Shadows of Desire Ch. 06

A gay story: Shadows of Desire Ch. 06 INTENTIONS

“Is this really how you plan to begin our marriage, as enemies?” Emilia stepped forward, placing a hand on Lord Killian’s arm but he jerked away from her and sneered.

“I never agreed to a marriage with you.” He narrowed his eyes, watching her closely. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that but beauty meant nothing. Some of the most poisonous plants in the world were beautiful. The diamond pattern and bright coloring of many snakes were beautiful, yet their venom was deadly. Emilia’s beauty was only a mask that hid the true monster behind. Beneath her raven hair and sapphire eyes was a soulless thing, rotting from the inside, malicious, monstrous, and cruel.

“But you did.” Emilia looked up at him, her voice barely raised above a whisper. Her blue eyes shone in the candle light and for a moment she almost looked…kind. The way she batted her eyes and the gentle smile that snaked across her full, red lips. An alluring sight, but that was the danger therein. She had the uncanny ability to lure men in with her sweet words and honey voice. The promise of falling into her arms and being wrapped in her embrace. But once their defenses were down, she would strike. Killian wasn’t fool enough to fall for her seduction. Not again.

“Our dalliance was short lived and a mistake.” He told her.

“A mistake?” She frowned and lowered her eyes feigning hurt. “Was the life we created a mistake? The life that I carry inside of me? Is that not why you came back here?”

“To marry you?” He scoffed. “My Lady, and I use that word sparingly, if I ever had any thoughts of marrying you, I wouldn’t have left you that night.”

Emilia knew which night he spoke of. It was the night of her birthday gala, three months past. The first time she had ever seen Lord Killian in person. Of course, she had heard talk of him, of his exploits and his insatiable hunger for life and…other things. It was his darkness, his disregard for the rules, that intrigued her the most and so, when she heard that he was in attendance, she sought him out.

The rumors of his beauty did him little justice. When Emilia first laid eyes on him she nearly swooned. He was handsome, dashing, and oh so charming. He walked into the ball room and at once had command of the entire room. Men and women both flocked to his side, each hoping to gain his favor. It was Emilia who caught his eye that night though. Dressed in an elegant gown of midnight blue so dark it matched her eyes. Her hair in a pleated crown atop her head, small curls framed her face and upon her head sat a gold tiara.

She wasn’t royalty yet but she certainly looked the part. Especially the way she moved, so confident and regal. The crowd parted as she moved through it and some of the guests even bowed as though she were Queen. Lord Killian bowed the traditional greeting that one reserved for royals. A hand behind his back, one in front, eyes forward. A show of respect, normally, but as Lord Killian bowed his eyes rested on her round, pert, and voluptuous breasts, barely hidden under the fabric and lace of her bodice. Perhaps Emilia saw love in his eyes that night instead of the lust he felt. Perhaps she lusted after him in the same way.

Either way, she was smitten. They danced, and drank wine. Then, as the night wore down and guests began to retire to their rooms, Emilia and Lord Killian took a stroll through the gardens, hand in hand. He said all the normal things one said to a lady whom he hoped to woo her and, by the end of the night, he had her eating out of the palm of his hand. They ended up in her bed and they made love all through the night. He was a passionate and enthusiastic lover. Not gentle by any means but his rough, needy, and animistic side excited Emilia even more.

Eventually they fell asleep. Emilia curled up next to him, laying her head on his chest but Killian turn away from her and lay on his side, his back to her. Still, Emilia was exhausted and fell asleep quickly and without complaint. When she awoke again later that afternoon, Killian was gone. She searched for him everywhere only to learn that he had left and gone home to Grayholm. Emilia was devastated for she was certain that after their night of passionate love making he would no doubt ask for her hand. He never did.

Her devastation turned to despair and then anger. But, when she discovered that she was with child, she suddenly saw a light at the end of her tunnel. She penned a letter and sent it to Grayholm, to Lord Killian, informing him of the pregnancy. She was certain then that he would return. How could he not? She carried his child. Time passed slowly as she waited to hear back from him and then, three weeks later, her waiting had paid off. Killian had finally arrived and Emilia was so sure that he had come to propose that she was overcome with elation. Her dreams were finally coming true. She would marry Lord Killian, give him an heir, and after they destroyed the royal family, she and Killian would rule Basmorte together.

Things did not quite work out the way she had intended though and she had only Rowan to blame. The night Killian arrived at the castle he and Rowan had somehow met and that little whore had somehow seduced his way into Lord Killian’s bed. Emilia was sure of it. Why else would Killian suddenly ask for his hand in marriage? Emilia was furious. She knew going to the King would do no good. He finally had the heir that he wanted, even if it meant that Rowan would be Queen. Everyone knew it was Killian who would one day rule. Rowan was just there to look pretty and spread his legs for his husband.

Emilia had to stop the marriage, and fast. Once Rowan became pregnant with Killian’s child any chance she had of marrying the man she loved would be gone. That’s when she and her mother devised a plan to be rid of the omega Prince for good. He couldn’t marry Killian if he were well and truly dead. A death that not even a vampire could rise from. No easy feat but her mother had ways of getting what she wanted and so in her hour of need, Emilia went to Lady Caroline. Caroline had no love for Rowan. He was just a thorn in her side. Something that stood in her way and so, she was more than willing to help her daughter. It was just the opportunity she had been waiting for.

“You have no idea how many nights I cried myself to sleep after you left.” Emilia told Lord Killian, trying to appeal to his sympathetic side but he could not be swayed.

“That, my Lady, is your misfortune. I never once claimed to love you or to want you in any capacity other than a good fuck.”

Emilia furrowed her brow and glared at him. “But you returned. You came back for me, after I wrote you. You came back and we would have already been married if not for that whore. He seduced you away from me and stole what was mine.”

In a flash Killian’s expression changed from indifference and mild annoyance to rage. He grabbed Emilia around the throat and squeezed so hard that Emilia grimaced in pain than began clawing at his hand to release her. “Do not, ever, insult him around me.” He growled. “In fact, never speak of him again. I’ll not have his name defiled by crossing your lips.”

Emilia dug her nails into Killian’s wrist, drawing blood, and finally he released her. She gasped then rubbed at her throat as she glared at him. He wouldn’t have killed her. She didn’t need to breath to survive but he could have easily broken or even crushed her neck. It would be painful and would have taken much too long to heal. She couldn’t wait that long. Their wedding was scheduled for the following night.

Emilia sighed in frustration. She didn’t have time for this. She still had preparations to make. Arguing with Killian was just wasting precious time. “If your intentions were not to marry me then why come back at all?” She asked, narrowing her eyes to two small slits.

Killian walked to the window, turning his back on her, he stared out into the darkness and sighed. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I came here to fix a problem.” He said, his voice dark. “That little letter that you penned had somehow found it’s way to my father’s desk. The bastard has a bad habit of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. He was furious when he read it. A servant girl or a farmers daughter, they’re easy to make disappear but, the future daughter of our King?” He laughed bitterly. “That’s a little harder to overlook.”

He turned, facing her again and Emilia cringed when she saw the rage in his eyes. “My father was worried about the scandal this could cause so he sent me here to fix the problem. He felt a marriage to you would have made for a profitable arrangement. I’d be that much closer to the crown and, having the King as our ally certainly wouldn’t hurt. I, however, couldn’t even fathom being married to someone like you. There is no way that it would work between us, we’re too alike in our greed and hunger for power.”

“But, that’s exactly why we would work.” Emilia walked to him and placed a hand on his arm, smiling sweetly at him in a way that made him recoil from her, slapping her hand away.

He shook his head, stepping away from her. “A man can not have two masters and hope to survive. We would kill ourselves competing for dominance and I have no desire to become a slave in my own house.”

Emilia pursed her lips. “So, what was your plan? Murder me? Do you think the King would not find out? You’re a fool.”

Killian chuckled. “I doubt very much that the King would have even cared. But, no. I did not intend to murder you though maybe I should have.” He stared at her, suspiciously. “Perhaps if I had slit your throat my sweet Rowan would still live. In any event, I had planned to convince you to end the pregnancy. I know of a midwife, a witch, who specializes in helping deal with unwanted pregnancies. Many a young maid has gone to her for aid when they find themselves in precarious positions. I thought if I took you there, that would be the end of my problem.”

“Do you honestly think that I would agree to that?” Emilia hissed, her hand going to her belly as if guarding her unborn child. “Do you think I could so carelessly murder my own child?”

Killian smirked. “Perhaps. If once you saw that I was serious about not marrying you. When Rowan stumbled into my rooms that first night and I saw him for the first time I suddenly saw an opportunity that had not presented itself earlier. The King was desperate for an heir but his only son was an omega and could never take the throne. The King had no hope of Rowan ever marrying. In his eyes an omega was worthless, an abomination. When I saw him though, I was swept away by his beauty. I knew at once that I had to have him.”

Killian moved to the large arm chair sat near the fire. He lowered himself into the chair then watched as the flames rose up, licking the logs piled up and he thought of the fiery need he felt the first time he had laid eyes on the omega Prince. “He was stunning. A rare and exotic beauty. If I had wed him, I would have possessed something that no other man had or would ever have. Something that wasn’t even supposed to exist. I knew my father would be furious but I also knew that once he realized what marrying Rowan meant, he would support my decision. Marrying the Prince guaranteed me the throne. How could my power hungry father deny that?”

“So, you planned to marry him merely to spite me and gain power?” Emilia was seething. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t believe that Killian would choose Rowan over her. It was more than insult to her, it was a deep betrayal that she didn’t ever think she would recover from. She loved Killian. Loved him enough to kill for him but she was nothing to him. She was just another woman used to sate his sexual desires and then toss aside as though she were trash.

“Perhaps, at first. Though the power I didn’t really care about. That was something my father always craved but not me. I can’t stand the responsibility that comes with governing a provenance or ruling a Kingdom and, I really don’t give two shits about the people. All of Basmorte can burn for all that I care. What I craved was the challenge in taming Rowan and making him mine. It’s the same as a horseman who comes into possession of a wild mare. The joy is in breaking the mare and making her obedient. That’s what I planned to do with Rowan. By the time I was done with him he’d fall to his knees before me and beg me for my cock.”

Emilia snickered, shaking her head. “You know nothing of Rowan if you think he could be so easily broken. Thank your stars that the whore is dead. He would have caused you nothing but trouble.”

“Be careful, my dear. Do not speak ill of the dead. You never know when they might be listening.” Killian rubbed his temple and sighed. He was growing weary of this conversation, and of Emilia’s company. Another moment with her and he might very well slit his own throat.

Emilia scoffed. “I wasn’t afraid of him in life and I certainly am not going to be scared of him in death.”

“Then, perhaps, it is you who is the biggest fool. At least I do not deny my demons.”

Emilia’s jaw clenched, tightly. She walked around to the chair where Killian sat and stared down at him. The anger she felt was evident on her face as she raised her head and looked down her nose at him, appearing every bit the Queen she so desired to become. “I am sick of this talk of death and demons. Tomorrow is our wedding night and I’ll be damned if I will allow some dead, hedge-born, doxy to ruin it! Now, you will dress and make yourself presentable and, you will meet me at the alter or I’ll have your head!” Emilia turned then and stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard behind her.

Killian grinned. “You may very well be damned, my dear.” He whispered after she had gone. “We all may.”

***

When Thaden rose at dawn, Rowan was still asleep. He thought of waking him but then decided against it. The Prince was exhausted plus, vampires were nocturnal by nature. They were known for sleeping most of the day and rising at night. He was only a boy of twelve when he first saw a vampire in the day light. His father had taken the beast’s head quickly enough but Thaden questioned how it could even survive in the sunlight. Until that moment, he thought that all vampires burned to death when caught by the unforgiving rays of the sun. It was the Goddesses way of punishing them for their dark and evil natures.

Thaden’s father had explained that only blood born vampires, those who were once human, burned in the sunlight. Pure born vampires were stronger and could survive in the light though they were weaker during the day and easier to kill. Decapitation was the elven King’s preferred method of dispatching vampires though he had been known to occasionally dismember and burn the corpses. He wanted to make sure they would not rise again. Thaden was almost certain his father would have had Rowan burned at the stake if they had not fled the city. Fire was one of the most common ways to make sure that a vampire was truly dead.

