Romantasy with magic, passion, and yearning
Fate's Forbidden Embrace
Prologue
A cry resounded in the palace.
Mere moments before it, a hooded figure infiltrated the palace grounds as a storm roared against the grey stone castle’s arched windows. Lightning strikes gave a frightening appearance to the shadows of the curtains, and the sound of the streaming raindrops was like a distant hum to the figure’s ears. Tall and slender, her face completely covered under her hood, she slipped silently through the corridors in search of her target. She had a simple mission: end the queen’s life.
With a simple wave of her hand, two floating compass needles appeared in the middle of her gloved palm, spinning rapidly before halting in a westward direction. The magical compass evaporated in a volley of small glowing particles. One certainty went through her mind: the queen slept in a nearby bedroom.
The figure’s master had given her this mission. No details had been provided beyond the fact that the queen had to die. Failure would not be tolerated. Accepting to do it was the only choice she had, and she would be certain to fulfill the order.
The door called to her, whispering. The figure crouched down on her knees, raising her finger to the lock. A click echoed, and the handle opened on its own accord, a simple lockpicking spell willing it to open the door to the room ahead.
The figure entered the large bedroom before closing the door behind her without a sound. Curtains half open and letting in a faint bluish light, the rain created a rippling pattern on the white walls of the room. The furniture was simple, dark, and adorned with silver accents, like the rest of the palace. Pretty ordinary for a queen’s chamber.
The queen slept in a four-poster bed. Her long auburn hair was pulled back into a loose bun above her head. Her sleeping face showed a frightened expression, aging her ever so slightly. Eyebrows furrowed, they creased her forehead, twisting her features in fear. Tossing and turning, she tangled herself in the sheets, moaning incomprehensible words. A nightmare haunted her, like a shadow following her sleep.
The assassin approached the bed slowly, muffling her steps with a spell, but stopped abruptly when the queen turned over in her sleep, facing away. After a minute, the figure continued, making sure her target was still sleeping. She removed a dagger encrusted with a ruby from her belt, hidden under her black cloak. The queen awoke, her eyes glancing around the room for any sign of danger. A scream escaped her chest, but it was short-lived. In a sharp but calculated blow, the figure slit the queen’s throat, intentionally placing the weapon on the bed once the gruesome crime was done. The queen gripped her wound and fell back onto the bed, limp. A pool of blood gushed from her neck, staining the tangled white sheets around her.
The murderer vanished into thin air, a teleportation spell in action.
Several minutes passed before a man rushed into the room. His features were taut with fear, his eyes searching for the source of the scream. He searched for his beloved, only to find her corpse bleeding out. Emotions swirling inside him, he approached the bed, delicately taking the body of his queen in his arms. Her skin was slowly losing its warmth, the pink flush draining away. Her empty gaze stared at the ceiling. Only a few hours ago, they were full of sparkle and energy. The colour itself, an emerald green, darkened almost to an onyx.
The king grabbed the blood-soaked weapon to examine it for a few moments, only to throw it somewhere in the room, anger coiling inside him. Placing his forehead on hers, tears welled up in his eyes. He gently closed her eyelids, making her look as if peace exuded from her. He had not been able to protect her, once again. It was not long before his face bathed in unparalleled sorrow, tears creating furrows down his cheeks. He suspected this moment would come, but he could do nothing to stop fate. Losing control over his emotions, he cried and whispered sweet things to her, trembling as he rocked her now cold body. For so long he had tried to keep his mask of indifference in place, but at the sight of his beloved, all the facades crumbled. He could not be strong when she lay in his arms, dead.
“I never should have made you queen. That crown was not for you, as it put a target on your back.” It was the first and last time he would make that horrible mistake.
A group of servants appeared on the threshold of the door, exclaiming in surprise and shock as they saw the scene unfold before their eyes. Their king held the queen in his bloodied hands.
He quickly was accused of the murder of his wife, even if he had nothing to do with it. They would do anything to put the blame on him, as many people disliked that he possessed something they had been robbed of a long time ago: immortality.
The king tried to convince the servants of his innocence, but without success. Horror-struck, they were not able to rationalize the situation. Crying his eyes out, he continued to hold his queen, accusations ringing in his ears like a distant chaos. Yet he paid little attention to it. The queen was, in his eyes, the most important person on this stormy night. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. They could yell and gasp as much as they wanted, but he would not let them touch her.
