To King Orsak, Kaira had become an unavoidable thorn; an unpleasant part of his life as King, just as the rotting smell that rises from the boiling of roots and leaves was an inescapable part of medicine. He had grown to accept her presence about the castle; he had come to learn to avoid her gaze when in public or at regal ceremonies. When passing her during his daily walk on the courtyard, he visibly turned his back and walked in the opposite direction. He resented her charm; he loathed her popularity. She displayed to the kingdom all the qualities he had hoped to see in his own son, the one who in his plan would be King. And it infuriated him. The strong contempt he once had for the princess turned to vile anger, one he wore like an irremovable scarf one continues to toss back behind one’s shoulder.
Orsak’s only consolation, the only reason for Kaira to subsist, was the undying obsession that she would bear him a grandson. With this possibility on the horizon, serving as a means with which to circumvent his curse, he designed a plan for the princess’s inevitable marriage to Sir Archer on her nineteenth birthday.
On the autumn of her eighteenth year, Kaira fell in love with Alen, a craftsman from the village of Gracia. Their eyes met for the first time in the meadow, on a bright afternoon.
Kaira had trained her stallion within the confines of the castle courtyard and had not yet ridden him in the meadow. She yearned to take him on an open field where he would gallop with her urging him to use all the strength of his legs.
As she followed the road away from the castle, the sound of the iron gate closing behind her, she kept the stallion at a trot. Her hair, dark, long, was blown wildly by the gusting wind and she found it difficult to keep its strands out of her eyes. As she reached the valley and the meadow opened before her, she pulled the horse to a halt. She patted his neck affectionately. Sweeping the hair out of her face, Kaira did not notice the young man sitting under a tree on the roadside.
"Good afternoon, Milady," his voice, startling her, caused her to draw the shortsword she carried at her side. A small detail she insisted on adding to her daily wardrobe, the sword was light and strong. She had learned to wield it as effortlessly as a knight did his broadsword.
"Hey," the young man said, standing, his arms out, his palms turned toward her. "I offer sincerest apologies if I alarmed you."
Kaira looked at him, the wind tossing her hair against her face. She turned her horse to face the castle, trying to place the wind behind her. She kept her sword pointed at the thin man.
"There is no need to feel threatened," he said. "I was only resting on my way home."
She lowered her sword and rested it across her lap, making sure he could still see it.
"It is quite alright to speak, if you’d like, Milady." He walked toward her and she pointed the sword in his direction again. "But if you prefer not to," the young man said, stepping back with his hands up by his shoulders.
"Who are you?" she asked. "What are you doing here? Where are you going?"
The young man smiled hesitantly at the urgency in her voice, then responded, "Alen. As I said, I was resting right over there, under that shady tree, before continuing on my way home."
Kaira took in a deep breath and as she let it out realized she had responded harshly only because of her surprise at seeing him.
He appeared like a simple, young man with broad shoulders and a gentle face. Appearances were certainly deceiving, but Kaira’s instincts told her the man could be trusted—at least to partake in just a casual conversation.
"Home is the village of Gracia, before you cut it out of me," he said.
She blushed slightly and put the shortsword away. She dismounted from the stallion and walked toward Alen.
"Now, it is I who offers sincere apologies," she said, sounding calm.
Alen grew visibly nervous at the sound of her voice; as if it were unlike the voice of any woman he had ever heard. In its serene state, that voice carried a confidence that he found both rattling and exciting.
"I am Kaira," she said, bowing her head slightly.
He blinked and almost took a step back as a reaction to her gesture. It was customary for all women in Paraysia to bow humbly in the presence of a man. Yet, this arresting young woman with the voice of a— yes, a queen; that is what Alen had thought, she has the voice of a queen—this beautiful apparition not only drew a sword in defense when startled, she also acted casually toward age-old traditions. He liked her instantly and loved her shortly thereafter.
"I am honored to meet—" he began, then suddenly realized what she had said, the name she had given. "Kaira," he stammered. "As in the Princess?"
She smiled at his realization. "The same."
"Milady." He bowed deeply, making a passing mental note of the irony; he had expected humility from her and now it was he who eagerly bent at the knees. His heart hammered in his chest. "Indeed, an honor."
"Please," Kaira placed a hand on his shoulder, beckoning him to stand straight. "No more formalities."
"As you wish, Your Highness" he said, beginning to bow his head once more, then laughed. His laughter was free and unconstrained; the sort of cheerfulness she rarely witnessed within the castle walls. She laughed with him and enjoyed the sound their voices made.
"If I may," Alen said. "I would like, I mean, it would be my honor, if I could accompany you to the castle gate."
Kaira hesitated a moment then smiled as she accepted his offer. She was taken by his attentiveness and soon forgot she had not yet taken her stallion for the intended ride.
A short distance away from the castle, they stood with the eyes of the guards at their backs, talking still.
"We must part," she said to him. "Or the guards will have more than just a casual conversation about which to tell the King."
He opened his mouth to respond then closed it quickly, having nothing to say, sighing deeply instead as he forced the thought of kissing a princess out of his mind.
