Author Note: I have loved POTO for so long; I decided to try my hand at writing a fic. Please, tell me what you think. I just want it to be known that this is an Eric/OW story and the romance between them will be a long time coming. If you don't mind having to wait some chapters for the angsty fluff to start showing up, read on!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything within this story with the exception of Adara.
The Black Rose of Persia
Chapter One
With a straight back, she began to walk towards the raised dais. Those few gathered in the vast chamber grew silent as the slight figure of a woman silently moved past them. She looked like somebody had cut a sliver of shadow out from an abandoned, derelict building and given it life. The only colour on her being was the pair of burning violet eyes that shone out from her pale face, her lips twisted in the faintest of smirks.
It took mere moments for her to be standing perfectly erect before the glittering man on the dais, those amethyst chips in her face shining like the jewels that bedecked him. Their gazes met and it seemed as if a minor battle for power occurred between them. She inclined her head, acquiescing and then clasped her hands loosely in front of her. The seemingly self conscious gesture contradicting the strength and assurance her stance portrayed. A complete hush lay heavily across the room's occupants, all waiting in fierce anticipation for the conversation that would ensue.
"Welcome home." His voice rolled over the congregation, the tension flowing out of countless bodies.
"Thank you, Sire." She said simply.
He motioned absently, his stare never leaving the creature before him. All withdrew from the massive hall, leaving them alone. The self assured smirk slipped from her face to be replaced with a grimace. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, impatience gleaming on her attractive features.
"I take it, because you returned, that you have completed your task?"
"Yes, it is done." There was something cryptic in her tone, something that made her dark eyes harden just a mite more.
"Good, you have yet to disappoint."
She did not find it necessary to mention that if she had been unable to fulfill the guidelines of this specific job, she would not have taken it in the first place. She was not one to displease her employer.
"If you have nothing else to ask of me, then I humbly ask permission to withdraw my personage from your blessed presence." Perhaps to the casual listener she sounded perfectly honest, but the man's brow furrowed and his pleased expression seeping into one of irritation.
Yet he would reprimand her on her behaviour towards him, it would be unthinkable to chastise a being such as her for her actions. His forehead remained wrinkled as he shook his head and reached into a pocket of his lavish robe. His fingers withdrew, clutched about a scroll of heavy papyrus. He very simply handed it to her; the crimson silk ribbon keeping it closed gleaming in the candle light. She plucked it from his grasp and slipped it into one of the numerous hidden pouches in her seemingly skintight clothing.
"You will alert me when you decide?"
She smiled darkly up to him before turning and elegantly strode out. Cyrus, the Sultan of Persia, watched her go with mixed emotions in his black eyes. Sometimes, he did not know if it was worth hiring the Black Rose to do the dirty work of a country. There was something eerie about her that upset the inner most part of a person. It was like she felt no remorse over the amount of senseless killing she did on a day to day basis. Perhaps, the rumours were true about her. He shook his head quickly to clear those ridiculous thoughts from his mind. She was just a woman who had seen too much, a creature who had gone insane.
Adara closed the heavy door to her rooms behind her, casting the thin over robe that kept her clothing from being too indecent for every day wear onto a near by chair. She pulled the cylinder of paper from the inner pocket of the discarded garment and made her way towards a desk that faced a wide window. Afternoon light fell delicately across the red wood, bringing out the deep garnet and amber hues. She pulled the chair out at a haphazard angle, dropping into it with little preamble. Her feet soon rested on the top of the angle as she untied the ribbon, dropping it carelessly onto the ground beside her.
Upon furling it open and skimming the words, she let out a snort. Had the Sultan forgotten the single place she had ever refused to venture? She shook her head slowly and tossed it onto the paper laden surface of her desk. If he wanted her to go to France, of all the ridiculous places to venture, then he could hire another. The single promise she had ever honored had been begged of her by her mother to never go to France. She had vowed it and intended to keep that single pledge. She dragged her slender hands through her long hair, the obsidian locks tumbling down her back. She closed her eyes and leaned rearward, tilting her head down.
