Chapter 2 - I'm Going to Breed You Dry
1971 Words
The palace stood menacingly like a tower of death over the rolling mountains and the sea. It was the most terrifying and yet, the most beautiful paradise in the Southland. Many stories were told about the palace. They said that the palace was alive. It was breathing, moving, and living. It had a mind on its own, and it could sense the inhabitants inside the ground. I thought it was just a stupid story, but being dragged with my stomach empty and my mind circling about death, made me realize that the palace was indeed alive, and I was about to get eaten alive.
“Tell the King that we have something he will want to see,” the old lady bravely told one of the warriors posted at the gate.
“And who do you think you are?” The warrior snarled.
“I am no one. Just an old lady from the Tamasse Village. But I can assure you that the King would want to see this,” she inched closer. “If you do not do this and I somehow find a way to make the King hear about this, I can assure you that he will have your head, for you are the reason he does not know about this.”
The warrior paled a little. But before he could clearly about to say no again, someone approached the gate. This someone made every warrior scramble to their feet, bow, and muttered their greetings.
“Your Highness,” the warrior said. “What brings you here?”
“I was on a night stroll and I happened to see this going on in my gate. What is the matter?” The voice that belonged to the Prince sounded sweet. No, it tasted sweet. It made something in my mouth melt. I was scrambling on my own to stand up straight, but the seller who had a vise grip on me would not let me do that. The Prince stepped out of the shadows, his face eminent behind the bars of the gates. “Who are you?”
I gasped. The Prince looked at me. We both stared into each other, not just with our eyes, but with our souls. It was as if something hard had slammed against my ribcage, penetrating my lungs, and I was rendered speechless. It seemed that I was not the only one because the Prince staggered back, one misstep, but it was all that it took to make me believe he could feel what I was going through. The smell was fantastic. A deep vanilla tint and delicious butter on the bread. Perhaps, I was just really famished. But I sniffed, and it was coming from the Prince.
“Your Royal Highness, Prince Kaden. It is an honor to meet you.” The old lady broke the spell.
The Prince blinked and it was like he had never felt that. “What are you doing here?”
“I am bringing this girl to the King.”
“Why?” He sounded strange. “What did she do?”
“Stole from our stall. A piece of bread.”
“Do you not know what is happening right now?” The Prince bellowed. “Do you think the King would want to deal with useless things like that when there are threatening forces coming from the North? The Night Pelt pack is betraying our Kingdom of Wolves and what—do you think he will care about some measly bread?”
He was enraged. Everyone could tell.
“Oh, just bring me to him, boy. You will know why he will care.”
The Prince was seething, but he was also curious. His eyes drifted over to mine. Something passed through those brilliant eyes. Something that I did not understand, but I felt it in my bones. He instructed something to the warrior and the latter opened the gates without so much as blinking.
The old lady smiled triumphantly.
“If you are wrong about this, he will have your head. Do you understand that?” The Prince warned.
“I know. But he would not.”
Once we stepped inside the gate, I was overwhelmed by the sight. Ten narrow square towers form an almost perfectly squared barrier around the marvelous palace. They were connected by lower, wide walls, made of dark grey stone. Wide windows were scattered here and there across the walls in an asymmetric pattern. A sizable gate with wide metal doors, a regular bridge, and various artillery equipment gave away of how the palace had a strong formidable defense. A handful of waterfalls flew into various small rivers and gardens. This was a forest stronghold. The palace had clearly stood the test of time and its inhabitants were intent on making sure it stayed that way for ages to come.
“This way,” the Prince broke my reverie. His eyes landed on mine again, occasionally drifted to where the seller was dragging me, and he hardened every time.
The Prince led us to a throne room where the King would be. An azure rug split part of the room in half from the throne to midway down the hall while an embattled banner with emblazoned fringes decorated the walls. Between each banner, there were small luster, a few of them had been lit, and in turn illuminated the tapestries of Wolves below them. Iron windows were enclosed by the curtains colored the same azure as the banners.
A dignified throne of stone sat in front of a large window, radiating light onto the throne. It was covered in complicated crests and fixed on each of the ornate legs were bones.
There, sat the King.
Black, shoulder-length hair was pulled back to reveal a round, anguished face. Lidded blue eyes, set low within their sockets, watched terrifyingly over the hell they had fought for so long. A tattoo of a small Moon was proudly worn on the side of his left cheekbone.
