PHOENIX (The Peradon Fantasy Se )- Daccari Buchelli(ang.)

Phoenix

Daccari Buchelli

Copyright All rights reserved. © 2016 Daccari Buchelli No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner of this book. Published in the United Kingdom

Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter One “Welcome Reiza.” The young girl shook before Emperor Jugan. Her white hair and fair eyes made her appear as the innocent victim. In truth, her beauty was nothing to be fooled by. She was a Frost Seer. Her heart was as dark as the Devil itself and the Emperor knew it. The oppressive walls of the throne room gave Jugan great comfort. For others, they brought a sense of unease. The white-gold throne cradled him, his face drawn down at the corners as he gazed upon her. “Tell me, Reiza, are you certain about what you saw?” He studied her features, wondering how one so young could bear such responsibility. She was still only a novice. Nowadays, even that marked her as a precious commodity. Most ancient seers were long dead, leaving the few that were born to fend for themselves. “I am sure, your Grace. Your eldest son is destined to marry the enemy. If that happens, there is no doubt that he will have secured your throne.”

Fear crept into the Emperor's eyes. He clenched them shut, unable to rid himself of the child's words. His Eldest son, Ryore, was his greatest disappointment; so feeble and weak, as no Emperor should be. Jugan eyed the curious girl, with her long white locks and vexing beauty. The last of her kind. Jugan saw how her eyes roved about the grand throne room, seeming to memorize every detail, from its cold blue walls to the harsh glare of the lights above. All that power, he thought, and all you do is stand there, shaking. Reiza's visions had brought shocking details to light for him. While he knew she was only conveying the truth, certain details caused his mind to rage. His eldest was never to ascend his throne. He made a weak Prince and would only make a more pitiful Emperor. No. If Jugan had to plot his own son's demise, then so be it. “Young Reiza, have you told anyone else of these visions?” His tone was firm, receiving only a stern glare. “No. I have told no one else, Sire. I am loyal to our realm and only our realm.” “Good.” He admired her candour. The girl already appeared to be more promising than he had

anticipated. “Step forward!” His words were like ice, cutting across the blinding space. When Reiza took a step, he held up his palm. “Not you.” A tall figure lurked in a shadowed corner. Reiza turned. She watched in fascination as the creature appeared to materialize out of the air. Like a nighttime shadow, it glided along the cool stone floor. With it, came the strangest sensation, a tingling that started within the toes, and gradually worked up the rest of the body. The brilliant light hit its skin and every solemn feature was revealed. Reiza managed to stifle a gasp. They were no more a thing of shadow than she. A fine looking young man rose up before her, dressed head to toe in slimming black. A little muscle clung to his flesh, but what caught her attention the most were this man's eyes. They were red, beyond any she'd seen. Like pale blood-diamonds, they stared you down, piercing into the depths of your soul. Reiza hung back. That tingling. Is it him? She wondered. “Sire.” The young man's voice was as deep as those eyes. His words penetrated the very air, leaving a

terrible sense of foreboding. Reiza watched him bow low before the grand Frost Emperor. She marvelled at his lengthy hair, already a mass of silvery grey. “Welcome, Prince Arlas. You may rise.” Arlas immediately straightened. He looked to Jugan as a servant would its master. “It is good to see you once again. Still dressed as the stealthiest of shadows, I see.” The Prince grinned, an unsightly image if ever there was one. The Emperor calmly appraised him. Arlas had always been willing to get his hands dirty. For this, Jugan was truly thankful. He could think of nobody better for the task he had in mind. “I suppose you're wondering why I summoned you.” The prince nodded. “Arlas, young Reiza here is quite certain of the visions she's been having of late. She believes that the daughter of our greatest enemy is destined to become my eldest's wife. As such, I will be needing you to do me a favour.” He shot the boy a serious look, which would have stricken terror into any mortal. But the Prince was no mortal. Despite their youthful appearance, Air Mages were known to live well past a hundred

years. Their life span merely extended itself. Arlas gave only a polite nod. He showed no fear, no uncertainty. “What is the favour, Sire?” Jugan's gaze passed from the Mage to the young seer. He was confident in his knowledge that this here was a man whom he could trust like no other. If Reiza's predictions were in fact true, then he would need to act swiftly. “As you know, I would like Prince Fadius to take my throne once I'm gone. In order to make sure he becomes my successor, I need you to dispose of the girl who is destined to become Ryore's wife.” “And then I can have Ryore for myself?” Reiza's small voice chimed out through the room. It brimmed with desperation, her eyes wide and pleading. Jugan sighed. He waved his hand in the girl's direction. His guards, having seen the dismissive gesture, began to approach the elaborate throne. “Sire,” They gave brief bows, their eyes focused upon the Seer, “are we to escort the young Miss out?” Reiza stared up in horror. Tears had begun to form in her eyes. Both men were quite large, with more than enough muscle to spare. They pressed in

at either side of her, waiting upon the Emperor's command. “Please do. I've had enough of her visions for one day.” “Yes, Sire.” Jugan watched as each guard seized one of Reiza's spindly arms, hauling her toward a pair of grand double doors. “Sire. Wait!” Her wilful protests echoed back. Before long, they were no more. “You know Arlas, I think this might actually work.” Jugan beckoned the Prince towards the throne. “Young Reiza named a Miss Violetta Flame, to one day wed my eldest son. She is the one I would like taken care of.” The boy's eyes roved across the Emperor's face. “Is there any particular way you'd like her dealt with?” The Emperor rose up, out of his icy throne. His eyes locked onto the Mage. “I would like you to put an end to Miss Flame's existence.”

Arlas frowned. He understood well what was expected of him. He was to use his powers to facilitate the girl's death. Only then would he have proven himself. “Arlas, you look troubled. Does this task displease you?” The Prince's head swam with thoughts of how he would do it, and of what his brother would say if he ever found out. He stared deep into his master's eyes. He needed to do this. “No Sire. The task is mine to carry.” “Good.” Jugan relaxed back into his throne. “Arlas, do you think your brother will suspect?” There was doubt there in his master's expression, something Arlas was keen to displace. “No Sire. He will not suspect a thing.”

Chapter Two Violetta was beside herself with worry. As the carriage set off she thought of her brother, Darius, and her broken gift, which he'd sworn to repair. The gift had been a small ball, given to her by the Lord of the Air Realm—Jork. She could still recall his exact words when he'd handed it over, as lovingly as though it were a child of his own making. 'Violetta, dear child. Let this always aid you in your troubles. Never let your spirit die.' But she had allowed it to come to harm and now as she waited to arrive at The Great Feast, her brother and mother were far away, likely traipsing around the Royal market, with its various wares and bellowing stall-owners. The carriage jolted unexpectedly, turning her thoughts to other things. The importance of such a special occasion had finally begun to dawn on the young Princess. If she behaved in a way that was deemed inappropriate, then shame would befall not only she, but her entire family. Violetta had heard much about the other realms

of Peradon; the realm of Frost to the South, Air to the South-West, and Earth to the West. It was said that the Earth Realm was the finest of all. Countless wonders were rumoured to dwell there and all those that visited remarked on its sky. As a young child, she had lived for such tales; of how the sky twisted between shades, an endless sunset for the rest of time. It was here that the Royal dinner was to be held. King Aemon, ruler of the Earth realm, was a man whom she was most anxious to meet. Violetta had only ever heard good things from her father, but even so, her body trembled. The horses had slowed since they'd reached the border. The terrain was rough here and each seemed hesitant, testing their front hooves across the sloping ground. “Hai-yah!” An ear-splitting crack tore through the air, sending Violetta's skin into a tingling frenzy. The great animals trotted forward. “Poor things.” There were already noticeable changes in the landscapes. The familiar comfort of a lush blue sky was gradually replaced by a luminous orange, the heat little more than a whisper on the wind. Violetta spied a bountiful forest. She found joy in the sway of the native trees, everyone a brilliant shade of red. They danced with a practised grace, pink

frocks of fresh cherry blossom twirling about on the lingering breeze. Violetta glanced up to the skies. She felt her own heart skip a beat as she studied the intricate swirl of colours. Every few seconds, they would change. It was subtle, the faintest shade of peach infiltrating a blazing golden glow, vanishing, only to reappear for the briefest of moments. “Such beauty.” She had never known a sky like it. Something bright zipped by the carriage. A stream of bold feathers. Red, green, blue; all shades you could name. Violetta watched in wonder as flocks of multi-coloured birds emerged from those bubble-gum pink trees, welcoming them into a world of their own. The rumours of her youth had not disappointed. The horses were tiring, but still they kept on. Outside the carriage, there was yet more beauty to be had. A series of lush lawns pulled into view, in the centre of which stood a magnificent fountain. Water cascaded down from its marble top, diving into the tiers below. A golden cherub perched on its tip which made it all the more striking in the golden light. Violetta leaned forward, eager to see it all when the horses slowed. There, rising above all else, was the fabled Earth Palace. The horse's shrill whinnying still rang in her ears as her driver led her up the path to the Palace. It was formed entirely from gravel, and crunched

deliciously underfoot. Violetta's senses began to stir. Something about the light spring air made them sharpen. A scent, fruity, drifting over on the breeze. It spoke of fresh apples and daisies, and brought with it the promise of prosperity. Violetta opened herself to it, wanting to take it all into herself. They had come to the end of the path, where the resplendent Earth Palace loomed above them. Violetta caught herself staring. It towered high above all else, a mighty spear-like steeple rising from its centre. She became fascinated by the sight of clear panels, which were arranged upon each roof-top, shining beneath the glamorous sun. From their position high upon the palace, they were likely used to harness power, the natural energy of the elements being put to work. “Here.” Her driver motioned her over to a smooth marble block. The grand front entrance was erected before it. Violetta clambered up. It was a small block. She glanced down at it, noting that it was barely big enough for her to stand on. The skirt of tonight's dress puffed up before her. It was old-fashioned and the colour of sin, not something she thought would be chosen for her. It was comprised of several different layers, or 'stages' as she'd heard them called. Flared sleeves tapered off at her wrists with a gold belt tying the whole thing together. She

could feel her under-dress pressing against her bony ribs. “Ahem!” She glanced up, almost losing her footing. A strange young man stood before the entrance. He was tall and slim, with hair, the warmest shade of copper, and elven-shaped ears which timidly peaked through a few stray wisps. “Hello, I'm Princess Violetta Flame. Nice to meet you.” She did her best to balance upon the block, bowing low before the man. When she glanced up, she saw that his face had turned up at the corners, an embarrassed look in his sparkling green eyes. “Is that so? So nice to meet the daughter of the illustrious King Eagan, at last.” He leant forward and planted a kiss upon her right hand. “It is a great pleasure.” Violetta felt her skin warm at his touch. It was almost magical; the way his eyes looked into hers. Earth Mages were said to have many fine talents and she was keen to discover more about his. The young man stood awkwardly before her, his eyes awash with something new. She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

“And you are…?” His cheeks flushed as he realized he'd forgotten to introduce himself. “My name is Xyhoni. I am honorary heir to King Aemon.” His face continued to redden as he added, “I'm here to escort you to the grand dining hall. Come, my Master will be expecting you.” He clicked his fingers and a rose appeared. Red. The signature flower of the Flame Realm. Violetta, almost swooned with delight,graciously accepting it, beaming with joy as she entered the Palace. Xyhoni moved swiftly, with Violetta following close behind. She was fraught with emotion as he walked beside her. I am alone with a boy. She thought. She wondered if Xyhoni was thinking something similar. She turned shyly to face him. Sure enough, he glanced her way, his face illuminated by some private sense of inner joy. Violetta couldn't allow herself to steal her gaze from him. A deep and mysterious connection seemed to zip through her, as though she had met him someplace before. “I like your smile.” The Princess startled at such a remark. She grinned at the boy, embarrassed by her vibrant cheekbones.

“And your hair.” Her fingers subconsciously went to her neck. Her hair had been pinned back with golden ringlets that trailed down the length of her back. She smiled. The palace itself was bold and well-kept. Vast frescos of landscapes were painted along the golden walls while gilded ceilings glistened above. Violetta saw numerous servants tending to the restoration of a line of antique vases, all more beautiful than the last. Others milled about with their daily chores, occasionally nodding in welcome to the pair. Xyhoni's arm lightly brushed against hers. Violetta could scarcely breathe. Her face began to mimic her dress, a deep-red settling behind her skin. Embarrassed that Xyhoni might see her sudden colour, she turned her face down to the tiled floor. Don't be ridiculous, she thought, falling for a boy you barely know. She coughed lightly, gathering her voice. “Will you be joining us for tonight's dinner?” She winced, despising the desperate tone that had wormed its way into her once calm voice. Xyhoni turned. His face was even more handsome in this light. He brushed at his shirt, eyes resting on her as he paused to smile. “I would consider it an honour, especially as you are dressed so finely.”

Those emerald eyes peered right through her, into the deepest reaches of her soul. Violetta had been seated for some time, when Xyhoni finally returned to the grand dining hall. He stood within the shadows of the doorway, waiting for a chance to alert his master. King Aemon felt his heir's presence and turned expectantly toward the opening. “The final two guests have arrived, your Highness!” Xyhoni darted a look her way. Violetta had been sat at the same extravagant dining table for some time, cautiously glancing about the room. It was vast, sparsely-lit by thousands of candles. She watched patiently as two young boys appeared beside Xyhoni. From where she sat, they didn't appear much older than she. The intermittent flickering of the candles threw shadows upon the high stone walls. The boys moved cautiously, crossing to the centre of the room, where the ornate table stood waiting. The guests rounded on them, like hungry lions sizing up their next meal. The boys halted before the relaxed King, with Xyhoni standing to one side. “Princes Ryore and Fadius of the WinterRealm!” He indicated each brother in turn, before prompting the pair to find their seats. The younger

of the two steered them into the closest ones available. “Alright!” Xyhoni clapped his hands together. “Young Princes, Princesses, and all those inbetween, since everyone is now present, your host would like to say a few words. King Aemon, if you please.” He indicated the tall gentleman before them. King Aemon appeared to be in his mid to late thirties, his brown hair softened in the glow of the candlelight. He wore floor length robes, the colour of gold, which glistened whenever he took a step. “Wow!” Violetta stared at their impeccable host. Although she'd seen him somewhat briefly, it was only now that she could truly appreciate just how grand of a King he made. He cut a striking figure, his muscles well-built, like a depiction of an Ancient God. He stood off to one side of the table, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He gave the youths a low bow. “Welcome young Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies, Dames and Dukes, to your first Royal dinner.” Violetta smiled fondly as Xyhoni took up the seat beside her.

“I hope you are able to make many new connections tonight; new friends, allies, and maybe one day, partners.” Violetta glanced down at her restless hands. Partners. Her heart fluttered at the very thought. She imagined giving Xyhoni a sideways glance, but thought better of it. The King spoke on, his voice almost as sweet as a melody. “Magic-“ Poof! The space beneath him erupted beneath his very feet. The youths startled as it grew, high above them, until he stood proudly upon a large statue in his likeness, made from the floor of mere moments ago. With their mouths, still open, the youths applauded, eager for more. Violetta smiled along with the rest. It was almost as pleasing as a trick her father used to perform. He would purse his lips and whistle, drawing on the core of his power. “Fierce beast, come forth!” He would cry. A burst of flame would jet out from his hands. She could see it now, coiling into translucent shapes. Then, it would pounce. A lion, standing proudly before her; a genuine work of art, burning bright. The King's voice brought her back to the room. “Magic is something that requires great control

andresponsibility.” Aemon brought his hands down in a graceful swoop and the statue simply crumbled away. He landed back on the pristine floor, knees bent. “Please remember, young ones, that safety and true happiness are more important than oldfashioned propriety and wealth. Now, please enjoy your dinner and get to know your fellow royals. Thank you.” Again, the table roared with applause. Violetta had never seen anything like it. Their eyes passed over the delectable dishes. Rare fish and meats stewed in fine sauces, while grilled and diced vegetables were arranged in fine splendour. It wasn't long before casual chattering had erupted on all sides of the table, with many baring all about their talents. One boy bragged about his ability to grow full-sized trees in under two hours, while a rather ill-looking young man spoke of great storms. Looking at him now, Violetta began to feel rather strange, like static energy was prickling her skin. She gazed into his pale red eyes; eyes which seemed to linger on you, as though searching your soul for some hidden truth. From the whispers around the grand table, she guessed that this was Prince Arlas. Father had spoken only once of him. He was Lord Jork's brother.

Then there was her; a girl that words could not do justice. Her long hair was like star-light, so beautiful that it hardly looked real. There was an inexplicable coldness to her; some hidden flaw Violetta remained wary of. She noticed that the girl barely spoke. Her palms were tightly pressed together, her eyes closed in concentration. Violetta reached for Xyhoni's arm. Before she could ask him the girl's name, she'd opened her eyes, her hands frozen over with ice. “So, this is Reiza.” The four realms of Peradon didn't seem all that different. There were environmental differences, that much was true. The Earth Realm took on the dry Spring Season and the Flame realm, the Summer, while the Air realm corresponded to the Autumn, and the Frost realm, the cool, crushing winter. Sitting here in the company of those from all realms, Violetta decided that she greatly favoured the Earth. Despite it being her first visit here, she felt welcomed. Accepted. “You're certainly thinking a lot.” Violetta jumped. She turned to see Xyhoni's sparkling gaze, his lips parted in a half smile. “I was just-“ She closed her mouth, covering her heating face with her hands. She felt so coy sitting next to him. He had a natural charisma she couldn't ignore.

She was about to respond, when a faint glimmer caught her eye. It was persistent, as though it sought an audience with her. Across the table, sat Prince Ryore. The elder brother of the Frost Realm was rotating his fork from side to side, allowing the jewelled handle to glisten and gleam. She smiled, almost fond of the way the boy relished the light. His face was pale, but his smile was not. Cool seablue eyes kept hers hooked on him. She peered closer and noticed a faint layer of frost spreading up the forks shaft. He must have caught sight of her, because his eyes snapped up. Lips trembling, he tried to form words that were sadly too low to hear. He cleared his throat and a thick shard of frost clipped his ear. “Ow!” Their gaze broke. Ryore turned to glare at the girl down the table, before glancing back at his jewelled fork. The layer of frost quickly melted away. Again, he frowned. The light touch of Xyhoni's arm roused Violetta from her previous thoughts. She tilted her head upto see that his handsome smile had become a frown. “Are you alright?” Violetta struggled for a truthful answer. When silence had passed for several minutes, the young

sprite gently drew her hand into his. “Here.” He set a spoon beside her plate. While it looked fairly ordinary, Xyhoni encouraged her to be patient with him. He closed his eyes against the dim candle-light, one hand poised over the polished spoon. His lips moved soundlessly. Violetta watched as the small item started to tremble, as though the gods themselves were moving it. Xyhoni continued to silently mutter. His eyes flickered open. Violetta gasped. She stared down in disbelief as the metal spoon began to melt, its form shifting uncontrollably. It twisted and turned for several seconds, before a quaint metal heart dropped down by her glass. “Xyhoni, it's beautiful.” The young man's smile returned with her own. Her eyes lingered on Xyhoni; on the handsome jaw line and brilliant eyes. “Wait, can you feel that?” Her mind had begun to slow, her thoughts muddled as she held her head. Xyhoni helped to steady her, but her eyes were already wandering back over the table, towards the boy with the frosted fork. His pale skin began to glow, something

she'd failed to notice at first. “Ryore, wasn't it?” Xyhoni clung to the Princess' side, helping to sit her upright once more. She wondered what the pale boy's story was; what he desired most in life. When Xyhoni had managed to sit her up straight, she leant into him, pointing a finger discreetly toward Ryore. “Do you know those two?” Xyhoni craned his neck, getting a good look at the two young princes as another of Reiza's shards flew past. He frowned as he saw the layer of frost. ‘No. Can't say I do.”

Chapter Three Violetta sighed. She had enjoyed her evening at the Earth Palace and was sad to have it finally end. However, she wouldn't miss Reiza's company. In a paranoid way, she felt as though the girl hated her and still wondered what her problem had been. She glanced down at the metal heart in her hand. Xyhoni had made this for her. 'A gift,' he had said. Violetta smiled, putting an end to all negative thoughts; until she stared out from the carriage windows. A rare storm had whipped up in her absence. Sleet crashed against the carriage, the horses halting prematurely; too afraid to hazard another step. Violetta felt her breathing hasten. With no other choice, her driver jumped down from his post. He helped her carefully out of the carriage. Despite the heavy lashings of rain, his elderly face was crinkled in a smile. Violetta briefly returned it, but her mind was troubled with something else. “The horses!” She cried, “We must hurry!” She struggled to be heard over the harsh winds. The driver nodded, his face now grim. A perplexed Princess watched as he first rejoined the driver's

seat, returning with what appeared to be a large overcoat. He gestured towards the cold Princess, whose hair was plastered back with the rain. “For me?” The old man nodded. He stepped forward, swiftly helping to bundle her into the coat, before he made to remove the horse's bonds. The crashing rain pounded against them as he took one bridle and offered her the other. It made Violetta miss the comfort of the Earth Palace, yet she accepted the horse, walking it forward. The path to her home seemed like an endless length of twine. The further they got in the howling wind, the more distant it seemed to become. The storm had grown more monstrous than ever. They struggled against the heavy rain, keeping themselves hunched over for warmth. The horses had gladly left the carriage behind, seeking their own warmth with each passing step. Violetta. A voice in her head made the Princess tremble. A cool gust of air rushed past her, a shadow forming towards her right. Violetta. The Princess turned swiftly, one arm raised to defend herself. There was no-one; just the heavy onslaught of the mighty storm. “Miss?”

She turned slowly towards her driver, who eyed her with great curiosity. “S-sorry,” she stammered, “I thought I saw something.” Violetta's head spun with confusion. She swallowed back her fear, heart furiously pounding within her chest as she led her stallion toward the grand palace entrance. She couldn't wait to hear her father's voice, or to smell her mother's sweet perfume. She needed their warmth to comfort her; to purge her of the storm's foul breath, and the mysterious shadow she could not place. As they stepped over the sopping thresh-hold, panting, they knelt down to regroup their strength. The doormen took their horses from them, seeing to it that they were justly stabled. Both were exhausted from the harsh rains and biting winds, but the driver and Princess were no exception. Violetta's skirts were bundled and soaked, her body trembling as she raised her head. “My Goodness!” A butler came to take their coats, calling for a maid as he knelt beside them. A young blurry shadow with hair walked towards them, bowing to the butler. “Melanie, please fetch the Princess and her driver some dry clothes, at once.”

The blurry shadow bowed again, before whisking itself away from the scene. Violetta could barely focus anymore. She sobbed desperately, soaked right to the skin. She half-wished she were able to dry herself off, but her powers were no use in such wretched conditions. The harsh rains against the windows drove the faintest thought of fire from her mind, the vicious winds unsettling the glass within the window-panes. “My lady,” a hand surprised her, squeezing her shoulder, “Please rise.” Violetta guessed it as the young maid's voice. She let herself be hauled up, made ever harder by her sodden gown. The young maid had helped her to remove her wet things. She brandished a towel in her general direction, not wanting to look upon the nude form of the virgin Princess. Violetta gladly accepted it, towelling herself off while facing the roaring fire of her father's study. It was comfortable and warm here. She absorbed all the heat she could. “I expect you are glad to be out of the rain.” The young girl's voice was sweet and honest. Violetta glanced back to the small heart, left on a side-table for safe-keeping. “No gladder could I be,” she lied.

She cautiously eyed the sweet maid, who stood a few feet from her, eyes fixed on the stone floor and a fresh dress-robe held out in her arms. “Umm, here Miss.” Violetta turned. The girl gazed away bashfully, letting the Princess take the garment from her. “Thank you.” Violetta bowed her head low, quickly slipping into the warm robe. She secured the ties about her waist, turning once more to the young maid, she asked, “Please tell me, has my mother's carriage arrived home yet?” The girl was silent. She slowly glanced up, shaking her head from side to side. “No, Miss. She has not.” Violetta frowned. She was glad to be out of her wet things, but a niggling worry kept re-surfacing in her mind. “Violetta!” The Princess' eyes widened in horror. Clarisse, her nurse maid, burst into the room, hugging her tight to her skeletal frame. “Are you alright?! You've had your father worried sick!” Violetta tried to push her away. She stifled a sob,

worried about her missing kin. “I'm fine,” she whispered. She willed herself to hold onto her tears, glad when Clarisse finally unhanded her. “I'm afraid the storm is only just beginning, Princess. But, there is word of your mother and brother.” Violetta would have thought she'd been glad of such news, but the tone in the nursemaid's voice was off. The Princess turned to face the room's far wall, watching the sleet plaster the windows. “What is it, Clarisse? I would be glad of this news, but your voice speaks gravely indeed.” Violetta felt her stomach churn as a faint pull on her arm made her look back. Clarisse's face was lined with worry. “It's ill news, as I am told, Highness.” King Eagan was grateful to have his daughter safely by his side. His worry for his wife and son had not waned in the passing hours. He had taken to pacing the entrance hall with Violetta practically glued to his side. While the storm lay waste to the world outside, they bided their time, seeking a peace that would never come. The ferocious roar of thunder sent Violetta quaking. She'd heard tales of ancient Air Mages who once were very much like

gods. Their powers over the air and its partners were said to be most catastrophic, often bringing about great storms like this. Of course these were merely legends; childhood fables to keep the mind alive. The Princess remained far too anxious to still herself. She took to pacing along, behind her father, counting each step to distract her mind. She watched in wonder and fear as King Eagan clicked his fingers once, a ball of flame springing to life from his palm. She stared in awe of the fire as her father continued to click his fingers. One moment the flame rose high and the next, poof! Vanished. The walls cried beneath the punches of the ongoing storm. They rattled and shook, throwing Violetta off her count. She started again, barely reaching two-hundred when the palace door’s ground steadily open. Her father quickly drew back his power. His gaze darted forward. Several guards rushed into the rain. Violetta felt her lips tremble. She counted the moments, stretching out from her fear that the worst had come. The guards swiftly returned inside, a slender figure nestled between them. Violetta squinted as they crossed the threshold. Draped in a dark cloak, the figure steadily advanced, becoming more visible with each shaking step. “Mother!” Queen Isobel was hunched over, drenched and

shivering as she hobbled through the doors. She wasn't alone, for within her arms lay her unconscious son. Violetta felt the blood drain from her face. “No.” Her brother was holding onto something, cradling it like a precious child. He looked more drained than their poor mother, laying there, his body still. Shock slammed into the young Princess. It drove the breath from her very lungs, causing her to wheeze and sob as she identified the item. Lord Jork's gift to her. “He fixed it!” She cried. Tears fell freely down her young face. She was unable to hold back her piercing sorrow; too long had she hidden it. Maids were called to bring warm towels, while King Eagan appeared to be frozen in shock. The ball looked new, sheltered from the rain between her brother's loving arms. She blinked. Her head seemed to grow heavy. That same weird energy they'd felt earlier; it were as though it were calling to her, wanting the ball to be plucked from her brother's limp grasp. “No, I cannot. He looks so unwell.” Violetta couldn't imagine a more selfish act at a time like this. She looked to her father who hadn't yet spoken a single word. Clarisse lurked nearby, issuing orders to various maids. Her mother trembled. She delicately embraced her first-born

child, her head buried within the crook of his neck. Her breaths were already sounding forced, shifting painfully out as a figure strode forward. They looked little more than somewhat damp, their eyes unfocused as they searched the room. The Queen's carriage driver was led out of the rain, his damp overcoat wrenched from his person. “No, I must protect the Queen,” he mumbled, panic striking out through his voice. Violetta gazed out upon the passing scene. Her mother's energy seemed to fade with each step, her daughter just as still as the King. Time escaped every corner of her mind. She swayed on her feet, head dizzying. “Your Majesty!” Violetta shook herself from the dark haze which had settled upon her. She groggily turned towards the source of the voice, her frantic worry having drawn her back from the edge of blackness. She stole glances at every figure. Every face. Her heart skipped. Fat tear-drops swiftly fled her eyes as her beloved mother collapsed at her feet. She could do nothing but stand there, powerless, immobilized. Her father had finally broken his silence, as though his deathly stillness had been passed on to her. “Fetch a messenger!” He yelled, “Send word to the Royal Doctor at once!”

He was bent over his precious wife, barking out more orders to the nearest guards, while Clarisse drew near to comfort the Princess. It was late into the night when the King had sent for her. The storm had long since died down, yet some rain still licked at the palace windows. The servants had done all they could to make the Queen and Prince comfortable. They had moved them into the downstairs study, where makeshift beds were erected for them. There, they lay huddled under blankets, the chill slowly ebbing from their aching bones. “Here, my child. Keep this safe.” King Eagan knelt down to Violetta, with Lord Jork's ball held out in his hands. “Thank you.” Her voice was weak; filled with cold. She accepted the gift, where her shuddering hands held it close to her chest. She felt herself being ushered forward. Her legs moved stiffly as she was made to look upon her kin. Her eyes zipped between mother and sibling, before her gaze darted to a strange figure, all alone in a corner of the room. They were decidedly tall in a striped black suit, looming high above her mother. She watched as her barely conscious form gently rose and fell with each stifled breath. Violetta felt a stab of guilt knife into

her heart. She glanced down at the ball she held tight in her arms. They had gone to the market and repaired her gift; the very object she now held close. Perhaps if she'd taken better care of it, then they would never have gotten so dreadfully ill. She sighed, wiping a stray tear away from her cheek. The dark stranger crept forward, announcing himself as her family's doctor. He seemed like the dark and imposing sort, his dead eyes lingering uncomfortably on her. The Princess bit her lip in fear as the pin-striped man examined her mother. He glanced back a few times at the ashen Prince, who appeared just the same; pasty and feverish. “I'm afraid that I have grave news for you,” said the man, rounding on the king and his daughter. He let one hand glide through his grease-slicked hair. Violetta thought he held a stormy presence. His eyes lacked emotion, as did his tone. He rounded slowly upon the girl, his eyes gleaming with an unexpected malice. A wry smile gripped his cruel mouth. “Ahem.” The Doctor coughed under his breath, but Violetta was sure she'd heard the man mutter something. She remained glued to the spot as the tall stranger stared hungrily upon her. She could

feel her thin form trembling. “Violetta?” Noticing her shuddering body, King Eagan looked to the pin-striped physician. Anger flared within his mind as he caught the direction of the man's gaze. He swiftly blocked his daughter from sight. “Grave, you say?” His eyes looked like they would spit fire. Clarisse watched from the shadows as the doctor drew breath. He proceeded to wipe at his sweat-slicked brow, before clearing his throat, eyes fixed on the King. “Indeed. I'm afraid your wife and son have contracted Pneumonia.” The King paled. Violetta held her ball tight, her metal keepsake safe in her robe pocket. Sadly, neither could warm her breaking heart. “Can't we heal it?” Asked the King, “With magic, perhaps?” As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew they'd been foolish. Magic could only heal wounds inflicted by other magic, not those caused by natural events. The only people to ever heal natural afflictions had been the long forgotten Air Mages; now so weak in comparison to their

ancestors, that not one would stand the faintest chance. The Doctor walked forward, offering one of his hands to the King. “I'm sorry, Highness,” he said, “But there's not much we can do here.” King Eagan had thought about visiting the Autumn realm for some time. Violetta could certainly see why. It was the last shred of hope he'd had to cling to; that perhaps someone, somewhere had the powers to save them. His family meant the world to him. They were his world; his reason for living. The Queen and Prince had been bed-ridden for some time and despite any magic or remedies used, their condition had only grown steadily worse. Violetta stood there, pale in the moonlight. She felt lost. Afraid. The world around was changing too swiftly. It began to grow distant; her surroundings feeling like some grand illusion given to her by a merciless god. Sounds grew fainter, moments dragging out as though stretched by some elaborate machinery. “Why?” She whispered into the night. Its cold presence did not answer. She felt so helpless, staring out of her bedroom window. She could still feel her father's pain when he'd given her the terrible news; a news that no parent should have to give their child. It seemed so lonely to be in the very room that had once housed her sleeping

brother. She leant forward. Only slightly. The pounding rain imitated her frightful tears, lashing out at the window, yet failing to reach her. It was a storm like this that had brought their doom. The fresh memories surfaced within her and with that, Violetta finally let herself go. Her broken sobs restored the sound to her world, her body quivering with each uneasy breath. “Why?” She asked, louder this time, “Why now? Why them?!” She could feel her body heating swiftly, but paid the irritating feeling no heed. She stood firm, gazing at the rain-slicked window before she felt her mind finally split apart in rage. “Ahhh!” She screamed into the oncoming night, her anger giving birth to flame. Fire sprung high from her tear-streaked palms, licking hungrily at her delicate flesh. “Violetta!” The Princess whipped round, her face contorted in the throes of rage. Clarisse no longer appeared as her stern self, but instead, drew back with fear in her eyes. “What are you doing?!” Her long wires of hair dangled readily from her

head, but in her provoked state, the Princess was no longer afraid. In her sudden shock the flames merely grew. She aimed one hand at the nursemaid, who quickly scampered from the room. Violetta needed her privacy right now. She turned back to the window, peering through the heavy rain. The rain could not match the Princess' tears, for her worst nightmares had been realized. With her surging flames having dissipated, she'd received a visit from her anguished father. She ran to him the moment she felt his presence. “Father!” She nuzzled into the side of his waist, her eyes streaked with fallen tears. King Eagan stroked his daughter's hair. He gently parted her from his side and took her to rest on the edge of her bed. “Violetta, I'm afraid I must tell you something.” She reached for her father's arm, but he drew it back, swifter than he meant to. “I carry sad news, dear daughter.” He brought her closer, wrapping both his arms around her shoulders. She could sense his nervousness as he held her and from then, she needn't have heard his words. The undertaker had arrived not long after they'd spoke. Violetta still rested by her bedroom window, her face blank and her mind numb. She watched

helplessly as the funeral carriage drove away from the palace; away with her beloved mother and brother in tow. Her nails gripped the edge of the window. She was convinced that they could have been saved; that neither had to suffer as much as they did. In the end, their deaths were just a short while apart. Her brother had been the first to pass. Then, as though giving up to be with her first-born child, her mother had fled the world of the living, leaving her husband and daughter to care for eachother. If not for that stupid ball, perhaps they would have returned home sooner; safe and sound, their smiles bright. Violetta remained glad of one thing though. She'd been able to give her mother one last gift. She'd produced the metal heart Xyhoni had made for her, asking her father to have it placed within her mother's casket. She wanted her family to have love. Even in death. Violetta strained to see the undertaker's carriage through the haze of rain as it finally disappeared from sight. She sat on the windowsill, her knees pulled up high against her heaving chest. Her father was her only family now. She was sure this moment would haunt her forever.

Chapter Four “Arlas, my boy. How goes the plan?” The forlorn Prince stepped into the throne room, his body weary from his strenuous task. Emperor Jugan was happy to see him. He took the lad's presence as a sign of victory, the harsh light depicting him as a hero of men; the unlikely saviour within dark times. As the Prince neared, Jugan could feel the same tingling sensation emanating from him. He smiled gladly and paid it no mind. As a matter of fact, he'd gotten used to it. He stood to welcome his assistant, but when Arlas reached the glistening throne, he stopped short, eyes to the floor. “Arlas?” The Prince refused to speak even a word. Emperor Jugan sat back in his throne, suddenly restless and wanting answers. “Come now, Arlas, why so silent?” He asked. The Emperor could see that his words only made the Mage more nervous. His young accomplice could barely gaze up at him, for fear that he would be struck to the ground.

“The thing is, Sire, we may have run into some complications.” Jugan's face blanched, his eyebrows raised in sudden suspicion. “We?” The Prince faltered. “Oh! Forgive me, Highness. I meant I have run into complications, of course.” He bowed low, resting his forehead against the rough stone floor, as a sign that he was truly repentant. His master sat contemplating his words. He would cough gruffly every now and then, as though still awaiting a formal update. Sweat ran down the Prince's back. The harsh walls themselves seemed unlikely to forgive Arlas his present failings. He imagined the Emperor would be much the same. Nevertheless, as he stood there with each bead racing down his shoulder blades, he felt he could hold in his worries no longer. “I was unable to get rid of the girl; the one that will one day wed Ryore.” He quickly cast down his bleary eyes, to refrain from seeing Jugan's cold stare. Silence seemed to stretched on between them. They were two proud men, with no reasonable answers to give one another. The Emperor seemed to digest the news

slowly. His face was greatly pained, in a look that spoke of tart lemons. “I...see,” was all he managed to say. Arlas was glad of the broken silence, but the glimpse of the towering figure above him was enough to make his joy flee. “We did manage to cause great harm to her family, Sire. I hear her mother and brother have just passed on, due to our most recent efforts.” Jugan's eyes snapped down to him. “You better not have made it look obvious!” The Emperor gave him a harsh sneer, lending the strength of his core to his hands. Violent waves of frost rippled into life before him, threatening to storm the Air Mage's space. Arlas froze. He bit his lip, unsure of what to do or say to make Jugan call his powers off. He winced as his lip tore, drops of blood oozing across the fine flesh. The Frost was growing thicker now. Tall waves of it appeared before him, promising to be more deadly than anything he could ever imagine. “Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to add, Arlas? Before I accidentally lose control of my powers.” The Prince looked up. He stared straight into Jugan's eyes, suddenly full of new resolve.

“Actually, Sire, now that you mention it, there is more!” Fadius watched the Emperor's face and had to disguise a grin when he saw it fall. Suddenly, the Emperor sought back his strength. The tiers of frost magic zipped back into him, his eyes fixed on the scrawny Prince. “Very well, Mage. Let's hear it.” Prince Arlas ignored the attempt to shame him. He had been an Air Mage all his life and for all the powers at his disposal, he was proud. “Sire, it was no fool’s errand that I performed! I used my own power; discreetly, so as not to make it appear like murder!” Arlas was doing his best to appease him; Jugan knew that. The Prince was certain of it. Yet no matter what he did or said, those fierce eyes still narrowed to slits. Arlas gently shifted position. He watched, fascinated at the way Jugan's eyes seemed to plot against him. His master reached up to his face with one large hand. “Hmm.” He began slowly stroking his chin in deep thought, considering all that the Prince had told him thus far. “I suppose you aren't a complete loss,” he sneered. He rose slowly from his throne, frost forming back around his palms. “But heed my warning, Arlas of the Autumn Realm. Fail me too

many times and I won't be so lenient!” *

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“Awaken, daughter. I have a grand surprise for you.” Her father's voice ricocheted round her tired mind. He threw open her curtains, the harsh light streaming into her timid face. “There. That's much better,” said the King. He strode over to his daughter's bed, seating himself on a lumpy edge. “Violetta, are you alright?” His daughter's face was tear-streaked as usual. She scrabbled to hide her face in her hands, but her father gently pulled them back. “It would be a shame to hide such a beautiful face.” He traced slow semi-circles under her eyes, where the last vestiges of her tears clung. He hated seeing any woman cry, let alone his own child. While his face didn't appear much better, he'd accepted that some things could not be changed. “Come now, as I said, I've a surprise for you.” He tapped the bed twice in rapid succession. Violetta groaned. She squinted through the blinding light to where her father stood by her dresser. She hated it when the curtains were opened. It always felt as though the light would burn her. Some days,

she wished it would, or that her powers would simply envelop her in flame. She revelled in the idea of being allowed to simply melt away, therefore escaping this miserable life. She gazed over to her father, who appeared to be preening himself in her mirror. Oh dear. She thought to herself. Upon that thought, he turned around, returning once more to his daughter's bedside. Violetta studied her father's face. It appeared much harsher in the light of day. His eyes were redrimmed, puffy, and devoid of what little emotion he had to spare. He was no longer the enthusiastic ruler he had once been; no longer the father that showed her his powers. He locked them away within himself, feeling great shame that they'd been of no use when needed. Her father took a deep breath. “Come on now, Violetta.” He reached forward with both hands, attempting to haul her from her space in the covers. “Hey!” Violetta resisted her father's clutches, feeling thankful to have chosen a more modest night-dress. She eventually managed to kick him away, dropping to the floor like a frightened pup. “Perhaps, I'll just wait outside.” The King closed the door behind him, leaving his

daughter to her own devices. Violetta breathed a sigh of relief. In her own time, she got to her feet, covering her body as she made for the door. She might only be twelve, but she would go without a fight. She stole a last fleeting look at the ball on her dresser. What it made her feel now was too shameful to even contemplate. A figure greeted them in the throne room. Tall. Slender. They were certainly not what Violetta had been expecting. As they closed the distance, she felt herself wince. This figure made her feel strangely uneasy, as though posing some sort of hidden threat. She looked to her father, seeking his guidance. “I feel weird,” she whispered to him, “There's this feeling about them that...” Her father gently squeezed her hand. “Worry not, child. All will be well.” King Eagan gently guided her along, stopping the customary three feet from their mysterious guest. Violetta stepped forward. She casually studied the slim figure. Their back was turned, facing the throne. Ferocious waves of red hair tumbled down their statuesque back; they reminded the Princess of curved snakes, with the colour of fire set into their skin. She looked closer, noticing skin as milky as the purest snow.

“Ahem!” King Eagan politely alerted his guest, their presence making their shoulders jolt. They turned, hair whipping round to reveal a most delicate face. A young lady? The red-head smiled, dipping into a graceful bow. “Your Highnesses.” Violetta watched as the young woman drew herself up. Her bright eyes moved in her direction, making her pale before the porcelain girl. Violetta gulped. She smiled on cue, intrigued by the comely creature before her. She appeared perfectly demure, pretty green eyes beaming out of a small, pointed face. “Violetta, may I introduce you to Jermise. She'll be taking over for Clarisse from now on.” King Eagan gestured to the lovely maiden, who looked all too embarrassed to be in his presence. Violetta could feel herself starting to frown. She quickly masked it, holding her hand out politely to the shy newcomer. “How do you do?” Jermise took her hand, shaking it gently, her eyes downcast. “An honour, Princess.”

Despite the dry heat, Violetta felt her body shiver. She couldn't help but wonder why her father had summoned such a maiden here. She nodded to the young girl, not wishing to appear rude. She looked to her father with questions in her eyes. The King was silent. He stood still beside her, his gaze fixed on their new arrival. “Father?” Violetta lightly touched his arm, but he drew back, pacing towards their anxious guest. “Jermise,” he said, guiding her soft hand delicately to his lips, “A pleasure.” Violetta felt her mind burst aflame. For her father to kiss any maiden; even by the hand, showed great disrespect to his departed wife. She glared at him coldly as he circled Jermise. How dare you! She thought. Her mind was growing hotter still. She could feel her powers rising uncontrollably. They lay just beneath the surface of her skin, her mind begging with her to release them. Her father was still inspecting Jermise, as though able to see and therefore investigate her unique personality. Violetta imagined him now as a vulture; a ravenous creature, slowly picking the flesh from her lovely bones. “Ahem!”

King Eagan turned to look upon his daughter. To his surprise, her expression was pained, her mouth having turned down at the corners. “Violetta, I have appointed Jermise to become your Confidante.” He brought the girl to his daughter's side, where she stood awkwardly, but proud nonetheless. Violetta breathed a sigh of relief. Her father closed his thick arms protectively around her shoulders. A tender warmth rushed into her body, the inexplicable feeling of home seeping through her. “I thought...” The King hesitated, drawing her from him. “I thought it about time you had a friend.” *

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Three years had seen Violetta blossom into a dazzling beauty. Jermise had been right by her side, doing her utmost to be the most spirited role model for the young Princess; the perfect vision of a lifelong friend. She was always exact and to the point, possessing a keen intellect that the Princess shared. At first, Violetta had done nothing but shun her, the grief for her mother still fresh in her mind. She had thought of Jermise as some sort of replacement. It had been too much for her to bear, yet with the years that followed, her attitude changed. Violetta led Jermise by the hand as they strolled through the Royal Gardens at their own leisure. They could

hear the birds singing merrily above. Their sweet warbling tunes brought great joy to her heart. They walked into the garden's centre, sitting down upon a shaded bench where they could gaze at many species in bloom. Jermise squinted through the sun's harsh glare. When the light hit the plants just right, a scintillating explosion of colours burst forth. She stared in awe, turning to the Princess who by now had grown used to them. They paraded around the two lovely ladies; reds and yellows and mixtures of blue. All kinds of flowers, mingling with one another. For Violetta, her sorrows were finally seeming to lift, her dark memories becoming a thing of the past. The smell of the fine orchids drew in her senses. They pleased her young nose, as did the handsome lilies beside them. Jermise stood, stretching her limbs towards the sun. “It's a beautiful day,” she admitted, “Perhaps we could walk a little more?” Violetta stole her gaze from the flowers. Jermise's face was flush with colour, her smile wider than she'd ever seen it. “Of course.” Violetta stood to join her, her confidante's smile becoming infectious. “Let us walk.” Jermise strolled alongside the Princess, clad in fiery robes of the deepest orange.

“Oh Jermise, look!” Violetta moved off to one side, her eye caught by some striking bluebells. Jermise followed the young girl's gaze. The flowers’ heads drooped as if in sorrow, their cool blue shade emphasizing their mood. Unknown to Violetta, Jermise knew nothing about admiring plant-life. She faced away from her charge for a moment, her eyes scrutinizing a family of violets. “Jermise?” Violetta slowly crossed back into her vision. “My Lady?” Jermise stared blankly at her, bowing low to acknowledge her words. She swiftly righted herself, paling when she noticed the look of concern that was etched upon the Princess' face. “Princess, what is wrong?” Her confidante was starting to panic, when a giddy smile came over the girl. “Who is that man over there?” Jermise span round to where the Princess was pointing. Her slim finger was raised towards the Northern gate, the figure all too familiar to the startled woman. The young man strode past the guards, a mighty confidence sparkling about him, the likes of which she'd never seen. His tall frame

exceeded them both, mousy hair having grown some of late, making him almost unrecognisable. Jermise gave a slight cough. “Why, that's Xyhoni, my Lady. Your father says you have met once before.” Violetta felt her face light up. Of course. Xyhoni. She thought back to her first trip to the Earth realm, to the sweet young man she'd been so fond of. Because of him, she'd had the perfect gift to pass along to her mother; a gift to aid her in the next world. Love. Without thinking, she raced towards the garden gates, to the boy who'd made her feel truly beautiful. Violetta eventually dragged herself to a stop. Her mind raced with the excitement of her thoughts as she leant over before him, regaining her breath. “X-Xyhoni,” she panted. The young man turned to face her, confusion swiftly replaced by joy. He grinned back at her, noticing the slight flush to her cheeks. “Running, as always?” he gently teased. He averted his gaze as Jermise caught up. “Your Grace.” She bowed low to acknowledge the boy, her breaths coming in ragged bursts.

“Jermise.” He inclined his head toward them, before bowing swiftly to the sweet Princess. “Are you well?” Violetta's question was blunt. Unexpected. Noticing how her behaviour appeared, she quickly half-hid her face in shame. Xyhoni chuckled. “Do not worry, Violetta.” The Princess peered out through her hair. Xyhoni's eyes smiled with him. It was all she could do not to wrap her arms round his muscles. “I am well, yes,” he replied, “Are you?” Violetta slowly withdrew her hands. “I'm wonderful,” she breathed. Jermise threw her a confused look, but Violetta barely noticed her presence. After all this time, she thought, Here we are again. Xyhoni smiled once more at the Princess. He drew closer now, frustrating her young heart. “I'm actually here to relay a message to your father...the King.” A nervous smile pulled at his lips. He reached a hand into his dark satchel, producing a very ornate looking scroll. “I am afraid this matter is of some urgency, so I must be leaving you, regrettably so.”

Those final two words hung in Violetta's mind. They made her wonder what it was he'd meant. “Ladies.” Xyhoni bowed once more. He inclined his head, quickly fading from their sight. “Well, that was...” Jermise paused. “Violetta?” The Princess gazed down at her palm. “H-how did he know?” She whispered to herself. A trembling smile came to her lips as tears dribbled from her eyes. Jermise gasped. She too stared down at the Princess' palms, eyes wide in sudden amazement. “It's...beautiful!” Jermise exclaimed. There in Violetta's hands was another heart; just like the one Xyhoni had made her three years ago. But this one far out-shined the last. It was formed from the purest of emerald gems. Violetta's body ached right through. An urgent matter? Suddenly the dark thoughts which seemed to have faded came crashing against the shore of her mind. She gently gripped Jermise's arm, pulling her into their first ever hug. Her confidante was as surprised as she. Having just received an extraordinary gift, any other girl would have been filled with joy. But not Violetta.

“My lady, what is wrong?” Jermise asked. She drew her cautiously into her arms. She'd never expected the girl to take to her. She knew full well that the Princess thought she was to be a replacement; a mother figure that would care for her. When Violetta didn't answer, Jermise spoke again. “Princess, I want you to know that I never intended to take the place of your mother. And never shall I.” Strangely as Violetta sobbed, cradled within her confidante's arms, Jermise felt as though she'd finally become a part of the family. She smiled bleakly, tears forming in her eyes. Ever so gingerly, she placed a hand on the Princess' head. “There there,” she soothed. She stroked Violetta's long golden hair, surprised at the silken softness she felt. “It'll be alright, Miss. You'll see.” Violetta's sobs died down a little. She leant back, blinking away the tears that longed to be freed. Enough of this pining, she thought, Time to do away with the past and think of the future. She raised her head to Jermise, a half-smile forming on her plump lips. “Thank you,” she said, her last tear dripping away from the curve of her lashes. Violetta did want to look to her future. She would start by

locking away her once prized possession. Lord Jork's gift; now her curse. King Eagan sat high in his golden throne, appearing as majestic as the rarest of birds. Jermise led the Princess down the narrow room. A strange tension lurked in the atmosphere, making them both shudder as they entered the room. Jermise squeezed the girl's hand, offering her reassurance. “It will be alright, Miss,” she added softly. The King gave Jermise a quick glance, to which she gestured for him to continue his business. Violetta glanced up at him. He looked so large and imposing as he sat there; like a leader of Gods, strong and wise. His gaze now returned to engage Xyhoni. His well-travelled face appeared concerned. It spoke to his daughter of some hidden trouble; trouble she'd likely find out about soon. “Your Majesty,” Xyhoni's low voice echoed around them, “As I said, I've a message for you.” “Direct?” King Eagan arched an eyebrow at the boy. “No. Not as such, Highness. The message was delivered to my master, King Aemon, by an unknown source. The paper was generic, no Royal seal of any kind on the envelope.” Again the King looked strangely puzzled.

