Ginevra Mancinelli

The Trumpets Blow Again

The red and yellow dots of the children’s raincoats and backpacks mixed with the fog that clouded Valoran City Park, clashing with the trumpets and cellos of some track that teenagers played as they wasted their time chatting loudly on the ruined bench at the entrance. The males tapped their feet to the catchy tempo of the swing music while the girls pretended to fix their short hair under hats larger than their figures. The bus that connected the city center to the university campus came to a halt, the tailpipe coughing out black smoke. A rather tall, black-haired freshman hopped off, throwing his deep blue backpack over his shoulder. His equally blue eyes glared at the youngsters that didn’t notice his presence on the sidewalk and proceeded to kick an empty can of Graggy Ice, which landed right at the student’s feet.

Jarvan rolled his eyes and decided not to make any rude comment. He was too tired for that. Dragging his feet, the young man crossed the street the moment the lights turned green. It had been another exhausting day at the Royal Academy, and it had all started with the dramatic C-grade that Professor Ryze dropped on his desk. Jarvan had meant to contest it, until the bearded man shot him a glare that rooted him in place. Clearly, his essay on the Second Rune War was barely average; although it didn’t lack references, they were badly annotated. Professor Ryze wasn’t accommodating when it came to annotations, which Jarvan could understand, but at the same time, his teachers seemed to forget that he had always been homeschooled and wasn’t even meant to attend college.

Till the day he told his father that no, he wouldn’t learn how to run a techmaturgical company, thank you very much . Jarvan Lightshield III had spent days reminding his son how their family descended from the rulers of Valoran – a.k.a. from times that even Nagakabouros forgot, but that Jarvan IV should remember since he was a History major – and that if his illustrious son refused to follow the family tradition, he would just have to see for himself what it meant to live without privileges.

The first six months had been a nightmare. Jarvan had been fined whenever he used public transportation – he didn’t know that tickets couldn’t be bought on the bus and kept forgetting to buy them at the nearest newsstand afterwards – and he never made it on time for the campus tour, getting lost in the surrounding hills and forests. That day had also been the day Jarvan met his flat mate, but he wasn’t sure if he could define it a blessing. The young man had been running away from a sheep that ate half his notebook when he crashed into a human wall named Garen Crownguard. The guy was bulky and frightening at first sight, but Jarvan quickly learned that Garen was just a regular intern at the IT offices of the university. He was kind-hearted, or at least felt enough pity for Jarvan to offer him a place to stay. Garen was older than Jarvan, having completed his education some time ago, but his apartment was too big, and the extra money always came in handy, so he rented the second bedroom to college students who needed it.

Sometimes, Jarvan wished he didn’t accept the offer. Blue eyes gazed at the apartment building, and he let out a loud sigh, fishing inside his backpack to find the keys. Part of the reason why he was so unfocused whenever he tried to finish assignments was because of the constant, loud and horny sex that his flat mate kept having. Jarvan didn’t consider himself a prude or anything of the sort, but the walls shook with all the thumping and he couldn’t even hear himself think at times. Shortly after he moved in, Jarvan learned the hard way that Garen was seeing a senior student who was into some crazy, weird fetishes. Sometimes he would spot his flat mate sneak inside his own bedroom wearing a military uniform or dragging a rope so thick and heavy it was probably stolen from a farm.

Jarvan’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket as he climbed the stairs to the first floor, and soon, the rectangular screen casted a hologram. A female figure appeared, and the freshman immediately recognized his classmate from Classics 101.

“Hey, Shyvana,” he greeted with a faint smile.

The amber-eyed woman waved at him. “Hey. We’re all at the Bleak Library,” she informed him. “Have you finished your part of the presentation yet?”

Jarvan slid past the door to his apartment, his blue eyes narrowing at the sight of a black briefcase on the kitchen table. The golden tag between the clasps read, K. Du Couteau . “Uh, no. I mean, yes,” he stuttered. “I haven’t reviewed it yet.”

