Edmon leaned with his arms crossed against the side of his large, muscular horse while observing a group of thirty-two boys who had been eager to learn how to use a sword and develop, as they saw it, superpowers.
He went without his helmet but kept the full plate armor that defined his defender role in his daughter’s court. This was not how he saw their life going, and only in his nightmares did he ever believe Tiffany would be taken away from him.
A trail of frigid energy came from his eyes as the thunder of the storm overhead rumbled through the sanctuary, yet his attention was on the ground. Something inside this planet had taken away his wife from him—hurt her—and he would not let that go.
Edmon wanted to believe that his Tiffany would find her way back to him, but he had always been more of a realist, which was why he’d willingly given up his life to spend eternity guarding Elinor. He’d failed to protect his wife; he would not fail his daughter.
His horse snorted with agitation, sensing the cold fire burning within his soul, and his focus was snatched by the orange-eyed witch that casually greeted him with an impish grin. His old life was dead, and he had to learn how to accept that his wife had been twisted and changed. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he had to learn how to accept this new version of her.
Strangely, it wasn’t all that hard considering many aspects of the woman he knew were still there, yet there was a cruel evil that had tainted many aspects his wife had most loved about herself.
Ultimately, it told Edmon that was how much she’d loved their daughter; she’d been willing to give up any principle, her compassion, and the very goodness of her soul in order to protect Elinor. In a way, that part was what had been corrupted the most by how she viewed their daughter.
“Brooding all by your lonesome, handsome, hmm?” She stopped beside him to stroke the side of his mount, speaking privately through the Nexus since the Shade was always listening; plus, it was more fun this way and brought Edmon back to their days in school when they’d pass notes between each other in class.
“What’s it about this time? Are you going to reject those poor girls that want to become knights? You’re too soft on girls. Surely you wouldn’t put them through such hardship,” she teased.
On the contrary, he muttered, focus shifting to the group of six girls that surrounded Gloria. I’ve given Mika the task of pushing them harder than the boys. In order to keep up, they have to access the Knight Feats I can grant them, and much of our power comes from our strength of will to not bend or break in our conviction toward Elinor.
“Is that right?” Tiffany cooed, fingers moving from the horse to slide down his armored shoulder to trace the frost-like designs on the metal. “I’m surprised they’d want to get all sweaty and dirty… Maybe I could talk to them.”
A smirk lifted his lips as he looked down at her gentle touch, attempting to distract him. She always had been a touchy-feely woman and used the tactic often to make him forget about an argument or attempt to shift things in her direction.
I think I’m doing just fine. How goes the recruitment on your end? I should have at least fifty apprentices by the end of the day. Don’t tell me you’re trying to tempt me? Heh, you’re afraid I’ll start stealing all of your witches.
Her fingers twitched against his armor. “Eh-heh. Yeah… I may have come off a tad too strong. Maybe we could make some… alterations to the bet—I’m willing to go deeper! Wouldn’t that be fun?”
She was losing hard, and spotting so many young men and now women flocking to him instead of her was making Tiffany nervous.
It wasn’t only to do with their bet; she’d promised Elinor that they could get silk production underway at an accelerated rate, and to do that, she needed witches. Warlocks were apparently more combat-oriented in traits, hosting far more firepower than the more versatile witch.
Breathing out a satisfied puff of air that he knew would make the woman want to strangle him, Edmon savored her plea for a lifeline, doing her best to play on his emotions. Honestly, he was starting to feel slightly sorry; he did love her touch, and she knew exactly where to place it to get his attention.
Oh, boy. Well, let’s see, I already am quite enjoying this victory image of you teaching your very dark and depressing craft to young impressionable witches and warlocks. I think the mascot duck head would do wonders for your reputation. What more could you offer me? The flippers we found and quacking at the end of your sentences?
“Edmon!” she groaned, leaning against him to glare up into his face. I can’t quack! You know my duck impression is garbage, and I’d only make a fool out of your daughter. Eh… what if I, umm,” her eyes scanned the ground, looking for something to redirect him. “I can… tell you some of the dirty secrets your wife hid from you! What about Todd, hmm? I bet you’re interested!”