“This message was for Aemon then?” The King's voice held a hint of impatience. “Strangely not, Highness.” Xyhoni gulped. “It's definitely for you.” All eyes were on the flustered King. He slowly scratched his chin in thought, before beckoning the Earth sprite up to his throne. “Tell me, Xyhoni, is your master well?” “Quite!” The King's eyes turned to daggers. Violetta was sure she'd felt the earth quake beneath their feet. “I'm sorry, what was that?!” The boy's bluntness was met with a stern look. Xyhoni watched as dark images pooled within the King's eyes, making his well-hewn features age decades in a glance. “He is well enough, Sire,” Xyhoni mumbled, “The message. It's important! It's regarding your wife.” King Eagan froze. His jaw stiffened as he studied the young man. “Are we talking about a way to regain them; our loved ones?” He gestured to his daughter, whose eyes had slowly begun to sprout tears. Xyhoni nodded in

answer to the question. He glanced briefly at the tearful Princess. Violetta attempted a weak smile. She knew exactly what her father had meant and was afraid of the reality his desires might bring. “Perhaps.” Xyhoni raised an olive hand, signalling that there was still more to be told. “Highness, on order of King Aemon, you are to depart for the Autumn Realm at your earliest convenience. The message instructs you to speak with Lord Jork. To restore your faith. To return your family.” Violetta stared in awe of the West realm. It really was like an Autumn dream. It was miserably dreary, but in a way that spoke of rainy days, where one could warm oneself by a roaring fire. The winds blew cold and fierce, making their hair prickle and rise. King Eagan held his daughter to him. She gazed open-mouthed at the deep blue sky. It held a shifting beauty, which could only emerge from the varying shades of cloud-cover there. Two resplendent moons made a break in the dark, illuminating the way for all passers-by. Violetta found them enchanting. She listened intently to the casual drip-drip of the scattering shower as it gently trickled down her pale face. It reminded her of one summer she'd spent with Darius. The moat islands had been their home then. At least, they had pretended it were so. It was where they had made

their dreams come alive; where their childhood memories would always linger. “Come on, we best get inside.” Her father led her by the hand, edging slowly towards Lord Jork's estate. They were half-way up the winding path when Violetta gently nudged her father. “Father, how do the Air people live in such darkness?” She asked. King Eagan was rendered mute by such a curious remark. He was silent for some time when a faint glow drew their gaze forward. Jork's castle housed many enormous, welllit spires appearing as nothing less than shadowed giants. The moonlight settled on the great Shadowdwelling, drowning them in its colossal shadow. Its forbidding nature made Violetta shake. She got the impression that things weren't to go well on her first visit here. Her father still hadn't answered her question. “Wait! What's that?” A figure could be seen moving swiftly towards them. The King quickly stepped in front of his daughter, both arms spread wide in a gesture of protection. “Who goes there?!” He cried sternly. The shadowy figure raised both arms.

“Lord Jork, Highness!” “Ah.” King Eagan breathed a sigh of relief. They'd arrived just in time to catch their host strolling down the path to greet them. Violetta gave her father a queer look. To the young Princess, it seemed an unusual custom for a ruler to come all this way for his guests. Royal or not, it was simply not done. Lord Jork strode into a patch of dense moonlight, instantly catching the Princess' eye. Appearancewise, there was no other man, save for Prince Arlas, that Violetta had ever seen quite like Jork. His hair was silver, shaggy and rough, two pale red eyes alert in their sockets. Violetta couldn't help but stare deep into those pale red gems. There was something within them which had always fascinated her. They drew her in. Almost like magic. “Eagan, Princess.” Lord Jork smiled grimly. Dagger-like fangs protruded from his gums, making him appear like a folk-lore vampire. The dark swathes of fabric which enshrouded his form did nothing to counteract this shocking aesthetic, but instead, it merely highlighted his deathly white skin. “My Lord Jork, it is good to see you.”

The King's greeting was most sincere, his lips curled into an infectious smile. He approached their host, his hand outstretched. The Autumn realm ruler merely looked down at it. He seemed painfully weary, his face blank as he considered the hand. “Sorry, Eagan.” He raised his palm up and the King withdrew. “Right, ahem.” He cleared his throat. “I was led to believe you may have something for me?” Violetta stood silently before the Lord. She didn't feel like telling him she'd locked away her gift. Not just yet anyway. Jork stared back at the King. A faint frown split his lips. “Ah yes, the message.” For a moment the King's eyes sparkled as if in hope. “Follow me to the fire, Highness. You look a little chilly out here.” King Eagan was somewhat put off by the man's change of topic, but nevertheless he followed behind, ushering his daughter towards the Autumn Lord's palace. Lord Jork spoke in barely more than a whisper. The walls listened to his every word, saving their replies for the end of days. The quaint looking study intrigued Violetta. It was painted a rich copper, with a grand open fireplace that crackled

with heat. The fire was the only light allowed here. Hearty flames licked at a thick bundle of logs, lending the room a pleasant glow. King Eagan and his daughter sat across from Lord Jork, on a wide leather chair of deepest burgundy. Jork resided in a plush armchair of a similar shade. His voice was dull and laced with sorrow. “My apologies for such bluntness, Highness, but please relay this message to me.” He passed Violetta a cup of hot cocoa, smiling again with those needle-like teeth. Violetta accepted it nervously, blowing the rising steam from the rim. Please don't ask about the gift She thought. Her guilt still knotted her young insides. King Eagan blew out a long breath, his eyes drifting across the study. He tested his gruff voice, speaking as clearly as he was able. “The message instructed me to speak with you Jork; to restore my faith and return my family.” King Eagan looked uncertain when his host's face betrayed surprise. He eyed the King for some time, looking little reassured by his report. In fact, Violetta was more than certain that Jork felt pity for her hopeful father. He sighed deeply, standing to stretch his long Air Mage legs. “I'm afraid that you've been misled, Eagan. My message has nothing to do with returning your kin.”

King Eagan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So...you can't bring them back?” Violetta felt great sorrow for her father. The firelight shifted across his face, forming a mask of the most unique pain. His hands became restless, gripping the arm of the chair in frustration. She knew in her heart that he was deeply disappointed. He would have given anything to hear his wife's voice again; to see her or Darius smile back at him. In his shoes, Violetta was sure she'd be just as willing to give anything. She needed them back in her life and even the smallest glimmer of hope had been enough to sustain her father. “I'm so sorry, Eagan, but my message was delayed. Someone may have tampered with it.” Lord Jork gave him a meaningful stare, but the King could scarcely look at him. He stood up stiffly, seeking to warm his hands by the fire. He was at least grateful that Jork had installed more grates. As a young boy, Eagan had never seen so many. “So, your magic doesn't help with that?” Jork asked with the faintest hint of humour. King Eagan couldn't help but chuckle good-naturedly at his host's joke. His frown upturned, his mood lightening ever so slightly. “It doesn't help so much when we're tired, damp and weak, my Lord. Could get nasty, flames

everywhere.” He turned around and winked at Jork, before his head bowed, his sombre mood overtaking him once more. Violetta gazed upon her father. She had never seen him cry before, not even when her mother died. He refused to show such pain to his daughter, whom he wanted to protect from harm. Always. As he stared down at the bare floor, a first silent tear could be seen on his cheek. Lord Jork rose from the comfort of his chair. He reached out his arms, leading his comrade to sit beside him. “Here. Drink this.” He passed a warm cup of cocoa towards the King, watching as he took his first sip. “In all honesty, Eagan, I never meant to hurt you. My original message was...rather different.” King Eagan shared the look of a sceptic. “See for yourself.” Jork placed an envelope on a table beside them. It was ice-blue; smaller than any message he'd seen. It made a quaint change from the old-fashioned scrolls he sometimes received. Violetta watched as her father slowly reached out for it, grasping it between a thumb and three fingers. Gradually, he peeled it open, digging in to reveal a thin scrap of paper. “This is scarcely a

message, Jork!”

He

exclaimed. “Perhaps six lines at most!” Lord Jork gestured for him to read; To Lord Jork, Please relay this message to King Eagan. Emperor Jugan Frost was involved with a traitor. You both know them well. They are to blame. Signed Ryore, Circa CN-4. CN-4, Violetta thought, The year of the great storm. The year mother and brother died. King Eagan stared at Jork above the rim of the letter, his eyes wide. “This message is over a year old!” He fumed, “Why haven't I seen this earlier?!” “Blackmail!” Lord Jork's voice rose above all else. “Ryore only took the throne this year. Until then, his father was still Emperor!” King Eagan's forehead creased in a frown. Jork sighed. “The letter could never be sent while Jugan still lived,” he said. Jork refused to be blamed for the

lateness of the message. He scowled at the King, before returning his gaze to the open fire. Eagan's eyes turned to his daughter. He did his best to give her a reassuring look, to let her know Lord Jork was merely being assertive. Protecting his honour. “Eagan, I have heard a great many rumours as of late and I fear somebody may be trying to damage you.” The King stood suddenly. He towered above the Autumn Lord, his face a mixture of despair and confusion. “Damage me? How?!” Lord Jork rose to the King's level. He glanced away at the open fire, selecting his words as carefully as possible. “I believe that the deaths of your family were not accidental. I believe, Sire, that they were murdered.” The King's mouth fell open in horror. He rounded to see his daughter glance up, her own eyes filled to the brim with tears. “What?” She whimpered. King Eagan pulled his child close, stroking her long waves of golden hair. “Thank you for your hospitality, my Lord, but I'm afraid we must be leaving now.”

Violetta resisted the urge to wail. She could feel her heart breaking once more, just as it had on that fateful night. “Come, daughter.” Her father rose. He motioned for her to follow and she did so without hesitation. She could see that her father was hurt. He did his best not to show it, but something about him ached with sorrow. “Wait, Highness!” Before they could reach the study door, Lord Jork had barred it, his arms splayed wide and his robes a-flutter. “Ryore's father somehow stopped him from sending that message. Once Jugan died, it arrived rather...swiftly. The traitor may be the one responsible for your wife and son's death.” King Eagan slowly took a few paces back. His suspicious eyes considered the Lord a moment longer. “Just how swiftly are we talking, Jork?” King Eagan sounded most impatient. There was no doubt that he and his daughter had heard enough. Jork gulped. He glanced at the Princess, her sad eyes still lingering on the mysterious Air Mage. “Four hours.” The King looked as though he would faint.

“Since his father's death?!” It was neither a statement, nor really a question. His face blanched. In panic, he heaved Lord Jork aside, scrabbling to get at the study door. “I'm not sure I know such a person,” he called as he walked through the cold passages towards the great hall. Two guards, in steel grey, promptly opened the hall doors for the King, bowing generously with one arm to their chests. “Er, thank you,” he grumbled. He slunk out into the bitter cold andushered his daughter quickly ahead of him as their host stumbled blindly behind. “Your guess is as good as mine as to who, Eagan, but it probably is best you go!” Hearing this, King Eagan turned. He halted his child, turning to search deep into Jork's eyes. He thought over the meaning behind his words, but found himself without understanding. “Why is that?” He asked coolly. Lord Jork shuddered. The chill night air did him no favours. Standing there in the dark, he looked unnaturally desperate. A crisp wind lifted his hair, his eyes fierce yet filled with sorrow. “It's my brother, Arlas!” he cried, “He likes to play with the weather. You are my friends, Eagan. I want you kept safe.”

The King's eyes stayed fixed on their host. Something was amiss here. While Jork's words seemed genuine, they didn't ring true enough. Eagan jolted, prompted by a hand clapping him hard on the back. “Father?” It was Violetta's. “Lets get into the carriage. We needn't be out if there's another storm.” The King's lips quivered as he stared back at her. Her slender face reminded him so much of her dear mother. “Of course, daughter,” he resigned, “Come on. Inside.” He gave Jork one last fleeting look before he turned to open her carriage door, making sure she was seated before the driver politely opened the other. He was glad their driver had waited as asked. It put his mind at ease to have loyal staff and every one of them was considered close family. The horses fronting the carriage set off at a run. While King Eagan held his daughter close, the gentle rocking brought her peace. Violetta's eyes drooped. She gently embraced her only parent, her innocent eyes searching his. “I love you, father,” she whispered sleepily, “Promise me you'll remember that.”

Chapter Five In the cool reaches of his private chambers, Emperor Ryore lay sleeping. Dreaming. His legs struck out at invisible foes as he ran through the tattered remnants of his mind. Since his ascension to the throne, he'd had visions of such illustrious beauty; of marvellous fantasies involving her. At barely nineteen, the new Emperor of the Winter Realm had inherited many responsibilities, most of which he considered unfavourable. Tonight his dreams were deeply troubled. He tossed and turned, pestered by dark images and crude phantoms. It was always she who managed to save him. Ryore remembered how beautiful her hair had looked; like finely-spun gold, luscious curls falling down past her neck. He smiled in his sleep. He felt such a powerful longing for her; an intense savagery that could not be quenched. If only he could have her. They would produce the perfect heir, from her supple young body and his brilliant mind. Ryore's eyes flashed open. Beads of sweat clung to his body, left behind from such racy thoughts. They licked at his lean frame, his hands shaking as

he adjusted to the dark. He felt the faint layer of frost roll over his body. It was familiar to him; cool and tingling, with the same mysterious blue glow he remembered. He hurriedly wiped his palms on his sheets. The silken material stroked at his thighs, awakening him to new desires. Once again, he peered through the darkness and it dawned on him that he was alone. His heart fell. The object of his desires was nowhere to be found. Only his father's dying words called out to him through the lonely night. They penetrated the cool air, making Ryore shiver with dread. Arlas will lead you to your destiny. Ryore shot up. He shuddered, vanquishing the memory as he made to stretch. The ghostly blue glow shed itself from his skin, the frost melting as his body gradually warmed. He glanced over to the heavy curtains, shifting himself from the crumpled bed. One pull on the cord and the fabric parted. Ryore stood there, his desires swelling within his member. The early hours of dawn greeted him like an old friend. He thought back to his nightmares, steadying his breathing. “Just a dream,” he whispered to the fading night. It was only ever a dream. The Emperor paced the busy throne-room. Today was a day for strict business and already it dragged him down like lead. The room's harsh choice of

lamps blinded him to the counsellor’s pleas. He'd been ready to accept reasonable proposals, but he was a far cry from understanding business. His counsellors had seen fit to present him with the latest figures for the Realm's expenses, and although their finances were doing well enough, it was Ryore's priorities they'd decided to question. The Emperor lay back in his father's old throne, a goblet of wine clenched tight in one hand. The counsellors held concern in their eyes, their voices as echoes; each quieting as they waited for their Emperor's interest to grow. Ryore licked the remnants of wine from his lips. The flame Princess still hung on his mind, haunting his thoughts like a mocking spectre. He so desperately wanted to see her again that no manner of duties would preoccupy him. “Umm, Sire?” Ryore blinked. He felt his thoughts jolt back to the present where his counsellors’ faces swam into view. An elderly man stood hunched over before him, his long white hair reaching down to his ankles. ”How unsightly,” mused Ryore. His mind groaned with mild annoyance and as it did, he felt his powers loose. Thin veins of frost travelled up his body, pleading to be released from his control. No. Emperors do not feel. he chided himself, We are in perfect control of our emotions. His late-

father's voice filled his head, reminding him of all the things an Emperor was. Ryore allowed his breathing to level out, counting to ten before he felt his powers slowly retract. He looked once more to the elderly gentleman, whose patience seemed to be wearing thin. “Excuse me...Sire?” Ryore carefully studied the old man. He looked to have seen better days, loose robes hanging over a portly stomach. The Emperor's eyes slowly turned to slits. “Yes?” He felt himself grin inside as the old man cringed away from the throne. Ryore had seen that look many times before. It was a look he'd encountered a lot in his youth, whilst his father had reigned on the Winter throne. It was fear. Fear that even a few words of courage may have you locked up or worse, hanged; buzzards given the privilege to pick you clean just hours later. The elderly man sought his own courage, taking tentative steps back up to the throne. “Sire, we are somewhat worried about the realm's...priorities.” Every pair of eyes in the room turned on him. Ryore felt his counsellors glaring ahead, condemning him as usual for his frittering of the

Royal coin. Ryore knew well enough that what they truly sought was the guidance they'd received from his late father. Emperor Jugan had been an avid businessman; highly educated, well-travelled, and with a good mind for monetary gain. Emperor Ryore was none of these things. He stared around at his counsellors. He studied them all, his ears indifferent to their petulant moans. “My priorities are the realm's priorities,” he offered in his most modest tone, “I am sorry if certain areas of my expenditure offend you so. What then do you suggest?” Nobody had the courage to speak. The Emperor sighed. No suggestions of their own, yet they complain all day and night to me. He gave himself time to pause for thought, before standing from his glittering throne. “Firstly, I declare that we are to stop our yearly pilgrimage around the four Realms and are to raise taxes by fifteen percent!” The flushed counsellors stared back in horror. Ryore watched as the same white-haired gentleman took a deep breath, raising his voice to be sure he was heard. “Raise taxes for whom, your Grace?”

He shied away from the Emperor's shadow, worried that maybe he'd spoken too soon. The Emperor took to his seat once more, stroking the fine stubble of his chin. “Why not both?” The old man let out a loud gasp. The counsellors behind him halted to stare, sweat lining their furrowed brows. Their mouths gaped in disbelief. “Sire!” Pleaded the elderly man, “The poor can't pay as it is!” Ryore felt his eyes roll. He longed for this meeting to come to an end. He was growing tired of their nonsense. The throne room was growing increasingly warm, the uncomfortable cling of his robes irking him. Ryore rested his head to one side. “Albius?” He Spied the high-priest lurking within the shadows. Ryore gave him a broad grin. He rose sharply, ready to finally throw in the towel. They had asked for his guidance and now they had it. If they refused to accept his compromises, then the blame would simply fall to them. The Emperor strode powerfully away from the throng of people, whipping his dark robe about himself. “Albius!” he called to his much-loved priest, “Take over for me. I have business elsewhere!” The priest signalled that he would oblige, bowing

low before his master. The counsellors can deaden his ears for some time. Ryore gave the scene one final glance before sweeping through the grand double doors, leaving the counsellors to fend for themselves. Ryore sat alone in his draughty tower room. He glanced out of the small arched window, down into the grounds below. His thoughts kept drifting to other things, like the rare frost plants which bloomed beautifully in the winter gardens. They drew his mind back to Violetta. Such a sweet young girl; now all grown up, or so he'd been led to believe. If only he could learn of her desires; he was certain that he could make her love him. Ryore's eyes suddenly flared. He stared more intently at the Royal gardens. A week of heavy snowfall saw them draped in a glistening white sheet. The grounds were like a winter's dream; the sort of place that children long to frequent, playing for hours until forced to retire. He smiled faintly. There had once been such times for he and his brother, but sadly no longer. Nowadays, the person he imagined in the snow with him would always be his lovely Princess. He desired nothing more at that moment than to wrap his arms securely around her, hearing her gentle breathing as she lay on his chest. It was then that Ryore's eyes lit up. There was a way he could learn of the Princess' plans; a way to learn of her heart's desires. He recalled, from his

younger years, the day he'd obtained his greatest treasure; an artefact which could locate whatever a person sought. It was known as ‘The All-SeeingLense.' Ryore crossed the main hall to where the dungeons stairs led miles deep. He sought to acquire the lense from its depths. If I pursue it now, then my search can be under-way within minutes.Hhe reasoned. With that in mind, he hurried down the steep stone steps, his thoughts focused on the lense's power. It was an object like none other he'd ever encountered. He had showed it to no one. Not a living soul. He clattered down the remaining steps, his memories flooding back to him. The lense had always fascinated him. It was not flat as its name suggested, but was in fact a round orb made entirely of glass. He'd delighted when he'd first used it, admiring the beauty in the way it worked. He opened the first locked door to the dungeon’s main rooms. He recalled more memories of the mythical lense; you could only hear sounds and see faint distortions of coloured mist. That was the way of the mysterious artefact. Dark shadows were considered a rarity, but the object itself was a true gift. It had been the heaviest snowfall of his youth when he had originally come across it. His father, Emperor Jugan, had sent him on a most vital errand; to slay a beast which lurked in an infamous Cave. The Cave of Darkri.

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The Cave of Darkri smelt dank and putrid. Ryore lurked outside in the bitter cold with nothing but an old sword he'd swiped from a guard. He was hesitant to enter. His father had commanded him not to use magic, for this was an ancient creature; one to be killed by blade alone. He had named it 'The Lurk,' for it had a sneaky habit of creeping up upon lost citizens. Ryore peered back into the gloomy tunnel. He leant by the entrance, doing his best to remember the quest's importance. His father had trusted this task to him and he alone had to see it through. Steadily, the young prince gathered his courage, taking the first step into his future. “Ow!” Ryore felt his ankle smart. He bent down, trying to locate the cause of the pain. “Aha!” He cried. A jagged rock jutted out from the cave wall and had scraped along his tender flesh. Ryore swiftly righted himself. He tried to take shallow breaths as he peered through the void of the winding cave. The darkness threatened to consume his soul. “This way,” he whispered as encouragement to himself. He cautiously felt his way along the sandy walls, guiding himself through the pitch black. All around him, sand fell in clusters, irritating his skin and

making him wheeze. He had barely taken five steps when a low growl sounded close by. Ryore froze. He could feel his pulse quickening considerably, sweat forming along his palms. What do I do? He thought, panic-stricken. The sound only grew louder, becoming a shriek worse than any he'd heard. His ears were splitting from the grating noise, his body heating rapidly. The sensation of melting streamed across his palms. Ryore couldn't see a thing. He breathed deeply, summoning his strength. “Aeos liptus luminos.” A cold blue flame sparked out across his palms. He held it high, lighting up a small sphere of space. Frost-Fire was incredibly rare; some said it was a gift of the Gods. It had not always been so. Long before, when all the realms had benefited from an alliance, the citizens had regularly mated across realms, thus birthing children who possessed some small knowledge of a second power. His father had sired him from a Flame-realm commoner whilst still in his youth. Ryore had been forbidden from seeing her, until the point that Emperor Jugan had seen her murdered. Now, she was a distant memory; a thought he could never quite put into words. Perhaps this was why his father hated him so. Ryore shook himself. With great haste he formed the light into an orb, throwing it to sit in the cave's

low ceiling. He glanced warily down at his hands. Water. It flowed steadily from his palms, like powers would from an ancient god. He willed it to stop; trying to channel it into Frost, but as his powers blew out, he heard a low grunt. His concentration broke, the water remaining. He paused, listening against the gentle trickle, for the same low cry. “Oh shh...” He dove forward suddenly, arms spread wide. Bits of the cave ceiling shook themselves free, tumbling down around the shocked prince. He struggled forward a few inches when something strong caught hold of his leg. Ryore cringed. His palms continued to mist with frost, his mind wound tight like a child's toy. He slowly craned his neck around. There was nothing. Ryore frowned. He tried again to shift his legs, unsure as to why they still refused. The sound of ragged breathing suddenly filled his young ears and he knew that the beast must have some part to play. Something hot and fluid seeped onto his thighs, making him cry out with the stinging pain. He gulped hard. He found it troubling to process the feeling. He knew his adversary would be fast. He just needed to be faster. Swallowing all fear, Ryore turned, his midsection bent at an awkward angle. Fear flooded back through him. A monstrous creature stood

before him. At eight-feet tall, it howled with rage, towering far above the slight Prince. Ryore stared, open-mouthed. On all-fours, he reckoned it could easily out-pace him. Okay. Just breathe. Ryore listened to his mind. His face cringed as the foul stench of the creature infiltrated his nose. His eyes, watered through it, a voice in his head asking why the beast had not yet attacked. The boy's focus sharpened. He knew better than to make sudden movements. Ever so gingerly, he reached for his scabbard, eventually managing to draw out his sword. He gripped the hilt tightly in one hand, the pressure on his leg suddenly less than before. He heard the beast swing at the last moment. With great haste he lurched himself forward, his legs moving of their own accord. He dipped down as the creature slashed at his head, swinging his blade up to greet it. The clash of metal against claw could be heard for miles. Ryore arced his blade up once more, just as the beast had lunged towards him. The swing failed. The creature, roaring, managed to knock him back, where sharp rock bit into his delicate flesh. Ryore wiped a trickle of blood from his arm, tightening his hold on the forged steel. He felt frost glide up the hilt of the blade, but swiftly remembered his father's warning; Only mortal weapons can vanquish this creature. The Prince persuaded his powers to fade. He waited with baited breath as the creature planned its next

attack. It came suddenly, the mighty beast lunging towards him in fury. Ryore thrust his blade once more. With an almighty squelch, it plunged deep into the creature's head. A loud squeal rang out as he felt it drive home. The beast froze. It began to shudder and sway, falling towards him with incredible speed. Ryore dodged it's corpse as life fled from it, toppling carelessly onto the ground. The Prince took a moment to catch his breath. His head pounded, his body weary. He struggled to keep himself upright, gripping the cave walls to use as leverage. Now that the ferocious monster lay dead, he turned. Slowly, with the walls as his crutch, he snuck forward to get a closer look. The beast didn't look at all of this world. He yanked his weapon bluntly from its forehead, cleaning the edge on its long, coarse fur. He'd gotten lucky. The blade had passed right into its brain. Just a few inches over and it might have survived. Ryore leant forward, doing his best not to gag from the smell. The creature's head was similar to that of a boar's; its tusks well-curved, head as bald as an egg. Its body, on the other hand, resembled a large wild-cat, with piercing claws jutting out from four fur-lined paws. For a while, he gazed in awe of it. His strength slowly flowed back to him as he stared back up at the creature's head. A light; green and striking, shone out from within, lighting up the vast entirety of its mouth. Ryore gasped. He hadn't

recalled seeing it before. With the utmost regret, he sought it out. He moved close to the beast's lips, parting them, plunging in both hands. He could feel its squishy insides as he dug deep into the creature's throat. He held his breath as best as he could, feeling for anything hard or sharp amongst the foulness of its dying flesh. Finally, his hand closed around something other than putrid flesh and bloodied tissue. With a vicious tug, he heaved it out, bits of skin tearing away from their host. Ryore fell back against the jagged stone. His eyes were shut to the dull pain in his back. He let the dust settle from the fall, opening his eyes once more. He blinked slowly and gasped as he stared in awe at his palms. Held tightly between them was a glass sphere, perfectly rounded and glowing a faint green. His hands shook as he held it close. It was still partially covered by a film of blood red, where the creature's throat had protected its treasure. Panting, Ryore propped himself up, feeling his way back to a wall. With the orb safely in the crook of one arm, he used the other to grip the coarse rock. He used the wall as an anchor to find his way out, grinning at his efforts, having finally prevailed. He had slain the beast as per his father's request. His new-found treasure was merely a delightful bonus. He paused as the moonlight tempted him out. He was now absolutely certain of one thing—His father despised him and wanted him dead. If not for

the blade he had outright stolen, Ryore would be lying within the belly of the beast. His own father had sent him knowingly to what should have clearly been his death. It was not something which Ryore would forget. He fixed his grip on the cave wall and put as much distance between himself and the creature as was physically possible. He had no doubts as to who his father was; he was a man who could not be trusted. He had no sense of honour or loyalty and as such, the Prince decided that he needn't know of his brilliant discovery. He was the enemy. *

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Since finding the lense, Ryore had endured a foul illness. It had stretched on for countless weeks, seeing him wither, only to regain his strength two months later. It had never been clear as to why. The Doctors had called it a major infection, but his father had cried that a 'stronger' man would not have been so badly afflicted. Ryore pushed such memories aside. He was Emperor now and he held the key to his own future; right here, in this Estate. He scoured the gloomy dungeon rooms, impatient to meet his love once more. She was the only thing that drove him on. The thought of her lovely face made all the toil seem perfectly necessary. He needed to know of her upcoming plans and whether he could join such delightful frivolities. His eyes

clocked a solid black chest. It lay forgotten in one corner, covered with a cloth made entirely of dust. He stepped closer, not wishing to spare a single inch in his thorough search. A skull and crossbones were etched deep into the worn metal lid. He knelt down, gingerly reaching towards the chest. Ryore bit his lip and flung it open. Relief glowed upon his pallid face. Had he merely upturned it, he would have been without his only hope. There in the chest, was the familiar green light, winking slyly back at him. The Emperor's tower-room remained dusty and derelict; hardly a room his father would have approved of. Ryore quietly closed the door. He placed the lense on a tall stone pedestal before taking up his usual seat. He closed his eyes, carefully tuning in to his more private thoughts. He knew that it would take time and good concentration to find his love. He breathed in deeply, thinking of her gorgeous smile. He let his mind slip away as he touched his forehead to the lense's cool glass. A sudden whirring noise enveloped him. It made his ice-blue eyes snap swiftly open. A harsh blue light twinkled back from the lense. It was working. From its centre, the light spread out; an elusive form of mental energy crowding the glass. Ryore watched it intently as the faintest tinkling sound strained through the chaos. It grew steadily, becoming the beginnings of a quiet

conversation. He pressed his ear onto the lense, able to pick out the voices of King Eagan and his daughter. “You summoned me, father?” The Princess' tone was somewhat mocking, but the King's gravelly voice was stern, echoing around their tight surroundings. “My dearest Violetta, you are aware that you are my rightful heir, but...as a woman, you will not be allowed to succeed me unless you find yourself a suitor first!” A short silence followed, before Ryore heard the King sigh. “You are fifteen now! Tradition urges you to take a partner. There are many fine choices available to you, but our citizens would benefit so much more if it were someone of power and integrity.” Ryore licked his lips. He was eager to hear the rest of the speech, in case there were some part that he could play. “You could use someone who can help you rule after I have come to...rest.” The last word was added very delicately. Another long sigh blew out from King Eagan's lips. “If only your mother and brother were here.” The Emperor smiled absent-mindedly. He found

it most intriguing to hear of their affairs. He'd often wondered if King Eagan and Lord Jork had ever gotten his message all those years ago. The traitor was still at large, somewhere. He ran the King's words through his flashing mind. Perhaps he would one day consider another ruler for his daughter; perhaps him. Ryore grinned at this exciting prospect. He certainly saw himself as all-powerful and intelligent. He could fathom no reason as to why he should not appear suitable. “You need a husband!” The voices from the lense diverted his mind once more. Ryore planted his ear firmly back against the glass while he waited for the next uproar to commence. “Oh, a husband! How gracious of you to let me marry, father!” There was no doubt regarding the Princess' feelings. Her sarcastic tone was bitter and dry; she practically spat the words at the King. Strangely, Eagan remained indifferent to her foul mood. The sound of flames springing to life could be heard in the background. King Eagan's powers? Ryore's mind raced with questions. He had never seen the King's powers first hand, but had heard legends as old as he. “Your vile tone does not intimidate me,

daughter,” remarked Eagan, “Who knows. You seem quite taken with Xyhoni; King Aemon's honorary son. He would make a fine King.” Violetta sounded taken aback. Ryore heard her turn away from her father and wondered if her intent was to hide her embarrassment. “Hehe. Do not be ashamed,” he called to her, “We all have feelings my dear. Now, what of your first Season Council meeting? Will you be in attendance?” Ryore's ears pricked up. The council meeting could be his big chance. “It is in two days, my lady!” The Emperor's eyebrows arched as a third voice chimed out through the lense. It was higher. Sweeter. But of course, Violetta's confidante. Ryore had heard rumours of her. She was said to be surprisingly beautiful, with hair the colour of roaring flames. Yet no matter how beautiful she'd appear to be, no woman could hold a candle to his love. “Perhaps, your daughter should attend, Majesty.” Ryore could hear Jermise's footsteps as they echoed down the marble floor. “Maybe a potential suitor shall reveal themselves there.” His heart pounded like a steel drum. He had to

attend this meeting, at whatever cost. “Then it is settled, Violetta. In two days, you shall attend your first Season Council meeting and I expect you to be well-behaved by then.” Ryore parted reluctantly from the shimmering orb. He gently rubbed at his aching temples, having been satisfied with what he'd learnt. The next Council meeting was but two days away, to be held at the infamous Shadow Castle. Ryore felt reluctance set into him. He disliked having to set foot in the primitive Autumn Realm, remembering only too well his father's past indiscretions. Lord Jork would be hosting that evening's council and though he knew he needed to ready himself, Ryore could not shake the uneasy feeling that gripped his bones.

Chapter Six Night was approaching fast. Violetta's long sunshine locks were helping, so far, to keep it at bay. She lay there in a crumpled heap; her unkempt waves providing a shield, behind which she could conceal her soul. Lord Jork's words still rattled through her ears: They may be the one who caused your kin's deaths. She turned the words over in her mind. She needed to know who was really at fault. Until now, she'd always believed that she was to blame. Her treasured gift had seen her family linger at the market; having practically sent them to their deaths. The Princess wiped away a stray tear. She wondered if her mother could see her; if she were somehow with her wherever she was. Be brave. Her mother's voice echoed through her head. Be brave like me. Violetta did her best to hold her mother and brother there, within her mind. The memory of them was strangely comforting, but her father's harsh words tore their image away. “You must take a husband before you can ascend the throne!” She reflected on them sorrowfully. Her fifteenth birthday had not long passed and already she felt the crushing weight of her father's kingdom.

Everyone was expecting great things from her. All Violetta longed for was to rule alone. 'Alone.' She almost laughed aloud. She hardly knew the meaning of the word. True privacy was rare in her world, her duties closing in on her youth and what little freedom she had left. She wished her father could see through her eyes. Even if she married for love, death and despair were just round the corner. They could catch you off guard at any point and make you mourn your entire existence. Violetta covered her face with her hands. She never wanted to experience the same depth of loss as her father had. She was still so fragile in various ways, with many hopes and desires that were yet to be explored. Permission to be herself was overshadowed by duty and propriety, contrary to what King Aemon had once told her. She forced back more tears, ignoring the knock upon her chamber door. Jermise ran a crystal comb through the Princess' hair. Her confidante took pride in her work, the long strands gliding smoothly together as if they were silk. Violetta smiled at how gentle she was. There was no harsh scraping of her scalp as there had been in her childhood. “There we are.” Jermise set down the comb beside her. “What do you think?” The Princess turned her gaze to the large mirror set before her. Her face fell. Jermise had indeed

given her golden hair a silken quality, but below the fine locks was reflected a pale, distant girl, who seemed little preoccupied with the process of grooming. Violetta hung her head. She had always been told that she was quite beautiful, but now that she could see herself, she considered such compliments as empty and cruel; pretty words which slithered from a passing tongue. Of all people, Xyhoni had been the one boy besides her brother that she had ever felt truly comfortable with. He never needed to give such compliments. His presence alone was enough for her. “Such a pretty angel.” Jermise pulled her hair back from her face. “Are you thinking about the Council, Vi?” The Princess shuddered at the pet-name, having been given it soon after they'd met. It was a friendly, yet patronizing reminder of her youth. “Yes. I am,” she lied. She could scarcely bring her head up, for fear that Jermise would realize her fib. Thankfully her confidante just continued to work. She smiled happily as she chatted away. “It wouldn't be so awful if you met a gentleman there, would it? Perhaps he would let you have sway over council matters, once you were married. Hmm.”

This thought came as a shock to Violetta. Even so, it seemed to return the youthful glow to her eyes. She glanced back up into the dresser mirror and this time, she could see a beautiful woman with great spirit. “I suppose that would be nice,” she mused. Violetta turned the thought over in her mind. Sway over council matters? She thought on it a long while, wondering what such relations would be like. “Just remember,” said Jermise as she held out a night-gown, “You must be lady-like.” A few well-chosen words were all it took to shatter her serenity. Lady-like? Violetta didn't know what that meant. Nobody had ever told her. She sighed. She would never understand all these strange customs. She put it from her mind for now, dashing out of her impractical finery so she could ready herself for bed. She approached the garment Jermise had left; laid out flat upon her bed. Her fingers trailed across the smooth fabric. It was so strange, almost fluid with its light weight and sheer feel. She quickly pulled it up over her shoulders, slipping it on without a second thought. There had been a time when she hadn't been able to undress so freely. She turned to the other side of the room, where her brother used to lay at night. She imagined him there, sleeping soundly. Now it was like he'd never existed. Violetta did her best to

block more painful memories. She desired nothing more than to just slip away into a deep and dreamless sleep. * * * * * A colossal shadow towered above him, making him feel insignificant. Trivial. Emperor Ryore glared up at it. His eyes roved over the mighty keep; its size, pitiful, compared to his fortress back East. The Shadow Castle was a force to be reckoned with. It housed countless guards; all trained to be invisible to the human eye. Faint light seeped out of the oval windows. It was a gentle glow, which bathed his path to the front entrance. Ryore quickly scanned his surroundings. It was dark, but he could see well enough. He waded through the rattling winds as they whipped mercilessly at his skin. “Emperor?” An eerie voice drifted on the wind. Ryore emerged from the castle grounds, his skin stained with red marks from the cold. “Emperor?” Taunted the same voice. A shadow formed in his peripheral vision. It was blurred at the edges and unrecognisable. “Don't turn,” it whispered in warning. He could feel the speaker grow stealthily close, making his

body stiffen in fear. Ryore steadied his breathing, ready to strike. “Yes?” He growled. The unknown figure reached out to him, clapping him hard on the left shoulder. It was freezing, like a slab of ice had frozen his skin. “I was hoping you'd be more like your father,” it whispered. It withdrew its hand, along with its icy feel. “Pity.” The Emperor could stand the torment no longer. At the last word, Ryore swung round, punching blindly in unrestrained rage. To his surprise, his fists met thin air. He stared around the dimly-lit path, frustrated that he'd not caught flesh. There was only him. And the mysterious figure by the castle doorway. The Emperor pounced. “Alright, who sent you?!” He cried as he flung his arms around the figure. A muffled cry came from below. Ryore gently loosened his grip and the cries suddenly filled the air. “Let go, Ryore!” The voice scolded. “It is I, your host!” The Emperor instantly relaxed his grip. He stared down at the dark figure, startled to find Lord Jork beneath him. “Your Grace!” He shrank back, eyes unmoving.

“I'm terribly sorry. I heard this voice! I thought it might be...” His lips froze, for fear he'd already said too much. “Might be...whom?” Lord Jork stood tall, casually brushing off his black dress-robes. “Nothing,” Ryore sighed. “No harm done, I suppose,” mumbled Jork; “Tell me Ryore. This voice, was it deep?” Ryore's face blanched. He glanced cautiously up at his flustered host. “Yes, Sire. So deep it sounded like Lucifer himself.” “I see.” The troubled look he received did nothing to reassure him. Jork seemed to stare off for some time as though he were recalling a distant memory. Before long, he turned back, his hand held out for the proper greeting. The Emperor cautiously accepted the gesture. Jork's wrists were fringed by lustrous purple, their craftsmanship expert by their look. Jork swiftly retracted his wrist. “I suggest you put your mind from it, Sire.” Ryore moved his gaze from the elaborate

handiwork. He, instead, focused on his host's pale eyes as they glinted faintly red in the moonlight. “I trust you are well?” Lord Jork asked. Ryore nodded. He couldn't help but stare into the Lord's eyes. There was something within them that had him entranced. Without warning, he felt an arm curl tight around his. He glanced down to where Jork was guiding him steadily forward. “Let us forget this, Sire. This voice shall do you no more harm.” Jork's words rang out, perhaps purposefully raised to inform the shadows which lurked in the night. The Emperor followed his host inside where he scrutinized every glinting tapestry; each little golden thread. He was shown into a bare white room, where he'd been told to make himself comfortable. Ryore had never been the first to arrive. He glanced about the empty council room, its simple design only serving to enhance its nakedness. He sighed. His burning desire to make Violetta's acquaintance had him inextricably flustered. He stared blankly about himself, still stung by the way they'd replicated the original; right from his own Estate. Even the tiniest of details remained precisely the same. It was practical. Spacious. Ryore counted eight chairs arranged

around the same octagonal table; one side for each of the eight council members. Frustrated by the sheer magnitude of his nerves, he slumped into one of the high-backed chairs. Their aged wood gently grazed his arms. Ryore sought composure. One hand fingered an antique gold brooch; a gift he'd received as a young child. His nerves refused to leave him. His face rose when he spied a bottle on the table's edge. He reached out, persuading the cork to abandon ship. Shakily, he poured himself a small measure of the fragrant wine, glad to have happened by the glasses behind him. Ryore sipped slowly, savouring the fruity tang that hung deliciously upon his lips. A sickly-sweetness crept in at the edge, immobilizing him for want of more. He pushed back the glass, careful not to overdo it. His mind turned to other matters, briefly focusing upon his younger brother. Prince Fadius had recently become engaged. It was an arranged match; two sensual troublemakers lumped together for life. His fiancée was a Frost seer. Reiza. She was said to be quite powerful, with talents beyond those of Kings, yet it was still Fadius who disturbed him most. The dull room slowly filled with counsellors. Ryore watched, uninterested, as they found their seats and measured out drinks. Lord Jork's younger brother, Arlas, took the seat beside him. The Emperor was instantly filled with unease. Arlas set

about pouring himself a generous glass, while Ryore stole a glance from the corner of his eye. Slick silver hair sloped past broad shoulders. He shivered. A shocking sensation burst through him, like fine lightning were striking his every vein. The Emperor did his best to ignore it. As their host entered, he turned, getting a better look at the enemy Prince. Arlas was currently clad in full battle armour, his shield and weapon close to hand. Nobody batted an eyelid at this. It was considered normal in the Autumn Realm for siblings to act as the ruler's own guard, but the glare Lord Jork gave his brother did little to inspire feelings of safety. The council talked idly amongst themselves; everything from the weather to their interests and politics. Ryore carefully studied them all. He liked to determine the character of others; the strongwilled, the flighty, and the mad. Their host drew himself into the furthest chair. He surveyed the table. Two guests remained unaccounted for. “Order. Order!” The talk among counsellors gradually ceased. “Thank you,” cried Jork, “My dear Council members, we are two people short at present. I am certain they shall be along soon, so I think it best that we begin.” Jork's voice was hoarse. He filled his glass half way and sipped, attempting to sooth the rattle in his throat. Ryore was displeased. His love had yet to

arrive safely. For now, he put it from his mind, their host's croaky voice echoing back to them. “We are all aware that only one magical training school is open at present. It is my intention to have a new school open within each of the three remaining realms.” Ryore tried to focus on his host's words, but his mind simply raged on with disappointment. He did well to maintain his cool façade, holding back the despair which gripped at the edges of his mind. Each member could be seen sipping tentatively at their glass, their attention focused upon their host. “I have prepared a proposition for you all to examine. I would like you to read it and if you have no objections, to please sign away your name.” Jork snapped his fingers and eight quills appeared, complete with ink. Ryore drained the last of his wine, just as the papers were passed round the table. He swiftly skimmed his own copy, making to sign the bottom line. He had no worries of the schools being built. He knew that the commoner’s magic had already died out. Why not give them a little false hope. He thought. A brilliant glimmer caught the Emperor's eye. At first, he cringed at its sudden brightness, wanting to retreat into the deepest shadows. Then he became compelled by intrigue. He lifted his head, his mouth

slack. It was her. Princess Violetta, all grown up. She strode steadily up to Lord Jork where she dipped into a graceful bow. Her father shadowed her every step. He bowed low to the Lord of the Realm, keeping his gaze all the while on his daughter. Ryore was unable to take his eyes from her. He couldn't believe how beautiful she'd grown. Her golden hair had only become more luscious with time, her hazel-nut eyes ever bright with excitement. She and King Eagan took the seats either side of their host. Ryore felt himself grinning again. Sat there against the blank canvas of the wall, she appeared as a splendid vision of loveliness; a creature that no reproduction could do justice. Ryore's mind prickled with uncertainty. Someone was missing and in that instant, he recalled whom. Violetta's confidante was not present. A bold move, thought the Emperor. With their host quickly introducing the latecomers, he handed out two more proposals. Violetta and her father swiftly signed their copies, handing them back without a second thought. Ryore watched as a grin spread over Lord Jork's face. Their host stood swiftly, his arms raised. “Counsellors!” He cried happily, “It is my honour to announce that the proposal passes by a majority vote!”

The small gathering cheered. They rose as one, their hearty cries filling the cool air. Ryore watched Jork as he poured a fresh glass, deep crimson liquid bubbling forth. King Eagan and his daughter had already joined their esteemed host. They seemed eager to engage inconversation, focusing on the new proposition and just how it would be implemented. The Emperor was about to join them when a gaggle of servants entered the room. They carried trays of liberal refreshment, with drinks of all colours stoppered up in clear flasks. Gingerly, they set them down, before bowing promptly to their master. As they exited, the council swiftly poured their drinks, grabbing various flasks from the tray on the table. Ryore waited patiently until he was the last to choose. He examined each flask carefully, eventually settling on an amber coloured wine. The Emperor took a first tentative sip. He had never seen wine like this before and was curious about the taste to come. The liquid hit his tongue in a cool burst. It was sudden. Intense. “Mmm, apricot.” The Emperor happily swallowed the drink. He didn't pause, draining the glass dry before pouring a much larger second helping. He turned casually to the other guests. All were now deep in conversation, their bellies full of superb liquor. King Eagan and his daughter had since moved on, leaving Jork alone to collect his thoughts. Ryore eyed the Flame Princess hungrily,

watching her sip from her own glass. She'd chosen a bold, blue coloured drink, her eyes alight with a cool pleasure. Talk soon turned to the growing poverty of the colder Realms. Citizens were suffering badly, particularly those of the Winter Realm. The counsellors had since taken to refilling their glasses, surrounding Ryore in a loose circle. They badgered him endlessly. Questions came from all sides on how they could better the quality of life for those that were affected most, or why the Emperor had not yet seen fit to repair the housing of his own people. Ryore threw off all unwanted enquiries. He never liked to be cornered in these sorts of matters. He much preferred to be the quiet outsider who observed his fellows at a far distance. Feeling the intensity of his comrades probing, the Emperor vacated the closing circle. He stepped out towards the room's edge where their distinguished host had been watching the feud. His glass was brimming with a surplus of liquor, a wry smile pulling at the sides of his face. “Emperor.” Lord Jork acknowledged his fellow ruler. He gestured at the space beside him, suggesting Ryore quickly occupy it. And he did. The Emperor hadn't a head for parties. Social insecurity had ruled over him for most of his life. Even as a child, he'd

detested large gatherings. The company people kept always alluded him. There were always those who could not hold their drink, or the mysterious tricksters who longed to spin tales from yards of lies. Ryore swirled the wine round his glass, his back pressed tight against the wall. He glanced sideways to his host, his thoughts of the schools that were yet to be built. “So, my Lord,” he whispered, “Realistically, when could we expect the first new school to be built? I'm sure my citizens would be excited to attend.” Lord Jork flashed the Emperor a cold sneer. “Your people?!” The council room began to darken. “Why? They have even less magic than ours!” Emperor Ryore retreated slightly. Jork refused to stand aside, following until there was nowhere to turn. “The first is to be built in the Earth Realm. I feel they will benefit most at present. As for when we build, I hope to start proceedings within the next few months.” Jork's tone was bitter and full of resentment. While the Autumn Realm's previous rulers had merely tried to breed magic out of their citizens, the Winter Realm had practically succeeded, keeping

power strictly within the Royal lineage. Eager to avoid the topic of his father's reign, Ryore glanced in the direction of the Flame Princess, who had taken to properly introducing herself. “She appears to be very fond of Politics!” He exclaimed, “There's a good intellect there.” Lord Jork continued to stare darkly at him. His expression was grave, his hands trembling with unseen rage. “I wouldn't get any ideas if I were you, Ryore.” Lord Jork gave him his greatest scowl. Feigning innocence, Ryore simply stared at him. His big blue eyes shone out like those of a month old puppy. “I'd merely like to discuss some matters of importance, Sire.” He paced slowly away from his host. “Since she appears ever so keen.” Violetta truly captivated him. In all ways, she was his perfect mate. Beautiful, charming, intelligent; she had everything a man could want in a wife. The courage to actually speak with such a fine woman would come with a price, Ryore knew. His mind ran away from him as she passed by, so temptingly close. He did all he could to refrain from touching her. If he truly wanted her, he would have to learn to bide his time. “Emperor Ryore.”

King Eagan unexpectedly stepped in front of him, startling the Emperor as he left his thoughts. “Highness.” The King's deep eyes bore into his. “May I present my beloved daughter, the Princess Violetta.” He stepped aside to reveal the Princess. The young girl's beauty had Ryore entranced. He stared in awe of her gentle smile as it gradually lifted his sorrows from him. She was picturesque, in a way indescribable to mortal man. Her hair hung down in silken waves, her brown eyes sparkling with pure intelligence. Ryore gulped. Feeling brave, he darted a look below her neck-line, where a ravishing gold dress hugged her every sumptuous curve. Ryore bit his tongue. He tried desperately to calm his racing mind. He saw this as his moment to dazzle her, just as she dazzled the room with her presence. All he could think of was her sublime beauty. He became hesitant, bowing low so his face brushed her skirt. “It is a great pleasure to make your daughter's acquaintance, Highness.” The Emperor swiftly pulled himself back, just in time to see the King's thin smile. “Thank you.”

Eagan's smile grew pained. Ryore felt his mind go blank; suddenly worrying that he'd blown his chance. “So Princess, how are you finding your first council meeting?” Ryore held himself back, trying not to appear too forward. “Well, actually, I'm...” Her father cut in, pulling her away. “I'm sorry Emperor- my Lord.” He threw a quick glance in Jork's direction. “But we must be off.” He had watched her leave. Like a young boy who loses a favourite toy, curses flew round Ryore's brain. He had worked hard to remain visibly pleasant, yet he could feel anger tearing through him; at all the corners of his mind. Violetta had been whisked away from him and he would not forget that as long as he lived. His powers raged just below the surface of his body. He glanced about the pale room, noticing the odd face staring, only to turn away again. Ryore closed his eyes. He sought back his power, remembering how urgently he needed them in check. His thoughts drifted away from the Council. He began to reflect on the Princess' character. She had been astoundingly charming. He'd half-expected a spoilt china doll with countless pearls strung tight round her neck.

He was pleasantly surprised that she was not. Her perfect heart could not be changed. Nothing could taint such a pure soul as she. Violetta had indeed become a fine woman; one of beauty, intelligence and grace combined. Her coyness only drew him to her. It was a trait he thought may even prove useful. “Sire?” Slowly, he began to float back to the real world; to the world where he was but a single man, desperately in love with a fallen angel. The knit in his brow tightened as he returned, the cold council room entering his vision. He wasted no time. He swept up a fresh glass, draining it swiftly, before he noticed a pale face from the corner of his eye. “Erm, Sire?” Dwyn. One of Ryore's Royal messengers. “Yes?” Ryore asked, clearly irritated, “What is it?” Dwyn crept close, his vile breath disgusting Ryore. “I'm afraid we have a problem, Sire.”

