This is only chapter one. Please let me know if chapter one catches you enough to want more.
Note: Known calendar for Earth has been changed to 13 months in a year, the last month now called Augmon.
Chapter One
Augmon, 21, 3000
Their clothes dirty and ragged, along with their bodies, materialized upon the rings. Voices echoed down the lonely hallway to lightly touch the portal circles in the Traveling Room as they materialized, the lights dimming with a quick pulse as the energy surged to bring two bodies into the room from another day. Daria and Roselina quickly down the hall to a changing room where beautiful gowns awaited them for the Our Messiah. In this hallway, physical bodies were not present for the holiday, just the voices that echoed down the lonely hallway from the Great Hall. All had been planned well. They were to arrive back for the festivities and be escorted in as honored guests by the King. Daria had not wanted to come in noticed, but her King’s wishes would be met. The cold brick walls cried for the cheer of its sire, which had not taken a wife, or appeared to be interested in taking one. Daria’s spouse had died three years ago, to this date, rescuing the Kin gout of the claws of a Duruabé assassin. She struggled to have strength; the mission she and Roselina Se’ven had returned from was conclusive of her lack of strength to help others—due to fear. She failed. She sighed, her breath hot upon her chest.The Duruabe were continuous thorns fro the people of Germaine, always attempting to put Germainians under its vicious palm of slavery. Duruabians saw Germainians’ free thinking as a device of evil. Images of lives tumbling over the railing of the air balloon swelled in her eyes as the anger rose: who is evil? She sighed heavily, unaware where she walked, what she did, how others cleaned her and helped her dress for her presentation.
A brief moment after the sigh, Daria let loose her anger, “Arrrrrrgh,” slapping away the hands that fidgeted with her appearance.
Roselina came about as Daria calmed, “We did our best.”
Teach them to fight to keep themselves alive and free. Don’t do the work for them. The motto of Germaine echoed in Daria’s ears. “Yes,” she whispered, “our best in getting many killed,” she mumbled even lower.
“My brother would have done the same,” Roselina shook her head calmly as she spoke the words closely to Daria’s ear.
Yes, her brother, Princess Roselina Se’ven’s brother, the King. Her heart fell another peg at the thought of him. Stop it Daria; you are a widow forever. Once again, she sighed and bowed, “Forgive me. It isn’t for me to question.”
“You have all rights to question. Would you prefer those people to live in slavery or fight in freedom, as your people did? Has the fire of freedom left you?”
“I. . . . Princess Se’ven, I . . . don’t— I fear—”
“Yes. The only fear you have is in failing, as you believe. . . .” Roselina let the sentence hang. Scolding Daria would not open her to serving more. The experience, Roselina knew, must do the job. Seeing the helpless always led Daria to help, which brought out her leadership. Roselina hoped this fueled the kindling needed. Daria would need it in the next few days.
The small hallway that led from the changing room, opened into the main hallway, which led directly into the Great Hall, where people filled the spaced with laughter, which echoed down the hall, and where people stuffed their laughter with spirits and food. Lady Daria Kitne stood just abreast of the opening, just the other side from where her King stood, the King who awaited to take her hand, along with Roselina’s, where they would be led into the Great Hall. Before the guards reached the archway to announce the presence of the King, Roselina stopped Daria before stepping forward: “You will catch my brother’s eyes, but you must determine where you stand. Your heart cries for our people, but your fear holds you back. Go forward with the, Gar will always be with you. Do not use Gar to keep that which you wish a’bay.” Daria did not reply. She had not fooled Rsoelina, as she hoped all these years. She had not fooled herself either. Quickly, she thought about the words to say to the King, who waited at the entrance of the Great Hall, who now signaled the ladies to come to him, where he would take each of their hands. Yes, she feared, feared greatly. Feared her inability to have joy and serve the people while happy. Fear that her heritage would upset the plans she assumed the King was about to put forth, the plan she was unsure how to answer to. Her head said no. Her heart said yes. Secrets were meant to be exposed. How had she, had Gar, had the Se’ven family keep it silent? Others surely knew? The young ladies placed a hand in one of his curtsied as he kissed Roselina’s knuckles first, then Daria’s.
