bring this war to an end and those who harmed humans to justice.”
She nodded slightly then ran up the stairs and entered one of several rooms at the top, where she disappeared. Dante used the opportunity to appraise the manor, noticing the large portrait of the Viscount and Amelia in the living room above a fireplace. He locked eyes with the dark pair of the Viscount’s. Eyes which to Dante’s mind, bore more menace than those of any cthonican he had ever met. Not a direct menacing intent, but rather, a clandestine one. He knew the Viscount couldn’t be trusted—having gained his wealth and power by the presumably accidental deaths of his detractors, rivals and family.
Dante wondered if he could be even be trusted with Amelia’s secret, and why he even chose to keep it. It was different for Naro, who as a boy, was discovered to be powerful of magic and was taken in by the fifth king and raised to be a mage knight for the human kingdom. He was the only cthonican to have been granted such a fate. All other cthonicans were jailed and put to death.
Dante’s thoughts were curbed by the presence of the servant girl who returned from up the stairs. She wore a flabbergasted expression. “My lady… she’s… she’s…”
“What is it?”
“She’s not there…”
“Not there?”
“No, ummm, maybe she went out for a walk but I did not see her leave.”
“When last did you see her?”
“This morning at breakfast, though she barely ate anything or said a word”—she looked down at the floor puzzled—“it’s odd because…”
“Because what? say, Zinnia,” Dante urged her.
She raised her head and looked Dante in the eyes. “Her black roses are gone from the window,”
“Gone?... alright, thank you, Zinnia,” Dante said, quickly turning without another word and leaving in a hurry.
He wasted no time in scouring the Black Rose Fields, wondering where she could have gone. She could not have gone far in such a short space of time—even if she was capable of flying which he doubted she would do in broad daylight. He decided to check the town and made his way into the forest—treading the same path last night where he had the battle against Galmaria. He stopped and looked ahead where he saw Amelia kneeling in the area where Galmaria had been impaled by her.
As he walked over he saw her placing a single black rose on the ground before standing up. She wore no expression on her face as she clasped her hands in front of the long, red dress she wore—a peculiarity in Dante’s mind as she so often chose to wear black.
As he neared her, she turned her body away—presumably looking out towards the ash-covered Black Rose Fields. For all he knew her eyes could have been closed.
He stood a few paces behind her, noticing several packed bags on the ground. “Going somewhere, Viscountess?” he asked.
“I was, but I decided to stay and face the consequences of my betrayal.”
“Zinnia did not seem to know you were permanently leaving.”
“I told her nothing.”
“What about the Viscount?”
“He has not returned from his trip as yet. In any case Galmaria is dead and her spell on him must have worn off, he shall love me no longer.”
“You are willing to give up everything?”
“I lost everything the moment I betrayed you and my sister,” she said. “I suppose you came to arrest or slay me, I would prefer the latter.”
“You have really resolved to die?”
“Yes. I do not deserve to live after what I did, you could have been killed because of me,” she said, trailing her fingers on the tree’s oak. “I deserve to die, just do it.”
“Look at me,” Dante said.
She shook her head. “No. I cannot look you in the eyes, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be… please just make your decision, Dante”—she sighed—“I have no right to ask this but, please, if you decide to slay me I—please let it be amongst the roses.”
After watching her for some time Dante drew his sword from its sheath—the blade shining amidst the light of the morning sun peeking through the canopies. She was just out of arm’s reach of him, but not out of the reach of the deadly blade he held.
“Walk along to the western fields,” he said. Without another word, she walked off to the right and followed the path towards the Western Black Rose Fields. There was silence as they trod, Dante bearing a serious countenance on his face till they reached the open area. It was as magnificently filled with black roses as the eastern fields had been. The sunlight had not yet reached it and the darkness covered its expanse like an omnipotent shadow.
“Stop,” he said, as soon as they reached the middle of the field.
She nodded and halted without turning around. “Please, make it fast.”
