Willow
froze in place like a block of ice.
The young man went
on. “I strongly suggest you stay
perfectly still while I talk, Princess, or a sword with sadly impale you in the
back, and that would be such a shame.
Willow, is it?” His voice was beautiful—the
most beautiful voice Willow had ever heard.
When Willow failed to
respond, he laughed softly; not spitefully, but a genuine, friendly laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t hold up this performance any longer. You don’t need to be afraid; I’m not actually
going to run a lady through with my sword.
Turn around, if you please.”
Willow turned slowly,
keeping her gaze somewhat low, and found she was standing before a tall slender
gentleman dressed all in black, with a sweeping black silk cloak that pooled
around his feet, and a black hood that almost completely obscured his face
except for a few strands of dark brown hair that glinted in the moonlight. He did have a sword, though it was sheathed
at his side, but the most striking thing about him was his concupiscible beauty. Even without seeing his face, Willow’s breath
was taken away.
“I’m not that absurd,
honestly,” he said. “The things people
think of me—ghastly! I trust you know who I am, Princess Willow?”
“Yes,” Willow replied
meekly. Then, remembering she was
speaking with a king—no matter how dark her we—she curtsied low and added, “Er,
Your Majesty.”
“Please,” he said, as
though he were annoyed by such little gestures, “There’ll be no need for that,
Miss Willow.”
The Shadow King, the one
who Willow had cursed about after the New Year’s Festival, the one everyone
feared—he was here! In front of her! As though he were pleased to make her
acquaintance, no less. It astounded Willow that he was so casual. But yet she
was not afraid, either.
How was it?
“What is your purpose?”
Willow asked shyly, taking a small step away from him. “Why have you come here, and why for me?”
“I came in search of a
certain sister of yours who I rather need to meet, and I should not disclose
the reason to you, a fine lady though you are,” the Shadow King said, as though
conversing about the weather. His
posture was easy and relaxed. Willow, on the other hand, was still somewhat
tense. “I have reason to believe that you are the slightly older sister of a
Miss Wednesday?”
A startle went through
Willow. “Wednesday?” Of all people, her fragile sister?
“Oh, so you are. That is
correct.” The Shadow King absently took
out a silver pocketwatch, which contrasted interestingly against his black
dress, and started clicking it open and closed, the movements seemingly
automatic. “Please tell her to come to
the front lawn and meet me there at the third hour past midnight, precisely. I
have a matter to discuss. Do you care
for tea?”
“Er, no thank you.” Willow raised her eyebrows as she suddenly
realized he was holding a teacup and was calmly stirring it up with a black
spoon. “I’m rather particular about my
tea, myself.”
“I thought so,” he said,
taking a sip. “You seem that sort.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, nothing.” He dropped his teacup and Willow jumped back,
but she realized it was gone. Where had
it vanished to? “What are you doing out
so late at night, with nobody with you?”
“There are people around,”
Willow said cautiously. She paused. “Have you been watching me?” she accused.
“I would love to say yes,”
he admitted, “but no, I actually haven’t.
But I came by and noticed you were by yourself, so I thought it fitting
to ask you.”
“Oh.” Willow glanced back behind her. The black rose had vanished. It had been a trick of the mind, she was
sure. “Well, if you have no more need of
me, then I should be on my way, thank you.”
“But of course.” He stood back. “I do hope you deliver my message, Miss
Willow.”
Willow walked past him
until she made past the thick of willow trees.
Then she hiked up her skirts and ran.
“Gyelle, do you care for a dance?”
The King saw the
long-haired Goddess start as he materialized out of nowhere into the Shadow
Kingdom, right in front of her.
“My king.” Gyelle raised her eyebrows, twirling a lock
of her long loose hair idly around one finger.
“A dance? Are you in a good mood?”
“I ran into that beautiful
lady,” he said, smiling under his hood as he offered Gyelle his arm. “The one I met on New Year’s. Where are your
sisters?”
“I believe Esme and
Fylecia are in their quarters,” Gyelle said, her skirts sweeping the ground
silently over the black abyss as they moved in a senseless direction. “Bliss, Jewel, and Isterielle are somewhere
else together, I suppose…and I do not know of the others. Mirabel does not seem
to be in a good mood.”
“Oh, you have seen
her?” The Shadow King shook his hood
off, smoothing down the spikes of feuillemorte hair that swept up when the hood
came off his head. “Excellent. I would like
to speak with her, if possible.”
Gyelle shook her head, her
sheets of golden-white hair swirling around her. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen
her for a while now. She came by for a cup of tea, then whirled off in quite a
huff. I’m afraid she’s gone to do
something rash….”