Chapter Seven Violetta started awake, her nightmares once more fading with the dawn. She stared quizzically at her hands, which had gripped her pillow to her for protection. “Ugh.” Violetta gently pushed it away. The nightmares were becoming more frequent now. Her latest escapade had seen Jork's ball transform into a glass vial, which then slowly began to suck the life from her. She felt her spine shiver at the thought of it. She glanced hazily across her bed. Her sheets were lined with fresh sweat, catching her limbs in their dewy web. Rolling over towards the curtains, she attempted to peel her skin from the sheets. “Ah!” Violetta felt pain surge through her head. The blinds had already been drawn, harsh daylight streaming through the glass. It was something she'd always found strangely disconcerting; that someone should breech her privacy, just for the sake of a few open curtains. The princess sighed. She managed to successfully peel the covers from her body,

stretching out in her thin negligee. For a moment, she felt vaguely human. Something had brought her back from the foulness of her nightmares. “The ball?” She whispered, turning around. She thought back to her childhood treasure, sat asleep somewhere in the depths of her room. For months now, she had thought of fetching it, but no matter how much time had passed, she could never banish her feelings of guilt. It had been the first night in ages where Violetta had slept at all. Her body certainly appreciated the rest, but her mind remained indifferent. She roused herself from her groggy state, thinking back to her first council meeting. She'd found it exciting and illuminating. She replayed the details in her mind, heading for the bathroom to wash the night from her skin. Emperor Ryore had been a mysterious character; like a distant relative, odd and aloof. His marine eyes seemed to hide something, that if let loose could perhaps topple the balance of his very existence. Violetta giggled. She tried to put him from her mind, letting the bath facets run as she sought out her robe. She returned to find herself in a magical haven. The room smelled vividly of strawberries, pink bubbles frothing near the rim of the tub. She swiftly undressed and crept up to the bath's edge. Her soft skin tingled as she dipped in a foot. It was bliss. Perhaps I should…no.Violetta

chided herself. Or maybe...yes. Taking a deep breath, she plunged herself in, her flesh thrilled by the delightful sensations. She poked her head out of the creamy froth, breathing in all of the wonderful scents. As she lay there in the warm waters, her mind filled with promising thoughts; of dreams and a life beyond other's control. She let out a long breath, revelling in her fantasies when a loud knock sounded upon the door. A shrill voice called through, making the Princess' blood run cold. She slid hastily out of the water, her toes scraping the harsh metal of the basin. She cursed herself for being so clumsy. The shrill voice sounded again, just as Violetta leapt for her robe. The door opened wide. A lean figure stood tall and imposing within the frame. “You are late, Princess!” Jermise remarked coolly. Violetta blinked. “I do not remember receiving a summons.” Her confidante fixed her hands on her hips, looking none too impressed with the Princess' tone. “Oh! A-hem.” A slight frown tugged at Jermise's lips. “What is it?” asked the Princess.

Her confidante gestured by tilting her head, pointing her eyes towards the young girl's torso. “What?” It was a while before Violetta understood. She slowly followed Jermise's gaze, her skin, flushing crimson as the penny dropped. “Oh!” She hastily made to tie her robe, pulling it tight across her chest. She couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Her nude form had been displayed to a woman; not just any woman either, but her closest companion. “Dress swiftly, Princess. Your father urgently requests your presence in the throne room.” Violetta half-jumped, her robe almost slipping away. Her hands flew swiftly to the tie, pulling it taut to hide her curves. Jermise ushered her back to her room. “He wants you looking smart, my Lady. We have a guest.” Violetta nodded. She padded over to a small wooden door, where her clothes were regularly kept in storage. She reached for the handle and pulled it forward. “Whoa!”

Without warning, the door suddenly gave way. Oodles of fabric dove out upon her, forcing her back against the carpeted floor. Violetta's body lay hidden among the piles of clothes. “Good Lord!” Cried Jermise. Her confidante raced over to the heap of clothes. She frantically dug her way through the jumble, before finally uncovering the dazed Princess. Violetta stared dizzily up at her, her mouth halfopen from the sudden shock. “Oh, Highness!” Jermise Sighed. Violetta could feel herself being yanked up by her wrists, her body flopping lazily onto the cool bed-spread. She blinked slowly, letting herself come to. A sumptuous silken overdress lay beside her, all neatly spread out upon the soft bed-covers. Small shimmering pearl beads lined the gown, making its calm colour glisten like crystal. Suddenly remembering her lack of time, she pulled herself up, slipping into fresh undergarments before shifting the dress up over her head. She was barely done when at Jermise's prompting, she raced to the dresser, running a brush through her damp tangled locks. Violetta rushed out of her chambers, her damp hair whipping back like a horse's mane. Several of the guards warned her to cease her run, but she daren't stop. She laughed at how things never seemed to change.

Violetta picked up her pace. Her father wouldn't like to be kept waiting. She began wondering who their visitor was. She was thoroughly enjoying her free-spirited run when she halted at the throne room's entrance. Her father's purpose began to trouble her. It was unlike him to spring a meeting upon her. She took a deep breath, swallowing her fear. “Highness!” She called. She entered the room, remaining cautious. “May I approach?” Her father looked pleased that she had come well-groomed. He waved her over, his chin resting within one of his over-sized palms. Violetta began the long strides ahead, studying the King upon his high throne. There was a look in his eye that she couldn't ignore. It made her skin crawl. She halted abruptly. Lord Jork stood casually beside her father, smiling in a patient manner. Why is he here? She thought grimly. She started back up towards the throne. Violetta drew close. She noticed that her father's mood seem to lighten. A broad smile lifted his handsome features as his daughter bowed before the golden throne. “Father. Lord Jork.” She rose swiftly, nodding her head to Lord Jork in greeting. “Welcome, daughter. I trust you slept well.”

King Eagan's tone was warm and loving, suggesting nothing untoward. Violetta nodded. She glanced solemnly back to Lord Jork. A hint of worry sat in his pale red eyes. She bit her lip. Don't look at him. She urged herself. “So!” Her father sat forward, eyes eager. “Lord Jork is interested to know your impressions of your first council meeting.” There it was; their eager desire to pick her brains. Violetta awkwardly shuffled her feet. “Well, I...” She paused, looking into her father's face. He was staring intently at her, his eyes curious as to why she had paused. “Well?” “It was interesting father,” she mumbled dryly. King Eagan let out a throaty chuckle. “Ha! So it was. And what of the Emperor Ryore, my dear?” Violetta's cheeks flushed hot. She didn't see why the Emperor was even vaguely important. She paused for thought, allowing her cheeks to slowly cool. “What of him?” she asked pointedly. King Eagan turned to look at Jork. He half-

smiled as though somehow reassuring his old friend. “How do you feel about him as a potential suitor?” The King's question was rather blunt. Violetta hesitated. The Emperor had been a strange character, although he did seem glad of having met her. Violetta envisioned the young lad three years prior; pale as ice, with sea-blue eyes. She stared at the image within her mind; the image of the young Ryore. She had to admit she'd been curious about him. Back when King Aemon had thrown his grand feast, the Prince and Xyhoni had both caught her eye. The Princess didn't know who she'd pursue. Drawing courage, she replied cautiously. “He seemed...nice.” King Eagan glared. Before she could somehow ease the tension, he spoke up, voice raised. “He would make a most powerful husband and ally!” Violetta blinked back. She wondered if this was him urging her on; wanting her to take the Emperor as her husband. But then why would he seem so repulsed by her answer? The King pounded his fist on the throne. “If you chose him, it would be an enormous disgrace! His father is thought to have been a

traitor. They are our sworn enemies and I needn't remind you of what that means!” Her father's voice nearly reduced her to tears. She stood her ground, catching the solemn glance Lord Jork gave her. He was a good man, deep down in his heart. Violetta took courage that he sympathized with her. It was her father that was acting a fool. “Honestly, father,” she called to him, “I don't really know what to make of Ryore. He seems odd. Perhaps I could marry in a few years?” Her voice was soft, her lips trembling as she studied her father. Lord Jork tried to reassure the King. He placed his hands upon his shoulders, but they were soon shrugged off, King Eagan's voice growing steely. “You would tradition?!”

dis-honour

a

century’s

old

His words cut through his daughter like knives. He rose from his throne, wearing the biggest scowl she'd ever seen. “My apologies, Lord Jork.” The King shook his head from side to side. He steadied himself, calming his temper. Violetta could see his powers beginning to show; the odd flickering flames darting out from his palms. Eagan

sighed. “Go Violetta, before I lose my temper with you.” Violetta strolled down the lengthy corridors, feeling proud for having been honest with her father. It was never easy. She walked down the hall, her head held high. It had never been her intention to marry. Marriage only led to heartbreak. She'd learnt that well. She headed in the direction of her personal chambers, hardly noticing the shadow which trailed behind her. She rounded a corner, her stubborn pride giving way to suspicion. The door stood ajar before her. Violetta slowly crept towards it. She put her ear as close as she dared to the gap, but could hear no voices beyond the frame. Odd. She thought. She quickly scanned the area for signs of intruders, but not a soul lurked within the next passage. She decided to enter. Violetta closed the door swiftly behind her, walking over to the window to gaze into the gardens. She halted suddenly in her tracks. She spun around, darting a glance at something she thought lurked behind. There was no one; just a passing shadow of her own imagination. “Ahh!” Violetta hid her face in her hands. For a moment, she swore she'd seen a dark face, leering at her from a lonely corner. Having felt no one touch or brush past her, Violetta gradually lifted her hands.

Her skin prickled. She turned back, glancing out the window at the spectacular view that awaited below. Bright blue skies stretched lazily out over the Summer gardens, their extraordinary specimens in full bloom. They squirted out their own sweet scents, drawing passers-by into a sensory safe haven. Violetta's eyes rested there a moment. Sometimes the world was utterly breath-taking. Nothing could bring her down to feel sorrow, yet her paranoia grew as she tilted her head. The same shadow seemed to materialise again. It stretched out in the corner of her eye, closing in on her personal space. “Violetta.” A faint whisper hung in the air. “Violetta.” It echoed about her, causing sweat to trickle down between her shoulders. “Violetta?!” “Huh?” The Princess turned. She was alarmed to find Jermise standing within the open doorway. “You followed me?” Violetta backed away slowly, for want of more space since seeing the shadow. Jermise slowly approached the Princess. “I feel we should discuss your options. Ryore is

throwing a party in your honour.” Her confidante's face was blank, her tone bordering ever so slightly on disappointment. She'd clearly heard of the disagreement between herself and the King. Violetta ignored this. “A party?” She asked. She felt shocked by the strange concept. “Indeed.” Jermise held up an envelope for her to see. It was quaint and blue, with a frosted detail on the centre-back. “An invitation,” she explained. Violetta felt her entire body shift. A party, in her honour? She feigned a warm smile, taking a few steps toward Jermise. “That is good news,” she replied softly. Her tone was sweet; perhaps too so. Jermise warmed to her friendly act. She slowly seemed to let down her guard. That's when Violetta snatched the invite from her grasp. Without thinking, she hurled her weight against the older woman, heaving her out of her private chambers. She had to be swift. Violetta deployed the door's emergency lock; something her father had installed when she and Darius had been kids. Violetta breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey!” Jermise rapped on the wood of the door. She may

have been slim, but she was as strong as a giant. The knocking crashed against the varnished wood. It sent the Princess' room walls shuddering. Threats of the King's foul temper were shouted through her chamber door. The knocking was unrelenting. It sent Violetta into a frenzy. In panic, she quickly prized open the envelope. “Ow!” She watched, numb, as drops of blood fell from her quivering finger. She brought it slowly to her lips, gently putting her tongue to the cut. Her attention drew back to the envelope. She let the delicate hand-written letter slide out, unfolding its various crinkled edges. Her eyes glided briefly over the words, but she could barely concentrate with such a racket. “Goodness,' she whispered irritably, “How can one woman make such a racket?' Her panic began to increase ten-fold. If Jermise's efforts continued for much longer, then there was no doubt her father would be called upon. Soon. Violetta became desperate. She needed a retreat where no one would disturb her; a place where all was quiet and calm. Her mind swam with anxiety. The pounding on her door had barely ceased, but her confidante's jibes still remained.

“You need to accept your responsibilities, Vi!” Violetta clasped her hands over her ears. She could feel the guilt stabbing into her core. It was rapid. Excruciating. That's it. She thought. She quickly slipped the letter back into its wrappings, noticing with confusion that her cut had vanished. Violetta let the thought fly over her head. She swiftly approached the oak-panelled walls, searching for something she'd long forgotten. She and Darius had discovered it as kids, and never had they told their parents. She ran her fingers mercilessly over the aged wood, trying to identify a lost groove. Eventually, they smoothed over a shallow dent. Violetta smiled. She balled her hands into tight fists, knocking twice before the panel flew open. A dark crevice stared back at her. She stood there for a moment, staring into the heart of the pitch black tunnel. “Violetta!!” The Princess jumped. Jermise's knocks had swiftly recommenced, but she no longer paid them heed. She began hurriedly scrambling into the dark hole, making sure to pull the door back into place. Violetta felt her entire body shiver. It was draughty here. She could hear her heavy breathing as she panicked, thinking about what Jermise would do next. ”Fear not, said a small voice within her mind, ”For I will guide you through the darkness.”

Violetta felt her shoulders relax. Again, she thought of her mother's words: Be brave like me. She slowly edged along the passage, making her way, blind, down the tight space. Her hands crept shakily along the damp walls. She reached out, feeling for anything solid she could gain a hold on. Her journey was made in complete darkness. Violetta still reached out to the damp cave walls, where years of clumped mould greeted her unsuspecting flesh. The air had long become stale, filling the cramped space with must as she sidled along. Now and then, she thought about her father. He'd be upset to find her missing. She hated to cause him any more grief, but she needed time; time to explore other possible options before she willingly gave away her dreams. Her slender feet glided across yet more mould and the thought instantly slipped away. Violetta cringed. By now her feet would be caked with the stuff. She stared ahead, trying to search through the bitter dark. The tunnel was slowly narrowing out. A thin beam of light could be seen stretching out toward her through the darkness. It captivated her, leading her forward like some awestruck child. “Ah!” Violetta surged forward without warning. She'd struck her toe on a jagged rock, which sent her tripping, falling upon her hands and knees.

“Oww.” The Princess groaned. Luckily her pain did not seem to last. She seethed quietly as she stood herself up, making her way along the brightening tunnel. She was almost at the end of the passage when light exploded before her eyes. It grew brighter still, like the heavens, beckoning her out towards its beauty. To her, it sang songs of childhood freedom; of times when she'd once explored here with Darius. She finally reached the brilliant opening and clambered out of the dank, dark hovel. Air slipped fast into her lungs. She took it in, her heart dropping as she was forced to a halt. A large set of boulders stood blocking her way, no doubt having fell since the years of her last visit. But Violetta wasn't prepared to give up that easily. She pressed herself thinly against the farthest one, carefully sliding between the tight gap. As soon as Violetta was clear, she fell to her knees, gasping for breath. She took in the scent of the fresh evening air, relishing a change from the muggy tunnel. It was the most perfect sensation she could imagine. The way the air rushed past her sweat-streaked skin, it made her feel human again. “Wait.” The Princess paused. She slowly brought herself to her feet, staring about the long forgotten islands. The familiar landmarks of her youth still remained.

She smiled. Fond memories returned to her, stripping back her mental years. She hadn't been down to the Moat Islands since her mother and brother had tragically passed. She'd been told by her father that it was strongly forbidden and until now, she'd never rebelled against him. Violetta tried to push her guilt aside. It grew within her, like a seed sprouting poisonous tendrils. She found distraction through her rustic surroundings. The trees here had long grown tall, their leaves a rich green, like the lush grass beneath. She and her brother had often searched for a place to sit, regaling each-other with wild tales of fantasy. With this in mind, Violetta found herself searching the bank. It rarely rained in the Summer realm, but a dry spot here was still considered rare. The moat would flood a few times each month. It had taken her and Darius an age to predict, but they'd eventually figured out which patches would dry quickest. Violetta's heart leapt when she noticed a suitable spot nearby. She ran straight for it, as eager as a small child. “My patch!” She cried. Violetta froze. She turned round to where Darius had usually been, sprinting behind all those years ago. Her face fell apart as she realized the truth. She slumped down, the ground beneath her, cool and refreshing. Her mind numbed. Images of her

brother flashed through her mind, making her miss him terribly. She wrapped her arms protectively about herself. The view from the bank was breathtaking. She rested there a solemn while, dreaming that her brother was still alive and well; of another life where just maybe someone would let her alone. Violetta had shut her mind from the world. Time no longer existed here. For a moment, it belonged to another world, where she was free from its unrelenting cruelty. Gradually, she allowed her arms to drop. Her hand brushed against the side of her dress and in that moment, something triggered in her. Her hand subconsciously went to her pocket. “W-what's this?” Remembering the invite; all crumpled up, Violetta drew it out of her gown. She hastily pried it back open, glancing at the writing with its cursive letters; You are cordially invited to a ball in your honour, held by one Frost Emperor Ryore. It is to be held on April 9th, at his Royal Estate in the Winter Realm. The master would be delighted if you could attend and eagerly awaits your response. Yours with respect, The Royal Frost Scroll Bearer.

A wax seal of a snowflake footed the page. Violetta could barely think. A party, in her honour? She stared blankly for a while at the beige parchment. She couldn't fathom why the Emperor would hold such an elaborate event solely for her. Could it be that he'd developed feelings for her? She shivered at the thought. No. It couldn't be. There was nothing she'd be able to do. If it were true, any proposed marriage would be instantly refused, leaving the Princess to come up with reasoning for the harsh objection. It was hard for Violetta to take this all in. Her mind grew pained.She missed her best friend. “Oh Darius!” Slowly, she began to weep. Her head slumped forward, hunched over her small frame. She wished her brother were alive to succeed the throne. He would know exactly what to do. She gingerly raised her head, peering towards the distant heavens. A lump was rising within her throat. “Please forgive me my selfishness, brother.” Her arms reached up, as though there were some way to embrace him once more. Violetta could not help but dwell on these thoughts. She felt completely isolated without Darius here. They were

the best of friends as children and nobody had helped to calm her more, save for her dearly departed mother. Another fine life stolen before its time. The pressure of the Kingdom was already drowning the Princess' soul. She knelt upon the hard ground, feeling her powers starting to surface. She could feel the fierce hatred of the flames blackening her pure heart. The gods had taken her family away, but as for their reasoning, she'd never known. Her fingers slowly trailed across the cool earth. They appeared to have a mind of their own, searching the mud for an acceptable rock. They happened upon a smooth round pebble. Violetta leant forward, gripping it tight between her thumb and forefingers. Violetta rose from the dusty bank. Her head was bowed as she studied the rock. Something familiar came to mind; faint memories of a game her brother used to incite. She felt the memory flood over her, coursing through her body like a sudden shock. She drew back her arm and in one swift movement, launched the stone. It sped rapidly across the moat, making quite a show with its fiery pace. It skipped the surface several times before the dense water finally swallowed it whole. Violetta watched the spot where it sank. She drew in a breath, willing herself to remember Darius. He'd had a saying when the stone went under. 'There will be good times as well as bad, but there's plenty of

time before the end.' Violetta smiled as she recalled his wise words. She glanced back down at Ryore's invitation, its blue envelope shimmering gaily in the late-day sun. “Hmm.” She went over the Emperor's words in her head; she saw nothing to lose by attending his ball. She willed herself to grip another rock, quickly skimming it across the moat. She watched the ripples as they echoed on the surface of the water. “Enough,” she whispered. She'd exhausted herself; she'd reflected enough for now. Perhaps such a grand occasion would actually bring her some much needed comfort. She cocked her head to one side as she sat back down upon the dry patch. Her mind began swimming with various scenarios of what a Royal ball, to her, would be like. She curled her legs into her chest and watched as the final shades of dusk left the sky, her mind set on the dreams of tomorrow.

Chapter Eight Ryore anxiously paced his tower-room. The day was cold, leaving an unrelenting gloom in the Emperor's wake. “Such atrocious weather cannot possibly warrant good news,” he groaned. His eyes darted out of the tower window. Below, the gardens shivered with the frost. Ryore waited patiently, straightening his robes. He could hear the young messenger cautiously approaching; could hear the slow creak of the door as it opened. The boy slipped into the cool room, pacing slowly toward his master. His sweat-streaked slacks were a testament to his vigorous efforts. “Your grace.” He stopped to bow before Ryore. The Emperor turned. He acknowledged the boy, his eyes snapping down to his palms. A golden envelope was clutched in one hand. Ryore grew flushed, his breathing, quick. While the boy seemed to be preparing his words, Ryore lunged forward to grab the letter, causing the boy to wince in pain. The Emperor ignored him, wrenching the letter open

after having hastily torn the wax seal away. “At last!” He beamed, his eyes lingering on the intricate design. A flickering flame. The seal of the Summer Realm. Ryore could feel himself growing all the more giddy as he quickly began unfolding the parchment. He smoothed it out as best he could, his eyes straining to read the text; Emperor Ryore, It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. After much deliberation, I have decided to accept your invitation and I am deeply heartened that you have chosen to throw a ball in my honour. I hope this letter finds you well. Warmest regards, Princess Violetta Flame. *

*

*

*

*

His father's voice echoed through his mind: “No woman should ever change you Ryore, but with your looks, you'll never have to worry about anyone's affections!” Ryore ignored the ghost in his mind. It had dwelt there ever since his early years and he'd be damned

if he started to acknowledge it now. He brushed down his newest dress-robes, having been truly won over by his tailor's work. They were forest green as he'd desired and made of the finest quality silk. Their lustrous sheen inspired his joyous mood. To create a garment of such quality and in so little time; Ryore could only marvel at it. He returned his gaze once more to the great hall. It glistened marvellously, the walls looking as though they were smothered in crystals. The Emperor casually sipped from a glass of champagne. He fixed his eyes on the far end of the room, where his priest; Albius, stood in the shadows. The Emperor gave a quick nod of his head. His guests were set to arrive any minute and he needed to be sure that all ran smoothly. Ryore gulped down the remnants of his tall glass. He hoped the alcohol would settle his nerves. He felt like a colossal fool. No Emperor has ever had such weak nerves! He willed his father's voice to fly from his mind. He had no time for such ghoulish provocations. The chandeliers above caught the Emperor's eye, hanging low from the Estate's smooth crystalline ceiling. Their brilliance made the entire room glow. Even he had to admit that it was beautiful. He glanced across the spacious room where the first arrivals appeared as angels; bathed within the golden light.

The Emperor began to circle the room. Most guests had begun to engage in small-talk, while some had taken to the ballroom floor, their partners flushing as they pulled them close. The Emperor had never danced himself. He had never found someone he'd partner with and besides, nerves always seemed to set into his muscles. As he selected another glass from a silver tray, he was starting to make a frustrating connection. His love was late. He frowned. Checking the old-fashioned watch that cut into his wrist, he realized that already an hour had passed. “Damned women,” he muttered. Ryore's patience was wearing thin, his pleasant appearance briefly faltering. He couldn't help but stare at the doors to the hall. Feigning such a calm exterior had become a breeze for the young Emperor. He had spent his adolescence at war with his father, his opinions scorned and his rights stripped. He breathed deeply, gathering his wits before traipsing around the crowded hall. He stopped periodically to check on his guests. They marvelled at the fine decoration and gave thanks to him for inviting them there. Ryore forced a faint smile. What made it worse were the available women. Many tried to catch his eye, cooling themselves with paper fans. The Emperor avoided these at all cost. Although quite pretty, they were

not his love. He smiled politely as he passed them by. He did not speak, but walked away. Ryore had found such scenarios troubling ever since he was but a boy. He'd been told by countless women that he had a certain charm; a hypnotic pull that eventually drew most girls towards him. His father however had snubbed that belief and rejected his son for both his looks and ideals. Ryore had just made the final round when his smile quickly fell away. Xyhoni had appeared in the grand doorway. He'd been obliged to invite him so King Aemon would attend; an agreement made solely on the grounds of friendship. Nevertheless, he had never expected to find the Princess on his rival's arm. Ryore's breath caught in his throat. His eyes trailed the full length of Violetta's dress before he glanced back up to her angelic face. His heart skipped in the presence of such radiant beauty. Her complexion was flawless; cream with rosy apples in the dent of her cheeks, while her body sported a deep ruby gown, so well fitted that her curves spoke wonders. She reached up coyly, checking to see that her hair was in place. It was piled atop her slender head, like a shimmering gold mountain, with two rare jewels gazing out from its base. “G-good evening, Princess....Xyhoni.” Ryore quickly bent low, having been standing there mute for quite some time. Violetta gave a light

chuckle. It was a sound that brought music to the Emperor's ears. He remained bent over, resting his eyes on the young Princess. “My lady.” He offered his hand out to take her own. Violetta accepted, allowing him to plant a gentle kiss upon her skin. He still couldn't break his gaze from her. Her red dress glared at their cool blue surroundings, making everything around her seem implausibly dull. Just like her to stand out in a crowd. Ryore mused. The Emperor stood there before his love, unable to think of what to do or say, yet it was Jork's brother, Arlas, who stole his attention. “Arlas.” The Prince failed to acknowledge his host. He walked well ahead of his elder brother who appeared quite suddenly, attempting to match the Air Mage's pace. His face was as forlorn as the swirling grey skies. Not even the Emperor could attract his attention. Something felt doubly off about them. Their presence here made his body stiffen, as though a great tragedy would shortly befall him. Arlas himself appeared more aloof. More secretive. He blended seamlessly into the laughing crowds like a ghost among the cheerful living. Remembering his role, Ryore dragged

himself out of his thoughts and back towards the waiting princess. He couldn't help but glance back down at her dress. The vivid shade simply tugged at his eyes. “Quite the exquisite gown you have there.” He gestured to the ruby dress and a sudden smile spread onto her lips. It was perfect. It reminded Ryore of a luscious red rose, coincidentally, the national flower of her realm. “Ahem!” Ryore stiffened. Lurking in the shadows was the much rumoured Jermise. She stood proud behind the pair, looking wary of their staring host. Ryore eyed her with suspicion. After such carelessness at the council meeting, he had hardly expected for her to be here. “Emperor!” King Eagan broke the awkward silence. He entered behind the grim confidante. His smile was thin, his eyes alert. “Eagan; Highness, how nice to see you!” Ryore's teeth were gritted beneath his pretence. The King looked to have seen better days, but he made a solemn vow not to mention it. “It’s good to see you, Master Ryore.” The King gave their host a most vigorous hand-shake. “Glad

to see you're doing well.” The King eyed his host with a cruel glare. He suddenly tightened his grip on his hand. Without warning, a stray spark struck out at the Emperor. “Ah!” Ryore's body collected swiftly with ice; protection against the opposing magic. It was moments before King Eagan swiftly extinguished his flames, roaring with laughter at his own prank. The Emperor did his best to laugh. He found himself wary of another blow, knowing that in other circumstances, that would have been fatal. He was still in shock when Eagan clapped him hard on the back. “Come now, Emperor, just a little joke among friends!” He exclaimed. Ryore nodded, attempting to smile. Inside, he was livid. Opposing magics were deadly. Everyone knew that. Frost and Fire were never to combine, yet strangely, the King did not appear to notice his folly. He bowed once more, still chuckling as he immersed himself within the sea of dancers. Ryore choked back his fear. He had since swept away the layer of frost which had served to protect him from the King's cruel prank. He gulped nervously, feeling the Princess' gaze upon him.

“How was your journey?” He asked, brushing off his anxious tone. Violetta held a shy smile. She had not yet answered when Lord Jork swept past, casting their host a harsh glare. The Emperor paled. He did his best to ignore the man, but his quivering lips betrayed his fear. “It was sound, your grace,” Violetta replied. She loosened her grip on Xyhoni's arm. She appeared quite timid beneath her golden waves. Ryore felt a spark shoot through him. It was instantaneous; something that not even Arlas' presence could cease. He felt temptation climbing into his mind. He tried to resist, but still it remained. “My Lady,” he gulped, “What say your chaperone to letting me introduce you to our guests?” Jermise pushed past the two youths, her bright eyes full of spite. Her body arched in tense displeasure. She held out one hand as though representing the Princess' space. “No, Sire!” The Emperor had begun to protest when a dark figure emerged at his side. “May I be of any assistance? I've just been having a chat with Lord Arlas.” Prince Fadius smiled. The chandeliers painted

him in heavenly tones. He moved into their small huddle, eyes bright and alert as always. “Sorry, don't you mean Prince Arlas?” Ryore struggled to hide his annoyance, but smiled politely all the same. Fadius nodded. “Indeed,” he muttered. He waved his hand to dismiss the comment. Ryore shot him a suspicious look. Why would brother be speaking with the Air Prince? He wondered. Struggling not to get lost once more in his thoughts, the Emperor made to introduce them all. “Princess Violetta, Xyhoni...Jermise.” He gave the confidante a long stare. “I'd like you to meet my younger brother, Prince Fadius Frost.” Ryore paled before the Prince. His brother was certainly a charming man, his features more youthful and ruggedly handsome. “How do you do, Princess?” Fadius offered Violetta his hand which she calmly accepted, flashing him a smile. “It's nice to meet you,” she replied. Prince Fadius' eyes ran down her dress. “Charmed, I'm sure.” He quickly released her small palm, rounding this

time on the stubborn Jermise. Her green eyes shimmered with a silent fury. This urged the young Prince on. He grinned wildly, sparking a perverse attraction she could not deny. He licked his lips, his appetite growing. “Perhaps your lovely companion would allow me a dance?” He asked smoothly. Jermise froze. Her face was a mixture of frustration and lust; something no one would expect from a Princess' servant. Ryore chuckled dryly at this. He presumed she'd never been invited to dance. Her face showed her shock and gnawing reluctance. Nevertheless, as his brother approached, her hand seemed to offer itself. Fadius led her through the gathering crowd, taking her waist, liberating her. She swooned within his muscled arms, her face for once blossoming like a rare flower. “You look most lovely this evening, Princess.” Violetta smiled at the Emperor's compliment. She was most coy, tucking a loose strand of hair behind one elfin-like ear. “Thank you, Sire,” she practically whispered. Xyhoni had left to pursue the King, no doubt frustrated by his stolen companion. This left Violetta in the company of her host. She spun round, gazing off at the dancers as they floated on

air. “I trust...you have been well these past few weeks?” Ryore sensed the hesitation in his voice and prayed that Violetta had failed to notice. Her head turned, tilting ever so slightly to the side. Her eyes seemed to swell as she regarded him, her speech almost breathless in a way that had Ryore's heart pounding. “I have been well enough, thank you.” Ryore smiled thinly, sensing her unease. He might have believed her if it hadn't been for the spark of pain that followed, igniting within her perfect eyes. Frowning, he gazed deep into their troubled depths. He took his time drawing closer, whispering a most humble apology. “Forgive me. Prince Fadius has a way of appearing most suddenly.” Violetta laughed. It was a high, sweet sound that seemed to warm the air about her. Ryore flushed. He thought his heart might stop from her beauty alone. “Since he's been engaged, his behaviour has only grown stranger,” he explained, “He and his bride to be were paired after they broke the third sin.” Violetta's face suddenly heated, leaving her skin

as dark as her gown. Ryore gulped. “But,” he added quickly, “I am nothing like my brother.” Violetta looked taken aback. She nodded her head absent-mindedly, while the Emperor froze for fear that he had divulged too much. He tried thinking of some way to change the topic. He glanced out at the spiralling dancers. Fadius had done well to have tamed Jermise. They flew round the room, all smiles and light. It was enough to make Ryore question his brother. Seeing the way he acted so flawlessly, he could see now why nobody guessed at his law-breaking ways. Ryore was simply bewitched by her. He looked only upon the fine Princess, asking about her plans for the future; if she would ascend the throne, study, travel, perhaps marry. All this he asked, knowing fully of her obligation to take a husband, and fast. Ryore shifted uncomfortably. He could see his questions cut through her like ice; watched as her fragile form gently shook. Her head tilted back towards the dancers. “Champagne, Miss?” Violetta jerked suddenly at the unexpected voice. A handsome waiter in navy blue appeared, carrying a tray of sharp crystal flutes. Each one looked glamorously deadly, sparkling with a sheen more

lustrous than diamonds. The Princess nodded. She grasped at the glass he held out for her. “Thank you, Sir.” The young man caught sight of the glaring Emperor. He paused before giving a brief bow, disappearing to offer drinks to Ryore's other guests. Violetta's eyes instantly snapped to the crystal. She held the glass close to her full chest, staring as though mesmerised by the beautiful design. When at last its spell seemed to wear off, she raised it gradually to her full lips, sipping the sweetened, bubbly liquid. She appeared to approve, smiling as she brought down her glass. “You like the champagne?” Ryore asked happily. The Princess nodded. Her cheeks flushed slightly; an effect of the beverage. To Ryore, this was going far better than planned. He straightened up, about to ask Violetta to dance when she brought the glass swiftly back to her lips. He stood there, watching with a stunned expression as she effortlessly drained the tall glass. “I'm sorry,” she professed, “I must admit, I feel a bit shaken.” Ryore lightly brushed her arm. “Not at all, Violetta.” The young woman blushed even more. Her hand

slowly reached for her lips, no doubt somehow helping to steady her nerves. The Emperor had never expected her to drink so much. He began to wonder if she feared his presence; if there were some way to put her more at ease. An idea suddenly burst from his mind. Anxiety raced along his dry tongue as he felt a desire as sweet as she. He'd been about to take a sip from his own glass when he set it down. Violetta's too. “Forgive me, Miss Flame,” he said shakily, “But would you accompany me out onto the ballroom floor?” He bowed his head, waiting to see if she moved into him. To his surprise she batted her lashes, taking several slow paces in his direction. Steadily, he drew her to him. Her smile was infectious, his breath stolen as her body met his. She smelled so beautiful. So delicate. Like a garden flower. He'd never before seen her eyes so close. They were so beautifully brown, holding countless more depth than any others he'd seen. Ryore smiled as her hands slipped seamlessly into his. He slid her out onto the ballroom floor, where he gently led her to the party's rhythm. Every step they took drove his soul into a frenzy. Such carnal appetites raged within him, pushing him deeper into lustful fantasies. Violetta's shy smile took his breath away. He had never wanted to

dance before, yet as he held her close, he could finally understand what he'd been missing. The feel of another's heart beating beside his own, or their bodies swaying gracefully in tune with one-another. These were things that made him feel new; acts which made him feel alive. “You dance beautifully,” Violetta whispered. The Emperor flashed her a wide smile, twirling her round like a ballerina. “Thank you, Princess, as do you.” He dipped down with her, as the dance commanded. “I'm afraid though, that I have some sour news.” Violetta gazed up at him. A confused look masked her smile. Feeling nervous, Ryore took advantage of the polished floor, gliding smoothly along, beside the countless others already in full swing. They twirled and dipped among myriad colours, as though each dancer had burst from a box of confetti. Once her smile began to return, Ryore decided he could tell her more. “There is a suspected traitor in our midst, Violetta.” He indicated to their left with a jolt of his head. “You may know of him.” He leant into her this time, resisting the strong urge to kiss her neck. “Arlas.” The name came as a light whisper, gently breathed into her ear. Ryore could already see that

it had some effect. The Princess' head lolled back slightly, her eyes closing, lips parted. “Oh no.” Ryore gently shook his love. Her head fell back, her eyes flashing open to see great fear etched upon his face. “What is it, Sire?” She asked, concerned. The Emperor discreetly spun them round so she could see for herself the cause of his distress. “Oh.” She paled as she glanced across the room. Jermise could be seen trudging back over. She had three glasses of red wine balanced precariously in her pale arms. “How dare you!” They both turned at a loud bark close by. It echoed throughout the vast chamber, tearing their attention away from Jermise. “I swear, Arlas, you have got to be the most infuriating brother a man could have!” They watched as Lord Jork appeared to their immediate right. He trudged past them, hauling the Prince by the skin of one ear. He ignored the staring guests about him. His face was reddening, anger flowing from his veins. Ryore looked on,

unashamedly smug. “Now is our chance.” The Emperor hadn't expected to hear her voice. His love stood on her tiptoes, almost making him gasp as she breathed softly within his ear. “Spin me. Please?” The Emperor strained to not bite his lip. The desperation in her tone was nothing short of agony and her pleading eyes made him feel no better. He had no choice but to simply give in. He let his body whirl about, spinning them far from her confidante's reach. The heavy doors to the ballroom could be heard clanging shut. By the time the other guests had returned to their gossip, the Emperor and Princess had slid down the room. Jermise was nowhere to be seen and Ryore could see that this pleased the Princess. He guided her slowly to and fro. Their feet circled, kicking and gliding. He had to admit he was enjoying himself. Violetta seemed to bring out something in him; something he'd never thought existed before. He gazed upon her, her face lit up beautifully from within. Perhaps this was what his father had tried to suppress. Life. Laughter. Love. A small pang of jealousy worked its way into Ryore's veins. He stared out at the crowd massing around them; where Xyhoni had once again

mysteriously appeared. He seemed to watch them in silent fury as they basked in the glow of the chandeliers, laughing and twirling; feeling liberated. “You must be wary,” Ryore suddenly warned, “Prince Arlas may be gone for now, but mark my words, he means us great harm.” Violetta's expression became intense. Her brows were knit close together, her eyes wide as she listened intently. Ryore could see he was spoiling her fun. He spun her again around the ballroom floor, her hair whipping round with the folds of her dress. She flew splendidly, like a baby bird; so enchanting and new. He could barely take his eyes from her until a flurry of cool air breezed between them. “Hmm?” Ryore's back stiffened. He cocked his head over his shoulder, doing his best to keep their rhythm steady. His lips betrayed his sense of fear, losing most of their fleshy colour. A colossal shadow loomed over the crowd. Slender and silent, it waited for them. Emperor Ryore watched it with dread. For a moment, he thought he saw Arlas' face. He blinked once and then it was gone. Arlas was escorted out. He assured himself. There was no way he could have returned, nor was there any motive for him to do so.

Ryore felt himself begin to dizzy. He tried to remain upright as he watched the haziness finally clear, to be replaced by something altogether more monstrous. His brother's fiancée loomed ahead, shadowing the crowd like some ravenous vulture. She was said to be the most powerful Frost seer the Realm had yet known. As children, she had always lurked around he and Fadius, hoping that one day she would be his. Ryore had done his best to distance himself from her. He had never had particular affections for the young girl, even though she had once been quite beautiful. She had been so full of promise, until the day her chances were dashed, when she defied tradition by giving her body quite freely to another. Naturally when Fadius had indulged the same sin, the two were paired as one to be wed. Now Reiza glared directly at him, a jealous grimace playing on her lips. She held onto the Emperor's expression; one of true and mortal dread. Slowly, she raised a hand towards them. In panic, Ryore clutched the Princess dearly to him. He could sense the seer's cruel magic within the air, leaving the atmosphere tainted with fear. Violetta had begun to struggle. Unable to understand Ryore's intent, she prized herself from his firm grip. She glared at him furiously, her face drawn into a mask of confusion. “Sire! What is the meaning of...”

She halted mid-sentence. Her eyes widened at the creature behind him. Ryore wanted to warn her of the seer's powers, but seeing her now, he didn't think she would hear him. He followed her hypnotized gaze; turned to see the Ancient Frost Seer once more. “God help us.” The Emperor stared in disbelief. An ancient Frost curse could be seen forming within the seer's palms, her energy building as she aimed her spell at the awe-struck Princess. Ryore knew the spell would be set free soon. With great haste he threw himself back over the Princess, if only to shield her from Reiza's power. “Emperor Ryore!” Violetta flailed within his grasp, confused and eager to break free of his clutches. Ryore endeavoured to hold her still. He battled with her desperate limbs as she tried to claw her way out of his reach. He could feel his panic rising. He would not be able to hold her much longer. “Let me go!” She screeched, her voice rising higher. The entire ballroom had turned to observe them. Violetta reached down to Ryore's left wrist and bit down as hard as she could.

“Argh!!” Ryore felt his grip go slack. In that moment, he knew he had failed her. His mind went blank, watching with horror as she withdrew from him. From her only protection. “No!!” Time slowed. The curse's energy let itself loose and all he could do was watch it fly. His mind teemed with exquisite pain, torn as Violetta shrank back from the ominous glow. Terror had taken her. A cold realisation surged through her trembling body. “Polar Magics,” she whispered, horrified. Ryore felt a lump swell in his throat. He had only ever heard of this curse, but had never seen it performed before. It was developed by the earliest Frost seers; all experts in their chosen talents. The spell was designed to incapacitate the victim, before slowly stopping their heart from beating. Ryore saw this as sheer stupidity on Reiza's part. Everyone would know who was to blame; never again would she be a free woman. He watched as the curse flew towards the Princess. Time slowed. He couldn't move. Any ruler knew the fatality of polar magics, yet it didn't make such incidents any less jarring. He was frozen in place, watching, waiting.

Reiza's curse soared freely towards her. Violetta's feet were rooted to the ground, her lips parted, eyes wide in fear. Ryore realized that there was nothing he could do. He was powerless to stop the curse; to keep the woman he loved safe from harm. “Please, no!” Violetta collapsed into a deathly sprawl, the curse having pierced straight through her chest. The Emperor felt his blood boil. He was finally able to shift his body. Time was again as it should be. His strong legs propelled him swiftly towards the fallen girl. He knelt beside her, running his hands across her cool skin as he desperately searched for the curse's magic. “Hmm.” His eyes came across a gash in her chest. It was deep and appeared to be oozing a strange kind of pus. The curse's strength had taken hold of her. It threatened to snuff out her life like the dying wick of a candle. Ryore bent his head down to her chest. Her heartbeat was faint, but present nonetheless. This is bad. He thought. He could feel the eyes of his guests upon him, the pressure on him growing with each moment spent. If he didn't act swiftly, she would be dead and all hopes for siring an heir with her gone. Ryore forced air deep into his lungs. He cupped his hands tentatively behind the Princess' head, turning fiercely to search out the seer.

“Guards!” he cried, when no trace of her could be found nearby. “There is a rogue seer on the loose! Find her. Now!!” Never ones to disappoint, the guards charged out in hot pursuit of the fleeing culprit. The Emperor returned his gaze to the Princess. “Violetta, can you hear me?” She lay still upon the ballroom floor, her head lulled to one side. “I will help you!” He cried, “I promise!” He held her head firmly between his hands, concentrating hard on the gash in her chest. He drew into himself, calling on his own power. It answered like a well-trained beast. It leapt into action at the command of its master. Ryore needed to siphon the curse from her body, but this was ancient magic; hardly studied by anyone these days. Time was waning. The urgency grew within his mind. He was sure that somewhere lay the key to the correct method of extraction. He recalled having briefly touched upon the forbidden topic, while still in the throes of his youth. If he remembered correctly, then he needed to drain a very precise amount of magic from her, leaving her power intact, but no trace of the curse. The Emperor worked painstakingly fast. He eventually located the curse's core. It was hidden deep within her slowing heart, swiftly freezing the vital organ. Ryore held her close and whispered

down to her still form, desperately hoping that she could hear him. “Try and create a flame in your mind, Princess. Picture it, please?” The soft edge to his voice betrayed his weakness. He no longer cared. He couldn't let her die. Not today. Not here in his arms. Ryore drew back, carefully focusing his mental energy; attempting to siphon the curse from his love. His spirit roved around her quivering body, seeking the finer parts of the curse. “Come on, Violetta. Think fire. Think rage!” He cried. Ryore’s feelings were starting to cloud his mind. Having located what he assumed was the curse's centre, he swiftly began the extraction process. As he drew out the fine ice particles from her weary chest, he noticed a gradual change in her breathing. It became far less rapid, the slash on her chest beginning to glow. He stared at it intently. It started as a gentle yellow-orange flicker, taking it's time to manifest properly. “That's it,” Ryore whispered, “You're doing just fine.” He could feel the curse slowly relinquishing its hold. The frost in her heart and lungs began to thaw. He felt the fire inside her gradually ignite,

transforming from a mild flicker into a sudden combustion which flew through the air. Ryore ducked. It missed him by inches. “Phew,” he gasped. His brow was lined with copious sweat. Such an ornate spectacle had his guests in awe. Fear and confusion left them shaken, but he hadn't time to worry for them. With the flame in her mind's eye burning bright, the excess fluid evaporated quickly. Violetta's pallor lifted, some colour returning to her light cheeks. King Eagan hurried forward in the wake of Xyhoni. The Emperor motioned for them to stay back as the Princess was yet to recover herself. He allowed them to gather loosely around her, watching as her eyes gently fluttered open. “Wh-what?” She mumbled dizzily. Ryore stroked her delicate brow, which had grown damp in a glistening sweat. “You're safe now,” he whispered with true care in his tone, “Just like I promised.” Her weak smile gave him courage. It had all been worth it, just for that. King Eagan rushed forward, flinging Ryore aside to get at his daughter. “Violetta!” He drew her to him, his enormous bear arms

clamping around her. Within moments, he'd managed to help her rise, steadying her enough to walk. “R-Ryore. T-thank you,” she stammered. Her eyes fixed on the panting ruler. Her voice was still weak from the shock of the impact. Ryore wanted more than anything to meet her eyes, but was unable to break his gaze from her wound. It may have closed itself back up, but the flesh remained swollen where the curse had hit. His head snapped up to the waiting King. Eagan stood ready to address his host, his face filled with grave concern. “Thank you, young Ryore, for saving my daughter's life.” He bowed his head to the awe-struck Emperor, whose eyes still lingered on the dear Princess. She seemed to look up at him with true adoration. A warm-hearted stare conveyed her thanks. Ryore struggled to control himself. He longed to run his fingers through her sunshine hair, to press his lips against hers and to fall into passion. He wondered what Violetta could be thinking. There was an uncertainty within her eyes, almost as if she were deciding something. The Emperor's gaze swiftly darted to Xyhoni. He stood firm beside the King, a worried expression lining his face. Ryore grinned. Yes, you should be worried. He thought. He

dismissed the boy and stared ahead. He cared only for the sweet-lipped young maiden who was swiftly being carried to rest.

Chapter Nine The nightmares were never too far away. They were like fearsome monsters with sharp talons that came at her, clawing through her subconscious mind. Cold sweat gathered at her heaving breasts. Impatient breaths fought to get out as Violetta's head continued to pound. They'd been coming for her; coming for all she had left to give. The morning sunlight burst into her vision, waking the Princess from her dark dreams. “Noooo,” she groaned. She groped haphazardly around, searching for the curtain cord. She wished to shut the harsh light of day out from her room. When finally she found it, the sun disappeared. Violetta let the cord fall back limply. “That's better,” she grumbled. She blinked a few times, clearing her vision, before something to her left made her bolt upright. She scrabbled back in sudden fear. Her eyes focused on a slim figure. She glared at it and all of a sudden she started to laugh. “Oh my.”

