by J J Marshall
Lost in his own thoughts, Orian stood oblivious to the footsteps approaching him. His elder brother’s stoic form loomed over him as the footsteps stopped. Orian turned, his eyes widening as a grimace formed on his face. Karsten. The brother he would never live up to. The heir to the throne. His father’s most prized possession.
And that’s just what he was, a possession, a weapon to yield. Another form of control on the Midland. On him. Karsten was the one to always jump at their father’s beck and call. Orian wondered if his father loved Karsten for those very reasons or because his brother was the image of the late Queen. Long dark hair, dark murky eyes, rimmed in blood red, the blood of the enemy. Orian chuckled at the thought. Silently, he played over his own features. Light skin, sandy hair, cerulean blue irises, the spitting image of the young King Vanderwall.
I don’t want to be like you, Orian thought. I don’t want to be father’s weapon. I don’t want to kill her. But I don’t want to die either. Karsten gleamed in his commander’s uniform. Just a year into the Consortium and he had seen war, slain many. Hands that took life now rested on Orian’s very shoulders, and he shuddered at the thought.
“Hey little brother.” Karsten’s deep voice boomed against the silence, slicing Orian away from his own lingering, bickering thoughts. Orian turned and looked into his brother’s broad form. Karsten was three feet taller than him with broad strong shoulders from training and a chiseled physique. The Midland ladies all swooned for his brother, though Karsten paid them no mind at all. Such a waste, Orian thought again. Karsten is truly broken, Empty, a shell for his father’s taking.
“What could you possibly want at this hour?” Orian hissed. “I’m busy and would like to be alone.”
“Too bad. Father would like to see you. He’s eager to know you have made the correct decision and have preparations for your training squared away.”
“Father can piss off. He will hear my decision in the morning when I stand before the Council. Until then, leave me alone.” Karsten’s grip tightened on his shoulders sending small jolts of electrified pain through his nerves and up Orian’s back.
Orian gasped. “You will watch your tongue when you speak to me.” Karsten sneered. “I will be king someday, heir to the throne, and you, you’re disposable, weak even. It would be in your best interests to do as father wishes or your pain will only increase, tenfold.” The pain in Orian’s back increased as his brother finished speaking. A warning. His brother was a damn puppet, that much he was sure of.
“Did I fucking stutter?” Orian gritted out, gnashing his teeth together as he winced in pain. Red flashes sparked beneath his eyelids as his wings began to protrude from his back.
“You stupid little boy,” Karsten hissed, removing one hand from Orian’s shoulders. The pain lessened slightly until fingers clasped around the base of his wings. Karsten yanked his wing up with brute force as Orian belted out in agony. “Let me make this very clear for you. You will choose the Consortium. Because if you don’t, I’ll save father the resources to cast you away and kill you myself. And I promise you, Orian, you will suffer.”
“You’re a monster. You’re just like him, just like…father.”
Karsten snickered. “Perhaps, but I am stronger because of it. Go see Father or your punishment will be worse.”
“My choice is made. I will do as Michael intended for us. I will protect my charge. I will keep her safe. I am a Keeper. I am a Guardian, and I will do my job or die trying as it was written in the Book of Protectors. Or did you forget, dear brother? You were assigned a human charge as well.” The pain in Orian’s back released as Karsten dropped Orian. Orian stood, dusting off his pants and turned to stare at the heir. Anger pricked just beneath the surface as Orian fought to push it down.
“Michael was a damn legend! You know the stories as well as I do! Lucifer brought with him an army of the Fallen, invaded Heaven and war broke out. Fearing the worst, Michael brought our great-great-grandfather Jasal to the Midland to spare his life. I understand the stories. I understand that they are just that, stories. I killed my human. I would do it a thousand times if it meant keeping the throne. This is my land, and one day it will be yours, too. You ought best to remember that.”
