***
Later that night, the Wizard sat in a chair, alone in the dark of his chambers, as the flickering light of candles cast dancing shadows about the room. He sipped his wine. It was his fifth glass and he was becoming quite drunk. He grew angrier and angrier as he stared at the door. He was upset at how his mother had acted with Anne. Later Lilit had pulled him aside and told him to be kind to Anne. Why? He was the Emperor. She was nothing but a woman. A woman should know her place. Finally, there was a soft knock.
“Enter,” he sneered. The door opened slowly and Ariana stepped inside. Her long, black hair fell over her violet gown. She curtsied low to him. “You’re late,” he said as he drained his glass.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” Ariana said. “Please forgive me.”
But the Wizard was too drunk and angry to give forgiveness that easily. “Disrobe,” he commanded and Ariana stood straight and unlaced the gown allowing it to fall to the floor at her feet. She stepped out of it and smiled seductively.
The Wizard did not return the smile. “Ask my forgiveness, again,” he ordered.
Ariana swallowed hard. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty,” she said.
“Beg me,” the Wizard sneered. “Like a dog.” With that his eyes glanced at the floor, making it clear that he expected her down there.
Ariana slowly lowered herself down to her hands and knees in front of him. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty,” she said softly. Suddenly, she felt a sharp sting upon her cheek and saw a switch in the Wizard’s hand. She reached her hand up to her face and felt warm blood. She could not believe it. The last few months he had certainly been abusive to her, humiliating her, spanking her, but he never touched her face, never left a mark that would be visible when clothed.
“I see that you need to be treated like a dog to learn obedience,” the Wizard growled as he struck her upon the other cheek. Ariana yelped and then began to cry. “Crawl on your belly, dog!” he shouted as he brought the switch down hard across her back. Ariana yelped again as she fell to her belly on the cold floor and crawled to him.
Chapter 5
The next day, Anne sat in a soft cushioned chair wearing a light pink robe. She had just been bathed and now Ella stood behind her brushing her hair while a servant knelt on the floor, smoothing the callouses from her feet with a rough stone. Anne was smiling to herself. Soon she would be empress and rule all of the realm. There was a soft knock at the door and a servant rushed over and opened it to reveal Ariana. The young queen was bade inside and came to stand before Anne.
Anne looked up at her. Ariana’s face showed bruises and her cheeks were slashed where the switch had landed. Anne’s eyebrows arched upward. “My, my,” she said. “Tamesis must have had quite the temper last night.” Anne suppressed a smile, enjoying the fact that the Wizard was surely angry that his mother had been so submissive to Anne.
“He did, Your Majesty,” Ariana said, giving Anne the title she would soon possess.
“You have been told that you shall be serving as one of my ladies in waiting?” Anne asked.
Ariana nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Anne smiled. She waved the servant girl at her feet away.
“Kneel down and tend to my feet,” she said with a sneer.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ariana replied and then stepped forward before lowering herself to both knees and lifting the stone and continuing to smooth Anne’s foot.
Anne smiled smugly, as she enjoyed watching her rival for the crown serve her on her knees. “I hope you are comfortable on your knees because you are going to spend a lot of time there,” she said.
Ariana looked up at her and tilted her head to the side. “Does Your Majesty think it bothers me to serve you?” she asked. “It is an honor.” Ariana then bent down and pressed her lips gently to the top of Anne’s foot. “It is the greatest honor I could ever have.”
Anne turned and glanced at Ella quizzically, but the younger girl shared her look of confusion. “But you wanted the crown for yourself,” Anne said accusingly as she turned back to face Ariana. “You wanted to be empress.”
Ariana shook her head as she placed her hand on her chest demonstrating surprise to the accusation. “I would never dare to wear your crown, Your Majesty. You are the rightful ruler of the Realm.”
Anne was shocked. She didn’t really know how to respond. Clearly Ariana was lying. “You lay with Tamesis,” she said pointing accusingly at Ariana. “He beats you. Look what he did to your face. Why would you endure that nasty old man beating on you unless you wanted the crown?” Anne demanded with a shout.