Todd, Edmon repeated with a short hum. You mean the student that tried to get my wife to leave me—a successful Architectural engineer—with the promise of, and I quote, an apartment with five dogs he thought were his children?
Tiffany’s eyes widened as she pulled away, clearly confused. “What?! How did you know that story? She never told yo—Elise! That two-faced tramp! When?! I know she tried to seduce you once!”
That’s one way to address your little sister, Edmon chuckled. Sadly, no. Tiffany could never let go of that suspicion, but Elise was always really nice and respectful of our relationship.
“Nice. Uh-huh.” Tiffany dully glared at him like something was his fault; it was so similar to countless discussions they’d had in the past that he wanted to punch himself not to get pulled in. “What kind of ‘nice’ was she, hmm? I know when I went out with my dad, eh… Dammit!”
She caught herself, but Edmon honed in like shark-smelling blood.
Tripped up again, Sweetie. Don’t get in a tiff, Tiff. I know it’s hard separating yourself from my wife. Take your time.
“Agh! You know I hate it when you do that wordplay… So… what did you name your horse? She’s beautiful, by the way.”
Changing the subject is fine; our agreement still stands.
He took the reins as Tiffany groaned again, chasing after him to try and get any kind of wiggle room. “C’mon, Edmon, we can have more—”
Oh, and I named her Tiff. She can have an attitude like someone else I know. Quack-quack.
“You did not name a horse after me! Wait, you’re going to ride Tiff… Edmon, we’re not done… Don’t mute me! Edmon!”
* * *
Theresa’s partially skeletal fingers shifted between keys on the piano she played, drawing upon the emotions she felt during the most lonely moments in her life. The rhapsody the instrument fed her had been a sense of solace for her when her boys had grown too old for their mother, and her husband spent most of his time working to cope with the death of his parents.
She’d wanted to be there for him, but he was always the type to deal with hardship on his own. It wasn’t fair to her, yet emotion was like that, and she had her own way of releasing pain or stress. Earning a bit more money through playing the piano at one of the local churches helped to keep them afloat, and she’d been raised Catholic, as had many families in South America.
Never one to show excitement or excess emotion, Theresa had always been called the cold queen while going through school, yet Colby could always make her smile with his goofy antics. Life had grown hard when they hit their late thirties, though, and in more ways than one.
In a way, dying was the best thing that had happened to her; it put things into perspective and gave her new purpose since all she’d ever wanted was to be a mother. Unfortunately, all she’d been able to carry were two children before her uterus gave out, and the blow hit Colby as badly as it did her, even if he didn’t let it show.
Ever since she’d been resurrected, she’d been among the fastest to grow among the undead, due to her many talents in the duties of a maid, directing tasks, and providing other services, such as song and instrument.
Theresa always knew she was talented, and exercised her gifts, yet she had always been more focused on her family than a career. It wasn’t like she regretted her decision; she wouldn’t trade the memories and gifts her family gave her for the world. However, now that that chapter in her life was closed, she could focus on other areas.
She smiled at Colby, her husband sitting beside her, listening to her somber music that resonated with many of the humans around the sanctuary. He’d been so sweet, proposing to her again only moments after she was returned from the dead and only a bundle of bones and flame.
Theresa had always taken pride in her looks, as well, and loved the way she could make her husband salivate when alone, teasing and luring him in as he did the same. There was a sort of ritual they’d developed over the years that had slowly died when life and children consumed their time. Now, they could rekindle that flame.
Her gaze drifted to the struggling skeleton standing nearby with a violin; Valerie Meyer was a young woman from the United States that was having trouble playing the instrument she loved, unaccustomed to playing with her bony fingers.
Due to being the only Assistant Head Maid, Theresa could feel the admiration and drive the girl felt while observing her performance; she wanted so badly to play the instrument she loved again.
Valerie wasn’t technically a maid, but due to Theresa’s many affinities, she’d been granted temporary leadership over a few branches within the Serving Court, including the musical positions. She encouraged the girl to keep trying and to be careful with her instrument since supplies and goods were now limited.
