11 A Novel Experience

"I do not love Jessamyn," Jerrick didn't even think a second before answering. 

Guilty murderers won't be this fast to refute the allegations; Jerrick was that fast to explain his feelings as if his life depended on it. 

William furrowed his brows. 

This is not suspicious at all…

After the Black Lady went into hiding three years back, Jerrick tried to find out any information about her. 

I just want to make sure that she is okay, he said. 

Why should he care that much for a woman he didn't love? Interesting…

Jerrick opened the window and sat on the windowsill with his legs crossed. With a melancholic ponderance, he looked at the distance. 

William poured himself a drink and walked to him. There was nothing but bushes and trees as far as the eyes could see. Why Jerrick always stared in that direction, he had no idea. 

"Do I smell jasmine?" William asked, poking his nose out and took a good whiff. 

"Don't be illogical," Jerrick pushed him inside and immediately closed the window. "Jasmines don't survive Roche's winter," he said walking away. 

"But you have one inside your castle," William quipped. He tried to have a good look at Jerrick sensing distress in his tone and followed him. 

"She's not blooming anymore…" Jerrick said picking up the crossbow on the table. "Not for me…" he mumbled under his breath. 

He stared blankly at the crossbow. 

William got the crossbow from his hands as a safety measure first. "You took her to bed, didn't you?" he asked taking a careful step back. 

The scent of jasmine… It was not from a garden but from him!

Jerrick's strong exterior found no cracks by that question. He looked as calm as the deep sea.

But like strong currents running under the surface of the deep sea, his mind was inundated with thoughts. 

That night when she hugged him and told him that she missed him, he thought he was already in the great halls of Valhalla, finally with his ancestors.

To be honest, that experience was very new to him. The way she moved, the moans, the faces she made, and the feelings she gave him…Her smile, the way she kissed, the way her insides felt as she moved over him… Everything was splendiferous. 

He was not new to the act of intimacy between a man and a woman. He was married for seven years before his wife tragically passed away. He followed the book of codes for gentlemen and was a proper husband to his wife. He treated her with the gentleness she deserved and respected her delicate body with his heart and body as a loving husband should.

He never missed the days they had to share the room and held her according to the ethics. At times, Imogen's eyes brought out a feeling in his heart that urged him to stop; that feeling made him think that he was doing the wrong thing. 

He never let his selfishness take the reins. She was his wife, and he had to honor her with his body. And so, he did. After doing it some more times, he could get the hang of it. 

It was never splendiferous… except for maybe once…? Also, Imogen never made such faces. She stared at the wall or closed her eyes. 

But she… Myna… She was…on a different level. She was wild! Her eyes, her pink lips, and even the way she breathed elevated him high above. Being with her was raw and animalistic as if they were just uncontrollable beasts on heat.

She knew where to touch, when to touch, and how to move on him as she lost all her inhibitions. She tied him with her allure and her scent beguiled him. 

Where did she learn that? Was it from the books she read when she was young? Still…

The thought that she missed him added fuel to the fire in the pit of his stomach. When she told him that she loved him, he thought he had the girl he used to hold in his arms in the past. 

It was feral and at the same time divine. He felt closer to nature and heaven at the same time. 

Joar…

She said, clawing out his beating heart from his chest. The splendiferous garden turned gloomy in an instant. Her touches weren't warm anymore and her gaze turned empty for him.

She stomped on his heart. 

He couldn't continue after that. The feeling of her insides pulsating on him that brought the urge for him to pump himself inside her, vanished meeting her gaze. 

She is thinking of him when she is with me!

That feeling was humiliating beyond anything. His heart hurt. He pushed her on the bed and never continued. He was so mad at her. 

Until…

"Joar?" William's question snapped Jerrick out of his thoughts. He didn't realize he said his name aloud. 

"Joar Arkhipov? You mean Hector?" Hiding the crossbow at a safe distance, William snorted as he laughed. 

He didn't recognize the name at first as everyone called the Count of Rohan "Hector" because of his brown horse. 

As for Jerrick, he asked about taking her to bed and Jerrick whispered his name. William could understand what might have happened. 

"She said his name?" 

Jerrick glared at William. William would have laughed for all eternity but he didn't want to hurt his already hurt friend. 

"It's such a travesty what happened to Hector. He was tempestuous and brave on the battlefield and the meekest in the halls where the ladies dined. He was a man among men. For him to succumb to fever…" William cleared his throat. 

Jerrick sat on the chair behind the table and stared at the window. William got bored as Jerrick was not giving him any enjoyment.

"What do you think of the bow?" Jerrick asked after a long silence.

William took a good look. He smelled it and observed every grain of the wood seriously. 

"It's made of a thousand-year-old elm tree. Very sturdy and I smell monkshood on it… Where did the council get the elm tree wood?" William looked at Jared quizzically. 

"Wasn't Brennan Theodulf, the founding father of Ayberia buried under an elm tree following his request? Shouldn't it be a thousand years old now? Where are other such trees?" William asked. 

There was a lore that the elm tree had the magical capability to hold the spirits of the dead to the underworld and stop them from returning. Mostly elm trees were planted in graveyards and on the graves of strong shapeshifters and wizards.

The council cut down an old elm tree to make this weapon. There must be a reason for it. 

But whose grave was desecrated? 

He needed to investigate. 

"The Council of Leocadia—The Council of Light. Which light do they serve? The moon goddess Levana, like us? Or the sun god Hyperion like the Altanians?" Jerrick raised his brow. 

William placed the bow in front of Jerrick. "Whatever it is, the King listens to their whispers."

Jerrick let out a deep breath pinching his glabella. 

"What are you going to do about Lady Jessamyn?" William asked. 

Jerrick tilted his head and looked at William with a smirk.