“I’d rather die than live in a land ruled by you. In a land where we kill for our own survival. Why is it that we are assigned a human to protect if the very thing we are protecting them from, is death, from our own hands?!” Orian argued, as his voice continued to grow. “If this is a matter of good and evil, then how are we any better than the humans, the fucking Fallen, if we are killing them? It seems to me that you chose the path of the Fallen, brother. Chose to kill, chose to destroy for greed, for power. You chose to be a monster…and that’s not something I can stand behind.”
Karsten smiled and placed his hand up to silence his brother. “Then you will die.” Orian watched in silence, forcing himself to keep calm as his brother’s form retreated, disappearing completely through the chamber door. He wanted to punch the stupid smile off his brother’s face. He wanted to kill Karsten for threatening him. But he needed a plan first. A plan to get to Hanna. A plan to keep her safe. What am I going to do? he asked himself once more as he turned back to stare into the dark abyss of Partheon City below.
*
Dawn approached a few hours later, as Orian readied himself for the most important day of his life. Was he ready? Things with Karsten the night before had not gone right at all and today he found himself in a great deal of pain. His wings ached with dull pains as he retracted them back into his back. He winced at the pain as his skin split. Blood oozed down his flesh from the gashes as he searched for something to stop the bleeding. Finding a piece of cloth, he wiped at the crimson liquid and tossed it to the side. I’ll clean up later…if I have a later that is.
His father was furious, this much he knew. Even though he did not see his father or get word from any servants, Orian knew. He wondered what type of torture his father would inflict on him for his blatant disrespect. Whips? Caning? Perhaps he would be sliced, that was always his father’s favorite, or burned. The possibilities were endless when it came to the king and his punishments.
What happened to him to make him this way? Orian wondered as he pulled on a white linen shirt. Surely, he wasn’t always cruel. Was he? Orian shook his head as he searched for a tie. Perhaps his mother was to blame, it was hard to say with the king where his madness originated. He was always up to something, blaming someone else for his misfortunes. Shame washed over Orian as he thought of his late mother, a woman he could barely remember. No, there was no one to blame for his father’s masochistic ways. Grabbing for a pair of dark pants, he disregarded the thought. There was no telling why the king was the way he was. But Orian knew one thing for sure, he would never be like his father. Cold, cruel, evil.
As Orian pulled on his pants, his mind wandered to her. Hanna. He sighed, wishing he knew what he was going to do. Wishing that he could meet her, see her smile, see the glint of excitement in her eyes. He smiled sadly to no one but himself, knowing that his dream would likely never come to pass. One day, he would have to watch her fade away, right before his very eyes, and he would be completely and utterly broken. His watch would be done and he would be free.
But he couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing his girl. They had a connection, even if they had never met. She was his as much as he was hers, though she would never know. Like it should be. Like it has to be.
He crossed the room to his wardrobe and threw the doors open, displaying many suit jackets for all different occasions. Some were light, a simple protection from the Midland heat, and the sand that filtered the air when a breeze picked up, others heavily jeweled for court and some were just for leisure.
He ruffled through coat after coat stopping on a jet black one, striped with thin pure silver stripes. The last time he wore this particular coat however, was when his mother had left them, though he was much smaller. His tailor must have known he would com
e back to this coat, making it the proper size for him. Thank you, Marol, he thought.
He pulled the jacket from its place and shrugged it on, waltzing to the floor length mirror on the other side of the room. He took in the sight of himself, pleased as he twisted one way and then the other, clasping the lapels. And slowly, his thoughts drifted again, back to his mother. He could hardly remember her. I miss you, Mom, he thought as he worked on sculpting his shaggy hair into something neat upon his head. What would you choose? He reached for a jar perched nearby on a shelf and unfastened it, lobbing out a decent amount of hair gel. The cool gel hardened as it hit his locks, but his sandy blond hair was neatly fashioned. Orian took one last look in the mirror, knowing these were his last few moments free. Free to be himself, free to just…breathe and smiled again, not knowing the boy who stared back at him. Not knowing his mind and if he would betray himself.