Yes, it was frustrating to see Theresa advancing so quickly when not even a part of the musical staff, yet the purpose for that soon became clear as she reached Common-C Grade. She’d been given the Songweaver Class. When her skin and organs began to return, her growth only continued to increase as she combined her instrument with her voice.
She couldn’t help but giggle to herself upon seeing the Witch Queen chasing after her frosted Death Knight, fuming about something in their private dialogue. It wasn’t challenging to see that the witch was drawn to the man, and there was quite a jealous streak she saw developing in how she stared at the women that interacted with him.
Hours upon hours passed with Theresa’s fingers skating across the somewhat damaged grand piano; one of the legs was broken, and the top had a chunk taken out of it, but it was more than usable. One thing that put her undead heart at ease was the sight of her two boys, now in their older teens, as the pair talked to a few of the girls their age, and there were many.
Left with her emotions to express, Theresa expressed them in song, her soft voice mixing with the falling rain pattering against the ceiling high above and thunder vibrating the air.
“Born to die,
“Born to the life of a slave.
“Born to break our backs for an early grave,
“Born to toil and woe, we die.
“And that’s how the story goes, yet no more.
“Now, born to a life of service,
“Born to youth, never to be taken.
“Born to purpose,
“Born to care for those in need.
“Born in life is to struggle,
“Born in undeath, I am free.
“Treasures await my service,
“For a life worth treasuring is mine to see.”
* * *
Butter huddled against a tree, squinting in the downpour as the howling wind picked up to blow her away, yet an armored hand came out to rescue her, deep voice soft as it came through the Nexus.
“I felt that you’re having trouble. Are you okay?”
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She wanted to cry as Edmon—the father she never knew—held her protectively against his chest. The skeletons keep getting blown away by the wind. It’s so frustrating! Why are you away from Priss, though? You’re usually always close to her, she grumbled.
Laughter shook Edmon’s body as he carefully navigated to her other butterflies to gather them before the Death Orbs they carried were lost in their destruction; the hurricane had only gotten worse, and they’d gotten themselves in a bad position, yet the Death Knight seemed totally unaffected by the gales that beat against his armor.
“I don’t have only one daughter to save, High Queen,” he said in a teasing voice that made Butter giggle; it felt so different coming from the composed and confident man. “I needed time away from camp; it gives Tiff time to stew and wonder what I’m doing out here.”
So bad! Haha. I do love to see you stringing her along. I didn’t think she’d be so easy to poke and prod, but you make it look so easy. What’s your secret? she asked, crawling inside his helmet as he brought her close to rest protectively beside his ear.
“Years and years of getting to know the woman. She’s not so different from the Tiffany I knew, which is why I’m pushing her to see how much of my wife… your mother, is left. In the meantime, why not spend some daughter and father quality time together? Your sister tells me you need Death Orbs to not, ahem, ‘wither into a mummified corpse.’ ”
Of course, Priss would say that! Humph. She knows how much I care about my looks. I will get my body back; I can’t believe she killed me! You do know that, right? She literally ate me in our mother’s womb. Who does that to their sister?!
“Haha. I have no clue how that works. All I know is that I have two lovely daughters now. I want to get to know you, Butter… Your sister gave you that name?”
Ugh. Yes. She drew closer to her father’s cheek to look out of his helmet through a gap since there was some kind of field blocking the wind from entering. Get this, Priss calls me Butter because I’m, and I quote, fattening! I’m fat! She thinks of me like some… some tumor or growth that needs to be cut out! Not a sister that needs a body… Honestly, it’s starting to get depressing.
“Hmm. I don’t know. Your sister has always been… the morbid type, even before she went full goth—which I was not a fan of, by the way—she had interests that were a bit darker than her friends’, and… that’s how she met that boy…”
Hehe. C’mon, tell me about Tanner! I want dirt on Priss since I didn’t grow up with her. It’s not fair that she’s the only one with ammunition to throw at me. I’m not just going to be her punching bag!
“That’s the spirit! Haha. Oh, let’s get into some stories while we hunt for your Death Orbs, then. Did you know she wet the bed until she was eleven?”
