In a kingdom with moonlit balconies, where the passionate entangle in secret love-affairs; in a land ruled by kings and queens, where balls and marriages are hosted in a flurry of elegance detailed to the individual’s fancy; and overlooking all, is a cas

In a kingdom with moonlit balconies, where the passionate entangle in secret love-affairs; in a land ruled by kings and queens, where balls and marriages are hosted in a flurry of elegance detailed to the individual’s fancy; and overlooking all, is a castle painted in the finery of royal colors. A field of golden flowers lay cast before it, banking either side of the single dirt road that winds into a distant wood. The bright sparkling ocean stretches behind it; no land lining the far shore. It is a surface journeyed by many of the kingdoms warriors and love-struck youths. In sail boats, bright-eyed girls and bushy-tailed boys committed the act that would grant them the maturity of adults. In canoes, warriors and commanders would paddle their way to wage war in the distant kingdom, spears laid aside for the temporarily replacement of oars.

The spring had come and gone, taking with it the laughing children in the flower fields, the winking musicians of the city streets, and the bountiful gardens of prospering herbs. Passed now, were the ocean voyages at midnight, lead by young captains accompanied by bouncing, cheerful ladies, who batted their eyes as they tolerated the foolish game. Faded away were the births that came with spring, both that of human and animal. It was a reoccurring miracle which never failed to soften the face of the kingdom’s king.

Summer had arrived and left, stealing away the wandering traders and their highly priced wares, but who always arrived just in time for the moonlit funerals, the afternoon birthday celebrations, and the artfully set marriages painted in dawn’s early light. Gone now were the fireflies who dotted the nights gold, and barren were the peach trees beneath which would lounge the elderly, who could not venture further than the flower fields. On those particular afternoons, king Gloomshane could be found relaxing with them. Many a grandfather or grandmother could be grateful to him for a warm peach from the tree.

Fall had concluded, the trees were bare and the forest floor littered in the earthen hues of leaves. The golden flowers carpeting the castle’s fields had withered, their heads drooping in solemn submission to Mother Nature’s law. The sandy shore was lapped at by the ocean, the earth’s child reaching out to taste alien soil. Seaweed decorated the grainy surface. Those whose task was to remove it had long forsaken such a chore. Once upon a warmer season, the king and his best friend could’ve been found here, two lithe and muscled forms sprawled on a hand-stitched blanket of fine threads and intricate pattern.

Winter had crept in, forcing the sun to retreat for the replacement of cloudy skies. Without sunlight’s care, the flower fields became a carpet of white snow, sprinkled with the occasional dandelion head which had found the strength to fight the chill. Yellow beauties that once stretched into the distance until they met the wood, they now stood with gray heads, features now similar to that of a worn and aged parent. A field of awaiting wishes, the king’s best friend, Lucas, had always called them. The ones who withstood the snow’s barrage, Lucas would say, were the wishes that held a higher promise of being granted.

“And what would you wish?” The king asked, his usual soft appearance darkened as the clouds gradually stole more of the kingdom’s light. Their greediness was not appreciated by the two men, who stood at the threshold to the meadow, which had once been cheerful, but now merely reflected the men’s own hollowness. “That you would choose strong children such as these?” King Gloomshane gently exhaled upon the dandelion, which stood its ground against the breeze.

“Is it not a kindness, Gloom?” Lucas asked, lips drawing into a smile, a mirror-image of cheerful memories long past. “That we give them this gift? The opportunity to journey the lands at the will of the winds, some special person’s wish keeping them brimming with purpose?”

“Perhaps a kindness,” the king replied, and bowed his head, as if in respect to some divine onlooker from above. “And perhaps a mercy.”

“Perhaps one and the same.” Lucas supplied, glancing to his companion.

Gloomshane stood with a posture that whispered of royal pride, but which was overrode with habitual modesty. Tight black curls sat atop broad shoulders, thick eyebrows shadowed lidded blue eyes. A few feet away, Lucas stood proudly, his pride as visually evident as his friends, but perhaps slightly lacking in modesty. From his position, he could gaze upon the king’s back; observe the muscles of his shoulder-blades, arms and calves. As subordinate surveyed the superior, his let his eyes focus on the sword clipped to the king’s hip. Gloomshane had carried it since he’d met his adolescence twenty years ago. Lucas remembered, as he’d been standing guard only feet away. The two were never out of earshot of the other, not in childhood, not in boyhood, and never in adult maturity.

