17th of Vhalar, 710 Arc
The table was elaborate with enough chairs to seat an audience, and yet it was sparsely decorated with the bodies of the Venora family. The statue of Kaleb Venora sat poised and proud at the head of the table, casting his shadow upon his wife – the duchess, straight back and stunning as always. Draped across her collarbone was a silver chain necklace decorated with red jewels. On his other hand was the first born – Alistair Venora, with golden locks in place, as always. His jaw was sharp and his broad shoulders were adorned with a rich, dark navy fabric.The third figure at the table was that of a thin maiden with silver jewels in her midnight hair. Her lips were a faint pink, recently painted and her arms were covered with satin gloves. Her dulled blue eyes were downcast, directed upon the fine china as if it held answers. A handful of seats down was a final placement mat where an untouched dinner set waited for use.
The Duke glared at his wife when the servants began to scurry to place the meal. To each family member they moved, offering greens with pepper, fine appetizers on soft bread. And then to the main course, all the while passing the final seat. With each bite, the tension grew thicker, Kaleb's mood darkening to dangerous.
The smooth venom was unmistakable. Unnerving because of its promising tone, “Where is he?”
No one answered immediately but then when his eyes drilled in on his wife, Willow shifted, “I'm sure they will find him soon. He can't have run far.”
Displeased with this answer, Kaleb's lips set into a thin line and his jaw clenched, “Tell me how we have as many servants as we do, and yet no one has seen him all day?”
Willow thought to point out just how large the estate was, but in that moment, the door threw open and in walked the rebel himself. Andráska Venora strolled in, his back illuminated by the fading autumn sunlight. He was grinning carelessly, and moved around the table, walking behind his mother and leaning over her shoulder to give her a kiss on the cheek, “Looks great, Ma. You shouldn't have.”
The jest only seemed to cause the slighted Kaleb to narrow his eyes. Disrespectful. No apology for being late, no acknowledgment of him. The Duke set down his fork and carefully dabbed at the corner of his lips with a napkin as a servant reported they had found him in a tree.
“What were you doing in a tree, darling?” Willow twisted her body, and with fluid flick of her hand, plucked a stray leaf that had gotten stuck in his collar. It was bright gold, speckled with red. She looked at it curiously before casting it aside.
Andras rubbed the back of his neck where he felt the foliage get removed and slid into his seat beside Alistair, “Reading,” The teenage grabbed the sides of his chair and jerked it forward so that he was closer to the table and watched with amusement as food was rushed out to him. The others had nearly finished the main course and the help scrambled to fill his cup and drape the napkin in his lap. He waved them away, and leaned across the table to pluck one of the red apples that served more as decoration than food. He plopped back down and instead of using any of the silverware provided, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dagger, and began to direct its blade with his thumb until a thin slice was cut free and popped into his mouth.
Kaleb had had enough.
A servant was preparing to drizzle sauce upon the meat that had been prepared, but the Duke raised his hand, freezing the action, “Andráska isn't hungry. Remove his food.”
Green eyes flashed and Andras grabbed the plate before it could be ripped away, “Andráska is hungry, thank you very much.”
“Take that food away or I'll put your family on the streets.”
Anxious, the servant reached for the plate again, glancing at Andras with pleading eyes. The young man frowned and released the china. It was taken away, followed by the wine that had just been poured, leaving only the apple, before that too was discarded. As each piece of the meal was taken away, Andras could feel his anger growing and he glared at the tablecloth.
“Next time you want to eat, be here on time.”
Kaleb grabbed his glass and took a drink, feeling pleased to watch the distress of his disobedient son. Andráska crossed his arms like an angry child, the silence in the room palpable. The rest of the family ate, or shifted around their food, and finally his mother was the one who cleared her throat, “Perhaps just some salad. He is a growing boy-”
“I will not feed disrespectful beasts. The horses listen better than he does.” Kaleb set down his wine, no longer satisfied with just denying his youngest, “He runs around with flea infested company, and ruins every impression he makes with the other houses. He can hardly dress himself.”
“I'm going to my room,” Andráska whispered, hating when they talked like he wasn't present.
“No you will not.”
“Why not?”
“Do not question my authority, Andráska.”
