Chapter 1
Chapter Warnings: arranged marriages, extreme but unnoticed age gap
"It's A Political Marriage With Alterative Motives…"
-4 years after prologue; Year 566 of the Dark Order-
Armand
Armand held Vincens closer to his chest as he watched Tacita kneel in line with the other 17 year olds who were all ready to finally receive their mark and become a member of the Empire. Armand felt his arm burn momentarily as the Emperor stood from his throne and descended the steps off onto the second platform.
Armand watched as his daughter gave a small shiver at having their leader's undivided attention. He gave a miniscule smile behind his ceremonial mask as he remembered Hania, Kryspina, his wife, and himself having the same reaction to the close proximity of their master during their own Marking.
He gave a sympathetic wince when Tacita gave a low hiss that could be heard all the way from his place in the crowd at the searing pain from their master's new mark. He would have to put a salve on that when they got back home. He hoped that she would be able to bear through it until the after party was over.
Armand looked down as his son shuffled in the awkward hold of his kneeling form. Big, green eyes stared back at him and Armand had to contain a shudder. He had been weary when the ceremony first started because it was the first time they had brought Vincens to meet their Lord, as he had been too young to attend during either Hania or Kryspina's Marking ceremony.
Armand let his eyes travel to the giant portrait behind the Emperor's throne. The dark wood of the frame contrasted beautifully with the velvet draping that hung from the high ceiling. Black hair, pale skin, a slight frame, and vibrant green eyes met his gaze.
Armand wasn't sure who the portrait was of. In fact, nobody knew who it depicted. Some say an important ancient figure, others an old concubine. Whoever it was, they once meant a great deal to the Emperor.
Armand just hoped it didn't mean anything bad for his only son. Because as he glanced back down at Vincens, it wasn't hard to find the similarities between the frowning boy in the painting and his son.
Armand snapped back to attention as the Emperor started traveling back up the stairs to give the final speech before the after party. As his Lord gave his speech, Armand's eyes flickered to the shadow behind the throne.
The Matlal.
The "heir" to the General position. This one, formally known as Amun Rortary, was relatively new, only being a Matlal for around 2 months. He just turned 18, almost straight out of school. His father was the Head Law Enforcer and his mother taught the Dark Arts in Misolumière, a highly distinguished school in Egypt.
It was a tremendous achievement to be chosen as a Matlal, but what it entailed, exactly, Armand wasn't sure. The only thing everyone knew about the Matlal, was that they were in position to be the next General, and they were not allowed to speak during the duration of his or her training. Why? Again, no one knew.
"Armand!" Armand's head whirled to look at his scowling wife. Her head jerked towards the crowd and Armand noticed that all the others had already stood and were meandering out the door into the Ballroom.
He sheepishly stood up under his fuming wife's glare.
"It is disrespectful to let your mind wonder while our lord is talking! If any of your awful behavior rubs off on the kids I'll skin you alive!-" Armand stopped listening as his wife continued to whisper angry threats into his ear as he led his nine other daughters to meet their sister at the stage.
"Well Tacita, it looks like you have become a most beautiful woman. How does it feel to finally be an adult and about to be out of the house, all on your lonesome?" Armand teased his third eldest.
"It feels, Father, that I will be having less headaches without all these little monsters roaming around in my space." Tacita mumbled playfully as the younger girls gave their cries of outrage at being called monsters. Armand smiled at his blushing daughter. She had always been the shyest one of the bunch.
"Armand!" Armand gave another wince and gave a returning scowl to his wife. She only glared harder and looked pointedly towards the door. Armand sighed and followed Abelina towards the after party.
One of the things that Armand hated about the Marking ceremony was the fact that Abelina always got grouchy and twitchy under the stress of releasing one of her children into the world. No amount of reassurances could calm her until the day after when she let the fact settle that she was now one kid short.
"Ah, Mrs. Crabbe. How lovely you look tonight."
"Mr. Fletcher! I haven't seen you since the yuletide ball. How is your son? Still on the search for his fiancée, are you?"
