It was the night before the Royal Wedding and Queen Nathalie was working herself into a frenzy, rushing about and making sure that no detail had been forgotten or omitted.
Luria watched her from where she sat upon Balor's lap in one of the padded chairs close to the fireplace. "I feel like I should be doing something," she said to him, feeling his arms tighten around her.
"You are doing something," Balor teased. "You're making me happy."
Luria narrowed her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. Your mother shouldn't have to do all of this work."
She glanced around at the freshly painted walls of the palace, the banners having been taken down and beaten of their dust and grime. The smells of roasting meats and fresh rushes for the floor filled the large room.
They would be married close to the main gate of the palace so that their people could see them. The gates had been hung with streamers and dozens of flowers, all in white. Luria would carry the same kind of flowers in her hair.
"She likes to do this, it's what she lives for, daughter, so don't fear. Nothing makes her happier than overseeing a ball or wedding and letting the people of the other kingdoms see the wealth and prosperity of our kingdom." Martane smiled. "You two just relax. Your duties will be upon you soon enough."
"Duties?" Luria asked. "What kind of duties?"
"Well, making me grandbabies, of course. It's a rough duty but I think you two are up to the match."
"But, Father, we've already started." Balor grinned, his hand resting upon Luria's still flat belly.
"I said babies, Balor, enough to fill this palace with the sounds of children again." Martane dropped his hand gently on Luria's shoulder and squeezed.
"We'll do our best, sir," Luria chuckled. "But I'd rather just concentrate upon this one first."
Martane nodded and then went off to find his wife.
* * * *
There was a feast of sorts the night before the wedding, to greet the Royals who had already shown up. Others would make a day trip to come to the wedding as they lived closer. Isobel's parents, King Alan and Queen Leanore, had arrived earlier in the day and were staying in the castle. The rest of the guests were staying at the three inns in the village.
Leanore had hugged Isobel to her quite impressive bust, stroking her hands over her back as she tried to comfort her. But when they tried to get Isobel to join them in their suite of rooms, she'd balked. When the issue had been pressed, Isobel threw such a massive fit, using words her parents didn't know she knew.
"Something is wrong," Leanore had whispered to Nathalie. "She's not my Isobel. It's like something dark and malignant has settled inside of her."
"She had a hard time of it with Magnus," Nathalie said. "She just needs some time to get over that."
"What did that man do to my baby?" Leanore cried, pulling a handkerchief out of the neckline of her gown. She sobbed into it, Nathalie at her side, rubbing her back and trying to comfort her.
"You really don't want to know those details," Nathalie said softly. "Just let her go through this patch, she will be fine."
"I certainly hope so. Alan has begun talking to King Ramille of the First Kingdom. He has four boys and I thought maybe one of them would make her a good husband."
"They are fine boys," Nathalie said, glad that Alan and Leanore hadn't gone on and on about the breaking of the marriage contract for Balor. They'd barely blinked when told that Balor would not be marrying Isobel as they had planned. That he'd married the Descendant and saved the kingdoms from the worst of fates, Magnus, had kept the arguments to a dull roar.
At the feast that evening, Isobel wouldn't speak to her parents, she wouldn't speak to anyone. She'd dressed in her best finery, wearing an emerald green gown that made the best of her feminine assets. An emerald necklace drew the eyes to her cleavage, barely held in check by the gown. It looked as if she took a deep breath, those assets would burst from their fabric prison.
She sat at her usual place at the long table, at the last seat, turning her back on anyone who would try to draw her into conversation. Her maid, Mathilde, was the only one she would talk to. Mathilde fussed over her mistress, bringing her a platter of the tenderest meats, giving her the tastiest of the cheeses and coaxing her to eat.
Isobel but picked at the platter, her eyes staring off into the distance at some fixed point. She ignored her mother who tried to speak to her, ignored her father who railed at her for her actions as well as for the way she treated her mother. But nothing got through her serene barrier.
"It's like she isn't there," Queen Leanore cried. "It's like her mind has left her and it is only her body that sits there upon the chair. What are we going to do?" she asked, pulling out her handkerchief again and twisting it in her plump hands.
"Leanore, hysterics aren't going to help," Nathalie began to say only to stop when she heard Isobel shriek. The girl went for her father, her knee going between his legs and slamming into his groin. There was a bright red handprint on Isobel's face, evidence that King Alan wasn't willing to wait for her to come out of whatever demented trance she was in. King Alan went to the floor, his hands clenched between his legs, a strange sound leaking from his lips.