Shyvana hummed on the other end. “Want to join us? Taric is drafting a conclusion. We could rehearse the whole thing, and then maybe grab a bite at Panth’s Steakhouse and Grill. What do you think?”

There was screaming right when his classmate was done talking, followed by a flow of dirty words that Jarvan wished he had never heard Garen say, and Shyvana’s next question was muffled by the sound of a headboard hitting the wall.

“I’ll be there in ten,” Jarvan told his classmate before he hung up, sticking his tongue out and rolling his eyes at the same time upon exiting the apartment building.

He really had to move out, or slip sleeping pills in Garen’s energy drinks, though that could cause him to have a stroke or another unwanted reaction. Deciding he was better off throwing all the energy drinks, Jarvan hurried himself and jogged down the street until he reached the bus stop. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and jazzy lyrics started playing, signaling a new e-mail.

Come on, shoot faster, just a little bit of ener—

The freshman unlocked the screen, frowning at the notification. Using two fingers to double tap, his lips curved up.

From: lia.swain@blitzermail.vr

To: j.lightshield.4@blitzermail.vr

Subject: Your Job Application


Where the F are U?

Jarvan rolled his eyes and shoved his phone inside his backpack, figuring he would explain some other time why he couldn’t make it. He knew Shyvana and his other classmates would understand, but the young woman was a bit too intense and would probably insist she would pick him up to get the reviewing done before nightfall. He truly wanted to get the presentation done perfectly; he couldn’t afford another bad grade and he knew that Professor Laurent was very strict, but at the same time, this job opportunity was golden. Emilia Swain had requested they met as soon as possible for a quick interview since Snowdown weekend was around the corner, and Jarvan wasn’t going to refuse. A job at Black Rose Incorporated would mean more than just being able to afford his own place; it would also help Jarvan prove his father he was capable to live without any sort of privilege.

The wide, black oak doors opened to reveal a thin, pale woman who was dressed in an elegant suit of a charcoal color. Her white, button-down shirt looked tight around her chest, and with her stiletto heels, she reached Jarvan’s height to the point they were staring into each other’s eyes. The woman wore a dark shade of lipstick that caused her light-brown eyes to stand out. She offered him a polite smile and extended her hand.

“Mr. Lightshield,” she greeted him. “I am Emilia Swain. We exchanged a few e-mails. Please, follow me.”

Jarvan found himself nodding sheepishly and nearly stumbling over his own feet as he followed her into the mansion. His blue eyes were set on her short midnight hair that swayed around her shoulders with every step she took. Emilia Swain led him to the fumoir, where someone had set up several teacups and biscuits that caused the entire room to smell like that coffee shop down Transcendence Way, Morgana’s Sinful Succulence . A soft, cheery melody played from two large speakers in the right corner of the fumoir, and Jarvan spotted a turntable right next to an unlit fireplace.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “didn’t expect to meet you at your place.”

The older woman flashed him a lopsided smile. “Please, have a seat.” She poured the freshman some tea, and went on, “My husband wasn’t at the office today. It would have been silly to hold the interview somewhere else.”

The blue-eyed man nodded, the cup of tea warming his fingers as he held it in front of him. Emilia Swain took a seat across from him, the porcelain coffee table creating enough distance between them, but the tip of her shoes still grazed his feet. Jarvan looked everywhere but at her, chewing on the inside of his cheek when she simply folded her manicured hands on her lap and stared at him.

“Where is your husband?” Jarvan whispered.

“Upstairs,” was her simple answer. “We will join him if I deem you fitting for the position.”

Jarvan’s eyebrow twitched, and he tried very hard not to let awkward and filthy thoughts fill his mind. He blamed Garen.

“I will be honest with you, Mr. Lightshield,” the pale woman said in a businesslike tone that startled him. “I don’t understand why you applied for this position.”

The young man bolted forward, cursing out loud when he spilled hot tea all over his pants. He set the teacup on the coffee table, and thanked Emilia when she offered him a napkin with the Black Rose logo embroidered in the top right corner.

