Meldonian

 

Meldonian

 

     “M'lady Arwen, are you ready?” came the chambermaid’s soft voice. A light knock sounded on the large door, increasing in intensity as it echoed around the cavernous bedroom.

            ‘Not yet Nola,” Arwen called back. She was surrounded by nudging and poking servants, preparing her for the annual ball. They prodded her body, giving no thought to her dignity and fluffed the multiple petticoats about her waist. With great effort, they laboriously managed to tame her unruly mass of strawberry, kinky curls into soft waves gently cascading down her open back.

            Taking a deep breath and holding onto the wooden bedpost, Arwen felt the air hiss out of her. The maid yanked on the lacy corset, pulling and tugging at the laces, preventing the gasping girl from the ability to breathe. With one more jerk, the pink ties were knotted in a petite bow and the elaborate dress lowered over the petticoats.

            The full-skirted gown made of luxurious fabric softly brushed the floor. The décolleté neckline accentuated Arwen’s cleavage and the open shoulder sleeves revealed slender limbs. The ribboned bodice enticingly beckoned to possible suitors, divulging an hourglass figure and the midnight black material whispered in enticing rustles when she walked. A cool breeze caressed her exposed back and the sophisticated ensemble of feathery layers and seductive fabrics led Arwen to love the dress but hate it simultaneously.

            How many suffered for this gown to be made?

            As she stood on a stool, surrounded by bustling activity, she closed her eyes and daydreamed of beauty and the lands beyond her walls. She envisioned rolling pastures that sloped down into a bubbling brook filled with vibrant fish. She envisioned mountains with icy tops and she created the cracked grounds of a desert, dotted with brown shrubs. She imagined herself everywhere but the castle.

            I’m trapped, she thought. I am like a bird who has tasted freedom only to be cruelly locked in an iron cage, unable to ever experience that exquisite taste again.

            When Arwen was but five years old and the beloved queen still in existence, they would take walks by Myrtle Creeks and Queen Liszbetta would secretly teach the tiny princess swordplay and fighting techniques. For hours, the two would fence with crudely made wooden swords and Liszbetta would train Arwen in hand-to-hand combat. The young girl was delighted with the frequent lessons and struggled to keep the thrilling secret.

            Summers later, King Edikiah had been disgusted to learn what their outings entailed from a loyal servant and had forbid them to ever leave again.

            “Women are not to get dirty,” he had said. “They are to look pretty, to please the man’s eye and to obey their husbands.”

            Liszbetta died one summer later from a bloody miscarriage. She almost had a son.

            Arwen sighed wistfully as she remembered her freedoms which no longer existed. She was the princess and expected to act like one, no matter her unheeded protests.

            “Malady?”

            The voice tore Arwen out of her memory and for a second, left her dazed. “Uh…yes,” she managed to ask.

            Nola had entered and was now looking up at Arwen. “You are ready now,” she timidly murmured. 

            Servants helped the girl off the stool and into daintily heeled slippers. With a flourish, they presented her to an enormous mirror and Arwen gasped in pleasure and dismay.

            I look like royalty. I actually look like a princess.

            She hated that fact with her whole heart.

            Her normally pale face, with a sprinkling of sunshiny freckles, had been smoothed out with creamy powder and her cheeks giddily sparkled with rouge. Her plump lips were cherry red and smiled seductively while her emerald eyes glittered with life. Her petite, curvaceous body had been slimmed down, creating the illusion of allurement. Her hair was tame and silky, shimmering in the setting sun which was creeping in from the various, open windows.

            A cough broke her from her revere and she stiffly looked up.

            “M'lady,” said a gruff-voiced servant. “Lord Lucian is here to escort you.”

            Arwen smiled sweetly but the mask hid a grimace.

            Lucian was the fire legends could only dream about. He had singlehandedly saved the king’s life, killed demonic sorcerers and the stories still continued to grow by the dozens. He was tall, muscular and carried himself with such confidence that he could not be mistaken for anything but a pureblood. His raven black hair met at the trademark widow’s peak and his pale skin sparkled from wizardry. Lord Lucian Malus was adored throughout the kingdom with the exception of one person.