They stepped into the Great Hall, only to stop just inside the entrance, where Daria believed he would announce . . . something to the crowd, instead King Se’ven took Roselina’s hand to his lips, once again, kissing her knuckles lightly, letting her hand go quickly, then turned to Daria, not touching his lips to Lady Kitne’s knuckles, keeping his eyes lowered, lingering over her fingers, his breath brushing her knuckles, warming them gently. His hand did not release hers, his thumb relentlessly massaging the rises and valleys of her knuckles. A reaction she had no expected; she did not know how to respond, at first wanting to pull away and walk away quickly, and then wanting to lift her hand up and into his chest as a jester to be escorted. She did, however, give a small tug, his show of affection making her feel slightly odd in front of the people. Her reaction was rejected by his firm grip, bringing her closer into him, escorting her as his to the table.
He could not look upon her with the intimacy he felt between them. Her action, or lack of following through on her action, spoke clearly. She did not attempt to fully pull away, nor did she make a reply to indicate that her hand should be left at her side; he could sense the tension and indecision, the fear. Three years he waited for her to mourn—every man that attempted to court her rejected. Her fear had kept her closed off; a fear he sensed dealt with loss, losing all that was precious. This fear held her back, kept her from him. If he could go back and change Gar’s death. . . ; he couldn't, not even if he wanted to. A thought echoed in his ears, If I wanted to, I could, and the Council wouldn’t deny me. He also knew that all the scenarios played out did not, would not, change the predicament of his closest friend’s capture by the Duruabé, which would be the same as death—torture to make him talk, which he would never do. He let go of Daria’s hand as she slowly took her seat.
Daria’s fear of what didn’t happen and what could still happen made for more confusion and rushing emotions that would lead to tears; but she fought the urge to cry, to run, to hide, using the embracing mind-calming technique her grandmother taught her. Breathing deeply, she brought all her questions, her fears, her emotional tension to her tongue, swallowed, repeated, and repeated until she could feel in her deep exhale, deep complete, slow exhales all thoughts of moving her tongue or her feet to calm into nearly nothing; fear was good, fear in control wasn’t—she hadn’t remembered that for three years; Thank You Gran’ma. Every excuse that rose to the surface, ready to be blurted out, ready to make her run the moment King Se’ven introduced his selection was buried far enough to keep her mind focused, for awhile at least.
Food was sitting, already awaiting for their presence, and King Se’ven helped the youngest Kitne, Garth, who came running at the sight of his mother from his big sister, to the table. Terron was good with children, and Garth loved him, as did all her children. She watched him, wanting his eyes to smile on her as they did her children, and yet, hoping that he would not acknowledge her. Master Garth began to laugh as Terron told the story of the ‘Potato Smash,’ a story told by her father, to her at the dinner table as a child, a story shared by families in Tuleth, passed down from. . . . Her smile faded as she recalled where the story came from. Watching the action as it developed into fun play over the dinner table, she realized Terron never sat the example of good manners; strange indeed. Terron, as a King, never lived by standards, only loyalty and what was respectful—of course respect was negotiable. Daria’s smile returned as her youngest enjoyed himself through the storytelling during the boring celebration made for adults. Terron was good to her children; he loved them, just as their father loved them, just as she loved Gar, her memories sinking into the past celebrations given at this exact table. She heard Gar’s voice whispering in her ear, smirking with snorts as he would tell her how he watched her from the hill as she played with the children, undressing her in his mind, pretending he was the person chasing her, telling her his compete fantasy as he was supposedly on watch.
Roselina was leaning across the empty chair that separated her from Daria, attempting to get her attention, repeating, “Daria, get his attention,” until Roselina finally poked her, bringing Daria back to the moment: “Daria, get his attention!”
She stared blankly, briefly. “No,” she calmly replied. She wasn’t sure she should be in love. She wouldn’t instigate anything.
In agitation because the urge of tears that she did not want to be seen, in agitation of the party, in agitation of herself because she was allowing fear to be in control, she waited for Roselina to dance with Dar, her oldest, for (her oldest girl) to get the younger Kitne children involved in the jump dance, enabling her to wonder away quietly. Her chance came as the music picked up upon Terron’s signal, as Terron picked up Garth to dance with him.
