Chapter Five

It had been a few hours since Dwayne had escorted Ophelia back to her room, reluctantly leaving her alone to grieve. Her tears had long since dried, yet she couldn't find solace in her surroundings, nor could she find comfort with only her own whispering mind and sleep deprived body for company.

Ophelia sat cross-legged in the middle of the king-sized bed, staring at the tapestry opposite. The intricately woven textile art hung from floor to ceiling, the tips of its golden tassels lightly brushing the floor. The more she stared at the artwork, the more she noticed, like the way the vivid colours depicting the setting sun seemed to glitter in the low light and how the sprawling grassy landscape beyond the horizon seemed to sway when she studied it from different angles. Ophelia tilted her head to the side, entranced by the seemingly sentient landscape when she spotted the thick golden rope hanging beside the tapestry – why hadn't she noticed it before? It was so blatantly obvious. Inquisitively, Ophelia slid off the bed and padded over to the wall hanging, her eyes following the plaited gold rope up to where it connected to the iron pole holding the decadent artwork in place. She cautiously reached out and lightly pulled on the rope, not really expecting it to serve any purpose other than being another element to the elaborate decoration and received the shock of her life when the tapestry slowly slid to the side, leaving her staring dumbly at a set of mahogany framed French doors that led out onto an oval shaped iron-railed balcony.

Ophelia reached out towards the doors, her hand nervously hovering over the iron handle. Exhaling a shaky breath, she pressed down the handle, tentatively pushing open the doors and slowly padded out onto the balcony, the black stone cool on the pads of her bare feet. The black silk fabric of her nightdress blew lightly in the warm night air, caressing the backs of her calves in a way that sent shivers rippling down her spine. Ophelia stepped up to the wall of the balcony, her hands curving around the cool iron rail as she took in the sight that greeted her. The moon hung full and low in the inky black night sky, the clear canvas dotted with a million glittering stars.

From her vantage point she saw that the palace was separated from the rest of the kingdom by a sandstone bridge beneath which a crystal-clear river flowed. The kingdom itself was immense, littered with mini mansions and sprawling landscapes, edged by a dense forest, with its trees standing tall and imposing like nature-made sentries. The sudden realisation that this enormous kingdom and its inhabitants were apparently destined to be under her charge alongside the king sent her into a heightened state of panic.

She stumbled back into the bedroom, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. Her stomach sank to her knees, her legs jellified as she clung to the bedpost in an attempt to keep herself upright. Her breath was reduced to short shallow pants as a thousand thoughts pummelled her already emotionally exhausted brain. "I can't do this-" Ophelia panted, "-I don't belong here," she croaked, sagging to her knees.

This all had to be some kind of mistake. It was improbable that she was truly the queen the king had been waiting for. She could barely take care of herself, preferring to wander around with her nose in a book, day-dreaming about scenario's that would never happen in real life, not worrying about keeping a kingdom afloat and its inhabitants happy. Not only was she doubting her suitability for queendom, but there was the significant issue of her mortality to consider. How could she willingly accept to become one of those terrifying creatures that had disembowelled, mutilated and fed from a group of people she personally knew right in front of her? How could she accept to erase her humanity? She wasn't a killer, she could barely bring herself to kill a spider, and she really hated spiders. If she couldn't kill something much lower on life's food chain, how could she kill a human that she had no hatred or ill-will towards like it was nothing?

"Oh God… I can't…" Ophelia sobbed, fisting her hair as she sank further into the stone floor. She needed her mother, she'd know what to do, she was always the clear-thinker, the realist, the one who always thought with a preference for logic over whim. Feeling her chest tighten in response to her further descent into hysteria, Ophelia began to panic even more, her mind whispering the wicked notion that she was going to die here alone, suffocating on her own tears with no one to comfort her as she took her last, ragged breaths.

"Ophelia?" a familiar voice broke through her hysteria and she looked up with wide, watery eyes to find Ellie staring down at her, a look of concern on her pretty face. "Your majesty what's wrong? Are you sick?"