Ariana looked down at the floor and Anne watched as she wiped tears from her eyes. The young queen tried hard not to begin weeping. After a moment she composed herself and looked back up at Anne. “I endure it,” she said as she tried to suppress a sob, “so that he will not do it to you,” Ariana said meekly. “I adore you.”
Anne sat back in her chair and placed her hand over her mouth. She turned to look at Ella who stared wide-eyed at Ariana, her hand also over her mouth. Anne looked back at Ariana, who had her head bowed as she fought the tears. Tears began to well in Anne’s eyes as well. She could not believe that someone would do that for her. No one had ever shown that sort of kindness to her.
Anne pushed herself from her chair and knelt down beside Ariana wrapping her arms around her. She pulled Ariana’s head down to her shoulder and stroked her hair as Ariana let go of her emotions and began to weep uncontrollably. “Oh my darling, it is alright,” Anne said comfortingly. “Everything is going to be alright.”
Anne wondered what she was getting herself into. Was a crown worth marrying such a man? Tears streamed down her own cheeks as she realized the future that awaited her. A future she herself had engineered. She missed Orrick so much.
***
Sir Orrick had been very kind and gentle to Anne—treating her like the queen she always wanted to be. Unlike the Wizard, Orrick’s touch had been soft as he caressed her in his arms. After a week in Avonvale, he had to leave, but he left something of himself behind.
It wasn’t long before Anne’s mother recognized that she was with child. Her parents whisked her away from the court at Avonvale as quickly as they could to avoid the scandal an unwed mother would bring to the family. No one knew how to find Sir Orrick so there was no way to make an honest woman of Anne, thus the only way to save the situation was to hide the fact that she had had a baby.
Anne remembered the day her son was born as if it were yesterday. She had laid in bed screaming with pain, the midwife urging her to push, while Anne cried out for her mother, but her mother did not come. Her mother simply ignored her as if she were some peasant whore.
Finally, Anne heard the cry of a babe and the midwife held up the small child—a healthy baby boy. She wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to Anne. The small baby smiled at his mother as he laid in her arms. Even at such a young age he looked like his father. Anne wept as she watched her child. She gently bent over and kissed the babe on his forehead.
Suddenly, her door burst open and Anne’s mother entered the room. Anne smiled at her. “You’re a grandmother,” Anne said as she held up the baby. Without a word, the Lady Aville snatched her grandson from Anne’s arms and swept out of the room. “Mother!” Anne shouted after her. “Mother, where are you going?” She began to get angry and delirious. “Bring me my son!” she shouted.
Anne’s father later explained that he had found a good home for the child. The midwife had known of a widow who had always wanted a child, but could not have one of her own. Lord Bronwyn assured Anne that he had paid the lady handsomely and that neither she, nor Anne’s son, would ever want for anything. Bronwyn wouldn’t admit it, but Anne knew it was her mother’s doing. Her mother was more concerned with her family’s reputation in court than her own daughter and grandson.
When she heard this, Anne had silently wished her mother would die. To Anne’s complete surprise, Lady Aville took ill the very next day and a week
later was laid to rest in the family burial ground. Bronwyn did not take his wife’s death well. He wept for months, refusing to see anyone, even his children, and blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong. Finally, one day he called Morgan into his study and spoke to him at length. Morgan would never tell Anne what was discussed, but Anne knew it must be something scandalous. The next morning, Bronwyn Valestead was laid next to his wife, a year to the day after Lady Aville had died.
Chapter 6
The wind whipped across the top of the Keep as Metatron stood before the nephilim, arms crossed over his bare chest, his long golden hair blowing frantically about his head. Each nephilim stood beside his or her respective dracen—the dragons having been fitted with saddles—as they waited for the command to mount them.
“Are you ready to begin your riding training?” Metatron asked. Though still not fully grown, the dracen were finally large enough to ride and this was the first day the nephilim would do so. Each of the nephilim nodded. Each except Dillan. The young ship’s captain petted Bran’s snout nervously as he longed to be sailing across the Infinite Ocean instead of standing atop the Keep. “Well, mount up,” Metatron commanded.