            Arwen.

            The two had known each other since they could talk and Arwen found the boy of seventeen years to be arrogant, self-centered and a passionate liar. She despised the way he treated her, as if used the princess for his own entertainment but Arwen could not reject to his treatment.

            He was blatantly royal.

            Her father would beat her.

            Simple as that.

            She felt her smile slipping but pasted it back on as Lucian entered.

            “Hello Princess Arwen. My, you look positively stunning on this fine evening.” His silky voice lilted charmingly and he held out a gloved hand.

            Cheap words from a false boy. How coincidental.

            “Why thank you. And to you as well Lord Lucian.” She grasped it and a burning numbness pulsed into her body, causing her to quickly pull away, a horrified look on her face.

            “Sorry…” he muttered but the smirk on his face was all but apologetic. Lucian reached into his shirt to reveal a ruby encrusted amulet. The silver metal portrayed a vicious sword topped with a blackening skull. The sword dripped the blood of rubies and the eye sockets in the head stared mindlessly at Arwen, the green emeralds daring her to touch it and see what happens.

            He grabbed at it, clutching it to his chest and with a sigh, his pent up energy trickled into the storage of cruelty. He then grasped Arwen’s tingling hand and continued walking.

            As the young couple slowly walked down the hall, they awkwardly exchanged pleasantries before delving deeper. Lucian halted in the middle of the cavernous foyer and turned to face Arwen, looking into her eyes.

            “I have a gift for you Princess. A token of gratitude from my father and I, a symbol of appreciation by the joining of two separate races as one.” He held out his hand to reveal a beautiful yet simple necklace. The curling heart was inlaid with tiny diamonds reflecting the light and shooting it out in a starry rainbow. It hung from a dainty silver chain with a circular clasp of the smallest portions. It was naturally beautiful.

            The joining of two races, Arwen thought, mystified. What does he mean?

            Lucian reached arms around her and clasped the necklace together. It fell down into Arwen’s dress, unable to be seen. For this Arwen was grateful; she hated to except gifts…especially from the boy she loathed.

            “Will you kindly spare room on your dance card for me Princess?”

            The girl hid a grimace behind her sweet smile. She playfully shoved him but his firm stance received it without movement. “Oh Lucian, when will you ever learn to call me Arwen. You know how I do so hate formal titles. And anything for you.” She mockingly batted her thick eyelashes and began to walk down the marble hallway, guarding an expression of terror.

            “Where in the world did that come from,” she whispered to herself, disgusted. The heart felt cold against her breast and froze her skin, chilling her real heart and giving her goose bumps.  

            Arwen didn’t see the flash of darkness pass by Lucian’s icy eyes. She didn’t hear his whispered word of anger while his chiseled features, carefully sculpted, twitched in agitation.

            “Get out of my head! Stop pushing my thoughts!”

            With a silent swoosh, a black wisp twirled away from the boy and began to speak, shifting in the air with each forced word.

            “You know…the plan boy…Do it,” the thing haltingly spoke, pushing out the phrase with difficulty. 

            The words bounced around in Lucian’s head and he scowled at the discomfort it caused before speaking. “It has already begun my Lord. The b******s won’t know what hit them.” His lips curled cynically upward and with a grunt, he jogged back to Arwen, grabbing her dainty hand. “Wait up Princess,” he smiled innocently and encouragingly.

            She pasted on a beaming smile but inside, something was churning and her eyes began to glaze, unaware that fate had already begun its dangerous and unsuspecting journey.

 

♦ • ♦ • ♦

 

            When the two arrived at the ornately carved doors, the king greeted them. He smiled but it was cold and calculating, void of fatherly love.

            “Arwen. Lucian.” King Edikiah nodded to each of them. “You are late.”

