He had expected the castle to be lively, but was shocked to find how giddy many were about the day ahead. Nobles and servants alike glanced at him as he passed them by, with cheerful and almost hopeful looks. It was an unexpected but somewhat welcomed change of pace from the atmosphere that surrounded him the night before. No doubt word of the play had made its way throughout all corners of Longshore, but importance of the day superseded all the previous night had to offer. It was today Reza would not only be made a Crown Princess and a woman; King Antares would announce his decision on their union. At least that is what they all believed. However the Stygian King was preoccupied with more pressing matters, such as the woman he was so desperate to see.

  After subjecting King Satori to a game of Go all through the night, Antares sought to at the very least change his attire before he made his way to her. Appearances needed to be kept and were he to walk around still dressed in his previous days attire, questions may be raised about his mood. Not that the young monarch cared too much for the opinion of the people of Longshore, but he did care for what their queen had to say. His choice of garments this morning was an inconspicuous silver set of king’s clothes that did the opposite of his intention. The jewels embedded near the left shoulder dazzled with their lights reflecting the morning sun's bright rays. The embroidery across the front of his clothes were hand crafted with winter flowers only ever found in the private gardens of the Stygian royal family. Leather boots much more suited for walking were welcomed additions that did well to tie his entire appearance together. The long white cape with his own family's sigil on it was the most brilliant of accessories to accentuate his style. As ever, King Antares Xerxes was truly born to be a royal. No one would ever doubt that much about him.

  It was only a short walk to the gardens of House Blackrose. He had made a note to devote more time and resources to bettering his own private gardens back home. But here Antares felt a sense of wonder that it might take more effort than he had hoped for. The splendor and beauty of the Blackrose gardens was moving. He felt as though he was transported to another world, the stillness of it all as the sounds of the bustling castle seemed to fade away despite the twin castles looming large overhead.

  Antares felt he was intruding upon this place, upon paradise. As though his mere presence would stain the innocence that lived here. He walked along the stone path admiring the mixture of colors all around him. The soft scent of flowers in the air, marked the place with a sweet aroma that he likened to like the first signs of spring. With each new array of flowerbeds and evenly cut grass across his path, he had hoped he would see her. Yet to his longing she was nowhere to be found, that was until he heard her heartbeat once again. The edges of his lips curled upwards in anticipation of seeing her.

  Antares redoubled his efforts to make sure he looked presentable and followed the sound that called out to him, only to him. They had not been given an opportunity to talk the night before, there was plenty he wanted to tell her. He had done well through the years; when they were once inseparable, to hide the contents of the rebellion from her. He could never quite bring himself to talk to her about the true details. What helped matters was that she did not press, both of them choosing to ignore it for their own reasons. However Nero had changed things, once again. The Stygian King would have allowed his thoughts to run rampant as he disparaged the Emperor of Aurum. But the immediate sight of her in front of him did away with any other thoughts.

  She stood in the middle of a closed off semi-circle, surrounded by black roses on either side of her. She too had attempted to be more reserved with her appearance, not wanting to draw attention. If it was even possible. The white cloak she wore was proof of that, but one need only take a closer look at it to know there was nothing ordinary about it, just as she was. The fabric reflected what patches of light escaped the tree branches overhead. Oftentimes sunlight would strike her garments and it would be as though a burst of iridescent light flashed through the area around them. With a slender hand she reached out to touch the black petals of the flower she gazed at. Her wrists revealed golden bands and trinkets all worth just as much as the flower she touched. Enough to buy an entire castle, perhaps even two under the right circumstances.

  Her golden hair was looser, no longer was it tied back and held in place by the butterfly broach he had given her. She still wore it, but this time it served more as an accessory she was accustomed to wearing than something that had any real purpose. Waves of golden rays bounced off her hair as it rested softly on her shoulders like clouds. He recalled how she often complained the winds in the Storm Islands made having hair like hers an issue. He would admit it was never a point he thought to care about. Whichever way she looked, she remained ethereal to him. Even now that feeling still remained as she turned to look at him. Lightning inside her eyes struck with force as though acknowledging his presence, the smile she bore in realization as he approached was accompanied with the scent of thunder storms. There waited Queen Freyja Stormborne, for the man she loved.

  “It used to take all morning to get you to look even half as good as you do right now. Little Antares really has grown.” As she giggled it gave him more life.

  Antares laughed in return, “If my memory still serves me faithfully, you were not trying to help me keep my clothes on.”

  Faye blushed as she hid her growing smile, “I also recall you not putting up much of an effort to stop me, my king.”

  He bowed in feigned apology as he exposed his hand. “My queen, would you really hold such shortcomings over a prince of only sixteen at the time?”

  She extended her hand and placed it in his, “Why yes of course.” The coolness of his touch was inviting.

  He kissed the back of her hand.

  When he returned from his ritual to become a Lord of War, he was irrevocably changed. At a mere fifteen it was inconceivable that he would survive, not just him, the eleven others as well. All hope had been forsaken of their return. He did not blame them for the way they looked at them–at him when he returned. A mixture of shock and bewilderment but the underlying fear that he was no longer Stygian. That somehow he was greater. He saw it in the eyes of his kin and humans alike. Even his own mother, Lady Alena, for the briefest of moments before she embraced him with tears wetting her face. She was unsure if it was the same boy she had raised.

