Chapter 2: Foreplay
Three Weeks Later…
Cannons thundered atop the stone walls surrounding the city of Bowerstone. Fireworks sparkled in the inky night sky over the winding route of the River Times. Crowds of peasants, merchants, and aspiring gentry alike lined Market Road to cheer at the triumphal entry of Sparrow Kenway the Lionhearted, Hero of Bowerstone, and the newly crowned King of Albion.
Everything about the new king's ingress displayed pomp and sophistication. The king rode astride a powerfully muscled roan stallion, which was bedecked in a purple-and-gold saddle with silver and gold headgear. Its coat gleamed, even in the darkness, from a thorough grooming ordered by King Sparrow, and its hooves were sparkling clean in a new set of gold horseshoes.
Sparrow lightly held the reins in his left hand and waved enthusiastically at the crowd with his right. He wore a gleaming gold breastplate over a form-fitting purple silk shirt, purple linen pants, and silver leather boots trimmed with gold thread. From the Hero's neck, there dangled a weighty chain of gold, which ended in a pendant of an island encircled by a rising sun. Sparrow's magnificent ebony locks tumbled freely down the purple velvet cape on the king's broad, muscular back. A seven pointed crown was embroidered into the cape's center in gold thread in imitation of the crown Sparrow wore. Each point represented a major town in Albion (Bloodstone, Bowerstone, Brightwall, Knothole Glade, Oakfield, Rookridge, and Westcliff) that Sparrow had conquered in his three-year journey to autocracy over Albion.
Market Road, normally the bustling center of Bowerstone's economy, was unhindered to the king's procession by the absence of its numerous, collapsible vendor stalls. Spectators lined Bower Bridge in the place of shouting salesmen. Banners of purple, gold, and silver (the colors Sparrow had chosen as emblematic of his royal house) streamed along the length of the bridge, and confetti congested the air from the hands of thrilled eyewitnesses.
Albion's new ruler rode at the head of the procession, followed by his most loyal supporters, the Army of Albion. Immediately behind the king's stallion, Jasper and Walter trotted in tandem on midnight black stallions. Both men were dressed in silver military uniforms with gold shoulder epaulettes, gold buttons along the double-breasted tunic, and silver linen pants and boots. Behind them the newly appointed captains, including the newly promoted Jack Swift, waved to the crowd in uniforms of a similar design to the ones worn by Jasper and Walter but in gold, and rode astride white stallions.
The army corporals behind them wore purple uniforms and rode dappled gray horses. At the rear of the procession, dapper foot soldiers marched with their rifles hoisted proudly over their shoulders. They wore the simplest uniforms, all-white cotton tunics and cotton pants with polished black leather boots.
As the king led the parade into Fairfax Gardens, the spectators became more refined in dress, in silks and linen rather than common cotton or wool. Most of the spectators in Fairfax Gardens had traveled from Brightwood, Knothole Island, or even Mistpeak Valley in the north to view King Sparrow of Fenway's triumphal entry into the capital of Albion. They were wealthy merchants, plantation farmers and wool producers, and had provided stupendous financial support for the Hero's army in its formative years. Because of their aid, these wealthier citizens were invited to participate in the most personal and coveted of the coronation festivities: the coronation ball.
Sparrow dismounted in front of the cobbled circle road winding its way through the lush gardens in front of the castle. Walter and Jasper flanked the king as he climbed the stairs to Fairfax Castle's massive mahogany doors. Everything about the castle's exterior, from the ornamental flowerbeds to the whitewashed walls to the solid gold knocker, bespoke of decadence and luxury.
The castle's interior was a different story.
'Avo's middle finger, this is a depressing place.' Sparrow surveyed the castle's vaulted main hall. The main hall echoed every footstep from Sparrow and the men following him. Even with its windows permitting a flood of moonlight, the bustle of the household staff and the fluttering, gaily colored banners strung along the elegant marble columns, the endless main hall was devoid of life. 'It feels more like a tomb than a family home: no portraits on the walls, no fires roasting, and no furniture.'
Sparrow heard someone behind him moving and instinctively turned. The aristocratic audience had followed his army and awaited the autocrat's orders. Sparrow snapped his fingers in the direction of the kitchen.
As rehearsed, a maid with short red hair brought him a bottle of chilled fine champagne. Sparrow uncorked it with his left thumb. The audience oohed at the fount that erupted from the bottle.
"Let the revelry begin!" he declared and took an enthusiastic swig.
Wine and champagne flowed freely that night. The festivities to celebrate the ascension of the first monarch of an united Albion commenced that night and ended sometime before dawn. Platters of Albion's finest foods circulated the gala until every morsel had been consumed. Jugglers, lute players, minstrels, and acrobats from all over Albion entertained the guests. There was hardly a somber or sober face to be found among the partygoers.