The figure continued to giggle with her. It stared weakly back from her dresser mirror. Violetta crept to the edge of her bed, wrapping her covers securely around her. The figure beyond did not do her justice. They were a most bedraggled and blood-shot mess; their hair sticking out in an unsightly fashion. The Princess raked her fingers through her stiff locks. She observed her tortured mirror-twin with interest. They mimicked her in every way. She was suddenly reminded of her nightmares; feeling herself being drawn back into the black abyss. Gruesome remains littered the floor, their blood smeared upon the high stone walls. Melted wax welded her tight to a chair. She'd struggled at first, making several attempts to break free, but alas, she could not stay free for long. When her bonds broke, she was caught again. And again. Her flesh tore violently as vicious chains wrapped tightly round her, biting into her tender flesh. Violetta winced. She wanted so desperately to give up. Her tears slowly tumbled down before turning to ice as her captors approached. They made little sound as they circled round her, facing an ornate mirror towards her seat. It was long and oval, made in gold filigree with four clawed feet. “Look!” they'd scream, “Look at what you've

done to yourself!” When Violetta refused their orders, an unsightly creature would stalk forward, its breath smelling like rotten eggs. Her chin would be pulled up, the creature holding her head so her eyes faced the mirror. “Go on,” they'd chant together, “Look at what you have become.” Violetta longed to resist them. Her will became weak, her eyes gradually moving to her own reflection. “Ahh!” Her blood-curdling shriek echoed round the room. It was always the same high-pitched wail; the sound of complete and utter anguish. The mirror showed the true extent of her captor's brutality. She would never do this to herself. An unfamiliar creature stared back at her. Its hair had long been ripped from its scalp, the face scratched and bruised beyond recognition. The creature behind held the battered body forward, while the circle of Ancient seers and warlocks began to swarm around the Princess. Violetta wailed again in pain. She was a Princess no longer. Now she was merely another hideous creature, her gentle spirit broken by traitors. Once more was her life drained from her, stored all too conveniently in that

damned gift. Her captors would let out a chorus of cheers. Her torment was but a game to them. Their shrill laughter gave way to darkness. It completely absorbed Violetta's mind, leaking into her last thoughts. Her soul was ready to give up the fight, all feeling dissipating from her limbs. Violetta withdrew from the startling memory. Fear transformed into sudden hatred. She tore her bed-sheets away from her, eyes glaring across at her wooden dresser. Her reflection still lingered there, peering at her through a mess of hair. Her body still shook like a leaf. “It was only a dream,” she told herself, “And dreams can't hurt you.” She brushed a hand through her unkempt hair, wincing as sunlight shined in her eyes. She turned irritably, only to find the curtains still shut. “What?” Violetta didn't understand. She leapt from her bed, sweeping her hair back from her face. Only the faintest of light was coming through the curtains. Puzzled, she followed the shine, all the way down to her own left hand. “Oh...my.” A wide grin spread over her face. Even in the mirror's reflection, there was no mistaking the

source of the sparkle. A scintillating rock stood out on her ring finger, bound in claws of finest ivory. Violetta glowed with happiness; not the reaction she'd expect from herself. Something seemed to stir within her; some basic need to feel loved and cared for. She felt it pull at her weary heart. Thoughts of the Emperor's ball swam in her head, her mind clouding over with snippets from the grand evening. Ryore's hands hugged her waist. All around them, colourful gowns and robes fluttered, giving the impression of living art. Once she'd been able to move more freely, Ryore had treated her to the most romantic of slow dances. His hands were soft and warm to the touch. She did not resist; she merely gave in. He rested her head against his shoulder, using his magic to dim the harsh lights. It had felt special. Beyond that. Any thoughts of Xyhoni seemed to fade away, replaced instead by the suave Ryore. Violetta had decided then to ignore her father's dated wishes. This man had saved her life. She trusted him; enough now to repay her debt. They swayed to and fro, her arms stretched around Ryore. A thought echoed through her mind. It spread swiftly, awakening her to a new understanding. In that moment, bathed in the iridescent light of the ballroom, she realized why she'd been so set against marriage. The idea of marrying was not a problem in itself. She had

often imagined a life where she were wed. The distress came with the idea of losing someone; of the exhausting grief that she and her father had suffered. When her mother and brother had died, her heart had firmly chained itself shut. She'd sworn never to remove those bonds, but now she began to reconsider. Ryore had twirled her, slowly this time. Violetta felt giddy. He was more than just an incredible dancer. He seemed kind and caring; the sort of person she could trust with her life. She'd wondered how he might fare as a husband. If her only choice became to wed him, then maybe it wouldn't be such a loss after all. There was merely the issue of him as a ruler. Copious amounts of liquor were to hand. Violetta remembered drinking in surplus as she took a seat away from the dancers. Her heart would not cease its infernal racing. She couldn't settle. Her mind danced as much as the people before her. Ryore had made his way back through the bustling crowd. Spying her at last, he padded over, a coy smile lost on his lips. It amazed her to learn that of all the eligible ladies, he had only chosen to dance with her. He sat beside her, his gaze intense. Filled with a curious sense of pride, she shied away from the handsome ruler. His body drew perilously close to hers. A small shimmer of joy crept into his eyes. It was subtle, but it was there. Violetta began to adore these simple quirks;

the way he subconsciously bit his bottom lip when nervous, the way he leaned in just as he took a breath, as though trying desperately to immortalize her scent. All this and more made her lean forward, waiting to be kissed. “Ladies, gentleman, and all those of varying genders.” The Emperor had drawn back, his tone firm. “I have here today our honoured guest of the evening. Both beautiful and logical I give you Princess Violetta Flame!” Whoops and cheers rose from around the room, making Violetta blush. She stood, bowing low to acknowledge his compliments. He'd surprised her a lot that night, but it was his kneeling down which shocked her the most. “Tonight, honoured guests, I ask Princess Violetta to be my wife.” Shock spiralled through the Princess' mind. She walked, speechless, to the chamber door. She was still picturing Ryore's young face, his skin pale and dewy, gleaming like the finest porcelain. She quickly unlatched her chamber door, pulling her robe tight as her father burst in. She startled at his manic expression. He stepped over the threshold, his lips curling tightly inward. “I've heard rumours,” he stated bluntly, “About

last evening. I must admit that I was so merry with drink I hardly remembered, but here we are.” He paced her room at his own leisure, glancing casually back at her now and then. Violetta studied him with wary eyes. She cautiously drew herself back to the window, giving her father more distance to cross. She watched, bewildered as his eyes brimmed with tears. She followed his gaze to her ring finger, where the resplendent gem sparkled gaily in the sunlight. King Eagan stared openmouthed at the jewel. “So, it really did happen then,” he said breathlessly. Violetta nodded. Her father paced slowly towards her. “I cannot believe it.” She could sense the shock in his voice and knew what would be coming next. She plunged herself back down on her mattress. She gazed modestly up at her father, her long hair veiling her beautiful face. “Have they found her?” She asked, hoping to change the subject. “Have the guards found Reiza?” The King sighed. He shook his head. “No my child, they have not.” He sat gently at

the side of her bed, his eyes flicking to and from the window. “You know, Violetta, I am very glad that you are safe.” His daughter's head lifted a little. “But, Emperor Ryore has expressed his own concern, that he saw Prince Arlas' face in the crowd, just before that Seer attacked.” Violetta gasped. “But...Arlas was escorted out; by his own brother. I want her caught, father. I want her caught!” Violetta collapsed in a fit of tears. Her father tried to reach out towards her as she rolled hysterically upon her bed. “Calm yourself, child,” he whispered to her. He drew her to him, stroking her arm. “The guards will find her, I assure you. In the meantime, I've called Lord Jork here, to discuss the events of the Emperor's ball.” He hugged his daughter tenderly, smiling when she moved into his shoulder. Violetta's eyes flickered open. She rested there a while, remembering how her mother's hugs had felt; so soft and soothing. While her father's hugs were a great cure, it was her mother's touch she needed most. “I must go,” the King cried. He stood abruptly, tearing his warmth away from his child. She

watched as he walked across to her chamber door. “Oh, and Violetta. Given the Emperor's daring actions to save you, if he's willing to protect your life like that, then you both have my blessing.” Violetta had been surprised by her father's words. To him there had been no greater insult than her marrying an Emperor of their enemy realm, yet now he digressed. Since their last talk, a bargain had been struck. Due to her current engagement to Emperor Ryore, she would soon join onto the Winter throne. With this in mind, her father had, but, one sole condition. Violetta would be held responsible for appointing her father's heir once he passed. “They need to be caring, brave, and wise beyond their years,” he had said, “Someone who will earn their title through their courage and their selfless actions.” The Princess had thought this over a great deal. She could see no unfairness in this. With Ryore already a realm ruler, she would gladly take her place beside him as Frost Realm Queen. “Violetta?” The Flame Princess jolted back into the moment. Her father was sitting on his throne before her, Lord Jork standing patiently to her left. “My Lord.” She seemed shocked, not having noticed her mind's own wanderings. She bowed

deeply to the Autumn ruler. “Please forgive such haziness on my part, Sire.” Lord Jork smiled thinly at her. It was a genuine smile; one which understood the mind's occasional disconnections. “It's alright, Princess.” His smile didn't falter. “Please rise. After all, it happens to the best of us.” His face took on a playful grin. The King did his best not to smile. “To the matter at hand!” He exclaimed. He rose his voice above their own. “Jork, I summoned you here today because Emperor Ryore believes your brother to-be somehow involved with that devious Frost Seer.” The Autumn Lord looked taken aback. He showed all the signs of a man who was totally oblivious to such preposterous claims. “Is that so?” He replied using his calmest tone, whilst slowly massaging his own shoulders. It was an old habit for him during times of unease and King Eagan knew this well. He disliked upsetting his old friend. Sadly, there was no alternative than to ask him such questions. The King frowned and moved on. “Ryore claims to have seen Arlas for a split second before Reiza attacked my daughter,” he

stated. “But, both my daughter and I; indeed the whole ballroom, saw you escort your brother out just prior. Tell me, were you with him the entire night?” Jork gave him a most pained look. “Yes, your grace. I was.” The restraint this man showed gave Violetta hope. Lord Jork had always seemed to be a decent man. Her father had known him ever since they were boys and although he possessed a mysterious edge, he remained positive in all of her thoughts. “Hmm.” The King stood to regard his old friend. “In that case, may I make a suggestion, my Lord?” Lord Jork nodded slowly, his expression a mixture of frustration and worry. “Please step forward, dear friend.” The King motioned for him to approach the throne, his eyes shining with a speck of sorrow. “Jork, I request that as of today, you are to please keep Arlas under strict watch at all times. He must never leave your castle unless he is to be accompanied by yourself.” Violetta saw the lump in Jork's throat. He swallowed dryly, lowering his head as though defeated. King Eagan's words possessed a strict undertone. They implied that a sense of great

displeasure would follow, on the off-chance that Jork disobey his request. The Autumn Lord bit his bottom lip. “I will do my best, Highness, but I'm afraid my brother has a sneaky habit of disappearing on me.” Lord Jork's final words had not inspired much hope. Keeping Arlas and the seer at bay would be troublesome. Violetta thought of her struggle as the chill wind took her. The air was crisp in the Winter realm. It hung about her like a moist cloak. It felt strangely relaxing; like an old friend who rarely visited, only now returning after all these years. As Violetta stood in the chilling snow, she reflected on their previous meeting. Lord Jork had been adamant that he'd observed his own brother and despite Ryore's claims, she believed him. Here in the frigid cold, her fiancé’s words did little to inspire anyone. Ryore's realm was certainly magical. With its endless supply of fresh white snow, it seemed to her just a beautiful dream. The sky gave off a pleasant glow, its blank white hue like a fresh canvas, upon which she could paint their new life. She glanced up at it. The snowfall was gaining with every word. It made Violetta long to be back home, where the air was warm and the people happy. Regardless, she felt proud of her choice to wed Ryore. He had shown true courage when Reiza attacked. Without him, she would not

be here. She and Ryore stood before his people. Violetta was wrapped up in his loving arms, wishing their union would inspire hope; that the rival realms could unite in peace. However, looking out upon the small crowd, the citizens seemed to want nothing more than to be released from this pointless spectacle. Their noses were rosy and chalked with ice. They stood listening to repeated concerns; of more false promises made on their behalf. Violetta wished she could give them hope. When the Emperor's speech finally drew to a close, she could see the citizen's relief clear on their faces. They, no doubt, all wanted to return some place warm. All around them were an army of dilapidated huts. She wondered how long his people would be expected to live in such squalid conditions. She turned to him, drawing back from the protection of his woollen cloak. “Do you really intend to help your people?” She asked pointedly. Ryore gave her a stern look. His arms were tensed upon his hips. “I do.” Violetta stared into her fiance's eyes. They appeared focused and determined; two qualities one could always count upon. Slowly, she leant

back into his chest, allowing him to cover her once more with the sides of his cloak. “Alright,” she breathed, “I am sorry.” The Emperor let out a long breath. Violetta was saddened by his sudden frustration. She had never meant to imply that he had bad intentions, nor that he neglected his own people. She simply wanted to help the poor. She couldn't bear to see others living in that state, while she alone enjoyed the comforts of royalty. A sudden thought filled her with unease. There had been no admiration in his people's eyes, no validations from him of the terrible living standards and struggles they faced. Her teeth subconsciously dug into her bottom lip as she wondered if this was too good to be true. *

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Violetta shivered. She sat on the lean garden bench with Ryore at her side. Her emotions had failed her since that fateful day. How any man could let his people go cold and hungry, she could not understand. She drew her own cloak around herself. The usual rich summer weather had darkened as of late, the odd chill breeze blowing in from the South. The Emperor could see her shivering and offered his own cloak. He pulled her close as he wrapped it around them. “Better?” He asked.

Violetta nodded. She turned her gaze to half a dozen red rose bushes, all too aware of his creeping hands; of the way they seemed to pull at her sides. “Please Ryore, patience.” She turned swiftly, her eyes downcast. She felt the Emperor's hands go slack. He reconsidered, reaching round one arm to huddle her close. “I am sorry,” he breathed. And he meant it. The next few minutes passed peacefully. Ryore held Violetta close to him, letting her nuzzle into the side of his chest. It was so warm. So wonderful. She let her eyes drift shut in bliss, her golden curls shimmering in the afternoon sun. She didn't want to leave that spot. It was cosy here. She had to admit that the winter realm was dazzling, but she didn't know if she could bring herself to leave her home forever. Her eyes fluttered gently open and all the wonders of her home realm burst into life. Exotic blooms opened all around them, while rare birds; the colours of the rainbow, could be seen taking water from a nearby pool. The Flame realm spoke of a time where all things flourished; where the air was warmer and courtship proved fruitful. “Huh?” Violetta felt her muscles twitch. She lurched

forward, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Having noticed her discomfort, Ryore shifted also. “What is it?” He asked, sounding suddenly urgent. Violetta gestured to her shaking hands. “They won't stop!” She cried. Her head bowed low as she started to panic. “Here.” The Emperor reached out towards her, easing her hands into his own. He held her firm. He was so warm and so handsome. Violetta paled. No. She would not let herself be so easily won over. She was about to ask for him to withdraw when her eyes grew and she felt herself gasp. “It...stopped.” Violetta stared up at him in disbelief. Her hands no longer trembled so. They merely lay still inside her lap. She'd not even realized that Ryore had let go. She smiled. “Thank you.” She was grateful for Ryore's company, even if all they did was sit perfectly still. It was the simple presence of another which brought her comfort. It was a feeling that transcended the loneliness of her former years, making her feel whole and wanted.

Yet some of her emotions seemed strange to her. She felt like she was forgetting something of vital importance. “Is something the matter?” Ryore probed. Violetta quickly shook her head, but she knew the man's instincts would see right through her. He moved slowly away, frowning at her grim expression. She couldn't help it. Her thoughts flew swiftly around her mind, pushing Xyhoni's face to the surface. She felt herself shake. She knew no reason for it to appear now, but appear it did. His smile. His perfect green eyes; the same colour as the beautiful emerald heart he'd made her; replacing the gift she'd left for her dear mother. She hated to admit it, but maybe things were moving too fast with Ryore. If she was even remotely thinking of another, then something surely had to be wrong. Ryore hadn't left her room in her life for Xyhoni. Even her old friend's gift was being made to remain within her home realm. Violetta sighed. Ryore noticed and moved close. He stroked the soft skin of her chin, before lifting it up so she could face him. She glanced up into his cool blue eyes. “I'm alright,” she assured him. In that moment, his face looked greatly pained. His eyes seemed to plead with her, wanting her to be honest with him. She couldn't. She didn't have the heart to tell him.

Ryore had grown silent. Reflective. His eyes flitted about, no doubt trailing through his own tedious thoughts. “Ryore...I.” He turned sharply, meeting Violetta’s gaze with a cold look. “Never mind,” she mumbled, “Ah.” She jolted abruptly as his arm brushed hers. Sudden feelings flashed through her. They were different than when Xyhoni had touched her. This wasn't a warm and embarrassing sensation. It was hot and urgent, compelling her to seek release. Give in. Her spirit urged her. Go to him. Touch him. Caress him. Violetta could scarcely breathe. Her hand wrapped tightly round the Emperor's wrist as she drew him to her, the urgency spreading. “Love me,” she whispered. She pulled him more insistently as his arms tightly circled her waist. “Take me, please.” A faint flush came easily to Ryore's face. Violetta could sense a pulsing deep down within herself. She waited impatiently for him to bend over her; to straddle her and graze her neck. “No.” The Emperor had drawn back. His face was ashen and full of regret.

“Oh.” Violetta gently sat herself up. She leant into her fiance's chest, head bowed low in deepest shame. She struggled with her surge of feelings, her debt to him now etched in her mind. She owed him her life, her very existence. How can I ever repay him? She thought. A strange warmth spread over her cheek. She glanced up, finding a hand cupping the side of her face. “My dear.” Ryore gently caught her chin, tipping it up so her eyes met his. “It will be alright, you know. Marriage.” Violetta's chest felt tight. She was sure he was right. His smile came easy when he gazed at her. It reassured her that all of her doubts were trivial. She felt hands massaging her lower back as Ryore playfully nibbled her lips. The hands moved up past her neck, stroking the long weaves of gold on her head. Ryore lips finally broke away from hers. Violetta let herself fall into the crook of his arm. She was exhausted. There were too many thoughts racing round her head. Ryore held her close, but just as she thought that all would be well, her comfort mixed with an incompatible sense of dread.

Chapter Ten Emperor Ryore had resented their parting. He stood silently in his draughty tower-room, overlooking the lay of the land. In absolute truth, it was terrible company. Nothing could compare to the warm embrace of his dearest love. The tower had no breath that lingered upon one's cheek, nor fingers to hold, or the voluptuous bosom of a maiden to warm you. No. His tower remained cold and bitter, full of deep dark memories which led on from boyhood. As a child, such damnable isolation had driven Ryore to seek more for himself. His father had left a hole in his heart; a deep void where no one had dared to tread. Now, even with the most beautiful woman within his grasp, the empty feeling remained inside. Moonlight flooded through the open window, its romantic glimmer doing little to alleviate the pain he felt. Ryore turned sombrely to the glass of wine which stood half empty on his writing desk. His attempt to celebrate with fine liquor had been a poor choice, for once the pungent tang had slipped past his lips, he was no longer smug. His joy had turned to ashes and since then he had ignored his glass, thinking

only of his future bride. The Emperor quickly grew obsessed with such thoughts. Such a trait had plagued him since childhood. No fables would cheer him. An endless amount of fine toys went untouched. His father had denied him the one thing he'd needed. Now, no matter how many silver linings came his way, misery would surely find him. The young messenger crept out of the shadows, his eyes drawn to the moonlit window. He drifted closer towards the Emperor. His throat was dry and his legs weary. Ryore smirked. He had already seen the boy reflected back in the glass door of a cabinet, yet he pretended otherwise until the last moment. “Come here, boy! There's no need to creep.” He turned on the lad, his eyes alight. The young man froze. He studied his master with eyes that matched his hawk-like nose, before gradually pacing into the moonlight. “Good boy,” Ryore taunted. He turned back to his father's desk where three small scrolls lay waiting. The boy craned his neck towards the window, but the Emperor swiftly blocked his view. “I need you to take these message to each of the other realm's leaders; Eagan, Aemon, and Jork. A new treaty must be drawn up by the council.

Here!” He handed the scrolls to the shaking child, whose arms could barely move from fear. “Y-yes Sire,” he stammered weakly. “Make that post-haste!” Snarled the Emperor. He gave his messenger an intimidating look. His blue eyes were as cold as ice. “Sire.” The boy, surprisingly, gave a firm salute before swiftly fleeing the tower room. Ryore chuckled to himself as the footsteps faded. “Idiot boy.” He reached back for his half-empty glass, savouring the wine as he thought of his plans. For a moment, his thoughts seemed to still with the wine. It had such a rich body to it; sweet and yet striking, quite like his fiancée. Ryore smiled, but his joy was fleeting. The smile swiftly disappeared. He began thinking over his needs for the new treaty. He needed to ally himself with Violetta's realm, to gain more outside protection to secure his throne. He had fretted about this day for years. His brother, Fadius, had begun to observe him, unnoticed, and the Emperor would have no more of it. He had long suspected his brother of treachery and needed any help he could get to align their two realms and

protect his position. A cold silence fell on the room. Ryore felt its creeping presence, like a patient creature stalking its prey. He knew he had to act fast. He rifled quickly through his desk, pulling out a large leatherbound tome from the bottom drawer. He flicked onto a virginal page; stared at it a moment. It was so clean it seemed a shame to spoil it with such foul ink. The same lurking presence began to strengthen. Ryore ignored his last thought. He plucked a quill hastily from a pot nearby and plunged the nib into a full ink well. He did his best to scribble down a final few words before hastily shutting the tome's leather cover. “Well, this sea of events is certainly intriguing.” A wry smile curved Ryore's lips. He realized the presence was actual and whole, but still, it left him paranoid. His eyes shot to the ancient book. He sighed in relief when he found it closed and clutched at his chest to gather his breath. “It's good to see you, Albius.” He turned slowly to see his head priest. They edged forward stealthily, visibly shaking. The ties of his robes looked to have been loosened by force. Ryore couldn't help but tut. He sat there, grinning from his comfortable chair. “Having some trouble, are we, Albius?”

His tone was one of true contempt. He sought his power from his core and waved his hand. In a matter of moments, a second seat appeared, erected entirely from sturdy ice. He urged his priest to take the seat, pouring two equal measures of strong liquor. “Just checking you haven't made a mess of things yet.” The priest chuckled dryly, taking up the offered seat. He flinched as he expected the sharp cold of the ice to greet him. His eyes widened; it was warm. Awestruck, the priest stared up at Ryore. “Magic,” he winked. Albius nodded, acknowledging the remark. He noticed that the Emperor's eyes were holding to his robes. He glanced up at his master, eyebrows raised. By the looks of him, he'd been in a scrap. His robes were in tatters and streaks of blood ran freely down his aged neck. “Is something the matter, Sire?” He asked. Ryore studied the priest's eyes. This man knew something he wasn't letting on. He could feel it within his mind; the quiet tap-tapping of niggling worry. Without warning, Ryore found himself lunging for him. Albius fell back from the ice-made chair, where Ryore flung him, hard, against the far wall.

“Start talking!” He cried, “Who hurt you and why?!” A ball of frost formed in his free palm. “Tell me now for I've a favour to ask, Priest. I don't want to have to cool you off.” Albius drew up his shaking fists; a last defence for the pitifully weak. “Well...” Ryore stared deep into the man's eyes. Creak...creak! The Emperor felt himself go white. He could feel another presence nearby, the floorboards by the door shifting under light weight. He glanced over to the entrance, then back to the priest whose robes he held, switching to a hushed tone. “Fadius.” Ryore struggled for control under new fury. Privacy had always been a scarce commodity here. Since childhood he'd honed his ability to sense his younger brother's presence. Since then it had become a sheer force of habit. He'd get the odd tingling sensation, which now grew intense, making his spine periodically spasm. Ryore cursed silently. He listened intently to the creaking boards as a deep hatred gripped his mind. Its sharp talons began to twist his every thought. He glared down at the

priest. “Quiet,” he whispered. He quickly released him. The shocked priest slumped down the jagged stone wall. Ryore crept steadily to the doorway. Fadius knows that my death will see him placed on the throne. The thought sliced through him. He couldn't allow Fadius to take what should rightfully be his. His anger flared once more. He searched deep for his powers; could feel the energy growing within. He drew it eagerly to the surface and kept it there, readily to hand. He refused to have his brother eavesdrop; to foil his plans and steal his throne. Even his sweet Violetta would not be exempt. Ryore knew that if his brother somehow usurped his throne, then he would surpass her right to it and he and his seer whore would take everything for themselves. Worst of all, Reiza's magic would be enhanced threefold. Ryore's breathing grew shallow. It was a thought he was unable to bear. He edged slowly to the chamber door. It was only now that he began to notice a small crack in the frame. Blasted! Their conversation had likely been exposed to outsiders. Cautiously, he pressed his ear to the narrow gap, and waited. It may have been faint, but the shallow breathing beyond was unmistakable. The Emperor laughed inside his head. Dumb boy. Even at this age, the smallest

things gave Fadius away. Ryore drew himself back from the door. He regarded his priest with a malicious grin. “As I said, a favour please, Albius.” He raised his voice to the door, making sure the next details could be heard clearly. “I've an idea in mind for the wedding ceremony.” With his confidence returned, Ryore slunk back into his comfortable chair. He prompted for Albius to re-take his seat. “As you wish, Sire!” The priest carefully righted the seat before sitting back, his eyes fierce. He had taken the Emperor's badly disguised hint and raised his voice to meet his master's pitch. “I ensure you master, that I will tell no one of our private talks.” He shot the Emperor a contemptuous look. Ryore grinned. “And if someone were listening in on our conversation?” Snarled Ryore. Albius appeared truly thrown by this question. He began to stammer, unable to give a coherent answer. “Albius.” The Emperor faked a high-pitched chortle. “The answer is that if someone were

listening, I would be only too glad to have them killed!” Albius gasped. The Emperor paid this no attention. Instead he eyed the cracked door-frame, listening to the softer creak of the boards. He turned back to regard the priest. “Albius! I need you to ensure that Fadius is kept away from all wedding proceedings. Understood? You are not to allow him into the Estate!” Then in a softer tone, so as not to be heard, “Especially not the balcony suite.” The priest paled. His words came thick and fast from his lips, making little sense to the frustrated Emperor. “I a-assure you, your I-imperial Highness, I wwill do everything to make s-sure your brother is bbarred from the s-site.” Ryore glanced his way with doubt in his eyes. He rose steadily from his seat, pacing towards the now shaking priest. “Albius? Do you promise me this?” He casually gripped the priest's right shoulder, gathering the material of his robe in one fist. “I give you my word, Sire,” replied the priest. His stammer was gone, with nothing left but the brutal honesty of the man he'd known since

childhood. Ryore grinned. He stretched out a hand towards Albius, sealing their bargain with a firm shake. “Thank you, friend.” The Emperor cautiously released the priest's shoulder. He backed away to the tower window, his thoughts seeking to fly with the birds beyond. “Sire!” Ryore turned. He waited patiently to hear what his priest had to say. Albius gulped. “It is rumoured that Lord Jork has locked Arlas away. You can sleep soundly now, Sire.” The Emperor glanced down in thought for a moment. He shortly returned his gaze to the priest. “Good. Now leave.” *

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Emperor Ryore sat as patiently as possible. His anticipation had reached its limit. The council had begun to file into their seats, for this was the day that he proposed his new treaty. He sat at the head of the original council table. He was proud to display the true octagonal beauty before his guests. The Frost Estate had remained cool and refreshing, setting the perfect scene for an event of such importance. The councillors all had sunny faces,

looking eager to learn of the Emperor's plans. The table immediately drew their attention. Fresh sheets of parchment greeted each of them. They glanced confused.

down,

appearing

somewhat

“Proposal documents,” the Emperor informed them. Several of the councillors inclined their heads to him. They swiftly sat down to take a look, while others were already immersed in the parchment. Ryore left them to their own devices. He reached over to a shelf behind him, fetching a bottle of wine and a wide-set glass. He popped open the top, pouring the liquid until the glass was nearly full. Silence. That's all there was. He watched closely as each Elder observed the papers before them. Occasionally they'd hold their chins in deep thought, “umms” and “ahs” escaping their tight lips. “Excuse me, Highness?” A pale man with a small crop of dark hair rose. The Emperor glanced up to take the man in. His appearance did not betray his age. He had eyes more youthful than his face appeared, not all of his features seeming to fit. Seeing no reason to deny him, Ryore nodded for him to speak, curious to hear the man's opinion. His guest rose steadily from

his chair, showing strong muscles that would shame an ox. “Sire,” he asked, “Why raise relations from a neutral status agreement that works? What would either of the two realms in question have to gain?” A sudden chattering overtook the table. Many of the councillors were nodding in relation to the man's point. Ryore scowled. He sucked in a deep breath, withdrawing casually from the occupied table. This ought to help matters. He raised his hands for complete silence, grinning once more as the noise died down. “Well, you see Counsellors...” Ryore clicked his fingers to begin the demonstration. In moments, a large shard of ice appeared on the table. A trio of smaller shards materialized around it. Cries of awe went up around the room. The Emperor smiled. “Each shard you see represents one of the Realms of Peradon!” He remarked. “You see, with a neutral status, all realms at first seem to prosper.” The Elders watched as thin green lines connected all four shards. Their bright glow lit up the room in a fine display that made them stare. “But then...” Ryore clicked his fingers once more and one of the shards soared straight to the centre,

splintering the counter for the Winter Realm. “You eventually get disputes!” He turned to where King Eagan sat, stunned into a dismal silence. Ryore motioned for him to stand. “Highness. If you please?” King Eagan frowned. He gave the display a suspicious glance before summoning his own fabled power. The skin of his hands began to crackle. The councillors watched with baited breath as bright orange flames sprang to life from his palms. They twisted away from his sizzling fingers, making the air sizzle with heat. “Set fire to the entire display!” Ordered the Emperor. King Eagan gaped. Nevertheless he sent them forth. Their flame slowly approached the display. They began to quicken, seizing hold of each shard in turn, before each of them exploded in a shower of water. “And there you have it,” Ryore said, “Destruction becomes inevitable. You see, a neutral status keeps us locked within a changeless society, but an Allied status keeps us moving. Evolving!” Ryore's words were well chosen. The council sat captivated, their stunned silence warming the Emperor. He nodded to Eagan whose flames

disappeared in a shower of sparks. “So counsellors!” Ryore grinned at the full table. “All those in favour of allying the Flame and Frost Realms?” He glanced round, attempting to read the minds of the others. Silence hung in the cool air. Ryore waited, feeling proud of himself. Despite his father's disgust at his general character, he could never deny that Ryore was in fact a wonderful speaker. All eight of the elders held a small secret smile, their eyes glued to where the Emperor's display had previously stood. “Aye. Ally!” one cried suddenly. “Agreed!” Hands began shooting up into the air, leaving not one decided against the request. “Excellent.” The Emperor proudly reclaimed his seat. “In that case, Elders, preparations shall be arranged for next week and the treaty approved on the day of my marriage.” Ryore tried to suppress an unnaturally wide grin. He turned, clapping his hands to dim the lights. “Dismissed!” *

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*

Reiza sat against the harsh rock of the cave wall. Her legs were pulled right up to the swell of her

chest, her eyes on the shadows cast by the orb. She was searching for her young intendant, hoping that the darker reaches would prove more successful. “Fadius!” She called out to him through the blackness. Not a sound. Reiza sighed. She clicked her fingers and another light flared to life. A scampering sound like the footfalls of mice echoed around the dark walls. The seer tensed. Her eyes darted around every crevice. “Fadius.” The young Prince emerged shyly from his hiding place. He stepped forward cautiously, his head bowed low. “Darling, we need a new plan.” His eyes met hers. A silent guilt flowed from him. Reiza had been beside herself. Fadius had been wandering through the dank cave for hours, stumbling through the dim walkways as he'd racked his brain for further answers. His late return did little to comfort her. While they had remained within this dank cave, Ryore was swiftly securing his throne; a throne his father had promised to Fadius. He turned to her, his gaze curious. “Reiza, honey. What are you doing?” The seer was bent down upon her knees. She was

working on something he couldn't see. Fadius closed the distance between them, staring down intently at her weathered hands. She moved them swiftly, her focus drawn to the strange symbols she drew below her. “What's that?” Fadius pointed to the cave floor where she was using a rough stone to draw the symbols. Reiza was silent. She continued to work on the crazed patterns. They eventually began to weave amongst each-other, forming some sort of elaborate design. She worked at it hurriedly, scribbling down details as fast as she could. Before long she stood, panting with the effort. “There we are!” She exclaimed. She beamed proudly at the quality of her swirling creation. “I've had another vision, my love.” Fadius gave her a cautious stare. He had heard a great deal about her visions; about how strong and influential they could become. He shifted slightly, looking ill at ease. “What did your vision foretell?” He asked. The question was hard, brought down like a club which dazed the seer. “There is more we can do, to free your father's throne from Ryore's foul grasp.”

Fadius' face tore into a smile. “That's great.” He rushed to hold her when something suddenly gripped his mind. “Reiza, what happens if we don't intervene?” The seer's eyes began to well up. She grabbed his toned forearms, pulling him down to kneel on the floor. His smile disappeared. A solemn frown overtook his features. He could smell the packed earth as dust rose in great clusters. It swarmed around them as the ancient frost seer sought out her magic. Reiza knelt down towards her creation and instantly summoned the full strength of her power. Fadius could do nothing but stare. There were very few who could match her ability. Her talents were proving to be stronger than ever; something which Fadius both relished and feared. He watched in awe as her magic seeped out, arcing towards the drawing below. “This is our destiny, should we fail.” Her power fled instantly into the symbols. Fadius waited. A minute brought a faint sizzling sound, which made him recoil from the mysterious symbols. “To the wall. Now!” Reiza pulled him sharply away. Fadius' back

flattened subconsciously against the coarse rock. His eyes widened in surprise. Reiza clung back to the cave wall. She pointed towards her symbolic sketch which now glowed with every colour of the rainbow. Streaks of light began darting out at every angle. Fadius eyed the symbols with suspicion. “What is it?” He asked, making sure to whisper. The seer shot him a dark glare. She hushed him swiftly, drawing his attention back to the floor. Two figures slowly emerged from the symbols. They were intended to represent both Fadius and Reiza. For a while they watched as their colourful counterparts danced and twirled with the brilliant hues. “This is wonderful,” Fadius breathed. His face began to draw up at the corners. He glanced over at his fiancée who had a most pained look upon her beautiful face. Fadius didn't understand her gloom. Why someone would grow so sad from seeing something so extraordinary, he'd never know. He reached gingerly across the wall, hoping to catch her hand in his. “Here. Look.” Reiza pointed back to the light show. Fadius slowly returned his hand to the wall. He glanced down to the cave floor where both of the figures

had begun to slow. They walked in a shambles for a time, before suddenly moving at a frantic speed. Finally, they fell back down into the symbols. Prince Fadius gasped. “Are they…?” Reiza nodded, her face solemn. “That is the fate that awaits us, should we not eventually interrupt this union.” Fadius allowed himself to part from the wall. He reached again for Reiza's hand. “We can't let Ryore sign that treaty!” She cried. He recoiled at her bluntness. He instead made to grab her chin, lifting her head which before had hung limp. “I won't see you hurt, Reiza,” he said. The seer refused to raise her eyes to meet his. Instead she focused only on her beautiful creation. One eye slowly began to shed tears. She raised a hand above her masterpiece and with deep regret she cast it away. Loose rock and dust skittered across it. The symbols were cast away, into dust. Fadius waited for some kind of reaction. He could see the change in her. Dispelling her creation made her look like death. Her cheeks looked hollow, her skin blanched. She gently pulled herself away from her lover.

“I need time to think,” she whispered. Fadius watched her pace up the tunnel, moving back and forth with her inconstant thoughts. He sighed and stood back from where the symbols had previously been. He couldn't begin to imagine the seer's sorrow. She had been forced to deny a vital part of herself; to pretend to most that it didn't exist. Now she had to destroy her magic, lest any trace of it left clues for their foes. Fadius stared after his sombre lover. He could hear her patience waning; he needed to help her find a solution. He racked his brain, searching for a grand idea that he knew would probably never come. “Wait!” The Prince's face lit up with glee. “I've...got it. Reiza, I've got it!” His frantic cries reeled her in. She sprinted towards him, flinging herself back into his arms. “What is it, Fadius?” She asked urgently. He drew her back ever so slightly. His eyes focused only on her, his hand trailing the side of her neck. “What if we damage the structure of the venue?” Reiza halted. She stood there gazing at his smug face. “Damage the structure?” She asked blankly. “But why would we...oh!” She nodded slowly. An

inquisitive look came over her face. “The wedding venue? How would you know where to sabotage?” The Prince gave her one of his know-it-all grins. “You underestimate me, my dear. I happened to overhear a conversation between my brother and Albius. They're using a room I know very well.”

Chapter Eleven The Emperor silently endured the morning chill. It blew gently in from the West, caressing him. Teasing him. He stood high upon the ancient balcony, taking brief glances to the adjoining room. It was the nervous waiting which really shook him. His eyes shifted slowly around, to take in the details of the posh room. It was ideal for a small wedding; spacious but not too so, with just enough light to be considered romantic. Its four burgundy walls closed in on Ryore. His breathing was rapid, the tear drop chandeliers only bringing light to his anxiety. Fine gold trimming lined the walls. This was mirrored by the golden glow of his ancestors as they stared back at him, Judging silently from their gilt frames. The servants milled about with their tasks. They hurriedly prepared the room for his guests; all waiting in the winter gardens below. Ryore gulped. His mind was simply overwhelmed. Visions of Violetta's beauty stunned him; so exhilarating that the scene below could scarcely compare. The gardens had always been picturesque. The Emperor glanced back across the expanse. A thick layer of snow had settled

overnight, coating everything in an enchanting white blanket. It was heaven, yet Ryore's senses told him that something was wrong. The air about him seemed to tingle, as though unseen magic lurked about. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the landscape before him. He was sure he was just being paranoid. He slowed his breathing. The scent of fresh snow calmed his mind. It reminded him of a much simpler time, when he was but a boy and still care-free. A time when his love was a mere school-boy crush. Yet here he now stood, awaiting his bride. Ryore watched as his first guests slowly filed in. They paced around curiously, accepting refreshments as they tested the upholstery. Lord Jork was among them. He caught the Emperor's eye, his face pained but his eyes alert. He took to the furthest row back. His brother, Arlas, was nowhere to be seen. So it is true. Ryore mused, The great Prince is held captive. With great joy he bowed towards Jork, if only to appear polite. When he glanced back up, a jolt of electricity sparked through his body, making him flinch. Two priests swiftly approached, dressed in ceremonial robes of ice blue. They marched down the aisle like soldiers on a mission, their faces blank, ready to do battle. “Albius, Nida.” Ryore shook the hand of each priest in turn, eyes

cast down when Nida accepted. As a young boy, she'd shown more than enough interest in Ryore, but his father had always disapproved. He wasn't to marry a woman of the enemy realm. Ryore chuckled to himself. It made him smile that after all that, here he was with a Flame realm fiancée. Ryore held his head up high, giving Nida his most genteel smile. She frowned back. Nida looked decidedly uncomfortable in the cool blue robes. The two priests made their way around the balcony, preparing the various tools of their trade. It was customary for two priests to conduct most marriage ceremonies within Peradon. One priest was needed per party to be wed and each acted as a ceremonial guide. A priest had to be someone of the same Realm and gender as their intendant. Only then were they judged suitable to ordain the marriage. Ryore's nerves were wearing thin. He was anxious enough without a room of spectators and had chosen only to invite selected dignitaries. He'd even swallowed his pride and invited Xyhoni. He knew his presence would please his beautiful Princess. Ryore breathed. Slowly. His mental cogs were wound tight as he waited. He needed his bride; tried to picture her in the evening, her soft flesh revealed to him at last. It soothed the Emperor to think of her there while he longed to feel her, taste her; to plant his own immortal seed within the extraordinary depths of her body. The procession

bell tolled in the near distance. “All rise for the bridal party!” Cried Albius. Ryore froze. Something in the air still didn't feel right. The atmosphere held a wild energy, like the sky after a heavy storm. Ryore tried to ignore this feeling. He kept his eyes trained on the lush red carpet, laid especially for the woman of his dreams. Grrr. That tingling sensation; it was exactly how he felt when his brother was near. He threw a glance back at Albius. “Fadius,” he did his best to whisper, “I can sense Fadius.” The colour drained from the priest's face. He too seemed to become distracted, by who or what he could not tell. Towards the far end of the elaborate room, a pair of oak double doors were opened by two guards. Any moment now Violetta would glide through. Ryore's suspicions were soaring high. He felt his powers flare into life. Chilling frost crept down his arms, sudden instinct drawing his eyes up. He stared at the higher beams of the room's structure. His eyes strained to search out some hidden flaw. While the two priests waited beside the altar they'd erected, Albius simply stared at the Emperor. He too appeared troubled by their own surroundings. The towering altar leered above him, made entirely

of cool stone blocks. Standing midway on the draughty balcony, it bore scrolls, parchments, and all manner of essentials for conducting a marriage. “Behold! The bridal party!” Ryore's gaze shot towards the far doors as one by one, the party entered. Every one of them looked the part. All were dressed in yellow or orange, leading the way down the aisle for his bride. Ryore tried his best not to visibly shake. His eyes followed the bridal party, to where they took their seats in the closest row. He turned back then and felt his jaw drop. He almost had to rub his eyes in disbelief as a stunning young woman tip-toed down the red carpet. Her eyes held shyly to the chamber floor, her long golden hair shimmering beautifully in the daylight. Ryore couldn't bare to turn away, yet something told him that trouble was near. His body heated, his powers ready to draw from the surface. Violetta closed in on him. Every step she took made his heart skip, for this was the moment she truly became his. If not for her fleeting glances at Xyhoni, Ryore was sure he would have felt better. He did not. Urgent flames scorched his brain. They licked at his temples in a fearsome rush as he tried to resist the fury settling behind his eyes. He studied Violetta's innocent smile. She is too good for a mere treesprite. He assured himself. There was nothing to

worry over. With him, she would have riches beyond compare. What more could the sprite had offered now but grass. His coronation wouldn't come for decades. Ryore's eyes caught swift movement in the pews. His hatred re-fuelled within his mind for there stood Xyhoni, a solemn frown worn on his pallid face. There's nothing wrong. Ryore assured himself. It's our wedding. It'll all be... He halted mid-thought. He had just been about to close his eyes when he felt a jolting underfoot. His guests gasped. Violetta was drawing closer still, while the priest’s arms flailed to collect their bits. Ryore realized just too late. His mind started to race ahead as the entire balcony began to crumble. His eyes darted to Violetta. She had just stepped foot onto the unsafe structure. Heart in his chest, Ryore watched as her face turned down at the corners. “No,” he breathed, “You can't die!” He leapt forward, adrenaline powering his stiff limbs. He grabbed Violetta roughly by the hand, quickly pulling her to his side. Blood was rushing through his brain. It made it difficult to process the scene. Ryore started to feel dizzy. He scanned the room beyond for the safest landing spot. “Perfect,” he wheezed. With all the strength his dazed body could muster, Ryore flung his bride back into the room.

His body tilted dangerously. He was certain Violetta had made it. He looked about for another spot. Ryore's adrenal glands began to capsize. His muscles shuddered violently as he made the risky attempt to jump back himself. “Oomph!” He landed with a hard thud upon the blood-red velvet, shaken up but completely unscathed. He let his breath burst out from his lungs. It was painful, but such pain was fleeting in the grand scheme of things. He paused, his body stiff. He lay there silent for a while, then pushed himself up onto his elbows, his gaze directed at the two priests. Their bodies were half-turned, facing the elegant balcony, or rather the clear space which now filled the void where it had once stood. The faint echo of its collapse could still be heard as pieces of the structure struck the grounds below. The final remnants followed suit. Ryore gently eased himself into a sitting position, his feet crossed to mimic a lotus bloom. He smiled to himself. He alone had managed to save his bride. He was filled with a sense of extraordinary pride. Twice now he had saved her life. The Emperor turned shakily to face Violetta, unable to wait another moment to hold her. “Princess?” She wasn't lying next to him. Ryore did a double take. “Good God!”

He unfolded his legs, drawing swiftly up from the floor before frantically racing to the edge of the room. It cut off bluntly, the once grand balcony now nothing but a memory. “Violetta!” His cry brought no response. He thought his heart would burst with sorrow. Ryore thought a moment. He readied himself and knelt back to his knees, peering cautiously over the edge of the drop. “Violetta.” Her face appeared below the ridge. Lines of terror snaked across her skin, making the Emperor's heart stop. It was a precarious situation. His love was holding onto the very edge of the room, where a small part of the balcony was still left attached. Her breathing was rapid. Her wide eyes pleaded with him to help her. “P-please,” she whimpered, “P-pull me up.” For a moment only, the Emperor was rendered still. The shock of seeing his bride dangling from the building's edge made him want to rip the world apart. He would not lose her like this. Filled with both fear and fury, Ryore reached out a hand. He stretched it down with all his might, hoping Violetta would be able to grab it. No such luck. She almost lost her hand-hold as she stretched towards him.

“Blast,” Ryore cursed under his breath. He motioned for her to stay still, watching as her tired fingers sought a firmer grip on the jagged ledge. Ryore's mind worked furiously. Feeling defeated, he sought out his inner power. He let his concentration build and from his arm, he loosed his power. A long, thin icicle sprouted forth. “Help!” Violetta's screams cut through Ryore's soul. Her fingers had started to lose their grip. Time was short. “Grab on!” He cried. He leant down as far as possible, steadying himself against the frame of the room. Violetta looked desperate. Shakily, she reached towards the icicle, grasping it firmly with both of her hands. When he saw that she'd finally gotten a good hold, the Emperor started to haul her up. “Ahh!!” Terror shot through the groom. The long shard of ice had snapped viciously in two. He lunged forward, his feet hanging from the edge as he caught his wife by her delicate hands. “Albius! To my side, Now!!” Shock pulsed through the Emperor's veins. He heard the priest curse somewhere behind him and

in seconds Albius was there at his side. The priest gasped when he saw the commotion. He leant down by Ryore, gripping each of his legs by the cuff of his ankle. “Sire, you have to trust me!” He cried, “I'm going to pull you both up. Okay?” Ryore did his best to hold onto his bride. His grip was failing, as was his hope. “Do it!!” After five minutes of strenuous work, the pair were finally safe in the room. Ryore and Albius panted hard, unaware of the guests who were still gawking. “T-thank you, my f-friend,” Ryore stammered. The priest glanced his way, nodding his head as he caught his own breath. “No p-problem, Sire.” Both men slowly turned their shaking forms towards the Princess. Violetta rested against the lush red carpet. Her eyes were screwed shut, her body still tense from the whole ordeal. Ryore saw now that her dress had been torn open slightly. One leg was visible right up to her thigh. Her once neat hair had become unravelled, falling down wildly past her beautiful face. Albius finally got to his feet. He wiped some dust from his ice blue robes.

“Our apologies, honoured guests. Someone appears to have sabotaged the room.” A series of frantic whispers rose from among the sparse crowd. “As far as we can tell, there should be no more surprises, so we shall now begin the wedding ceremony.” Ryore felt terrible about what had happened. He had never expected for anything on that sort of scale to go wrong. He had imagined whisperings around the room, but sabotage no less? He shook his head. It truly stumped him. His young bride to be was an absolute angel and whomever would see an angel dead was beyond depraved in the Emperor's eyes. He turned to Violetta, carefully helping her to her feet. “You're not hurt, are you?” He asked. He ignored the worried strain on his voice. “I'm f-fine,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing. Ryore smiled. There was still an edge to her lovely voice, but at least now she was safe in his arms. He walked her up to where the priests both stood, their main supplies having luckily been salvaged. The altar, sadly, had been completely destroyed. Albius stepped forward. “Imperial Highness, Princess; are you both ready?”

Ryore was about to nod when he turned back to his dearest love. He hadn't yet had time to admire her fully. He glanced down at the torn side of her dress and couldn't help but let his imagination wonder. He became certain that her garment had been the Royal Tailor's finest achievement. It fit her beautifully, like a silken glove. With the craftsmanship of the vivid coral silk cut low at the bust, now a gash in one side; it made the dress look strangely even more stunning. Violetta's two slender legs stepped out of the bottom, every curve of her body perfectly defined. Ryore struggled not to lick his lips. While it may have appeared as a less traditional choice of gown, the Emperor for once felt truly moved. This incredible creature was closing in on his deepest of feelings and Ryore realized with shock that it no longer felt dangerous. “Ahem!” Albius shot him a warning look. “Sire?” Ryore paled. “Y-yes?” “Are you both ready?” Ryore nodded. The priest prompted the couple to turn, before addressing the rows of guests before them. “Welcome one and all. Let all those gathered here today know that Sire Ryore Frost and Princess

Violetta Flame are hereby officially honouring their commitment to each other. We may have gotten off to a bumpy start, but rest assured that is now behind us. Today this couple leave behind their childhood wishes and will now pledge their lives to one another in the ancient bond of the Forever Ceremony.” Albius certainly was a marvellous speaker. He could make anything sound perfectly holy, able to easily put the guest's minds at ease. “Ryore.” He flashed the Emperor a broad grin, raising both hands as if to join them as one. He turned to face his lovely bride, taking her fragile hands in his. A single tear caught his eye, glistening like a rare jewel. She was indeed a timeless beauty. Her hair hung round her perfect face, like a luscious waterfall of liquid gold. Ohhh. Ryore could feel his feather-light suit clinging to his excited member. He shook his body slightly, as he did such thoughts, doing his best to remain focused. Nida spoke next. The Emperor found himself strangely awkward, trying desperately not to meet her gaze. “The Forever Ceremony is a magical time; a tradition given to us by our great ancestors.” The guests were all nodding in stern approval.

Even Xyhoni. Ryore jolted, his thoughts of the sprite having been forgotten during their grim escapade. Now his attention was fixed solely on him. Xyhoni was standing up from his own pew, staring ahead with empty eyes. They seemed to see all and yet see nothing. Ryore stared fearfully at him. The healthy flush of his skin drained away, leaving it almost deathly pale. Please, he prayed, Do not provoke my inner demons. “Ahem!” Ryore's attention snapped back to the two priests. Albius read on without fail. It was Nida who had dared to raise her voice. He straightened up, listening intently. “Let it be commanded that while both parties be present in this world, that no one is to use their magic on the other, except in the instance of healing their beloved spouse. Ryore, Violetta; please repeat after your own guides.” Xyhoni sat down, his head bowed low. Ryore glared from the corner of his eye. He could see that the boy was in deep thought, his expression grim. Defeated. His heart gently sighed in relief. Thank God. No more trouble today. The vows were repeated and rings exchanged. Ryore spied Violetta happily admiring her left hand; one fine gold band overlooking a diamond treasure.

His own wedding band remained subtle. Although also gold, it was much more modest, still representing their unbreakable bond. His attention drifted back to his priest, who held a dark-feathered quill out within his right hand. “Sire,” asked Albius, “Are you ready to sign the marriage treaty?” Ryore stepped forward to accept the quill. He bent to his knees, leaning against a small table that a servant brought in. It may not have been any grand altar; the Emperor was just glad it was there. Their marriage license rested upon it, just as his fate rested upon its words. Ryore double-checked the part which mentioned their alliance and carefully signed away his name, refilling the nib before he slid the quill over. Violetta gasped. As she knelt down beside her husband, she felt one hand massaging her lower back. Doing her best to keep her expression blank, she swiftly signed her agreement to the treaty. Ryore's rough hands still lurked round her. She bit her lip, only slightly. Nida crossed to the side of the table, gathering the papers for Albius to see. The priest carefully scanned the licence. “Yes, that seems to all be in order,” he said. Albius turned to face the guests. “Since Ryore and Violetta are now legally bound as husband and wife, it is my great honour to say that Ryore, you

may now kiss the bride!” The Emperor turned at the priest's words. Gently, he pulled Violetta to him. His lips found hers, so hot and fast that he could barely contain himself. Their first kiss as man and wife sent a wild passion thrilling his body. His bride's hands groped desperately for his as the ferocious want of her sizzled inside him. Ryore couldn't wait to chance exciting her. He could feel her own passion flowing freely, radiating through her as his hands brushed her thighs. She slowly pulled herself away, glancing up at her new husband. Her chocolate-brown eyes shone with an eager glint, teeth grazing her pouted lips.