            Before either could respond to the reprimand, a loud trumpet sounded from within the room and the heavy doors creaked open. The king entered first, followed by the princess and the wizard. All around them, highbred nobles silenced their steady chatting and gently applauded with wine glasses in hand. The enormous room was filled with purebloods from other kingdoms across the land, Auranosis, and further. Woman flirted with finely dressed gentlemen. Princes twirled princesses around the room. Ladies gaily gossiped with lords while the band harmoniously blended a tune,

            The setting sun cast its pink and purple hues around the expansive room, the last rays of light slowly retreating through the dozens of windows. Diamond chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling, bestowing the crowd with glittering light while the marble pillars shimmered, their gilded edges trapping the light and tossing it back onto the richly tiled floor. The ceiling was painted with a mural of angels and light clouds, attracting attention upwards. The beauty of the scene overwhelmed Arwen and she stifled a gasp, gloved hand to her mouth.

            “Are you all right?” Lucian asked. His arched eyebrows furrowed but his eyes held no palpable concern.

            “Oh yes, I am fine. It is all just so magnificent.”

            “Care for a dance?” He led Arwen out onto the dance floor and let free a charming smile.

            Inside Arwen’s mind, she screamed in frustration. No, she wanted to shout. I do not want to dance with you. You don’t even care about me you stupid son of a… But her body disobeyed and she allowed Lucian to guide her.

            The part in her mind, the part that detested the boy was being pushed back into the deep recess. No, I am not falling for him, she angrily thought, kicking herself. I hate you. I really do!

            “Of course,” she gently stepped to the side before twirling into the grinning boy. “If you can handle me,” she murmured flirtatiously.

            Lucian smiled wider, revealing pearly teeth of perfection and he playfully winked at Arwen, inducing her hairs to stand on end. “Mmm, but can you handle me?”

            The band began to play a soulful song and Lucian whirled the girl away before spinning her back into his sturdy chest. The rhythm ran through Arwen’s head.

            Step. Step. Back Twist. Step. Step. Back. Twist. Twirl. Step. Step.

            With a squeal of delight, she danced faster as the song’s tempo increased. The two spun together, oblivious to the other couples twirling around them. They felt suspended in time, trapped between two worlds- a world of happy carelessness and reality. They lost themselves in the beautiful melody, dancing without a worry or care. Arwen stared into Lucian’s cold eyes and smiled, giddy with the elegance surrounding her.

            What is happening to me?

            Lucian stared back and bit an inviting lip, bending down. “No one can hold a candle to you My Lady,” he whispered in her ear.

            As if on cue, the song ended and molded into another. Lucian was staring into her eyes and power surged into their clasped hands, surprising Arwen. He moved closer still and the world halted its rotation.

            Deep inside, Arwen was repulsed but that thought disappeared as rapidly as it had arrived.  I want him to kiss me, she thought. Do I?

            Before Arwen could do anything, a gentle tap on her bare shoulder pulled the girl from her mind and she turned to face a boy about sixteen y

s, not much older than herself.

            His wheat-colored hair was slicked to the side in a careless fashion and his pudgy face was sprinkled with pimples. Brown eyes stared at her dully and his thin lips curled in a false smile.

            “Would you care to dance?”

            Even though the girl didn’t want to dance with the mysterious arrival, she clasped his outstretched hand, grasping the chubby fingers. She looked at Lucian with a contrite smile; secretly relieved from the confusing emotions raging within her bosom. Arwen shrugged her shoulders apologetically before being led to another part of the dance floor.

            “Lady Arwen, how is this fine evening to your liking?” he asked, his voice fresh with adolescence.

            “Good, and you Sir…pardon me but I know not of your name…”

            “Lord Tobeus of the Northern Kingdom of Legazia, East of Auranosis, son of  Duke Aaron Londigo of the Northern Kingdom of Legazia.”

            Arwen’s interest in the boy immediately peeked and she stopped dancing, colliding with Tobeus and another couple. “South of Auranosis?”

            “Yes…” he looked at her questioningly. “Is there any great significance to this information?”

            Arwen grinned and took the Lord’s hand, guiding him over to the food laden tables. “Of course, yes, oh my stars, definitely,” she rambled on.

            They were handed glass plates by aproned servants and as the Princess was served, she explained her excitement to Tobeus.