  All but two looked at him like that, that is. The first had been his father, a man who was seldom impressed. He could still remember the calm and almost expected expression from King Barranagan. It was the first time he truly believed it was not just that his father held back the very fates, but he was privy to a great many of their foresight abilities. Yet it was the second that truly shook him. It was her memory among many others that he believed allowed him to return to them all. So when a fifteen year old Princess Freyja Stormborne arrived at Castle Xerxes, the second night of his return, restless and sleepless. Her eyes swollen with no more tears to give, it was at that moment he decided he would give her everything of him. That he would love her and in the new found strength that he had, he would protect her with it. That he would not fail as her as he did his mother. And yet here he stood, twelve years later. Five years removed from his greatest sin–a failure in all the ways that mattered.

  “Did you sleep well?” it took all his strength to let go of her hand.

  “I did not,” she wanted to lie but would allow herself to be honest with him. “Now come along, I still mean to brag about my impressive garden.” She caressed his face as she led him deeper into paradise.

  To walk by his side again, was a feeling she had thought she could only ever experience in her dreams. Twice now in a matter of days had it happened again. However she much preferred this setting to the shouts and praises of the commonfolk that cheered as she led him back to the castle from the temple. She purposely serenaded him with what she believed were uninteresting tales about the growth of the garden and the servants who tended to it under her watch. There were few who cared for the inner workings of glorified royal gardening, she was acutely aware. Even her husband could not hide the dullness in which he found conversation about it. But not him, not Antares. When she spoke it was as though no one else existed, he hung on every word she said. Asked questions and was equally moved by the simple responses she gave. It was not just that she mattered among the many growing concerns of the state of the realm or anything of real importance. No, she was all that mattered to him. For that Faye was moved to near tears that she held back with laughter.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  As they slowly walked through the maze-like garden, hands brushing against each other. Both of them fighting the desire to grab on to the other's. She tried to forsake her true intention for their meeting, instead wanting to savor this moment together. It was in this instant that she experienced the rare power of control, not one owed to her by titles or rights of a queen. It was a power that was held between two lovers, who found strength in the other. Once again she would need to call upon that force to address him, even if what would come of it would pain her forever.

  She led him to a secluded part of the garden that opened up to the azure sky. The castle’s location above a particularly elevated position offered many points of interest to gaze at the vast city below. This garden had functioned as not only an open space for outdoor celebrations, as well as having roles within various naming ceremonies of storied members of House Blackrose. But its labyrinthian design offered multiple excellent viewing areas. This one she had selected was particularly special for a myriad of reasons. Chief among them, that every flower be it red and black roses or Purple Lilies and every other glorious corolla that appeared here. They were all planted by her. She had created her own pastoral utopia. Even still, it was never quite complete, no matter how much she tended to it or the care given. It always lacked something to truly make it feel like no other place in Aurum, that was until she brought him here.

  “Faye this is…” he could not find a worthy enough remark to make.

  She smiled seeing his reaction, “It took me some time but I have enjoyed how it has turned out.” She walked along the path basking more in his presence than the sun.

  Antares sat on a wooden bench and watched her with desire. “It is perfect.”

  Faye walked to the edge of the garden. As she placed a delicate hand against the tree, the city below caught her attention. “For years I didn’t think so.”

  “What changed?”

  She glanced at him lovingly. He looked away, cheeks warming far quicker than the morning air. Soon enough silence arrived, neither wanting to address the night before, but Faye would be the first to speak.

  “Last night…” she began unsure what it was she wanted to ask.

  “You do not have to apologize,” he turned to her. The distance between them was only a few feet but felt so much greater. He desperately wanted to hold her. “I know you-”

  “No it’s not that, I…” she was growing flustered. “I mean, I feel res-. What I am trying to say…” she could not bring herself to look at him or she would begin to cry.

  Fractured words, broken sentences floated through the air until nothing remained. She closed her eyes and thought of him. As her mind cleared, the question came to her. All she needed to do was speak it. He would answer.

  “Did they really say that?” she could only muster a whisper, but it was enough. “Magni and Modi, I mean. Those terrible things the actors said playing them?”

  There were many who had said what Magni and Modi had done was justified. That the death of their elder sister, of her big sister, was a worthy reason to cause so much death. All these years later and she still could not understand the hatred that had consumed them. Freyja would be the first to admit, what relationship she had with Myrra was akin to a distant relative than anyone who she would consider a sister. She was too young when she lost her, like Antares. The only memories of her were sparse and oftentimes diluted by the passage of time. Perhaps it was why she could never understand why Myrra’s death pained her brothers so deeply. She scarcely could recall what she felt when she was made aware of her passing. A blend of sadness and confusion, so many around her mourned a woman that felt like a distant echo of what she would one day grow to. Even as young as she was, it was only Myrra’s shadow she ever lived under. People readily remarked how similar it was they looked, anointing Freyja’s future before it could develop.

