by JK Ensley
Let it be seen only
With dawn’s first light.”
It seemed an eternity she chanted and washed. She wanted it to work so badly, she was undecided on when exactly she should stop.
“Is it working?” Jezreel whispered. “Can you feel a difference?”
Jenevier did not answer her, did not break her concentration. Her humming chant stayed constant, filling the entire room… as her friends held their breath and waited.
*****
At first, it sounded like the labored breathing of an injured beast. Fear gripped them as they looked up from the cauldron to one another.
A blood chilling shriek filled the air around them. A scream so shrill and deafening—it froze their feet to the floor.
The Shadow Wraiths were truly a haunting sight to behold. They were draped in dingy white rags. Not black, as Jenevier had imagined. Their hair was the color of the morning fog after a summer rain. Their skin, pale as death. And their eyes… their eyes were waxed white, as the blind.
There was no real contrast in the wraith’s ghostly features, save the gray hollow slashes of their cheek bones and the deep black pits beneath their eyes. Jenevier shivered. These creatures were terrifying beyond all reason.
“Ah, they’re awake,” one Shadow Wraith said to the other.
“Yesss. Perhaps they were expecting us,” hissed the second.
“Good, I like it when they know what’s going on.”
“Yesss. It makes their fear taste all the sweeter.”
Jenevier’s heart was racing so fast, she was certain it would explode within her chest. She felt the icy breathing of the wraith upon her neck. Her breath hitched—all but ceased—as the painful chill slowly slid up the side of her face.
“Let’s have a look at your hands, young maidens.”
“Yesss, let’s.”
The first Shadow Wraith took Jezreel’s dainty hands in hers. Tears poured down the terrified girl’s cheeks from the sheer pain caused by the icy touch.
“No. Not this one, Sister.”
The wraiths slowly moved to surround Jenevier.
“This must be the precious little thing our Prince demanded he have this very night.”
They played with her curls, teasing her, sniffing her hair and laughing. Jenevier could do little more than tremble.
“Yesss, little one. He is glorious. I remember well my first night with him. You should be grateful he chose you.”
“Oh, she will be. It is an awesome honor.”
“Yesss. To know the touch of our master is to be forever under his mesmerizing spell.”
“You will experience pure ecstasy this night, young maiden.”
“Yesss. We’ll enjoy your screams until the dawn.”
“Screams of pleasure. Well… mostly.”
The wraiths cackled out their evil howls.
Jenevier felt she would surely fall over dead from the primal fear now invading every cell of her being. She could stand it no more, but she was powerless to even move.
The wraiths stood on either side of her, their glacial breath painfully freezing her body and her mind.
They smiled ghoulishly as each took hold of her arms, slowly pulling her hands from the still steamy cauldron.
Chapter 9
Merodach
(MHER-ah-doc)
Prince Merodach wanted Jenevier more than he had ever wanted any other woman. And there had been many.
Something was different about her, something special. She had an enchanting spark of defiance which thrilled him. He believed with the right amount of prodding, he could witness her fiery temper first hand. The thought made his mouth water. He imagined her innocence and purity as being only a guise, a mask she used to hide the truth of her smoldering fire. The one he could sense burning white-hot… just beneath her untapped surface.
She turned on me once already. He chuckled. That tiny little thing had the nerve to stand in my face… demanding I apologize to some commoner. He snorted out another laugh. Ahh… such delicious fire. I love her already.
He knew for certain, this one would not beg for mercy, no. This tiny maiden wouldn’t simply fall down on her knees and plead for freedom. She would fight.
Like a feral cat, he thought.
She would be hard to tame once her fire had been released, yes. Ah, but the joy he would get in trying brought a wicked smile to his handsome face.
He mentally summoned two of his wraiths to go forth from the dark realm he had created to hold them. He bade them fetch this maiden with all haste. Not a single moment was to be wasted. He would have her, for the first time, before this night was over.
Merodach would reach his palace home about the same time his wraiths would reach Tamar Broden. And as such, he would have very little time to prepare for her arrival. The menacing thoughts he had for this fair maiden filled his wretched mind.
Is this truly as fast as this carriage can go? Dammit all. I need more time. I wish to do this properly. This maiden has managed to actually stir me. Such a thing should be rewarded, not rushed into. He smiled, closing his eyes. Ahh… such a rare find. And so close to home. I’m curious. How has this fiery little angel remained hidden from me for so long? He glanced out the carriage window then, not truly seeing anything, save Jenevier. Perhaps someone was protecting her—cloaking what they knew I most desired. He smiled again. Such a valiant effort… in futility.
When the carriage finally lurched to a stop in Wrothdem, the Prince sprang out—commanding the servants carry up his lovely wife’s many carefully wrapped packages.
Lady Margareet was a strikingly elegant creature. She wore her hair in curls piled neatly atop her head. She carried herself with such grace and ease it was hard not to stare. Her pearl white skin was flawless, stunning. And her dainty little hands and feet showed well the years of daily pampering and tender care.
She smiled sweetly at her husband as he took her outstretched hand, kissing it tenderly.
“You are a vision, Milady,” he whispered. “A goddess in living flesh.”
