Echoes of Sorrow: The Fatal Rose

Chapter 1

It was a celebration to rival any the Kingdom of Departure had hosted in the past, and as such, most of the royal court had come to the castle to partake in its excesses. Ventus, heir to King Eraqus who ruled over the entire kingdom, was turning eighteen, and would, once the sun had risen on the following day, become the new king and ruler. There were sycophants aplenty in attendance, and an abundance of their daughters, hoping to catch the young Prince's eye.

Ventus's parents were more than supportive of their son's eye being caught: after all, he would need sons of his own to secure the kingdom's future lineage. Ventus himself was equivocal on the matter. He dutifully danced with all of the eligible young ladies, putting on a polite smile and making small talk, but he forgot their names immediately and their faces not long after. They were all alike in his eyes: pretty exteriors coached to say the right words to flatter a young man of his status, their true personalities and desires carefully hidden behind practiced smiles and rehearsed pleasantries. None of them truly interested him; how could they, when they were so tightly bound by the expectations of court life? Truth be told, Ventus had no passionate interest in any of this: ruling a vast kingdom, being a king, going to court and playing in its ridiculous intrigues of favors and subterfuge. In short, living a life dictated solely by staid tradition and tedium.

The current dance finally ended, and Ventus bowed politely to his partner before excusing himself, pleading weariness that wasn't entirely fictional. He saw the young woman's face fall briefly, the false cheer she had worn throughout the dance eclipsed momentarily by sadness and something else he couldn't quite place. Fear? He looked at her more closely as she curtsied. She was quite petite and very young indeed, probably no older than sixteen years of age. She had soft green eyes and a cloud of long orange hair. She possessed a youthful beauty, to be sure, but she was still very much a child - with no place amid the calculations of status, wealth, and fertility that defined this celebration. Ventus was filled with sudden anger towards her parents for parading her here like prize livestock.

Leading her discreetly to the side of the dance floor, he fished for her name in his memory, eventually recalling it. "You've done nothing to be upset about, Strelitzia," Ventus said to her gently. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "Did your parents make you dance with me this evening against your will?" She nodded her head, still avoiding his eyes. He sighed deeply. "I see. Will they be angry with you if we do not dance together again later?"

"They will beat me," she answered at last, barely above a whisper.

And may the gods punish those miserable excuses for humans, Ventus thought, a sharp headache blossoming behind his eyes. How many more of these girls had been threatened with violence simply for failing to catch his eye? He made himself smile at the young girl as reassuringly as he could manage. "Please, tell your parents that I find you entirely charming, but there are simply too many daughters of my father's friends and nobles here tonight for me to be able to spare more than one dance with each. Tell them as well that I would be most displeased to hear that any ill treatment had befallen you over this. Thank you for the dance, Lady Strelitzia, and be well."

Ventus lifted her small hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles in a light kiss - going farther than he had for any other young woman that night. The gesture sent the requisite ripple of hushed commentary through the nearby crowd of nobles. Then, before anybody could close in and enquire as to the potential meaning behind the courtly gesture, he channeled his wind magic and vanished from the ballroom in a swirl of aero blades.

He didn't go far, only retreating to a shadowy corner of the ballroom's adjoining terrace just outside the last of the long, open doors. But at last he could breathe freely, alone in the cooler night air away from the stifling crowds. He was just beginning to relax when he felt a dark, foreboding presence at his elbow, and his fragile solitude dissolved instantly. He didn't even have to look to know that it was his younger brother, Vanitas. There was an unnatural chill that always hung around the other man, a cold feeling that seemed to emanate from his very being - his black bodysuit with red blades, his pitch-black hair, those glowing yellow eyes. There had always been something deeply unsettling about Vanitas's aura, but since he'd returned three days prior from a year of shadowy travels, it had been stronger than ever before.