This was not a simple matter of 'right' or 'wrong,' decided the man atop the back of his great, sable mount, who pawed the ground nervously, snorting, its breath visible in the chilly autumn air. This was more than just a black and white issue that could be handled by the magisters, this was a complicated moral battle and it would change everything, including the very make-up of his kingdom.
The man his queen had fallen in love with was not commiting any crime, Thomas the XVI admitted to himself. He was not criminal, infact he denied the woman's affections and continued to impartially observe the kingdom as if there was nothing there at all. Yet Thomas could see it in his eyes, that deep longing for companionship, the way his pupils followed the curves of her body and appreciated the beauty of her face. The man, uncommonly cold though he was, seemed to treat the Lady Queen with a tenderness beyond words, and speak to her in a manor most gentle.
The one at fault was his Lady Queen, who had treasonus thoghts against him just by being smitten with the man. In this kingdom, afterall, the King took no concubines and the Queen no consorts. She was guilty of betraying him, and their sacred vows of marriage, sworn under the power of the twin gods, Gaelach and Breithe, with her lust after this stranger amongst strangers.
Yet the one at most fault was himself. Had she not told him on the day of their marriage that she would never love him, that their marriage was one of nessecity? He had failed her, had failed to be the man he should have been for her, failed to be everything that she needed. Their marriage was not even consumated, so could he not release her from their bond? That would prevent the inevitable crime from occuring, and she could peacefully go away with this man, who was even now preparing for departure; who, once gone, they would surely never see again.
"You seem distracted," the tenor drifted over the early morning mists, and Thomas was jolted into reality, staring at the phanotom atop the dappled grey mare who had appeared silently beside him.
It was the man, the phantom man, who the Queen was smitten with. He was short, but had the lean and long limbed build of someone far taller than himself, though he was well-porportioned. His hair was in a long, plaitted braid down his back and was the color of the pale moon, combed from his face and smoothed down with what looked like no small effort. He had thin, blue lips pursed into a concentrated line, and a long, straight nose set in a face that was neither handsome nor homely, but held a strange attractiveness none the less. His eyes, unusual orbs, did not posess the black pupils of most, but smokey blue pupils barely a different shade than his ireses. It made him look like a blind man, but as his eyes were focused with intensity on Thomas' face he knew this could not be so; still, it was disconcerting.
"Ah… KluYa," Thomas cleared his throat nervously; the man always made him uncomfortable – there was something downright unearthly about him. "What are you doing here?"
"Going for a ride," he said softly, looking away and up at the sky, where the twin moons still hung. "I thought I would try to harvest some herbs for potions. Your Healers still need some pratice, after all. Does your guard know you are out here all alone, Your Majesty?"
"Er-"
"I will take that as a no," KluYa, the winter man, smirked, urging his mare forward toward the small copse of trees ahead.
Unsure why, Thomas followed him, surprised when the man dismounted and stepped into the trees, his platinum silver armor suddenly covered in shadow. He, too, dismounted, tying his horse to a low hanging, but fairly sturdy, tree branch and treking after him.
"Do you know what the application of Mandragora is?" asked KluYa, stabbing the tip of his long sword into the top of a very leafy fern, which gave a shuddering whimper and slouched over, clearly dead.
Thomas didn't answer.
"It heals all Human wounds, but harvesting it is deadly task, and in its fully concentrated form it can be a deadly poison. First it must be processed," he effortlessly pulled the plant from the ground. "In order to do this you need light of the purest quality and water from a mountain spring. One must be vested with the Holy Light and be able to travel to the hightest reaches of this world, in other words, a Paladin."
The King wondered where this was all leading, and found himself staring as the man's hands emitted a soft silver-white glow, much like moon light.
"But a Paladin cannot exist should any evil desires enter his heart," the light sputtered and faltered, and KluYa finally met his eyes, great shame held within them. "That is why I must ask you to release your wife from your marriage and let her wed me instead… I'm afraid I care about her too much to just simply… leave. In any case, I would never forget about her, and dwelling on her would only lead to further taint."
He stood, a great and powerful sadness in his eyes as he looked through the treetops and at the moon. "Besides, this was Forseen. From The Beginning this was meant to transpire. It is as I have Seen."
Thomas could say nothing, but he nodded mutely in agreement to anull his marriage with dearest Cecilia. Though he may be smitten with her beyond words, she was clearly in love with KluYa, and obvioulsy the feeling was returned. Who was he to deny her true hapiness?
"As it was written, so it shall be done," KluYa seemed to quote, his voice airy and distant. "Brother warned me that I would be the cause of my own visions, but it is far too late to turn back now. I must do this or when Evil does awaken there will be no one here to stand against it. 'Without the Pillar the Four will fall and their bones be scattered.'"
He turned to go, "I will let you tell Cecilia the news, Thomas. It is not my place."
Dfirting like an appiration, KluYa left the King of Baron alone in the woods with a dead Mandragora, having agreed to release his one true love from their sacred bond.