The Polar Opposite - Reaconia Chapter 10

A young lord, who started his own empire in the North, receives council from those closest to him, and contemplates joining the impending war between his deranged father and the King.

Ten: The Polar Opposite

 

“He never ceases to amaze me,” the young man grumbled as he crumpled the sheet of parchment he was reading from and tossed it behind him.

“Whom, my Lord?” a dainty voice responded, filling the cold, harsh air with its loveliness. The man gave a dismissive gesture and she walked over to the ball of paper, scanning it as she forced it open.

“It’s a letter from the King…” she sounded a few of the words as she skimmed through them: “Pyron clan is again at large… plundered… burned…” she paused a moment to place a hand on the man’s shoulder; he lifted his hand off of the armrest of his throne to caress the cold, dainty fingers that touched his skin. “Your father really knows how to keep things interesting,” she laughed, “oh, it seems there was a murder… poor soul. But it says here for us not to worry, the realm will prevail and the Pyron clan will be silenced!” she used her best mighty voice on the last sentence, adding dramatic strength to the words. “That king of ours sure knows how to write a letter.” She let the parchment roll out of her hands and watched it float on the air until it landed weightlessly on the floor.

“If only my father was that eloquent in life, or as innocent as you, Sonayla,” he teased.

A silence filled the large, frigid room. Sonayla grabbed his hand and spun around to stand in front of him; the short, fur-trimmed skirt she wore barely fell to her mid-thigh, but nevertheless she hiked it up, exposing even more her long legs and bare feet, so she could climb onto his lap. Her toes pointed out over the chairs arm rail, and she nuzzled up to him, sliding a hand under the pelt of his sleeveless fur tabard, which was all that covered his torso from the cold. She brought her face close enough to his that their breath misted in the air between them; he gasped when he felt her cold fingers on his chest.

“Innocent am I?”

He tucked a loose strand of her strait buttery hair behind her ear, “Perhaps I misspoke,” and before she could respond, he kissed her, using his hand to hold her there a long moment.

When their lips parted, she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “What are you going to do Kion?”

“To you?”

She giggled, “No, about your father! He’s on the march again it seems.”

“I cannot remember a time when he ever stopped marching.”

“Are you going to stop him?”

“I’ve barely given it any thought.”

“This could be a great opportunity for you---”

“I’ve just read the letter only minutes ago, I’ll need some time to think on it,” he snapped.

Sonayla swung her feet to the ground and stood from the throne, “Do as you wish, but I would not spend too much time in thought, my lord. Your father, it seems, is not wasting any time at all.”

Her feet pattered on the cold slate floor as she stormed off across the large room.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Out. To give you time to think, your grace.” She did a subtle curtsey, but Kion could sense the mockery in her tone. Sonayla gave a heave against one of the large iron doors to his throne room and bright white light poured into the room, bringing with it gales of frigid wind and flurries of snow. Kion felt his skin immediately tighten when the cold air hit him, but the girl did not falter one bit. She stood in the light, the wind blowing her hair around her face, and looked back to him. “Hopefully by the time I get back, you’ll realize how important that letter is.” Then, barefoot, she stepped out into the frozen tundra, leaving the door open as she left.

Kion rose from his throne and darted to the door, having to squint against the light that reflected from the white powder outside; the cold air took his breathe away as he stood and watched Sonayla walk further into the distance, not even trying to cover her bare arms or legs from the harsh weather. Not that she needs to anyway.

If she had been anyone else, one of his men or an orc, he would have been furious for them walking away and punished them for their intolerance; but Kion had always had a soft-spot for the girl, ever since he came to this frozen wasteland five years before. Then he was only a boy, hardly sixteen years of age, and yet, after his father Merit had lost the war caused by his first uprising and became the tyrannous madman he was today, Kion was able to form an opposition to him, persuading some of his father’s own men to change sides and fight for him. Then he left, moving as far from his father as he could get, and built his own empire on the northern isle of Sheezen, taking over its towns and commanding the ruthless, harsh people and beasts that called this island home.

Sonayla was one of them. Kion had found her in the streets of the first town he inhabited upon his arrival, she was a girl of twelve then, and lived on her own, stealing and fighting to live. Since he first laid eyes on her, she consumed his thoughts. He remembered her exactly as she was: small, bloodied, bruised and nearly naked. The weather was the coldest he had ever felt, and she stood barefoot in the snow, not at all disturbed by it. He had walked up to her and asked her if she was cold, and she simply shook her head ‘no’. He took her in, and once she warmed-up to Kion, she told him that since birth, she could not feel anything. He remembered all of this as he watched her walk away from him, farther into the distance, until she faded into the white flurries that blustered from above.

The cold bit down harder on his skin the longer he stood in the doorway, and his lungs felt on the verge of freezing. When he could see her no more, he kicked the drift of snow that had formed at his feet and pulled the heavy iron doors shut. Little though it did, at least it kept the wind out; even so, the stone walls were cold, his throne would be cold again once he sat back down, and the air itself was cold. He noticed an involuntary shiver take over and he put all of his focus on his breathing, watching the white puffs of air swirl with every exhale until he regained control of his body. He tugged at the fur tabard he wore, and considered changing into something a little… more.

He eyed the letter again where Sonayla had dropped it.

What am I going to do about my father?