“I’m sorry—I’m—”

“Let me rephrase that,” she said, switching to the softer tone she had previously used with him. “Your cover letter is excellent. However, your CV is basically a blank page.”

Jarvan looked away, sighing. The turntable was still playing an annoying tune that would probably be stuck in his head for days. The happy melody even clashed with the crimson hues that the tall, velvety curtains casted on the marble floor.

“You were homeschooled, you just started college, but you wish to work as a personal assistant. Part-time, I suppose?”

Jarvan rubbed the palms of his hands on his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Look, Mrs. Swain, I didn’t mean to waste your time. College isn’t exactly going as planned, and the place I stay at is never quiet—I saw the offer and decided to give it a shot. I am fine with just being the coffee courier,” he explained without a hint of shame.

Emilia’s bright eyes narrowed slightly, and she relaxed in her seat, her lopsided smile still plastered on her heart-shaped face. “I think it’s time to meet my husband,” she whispered sultrily.


His phone vibrated at least three times as he climbed the stairs to the third floor of the mansion. The wood cracked under his weight, but the burgundy rug reminded him of his own mansion. Everything, from the walls to the ceiling was decorated in an old-fashioned, traditional style that made him feel slightly nostalgic. Granted, Swain’s mansion was way quieter than his, but also darker. No one seemed to bother with burning candles or open blinds, so when he checked his phone, the screen casted a bright blue light around his figure.

Jarvan blinked, and narrowed his eyes to read the text he received.

You coming home soon? Kat & I are ordering some Ionian food. Want something?

He typed a simple ‘no’, hoping Garen wouldn’t try to call him to convince him that Navori noodles were exactly what he needed, like he usually did. The truth was that Navori noodles were awfully spicy, and Jarvan didn’t want to sit on the toilet all weekend.

Jericho Swain’s office wasn’t exactly the way he imagined it. The only window was as wide as the wall, and it reached the ceiling, just like in those Piltoveran skyscrapers Jarvan saw in action-packed movies. A desk made of glass was set right in front of the window, but what really caught his attention was the large bird cage that hung from the ceiling. A rather large raven slept in it, with its head tucked between its wings. The owner and CEO of Black Rose Incorporated stood facing away from him, his arms folded behind his back. Jarvan heard Emilia call her husband’s name, and the man slowly turned around, a thick, emerald scarf hiding half of his face. He had crimson eyes that intimidated Jarvan into the ground, and his eyebrows were knitted together. The middle-aged man grunted, lowering his hands on the neat desk before him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” was Jericho Swain’s way of greeting him. “My best business partner is in the Freljord to negotiate a merger, so I am left working with idiots who don’t even know what a business plan is. Are you an idiot?”

Jarvan swallowed hard, shaking his head when he couldn’t find the right words that would convince the balding man to hire him. He didn’t know he lacked that much confidence prior to this interview.

“What are you studying?” Swain asked as he rounded his desk.

“History.”

There was a moment of silence during which the couple exchanged looks, and Swain arched an eyebrow at his wife. “Emilia,” he chastised.

“He is cute,” the slim woman answered with a small laugh that chilled Jarvan’s spine.

“Did you hear that?” Swain asked him, stepping closer in his crimson suit that complimented his grim stare. “My wife offered you a compliment,” he said menacingly. “Aren’t you going to reciprocate?”

Jarvan felt his blood rush to his cheeks and he peeked at the woman who was casually leaning against the shelves to his left. Emilia smiled secretively, her right foot caressing the back of her left calf.

“You—uh, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, wondering in the back of his mind why he hadn’t simply gone to the study meeting with Shyvana and the others.

“You’re a fast learner,” Swain conceded, nodding at the freshman. “Well, I doubt you’d be of much help around the office, but you can always work for Emilia.”

Jarvan’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?” he blurted out in an overly excited tone.

“All you have to do is listen to her. Now, get out of my face,” the CEO ordered, turning heels.

Swain was already nearing his leather chair when his wife’s voice halted him. “Jericho,” she spoke softly, and the two of them exchanged another look.