She returned his gentle smile. “You are too kind, Milord.”
Margareet curtsied before lifting her skirts, heading into the palace proper. Merodach silently watched her go, still wearing the smile she had gifted him.
The Prince counted Lady Margareet as his most precious possession, and left her wanting for nothing. She was treated like the Queen she would one day be. Alas, she was merely a possession—handled with gentle care, yes, but a possession all the same. Such was the way with all arranged royal marriages. He loved her the way he was supposed to love her. And she, him.
Her personal handmaid bowed as she neared. “Did you get a new ring, Milady?”
“Of course I did… silly girl.”
She lovingly tapped the young girl’s bent head as she passed. The girl giggled before filing instep behind her Lady’s flowing skirts.
When they entered her chambers, Lady Margareet all but collapsed atop her settee. “Ahh, my dear child, I am exhausted. Merodach demanded the driver go faster and faster. My bones are still rattling within me. Go, Rebecca. Fetch me some tea, child.”
“As you wish, Milady.”
Another maid began the task of removing her Lady’s jewelry, carefully placing it back within its velvet resting place.
“The new one is lovely, Princess.”
“Hmm?” Margareet turned toward the speaking girl, then glanced down at the ring. “Oh… Yes, it is.” She chuckled softly. “Merodach has looked for a pearl that size for years now. When word came of it, he demanded we go immediately.” She smiled. “And I am extremely glad we did. He loves me too much.” She sighed happily. “We didn’t return with the ring only, Constance. Charles will be along shortly with the other packages.”
“So the trip was worth more than you had planned, Your Highness?”
“Oh yes, much more. You’ll absolutely swoon when you see these new silks. And the shoes, Constance, ah… these shoes make my heart
race.” She glanced sideways at the girl. “I also managed to find something special for you and Rebecca as well. I hope you like it.”
The girl’s smile absolutely beamed. “You are too kind, Milady.”
“Not at all, child. I wish you to be content in my service.” She returned the girl’s happy grin. “Oh, and the Prince even managed to find himself a new toy as well.”
Margareet knew little of her husband’s business, nor did she care. When he found a rare new maid, he was happy. And his happiness was what concerned her. Why? Because he took care of her, took care of her in every conceivable material way. He bought her anything her heart desired. She wore the most beautiful gowns, owned the finest silks in all the land, and flaunted the most expensive jewelry obtainable throughout the entire world. Prince Merodach granted her all she wished for and more. She was the happiest, most content woman in the kingdom. She had no need of additional love from her husband, for she had no desire to truly own his heart. She was happy with her current role. Even if she was as a possession, she was the most cherished.
Rebecca returned with the tea and little cakes just as Constance began to remove her Lady’s other rings.
Margareet looked down at her hands. Nearly every exquisite finger was adorned with a precious jewel, painstakingly collected from the four corners of the world. She glanced then to her brocade bodice, running her gloved hand up the many buttons. Her clothes were commissioned by master tailors to fit her tiny frame perfectly.
When she felt the gentle tug as Constance removed one of her jeweled hairpins, she turned toward her own glimmering reflection in the large beveled looking glass.
“You are breathtaking as always, Your Grace,” Rebecca whispered as she set out her tea. “You are the embodiment of the sun and stars, Milady.”
The girl was right. Lady Margareet was rare and beautiful by any standards—bred to be thus. And her crowning glory—the unique combination of her extraordinarily fiery red hair contrasted by her radiant azure eyes.
*****
Merodach hadn’t been taught how to love anyone but himself. So, no matter how he blessed his lovely wife with belongings, true love was one gift he could never grant, for he did not possess it himself. He simply had never learned how to love. He barely even remembered knowing it as a child.
Upon his birth, the Prince had been blessed by an ancient Elven Princess. She blessed him with a great and magical gift. You see, Merodach’s grandparents were the last ruling King and Queen of Wrothdem. They were honorable and just rulers. But his young parents did not remember how they had been raised. By the time Prince Merodach was to receive the throne, it represented little more than a family title and a kingly treasure. Oh yes, the money and the lands were all his. But who has time for such things as ruling when a man has all he wants, minus the strings of responsibility?
So it happened, when Prince Merodach was but a babe, the Elven Princess came to bestow upon him a great blessing—as was the custom for all offspring of good and just royalty. Merodach’s particular gift was to be a rarity indeed. The Elven Princess felt the child had already been blessed with such great beauty and wealth, all else she could offer him would pale in comparison. The Elves wished not to anger or slight the good King and Queen of Wrothdem. So, the Princess chose to bestow upon the babe an extraordinarily magical power such as those possessed only by her kind. This was meant to be a glorious gift for the kingdom of Wrothdem. With the excellent tutelage the Elven Princess was certain the wise King and Queen would provide the small child, this gift could be used to turn Wrothdem into a paradise for royalty and commoner alike.
But for a truly horrible thing… within only a few short years of the birth of the young Prince, a terrible plague swept across the land of Ashgard. It claimed countless lives, and left even more in miserable despair. By the end of those darkest of days, sadly, the good King and Queen of Wrothdem were tragically counted among the dead.