            “I have never talked to a soul but one who has lived in the Elsewhere. I have only known the lands of Auranosis but I long to travel, away from this place and to other lands. Now, tell me about Legazia, if you please.” She sat him down, his plate in greedy hands.

            Arwen perched across from the boy, maneuvering her many petticoats with skill. She forgot about Lucian, the ball, the other couples and focused on Tobeus, willing herself to get lost in his tale outside of her cage.

            “Well,” he muttered, after scarfing down a bowl of exotic fruit and soft cheese. “It’s about five nights travel from here. We took a large ship and-”

            “Tell me about the land Lord Tobeus, not of your travels,” she demanded.

            Even though the boy seemed dull-witted and plain, Arwen began to like him. He reminded her of a blonde teddy bear filled with mysterious stories. She listened, enraptured.

            “Ah, the land,” he smiled tenderly. “It is much like Auranosis but our winters differ so. For countless days on end, it can snow.

            “Snow?”

            Tobeus gazed at her, aghast. “You know not what snow is?”

            Arwen shook her head, eyes wide in wonderment.

            “It is hard to describe. Snow is like white, cold powder which sparkles in the sunlight. Snowflakes make up snow and each one is intricately different from its brothers…much like humans if you think about it.  Anyway, when it snows, the ground glitters with icy, pixie dust. You can see the words come from your mouth and your lips turn blue. The sky is such a beautiful gray and coated in a thick layer of clouds.” His eyes took on a dreamy look as he vividly painted a lovely picture for the bewitched princess.

            As Tobeus began to describe the emerging spring, Arwen had lost herself in a winter wonderland, walking among invisible pines dripping in frost and watching the words float from her mouth and into the foggy air. She was oblivious to the couples spinning around her, to the servants bustling about and she missed the last rays of sunlight as they sank beneath the purple mountains. Arwen missed the soft hues of twilight, a time linked between both day and night, littered with tiny, silver stars. She missed the violet streaks of dusk unfurl and grasp the world, holding it hostage with enchanted beauty. For hours, she dwelled within her mind but reality spoke of mere minutes before she was awakened by an intruding cough. The princess spun off the chair and twirled around to face a young man of eighteen years.

            His chestnut hair was tied back in a ponytail and his chiseled features portrayed a handsome smirk. He carried his muscular body with an arrogant self-confidence. His cerulean eyes were an ocean with unfathomable depths, seeming to guard endless secrets and glittering with mystery.

                        “Might I have the pleasure of this dance with a beautiful lady?” His voice was silky and honey-coated, carrying an accent which only came from the lower regions of Semnian.

            Arwen turned to the seat where Tobeus had been only to find that he had disappeared. She felt a sharp pang in her stomach, realizing that she had just ignored the boys demanded tale past the silver sea.  

            The princess grasped the complacent man’s hand and together, they walked onto the dance floor. Winterland was but a past memory, pushed away with other worlds of illusions.

            “Malady,” he bowed as the musicians began.

            She curtsied. “Sir.”

            The chandeliers cast glitters of light onto the surrounding crowd. Outside, the evening had grown dark and the sun had long since fallen asleep. Miniature stars sparkled behind immaculate glass panes but Arwen paid no heed as she looked at the enigmatic stranger dancing with her.

            “Is the beauteous night to your deserving pleasure?”

            “It is indeed, and you Sir…?”

            He laughed lightly. “Prince Rowland of Semnian, son of King Wisre Valerik of Semnian, heir to the throne.”

            Mask, Arwen thought. Mask. Mask. Mask. Her face revealed mild disinterest as she said, “Oh, how nice. I have heard your kingdom is a lovely place.”

            The lie slipped of the girls tongue like water.

            In truth, Arwen had never visited Semnian but rumors had reached her ears, provoking her to generate an opinion of the land, an opinion more negative than positive.

