Requiem for a Princess: The prequel to Blood of your Blood

by Reza Ali

  The princess caught sight of the lake as it appeared parallel to the pathway they rode. The moonlight glistened in the ripples. She couldn’t help but admire what a wondrous sight this presented. She felt a surge of momentary happiness just bearing witness to nature’s extraordinary beauty. Suddenly, the ripples were crudely interrupted by narrow rectangular shapes, small dugout canoes riding side by side heading ashore. She immediately cast her eyes to John.

  “John, look at the lake. Who are those people?” she shouted at the top of her voice.

  John scanned the men riding in the boats. They wore light chain mail armour with a symbol that he recognised immediately.

  “Valkray men! They are looking for us, surely.” His eyes remained planted on their canoes as he rode.

  The men hurriedly left the dugouts as they made land. There was another convoy waiting for them. They had horses, many horses, and they rode along the pathway towards the princess’ advancing convoy.

  “They are coming directly at us,” she observed as the entire convoy slowed to a trot.

  “They are on our pathway; there is no way we could outride them. We must fight them; it is the only way!” John shouted, ensuring that all the riders heard him.

  “Then fight we shall. I have been waiting for these Valkray jackanapes for many moons. Let them taste our steel. Let their blood spill over our lips so that we may taste Valkray fear. Let them know that we will not just fall for their pleasure.”

  The men greeted the princess’ words with a cheer. All except John, who frowned as he turned to her.

  “Princess, you are in no condition to fight; not today. I forbid you to participate in any battle.” John’s expression was grave.

  “John, please do not ever say that to me again. I do not take instructions kindly; not from any man. I feel well; perfect, in fact. We need all our men, including this woman.” She cast him a determined look and he knew nothing he could say would dissuade her.

  “Very well, then, My Princess. Please be very careful; you are too precious to me. If anything happened to you, I would die. I swear to that.”

  “Well, I’d best be on guard, then, because I will not have you die; not while I am here.” She smiled confidently.

  The convoy continued on the pathway, careful this time, awaiting the Valkray ambush. As the horses trotted forward, their nerves were on edge, waiting for the attack they knew was certain to come. The leaves rustled as a gentle breeze took hold, and blades of wild grass festooning the large oak trees rippled like waves spilling onto shores of tree bark. The princess heard something move amongst the high branches surrounding them.

  “They are in the trees,” she whispered to John.

  “I know; I hear them too.” He stopped the convoy and dismounted, clutching the hilt of his sword.

  Then they heard the loud trotting of horses coming directly at them. Valkray men appeared riding ahead. A convoy of twenty men on horseback stopped a few feet from John and dismounted. The men wore silver chain mail tunics and high steel-tipped boots. Their helms covered their faces completely, revealing only dark eyes with a glowing red centre.

  One of the men stepped forward to speak. “In the name of King Vaigar Valkray, first of his name, king of this realm and all gateways to and from the realm, you are ordered to surrender Lady Evangeline Brooking to our custody.”

  “Your king is not our king!” John drew his sword and the rest of the men followed his lead.

  The princess caught sight of a set of red eyes, leaning on a thick oak branch high above with a bow strung and ready to loose an arrow. She unsheathed her dagger, moved her hand to the blade so that it rested between her thumb and index finger and drew it over her shoulder, aiming at the man in the tree. She let the dagger rip. It hurtled through the air and struck the archer’s forehead, dropping him like a falling coconut. That was the signal.

  The Valkray men drew their weapons and charged from all directions. Arrows rained from the branches above. The princess watched carefully, tracing the trajectory back to the trees. She saw them all, two more carefully crouched within the security of the leaves and branches, or so they thought. She grabbed the two remaining daggers sheathed around her thigh, drew the first one over her shoulder and sent it flying towards one of the men. As it struck him between the eyes, another dagger was airborne, striking the third man as the second man hit the ground.