Rowan, being pure born, could withstand the sun but Thaden could tell that it had taken it’s toll on him. That, combined with the fact that two of them had been up most of the night. After making love the first time Rowan rested for about an hour but after that, his heat came back full force. Thaden had never been with someone who had such an unquenchable thirst. He wondered if it was the same for all omegas when stricken with their heats or if it was just Rowan. Not that it mattered really because Thaden found that he couldn’t get enough of his feisty little mate either. After the third time they finally both drifted off to sleep.

Thaden dressed quickly and quietly, trying not to wake Rowan. He went down stairs and ordered more food to be delivered to their room. If Rowan were anything like the omegas that Thaden had heard about from Connor and the other wolves, Rowan would be starving when he woke up. As Thaden ascended the stairs once more, he was suddenly struck with a disturbing thought. When Rowan awoke, famished after their night of frantic love making, would regular food be enough? Wolves craved meat. Lots and lots of meat, as was their nature. So Thaden had to wonder, what would Rowan crave?

He tried to push the thought out of his mind. Rowan had already fed on rabbit blood the day before. He hoped that would be enough. If it wasn’t, he would deal with it. He was an accomplished hunter after all. He could easily go out and catch another rabbit if that’s what Rowan needed. He would do what he had to in order to keep his mate safe, even if it meant delivering him fresh blood when he needed it. He loved Rowan and Rowan was his husband now, at least in his eyes. The vows they spoke may not have been in the presence of a priest but they were nonetheless true and Thaden would abide by them. He would stay by Rowan’s side, through whatever may come, good or bad, they would face it together.

When the food arrived, Thaden brought it in and placed it on a small table near the fireplace. He closed the door, locked it again, then went to the bed and eased himself down beside Rowan who was still asleep. Rowan looked beautiful, as always, peaceful and not at all what Thaden had thought he would look. Tales that had come to Rosegate were of vampires sleeping in crypts–which he now knew was not true–and resembling freshly dead corpses. He expected Rowan to be still with an ashen completion, blue lips, sunken features. He expected him to be cold to the touch and lifeless. He was none of those things.

His skin was still fair but not sickly or gray. His lips were full and pink and he was laying curled up on his side with one arm bent under his head. He wasn’t still or lifeless either. Thaden watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the way he shifted in his sleep to adjust his position. With his eyes closed, laying the way he was, he looked merely…human. The tell-tale signs of a vampire were all but gone. All but the scent that never seemed to leave him, even as he slept. It was the one thing that was a definite give away to any creature with a nose to pick up on it.

Few humans would have a sense of smell so keen to notice but most non-humans did. It was a defense. A warning that what they had encountered was not natural. Rowan had the scent though masked with something else that Thaden still hadn’t figured out yet, but it was there. The scent of death clung to vampires as a child clings to its mother but it wasn’t a putrid smell of rotting meat and decomposing bodies. The scent resembled the smell of something old, musty, and earthy, after a hard rain. A scent one might expect to smell while walking through an ancient cemetery on a fall day. Thaden recalled his brother telling him once that vampires often smelled of sweet floral mixed with decaying leaves.

Rowan, of course, smelled entirely different to Thaden. Probably because he was his mate. But that underlying scent of death was still there, hidden beneath the scents of wild rose and lilac, or a fresh mornings rain. Perhaps others could detect it before Thaden could but, sitting so near to him, he knew it was there. The one thing that would never allow him to forget that there was a vampire in his bed.

Thaden closed his eyes and pushed the thought aside. It mattered little to him what Rowan was. Vampire or not he was still Rowan and, as Thaden was soon finding out, many of the beliefs he had of vampires were false. Rowan had opened his eyes to that realization. By stripping away the lie that all vampires were savage monsters incapable of love or compassion he began to realize that vampires weren’t so very different than the other races.

There was evil and wickedness in all species, even elves. How could one truly blame an entire race for the misdeeds of a few? Each race was like a flower garden. Tear out the weeds to reveal the hidden beauty within. Rowan was that hidden beauty among the darkness of his people. Meeting Rowan had changed something in Thaden. He allowed Thaden to finally– despite all that he had been taught–see the true elegance and splendor of the night.

Thaden smiled down at his sleeping beauty then gently touched his shoulder to rouse him from his slumber. Rowan yawned, then turned to Thaden and opened his eyes. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened the previous night but when he did, a wide, joyful smile stretched across his face. He rose up, putting his arms around Thaden and kissed him. Thaden kissed him back, eagerly, allowing his hands to slide up and down Rowan’s naked back, his fingers trailing down his spine and causing Rowan to shiver with delight. His smile took on an entirely more impish appearance and he raised an eyebrow as he looked at Thaden.

Thaden chuckled shaking his head. “There is time for that later, my love. First you need to eat.” He pointed to the food on the table and then stood up. “I hope it’s too your liking. There isn’t a large selection of food here.”

Rowan threw the covers back and stood up from the bed. Thaden couldn’t help but admire his husbands naked form. He was pure perfection. Even after a night of being ravished he was every bit as lovely as before, maybe even more so. Thaden took some pride in knowing that he alone was privy to a more intimate side of his mate. A side that he planned to explore further in the future and more slowly once Rowan’s heat had subsided and they were able to take their time in really getting to enjoy each other.

Rowan walked to the table and found a selection of porridge, bread, cheese, and two thick cuts of bacon. Not so different from what he would have had at home in Basmorte. In spring and summer he would often find different fruits or berries on his plate and most days he had eggs and ham or bacon. Overall it wasn’t a bad meal and he was hungry enough not to complain. The bread was a bit stale but he dipped it in the bacon grease which added a little more flavor. He made quick work of the food and even ate Thaden’s share of the meat after a lengthy argument about it. Thaden would have given up his bread and cheese to Rowan as well if Rowan had not insisted that he eat some too.

After their meal, Rowan dressed then he and Thaden both made a quick trip to the outhouse before returning to their room. Thaden stopped long enough to inquire about his horse, making sure that she was watered and fed, then ordered lunch to be brought to their room later. He paid Lavinia in gold for which she seemed extremely grateful and gave her a bit extra for her troubles. He told her that they would probably be staying another night or two as Rowan was “under the weather.” Lavina gave him a knowing nod, smiled, and told him that was fine.

Thaden had trouble looking the woman in the eyes after that, realizing that she, as well as anyone else within ear shot, probably knew what had gone on in the room the night before as Rowan wasn’t exactly quiet while in the throws of a well deserved orgasm. To her credit, Lavina said nothing. She only gave a slight smirk as Thaden bowed his head and hurried back up the stairs, making a mental note that when they did settle down, he’d have to find a house with very thick walls.

When Thaden returned to the room he found Rowan on the bed, naked once more, and fast asleep. Thaden stripped his clothes off and lay beside him, grateful for the reprieve. At least he could get a little more sleep in before Rowan’s next heat hit him. If the coming day was anything like the night before, Thaden would need all the rest that he could get. He pulled the blankets over them both, closed his eyes, and was out within a matter of minutes. He had plans to make regarding his and Rowan’s future but that could wait. Their journey was only just beginning and for now, just being there, lying next to Rowan, holding him in his arms, was enough.

BLACK WEDDING

Killian paced back and forth in front of the window. He couldn’t believe that he had actually agreed to go through with this. Just what the hell was he thinking? There was no way that this was going to go well. No way at all.

Servants came and went and he barely spoke to them. He was bathed, dressed in his finest tunic, breeches, and surcoat, and then sat with a blank expression on his face as his newly washed hair was dried, combed, and tied at neatly at the nape of his neck with a bit of black silk. It was sham, all of it. The wedding. The excitement of the servants as they scurried about. Even the congratulations that he received from friends and family. None of it was real.

He was marrying Lady Emilia but he didn’t love her. He didn’t love the child she carried. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want the life that she wanted and expected. He wanted Rowan. His lost Prince. When he had actually fallen in love with the boy he had no idea but, he had. As much as he tried to deny it, he loved him. But, he was gone, dead, and with him any chance that Killian had to ever love again had also died. No one would ever replace Rowan in his heart. His heart was slowly dying too.

Killian’s father had entered the room earlier, barking orders at the servants and telling Killian what was expected–demanded–of him. Everything had been planned out from the walk down the isle to the vows that would spoken and even the reception afterwards. All Killian had to do was show up, smile, say I do, and then escort his new bride into the ball room where the reception would take place.

A grand feast had been planned. Wine would be abundant, and there would be dancing and merry making and Killian cared about none of it. For him, this wasn’t a wedding. For him, it was a funeral. A time to mourn the death of the life he once new as he entered into a new kind of hell of royals, nobility, and a legacy he never wanted. With Rowan by his side, he could have managed. With Emilia though, he prayed for a quick death. At least that way he’d be free of her.

He supposed he could have fled. He could have taken his horse and rode so far south that no one would ever find him. Of course that would mean giving up his land, titles, and his inheritance. The one thing his father had to hold over him. Killian had never had to work a day in his life. Never had to toil for endless hours in a field or even hunt for his own food. He had never gone without. He wasn’t fit for the life of a popper. He wouldn’t survive a single winter. That much he knew for sure. Marrying that wretch of a girl was the only way to ensure his life of comfort and luxury. It didn’t seem worth it in the end.

A servant had placed a glass of blood wine in his hand. Killian had held it, untouched, for thirty minutes before he finally stood, looked at the drink, then threw it hard against the stone wall. The glass shattered and the thick, crimson, liquid pooled on the floor, seeping into the decorative rug. He walked to the window, the shards of broken glass cracked under his boots, and he pushed the window open. A gust of cold, autumn, air blew in through the opened window and slapped him in the face.

Below was the rose garden. The last place he had seen Rowan. The last place he had held his hands and spoken to him. Such awful things he’d said that night. He’ll never forget the horrified look in Rowan’s eyes. The fear and loathing in them. It had thrilled Killian at the time but now, now he regretted being the cause of such distress in his beloved. If only he could take it all back. If only he could change the past and bring Rowan back from the dead. He would do things differently then. He would make amends. He could change. For Rowan, he could change. If only he’d had the chance. He would set things right.

A cool breeze blew through the tops of the trees and rattled Killian’s nerves. He looked down into the garden, now covered in a blanket of darkness, and saw a familiar face glance up at him. Killian shivered. The eyes were dark, haunted, and the face gaunt and severe. The lips, once full and pink, now tinged with blue, opened and the only sound that came out was a strangled sob. Killian fell to his knees and put his head in his hands as he began to sob. “Forgive me.” He whispered over and over again to the phantom below him. “Please, my love, forgive me.”

***

Killian was led down the narrow corridor by two guards on either side of him. His father followed behind. Servants fussed making sure his hair and clothing were in perfect order while his father rattled on about duty and responsibility. Killian was barely listening. His mood sullen and his face expressionless. He was a groom, walking to meet his bride but felt more like a prisoner being led to his execution.

They stopped outside the chapel doors. His father adjusted Killian’s cloak. Now was the time to escape if he were going to do it at all. He looked back to his father and saw the stern look on the Grand Dukes face. He wondered if he ran now if the guards would drag him back or if they were ordered to just kill him. The latter would be better. He took a deep breath then raised his head high, accepting his fate. In the end, he was too vain to run, too proud, and death seemed too easy. He didn’t deserve easy. He deserved to suffer. He deserved this hell.

The guard to his right knocked on the chapel doors and a moment later they both were pulled open by two servants. The scene in front of Killian made his head drop and he groaned. It seemed as though anyone of any great status had been invited to the event. The pews were filled with nobles of every class. Some of the guests he knew, others he did not. All were dressed in dark, sullen, colors. Fitting, he thought. This was not a time for celebration. It was a time for mourning. The country was still mourning the loss of their Prince. A prince that most of these people had never even met. They mourned him still and mourned what his death represented. The loss of hope.

With Rowan went any chance that the Kingdom of Basmorte would one day be delivered out of the hands of it’s tyrant King. Any hope for peace was now gone. The people knew that Killian would be no better than King Desmond. They saw him as a monster and they were right. He didn’t care to rule the people with an iron fist as King Desmond did. Killian didn’t care about them at all. Peasants, nobility, none of them mattered. They were all dead anyway. Dead, like he was dead. Dead like Rowan was dead. A dead King ruling a dead nation for that’s all that they were. Corpses pretending to be alive, waiting for their own bodies to rot away until the vampire Kingdom became nothing but one giant graveyard.