            Those who desired to reach the kingdom had to first enter the Forbidden Forest, miles of densely forested land which whispered with creeping fog and echoed with crawling shadows. Beasts dwelled in the consuming darkness, poisonous galligors that contain such deadly venom, causing the infected to drown in their own fluids, and horned lashvoes, aggressively attacking without provocation. The corruption of fate existed in the Forbidden Forest, intent on ending any human soul which dares to pass through. ‘Many have entered,’ the stories tell, ‘but very few ever return.’

            Then there was Semnian. Rumors of black magic flourished along with the annihilation of a compassionate, human heart. Sorcerers were believed to roam the castle hallways, killing unwelcome visitors. King Wisre was known as the Bloodthirsty King or the King of Death. He ruthlessly governed his subjects, slaying those who opposed his reign and imposing dozens of restrictive laws. 

            Of course, rumors are only acknowledged by the fools but as disturbing as they were, Arwen could not help but overhear.

            “Yes, we pride ourselves with the beauty our kingdom possesses.” He stared down at Arwen and the intensity of his gaze cast a shiver down her spine. I dare you to say something, it seemed to say.

            I dare not.

            “Well princess, now that we are acquainted, I hope to get to know you better,” he breathed huskily.

            She arched an alabaster brow in distrust, her pale face a blank veil. “Excuse me?”

            The two swayed together as the music enveloped them but Arwen paid no mind. She stared into the Semnian prince’s unnaturally blue eyes, disgusted by the familiarity in which he spoke to her. A dark look brushed across his face before he sighed, wiping it away.

            “Aye, please reprieve my boldness Princess. I guess His Highness had not informed you,” he spoke with tinted contemptuousness.

            “Has not informed me about what?”

            “It pertains to no importance Lady Arwen. Do not trouble your pretty self with such small trifles.”

            Arwen’s eyes sparkled with indignation and she halted the steady sway. “Oh My Prince, do leave the Princess in the dark with matters concerning her potential wellbeing,” she sarcastically spat. “It pleases her to no end.”

            Amusement filled Rowland’s bottomless eyes before quickly being chased away by the stoic expression. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt,” he muttered to himself. The young man looked up and pushed a fiery lock from Arwen’s face.

            She urged herself not to pull away.

            “King Edikiah called all eligible princes together and spoke to us. He informed us that you are in search of a husband and-”

            Arwen interrupted him with a shriek. “A husband?!”

            The surrounding couples glared at the girl and she let out a sheepish laugh, her face pink with embarrassment.

            “A husband,” Arwen angrily hissed. “Who does he think I am, some mindless wench to be married off for the greater good?” I am only fifteen for the star’s sake!”

            Rowland glared at her, silencing the fuming girl with his flashing eyes. He began to spin with Arwen when the song changed, failing to relinquish her when another boy asked. The complicated steps left him breathless but he still continued his explanation.

            “A husband"an alliance he shall choose for you"but anyway, he asked us all to dance with you, get to know you, become friends so a stranger wouldn’t be marrying you. And that is what I set out to accomplish, unaware of the extent in your lack of knowledge concerning this matter. Aye, I am sorry princess.”

            He looks so terribly sorry, she acrimoniously thought. Inside, the girl was boiling. She saw dull red and her rage felt like a tangible beast. It stiffened her posture and she rigidly excused herself before stalking off.

            She shoved past the twirling nobles and gossiping aristos. Her body was aflame with fury as she searched for her father. Finally spotting him among loitering lords and ladies, she hurriedly walked toward him. With each step, her outrage increased and with each stealthy whisper from her dress, angry retorts filled her head.

            How dare he refuse to tell me this? Swish. Just marrying me off for his benefit. Swish. What kind of father could do such a cruel thing to his daughter? Swish. My father, that’s who. Swish.

            She glared daggers at the king but he refused to turn her way, oblivious to her flaming animosity. He was instead engrossed in a discussion with a ruler from a neighboring kingdom. His bejeweled hands were gesticulating wildly and his face was illustrated with a rare smile. The shriveled king across from Edikiah was composed, flabby arms wrapped around his sagging chest.

            As Arwen stomped closer, she heard snatches of their conversation and strained to listen.