Prince Merodach’s mother and father were traveling the world enjoying their youth and their money. They hadn’t returned since first they’d left their beautiful new son in the loving care of the King and Queen when he was but an infant. The royal child was miraculously spared from the rampaging plague, but was left, for the most part, orphaned.
When word reached the Elven lands of all that had befallen the kingdom of Wrothdem, the Elven Princess went to retrieve the child. It was determined that Merodach should be raised in the magical forest with the wise Elven people. There, he could be taught properly how to use his rare talents. The Elves knew what could happen with a child as magically blessed as this young boy if he were raised by unfit and unknowing people. But the stewards of the kingdom refused her request, fearing what would befall them once the babe’s royal parents returned to assume their rightful place in the monarchy.
The Elven Princess could have taken the child by force. Alas, he had already become so powerful he was capable of resisting her. She was unable to safely remove him without causing him near fatal harm.
Prince Merodach was so young, so terribly frightened. And that only proved to augment his growing magical abilities. His parents were absent, his devoted grandparents had been snatched from him, and he was left all alone. The tiny boy didn’t know the kind Princess. He was afraid to leave the only normal and constant thing he had left in this world—his palace home. The child’s fear-enhanced powers protected him from what his young mind viewed as harmful.
When the Elven Princess returned to her people—telling them the disturbing news of the child and how strong his powers had already grown—they took counsel against her. It was decided she had been rash and foolish in granting such a gift to one so small. “Many unknown events can change a man’s future,” was stated as they passed their absolute judgment upon her. The Princess was banished from her people, sentenced to an eternity of solitude and loneliness for her crime. It was an extremely harsh verdict, yes—one that could not be overturned.
Young Merodach was sentenced (by the tragedies of life) to be raised by strangers. He was cared for by nannies, guards, servants—anyone who had free time was expected to watch over him. Thusly, he had no one to truly bond with.
From that sad day until this, his parents had never returned. No word ever arrived concerning the Prince and Princess, and no one has ever heard what befell them.
Now, since no one in the kingdom knew how to train the toddling Prince to control his powers, the Elven people decided it would be best to forever withdraw from the affairs of man. Let the humans deal with their own affairs from this point forth. So, Prince Merodach was left to teach himself as best he saw fit. And through the eyes of a child, that meant getting anything and everything he wanted. He answered to no one and was responsible for nothing.
When the young Prince came of age, a neighboring Lord sent his daughter, Margareet, to be Merodach’s bride. When the young girl arrived, he treated her as he had learned to treat himself—to her utmost heart’s desire. She was the first true friend he had ever known. They bonded—became each other’s only family. At the tender age of twelve, Margareet and Merodach became inseparable. The young nobles were simply innocent children. Innocent children spoiled by the excesses of their naïve young lives. And… these are the ways things have always been in Wrothdem, from that day unto this.
Alas, the world will not allow innocent pleasure to continue unaltered. So it was, when Merodach and Margareet decided upon traveling to see what else the world had to offer them, evil came along for the ride.
There was nothing they saw they could not possess. To Prince Merodach’s joy, this included beautifully exotic women the likes of which he had never dreamed of back in Wrothdem. Both young innocents were totally enthralled with their own individual explorations. And both were very busy enjoying all the new pleasures being lavishly heaped at their feet.
The evil started when Merodach grew tired of his new playthings. The women were completely under his control—no true will of their own. This was when he cr
eated the Dark Realm. There, he could store away his new toys as he tired of them—freed to continue on with his next pursuit. He drew out their life essence and bound them within the Dark Realm for all eternity. This realm served him two-fold. He could conquer the next woman, unhindered, while retaining possession of all the others.
Alas, when Merodach discovered his dark realm drained his new loves of all their beauty—eventually turning these lovely women into mere shadows—he began calling them his Shadow Wraiths. They were deathly, hauntingly frail looking. But he would soon find an irreplaceable use for them. They were still his, no matter their form. They eagerly did his bidding—more loyal than any hired guard.
It was too easy for the handsome Prince. And since women eagerly flocked to his side, he soon found himself wanting a bit more of a challenge.
“There is nothing new under the sun. Only someone new to do it with,” he boasted.
This gorgeous young hunter became restless with his current prey. He needed a bigger thrill. That’s when he decided to create a mysterious mark and place it upon the desired maiden. He would then send his new wraiths by cover of night to kidnap the unsuspecting young lady and bring her to him. This made the game more interesting, added the delicious element of fear. But, this too soon changed.
The change came when he marked an enchanting young woman who was so terrified of his wraiths, her fragile heart gave way. She died there before him, collapsed lifeless at his feet. This was the first time he had witnessed true terror in a woman’s eyes—terror enough to extinguish life. It was a thrill like none other. The adrenaline caused by such a thing was euphoric and addicting. It aroused within him all new unimaginable lusts.
He soon added pain to the marking of the intended victim. Thus was born the idea of the scorched flesh and twisted black heart. With this new mark, their dread was increased by the long unknowing wait for his witches to come and snatch them away. Their horror aroused him in ways he had never anticipated, brought him to heights of pleasure he had not thought possible.