The king kissed her forehead, cold stinging his lips, and he whispered Happy Birthday before getting out of bed, the queen still in his arms. Her body then began to glow gently as she disappeared from the face of the earth again in a rain of glowing magical sparks.
A second scream tore through the night.
Chapter 1 - Keirah Aster Sterle
Feet on the other side of the railing, I was on the verge of grabbing the dangling rope made of sheets.
The flowers in the gardens below disappeared into tiny specks of yellow, white, and red as my head spun from the height. Falling would surely lead to my death.
Hesitation and fear, like a punch to the stomach, stopped my course of action. Did I really want to get off that balcony? I did not even know how I got to the point of trying to run away, and I could not remember how everything unfolded before that point. In a sigh, I went over the railing and placed my feet on the greyish stone platform, ready to pull on the makeshift rope with trembling hands.
The midday sun shone its warm rays on the flower gardens below as I gathered the sheets on the balcony. On one hand, my heart begged me to escape, and on the other, my mind screamed at me to stay without challenging my parents' authority.
My head turned toward my bedroom door, and I quickly came back inside, fearing the consequences of my actions. The palace became somewhere I hated. Forbidden from exploring the outside world, my home suffocated me. My own room felt like a prison. Furnished to my taste, it did not help the smothering feeling swallowing me. Built on the wall stood floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of books, potions, empty bottles, and ingredients. It was the only thing that I liked in the room, but I could find each of these things in my hidden studio. Even then, they still made the room feel a little less like a prison and more like a safe place.
I understood my parents for acting like this, despite forbidding me everything I have ever wanted. Long ago, the separation between the vampire and human nations occurred. As I read books scattered here and there, I learned that a human sovereign had been murdered by a vampire, which set in motion this division. Living in fear of the vampires, my own family believed they were on the prowl all the time and ready to jump at the throat of anyone unlucky enough to fall victim to them. The palace’s security was akin to a reassuring cocoon, creating a barrier between me and the streets of Roshan.
Fearing that anyone might come in at that moment, I clumsily grabbed the long rope of sheets with my gloved hands. Almost dropping it to the floor, I threw it into my closet. I would undo the knots later. No time for that now, as a knock on the door froze me in place.
A familiar, mature female voice sounded from the other side of the door. “Princess Keirah, are you awake? It is noon already.”
Nervously trying to hide the rope, all I managed to mutter was a nervous, “Y-Yes, yes, just a moment.”
"Well done, Keirah," I whispered, annoyed at the person waiting outside my door for interrupting me.
Giving a final push on the closet door, I smoothed out my dress to avoid suspicion. As I regained my composure, I opened the door to three servants, the ones that dressed me daily. They were led by the fearless and severe head housemaid, Emmeline. No one knew how old she was, as she had lived for at least three generations. I never knew why she still overworked herself at her age, never taking any breaks, but I was thankful to have her close by. She was in charge of dressing me and my mother—the queen—as well as managing all the other servants.
Emmeline stepped into the doorway and glanced around my room. Misplaced or dusty items were her nemesis. Her touch could fix many problems in this palace—unfortunately, not my predicament. Her hazel eyes landed on the balcony door, and to mine, her features impassable. No sound escaped her lips, skeptical of the state of the bedroom, but she said nothing, which earned me a silent sigh of relief. In a flick of her hand, she signalled the servants to enter.
“Your dress is dirty. The girls will change you.”
Nodding, I let them do their work. “You know, Emmeline, I am old enough to dress myself.”
The head housemaid looked at her pocket watch, squinting her eyes through her round glasses, and began helping the servants to remove all the clothing layers. “Certainly, your Highness, but sometimes you have to leave some work to the girls. Indeed, with all these skirts, it is easier if you let someone else do it for you,” she replied, pulling vigorously on the laces of my corset to loosen it.
They changed my gown for a similar one, only a shade lighter. Changing clothes before meals was mandatory, but more often than not, I found myself hiding from the old servant to avoid the hassle.
“Your Highness, have you eaten?” inquired one of the girls, holding the dirty dress in her arms, the puffy fabric almost swallowing her.