            “…benefits will reap…prosperous…”

            “…greatly help the economy…”

            “…announce soon. I will speak to her.”

            “…Will she…accept?”

            The princess halted at her father’s side and the aged king opposite him looked down with a startled expression on his shrunken face.

            “Father,” she politely said, retaining profound enmity. “We need to talk.”

            “All right daughter, what about?” King Edikiah’s voice was cold and condescending as he glowered down on Arwen’s stubborn stance.     

            A bit of anger shifted into fear at the confrontation but her rage still blazed bright within her breast. “May we speak in private?”

            Her father’s gaze burned into her, probing her soul and converting more anger into fear. “Anything spoken now can be spoken in front of your future yet unofficial father-in-law.”

            She gasped, eyes widening in horror. So, she thought. It is true then. I really am to be married off and trapped within a smaller cage, expected to rule by my husband’s side without a word. Goodbye my darling independence…least what I had left…

            Against Arwen’s will, tears filled her eyes and Edikiah glared down at her, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

            “What kind of father are you,” Arwen cried, overcome with anger. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Lucian stalking toward her, worry and confusion etched across his features. The nobles talking and dancing around them halted but the princess ignored them, the unjustness welling up within her and overflowing. Her corset seemed to tighten, suffocating her and she began to gasp like a strangled fish.

            “You are not a father who loves his daughter but a monster who cares not a whit about my opinion. Is that all I am to you, another pretty face like Zaleria, to be married off for your benefit?”

            The king’s face darkened in fury at the mention of his older daughter but he reeled in his temper for self-preservation. “Now my darling Arwen, please refrain from making a greater scene than has already been created.”

            Tears were streaming down her face, streaking her creamy skin. Aristos, though enraptured by the drama playing out in front of them, respectfully yet awkwardly resumed their previous activities, whispering conspiratorially.

            “Do you ever regret having a daughter in place of a son?” Arwen asked in a quiet and dejected voice. Her bodice was squeezing her stomach, blocking out the craved airflow. She felt she would faint from lack of oxygen but resentment and sorrow kept her standing.

            “Arwen…,” he said warningly, no longer caring if his fiery temper exploded.

            “Do you even love me,” the girl whispered. Her brows tipped downward and her red lips puckered into a pitiful frown of a deep proportion.

            The king contained no warmth; his facial expression reeked of disgust and passionate displeasure. “You are a girl,” he hissed. “That is it. I am not doing this because I hate you but because it will equally benefit both kingdoms.”

            Mask, Arwen thought. Her senses screamed at her to get out but she stared up at her heartless father, her face a blank page of stoicism. Be good, she hollered to herself. Back up. The corset dug into her hips and she winced in pain. “I am sorry father,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please forgive me for voicing my thoughts. As you said, I am just a girl.”

            King Edikiah stood tall, satisfaction flashing in his eyes. “You are excused.” He bent down and hissed into her ear, “It may be best if you leave.”

            She walked out the room, chin held high with pride and little reserved dignity. The last thing she saw was Lucian heading for her before she turned a corner and dashed away from the whispers and pain.

            Arwen bolted outside and into the garden. The lights in the fountain sparkled but did not cheer the sobbing, indignant girl. Twinkling fireflies drunkenly floated around but Arwen did not see them. She ran past flowered hedges, past trimmed bushes, past clipped orchards, her petticoats grasped in hand and dress flying out behind her. The dainty slippers had long since fallen off but she still continued to run on the cool grass, further from her hateful father and closer to the night’s chilling embrace.

            She heard a shout behind her but continued to run. Finally, she could not breathe and collapsed onto the ground under an archway of fragrant roses. There Arwen lay, writhing on the chilly floor and gasping for unattainable air. The little lights weaving in among the rose branches blurred before her eyes and the sound of cascading water melted into her pathetic gulps for a breath. She saw the vague silhouette of a towering figure lurch toward her, the shoes stomping closer.

            As Lucian’s hazy face came into view, she began to slip in and out of consciousness, her face turning an alarming, purple hue.

