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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The Crown Princess of Xathania had not slept well in weeks.
Her dreams became more appalling with each passing moon. She had prayed to Lona, the goddess of the moon but also of healing, marriage and fertility, to ease her sleep. To sing her a lullaby if need be. She also prayed to Zuris to protect her son from what was to come.
Dreams became premonitions when they felt more real than one's actual life. Her grandmother had instilled that in her over and over again. Yet now, She didn't know who to turn to.
The handmaiden's of Lona had nothing for her. Neither did Sulas's scholars, or Zuris's seers, or Sillbylla's priestess's. Hero's sentinels had no explanation for her. Neither did Teria's oracles. She asked Acai, Veri, Unai and Reso. She even asked The Guardian. All the gods of her land.
All that she knew to turn to.
None had an answer for her.
Sleep became a stranger to her so at night time, she could only watch her son sleep.
Her heir.
He didn't have a worry in the world and the princess prayed for it to be so always. The city beneath was quiet as she crafted a new painting for her father. Her handmaidens were going to fuss about the stains but she didn't care. Painting was her other joy.
'That is delightful,' a voice suddenly said behind her.
The princess fell on her ass in a way that made her look like a clumsy teenager. She snapped her neck in the direction of the voice. She expected to see her husband, had been ready to scold him. Yet it wasn't him.
Two men. One blonde of hair and the other ebony of hair. They bore the same golden eyes. The same golden skin. Armed to teeth in warrior leathers, bearing the sigil of...
'Zuris,' she whispered under her breath.
The ebony haired one approached offering her a hand, 'There is no time. Get up,' he ordered.
She listened without question.
'Your kingdom is under siege,' he warned. 'Take your son and leave.'
The princess could not voice the words on her tongue. She looked to her sleeping son, then to her kingdom. She had been so engrossed in her painting that she hadn't noticed an abnormally in the city beneath her. Something was terribly wrong. It was too quiet.
'Take him,' she told the strangers to their utter surprise. 'Take. Him.' She repeated.
She didn't wait for their protests as she hurried to her husband's bed room just a door away. The great room was silent. The corridor beyond the door to their chambers was eerie. Enemies were in her home, her streets. Her city. She knew. Her dreams. Her nightmares. The visions. She should have listened.