Gazing into the horizon beyond the flower gardens, I did not answer her. I turned my head in her direction, asking her to repeat.
She reiterated in a softer voice. “Have you come down for lunch?”
My silence was enough of an answer, as I once again glanced beyond the colourful flowers in the distance, the dew and different hues glinting under the midday sun.
One of the girl’s cloth caps rustled as she shook her head, sighing. “You must eat, your Highness. Your parents voiced their concerns to Emmeline, as they no longer see you at meals.”
Pivoting on my heels, I locked my gaze on the one who had asked me the question, annoyance lining my face. Brown locks framed her bright blue eyes. “I doubt my absence will shake them in the slightest. I prefer to eat in my studio or only go downstairs once they are finished.”
The three women glanced at each other in a look of… exasperation? Or pity? I could not tell why eating elsewhere was such a big deal. Solitude kept me company better than my own blood. Their insistence on keeping me out of harm's way exhausted me. They could not talk about anything else but that. They controlled me but hid it behind an attitude of so-called kindness. I would rather throw myself to vampires than endure a meal in their presence. I shuddered at the thought before pushing it away.
I ignored the woman's response regarding my presence at the midday meal, and asked the old maid with an indifferent look, “Do you think, Emmeline, that I could go for a stroll in the gardens? The sun looks exquisite this afternoon.”
Surprise flashed on the old servant’s face, her lips barely pressing in a thin line. Perhaps I imagined her expression changing. “Your Highness, I doubt our Majesties will allow it. You know more than us how strict they are on the subject. If I did ask, the king would send me away immediately. I understand your desire, and I am sorry to be of no help.” A soft, but sad smile appeared at the corner of her lips, wrinkles crinkling on her skin.
I knew what her answer would be: no.
After all the years Emmeline spent taking care of me, she became like a grandmother to me. Even if she wanted the best for me, she could not afford to compromise her position as head housemaid. She had nowhere else to go, as she had never married or had children. The palace was her home and always will be. She would even die here, in the only place she had ever known.
In a sigh, my gaze flew one last time to the beautiful flowers before turning back to the servants. “I am going downstairs.”
They followed me down the halls until the two girls swerved left into another, leaving Emmeline behind me. She knew I was not stupid enough to starve myself, but I did not need to go to the dining hall to eat, as my studio had plenty of food and water to keep me alive for weeks. Even if only a slight chance that my parents could be in there existed, I still would have no desire to go. I did not hate them, but I did not like them either. My father—severe and cold—was the one who put all those rules to keep me in. My mother only listened to him, unable to do anything about it. They stifled me my whole life, and I tried to avoid them while respecting their rules as much as I could, not without a dose of disobedience.
Despite that, the only door I could go through was none other than my balcony one. My parents probably told themselves that I would not try to escape from the fourth floor. In a palace as tall as a mountain, I would have no chance of surviving the fall. The escape attempt from earlier could have ended with my death, but it did not matter. I could not care less for my life. I have been told many times that as soon as I go outside, vampires would find and kill me. Over time, my fear of them only grew. In truth, I feared them more than death, which was ridiculous.
As a child, I had a sister, Lilian. She disappeared around twenty years ago. No one knew what happened to her, and death had been the only verdict. I mourned her for days, not understanding why she would not come back after a while. She told our parents that I would get hurt if I were to even step a foot outside the palace. And if I did try—by any possible means—they would threaten me with Lilian’s ghost. It was absurd, but, as a child, it scared me. Fearing consequences, I made sure to always listen to what they told me, or almost. Following the rules proved to be a simple task. Although I did not want to stay locked up all my life, if my safety was not guaranteed outside, then why would I escape?
The question filled my mind, and yet I could barely answer it. It pained me to admit that despite knowing what I should say, my heart told me otherwise. It would be so easy to say that I should respect my parents’ wish, but, safe or not, I longed for the whole world. It seemed so interesting, as I saw it in my books, but I had to observe it through windows and doors, seeing seasons change without being able to fully experience them. Dozens of books on the subject littered my studio. I wanted to feel the grass between my toes, the warm rays of the sun on my nose, the gentle summer breeze in my hair, the cold but delicate snow. There were so many things I wanted to see and feel yet could not. Should I not take some risks? Make my life more interesting? Try to escape again, only once? Perhaps those questions were better left unanswered and shoved deep down my mind.