Armand blocked out his wife's conversation and looked at his daughter, Belva. She was now the oldest of his children who would still be at home. She had his blonde locks, and her mother's curls and brown eyes. She was truly beautiful and had been set to marry a wealthy German boy, but unfortunately, the boy had died last year, leaving her contract less. She was already fourteen, and there was no one of worth that was her age and without a contract. Armand feared that she would be a maid all her life despite her beauty.
"The triplets are his age you know. Rosalba has yet to be matched. How do you feel of uniting our families?"
"Yes, yes. Rosalba is growing up quite nicely. And both of our children are long past the usual contracting age. Perhaps I will get in touch with you next month to decide on an arrangement?"
Abelina's face curved into a beautiful smile. She had been onto Fletcher for his son's hand since the triplets were born. He had been holding out for the Malfoy's youngest daughter, who was now only 2, since the Malfoys had decided to have another child. But unfortunately for him, she had been given a contract to a Weasley last month after must deliberation. Armand wasn't sure if that was the best match, but hoped it worked out. He was getting annoyed at Mrs. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley badgering at each other at work.
"That sounds like a swell idea. I expect to hear from you then." Abelina purred out.
"Are you happy now, dear?" Armand slipped his arm around his wife's waist. She gave him a sidelong look, but didn't comment.
"Belva is the only one without a husband now. Is it too much to hope that a fourteen year old girl dies soon?" Abelina pouted out. Not that she would ever admit to pouting.
Armand let a gasped laugh slip out and looked at his wife in astonishment. "I don't think we are that desperate yet, dear. We can just go looking somewhere else. Perhaps Japan? Maybe even Cuba."
Abelina's face twisted in disgust. "I want a European step-son. I only want a European step-son."
Armand sighed and stared at his stubborn wife. "Dear, you already have eleven European step-sons. I'm sure that one non-European will not kill you."
Abelina didn't look convinced, but didn't say anything back. Instead her eyes locked with Vincens before quickly looking away and around the ballroom.
Armand's lips pinched.
Ever since Vincens was born, Abelina hadn't held him or kissed him. She didn't act the same way around Vincens as she did with her daughters. It was almost like she feared him. Armand's arms tightened unconsciously around his son and he pulled his arm from his wife's waist. He did not like his wife's attitude towards their son.
Suddenly Abelina pressed hard up against his side and Armand looked at her in bewilderment before following her eyes. Armand's own eyes widened on their own accord.
"My lord." He whispered.
-Dark Lord's Chambers-
Amun (Matlal)
Matlal looked around the room with disinterest. He practically lived here. He slept in his own room, of course, but most of his waking moments were spent here.
It was a beautiful room. Dark green walls with various runes in gold gild, a massive green and black silk bed, black furnishing, including: bed, dressers, work-desk, book cases, couches, coffee tables, and side tables. A room, a study, and an office all rolled into one.
The most noticeable and interesting part of the room, though, was the floor. It was made of thick glass and, beneath it, was a room within itself. Filled completely with crystal clear water, there was, submerged within in it, an underwater kingdom. You could see between the long tentacles of seaweed, darting fish and other sea creatures, a throne, not unlike the Lord's.
Sitting in the coral and pearl encrusted throne was the Hostem. The boy in the painting. The mystery.
Matlal was just like everyone else when it came to Hostem. He knew nothing. Well, that wasn't true, he did know more than most people, like the fact that the Hostem was submerged in the Master's room and his "name". But other than that, nothing.
He had heard from the previous Matlal that their Master kept the boy's soul in a separate, hidden container that had once sat on the shelf above the desk. Apparently, she, the Matlal before him, had replaced the Matlal of her days because he had touched the jar, angering the Emperor.
He mysteriously disappeared one day and she had been chosen to take his place. She had been overjoyed, of course, but both he and she were more wary of the Hostem then some of their predecessors.
"Matlal, we are leaving." Matlal looked towards their Lord.
