ARELLIA

Tuesday, day 25th of the reign of King Vasilis, 805 AAD

Ilshala, Illya

My brother hides his fears with practised cunning. He wraps any unwanted feelings in anger and buries them deep. Like an ill-tempered child, he tramples them into the mud, sticks a headstone over it, and pretends they’re dead.

But I see it in his eyes; like a pulsating red ember in a pile of ashes before the last of the heat dies out. Though small, it is still there. Vasilis narrows his eyes a touch, smooth skin wrinkling slightly at the corners before he blinks away the emotion and dons a mask of hate.

I sit rigid in the war council as silence envelops us. It is a place I have never been, even when my father was still alive. Not a place for my precious Angel, my father used to say. Not a place for women, he meant. Now I am here. More than a woman but still a pawn for my brother and his warlords to use.

The temporary war room is small and cramped, dusty and dim. A crinkled, yellow map lies atop the old oak table. Delicately carved wooden figurines of armies and flags of our allies are scattered sporadically in places I know only by name. The warlords to my left and right sit straight-backed as their hungry eyes rove over my face, my frame– unused to seeing a woman in the seat of a man. Despite their judgement, I am not nervous. I am not anything these days. Fear, anger; any nervousness I once possessed seemed to have evaporated the moment I left the desert. Any memories of that time seem to slip through my mind like falling sand.

“I understand your concern, general, but this diversion may cause more conflict between the great Houses,” I am brought back to the conversation as a thin, pimple-stricken man spits and moves the golden flag of House Virtris over the borders of House Sihis. “House Sihis are stubborn– prideful of their small army and protecting the North-west of Illya. They will not give us their men for gold.”

“My men,” Vasilis corrects. “If they are in Illya then they are my subjects. Do watch your tongue, unless it is your wish to leave this room without one.” The man gulps and averts his gaze.

“Apologies, sire. I meant no disrespect.” He withdraws his shaking hand and falls back into his chair, face pink with embarrassment.

“Dominic Sihis and his men are too busy measuring their cocks with Khronish mountain thugs to care about the real war! We call them every year to meet with the council and every year they decline! Do they not know who the ruling monarch of Illya is?” I steal a glance at Petrik, commander of the West rank of my brother’s army. He sits slumped in his chair, uncomfortably small for his bulky size. Though Illya prides itself in being a peaceful kingdom, it still did not stop my brother from building his own army behind my father’s back.

“Real war, commander?” The man to my right sniggers. “When was the last time you fought against the Khronish?”

“I’ve fought against those pale-faced pricks long before you were conceived, son. You forget who you’re speaking to.”

“No, commander, I have not forgotten. You have reminded me and my men everyday since we left Orris that you are an old, narrow-minded fool.” I watch the young commander on my right as he taps a finger on the map. Barely twenty and five, Marcel Larousse, commander of the North rank sits tall and confident in a room of lions. “Wars cannot be won with men alone, sire.”

“Do you have a death wish, boy?” Petrik slams his hands on the table and glares down at Marcel. Marcel drops his chin slightly and bares his teeth like a rabid dog. When he lifts his chin and flicks his honey-coloured eyes to me, I realise he is smiling.

“We are in the business of war, my lords.” Marcel runs his fingers through his dark hair and leans back, smirking. “Do we not all have a death wish?” The room fills with quiet conversation as I drag my eyes over a long white scar on Marcel’s neck, just under his sharp jaw. I imagine the taste of his blood, the feeling of it’s warmth as it runs down my hand. I swallow painfully and flick my eyes to his face to find that he is looking at me, a small smile forms at the corners of his lips.

Commander Heath clears his throat and the voices fade. “What would you like to do, sire?”

“No matter what we do, Sihis won’t let men march over the mountain pass. Too dangerous. I doubt Mayor Lawrence wants an army at his gates either. His precious Angel’s Path is the only safe passage to Khronir,” Petrik knocks over a figurine carrying the flag of House Sihis and continues, “Angel’s Path is filled with those pale-faced fuckers, they’ll see us coming miles off. The mountain pass is the only way.”

“We cannot march thousands of men over that mountain! It will take us too long!”

“Then what do you suppose we do? Let them march over it first and rape and burn our cities? They’re the weakest they have ever been! If we do not act soon, we will lose our advantage!”

“We need men!” Commander Heath spits. “Good men!”

“The Khronish aren’t the only ones who are becoming more bold,” Vasilis taps his goblet and watches a servant fill his cup with wine. “Nessaz, Askos, and even the far Eastern kingdoms. They are watching us, ready to make their move. We were once united under one Faith. Now, look at us. The Khronish believe in their Northern deities, Gods with milk white skin and light eyes. The East believes in a Fox God. And Nessaz? They’re Faithless.”

I watch as the men scrunch their faces in disgust. “If we cannot persuade Sihis, then I must do my duty as King. He has lived his days in his wretched castle for so long that he forgets that it is House Virtris that wears the crown.”

“We need not persuade Lord Sihis with gold, nor threats.” Though my voice is small, all the men in the room stiffen and snap their heads to me as if the Angel of war himself has materialised from thin air. All but Marcel, who grins wickedly beside me.

