“You must conceive an heir with haste, young lord.” Lady Lust spoke, not quite keeping the amusement out of her voice. He could feel his eyebrow twitching at her enjoyment. “Those conniving cousins of yours will use that angle to sweep your title from under you.”
“Do you not think I know that?” Wrath grumbled watching as she paced back and forth wearing a hole in his rug.
“It certainly doesn't seem like it.” Lady Lust smiled behind her hand, her mask removed for the moment. “It has been days since you have become lord and you have yet to choose a bride.”
What she says rings with some truth, most would have already looked through the potential brides that the clans have to offer. Yet he had been avoiding it. Marrying a woman he does not know, and most definitely does not love, was not the least bit appealing to him. His hesitance however had the clans whispering about his lack of a Lady. He needed to choose a bride quickly and produce an heir. Wrath again lamented his father’s death, not because he missed the man, but because now it was him that had to pick up his slack.
“I will when the time is right.” He let out a huff of annoyance.
“And when do you think that will be?” Lady Lust questioned him with a raised brow. “Before or after the uprising of your people?”
“You have nothing to worry about on that front, I have already started preparations for the choosing of the brides,” Wrath stated dryly, not rising to the woman’s prodding. “I will soon be wed as everyone seems to wish and rolling around in the sheets with my wife to be.”
“You best make haste then because the hands of time are on nobody's side but the goddess of time Zestia herself.” Lady Lust giggles, slowly fading away, leaving nothing behind but the whisper of her words.
The young lord couldn't be angry at his mentor's amusement, if not for her incessant nagging. Being one of the oldest individuals in the clans she was likely around when these rules were first introduced. Wrath let out a sigh and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling of the throne room, his hand clenched, the steel of his gauntlet biting into his gloved palm.
“I hate to say it but the old hag is right.” Xavier, one of Wrath's only friends and Lord of Love speaks up from the shadows where he was watching their exchange quietly. “You are the only one fit to rule our clans but there are those that do not see it that way.”
“Those that dare defy me will perish under my boot.” Wrath slams a clenched fist into the arm of his throne.
His eyes flashed in annoyance at the thought.
“You know how our people are about rules and tradition, especially the ancient ones,” Lord Love shakes his head in amusement “You can not avoid it for much longer.”
“I know brother, as much as I would like to, we must persist.” Wrath sighs at the thought the heavy breath coming as steam from the edges of his mask. “Spread the word that the choosing of the bride will start at first light tomorrow.”
“As you wish my lord.” Xavier bows to his ruler. “Hopefully you can find someone worthy enough of the title of Lady Wrath.”
“There is no shortage of fine maiden warriors.” Wrath muttered to himself, thinking. “I'm sure I can find someone ready to lead the clans alongside me with an iron fist.”
“I shall depart to spread the word that most are patiently waiting for.” Xavier nodded to himself, humming. “I will report back to you once all the preparations are accomplished.”
“Alright then off you go.” Wrath shooed him away, getting a snort from his friend.
The title of the Lord of Love is usually passed down by blood, like in many clans. Xavier, however, had to fight his way to the top. He’d been born to two servants of the Love Clan and as such he was looked down on. However, he would silence them quickly with his deeds in the Black Blades. In doing so, he won the respect of Lord Wrath and the others. When the old Lord Love passed due to mysterious circumstances his son took to the throne, though he was less than qualified. There was a play for the position between many members of the clan and Xavier had come out on top. Being the only non-royal that participated in the deadly brawl, no one but Wrath had faith in him. He showed everyone that you don't need a prestigious background to be worthy of the title “Lord”.
Once Lord Love leaves Wrath is all alone, or at least as alone as he would ever be. Left to stew in his thoughts, he finds himself thinking back to a similar time not too long ago when he was hunting necromancers and monsters for fun. When he had no one to take care of but himself and the black blades under his command.
He’d risen quickly in the ranks and became their leader with almost minimal effort. Even when first joining them as a teen he had already killed his fair share of beasts by then.
