Chapter One

It was the night of the gathering, within the fortress walls drinks spilled from their cups and men and women alike danced as the musicians played feverishly. Outside, away from the joyous noise and hearty atmosphere, winter staked its claim to the land as icicles dripped from towers and shingles of the peasant homes. Snow came down in wild flurries, but the upper-class paid no mind and enjoyed the merriment of the gathering within the heated walls. The event had been arranged for the Heir's coming-of-age, the boy had turned fifteen and was even dressed in his finest silks for the day. His father, slightly flushed from the drinking, boasted of his boy "whom was ready to become the next King any day now." The mother naturally hushed the man, and shooed her son away to dance with the daughters of the Duke, or the Earl, and to especially dance with the Princess from the neighboring Kingdom. After all, now that he was of age, he must find a woman to take and bare sons. The boy's name was Carner, and what a handsome boy he was, as he should be. Tall and lean, with a thick mop of black hair. Eyes the color of honey and skin kissed by the sun. But it was his aversion to people that had made people find him peculiar, while expected he read and perform in the act of fighting and the creation of art, it was almost unnatural how close he was to books and the like.

 

 

In Carner's opinion, he was not the peculiar one. Rather, he was a bit arrogant, in thinking himself superior. Even as he danced with the daughter of the Duke of Lionel, he could only think in disgust how clammy her hands were, how disgustingly pasty her skin was, and how her eyes were too small. The thing he disliked about her the most was her hair. Black like his own, but like straw; stringy, dry, brittle. She was supposedly rather intelligent, though shy. Her name was Anna. She was not of his Blood, unlike most in the hierarchy. Her family was short and stout, humble to the king and the head of their Blood had aided his father in war. Whilst his Blood was long and lanky, of royalty and nobility since the beginning of all in ancestry. Masters in the very art of war and skilled in wits. Anna stuttered as she had tried to make pleasant conversation, but he dismissed it. Leaving her to go and dance on and on with everyone's pathetic daughter. The princess hadn't been much better in his eyes. Though beautiful in every aspect, blue eyes and chestnut brown hair with smooth skin and a near exotic look to her being, she was dull and dumb. She showed no intellect. A pity Anna and her had no way to meet in the middle.

 

 

The dancing left him as flushed as his father on wine, his purple silks nearly stained with sweat as the heat of the room started to get to him. With pardon from his mother, he left the extravagant ballroom to walk among the fortress walls. Of course, his mother had reminded him to bundle up, wrapping him in furs from head to toe. Their white color was of great contrast to the dark colored stone that made their home. When no one was in sight, he had excused his escort to return to the gathering to leave him be. Carner liked the winter, though he seldom enjoyed company on his walks through the glittering snow or the halls where icicles hung so low they scraped the top of your cap. He particularly liked to stop in the midst of the halls, sitting below the great archways that ran all along the walls. Watching his breath streak and curl from his mouth like the smoke from a dragon's great maw, and watching the frost cling to each strand of fur on his cloak. It was quite beautiful really, the bitter cold of winter. So delicate yet disastrous. Sparkling in the moonlight yet promising of a rather cold and black death. It was in a time like this that he found he could rest. Rest from the politics of the land, the trials of heinous crimes, the wooing of princesses and heiresses alike, the strain of studying history and the proper way to fight your enemies... It was in a time like this he found there was quiet and no worry. Something he found that his parents rarely had, just like him if not worse.

 

 

Closing his eyes, he rest his head against the wall behind him, breathing in the piercingly cold air, not paying any mind to any noise. Not even the noise of footsteps. Though faint as they were, they were there. He thought it to be just a page or a eunuch or even an escort his mother sent for him, on their way to the gathering. But when he had opened his eyes, and looked both left and right, not a single person was to be seen. Though the footsteps could still be heard, and that was most strange he thought. It began to stir a feeling of unease as he stood, walking back to the dance. His own feet began to walk in time with the ones he heard. The rough scuffle of his snow-boots colliding with the sound of the hushed pitter patter. How strange indeed, he thought, that these steps are to be heard when no one is in sight. There is no other place for a person to walk.

 

 

But in this assumption he was wrong. For what he was hearing, had come from the roof of the hall. And he was to find that out soon enough. Just as Anna was to find out as well in future time. But as Carner made his journey back, uneasy and thirsty, Anna stayed to the wall rather shyly. Gripping at the turquoise layers of her dress. She was a most heartily weighted girl, her face slightly pudgy and her figure meant for birthing children, short as it was. She was of twelve years of age, and her father kept snipping at her to dance with the Heir. His fat lips and saliva flying to the side of her face as he whispered harshly in her ear, his breath rank with alcohol and food. "Listen you little pig, you dance with that boy. You get him in your bed. You give him a son and you become the next Queen, ya hear me ya little rat?" Every time he called her rat, he'd always grab her left arm, and squeeze so tightly with his ugly knotted fingers. He often left bruises. She winced and dared not to pull away. Though she knew he wouldn't dare to hit her among the upper-class people, he would surely do it later once they were back in Lionel. That was the last thing she needed, what with her mother shoving books down her throat and her father shoving her to other people's beds, it was all she could take. Her brother did not help, always earning their parents' praise, for how handsome and strong and smart and talented he was... Pah, she thought, if he is talented, I'm sure to be the next Queen. With that thought, after her father let her be, she walked to the tables of food, slowly eating her stress away. With an olive here, an egg there, and maybe even a smidgen of wine baked meats, she found her way back to the dance floor, enjoying the company of the Fool.

 

 

The Fool was a rather skinny man, young and with an odd accent, but he made her laugh, and made the gathering enjoyable for her. She found herself about to accept a dance with the jolly man, had the Queen not found her way to her. Oh how beautiful the Queen was. She was barely taller than Anna, but she had such smooth skin, pale but not pasty, her cheeks always rosy. Her hair was a beautiful cascade of red curls, and her eyes greener than the wild summer grasses. She wore the bluest of sapphires in her ears and hair and the whitest of silks draped across her slim figure. Pert, pink lips opened to ask, "Dearest Anna, child, have you seen Carner? I'm afraid he's been missing for quite some time now." She had been busy wondering why, this glorious woman from a far land, had come to marry the wild beast that was their King. True she calmed him, but she stood out from all the dark skinned natives of the Kingdom, even Anna with her pasty skin looked like she belonged more than this woman. "N-no, my Queen, I'm afraid I have not s-seen him since our dance." The Queen smiled a sincere smile, thanking her for her time, and bid her farewell as she went on to ask the next person the whereabouts of the Heir.

 

 

Clutching her dress, Anna bit her lip, cursing her horrid stutter that she barely managed to keep in line. Oh how she hated her stutter, how she hated hearing her own voice, how red she would turn at the mere mention of talking. She had many insecurities, oh so many instilled in her by her father and her mother and her brother. Read this, cook that, sing this, eat that, learn this, say that. Never could she do good enough and never would she. But she was just Anna. The daughter of the Duke of Lionel. Nothing more, nothing else. She frowned a small frown, unnoticeable by all, and shuffled back over to the Fool. Yes, the Fool. The Fool would make her laugh again.