Prologue

He held her close to his chest, her small form fitting snugly within the folds of his cloak.
“We're almost there little one.” He whispered to her.

He wrapped his cloak more tightly around his daughters sleeping form to ward off the chill of the late night threatening to penetrate the thin material.

He looked down at her as she continued to sleep, he could see the peace that she held in her features.
“I wish I could be the same.” He thought ruefully.

At only seven seasons old his heart began to ache at the thought of having to give his daughter away, his face had already looked a lot older than his eighty-four seasons, no longer holding the spirit and jubilation of someone so young.

Everything was being pulled out from underneath him, and his resolve was slowly crumbling away, the blocks he placed so carefully in his mind to control his emotions groaned and cracked in agony, wanting to give way.
He took a deep breath in, and then let it back out in one long sigh, dispelling the lump that began to form in his throat as a wave of gut wrenching guilt hit him in the stomach. “This is all because of me, little one, and it is because of me that you will now have to grow up in another woman's arms.”

He suddenly envied the man and wife that would be able to have his precious child to raise. Selfishness tried to ravage his mind, pulling, tugging, persuading him to turn back, but he pressed on. Forgetting his muddled and emotion ridden mind the best he could he came upon the small elven community that he had been looking for.

On normal circumstances no human was dared to come into a village such as this, there was an unwritten law that humans and elves were not to intermingle. A prejudice that had lasted longer than any human could remember.

He tried to keep his steps slow, despite the chill in the air.

Coming to the house he wanted, he pounded on the door the sound echoed through the hollowed out tree.
“Who are you?”

“I've come to ask a favor of you, old friend.”

“Neurion?” The man smiled despite his melancholy. No one had used his elven name in a long time.

“Yes, Azron, it's me.” The door was opened quickly, the elf was much taller than Neurion, about half a foot over Neurion's 5'11 frame.
The one named Azron looked at his friend. Suddenly realizing the rite between humans and elves

“Come inside, quickly.” He ushered his friend inside and hurriedly shut the door behind him. Seeming to forget the amount of time he hadn't seen the young human, Azron lead Neurion to the fire that blazed in the corner of the room, holding out his hands.

“Here, let me take your cloak.” Helping himself to taking the cloak off of his friends broad shoulders. It was then that the elf could see that his human friend was not alone. The elf had looked intently at the small bundle that his friend carried.

“Neurion, is that-”

“Yes, she is.” Neurion gazed down at the tiny baby and brushed her cheek with the side of his pointer finger.
“She's beautiful.” Azron couldn't stop his warm smile “May I?”

Reluctantly, and somewhat hesitantly, Neurion agreed and gently handed over his precious treasure to his older companion. Azron cradled her gently in the crook of his arm. “Children are such amazing miracles.”

“Indeed.” Neurion commented, his stomach turning again. The room became silent.

“What is it that you wanted to ask of me?” Azron asked, handing the small bundle back to her father. Azron guessed that it wasn't something that he looked forward to hearing, but listened regardless.
Neurion choked on his words.

Azron could see the young man's difficulty. “Is something the matter?” He gently nudged with his words.

Neurion took a seat on the floor near the fire and beckoned the elf to come sit with him. As they both sat there the young man still didn't seem ready for what he wanted to say, but forced the words past his lips, each one tasting like pure poison in his mouth. “I need you to find someone to take care of her.” He gestured at the sleeping baby in his arms.

“What?” The elf said, perplexed. “But she's your daughter, don't you-”

“Yes, I do, with all of my heart.” Neurion said quickly. “But it isn't safe for her.”

“What do you mean it isn't safe?” The elf was more confused than ever.
Neurion didn't answer him.

"Neurion, what's the matter?" Azron's face became solemn and serious.

"Are you going to be able to do this for me or not? If not, I must be on my way."

Azron was taken aback, but didn't push the human any further

"I'll do as you've asked."
"Thank you."

Neurion stood and Azron followed his lead.

Slowly, Neurion held out the child and gently placed her into the elf's arms where she began to squirm and awaken.

"What's the child's name?"

"Aracane." Was Neurion's short and stony answer before he walked out of the home, leaving behind a crying babe and a worried friend.

Chapter I

Aracane dragged an uncontrollably shaky hand through her hair, streaking the dark raven color with blood. Her whole body trembled and shook like an earth tremor. Tears flowed like a pair of twin waterfalls from her eyes. Her heart throbbed in her throat and her chest ached with an unbearable pain. Taking her hands she stared at them once more.

Aracane had no idea how long she had been sitting there, staring, unable to move her limbs from where they froze. All at once hands grabbed her arms roughly, a person on each side, yanking her from her chamber floor. Torches illuminated the walls around her as she was dragged and forced outside her home. They were not merciful in putting her down; they threw her to the ground. Her arms began to bleed from the force. Her stomach churned and lurched ready to empty its last known contents into the earth. She let her hair fall around her face creating a barrier between her and her surroundings. People were everywhere, shouting “Murderer! Kill her, kill her!” They formed a circle to which she couldn't escape if she tried. They poked and prodded her with various tools, all wanting their own sense of justice. They scraped her flesh, drawing blood in some places and leaving marks in others, though some could not be content with causing her harm through objects. Someone grabbed a fist full of her hair throwing her head back, straining her neck. Her scalp seared with pain and the back of her neck ached from the rough handling.

“Take her to the capital!” Someone's cruel suggestion rang through the air. A roar of cheering and screams of approval rang in Aracane's ears.

“I say we take care of it here and now.” Another voice was added to the mix. All heads turned to the one that had spoken a silence commencing through the multitude, and a path was cleared towards the middle where Aracane was held. She looked into the face a man walking towards her, sword in hand, ready to strike.

“Why leave it up to the capital when recompense is in our hands?” He looked her up and down, disgust written all over his face. He then grinned mirthlessly at she who had been forced to her knees at his feet.
Aracane's pulse quickened and her stomach twisted in disgusting knots.