"I can't do this Ellie-" Ophelia sobbed, "-I don't belong here!" she screeched feverishly, clawing wildly at her tautening throat. "I… can't… breathe…"

"I'm going to get the king," Ellie stammered, disappearing out of sight before Ophelia could muster the breath to protest. Ophelia braced her hands on the floor, her tears rolling down her cheeks and dripped to the floor, the ever-growing puddle serving as evidence of her turmoil.

"Ophelia," a rumbling, husky voice broke the suffocating silence that consumed her before she felt a pair of warm hands lightly clasp her bare shoulders.

She raised her head, meeting the kings worried crystal blue eyes and manically gripped his strong forearms. "I can't do this, I'm not your queen, it's a mistake, I don't belong here," she panted, her vision growing blurry with tears.

David's hands moved from her shoulders to cup her cheeks, his eyes flashing with determination. "You are my queen Ophelia and you do belong here. I'm not known to be foolish, I do not make such mistakes, especially when it comes to my kingdom and my future."

"You don't know me, you don't know how incompetent I am," she wailed pitifully.

"Stop this-" David demanded, his grip on her face tightening slightly, "-you need to calm down."

"But I-"

"-Calm. Down," he repeated, and Ophelia felt a flood of relaxation wash over her in one big warm, comforting tidal wave. She breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly, repeating the process until the tightness in her chest started to fade and she found she could swallow without it feeling like trying to squeeze a truck through a keyhole. "Ellie," David hollered whilst Ophelia gradually began to compose herself, the once ragged, body-shaking sobs, now a silent stream of tears down her cheeks.

"Yes your majesty?" Ellie appeared in the archway separating the bedroom from the sitting room.

"Please bring some camomile tea and something sweet," he calmly requested.

"Of course your highness," Ellie curtsied and obediently scurried away.

"Come, the couch is much more comfortable than the floor," David stated, guiding Ophelia to her feet. He kept a loose grip on her arm, the warmth of his hand scorching against her clammy, flushed skin as he led her into the sitting room, motioning for her to sit on the couch while he strode across the room towards the drinks cart.

Ophelia started to regain some clarity and the first thing she noticed was the fact that the king was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black, silk pants. She felt herself blush when she took stock of his broad muscular back and firm, biceps, quickly averting her eyes, choosing to stare at her lap instead, becoming increasingly aware of her own state of undress. The silk nightdress she was wearing leaving little to the imagination.

"Thank you," Ophelia whispered shyly, accepting the crystal tumbler of cherry red liquid, recalling that it was elven wine if her memory served her correctly. David perched on the opposite end of the couch with a glass of mead and she could feel his eyes on her as she took a tentative sip of her drink. The wine was undeniably sweet with notes of cherry, almond and vanilla and a subtle floral undertone. "If the colour pink had a flavour, it would be this wine," she mused, swirling the red liquid around her glass.

David chuckled, taking a sip of his drink with a small smile. "I did say that it's a little girly."

"Hey, not all girls like pink," Ophelia joked, feeling the hysteria she'd experienced only moments ago retreating at speed in the surprisingly comforting presence of the king.

"Most of the women I've met adore the colour pink – personally, I abhor it. Tell me, what's your favourite colour?" David inquired, internally groaning at his bumbling attempt at conversation, Did he really just ask her what her favourite colour was after she'd just had a mental break-down?

"I don't have a favourite per se, but I like violet, azure blue and red," Ophelia replied, taking another sip of her drink. "What about you, do you have a favourite colour or are they all abhorrent to you?"

The king smirked - he appreciated her wit. "I like the royal colours which I'm sure you've taken note of around the palace and furthermore, I'm rather captivated by the colour of your eyes," he blurted, clearing his throat as he shuffled in his seat.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Ophelia blush, her tear-stained cheeks flushing bright pink. Before either of them could say anything further, a delicate knock sounded on the chamber doors. "Enter," David called out and Ellie entered carrying a tray of camomile tea and a selection of sweet scones. David gratefully took the tray and inwardly cursed himself for forgetting to include end-tables in his queens sitting room. As if she read his mind, Ellie waved her hand in the air, producing a small opal white crystal and tossed it to the ground, producing a small coffee table in its wake. "Most gracious of you Ellie, you're dismissed," he gave the fae a small smile, setting the tray on the table.