In her apartment, tears stayed hidden in her heart, for there was company about, relatives in the apartment—her husband’s family, along with many friends and colleagues, who once considered her such but now sided with . . . others. The day of Our Messiah, people went from apartment to apartment, visiting and sharing the joy of the Life that Saved, the child who brought hope to a hopeless world. There was nowhere to be alone as friends and family came and went. Not everyone went to the Great Hall for the feast, to the Great Hall to celebrate, and not all were invited to the Great Hall to enjoy the festivity and giving of gifts, or to witness the upcoming pairing or pairings. Slowly, she found her way through, moving silently at the edges of groups gathered in the open room to the door of her private room, opening it slowly—
In her apartment, a tree shimmered and sparkled, gifts were neatly wrapped and placed under the fragrance of green, a fire sparked and cracked, heating the apartment and the vacant seat that looked out onto the balcony. No one took his seat; it was comfortable and inviting; maybe the Kitne clan believed the chair was cursed; maybe they believed it was to be worshipped; when she stopped her slow motion, when her eyes could not stop watering, stop staring at the empty chair, the room became silent.
Daria’s eyes searched the floor, nervously, slowly finding their way to the window that the chair stared out upon where a small girl smiled at her from outside upon the balcony. Courtney’s smile turned to a frown as she felt the sad heart seep into the warm sun. The young girl read Daria’s body, her face, feeling her feelings. The blonde child had been one of few children to escape the Duruabé fires of Lon Coast, a child capable of reading people’s emotions. Daria knew that Roselina had Courtney keep an eye on her, fearing that Daria may to something . . . something unthinkable. The young girl easily picked up on Daria’s kinetic energy, reading her like a book. The young girl also felt the resentment of others in the room, a resentment directed towards Daria. The quiet disappeared as Gar’s family began stammering about unfairness and injustice to Gar and his children, the word “tarnished” heard clearly, but not to her, not for her—for it was all a cover-up of what they truly thought of her and their son’s decision in a wife, keeping their distance, inviting only Gar and the children to gatherings or special events, never treating the children completely as equals to the other children, but always wanting more from Gar, always asking for special gifts, for. . . . At times, Gar was an outcast, only invited for formality at some events,, yet they came every year, with false smiles and open hands to greedily take away any joy she may have, to accuse her of using him to find her way to the King, the King they secretly loathed. Now they will have what they want to back their words, she squeezed the knob in her hand. The only tenderness to be seen were the younger children curling into the arms of parents and grandparents, while the older children preened through presents. Daria’s youngest, Garth, had followed, left the story behind, and curled into Aunt Ameé’s lap, the only Kitne who seemed impartial. She would come by to chat, but Daria was always careful what she shared and said.
“Mommy?” Garth called out, “when can we open the gifts?”
She pulled the words from between her lips slowly, “Soon. First—”
“Excuse my intrusion,” King Se’ven spoke over the persecuting conversations, “Garth left the celebration suddenly. He’s a quick young man. Since I have been led here, there is some business I need to attend to with Lady Kitne. Please, if you would gather in the Great Hall, take Garth with you; there is room. I’m sorry my planner didn’t include you on the list for the Sitting.”
The group became silent, briefly, quickly turning to chattering whispers and mouths hiding behind hands, eyes darting and accusing as they slowly shuffled out. Soon, she knew, a lie would be developed and spread about. Terron followed behind the group, closing the double doors on the trail of Garth waving bye to his mother.
Daria did not move from the door, did not remove her hand that still squeezed the knob. One word repeated in her head, What?
He could see the confusion in her eyes, the hidden tears behind the confusion, and wondered himself why he had not publicly displayed his intentions.
The words that did form and proceeded from her lips, that spat from her tongue was less than pleasant: “You have now made Gar’s family more suspicious, more relentless in finding cause in removing me from the Council and from your service, if not insisting I’m an unfit mother. You walk in behind me, after I’ve quietly managed the room to my private chambers, and—”
“And your anger is much misplace. Is it I you are angered with? them? yourself?”
She made no reply, standing without moving, holding her breath with teeth clenched, attempting to understand the flood of emotions and the fear.
Terron walked slowly towards the unmoving Lady, watching her guard tighten as he approached. “Lady Kitne, you have served me well since your husband’s death, and before then. You have been at my side since before my kingship, before your marriage. We have been through much—the three of us. Now, there is only two. I made a promise to Gar. I’ve given you space, time, all that you needed to mourn him. To keep my promise, to better serve that promise, . . . . Daria, I love you. I have always loved you. Say that you love me now.”
