Tales after Dusk 01

"I feel so...ashamed. She should never have seen me like this," he whispers.

Myrtle hands him a pair of pants and turns her back; Simon rests his hand on her shoulder while he climbs into them.

"Simon, from this moment forward you are not allowed to be ashamed or embarrassed. Ever again. The only thing you are allowed to be, is happy." She turns around and helps him pull the matching black shirt over his head, "Do you understand me?"

He smiles softly at the old woman, "Only if you promise not to be a grouch anymore."

She laughs and pinches his cheek, before pulling out a comb and fixing his hair carefully, "How can I be a grouch when I get to eat lemon cake every day for the rest of my life?"

Looking over Simon, she can't help but smile, "You look a lot like your father." Despite having been beaten and almost killed, no one would be able to tell unless they slapped him on the back. She gathers up the bucket and cloth, as well as the wool blanket covering the lounge. After making him sit down, she leaves the room, letting Lia and Clarkson come back in with a large tray of food.

Lia sits across from Simon, setting the plate between them. He picks up a few items and nibbles thoughtfully, "Are there still people here, attending the ball?"

She nods with a smile, chewing on a strawberry.

He takes a few more bites before he continues, "You should go back down there; I am keeping you from your party."

"Nonsense. Besides, it is an engagement party; in order for it to function properly, I must be with the one to whom I am engaged."

Eating a few more bites, he washes it down with a thick glass of warm milk. The salve has cooled the fire on his back, the food providing him with the strength he needs. Slowly, he stands up, finding himself more sturdy, "Then I shall have to go with you."

"Please, you should rest. I am not upset about it at all—in fact I am the happiest I have ever been, just to be here with you is enough," she says, smiling warmly at him.

Simon refuses to let the Baron control the rest of his night. Putting his hands on his hips he stares stubbornly at her. She laughs when he refuses to back down; getting up she kisses him softly on the lips, "Well, at least wait for me while I find a new dress."

As Lia disappears into the closet once more, Clarkson walks over from the window, unfolding a richly colored red cloak. He drapes it over Simon's shoulders, securing it with Lia's cloak clasp. He speaks softly to the boy, "I understand how you feel, so I will only ask this once and I expect an honest answer; are you sure you are well enough?"

Simon nods slowly, "Yes, I believe I will be fine."

Clarkson looks him over for a moment before deciding that he is telling the truth; he hands him a dark red porcelain mask.

It is a short walk to the ballroom; Simon manages it well. He holds his head high and keeps his shoulders back, feeling at ease with Lia next to his side. When they enter the room the floor is still packed with several couples in the middle of a dance. Though it nears midnight, everyone stayed to see who the Princess has chosen as her new husband.

When Lia and Simon walk into the room several of the dancers stop; though the couple has changed clothes, several of the women recognize Simon from before. As they make their way to the throne the King rises, causing the musicians to stop immediately.

"I am glad you are back, Simon," the King says softly.

"Thank you your majesty, I am glad to be back," he replies.

"Once again, thanks to all of you for coming out this evening," the King says loudly, addressing the crowd that has gathered around them, "As you know, tonight is when the Princess decides on whom she has chosen for her husband." He nods to Lia, who removes her mask, "Would all of you like to know whom she has chosen?"

The crowd mummers their eagerness. Simon reaches up to remove his mask but is stopped when the King's hand rests on his shoulder, "Princess Amelia has chosen this fine young man. While almost all of you haven't had the pleasure of meeting him, I shall reassure you that he was born and raised right here in Northhill," the King pauses, letting the crowd fester in their anticipation. "But—his identity will not be revealed tonight."

Whispers of curiosity and disapproval fill the room.

"Now don't you fret, I have not lied to you. I have presented you with the man you will soon call Prince. If you wish to discover his name and see his face, you must return here tomorrow before noon. Now, good night people of Northhill!"

The crowd looks around at each other, everyone clearly confused. For whatever reason, someone starts clapping and soon everyone else joins in. The King nods gratefully then turns and leaves, followed by Lia and Simon. They follow him into a small library, where they are greeted by a priest, Clarkson, and Myrtle.

The King turns to Simon, who in turn removes his mask. "I have been informed as to what the Baron has done. He will arrive here tomorrow at noon under the pretense of witnessing your sentencing, when in fact it will be his own. As you are the one whom these crimes were committed against, I will give you final say as to the fate of the Augustines. But, that is not why I have brought you here. Amelia has expressed her unwillingness to leave your side," he smiles at Simon, "So I thought it best that we have a quick, secret ceremony so that tonight...you two don't do anything out of...wedlock. That is, of course, entirely up to you Simon."