Chapter Twelve Her skin flushed. Violetta nervously undid her robe. She could feel her petite form beginning to tremble as she walked the length of the fine bedchamber. She handed the garment to a lurking maid; a squat woman, with a partially wrinkled face that never seemed to change expression. She bowed awkwardly, averting her eyes from the Queen's virgin body as she made to exit the Emperor's chambers. “Phew.” The loud clang of the door seemed to follow the Queen around the room. A strange warmth steadily followed. She took this as a positive sign. The grand bed awaited her, drawing her towards its glossy covers. She gulped. Few things had been moved to her new abode; a lot still left at her childhood home. Including the green heart Xyhoni had made her. Violetta let out a deep sigh. She was sure she would become accustomed to her new settings in no time. What worried her were tonight's plans. She had always been curious about the human form as a girl, but never had she imagined exploring it in such graphic depth. She turned slowly, eyeing the bed

that longed to embrace her. The furnishing looked ever so soft; so inviting. She drew close, sitting herself upon one edge as she slowly attempted to embrace her nude form. The Queen trailed a hand along her inner thigh. The luxurious four-poster in darkest mahogany had invited her in with its red satin sheets. Violetta stroked the soft red spread. The smooth fabric excited her fingers. Its delicious feel caressed her delicate skin, pure ivory contrasting with the colour of blood. It was then that she spied a striking portrait. Its occupant seemed vaguely familiar. It was a teenage Ryore. There he was, immortalized in paint, leering out at her from his gilded prison. Violetta stared intently. The boy's pale eyes appeared different there, revealing an irreparable sadness. Memories flitted across her mind; of a shy boy in the corner of King Aemon's table, to whom she'd barely had a chance to speak. She lay back, her eyes roving across the panelled walls. Symmetrical squares were etched deep into the dark wood. They sat at equal intervals, sophisticated and stylish. Violetta let her mind wander. She melted into the folds of the bed, the hug of the fabric strangely calming. The chamber door burst suddenly open. The Queen jerked upright, staring towards the figure in the doorway. A reasonably attractive young maid

stood there. She was modest-looking, with more confidence than her looks would suggest. She slowly crossed the threshold, her features softened by the soft orange glow of the palace lamps. “Highness.” The young girl bowed. She smiled sweetly as she sat down next to the silent Queen. Violetta wasn't sure what to say. Her clothes were all off and some stranger had proceeded to sit beside her. “C-can I h-help you?” She stammered. The girl leant forward. She began slowly stroking her hand. Surprisingly, Violetta felt herself blush. She tried to ease herself out of the girl's reach. But to no avail. The maid lurched forward, gripping her thighs with a fierce intensity. She held her firm, head lowering quickly towards her loins. “Enough!” With great force, Violetta struck her. The girl's high squeal stung her ears. She reeled back from the grand bed, frowning in pain as she clutched at her cheek. “I'm...sorry,” she cried feebly. Her eyes teared up as she backed away. Violetta wanted to apologize for raising her hand, for even she was startled to have done such a thing. She watched as the girl crept back to the door in a slow

sort of trance. She stole a last frightened glance behind, before she quickly fled the Emperor's chambers. Violetta could no longer embrace herself. Her nakedness shamed her, the dangerous red sheets circling her form. Since the shock of the young maid's advances, sudden urges to flee came fast to her. Her body quivered. She didn't want to disappoint the Emperor. She owed him too much, yet her mind was at an impasse. She felt used, sullied; like somehow duty were overshadowing her true desires. It made her feel dirty. Impure. Knock, knock! Violetta gazed towards the chamber door. It creaked steadily open, revealing her husband's handsome face. Ryore peeked shyly round the door-frame, his eyes growing as he noticed his wife. “Violetta?” He slipped through the gap. His dark robe was pre-loosened, his taut flesh glinting within the soft lamp-light. Suddenly, all the Queen's fear drained away. Her eyes stuck to his firm body, heart fluttering within her chest. Ryore was so close. His pale skin was dewed with sweat, a supreme confidence oozing from him. Sparks of arousal knifed through her. Her body tensed, the want of him so strong she could barely contain it. Violetta watched as Ryore hurriedly pulled at his robe tie, tearing it away with minimal force. The

robe slipped fluidly to the chamber floor. Her eyes slowly trailed up to his face. An eager stare leapt out at her. She felt her own excitement growing. A mysterious warmth spread through her as she gazed upon Ryore's fine form. It was the essence of masculinity; proud and strong. Without provocation, she beckoned him over, feeling her legs unclench once more. The Emperor's movements remained cautious. He leant down towards his wife, his strong hands gripping the red bed-spread. Slowly, he eased himself upon the edge. Violetta's breathing quickened considerably. She guided his hand along her inner thigh, letting it slither slowly upward. “Touch me,” she begged. The words didn't sound like her own. There was a carelessness about them which seemed strangely alien, yet all the same, her husband obeyed. Without hesitation, he smoothed his fingers across her soft flesh, tenderly brushing them back and forth. Her skin dampened beneath his touch. She motioned for him to come forward, moaning as his weight bore down on her, pinning her back against the red silken sheets. She could feel him swell as he gazed upon her, pushing excitedly against her thighs. “Mmm.” The Queen let out a low moan. She could feel

violent yearnings throbbing within, and in a sudden rush, she pulled him astride her. Her lips sought his in a hot embrace, another low moan escaping her lips. Their bodies writhed against one another as Ryore continued to stroke her tender flesh. His lips moved to the delicate curve of her ear. “You'll enjoy yourself. I promise,” he whispered. His words blew seductively across her skin, her mind clouded by new waves of pleasure. Violetta? A sudden image of Xyhoni emerged in her mind, leaving her dazed as her husband's loins pulsed against hers. Such a pleasant sensation became hypnotizing. She let all other thoughts fade into the foreground, focusing only on the carnal pleasure. Now that she'd tasted this shade of lust, Violetta just could not deny herself. She rotated her hips beneath Ryore, watching as his body gladly responded. “I love you,” he moaned, teeth grazing her delicate neck. He proceeded to run his tongue savagely down past her full breasts. Her back arched against the exquisite pleasure, her pelvis bucking urgently as Ryore slid his fingers within her. He held them there, still as stone, allowing the desperate urges within her to build. “Pleaaaase?” she begged, “Release me.”

Ryore did his best to hold out, but this was a plea he could no longer ignore. He swiftly pushed her legs apart, easing the tension from his fingers. A soft gasp like no other escaped her throat, the gentle rhythm of his hand making her damp. Ryore worked his way slowly down her, gliding his hands along her smooth flesh. The sensations she felt made her legs shake, but as he planted his rough lips upon her, all sense of control instantly fled. He started slow, darting his tongue along her body. By now the Queen's form was readily blooming, preparing itself to accept her lover. “Ohhh! Ow!” A blunt pain surprised her innocent body as Ryore eased himself between her legs. Such a pain quickly faded to a cruel ecstasy. Violetta moaned. New waves of pleasure coursed through her body. This feels too good to be true. She thought. She gazed up at Ryore, now streaked with sweat. For a moment only, she eyed him with suspicion. No. She assured herself. He would never use his magic like that. Violetta bucked her hips as her husband stirred. He began thrusting faster, groaning as he viciously ravaged his wife's ample breasts. He teased her nipples as she cried out. He refused to stop. He kept his pace, speeding up until they stiffened as one, hot fluids rushing from their shuddering forms.

Slowly, the Emperor pulled himself from her. “I'm not done yet,” he called into the night. Before Violetta could speak a word, Ryore was hunting down her loins once more. His rough tongue sought her out, urging her on for the second time. He desperately craved her, teasing her relentlessly before he finally parted himself from her. “That was...amazing,” Violetta breathed. Ryore helped to lay her back, catching his breath as he cradled her to him. “T-thank you.” His blue eyes lingered on her heaving chest, the rest of her now covered by the red sea of sheets. Echoes of her cries raced round the chamber. His smile grew wide. His right hand brushed the hair from her face. Her beauty was not diminished by sweat. If anything, it only helped to enhance it. Her eyes gently flickered shut, her consciousness slipping as she drifted into sleep. The sound of birdsong filled the Royal chambers. It echoed around the Queen's head, leaving her groaning as she woke from her slumber. The pleasure of last night was long gone. Slips of memories came to her, the feelings she'd relished returning faintly. A dull throbbing had been left in

their wake, but Violetta assured herself that it had been worth it. She pried open her tired eyes, groping quickly for the infamous bed sheets. “Mmm, Ryore...honey?” Violetta reached around for her husband. Her hand fell on thin air. Focus leapt back to her as she turned to find the Emperor gone. An empty feeling engaged her stomach. She sat up as fear worked its way inside of her. She began to feel as though she'd been abandoned. “Hello!” A harsh knock roused her from her tired thoughts. “Highness?!” Violetta paled. “Coming!” She tried to call. Her hoarse voice barely carried the distance. The door squeaked open, giving way to the same young maid from the previous night. The Queen's mind reeled with shock. She felt herself begin to panic, her eyes scanning the now timid girl. The young maid stepped towardS her, but Violetta swiftly darted away. “My Lady?” The maid gave her a funny look. The Queen stared out, terrified, from behind the four-poster. The girl paced swiftly towards her. Her face was covered by a small frown. When close enough, she

slapped her. Hard. “Get a grip, Highness!” Her tone was firm, yet fringed with pity. To her surprise, Violetta felt suddenly calm. Violetta took a long breath. She watched the young maiden as she went about her chores, bringing various items in from the hallway. A small cart soon sat upon the chamber carpet, with a roaring fire blazing beneath. “Tea?” she asked the silent Queen. Violetta nodded. The girl produced two large and elaborate flagons, and some herbs which smelt unusually strong. She set about casually stoking the little fire, bringing water from the bathroom to heat above it. Before long, the liquid began to bubble. The smell of the brew lingered in the room. “Done!” Exclaimed the young woman. She filled both flagons, setting one aside. She pointed to the remaining cup, gesturing for the Queen to take a small sip. “Umm.” Violetta was hesitant. She had never seen a drink like this before. It was hot and green, and smelt strongly of mint. “Here.” The girl blew on her cup and took a long

swig. “See, it's not bad.” Her bright eyes smiled at the anxious Queen, who shakily picked up her own flagon. She watched as hot steam billowed from the rim. A sweet smell lured her in. It was a strange aroma. It made her think of a rainy day, when the grass was topped with fresh dew. She became curious. Watching the girl take another long gulp, she cautiously put her own cup to her lips. It wasn't bad. A fragrant mint lined the mixture, swiftly spreading her airways open. When she was certain that she liked the taste, the Queen took a long gulp. “I'm sorry if I scared you before,” said the girl, “Master Ryore wanted you ready.” Her voice held a gentle kindness. It made Violetta sad to see her cheek still swollen from where she'd lashed out. She had been about to apologize when her flagon toppled out of her hand. “Ah!” She doubled-over, hands pressed tightly against her stomach. “What's wrong?” The maid ignored the spilt refreshment and instantly rushed to her Majesty's aid. Violetta couldn't answer. She could feel fresh pain erupting

within her; fleeting jabs making her cry out in anguish. A sudden thought crossed her mind, soon lost amongst the sea of agony. The pain stabbed through her, intensifying. Now that she dwelt within the Winter Realm, any pain seemed unbearable. Violetta did her best to take slow measured breaths. She was still unnerved by Ryore's disappearance, but hoped above all else that they had conceived; that there was some purpose to a pain such as this. She longed for their two realms to remain united, for the well-being of their citizens, as much for themselves. *

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“Foiled again!” A shard of ice flew at Fadius' head. He casually dodged it, brushing off the left arm of his cool robe. While Reiza's despair gave way to uncontrollable surges of powerful magic, Fadius simply became numb. Their failure filled him with immense shame. He knew it was there. He just couldn't feel it. He had spent too long deep within the dark, hoping he could do his late father proud. “Fadius!” The Prince winced at the seer's shrill cry. He turned swiftly, searching her out. “Reiza?”

He stared out of the cave mouth. Moonlight streamed into his vision. Reiza's body hung suspended in the distance, a faint glow illuminating her features. She appeared to be in some sort of trance. She made no attempt to move, but instead stared into empty space. “Lead me on the path of accomplishment,” she whispered. Her breathing was shallow, her speech directed into the night. Fadius strode towards the seer. He gently placed his arm on her waist, when she burst suddenly out of her ghostly vision. Her body fell, no longer suspended by the mysterious light. Fadius barely managed to dodge out of the way in time. Reiza's limp form forced him down, where he lowered her gently to the damp Earth. “Reiza! Are you okay?” He asked. Fadius helped her to her feet. Her eyes were unfocused, her mouth agape. “That treaty has left us dead in the water!” She screamed at the bewildered Prince, shoving him viciously to the cave's rough floor. Fadius groaned. He gradually raised his aching head, squinting up through his now blurred vision. “What did you see?” He moaned gruffly. The seer was crouched down close by. She stared

off into the night. “Tell me!” Screamed Fadius. He leant forward, giving Reiza a vigorous shake before she finally made to speak again. “Your brother is well protected now,” she said, “He has recruited new allies. No one is going to break their new pact; not unless they absolutely have to.” The seer gave him her most innocent look. She appeared like a child who had just been accused of stealing a toy. Slowly, she paced away from him, following her senses to the edge of the clearing. “I need some air,” she called back. She walked away towards some trees when the Prince's hand clapped her hard on the shoulder. “Wait! What do we do now?” His voice was frantic, worry oozing from his every pore. The seer turned. She gently shifted her arm away before placing both hands on the sides of his face. She leant in, wanting him, needing him. Fadius felt himself flush with colour. His body went limp, melting with hers as their lips locked. Reiza slowly pulled away, her eyelids gently fluttering open. “There may be something else we can do,” she breathed hoarsely, “But that all depends on how

your brother deals with grief.” She bent her head up to one of his ears, slowly darting her tongue along its edge. “When Ryore next asks for your help, tell him to seek a Fertility Ritual. Remember, for it is of the utmost importance.”

Chapter Thirteen The Estate fared well with Violetta's jubilant presence. Many of the maids would now sing and dance, happy to have such a sweet companion. Usually, this would have bothered Ryore, but today his mind was otherwise occupied. The Royal Doctor shut the door behind him. Ryore frowned. He'd been told to keep well out of the way; to wait outside in the draughty corridor. He resented this. He feared for his young wife. She had been prepared for her examination, but never before had she bared the practice. Having already been seen, Ryore waited outside, frustrated to be kept from his darling wife. His anxieties swiftly ate at his thoughts. They were in turn replaced by grim scenarios where any consummation simply failed. The Emperor found himself pacing hesitantly. His head was turned down as he dwelt on his fears. What is my future without an heir? He considered. Who will my throne pass to once I'm gone? He felt his body shudder as his own mind answered. Fadius. Ryore snarled. The thought of such a royal disgrace was enough to make the Emperor sick. He jolted at a sudden creaking behind him. He glanced

back at the chamber door where the Doctor stepped out, his face solemn. Ryore's heart stopped. The man's eyes were blood-shot, his skin pale. The Emperor began biting into his cheek. He hoped the stinging pain would overcome any grim news. “Sire.” The Doctor was visibly shaking himself. “You are not at fault for what has happened. Your wife bears the brunt of the problem.” “And?” Ryore arched a single eyebrow. He regarded the Doctor with cool distaste. “You will not have an heir any time soon,” he said, “Your wife appears to be...infertile.” Fury shot through the Emperor's veins. The harsh reality of the situation dawned slowly upon him. A scorching anger stole over his mind. Of all the gorgeous eligible women, why had he fallen for such a beautiful angel, only to now discover her broken? His mind felt heavily torn apart. The Doctor stood silent beside the chamber door. He allowed Ryore time to process, before he started to speak once more. “The best thing you can do, Ryore, is to let Violetta know she is loved.” The Doctor's words sounded distant, like he was hearing them from under water. “Good news though; the Flame realm's training school is quickly being built and is

actually nearing its completion.” Ryore stood there. He frowned, silent, appearing none too interested in the news of the school. The Doctor bowed his head low. “Take this,” he urged. Ryore felt him thrust something heavy into his palm. He gave the Doctor a curt stare, before glancing down to discover a dust-covered book. “May it give you the answers you no doubt seek.” Ryore's knuckles ran with blood. He had unleashed his raw fury upon a set of unsuspecting urns. Elaborately decorated and priceless, it was a loss of more than just a few old trinkets. Seeing how his fists had begun their frenzy, most nearby staff had shrunk into the shadows, watching as the fine ceramic was shattered to pieces. One stoutlooking maid merely tutted, proceeding to clean up her master's mess. In the Emperor's mind, peace appeared to be unobtainable. Slowly, he picked up the Doctor's book, feeling the beginnings of the composure he sought. He slumped against a nearby wall, drawing breath as he righted himself. “Ten...nine.” The Emperor counted slowly back from ten as he had done so many times before. Easy. He breathed. He walked slowly back to his chambers, knocking twice on the mahogany door.

“Hello. Violetta.” When no answer came, he stepped inside. The room seemed dimmer than ever he'd seen it. A strange chill was caught in the air. Violetta?” he called. Silence. The Emperor felt his way through the dying gloom. For a while he relied only on distant shadows, when he eventually came upon one of the lamps. He reached out gingerly and turned a dial. Faint light blossomed within the room. His cold eyes slid across the eerie chamber, where they came upon his wife. She lay in a heap at the bed’s centre. “Oh God!” Her limbs were spread wide, the sheets draped across her like some deranged work of art. Her expression was empty, eyes upturned. Trauma. Ryore mouthed. He momentarily discarded the book, running to embrace his young wife. He quickly propped her up against the lavish pillows. “Violetta? Are you alright?” He asked feebly. The Queen remained silent, sending Ryore into a state of panic. He lay there beside her, unsure of what he was supposed to do. “Here.” He put a protective arm round her; a half-hearted attempt to bring her comfort. “I am

told the Flame training completion,” he cried.

school

is

nearing

He watched as a subtle twinkle returned to her eyes. Softly, he reached for one of her hands, brushing the skin in a calming motion. He moved close, his warm breath gently caressing her neck. Hoping to relax her, he repeated the process. “No.” The Queen's breathing grew increasingly laboured. She pulled away from her husband's clutches, observing his face which was livid with anger. His wife's coldness had caught him offguard. He made to pull her back, but she simply cringed away from him. Ryore glanced over at his Queen. Guilt knifed into what remained of his heart. Her eyes were melting into fierce puddles. Warm droplets slid down her delicate face, making him wonder what he'd possibly done. There was no way to ask her for she would not speak. Ryore's frustration was steadily mounting. He tried once more to embrace his love, but she shied away from him once more. “Forgive me, my love.” He disengaged her, his change in tone surprising even himself. “I wish I could help you.” Ryore sat against the frigid stone of his tower room, flicking through the pages of the Doctor's

book. It was draughtier than usual, the chill in his fingers beginning to irritate. He believed he'd unearthed the root of the problem. Fertility wasn't given freely to all. Unlike most of Violetta's ancestors, she had failed to inherit a certain gene which allowed Flame Realm women to carry a child. The gene helped to form a protective layer which would allow a child to safely develop. Sadly, Violetta had no such layer. According to the book, the magic needed to create one would usually develop around the time of puberty. Ryore yawned. He raked his nails along his pulsing scalp. The cause of the missing gene was hard to identify, but that wouldn't stop his incessant searching. He turned to the next page, where a complicated diagram caught his attention. It depicted the average Flame maiden's reproductive system and all of the things that could set it off balance. “Aha!” He quickly scanned the next few pages, striking gold when he arrived at a large chart. It listed core body temperatures in the realm's females, which incidentally seemed to link to their overall fertility. It was said that those with higher temperatures tended to be much less fertile, with the protective layer sometimes burning away. Ryore frowned. Something beyond the door had disturbed his peace. He angled his right ear towards it, certain

he'd heard faint footsteps. They'd stopped short, right outside. Suspicion crawled into the Emperor's face. He snapped the Doctor's textbook shut, dumping it into an old trunk before turning to the door which he found ajar. Rage swarmed within him like a hornets nest. He had locked the door the instant he'd entered, which meant someone-else had used magic to break it. Fire surged within his belly. He strode over, grabbing the edge of the door before flinging it open. His rage rocketed. Prince Fadius lurked within the shadows, his face set an ashen grey. “I...wasn't expecting you brother,” he mumbled. Ryore scowled. He gripped his brother by the scruff of his cloak, choking him until he turned a purplish-blue. His younger brother struggled for breath, staring into a face which was filled with rage. “What sort of punishment would suit you?” He asked. He hauled Fadius back into the tower room, setting a new lock upon the old door. “Tell me all you can offer or you die tonight!” He released him suddenly, dropping him to the floor with a muffled thud. Fadius let out a highpitched laugh.

“Very well, brother. I'll tell you what I know.” The Prince gently began massaging his windpipe. He circled his elder like a bird of prey. “You do know of the secret passage that runs right the way through the Royal chambers, do you not?” Ryore's jaw clenched. “Yes. What of it?” Fadius grinned. “I was watching from the darkness when your wife was...examined.” The Emperor hurtled towards him at breakneck speed. He was fully intent on strangling the life from him when Fadius side-stepped, watching him fall in a heap to his side. Ryore hissed. Pain erupted within his skull, but his brother simply continued to laugh. Ryore steadily lifted his head. “You dare to defy me?!” He gripped the edge of his father's desk. He staggered up, rising once more to his brother's height. “You watch my wife in so private a situation?!” Ryore felt the hot need of his rage. He sought his power urgently, summoning it to the surface in record time. He lunged again, this time brandishing a sharp

ice spear. He made sure to hold back his full weight, but Fadius simply rolled his eyes. He grabbed Ryore's wrists, twisting him round. “Unhand me!” Ryore scolded. He began to struggle against his brother, the skin of his wrists burning with pain. “Ever heard of a Fertility Ritual, dear brother?” Ryore began to cease his struggling. His eyes narrowed as he observed his sibling from the corner of his vision. “Speak!” He commanded. Fadius nodded. He released his hold on his elder brother, before straightening the creases out of his dress-robe. Ryore strained to regain his balance. He forced his hands out against the hard wooden desk, narrowly missing a dreadful fall. “Some Ancient magic is beyond compare,” said Fadius, “Even womb-death can't escape such power.” The Emperor stood straight. He hung onto his every word. A storm was brewing in his grey-blue eyes and there was nothing anyone could do to calm it. “Has this anything to do with Arlas?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in suspicion. Fadius hastily shook his head.

“No, brother, though the only thing this magic can't do is to grant off-spring to the deceased.” Ryore's jaw dropped. He thought for a moment. Although it was said to be an incredible rarity, he had heard talk of such powers before. Powerful seers were still suspected to be born; at least once in every decade. “Alright, little brother. Today you live!” He turned once more to retrieve the book. “Now, get out!” The dim chamber lamps left an iridescent glow around the grand four-poster. Ryore blinked. He had left Violetta to her peaceful slumber, but upon returning, he found her gone. Sweat beaded upon his forehead. He swiftly leapt towards the bed. In fear, he hastily sunk to his hands and knees, searching beneath the dark frame where he managed to turn up nothing of note. He paused to think, when a light tinkling sound caught his ear. “Hi.” Ryore's head snapped up at the sound of her voice. Violetta stood by their en-suite door, eyes red-rimmed and somewhat puffy. “Are you alright?” He asked, concerned. The Queen looked upon him, almost pityingly. A midnight blue towel modestly covered her, her wet

hair hanging limp down her back. “No. I'm not okay, Ryore.” She slowly closed the distance between them, climbing onto the bed sheets; now a shimmering purple. She cocked her head to one side, letting her hair fan out across her chest. It became hard for Ryore to resist the sight of her; her long bare legs and voluptuous breasts, and all still dripping with condensation. Violetta leant back as her husband approached. He climbed aboard the sturdy mattress, hooking an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he whispered, drawing her close. This time she allowed herself to be embraced. Her warm breath on Ryore's cheek sent shivers down his spine. He breathed in the scent of her; wild jasmine and lilies bloomed in her hair. “I wanted to apologize,” Ryore half-moaned, “For disappearing earlier.” Violetta laid her head against his shoulder, snuggling into the crook of his neck. She said nothing. She didn't need to. “I think I can fix our little problem,” he whispered. Violetta stilled. She leant back slowly, catching his eye. Ryore's intense gaze made her nervous. He

gently cupped her hands within his own. “There is some ancient magic that could restore your fertility.” Ryore's words inspired little within her, save for a most fearsome look. He had knowingly forced any blame onto her, with no regard for her own feelings. “Sweetheart?” Ryore gasped. He could feel his wife's hot tears rolling onto his cool flesh. This time it was he that shied away. He refused to give up on this. He desperately wanted for them to have a child and he would restore his wife's fertility, no matter the cost. “My priest will help us locate a seer.” He tenderly stroked his wife's tear-stained cheek and tucked her into the soft bed-sheets. “I'll get a Fertility Ritual performed. You'll see.” The Autumn realm was the most adept on all forms of healing; on both injuries requiring magic and those which did not. As such, it was only natural that Ryore had sought out Lord Jork; one of the most incredible healers his realm had known. “Come in!” Called Jork. It was more an order than an invitation. Ryore sidled through, waiting by the blazing fire. Jork slowly closed the study door, striding proudly to one of his fine armchairs. He sat without taking his

eyes from Ryore. He made himself at home in the chair. “Tell me,” he asked the tense Emperor, “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” He pursed his lips and held out a hand to the opposite seat, before reaching to his right for a halfbottle of liquor. Ryore winced at the Lord's bluntness, but took up the seat regardless. It was comfortably warm; right beside the fire. Lord Jork saw the Emperor's smile and looked to the fire with one hand raised. Instantly the grate cooled, leaving Ryore with little more than the dying embers. “The reason for your visit, Ryore?” The Emperor swallowed hard. “My brother has informed me that there are rituals, in which one might be able to restore a person's fertility.” Lord Jork, looking mildly distressed, drank straight from the bottle of fine liquor. Four long, greedy gulps and he gasped. He wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. “There are such rituals, yes, but they come with a price. And they don't often work!” Ryore's wariness became surprise. “Why ever not, my Lord?” He asked with genuine worry.

Jork restrained himself from balling his fists. “Well honestly, it's a desperate act for anyone. The ritual is extremely difficult to master. Only those with ancient powers are able to truly manifest such magic.” He leant over, his eyes resting on the concerned Emperor. “Sire, I don't think that even you should go down this path.” Ryore sneered, fingering the silken fabric of his robe. “You wish me to be heirless, too?” Jork's sigh surprised Ryore. He took another long swig from the bottle before he set it down for good. “Your Grace, with all due respect, these are very dangerous waters which few sane persons have ever cared to tread. May I ask who suggested such a ritual to you again?” Ryore hesitated. “My brother. Fadius.” The Emperor fumed as his equal began to howl with laughter. Jork slapped his right hand against the armchair, tears streaming from his eyes. “Ryore. Come now, your brother does not have your best interests at heart! Surely, even you can see that.” Ryore felt shame penetrate deep into his soul. He

no longer knew who he ought to believe. It was true that his brother often caused him great stress, but Lord Jork had always resented him, even as a young boy. Blood is always thicker than water. He mused, But with water, there is never an end to its life. With Jork signalling his need for departure, the Emperor had travelled back home to the Estate. He would gain no further assistance from Jork. He refused to participate in such ritual practices. Forlorn and pale, Ryore stole back to his tower room. Use the lense.His mind echoed, Locate a prime candidate; someone who is unafraid of danger. Perhaps it isn't as dire as you think. The Emperor strained against such reckless thoughts. If Jork said there was nothing to be gained, then how did he know he wasn't lying? All these thoughts. He cried inside. All these voices! He slammed the tower door into its place, his mind, splintering as much as the frame. His father's old writing desk caught his eye. The glass orb rested exactly where he'd left it. Tempting him. “Come,” a voice seemed to whisper to him, “What is there to lose?” Ryore paced over. He halted right before the orb. “I suppose I could...no...yes. No!”

His mind was in a state of constant flux. Feeling weary, he carefully removed his navy cloak, setting it aside on a nearby chair. The brilliant orb awaited him, silently yearning for his touch. It tempted him into the cool shadows. Lord Jork's warnings rang through his mind. It will never work! His mind screamed. “Oh yes, it will. It will!” Ryore was growing desperate. While his mind spoke of only despair, he sought to find the positive side. There's always a chance, he told himself, Always. Ryore had been unable to resist. He felt his mind caving as he took up a seat beside his father's desk. He stared longingly into the depths of the lense. “Who can help me?” He cried. He forced the orb into his trembling hands. Once again, he pressed his forehead to it, to imprint his thoughts upon the ancient tool. It was deathly cold, paining his mind. He had barely scratched the surface of his thoughts when a sudden knock jolted him out of his trance. “Who goes there?” He called sternly. For the first time, the sound came from the bedchamber door. It was muffled, but all the same, Ryore stretched up, taking his chances and

releasing the lock. Violetta stood there, pale in the moonlight. “May I come in?” She asked shyly. Ryore stared at her; at the translucent negligee which housed her warm bosom. His body swelled gladly at the sight of her, but it was the glance to her face which left him concerned. Her eyes were wide and wet with tears. He was about to decline when a sudden thought struck him. It was Violetta's problem. Why not let her join in his search. “Sure,” he replied. Ryore put his back to her, motioning her into the cool room. Her arms hung limply by her sides. “I...” Ryore grabbed her by the waist and shifted. “Here, sit on my lap and keep very quiet.” Violetta was stunned, but seemed to understand. Even so, there was a sadness about her. Ryore gave a brief explanation of his goal; how he hoped to locate an experienced Mage, to help cure his wife of her terrible sickness. Then one day they would have a child of their own. Several times, he had to steer his eyes to the lense, his wife's clingy night-gown raising his member. Focus, Ryore, focus. He gently guided his wife's hands,

placing them at equal distance along the clear orb. He bade her rest her head on the glass; only briefly, to lend her own thoughts to its power. The orb led her fingers to all the right spots, while Ryore explained how her energy would help boost the process; making it swifter, more efficient. Their eyes darted back to the orb as bursts of swirling smoke appeared. They billowed swiftly around the glass, creating odd shapes and unique coloured shadows. “Think deeply, my love,” Ryore urged her, “About the condition; of your feelings.” The Emperor thought upon his own; of the rage and anguish he had felt. He focused on searching for an Ancient power; for any person or creature who could wield old magic. His left palm slid to one side of the lense, while Violetta's instinct guided her right. Without warning, electric-blue smoke unfurled from the centre. The lense quickly began to cloud over before the glass was consumed by a stark pitch black. “Dear God!” Ryore's face had drawn a blank. Such a deathly shade was a terrible omen. He hadn't the heart to tell his wife. Time was barely apparent to them. They sat as one; quiet and peaceful, and if anyone had intruded

on such private a moment, they probably would have remained unawares. The glass had since cleared, giving out a sudden surge of colour which made the Emperor grin. Gold. That meant that there was some hope. For a brief moment it ignited the core of the lense, turning briefly to the image of a human face. The Emperor did a double take. He glanced from the orb, to his wife and back. “Did you see it?” He asked wildly, “The face?” Violetta shot him a puzzled look. She turned her attention back to the lense, but the face had long disappeared, the colour with it. “No, my love. I did not,” she replied. Ryore felt his heart sink. Replacing it was a translucent grey mist, which brought forth a haughty voice. The speaker filled the small space, calling out what vaguely masqueraded as a riddle. Come seek me out, I know no shame. I wield a power, close to rain. In a North-West cove, I lie in wait. If you're brave enough, come knock at my gate. I'll wield my spells, tell me what you seek. If you decipher my riddle, then we shall speak.

Ryore barely realized how tight he was holding her. Violetta squirmed beneath his grip. The realization finally dawned upon him. “I am sorry,” he cried, releasing her waist. The Queen gasped, drawing quick, stifled breaths. A strange head-rush enveloped not just her, but Ryore too. It felt like a great power was slowly building within them, making their minds expand with its presence. Pain gradually swelled in their minds before it suddenly exploded, white hot and unrelenting. It forced them down onto the cold stone floor, where finally the orb released them from its hold. They lay there, panting. “V-Violetta?” The shock slowly ebbed from the Emperor's body. He glanced round at his wife who looked similarly startled. They had long removed their hands from the lense, furiously shaking as they rested upon the hard ground. All the same, Ryore had never seen his wife smile more. “The riddle; can we pursue it?” She asked. He caught her meaning. His confidence flared. “They refer to a place; their usual residence perhaps.” Ryore jumped up, suddenly excited. “A North-West cove? I've got it!” A wild gleam entered into his eyes. His wife observed him

curiously, her head tilted to one side. “The only place North-West is a cave I know well!” The Queen lifted herself from her husband's lap. Ryore rose too, gently embracing his darling wife. “Wait here,” he said. Violetta watched him saunter out. He was anxious to locate the nearest messenger, a plan already forming within his dark mind. He spied one lurking a few corridors down. He stopped to stare, before making to intercept the young man. “Hey! You!” He cried. The messenger turned. Fear grew in his eyes. “Me, Sire?” He pointed slowly at himself, hoping that maybe he'd simply misheard. Ryore gave him a sour look. “Yes, you! Please inform the troops of a new Quest. They are to go to the Cave of Darkri at once. If they find anything whatsoever that emits magic, then they are to report back here immediately. Understood?!” *

*

*

*

*

Fadius gently kissed Reiza's lips. It was hard for him to say goodbye. He wasn't used to the seer being so open to displays of affection, but something within her seemed different today. For

once she appeared to need the comfort. “Do well, my love,” he whispered in her ear. Reiza moaned beneath his touch. “I'll be...back when the plan is...complete,” she managed to gasp. The Prince smiled at hearing her moan. Inside, his mood was swiftly darkening. He didn't want her to leave, for this part of their plan was by far the riskiest and there was no telling how it would pan out. He pulled her back, deeper, into the cave. “I don't want anything to happen to you, Reiza. I...I really do love you.” His eyes searched hers desperately. He wanted to wrap his arms tightly about her body, to see the same feelings reflected back. For once he didn't want to see his brother's presence within the light of her perfect eyes. “I will be fine, my darling.” Reiza leant back ever so slightly, cupping her lover's cheek with one hand. “I know I don't often say this, Fadius, but I love you too. I'm just...not always sure how to show it.” The look in her eyes rang true. There were genuine feelings within her heart for him. She turned from him, suddenly sad. “I must be going now.” Her voice was shaky.

Fadius tried to pull her close. She resisted his chiselled arms. She stepped carefully out of the cave mouth where she gazed upon the moonlit sky. “Goodbye, Fadius.” She made to leave. The dense trees started to swallow her up. “Oh and...” she halted, turning to shoot him one last sombre look. “Remember the code for when I return. We shall be victorious.”

Chapter Fourteen Violetta still had that uneasy feeling, like bugs were crawling all over her skin. She had done her absolute best to calm herself. The Emperor wanted her prepared. It hadn't taken long for his soldiers to locate the creature of ancient magic. They had returned the previous night, securing it in the grimy dungeons. Those who were to speak of it referred only to it as 'the seer.' Violetta hadn't been told how much time she had, but she knew the ritual would be today. She hurried to their adjoining bathroom, turning the facets on to run. Their long, trickling streams flowed forth, gradually making their way up the bath. The Queen felt drained as she knelt beside it. She tested the water. It was lukewarm. Taking her time to do things properly, she sprinkled the herbs she'd been given, for luck. A hand full of mint, some crushed tea-tree, a dozen rose petals. They all came together to create a sinfully sweet scent, designed to rouse her tired mind. Violetta turned off the streaming taps. She glanced into the depths of the clear green water, urging the sweet scent into her nose. She felt herself hesitate. The water churned below her,

threatening to burn her tender skin. She sat down on the edge of the cool basin, inhaling the glorious, drifting aromas. Now was her time. Her husband was trusting her to prepare for the ritual. She breathed deeply and with all of her will, dunked herself in the water. A sudden sensation took hold of her. It was powerful, sending shivers down her spine. She was surprised at how refreshing it was. She lay back, letting her head slip down the smooth white porcelain. Her sensitive skin became lathered in froth, caressing her in all the places she desired. She knew this ritual was designed to help her. Nevertheless, the sceptic in her continued to laugh. She reached up, placing her hands upon the bath's edge. Two side-bowls greeted her, already filled with a creamy mixture of goat's milk and holy water. Violetta dipped her palms into the froth and slowly began to melt away from the world. The light tingling faded. The various extracts worked their magic, the fragrances alone sending her toes curling in the guiltiest of pleasures. Violetta's body drifted back into being. Her limbs were stiff and aching, the water no longer hot but frigidly cold. With great haste she drew herself up, cautiously stepping out from the tub. She wasn't sure how long she'd drifted off for, but didn't chance a second moment. She emptied the mixture from the side bowls; pulled her dripping hair back from her shoulders. She padded over to the

bathroom mirror. Ryore had left her some chamomile soap, which she worked up into a healthy lather before rinsing the cooling suds from her skin. Violetta sighed. Fresh at last. She grabbed the brand new robe from the bathroom door. Red. Its bold colour drew a parallel to the vital blood-tie between mother and child. She pulled it on, gliding her fingers along the chic fabric. She was just admiring the way it hugged her curves when a sharp rap came upon the en-suite door. She stared as it gradually opened, revealing the shy face of yet another young maid. She appeared little older than she, with bright green eyes that she thought she could trust. “Follow, please.” Violetta didn't pose any questions. The young maiden led her through the Royal gardens, where hundreds of rare species bloomed about them. The Queen halted towards the garden's edge. A fine carriage could be seen waiting, the spokes of its wheels, a burnished gold. She felt herself beam in joyful surprise. She was pleased that she mustn't travel solely on foot. Turning to embrace her young guide, Violetta suddenly found her to simply have vanished. “My Lady!” A new speaker startled the Queen. She spun to

find a tall footman in a cap, stepping down from the elaborate carriage. He sauntered forward, offering Violetta his hand. “Thank you.” She accepted it graciously, stepping into the vehicle. The footman held his hat to his chest, happy wrinkles lining his forehead, before he leapt back into the driver's seat. Violetta stirred unexpectedly as the carriage jolted. The world rushed back at break-neck speed. Strange sounds exploded through her mind; birds ravenously called out to each other, fighting for the rights to nest. Eventually the carriage stalled. The squawking faded. She could feel a hand resting gently on her arm and looked up to find that it was frail and spotted. “Highness?” She stared up into a smiling face. Her footman; waiting patiently for her to come to. Noticing her blank expression, his lips formed into a worried frown. “Is everything alright? You're very pale.” Genuine concern echoed in his tone. The Queen shrugged off her weariness, nodding her head as she glanced about. “Yes. I'll be fine,” she lied.

She gently disembarked the carriage, her head held high as she scanned her surroundings. An ancient site stretched on before them; ruins so ludicrously crumbly that they looked as though they'd been abandoned for centuries. The footman caught Violetta's hand. “This way, My Lady,” he said weakly. A series of cold stone passages stretched before them, imposing in the infinite darkness. Torches were already lit along the high walls. Their faint light lit only the steps ahead. It made it impossible to see what lurked beyond. Slowly, the torches began to brighten, when her aged guide caught her shoulder. “Here we are, Highness,” he whispered through the gloom. He pointed ahead with one knobbly finger, where a small cobbled well came into view. It was surrounded by a copse of beautiful white oaks, their low-hanging branches circling around it, as though protecting the well from harm. “It's beautiful,” gasped Violetta, “Almost otherworldly.” Her eyes were wide in amazement. She wondered how many people had actually been allowed to clap eyes on it. She turned, about to ask her driver when a solemn look crossed over his face.

“I am sorry, my Lady, but this is where I must leave you.” His eyes seemed fit to burst with tears. “You must go alone now, Highness, through the ancient maze of oak.” Violetta drew a blank. From what she'd heard, this was to be the most intimate part of the entire ritual; one reserved for the intendant alone. She realized with mild terror that she must now find her way through the dense trees alone, to wherever the ritual altar stood. Only then could she have earned the right to the magical properties that lay therein. “Thank you, Sir.” She gazed at the footman with his sparkling eyes. “I will never forget this.” Just as the elderly driver turned to leave, he was caught off-guard as the Queen flung herself around his waist. She squeezed him tight around the middle, her head buried within the crook of his shoulder. “It's okay, My Lady,” he soothed. He gently patted the Queen's back. “It'll all be okay.” With each step Violetta had taken towards the well, she had heard the driver's footsteps fading. Twenty panic-stricken minutes saw the trees twist in a monstrous fashion, taking the weary Queen by surprise. She was determined to pass through the winding maze, using every one of her senses to her best judgement. She trusted in her instincts; used

the energy about her as a guide. The trees were fewer now, but still she walked, along the narrow stone paths. The dark atmosphere bound her in chains of fear. The young Queen quickly became discouraged. She searched frantically among the twisting passages. Her head dropped. Reluctantly, she sought to throw in the towel when a light glow appeared up the passage ahead. Curiously, she paced towards it, doing her best to zone in on the light. Violetta chanced a quick glance behind. Everything she'd passed seemed to instantly vanish. It was just her and the glow, guiding her forward. She halted suddenly. Something large and sloping caught her unawares. She glanced down to find that the glow had fled. In its place, there stood a coarse oblong rock, as high as her waist, its surface coarse. She leaned gently against the structure, the roughness of it grazing her skin. “The altar,” she whispered, mesmerized. The Queen stared silently round her new surroundings. About her, she noticed a strange circular structure, hewed from the same tough rock as the altar. It easily towered ten-feet above her, rounding on her like a ravenous beast. There was no wind here. Just the distant whistle of it in the trees. Violetta stood with her back to the altar. She was gazing above at the elaborate structure when

something sinister caught her eye. She wheeled round, refraining from blinking in case she missed it. A shadowy figure emerged from her left. It advanced towards her with impressive stealth. Violetta prepared herself to run, but couldn't. No matter how much she shifted her feet, she couldn't move a single inch. Her feet seemed to have frozen stiff. She waited, terrified as the demon approached. Her eyes widened. “R-Ryore?” The Emperor's gaunt face loomed above her. His strides were powerful, broad shoulders pinned back, chest puffed out. He looked ever more impressive than usual with his body draped in a ceremonial robe. Blood red; mandatory for both parents who sought the ritual. The Queen felt herself go weak at the knees. Ryore said nothing. He barely looked at her. Without warning, he scooped her up into his muscled arms, before gently laying her upon the altar. The cold stone rubbed at her bare legs. Violetta tried to adjust herself, but Ryore's arms held her fast. “Be still!” He cried. It was more an order than a request. In anger, his powers seemed to flare from within. Thick layers of frost swept over the altar, luckily failing to reach the Queen. She reluctantly obeyed.

“You'll be alright, my dear,” he said, “That I can promise.” His voice warmed, restoring her faith. Violetta gradually began to relax. She relished the feel of her husband's hand as he lightly brushed it against her cheek. A second shadow crossed into the clearing. The Emperor was the first to spot it. Violetta stirred upon the altar. Sensing her husband's sudden discomfort, she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the figure. It slunk steadily towards the couple. It was abnormally tall for anything human. “The seer was released into the maze, on my orders.” Ryore's voice boomed out through the clearing. He gave Violetta his most reassuring look, but all she could see was the shadowy figure. It continued to advance upon her, a cloak of deep blue, shrouding their body. A matching hood hid their features. The only thing she could make out were long strands of wispy white hair, which poked through the sheer fabric. Violetta shuddered. She was suddenly reminded of Clarisse; her old nursemaid, and the way her hair used to dangle limply over her face. The mysterious newcomer inclined their head. They appeared disturbingly familiar to the still Queen. She eyed them closely as they met with the altar, splitting the air with a few

foreign words. The language seemed impossible to identify, as did that lurking sense of familiarity. The moonlight swept over the slim, dark figure. The couple stared in awe of them. Their navy hood was slowly peeled back. The urge to be violently sick assaulted the Queen. The creature's face was as gaunt as ice, the skin taut as though pulled back from behind and stapled in place. Violetta wished only to tear her eyes away, but she was simply unable to cease her staring. The figure appeared to have no gender. Instead, their features appeared androgynous at best. Its eyes were only slits in its head. The Queen doubted whether they could see that well. “Emperor Ryore.” Its voice was low and gravelly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm so glad you were able to decipher my riddle.” Its long curved teeth crept out from its mouth. Violetta flinched. Ryore, surprisingly, simply nodded towards it. “Charmed, I'm sure.” The seer was intent on examining the Queen. They drew awfully close, sniffing about her lithe frame in the same way that dogs sniff out a scent. “She is ready!” They exclaimed. The seer pulled back from the anxious Queen. Their cloak opened up to the stark moonlight.

Thankfully, their body was more than well covered. Violetta didn't know how many shocks she could take. “And now to prepare the tools of fertility!” The seer began digging around inside their robe. Dozens of pockets spontaneously appeared, bringing forth a great many items. Containers and books were among a few. Most were drawn back into their robes; just a few main articles remained on the altar. “Ahem!” Ryore coughed, clearly impatient. The seer gave a displeased frown. They carried on regardless, bent over a neat line of simple, yet elegant brown pots. They sat on the edge of the square stone altar. Each appeared to be half-way filled with a different precious substance to the one that preceded it. Violetta maintained her statuesque state, wincing as the healer's hand shot out towards her. She was confronted instantly by a wart-covered hand. She gazed grimly upon it, until it delved deep into one of the pots. Before long, the hand withdrew, the pale flesh coated in a pungent paste. Violetta glanced warily up at the figure. They were neither young nor old. Now that she stared, she noticed a line of grotesque bruising which hugged the jawline, the cheek-bones hollow and close to blue.

They stared back at the entranced Queen, one hand reaching to untie her robe. Instinct almost saw Violetta lash out, but remembering her promise, she let them work. Her robe undid with the greatest of ease. The paste-covered hand explored her nude form. Its slender fingers adorned her body, mysterious symbols emerging in their work. The icy mixture made Violetta shudder. It trailed down along her bare flesh, in an intricate pattern she couldn't quite see. A second pot was shortly lifted, a muted blue powder grasped within the seer's hand. It was fine, like the ashes of the long dead. Violetta's memory jolted her. This compound was familiar. Her mother had used it to heal her as a child. Such sudden familiarity became suspicious. The seer claimed it would ensure her continued relaxation, sprinkling the powder on her stomach and forehead. “The mind's connection to the physical form,” croaked the seer, “The true connection to your reproductive system.” Ryore drew close as the final pot was brought into focus. The mysterious creature motioned for him to extract the next substance. Cautiously, Ryore dipped his fist into the pot, withdrawing some sweet-smelling herbs. A dust-like blend was sprinkled all around the silent Queen. It was like a fine crystalline rain, pouring down onto the altar.

Thankfully, her flesh was free of the onslaught. Ryore's ice-cool skin surprised her body. He pressed tight against her, letting out a low and modest sigh. Violetta was thankful to be free from the seer's touch. She no longer felt quite so uncomfortable regarding her nakedness. Ryore slowly withdrew. He loomed above her, a thin smile barely visible upon his gaunt face. The seer circled the altar like a fierce bird of prey. They reached slowly into their bottomless robe. Violetta shivered. A luminous green vial emerged from the fabric. The seer un-stoppered it carefully, with an audible pop. The Queen's hair stood on edge. She waited patiently as the vial tilted, when a searing pain flashed into her mind. Great globs of luminous green slid along her dewy skin. Her throat became impossibly scratchy, as though struck by broken glass. “Fight the pain!” The seer cried. Her arms swung above the Queen who painfully fought off the urge to cough. Her stomach was ablaze with the roaring pain, her breathing paused as though stolen from her. The seer began to ensnare her thoughts. Her mind became alight with a thousand voices, each one telling of lovers lost and children none. Violetta stared off into the night as horrific images flashed through her mind. She wanted ever so desperately to scream, but despite

her best efforts, her voice was gone. Her legs longed to kick the phantoms away. There seemed to be no way to extract herself from this cruel trance. The only thing the world allowed her to move was her eyes, so beautiful and brown. The seer began to chant quietly in the same ancient language as before. It drove the Queen's mind into a frenzy. Her thoughts began to die away. Her strength withered as she lay there, still. The hideous chanting continued on. Just as Violetta felt like she was nearing death, a sudden white light exploded in her vision. It called softly to her, draining all her pains away. Her physical form seemed trivial here; a mere vessel in which her soul was trapped. Now it stood before the light, reaching towards a sense of peace. The overpowering brightness began to fade. Once again, the Queen could feel herself upon the cold altar; beneath the polished hilt of a ceremonial knife. Violetta froze as it flashed above her. The blade pointed down, waiting to strike. She quickly realized that if it dropped now, her brains would be skewered. She made to move herself away. “Lie still!” The Emperor shrieked. He almost dove upon the altar. He forced down Violetta's wrists, a red tinge spreading on his cool white skin. “Still,” he said, this time in a whisper.

Violetta gulped. She tried to tear her eyes from the weapon; to think of something other than dying. The seer gently lowered the dagger. ”Phew!” The Queen sighed, deep with relief. The seer began to circle her once more; again like a vulture, disappearing from view. Violetta's guard drew up once more. Where are they? She asked the night. Her heart skipped dramatically as a swift movement arced through the air. The short blade stuck out from the seer's pale palm. Large droplets of blood escaped their flesh, but they never cried out; didn't even flinch. They tore the knife out before the Queen could speak, howling in pain, hand hovering mid-air. It stretched out over the Queen's taught stomach. A harsher pain than any she'd endured seemed to transfer to her muscles there. Violetta wailed. She could feel it growing constantly as the ruby droplets plopped onto her abdomen. They met each other in a blissful red unity while she shut her eyes to the terrible pain. The hurt slowly began to isolate itself; one pinsized spot bearing the brunt of it all. “Now, touch commanded.

her

stomach!”

The

seer

Ryore did as he was asked and stroked the spot where the pain was worst. His poor wife's eyes were still held shut. She hoped that somehow this would shield herself from the pains wrath. She

braced her body for the next dire peak. It didn't come. Violetta unscrewed her eyes. She glanced cautiously about the mysterious clearing. The darkness stared back. Silence swept eerily over the structure. “What now, Seer?” The Emperor addressed the silent creature, who seemed to stand guard beside the Queen's feet. They were staring, almost obsessively at the spot where their blood had slowly been loosed. Violetta met their eyes; neither clear, nor coloured. They leant over, whispering something to Ryore. He swiftly motioned to his wife. “You can move now,” he said softly. The Queen sat up gradually. She glanced tentatively down at her naked form where the seer's blood had been completely absorbed. She couldn't take her eyes from her stomach, searching for wherever the blood may have fled. “The fertility ritual is complete!” The cold drawl of the seer dragged round the clearing. Their dark hood and robes were now redrawn as they swept away, into the darkness. The shadows embraced them like an old friend. No longer afraid, Violetta fell back, limp yet relieved that it was all over. Her chest was hungry for want of breath. She felt as though such an ancient

creature had fed on her life-force, using it to fuel their own dangerous powers. “Ry-ore?” She eased the tension from her limbs, speaking in little more than a whisper. The Emperor took her right hand in his. He kissed it gently as he gazed upon her. “How are you feeling?” He asked. She studied the waves buried deep in his forehead. “So...drained,” “Want...bathe.”

she

managed

to

mumble,

Ryore's display of concern troubled her. This was a man of great power and means; a strong-willed figure whom she could never fathom weeping. Yet here he was; a sympathetic side with tears afresh. He drew her near, kissing her cheek. All her doubts began to melt away.

