Two Thousand Years

by M. Dalto

  The Empress' face had gone ghostly white. Reylor had hoped she would have had a stronger stomach for violence. “Come, Empress, don't look so surprised. We don't get what we want if our underlings don't fear us.”

  He sat her down in the opposite chair at his table while he took his own. “I do hope you're not going to try to run. I'd hate to have to damage your ankle further by putting it back in another chain.”

  She shook her head vigorously but remained silent with her head down.

  “Good. Now let us eat,” he instructed as he motioned to the food before them.

  She didn't move and kept her eyes in her lap.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged and proceeded to enjoy his dinner in silence.

  She decided to speak a few moments later, her voice chiming like bells in his ears.

  “He'll come for me.”

  He looked up. The hatred in her eyes could have turned a weak man's stomach. Lucky for Reylor, he was not a weak man. Instead, he relished in her anger. Just the fact that he finally had her sitting across from him, and no longer in Treyan's betraying arms was enough to render him unfazed and content.

  He put his fork down and wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. This was not exactly how he imagined their initial conversation would start, but he'd work with what he had.

  “You can keep telling yourself that, but he and I both know that he would not survive a moment beyond the Borderlands. Both he and the Councillor believe he is too precious to the Empire to lose, so much so that he most likely won't even try at a rescue attempt on his own. As for you,” he added as he reached over the table and held her chin in his hand so that her eyes had to remain on him, “you are too precious to me to lose, so rest assured you at least have that going for you.”

  She glared at him and wriggled her head away from his hand.

  He sat back down, crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. “All else will take time, I know, and eventually you will learn that I'm not the demonic traitor Treyan has insinuated I am.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Do you still not understand, Alexstrayna? You are nothing more than a pawn to be used by the Empire.”

  “You have no idea what you're talking about. You're the one who threw it all away!”

  “Which is the reason why I am the only one who knows what they're talking about!”

  Reylor slammed his fist on the table and stood up, his rage rising. He promised himself he would not lose his temper with her, but after so many years of repressing his emotions, he found it hard to control them. He needed to learn quickly or else all of his efforts would be for naught, so he threw his napkin on the table and took a few steps away to calm himself. Knowing well that this was going to take time, taking out his frustrations on the Empress would only set him back further.

  Clenching his fists and releasing them to ease his emotions, he turned back to where she remained at the table, her empty eyes following his every move.

  “I assume, by now, you are aware of the Annals within the palace's library.”

  She hesitated before answering, and then nodded. “They said you tried to destroy it.”

  “It's good to see the Councillor is keeping you up to date with the Empire's history as well as its current events. But did he tell you why?”

  “Only that you didn't agree with what you’d read.”

  He laughed. This was going to be more entertaining than he expected.

  She perked a brow. “I don't think I said anything funny.”

  He walked over to her and braced himself on the arms of her chair, leaning in close to her face. “The Annals are a predestined menace, written by some long-dead delusional nobody who claimed to be a prophet. Ever since its inception, that damn book has been ruining the lives of my family for generations with no other justification than birthright!”

  She shied away from him, but whether it was out of discomfort or fear, it mattered not.

  Sighing at her uneasiness, he stood again. “At the end of the day, this Prophecy they've drilled into your head is nothing more than a warped manipulation. The only reason the Empire believes they have the upper hand is because they retrieved you first. Now, I must take it upon myself to instruct you in how things should have been rather than how you think they have to be, and soon you'll be as enlightened as I have become.”

  She scoffed. “It sounds to me like nothing more than a child having a temper tantrum because he found out that he wasn't going to get what he wanted. It serves you right, anyway,” the Empress threatened as she stood from her chair. “Treyan told me you couldn't leave well enough alone. You received exactly what you deserved.”

  “No, Empress, it was Treyan who couldn't leave well enough alone. I dreamt of you first. You were mine to retrieve. But they refused to listen to me, and that damn book...”

  He could feel his temper rise again and had to take a breath as he started pacing.

  “I was so close, but you remember, I'm sure.” He turned to her, raising his arms around him. “Now here we are. I suppose I've done well enough for myself seeing as I started out with nothing, no thanks to your Prince or the Empire, but...”

  “It's more than you deserve!” She took a step towards him.

  “No, Empress. I deserve more. I deserve you.”

  That stopped her in her tracks.

  “Of course, I believed I had more time, but it seemed Treyan turned out to be more obsessed with you than I expected. I do still wonder how long he had lived in that realm of yours to track you down with such precision.”

  “You make it sound like I’m no more than a prize—”

  “Aren’t you?” He stopped pacing to face her.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she protested.

  “I'm assuming he didn't give you much choice in the matter, did he?”

  “What matter?”

  “The choice of whether or not you wanted to come to the Empire in the first place.”