Once in the dining room—and certain of my parents’ absence, Emmeline quickly brought out several light dishes to my liking, including some fresh fruit salad. I ate a little, just enough to keep my stomach quiet until dinner and to satisfy her. After I was done, I got up and glanced furtively around as I left the dining room. Taking the path to my studio, I made a mental note to try to avoid anyone else for the rest of the day.
The place itself was silent and away from people, located in an unused wing of the palace in which spiders reigned over the dusty and dark corridors, slowly weaving their webs over the ceiling.
After minutes of wandering hall after hall, I came across a familiar dark wooden door decorated with gold designs. I never knew if they meant anything, important or not. Grabbing a small metal key from my corset and inserting it into the keyhole, I pulled the metal ring and entered my studio. Nights and days were spent here. Over the years, I wanted to find a secret and quiet place. A place where I could avoid all the people—mostly my parents—in the castle. And, as a child, I came across it while exploring the castle and have since returned daily.
Grabbing a small box of matches lying on the table beside the hearth, I lit the twenty or so candles that were scattered everywhere—the small window did not provide enough light. The flames’ glow revealed the contents of my studio: scattered books, empty and full bottles, special ingredients, incongruous tools. It was a circular room with a small attic—a tower dedicated to long-lost magic, but especially to alchemy and astronomy.
My sister Lilian had had magical gifts while I did not. I always thought it strange since all witches were now vampires following the Turning. Magic disappeared on the continent not long after. Maybe she had some remnant of it. Despite not knowing any magic myself, I had decided to learn how to make potions and salves through trial and error over the years. Nothing perfect, but I found a certain happiness in making the concoctions. It made me feel like a real witch.
On the upper floor, only accessible via a narrow spiral staircase, were small yet full bookshelves stacked with old books. I owed most of my knowledge to them, which were so dusty and old, the slightest touch could make them crumble. Many of them were incomprehensible, perhaps written in a forgotten language. For some others, the ink had vanished over time.
Having no idea what type of potions I wanted to make, I took a quick look at my ingredient encyclopedia. Flipping the pages, I decided on a recipe for a potion of vigor. Its usage was for those who were tired and needed energy. If prepared correctly, the person drinking it would be invigorated as if they have had a good night’s sleep. Sometimes, I would prepare a small dose of potions for the servants when they required it. It was my way of thanking them for everything they did for my family and me.
I grabbed the necessary ingredients and tools, then read the recipe.
“A few drops of moonlight dew,
A crushed sunfire root,
Three petals of a vitaly flower,
A base solution of mystic water, from the springs of the Witchvale.
The petals need to be infused with the evaporated moonlight dew before mixing it with the base over fire until it reduces slightly. The mixture should turn blue in contact with the sunfire root.”
My mind soon wandered, and the rope of sheets hanging from my balcony came back to mind. What would have happened if I had gone down? My parents would have sent a horde of guards to get me and lock me in my room—if I had survived the fall. Around my tenth birthday, I decided to escape the palace to get a closer look at the colourful and intriguing gardens. Some of my potions required crushed flower petals, but I mostly wanted to admire the colours, the sweet scents, the way they danced in the wind. It had not taken five minutes before I had found myself back in my room, crying. My parents had been furious. For hours, they—my father, as my mother stayed silent—had yelled at me because of my recklessness. Physically, I was not hurt, but mentally, it was a different story. Fear and guilt had tied my throat in a knot for days. I never wanted anything like that to happen again. It was the first time I swore to myself not to disappoint them again. That is when I learned that going out was the worst thing I could do.
I threw the ingredients needed for the concoction into the base solution, but as I stirred everything in, strange vapours began to escape from the cauldron. I failed one of the simplest concoctions. I tried again, and again. I repeated the process several times, but all unsuccessful. Placing my palms on the worktable, I took a deep breath and read the recipe again. Despite my efforts to concentrate, my mind kept wandering.
Sighing, I tried once again to create the concoction. I kept my calm and pushed all thoughts away, so I could follow the recipe to the letter, hoping it would be successful. Joy rose in my chest when I noticed the colour changing from clear to blue, as indicated in the recipe. My smile fell as soon as I glanced at all the failed attempts piled up on the corner of the table.
