Springtime Fairy Tales
Prologue
"A kingdom with no name is where I call home. Blurred in my mind like freshly smudged ink. A collection of snow white and ash black towers seem to pierce the cloudless sky and I wonder. Through whose eyes am I watching these events unfold?"
He wandered the solemn palace halls, a gallant criminal turned faithful servant and warrior clothed in extravagant robes that glowed bloody red in the rich evening light.
He roamed, uncharacteristically melancholic, without purpose, spare a much needed and well deserved break from those who called him 'friend.' His oldest friend, now a king, had begun weaving the same tales of grandeur, valor, and idiocy that lined the stone palace walls in the form of fanciful tapestries. As custom dictated, his fellow household members were occupied by a feast on account of the coronation and their king's most recently vanquished enemy.
And while his kingdom's finest warriors, amongst a myriad of apprentices and starry-eyed boys seeking tales of adventure, cavorted with busty handmaidens and the occasional whore, the man clad in red recalled that this place still seemed impossibly foreign to him. It was too opulent. The very institution he had rebelled against when he was a boy, he was now helping to create.
He knew the world was cruel and laughably ironic but he could not find the strength to laugh.
Not this time.
He was a serious man, that king of his, faithfully somber to some unknown cause even at the brightest of moments. The man in red took a swig from a filched goblet of wine as he carelessly waltzed onto an open balcony and basked in the colors of the sunset. Many who took up the title of 'warrior' feared the man in red, believing him to be something divine in nature.
"Goddess born," they call Athanasios the Immortal.
He laughed, amidst the sorrow that his unbreakable memory brought, at just how wrong they were. He downed the wine, praying that it would dull his senses, if only slightly. There was dark work to do tonight. Iason had offered to do it himself but Athanasios guessed that it'd be best if he did the killing. Iason had deemed that that one couldn't be trusted. Too unpredictable. Without a shred of loyalty to her name. And then, looking out across his kingdom, his home, a glint of white caught his eye. The source of his impending sorrow.
He smiled sadly at her and moved to do what needed be done.
For his newfound country.
For his home.
For his king.
A beauty unrefined and mesmerizing stalked the grandiose gardens as twilight settled into the northern skies. She strode, ethereal and enchanting. A dark beauty unrivaled in war and in killing. Her festive gown, white like lilies, shifted around the ankles with the summer breeze.
Alas that such beauty was worthless to her purpose. Attempts to win her heart came and went as frequently as falling autumn leaves. Fortunately, both shriveled up and died with the gentle assistance of time. She found that attempts to snatch up her affections were pitiable and she diligently worked to turn every longing gaze into one of contempt and disdain. It had become something of a hobby of hers.
Making others detest her. And despite what those who had the gall to call her 'friend' believed, she quite enjoyed her hobby. Watching men's faces twist and redden as she dismantled their pride gave her more pleasure than any of them could have ever hoped to give.
Harmonia knew that such efforts regarding love and marriage were just as futile as her own efforts had been on the land's most famous warrior. She was doing the kingdom's bachelors a favor honestly. None knew of her...ailment.
She wasn't the type to gossip with the servant girls about the nervous flutter in her chest whenever he called her name or the pained squeeze her heart made when she had seen him in the company of another. It was an ancient disease, one as old as time itself. She concealed it well, the festering wound in her chest. Harmonia hated to admit it, to herself most of all but her heart and soul had been stolen by Athanasios. She wandered like a restless spirit, clinging to its grudge even in death.
"You should be at the ceremony. It's not often that a farm boy obtains a crown."
The statement was meant to be humorous, she reckoned. His inflection hinted at humor as did the cheeky little smile she knew he was wearing but then again they always did that. Athanasios was one for laughs and good humor in the best of times and boundless compassion in the worst of them. An anomaly of the highest proportion. Harmonia could say with certainty backed by experience that the love of her life was a good man. Good and kind. The thought of it still made her shiver.
Putting on the smirk she was best known for, she turned to face the source of her greatest agony and deepest joy. "Seeing that it was you and your lot that agreed to put him there, I could say the same to you."
"It wasn't me or my lot that told him he could be a king nor did we give him the power to do it. Everything that's happening here today, it's all because of you. It's a celebration. You should go."
