olivia came into view, sizing him up in one calculated look. ‘Don’t lose Walker. It would be such an embarrassment.’
‘Just be careful please,’ Hana put in, fidgeting with nervous energy.
Drake nodded grimly and turned to go when she called him back.
‘It might be kinda silly but I think she’d want you to have this.’
She tied a scrap of blue fabric around his upper arm and he recognised it to be one of the ribbons Elizabeth had occasionally worn in her many extravagant updos. It felt warm against his arm, through the layers of clothing he was wearing and if he were a more sentimental person, he might even admit it gave him hope.
‘Well, well Walker,’ Neville’s cruel voice spanned across the lawn. ‘Its time.’
An attendant handed him his own short sword and testing its weight and balance Drake walked up to stand before his opponent, the air between them crackling with hostility.
‘This is the first duel we’ve seen in Cordonia in one hundred years,’ the King Father announced. ‘Both parties have been provided equal weapons and engagement shall continue until one party is well blooded, disabled or surrenders. I trust you gentlemen will be fighting with honour.’
Constantine’s hard gaze turned on Drake for a moment.
‘Let the duel begin!’
Neville immediately lunged at him, swing his sword with more speed and accuracy than Drake would have expected for a weasel. He raised his weapon to block and the shriek of metal scraping on metal filled the air. He had not been ready for the sheer force behind the strike and stumbled back a little. Neville’s face curved into an evil grin as he sent another blow flying towards him and Drake had barely time to duck as the sword cut through the air where he had been standing milliseconds ago.
‘Would you like to know what I despise most about you and your kind Walker?’ The earl sneered as they began to circle each other, the crowd roaring in anticipation.
‘Gotta feeling I’m about to hear it either way,’ he grunted in response, rolling his eyes.
‘What I despise most is that you have no respect for your betters.’ Neville flew at him with another sharp jab and this time he blocked the strike, their swords locked in a tight X as they glared at each other, adrenaline spiking through the roof.
‘Oh I have plenty of respect of for my betters,’ Drake replied venomously with just enough dismissiveness to see fury flitting across Neville’s face. ‘Just don’t consider you one of them.’
To supplement his point, Drake twisted his sword away and swung it hard. Neville caught the blow on the flat of his blade but the force of his strike pushed him back into the crowd as Drake’s friends roared in support. A few nobles attempted to help the earl to his feet but he shrugged them off angrily, coming to resume his defensive stance before Drake.
He sized his opponent up, the shorter man already showing signs of strain. He might be smaller but Drake knew not to underestimate him, his technique and experience was far superior.
His weakness is his ego.
‘Brute strength…’ Neville drawled angrily as they began to circle each other. ‘You’re only proving my point.’
‘Which is?’
‘They will never accept you!’ The earl cried and lunged towards him, swinging his sword and the pair traded parries, each analysing the other for a weakness.
Sweat began to drip down Drake’s back as the muscles of his injured arm burned under the weight of the sword and he had no choice to adjust his grip a little to alleviate the pain. Sensing his hesitation, Neville took the opportunity, the crowd watched in complete horror as the blade cutting through the air in a deadly arc.
Drake’s vision flashed red as he felt the searing blade of Neville’s word cut mercilessly into his side. He gasped, feeling his grip on the sword falter as hot fire flooded his senses and when he put a hand to his side, it came away covered in crimson.
‘We have to stop, Drake’s hurt!’ He heard Hana scream out from somewhere behind him but the King Father’s voice cut her off.
‘Nonsense. You’d be surprised how much blood a man can lose and still emerge victorious.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw a flash of silver hurtling towards him and acting on pure instinct, threw himself to the side. He groaned in pain as he tumbled to the ground, his vision beginning to tinge red.
Get up, his mind screamed. I need to get up.
‘Get up Walker!’ It was Olivia yelling now, echoing his thoughts over the din of the crowd. ‘As long as your head is still attached there’s no excuse for lying around.’
With a paramount effort, Drake pulled himself to his feet, feeling his strength ebb away as blood dripped down his side.
‘Back for more commoner?’ Neville taunted, twirling the blade lazily. ‘I see its going to take you a few tries to learn this lesson… But I’m happy to teach it to you as many times as needed.’
This time it was Drake who struck first, half sick of the earl’s blabber while the other half hoped he could get in a lucky blow. But Neville was ready with years of practice and technique on his side, easily blocking his parries while Drake’s frustration only grew when he couldn’t land a hit. With a loud cry, he swung his sword again and instead of blocking, Neville smoothly dodged, his hands clamping on his healing arm before yanking down hard.
