Scales and Swords ✓

42: The Best Mage In Kreatier

Except Lady Higgins wasn't in her chambers. Or in the castle at all.

"Where did that damn old hag go," Philip muttered. His eyes suddenly lit up and he sighed.

"Did she leave again?" I asked.

He laughed dryly. "No she's back alright. She's just at her usual spot."

"And where's that?"

He winced and shook his head. "Sweet innocent Mo..."

"Philip!" I groaned.

He grinned as his gaze lingered on my face longer than I felt comfortable.

I squirmed and looked away. "What is it?"

He chuckled. "I love how you say my name."

"Philip," I growled.

He shrugged innocently. "Or maybe its just your voice."

I met his eye, shaking my head, not saying a word.

For the rest of the walk there, wherever it was Philip insisted Lady Higgins was, I refused to speak to Philip, lest he said more strange things.

Our journey halted before the entrance of a place I would never voluntarily step foot in, a brothel.

"Are you sure she's here?" I eyed Philip.

"If you've had this perfect image of the great and powerful head mage of Kreatier, then I hate to break it to you, but the woman's as horrid as the witch she is, and I don't mean the magical kind." He stepped forward, but I took his hand and held him back. He smirked as he looked from our hands to me. I dropped his hand immediately.

"I don't feel comfortable going in there," I murmured.

"Oh," he let out. "Why don't you wait for me out here then. Promise I'll be back in a jiffy."

I nodded and watched him leave behind the brothel doors. As I stood and waited, I was passed by drunk men who could hardly walk on their own two feet accompanied by young pretty women. What they would do and what they had done, I dreaded to even fathom. I didn't know why Lady Higgins, a woman of her stature, would ever step foot in such a place, but I only hoped she was fine.

As my wait prolonged, I became uneasy with the thought that something could have happened to Philip. And one of those things was him being sidetracked by some 'babe' as he would say. But just the thought of that made me feel uncomfortable in more ways than one. When did I become so used to him? When did he begin to matter so much to me? And when would I get my heart crushed when I lose him?

"Hi there, little lady," slurred a sweaty potbellied man, whose chest hair spilled out his shirt and whose awful breath I could smell even five feet away. He drew near to me, his eyes travelling shamelessly up and down my body. I stepped back, but my back hit the wall and I was trapped. Placing a hand on the wall beside my head, he blocked my path. He leaned towards me, a malicious grin stretched across his face. "How much you worth?"

A hand gripped his shoulder from behind and before I knew it, he was swiveling. Philip swung a fist that clashed with the man's jaw and knocked him to the ground.

In one step, he reached me, lifted my arms and took in every inch of my skin. "Did he touch you?" He demanded, his voice low and steady. His eyes dark and distant. I searched every crease of his countenance for the playful, flirty, Philip. His jaw locked. Fists clenched, he turned to the unconscious man.

"Philip," I said. And he froze.

A woman tripped and fell and exited the brothel, easily cutting the tension in the air. She was tall and fair-skinned, her brown hair cascading down her back in waves, dressed only in a robe, she walked with unsteady steps, eyes half-closed, muttering under her breath. Philip went over to her, threw her arm over his shoulder and held her up with a secure arm round her back.