Chapter 5: The Crazed Emperor, Salvatore

Two days later. Evening Emperor’s chambers, Citadel. Critic Citadel of Critic-Ishire "Greetings to his majesty the Emperor of Critic Arley," a knight dressed in armour and a small frown marring his cute face greeted. He looked overly cute and young for a knight, but he was one of the emperor’s undercover men. The ones he had assigned to watch Theodore, for whatever he does, for a decade now. "Oh, Noa, drop the formalities now, tell me what you have." Emperor Salvatore, with all the craze his eyes can carry, ordered the skinny knight who had just stepped in. Noah took the emperor in with a gleam of appreciation dancing in his eyes. The emperor was dressed in only a green vest, and his gold hair was ruffled, his pants hanging low on his waist as he kept his smirk. "May his majesty allo..." The knight ’Noah’ tried to ask a question, but Salvatore had other interests, so he cut him off. "Get on with it, Noah. Did anything interesting ensue?" The question left his smirking lips sharply. He strolled to the window in his chamber, the yellow curtains drawn, plush pillows scattered around. The emperor was a man who loved colours; he dressed colourfully and also liked pretty things. "A lady attended the banquet," Noah relayed, his words measured to not anger the emperor. ’Hmm,’ the emperor scoffed. "Now that’s one interesting outcome," he commented. Theodore never creates drama, so the emperor is sure Conan is behind this. Bridal picking banquet. "She was the only lady that attended the banquet, et" Noah continued with a relaxed shoulder. Happy for the praise the emperor dashed his way, the praise is misplaced, but so is Noah. "A family had the temerity...to send their daughter to a banquet held by Theo in my empire," the emperor acquired with a vicious smirk. He looked happy about the news instead of angry, which sent a creeping shiver up his companion’s spine. He was grinning. Salvatore loved to play; the way he dressed alone for an emperor should speak volumes. He always had his eyes outlined with coal and his lips a strong tint of red, proving further his liking for colour. The craze in his eyes was not hidden as he liked to flaunt how much of a danger he was to those who were unfortunate enough to cross him. "I couldn’t stop the carriage returning her, it was driven by the Hou, nd" Noah relayed. His eyes held a strong fear that Salvatore hated; he had to be the one putting fear in them, and no one else should have that power. "That’s okay, but do you know which household she’s from? She can’t possibly have come from Critic-Izinghale now, can she?" Salvatore asked, as his small steps turned hasty, trapping Noah in his breath. "I do not know where she is from, Your Majesty," he confessed. "I need that information, Noa. Do you wish to anger me?" "No, your majesty.." he trailed off, his heart fragile. "I... I will get the house.e" The emperor was too close to Noh, for him to be able to say anything comprehensive "Off you go, information?" the emperor shooed Noah away with a smirk that almost paralyzed him, but paralysis in front of the emperor was for the strangers; he had known Salvatore long enough to know when to drop his gaze to be able to maintain mere strength to move. But Salvatore hated when people stopped looking at him; he hated when they dropped their gaze. "Yes... Yes, Your Majesty," Noah scampered away with his light armour, easy to carry. "Theodore, what will you do without me?" the emperor whispered into the air. Salvatore moved to his bed, which was covered in a light brown and yellow horse hair bedspread. He lay on his back as a strange glint appeared in his eyes. He let it stay for a few seconds before regaining his composure and leaving the room silently. He hated Theodore’s comfort, so he would do anything to thwart his respite. Morning. Critic-Citadel, Critic-Ishire. Noah, the grovelling knight of the emperor, was, in fact, a renowned beast, a thorough maniac who had the exterior of a pretty boy and the interior of an obsessive, crazed man. He is important to the emperor and also to the empire because he digs out absolutely everything and anything for the emperor. Most of his ways of getting things done have never been ethically right, like how he had searched and threatened families to find out where the girl who attended Theodore’s ball,’ Lydia’, had come from. Information barely left the Theodore mansio, so most people didn’t know, ow but those who knew had kept their t a tight. It had gotten a little bloody in his search, but today he found her, her house, and her family. The emperor had sent him to fetch the whole family. Noah doesn’t want to wonder why, but this family makes him want to incite the emperor to destroy them. Salvatore had instructed him to treat them importantly. He knew about Salvatore’s obsession with Theodore, but Noah’s obsession was with Salvatore, and he would do anything to please his emperor; besides, he enjoyed it. Evening. Theodore Mansion. Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire. "Cona,n this mansion is getting rather dreary.y, I can’t stand your face without its grin." Theodore complained as he made his way down the naturally dreary stairs of his mansion. "What’s my grin got to do with your eerie mansion?" Conan questioned with a scowl. "It has always been wearisome, you, my friend, have been oblivious," he added. Conan’s attention had now been drawn away from looking out the window where he had been. "You have been like this since you got back from your muck hunt. Get over it," Theodore advised, his voice teasing. "You don’t know what happened," Conan accused with a pout. "I wasn’t interested, but I sense I shall have to listen to your yowl for a while," the lord lets out with a sigh as he succumbed to Conan’s silent treatment. Conan was never as silent as he had been since he went out days ago to get his papers. "So acquaint me with the details," Theodore added with an elegant shrug. "It was a wit, ch," Conan started dramatically. "A magic practitioner? The witch?" the lord asked, referring to the writer of Critic Arley’s essence. "N,o mosy not her," Conan grimaced. He could not imagine his writer being half that annoying; she was a sweet young girl. "And it can just be a witch instead of ’Magic Practitioner,’" he mocked. "That sounds boring," Conan completed with a frown, disgusted by the idea. "So what did this one do?" Theodore asked as he moved for the doors, with Conan soon after him. Theodore strolled around his mansion with his hands behind him, the emptiness of the mansion pleasing to him. "She made me miss that day’s muckra,ke" Conan whined as he removed some jewellery from his wrist. "How did she do that? Did she enchant you?" Theodore sounded suspicious. "No, she didn’t, she was cloaked eve,n" he stopped removing the jewellery for a beat. "She distracted me till I got to the board too late and missed my papers." Conan enjoyed the walk too; he needed the fresh air. "Why don’t you hunt her down?" Theodore asked, glancing Conan’s way. No emotion was on display; he looked like he hadn’t said a word for days now. "That’s the plan, but you know how witches are nomads, and she seems to be able to vanish," Conan rep, his voice resigned. "She is still in Critical Care, however," Theodore said after a moment of silence. "Are you encouraging me to go cause trouble?" Conan questioned teasingly "N, I’m encouraging you to stop sulking; you are disturbing my peace," Theodore said with a straight face. "I am not even doing anything," Conan defended. "Exactly, that is disturbing," Theodore commented. "Fine, if you want to get rid of me, I’d send a hound to you on my way out," Conan suggested with a smirk. He knew how the hound creeps even Theodore out, not completely, but without doubt keeps him on his toes. "Don’t you even dare," Theodore threatened with a growl. "Inform him I want a check on gooseberry," Theodore ordered "Now that you mention when are we going to theStathamss?" Conan enquired as he exasperatingly tugged at his hair. "That is who I was talking about," Lord Theodore said with one of his eyebrows raised "Lydia?" he frowned. Conan was either playing dumb or the witch had fried his brain, Theodore thought darkly. "Maybe you should go instead, "Theodore decided. "O, nnoo no, I shall send hound youwaya.y" Conan’s hand was held up in surrender. So he still has a part of his brain after all, not all of it was fried then, Theodore mused in his head. "Great, we shall send Hound to the house of Snakessness," Lord Theodore murmured with a small smirk. He had not been able to get Lydia out of his head, and he wasn’t exactly trying to do that, that's after finally meeting her. She now has a stronghold of his mind;d, if he didn’t have very important work to do, he would be at the Statham estate already, but for now. Hound would do. He was going to have a chat with the coachman who dropped his sacrifice.. In the dimly lit corridors of his sprawling mansion, Lord Theodore, handsome with his magnificent golden locks and piercing sky-blue eyes, strode purposefully towards the mansion’s dungeon below. His face expressionless and unreadable. His strong footsteps echoed off the cold, stone walls, resonating with an air of authority befitting his noble stature. Theodore descended into the depths of his dark hole, where the flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows across his chiseled features that accentuated the steely determination etched upon his brow. He is clad in the finery of Critic Arl; his tailored suit exudes an aura of aristocratic elegance, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings of the dungeon below. He paused when he arrived at the heavy iron door. Theodore paused, his hand hovered over the rusted handle as he prepared to confront the prisoner within. He could be called clumsy, but that boy left his Gooseberry for supposed death. So, behind those formidable walls lay a man whose knowledge he believed held the key to unraveling a web of intrigue that he wanted to know about his future wife. About her. He had used all the restraints he had to keep her that night. With a firm grip, Theodore pushed open the door, the hinges creaking in protest as he stepped into the dimly lit chamber beyond. There, illuminated by a solitary lantern, sat the prisoner, the coachman, his gaunt figure hunched in the shadows, the weight of his confinement evident in every line of his weathered face. As Lord Theodore approached, a flicker of defiance sparked in the prisoner’s eyes, but it was swiftly extinguished by the sheer force of the lord’s presence. "Let me go! Please," he wailed pathetically. "I was merely going to ask questions about that night, but I wonder what I shall find about her whole life." With a commanding voice that brooked no dissent, Lord Theodore pressed the prisoner for information, his piercing gaze boring into the man’s soul as he sought to extract the truth. Lord Theodore was a formidable figure; his golden locks and sky-blue eyes concealed a steely resolve that knew no bounds. And as he faced his prisoner in the depths of the dungeon, it was clear that nothing would stand in his way as he pursued justice for leaving Lydia here, assuming it was dangerous and the truth about the kind of life she lived.