Orian jumped as a series of knocks pounded on his chamber door, ripping his mind away from its impending thoughts. He wondered briefly who it could be as his time for Selection narrowed. He crossed the room and opened the door to the busy castle halls. Servants dashed from one place to another as his eyes adjusted on a petite brunette with doe like eyes before him. She was a good four inches shorter that he and wore a black and white dress. Classic, he thought. Like something out of a human movie. Though they would never admit it, the Keepers did a lot of human things, like enjoy human movies, read human books, and even have shops in their world, though far and few.
“May I come in sire?” her voice rang. Orian perked up, turning to her, and smiled.
“You may,” he replied, gesturing for her to enter the chamber behind him. The maiden simply nodded and quietly proceeded, Orian followed. Shutting the door behind him, he realized he had never seen this maiden. She must be new, he thought. She was pretty for a castle maiden. Her hair was pulled back from her face, fastened in a high ponytail on top of her head, displaying her round features perfectly. Her eyes widened as she saw the young prince examining her, and quietly, Orian noted the blush forming on her cheeks. The norm.
They always blushed when seeing them, though he never understood why. He was not as handsome as his brother, shorter and lanky. But that never averted the attention he received from the castle maidens. He sighed again, if the ladies of Court saw me the same way. Wishful thinking.
“Is there a reason you are here?” Orian asked after several minutes of quiet. The young woman nodded, but remained silent. “Care to elaborate…with words?” The young maiden averted her gaze from Orian.
“Prince Karsten sent me to errm…distract you. Ease your mind,” the maiden shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot before looking up towards Orian. “He said that you would like me. That I was your taste.”
He smirked. How thoughtful, dear brother. Though now was hardly any time for a romp in the sack. Orian’s promiscuous reputation among the servants was rightfully so and this girl knew it.
“How kind of Karsten, though now is hardly the time for such things. Perhaps later. Please stay in my chambers, tidy up a bit, and when I return from court, you can distract me all you like.”
The brunette smiled. “Prince Vanderwall, if it is not too bold, I must tell you that you look dashing. Any woman you chose to be your queen would be very lucky!” she nearly whispered, her voice so quiet that Orian could barely register it. Laughter burst from the young prince so hard he nearly doubled over as the maiden looked on in confusion.
“As if I would get the right to choose. You do speak boldly, my dear,” he nearly cried. “I must be going. Though, I would watch who you speak so boldly to. Anyone else in court would cut out your tongue for speaking as such. I however am kinder than most.” He turned away from the maiden and once more opened the door, thrusting himself into the busy corridors.
The corridors were muddled with chambermaids and castle workers as Orian pushed his way towards the Throne Room, where his father and the Council would be seated waiting to hear his decision. His fucking stupid decision. He seethed at the thought. He had successfully evaded his father’s pursuit for an answer before his Selection, but now time was up.
Sunshine filtered through the columns that lined the outskirts of the corridors, giving Orian the perfect view of the sandy city below. A slight breeze tickled his skin, dusting him with the lightest of sand. Orian stopped, blinking several times before wiping the sand from his eyes. They burned, but he was used to it.
Living in Partheon City was living in a beautiful hell. He always wondered why his father never built a palace in the Ethereal Mountains and made his kingdom there with the greenery and crisp mountain air, but he guessed it was tradition that held his father to Partheon and tradition that cursed his decisions.
The halls emptied the closer Orian came to the Throne Room as buzzing noises echoed through the emptied corridor. Orian could hear the laughter, the voices of Court as he approached the end of the hall. Before him stood a large black door covered in wrought iron vines that twisted into the knobs of the door. Orian sucked in a final deep breath and wrapped his fingers around the vines. Their cool sensation burning at his fingertips. Orian’s wings ached beneath his shirt as he stood before the door. The power of court pulsed through the vines into him, threatening him to make the correct decision.
Quickly Orian shut his eyes. Just relax. Just relax, he told himself over and over, wishing he would believe the words, wishing his body would obey. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. The door before him swung open as Orian opened his eyes.