The nephilim mounted their dracen as they had been taught and had practiced. Metatron had spent the last week with them sitting upon the backs of their dracen, practicing the proper positions and commands that would be used in flight.
Terrwyn glanced over at Dillan excitedly, but he did not look at her. He only looked down at the top of Bran’s head as he clung tightly to the hand bars on the saddle. Reins were not used as the rider would tell the dracen where to go telepathically. Thus, the riders simply had handles to hold on to, to prevent themselves from falling off the dragon.
Metatron moved quickly to Chaundra and leapt upon her back. “Ready!” he shouted. Ashleen exchanged an excited glance with Eamon. “Let us fly!” Metatron shouted. Chaundra began to walk toward the edge of the Keep and her wings began to flap just before she reached it. She leapt out into the air flapping her great wings to propel herself upward into the sky.
Willem’s eyes went wide and his heart leapt into his throat as his dracen leapt out into nothingness, flapping its wings and flying skyward. Terrwyn let out a girlish squeal of delight as her dracen carried her off the side of the keep and into the sky. Ashleen opened her mouth, but no sound came out as her voice was lost to her, but the excitement she felt shined in her eyes. Eamon laughed gleefully as his dracen leapt from the edge of the Keep and flew away with the others.
The group of dracen flew upward and then leveled out. “Let us stretch our wings,” Chaundra said to the others. She pushed faster and faster. Metatron turned in his saddle to see the nephilim behind him. He saw Terrwyn and Ashleen, Willem and Eamon—all smiling broadly and excitedly. Metatron’s face turned to a scowl when he realized Dillan was not with them.
“Dillan and Bran are not with us,” he told Chaundra and she turned to circle back toward the Keep to find the missing nephilim and dracen, with the others following close behind. As they approached the Keep they saw Dillan sitting upon Bran’s back staring down at the ground. “Circle the Keep!” Metatron told Chaundra and then leapt from her back and fluttered down to the roof of the Keep.
Dillan looked up as Metatron came down toward him, suddenly wishing desperately that he had sailed north to Caerwynspire along with his crew and Ashleen’s Paladin. The seraph landed beside Bran and looked the dracen in the eye. “What is wrong?” he asked.
“He won’t let me fly,” Bran said. “He is frozen with fear and that prevents me from flying.”
Metatron looked up at Dillan. “Why are you afraid of flying?” Metatron asked.
“I’m not afraid of flying,” Dillan said. “I am afraid of falling.”
“Bran will keep you safe, I promise,” Metatron assured him.
“I will Dillan,” Bran promised. “I won’t let you fall.”
“You are actually quite safe up there,” Metatron said.
“Easy for a guy with his own wings to say,” Dillan shot back.
Metatron stared at him. He realized he was never going to be able to talk Dillan into releasing his fear of heights. “Alright, Dillan, climb down. Let Bran join the others.”
Dillan nodded. He climbed out of the saddle and slid down Bran’s side to the top of the Keep. He looked at his dracen. “I am sorry, Bran,” he said.
“It’s alright, Dillan,” Bran said. Dillan turned to Metatron. The seraph smiled.
“Let’s try something else,” Metatron said.
“What?” Dillan asked.
“It’s a trust exercise, between you and your dracen,” Metatron said.
“Alright,” said Dillan. Just as the word left his lips, Metatron grabbed him and darted to the edge of the Keep where he threw Dillan over the side.
Dillan screamed as he fell, fell, fell. The ground grew closer and closer as Dillan’s velocity increased. He was about to die and he could not believe it was at Metatron’s hands. Dillan’s life flashed before his eyes. The joy and pain. He cursed himself as he had not accomplished two things before his death. He had not slain the Black Knight and he had not told Terrwyn he loved her. Dillan closed his eyes to accept his fate and just as he was expecting to crash into the rocks below he felt the leather of the dracen saddle. He opened his eyes to find himself flying just above the ground on the back of Bran.
“Hang on!” Bran shouted and Dillan quickly found the hand grips. He clasped them and then pulled himself astride of his dracen as the young dragon turned skyward. Dillan turned to glance over his shoulder and watched as they streaked away from the ground.
