A Date With Cursed Destiny

Lord Dulla Tyranus guided his horse along the road, the wind whipping through his hair and rustling his cape.

The sun was too high in the sky, casting an uncomfortably warm glow over the rolling hills and lush fields of his domain, Greymires.

But they had finally arrived.

As they neared the center of a field, he dismounted from his steed, his boots sinking into the soft grass. With a sharp whistle, he signaled his trusty mount to leave him be.

In front of him was a modest pavilion, shaded from the midday sun by a single large tree, its branches stretching out to provide a cool respite.

A table sat in the middle of the clearing, adorned with a finely woven tablecloth. On opposite sides were two small benches to accommodate him and the maddeningly chipper maiden respectively.

Lastly, upon the tabletop sat a small, yet intricate, teapot and two empty cups, all parts of a set that had once held a deeper weight to him.

"Dulla-sama?! I-is this a d-d-date?!" the maiden asked, her voice trembling with excitement as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson.

Lord Dulla turned to look at her, his gaze unyielding and his voice firm.

"Yes."

The woman's eyes widened in shock and delight, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

Lord Dulla though, inwardly chuckled to himself. His plan was working perfectly. It had taken a bit of effort to find out what her favorite drink was and to get it imported from her homeland, but he was confident that he could get some information out of her—particularly, what her true motive was behind all of this.

Then he'd finally be able to send her packing to literally anywhere else!

He silently moved next to her, grasping her wrist as delicately as he could before guiding her to sit on the bench across from him. She let out a soft whimper of surprise as she felt his touch, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red as her gaze met his.

Well then, it was time to get to work.

With a subtle flourish, he picked up the teapot and carefully poured its contents into the two cups. Steamy tendrils filled the air with a sweet aroma that reminded him of when he once traveled afar, specifically the mountains of her supposed homeland, their peaks towering over the verdant plains below.

The maiden's eyes sparkled with a mix of emotions as she watched him.

"Dulla-sama, I—"

"Enough," Lord Dulla said, cutting her off as he placed the teapot back down with a soft clink, careful to mind his strength. "Drink, and we shall talk."

The maiden hesitated for a moment before picking up her cup and taking a sip, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored the flavor.

"T-this is—"

"Sunburst tea," Lord Dulla interrupted, his tone casual. "Your favorite, if I'm not mistaken."

"H-how did you know?!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with some combo of shock and joy that made his skin crawl.

"…It was a simple matter of asking your friends and compatriots in the knight order," he said, taking a sip of his own tea, the warmth of the liquid spreading through him as he did so. "I had one of my messengers—"

He immediately stopped himself. Dammit. That was something that he hadn't intended to share.

"Wait, you went that far for me?!" she asked, her eyes sparkling with tears that made him feel very uncomfortable.

An annoyed and somewhat awkward sigh escaped him. "No, I was simply trying to discover your weakness—Never mind, let us speak. Why are you so intent on staying in my domain?"

"Because you're here, of course," she said, her voice a gentle hum of affection that made him feel like retching.

"…That is not a real answer." Lord Dulla's fingers tapped against the wooden table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Of course I am here, I rule this domain. My question is WHY are you so insistent on bothering me?"

"But Dulla-sama," she said, a teasing lilt to her voice, "I do believe that is my answer."

"Stop calling me 'sama', I have no idea what kind of strange custom it is, but it makes my skin crawl." His mustache bristled with frustration. "And what do you mean?"

"I want to spend my life here and marry you."

His fingers paused mid-tap, and his gaze narrowed in disbelief.

"What in the hells are you spouting? Are you attempting to mock me like our first battle?"

"I assure you, I am quite serious, my love." Her tone was a tad lower than usual, almost akin to the more serious-minded comments she'd make in the midst of combat.

It was utterly terrifying.

"…No. Just no. I need to know what you are up to. You're a hero of some sort. I refuse to believe you have no other goals than bothering me," Lord Dulla stated matter-of-factly as he leaned back in his bench. "There's also the matter of your accursed father, who was an absolute fool. Surely, you're here because of him?"

"I suppose that is fair, my love," Eirlys said, her tone growing more solemn as she took a deep breath. "But no, I am not. And I'll have to ask you to not speak ill of the dead, please and thanks."

His visor nearly raised in shock at that. That was the first piece of good news he'd heard in quite some time.

"…How did he die?" Lord Dulla asked, still trying to comprehend it.

Eirlys took another sip of her tea, savoring the taste before she answered.

"It's a bit of a long story, but the short version is that he tripped and fell on his sword after drinking."

The pleasant quiet of birdsong and the wind rustling through the leaves was shattered by the sudden sound of laughter. It wasn't a polite, refined chuckle, but the hearty guffaw of a man enjoying a good joke.

"HAH! Truly?! The gods truly have a sense of humor then," Lord Dulla said, his mustache bristling with each chortle of mirth as a wide smile spread across his face. "I can't believe my dying curse worked!"

"My love," Eirlys said, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Please, don't be so cruel. He might have been horribly brain-damaged, impulsive, and an overall buffoon, but he was still my father."

Her words were like a cold bucket of water, dousing the flames of Lord Dulla's amusement. His laughter abruptly ceased, and he cleared his throat as he processed the words of his murderer's daughter.

He detected something else in her voice. It was a sadness that went beyond the loss of a family member—it was the kind of despondency that spoke of a deeper, more personal pain.

"…What did that idiot do?" he asked, his voice softer than before.