The near six years since Kion had last seen his father had not changed the tyrant in the least. He was still ruthless and vengeful, pining away to be ruler of his own lands. The thought consumed him; it had ever since Kion could remember. It was the reason he had started his rebellion thirteen years before, and when they had lost the war, a rage had filled his father to the brim, the truest anger Kion had ever seen; an anger that never left him.

Kion left Pyron not only to build an opposing force, but also because he had been scared of that anger; just a young boy growing in the shadow of evil. Even then, he knew he had to get away, or become exactly like his father, and he used the years apart to make sure he never would.

He picked up the letter again, the cold suddenly not a problem as he felt his blood boil and spread through his veins. The thought of another uprising was enough to make his stomach churn, and when Kion read again what his father had already done, he knew he had to act quickly.

The young man flew up the three stairs to the main corridor of the castle. Two great wooden doors pointed in an arch at the end of the hall, he grabbed the great iron ring that served as a handle and pulled, filling the cavernous room with a low groaning creak. The young lord’s guardian on the other side turned at the noise. Lumbered was more like it; the creature loomed over Kion, staring down to the man from a height surpassing ten feet, his beady silver eyes emotionless as they waited for a command.

“Ironeyes, find Balic, Stonegate and Markos. I’ve something that they will find enlightening.” Kion demanded.

The beast balanced on its thick legs, bigger than the trunks of trees. Huge calloused feet rumbled the floor as he stepped, making its rotund belly sway with every move. He brought a large, well-muscled, blue-splotched arm to his chest, making its long, dirty fingernails clink together as it formed a fist to salute. A deep, booming voice sounded as the creature responded, and Kion heard the clack of his tusks as it spoke.

“Ironeyes. Will. Do.” the beast bowed to Kion in a way traditional to its northern race: lowering to one knee, taking its clenched fist and slamming it on the stone floor in front of him. Kion watched his guard rise, adjusting the many leather belts that crossed its torso, and shifting the fur cloths that were belted at its waist.

“Have them meet here before the sun sets tonight. We have much to discuss.” Kion completed, and the orc turned, moving down the hall with a surprisingly quick pace, the horns that protruded from its back cutting the air with every step, and its long wispy braid bouncing behind him.

Kion always marveled at the fact of being able to tame such beasts. It had worried him at the start; there had been many encounters where Kion was sure he would be defeated, and the wild inhabitants of Sheezen were persistent in their opposition for nearly two years after he had settled on the island. It was only when Kion shared words with their leader, one they called Stonegate, and told him of his intentions, proposing they keep their lands and forces, offering wealth, weapons and an alliance with him, that their hostility ebbed and he was able to begin building his empire.

Funny how such wild things could be repressed with mere words.    

Not all were agreeable to the alliance, though, many orc aboriginals refuted the idea of human association, and banded together against even their own kind, and all those who supported the Uipshegarh, the ‘outsiders’. Those rebels formed their own camps away from the budding nation, but still remained a constant threat, one that he lost more patience with every day.

He pulled his mind together, there were bigger issues that he had to deal with; more important things he had to think about, and first on that list was finding something warmer to wear.

 

Despite being the humblest areas of his fortress, the inner halls and rooms were much warmer and Kion welcomed the change in temperature as he walked to his room. Stone hallways gave way to thatched walls and earthen floors as he went farther into his un-finished castle; his throne hall and the outer parapets and fortifications being some of the only areas that were completed.

These areas, though, were well insulated with earthen mortar and did not radiate the cold like stone walls did; and, being orc-made, the walls were strong, and the rooms large. His bedchamber reflected that: It was rectangular in shape and rose to a domed ceiling that peaked at nearly twenty feet. A stone pit was in the center, with a blazing fire roaring inside, the smoke rising to the roof, where expertly placed vents allowed the clouds to escape without letting in any of the harsh, cold weather. Wood screens and rugs divided the space into smaller separate areas, and he turned the corner into the northernmost section.

His bed sat against the opposite wall adorned with the skins and pelts of creatures that people in the mainland only dreamed of: furs of black, brown, white-speckled grey and blue laid upon the large frame and he sat down, sprawling out for a moment to relax, the young day already weighing too heavily on his shoulders.

Duty called him from his brief respite, and he pushed himself up with a sigh, knowing that there was much to do before council. He crossed to his dressing room and pulled off his tabard, replacing it with a linen shirt, and adding an immense fur cloak of an entire Rimelion. The large cats roamed the icy mountains all over Sheezen, and this one that Kion wore he had trapped and killed himself; a test of sorts to help win over the Orc clans and gain their support.

He placed the head of beast on his left shoulder and looped the pelt’s leg under his arm, bringing the platter-sized paw up and clasping it into the animals open maw. From where it hung on Kion’s frame, its other front paw nearly touched the ground, and the pelts hind legs and tail drug behind him as he walked.

He then walked over to his jewel chest and lifted the lid, revealing a crude iron crown inlaid with sparking sapphire gemstones. Kion ran a quick sleeve over the surface, making it shine a bit brighter before raising it to his head, nesting it in his dark-blond hair.

A quick stop at his chamber pot and washbasin was all else he needed before seeing to the second most important item of the night: the feast to be served at council. He tucked the letter from the King under his shirt and was off.