“Father?” She whispered.

She was met with a stony gaze as he spat in her face.

“You are no daughter of mine.”

The smell of a night's worth of ale stood stale on his breath, his eyes bloodshot and anything but loving
“Who could call a she devil like you their offspring, who would admit to that?” The malice in his eyes seemed unmovable.

Aracane was kicked in the stomach causing her to double over and her hair was yanked back again to expose her throat, she gritted her teeth as she could feel the blood from her lips pour into her mouth.

“Is this how you're going to do it then, Mordeci? You wait until I'm at my most vulnerable and then strike me down? What cowardice.” She chuckled with morbid laughter, spitting the accumulated blood to the earth. “May the heavens never forgive you for what you've done,” Mordeci couldn't hold in his anger, hesitating only because of the alcohol that ran through his veins. He came closer holding his blade parallel with her neck, his intentions apparent in his face.

“May you burn in the depths of the lake of fire where you belong.”

Aracane couldn't help her biting words. “May you return there also.”

Still strained from her hair being pulled she waited for death, mentally daring him to be done with it so that she may escape this wretched life. The air was still, everyone's breath held as blood lust rang in their eyes, hungering for her death. She closed her eyes, accepting her inevitable fate.

“Stop!” a man's voice boomed in the painstaking silence. Immediately the crowd turned and saw a strange being in ranger's garments.

“What do you think you're doing?” the mysterious man asked of the crowd.

He walked towards Aracane, the people not daring to deny him passage to their hostage. Turning towards Mordeci he posed a question to him.

“How dare you say that you can take a life. How much better are you for this vile act?”
The man knelt in front of Aracane.

“Release her.” he demanded, looking straight at the captor of her hair and neck, authority blazing in his eyes. The captor was unsure of himself, he didn't know whether to let go or hold steadfast, he chose the latter.

“Who do you think you are?” Mordeci spat at the ranger. “This matter does not concern you,” he continued.

“The death of an innocent isn't something to be concerned about?” The ranger shot back, turning towards Mordeci and gracefully lifting himself off of the ground.

“She is far from innocent!” Mordeci shouted for all to hear, outraged at the suggestion.

“Who are you to judge? Do you presume to be without wrongdoing?”

The ranger stood and looked to the crowd that so wanted to take the life of Aracane.

“Can any of you claim to never have done anything wrong?”

The shouting had stopped long ago; all that remained was an empty silence. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, each unwilling to admit their past transgressions.
“Which one of you, then, could in good conscience taker her life?”

Turning back to Aracane he spoke once more.

“Let he who is without transgression come forth and raise your blade against her.” He knelt a second time, putting a reassuring hand upon Aracane's shoulder

Seconds slipped by then minutes. No one had stepped forward to harm the girl but Mordeci would not back down.

“How can we let this murderer go without punishment?”

The ranger wasn't surprised by the man's question. He answered him with this;

“You know that it is the law to bring her to a court for trial. You are in violation of that at this point.”
Without another word he released Aracane from the captor's grip and helped her to her feet. He had her lean on him. Aracane squinted at the pain her body endured, and though the man was gentle it didn't help the intense pins and needles that coursed through her.

“I don't understand-” she whispered.

“You don't have to” he whispered back.

But Mordeci refused to let them go so easily, not when his own pride was the price to pay. He stood in their way, alone, the only one to challenge the ranger. His speech was severely slurred and as time passed it only seemed to get worse rather than better. He still held his sword, gripping it hard in his right hand.
“Where do you think you're taking her?” He growled through clenched teeth.

The ranger swiftly and softly set Aracane down, wanting his hands to be free. Men like these were mostly impervious to reason; a brawl was all they wanted.

“To the courts as we are commanded to do.” He said carefully, assessing the man before him.

“I can't let you do that,” Mordeci sneered.

“Yes you can, I don't want to fight you but I will if I have to,” the ranger's gaze remained level staring into Mordeci's eyes, at if looking into his soul.

“You aren't getting out of a fight,” Mordeci raised his weapon weakly, the ale finally eating away at the rest of what little common sense he had. “She will die here and now. I won't let a weak man like you get in the way of my justice.”

“What brings you to hate her so much?” The ranger asked rhetorically. “No matter,”he shooed it away with the flick of his wrist.

Without warning, Mordeci gave a loud cry and charged the man before him. The ranger instantly side-stepped him and grabbed his wrist, twisting them painfully in his grip making Mordeci's weapon fall to the ground. A split second later the ranger used his thumb to press, unmercifully, into the soft part that lay in between the man's sternum and shoulder muscle. Instantly Mordeci crumpled to the ground, incapacitated. The ranger hurriedly went to Aracane and lifted her onto her feet.

“Let us go,” He said to her. “Try your best to walk.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, let us hurry.”

“No!” Aracane screamed, she tried to reach for Mordeci's weapon, “He musn't live, he doesn't deserve to live!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. The crowd began to shift, their previous uproar mounting again in a fierce rage. “She's possessed!”

The ranger grabbed hold of her shoulders roughly making her remember the pain through her body.
“Control yourself, come with me or die, it's your choice.”

She was unable to speak, and didn't answer him as the crowd tried to reach them both once more.
“Make your choice,” he said urgently, willing for her permission. “I can't take you without your consent.
“Save me,” was her plea.

Without another moment to lose the ranger, knowing full well the extent of her injuries, did not prompt her to walk, instead he held her in his arms. A sharp whistle escaped his lips and a mount emerged from the depths of the forest. Hurriedly he saddled them both on the animal's back. No saddle, no bridle, not even reins were strapped to the steed, but yet it obeyed his every command. The ranger firmly kicked the horse's flanks willing him forward, and it did as it was bid. Though Aracane's previous neighbors and friends followed in pursuit, but they were no match for the speed of the beast. It didn't take long before her home, her village was not even a speck in the horizon.