He smiled thinking of the eventual fall of Basmorte. It was the one happy thought he’d had in days. When the Kingdom fell, he would fall with it and finally then maybe he would be at peace. As he walked down the isle looking at the faces that turned to look back at him he couldn’t help but wonder if they all felt it too. Their eminent demise. Many of the faces smiled forced smiles as though they had been instructed to do so. The rest were hard and stoic. They didn’t want this union anymore than he did but were powerless to stop it. They looked defeated.

A dark cloud of despair had fallen over the cathedral and the entire place was as silent as the grave. Candles lit the way, cutting a line through the darkness but it only added to the eeriness as though they were all in attendance awaiting a black mass. A requiem for the dead. Perhaps that’s what is was. It seemed disrespectful to hold a wedding so close to the King laying his only son to rest but then, Killian was the only one present who had any real respect for the young Prince. Respect that came far too late it seemed or it would be Rowan that he would be joining at the alter and not the Lady Emilia.

Killian looked to the dais where the priest stood, the King to his right. The priest was dressed in a black cassock under traditional ceremonial robes and a black coif on his head. In his hands he held the book of Sheul, the vampire God of darkness and death. The perfect deity to bless a marriage. Killian thought with a smirk. The King himself was the only one who wore any semblance of bright color. A black tunic with a blood red surcoat, the insignia of his house, a ravens skull, stitched onto the coat. Over his shoulders he wore a red cloak lined with black fur, the collar framed in ravens feathers and atop his head, his ceremonial crown.

Killian despised the sight of the man and hated even more to be standing on the dais across from him with the entire room staring at him. He hesitated a brief moment, only to be given a slight shove from his father before finally stepping up and standing before the priest. The two guards stood one on either side of the dais and Killian’s father stood just below the dais on Killian’s left. Slight murmurs from the guests could be heard as Killian took his place but the sounds quickly died down as the main chapel doors were once again opened and the arrival of Lady Caroline and Lady Emilia was announced.

All eyes turned to the women as they entered the chapel and even Killian had to admit that they were a vision in their gowns. Lady Caroline wore a gown a red velvet and a cloak that matched that of the King. Her hair was pulled up into a complicated braid that circled her head like a crown of gold. A red veil covered her face and head and a train of red lace swept the floor behind her as she walked slowly towards the dais. In her hand was a bouquet of red roses. She was truly stunning.

Lady Emilia walked beside her wearing a gown of emerald silk, Killian’s colors, and a cloak with a pin depicting his family crest, a green dragon made of vines and thorns, closing the cloak at her neck. Like her mother she wore a veil over her face and head but this one was green to match her gown, as was the train that trailed behind her. Her hair was pulled back by two braids on the sides while the rest, a fountain of dark curls, flowed down her back. In her hands she held a bouquet of black roses and green thorns. She smiled when she saw Killian staring at her. He turned his eyes away and frowned.

The women approached the Dais then stepped up to take their places next to the men. The moon shone through the stained glass windows, casting a haunting glow on the surroundings. The priest looked to each of the couples and in a soft command, told them to take each others hands and kneel before the alter that sat in the center of the dais. Killian took Emilia’s hand though begrudgingly and did as instructed. Her hand was cold as though made of ice and he shivered. As he looked up at the priest he suddenly wanted to scream. To rise to his feet and storm out of the chapel, leaving his bride to be standing at the alter but, he knew that he could not. It was too late for that now.

The priest opened the book in his hands, an old and faded tome holding the dark secrets of their race. Secrets that’s no other species had privy too. Only the old ones knew the truth of what lay in those hallowed pages for their history was long and dark. Killian himself only knew the teachings of his youth, the fractured retelling of their kind and how they came into existence. It was the same story that all vampire children were taught. It was of the birth of the first vampire and from that one sprang the race that now infected the world. The same story was told again by the old priest as he began the ceremony.

“In the time when darkness covered the land and the night ruled the earth there was one being, above all else, who loved the night and took her as his bride. His name was Sheul, the God of darkness and Death.” The Priest began. “Together, they begot three children. Falodra, Inuduna, and Morrigu. Falodra took as her mate the King of the Tuath, Arawn and begot the Fae and Elven race. Inuduna took as her mate a warrior wolf named Lycanon and begot the children of the moon. Morrigu, the youngest of the siblings took as her mate, the demon Lord Vammurin and together they begot the vampire race from which all of us are born.

The vampire race was the strongest and most fierce with demons blood burning through our veins and so Sheul blessed us as his children and gave us the mother night to love and protect us. They bestowed upon us long life and health and taught us the ways to live within the darkness. And so, to honor them, we hunt, we kill, and we drink the blood of our enemies that we might live forever in the grace and beauty of the night.

On this extraordinary night, we gather under the watchful eye of our God, Sheul, to join together not only the hearts of King Desmond of Basmorte and Lady Caroline Mahony of Elderidge but also Lord Killian Thorn, Duke of Grayholm and Lady Emilia Mahony of Elderidge in the bonds of matrimony. Let us now invoke the ancient powers of darkness and death to bless these unions.”

The priest picked up a golden chalice from the alter and held it high above his head as he spoke the next words. ” In this sacred chamber where we invoke the presence of the vampire God Sheul and seek the blessings of the Mother Night upon these unions we offer this blood that our souls may be entwined with the eternal power that flows through the veins of the immortal realm. O Sheul, ancient lord of darkness and death, hear our call and witness this solemn union. We offer this sacred blood as a token of our devotion and seek your benevolent gaze upon these blessed unions. Grant your wisdom and blessings to our ruler, King Desmond and Lady Caroline, and to Lord Killian and Lady Emilia.

Mother Night, we offer this blood as a symbol of the everlasting bond between King Desmond and Lady Caroline, and Lord Killian and Lady Emilia. May their love be as timeless as your existence and as eternal as the night itself. Bestow upon them your blessings of strength, wisdom, and enduring passion. shroud us in your divine darkness, and may your everlasting embrace bless these unions with eternal love and unbreakable bonds. King Desmond, Lady Caroline, Lord Killian, and Lady Emilia, in this sacred act, you offer your commitment and love to each other. By partaking of this sacred blood, you symbolize the eternal connection that will bind you throughout the ages.”

The priest then turned to each of the couples and asked them in turn, “King Desmond, do you take Lady Caroline to be your eternal companion, to cherish and protect her, to share the night and the darkness, and to stand by her side through all the ages to come?”

“I do.” King Desmond said. His voice was deep and commanding but his face emotionless and cold. The ceremony, his marriage, it was nothing to him. He had done it all before, many times. He had no love for his future wife and this marriage to her was just a contract to be fulfilled. If she failed to deliver on her end, she would meet a swift end at a sharp knife. That was the burden that she carried. She was but a vessel to be used to carry his heir and if she proved unable to do so then her usefulness to him would cease to exist. She would be discarded as were the wives who had come and gone before her.

“And Lady Caroline,” The priest addressed her now. “Do you take King Desmond to be your eternal companion, to love and honor him, to share the night and the darkness, and to stand by his side through all the ages to come?”

Caroline smiled as she bowed her head. “I do.” Her voice rang like a bell, echoing throughout the chapel. She seemed pleased, and confident in her own ability to give the King what he wanted. There was no fear in her face nor worry that things would not work in her favor. She was a shrewd woman, like her daughter, and Killian might have almost liked her, had she not had a hand in his being forced to wed her deplorable child.

The priest nodded to the Lady, acknowledging her words and turned to the King. “Then, my King, place the ring on her finger.” King Desmond turned to a small boy who held a black pillow where sat a ring more dazzling that Killian had ever seen in his life. It had a gold band and many small diamonds that were set along the band. In the center though was a blood red jewel, a ruby, large and as exquisite as the woman who meant to wear it. The light of the candles caught the jewel and cascaded off the stone and onto the floor. Ripples of light gave the appearance of a pool of blood just below the alter. It was beautifully horrific.

King Desmond took the ring and slid it onto Caroline’s waiting finger. She smiled down at it and for a moment Killian saw something flash across her eyes. Something dangerous and dark. The King picked up her hand in his and lightly kissed her knuckles though his eyes landed on her and a look of indifference crossed his face. He was bored. Killian could tell that at once and he nearly laughed out loud. King Desmond was bored at his own wedding.

The priest then turned to Killian and asked the same. “Lord Killian Thorn, do you take Lady Emilia to be your eternal companion, to cherish and protect her, to share the night and the darkness, and to stand by her side through all the ages to come?”

Killian a hesitated only a moment, earning him an angry glare from Emilia. Finally, he sighed. “I do.” He said though his voice was raw and steeped in anger. In his mind he was screaming No no no! He imagined pulling a dagger from his belt rather than a ring and plunging the blade deep into Emilia’s chest. The blood from her body laying crumpled on the stone dais would slowly ooze out of her and form a real pool of blood where the shimmering light had once been. How would his future in laws like that? To have their wedding clothes stained with the blood of the bitch who had ensnared him.

Emilia narrowed her eyes then turned back to the priest, ignoring Killian’s defiance.

“Lady Emilia.” The Priest continued. “Do you take Lord Killian Thorn to be your eternal companion, to love and honor him, to share the night and the darkness, and to stand by his side through all the ages to come?”

Emilia smiled, proudly. “I do.” She said loudly, for all to hear.

To Killian the priest repeated, “Lord Killian, please place the ring on the lady’s finger.”

Killian turned to his side where his father waited, holding a simple gold band that he handed to Killian. It wasn’t near as beautiful or expensive as the ring the King had placed onto Caroline’s finger but it was pure gold and shimmered elegantly in the candle light. Emilia put her hand out, waiting for the ring and Killian slipped it on as quickly as he could then withdrew as though he could no longer bear to touch her.

The priest lowered the chalice of blood, and each of the couples drank from it, completing their vows.

Killian nearly gagged on the blood. Swine blood mixed with wine. It was revolting. In the old days it would have come from a human sacrifice, killed before the entire congregation but, such things were no longer permitted. It was written in the treaty that humans and other kin were no longer to be used as food. God, how Killian missed those days. There was nothing more exhilarating than hunting down prey and draining them where they stood. Feeling the heart stop as the last drop of blood passed by his lips.

That was truly what it meant to be a vampire. To hunt and kill and take what they wanted and never for a moment feel shame for being what they were or doing what they were meant to do. They were monsters, killers, and they were meant to rule the night. Not hide away in their castles and houses like frightened little rodents scurrying around in shadows taking whatever scraps they could find. King Desmond and his damn treaty had made their race weak. No one feared them as they once did. It sicked Killian to his core. Desmond wasn’t a King. He was a coward. He hated him.

The priest continued speaking but Killian barely heard a word of it. The words spoken were of little importance to him. He had no intention of actually abiding by the vows he spoke. It was all a pretense. “As the blood flows through your veins, may you be forever bound by the mysteries of the night and the eternal power of Sheul. Let your love be as deep as the endless abyss and as strong as the darkness that veils the stars. Mother Night, wrap these unions in your comforting darkness, and let your wisdom guide them through the trials of life and death. Bless their journeys as they walk the path of love hand in hand, side by side, for all eternity.”

The priest sat the chalice aside and once again picked the ancient book up and held it in his hands. “May your love shine through the ages, guided by the eternal wisdom of Sheul and the nurturing embrace of Mother Night. And, let it be known that on this night, under the watchful gaze of Sheul and Mother Night, King Desmond and Lady Caroline, and Lord Killian and Lady Emilia are forever bound in the embrace of darkness and blessed with the gifts of their undying love. Rise now, and greet your people as husbands and wives.”

The two couples stood and turned, facing the congregation as they held hands, presenting themselves as newly wed couples. A cacophony of applause erupted from the crowd along with shouts of congratulations. Killian groaned. This was possibly the worst night of his life.

***

No words could describe the torment that attending the King’s reception was for Lord Killian. The King’s reception. That’s what it was. Though meant for both couples it certainly wasn’t that. Nobles lined the room, approaching the throne one by one to give congratulations and gifts to their King. King Desmond yawn and leaned his head on his hand while Caroline, now Queen, greeted each of their guests and thanked them for their offerings with false sincerity.

Killian sat at the long banquet table next to Emilia and glowered at anyone that came near them. He swore, the next person to congratulate him would be met with his fangs. Lady Emilia seemed at ease and quite in her element. Charming each and every person who came to speak to her. Even without the grand gifts that the King and Queen received, Emilia appeared to be enjoying the reception and the attention of her guests. Women that would have ordinarily paid her no mind were now hovering at her side. She was the daughter of the King now, her status elevated.