“I mean no disrespect to your highness but as you have no experience with war strategies, perhaps it is-”

“No disrespect?” Marcel laughs. “You have disrespected her highness by opening your ugly mouth, Petrik. Watch your Angelsdamned tongue.” I slide my eyes to Petrik and watch him seethe, the anger rolling off him like steam. But he does not act on it. Instead he nods once at me and looks away.

“Let her speak,” Vasilis sighs loudly at the head of the table. He flicks his deep brown eyes to me and clenches his jaw. As if the mere sight of me disgusts him. “I tire of hearing your voices.” Marcel chuckles lightly beside me.

“Lord Sihis is a man of Faith, commanders, just as I am sure you all are.” I clasp my hands under the table and squeeze hard. An old habit of mine I have yet to break. I used to pick at the corners of my nails and tremble when I am in the presence of others but since the desert, all I feel is indifference. “The Angels are waking, my lords, and they are not patient beings.”

“Father Phillippe is a man of high esteem. I know he has Blessed Sihil’s son on his one hundredth day.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right. If anyone can persuade Sihil, it is the Father.” Commander Heath nods in agreement. A click sounds at the entryway and the doors creak open to reveal a pale-faced stubby man. His legs are stiff and shaky as he plods over to the table.

“Speak,” Vasilis commands and waves a nonchalant hand toward the sound of the guard. The man halts a few steps away and pants lightly. Vasilis clicks his tongue, impatient. “Get on with it!”

The man leans toward Vasilis’ ear. “P-pardon sire, we are ready.” Vasilis furrows his brows. He then slides out of his seat and kicks his chair to the ground. The guard yelps, takes a nervous step back and folds himself into a deep bow. Even from my seat on the other side of the table, I feel the heat of Vasilis’ temper rising as he stares down at the guard like a wolf about to pounce.

“Rise,” When the guard lifts his head, Vasilis strikes him across the cheek with his left hand. The assault echoes through the chamber as loud as lightning. I do not avert my gaze. The guard makes no sound as he falls, for he knows better than that. He scrambles to his knees and presses his head against the stone floor. “You dare stand within three steps of my presence? With your commoner’s stink?”

“F-forgive me, sire!”

“Know your place!” Vasilis spits, face red with outrage. The guard mumbles apologetically and shuffles away on his knees, tripping over his own feet. He taps the doors lightly and sprints out of sight as soon as the doors open for him.

“This meeting is adjourned. We will discuss matters tomorrow. The sun is almost set, the time has come.” Commander Heath scrapes back his chair and bows deeply. Vasilis nods and chugs the rest of his wine.

“Let me escort you, your highness.” Marcel slips from his chair and holds out a steady palm. I smile and let him take my hand. I let him wrap his hand around my waist and guide me from my chair, his fingers digging lightly into my skin.

“Have you been to Ilshala, commander?”

“Yes princess, many times.”

“Will you give me a tour?” I ask. Marcel gives me an easy smile, surprise alight in his expression. He drags a hand over the small of my back as he guides me out the door, his touch as light as a feather.

“How can I say no?” There was once a time when I would’ve been flustered at the slightest touch of a man; blush at his gaze and feel nervous in his presence. But now, all I feel is a quiet hum in my blood as he drags his fingers over my skin. A painful ache in my bones as if there is a starved beast inside me. A hunger so deep that it is almost overwhelming. So I rest my hand at the crook of his arm and squeeze down lightly. I let him take me out of the room and guide me down the corridor. But before we reach the exit to the courtyard, I pull him into a room at the far end of the castle.

“I never knew you were so bold, princess.” He smirks and locks the door behind him. The chamber is a small, messy study. The desk at the corner is cluttered with old books and crumbled paper. I lean against the table and watch as Marcel unbuttons his shirt then throws it on the ground. I expected nervousness to bubble up inside me, but it did not come. So I let out a small breath and drag my eyes over Marcel’s chest then down toward the bulge at his trousers and the dagger on his hip. He stalks closer, eyes hungry as he holds my jaw in his slim fingers. Then I feel his other hand dance up the curve of my thighs, under my skirt and delicates.

“You don’t know me at all, commander.” When he kisses me, hungry and desperate, like he could devour me whole, I bite his lip and taste the sweetness of his blood. Something ignites in me, like a spark in a dry desert. I feel the fire raging through my body as I grip his arms and pull him into me, until all I can feel is his burning touch. All I can taste is blood. He chuckles against my lips and pushes me down into a pile of old papers and unclasps his trousers.

I drag my fingers over his stomach gently, then down the curve of him until he pants lightly against my neck. I feel the heat of him against me. He wraps his fingers gently around my neck and slowly pushes himself inside me, squeezing his eyes shut from the ecstasy of the admission.

I moan his name lightly as I drag my hand over his dagger. I feel his hips quicken, his hands squeeze down on my thigh as he pants. I devour him, biting and nibbling at his lips, letting his tongue explore my mouth. But, it is not his flesh I desire. He stiffens and squeezes down on my thigh as he finishes. When I push him back and look at his flushed handsome face, he smiles at me like a man reborn. Until he feels the tip of his dagger against his skin.

“Arellia-”

“I’m sorry, Marcel.” I whisper as I plunge the blade into his chest.