Dante drew in a deep breath and raised the sword—he gazed at her dark, curly locks which to him, looked no less beautiful in the shadows. He took a step forward and thrust the sword’s tip downward. She gasped as the sword’s tip pierced into the ground.
“W-why?” She asked.
“Because, I—” Dante looked up at the sky, not a cloud was visible. “I love you, Amelia.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around.
“What?...”
“I love you.”
“D-do not be a fool!” she hissed with a sorrowful frown. “You cannot love or spare me! What I did—”
“I will not slay you.”
“I—I cannot live with this guilt and shame!”
“I am no stranger to being guilt-ridden,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I feel guilty for not having been there for you when you needed me most, instead, you had to turn to the Viscount. I was conflicted with feelings, but now I understand. A friend helped me see things clearly.”
“Y-you can’t love me… don’t say it, please don’t say it! it is too late for—”
“I do love you, and you love me too. You said it yourself and proved it by not killing me at Galmaria’s request”—he inched closer to her—“you saved me in the end. For that I thank you.” He watched as tears began flowing down her cheeks.
“It’s—my human form deceives you”—she narrowed her eyes—“would you love me even if you saw my true form? I think not!” she shouted. “Not even the Viscount has seen it, let’s see how you feel then!” She took a step back from him. Dante said nothing and watched as her entire body became enshrouded in a fine, dark mist which spread outward towards him. He did not move an inch but watched as her skin turned a gray hue, her irises became vertical slits, her hair became white and she bore a pair of short horns upon her forehead.
“Now you see… what I truly am, just like Galmaria. This that has betrayed you… this cannot be what you love,” she whispered as tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Dante advanced forwards and wrapped his unharmed arm around her waist, pulling her into a tight embrace. He kissed her on the lips fast and hard. He could feel her slipping away from his grip—trying to break away from the suddenness of affection within which he trapped her. He refused to let her go. Her resistance soon ceased as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
It was surreal—just like yesterday—electrifying and warm to the touch. He could feel her lips parting by and by, as her magical aura warped around him. Their breathing hastened—lips locked together and bodies touching in a closeness they both yearned for. Dante felt a great tension leave his being—what felt like a lifetime’s worth of tension—stemming from doubt, confusion and anger. He could finally let go.
He removed his lips from hers and shuffled into a pocket of his cloak, taking out a black rose and extending it to her. She stared at the flower as though entranced, then shook her head in disbelief. Dante smiled. “The eastern Black Rose Fields have been destroyed, this is the only of its kind left.”
She took it slowly and appraised it for a while. “How did you… procure it?”
“I learned quite a bit of magical gardening when I was a boy.” His smile gr
ew as he saw the surprised look on her face.
“I did not know that.”
“We all have our secrets,” he replied, brushing a lock of hair away from her eyes and stroking her face with the back of his hand.
“Thank you, though I do not deserve this.”
“Let’s just forget the past, and move on.”
She looked away, twiddling the rose’s stem between her fingers. “Why did you bring me here? If not to slay me?”
“Remember? this is where we first met”—he cleared his throat—“I was a brash soldier with a hot-temper.”
She smiled ever so slightly. “Of course I remember. You had given me a rose from the eastern fields, I suppose that’s how I came to love them.”
“Amelia I—” Dante held her hand in his—locking eyes with her in an intense gaze. “I thought about it a lot last night while staying at the inn. I lost quite a lot during my childhood, family, friends… I don’t want to lose you.”
Amelia folded her lips, he could tell she efforted not to cry again. “I don’t want to lose you either,” she said, wiping her eyes. Dante immediately pressed his lips against hers, effectively stifling a sob. He leaned into her, using his weight to slowly lower her to the rose-filled ground.
As he lay her down on her back, she placed her hands on his cheeks, kissing him tenderly. He grunted and winced as he felt a stinging pain in his injured arm.
“Does it hurt a lot?” she asked.
Dante chortled. “Nothing I can’t handle…”
She smiled and helped him take off his cumbersome top, then placed a hand gently on