Back in the Western Plains, a Commander General continues his vigilant observance throughout the night, long after all the castle lights have been extinguished.Alone, he sits, eyes sharp as he assesses each unobtrusive corner of the room.It is none other than Lord Brendan’s own private study, a room that is locked and forbidden to all those aside from the lord himself, and his most trusted advisor: the General who has tasted only the sweetness of victory, each time he has stepped onto the battlefield.Lincoln tilts his head.And then, in a motion too quick for an ordinary man to catch, seizes the dagger laying innocently across the desk, and hurls it across the room.It sinks itself into its target.A gasped expletive fills the air.Lincoln picks up a second dagger, its blade gleaming under the single line of moonlight spilling in through the sliver in the curtains. This, in the next breath, he throws with lethal accuracy.“My, would you look at that,” he says cheerfully, brightly.
Two hours in and Alcina is already exhausted.It is midday, now, and the sun beats harshly down on her back, thoroughly drenched with sweat. The wind whipping at her face and limbs from Orion’s movements as she darts through the air does little to cool her down, perspiration dotting her temples and her hair matted to her forehead and neck.Alcina can barely hold on to her sword as it is, while still maintaining her tenuous hold on one of Orion’s spikes to steady herself on her back.A pair of arrows whistle as they just barely miss her cheek, her hair whipping upwards from the projectiles spinning past her just a millimeter away from her skin. “Pay attention,” Percy says from the ground, where he stands, perfectly relaxed with his hands tucked into his pockets - not at all unlike the form he’d assumed, that day of the ruinous wedding.Darla, seated beside him still in her panther’s form, licks her lips in a manner that sends a shiver down Alcina’s back.She yelps, then, as Orion jerk
Alcina sips dutifully at the glass of water Brendan had forced upon her, eyes doleful as she peeks up at him from underneath her lashes.Brendan stands over her, arms crossed, not unlike an ominous guard watching with keen eyes as if to ensure Alcina truly is drinking the water. They had hardly made it to the closest parlor room from the courtyard entrance when Brendan had promptly sat her down on a chair and ordered a terrified attendant to fetch a pitcher of water.Alcina sips obediently at her second glass now, shoulders slumped both in exhaustion and misery as she glances up at Brendan through her drenched bangs.“Why do you look as though someone has slaughtered your childhood pet?” Brendan demands.Alcina recognizes the terseness of Brendan’s awkward attempts at caring for someone, but cannot help the slight grimace all the same. “You were watching, weren’t you?” she says sullenly, mouthing at the rim of her cup. “I was terrible-”“You were not terrible,” Brendan begins to say,
Alcina watches wordlessly as the Gifted medic heals Brendan’s palm. She stares intently at the white glow emanating from the woman’s hand, as she hovers it over Brendan’s burned palm. Slowly, the reddish hue of the burn recedes, until Brendan’s palm has returned to its normal state.Alcina wishes she could have been born with a Gift like hers, something that would allow her to chase away the bruises and ailments and scars on Brendan’s skin; not something that would hurt him. Human nature, she realizes, is greedy beyond all belief. How many years had she yearned for a Gift, any Gift, she remembers wishing desperately in these very halls? And now that she has been graced with one, she yearns for something more, still.With a respectful bow, the healer excuses herself, leaving just the two of them in the otherwise empty room. Alcina doesn’t move from her perch, sitting ramrod straight in her chair. Stares at Brendan’s hand, every fiber of her being longing to reach out for it so that
Somewhere far, far below the grounds of the Western Plains, is an elaborate passageway of holding cells, built of heavy metal bars and lit only by the sparse torches.The dungeons, though no one quite likes to use the word.The dungeons have long been empty for years, having only been used once in recent times. And only briefly, too, given that the inhabitant had been quickly disposed of, once all the information had been extracted from his mind with Lord Alfred’s Gift.Today, the unused torches in the dungeons have been lit once more, for a new guest.It is a young woman, hardly older than twenty, her features lovely and delicate in violent contrast to the grimy holding cell she has been chained to. Everything about her seems like a sacrilege, here, in the dank walls of a dirty underground prison; as though she is something that does not belong in a place so dirty and murky.Even the color of her hair - pale pink locks, vibrant even in the darkness of the cell - stands at odds with t
Alcina has always known that her most significant value is her disposability. Alcina was born into the great House Clair. It is a famed and noble House known for its gifted bloodline. Is peerless in its long tradition robust and hallowed abilities. But delinquent to that fame, Alcina was born with neither a gift nor any other outstanding virtue. She had known, early on, that her primary function in this life was to be the spare. Alfred, her older brother, who, even among their revered bloodline, stood out with his tremendous gift as the most powerful telepath to exist in historical records. He would be the heir, and Alcina, his much lacking spare. These are the facts, as they have been decided long, long ago. Alcina knows this. Alcina knows she is a useless and powerless runt who could bring no prestige to the name of the House that values reputation over all other things. She's known that the most fabulous lot she coul
Alcina is sent to the Western Plains, the territory of House Warner, by herself. With a royal retinue, of course, and no less than ten carriages in which her attendants, belongings, and dowry are to be carried. Dowry - given that no one in this arrangement, neither the Clair's nor the Warner's, is unaware of the fact that House Clair needs the alliance more than House Warner. Her parents will not be traveling with her, of course. She came alone to this unfamiliar place filled with foreign people. Her heart shakes with fear but she has no other option. Neither Alfred nor Nordin could come, given that they are too tied up in matters at home, which they will be forced to oversee for another two weeks. Once settled, they plan to travel to the Western Plains immediately to join Alcina, but until then, Alcina is to navigate the beast’s lair alone. When Alcina boards the carriage, hands trembling, how silly, she’s a day’s ride away from
Brendon's point of View, The girl standing in front of him is not what Brendan had expected at all. He had known, from the day negotiations commenced, that his intended must be of the absolute dregs of humanity, for her own family to have been able to throw her to the monstrous creature that everyone says Brendan is. To have willingly, and so easily, offered up their own to the vile, wretched thing that Brendan is. Of course, that they’d traded anyone,castaway or not, to be wedded to the shadowed beast, speaks equal magnitudes about the people doing the giving, as it does the poor and unwanted soul who’s been given away. For a long time, Brendan had speculated about what kind of an undesirable and distasteful person it must be, for them to have been willing to sacrifice her to the beast that they think he is. And then, he’d heard that his intended was born without a gift of her own, that she is just like a