“I need to get rid of this.” No point in keeping them, as I could throw away the liquid and reuse the bottles. I did not like to waste ingredients, but this was entirely my fault, and I should have been more careful.
Grabbing the glass vials one by one, I placed them in a canvas bag that I threw over my shoulder after cleaning up the worktable and smothering the flames in the hearth. The kitchen was the only place where I could empty them. As I was about to pass through the door of my studio, my gaze lost itself beyond one of the small windows providing some measly sun rays: yellow and orange tinted the horizon. I spent the whole day here again, I thought as I locked the door behind me. I would not let anyone wander into my personal space. As I walked back, daydreams still crept into my head.
Back in the main wing of the castle, I snuck through each hall, hoping I would make it to the kitchen safely, tucked away in the servants’ quarter. Everything went well, until a voice, although too familiar, called out to me. “Princess Keirah, were you still hiding in some remote corner of the palace?”
A new sigh left my lips. “Yes, Emmeline. What is it? I am busy.”
The head housemaid’s gaze went to my canvas bag without commenting. “Your parents have been looking for you for a few hours now.”
My blood raced through my veins as nervousness took hold of my body. Fearing the worst, I asked Emmeline, my mouth suddenly dry, “What do they want?”
She shrugged her shoulders, which indicated that she was not aware of the situation more than I was.
“Very well, then. Where are they?”
“Our Majesties began the evening meal in the main dining room, your Highness.”
Nodding, I left Emmeline, my pace quick and my heart almost jumping out of my chest. I hated any conversation with them, but the dread I felt only heightened whenever they asked to see me. After going through a few corridors, I found myself in front of the large white wooden door to the dining room. The sunset shone its colours on the marble floor. A lump in my throat, I left the canvas bag beside the doorstep, and slowly entered the room. My father sat at the end of the table, my mother to his left. A certain imposing aura emanated from them, as they were the rulers of Roshan—Fredrick and Eleanor Aster. I closed the door behind me and met my father’s eyes. For a moment, their burnt honey colour scrutinized me. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt no love in them, only coldness. Setting down his utensil, he ordered me to sit down with a simple gesture of his hand. I chose a chair at the opposite end of the table.
“Keirah, my treasure,” my mother said softly, tucking a loose auburn lock behind her ear.
I knew it did not bode well; she always used that nickname when she wanted me to comply with her requests.
“Your twenty-sixth birthday is fast approaching. Your father and I have decided to throw a ball that will serve as both a celebration and an opportunity for you to plunge into high society. We think it is finally time to let you meet more people and perhaps find yourself a nice gentleman to marry.”
My father did not say a word, but I knew what his gaze meant: do not disappoint me.
Marriage never seemed to be an option for me. In their hearts, I would forever be the little girl who needed to be protected and who could not see the world. I have been told that I reminded them of the little princess who lived in a tower lost in the woods. It was only a fairy tale, but I recognize myself so much in that story. I thought it strange of them to organize a ball with the aim of finding me a husband. They have never hosted a ball ever since I was born. The sudden change of heart was suspicious, but I did not voice my concerns.
I managed to answer my mother despite the knot in my throat. “When will it be organized?”
“I believe that within a week—three days after your birthday—everything will be prepared. We thought hosting a ball a few days after would be best, as it may take time for guests to arrive.”
I had a week to prepare for this ball. Normally, I would have appreciated it, but the fact that my parents expected me to find a husband worried me. I always loved balls with their cheerful and upbeat atmosphere. I loved meeting new people, dancing, helping myself a lot at the buffet, laughing with the girls who had fun finding out who was the most handsome man and who danced the best—perhaps I was biased as I only went to one, many years ago. It was for one of my aunt’s birthdays, a few years before she succumbed to an illness. Since then, I never went to another ball. Despite wanting to take part in the one for my birthday, stress already ran through me.
Trying to be convincing, I offered a smile to my parents. “I cannot wait to attend. If you will excuse me, I will retire to my room.”
Accustomed to seeing me leave quickly, they said nothing.
I headed to my room, heart racing in my chest. The door shut behind me in a heavy slam. After I had removed my dress, I threw myself on the bed, drained. I fell asleep thinking about the ball. I had no intention of finding a husband, but if my parents were forcing it, I needed to obey. I should have guessed that they would do it at some point. They needed an heir after all. Sometimes, I wished I was not a princess so I could live a simpler life, devoid of all these choices forced upon me.
