Lizaveta
Dragging her sore body to the bed, Lizaveta groaned weakly. After dinner, Lucivar had set about putting distance between Rhys and herself, while giving her something else to think about as well. This meant checking to see if she was keeping up in her training, which Andulvar had always been vehement about. And as Lizaveta mewled pathetically about her bruises, she watched in irritated relief as Lucivar applauded his youngest son's abilities to keep "such a pampered princess in shape".
Lizaveta flopped onto the bed face first, feeling soar all over. She heard, with no interest, the door to her bedroom open and the soft rub of fabric as a person walked in. Angeline was just as irritating as her brother when it came to shields and little defensive triggers, so Lizaveta already knew that it was the vassal for Witch walking toward her bed.
"Hello Jaenelle." Lizaveta muttered, her mouth blocked by her blanket. She felt the bed shift as Jaenelle sat next to her and rubbed her back in soothing circles. Lizaveta kicked off her boots and curled farther onto the bed, and, in a moment of innocent childishness, laid her head in Jaenelle's lap. They sat in silence for a moment, Jaenelle taking up her petting on Lizaveta's head and Lizaveta letting all of her frustration drain from her before talking.
"Why didn't you ever have children Jaenelle?" Lizaveta asked suddenly. Growing up, Lizaveta had always seen Jaenelle as a surrogate mother, not that her own was lacking. But in all of the political intrigue, and especially when Lizaveta was showing a leaning to a darker Jewel, Jaenelle was the only constant. When every other person was measuring her with a wary eye, even her parents, who thought they could hide their true intentions from a natural Black Widow, were cautious around her. Jaenelle never treated her any different, even from Lucivar's children, upon whom she also doted.
"I always wanted to be normal Lizzie, and I took up the mantle as Witch to keep the people I loved safe. I would have liked nothing more than to be a mother, but both Daemon and I were – are – worried about what fate would mark any children born from the two of us. And, I have been blessed with many children that I would gladly claim as my own in my lifetime." Jaenelle answered, ending with a cool pat to Lizaveta's forehead. Taking that as a cue, Lizaveta sighed and pushed herself up, tucking her legs underneath her like Jaenelle.
"What do you think about Rhys?" She questioned. Here, Jaenelle's eyes went flat and she drifted in thought. The temperature didn't change and Lizaveta took that as a good sign, although the silence was a little unnerving.
"I see a Warlord Prince who walks the line between Blood and Kindred, sanity and the Twisted Kingdom, reality and delusions. I think that things he may think are true, may be based in a hopeful wish that kept him from sinking too far into the Twisted Kingdom. I don't know where his intentions lie, but I sense a lot of good in him." Jaenelle answered succinctly. Lizaveta furrowed her brows and looked down at the patterns in her blanket. She pulled on a few loose threads as she thought, plucking at her mental threads as she went.
"You can't read him? I mean, like you can among both the Blood and the Kindred?" She inquired. Jaenelle softened and sighed gently.
"He has been broken for too long, even I cannot be sure." She replied. Lizaveta's eyes widened but realized a moment later what she had meant. Rhys was definitely not broken, in the vernacular meaning of the word. He could barely reign in the flare of power that came up from something even Jaenelle thought might be a delusion.
"Both he and I are dangerous for the amount of power we have and the few restraints we can actually wear." Lizaveta mused, propping her elbow on the crook of her knee and cradling her chin.
"But of different severity. A Black Jeweled Warlord Prince who is a little touched in the head but had pledged himself to a Queen is dramatically less dangerous than a Black Jeweled Queen with no court." Jaenelle countered.
"I don't understand why I can't just stay in Dena Nehele." Lizaveta muttered, turning her gaze away as she felt the prick of tears. Her own mother was turning her away.
In response to the despair Lizaveta was exuding, Jaenelle shifted and put an arm around Lizaveta's shoulders.
"It's part of the agreement. To put a Queen darker than Gwen on a short-lived race throne would be seen as an attempt to thwart Terreille's influence. The only thing that kept a gray Jeweled Queen was tradition, anything darker would be seen as a threat." Jaenelle explained. Lizaveta took a deep breath and let it out, trying to dissolve the hopelessness she felt.
"I just don't want to be seen as a," Lizaveta paused to find the right word. "Hot potato to be passed around till someone can find a place for me." She smirked as she heard Jaenelle chuckle over the reference to a children's game.
"You could get married. Gregory is infatuated with you and I've been hearing a lot about this Stephan Tremont. I should like to meet him." Jaenelle said lightly, trying to jostle Lizaveta from her dark mood. Lizaveta rolled her eyes and groaned with a smile and she pushed herself onto her back.