No!
“Yup. Big embarrassment when she brought friends over for sleepovers.”
Hehe. Give me the dirt, Dad.
“I’m gonna need some dirt on you, myself, High Queen,” Edmon laughed. “I want to know everything about you. Embarrassing things, interests… everything. I’m your dad. I need to know what you’re afraid of so I can protect you from it… because that’s what dads are supposed to do.”
Butter sniffed, unaccustomed to the emotion welling up in her core as someone finally was talking to her like a real person. Thanks, Dad. I think I’m starting to love you! Haha! Ugh. I’ve waited so long for someone to say those words.
“Hey, not even the High Queen needs to shoulder everything. Let me lighten your load.”
Unable to restrain the heat in her chest, Butter’s tiny arms hugged her dad as he brought her on their first father-daughter outing to collect the spiritual energy of the living; at last, she felt welcomed into the family.
* * *
Klaus stood amongst the groups of undead that had been raised, information flooding the marrow of his existence. Thunder roared above them, drawing his gaze to the magical flowers that radiated light to the colossal wooden structure that kept them safe from what had to be a hurricane outside.
Explanations came shortly after, adding to what they instinctively knew upon being resurrected. It was so surreal, yet he couldn’t deny what was written in his bones when he saw their white-haired empress. The curiosity of this new body sucked out any panic that tried to grip his mind.
Holding up his polished, white arms, Klaus studied his skeletal figure before flexing his toes and running his fingers across his ribcage; it was impossible, but there was feeling. The sensations tickling his nonexistent brain made him laugh to himself.
The bizarre experience only lasted a short time before the Witch Queen and King of the Death Knights pulled his attention to the High Monarch of the Evening Star; that her name was Butter felt too comical, not that he would say that aloud.
Everything was a blur, but he knew his place and what was expected of him. Klaus had been on a speed track to the Senate. Of course, there had been hand-shaking and back-door deals to garner the support he needed. None of that mattered now; the only thing was His Empress.
Butter’s cheery yet commanding voice touched their minds, teaching them more about how to utilize the empress’ Nexus to communicate before giving them orders.
“Okay, people, now that you’ve got the basics, get dressed up for the part. We want to show everyone you’re not some mindless bag of flaming bones! Return when you find something presentable for your station.”
A very feminine tone caressed his mind from beside him; he could practically feel her touch against his ear. “Your name is Klaus Klossner, the empire’s first Ambassador. Is that right?”
It is!
Turning to address the woman, Klaus hesitated a short moment to gauge how best to act moving forward. He’d always tried to fit into whatever group he was in to draw as many people to his side as possible; no one made Senator without a whole cruiseliner full of powerful supporters.
All of the skeletons around them wore the torn, bloodied, and very baggy clothes they’d been butchered in or wore only their bones as a covering. This much shorter woman fell into the latter category; he was roughly 183 cm while this woman was likely around 160, perhaps a bit less, and that would be with flesh.
It was hard to determine what was proper or accepted in this new post he’d been put inside, which meant he had to learn fast, and asking for clarification would be a sign of ineptitude.
And you must be Emelina De la Vega, the one and only Head Maid of the Serving Court. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Shall we go find some proper clothes to cover our naked bones? Oh, but what must others think of us?!
“My, you have a very good grasp of Spanish, but I suppose that is The Empress’ abilities rather than our own now. Hehe. Although, you have a handsome voice, Ambassador. I also think they have other things on their mind than our ‘naked bones,’ ” she said in a thoughtful tone.
Klaus couldn’t see it in her hollow, flaming eyes, but he had the impression she was looking him up and down. Is that right? Well then, I think we have something in common, Mrs. Vega.
“Miss,” she smoothly corrected.
Haha. My apologies, Miss Vega. I fear we are at a disadvantage. You seem to know something about me, while you are a complete mystery.
Her left arm crossed under where her bust would have been while shifting her weight to her right hip and turning to look toward a large tent area, set up for changing purposes.
“Hmm. Our destination is this way, Ambassador. Don’t you think we should set an example for the others?”