He was a handsome man; tall, dark curls, piercing red eyes, pale flesh, and an overwhelmingly powerful aura. He stood a head and a half taller than Matlal, and he didn't think himself to be short. But there was something about him that seemed to make you cower naturally. Like your very body and magic knew that you were below him in all things.
The Dark Lord didn't look back at Matlal as he headed out the door with a sweep of his dark blue, satin robes.
Matlal was quick to follow.
-Ballroom-
Amun (Matlal)
"My Lord." The man whispered. He was of medium height, straight blonde hair (not the white-blonde of the Malfoys, but not exactly dark-blonde either) that only curled slightly around his ears, regular build, and with a rather forgettable face. The only thing that really stood out was his bright, sea-green eyes.
"Mrs. and Mr. Crabbe. How do you do?" The man, Mr. Crabbe, stared at their Lord, uncomprehendingly for a full minute before Mrs. Crabbe spoke up.
"My Lord, we are very well, it is very generous of you to ask. Is there something that you need from us?" her light brown eyes were lit up with astonishment, and she was practically foaming at the mouth with enthusiasm while still seeming to hold on to her pureblood dignity. It was very amusing.
Their Master seemed to agree with Matlal's assessment, if the mirth in his eyes were anything to go by.
"Your third eldest was Marked today. You must be very proud. Thirteen children, yes? That is quite a few. You must be exhausted being the only man in the house, aren't you, Mr. Crabbe?" The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed at the stunned man before him, before Mr. Crabbe seemed to snap out of his daze.
"Yes, it was quite difficult at first, especially before Vincens was born. I would have most likely goon mad if he had been born a girl."
Matlal looked at the mentioned child. He obviously had his mother's black curls, though they were so messy that Matlal wouldn't have been surprised to hear that the boy's hair had never been in contact with a brush. The kid's face was buried in his father's neck, and from what little skin Matlal could see, he was quite pale. Not as pale as their Lord, but pale none the less.
"Yes, yes. It would have been quite troublesome to have to have more children then you already do. Luckily for you, though, all your children are very beautiful." Mrs. Crabbe blushed a fierce red and had a highly pleased look on her face.
"Thank you my lord. That is very kind of you to say." She replied. "We are highly honored to have your recognition of our children."
The boy, Vincens, took this moment to turn away from his father to stare at his mother.
Matlal was frozen in place.
Green. The boy's eyes were green. Not the green of his father, no. It was a deep, dark, light-reflecting, crystal-like green.
A green that Matlal had only seen once in a person's eyes. The Hostem.
Matlal gave the Emperor a sideways look. Trying to assess his reaction.
Nothing.
Not even a blink.
Matlal looked back at Mrs. and Mr. Crabbe. They both seemed a little tense around the shoulders, like they too were waiting to see how the Dark Lord would react. Mrs. Crabbe seemed to relax when she saw no outward signs of aggression from their Lord, but Mr. Crabbe still seemed high strung. This led Matlal to believe that Mr. Crabbe was closer to his son then the boy's mother was.
"Ah, I only speak the truth, Mrs. Crabbe. Your fourth oldest, Belva, the youngest of the triplets, Rosalba, and your son, Vincens, are the only one's without contracts at the moment, yes?"
Mrs. Crabbe's face seemed to go a shade darker as their Master showed his knowledge of her personal family. "Just Belva and Vincens, my lord. I just found a contractor for Rosalba not an hour ago."
"I see. Belva is quite old for a new contract, at fourteen. You were quite lucky to snatch your seven year old a contract." Mrs. Crabbe nodded darkly, most likely thinking of her still unsolved dilemma.
"And your son, he is four, yes? He is bordering on bring to old as well." Mrs. Crabbe's eyes darted to look at her son, before ripping away quickly to look back at the Emperor. Her face seemed tighter somehow, and surprised. She looked as though she had momentarily forgot she had a son, much less a contract less one.
'Interesting', Matlal thought.
What the Dark Lord said next stunned everyone listening.
"What would you say to giving your daughter's contract to me?"