The Creepy Smile

Emilia's POV

He moved with the whole of his big body, his shoulders spread before him, broad, carrying powerful arms that swayed gently as he led me away from Mother.

We walked away from the party too. The noise faded slowly behind us. The candlelight from gold candlestands fitted to the walls lit up his face more with their bright yellowish-red glow.

His chocolate brown hair was slicked back. It was long and wavy—tied with a ribbon behind his head. He smiled. His smile seemed to be his best feature—it lit up the smooth planes of his aristocratic face.

“I am sorry for your mother,” he said. His voice was deep and velvet-smooth, like his shirt, and laced with a subtle charm that framed my lips in a smile for him.

I stared more into his face. Into the silver sheen that slit his icy grey eyes. I had seen my fair share of entrancing eyes and seen my fair share of handsome males. Yet, I couldn't recall ever seeing anyone with such beautiful eyes and a face that had me ogling him so much that I couldn't just take my eyes away from him.

His eyes roamed my face more, and he gave me another rich smile. The candlelight unabashedly threw his manly beauty right into my face with their bright, yet soft, almost romantic glows. I found myself swallowing.

How could such a devastatingly handsome man be mad? It just wasn't possible.

He stopped. I followed his big hands to my shoulder as he grabbed them. I returned my eyes to his face, and he gave me another of his rich smiles.

He leaned his head closer to me, as if he wanted to kiss me, giving more of his woody, masculine scents, his warm breath heating up the tip of my nose.

“Speak, Emilia,” he said. “You are making me nervous with your silence.”

I searched his face—slow and deliberate. All I saw was his smile, the confidence sharpening his eyes—hell, he wasn't nervous. Nothing in his face hinted at him being nervous. He looked every bit a man confident in his charm and beauty.

I dragged my eyes from him. Why would I be staring, ogling him so much? Have you no shame, Emilia? I mentally scolded myself, biting down on my lips. Heat stained my cheeks as I bowed my head to myself. I couldn't dare raise them back to him—to that smile. It made me almost feel inferior to him.

I felt his fingers on my chin, and he raised my head. “Look at me, Emilia. Tell me what's bothering you. I brought you into my hell. The most I can do for you is protect you.”

There was something about his deep, velvet-smooth voice that made me genuinely want to share everything with him, to bare out my soul with him.

I lifted my head to him. My lips parted to speak, then closed shut. I stared again into his smile, and my lips finally parted. “I am not from this world,” I told him.

“Okay,” he said. “Is that all that is bothering you, Emilia?”

My eyes narrowed fully on him, brows squished closer, observing him. No hint of surprise, no shock. Just that easy smile that made him look more and more handsome. How could he be so calm about what I said?

Maybe he didn't get me—maybe he didn't understand what I had just said. I adjusted myself under his careful grip on my shoulders. “I am saying I am not from this world, that I am from somewhere else.”

Still no dent on the smile on his lips. I swallowed, forcing a lump down my throat. “I would have said I am from the future, but that would mean this place is the past, but it isn't. This place is all in a book, and everyone around is a character—my mother, my brothers, everyone, the nobles, and everything. This place might not be real. It could all just be a fiction…” I rambled.

Still, he just smiled at me. He said nothing. He did nothing but just smile.

I grabbed his arm on my shoulder. “I am telling you the truth. Everything here isn't truly real. Only I and my friend Gabby are. Everything here is fictional, even you—you are all in a story set in a time in the history of the real world, where I came from.”

Still, he said nothing. He did nothing. He just smiled and smiled. Every inch of his face was captured in his smile—like a mask on his face.

Slowly, his continuous, almost frozen smile began to creep me out. My heart beat wildly against my chest—drumming an ominous rhythm in my ears.

I started back from him, and his hands dropped to his sides. Yet, his face was still locked in that warm, easy smile, now creepy. I took a step back from him, and another.

Like his mind had wandered away, he just kept smiling. I took another foot back from him, and I collided into something.

I whipped my gaze to a maid beside me. The tray in her hands capsized, and the stainless cups on it fell, spilling dark liquid on me. They dropped to the floor, clattering noisily.

Maybe it was my racing heart, or maybe it was the glint of madness I spied in his eyes. I wasn't sure. The clattering noise of the cups jarred down my eardrums, and I screamed. My lungs reverberated as loud torrents of air rushed out of me.

He suddenly snapped out of whatever had happened to him. He strode fast for me, his brows tight. "What is wrong, Emilia?”

He lunged his hands forward to grab my shoulders again. I jumped back from him. My scream died as my throat began to ache. Cold tremors ran through my veins, almost freezing me up as I held his gaze. He looked very much sane now. Yet, all I could see was that mad glint in his eyes, that creepy smile that laced his face earlier.

“Emilia, did I hurt you?” he said, his voice tight and low. He moved for my shoulders again, and I started back from him until I was flat against the wall. My breath came raspy and fast out of my lungs as I stared at him.

I didn't see the man whose chin was trembling before me, whose hands shook by his sides. All I saw was that creepy smile on his face earlier.

A massive flurry of feet drummed against the stone floor, and the guests began to surround us, drawn by the scream.

“I am sorry, Duke Sebastian. I must have startled the duchess," the maid said, rising back to her feet after picking up the cups from the floor.

Sebastian stared at her and then at my stained dress, and his eyes darkened. “Guards, seize her!” he yelled.

Immediately, strong men in similar uniforms dropped out of the crowd, their boots harsh and loud against the stone floor.

“I am sorry, Duke Sebastian,” the maid pleaded, tears dropping fast down her face. “Forgive me, my Duke, I didn't mean to startle her.” Her voice shook, and her eyes darted to the men walking fast from every direction to grab her.

I tried to speak, to yell that it wasn't her fault. But I couldn't bring my mouth to move. My throat still ached terribly from my scream.

Just as the men grabbed the maid from both shoulders. Sebastian ordered, “Stop. Let her go.”

I heaved a sigh of relief as the guards dropped the maid’s arms, stepping back from her.

I turned from her when warm fingers clasped around my wrist—I looked up, and it was him—Sebastian. The Duke.

“Let's go, Emilia.” He smiled at me again. “So you can tell me all you wanted to tell me.”

No, no, no! I screamed in my mind, shaking my head as if in denial—in denial of the obvious. That he was mad—really, really mad. Cold tremors ran through the whole of me again as I looked into the smile on his face again.

I started away from him, and I hit my back on the wall.