Rosie's Games

*BANG*

The older man's rage erupted like a volcano, his hand crashing down on the table with a thunderous boom.

This man was none other than the Blaize Family patriarch, his fiery red hair mirroring the fury in his eyes. He fixed a piercing glare upon Lachlan, his own son, as venom dripped from his words. "You ran away?" he hissed, his voice filled with seething anger. "You fled from that Brinley Fluer? Were you scared of him and that witch Ena?"

Rosalind stood in stunned silence, unsure of what to say. The man's anger seemed misplaced, as if he were blind to the fact that Lachlan had been the victim of an attack.

Shouldn't he be outraged at the ones who framed his son instead? Rosalind blinked, struggling to comprehend the extent of the man's irrational behavior.

"I didn't run away! I already explained this father. Someone pulled me away from there," Lachlan reasoned, attempting to defend himself. Beside him, another young man with fiery red hair frowned, his expression mirroring Rosalind's confusion.

"Grandfather... that was the third table you've broken in just three weeks," the young man spoke up, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Can't you express your anger without destroying furniture? Should I just give you a table made out of rock?"

Rosalind remained silent, taking in the scene before her and silently vowing to never invite this old man to the north.

How could someone manage to break three tables in as many weeks? It was a perplexing display of temper. This old man should be in his seventies yet, he looked to be in his early forties with his strong and robust built.

The patriarch, consumed by his fury, ignored his grandson's words and continued his tirade, spittle flying from his mouth. "You— Your father runs from a fight, and you are concerned about tables? Maybe I should break your bones instead!" he bellowed, his words filled with disappointment and frustration. "Hah! I thought I raised you to be strong! How could you run away from those two lunatics? Hah?"

Lachlan, in a futile attempt to reason with his father, spoke up once more. "Father, I've already explained—" His words trailed off, his frustration evident as he struggled to find common ground with his unyielding father.

Rosalind observed the strained family dynamic, her thoughts racing. It was clear that Lachlan's father held deep-rooted expectations and a warped sense of pride. She couldn't help but feel sympathy for Lachlan, caught in the crossfire of his father's unrelenting wrath.

As the tension in the room thickened, Rosalind realized that she needed to tread carefully. After all, talking to a lunatic like the patriarch could pose a bit of a challenge.

"I can't believe this!" he exclaimed. The Patriarch's anger reverberated through the air. "How could you—

Sensing the need to defuse the situation, Lachlan's son stepped in, attempting to calm the storm. "Grandfather, perhaps we should try to remain composed," he suggested. "Let's not forget that Father brought this woman who saved him from the perils of the north. Should we at least thank her for bringing father back alive?"

The Patriarch's attention shifted, a flicker of intrigue replacing his rage. "Ah... the woman. A sorcerer, you say? Bring her in!" he commanded.

"Before anything else, can we address the elephant in the room?" Lachlan ventured, his voice tinged with caution. Rosalind, immediately noticed Lachlan's reluctance to delve into the topic of Josephine, perhaps out of fear or apprehension.

"Duchess Rothley, we apologize for subjecting you to this display of our family's shortcomings," Lachlan added, his gaze shifting to Rosalind. "I'm sorry for the shock you've experienced."

Rosalind offered a gentle smile in response. What could she possibly say? That the Patriarch had indeed overreacted? "No, it's quite all right," she replied, her voice calm. "I didn't mean to intrude on your family matters. If it's acceptable to all, we can table the discussion I had intended to have with the Patriarch until emotions have settled. It seems that everyone is quite... emotionally charged at the moment."

A collective sigh of relief seemed to sweep through the room as Rosalind's words hung in the air. The opportunity for a momentary respite presented itself, allowing the heated emotions to cool. Yet, beneath the calm facade, a storm brewed—a clash of conflicting desires, secrets, and the lingering question of how these tangled relationships would untangle themselves.

"How about I lead you outside while father collects himself? I believe tea has been prepared?" Lachlan looked at his son.

His son nodded obediently. "Yes, Father. Everything is ready in the drawing room," he confirmed.

"Good… Father will surely follow us to the drawing room once he is ready." Lachlan acknowledged, his gaze fixed on his father. There was a silent plea in his eyes, a plea for understanding and reconciliation, before he turned and left the room, Rosalind following closely behind.

As they stepped out of the room, Lachlan wasted no time in sharing his thoughts. "I had hoped that the presence of the Duchess would help calm the old man down," he confessed, disappointment evident in his voice. "But I was mistaken. I apologize."

Rosalind shook her head. "It was no bother," she reassured him.

In truth, she had anticipated the volatile temperament of the Blaize Family. She had prepared herself for a confrontation from the very beginning. What had caught her off guard, however, was the peculiar source of the patriarch's anger—Lachlan's premature departure from the fight, when Josephine saved him.

Indeed, it was an odd trigger for such fury.

Lachlan glanced at Rosalind, a sense of resignation on his face. "My father has always been like this, as far back as I can remember," he admitted. They continued their walk toward the drawing room, where Josephine was enjoying her meal.

"Fire will always act like fire," Rosalind mused, her words holding a tinge of wisdom. Yet, confusion lingered in her mind. Lachlan used to act like his father.

Why had Lachlan suddenly changed his demeanor? Could it be attributed to his encounters with Josephine? Had the sorceress managed to humble him in some way?

The two continued walking until they reach the long balcony that would lead them to the room where they usually entertain guests. The long balcony offered a picturesque view of the sprawling estate, the sun casting a warm golden hue over the surroundings. Lachlan and Rosalind strolled side by side, their footsteps echoing against the marble floors as they made their way to the room designated for hosting guests. With each step, anticipation grew, mingled with a sense of unease.

Finally, they reached the grand entrance of the room, its ornate double doors looming before them.

Lachlan pushed open the doors, revealing a lavishly decorated space that exuded an air of elegance and opulence. It was a room designed to impress, adorned with exquisite tapestries, gleaming chandeliers, and polished wooden furniture.

As they stepped inside, Rosalind's attention was immediately drawn to the sight that greeted her.

A mountain of empty plates towered before Josephine, who stood up from her seat with a sheepish smile. The remnants of a sumptuous feast were scattered across the table, evidence of her voracious appetite.

"You're back," Josephine announced, her voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "The food was simply too good to resist. I didn't want it to grow cold, so I decided to eat it all."