  The only conversation with her big sister she was able to recall, coincidentally, was also the first time Myrra had brought Antares to the Storm Islands. They could not have been older than four, perhaps five. Maybe if she was older, truly had gotten to know her sister, not just mourning the loss of someone she never quite knew. Perhaps only then would she have been able to understand her brother's hatred for the Stygians, for her Antares.

  Still when they rebelled, just as the play had said, it was only her, their father and a handful who openly opposed the madness that had engulfed her siblings. Their disdain for Stygians had consumed them and all that was left–the only way they could ease the suffering in their hearts, was to unleash it on those they believed responsible. No matter how many years removed from that terrible event, with each passing year, all she could feel was a growing anger. How they could look at him, at Antares and put any blame on his shoulders. A man who teetered on the edge of oblivion, over his inability to save Myrra. All focused on King Barranagan's shortcomings, on failing to save his wife. But what of the boy who was there? Who witnessed his mother take her last breath. What horrors could swim beneath the surface of that child’s mind? None cared, neither Barranagan, or Hyperion or her brothers. However she did, she always would.

  “They did,” a pained smile carved across his face as he remembered the things they said far too horrid to put in a play.

  “You never said… I didn’t know.” She found her words disgusting, it was no excuse.

  “I never meant for you to know,” restrained rage tore at his insides, Nero would answer for this. Somehow. “Faye you were nineteen, after all you had experienced with the rebellion. I could not put that on you. I would not.” His voice as soft as silk.

  How could I, he thought. What right did he have to do so, to harm the woman he loved further than he already had? Their battle dyed the shores of the Storm Islands red for months after. Thousands of lives had been lost on both sides. Towns and cities lay burned and ruined. Many were still unsure if the horrors had truly ended and what the consequences would be for those who sided against the Stygians. Most importantly of all, a young princess had lost both her elder brothers. The contents of his battle with Magni and Modi were his to hold on to. That was the penalty for stepping into battle; that the victor carried it all as well as the triumphs that came. Even as young as he was then he understood that rule, he would not let such a burden be passed to her. That her memory of them be tainted by the pain that had consumed them. It was what he had always desired, to protect her from the worst of it. Whenever she felt strong enough to mention their names while they were together. Let it be done with, at the very least, a pained smile of what could have been. Antares loved her too much to ruin her memories of them, but even that he could not stop from fracturing. Another failure that sought to remind him of his limitations.

  “You were nineteen too,” she remarked. “You had just fought a war against your mother’s brothers, your lover’s brothers. The Storm Islands were near ruins and the weight of a Crown Prince on your head as who knows what the Elders and Stygians within Iliad were whispering in your ear.” She laughed at the absurdity of the state of her home all those years ago, “And your only thoughts were of how I felt.” Her voice broke.

  As always, regardless of what befell them or the state of the world around them, all he could think about was her, keeping her safe. Even as she cried herself to sleep in his arms night after night. Struggling to admit she missed her brothers dearly, only for him to soothe her into whispering it. He would ask her to talk about them to him, of the memories they forged as she grew with them. She knew why he was doing it but played along all the same. How naive she was to do so with the pain he must have carried, his return to her after so long had begun to open her eyes to how naive she was to all of it. To his sacrifice, to what they both had sacrificed. Freyja’s love for him only grew with a burning passion. She could not understand where his strength came from, but hoped he would lend her some of it.

  “To tell you the truth, when the play ended what I felt was shame.” The Stygian King gripped his hands together. “There was plenty from the rebellion that it seems I chose to suppress, hide away and bury. It is odd, for large swaths of the play I was transported back to that time, I could smell the mix of blood and sea breeze in my lungs. Feel red soaked sands beneath my feet. The ceaseless screams of dying men, and thunder rupturing everything around me. A moment later I was back in that room, surrounded by people cheering and applauding the slaughter of thousands in my name. Looking at me with awe, envy, desire and even pity. And there you were, seeing all of it, all of me.” He was subconsciously squeezing his hands together, the air around him cooling noticeably as he sunk within himself.

  Antares did not notice her move to him until her hands rested gently on his. She had knelt on the ground before him, the softness of her touch reminding him that she was there. In his shock he could not meet her gaze, instead electing to keep his eyes on her delicate fingers. She would not raise them again until he eased his grip on himself, slowly unlocking his hands. It was always so easy for him to hate himself, to hate what it is he was, and the horrors he could wreak. This fragile world that was better described as made of glass, so easily broken by the slightest of pressures. Sure that all in his path would lay broken and shattered. Still, the most fragile among them desired to be with him. Her hands on his as proof that not everything broke in his grasp. That he was not the monster that others believed him to be, that he believed he was.

  As tension released from his hands, through his arms and across his shoulders, he softened his demeanor. All of this done as he finally gained the courage to look at her. She said nothing as she too did all she could to hold back tears in her eyes. Within them he saw home, the only place he has ever felt safe since Hyperion’s leaving. It was there within the grey storm clouds and lightning that he saw where it was he truly belonged. Once again proof that she was the only one for him. Faye knelt in front of him like that for a while, holding his gaze until he came back to her. She would not let him drown within his self hatred.