Droit Du Seigneur

The premise in which a nobleman takes the wife of one of his vassals into his bed on their wedding night, in later traditions the first son of such a noble family would have to give up their wife instead.

The pale faced boy licked his thin lips the young mans eyes drifted out the window, it had snowed again, the hot air from inside his room causing smoky patterns of condensation to caress the windowpanes as it conflicted with the chill of the wind. The late caress of winter had slowly covered the estate, the servants moving briskly over the white pure snatches of snow, which had spanned over the ground.

The lad sighed delicately the thin young man drew himself up from his perch at the window, his schoolwork for the moment lain bare on the desk. He thought he would work on it later in the week, after all it didn’t really matter, his tutor had been in Sweden attending to his daughters marriage proposal.

He had only met the girl once briefly in the year before; she was a flighty disconcerted thing, which he had compared rather befittingly with a spoiled peacock dressed in diamonds and flower print. Her eyes had been dolled with coal, face painted white as was the style, fluffs of red blush donning both cheeks. The young man could not help but feel disgusted, as her hands had made their movements to touch his person. That luckily hadn’t lasted long; his own chilly demeanor had sent the girl to go attend his cousin happily.

He moved over the plush carpet beneath his feet, the shoes on his feet made little noise on the expensive Oriental rug. It was something he’d always admired in his younger years, the fabric dark with red and golden swirls of delicate stitching, it had been made some time ago, foretold a tale of some foreign god beautifully. Drake couldn’t imagine how his father had come to procure such a thing, it had after all been in his grandfather’s house for many years, maybe that was why he’d adored it so.

His grandfather was a man to be revered, one who Drake had always found close to his heart, even with his own fathers best attempts to prevent that connection. His father, Velodire’s hatred for the man that bore him was something that the lad had never understood. He doubted he ever would, it was something, which had extended into their lives long before he had come into this world.

There was a knock at his room’s door, it was pushed open to reveal his fathers friend, Harris. He was a taller man with dark hair and green eyes, his face told something of nobility, which Drake had always found attractive. His nose was long and slightly flared at the end, wide lips slightly upturned at their ends as if it was their very nature, his wide eyes contained in jet black lashes focused on Drake’s face. The young man had always found such a face beautiful, more than any of the softness of those females draped in their tight clothes, and mismatched colorings upon fake painted faces.

“You know you shouldn’t keep hiding in your room, it’s making your father angry, he’s even started taking out his anger on the servants.” Harris spoke up, and gave a small turn of his head and moved further into Drake’s room.

It was a risky move; the young man had been known to fling himself into a rage if someone entered his area without asking. He truly was his father’s son, it was as if their fighting souls had been bore from one and then poured into two bodies.

“If my father wishes to allow me to see my grandfather, then we will no longer need to be angry at one another.” Drake’s voice was cool as it ever was, his eyes, blue and beautifully carved as any ice sculpture, flickered up to stare into Harris’s own.

“You know he wont do that Drake, he’s far to angry at the man…” he murmured moving forward, face frowning, those lovely noble lips bent as if he wished this would change.

“That is his choice, not my own.” Drake turned his head away at once, long straight white blond hair falling over one shoulder. “You can tell him as much when you return to his quarters, now, if you do not mind Harris I have school work to which I must attend.” The young man bowed his head elegantly and Harris shook his head leaving the boy to his privacy.

Drake did not do his school work, it remained untouched on his desk, the older bound red covered book open, a pen tucked usefully just to its side, a small notepad of yellow lined paper sitting just to its left. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his schoolwork, no quite the opposite, Drake had always had an inquisitive mind, and a lust for knowledge his tutor had been blessed to caress in their private discussions.

No, it wasn’t hatred of the subject, which kept him from what he needed to write, or even from reading diligently. It was a refined sort of spite, which he felt at his fathers wish for him to do so, this spite had been growing in the past weeks; its seedlings cast in the years of hateful murmurs and discontented gestures, that his father had thrown in the boys direction. But that single hatred had flared to life in a burst of flaming rage three days before, Drake fighting fitfully about his grandfather’s absence from his life, his voice shaking the very windows of their living room with its intensity. His father had drawn away from the boy head bowed, he had said nothing, nothing at all.

Yes, for now Drake would not study, even his grandfather could forgive him that under the circumstances. His ice colored eyes drifted out into the snow, it was the coloring of his grandfather’s hair, even when he had been younger. The very root of its color paled more than any white, yet colored softly by the rising of the sweet sun.

He closed his eyes then opened them, drew up from his oak writing desk and then removed his large leather-carrying bag from its place in the his closet. He selected his best clothes; sleeping and formal wear of course and tucked them inside. Another bag for his shoes, just three pair and some socks and underwear tucked in, one single notepad stuffed along side a pencil container.

Mute Drake left his bedroom behind him, he moved down the farthest hallway and then disappeared out into the snow, passing the gardens he did not glance over to see the faded roses of winter.

The white figure of snow colored hair and skin disappeared into the flurries of cooled rain, the open schoolbooks upon his study table the only reminder he had existed there at all.