 

The logs in the kitchen’s fires had barely been lit when Kion walked through the doors, and a portly, middle-aged man bowed to him when the young lord’s presence was noticed.

“Welcome Lord Schanandore, what is it that I can do for his majesty?” he blubbered.

“Hello Bromwym, I have a request and I do hope that it is not too much to ask on such short notice,” Kion said.

“How many should we prepare for tonight?” the man laughed, his thick mustache jumping with every movement.

“People, four. But there will be an orc, so make it eight servings if you would.”

“Not a problem, my lord,” Bromwym cleared his throat. “Wife!” he bellowed to the back room, loud enough to where the people from the Woods could probably have heard him. A moment later, the door squeaked open and a tiny woman came out, holding a mixture of fruits in the fabric of her apron.

“What is it, you thundering fool?” she shouted, blushing when she saw Kion standing in the doorway. “Apologies, my lord, I did not know you were here.”

Kion simply laughed, “And how do you fare, Waldene?” he grabbed a basket from the wall next to him and brought it to her, kissing both sides of her face after she dumped out the contents of her skirts.

“Well, your majesty, we’re both fine!” she said, patting a hand on Bromwym’s shoulder, her husband stood almost a pace taller than her, and outweighed her about three times, but the man always stared at her with the most loving expressions Kion had ever seen.

Kion had known Bromwym and Waldene for most of his life, the two having been his father’s kitchen servants on Pyron. Kion had also befriended their son, Arvin, as a child, and they grew up together. Arvin would have been Kion’s most trusted advisor if he had survived the voyage to Sheezen, but only a week into the outing, the man grew ill and his health failed him to a point where he could not recover. Even still, Bromwym and Waldene had remained faithful and Kion regarded them as his own parents. They were two of the first people to ever know of Kion’s opposition to his father and were also two of the first people to pledge their allegiance to him.

They thrived in the North: Bromwym had established a relationship with the best orc hunters and always had a constant supply of rare meats and game, and there was none in all the world that could prepare a meal like he could; and Waldene had established the first greenery in all of Sheezen, having purchased and stored seeds and plants of all kinds. She had been given a great hall, built like Kion’s bedchambers, only larger, where she planted trees and shrubs and flowers; the building even having removable sections in the roof that could let in sunlight on a pleasant day. With her care, Kion and his people had fruits and vegetables year round. Kion grabbed a pear out of the collection that Waldene had just brought from the greenery, getting an eye from her.

“I am glad you are both well, but I must be off; there is much yet to do today.”

“You’ve got on your crown and need a last-minute feast… there must be a council meeting today.” Bromwym calculated before Kion left.

“Nothing gets past you, Brom,” Kion smiled.

“Anything to do with that father of yours?” Waldene added.

“Everything to do with that father of mine.” Kion shared, and the two cooks nodded, knowing exactly what that meant. “I’ll fill you both in later, of course.” The young lord smiled, “thanks for the meal tonight.”

And with that he left the kitchens, taking a crunching bite out of the pear he stole.

He stopped and lifted one of the leathery canvases that draped over the windows and hall was filled with light; the sun was shining brightly now and the wind seemed to have ebbed, along with the snowfall. Deciding to take a shortcut, he pulled on the iron ring of the courtyards westernmost door, stepping out into the cold air.

Drifts of snow had piled up around the walls and he had to trudge knee-deep through the white powder until he got to the more open center of the square; the flakes crunched under his feet and he heard the rustle of his Rimelion cloak being pulled behind him. He walked to the southern edge of the courtyard where a ramparted wall was formed at the edge of a cliff. From this vantage, he could see the small town of Hailaize spread down the mountainside away from the castle. With the wind at bay, the smoke from the many houses that dotted the hills now rose high into the air, like smoky pillars that marked a long path all the way to the docks on the northern shore. Kion could even spot the orc camps that sat near a league from town, closer to the water.

It was not a very populous city, many of the inhabitants being Kion’s followers from Pyron and their families, but over the last few years Kion had seen it slowly grow; hunters and lumbermen and tradesmen, people who could tolerate the cold and were drawn to the ideals of a thriving, relatively untouched new land. Kion smiled at the thought of his empire growing; he let out a deep sigh, feeling the air chill his lungs, his breath shorter in the cold altitude. He turned, surveying his castles progress.

To his left, he saw two rising towers, under construction, that rose four stories, with the barrel vault of his throne room behind them; then came the observatory tower, extending higher still, it was completely finished, as was the fortified outer wall that encircled the compound; Kion saw the two gatehouses to the north and east, with his chambers, halls, servants quarters, kitchens and guestrooms inside the walls, all still timber. It was a small castle, but his nonetheless, and, once finished, it would be magnificent. His heart filled with pride.

            Then he noticed movement and saw the draperies on Sonayla’s balcony doors gently swaying. Kion smiled, if her balcony doors were open, then she was inside; it was a way of communication between the two for when they wanted to meet without letting everyone know that they were meeting. She must have returned from her walk.

            Kion went back inside the way that he came and took the stairs nearest the kitchens, going past the servant’s quarters to Sonayla’s chamber. He gave a gentle knock.

            “Come in, my lord,” she chimed, and he did. With her balcony doors open, it was as cold in her room as it was in the courtyard, but yet, she had on only her short dress. She was washing her feet in a small tub of water.