"Oh dear!" Leanore exclaimed. She pushed up from her chair, going to her husband's side. "Alan, are you all right?"
Alan groaned, opening his eyes. "Do I look like I'm all right?" His eyes went to where his daughter was, seated back in her seat, lazily plucking at a bunch of grapes. "She's a witch," he hissed at his wife.
"No, Alan, no, you don't mean that." Leanore cried, making a sign of protection.
"Your daughter is not a witch, King Alan. She's been through a terrible ordeal. We must grant her concessions for now and let her come out of it at her own speed." Nathalie glanced over at Queen Leanore, hoping she'd speak up for her daughter.
"It will be okay, Alan. She'll be ready for the wedding, I promise," Leanore said, trying to placate her husband. "Just leave her in our capable hands, please, Alan."
With a mighty groan, King Alan rose from the floor, yanking down on the hem of his jerkin. He walked sort of bent legged, stooped, giving him the look of more years than was his right to claim. He stopped by his daughter's chair. "I shan't forget this, Isobel. Just remember this day when you lay in your marital bed." He gave her a half hearted smirk and then left the room, heading for their bedchamber.
"Oh dear," Nathalie said, trying to keep from laughing. It was definitely not a laughing matter, but that didn't help her when little titters of giggles escaped her grip. "Oh my!"
She glanced up at Leanore and they both burst out laughing, leaning against each other as they became a trifle weak with their amusement.
"I've never seen him so red," Leanore giggled.
"You'd be red too if your balls were in your throat," Nathalie said, startling Leanore into another spat of unrestrained laughter.
The two women quit laughing as Isobel rose from her seat and passed them on her way up to her room. "There is definitely something wrong with her," Nathalie said to Leanore. "It's like something on the tip of my tongue, I can almost get it but it's just beyond my grasp."
"I know what you mean. I shall be happy to have her wed off to one of Ramille's brood."
* * * *
Isobel heard what they were saying but she didn't care. She was so detached from the reality of the world, finding herself in a world of dark and horrible creatures that capered and danced around her. She'd been terrified at first, but now she found comfort in this world, for here she was wanted and desired. She wasn't considered chattel, to be bought by whoever would give the best bride's price.
Here Magnus held his court, seating her at his right hand, spending his time with her. She had to pretend when she was in public, but in the privacy of her own room, Magnus could come and go as he pleased.
"My love," she called when she closed the door tightly, bolting it from the inside. "My love, I am alone."
A sound of huge wings could be heard at the open window and then he was climbing in, tall and handsome with his dark green eyes and inky hair. "Isobel," he said softly, holding out his hands so that she might run into them. "I have missed you so."
"I have missed you, my love," she whispered. It was cold in his arms, cold and a bit scary. The blackness began to sweep over her and he leaned down to kiss her lips.
"Have you brought me another, my love?" he asked, the lust for blood raging in his veins. The damage that had been done to him was slowly healing but he needed blood for it to heal completely. Once he had, then he would show Luria and her little prince what he could do.
"No, Magnus. It's become too dangerous. They look at me with suspicion."
"I don't care if they look at you like you're crazed. I need more." He dropped his arms, one hand coming up to grasp the front of her emerald gown in his fist. "You will go out and find me a youth. Young blood is the best. Lure him back here, I care not how and have him ready for me." He shook her once only to emphasize his point. "Go, now. Do not disappoint me!"
Isobel stumbled back, staring at what once had been a man, but was now half man, half demon. His face was twisted with his dementia, his eyes glowing like red fire. He lifted one skeletal hand and pointed toward the door. When he parted his lips to speak, she could see the sharp ridges of his black teeth. "Go! I shall be back in an hour. See that you bring him here and seduce him by that time. Understand?!"
"Yes," she squeaked, her hand was scrabbling for the door handle, when she finally found it she tugged on it until it let go. With a shriek of fear, she left her room, running until she reached the stables.
There she found exactly what would appease Magnus. Tugging on her gown to straighten it, she managed to lower the neckline until half her nipples could be seen above the tight bodice. Then with her head held high and a sway in her hips she walked in and sought out the stable boy who'd taken her fancy.
