Master of the Rose

Chapter One

But thou, good and evil, praise and blame,

Wilt not thou love me for myself alone?

Yes, thou wilt love me with exceeding love,

And I will tenfold all that love repay;

Still smiling, though the tender may reprove,

Still faithful, though the trusted may betray.

- Macaulay

For a brief instant, lightning lit the blackened sky, and still the candles of the night were blocked by shrouded veils of grey. Impossible to see, the outside weather was a tempest, and only a fool would try and find something in that dark. Fools and children, much the same, do what others never dare.

And lovers all the more.

So children who love prove the most powerful fools of all, and it will surprise no end how successful the fool can be.

“Hoshiko!”

The girl of no more than five stumbled through the dark, soaked from the rain. Her strawberry blonde hair – a mere dark streak in the night – was plastered to her face, often obscuring her big, brown eyes, making sight all the more difficult. Unafraid and undaunted, she stumbled onward, crying out once again, “Hoshiko!” Her plea remained unanswered.

Still blind, she ran unbidden through the dark, pumping her small arms furiously, heart pounding in her little chest. She would not give up. Her foot caught upon a stone, and she stumbled, falling into a puddle. Dirty, wet, tired, cold, she tried to rise to her feet again, only to wince in sudden pain; the pavement had left a nasty gash on her small knee, and it bled now with abandon. She refused to believe that tears were falling down her pale, perfect cheeks. It was only rain. It would pass. She tried to limp on again, wishing to maintain her previous speed, only to fall yet again. For a moment, she paused, allowing sobs to wrack her small body, unashamed and utterly alone. She willed so much to rise and try again, and here her young body betrayed her. Cursing some god she did not know, nor trusted, she crawled a few paces before being met with a large, black boot, only slightly dulled from the mud it was forced to cross.

The little girl nervously let her eyes roam up the powerful leg that now blocked her path, up, and up, until it met a face. The shadows did not allow her to see, but another brief flash of lightening burned one thing into her memory.

The man had the palest blue eyes she had ever seen. In some ways, they almost lacked color. They startled her, and she felt a strange pang in her heart, something akin to what she felt for the Hoshiko she could not find.

The man was carrying an umbrella, and for the first time, the child began to notice the lack of rain on her face. Which meant the only thing that could be there were tears. She decided to ignore this.

“Little child…..” His voice was deep, soothing. “What are you doing out here, all alone?”

“Hoshiko,” she sniffled, struggling to her small and muddied feet. “They took him from me, I’ve got to find him.” She started to try and walk again, but the man quickly bent down, stopping her with his large, gloved hand.

“You’re hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to save him. We’re princes.”

“You’re a girl.”

“So? Hoshiko’s my prince, and I am his! I am duty bound…..”

“You are nothing bound,” The man denied, scooping the wriggling child up against her will. She found that if she pressed her head to his chest, she could hear his heartbeat, and found its cadence instantly soothing. “You are just a little girl. You have a long time before you are bound by anything.”

“My prince….” She whispered, only now realizing how tired she was. Her soft eyelids drooped heavily over her chocolate eyes, and the man brushed away locks of the fine, strawberry blonde hair to kiss her forehead. “My prince….”

“Is right here.”

…

Kalyca awoke with a start, throwing the coverlet away from her body, which was far too hot. Oh, that dream again. She hadn’t had it for a long time. She knew it was more than a dream, it was a memory, but one she could only recall when sleeping. She remembered all the events leading up to it, and all the events that followed, but what happened that night, with that man, whose eyes were that colorless shade of blue….all of that was a blur.

Her mouth dry, she whispered, “Hoshiko…..” He, too, was a mere memory…..Her prince….Long ago she’d grown up enough to no longer pull off the tomboy games she and her best friend had played as a child. Her well endowed bosom prevented that. Blasted breasts, she hated them so much. At seventeen years old, she was practically a woman. Playing the game the boys played was not allowed in public anymore. Only in private practice.

I will be a prince…..I am Hoshiko’s prince…..

But only in pretend, and it wasn’t her chest that prevented her from that goal. And now, Hoshiko was a true prince, and what was she? She doubted he had the time to think of her now….his own little prince….