"I don't think I'm ever going to stop being amazed by her tricks," Ophelia stated, eyeing the table with keen interest.

"You become accustomed to it after a while," David countered, cautiously taking the glass of wine from her hand, swapping it for the cup of camomile tea. "The tea should help calm your nerves and the scones should help stave off the upcoming headache."

"Thank you," Ophelia smiled, curling up against the cushions. "I'm sorry if Ellie disturbed you, you don't have to stay if you don't want to... I think I'm going to be OK."

"You have nothing to apologise for, I wasn't doing anything important," he assured her, plucking a cherry scone from the pile for himself, hoping it would give him something to focus on other than his desire to run his fingers through her curls while tasting the undoubted sweetness of her cherry red lips. Even in her hysteria, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever set eyes on and he craved her like nothing else.

While Ophelia was preoccupied with inspecting a chocolate chip scone, David took the opportunity to devour her body with his eyes, noting the soft definition of her collarbone and the sumptuous curves of her breasts. When he could no longer stand the silence nor the salacious whisperings in his mind, he decided to ask what had caused her mental break. Was it the grief of losing her parents only a month or so ago, or was it because she truly doubted her place here?

"Ophelia, what happened just now to cause you such distress? Was it due to what was spoken about during dinner?"

Ophelia placed her now empty cup and half-eaten scone on the table in favour of the glass of wine which she drained in one breath. "I'm going to need another drink."

David took her glass over to the drinks cart and filled it with mead. "I suggest you drink this one a little slower," he advised, handing her the glass before taking his seat, retrieving his own drink.

Ophelia took a sip of the amber liquid, her brow arching, clearly impressed by the beverage. She sighed and sagged back against the arm rest, brushing a stray lock of curls behind her ear. "It wasn't really the dinner conversation that got me so worked up... I mean, I had my moment of grief and calmed down, just like I've been doing since the day I was told they'd been killed-" she swallowed, "-I found the balcony and I guess seeing the kingdom in its entirety for the first time was more than a little overwhelming and I just freaked out."

"Why?"

"Because I don't see myself as a queen David. I don't belong here. I'm a nerd with a penchant for walking around with my head in the clouds or my nose in a book, not running a kingdom. Not having people curtsy or bow in my presence and call me your majesty. Queens are supposed to be self-assured and beautiful, I'm neither of those things…"

David sighed heavily, draining the rest of his mead for courage as he slid further down the couch, close enough to Ophelia that his knee brushed her shin. He needed to bury his self-doubt and fears and tell her that the way she was thinking was wrong. "Ophelia, just because you can't see yourself as queen, doesn't mean that you don't belong here. Destiny chose you for a reason, regardless of whether you know that reason or not."

"But how do you know you're right? How do you know I'm the one?"

David exhaled a shaky breath, willing himself to tell the truth and not run away in fear of rejection. "Because the first time I laid eyes on you, the whole world stopped turning. Looking into to your innocent, emerald green eyes was like looking into my past, my present and my future. I saw vivid premonitions of you by my side, ruling my kingdom, the strength at my back, my front and my side. I understand your apprehension in regard to taking on the responsibility of ruling a kingdom, I felt the same way the day of my coronation but one thing you should never doubt is your beauty - you're the most alluring woman my eyes have ever had the good grace to gaze upon."

Ophelia bashfully averted her eyes, chewing on her bottom lip. David drew his tongue over his lips, yearning for her full, luscious lip to be between his own teeth, nipping her teasingly before he'd draw her into a kiss so hot, it would leave both their mouths aflame. Ophelia fixed him with fiery emerald eyes, sparking the fire in his core. Her gaze roved over his lips for all of a second before she feigned interest in her lap, sipping her drink distractedly. How could she deny the chemistry between them? He knew she felt it, he could see it in the fire in her eyes.

"It wasn't just the queen thing…" Ophelia spoke, clearing the blanket of electrical energy that had seconds ago encompassed them.

"I'm listening," he coaxed, placing his empty glass on the table, placing his hands on his thighs.