Chapter Fifteen Fadius blinked, inhaling the darkness. It was silent save for his own shallow breathing. The night had long since swallowed him whole and his eyes had begun to strain in the blackness. It was true what they said about the dark. It consumed what little light there was, turning everything into a potential threat, yet it was the closing footsteps which goaded on his terror. “Stravier?” Came a cold drawl. Fadius knew only one other that would use this code. It belonged to a series of ancient languages which unfortunately were lost to most. Luckily, a few fanatics still studied intently. Fadius backed away to a corner, his well-trained legs preparing to run. He let fly his own answer with an air of defiance. “Estravil, Duq!” Laughter rang out through the never-ending darkness. Cool as steel, it made Fadius smile. “I should have known!” He called back. He lowered his guard, his fear quickly ebbing

away. Two firm clicks sounded close by. A bright orb of light flared into existence. At its centre, blue fire appeared to ignite, highlighting the shadow which moved beyond. It glided closer towards the Prince, bringing with it a menacing aura. “Were you expecting me to simply vanish?” The shadow stamped its feet in irritation. Their last word dripped with contempt. Slowly the figure began to chuckle; its dry tone mocking as they clicked twice more. The light sphere jolted suddenly upward, flying away to a tidy crevice. Its light dimmed. It was just enough for the prince to make out their features. He stared towards the orange glow, at a withered creature with inhuman parts. “Haha! That's certainly a good look for you,” laughed Fadius. He threw all caution to the winds with this particular statement. His face paled. He leant back, away from the towering figure. “Enough,” they sighed. A final click and their glamour unravelled. Magical energy whizzed about them, returning them back to their original state. “Hmm. You know, you don't look half as bad now.” Fadius laughed at his comrade's expression. The

glaring yet beautiful face of his fiancée stared back. The seer's demeanour was usually chilling enough that most men would run for miles on end, yet today her power seemed to be slipping. She raised an index finger towards his throat, watching the fear which appeared in his eyes. “Relax!” She dropped her arm, sniggering to herself. “It is done. They will think what they will.” Fadius let out a sigh of relief. “And...as for the throne? Can we reasonably expect to overthrow him soon?” Reiza began to edge closer. Her large hips swayed seductively as she walked, the light of the orb fading with each passing step. “Patience, my dear,” she cooed, “One must not become greedy.” She shot a wink in the Prince's direction. “After all, your father knew what he was doing. With Arlas.”

Chapter Sixteen A potent isolation washed over Ryore. He lay wide awake, his exhausted young wife sound asleep beside him. In the fading light, she looked like perfection; an angel still within its prime. He recalled plenty of their raw sensual nights together, when they'd both been equally willing to please. They had intimately showered each other with praise, their marvellous figures entwined for hours. Then he remembered when his wife had grown distant. Cold. Her blank expression haunted his dreams, the lack of eye contact comforting, yet strangely off. He tried to shut it all away. His eyes closed tight against the painful memories. He hadn't felt himself all day. His wife was always there beside him, yet somehow he felt lonelier than ever. He longed to detach himself from the empty feeling that filled his mind, to escape to a place where he would no longer feel such crushing disappointment. Ryore felt panic rising in his blood. He'd been turned out into the hallway again while the Royal Doctor inspected his wife. The Emperor remained unsure of the effectiveness of the fertility ritual. The signs the seer had predicted had not yet shown

up, but he remained certain that a Doctor would be able to tell. Ten minutes dragged lazily by. The Emperor could barely contain himself. He felt like an outsider to his own marriage, driven out by a man with a piece of paper. The weight of his doubt began to buckle. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He refused to pace the hallways like an errand boy. He was the Ruler of this realm and he deserved to be at his wife's side; given that Fadius had already watched her in secret. Ryore stormed into the royal bed-chambers. The door slammed furiously, his powerful strides launching him across the room. “Highness, we are not done!” The Doctor cried in shock. The Emperor ignored the stunned physician and paced swiftly to his wife's side. She already appeared to be overwhelmed. Her eyes brightened at his approach. “Very well then, stay!” The stern physician shot him a glare, before groping his way around the Queen's abdomen. He applied light pressure to particular points, finishing with an internal exam. Ryore gently stroked his wife's hand. He could see the pain she kept bottled up, her eyes wide with the shock of her body. “Almost done,” the Doctor groaned.

Ryore ignored the man's foul attitude, watching as he slowly withdrew his gloved hands. “So...is that it?” he asked. He stood swiftly, in time with the Doctor, who began clearing away his medical equipment. “I am sorry, Sire. There is no change.” The Emperor almost fell back, faint. His biggest fear had been realized. No child. No heir. It was this moment which saw the Queen's tears break free. They flowed in surplus, dampening her robe. Ryore's hands flexed in silent rage. All he could do was silently bite back as the physician withdrew. “My sincerest apologies, Highnesses.” He turned to leave. “I don't believe there is any chance.” Ryore's disappointment could draw no parallel. He had fully expected the ritual to work and was beginning to harbour suspicions about it. In the event of success, his wife's abdomen should have started to bleed, yet there had been no signs whatsoever. He had noticed other occurrences too; his magic power having waned, leaving him weak and lethargic at best. Ryore had attempted to use his powers in the bedroom, if only to subdue his restless Queen. Nothing. He could no longer feel them. He was empty. With no answers left within, Ryore called on Albius to back-track the Doctor before he was able to leave the grounds.

Violetta stood by the Emperor's side, the bedsheets hurriedly wrapped around her. Her husband stood at the edge of the bed. His palms were sweating profusely as he awaited the return of the likely frustrated physician. A harsh series of knocks sounded on the chamber door. Ryore glanced up, his feelings confirmed when the Doctor stomped forward, a scowl on his face. He looked sterner than ever, his cheeks flushed as he set down his bag. “Hello...Doctor,” Ryore murmured. The physician made no attempt at a greeting. He was in a hellish mood, no doubt because of the impromptu request. “Report your troubles, or risk finding a new doctor!” He yelled. The Emperor appeared to be taken aback. For any one man to shout at a realm ruler; it was beyond ludicrous. Ryore dismissed the Doctor's words. He drew in a breath, slowly forcing his words out. “Well. My powers seem to have...waned.” Ryore hated feeling like he was somehow vulnerable, yet another man's touch revolted him more. The doctor began examining his member. He urged the Emperor to squat and cough, and reluctantly, Ryore obliged.

“Well?” The Doctor removed his cold gloved hands, his face torn between surprise and confusion. “I'm afraid, Sire, that your powers have indeed waned. I can't tell you why, but I'm sorry to say that this isn't the worst of your troubles.” Ryore paled. As did the Doctor. Gradually, he formed the words he felt best for the Emperor to hear. “Highness, y-you appear to have l-lost your...” He paused for breath. His face was hot and red with sweat. “Immortality.” The last word came as a static shock. “Ex-cuse me?” The Emperor asked. Violetta touched a hand to his shoulder, but Ryore merely shrugged it away. Was Jork right? He began to wonder. “Highness. I'll be blunt,” came the Doctor's dull voice, “Have either of you been involved with any ancient magic?” Ryore froze. It must be. Lord Jork must be right. My brother- he… The Emperor drew himself out of his thoughts. “What if we had?” He replied coolly. His suspicions were already gnawing at him. He

felt no better when the physician gaped. His eyes appeared shocked as he skimmed Ryore's frame. “Tell me truthfully, Doctor,” Ryore asked, “Could such magic have caused this?” The physician gave a heavy sigh. “It’s certainly possible. You may have been tricked into having a more harmful magic performed than intended.” A crazed scowl was hidden behind Ryore's calm guise. It can't be. It had suddenly dawned upon him; perhaps the worst fear of any ruler. I'm mortal! He began calculating each new problem that would now arise from one terrible mistake. There was so much at stake now; his throne, his marriage. Even his life. “I know this must be hard, Sire.” The Doctor's voice cut through his thought. “Naturally, I have no choice but to turn you in.” Ryore's eyes snapped up to the waiting doctor. His blood boiled deep from within. The threat was literally staring him right in the face. Ryore graciously escorted the Doctor out. He put his mind from the physician's comment, leaving him in the charge of his finest officers. The guards began to lead him away, but as the Captain passed by, Ryore held him firm.

“Take good care of him,” he whispered, winking. “And be swift.” The Emperor's worries engulfed his mind. Hate wrestled to gain control, yet wound up fading, just like his powers. Since the threat of attack had been made against him, he'd resorted to posting tighter security. He didn't need anyone outing him now; not when he had so much to lose. But his own brother having betrayed him—that was the last straw. Ryore boldly entered into the throne-room, tormented by a harsh, metallic glare. He turned to spy a blue orb above. It's light swept far across the ceiling. The cold walls of the throne room were like fresh powdered snow. They were intended to be beautiful; to calm the ruler, but even this could not relax Ryore. His bitterness had grown of late. It became habitual for it to strike back at his wife who still possessed his two lost qualities; qualities he'd lost because of her. Today she was acting on his behalf, delegating important matters of state. She appeared to be working on some intricate blue-print when the Emperor crashed through his councillors, voice raised to a shout. “This is all your fault!” He screamed, “You bewitching demon!!” The Queen glanced up. Her eyes were glazed and she appeared frail, sat slumped within the whitegold throne. She barely took any notice of him and

turned her eyes back down to the parchment. “So?!” She glanced up once more, batting her lashes as Ryore drew close. She'd resorted to giving brief replies, disliking her husband's foul tone. “Yes?” Her voice was exhausted, almost bored. The Emperor took the steps up to the throne, one arm raised against his wife. “I have lost everything for you! My magic, my sanity, my...” He glared round at the room's occupants. “Gifts.” He rounded back on his young wife. “And all for a whore, who most likely seeks to bed an old friend!” Violetta didn't look up at him. It was clear that she was having none of his outburst. She sighed as she dropped her papers. Ryore's eyes glinted furiously. Thwack! He had taken a deliberate swing at her, right at the side of her delicate face. Caught off-guard, her head twisted sideways, blood spurting from her full red lips. “Ahh!” The Queen did her best to muffle her cries. She stood sharply, her body dizzying. When she regained her balance, she glared at her husband, before striding away in discontent. Her gentle sobs

echoed down the room, leaving her servants daunted by the Emperor's presence. Ryore had become a fearful recluse. He was most reluctant to leave the Estate. If perchance he should venture out, only to be detected as mortal, then soon enough he'd be dead in the ground. It wouldn't be hard to identify him. Any magical being could differentiate; where immortals had auras the colour of gold, those of mortals appeared sorrowfully blue. However, since the colder realms had been purged of magic, for Ryore, they became a safe haven. His tower-room was his only true ally and yet it seemed to be little company at all. He had sealed it shut, beyond even his brother's talents; not that he'd returned as of late. Ryore's thoughts lingered on his current marriage. He knew well that no immortal and mortal were permitted to be wed. If the Councillors found out, they would have his head. He snatched a glass of red wine from his desk. He downed it swiftly, his vision blurring before fading back. He glanced out through the tower's arched window. Ryore often found himself staring out nowadays, a glass of liquor to hand while he skimmed the Estate for signs of intruders. Even the beauty of a crisp blanket of snow could no longer comfort his paranoia. Various Frost plants blossomed throughout. They made him recall times when both

he and Fadius had played together; where fun was had and dinners missed, all in the name of tireless freedom. Ryore hadn't been able to help but relish the way the snow fell, dominating the rich evergreen hue of the trees below. Now even something as simple as that had faded, becoming dull, lack-lustre. Ryore sighed. Having spent an age shut away in the dark, he decided to chance stretching his legs. He set his glass aside on the desk before stepping out into the eerie corridor. His eyes sped around the passage, darting unsavoury glances at all those who passed. Even his wife was still within his contempt. He clocked her turning down the hall. Ryore gave a false smile. Violetta's eyes seemed to gain some light. He waited patiently for her to approach. His mind was teeming with unspent evil and with the final few paces, his face hardened. A pale palm came crashing down against her face, her jaw buckling beneath the impact. “Watch out dear!” She heard him snarl, “We don't want you having any more accidents.”

Chapter Seventeen Violetta let the water wash over her. Fragrant bubbles masked her breasts as she held the hot cloth to her throbbing cheek. The Winter Realm had begun to feel decidedly treacherous. She felt imprisoned as the days dragged by, the pain she remembered clearing swiftly as a child, now seeming to stretch on forever. She wondered if this was somehow linked to Lord Jork's gift. It was a theory that had begun to envelop her thoughts, since the day she'd locked the ball away. She'd been forced to leave a lot behind since then. Violetta swiftly put it from her mind. She peeled the wash cloth from her aching jaw. The candles around her were all snuffed out, her efforts to banish her feelings of woe having been little more than a short-lived distraction. Ryore's abuse was slowly draining her resolve. She could understand the strain on him. After all, their physician had threatened to out his mortality; a move which could have destroyed their future. Yet, he somehow knew of her sporadic feelings towards Xyhoni. This alone terrified her. She drew herself hastily out of the bath, spying herself in the gilded mirror. Her nude

form greeted her, damp and pink as steam rose from her skeletal frame. She turned her gaze from her reflection, in keen search of a new dress robe. She found one hung upon the en-suite door. “Perfect,” she whispered. Violetta reached out to grasp the material. “Ah!” She jumped back hastily. The cold metal of the door handle bit at her flesh, making her wince as she pulled on the robe. Violetta turned to regard her swollen cheek. Her reflection showed the extent of the damage; a striking bruise of purple and red. Then, as though having its own personal agenda, it winked. The Queen's reflection had given her some interesting ideas. Perhaps if she could relieve the Emperor's stress, then he would behave more honourably. Violetta sought the attention of the Royal tailor and had given some measurements for his inspiration. An afternoon of progress passed, seeing her donned in the finest of lingerie. Ice blue lace hugged her body as she adjusted her cleavage accordingly. Now she stared back at the bathroom mirror, awaiting her chance to seduce Ryore. “Stop it now,” she chided herself. Violetta stole her eyes from the mirror. She returned to the bedroom, her body trembling. “It's okay,” she told herself, “No need to be

nervous.” Time slowly ticked away; time Violetta needed to be using wisely. She was stretched nude across the silken sheets when an idea suddenly sparked within her. She hastily covered her half-naked body, tiptoeing stealthily to the chamber door. Summoning her courage, she stepped outside. The corridor was dim and cool. The evening was swiftly creeping up on them, the palace lamps still yet to be lit. Violetta looked out from her place in the shadows. She sought a maid. Any maid. She hardly fancied waiting four more hours for her husband to retire. No. She was eager. She was just beginning to lose hope when she caught sight of a young girl wandering the halls. Violetta left the safety of the shadows. She chased after her, confidence exuding from her every pore. “Young Miss!” She called, panting heavily, “Could you please fetch the Emperor for me?” The girl halted. She turned gingerly, her chocolate eyes holding a look of fear. “Please,” urged the Queen, “Tell him that his wife awaits him.” The young maid was suddenly stiff and alert. Her eyes stretched wide as she gazed at the Queen. “I hereby request his presence in our chambers. Urgently!” Violetta

stood

tall

and

proud,

perhaps

intimidating to someone so young. The young girl shot her a weak smile. Nodding, she gave a prompt bow before scurrying off to locate her Master. Violetta sat flustered at the core of their bed. She gently stroked her glowing skin, becoming used to the calming sensation. Anxiety raised the fine hair on her legs. It stood on edge, as though trying to protect her delicate form. She didn't believe in the past opinions of the royal physician. She still expected there to be a chance. Violetta lay back against the plump pillows. She thought of the pleasure she would bring her husband, yet it was this thought that made her wonder. Did she truly desire this, or was she simply succumbing to the obligation she felt within? The Queen sat up and bit her lip. She worried that she'd lost sight of so many important things, caving into marriage due to a fleeting fondness. Such a thought didn't have time to circulate. Emperor Ryore burst into their chambers. The door was nearly flung off of its hinges as he strode powerfully across the room. “Is there blood? Have we news?!” He asked. Violetta's mouth fell worriedly open. She had failed to recognize that 'urgent' to him meant she'd fallen with child. Ryore rushed forward, wrapping his arms about her waist. “Well?”

Violetta could hardly look at him. Here was the caring side to the man she'd loved; the man she'd given herself so freely to. He was so happy at the prospect of having an heir, that she was fearful to give him the sorrowful news. She rested a delicate hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Ryore, there is no baby.” She swept back a dark clump of hair from his forehead, before pressing her lips fiercely to his. She parted from him, standing tall. Ryore's bright eyes watched her with curiosity, his lips still parted as he yearned for more. It was then that she flashed him a coy smile. Violetta could feel the same feral hunger surfacing within her. She slowly stroked her slender thighs. Sensually. Erotically. Thoughts of him taking her clouded her mind, each more extraordinary than the last. Images of Xyhoni flashed through her racing mind. The Queen blinked, confused. Memories of their time together sped on by. He had only ever treated her with kindness and respect. No. Don't think like this! She scolded herself. She let her gown slip to the chamber floor, clearly exciting her leering husband. She pulled her long golden hair behind her neck, her semi-naked form staring back at Ryore. It was magnificently sculpted, the underwear classy. Ryore's jaw clenched in welllearned restraint. He followed her back towards the

bed. She lay back against the satin-soft sheets, looking more than seductive propped up on her elbows. Any disappointment he'd felt appeared to be consumed by a ferocious lust. Violetta became giddy. Her body looked sublime amongst the sea of blue silken sheets. Waves of the clingy fabric seized her, their cold grasp denying her nothing. Such sights brought a rare look of uncertainty to the Emperor's face. He reached out towards her, gently easing off her lavish underwear. Her warm skin was smooth to the touch, so supple and dewy; the epitome of youth. He worked his way gradually up her lean thighs. They danced with passion beneath his firm grip. “Get ready,” he whispered, his breathing intense. Ryore's legs slid over hers. He hastily removed his navy robe, his bare form stirring her loins. His powerful frame towered above her, making her quiver as he lowered himself. With all due care, he slid within her. Her legs gripped him close as he began to explore her beautiful body. Ryore moved slowly, allowing her to pull him close. He teased her neck playfully, his continuous thrusts urging her on. They quickly forgot themselves in their passion, feverishly gliding against one another. Without warning, Ryore playfully flipped them over, pulling his wife on top of him. She sat there straddling him, held close as Ryore massaged her full breasts. He

teased the soft flesh between his teeth, thrusting harder; deeper, into his love. Violetta felt sinfully damp, needful moans escaping her lips. Without warning, Ryore slammed into her, what was once a tantalizing pleasure now swiftly becoming the stuff of nightmares. He crashed against her quivering space, again and again, without remorse. At first her moans became unbridled. Then more terrifying thoughts sunk in. The Queen's excitement vanished, her mind fragile. Unwilling. “Please,” she panted, “Stop!” He didn't seem to hear her cries. His body raged on, eyes vacant as he tensed within her. Violetta shuddered. His release was intense and sent her body reeling back from shock. She was certain he'd caught her lips quivering. She tried her best to still them, hoping the terror in her eyes was as easily missed, as well as the poor bruised body that he'd left in his wake. The Emperor slowly withdrew from her quivering form. “Ry-ore...w-why?” She groaned. It was no use. He'd picked up his robe, tying it tight as he strode away. He didn't talk, nor did he look back as the door slammed, leaving Violetta in darkness. She lay there amongst the same crumpled waves of silk, at a complete loss as to what had

transpired. *

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Violetta had grown tired of the dreary Winter Estate. She'd spent enough time there to know everyone by their sense of character. From every guard, to each scullery maid; she knew by heart who was loyal to her husband, and who was not. She was on her way to meet with the Emperor's accountant when she spied a figure hiding in the shadows. They were small; likely very young, and therefore more likely to be wilful. Violetta crept closer. He rested in a shadowed arch, his arms crossed over his thin chest as though he were a sleeping demon from a child's fable. At first glance, his eyes appeared to be closed, but then she saw the gentle flicker of his dark lashes. The boy kept his gaze to the floor as she passed. “Good day.” His head shifted slightly as he took in his visitor. “Highness! Good day.” His jaw trembled, voice shaking. “May I help you?” Violetta motioned him out of the shadows where his eyes squinted against the harsh light. “Actually, you can.” The Queen requested delivery of an urgent message; one to her home realm, where the summer

birds flew and rare flowers bloomed. The boy's eyes glistened wetly at the prospect of his own betrayal. “To defy the Emperor is a crime to be met with the harshest of punishments,” he mumbled weakly. “If you are caught.” Catching her meaning, the young man gasped. He glanced up into her pleasant face. Violetta gave him a sly wink. A smile slowly crept onto his face. It was the Queen's charm, along with a well-placed coin that sweetly sealed the deal. “Here.” She placed three fresh scrolls in the young man's palm. As well as her home realm, she thought it wise to seek aid from the Earth and Air realms. “You must only deliver these to the names on the envelopes. No one else. Understand?” The boy nodded. He seemed the sort to adhere to his promises, trusting the scroll to his weather-worn satchel before bidding the Queen a fine farewell. Violetta's lips hung on her face. The letters were for her father's allies; King Aemon, Lord Jork, and their own Jermise. She desperately hoped that one of them could help her. With her husband's growing abuse, she didn't think she could last much longer. Violetta paced the winter gardens with relish. Her gaze settled on a bunch of iridescent snowdrops. Carefully, she plucked one from its cosy bed, her

nose welcoming its fresh scent. She paused. The eleventh hour had fallen upon her. Jermise was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. A shadow suddenly caught her eye. She took a wary step back, glancing across the gardens at the distant figure. Violetta rubbed the sleep from her eyes. A Frost-monk leant back against the garden railings, their breath forming a translucent mist. Their casual manner sparked anger in her chilly veins. She strode towards them, a brilliant scowl enveloping her face. “Holy Elder, this is not your place!” The hooded figure glanced down at her, their full mouth curling into a grin. “I came at the eleventh hour, with the item you requested, Highness.” The Queen froze. She looked to the guards who were busy with gossip. “Jermise? Is that you?” “Indeed.” Her confidante's voice had grown somewhat husky; likely an effect of the bitter cold. “I don't know how you stand it here,” she moaned. The Queen laughed. Despite her complaints, Jermise appeared to have come well prepared for

the weather. A thick black dress-robe hung over her body, hood drawn up to hide her small face. Violetta had earlier informed her husband of a kindly Samaritan; someone who knew of the keys to fertility. Promising help to provide him an heir, Ryore had naturally agreed to their meeting. It was that easy. But now his guards were stationed all round,listening intently to whatever snatch of information came their way. The Queen carefully led their guest away, towards a more secluded area. The fountain of tears stood tall above them; a centre-piece which had survived for centuries. They passed on by, immersing themselves in a copse of tall trees. “My dearest Jermise, I seek your help.” The Queen's eyes sparkled with sorrow. “Although I owe Ryore my life, he has become...abusive, as of late.” “Abusive?” Her confidante asked in alarm. At Jermise's disbelief, the Queen lifted her petticoat. “Goodness!” A striking bruise swallowed her leg. It had turned nasty shades of green and purple; a sight Jermise could only gawk at. She knelt down beside her friend. It was a moment before she recalled their location and hastily drew herself away from the

Queen. “My apologies, Highness.” Violetta smiled. It was shameful for the Queen to be seen with strangers, let alone to be seen with one touching her leg. They could only pray that the guards had not witnessed it. To spy a hooded monk kneeling before the Queen, and especially with her skirt pulled high; it was the stuff scandals were made of. “Did Aemon and Jork receive their letters?” Violetta was eager to hear of the others. Jermise looked puzzled. “I'm sorry, my Lady. I had no idea that you had sent others.” The Queen's face became solemn. She waved her hand as if to dismiss her question. “It's okay. I suppose it's good that at least one of you received yours.” Jermise casually nodded her head. “Oh, here.” Having forgotten the item hidden away in her robes, she cautiously reached in, producing the sphere. Violetta barely registered it. Her eyes were still sad; perhaps more so, but a faint hope had begun to linger within them. She gratefully

accepted the old gift, remembering the last time she'd held such an item. Lord Jork's gift had once become her curse. It had taken her mother and brother from her. Maybe now it could bring her luck again. “Jermise, I'm worried that if I stay much longer, they'll...have me below the six feet mark.” The Queen's tearful cry was silenced by will. She daren't let the guards hear her, keeping her pain locked up within. Jermise said nothing. She merely stood there. Shaking. “Please?” Violetta fell into her confidante's arms, desperate to be held as her fear consumed her. “Please...help me?” Jermise tried to regain her breath, forcing words out, as low as she could. “We must inform your father at once.” Violetta's face became twisted with terror. “Please?” She repeated. She resorted to kneeling before Jermise, palms held together as though praying to God. “If you deny me, then...” Her head hung. She could not speak the final words. They were too painful to even contemplate. “Vi?” For once the old nickname didn't trouble her so.

She stared up into Jermise's eyes. There was a kindness there that ought not to be forgotten. “I'll not say a word.” Relief showed on the Queen's face. She nodded, wiping her eyes with a weak smile. “I must go,” came Jermise's voice, “Good luck to you, Highness.” The Queen hastily concealed the small ball in her cloak, before slowly circling back past the fountain. Jermise took the path to her left, making sure they weren't seen emerging together. Ryore will be lustful again tonight. Soon it will be over. Violetta hoped. Farewell Jermise. I pray we meet again. The cloaked figure shuffled away, but before either had reached the garden gates, the guard's low mumblings caught their ears. “That's what the Emperor seems to think. A traitor caused that great storm years ago.”

Chapter Eighteen Prince Fadius detested the waiting game. While he was forced to abide by its impractical rules, vital gossip was already being leaked. His brother had let slip a secret into public knowledge. All Fadius could do was observe at a distance. I don't understand. He thought, Ryore should know better by now. The Prince had reluctantly bided his time in the shadows, while Ryore's once-perfect world slowly collapsed. It was no secret that their father had preferred Fadius. He'd seen his younger son as a ruthless assassin and whilst alive had encouraged him to take the throne. His elder son to him was a petty weakling. “Ryore the runt,” he used to cry. Fadius promised his father now as in life, that he would do his best to ascend the throne. His mind began to drift with his thoughts. He wondered if rumours of Arlas' treachery had yet reached the Flame King Eagan. If they had, they could be in trouble. Fadius bit his lip in worry. If only he had access to his brother's lense, he could find out and hopefully prevent any bloodshed. Click! The absence of light was more than intimidating. It never ceased to strike fear into the

Prince's soul. Click! His fiancée appeared five feet before him, a luminous orb bursting forth from her hand. Surprised, Fadius simply stared. He hadn't expected her back so soon. Reiza started swiftly towards him. “Here,” she called through the gloom, “I have something for you.” Fadius gazed upon the seer. She stopped short of where he stood, holding something up towards him. It was worn smooth and reflected the light of the magical sphere, dazzling him with its surreal beauty. “What is it?” He asked, confused. The frost seer set down the bundle before him. She held up one of the more eye-catching pieces. Fadius gasped. “Wow.” A polished guard’s helmet hung from her hand, displaying a perfect likeness of Fadius with its mirror-like shine. “So, what do you think?” Reiza's face re-appeared from behind the helmet. Her eyes searched his, expecting an answer. “Well, it’s umm...” The seer rolled her eyes. “Kneel!”

The Prince obeyed. He bent down to the ground, making to inspect the shimmering pile. Reiza joined him. She flashed him a murderous grin. Fadius blinked. He tried hard to return her smile, but his face was set in a mask of confusion. “It’s Frost Guard armour,” she whispered in answer to his unspoken question. Fadius glanced up at her, his face blank for the briefest of moments. “Oh!” he exclaimed. A sudden smile crept onto his swarthy face. Her words had brought light to his darkened soul. “Maybe I can retrieve the lense after all,” he remarked. He stood up, fascinated by the glittering pile that lay at his feet. All he had needed to acquire the allseeing lense was access to his brother's Estate, and thanks to his fiancée, he now had his way in. *

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Fadius had struggled at first with the armour. Although it was light-weight, the cold made it stiffer than ever, giving him the appearance of a tin robot. The sky above was dark as pitch; a mourning widow in search of light. The Prince slowly dragged his limbs along, making his way to the colossal gates ahead. Nobody on the perimeter would guess at anything untoward. He was just a late-shift

guard, making his rounds about the Estate. “Evening.” He inclined his head to the other guards on watch, encountering no incidents as he passed through the gates. For now they were equals, serving the same self-righteous piece of filth. The tower-room had always been relatively easy to access, but upon the Emperor's isolation, a great many matters had become complicated. Fadius was lucky enough to tail a legion of guards who were making their way to the grand hall. He desired an inconspicuous role in their plans; needing it to complete his mission unscathed. When the first men drifted off through the corridors, the Prince crept stealthily into the shadows. He skulked about the first floor, the rooms exactly as he'd remembered. Except for less guards. Fadius paused. A frown tugged on the edge of his lips. Where could they be? His eyes flitted about the empty passage. Perhaps they're stationed outside patrolling the perimeter, or are keeping close to the Emperor's chambers. He thought. He bit his lip in silent worry. Whether the lack of guards would present a problem all depended upon the plan's execution. The staircase to the second floor loomed ahead. Its many spiralling turns caught his eye as two ambitious-looking youths strutted down the steps.

One was quite beefy, his arms holding more muscle than most men in the realm. He had a far-reaching voice; one which could be heard for miles. Fadius didn't falter. He simply continued his confident strides. “They're finally having a meal together,” said the first youth. His slighter comrade trailed behind, his small stature reducing him to jealousy. “He said we both need to supervise Ryore. That was all!” The smaller of the two grinned up at his comrade. They turned, noticing the Prince for the first time. They saw only a guard in his polished armour. “Evening.” The guards automatically saluted their comrade before turning their attention back to each other. Fadius' brain did somersaults of glee. He must have been playing his part well. He stared after them, barely checking to see if the coast was clear before he ambled up the spiralling stairway. The steps were steep to say the least, his awareness heightened as he breached the next passage. The news of his brother's absence from the tower room was more than Fadius could have hoped for. Fadius' confidence swiftly built, making him look ever more the part. The remaining floors had been

effortless to pass. He grinned to himself, relishing the feeling of success so far. Some of the younger guards had bowed down to his uniform, which only played on his self-importance. It pleased him greatly whenever they did; to know that even subconsciously they could sense his divine right. Fadius reached the final level, having encountered little hostility between. He eyed the fine tapestries on either side of him as he scanned the narrow hallway for signs of more guards. The passage was clear. He drew in a deep breath and began creeping stealthily forward. His heart hammered in his chest as his armour creaked, almost as though it were trying to protest. He was almost there; so close that he could reach out and touch the wooden frame. “You ought not to be here, soldier.” The Prince needn't have been warned. He could distinctly make out the sharp sword-point, cold as ice, pressed hard at his back. “Comrade.” The blade threatened to pierce him right the way through. Fadius gulped. There was no way out of this. The stranger tightened his grip on the hilt, his voice coming out in a husky growl. “Surrender now and you'll only get a hiding.” The Prince couldn't resist the temptation to laugh. He let out a roaring chuckle, making the

newcomer's blood turn to ice. “What's so funny?” He asked gruffly. Fadius didn't say a word. To the guard's surprise, the Prince spun round, flipping the sword so it pierced the man's chest. The soldier froze. His eyes widened as he stared at the blade. Fadius wasted no more time. He yanked the weapon free from the guard, the light of his eyes fading as he slumped haphazardly onto the floor. “Ew.” Fadius winced at the mess of guts which now hung on the blade. He glanced round for something to wipe it on. The guard's uniform will do just fine. He thought. He proceeded to drag the blade along the guard's dark coat. The repulsive matter slid away. Fadius gripped the sword hilt tight in his fist, staring at the point that had punctured his kill. The guard's limp carcass had been tricky to dispose of. Fadius had thoroughly scanned the area, but there seemed to be nowhere suitable to dump the corpse. He eventually turned a corner, praising the gods as he rounded the bend. A shadowed archway lurked nearby. Its gloom would be enough to keep the guard hidden for one or two hours, before his ghastly aroma would begin to linger. He lugged the man over, his large frame proving somewhat difficult. Fadius panted with the exertion

of it. When he finally managed to shift him across, he propped the guard up to appear as though sitting, his head bent down in deep thought. The Prince wiped the sweat from his brow. He stalked off; needed to proceed with his primary goal. He glanced down, where he held onto the guard's strong blade. Such a weapon seemed useful to complete his disguise. He tucked it away, quickly re-tracing his steps. The tower-room was but three feet away. Fadius froze. His nerves told him that all was not right. Shadows lurked at every angle, making him sweat as he reached for the door. What magic shall I uncover here? He wondered. He felt cautiously for the lock's tumblers. With relevant ease he located them, sensing the magic that worked within. His breathing hastened as he probed the locks. Almost there. He told himself. The lock faltered, but didn't budge. Fadius frowned. Come on. He thought. Three, two… In barely two tries, it broke with a click. The Prince smiled. His finesse with locks had been no small fortune. He'd worked at it from his days as a boy. His brother had always kept things well hidden, but Fadius' skills had soon trumped his. Carefully, he nudged the large door open. A small slit appeared, no wider than his thumb. He peered through. There was hardly any light to see by, but he crept in nonetheless, not wanting to risk another sneak attack. Fadius pushed the door so it was almost closed. The dark took

him. He fumbled around, trying to make sense of his drab surroundings. He padded to his left. His pupils were slowly adjusting to the black. As his eyes flickered round the shadowy perimeter, he almost paused to rejoice in his efforts. No! He scolded. He'd made it this far; he had to push through. Fadius felt his way along the rough stone walls, scrabbling round a table for the all-seeing lense. He placed his palm on the surface top; could feel the smooth woodwork beneath his hand. “Ah, father's desk; where all of brother's secrets will surely be.” A wide grin split his mouth. He started from the bottom, rifling his way through each large drawer. It may have been dark, but his senses were still by far his best assets. With the desk up-ended, he'd found nought but dusty books, which he sent flying into a corner, along with brass candelabras which clanged against the coarse stone. Fadius froze. The harsh sound gradually began to fade. It echoed around the darkened room, before he finally thought he'd heard it end. Fadius felt what appeared to be stacks of parchment littering the room, black ink infesting the dry cobbled floor. He had swiftly turned the cramped space over, but the Emperor's lense still remained to be found. “Grr.”

Frustration ran rampant through his frantic mind. He hadn't the time for lengthy delays. He quickly scrambled to his feet. That's when he saw it; the tall shadow of a second door. Fadius paused. He acknowledged the door with a hint of a smile and crept up to where the shadow stood. His heart thumped painfully in his head. He reached out gingerly; felt the heavy wooden door frame, wondering if the room beyond held the Emperor's treasures. He pressed his forehead lightly on the wood of the door. This seemed to him like a golden opportunity, not to be missed. The Prince knelt down beside the door, placing his finger on the ancient lock. Breathing slowly, he listened to it. A low whistle rose sharply to a shrill howl. It struck the air with impressive force as he leant his head over, puckering his lips. Sucking in a deep breath, he mimicked the pitch. A barely audible shriek burst forth from his lips. It was a sound that mere mortals would simply ignore, but he, Fadius, knew better than they. Something clunked to the floor on the other side. Carefully, Fadius shifted his weight. He pushed gently against the well-worn wood, stumbling into light that though dim, appeared fierce. The adjoining chambers ambushed the prince. He lay sprawled upon a lush carpet, staring dizzily about a stylish room. The bold red and gold hues struck his eyes, endlessly bright compared to the

dark. Gradually, he regained his focus. He gasped. “Ryore's chambers.” Fadius stared in awe of them. Never had he been allowed inside before, not since the chambers had belonged to his father. He frowned at the memory as he began crawling along the soft floor. He relished the feel of the silky softness, caressing his skin, making his body want. He paused. The elaborate bed frame sat inches above him. For a moment only he stole himself away, letting his thoughts wonder for a while. If I were Ryore and I feared my younger brother's return, would I be more likely to hide my things here? Fadius smiled. He didn't let the thought linger. Instead he lifted his body from the floor, standing tall above the fourposter. He silently tiptoed across the plush carpets. He halted. Something close by reeked of magic. Knock knock. “Madame, are you there?” The voice of a maid came, muffled, through the chamber door. Fadius froze. His eyes scoured the room for places to hide. He imagined the moment the maid would come in, horrified to find a stranger there. They could even spy through the door and he would never know. Regardless, the treasure he sought was worth the risk. He buckled up, ready for the moment she entered. She didn't. Instead, he

heard her call out again. “I guess not,” she sighed. The sound of her fading footsteps brought a sigh of relief. Fadius was ill at ease. Fifteen minutes of manic searching had turned up no artefact. The Prince's time was running out. “Hmm, where would I hide a priceless rarity?” He asked himself, whispering. As an object to pinpoint your deepest desires, he doubted he would find it below his nose. He tried to access Ryore's frame of mind. Bitterness raced through his mind at great speed before he finally came to a new conclusion. Fadius wagered he'd hide it where no one could look; not because they weren't clever enough, but because their duty did not permit them to. With this in mind, he glanced back. His eyes travelled to the grand four-poster. I wonder. He stalked back over, bending down below the frame. He tried his luck. At first, all Fadius found was a child's ball. It was covered with a modest layer of dust. Tutting, he rolled it back beneath the frame. “Blast.” Fadius thought a moment, collecting his thoughts. With sudden abandon, he flung out his arms. He lay down, flat upon his stomach as he reached out, groping beneath the heavy frame. Finally, he came up grinning, the lense gripped tight

within his hands. He held it lovingly between his palms, smoothing off a thin layer of dust. The Prince sat back against the frame. He couldn't understand its master’s neglect. He shook his head in disapproval. Such an influential artefact deserved far better treatment. Fadius broke out of the moment just in time. He felt sweat race down his back as a much louder knock sounded on the door. Realizing he may not be as lucky this time, he swiftly scurried from the room. “Hello. Is anybody there?” Fadius darted away as their voices cried out. The guards had already begun the search, making him wonder if they'd yet found their colleague. Idiot man. Get out of here! His head was right. This was no time to be speculating on things. Fadius crept slowly back through the pitch black tower, cradling the lense like a newborn child. It was one thing to be caught at the Estate, but quite another to be found in the Royal suite. *

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Fadius had barely escaped with his own life. No sooner had he fled the tower, had he been forced to hide in the shadowy corners as countless guards patrolled the top floor. It had been a case of fleeing the scene of the crime, once more becoming a mere

shadow in the night. The cave's insurmountable blackness stole over the Prince, like a cape made entirely of the night itself. He cautiously erected a makeshift stand, placing his hands upon the magical orb. He watched in fascination as it responded to his touch. A gentle rhythm came from his fingers. He gradually moved them about the glass. “Mmm.” The Prince moaned as he pressed his forehead to the cool glass. A beautiful melody brought light to the cave. It spoke about centuries of history in a single moment. The sweet notes chimed within the Prince's head, while fiery red swirls appeared in the lense. They consumed the glass with their blazing trails. It was only then that the melody grew. Faint voices slowly carried through the ancient lense, echoing faintly within his mind. “Find King Eagan,” he told the lense, “Tell me of what he knows.” The lense swirled with more bright mist. It clouded steadily over, red changing to green. The voices of the lense slowly became audible, conversing in rhyme like nothing he'd heard. “King Eagan.” The voice of Violetta's confidante stood out amongst the swirls of colour.

“With respect your Grace, the Frost Queen appears to have a grave case!” A pause. “She has informed me of certain crimes, and to keep such secrets is less than fine.” King Eagan could be heard thinking. 'Ums' and 'ahs' floated up through the lense. “Ryore gains frustration daily; no heir born to your kin. Abuse is now dealt gaily. All that man cares for is sin.” “Has the Queen mentioned anything else; excessive shows of stress? Rage episodes; no more, no less?” The accusations were too clear to ignore. “She has indeed, Sire, and what is more; it is said Prince Arlas is the traitor you sought.” Fadius could hear the King connecting the dots. He blanched, certain that he suspected his brother's mortality. However, the disclosure of Arlas' treachory to Eagan was something too dangerous to simply ignore. The King could be heard rising from his throne, fury held deep within his voice. “The Council Elders must be informed! Dispatch for them at once, before dawn.” Prince Fadius was glad that the King was on

board. Matters concerning his brother were slowly beginning to drift out of his hands; to be seen by those who would hold him to justice and unburden the Prince once and for all. Fadius slumped against the cave wall, the lense having repelled his hands away. The cool rock dug at his back. “Ow!” Fadius put his hands to his forehead. He was drowning in a sea of pain, brought on by the lense for having spied on Eagan. He remained disturbed by the King's recent knowledge. Arlas' indiscretions would no doubt see him dead, should they be able to prove his guilt. “Are you still moping?” Reiza strutted over to him. She slapped Fadius hard across the face, surprising the Prince with such brute force. “Get a grip, Sire!” She exclaimed. She pulled him up by the scruff of his collar. “As it is, you still have an ace in the hole.” Fadius squinted as her hand lit up. Another bright orb flew up to the ceiling, making the cave dance with its golden rays. “You need to attend that council meeting. If Eagan arranges it, we need you there!” “But...how did you?”

Reiza stared into the Prince's soul. “Never mind that now. Let’s just say I can sense what you know.” Fadius bit down upon his lip, but nodded nonetheless. He needed to focus on the council elders, for they held more power than any other collective force. If they said something was to be, then it would be. “They won't exactly let me in, dear.” The Princes' tone was laced with pain. He suffered another strong blow from her hand before she pulled him close, her lips on his. She clamped one of her long legs around his waist, briefly indulging in his urges, before pulling away to stare in his eyes. “In order to learn their secrets, my love, you will need to learn how to blend with the crowd.” Reiza let her magic loose. She watched the Prince's skin tingle and morph. He had agreed to let her work her charms, but still he worried about how he would look. The flow of magical energy increased. Fadius' once-hollow cheek-bones became strong yet full, black eyes paling into emerald-green. Even Reiza was impressed by her own work. Fadius turned, admiring what he could see of his new form.

“You look...good,” breathed Reiza. Fadius' skin was warmer now; a healthy gold that mimicked the sun. His voice was lighter, his eyes bright. “I guarantee you'll get in like this.” The Prince smiled. “Oh?” He reached up to touch his mouth. It felt different somehow. He could feel the way his body had changed. Every movement seemed odd; so strange and new. “I think I'm ready,” he whispered. His fiancée planted a kiss on his cheek. The Elder's meeting was now their only chance to condemn his brother. “Good luck, Fadius.” He stood tall beside his elegant lady, his appearance young and wonderfully fresh. Reiza had chosen their template well, for who better to cosy on up to the King, than one of his closest allies. Xyhoni.

Chapter Nineteen The summer palace shone like a rare jewel. Fadius studied it, entranced by such surreal beauty. He swiftly tore his gaze away. He wasn't here to marvel at the architecture. He had a job to do. Xyhoni had until now been absent from all council meetings; something Fadius sought to use to his advantage. He glanced up at the bright sky. The Flame realm's beauty didn't pale. The sky was a lustrous blue, capturing his attention as he, amongst others strode up to the palace. King Eagan's staff appeared perfectly friendly. Several of them waited outside the main doors, smiling as their guests approached. The Prince prayed that King Aemon would not attend. He knew his heir disliked such events and wasn't sure how dangerous it would be to confront him. Just as he felt his anxiety peaking, King Eagan strode out from the grand front doors. His smile was warm and pleasantly uplifting. “Welcome honoured guests!” He cried, “If you'd please follow us, we will adjourn to the council room.” The guests were promptly invited inside where they took their seats at the octagonal table. Prince

Fadius entered last. He stared briefly around the room, its generic white walls smelling heavily of musk. Hoping to avoid the unpleasant smell, he took up one of the closest seats to the chamber door. It had taken a while for him to get used to his disguise. Existing within a new skin had been a great shock to the Winter Prince. Now, he simply smiled at the counsellors. He gave off the nature of someone honest; someone who would happily help others in need. He gulped. Drinks were slowly poured for the guests and greetings exchanged in a timely fashion. In his flawless disguise, the Prince accepted a tall glass, in which was contained a spiced-mulberry wine. He took a tentative sip as the whispers began. “Yes...did you hear?” “Indeed, I did.” Fadius glanced about the room. To his surprise he found Lord Jork there, Jermise sat between both he and King Eagan. Strange. He mused. He tilted his head and there in the doorway was King Aemon himself. “Oh no.” Nobody heard the Prince's strained whisper, but they certainly heard King Aemon's approach. He stopped short in front of Fadius.

“Xyhoni?” The Prince froze within his seat. His greatest fear had been realized. “Sire.” He quickly stood, bowing low before Xyhoni's master. “I wanted to be here for this meeting. I hear the Emperor has mistreated Violetta.” King Aemon gave the boy a blank look. “Ah, right you are, my boy. Right you are.” He took up the seat beside the Prince, pouring himself a generous glass of the mulled wine. He swiftly took a few gulps, trying to settle his sudden nerves. “I suppose there's a first time for everything,” he laughed. The council were a varied assortment of folk. Fadius was quite surprised at how well he fit in; a complete socialite in contrast to his elder brother. “So Xyhoni, why haven't we seen you...” Fadius' attention shifted elsewhere. A glimmer of orange made him jolt as King Eagan strode behind his seat. He was approaching each of his guests in turn, greeting them as you would an old friend. “Ah, Xyhoni. At last!” He bowed to the Prince's grand disguise. His

demeanour was warm and full of life. The Prince did well to convey the same feel. It was odd. Seeing him now in his warmth and his glory, it seemed a terrible shame that the King be endangered. “So,” cried Eagan as he took up his seat, “I suppose you're all wondering why you're here; called upon so swiftly from your homes and your duties.” A few of the Elders called out answers, jokingly playing on the King's good humour. “Hehe, well said indeed,” he chuckled, “We are here today because a serial law-breaker lurks among us. He sits on one of our four thrones, hiding his long unpunished treachery.” “Traitor!” Called one Elder. His beard was a grizzled grey and white. The King slowly rose his hand, to dull the sudden outrage that had followed his words. Silence swiftly returned to the room. The member glanced up, appearing sheepish. “Elders!” Called Eagan. No one dared to interrupt this time. “We have a grave matter on our hands.” Prince Fadius stared intently at the King. He liked this man more with each passing second and no longer wanted to do him harm. If he finds out that we're a traitor, then we'll be done for too. Such warnings flew round the Prince's head. To the King,

Fadius appeared as nothing more than a devoted young ally. Strangely, he found himself wishing it were true. “I have received reliable evidence that Emperor Ryore of the Winter Realm is not only abusing my daughter, but is also said to now be mortal!” Frantic whispers rose once more. “Mortal?” “Such heinous crimes are known to be forbidden, yet here Ryore is, defying our laws?!” Thud! King Eagan pounded his fist on the table. “Enough!” He motioned for silence once more. The grumblings ceased. “Having broken several of our worst taboos, it is time for us all to consider his punishment!” The Elder's shared their own worried looks. The proposed idea would need to fit the Emperor's crimes and while a lot of the Elders had fine suggestions, the King would only take note of those most agreeable. “We need a clear decision! I have tallied the most suitable punishments upon these papers.” King Eagan held them up for the elders to see. “Please read over these documents and then confer.” The King passed the documents round himself.

The Elders studied them intently, whispering to their colleagues as they considered the options. Fadius looked down at his own sheet, feeling so smug that it actually hurt his new jaw to smile. The other dignitaries nodded in respect of the options. The punishments deemed most appropriate were; Exile to a remote locale, imprisonment for life, or a direct attempt on the Emperor's life. It was some time before King Eagan called out, having reflected on his own decision. “Given the charges, which punishment of the three before you do you deem most suitable?” His question rang out through the cramped room. Fadius had to think for a moment. While each punishment held its own importance, the Emperor's murder would be best called for. Such a ruler had consistently neglected his role, his dear people left to starve like dogs. “You have five minutes to vote, Elders. Let it not go to waste!” It would appear that his brother had received a fair trial. The counsellors spoke up and all votes were counted. It was close. For imprisonment and torture there was but a single vote, while three votes were counted in favour of exile. Fadius held his breath. This is it. He thought. “By one vote,” called Eagan, “I hereby declare

that Emperor Ryore is to be killed on the grounds of Treason, as well as for no longer providing due care for his people!” Fadius grinned. Ryore was going to answer for his crimes. That deciding vote had been his brother's. “Those here present.” King Eagan stood to address them all. “I propose we join forces, to march against the Imperial Emperor!” All were silent in the presence of the King. They watched as a slim shadow floated in from a lonely corner. It bowed low before the King, shrinking back from the harsh daylight. “Son, please take these to the guard towers of each realm, excluding Winter-Frost.” King Eagan held out his hand to the spectre. Gradually it reached out, accepting the three waxsealed envelopes from its master's palm. The shadow bowed once more before disappearing back into its lonely world. “We must forge our plan of attack!” Cried Eagan. “Does anyone know the Frost Estate's layout?” The Elder's paused, eyeing each other. “Pardon me, Highness, but I believe I might.” Fadius had fashioned his voice perfectly.

Although in tone it was a perfect match to the real Xyhoni, one also needed to play the part. “And just how did you acquire such information, Xyhoni?” Fadius racked his racing brain. He let fire a quick lie. “I was there once as a boy; a messenger if you will.” King Aemon turned to him, astonished. “I'm surprised you remember Xyhoni. You were so...young, at the time.” He ruffled the Prince's hair, making his skin crawl in mild disgust. Fadius did his best to smile, his needle-like sabres disguised by plump red lips. “Very well,” said the King, “On another note, it has come to light that Prince Arlas is also suspected of treachery! I propose that we send out guards to capture...” “Actually, Highness!” Lord Jork stood up. The Elders gazed open-mouthed at the blunt interruption, wondering what could be so important. “My brother has gone missing. I had posted guards on watch around the clock and I myself watched him all the day, but...he has this way of disappearing.” Jork's frown gained him sympathy. The other

members stared in horror as they realized what this meant. A potential traitor was loose within Peradon. “Very well, Jork.” King Eagan addressed the council once more. His tone was more resolute than ever. “I propose that we send out guards from all realms, in order to apprehend Prince Arlas.” He became stone-faced, making the Elder shrink back in fear. “We need a confession and one way or another, we are going to get it!” *

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Reiza could scarcely calm her nerves. She wondered where Fadius was at that moment while she was crouching, troubled, within the cave's entrance. She was shrouded in darkness when her lover approached. He held up his palms; a sign of peace. It was the first time they'd met in the moonlight. They kept themselves deep within the shadows. “Fadius, what news?” She asked frantically. For once Reiza didn't feel so good. Her face was pale, her skin taut. The Prince sighed. He crept closer towards the cave, pulling her close as he stroked her white hair. “An order has been called...for Ryore's head.” The seer took a moment to process this.