Not yet a princess, officially. The King himself would have to give her that title but the Queen would see to it that he did. Nevertheless, Emilia acted the part. She sat up straight, head held high, and a wide, beautiful smile played across her blood red lips. She sipped at her wine and tipped her head to those who addressed her. Killian merely slouched in his seat giving the occasional grunt when someone greeted him. He was tired of the whole affair. Tired of the fake smiles and the insincerity of the wedding guests. People who were no doubt whispering about the royal family behind their backs.

He downed his fourth goblet of wine…or was it his fifth? He didn’t know. He’d lost count. He drank it down quickly then slammed the goblet on the table and stood up on wobbly legs. It took a lot to get him drunk but the wine was strong. Still, it only took him a moment to steady himself and then he stalked away from the table. Emilia looked at him, an angry snarl on her face

“I have to piss.” He gruffly snapped at her. “I didn’t think I needed your permission for that.”

Emilia huffed then waved him off and he gave her a half-assed bow before stumbling away from the table. Killian pushed his way through a crowd of nobles who were no doubt deep in their gossip. They gasped as he rudely pushed them aside and made for the door. Once he’d made it outside of the banquette hall he leaned against the wall and sighed a breath of relief. He couldn’t stand being in that place for second longer. It was as if the very air were being sucked out of the room. It was suffocating, even for a vampire.

Killian pushed off the wall and headed down the corridor. He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he needed to get away. The silence that spread out around him offered him no solace though. The clicking of his boots against the stone floor was an unnerving as the idle chatter of the banquette hall. The massive corridor seemed to grow darker the further he walked and all around him the scent of death clung to the air. The castle, this massive stone structure, was little more than a crypt he realized with alarm. Rowan was the only one who had breathed life into the palace and with him gone, it was dying and so was everything within it’s festering walls.

On and on he walked, with no destination in mind. He stopped occasionally, looking around when he thought he heard voices coming from somewhere deep within the shadows. He couldn’t make out words. They were only whispers and they seemed to be following him, growing louder and louder until the whispers were all he could hear as they filled his head. He put his hands to his ears and tried to block them out but it did no good and finally he stopped, unable to bear anymore, and he slammed his fist into the wall.

“Leave me be!” He screamed into the darkness. “It wasn’t my fault! He took his own life. It wasn’t my fault.” Killian slid down the wall, holding his head in his hands as he wept. “Please.” He begged. “Just leave me in peace.”

The whispering voices faded away, slowly and he was met with unnatural silence once more. There was nothing, nothing but the sounds of his own sobs. No rats scurrying in the walls, and he was too deep within the castle now to hear the wind outside or the music from the banquette hall. There was nothing, only silence. He did not know how long he sat there, huddled against the wall, before a new sound invaded his mind. He shook his head and cried, willing it to go away. It was coming closer. Slowly, painfully, closer.

At first he heard the padding of bare feet against the stone floor, then the gentle rustling of fabric, soft, and light, like the gossamer fibers of a funeral shroud. Killian dared a glance up and was met with a bone-chilling sight. Out of the darkness, an eerie spectral figure emerged, shrouded in black, drifting silently along the cold, unforgiving, stone floor. Each step taken by the ghostly presence seemed to send shivers through the very foundation of the ancient castle.

The figure was tall and slender, their ghostly form partially obscured by the dark, billowing fabric of the funeral shroud that trailed behind them like a shadowy mist. The shroud seemed to have an unnatural life of its own, as if it had a will to haunt and torment those who crossed its path. The pale skin of their bare feet seemed to blend, almost seamlessly with the cold, gray, stone beneath. With each step, the sound of a faint echo resonated through the eerie silence of the castle, like a mournful whisper of a long-forgotten past and an overwhelming sense of sorrow and despair emanated from the figure, like a dark cloud surrounding it.

The chilling presence seemed to float just above the floor, defying the laws of gravity as it glided forward with a spectral grace. It was as if the weight of the world rested on its shoulders, leaving behind a palpable feeling of heaviness and dread in its wake. As the figure moved closer, the black shroud unfurled and danced like ethereal tendrils in the moonlit air. It seemed to reach out for something–or someone–with a sinister, almost malevolent intent. It advanced on Killian leaving a trail of darkness and despair in its wake.

Killian began to shiver, his head shaking as the phantom grew closer, its hand, covered in pale, shrunken flesh, reaching towards him, the tips of the fingers brushed along the side of his face and then, he screamed.

The sounds of Killian’s screams echoed throughout the black corridor, crashing against the stone walls before finding their way back to Killian’s ears. Even sound could not escape this fearsome ghoul and Killian suddenly began to wonder if this night would be his last.

***

It was nearly dawn when Queen Caroline leaned over and gently placed a kiss against her husband’s cheek. “Come, my love. Let us retire to our chambers.” She whispered.

The King looked at her with suspicion. “Are you worn out from the festivities, my dear, or does this mean that you are finally willing to share my bed?”

“I’m eager to fulfill my purpose.” She told him with a coy smile. “The sooner we conceive an heir, the sooner my place at your side will be secured.”

“Are you so confident in your abilities to please me?” The King raised a brow as he watched her, carefully.

“Let me prove my abilities to you, my King.” Caroline took his hand in hers then stood, urging him to follow. “I promise this to be a night you will not soon forget.”

Desmond stood and allowed his wife to lead him away from the table. The guests that still remained bowed as the King and Queen bid them goodnight then made their way out of the banquette hall and to their chambers.

The Lady Emilia had long since retired to her own rooms, hoping to find her own husband already there and waiting for her, eager to have a taste of her before sleep took them over.

With the royal family gone for the night, and the festivities coming to an end, the guests slowly departed, returning to their guests suits to rest before making the long journey back to their own homes. The Grand Duke would also be leaving the following night to return to Grayholm. Killian and Emilia were set to leave for Grayholm a week later.

Servants busied themselves cleaning up after the reception and restoring the banquette hall to it’s former gloom and staunch decadence. Any sign of merriment now gone. That was the way the King liked it. Dark, cold, and void of emotion, like the King himself. The tyrant King, hated by all. Locked in a world of self-deprecating soberness. How the people of Basmorte longed to be released from his icy grip. Too long had they all remained cowering, shrouded in darkness, looking like mourners at their own funerals.

It was time for change. Time to claw their way back out of the shadows and end the rule of their loathsome King once and for all. An ill wind swept through the castle that night and with it brought a sense of dread. A storm was coming. A terrible, thundering tempest, that only the strongest would survive.

BLOOD AND ROSES

King Desmond sat on the bed, a long robe of crimson red covering his body. He sat back against the large bank of pillows and watched, with great interest, as Lady Caroline, his new Queen, sat at the vanity and brushed out her long, golden hair.

When they had entered their chambers, King Desmond saw the curious scene laid out before them. Blood red rose petals trailed along the floor from the double doors to the large four poster bed. Candles lit their way into the bedchamber, lining the shelves, the window sill, nightstands and even along the floor. Caroline had outdone herself he thought as he entered the room. Clearly she had arranged for the room to be staged prior to the wedding ceremony and the servants had carried out her instructions to the letter.

It was all very romantic but, sadly, wasted on the King. He wasn’t interested in romance. Truth be told, he had no real interest in Caroline for anything other than her womb. Love with a distraction. It weakened the mind and dulled the senses making one vulnerable. Love was a poison from which there was no escape. He’d learned that lesson years ago and would never repeat the mistakes of his youth. He would not allow another woman to bewitch him as ‘she’ had done, so long ago. Women were nothing more than vipers, waiting for the moment to strike, rip your heart out and leave you wallowing in your own agony and despair.

His Queen was a handsome woman though. Even Desmond could not deny that. She had beguiling beauty and a ruthlessness that he admired above all her other more, useless, charms. She was strong, confident, and commanding in her own right. The perfect mate as she would no doubt beget strong and healthy children. She had better. The King thought to himself. Or I’ll take her pretty head myself.

Caroline turned and smiled at her husband but he did not allow her charming smile to disarm him for one moment. She did not love him anymore than he loved her. The King was no fool. It was his power that she was in love with. A power she had coveted since their first meeting three summers ago when she had presented herself and her wretched daughter at court.

Caroline had been a commoner. The daughter of a miller and the youngest of five children. Her mother was blood born. The years living in the shadows had driven her mad though and one night had gone on a blood fueled killing spree. She was hunted down by the elven King and her head taken and her body burned. Caroline’s father, unable to care for his children alone, quickly found mates for the oldest of his daughters but Caroline, being only a child at the time, he sold into servitude to a local widowed, Baron who governed his lands.

Caroline worked hard, cleaning, cooking, and eventually was given the task of caring for her master’s three children. As she grew older, Caroline took on a more domestic role within the Baron’s household, catering to his needs personally. He was quite taken with her and when it was discovered that she carried his child, he married her.

They lived happily for many years, or so it seemed, then one by one, the Baron’s three children became stricken with a strange illness. At first they appeared weak, like new born kittens. They were unable to care for themselves so Caroline nursed each of them the best she could. She fed them, bathed them, and clothed them but they only grew weaker as the weeks passed by. Eventually they stopped eating as everything made them violently ill. Even blood could not be tolerated. A healer was called in to treat them but could find no cause for the illness and therefore, knew not how to treat it.

Eventually the children succumbed to the illness and passed away, much to the horror of their father. Servants whispered through the somber halls that Lady Caroline was to blame for the decline in the children’s health for she and her daughter, Emilia, seemed to be immune to whatever plague had stricken the family. Many believed that the Baron would turn his wife away or have her arrested but then he too began to show signs of the sickness. As with the children, Caroline nursed her husband, aided by Emilia who was, herself, just a child at the time. And, just like the children, the Baron grew weaker and sicker, his heath in rapid decline until he too passed in the early hours one morning.

Caroline didn’t seem nearly as distraught over her husbands death as one might think, nor did she mourn the deaths of the three children she’d help to raise. Instead, she took to spending the Baron’s money as quickly as she could, throwing grand balls and lavishing all her attention on her daughter. She made sure that Emilia had the most expensive and beautiful gowns of all the young girls at court. Caroline adorned herself with expensive silks and jewelry. She served the finest foods at her parties and filled her home with the most extravagant furniture, paintings, and decorative rugs.

For as much as she spoiled her child, she was twice as cruel to her servants and they hated her. She barely fed them, forced them to feed from vermin, and sleep on cold, damp, floors with only rags to keep them warm. The slaves she kept, mostly Fae, were beaten and starved. Their mistress took great pleasure in their suffering, often bragging about how they cried and begged for mercy which only made her beat them harder. It was widely whispered that she also fed from her slaves and had a liking for a particular elven boy whom she kept chained in the basement and used as her personal blood slave, a thing which had been outlawed some years past.

The cruelty and the spending went on and the money soon began to deplete as Caroline had no head for business and many of her tenants choose to leave her lands rather than put up with her over taxing and cruel treatment of them. Lady Caroline soon found her financial situation in dire straights. As a solution to this, she took a new lover whom she soon married. A wealthy nobleman with lands and titles of his own. She quickly convinced him to put all of his properties and holdings into her name, much to the shock and outrage of his grown children who had expected to inherit it all.

The marriage to her noble Lord lasted only one summer as he was suspiciously killed while visiting southern neighbors. Lady Caroline accused elven scouts of the murder, claiming her husband rode too close to their borders and they killed him to make an example. Odd though as the neighbors he had been visiting reported no elven warriors anywhere near their lands on that particular night. Still, the King could not allow the senseless murder of noble Lords to go unpunished so he ordered another raid to take place which wiped out an entire elven village just outside the southern boarders of Basmorte.

After the death of her second husband, Lady Caroline spent much of her time at court, wooing and seducing many men and a few women out of their holdings. She never again married though, not until her eyes landed on the King during a rare ball held at the castle. The omega Prince, Rowan, had reached his sixteenth year and, as was custom, he was to be presented to court. It was said that King Desmond only allowed the ball to be held in hopes of finding his unwanted child a suitor that he might marry the boy off as quickly as possible. Many of the Kingdoms nobility flocked to the palace. Mostly to catch a glimpse of the omega Prince that the King kept locked away behind castle walls.

