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Chapter 18
Pascal
Vile, treacherous, undignified and imbecilic morons. The entire building would be full of such disease ridden hides, all of them bowing and scraping at the feet of someone who was not entitled to such bowing and scraping.
Fools.
He glanced back at Alexander, attempting to show contempt for that fool, too. It did not quite work. The bastard looked too beautiful in the autumnal sun, wind whipping his near black hair around.
“Oh, I bet you love all this garbage,” Lilah said, snickering beside him. He did not. He lifted his chin higher to prove the disdain, only to have her laugh harder.
“You are worrisome, my love.”
“I’m not calling you Sir again. No matter how rich you are.” The statement warranted a beating, one he would happily deliver at some point in the not too distant future, as and when she allowed him such frivolities. He glanced at Elizabeth. He didn’t need permission for that. “Concentrate, Pascal.” He looked back at Lilah. She nodded at the opening palace doors.
Hmm.
Four more fools clicked their heels and pulled the doors wide. He looked at the floor, which was lacking the ceremonial orange carpet that should be laid out for him.
“Perturbing,” he muttered. Lilah looked at him. “I have no carpet.”
“Well, they didn’t exactly know you were coming.” This was true. Unacceptable, but true.
He narrowed his eyes at the thought and looked into the main gallery, his foot unable to move for reasons of inadequacy. Perhaps it was the state funeral last year, the musings associated with his father’s death when he was here last. Not that he gave that much care to the thought, but it had been tortuous without Lilah at his side. She had been in court that day, freeing criminals who were not credible criminals. A job she had come to do with excellence involved.
Lilah’s feet were not so insufficient at moving. They strode onwards, her ass swinging in his face, only to be met by the standing guards barring her path. He glared at them, flicking his cane in their direction. They would move for her. The whole world would move for her. They did not, and would not, until he managed to walk past them first. This prompted him to do so without further thought. Hierarchical pomposity knew no bounds in this monstrosity of a building.
“We may have to marry,” he said, quietly, wrapping her arm into his. She laughed, and he was about to retaliate to her amusement of it when a cough sounded behind. Alexander, with an axe in front of him. Pascal rolled his eyes and snapped as much ferocity at the guards as he could muster, barely managing to stop the venom travelling through his arm to Lilah’s. They would all pass. At will. And without anyone stopping them.
“Pascal?” His innards shivered, disgust enraging every bone in his body to break the degenerate little cunt in two and ram his cane into orifices that it was too good to delve into. He turned slowly, and found an overweight ponce waving his hand around and smiling in some display of authority.
“Fabrice.”
Some gentile greetings were forthcoming then, all of them involving their mother tongue and formal representations of chivalry, until Fabrice waited for him to kiss the ring he offered. Pascal would not be kissing any ring, not ones attached to this cunt anyway.
“That is not yours,” he snapped, looking at it and remembering it on his father’s hand. “It is mine.” Fabrice chuckled and walked straight past them, flanked by two perfectly dressed guards. At least standards were being met.
“Who are these peasants?” Fabrice called back. Alexander laughed. He laughed loud enough for Pascal to know he was not laughing at all. Perhaps he could set the murdering Alexander into play. That may ease the route forward, for all concerned. He glanced back at the man, who was now scowling at an inferior guard who approached him.
“I have no need to answer you. Call the family lawyers. I have mine with me,” Pascal shouted, turning away from the moron and leading them all towards his own quarters in the west wing of the grounds.
He would not have his company in the company of conniving little cunts a moment longer than necessary. And with any luck, his own quarters would be safe from any amount of possible lunacy that might occur when the time came. He glanced at the three of them, concern for their safety suddenly apparent in his mind. Fabrice was indeed a cunning breed of infantile, and kidnap or torture was not an entirely remote thought when it came to getting what the bastard may want. Alexander’s somewhat vicious tendencies might be essential in navigating such ...
“What an arse,” Lilah said. Indeed.
“I agree,” Elizabeth stated. Alexander snorted.
Pascal flung his cane onto the chaise the moment they were in his sanctuary, then pulled at his tie, flinging that in the general direction of his cane, too. A drink was needed. Lots of it. He crossed towards his day room and looked at Alexander, who bored his own eyes back into him with such intensity he near fell over from the impact of them. So, he turned away and headed for the drinks cabinet, knowing exactly what the next conversation they would be having was and being entirely predisposed to put it off as long as possible.
What did all this mean?
He did not know.
He had not the slightest idea what ruling his family seat would mean to either him or them. But rule it he would have to. It was his duty. And one more year of Fabrice ruining the economy would not be tolerated, not now he was able to intervene. His brother was nothing more than a high ranking fool, one who knew nothing but partying and parading. He did not have the acumen to sit with governing bodies and cajole the committee. He was simply a pawn they played with, not the king that was necessary.
“You can’t hide from this, Pascal,” Alexander said behind him. He sighed and stared out of the window, making martinis of all things. “It’s a nice place.” It was not a nice place. It was a horrendous place, all of it harbouring nothing but vile memories and antiquated gestures of compliance and rules. Alexander chuckled. “It suits you.” His head turned sharply, irritation firing every thought he had. It did not, in any way, suit him. “Yes it does.” Bastard.
“You are disturbingly accurate in reading my thoughts.”
