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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Even tucked into the sprawling library, a three-story, circular room covered floor to ceiling with books, I felt every shudder of rasping cold the glacial winds pulled in from the Røros. The personal library that belonged to Tala Lycanous was situated on the opposite side of the Prince's, overlooking the snaking river that lead to the cost.
The library would have made even King Vladimir Dracul jealous.
Sunlight from the spiral-like glass ceiling warmed my cheeks, my heeled boots drifting quietly over the rich rug covering the entire first floor as a stupidly romantic book in my hands flitted my thoughts astray. Tala had been somewhere on the second story balcony, leafing through a pile of old tomes of her own, before I felt her come down the stairwell.
"So," Her voice reaches me as she paces in my direction, a few set of books in her strong grip. "Has my humble study produced something to your liking?"
I grin. "Indeed, I was able to find a trifling little love story of a princess enchanted by an evil sorcerer, who's only hope is her prince's vow of ever lasting love." It's a clear mock at the sappy tale, my view lifting from the book. But the Luna clearly notes the impressed gleam in my eyes before she plops herself on the nearby, deep cushioned divan, and sets the tomes on the adjacent table.
A brassy smile creeps onto Tala's lips. "I expected better form you, Highness. It sounds to me as though you don't believe in such tales of trials and love."
"The notion of it is a bit far-fetched."
"Is that so?" The corners of the Queen Luna's eyes crinkle with a mixture of dry humor and pity. "Have you ever been in love yourself, Princess?"
The question unravels me for the pithiest breath. The Prince of Northa surely cared for me —his actions had shown that much, yet it was still far from a stronger sentiment. But there had been Mikhail, once upon a time. He had flooded my heart for so many years, it had turned me foolish and wild. Yet that was never love. Not really. "I was ... close to someone back home."
"Ah! Did you love him?" She questions in Wallachian, keeping her voice low.
"No... not in a true sense, anyway." Her shift from the common tongue to my parent language, doesn't take me off-guard anymore. I had come to appreciate her attempts to ease our encounters. "Though, the optimist in me still believes it's a possibility for a select few... those whom remain true to living by the old ways..." My Wallachian rolls off my tongue naturally and I delight in using it. Closing the tome in my hands, I consider what it would be like to simply love Emrys and let him fill the absence left by the Arsenal heir. I don't know what to make of it. "Or, perhaps, those the Goddess still finds favor in."
