Author's Note: Thanks are in order for Wildfire707 for writing a review on this story, and to innerMalice, Wildfire707, and IKilledKennyYES for adding this story to your list of followed stories. I apologize for the delay in the update. Work and family stuff have consumed a lot of my time lately. I will be working to update more frequently during the summer because I will have more free time in my schedule.
Review and follow!
Chapter 2: Our Story Continues
The procession stopped in its tracks as soon as the King did. Page lay at the King's feet on her back, accidentally blocking his path while she stared up at him in awe. Everything about the king radiated majesty: His long locks of hair, trimmed just enough to be civil, but long enough to be roguish; his purple royal suit; the ermine-trimmed cape down his back; and the knee-high black leather boots polished until Page saw her own reflection as in a mirror. Her fear blocked all other thoughts from Page's mind, except the desire to instantly become invisible.
The King of Albion stared down at Page with one gray eyebrow raised. He bent down and lifted Page off the ground by the two forefingers of his left hand. It was not a gesture of disgust, but Page recognized the king's strength and her own frailty in that moment. "What is this?"
"I'm not a what. I'm a who." The king frowned. 'Maybe I should have kept that to myself.'
When the ruler of Albion laughed, his entire entourage laughed with him as one unit. Holding Page by a shred of cloth, the King proclaimed loudly enough for his voice to reverberate off the walls of the houses around them, "It's a little girl, but she's as light as a feather! What is your name, Feather girl?"
Page hesitated and glanced around the crowded snow-covered streets. 'I'm talking to the King of Albion! I need to get away!'
On one side of the street, the fruit pie vendor emerged from the crowd like a volcanic island in a sea of heads. His rage purpled his face, but Page was secure in the grip of King Sparrow. Page glanced to the other side of the street and spotted Theresa standing in the crowd, distinctive in her red and white robe. Her shrouded head slowly shook.
Her meaning was clear. There was no escape for Page, and even an orphaned beggar, such as she was, knew it was unwise to keep the King of Albion waiting for an answer.
"Page, your Highness; my name is Page."
"Page." The king seemed to roll her name around in his mouth, like a morsel he intended to savor. His next words were not proclaimed but kept as quiet between the two of them as a secret. "Well, Page, I too lived on the streets of Bowerstone when I was very young. And when Avo places a street urchin at my feet, I am inclined to show kindness and favor to such people."
In a loud voice, King Sparrow proclaimed, "Let Page be placed in a chariot beside my wife and my sons, and she shall be entertained tonight at Bowerstone Castle as an honored guest!" The crowd cheered and applauded. Page, however, smiled nervously.
'What have I gotten into?'
The carriage ride to Bowerstone Castle was the beginning of Page's experience with finery. She had never seen such finery as King Sparrow lived in, and Page was abject in her sense of awe. The carriage in which the Queen and two Princes rode was ivory silk decorated with gold satin, and was scented with a rich, heady aroma.
Queen Charlotte reminded Page of a swan. Svelte despite her years of childbearing and refined in every aspect of her radiant appearance, Page did not feel worthy of her gaze. Page offered the Queen a shaky "Hello," but Queen Charlotte turned pale beneath her makeup, shivered, and fanned herself with an expensive foreign made fan from the Orient.
'The Queen is taken ill with the very sight of me,' Page thought. 'She won't even look in my direction. I'm beneath her.' They didn't talk during the entire carriage ride to Bowerstone Castle. Page didn't even know what to say to the Queen anyway.
The princes were equally reticent. Prince Logan, the heir to the throne of Albion, sat on Page's right in a blue silk jacket and blue silk knee-knocking pants with black leather shoes with gold buckles. He didn't even afford Page a glance. The younger prince, Lark, wore an identical suit, except his was a golden shade of yellow. Although he stared at Page throughout the carriage ride to the Castle, he did not speak.
When they reached Bowerstone Castle, Queen Charlotte and a small squadron of armed guards escorted the princes up the grand staircase. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I will leave you with your charity case," Queen Charlotte called after Sparrow.
"Very well, dear; get your rest. I hope you had a lovely ride with her?"
"'Lovely' isn't the word I would use, Sparrow."
Page was left to feel awed by the high ceilings, stained glass windows, and the army of servants bustling about the castle. 'I don't belong here.'
"Come along, Page," the king said to her. She obediently followed behind him when King Sparrow turned left down a hallway with green carpet and passed through an elaborate dining room. A chandelier filled with crystals caught the sun and made a flurry of colors dance on the walls. The table and chairs gleamed with freshly applied polish. Prue glanced at the table and caught a glimpse of her own reflection. She looked terrified.
"The moment I saw you, I recognized you for what you are. It shouldn't surprise me," the king said over his right shoulder, "what with you being a street urchin as well. Do you have any other family?"
"No, sir, your Majesty." '"Street urchin?" If he wasn't the King of Albion, I'd show him a "street urchin" and kick him in his leg!'
King Sparrow turned right down a hallway and walked through a set of gold handled double doors. Page followed. The hallway led to a high-ceiling two story room with each wall (except the fourth) lined with shelves of books. At the center of the room, an illuminated globe on a mahogany stand stood, with several red velvet armchairs around it. The fourth wall of the room was a two-story polished and cut glass window.
"That's rare. The entire history is dominated by orphans, but there are few only children."
"My mother died giving birth to me. I was raised by my grandmother, and she died two winters ago."