Being the son of the Lord of the clans he was treated with the respect he was due. Yet it was not his title that got him to the front but his pure unmatched talent. Only three came even slightly close to his prowess in the blades, at least when he had just joined them. Xavier, his longtime companion, though he had outpaced him in later years. Hunter, who had shocked many when he had chosen to become a blacksmith in the capital instead of following in the footsteps of his parents. Finally, Syrin, a mysterious woman that hardly anyone knew much about. She had risen through the ranks like she had something to prove, constantly pushing herself to deeper depths of power and higher achievements. Be it on or off the battlefield. She was said to be beautiful far beyond comparison to many others but Wrath had only ever caught glimpses of her.
Wrath grasps the necklace that dangles from around his neck and moves it back and forth between his fingers, a nervous tic that he has had since his younger years. The necklace belonged to his grandfather on his mother's side and had been passed down through the generations. It was meant to go to one of his uncles but dead men have little use for such things. Perhaps he should have given it to his sister, she was after all the Princess of Embers. But, a man could have his small vices and the woman had yet to bring it up regardless.
A knock thuds on the throne room door and without waiting for an answer the doors open. Wrath doesn't bother reprimanding the person for not waiting for his order to enter. The only people crazy enough to enter in such a manner are his siblings after all.
Gabriella walks in clad head to toe in the black blade's uniform. The black cloak pulled up and her armour alight with arcane runes. Wrath relaxed momentarily until he realised that her face was covered by a ceremonial Mask of Wrath.
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The white face of the mask was accented by the crimson veins around the eyes. An ancient design that had changed little from its original form.
He chuckled at that, already knowing why she was here. Gabriella hated wearing her mask so she rarely wore it unless she was out on a mission. Or she felt the need to hide her face, since she wasn’t here to kill him as far as he could sense, he had to assume that it was the latter.
"My lord there is someone here that wishes to see you." Gabriella’s slight bow nearly made him burst out laughing, she’d probably spit fire at him if he had.
"Who might that be?" Wrath spoke, feigning surprise, the huff of annoyance from his sister audible only due to his sharp senses.
"It is I, young lad." The King of Orvivia spoke as he entered the room, a dour expression on his face. "I have come to pay my respects to the new Lord of the clans."
Wrath rises from the throne and walks down the steps to him clasping the king’s hands in his own in greeting. "There is no need for such things, your house and mine have been friends for millennia."
"I know, but I also came to give my apologies to you and your kin." The Red King spoke with regret. "Had it not been for the quest I sent your father on, he might still be alive today."
"This line of work comes with its set of risks, father knew that." Wrath put his hand on his shoulder, careful not to crush it, for the mortal races were so fragile. "He was bound to meet his end eventually but I can rest easy knowing he died doing what he loved."
"Yes, he died a warrior's death," His fellow monarch nodded in agreement. "If there is anything you need you shall let me know and I'll do everything in my power to provide."
"How generous of you." With Wrath's hand on the King's back, they walk out of the throne room. "But my people want for not, we have everything we need and even if we don't we take what we do."
"Ah spoken like a true Lord of Wrath." His fellow ruler reminisces, thinking of the younger man’s father. "I wish you and your people peace for generations to come."
"As well as you and yours." Wrath replied in kind. "It was a pleasure to see you again."
"It was indeed," The human hummed in thought, smiling. "It has been over a decade since our last meeting. It's hard to believe that you have grown into such a fine man."
"My father raised me well." Wrath supplied with a shrug.
"Something we both can agree upon." King Altan nodded in agreement. "Let's not wait another decade to meet again."
"King Altan, it's a pleasure to see you here," Xavier, spoke as he rounded the corner, then turned to Wrath. "Everything is in place for tomorrow my Lord, the castle is abuzz with anticipation."
"Xavier, it's good to see you, young one!" King boomed happily. "To think I would get to see two of the three troublemakers that used to run amuck on my castle grounds."