He was so secluded that few scarcely believed he even existed at all. Others had heard stories told to them by the servants who had actually seen the boy. Some tales told of a beauty so rare that it surpassed even that of his raven haired mother. Others told of a frail and sickly youth, starved for both nourishment and attention. The people of Basmorte were eager to see which of these stories held truth and which were simply lies. The reality were that both were true, in a way. Rowan was in deed a beauty with fair skin and long, silky, black locks. Ruby red lips and eyes as green as emeralds. He was slight in size with a small and slender frame, and as dainty as a child.

He did not appear sickly or frail though, quite the opposite. Despite his size he had a lean, muscular frame and seemed surprisingly healthy for one having been locked away in the darkness for so long. He was shy though, and reserved. Some might even go so far as to say reclusive. This could have been due in part to the way he had been raised. Even before coming to the palace it was said that he and his mother lived in isolation in Ravenskeep with only a minimal staff permitted to tend their needs. The country house in which he’d spent his youth was North of Rosegate and located on a piece of land that was wild and untamed. It sat, nestled between the Aingaleon sea and the Ciorstan mountains.

It had once been a stunning keep but since the death of Queen Ellarian had been mostly abandoned and since fallen into ruin. Rowan wailed and cried for nights after being dragged away from the only home he had ever known, forced into a lonely existence within the dark confines of the castle. In time though he had come to accept his new life, or resigned to the fact that the life he once knew was now gone, and the night terrors slowly began to ease and then disappear altogether. Or so everyone thought. He still cried in the night at times but had learned to become much quieter about it. He shrank away into a shell and did his best to protect himself from his father’s anger.

Rowan became quiet, moving ghost like through the halls, weaving in and out of the shadows barely seen by anyone. The less he was noticed, the safer he stayed. He spent much of his time being not seen nor heard and so was able to roam about fairly freely, keeping to the gardens he so loved, or hiding away in the library where he could lose himself within the pages of a good book. His favorites were epic adventures and stories of intrigue and romance brought to Basmorte from Rosegate or Millbarrow. He thrived on the tales of dashing knights rescuing kidnapped princesses only to fall in love and escape to be together.

He clung to those tales and memorized them so he could forever keep them in his mind, recalling the grand adventures over and over again until he felt as though he were a part of the actual story instead of merely a spectator. So many nights he lay in bed, longing for the time when a knight in shinning armor would come and rescue him, sweep him off his feet, slay the horrible dragon and carrying him off on his noble steed to destinations unknown. He knew of course it was only fantasy. Nothing that like would ever happen, not to him. He was trapped in his father’s castle until his father grew tired of him and finally chopped off his head. That was the only escape Rowan had to look forward to. Death.

This reality was made so much more painfully aware as his father paraded him around the grand hall like a piece of meat at an auction, desperately trying to find some foolhardy noble youth to take Rowan off his hands. No one seemed inclined to do more than gawk at the boy and whisper about him to their friends. He wasn’t someone anyone wanted as a mate or even a friend. He was a side show attraction. The omega vampire that shouldn’t exist. An anomaly, a freak. He was no more than a welcome break from the monotony of their dull and boring lives. When the novelty wore off they lost interest and he was again left to his own devices.

Though the party was meant for Rowan in particular, he’d spent very little time in the grand hall. After meeting most of the guests-the most important of them-he’d retired to a small window seat where he could watch the festivities without being seen. He’d stayed there most of the night, hidden behind a curtain only peaking out once in a while out of curiosity. That was the first time he’d noticed the stunning woman with golden hair clinging shamelessly to his father’s side. The King didn’t seemed all that interested in her to be honest but his lack of interest didn’t appear to be off putting to the woman.

She made sure to stay by his side the remainder of the night. She catered to him, laughed and smiled, fed him small, sweet, cakes and even stroked his arm with her small, delicate, fingers. As the night drew to a close and the King stood, ready to retire to his rooms, Rowan expected him to dismiss the woman with the rest of the guests. She would leave in the morning and that would be the end of it but, to Rowan’s amazement, the King stopped, turned to her and then did the one thing that no one had ever expected. He asked the woman if she would stay on at the palace for a week or two. She obliged, happily and was assigned guest quarters for her and her daughter.

A week or two turned into three years. Three miserable years of torment for Rowan. At first, he had welcomed the addition to the castle. He’d foolishly hoped that as his future step-mother, Lady Caroline would show him the love and kindness that he never got from his father. Unfortunately for Rowan, Lady Caroline turned out to be just as cruel and heartless as the King, maybe more so. She took an immediate disliking to the young Prince and wasn’t afraid to show it. Her cruelty to the boy seemed to please the King which gave her license to do and act as she wished. She was almost unbearable to be around and her daughter was just as bad.

Once again, Rowan slunk back into the shadows and tried his best to remain unseen. It was safer that way. Lady Caroline didn’t need an excuse to be cruel. Merely being in her presence would spark her anger and more than once she suggested to the King that he should send Rowan away. Rowan was certain the Lady would have him beheaded had the King permitted it. And, perhaps he would had, had the council of elders not been watching him closely. It was the council who had demanded Rowan’s coming out celebration. Rowan had often suspected that it was in part because they wanted to see that he still lived and was well, no longer willing to just take the King at his word.

Rowan had realized early on that if it had not been for the council, his life would have been much different. They had insisted that he receive the education deemed befitting a royal. They had insisted that he be given a personal maid and adequate living quarters. They also made it mandatory that he be allowed to attend weekly mass, despite Desmond’s objections. Of course, his maid was to attend with him and he was expected to sit with the royal family and out of harms way. The only exception to this was during heats when he was isolated from the rest of the castle and only allowed female attendants. Not even the council wanted to deal with the fallout from that scandal.

All in all, that had been his life. Lady Caroline just had to endure the boys presence in the palace because, while he was still under the watchful eyes of the council, he was off limits. Why they had taken such an interest in the boy she did not know. The King had told her that because Rowan was of royal blood he was afforded all the protection of the crown and that allowing any harm to befall him would make the council appear weak. They feared what would happen should the people of Basmorte no longer see the council as a symbol of authority and order.

Lady Caroline accepted this explanation and said no more about it though, in the back of her mind, she often wondered if there was something more to it than what the King was willing to divulge. She just couldn’t understand how one, useless, omega could be that important. It made no sense to her. He was nothing. Even the priests felt he was an abomination and often preached on it. They made certain that all the people knew how much Sheul despised omegas and had ordered them destroyed. Rowan’s existence was of great contention within the church and the priests seemed almost relived when he was found dead. Even going so far as to praise Sheul.

Now that Rowan was gone and the first part of Caroline’s plan had been put in motion she was free to enact the second part of her plan and that involved the King himself.

Seated at the vanity, Caroline was a stunning sight. Her long, blond, locks flowed down her slender back, nearly reaching the inclined curve of her tiny bottom. Her hips were wide. Good child-bearing hips, and legs, soft and smooth, peaked out from behind the sheer, black, robe she wore. She was unclothed beneath the robe and King Desmond could see the outline of her body perfectly from her firm, flat, belly to the swell of her breasts and the her pink, pert, nipples. His cock stirred beneath his robe as he watched her dragging the brush through her golden hair.

“It is our wedding night, my dear.” The King spoke in dark, cold, tones. “The time for denying me has come to an end. Tonight you will join me in my bed.”

The Queen sat the brush aside and turned to smile at her husband. Her smile was dazzling but her eyes looked sinister as they narrowed and she caught the King in her icy stare. Slowly, she rose from the stool, moving in a seductive manner as she almost floated, barefooted, across the threaded rug at her feet. Her nails were blood red and the King looked at them with a hunger as she stretched out her hand and stroked his graying beard. She sat on the edge of the bed, near her husband, running a slender finger over his parted lips. He watched her, mesmerized by her movements.

It had not been so very long since he’d had another in his bed but it had been a servant girl. Small and frail. She had lain, stiff as a board, looking to the ceiling as the King fucked her and when he was done, he’d dismissed her. She jumped from his bed, pulling her skirts down, and ran from the room as quickly as her skinny legs would carry her. But, she had just been a stupid girl. Barely twenty. Not a woman like the Queen. An alluring temptress with all the grace and charm of a well bred lady. One could hardly believe that she had come from such poor stock as she certainly exuded royalty now.

She plucked a grape from the tray on the nightstand and slipped it gently into the Kings eager mouth. He licked at it, licked her finger tip, then took the fruit into his mouth as he watched his wife, curiously. She certainly made a show of the seduction though he couldn’t imagine why. She would know that he would not turn her away. Not this night. Not ever. He wanted her body. Could not wait to have her splayed beneath him, screaming his name as he drove his massive cock into her over and over again.

He would not be gentle with her as he longed to taste her screams on his lips. He longed to taste her womanhood, her sweet, wet, channel. He longed to taste her blood flowing freely into his mouth as he claimed her as his own. He had waited too long for this moment. Been turned away from her bed too many times as she claimed that she wanted their union to be pure and legal. She would only take him into her bed on their wedding night and together they would conceive the child he so wanted. That was her promise and now, the King was ready for her to make good on that promise.

“Come to me.” He said in his most commanding voice. “You will give me what I’ve waited so long for or I will take it. Either way, you will be mind this night.”

“Patience, my darling.” She said. Her lips twisted in a shrewd little grin. “I will give you all you desire, and more. But first, you must do something for me.” The Queen pulled open a drawn on the nightstand and reached inside. She removed a piece of parchment along with ink and a quill. She laid the parchment across the King’s lap then waited as he read over the document.

“What is this?” The King snarled as he read the words scrawled along the parchment. “Is this a joke?”

“Not at all.” The Queen smiled though her eyes were hard and cold. “It is what we had agreed upon. Sign it and I am yours in all ways.”

The King smirked as he sat the paper aside, disregarding it. “In the morning perhaps, now, come here.”

He reached for her but Caroline put her hand up to stop him. “We had an agreement.” She hissed. “Sign it now or spend this night and many after it alone.”

Desmond glared daggers at his Queen. The fury in his eyes did not frighten or lesson her resolve. Knowing he could not win this battle, Desmond picked the document up once more then snatched the quill from her hand. He quickly scrawled his name on the line then grabbed a candle and dripped wax beside the signature and added his royal seal. “There, it’s done.” He scowled as he threw the parchment at his bride. “Your harlot of a daughter is officially now a Princess of Basmorte.”

The Queen’s smile widened as she took up the parchment, and placed it safely back into the drawer. “Thank you, my King.” She turned to him then, and leaned forward to kiss his lips. He kissed her back, greedily, wrapping his arms around her as he pulled her on to his lap. The Queen straddled him, a leg on each side, the front of her robe falling open, revealing the golden tuft of hair between her legs. The King reached up and undid the tie that held her robe together at the neck. Brushing his hands over the creamy, white flesh of her shoulders, he pushed the robe back and down her arms, revealing her large, full breasts.

The robe fell back, collecting just below her ass in a pool of black. The sides slipped from her thighs, covering her bare feet. Caroline kissed him again and he opened his mouth to the kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth as he took her by the hips and pulled her against him. Caroline moaned into the kiss and snaked her arms around his neck. The King’s cock, now fully erect, pushed up between them and he desired more than anything to sink it into her hot, wet, and inviting cunt.

“You are breathtaking, my dear.” The King breathed heavily, his mouth inches from her throat.

“My King, you flatter me so.” Caroline tossed her hair, leaning her head to the side, revealing the smooth skin of her neck. The King leaned forward but before he could capture her slender neck in his hands Caroline had shifted, reaching to the night stand where she picked up an empty wine glass and a glass flask, rimmed in gold. The red liquid within sloshed the sides as she poured a full glass of the blood wine. She brought the glass to her full, red, lips and took a sip. She leaned forward then, placing her mouth over her Kings and fed him the wine from his mouth as she kissed him, deeply.

When she pulled back, the King snatched the glass from her hand, drank down the rest of it’s contents greedily then threw the glass to the floor. It shattered against the hard stone and the King wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe then looked to Caroline with fire in his eyes. “No more games.” He growled, low and dangerous. “I’ve waited long enough to fuck you and I will wait no more.”