"It's the whole vampire aspect of things-" she fixed him with forlorn emerald eyes, "-David I can't even bring myself to kill a spider and I hate spiders; how can I be expected to kill another human?"

"Your mortality is not in question right now Ophelia. First you learn to be a queen while we get to know one another. Then, when my mother's crown is on your head, we can discuss immortality."

"I have to learn to be a queen? Like, royal etiquette lessons? I thought I'd escaped school," she pouted charmingly.

"I had to endure such lessons, why shouldn't you?" he smirked.

"Oh, so it's going to be an endurance, huh?" Ophelia rolled her eyes. "Good thing that I have getting to know you to look forward to them…" she exclaimed with a faint blush.

"As an infamous, arrogant king once said - just fear me, love me and do as I say, and I will be your slave," he murmured, knowing she was familiar with the story for he'd seen the dog-eared novel on the vanity when he'd entered her bedroom.

Ophelia's breath hitched and her lips parted invitingly leaving David suddenly feeling as though he'd been shrouded in a cloak of static electricity and like a magnet drawn into an impenetrable force-field, he found himself leaning towards her, his arm reaching out to rest on the arm of the couch, blocking her in with his body. He was so close that he could feel her warm breath caress his face and he could hear the rhythmic drum of her heart. "Are you going to kiss me?" Ophelia whispered, her eyes trained on his lips.

"I'm thinking about it-" David smirked, "-would her majesty object if I did?"

"No," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Their lips were seconds away from meeting when a loud knock rattled the chamber door and David growled in frustration while Ophelia stifled a flustered giggle.

"What!?" he barked, cursing whoever dared to disturb his time with his queen.

The door swung open and Dwayne stepped into the room, bowing ungraciously as he ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair. "Sire, sorry to disturb you but we have a problem," he exclaimed.

"Such impeccable timing-" David drawled, rolling his eyes, "what kind of problem?" he sighed, getting to his feet.

"A rogue group of Lycan are attacking the farmlands," Dwayne explained.

"Gather the guards and give me five minutes to change," the king ordered turning back to Ophelia who was looking up at him with confusion. "My apologies but a king is never truly off the clock-" he gave her a small smile, "-try and get some rest and if you need anything, please call on Kaylin. Just say her name and she'll appear - I must leave."

"OK, be careful," Ophelia smiled, lightly squeezing his hand and David sighed heavily. He was going to rip those damn Lycan to shreds.

"Goodnight Ophelia."

"Goodnight your majesty."

"Marko lead your men to the borders of the forest, Paul you take the left, Dwayne take the right and I'll take the middle ground," David barked his orders as he and his army stalked across the desecrated farmland.

The sound of splintered bones crunched beneath the soles of his boots as he waded through the scattered, mutilated corpses of various live-stock. The sound of a nearby bellowing cow caught his attention and his head snapped in the direction of the animal's agonised sounds, his eyes landing on the dying animal's disfigured body, it's intestines spilling from a large tear in its abdomen. "Xavier, put the poor animal out of its misery," David ordered, turning away from the unfortunate sight. He and his men all winced as they heard the distinct metallic clink of a sword being drawn, followed by the sound of a blade slicing through air, then bone and cartilage. The King had no qualms about ripping out the heart of a human or tearing off the limbs of his enemies but what he couldn't abide was cruelty to animals.

In the near distance the sound of distorted screams and panicked shouts filled the night air, the smell of death and freshly spilled blood hanging heavy and oppressive over the land. Monstrous shadows tore around the farmland, limbs and entrails dangling from the mouths of the creatures the king loathed more than any other. Flashbacks of his mother and father's mutilated corpses flashed in his mind's eye and he fought back the urge to vomit and fall to his knees, overcome with grief. "Are you OK sire?" Dwayne's voice broke through the droning buzz in his mind, his hands clamped firmly on the king's shoulder.

David covered Dwayne's hand with his, taking a second to use him as an anchor, snapping himself back to reality. "I'm fine brother," he murmured, his hand dropping to the handle of his sword. "Men, to your positions," he commanded, drawing the razor-sharp silver blade from its holster, the polished metal glinting malevolently beneath the ghostly light of the moon.