  An axe hurtled towards her and she leapt high into the air, somersaulting as it spun below her. She threw out a hand and plucked it from the air. As her feet touched the ground, she spun and launched it towards a group of advancing Valkray men. It gyrated through the air and sliced them open as it spun into them like a bowling ball demolishing a row of pins. Her men charged and finished them off.

  John fought three men with the two swords he wielded, one in either hand. He parried a cut from the man in front and ducked a swipe from another behind, then flung his sword behind his shoulder to parry a sideward slice. He felt as if he was in a knot, tied up in defence, not able to land a strike in attack. The hits just kept coming at him, left, right and centre. He took a deep breath and charged at the man in front of him, leaving the other two slightly behind. Without hesitation, he slammed a cut to chest. The man parried with difficulty and stumbled, and John heaved his sword in a furious strike aimed at his throat. Blood spilt as his blade tore into flesh and bone. He immediately flung his sword behind his head to parry a strike from the back. John crouched swiftly and thrust his sword in a swiping motion as he spun back up. Once more, blood spluttered as he cut into the belly of another man. He charged at the remaining man, striking him in a flat stab to his chest, piercing through chainmail and sinking deep into his heart. He took the heads of the other two men, ensuring they were dead.

  John immediately turned to find the comforting eyes of the princess. He was relieved that she was unharmed and the attack had been thwarted. He walked towards her, limping from the beating he had taken moments earlier. She walked with her usual poise and grace, never revealing her lethal battle prowess. He stood before her, taking her hands in his.

  “Here you stand as perfect as I left you,” he said, amazed by her elegance.

  “Here you stand as dishevelled as I have ever seen you.” Her tone was light-heartedly cynical.

  “Some of us have to protect others. I took at least six men,” he said timorously.

  “If I did not know you better, I would have sworn I sensed nervousness in your tone. Could the great swordsman actually be outdone by a woman?” She smiled in satisfaction.

  “General, how many men did the princess kill today?” John asked the general standing next to them.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Almost all the bodies you see around you. She has unbelievable skill; I have never seen anything like it.”

  “It seems there is no task that escapes your dexterity.” John looked at her in admiration.

  “I am a woman of many talents.” She smiled once more.

  John leant forward and kissed her softly. He placed a hand on her cheek and shook his head in amazement. “So beautiful, yet so lethal.”

  He helped her onto her silver destrier and walked towards his horse. He mounted it and looked up at her, still awed by her combat prowess. Without warning, something sprouted from his chest. It stole his breath, crunched through his ribcage and pierced his heart. He looked down to see the sharp pointed tip of a spear protruding from his chest. The princess bore an expression of incredulity; she vaulted from her horse, grabbed a spear from the ground and launched it at John’s assailant. It sank into the head of the Valkray man standing behind John. The man flew backwards with the momentum of the spear, then landed flat on his back, dead as a doornail.

  The princess ran to John. He was still mounted on the horse, looking at her as he coughed a splattering of blood. The men helped him off the horse and slowly removed the spear from his chest.

  “John, oh my sweet John!” the princess cried out in desperation.

  John’
s eyes were open, but he was fading. She knew he needed to heal quickly, to regenerate cells like they usually did at amazing speeds. However, this was a blow to his heart – a blow to the heart was fatal to a vampire; she knew that well. She took him into her arms and shook him, trying to wake him to life, trying to desperately find some way to propel his system into action. She ran her finger over the wound – it was too ghastly, not something survivable. John, you cannot leave me. Not after all I have lost; not John, please. He was fading. She could see his eyes telling her of his desperate fight to live; desperate but, failing. No! I am not going to lose you, John. Not tonight!

  She unsheathed her dagger and lanced her wrist. Blooded welled around the cut. She placed her wrist on his wound, allowing her blood to drip inside. A thread-like vein appeared from her wrist and found its way into John like a snake seeking refuge. His body responded, healing slowly, fixing his wounds by generating new cells. She desperately hoped that his heart was not damaged beyond all repair.

