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Long time no see. I reposted my story because, let's face it, the last prologue sucked. So this one's better. Just trust me.
Prologue
Autumn was always a harsh season behind the stones of a castle. The colored glass of the windows became prison bars, holding the palace inhabitants captive within the slowly icing walls. The passage into winter was never a pleasant one, especially in snow covered Larasca. It seemed the country never saw the sky. Dreary, gray clouds loomed over the entire nation, taunting them with constant rain. It was rare that the sun shone for more than a few minutes at a time.
Joanissia had the worst of the weather. It had been a pathetic idea to place such an important capital in the midst of so very distant mountains. But as a result of poor planning and rushed work, the massive castle had been built atop one of the Solemnan Mountains, and the royal city of Joanissia had been erected beneath. There was no wonder why the royals of the country, all gathered within the city’s protective walls, had the palest skin of most the world.
It was almost noon, though one wouldn’t know it by looking outside. Indeed the sky was as gray as ever, the white snow falling steadily, as it had been for what seemed like months. The queen witnessed this as she had for days; staring out one of the enormous stained-glass windows. Most of this one was red. It depicted an epic battle, two soldiers facing a marvelous, crimson dragon. Swords of diamond were poised in amber hands, and the gold sun spread its rays all the way down to the stone floor. Its craftsmanship was remarkable. The same man had constructed every one of the mosaics in the castle, one in every corridor, on each floor. King Cedric- said to be one of most benevolent rulers Larasca had ever had. A little extra work, he said, could often make the dullest project exquisite.
But Queen Moranna remained unaffected by the majesty of her late husband’s works. Her icy, sapphire eyes seemed to look past the mosaic altogether, absorbing the scene of early winter with an entirely blank expression. She was the queen of this ice castle, in more ways than one. Always she wandered the palace like a phantom- her ivory skin shimmering, and the midnight black of her hair flowing behind her. It seemed that the cold did nothing more than amplify her chilling beauty. It was fitting that she, too, should be entrapped in a fortress surrounded by snow.
Even so, it was difficult to completely ignore the towering masterpiece. The fight scene was too beautifully depicted. Somehow, the men with their raised swords struck a forgotten chord in her long neglected heart. Cedric had approached her there once. She could still remember that the gentle red light from the glass had been unable to alter his striking green eyes. ‘I’d fight the demons of your heart for you, if you’d only let me.’
A voice soon interrupted her thoughts. “Are you cold, your majesty?” The tone was familiar to her; gentle, though it had a startlingly masculine quality.
Her pale lips pressed into a thin line, and her slender, graceful fingers went to the diamond necklace around her bare neck. Most of the castle’s residents already wore thick leathers and furs in order to function- the queen wore nothing more than a white linen dress. It was far less covering than a woman of her status should have worn, but she was from a distant land. Her customs were strange only to those who knew nothing of them.
She turned slowly towards the source of the voice. There was a young man there, just barely an adult, with eyes nearly the same blue as her own. He had her hair as well, cropped close to his head by her command. She couldn’t stand seeing this man. He had no known relation to her, or to anyone. Yet when she allowed herself to look at his face, its likeness to hers could do nothing but spark a fiery rage. It was an insult that a common nobody should be allowed to show resemblance to her at all.
“…Do I look cold to you, Aragon?” she asked, her tone near blank. “A red nose, perhaps? Goosebumps? Honestly, those are the signs you must take into account. Don’t be an idiot.” Out of nothing more than habit, she turned from him, letting her eyes stare vacantly out the colored glass. By Aragon’s sudden shudder, she could tell her voice had had the desired effect. She always kept her tone soft, and her beautiful, foreign way of sounding the words kept most men in a trance. Everything she did was meant to draw people to her- and hide her nature.
It was a moment before his voice rose to answer. “No.” he said finally. “You look beautiful, as always.”
Beauty. She thought over the word carefully, letting it fester in the back of her mind. Beauty was what she had been bred for, hadn’t it? Now even the word gave her a bitter pain. Slowly, her arms folded over her narrow waist, tensing slowly with her irritation. Her temper had always been a difficult problem to hide. Even now, her faint, though clearly forced smile couldn’t mask the slight narrowing of her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t need any reminding from the likes of you,” She said lowly.
Silence fell over the corridor. Though Aragon seemed to show a flicker of discomfort, he didn’t leave her side. He could not- the spell she had cast over him was meant to keep him witless, and remained intact even though she had done it so long ago. Sometimes she was curious as to what he would be like, had she left him his will. But the circumstances of their meeting would not have allowed such a thing.
At the same time, there still seemed to be a glimmer of consciousness in the youth’s body. His eyes remained alert, despite the fact he still was held captive by her whim. This also meant that he stayed curious about his surroundings, and questions would arise if he was left unchecked.
This irritated her more than she would ever admit.
Aragon walked closer to the window, his hand gently reaching out to touch the cold glass. “What happened to your husband, your majesty?” he asked, his voice still very soft.