Yet the guest of honor was constrained.
Sparrow danced with more comely Alban women than he could count. He chatted animatedly with aristocratic merchants and menial workers alike. When a crowd of worshipful children and teenagers gathered around him, the Hero-King reenacted several of his more famous battles and signed autographs like a man in his element. Shortly after midnight, as the revelry reached a feverish pitch, Sparrow slipped surreptitiously with a glass of champagne to the moonlit patio overlooking the gardens at the rear of the castle.
'Charlotte, Rose, did you think I would make it this far?' Sparrow traced the rim of the glass with his callused fingers and stared at the enormous, pale moon. 'I'm not only living in Fairfax Castle, Rose. I'm the bloody king of all Albion! Charlotte, I finally rid the world of Lucien's cruelty…but it cost me your life and our children's lives as well. I should have done more to protect you.'
The King felt tears racing down his cheeks but did not wipe them. It felt reassuring that he could still cry for his sister Rose and his late wife Charlotte an entire lifetime after they had passed from his reach. 'I know you must be proud of me for getting so far. And Hannah, wherever you are, I hope you forgive me for hurting you before I returned to Albion. I'll never forget….'
Somewhere in the sculpted hedges, five gunshots fired in quick succession.
Sparrow reached from the blunderbuss in his holster and checked the chamber. It was fully loaded. Although it wasn't the most ideal weapon in case an assassin or thief lurked among the hedges, the king was not willing to confess his need for help. He momentarily considered stalking toward the shooter but rejected the idea almost immediately. 'Anyone with enough skill to carry a concealed weapon into the castle has to already know I'm here. There's no use creeping in my own gardens, so here goes the opposite!'
Before the shooter could reload his pistol, Sparrow launched over the low marble wall between the patio and the topiary. His husky weight crushed the dying autumnal leaves strewn throughout the dense grass. He charged through the hedges to the source of the gunfire and deliberately created more noise.
'Even at my own coronation gala, I've got to play the Hero. At least this makes my night interesting.' Sparrow emerged into a clearing where three squat marble benches filled an enclosure formed by a horseshoe-shaped hedge. The shooter stood with his back to Sparrow, and his lower body was obscured by the hedge and the darkness in that part of the garden.
The Hero-King raised the steel blunderbuss to shoulder height and yelled, "Put down your firearm, or suffer the consequences, you knave!"
The gunman scoffed but dropped his firearm to the ground. In a delicate, feminine voice, he called over his shoulder, "What a grandiose speech from a man raised in the Bower Lake Dweller Camp! Don't tell me you've turned into another pretentious codpiece, your Majesty. I much prefer you as a man of the people." He turned to Sparrow and glared boldly.
He was a she. He was a very beautiful she.
Sparrow had to concentrate to keep his jaw from dropping open. He stepped forward to gaze upon the full length of her body in the incandescent moonlight and lowered his blunderbuss into its leather holster.
She was unusually tall and slim for a woman of Albion. Her body cut a trim figure in a scarlet cotton blouse with humble décolletage, gold silk bodice, and scarlet pants under a half-skirt. Blonde hair tumbled down her back to her waist in a ponytail. Her well-used gold travelling boots were heeled to be appropriate for the gala but without adding significant height to the striking beauty. Her face possessed a chiseled toughness, but the bangs that draped her forehead added softness to her glaring, glittering green eyes.
'If I don't marry this woman before I die, may Skorm take my essence and roast it upon his cooking fire to devour!'
"I apologize for my choice of vocabulary, my lady. I adopted it as part of my transition to a new socioeconomic class." Sparrow gave a brief, humble bow. "Forgive me, if you will."
She rolled her eyes irately and crossed her slim arms. Her hands were milky white and delicate, despite the lack of gloves, and gave Sparrow the impression she was highly skilled with a gun, to maintain hands so dainty. "You're the king of the people, by Avo's right eye! Why not talk like one of the people?"
'Did she just say, "By Avo's right eye"? We even curse similarly! This must be fate!' The Hero deliberated his options. If he continued to talk like one of the erudite merchants, she would dismiss him as "pompous." If he spoke in his vernacular, she might think he was a bumpkin. Sparrow shrugged his shoulders.
"It's easier to talk like an aristocrat," he said in his adopted Bower Lake dialect.
She thoughtfully raised one eyebrow. "I suppose I agree. With all those exaggerated gestures, the haughty tone, and the oblivious use of verbage, it does not take much to imitate."
"That isn't entirely what I meant." She shot him a prodding glance, but Sparrow chose to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Are you an aristocrat?"
