Love Worth Fighting For- Sophitz Story

Chapter 44

Sophie's POV

"I'm so bored" I groaned to Iggy, continuing to stuff the poor imp with the odd, leaf Biana had given me -a futile attempt to get the carnivorous animal to go all veg, no meat.

In response he presented me with one of his, cage shattering, burps, only you Sophie Foster would keep a stinky imp as pet.

"I have officially lost my mind" the castle had gone eerily quiet, over the last week, and it was getting to me, a quiet castle, was a foreign concept, even for Gilramore, but maybe this was an opportunity? An empty castle, no one to catch me, on a little escapade, through the castle, the place I would one day have to call home.

The plan had already started to concoct in my mind, like a simmering broth, and before I knew it, I had left my room, not daring a second glance back, the soft click! Of my shoes echoed through the unnervingly mute hallways.

Home.

This should be my home. Yet it could never be further, I felt empty here, cold, the walls always seemed to be closing in, so constricting yet so empty,

So caught up in my thoughts I hardly realised the click! of my heels disintegrate into a far off sound, and when I took in my surroundings my jaw fell slack; the cold floor, was now replaced with a deep, rich red carpet, and the cold stone walls were now no more, substituted with mother pearl stark walls, chandeliers with gold chains connecting variously cut jewels hung from the high ceiling, but what caught my eye were the different portraits lining the walls down the long corridor, each portrait accompanied with a gold plaque, below the lavish frame,

I strolled down the hallway, each elf had the same hard expression, rivalling a statue, permanently etched into their features, but one didn't his eyes were soft and held warmth despise, the pride and dominance radiating through the painting, his chin tilted ever so slightly, a hand placed on his hip, and despite the still life painting, his grey-blue eyes still danced with life, from his immaculate raven hair and sharp features, there was a rouge handsomeness to him,

"Brant Alger Elrand" I read to myself, brushing my fingers over the name engraved on the plaque

"poor soul" I bit back the scream that threatened to escape the barricade of my lips, her voice was like whispers of silk, yet colder than the summit of Everest, sharper than a newly weld sword,

Begrudgingly I turned around, to see my worst nightmare, stolen straight of a Stephen King novel

"Lady Vespera" I clumsily bowed

"Sophie dear, how are you faring?" she said, dusting an invisible speckled off her rich gown,

The word 'fine' lodged in my throat because it wasn't 'fine'

I shrugged, "managing"

She looked at me with the cold hard eyes that the portraits were all mirroring, "the wedding preparations are going well dear, do not fret"

'I wasn't fretting' I wanted to tell her, 'I would actually be better if the wedding crashes and down and burns to a crisp' but I kept that at the back of my conscience instead saying "how are you, your highness"

"fine dear," a smile dawned her features, yet the light gesture looked so forced she looked ready to crack at any moment "I see you have found our Hall Of The Lost" she said as her eyes raked over the painting's hanging from the stark walls

"the... forgive my ignorance, but the what?"

"The Hall of The Lost" she repeated "a commemoration, to our ancestors"

Her eyes softened as she cast her eyes on the painting before us, the painting I had been examining only a few minutes ago "Brant Alger Elrand" she said "my son" there was a certain sorrow laced through her words that made my heart sink, and splinter

"he was a brave soul, a loyal soul, a soul fit for a king" she whispered "he would light up even the darkest of rooms... and then he was taken from us far too quickly" I had never heard the former queen like this, the ice in her voice melting away, leaving a raw agony

"19" I said grazing my eyes at the plaque "I hope you don't mind me asking, your highness, but how did he leave us"

Her azure eyes sparked with fury, and when she faced me the fury roared brighter, wilder, than Everblaze "that..." she gritted "is... irrelevant"

Assuming that was the end of the nerving conversation I turned to leave, but a cold grip around my wrist stopped me dead in my tracks

"Sophie..." she spoke with disgust, like she had just coated her mouth with slime "I hope you know the power and responsibilities of being queen, especially queen of Gilramore, it is more than a mere a title, you must take gruesome decisions, you must be ruthless" and with that my wrists were freed, and with a haste nod of my head, I left, her gaze still piercing through me, as I hurried out

Callum's POV

A loud knock echoed through my office, but before I could respond my mother came waltzing in, a lavish crimson gown trailing around her, yet she dawned, an expression, escaped from a child's nightmare

"good evening son," she said, sitting in the chair in front of me

"afternoon mother," I said glancing back down to the plethora of paper sprawled across my table,

"how has your day been, son" it felt odd, mother couldn't care less about me, she had made it very clear the day of my coronation, that Gilramore would be doomed if I were king, yet here I am, Gilramore thriving, a crown adorning my head

"good" I replied, before the air knocked out of my lungs 

"you can't marry princess Sophie" I looked at her dumbfounded at what she had just said

"what?" I growled lowly, putting my quill down on the parchment

"you can't marry her" it sounded like nails on a chalkboard

"why in heavens not? mother"

"she is not fit for queen; she will be the bane of Gilramore" mother snapped

"you are speaking malarkey, mother, I will marry Sophie, and nothing can stop me," I said standing from my chair "may I remind you, that you retired your crown"

"not for you!" she sneered "For... for Brant"

"guess what mother, Brant is dead, he left his legacy for me, so you should just get over him and move on!" I spat, done with my mother's obsession,

"no..." she whispered, with a shake of her head "never, I'm sorry son, I was wrong, Sophie isn't the bane of Gilramore, you are"

The blood roared in my ears "you are leading us to an impending doom, you are the fall of Gilramore, you, are, not, Brant" and with that, she left, slamming the door with a deafening Bang!

I knew I would never be Brant, for Brant was something else, driven by not only by the intoxication of power, but also something else, mother deemed it useless, father deemed it a sin, but me, me... I didn't know it was possible.

Brant was driven by the alluring power of love.

The same love, that consequently took his life from him.