"I am sorry for your loss, but I hope it will make you all the stronger." Sparrow walked confidently to the corner furthest from the door. Page followed and watched the king skim the shelves.
"Let's see…A History of Heroes, Volume One," Sparrow pulled the top of the spine, and Page heard a clicking sound from behind the bookcase. "Then there's The Greatest Guild Heroes, The Hero of Oakvale, and Reaver on Reaver." Each time the king pulled the spine of a book, it triggered a clicking sound in the back of the bookcase. The bookcase rang inwardly and revealed a long stone staircase descending into the bowels of the Castle.
"Follow me, Page."
Page backed from the bookcase, shaking her head. She had heard tales of children, especially little girls, disappearing in the homes of strange men. The king of Albion didn't seem a likely candidate for that kind of behavior, but Page had no experience with those sorts of men. "Where are we going?"
King Sparrow knelt down before her and held Page between his two hands. "Page, I will not hurt you. I promise that. If I'm right about you, your life is about to change for the better. I have to run a test on you. It's the same one I had to undergo. Do you trust me?"
Page nodded. Sparrow took her hand and led her to an underground chamber with a single door marked by four symbols carved in differently colored stones. At the top, there was a red triangle with a single flame glowing within the stone. On the left there was a yellow circle with a sharpshooter's symbol carved into it, but Page only saw three circles with two lines crossing them. The third symbol, to the right side of the door, was a blue square with a sword carved into the stone.
In the center of the door, there was a white stone with the figure of a man carved into it. His head touched the red stone. His left arm and leg touched the yellow stone. His right arm and leg touched the blue stone. "Through here, your destiny awaits," Sparrow said profoundly.
"What do these carvings mean?" Page asked.
"They represent the different disciplines required of a Hero. Blue is the color for Melee; red is the color for the discipline of Will; and yellow is the color of Skill."
"What happens behind the door?"
"Your test awaits."
King Sparrow opened the door, and Page walked through. Strange symbols were carved on the floor. When Page stepped into the center of the room, the symbols glowed red. Their light surrounded Page. "What's happening?" she asked, frightened.
King Sparrow was surprised but quickly closed his mouth. He smiled quietly. "I will explain in a moment, when I am certain of my suspicions. Come with me, Page."
He turned and started up the stairs to the library. When he took the first step, the light around Page faded away. She followed the king to the library. Her arms and legs had a strange tingling. The bookcase behind her swung shut, and Page waited a few heartbeats. She felt different somehow, altered. "What happened to me?"
Sparrow rubbed his bearded chin between the thumb and index finger of his left hand in thought. He motioned to one of the armchairs, and Page sat down. "The test you just endured was a measure of your Heroic potential. In recent generations, Heroes such as I am have been from the mixing of humans with Heroes. There is, in particular, a prophecy I read about a Hero to come after me."
The king went to a bookcase and removed a heavy, red bound tome with yellowed and dusty parchment pages. He set it on the table. "According to the prophecy…"
Before Sparrow finished his story, the doors of the library burst open and a guard in his crisp uniform rushed into the room. "Your Majesty!" He dropped to one knee, lowered his head, and stood up rapidly. "Queen Charlotte has taken ill. The physicians request you come at once!"
King Sparrow sprinted from the room, followed closely by the guard. Page approached the large book he had placed on the table, but she could not read the title. Her education had been limited to listening, sneaking, stealing, and seeing without being seen.
So she followed the guard, using the education she did have. 'How does anyone do this? All these passages and stairs, unless you know where you're going, you could get lost. Lucky me, I know how to move like the wind.' The guard led Page to a third floor corridor, where there were a set of double doors four times as tall as she was. The doors were ajar, and she saw people moving around within the room. 'Maybe that's where the king went?'
Page approached the doors, and slipped into the room. Like every other room of the Castle, it was arranged richly. Its centerpiece was a magnificent four poster bed with velvet curtains drawn open. Everyone in the room stood around the bed because that was where the royal family had gathered.
King Sparrow sat on the side of the bed, holding his wife's right hand. Prince Logan lay across his mother's stomach, calling, "Mum! Mum!" Prince Lark knelt by her knees.
And Queen Charlotte lay on the bed, sweating profusely and gasping for air.
Her beautiful face had become ghastly pale. Her long brown hair was actually limp and lifeless, when it wasn't pinned up elaborately. King Sparrow rubbed Charlott'es hand and murmured words Page couldn't hear. She cowered by the door. 'If I just stand here in the shadows, no one will notice me.'
When the Queen's eyes turned glassy and King Sparrow collapsed across the Queen's body, Page knew the queen had passed. In imitation of his older brother, Prince Lark crawled up to his mother's vacant face and cried loudly, "Mum! Mum!" Several courtiers dissolved into sobs. A serving girl collapsed to her knees bawling. A nobleman swooned and fainted on the floor.
Only Prince Logan noticed Page was there. He cut his dark eyes directly at her, with a look so cold, Page shivered. It was an expression of anger and vengeance. No one in the room stopped the prince as he stormed over to Page, and pushed her from the late queen's bedroom into the hallway. In the darkness of the hall, his eyes and his teeth seemed to glow with rage.
"You! She's dead because of you!"
"I-I-I didn't do…" Page stammered. Logan, who stood taller than her by at least two feet, slapped Page across her face.
"You killed my mother. She wasn't sick until she met you. You killed her, you street urchin! And I promise you, upon her cooling, dead body, that I will make every day of your life as miserable as you have made mine," Logan warned in a deadly cold voice. "That is my promise to you."