"And do what? Watch our esteemed King Iason get drunk and stare awkwardly at every pretty face or big pair of-"
"-Language, Harmonia."
"Tits. Titties. Boobs. Jugs. Watermelons. Coconuts. Queen jewels. The one thing that can possibly keep your husband from having a go at the blacksmith's wife. All Iason does when he's drunk is silently leer at the nearest pair of flesh melons. I want no part in his embarrassment."
"Why do you insist on making this difficult for me? He wants you there so that he can thank you for all you've done. Also, if you had said that in front of any other man, they would see it as an invitation. I'd be more careful if I were you."
"I don't need his thanks and I am perfectly capable of controlling my invitations. Let me tell you a little secret of mine. I made Iason king of this place for no other reason than because I wanted to. It wasn't because I thought he'd be good at it. I chose him precisely because I knew he wouldn't be."
The mirth fell away from his face so fast Harmonia regretted opening her mouth. It often seemed to go like this between the two of them. With him being kind and happy and full of life and her envying him for it. So much so that she would say things like that. Things that would hurt him.
"I know that much."
There was a sharpness to his eyes now. One that she'd only ever seen once before. Should've just kept her big mouth shut. Should've just gone to the banquet.
"Huh?"
"Ten years I've known you and you think I didn't pick up on that? Despite everything you promised me, you are still the same wretched snake you were when I first met you. Filled with nothing but cruelty and envy." The funny thing about this was that she knew she should have felt hurt by his words. But she didn't, not in the slightest. Only relief. He knew her. Truly. When close to no one did. That was all she could ever ask for.
Her one and only continued on. "I trusted you, you know. Would have died for you. But all those feelings are behind me now. You bring only chaos, Harmonia. You'll only bring chaos." He shook his head as if trying to dislodge something from that pretty head of his.
And then suddenly there was a shattering of translucent gold. It took her a moment to realize that it was her borg that was surrounding her and slowly crumbling to pieces. It took Harmonia even longer to figure out the reason why. She hadn't felt the blade one bit. But there it was, sticking straight out of her chest, blood blooming out like the spider lilies in the spring. She tried to speak and found that she couldn't.
"For my king-"
The scratch of pen on parchment came to a steady stop. Setting the pen aside, she set to reading over what she had written and once she has finished, could not help the frown that took over. A lover killing a lover. A tried and true concept given how often it happened in real life. The death of a magician at the hands of the man who could only benefit from her being alive. Isra leaned back in her chair. Why kill her if there was nothing to be gained?
'You are chaos, Harmonia.'
Could a man really be persuaded to murder the one he loved in cold blood? She hummed in thought, slumped in her chair, head lolling back. Only if there were a greater cause, something he believed would be just and true.
'For my king.'
Kill your lover for your king. For the hope of a better future. Jerking up, she blinked at the ink scribbles on the page and scoffed at what she'd written. She shook her head at it. There was no need for embellishments. She should have just done the bare bones of their story and left it on the page where it belonged. But no. She carried Athanasios and his tragedy with her like an iron ball around her ankle. She let him weigh down her heart because that's what he would have wanted. He would have wanted to be remembered - even if it were for his idiocy.
The door to her private quarters cracked against to wall with a reverberating bang and Isra could have sworn she died a little from the shock. She jumped in her seat, whipped around to see none other than Judar, Great Oracle of the Kou Empire, the Black Magi, and 'Personal Wrecker of All Your Shit', as he'd so eloquently phrased it, soaked from head to toe and positively seething.
"I fell in the goddamn koi pond."
"I can see that."
"You fucking drugged me?!"
In her defense, Judar had been acting out more than usual. There was no malicious intent behind dosing his tea with enough valerian root to knock out a horse. Well. Her intent wasn't totally malicious anyway. She just wanted a few moments of peace and quiet so that she could write without having acerbic comments thrown in her face every five minutes. That was all she wanted. But she had a feeling that at this particular moment Judar was beyond reasoning with.
He took her silence for affirmation and shoved a hand down his choli, feeling for his wand.
It was then that Isra jumped up from her chair and made a flying leap through the window just as her room exploded in expletives and giant-sized ice crystals.
Who loves villains? I love villains. Judar is a villain.
-Crown Wit