by Aja James
For, it was the tradition of the Royal House of Anatolia that the strongest male rule. It was expected that the incumbent ruler be challenged—and killed—by a warrior who was stronger.
It had been several summers since his son had exceeded the Prince’s strength and prowess. Now, as a full-blooded male of twenty, the son was widely regarded as the mightiest warrior across the Akkadian empire.
The Prince did not know why his son didn’t challenge him; it was all but certain that his son would win. The Prince lived in fear and apprehension every night as the son’s powers grew, both physically and metaphysically.
The Prince was not ready to die or to cede his rule. So he devised a plan that would take his son far away from Anatolia—permanently.
On one of the Prince’s rare visits to the capital city of Akkad to consult with the Dark Queen Ashlu, he brought his son with him.
“Prince Elam,” Queen Ashlu greeted from upon her giant gold throne on a raised dais several feet above the limestone ground.
On each side of her sat identical smaller thrones also made of gold, one encrusted with purple amethysts, the other decorated with yellow gems. One was empty, the other occupied by a girl of perhaps ten summers. She must be one of the Royal Princesses.
One of the prophesized twins.
“What an unexpected treat,” Queen Ashlu said. “I have not seen you for…oh, it must be several decades at least.”
Though the beautiful Dark Queen addressed her words to the Prince, her sharp eyes were focused on the Prince’s son beside him.
“My Queen,” the Prince said with a formal bow, though he did not kneel on one leg with the depth of esteem expressed by every other member of the Dark nobility toward their Queen.
After all, the Prince regarded all females as inferior. Queen Ashlu was the only exception. But he would never consider her above him.
“You have brought a new warrior with you,” Queen Ashlu noted softly, keeping her gaze on the Prince’s son.
Her unspoken command for the Prince to make an introduction was received loud and clear.
“I present to you my son, Lord Wind,” the Prince said, infusing pride he didn’t feel into his voice.
He was here to sell the male, after all.
“Lord Wind,” the Queen mused, continuing to stare fixedly at the warrior, who kept his eyes lowered as protocol required.
“Regard me.”
The Prince’s son raised his eyes to look fully upon the Dark Queen.
She was legendary for her beauty, wisdom and ruthlessness. She’d ruled over the empire for almost three millennia, the longest of any Dark Queen in their Kind’s venerated histories.
The Prince’s son felt nothing as he looked upon her.
Not awe, not lust, not appreciation. Merely indifference and distance. The same absence of emotion he felt toward all living beings except his men.
The one emotion he understood was loyalty.
The Queen stared intently into his eyes for a long time. He felt as if she were trying to see into his soul.
There was nothing interesting to see, he was sure. He wondered sometimes whether he had a soul at all.
“Anunit,” she said, finally turning to the Princess seated beside her. “Why don’t you show Lord Wind around the Palace grounds and make sure he is well situated and supplied with whatever he needs.”
Queen Ashlu turned back to the Prince and smiled silkily.
“Prince Elam, I hope you intend to stay a while at the Palace as my honored guest. We have much to discuss, you and I.”
“Of course, my Queen,” the Prince replied with another bow. He nodded to the Princess as well. “Your Highness.”
Princess Anunit stepped gracefully down from the dais and came to stand before the Prince’s son.
“Come, Lord Wind,” she invited in a lilting voice, “I shall show you to your rooms.”
As the Prince’s son walked away from the throne room with the Royal Princess, he did not look around him to take in the glorious riches of the Ivory Palace. He was blind to all the hand-painted scrolls, the intricately carved and gold-leafed ceilings, the gemstones that glittered in their path, embedded in the limestone ground.
The colors, riches, sparkles and glitter did not register in his mind; he took no pleasure in the beauty that surrounded him.
“What is your given name, Lord Wind?” the Princess beside him asked as they walked, regarding him with large, dark eyes.
“I do not know.”
She was so startled she paused in her step.
“Truly? But how can that be? Does everyone, including your own father, call you Lord Wind? Why do they call you such?”
The Prince’s son was not used to conversing with others. Days could go by and he might never speak a word between them.
He didn’t want to answer questions, but because it was the Dark Queen’s daughter, the Royal Princess, he knew that ignoring her was not an option.
“My father calls me ezeru or dalkhu most often, or whoreson if he’s particularly displeased. My men have called me Enlil, Lord Wind, since I was a boy, because of my unique abilities.”
“Curse, demon or whoreson,” the Princess murmured to herself, continuing to assess the male beside her with curious eyes.
“I think I prefer Enlil. It suits you,” she said finally, smiling at him.
He did not see her smile, keeping his gaze focused straight ahead. He did not care for the preferences of a little girl.
“What does your homeland look like? Is Anatolia anything like Akkad?”
“It is barren desert surrounded by rock mountains, from which we mine the metal for our weapons,” he replied perfunctorily.
“So very different from here then,” she mused, as they passed by manicured lawns and regimented rows of tall cypress trees, standing like sentries around the inner courtyard enclosed by a twenty-foot wall.