  “Bring Madame Cecelia to the cabin. Leave at once and please ride like the wind; John’s life will depend on you,” she ordered the general.

  The men helped John and the princess onto the horse; she sat behind him and cradled him in her arms, still intravenously supplying him with her blood. She held him tightly, balancing both him and her on the horse as it moved forward. It would ordinarily be an impossible task, but the princess’ strength emanated from her courage and she would never be found wanting for courage – not with John’s life in grave danger.

  “Hold on, John, do not leave me alone in this world,” she whispered into his ear and kissed him on the back of his head.

  “I have been a lucky man; I have the love of the most incredible woman.” His voice was faint, barely audible.

  “I love you, John; I was so blind to it for so long. Please forgive me, forgive my ignorance.” Tears streamed down her face as she spoke.

  “I am thankful; my dream came true. I loved you from the moment I saw you. My life was that of an ordinary man until you loved me back. Now I soar through the skies with wings twice my size.” His voice remained soft and weary.

  “We will fly together, John; just hold on and never let go. Hold on for me,” she pleaded as her tears flowed without restraint.

  He smiled in acknowledgment.

  * * *

  Mr Vandal opened the cabin door and the men carried John inside. They placed him on a soft mattress and Princess Evangeline lay next to him with her wrist firmly on his chest. His skin was pale, but not as pale as he had been before she gave him her blood. She lowered her head into his arms and remained in his embrace. Mr Vandal brought her stored blood in a large cast iron mug; she drank it voraciously and needed more. If her body was to keep John alive, she would need more blood – many more pails of human blood. She resolved to do anything to keep him alive. He is so special to me. I do not want to lose him. She felt weak. Her eyes could no longer remain open; everything around her faded to black.

  * * *

  “Princess Eve. Can you hear me?” A familiar voice brought her back to consciousness.

  “Madame Cecelia?” She said it with certainty even with her eyes still firmly shut.

  “It is me; you are right, Princess. I came as fast as I could,” Cecelia replied.

  “Madame Cecelia, I am so happy to see you. Look what they did to John. He is struggling to hold on. I am trying, Madame Cecelia; I swear I cannot lose him. I do not know what else to do.” Her grief all came at once and she sobbed uncontrollably.

  “Do not worry, My Princess. I will do all that I can, but you cannot keep doing this. You need your blood; you have a child inside you. The weaker you become, the greater the danger of losing him. You cannot risk your child, not under any circumstances,” Cecelia informed, speaking firmly.

  “What are we to do? I cannot let John die; he is all I have left.”

  “Princess Eve, let me take over this blood transfer and you can rest well. He can have my blood; I am strong and for me weakness does not pose any life-threating possibility.” Cecelia sliced her wrist and gently removed the princess’ hand from John’s wound, replacing it with her own as her blood dripped into the wound. The princess’ protruding vein retracted and her wound healed instantly. She remained with her head resting on John’s shoulder, feeling weak and tired. It wasn’t long before sleep took her once more.

  She dreamt again. This time, she was in the main hall of some unfamiliar castle. Gradually, things started to fill the room as she moved her eyes around in fascination. Wall sconces appeared at the centre of all the walls, burning bright orange flames. In some areas of the castle, the walls crumbled before her eyes, forming heaps of stone as high as she stood. People slowly appeared around her; a large man wearing a brown hooded cloak, and spearmen wearing chain mail tunics exactly like the ones worn by the men who had attacked them earlier. Then a knight appeared directly in front of her. He had streaks of lightning fizzing around his armour like a group of snakes hissing and spitting sparks of electric bolts. He was incredibly handsome – his eyes were beautiful turquoise just like hers and his golden hair stirred in the wind. She knew who this was; she remembered the vision through Cecelia’s flames – it was him. Something stirred inside her as she looked at her unborn son as he would be when he became this man. Pride welled inside her heart, almost overflowing and bursting through her veins. Then everything faded to black.

