War on Kitaris

Prologue

The screams came first.

I could still remember them to this very day. They seemed to last forever, an eternal screeching that chilled me to my core. The owner to the screams sounded horrific, like a creator of nightmares. They seemed to last forever.

And then there was silence.

Next came the thudding of footsteps. I heard them gradually getting the louder as they came closer to my door, thudding loudly on the red carpet with each step. They continued past my door and down the marble stair-way as the voices downstairs grew louder and more urgent. At that, I stood from my lounge, dropped the book I was reading, and crossed the room with an intense purpose.

Just as I gripped the cold handle, ignoring how my hands shook like a leaf in the wind, I was flung backwards from a stronger force throwing my door open. I stumbled over my feet, momentarily losing my balance, and faced my intruder.

It was my brother.

He looked no different from when we ate breakfast together only a few hours ago. His hair, so light that it resembled spun gold, was barely a hair out of place. If I spent long enough staring, however, I was sure that I'd be able to find a tiny flaw in his apparently perfect appearance. Heck, even his royal uniform was ironed and the cuffs to his long sleeved shirt were pinned together by a silver clasp. He looked just as important as he was, an absolutely flawless idol to the people of his kingdom. He looked the same as always; like a king.

Well, apart from the deep red blood that stained his hands.

"Marcus," I breathed, staring incredulously at the blood moving down his wrist and towards his forearm like a drop of early morning dew. "What on earth is-"

"Devin," he interrupted, his ice-blue eyes staring straight into mine. His voice shook slightly, but barely. "Don't panic, but I need you to come downstairs. Now."

I followed him wordlessly, travelling down the hallway in long strides. I didn't avert my eyes anywhere; not at the stunning paintings hanging on our walls, not at the carpeted floors, not even at the ceiling - just at my brother's broad back.

I froze when we arrived at the top of our marble stairway. Blood was smeared down the rails that spiraled straight to the ground floor, like somebody had decided to paint the rails with their hands. When a burning sensation rose into my throat, I turned my head away and closed my eyes. I will not throw up, I will not throw up, I will not throw up. Gently, my brother's hand grabbed my shoulder and squeezed softly.

"Brother, it's okay. You can wait upstairs if you wish."

"No," I whispered, shaking my head and opening my eyes to look straight into his eyes. I was sure of this; I couldn't let these people see me as weak, not at a time when they needed to see stability and composure. Understanding yet still wary, my brother nodded his head and continued down the stairs, skipping two at a time. I followed his lead and deliberately kept my hands by my side.

The ground floor was full of people. They were crowded together, forming an oddly shaped circle. My eyes scanned the area and fell on a few people who were weeping into the arms of somebody else, but that wasn't what I was looking for. The further I moved towards the circle the more I could feel the fear washing over me, sending and eruption of goose-bumps over my exposed arms.

The fear didn't go away, not even when I spotted my mother's tall figure towering over everybody else's. I searched her face for something, anything, that could give these people a sense of safety. But there was nothing; her face was expressionless and as pale as the walls that surrounded us.

Her grey eyes, as dark as a storm cloud, met mine instantly. Help them, they spoke, darting towards the people surrounding me. But what could I do? I was helpless, unable to fix our impending damnation. As I moved further into the middle of the circle I noticed that the marble floor was tainted by an even darker red, smudged into the shape of lines. My stomach shifted; somebody had been dragged in, and they had been bleeding. The blood on the rails? That had been on the hands of the killer.

Now that my brother's presence became known, bodies began turning towards him and hope glimmered in their eyes. But they looked worried and I didn't blame them on bit; they had every reason to be. Since nobody took much notice of me, I took this opportunity to gently move into the gaps between people to see what laid in the very middle.

A lump lodged itself into the very middle of my throat when my eyes beheld the horrific scene placed in front of me. An elderly woman, although barely recognizable, was sprawled across the marble floor like a torn rag-doll. She was a friend of my mothers, somebody who'd worked for our family for many years. Yet there she was, with a silver knife pushed straight through her chest. Dead. Her eyes, cold and lifeless, stared at the ceiling above our heads. She'd died with her eyes wide open.

I felt a bony hand grab my arm and pull me away from the body. I knew from the burning sensation on my arm that it was my mother, and I also knew from the desperation buzzing at the invisible cord between us that she wanted to talk to me. Eager to have a distraction from the blood and gore, I turned my body away from the center of the circle and allowed myself to be pulled to the side of the room.

My mother looked like she'd aged twenty years. Her face, normally quite youthful for her age, was exhausted. Grey bags had formed themselves under her bloodshot eyes and her hair, normally flowing down her back in a gracious wave of silk, was knotted and messy.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the sounds in the room. I nodded towards Marcus who was beginning to clear people away from the body by reassuring them. Mother let go of my arm and dropped her head.

"It was Amaris," she began, her voice strained from the grief and panic. "By the time we heard the screams, her attacker was gone. But there was a note left by her body."

She placed her hands into the pocket of her gown and pulled out a tiny piece of paper that had been folded into a square. I took the note, unfolded it with shaking hands, and scanned over the writing. My stomach dropped.

"Who do you think wrote this?" I asked, holding it out to her. My mother looked around the room nervously. This worried me; my mother was never nervous. Doubtful, sure, but she was fearful of anything that could be in our own kingdom, let alone our home - our palace. This was supposed to be the safest part of Kitaris.

"Isn't it obvious, my son? The Zmeya did this."

The room around me grew dizzy as I tried to comprehend this news. If our enemies had somehow found a way into a Kitaris, the only place that once had been safe from their kind, then this could be the end of the kingdom we knew. Hell, it would be the end of everything.

"What are we going to do?" I questioned urgently.

My mother glanced over at Marcus, her eyes holding the answer to my question. I followed her line of sight and gazed at my brother, the king of Kitaris, and suddenly I knew what had to be done.

"Devin, my son," she said, her fingers digging into my shoulders, "You must find her. The future queen. You are the best tracker in the entire kingdom, and our only hope. If you can find her, she could save us. We need the king and queen of Kitaris."

"I know," I nodded slowly, placing my hand on top of hers and squeezing it gently. "Mother, I promise you that I'll find her. No matter what."

Her thin lips twitched into a tiny, appreciative smile. "We need you, Devin. Please bring her back to us." And then she was gone, leaving me entirely alone in a room full of people.

I glanced back down at the piece of paper in my hand. The ink was smudged, and some of it had rubbed off onto my hands. But I paid no attention to that. All I could do was stare at the three words scrawled across the paper, making my heart hammer against the inside of my chest.

"War on Kitaris."

Those three words changed everything.