The Golden Knot: Book 1 of the Echo Land Chronicles (UPDATED WEEKLY)

Aze'mar I

"...I love you son. I truly do. But I must be frank. Laza'mar is smarter, and Hildebrandt shows a strong aptitude for military leadership. What do you truly have to offer?..."

(Daebah)

"Then maybe I should wear the cock, and you the cunt, dearest husband?"

Aze'mar Ben Daebah clenched his fists as Lyra pressed her face to his, her wine glass dangling between practised fingers. He retreated a step back, but Lyra took a step forward, fixing that piercing stare of hers on Aze'mar with the same intensity as a starved mountain lion.

Mothers, save me. "You ask too much, Lyra. I can't and will not do this." Aze'mar downed the dregs of his wine and slammed his cup against the ivory side table. "You can't fathom the horrors before his arrival. The things I endured" Aze'mar turned and stared out the window. Despite the years, the day his father discovered him remained etched in his memory; the beginning of his new life. He also remembered what it was like before his father. He remembered the screams and the blood. He remembered the smell and the squalor. Calling it a life was like calling a beggar's alms a feast. "You can't fathom the things I did, the lengths I went to... I owe him everything." Aze'mar turned back to his wife, whose nose wrinkled in disgust.

"And what about me? I'm your wife!" She said, words flaking off her tongue as if they laced her tongue with venom. "That man you call father has not aged in nearly fifty years. Blood-fire! Your brother already looks older, and he is pushing seventy."

Aze'mar winced at the thought of his brother; that man was a plague. Across the bedchamber, he retreated to his small wooden chair and toyed with the bangles on his wrist. Lyra was right, of course. He wished she wasn't.

"You know father is different. When he's ready, he will hand rule over to me. Once the handover is complete and I am imbued with the four strands, you may bear my seed -"

"And what about me, Aze'mar?" Her strained voice barely rose above a whisper, yet her words cut like steel. She dropped to her knees by Aze'mar's side and placed her hands gently on his lap. "Aze'mar, when we married, I understood the sacrifices I would be making. I understood your family's rules about childbirth, but this," she lowered her head, "this has gone on for too long."

She's right. Mothers have mercy; this isn't fair. Aze'mar looked up; shallow pools were forming under her eyes. Maybe it was too much to expect from any woman.

"Aze'mar, I don't want to find out how many more times I might bleed. With each moon, I become less." She clutched Aze'mar's hands and placed them on her stomach. "Is it because my love means nothing? Is it to hurt me? Have you found solace in another woman?"

Aze'mar gathered his wife's hands, cupping them as delicately as if he was holding a newborn sparrow. "Lyra, you are the only woman in my hear. I'd love you just the same if you couldn't bear me a child. But you understand the situation. Isn't that enough?"

Lyra shook her head. "I don't think it is anymore."

Aze'mar's breath stuttered; her words cut.

A slight breeze pushed its way through the bedchamber; the candles flickered and cast dancing shadows across the walls.

Aze'mar puffed out his cheeks and rose from his chair. Stepping around his wife, he placed his hands gently around her waist and pulled her to her feet. Eye to eye, he delicately wiped away a tear sliding down her porcelain face. Time may have taken its toll on her, but she was still beautiful.

"Lyra, I cannot go on like this anymore. I can't. I'm tired of the fighting. I'm tired of pretending to be happy when we go to court. I don't want to clutch your hand in front of our guests, out of duty rather than love."

Lyra brushed back a loose strand of onyx hair that had fallen over deep green eyes and tucked it behind her ear. "You know what to do."

"Lyra, I-"

"This is for us, Aze'mar." Lyra said, "Don't you think I'm also tired? Don't you think I'm also exhausted from all the gossip?"

Aze'mar sighed. He grew tired of the judgmental glances from the other Watchmen and High Lords upon entering a room. He could almost hear the words chittering away in their minds. Aze'mar ran a hand through his hair. "Lyra, my father deserves to pass through the final door with some measure of dignity. If I increase the dosage, the pain could easily become too much for him. If he ever discovers my actions, the consequences-"

"Aze'mar," Lyra said. "Am I truly not worth the risk? Do you merely aspire to be some trinket of your father's? A puppet like your brother, ignorant of the world's passage?"

Aze'mar's jaw tightened, and he slumped into the chair by the hearth. "Can you promise me it will be like before?"

Lyra's lips tightened to a thin smile, and the brightness in her eyes returned like the first light over the ocean's edge. "Yes, my Prince. I swear it."