            “Back so soon?” Kion questioned, “That was not long at all.” He sat next to her on her bed.

            Sonayla brought her feet out of the red water, she grabbed a piece of peeling skin from her heel and tore it off.

            “The ice was wetter today and my feet were sticking as I walked, I was getting rather annoyed,” she giggled.

            Kion always had to look away when she did that. “My love, I know you cannot sense the cold, but you should still take precautions against it when you go out.” He repeated what he had told her a hundred times over.

            She ripped off another piece of frozen skin, putting her feet back into the tub to soak. She showed not even the slightest wince of pain, even though Kion knew any ordinary man would be screaming at the water’s stinging touch. “One thing I love about being here is that I am not able to feel it. It makes me feel… invincible, and less like the monster that my birth-family thought of me.”

            “I know.” Kion put his arms around her, she was freezing to the touch and her skin was white-pale and burnt from the cold air. Still, he kissed her shoulder. “You’re not back early because you felt sorry for storming out on me before?”

            They shared a laugh.

            “No.” she smiled, “Though I did see your pet Ironeyes returning with your little war playmates, so I assume you’ve thought enough about the subject.”

            “They’re back already?” Kion stood from the bed just as Sonayla peeled more of her skin.

            “Mmhmm.”

            “I must go then. I cannot keep them waiting.” The young lord walked to Sonayla, planting a kiss on her forehead.

            “She is not going to be coming, is she?”

            Kion stopped in his tracks. “I have no idea.”

            “How long is Markos Hightower going to stay?” Sonayla’s jaw tensed.

            “I could not tell you, he arrived in Hailaize but a week ago...” Kion said.

            “Tell him to leave his b***h daughter in Silver Pine.”

            “Come now, Sonayla.”

            She turned away from him and focused entirely on her feet in the water bucket, “You know I cannot stomach the thought of her.”

            “Come to council and you will find out everything you want to know.” Kion told her before he began to leave.

            “Wait, Kion, do not leave just yet. I’m sorry.”

            Kion bolted to her, grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back; he brought his head down and kissed her forcefully on the lips, holding there for more than a moment. When he released, he spoke to her sharply: “It is you that I love. Do not question that.”

            “Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

            He unclasped her hair, “Will you come to the council meeting?”

            “No, my king, those men are ones I do not love to see.”

            “Suit yourself. I will come to you tonight after they have left.”

            She picked another shred of skin from her foot as Kion stepped out her door. Sonayla began to hum a sweet melody, and the noise filled the hall as Kion descended the stairs to meet with his awaiting guests.

           

            Beings the armory tower was still under construction, Kion held his council meetings in the circular stone tower observatory, and as he climbed the rounded staircase, he heard muffled voices coming from under the assembly room door. Ironeyes had resumed his role as guardian and stood lumbering outside of the room; Kion wrenched his neck to look at him when the orc started speaking: “Ironeyes. Done. Finding.”

            “Yes, thank you, ally. You’ve done well.” Kion reached into his purse and grabbed two gold crystals and handed them to the orc, who smiled, accepting his token with large grey rough-as-stone hands. “You may be relieved for the night, Ironeyes.”

            He passed the orc and entered the room, interrupting the conversation as his three guests rose from the center table and bowed to him. “Good evening, majesty,” his men, Markos and Balic, addressed; Stonegate simply grunted.

            Kion bowed back, “Welcome, friends.” He looked them over: Stonegate stood at the end of the table, nearly twice the height of the men; the orc was rough-looking, more so than the others of his kind. Its neck was the creature’s tallest part, and its head projected outward between its two barreled shoulders. Great spikes rose out of the back of the beast in many places, curving downward to point at the floor. Its skin was as white as the snow outside, but with all the scars and wounds and blotches on its surface, he still looked dark; more like the gravel side of a mountain after a thaw. Its name suited him perfectly.

            ‘Captain Stonegate,” Kion said to the massive brute, “I am glad you could come.”

            The orc nodded with a grunt; his long scraggly braided beard almost touching the floor. He had a crown of animal claws that gave a twitch when he closed his red beady eyes during the bow.

            “Same to you, Commander Balic,” Kion reached a hand over the table and it was received with the firm grip of his half-human colleague that stood across from him. Balic Add-iron had the sharp features of an orc, but with the relative shape of a man; albeit a very large man. His skin had a blue-grey tint and was as rough as any orc, complete with scars and imperfections, but the look suited him and made him look hard. His well-muscled torso was human-like in form, and if it was not for the small spikes that projected from his shoulders and forearms, he would have looked completely human. His face was the same; he had pointed ears and small tusked-teeth that gave away his orc half, but he had a stripe of thick brown hair down the middle of his scalp and grass-green round eyes that showed a human soul.

            Kion had chosen Balic as his Commander because of what hid behind those eyes; a determination, rigidity, and strength that could only come from a lifetime of struggle. But there was also a kindness and a hope and a human understanding that Kion respected. Balic had never known his parents, and had to survive on his own from infancy. Kion could only guess that his mother was human and was the unfortunate victim of rape from his orc father; she had probably been alone in childbirth and perished in the process, as all human females did when giving birth to not their own kind. It was far less likely for his father to have been human and bedded an orc woman, or that an orc woman would have let a man bed her. In any case, Balic never talked about them or even remembered them, and they left it alone.