“What?” She leapt back in shock, unable to quite believe her ears. “You're joking!” She cried. Fadius slowly shook his head. “No, my love, I am not. Ryore has committed numerous crimes, including High Treason.” The seer's breathing had begun to hasten. She glanced back up at Fadius, unsure of what to do or say. “Also, Arlas has disappeared. All realms are to begin the hunt to apprehend him.” Reiza gasped. A wild glint entered her eyes. It was not a look her lover favoured. It was a dark, shifty look; a maniacal twist within her perfect eyes. Suddenly, she pulled him back, squeezing him to within an inch of his life. “This is very good news, my love. They chase Arlas while we ready ourselves to take part in this scheme. Once your brother is dead, we must hide until it is safe for us to extract the Queen, and...” Fadius held his head in his hands. “Fadius? What's wrong?” The Prince's eyes appeared through the gaps between his bony fingers. He was shocked to see Reiza's mood change so swiftly. Nevertheless, he answered her.

“What if he doesn't die? What if they don't kill him?” Reiza frowned. She held her fiancé close to her. She wanted so much to comfort him, but through all her magic, she could not find the words. “Do you trust me?” She cupped a hand around his jaw, saddened when he tried to pull free. She loosened her grip, finding one of his hands instead. “Fadius, listen to me. Ryore is mortal now. I can see the truth of it in your eyes. If they wound him, there is a good chance that he will...” She paused for a moment, composing herself as best she could. “He will die. If they use magic and if it is Eagan's, then...there is no doubt.”

Chapter Twenty “Take heart today, men, for we stand ready to eliminate the Emperor!” King Eagan stood outside his palace, having rallied his allies to seek out their target. Sadly there were fewer than he'd originally anticipated; most

others not ready to raise a hand to Ryore. Despite this shortcoming, his men cheered him on more fiercely than ever. It had taken mere days for him to ready his forces. The skies were a pale and cloudless blue. It was a good omen; one which boosted the troop's morale. Before, Eagan were well over three hundred soldiers, plus reserves which were set up at various stations. Ideally the King hoped never to need these. ‘The less people hurt, the war better won,’ he'd always said. As his soldiers stood before him, he could not have been more proud. He grinned wildly, his eyes alert. “Sadly men, some of you may lose your lives in our efforts!” Eagan watched as their faces stilled. “But, to preserve the Realm's individual peace, we must push through, regardless!” The King sorrowfully bowed his head. He granted his troops a full minutes’ silence, to honour those who would fall in battle. He wiped at a tear which trickled from one eye. From the corner of his eye, he looked to Fadius, who was still clad in his Xyhoni-disguise. Thick layers of near-impenetrable plate stroked his tender flesh. His sword and shield were close at hand, ready to do battle with. The minute ended and the King raised his arms. “Let us go. Let us unite!” “Yeah!!”

The hell-bound army marched on southward, towards the gates of the rich Inner-City. Fadius knew that the King wouldn't rest until his daughter was safe. If they were too late, then he imagined Eagan would never forgive himself. “City point 1 reached!” The King roared back. The troops slowed. A block of bold buildings could be seen up ahead. They seemed to stretch on up forever, as though trying to part the clouds, to enter heaven. Grand, almost pearly-looking gates gave them passage. For the troops, it was like entering into Heaven itself. All around them stood vast wonders of architecture. Their attention was drawn to towering glass structures, so fine that at sunrise they gleamed like rare diamonds. They watched as the city's occupants went about their daily life, dressed in a vibrant array of colours. Young flame realm men stood giving demonstrations, forming patterns of swirling fire for the curious onlookers. Such entertainment was common here, but still King Eagan disapproved. He preferred for magic to be used only when it was absolutely necessary. Regardless, for the troops this scintillating haven gave off a wonderful atmosphere; the impressions of a mini paradise existing right beneath their noses. They turned into a quaint cobbled street where the smell of freshlybaked goods drifted over. The men stared hungrily

as bakers drew on their inner power, sending gentle flames licking at their pastries and breads. The troops had never smelled anything so good. It combined with the scent of freshly cut grass as the inhabitants neatened their modest lawns. Most had to refrain from sniffing the air. The delightful fragrances enveloped their senses. The troops were sad to have it end. Where the front of the city promised bold extravagance, all seemed to dim with the rusty back gates. Leaving such a heavenly world would easily fill any man with sorrow. They had never seen such a place as dazzling, where life seemed to thrive of its own accord. Noticing their slowly shuffling feet, King Eagan pressed his soldiers on. “Point 2!” he cried barely ten minutes on. The troops gasped. They halted in place. By no means was the outer city anywhere as splendid. The humbling outskirts dragged lazily into view, paling in comparison to their heavenly forerunner. The troops were ordered to march straight ahead; into the ruins of the shabby compound. The run down buildings weren't far off from being made up as beauties. Still, there seemed to be a great deal of noticeable neglect. So much potential stretched out around them, yet the citizens here appeared blind to change. Their houses were stacked a-plenty; a far cry from the wonders they'd

seen prior. The brickwork was practical, all houses moderately sized with clay-brick chimneys that spouted green smoke. These were tended to by few who were scarcely able to channel their magic. “This is...unexpected,” the King heard one of his troops mutter. Eagan sighed. He steered his men down a lane to their left. By a pair of wooden shutters just built to last, they spied some plain white garments hung out on wash-lines, their fabric stretched to its breaking point. From what they could see, most of the dwellers wore ill-fitted white shirts, with dark trousers held up by slack lines of rope. A few elderly men strode by and were the only ones to sport brown over-coats. They waved to King Eagan as they passed on by, showing great respect for their war-ready ruler. A lot of rulers would have long ago bolted, having seen peasants so close to themselves. But King Eagan was a true gentleman; a passionate ruler who cared for his people. He kindly returned their friendly greetings. With great pleasure he walked towards the men, handing out coins and bread to the poor. One man took his chance to speak. “Sire, are you sure this is alright? I mean, we are only...” The King cut in before the man could finish. “Nonsense.” He smiled at the modest group. “I shall never have my people want.”

Several dirt-clad children drew out of an alley, eyes bulging as they spied the food wagon. Sinfully, they licked their lips, preparing to pounce when King Eagan caught sight of them. “Halt!” He cried. The marching stalled. Confused grumblings came from the men, before King Eagan cried out once more. “Cooks-master, to my side!” The young urchins shrank back a step as a tall, beefy man strode forward. His hands rested in his side pockets, attached to arms as thick as hams. His face was inquisitive, albeit slightly annoyed, and topped with a sprinkling of pepper-grey hair. “My good man, please see to it that half our load be redistributed to those here in need.” The cook stared at the King, appearing dumbfounded. “But...Sire.” Eagan closed the space between them, his dark eyes boring into the cook's. “These people need to eat!” He growled, “Please see to it that they do.” His eyes stared into the man's soul. His face held a dark look; one reserved only for times of great

need. “Yes, Highness.” Seeing that Eagan was indeed serious, the hunk of ham swiftly bowed before hurrying over to unload the carts. He bowed first before the starving children, offering large helpings of finely dried meat. The troops smiled. No look could compare with the grin their King wore; neither could one express as much gratitude as the children surely felt right now. “Soldiers!” Boomed the King's voice. He drew back their attention while the cook continued to hand out meals. “I ask that twenty of you remain here and assist our people as you will!” He gave them all his hard-worn battle glare; the exact same that he'd given the cook. A sea of tentative faces stared up at him and for a while the men talked amongst themselves. They came to assess each other's skills and strengths. Before long, twenty strong troops drew forward, each accepting a single gold coin which was pressed into their palm by their proud King. “Thank you, men. I thoroughly appreciate your sacrifice. You show great dedication to our people.” His words rang out through the cool summer breeze, the steaming chimneys saluting along with his troops.

The men slowly drifted towards the border where the Summer and Winter realms started to merge. The air cooled considerably here, their breath misting as they slowed. Luckily they had huddled up. Their collective heat radiated outward. It wasn't warm, but the chill in the air was kept at bay. The troops stayed huddled as close as possible while they dispersed to gather their sharper effects. The weapons wagon rolled to a stop. It was laden with so many monstrous beauties. Steel swords and crude daggers could be seen piled high, while the occasional spear poked out through odd gaps. The men grabbed what they felt they needed, tucking the weapons away in their sheaths. They were almost invisible to the naked eye, ready for when they were needed the most. “Hurry men! We need to be swift!” King Eagan raced to the food wagon. He swiftly started handing out meals. As the gap between the troops stretched ever wider, their mild warmth was stolen by the icy wind. It seared painfully through their muscles, winding its way into their resolve. “Xyhoni!” The Prince's disguise still worked a treat. He rushed over to the waiting King who handed him some salted meat, along with a single pristine scroll. “I want you to help me lead our men.”

King Eagan spoke through mouthfuls of meat. He held a hand out to pat the boy's shoulder. “Think you can do that?” The false Xyhoni took a mouthful of meat, saluting the King with a gleam in his eyes. “Sir!” The King clambered up onto a nearby rock. His brave troops were rallied around him, gazing up in adoration. “Here we are, men!” His hands were raised high; a signal to listen. “Our enemy is not far off. With strength and determination, we can do this!” A wave of cheers went up from the troops. Some appeared cautious, but all would selflessly die on behalf of their king. “If you are ready and your hearts are full, then follow me! Will yourselves to fight!” A further blast of cheers echoed across the rough terrain. The troop's morale greatly moved the King. It was this hearty courage which outweighed all doubt, showing just how dedicated they were to their realm. Eagan stepped forward, his tone suddenly harsh. “If any one of you wishes to leave, stand forward now!”

An eerie silence stole over the crowd. If anyone was indeed reluctant to stay, then they certainly seemed to be hiding it well. “Nobody?” King Eagan stared down with vulture-like scrutiny. The soldiers shifted uncomfortably below, then almost like clockwork, a few hands shot up. King Eagan smiled. “Very well.” All those wishing to leave had been sent back to help the unfortunate poor. The remaining soldiers stood proud and strong, totalling some two hundred and seventy men. All saluted their gracious leader. “So, our strategy is?” The King stood tall upon the same misshapen cleft of rock. He studied his troops like a waiting hawk. Their faces drew tight as they searched for an answer. “Kill all enemies!” Piped one. The King grinned while another smaller man in the back stood forward. “Save all citizens and bring them here!” He cried. The King chuckled. “I've taught you well,” he mused, “And those of

you who've had training at the Flame realm Academy?” The men paled. Slowly a small youth ventured a guess. “You expect to see us put it to use?” The King smiled, bowing his head. “Exactly.” The boy's face lit up handsomely. “To Victory!” The men soon repeated the cry, as one. King Eagan had mimicked their grand war-cry, leading the way before his men. They advanced steadily, without remorse; straight into the jaws of the Emperor's land. It was a shame, thought Eagan, that they hadn't enough carriages to house them all. On foot, they risked losing any element of surprise. He thought about the times he'd seen these men practice. They were all skilful in the art of the blade; trained well, beyond what their few years would suggest. With this is mind, Eagan doubted that surprise would be needed. He led his men on towards battle, feeling the rough terrain crunching underfoot as they marched. The borders were dark and insidious lands, like long barren graveyards, housing nothing but the bones of wandering vermin. People rarely paid a visit unless travelling between

realms and even then, it was no passing comfort. The troop's morale was wearing thin. Their swords and shield became cumbersome, weighing them down as they shuffled along. In the distance, two gates stood, bright and colossal, signifying that they had reached their mark. King Eagan motioned for the men to draw forward. Soon it would be live or die; the battle for justice having commenced. The Emperor's gates loomed up before them. They stood ajar, with guards at each side. “Wait!” The troops turned, shocked at the sudden remark of their King. Soon, they too spied the trouble. Countless blue uniforms patrolled the perimeter; far greater a number than they had expected. “There are too many!” The King exclaimed. He raised his hand for the men to halt. Their legs ceased, weapons dragging against the earth. “What is it, Highness?” Asked a weedy youth. The King gave him a despairing look. The youth flinched. It was like a sudden veil of hopelessness had settled upon him. The troops were slowly feeling its effects. King Eagan gulped. All around him, his troops were restless, yet all he could do was stand there, paling. “Ryore may have had knowledge of our

intentions.” Eagan shifted, his eyes cast down. “You must take caution. All of you.” It was hard for the troops not to stop and marvel at the Estate's size, not to mention the formidable task-force which guarded its walls. King Eagan remained uneasy. It was then that Fadius, standing beside him, began to understand the fear of the King. There was simply no way for his brother to have expected their arrival. Eagan may not have known of the all-seeing-lense, but Fadius did. Without it, Ryore would have no source. This is what worried the Prince most. “Xyhoni...Xyhoni!” The King called the Prince out of his stupor. “Yes, Highness? How may I help?” Eagan stared the young man square in the face. “Tally up the numbers for me. Let’s see what we're dealing with.” Xyhoni shot him a blank look. Nevertheless, the man cracked on. Eagan considered the youth for a moment. He seemed off lately; his eyes duller, his mannerisms forced. Xyhoni was still gaining a rough estimate when he turned to the King, his face ashen. “Surrounding the back gates alone…one hundred strong!”

His voice faltered as he gathered his nerves. The King nodded. “Thank you, son.” He clapped him twice on the back for luck, before rounding on the waiting troops. He signalled them forward, his eyes dark. “Here we go, men!” He cried, “Be brave. Be fierce!” *

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The gates rose above them. Harsh. Oppressive. The troops slowly filed forward, each throwing a frightened glance at their neighbours. The King turned to them briefly. He winked. The men frowned. Without warning, the King bolted through the gates, launching a battle cry to be heard for miles. Fadius watched as the soldiers at the gates did a double-take. Their jaws dropped, the small army hurtling towards them at break-neck speed. They swiftly sought to draw their weapons; to pull them from their ancient sheaths. The blades stuck. Delicious. Came the Prince's thought. Several of the Frost guards stared down in horror, their sheaths rigid from months of dis-use. “Oh God!” He was sure he'd heard one cry. They put all of their might into pulling their swords. Countless others could be seen straining.

Eventually the blades broke free, but those few anxious moments had been far too precious. The troops had barely caught up with their King when he sliced off the head of the closest guard. He quickly withdrew his bloodstained sword, watching as the corpse's arm went slack on its blade. His troops followed close behind as he lunged at another, piercing their heart. Fadius was impressed. King Eagan was still well in his prime; the Emperor's guards had no doubt about that. Several attempted to flee the area, but the King merely cut them down, swinging his blade with the greatest of ease. A righteous smile spread across his lips as he carved his way through the Winter gardens. The troops darted round the King. One by one, Ryore's men were gutted where they stood. The gardens, once having been pure and white, were unrecognisable; defiled by the gloopy red blood of its own protectors. Prince Fadius lashed out to his dead right, striking a tall man low at the waist. He relied only on his childhood fencing, but a sword through the stomach proved just as fatal. All guards within two miles came running. Together they brandished gleaming sabres, knocking down the weakest links in the chain. King Eagan's men ducked away from their weapons. Quickly, they parried their foe's attacks, striking them down from the ankle-bone. Their enemies fell, sprawled out on the ground with little hope than for

the mercy of the looming troops. Eagan's soldiers glared down at them. Their weapons rose automatically. Within minutes, the troops had butchered the men below. They took few casualties, dozens of guards crumpled at their bloodied feet. The King stepped over the small heap of corpses, side-stepping any who surged towards him. He was certainly formidable for a man over thirty, but the Emperor's guard were still well-trained. Prince Fadius slammed through the enemy ranks. He resisted any who tried to push back when his sword-point glanced off a nearby wall. He halted, feeling a strange presence somewhere close by. “Reiza?” He spun round in search of her magic, but not one soldier gave off her presence. “Hah!” The Prince jumped, surprised as a Royal guard leapt swiftly toward him. He swiftly dove right, knifing the man through the side of the throat, before yanking the blade back out through his skin. King Eagan drove himself through the crowd. He beckoned for his men to follow behind, his cheeks flecked with crimson blood. Frantic, Fadius raced on behind. Together, the men thrusted fists into heads, and legs into groins. Their enemies fell to the cold hard ground, cradling their members as they howled with pain. “Well done, men!” The King cheered.

He raced the last breadth of the Winter gardens, where Fadius pointed out a pair of side doors. “Sire! The servant's entrance!” King Eagan froze. He looked to him, seeing only Xyhoni; the boy he'd come to love as his own. “Okay.” The King turned his gaze away, darting his eyes at the close side doors. “We'll go.” With the majority of guards already slain, King Eagan rallied his troops around him. “Ready?” The men nodded. Two of their strongest took a door each and started to force the back entrance open. Being set so deep into the buildings foundations, it took all of their efforts to make the doors budge. “Sire!” Fadius had to hurriedly whisk the King back as a hundred more men poured out of the doors. The Prince felt his heart jump. He was glad he'd gotten to the King in time. He refused to have him die so easily. He wanted to make his brother suffer and until they reached him, he needed the King. He didn't hesitate. Fadius rammed into the guard closest, hacking away at their brutish limbs. The troops instantly followed his lead. The first row of guards collapsed. Gone. Forty more were speared

on their swords, some choosing to flee rather than risk being impaled. No more guards came charging their way and with this, the King figured that they were safe. A few troops were sent to examine the room where they made a sudden, shocking discovery. “Highness! In here!” One cried. The King raced into the cramped room. He stopped short with bulging eyes. “What the blazes?!” Several elderly citizens crouched low, halfhidden by numerous baskets and crates. Eagan studied their frightened expressions. They appeared to be in some sort of storeroom where dozens of barrels and baskets piled up. The sight of the troops with their weapons and armour had been enough to make them cower in fright. “Highness! As you can see, we have innocents.” King Eagan cautiously sheathed his weapon. He gestured for his men to do the same. Stooping low to avoid the shallow ceiling, he knelt down towards the elders. “Please. Come,” he called out, “There's no need to be afraid.” The King stretched out a hand towards one of the elders, but none of them dared to move a

muscle. Terror played through their innocent eyes; of all the deaths they'd witnessed at their hands. “Here!” A minor scuffling sounded nearby, drawing the attention of several troops. Cautiously, they paced the room, searching for the source of the mouselike noise. They entered into a cramped corner where a large barrel stood out among the rest. Unlike the others, it was unstopped. The men gave it a suspicious glance. Slowly, they began their approach, their hands hovering over their sheaths. “No!” Before they so much as touched the barrel, a small girl leapt out from its rotund base. The King's soldiers jumped back in alarm. They turned to stare as the young girl sped away down the room. “Halt!” Fadius caught her in his grasp. “Let me go!” She wailed. She flung her fists towards his head, landing an impressive scratch upon his nose. The Prince flinched. He ignored her protests, scooping her up to place her before the wide-eyed King. The girl's fists became still. She stood before him, shaking and silent. Eagan looked upon her with a kind smile. Her brown hair was cropped close to her

head; for convenience most likely, more than anything else. Big beautiful blue eyes implored him to halt; to perchance listen to her woeful story. “So child, how...” “They're deaf!” She cried. The King blinked. He was clearly surprised at her blunt interruption. When neither he nor his troops looked none the wiser, the girl walked over to her fearful elders. She nodded to them, pointing at their ears. The troops looked closely before they reeled back in shock. Deep, ugly scars lined the citizen's ears, as though large metal spikes had been shoved through with brute force. “Emperor Ryore punished them!” She cried, “He took their ears for betraying his secrets.” With this knowledge, the King paled. His head bowed as he stared sorrowfully down at the young child. Her attention was otherwise occupied. “Hey!” She screamed at the elderly people. There was no reaction. Sighing, she stepped in front of them, drawing their attention to her waving palms. In seconds, her hands began dancing around, an unfamiliar language forming about them. Immediately, the citizens gaped. They gradually retreated from their makeshift shelter, looking to the troops as smiles slowly warmed their wrinkled

faces. A select few men had been trusted to escort the citizens to the border. The King reasoned that this was best as they could always retreat into friendly terrain, should the moment come for them to flee. The rest of the soldiers were led by the King. They stormed the next floor, the Frost Estate groaning in protest beneath the weight of their armour. No sooner had they breached the landing, had a dozen more of their enemies hurtled forward. They fell. Every one of them, dead. “Next flight!” Cried Eagan. Their footsteps were muted on the stair's plush carpets as they swiftly ascended to the higher floors. The passages above appeared far more ornate. The décor was breathtaking. Golden tapestries lined each wall, every painstaking detail so bold it leapt out. The lights here were dimmer, the security tighter. Thirty savage, balding men were polished to gleam before their eyes. They blocked the next flight, hunched over with their eyes sharp. The King's men began their approach. Their foes only response was a menacing scowl. The closer they got, the more the guard's teeth seemed to grit together. “Stand back, vermin!” One of them snapped. He raised his weapon, staggering forward. “Or I'll chop off yer head!”

King Eagan's troops looked to each other. Their faces were blank, devoid of emotion. Their enemies however appeared the slightest bit wary. They stood their ground, shaking, waiting with their sword-points raised, one assessing the other. The Emperor's guards lunged first. They were swift, their blades catching the light as they made their first deadly arc. Fadius anticipated a closing strike. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he cut down his foe, just as the King's first line clattered to the ground. The breath was driven from their lungs, the light of their eyes vanishing as their souls departed. The troops glared at the waiting guards. These new men were highly experienced. They knew what they were up against and were more than prepared to risk their lives. “Go!” The King urged his soldiers on, ducking and dancing with the foe's blades. He swooped low to avoid their attacks. Sadly, his moves were quickly becoming repetitive. He needed a miracle; a vantage point. “Xyhoni!” He yelled, “The jugular. Aim!” Prince Fadius; still well-disguised, let out a passionate war- cry to his comrades. “Jugular!”

He dodged one strike, then another, sliding to his left to deal a deadly blow. Each ally in range pounced on their foe. They danced round the guards until they were queasy, stabbing the point where armour met flesh. The guard's pallid skin grew slick with blood bursting forth from their necks like spurting fountains. The troops could smell the very essence of death. They tore up the last stair, spying a guard who was late off duty. King Eagan paused. He whispered for his men to leave a few paces between them when he lunged at the man, his mind driven by a fearsome rage. He arced his blade in a horizontal swipe, watching grimly as it severed the head from its torso. The guard's gaunt head rolled onto the floor. Fresh blood pooled on the stonework around it, seeping into every available crack. The King quickly snatched it up, dangling the head by its matted hair. Its eyes slowly ceased to blink. He swooped it round the faces of some oncoming guards. “Here!” He cried, watching them squirm. “This is the life your master brings upon you!” Eagan sought to use this as a warning sign, of what would await them if they dared to draw closer. “R-RUN!!”

The guards, upon seeing what was left of their fellow, decided against a dance with death. They scuttled away like minuscule bugs, too afraid they'd be bested by their greater foes. King Eagan chuckled. He cast the bloodied head aside, turning to the men who stood behind. “Come Xyhoni, where to next?” He asked. The impostor gingerly shuffled forward. He led King Eagan down the narrow hall. “This tower connects to the Royal chambers, Highness.” Prince Fadius smiled through Xyhoni's face. He pressed a finger to his full lips, cautioning the others to quiet their steps as they began approaching the tower door. Their palms were dewed with sweat and blood, their weapons slipping as they fought to gain a better hold on them. King Eagan was just bending down to reach for the door handle when an urgent shriek sounded behind. The troops swiftly spun round, but it was too late. They dodged the oncoming blades as best they could, but not all of them had made it in time. They watched in horror as their comrade's torso slid away from his legs, where it flopped unceremoniously onto the ground. “Oh God!”

The men paled. His life was pooling quickly around his carcass, the stone-work becoming harder to grip. They fought with all their might to keep a firm hold, their eyes darting to the wave of guards. Eagan grinned. He held his sword-point out to the enemy line. “Charge!” Led by their King, the troops surged forward, fighting valiantly against the fresh wave. One by one their enemies fell. Their eyes began to cloud over, before they crashed against the solid ground. One blade missed the King by a hairs breadth. He gasped in surprise, focusing his mind as he jabbed with his sword. The responsible guard howled with pain. His right eye burst within its socket. As their finest fighter, King Eagan could counter till the world's end. He dodged yet more attacks, sawing through limbs and gouging out muscles that had barely developed. He watched as one of his own cleaved a head from some shoulders. It proceeded to bounce along the cool stone floor, like a ball intended for the use of a child. With no respect for the men that served evil, King Eagan swiftly kicked it. Hard. He would have smiled too, if it hadn't been for that one troop. They fought close to Xyhoni and were a decent enough fighter. Swift and proficient; they knew how to wield the most fearsome of blades. But they struck no one. Not once. It was

true that their blade moved swifter than most, but King Eagan was certain that the swings were for show. They appeared to draw neither flesh nor blood. Something certainly oozed from their victim's trembling mouths, yet it was different somehow to anything he'd seen. He swiftly blocked a blow to his left, reminding himself that it did not do well to dwell on suspicions. Eagan raised his blade to maul the attacker. He swiped it back through the man's broad chest, blood soaking through the blue uniform. That niggling feeling just kept on persisting. King Eagan wheeled round to attack, fending off two more oxen-like guards. Their blood ran free with a single swipe as the final guards fell limp to the floor. The men had taken quite a hit. Dozens of their comrades now lay on the floor, not as men, but as bloodied corpses. An eerie stillness settled upon them. Every new breath became a bark, every creak of the foundations another blade at their backs. The men did their best to silence themselves. Although distraught, they quietened their pace, advancing back to the tower door. The King was an arm’s length away from the handle again, when Xyhoni held him firmly back. “What is the meaning of this?” He asked curtly. “Please, your Majesty. Allow me.” His face showed genuine kindness and sincerity;

something the Prince had taken years to feign. For a moment he wondered what it was like to feel genuine emotions; if it ever hurt to feel so deeply within. The King looked angry and somewhat defeated, but nevertheless he slowly withdrew. Fadius grinned. He twisted the knob of the tower door. If someone else should claim the King's life, then he would never forgive himself. The door stalled. Of course. The great mimic knelt down in front of the key-hole, his hands cupped so that noone could hear. After two minutes the door simply clicked open, much to the amazement of the other troops. King Eagan couldn't help but frown. One of his guards acting suspiciously had irked him, but two?

Chapter Twenty One The remaining troops were led through the door, following behind the gallant Prince. They found themselves immediately cramped, their face's lit only by a single flickering oil-lamp. “Such a small space for an Emperor!” Exclaimed one. Another troop shushed him as they stared about the small room. It was dusty and bare; nothing at all like what they'd expected. A distant shadow had them turn sharply. They darted a look towards a lonely corner, where it seemed to haunt the wall before them. They crept closer. Intrigued. Fadius picked up the dim lamp, bringing it forward to illuminate a separate doorway. “Is this…?” A slender troop stared back at the Prince. He gave the man a knowing look. “It is.” The Royal chambers stood behind that door. The

Prince leant gently against the frame, finding it already left ajar. It beckoned them in with its soft light, to the grandest of chambers they'd ever seen. “Wow.” It was simplistic in style, but compared to the rough- looking tower room, the troops could see it want for nothing. The rich oak panelling was to be admired, the sheer carpet and elegant four-poster, divine in their own right. And as for Violetta. “Violetta?!” King Eagan cried out at the sight of his daughter. She teetered on the edge of the bed, rocking ever so gently back and forth. Her eyes were unblinking, in a dream-like state, almost as though she'd awaited their arrival. “My Lady?” A soldier called out to her. She didn't respond. She seemed hardly able to perceive her surroundings, oblivious to the twenty odd men that hung back in fear. Her helpless rocking greatly unnerved them. She looked like a poor and traumatized child. “Move!” King Eagan pushed through the small crowd of men, halting there on the room's threshold. “Dear Heavens!” A figure moved among the troops. The King started to speak in code as he allowed the

newcomer to push through the ranks. “Indeed,” their muffled voice replied. They bowed low to their courageous King, before removing their helmet, their skin flushed and eyes shot with blood. Jermise stared back at them, her face unmoved by the scene before her. “Highness.” Her eyes darted back to the Queen. “My orders?” King Eagan frowned. “Go to her, sweet Jermise. Try to get her out of this.” Fadius was sure he'd seen the Queen flinch. Her confidante paced her way cautiously forward, her face completely devoid of emotion. She was dressed much like any other troop, save for a polished breast-plate which protected her bosom. With each feeble step, the Prince was certain she'd uncover some gruesome trap, yet Violetta seemed to allow her approach. “Your Highness? Can you hear me?” Jermise took up a space beside her, resting her legs at the edge of the bed. “It's Jermise. We're worried about you.” The Queen's expression remained wide-eyed. Fadius saw a twitch in her eyes, but put it from his mind for now. Ever so slowly, Jermise embraced the

young Queen. She rested her head in the crook of her arm, gently stroking her length of gold hair. Slowly, she turned her face towards her, examining her for signs she could hear. “There you are.” Even she was now certain of the flicker in her eyes. It was as if she had recognized her, albeit briefly. “I brought your father, Violetta. I- Ow!” Jermise winced. The girl's skin was ice cold. Her eyes remained vacant, as though hypnotized when she suddenly shot up from the bed's edge. Her confidante had to swiftly duck as the Queen swiped wildly at her horrified face. She dodged the first blow just in time, closely missing a scratch from the cat-like claws “Please, Violetta. Vi?” Jermise did her best to re-bridge the gap, but every step she took brought another blow. She gradually backed away from the bed, towards the King and the last of his troops. “Enough!” As King Eagan yelled in rage, Fadius was sure he'd felt something brush past him. He glanced to his left. There, with the faintest hint of frost on one finger, was Reiza. The King was the perfect

distraction for her to announce her presence to the disguised Frost Prince. They watched as Eagan swept his arms out wide. He'd had enough of such mindless nonsense. He did his best to advance towards his child, but he too was readily struck. The Queen managed to catch him right on the cheek. A deep red gash blossomed steadily into life. Eagan gasped, clutching his throbbing cheek. “You monster!” He cried, “What have you done with my daughter?!” “Bravo. You've gotten this far.” An eerie voice haunted the impressive room. The King halted, straining to distinguish the speaker by name. “Ryore?” His face paled. The door to the en-suite glided steadily open as the infamous Frost ruler came striding out. He wore a malicious grin upon his swarthy face, his eyes beady like those of a falcon. A mysterious sphere sat poised in one hand. It caught the King's eye as Ryore made for the grand four-poster. He bent down to cradle his delirious wife. “Soon, my love. You will see,” he whispered. The King couldn't tear his eyes from the perfect sphere. He scowled as he studied the smug

Emperor, wanting desperately to crush him into nothing but dust. “What's that in your hand?!” The King snarled. Ryore watched as two of his own troops struggled to restrain him. Eagan glanced back at his daughter, his eyes wide. “What have you done to my child?!” He growled, fighting to get at the grinning Emperor. “And what is that? Tell me!” He nodded towards the sphere Ryore held. “He-he-he.” The Emperor let out a cold, cruel laugh, his long robes sweeping the edge of the bed. “She is cursed, Highness. Her mind is now bound to mine. She will only be free when I can no longer focus. That was the agreement between me and my source.” He winked slyly, causing the King to blush with rage. “You heartless bastard!” He cried. He attempted to escape the clutches of his men. Yet again, he was unsuccessful. Ryore chuckled more heartily this time. “And I believe this belongs to your daughter, Highness. Some sort of keepsake, perhaps?”

The King's mouth fell open in horror. Jork's ball. He drifted back in time; to memories of him and Jork as children. He remembered Jork's obsession as a child, clearer now than the light of day. He had always possessed a love of shapes, but spherical objects had been his favourites. Eagan recalled how he'd enchant them for fun. Such a great mind. He thought, lovingly. Eagan felt his soul break afresh as he suddenly remembered where he was in the present. He shot Ryore a look of disgust. He would bear a grudge with him until the end of time. With an almighty heave, the King finally broke free. Seeing Ryore holding his daughter's prized possession; it had been the final straw. He leapt forward, dodging a blow from his daughter's talons before he froze, staring slack-jawed at the point of her nails. A powerful glow sat poised on their tips. “Magic.” His words sounded strangely foreign to him. He breathed deep, taking his chances as he let his sword-point whistle through the air. He aimed high, attempting to land a fatal blow to the Emperor's head. It was simply another his daughter deflected. “Come now, Eagan, you know you can't win!” Emperor Ryore had that grin on his face. He tossed Jork's ball carelessly to one side, taking up arms beside his fierce Queen. King Eagan felt his

anger sharpen. He would rip Ryore's head from his body if he could. If only to make him suffer. Violetta was drawing closer. Roaring flames burst forth from her fingers as she paced her way towards the troops. “Why don't you try this on for size!” Ryore stood back from her, clapping to release the powers of hell. A molten fireball formed in her hands, searing swiftly towards the troops. “Shields!” Cried Eagan. Hastily, he lifted his own. “Now!” The soldiers quickly did as instructed, mounting their shields up over their knees. Eagan was instantly glad that he'd opted for fire-proof coating as the flaming spell struck them hard. It forced them back into the tower room where they tried their best to shift their weight forward. Nevertheless, no matter how much the metal warmed, the fire's perverse charms were no match for their craft. “Hmm.” Ryore glared at them through the aftermath, his eyebrows arched in mild surprise. “This is...unexpected.” King Eagan gradually lowered his shield. “Just what did you do to lose your powers, Ryore? Huh?!”

His tone was curt, and rightly so. Ryore snarled at the still standing King. “I tried to give your wretched daughter a baby, but it was all for nothing. She is broken!” His retort cut swiftly like jagged ice, sending fury racing through the King's brain. His eyes were sharp, his weapon secure, and still his troops would hold him back. “Hmm. Seems your men don't exactly trust you, Eagan.” The King glared. Ryore was taunting him on purpose, but why? He watched as his enemy continued to circle his Queen, like a hungry vulture, eyes lingering on her full chest. “It seems some ancient seers cannot be trusted. Instead of curing my bride when we sought help...” Ryore paused. He glanced down for a moment in genuine sorrow. “Everything was taken from me. Naturally, I had to make the bitch suffer.” Hearty chuckling re-filled the chamber. The troops exchanged worried glances. Their swords were poised at the ready. The sound didn't come from Ryore this time. The Emperor himself was rendered speechless. King Eagan stood there, a wide grin on his lined face. Ryore shot a scowl his way, trying to digest the King's joyous mood.

“Why aren't you fuming?!” He justly roared. The King's eyes flickered to something behind him. Ryore's eyes flared, but before he could take a glance behind, his body froze. A fierce pain sliced through his torso. “Ahhh!” The Emperor almost stumbled and fell. He glared up at King Eagan who continued to smile. “You knew?!” He spat. The King stared at the Emperor's chest. “That I did!” He cried. The dying embers on his robes glinted in the lamp-light, having raged through the Emperor's chest. “How...could- argh!!” A second burst of flame pierced through the Emperor's stomach. His body shuddered, spewing blood as he collapsed into a crooked heap. His assailant appeared behind him, previously hidden by Ryore's physique. Fadius smiled. As the Emperor lay helpless on the chamber floor, he felt Reiza's hand slip into his. He sighed. It was still Ryore; still his elder brother that she truly loved, no matter how much she wanted to destroy him. He winced, turning to check that she was alright. From where he stood, the Prince could see that she was livid. Frost slowly gathered around her fingers, her

breathing low but growing fast. “Oh dear!” The King exclaimed. He looked to his daughter who had now grown still, resting back on the edge of the bed. The brave assailant slowly made their way back, grinning as he bowed to the waiting King. “Good work, Tobias. I've trained you well.” He clapped the young man upon his back, his eyes giving thanks to the heroic troop. Ryore lay dazed on the bloodied floor. He clutched at his side, in absolute agony. “How on Earth...did you do that?” He asked. A rare smile brightened Eagan's features. “Go on Tobias, tell the Emperor.” The young man wore a grin of his own. He gestured around the side of Ryore. “I guessed the Queen could only attack what the Emperor could see. King Eagan has taught me to channel my flame spells. So, if Ryore couldn't see me coming, then neither would the Queen.”

Chapter TwentyTwo Feeling jolted back to Violetta as the locked door in her mind began to splinter. She could feel her body reclaiming its senses, the wall in her mind buckling under the weight of the spell. Cold air rushed up to greet her. It slammed her back into a conscious state. For a while, she could barely feel. Little traces of her senses began to return. Her body was vaguely aware of the slick silk covers, their gentle embrace familiar and calming. What? She took a while to register another object nearby. It was a curved shape that seemed strangely familiar. Her mind slowed. The sphere rolled towards her palm. Jork's ball? The darkness around her eyes ebbed slightly. She gripped what she assumed was Lord Jork's gift. She was glad to finally hold it again, her ears pricking up as new voices emerged. Her surroundings sounded to her like chaos. She tried her hardest to ignore them, reflecting inward. Violetta was happy to occupy real space again. Her body felt actual and whole; in a place where life flourished like a beautiful flower.

Her senses sharpened. An odd taste rested in her swollen mouth. Blood. It was twinned with the putrid stink of decay close by. Her slight form began to shake. To be drawn back from the abyss and thrown headlong into more suffering was more than she could possibly bear. The vile blackness still hadn't quite left her. She returned her focus to the heated discussion in the near distance. She tried to make out the words she heard spoken, but sadly such attempts were futile. “Ah!” A muffled yelp startled her; so close she could feel the vibrations of the cry. Someone was wounded. Violetta wondered if it was her cruel husband, perhaps finally struck to the bloodied floor. About time, she thought. She cradled Lord Jork's gift in her palms, wanting nothing more than to be free of the dark. Just as she thought she could stand it no longer, certain shades of the darkness lifted. Lighter greys merged with the dark. Gradually, shapes began to emerge, out-lines becoming clear as various swirls of colour burst forth. The Queen's eyes focused. A brutal scene met her eyes. She gasped at the blood that pooled beneath her, her husband splayed out on the oncelush carpets. “Violetta?”

That voice. It was familiar to her. Violetta shakily raised her head, glancing towards the edge of the chamber. Her father accompanied by some twenty odd guards stood to attention in their battle-worn armour. They gawked at her, their eyes unmoving. The Queen rubbed the nape of her neck, still rousing herself from her mysterious slumber. “How did I end up...” A murderous look shot into her eyes. “You bastard!” She rounded on her fragile husband. “What did you do to me, Ryore?!” Her words stung, her blood boiling deep within. Her mind became frenzied and unclear, her uncle's gift cupped delicately within her palms. The Emperor seemed hesitant, his lips moving in a clumsy fashion. “Well, I...I.” Violetta's glare was enough to send even her own father reeling back. “No answer? Pathetic!” She stood up, almost crashing to the ground as dizziness took her. She felt the ball quickly slide from her grasp as she tumbled down towards the floor. Two strong arms helped to lift her. “X-Xyhoni?”

Violetta stared up into the sprite's smiling face. She felt a strange warmth rush over her skin. King Eagan jumped. He stared at the young lad. “What? But...Xyhoni is right here!” Prince Fadius froze. His disguise seemed to be wearing thin. He shifted his legs, breathing deep. Taking a head-start, he fled from the room, drawing the attention of several guards. The real Xyhoni helped to right the Queen, who watched as the fake scampered off in fear. “Men, after that impostor!” She yelled, “Ten of you. Go!” The troops looked to the startled King, who nodded at his daughter's command. “Right!” Ten men leapt through the tower room in hot pursuit of their fleeing foe. Xyhoni helped to steady the Queen. A grim smile drew over his lips “How did you get here?!” The King demanded an honest answer. He was done playing games. Xyhoni merely shook his head. “King Aemon was taking a stroll in his garden. I was tending to the plants along with the gardeners when I heard talk of your noble quest.” He inclined his head towards the King. “When I realized where you were headed, I sought a carriage to come to the

border. I saw the guards; saw them all dead.” His eyes trailed across to where Ryore lay. He remained upon the stained floor, blood slowly oozing from his grave wounds. “Now what happened here?” Xyhoni asked with a sly grin. The Emperor's skin was pale as the morning frost. Pitiful cries escaped his lips. Violetta stole herself away from the sprite. She strode over to where the Emperor lay, her eyes filled with contempt for the man. “You're a lecherous wretch, Ryore! That's all you've ever been.” Violetta no longer cared for this man. She rested her eyes on him a while, letting the toxic anger build when she swore she'd seen a glimmer of light. “Oomph!” A large figure collapsed onto the Queen, sending her tumbling back onto the floor. Her head smarted as it struck the bed. Droplets of blood fled from her scalp. “Ah!” Violetta winced. She waited for the throbbing pain to increase. It fled just as swiftly. Summoning her strength, she tried heaving the figure off her. Her arms buckled. She was simply too weak to shift

their weight. She stayed her hands until her vision cleared. Her mouth opened, but no scream came forth. A familiar figure lay below her. Her skin swiftly drained of colour, appearing almost ghostlike. “No...No!” Violetta stared down at the face in her arms. She was desperately trying not to cry. “Nooo!” Her father's eyes bore into her own. His breathing was shallow, his pulse growing faint. Guilt gnawed at the Queen's insides. As she tried to process what had happened, another figure swiftly fled from the scene. She was too stunned to even realize. Xyhoni marched quickly to the rest of the troops. “Men, go! Get them!” He barked out the orders for her, before racing back to where she now lay. Violetta felt helpless. She couldn't find a single wound upon her father's person. In her head, she blamed herself. Another family member lay dying because of her. Perhaps if I'd never married Ryore? Her thoughts quieted as the King took her hand. He squeezed it gently with a reassuring smile. “Violetta,” he wheezed, “Look at me.” The Queen returned the squeeze to his hand, searching his eyes as her own teared up.

“Beware, my love, for you won't find any wound.” Violetta trembled. Her father was right. She had found no wounds, no matter where she checked. Fibres and flesh were still tight-knit. No visible gouges. No knocks to the head. She gasped. “Magic?” The question came as a muffled surprise. Her lips felt tainted by the poison of the words. Her father did his best to nod. “Yes...polar.” “Frost Magic.” Violetta could hardly believe her ears. That didn't leave many people to judge. Her husband's magic was long gone. Fadius, or...Reiza? Her father's breathing came to a slow. His grip on her hand grew ever tighter. Violetta held him close, tears forming in her chocolate-brown eyes. Rationally, she knew the impostors were to blame, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she could have prevented this. If only she'd been allowed to voice her doubts, she would have insisted the marriage be postponed. She could have done a far better job of scoping out Ryore before having committed herself to him. She wouldn't be here. None of them would be. “Uhh.”

“Father?” King Eagan's lips were cracked and split. He attempted to move them, but no words came out. “Here.” Violetta tilted an ear to his mouth; to hear over the Emperor's incessant howling. “Violetta. I'm so...proud of you. Take care of...your people. You deserve better.” His eyes flickered to and from Ryore, her own leaking tears, so beautiful yet sad. The King cupped his daughter's cheek. He gently wiped her tears with one frail hand, smiling lovingly at her for the last time, before his eyes closed forever, his hands falling limp in his lap. “Father...no.” An overwhelming numbness took her by shock. She lost all thought as two muscled arms wrapped tightly around her. She couldn't move. Her mind seemed to whistle and churn, all sound lost to the trauma of her father's death. Xyhoni tried to speak to her, but he sounded distant. Miles away. She wanted to go back and save her father. She wanted to kill the Emperor. Now! An intense anger brought Violetta jolting back. She couldn't bear this. He was all she'd had left. He was all she'd had! Xyhoni helped to support her

shoulders. “Vi...Highness! I am sorry.” She barely heard him over her thoughts. This was it. Now. It’s my only chance, she told herself. With great regret, she tore herself away from her father, who looked as though he were sleeping soundly. She wished that he would wake soon, if only to smile at her once more. “Move him,” she prompted. Xyhoni obeyed. He did his best to ignore Ryore's taunts as he carefully lifted the King's body. He laid him gently down on the bed, where the red silken sheets enveloped him like blood. The Queen shifted angrily. She turned her gaze to the sniffling Ryore. Here lay the man she had openly given herself to; the one person whom she'd trusted with all she could possibly give. Puu! Violetta spat before his face. She shivered with the cold of the Emperor's eyes. Those emotionless pools of ocean blue meant nothing to her now. He had burnt all his bridges. There was nothing left. She beckoned Xyhoni to her side; felt his comforting warmth envelop her soul. “Hey!” Ryore twisted around on the carpet. “Don't you dare touch my wife, you scum!” The last word carried high above the rest. Ryore hauled himself forward, shrieking with the agony of

dragging his guts along the blood-sodden rug. Violetta gagged as his wounds split open. The stench was ghastly. A grimace of pain haunted the Emperor's features as he darted a sideways glance at the King. “Don't you look at him!” Violetta snapped. Even she was surprised by her voice's harshness. She pulled swiftly away from Xyhoni's embrace. Retrieving her ball, she strode back towards the man who had raised her. “I love you, father.” With great sorrow in her heart, she bent over him, planting a kiss on his unscathed cheek. “I always will.” She slowly pulled the sheet over her father, trembling as she held back her tears. He'd been a good man. The good deserved to rest in peace. Violetta tightly clenched her fists. She could still hear Ryore's taunts in her head as he did all he could to kneel on the floor. He stared up at her, his eyes unfocused. “My...love.” His torso swayed. Violetta calmly swallowed her fear. She turned round, fully embracing the grim sight of him. “Save it, cretin!” She strode forward, slapping him, hard as she

could. The pitiful toad who had caused her such pain, dared to kneel before her and grovel. “You're pathetic, Ryore!” Her eyes blazed with a violent anger. Slowly, her body began to shake. The fierce rage welled up inside her. She looked upon Ryore with nothing but hatred. For once in his life, he looked genuinely afraid. It was an extraordinary feeling; to have someone tremble before you. Violetta decided to relish this moment. The tables have turned, she thought with a smile. Xyhoni stood beside her now, looking warily back at the Emperor. She reached out. Cautiously, she placed her hand in his. A crimson flush spread over the boy’s face. Here was the girl they had both fallen for; no longer a meek child, but a beautiful and courageous woman. For the first time in her life, Violetta felt whole. Reborn. Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. She feared nothing. Would deny herself nothing. She was content with exactly who she was. She knew her purpose and it was time to exact it. “I already told you. Take your hands off my wife!” Ryore tried to swipe at Xyhoni. He failed miserably, only to stumble and fall once more. It took all of his strength to lift his head back up. “You will harm me no longer!” Violetta cried.

She glared down at the Emperor. The sting of her words clearly struck him. He watched her with a carnal hatred, his eyes shrinking into mean little slits. “You will never harm anyone. Ever. Again!” Violetta sucked in a breath. She cleared her mind, summoning all of her strength from her core. Jork's gift was still within her grasp, resting lightly in the crook of one arm. She held it close to her heart, to feel its love. Lord Jork had made it solely for her; to protect her from whatever dared hurt her. “Goodbye Ryore.” Her right hand slowly began to smoke as merciless flames roared into life. Xyhoni quickly shrank back from the heat. He couldn't speak. He simply watched as the Queen walked towards Ryore, the flames burning ever higher. In that moment, Violetta felt truly magnificent. Her right palm was a brilliant mass of yellows and reds. She could scarcely feel the heat of the flames, licking her smooth flesh as they did. Ryore cowered upon the floor. He shielded his eyes from the fierce flames. His weak cries were barely audible over the roaring heat. “What are you doing, you wretched harpy?!”

Violetta scowled at the Emperor's words. Her flames grew, flying up in the air, now a bold orange yellow. Phoenix, indeed. They would incinerate anything the Queen touched. She closed in on him. He was unable even to look up at her, for risk of being made instantly blind. “No mere woman can be the source of my demise!” His arrogance could barely mask the anxious quiver that had settled in his voice. He hid beneath his bloodied hands, chuckling lightly to himself. “You couldn't even save your own father and he was the only family you had left!” Violetta threw a cinder at him. “Silence!” She watched as his body twitched, blood spattering out from his graphic wounds. She could have laughed. “See, even your blood wants to be free from your tyranny.” She dared not let him get away; not after all the pain he'd caused. She readied herself to let go. She held her magic within her centre, focusing it, channelling it out. “Just what I thought, you can't...”

Whoosh! Violetta sent her flames arcing round the bloodied man. He howled with pain as they seared into him, his skin crawling with the feverish heat. “What was that? I can't...what?” A smug smile stole over her face. She watched as Ryore flailed about in absolute agony. What was once skin, flaking off in grotesque clumps. She wanted his cold heart to boil within his chest; for his veins to expand and to tear apart. Violetta gradually turned up the heat. She wanted him to feel the same pain he'd inflicted on her. He was starting to look a little woozy, steam pouring off of his charred flesh. He didn't look like he could take much more. Violetta slowly bent down to his level, watching as his limbs twitched and flailed. She got as close to him as she physically dared. She dimmed her flames so he could see. She needed him to look at her when she gave him the good news. Ryore continued to wail like a child. With his vision clearing, his head slowly drew up. “You used your powers on me, didn't you? Before you lost them?” Ryore refused to look directly at her. She could see his eyes dilated by fear. Violetta laughed. “Regardless, since your last frenzy, it would

seem that I'm finally pregnant.” Ryore's eyes shot up. He stared up at her, his face slack and singed by her magic. His eyes searched hers for some sign of pretence. He found none. As an awkward, Xyhoni turned from the scene, Violetta leant forward, whispering softly. “Call it a gift from dear Lord Jork.” She held up the ball with her one free hand. “I'm keeping the baby, Ryore,” she whispered, “And by the way.” She leant up right against his ear, taking her time to make him squirm. “It's a girl.” His instant frown triggered fresh hatred within her. Before he'd had a chance to curse, she drew herself back, letting the fullest extent of her magic fly. Crimson flames sprung up her arm, catching alight to her fine garments. Her ball remained safe, but her clothes crinkled, all possible force pushed into her power. “Till death do us part.” Ryore's piercing screams spurred her on. She edged forward, letting her power burst forth as it charred into his tattered flesh. It was at this moment that Xyhoni spun round. Intrigued by the sudden rise in heat, he watched in horror as Ryore's body shrivelled into dust. The once mighty Emperor was little more than a pile of ashes on the chamber carpet. Violetta's

flames quickly dimmed, before they disappeared along with most of her strength. She swayed on the spot, her clothes having been long burnt away. Xyhoni ran to her. There was no hesitation. Just love. He caught her body just as she fell, cupping the ball in the arch of his foot. “Ohh.” A pained expression crossed her face. He held her close, stroking her hair as she came to once more. Her warm chocolate eyes fluttered open, a delicate smile hidden beneath a sudden blush. “Xyhoni. I'm...erm.” Her eyes gestured down to her bosom. Their milky flesh sparkled in the dim lamp-light. “Oh!” Xyhoni's face had never looked so flush. His initial instinct was to let go at once. He laid her head back upon the carpet, retreating slowly. “Better, Highness?” Violetta nodded. Her eyes were fixed firmly on his. “So...” They stared across at each other; into one another's souls. Xyhoni bent down, extending the arm which held her childhood gift. The Queen

blinked. She rose steadily, walking slowly towards her childhood friend; towards the man who had always treated her kindly. “Please?” She offered out her hands to accept the ball. Her powerful flames were long gone. Xyhoni was no longer afraid. “Here.” Violetta grinned up at him. “I guess...you never quite know what will heal you,” she whispered. Tears started to flow from her eyes. She glanced back towards where her father lay, his body covered by the crimson sheets. Xyhoni's hand delicately caught her chin, turning it back up towards his face. He wiped away her stray tears as she stared up into his bright green eyes. She could feel something happening within her chest. She felt all warm and tingly inside, her lips subconsciously drifting to his. “Xyhoni?” The young man felt his cheeks growing hot. Slowly, he let himself drift towards her. “Yes, Highness?” His eyes were so bright. So beautiful. So loving. “Call me Vi.”