He slid a hand between her thighs, cupping the soft hair he found there and slid his fingers inside. Caroline moaned as she reached beneath the robe and grasped his hard cock. She began to stroke him as he moved his fingers inside of her, her breasts bounced as she rocked back and forth on his fingers. Her free hand gripping the sheets of the bed as she pumped the King’s cock in her hand. Desmond closed his eyes and leaned his head back, groaning and licking his lips. Caroline’s free hand slipped behind the bank of pillows, she leaned forward, kissing the King’s neck, then his face, her lips brushed his ear. “Now, my King, you shall get all that you deserve.” She whispered into his ear.

The King’s eyes shot open at once. A sensation unlike any he had ever experienced before washed over him. It was as if his veins had turned to ice, and his throat burned with unimaginable pain, he clutched at the sheets but a creeping paralysis had seized control of his body making it impossible for him to move. Panic surged within him as a searing fire consumed his every nerve. His muscles seized, and he began to convulse. A strangled cry tore from his throat. The poison’s brutality was beyond comprehension, ripping through him in waves of torment. He felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out, each moment a never-ending eternity of suffering.

As his strength waned, Desmond’s gaze met Caroline’s icy glare. Her smile did not falter, and her eyes glittered with malevolent satisfaction. He tried to speak, to call out to her, but his words were chocked off in his throat as all that came out was a splattering of his own blood. The Queen’s demeanor shifted in an instant, the facade of innocence falling away like a mask. In its place was a sinister resolve that sent a shiver down Desmond’s spine. He coughed and groaned, struggling to move away as his body convulsed in agony.

“You were a fool to trust me, my Love,” Caroline’s voice was venomous, each word dripping with malice. She stared down at him, her gaze fixed on him with unwavering intent. “A fool to believe that I could ever want you. Could ever love you. I despise you as your people despise you. Know that when you’re dead, no one in this Kingdom will ever mourn your passing.”

Desmond’s vision blurred, his world narrowing down to the suffocating pain that consumed him. He felt the poison coursing through his veins, the searing pain a torturous reminder of his impending doom. And then, as his strength waned, he felt a sharp, burning pain in his chest. Caroline had drawn a silver bladed dagger from beneath the pillows, its blade glinting in the candlelight. With a swift, merciless motion, she plunged the dagger into his heart, her eyes ablaze with a cold, ruthless fire. Desmond’s body jerked, his breath caught in a strangled gasp, and his vision dimmed as darkness closed in around him.

The room fell silent, the candles flickered as Caroline withdrew the dagger from Desmond’s lifeless form, a triumphant smirk playing upon her ruby lips. The air was thick with the scent of blood and betrayal, a palpable reminder of what she had just done and, what was at stake. Panic gripped her for a moment, but only a moment. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of such frivolous uncertainty. By morning the King’s body would be discovered and she would be dragged out in irons if she didn’t act quickly.

She picked up the dagger and then, taking a deep breath, plunged it into her belly. She gasped and cried out, nearly collapsing on top of her now dead husband. She took a moment to regain her strength then pulled the dagger slowly free and slid off the bed. Her foot stepped on a shard of broken glass from the discarded wine glass and instantly she cringed as the shard cut deep into her foot. She reached down and pulled it out, cursing herself not being more careful.

As quickly as she could, she pulled her robe back on then pulled the fabric together and held it in place. Clutching the dagger in her other hand she walked to the door of her marital chambers and shuffled out into the hall, leaving a trail of thick blood behind her. Stumbling as she walked, Caroline fell to her knees, the dagger hit the stone floor with a loud clatter. She placed her hand over the wound in his belly and cried out.

“Guards, Help!” She wailed, her screams echoing off the walls and down the darkened corridor. “Guards, Help me, please! The King…the King is dead!”

Her eyes filled with false tears as her ears picked up the sounds of heavy boots on the stone floor racing towards her. She fell to her side as the guards came into view. She reached out to them, weeping hysterically.

“My Queen!” The first guard to approached gasped when he saw her laying there. “What happened?”

“The King.” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. “The King is dead! He’s been murdered! The King has been murdered!”

LOVE’S EMBRACE

Rowan lazed in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. For three days he and Thaden had been at the inn and it had been the most amazing three days of his young life. Rowan never imagined that he could have such happiness or feel so much love. It’s as though the dreams of his youth had suddenly been made true and all he wanted to do was lay there and relish in the joy he’d felt being there, wrapped safely in Thaden’s arms.

Thaden had catered to his every need. Feeding him when he was hungry and bringing him sweet wine to quench his thirst. He quenched other hungers as well. Thaden made sweet love to Rowan over and over again with gentle hands when Rowan needed tenderness and fucking him hard and fast when he needed Thaden to be more forceful. He brought Rowan to climax time and time again and each time was better than the last.

By midday on the third day Rowan had noticed his heat being to wane. The need was still there but no where near as strong or relentless as it had once been. It was a relief not to feel so out of control of his body for a change but, there was also a bit of wistful longing, knowing that it would all soon come to an end. The world awaited outside those dark, tavern walls and Rowan would have to rejoin that world. If only this could be his life now. Countless hours of being locked away with only Thaden as his companion.

Inside that small room he had no worries, no fears, and no responsibilities. His heat had made it to where he only had one concern and his mind only one focus. Now that the heat was subsiding and his head becoming more clear he began to remember what had happened over the past week and why they were there. Thaden had a plan. They would go to Pickaway Village and hopefully, if permitted to stay, start a new life together. Thaden had spoken on it briefly. He said they could rent a small cottage and he would look for work in the village. He’d earn a meager wage but it would be enough for them to get by on. Maybe they could even have a garden and grow their own food.

It all sounded wonderful. To have a place of their own and live a simple life without the stress of palace life. Still, Rowan wondered if he was doing the right thing by allowing Thaden to leave his old life behind, leave his people and his Kingdom behind, just to be with Rowan. It seemed selfish to just expect Thaden to flee from his birth place and live as a commoner. Could they even do it? Neither of them have ever had to fend for themselves having both grown up as royalty. Even living at Ravenskeep, Rowan had had servants. He’d never had to cook for himself, or clean, or do any of the daily chores that were so common for others.

He could learn he supposed and he had no objections to hard work. He would do what he could to be a good mate for his husband. He just hoped his efforts would be enough and that Thaden wouldn’t soon begin to resent Rowan and long for the security and ease of being home in his father’s castle. Rowan, of course, had no such desire to ever return to Basmorte. He’d live the rest of his life as a peasant if he had to. Anything just to escape his father’s cruelty. But, was he ready or willing to push that life onto Thaden?

As Rowan lay there contemplating his future, the door to the Inn slowly pushed open and Thaden strode into the room carrying a tray of delicious smelling foods.

“You’re awake.” The elven Prince said as he sat the tray on a near-by table.

Rowan, still naked, swung his legs around and sat up on the side of the bed. He’d discuss his fears with Thaden, but later. The food on the tray looked way too mouth watering to dismiss and Rowan suddenly found that he was starving.

***

A few bites of heavily salted meat, some fresh bread, and two tankard’s of mead and Rowan was once again hungry for something more than food. He pushed his half eaten plate of food away and crawled back onto the bed then looked at Thaden and gave him his best ‘come hither’ stare.

“Again?” Thaden grinned. “You’re incorrigible, you know that, don’t you?”

“A fire burns within me that only you can tame.” Rowan licked his lips and smiled, playfully.

“Then by all means, allow me to tame that fire.” Thaden rose from his seat and walked to the bed slowly, admiring Rowan’s naked flesh. Rowan laid back and bent his legs at the knee. He stretched his arms over his head and made himself ready, knowing Thaden would not deny him what he most needed.

Thaden quickly shucked his own clothing then crawled on the bed, situating himself between Rowan’s legs. Leaning forward, he pushed Rowans thighs farther apart as he began kissing the insides of his thighs. His fingers trailed along Rowans soft, smooth flesh, stopping at his hips. His gripped his hips roughly, kneading the flesh under his fingers. Rowan moaned and grasped the bed sheets in his hands, tightly. Thaden descended on him then, kissing and licking the length of his shaft. He kissed the head, already wet with Rowan’s mounting desire.

“Please,” Rowan pleaded through his moans. He writhed on the bed, unable to hold still as Thaden gave his leaking cock a good tongue bathing. He took his time worshiping Rowan’s cock, bringing him close to the brink time and time again only to pull back, a wicked grin on his lips, prolonging Rowan’s release before once again taking Rowan into his mouth. Rowan arched his back and groaned loudly, his eyes closed as he allowed Thaden to do things to him that he had ever only read about in books.

When Rowan thought he could take no more, Thaden flipped him over onto his stomach. Grabbing his hips, Thaden pulled him up till he was on his knees with his chest pressed to the mattress. Thaden moved Rowan’s thighs apart a bit more then leaned down and dragged his tongue across Rowan’s still slick hole. Rowan shuddered and moaned, reveling in this new sensation. Thaden spread Rowan’s cheeks apart then dove deeper, breaching his hole with his tongue. Rowan’s legs quivered. His head dipped down and he exhaled a labored breath, whimpering as Thaden lapped at the slick dripping out of him.

Thaden massaged Rowan’s firm and rounded ass, squeezing hard enough to draw out a timid gasp from his lover. He smiled then kissed each cheek, licking at his entrance once more, circling the hole with the tip of his tongue. He ran his thumb over the soft opening, teasing Rowan with each touch, each lick, until Rowan was panting and begging for release. At the sounds of Rowan’s insistence, Thaden pressed a finger against his hole, teasingly, before pushing it inside. Rowan squirmed, whimpering as Thaden breached his hole. He pushed in harder, adding a second finger and then a third.

He fucked his fingers into Rowan and Rowan pushed back against them, wanting more. Thaden kissed his cheeks once more, then gently bit him. Not enough to hurt but it was enough to send Rowan over the edge. He bucked his hips, pressing his ass deeper onto Thaden’s fingers as he begged Thaden to fuck him. It wasn’t slow, gentle, lovemaking that he wanted. It was forceful, animal like, sex that he craved and Thaden was more than happy to give him what he needed. He withdrew his fingers then, taking his own cock in his hand, and pressed the head against Rowan’s eager little hole.

Rowan shivered with anticipation and groaned with tiny, needy, whimpering cries. Thaden took hold of Rowan’s hips then slowly guided himself inside. Rowan opened for him effortlessly, taking all of him in until Thaden was completely buried inside his warm and inviting ass. Thaden groaned, sliding himself slowly out until the tip of his cock was once again resting against Rowan’s leaking ass then without warning, he thrust himself back inside. Rowan cried out, gripping the sheets in his hands as he pressed his face against the mattress, biting back another scream.

Thaden continued his thrusts, deeper and with more force, claiming what is his. He slammed himself into Rowan over and over again, feeling Rowan writhe and shiver beneath him. Rowan’s breathing intensified, his body shaking and Thaden fucked him harder, mercilessly.

“Oh…oh..Gods…” Rowan whimpered. He bit back another moan and tried to hide his face only to be scolded by Thaden.

“Don’t.” Thaden demanded. “I want to hear every sound you make. Every moan, every whimper.”

“Fuck!” Rowan cried out as Thaden plunged into him again. Thaden’s fingers pressed into Rowan’s flesh, almost painfully, making Rowan yelp but Thaden didn’t stop. He continued to pump Rowan, faster and harder, pounding his ass with such ferocity that Rowan almost cried out for him to stop…almost.

Thaden’s thrusting became so intense but Rowan didn’t want it to end. It can’t end. Not now. Not when he was so close. Tears sprang to Rowan’s eyes and he bit back another whimpering sob, the pleasure immense. Thaden slid a hand up and over Rowan’s ass, his fingers trailing along his spine. He could feel Thaden’s body lean over him and then a hand pressed to the back of his neck, pushing him into the mattress as Thaden pounded him harder. Rowan rocked his hips back against Thaden. They moved in perfect unison, thrusting and rocking, back and forth until Rowan could take no more.

Rowan cried out as his orgasm ripped through him and he spilled over the blanket and sheets. Thaden released his hold on Rowan’s neck and grinned a wide, satisfied grin. He loved the way Rowan felt, his body shivering and spent. The way he murmured and gasped beneath him, coming undone as his entire body was wracked with the pleasure of their lovemaking. Thaden grabbed Rowan’s hips and once more thrust into him, hard. Rowan cried out, his body shivering from the after shocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck…yes…” Thaden growled, his voice dark and husky. Rowan’s name came out in a hoarse, shaky voice as Thaden found his release. He collapsed on the bed beside Rowan, panting heavily as he ran a hand through his hair. Rowan rolled to his side and Thaden pulled him against him, guiding his head to rest on Thaden’s chest.