I believed in love, but marrying a man I only saw once was not my definition of it. I wanted to, one day, find someone who would truly love me, and it was not with one ball that it would happen.
Chapter 2 - Reyn Sullivan
The scarlet liquid swirled in my glass, as I lost myself in thought, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the tavern.
In one gulp, I downed a glass and demanded the bartender to pour me another. For a moment, he stared at me, but still did it. It did not take me thirty seconds to empty its contents again, the sweet taste of blood soothing the burn irritating my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed the waiter scrutinizing me, his lips a thin line. I assumed my seventh glass did not go unnoticed or perhaps it was due to the time, as it was barely midnight and considered early for a vampire. But I could not care less of whatever he thought of me. The king could go wherever he pleased. Holding my head in my hand, I stared into the empty glass coated with a blood-red sheen. Every year, I came to this tavern to drink. As painful as the visit was, I still needed to do it.
A brief overview of the place brought up a wave of sorrow in my chest, making me hold my breath for a second. Men, who were part of the regular clientele, sat around the tables happily clinking their beers together, as barmaids served them rounds. Several couples also sat in some of the darkest corners of the establishment, hoping for some peace and quiet, although that was impossible in a place where voices and laughter echoed on the walls. A long time ago, I found myself in their place, accompanied by the one I loved. She had passed away years ago, and honouring her memory by coming to the tavern she loved seemed like the best thing to do. Her birthday had become my mourning day.
Two Moons Tavern
One of many, but one thing set it apart from the rest: decorated with floor-to-ceiling plants, it was a real haven of peace. The wall shelves were littered with succulents, flowers, bonsais, and other plants as colourful as the rest. Candles illuminated each booth and table, creating a soft orange glow, while light ambient music played in the background. The place was as romantic as it was casual, which was rare for a tavern, and why many people loved to spend their time here.
Argus, my personal bodyguard as well as my protege, sat to my right, also holding a glass of blood in his hand. He placed it on the bar counter, before questioning me with his azure gaze. “You know, Reyn, perhaps you could get up to meet one of these ladies?”
Losing my eyes in the crowd of the tavern, I sighed. “Argus… You know very well what I think about it.”
“And? You still languish in that seedy tavern every year. One, it is not fit for a king and two, you are still young. Why stop having fun now?”
I glared at him. “It is not seedy, and I am not that young. Pleasure and pain continually follow the cycle of my life, forever preventing me from running away from them...”
He scowled, looking vaguely like a dog who had been refused a biscuit.
“I am sorry, Argus, but I cannot break the promise I made her a long time ago. I know it may be pathetic, but I am a man of my word.”
I beckoned the bartender for another refill. He finally deigned speaking to me. “Why do you drink so much? Maybe you should stop for a bit to take some water. My tavern is not a place to get drunk until you pass out, you know?”
Argus jolted up from his seat, ready to rip out the man’s throat. “Don't you ever dare speak to your king that way again.”
Fear seeped into the man’s face. “I am sincerely sorry, your Majesty. I did not recognize you, Immortal King.”
Placing my free hand on my protege’s shoulder, he calmed down as I glared at the man. “If you absolutely must know, drinking helps me forget the centuries of solitude that keep me company as well as those that await me. A good drink makes me feel alive, while misery loves my company,” I replied with a dry laugh as I got up from my stool to head toward the exit. Argus followed close behind me, angry. People know not to talk to me on my mourning day, but perhaps this bartender was not aware. How did he not recognize me? I let the matter drop, not caring for an answer.
“Reyn, you should have done something to shut him,” Argus said as soon as we walked out.
"I think you scared him enough. He will not forget it."
Not wanting to change my habits because of Argus' presence, I decided to still do what I had planned for the day. My friend appeared to ask himself some silent questions, but I knew he would not say a thing, respecting my boundaries. Argus had spent a few years by my side, and thus knew to remain silent during this mourning day. I did not have the energy to deal with people more than what was needed.
I remember, from the first time I had asked him to come with me, how grateful he was to share this special day in my company, despite not remembering my past lover. He had looked like a dog wagging his tail and I knew then that I could not turn him away anymore. He would do anything to learn more about my past and be by my side.