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“You were b-brilliant. K-keep up!” Fadius ran ahead of Reiza, his words lost on the surging wind. They'd managed to lose the Flame realm guards. For now. The seer panted as they raced round the edge of the frigid border, guided only by the dim moonlight. They needed desperately to return to the cave; to go into hiding until the commotion had passed. They could barely see. Luckily they didn't need to, for their fear was driving them in the right direction. “Fadius,” wheezed Reiza, “The cave is...up ahead...to your left.” The Prince darted his gaze sideways. Just as she'd said, there it was. He edged left as quick as he could, slowing just enough to grasp her hand. “Run!” Before Reiza had time to think, Fadius sprinted the final distance, pulling her quickly behind in his wake. “We did it. We really did it.” Fadius barely allowed himself to whisper. A profound joy took over his heart as he realized their plan had finally succeeded. “He's gone. At last.”

He glanced over at his fiancée, intending to congratulate her on her part. His heart fell. Her head was bowed, her body trembling. “Reiza. What's wrong?” He asked. The seer pressed herself tight against the cave wall. Her eyes were distant. Fadius gulped. He gingerly made his way over to her, unsure if touching her would be ideal. Nevertheless, he tried for a hug. “Please Fadius, leave me alone,” she whimpered. The Prince retreated a few steps. Then it clicked. “You were still in love with him, weren't you?” He did his best to keep any anger from his voice. He was more concerned about Reiza's feelings. Fadius tilted her head to face him. She gazed upon the worried Prince, doing her level best to look him in the eye. He could see the sorrow buried deep in her heart; could feel it feeding on her like a wretched parasite. “Yes. I was still in love with him,” the seer whimpered. Her voice was so small and laced with pain. “I'm sorry.” For once, Fadius found himself crying. He used his hand to wipe at the fresh tears, truly amazed at the strength of his feelings. “I don't want your apologies, Reiza. I...I want

you to be happy. And I'm sorry I...” The Prince froze. Before Reiza could ask him what was wrong, he quietly hushed her, craning his neck. He listened intently to the surrounding tunnels. “We're not alone,” he whispered gently, “Quick. The orb.” Just as Reiza heard the muffled footsteps, she sought out her power, retracting the light orb from the cave's ceiling. The footsteps continued to grow in volume, marching along in single file. The Flame realm troops, thought Fadius. He quickly ushered Reiza into the darkest corner, just as the soldiers came stalking through. He'd been about to suggest that his fiancée keep quiet when a hand clamped firmly over his mouth. Oh God, they've got me. Fadius struggled beneath their strong grip. He was adamant that he would not be taken; not by anyone, least of all his enemies. All of a sudden, he stilled himself, building his energy for one good strike. Thwack! The hand swiftly removed itself from his mouth as another crashed upon his head. Fadius dizzied. He flopped to the floor, his body limp. Reiza slowly steadied her hands. You're such a nuisance, she thought to herself. Not long after she'd hauled Fadius aside, did the footsteps stop, as though pausing to search out the chamber. “Hey, in here!” Called one of the troops.

She saw two of their shadows come bustling over. They were eager in their search, prompting the seer to haul her fiancée back out of view. The Flame soldiers gradually calmed. The seer leered out at those who rummaged through their home. She scowled. She could kill them right now if she wanted to. The way their hands trailed along her prized possessions; it made her sick. She slowly raised her right hand, forming the deadliest curse she knew in existence, when she froze. Quickly, she siphoned her magic away. No, she told herself, If they disappear in here, then their comrades will know. They'll know where we're hiding and seek us out. Reiza braced herself for the worse. Their footsteps grew closer. She knew they were heading towards their hiding place. There was nothing else here that interested them. “Hey! Look at this.” Reiza gaped. One of the troops stopped not three feet from where she was standing. From the way the cave floor grumbled, he and his colleague had knelt to the floor. My creation. Reiza suddenly breathed a sigh of relief. They won't be able to translate it, she thought. The young seer held herself firmly against the cave wall. She watched the men from the safety of the shadows, feeling the arch of her back trace the crooked ridges of the cave wall. She blinked once, hoping the soldiers

would find whatever they came for. When she opened her eyes, they were simply gone.

Chapter TwentyThree The warmth of the Summer Realm did little to relieve the chill in her heart. A week had stretched by. The fact that she was capable of murder probably terrified Violetta the most. She had felt no loss for such a twisted man; the man who had abused her, neglecting her like some prized trophy. It was hard for her to admit, but it was the pretence of the lover that she would miss; of the wellrounded gentleman who'd danced and caressed her. For the man who, albeit briefly, had once treated her like a true goddess. The Queen would never know if that man had ever been real. Greed and selfish tendencies had made him cold-hearted. In the end, that's all he was. Cold. Violetta put these thoughts aside. She blew out a warm breath. Her time since had been spent fixing things, starting with the dismissal of Ryore's most loyal staff. The others she'd kept on, bringing them new clothes and updating their quarters. They smiled whenever they gazed upon her. That was all the payment in the world she needed. With the Emperor's ashes

carefully stored, she'd locked them away within his tower, keeping it heavily guarded and charmed. Xyhoni had left his realm for now, until such a time as he should take his own throne. He stood as Violetta's personal guard. There were many who would gladly see the Queen dead, but her dearest friend had pledged his life to her. Since acquiring his new post, he had proved himself valiant and honourable throughout. The Queen had slept soundly, the nightmares finally dimming with time. Violetta started as the figure crept closer. They seemed to have emerged from a bush of red roses, clad in black and too swift to recognise. “Yes?” Her voice shuddered as she turned abruptly. Her jaw dropped. “Ah, Xyhoni.” Her personal guard stood firm by her side. “I'm sorry. I thought you were...” “Someone else?” Xyhoni gave her a reassuring smile. He stepped towards her, lightly brushing her soft hand, discreet as always in the presence of others. Although the pair shared the same feelings for each other, they knew all would frown at such sudden a joining. It didn't matter if Ryore had been a monster. Marriage was seen as eternally sacred and until some time had passed them by, there was nothing they could

do to be together. Today, Violetta truly needed him, with an urgency she could not deny. To her guests she appeared to be calm and composed, but inside her heart was tearing afresh. The funeral procession was going painfully slow, her grief stretching beyond good measure. It had taken long enough for them to acquire her father's body, given that the priests had found no obvious cause for his death. All they could suggest was unseen magic; the exact same conclusion that her father had drawn. Violetta tried to remember him at his best; as the same fine, courteous man he had been in life. A man that would never leave a soldier to die. She also remembered his dying words; You deserve better. She remembered the way the light had left his eyes. He'd looked so peaceful in death. That's what had shocked her. She gripped Xyhoni's hand. Tight. She couldn't believe that this was real. The man who had raised her was gone from this world. He had taught her many wonderful things in life. He had taught her how to bear the strength of an army. The Queen refrained from weeping as best she could. A dark cloud seemed to have settled upon her. She watched the solemn load-bearers march down the aisle, their feet slowly scuffling on the red velvet carpet; laid in honour of an old pet name. King Eagan, 'The Red.' Violetta stared at the large coffin as it slowly made its way past. She was glad she'd chosen the Flame Palace gardens. For a

funeral venue, they had much to offer. Beautiful plants bloomed all around, their sweet aromas lingering in the air. She wondered if her father would have approved. “Father.” She smiled sadly. At least he had a final resting place that he could be proud of. A fine mahogany model housed him. It was deep red; solid, with a glazed finish that would shame any other. It gleamed magnificently in the noon-day sun. Fresh sobs threatened to awaken once more when the coffin was gently placed on a pedestal. A healthy bush of red roses surrounded the casket. The Queen sighed. She stepped slowly towards the display as the load-bearers discreetly lifted the top. Half of the coffin lifted away and there amongst a sea of white silk, lay the body that had once housed her father's spirit. Even from here, she knew the morgue had done well. They'd made sure that he looked clean and fresh, donned within his finest robes. The large wooden pedestal supported him well. The coffin's weight was perfectly balanced, giving the guests time to say their goodbyes. The Queen had arranged a rather humble affair. The guest-list was simple; only close friends and allied dignitaries. She had tried to make it as modest as her father was, choosing only two luxuries. The plush red carpet symbolized all the blood he'd spilt

to right the wrongs in this world, whereas his final abode was to help him rest comfortably; a gift from a daughter to her honourable father. For he who had loved and cherished her, until his final breath. It wasn't long before people had begun to pay their last respects. Violetta pulled Xyhoni close. She was glad that those invited did not chastise her for wanting such comfort. On the contrary, not all of them had bore witness to the Royal gardens and so were intrigued to finally get a glimpse. They looked on together as the guests approached. Some merely bowed to the coffin, unsure of what to do or say. A few, obviously still stricken by their grief, had engaged within full-blown conversations, the deceased so still he appeared to be listening. Lord Jork himself could be heard apologising profusely, wishing his old friend a good afterlife. “Ah!” Violetta gasped. Her slowly swelling stomach seemed to jolt. She reached down where it curved the most; where she knew her child was starting to grow. Despite the nature of the late father, she had never regretted the choice she was making. This baby was undoubtedly hers. The smile she wore now was all the proof she needed. She could feel its movements within her body and vowed to raise them with the same love and strong will that her father had her.

Violetta tensed. Her nerves were getting the best of her. Xyhoni strode off to greet more guests. She wanted desperately to call him back. She hated being without his touch. Even for a few moments. Her gaze swept over the few rows of seats. A tall figure in navy was striding powerfully towards her. She grinned. It was Tobias Baynerd; late guard to her father. He smiled fondly as he stood before her, his hand extended by way of greeting. “Tobias!” She accepted his palm, shaking it with a hardy vigour. She was always happy to see the brave soldier. Since Ryore's death, he'd been put on a pedestal, praised for his actions in defence of the crown. Tobias gave his customary bow. “My deepest condolences, Queen Violetta.” He glanced up with bloodshot eyes. “You're so formal today, Tobias.” Violetta gave him a good-natured wink, observing the stoic response he gave her. King Eagan had trained him exceedingly well. She smiled fondly at the memories of her father. They flitted through her grieving mind, just as her hair fluttered in the gentle breeze. “Enjoying the fame?” Violetta teased. Tobias nodded. A shy blush crept into his cheeks.

It was no secret that he'd recently been awarded a medal for bravery, which dangled down far past his neck. As per her father's wish, Violetta had chosen his successor, and so she had appointed herself. This had shocked a great many, but it was her choice. “Highness. May I request the honour to offer my embrace?” Tobias watched as her eyes glinted with several tears. “You may.” He smiled. Tobias extended his arms to her, swooping her up in a firm hug. Violetta grinned. The warmth of him was wonderful. His hugs reminded her of her father's. She missed the feeling of them; of the arms that had held her and of the place where she had grown to be loved. Tobias, more than anyone, understood why she refused the Frost throne. Violetta needed space; to distance herself from the bitter Frost Realm and all the grim memories that dragged themselves through her. She reluctantly parted from him, her smile faint but still visible. She gazed up at the man of the hour. For Tobias' services to the crown, Violetta would bestow him one final gift. He was to be ordained as the new Winter Realm Emperor, while she still possessed the right to pass on the throne. Tobias would gain a great change in status and Violetta

would rightfully take her late father's place. “How is Jermise?” Tobias asked. The Queen drifted out of her thoughts. She reflected on the young man's question, but found herself unable to answer. “She's having some trouble adjusting.” Tobias nodded. His eyes held a hint of understanding. Violetta had scarcely seen her confidante all day. She hadn't seemed like her usual self and had demanded to be left alone. The Queen watched Tobias as his head fell, his expression grim to say the least. “Is all well with the baby, Highness?” He gestured to her curving stomach. Violetta smiled. “We're both perfectly healthy. Thank you, Tobias. And...thank you again, for what you did.” The honorary Frost Emperor blushed at her reference. He bowed again, taking his time to examine the floor. “Thank you for your praise, Highness.” He straightened up, fanning his face. “But, I believe it is time for your speech, at last.” He gently nudged Violetta forward. A thin smile crinkled his lips.

“Right.” The Queen paled. She slowly walked along the aisle, her heart hammering as she neared the coffin. Her father had been an amazing public speaker. He was articulate, witty; everything a good speech required. Now, as his daughter stood nervously before his funeral casket, she hoped that she would prove just as popular. Her slight body shook as she composed herself. Tears built up within her delicate eyes. “Ah-hem.” She stared down at the garden floor, her mouth quivering when a hand reached out. She shuddered as the shock subsided, feeling its warmth and acceptance wash over her. “I thought you could use a hand.” The Queen turned, glancing up into the face of her dearest Xyhoni. She let a weak smile flow freely to him, comforted by the confidence he gave her. He stood tall as always, gripping her hand gently in his. Her fear seemed to melt away. “Hmm?” Violetta felt something drop into her palm. She glanced down, opening her shaking hand. She gasped. The same emerald heart he'd made long ago, gleamed before her chocolate-brown eyes. She

gazed up at her loving companion. The green of the striking emerald reflected back in his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. The Queen felt her confidence soar. She took a deep breath and turned to the audience. “Good day. For all of you who knew my father; King Eagan Flame II, I know we can all agree that he was a most kind and courteous man, as gentle and caring as anyone could be. He was intelligent and often stubborn. He never gave up on anyone.” She paused as her mind dwelt on her family; of the mother and brother she'd lost when so young. Even while they lay dying, her father had refused to believe it and had done everything he could to see his family's pain lessen. The memories brought a tear to her eye. “Ahem. As I was saying...” Violetta felt her face flush. “King Eagan's heart was so full of love. If you came to him in poverty, he would offer you a job, while sending out workers to build you a house. He had many strengths of character. His greatest of all was his ability to pull through for both himself and for those in need. He taught me most of what I know. We both believed that it was our people who should be put first and that family and love are two of the greatest assets a person can have. I hope that when I have a family...” She

gently put her hand to her stomach. “I hope my children are as wise and compassionate as my father was. So your graces, and all else present, please would you all bow your heads to my dear father and your former King. To King Eagan Flame!” *

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Months of grieving could not mend Violetta's heart. The funeral seemed like a distant memory, her loss fading, but still lurking beneath. Without her father, so many new responsibilities overloaded her each day. She rested her head within her hands. Perhaps her father had been right. Perhaps she did need a partner to support her reign, to guide her through the daily motions. The sights from the study window caught her attention. The Summer gardens were in full bloom below. The sultry scent of its flowers rose up, enticing her. Her mind drifted with the birds in flight. They were so free up there in the sky. Violetta smiled at them. The crackling fire behind gently helped to ease the pain in her stomach. She reached around her swollen stomach. “Will you be a free spirit?” She wondered aloud. Knock knock! The Queen cautiously straightened up. “Come in!” The door to her study slowly opened. A small

face peered round the corner. “Alistair.” The Queen smiled. The young boy gave her a hesitant glance. She'd had him transferred over to the Summer Realm, but the young messenger still looked just as anxious. “What is it?” She did her best to appear friendly, knowing the boy had truly resented her former husband. “H-Highness, I have n-news,” he stammered. The Queen's face paled as he stepped towards her. “Please, sit.” Violetta indicated the armchair nearby. The boy looked most nervous to be in her presence, but then a childhood of threats had most likely put him off of royals. He did his best to make himself comfortable, leaning back in the chair as he spoke. “Majesty. We've finally captured your father's killers.” The Queen's mouth fell open in shock. “And?” She stared intently at the boy. “We found evidence of disguises and the use of

black magic, and written plans which speak of poisoning you; to take your throne, Highness.” Violetta's mind did somersaults. Father's killers? Poisoning me? She asked herself if this were a dream, or if fate had truly been sealed for her foes. She jumped suddenly, surprising the boy. “And?” She came so close that he could smell her fragrance; could almost reach out and bottle it himself. He gulped. “The murderers were identified as Prince Fadius Frost and the seer Reiza.” “I knew it!” Violetta's blood turned ice cold. She paced back to her seat by the window as the young man shakily tried to go on. “The Season Council has already made their decision in your absence, Highness. The culprits have been sentenced to execution, as a result of High treason.” “Hmm.” The Queen rested her chin in her hand, turning to take a brief glance out the window. “That's...good.” “Yes,” replied Alistair, “Would you like to be there, when they are...hanged?”

The boy's tone was soft, yet firm. Violetta stood, advancing once more towards the young man. She moved closer this time, embracing him gently as a mother would. “It's okay,” she assured him, “You can cry if you need to.” Almost like magic he choked down a sob, collapsing all too gladly into her loving arms. Violetta was far different to his previous master, for she provided an essential comfort that the boy had never received from Ryore. Compassion. One of her father's greatest strengths had passed to her. “I do not wish to go to the execution.” The Queen slowly stroked back his hair. “Neither should you.” He lifted his head, his sad eyes meeting hers. “But I would like to look into their eyes, before they die.” The boy gave her an understanding look. “Is there anything else, Alistair?” He hesitated. “A letter was found among your father's possessions. It provides evidence of Arlas' treachery. We have him in custody now.” “Arlas? Hmm.” The Queen's expression turned to uncertainty. “Send word to the executioner that I would like to speak with all prisoners first, and

have Lord Jork summoned to the palace as well.” She released the boy from her motherly warmth. His hand rose to meet her shoulder. “This also came for you,” he mumbled. He handed her a small beige envelope, the new Frost-seal stamped on the centre-reverse. Her choice of replacement was doing her proud. She bid the boy farewell at the door before tearing the envelope open in haste. The letter was written in impeccable hand, her fingers trailing the words as she read. 'Dear Queen Violetta, I hope you are feeling well and that the start of your reign there proves fruitful. I have already ordered all repairs to be made within the villages here and progress looks to be under way. We have set up shelters and food stations here, so that the hungry may be fed and the poor may sleep soundly. It has been a long time and there is much to say and now much to do. Take good care, your Highness. I wish you and your unborn baby the best of luck. Keep well, Emperor Tobias Frost-Flame.'

Violetta smiled. It seemed that Tobias' reign had indeed begun with kindness and care. He was doing well to assist his people, providing her with hope that they could indeed flourish within capable hands. Violetta's body swelled with sudden delight. Jermise supported her as they left the throne room. The once short passages now seemed endless to the bulging Queen. She hauled her stomach around all day, feeling the pressure of her child within. Her mind drifted to other things. She'd not yet spoken with the prisoners, having been busy, sending Xyhoni instead. Sadly, not even her personal guard had been able to extract information from the coldhearted fiends. Jermise drew her arm in hers. Violetta's mind fled back to the present. The warm corridors closed around them here, leading her to her Royal Doctor. The Queen's monthly examination was well overdue. She heaved her full stomach over the thresh-hold, panting heavily as they reached the grand hall. Her new Doctor stood proudly in the light of the entrance. The sun gave her an angelic form, which was stolen when the guards closed the grand doors. The Queen greeted the new face with a somewhat strained smile. “Welcome Doctor.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for coming.”

The lady before them was tall and slim, with stark red hair cut short at her neck. “Queen Violetta. An honour,” she replied. She was the first female doctor they'd ever had and Violetta was positively thrilled. She seemed like such a lovely woman; appearing good-natured, courteous and sweet. As they adjourned to the Royal chambers, the Doctor helped to make the Queen comfortable. The bed-chamber was pleasantly warm. Violetta lay back upon the silk of her bed. She gazed up at the Doctor, a small smile creeping across her face. This woman exuded an air of pure beauty. Her skin, like the rest of her, appeared totally flawless; a milky white in contrast to her blood red lips. A positive energy flowed freely from her, making her green eyes twinkle like distant stars. The Queen glanced about the opulent room. The chambers of her late King-father were now hers. A grand four-poster of the rarest black ebony could easily make one stop and stare, while the gold walls would draw the occupant's eye, reflecting the warm glow of the palace lamps. “Here we go.” Violetta's eye flitted back to her Doctor. The kindly lady began setting up her equipment. Various contraptions were placed on the carpet, lain neatly

on swatches of thick white cloth. They were pure and unspoilt by the depravities of the human form. She urged the Queen to stand briefly while she spread a crisp linen sheet upon the bed. It awaited her, a pristine white. “Please, lie down,” the doctor urged. The Queen tentatively leant herself back. It was an odd feeling; to be examined like this. She felt something stir within her as she anxiously parted her quivering thighs. “Highness?” Violetta let deep breaths come to her. She leant up, seeing her Doctor smile once more. “Just relax,” she told her, “It will be alright.” The doctor knelt down beside the bed, pulling on a pair of long rubber gloves. “Okay now, deep breath.” The Doctor casually observed the Queen's body. 'Umms' and 'ahs' were muttered here and there, making Violetta worry all the more. Jermise offered a hand to her, lending her strength. “Ah!” Violetta's stomach tightened painfully as the doctor pressed down on the mound of skin. She tried her best to crane her neck. She wanted to see what was happening, but in her pain, she flopped back on the bed.

“Okay. That's good.” Seeming satisfied with her own observations, the doctor slowly withdrew her hands. “Everything looks fine, Highness.” She gave a cheery smile, snapping off her gloves. “The baby doesn't seem distressed and you should expect to deliver any day now.” Violetta's mouth could have caught flies. “Any...day?” Her voice was but a whisper. Breathless, yet scared. “That's right. Best ready the maids, just in case.” She smiled warmly. And just like that, she was gone, leaving only a few potent remedies for the Queen's pains.

Chapter TwentyFour The dungeon gloom could not conceal the rotting filth which lurked in its walls. Two guards stood either side of the entrance, holding their noses under sweet-smelling rags. The heat of the Flame Realm scorched the stone walls, yet it was the profound stink which made the place unbearable. It was slowly beginning to make the guards nauseous. They clamped their sweet rags firm to their noses, remaining intent on serving their purpose. They could hear rats scurrying about. Vermin had been known to frequent the cells. It was just another incentive for traitors to talk. Queen Violetta entered the dungeons. She had heard back from Jork already. She had eagerly invited him to the palace, now hidden away from prying eyes. The rancid smell of the dungeons invaded her nose. She nodded for the guards to step outside. “Thank you, men.” Xyhoni appeared in the entrance beside her,

offering his arm by way of support. Violetta took it with a gentle smile. “Thank you,” she sighed. They began to descend the steep stairway, the depressing darkness stretching before them. “Did you not want Jermise here with you?” Xyhoni prompted. Violetta was silent for a while. The grime-covered stairs licked at her shoes, while faint light glimmered from approaching lamps. “She's endured enough for the time being, Xyhoni.” The Queen's words were cold; emotionless. Her guard gave her a knowing look. He suspected that she was creating a new mindset; one that could more easily deal with a vengeful traitor. “Careful, Highness!” Xyhoni caught her just as she'd tripped. Her body fell clumsily into his arms, their faces so close they could have touched. His eyes searched hers, wanting more. Xyhoni resisted the urges that tugged at his mind. He had a duty here to protect the Queen. He cleared his throat out of mild embarrassment. “We best press on,” he urged the Queen. Xyhoni supported her down the remaining steps, made incessantly harder by the Queen's swollen

stomach. Eventually they reached the final stair, where he helped her rest on one of the cooler walls. It took time for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. The cells were easy enough to make out, standing in a large block. Only three held glaring occupants. Their arms gripped the cold iron bars. Violetta peered at them through the dark. All three looked exhausted, every inch of their bodies dripping with sweat. “Prince Fadius? Enjoying the cells my late father installed?” She saw the Prince sneer as she closed the distance. She glared back at the sour-faced villain, watching as he clung to the bars of his cell. “Your father rots in hell, Highness!” Fadius spat at the Queen's feet, his eyes filled with a fiery rage. “And one day soon, you will join him.” He gripped the cold iron until his knuckles turned white. A sadistic grin played upon his thin lips. Violetta didn't think she would ever understand such a monstrous mind. She had never been locked within a cage; a prisoner of her own wrong-doings. Fadius had. He would remain locked away from the world in his grimy cell, until the day his life was eventually taken. For justice She thought. Violetta quietly composed herself. “I heard about you and your fiancée here.” She

turned to acknowledge the woman in the cell along from his. “I hear you are responsible for my father's death. Is that correct?” The Queen eyed Reiza's cell. The young woman sat still, bug-eyed and silent. “What if we did?” Fadius' coarse voice made the seer jolt. She lunged toward the side of her cage, where she gave the Prince a most horrified look. “Shut up, Fadius!” She seethed at him. The Prince seemed determined to rile the Queen. He held himself back from the sweat-streaked bars, eyeing her up in a most crude fashion. “Yes. We killed your ‘oh so wonderful daddy’. We slowly froze his heart, until all you were left with was his final breath.” Violetta felt a tear roll down her cheek. She looked into the eyes of the man she so hated; of the man responsible for her father's death. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Now she knew why they said it; why looking a killer in the eyes gave you closure. She could see the evil within this man's heart; could feel it within his blackened soul. He had to die. There was no other way. Violetta summoned the guards to her side. She ordered them to escort both Prince Fadius and

Reiza from their cells. From here they were to be executed. From here their influence would be gone from the world. Violetta put her hand to her chest. She refused to attend the ceremony. It wasn't her style to take pleasure in death. On the contrary, it had always been the thing she'd feared most. Her husband had been a one-time mistake; one that she would always recall. “Highness, do you wish to interrogate Arlas alone?” The Queen glanced back at her personal guard. Xyhoni's eyes were glazed with emotion. She stepped back, grasping his hand. “No, Xyhoni. You're fine to standwatch.” Together they looked towards the occupied cage. Prince Arlas stood there, leering at them. His gruesome smile exposed the remnants of his once pure teeth. Now they were crooked and yellowing badly. His hair had become long and scraggly, threatening to strangle him if he gave it the chance. Xyhoni led the Queen towards Arlas' cell. A familiar tingling grew sharp in her veins. The Prince watched her intently as she strode proudly towards the felon. “Arlas.” She did her best to keep her head raised above

the traitor's scorn. Appearing weak before him would only give him an unfair advantage and she refused to give in to traitors. She acknowledged the grizzled monster before her; wondered what darkness lurked within his shadowed mind. Feeling brave, she pressed herself lightly against the cell bars. They were cool to the touch, making her shiver. “Well...” The Prince's eyes flashed up suddenly. They met the Queen's, a surreal madness held deep within. With unexpected swiftness, he spat at her feet, launching Xyhoni into attack. “Halt!” He cried, but before he could act, the Queen swept her hand to one side. “No!” Violetta held him back. She needed Prince Arlas to talk. She dropped her hand, scrutinizing the miscreant before her. His sharp gaze was like that of an eagle. No matter how exhausted, if he saw an opportunity he would swoop down and grab it. “I am informed, as was my father apparently, about a possible connection linking you to my family's deaths.” Violetta paced along the front of his cell. She could see a sly grin turning his face. It made her

long to strike it from him, to watch his blood envelop his skin. “Do you deny such allegations made towards you?” The Queen knew that he could already hear her losing her patience. She sucked in a breath, trying to keep herself composed. “Answer her Majesty's question!” Xyhoni's voice rang out through the gloom. The Queen turned. His face was colouring, eyes flitting about with the strength of his nerves. Violetta shushed him. She turned to find a certain satisfaction creeping in behind Arlas' twisted smile. “Why bother answering her question?!” He snarled. The Prince glanced over to where Xyhoni stood. “We know that either way you'll have me executed. Suspected High Treason is never a light matter. Is it, Highness?” His eyes stared straight through the Queen. She bit her lip. Ryore was a different matter. She told herself. He was neglecting his people. He was abusive. He… She glared back at the Prince where he waited, grinning, for her response. “Caught a nerve, did I?” He chuckled dryly. Violetta gave him a stern look. She passed by his cell, keeping her eyes trained on a discoloured

brick, separating her emotions from her speech. “Let’s try this again.” Her eyes remained trained on that singular block. “Did you intentionally cause the storm, which led to my mother and brother's deaths?” She had him there. He knew it just as well as she did. The silence that stretched between them seemed endless. Arlas had refused to answer the question. Violetta racked her brain. There has to be a way to catch him out. There must be. Desperation took her. A tear ran down her slender face. Without his confession, there were no solid means by which to charge him. All she could do now was weigh up her options. She stood with Xyhoni at her side, pacing tirelessly round the golden throne room. “Highness?” Lord Jork had emerged from his hiding place. “If I may, I could sense my brother was not being honest.” The Queen held his firm gaze. “But, I know a way we could get him to talk. Xyhoni, I will need your help for this.” He gave the young man a keen stare. “Me, my Lord?” “Yes,” grinned Jork, “You.” Violetta threw the pair a confused look. They stood before the throne that had once been her

father's, looking intently upon one another. “Xyhoni, has your master ever spoken much of potions?” Jork asked. The question was incredibly direct, making Xyhoni falter somewhat in his speech. “W-what sort of p-potion?” He stammered. Jork gave another one of his cheeky smiles, for which he was becoming fairly infamous. Xyhoni had little idea as to what he was thinking, but the look hinted at some wild secret. “What is it?” The Queen interjected. Jork beckoned her closer to them. “As far as I know, Xyhoni's master is quite the adept alchemist, especially when it comes to truth serum.” Lord Jork's voice carried through the room. “Xyhoni, please send word to King Aemon at once. Mention truth serum. He'll understand. Here.” He handed the sprite a fresh sheet of parchment; a letter he'd prepared for the honoured King. “But, I don't understand.” Xyhoni held a puzzled look as he stared down at the yellowing parchment. “Read it,” Jork urged, “It will clear things up.” Xyhoni sighed and drew the parchment close.

'Dear King Aemon, I trust you are well and have received this letter. On condition that we cannot get my brother; Prince Arlas, to attest to the truth of his traitorous acts, I hereby request if it is possible for you to make us a potion; one which acts as a truth-telling serum. Please would you send us a speedy reply? This is of the utmost urgency. All the best, Lord Jork; of the Autumn Air Realm.' “So?” Xyhoni stared down at the page, his hands quivering as the penny dropped. Lord Jork drew close, helping to steady his shaking hands. He turned to the Queen. His face was set in a serious frown. “If we acquire this potion, Highness, then I guarantee you'll get your answers.” Violetta nodded. Her mind was somewhat preoccupied. Thoughts of her mother and brother zipped through her head. Her lips trembled. They were her family; all dearly departed now, along with her courageous father. She rounded on Xyhoni, her hand outstretched.

“We've got nothing to lose,” she said, “I'm in.” She beckoned him to her. Knowing that anyone besides Lord Jork could be watching, she subtly placed her arms around him, in a gesture of their close friendship. “You must leave now, Xyhoni,” she whispered gently, “I haven't many days until the baby is born.” He looked down with sad eyes. The Queen knew how loyal he was to his post. Something showed in him; some reminder of his feelings that should an outsider see, would undoubtedly go punished. Her eyes couldn't help but linger on his full mouth. She remembered just how much she'd adored his touch. She subconsciously stroked her bulging bump. “I really do appreciate all you do. My Xyhoni.” Her last words caught his ears off-guard, prompting a thin, sad smile to flutter across his lips. “I will depart at once, Highness.” As he strode down the narrow room, the Queen's eyes frowned. She wished she could be more open with him; to show their affection in front of her people. Xyhoni turned as he reached the doorway. A sudden look of urgency swept over him. With no warning, he strode back up the room, eyes fixed on his dearest love. Before she knew it, Violetta was

being drawn up against him in a scandalous manner. She felt a heady warmth rush through her being, daring to let the moment go on. “Until we meet again,” he breathed, “I shall be swift.” He bent forward, his voice barely a whisper. “My dearest love.” Xyhoni was true to his word. No more than a day had passed when he returned. He strode casually into the Summer gardens where Jermise was coaching the Queen on her birth. “Now remember, Highness, you must keep your breathing even.” Xyhoni watched them from afar. It was no lie; Violetta was glowing. Her beauty had only enhanced with her pregnancy. He blew out a breath, pacing his way across the lush lawns. “Ladies.” He drew their attention to something clutched in his hand. “I return today with our gift from King Aemon.” He offered a fine leather pouch to the Queen. “Highness.” Violetta's heart leapt at the sight of him. She restrained herself from kissing his cheek, graciously accepting the leather pouch. Her cheeks pulled up at the corners as she took a tentative peek inside. An elegant hand-written scroll lay within, practically begging for its words to be read. The Queen managed to prize it out, quickly unfurling its

yellowed edges. The hand of King Aemon greeted her; 'Queen Violetta, I hope this day finds you well. Your father certainly would be proud of all that you are seeking to achieve. As requested, I have concocted the potion best known as 'truth serum.' You should know that there is no need for it to be ingested. If it touches a person's skin, it will instantly be absorbed. The effects are immediate. I know that the answers you seek will give you great peace of mind in this solemn time. Please take good care of yourself, for you are far more precious than most I have ever known. I bid you good luck with drawing the truth from Arlas' lips. Have courage, dear child. I hope this remedy sheds some light on your troubles. All strength to you, King Aemon-Earth. ' *

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The Queen fished around inside the small pouch. There was no potion. “Xyhoni. I think we have a...” She glanced

around, to find him holding the vial up for her to see. “...problem.” Violetta smiled. “Excellent work!” Jermise exclaimed. The Queen agreed with a nod of her head. “So Highness,” cried Xyhoni, “There remains only one question.” He brought the vial to her quivering palms. “How do we get Prince Arlas to drink it?” Violetta nearly burst out giggling. “We don't.” Seeing Xyhoni's puzzled look, she drew close, her hands held out. “The King said he only needs to have it on his skin. So...” She waggled her fingers around in demonstration. “We just need him to touch it. Then the truth will flow from his lips. Send word to Lord Jork. We are ready.” Arlas' condition had grown no better. Great beads of sweat struggled to keep a hold on his skin. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair plastered back. He waited there in his corroded cage, his final moments stretching on. Violetta descended the dungeon steps. For the last time. She found herself hoping. The harsh click-clack of shoes against cobbles was all that echoed through the dusty

chamber. She approached the cell with Xyhoni in tow, but was barely able to feel the same tingling sensation. Arlas' powers had grown weak. Exhaustion had drained him, making him no more of a threat than any other human. The Queen had asked the guards to remain this time, in case witnesses were needed to prove the confession. Again, Lord Jork took up his own post, hiding away within the deepest shadows. “Arlas. I trust you're keeping well.” The Prince's eyes wandered to the approaching monarch, becoming fierce daggers which longed to slice through her. He leant back slightly from the dingy bars, studying her, his interest piqued. “Is something the matter, Highness?” He mocked. Violetta kept her face blank. He's just attempting to rile you. She thought. Ignore his taunts. Just get close. The Queen was uncertain of how she'd succeed. Nevertheless, she readied herself, settling on the art of flattery. “It's a shame we had to dirty that handsome face of yours, Arlas.” Violetta gave him a lust-filled look. Although heavily pregnant, she was still a vision of incomparable beauty. She cocked her hip to one side as she walked, swaying ever so slightly to

catch his eye. “You know, Arlas, I do wonder about you.” She moved seductively; slowly, towards his cell door. Xyhoni remained deep in the shadows. The Queen was certain that his teeth were probably gritted in rage, but she owed it to her family to reveal the truth. She drew level with the Prince's cell, pushing herself up against the cold steel bars. “Just how long would you have waited to kill me?” She asked, her voice smoother than the finest silk. Her less than modest cleavage spilled out from her dress, her hair falling slick, down her lower back. Arlas' eyes snapped to attention. “My my, Majesty, aren't we well equipped.” He lingered there by the cool cell door, his hands aching to pull her close. To her death. Without warning, he dove upon the sweet impulse. His hands lashed out towards her throat, but hers were quicker and struck him hard. No sooner had she scratched his skin, had the Prince's body shuddered and halted. His face was blank, save for his eyes, for they remained as alert as ever. “I'm sorry it had to come to this, Arlas, but you gave me no choice.” Victorious, the Queen held up her hand, in which a metal lock-pick could be seen. She noted the

subtle change in the Prince's eyes; the way his pupils shrank with fear. She half-turned at a breeze behind her. Xyhoni's presence, she had guessed. “Are you alright?” It was only a whisper, but the Queen heard. She turned back to the sweat-slicked Prince, using one hand to send a subtle answer back to her love. “Now Arlas, you will listen to me! Did you have any part in Reiza and Fadius' dark schemes?” Reluctantly, the Prince nodded. “I see.” Violetta paced along to her right. She needed to get her answer; the most crucial answer she'd ever sought. “And did you also cause that storm a few years back? The one that gravely injured my mother and brother?” The Prince's lips quivered somewhat. His elder brother looked on in disgust. His lips seemed to vibrate, casually opening and closing, as though he were doing his best to keep quiet. Violetta could see the fresh sweat on his brow and the way he bit his lip in panic. His mouth gradually began to unfurl. The Queen leant forward eagerly, hoping they would spill his best kept secret. “Yee-eee-esssss!”

Lord Jork burst out from his hiding place. “I knew it! You snake!” He lunged for his brother.Realizing just in time that the door was still closed, he halted abruptly, glaring at Arlas. With the confession clearly out of the way, the Queen had no problems with letting him speak. She needn't have gasped at Arlas' answer, yet she had. After so many years of silent torture, it was only now that she finally felt some relief. She was not the guilty party. This man standing before her was. He was the one who had taken her family; her mother and brother, before her father's time. She drew up close beside Lord Jork, staring into the face of her brother's killer. The Queen brought her arm arcing swiftly forward, her voice a courageous roar of thunder. “Prince Arlas of the Autumn Realm, for the crimes of High Treason and repetitive murder, I hereby sentence you to immediate execution!”

Chapter TwentyFive The darkness consumed her, her voice silenced by terrible pain. Arlas' execution was set for tomorrow. The Queen would not be there. She daren't look upon him again. Lord Jork would. He would watch gladly while his brother; evil as he was, paid the price for murdering his dearest friends. The Queen's sweat-slicked flesh clung to her bedsheets. She lay there panting, wanting so badly to move herself. She couldn't. Every inch she turned, the pain tightened its grip. She started to panic. Her mind raced horribly as she planned her next move. My remedies. She strained to shift herself over, reaching out for the medicines her Doctor had left. They were close by, just there on the night-stand. Try as she might, she could not reach them. “Okay,” she whispered into the darkness. Violetta took a deep breath and with all of her strength, she urged herself forward. Her body quickly rolled itself over. She howled with fresh pain as her hand struck the closest bottle, sending it

flying across the room. A harsh shattering of glass told her that one bottle was now gone. Great. She thought. She couldn't stop rolling. The pain ignited as she crashed to the floor, her back slamming hard against the firm oak frame. Violetta's teeth grazed her lips. She leant her head gently back, able to taste the blood which pooled in her mouth. She grasped at her throbbing head. “It's...okay,” she tried to reassure herself, “We'll be okay.” She cupped her hands around her stomach, straining to get at another bottle. “Ah!” As she managed to drag a potion from its place, a sharp pain knifed through her, followed by a pop and an urgent gushing. Violetta froze in place. My waters! She practically tore the top from the bottle, gulping down the entirety of its slick contents. “HELP!” At her fearful cry, Xyhoni rushed in, keeping strict to his dutiful promises. He looked around. Nothing but darkness. His brows furrowed as he searched for the lamps, one hand spread out against the nearest wall. Click. The room was given a heavenly glow, the darkness now vanquished from the Queen's bed-chambers. “Vi!” In his panic, he threw formality aside. He'd found the Queen lying by the edge of her bed, limbs

spread out as she cried helplessly. “Tell me,” Violetta wheezed, they...executed the Prince? Ahh!”

“Have

Xyhoni was taken aback by her shriek. Seeing her in such merciless agony, he quickly knelt beside her, stroking her hair in a gentle manner. It seemed odd to him that amid all her pain, she would ask such a thing. “I was told he is still to be executed. At dawn.” The Queen looked as though she would cry with joy. She nodded in relief as he whispered kind words to help ease her pain. “Please?” Her hand suddenly gripped tight onto his. Her eyes searched for something he could not yet give her. “Please. I've taken some of my remedies. I need you to...help me.” Xyhoni gave her a meaningful stare. “I'll be right back. Stay here.” His smile was apologetic, but he had no other choice. If the baby was coming, then they needed a Doctor. In no time at all he returned with Jermise. Her hair was a mess, having risen mid-slumber, yet she wore a smile for all to see. A concerned look brewed in her eyes. She remained calm, striding ahead.

“My lady.” She offered her arms out towards the Queen. Violetta glanced up, peering through the veil of pain. In her confidante's hands was Lord Jork's gift. “Jermise.” The Queen's eyes welled up with fresh tears. “I thought it might lend you strength, your Highness.” She paced forward, placing it upon the bed. Violetta still couldn't look away. To bring her the only thing she had left of her childhood, of years spent happily with her family; it was an act that warranted true praise. Jermise turned, her arms bent stiffly. “Xyhoni! Send word for the Doctor at once. I fear we haven't got long to wait.” The young sprite saluted her. He glanced sadly at the Queen before he tore himself away. Jermise knelt down beside her. “There there,” she cooed. She pulled her close, cradling her like you would a small child. Violetta's tears continued to fall. The pain she felt was like a hot knife sweeping through her insides. Her body convulsed. “Highness? How bad is it?” Her confidante

asked. Violetta's body jerked violently. The sounds she made could be given no comparison. Her nails raked at the chamber floor, her head lolling deliriously from side to side. “Vi?!” When she failed to respond, Jermise quickly drew up. She grabbed the ball from its place on the bed, passing it into the Queen's slack grasp. Her instincts proved correct. As the Queen held the ball, her body seemed to slowly relax. Her panting lessened, as though the pain were swiftly fading away. “T-thank you,” she whimpered. Her stammered words were all Jermise needed. She brushed the Queen's matted hair from her face. “Shh, my dear. The doctor's been sent for. Meanwhile, Xyhoni knows what to tell the maids.” The hint of a smile crossed the young Queen's face. She didn't need to say it again. Jermise knew she had her thanks. The Queen's maids came and went in swift succession. They milled about with their various tasks, all hoping to get a peak at the Queen. While they may have longed to watch the spectacle in full swing, Jermise hurriedly shooed them away.

Violetta needn't be bothered by them; with their leering eyes and their dark grins. She jumped as one maid ran straight past her. Sighing, Jermise composed herself. “That will be all for now then, girls!” The Queen's maids wore solemn faces. They set down whatever they happened to be carrying and sulked off, out of the chamber door. Jermise glanced back to the exhausted Queen, who for now was resting upon her bed. Plump pillows propped up her head and back. Her comfort was their main priority. Jermise returned her eyes to the other side of the room, where an organized array of items lay still. Bowls of hot water, fresh towels, and cool cloths were among the things the maids had brought, in order to aid the Queen's birthing process. “Hmm.” Jermise scooped up a cloth, dunking it into a bowl of colder water. She wrung it out so it didn't drip. She sat by the edge of the Queen's four-poster, dabbing lightly at her flushed skin. “Mmm.” Violetta smiled faintly. Her eyes were shut, but she knew who was there. “Thank you, Jermise.” Her confidante casually moved to her neck.

“We must keep you hydrated,” she insisted. She dabbed lightly around the Queen's chin. As she lay back, the inner pain sharply increased. Despite holding Lord Jork's gift, it now seemed to crush her lungs. “Get it out!” She managed to cry. Her tone was hysterical; not a good sign. Her confidante hurriedly bathed the rag anew, ringing it back out to hand to the Queen. Violetta leant up as best she could. She grabbed the rag, unashamedly dabbing at her exposed breasts. The chamber door opened and Jermise whipped round. Xyhoni stepped in. His face blanched as he spied the Queen. “Goodness!” Violetta continued to groan in exertion. “Where is the Doctor?!” She cried. Jermise called the young man to her side. “Where is the Doctor, Xyhoni? This is urgent!” He gave Jermise an apologetic look. “I'm sorry. Nobody can get a hold of her. Also, Lord Jork is here to see the Queen. What should I tell him?” “Here.” Violetta beckoned him over. She was growing weak, her face flushed. “Bring him to me.”

“Good God!” Lord Jork raced towards the Queen. She did not look well. He felt the ruler's clammy head. “Still no Doctor?” He asked, worried. Xyhoni shook his head. “In that case.” Lord Jork quickly rolled up his sleeves, retreating to one of the bowls of water. “I'll have to deliver it myself.” He washed his hands vigorously, much to the amazement of the other three. “Forgive me my Lord,” Jermise said, cutting in before Xyhoni could. “But is this really your area of expertise?” Jork could hear the doubt in her tone. He eyed her carefully, making sure to pick up some gloves from an oak side-table. “Whether you believe it or not, I actually delivered my younger brother.” Jermise's mouth closed firmly shut. “Er...Here.” She fumbled about with a clean white towel and with the help of Lord Jork, managed to spread it below the Queen. Violetta moved into a more comfortable position, anxious but happy they at least had someone.

“I must start the examination now, Highness,” Jork mumbled. Xyhoni's face flushed scarlet. He turned, whispering a few words to Jork, before leaving the slam of the door to announce his departure. “Pay no heed,” Jork told the Queen, “Most men cannot stand the sight of a woman in labour. They don't know what to do and therefore feel helpless to stop the pain. But, he did tell me to give you this.” Lord Jork produced the emerald heart. Violetta felt shock rush through her. She silently forced herself to smile. She was becoming forgetful of late and the heart was always going missing. “Thank you,” she managed between gasps. Jork grinned. “That's quite alright, Highness. Now, nice deep breath.” Violetta's screams echoed round the chamber. Lord Jork was almost finished, but it was all the Queen could do not to kick him away. “Okay, done.” The blank-faced Lord removed his gloved hands. “Seven centimetres I'm afraid, Highness. Almost time to push.” Violetta felt her mind race. Her heart skipped, making her shake. “No...please.”

Her breathing was shaky as she shook her head, her brow dewed with beads of sweat. She clutched the emerald heart, as well as Jork's gift. Her confidante's hand was pressed onto the heart, lending her strength as she fought the blunt pain. The Queen saw Jork smile as he noticed the ball. “Please, I think I have more time!” She cried, “I think...Ahhhh!!” Jork dove forward, appearing desperate. “On second thought, best push now!” The Queen gave a disbelieving look as another surge of pain swept through her. Her face twisted, muscles contracting. “That's it, Highness. Now push!” Cried Jork. Jermise let the young Queen squeeze her hand tighter; for leverage as well as an outlet for pain. Jork's ball rolled onto the floor, but she refused to let go of Xyhoni's heart. “Ahhhh!!” She gripped Jermise's hand as hard as she could. Her panting grew heavy as she pushed from her stomach, her chin resting against the top of her chest. “I...can't!” She wailed helplessly. Lord Jork was readying himself below her. He gently stroked the Queen's leg, cheering her on.

“Yes, you can!” He scooped up the ball and laid it beside her. “Hold onto my gift and push, Highness! I can see the head!” Violetta's face was streaked with tears. She placed one hand on the side of the ball. She didn't know what was going on, but as she squeezed Jermise's hand, she gave her body one last burst of force. “Ahh!” Her mind exploded with a powerful release. She had never experienced anything like it. Her body spasmed from head to toe, limbs falling limply by her sides. She was vaguely aware of something which practically slipped from between her thighs. Violetta felt something cool on her forehead. It was nice. Soothing. She opened her eyes to the dim lamp-light, wondering when she'd fallen asleep. “Highness!” Jermise's faced greeted her, her lips breaking into a smile. “Wh-what happened?” Violetta moaned. Her voice was groggy and out of sorts. “You passed out a few minutes ago.” The familiar voice of Lord Jork came from below her bed. Suddenly anxious, Violetta did her best to

sit up. She craned her neck, but it was no use. She couldn't see, too exhausted to move. A sudden pain cut through her groin, very different from the hurt of moments ago. Jork seemed to be fussing with something. I want to see, Violetta thought, I want to see...my baby? Jermise delicately stroked the Queen's hair which was sopping with sweat against the firm headboard. She whispered words of great comfort and praise, letting her know that she had done well. “That's better.” Jork's words were muffled as he came into view. He smiled at the Queen. Xyhoni now stood beside the Lord. Jork clutched a small bundle within his arms. It was well wrapped, a fluffy red towel being all she could see. For a moment, she was sure she'd seen a blue glow. The Queen shook her head, so focused on the silence which stood between them. Slowly, she rolled the ball to Jermise, just as Lord Jork edged forward with the bundle. Violetta's hands began to shake. In one hand, she still held the sparkling green heart. She gently rested it beside her lap. She glanced to Xyhoni who gave a reassuring nod. “Go on,” he said, prompting her to unwrap the towel. With caution the Queen reached inside, unfolding the layers until she stopped, amazed. It

was a rare sight which lay before her. A babe of surpassing beauty lay there,swaddled in the lower half of the warm fabric. Beautiful green eyes stared back at her, large and blinking. Smiling. Violetta felt the sincerest form of love rush through her. She had no words to describe her joy. No words to describe the feeling of completion that came from holding her first born child. A child who had risen from the flames of her hatred, and now love. “It's a girl!” The Queen turned slowly to her father's old friend. “She's not crying.” She looked back to her baby who merely smiled. Lord Jork almost fitted with laughter, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Of course not, Majesty. She's an immortal child, just like you were. No magical Royal is born whilst screaming.” Violetta's memories rushed back to her. “Ah, yes,” she murmured, somewhat distracted. Her puzzled expression swapped itself out for one of contentment. She turned her gaze back to her perfect child, nuzzling her cheek with the tip of her nose. “She's perfect.”

Xyhoni drew near, planting a soft kiss upon the Queen's brow. “Just like her mother.” Neither Jork, nor Jermise said anything to this. Violetta felt her heart glow as she stared into the eyes that had sparked true love. She held his image within her mind, turning to trace her newborn’s soft skin. She could hardly believe that she was real. Jermise surprised her, leaning in and massaging her hands as she studied the child. ”They're beautiful, Vi.” The Queen gave her an approving look. “So, do we have a name in mind?” Jork asked from the end of the bed. Violetta nodded. ”Yes.” A single tear clung to her cheek as she gazed up once more into the eyes of Xyhoni. “Her name is Eleanor.”