David stalked forward, moving with silent, predatory grace within the shadows. He reached a nearby farmhouse without being detected, the Lycan's momentarily distracted by his men storming them from the opposite direction. He heard the sound of a child's scared cries and peered around the side of the stone building, finding a small boy-child no older than four crying for his mother. David swallowed around the lump in his throat, fighting back his own agonizing memories and scanned the immediate area, spotting movement in the immediate shadows.

David's eyes remained trained on the moving shadows, darting every so often to the child, ensuring that he hadn't moved from his spot in front of the house. The sound of a deep, rumbling guttural growl ripped through the air, followed by the snarling snap of teeth as a large, wiry black werewolf leapt from the shadows, it's giant paws slashing menacingly through the air. David sprung in the weeping child's direction, covering the trembling child with his body as the weight of the werewolf bore down on him, it's unforgiving claws embedding in his bicep, tearing into his muscle. David hissed and snarled in pain, bringing back his foot before striking the beast in the snout with the heel of his boot. The vile, snapping dog whimpered, stumbling back from the force of the blow, giving David time to reposition himself, hiding the boy-child behind his back as he raised his sword, crouching low on his haunches.

"Despicable mutt," he snarled, swinging his sword through the air, slicing the blade through the approaching werewolves shoulder. The wolf howled in pain, reacting not only to the gaping wound but the silver of the swords blade. The wolf swiped at him with its uninjured appendage and David was quick to react, amputating the over-sized dogs arm in one clean swoop. The Lycan's howls rang shrill and deafening, the sound like music to the immortal king's ears. Dwayne emerged from the side of the house, sprinting in the injured creatures direction, raising his sword. The sharp silver blade whipped through the air before tearing into the howling dogs flesh, decapitating the foul creature and killing it instantly.

David sagged to his knees, panting through gritted teeth as he inspected the wound on his arm. "Shit," he exhaled.

"You're injured," Dwayne frowned, jogging to his side. "Marko!" he hollered, the king's lead guard appearing seconds later. "The king's injured, he needs to be taken to the healer immediately."

"I do not, I'll be fine - the child, I need to find his parents," David grimaced, though his protests were interrupted by a flare of white-hot pain, his whole body feeling as though fire was coursing through his veins. David screamed, collapsing to the floor, his fists clenched as every muscle in his body seized and tensed.

"Go now before the curse has time to fully infect him," he heard Dwayne bark before the ringing in his ears rendered him deaf.

Dwayne ran his bloodied fingers through his hair, the sound of the king's screams of agony ringing through the air as Marko gathered him in his arms and took off back in the direction of the palace. He turned his attention to the cowering boy-child. "Hey little guy, what's your name?" he crouched low, checking the boy over for injury.

"Jeremiah," he whimpered, his bottom lip quivering, his watery grey eyes staring up at Dwayne in fear.

"Nice to meet you Jeremiah, I'm Dwayne-" he smiled, "-I'm not going to hurt you, OK? I'm here to keep you safe…" he soothed.

"I want my momma," he sobbed, his tiny shoulder's shaking.

"C'mere little guy," Dwayne motioned, holding out his arms, relieved when the boy timidly obeyed, his scrawny arms wrapping around Dwayne's neck. Dwayne stroked the boys tousled mousy brown hair as he rose to his feet, surveying the carnage around him.

"Dude, they're all dead, Caius and Blaize are doing one last sweep of the forest borders before we head back, have you seen Marko?" Paul surfaced from the shadows, his bloodied sword swinging loosely from his hand.

"He took the king back to the palace, he got scratched," Dwayne grimaced.

Paul's eyes widened. "Shit, you think he'll get him back in time?"

"Yeah, I think so," Dwayne nodded.

"Who's the little dude?" Paul asked, sheathing his sword.

"Jeremiah - David was trying to protect him from the werewolf," Dwayne gestured to the decapitated creature. "I don't think his parents made it…"

"Shit, what you gonna do? It's a fucking mess out here man, the humans that didn't get slaughtered have been moved to one of the local inns until their homes are repaired," Paul informed him.