“I love you.” Rowan said as he closed his eyes, his fingers raking through the hairs on Thaden’s chest.

“I love you, my little fox.” Thaden returned, smiling as he kissed the top of Rowan’s head. “More than you can ever know.”

***

Rowan looked up as he pulled his boots on. Thaden was standing on the opposite side of the room, already dressed as he fastened his sword to his belt.

Rowan sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to leave. I’ve enjoyed this time together.”

Thaden smiled. “As soon as we’ve found a house and settled in, we’ll have many more nights like the ones we’ve shared here.”

Rowan nodded but the look on his face was one of worry rather than joy. Thaden walked to him and sat on the bed next to Rowan, pulling the younger Prince against him in an intimate hug. “Can you imagine it? A fire burning in our own little cottage. I’ll lay you down against a pile of furs next to the hearth and make love to you all through the night. We’ll have all the time in the world to be together, my love. Just the two of us.”

Rowan blushed some. “Maybe not just the two of us.” He smiled, softly.

Thaden narrowed his eyes, confused. “What do you mean?”

Rowan shrugged. “My heat ended only after three days. It usually lasts as long as five.”

Thaden’s eyes lit up as he looked over Rowan, his heart suddenly swelling with pride. “Do-do you think you’ve conceived?”

Rowan let out a deep breath, bracing himself on the edge of the bed with his arms. He smiled. “I think it’s entirely possible, though, it’s still too early to tell. Still, you might want to consider finding a cottage with at least two bed rooms.”

A baby? Thaden couldn’t help but think of the possibility as he walked down stairs to the bar and paid their tab. Could Rowan be pregnant? Would he and Thaden soon become parents? Thaden had always wanted children. It was something he’d always dreamed about. More than anything he’d wanted a family of his own. Was it too much to hope that he might actually get his wish?

He turned around and saw Rowan standing near the bottom of the stairs, looking at him. He looked so beautiful standing there, his long, raven hair pulled back into a braid. Loose wisps of black hair framed his face and his green eyes sparkled with love as he looked up at Thaden and smiled. What would he look like, Thaden wondered, his belly round and swollen? Probably more radiant that ever. Pregnant women were said to glow while they carried. Would an omega be the same?

Rowan would glow. Thaden thought, grinning. He practically glowed now. Especially when the bright rays of a full moon touched his skin. He almost looked translucent, celestial, and divine. Rowan was a true blessing from the Goddess above and if he were with child, that child would be a blessing as well. How proud would Lierin be when he learned that Thaden had a child? He would…Thaden stopped his line of thought and the smile faded from his lips. Lierin would never know about Thaden’s happy little family. Nor would their father.

He leaned his back against the bar and rubbed the back of his neck. His child would never see the elven palace. He or she would never walk the sandstone streets of Rosegate or bathe in the hot springs of Erasaneas. Thaden’s child would never know the elven Kingdom. His heart broke just a little bit. There were so many things he had long thought of showing the child he might one day have but, now he knew that would never come to pass. It was unlikely that he would ever return to the place where he was born. Not while his father still lived for his father would most certainly put Rowan to death.

Thaden was brought out of his thoughts when Rowan approached and placed a hand on his shoulder, concern etched across his face. “Is everything alright?” Rowan asked.

Thaden forced a smile and nodded, not wanting to worry his mate. “Everything is fine.” He lied. “I was just thinking.”

“Of what?” Rowan asked.

Thaden shook his head. “It matters not. Come, my love. It’s time we took our leave of this place. As fond memories we have had here, it’s but one stop along our journey.”

Rowan nodded. “Alright, I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” He gave Thaden a soft smile. “As long as you’re with me.”

Thaden put his arm around Rowan and pulled him close. “I will always be by your side.” He smiled, knowing that he’d meant what he said. He would stay by Rowan’s side no matter what. Even before there was the possibility of a child on the way. He made a vow and he planned to keep that vow, even if it meant never seeing his home again. He could make a new home, a new life. With rowan by his side, he could do anything. His place now was with his mate. Leaving the place of his birth was a small sacrifice to make when it came to what he was gaining in return. A life with the man he loved. And he did love Rowan. He loved him more than anything.

***

“What’s her name?”

Thaden looked at Rowan, confusion crossing his face. “Excuse me?” He almost laughed.

Rowan stroked the gorgeous, silky, black mane of the horse that stood before them. He smirked then, indicating towards the horse. “You’ve never told me her name.”

“Oh.” Thaden laughed, realizing suddenly what Rowan meant. “Her name is Aon’ Eloran.”

“Is that Elfish?”

Thaden nodded. “Yes. It means shadow dancer.”

Rowan smiled. “Shadow dancer.” He kissed the horse’s nose and chuckled. “Such a fitting name for such a beautiful Lady.”

“She seems to like you.” Thaden commented.

“Yes, and it surprises me.” Rowan told him.

“Why does it surprise you?” He asked.

Rowan sighed. “Horses normally don’t. I think I scare them. They can sense what I am and they don’t like it.”

“I’ve seen plenty of vampires ride horses.” Thaden told him. “They don’t seem very scared to me.”

“Those horses have been bred in Basmorte and are trained by vampires, they’re used to their scent but, you and I both know that my scent is…different. My scent confuses and upsets them. They’re not the only ones. Even the vampires in Basmorte don’t know what to make of me. I’m not like them. If I was, maybe…maybe my father wouldn’t hate me so.”

“Your father’s a fool.” Thaden growled. “He obviously couldn’t see what a blessing he had right in front of him.”

“A blessing?” Rowan laughed. “To hear the high Priest talk, I’m a curse.”

“Shows what he knows.” Thaden smiled as he kissed Rowan’s head. “A curse doesn’t fuck as well as you do.”

Rowan’s mouth hung open as he stared at Thaden in disbelief. His face turned a bright red and he playfully punched Thaden in the arm. “How dare you speak of your mate in such a manner!” He feigned offense.

“I only speak the truth.” Thaden laughed as Rowan attempted to strike him again but Thaden darted out of the way too quickly for him. Rowan dropped the horses reins then gave chase, running after Thaden as Thaden attempted to dodge his attack. He found out quickly that an elf is no match for the speed of a vampire as Rowan suddenly tackled him and they both fell to the ground in an empty stall.

Thaden wrapped his arms around Rowan and kissed his lips. “We don’t have the time for another roll in the hay, my love, but I appreciate the offer.” He let loose with a hearty laugh that was quickly silenced as Rowan crushed their lips together, kissing him hard and passionately. Thaden was about to reconsider his words about another roll in the hay when he was startled by the clearing of a throat.

He and Rowan both froze, looking up to see Lavinia standing in the opened door to the stables with a double bag slung over her shoulder as well as two wine skins.

“Uh…this isn’t what it looks like.” Thaden scrambled to stand up, pulling Rowan with him.

Lavinia waved her hand as she shook her head. “He’s your mate, I ain’t gonna judge no one.” She walked to Thaden and handed over the bag. “I thought you might need some extra food on your journey.” She told him. “It’s not much. Some dried meat and cheese. A bit of bread. It’s a bit stale but wash it down with the wine and it should be fine.”

“Thank you.” Thaden said. He reached for his purse but again Lavinia waved her hand.

“No charge.” She told him as she handed the wine skins to Rowan.

“I couldn’t.” Thaden told her. “It’s too much.”

Lavinia huffed. “Consider it a wedding gift.” She smiled, giving each of them a quick wink.

Rowan blushed. “Thank you, Lavinia. Your kindness means so much to us. I shan’t forget it.”

Lavinia smiled and touched the side of Rowan’s face. “Just take care of yourselves.” She told him. “It’s all the thanks I need. The Goddess has work yet for you, young Prince. The least I can do is see you safely on your way.”

Thaden took Lavinia’s hand in his and kissed it. “We are more grateful than you can know.” he told her. “May the Goddess bless you, my dear Lady.”

“Oh pish.” Lavinia blushed. “No fair you getten me all flustered like this. Off with ya now, both of ya. Stay safe. The Goddess blesses you already.”

Thaden nodded. He strapped the bag and the skins to Shadow Dancer then helped Rowan climb into the saddle. Thaden sat behind him, wrapping his arms around Rowan’s waist as he took up the reins.

“Take care, Miss Lavinia. It was a great pleasure to meet you.” Rowan told her. “I hope one day our paths will cross again.”

“I’m sure they will.” She smiled at him. “Take care, your majesty. It was my honor to serve you both.” She bowed in reverence as Thaden led the horse out of the stables and watched as the two Prince’s quickly galloped away. Once they were out of sight, she closed the stable doors and headed back into the tavern. The sky had darkened and the wind was picking up. There was a storm coming their way. She only hoped the two Prince’s made it to where they were going before it hit.

ACCUSATIONS

“My Queen, we’ve rounded up all the servants, they await you in the great hall.”

“Thank you, Greagor.” The Queen motioned for her maid servant to help her stand from the chair where she had been seated. She made a great show of of her infirmary as she grimaced and held a hand over the now healed wound in her stomach.

Greagor bowed to the Queen and then turned and left the Queen’s solar. Outside, two guards stood, waiting to escort the Queen and her ladies to the great hall. This would be the first time she had addressed the public since the King’s death.

The wound she had inflicted on herself had healed entirely, though the healing was slow and the wound had left a nasty scar due to the blade of the dagger being silver. This was to expected though and wasn’t a concern. She had to make the injury look real, as though she had been stabbed by the King’s killer and only narrowly escaped with her own life.

As she had expected, not a single tear was shed for the fallen King. And, so far, no one had suspected that the Queen was the one who had murdered him. Caroline still had to play the role of the grieving widow though and lead an investigation into the murder or her husband. He was the King, no matter how many of his subjects despised him, and the murder of a monarch could not go unpunished.

Dressed in a black mourning gown with a black veil, the Queen held her head high and walked somberly down the hall to the back stairs that led down and into the great hall. With each step that she took, the Queen felt the weight of her decisions pressing down on her. Since her coronation directly following the wedding ceremony she hadn’t felt the pressure of ruling over an entire Kingdom. Her goal had been merely to dispatch the King and then deal with the after math of his death.

Now that she was to appear before the court as their Queen, officially, she began to realize just how heavy the crown was. She cursed King Desmond for leaving the Kingdom in such a state. His mess was now to be her burden. But first, she had to get through this interrogation of the palace servants.

When the guards had initially questioned her, after the court physician had seen to her wound of course, Queen Caroline had concocted a story about an elven servant coming into the room to deliver the wine that the King had asked for. The King had fallen ill after drinking a glass of wine and that was when the servant struck, plunging a silver bladed dagger into the King’s chest. Queen Caroline had attempted to save the King by attacking the treacherous servant, only to be attacked as well.

He drove the blade into her stomach then fled when she screamed for the guards. The Queen claimed that their attacker had ran through the servants door, disappearing down the long and narrow corridor leading to the servants quarters. Greagor immediately sent guards to the servants quarters, hoping to find the guilty elf who had attacked the Queen and King. The servants they’d found claimed to know nothing of the slaying or the killer based on the Queen’s description of him.

“All kneel!” A voice echoed throughout the hall as the Queen approached. Servants and nobles alike knelt on the stone floor or bowed their heads in respect. “Presenting, her Majesty, Queen Caroline Maeve Rochfort of Basmorte.”

The guards led the Queen and her ladies up to the dais and to the throne where the King once sat. The Queen looked stern as she took her place. Beside her sat Lady Emilia, soon to be Princess Emilia, once the Queen presented the letters patent with the King’s signature to the council of elders. Once his last decree as King was verified, Emilia would then be given the title of Princess. The Queen had already planned for a celebration to take place in her honor though all that would have to wait until after the matter of the King’s death had been settled.

Once Queen Caroline was seated, Greagor, the captain of the Queen’s guard, stepped forward and addressed the crowd kneeling before them. A group of elven and Fae slaves had been gathered and huddled together as a large company of palace guards surrounded them. “Rise.” Greagor demanded, his deep, commanding, voice echoed through the hall, causing a few of the slaves to shiver.

“King Desmond Rochfort of Basmorte is dead,” He announced. “Murdered in his marital chambers. The Queen escaped with her life but only barely. She has given us a detailed description of the assassin and I assure you, the culprit will be caught and his punishment will be severe.” Greagor stepped down from the dais and walked around the group of cowering slaves.

