CHAMBERS ROOM, ROYAL PALACE, EDITHIR AUTUMN, 578 CE
Haros sat back, folding one leg over the other, his lids sliding halfway down as he tried to keep his mind on the conclusion of the speech of the High Lord of the southern court of Pelcatera. It was drier than the biscuits stacked like bricks to corner the delicate teacup on the table beside him and as dusty as Yvin’s attic. Lord Terrik sniffed and frowned as he returned to his seat and the speaker of the Chamber rose and took to the floor. He was a fair-haired man, tall and strong, with ruby eyes. His ears came to a tight point, a decedent of the old people of Matemirad. They were fishers and seafaring, claiming many of the islands off the coast, and had a sinister reputation for selling mertail on the Dark Markets to the highest bidders. More importantly, they were the children of the underground fae, known for their strange eyes and superior sight in the dark, from before the War of Gods.
Those were dark days, thousands of years ago, when the gods clashed and rained hellfire on the world. The Gods Above disapproved of the Gods Below interbreeding with the humans and giving rise to the very people the speaker descended from. So, in anger, they sought to destroy them. The mortals claimed sides and defended the Gods Below. The God Above wouldn’t have it, and went to twelve kings, and offered to each a gift of power they'd never been allowed before. They baptized nine in the blood of Dragons. Their lineage carried and passed from the blessed to the eldest child, and so each new generation became the next guardian of their people and the power of the Gods Above. Then they went to the remaining three kingdoms and bestowed upon them the gifts of healing, prophecy, and magic. The last of the three, Styxis, was ordained as the highest of all kingdoms and led the others to victory over the Gods Below. But it came at the loss of the Seralena Court in the south. The southern courts never forgave the Styxin and their might for bringing down the last stronghold of the Gods Below by sacrificing Seralena.
For hundreds of years after, there was a bitter peace in the eleven surviving kingdoms. The Styxin remained on their island and all the others lived on the greater continent. They mingled and enjoyed life until the whispers began. Talk filled the air like the beating wings of a butterfly. If Styxis was the highest kingdom, then they were more powerful than any other individual kingdom. They were too powerful, sitting on their God-given throne and watching them from on high. It wasn’t right. And for as easily as the Gods Below were eradicated, and all the races who aligned with them, some whose names were lost to time, then the Styxin could turn on anyone and do it again. It was a matter of time before they grew bored with the kingdoms of Dragons and eliminated them for their own pleasure.
The Great War started with a slow invasion of the lesser Styxin kingdoms, G’hein and Ileolm. The former was renowned for its prophetic abilities. They were a kingdom of fortune-tellers and magicians. They read crops, clouds, and creatures like text printed in books. Edithir made the first move, expanding their borders to the north and eventually claiming the castle under the guise of a greater union. The forced labor camps suggested otherwise, though. Ordaithahn expanded their borders into Ileolm and claimed their land and their castle as their own and quietly, with the elegance of the elven folk they descended from, erased the healers. Ileolm was such a complete loss, it rarely turned up in history books. Haros knew about it, though, from the crusty pages of old anthologies he’d found in the catacombs of the library. It once was a scholarly building in the days of the G’hein Kingdom, but became nothing but a resource room for Edithir to forget. Perhaps if they weren’t so quick to bury the books and stories of G’hein and Ileolm, they wouldn’t have sought to kill all the Styxin. There was no record of them ever being malicious. They were great at many things, but fighting was never one of them. The Styxin were the perfect advisors and partners to the warring hearts of Dragons.
Haros breathed a heavy sigh as he pushed away his fantastic daydreams of what the world would be if the Great War never happened. He’d live in a different castle, sit on a different throne, and he’d not have the luxury of escaping into the G’hein forest when his parents were badgering him about duties and obligations. When it was at its worst, he retreated into the Tandor Mountains and wove his way through the rocky terrain where guards would struggle to pass and find him. Shutting his eyes, he smiled to himself and tipped back in his chair, daydreaming about the week-long disappearances he'd become almost famous for if he wasn't already famous for so many other unbecoming behaviors—as his mother called them. Shifting into another form and stretching his bones was a call to freedom he’d never own. It was a small taste of satisfaction when he spent every day craving for what he had no name for and could never find. It always smelled so close, so near, and yet it escaped like a summer’s breeze. The worst part was how hungry it made him. Not just for food but for drinks, and drugs, and sex as well. If he could need it, then he craved it with the desperation of a starving man. His unbecoming behaviors were hardly his fault.
