Hell’s Consort

Newest Chapter for Highest Tier (November 2021kind )

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Merle and Archangel Uriel Story Arc

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"Wench."  The aristocrat spoke abruptly and his low voice sent chills down her spine.  "My cup is already full." 

She didn't mean to instantly recoil from the deep baritone as if his gruff voice was too harsh for her ears.

Yet, there was something in this man's presence that stirred something inside her, making her retreat three steps backward away from him as if he was a leper. 

Merle was all too familiar with that husky voice.

This kind of raspy tone usually belongs to a tall, dark and handsome Fae with a larger physique than average.  It was the kind that made females swoon by just hearing it only once. 

"Wench." The nobleman called her again and it startled her yet he still refused to meet her intense stares.

Irritation flared in her gut as her hand fisted on the neck of the wine bottle while its bottom rested on her palm.

She disliked being called that name in this tavern considering what it implied. 

  Merle was determined on treating these haughty aristocrats like walking, breathing trees.

It was the proper treatment they deserved.

She wouldn't forget that she was also a victim of their assumptions—that all serving girls in this tavern were wenches eager to make money and they had a right to treat them like prostitutes. 

His gaze was still transfixed on the rim and she wondered why he couldn't give her the time of day to show his features.

For the first time, Merle had noticed that the luxurious wine had overflowed the rim and the spilled liquid of the fermented grapefruit was dripping on the wooden table. 

Mouth forming a surprised 'I-messed-up!' oh, Merle's eyes almost protruded out of her sockets when she witnessed how much she had botched her service in the tavern.

"Oh. My!" A gasp escaped her lips.

"In case you didn't know, you had flooded the tavern." He drawled and Merle could hear the smirk in his voice.

She scowled at the man's yellow chaperon hat and the soft blue fabric hanging around it like a  fluffy tail, hoping she would catch a glimpse of this arrogant man. 

This situation wasn't something to be amused about. 

She only had one job and she can't even do it right. 

If the owner saw what she had done, she would lose this trade.

Merle would have a difficult time searching for another work that would earn her the same amount of money she received here.

  Looking pretty and batting their lashes on the aristocrats was easier compared to being part of a cavalry serving a mad Monarch even if she wasn't used to it.

This should have been fairly simple compared to burning dead bodies of Nephilim children like what Prince Balthasar usually commanded to a Knight of her status.

This was the reason why she didn't want to show off her skills of swordsmanship to the Prince to escape the Higher Ranks in his Militia.

The gold wasn't worth killing the Fae's offspring with the Watchers.

These Nephilim babies had no sin except for being born in this world only to be reborn as demons after their death. 

Merle moved from side to side in a hurry, searching and grasping for something that escapes her mental clutches. 

'What was it that she was looking for again?' She muttered under her breath as her thumb and forefinger pinched her lower lip in contemplation. 

She quickly remembered to settle the wine bottle on the table with a careful thump so that she wouldn't drop the expensive container.

If that happened as well,  not only will the owner kick her out of the establishment but she also had to painstakingly pick every broken glass on the wooden floor so as not to endanger the affluent punters—their moneymakers. 

Her anxiety shot to the ceiling as she envisioned this nobleman going to the innkeeper's office and telling him about the mess she made.

Like a lightning strike in her panicked brain, her jumbled thoughts arranged themselves and barked at her to open the cabinets underneath the table and search for the piled-up rags.

It was just three weeks ago when the owner told her where to find them.

Nobody from the serving girls dared to make the same error as her because the cost of every ounce of wasted excellent wine will be deducted from their daily wages.

At that point, Merle felt like crying.

"I'm sorry. I apologize, my lord." Frantic, Merle bowed her head repeatedly as she wiped at the table at the same time.  "Please if you could just—" 

'Shut up and don't tell anyone.' Merle finished in her thoughts. 

"No harm done except the tavern you are working for." He reassured her as if he heard the concerns racing in her mind.

Merle exhaled a sigh of relief but she also noticed something else.

The Creator had gifted this aristocrat with a clear luscious voice that could haunt and arouse a woman's senses but she quickly noticed that there was something inherently wrong with it.

She couldn't pinpoint what it was about him until he stood up from his seat.

Merle sucked in her breath at how handsome and delectable the nobleman appeared.

He even had a similar height to Archangel Uriel that she had to glance up, up, up until her gaze slammed into the darkest pupils she had ever seen.

The twin dark pools were beautiful and hypnotizing against the dark brown of his skin.

She couldn't help her glance to linger a bit longer in his masculine yet feminine profile: cheekbones chiseled to perfection, sharp jawline, and the upward tilt of the corner of his eyes.

He was too perfect and symmetrical that he was almost as unreal as Archangel Uriel.

If the other serving girls weren't occupied with the rest of the punters then they would be eager to scoop him up and convince him to become their benefactor.