Jarvan wondered how they managed to keep on talking without actually talking—even his parents didn’t reach that level of telepathy, and they had been together for nearly thirty years. Swain glanced back and forth between Jarvan and Emilia, before he finally sat down and drummed his fingers on the armrest. It wasn’t long until the freshman felt small hands on his shoulders. His back stiffened, but Emilia hushed him, pushing between his shoulder blades to indicate he had to step forward.

“Can you undress?” she whispered in his ear, her breath tickling his lobe.

“What! No,” is what Jarvan had meant to say, until he caught Swain’s daring glare and remained frozen in place.

Trying to steady his shaky hands, the blue-eyed student reached for the zipper of his college hoodie, and slowly peeled it off along with his tee-shirt. He truly hoped the woman was simply curious for a peek, because he sure didn’t want to stoop so low and end up as some high-class, personal prostitute. The CEO’s wife was stunning, he couldn’t deny that, and months of listening unwillingly to the horniest sex in Valoran City didn’t ease his frustration, but as much as he was sure the couple paid good money, he still had some dignity left. Or at least, he hoped so.

Jarvan’s pants and shoes met the floor in a matter of minutes, and he stood awkwardly in his white boxers and socks, the midnight-haired woman ogling him from where she sat on top of the glass desk. The worst part was that her husband was watching him as well.

“Can I go now,” the freshman muttered, faking annoyance when he really was anxious.

“Come here,” Emilia said, her pale face reddening at the sight of his rather toned body.

Jarvan did as he was told, his piercing blue eyes staring right into hers as she grabbed his bigger hands and placed them on her bare thighs, inching them higher and higher, until they were so far up her skirt that he realized he wasn’t going to get out anytime soon. She wasn’t wearing any type of underwear.

“My husband has been very busy lately,” she said in a false, baby voice as she guided two of his fingers between her nether lips. “He wasn’t able to take loving care of me,” she went on, stroking the sides of his body with her lean legs.

Jarvan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he was still stroking her soft flesh when he realized she had stopped guiding him. His middle finger thumbed the bundle of nerves between her lips and her eyelids fluttered.

“I knew you could help.”

The young man stared at her in disbelief, his eyes leaving his face only to glance at her husband, who watched in silence, an all too obvious bulge tenting his pants. Jarvan was torn between the idea of running for the hills or taking advantage of the whole situation. And he thought Garen and his girlfriend were into some crazy stuff.

Emilia leaned back on the desk, resting the weight of her upper body on her elbows, and when Jarvan’s fingers were finally coated in juices, the young man abandoned the last bit of resolve he still had and fell to his knees. He had just begun lapping at her pussy and pulling at the swollen nub with his lips when the older woman pushed on his shoulders, signaling him to stop.

“Not here,” she breathed out, her brown eyes glancing at her husband. “There,” she said.

When Jarvan didn’t react, Emilia sighed loudly and led him right where she wanted him. She pushed him on top of her husband, and Jarvan fell on the man’s lap almost instantly, only to be straddled by the dark-haired woman who promptly shoved her tongue past his lips. Her hips ground against his, his still covered erection pressing between her legs, but his eyes widened upon feeling another pair of hands grip his thighs. Swain’s own girth was poking at his lower back, and Jarvan realized the whole ordeal was escalating into something he really didn’t expect. Nor want.

“Move,” the CEO snarled in his ear.

Unable to answer with the way Emilia stroked his tongue with her own, Jarvan forced his eyes shut and left his hands roam the woman’s soft curves, his hips mimicking her movements, which only caused Swain’s erection to slide between his bottom cheeks. Jarvan hadn’t even realized the man had unzipped his pants when he literally fell on his dick.

Emilia parted from him, her lidded stare landing on the paper knife near her husband’s laptop. Without hesitation, she reached out for it and used it to tear Jarvan’s boxers, careless as to not injure him and giggling when blood spilled from the young man’s thighs. She didn’t give him time to recover from the cuts and gashes, impaling herself on his still erect shaft and moaning as she threw her head back. Her hands were on her husband’s shoulders, whose hands roamed Jarvan’s backside hungrily, letting his dick slide up and down the man’s crack when his wife’s movements became too erratic.