"Gregory is nice enough but he's a bit of a bore. And Stephan leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, psychically speaking of course." She remarked. Jaenelle leaned back, keeping her head propped up on her arm.
"Now I would definitely like to meet this Tremont character." Jaenelle said. Lizaveta laughed and swatted her hand through the air.
"No, I just think he's overly ambitious. Thinks he can catch himself a pretty wife that will move him into First Circle is all." She stated. Jaenelle relaxed and stared up at the ceiling.
"Have you given any thought to who you'll be going with to the Winsol Ball?" Jaenelle questioned. Lizaveta sighed and threw an arm over her eyes.
"I'd rather skirt by the whole thing by making Luther take me, but he'd do it and then Meredith wouldn't have any fun. Choosing Rhys is just dangerous and Stephan would cause some unnecessary rumors to start. Gregory's the safest bet since it will calm his mother and, even with those rumors, secure my safety here at court, now that I know I'll be here for a while." She answered.
"That is very sensible." Jaenelle responded. Lizaveta sighed and flipped over onto her stomach, her head resting on her crossed arms.
"Do you ever feel like, because you're stronger, you shouldn't be forced to deal with nonsense like this? Like you just want to wipe everything away and live your life?" She questioned. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lizaveta regretted them. Jaenelle had wiped away everything that offended her as Witch and went on with her life.
"Sometimes." Came the murmured reply.
Stephan
The day after Jaenelle arrived, while Stephan was trying to think of a way to ask Lizaveta to the Winsol Ball, it was announced that she would go with Gregory. It was a smart move on her part, but it still infuriated Stephan to his core and he spent the day fuming in his chambers. He tried to think of the way he could get close enough in order to get Lizaveta. But in a moment of despair, Stephan realized he had nothing to ensnare the woman to begin with. He had looks and charm, but there had always been something about him that repelled romantic advances. Normally, Stephan didn't care, but he knew the precarious position he was in at the moment. Even if it were not a love match, Lizaveta could come to see how much easier her life would get with Gregory, and to compound it, the Queen's son was genuinely fond of her.
There had to be something.
Muttering curses under his breath, Stephan wrenched open the door to his bedroom and walked into the antechamber. He paused as he sensed a presence and felt his nerves set on edge.
"Who's there?" He hissed. Instead of a reply, a shadow moved from out of the doorway to the receiving room. It looked like a cloak hanging on sharp shoulders, the hood was up and the face of the person was masked.
"I offer some help, friend." The rasped voice that escaped from the void was a sexless as the shape the cloak took. Stephan tried to probe and found, nothing.
"Who are you?" Stephan demanded.
"I am no one, lost to the Darkness with the rest of my kind." The figure replied.
"What do you want?" Stephan asked warily.
"To help." A clawed hand protruded from the deep black folds of the cloak and held a red velvet bag. Stephan reached forward slowly and snatched the bag away when the figure didn't move.
"You wear your Birth Rite Jewel, why? Because you like to seem tame. You must have this Lizaveta fall in love with you or else you will not be able to control her. But with Witch at court, this will be a most difficult thing to do. These will help you in your quest to secure the Black Queen." The figure said. As Stephan sat down on a small armchair, he opened the bag and upended its contents on the little setting table before him. Trinkets and a small packet of powder spilled out onto the surface. As he went to examine them, he finally felt the lightest touch of a psychic link to the figure.
"You're a White Jeweled Priestess? Why should I accept any help from such a weak Jeweled Priestess?" Stephan scoffed. The Priestess walked forward and pushed back her hood with her clawed hands. Her slitted eyes gleamed a most malevolent silver, and her thin nose flare.
"There was magic in the world before the Blood youngling. Do not doubt me. Do you want to know what these do or not?" She spat. Stephan physically recoiled, but his fingers traced over the few trinkets.
"Not even Witch will be able to detect this until it is too late, only the other man will be able to tell what it is but he is too long gone from our ways." The Priestess said as she moved closer to Stephan.
"You mean the pleasure slave?" Stephan asked incredulously.
"He is not a pleasure slave." The Priestess stated, almost angrily.
"What am I supposed to do Priestess?" Stephan asked, tiring of the woman already.
"Give her the ring to dull her senses. The bracelet goes to Witch and will only react to Lizaveta, nothing else can be sensed. The powder is to go into the Black Queen's drink, starting with a low dose and adding more each time. You will not need much and by the last night of Winsol, she will be yours." The Priestess said. Stephan picked up the small, semi-translucent paper packet that held a coarse powder.
"What is it?" He asked. He knew no aphrodisiac would work on a Black Jeweled Queen unless in a high amount, and Jaenelle would notice that sooner that most. But the Priestess had mentioned something about a deeper magic.