“What is your life like there? What do you do for entertainment and leisure?”
“I train, I fight. I drink, eat and sleep. That is all.”
He was beginning to wonder just where it was she was taking him. Surely they did not have to walk miles to arrive at his chambers?
“Is there no music? Do you like books? Surely there must be many comely females—”
“No.”
It was impolite to cut the Princess off mid-sentence, but he really didn’t have patience for her questions. He wanted to be alone in quiet and find a large-enough space to meditate and continue his training.
She did not seem offended by his abruptness. If he looked at her, he’d see that she was smiling.
“This is the first time in my brief life that the Anatolian Prince visited our Palace,” she related. “I have always looked forward to meeting him, having heard so much about your province’s extraordinary warriors. We have a dozen or so stationed here at the Palace. They are the elite fighters in Mother’s personal guard.”
He made no comment, as none seemed required.
“Here they are now,” she said, as an organized group of black-robed males approached them from the right.
“Your Highness,” the leader of the group greeted, and they all went down on one knee before her.
Then they turned, as one, toward the Prince’s son and tapped their right fist against their chest twice in the gesture of honor.
“Master,” the leader said, and they all bowed their heads before him.
“I am not your Master,” the Prince’s son refuted. “You answer to my sire.”
But the group of shadow warriors remained on their knees with their heads bowed.
“We serve he who is strongest,” the leader stated. “We are honored to serve you, Lord Wind.”
The Princess Anunit watched this entire exchange with fascination, her eyes glittering with acute intelligence.
They walked on, and she showed him the vast Palace gardens in the back, filling his ears with idle, lighthearted chatter.
He heard none of what she s
aid, remaining by her side out of duty rather than desire.
But then she startled him by taking hold of his hand in hers.
Surprised at the uninvited contact, he forgot the respect he owed a person of her station and looked into her eyes.
And became entrapped within the bottomless dark pools.
“You are very beautiful, Lord Wind,” she said in that strange girlish yet womanly voice. “The most beautiful male I have ever seen. And legendary in your fighting prowess across the lands. I have heard much about your conquests. You are reputed to be the mightiest of all the shadow warriors.”
He did not reply, as no response seemed required, but a part of him felt a stirring of some sort of emotion at the girl’s bold speech.
Amusement? Chagrin?
Whatever it was he felt, the Princess had captured his full attention, especially with her next words:
“One day, Enlil of Anatolia,” she said softly but resolutely, “you will be mine. I will make it so before you leave here. I will mark you so that no other female shall have you. For I never share what is mine.”
The Prince’s son swallowed and shivered as the air around him seemed to deaden with an oppressive weight, as if even now, the small girl before him was staking her claim.
Just as suddenly, she let go of his hand and walked on, leaving him to trail behind her spritely steps.
“Your rooms are this way,” she said cheerfully, flashing a brilliant grin at him over her shoulder.
“I hope you enjoy your stay.”
By the time the Prince and his son left the Capital City of Akkad, the son had been betrothed to the Princess Anunit, and as such, he would hence forth have no female, and no female would have him, just as the girl had boasted.
Well, it was not such a boast after all, it seemed, but a solemn promise fulfilled.
Instead of remaining with her to train as her Consort until the time she would be ready to Mate him, by her twentieth name day, the Princess released Lord Wind to return to his homeland until she required him.
She told him telepathically, as Queen Ashlu made the formal announcements, that she would take pleasure in training him herself.
The Prince was extremely pleased.
He even cracked a smile or two on the way back to Anatolia. Now, he could rule over his principality without the threat of Challenge from his more powerful son. And he did not need to produce another son as long as this one lived.
For, the Blooded Mate of ostensibly the next Dark Queen, as Anunit was the elder Princess, would have to give up all of his previous titles, possessions, and responsibilities. The sole purpose of his new role would be to fulfill all of his Mate’s wants and needs.
His sons would be sent back to Anatolia to carry on the shadow arts, for males could not inherit the Dark throne. His daughters would be groomed to be the next Queen. Already, the Prince’s son was being recorded in the Ecliptic Scrolls as Enlil Naram-Anu.
Enlil who belonged to Anu, beloved of Anu.
The son was now the Princess’s property, and, in exchange, the Prince was awarded six wagons of gold, four of silver, two chests of gemstones and an entire caravan of the finest Akkadian weapons.
All in all, the visit had been highly successful.
The Prince had gotten paid handsomely for getting rid of something he’d never valued nor wanted in the first place.
*** *** *** ***
It was the perfect morning to what Clara expected to be a perfect day.
Summer was in full swing in the City, the sun bright but not stiflingly hot. Large, fluffy white clouds moved across the skies like grazing sheep, and a nice little breeze kept the New York air relatively fresh despite the crowds and traffic.
Today, Clara would take Annie home.
They’d finished breakfast and had their morning classes. Jaimie was back from her emergency errand and already taking charge in a way Clara could never muster. Jaimie was a task-master and perfectionist in all things she did, while Clara was the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants sort.