Jarvan stared wide-eyed at the bottom of the cage that hung above their heads, a mixture of pleasure, pain and fear crippling his body. Emilia’s cunt was throbbing within, slick and tight and instead of bouncing on his lap, she purposely slid back and forth. The approach to pleasure was new to Jarvan, although he had to admit he wasn’t exactly experienced, but it was distracting enough for him to miss the way her husband’s head prodded at his entrance, coated in Emilia’s juices when they made a puddle on the leather chair. The raven-haired woman rose on her knees when Jarvan’s cock hit her backwall, and it was Swain’s queue to fully enter the student.

Jarvan gasped, letting out a noise of discomfort. He tried to shift on Swain’s lap, but Emilia kept him trapped, resuming her fast thrusting and shoving his head between her breasts. His ass hurt as he was parted with barely any lubricant, and the contradicting sensations sent his mind reeling. His dick was being squeezed while Swain parted his ass in two, repeatedly, the couple adjusting and readjusting his hips as they pleased. Jarvan gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white.

“I’m gonna—I’m going to—”

He never finished his sentence. Emilia let out a cry, her walls flexing and clenching around his girth as she rode her orgasm, and she brought down her fist to hit his chest. Not realizing she still held the paper knife, the woman pierced through his skin and broke some bones. Blood spilled right from the left side of his chest, and the three of them froze. Jarvan stared in horror at the woman above him, half of her face coated in blood. The freshman felt the warmth of his fresh blood as it ran down his upper body. Emilia’s pale, shell-shocked face was fading to black, just like the ending of one of those Noir movies that his mother enjoyed watching from time to time.

Emilia let the paper knife hit the floor, Jarvan’s head lolling forward and resting heavily against her shoulder. Her entire body shook with the realization of what just happened, of what she did, but she was given no time to react. Swain pushed the two bodies away from him and slammed them into the floor. Emilia screamed and kicked when she felt that the young man was still deeply embedded into her. Tears mixed with blood, but Swain simply stared at her, his thick scarf hanging loose around his neck. His wrinkled hands were still on Jarvan’s hips, but he moved one to properly hover above her.

“I’m not done,” he rasped.

He thrusted all the way back in at a fast pace, unwilling to wait for the freshman’s body to turn cold. Swain rolled his hips in a clockwise motion, not frustrated in the least that the unresponsive body didn’t clench around him and reveling in his wife’s cries as he maneuvered the corpse so that his wife was still on the receiving end of each one of his thrusts. Emilia could feel Jarvan growing limp inside her, and with each push of Swain’s, more blood soaked her ivory shirt. The deadweight that vibrated on top of her suffocated her, but the young man’s pelvis still rubbed against her lower body, the warm flesh rippling around her lower lips and clit. Out of breath, Emilia closed her eyes, only to feel Swain’s hand clutch her hair as he thrusted a bit slower, but decisively stronger.

After emptying himself inside the cool body, Swain fumbled backwards, running a hand through the hair at the back of his head. His crimson eyes glanced briefly at his wife’s chest. She was still breathing, he noted, although it seemed like she had some difficulty. Biting back a groan, the CEO rose to his feet, and promptly kicked the young man’s lifeless body to the side. The corpse rolled a few inches away, and Swain limped towards his desk. He fell heavily in his leather chair, causing the wooden floor to crack. He reached out, catching his breath, and opened the cage above his head.

The pet raven woke up to the sound of the iron lock, its tiny red eyes darting around. The bird’s wings flapped a couple times, and the pet glanced around almost with hesitation. When Swain didn’t lock the cage again, the raven took flight, crowing at the delicate scent of death.

When Emilia finally opened her eyes a couple hours later, her husband was working at his desk, a quill pen in his right hand, and his pet had its beak deeply rooted in Jarvan’s left eye socket as it feasted.

She could still hear the turntable play soft music downstairs.

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