"It is futile" Duke Allen spoke, his amber eyes glinting with unwavering arrogance. 

"How dare you!?" the crude looking bandit growled as he took another spare dagger. 

"Don't bother" a sharp, clear-cut voice slashed his thoughts. 

"My my Edgar, you are frightening the poor soul. Look, he is not bothering to attack with his dagger" Duke chuckled, lacing his words with superiority. 

It only took a slash to paint the gravel and the ground with bright red. The ground also witnessed a 'thump' and a rolling head. 

"Wipe that cocky smirk off. It's repulsive" the knight spat out, his eyes were filled with fury at the aloofness exhibited by his master. What would have happened if I were late? 

"That's not how you speak with your Master, but that's okay.." Duke said, closing the distance between him and his knight.

 "After all, you are" he slightly bent himself to whisper in the ear of his knight "my one-and-only Edgar Radford" his hiss sent sharp tingles through the knight's body. A rush of rosy hue brightened his white cheeks accompanied by a slight throbbing. 
*****
Aristocracy, a privileged class holding hereditary titles. The class of the most powerful members of society. The ton or rather the Aristocracy retains notable title-holders. Among them is Allen Barnhart Ferdinand, the Duke of Alterimers. Commonly called "The Rapacious Eagle". When this Eagle decides to deracinate the rats, he rules out a need for a knight. When Edgar Radford proves to be potential knight, Allen chooses him. 

Mireille Isabelle Martin, the youngest daughter of Count Martin, witnesses her mother's murder at a young age, sworn to retaliate- Mireille bequeaths her old self to become Edgar Radford. 
Will being chosen by the Rapacious Eagle help her in her path? Or will she become a prey to the Eagle? When fate entangled their past, will they solve the mysteries it evokes?

Disclaimer: This story is a pure work of fiction and any resemblance to reality is pure coincidence or vain expectatin.

His Masked Knight

In a flash, I take the familiar candlestick and wave it near the lying figure in front. I gasp as I look at the struggling body, covered with dagger cuts and blood all round the body. 


I bend down in order to get a clear look at the body. I scrutinize at the eye patch on the left eye. Looks familiar. The face isn't clear due to a large blood splatter, painting the face red. 


Fierce coughing from the person calls my attention. I take his hand and check his pulse. Tension rises in me as I sense the inadequate pulse from him. Next, I check the breathing, which gets shallower and shallower. The person clenches his wrists and gaspes for air. 


I wince at feeling the drop of hot motlen wax on my fingertip. 'Tsk' I internally curse my carelessness while getting up from my position and placing the candlestick at a moderate height. In the process, I move away from the lying person a little bit. 


Choice