Aracane left behind a past of regrets, a village who wanted her blood, and a father wishing her a fate worse than hell, she only hoped that her new path of life was worth saving her soul.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nealan followed behind his mentor, Captain Moonrise, walking the maze of halls the castle possessed trying to make way to the King's chambers, a document was crumpled viciously in Nealan's hand.

"How could my father do this to me?" He growled aloud.

"Nealan, you are to be the future King, it is only right that you learn how to deal with situations like this for yourself."
Nealan only continued to mutter under his breath. Ignoring his whispers, Moonrise continued.
"You're going to have to learn sooner or later, there's a lot more to being a ruler than being exceptional with a sword and combat."

"And how would you know?" Nealan said, contempt on his lips.

Moonrise turned quickly, facing Nealan with firm eyes screaming his authority.

"You may be prince, but I'm still your teacher, you'll give me respect."

Nealan withdrew. Though he was prince he didn't have the stomach to defame his teacher, Moonrise. A man of impeccable honor had earned his title as captain of the Kings army. He oversaw each of the men, and only upon request was he to give Nealan private tutoring and teaching. To Moonrise, this was coddling the prince, keeping him away from dealing with people and not really giving him a taste of the world and its workings. Though he wouldn't question his majesty. How he wanted his kingdom run wasn't any concern of the people who lived and worked in it.

The two men walked in silence.

Soon overcome with the tension between them Nealan spoke "I apologize tutor, I shouldn't have talked to you like that."

To anyone else, they wouldn't have heard Nealan's apology, but Moonrise could hear it clear as day. Smiling to himself he pat the young man on the shoulder "All's forgiven, running a country is stressful."

It only took a few more minutes for both of them to reach the doors of the King's chambers.
Moonrise motioned for Nealan to enter.

"It is not my place to be among the King and his son's business"

Bowing briefly he stood guard at the entrance as Nealan, without knocking, quickly entered the chambers, slamming the door closed behind him and taking his leave of his teacher.

His father lay in his bed, pale almost beyond recognition. Nealan approached his father, his previous fury written all over his face. Nealan quickly uncrumpled the piece of parchment that was so unfairly strangled in his fist just a short time ago. He thrust it onto his father's bedspread.

"What is this?" Nealan demanded, pointing at the meticulous letters that were so magnificently crafted upon the scroll.

His father, the King, didn't need to look to know what it was Nealan was asking him about.

"It's a summons." His father sighed. He knew what was coming next.

"Yes, it's a summons." Nealan picked up the parchment on the bed and turned to the window, arms crossed over his chest, the summons once again strangled in his grip. He sighed in frustration.

"What am I expected to do?" He asked, his anger dissipating and turning itself into a twinge of anxiety.

"Sit up there and act like the prince you were raised to be instead of the child you insist on becoming," Nealan whipped around, fire practically lit in his eyes.

"I may not be the son that you wished you had, but to Hades if I'm not still the Prince and must be informed of my specific duties"

Talking to his father as if he was lower than Nealan wasn't a problem for him. In his mind, he was better, stronger, and more capable of running the kingdom of Fornhagen much better than his father could ever do.

"You will not talk to me that way, though I'm your father, I'm also your king." The King's voice began to roar throughout the chambers, but Nealan was unperturbed by his noise. There was a saying that came to mind.

His bark is worse than his bite.

Which fit this situation perfectly. All talk and no initiative.

"I will speak in whatever manner pleases me" He smirked at his father's bedridden body.

"If I wasn't ill, I'd whip you."

Nealan only scoffed "As if you'd lay a finger on me."

Nealan's whole life was surrounded by luxury and leniency. A combination of both leaves you with a young man who believes he's absolutely invincible, and completely convinced that nothing can harm him in any way.
The King's green pallor was soon mixed with red as his temper rose.

"You insolent child!" His voice never did get any quieter than booming. "I'm not dead yet and you will give me the respect that I deserve"

"Or what?" Nealan challenged.

The King went silent.

"Exactly."

Nealan went straight for the entrance to the room, tired of talking to his father and not getting the information he needed. The anger that filled Nealan was one that took over his entire body.

"I hope you die of this sickness." Each word was filled with venom and spite as Nealan slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the stone walls. The King lie there, unable to move and hurt by his son's stinging words. Though expected, they didn't affect him any less harshly.

Nealan stood outside the door. Moonrise could tell by the prince's face that nothing had gone well within the room behind his majesty.

"You really need to learn to control that anger of yours, it'll be the death of you."

Nealan bit his lip. He wasn't in the mood or state of mind to be taking advice from anyone, let alone Moonrise. Instead of responding he just started off in the direction of the training arena. Moonrise, realizing that the prince wasn't going to reply, followed closely behind his highness.

"What are you going to do now?" Asked Moonrise, effortlessly keeping instep with Nealan's gait.
Nealan still didn't respond.

The moon was high and bright, in his mind it was perfect to practice his skills on an unsuspecting dummy filled with hay and covered in cloth. Nealan felt like killing something, anything that he could get his hands on quick and at this moment.

Moonrise was wise not to have spoken further. Trying to talk to Nealan in this state was futile. Every word that he would have uttered would have went in one ear and showed up as steam out of the other. Nealan's anger was well known throughout the kingdom, hence why no one but Moonrise dared cross him for fear of what he'd do.

"Nealan, talk to me."

They had made it outside and were nearing that training area.

"Nealan."

"What?" Nealan raised his voice, exasperated. "Are you going to tell me what an insolent child I am? Maybe that I'm not fit to rule a kingdom and I never will be." Nealan's eyes were narrowed, as if challenging Moonrise. Moonrise could have easily taken offense at the young prince's words, his disrespect-fullness was getting too far out of hand, but having worked with the boy since childhood he knew better than to add more fuel to the fire.

Moonrise raised his hands, palms facing outward, a sign meaning no threat.

"I didn't become your teacher to belittle you or raise you to a position higher than you are able to control. You are young, still in training."

