1 : The Flame and The Ice

"Ashley Turner, come down this instant, I say," her mother's voice penetrated her thoughts. The world built by Ashley's thoughts shattered and she came back to the world with an unpleasant bump. Frustrated, she tousled her hair. Damn, mother had to interrupt her right at that moment; just when she was about to imagine herself heroically standing up against the King - the evil Royalty. He was the one who had damned them to his cold eternity, after all.

Ashley was a dreamer, and she lived to see those dreams flourish. She lived, hoping that one day, she would be strong enough to fearlessly stand before the King and challenge him, to see Harkenland flourish like it had, years and years ago. How she would do it, she did not know. But what she did know was that underground, people were rising, ready to fight against the Ruler. And when the time came, Ashley would join them.

Hastily turning away from the mirror, she prepared herself to endure another day of normal boring life. Ashley yearned for adventure, but even the evil King or the curse of Harkenland never seemed to provide her with any. She skipped - more like, danced - down the stairs, jumping one step every time.

"Ashley, what was taking you so long? I do get so tired of screaming my head off at you every day!" her mother frowned at her disapprovingly. She was setting up the table for breakfast, like she did every morning. Yet, it was unlike every morning. Today, her golden hair was tied up and styled elegantly, the locks crowning her head. She was wearing a long, white gown decorated with laces and other different materials Ashley couldn't identify, with a woollen cloak over it.

So now it was Ashley's turn to frown. "First of all, it's Ash, not Ashley. Just Ash. Secondly, what's the special occasion today? You are never so grandly dressed."

Arabell poured her portion of soup into a bowl and placed it in front of her before answering. "The King is coming on regulation checking tour today. We all must be decently dressed." Saying this, she eyed her daughter critically.

Ashley was wearing a turtle neck woollen dress, with tiny kittens in the act of purring stitched here and there, whereas her 'sober' stockings displayed a variety of green monsters. Her hair was messily clipped up. The even more wonderful thing about her appearance was that she had been wearing these same clothes yesterday, and the day before.

Don't get her wrong. It was too cold to change clothes. Moreover, she preferred the cute kittens and the green monsters more than she did plain old clothes. New style!

Unfortunately, her mother didn't share the same sense of amazing fashion.

"You better be decently dressed, Ashley." Then her mother sauntered up the stairs to call her father and her little sister, both of whom were late risers, so were usually called up after everything was well settled.

"It's Ash, not Ashley," She said again, remembering her name. But she was too late...

Anyway, the king was coming on regulation checks, huh? So she would again have to meet the person, who was - according to the old legends regarding the Harkenland mystery - the ice. And the person whom she had literally branded as her enemy.

While in her cozy cottage she mused, far away, on a high slope separated from the public mess, stood an ancient castle with dark, hazy towers, surrounded by sheets of snow, which a group of men where relentlessly poking at with their shovels, hoping to push them up against the sides of the castle and clear the main paths.

In the meeting hall, or as the Royals themselves preferred to call it - High Court - Drakon Rupert Wulfric Harden, or as he was more commonly known as, Drakon, sat on his throne, if it could be called a throne. It felt too hot to be comfortable for him then, since his skin could not adjust well to the heat. He wearily looked up at the king. He was feeling extremely tired that morning. It had been the same since the last few days. The nightmares, too, had increased to a point where he could not get a wink of sleep at night. The sudden increase in the restlessness was really bothering him too much. Clearly, something was very much out of the line...

The king coughed in a fragile manner and Drakon felt a twisted smile on his face, which vanished within a second of it's appearance. The king was so weak and pathetic! How could anyone even associate him with the Harkenland mystery?! He could not even venture out in the cold for one goddamn day.

"Drakon," King Rupert addressed him. "I'm feeling extremely weak today. I do not think I will be able to go out for the regulation tour. Can you go on my behalf?"

Drakon looked at the old man with narrowed eyes. Excuse him?! Was he asking Drakon to go out among all those people despite it being quite evident that he was not in the best of his health that day? Still, it would have looked extremely suspicious to all the courtiers if he challenged the king so openly. Therefore, he decided to just do what the King wanted him to do. He stiffly nodded up at him.

