by Ella Ardent
I had the fanciful thought that if I touched the delicate box, it might disappear. It didn’t seem to be real to me. It didn’t seem reasonable that the king sent a gift to me, either. I lifted the box in my hands and felt something move inside it. My mother waited, watching. I touched the red gem, which was cool and smooth, and opened the lid.
A pair of small yellow birds erupted from the box, and I cried out in surprise. They flew around the hut in opposite directions, but I realized they weren’t frightened. They made three circuits, warbling beautifully as they did so.
My mother paled and sat down hard, but I was intrigued by the birds. I’d never seen anything like them. There are birds in the forest and in the garden, of course. They don’t make the pretty sounds these birds did. They don’t look like treasures. They’re brown, not the color of sunlight, and sturdy, not so delicate and fine.
I put out my hand and one bird landed on my finger. I barely felt its weight. It looked at me, its dark eyes shining, then looked at the other bird. I smiled, enchanted by them, put down the box, then stretched out my other hand. The second bird landed there, and they both regarded me.
They began to sing of one accord, their voices so much louder than could have been expected. From these two tiny creatures, a glorious melody erupted, filling the hut to bursting. I was captivated.
I’d never heard or seen anything like them.
And yet, I felt as if I’d heard their song before. It seemed both familiar and alien.
“Golden Lovebirds,” my mother said tightly when their song ended. “See the red mark on their breasts?”
I lifted my hands and looked. There was a tiny crimson mark on the breast of each bird, and I suppose a whimsical person could have thought the marks resembled hearts. “I do!”
“I’ll guess they’re a mating pair,” my mother said bitterly.
I didn’t understand. “Is that important?” I frowned at the birds. One had begun to polish its beak on the tip of my finger. Its touch was so gentle as to be hard to discern. “Are they important?”
“He sends them as a mark of his favor.”
“But why would the king favor me?”
My mother regarded me with narrowed eyes, then indicated the box. I sensed that she wasn’t telling me something, but that was familiar enough. “Is there a message?”
I looked and saw an envelope, made of paper marvelous and fine. “There is.” I had the birds on my hands, though, and shrugged at my mother in my helplessness. I didn’t want to hurt them, and they seemed disinclined to move.
She sighed and rose from her chair. She left the door open when she left the hut, so I knew she’d return quickly. I turned my back on the open door, trying to shelter the birds from the cold draft, and moved closer to the fire. They sang again and I imagined that they were pleased.
My mother slammed the door on her return. To my surprise, she carried a gilded cage, one that was as high as the table. It was covered with cobwebs and dust, but she made short work of cleaning it. There were perches within it, and I was amazed that she possessed such an item.
How was it that I had never seen it before?
She hung the cage from a hook on the ceiling. As a child, I’d wondered at the purpose of that hook and never known. She then set a bowl of seed and another of water within the cage, as if she’d tended to such birds a thousand times before. There was so much authority in her movements that when she came to me and offered a finger to one bird, I didn’t interfere. The bird hopped onto her finger and she lifted it to the door of the cage. It looked to one side and then the other, then flew inside. The other soon joined it and my mother closed and latched the gilded door.
They explored the cage, sipped of the water, tasted a seed, then fluttered to the highest perch and chirped to each other. I imagined that they were discussing their accommodations, and thought they approved. I smiled, watching them.
My mother tapped the table with an impatient fingertip and I remembered the message.
I’d never imagined that the king had noticed me. I never expected that he knew the date of my birthday, or even that I was coming of age in a week. But it seemed that he kept a closer eye on his people than I had previously believed. I read the invitation twice, then sat down before the fire to read it again.
“So?” my mother asked.
“I’m invited to spend the Yule at the palace, in honor of my coming of age,” I said, unable to keep the astonishment from my voice. “The king bids me to come to his gates immediately, to be his guest!”
My mother nodded, so unsurprised that I thought this must be a ritual I’d known nothing about. Until now. “And so it begins,” she said beneath her breath.
I clearly wasn’t intended to hear her, and given her mood of late, I was reluctant to ask for more detail. The birds burst into song then, filling the hut with a joyous song that echoed the delight in my own heart.
I was to go to the palace.
To stay as the king’s guest.
At the Yule, and at the same time as a party from Imperium.
My life was changing because I was coming of age.
I hurried to gather my few belongings, kissed my mother farewell, and went to share the news with Helena before walking to the palace. What marvels would await me there?
The king himself greeted me at the gates to the palace. Undoubtedly he had been summoned by the boy who’d run across the bailey when I approached the outer gates, but I was humbled to find him waiting for me.
The carriages and wagons from Imperium were in the bailey, though it appeared their occupants had gone into the palace. Men were unloading the baggage and casks, and that knight supervised the work. He turned to consider me, smiled, then turned back to his task.
It occurred to me that something was afoot, that I had been singled out for some reason other than my coming of age, and I felt a shiver of dread. The king often paused at our hut when he rode to hunt, accepting a cup of ale from my mother, and I always assumed this was because our hut was last before the forest—or because my mother’s ale was the best. He was king. He could demand whatever he desired of any resident of his realm.