            Kion and Balic became fast friends upon Kion’s arrival to the island, and Kion could think of no one more worthy of his friendship and entitlement.

            “Always a pleasure, my lord.” Balic said back to him in perfect, low-voiced common-tongue.

            Kion turned to the man standing opposite of Stonegate, who looked so small standing next to the orc council members, though Kion knew that he was not much shorter than he was.

            “Master Markos, how do you fare?”

            “Well, my king, well.” He stepped away from the table and the two embraced. The man was middle aged, and partly balding on the top of his head; he had a greying beard that covered the collar of his thickly layered overcoat. Markos had never gotten used to the cold and one could tell by the flushed color in his face; and the fact that he looked to be about twice his weight in fabric. Kion had entrusted Markos Hightower as ruling lord of Silver Pine, the other main town in Sheezen, and he had come to give Kion reports of the town’s welfare. Kion was happy that Markos had been here to hear what news he had.

            “And your daughter? How is my dear Lilias?” Kion asked, for formalities sake only.

            “Oh, very well, though she misses you greatly, my lord. You’ll be happy to know I have sent for her to visit. When I extended my stay here, I dispatched a rider to fetch her immediately; that was near three days ago.”

            “Wonderful news, Markos, it has been far too long.” Kion clenched his teeth, he was engaged to the man’s daughter, but he could not tolerate the girl. The engagement was formed by Kion’s father when he still lived in Pyron and the Hightower’s came to Sheezen with him after they swore loyalty. Kion only kept his promise because he needed Markos’ power, and money, to help his crusade; and he knew that Markos would not mind for his daughter to be a queen. They had postponed the wedding plans until Kion had finished his castle and became more settled in his empire.

And then he met Sonayla.

He gave his love wholly to her, despite the fact that they could never be together. It would be improper to marry an orphan girl with no family lineage or title, and though she was everything to him, she was not a good enough excuse to break an engagement that had so much time and mutual understanding; so now Kion treated it as a formality.

“My lords, I’ve prepared a feast to be delivered shortly, but I have news for you all that I feel cannot wait,” Kion addressed all three of his men, “please, sit.”

They did, and Kion reached under his shirt and revealed the letter from the king; it was even more crumpled now, but the message it held still just as important. He tossed it onto the table, which seemed to bend under the letters weight.

Markos instantly recognized the golden wax seal with the crowned-sun emblem stamped into it.

            “And what is the king on the mainland getting himself into now?” he asked, taking the letter.

            “It’s not Drom. It’s my father…” Kion said.

            “Oh… that changes things a bit,” Markos said; Kion could see his face visibly whiten.

            “Kion. Father?” Stonegate grumbled.

            Balic took the letter from Markos and gave the words a quick scan, throwing a concerning glance to Kion before turning to Stonegate: “Ceumsh gothrar, Darep Shpzomomgurai, esh om amaidai throepur mriskar ug pra Raimrum Pskom. Ra ratairad osoemkth pra doemskomg pmruvn omg kthomrpad vomr thu tai cems zedkaskg,” he translated.

            “Mmm…Raimrum…Py-ron.” Stonegate muttered.

            “Yes, my father is rebelling once more. He seems to be taking on the same missions he did thirteen years ago at the start of the war. We need to come up with a plan to stop him.” Kion said.

            “When did you receive this letter?” Markos asked him.

            “Just this morning, by bird, which means that Pyron could have already caused more destruction since the letter was dispatched.”

            “Are we stopping him, or helping him, my lord?” Markos asked.

            “Ask me a question like that again, Markos, and I’ll send you and your daughter to Pyron and you can ask my father the same thing.”

            “Apologies, my king,” Markos said, “but, speaking openly, either option would be beneficial to you.”

            Kion turned away from his three counselors, stewing about what Markos had just told him.

            “Say what is on your mind, Lord Hightower.” Kion demanded.

            There was a pause of silence as Markos took caution in how to respond.

            “Speak. I charge you!” Kion yelled.

            “Ah, well, my Lord knows as much as I that you have as equal a claim to the throne as your father. Your ancestors are the same, and were in power along with the ancestors of that b***h queen of ours. Help your father defeat Drom Sease, re-claim the throne, and you will be in the line of succession. And then we can all move off of this frozen rock---”

            Stonegate let out a rumbling growl.

            “That is enough, Markos.” Kion said.

            “Apologies, again.”

            “War. No. Good.” Stonegate said, “E ver nup skamg dai gurpak thu geszp pra toppskak ug dam eg thrarai esh nuthrems em ep gur ish.”

            “Stonegate will not lend his forces to fight in battles of men.” Balic translated.

            “I agree,” Kion said, “I am convinced that another prolonged war is the last thing this realm needs. It is not in my domain’s interest, and it is not necessary for us to defeat my father.”

            Just then, the door opened from outside and Bromwym leaned in. “My lord, apologies for the interruption, but your meal is ready.”

            Kion responded with only a flick of his hand, signaling them to come in. He continued to address his men while Waldene placed bowls and platters at each setting.

            “If we are going to become involved, it needs to be a sure move, with little casualty. Our forces need to be larger and stronger than ever, and we need to strike at the right moment with a confident stand.”

            Balic responded first, “My king, I do not need to remind you that our number of armed forces is at a drastic low after the last border wars with the rebel Orc-fiend. A massive recruitment would be needed to be strong enough to take Lossain and quell your father.”

