Two Hundred Years in Slavery is all the people of Xathania have known. Toiling and dying for a kingdom that has only snarled at them. Not until hope surfaces as a story in the wind and the flames of a spirit long forgotten resurfaces to face the g...
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Winter's have never been easy for Callahan. He hated the absence of the sun, the impromptu blizzards, watching his men lose fingers and toes to its frosty touch. Despite being the same amount of months as the three other seasons, Callahan could have sworn that winter seemed a tad longer.
Xanthania, the former sister nation of Welkamia, his kingdom, had better weather. They shared the continent of Milkarea but the Xanthanian weather was enviably better. His sister, Hana, had married the Grand Prince of Saath and wrote of the scorching sun at least every other week. She swore she missed the snow and his other sisters swore that she was mad.
The continent of Havern also had terrible winters, but Aderhan, Zoidah, Cerevan and the Empire of Khorat were warmer than Welkamia. The rest of the Isles asides Shon-Gi were warm. Opir however had its stormy days. Aragen only experienced short and pleasant rain.
He had encountered wretched and wicked winters in his twenty-three years of living but the most ruthless one had been the one that took his father. The High Priestess had barged into his quarters in the middle of the night with the crown in tow.
Naming him King of Welkamia and Emperor of the continent. The Dragon of the North. His Great Majesty.
He nearly fell on his ass.
His father had gone riding with his adviser earlier that day only for a blizzard to hold them up in the woodland just beyond Goxa's walls, the capital of his country, his seat of power.
That had been in the last month of winter. They now dwelled in the third month of spring and Callahan had neither found a wife to the council's demise nor picked an adviser. He listened to the council as a whole, still finding his balance.
His sister, Anne, would have been Queen if he had joined them that morning. His father had begged him to join them but his mother fussed about the cold which his father waved off as a little snow it truly seemed to be at first before that horrible blizzard swept in and turned the tide of their kingdom.
His court began to stir shortly after his coronation. Lords and ministers dragged their daughters to court to try and woo him. He wanted nothing to do with them. Especially because he had not let his mother and sisters refer to him as King. His sisters were relieved but knew it won't be long.
Court would demand it soon. Demand that they bowed and groveled before him. His sister , Anne, had requested his audience on the afternoon after his interesting night with a Xathanian girl. He hadn't touched her and she had not slept. She had not killed him either which he supposed was a good thing. The castle stood in the middle of capital.
Carved from white stone and many feet high, it was a force to be reckoned with. Built by the first Emperor, Gerald, after he conquered the continent. Gerald's Queen, Dyana, had filled the grounds with trees and flowers. Together they ruled The Continent until the Queen died. He knew the history of his land, it was one of his first duties as heir.
He reached his sister's designated meeting location to find her waiting. She nearly knocked the garden table over when she saw him. A servant had to steady it.
'Go on a walk,' he ordered the servants and guards that never left his back unguarded. Asides from the previous night with the girl he left in his quarters. He had told a senior handmaiden to assign handmaidens to her. She wasn't leaving him anytime soon.
'You look well,' Anne said, with a warm smile. An expression similar to their mother's.
'As do you,' he said, pulling his chair closer to hers and snatching a sconce from her plate.
'Very Kingly of you,' Anne mocked as she picked a cake from the display and took her seat beside his.
'Have you come to usurp my crown or force me to wed?' Callahan asked his sister.
Her pink dress was a compliment to the blooming flowers around them. Her blonde hair, their mother's hair, was in a half up and half down style. A series of braids holding the whole thing together.
'I am a mother to two radicals. I will not add your throne to my burden,' she huffed out a laugh but it was brief. Something was truly wrong, Callahan could see that.
'The children are okay?' He grabbed her hands, moving to the edge of his seat.
'Kylan has named himself your heir,' she said but he knew that was not his sister's worry.
'What is it?' Callahan asked in a mere whisper.
'The boys' nursemaid,' Anne whispered back. 'She was not in bed this morning.'
'She deserted?'
Anne shook her head. 'Death. Like the day, Uncle Thomas passed but this one was living.'
'You believe there's foul play?'
'Someone is invoking the pit,' his sister's voice dropped to something that was no longer his sister's. 'Plotas was in my home. He took my friend. She helped me raise those boys.'
Anne had never cried in front of him. In front of anyone. He stroked the back of her palm with his thumb, the only form of comfort he could provide.
'He left her shadow,' she whispered. 'An outline of her body that looked like black ash but yet it was oily. Alive.'
'Move your household to the castle for now,' Callahan said, convinced that he had heard enough. 'I will look into it.'
'Be careful,' Anne said her eyes bright with tears.
Sorrow and fear so bright for him to see. He wouldn't let her down. He couldn't. Not with the threat this death posed. Not with his nephews at risk.