Only a small distance separated the two forms. Occupying this space sat two suitcases packed to bursting; meaning they of course belonged to a female. Gloomshane awaited his wife now, as well as his son. A journey hovered in the near future, one that beckoned with more insistence with every passing minute of the waning sun.

However, while both were impatient, neither felt the hindrance of boredom. Both king and guard knew each other’s presence even better than they knew their own. The silence temporarily caressing the air at the courtyard’s exit inhibited neither of them. Quiet or conversation, the difference mattered not.

A carriage pulled upon the dirt road, which wound through the snowy meadow with a meandering routine. As the two men surveyed the scene, Gloomshane thought to those whose chore it had been to prepare it. The carriage was fancy in its decoration, but this was to be expected. It was the six horses standing at the front, neighing and conversing, which brought a pleasant surprise. Never before had either man witnessed such a visually pleasing spectacle, with the small exception of the many women Lucas had chanced secret councils with. Adorning the purple’s and blues of the royal family, the steeds were more masterfully decorated than any fairytale carriage. Their manes combed to shinning in the moonlight, the edges of their silhouettes sparkling silver. The magnificence caused Lucas to laugh and Gloomshane to smile.

“Oh, very subtle indeed.” Lucas chuckled, smothering his laughter with polite manners, which were such a persistent presence in his mind; they were like a halo hanging above his head. Every time he spoke or took an action, a sensation overtook him. It was the clear reminder from somebody overhead that he had a responsibility as the king’s private guard, one which he must never forsake.

“Perhaps a little fancier than I’d intended.” Gloomshane murmured, his amusement fading before it even grew apparent. It was as if the king had his own personal halo to tolerate, a notion easily believed. Lucas had been raised and trained by the same teachers his childhood friend had. The past king and queen of the Gwenlin kingdom, despite Lucas’s lack of relation to them, had still been the ones to pass their teachings and “halos” onto Lucas.

“Might want to tend to that,” Lucas motioned to the wishing plant. “Before the ladies arrive and we’re on our way.”

“Of course.” He said softly, and eyed his tiny charge. For a moment, the air stilled, as the black haired man eyed the gray headed thing. Neither moved, as if waiting for the opposite to take action.

“It’s not a deer that’s going to give birth to a fawn if you stare at it long enough, Gloom.” Lucas stated, tone dry but slightly bemused at once. His companion’s voice drew the king from his thoughts, but didn’t grant him the chance to answer.

The castle doors swung wide. The pair of men turned, and across the courtyard, they witnessed two forms ascending the stone steps. Gloomshane lost his voice at the sight of her. Ever since she’d saved him from drowning fifteen years past, she’d earned the ability to steal his voice. The lady Esternelia wore a midnight blue shirt tucked into the waist of a purple skirt that brushed the backs of her ankles. A white corset was worn over the shirt, which formed itself to her bosom quite artfully.

Delicate feet sweeping across the yard, she raised her gaze to his. The hazelnut brown speckled with gold left him breathless and smiling, stealing from him speech and air, but not facial expression.

A smaller form struggled to match his mother’s long strides. His eyes weren’t drawn to Gloomshane’s, but to Lucas’s. Excitement lit up the dark embers, eyes that better resembled the queen’s than the king’s.

“Deepest apologies for the delay, dearest.” Esternelia said in manner of greeting. Her husband composed himself as he received a brief kiss from his queen.

“None needed.” He smiled, and grasped her hand. “It’s merely a comfort to know you have joined us at long last.” He’d seen his wife at supper, dined with her the entirety of the meal.

“I do believe we conversed not an hour ago.” She reminded him, and he laughed. She’d sensed his thoughts as clearly as a mother bear heard her children’s call for protection.

“Ester,” he whispered her nickname, running his fingers across her bare shoulders. “If I informed you each moment I missed you, you would never hear the end of it.”

“And I believe we hear his voice plenty as it is.” Lucas’s voice slid into the conversation smoothly, almost as if he’d been included in the conversing of wife and husband, which he had not.

“It was not my fault, father.” At the stubborn tone, Gloomshane glanced downwards. His blue eyes brightened, his face softened. “Mother insisted I pack my fanciest and finest outfits, but I do not see the sense in…”

“Would you like to hear a little secret Shawn?” Lucas asked, crouching down. His eyes were now level with the boy’s. At the offer, Shawn’s dark embers sparkled with the brilliance of curiosity, then suspicion.

“The last I heard you say such a thing,” he spoke, voice accusing. “You merely told me the location of the maid’s tastiest pastries.” The obvious object of this insult straightened, his cheeks flushing as both Shawn’s parents turned their gazes upon him.