"Powdered Dragon's scale, what your precious Jewels are made of." The Priestess answered maliciously. Something about that chilled Stephan to his core. There was so much power in reserve that the each Jewel held, and something told him that this power was not lost when the Jewels were ground.
"What color were they?" Stephan asked as he set the packet down reverently.
"Rose. They had been mine, before I was broken." The woman snarled. Stephan flinched but felt that same fluttering against his psychic barriers as he did when he noticed the figure as a woman. She had a very different meaning of broken.
"That will be strong enough?" He asked.
"So many questions, but I understand. Yes, it will be enough. These were my Jewels." The Priestess said and turned, drawing her hood as she did.
"Wait," Stephan started as he stood from his seat. "Why are you helping me?" The Priestess paused, her arms falling back into the robe and obscuring her shape.
"That other man is a traitor and I will finally destroy him for the wickedness he brought to my people." She replied. Stephan watched quietly as the woman stepped into the shadows the now darkening windows cast, and vanished. Instead of lingering on the spot she had just occupied, Stephan turned his attention back to the small pile on items on the table. He picked up the ring, laughing softly about the small diamond centered on a simple silver band. Other brightly colored gems formed a line on either side of the diamond, giving it a semblance to the ranking of Jewels. It was an appropriate gift for Winsol. And the bracelet was made of a material unknown to Stephan but reminded him of the unicorn's horn. It was inlaid with gold and silver veins, making it seem like marble. Stephan probed them both with the Green and found nothing out of the ordinary. Only simple pieces of jewelry.
Stephan set the pieces back down and pocketed the powder before going to the door to the receiving room. He had to go make one final fitting before the Winsol ball, and to see about getting his presents wrapped.
Daemon
"DAEMON!" Before he could even think, Daemon was bursting into the bedroom where Jaenelle had gone to lay down. She looked pale, drawn, and Daemon was immediately at her side, holding her.
"What is it love? Are you all right?" He asked. He could feel her shivering in his embrace and he merely tightened his hold.
"Something brushed against the Twilight's Dawn and kept going." Jaenelle said.
"Ebony?" Daemon asked, still not understanding what happened.
"Not Ebony, just, different. And it only seemed to be passing by, but wanted me to notice." Jaenelle explained.
"Like a greeting? Or a search?" Daemon pressed. Jaenelle shook her head and took in a deep breath. Daemon watched her slowly exhale before turning to him.
"No, more like a challenge." She replied. They sat in silence for a moment, Daemon's mind trying to work through the possibilities. No Blood had ever before been darker than Black, not before and definitely not since Jaenelle. And even the Kindred were in registers, in their own way. So no one in the Three Realms could have been hiding a darker Jewel until believing they could take on Witch.
But Rhys was not in any register. There could be others like him.
Or with him.
Daemon bristled but calmed his nerves, needing to check on a few things first. And there was one piece of information he could get now.
"I have a letter from Draca." Daemon said softly. Jaenelle snapped upright and stared at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She demanded.
"I was just about to. And then you summoned me." Daemon said jokingly as he called in the letter he hadn't remembered vanishing in his panic. Jaenelle snatched it and pried open the seal. She scanned the letter and then smiled, looking at Daemon.
"She says she knows Rhys and is very surprised to hear of him. Supposedly, he is of an ancient race call the Aeshamani, a race of cat creatures that were fierce warriors. They had a belief of 'earth and stone, fire and steel, blood and iron' as Draca puts it. They prayed to nature spirits but sacrificed live animals to their sun god Aesham, who was also a god of war. They have a deep bloodlust but also a deeper calling to this ancient magic. Rhys was supposed to be a mage warrior, but left his clan to educate himself. He was a scholar, Daemon, and he took up with Draca's daughter to learn more about the magic the Dragons wielded.
"She says when the Dragons shed their skins, some of the ancient races were destroyed by the Blood's magic. Others went into hiding, becoming nothing more than barbaric animals next to the Kindred, and others made an offering to both the earth and the Darkness and became these hybrid creatures. Draca helped Rhys shape his body, undergo the Birth Rite Ceremony, and learn Craft. She says that he left soon after she changed her shape and Lorn went into hiding. She didn't know what became of him, but wishes to see him again soon." Jaenelle paraphrased, while rereading the letter. There was no relief in Daemon as she told him this.
"But she doesn't know what happened to him after going through the Twisted Kingdom, or after making his Offering and walking away with the Black, or learning to Weave, or about him being a Black Widow." Daemon cut off his ramblings as he noticed Jaenelle glowering at him.