This was the face of Larkin Darkthorn, a true victor among the Wolf Warriors. He sat gingerly on his throne, despite his brawny frame. There was something puzzling about him. Perhaps it was his ruthless reputation, or perhaps it was simply his unusual way of observing the rest of us, but nonetheless, he was the King.
“What is this trouble about in the middle of the night?” His voice tasted bitter. Dark. Alluring. None of that like his son.
“Get her here, boy.” The old lady barked. When he got me to my knees, the King tilted his head in wonder. “I present to you, the girl who tried to steal from our vendor. She was trying to take our bread without paying for it.”
Angry lines were immediately painted over his face. “And you wish to waste my time on something like that?”
“Wait a second. I am not done explaining to you yet.” The old lady began to fumble around in her pockets. She took a little knife. Big enough to cut through my skin in front of everyone. This got the King to be curious. He leaned forward. His hawk-like eyes were staring directly at me. “Watch this, Your Majesty.”
The old lady did not hesitate before she took one of my hands and she cut deep through the base of my wrist and the inner part of my arm. She went and made a direct line, making me writhing in pain. I saw the Prince move toward us, glittering amber eyes set deadly on the old lady and her great-grandson, but the King stood up from his throne, and it was as if the throne hall had become a funeral hall.
Everything quietened.
Even the beat of my heart.
“Moon Goddess,” the King breathed. “Is that real?”
“You can taste everything here,” she offered my hand. “Do you want to see it for yourself?”
The King stepped down from his throne. He was big. Massively huge in front of me. He stopped, towering over me on my knees, and he held my hand. He was looking at me directly into my eyes when he brought his lips over my blood. And then he licked, tasting my blood.
“Father,” the Prince bristled.
“Oh, my. It is true.” The King rumbled. He pulled me to my feet as if I weighed nothing. He had one arm around my waist, keeping me from falling. He pushed me deeper into him, pressing our chests together. My heart was lurching to my throat. This mountain of a man was petrifying me. “You are real.”
“What—what do you mean, Your Majesty?” I stammered after I found my voice.
“Your blood is real,” he said. “You are real.”
“I am—I do not understand, Your Majesty.”
“Tell me your name,” he ordered.
“Margot.”
The Prince of the Wolves twitched. Something was happening to him, and it got him clenching his fingers together and clamping his jaw. The Prince could not do anything though, not when it was the King who had me.
“Margot who?” He demanded.
“Margot. I do not have a last name,” I lied. It had been that way all of my life.
“Tell me your full name!” King Larkin barked.
“Margot Petrovski!” I shouted in fear. “My name is Margot Petrovski.”
Even the Prince was surprised to hear my name.
“Petrovski. You are not supposed to be here. The Petrovski are supposed to be dead. Extinct. And yet, here you are. The last line of the Anvil.” King Larkin smiled wickedly, holding me tighter to him like he could not afford to lose me to anything. “You are the last one of them.”
“The Warrior of The South. The Blue Blood of the Anvil, one of the most powerful blood in the world.” Prince Kaden muttered astonishingly.
“Now, now, it was good that I brought her here, right?” The old lady chimed in.
“Oh, it was good. Guard, see to her a fortune of what she wants and escort her outside.” The King ordered,
When the old lady and his great-grandson disappeared out of the throne hall, the King dropped my hand and cupped my face, bringing it closer to him. He smelled like the woods, the wet grass after the rain, and the scent of ash. I was trembling in fear because his blue eyes were promising me something evil.
“What are you—going to do to me, Your Majesty?” I stammered.
“Oh, little one. You have no idea of who you are and what your blood is capable of, do you?” He brought my chin up and then he whispered. “You are the last line of the Petrovski family, the one who had the Anvil blood. I am going to do to you what my predecessors have done before.”
“And what is that?” I whispered in anguish.
“Breed you dry until you can give me no more,” he chuckled darkly as he forced my head and pressed our lips together, sealing the ill-fated fate of my life.
And I could feel the Prince of the Wolves, Prince Kaden Darkthorn, Commander of the Deadchaser Warriors, Heir to the Wolf Kingdom, looming over both of us. Who I was pretty sure was my fated soul mate.
How did my life get tangled up between the King and the Prince of the Wolf Kingdom?
- Writer