Drake let out a grunt of pain as the bullet wound in his shoulder burned in pain, hand still stained with blood moving to clutch his injury before he felt the metal pommel of Neville’s sword smash into his jaw, drawing a collective gasp of surprise from the crowd. In his weakened state, the impact was enough to knock him down onto one knee, his sword skittering over the cobblestones, out of reach. Head bowed, he felt rather than saw Neville coming to stand over him, raising the blade over his head.
‘Let this be a lesson to you and that wench you were going to marry,’ his opponent spat but Drake could barely focus on what he was saying, struggling to keep himself conscious.
‘You can try all you want to rise above your station but you commoners will always end up where you belong. In the dirt.’
Around him in the crowd, his friends yelled, screamed at him to get up. His heart rate sped up, his flight response jacked up so high on adrenaline, every cell screaming at him to move, get out of there but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he willed his legs to move.
“You can do this!” “Fight back Drake!” “You’re stronger than this.”
But what if he wasn’t? What if he couldn’t? What if Neville was right and he shouldn’t have even attempted to be a noble in the first place?
As Drake teetered on the brink of defeat, the pull of surrender seemed more and more appealing.. It would be so much easier to say the word and take it all away… They never accept him, he’d never be one of them. Neville, that bastard might actually be right about something. Maybe he should just —
Then he heard Bastien’s voice ring out over the crowd.
‘Remember why you’re doing this Drake!’
The words echoed in his mind with clarity of the clearest bell above the noise, above the din as he caught sight of the ribbon tied around his upper arm, the blue fabric fluttering in the cool night air.
He was doing this for… her.
‘Drake get up!’ Hana urged, her voice shrill. ‘He doesn’t know a damned thing about you! About Elizabeth!’
‘You have to do this for her!’ It was Olivia now.
‘ Yeah do it for Elizabeth!’ Maxwell echoed just as strongly.
It didn’t matter if she wasn’t coming back. It didn’t even matter if she didn’t love him anymore. Drake Walker would always love Elizabeth Richmond no matter how far apart they were. He’d made her a promise to guard her and defend her and he’d be damned before he ever broke that promise.
He raised his head, glaring defiantly at the figure towering over him.
‘What do you have to say for yourself Walker? Let me guess,’ Neville leered. ‘Something about defending the honour of that wench of yours?’
‘Her name is Elizabeth Richmond,’ Drake answered lowly. ‘And I’ve still got one good arm.’
Before Neville’s weasel face could crumple into confusion, Drake knocking the flat of the earl’s short sword out of the way with his injured arm and lunging up, he wound his other arm up, connecting it to Neville’s jaw with a sickening crunch!
The impact knocked the weasel off his feet, sending his sword flying through the air. In a feat of pure luck, Drake was able to grip the handle, plucking it out of its trajectory and aiming the razor sharp point squarely at Neville’s throat, pressing just hard enough to extract a single bead of scarlet on the earl’s olive skin.
Neville gulped, scrambling away from the point, fear written in all across his weasel face.
‘I-I yield!’
At that moment the King Father stepped forward. ‘I declare Drake Walker the victor!’
The crowd erupted into a chorus of cheers and applause in all directions as Drake dropped the sword, the metal clattering loudly against the cobblestones and Neville scrambled to his feet, face indignant as he tried to protest.
‘This is an outrage! Outrage I tell you,’ he screamed, trying to be heard over the din.
Rolling his eyes, Drake stalked over towards his defeated opponent. ‘If you and your weasel father ever think of spreading lies about Duchess Elizabeth again, I won’t hesitate to find you and kill you myself,’ He declared loudly. ‘And I won’t need a sword for that. Got it?’
‘I will never forget this!’ Neville’s face flashed with fury and he threw one last ugly look over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Drake scarcely had a second to think before he was surrounded by his friends and well wishers.
‘You did it!’ Hana exclaimed, her small face radiant with joy. ‘You won!’
‘Aww man,’ Maxwell burst out. ‘I knew I should have filmed it!’
Members of the crowd came forward pressing on every angle, shaking his hands, patting his back and strangely their voices began to seem further and further away. Drake blinked twice, straining to see who was talking to him but the world began to spin fast and he could barely feel his legs giving out underneath him.
‘Give him space!’ Someone shouted.
A dark haze creeped up from the edges of his vision. Air seemed to get stuck in his lungs.
‘He’s still bleeding!’ A man shouted.
‘There’s so much blood, I can’t look!’ A shrill voice pierced his ears.
‘Hang in there Drake, the ambulance is on its way.’
Bastien’s face appearing in Drake’s rapidly shrinking field of vision for a brief moment, worry etched across his mature features, before even he faded away and everything went black…