Her heart was pounding in her throat. Knots in her stomach twisted and cramped and ensnared her body in the same sickening feeling that engulfed her mind. Pushing her emotions aside, she rushed quickly toward her destination, through halls that danced with blood red light and dodging guards who shot her curious, almost sympathetic, stares. Their looks only made her heart beat faster. Finally reaching the doors to her dreaded destination, she swallowed hard against her fear and laid a single hand upon the frame.
"Wait! My Lady!"
The cry came from behind her, and she turned to face the frenzied speaker. Her handmaiden, Fayel, was rushing to her side, her eyes wide and terrified. In her slightly shaking arms, she carried a bundle of fabric that could only be one thing.
"My Lady Amareth!" she said, breathing heavily through the words as though she had sprinted the length of the corridors. "You cannot have an audience with him in those rags."
Fayel gestured at her clothing. Amareth sighed heavily and closed her eyes. She knew that her handmaiden would somehow find out that Balem had finally summoned her. While she loved the handmaiden dearly, Amareth knew that Fayel was deeply entrenched in her own culture, the culture of the Abrasax Dynasty, and of course the older woman would insist that her wardrobe matched the expectations of Balem. Amareth, however, had different plans. Opening her eyes and raising her guard, she regarded Fayel once more.
"I am well aware of my attire, Fayel," she responded, allowing her eyes to drift down to her plain black tunic and pants, accented by no grandiose jewelry or adornments. "And this is the battle armor I have chosen."
Fayel's gaze dropped slightly, but she nodded and stepped away from the door. Amareth's hand on her shoulder made the handmaiden's eyes dart up again into Amareth's slightly softened face.
"I meant no offense, my friend," Amareth said, more quietly now. Her voice dropped and she looked directly into her handmaiden's eyes. "Will you have a healer sent to my quarters upon my return?"
Frowning slightly, but clearly understanding Amareth's meaning and reasoning, Fayel bowed and turned away, leaving Amareth alone before the doors she dreaded to enter. She had been exploring the cavernous halls, for her own personal education and understanding, when Balem had sent a messenger and had summoned her to his throne room. She had instantly known the reason. As she mediated on what lay beyond the great doors, her stomach again rose into her chest, which began throbbing loudly against the dark fabric of her tunic. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed gently against the frame and stalked into the throne room, the grandiose hall with its walls alive with movement, its floors wide and unending, and its ruler sitting rigid atop an imposing seat of power.
Balem Abrasax wore black clothing surrounded by a cloak billowing with starlight. His hair was perfectly coiffed, his fingers and arms bedecked with the purest gold, and his tall, muscled frame was draped lazily across his gilded throne. Most intimidating, however, was not his regality or splendor or obvious displays of immense wealth. No, what most frightened Amareth was the cold, deadly look in his eyes, an even stare that barely veiled the threat of thinly hidden violence.
She walked the length of the throne room holding her head high and maintaining eye contact with the ruthless ruler. Reaching the foot of his altar, she waited before speaking, allowing him to fully perceive her lack of bow, prostration, or acknowledgement of his royal status.
"Balem," she finally spoke, her voice even and flat despite her hidden terror.
He did not move to acknowledge her presence, but only kept his gaze trained upon her eyes. She was unnerved, at minimum, after several moments of this wordless intimidation passed. Finally, to her great relief, he stood and languidly stepped down from his throne, his shimmering cloak flowing behind light and airy footsteps, a strange combination with his veiled fiery demeanor. She stood perfectly still as he walked slowly around her, moving in tighter and tighter circles around her body until, finally, she flinched away from his piercing gaze and he came to rest immediately in front her her.
"Amareth," he said, his voice a mere whisper upon the air between their bodies.
She did not dare respond. She understood that it would be more beneficial to let him take to the lead to let him lead their dance and determine the path of their interaction. It always was.
What she did not expect was a sudden hand around her neck and cold fingers at her throat. She gasped slightly, attempting to calm her breathing as Balem's eyes flared and his lips again issued forth a whisper of words.
"Why do you continue to defy me, Amareth?" he asked. "Why must you continue this vendetta against my control?"
She said nothing. Balem stared, and his free hand moved to her face, pulling strands of loose hair away from her eyes and allowing his fingers to dance ghostly upon her cheek. Amareth closed her eyes, attempting to block out his violent grasp upon her throat and his seductive touch upon her skin. Tightening fingers caused her eyes to shoot open.
"I can give you everything," he continued, his voice a mere breath upon her trembling lips. "If only you kneel before me."
The words broke Amareth from her stupor. Gathering all of her strength, she quickly brought an unnoticed hand to her side and, raising it, struck Balem across the face, causing him to release his hold on her body and mind and forcing him to stumble slightly backward. She was grateful for the split second of broken connection; the Abrasax royal was powerful in mind and in body, and his recent attempts to bring her to her knees were growing more and more difficult to ward off. Sooner or later, she feared she would break. Today was not that day; however, she knew her actions would not be without consequence.
Balem stood again, his eyes now on fire with unmasked rage and his face shaking with anger.
"How DARE you?" he nearly screamed, all semblance of former calm and control now shattered.
White hot pain erupted across her cheek, and Amareth fell to the cold floor as Balem lowered a trembling hand. Clutching her searing face, she looked into the eyes of the man standing over her body. They spoke no words for several moments, but both fought to control their breathing and their emotions, to no avail. Raising herself up from the ground, Amareth maintained perfect eye contact with Balem, whose eyes were bolts of pure, unadulterated rage.
"I will never kneel before you," she finally spoke. "Perhaps it is time for you to choose a new betrothed, and to relinquish all hope of gaining control of my family's great legacy."
Balem said nothing, only tilted his head slightly and allowed a small smirk to dance upon his lips. Amareth breathed heavily, both recovering from his assault and awaiting his response. Finally, he moved, stepping forward to close the gap between them and placing a strong hand behind her neck. Without speaking, he lowered his mouth to hers, moving across her lips and down her neck, causing more pain than pleasure with his harsh and demanding lips. Horrified when she suddenly came to the realization of his actions, Amareth attempted to push him away, but his body was strong and his resolve stronger, and Balem only removed his hold and stepped back from Amareth when he had sufficiently bruised the side of her neck. As she grasped the forming mark with pain and disgust, Balem smiled and again returned to his controlled whispers.
"You will kneel before me, Amareth," he said, his lips a sneer and his voice a breath of air.
Suddenly, his face again hardened, and he called out for some unseen presence.
"Guards!" he cried as three sentries appeared from the shadows. "Escort my betrothed to her chambers. Ensure she does not leave, and bring her to me for dinner this evening."
As two heavily armored guards grabbed hold of her arms, Amareth shot ineffective daggers at Balem, who only offered up a small, cold smile and who suddenly raised his hand as the sentries began dragging her, protesting, away from the throne.
"Wait," he said. Making eye contact with Amareth, he smiled again. "Make sure she is properly clothed next time."
A silent scream erupted through her body, one that did not reach her lips. As the guards half led, half pulled her out of the room, she allowed the pain in her body and in her mind to fuel the flames of her rebellion. Balem would never win.