- If there is anything that Kent refuses to do, it's walk. No, Kent Silva does not walk, my friend; he strides. With his long legs and chiseled features, it's hard not to notice his confidence. Even as a commoner, even as the High King's mere personal assistant, he stood out. In fact, some whispered, he acted like a better version of the aristocrats. If Kent had heard this, he would have laughed it off, hiding a thin layer of nervousness. Nobody knew of his background. Nobody knew of his previous wealth, of his parents, of how he had once lived; only Chrys knew that. Only the lovely Chrysanthemum knew his whole being. Or perhaps the not-so-lovely Chrysanthemum. She was more of a flame, that one, as opposed to a rose. But regardless, she was his best friend. A big part of his life. Not to say that she was the only female in his life... As gentlemanly as Kent was, he did enjoy a little bit of fun here and there. He stood even taller than before when a particular maid walked by, a beauty with a name he hadn't learned yet. Which had to be fixed.
Now would be a good time, actually.
She was headed towards the kitchen, of course. With a playful smile, Kent began to follow her, slinking in the shadows as if he was the new Tom Cruise, post-nuclear war version. Finally, she turned, and jumped when she saw him. Before she could scream, Kent covered her mouth with his hand gently and smiled impishly at her, using his 'just got caught with the hand in the cookie jar' expression. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to know your name. I was chasing you just now... I'm sorry if I seem a little strange. It's not every day you meet someone so sincere-looking as yourself."
It sounded fake, he knew. On paper, it sounded so sickeningly sweet, so false. But the trick to winning a girl's friendship with that kind of conversation was this: you need to mean it. And Kent did, actually; when talking about others, he meant every word he said. It was only when he spoke of himself he tended to play with the exact details. And she did look sweet. She did look sincere. She did look like the girl he might have fallen in love with, if he had met her before he had fallen in love with Catherine. She looked pure, and he had been drawn to it for a long time. No opportunity had shown up since he had noticed her, but the preparations for the big ball coming up had sent the servants in a scurry. Except for him; he was actually supposed to be following the High King, but it was lunch time! A growing man like himself had to eat, after all.
The maid still looked stunned, but after Kent lowered his hand slowly, he saw that she was smiling. He smiled back and winked. "I am Jolene," she said simply, enunciating each word. "And you are Kent Silva."
He blinked in surprise. So, she knew him already? "Well... yes. How did you know?" he said, beginning to head towards the kitchen. She fell in line with him easily, and the two were talking so easily, anyone would have thought they had been friends for a very long time.
Jolene's eyes darted back and forth in search of any servants in hearing range, and Kent decided to like her even more right then and there. She was a rebel, of course. It was obvious. Her weariness told him everything; she understood caution. She understood the life of a rebel, the philosophy, the mind and the heart and the soul. Or at least, the careful aspect of it. "I'm a rebel myself," she confessed in a whisper. "I've been trying to track down my brother, actually."
"Your brother? Why would he be here?"
"Well, he's the one who 'converted' me, in a sense. Actually, he convinced everyone. He was even in the papers," she said proudly, as Kent's heart begin to sink at an alarming rate. "I was already working here by the time I recognized the injustice of this High King bullshit, and he hated it, but now he appreciates it. He said he can count on me to get him out of trouble, if the situation arises. And like I said, he was in the papers..." Her voice quivered then, and trailed off, as if finally daring to think a thought too sinister to consider. Kent almost begged her to stop, but the strength in her dark eyes seemed to comfort him in his dread, and reassure him of her capability. I can handle it, those deep irises whispered. So Kent listened.
"I'm just worried," she finally admitted after a moment or two. Their walking had slowed by now, but they only had a few steps before reaching the kitchen. How could he tell her now? "Have you seen him?" she finally asked, stopping before the entrance. He stared at her, speechless. How... She had asked... But... Oh, how could this happen? A new bitterness and hatred for the High King and his drones stung his lips. How dare they steal the light of this Jolene girl, this maid he had just met and connected with. And now she was going to hate him. Or hate the High King. And probably do something reckless in the middle of the ball.
But how could he lie to her about the death of his brother?
"Jolene, I'm so sorry, but..." Kent hesitated, wanting to avoid her eyes, but he couldn't. He stared deep into them, his hands firmly, stiffly, even awkwardly, at his sides. He hated being the bearer of bad news. "I'm so sorry, but... the High King has already gotten a hold of him."
The two were silent. Jolene said nothing. She didn't collapse, she didn't weep... she didn't show any emotion, actually. They merely stared. And didn't speak. Two servants, standing before the kitchen entrance... waiting to be interrupted. Kent understood this; Kent acknowledged this. But he couldn't tear himself away from this moment. Let whoever find them, find them. But he did hope it would be Chrys.