Nealan's muscles relaxed slightly, though their edge was still obvious in his demeanor.

Nealan's gaze turned away from his teacher. He stared at the ground, grabbing his short red hair at the roots, waiting for the rage to pass.

"It's like an infectious disease. I can't control it and I don't know what I'll do to the people around me when it happens."

Moonrise nodded in understanding.

"Why am I so angry all of a sudden? Answer me this." His question could have sounded like a plea, but Moonrise would never point it out as such. Moonrise couldn't answer his question either. He didn't understand why people had the emotions they did and what made them feel certain ways towards certain people, events, situations.

"What was on the parchment?" He attempted to get Nealan's mind away from the morbid thoughts but the prince caught on anyway, though he didn't reveal it.

"I'm to hold court."

"Is that all?"

"It will be trials for the allegedly convicted. I'm to put a judgement on every man's head"

Moonrise then understood the young man's frustration.

"You don't want innocent blood to be spilled." He said to no one in particular.

The prince rubbed his temples.

"When we practice combat it is different. I don't put a name or a face to the person before me. They will be enemies of Fornhagen. Scum that would need to be eliminated. But these people. They will be from provinces from all of our land. Allegations will be said against them and supposed evidence will be put forth, but how will I know that what they say is true. How do I know that the evidence hasn't been falsified?"
Moonrise didn't know that the prince had thought so deeply about the situation and that it would effect him so. Not knowing what to say he rested a hand against Nealan's shoulder.

"I will be there to help you."

Nealan looked up at him, perplexed.

"You do not have an adviser, I will be that such person."

Nealan smiled a sad smile. "Thank you."

He clasped the older warriors shoulder as well in friendly camaraderie. "With you there I believe I can manage this more efficiently"

Though Nealan wouldn't admit it out loud, the man before him, Captain James Moonrise, was more of a father to him than anyone else, even the king.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had ridden for hours and had finally stopped at the edge of the forest where the river interrupted the monotony of trees. On the other side was another forest, but it was the province of Fornhagen, the kingdom. Aracane wasn't used to so much time on a beast, much less one that wasn't saddled or bridled. Her whole body ached from the exertion of energy that she barely had. She was completely spent and couldn't even dismount on her own. The man who rode with her had to take her off himself, though it didn't seem to tax him in the least. He carried her in his arms as you would carry a ceremonial pillow. She wasn't used to being treated this way, with such care. She would have thought about it more if pain wasn't the forefront feeling or thought to her being. Gently, he set her down next to the water's edge and went about setting up a makeshift campsite. Aracane was tired but did notice that her rescuer had no problem finding fire wood. A small fire being established some distance away from the river Aracane had a much more clear view of the figure in front of her.

He wore a hood, one of a hunter's green color she would have guessed, that covered his whole face excluding his chin which had brown facial hair that contoured around his lips. It was odd to her that he had facial hair at all. Where she grew up youth was valued more than anything else and keeping yourself clean shaven, whether man or woman, was practically an unwritten rule. As he got up from his laborious work he wiped his hands by sliding them together, only making slight contact as they went back and forth. It was then that she noticed they were covered by brown leather gloves. He turned in her direction and walked towards her. His outfit was complete by leather breeches and boots, both of which were the same brown color of his gloves. Aracane didn’t notice either detail, she was more nervous as to why he was coming towards her. She looked down at the river, unable to take his intense gaze. He knelt down next her, reaching into the chest area of his cloak. She was going to die right here and now, she just knew it.

She winced, waiting for a blow, a stinging pain to her already screaming body, anything, but it didn't come. She opened her eyes to see him soaking pieces of cloth in the cool water of the river. She looked at the back of his head, confused. What did he want with her?

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, never glancing her way.

He continued soaking each wad of cloth that he had in his hands until they were all bathed in the river's water. Aracane didn't say anything, though he saved her, she was skeptical about the man sitting so close to her. He turned to her after his task was finished. He applied a cloth to both bleeding hands. They had stopped their flow a long time ago but they were still tender and caked with blood. Aracane flinched at his touch, every muscle in her body tense, but grateful for the cool feeling the cloth gave her. After gently wrapping her hands he started working on cleaning her face. Her eyes narrowed in pain as he dabbed at her lips, inhaling sharply.

"You're lucky you got out with what you did. Your wounds would be a lot worse if someone didn't step in."

She scoffed in her mind. She knew she would have been dead, and in some ways it was what she wanted. She saw his lips change to that of, could it be, concern? She looked into the darkness of the hood, the one that only revealed his mouth, and wished she could see his eyes.

"Do you always wear that green hood over your eyes?" Aracane inquired, changing the subject.

His mouth turned, then, into one of amusement. "I do." Was his short answer.

"What do you plan to do with me?"

His lips then changed into that of seriousness. "To the capital, you are to go on trial."

Aracane felt like she had been kicked in the stomach. So that's what he wanted? To save her and then throw her back to the lions? Immediately she started to think of ways that she could escape his clutches, but then again, wasn't death what she wanted?

"You can escape if you wish, I won't bound you, you're free to leave at any time."

She arched an eyebrow at him, she truly didn't understand this man. At the first invitation she felt like getting up and leaving.

"Could it really be that simple?" She thought. But she banished it, she could barely move much less walk.

"I think I'm fine right here." She whispered, barely audible to herself.

She thought she saw a smile spread across his face but she didn't think about it.

"Here, come to the fire." He said, bending down to pick her up.

When she flinched and her muscles tensed even harder he withdrew, not wanting to push her.

"I can do it myself." She said, shakily.

He offered her a hand so that she could grab it and pull herself to her feet, but she refused. She couldn't get herself off of the ground, the pain was too much. Falling hard she lay there.

"Here." He tried again to help her and this time she didn't object, too caught up in her own pain. Instead of carrying her he let her lean on him.

"I don't understand why you're doing this." She half moaned, half spoke.