Peeling his eyes open and leaning forward on the desk, he smirked as Icarid paced the floor and pulled the attention of the room to him. He was graceful in step and his voice filled the chamber with ease. While Icarid was not a man of inspiring words, he was a man of wonderful sounds. When the meeting was over, Haros decided, he’d slip away from the pageantry and take Icarid from the politics and bend him over the first balcony he could find and fuck him until his mediocre speech became moving. A dark smirk curled the corner of his lips as the Matemiradian Prince turned and caught his eye. Icarid fumbled over his words, running a nervous hand through his hair as he snapped around and shifted his focus back to the large audience. Haros chuckled and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, impatient and delighted to see Icarid was enthusiastic despite how he tried to hide it.
His mother clicked her tongue and leaned forward, speaking so low it was barely more than a hiss. “Haros, if you know what is good for you—”
“I assure you, mother, I don’t—”
“—do not even entertain the idea—”
“It’s not really an idea, it’s more of a plan—”
“—I swear, if you so much as touch him, everything we’re expected to gain here—”
“I know.” He lifted his hand, silencing her. “And I’m not going to jeopardize any of it.”
“Good.” Queen Dynara sat back in her seat and snapped her fan open as she tried to remain poised while hiding the disgust on her face.
Icarid swallowed so hard everyone heard it. He cleared his throat and tugged on his collar as he flipped over his page and glanced at Haros apologetically. Turning back to the papers in his hands, the pointed tips of his ears as vibrant red as his ruby eyes, he spoke slowly and carefully as he read out the order. A hush fell over the room and no one dared to so much as breathe. “And thus, this brings us to the last conclusive issue. It has been agreed by the parties, his Majesty of the Ordaithahn Kingdom, north, King Mardios, and his Majesty of the High Kingdom of Edithir, north, King Faliam, and, in due respect, her Majesty, her Royal Highness, of the High Kingdom of Edithir, north, third in the court of Sadel-Hirsche, north, Queen Dynara.
“On this day, as these parties agree, we shall resolve the matter of the unification of the region in the diplomatic trade sector of the northern kingdoms under these terms: the sitting and sole heirs of the respective thrones, Ordaithahn and Edithir, shall ally in matrimony. As there have been no objections to the agreement, henceforth the Chambers and all their constituents recognize these two, her Highness, Princess Keirah, and his Highness, Prince Haros, as betrothed with the expectation of production of an heir to both thrones. This unification is not the restructuring or reduction of kingdoms, but an economic strengthening. Thus, Ordaithahn shall retain her borders, and Edithir will hold her own the same. The union and first heir will go to Edithir, the High Kingdom of the northern region. A successive second heir will be the first of the Ordaithahn throne. If they should not produce a second heir, the first will hold both until a second or later heir is produced to claim Ordaithahn. Whichever happens first. When both thrones possess heirs from the unification set forth here today, the agreement shall be fulfilled and no further unions between Ordaithahn and Edithir are required to satisfy trade or social expectation. If the terms of the arrangement are suitable and adequate for your Majesties, respectively, then do so agree on the intentions set forth to carry forward the motion of betrothal.” Icarid glanced from one side of the room to the other.
“It is acceptable,” Faliam said, taking Dynara’s hand as a show of their joint decision. Haros glowered at them and then at Icarid, his nose wrinkling with disgust. They were deciding his future without a single care about what he wanted. And when had they made this arrangement? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, seething with betrayal. They could have discussed it with him first.
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“I, too, find it agreeable,” Mardios announced from across the room, looking up from under his bushy brow as he continued jotting notes. Princess Keirah, at his side, lowered her gaze to her hands folded over her lap. She was far from a blushing bride and was more of a mortified maiden and depressed damsel. Her loose barrel curls tumbled forward as she tried her best to nod in agreement. It was her misfortune to sit in the place of her deceased mother and carry only enough authority to be forced to agree to terms she didn’t want for herself.