When he had finished his words, he was before her upon his knees. For the first time, Terron could not read her. Not a display of emotion seeped from her eyes. He did not know what to expect. Then, her stance turned business-like.
“I am always in your service,” she lowered her eyes while lifting his ringed-hand to her, dipping and pressing her forehead to his ring. A faint lapse of vertigo caught her off guard, she stumbling to catch herself.
His reaction was not quick enough due to his confused state of her display, making him fall with her, he catching her cheek in his hand before her head hit the hard word floor.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke softly while squeezing her hands into a fist. She needed to be alone; she couldn’t deal with this; she couldn't open herself up to any hope of happiness.
“Why are you sorry? There was nothing either of us could do.”
“No. I’m sorry, I can’t love you.”
“You can’t? Why is this? Or, is it more that you will not allow yourself?”
Strangely, his voice held no anger, but was quite tender, very concerned. Daria had prepared for combat. She wondered if Terron had not asked in public as to not force the answer he wanted.
“Daria. Answer this in complete truth.” She looked into his eyes as they lay on the floor, as he waited to ask his questions. “Do you love me?”
Her face became pain.
“The truth Daria. There is Courtney.”
Her eyes closed slowly, the lids becoming tense with her clinched teeth, her fist still balled, then slowly her entire body softened, as if someone or thing pulled as string, unravelling all the binding fibers closing her off. “Yes.”
Neither spoke. Their eyes watched the other. His hand lifted her chin, his thumb roamed her lips. “I have not courted you, seeing how you turned away others. I feared you still mourned, and then . . . I thought it was me seeing things. But Roselina, even your daughter and son, saw it, as did others. I waited. I can wait no longer. It will be easier to care for you and the children as my wife.” His thumb roamed her lips more, but the did not move towards her.
“You’re shaking.”
“Yes. I’m cold. The floor is cold. And . . . I’m scared.”
This is not a women who is often silent or has a loss of words. Scared is not in her vocabulary, he knew, although there were times she displayed it briefly, always moving forward.
“Together we can do this.” Hell, he was scared too. He knew the challenges that lay ahead for this kingdom, for this marriage, a marriage he knew would take place, if not today, soon, very soon. “Will you marry me?”
Terron, my Duruabe past?” She spoke calmly, pulling his hand from her face. Placing her palm square to the floor, she positioned herself to stand.
GEntly, he placed his hand on her elbow. “Daria, let us stay down here.”
She stayed upon her hands and knees. “We are not children.”
“No, we are not. I like it here, just like this, beside you,” he rolled onto his back, letting go of her arm, then continued, “You were washed of your lineage; your grandmother turned from her people. Have not the lords of my court accepted you since Gar brought you forth? Have you not been loyal to your husband and King?”
She stayed as she was. She knew Terron was attempting to lessen the fear, to lighten her mood, to console her. “Yes; still, Gar was only a servant of the court.”
“Second to me. He would be king if I were not here.” He reached up to twist her hair in his finger, she lowering herself to her stomach, propping her chin upon her hands held up by bent elbows. “I have loved you a long time. And have waited. Tomorrow, I would like, before the Even Dance, my sister will announce our confirmation. There isn’t really time for courting.”
“What is the urgency?”
“I have seen. . . . It’ not of importance; not now.”
“Terron, we cannot start our marriage on secrets.”
“So, you do accept?”
She had not realized what she said; the surprise expressed in her sudden intake of breath. She dropped her head to the floor. “You tricked me.”
“Yes I did. So, you do accept?”
“I do.”
Curling into his raised arm, she lay her hand upon his chest, feeling the warmth emulate. Sorrow roamed in the love. Fear roamed in the love. Her past, the very distant past of her Duruabe roots tore at her as she remembered the dreams that invaded her sleep as a child. Children crying for help, wanting the freedom that would not be given to them. Bodies: limbs torn from torsos, unborn children ripped from their mothers and left to die, and. . . . Gran’ma’s words etched the lining of her lids: “You will save them.” Gran’ma would say this every night she woke from the horror. Hadn’t she been saving them since marrying Gar? Why now do the words haunt her? Out of the quiet, Terron spoke, “There is only the elite left; but their power is so great that the first Duruabe families are now dying at the hands of their own. The elite that rule are no longer of royal blood, they are those who have been interbred and trained to do business, to make money at any cost, to have power over all, even the truth. Your people cry for mercy, knowing that their ways were wrong. Your marriage to me will give me ability to intervene.”
