Every Blood Moon, King Kyrian of the Kingdom of Flames and Inferno hosts his Midnight Ball in the western Meadows region, Fyrien. Arlans, from around the realm, are invited. Those in tonight’s attendance included Queen Mesyla, Pariesa Emmar, the Lords and Ladies of War, Sons of Judgement, and King Stefan. King Stefan’s arrival, in particular, was unexpected. For centuries, their kingdoms and their Gods, Fyr and Death, have been at odds. The Goddess Arra leaving Death for the God of Fire, Fyr, was a turning point in their relationship.

And when the Gods departed, their hatred for each other passed onto their Incarnates. But after the war, they decided to put a pause on their animosity towards each other. The Hallow War nearly ended them all. Stefan argued that it was time to leave their hatred for each other in the past. To not let it consume them like it did Queen Shioban of the Isle and King Losk of the Mountains. Kyrian agreed. But Kyrian also promised himself that he would never forget and could never forgive how it was Stefan who attacked Kyrian’s home first and why his mother left him to become the Eternal Flame.

But for tonight, at his party, he would play nice.

***

The Midnight Ball was an explosive outdoor feast where guests ate, danced, watched fireworks, and were entertained by the burning of giant size combustible puppets. While Kyrian’s guests were outside, he was making conversation with a younger woman by the name of Melroa. The two were on the third floor of the palace, staring at a painting of white orchid flowers. Melroa was wearing a red, high neck cloth dress that extended to the floor, while Kyrian was wearing only black trousers.

“Is it true your mother gave birth to you in a field of white orchid flowers?” She asked shyly.

Kyrian suddenly felt a warm feeling in his chest.

“Yes.”

Melroa glanced down the hall, another painting immediately catching her eye. The sound of her heels bounced off the wall as she made her way quickly towards the painting. Her movements were as graceful as a dancer, Kyrian thought to himself as he followed.

“The Orchid Prince.” She gasped. In front of her, mounted on the wall, was a baby portrait of King Kyrian in a field of white orchid flowers. The inscription on the gold frame read, ‘The Orchid Prince. May his essence kindle.’

Melroa reached out and traced the eyes of the baby painted. “You have the eyes of your mother.”

“If you keep walking, there’s a portrait of her at the end of this hall.” He said, standing closely behind her.

Melroa quickly dropped her hand and looked up to him. “Really?”

“She had it painted before her death.” Kyrian’s vision was suddenly blurry. “Would you like to see?”

Melroa smiled. “Lead the way.”

When they reached the end of the hall, they were immediately greeted by a portrait of a fair woman sitting on a horse at night. Her hair was on fire. The inscription on the brass frame read, “May her essence kindle forever in light and in darkness.’

“Do you still blame Stefan?” Melroa asked, breaking the temporary silence.

“Is he not at fault?” Kyrian asked frowning. “My mother would still be here if he didn’t invade.”

After his mother’s sacrifice, Kyrian immediately inherited the throne and raised The Wall of Fire, shielding Fyrians from the great war. It took twenty two years after the Arlan War ended for Kyrian to lower the fire, allowing Arlans to enter and exit as they pleased.

“Yet, you invite Stefan here.” She countered, snapping Kyrian out of his thoughts.

Kyrian shook his head. “That was really the doing of my counsel…..part of our peace arrangements.”

Melroa suddenly turned away from the painting, and inched closer to Kyrian.

“You do know who I am, right?” She asked. “I am a subject of Stefan. He is my King.”

Kyrian glanced down to Melroa’s lips then back to her eyes. “And my wife is technically a subject of Jaho. Yet, she lies with me.”

“His laws won’t let me leave.” She countered.

Kyrian reached out to touch Melroa’s left cheek. “You won’t need his permission as long as I live.

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Melroa closed her eyes. “And what of your wife, Larella?”

Kyrian dropped his hand and slowly stepped back. “I thought……do you not like her?”

Melroa reached out to pull him back to her.

“I do. I do.” She repeated, then waved one of her hands in the air. “She’s just…..confusing.”

“My wife likes you more than you realize.” Kyrian laughed, then raised his eyebrows. “And she told me about the visit to the library.”