*
The room was lit brightly by the early morning sun, something that was never really seen in this place of meeting, but today was a special day after all. Rays of light casted shadows on the walls, revealing the large amounts of people that sat waiting for the young prince. A large soft red carpet laid down an aisle way towards the podium and on the right of that, sat the king. Chairs and spectators streamed the walls as thousands appeared to hear the young prince’s decision.
Holy shit, he thought as he began to walk, slowly taking in the view as he listened to the chatter of the people he walked past. He stopped briefly to hug a few spectators, something that would make him look admirable, as he made his way to the podium. But as he got close, he began to hear unwelcoming comments. People comparing him to his brother or to his father and this lit a fire within his already nervous belly.
“I heard his brother cut down sixty Renegades in one swift swoop of his sword. I hope he can live up to the Vanderwall name,” he heard one spectator say. Orian stopped and faced the man. What the hell? Karsten is well…Karsten. But I am nothing like him!
“Do you have something to say?” He sneered. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut, or I’ll be forced to shut it for you.”
Confusion crossed the man’s face as the smile that placated his lips disappeared. He frowned at the young prince, which irked Orian even more. He knew that fighting a commoner would be frowned upon, but in that moment, he did not care. Just smile and nod, he told himself. Then later, we can screw whomever we wish. Opening his lips, he flashed a pearly white smile, as to not upset any nearby people and continued to make his way up towards the front of the room. Finally reaching the end of the carpet, Orian faced the Skeletal Man, his beady yellow eyes bearing into Orian’s. Orian flinched. His scrutiny was unbearable, but something that Orian would have to overcome. The Skeletal Man raised his mallet and brought it down with a large boom, commanding silence from the Keepers. People all around quickly ceased their chattering, waiting for the words of the Skeletal Man to give the podium over to Orian.
“Today we meet here to find out the decision of young Vanderwall. He is to choose the Consortium set out by his father or be cast to Earth and die. With that being said, Orian Percival Vanderwall, Son of Irisi and Kyrina Vanderwall, my grandson, please make your way over and declare your decision before the Midland and the Elders,” the Skeletal man chimed. Orian’s blood ran cold as goose pimples began to form on
his arms. He shivered, but only for a brief moment as he struggled to keep bile down.
He closed his eyes, focusing only on his decision and…Hanna. The image of her brought his pulse to an even pace. He was calm. He was ready. He opened his eyes and took a final deep breath before nodding to his grandfather, the Skeletal Man, as he made his way over to the podium.
“Lord Elders, Keepers of the Midland. Please excuse my past outburst. From this day forward, I live to serve you.” Orian spoke loud and clear, hoping the Elder’s believed every word he spoke, hoping that he believed them as well. His words echoed through the War room as the Keepers maintained their silence. “My choice is clear. My choice is, and will always be, the Consortium.”
Applause and cheers erupted from the audience as Orian took a bow and moved away from the podium. His heart was hammering against his chest. Searching the room, Orian’s eyes landed on his father and elder brother as they granted him an approving nod of their heads. Feeling his lips move towards his cheeks, Orian flashed the crowd an award-winning smile and waited for what would happen next. Cheers rang louder than ever and Orian felt a small brief burst of pride as he stood before the Keepers, but an even bigger pang of regret.
Mercurial was delighted as he strode up to his youngest grandson, placing his hand upon Orian’s shoulder. He gave him a nod of approval. His tall lanky figure towered Orian and made him feel quite uncomfortable being in close proximity.
“Alas, a decision has been made! Today, we celebrate our future king’s choice and our reigning king’s right to the throne!” Mercurial bellowed. Applause and cheers erupted once more through the War Room as Orian moved away from the Skeletal Man. He made his way back down the aisle, high-fiving and hugging Keepers as he passed. The only thing he wanted to do was to return to his chambers, sink onto his bed, and wallow in his own self-pity. He felt like a coward. No, he was a coward for choosing the Consortium. He was sentencing Hanna to her unknowing death.