            Kion hissed out a low growl, “Then we will recruit. As head of my cavalry, Balic, I entrust that you will send a draft to each of---”

            “---And how are we to pay for all of this?” Markos interjected, “New soldiers require housing, food, arms and armor, grants for their service, and so on; all of which we do not have any extra of.”

            “Your daughter is going to be queen, Markos, and your family ennobled. Perhaps you could make… contributions to show your appreciation.” Kion grew more irritated at the man with every breath Markos drew; though the man did give a worthy point.

            “In addition to the recruiting letters to send out, Balic, you will include notes to commendable lords known to us asking them for their bequests; they will give me the power I need.”

            The half-orc simply nodded in response.

            Bromwym circled with a large cauldron of rabbit stew that he carried with ease on one arm; using his free hand to ladle its contents into the wooden bowls.

            Stonegate picked up his bowl with two fingers and tossed the entire thing into his mouth; the bowl crushing under the pressure of the orcs tucks. He growled. Waldene was prepared with another bowl and Bromwym filled it immediately.

            Kion sat at the table, but instead of eating, he slumped in his chair and nestled his chin amongst his fingers, deep in thought.

            “My lord, how are we to know what houses are commendable enough to receive such letters?” Markos asked. Kion should have slammed his face onto the table, but a glance towards Balic revealed the same question behind his green eyes.

            Kion gave another moment of thought before he reached above him and pulled the crown from his head, “See this, Markos? It used to be my father’s, and now it is mine; and with it, the allegiance and respect of the people who abhor him. The men who served my father when he wore this crown were servants, and with it on my head, they are my friends.”

            He positioned the iron circlet atop his head in the same indentation it left in his golden hair. “And look how well it suits me; much better than it did him. The people of this realm are all too familiar with what my father can do, and with one mention of his name, they will do anything in their power to stop him. All of them.”

            “And how are we to stop these drafts from getting into the hands of your father’s men.” Balic asked.

            Kion took his first bite of stew, “Merit is expecting this.”

            “So you want him to know you are enhancing your armies? Whatever for?” Markos gasped.

            “With two forces opposing him, he will need to split his defenses, which will make it easier for us to surround him and destroy him.”

            The room grew quite for a spell and Bromwym entered with the second course; the roasted flank of a wooly bullock on a spit. He cut off three good-sized slabs of the meat and plated them with salted boiled potatoes and sweet grapes, all from Waldene’s gardens.

            Bromwym placed the three plates in front of Kion, Markos and Balic, in that order, and heaved the rest of the spit, practically half a carcass, in front of Stonegate. Kion thought he saw a smirk twitch in the corner of the Orc’s maw.

            There was a repulsive tearing sound as Stonegate sunk his tusks into the meat and peeled off a mouthful, he muttered some words while he mashed the beef to a pulp: “Kion. Wrong.”

            Balic asked him ‘why’ in their foreign tongue.

            “Thrarai esh thremrg voai. Skaip darep omg doemskomg cems gakthruai aiopz uthrar.” Stonegate rumbled.

            “He says there is a third option. Let Merit and Drom defeat each other.”

            “He suggests I do nothing?”

            Stonegate roared, “Not. Nothing. Destroy both. Them. Weak.”

            “Well, there is an idea.” Markos laughed, “Send in our forces when the enemies are worn and overwhelmed by battle.”

            “If you are to be king, Kion, there is no easier way than this,” Balic reassured him, “They could destroy each other without us getting involved, while we build our armies in the meantime.”

            “I do not like it.” Kion said.

            Master Markos stood and banged his hands on the table, “My Lord! Why do you talk of being King and of battle, but when an opportunity rises for you to have both with little effort, you fear it?” he yelled. 

            “I’ll ask you to leave the next time you question me, Markos,” Kion promised, and the man sat back down in a right hurry. Kion struggled to form his next words before he spoke, and his three councilmen ate in silence.

            “Let me inform you about a major difference between my father and me,” he finally said, “a parameter that I lack and of which he has more than most: My father thinks the rooster crows every morning to announce his arrival before the suns; he finds the darkness in everything, and unleashes it to the world; he is a monster.” Kion took a sweet grape from his plate and squished it between his fingers. “I do not want my people to think of me in that way; a monster like my father. If I am to be victorious, it will not be by crushing my own kind. That I was not born to do.”

            Markos scoffed. It was silent albeit the noise of Stonegate eating.

            “My King, I really must agree with Markos---“ Balic started.

            “I know that I am right, Balic.”

            “Why are you to sit by when this is an easy opportunity, my lord, one that most would support you on and see you victorious?” Markos snapped.

            “You may leave, Hightower,” Kion demanded, “and the next time I see you will be when your daughter arrives in Hailaize.”

            Markos stood abruptly, shoving the table away from him in doing so, making the wine dance in circles in the goblets that held them. He stomped away, turning at the door to speak: “You asked for my council, and there it is, my king. I’m afraid you’ll not get my support on decisions I do not agree with.” He walked out and Waldene removed his setting from the table. Kion hung his head in his hands.

            “Of course we will be with you on whatever you decide, Kion.” Balic said.

            “Can we do this without Hightower’s money?” Kion asked.