His lips spread into a knowing smile. "Lean not on your own understanding."

She would have laughed, or at the very least smiled at the irony of his words if her lip wasn't split open.
Laying her near the fire sleep soon consumed her. She was surprised, at first, that she didn't even notice earlier how severe her bodily exhaustion was, but she welcomed the rest.

"Sleep well." The man in ranger's garb whispered into the wind as she closed her eyes and let herself drift from reality.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nealan sat upon the throne, back straight, chin level, his hazel eyes ever staring into the faces of prisoners. Since taking his seat that morning his heart had been nothing but a band of galloping horses, pumping hard and fast. Never in his life had he been more grateful to have Moonrise by his side. Whether he was an accepted official or not didn't matter to him, the Captain's presence alone was all the peace he needed to get through the days events. Weeks before there was much bickering between Nealan and his father's adviser. He had insisted that he was to accompany Nealan next to the throne because of his qualifications and experience. He had informed the man that Moonrise was as capable as anyone else and that he would be the one to stand by Nealan.

"And if you so much as dare usurp me I will see to it that you are tried for treason and are judged with the rest of the prisoners." The advisers face had turned an angry red but was wise enough to keep his voice lower than yelling.

"You impudent child! I am the royal vizier and I will see to it that your father hears of your disrespect towards me!"

Nealan just smirked "The king is in no condition to make any decisions at the moment," leaning in close, he allowed a smug expression to dominate his features. "And as his successor I'm the acting king."

He put emphasis on the I'm

. He slowly backed up and walked away, leaving a speechless adviser in his wake.

His calm demeanor didn't falter under the impact of the memory. Most of the day people had been found guilty, something which Nealan would ache for later, but emotions had no room within this court, especially in front of so many. It made him sick to the stomach as he saw the interested and giddy courtiers that stood off and out of the way of the accused. He could see the women and men giggling as if this was a spectacle, a rare entertainment not seen by many. A muscle in Nealan's jaw bulged as he gritted his teeth, attempting to keep the bile and his anger from rising to the surface. Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, your highness," he looked towards the courtiers. "Don't let them distract you."

"But how can I sit idly by as their laughter rings in my ears?" Nealan said, biting back the bitter tone that was so desperate to erupt from his throat.

"Just concentrate on the task at hand, they have nothing to do with this."

Nealan breathed in and out slowly, trying to soak up Moonrise's words. He was right, after all.
"Bring in the next of the accused." Nealan said, gesturing with his hand.

The doors to the throne room were opened to reveal the next of the prisoners. Nealan's breath caught in his throat as the captor and the captured approached the throne. Not only was the prisoner not bound in any shape or form but it was a woman as well!

Nealan turned his face to Moonrise, looking for some kind of guidance but he himself had turned deathly pale, though for not the same reasons as Nealan.

"What is this?" He shouted. Loud chatter began in the room and Nealan demanded silence.
"Why is your accused not bound?" Nealan stood and gestured towards the young woman. "If she is a criminal she's to be bound."

The man just looked at Nealan intelligibly. "She said she would not run." was the simple answer.
Nealan scoffed. "And you believed her?" He gave the man an odd expression, one that he couldn't attest to being void of condescension.

"She is here, is she not?" Nealan grew silent having to battle his anger again, but he took a seat at the throne.

"Let us get on with this shall we?" He looked the woman up and down but the one thing that caught his eye was her raven hair, it was long and beautiful, it was also the darkest color he had ever seen on any woman and it intrigued him.

"You will take full responsibility for her actions." Nealan said, more of a statement rather than a question.

"Yes, my lord." The man replied anyway.

It was at this point that Nealan realized that Moonrise had left the room.

What has gotten into my mentor? He thought.

Chapter II

Moonrise had left the throne, something that he would most likely pay for later. Leaving the prince to his own devices was beyond a terrible idea at this point, he was inexperienced and needed Moonrise's guidance, one that he couldn't give at this exact moment. He tried to force himself to walk back into that room, the place he was suppose to be as acting vizier but it was as if there was something that was holding him back, holding him away from walking any closer to that door.

“What in the seven hells is wrong with you?” He yelled at himself in his mind.

His hands were shaking. He brought them to his face, covering his eyes. He tried to breath normally but the sound of his exhale was shaky.

“She is an accused woman, get in there and do your job!” He shouted to himself.

“Is something the matter Moonrise?” Under normal circumstances it would have been a concerned passersby but this person's voice was anything but concerned.

Moonrise turned slowly, what stood before him was something that he regretted days afterwords.
“What do you want, dark one?” He growled, hiding his fear by a thick layer of rigid anger.

“My my, temper temper.” The Dark One said mockingly. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You are no friend of mine, now what do you want?”

The Dark One, the one that had been around since the beginning of creation, stood before Moonrise with a black cloak surrounding his body, retaining whatever lay beneath. He wore black gloves and boots, no skin could be seen anywhere. The depths of the hood seemed to be a dark abyss that didn't reveal any resemblance of a face. He seemed to be completely cast in shadows, the epitome of darkness.

“I felt your distress and came to see what I could do about it.” The Dark One feigned helpfulness.

“Don't act like you care about my distress for anything other than to make it worse.” Moonrise folded his arms over his chest. Skepticism couldn't begin to describe the emotion running through the knight's veins.
“Stop avoiding the question, answer me now,”

The noise that came from the black clad creature could not be classified as a normal laugh, it was devoid of humour but wreaked of evil.

“Oh, Moonrise, one to always cut to the chase.”

“You made sure of that.” Moonrise said bitterly.

“No matter.” Dark One waved his hand, flicking his wrist as if swatting a fly.
“I've come for the one in that throne room.” He gestured with his hand to the door that Moonrise seemed to have been barred from.

“What for?” Moonrise did his best to keep his wavering voice from coming into his speech.

If the Dark One had a face to be seen you could have sworn that he was smirking.
“Since when have I needed to answer to you?”

