From the tower, Zakar watched night unfold beyond the mountains. Rolls of thunder continued to scream into the clouds, heavy and expectant. Each oppressive cry threatening rain reluctant to fall. Lightning hesitant to bring any luminance to the trees swaying in the breeze.
‘She’s been tamed,’ Mímir stated, his voice dejected, hollow.
Zakar turned as a peal of light burst across the sky; lilac undulating below steel clouds and shrouding his muscular frame with colour. It shone on the crest of his shoulders, on the unruly strands of dark hair, on the symbols scribed into his flesh. He stepped down from the dais, below the arched window, and returned to the bed.
Every step marked with the metallic chime of the chain which bound his ankle.
‘Perhaps she’s forgotten about us,’ Mímir added, his emerald eyes following his lover as he grew closer. Leaning against the carved wood, propped on the pillows, he had one forearm resting on his raised knee, the other leg flat against the thick blankets.
His ankle braced with a matching cuff.
⛓️⚔️⛓️
There’s something I should be doing, that much feels real. I know there’s somewhere I should be. I can’t quite place what is wrong, but something is. On my knees, I feel velvet below my skin and the diaphanous fabric over my limbs; teased with the breeze from the windows. They’re open and from here, with the slightest turn of my head, I can see the storm. Each crack and electric pulse seems to taunt me, call me.
‘Lethia,’ the King commands.
I look up, finding the man on the throne staring expectantly in my direction.
‘Lethia, come.’ His finger curls to beckon me.
Standing, there’s cool marble below my bare feet. Each step closer to him doing little to place me in this room, in this moment. I don’t know who he is, or why I’m here. Glancing at my hands I see sharp nails, I see bruised knuckles, arcane ink. There are raw marks on my wrists which suggest I’ve been bound at some point.
But I don’t remember.
Reaching the foot of the platform, I pause, amber eyes moving to meet his stare. I’m not sure if I should step up to his level or if I should wait here. If I should kneel again. The thought of being below him distasteful, somehow, a sense of rebellion which heats my blood and brings my head a little higher, my back a little straighter.
‘Have you decided?’
Decided what? Panic races through my body, swiftly chilling any warmth. I swallow, my chest shuddering with the intake of breath.
‘Your freedom comes with a price, Lethia,’ the King continues as he languidly rises from his throne, ‘are you willing to pay?’
My eyes linger on my wrists, seeing the crimson, the heliotrope, the saffron. I’d been held? I’d been captured? Glimpses illuminate my mind as lightning strikes somewhere in the distance.
The curve of my back, the parting of my lips, the hands of… someone.
More than one.
‘Lethia,’ the King says with greater urgency, his fingers gripping my jaw.
I feel uncomfortable, and I refuse to look at him. The pinch of his touch begins to sting as he drags my head toward his. The connection of his lips against mine feel nauseating. I don’t react, I am pliable, I merely stand and wait for him to stop. My hands curl by my thighs and I feel the scratch of my nails as they pierce my palms.
A remembrance.
The slice of flesh under my wrath; my hands inflicting damage.
It’s enough to bring my hand to his cheek, to claw a series of lines through his skin.
I may not know who I am, but they seem to have forgotten too.
His roar a welcome melody as he stumbles away from me, his hand against his face as he screams. The guards quick to run into the room and cage my arms. My body compliant, I am held between two men. A third slips the shackles around my wrists. I hiss at the pain and feel the points of my teeth graze my lips.
‘If you want to live,’ the King spits, pearls of blood meandering to his jaw, ‘you’ll agree to my terms. The only way to save yourself and your people is to marry me and produce my heir.’
So that’s what I’m here for. My head tilts to one side, eyes tracing the man. He’s shorter than I am, and his robes are draped to suggest he’s stronger than he really is. I can see the padding, the way his paper-thin shoulders are built up. The layers of fabric catch the gusts from the windows, revealing his lean secret.
I could break him.
The thought arrives with images of wings, of fangs, of claws. Of a shadow, my shadow, covering the battlefield. Of the shouts of conquest and swords slashing through opposition to try and survive. My guards caught. Taken. I was the prize and I foolishly thought I’d be the victor. Whispers of schemes. Of memory.