“Right, yes.” Icarid nodded frantically, avoiding meeting the ice-cold glare Haros was shooting him. “Then, henceforth, we, the Chambers and constituents of, recognize and acknowledge the kingdoms of Ordaithahn and Edithir, are hereby unified by the betrothal of the sole heir, her Highness of Ordaithahn, north, Princess Keirah, and his Highness of the High Kingdom of Edithir, north, Prince Haros. It is expected, by nature of reputation and tradition, that an heir be produced at haste.”
Haros stiffened against his seat as his gaze darted from Icarid to his arranged bride. Keirah flicked back the curly dark brown hair dangling around her shoulders, decorated with small white flowers. She carried herself with elegance, but it didn’t hide her uglier features. Though her dress was of high fashion in her kingdom, it made her look gray and pale and sick. It was fitting in a way because she was one of the few people he’d ever encountered that he didn’t find even vaguely intriguing or attractive for more than a passing moment. From the first time they met as children, he’d found her annoying and exhaustive. He spent his days placating her and convincing her to join his mayhem and mischief, only to ensure she wouldn’t tattle on him before he could enjoy a moment of it. All the while, he found one reason after another for rejecting her stupid little games and races, but still, she begged him to participate in them. He didn’t have a damn bit of interest in schoolyard bullshit when there were a thousand more interesting things to do.
As they grew up, her attachment to him worsened. She didn’t give him any peace and clung to him as if he were her savior. Sure, there were benefits and he took advantage of them when he could, but at the end of the day, Keirah was more trouble than she was worth. A handful of her tits came at the price of her friends’ endless scorn. He wasn’t her knight in shining armor. In fact, Haros was anything but that, and his growing reputation was proof. It wasn’t long before he started outright refusing to visit Ordaithahn. He couldn’t have cared less about the long-standing friendship between the kings. He didn’t want to deal with Keirah’s fantasies of a man he would never become no matter how hard she tried to mold him. As a result, they’d met only once more as teenagers and it was largely by mistake as far as Haros was concerned. Though it was years ago, he wouldn’t forget it. And it was a real shame he’d never found out if Carin had taken a liking to him as much as he’d taken to her. Keirah had scared her off indefinitely when she turned up and shrieked like a damn banshee over a blowjob. To date, he’d never had an erection go flaccid quite as fast.
The day wasn’t a total loss, though. They’d stolen so much wine, not even he could stand up straight without the ground slipping, and out from under his feet. They laughed it off and she teased him about how she’d tell her father about the kitchen girl. Then her father would tell his parents in turn, and he’d be in for the beating of a lifetime. She didn’t tell him in the end, but it was the last time they saw each other. Too bad. If he’d known he wouldn’t see her again until he was older—questionably wiser—he probably would have been choosier about where he was promiscuous. Hell, she wasn’t half bad-looking in those days and he was inexperienced. If he’d had the foresight, he would have fucked her just to get it over with instead of settling for some drunken head and a quick release in her room. Maybe then her father would have hated him enough not to agree to the betrothal in the first place.
He ran his hands over his face and groaned and Icarid droned on about the last summaries and announcements. Fuck, the only thing worse than facing a woman whose last memory of him was with a limp dick, was facing Keirah, knowing he’d never be able to convince his dick to be anything other than limp in her presence. No, there were three things that were worse. A sudden betrothal to her, a room full of royalty expecting him to not only fuck her but to produce an heir, and having to deal with the fact that she was the living embodiment of everything prim, proper, and unerotic. He huffed and looked away, catching the lingering gaze of a green-eyed maid refilling glasses of water. She blushed and returned to her work. Even a servant had more to offer than Keirah. Of course, Haros considered, Keirah had nice tits, all things considered. No. That wasn’t enough to stir so much as a tingle. Especially when that maid across the room had such a nice, round ass.
Haros tipped his head to the side as he watched her wander through the aisle. She had good hips, perfect to hold on to and slam against. They’d make a nice sound, the sort that clapped and echoed in a room. The sort his mother would go pale to hear and his father’s face would turn red as he declared a need for a strong drink so she could deal with the indiscretion later. Licking his bottom lip as she passed by, he couldn’t help but imagine pulling her hair out of that tight bun and watching it unravel in waves over her back. He could grab hold of it, pull it, and whisper the most devious suggestions in her ear until she moaned and shook with pleasure. And that would make for a far better end to the day than the formalities of an engagement—an arranged betrothal.