Moonrise was taken aback, not in surprise but that he had overstepped a boundary.

“Moonrise, you have a lot to learn.”

The Dark One stepped forward. The being was massive, about seven or eight feet high. He went to hold Moonrise's chin in his gloved hand, thrusting it upward to look in the dark void of the hood.

“Remember, you are my slave, I am the master, understood?”

When Moonrise didn't answer him he squeezed the man's jaw tighter, hearing the squeaking of bone that he effortlessly could destroy.

“Understood.” Moonrise replied.

Letting go of the knight, he nodded, chuckled mirthlessly, then walked away leaving Moonrise in an uncomfortable silence.

Now left alone Moonrise rubbed his jaw, looking for any broken bones. Seeing as he could still open his mouth will minimal pain told him that he was only bruised.
“That's going to leave a nice mark in the morning.”

What was more important on his mind was why had the Dark One come? Yes, for the Accused in the next room but what would he want her for?

Moonrise was more taken aback by the fact that it had been so long since the Dark One had even spoken to him that he felt like he never had to see that dark clad figure again, not after the events that transpired so many years before.

“It seems that he isn't done with me yet.” Moonrise thought, seriously.

He looked towards the Throne Room.
“If he wants that girl, I won't let him have her.”

It was bad enough that Moonrise was in the dealings of the Dark One. Moonrise didn't wish his situation on his worst enemy. Yes, he would find out exactly why the Dark One wanted her and then make sure she would be safe from his clutches.

Rising from the ground he straightened his outfit, breathed out, and entered the court. Silently, he took his place beside Nealan, ready to face the day and the other prisoner's though his encounter with the creature remained ever vivid in his mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nealan stared at the woman before him.

“What is your name?” He inquired, eyebrow cocked.

“Aracane your lordship.”

He noticed that she struggled with bowing, her attempted curtsy was very sloppy and it showed. He waved the incident away, commoners didn't know how to do anything properly much less bow the correct way.

“What are you accused of?”

“Murder.” Was her soft reply. She didn't even hesitate. Nealan waited a few more seconds, expecting for her to defend herself, beg for mercy, maybe even escape, but she stood there silent. Her hands were folded, her head bowed and her hair created a dark wall between her and the prince. Nealan didn't know what to do.

“Where is the evidence against you?”

“She has none.” The man in ranger's garb replied to Nealan.

“There is nothing against her? Then why waste my time?”

“The people of her village felt strongly that she should be tried. I was only a bystander who happened upon the commotion, I stepped in before they killed her. I brought her here upon the reason of law.”

Nealan contemplated this. There was no evidence against this girl, she didn't look guilty, and the person who had brought her was only passing through, having taken her from a mob that was willing to take the law into their own hands.

“Who was killed?”

The ranger looked to Aracane. “His name was Darragh, he was my uncle.” She said.

“Killing your own relative? What was your reasons?”

“To be honest, your highness, I don't remember the incident at all.”

Nealan sighed in frustration.

“Right, I'll make this quick then.” Nealan stood. “Recorder, make sure this goes in the archives.” He said to the man who stood so close to the throne along with Moonrise.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Aracane, you are sentenced to probational basic training in the kingdom's militia. You have been convicted of murder, though you attest to this fact and there is no evidence against you, you are hereby stripped of freedom for as long as I deem necessary.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And one more thing. Your hair will be cut, also a consequence.”

She remained silent.

Nealan was somewhat surprised by this. She didn't plea, she didn't cry, she just stood there with an expressionless face, staring at the floor in front of her.

“That would be all, take her away for her sentence.”

Two guards had come up to Aracane and stood at her sides, one for each, and lead her away from the room. Nealan stroked his chin, thoughtfully.

“She is an interesting one isn't she?” He said to Moonrise.

“Don't get too attached, sire, she is an accused.”

Nealan was immediately inflamed, brought on by embarrassment. “I'm not attached, I was merely pointing out that she is not like the rest of the prisoners that have come through today. Do you agree or not?”

“I cannot say either, my lord, she is a prisoner, nothing more.”

Nealan regarded Moonrise thoughtfully. He thought it strange that all of a sudden his mentor was guarding his words, not saying everything that was going on in his head like he usually did. Something plagued his mind and Nealan had half a wit to ask him about it, but decided against it. Moonrise would tell him if was anything important that he needed to know, he was most likely collecting his thoughts on something. What that something was, he didn't know, but he could be patient at finding out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As Aracane was escorted from the throne room she tried to block out her fears. She really couldn't decide whether or not life was worth living anymore. She absently touched her hair, the part of her that she had always prized the most, the only thing that made her feel beautiful in any way throughout her life, and they wanted to take it away, they wanted to cut it. She couldn't help but try and swallow down the emotions that threatened to leave her throat and assault her eyes with tears. She walked in between the guards.

“Where are you taking me?” She whispered, intimidated and unable to use her full voice.

The men by her sides ignored the question. They had no buisness talking to the likes of someone so far beneath them.  

Aracane was silent for the remainder of the time it took for them to escort her to her destination.

Once there they had handed her over to another male, the overseer of the living spaces. Before putting her into the care of the overseer there was much argument on how she was going to stay in the facility.

“But she's a woman!” The overseer complained.

“It's the highness' orders.” One guard said in his monotone voice again.

“Highness' orders my rear end, she can't stay here.” The overseer protested, trying desperately to plead his case.

One of the guards had come in close to the overseer then. “Need I remind you that our highness, Nealan, is acting king, cross him and your head is likely to roll with the temper he has on him.”

The overseer had shrunk back at the statement. He, as well as everyone else, knew all too well the things that the prince was capable of. Just the slightest of irritation could send him over the edge and he, just like everyone else, liked his head on his neck and shoulders right where they were suppose to be.

The overseer sighed a sigh of defeat. “Where am I to keep her then?”

“That wasn't for us to figure out, you're responsible for her now. I advise that you take good care of her, or else.”

