Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

Ebon Askavi—the Black Mountain—is an appropriate name for this place. Jakob stops walking when he thinks that he spies a ripple of a deep shadow. But a shadow isn’t supposed to move unless it belongs to someone! he wants to argue, heart thudding with a nervousness that his brain can’t quite classify.

“Prince.”

That deep voice, an almost pitch-perfect match to Sadi’s, reclaims his attention. Jakob hurries to catch up to the High Lord.

Shit, he’s being escorted by the High Lord through Ebon Askavi. Jakob guesses that he should be grateful this isn’t a personal tour through Hell. The young man shudders.

As if reading his thoughts, the High Lord chuckles. “The Keep can intimidate even the most powerful of the Blood.”

With a side-long glance, he asks, “Like you?”

Is it good or bad that the High Lord finds him humorous?

Once the echo of Saetan Daemon SaDiablo’s laughter has died out in the wide, deep halls they transverse, the man admits, “There was a time, puppy, when I hesitated before crossing the threshold of Ebon Askavi. I still do on occasion—though for vastly different reasons.”

Jakob isn’t sure how to interpret those words of the Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince; he guesses that he is not supposed to understand. Then there is no more time for contemplation because they stop at a set of thick, grandly carved doors.

The doors open without prompting.

The High Lord tells him, “The Lady wishes to meet you, Prince.” There is a subtle warning within the words.

Jakob gives a jerky nod of thanks before walking into the room beyond.

Daemon Sadi turns. A golden-haired woman at his side falls silent and her face angles toward him.

Those eyes. Ancient, fathomless eyes.

Jakob doesn’t know how long they hold onto him, pulling him down into a dark place where he may drown. It must have only been a split-second but it feels like a lifetime has passed once they finally release him. The Warlord Prince resurfaces and gasps for air.

“Prince Jakob, this is my wife, Lady Angelline.”

He forces the greeting “I am honored, Lady,” and even though his legs are rubbery, Jak manages to execute a bow without embarrassing himself.

Perhaps this state of bumbling awkwardness is something which Jaenelle Angelline is used to dealing with. She laughs quietly and says, “Welcome to Ebon Askavi, Prince.”

He is distracted by the husky, soothing quality of her voice. Jakob blinks and comes back to himself.

She has asked, “Did you enjoy your tour of the Keep?”

“I’m afraid I’ve only seen what I could during my walk.” And all I care to see for today. My nerves can’t take any more.

“How regretful. I’ve always thought that this place is fascinating.”

“You would, darling,” says her husband.

She ignores him. “We will arrange for a tour the next time you stop by.”

Jakob’s brain stutters to a halt. “Next… time?“

Sadi’s expression could almost be classified as sympathetic.

Lady Angelline says brightly, “I must return to my workroom, Daemon. Papa and I are re-creating a spell he discovered on a scroll Geoffrey had secreted away.”

“Geoffrey hid it and yet Father now has the scroll in his possession?” Daemon’s eyebrow lifts.

She rises and kisses him sweetly on his mouth. “Perhaps you’d better ask Papa how he managed that.” The woman pauses. “On second thought, don’t mention that I told you.”

Sadi’s voice is teasing. “I make no promises, Lady.”

Jakob stands absolutely still as Daemon escorts his wife to the door. They walk past him, but the Lady stops and turns back to Jakob. Jakob does not miss the way Sadi casually shifts to place himself between her and the young male. He also does not miss the narrowing of Sadi’s eyes or the feeling that he would never see a fatal strike coming.

Lady Angelline looks him over once, slowly, then lifts her lovely blue eyes to his. “You’ve been hurt,” she says softly.

He fumbles. “Well, yes. But that was weeks ago, Lady. I am healed now.”

Her look is unreadable and her voice like midnight when she replies, “The wound is not quite healed, Prince, but it will heal.”

Jakob nods, not really understanding.

Then Witch turns and walks out of the room.

Daemon returns and motions him to a chair behind a desk. “My wife has selected the Queen whom you will serve for the next five years,” the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan states without preamble.

Jakob’s heart is in his throat as he sinks into the chair. “Does she have fur?” he asks helplessly.

The ring of Prince Daemon Sadi’s full-bodied laughter stays with Jakob long after he eases into a soft bed in one of the Keep’s guest rooms. The man drifts into sleep, a mixture of exhaustion and the brandy Daemon had provided working against him. Jakob thinks fuzzily of the next five years in service to a Queen. To his surprise, the dread he has carried for too long has dispersed into something similar to acceptance—to determination.

Witch chose her.

How bad can this Queen be?

[ previous | masterpost ]

Related Posts:

• [BJT Big Bang] The Rogue of Ciraea (masterpost) – from March 5, 2011
• The Rogue of Ciraea – Preface – from March 3, 2011
• The Rogue of Ciraea – Chapter Six (2/2) – from January 23, 2011
• The Rogue of Ciraea – Chapter Six (1/2) – from January 18, 2011
• The Rogue of Ciraea – Chapter Five (2/2) – from December 25, 2010