"Good luck catching a glimpse of Hunter; he seldomly ever comes out of his forge." Lord Love snorted, contempt on his face.
"He has followed in the footsteps of his father has he?" The Red King nodded taking the information in. "I am not all that surprised, though he was a fine warrior he always lacked the bloodlust that came with the role of a Black Blade."
"I will let you two catch up and be on my way, much to do of course." Wrath spoke up, noticing a maid trying to get his attention. "Once again it was a pleasure."
Wrath nodded to the maid as he passed by her. The young woman, Olivia if he recalls correctly, followed him as he rushed through the halls. Wrath had always lacked patience outside the battlefield. Not to mention the false niceties of royal etiquette. He shuddered at the thought of his sister’s position, having to deal with mortal nobles all day. His father trained him in the way of the warrior but in turn, neglected to nurture his more sociable side. The only people that he could stand to hold a conversation with were his sister, Lady Lust and his closest friends. Even then he was often extremely curt with the latter two from time to time.
Dread seeps into him when he realises that he's going to have to entertain his wife with conversation. No matter how badly he would like to avoid conversing he could not go through his whole marriage without saying anything to her. The only good thing to come of the situation is that he would have someone to pass his position down to, should something happen to him. Gabriella wouldn't be able to take over the clans and Galliard did not have the drive nor the skill. Wrath could develop a perfect ruler for the clans from birth. All he had to do was marry some random woman and put a child in her… joy.
“You must get some rest brother, you have a busy week ahead of you.” Gabriella's voice echoes in his mind; he turns his head in the direction that the message is coming from and spots her watching him from the inner walls of the keep.
“Mind what is yours sister and not what is mine.” Wrath sends back as they glare at each other from their respective places.
“Not only as my brother but also as my Lord you are my business so I will mind you as I see fit.” Gabriella muses as she starts walking down the steps. “I have known you for enough winters to know that you are a grumpy boor especially if you do not get enough rest.”
She folds her arms and tilts her head to the side, a motion that Wrath himself often uses to convey his jest. He wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or entertained by the mimicry.
“You do not wish to scare off your potential wife with your grouchiness now do you?” Gabriella chuckles at his annoyed grunt.
“If she is so easily frightened away by my mindset then she is not worthy to be called my wife.” Wrath stated blandly, not entertained by the thought.
“I guess that rings true,” Gabrialla admitted. “Do you have anyone in mind already, not that Fortune girl I hope?”
“I have gotten to know very few heiresses of the clans in my short years in truth,” Wrath shrugged, unsure. “Just the Envy girl and even then only as a Sword Maiden, not as a woman.”
“Good, that means you will go in there with an unbiased view of them.” Gabriella noted, a smirk threatening to spread on her lips.
“Do you think so little of me, sister?” Wrath spoke in mock pain, placing a hand on his chest in false agony.
“Yes actually, you are quite judgemental.” Gabriella confessed bluntly, scoffing at him.
“I only judge those that deserve to be judged.” Wrath pointed out to the woman.
“Galliard?” Gabriella asked, trying to see if anything had changed since she’d been absent.
Wrath could almost feel the disappointment welling up within him at the mention of his youngest sibling, well… his youngest living sibling in any case.
“I stand by my previous assessment of the boy.” Wrath stated, not letting his feelings enter his voice.
“It’s usually the ones that we least expect to withstand the battle that come out on top,” Gabriella noted, having seen it happen herself many times.
“You put far too much faith in someone that can't even block a basic strike.” Wrath fired back at her, not sure where she got such confidence in the younger noble.
“And you put too little faith in a son of Wrath and the house of the Phoenix.” Gabriella rolled her eyes at her brother’s words. “Mock him now but heed my words he will prevail in this endeavour.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be fine…” He paused at the cough of Olivia, the young woman looking decidedly uncomfortable to be interrupting them.
“My Lord…the meeting.” She spoke patiently, looking up at the sun’s position before looking back at him.