He smiles, squeezing Lia's hand as he looks at her, "I am more than happy to, if you shall have me."

...

Simon nervously looks at the ring on his finger. His palms are sweating, his heart is racing and he is scared but he has no desire to be anywhere else other than here. Lia walks out from the closet with the same black robe on as before, but this time there is nothing underneath it.

Tenderly she touches his cheek before helping him remove his shirt. He swallows hard, waiting patiently while she unwraps his bandage and rubs more salve into his wounds.

"They already look much better," she whispers quietly as she wraps him back up.

When she is finished, Simon pulls her down onto his lap and wraps his arms around her. She looks as nervous as he feels. He offers up a grin, "What shall we do now, Amelia?" Her full name feels foreign on his tongue.

Lia leans into him, covering his mouth with hers. Simon stands up and carries her to the bed where he rests her down gently on her back. Lia refuses to let go of him and pulls him down on top of her. He falls into the bed, laughing into her mouth. She smiles back at him, holding his face in her hands, losing herself in his golden green eyes.

Simon's heart pounds fiercely; his hands shake with nerves as they slowly slide down her body, untying the sash of her robe. He has no idea what he is doing but he lets his hands push the plush fabric away from her body, exposing her white flesh to his eyes for the first time. He knows his face is flush but he follows his instincts and leans down, placing soft kisses on her neck, trailing down her throat to her quivering chest. Gently, he caresses the soft orbs with his hands, tasting them with his mouth. Lia lets out a quiet moan; he looks up to see her head pressed back against the pillows, her eyes closed, her mouth parted by her tongue as she licks her lips.

Leaning his weight off of her, he unbuttons his short pants, pushing them down and kicking them free of his legs so that he can now lie naked, on his side, next to her, his fingers tracing over her skin, his eyes drinking in the beauty of her body. When his hand reaches the fuzz of her lower patch, her hips press forward against him, legs spreading to allow him access. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling his lips to hers, his fingers creeping over her mound before pressing slowly into the dark, wet hole below.

She mewls into his mouth, pulling him closer; willingly, he slides his leg over hers followed by the other until his weight is resting on his knees between hers. He can feel his manhood throbbing in his hand as he guides it towards her body, rubbing the tip against her wetness before slowly pushing it in. She is tight; Lia cries out a little when her maidenhood gives way. Simon forces himself to halt, pulling away from her lips to look into her eyes, worried he hurt her. She gazes up at him lovingly, panting quietly before rocking her hips forward, drawing him deeper inside. He shudders at the feeling of her warmth encasing him; he carefully presses onward until she has taken it all.

Her eyes flutter shut as she pulls him closer, burying her face into his neck. Her moans are muffled by his skin while he slowly slips in and out of her, his pace steadily increasing as their excitement grows. It is more than he can bear when he feels her body quiver beneath him and when she tenses, arching back up from the bed with a guttural whine escaping her lips, he feels his own ecstasy burst forth deep inside of her. Simon struggles to catch his breath, gazing down upon his love while she fumbles to get a hold of her swooning mind. Smiling, he presses soft kisses into her neck. He shifts to his side, holding her close to his chest before she soon falls asleep. He can hardly believe that he is fortunate enough to never have to leave her side again and soon he joins her, thankfully nuzzling his face into her hair.

...

Garrett's eye has swollen shut but he doesn't complain as he steals a peek at Martin, who has an eye patch on his face. The only one who doesn't seem worried at all is Benedict, who leads his sons confidently through the front doors of the castle. They are surprised to find that the ballroom is full of people, lined up on either side of a red carpet that stretches from the doors to the throne, where the King sits patiently. The Princess stands next to him on the right, the large guard from the night before on the left.

Benedict refrains from smiling as he walks down the carpet and stops just shy of the throne. He bows before the King, certain that one of his sons will be named Prince.

Clarkson clears his throat, reading off of a sheet of paper, "Baron Benedict Augustine—you are hereby accused of neglect, multiple counts of assault and the murder of Samantha Wright. Martin Augustine, you also stand accused of several counts of assault. How do you plead?"

He rises back up, confusion evident on his face. He looks from Clarkson, to the King, to the Princess, surprised by everything, "I—I don't understand?"