"Only the aristocracy revels this late and this raucously, your Majesty."
Sparrow chuckled. "My lady, you have yet to attend a Dweller party. As a young boy, I danced at Dweller celebrations that lasted for days on end. The music and the dancing went as long as there was a warm fire and plenty of cold ale."
"I would like to attend such a party, if your Majesty would escort me?"
"I would escort you, my Lady, if I knew your name, as you know mine?"
She curtsied deeply and captivated Sparrow with her easy grace. "I am Eleanor Norfolk of Bloodstone."
Her surname struck a chord in the Hero's memory. "Are you related to Lord Owen Norfolk of Bloodstone?"
"Yes, your Majesty; Lord Owen is my father. I spent my childhood cooped inside my father's Bloodstone mansion, while my brothers experienced all sorts of adventures. We rarely hosted parties on that side of Wraithmarsh."
"Is that how you became adept with a pistol?"
Eleanor nodded and gestured to the garden enclosure behind her lovely form. The three benches and the topiary sparkled with shards of broken glass and pieces of broken stemware. "Yes, your Majesty, I was target practicing in fact when you came upon me. I felt it was a better consumption of my time and those wine glasses than merrily drinking around those horrid snobs."
Sparrow held up his blunderbuss and grinned flirtatiously. "I'm quite skilled with a gun as well. Perhaps you would care to see a demonstration, Eleanor."
"How very forward of you, my king!" One of Eleanor's beautiful hands fluttered to her chest and her pouty lips parted in feigned surprise. "You presume to display your weaponry and to call a lady by her first name? Why, whatever happened to your upper-class sensibilities?"
"I shot them in the buttocks with my terrific aim."
Both of them laughed. Eleanor's laughter was stuttered, as though she were unable to catch her breath from laughing so hard. "Your Majesty, I'm certain you pose no threat to my shooting capabilities. You were certainly no threat when you approached me."
"I happen to be well-versed in Stealth, Lady Norfolk. The former King of Thieves taught me himself."
"You may call me Eleanor, your Majesty. And as your instructor is no longer the reigning king, I can perceive that the skills he taught you were mediocre."
The Hero-King was enchanted by her beauty and ensnared by her wit. He reclined against a statue of a country maiden being wooed by a country boy. "Was my attack in need of much refinement, Eleanor?"
"I heard you when your boots trod onto the patio. I saw your Majesty before I fired the first shot. And I smelled your aromatic cologne before you leaped over the railing. If I had wanted, I could have slain Albion's Hero-King."
"Who is to say you have not?" Eleanor blushed profoundly. Scarlet blossomed from her slender throat to her gorgeously tough face. Sparrow smirked and decided to change the subject. "How did you become so skillful with the gun, my lady?"
"According to my father, our clan is descended from two great Heroes of old: Ranger of Witchwood and Briar Rose of Bowerstone."
"I have heard of Briar Rose, but not of Ranger. Allegedly, Briar Rose lived into the age of the first crafted muskets and pistols."
Eleanor nodded knowledgeably. "Yes, Briar Rose lived more than a century, long after the disappearance of the Hero of Oakvale. My family's legend tells that she met the Hero Ranger while he practiced with his bow one day near the Temple of Light in Witchwood, near the old Knothole Glade."
Sparrow wiped one of the garden benches free of glass. "Miss Norfolk, would you care to sit in the presence of the king?"
Her lovely green eyes widened. "If it pleases you, your Majesty, I will." Eleanor rested daintily on the bench, and the King parked himself beside her. Although it was against iron-clad rules of courtship in Albion for an unmarried woman to sit so near any man, Eleanor did not seem ill-at-ease with their arrangement.
"I sense there's a story here. Do tell it, my lady."
"You may call me Eleanor, your Majesty. There is no need for the formalities of the court here."
"I prefer the implications of addressing you as my lady, Eleanor."
The blonde aristocrat beamed. Her milky skin suffused with the moon's radiance, producing a wondrous luminosity around her. "Briar Rose was very much a scholar at heart and more adept at Will than Skill at this time. She approached Ranger to compliment his abilities, and with one look at her, he fell deeply in love. They married within a year, fought side-by-side to rid Witchwood of the Balverine population, and evacuated Witchwood with the rest of Knothole Glade to start a family."
"You make a terrific storyteller." 'The best part of the story was gazing into your glorious green eyes and fair face.'
"Well, I have had years of practice," Eleanor replied humbly. "But there is reason to believe my father's story is true. My three elder brothers are first-rate shooters as well. You may have known one of them, Logan Norfolk of Bloodstone?"