Klaus lifted an imaginary eyebrow as she gestured for them to the changing area. It didn’t seem to be in much use at the moment for some reason, and nervous people were taking piles of various clothing to the location.
So it would appear.
Walking beside her, some of the others fell in line, but most were being swarmed by family or friends. He peeked at Emelina, but the mysterious woman simply held her skeletal hands at her front, burning eyes focused entirely on their destination.
He couldn’t eavesdrop on any of their conversations or the minds of others, as Butter warned, due to not being in a Maid or Butler leadership position. Klaus found himself wondering what was going through this woman’s head; was she peeking in on the minds given to her charge?
Emelina didn’t leave him to stew long in silence, keeping her focus aimed at the tent. There was something enticing in the cadence she held; it was in her soft, controlled voice, the way she walked, and the timed delays between engaging him. In subtle ways, she was testing him, and he was here for it; she knew what she was doing.
“I am at your complete disposal, Ambassador. What’s on your mind?”
He crossed his arms, scanning the scene and taking in every detail, but it only took a quick look before his gaze was back on the woman next to him.
I’d like to get to know my coworkers, if possible. Who is Emelina?
The Head Maid paused at the front entrance of the tent, doing a quick sweep of the interior. Instead of answering his question, she turned to him and held out a hand.
“If you would, Ambassador, I will take you to the proper dressing section. I’ve been getting to know the maids, and they’ve provided me with the details on how they’ve organized the garments we’ve been allowed.”
Allowed? Klaus repeated, fingers twitching as he took her offered hand; it was warm and soft, very unlike what he imagined bones to be. It momentarily threw him off as she guided him inside, yet her grip was firm and sure. Those green ri’bot have taken most of the clothing?
She opened a section before zipping it back up. Emelina didn’t bother with the solar-charged light hanging from the ceiling since they could see in the dark. She took him to the center and drew away, her tone gentle and wearing a soft smile her polished skull didn’t show.
“Would you be willing to help me, Ambassador?”
Curious and thrown off by all the redirections and questions left open to be answered, he couldn’t remember dealing with a woman like this in the States. Emelina appeared to be attempting to step into her role as a Head Maid at full force, and each new action gave him a better grasp of her enigmatic personality.
That would depend on the task, Ms. Head Maid. Leading me into a dark, closed-off tent and cornering me for a favor? You’re not the first woman to try to seduce me.
“Hehe. Is that what I’m doing?” Emelina asked with a coy tilt of her head. “I’m very new to this life as a maid, and I’m supposed to guide these other women in their duties… one of which is dressing our charges.”
Klaus would have swallowed if he could, and even without a throat, his bones felt dry as a desert as the woman bent down to extract a black dress shirt from a pile.
“Am I going to be left here feeling stupid and useless? My, but what will the other maids think of me leaving without performing my given duty? My intention wasn’t to seduce you, Ambassador, but… hehe, perhaps I must if I am to do my job.”
Ouch! Way to turn it back on me. Backed into a corner and feeling like a wolf circled him, Klaus kept perfectly still as Emelina moved around him like a shark smelling blood; the walls were whispering there was no escape. I’m at your disposal, Ma’am.
His jaw tightened as the maid disappeared behind him, a shiver running through Klaus’ marrow when Emelina’s warm, delicate touch slid across the back of his ribs.
“There’s a lot I need to learn in order to do my duties to the empire, Ambassador… So much experimentation that needs to be done. I’m thankful for your cooperation.”
Trying to keep relaxed, Klaus felt the beating of his nonexistent heart pulse at her slow-moving fingers. They slid from his ribs to his spine as her low, tantalizing voice laced with steamed honey against his skull, feeding directly into his mind.
“Please, close your eyes and tell me everything that comes to your mind… Can you feel my touch?”
Warm… soft. With his eyes closed, he lost his image of the bony skeleton entirely to the sphinxlike voice caressing his mind. It’s slightly different, but… no less stimulating than skin-on-skin.
“I feel it, too,” she whispered, making Klaus’ toes curl with every word. “Contracting muscle… rising body heat. It appears the Nexus transmits more than just words. You can follow my fingers from your spine to your neck, down your arm… sliding to your wrist?”
