by M. Dalto
But here, there were no suns.
What little light there she saw was anything but warm and welcoming.
She blinked through eyes that needed to adjust, not only to the lack of illumination, but also because she needed to re-familiarize herself with being within a corporeal body.
“Brynaxia,” a familiar voice whispered over her shoulder, and she slowly sat up as bone and muscle reacted to her whims.
Again, she blinked her eyes to adjust to the low light, and slowly the form of a man came into view. He was tall with a muscular build, apparent despite the loose shirt he wore. His face was clean shaven, but those lips—she’d never forget those lips. The way they always curled, like they did now, the feeling of them upon hers…
She shook her head to clear the memories before meeting his eyes, and only then was she certain she was no longer in that damned dream-like state.
“Xavon,” she breathed, her heart skipping a beat as recognition kicked in. This man…he meant something to her once. Something deep, something important.
“My beautiful Bryn,” he exhaled, stepping around the slab to stand before her, taking her hand between his before lifting it to his lips. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to see you again.”
“Where are we?” she asked hoarsely—even this voice was going to take some getting used to.
“We’re in the Borderlands, my love,” he informed her gently as his eyes met hers.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, panicked. The Borderlands belonged to the mages—only those with permission had the right to tread upon their lands. Anything else, and you were begging for a quick end to your existence. The only exceptions, in rare emergencies, were when the Empire’s healers couldn’t remedy an unknown sickness or a serious wound…
She believed she had been to the Borderlands once. Her eyes widened at the memory. “Has something happened?”
“No, no, my love,” he assured her with another kiss to her hand. “Everything is fine, now that you’re here.”
She cocked her head to the side in question. “What is it then, what’s wrong? What’s brought us here?”
“It’s Leminol,” he said, and there was a tinge of sadness in his tone.
That name—another memory flashed through her foggy mind. Leminol…she knew him. Or rather, she knew she was supposed to know him. Even as she tried to grab ahold of that thought, it was like a dream where the harder you tried to remember it, the more difficult it was to recall. She tried to blink it away, but it was a haze that wouldn’t clear.
“He took control of the Empire and stripped it of the glory it once possessed. I had to flee, Brynaxia, and it’s taken me all this time to figure out how to bring you back to me.”
“How…how long ago did this happen?” she asked. Details of anything that may have happened while she was asleep eluded her.
Xavon held her hands and looked her steadily in the eye. “It’s been two thousand years, Brynaxia. Two thousand years since Leminol sent our world into ruin. Two thousand years since I’ve had to go into hiding…and two thousand years that I’ve worked towards this moment.”
Two thousand years…
Her head pounded as the words echoed through her mind. She knew she should have more questions to ask, more people whose well-being should concern her, but the haze began to cloud her judgment and she had to close her eyes, swaying slightly where she stood.
Strong arms caught her, supporting her, and she leaned against his sturdy form, inhaling a scent of pine and smoke that was both foreign and familiar. She squinted her already closed eyes tighter and rested her head against his chest.
“I want to go home,” she whispered. Because she knew wherever she was now was not where she was meant to be.
“I have every intention of bringing you home,” Xavon assured her as he braced his hands on her shoulders, drawing back just enough to meet her gaze. “If there is nothing else I can give you, Bryn, it will be to return you to the Empire.
He leaned in to give her a gentle kiss on her brow, and she closed her eyes to the intimate touch.
“Welcome back, Empress.”
Chapter Twelve
It was a sweet revenge, taking the royals’ master bedroom for her own. Crystal had made it her own ever since Razen’s friend left with Alex, though it was in a state of disrepair when she first happened upon it. She did her best not to overdo it, and it took her only half a day to make it into a room she found livable. A room that she wouldn’t mind spending an extended amount of time in.
Especially not once Razen returned to her.
They had been anything but discreet while they were in the Borderlands. Ever since Razen joined her in the palace, they didn’t give a damn what they did, where they did it, or what remaining souls may have heard them while they did.
The fact she was overly pregnant was only detrimental in that that they were limited to certain positions. Perhaps that increased her drive—she felt like she could never get enough, could never truly be satisfied, and always wanted more as only Razen could give her.
As Lexan never could.
It was after one such escapade she found herself once again breathless while lying in Razen’s arms, their naked bodies tangled together as they languidly lay in the bed that had become their own. Often Crystal tried to recall what brought them together that first night—why it was she was never repulsed by the age different between them. Of course, in the bedroom, it only meant additional experience, and for that she would never once complain.
The royals had escaped, Razen had informed them after the skirmish against the Empire, one Crystal barely avoided had it not been for Lexan pulling her from the room. Once the former Lord Steward had regained consciousness, he explained that it was the Queen Empress’ own display of light and magic that rocked the walls of the Borderlands’ castle. During that admission, Razen admonished Lexan for his inability to complete the one simple task he’d been given. That Lexan was supposed to have compromised the royal line using his own sister, and that he had actually agreed to it…
And he would have, if Alex hadn’t bashed him over the head with a wine bottle.