“Now Lucas,” Ester’s words were spoken like an interrogation, but her tone was teasing. “You haven’t been hassling the maids in the kitchens again have you?”

“Sneaking in when they’re tasks have taken them elsewhere is more like it.” Shawn spoke quietly. Gloomshane chuckled.

Watching his family tease each other was always the perfect remedy for foul moods. His heart was easily heavy these past weeks, so whenever the opportunity arose, he would spend his time in the company of these souls. After the deaths of his parents five years ago, and the launch of the war three years before that, he had grown easily susceptible to moods that affected him socially and emotionally.

“I’ll assume you don’t want to hear then.” Lucas was sighing, rolling his eyes towards the night sky. The clouds had blessedly slipped from sight, and allowed the stars the chance to shine.

“What?” Shawn exclaimed, his 11-year-old eyes widening. With his facial muscles in such a position, he appeared like a panicked-owl. “Where on earth did you get that idea Lucas!”

The corners of Lucas’s lips twitched. Gloomshane was the only one to notice. Both the king’s and the guard’s abilities of observation had long been perfected, especially when it came to the habits and quirks of the other.

“Oh dear,” Lucas said, tapping a finger to his lips. “I believe I have already forgotten!” As he said this, a lock of his bright gold hair fell to hang against his cheek.

Esternelia once again, as she had times previous, marveled at the contrast between her husband and his guard. The king was the essence of darkness in appearance. Tight black curls, the barest shadow of facial hair carpeting his chin, and eyebrows overlooking eyes colored the same hues. His skin was the darkest in the kingdom, whereas Lucas’s was pale white. Lucas’s hair were golden wisps which despite the maids best efforts, could never be controlled. His eyes were blue orbs speckled gold. They also spent more time winking at passing ladies than they did slumbering.

“Lucas,” Shawn exclaimed, punching the guard in the ribs. In spite of playful intentions, the gold-blond slid away smoothly, reflexes carrying him out of dangers aim. Lucas knew well Shawn’s abilities and strengths, perhaps better than the youth did. He knew that teasing, taunting fist might very well bruise his ribs if it made contact. Lucas had assisted in his training, received bruises upon occasion, and the experience had taught him future avoidance.

“No, you don’t little Shawn.” Lucas laughed, and ruffled the boy’s hair. The combination of these offenses—both the ruffling of his hair and being called “little”—caused Shawn to leap at Lucas, and the two nearly ended up on the courtyard floor, wrestling and rolling in the snow. They would have, if not for a voice breaking through the tussle.

“I regret to interrupt your highness,” came another voice, one that rang gruffer than any of the four, but was just as welcome. “But the carriage awaits and a long journey yet lies ahead.”

All eyes turned to focus on Alish, one among several of Gloomshane’s commanders. Alish was fifty years old. Many had cautioned the king that the man was too old to continue service. At every turn, Gloomshane would smile and nod his head, but inform them that Alish was a man that the previous king had employed. Alish had not made a mistake yet, and until he did, Gloomshane intended to let the commander retain his current position.

“No apologies Alish,” Gloomshane answered, smiling as he grasped the handle of his suitcase. “I wish to be on our way as well.” He called over his shoulder.

He carried his single bag to the carriage, where it was set inside a compartment built into the rear section. Gloomshane stepped around the side of the carriage.

“Did you know your son has dirtied more of my wardrobe than I have?” Lucas inquired, brushing himself off. He held open the door for Ester to step inside, followed by the smaller, scowling Shawn, who stepped on Lucas’s foot as he passed. Yelping, the guard stumbled backwards, and fell onto the snow. Gloomshane pulled him to his feet, a motion that took no effort. It wasn’t because Lucas was light, the guard couldn’t be with his muscled form, but because Gloomshane’s physical strength had been perfected during the past years of war.

“That’s for keeping secrets.” Shawn shouted from within. Lucas narrowed his eyes and didn’t reply. The black haired man standing alongside him laughed and shook his head.

“This is a situation you brought upon yourself, dear friend.” He spoke, stepping into the carriage. With the door closed, the pair locked eyes through the window. Both had their hair pushed back from their faces. One had eyebrows raised, the other smirked.

“Meaning no assistance?” Lucas prodded.

“Exactly.” Gloomshane nodded. He watched his guard sigh, and then step away from the compartment doorway.

Lucas took his position beside Alish, grabbed up the reins. He whistled and guards who had obviously been awaiting orders from out of sight, fell into formation on three sides. Sitting atop steeds of varying colors and patterns, 20 armored men sat rigid in their saddles.