A/n: This chapter will contain many potential triggers and descriptions or hints at characters' severe past traumatic events, ranging from SA to mutilation. If that is not something you can or want to handle, I respect that entirely. A majority of the larger and important details will be spoken about at the end in a tamer format, and I will try and mark the line that transition occurs. Thank you for reading and your patience. *Bow gratefully*
With love,
Elise Toxina.
....
The King was rather glad to have not found the prince yet in their halls. He stood in the open door of his own chambers. Great and powerful doors were nothing but splinters of former glory shattered across the floor. His dragonbone flooring was now covered in the sizzle of his wife's powerful acid magic, and their furniture had been scorched so completely that the room resembled the aftermath of a wild fire. Even their bed sizzled into a nearly melted puddle on the floor.
And there she was. His beloved bride. His queen and glory. Her hair was completely gone, melted away with much of her skin as she hung from the wall in an inverted stigmata. Wrists, both ankles, and a final blade of blackened steel and silver run right through her heart. Her insides lay spilled out across her sides where her ribs had been pulled open and hung on, like cannibalistic cooking racks, and seared to near molten states. Two, however, were missing. Her reproductive organs had been visibly severed, and they had been hung around her throat like a twisted noose. The grimmest sight of all were the words burned into the burnt and broken stones.
"Witch Breeder."
.....
"What's going on..?" Edan muttered as every torch in the castle lit up and blaring horns of longhorn bulls woke every soldier for miles with a trained alertness. Some still stumbled from the prior night's ale or bedmate, but they scrambled out all the same as they leaped on one foot to dress boot and blade briskly.
"What's happening?" His companion lady asked, confused. Edan couldn't hear her now. He was watching quietly at the barracks for a signal flare. A colored flare. He saw the launching candle go up and then burn silver.
"...mother..." Edan took off toward the castle in a sprint, the shouts of his companion lost in the rush of wind as his boots glowed. The ground shifted with each step to kick off perfectly, like clay being molded and then firmed by delicate hands. It could not be real. "My lady!" He shouted, feeling the fire in his veins like hot magma as he launched himself over wall and rampart with ease, ignoring the brief shake of pain in his muscles as he landed just outside the barracks and began a similarly mad dash into the palace.
His mind popped and burst with worries. It could not be true. His mother was an astounding mage and a grander woman. No one could or would even lay a finger on her. She has fought to let his battle sisters keep their arms even into the new era. She had funded sciences and libraries across the entirety of infern, and she ensured the palace coffers held nothing until everyone in at least the main city was well fed.
She was a paragon. Surely, she must only be injured. A lucky wound from a poor and sickly soul. He would cross these land armor filled halls, their torch lights oddly harsh and sweat inducing tonight, and find her at their wedding door smiling. There would be a mess. There would be a laugh. Surely, She -
Aelfrun caught Edan's arm just before he turned the corner and pulled him in close. Her small frame still held strength she should not, even as Edan resisted with a slight panic. "Aelfrun, come now. I saw the flare, and I just came to check in on our mother."
"Edan..." She whispered in a raspy tone. It was so fitting of her, in a way. It made her sound like she had been screaming, but there surely hadn't been a battle that grand.
"Come on, Frun. Come on, let me go check on Mother." He started to push a little harder. Why was she holding him? Why was her face wet?
"Edan... I can't..."
"Aelfrun, let me see Mother."
"No..."
"Frun!"
"I can't..." Her grip grew shakey, fingers white knuckles on his chest. "I can't... I will not let my brother willingly march into this branding... not you, Edan..." She pressed her face against his chest, all her shaking weight holding him back.
"...Frun..." Slowly, the prince took began to feel his cheeks grow wet. His arms circled the smaller woman, taking her in as he clamped shut his eyes. "Shh.." He muttered, as best as the sobs that were building in his throat would allow. "S..shh... I... I have you..."
Many heard a pair of horrible wails that night that did not cease until dawn, and many wondered if that was only drowned out by the march of the mourning crowds.
....
"How did this HAPPEN?!" Shouted Kore as her metal clad hands threw her chair across the war council hall. Black onyx walls, shimmering with special red fire torches that never ceased burning and made water instead of smoke in the air. It shattered with ease against the rounded wall, not too far from their sun modeled black table, that had the heads of most of their warriors pressed into in shame. Only Aida and Kore, who had left for the evening, were openly in an active fury, for they held no blame. They had been told by the queen herself to fetch something from their neighboring town of Yuveli, with her signature to prove it.
"How did you idiots let someone get so close that they destroyed an entire door without alerting you." Aida asked, but any who spoke felt like they would be stabbed. Maybe not with steel, but by words and eyes.
