Astraea

Prologue

Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.
—Euripides

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Even as she turned on him, her wedding dress tainted scarlet and the sword raised above her head, Marcellus had been enamored by Camilla's fierce beauty. Especially the burning--enticing--pain she caused him, before her sword even pierced his heart. Camilla smiled coldly after she had fulfilled the latter, pulling the bloody wedding band from Marcellus' finger and slipping it lithely upon her own. All that time, Marcellus couldn't believe Camilla had played him, toyed with his emotions. She had tugged at his heartstrings like love was only a quest to be conquered, his heart a game to be won.

When she first appeared in his courtroom, Marcellus knew he was doomed. Camilla had been a vision of heavenly grandeur, a maiden coming before his presence, begging for pardon from a great injustice. Her brother had been accused of great crimes against the crown, and Camilla had come to beg the king to lift the charges against her brother and allow her family to live in peace once more. However, with one look at Camilla on her knees before his throne, her beautiful eyes pooling tears and her hands clasped so tightly together they turned white as bone itself, the king had refused to believe such a family could be associated with so serious an accusation--a naive assumption on his part, in retrospect.

The only crime I see committed here is this girl's sinful beauty. He had said to the court, his fascinated gaze never leaving Camilla and the pull of her own eyes, which glittered keenly beneath lowered lashes. She would do anything, she had insisted, to relieve her brother of his crimes. The king was young--lacking of experience--and still full of passion himself. Anything? Marcellus had asked, speaking to Camilla directly this time. She had glanced up at her king with such telling, raw emotion that all rational thoughts suddenly flew from his mind.

After that, there was no going back.

She showered the entire court with her radiant charm and rapier-sharp wit, outlined in the shimmering brilliance of her beauty itself. Her brother was never spoken of again. Marcellus now supposed such a man--or crime--never existed, though it hardly mattered at the present. Camilla had been a passionate lover, all thoughts of her mysterious past disappearing completely while they were alone with one another.

But the king now knew that passion did not always equal love. If there really was a crime, it was the blindness Marcellus had been given, not seeing the true reason for Camilla's presence.

All those moments, the kisses behind closed doors, whispers in the night, and telling glances in the royal gardens were . . . nothing. Marcellus had longed for someone to share in his happiness and, alas, had only found someone who yearned for her own desires to be fulfilled, regardless of the hopes of those around her. And Marcellus found it was simply too easy a task to love someone who could never love back.

Camilla said she loved him. But it seemed she loved his crown and kingdom more.

The raw pain filling his chest brought Marcellus back from the past and into the dimly lit future.

"I--I had hope you would learn to . . . to love me," Marcellus choked out, collapsed by the altar. Camilla stared cold and silent at him amid the screams of his few loyal subjects muted in the background of his own fading heartbeat. "Perhaps I had even been led to believe you loved me. All that we did, all that we had been through . . . tell me it was real."

Camilla's wine-red lips twisted into a smile. Her eyes did not join them.

"Oh, Marcellus." She sighed, pulling the sword out of her young lover's chest and ignoring the cry of pain as he clutched at his heart. "In time, perhaps I could have loved you. Such a sweet boy. But with such a vast, tempting kingdom. If only you were a better ruler. You know your own crimes well; your sovereignty was . . . unruly. Though I must say your love-making was not."

Camilla laughed, waving her sword through the air in a careless fashion. "What was I supposed to do? Why, even now, amidst all the chaos, I believe I can hear your subjects calling to me." With one last vicious movement, Camilla thrust the sword back into the young king's chest, and he slumped to the floor, stained the same color as his bride's lips.  "And they are saying that their king is dead."

His vision was fading, his breaths catching as the pain swallowed him whole. Her words swirled into a blur until he wasn't sure what she was saying to him any longer, or if she was even speaking at all. But Marcellus didn't complain. He would have preferred to relive seeing his life dripping red down the front of his tunic, the darkness clouding his eyesight, and the ache of blood loss throbbing through his entire body over and over again.

For compared to the ravaged wasteland of his love, a sword through the heart was nothing.

He felt Camilla's lips brush against his own once more and he managed a bloody smile.

"Long live the queen," she murmured, her breath hot against his lips.

The last thing Marcellus thought before drifting away down one last wave of pain was how beautiful Camilla had looked wearing his crown.