Melting Snow

Melting Snow - Prologue

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             Footsteps.

The footsteps warned me of the approach before anything else. Smoke filled my lungs from outside, and they burned with each breath I took in. But I was still able to spin around and draw my bow as the footsteps reached a crescendo that I knew would stop only when their barer laid eyes on me.

Hopefully my arrow would fly quicker than theirs.

            The fear that pounded in my heart almost caused me to wish I had listened to Hannan when he warned me not to come. Or I should have at least not come alone. Any of the thieves would have gladly followed me up the second floor to the Prince’s chambers. But I hadn’t wanted them. Even though I knew everyone within these walls had orders to kill me on sight, I hadn’t wanted their protection. This was something I knew must be done by myself.

            Footfalls grew louder, banging against my ears like a drum, the blood pumping through my veins at the same hurried rate. My grip on the bow tightened, ready to make my approaching enemy fall. Parts of me, more than I wanted to admit, prayed that the footsteps belonged to Mohan, and that he would no longer have the glazed eyes that had taken over and made the brown eyes I loved disappear. If he had returned to normal, returned to me, perhaps I wouldn’t have to kill after all.

            Mohan’s room was so much smaller than I remembered from my childhood, and it had been years since I had stood in this place. Every memory of it seemed to flood over me now; both the good, and the bad. But the bad memories were more poignant, like the stench of rotten eggs, or the musky air that often filled our camp in the woods. They were sticking to me as if they could choke me, clinging to the interior of my throat so that I could no longer breathe. And that feeling could not be contributed to the smoke.

            Waiting for the approaching party to meet me was tremendously and painfully slow. I cast a glance out the window to my left, briefly, but enough to see the fighting that had erupted below. It seemed as if some of the servants or townspeople had taken up our plight, because there were more than seven men down there fighting off Mohan’s palace guard.

            In the background, slightly dampened by the stone walls of the castle, I could make out the sounds of the battle. Swords clanging, the whish of arrows soaring through the air, and the grumbled gasps of wounded men all fell on my ears. And then I heard the scream that made my blood run cold.

            I dropped my bow, eyes searching more frantically and furiously than they had in ages. Because I recognized that sound: I had heard it so many times, so long ago, but it often replayed in my memories. Through the tangled mess of the battle I could not find him for the longest time, but when I did I almost wished I hadn’t. The dirty sunlight of early morning was falling, glistening off of the snow almost blindingly, but I knew him on sight.

            Laying there, in a growing bright crimson spot that I knew could only be his blood, was Hannan.  Dying, I knew, just as he had been when I first met him. A fire grew in my heart then, a blazing inferno that could not be extinguished anymore. Hannan had been the only one who could accomplish that feat anyway.

            My heart burned, red hot, full of anger and passion that I could not control. Tarak was the first to reach him, and he let out a yell when he reached his friend’s side. From that one horrible reaction, the fire inside of me exploded and threatened to burn the whole castle down.

            The approaching footsteps caught my attention once more, and I turned around again, grabbing an arrow and ready for Mohan to fumble through the doors and meet my blaze.

            But then when I automatically pulled the string on my bow tighter, the arrow ready to fly and hit its target, I knew I did not want Prince Mohan to walk through those doors.

 I wanted it to be his bride.