The could-haves, would-haves, and should-haves took root in Crystal’s mind whenever she looked at her husband—he, who brought her to this world. He, who all but forced himself upon her the moment she signed her name to that damn book. Impregnating her, keeping her with him in the Borderlands only to abandon her…
It didn’t take long before Crystal grew resentful toward the Prince of the Borderlands. He’d been so quick to lock her into the contract, even threatening her if she would not sign that book. Yet, he was so ready to fuck his own sister…for the greater good, they had said.
Well, she’d show them what the greater good could do.
Now she carried the heir to the Borderlands, and together she and her child would show those damn royals what real power looked like.
“You’re quiet,” Razen murmured beside her, lying on his back while a finger ran gently along her bare arm.
“I’m just thinking,” she responded quietly.
“I feel as though you’re always thinking,” he mused affectionately.
“It’s better than being taken unaware,” she informed him, glancing up with a knowing smile on her lips. “Better than being taken advantage of, better than being left behind. I think because it’s better than not thinking, or rather…”
His gaze drifted down to meet hers. “What are you thinking about now?”
Her own gaze traveled down to her abdomen, where her child grew strong within. She drew a gentle hand along the tender skin, feeling the small flutter of movement beneath her touch. “What will happen once I give birth?”
“You’ll be a mother,” Razen reminded her, moving to meet her hand on her stomach.
She looked up at him and scowled. “You know damn well what I mean.”
He chuckled softly. “I do. Though I’m uncertain whether you really want to hear the
truth or not.”
She perked a brow at that and leaned up on her elbow to look down at him. “What are you talking about? What truth?”
Razen ran a hand over his face. “Obviously you’re aware that you’re carrying the heir to the Borderlands.”
“Yes, that fact is becoming painfully clearer each day.”
Smirking, he continued. “It will be the first heir in, well…”
“Let me guess,” she sighed. “Two thousand years?”
“Just about,” he confirmed, amused.
She rolled her eyes. “Why does it seem like everything that’s happening now is all because of something that happened centuries ago?”
“Because it is,” he confirmed. “Everything that was set into motion then is now coming to fruition.”
“Is that why you played the part you did? Why you set Treyan and Reylor against each other? Why you were so ready to retreat to the Borderlands when Treyan and Alex were out of the way?”
His gaze darkened as he looked back to her. “I did not plant the dream that began this turn of events, if that’s what you’re insinuating, but neither am I claiming innocence for later transpiring events.”
Razen sat up and rolled out of her grasp as he rested on the edge of the bed. “There are only a few things I’ve done that I regret,” he said softly. “But still there are some.”
“Like Saratanya?” Crystal asked, bringing her legs underneath her as she sat up.
He let out a huff and shook his head. “She was not supposed to have come back.”
“If it wasn’t for her, Treyan wouldn’t have returned either,” she reminded him.
“All the more reason.”
She bit her lip. It was the most open Razen had been with her about anything, let alone his time in the Empire. “Tell me about your friend,” she said softly.
“My friend?” he inquired, and when she returned his stare, he nodded. “Oh…Xavon…otherwise better known as Master.”
“Who is he?”
Snorting, Razen stood, stretching. “I forget you’re not from this realm. That our history is not so readily available to you.”
“You make it seem like this is a story any Empireborn should know,” she observed as she watched the muscles work beneath his skin.
“Only the royal family,” he corrected. “It’s what they have based their very Prophecy upon ever since it was written those two thousand years ago.”
“By who?” she asked, genuinely curious. This world, this realm…it would be hers one day. Better to know as much about it as she could, even if she never got the chance to read that damned book.
Razen only shrugged. “No one truly knows—at least no one still alive. The author of the Annals made it a point to never reveal his identity, but none of that matters now. With Xavon and Brynaxia’s return, there will no longer be a need for the Annals or the Prophecy.”
“Wait, who?” she asked, shaking her head. There were too many unfamiliar names, too many unknown players involving themselves in their game.
Razen didn’t seem to hear her, though—
His attention shifted to the room’s window that faced the Borderlands.
“We’re to have company,” he said, almost dreamily. “They’ll be here by morning.”
“Who this time?” she asked. The last time she was told to expect company, Sarayna showed up within the Borderlands at Lexan’s request, and, well…she was not in the mood for a repeat of that bit of history.
Razen kept his gaze focused out the window. “The Crown Prince and the Queen Empress are finally returning to the Empire.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brynaxia stood along one of the meeting room’s walls while Xavon spoke with the members of his small council. She listened as he advised them that the castle, and the Borderlands in its entirety, would be theirs to control and defend while they were away. She casually ignored the glances she received from various members, looking at her as if she had no right joining them.