With the intimidating statement, both guards walked away, chatting and laughing to each other as they made their way back to the castle.

The overseer looked Aracane up and down. Without a word to her, he shoved her into the building.

The barracks seemed to be empty and Aracane's stomach began to settle, thinking that this might not be so bad.

“Don't get too comfortable, the men arrive in the evening. They don't have enough time throughout the day to be lazy louts.” He pushed Aracane along, guiding her, or more like herding her, towards the kitchen.

Once he had her sit down on a stool in the kitchen he grabbed a small parring knife from the counter and immediately started hacking away at her raven hair.

“I'm no barber, but this will just have to do.”
Aracane bit her lip, trying her best to keep the nauseating feeling in her stomach at bay. It was hard when the thing you treasured most was being thrown to the floor in forgotten heaps.

“Now,” the Overseer interrupted her loss, “I can't have you running around and the men getting a look at you, it's distracting."

The man stroked his chin, thinking of what to do about Aracane. He knew that he couldn't keep her at the barracks what with all of the men running the place. It took him a little bit to finally come up with the answer.

"I will take you to the convent just outside the castle walls. That is where you will live with others of your kind." He looked her up and down with disgust. Women were hardly favored in this world of men.

Aracane just stared at the floor, touching her shorn head. She barely even heard the man beside her.

"Are you even listening to me?" The man grabbed her by the hair, or what was left of it, and threw her to the ground.

"You're a worthless little thing!" He yelled at her. He backhanded her across the head.

"Keep your hands off of her." Another male's voice boomed throughout the kitchen. Aracane looked at her attacker and saw the color drain from his face. Aracane turned to the doorway and saw the man that stood next to the prince in the throne room. Aracane was filled with fear and averted her eyes away from the knight's gaze.

"M-M-Moonrise, I-" the Overseer stuttered.

"Captain James Moonrise." James corrected sternly.

The overseer froze, afraid of what the other man might do.

"I don't condone attacking women, accused or not." Moonrise's voice was filled with authority.

The overseer fidgeted and constantly looked around the room.

"S-she is in my care, I am to do with her as I see fit," his stuttering continued.

Moonrise walked over and stood in front of the much smaller man. This wasn't normal from James. With any other circumstance he would have left well enough alone and had not even thought twice about meddling in the punishment of an accused, but with this one he couldn't stay away. Women were never accused of anything, much less murder. It just didn't sit right with Moonrise.

"And you see fit to degrade and humiliate her?" Moonrise's voice rose, he was yelling at the man now.

Tears began to spill forth from Aracane's eyes, she was afraid and didn't know what to do. The only solution to her seemed to be crying. Moonrise stopped for a moment and looked at the woman who hid her face and sat huddled on the floor. He immediately regretted distressing her further. The captain let out a sharp sigh and turned to the overseer.

"She is no longer in your care, I will take her."

The overseer objected to this instantly. "If the highness finds out, I will surely be killed."

"Nothing of the sort will happen to you, I will take full responsibility. If anyone's head is to roll this day, or any other day concerning this matter, that head will be mine." Moonrise answered him firmly.

Moonrise then lifted Aracane to her feet. She flinched at his touch but there was no escaping his grip. Moonrise guided her through the hall and outside the building. Being saved like this should have comforted Aracane, but it did no such thing. She was only more afraid than she was before. Her cries became sobs and she was nothing but a grimy, filthy, wet mess.

Chapter III

Nealan had a long day. He never could have made it without Moonrise by his side and he knew it. He owed that man so much that he couldn't even begin to imagine what it would take to repay him. Moonrise had been like a father to him growing up, much more than his biological father had. Nealan resented the King, he never seemed to have given his own son the time of day. He was forced to be raised by tutors, governess's, and teachers, all of which never cared for him. They couldn't handle his fiery temper and were never able to make him into a young man of manners and respect. How could he when his own father seemed to have hated him?

Nealan's mother had been lost the very day he was born. The arduous labor had left her exhausted and sick. Her system couldn't handle the hard task, so she fell to a fever and rested, never to awaken again. A part of Nealan always felt that his father hated him for her death, associating it somehow to being his fault.

Nealan walked the halls to his chamber's. After such a long day he was exhausted. He insisted that he be alone when going to his room and that no one was to disturb him. He had a lot on his mind, and even though his eyelids were heavy with fatigue his mind was reeling and wide awake.

Entering his chamber he took his time undressing. A fire had been prepared making the room warm, it also carried the scent of cedar, a fragrance that calmed Nealan's nerves and relaxed his muscles. Stripped down to just his pants, he sat in front of the blaze that was contained in the stone fireplace. The heat that the flames emanated warmed his skin. He closed his eyes, breathing in deep. He liked how there was no other sounds surrounding him other than the crackling of the fire and his own breathing. It was a much different setting than the throne room that was filled with giggling courtiers and expressionless prisoners waiting for their sentence. Nealan's thoughts began to wander back to the point when that woman had come before him.

"Aracane," he whispered out into the room. Her name fell naturally from his lips.

His curiosity about her was almost to the bursting point. What he had wanted to do in the first place was to see her at the barracks, where he assumed that she would be, he wasn't sure what he would have done when he got there, he just knew that he wanted to know more about her. There was something drawing him to her and he didn't know what. The only thing that kept him away from her was the fact that he had been busy all day with the Accused.

Nealan rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, wanting to welcome sleep yet ward it off at the same time. There was something intriguing, something different about this Aracane girl. He couldn't put his finger on it.

Moonrise's words came flooding back to him again.

“Don't get too attached, sire, she is an accused.”

Nealan clenched his teeth, making a visible muscle that protruded from his jaw. He remembered his embarrassment, though he didn't know what for. He could be interested or look at any girl that he pleased. Nealan didn't take much of a liking to having to be told what to do, even by Moonrise himself. Though Nealan respected the man he still had issues with authority figures. 

