Wars of the Heart
Amelia Luna-dynn is a young damsel of unassuming character. However, there is a deadly secret she harbors: that she is the daughter of a forbidden race, a tribe despised by the royals of the Kingdom. She is the sole survivor, discreetly living an unseen life as a commoner. But there are scars on her back that betray her origin, requiring her to cleanse herself in order to stay alive and unrecognised. With such reins attached to her race, it is impossible to find someone who would love her despite the dangers of her origin. But one night, when at the verge of being eaten by beasts, she is saved by a mysterious man from the grasp of death. Curiosity drives the damsel to chase love. Despite being downtrodden, she stumbles upon the opportunity meeting with high society by joining a Book Club run by the beautiful daughter of the Duke, Charlene Walterus. Amelia makes friendships with nobles and soon comes close to a romance with a man she suspects to be her secret rescuer, but is hopeless that his heart is far gone in the arms of the duke’s daughter. Will she win a wedding with the man of her dreams? But most importantly, will her fantasies of a perfect marriage come true? Or will she suffer a strained marital relationship, with unrequited feelings, far from the heart of the one she loves? Excerpt: That night, he was exhilarated to have married the woman of his desires. But Charlene had told him a bothersome fact about the origin of his newly wedded wife that he could not shake off his mind, for he knew she would have told him, had it been true. The tall man stepped into Amelia’s chamber and found her seated at the rim of the bed, blushing. The very sight of her innocent disposition had always brought him the insane urge to sweep her up in his arms and protect her. But before they would make love, there was an important question blaring at the edge of his mind. “Y-you’re here”, her soft voice was almost breathless. She rose to her feet, but rested against the wall, shy and nervous. “Amelia”, he tasted her name, drawing close to her. Tenderly placing a finger under her chin and lifting her face to meet his, he gazed into her eyes and asked, “Is it true that you are of the Celeste Clan?” There was silence in response and fear in her eyes. She did not deny it. A strong feeling of hurt enveloped his chest, when he realised that she was no different. Charlene’s words about her were not simply contemptuous lies of jealousy planted to his attention, but the raw truth. ~ Amelia gasped when he rammed his fist against the wall in the absolute pangs of frustration. It was like it burnt his senses to think that she would deliberately hold something as significant as her origin from him, regardless of all things of his secrets that he had shared with her, while they were yet secret lovers. She knew the fault was hers, but she had been too scared to relay, for she had loved him far too much to lose him. “Why did you hide this from me?” he breathed, voice cold and low and deadly, colored by his unpronounced rage. His face was dangerously close to hers, such that she could hear his very breath, seething. Tears began to pierce her eyes, threatening to fall. She had never meant to deceive him. But in that moment, she was afraid. Heart throbbing loud enough to be heard, her lips were quivering and she shivered. When his gaze swept down at her frightened disposition, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes. But it lasted not even as long as a moment’s worth. He was cold. He did not confront her for the secrets she was keeping, but silently withdrew himself. There were many things she wished to say in apology, but she could not find her voice. And by the time she could speak, he had left her chambers. Tears flurried down her face. She could not believe that her fears had ruined the very first day of her marriage. It was the day she had wished to divulge her secret to him, but it seemed like it had already been out.
18. Nightmares of the Past
NIGHTMARES OF THE PAST
~
Residential Bed Chamber of the Second Crown Prince,
The Western Wing of the Imperial Castle,
Capital City of Tronder,
Kingdom of Velicia,
Early hours of the morning,
The Eighth Day of the Month of November,
Thirty Third Year of the Reign of King Jesse Crestings
The hour was early, but the sun had already risen to the skies, showing that it was past the time one should duly wake up.
Prince Rayzenn Crestings awoke in cold sweat, with a throbbing head ache commanding his senses. He held a hand over his hot temples as he sat up in bed and looked around the haze of a vision that composed the contents of his richly furnished chamber, breathing heavily.
He was lost in the trance between a dream and reality, the way one would feel after being awoken harshly whilst in the middle of a nightmare. It had been a terrible episode that he was experiencing every night, his sleep plagued by recollections of the news of his mother's death from years ago.
Because the affair had been a murder, the idea that his mother could still have been alive and the pain she must have endured in her last moments would haunt him every night. The way physicians had flocked in research over her body that had returned from the Celeste Clan and had found that she had been choked to a brutal death.
Since birth, he had been excessively close to her and had built a fair share of memories that could not be dissolved at the prospect of her sudden demise.