“The man we seek is an elf. Young, between sixteen and twenty years in appearance. He has short black hair and blue eyes. His skin is sun-kissed and he stands no taller than a stausing. When fleeing the King’s chamber he was seen wearing fawn colored breeches and a green tunic. If anyone has seen this man or knows of him, speak up now.” He stood, his hands folded behind his back as he looked over the group of slaves.

A soft chatter began among the slaves as they looked to one another, discussing the elf that had supposedly killed the King. None of them offered any information about the killer and Greagor was beginning to grow irritated with their silence. “Does any one know of whom I speak? Has no one seen this man?” He pushed one of the guards to the side and walked up to a shaking elven man. He was old and his back was bent with age. A long white beard covered his face, reaching down to the middle of his chest. His gray eyes looked up at Greagor pleadingly, as the guard scowled at him.

“What about you, old man?” Greagor leaned over so that he was nose to nose with the old elf. “Do you know who the assassin is?” Instantly the old man shook his head as he cowered away from Greagor.

“No, sir.” The man rasped. “I know not of any slave who matches that description.”

Greagor pursed his lips as he glared at the man. The man cringed as Greagor’s eyes bore into him. Finally, knowing he’d get nothing more out of the man he turned away from him, his eyes scanning over the rest of the group. “What of you?” He asked, looking to a female who looked to be around twelve or thirteen. The girl shrieked and tried to hide behind a woman whom Greagor figured must be the girls mother. He nodded to one of the Guards and the man broke through the group and grabbed the girl, pulling her to the front of the crowd.

Greagor knelt in front of the girl who was now in tears as she stood, shaking in fear. Her mother attempted to rush through the crowd to her daughter but was quickly back handed by a guard and sent sprawling to the floor. “Do you know the man I speak of?” Greagor asked the girl. She shook her head emphatically as she shied away from Greagor. She moved her hand to her mouth and nervously began chewing on her finger nails.

“Well?” Greagor growled at her. “Speak up, or are you mute?”

“N-no, sir. I do no know of whom you speak.”

“No? Are you sure?”

“I-I’m quite sure, Captain.” The girl whimpered.

Greagor stood up and turned to the guard who had struck the girls mother. “How about your mother?” He asked. “Do you suppose your mother knows the traitor?”

The girls eyes went wide and again she shook her head. “No, no, please, Captain. My mother knows nothing!”

Greagor motioned for the woman to be brought to him. The guard grabbed her and drug her over to where her daughter stood. The girls mother scooped her up in her arms and the two of them huddled together as the woman started up at Greagor, terrified.

“What is your name?” Greagor asked the woman.

“I am called Vestele.” The woman said in a small, shaky, voice as she clutched her daughter to her.

“And the girl?” Greagor nodded to the child. “What do you call her?”

“She is Shara.” The woman answered.

“Shara.” Greagor smiled at the girl. He reached out and touched the side of her face, tracing his finger along her jaw line. “She’s beautiful.” He said, his voice taking a dark undertone. “My men would be pleased if I gave her to them.”

“No!” Vestele pulled the girl tighter against her and Shara began to whimper in her mother’s arms. A loud chorus of chuckles rose up from the guards standing around them. The grin of Greagor’s face widened when he saw the distressed look on the mother’s face.

“Is she untouched?” He asked, staring the mother in the eyes. “Has she ever a known a man before?”

“Please, Captain.” Vestele cried. “Do not harm my child. She is an innocent. I will tell you all you need to know. Just, spare my child, I beg you.”

“No, Vestele!” Another from the crowd yelled suddenly.

Vestele cringed as Greagor snapped his head around and looked to the crowd. “Who said that?” He demanded, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrowed. A guard pulled a middle aged man out of the crown and flung him to the ground at Greagor’s feet. Greagor looked down at the man and frowned, his eyes burned with anger. “And who might you be?” He hissed at the man.

“I am Ruvyn of Sylnorin.” The man looked up and sneered, showing no fear as he spoke to the Captain.

“Ruvyn of Sylnorin?” Greagor laughed. “Sylnorin is no more. It’s people were all killed years ago and the village burned to the ground. There were no survivors.”

“There were five of us.” Ruvyn argued. “I was a boy then, barely ten winters old when the raiders came and attacked us. My parents and younger siblings were slaughtered. I was taken though. Along with three other youths and a young girl. I know not what became of them but I was taken to the palace and forced to work in the stables until my sixteenth year when I was taken to apprentice with the blacksmith.”

“Well,” Greagor chuckled. “Thank you for your life story. It was most enlightening. However, it doesn’t answer the question at hand. What do you know of the elf who murdered our King?”

“Your King.” Ruvyn sneered. “Not mine.”

Greagor struck the man across the face at his remark and the man fell to the floor, blood pooling from a cut in his cheek. Greagor had expected the man to cry out, or even attempt to crawl away from him but in stead, he pushed himself back up to his knees, turned his head up, and stared at Greagor with such hate and loathing in his eyes that Greagor actually took a step back and away from him. “How dare you disrespect the King!” Greagor spat. “You will pay for your insolence with your life.”

“Kill me.” Ruvyn growled. He reached up and wiped the blood away from his mouth with the ragged sleeve of his tunic. “The Goddess will avenge my death and the death of all those before me. Do you honestly think that your cruelty and malice will continue? The death of your King is only the beginning. The Mother Goddess will not allow her people to suffer much longer. Prepare yourself, Captain, for a great reckoning is upon you. And you!” He turned and looked to the Queen. “Mark my words, your highness, the King will not go to his grave alone! You are living on borrowed time, my Lady.”

The Queen stood at once, glaring at the elven man, locking eyes with him. She grit her teeth and hissed, “Take his head.”

Greagor nodded. He turned his attention back to Ruvyn and, pulling his sword from it’s sheath, swung the blade, bringing it across Ruvyn’s neck with one, swift, blow. There was an audible gasp heard from the crowd as the man’s head was lopped off then fell to the floor, rolling over so that his dead eyes stared back up at the Queen. His body fell forward with a thud. The girl, Shara, buried her head in her mother’s chest and wept.

Vestele screamed and fell to her knees, clinging to her child. Her fingers twisted around her daughter’s blond locks and she wept, her shoulders slumped as her body shook with rage. Her eyes met Greagor’s and she glared at him with malice. “Bastard.” She whispered before hanging her head and hugging her daughter closer.

Greagor smirked. “He was your mate, wasn’t he?”

Vestele shivered and wailed but she didn’t deny it.

Greagor huffed. “Pity. Perhaps if he’d learned to hold his tongue he would have kept his head.”

“Greagor.” The Queen’s voice rang out over the sobs and whimpers from the slaves. Greagor turned to face the Queen, bowing with respect. “Dispose of that thing.” She said of the body. “The rest of them, lock in the dungeon. They shall remain there until the Assassin is caught and brought to justice. And if any resident of Basmorte is found to give him shelter, kill them.”

“Yes, my Queen.” Greagor bowed again as the Queen turned and stormed off, followed by the two guards and her ladies.

Greagor turned to the other guards and frowned. “You heard the Queen. Take them to the dungeons. And someone clean up this mess.” He stepped over the body and left the great hall. The cries of the slaves echoed throughout the hall and down the corridor. Greagor did his best to block the sound out as he made his way to the guard house. He’d have to arrange a search party to go after the killer. They’d start by searching house to house as he was fairly certain the culprit wouldn’t still be in the castle. By now he’d probably fled to the country side.

Where ever the fool had gone, Greagor would find him. There were only so many places in Basmorte he could hide and with the extra guards Greagor had placed on the walls, and the main gate, there was no way he could escape. While Greagor didn’t exactly mourn the death of the King he still had a duty to do. He was loyal to the crown and now, loyal to his Queen. He just hoped the assassin was found soon. The last thing Greagor and his men needed was more work. They were over taxed as it was. Greagor himself hadn’t seen his wife or children for newly three weeks and was eager to hold his pretty wife in his arms once more.

But, duty came first. The royal family would not be safe until the assassin was caught and that meant twice the number of guards in the palace and on patrols. No one in the palace was going to sleep well while a killer was on the loose. No vampire nor any Fae. Greagor would make certain of that, even if he had to wake the entire city, the bastard would be caught and then, Goddess help the man for Greagor had no intention of killing him swiftly. He’d make him suffer. He’d make him scream and beg for death and then, only when Greagor was feeling merciful, would he take his head.

PHANTOMS

“Una, make ready my bath.” Lady Emilia followed her maids into her chambers. She crossed through the antechamber and into the sitting room then froze. Her ladies stood in a semi circle near the door leading to the bedchamber, their heads down. Emilia frowned. “What are you doing in here? These are my personal chambers.”

Lord Killian looked up and scowled. “What? A man can not visit his own wife?”

Emilia sighed. She slipped off her gloves and handed them to one of her ladies then turned to Killian. “Not without an invitation.” She grumbled. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I missed your company.” Killian rubbed at his temples, not bothering to look at Emilia.

Emilia scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. You made it very clear on our wedding night that you had no desire to even be in the same room as me.”

“I’ve since had a change of heart.” Killian murmured though his words didn’t sound very convincing. Still, he rose from his seat then walked to his wife and took her hands in his as he looked her in the eyes. Emilia sneered at him, suspiciously.

“What are you playing at?” She narrowed her eyes, quickly pulling her hands out of his grasp. “If you think for one minute that I believe you actually care then you’re a fool. I’ve long since given up hope that you would love me the way I loved you. I see now that no matter what I do, your blackened heart still belongs to my rotting corpse of a step-brother.”

Lord Killian snarled and Emilia laughed seeing the anger in his eyes. She liked taunting him. She liked watching him fume and suffer. It was the only thing now that gave her any real joy. If she couldn’t have him for herself she’d see him suffer for her own amusement.

“You are a vile woman.” Killian growled, glaring hatefully at her. “Just like your snake of a mother.”

“Be careful, My Lord. To speak of our Queen in such a way could be considered treason.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Treason? You mean like murdering the King?”

“A slave murdered the King.” Emilia hissed between clenched teeth.

“Yes, I know. And the royal guard is out right this minute, searching for him. It’s a shame they won’t find him, or if they do, some poor, innocent, soul is going to hang for a crime he didn’t commit.” He took a step closer, his eyes bore into her, almost down to her soul-if she had one. “And when an innocent is strung up, how will you feel? Will the guilt of knowing that the true assassin has gone unpunished gnaw at your gut? Will it affect you at all?”

“No, it will not, because the true killer will be revealed and punished for the crime. There is nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Would you turn on your own mother then?”

“My mother did not kill the King.”

“So you say.”

“So I know.” Emilia sneered. “Why would she murder her husband? She loved him.”

Killian laughed at that. “Love? Your mother loves money and power. Do you know that the servants already suspect her of killing the King? Not that anyone cares mind you. They all hated the man and are glad he’s dead. What they do care about is that your mother is trying to blame an innocent slave for his murder.”

Emilia pursed her lips as she scowled at Lord Killian. “I will say this for the last time. My mother had nothing to do with the King’s death. She was a victim in this the same as he and, I will hear no more about it.”

“Say what you will but I know the truth and soon the entire Kingdom will know the truth as well.” Killian turned away from her and began walking towards the door when Emilia stopped him.

“What are you planning to do?” She demanded.

“Me?” Killian smirked. “Absolutely nothing. Let your mother play the grieving widow all she wants. I honestly could care less. I’m just warning you. There are whispers in the halls. Dark spirits haunt the palace and the ghosts of the dead will not stay silent for long. They seek their vengeance. They are coming.”

Emilia stared at him, aghast. “You’ve lost your mind.” She told him. “You have truly and honestly lost your mind.”

“Perhaps so.” He sneered as he turned away from her, headed for the door. “But at least I still have my head.”

***

“I know you’re there.” Killian spoke to the shadows as he walked slowly down the corridor. The light from the burning candles seemed to be sucked away as the hall grew darker the further he walked. He didn’t bother to walk faster or even try to run. Out running the shadows was useless. They always found him. Relentlessly they followed. An unwanted companion that never left his side. Not even while he slept would they leave him alone. The shadows swirled around him and the whispers persisted, laughing and calling out to him. Accusing him over and over again. They were a constant reminder of his guilt.