Nealan crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his shoulders as he thought further. Instead of continuing with the thoughts of Aracane he moved on to Moonrise's strange behavior. Moonrise had fled the room when Aracane had walked into it. He thought this very odd and couldn't come up with any way to explain it. His curiosity almost consumed him about not knowing what was going on.

Nealan's eyes became heavier and his mind began to slow. His thoughts became muddled and soon it was too hard to keep a conscious idea in his head. He didn't even make it to the bed that stood just a few feet behind him. Instead he fell asleep in front of the warm fire that gave him so much comfort.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Aracane was thoroughly confused, but the most prominent of her emotions was fear. The situation before her was something all too familiar, and not in any pleasant ways. She fully expected the man in front of her to lay his hands on her in the most inappropriate fashion. 

"You don't have to be afraid of me." He tried to coax her into a state of complacency, a state of mind that she was unable and unwilling to revert into. 

She didn't even bother answering the man, instead she just pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in between them. The man poked and prodded the fire more vigorously now, she couldn't tell if it was out of anger or the awkwardness of the situation. All that she knew was that his muscles became visibly tense and ridged. Though, noticing even that much came as a surprise to her. Her chest was tight and constricted, it felt as if her ribs could completely squeeze the breath out of her lungs and the life out of her heart. Hot tears began to form in her eyes as her anxiety built upon itself. She forced herself to focus, to take in his every breath and movement. But her overwhelming emotions were getting the best of her. She could not take control of her own emotions, much less focus on the man across the room. She breathed in and out, slowly and shakily. 

The mission was to breath. Her attempt to calm herself crumbled into dust when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She snapped her head up, her eyes connecting with the man that sat beside the fire, only moments ago. The tears flowed more vigorously and violently from her eyes. The man was taken aback by the young woman's sudden tearful outburst, and was even more clueless as to what to do about the impending situation. He didn't know what to do or say, but it didn't matter. Aracane's body was present in the current reality, but her mind was gone, delving into long ago memories that she had done her best to keep from resurfacing ever again. She could not have been more than fourteen years old.

She sat on the bed in her chambers, a place that should have made her feel safe, providing refuge or a safe haven from the evil's of the outside world. But that wasn't meant to be. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs that lead to her room. Her anxiety grew ten fold. Her chest ached, her body trembled in fear, her blood went cold and she could feel the color drain from her face. She could hear the footsteps stop in front of her door. Her breath caught in her throat, forming a bitter lump, as her chamber door began to open. The man slipped inside, closing the door swiftly and quietly behind him. He crossed the room towards her bed, taking off each item of his clothing along the way. Aracane tried to scream, but he roughly covered her mouth with his hand, bringing a knife to her throat. He whispered to her in a low growl.

"One sound out of you and I will slit your throat. No one will miss a whore like you."

Tears streamed down her face, but she made no further attempts to make any noise. He grabbed her and threw her onto her stomach and had his way with her. Pain seared through her body, but she bit her lip, holding in her cries, until she broke through her own skin. Blood began to seep into her mouth as her assaulter did as he pleased with her. She prayed for it to be over, to please let the pain stop, but it felt never ending as the pain that racked her body escalated. Her screams that she held in wanted to force their way out of her throat and break free of her lips making it uncontainable. But just when she couldn't hold in her violent protests he released.

Bile formed in her throat as she realized fully what just happened to her. The man let go of her, got dressed, and left without saying a word. Aracane could barely move, everything hurt, so much. She couldn't help but cry. She was weak and knew it. In some ways she felt that if she really wanted for these nights to be put to an end she would strengthen herself to over power the men that came to visit her so late into the night. She burried her face into her pillow, letting her tears soak into the material. She was so helpless. 

Aracane pulled out of her memories. Feeling disoriented and dizzy, she threw up before her whole body collapsed to the floor as she fainted. This alarmed Moonrise to a great degree. Quickly he felt the base of her neck for a pulse. When he found it he breathed a sigh of relief. Moonrise then lifted the girl from the floor, placing her in his bed. He pulled the covers over her exhausted body. 

"You are a peculiar one," he thought to himself. He crossed the room to lay by the fire, and soon fell asleep while being warmed by the blaze. 

Chapter IV

Nealan was awoken rather suddenly by a knock at his chamber doors. Agitated, he got up from the floor in front of the fireplace, the embers no longer producing any significant heat. Grogy and irritated, he practically stumbled and could not seem to keep his balance as he walked to the door that would not stop eminating such loud and horrible sounds. Rubbing his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb he opened the door to his chambers to reveal a rather attractive young woman. 

Her attire suggested the she was a coutier with the way it modestly hugged her breasts and hips, accentuating her torso, then falling to the ground in elegant pleates. Her ornaments only served to balance the outfit. As he gazed at her, she looked at him before immediately fixating her eyes on the floor before her, a pinkish red pigment revealing itself on her soft alabaster cheeks. 

Nealan took notice of this and was confused for only a moment before realizing that he had went to bed with nothing but his bottom undergarments. Though he did not waiver, he was in no way, shape, or form, embarrassed of his body. 

"Let her be embarrassed," he thought, a mental smirk spreading wide across his mind. 

"I apologize, your highness, I did not realize you had not awoken yet."

"No need to be embarrassed by my physique. Have you never seen a man's body before?" He completely disregarded her statement and apology. Nealan was known for his messing with various women, and the one before him would be no different. He took a step towards her, gently ceasing her chin between his soft fingers, fingers that had never known any true hard labor. He forced her to look at him. 

"Have you ever shared a man's bed before?" A seductive smile twisted the edges of his lips upwards. His question was suggestive and more of an invite rather than a prod. She jerked herself out of his grasp, though her blush remained on her cheeks. 

"I should have never come here. I apologize, my prince. I will be on my way."

And with that she hurridely made her way down the hall before Nelean could make any true action. 

He simply stood in the doorway to his room and shrugged

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.06.2012

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