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Prologue

        It shouldn't have started like this. If Queen Cecilia hadn't fallen in love as hard as she had, perhaps this would have been a happier story. That, however, is not the case.

Queen Cecilia stands before an altar in her room, her lover, the goddess Arisanna, sits upon it. Cecilia is a tall and very frail-looking woman who seems as if she'd topple if blown hard enough. Cecilia has been weeping, her vibrant gold eyes have grown red and puffy. Her tawny-coloured hair is a frizzled mess.

"My love, is what you have told me a mere jest?" Cecilia begs her lover. She begs the heavens that it is untrue. That her baby boy will grow up a tyrant, that he will not grow up to be the happy young man she hoped for.

"I wish it were not," The goddess paces the altar, tugging at her plaited hair. "Because your daughter is of Trivian and Immortal blood and will grow up with many admirers, your son will become angry. He, also of mixed blood, will become so protective of her that he slaughters those who dare even to look at her the wrong way." She huffs in frustration and sits back down. "We, Immortals, are unable to interfere with the paths our children take. It would be best for all parties if I took him to the Garnet and kept him there."

"Cecilia?" Cecilia's husband raps on her door.

This startles Cecilia; she shrieks, causing a pillar of iron to fly across the room and jam itself into the handles of her doorway.

"It has begun!" Her husband calls for guards and tells them to break open the door. This has happened many times before. It often meant that Cecilia was doing a spell or that Arisanna had come to visit.

"Open the door, Cecilia. I will not be lenient." Her husband's steely calm voice echoed through the room.

"I beg of you goddess, please, if you must take him, Take him now." She glances nervously at the door, loud banging and shouts can be heard as voices outside scream at her to let them in.

"Your daughter will not disappoint you, my love." The goddess caresses the woman's face, a tender look of love upon either face." If she is anything like you, your kingdom will be in great hands."

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The throne room is silent. It has been a while since there has been an execution in that room. Oh, how the servants would complain of the blood that would, inevitably, stain the pristine white floors and of how many hours it would take to restore them to their luxurious state.

The crowd of nobles looks eagerly on, waiting to see who the unlucky person will be.

Gasps and sounds of disbelief fill the room as the chained prisoner is dragged into the room by the shackles around his arms and neck.

"The previous king?"

"Did he not die only weeks ago?"

"Him?"

A high laugh echoes through the room and is soon joined by another laugh almost identical to the first.

The onlookers' eyes turn from the prisoner to the laughing voices.

A blindfolded woman sits on a chair, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of the darkest red wine clutched in her right hand as she gazes down at the man who kneels at her feet.

"Father! How nice of you to join us."

"I should have killed you when I had the chance!" He shouts, startling the guests.

"Now, now father. Where on earth have your manners gone? Besides, this isn't about me and you. It's about you and her." She gestures to the red drapery behind her as a beautiful woman emerges. She is the owner of the second laugh.

"Well, if I had known my dead husband would be here for his second death, I would have dressed formally." She remarks, her expression one of pure disgust.

"You..." The prisoner says in disbelief.

"Me."

"Mother," The blindfolded woman calls. The other woman turns, acknowledging her daughter. "Tell us what you wish to be done to him. It would be our pleasure."

Truly, it would be very hard to get the blood stains out of that floor.