Bran barreled into the sky before leveling out. The dragon fully extended its wings to glide upon the air current. He turned his head to see Dillan riding astride him, looking at the ground below. “You see?” Bran said happily. “I told you I would not let you fall.”
“Alright,” Dillan said. “I believe you.”
He caught something out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Metatron flying beside him on the back of Chaundra. “Trust your dracen,” Metatron shouted, “and there will be no reason to fear flight!”
Dillan nodded. “We’ll discuss your teaching methods when we get back to the Keep!” Dillan returned. Metatron laughed boisterously as Chaundra flew past Dillan and Bran to take the lead. Terrwyn and Ashleen flew up on either side of Dillan.
“Good to have you with us!” Ashleen shouted with a smile and then her dracen darted off after Chaundra and Metatron.
Dillan turned to look at Terrwyn. She smiled excitedly at him and he returned her smile. She was so beautiful flying high above the realm, her auburn curls fighting against the clasp to fly free and dance in the wind. He made a silent vow to himself to tell her how he felt about her the next time he had an opportunity.
“Think you can keep up?” she laughed as her dracen darted out in front.
Eamon and Willem flew by next. “Thought we lost you for a second, Dillan!” Eamon shouted.
“Me too!” Dillan shouted back as the boy flew past.
“Glad you learned to fly Bran instead of becoming a grease stain on the rocks,” Willem shouted.
“Thanks Will!”
“Now we just have to teach you how to properly use a sword and maybe you won’t be a complete liability during the coming war.”
Dillan laughed. Willem flew past him with a smile and Dillan laid his head down on Bran’s neck as they flew behind the others. “Thank you, Bran,” Dillan said softly.
“Anytime,” Bran replied. “Hold on tight,” he said.
Dillan lifted his head to see Chaundra and Metatron diving toward the earth and Ashleen, Terrwyn, Eamon, and Willem doing the same. Suddenly, it was Bran’s turn and Dillan squeezed the hand grips tightly as his dracen dove toward the ground far below. His stomach flew up into his throat as they flew faster and faster. Dillan could see the coastline approaching quickly.
The dracen flew toward the sea and just
before they crashed into it, they pulled up and soared along the coastline. Dillan gave an excited yell as he looked at the priests far below, staring at them as they flew along the coast of Avalon.
Chapter 7
The day of the imperial wedding had finally arrived. Anne looked stunning in her long, flowing, red gown. It had been a fight to have the gown and ceremony that she desired. The Shebath priests that Tamesis had invited to the palace wanted to preside over a dark ritual that would have included worship of the Dark Lord and most importantly, a blood sacrifice. Everyone, including the bride, would have been dressed completely in black. When the priest was discussing the ceremony, Anne had glanced at Ella to see the young Princess’ reaction. Ella had stood wide-eyed and pale faced. When the priest began to explain the blood sacrifice of a virgin followed by unnatural acts upon her corpse, Anne thought Ella was going to faint. It was then that Anne had had enough and held up a hand silencing him.
Anne had turned to Tamesis and informed him, in no uncertain terms, that she would have a traditional Valish wedding, full of vibrant colors, and certainly lacking the blood sacrifice of anyone or anything upon any altar or otherwise.
Tamesis had stared down at her. “This is what is required by the Lord Shebath,” he said.
Anne narrowed her eyes at him. She knew Tamesis did not care one bit about the ceremony, nor of rituals to the Dark Lord. He was simply trying to annoy her. So she decided to show she had absolutely no interest in the Dark religion at all.
Anne had laughed. “Well, when His Supreme Darkness gets married he can have any ceremony he desires, but since this is my wedding, I intend to have the ceremony of my dreams, not the one of my nightmares,” she had informed him. She heard Ella breathe a sigh of relief and glanced over at the girl shooting her a quick wink.
The priest, some Astroff or another, gasped at Anne’s apparent blasphemy, but Anne did not care. She was not a Shebath worshiper and did not intend to become one on her wedding day. She had dreamed of a big, beautiful wedding since she was a small girl, but none of her fantasies had ever included murder or necrophilia.
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