His father, King Jesse Crestings, had always been mildly sick, and further engaged with royal duties during the hours he was not under rest and medication. He was a kind and gentle father, but not a man with much time for love and family, be-cause he had to bear the weights of both crown and sickness.
His mother had been a competent queen, providing for her sons what they lacked in love and discipline and also in handling journeys to the farther provinces of the Kingdom.
One such had been the fatal occasion of her meeting with the Celeste Clan, after years of cold wars, where the Queen herself paid them a personal visitation for reconciliation.
It had been as per plan that Rayzenn would accompany her as well, for he had been seventeen and his mother had wished for him to see a worthy young damsel to be betrothed to in the tribe of healers. But he had found an excuse to slip out of the journey and was left to receive only her blooded mortals and a lifetime of regret and grief that he had failed to be there for her in her last excruciating moments.
Now, guilt never failed to cripple him. It had been ten years since the murder of the royal lady, at the hands of a clan marked for healing. And yet, Rayzenn had not healed the slightest from their doings.
His dreams still contained news of his mother's death since ten years here to fore. His brother had been two decades and year old at such time, betrothed to the Princess of their neighbouring Kingdom. The word of their mother's passing had been brutal on the brothers, but Prince Francis had his fiancée's company and letters to soothe him, while Rayzenn had been left to mourn by himself.
His recovery had not come, for even that very night, he had dreamt of his mother's spirit haunting his castle, calling his name, knocking his walls and asking him to join her on her embarks to the Celeste Village and for vengeance or reconciliation.
There was no point in avenging her death, for the entire clan had died at the fangs of the beastly hounds shortly after the murder. And further, he knew that in fair judgement, his mother was not the kind of soul that would wish for revenge, but would probably have forgiven her killers.
But the nightmares did not cease.
Once his consciousness was within his dominion, and the morning had settled into his room, he recognised the sound of his butler knocking at the door and calling his name.
"Weston", the young Prince called back, raking his dishevelled, dark hair back with his hands.
"Your Majesty, the Regent Queen requires your presence at the Banquet for breakfast", the butler informed, holding his poise.
"I will be in attendance", Rayzenn said, voice still dripping with drowse, yet authority.
He was tempted to roll back into the folds of his bed and succumb to slumber, but his royal duties would not allow such misbehaviour. After all, there was already a grand amount of tension in the imperial castle regarding his reluctance towards marriage. The last thing he could afford was more issues of misconduct mounted against his crown.
Further, sleeping again would only call back the nightmares he was desperate to avoid. He was accustomed to scheduling most of his duties and outdoor errands to the nightly hours in order to hold them away.
The Prince rose from his perch at the edge of his bed and knelt by the rim, for a moment of prayer. He was far too spent to be proceeding with the new day, after barely sleeping a proper amount of rest the previous night.
However, there was a curious sort of energy and excitement he had that morning, for going about that day. It was probable that he felt the exhilaration colouring his cheeks due to a certain chance encounter during the previous night's duties.
The prince began to freshen up to be presentable for all that would await his schedule. Then, before stepping out of his chambers, for a brief moment, he cast a quick glance at his reflection on the vanity:
He made a brisk gentleman of tall stature, robust build, slick long and jet black hair tied at his nape, passive green eyes with dark rings beneath them for lack of sleep. Those were signs of tiredness testifying that he had spent nights in both duty and sport of his choice.
Then, resuming his calm poise, he pushed the doors and their curtains and made his way down the castle's hallways and staircases towards the Banquet hall. His men would be outside, waiting for his call so they could set out.
But before that, Prince Rayzenn knew that the Regent Queen wished to have a word with him, if she was waiting so patiently past breakfast hours to meet him, as Weston had mentioned.
Shortly after the Queen's throne was empty ten years ago, Aunt Eliza, his father's sister, a woman that had abdicated queenship, renouncing her claim on the throne, at a young age for reason of her early widowhood, had returned to their land to fill the position of a godmother, although she was hopelessly lacking.
The young Prince had always taken to care for her the way he would his mother, but there were attributes he could not overlook. Everything she asked of him to do had been excited by good intentions, but she was a woman of character that would force her wishes on his life by provoking it to happen as per her will.
She would not pay heed to his reasons or his emotions in the matters. It was solely the fair intentions for his future that she held that she would be concerned about.
And if Aunt Eliza had a moment of conversation she wished to have with him, the dark haired young man knew that he needed to be careful.
~