After all, though he did not give a damn for those common mortals, they were still his subjects; and the king evidently could not venture out in the state that he was in. And yet again, though he did not give a damn for the king, he was still the king and Drakon's father.

Heck, how Drakon would love to just freeze him to death one day or even plunge a dagger into his heart; or so he thought venomously.

He knew, they were terrible thoughts. But he could not afford to be anything but terrible, because caring was not his job. He only destroyed the things he ever cared for, as was proved in his past, when he had destroyed his own mother... Just because he had cared.

Drakon tilted his head, his frown deepening. He didn't want to think about the past, but all the stress from the past few days seem to have been having a toll on his self-control. He was barely stopping himself from breaking down. Thinking about the past was the last thing he should be doing in such a situation.

Soon at the stroke of midday, Drakon rose from his seat. After bowing at the king and the courtiers, he swiftly exited the room and walked through the corridors until he was outside the giant castle. Tiny flakes were falling from the sky, brushing against his hair and shoulder lightly. Snow fall; it happened whenever he was distressed or uneasy. He tried to calm himself down from his restlessness. He tried to get a grip over his emotions. He couldn't afford to lose control so easily and make it snow every single day, could he?

The path to the stables had been cleared, and the castle with it's tall and ancient towers fell behind him as he stalked up to his personal horse. None of the others could bear him. Only Lucifer was powerful enough to do so. And surprisingly, Drakon was the only one who was able to tame and ride him, too.

He heard the guards approaching. They would be going along with him. Mounting Lucifer, he patted his ear with his gloved hand, then nodded at the head guard to start, since he would be riding ahead. The head guard hastily turned away. Drakon frowned. Why was he looking at him earlier?

He sharply turned my head to look at the other guards. Yes, they had been staring, too, turning away only when they saw him looking. And then he got it from their expressions...they were watching him pat Lucifer – an act of love – with surprise. Seriously, just because he patted him didn't mean he cared for him in any way.

Drakon frowned at the repulsive thought of love, and sharply commanded the head guard, "Move on! I haven't got all day, you slackers."

The head guard jumped up a bit in his seat, but without a word, started towards the town on his horse. Drakon's galloping horse followed his, while the others' trailed right behind. On the way, he vaguely took notice of every essential detail, so that the yearly report would at least be sub-standard, if not the best. Clean roads, snow dug up from the middle of the paths and passages, all trading centres and hubs having the appearance of being legal. Though anyone with half of the usual level of common sense would be able to see that some of them weren't. But it did not matter to Drakon. He needed to fill up the Regulation Reports, and he would only see enough to do a decent job on it.

Next they would go into the habitation areas. He sighed. That would be harder. The galloping of the horses slowed down to walk.

First on the list was Peterkin Street.

Every man, woman, child and senior citizen was present, standing before their houses in a straight row with their heads hung down. Drakon frowned at that. Who asked them to not even look up?! Idiots. But he himself knew the answer... They were afraid to look up. However, people were tentatively peeking up here and there. They couldn't resist the urge either.

He moved forward, ignoring the urge to smack them on their faces with huge ice cubes. His main job was to scrutinize the condition of the people and the society, listening to any problem or dispute they might have. Though he was sure nobody would dare to approach him with their problems, even if they had any.

Sometimes, it hurt. But Drakon had gotten used to it. He wouldn't pretend to be normal, and they wouldn't pretend he was normal. That was just the way it was.

It was overall a rich society; that was easily seen in their appearance and the condition of the houses. Though he must accept they were huge cowards, too, not that he was blaming them for it.

But as he lazily shifted his eyes, he saw a girl looking up at him. This girl, who seemed to be so tiny, fragile and a mere commoner, was the odd one out. She was not peeking, but bravely and openly staring up.

Drakon shifted her eyes, almost flinching at the direct eye-contact. He couldn't say he wasn't a little bothered by that. But he couldn't help wonder who she was, and what gave her the courage to look him in the eye?

He didn't know.