It was midday by the time Donovan LeClair began a familiar journey down the ancient street that was the Kingdom’s main thoroughfare, deciding to go by foot instead of by carriage. His waist length raven hair was pulled into a tight braid, showing off a slender neck and high cheek bones that were reminiscent of his mother’s features, so too was his dancer’s grace and his lithe build. It was hard to find a feature on his face that bound him to his father but the upturned shape of his piercing green eyes and his physical aptitudes were the fingerprint of his father’s genes, and that’s all that seemed to matter. Donovan dressed himself in his finer clothes that day, paying more attention to his outward appearance then he usually would when working in his family’s store but he knew that the day was special and he felt like he needed to dress for the occasion. Donovan had worked at the shop the moment he was able to lift small boxes, putting them in the store room where they would wait until they were needed. He worked early mornings until he was thirteen and given the duty of helping pull the boxes off the carriages when his father’s caravan returned from its weeklong journey to the neighboring Kingdom of Cheval and stocking the items on the shelves. Slowly Donovan was given more and more responsibility with each passing year ranging from doing transactions to setting up the displays of new items and even redesigning the entire interior and exterior to be more inviting and even more posh than it once had been.

The smell of fresh fish caught on the wind announced the beginning of the city’s marketplace, the stalls banished to the very edge of the marketplace so the odor of their goods didn’t cause the inner city to smell of the river. Donovan nodded to the owners of the stalls as they greeted him, making small talk as he continued on his habitual routines of the day. The fish venders slowly gave way to others selling various meats and soon to other food stalls, their own rightful smells mingling in the air to create a pungent scent of stale blood and freshly turned earth. Donovan waved to the few owners he knew as he swerved through the crowds, dodging the sights of clothing vendors leaning trying to get the attention of the crowd through people modeling some of their new wares and the traveling merchants with their bolts of fabric and pockets filled with rare jewelry.

Wooden stalls finally turned to antique stone buildings, housing some of the oldest shops in the Ostara Kingdom and cut from the same rocks the made the castle itself. The owners were joined in their shops’ antiquity and they settled in the city’s high society and they and their children reached towards employment within the castle walls to maintain their high standings. The store fronts were simplistic in design, wooden signs hanging above the doors showing off the shop’s name in stylized forms and those who were fortunate enough to have large windows on the street placed samples of their goods within them so anyone passing by would know what they sold.

Donovan jogged down the street as the crowd seemed to dwindle as he got further and further from the cheaper stalls, towards a marble fountain that served as a marker for the marketplace’s center most point. The stores that circled the fountain were among the oldest, the buildings were some of the first to be made within the city and those who owned it were bred from those who first came to live within the kingdom. He trotted past servant who seemed to be arguing with Lenora Kinn, a round elderly woman who was the city’s prestigious tailor, about the contents of a rather large box. On most days he would stop to see how the woman was doing, going as far as to interrupt fitting sessions to speak with her and remain the woman’s favorite among the elites’ children.

“I wish you knew how late you were.” Donovan trotted up the stairs past Jacob, one of the younger stock boys Donovan had hired, as he leaned over the handrail of the shop’s front staircase. He turned and followed after Donovan, fixing his vest as he tried to step in time with the twenty three year old. “If I was ever as late as you, I’d lose my job.”

Donovan wheeled around, “When you are in my position, Jacob, you will be able to do what ever you like and no-one can say otherwise.” He grinned and mussed the boy’s dirty blonde hair. “You’re doing what I did at your age and if you save your money, you might be able to buy your own shop one day.”

Jacob swatted away Donovan’s hand with a grunt of displeasure as he began to make himself look presentable once more. He stopped and eyed Donovan for a moment. “Buy a shop? You think I could do that?”

“It’s possible if you don’t waste your money.” Donovan replied lackadaisically, turning and looking around the store. He bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow, “Do you know where my father is?”

“Mr. LeClair is in the stock room looking through some of the boxes since it isn’t too busy today. That’s the reason why he told me to watch the shop while he was there.” Jacob puffed out his chest as he said this. A bright smile on his face as he looked around the store, knowing he had done such a great job and keeping things straight. Donovan muttered his thanks and moved towards the cellar door, pushing it open and slipping down the steps as Jacob began to rearrange one of the displays.

Humming drifted through the dusty air as Donovan stood on the staircase’s last step, trying to spot his father in the dimly lit room. He took one step and watched as his father’s head poked up from behind one of the boxes to see who was there and what they could be doing. A smile passed over the man’s face as he saw his son and motioned for him to come closer before returning to his previous endeavor. Donovan grumbled and began to weave through the labyrinth of boxes.

“You’re late.” Aldan said as Donovan finally came to rest beside him. He counted the contents of the box before him and jotted it down in a small book. “What is your excuse this time?”

Donovan smiled. “Well, I couldn’t leave these two young ladies at an inn by themselves, father, so I decided to make sure they were safe.”

Aldan shook his head, a few strands of his peppered hair falling out of his hat, and gave him a sideways glance, “One of these days you’ll just have to trust the Gods that young ladies will be safe without you around.” He closed his book and turned to Donovan with a stern look. “What am I going to do?”

“Have Jacob start working the floor,” Donovan took the book from his father’s hands. “I was his age when I started to stock the shelves and he seems more than able to do that. The other boys that stock down here haven’t the drive to do those things so they shouldn’t be upset and we have Charles and Lucas to help with the transactions, so we’re well employed at the moment.”

“My father was older than I was when he let me take over the shop; it’s hard to believe that I’m doing this now.” Aldan sighed.