            “There are always the apportionments from our pledged allies.”

            “Land. Reward.” Stonegate rumbled.

            “Stonegate is right. The reward of property is worth more than gold to the men we recruit; offer them land and use the money we receive for their arms and housing.”

            “And how much land do I have to offer, Balic?” Kion asked, “Bale is a volcanic ruin, and Markos may be ignorant, but he was right about one thing: this is a frozen rock. Most of the land I do have is either orc-infested or uninhabitable. ”

            Stonegate guffawed.

            “My king, if I may…” Balic waited for approval.

            “Of course, friend. Speak openly.”

            “Defeat Drom, whether with your father’s assistance, or after your father is not a factor, and you will have this entire realm at your disposal.”

            “You agree with Markos, truly?” Kion said, without a speck of judgement.

            Balic nodded. Stonegate grunted. Kion gave a long, thoughtful sigh.

            “Let us begin with the recruitment drafts. I want them sent out within two days, Balic, and in the meantime, I will speak to master Markos.”

            Kion stood and Balic and Stonegate followed his lead. He reached out a hand to his commander-in-chief, and the half-orc grasped his king’s forearm and shook.

             “Many thanks, Balic.” Kion said. He then turned to Stonegate and nodded, pounding a clenched fist on the table; Stonegate did the same, except he lowered to the floor, just as Ironeyes had done, bowing to his lord.

            “Our mission will succeed; we are strong and our cause is right. You both are dismissed, thank you for your council, you will hear from me shortly.”

            Stonegate grunted and growled the entire way out the door and Balic gave Kion a tusked smirk as he passed, one that said “I’m with you no matter what you decide”, but also “Make the right decision” at the same time. Kion just shook his head and smiled at his half-orc companion with one clear meaning in his look: “Do not say a damn word”.

            Balic gave Kion a pat on his shoulder, saying one last goodbye before following the orc captain out of the room.

            Kion let out an audible sigh once he was alone. He rested his palms on the table and sunk his head to his chest, closing his eyes for a spell, reflecting on the advice of his men.

            “What to do, what to do?” He mumbled to himself.

There was only one other person is his domain who’s opinion mattered to him, and he shoved all thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being, deciding to wait until he heard what she had to say.

Kion grabbed one last sweet-grape from his plate and popped it in his mouth, throwing two marble bars onto the table for Bromwym and Waldene before turning to leave, heading down the circular stairs and over to Sonayla’s chambers.

 

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

 

        Sonayla rolled off of him and laid her head on his shoulder. Her fine hair was in a tangle and she wiped it out of her face, her fingers were wet with the moisture that collected on her brow, but she could not feel the droplets on her fingers. She circled the water on his heaving chest, tracing a red mark where his skin was flushed.

            The balcony door was still open and cold air made every hair on his body stand on end and their breath cloud above them. Kion pulled up the thick comforter to cover himself, but Sonayla just nestled next to him, leaving her whole body exposed.

            “Are you relaxed now?” Sonayla teased.

            Kion gave only a laugh, his chest still heaving. He continued when he caught his breath: “In body; yes. But my mind unfortunately still races.”

            “What else do I need to do to get it to stop…” she said, rolling on top of him. She crossed her arms on his chest and held her head above his just inches above his; her hair cascaded around them. Arching her neck, she let her lips scrape against his, “…my king?”

            Kion wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. When they separated, he simply looked into her eyes for a long moment. “How can I be distracted by anything when such beauty is in my bed?”

            “This is my bed!” she scoffed.

            “Oh is it really, my love?” he tossed her off of him and this time he rolled on top of her. Grabbing both of her wrists, he stretched her arms out to the sides, giving her another deep kiss as he hovered above. “It may be your bed, but it is in my house,” Her lips drew him in again, “and you are mine.”

            Sonayla did not feel the touch of his mouth or the flush that came to her cheeks, but her king’s words alone were enough to make her moan. “I am yours,” she repeated, “your one and only.”

            Kion broke the kiss between them. He rolled off of Sonayla and collapsed next to her on the bed with a groan. Sonayla sat up in a hurry, “I’m sorry, your grace. I know you have Lilias Hightower and I know how you feel about her.”

            The young lord placed a finger to her lips to silence her, “It’s not about her, my love. You only reminded me that I have to speak with Markos, is all.”

            She gave a relieved sigh, “Still; Apologies, Kion.”

            “What am I to do, my sweet?” he asked her.

            “My lord wants my opinion?” she said impishly.

            “More than anyone’s.”

            “Then I think you should fight for what is yours,” she said, “your father is mad and Drom is tired, you are the only one in my mind who should be on that throne.”

            “You’ve put some thought into this?” Kion marveled.

            “A little,” she smiled, “am I welcome now to sit on your council?”

            “I did invite you earlier, did I not?”

            “I know, but I’d much rather be here to wait for you when your meetings are finished.” She planted a light kiss on his cheek.

            “My council, it seems, would have me wait… let Drom and Merit go to war and have me swoop in and crush whatever resistance remains.”

            “As opposed to?”

            “Markos suggested that I help my father defeat Drom Sease, in which my father would rule, and I am back in succession. The other option is to face off against my father with the Drom, splitting his defenses. But Stonegate will not lend his forces if there is nothing in it for him, which I figured would happen; and then Balic says we need a massive recruitment in order to hold our own in any battle, no matter what we decide, in which case we would have to provide the funds to manage the growing number of men.”