            Between hyperventilating gasps, Arwen managed to squeak out a deplorable noise and ran her hands around her stomach, pleading for the boy to understand.

            He bent down and muttered a few words when suddenly, air whooshed into Arwen’s gaping mouth and she could breathe. She greedily sucked in the blissful air while staring at Lucian. Minutes passed before she spoke.

            “But how?”

            His sensuous lips curled upwards. “It was just a simple spell. I untied the back of your corset.” He then helped her sit up by propping an arm around her small waist. Relief had relaxed his face and he smiled wider, seeming to defy gravity. “Better now?”

            “Yes. Thank you.” Arwen shakily stood up, glancing upwards to the heavens. “Turn around,” she ordered Lucian.

            When he reluctantly turned, she pulled out her corset and threw it onto the fresh grass. With dexterous fingers, she undid her petticoats and they slipped below her feet in a lacy ring.

            Dim light from the far away ballroom caught her attention, throwing itself out the windows and casting shadows on the sleeping lawn. The blurry figures inside danced to music but the only sounds outside were crickets chirping in simultaneous harmony and the whisper of a soft breeze, caressing Arwen’s back and capturing her hair in a sweet embrace.

            “All right, you may turn back.”

            Lucian whirled around, eyebrows instantly arching at the strewn about fabric but he made no comment, only looking at the princess with the stupid, charming grin on his face.

            “You know,” he slowly said, rolling the words around in his mouth. “You owe me for saving your life.”

            “What? But I…,” Arwen sputtered.

            He beckoned to her with a lone finger and seemingly against the girls will, she sauntered over to him. “Yes Lucian?” she innocently asked.

            The wizard wrapped his arms around Arwen, bent down and kissed her hungrily on the lips.

            Deep down, the princess was screaming in fury. What the hell, she wanted to shout. I hate you! I’m supposed to despise you, boy! But her body rebelled and she captured his lips, returning the kiss with passion.

            Wizardry dripped from his kisses, causing her lips to tingle. She groaned at the way he held her, like he wanted total possession of her and she gave it. He pulled her down into the dewy grass and on top of him.  Arwen felt his sculpted chest and traced her fingers down his muscled stomach, a feeling disturbing yet pleasuring.

            Lucian pressed her into him, molding her frame to fit his. After a minute, he pulled away for a breath and smirked. “I am impressed. I did not know you had it in you.”

            The girl laughed lightly and glanced up at the night sky. The tiny pinpricks of celestial beauty laughed down at her and a gentle breeze playfully pulled at her messy curls. The clear air carried winter’s mild bite but the chill stayed out of Arwen’s heart. Her chest felt like it was on fire and a burning sensation curved around her body and flooded into her scorching blood.

            Arwen pulled Lucian up and sat on his lap, slender legs wrapped around his torso. She tugged off his tunic, revealing pale skin that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight. She caressed his amulet before running her fingers down his chest and around his back.

            They fell onto the grass again, this time Arwen on bottom and as she kissed him, fingers entwined within his raven hair, a bolt a magic flashed through her and she shivered. Opening her eyes in shock and subdued pain, she caught sight of the moon. It seemed to glare down at her, warning her away from an unseen danger. The white orb cast shadows across the garden, forming monsters and corrupted creatures. Beware, it seemed to whisper. Things are not as they might seem…

            A murky cloud rolled into her view and blotted out the full moon. Arwen laughed gaily, forgetting all her worries and entrapments. Lucian was the cloud that blotted out her pains.

            What are you doing? exclaimed the voice deep within her head. She pushed it back until the detesting voice was but a ghost. Focus on the here and now. She fixated her attention on the concupiscent wizard and the burning within her chest.

         

 

Author's Note

Be honest. Is it good, bad, okay?

Reviews

[Eddie Davis]

It's good, quite good, actually. The story line is intriguing and well-written. I'd advise you to keep writing as you probably have a winner on your hands here if you keep up the quality. One big thing you need to change is 'Malady'. This is an incurable disease, not a short version of 'my lady'. Try m'lady instead. Other than that, it is quite well done.