She looked down at the gown Xavon had given her, and though it was of a lower cut and tighter fit than she remembered wearing, the garment of black chiffon and silk was expertly made, and she loved the way the skirts swirled around her legs.
So much better than those dirty old leathers she had woken up in.
“Are you ready?” Xavon’s voice interrupted her reverie and she smiled in response to the one he gave her.
“We’re returning to the Empire?” she asked, taking his arm as he led her from the meeting hall.
“We are,” he confirmed, his tone edged with amusement.
“Do we have horses to make the journey?” she asked as they walked through the halls of the castle. “Will we have enough supplies?”
He only chuckled softly at her questions.
“What’s so funny?” Certainly her requests weren’t unpractical.
“First, when we return to the Empire, there will be so many dresses and supplies waiting for us, you won’t ever need to ask for another thing.”
“And second?”
“Second,” he started, leading her down a set of stairs. “You’re under the impression that we’re going to need horses for traveling.”
“You don’t suggest we walk the entire distance, do you?” she inquired, rather incredulously.
“Oh, no, never, my dear. I wouldn’t put you through that, not so soon after your return. Which is why we’re going to port there. Using magic.”
She stared at him blankly.
“You’re familiar with Keys, are you not?”
Something in her head began pounding, and she closed her eyes against the pressure forming while she nodded slowly.
“Imagine it like a Key then,” he said, oblivious to her discomfort. “Only we need not travel between realms, but just across the greater distances of our world.”
She closed her eyes tighter, gritting her teeth.
Keys.
Realm.
Each word sent another pounding shock, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the incessant pain continued through her temples.
“Here we are,” Xavon announced once they were outside, in what appeared to be some kind of courtyard.
“Where…where are we?” Brynaxia asked carefully. She didn’t feel like she had been teleported anywhere, unless the pounding of her head was a symptom of that type of travel.
The laughter from the man beside her quickly answered her question. “We’re merely outside of the castle, my love. I just wanted to give you a chance to give the Borderlands a last farewell.”
She blinked, looking around her. The lands were all but barren, with little life—plant or animal—to call their own. Forested areas were scarce, and the suns barely shone enough for crops to grow. She wondered why anyone would choose to live there when the lands of the Empire were so much more fertile, lush, green…full of life.
“I want to go home,” she finally said, turning to Xavon.
“Then home we shall return, my sweet Brynaxia,” he purred, offering her his hand.
She hesitated, but only for a moment, before taking it in her own. No sooner had their fingers touched than she felt as though her skin, her bones, her very soul was pulled from her and then returned just as quickly. She was there, but then gone again, only to return.
When she returned, she was not where she had just been.
She blinked as the bright, warm light hit her cheeks.
She knew that warmth. Knew that light.
Slowly she opened her eyes. They were surrounded by gnarled trees and green underbrush, the warmth she felt provided by the suns’ rays that shone through the canopy above her. It was quiet—quieter than she would have expected, but still familiar.
She was home.
She was back in the Empire.
They had to walk a bit, as Xavon informed her porting directly into the palace was ill-advised, especially when their presence remained unknown, so they traveled on foot from a wooded outcropping not far from the
palace’s rear wall.
The sights, smells, and sounds were mostly as she remembered—those were memories she would never forget.
But there was something…off. Something was missing. She realized there was no sign of life. No woodland creatures, no birds in the sky. Something had pushed them all away, or they had made the choice to leave.
Hand in hand, they walked in peaceful silence through the eerie quiet as if they had never been apart all that time. Admiring the world around them and the beauty it possessed. Together they crested a grassy hill that looked out over the lands of the Empire.
Brynaxia’s breath caught in her throat and she stopped, as though frozen where she stood.
Where she expected to see the lush gardens that she remembered and had loved so much, there was nothing but a barren, war-torn wasteland.
A circle of death and destruction that covered everything she once held dear.
“What happened here?” she could barely ask, unable to take her eyes off of the ruined world before her. It was as though every speck of life had been plucked from the ground.
“When you…left,” Xavon uttered, “Leminol became unstable. His temper was unlike anything ever seen before. This was the result.”
“Was anyone hurt?” she asked hoarsely.
She heard him sigh next to her. “Nearly five hundred innocents…”
Her head whipped toward him, despite the pounding in her temple.
“Leminol became a man possessed and blamed everyone but himself for what happened to you. Even me…”
“But…” she started, looking back to the devastation. “What happened to him?”
“It’s unknown. Some say he took his own life as penance for the horrors he inflicted upon the Empire. Others say a mutinous group of outlanders killed him in retribution. Either way, Brynaxia, he is gone and we are here, and we are going to set things right.”
Perhaps it was due to being so close to her palace again, or maybe it was because of the anger building inside of her, seeing what Leminol had done, but the relentless pain within her head grew stronger.