Clarkson rolls up the paper, "Well, if you agree to your charges, you plead guilty. If you disagree, you plead innocent."

The Baron's face burns bright red. Martin drops to his knees and Garrett stands, simply dumbfounded. The crowd murmurs in surprise. His voice cracks when he answers, "I am not guilty of anything you buffoon. What proof do you have?"

Folding his arms over his chest, Clarkson says harshly, "You plucked your own son's eye out last night. I was there. You would have done the same to the other, had he not run away. Isn't that right, Garrett Augustine?"

Benedict spins on his heels, giving Garrett a deadly look. Garrett backs away from his father and while looking into his eyes, he answers Clarkson, "That is right, Sir."

"And will you attest to your father's and your brother's harsh cruelty against a one, Simon Wright?"

"I shall," he speaks firmly.

Benedict makes a move towards him but is stopped by a royal guard who steps between them.

"And do you have knowledge that your father killed your step-mother shortly after their marriage?"

"I do," Garrett whispers.

The Baron's face turns bright red. He spins around, glaring at the King, who doesn't say a word.

"Then the punishment for these crimes is death. Martin Augustine, the punishment for assault is one hundred lashes or a pound of flesh," Clarkson watches the Baron fall to his knees next to his son, "Unless there is anyone who will speak in your favor, these punishments will be carried out immediately."

Benedict remains still, glaring at the King but Martin turns to the crowd, pleading for help, "Please, anyone? Is there anyone who will speak up for me?"

No one will make eye contact with him. Hushed whispers cease as first the ladies drop into a curtsey, followed by the men to a bow. From the corner of his eye, the Baron sees Martin's shoulders droop. Slowly he turns around.

Simon stands tall, hands clasped in front of him. Dressed from head to toe in white, his perfectly brushed hair sits beneath the crown on his head.

"As I have promised you, people of Northhill, may I introduce you to your new Prince, Simon Wright." The King's voice is cool and steady.

The crowd hums with approval; connecting the dots, several people shoot Martin and Benedict horrified looks.

"I shall speak for you, step brother," Simon says softly.

"What say you, Prince Simon? Will it be one hundred lashes, or a pound of flesh?" Clarkson calls to him.

Martin trembles, wither from fear or apprehension, it is hard to tell; Simon lets the silence grow until his step brother bursts into tears. "Neither. As he has already suffered at the hands of his father, that shall count towards his punishment. Furthermore, he shall be forever cast as a beggar and unable to hold any title at all."

"And do you deem that fair, King?" Clarkson asks.

"Aye," he replies.

"What say you, Prince Simon, as to the fate of Baron Benedict Augustine, for the multiple counts of assault, neglect and the murder of your mother?" Clarkson calls again.

Simon does not answer; instead he waits until the Baron reluctantly looks up at him.

"Remember this moment, dear step father, for it is one of the last that you shall ever see," he says softly, before raising his voice in response to Clarkson, "For the accounts of assault, I only ask that you inflict upon him the same punishment he attempted upon his own sons: remove his eyes. For the neglect, I request that you strip him of his title. And for the murder—" Simon stops and draws in a deep breath. He reminds himself that from this day forward he will never again think of Benedict, but if he lets the man live, every waking moment of his life will be consumed by thoughts of his step son, "For the murder of my mother, I ask that you brand him as such, so that all will know his true nature."

"And do you deem that fair, King?" Clarkson asks.

"No," the King pauses. Benedict turns around quickly. The King stares at the man, "I do not deem that fair. In my opinion your punishment should be nothing less than death. However, as these offenses were all committed up on the Prince, it is up to him to determine your fate. I pray that you will remember the mercy he has granted upon you, Benedict Augustine, every lasting day of your long miserable life."

Benedict's shoulders droop. For the first time, tears spring to his eyes as the guards drag him and his son off.

"And what about that one?" Clarkson asks Simon, pointing to Garrett.

Simon turns around to see Garrett fall to his knees, hands clasped to plead for mercy. Simon rests a hand on his shoulder and speaks softly to his step brother, "Though you are an Augustine, you have the capacity to change. I know this now, after the kindness you showed to me these past few days. In return for that, I shall forgive you and offer you my last name and the chance to call me your brother."

Garrett stands slowly; Simon grasps him on the shoulders as he waits for an answer.

"Thank you, brother," he says gratefully, pulling Simon towards him in a hug.