Bleeding Royalty Part I & 2 (EDITING!)

UPDATE 5/5/12: THIS STORY IS GOING THROUGH MAJOR EDITING AND SHOULD NOT REFLECT MY WRITING POTENTIAL! x}

And I promise you this isn't your typical cliched story!

 -Kat :)

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 ©Copyright 2011

1832 London, England.

By the acropolis, blood has spilled,

And all aspirations of one are killed.

Can a torn heart find its way?

When royalty is far from bay?

As time passes with pro-longed hours,

The mongul grows with even more power.

The moon passes across the sky,

And the rivers fluid motion dies.

The weakest will lie awake,

And that’s when the strongest will make their haste,

So Bleeding Royalty can finally take place.

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"Kill her or I will," the King commanded firmly, silencing the clamorous atmosphere of the dimmed room. The perpetrator had been procrastinating the King's time and he was becoming more furious by the second. The King's dark eyes flickered to the man situated in the middle of the spacious room, next to a rectangular stone slab elevated off of the ground, or the execution table, and he said, "WELL? FINISH HER OFF!"

At the Kings steady gaze, the young man slowly peeled the blind fold off the woman laying stagnant on the slab of rectangular stone table. He  locked eyes with the innocent girl and once again struggled to keep his anger in place.  Her soft, delicate, brown curls were a sweaty mess,  her eyes were clouded with tears, and her bone structure looked almost skeletal, the opposite of her usual features.

They had starved her. 

He could feel her pain.

"I'm so sorry," he choked out, lightly brushing her cheek. His dark hair fell over his face as he began to sob over her body.

The King obnoxiously cleared his throat and questioned with a furrowed brow. "I thoroughly hope those are tears of joy," the King said with his chin tilted upwards. He was enjoying his superiority, he was enjoying the young man's suffering.

But who could blame him? All of the years of battle, hardship, loss, he had seen throughout his lifetime. It was only natural for the King's hear to be as frigged as a winter mornings frost.

The young man growled up at the King, cursed the audience, and  stood up, refusing to let the fragile girl down. He walked to the stone slab in the middle of the room, placing her on top of it and whispered something into her ear.

As if suddenly out of a trance, the girl jerked her neck up and looked around the room, her eyes wide. Even in her state of shock she made no move to escape, no attempt to speak.

 The young man pulled back, and jerked his head up at the Court behind him. "I beg of you! Take my life, tis' not this maidens blunder that has caused disgrace to our race, tis my own!" He searched around the silent audience, waiting for just someone to agree. The court whispered amongst themselves and snickered, obviously thinking he was demented. "She shall become one of us, and cause no harm to any of you! I will make certain of it!" He added, as two guards rushed over to him and put a wall between him and the court.

Too weak from his hunger he stumbled back to the slab table and leaned heavily on it with his eyes closed. Moments passed. The King unexpectedly stayed silent, observing the young man with his black eyes.

The young man could feel her golden gaze as he leaned his forehead next to her on the table and tried to control his emotions. His eyes refused to meet hers, he refused to see her upset at such a time. He felt her hand slip onto his forearm and weakly squeeze as if to say, "Don't weep, my love." 

 "I'll get you out of here," he told her telepathically. "We will run away together like I promised. You will not suffer under my own hand. I swear it."