Andras scoffed, and Kaleb threw down his fork. The challenge had been set. Andráska stood up, scrapping the legs of his chair loudly across the wooden floor and announcing his rebellion. He muttered something under his breath and red flashed across Kaleb Venora's eyes, “Take a good look at your brother, children. I'm willing to bet he won't live much longer.”
The words sounded very much like a threat, and pain shot through Andráska's heart. What did he do to make his father hate him so? Did he actually want him dead? “Fuck you!” Before the words have finished leaving his lips, the crystal goblet was being launched at his head, giving him barely enough time to duck. The goblet shattered on the wall behind him, spraying red and shards of glass into his hair. Kaleb had launched himself out of his seat and descended upon his son like a furious god.
A hand flew out, catching him in the side of the head and snapping his face to the side. The slap echoed in the large room, and Willow gripped her silverware in fear, gasping. She watched in horror as her husband launched another cruel attack on the young man, rising to her feet. The servants had decidedly dispersed, leaving the room as the Venora family hashed things out themselves. Being witnesses put them in more danger, and as another blow was brought down upon Andráska, they pretended not to hear the thump as his body was thrown against the wall.
Pain radiated from his face and back. The wall had knocked the wind from him and his father's eyes were rabid – loathing. Kaleb gripped him by the shoulders of his coat and shook him furiously, and he struggled to steady himself, trying to grab his father to make it stop, but the wind had been taken from him and he struggled to breathe.
A forearm was shoved upwards under his chin, and pressed against his windpipe, and he squirmed like a pinned butterfly, gasping. He tried to buck, but Kaleb pressed himself against his body, pinning him in place. Kaleb never touched Andráska, not so much as a hug, but in times like this, he knew how to exert his dominance. He was a master at the art.
His face was close now, his lips hovering over his son's ear, “You have been nothing but a plague upon this family since the day you were born. I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago. But who would take an ugly, ungrateful child? No one wanted you. You don't belong here.”
Andráska struggled beneath him, more upset with every futile push. Just as his lungs burned for air, he endured. He wanted to live as long as possible, to spit his father. And if he was to die, let him do it quickly so that he could haunt him forever.
The teen looked past the snarling teeth of his father, trying to block out the hot breath that hovered over his ear, washing his face with tendrils of contempt. Fuck him. He repeated the words like a mantra, meditating on his negative feelings to keep him from allowing the heartbreak of forever being a disappointment settle upon him.
Andráska looked to the cowards at the table, to the puppets with strings too tight. Past his perfect brother, past the eerie poise of Zvezdana, and past the silent cry on his mother's lips, caught in her throat like a rabbit trapped. His green eyes rested on his abandoned seat, cold and unloved. A place that was never welcoming, always waiting, never ready. His attention trailed to the forgotten dagger, silver against the rich red table cloth and for a moment he imagined using it to sever the bond that held him. To stop the aching of his throat, to allow himself to breath. To stop the neglect.
His father continued to tighten the pressure, constricting like a snake with every fingernail Andras tried to dig into his shirt. Kaleb turned his head to see what his son was focused on, and a cruel smirk curled his lips, “Do you want to kill me?” he laughed a hallow sound, and finally released his body just as black began to creep upon Andráska vision, stepping back. The younger noble fell forward, gasping in lungfuls of air, and his father snatched his chin and forced him to look at him. “Why don't you grab that dagger and try?”
What a wicked invitation. Andras coughed, shoving his father away, and tried to regain some composure. His hand reached for the wall to steady himself, and he tried not to look as defeated as he felt. What kind of person would he be? To kill his own kin? He felt guilty, angry, and his face burned with shame. His deep voice was weak and broken when he finally spoke, the choking having stolen the power from him, “I... hate... you.”
He braced himself for another attack, but instead Kaleb only stepped closer, staring his son down, and smiled. There was no surprise at this confession, no hidden hurt from having his son say such things. Instead, his smirk held firm, “Get out of my house.”
Dejected, his father's words replayed in his mind, torturing him. Bruised and emotionally battered, Andras refused to look at the rest of his family, and like a defeated animal, turned and slinked towards the door. He wanted nothing more than to have someone else defend him, to tell him to come back. But as his foot took its first step out of the room, he realized his hopes were futile and he slammed the door behind him.