After striding through the alleys of my city, we arrived in front of a florist. Argus remained outside like an obedient dog. Despite his familiar relationship with me, he took his protective role seriously, never letting anyone threatening come near his king—me. The lesson had been learned when a man wanted my head after the late queen's assassination over twenty years ago. He had charged toward me, a sharp knife in his hands, and Argus intervened, but ended up seriously injured before killing the man for his actions.
Pushing open the door of the small business, a soft 'ding' rang. The shopkeeper, an old man, arranged some flowers before placing them on the window shelf for display. He did not immediately notice my presence, despite the bell, but when he did, he bowed.
I motioned for him to get up. “There is no need for formalities. I am only here to pick up my usual bouquet.”
He gave me a sad smile. “Of course, your Majesty. Here are your white primroses.”
I returned a smile that was meant to be happy, but surely was filled with sadness. “Thank you. Your payment will be sent in a few days.”
He nodded and I left the store with the bouquet in hand. As I passed through the door, the bell rang again. Argus briefly looked at the flowers, and he understood their meaning. “Are we going to her grave?”
The flowers’ sweet fragrance wafted to my nose, as I nodded in approval. “It is part of my little ritual. She loved gardens and primroses were always her favourite flower. Only difference is that she loved the yellow ones and not the white ones. On our anniversary, I used to give her a bouquet of yellows, as it is said that they mean happiness, warmth, and love. Since her death, I have brought her white ones to her grave, as they symbolize sadness and mourning.”
Heartbreak appeared on Argus' face. “I am sincerely sorry, Reyn, for what happened. I knew you still did certain things for her, but I never thought it went that far. I never understood how much you cared for her, even in death. I have never seen anyone show so much devotion. She seemed like a nice lady, even if I barely remember her.”
“The nicest and most beautiful lady. I promised her an eternity with me, so this is the least I can do to fulfill my promise, even if it hurts. ”
I led the way toward the palace’s gardens, on the opposite side of the cemetery. Argus did not hide his surprise when we did not go in the direction of the latter. My wife had loved these paths filled with flowers of all shapes and colours, so I had taken the liberty of erecting her grave under an old weeping willow that stood not far away, in a flower covered meadow, beyond the gardens. She once told me that this was where she liked to sit and read. It was another way to honour her.
We arrived in front of the tree in question after a few minutes of walking. I created an opening through the thick branches to reach the middle. A tomb made of elegant white marble reflected the rays of the moonlight piercing through the foliage, making it glow with a bluish tint. Argus stayed a few meters behind, while I knelt in front of the tomb, placing my hand on the etchings—a moon surmounted with three stars, one bigger than the others. With my other hand, I placed the bouquet of primroses on the ground.
Closing my eyes, I whispered the words etched on the white stone. “To the fading star entwined with the everlasting moon.” I sighed. “If you knew how much I miss you. Every goodbye is worse than the last and makes me wonder when I will finally be free of them.”
I stayed in this position for a long time, tears beading at the corners of my eyes. It has been years, and yet, I could not get over the grief and the pain. Instead of getting better, it worsened a little everyday. The nightmare continued. Kneeling, I lost track of time, and, as I opened my eyes, the moon went away, letting dawn paint the sky.
When I turned around, Argus was gone. I had not heard him walk away.
I stood up slowly, wiping away the tears, hoping they had not created furrows on my cheeks. Showing emotions in front of Argus—or anyone—had always been hard. I was not heartless, I only preferred not to. I needed to put on a mask; the cold king accused of murder. Even after all these years, the dust had not settled, so I became who they thought I was. Why would I bother convincing an entire population when they were disillusioned? I had stopped trying to fix the situation a long time ago.
Turning on my heel, my back to the tomb, I headed in the direction of the way through the gardens’ paths, then to the nearest entryway. A castle as ancient as Draven's had a thousand and one doors, all leading to mysterious places. Growing up, I always loved exploring the palace to find the strangest nooks and crannies.