What had he said? Had he read her mind? “What?”
“I was only thinking out loud. Our marriage will bring grief foe some but release far many.”
She propped herself up onto her elbow, looking down upon him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I—. Were you—? Did you ever meet my grandmother, in person; spoke to her?”
“I had the pleasure of listening to her tell stories. Never did get to speak with her. Why?
“Ummm.”
“You look frightened. What is wrong?”
“My grandmother use to say, ‘You will save them,’ after each nightmare I woke from, nightmares about what we left behind. I haven’t thought about the dreams for years, and I just remembered what she would say to me just before you spoke.”
He reached up with both hands, put her face between his hands, “Your grandmother had great wisdom. She saw beyond the moment, always working for the future. Her stories told the children how to do, not to wait.”
Nodding, she lay back into the cradle of his arm. “How long will we lay here? There is a party outside the doors. Someone will be asking about your disappearance.”
“Roselina, and Garrin, will be here to escort us to—. And, there they are!” The signal resinated through the living area with two pounds and a rap on the doors.
The celebration had spilled into the halls with sound-makers filling the corridor. The noise took Daria back to the first Our Messiah without Gar, and her oldest, Garrin, already taking his father’s place among the Lords—he leaving the family apartment two weeks after Gar’s death; a year later he told her it was time for you to find another, as if he knew her heart; and with those words came it is not good for you to be alone. A smile absorbed her face. Even he knew the energy that formed between her and Terron. And within that smile there was hurt, but not because Terron hadn’t tried. He had kept his promise to be a father to her children, to Gar’s children, especially the youngest, who only had a picture to conjure a face of the man who fathered him. Terron had tried his best with Lawrence, her third child, and her most troubled child. He was cold, angry, and terrified. Garrin had tried to fill his father's shoes with his brother, knowing Lawrence was acting out his feelings of loss, but with no results. Her other children were handling it, as far as she could see; and it occurred to her, how would they all react to this on Our Messiah’s day?
now upon their feet, Terron’s fingers trickled down her neck to her shoulder, the tickle bringing her back to the moment, and with questions: where were they going, and how would they escape unseen and unrecognized through the crowd? Then, as if realizing for the first time she was a mother, she yelled out, “Who will be caring for Gardinia and Garth?
Terron answered quickly, knowing a great panic would arise if the children weren’t securely in bed by eight—holidays no exception. He would change that. “My sister and Lillian will have them in bed, on time, in their beds of course.”
“Under guard?”
“Only to keep your mind with me.”
He took her hand and spun her about. “I have not had the pleasure of your lips.” She had not time to stop him.
“Terron, this is Gar’s place, please.”
“Forgive me, My Lady.”
He bowed to the woman who would not defile the home of a family devoted to a man so loved, and he would not do so again.
Gar was a devoted husband, father, and servant to the kingdom. Terron had not lied when he spoke of Gar’s position. The Lords had chosen him as successor, but to their knowledge Gar was never indoctriniated to be so; only Kenard Longhonr knew. Terron took comfort in knowin gtaht Gar would have blessed this marriage if he coudl return from the grave. A discussion crept into his mind, a discussion from the mission that Gar did not return from:
“You love her? That is why you look at no ohter. Sire, why did you not tel me before we—”
“No. I could not make her shoose, and I would not bring our friendship to an end. Besides, you wen tforward, I did nothing.”
“If I should perish—”
“Do not speak it!”
“Hear me out. If I should perish, I bless the union of Daria and you. She lover her King; I know if I had not found her first, her heart would have fallen to you.”
“Is it possible for a soul to have more than one mate?”
“Aye. I have you, and her.”