As Kaira mounted her horse, Alen proposed they meet again two days later, under the same tree. She smiled in response, saying nothing, and rode up the hill to the castle.
When they met again, under the shadow of the oak tree, a friendship sparked to life. It would last several months. It would end in a secret marriage.
Alen and Kaira met often at the valley, spending many afternoons riding through the meadow, or sitting beneath a covering of branches. They kept their growing love secluded while Orsak arranged Kaira’s wedding to Sir Archer without her knowledge. When a year passed and their love had grown too tall to hide underneath trees, they rode to Gracia and were married by a local priest who knew Alen since childhood.
They returned to the castle, determined to face the King, aware he would not approve of their marriage but believing even he would recognize the solemnity of their union. They hoped that her father would be helpless to stop something that had already been done. Over love and marriage a King had no jurisdiction.
In Orsak’s eyes, the King did have power over love, marriage, and all other things. When the princess entered the Throne Room with the peasant holding her hand, he shook his head violently in refusal of the news of his daughter marrying without his consent.
"You are to marry Sir Archer," the King bellowed. "A ceremony is planned for the first day of winter." He demanded that Alen leave the castle, that instant, if he valued his life, never to see Kaira again.
"He is my husband," Kaira reminded him. "And he will not leave the castle unless I shall leave with him."
It was some time before Orsak responded.
"Then, you will," he grumbled in a surprisingly low voice. "You have two days to leave my kingdom, forever."
After they left the King’s presence, Kaira led Alen to the courtyard.
"I regret having caused you such distress," Alen said as they walked toward the gate.
"Oh, no; you’ve given me nothing but happiness," Kaira responded. She stopped and turned to face him. She caressed his face and the softness of her hand soothed his uncertain heart.
"I shall finally be free of my father’s looming shadow."
"But you have worked so diligently to combat his oppression. Now, you will no longer be able to influence him and—"
Kaira shook her head. "I have done nothing of benefit for this kingdom; I have only softened his indignation of me."
"You give this kingdom hope," Alen said forcefully. "You illuminate the castle with your energy and the life that radiates from you; and in that quiet lucidity we have seen that a better future is possible."
"So what am I to do, ignore your love and allow him to cast you out of the kingdom, out of my life? Never," Kaira snapped. It would be the only display of anger he would ever see from her. "I shall focus on our love and our future, not on Paraysia, not on—"
"We shall do both," said Alen. "We shall build a life together, outside of the King’s shadow." Eagerness sparkled in his eyes when Kaira turned to look at him. "But we shall never forget our kingdom. We’ll fight against him from afar. Somehow, we’ll find a way to free the kingdom. But first, we must free ourselves."
Kaira nodded and wrapped her arms around him. Alen held her tightly and closed his eyes.
"We’ll leave for Norcia the morning after next," she whispered before kissing Alen deeply.
The next day, early in the afternoon, Alen rode alone to Gracia to bid his family farewell. The western sky was turning a dark gray and he hoped that the oncoming storm would pass quickly and not hinder their sailing to Norcia the next morning.
As he came upon the old oak under which he had sat so often and dreamed, he dismounted and thought of the day in which he and Kaira had met. Beside this same tree he had first spoken to her. He had been taken by her beauty and then enamored by her entire being.
He sighed as he gave the tree a silent goodbye and took hold of the reins, ready to mount again. As he stood running his fingers through the horse’s mane, a pebble hit the side of Alen’s foot as if it had rolled from the side of the road and his boot had unexpectedly gotten in its way. He turned toward the tree with an accusatory look in his eye, expecting some small creature to be watching him mockingly. There was nothing but the shadows of branches dancing on the ground. He turned his head back to his horse and a hard fist met it violently. Alen’s head rocked back and as he stepped away, anticipating another hit, he fell. The packed dirt and rocks that covered the road welcomed him harshly, sending a lightning bolt of pain through his back.
The hard fist belonged to a tall, ugly man with broken teeth and cuts on his face. Alen looked at him, dazed for a moment, searching his mind for some recognition, but none came. He did not know him. He did not know what he wanted.
The assailant stepped forward and Alen promptly kicked him on the knee. The man grunted and stepped back as Alen rose to his feet.
"What do you want?" Alen asked, his hands up, his fingers forming relaxed fists. He would be ready if the bull-necked stranger moved toward him again.
The man breathed heavily as he dealt with the pain on his knee. He grinned slyly then smiled broadly, proudly displaying the empty places teeth no longer occupied.
"What are you grinning at, you—"
A sudden blow to the back of the head cut off Alen’s words. He fell forward, bringing his hands up, closing his eyes at the shock that ran through his shoulders and arms. He got up on his knees just before a foot, he was no longer sure who or what was hitting him, struck him hard on the ribs, doubling him over once again.
He coughed and shook his head, taking short breaths.
Alen heard two voices mumbling and quickly ran through a plan in his head; a way in which he would stand and deal with his two attackers. He took in his hand a stone from the road as he continued to cough and held it tightly within a fist. He shook his head again, more to give the appearance of being dazed than to actually clear it. He rose, springing toward the closest voice he heard.
