His Thoughts (1)

Blood splattered onto Alexander Claiborne's crisp white shirt. He grimaced. The shirt would have to be thrown out now that it had been stained with an imbecile's blood. The grey tweed suit was still pristine, however, so it could at least be saved.

"My gloves, please," Alexander held his hand out. The gloves were placed in his hands, his attention fixated on the sobbing mess on the floor. Slowly, he slipped his long elegant fingers into his gloves, then pushed back a strand of his blonde hair. He motioned for the men in front of him to move to the side.

Bending down, he sneered, "I really hate when I get blood on me. People already consider me a dastardly villain, I try not to look the part." He grabbed the sack of bones in front of him by the hair and bashed its face into the floor. Blood splattered over his suit.

"Now look what you've done, you've ruined the suit too," Alexander pretended to pout. Johannes Chevalier looked up at him, tears, blood, and mucus covering his once pretty face. 

"P-p-lease, I-I'm so-orry," he sputtered through his busted lips. Alexander's face held no sympathy. From a young age, he had been dubbed the Duke of Ice, the moniker had stuck for a reason. He had no empathy for the sniveling human meat bag, only an icy rage.

"What are you apologizing for? Stealing from my casino," Slam, "for harassing my staff," Slam, "or for insulting a lovely lady?" Slam.

"A-all of it!" Johannes screamed through choking sobs. Alexander looked on contemptuously. He released Johannes' head and it let it fall to the floor with a satisfying plop. He scrutinized Johannes while he removed his gloves, allowing them to fall unceremoniously to the floor. 

Johannes' beating had done little to quell his anger, but if he went any farther he would certainly kill the man. If Johannes was a normal noble, he could probably get away with it. However, Johannes Chevalier was the sixth prince of Aristen. The blowback from killing him would create headaches for Alexander for years. 

"Tie him up, tend to his wounds and feed him. Don't let him leave this room. I'll be back." If he couldn't kill him, he'd just have to torture him until he lost interest.

He left the security office, or as his employees dubbed it, the interrogation room, and headed straight to his office. He collapsed in his chair and examined the reports on his desk. Benjamin, as usual, knew exactly what Alexander needed. In front of him lay all the documentation that proved the cad's theft.

That same Benjamin had the good sense to bring him a stiff drink. He sipped the liquor and stared into the fire. His thoughts took a turn he never expected, Edwina Knight.

Edwina Knight always seemed to be flitting about. Alexander Claiborne felt tired just looking at her. The girl was a genius, praised by her tutors from a young age, and allowed the privilege of acceptance into the prestigious Royal Academy despite being a commoner. She excelled there and was consistently at the top of her class, and that was no mean feat considering her year had not one but two princes. 

Most of Alexander Claiborne's acquaintances saw Ms. Knight as an eyesore. A commoner who excelled above royals, even the highest nobility at that, why the very notion could incite rebellion! Alexander's father was no different. Every time he came home from the academy the topic of Ms. Knight was brought up at least once. He entertained his father when he vented about how the "Royal Academy was a farce if they would allow a commoner within its walls." He would placate their acquaintances as well, allowing them to vent their witless opinions to a seemingly caring figure. 

In his opinion, Edwina was inconsequential. She was two years younger than him, so they weren't in competition against each other. She didn't draw that much attention at the academy either. She ate in the dining hall with a small group of friends. Her rival, his highness the crown prince, would call her out on occasion, their rivalry entertainment for the whole school. But the girl never disrespected anyone, and she kept to her station. She always greeted those above her with the proper honorific and her etiquette was impeccable. Alexander didn't understand why people cared so much.

The last time he had seen Ms. Knight was the day he graduated from the academy. As a top student, she was involved in all the school events. She and a few other students would help organize and volunteer for such events. Professors would pick and choose these volunteer students based on their ranking within the academy. Top students should excel both inside and outside the classroom, one of the school's many philosophies.

He remembered she had attempted to contain her curly brown hair with a barrette, but the unruly strands were escaping and getting in her way. It was a pretty barrette, silver with blue jewels in the center. He wondered where she had gotten the money for it, especially when it appeared her glasses were in a state of disrepair. Her uniform was a mess too, wrinkly and untucked.  She had ink stains on her sleeves and crumpled-up papers sticking out of her pockets. It caused him to roll his eyes in disgust. Did she not know how to write properly? Who let her leave her room in such a state of rumple.

He remembered her voice the most, however. It had always been easy to pick out in a crowd. It was clear and precise and adequately pitched. She didn't speak in a high-pitched whine like most noblewomen. Her voice was melodic and had a raspy quality that demanded attention as she called out instructions to volunteers and answered confused graduates' questions.

He had forgotten about her after graduating. Out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes he would hear rumors and gossip at Peerage parties. She had graduated top of her class and was recruited by the King himself to work as the Royal Historian. She worked closely with the crown prince and his associates to institute tax reforms and social justice reforms. All items the Grand Peerage fought against. 

The Peerage had begged Alexander to take a stand, but he never felt the need to bother. Tax reforms were constant, and if you were smart you could avoid taxes regardless of the changes. Social justice reforms did nothing to hinder him, so why bother getting involved. His associates had thrown their hands up but said nothing. They still came to the parties and indulged in the lifestyle his family offered and protected. 

He never thought much of her, even though his associates seemed to be annoyed by her antics. From an outsider's perspective, they must have seemed like mortal enemies. He, an influential figure in an Alliance that opposed social and political reform, and her, a spearhead for new laws and new philosophies. But the truth was different. He had never once opposed her reforms. He was not the head of his family, so he couldn't vote even if he wanted to, a fact he used to shield himself from his conspirators' nagging. Instead, he marched along with a persistent indifference.

Until tonight.