Aye. The historical language not entirely lost in history always found its way through in Gar’s words. Terron had kept his promise. Not only this one, but to find a Gaiyle teacher for Garrin and the others. Garrin spoke fluently in Gailyia, although there were few who could understand him. Gar had taught him well. Lawrence had taken no interest, while Lillian could communicate in Gailyia—she was not as adapt in the language as Gar. The youngest two were doing well in the language, and the twins could nearly speak as well as Garrin. Garrin followed his father’s footsteps, becoming the youngest Lord in Terron’s council. His sister, Lillian, was a year from joining other women on the council. Lady Mabahabe prepared her for her placement. Gar’s children were intelligent and very persuasive; their views firm and loyal in serving their King; as we their father’s. the middle three, still young, had their talents, but the twins had few years before a decision would be made, while Lawrence would not raise to a position with the attitude he displayed as of now.
The noise grew, and a loud banging woke Terron from his deep thinking.
“My Lady, shall we leave and begin our journey?”
Daria bowed, still fearful but moving forward. “I’m in your service.” she replied quietly.
The celebration in the hallway impeded their progress to the chamber where Rabbit Longhorn and Lady Roselina Se’ven awaited. Rabbi Kenard Longhorn had ordained Terron thrity-five years ago. when he was only nine, and then blessed his choice of next to reign six years later. Longhorn hadn’t been much older than Terron at the coronation, the kingdom brought back from disaster by the young after the Duruabe slaughtered and enslaved most of Germaine. Those who helped keep the kingdom did so t see the efforts of their parents carried out, giving of themselves to Messiah, the All Powerful.
“Daria,” Terron attempted to be quiet and heard, his voice just audible over th chatter, he pulling her in as they walked through the people, “I think the portal may be wise. I see Sir Gavin and your son ahead. I’m sure they will acquire into our being hand in hand.” Terron and Daria stole away to the hall where guards stood to keep strays from wondering near the portals. An instinctive bow began, but Terron’s quick wave stopped the, giving a signal of “no” with a gesture, then pointing at his eyes with two fingers, the guards giving a casual nod in their normal stance.
The happy celebrators never noticed the whirring sound over the celebratory noise.
The couple stepped from the rings outside the main chamber of the Royal apartment. Roselina could be heard making last minute demands from the chamber servants, who had been sworn to secrecy about the preparations.
“Roselina,” Terron called through the doors, “send them away.”
“Shew, shew! Go! Out the service entrance and do not return!”
A few minutes passed, and the ‘all clear’ was given.
The greeting was duel: the beauty of the apartment filled with rose petals and white lilies, and Rabbi Longhorn’s hand.
“My Lord,” Rabbi Longhorn bowed, then escorting Daria and Terron the bed chamber; Roselina curtsied while Longhorn continue by leaning into Terron’s ear, without even taking a breath, “I see your choice was predetermined by words spoken before Gar’s death.”
“Was there any doubt?”
“Shall we hasten our efforts?”
“Rabbi,” Terron nodded, “my lips await to say, ‘pledge’.”
“My Lady, have you given permission?”
“Yes, Rabbi.”
“Lady Se’ven will witness this joining. Please kneel before me.”
They kneeled, holding hands, upon crimison pillow speckled with rose petals and lilies--the meaning of heart and purity. Candles adorned every corner, evry level of surface in the chamber, and a bunchd veil was strewn from one wall to the other between Terron and Daria by Roslina. When the veil dropped, he released her hand.
The Rabbi stood before Terron first: “Terron Se’ven, on this three-thousandth year of our Lord Messiah, the twenty-first day of Augmon, you kneel before the Mighty Hand for His Blessings in an union with aria Rhyneheart Kitne. If this union be so blessed, may the earth be quiet, and if not, may the sky devour the eyes, the earth open and swallow. Terron, do you take this woman to your bosom in thanksgiving, with the knowledge of good and bad, and pledge an eternity of life upon the earth with her, forever, and unto the end?”
“I pledge myself for an eternity.”
Upon Terron’s words, Rabbi Longhorn lifted the veil, stepping before Daria: “Daria Rhyneheart Kitne, on this three-thousandth year of our Lord Messiah, the twenty-first day of Augmon, you kneel before the Mighty Hand for His Blessings in an union with Terron Se’ven. If this union be so blessed, may the earth be quiet, and if not, may the sky devour the eye, the earth open and swallow. Daria, do you take this man to your bosom in thanksgiving, with the knowledge of good and bad, and pledge an eternity of life upon the earth with him, forever, and unto the end?”
“I pledge myself for an eternity.”
“You may cut the division and see the other with clarity, glory, triumphant rejoicing, and youthful minds. Messiah, the All Mighty, bless your bed and keep your hearts tied.”