“A pity.” The King dropped Gyelle’s arm gently, and
pulled a black cup of black tea from the abyss around them. He offered her the cup, but she turned it
away. “And where have you been, my
little butterfly?”
Gyelle lowered her
chin. “It sounds an unforgivable sin,
but I have been to see the Sunlight Queen, my king. Please forgive me.”
The King pursed his lips,
twisting the knot of his cloak with his free hand. “…Understandable, Gyelle. You do have ties
with her, after all. Unlike me. It isn’t
your fault.”
Gyelle stepped back, her
dark green skirts billowing in front.
“You need not be angry, my king! I am sure that she still misses you…I
mean, she…she may seem to act heartless towards you, but…”
“When you want to sounds convincing,
don’t fumble your words,” the King advised. He sat down, the Shadows conforming to his thoughts
and forming a solid shadow chair under him. “I am tired and need Aurelia. Would you mind
finding her, love? The Goddess of love and compassion does have her uses.”
Aurelia knelt at the Sunlight Queen’s feet. “Lady.”
“Hmm.” The queen folded her porcelain hands on her
lap, waterfalls of gold ribbons woven through her hair. “Since when have you called me ‘lady,’ dear
Aurelia?”
“It seemed appropriate, as
I must distance myself from you,” Aurelia said, looking at the hem of her
dress. Fringes of elegant white lace gleamed in the light under the equally
white trim of her dress. The color, even washed out, was a sight for her eyes
under the warm golden light that bathed the entire queen’s realm. “I’ve been with the King, of course. He openly
declared to me that you broke his heart.”
“His heart?” The queen laid one hand over her chest. “What heart does that scoundrel have? A
disgrace to my kind…worthless of my love, the hours I spent,—ah, but he did
have a heart before.” She looked at Aurelia coolly. “But surely that is not what you have come
for.”
“No, my lady.” Aurelia rose at the queen’s hand, which was
ornamented with sparkling trails of citrines and rubies and pearls all flowing
from her fingers. “I mean, yes, my lady.
I suppose—to put it so—mildly—that he does still have a soul. A soul that is
still intact and pure.”
“Hm.” The queen studied a ruby ring on her finger. “Well, he was always a charmer. And he broke my heart first, you know—fairy of love,
you would know. Shattered it like fragile glass, tore it apart with wicked
claws, ripped it out of my chest and clawed it, raking it to shreds, and blood
poured forth—oh, you’ll just upset me. My diamond heart, left in shards by the
only one who could break it.”
Aurelia paused. “I heard—though—that
you have a fiancé now, my lady.”
“Oh, yes. He’s quite
skilled.” The queen was too busy
absently inspecting the long strings of flowers adorning her hair. “Quite the gentleman, though he’s not as
powerful as I am. And skilled at
swordplay, very. But ah. Here comes your lovely sister. No doubt she was
important matters to discuss, hm?”
Aurelia turned her head,
seeing the flash of long, carelessly unpinned gold hair, and the dark green
dress that bounced as her sister ran. “It’s Gyelle,” she said, hoping dearly
that her sister had come with something good. It was times like this that she
wished she was still the queen’s companion, laughing away eternity in the
gleaming gold sun that never set, that never burned, that never turned her skin
red. Dancing on clouds.
Hair streaming in shiny
rivulets around her shoulders, skirts an exquisite, rich mess of ruffled lace
and swoops of trailing, luxurious silks all in dark green, Gyelle arrived, and
immediately sank down in a deep curtsy to the queen, then knelt. “My queen.”
“Ah, you see, Gyelle still
calls me ‘queen,’” the queen said to Aurelia, motioning for Gyelle to rise. “Lovely
Gyelle, the prosperous July. Hair still beautiful as ever, as irritatingly long
as ever. What have for me, or for your sister?”
She turned her hand over and ran her fingers over the bracelets
encircling her wrists.
Gyelle
stood slowly, smoothing down the plumes of dark green lace that still
attempting to fluff up. In the slants of light that fanned soft stripes of
mellow light through the glassy foyer of the queen’s hall, she looked like some
sort of great blooming plant, growing rich in the deep light. “Forgive me, queen, but it’s for Aurelia. The
King requests her presence.”
“Does he now?” For the first time, the queen lifted her eyes
up to the two sisters standing there, face smooth and white, expression
impassive as a doll. “Hurry off, then. Taking into consideration the position
you two hold along with the rest of your sisters, his needs are far more
imminent than mine; and I have no desperate need of you two right now, as
charming as you are. He is desperate, and so it is expected of you to go to
him. Leave me for a while, and come when you have time to chat over tea, yes?”
“Yes, and thank you,”
Aurelia said, smiling half-apologetically. She and Gyelle both curtsied, then
hurried off, leaving the warm sun and lovely, gentle caress of the glittering
light.