He paced outside the door; his eyes locked onto the floor and his mind a flurry of thoughts. He could hear his wife, the lady queen, screaming in agony. Silently he prayed to his god for the safety of his wife and unborn child. In mid prayer the door cracked open.

“Sire,” a meek woman addressed him.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, stopping mid step to look at her, “tell me woman, what has happened?” his wife was no longer screaming and he literally pushed himself into the room to see her sitting with a child wrapped in blankets. Her brown hair stuck to her cheeks and neck, and her eyes were alight as she stared at her babe with all the love in her heart.

“Darling, we have a daughter,” she sighed.

The king gave an audible sigh. Though he had hoped for a son he still praised the day his wife was well and their offspring brought into the world.

“What to call her?” the king exclaimed, falling to his knees at is wife’s side.

“Renoir,” the queen simply said, “Renoir, princess of Adaris.”

The king smiled and ran a finger across the baby’s soft cheek. “My daughter,” he smiled, kissing her forehead and then kissing his wife.

(Transtition)

At the moment of the babe’s birth, a single wave of power erupted outward from the castle as if a stone were tossed into a pond. Deep in the forests beyond the reach of most humans in a kingdom halfway between two realms, a pair of deep violet eyes shot open, “the time has come,” he whispered to himself.

Beyond that and into the other realm, the realm of perpetual dark, a man’s blood red eyes shot open. “The time has come,” he announced.

(Transition)

In the realm of perpetual dark, a man knelt before his master and with outstretched hands, presented a vial of glowing liquid. “It is done,” his liquid smooth voice announced. He rose and withdrew into the shadows of the stone corridors.

The man who received the vile smiled villainously. “Yes, it is done, now to plant the seed,” he grinned and sat upon his throne of stone, jewels and draping finery. “To end what has been put into motion.”

“Icarus,” he called into the shadows. A man slipped out from the darkness, as if he had been there all along and fell to a knee before his master.

“What do you require of me, your loyal slave,” his head remained bowed and his silky, ebony hair cascading over his shoulders.

“I require you to plant a seed for me and be the gardener that prevents the union from happening,” the lord stated in his deep and monotonous voice.

“Yes, my lord,” he rose and received the vile of liquid and tucked it into his breast pocket. “You will not regret your faith in me,” he closed his red eyes and bowed before turning to leave and vanish in the shadows as the apothecary had.

“For your sake, I certainly hope not.”

Icarus walked through the darkness away from the castle the castle he was just in. The dark towers spiraled into the sky like sharp harpoons, black, yet glowing red. The whole of the realm was dark, except for the dim red and yellow lights that lined commons areas and private chambers.

Icarus reached an area where no light was present at all. He carried a torch with him and spoke a language known only to the Fae. He activated a door in the bark of twisted, malformed tree that no creature of the night even cared to near. Icarus stepped through and found himself in the forest outside of his realm. He sealed the door and stepped forward into the night and towards the kingdom of the humans.

Alternately traveling by foot and shadow jumping, Icarus made it by morning where when he entered the palace walls took the form of a palace worker, a plump woman with dark, down turned eyes.

He made his way into the castle with little problems and eventually made his way into the kitchens, where he integrated himself into the everyday routines of the humans. After several days he finally got himself into the right place and time. He reached into his skirt pocket and pulled out a vial which he slipped into the queen’s breakfast. A grin on his face, he picked up the tray and took it up to her private chambers where she was breastfeeding her child.

Icarus curtsied, “M’lady, I bring you your breakfast,” he announced in a cheerful voice and walked the tray over and sat it on the table beside her. Icarus got a good look at the babe and stared at it. The child looked up at Icarus and detached from her mother’s breast to begin crying.

“Renoir?” her mother questioned, lifting her to her shoulder to pat her back. “Why the fuss child?”

“I will be leaving,” Icarus curtsied once again and then left, disappearing into one of the shadows in the great hall.

Later that week the queen fell ill, soon after, the same fate met the babe. In desperation the king sent word with all his envoys for all healers to come to the castle at once.

Throughout the day several healers saw the babe and the queen, recommending fearful tactics and strange remedies. Some were tried, some turned away. Night soon fell, and the queen slipped away. The babe too was slipping further and further towards the ninth gate. The king fell to his knees at his wife’s bed, her last words being “Take care of Renoir.” Tears fell from his eyes as he held and kissed her hand. He slowly felt the warmth leave her body. Every second she felt farther away from him and the pain in his heart increased. Finally he was pulled away from his wife by her attendees. He heard the weak cries of his daughter, the only link to his wife left, and ran to where she was.

A cold wind blew through the kingdom and a knock was heard on the front gates. A shadowed man was greeted by a guard. “I can save the babe, let me in,” his voice was that of an aged man, but wisdom could be perceived. When he dropped his hood his eyes were the color of Amethysts, those of ethereal beings.

The guard seemed frightened, but he soon rushed the mysterious man up to the babe’s room where it lay silent in its last moments. The man bowed to the king who was in a desperate outrage.

“Name yourself, man,” he called.

“I am Shaman Willow of the midnight peoples. I have come in response to your babes need. She can be cured immediately and lead a normal life from here on out,” he presented.

“Then by all means do it!” the king ordered.

“We must discuss a price,” the Shaman insisted.

“Any price, anything you wish to take from the royal treasury is yours, just save my daughter,” the king yelled, pointing to the crib.

Willow rocked the silent babe in his arms and began to whisper words, though to the king it sounded only like gibberish. As soon as the words left his mouth a silver glow began to encircle baby Renoir and her once shadowed eyes opened to reveal amethyst orbs, a new gift. Her skin soon regained its lively glow and within minutes she began to cry a healthy cry. Willow placed the babe in its crib and turned to the king.

The king ordered for a wet nurse immediately and then placed his attention to the old man. “What will your price be?” he asked.

“Your daughter,” he said, as if it was not an expensive price. “In eighteen years we need your daughter, Lady Renoir to come to our kingdom deep in the forest and join us of the midnight peoples. She is to be treated as royalty and to wed the future ruler, Prince Cyan at such a time. It is an alliance of man and fey, a tradition you must be familiar with.”

The king closed his eyes. He had heard of such alliances with the fey. He thought such to be taboo. He knew he would have to wed his daughter off one day, but to a fey prince? It could not be done! “Name any other price!”

“You have heard my price and such it will be. We need her as much as you do your majesty,” he urged.

The king had just lost his wife, and now he was going to lose his daughter as well? Willow saw the look in the king’s eyes, “You have her now for a longer time then you would have before I healed her. You should look at it in that light, M’lord. You get to raise her, and at the same time she would marry another she would simply marry Prince Cyan.”

“But you are the pagan race!” he retorted.

“We may not believe in your god, but we have the same morals as you. We are a bright people in distress. Accept this.”

“Leave,” the king commanded.

“I will see you in eighteen years time,” Willow said before leaving, but not out the door, he simply vanished into the shadows.

The king suddenly felt cold. His mind was haunted with Willow and the image of his daughter going back with those things. He let out a long, thick sigh. He stared at his daughter for a long time before leaving to go to his private chambers, alone.