  She didn’t say anything in response, but she didn’t need to—the look of thoughtful contemplation mixed with utter disbelief was answer enough. Would she remember that, in the end, it was Treyan who forcefully removed her from her quiet life, and not Reylor who had brought her into this situation to begin with?

  He walked over to where she was standing, wanting so much to take her body in his arms. “Here, Alexstrayna, I will never force you upon your will...”

  “Except for the kidnapping and chaining me to a bed like a prisoner, you mean?”

  “A minor setback for the greater good.”

  “The greater good.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Yes. The greater good, Empress, where you will learn that the choice of who you will spend the rest of your life with is still your own, and not predetermined for you just because a delusional prince put a ring on your finger.”

  The sound of the slap across his cheek resounded throughout the room.

  Reylor looked at her, not sure whether to laugh in astonishment or hit her back in fury. Instead, he snapped his fingers, and two minions placed as guards outside of his chamber door entered upon his request.

  “The Empress grows weary. Bring her back to her quarters. Make sure there is food available to her, no need to need to shackle her, but do not allow her to leave until she is properly rested.”

  “What?” Alexstrayna protested as the guards hoisted her up and dragged her from the room.

  Reylor watched as they brought her down the hallway, and once they were out of sight he sat back down in his chair, releasing a deep breath, and returned to his meal.

  Tomorrow would be a better day.

  22

  The mages unceremoniously discarded Alex into her designated room for the fifteenth time since she had been in Reylor's castle, and without a word turned around, locking the door behind them. She knew because she rushed the door every time, trying to get it open. Every day she would try the door, and every time it would still be locked.r />
  She was still a prisoner.

  Of course, he had given her the option again, as he had every time before. He proposed she divorce the Empire and become his Empress in the Borderlands. And every time she refused him.

  And she would continue to refuse him every time he asked.

  His advances had become more aggressive as the days went on as well. A kiss soon turned into a bite, a grope turned into a grab. She took each assault quietly and only allowed any tears that came to arrive out of his sight.

  She leaned against the door, trying her best to assess her situation. There was something different about this last encounter. He was too forceful this time, almost desperate. It felt as though Reylor was restraining himself for some reason—she knew what he was capable of, had witnessed it in her own nightmares. Sooner or later, he wasn’t going to hold back from his advances, and she was going to have to tread lightly if she was going to get out of this situation unscathed.

  The room that had become her home for the last two weeks remained the living nightmare that it was, and she swallowed the lingering panic every time she returned to it. It was obvious Reylor worked with what he knew, and she never allowed herself to contemplate what else could very well happen here the moment Reylor deemed it so.

  She started pacing around the room. Fifteen times she had been brought to Reylor's room, and therefore it had been fifteen days since she was taken from the palace. She was convinced there was a rescue attempt in the works. Why else would Reylor have been acting so anxious during their last meeting? The only thing Alex couldn't figure out was why was it taking so long?

  Her thoughts stopped here in front of the floor-length mirror hanging on the front of the room's armoire. Before her stood the Empress with her hair disheveled and face smudged with dirt, wearing a dress of black and red that closely resembled the garb from her dreams. She had ransacked the room when she first arrived, desperate for something else to wear, but to her dismay there was nothing more than low-cut, dark-material dresses available to her. She refused to walk around Reylor's castle naked, so the hellish gown it would have to be.

  Frustrated, she sat down on the edge of the bed. Try as he might to convince her both the Empire and the Prophecy were wrong, nothing Reylor did helped his case one bit. Between kidnapping, torture, and imprisonment, he did little to make her feel as though she had any choice in what happened to her, regardless of how much he insisted that in the end, the concept of choice was what this entire situation was all about.

  Choice.

  All of this began when Reylor refused to accept his lack of choice. Instead, he chose to betray his family and attempted to destroy the very book their legacy was built upon. In turn, his own brother chose to banish him from their Empire; Treyan chose the Prophecy—chose her—over his twin.

  What about her choice?

  Was she given a choice that night in her apartment, as Reylor suggested? She tried not to remember her last moments in Boston—the moment she started questioning one event would lead to the dissection of other incidents she was not ready to engage at that moment.

  But could she blame Treyan for his urgency? He was in a battle against time and Reylor, so far as she was concerned.

  Wasn't he?

  If he was so concerned for her well-being, where was he?

  Sighing, she held her head in her hands. Alex knew Treyan would never make it to the castle unscathed, and even if he tried, the chances of him being captured were too great, and having both of them on this side of the Borderlands would do the Empire no good.

  But where the hell was he?

  Was it possible that Treyan trusted her own abilities enough to expected her to escape on her own? Could she do so undetected and meet him beyond the tree line, safely in the Empire? Was that the cause of the delay, and it was she who chose to drag it out?

  No. She wasn’t going to allow Reylor to play these mind games with her. She had a choice in becoming the Empress, and in giving her hand to Treyan.

  She knew she did.

