Hated: a Love Story

Draco looked at the beautiful woman who was his mother with beseeching eyes.

"Mother, I did not break that vase. Please believe me. Why do you never believe me? Why do you always believe Damian?"

The two little boys, only about one year apart in age, stared up at their mother as she got dressed for Lord Falkirk's dinner party. Damian, the older between the two, put a hand on Draco's shoulder and mouthed, "I swear I did not tell her."

Draco shoved the hand off his shoulder angrily.

"You would do well to remember that Damian is your elder brother, and the heir to your father's estate. You are merely the second son, the spare. Do not speak untruths, and own up to your mistake. Your father and I detest your rebellious behaviour. If you step out of line one more time, he will disown you."

"ELIZABETH! Where is my coat? Leave that worthless boy and come here THIS INSTANT! We need to leave. Lord Falkirk does not appreciate tardiness. Come NOW!"

"You will not get any supper tonight. That is your punishment. And you are to sleep in the servant's quarters. WILLIAM?"

The butler appeared, "Yes, my lady?"

Rushing along the long corridor of the bleak castle, Lady Rothwell replied," Draco will not receive any supper today. He will also sleep in the servant's quarters with you and the other servants. Is that understood? My husband and I shall arrive late, therefore please make sure that Damian is in bed and asleep before midnight. That boy becomes so absorbed in his studies; he never realizes the lateness of the hour. Such behaviour can only lead to illness."

"Yes, my lady. I shall see to it."

"Thank you, William."

They had now reached the hall, where Father was pacing impatiently. As soon as he caught sight of his wife, he waved her over and both rushed down the steps to the carriage. Draco ran down the room after them.

He screamed, "But MOTHER! Damian is not even YOUR SON.I AM YOUR SON!"

Draco barely registered the butler's stunned expression, or the saddened one on his brother's face, as he ran past them, to the place where his parents had paused, and turned.

"Please, Mother. Believe me."

Before he could understand what happened, his mother hit him so hard Draco fell face forward on the marble stairs. Momentarily disoriented, Draco realized the wetness on his face was blood. Blood from his mouth, his nose. Blood spilled because his mother had hit him. Hit him for Damian, who was not even her son. Tears burned in his eyes, and then spilled down his cheeks.

"One week." she said in a shaky voice, "You shall not have supper for one whole week."

Lord Rothwell turned to his wife, "Elizabeth! Are you feeding such poison into the boy's mind? Do you really not think of my first-born, my Damian as your own son?"

Lady Rothwell replied with tears in her eyes, "Of course not, darling. You know I love Damian more than my own life. He is my son. Have I not been a good mother to him?" To Draco, she said, "Look at what you have done, you brat! You made my husband question my love for my eldest son. Are you happy now?"

Draco's father said in a disgusted tone, "Let us go Elizabeth! We must not waste precious time arguing with him. I will teach him a lesson he will not forget once we return. Let us go! William! Take this watering pot away! WILLIAM!"

Draco, who could barely see through his tears and the blood, sobbed "MOTHER! FATHER! Please come back! Please!"

Please!

"PLEASE!"

Draco jolted awake, sweat running in rivulets down his back. The sound of his breathing, almost gasping, echoed through the opulent chamber. He did not know where he was. He just had to talk to Mother, had to convince her, had to... NO! NO!

He was not that helpless boy anymore. His entire existence did not revolve around convincing the people who were his parents to love him, to even smile at him, anymore. Never again, he had sworn to himself. Never again would he depend on anyone so much. Never again.

Shoving the silk sheets tangled around his legs off, he got off the bed and walked out onto the open balcony. His breathing now under control, he surveyed his lands, his property. All his. His; and his alone.

Draco tilted his head back to look up at the early morning sky streaked with red and signalling that the sun had indeed conquered his sky back from the now-banished moon, his brilliance unmatchable. A rare smile curved his cruel lips. He would be like the sun. The ruler, the conqueror, the master.

Soon.

His smile faded. Damian. His perfect, sainted half-brother. The one who inherited everything. The good one. The one who was so considerate that he intervened with the Archbishop to ensure that Draco's position within the church was secured; by transferring the deed to the land on which the majestic building which was now St. Therese's stood. The only one, in the eyes of the ton, who cared anything for the good-for-nothing, black sheep of the family.

He was indebted to his much-loathed brother. A state of affairs that would not do, not at all.

He strode from the balcony to the sumptuous chamber that did not befit a pious priest at all, and got dressed in his robes.

Draco walked out of his chamber and down the exquisite and richly-decorated corridors and stairways till he reached the hall and then walked out onto the front yard. Taking a deep breath, he jogged out to where his black stallion, Beast was grazing, and climbed atop him and urged him on. Just as he was gaining speed, a feminine voice called out to him.

"Father! Father!"

Biting back a curse, Draco turned around and saw Victoria, Mother Superior to the nuns, rushing towards him.

"Drac-Father. I must remind you that you need to collect our new novice from St. Francis's today."

Ah, of course. Rosanna.

Rosanna. The exquisite one.

"I remember." he said curtly. "Is there anything else?"

"No Father."

"If that is all, I shall be back by night. With the novice."

Victoria nodded respectfully, and then Draco rode off.

As he surveyed the lands that would soon become his, in all ways, he could think nothing but one word.

Soon...