It was absurd to think that marrying Keirah would make any difference in the War of Kingdoms, the abomination of cold disdain left over from the Great War. Ordaithahn and Edithir had been in a trade conflict for years as the war between the North and South grew more hostile. After the raids in the northern Kingdoms, the night Lazroth and Keirah’s three brothers died, the tension over trade deals worsened. There weren’t enough heirs, or protection, or certainty to keep money flowing, and internal conflict was on the rise. Worse yet, no one was sure who led the siege on the castles. No one claimed responsibility despite the horrific success in severing the last ties to the inheritance of Dragons. Haros, though, was lucky and survived the night. He lived on, and that was the greatest mistake their assailants made. They did not know the secret his parents had kept for years.
Haros was less than a year older than his brother, Lazroth, and his brother was born big. He stayed big, and Haros stayed thin and small. By the time his parents let the world see them, they made it a point not to announce which brother was the eldest. They allowed the world to decide. And they decided it was Lazroth. As a result, they killed him and the Legacy passed to Haros that same night. Or at least, that was his best guess on when he’d come into possession of it. The whole thing was foggy. Yvin had tried to read his fortune about it, used her visions and every other practice in her arsenal as a young girl to suss out the timing and details about what had happened to him to cause his month-long lapse in memory. She traced his hands and giggled, saying his fortune was a real mess. It was the first time he’d heard her speak in a forbidden tongue. Her Styxin wasn’t the best, and Danren’s wasn’t much better, but she called him a name he’d heard too many times from the older folk with traces of Styxis in their veins. She called him Sacharuphise. The best he could make of it was that it was an old word, meaning a loss, a sacrifice to time. He didn’t appreciate it, but being called a lost cause wasn’t the worst thing some had called him in his twenty-eight years of life.
He turned his hand over and stared at his palm, his thumb brushing along the corded lines like a scar, where Yvin had read once more. That damn reading had been haunting him for weeks on end. She was crazy if she believed the fortune she’d given him, and stood by every day since. A lover he’d hate but put above all else? Bullshit. And how could it be possible for her to already be in love with him if they’d not yet met? Now that, to believe it, would require sacharuphise. Haros smirked to himself. Maybe he shouldn’t fuck her so hard next time.
Looking up from his thoughts at the little family across the chamber, his eyes traced the trim figure of his betrothed. It’d been years since he’d spent any amount of time with her and, in a way, she was a stranger, but he wasn’t deaf. The Ordaithahn people talked and had plenty of strong opinions about their princess. Some were good, but most were not. As far as he could tell, she’d not changed one bit since they were children and was certainly the same cretin she was when they were teens. Sure, a memorial service was bad timing for a blowjob, but that wasn’t any of her damned business even if he had gotten off in the end.
“Haros,” his mother hissed, “what is that smell?”
He looked down at his shirt, plucked the center, and sniffed it. “Incense?”
“Incense!” Her jaw tightened and her eyes rounded.
“And a little perfume. Smells like pears.”
“Unbelievable.” She sat back, shaking her head.
“I know,” he purred, leaning over his seat with a sardonic grin. “Who would have thought Yvin had expensive taste?”
“Have you no sense of decency?” She sank down, woeful for her son’s indiscretions.
“Leave him alone, Dynara,” his father said, rubbing a bony hand over his brow. “Just be thankful he’s not made you an illegitimate grandmother.”
“How could you say such horrible things?” She swatted the king, frowning sourly.
“Please, the last thing I’m interested in is having children.” Haros huffed as he settled back in.
“You’ll have to reconsider your stance on that sooner, rather than later, boy,” Faliam said as he leaned around his wife. “This arrangement requires an heir, and our family needs another son.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have let your other one die,” Haros said bitterly.
Faliam chuckled, shifting as he moved to the edge of his seat, “You’re expected to meet with her Highness, Princess Keirah, privately after this and join us and her father for dinner. The sooner you produce an heir, the sooner we can end the war. So, I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity you’re being given, especially when you are so eager to satiate yourself with the likes of every prince, pauper, and prostitute you come across.”
“I’d rather cut my dick off with a rusted spoon,” Haros grumbled.
His father smiled and clapped him on the knee. “You’ll make a fine king one day just as soon as you can swallow down that pride of yours. Maybe then you’ll be able to do something for the sake of others instead of yourself.”