  She knew she needed to get back to him as soon as possible.

  Back to him and the Empire.

  She shook her head. Enough was enough. She was getting out of here before this place drove her insane.

  Picking up her skirts and glancing over her shoulder to make sure the door remained shut, she began scouring the room, looking for any possible way out. But there was nothing to pick a lock, nothing she could throw to break a window.

  The windows! She didn't know why she hadn't thought about them before.

  She followed the wall until she came across a pair of heavy drawn curtains. Flinging them open, she was face to face with a pair of glass doors that led to a small terrace. Reciting a silent prayer, her hands found the handles, turned them together, and pushed.

  The doors flung wide open, allowing a burst of cold air to blow into the room.

  Shivering, she held her arms around her and stepped barefoot onto the balcony. The sky had a cloudy overcast haze. She didn't remember seeing the suns once since she’d been there, but there wasn't much for them to shine upon anyway. The landscape surrounding the castle was craggy, rocky, and truly treacherous for anyone to navigate. In the distance she could see the tree line that separated the Borderlands from the Empire, but it was so dense she couldn't see anything beyond it.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked to the edge and bent over the rail.

  Directly below awaited the castle's main entrance, and though she was only one floor above, it was still a long way down. She needed a rope.

  As soon as she had a spark of an idea, she rushed back into the bedroom and started tearing down the curtains. She removed all usable bed sheets from the mattress, and soon she sat on the floor with a pile of materials as tall as she was. She began tearing and braiding and weaving until the natural light from the window faded and her eyes began to strain in the darkness.

  She knew someone would come see her soon, delivering her dinner. She always ate at dusk for they didn't trust her with candles, but her makeshift rope still wasn't long enough, and she was running out of time.

  She was contemplating the fabric of her dress, and if the skirt's material would be strong enough to hold her weight, when something suddenly made her stop and listen.

  It was a click, like that of a door locking.

  Or unlocking.

  She immediately left her pile of tapestries and quietly made her way to the door, held her ear up to it and listened intently.

  Nothing.

  She remained there, waiting, but still there was only silence.

  Cautiously her hand touched the knob of the door, and she turned it, just as slowly.

  The handle turned without resistance and the door opened before her.

  She let out a breath. This seemed too good to be true, but she wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to figure it out. She assumed one of the mages must have forgotten to lock the key completely during their last disbursement, and she left it at that as she walked from the room.

  The hall before her was quiet but still she crept silently, sticking to the walls and making sure each passageway was clear before she proceeded. Taking her time and using all of her energy to not sprint down the halls, hours seemed to pass and still there was not a soul in sight. She counted her blessings; the population within Reylor's castle was not the same as within the Empire. In fact, she didn't remember seeing anyone besides Reylor and his mages in her travels to and from his quarters.

  Alex turned a corner and came upon an open foyer that seemed to lead to an entryway. She stopped herself, looked around, and crouched down just to be sure no one had seen her before proceeding. When the coast remained clear, she hugged the wall until she could glance out a nearby window at her shoulder. Lifting her head just high enough to let her eyes see out, her heart flew into her throat.

  She had found the exit.

  She knew this was her chance, and any further delay would be detrimental to her increased
adrenaline. Right now, it was all about fight or flight, and she was going to live to fight another day.

  She hiked up her skirts and ran at full speed towards the doorway. When she was able to get her hands on them, she threw the doors open without a care, knowing freedom was just beyond, and she would figure out the details while she made her way back to the Empire.

  Reylor stood on the other side.

  The look in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. It looked dangerous, malicious—a hint of betrayal.

  “Empress, I should have known you were going to make this harder for yourself.”

  Before allowing him the opportunity to grab her, she immediately turned and began to run in the direction of which she came. She wouldn't go back to her prison without a fight.

  Alex didn't hear him give chase, but she didn't look back to check on his whereabouts, either. Though it was already too late by the time she felt her skin tingle against the force of his growing power behind her, she knew stopping now would be both fruitless and futile. Still she ran, even as that powerful magic field collided with her body, hurling her into the closest wall, knocking her hard enough to the ground to throw the breath from her lungs and render her totally and completely unconscious.

  23

  She heard humming.

  No, it was chanting. Low and melodic.

  It wasn't English, and though it sounded familiar, she couldn't decipher it.

  She smelled burning. Candles and incense.

  Her body ached, and she wondered if her collision had broken anything vital to her existence. The surface she laid on was softer than the floor, so at some point she was moved.

  Attempting a deep breath in, she coughed as her lungs revolted, but not enough to cause concern. At least she could breathe.

  Still, her head pounded, but was it due to a concussion or the incense?

  Only when she tried to move her hand to rub her temple did she feel the cold bit of hard metal wrapped around her wrists. Panicked, she quickly opened her eyes and looked up. Her fears were confirmed as both wrists were shackled above her head and chained to the bed's headboard.