"I'm gonna take him back to the palace, put him in the care of the servants for now and see what David wants to do tomorrow. You know the majority of the orphans end up serving the king anyway," Dwayne stated – he was one of them.

"You know, despite him being a fucking grouch and a complete bastard the majority of the time, he's a sucker for kids and animal's ain't he? Think's nothing of tearing off a dude's arm and beating the shit outta him with it but kicking a cat or gutting a cow it's all no, don't do that! The sentimental son of a bitch," Paul shook his head with a smile.

Dwayne huffed a laugh. "Why the hell would you wanna kick a cat Paul?"

"I don't know, maybe the little fuzzy fucker hisses at me or something?" Paul shrugged and Dwayne barked a laugh.

"You're an idiot," Dwayne shook his head in amusement. "Anyway, round up the boys, I'm going to take Jeremiah to the servants quarters and check on the king, I'll see you back at the palace."

"Aye, aye captain," Paul saluted, wandering back into the midst of the farmland.

"C'mon Jeremiah, let's get you cleaned up, perhaps I can make you some cocoa, what do you think?" Dwayne smiled down at the boy in his arms.

"With marshmallows like momma makes me?" he mumbled timidly, wiping his leaking eyes with the backs of his dirt covered hands.

"Sure buddy, just like your momma makes you."

After leaving Jeremiah with Ellie, Dwayne made his way to the palace infirmary. The sound of the king's screams of agony echoed down the deserted corridors and his stomach knotted, unsettled by the suffering of his oldest, closest friend. Dwayne briefly wrapped on the door to one of the treatment rooms before entering the brightly lit room. Dwayne grimaced, dragging his hands down his face with distress. The man who he considered to be his closest ally, his brother, was sprawled on a blood-stained bed, his body seizing, his back arching as his feet pushed against the mattress while Omarion, the palace healer's hands moved over his writhing body.

Dwayne crossed the room, his brows knitted in a frown. David's veins were black and spidery beneath his pale flesh, his eyes flashing between vivid red and menacing yellow. The veins in his neck strained against his flesh, his jaw clamped taut as strangled screams caught in his throat. Dwayne swallowed, moving to stand by his best friends head. "You have to fight it David," he murmured, clamping his hand on his bare shoulder. David panted as another seizure wracked his body, his hand gripping the metal rails of the bed hard enough to bow the normally sturdy steel. The healer's hands glowed a vivid violet over David's chest and with one last deafening scream David's body arched before slamming down onto the bed.

"It's done," the healer exhaled sharply, a murky grey crystal encased between his hands.

"He's going to be OK? The curse didn't take hold?" Dwayne asked for clarification.

"He's going to be fine, perhaps a little weak tomorrow but the curse has been extracted. Perhaps it would be apt to give him some blood, would you mind? The bottles are on the back shelf, I need to dispose of this wretched thing," Omarion screwed up his face in disgust, gesturing to the cloudy crystal.

Dwayne nodded, retrieving a bottle of blood before doubling back to where the king lay barely conscious on the infirmary bed. "Drink sire," Dwayne stated, popping the bottles cork and held the bottle to his friends lips. David drank greedily before slumping back against the crumpled pillow beneath his head.

"The boy…" David croaked.

"Jeremiah-" Dwayne smiled, "-he's alive and well sire."

"His mother, father?"

"They didn't make it…" Dwayne mumbled. A strangled sound of anguish escaped the king as he buried his face in his hands, turning his back. "David, are you OK brother?" Dwayne uttered, knowing the king was likely suffering at the hands of his own painful memories, tonight would not have been easy on him.

"No child should be without a mother," the king whispered and Dwayne could hear the tremor in David's voice, understanding his friends pain completely for they'd both lost their mother's, though Dwayne had never known his own.

"He is in capable hands your majesty," Dwayne assured him.

"It's not the same," David countered despairingly. "Please leave Dwayne, I wish to be alone."

"Yes sire, call for me if you should need me," Dwayne stated sadly, squeezing his friends shoulder in a gesture of comfort before leaving the king alone with his grief.