Redness suddenly swept across Melroa’s face.

“I feel the same for her as I do for you.” She admitted, blushing and swaying. “But I do have a question.”

“What is it?” He asked quickly, hands now around her waist.

“Larella, your wife. Does she share any relation with Prince Jaho’s bride to be?”

Kyrian shook his head.

“My Queen is of Faerean descent. In Desert lore, Faerean are distant descendants of timekeepers. Jaho’s Larella is of House Royalty.” He explained, hands still around her waist.

Melroa slowly nodded.

“Is that all?

Melroa nodded again.

“Can I tell my wife you’re joining us then?”

“Yes.” She mouthed.

Kyrian smiled then pulled her even closer to him by her waist. “I won’t make you Princess, you know. I can’t make you Queen. Larella is my one and only Queen. Instead, I’ll make you Dame Melroa, Her Highness, The Thrones’ True Mistress. How do you like that?”

A wide grin broke across Melroa’s face. “I like that very much.”

Kyrian lowered his head to seal their new arrangement when the sudden sound of a loud firework caused Melroa to jump and step away from him.

“It’s just a firework.” He laughed. “Are you afraid?”

Melroa placed a hand over her chest. “Your kingdom’s customs are very strange, I must admit.”

Kyrian folded his arms across her chest, still laughing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Melroa began twirling a piece of her dark hair with her left hand. “For one, you boil your dead.”

“The Mountains throw their dead off their cliffs.” Kyrian retorted quickly.

“Second, they are literally burning giant size puppets outside filled with food and jewels.” She responded, ignoring his rebuttal.

“It’s a celebration.” He sighed, then pulled her back to him by the waist. “A celebration of life and abundance.”

“Okay.” She sighed, then began to stroke his bare chest.

“Do you find our marriage customs to be strange?” He asked quietly. “Do you think taking on more than one partner is peculiar?”

Melroa wrapped her hands around Kyrian’s neck. “You already know the answer to that, my love.”

Melroa then stretched on her toes and placed a soft kiss on Kyrian’s lips. Kyrian’s grip around her waist tightened. When Melroa pulled back, she saw the hunger in Kyrian’s eyes. But before they both realized, someone had been watching.

“Your Majesty.” A deep masculine voice said suddenly. Kyrian quickly turned his head towards the origin of the voice. Jona.

“Your Majesty.” He said again. “There is news.”

Kyrian and Melroa quickly parted from each other.

“What is it?” He asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Jona, a tall servant, quickly walked down the hall and handed Kyrian a note. Kyrian eyed him suspiciously before opening it and reading it. As he did, Kyrian’s heart began to race, much faster than normal. After he read it the first time, he read it again. Then again.

“What is it, Kyrian?” Melroa asked, voice shaky. “Is there something wrong?”

“Your Queen.” He stuttered, shaking his head.

“Rosar?”

“She’s dead.” He exhaled. “Rosar is dead.”

Melroa reached out and took one of Kyrian’s hands into hers.

“There’s more, my king.” Jona added suddenly.

Kyrian quickly turned his head back to Jona.

“There is another note.” He explained, then handed him another note. Kyrian snatched it out of his hand and opened it.

My dear Kyrian. I’ve written this note over and over again, trying to find the right words, how to tell you that my love for you has never known boundaries nor time. How it is eternal and ever expanding. And in my now death, just know, my love still lives. Within you. Around you. My love, my Kyrian. In Gardenia, where the Sun shines forever, we shall meet again. And I am selfish enough to say, I cannot wait.

And as much as I want to tell you everything, tell you to not trust Brielle, I know that it means nothing. Fate wins in the end. And this time, she is determined to finish her story.

But I can tell you a couple of things. How Larella loves you more than you could ever understand. How Melroa will give you both everything…blood and light. How Manar is to be trusted. How your mother sacrificed it all for you to live this life and she has not once regretted it.

And my love, do not engage in the war or Fate will make you pay in ways that He would not even be able to save you.

My sweet love. You are truly too pure for this world.

I love you.

Forever, your Lady, your Friend, your Bride in another life.

Rosar.

Kyrian balled the paper in his fist.

“Find me Brielle.” He said through gritted teeth.