Every inch, he swallowed. Haha. It makes me wonder what else can be passed through this private connection we now share.
She stopped in front of him. Longingly, he could feel her presence with every pulse of undead energy her core released, beating like a heart right next to his soul. A pause came in their conversation, every millisecond like a hammer against his chest that she controlled.
“…A dangerous connection, indeed, Ambassador… Arms up.”
He followed instructions, eyes closed as this mysterious maid slid tingling fabric over his frame; her voice inflamed his mind, the hint of desire only just out of reach in every syllable she spoke.
“Once upon a time, a small rose sprouted, growing in the shelter of a lovely garden… until she was plucked away at her tender age. Discarded amongst the filth and weeds, the young rose was unable to escape the suffocating forest she’d been thrown into… forced to take root and left to cry in her poisoned bed.”
Each button Emelina fastened left a lingering pressure as she started from the top down. It was almost like he could see an outline of the flower that grew in front of him with every new sentence.
“To survive, her roots dug deep into the mud and grime… whispers raging in her heart as her desperate leaves sought the overshadowed light just beyond reach… Yet, no light would save this poor flower, doomed to wilt and die. But life is hardly so merciful.”
The woman’s hand glided over his torso, smoothing out wrinkles and leaving Klaus breathless. She took her time, folding back his sleeves and adding barrel cuffs.
“The flower lay in her cell, lost in her head, staring at the wall and waiting for the moment someone would come to steal her heart of gold. Left without a choice, she developed sharp, toxic barbs to protect herself since no tender hand would save her from the pain… Lashes were all that awaited her resistance, and eventually, her bright red color became black…”
Emelina’s touch slid up his calf, prompting him to lift his feet. Her knuckles grazed the side of his thigh while bringing the dress pants up to his waist; she appeared to fasten them to the shirt with safety pins, taking care to allow him the sensation of the point to touch his bone ever so gently.
“Time passed, and the black rose bloomed, catching the notice of the wolves and foxes that prowled the territory, and she became an object of great attention… A lovely sight with a deadly touch. Of course, beauty doesn’t last, despite her desperate attempts to maintain her luster. Her black petals wilted, her roots shriveled, and her barbs fell off…”
Klaus had forgotten to breathe for some time, not that he needed to, but Emelina’s story enthralled him to the point the noisy camp faded into the background. His entire body tingled as velvet wrapped around the nape of his neck, pulling him down so her meticulous fingers could fashion the tie.
He felt the imaginary honeyed steam that pressed against his cheeks; her words were lace, tightening around his thoughts to pull them into her seductive voice.
“In a last act of self-preservation, the black rose pricked herself. Thought to be dead, this once gorgeous flower was uprooted and cast aside like all those that had come before her. Then, she awakened in a distant, unfamiliar land. Scared, scarred, and aged, life had become death, and all she wanted… was one last kiss.”
Klaus’ mind blanked as the softest pastry pressed against his lips, casting a spell over his mind that set him free in ways he couldn’t describe. The intense heat, salted taste, and scent of flowers that she’d imprinted onto his mind embraced every fiber of his being.
Emelina drew back thorns and vines already trapping him in a charm of desire as she whispered into his ear, “And now she can die in peace. Thank you, Ambassador.”
Tightening the tie, Klaus opened his eyes to see her give him a half-turned look, fire-embraced emerald eyes flickering in the darkness before the tent flap fluttered on her exit.
His fingers rose to his burning mouth; Klaus could still taste her soft lips, stronger than any drug he’d taken. There was something captivating in everything she did, her gravity breaking down his resistances, dragging him closer; if he could show emotion, there would be a grin.
Taking one look at his suit and tie, he marveled at how closely she’d matched his thin, bony frame to the size of the items. He’d been in such a daze that Klaus hadn’t even felt her add his shoes or socks.
As it turns out, haha, undeath won’t be so bad.
The walls were whispering that he wouldn’t come back if he went after her, but he was already dead. Despite the warnings from his saner self, Klaus followed the provocative Head Maid into the dress section of the tent anyways; after all, he had to return the favor.