It was great timing, because by early afternoon, when Annie’s math class finished, Clara and Annie could go home together.
But first she had to tell the little girl.
“Annie, sweetie,” Clara said, pulling her favorite girl in the world into a secluded corner of the third-level hallway and crouching down to be eye-level with her.
“Did you like our trip to the Park the other day?”
Annie nodded enthusiastically and beamed.
“And did you like visiting my art studio and apartment?”
More nodding, the up and down motion faster and more eager.
“Do you think you might like staying at my apartment with m—”
Before Clara even finished her sentence, Annie launched herself bodily into Clara’s arms, knocking her backwards to land in a laughing heap on the floor.
“I was about to ask if you wanted to come stay with me, and I take it from your fervent response that the answer is yes?”
More frantic head bobbing against Clara’s chest as the little girl squeezed her in a tight hug for all she’s worth.
Tears of joy welled in Clara’s eyes as she hugged Annie back and stroked her hair affectionately.
“Oh Annie,” she said, and had to clear her throat she was so overcome with emotion.
“I’m so happy, I’m over the moon! We’re going to be family, you and I. We’ll have each other from now on, and we’ll never be alone again.”
Annie pulled back a little to look into Clara’s face.
Without making a sound, she mouthed, “Mommy.”
Clara teared up some more and wiped the corners of her eyes, grinning from ear to ear at her beautiful little girl.
“Yes, sweetheart. And you’re my very own Annie.”
Hand in hand, they went to pack up Annie’s things from the room she shared with two other girls, retrieved Clara’s backpack from Jaimie’s room, said goodbye (but only temporarily, because Clara and Annie would come back for school next week until Clara figured out the best routine for Annie while she continued to work) and left together on the three o’clock bus from Brooklyn to Manhattan.
On the bus ride home, Clara chattered to Annie excitedly about what they might do on the weekend, all the while recalling her trip to the orphanage two nights ago accompanied by someone else.
As they walked home together from the bus stop, Clara kept looking behind her, all around her, hoping to see a particularly tall, dark-haired male. She even took Annie the long way through Central Park, and stopped to get two ice-cream cones like the first day she’d noticed Eli following her.
But no signs of Eli anywhere.
Her distraction was so obvious, Annie pulled on her skirt with a questioning look on her face.
Clara and Annie sat down on a park bench to devour their cones at leisure, while Clara answered Annie’s unspoken question.
“I’m just hoping to see someone I know,” she explained, delicately licking around the ice-cream to prevent it from dripping while Annie attacked hers with less precision.
Annie looked at her inquiringly.
It was uncanny how Clara understood her without having ever heard her speak.
Or maybe, Clara just thought she understood Annie. Maybe Annie was thinking all along, “Why is this woman saying such irrelevant, weird things to me?”
Clara decided to go with her original thought—that Annie and she shared a special bond and could communicate with each other subliminally.
“He’s tall, with long dark hair, longer than yours and mine. All the way past his butt!”
Annie nodded eagerly, as if she knew who Clara was talking about.
“Have you seen him too?”
More nodding.
Clara grinned, turning to face Annie fully, ice-cream temporarily forgotten, and scooted closer, heads together, like gossipy girlfriends.
“His name is Eli,” Clara shared. “I don’t know what he does for a living, but I’v
e seen him many times now. He’s…kind of like our guardian angel. Don’t you think he looks like an angel?”
Annie tilted her head to consider. Then shrugged and continued to work on her cone.
Clara smiled sheepishly.
“I guess you don’t think much of adults, huh? Not a whole lot of interest yet in boys, which is as it should be, of course.”
Annie just stared at her and licked her ice-cream.
Clara sighed and turned back to face the park, watching people jog and walk by, enjoying the beautiful summer weather.
“I like him,” she said, more to herself than to Annie. “I like him a lot. And I don’t even know him. I feel like…like he’s in some sort of pain, and he’s lost and lonely. He needs someone to take care of him. He needs—”
Annie touched her arm to get her attention, and pointed to Clara and then to herself.
“He needs us? You and me, Annie?”
The girl nodded solemnly.
Clara wrapped one arm around Annie’s shoulder and pulled her closer.
“I think you’re right, Annie. I think you might be onto something. If only we can see him again.”
*** *** *** ***
“He is gone,” the vampire reported to his commander. “We have no way of tracing him.”
“Of course not,” the Creature mused.
How could anyone pin down something as elusive as wind? Not even modern human technology could predict weather patterns and measure changes in air pressure accurately.
“What are your orders, Master?”
The Creature sighed.
Things were not going according to plan.
It should have been child’s play to abduct their target from the orphanage, but unexpectedly, Lord Wind arrived to save the day and killed the Mistress’s three remaining shadow assassins in the Americas.
There were still a few more, but they were a world away with Antonov, ensuring that he had all the protection he needed to negotiate with various international mafias for the execution of their arms trade.
This was a considerable setback.
Now, the Creature only had regularly-trained warriors at its disposal, whose skills were respectably formidable, but a lot less stealthy than shadows for the type of work it needed done.