"There is Darkness in all who are Blood, but sometimes there can be enough goodness to make up for even the worst indiscretions." She said pointedly. An image of a mutilated form of a witch bubbled up in Daemon's mind and he nodded solemnly.
"I am only trying to look out for you my love." Daemon said. Jaenelle pulled away and waved her hands at him.
"I am fine. I am Witch. I can handle myself, even against a snarly, Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince," she said and smiled wickedly at him. "But I'm worried about Lizaveta."
"This is why we're here, to protect her. I'd like to see anything try to get by Andulvar, let alone Lucivar." Daemon said and pulled Jaenelle back down into an embrace. She laid her head against his chest and pulled her legs up onto the bed. Daemon smoothed the hair away from her face and felt his heart pound in his chest, but not from lust. Feeling her underneath his skin, Daemon felt his body sing happily to the rhythm of her heartbeat. He loved her more than he could have hoped to ever feel.
"Nothing will happen Jaenelle, I swear." He murmured and kissed her softly.
Rhys
Rhys felt the same brush against the Black thread, and was suddenly put on alert. He knew the feel, even down to the very core of his being. But for the life of him, couldn't remember why he knew the touch. There was something feral and familiar, with a hidden ridge, sharp as any blade. But he could not place where he knew it from.
Pacing around his room was quickly becoming unbearable. He had locked himself away in the room after he found out Gregory was going to be escorting Lizaveta to the ball. At least it wasn't the Tremont boy, but it was still bad. These men followed a Protocol, and Lizaveta could change hands numerous times during the evening. If she had gone with him, he would have snarled away any attempt other males outside of the family would have put up to steal his Queen away.
Somehow, Rhys knew that if Lizaveta was claimed by another male during this event, Daemon would not tolerate his flaunting of basic courtly manners.
And now, that strange feeling was setting him on edge.
Rhys was staying in the Consort's room next to Jaenelle and Daemon. On the outside it might seem awkward but Rhys felt more secure knowing that there were only two ways into his room, and only one of them wasn't through Jaenelle's room.
Pushing open the small, wooden door hidden next to his bed, Rhys was realized to hear voices coming down the hallway. This door connected into the small service hall that connected the Consort and the servants to the kitchen. So the voices he heard were coming from the small dining room.
He walked swiftly down the hall, hearing the untreated wood groan under his feet. As he got closer to the kitchen, he could see a dim light washing into the small hall. His eyes adjusted quickly moments before reaching the doorway and walking into the small room.
Daemon and Lucivar were hunched over the small island in the center of the kitchen. Lucivar held a tall ceramic cup in his hands while Daemon held a crystal glass filled with red liquid to his lips.
"Ah, Rhys, come in." Daemon said as he set his glass down. Rhys entered, nodded a small greeting to Lucivar, who returned it lazily.
"I have a question for you Daemon." Rhys started and took a seat at the closet side of the island to the door. The chair was old, something once discarded that a servant had stolen away to sit and watch the fire perhaps. It groaned vehemently under Rhys' weight, but he ignored it. He had noticed earlier that an irritated male pacing seemed to make the brothers anxious.
"What is it Rhys?" Daemon asked. Lucivar looked at his brother, curious about the chilled reply.
"You walked through the Twisted Kingdom. When you came out, were you the same?" Rhys questioned. Lucivar turned away at the question and took a long pull from his cup. Daemon smiled softly and spun the stem of his wine glass between his finger and thumb. Rhys watched in mild fascination as the red liquid swirled around the goblet.
"Yes and no. I was the same when it came to Jaenelle, and perhaps a little to the rest of my family. But not to the rest of the world, and never again will I be that person." He finally answered. Rhys nodded and felt a twinge of despair. Love had been a guiding force in Daemon's escape. Such was not the case for Rhys. His family was inconsequential, shadows that lingered long past their necessity. And although he had always loved the woman that was Lizaveta, he did not know her and had given up finding her. It was the tiny, golden spiders that coaxed him out and tried to rebuild his chalice, sealing each crack with a tiny web. But something was missing, and he didn't know what it was, or what harm it's absence would cause.
"Do you think she will ever love me?" Rhys asked to no one in particular. He slumped over, resting his head against the countertop, letting his arms swing freely at his sides. To this, Lucivar laughed.
"I can tell you are heartsick my friend. Why don't we go spar and take your mind off of things?" Lucivar questioned. Rhys snapped up and smiled broadly, feeling his fangs more so with his teeth clenched. Laughing again, Lucivar showed off his own set of fangs.
In that moment, Rhys questioned again why everyone else seemed so irritated by Lucivar and his sparring. The man was wonderful.