Testaments of Heart

Prologue

Situated above the maghony dresser, a portrait of a gleaming man stares into the grand room. Chestnut strands of soft hair flow around a heart shaped face with a strong, able chin down to his shoulder blades. Upturned corners of blushed lips lie between sharp cheekbones, a dark smile barely visible. Wrinkles, from years of laughter with friends and long nights of drinks, encompass shining, bright eyes; the paintbrush of the artist show not the eyes of a middle-aged man, but the sky beaming against the powerful sun. Laughter floats around the stunning blue, even though the picture never moves.

But, perhaps, the most spectacular trait of the man would be the mighty crown uptop his head. Miniscule diamonds of white, whiter than that of the first snowfall of the year and smaller than the falling snowflakes, sprinkle around the shinning gold oddly and randomly. Around the white flakes gleams the quite opposite: blackness darker than the night sky, smaller than ashes from a pulsing fire. Though odd and random, the crown does not only emote the sense of beauty, but the essence of power. Not of the crown being powerful, but the man with which the crown sits upon.

Upon the black frame, the name engraved in looping and elegant writing reads, Malik Lunis Vladavina-Cortin.

Staring up at the painted face, a women sits hunched over on the piano bench. Her blood red hair, coated in a heavy layer of grease, sticks to her olive skin and covers her face in curls. Tears, aiding the strands of hair to stick to her face, escape from her plain brown eyes which swim with overwhelming pain. A black handkerchief is clutched so tightly in her hands that her knuckles turn as white as the ivory keys in front of her and show brightly against her black gown. Crying silently, the women curses the man.

Wiping tears from her soft, wrinkling face, the women lets the handkerchief float towards the marble floors, and brings her hands to the keys. Shining in the flames from the near fire, the keys glisten, readying for the notes it can produce, but silence still surrounds the room. She does not move her fingers, yet they lie on top the keys a mere pressures worth away from coating the room in overlapping harmonies. The fingers begin to shake. Thrashing her hands upon the keys in an angry movement, unfriendly sounds erupt from the strings. Using the pressure in which she releases the notes, the woman stands, throwing the bench towards the floor. Her breath escapes her fast and dangerously.

"You called for me, your Majesty?" speaks a calm voice from behind the woman's back. Quickly turning towards the door, the woman is met with piercing acorn eyes. A bun of dark black stands atop the new girl's head, and a light brown dress is covered in a clean, pale apron. She obviously is attempting to hide the trembling in her coffee colored hands. "Kennedi?"

The woman of blood hair jumps slightly at the sound of her name, but doesn't take her eyes off of the woman in front of her. That dark skin had been the warmth that had held her bones together for years of taxing calls, but now are the reason her bones shake. And the soft fingers that had done her hair for long, overwhelming meetings, now gift Kennedi feelings of betrayal and grief. Yet as Kennedi stares in those bright eyes like she had done for hours of her life, she wants nothing more than to never see them again.

Silent tears falling down her face, Kennedi turns her body away from the girl and towards the picture of the man, still staring into the room. Her voice shaking and vulnerable, Kennedi speaks, "You never got a chance to formally meet him, to tell him what we truly where. When we were younger -- that's to say before we wore the crowns -- his only goal was to be drunk and have fun. I must say, though quite annoying at times, he was fun to be around. I never expected him to be on my parents list of proper suitors, yet he danced with me at my the night of my Elder ball.

"I never fell in love with him because someone else had already stolen my heart..." Kennedi lowers her head to look at the marble at her feet. "Malik was a good prince. He never did wrong, helped those people he thought lower than us, but many people did not know his standings." Kennedi brings her eyes and body to face the girl standing in the doorway, tears also falling from her face.

Silence fills the room until Kennedi speaks again. "He was a goddamn good father, too. Raised his children with a wife who he did not love, and she in return... We both had our consorts and maidens, but while he had many, I had only one. One person I wished more than any could wear the crown next to me," a sudden anger raised inside Kennedi and her voice now came out stronger, "but I never regretted choosing the man who gave me four wonderful, intelligent, gorgeous children. I now only regret the one who has betrayed me.

"Elashiba, why?" Kennedi asks with a tone of sadness and grief returning to her voice. No tears fall from her face anymore, but the woman in front of her sheds them at an alarming rate. Her jaw quivers and her hand trembles, but she does not take her eyes off of that of Kennedi's.

When she speaks her voice is relatively calm and convincing, unlike the rest of her body, "What do you mean, my queen?"

"What do I mean? You can't play stupid tonight, Elashiba, because tonight you have..." Kennedi takes a deep gulp attempting to find the words and will to say, "tonight you have been discovered and your p-punishment shall be given."

Elashiba falls to her knees, her head pushing against the floor in a deep bow. Her pleas and excuses exploding into the room, bringing tears falling from Kennedi's eyes again. "I am so sorry, Kennedi! My priorities have been altered, but my loyalty has always began and ended with the Queen. Please save me from my evil doings to the crown. I will give you everything I am."

Kennedi looks down upon Elashiba attempting not to raise her up and hug her. Tonight she must pay for what she has done. Closing her eyes, Kennedi takes a deep breath and then opens her eyes again. "By order of the Queen of Zemlja, Kennedi Lorrayne Vladavina," blares Kennedi over the pleas coming from the floor, "that of Elashiba Gerlyn Kellenar, a maid of the royal castle, shall be punished to a private death on the terms of treason and attempt of perjury of the crown. May your m-mistakes be forgiven."

From the doors multiple guards, wearing uniforms of deep blue with a crest planted above their hearts in gold embroidery, burst in and grab Elashiba by the wrist and shoulders. Elashiba's screams rang around the room, penetrating into the heart of Kennedi, who looks upon Elashiba with her own tears, but never lowering her eyes.

Painfully slow, Kennedi watches as the maid is dragged out of her room.

"Please don't do this, Kennedi!" Elashiba is now out of the room and out of the eyes of Kennedi, who finally lowers her head. "I never wanted to hurt him or you! Why would I hurt you?"

I wish you wouldn't have, thinks Kennedi, while painful sobs escape her.

"I love you, Kennedi! I love you."

The door shuts and all of Elashiba's screams are swallowed out of the room. Kennedi drops to her knees.