            “Hmm,” Sonayla let those words bounce around in her thoughts, “perhaps you could send word to Drom, asking for his help with the money to raise an army that would help him stop your father.”

            “Drom is smarter than that. He would never pay to grow an army that could eventually rise against him; which would be at the back of his mind at all times if we choose to help him defeat my father. He knows more than anyone what is at stake.”

            “And there’s no chance of helping your father defeat the King.”

            “Not only is it unfathomable to even think we could defeat the king’s army,” Kion answered, “I could never stomach partnering with my father.”

            “So you think your council arrived at the best decision?” she found herself propped up on her elbows, looking down at her lover, her king, staring intensely into his eyes as she awaited his response; deeply interested in their exchange of words.

            “It’s the wisest decision if we are to come out on top.” Kion said after pondering the right answer. “But it sits uncomfortably with me. There is nothing noble about annihilating men when they are at their weakest. I am supposed to remind my people that I am not a monster like my father… not do exactly what he would have done.”

            “Maybe you do not need to recruit…” Sonayla suggested.

            “What do you mean?” Kion queried

            “It’s not necessarily the world you need to convince to help you; it’s Stonegate,” she said, “get him to fight for you and you will have an orc army that is unstoppable. An army that is accustomed to this place that you need to provide nothing for.”

            Kion sat up, pulling her up with him so that they were face to face. He kissed her with such passion that it made her toes curl. “You are wonderful, my love,” he said when they separated, “absolutely wonderful.”

            She laughed as he smothered her with kisses, “I would just hate for you to stand by and do nothing when you and I, and many others in this realm know that you are the rightful king.”

            “And when I am king of Reaconia, you will be mine, truly, and we will rule together.”

            “I already have all that I could ever want, and it’s all because of you, your grace.”

            She wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her in closer by the waist; their lips met and they let their desires take over their bodies. Sonayla shifted her legs so that she straddled him and with a hand on his chest, she urged him to lay flat. He let out a shout, though, when he collapsed on the bed, and quickly reached behind him to remove his iron, sharp edged crown that lay beneath him.

            “Is that an omen to be stabbed in the back by the thing I desire most?” Kion said, and the two laughed; he placed the crown on top of Sonayla’s head, and she smoothed her hair around the dark, cold metal. The sapphire gemstones inlaid in the crown made the blues of her eyes ever more brilliant, he stared at them desirously, eyeing the shapes of her naked body atop him in the moonlight. She reached up and slightly adjusted her new crown.

            “I do not care how beautiful they say the queen is, I know without having ever seen her that you are far lovelier. It is not possible for anyone to be more beautiful than you.”

            Even though she could not feel it, she knew her face was flushed. She placed a loving hand on his cheek; “You are too kind, my king.”

            “You deserve all the praise in the world, your grace.” Kion said, reveling in the reaction on Sonayla’s face at the slip of her future title.

            “You really mean it, Kion, truly?” she gave a shy smile.

“For what it is worth, you are my queen. I choose you.”

“The Hightower’s are going to love that...” Sonayla jested. Tipping off of him, falling onto her elbows in the tangle of blankets, she looked at her reflection in the looking glass that hung on the opposite wall. Her feet were pointed to the ceiling and she played with her crown once more; already she had a regal aura about her. She stared at her likeness like she never had before, “I could start a war.”

“You have already in my mind.” Kion said, laying across her to plant a kiss on her back. “Just as I am at war with the thought of leaving you tonight.”

She rolled over under him and pouted, “Please, no!”

He laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, trapping him. “But I must, my love, it is how things must be for now, as you know.” He gave another kiss.

“I cannot wait for the day until I no longer have to sleep alone.”

“Once my father and Drom are defeated, we can have that day. And tomorrow, when I speak with Markos and with Stonegate, we will be one step closer to that day.”

“You are certain they will side with you?” Sonayla queried.

“They must, for in my way they all lie.”

Kion stood from the bed, wrapping a bedsheet around himself; his belongings scattered the floor and he picked them up, feeling Sonayla’s eyes on him as he went. “Now I know for certain that I must leave,” he said, “for if I stay, I know that you would never let me rest.”

He knelt next to his giggling lover and the two shared a final kiss, he glanced at the crown that still sat atop her head, “I want you to hold on to that, you’ll need it in the future. Now sleep love, and wake a queen.”

The cold air turned to clouds as Sonayla sighed, “You are Lord of my life, and I will obey.” She smiled, collapsing onto her bed, her eyes shut and she heard Kion close the door behind him as he left.

As soon as he was gone, her eyes opened again, she was too overjoyed for sleep. Leaping out of bed, she went to her balcony and stepped out into the darkness. A sliver of dawn was beginning to show itself on the horizon and she looked down at her naked body, exposed to the oncoming light; she saw the effects the cold had on her bare skin, but still could not feel its bite; she swore though, that she felt her heart bouncing in her chest. Ever aware of Kion’s crown upon her head, she smiled, looking down at the city below, knowing that she would legitimately rule one day, knowing that now, she had everything she ever dreamed of. 

Author's Note

The relationship's in this chapter where some of my favorite to work with. Hope you enjoy, and please leave some constructive criticism or any advice you may have :)