One brave soul gulped, raising his head. Buzzed flat hair with a civilian stitched hat he had remade quite a number of times. He was heavier in the face and just as much in strength. A shorter man with hazel blue eyes that Aida knew to be Sir Lynn. A trusted man, his eyes were heavy with guilt at this failing, so Aida didn't shout down as he began to speak.
"I believe it was an inside job." He gulped quietly, playing with a small cross on his neck. "I think someone in the church has gotten angry with the acceptance of witches in the empire."
"Mages." Kore corrected, narrowing her gaze at the knight. He was only Edan's age, but a dutiful paladin known for his dedication. Though, he had a reputation for clashing with clergy and was often known as the Hermit Paladin, as he detected any use of money in church matters. He had been a staunch advocate for a separation as well, keeping people's association with their god something private and personal instead of something shouted like a devotion contest.
"Well. Either way, I think someone was disgruntled. Pissed even, and they knew when the guard would be changing. We found no marks 'long the wall from hooks or grapplers. No sign of picking on any of the gates, and the sewers have all been picked clean. Not a one bar with file marks." He leaned back against his chair, green hauberk emblazened with a great tree on it stretching a little as he rested his folded hands on the table. "No way they got in without having access already."
"And... You suspect the church?" Kore raised a brow, glancing at his necklace.
"My feelings with the lord allmighty aside," reciting a soft prayer, "I don't trust any one of those coffers sniffing posers. They would use any chance to assert power and twist the allmighty's words to suppress other ways of making miracles sound right up their alley."
Aida contemplated this. It was a well thought out stance, and the king would be more willing to open the church's doors for investigation with someone on the inside blowing the whistle. Still, the church was dangerous and powerful. They held great control and wealth across their country, and it would not be awfully hard for an investigation to lead to excommunication of the whole of Infern, which would complicate over half their alliances. None of this would be easy to settle, especially if Lynn was right.
...
Nuru sat silently on the bed of his chamber now, locked inside until an investigation could be taken into the queen's killer. He had shouted such sudden and nasty things when Edan had run, and now his to guess felt so raw with the acid of them. Petty little things about rudeness that felt so pathetic now. Maryjane slept behind him, hugging her selected favorite of the thick pillows. She had been rather upset by the news. A deep hater of violence.
Worst of all, he had heard the prince had been very close with his mother. He had also heard the state of her body had been monstrous, and he had not bothered to read beyond the starting header describing it. He had been given a missive detailing the incident as few genuinely thought Nuru was a culprit. A few in the church had gotten noisey, but the king had clearly sounded in his tone that he was doing this as a peacekeeping formality. He would be out by dinner.
He hoped for a chance to see Edan again. He was an enjoyable conversationalist, even if his wit at times left one unsure whether to giggle or to roll his eyes, though never quite crass and nasty. He didn't want to see the man a rumbling wreck, but he genuinely doubted the prince would be out of his chambers. So, perhaps he could sneak out and find something to help cheer him up. It could help their political situation. It also would be perfect to solidify the chance father wanted him to cease here, even if he had hoped for a way to slip out of it.
Sadly, the princess was the only avenue there, and she had been rather distant since Nuru arrived. She had mostly been seen with her personal council, a trio of rather rough looking women that seemed better suited to battlefields than ballrooms. Still, political marriages were often sealed by opportunity or tragedy, and Nuru saw an opportunity here to use this. He would befriend this prince and learn how to really woo this princess, and meanwhile, he could use that disguise again to learn more on the prince personally. It would make befriending the silly man easier. Nuru grinned softly, his mind circling along ideas of how to take this opportunity.
If all he had to do was bed this princess once or twice to produce an heir, he would settle for this mossy smelly homeland to secure his home. His people...
His hand lightly fell onto the sleeping Maryjane's ankle, lightly running his fingers across his skin. She hadn't applied her body lotion and concealing powder today, so the ragged scars along her feet and ankles were vivid. They made her beautiful skin look so cracked and damaged, like knife marks on a porcelain plate. They stretched up, first ragged like gravel torn at skin, turning into whip scars and worse still along her inner thigh. They had done more than violated his lover. They had stolen something so sacred to her that she had nearly done the unthinkable in the Nile once. He could never let her face what he had rescued her from again. Not her, not anyone. Even if it meant being in a different kind of cage all alone, he would have her there.
It would be enough. His fingers lightly traced over the scars at her shoulder blades. She would be enough. He would never let her be less, again.
...
A/n: Thank you for reading through if you have, and thank you for respecting yourself if you could not.