I came at his summons because it was both gift and command.
Now I stood before him and wondered why he had called me.
At his gesture, I approached and bowed when I was immediately before him.
I waited for his word.
I had never seen him at such proximity before. My mother usually dispatched me on an errand when the king stopped at our hut. We were of similar height, both of us tall, and while his shoulders were as broad as mine, I was yet slimmer through the waist. Undoubtedly the fare was better in his hall than in my mother’s hut. His hair was silver, as wavy as mine, and his eyes a clear, if frosty, blue. He was dressed all in black, as was his custom, his tabard of silken velvet rich and his tall black boots polished to a gleam.
“Welcome home, Royce,” he said, amusement in his tone.
There was no such humor in his gaze, however. It was cold and assessing, and for a moment, I feared his intent.
“Home, your majesty?” I echoed, when he appeared to be waiting for my reply.
His eyes narrowed, as if he expected me to lie to him. “She never told you, did she?”
I had no answer, for I didn’t understand the question.
“Do you know why you are here, Royce?”
“Because you invited me, sir.”
“Do you know why I invited you?”
“Perhaps because I will come of age at the Yule, though I don’t understand why you have singled me out for such notice.”
“She didn’t tell you. At least she left me that pleasure.” The king chuckled and turned, striding into the palace and summoning me to follow him. I hesitated and a footman hissed at me, jerking his head after the king. The knight from Imperium chuckled, as if I were a hopeless rustic.
I hastily followed the king, trying to avoid marveling openly at the splendor of the palace. It was
difficult, because the interior of the palace was so much richer than any place I had ever seen before. The king was already striding up a curved staircase, its steps of smooth marble and its banister elaborately carved of dark wood. I caught up to him at the top of the stairs, a little out of breath, where he had halted before a massive painting.
It was twice the height of either of us, framed in gold, and portrayed the king himself. In the image, he stood, one foot on a stool, a great sword bound to his belt, a lavish cloak pinned to his shoulder, and a gleaming crown upon his head. He looked bold and invincible, every inch a king and commander. My heart thrilled with loyalty at the very sight.
“My coronation portrait,” he said, surveying the painting, then turned to me. He had that assessing light in his eyes again. “Remind you of anyone?”
I looked more closely at the royal visage portrayed there and started. The king was younger and his hair was golden in this portrait, which made all the difference. I saw the resemblance I had missed earlier.
Save for the stern line of his mouth and the ice in his gaze, it could have been an image of me.
I couldn’t look upon it any longer, for the sight awakened a chill deep inside me. How could this be? I turned to him, seeking a confirmation of the suspicion I couldn’t even think.
“You are my son, Royce,” the king said with some impatience. “You will be made the crown prince and my heir on your coming of age. You are here to train for your legacy.”
I was astonished to silence. Did one thank a king for offering one’s birthright? For being one’s father? Did one criticize a king for being absent for twenty years, the entirety of one’s life? And what of my mother? Why would she keep such a detail secret?
I had an unwelcome sense that I was a pawn in some game between the two, and I did not like it. Again I had that sense of unease, as if I knew a detail of critical importance but had forgotten it.
The king was watching me and I knew I’d been silent too long.
“She never told me, sir,” I said quietly, shaken by this tale. I took a breath and met his gaze. “Are you certain it is true, sir?”
One silver brow rose. “I am, for I see my younger self in you. Your appearance tells no lie.” He turned away, indicating with that same impatience that I should follow. “In your place, I might have had words for the father who had not deigned to acknowledge me for almost twenty years. Suffice it to say that your mother didn’t want anyone to know.” His voice hardened. “Not even me.”
Surely he had known where he had planted his prick, and surely he could count the months to nine. It seemed to me that it wouldn’t have been very hard for him to find out, but I sensed the treason in that notion and bit my tongue.
The king snapped his fingers and two servants appeared out of nowhere, both clad in his black livery. They bowed, then one opened a heavy wooden door. I was presented with a key by the other, presumably to the lock upon the door.
“Your chambers,” the king said, striding into the room and surveying it. “I trust it will suffice.”
My first reaction was awe, for the chamber was larger than my mother’s hut. On one wall was a massive carved fireplace, and opposite it, a bed of similarly large dimensions. The bed was pillared and draped, adorned with velvet and smooth linen, with a mattress thick with down. A trio of windows on the exterior wall gave a view of the gates, the road, and the village beyond. There was a mirror mounted on the wall beside the bed, a mirror as large as a door and wrought of silvered glass. I had never seen the like. Opposite it was a door to another chamber, a slightly smaller one, with ledgers and a table and a chair upholstered in sturdy leather. This second room had no window, but locked trunks stacked against the wall.
And in the middle of the main chamber was a golden cage, not unlike the cage my mother had found for the birds that the king had sent. It was as tall as the chamber, however, and had a single perch hung in its middle. A pair of women sat on the perch. They were naked, their skin fair and their hair even more so. As soon as I stepped into the room, they began to sing sweetly.