Was this the plan?
Was I supposed to be taken? Was I supposed to be the vulnerable one who was caught and traded, used as bait.
If so, should I acquiesce to his request and wait for my guards to rescue me?
‘I’ll do it,’ I say hastily; the sound of my voice low and rough. Husky from lack of use, from the tears I may have shed. I don’t remember.
The King shakes off the nurse tending to his wounds and walks closer. His eyes betraying his greed as he looks over me. ‘You agree, Lethia?’
‘If you keep your word, I’ll keep mine.’
The guards loosen their hold of my arms on the King’s gesture, the silent command.
‘Will you behave if I remove the restraints?’
I nod. The gesture brings strands of my raven hair forward, they hide the slight smile I make as my eyes rapidly assess the room. Slow, warrior blood is being reawakened, and the knowledge of my strength is creeping under my skin. I can bide my time, but I also need to be trusted; that will allow me to explore, to fight.
If I can just remember why.
⛓️⚔️⛓️
My memory tries to coax me to run. To push against the door they slammed behind me. At least the shackles were removed before they left me in this luxurious prison. The large bed an ominous trap, with posts I envisage I’ll be chained to. A place of comfort where I’ll feel anything but. The wedding conducted before witnesses who would confirm I was now Queen.
Even if I still didn’t know where I was Queen of.
The words left my lips when I had to deliver them; the knife point against my ribs and a series of archers lining the walls. My fate sealed by my every admission.
My own submission.
Rubbing my hands over sore wrists, I begin to pace the dark wood. Desperate to recall any shred of my past. Any piece of something which could help me escape this. Reaching the arched window, I place my forehead against the glass and close my eyes; the cool surface brought little relief. Sighing, my breath mists the view.
⛓️⚔️⛓️
They woke to the distorted strains of music; filtering from below their prison. A cage which had lulled them into compliance. Mímir was the first to clamber from the bed, to arrive at the window, his eyes on the activity below. The soaked guards climbing the slick walls to take their positions on the parapets; heads down as rain continued to fall. The unknown event over with the death of the orchestra.
Mímir chewed his lip in anguished concern something had happened to Lethia; the moment they were separated engrained on his mind, his memory. She had ingested more poison than he and Zakar, and he was unsure what the consequences would be. All he could hope was she would fight. That she would remember.
That she would come for them.
People rushed from one side of the castle walls to the other; their robes fluttering in the squall and jewels catching the electric lightning which flared in the midnight sky. The clouds began to thin, revealing the twin moons, the stars.
His gaze drifted, moving from the hewn stone of the courtyard to the tower further along the thick, defensive walls. Emerald eyes widening as he realised who stood, silhouetted in candlelight, against the latticed glass. His fist beginning a heavy strike on the pane. ‘Lethia!’
⛓️⚔️⛓️
A low thud brings my eyes open, and I narrow my focus trying to determine what it is that beats against the continued storm. It speaks to me, a melody which has my body spinning. There is nothing here. Nothing which would create such a sound; rain had made a welcome return after the badly performed music the King requested for our ceremony.
My heart leaps when my attention returns to the window.
My lips part, bringing my fang to tease over the flesh. A rush of feeling encases my skin, pulses in my blood. It brings an ache to my back, a hint of a command in my synapses which suggest more. So much more. That I am capable of empyrean vengeance.
A low moan leaves my chest with the series of images cascading through my mind.
Them. Me. A union never-ending, forever written in the celestial dance above which watches us in slumber. In motion. Bodies bending. Tasted. The curve of a tooth over sensitive skin. The meander of blood. Fingertips navigating familiar contours. A beautiful orchestra of sighs.
The eruption of my wings brings another cry from my lips and I fall to my knees. My hands land on the stone, my hair settling around my face and hiding the tears which begin to trace my cheeks. The black ink of my tattoos shimmer, energy sparking in my flesh. The remembered incantations ready on my tongue, my strength purging whatever remains of the tincture we’d been ambushed with.
An arrow. A kind offer of refuge. A drink.