“Amen,” they all replied, Terron and Daria cutting the veil with the knives hidden under their pillows. Before they kissed, Rabbi Longhorn bowed, speaking rather rushed: “Now, if you two will excuse me, I need to prepare for evening mass. If you wish to partake of Suuper, I will send Brother Audrey to your chambers at midnight.”
“We do,” they nodded.
Rabbi Longhorn bowed out, setting the latch as he closed the door.
Still, not a chance to share lips, a cry rings out. “Brother!” Roselina stretes out her arms, smothering the still kneeling King into her breast. “Now, I may continue in my search and succumb to a man without feeling I have to tend to.”
She grabbed his hand as he spoke, taking Daria into her free arm: “My not being married was never to keep you tied to me. I always thought you were still looking.
She released Daria, grabbing her hand, placing it into Terron’s. “You chose wisely,” she smiled, winking, adding, “Oh, I have chosen some time ago.”
Placing fingers to their lips, then taking them to her lips, she left them kneeling speechless, having her last words as she opened the door: “I bid you this evening, and see you both on the Eve Dance,” the door closing gently behind her.
The door latched once more, the stillness enveloping the new couple, and his nerves. The only knowledge Terron carried with him on being alone with a woman was talk, some kissing, and . . . not much else. He had not known the pleasure of a woman. She, being of another, had a piece of wisdom he had not. Yes, he had heard talk, and Lord Hanser—his teacher, confidant, counselor, father by being elder—was not a man that spoke easily of such things, shying away from the anatomy of a woman, shying away from any discussion dealing with a woman. After the death of his parents, and his crowing, Sir Edmory Hanser took him to his side, fathering him best he could, having no practice by way of children of his own. The man was shy around women, unless it was about business.
He started with what he knew best; he brought her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles with the lightest touch, slowly standing and bringing her with him. Once they stood, he placed a hand on her face, he doing the same to him, nearing each other. . . . His lips wrapped into hers, he surprised by the overflow of emotion coming from her, and more so from himself, plus the intensity and depth the partook of her mouth. He felt the animal in him begin to rage, and as he pushed back, she gently pulled him to her. He felt like a child with an older woman being given his first lesson. This feeling brought Elanor Hanser’s wise words to mind: “Be patient with yourself, nature will lead you, but be calm, be calm, you don’t want to scare the poor girl off.” He smiled largely as he buried his lips into Daria’s neck.
She felt the tension fall from his shoulders. His hands tucked under her arms, he bending his knees, lifting her up, his lips tracing a way to between her breast, she wrapping her legs around his waist. Wrapping his arms about her, he squeezed, turning his head up to meet her lips. Unexpectedly, a moan escaped from his throat, something that only he heard other men speak of jokingly, as if they were animals let loose from a caged life. There was no denying such a feeling. He walked to the bed.
Daria swallowed hard as fear intruded, burying here head into his neck, an intrusion of the past, but she scorned herself: press on, she nodded to herself, press on. She liked this feeling, she wanted this feeling, she waited for this feeling to be let free, she would not allow herself to be denied by fear, no longer, no longer.
Time had brought more beauty to the chamber, the chamber flickering all around them as the candles’ wicks burned down; an aroma of lilies and roses enveloped their every move; the room turned into night, a night of stars filling the ceiling and walls, the floor an echo of light.
Augmon 22, 3000
“Honored guest, friends, and family, on behalf of my brother, King Terron Se’ven, I welcome you and hope you have enjoyed our hospitality. Upon this night we gather to give thanks and open our hearts unto those less fortunate than us. As always, it is a radition to hornor a couple newly wed and to toast them in their life long commitment. Normally, the couple is chosen from the people, but this night, I and the King’s Lords and Ladies rejoice in introducing the people’s Queen, Daria of Kitne, and your Royal Highness Terron Se’ven, King and Queen Se’ven.”
Together they walked out to stand in front of the one chair that honored the room. Soon, another chair would be in place. The people’s silence upon the announcement were no longer whispers, tongues slicing the gasps of shock. The many eyes in awe half remarked on the choice of a once married woman, a woman already burdened with children and touched by a man before, a woman not of true blood but married into, the other half elated to see the King with a wife and the prospect of having an heir to the throne, knowing Lady Kitne had served the people always with the people’s interest in mind. The stir displayed wasn’t unexpected.
