The Lost Monarch

Intermission; An Immortal's Lament and a Tyrant's Promise

This entry is not one of any words. Nothing marks the page, no ink blotches nor careful scrawling script. Instead, there appears a drawing. A picture of two people with their arms around each other. The man's mouth is open in laughter, his dark skin setting off the gold of his hair, the shine in his eyes is almost tangible. The woman at his side is smiling, her hair as white and pure and snow, her eyes twin moons. There appear to be tear stains on the page.

– A picture between the pages.

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The whisper of robes brushing the ground was the only sound in the darkness of the night. Permafrost knew better than to let her guard down, despite the fact that she was meant to be meeting with her allies tonight. The rebels, the fighters who were hellbent on preventing the corruption among the Firsts from spreading further.

     The mysterious rebel leader had trusted her with his true identity. Prince Christopher, close to the King, close to the Court. He knew what corruption ran deep, he knew that the throne was going to be taken from him and given to his sister instead. He had shown her everything, the truth behind it all.

     The Firsts were so intent on keeping the so-called "Balance" that they didn't care whether or not their people suffered. They claimed to have stopped the wars, the fighting between the natural enemies, but they had not. They had only made it so that the fighting had to happen in private instead.

     The witches had created collars that could suppress any supernatural's abilities. Using the Forbidden Materials, they'd made it so there was a way to enslave another supernatural, to destroy their ability to heal or even fight back. It was disgusting, and the Court was doing nothing about it.

     The werewolves and vampires still killed each other in the streets, Permafrost couldn't walk around alone at night for fear of being attacked by the sun-loving Seelie fools, and centaurs were stampeding through the forests, destroying druid land.

     When Christopher had brought it up to the Court, he'd been dismissed, pushed aside. When he'd suggested simply separating Amros into separate factions where each race could live in peace, he'd been scolded like a child.

     Despite his best efforts to expose the corruption, he'd been slandered, mistreated, abused. His parents had made it clear that his ambitions frightened them, that they feared what he might do if given the power over all of Amros. Over all of the land.

     The thought made Permafrost furious. How dare they! How dare they treat him in such a manner? He was a Prince, deserving of respect! His ideas ought to be heard, as they sounded perfect to Permafrost. A world where there was no fighting, where the supernaturals were all able to live comfortably in their individual territories.

     He promised that this world would be theirs, that it would be safe and it would be peaceful. It would be everything they ever could have desired, and Permafrost believed him. He was a good man. A kind man. He cared even when nobody else did. He listened when nobody else listened.

     He loved her.

     Giddy with excitement to see him again, she walked the rest of the way to the secret meeting place. A simple building, a shelter Christopher had built for the supernaturals who sought sanctuary, who sought somewhere to rest without worrying about an enemy coming to find them, without worrying whether or not they'd wake up the next morning.

     Christopher had told her all about the supernaturals who went missing in the night.

     He'd told her that he'd been attacked too, that they could never be too careful, that the world wasn't safe for all of them. She couldn't help but agree. Since she'd started meeting with Christopher, attempts on her life had become scarily frequent. It was obvious the Court didn't want this movement spreading.