Two star crossed lovers.
Nations divided by blood and power.
A war to end all others.
She is heir to the brutal Darkling kingdom and daughter to the most vicious king ever known, Vlad the impaler.
He's the Demon prince ru...
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Days after the encounter with my father and Irina, I find that Drakengard Palace has come alive in preparation for the Gorge. Maids and male attendants bustle about, all demi-fæ born into servitude after the fall of their homelands, packed like mules with arrays of fabric, or silverware or decorations. I have seen more servants these past few days than I've ever during my stays here, and I recognize none.
Yet, I look for Iskra in all the faces that go up and down the halls, search for her familiar smile in every maid that passes by. But I never find her.
All the merry preparation is a liveliness I haven't felt since the parties of my childhood when Mother would host grandiose gatherings.
A liveliness I'd soon rather forget.
~•~
Pavel and I stride through the courtyard, making our way to the eastern wing. I was to meet with the royal seamstress for my final fitting but I had joined my brother for breakfast, not partaking in any myself, and had enjoyed a collection of witty conversations.
"There's something I haven't told you yet, Pasha." About the Hollow. And the hunters. And that male. And what they plan to do...
"You're still reeling from what Irina did to you." It isn't a question. Pasha gives me a careful look, my arm looped through his. "Or from what I did, I wonder."
"Irina is a foul beast, not fit to be called a queen." Bitch is a more proper title but I pinch my lips together, recalling that even the walls had ears. But it's not the first time she'd done it. No, Goddess knows how many times our minds were laid bare to her before we grew old enough to sense it, to feel the wrongness invade.
But it isn't what I want to talk about, either. It's not what's been keeping my thoughts busy.
Pasha lets out a small little giggle before looking back at me, considering, still lingering on the thought.
"Don't look at me that way, with those pleading doe eyes. A king looks after his kingdom and you did what you had to. Don't ever seek forgiveness for that." I say, my voice rigid.
The air smells of winter. Hues of white and gray already seeping into the scenery here, too. The gardens are withering, reds and gold giving way to opaque and monotone shades. My eyes notice the few pine trees caped in white.
It takes me back to that day, in the middle of a cursed forest, surrounded by shadows and monsters.
The shuffling of feet pull me back and a servant, this one young and nervous, passes by us, bowing incessantly all the way until he turns the corner into the entryway we had just come from.