Turning on her bed table lamp, she quickly squinted against its sudden brightness. Yawning, she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust before rifling through the bedside drawer, fishing out a locket. Reverently, she opened it, smiling at the faded picture of herself as a child, next to the grinning brown haired, gray eyed boy. The boy was Hoshiko, her childhood companion and fellow prince. Their other friends had not been allowed to aspire to princedom. That was reserved for the partners in crime themselves. Instead they were allowed to be knights, serving always loyally to their princes.

And then that blasted letter…..

Hoshiko had been called out of their games of pretend. He must be a true prince now.

Groaning, Kalyca glanced at the clock, pushing an unruly lock of red gold hair behind her ear. Half past six. It was still dark out, but it wasn’t too early to get up. Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, she shivered at the sudden cold touch of the floor to her feet. Quickly sliding into a beat up pair of slippers, she scurried down the dark hall and towards the kitchen. It drizzled outside, and a cup of hot chocolate sounded so very soothing at the moment. It might allow a chance at forgetting Hoshiko for a moment.

Alas, a moment was all she ever forgot.

…

“Damon?”

“Shh….”

The messy black haired youth peeked his head around the corner, his green eyes flashing excitedly. His eyes locked onto the target of his best friend, a blond haired youth, who was, at the moment, kneeling at an alter, praying. The small, plain room’s walls were whitewashed, and a table covered in a cloth whose color changed with the holy season rested on the uneven floor. A crucifix hung on the wall, a small portrait of the holy mother rested on a tack in the corner. Candles stood burning, their white wax leaving drippings on the red sheet. The blond haired boy – now twenty – made the sign of the cross over his face, and rose, quietly facing the boy who had called him.

“Yes, Kellan, what is it?” The blond responded, his British accent quite noticeable.

The pale, almost colorless blue eyes looked far darker, more normal, in the faded light of the candles on the alter, and the green eyed Kellan merely watched his friend for the moment.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t find you here. I thought to tell you the news.”

“News such as this travels fast, you know that.”

“And to you fastest of all. But isn’t it exciting, Damon?”

“Not yet it’s not,” muttered the boy labeled Damon disapprovingly, sinking into a rude stool. “She’s hardly been dead twenty four hours. Our sovereign master barely forty eight.”

Kellan bowed his head in an apologetic manner. “My ardor for the future does not mean that I love our late leaders any less,” he murmured, finally raising his head again, the candle light playing in the black, unkempt hair. “But the Rose King is dead, and so must death claim his Queen.”

“‘Wherest thou goest shalt I follow,’” quoted Damon. “Yes, I know their wedding vows quite well, though I was not yet born to see the ceremony.”

“You do know what this means?”

Damon snorted. “Only a fool doesn’t know what it means.”

Kellan now settled himself into a no less primitive stool, head spinning with the newness of it all. “A new Rose Princess….” Damon nodded. “A new Rose King! One of us, Damon, one of us!”

“It’s a two in ten chance, Kellan, don’t count on anything.”

Kellan’s green eyes flashed mock hurt for a moment, whilst the pale blue of his friend did not change at all. “Oh, but I won’t be brooding about thinking I shall never get it.”

“And neither shall I,” agreed Damon, rising and walking up the uneven steps of the corner room to return to the main part of the palace. “As for myself, I shall be practicing.” Reverently, he slid his heavy sword out of it’s sheath, staring at it long and proudly. The ancient weapon of the Rose Prince lived on, and now, finally, it could serve Damon a purpose other than a reminder of the past and to use in practice.

“Practicing?” marveled Kellan as his friend re-sheathed the weapon. “What for?”

Damon sighed, continuing to walk. “Think about it, Kellan. The Rose King is chosen in a duel, if one is picked as a duelist. Now, just in case I do get picked, I will not allow my skills to be dull.” He wheeled with fierce pride and determination. “If the chance is given by the grace of God and the First Prince, then, I swear to you, I shall be King.”

Kellan’s chest swelled in momentary pleasure for him. Damon stood the best chance of anyone. The eldest Rose Prince at the age of twenty, he was level headed, handsome, an excellent thinker and fighter. His temper could sometimes get the best of him, but it was a forgivable flaw, and one the blond worked constantly to remedy. Finally, Kellan shook his head, grinning. “You forget, Damon; I will practice now, too.”

Damon caught the grin. “Last time I bested you.” He unsheathed the sword again, the light of the electric lamps of the upstairs, more modern world, playing against the metal. “Shall we try again?”

To Be Continued…..