I stared.
“Yours,” the king said, the weight of his hand landing upon my shoulders. He offered me another smaller key, an elaborate golden one. I understood that it was for the cage. “Do whatever you want with them. They are yours.”
I frowned in confusion. “Mine?”
“They are slaves, exchanged on the border with Noorlandia and brought to me as a gift.” He reached through the bars and stroked the breast of one. Her blue eyes widened but she didn’t pull away from his caress. “Their beauty saved their lives.” He turned back to me. “I choose to give them to you. You can do anything you wish to them.”
“Anything?”
The king smiled. “Anything. Injure them, kill them, use them for your pleasure in whatever way you wish. They are yours. Slaves. Pets. Playthings. They have no names, no history, no future.” He nodded. “They will help you to understand the absolute power that is your legacy.”
Of course, they had names and histories, but I saw in their eyes that they knew they had no futures. Moments before, I wouldn’t have been able to imagine having the welfare of another person in my hands, let alone two. Let alone an entire kingdom.
Now these two were in my thrall.
And as I looked upon their beauty, my body stirred.
I realized that was the king’s point. That they were my possessions gave me a curious thrill. I had never owned much. The clothes on my back. A good knife. My name. Compared to the notion of owning people, those seemed mere trifles. They were beautiful and I walked around the cage, scarcely able to believe my good fortune. There would be no need for persuasion or seduction. There would be no fear of repercussions. I could just take what I desired. My imagination was on fire with the possibilities.
The one fluttered her lashes at me and smiled, seemingly knowing that I desired her.
One servant slipped across the chamber and opened the large armoire on the other side of the fireplace. It was filled with shackles and whips and ropes and so many tools that it would take me time to explore them all. The women shivered, the scent of their fear mingling with that of their arousal.
More than my imagination was on fire, then.
Still, to use another for my own pleasure with no regard for his or her feelings was against all I had been taught.
“Bring a bath for the prince,” the king commanded the two servants before I could articulate my concern. I took notice of his imperious manner, for I knew I should begin to echo it. “And the clothes that have been prepared for him. Unless I miss my guess, we will not see him until the evening meal.” He smiled at me, that calculation in his gaze still making me wary.
“Is there a catch, sir?”
“You have lived with your mother too long,” he said, and I dropped my gaze lest I agree. “There are no conditions upon my gift. Indulge yourself, Royce. Explore your desires, but never be late to the evening meal.”
I bowed. If this was the price of having all my dreams fulfilled, it was a small one. “Of course not, sir.”
“The daughter of the Emperor is my guest. You will meet her at the evening meal. She has brought Imperium wine as a gift.”
I thought of the casks I’d seen on that wagon. “How generous, sir.”
“It is. You will drink only Imperium wine until it is gone,” he added from the threshold of the room. “For it is your birthright.”
He left me then, left me with much to consider. Indeed, my entire world had been shaken and rearranged. I eyed the pitcher of wine and marveled. I had only ever had ale before and I knew that wine was not produced in Euphoria. That some imported luxury was mine to savor was remarkable. I was curious about its taste.
I was intrigued by the women. Still, there was much that was strange about this change and I was uncertain I had it in me to take, without regard for consequences.
The two servants waited upon me, and though I found it disconcerting to be undressed b
y another, I surrendered to their ministrations. Slowly, I relaxed in the luxury of the room, the room that was now mine. The women sang, the bath was hot and deep, and the fire blazed high. All I had to do was lean back and be served. It was like a dream, one from which I never wished to awaken.
Son of the king.
Heir to the throne.
And every soul in Euphoria my vassal.
The situation defied belief. I wondered why my mother hadn’t ever told me the truth. I wondered whether Lars had known that he wasn’t truly my father. I wondered what my mother knew that I didn’t, and what she knew that the king didn’t.
Then one of the caged women blew me a kiss, and I thought of the king’s observation. I was suspicious of generosity, taught as much by my mother, as I should not be.
I rose from my bath, intent on sampling all the pleasures available to me. One servant poured the wine for me and I sipped from the heavy chalice with caution at first. The wine was rich and fruity, though its hue reminded me of blood, and it sent a fire through my veins. I caught my breath at the surge of heat, then sipped again.
I felt like a king after the second larger sip. Commander of all I surveyed. Ruler and patron of Euphoria in all its splendor. I felt bold and brave and intrepid.
One day, I would be king!
And on this day, I could take my pleasure.
I felt entitled to my birthright.
I walked around the cage, eyeing the women, enjoying their uncertainty. I could do anything I desired to them. The wine sent a strange frenzy through me, a heat and a sense of power that was unfamiliar to me yet felt entirely right.
These beauties were mine. They would be mine so long as I chose to keep them so.
I drained the cup and the servant refilled it. I dismissed him and his companion, and stood waiting until the door was closed behind them.
I turned the lock and drained the chalice.
I strode to the cage, its golden key in my hand. The two women fluttered like birds when their gazes fell to my erection. They fluttered yet more when I unlocked the door and seized the one I would have first.