As soon as I walked through one of the side doors, I sighed deeply as a servant arrived immediately to remove the excess layers of clothing from me. He looked at the white primrose that almost fell from one of the jacket’s pockets, then nodded to himself. He knew what that meant. The servants and visitors stayed as far away from me as possible, out of respect, but perhaps they were afraid that I would unleash some anger on them, again. I remember leaving the room and slamming the door when a servant came in and accused me of murdering the queen, before the incident with Argus and the man. This other one ran away when he saw my wrath. I insulted everyone who dared to speak ill of her and made me responsible for her death. Some were bitten, others were injured, and a few unfortunates died. I did not care about anything or anyone other than her. Regret and guilt had never left me for what I did to them, deserved or not.
The servant paused for a few moments, then hesitated to open his mouth. Seeing that he did not know what to do, I let him speak.
“Your Majesty, I am new here, but I wanted to tell you my deepest condolences.”
I answered him coldly. “Thank you, now be on your way.”
His eyes widened, nervousness glazing them, and he bowed. “The evening meal has been served in the dining room.” He scrambled away.
I headed there, and several delicious scents floated to my nose as I pushed open the doors, but only one of them caught my attention: the smell of blood. Aware that I drank some only a few hours ago, I could not help but think that another glass would do me good. Half slumping in my chair, I sipped the nectar while some fragments of memories of my wife danced on my mind, ever haunting me like a ghost tied to this earth. It took an effort not to let sorrow overwhelm me.
She loved walking through the gardens and feeling the sun on her skin. Before she arrived at the palace, it was a hostile land. She began by plowing the flowerbeds, sowing the seeds, and even watered them daily. She insisted on doing everything by hand and never once let the gardener touch her flowers. After a few years, the palace courtyard had been transformed into a colourful, growing garden. She was the ray of sunshine that looked at Draven and brought it back to life. My kingdom changed after her passage. A slight smile floated on my lips as I continued to replay memories of our years together in my head.
After losing track of time, I decided to rest. As a vampire, I did not want to stay out during daytime, as the sun tended to be painful.
***
The night had been filled with emotion—mostly tears—that I hoped no one other than Argus witnessed. The door to my private quarters opened in a dull creak, marking the venerable age of the palace. It closed behind me with the same menacing sound. Blood, overfilling my system and with similar effects to those of alcohol, prevented me from getting rid of my clothes without struggle. Frustrated, I decided to simply sleep with them on.
The next day, I sat in my office doing all the paperwork regarding the political issues between the ruling Clans of Draven. Each owned part of the territory, but the heirs had to send me a report on their political situation every month. Managing conflicts between them has never been easier, yet annoying.
A knock on the door brought me back to reality. A courier entered, a letter lying on the silver platter he held. Without a word, he handed it to me. Curious to read the name Sullen Nyr in fine letters, I asked him, “Who did this come from, and how do they know about my alias?”
The courier shrugged. “This has been delivered to your other property a few days ago, your Majesty.”
Letter opener in hand, I thanked the courier before dismissing him from my office. Breaking the vibrant orange seal with a familiar emblem—a star above a palace—I unfolded the letter.
“Dear Duke of Highbridge,
I hope this letter finds you without problem. We heard of your presence in the far lands of our territory. Therefore, we hope to meet you in a week at the palace for the occasion of the princess' twenty-sixth birthday. We await your presence at the ball.
Sincerely, Queen Eleanor of Roshan.”
As I finished reading, Argus entered my office. I glared at him. “Why are you here? Don't you have obligations to fulfill?”
“I am here to make sure you accept the invitation.”
“That is out of the question. They can have the ball without me. And how do you even know about the invitation?” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest, staring at him.
He imitated my gestures like a child, before shrugging, a grin at the corner of his lips. “My secret. And why not go? You have not gone out except for your mourning day and a few other occasions. Reyn, if I can be honest with you, I am a little worried about your health. Maybe if you went out, it would help? You spend more and more time cooped up in your office, drinking glass after glass of blood, whiskey or whatever. Can I do anything to help you?”
“No, Argus. I simply wish to be alone, but other than that I am fine.”
I could see the genuine worry in his eyes. Hiding my mental state from the man who supported me from a young age proved to be harder than anticipated. He discerned my emotions like an open book. I never liked it, but I could not stop it either.
In a sigh, I massaged my temples. I did not know what to do. Raising my gaze to his, I avoided the question he asked. “I will think about it,” I said before throwing the letter in my desk drawer. Argus’ face turned into a crestfallen pout, and he walked out of my office, his footsteps heavy.