Sparrow pondered the name. It was familiar somehow, but the Hero was unable to place it among the numerous quests he had performed in his lifetime, the neighbors from his former residence in Brightwood, and the soldiers from his army. "I apologize, but I cannot recall the name, Eleanor."
"Logan served—and died—in your army, your Majesty."
'Avo's moldy toe jam, there goes my wedding plan! Maybe I can end this magnificent night without presenting myself as an insensitive lout.' Sparrow contorted his face into a contrite expression. "Eleanor, I am so grieved to hear that. Was he part of the heavy casualties sustained in the Battle of Rookridge?"
"No, he died in hand-to-hand combat when your army was ambushed in Silverpines."
"I remember that battle. It was…very difficult."
Sparrow's memory of that battle was far from fond. Brigands had captured the town of Silverpines in central Albion, just north of the Bower Lake Dweller Camp, and controlled the silver supply for which the town was named. Sparrow's army was moderately sized at the time and had devoured two days sieging the bandit fortifications. When the brigands capitulated, Sparrow, Walter, and two other soldiers marched into the town's primary mine shaft to extricate imprisoned rebels. Bandits detonated explosives at the entrance, and trapped them inside the cave for four days. Walter and Sparrow still had nightmares.
"That battle cost fifty-two civilian lives. The filthy bandits slew one person atop the town walls for every hour that we continued the siege."
"Why didn't you surrender, your Majesty?"
"I've wondered that myself, quite often. Had I acquiesced to those criminals, their cruelty would not have ended. Albion would not become unified, and there would be no sense of law and order in the land. I clung to that vision throughout the siege, and that vision cost the lives of fifty-two civilians and eighteen soldiers, including your brother." Sparrow sighed steadfastly. "Forgive me, Eleanor. I had…displaced…the memory of that battle."
"Your Majesty, I doubt you ever anticipated meeting me. Therefore, you had no cause to remember a death so significant to me."
Eleanor rested her gentle hand atop his coarse one. 'I may spontaneously combust from this woman's touch. I haven't felt like this about any woman since Charlotte. Even Hannah did not appeal to me the way she does.'
"You speak with such words of wisdom. How old are you, my lady?"
"I was raised around men of great insight and intellect," Eleanor deflected.
"You were not raised around women?"
"My mother died of fever after giving birth to me, and I was her only daughter. My father never remarried. Their sisters live throughout Albion."
"I offer my condolences." Sparrow rested his hand near Eleanor's lap, in which rested her exquisite clasped hands. "My sister Rose and I lived with a disgraced father until I was of age to walk, when he conveniently found his way to the bottom of the River Times. We had no other relatives, except each other, and when she died, I was alone."
Eleanor rested her hand on Sparrow's left arm. "I cannot imagine what that must have been like, your Majesty."
Her gaze urged the Hero to milk the moment. "They were difficult times indeed. Lord Lucien was still Bowerstone's figure of power and authority. Because of him, my sister was murdered, but without his authoritative presence, Bowerstone became worse."
"I regret to say that was before I was born."
"My lady, you never responded to my earlier question: How old are you?"
Eleanor stood and curtsied before Sparrow. He studied her splendid lineless face, her ageless smile, and her lithe figure, unable to determine her age. "I was born in mid-December, and this will be my seventeenth winter, your Majesty."
'Dear Avo, she is as old as I was when Theresa sent me from the Dweller camp by Bower Lake! I was so naïve and tender at that age. This girl could not possibly understand her own mind. I should not gaze upon her a moment more with affection or lust.'
Sparrow turned his repulsed eyes from Eleanor's proud bosom. "You're so young to have seen so much death, my lady."
"Am I so young that you would refrain from our conversation, King Sparrow? Am I so young that I should neither observe your shyness, nor comment upon it?"
Sparrow returned his eyes to her face. The blonde's sharp green eyes pierced something inside him, and he could not conceal the truth. "No, Eleanor, you are so young that I should not hope to marry you. I have been a Hero as long as you have been alive. There is no hope for us."
"You talk of marriage when we have only known each other for moments!" she laughed boisterously.
Sparrow couldn't help but join her in laughing. "You speak truthfully, Eleanor. What say you that we talk further, until we have known each other for hours?"
"We still could not talk of marriage. I say let us talk for days."
"We could talk further still and know each other for weeks."
"Months," Eleanor offered mischievously.
"How does a lifetime sound to you?" Sparrow offered his hand to her.
Eleanor placed her warm, gentle hand in his. "I think I would like that."
Author's Note: Chapter 3 is already underway and is titled "Intercourse." I hope you enjoyed this one. Please review. I need any comments, even negative ones, to continue to grow as a writer.