1874
Lucien
Lucien was late.
Though not his fault, it still irked him. The boat had docked late, meaning that instead of the leisurely carriage ride he had thought to rest in, he had gone on foot, using his considerable speed to tear through the countryside of Briton. He arrived just in time to see his last descendent pass into the underworld.
He heard it from over a hundred metres away, the pattering of so many mortal hearts accompanying the dull cadence of the priest of the Old Gods as they said their final goodbyes. Lucien silently thanked Mercury that he had insisted on a family mausoleum within the grounds of the Manor. He wouldn’t have far to walk.
He slowed to a walk when he knew he was within sight, his cane tapping lightly on the loose stone of the path. He watched ears strain and necks tense in desperate attempts not to look around. All eyes fixed on him as he came to a stop next to the coffin. The last of his bloodline. He had watched over his blood for near two millennia, securing their survival, their success. He set the parting gift on top of the coffin with a ringing clink, ignoring the whispers that followed. Augustus had been a troublingly stubborn witch, though he was well regarded by his peers. Despite his decline into resentment and depression upon the death of his wife, he’d managed to maintain the family’s political importance. Hence the large turnout.
Lucien tuned out the priests droning, grey eyes fixed on the torque that he had placed on his coffin as it was lifted into the air. The catalysts of the pallbearers glowed as it floated upwards and into its new, permanent home, the torque glinted there, in the dark. He had given all of his descendants one when they had been born, regardless whether they knew of his existence. That had been Augustus’s, never sold for funds, and always displayed proudly. It was an honour to be a Beaxument, and he had known that, despite his flaws.
When the funeral was over, a weedy little man edged his way over to Lucien, the bundle of papers under his arm confirming him as the lawyer that Lucien had been in contact with.
“My Lord Beaumont I-”
“I will deal with whatever it is another time. Do give my sincere disappointment that I cannot be present for the wake, and my speech. I trust you have it with you?” Lucien looked over the man, pulling his gloves on.
“I do. Yes, yes it is beautiful I must say. Are you sure-”
Lucien interrupted him with a nod.
“Do give it to our guests. I should not be present for its delivery. It would look immodest.”
Lucien swept away, vanishing deep into the tunnels that slithered beneath the grounds of the ancient Manor House. He would rest in his Watching Room.
The Veiled World 