Daria curtsied before her subjects, knowing the shock would lead into questions then rumors, and possibly jealousy among the single women of the court that she assumed to be friends, also those who knew her blood wasn’t of royalty, Germaine royalty. What if they knew her true blood? She saw her sister-in-law Ameé, her face, the only Kitne face, sympathetic and kind, while the others persecuted her with their eyes. She didn’t have to hear their thoughts, she knew them: Trash; using my brother to get to the King’s bed. Who had him killed? These words, though not spoken, were clear and directed at her, she shutting her eyes to lose the connecton. She fought back the tears of hurt, not only for herself, but what her children would bare through Gar’s family. Acceptance was little in her position. She tired of it often, and now. . . ; now the lack of acceptance would be much greater.
Terron escorted her through the crowd for the welcome to be given by his Lords and Ladies. Their faces were accepting and appeared well pleased with his decision: “My Lady,” each repeated and bowed, politely, as she passed.
Lord Edmory Hanser halted the procession with his tremendous booming voice, speaking for them all: “You Highness, it greatly pleases us to see you as his chosen. There was no woman we could find more in favor in his eyes, or ours.” The people, those near to the Lords and Ladies, hearing the words, broke the spell, clapped and hoorayed, even if they did not agree, bringing more cheers, as a ripple, the others not knowing what they cheered for. Balloons and doves were released, the doves fluttering to the top of the high ceiling, scattering the balloons, the birds searching for a way out, a few following some of the floating balloons out the window, and finally, as the balloons cleared, the birds escaped, but a few, occasionally sweeping the crowd.
During the release, the Lords and Ladies conversed while Daria listened closely, listening closely to hear any betrayal or descent within a voice or within chosen words:
“But it is the people who will need convincing”; “Our acceptance will convince them”; “I hope your words are true”; “People can smell descent; we must have none”; “Quite right.”
Garrin came upon her, breaking her concentration. “Mother. Sire,” Garrin bowed to each. “It’s about time. I thought the old man didn’t have it in him.”
“Garrin!” Daria scowled at his up front attitude.
“It’s alright Daria. The Lords and Ladies speak freely, and your son has been concerned. He nearly begged me to take you.”
The men laughed. Daria blushed with her comment, “He didn’t?” looking straight into Terron’s eyes. Surely he did! his face spoke clearly.
“Who is it I have to congratulate in joining you two?” Garrin spoke further.
“My sister.”
“A sweet thing she is,” Garrin smiled largely, his eyes brightened, his mother catching the look, just like his father’s.
Could it be? Daria squinted inquisitively at her son, while Terron’s face stood in awe. His expression just as inquisitive, thinking exactly the same. Roselina somewhat older than Garrin came up from behind, grabbing Garrin’s arm, warmly. Garrin winked at his mother, walking away with Roselina on his arm. Neither Daria or Terron could speak, Lord Hanser breaking the awkwardness: “Looks as if thos etwo have osmething else on their minds.” With those words as an entryway, Hanser continued, “Sire,” placing a hand on Terron’s shoulder, “I need a private word with you.”
Terron nodded, excusing himself: Escuse me, wife and court,” bowing out as the Lords and Ladies swarmed his wife.
The two found an empty space some distant from the crowd: “Have you touched?” Hanser began, the concern in his voice evident.
“No. I did not want our first night mixed with business, and besides, if what we suspect, she would be unable to function completely for some time.”
“True. I’m sure the Jackels do not know yet, but I advise a quick gather. The Jackels will be at work upon the word.”
“This night Lord Hanser, this night. I’m unsure how she’ll react with this. I have just gained a wife, and I could lose a wife, all within twenty-four hours.”
“Terron?” Why so formal? You have been the son I lost.”
“And you the father I have lost. The Duruabians will bow or be destroyed.”
“Son, remember, it is not you they must bow to. We forgot this thrity-eight years ago.”
“I know Edmory. Because of our arrogance, Germaine nearly lost the land given to us by the Messiah. The praise is His, and I will be strengthened by Him for Him.”
“I don’t wish harm on your Lady, none, for I have a great love and respect for Lady Kitne. She ash been good for this Kindgom. Time is not our friend, and neither is safety.”
“I know. How much I know this.”