She let out a quiet sigh; her shoulders were tensed to the point where it was a true feat of nature that she could move without extreme pain. She rubbed a hand across her face and allowed all four the chair's legs to press against the floor. She twisted in her chair, causing the vertebrae in her spine to crack quite audibly. A quiet noise caught her attention behind and she deftly sprung from her chair, a dagger that had been hidden in her boot finding its way in her hand in the space between to heartbeats, it poised between her fingers, prepared to be thrown. A maid let out a terrified squeak and nearly dropped the ornate tray she held, her dark hues widening in horror.
"I am so sorry, Lady!" The serving girl squeaked, the trembling of her hands making the small metal cups rattling.
She let out a tired sigh and slipped the knife back into its specifically designed sheath, the dark hilt blending easily with the rest of her clothing.
"Never mind, just do not do it again. Put the tray down and then take this message to the Sultan. Only he may see this, do you understand me? If anybody attempts to question you, tell them this is from the Black Rose, nobody will stop you."
The young servant very nearly dropped the dish on a low lying table and took a few tentative steps towards her. She bit back a snort before quickly scripting a reply to the proposal. She handed the folded parchment to the shaking girl and watched in mild amusement as she flung herself out of the room. A soul deep sense of weariness descended onto her as the door slammed shut. She yawned quietly into her hand and wandered to her bedroom, not believing Cyrus would make a great fuss over her decision to deny his plea.
A presence reaching towards her throat registered first and her eyes snapped open, fingers unconsciously reaching beneath her pillow to withdraw a stiletto that glinted sinisterly in the single candle left alight in her boudoir. She pressed the razor sharp metal against the other's neck, her amethyst eyes gleaming with something akin to madness. The man lay fully on his back with her crouched over him, her hair falling around her face like a curtain of purest obsidian, a deep blue sheen reflecting the faint glow from the taper. One leg was bent and against his thigh, the knee of her other leg pressing against his groin. The man below her did not attempt to push her off, merely staring up at her with a blank expression.
"What are you doing here?" She growled, pushing her knee harder against him.
"The grand Sultan wishes you to reconsider."
She let out a hiss and jerked the blade away from his throat, rising to her feet. He would not attempt to harm her if he was on Cyrus's orders. The Sultan would never consider killing her, she was too valuable and that information made her invincible while she was in Persia. She slammed the stiletto onto the elegant wooden bedside table and crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she stared down at him with a cold expression on her features.
"You can tell him that I refuse, no matter what he can offer me."
The man rose to his feet, never one bringing a hand up to feel the thin cut on his neck where the blade had bit into his throat. He smirked darkly at her, his own countenance twisting with some inner perversion.
"The Sultan told me you would say that. Perhaps, this little snippet of information will change your mind. The man he is contracting you to kill is your father."
What little colour her face possessed, drained steadily from her cheeks as her lips parted in surprise. She was the product off a series of trysts between a visiting French nobleman and the niece of the Sultan of that time. It had been quite the love affair of the time. The few who had been granted knowledge of the relationship fully believed the two would wed and she would be taken back to France, where they would live happily ever after like all the fairy tales proclaimed.
It had not gone to plan.
Samara discovered she was pregnant with her paramour's first born child, the heir to his estates and titles in his home country. Delighted with the information, and the belief that her place in her lover's life was established, she told him her joyous news. Alain was horrified with the news that the woman who he considered was nothing more than a means to an end carried his first born child, an infant that, despite being conceived out of wedlock, would be considered his legal heir.
If any ever found out that he had fathered a child, it would bring such shame down upon his family. He left Persia that very night, leaving Samara and their unborn babe behind. Adara's mother had instilled a deep hatred for her father within her heart from the moment she began to comprehend speech. Her view on a paternal figures in general was twisted into something that could no be viewed without lingering stains of intense loathing.
She bared her teeth in a silent snarl at the man's proclamation, detesting how Cyrus knew that she would break her vow because of that tiny piece of information. She clenched her hands into fists as she glared at the man, fighting the urge to imbed that piece of glittering metal deep within his throat. Her crescent moon nails dug into her palms as she mulled over her decision for a brief second before letting out a nearly inaudible sigh.
"Tell Cyrus to be expecting news of the death of Alain de Chagny within the month."
I hope you liked this first chapter and I would appreciate some feedback. Please review!
Blessed Be
Ame the Pirate King