  “There are no losses, only goodbyes; fear nothing, for you are his favourite child!” a voice bellowed in the darkness.

  Her eyes opened to find John’s grey eyes looking at her. The sight of him warmed her heart and she smiled at him.

  “I am so happy to see you awake,” she whispered, looking into his eyes.

  “You… keep me… alive.” He found it difficult to speak and his words came slowly.

  She touched his cheek. “I would never let you die, John. I cannot lose you, not you.”

  “I am lingering here; I have to move on. I can feel it pulling hard at me. I hear them calling my name.” His voice was barely audible.

  “No! John, you cannot leave me. You promised me! You made that promise.” She leant over her hands, looking down at him desperately.

  “I am a man fulfilled by your love. I have loved for years, a man yearning for the impossible until you turned that around – until you showed me how much you loved me. You gave me legs that made me stand taller than mountains. You heard the song of my heart and you sang back to it with a song so sweet; the taste of honey lingered on my tongue as I felt it. I am eternally thankful for you.” He sounded weaker by the minute.

  “I do not want you to lose you, John. You are all I have left. You cannot die this way,” she pleaded.

  “I am already dead, My Princess. There is no other way but to let me go. I cannot hold on any longer.” He was fading now.

  She sprang up and grabbed her dagger, moving it towards her wrist, but then she felt a tight grasp on her hand.

  “No, Princess, no more blood. Please, no more. Let this happen; you cannot fight it.” His eyes were half closing.

  Her tears came suddenly and flowed like a deluge. She knew it was over; she could no longer help him. What am I to do? For a moment, she felt something stirring within, a desire to rouse internal action – to do something that would turn this hopelessness around. Her hands began shaking, her jaw clenched, her heartbeat raced like a madman thumping on jungle drums and she yelled in frustration. Then she sank her head onto John’s shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. She felt a hand gently stroking her hair; it was John, with the last ounce of strength in him.

  “Thank you for loving me so much,” he said faintly.

  “I will always love you, John.” She felt as if her heart was being torn to pieces.

  “I will always love you, My Princess.” He smiled for the last time and then his eyes closed slowly.

  She held him tightly. Her tears flowed like a raging stream after rain and her grief coiled within her
like a snake. Why does this have to happen? Why is it John? Take me! She clenched her hands tightly, her frustration palpable, then everything seemed to leave her. For that moment, she felt only sadness. She placed her forehead against John’s and felt him breathe his last breath. She leant forward and kissed him one last time.

  Chapter 9

  Grift Reaper

  It had been thirty days since John had past. Princess Evangeline had never felt so alone. She often wondered if her life was always meant to endure this endless cycle of heartache. Her sorrow consumed her completely; she spent all day alone, not wanting the company of any other. She ate nothing and lived off the meagre blood vials that Mr Vandal brought her daily. Her nights ended with her crying herself to sleep and her days began with her awakening on a moist pillow of tears. Madame Cecelia had explained to her that difficultly in life always brought with it teachings that made one stronger for the experience, as heart-wrenching as they sometimes could be. She advised the princess to look deep within and draw strength from tragedy.

  However, the princess dearly missed John – the way he had picked her up when she was so down; the way he had made her smile. She felt the world imploding around her. She realised that crying could do no good for her; being mired in the overwhelming grief that constantly built within her was not going to help her deal with her imminent challenge. She resolved that she would summon every ounce of strength within her to vanquish the cloud of despondency that rained permanently over her.

  She stood at the window and watched as the rain fell for the first time in months. It was the beginning of a long winter, as so many had predicted, but the rain never fell as hard as it did during this time of year. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The sound of raindrops echoed the sad beating of her tormented heart. Each drop descended like a parcel of misery, splashing gloom as it crashed on the blades of yellow grass. She felt the urge to stand beneath the deluge, to feel it touch her skin, to see it mask her tears. So she ran to it.