“That may be true but think of the time that you have to dedicate to hunting and to mother; she’ll love the fact that the two of you can spend more time together.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Donovan smiled and placed his father’s book back into his hands. “Since this won’t be official until tomorrow, though, I’m going to go find Aston, take him to that gypsy fair, and tell him the good news!”

**********

Aston was a head taller than Donovan and seemed to be his opposite in every way, built for heavy work and seeming to be carved from the very stone of the city, his skin was tanned from working in the sun, and his hair was deep blonde and cut short in a military fashion. Instead of following in his father’s footsteps like most young men did Aston decided to take up the flag of their king and became a knight in training. The work did him well and he took the ideals of the knights to heart, striving to become more valiant then his predecessors, though it was hard to live up to that dream while Donovan seemed to steer him more and more towards any sort of vice that suited the raven hair man’s needs at the moment.

The mismatched pair strode down the street bathed in twilight hues and towards the sounds of a fair, gypsy music, and the smell of freshly cooked meats and bread. It took an hour of convincing on Donovan’s part to get Aston to leave the barracks behind, like the other trainees, and take the time to enjoy the fair that appeared only once a year. Aston tried to argue with his raven haired friend that every night they went off to enjoy something that always ended with the two of them with too many drinks and women of questionable intentions trying to climb into their laps; Donovan’s only response was that this time was different.

“So, why is this time different than the others?” Aston asked as he fiddled with a stray piece of thread on his white tunic.

“Well,” Donovan said as he swatted at Aston to stop fidgeting, “the next time the sun rises I will officially be the owner of my family’s business!”

Aston looked at Donovan with wide blue eyes, “Really?” He grabbed his friend by the shoulders and wrapped him a tight hug, laughing happily. “Congratulations! I suppose I should buy you a drink tonight then.”

Donovan laughed, “That isn’t necessary, Aston, all I need is one last night of fun.”

The early evening passed with the fun that Donovan so desperately wanted as he tried to fight back the nervous feeling that was beginning to creep up on him as he thought about being in charge of something that is nearly as old as the kingdom. The two friends wandered the outskirts of the city to enjoy the fair and listen to the gypsy bards as they played music, sang, danced, and told stories that seemed too old for their world. Both sang drinking songs with a number of bards and drunkards from the city, fending off any sort of fatigue with horrible dancing and a mixture of food and drinks. They celebrated until the grinning moon floated to its nightly peak, creating eerie shadows on the world below and Aston staggered arm in arm, down the torch lit street with one of his fellow trainees leaving Donovan to manage his way home on his own.

Silence followed Donovan home though the din of the fair still echoed in his ears; he drank more than he meant to and he could already feel the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. The face of his home was dark, which was expected at such a late hour but part of Donovan wanted someone to be awake to greet him. Such things were long past, seeing that he managed to do this more than twice a week both his parents took to sleep before he arrived home and most of the servants had already retired as well. He thought about rousing one of the servants to make him something to eat so he could have the company but a pang of guilt urged him to think twice.

As usual the door was unlocked and Donovan soundlessly slipped in, locking the door behind him. He drifted up the stairs, humming one of the nameless songs the gypsies had played as he made his way towards his room. Donovan stopped for a moment as he noticed gooseflesh rise on his arms; he rubbed them and convinced himself that it was probably the gypsy ale doing something weird to his body. He disappeared into his room and was greeted with a fire burning in the hearth and a tray of fresh fruit on his bedside table. Donovan shrugged off his boots and lay before the flames, watching them twist and dance as a breeze met it through the chimney. He smiled at the thought of the gypsies dancing to their songs as he watched the fire flicker and he felt sleep tugging at him feverishly.

The sound of something shattering brought any feeling of sleep to an abrupt end and Donovan propped himself up with his elbows, straining to listen but there was nothing. ‘Maybe I need to get some sleep,’ he thought only moments before another crash echoed through his room. Donovan scrambled to his feet and pressed himself against his door as he heard a dull thud from the hall, trying desperately to hear more of what could be happening. Angry whispers soon followed the momentary silence and a loud smack cut through those whispers.

His heart beating wildly in his chest Donovan slowly opened the door and peered into the hall; two figures stood before the moonlit window, shrouded in shadow, arguing in whispers. Donovan thanked the Gods that he hadn’t been heard as he gripped the door frame and watched as the two figures suddenly began to struggle with each other. The small of the two suddenly grabbed the other by the neck with one hand and placed their other hand over the person’s mouth; with an animalistic growl they crushed the person’s neck with staggering ease.

“By the Gods,” Donovan gasped. The shadow turned towards him and dropped the limp body to the floor as it took a step in his direction. Fear gripped his mind as scrambled into the hall and ran for the stairs, shouting for someone, anyone, to help him. Donovan glanced over his shoulder and watched as the shadow sprinted for him, reaching for him with the very hands that had snapped the other’s neck. He tried to dodge the hand as best as he could and suddenly felt his feet miss the second step on the wooden staircase.

Donovan fell down the stairs and felt every step strike his body with an imagined vengeance. His breath was ripped from his chest and he felt the cold stone of the floor strike the back of his head as he came to rest. Tears began to form in Donovan’s eyes causing his vision to swim more than it was beginning to and the taste of blood was heavy in his mouth. A whimper escaped him as he tried to force his body to move as he saw the shadow watching him the top step. The world around him disappeared, gradually, into darkness and every painful sensation he faded to nothing.

‘I’m dead.’