She turned swiftly, expecting him to be smirking, or showing any kind of expression that she could reproach him for. But his expression was as blank as ever, his crystal blue eyes looking distantly at his reflection in the scarlet glass. He seemed unaffected by the chill emanating off the mosaic. Now that she really saw him, it was apparent he was wearing as little covering as she was. Loose, pale silk cloth was cuffed at his waist and ankles as an excuse for slacks, and a similar fabric barely covered his fair chest in a thin vest. How strange that a slave should find reason to be that well dressed.
It was a moment before she made up her mind to answer. And when she did, it was brief. “He’s dead,” she said, her fingers curling slowly around her necklace. There was nothing else she needed to say. It was a trying subject he had stumbled onto. The very thought of her husband began to gnaw at her consciousness, causing her knuckles to turn slowly whiter as they gripped her jewelry.
The boy seemed to take little notice of her expression. He looked at her slowly, his hand still placed gently on the glass. “And your son…Asyrias?”
Her temper reached its final breaking point. In a shower of diamonds her necklace shattered, the glittering, silver gems dropping to the ground in a wave of ear piercing sound. “That’s none of your concern!” she cried. The remaining stones were gripped tightly in her palm, dark blood dripping slowly down her hand from where they pierced her pale flesh. “You have no right to ask those questions! How dare you speak to your queen as if she were a fellow commoner?!”
The sudden rage had no visible effect on Aragon. He still stared out the window, more interested in the falling snow than he was in the chaos around him. “Is he dead too?” he asked, slowly closing his eyes.
His indifference somehow maddened her even further. She wanted to see him suffer; shy away from her, or anything! Even those under a spell had some form of fear when put in the right conditions. But Aragon still showed no emotion at all. Only the crisp white cloud of his breath proved that he was breathing.
She screamed in frustration, raising her hand. The bloodied diamonds clattered to the floor as she sharply struck him across the face. The sound of the strike resounded from the walls, and a crimson streak of blood from her palm dripped slowly down his fair cheek. “Do you think you’re better than me?! Is that it?!” she screamed. “How can you stand there and ask me those things when you already know the answer?!”
Aragon didn’t move. His cheek had begun to turn a gentle red beneath the smeared blood- all the more proof that she had actually hit her mark. And yet he still didn’t stir. Gradually, he turned, meeting her with blank eyes. “You only hope he’s dead…” he whispered.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor, accompanied by a somewhat panicked sound of men’s voices. Moranna’s scowl seemed to slowly disappear. “I hope you know those are guards,” she said, a cold smile taking her lips.
There was still no movement from the boy. He looked at her with the same dead eyes he had looked through for nearly a full year. Eyes so like hers…
Finally, a group of five men rounded the corner; all of them tall, with brilliantly shaved heads. Their similar features and dark, unfeeling eyes marked them for what they were. They were as thinly dressed as Aragon and the queen, though it wasn’t because they couldn’t feel the cold. On the contrary, their teeth were audibly chattering, despite how tightly they clenched them. Only the tallest seemed unaffected by the awful chill. This, doubtless, was a part of their training. Immediately, four of them pinned down Aragon in an unnecessary display of strength. The boy took it with hardly a blink. It seemed he had forgotten how to struggle.
The tallest one, who had made no move for Aragon, made a deep bow towards his queen. “We heard a commotion,” he said, his voice deep and authoritative. He stayed in his bow, letting his eyes search the floor. The fallen diamonds, glittering diamonds stared back at him, just in the field of view. This was enough of a signal to him. “Do you wish us to remove him from your presence?”
In less than a moment, the young queen had recomposed herself. Again her arms were folded delicately, her chin tilted up ever so slightly in a natural air of authority. “It seems your men already have the job halfway done. You appear to be slowing in your old age.”
He clenched his teeth, but still looked carefully at the floor as he retained his bow. She was almost impressed. “Take him,” she said curtly.
All at once he rose, and his men lifted Aragon by his arms as they dragged him across the stone floor. There was no expression in the movement. All of them had been trained properly. It almost made her smile.
But Aragon still didn’t struggle. Instead, he tilted his head up slightly, meeting the eyes of the queen. He didn’t even seem to know he was being taken away. “Your son is alive,” he whispered.
Her eyes narrowed slowly, but before she could answer, he was no longer in sight. A sudden frustration gripped her. He’s lying, she thought, clenching her teeth. But she couldn’t tell him that now, or even punish him for causing her such torment. What would he know?
The mosaic loomed over her now more than it had before. It was as if it was taunting her now. The men in the glass became one, and that man became the image of her son. The dragon was no threat to this new, strange man- the sword was raised against her. Suddenly, she was blind with rage. She rammed her fist into the glass over and over, her knuckles slowly turning as red as the seemingly unbreakable mosaic. Her frustrated scream resonated through the corridors.
But now she could remember her son’s last words to her. The small child had looked up at her with his extraordinary, colorless eyes, and whispered, ‘I won’t fail you, mother.’