Fragments of memory which empower my heart, which brace my spine. My wings recalled as I stand, turning to face the opening door. To face the King. My captor.
My victim.
‘I requested you be ready for me, my Queen.’
‘I am ready for you,’ I reply, watching him advance. He has removed his finery, has left himself vulnerable. Though, I reason, there’ll likely be a guard on the corridor. I would need to make this quick and quiet.
‘Lethia, you agreed to—’
‘I agreed to be Queen.’ I force myself to breathe calmly, to be patient.
‘And produce an heir.’ He grips my wrist, dragging me toward the bed.
I stumble, falling to the floor. I knew what I’d agreed to, but I knew the nuances of words, I had faith in something ancient, that it would save me. My mouth formed a grin even as I turn onto my back; presenting a mask of meek contrition. Of meek submission.
‘This marriage needs consummating,’ he says, ‘and if that means taking you on the floor like the wild animal you are, then that’s where I’ll do it.’
‘I’m Queen, consummation or not.’ My fingers curl around his throat, forcing his head to one side to dodge his kiss.
‘You’ll learn to obey.’ He pushes against my grip. ‘And if you don’t, then I only need to utter one word and you’ll be back in shackles. Then I’ll take you as I wish.’
I twist my wrist, my nails digging into the stretched skin of his neck and pulling the tissue until it pearls. Until it bleeds. My movement swift as I rip through to remove his voice at the root. Sweet crimson spills from his exposed throat. My lips part to drink him dry as my other hand seeks his chest, to cleave his heart.
⛓️⚔️⛓️
There was a different kind of tension in the air. Hope, anticipation, fear. The two men paced the room, as much as their chains allowed. Knowing she was alive did not mean she was safe, and they were in no position to find her. They each felt helpless. They each felt unsure if seeing her in the window, only to then be dragged from it, was worse than never seeing her again.
A shadow crossed the moonlight, followed by the shattering of glass.
‘Lethia!’ Mímir exclaimed, rushing to the window; ignoring the slices to his soles.
In the howling wind, with rain lashing my wings, I was radiant. Diaphanous, stained fabric cloaked my skin, the arcane symbols inked on my flesh coal amongst snow, my black hair wild as it caught the violet lightning striking the horizon. My fangs gleamed. Blood soaked my hands, dripped from my fingers, meandered over my chest.
‘My love.’ Zakar dropped to his knees amongst the crunching shards. His hands reaching up to take one of mine, his mouth lapping at the blood. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I am Queen.’ I smiled, allowing them to lead me to the bed.
Witness to their chains, I shook off their ministrations to trace the manacles. I sought the weakest point and inhaled deeply. My blood sung with the energy of the skies, with the power of ancient blood, with the imbibed elixir of the dead.
The crack of metal resounding in the room amongst the increasing pace of their hearts.
I could hear the thrum of their desire, the delight in their flesh, the need to ensure we had not been broken. That I’d not been broken.
Memories uncoiled with every pore of their flesh I rediscovered. With every scrap of fabric I tore from their limbs. Their hands on my wings slick, their touch on my dress tender. Mouths on my flesh which demonstrated their worship, our allegiance. Every kiss they placed, every stroke of their tongues, every pulse of their fingers, setting fire to the fog which had dampened my purpose. My knowledge of who I am.
My blood raged with the vibrancy of ancestral wrath, my blood purged my body of every last mote of their attempts to subdue me. To dull my sharp claws and hide my bite.
I had my Queendom, I had my mates, I had my memories.
And my scream claimed them all.
From a prompt by
for the July Writing Challenge.
This one was tough… mainly because I could’ve written so much more! Getting it below the 2500 words was a challenge. As was meeting the parameters, as I’ve never read a romantasy, nor attempted to write one before. Hopefully I’ve captured some of the flavour, and it’s certainly a story I’d like to revisit and expand on.
Thank you for your consideration of my offering 🖤
Just wow! Absolutely divine. I didn’t expect the sudden turn of events at the end. The build up and the unanswered questions along the way leaves me wanting to know what happens next.
"My lips part to drink him dry as my other hand seeks his chest, to cleave his heart."
Damn! What a moment. Pure catharsis. Subbed immediately :)