He caught the ugly man with the scars on the chin as he came up, hitting him with the fist containing the stone. The man brought his hands to his face and fell on his back, blood flowing from his mouth.
Alen turned quickly to his right, where he had heard the second voice, and met the second attacker, who was lunging for him with arms spread as if eagerly wanting to embrace him. Alen’s elbow hit the man squarely on the chest, putting some distance between them as the man staggered backward.
Alen took a second to assess his situation.
Approaching from the right, he saw a third figure, this one holding something out in front of him. Alen did not think, he simply reacted, throwing the stone swiftly at the approaching man. The stone hit the third attacker on the left eye, causing him to turn his head with a cry. Then, he kept coming. Behind the third man, Alen saw yet another assailant.
Four, he thought as he turned to face them.
"You can make this difficult, young man," a voice interrupted from behind. "But we shall finish our job, regardless."
Five.
A pair of hands pushed him from behind, closer to the man who Alen now realized held a sword.
He stood, gasping for air, as the five men stood around him.
"And so," Alen asked, "what is your job?"
"Be quiet," said the one with the cuts on his face; his voice was high and nothing like what Alen had expected.
Alen glanced toward his horse and saw yet another man, this one small and thin, rummage through the bags he had hung over the horse’s back.
"Take what you wish," Alen said, the beat of his heart slowing down from its previously rapid stammer. "But I guarantee there is not enough for the lot of you to share."
"We told you to keep quiet," the man with the sword growled, stepping closer still.
Alen sighed and glanced down at the sword—a broad, heavy sword with a blade that glimmered in the sunlight. It seemed recently polished.
He thought of this a moment and wondered from whom a thief might have acquired such an elegant weapon. That type of sword was not unlike the swords worn by the—.
Alen blinked and gasped as he looked toward the handle of the sword, seeing what in the back of his mind he knew was there: the engraved Royal shield.
He raised his eyes to meet those of the man standing before him.
"That is quite a sword," Alen said. "Do you think the guard you stole it from misses it?"
The man grinned. "No," he said after a while. "But I do miss using it."
Suddenly, strong hands grabbed each of Alen’s wrists and pulled his arms back, stretching his shoulders.
"Perhaps you will help me to put it to good use again."
Alen groaned as his arms ached.
"What in the world do you want?" Alen asked.
He felt pressure on the center of his back, a knee perhaps, as the unseen hands pushed his face forward.
"It is not what we want," said the man standing to his left; he was a faint figure in Alen’s peripheral vision.
"It’s what the King wants." The man stepped close to him and whispered in his ear, "The King wants you dead."
Alen’s eyes opened wide with realization.
"Kaira," he moaned as the sword passed through him.
"You," Kaira yelled as she pushed the heavy doors of the Throne Room open. The King sat in his usual comfort, Malden stood to his left. "You killed him."
"My dear," Malden said in a soothing voice. "The King does not wish to be disturbed; the guards should have told you—"
"You know I love him and you killed him." Kaira pointed her finger at the King as she marched through the marble floor toward the throne. "You—"
Malden stepped in front of her and in the same soothing voice said, "Princess, you should go."
Kaira looked at Malden, her breathing short, accelerated. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. His were cold and seemed to grin at her.
"The King is not in good spirits this morning and I am afraid you will only upset him further. Please, go."
She glanced at Orsak, who sat with his arms crossed and his eyes focused on th
e floor. She turned to look at Malden again, as if his words were in a foreign language.
"But, he—," Kaira protested.
"Child," Malden said, all soothing now gone from his voice. It remained stern with a hint of calm. "I do not know of what you speak." She watched his eyes follow hers from side to side. "And I am sure the King does not know either."
She looked at Orsak again, keeping her gaze on him for more than a moment this time. She watched as he uncrossed his arms and brought one hand to play with his beard. She watched him stroke the thick hair and thought she saw the flicker of a smile upon his lips.
"Now," Malden took her by the shoulders and turned her around. She let him, her mind replaying the image of Orsak’s smile— the first genuine smile she had ever seen on his lips. “You should go.”
Malden walked her toward the double doors where two guards stood facing each other, waiting for her. He guided her and pushed her gently at the same time. And she let him. She let him because her mind was too focused on that smile; too busy studying intently the way it had surfaced so demurely, so casually, yet so unmistakably purposeful. She realized he had orchestrated that smile the same way he orchestrated all that was around him. He had waited patiently, with his head down, listening to the anger, the desperation, the passion in her voice as she accused him of Alen’s death, for the moment in which he could provide her with a subtle display of satisfaction; satisfaction at knowing she was suffering.
Kaira stopped walking. Malden’s arm attempted to pull her forward but her body did not move.
Malden turned, angrily, toward the princess. She stood there, with her gaze past the open doors.
"I am pregnant," she said. "I am to have a child." She heard the soft sound of Orsak’s cloak rub against the silk lining of the throne as he stood. "His child."
She sensed him watching her, wanting to lash out at her in fury but finding conflict in the sudden anticipation of a grandson; his grandson; an heir.
She looked at Malden and noticed his eyes glance at Orsak before he stepped back, out of her way.
Dragon Fire Page 14
